Blessedly, Lao and Scalia didn’t die from the poison. Lao passed out, but he was still breathing, while Scalia could walk with support. They weren’t in any shape to fight, but that became irrelevant when the Commander showed up.

  “Civilians. Do. Not. Panic. This is Pioneer Commander Oran Brekinar. I am here to help escort you to safety. To the Pioneers and police officers guarding this group: Remain at your posts. If you cannot fight, join the civilian crowd. Able-bodied civilians will help you walk or carry you if appropriate.” The commander’s voice boomed out from the front of the column, frightening many. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the humans were moving again, encouraged by his words, but there was still a lot to keep Jordan nervous. How were Stanoslav, O’Riley, and Ramirez doing? Was his father okay? These questions churned in the young man’s gut as he walked, though he couldn’t bring himself to check his Codex or message the others to find out. For good or ill, he wanted to get the news about the others in person. A big part of him couldn’t even bear to look.

  Per the commander’s orders, he remained at his post and tried to stay alert for more lurking threats. Jordan had reluctantly handed MacNeil’s body off to the civilians to keep his hands open, though that reluctance had been tempered when he saw the reverence with which they treated the Pioneer’s fallen form. Several had tears streaming down their faces, causing Jordan to realize that he’d been crying as well, and all of them had offered him words of consolation and sorrow. He accepted these consolations gratefully, eventually needing to force himself away from the civilians and focus on his duties.

  The group turned a corner and found that the way between them and the human frontline had been cleared. There were still some monsters further down the line, but a hole had been opened, allowing the column of humanity to rush into the safety of the bubble with no incident. Nearby military personnel rushed forward to escort the civilians deeper into human-controlled territory and collect the dead and injured that they were carrying. Jordan, for his part, started looking around for the people he cared about the most. He saw a shell-shocked Lucy being comforted by Ken and Marie, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight. Jordan resisted the urge to say hello as he looked for the others, though he soon got a new message on his HUD, “Meet up here.”

  He let out another breath of gratitude at the realization that the sender was his father. The old man had survived his battle.

  “Of course he did.” Jordan thought, dryly. There wasn’t much Markus Haraldson couldn’t do, after all.

  Gon followed Jordan as he pushed through the crowd, the duo growing excited as they got closer to the waypoint, spotting O’Reily’s mop-headed haircut. They also soon noticed Stanoslav’s ornery-looking figure, yet there was no sign of Ramirez. Worry building again, Jordan picked up the pace, catching sight of his father near the other two. The trio was standing on a street corner near a rundown-looking casino, whose neon signs and holographic advertisements had long gone completely dark. In fact, the entire street had gone mostly dark, with nothing but strings of emergency lamps and the thin light of the night sky to see by. The lamps cast the street corner in an ethereal crimson glow, making the forms of the trio and the crowd around Jordan shimmer indeterminately. Like an army of angry specters, the people swirled around him, the light seeming to whisper that these figures would soon vanish. Leaving him behind.

  Jordan took a deep breath and shook off the feeling, finally arriving near the three. Anticipating his question, O’Reily spoke out with a firm, croaky voice that brought Jordan back to earth, “Don’t worry, Ramirez is okay. He took some bad injuries, but he’s stable now. We lost one of the vets, though.”

  “Organon was a good man,” Markus interjected stoically, causing a grim silence to fall over the whole group. Jordan eventually mustered up to explain what’d happened to MacNeil as well, giving them an abridged story in a long, low voice. Once he finished his story, the silence returned in full force, growing even darker as everyone processed the news.

  They remained in that silence for a short time before the remaining intact vets appeared. Jordan was happy to see the green-haired Lieutenant Plincaron alive and well, alongside two other vets who’d been with the other group. One of the duo was a stern, imposing-looking man named Zufall, while the other was an older gentleman named Hernandez. Zufall, Jordan knew, was a D class fighter who’d retired with the rank of lieutenant. Though he didn’t look a day over forty, he was actually approaching his early fifties. With his square jaw, piercing blue eyes, and muscular frame, he looked like a soldier from an advertisement. The man didn’t speak often, but when he did, his gruff voice was like a barrel of rattling stones.

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  On the other hand, Hernandez looked like he was approaching his late sixties. Despite his advanced age, he sported a solid figure and walked with an upright back, though he didn’t exactly appear like anyone’s ideal soldier. With a shock of white hair and a perpetually misty look in his eyes, most would have pegged him as a simple old man who kept in decent shape. Not a highly deadly fighter. Still, he walked in the center of the two lieutenants, and they seemed to give him some deference, even though Jordan knew for a fact that the older man was only an E class ex-master sergeant.

  Plincaron was the first to catch Jordan’s eye, nod, then explain, “The doctors say that Tony and Chen are going to survive. That’s Sergeants Scalia and Lao to you, rookies.”

  They all nodded, with Jordan feeling guilty that he hadn’t gone to confirm the men’s conditions himself. Plicaron continued, “I saw Captain Peralta in the medical tent as well. He was beaten up something bad, but the crazy bastard somehow survived the brawl with that Behemoth. I think that police captain, Locastro, had some healing ability that helped. The doc said that all of them will be back in the fight soon enough.”

  He then turned to address the rookies directly, “I checked on the status of our squad through the Codex. I’m sorry. About MacNeil.”

  Jordan didn’t know how he looked, but he heard Gon let out a somber noise next to him. O’Reilly clenched his fists, bowing his head morosely, while Stan just looked angry. He whirled around and kicked a rock at high speed, sending it sailing through an open window. While the others watched him, he turned back around and folded his arms combatively, snarling, “We won’t let those freaks get away with this. We’ll kill every last one of them.”

  Everyone grunted in agreement, Stan’s aggresive fire reflected in each of their faces. They unconsciously shifted their collective focus toward their leader, waiting for Markus’s direction. The colonel opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a sudden notification: “Reinforce the frontline.”

  Everyone froze, looking from the message to the waypoint that'd come with it, sporting expressions of sudden consternation. Angry or not, they were all completely gassed. Most of them had reached the limits of their mental energy, most were dealing with some minor poisoning, and all of them were physically exhausted. None of them was in good enough shape to go out and fight right away, something their handler should probably know. He shouldn’t have total knowledge of their condition, but he should have some decent biometric readings. Either the situation was that bad, or the man was trying to punish them for not recovering as they’d been ordered. Whatever the reason, sending them out there like this was tantamount to a death sentence, especially with the Executioner still out there. But what could they do? Disobey orders again?

  As the soldiers stood there, contemplating these new developments, a new figure overshadowed them. Oran Brekinar appeared right next to the group in a swirl of dust, apparently having run over to them. The big man caught their attention immediately, his natural commanding aura suddenly radiating over the group. His voice was a low thunder as he commended them, “You’ve done well, men. Numerous innocents owe you their lives.”

  The commander studied their expressions ponderously, dark eyes steadily sweeping around the squad before continuing, “Your actions, authorized or otherwise, were a credit to the highest values of the Federation of Pioneers. In keeping with that…”

  He lifted up a hand, typed in a few commands into an unseen panel, then finished his sentence, “…I give you these orders.”

  Their old orders and waypoint vanished, replaced with another waypoint in the opposite direction and a single word, “Rest.”

  “Let me worry about the frontline.” The commander took in their relieved faces impassively, remaining as stoic as ever, “Normally, Pioneers are rewarded with valuable resources for meritorious conduct in battle. I doubt you will receive any such thing for your deeds tonight. Instead, you can feel free to keep whatever you find.”

  And just like that, Brekinar was gone, hopping away to some other objective. The men shared some inquisitive looks, with even Markus cracking an eyebrow, before they started off toward the waypoint. They weaved through the city streets at a trot, dodging military personnel running every which way. As they got deeper behind friendly lines, the activity got thinner on the ground. The soldiers were concentrated on the perimeter, while the civilians had mostly gone to ground. Thus, they were jogging through a ghost town as they grew further away from the fight, the lonely sounds of their footsteps unsettling in the barren heart of Akaadia’s capital. It was several more hours before they reached their destination.

  It was a grand mansion in one of the city’s wealthiest districts. Other large houses lined the boulevard, but their destination outclassed them all. The obsidian and marble fa?ade was austere and domineering, with little ornamentation or fancy design. However, there were a few thin carvings along the edges of the marble corner, forming the shapes of long tongues of blazing fire. Or perhaps, extended wings. They gave the building a feeling of dynamic might, like it was a sleeping giant that could shoot forward at any moment with explosive power. This impression was cemented by the fact that the building was the tallest one on the block, casting a deep shadow over the street below. The Pioneers stared up at the building in awe, amazed by the fact that the waypoint had been placed right on the doorstep of such an august building. Eventually, they overcame their shock and marched over to the front door.

  The front door of the Brekinar clan family home.