Chapter 1

War is, among other things, a true hellscape. A cruel mistress, a double-edged sword, a two-sided coin, unwavering, unrelenting, destructive, malicious, at times necessary, but above all, unchanging. Though our reasons may change, war itself truly does not. And for better or worse, humanity has placed itself in a precarious balancing act of wanting peace but needing war. As the population count increases, the demand for resources grows with it, and competition between the various peoples occupying a planet. And so it goes, the furnaces of war are stoked again. As time progresses, so too do the tools of war. Each millennium brought with it the next dominant force of the battlefield. So as humanity stepped into the twenty-first century with eyes wide and excited, it begged the question, "What's next?"

Hammond Engineering had been the dominant technological force of the entire world for much of the early twenty first century, offering the world a plethora of creations that helped spur the advancements necessary to bring the world to the state it's in. And this monopoly over the industry would continue for years to come as Hammond Engineering dove into the realm of automatons, forming Hammond Robotics and making a strong debut with the Journeyman, a large and imposing man-piloted exoskeleton meant for construction work, with variants for farming, logistics, salvage, and other works of labor soon coming after that. Hammond Industries, as the collective conglomerate of tech focused companies called themselves, rested on its well earned laurels and reveled in its newfound wealth. But as with all giants, they were due for a wake up call, a harsh reminder that their prosperity was never guaranteed.

Tabane Shinonono, a young and sprite genius even in this age of technological prosperity, desired to become the next step in the ladder of progress. And while many of contemporaries praised her for her boldness to challenge the colossus that was Hammond Industries, an equal if not greater number of her contemporaries mocked her invention. The comparisons between the Journeyman lineup of exoskeletons and Shinonono's own space-faring suits were inevitable, but it didn't help her case at all. That was, until, the White Knight incident, an event that shook the world to its core.

A mysterious cyber terrorist managed to hack the missile targeting systems of every nation on the planet, before setting their sights on Japan. Why Japan of all places remained to be seen. But before disaster struck, an unidentified aerial phenomenon had appeared on both military radar and cameras and effectively neutralized the threat. This UAP was later identified as a white and winged exosuit possessing both a large broadsword and energy weapons. Though this specific exosuit and its pilot would never be found despite extensive investigation, Shinonono had left her mark on the world. The IS, or Infinite Stratos as it's formally known, had become the envy of every nation in the world. Shinonono would vanish from the face of the world shortly before the reveal of her magnum opus, leaving behind 467 IS cores in her disappearance and a ghost of a trail for anyone willing to follow her.

Still reeling from this attack on global security, the powers that be enacted the Alaska Treaty, dictating that the recovered 467 IS cores were to be distributed equally between every nation, that exchange of IS cores was prohibited and, above all, that the IS was to never be used for military purposes. Like in most treaties, that last constituent was often ignored, as ISs were constructed in military facilities, armed with state of the art advanced weaponry. But to the surprise of everyone, it would seem that Shinonono had the last laugh. The IS were only able to be piloted by women.

Despite that, no one was willing to give up the tactical edge that was the IS. The nimble exosuits granted the user access to, at the time, nigh unparalleled firepower and maneuverability. Missiles, rifles, cannons, even melee weapons failed to leave the reach of the IS. But even the combat prowess the IS possessed could not handle the major issue that was to come. Though the IS was technically to never be used as per the Alaska Treaty, in practice this stipulation was almost never followed. The IS in combat proved just how ineffective standard artillery, let alone ground infantry, was against this new scourge of the battlefield. Every nation wanted to get an edge over the other, as was standard whenever war was involved, but with only 467 IS cores total split between each nation equally and the inventor of those cores having disappeared from the world, no one had the knowledge or capability of replicating the technology necessary, let alone even consider mass production. Once again, the million dollar question had been asked. "What's next?" Hammond Industries was more than happy to answer.

It didn't take long for the once tech supergiant to retaliate. Hammond Robotics had conceded defeat for a time, but never again would they do so. This ruthless attitude was most apparent by the way Hammond Robotics The Titans, as Hammond Industries had named them, were large, armored military human-piloted mechs. Initially, the Titans possessed a very deep level of customization, able to adapt and change their attributes on demand, but as resources ran low and conflict raged on this had to be scrapped in favor of easily mass producible classes of Titans. Hammond Industries' aggressive campaign did not end there, allying itself with multiple military contractors and R&D teams, forming what would become the International Manufacturing Corporation, or IMC for short. Taking on military contracts and providing weapons to the highest payer, the once research and advancement driven company had placed itself, intentionally or not, within the crosshairs of an unofficial war between the IS and the Titan project. Though both adhered to the Alaska Treaty, neither side was willing to relinquish an inch in fear of the other side taking that inch. Both were willing to do whatever it took to win. No cost was too great. No burden was too much. No ground was too sacred.

-x-

Ivan was a simple IMC marine with simple wants. Shoot the targets, get paid, get wasted, and get some sleep. Life was good. By grunt standards, Ivan was much more courageous than his fellow marines. No one liked heading down to the command center. Orders were orders, but even he shuddered at the sight before him. This grotesque amalgamation of cables and electricity inside a neat steel and carbon fiber chassis never failed to unsettle whoever looked at it. Ivan grunted as he stood some five feet away from the robot, an attempt at gaining its attention. Spyglass units, physical manifestations of the IMC database, managing the IMC's communications, logistics, navigation, and more importantly, deployment. Creepy little shits, with the way they twitch and move so erratically, as if analyzing your very soul, but they were important to the health and continued operation of the IMC's military forces. Ivan coughed, another attempt at gaining the robot's attention, a task seemingly impossible considering how his...eye never strayed away from the monitors in front of it. "Admiral Spyglass," he called out, "General Marder sent an inquiry about the location of Captain Gregor about two weeks ago."

Admiral Spyglass responded, his singular eye refusing to leave the various monitors in front of him. "I was unaware that General Marder had any interest in maintaining contact with the remnant fleet. I distinctly recall him saying that the ARES division does not share the goals of my fleet. Isn't that correct, Lance Corporal Ivan? My apologies, it's Corporal Ivan, is it not?"

Ivan bit back the usual snarky reply he was accustomed to giving his superiors. Spyglass had little appreciation for humor. "You would be correct, Admiral. However, some recent developments within the ARES Division require some additional expertise," Ivan fumbled around in his pocket before producing a small data drive before handing it over to Spyglass. "General Marder has express permission for this project from the chairman."

Spyglass eyed the drive curiously before taking it and placing it into its hub on the computer in front of him. Whatever Spyglass was seeing, Ivan didn't. Nothing was displayed on the screen, and yet the admiral of the Remnant Fleet stared at the blank center screen with such intensity. Well, as much intensity as an expressionless, faceless robot could muster. Before long, Spyglass unplugged the drive before turning back to face Ivan. "Understood. Captain Gregor is being recalled from his station in Angel City. Estimated time of arrival is approximately two to six hours from this moment."

"Understood," came Ivan's reply. Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. As he turned to exit the command center, his spine crawled as Spyglass made a final comment to him. "Corporal Ivan."

"Y-yes, Admiral?" Ivan's cold sweat ran down the side of his head.

"Congratulations on the promotion."

-x-

Ivan released the breath he didn't know he was holding in as he stepped into the ARES Division's main headquarters. Spyglass dare not cast his vision within the research facilities here. Whether it was pre programmed as a precaution or simply done out of some abstract form of respect for the ARES Division is unclear. But at the very least, Ivan could rest easy knowing that the eyes of that creepy robotic freak weren't on him.

He continued wandering the pristine white halls of the headquarters, walking past the various IMC scientists and researchers. Some had their noses buried in the electronic note tablets and equipment their hands held, others whispered to each other as they looked at Ivan from the corner of their eye. 'Pompous assholes,' Ivan thought somewhat spitefully. These were mostly the children of various high ranking politicians, officers, and officials of multiple positions who managed to have enough influence and wealth to send their snot nosed kids to universities and get them jobs here. They would never see the muzzle flash of a barrel, the sight of your comrades getting torn to shreds, the screams and burns. And it made Ivan's blood boil to think that they were the ones who got to go home at the end of the day to a family.

After getting lost for a while (couldn't they make the signs somewhat more specific?), Ivan's gaze met the bronze plaque standing next to an imposing dark wooden door, reading "Elias Marder". Before Ivan could knock, the cold and pragmatic voice of his superior officer called out to him from behind the door. "Enter."

General Marder sat behind his rather large wooden desk, his hands interlocked together, his eyes apathetically staring at Ivan as he stood awkwardly in front of the door. The IMC corporal's eyes wandered before settling on another occupant. A younger teen donning standard Holo Pilot recon attire, lazily sitting on the chair, his eyes also wandering before lighting up as they landed on Ivan. The younger teen immediately stood up excitedly. "Ivan!" He exclaimed, reaching out to grip the hand of the IMC corporal and pulling him in for a friendly hug with surprising strength. "Good to see you, man. How've you been?"

Ivan rapidly tapped his hand against the teen's back as he struggled to breathe. "K-kid," he managed to wheeze out, "Can't...breathe…air...important…" The Holo pilot sheepishly laughed before letting the corporal go. His bearings collected, Ivan smiled at the young teen in front of him before ruffling his hair. "Good to see you too, Gregor," he said, before teasingly correcting himself. "My bad, that's Captain Gregor now, isn't it?"

"It's me, Ivan. Of course I'm captain!"

"While I hate to break up such a….happy reunion," Marder interrupted, his voice slightly laced in annoyance, "We are pressed for time. Is there anything you came to report, Corporal Ivan?"

"Uh, no sir." Damn, had he really taken that long to get back to HQ? "I wasn't aware Captain Gregor had already arrived. My apologies."

Elias turned his back to Ivan, choosing instead to face the window behind him overlooking one of the main research facilities. "If that is all, you may be dismissed." Ivan took his leave, leaving Gregor and the general to discuss whatever necessitated Gregor leaving his post in Angel City. Gregor's eyes lingered on the door before half-heartedly throwing himself onto the chair in front of Marder's desk with a small sigh. "Well, it was nice to see the old man again. But you wouldn't pull me from the crap going on in Angel City without a reason, right?"

Marder nodded without turning to face the brown haired pilot. "You would be correct," he began with a steady pause. "As I am sure you are aware, the ongoing protests in light of the IMC's actions against the militia insurgency have swayed public opinion out of our favor. While the integrity of the military contracts belonging to our clientele has not been damaged, it is important that our influence within the globe remains intact."

Gregor chuckled, leaning his head against his hand. "Never took you for THAT type, Marder."

"My position as a war general does not restrict my repertoire to one field," Marder sighed. "In any case, the board has ordered that I take charge of this project personally."

"Is that so? Lucky you," Gregor teased. The look on Marder's face wasn't exactly very receptive to said teasing, causing Gregor to sigh, his own joyful demeanor soured. "Okay, I'll bite. What'd you actually call me here for?"

"Tell me, Gregor, what do you know about the Infinite Stratos?" Marder asked.

Gregor blinked in confusion. "They look puny, I guess?"

Marder pinched his nose in frustration before looking into the laboratory again. "The Infinite Stratos, despite the efforts of our R&D teams, has been the dominant presence on the battlefield since its inception. Our titans are almost entirely on equal footing, but given that all but one of our mass produced models are ground locked, it is all for naught."

"...Still don't see how this relates to your company's horrible public image."

Marder quickly turned around in an almost dramatic fashion, slowly leaning on his wooden desk, his blue eyes boring into Gregor's green ones. He briefly smirked before his regular stone cold composure returned. "Captain Gregor," he began, "How would you like to become a teacher?"

"What?" Gregor asked. "Marder, I know your sense of humor is nonexistent but lately your jokes have been kind of shitty."

"Oh, I assure you that this is not a joke."

"Well then,what're the details?"

Marder paused for a moment, as if silently contemplating something, before resuming the discussion. "Unfortunately I cannot divulge any information other than what is surface level until you accept the mission."

"Mission?" Gregor asked skeptically, getting out of his seat and preparing to leave. "You know what, forget it. I've got bigger things to worry about than whatever the hell you're planning Marder."

"If you leave now, I can assure you that you won't have a position to return to," Marder said. Gregor had stopped midway, his hand already on the door handle. The tension in the room was palpable. The only pilot in the room stared at Marder icily. "You wouldn't dare," Gregor retorted. Marder sat back down on his rather lavish armchair. "In spite of the time we have known each other, Gregor, you seem to have forgotten a crucial detail. I am where I am because of the effort and sacrifices I made to ensure my vision.

I am a general of the IMC. I am the head of the ARES division. I am your employer. I am your savior. And most important, I am your maker. Make no mistake, you may currently work under Spyglass, but it is I who put you there. It is I who brought you from the streets when you were digging through garbage and rubbish in a pathetic attempt to provide for your sickly family. I wonder what self-respecting establishment would hire a fourteen-year-old without any form of primary or secondary education. One wonders how you'd manage to even send your poor family any means of living.

The choice, of course, is yours, Captain Gregor. What will that choice be?"

An uneasy silence had settled onto the room so rank you could almost smell it. It was that scent of disinfectant that reminded Gregor that this was Marder's turf. Marder was with, and Gregor was without. He muttered a defeated, "Yes," his eyes downcast.

"Good. Very good," Marder said, something reminiscent of a smile present on his face in a rare physical show of emotion. He moved to close the shutters of all the windows and turned off the lights. Clicking a switch underneath his table, the center of said table slowly parted with a mechanical hum, the base of a hologram projector raised in its place. A burst of blue light erupted from it, a wall of text accompanying a photo of someone close to Gregor's own age casted onto the air. Marder extended his hand towards the young pilot in front of him, his face returning to its original cold, stoic expression. "Welcome to the Amalgam Project, Captain."