The humans of Sera have known little peace in the better part of a century.

For eighty years the Coalition of Ordered Governments (COG) waged war against the Union of Independent Republics (UIR), both sides experiencing enormous casualties in a bid to control the precious energy resource, imulsion.

Much of the Pendulum Wars were spent in stalemate, with no resolution in sight until the COG stole the weapon of mass destruction known as the Hammer of Dawn from a UIR research facility. Incorporating the Hammer into a global network of satellites, the COG was able to force the surrender of the UIR after a brutal demonstration of the weapon's power on their navy.

In the weeks that passed after the armistice was signed and the UIR submitted to COG assimilation, entire generations of Serans who had lived under the yolk of constant bloody conflict attempted to adjust to a life free of war where old enemies had become uneasy allies.

But the real war was only just beginning.

Using gigantic insect-like beasts of burden to tunnel up to the surface from deep in the planet's crust, the Locust, a race of subterranean reptilian humanoids, erupted from under the feet of the humans barely six weeks after the armistice in an unprecedented co-ordinated planet-wide attack.

A quarter of the human populace died in a single day.

Since Emergence Day, the Locust have not made a single communication to the human resistance: there has been no attempt to broker peace nor have they issued a list of demands to be met. They are driven and dedicated to their single terrible goal: the total eradication of human life on Sera.

After a year of sustained onslaught that saw countless human cities and countries fall to the might of the Locust horde, the COG fell on desperate measures. Chairman Richard Prescott gave a three day warning to the entire human populace of Sera: all who could were to make their way to the capital city of Ephyra. After the third day the COG enacted a 'scorched earth' offensive, firing the Hammer of Dawn network at key locations all over the planet.

The destruction to the surface of Sera was catastrophic but ultimately only succeeded in slowing the Locust advance. Those humans who survived the orbital bombardment outside the walls of Ephyra became known as 'stranded' – those left behind – and they held no love for the COG who had sentenced them to death.

Now, over a decade into the Locust War, the Coalition are on the verge of extinction and have been reduced to a few crumbling strongholds on the continent of Tyrus. With dwindling resources, faltering technology, a flagging air force and no naval capacity, the remnants of the human race rely almost exclusively on their infantry to repel the Locust: the courageous soldiers known as 'Gears'.

Outskirts of Ephyra, 1542 hours.
Twelve years After Emergence.

"So on the all-time list of dumbfuck missions, collecting a dead colonel's war diary has gotta be pretty far up there."

Damon Baird spat his disgust at this latest 'ill-advised command decision' on to the cracked and weed infested surface of the road he marched along.

The road wound on into the distance, densely populated with the decaying metallic husks of abandoned vehicles gleaming dully in the afternoon sun. Either side of the road, fields of unruly grass rippled slightly in a light breeze, the tips of the long blades bleached yellow by the sun.

"Sure Baird. Just about as dumb as not using your helmet."

"Thanks Shoenick. Your input's valued as always," Baird bristled at the rookie Gear. "Sue me if I enjoy my peripheral vision. Oh, and not for nothing asshole, but that tin can won't do jackshit against a torque bow bolt."

"Whatever. When we get back without you, I'll call your folks." Shoenick marched ahead and on the opposite side of the road to Baird, his face unreadable under the Mark IV COG issue helmet but the anger in his words was unmistakable. In a war that had eradicated most of the human populace on the planet of Sera, everyone had lost somebody. Family was invariably off-limits in even the most heated of exchanges.

Luckily, Baird was skilled in the art of pushing people's buttons.

"Do that. They'll probably throw a party."

An over-sized hand slapped Baird's shoulder, almost bowling him over as Augustus 'Cole Train' Cole trotted his huge frame up from behind his friend.

"Damon, baby, you need to quit stewing over that 'Dill we left behind," guffawed the big man. As always, his imposing build belied his good nature.

Baird shifted his grip on the Hammerburst assault rifle he was cradling and ran an agitated hand through his short blonde hair. "I'm not pissed about that," he sighed. "I just find it incredible that we're showing our asses to every Locust out here to find some guy's memoirs. 'Dear diary, today I sat on my fat ass while I ordered a bunch of Gears to get slaughtered.' Big fucking deal!"

"And people wonder why you keep getting busted down the ranks," grinned Cole. "It's the job, baby. They point and we go. Need to know and all that jazz."

"Hey, if their pointing means that some grub bastard has me in his crosshairs, I'm damn sure I need to know!"

"Cool off, hot shot," Cole soothed. "The Boss man'll fill us in on the game-plan soon enough."

Farther ahead up the road from the three Gears, an older man strode briskly ahead of them. Shoulders squared, back straight, stride determined, his posture and gait contradicting the rag-tag appearance of his mismatched armour. His head was completely shaved except for a salt-and-pepper goatee out of which a thick cigar protruded from the thin line of his mouth. Three wicked looking close-set scars vertically bisected his left eye, partially obscured by an eye-patch that hid the worst of the damage to the socket itself.

Captain Andreas Rictor placed two fingers over his earpiece and transmitted back to base.

"Control, this is Alpha-Four."

"Go ahead, Alpha."

"Mathieson, can you confirm that a Raven will be picking up Baird's sweetheart once we rendezvous at the primary LZ?"

"Roger that, Alpha. I've got KR-three-eight-seven lined up after a taxi job. Just call it in once you're back at the Armadillo. You guys run into problems?"

"No more than usual. Baird's just pining for something he actually gives a damn about."

Rictor stopped and took a long draw on the fat cigar as he considered Baird, the glow from the embers highlighting the contours of his coarse and weathered face. "That about alleviate your concerns, Corporal?"

"Oh, sure. The world's my goddamn oyster."

"Quit your bitching," Rictor turned away pulling absently at a necklace of jagged fangs that intertwined with his COG tags. Colourful mess-hall rumour had it that they were the teeth of the Locust who'd taken his eye. Rictor was always evasive when pressed though.

"You got any updates on grub troop movements in the area, Mathieson?"

"Sorry Captain, you're well out of patrol range now. Ravens haven't been running in the outskirts since we lost the Allfathers Bridge two weeks back. You guys are in the tall grass on this one."

Rictor cursed softly. He'd forgotten the bridge fuel depot had been taken out by a recent Locust attack, effectively halving the COG's patrol range in the South-West of the area. Bastards were getting bolder every day.

"All right, Mathieson. We're gonna let Ernie stretch his legs." Rictor signalled to Baird to move up. "Let us know if he picks up anything."

"Roger that, Alpha. Good hunting."

Baird positioned himself in front of a derelict small family car, laying the Hammerburst on the rust discoloured hood, reaching for his pack with one hand and unclipping its shoulder-straps with the other. He laid the pack on the hood next to his rifle with a soft but audible clank. The 'pack' was actually a rounded cobalt coloured metal carapace about the size of a man's torso. On the right hand side of the carapace a series of lights pulsed at random intervals.

Baird ran a gloved hand over the metal body, clearing dust off of it and unhooked a hand-held control pad from his belt.

Cole watched over his friend's shoulder, shaking his head and smiling. "Does Ernie know you've been cheating on him with the 'Dill?"

Baird didn't even look up from the control pad as he typed in commands.

"Fuck you."

Cole's snigger turned into a snort as he turned around, scanning back down the road behind Alpha for potential threats.

Servos whined and hydraulics hissed within the carapace as sections of it retracted into the housing, allowing two slender mechanical arms, an anti-grav engine and a small rectangular head to cycle into place. Ernie's electric blue optic sensors stuttered into life, giving him the appearance of a waking sleeper.

Baird finished typing in instructions and picked up his rifle. "Patrol duty, little buddy. Go find us some bad guys."

With a cheerful beep and electronic whistle, the little robot rose steadily into the air and sped off over the rusted vehicle roofs ahead.

Rictor watched the robot disappear into the distance as he resumed his march, remembering a time when technology like that was commonplace. Not now. Not after nearly a century of war.

"All right, ladies. Quit bunching up – we're shaping up to be a nice juicy target right about now." He jammed his fingers to the com-link again. "Ramirez, hold your position. Ernie's on point for a bit."

"Roger that," a husky female voice answered. "I found an old mansion a few klicks ahead of you. Could be the place we're looking for."

"Good work. What's it look like?"

"Way above our pay-grade. Even with the shit bombed out of it."

"Cute. Hold there and we'll see what Ernie can see."

The squad fell in either side of the road, maintaining a distance of eight to ten feet between each person; Rictor up front, Shoenick and Baird in the middle and Cole covering the rear.

Cole glanced absently at the wrecks they passed, Lancer balanced easily on a massive shoulder, the rifles metal casing periodically connecting with the stock of the Boom Shot strapped to his back. "Hey, I just noticed. All the cars are going the same way, even on the wrong side of the road: towards the highway."

"Yeah, and there's no bodies in any of the cars," piped up Shoenick, peering through the dusty windshields and windows of the vehicles they passed.

"Last great gridlock," Rictor called out over his shoulder through a plume of cigar smoke. "When Prescott announced the Hammer strikes, everyone had three days to get to Ephyra before zero hour. When you're that desperate to get to minimum safe distance, even running miles on foot sounds better than rotting in a car."

"Couldn't have been easy," said Shoenick looking at the others. "Making the decision to fire the Hammer of Dawn satellites on your own people, I mean."

Cole walked backwards with surefooted ease, checking between the cars behind them. "Yeah, our Chairman's got a big set of balls on him. And he don't back down from a fight."

Baird rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Another great command decision right there. He blows Sera and half the populace to shit – an act that doesn't actually destroy the Locusts but just pisses them off instead – drives the rest of us towards extinction and leaves us with a bunch of Stranded assholes that are just as likely to attack us as the grubs! Remind me not to vote for that guy again."

Baird stopped to make sure he had everyone's attention/bewilderment/disgust before slapping the goggles on his forehead with all the subtlety of a Saturday morning matinee cartoon character.

"Oh, hey I forgot! We don't vote!"

Rictor glowered at Baird through a cloud of blue-grey cigar smoke. "Scorched earth tactics are always a tough call. You sure you'd have the balls to make them, Corporal?"

Baird spat on the fatigued asphalt again and resumed his march, Cole's throaty chuckle following him up the road.

Staff Sergeant Josefina Ramirez looked at the ruined mansion through the telescopic sight of her Longshot from her position in a small wood opposite the structure. Like many seasoned Gears, she waived the protection of a helmet in favour of increased visual scanning. Her vision was limited at best looking through a scope let alone wearing a helmet and sighting down the sniper rifle.

Unlike the rest of Alpha squad however, Ramirez favoured a lighter armour build, keeping only the bare essentials such as the chest plates and grieves which afforded her increased speed and manoeuvrability for recon and allowed her access to harder to reach sniping positions.

The wood was on a hill that allowed Ramirez to lie prone but still afforded her a good view of the once stately two-storey home over the crumbling walls. She swept the barrel of the urban camouflage painted rifle slowly across the face of the mansion; lingering on the shattered windows, noting the rusting padlocked main gates, the bleached and peeling front door almost obscured by a weatherworn statue of some forgotten COG hero in the drive standing ankle deep in a stagnant pond choked with weeds and algae. Ramirez smiled ruefully at the imagery as she swept her scope upwards to the roof, scanning over gaping holes in the dilapidated shingles.

She lowered the rifle, pushing herself up into a crouch and reached for the Gorgon pistol in her thigh holster as she heard movement from her left-hand side.

"Hold your fire senorita, we're the good guys," grinned Cole from behind the rest of Alpha as they marched up the road towards Ramirez.

"You boys have been taking your sweet time," Ramirez chided, holstering the Gorgon and rotating her shoulder to work some stiffness out. "Doing a little sightseeing?"

The big man nodded towards Baird. "Someone had a blow-out. We stopped to lend a hand."

"Really?" Ramirez arched an eyebrow as she watched Baird sullenly find a spot among the sprawling roots of one of the oaks and sit down. "Can't keep a good boy scout down, right Cole?"

Cole leaned his Lancer against the trunk of a tree, stretching his massive arms and rolling his neck from side to side. "No, ma'am. What you been up to?"

Ramirez loosened the camo pattern keffiyeh scarf around her neck and offered Cole a drink of water from her canteen. "I'm in the market for a house, thought I'd stop by and check this dump out."

Rictor had stooped down behind a particularly battered van and unslung his older Pendulum Wars era Lancer. He ejected the magazine and beckoned Ramirez to him.

"Aw, I bet it just needs that woman's touch," Cole drawled, taking a slug and throwing the canteen back to her.

The sniper walked towards her CO, passing Shoenick and patting him affectionately on the shoulder. "Still sticking with that helmet, rook?"

"You bet your ass," Shoenick tapped the temple of his helmet with a gloved finger as he walked deeper into the copse – smart thinking.

"More often than not."

Ramirez hunkered down next to Rictor, holding her rifle by the lengthy barrel and planting the stock on the ground to steady herself. "Oughta be in a museum."

Rictor was busy examining the auto-feed mechanism in the magazine, looking for potential jams. "She's a tough old girl. Got me out of plenty of tight spots."

"I wasn't talking about the Lancer."

"Uh-huh," Rictor slammed the mag back into the rifle and chambered a round, a half-smile forming around the well-chewed cigar. "What've you got for me?"

"Well," Ramirez inclined her head towards the mansion. "Obviously, the property's got a pretty big wall built around it. The front gates are chained shut but the wall's breached in a few places so getting in isn't a problem. The mansion itself is a hole: literally. I did a quick three-sixty and the North-West corner of the building is gone – the walls and most of the roof have either collapsed or been destroyed."

Rictor listened intently while he pulled a folded and worn document from a compartment in his webbing.

"Other than that, there doesn't appear to be any power and, far as I can tell from out here, it looks like nobody's been home in a long time."

Rictor puffed on his cigar as he propped the old-fashioned Lancer against the van behind him and unfolded the dog-eared map, tapping a circled area with a calloused fingertip.

Ramirez dropped her voice to a whisper. "What are we doing out here, Andy?"

Rictor stared quietly at his second in command, not for the first time acutely aware of the marked age gap between the Sergeant and himself – almost two decades. "'Recovering documents of strategic importance,'" he said as he returned his gaze to the map.

"Bullshit. This is what Baird was getting pissy about wasn't it?" Ramirez stared back at Rictor through the fringe of her dark choppy hair that was contrasted by the close-cropped sides and back. "I gotta tell you, I agree with him. And you know how that makes me crazy."

"And here I thought we were supposed to close ranks and show a little solidarity." Rictor's eyebrows slid into a savage frown causing the scar tissue on his forehead and cheek to tighten and twitch slightly as he stared down the younger soldier.

Ramirez met his gaze steadily, uncomfortable under the unblinking stare of that slate grey eye but unwilling to back down.

"Funny thing: I thought I was here to keep you honest."

Rictor gave a derisive snort as he placed his finger over his earpiece.

"Control, you got any fresh intel for me?"

"Good news and bad news, Captain."

"Story of my life. Give me the good stuff first."

"Ernie's swept your mansion and it looks clear: no hostile, civilian or COG presence evident around the building."

"Affirmative, our recon confirms that. Make my day and give me the bad news."

"Ernie's scans picked up some tracks in the grass leading North, away from the mansion." Mathieson paused, for all the world sounding like he was building up tension. "About a klick away there are three emergence holes spread out over a wide area. I'd estimate one to two klicks."

Rictor took the cigar from his mouth and stood up, looking in the direction of the mansion for threats. "Are they recent?"

"Unknown. Could've been made a few hours or a few weeks ago."

Rictor let out a short sigh.

"There's one other thing, Captain."

Rictor remained silent, his growing frustration filling the void more adequately than any words.

"Ernie's thermal scans have revealed what looks like a basement in the structure. It's hard to be conclusive because of the granite in the plateau," Mathieson was apprehensive, hedging around something bigger.

"Go on." The veteran's tone was clipped, stoically prepared for the worst.

"There are some minute thermal fluctuations in that basement area. Nothing big enough to be a grub but-"

"But it could be a nest of wretches or tickers." Rictor growled.

"In a nutshell. Sorry, Captain," Mathieson said apologetically.

Rictor dropped the cigar in the grass and ground it out underfoot.

"So when you said 'good news and bad news' you actually meant 'bad news and worse news', right?"

"The anomalies appear stationary but I can't confirm what they are at this time. Thought you needed the heads up."

"You thought right. Stay on the line, Mathieson, and bring Ernie back. We're gonna need your help."

"Roger that."

Rictor grabbed his Lancer and beckoned to the rest of Alpha. "All right, kids. Front and centre: squad pep talk."

Baird, Cole and Shoenick all grabbed their gear and pulled up in front of Rictor. Ramirez switched positions so she was facing the Captain, balancing her rifle across her shoulders.

"According to Command," Rictor thumbed over his shoulder at the mansion "the humble abode behind me is the home of Colonel James Francis Avery, MIA for twelve years, presumed dead. Story goes that he wasn't your regular garden variety brass but was in charge of the DRA before Adam Fenix got his hands on it."

"The Defence Research Agency?" Baird whined, rolling his eyes. "Oh, this reeks of black bag!"

"Don't know it for sure, but it's definitely got the stink of government all over it," Rictor agreed.

Shoenick half-raised his arm to ask a question like a pupil in a classroom. "Uh, what's 'black bag'?"

Ramirez' eyes were focused on her feet as she kicked the grass agitatedly. "It's when the COG does it's dirty laundry behind closed doors. Out of the public eye."

"Off the books, deniable operations," Rictor nodded grimly.

"So what are we looking for, Top?" Cole said, folding his heavily muscled arms, all business.

"Command believes that somewhere in that over-sized holiday home is a safe or a lockbox or a terminal containing information on something called Project Myrmidon. We're here to secure and retrieve that information." Rictor looked around the squad, aware of their expectant stares - waiting for that one extra piece of information that would make the whole op make sense. "Now you know what I know."

Baird slung his Hammerburst and stepped forward, eyes narrowed, an accusatory finger levelled at Rictor.

"And what exactly is Project Myrmidon?"

"That information is classified above my security clearance," Rictor smiled humourlessly as Baird shook his head in disgust. "Truth be told I don't even think Colonel Hoffman knows."

"You think Prescott's keeping Hoffman out of the loop?" Ramirez frowned.

Victor Hoffman was the commanding officer of the Coalition armed forces, well past retirement age and tough as nails. He was a soldier's soldier, perfectly happy to roll up his sleeves and do the dirty work with his men but he was no politician and there was widespread speculation amongst the rank and file that the COG's leader, Chairman Richard Prescott, used that to his advantage.

"Unknown. We're here now, so let's get it done. We'll split into two teams and sweep the place one floor a piece. We don't have any blueprints so take it slow and by the numbers. Anything gets funky, call it in. I don't want anyone wandering off."

Rictor turned his attention and a stern finger to Cole. "Now Cole, I don't want any heroics out of you."

"Don't hate the player, baby," Cole held his arms open and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't wanna hear it. This thing goes South, there's no back up." Rictor looked around at the rest of the squad to emphasize his point. "All right, Cole and I will take the top floor, Baird, you and Shoenick take the ground floor."

"Why do I get saddled with the rookie?" Baird threw his hands up.

Rictor had removed his bayonet from a sheath in his webbing while he was briefing Alpha and was busy attaching the lengthy blade to the muzzle of his Lancer.

"Call it asshole tax for your little shit-fit on the road back there."

The veteran Gear turned to the newest member of Alpha squad.

"Shoenick, watch his back, remember your training and you will be fine."

Shoenick didn't sound so sure. "Thanks, Captain. I think."

"Ramirez I want you set up outside. Find a good sniper position and spot for us this side of the mansion. If things get FUBAR you're our fire support. Mathieson? Give her a hand with Ernie on the far side of this pile."

"Will do."

Ramirez slipped the shoulder strap of her Longshot over her head and adjusted its position on her back.

"And if you need fire support inside the house?"

Rictor finished screwing the bayonet in place and shifted his grip to a firing position.

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

Ramirez gave a quick half salute as she jogged over to the nearby trees, looking for one tall enough to give her a good vantage point.

Rictor addressed the remaining members of Alpha squad.

"All right people, single file across the road, over the wall and converge on the front door. Cole, you're on point."