Floating stars, flitting souls of all the dead, who knew no fear. Lives turned into nothing by the fire of weapons beyond his understanding. Hundreds, gone. Injured, by the dozens. Those who made it back, returned only to die later on. Those lucky would spend, the rest of their brief lives mutilated in body and mind. A shot of realization, considering the world. Tiny and feeble, yet filled with life to the brim, then plunged into disarray, by a mere shard of another society. Their greatest gift, unity, individuality, overpowered the conflict. The man who divided, was no more than different. People change, as they say, for better or worse. Arcturus looked at his body, armored with metallic plates, his chitinous exterior adorned with etchings purely to mark individuality. He cherished them, looked up to them; the very embodiment of what he strived for. They allowed him into their city, a city of mechanical marvels, that made his wishes, grow even stronger. To lead his people, into a brighter future.

He looked up at the stars, to a large cluster, artificial. The wind brushed the grass, gently. He closed his eyes, the canons of Apex fired a volley of death. For hours, a lightshow had taken place. Small beacons of light, approaching the large cluster, sometimes straying away, sometimes fired upon, to fall onto the planet, burning.

His eyes shot open, a scream of agony, coming from a dropship that recently arrived at the triage camp, perhaps even morgue. From the metallic contraption, a man was carried out, screaming in pain, only one arm left on his body. Following, concerned changelings and ponies, helping each other as they limped out. Not an easy task, he took his eyes away from the dying man, and looked at those who were once enemies, now turned allies. The first batch it was, to have only a single injured, that one being the human. He sighed, sacrifice all around. No matter the reason, the races united, for a single goal. Impressive feat for the humans, to sacrifice themselves for the native inhabitants. A simple disagreement, turned to war. He understood, as war was never justified. It simply occurred.

“I... am sorry, Arcturus” the pony next to him muttered. “So many of your people are sacrificing themselves...”

“We chose this, dear Luna.” He continued to look at the stars. The cannons of Apex fired, shaking the ground with each blast.

Luna sighed, following the changeling’s gaze to the stars. Infinite, some not hers, some unruled by all. “Is it worth it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you believe this war is worth the pain you are suffering?” she asked once again.

Arcturus looked at the ground. Pain. “Yes... We must break free from our shackles if we are to reach true individuality, and helping you is the best that we can do to achieve redemption...”

“What about yourself? What is your opinion on this? Show me your individuality.”

He sighed. “This war sparked it all. I was but a mere drone before all of this, and now I’m the representant of my entire species.” Arcturus shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s in my nature to act as a drone, but I will not allow my instincts to get the best of me.”

Silverback is just different,” he sighed out, “and I will not blame him for that. Nobody is right in this war; we just do what we have to do. In this case, my kind sought to rebuild our relations with you, so we could be redeemed.

He looked into the eyes of Luna. “We rebelled, we fought, we bled, and we changed... I’m not letting our efforts go to waste... Nor will I allow yours go to waste.”

“Come to the nightmare...” one of the technicians muttered, welding the external exoskeleton onto his already armored leg. All around, they worked flawlessly. Years of training compiled into one process. The mechanical arms around the chamber stood in silence, unable to perform the given task. A spark. The piece was set.

“Come to me...” the man said.

“You will bring light onto your foes...” Two other men hefted a heavy device that coupled onto his power pack, leaving two photon cannons resting upon his shoulders. They soon began welding it to his armor as well.

“And I shall turn them into ashes...”

The woman working on his left arm continued, “And with this shield...” Once connected to the exoframe--an addition to his normal armor--the device on his left forearm lit up, producing a bright blue shield, conjured from photonic resonance.

“I shall defend...”

“But with this weapon...” the woman to his right finished coupling the pulse scatter cannon on his right forearm. With minimal force, he lifted his arm, looking at the plasma blades that sat on the tip of the weapon. He cocked it, ejecting a thermal clip.

“I shall avenge...”

In complete silence the six technicians finished their work, stepping back to see the result. In the chamber, a massive man stood still. His armor, reinforced by plates of kinetic dampeners, covered the additional exoskeleton that was placed right over his normal suit. At least five layers of physical armor, three of them belonging to his “Tactical” suit, including the Syntex layer. A good few tons, he estimated, yet he felt as light as ever. On his left arm, a shield. On the right arm, a weapon. A walking tank of a man. The technicians did nothing but stare at him.

“And your name is...” they said in unison.

“My name...” the giant broke away from the myriad of cables on hoses attached to him, easily, as if they were nothing. “Is...” His suit powered up, making his visor light up in an orange hue. “Atlas...” He primed the cannon on his right arm, taking a step forwards, making the entire chamber shake under his weight.

Atlas looked down at one of the technicians, nodding.

“Go on, Commander. Your division is waiting for you.”

“Understood...” The men and women, looking up at him at him with pride, parted away to make way for the giant to pass. His steps thundering, his figure massive. Ages had passed ever since he had been given such firepower, yet, he knew not to step out of line. Leadership, though, was a matter beyond his known capabilities. He glanced at his shoulder pads as he continued walking, exiting the armoring chamber. Blue, signaling command. He recalled times long past, when his mind was nothing but blank. No thoughts, simply void, another drone.

The heavy troopers around the armory, geared similarly to Atlas, fell in silence upon seeing him walk out of the chamber. He regarded them curiously from behind his faceplate, unsure. Dozens of ways to proceed, little time to decide.

“We’re the third wave,” he began, “the bulk of the attack. We’re already driving Silverback out of Trottingham, and we’ll deliver the final punch.”

He pointed his finger at them. “Raiders lead the way, and we follow them. We make the way safe.”

“Some of you think I’m a mutant, an abomination.” Atlas began pacing around the room. “Truth is, I’ve been serving the USC for hundreds of years. They used me as a tool, then washed their hands and disposed of me, but I’m still fighting. I’m still walking.”

“Now we’re lost here, but that doesn’t mean we’re not Guardsmen!” He halted, looking at the troopers. “For the inhabitants of this planet, we’ll bring out wrath upon our enemies. I’ve fought humans before, and our ancestors did the same. Don’t let panic go to your heads, because they’ll shoot back at you.”

Atlas growled, “I don’t care what you think of me, so long as you stand by my side and fight with me. The USC can do whatever the hell it wants with me after this is done.”

He stomped his foot on the floor. “Now I ask you...” He loaded the cannon on his right arm. “Are you gonna fight with me!?”

“Sir yes sir!”

“Of course you are!” Atlas exclaimed. “Now haul ass to the hangar!”

He sighed, muffled by his faceplate, looking at the heavies rush out of the armory. Not one lagged behind, but him. He calmly followed suit, thundering steps that echoed throughout the halls. Preparing, for the final fight. He had an objective, one that mattered, and nothing would stand in his path. Fear, the inevitable feeling, crossing his three hearts. Despite that, he continued to walk. Troopers saluted him as he made his way, but he paid no mind, he never did. A salute meant very little to him; such a thing was quick to lose importance after a few centuries.

Atlas reached the blast door to the hangar. It opened for him, making way for the giant to pass onto the large, metallic field that held his own forces. The light, blinding, his visor polarizing to give him comfort. Dropships flying in and out, carrying those who would fight alongside him. A tram sped past the line set on the upper side of the hangar. He approached one of the dropships, its ramp touching the floor. He looked inside, to find no more than a few armored changelings who stood, in awe at the myriad of machines and men, little difference between the two. One of the creatures, he recognized as the leading figure of their race.

“Arcturus, isn’t it?” he said, leaning in. The awestruck changelings looked up at him, every single one of them sitting on their haunches. “I’m Commander Atlas. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He extended his left hand towards the largest changeling, who shakily smiled and offered his hoof. Careful not to grasp too hard, Atlas then let go. “Something wrong?” he asked soon after.

“I never thought I would be inside the Vector...” a female changeling muttered.

“I-it’s amazing!”

“W-Who should take the first step?” They all looked at Arcturus.

“Please,” he calmly spoke. “You hold more right than me. Do not let the old ways crawl back into your minds, for you are as worthy of this as I am.”

The first changeling, the smallest one, stood up, and gingerly set his hooves onto the floor of the hangar. He smiled, motioning for the others to approach. Soon enough, the group of changelings were standing amongst the many humans all around. They each marveled at the sight, Arcturus approached and stood next to the giant, who did nothing but examine his armament.

Atlas huffed. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“Yes...” Arcturus smiled. “There is a great difference between watching it from orbit and seeing it from the planet, let alone actually being in it.”

“Attention,” the deep and cybernetic voice of the ship bellowed. “Prepare for immediate deployment.”

“That’s us,” the man sighed, looking down at Arcturus. “You’re going with me. Come on.” He motioned for the changeling to follow.

Everyone was at full alert now. The ship sounded its general alarm and flashing red lights created a cover to set the mood. Heavies in charge of directing the changelings, hastily explaining tactics, preparing them for war, before assigning them to a dropship. A mix of fear and eagerness, could be seen on their faces. Between their idols, they fought not to show cowardice. For them, the battle meant redemption. Atlas understood.

He led Arcturus into a large dropship. Once inside, he stood in front of one of the sidewalls and activated the magnetic locks on his armor, planting himself tightly against the vessel. As Arcturus looked up at him inquisitively, Atlas snatched him from the floor and held him close, then looked at the other heavies in the dropship. “Grab a changeling if you can, ‘cause this is gonna be one hell of a ride!”

The heavies leaned down and picked their respective changelings. “What do you mean by that, Commander?” Arcturus asked.

“Lots of activity going on in orbit. Silverback is prodding our defenses, and there’s also a lot of anti-air fire coming from Trottingham.” Atlas took a deep breath and sighed it out as the vessel’s ramp closed itself.

The hum of the ship’s engines built up, signaling the start. “This is Helldiver Six,” the pilot called out through the loudspeakers. “Mission is go! I repeat, mission is a go! Code: launch, deploy, execute!”

Silence. Not a soul dared to speak as the dropship flew out of the Vector and into the void of space. A stray projectile shook the vessel.

“Sum’ ride, eh?” a heavy said, looking at the terrified changeling he held in his arm. “How’re you doin’ buddy?”

“A-are we going to make it?”

“You can bet your ass we are,” another heavy said.

“So how’re you guys gonna name your ‘lings? I call dibs on ‘Pepper’!”

“Gingerbread!”

“Fleas!”

“Shut the hell up already!”

As if on cue, a loud blast shook the entire craft. The lights flickered, the pilot yelled out, “We’ve been hit! Somebody man the fucking tail gun!”

Atlas punched a button on the wall next to him, and several oxygen masks dropped out of their compartments. “Think you can stop yourself from being thrown into space?” he asked, receiving a shaky nod from Arcturus. He set the changeling on the floor, making sure he fastened the mask around his snout. Once he had checked that the other quadrupeds had done the same, he pulled a lever on the ceiling, which lowered the ramp. The air was almost sucked out, but the ship soon entered the atmosphere of the planet. An autocannon descended from a hatch on the ceiling, waiting for Atlas to grab a hold of it.

His eyes adjusted to the light coming from the planet, and he activated the magnetic soles of his boots just as the vessel began to engage in evasive maneuvers. He grabbed the handles of the cannon, and spotted a few gunships heading towards him. He released a bestial battle cry, pressing the trigger, sending a barrage of shells towards the incoming ships.

One was hit, lighting up in a ball of flames as it fell to the planet, burning against the atmosphere. Three left. They rolled in the void of space and launched a volley of missiles. Atlas aimed the cannon at the missiles, shooting them down, never bothering to release the trigger. He continued to fire, following the gunships with his line of shells. Another went down, crashing into the one next to it. He let go of the trigger and carefully aimed towards the last vessel.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, buddy...” He frowned and pressed the trigger once again, only to receive a dry click. A small screen on the weapon displayed the words “Overheating!”

Sighing, Atlas looked over his shoulder, at the group of changelings and heavies. “I’ll see you on the surface.”

With a running start, he leaped off of the ship, engaging his suit’s ion thrusters. The remaining gunship spotted him, breaking off from its trajectory and locking onto him. He continued to accelerate past the sound barrier, heading onto a crash route with the gunship.

“Come on, you bastard...”

The gunship pulled a hard turn, and he followed suit. He extended his arm to grab onto it, his energy shields burning against the vessels thrusters. His fingers dug forcefully into the metal, allowing him to pull himself onto the ship. The pilot tried to shake him off, to no avail. The magnetic boots were already locked. Atlas carefully approached the cockpit, digging his fingers in between the frame and hull, forcing it open. He received a gunshot directed at the chestplate from the pilot, who worked fast to undo the seat. Atlas finished pulling the cabin apart, exposing the man, just in time for him to jump out of the cockpit and grab onto the giant, who disengaged his magnetic locks and lit up his thrusters, leaving the downed vessel to burn against the air of the planet.

Atlas grabbed a hold of the man’s neck, who retrieved a plasma knife from his belt and desperately stabbed Atlas’ neck guard as they plummeted from orbit. He smacked the knife away and threw a skull breaking punch at the pilot’s head. Their energy shields began to burn against the air, going at several times the speed of sound. Atlas grunted as the pilot tried to pry his hand off of his neck. He aimed the two photon cannons on his shoulders at the man’s head, reducing it to nothing more than ashes.

Letting go of the corpse, Atlas lit up his ion thrusters once again, reducing the speed at which he fell. His visor sparked up, showing him the direction in which Trottingham was located.

He stood up shortly after landing in the streets of the burning city, finding himself inside a crater left as a result of the impact. Atlas looked up at the stars, witnessing the raging battle that was taking place even outside the planet. Smoke pillars, rising from every corner of the city, obscuring most of the night. His breathing, heavy, he craned his neck back down to the streets. Empty, alone. The sounds of the burning buildings, gunfire, cannons, and distant screams, only there to accent the cruel truth of the war.

Whilst catching his breath, he muttered, “Set sub-objective... Find Lieutenant Torres.”

“Objective added. Lieutenant Torres located. Setting waypoint.”

Atlas lifted his right arm, cocking the pulse cannon attached to it. “Lifesigns?”

“Information unavailable.”

“Shit...”

Atlas began a slow pace through the desolate city. As a precautionary measure, he turned on the energy shield of his left arm. The smoke, hiding everything beyond the far side of the street. Nothing but the distant sounds of war and his thundering steps. A thud. He turned, to see nothing more than a few pebbles falling from a crumbling building. Sighing, he continued to move, following the marker set by his onboard computer.

The smoke began to dissipate, revealing what lay beyond his sensors. Corpses. Human, changeling, pony. Race mattered none. He grimaced upon seeing the mangled and burnt carcasses of foe and ally. His route was blocked. Quickly, he looked around for an alternate path, finding a cramped alley. A quick glance to see if anything was nearby. Nothing. Atlas moved on, into the new path, cracking the pavement with each step he took.

Barely fitting into the alley, he avoided the mangled corpses of those unlucky enough to not escape the carnage. He avoided thinking about anything else except Torres. Before rounding a corner, he halted. A thud, a scream of pain, followed by another thud. He carefully peeked around the corner, only exposing his head.

“So what do you think these things are?”

“They look like bugs to me.”

“I’m a-” A kick to the ribs. “Ch-changeling...”

Atlas took a deep breath, standing upright once more. He gently kicked a small rock, sending it flying against a nearby wall.

The kicking stopped. “Go check that out, I’ll cover you.”

Steps approaching, heartbeat increasing. Atlas glanced at his right arm, lighting up the plasma blades that sat at the tip of the pulse cannon. The shadow of the man, growing closer. At the last second, he lashed out, rounding the corner and jabbing the blades into the man’s gut, with enough force to pierce the armor. He lifted the man up, who clung onto his arm. The other stared in shock as Atlas fired the cannon, ripping him in half, bathing the beholders in blood. He cocked the cannon. The remaining trooper fired, projectiles blocked by the shield on his left arm, others dug into the armor of his legs. The giant fired the pulse cannon, ripping the other man apart.

Atlas approached the downed changeling, popping out a spent thermal clip of his cannon. He crouched down. “What wave are you from?”

“T-two...”

“You all that’s left?” he asked, receiving a nod from the changeling.

The giant looked up upon hearing several troopers heading into the alley. “Run, I’ll distract them.” He stood up, gritting his teeth, and ran all the way to the exit of the alley and into one of Trottingham’s plazas, just in time to catch a man off guard, slamming into him and sending him a good few meters away. The others opened fire on him. Atlas grunted as he was hit by the projectiles, managing to block some with his shield before charging at them. He hit one, then finished him off with the pulse cannon, projectiles being absorbed by his armor all the while. The next one was stabbed in the head by the plasma blades as Atlas loaded another shell into the cannon, then pulled the blades out of the man’s head and fired a pulse shot into another, blowing his leg off.

The last remaining man kept firing at him while running for cover, the projectiles digging deep into Atlas’ armor, the many layers barely containing the shells at that point. He cocked the pulse cannon and fired it, turning the trooper’s head into a mess of grey matter and blood.

Atlas, breathing heavily, knelt down in pain. His suit began to dispense a mixture of drugs as it worked on healing his wounds. He briefly acknowledged the alert reading “DANGER, ARMOR LEVELS CRITICAL, REPAIR ADVISED”. Soon, he stood back up, walking once more, his only concern being the marker displayed by his visor.

A few dozen meters. He walked, paying no heed to the burning plaza. His walk began to turn into a sprint. Keeping the shield in front of himself. The sound of his steps, the distant sounds of battle, faded away, leaving only his breathing. His body in pain. Torres had to be found.

Following the marker, he stopped right in front of a building, bashing his shoulder into the door and crouching through it. The darkness overwhelming, his suit’s flashlights turned on. He looked around, corpses of ponies, changelings, and a few Raiders.

“Torres!?”

A cough. He turned, to see a single Raider sitting against a wall. He slowly walked over to her, noticing the various wounds on her body. His visor unable to display her information, looked down at her, grunting in pain as he kneeled down.

“Torres... That you?”

The Raider looked up at him, her helmet broken. “A-Atlas...?”

“Can you move?” Atlas asked, glancing over at the doorway, to spot several enemy troopers and heavies heading towards the building.

“I can’t feel my legs...” Torres muttered.

“Shit...” Atlas cocked his pulse cannon. “I’ll get you out of here after I deal with these guys...”

Torres extended her arm, Atlas gently grabbing her hand. “Too many of t-them... You know we won’t make it...”

Atlas looked down, sighing. “I know...”

“But kick as much ass as you can... For me...”

Behind his faceplate, the giant frowned. “That I can do.” He let go of her hand and made his way over to the doorway, exposing himself to the dozens of men, including heavies, that stood outside.

His suit lit up, steam shooting out of the seams as a small turbine on his back powered up with a loud roar. His visor tagged every single enemy in red as the words “Engaging overdrive,” appeared. Both his and the syntex muscle tenses up, locking his armor in place. Bullets were being shrugged off as he set his pulse cannon in automatic, expelling dozens of thermal clips in mere seconds. He watched while letting out a loud battle cry as his cannon mowed down the waves of men and women, mutilating them instantly into a mess of limbs and organs. The barrage of projectiles hitting him began to pierce his armor, forcing him to slowly back up into the building. He fell to his knees, the pulse cannon glowing red. “I’m not dead yet!” he yelled as a missile appeared from the swarm of bullets.

Atlas opened his eyes, his visor gone. Agonizing pain. He lay inside the building, amongst the many corpses. He looked at his body, seeing that most of the armor was gone, leaving burnt skin and flesh instead. He tried to move, receiving searing pain that spread throughout his body, yet he managed to crawl with the one arm he had left. He slowly, painfully, made his way over to Torres, who took off her helmet and sighed, holding her stomach with her other hand.

The giant sat against the wall next to her, leaving a trail of blood behind him. “I’m gonna... get you out of here...”

“You... You sure about that?” Torres muttered. The sounds of the incoming troopers growing stronger.

“I can still fight...”

Torres chuckled. “Never giving up, are ya’?” She smiled and looked up at him. “Take off your helmet... I wanna see your face one last time...”

Shakily, Atlas undid his whole helmet, a stream of gas shooting out of it. He tossed it away, and looked at Torres, who had snuggled up against him. They both smiled at each other, Atlas wrapping his arm around her. Both of them closed their eyes as the troopers entered the building.