Stan stood before Niam’s apartment, the sun casting a dull, dusty light across the street. He knocked twice, firm but not loud, and called gently, “Niam!”
The door opened a moment later. She didn’t say a word—just pulled him into a long embrace. Her arms wrapped tightly around him as if she were anchoring him to the ground, as if his presence alone was proof that he was real and safe.
“I’m here,” Stan said softly, his voice resting somewhere between relief and promise. “I’m not going anywhere for the next couple of days.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Let me go to the farms, get the best pork they have. I’ll cook you dinner, and we can talk.”
Niam shook her head, still holding onto him lightly. “You can go to the farms tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t leave now.”
They stepped inside. The apartment was small but clean, filled with the kind of quiet warmth only a lived-in space could have. They sat together, talking in slow, drawn-out intervals. The words didn’t matter much—what mattered was the pauses between them, filled with the simple comfort of presence. Niam didn’t want to talk about Malleus, or the war, or the violence that nearly took Stan from her. Not today. She just wanted him here.
She could still smell the sweat clinging to his shirt. He hadn’t been home. He hadn’t changed or showered. That meant she was his first stop. That meant everything.
Stan could feel her relief without her having to say it. And she felt the weight of his exhaustion, the kind that ran deeper than the body—it lived in the bones. But he didn’t complain. He never did.
Niam had strong feelings for Stan. Was it love? She wasn’t sure. Love was a word that felt like a distant echo from another world, a world of stories and books, where people had the luxury to fall for each other with poetic certainty. Here, people came together out of necessity, not passion—mutual gain, not emotional bonds. But with Stan, it was different.
He protected her, helped her, but never out of obligation. He had known her husband once. They were best friends. When her husband died, Stan made sure she never lacked food, shelter, or safety. He found her this place—close enough to him, and close enough to Phoenix. And when things got rough, he didn’t hesitate to send guards to her door.
He never crossed a line. Never made her feel weak or owned. He never used her loneliness. Whatever he felt, he buried it deep beneath layers of respect—for her, and for the memory of his friend.
---
"I’ll need three vehicles for ten of us," Stan said, his tone calm but firm, betraying the weight of the task ahead. "We’ll leave by evening. I’ll select my men and get them ready."
The Captain nodded, his face stern with the gravity of the situation. "You’ll have the summarized report before you leave."
Stan didn’t linger after the meeting ended. His mind was already on the mission, but before preparing his men, he needed to speak with Phoenix. He walked through the quiet streets of the headquarters area, the only part of the city still showing signs of life. As he approached Phoenix's quarters, the surroundings grew even more silent. There were no lights flickering, no hum of machines — just the quiet buzz of thoughts that lingered in the air, like the last embers of a dying fire.
Phoenix was standing by the window, looking out into the grey, decaying streets below. His silhouette seemed almost out of place here — there was no artificial light to illuminate him, no screen to flicker or hum with data. He wasn’t a machine, but he had learned to adapt like one.
"The coordinates aren’t completely readable," Stan said as he approached. "We can’t tell if the facility is in Central city or if it’s nearby. If it’s in the city, infiltrating will be dangerous, but we have to try. We don’t have any other option."
Phoenix turned slightly, his voice low but steady. "Central city may be different from the last time you were there. The machines learn. They adapt. Expect stronger defenses and more traps. They won't let you take out the facility as easily as you did the drone factory."
Stan's jaw tightened, the memory of that mission still fresh — the heavy losses, the narrow escape. "Destroying the drone factory wasn’t easy," he said, voice tinged with regret. "We lost good men. But this facility... whatever it is, it’s essential we destroy it. If they’re making super humans, we can’t afford to let that continue."
Phoenix stood still for a moment, contemplating, then spoke. "Have you considered hiring assassins for this mission?" His words were measured, as if carefully considering every option. "They’re experts at sneaking in, gathering intel without being noticed. It could be useful."
Stan shook his head. "No. This is a top-secret mission. We can’t risk sharing information with a faction that’s not fully aligned with us. Assassins might be useful, but not for this. We have to gather intel ourselves. First-hand knowledge, not second-hand reports. If we decide to destroy the facility after learning more, we might consider it, but not yet."
Phoenix nodded, his expression unreadable. "I understand. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more to help you with," he said, his tone almost apologetic. "But thank you for sharing what you have. I’ll keep it safe. You have my word."
"I know," Stan replied, a flicker of trust in his voice. "I don’t doubt you."
With a curt nod, Stan turned to leave, but before he could exit, he paused at the door, glancing back at Phoenix. "Wish me good luck," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve got a bad feeling about this."
Phoenix’s response was calm, though his gaze seemed to carry the weight of years of experience. "Good luck, Stan. I’m sure everything will be fine. I’ll see you when you come back."
Stan gave a small nod, the uncertainty in his gut gnawing at him, but he forced himself to step outside. The sun had long risen, casting a dim light over the city, but it felt as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come. He made his way back to his mansion, the streets eerily silent. There were no sounds of laughter, no movement from the citizens — just the faint scent of decay lingering in the air, as if the city itself had long since given up.
Stan tried to shake the dread from his mind, but it clung to him like the shadows creeping over the crumbling walls. The streets were the same as they had always been, yet now, in the silence, they felt emptier, as if the city was waiting for something — or someone — to end it all.
He glanced back at his mansion one last time as he reached the door. It was a fleeting thought, but a dark one: what if this was the last time he walked these streets? What if the mission went wrong, and the world they had left behind would collapse in a way they couldn’t predict?
Stan didn’t have answers. But he knew one thing — he had to do this, no matter what. He stepped into the shadows, the weight of the unknown pressing against him as he prepared for what lay ahead.
--
Stan stood at the edge of the massive gate to the Central City, the stronghold of Kainē Gē, the heart of the machine world. The steel gate, usually sealed and guarded by drones and turret systems, parted before him and his group without a whisper of resistance. No sirens. No warnings. No ambushes.
"It's too quiet," he murmured to himself.
The silence was suspicious. It was wrong. He knew it. They all did. Something was off. Yet the path ahead remained open, like an invitation or a carefully constructed illusion.
His team moved in cautiously, rifles raised, eyes sweeping every corner for motion, every shadow for a threat. But there was nothing. No patrols. No sentry bots. No defense grid.
As they stepped through the outer barrier and into the dome of the Central City, the world changed.
---
Stan walked slowly, his boots treading over smooth walkways and beneath elegant arches. His men followed in silence. None dared speak.
Eventually, they reached a broad plaza. Giant pots held immense bonsai trees, their roots wrapped around the polished stone as if they had grown there for centuries.
That’s when it happened.
A sudden whir. A mechanical click. Stan turned.
"Take cover!" he barked.
From the shadows came a small formation of robots, sleek and silver, moving with precision. They opened fire. His team responded in kind, the plaza exploding into bursts of gunfire and glinting metal. But the machines didn’t press the attack, nor did they fall back. It was a deadlock.
Then the robots launched strange mechanical balls from hidden catapults. They landed with precision among men, erupting into a rolling burst of movement.
"They're trying to split us!" someone shouted.
And they succeeded. The balls released legs and began to scurry with frightening speed, herding the humans apart. Stan saw his group break into two, disappearing in different directions, forced away from each other.
He and two of his comrades managed to destroy one of the balls, then another, but it was too late. The others were gone. The unfamiliar terrain swallowed them. No way to regroup. No sign of pursuit.