The bunker was silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system. Ren sat with his head bowed, exhaustion and grief pooling within him like a lead weight. Around him, the remaining members of Unit 07 were slumped against the walls, their faces streaked with dirt and dried blood, the weight of survival pressing heavily on their shoulders.
Ren could see it in their eyes—the question they were all too afraid to ask aloud. How much longer can we keep going? How many more of us will be lost before this ends?
He clenched his fists, the memory of Kai and Myla's deaths replaying in his mind, each second seared into his memory. They had been more than just fellow soldiers; they'd been his friends, people he trusted to watch his back. And now, they were just names, like so many others before them.
He glanced at Elara, her gaze fixed on the cold, metal floor. She hadn't said a word since they'd entered the bunker, her usually fiery spirit dimmed by the reality of their losses. Jax and Ford, the last remaining members of their team, sat nearby, their faces shadowed, as if they were each trapped in their own private hell.
Breaking the silence, Jax finally spoke, his voice rough. "So… what now, Ren? We can't just sit here forever."
Ren exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He knew they couldn't stay hidden for long. Eventually, the N-Types would find them, or worse, they'd be ordered out again by Osiren, forced to sacrifice more of their lives for a cause that felt increasingly empty.
"We take stock of what we've got left," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Assess the mechas, our weapons, ammo… whatever we can scavenge. We're not dead yet."
Elara lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. "Not dead yet," she repeated softly, as if testing the words.
Ren felt a pang of guilt, knowing that it sounded hollow after all they'd lost. But there was no other way forward. He had to keep them moving, had to find something, anything, that might give them a reason to fight on.
They rose slowly, fatigue etched into their movements, and began a silent inventory of their supplies. Ren walked over to the back of the bunker, where their battered mechas stood, looming figures of metal and wires. These machines, their only tools against the N-Types, looked like battle-worn giants, scarred from countless confrontations.
He placed a hand on the cool, scratched metal of his mecha, Raven. The machine had been with him since he first joined the Exiled ranks, carrying him through every skirmish, every narrow escape. Like an extension of himself, Raven had become his silent companion, absorbing the weight of his rage and sorrow in every encounter with the enemy.
"What's the damage?" he asked, glancing at Ford, who was inspecting his own mecha, Goliath.
"Not great, but I can make it work," Ford replied, his voice resigned. "A few more hits like that last run, though, and we'll be walking back to base on foot."
Elara approached her own mecha, Valkyrie, trailing her fingers along a dented section of armor. "They're not built for this… this level of destruction. N-Types are evolving too fast. We're outmatched, Ren."
Jax was standing beside his mecha, Tempest, its frame a patchwork of repairs, with scorch marks from recent battles still visible. Tempest was agile and equipped with modified arms that allowed Jax to wield heavier weaponry, including a mounted cannon that had saved their squad more times than Ren could count.
"She's still in one piece," Jax muttered, patting the arm of his machine. "But barely. That last skirmish nearly fried the left thruster." His voice held a hint of pride mixed with sorrow, as if he knew Tempest was as wounded as he was.
Ren clenched his jaw, unwilling to let himself fall into despair. "Then we adapt. Find a way to hit them harder."
He glanced at the small armory in the bunker's corner, checking the remaining rounds and explosives. But it wasn't much—barely enough to hold out if they encountered another wave.
In the midst of his grim calculations, his communicator crackled to life. Sera's voice filtered through, tentative and heavy with concern.
"Ren? Are you… are you all safe?"
He hesitated before answering, part of him still wary, unsure of how much to trust her. But she had saved them—had given them the code that led them to this temporary refuge. He couldn't deny that without her, they'd all be lying out there, lost to the dirt and fog.
"We're here," he replied, his tone guarded. "Barely."
There was a pause, as if Sera was gathering her thoughts. "I… I'm sorry, Ren. I didn't want this for you, any of this. I didn't know how bad it was for your team out there."
Ren felt a surge of anger mixed with frustration. "Didn't know? Don't you sit in front of the monitors, watching every move we make? You see what we see, every loss."
She was quiet, the silence heavy with unspoken guilt. "It's different, Ren. Watching from a distance, I mean. They tell us it's necessary, that it's part of our duty, but… seeing it, really seeing it—it's more than I ever realized."
Ren leaned back against the wall, exhaling. "If you mean that, Sera, then help us in a way that counts. We're out here fighting these machines, losing people every day, and no one on your side cares."
She hesitated, but her voice was firmer when she finally spoke. "There's something else. Something I found in the records. It's why the N-Types are evolving—they've been reprogrammed by someone in Osiren. They're experimenting, using you as bait to test their own machines."
Ren's blood went cold. "You mean… they're sacrificing us on purpose? Testing those things on us like we're disposable?"
"Yes," she whispered. "That's why the N-Types didn't respond to me before. They're not following standard orders—they're on a completely different protocol. I think… I think whoever's behind this wants them to become unstoppable, to learn and adapt to anything you throw at them."
Ren's fists clenched, a sick fury boiling within him. "Then why warn us? Why save us?"
"Because I don't want to be part of that," Sera replied, her voice trembling. "I don't know how much I can do, but if you're willing to work with me, maybe together we can figure out a way to fight back—to take control from within."
Elara glanced at Ren, her expression wary. "Ren, are you seriously considering trusting her? She's one of them. For all we know, this is just another trap."
Ren held up a hand, silencing her. "I don't know if we can trust her. But I know that without help, we're as good as dead anyway."
He turned back to the communicator. "Alright, Sera. What's the plan?"
Her reply came swiftly, as if she'd been waiting for his agreement. "I can send you a temporary code override. It'll give you partial control of the N-Types' systems—but only for a few seconds. It won't last long, but it might give you enough time to disorient them, maybe turn them on each other."
Ren's mind raced, weighing the risks. It was a gamble—a split-second window that could either give them an edge or end up being a deadly distraction.
"Do it," he said finally, his voice hardening with resolve. "Send the code."
Sera's voice was filled with determination. "Alright. I'll transmit it as soon as you're ready. And Ren… I hope you know I'm risking everything for this. If they find out I helped you—"
"Then don't get caught," he interrupted, refusing to let himself feel sympathy for her situation. "We're all risking something here."
He turned to his squad, their faces tense but ready. "We've got a shot. If we time this right, we might be able to turn the tables on these things."
Elara nodded, the spark of defiance returning to her eyes. "Then let's make it count."
Jax climbed into Tempest, checking the systems as the machine powered up with a low hum. "Ready when you are, boss," he called, giving Ren a grim nod. Ford and Elara took their places in Goliath and Valkyrie, their mechas standing tall and battle-worn, yet defiant.
Ren settled into Raven, feeling the familiar hum as the machine came to life around him. As he grasped the controls, he felt that old, iron resolve solidify within him. They had one chance to make this work, and he wouldn't waste it.
As they prepared to leave the bunker, each pilot in sync with their mecha, Ren felt a flicker of hope mingled with fear. The N-Types were out there, waiting, evolving. But this time, they'd be ready.