"The Final Reunion"

The last defenders of the I.M.C. survivors said little during their preparation for the final confrontation. Uniform equipment and weapons have all but disappeared as the grunts and handful of regular staff armed themselves with whatever they could get their hands on as the Militia forces surrounded the compound just outside of firing range of all but a single marksman with a Longbow. The two only Phantoms at their disposal had been finally run out of ammo as they made their hit and run attacks against armored units, leaving the pilots of the craft to join the rest of the garrison. The Goblin dropships that have been too heavily damaged to fly safely had been stripped of all their worth and used as solid cover fit with shields and whatever remaining armor hadn't already been taken way. Not one of the brave defenders believed they would survive, let alone win a battle of this scale as the number of Militia troops started to grow more and more, yet not a one turned their backs on the friends and allies that stood by their side. The status of the I.M.C. fleet was unknown however; the stranded personnel were no longer fighting for a chance to go home. Here would be where they would show the insurgent organization that they would fight to the bitter end to protect Earth, her colonies, and the billions of innocent lives whose blood stained the hands of the Militia. It could be a squad, dozens of Titans, even the entire Militia fleet in orbit raining down on the ragtag bunch of grunts and last three Pilots and not one would willingly budge in the face of such overwhelming odds. Were they crazy for pulling such a stunt? Perhaps. It wasn't expected for the I.M.C. soldiers left behind to rally together and still fight on, it wasn't expected that they could prove to be a threat to an entire Militia-controlled moon, and it was thought impossible that they would still challenge the growing might of the revolutionaries.

They could be counted on a single hand: three Pilots and the scraps of equipment they put together. With Isaac and Katherine on Alan's left and right respectively, he looked at his empty hands and the absent Hammond he had given to Vanessa for her personal use. There was his knife, but this was a gunfight, no place for a blade in the heat of combat. Katherine loaded a spare CAR, Isaac armed with only another Hammond, both would need it far more than Alan, but what he lacked in weapons he made up for in heavy support. Alan silently nodded to the two to aid in the defense of the compound, however, even though he was now alone, he had his Titan to rely on. Eager, low on ammo, and ready to die in the defense of her Pilot and companions, Anya offered a hand to Alan as a helping step to enter the Titan for what was to be the last time. "Is now the time to send the message, Pilot?" Anya asked with her soft, though mechanical, Russian accent.

"Delete it." Alan instructed, getting situated in his seat and making himself comfortable in an otherwise dire situation that befell him and the others.

"Are you sure?" Anya asked for his confirmation, knowing the time he spent perfecting it and keeping it safe should he meet his demise. A question mark flashed in the upper-right corner of his vision, Anya's way of alerting him about doing something that seemed a little out of character.

"Well," Alan began, sitting back and waiting for the first shot to ring out, "It was supposed to be routed to the Solaris and more specifically Vanessa's inbox, but now that doesn't matter. If we all die here, that little message will be lost and unread anyways."

"Very well Pilot. Deletion complete. Shall we prepare to die in the defense of the core worlds and their citizens?" She asked another question, unhooking the 40mm cannon from her back.

"Not today," Alan said with a little chuckle in him, "I'm not allowed to just yet."

"It is good to see you in good spirits Pilot; such a sight is rare when you are not with Miss Botosova."

"Well, you already know how far we've come." Alan replied, unable to continue the conversation as a shout of 'incoming' was heard at the concrete walls. The Pilot wanted to join the defense but he knew that he was to be their last offensive option as without the firepower of his Titan, Militia troops could be dropped off by the ship-load. A few even tried to fly close by only to be abruptly shot down from a well-placed shot of the Titan's weapon. It was a shame that such a beautiful day was marred by the carnage and blood about to be spilled, but that was war, always ignorant of the bright blue- well in the case a sort of orange-ish- colored sky and the peace it had compared to the ground battles fought under it.

"That makes two," Anya noted after shooting down another Crow dropship, it was a good thing they were outdated because it would take far more than a few shots to get through an updated Goblin's shields and armor, he found it odd how the Militia managed to win any battle at all back then when they had no Titans or even Pilots. By now small-arms fire had opened up across the complex with the North, East, and Southern, sectors getting their fair share of incoming fire and hostile ground forces. Only the Eastern Sector had saving grace that was the lone Paladin Tank and its proud crew as not only was it the main gate, but enemy Titans were also on an approach to breach the walls. The old rusted gates already looked like they would fall over to begin with, it was only time and I.M.C. construction standards that would determine how much of a beating the old doors would take before finally giving up.

"Incoming Pilots, I repeat, we've got Pilots scaling the walls, north side. We can barely hold! What are your orders, Captain!" Alan could hear a grunt yell over the gunfire and explosions through the comms to whom Vanessa replied.

"Ignore them if you can, maintain your post, and hold of the rest of the Militia's ground forces for as long as you can. Pilots, hunt down those terrorists." She ordered. Alan looked back at the observation deck built above the mountain's entrance. Though he could only see a small figure standing within it, the Pilot could tell she was filled with stress. It was still amazing how well she handled it all, though it could have very well been a facade.

The Stryder and her owner turned back at the sound of creaking metal. Fire and smoke from missiles blind-sided the steel gate that had kept the Militia out like wild animals kept out of animal's pen with a mere fence. It soon failed. In an instant the heavy-set of doors crushed the earth beneath them and from the blackened smoke was the familiar Ogre-chassis of a certain pirate's Titan. This time it had been coated in black paint with red stripes running down its arms and torso making it stand out from the traditional green and orange color-scheme of the Militia's mechs. Alan furrowed his brows as he bitterly remembered the last time he had fought the Titan. It strolled on it with a small number of Militia grunts running at either side of the Ogre's heavy stomps, "I have come to crush you, pitiful machine." The Ogre's deep and rough OS announced.

"I assume our priority target is that overweight Titan?" Anya insulted her foe, remembering too the damage it had caused to her. From the sound of her tone, the smaller Stryder was ready for a second round, only this time there would be one clear victor.

"What you have a grudge or something?"

"I do not wish to be defeated by scrap and spare parts." She spat with a barely audible tone of malice in her voice OS. Alan agreed, taking aim and keeping count of the number of shots he had left in the cannon.

"To think this one would be the first to break through." Alan said as a damaged Atlas appeared at the Ogre's side only to receive a tank shell through its chest thanks to the Paladin that had left its fortified position that was now compromised. "Never would have thought they would be this good at what they do."

As if both Titans made eye contact, the Ogre started to pick up its pace, speeding up to a jog and then a sprint as fast as the tank-like Titan could run. Using the Stryder's agility to his advantage, Alan ducked under an incoming fist before turning to fire twice at the Ogre's back. The larger Titan swung around and knocked the weapon out of Anya's hands, it landing on a squad of Militia grunts with a muffled scream and crushing of bone. Anya quickly returned the favor, slamming into the Ogre a left hook and shoving it away with a great deal of effort as their foe's weight almost locked itself in place. Dodging another punch with ease, the Stryder swung the back of her fist against the hull of the turning Ogre, the facial hatch being knocked clean off as Titan fell to a knee. However, when it turned to face the Stryder once again, Alan and Anya found that its interior had been vacant. Alan was dumbfounded at first, the pirate's empty Titan only meant- Mannes was with the team of Pilots that broke in. "I recommend you exit Pilot." Anya suggested, almost reading his exact thoughts and plan.

"Not yet, more Titans are inbound-" Alan started before Anya turned her back to the Ogre, opening up her hatch as a metal fist slammed into the Stryder's back.

"The Paladin and I shall delay the enemy, you must go now and defeat the enemy Pilots, Alan." She said as the Pilot fell to the broken concrete ground. The biggest mistake would be letting the team of Pilots breach the interior facility and Alan reluctantly followed his own Titan's recommendation, getting up to his feet and preparing to venture into the base's interior.

"You better not die be defeated by that thing." Alan demanded as Anya pushed away an arm and kicked it against a vacant portion of the wall.

"'I do not plan on it'." She quoted her Pilot, whom in turn turned away with one final look of farewell.

He turned around and made a sprint toward the second set of steel doors, running passed a parked Goblin on his left, then his right, almost about to pass a third until a Militia Pilot stepped from behind the craft and stopped him in his tracks with a pistol raised. It was Vincent. He didn't fire, he didn't even keep his aim up for long. "I told you we'd meet again under, though the circumstances aren't pleasant." The man told Alan as he tossed his pistol to the side. Alan was thinking about stepping pass his former squadmate, but every side-step he took, Vincent would copy. "I'm afraid I can't let you go just yet."

"If I don't get through-" Alan yelled before getting cut off.

"Not to worry friend, I 'let slip' a few words to Isaac about the Militia's infiltration squad's plan to 'go for the head'," He said with finger quotes, "Vanessa will be fine and I'm confident she'll make it out of all of this with the least amount of injuries."

"Again, why are you helping me, helping us?" Alan asked, if nothing else he at least wanted answers for why he let him get away when breaking out the captured I.M.C. personnel. "We're your enemy." He repeated.

"Like I said, I have personal reasons. Though I suppose you'll need an actual answer this time. Like I said, we will never be able to speak again after this." Vincent said, removing his helmet and tossing just like he did his weapon. Underneath the expensive equipment was a simple fair-skinned man with a black colored hair that was showing clear signs of greying not including the stress that might have caused some strands to whiten. The one scar he had long ago had grown to a handful, each taking its toll on the man's face who once seemed as lively as a new recruit but now, now it was hard to tell whether there was any light left in the old man. "Just like you, I made a promise, but mine was to fight for family until my dying breath. You know what it's like to bury your own in an unmarked grave on an already fractured world?" Vincent asked Alan, looking at him with somewhat pained blue eyes.

"Not first hand but something similar." Alan muttered, remembering the past as much as he loathed to.

"I know, and I can't begin to imagine just what that did to you."

"Then you already know I have to get through you."

"Why don't you and I have one more training match," Vincent offered, "For old time's sake?"

"I don't follow." Alan admitted, still coming to terms with the fact that the first person to betray him and his team was offering to relive old memories of a better time. He was hesitant of the suggestion, but found himself without any other option but to accept.

"Just a little training, nothing more. I believe you aren't ready for what you may face next." The older man explained. In spite of the chaotic sounds of gunfire, screaming, and metal crunching against each other, Alan accepted with a nod, hoping to end it quickly to get on his way. Vincent put up a guard, beckoning the I.M.C. Pilot to attack first. Alan did so, charging at him with full weight and power behind his first punch in an attempt to end it with one blow, but of course that was denied. Alan's hand was swiftly and efficiently grappled and before he knew it, Vincent was inches away from Alan's face, his arm at the mercy of the more experienced Pilot. "I've already told you this before, don't try to carelessly be 'done' with this." Vincent reminded with a little disappointment in his rough voice, letting Alan go to stumble back a few steps.

"Didn't you also tell me to throw everything I've got?" Alan asked, feeling around his arm to calm it down from the strain on its elbow.

"Yes, but never did I mention to leave yourself exposed. Try again."

The I.M.C. Pilot did as instructed, charging again but this time keeping himself from getting too close. Each attack he did, whether it was another punch or a kick Alan tried his best to break the other man's defenses but failed at every attempt.

"Now you're just not confident in you attacks. You're pulling out of the fight before you can do any damage. Keep on the offensive as much as you-" Vincent was about to finish before a wounded growl and another voice trying to reassure it interrupted their fight. When the two men looked at the origin of the voices, their eyes fell upon two women: Katherine and Vanessa. The former was a bit wounded herself however, the few small cuts on her outfit was nothing serious, especially with her being used to combat and getting injured in fighting. Vanessa, on the other hand, wasn't fortunate to have such training and experience. Blood ran down one arm from a fairly deep cut on her left shoulder and a scratch just above her left brow trickled a little crimson of its own, forcing the woman to keep her eyes shut because of the small drops that ran down the side of her eye. All while being held up by Katherine as Vanessa's right leg appeared to be injured enough to cause a small limp.

"Easy there, we can-" Katherine tried to say to calm down the dark-haired woman from the adrenaline rush she was probably having, "Alan and-" She began, looking to the two other Pilots respectively before setting down Vanessa against a Goblin's hull and drawing a knife to defend herself.

"Now's not the time Kath!" Vincent shouted as missiles with their deafening screech and boom began soaring through the air and hitting the communication relays that were up above, "So much for calling for help." He muttered, looking back to scan where the had left and sure enough, there was another Pilot, a Militia one donned in some personal wear in grey that was a few shades dark with a red cloth tied around his left arm. Mannes, the pirate, the Reaper, whatever it was he went by, casually approached them with a limp body of the only other I.M.C. Pilot being dragged by the collar.

"You know, little miss, I understand you all-," He began, realizing the new company they found and tossing Isaac onto the floor. The fatally wounded Pilot tried to reach out a trembling hand but fell still when the bullet of a Wingman rang out, "Stassov." He growled with grit teeth and poison at the mention of the name.

Alan stood unable to do anything until Vincent shoved his former ally to the ground and took a revolver bullet himself. The older man's blood started to pool on the worn and battle-scarred concrete as he coughed up more and more of it.

"Really?" Vincent shouted, putting both hands to his head in anger, "If it were anyone else…"

Alan scrambled over to a dying Vincent and checked his wounds. It was an odd feeling to him, helping out an enemy, perhaps it was simply his better judgment wanting to make sure the dying didn't have to feel agony for their last moments. He knew second-hand how that was back home. The older man grabbed Alan's shoulder and pulled him closer, "Fight for something!" He choked out before falling back to the earth, motionless with the cold embrace of death taking him away. His last strength, and it was to offer Alan advice. Out of the many things he had similar experience with on the battlefield, orders, last wishes, words of acceptance, this was new.

"Alan," Katherine called, "It's just you and me."

The Pilot got to his feet while Mannes watched, making a note about how 'precious' it was that they would win with 'teamwork'. The Militia Pilot took aim at Katherine and pulled the trigger of his weapon but there was a click and a growl of frustration.

Katherine was the first to react, drawing her knife and going for a stab while Alan could only follow her in the assault. Meanwhile Vanessa spat orders to the other defenders as the Hammond that had fallen beside her had appeared empty. Even when not on the frontlines, it would seem the Pilots in front of the I.M.C. Captain would once more decide the outcome of the battle. Alan watched Katherine be easily pushed aside and Mannes turning his attention to him. Swinging the revolver around to bring down upon Alan. The Pilot threw up an arm and blocked the incoming strike, wrapping his arm around the pirate's and slamming his other fist into his side. Mannes took the blow with a little grunt of pain, but returned with a kick to Alan's chest which knocked him to the ground, but not without his makeshift bludgeoning weapon being stripped from his hand. The Militia Pilot was about to follow up and go for Alan however, Katherine stopped him, cutting the arm that stood in the way of the knife and Mannes's neck.

Alan picked himself up, tossed the revolver aside with the growing piled of discarded items, and charged back into the fight to help his friend. The two could barely keep up, one already was somewhat injured and the other had just come out of another fight, both I.M.C. Pilots were starting to wonder whether they even had a chance at beating the ill-renown man. Nevertheless, they pressed on.

Each time Katherine swiped at Mannes, Alan was right there to fight him when he managed to dodge. He was on the defensive and that was enough motivation for the both of them. By now all three of the Pilots were armed with their own blades, each ducking and weaving between one another's attacks, trying not to get cut by either a stray knife's edge or an intentional stab.

"Come on Alan, we will win!" Katherine rallied, pushing Mannes back against a container with a metallic thud which had him drop his weapon.

"No," Mannes grunted, managing to push off the woman and grab and slam Alan into the container to stun him, "You," The man grabbed another of Katherine's incoming stabs, punching his victim's unsuspecting stomach, taking her own knife from her and stabbing her chest before kicking her away, "Won't." He said, catching his breath with heavy gasps for air and a break.

Alan wanted to shout out to Katherine but found himself only able to wheeze out the name as he too was out of stamina.

"Like I said," Mannes took a breath, running a finger across one of the cuts to see the blood on his gloves, "'No one beats me'." He said. The last remaining I.M.C. Pilot got up and wanted to run over to his fallen friend however, Mannes stepped in the way, "Not this time. Were it not for you, Stassov, I'd-" He started before, Alan interrupted by drawing his own knife and taking a large swipe at the man in anger, an anger that he had narrowly escaped from. The two exchanged blows with neither getting any hits in until Alan was the first to start using his jump-kit to aid him. Alan boosted up enough to thrust a kick into Mannes while the man fell back and skid on the ground, spinning his knife back around from his reverse grip. There were a few more yells at the walls, more guns being fired, more rock and concrete breaking apart from the warzone being held at bay, but none of that mattered now. All that mattered now was to avenge those murdered by this very monster. All that mattered, was revenge.

Mannes charged forward with the help of his own gear, while Alan threw the knife at him, impaling the Pirate's helmet. At least that's what Alan had hoped. Instead, the knife stabbed through Mannes's left forearm with a yelp of pain that didn't stop the man from his sprint forward. Alan's body moved before he could think, his right-hand balling into a fist and with a twist of his hips and strength from his muscles, his knuckles collided into the Militia Pilot's helmet with several cracks and a roaring cry of pain on Alan's part while Mannes was thrown to the ground with the back of his head hitting the ground with an audible sound of the collision.

Alan grabbed his hand but as he tried to sooth it, he felt nothing more than blinding sharp pain and throbbing in the injured hand. Best case scenario was that it was simply bruised thanks to Alan's already healthily strong bones, worst case was that the impact cracked or outright broke a finger's bone or two. Looking down he saw that the other man's visor that was now slightly cracked with its owner twitching on the ground. The Pilot looked over to a resting Vanessa, whom was still trying to organize some sort of defense without a clear sight of the place, and the woman gave him a warm, comforting smile to try and ease him from the death of just about everyone he once knew. It didn't work, but he was about to walk over and help her up until she motioned at the enemy behind him.

"Stassov!" Alan heard Mannes yell, "I will not be defeated by a corporate hound like you!"

Mannes tore the knife from his wounded arm, taking off the helmet with the now free hand for Alan to see a man with several small scars and over his light-skinned, sunburned flesh and shaved scalp with only remnants of what was once light-brown hair. Other parts of him were burned beyond normal, some bits of his right cheek still showing the burn scars that crawled up but avoided his eye, both of which were lined with specks of glass that almost sealed the man's sight with his own blood. Whether it was some rite of passage with his little crew of pillagers and outlaws or if it was a legitimate injury was of no concern to Alan as he only wanted to finish off the already wounded man.

Alan stood ready in south-paw, knowing it would be near impossible to hit as hard as he could with his dominant hand so his left would have to do. The two inched toward the each other, waiting for the other to make the first move that had yet to come. Mannes moved first, throwing a weak jab with his left hand that Alan could easily block but the real threat came in the form of his own knife that barely cut the skin of his upper-right arm. The two wrestled until Mannes, in his own blind fury, grabbed Alan once again and shoved him toward the container, following up for a charge and a stab. Alan, reacting on instinct, punched with his right hand however, the Militia Pilot moved to the side and took hold of it, raising his elbow and breaking Alan's radius with a downward crack as Alan could feel it send a vibration up his spine as he tried hissing with the pain between his teeth, only to let out another blood-curdling yell. His legs felt weak to him, Mannes being the one holding him up until the man took the knife and stabbed the back of Alan's left leg. Alan fell to a knee, receiving a knee to the helmet that at the very least disorientated him and with one last kick to the ground, the I.M.C. Pilot lied on the ground, shivering in pain, and defeat.

"You know what? I almost don't want to kill you. Almost." Mannes stated as he eyed up both he and Vanessa whom could only look at the Militia Pilot with eyes burning with anger and sorrow. The man, hovered over Alan, looking down at him in disgust and a vengeful gaze as he looked for a suitable weapon for the kill, until another yell caught the man's attention. Barely seconds later, Alan saw in his blurred vision a white uniform tackle Mannes's figure to the ground.

Whoever it was, Alan could thank them later while he tried to get some rest. From the cold feeling and wet feeling of his leg being soaked in his own blood, to the resurfacing memories of the past he couldn't bury any more, the man let it all overwhelm him as his mind wandered. He just wanted it to be over, he couldn't bring himself to get up and fight anymore, even if he wanted to, his body was unresponsive save for his eyes and the slow turning of his head. It was just like back then, back all those years ago with the dust and smoke of debris and explosives clouding his vision. Shrapnel taken by the bodies that shielded him, bodies that belonged to the only family he knew. Yet that didn't stop the stray rebar from impaling his leg and a rubble of a building crushing his arm while more debris kept it from outright flattening his limb. Just like it was back then, he couldn't do anything as he watched the life fade from eyes that tried to tell him everything would be ok, that he would be safe and cared for. Even over the deafening gunfire and battle cries for 'freedom' that all came haunting him once again, he had kept his attention on the horror of death that had, in that moment, been forever etched into his memory as a scar would remain after a deep wound. Only this one couldn't be forgotten about, couldn't be hidden, couldn't be restored to full health. He was trapped in his own hallucinations, unable to tell whether the I.M.C. soldier that was pulling him into a comforting embrace while he bawled from both the terror and fear was real or just a lucid dream of the past. The gunfire in his memories blended in with those of reality, making the cries and shouts of his own visions and those of reality blend further. Memories he told himself to bury as deep as he could were now free from their prison, running wild while Alan didn't even have the strength to put them down.

"Alan!" The voice of Edgar yelled, breaking through the blockade of Alan's painful memories, "Don't let our deaths be in vain! Get! Up!" Alan was to tired, he had already failed so many times before, what was one more to mark the end of his list? He couldn't see where the grunt was, but even then, his vision was too clouded to see anything.

"Why the hell do you all keep fighting?" Mannes exclaimed, pushing Edgar back against the container, "Why. Can't. You. All. Just. Die?" He finished, tossing the man to the ground and kicking up his fallen R-101. Why was Alan even fighting? Revenge? What a pitiful reason to use. Why can't fate just leave him be either alone or to his death and not have him dangling by the thread?

'Because you promised not to give up and die.' He heard the sweet and gentle voice of Vanessa echo in his head. His eyes snapped open and his view turned to a lone Vanessa unable to move but looked to Alan with a renewed hope in her eyes. If he couldn't kill this one terrorist, would all this have even been worth it? 'Don't dwell on the past.' He heard her say again. Even if she had always told him that, it was never enough to reassure him of everything he had once cared about. His family was gone, the friends he knew, even up to now, were dead, all that was left was the one girl that stayed by his side. He wouldn't dare add her to the list. She was right, there was no point in protecting the dead, there was nothing he could do to change what happened in the past, but she wasn't dead nor in the past, she was in the now, she was in the future. Alan wasn't going to let life, nor the damned Militia, take the future from him too. He remembered his family, his old team, Katherine and the rest of Zulu, even the grunts, and felt nothing but the burning anger that had been bottling up inside him he needed strength to get up and fight, to get up and win, but it was strength received only through sacrifice and loss. The injured I.M.C. Pilot wouldn't let their lives be thrown away so carelessly, he wouldn't let it all amount to nothing.

Alan rolled to his front, only able to hold himself up with his shoulder while his one good arm grabbed the handle of his own knife that was embedded into his left leg. As he struggled pushed himself up with his arm and leg, Alan heard an entire magazine from the R-101 rifle empty behind him. Edgar was dead, it would be now or never. No matter what cost it may be, he still had a debt to pay and a promise to keep, he wouldn't fail again. Not here when it mattered most. The man shambled toward the Militia Pilot whom was still catching his breath and unaware of his surroundings. That was fine, a fair fight wasn't fitting for that of an outlaw. Alan, putting weight on his wounded leg and gritting his teeth in pain turned his slow progress into a short burst of speed toward Mannes, knife in one hand while his other one was limp and throbbing with more sharp pain. With one final yell Alan pulled the attention of his foe, Mannes turning around with horrified eyes and mouth agape to find a knife's tip slowly thrusting toward his right eye. The world, for Alan, slowed to a crawl with the rush of new adrenaline as he watched the knife first pierce Mannes eye and slowly dig deeper and deeper with a terrified and desperate cry of pain as Alan fell on top of him, his weigh sealing the other man's fate as it pushed the blade further through Mannes skull before the pirate finally fell still like the other bodies around them. It was done. The last Pilot's hand refused to let go of its tight grip around the knife, pulling out the weapon while Alan himself, caught his breath. After cutting the red band loose from his latest kill, Alan stumbled over to Katherine's body, her cold, lifeless eyes still wide in shock with the knife still in her chest. He fell to his knees next to his friend, she had gone without a goodbye. The best he could do was close the dead woman's eyes, pull the knife from her body, and rest the red band in her hands as a token of their victory.

"I never break a promise." He said with a forced smile. He could see now what Katherine meant now. He too, now hated it, every memory of theirs, every tradition they could make up, even their history was entirely erased. It all died with her as the last member of the 'Last Resorts'. Alan fell back, only to find himself in the arms of Vanessa whom had found the strength to move again.

"We know you don't." She whispered.

"Is this it then?" Alan asked, looking to see whether fate had finally been done toying with him. Vanessa stayed quiet, both of them ignoring the sound of incoming missiles being launched from some Titan far away. As Alan enjoyed his last embrace, he heard the sound of a mechanical dash and a vortex shield catching each of the explosives. Anya, blackened from damage and had bullet impact marks all over her chassis, hurled the ordinance at an incoming Atlas, destroying it in the returned volley.

"No yet." Vanessa replied as an incoming transmission came through Alan's helmet.

"This is 'Stingray-1' to I.M.C. forces, get clear for a run! 'Stingray-2' and '3' follow my lead." He heard a pilot call out. He hadn't even noticed, but looking up to the brightening sky was the fleet of I.M.C. ships and a dozen Goblins and Phantoms inbound on their position. Seconds later a trio of friendly fighters made their quick run, launching missiles and firing their guns without mercy at the incoming Militia forces. Even Anya was caught watching in awe at the sight of their saviors. Though he couldn't move, Alan could still hear the surviving defenders. Some yelled in victory, some cheered for the unannounced support, and though he couldn't hear it, the Pilot could believe that someone fell to their knees and started crying tears of joy. After all, they were people with a life of their own too, Alan would be lying if he said he didn't have a tear run down his cheek, though to his luck, it was still hidden by his helmet.

It didn't take long for reinforcements and waves of Spectres mopped up whatever lingered of the Militia assault. Alan was being dragged into a dropship while he watched two Phantoms strapping heavy-lift gear to a badly-damaged Paladin and Anya, the crew of the former, wounded but kicking rather well, spending some time thanking the Stryder for her aid before being hurried into an evac ship themselves. They had enough time to spare, but according to one of the medics taking a look at Alan, the fleet was to grab everything they can and depart the whole planetary-system.

"I told you we'd make it, that they'd come back for us." Vanessa said with a small smile on her lips as the Goblin's side-door shut closed and the sound of the jump-drive started spooling up.

The Pilot was carefully put down onto the cool floor with his arms and legs spread out as the medics started their long work. He could only see Vanessa hovering over him, the taste of death had once again been pushed aside and placed on hold with the medical team informing the woman that her Pilot would make it. He may have been lucky, but there were plenty of others who didn't make it, "Not all of us." Alan whispered as he felt a few needles puncture his skin and the pain start to numb. So many, friends especially, lost their lives and didn't get to see this moment of triumph over the growing threat established on the frontier, "Not all of us…"

A.N.: And that is all. If you've made it this far, then a deep thank you for sticking around! Personally I wasn't so sure myself if I could even attempt a 'twice a week update', and though there were a few hiccups here and there it managed to stay on schedule just fine!

There's other stuff (story related) going on, but this isn't the place to mention them. Plus I'm not so sure about them just yet and the ones that have a solid foundation, don't really lead anywhere so there isn't much worth to them yet.

When will be the next work? Who knows!

As always, enjoy!

~Firetoast312