Fire at Will [Mech Sci-Fi Military]

HAND OF SYLUS

Days passed in much the same way. Will worked on his mech day and night. Damian had found him a space within the base to tinker, and Will all but shut himself away, consumed by the project. Occasionally, bits of news trickled in from outside. The mercenary team had made progress and was steadily mapping the tunnels. Signature readings were being recorded from each location, gradually forming a picture of the underground zones.

Will tightened a bolt into place and examined the mech in front of him. Its frame was stripped down, exposing the complex internals. Tweaking an actuator near the ankle joint, Will observed the change in power output. Frowning, he glanced at the large monitors on the far wall displaying the mech's schematics. His adjustments to the field generators were going well, and now all that remained was calibrating the final few pieces. Just a few more tweaks, and it would be ready.

A tingle passed through him, and Will shuddered as his shard buzzed. His eyes went wide, and he immediately dropped to the floor into a lotus position and began cycling his field. It wasn't a moment too soon, as the yellow signature came crashing forward, trying to overwhelm him. Tendrils of psions raced forth, reaching out into the distance, and Will had to clamp down to prevent the threads of energy from connecting.

Strange, half-formed visions danced across the back of his eyelids. Shadows reached out, lurking and stretching. Multiple glowing eyes in the dark turned their gazes toward him, tendrils of shadows reaching out toward his. Will gritted his teeth, cycling his energy faster, burning out the tendrils of psions until they ceased to exist. The visions fluttered as the tether was severed, and Will's hallucinations vanished.

Panting, Will gathered himself, sweating from his brow. A warm field enveloped him, radiating from ahead, and when Will opened his eyes, he saw Becca looking at him in concern.

She dabbed the sweat off his forehead without a word, waiting for him to catch his breath. When he finally calmed down, she spoke.

"Do I have to ask?" she sighed.

"It's not so bad," Will said with a tired chuckle. "Didn't even fall on my face this time."

Becca, frustrated, took his hand in hers and measured his pulse, then checked his pupils.

"No, really, I'm fine," Will said, cringing under her careful inspection.

"You're far from fine," she muttered.

Will glanced around the drab room he'd holed himself up in, half-finished parts strewn about waiting to be assembled.

"It's not like I can get into much trouble in here," he said, waiting for Becca to finish. When she finally let go of his hand, he gestured toward the mech. "What do you think?"

Becca glanced at the half-assembled mech. "You solved the field synchronization issues?"

"No, but I'm close," muttered Will. "Hopefully I get to test it soon."

They both stared at the mech, its frame washed in shifting colors from the glowing monitors. Becca's tired eyes reflected back from the chrome finish of the mech.

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"So, what have you been up to?" asked Will. "I don't get much news down here."

"Lawson's having me run drills," said Becca, "but she has yet to deploy me to the front."

Will shifted on the floor, interest piqued. "Any new news?"

"Yeah, we had a bit of a scuffle with one of the merc groups from our side," said Becca. "Territorial dispute—or at least that's what they're calling it."

"What's the real reason?" asked Will.

"We showed up late but started taking too much credit. They didn't like that."

"Figures," Will muttered.

"It hasn't slowed the expansion by much," continued Becca.

Will looked at her quizzically, and she handed him her slate. The screen displayed a map of the undercity, several regions marked in red with flags denoting key landmarks.

"These are the zones controlled by that new separatist group," said Becca.

Will frowned and zoomed in on one of the white flags, his expression darkening as he saw the bloody handprint at its center.

"I remember this one," he muttered. It was the same group that had blocked the tunnels back from Fort Thronfield. Their flags had been a constant presence around New Belgrave after that day.

"They call themselves the Hand of Sylus," said Becca, sliding closer. "Most of the unrest in the Tower traces back to them."

"Even the gang war," Will finished, looking grim.

"It's all cover for the Revenant," said Becca.

"You suspect that they are the ones hiding the warhead?" Will mused, looking at the spread-out territory in red.

"It's a place to start," said Becca. "But I'm worried we might have already hit a dead end. We've already mapped out most of the territories occupied by the Hand, but so far there are no matching signatures."

"Finding the exact location through signature analysis was a long shot anyway," Will said, shaking his head. "But still... are there no potential locations?"

"None that can mask the presence of a warhead," said Becca. "What worries me is the possibility that they've dug their own tunnel—something off-grid—to bypass the known ones."

"If that's the case, then there's not much we can do," Will muttered.

"I'm scared, Will," said Becca quietly. "There are days I think I won't wake up the next day... or if I do, everything around me will just be ash."

Will reached out and took her hand. "We'll figure it out," he said firmly.

She squeezed his fingers, wiping her eyes. Will glanced back at the mech, his gaze scanning its intricate circuitry. There had to be something he could do. He had been stuck in his room for a while, steadily growing more frustrated. While the work with the mech was going great, he wanted to go out and feel useful. To do something.

Before he could follow that train of thought, a sharp set of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Will turned to see Damian striding into the room.

"Will, Becca," he greeted simply, his boots echoing off the floor. He stopped right by the mech, taking it in.

"Is it done?"

"No, but I'm close," said Will. He looked more closely at his cousin, frowning. His combat fatigues were torn and scorched, with marks that looked like they came from a blade.

"What are you doing here?" Will asked. "I thought you were still out in the field."

Damian shook his head, still inspecting the mech. "We're slowing down our expansion for now. If we keep pushing, we might tip our hand and spook our prey."

Will eyed him suspiciously. "So the first thing you do when you get a break… is come see me?"

Damian finally looked away from the mech, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Why? Can't I visit my dear little cousin on my day off?"

"No," said Will flatly, already wary. He knew that look. It usually meant trouble.

Damian turned to Becca. "Head to the plaza. Lawson wants a word with you."

Becca hesitated, glancing at the two of them, but then stood and left without protest.

Damian waited until she was gone before speaking again. "Your mech's almost ready," he said. "Now let's find out if you are."

Will's eyes narrowed. "Hey, don't go back on your word."

"What good's a mech if the pilot's useless?"

"I told you—I can still fight," Will snapped.

"Great!" Damian said, tossing him his old CAD suit. "Then you shouldn't have any problem lasting a round or two against me. Training field. Fifteen minutes."

Will stared, open-mouthed, as Damian strode out of the room.

"Always fun playing instructor again," he called back over his shoulder. "Let's see how much of your training you still remember."

He left whistling a jaunty tune.

Will looked down at the CAD suit and then glanced up at the still disassembled mech before him.

"Oh, crap!" he exclaimed, grabbing a spanner.