We emerge from the long halls into an enormous foyer—marble pillars cascade in a frozen forest as far as I can see. From the outside, the Olympi doesn't seem so big. In here, it stretches on as if it was its own planet.

The pilars mimic the shade of rust crusted around the cracked mirror in the communal bathroom I shared with my father and six neighbors on Level 8. If I wasn't dodging spears that were hurled at my head, I would have found the coincidence hysterical.

I pull my shoulder rifle up and over my arm. It rests comfortably next to my ear, humming the sweet lullaby I've come to be fond of. As civilians scurry to find cover behind me, I step toward the line of snarling Guilded, their golden spears poised to gut me where I stand.

Bring it.

Nuna steps up beside me. Coodi flanks my other side. John rises on his legs, the perpetual flow of orange ooze from his headless stump drops in globulous pools behind me.

"Cleared hot." We fire.

The high energy laser levels them. The Guilded fucks didn't stand a chance. They collapse, their skin sizzling and hair smoking. Scorched from breastplate to bones, they land in a pile as we rush past. They were the last line we needed to breech before returning to port-2 where Kai should be waiting—if he knows what's good for him, that is.

We enter the port, breezing past the un-guarded post and sweeping archway that leads to the docks.

When Coodi, John, and I left it, it was the pristine example of a perfectly-functional transport system. Guards patrolled precise paths surrounding ARC4. Supplies, armor, and other boxes were organized along the walls in neat rows. But now, we step into what might have been the aftermath of a tornado. Not a drop of blood is on the deck, but supplies, boxes, gold armor, and corpses pepper the ground. Through the barrier that separates Olympi's interior from the bleak darkness of space, a space-yacht's forward pierces the metal. The ship is half in and half out of the forcefield that protects us all from being sucked into oblivion.

The luxurious space-yacht is smashed accordion-style from forward to mid-deck, small fires still burn through the portholes and puddles from the sprinklers dribble out the gutters as it leans on its starboard side.

Poor Teeno. I'm grateful for his sacrifice.

As planned, we arrived after the breech had been fixed.

At the base of the unscathed ARC4, a rag-tag gaggle of official and unofficial militia gather together. Kai and his battalion greet us in their full BDUs.

He saunters up to me. "So crashing a ship through the port is your idea of a signal?"

I shrug. "I actually wondered if it would be enough to make you take the hint."

"You haven't changed a bit."

I snort. Yeah, right.

Gazing at the HEL-SAR resting on his shoulder, I notice the un-scathed patch marking his allegiance to the URE and frown. He follows my gaze.

Nodding toward the desecrated symbol on Coodi's arm, he clicks his tongue. "Subtle."

Coodi steps up to my side, flaunting her burned insignia. "As the newly autonomous, mutinous survivors of the URE's regime, we didn't think that it was fitting to live, fight, or die under a symbol that was willing to discard us, sir."

I nearly fall over with the power of Coodi's statement. At the brink of allowing a single tear to fall from the ferocity of my pride for her, I'm halted by someone screaming my name from within the crowd.

"There you are!"

I spin around to find the familiar pinched whine of my favorite medic and am glad to come face-to-face with a disgruntled Knuckles who is more harried than I've ever seen him before. Black straps dangle from the object in his hand. I throw my arms around his thin shoulders and don't bother to check what it was he was trying to shove at me when he approaches.

"Get off me, woman. Have you any idea what it's like instigating a rebellion when its leader is absent from nearly all forms of accessible communication? Have you?" He backs up and slaps my old PAHLM in my empty hand.

The PAHLM is too heavy now that it's back in my possession. Like the insignia, it's a momento of my old life. I want nothing to do with it.

Only because this is the fucking battle, I latch the device against my skin. It remains corpse-cold in the middle of my hand. I take the earpiece from him and adjust it to its old position nestled against my skull.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I ignite the device. My old blue hologram sparks to life, dribbling blue pixels over my fingers, down my wrist and over my forearm until I'm glowing from tips to elbow. I flex my fingers, stretch them, resist the urge to scratch the spots under the bands clutching my knuckles.

A surge of recognition zaps me to attention. Familiarity tingles up and down my skin like an awakening—this was me once. I shake off the aftershock and flex my fingers. The straps between them is as soft and worn as I remember—they've been part of me and my life for so long, I don't know why I hesitated for so long. My PAHLM and I have been together so long, it's part of me.

The display gathers white pixels together and raises its welcoming message.

OCTOBER 01 2085

0209 HOURS

GOOD MORNING, JANIKA LORN

It's been counting seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months since Knuckles shut it off when he confiscated it on the day of my stabbing. The pixels fizz in and out of focus around the cracked area in the middle of my hand just as it did when I broke it climbing down the vent to drop into the official Operation Homecoming assignment meeting.

As always, I wait for SCOPE to confirm transmission. But SCOPE never disrupts the silence in my ear.

Instead, my VIPERs check in. Kai recites a string of commands, directing Cambell and their VIPERs.

My reflexes urge me to go next, to go through radio protocols to check and instill the command. But not everything is as it used to be. With my VIPERs physically around me and able to see my nod in their direction, I keep the channel quiet. We've done so much together, the old chain doesn't apply anymore.

They are so stoic. They remain close, watching my back and watching the civilians for suspicious activity. We wait for our enemies to approach, but none have yet. I pray to the Lady. If she's hearing my requests, she'll keep them alive. I don't know who I'll lose next, but I can't imagine moving forward without Coodi, Moyra, McCroy, Umpire, Love, or even Avant. Strange enough, I can't imagine what I'd do without Teeno.

Nuna approaches from behind. Her front presses up against my back. Warmth floods the sudden fear that sprang from my meandering thoughts. I smell the softness of her soap and the sulfuric after-charge of her weapon. It's a tantalizing mix—one that makes me want to turn and face her, to rub my hand over her skin or grab a fistful of her puff of hair. But I can't. Not if she's one of the many who might die.

Hell. It might even be my time.

Maybe it'll be Moon. It would serve him right. Traitor.

As if on cue, Teeno struts from around the corner, his gluckers holstered at his hips, his silver hair reflecting the light of the ship, giving him the appearance of a divine being. He grins and opens his arms as if to bow to his doting audience.

Nuna leans on my shoulder. "A more fitting entrance for you has never been had, Teeno. You've outdone yourself. How will you ever top this?"

Teeno smirks in that roguish, flirty way of his, but his response is cut short by the whiz of a spear as it slices through our happy reunion.

A wall of Golden Legion descends on our location.

Teeno squeezes between me and Coodi. He glances over my shoulder. "Where the devil is Moon?"

I gaze ahead, attempting to adjust my grip while ignoring the glow of my left hand. Has my PAHLM always been this distracting? "Not here."

In my peripherals, I watch the message silently flit between Nuna and Teeno's pointed gazes. It doesn't matter what they think now. I need their help before they get wise and realize that Moon is looking out for Moon—something they should all be doing for themselves. Something I need to finally do.

My HEL-SAR charges. I rush forward.

I aim for the necks, the fleshy part exposed over their golden breastplates. But something is different.

Their necks are of the same gold as their armor. They clamor toward me in jerky movements, like puppets forced to dance through agony. Watching the army spasm as they run toward me is a new nightmare that will stick with me for a long time.

I smell it.

Burning flesh.

The bare skin above their brows is red and marked with boils. Dribbles of gold crawl up their shoulders, throat, and chin, encasing their mouths and circling their noses. The drops reach their eyes. It's as if someone held them upside down and poured hot liquid gold over their exposed bodies. With their previously vulnerable skin encased in gold, I can't get a good shot.

But I get close enough to see through the large slots in their helmets. The anguish in their eyes imprints itself in my brain.

They charge forward, their arms raised, their skin burning under their gold-plated cover.

Juno is a fucking monster.

The largest of the mass of Guilded Legion stands at the front grasping his golden spear tight. His attention is on me—eyes wavering, body stock-still and tall, with his feet shoulder-width apart. He's immobile but set to attack within a fraction of a blip.

We wait.

We watch the other for signs of life. We could be two mountains watching which will crumble first.

All eyes are on us.

He lunges at me.

I dodge and spin left. Pulling out my pistol, I aim for the usually delicate spot under his chin. The bolt ricochets off the gold armor plated over his skin and hits a civilian in the back. The man collapses, his kitchen knife clattering to the stone floor.

I drop my pistol as if it scorched me.

Our battle is cacophonous. Metal against lasers against flesh against bio-electric blasts—none of it is compatible.

"HEL-SARs are ineffective," I say into my PAHLM as I dodge another swipe from my opponent. " Ineffective. I repeat. HEL-SAR is ineffective. Anyone got any ideas?"

The VIPERs don't waste a second. Just as in the alien marketplace fiasco, Coodi and Umpire use their weapons to bash in the skulls of their enemies.

Taking their cue, I swing my precious HEL-SAR around and use it like a battering ram against the large Guilded's gut. The tech I fought so hard for is useless. Useless. I thought it would be our salvation. I was wrong again.

Scanning the scrimmage for anyone who needs help, I notice Teeno sparring with a pair of soldiers. He chucks one of his pistols at a Guilded's head and runs off. Two follow him. He reaches Nuna who sweeps her leg under the two Guilded. They fall backward and scramble to rise until Teeno and Nuna kick off their enemies' helmets and blast them between the eyes. The charge rolls down their body, making them twitch.

Their groans join the chorus of civilians impaled by golden spears.

I smell blood.

I smell flesh sizzling behind the melted golden armor. They didn't deserve that fate.

Grabbing the spear dropped from my only felled enemy, I break off the tip. My daggers were the only effective method of defense I had against them last time—the same has to be true again.

I spin around my next assailant and aim for his jugular. My spearhead skids off the metal at his throat. He slashes me across my thigh as I cross him.

There's no time to recover. He grabs me around the waist, my blood flying in an arc around us, and swings me over his knee. He pins me to the ground, his knee digging into my back.

That's when I see it. The skin between his boot and kilted armor is exposed.

"Legs... are... vulnerable..." I groan as his knee digs into my spine. The pinch is unbearable. I can barely breathe.

Twisting around, I pull up enough energy and force to bury my spearhead into the flesh above his knee.

He screams and loses his hold. Leaping up, I grab his spear, break off the head, and fly through our battle, slicing the calves and knees of the golden.

Behind me Umpire ditches the HEL-SAR to follow my lead. As I slide across the blood-slick floor to carve the exposed calves of two guards approaching one of my ARC10 civilians, I catch my VIPERs dropping their massive weapons too.

When the people notice my new approach, they easily switch gears. Starved for retribution, they attack the legs of the Guilded like it's dinner.

Blood floods the port. Some victims of our battle lie face-first in the swamp, some writhe in it, soaking their garments in crimson before attempting to drag their useless legs out of the field.

There are still so many. The flow in from around the corner. We're outnumbered. If Juno keeps sending more of her Guilded Legion, we'll never make it. I limp closer to where Coodi breaks off the spear tip from her latest victim.

A wisp of artificial wind breezes beside me. It stings my cheek.

The blade nicks me, streaking a deep line across my face.

I hardly notice it, but John doesn't seem to like what happened.

He descends from wherever he was hiding in the rafters, dropping onto the idiot who sliced me, and impaling the Guilded through his chest.

So John's blades can pierce their gold.

"John!" I call to him as he repetitively stabs the very dead man in his gaping flesh wound. "Stop playing around. Cut the rest of them down."

John rises on his legs, the steam and gauges of his hydraulics harmonizing with the screams of the Olympi's civilians. In droves, John slashes the Guilded Legion. They toss their spears at him, but the gold bounces off his jelly body. We finally have our advantage.

I scan the field again. With John mowing down our enemies, we have given ourselves the upper-hand.

But the people have stopped fighting. They are backing away. Huddled together, their wide-eyed terror shrinks them from out war.

"He's on our side!" I point to John and smile. He's our friend.

But the people's pallor, their body-seizing horror is unrelenting. They become ghosts of their former warriors. With their fear fixated on him, they become targets.

They're scared like they've seen John before. This isn't a new fear.

Suddenly, John stops.

After stabbing my next victim above his knee, I spin around to see what happened.

Ticking.

Everywhere.

It's like being in the heart of ARC10 again with the pulsing ticks becoming so loud, I can't hear the cries of the Olympi's civilians as they scatter.

Pulling my dagger from the flesh of the toppled Guilded soldier, I stand and approach John. He's stock-still, immobile, frozen as if waiting for orders.

"John. What is happening?"

He doesn't respond.

Knuckles appears behind me. If anyone can get John to react it would be him. "Knuckles. Make him do something."

"What the hell kind of power do you think I have over your robo-dog? I don't control it anymore than I can control you."

"Try something. He's freaking me out."

"Now listen here, John." Knuckles stands in front of John's stumpy neck and places his hands on his hips. "You had better start moving. We're in a battle, son. And there's no time to—"

I grab Knuckles' arm and squeeze. "Listen."

In the walls, the ceiling, the air around us, the ticks intensify.

"More Xani?" Knuckles follows the sound in the ceiling.

And as if to answer his question, I see their silhouettes emerge from the darkness. They hide within the shadows of the wall and tap their way to the bloody floor. They approach, their menacing blades spinning as they scuttle in their nightmarish dance toward us.

With their heads attached, their wide-open mouths dripping long strands of globulous orange ooze, I return to that place where the Xani were unknown and horrible. This was before I knew John and he knew me.

But I don't know these Xani and the terror returns. Six monsters emerge from the darkness.

They stand their ground making a V-formation in front of us. My VIPERs and Kai's battalion continue battling in the background as I stand-off against six aliens with only my headless friend and my hostile medic at my side.

The leader at the apex rushes at me, intimidating me with his upside-down face nearly colliding with mine.

We stand inches apart, it's menacing ooze dripping to the floor between my boots.

The face.

I gasp and practically fall backward.

I know that face.

It's Captain Shin-Hyun Moon. The shape of his jaw, the outline of his lips, his high cheekbones and large nose—it's him. It's him screaming, his face frozen in perpetual agony. He was John's face too. He's each one of these Xani.

I'm frozen in new terror.

He has their bones. They have his shape. What kind of sick trade happened here?

The Xani raises its blades. They spin next to my ear.

John doesn't move. He can't save me this time.