"Hey kiddo, how're you doing?"

The words thudded softly against Arturo's eardrums, pulling him out of his light slumber. His eyes, blurred, readjusted with the semi-darkness. Once realizing his own wake, he pushed himself up from his thin bed with one arm, rubbed his eyes, and looked towards the doorway. Standing there was a man and a woman in full pilot gear. Red flashing lights could be seen and soft alarms could be heard blaring through the doorway, which wasn't loud enough to disturb one's sleep thanks to the improvised padded walls.

"Buenos días, mamá y papá. ¿Qué está pasando?"

"Mission," answered the man, the X shape of his visor throwing cyan light around the room. He held an R-201 Carbine assault rifle that was carefully strapped to the side of his abdomen. His pilot's uniform was a stoic gray, and he stood it up boldly, like a soldier should, but caringly, as a father should.

"Necesitas despertar, mijo," said the woman, her sideways half-moon shaped visor peering through the doorway. She held an Alternator submachine gun on her hip, which caused her blue uniform with tiger-striped camo to bunch up uncomfortably due to how short she was, only just reaching above the man's chest. Her height, however, should not sway from the fact that she was incredibly deadly. Arturo should know, he had to grow up with her. "Vas a volver a la base."

"¿Por qué?"

"Tu padre y yo iremos a un lugar peligroso."

"Hey," his father interrupted, putting his hand around his wife's shoulder. "Don't scare the kid, alright?"

Arturo's eyebrows furrowed in contempt at his words, and his madre made a head motion that could only mean she rolled her eyes. They both said nothing, instead, Arturo again looked back to her.

"¿Dónde?" He asked.

His father interrupted again with a sigh, both in defeat and in dislike. "Typhon," he finally answered.

Arturo's eyes widened in disbelief and became immediately alert. Typhon was an IMC occupied planet, which supposedly had a weak defense and therefore became a target in Operation: Broadsword. That was up until only a few days ago when they realized how wrong they were, suffering the loss of the MCS James MacAllan and much of the 9th Militia Fleet to Orbital Defense Cannons.

"Why are you going there of all places?!" He asked, jumping from his thin bed causing blankets to fly.

"Eso es un secreto."

"¡Mamá!"

His mother lifted her palms up in a defensive position. "Ya lo sé. Vamos, toma tu equipo. Te vas inmediatamente," she said, and left quickly, taking her husband with her.

He groaned at this and fell back onto his sheets, took a deep breath, and rolled off onto his feet.

Joining up on a simple patrol mission with his parents was supposed to be a side project that was going to get him extra points back in pilot school on Harmony. He had been one of the youngest ever accepted because of that family connection, and already he had been showing promise by blazing past most of the other students. Others have felt it was because he had great expectations set on him. But in reality, he just wanted to get out of that school as fast as possible, just so he could focus more on his apprenticeship at the Frontier Militia central intelligence offices. Getting the project cut short was going to put a little dent on that plan.

But he couldn't care about that now. Not when Typhon is the reason for it.

He quickly slipped himself into his fatigues and grabbed his gear, shoving it into a bag. He left the quarters in a hurry and headed straight for the bay of the ship.

Everyone was in a rush. The riflemen checked their weapons and stocked up on ammo, technicians were swinging from project to project, and pilots were committing to personal maintenance checks on their Titans. With each swift movement, the anxiousness in Arturo began to rise. Typhon was dangerous, combat was inevitable. Some of these soldiers weren't going to return. And his parents were going to be down there fighting alongside them.

Needless to say, the initial terror of it nearly froze him in shock.

He looked for his parents now. They were well-seasoned soldiers, highly decorated among the older officers of the Militia. Because of that, they were easy to find on the far side of the Titan bay, where they were doing their own checks on their SRS Vanguard-Class Titans. His father hung by a grappling hook as he checked the lower hinges of the cockpit door, and his mother sat on the shoulder of her Titan as she loaded in rockets into the deadly Acolyte Pod.

Arturo always admired Titans. Of course, who didn't want to pilot a giant, devastating mech? It was a little kids dream come true. The only thing he never quite understood was how pilots got attached to their tools of war, or rather, what was inside of them—The A.I.

He's seen it with his own parents. Sometimes he was inclined to question whether or not they were married to each other, or to their Titan Intelligences. Even now he could see how caringly they scrubbed and peered for any imperfections in their chassis, speaking softly where optics followed, listening attentively.

As he approached, all four of them noticed and moved to greet the boy. His dad slowly increased the line on the grappling hook, bending backward into a flip where his feet landed on the floor. A zipping noise was heard as the hook retracted back to him. His madre simply fell into her Titan's hand where she was set down carefully.

"Gracias, hermana mayor."

"Hey kiddo, already ready to go?" his dad asked rhetorically, turning around. He pointed off to the large door next to them. "That's good. Your ride is ready to go, we'll be jumping right after you leave."

"Right after?" He repeated, still a little stunned by how fast things were moving. His dad nodded.

Arturo felt a sinking panic in his chest and tried to think of anything to get as much time as he could with his family.

"But I don't want to go back to Harmony!"

Both of them chuckled in a bitter sort of way. "No," his madre said. "No Harmony."

"¿Qué?" He asked, genuinely surprised.

"At least not yet," his father reassured. "Somewhere else for now. But don't worry, we'll be back and we'll celebrate your graduation."

"I only just turned nineteen?"

"I'm sure they're willing to bump you up a bit. From what I've heard, you're doing incredibly well."

Arturo rolled his eyes. "I highly doubt it. The director is kind of a bitch."

An audible snort of disbelief came from him, but his madre was on the other side of the spectrum when she gave a little snicker. "Ella no es una mierda."

"Adriana!"

"Oh, cálmate," she said dismissively as she tugged off her helmet. Her short, dark hair fell nicely onto her shoulders in neat little waves. Her face was slim, dark, and sharp, with intelligent bright eyes and a very minimal amount of wrinkles. Seeing this, her husband followed suit and took off his own helmet. His hair was similarly wavy, but a papery deep brown with peppered white and tinges of dark copper. He looked far older than what he actually was. Their features were very telling of how much stress they underwent in their jobs, despite neither of them nearing the age of fifty.

His father rolled his eyes at his wife's words. Despite his surprised and scolding tone, there was still a visible smirk that curled the corner of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He turned to his son with a casual cough and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "You should respect your teachers, even if they can be a little excessive. They're like that for your good."

"Sure thing, dad," he yawned in response, clearly ignoring.

His father chuckled mildly, then urged him off to the side towards the bay door, causing him to groan.

"Come on, you better get going."

"See you later, Arty," came his father's Titan, HPN-3682, to which Arturo responded with a simple wave. He was stopped by his madre, however, who clasped her hands around her son's shoulders, bringing him closer so she could kiss him on the forehead.

"Te amo, mijo."

"Yo también te amo, mamá," he answered, hugging her closely. "Por favor, vuelve sano y salvo."

She nodded and looked back at her Titan. "¿Se puede hacer eso, verdad?"

QZ-2282's adjusted to stand at attention, her optics blinking. "Protocol 3: Protect the pilot."

His madre shifted her gaze back to her son and winked.

Just at that moment, an unknown rifleman, about the same age as the older pilots, approached them. "Captain Rivaja and Captain Rivaja, troops are ready to deploy," he said with a smile. At these words, the captain in gray armor yawned and bent backward to stretch his back, turning around to embark his brick-red colored Titan.

"Alright, Hitchpin, let's get this show on the road."

As he entered, the captain in blue tiger camo followed suit and embarked her Titan that was colored white and blue.

"Y ahora es el momento para su discurso, mi amor."

Arturo smiled up at them. His parents worked so well together. The stories they had burned throughout the frontier should attest to that, for battle after battle they had guarded each other's backs. They were nearly unstoppable. Seeing them in their Titans now only made him more excited for the future when he becomes a pilot himself. But it also stirred a sense of dread for them. They were getting old. They had served long and they had served hard.

He'll take up the family mantle sure enough.

The rifleman then waltzed over to Arturo, also gesturing him towards the bay door. "Come on, hotshot. Your ride has been waiting for a while."

He adjusted his bag with a nod and gave one last salute to his parents before he finally picked his feet up. Right then, his father's words boomed throughout the ship, calling for everyone's attention. Heads poked out from behind pipes and guns, ears tuning in to what he had to say.

"I know you all know what we are heading into, crew. I know your nerves. We are still suffering from the loss of Captain Lastimosa, and right now our future is a little hazy. But we will not let the deaths of these brave men on Typhon go in vain! If there is one thing we will make clear to the, 'Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation,' is that they will not drive us out from our own homes! They will not have another inch of our worlds! There's a new kid down there right now, Jack Cooper, trained under Lastimosa himself, who is ensuring that that is the case. So pick up your guns, riflemen, and let's go help him out!"

A resounding cheer could be heard throughout the bay as the door closed to Arturo's ride. The sound of pressure equalizing signified the disengagement from the main ship. He only could crack a smile for a moment at his father's speech before the main ship jumped through space, leaving him.

He never saw them again after that.

William sat there with depressed, heavy-lidded eyes in the chair of his little hut. In his hand was his pistol, painted a blue tiger striped camo.

A sigh heaved from his chest.

He took a swig from a can that sat on the table next to him. It was dawning outside, and like the day before, it was incredibly gray. But to add on top of that, there was now fog that was pooling through the trees. It only became clear once it reached the sand, leaving the ocean untouched and still visible.

It's been nearly two years since that day, and every time he thought about it, he wanted to put a hole in the wall. But he never did, there was no point. He cursed that he could remember it all so well, and all because of the damned computer stuck in his head. Having it made everything too clear for his liking. Sometimes he wondered if it was the reason why he still remained somewhat functional.

Like that really matters.

The events that conspired the day before only reaffirmed his desire to be alone out here in the middle of nowhere, especially after last night. He remembered the words he said. He could roughly guess that it was nowhere noon just yet.

There was no lie he could tell himself. His outburst did make him feel at least somewhat guilty, but he wasn't about to go apologize to the machine now. He would just have to wait it out until the Titan left. Which meant the next several hours were going to be painful and restless. But at least they wouldn't have to see each other ever again.

He took another sip and peered at the locked terminal that was hooked up to his television screen. Perhaps he could start making plans for what he was going to do for the rest of the day. Once that Titan left, at least.

The voice in his rambled out different chores he could do. The ideas making him more and more restless. Soon the voice began to double, then triple, then...

Wait. What the f-

"You think this guy is even home?"

Will froze.

"I say that it's not even worth bothering. I mean, look at this place. The scenery is nice and all, but the place is a total pile of shit! The guy who lives here has to be some old geezer who's lost all his marbles."

"You just used, 'geezer,' and, 'marbles.' You sound more ancient than today's old people."

A snicker came from someone else.

"Shut the hell up, Deckers."

"Woman, I swear to God—"

A sound of a racking pistol ended up quieting both the voices. Will heard their breaths getting caught in their throats, tension gripping them in fear. A new, much quieter voice had sounded after that. One that was very suave, in a scoundrel kind of way. Clearly the leader of the group.

"We're not getting paid by the hour here, you shitheads. We're getting paid to complete the contract. So be quiet, or else I'm going to put a bullet through both of your throats and into your spines, savvy?"

"Yes, Yes, sir," both of them stammered. "It was only a suggestion."

"Suggestions, smuggestions. Just look pretty for our host, aye?"

A knock at the door immediately sounded afterward, causing Will to grip the pistol a little tighter. He could tell from the sound of these guys that they weren't the kind to make nice with.

He got up slowly from his chair, moving inch by inch to the door, warranting another set of knocks. "Excuse me? Is anyone home?" Even more knocks.

"Dude's probably dead," whispered the male called Deckers. "Just snap the door boss, it's not like they can't replace it."

"That's no way to treat someone's property. Besides...I know he's in there."

Will's neck ran cold. Carefully, he stuck the pistol in between his lower back and the belt of his pants but made sure to keep his shooting hand close to it. He prepared to meet these mercenaries, feigning exhaustion by yawning and squinting an eye. With a quick movement, he opened the door.

With a sweep of a gaze, he took in his visitors. The person directly in front of him, the leader, was tall, with a long and dense black beard that was braided in a few spots. He gave a bit of a grin which showed the yellow in his teeth. He reminded him of pirates of old. And as friendly as he stood, he was clearly offputting and somewhat intimidating.

The two other voices that were with him were close behind. The woman was short, Polynesian, and had a ponytail in her black hair. Her skin was smooth yet clogged with sweat and dirt. And she held a very deceiving, innocent smile on her face.

The man they called Deckers was even taller than their pirate-looking leader. He was somewhere between the ages of him and the woman, had dark skin, and wore a helmet with glasses. He expressed a casual stance that matched his face.

There was also another. A little further behind all of them. He was around the same height and age as Will, pale, covered in tattoos, and very bald. He seemed more interested in looking around the beach instead of what his colleagues were doing. His face held a very prominent gum-chewing smirk that filled Will with an innate desire to punch it off.

"¿Cómo puedo ayudarles?"

"Shit, boss," said the bald guy. "Poor dumbass don't even speak English."

"I speak English fine," he replied instantaneously with narrowed eyes.

The boss whipped to him and gave a death-giving glare. One that even unnerved Will a little. But the guy surprisingly didn't seem fazed at all.

"Sorry about that," the boss said as he turned back with a wry smile. "We still don't have him properly trained."

Will waved it off. The sooner these people were gone the better. But he still didn't feel comfortable that there were now others that knew of the existence of this place. His trigger finger was starting to itch.

"Anyways," the boss continued. "We understand a ship had crashed near here not too long ago. Know anything about it?"

"Oh, the ship? Well," Will started, stumbling over which information he should reveal and which he should fabricate. "All...All I really know is that it exploded. I was on my way, well I came back you see, but I went to investigate the crash, but, but came back after that happened."

"Huh, did you notice anything leaving the crash site?"

His face contorted into a look of thoughtful confusion to mask the anxiousness. If these guys were after the Titan, what would they want with it? How would it affect him if they found it? If there was nothing for him to offer, they might end up sticking around longer to investigate. But if he gave it up, the sooner all of them would leave, including the Titan if it was still around.

Perhaps if he got extra lucky, he could kill them instead.

That would just warrant more search parties. Damn it.

"Er, now that you mention it. I thought I saw a...walking scrapyard or...something," he finally started casually. "I don't know, I had a couple of drinks in me when I went to go look at it. Probably not what you were looking for, sorry."

The caterpillar eyebrows of the boss rose up significantly. "You mean like a Titan?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, it might just be what we are looking for," he said mostly to himself, stroking his beard. "If you don't mind, mate, I think we'll just have a quick look around."

"By all means," Will waved. "And if you don't mind, when you leave, can you all keep this place a little, 'hush-hush?' I kind of like my privacy out here."

The bald man cackled before the boss could say anything. "I don't think you have an option, dude. This place out here is quite charming," his voice dripped in arrogance. "I think we might become neighbors."

Will's eyes widened in a mix of pure hatred and unwanted surprise.

What a dick!

The insufferable asshole gave a sly wink and a chew of his gum before talking again. "I mean look at this house you got going on back here," he said, walking around the hut to the forest path, causing protests to escape from both Will as well as the guy's fellow colleagues. "I mean I think with a couple of touch-ups from yours truly, this place can be something truly special."

"Excuse me!" Will said angrily. "That's private property! You're not allowed in!"

"Pyrite, you heard the man, back off!"

"Oh come on Cap, just a little look-see!" He responded with a gleeful twirl of outstretched hands as they stopped by the smoldering bonfire pit from the night before. "You know, people are only private if they have something to hide."

"I'm warning you!"

"Warning me of what? I'm not doing anything wrong!"

"Seriously, I'm not in the mood...Pyrite? Is it?"

"Ding ding ding! Fool's Gold! The Golden Fool! You are correct my friend!" He said, dancing lightly on his feet...until it smacked something.

My helmet.

"And you know the one Golden rule I have, my friend?" Pyrite asked with a cackle as he bent down to pick it up. "Never be taken for a fool."

Appearing to manifest out of thin air, a Wingman revolver replaced the helmet that was in Pyrite's hands and was aimed straight at Will's face. The anger and anxiety that swirled within him was now exchanged with pure terror. His hands shot out to his sides in surrender instantly. All at once, he sensed that he became the target of every single one of his visitor's weapons, feeling the barrels getting pointed at his back.

Cap groaned. Most likely annoyed with this Pyrite guy and how he got whatever job they were doing done.

"Now I'm gonna ask this once, pilot," Pyrite said. "Where's the file?"

"What—?"

Something in Will's mind clicked before he even finished the sentence. Time slowed. Electricity coursed through his mind. He knew danger was coming, and his next course of actions were set just as Pyrite's Wingman aimed off to the edge and its hammer has only clicked halfway down.

His torso jutted sideways to his right, extending a hand out towards the weapon and getting a firm grip. It didn't stop the hammer, however, and the round escaped the barrel. Just as he tried to rip the revolver out of Pyrite's hands, taking him with it, the bullet grazed his left arm. He hissed as he finished his sentence.

"—Fii-FFFFUCKING!"

Pyrite was taken by surprise and had finally let go of the revolver. Will also got a hold of him and practically threw him away from the house and towards the other visitors. Both of them ended up dazed from the quick event. Will dropped the revolver right afterward and tended to his wounded arm. Meanwhile, Pyrite was breathing heavily in the arms of his fellow gang members.

"Woo!" He cheered lightly. He got an eyeful of Will's wound as it began to bleed heavily through the shirt and laughed as well. "I told you I was gonna only ask once, and you already broke my Golden rule! Still, I'm impressed, pilot! Never before have I seen a move like that!"

"I don't know...what...fucking file...you want," he gasped, still grasping his arm. "But you better fucking leave!"

His hand found the pistol in his pants and swung around to fire a few blind shots into the gang, scaring them off while he kicked his helmet into the doorway of the incomplete house and threw himself inside.

If there was one thing he expected, it was return fire. But the one thing he didn't expect was how wrong and how quickly everything fell apart. He didn't understand, but he couldn't think of that now. Something far worse was heard than just a few shots.

"All units! Attack the house!"

Realization dawned on him that it wasn't just the gang that showed up on his beach. Quickly, he threw on his helmet and went to work on his floor, searching for another secret of his that was buried in the ground. It was now his last resort.

Oh, Jesus Christos. ¿Dónde está ese Titán?