“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT!” A young man yells at the civil servant behind the bulletproof glass of a square bunker-like structure.

“SIR, Step back from the window, NOW!”. The police officer in full riot gear yells reaching for his shock stick.

“Hey fuck you, man! We need more food!” a middle-aged woman yells.

“Well, that's not possible. You know we are at war with the Lankys, and now the UEC, that's why the Rations were cut by half, you know that” another officer comments before his clubbed from behind. In response to this, the other two officers forego their shock sticks and raise their PDW's.

"ALRIGHT PARTY's OVER, DISPERSE!" a young woman in an old United states army BDU displaying a patch with an orange LB on her shoulder yells, raising her M4.

“All according to plan.” In the distance a lone figure says setting his sights on the last portion of the mission, to cause discord.

============================================================================

(Trombley)

Fort Shugart is its own little city, everything we need is available to us within the safety of the base, we have our own movie theaters, clubs, sports facilities and swimming pools. There's even a park in a quiet corner of the base complete with duck pond, walking trails, and benches. When were in garrison, the work day ends at five in the afternoon, during the weekdays we train in the field, we go to the shooting range, we sit in classrooms and listen to lectures, or we do weapons and equipment maintenance. But at five in the afternoon the day officially ends and were off until seven in the morning. Most of us have dinner in the chow hall and then hang out at the enlisted club, catch a movie, or play softball out in the well maintained domed ball fields beyond the vehicle park.

The married soldiers go home to their families and their on base housing in the residential section. Which looks like any other generic suburban neighborhood outside of a PRC, but most of us junior enlisted are single and are cordoned in our squad rooms. It feels a bit like high school only with guns and uniforms, and instead of learning trigonometry or North American history... we learn better ways to kill people and blow up their stuff.

I like my temporary squad mates, the first squad tries harder, works harder, and has more fun than all of the other squads. It seems that some of the luster of having Formers among us has rubbed off on the squad. Creating a sort of unspoken obligation to meet a higher standard, most of my squad mates are funny and personable. The kind of people I would have wanted to befriend back home, here people aren't constantly trying to fuck you over for BNA rations and black market pills.

Only fire team bravo’s leader Hanson mostly keeps to herself, she rarely joins in when we go for a game of pool and a few drinks at the enlisted club. There's something intimidating about her and it's not just the unusually stern expression or the tattoos around her eyes. And as far as I can tell she spends most of her free time running, practicing drills, and studying field manuals on her PDP. The other members of my squad are more approachable and familiar. Stratton is the joker of the group, Phillip is thoughtful and laid back, Priest is a poker fiend and a skirt chaser, and Blurg is a big, hairy, very strong, yet good natured spider.

Kile is a bit of a “chevron sniffer” which is what they call the guys who try to buddy up to the senior NCO's. But he's competent and always willing to switch crap jobs with others so nobody minds it too much. Then there is the only one I actually knew beforehand, however, and that's Miiora. And her newly shed ruby red scales, untraceable accent, stunning figure, and general exotic nature combine to make her the prettiest girl in the company. And virtually all of the guys and some of the girls have a crush on her, she's also deadly efficient at hand to hand combat which is why her admirers content themselves with looking rather than touching.

I can't deny that Miiora is easy on the eyes but my mind still fresh with memories of Bagmare. Having seen her rip and tear through UEC troops reminds me that if you piss her off, despite her caring and kind attitude she Will absolutely fuck you up. I remember when she came off of the shuttle, and to say that she looked lost was an understatement. And her look of utter dismay upon learning that the Sarge wasn't here yet, was almost heartbreaking.

========================================================================

(Miiora)

I am lounging in my bunk playing half-heartedly with my tail, as I read up on human cities. When the door to our squad room bursts open and we all begin to hear the base alarms begin going off. As a result of this rather abrupt interruption, I rather unceremoniously and embarrassingly fall out of my bunk and onto my face.

“The shit has hit the fan friends and neighbors!” Sergeant Forbes is already in full battle armor when he strides into the squad room, where we are still scrambling to get ready. The alarm is still trailing in the hallway outside and the read light from the overhead LEDs is backlighting SGT Forbes ominously.

“What is happening sergeant Forbes?” Blurg booms from one end of the room as he strapped on pieces or “armor”. And we all silence our activities to hear Seargent Forbes’s answer.

“Welfare Riot. One of the PRC’s up in Memphis.” The mood in the room instantly goes from excitement to anxiety, and it feels like a breeze of New Svalbard air has just come through the door with Sergeant Forbes. I look over to Blurg who only shrugs but the feeling of dread coming off of the rest of the squad is palpable. I have no idea what a welfare Riot is but it must be pretty bad, if the body language from the usual juvenile Trombley is anything to go by.

“Fuck me.” Hanson mutters under his breath, and my other squadmates mutter their assent as we finish putting on our battle armor.

“What is a welfare riot like?” I ask trombely as I struggle to put on the same set of battle armor I had received before going to Bagmare and he gives me a look.

“I've seen a welfare riot before, not the actual riot but the aftermath. When I was ten or eleven we had one in our PRC, when an alliance of Hood rats, hoodlums, lunatics, and wannabe revolutionaries tried to torch every government installation in sight. The government did what it always does when the local police force can't keep a lid on things. They sent in the Military, three full battalions of HD complete with armor and air support. Even with the overwhelming technological advantage of the HD and the support of the local Lazarus brigades a local militia in most PRC’s, the fighting lasted for five days. My mom kept me home from school for a week which was cool. But kept me from going outside for that whole week which sucked. And when I finally emerged from our apartment three days after the fighting had stopped there were there were HD and Lazarus on every corner, and they still hadn't cleaned up all of the rubble, burned cars or the bodies yet.”

“Get geared up gents, don't bother with the tents and toiletries, this one's just down the road.”

Of all of the Metroplex’s in the country, Memphis is one of the worst. The center of the city is ringed with no fewer than thirty PRC’s, and over eighty percent of Metroplex residents are on the dole. Sixteen million people in greater Memphis and ten million of them are crammed into concrete shoe boxes stacked one hundred high.

“Been to a PRC before Miiora?” Priest asks as I fix the quick release locks on his battle armor for him.

“No, but my han- friend, Sgt Fallon grew up in one. And from what he told me I can understand why he wouldn't want to go back to one.”

“Yeah, well you'll have a rifle and a dropship hovering overhead.”

“At least the rioters don't have tanks.” Trombley says

“Yeah well, there's going to be a lot of ‘em. And if we have to start shooting you better hope they run out of courage before we run out of ammo.” Forbes responds. The dropships are warming up their engines as we get off of the bus from the barracks. I look to my left and see two platoons of green armored HD grunts piling into their respective dropships. And to my right, I can see another dropship with its cargo hatch lowered and an armored Mule drives into the cargo hold before the whole ship lifts off and flies off into the night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGLYpYoXkWw&list=PLriHkvKxVV7HfH2j71k14TdkHbiBi6nc7&index=69

Then there is a loud whooshing noise and I reflexively duck my head down as one of the drop ships the Fighting Ninth used on Bagmare, a Cazador gunship I believe Avery Fallon explained to me with a strange insect painted on the side screams overhead. With a bit of trepidation, we strap in, secure our weapons and watch as the rest of the platoon does likewise. The summer night is hot and humid, and the air smells like fuel.

“Hooly shit… That's a MOTH dropship.” one of my platoon mates exclaims.

“Shit must be bad.” another responds.

“First platoon listen up! We’ll only be airborne for about thirty minutes so we're going to skip the formalities and top down briefings for today….” We hear over the “all platoon” channel.

“Our objective is the civic Admin center at PRC Memphis 6, we’re dropping in with the second platoon….” The tactical displays on our helmets activate and LT Peal runs us through the specifics of our mission. The target building looks like every other civil center in the NAC, a squat five-story building with small windows and reinforced concrete walls.

“Second platoon will land on the roof and do a top-down sweep of the building to secure it. Our mission is to drop down on the outside of the building and secure it. We're deploying one squad on every corner of the building. The other platoons are securing other objectives in the aria, and a MOTH team has been sent in to lend us some support with their Atlas Mechs if possible. Don't rely on them they have their own objectives to deal with. If anyone tries to get near this building you will strongly discourage them.”

“What if we get mobbed LT?”

“Then you knock them down. I'm not going to lose any troops because some rioters decided to start something they couldn't finish.”

============================================

[Memphis]
(Trombley)

The drop ship descends into Memphis the conventional way, not the white-knuckle ride of a combat landing but an almost casual ride that almost feels like a landing back home at the TPU. The skids of the ship touchdown, the rear cargo doors fold down as we get out of our seats and gather your weapons. The scene outside looks like something out of a disaster movie. We step out onto the big square outside of the civil administration center and immediately lower our visors to seal our helmets against the acrid smoke of dozens of fires.

The riot was probably in full swing when we arrived overhead and in the distance we can see people running for cover, wisely yielding the square to the drop ship bristling with ordnance. At one end of the square, there is one of the bunkers where they give out BNA rations, and the glass inside is covered in blood, no doubt by a gunshot from inside. And on the ground next to the bunker lies the body of a riot cop next to the bullet-ridden corpse of a Lazarus brigade soldier. Her old American M4 missing no doubt stolen by one of the rioters. The front of the administration building is covered in scorch marks and most of the windows on the first floor have been shattered. I see shell casings from old fashioned brass cased ammunition everywhere.

“Let's move out! Find cover and watch your sectors!” the platoon splits up as directed and the first quad moves to the front left corner of the building at a run. Overhead second platoons dropship makes a noisy landing on the roof of the administration building. And I can here the hydraulic whining of the cargo ramp all the way down at street level with the enhanced audio pickup of my helmet speakers.

Behind us, our drop ship discourages the last members of third and fourth squads. I look back over my shoulder as the hatch on our ship closes and the pilot immediately goes gear up. Dropships are most vulnerable on the ground where they're sitting ducks to incoming fire. And their pilots don't like to spend one more moment than necessary with their skids on the dirt.

“There's shit for cover here sarge.” Stratton says over the squad channel. Use those pillars over there. Sergeant Forbes orders and our helmet displays briefly flash a target marker overlay.

The administration building has a second floor that overhangs the first one just a little. There are concrete pillars holding up the overhang at regular intervals. We hunker down near the pillars near our assigned building corner and scan the area for threats. The area around a civil center is usually the cleanest and safest patch of real estate in the PRC. If that is true here in Memphis six then judging by the fact that we can already see some of the rioters milling around, the rest of the place must be a complete dump.

=====================================================================

[PRC Memphis 6]
[MOTH Team-1]
(Fallon)

You can tell how a man died by the smell. A man who died of a gut wound smelled the worst, followed a close second by a guy who had suffered a grenade wound. Burn deaths smell like roast pig, cranial wounds smell strangely of fish someone told me it was the eyes, sometimes lung wounds smell of tobacco, heart wounds smell like blood metallic and coppery. The man on the ground below me had died of a head wound and the fishy smell of him filled my nostrils followed strangely by the smell of pig. Around me, the members of MOTH tema-1’s alpha platoon are spaced in an equilateral triangle as I stand next to Hijack.

We have been sent here to deal with the start of a, particularly bad welfare riot. In the past few weeks, there have been more and more Riots all triggered by one man a Rick Styles. Intelligence tracked him to PRC Memphis 6, and our mission is simple to find Rick Styles and neutralize him. That is until we saw this body in a neighborhood where he is known to operate, there are many other bodies in the street but this one stands out.

“Not a usual head wound, see the scoring around the edge? That's energy scoring but whatever did this much damage had to have enough mass to do this amount of damage, that means that what caused this was one of three things. One a very small plasma-based weapon, a high-intensity laser at point blank range, or an energy bolt.” Hijack says

“What like some of those bolts of energy fired by unicorns?” I ask probing the sound with my artificial hand.

“Could be, but no unicorn could even make it one foot on earth without getting shot on sight.” Hijack responds.

“Drones have eyes on the target.” Bishop the team leader says from off to my right.

“Copy let's move. Amp, Iceman take the point.” I flash my acknowledgment to Bishop who takes up a position beside Hijack as we advance.

As we advance along the sidewalk we begin to see more rioters begin to move into the street we had just vacated. A hydro car screams around a street corner almost one hundred meters from us, hanging from one of the rear windows a hood rat wields a black market assault rifle. We were going let the car pass but that was until the guy levels the weapon at us, in response one of the caterpillars lets one round fly from his M-90 LHO rifle. The car explodes spectacularly as the depleted uranium tipped round designed to wound or kill Lankys slams into the engine block dispensing its aerosolized high explosive and detonates.

====================================================

(Miiora)

The buildings I had once thought would be beautiful in their rustic human design are all dilapidated, most of the windows are boarded up and there are gaps in the rows of houses where old buildings have been partially stripped and torn down for raw materials. Most of the strangely designed human street eliminators are out and I have a feeling that if it wasn't for my natural night vision, and the infrared enhanced feed from the sensors mounted on my helmet I wouldn't be able to see much in the late evening darkness.

“Where the is everypo- everybody?” I ask accidentally slipping up and reverting to the UEC method of speech.

“Waiting for the dropships to be out of sight.” Hanson responds tersely. Overhead second platoons dropship lifts off and roars into the dirty night sky. There is the bang of a breaching charge as the second platoon detonates the rooftop access door. Everything is going like clockwork…

“Uh’oh!” somepony says over the squad channel. My tactical display lights up with hundreds of red diamond symbols as the rioters come out of cover and stream back toward the admin key. I have no Idea how those back alleys and dark lots could hold so many humans just out of sight. Now they're streaming back into the street first in pairs, then dozens, and finally hundreds. I check the tactical map and the same scene is repeating itself on the plaza where the fourth squad keeps watch

“I believe we have incoming.” Blurg booms over the platoon channel and he sound as calm as if he was telling us that his species evolved from spiders.

“No shit. Put some gas rounds into those launchers.” Forbes replies.

The loops on the front of my battle armor hold two clutches of grenades for my rifles launcher, twelve I believe the human number is. Two of them are rubber rounds, three buckshot rounds, one is a standard HE round and the remaining six are chemical crowd control munitions. The kind the human military rather jovially call “Less Lethal” which is technically a true designation. For truth in presentation, however, the term should be “Very slightly less lethal”.

There filled with a particularly unpleasant chemical agent that will creep through any mask or filter short of shield battle armor. In basic, we all had to endure ten seconds of exposure to the riot gas in the chemical warfare portion of our training. And I know that whatever the humans put into those grenades makes anyone on the receiving end wish they had been shot with live ammunition instead.

I pluck a gas grenade from my harness and stuff it into the grenade launcher. To my right, my squadmates are following suit. With the exception of Trombley who doesn't use an M-66. I scan the gathering crowd for weapons and I am unsettled to see that just about everyone out there carries something suitable for stabbing, clubbing, or shooting. On the UEC Homeworld a mob like this would be dealt with fast and could never be in the first place, do in part to the vast population difference between Earth and Equis, and the general mindset of the inhabitants.

Humans are an aggressive species, do impart to their vast range of emotions, and contradictory ideas but that makes them so appealing to virtually every other race in the UEC. Earth and Humanity are like a Mirror of Equis and its native species. It is fascinating, but my fascination with the species won't protect me from the comparatively better off humans of this PRC if they only knew that these conditions were only a fraction of what the UEC slave cast must deal with. But despite these thoughts, I to my horror feel no guilt as I sight in on the encroaching crowd.

“DO NOT APPROACH!” Forbes tells our commo kits have a public address function which we rarely ever use outside of playing pranks on platoon mates.

“DISPERSE AT ONCE OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!” The crowd responds with angry shouts and by now the crowd is close enough to throw stuff at us, which they do with enthusiasm.

“Launchers Free. Live ammo only as Self Defence.” Forbes orders.

We are nine troopers seven of us are from different branches of the military, two of us are Formers, and all of us are in the Transient personnel unit which means we were never meant to fight together. The crowd in front of us, however, numbers in the hundreds, we’re outnumbered fifty to one and if they overrun our position they’ll beat or stab us to death. On the most part, I have never been scared of humans save for one or two. But now facing a tidal wave of Humanity at its most primal I begin to feel the first tendrils of fear. That makes this event a self-defense scenario by definition in my book, but I obey and keep by claw away from the trigger of my rifle.

Around me, my squad mates are sighting in their launchers and I join in, aiming at the middle of the advancing crowd. The alien rifle bucks in my claws as I launch a grenade into the first row of rioters. The grenade explodes with a muffled crack and suddenly there is a cloud of white crowd control agent expanding from the impact point. Between our eight grenades, the entire width of the street is covered in white smoke, the gas has stopped the movement of the flood of humanity instantly. And I watch as “one hundred?” of their number gasp for air on their hands and knees.

We fire another round of grenades farther into their ranks into the crowd that is now scattering to avoid the noxious white gas. To our left gunshots are crackling across the plaza in front of the Admin key where the fourth squad is holding the line. The gunfire doesn't sound like the horse high pitched report of the NAC service rifle but rather the popping noise of UEC weapons fire. Then I remember that Humanity at one point in their history used weapons eerily similar to the UEC’s current weapons. A few moments later fourth squad returns fire, first one rifle then two firing short bursts of flechette rounds in response and it looks like things are swiftly curling tail.

“Mind your sectors! Anyone shoots live rounds you shoot tight the hell back!” Forbes yells

The crowd is now mostly in disarray, but it looks like some of them still have a fight on their minds.There's a burst of gunfire from the edge of the riot, the sharp staccato of an automatic weapon. To my right, Kile yells as several rounds hit his battle armor. He stumbles, regains his footing, and then scurries behind cover like a man trying to get out of a sudden hail storm. The first burst of live fire from the crowd means the gloves are coming off and I flick off the safety catch in front of the rifle's trigger. When the shooter fires another burst the thermal bloom from his weapon shows up like a signal flare. I aim my rifle at the rioter and squeeze the trigger, the shooter drops in a cloud of concrete dust. Now there are shots ringing out all over the street in front of us, some of the rioters scatter out of the line of fire and others regain their courage and come back surging toward us. Throwing objects and shouting decidedly unfriendly words.

“Be advised, I have women and children in my line of fire.” Phillip comes over the tac link.

“Are you ordering me to fire into the crowd, over?” Hanson asks

“YES GOD DAMN IT, WASTE THE MOTHERFUCKERS!” the platoon commander yells as a titanic screech fills the air.

“ENGAGE! ENGAGE! OPEN FIRE!” Forbes yells. As we surge forward to engage something hits Blurg in the chest blowing the Kleese off of his legs and rendering him to chunks of chitin and green matter.

============================================================

(Fallon)

We are currently engaging the target, his bodyguards have backed him into the park surrounded by large rocks. Unfortunately, some of the armed civilians have joined in on the side of Styles. To their back lies the large and damaged husk of a Lanky seed pod that landed during the second battle of earth.The scale of these fifth gen PRC’s around us is overwhelming. Each block a self-contained unit of four towers. That reach one hundred floors into the night sky over one thousand vertical feet.

The massive black slab is illuminated by the fires and looms ominously before a bright green flash like a flash bang grenade illuminates. The light is so bright that my helmet's visor has to dim to protect my eyes, and when my sight returns I see the pastel chitinous carapace of a changeling. It looking around I can't seem to see what happened except that the seedpod doesn't have any graffiti on it. I raise my rifle only to get hit in the shoulder and forced back into cover. We are about one hundred meters from the entrance of a fourth-gen housing block, four hundred floor towers forming a square with ten-meter tall concrete walls on the outside.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Hijack yells. All fire in the park stops as a titanic crash fills the air, followed by a sound like rock sliding against a rock. One of the Lazarus brigade troopers that arrived to lend us support raises his ancient M4 and begins firing into the air. I look around the corner to see the Changeling going on a monolog like all UEC personnel do for some reason, before shooting him in the head.

There is a titanic stretch like nothing on earth. A titanic trilling whale that rocks us to the bone and despite my helmet cutting all external audio I feel like i have just had ice picks jammed into my ears. All around me I can see that some people not wearing battle armor rolling on the ground covering their bleeding ears. Then the ground shakes and I look over to the position of the pod where the Changeling was, nothing there. I remember the Lazarus trooper and look in the direction he has shooting and is greeted with a massive three fingered hand grasp the edge of the now gaping maw of the pod. I don't need to see the rest of its body to know what is unfolding itself from the fifty-year-old, damaged seedpod.

“BACK UP NOW!” I hear Bishop yell into the comm there is no hesitation before the Cazadores response.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScNNfyq3d_w

“Standby for Atlas Fall.” There is a thunderous roar as three Cazador dropships swoop down from nowhere and drop their payloads. Three Atlas mechs land with a crash, one green with yellow lights, one black blue lights, and one white with red lights.

“Iceman, Amp, Hijack provide cover fire for us. FALL BACK!” As one of the dropships flies to the left of the seed pod, another massive slab of the seedpod slides upwards and a massive hand snaps out. Swatting the drop ship from the air like a toy, I can hear the screams of the dropships crew as it careens into a building and explodes.

I sprint towards SD using my jump jets for a burst of speed. SD’s massive hand reaches out and wraps its fingers around my waist and torso. Before lifting me off of my feet and into the cockpit, after the startup sequence, the panoramic view of SD’s cameras fills my vision. And below shards fly up as my feet crunched into the gravel under foot. That's right I no longer thought of those feet as SD’s but mine. I was SD-0624 now an Atlas mech designed for combat, bread dealing death. I was reborn as a being of ceramic, steel, servo motors, bullets no one, not man, not pony, not even Lanky can defy me. I almost wish one of the big bastards would come out already so I can prove myself. Then again that probably wasn't a good Idea “Don't fall for your own bullshit Fallon" I tell myself.

=====================================================

(Trombley)

By the end of we have lost Blurg, Hanson, Phillip, and Kile. Leaving us with only myself, Forbes, Miiora, and Starron. As the rioter hits the ground a thunderous explosion echoes throughout the PRC. The sound of tires screeching assaults my ears as three old U.S LAV’s scream around a corner followed closely by the angled form of an old Abrams tank. All of these vehicles have an LB symbol painted on the side, and as they pass us the more familiar design of two Mules roll up to us as the unmistakable forms of three Grizzly main battle tanks roll past at full speed.

“Attention all ground units, attention all ground units, Lanky incursion at sector sixty-one, point nine section eight.”

“Sir request permission to go with the mules?”

“GO!”

“Let's MOVE PEOPLE!” Forbes yells

What's left of third squad piles into the Mule and we begin thundering down the road. We are jostled and thrown around the cab as the mule damn near drifts around corners and finally thrown into one another as the vehicle comes to a screeching halt. When we exit the vehicle our helmets immediately cut the audio, in the streets, there is a mish-mash of Lazarus, hood rats, and HD troops all firing their weapons at something. We are about to round the corner when the massive clawed foot of an atlas slams down in front of us. Looking up I see that it is the bipedal form of a green Atlas mech firing around the corner. It pulls back from around the corner as a massive stone slams into the building beside it.

“Wait.” a familiar voice comes over the speaker. That's when the ground shakes and a tank comes flying down the street like a missile and slams into a group of armed hood rats. The Atlas then holds its autocannon in one hand before giving the squad the knife hands bathing us in the golden light of its sensor bulbs, and giving us the advance hand signal.

The first squad surges around the corner to see one of the large eighty-foot aliens fall to its knees, as one of the three atlas units on our HUD scores a solid hit on its knee joint. It emits a pained wail as it swipes its massive arm to the side batting aside a squad of Lazarus brigade troops crushing their bones. Their body's pinwheel through the air bonelessly and they crash into the concrete walls of a building where they stop with a wet crunch as every organ and bone in their body explode. It then raises its other arm grabbing one of the HD troops and throws her behind it like a toy. Her screams fill the net as she sails into the night through the dust and smoke.

On the ground beside the two Lankies, another lanky lies motionless its body covered in holes. I raise my weapon followed by the others and we empty our magazines into the lankies. Our rounds bounce harmlessly against the lanky's thick hide. Then there is a zipper sound as a two Cazador dropships let loose with their rotary autocannons. One of the Lanky's bellows in pain as a dragonfly's launches a pair of AT missiles into its side.

================================================

(Miiora)

The human's rage at being attacked by these great beasts of Ivory colored hide is frightening. The rioters who were once shooting at us are now streaming passed us in droves firing any weapon they have. Those who can't fight are running ammunition and to the NAC troopers who can. There are humans dying in droves their bodies being broken by the beasts all in an attempt to keep them from leaving the park. The looks of the purest anger I have ever seen mark their faces, many of the HD troopers have their visors raised, teeth bared, and eyes wide as they pore magazines into the Lanky's.

The beast that was just hit with a pair of missiles raises to its full height and snatching one of the dragonfly’s out of the sky before crushing it in its hand. It then lowers its cranial shield in front of its body deflecting a round of tank shells, before taking a step to the left picking up another tank and throwing it into a building. However this left it open and with another barrage of missiles, tank shells, and Atlas fire the Lankys entire arm is blown right off at the shoulder.

The beast falls to the ground trying to use its other arm to catch itself, but the enraged humans don't give it the chance. A rocket sails through the air toward the lanky before impacting the creature in the sternum. The rocket punches right through the hide of the lanky and explodes. Now with its insides on the outside, the lanky dies in pain. A chilling cheer goes through the crowd of humans.

The final lanky falls quickly to the combined fire of the vehicles and Atlas’s. As it flails helplessly like a frightened wounded animal, the humans begin firing everything they possess into the Ivory creature. The three Atlas mechs leap onto the creature's chest and began firing into it, one of them a white atlas with red eyes unsheathes swivels a large black blade from around its shoulder. The machine slices the beast open and the other two machines walk over and began firing into the opening. Soon this beat too falls still and the only sound in the area is the sound of burning fires. Then the white atlas walks over to the downed form of a rioter beside the massive pillar of obsession colored material before bending over to pick something up. Climbing back up onto the dead behemoth one of the Cazador dropships shines its searchlight on the atlas. There suspended by the mane in the hand of the atlas is the dead body of a new breed Changeling. The next thing I know there the thunderous chorus of cheers coming from the humans around me.

============================================================

[Mars approach, one week later]
[COG fleet twenty-six]
[NACS-22058.2 Manitoba]

(Fallon)

The gang's all here my brothers in MOTH team-1, the fighting ninth, and my squad. Trombley, Forbes, Snafu, the new guy Stratton, and finally Miiora. The Twenty-ninth fleet has been dispatched to deal with the UEC fleet currently engaged in the Binary star system Ross 154 to aid the Independent colony of Helgan. The UEC tried to unsettle us by trying to start riots and somehow repairing a damaged Lanky seedpod in the middle of a PRC. But what they didn't know was that if there is one thing you don't do, it's starting a fight in a PRC that you can't finish.

But for now, we stand before Mars, we remember the fallen, we stand the watch.

Author's Notes:

I am looking for an editor, PM me if you are interested.

And what did you think? I was planning this chapter since chapter six and I hope it meets your standards and portrays the condition of the earth.

Thank you so much for waiting so long for me to get this chapter out.