They all woke up at once.
As if bound by some invisible command, the Dawnbreakers stirred near-simultaneously. Aera was already upright, perched on a crate near the exit, her journal tucked under one arm and her rifle resting across her knees. The others blinked away sleep like soldiers conditioned for a battlefield, not a bunk.
It was uncanny.
Years of training… or instinct born from surviving too many near-deaths.
Elian was the first to speak, his voice gravel-thick. "We all feel that?"
Selene checked her chronometer. "One minute past dawn. Exactly."
Aera gave a faint smile. "Guess I don't need to blow a whistle anymore."
No one laughed, but there were a few half-smiles. It was enough.
By the time gear was checked and rations shared, the sun had begun its slow climb over the toxic veil of the Whispering Hollows. The Dawnbreakers stepped out from the ruined bunker, faces wrapped in reactive filters, eyes scanning the pale, orange-tinted horizon.
The air here was deceptive—clear at first glance, but laced with volatile compounds: methane pockets, trace radon, and something that corroded circuitry as if the Hollow hated anything made by man. Aera's datapad had a route drawn to their next marker: a stable ridge near the Hollow's southern exit, which would lead them into the eastern flats and eventually toward the outskirts of the Lucent-controlled city of Narethos.
Their boots sank slightly into the ash-slicked ground. Every step through this place was a gamble.
For an hour, they walked in silence—cutting through sulfur plumes and keeping a tight formation. The Hollow breathed around them. Sometimes, it sounded like whispers. Other times, it was simply the creaking of the wind against old metal bones.
And then it came.
A tremor.
Just a whisper at first—barely felt. But then another. And another.
"Hold," Elian muttered, raising a fist.
The squad froze. Weapons unholstered.
A low mechanical hum rolled over the dunes, growing louder with each step.
Then, over a jagged hill of rusted debris, they appeared.
Rogue mechs. Three of them.
No insignias. No clean plating. They were ancient war machines, their joints wrapped in frayed cables, their hulls scorched and rusted. Scavenger units. AI-corrupted remnants of the Old War, programmed to destroy anything warm-blooded.
Each stood three meters tall, built for shock combat—heavy plating on their chest and arms, with high-output core engines protruding from their backs like fused vertebrae.
The lead mech spotted them.
Its eyes flared red.
And then it charged.
"Scatter!" Aera shouted.
The squad split. Energy blasts tore through the ridge they'd just crossed, melting rock and sending up a plume of toxic dust. Aera rolled behind a bent highway beam, raised her rifle, and fired—shots ricocheting off the mech's armored leg.
"Focus on the joints!" Elian called, already flanking the right. "They're old models—they'll overcompensate!"
One of the Dawnbreakers tossed a fragmentation charge—timed perfectly to explode beneath the second mech's chassis. It staggered, sparking.
The third opened fire from a distance—its twin repeaters glowing with charged energy. Aera sprinted forward, weaving between jagged debris, her eyes locked on the red core at the center of the first mech's chest. She vaulted over a broken girder and slammed her blade into the plating at its shoulder, the alloy shrieking against reinforced synthbone.
Selene and Rourke drew its attention from the left, peppering it with suppressive fire.
"We're splitting their attention! Keep pressure—don't let them regroup!" Elian barked.
The second mech, injured but not downed, lunged at Kira. She ducked under the swing and tossed an EMP spike at its foot, disabling the actuator. It fell with a mechanical shriek.
One down.
The third let out a modulated roar, its AI corrupted into something primal. Aera turned and launched a grappling line, swinging onto its back just as it prepared to fire.
"NOW!" she shouted.
Elian fired two shots—perfectly placed. The reactor core flared… and exploded.
The last mech collapsed with a thunderous crash, sending up clouds of irradiated dust.
Silence returned, broken only by labored breathing and the whir of cooling weapons.
The Dawnbreakers stood among the wreckage.
Burnt metal. Singed earth. Black smoke curling into the morning air.
They had survived.
Again.
Aera pulled off her helmet, sweat running down her temple. "They were ancient… should've rusted to pieces by now."
"They didn't," Elian said, kneeling beside a shattered core. "Something kept them alive. Active."
Aera frowned. "Something… or someone."
She turned toward the Hollow's edge.
The wind whispered again.
But this time, it didn't sound random.
It sounded like a warning.