AUTHOR'S NOTES: Whew! This chapter almost beat me. Ground combat is much harder to write than air combat. Just with everything going on in the world, I really thought I was going to have to take a break for a week, but I took a day to recharge, and I think it helped.

Incidentally, Ironwood and Octavia Ember's exchange roughly translates to "I'm a friend" and "I sure hope so," at least according to Google Translate.

Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)

Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

14 May 2001

1435 Local

"Brace the door with something!" Yang yelled.

"No!" Blake shouted. "Don't. Let the White Fang come in."

Yang stared at Blake, who saw the accusation in her friend's eyes. "We brace the door, they'll use grenades. We need their rifles." She motioned to Ruby, who had the air policeman's pistol. "Ruby, give me that and get on the landing. I'll hold the door. Velvet, can we move the airman there?"

Velvet tightened Blake's ribbon around the wounded air policeman's shoulder. "Yes."

"Move him upstairs to Ruby Flight's room. Yang, Weiss, Nora, get up on the landing with Ruby. When the White Fang come in, they'll only see me. I'm Faunus. They'll hesitate."

"You'd better be right," Yang told her, and followed the others onto the landing. Nora pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall. Weiss considered running back to the dorm room to get her ceremonial dress sword, but decided there wasn't time.

She was right. Though the fire from the hedgerow was slowing the White Fang down, forcing them to dash from cover to cover, they reached the FOQ, their first objective. Octavia knelt, fired off a three-round burst towards the hedgerow, and kicked open the main door. She dashed inside, went to the right towards the stairwell, and found herself nearly face to face with Blake. "Blake?" she asked. "Blake Belladonna?" She began to smile, remembering Blake from their days in the White Fang together. "We're supposed to take you—"

Blake did not hesitate. Her knife was in her right hand, and she stabbed upwards, the blade entering just below Octavia's left breast, into her heart. She died with a quizzical look on her face. As she fell, Blake let the knife fall with her, drew the pistol, and fired four times. Two White Fang soldiers went down on the steps before the rest realized they were under fire from the FOQ. She fell back to the landing, dragging Octavia's carbine with her. With only a second to spare, she tossed the M4 to the first person she saw, which happened to be Ruby.

The door was too small for more than three White Fang to come in at once, but three of them tried. Blake shot one of them in the chest, but Ruby killed the other two with shots to the head. Blake turned to her in surprise. "Ruby, what—"

"Marksmanship award in high school," Yang said. "Dad taught us how to hunt." She moved past both of them. "Cover me. I'm going after their hardware."

"I'll go with!" Nora hefted the fire extinguisher. They jumped down a half-flight of stairs and reached the bodies, just as two more White Fang burst through the door. Nora let fly with the fire extinguisher, filling the entranceway with foam, and the Faunus fell back. She threw the extinguished at them as Yang gathered up three of the M4s and dashed back up the landing. She handed out the weapons to Weiss and Nora; Blake holstered the pistol and took one for herself. "Now what?" Yang asked. "You're the Marine; you've trained for this ground shit."

"Back up the stairs," Blake ordered. "We'll hold the second floor landing. There's no one on the first floor; Auburn and Indigo were out on the flightline earlier. That's a narrow stairwell."

"Why not stay here?" Ruby said, her eyes still on the door.

"Because next time they'll use grenades. Move."

In the hedgerow, Jaune, Pyrrha, Ren, Fox Alasdair and the two Security Force men continued to hold. They were limiting themselves to the occasional sniping shot, just to keep the White Fang under cover; they didn't have an unlimited amount of ammunition.

"Pyrrha, look," Jaune pointed through the hedges.

"Damn," she breathed. She tugged on the sleeve of one of the SF. "Sergeant, they're flanking us to the right."

"Or they're going for the VOQ. Is anyone in there?" the sergeant replied. Then he remembered. "Oh, shit. The general." He stood, but Pyrrha pulled him back down as a bullet went through the spot he had been in. "Don't. You'll never make it."

"And you don't have to, man!" The other SF policeman pointed behind them. "Hot damn, here comes the cavalry!"

Two HMMWVs were rolling down Arryn Avenue. The rearmost one was unarmed, but the one in front had a .50 caliber heavy machinegun atop it. They hadn't seen any heavy weapons among the White Fang; a .50 would be a game changer.

Sienna Khan fought down frustration. Beacon's personnel had reacted much faster than she'd thought, and already seven of her people were down. She'd sent four of her soldiers to the Visiting Officers' Quarters, where Cinder had informed them Ironwood was. Killing General James Ironwood would be an achievement in and of itself.

"High Leader!" one of her soldiers shouted. "Enemy vehicles, front!"

"Oh shit!" someone else yelled. "They've got a fifty on that one!"

"Calm down and give me the RPG." Sienna deliberately kept her voice calm. She was handed the antitank weapon. "Cover me. Spray that hedgerow." Two of them did, and Sienna dashed forward, raising the tube. She centered the sight and fired. The rocket-propelled grenade made a chuffing noise as it shot forward; a second later it hit the HMMWV in the grill, just as the gunner began tracking on her. The vehicle's hood blew off, and it skidded off the road into the side of the Bachelors' Officers Quarters. The crew abandoned it as flames began to spread. Bullets skipping at her heels, she went back to her cover behind the trees in front of the FOQ.
"How many RPG rounds do we have left?" she asked.

"Just two, High Leader," a soldier replied. "We brought three Javelins…"

"But those are with Ilia and Yuma." Sienna smiled. "Well, I doubt we'll be running into tanks."

The other HMMWV had stopped, out of range, and troops began to pile out of it. They dived into the ditches to either side of the avenue as Moonslice suddenly roared down the street, twenty millimeter shells tearing apart the HMMWV and killing two men. Adam broke off and flew overhead. Sienna watched the fighter climb into the clouds, then glanced behind her, at the dispersal far in the distance. There were no smoke clouds rising from it. She snapped her fingers at her radioman. "Ask Ilia what she's doing. She's supposed to be destroying those fighters by now."

Ilia Amitola and her team had taken cover behind the equipment building, and she checked her watch for the fifth time. "Ilia," a deer Faunus asked her, "what are we waiting for?"

"I'm making sure it's clear. You see how the revetments are placed? It's so no more than two aircraft can get strafed or bombed at a time, but it's also a great place to hide!" Ilia flung a hand towards the dispersal. "There could be a hundred troops in there, and we're only ten!"

"But we have to do something!" the Faunus exclaimed, almost pleading.

Ilia bit back what she wanted to say, which was to shut up. The problem was, he was right: there was no real reason to wait. There was no movement in there since the F-15 and the F-14 had taken off, and they were already on the taxiway. Yuma's team was surely in position. She briefly considered just shooting her own team, but she'd never get them all before they got her. And her cover as the CIA's Source Camo had to be preserved; she knew Arashikaze would sacrifice Beacon to maintain that cover, if it came to that, and Ilia had already taken a very risky chance by sparing Sergeant Hofer. She was going to have to attack.

"What the hell is he doing?" another White Fang trooper asked, and Ilia ducked around.

It was Roman Torchwick. He was running for all he was worth down the taxiway, waving his arms and shouting. "God damn him," Ilia snarled, but in her mind, she was thanking God for Torchwick. Now they would have to wait to see what happened, and that took time.

Roman Torchwick had grown up on the streets before he'd made it big, working his way up from shoplifting and petty thievery to grand theft auto and building his own gang. One of the skills he'd learned was the art of making people believe what they wanted to see. Amateurs, Roman had noted, always thought someone could see through their disguise. Professionals knew that no one usually even looked.

He was wearing a flight suit stolen from Hector, so it was standard USAF issue; he was also wearing a stolen helmet, without any markings. It covered his orange hair, and he doubted anyone in the dispersal area would recognize Roman Torchwick—and he wasn't going to give them a chance to.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" he screamed, sprinting down the taxiway. He was soon passing aircraft, and huddled around them were mechanics, crew chiefs and technicians. None were armed, other than with various tools and blunt implements. A bearded black sergeant dashed out from one of the revetments and pulled him into it. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at Torchwick. "Sir," he added, seeing the captain's bars sewn onto the shoulders of the flight suit.

"There's White Fang all over the damn base!" Torchwick yelled. "I managed to get around them, but there's about twenty of the bastards over there!" He pointed right at Ilia's group, behind the equipment building. "You guys got any guns?"

"We're working on it. You a pilot?" Other than the rank, there were no identifying marks on the flight suit.

"Yes, Chief…Vogelmord." Luckily, Roman recognized the rank. Looking past the sergeant, he saw the red-trimmed F-16 of Ruby Rose, its nose festooned with kill marks. Roman wished he'd brought a grenade to throw down the intake, but the rather large wrench that Vogelmord held would've talked him out of it anyway. "You got any spare aircraft? I can get one up, and at least get that fucker off your ass." Roman pointed to the F-16. "I don't suppose you can let me borrow that one." It would be the ultimate in revenge if he could take Little Red's own aircraft, Roman mused.

"No, sir. What are you rated for? Hell, who are you?" Vogelmord asked.

"Major Gray Haddock. I just came in this morning. I was on the Paladin Project…" Roman let his voice trail off, and shook his head. "Poor Penny." Then he spotted an aircraft that was almost just as good as stealing Ruby's. "Listen," he told Vogelmord. "I was in the Aggressors at Hill. I can fly the shit out of one of those." He motioned at the desert-camouflaged F-5E that sat kittycorner from the F-16's revetment, wearing the split roundel of the Royal Jordanian Air Force. "Come on, man! We don't have time!"

"Yeah, okay. Go for it, sir." Torchwick threw the chief a salute and dashed over to the F-5. Vogelmord shouted after him. "Hey, is Lieutenant Ember here?"

"Nah, Chief!" one of the mechanics around the F-5 shouted back. "The rest of Indigo Flight is here, but she isn't!"

"I'll take it." Roman didn't wait for the mechanic's approval, but bounded up the ladder into the cockpit. As he settled into it, it was like shaking hands with an old friend. He took a moment to run his fingers over the stick and throttle. The mechanic came up after him. "Sir," he said, "got an oxygen mask and everything, but no G-suit or survival vest."

"Don't need it," Roman answered. "We'll do this old school." The mechanic helped him strap in, then dropped down, pulled away the ladder, and moved aside. Roman ran through a hasty preflight, gave the signal to pull the chocks, and began to taxi out, throwing a thumbs-up to the ground crew, actually feeling a little sorry for them. He then reached over and switched the formation lights on the F-5 on, setting them to strobe.

Adam Taurus made another circuit of Beacon, throttling back. He was getting frustrated. He'd held off from strafing the dispersal, partially because his guns weren't calibrated for air-to-ground, partially because he didn't want to strafe Ilia's team by accident. And partially because he wanted the White Fang assault to fail, at least partially, so Blake would get in her F-14 and he could challenge her. He knew it was insane, but deep down, Adam wanted to prove that he was still the better pilot. He was going to bring Blake back into the fold, back to his side, but before he did that, he needed to break her.

He spotted the F-5 taxiing out, and watched it for a moment. After he'd shot down the F-15 and Ilia's team had positioned itself, no one else had tried to take off; the F-14 had not hung around to dogfight him, but had headed west. This was a brave soul, Adam mused, but he or she was going to die all the same, either from Ilia's team using their Javelins on it, or when it would be easy prey when it took off.

Then he saw the formation lights begin strobing. Adam could not help but smile. "Roman Torchwick," he said, "you crazy son of a bitch." He toggled the radio switch. "Neo from Adam. Your boyfriend's back."

One of Ilia's team raised the Javelin, but Ilia saw the lights come on. "I don't believe it," she said. "Roman just stole a F-5. He really is a thief."

He taxiied past them, giving them a quick salute, then went out on the runway, closed the canopy, and took off. The White Fang threw up a cheer. Ilia shook her head at the air pirate's temerity, but she also knew she no longer had an excuse.

"He's out of the way," she said, barely keeping the sadness out of her voice. "Let's go."

Voglemord watched the White Fang dash out from behind cover. Chief Darren Yorse had run over to him. "Arnold," Yorse sighed, "I think we've been had."

"The fucker was White Fang? He just…oh shit." Vogelmord remembered. "Roman Torchwick. That bastard had to be Roman Torchwick."

"And he just stole a fighter right out from under our nose. And these bastards are going to torch the rest of them." He waved a wrench. "Here the bastards come! Gentlemen, prepare to defend yourselves!" Yorse laughed ironically. "Always wanted to say that—"

He was cut off by the whine of an engine being run up. Both men turned to see the F-8 Crusader of Nebula Violette taxiing out of her hardstand. She swung the nose around onto the taxiway, stopped, and then the aircraft knelt: Nebula lowered the nose wheel, as she would if she was about to be hooked to a catapult for launch from a carrier. It also brought her four twenty millimeter cannon directly in line with Ilia's team. Nebula pulled the trigger, and the shells pounded down the taxiway. The White Fang scattered; one Faunus was hit and simply disintegrated.

The mechanics and crew chiefs cheered as Nebula kept moving down the taxiway; because it caused the F-8 to rear up on its main landing gear, her shells were now passing harmlessly over the White Fang and landing around the equipment building, so she ceased fire and stopped.

"Brave move," Adam remarked. "I'm almost sorry to do this." He rolled in. Though his guns were not really suited for strafing, the F-8 made a big target. He dived Moonslice to 200 feet, and opened fire. His shells tore into the Crusader, setting it afire.

Nebula knew she was hit as she felt the F-8 shudder. She also knew that, as her aircraft carried a full load of fuel and ammunition, she stood a good chance of blocking the main taxiway. Nebula moved the throttle forward, cleared the revetments, then taxied into the ditch. The F-8 ended up nose down, which meant she could not safely eject, so she unstrapped, and jumped out. She ran, praying the White Fang weren't anywhere near her.

The F-8 exploded. The revetments saved the nearest aircraft from fragments and blast, and the White Fang were under cover. Nebula was in the open. The blast knocked her down, and flames ignited her hair. She struggled to her feet, screaming as she tried to run. Both sides watched in horror, and then one of the White Fang—the deer Faunus—dashed out of cover, grabbed her, pulled off his jerkin, and wrapped it around her head. He half-dragged her out of danger, back to the ditch Ilia's team was sheltering in.

"What are you doing? She's human!" one of the White Fang shouted.

"I'm not going to watch someone burn to death, human or not!" the Faunus screamed back. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Pyrrha saw the black smoke rolling up from the hardstands. Their ersatz team had been reinforced by more SF men. Right now it was a stalemate. Neither side could move forward. Pyrrha, as the ranking person, was in command, but she had no experience in ground combat. Still, she had to do something. "Sergeant," she addressed the man next to her, "take three men and go around to the right. Let's see if we can flank them."

"Pyrrha," Jaune said, "four of them just went into the FOQ. Can we get over there?"

She looked to the sergeant, who shook his head. It would require a dash across open ground. Pyrrha felt sick. Nora was in there; so was Ruby Flight. They'd heard shots already, though someone in there had a weapon, since there were dead White Fang in front of the FOQ's entrance. But they were on their own, and Pyrrha had to write them off.

None of them had noticed that one White Fang soldier had worked his way through the bushes of the park, crawling close to the hedge. He pulled the pin out of a grenade, and threw it over the hedgerow. It landed between Pyrrha and Fox. "Grenade!" Fox shouted, and grabbed it. He flung it backwards behind a tree before it exploded. Most of the fragments were absorbed in the tree, but others went into the people behind the hedge. Fox fell back, hands clapped to his face, and one of the security police went down, clutching his leg.

With a howl, the White Fang leapt over the hedge, knife raised. Ren jammed his pistol into his stomach and fired twice. The charge ended as soon as it had stopped as the White Fang fell back screaming behind the hedge.

Fox was screaming as well. "Ah God! I can't see! I can't see!" One of the SF men called for a medic.

With a ruthlessness he didn't know he had, Jaune leaned over the hedge and shot the White Fang soldier in the head, ceasing his cries of agony. He dropped back as a bullet chopped into the hedge. "Pyrrha. You're hit."

"Um?" She looked down and saw a hole in the ankle of her boot. She could feel pain winding up her leg, but it was tolerable. "It's all right. I'll look at it later." She stole a glance over the hedge. "We've got to break this somehow."

Building 111415 (Visiting Officer's Quarters)

1445 Hours Local

When Ironwood heard the explosions, he'd looked out of the window of the corner room he had. He'd taken his M1911 out of his suitcase, loaded it, and checked out the window again. There were four White Fang soldiers headed his way; if he went out any door of the VOQ, he'd be in the open, and very dead. There was no doubt they were coming for him, and anyone else in the building. As far as he knew, there wasn't anyone else in the VOQ but him at the moment.

Ironwood acted quickly. He went into the bathroom, opened the taps in the shower wide, and pulled the curtain closed, and shut the door behind him. He then opened the window and dived behind the bed.

He could hear the White Fang enter the building. They went from room to room, and occasionally he heard the whump of grenades—flashbangs, he deduced by the noise. This group was professional. He heard only occasional shots; they were also husbanding their ammunition.

Then he heard them outside his door. The door was kicked open. Ironwood stayed down, closing his eyes and opening his mouth. The concussion from the flashbang was still enough to drive the breath from his lungs and cause his hearing to be replaced by a ringing noise. He peeked over the top of the bed to see two White Fang soldiers; one kicked in the door to the bathroom. Ironwood propped himself over the bed, leveled the pistol, and fired. The bullets caught the second man through the door in the chest and threw him backwards. The first man turned and fired a burst with his carbine, tearing up the bed while Ironwood dropped down behind it, rolled to the left, and came up firing. This time his shots hit the White Fang in the shoulder, spinning him around into the bathroom.

The third wasn't going to go through the door. A grenade sailed into the room. Ironwood dashed forward, scooped it up, and threw it back into the hallway. It exploded, and he heard screams. He dropped behind the closet wall and waited, but the screams gradually died away to groans. Then he heard more shots—pistol fire this time, and the groans stopped.

Someone else? he wondered. So far the White Fang hadn't been using pistols. "Anyone friendly out there?"

"Yes! Who's there?"

Ironwood thought he placed the accent. "'Iinaa sadiq!"

There was a pause. "'Atamanaa dhlk bialtaakid." Ironwood stepped halfway out of cover. Hopefully these White Fang didn't speak Arabic.

A brown haired woman in casual clothes stepped into the entrance, a nine millimeter pistol in her hands. "General Ironwood?" she asked.

"Octavia Ember, correct?" He smiled. "Good to see a friendly face."

She was about to step into the room, but he held up a hand. He took two cautious steps forward, and looked into the bathroom. The White Fang he'd wounded lay in a puddle of blood and water, against the toilet. He reached for the carbine with his good hand. Ironwood did not give him a chance and shot him twice. He then reached down, grabbed the carbine and extra magazines from the White Fang's belt, and holstered the .45.

Ember watched him and did the same with the corpse in the doorway. As Ironwood stepped out into the hallway and over the body of the first man he'd killed, the other two lay in a heap. Both had been badly wounded by the grenade; Ember had merely finished them off. He gathered up their weapons away, along with a flashbang and two grenades. "I'm sorry, General," Ember said as he did so. "Sorry I wasn't here sooner."

"You're here now," Ironwood replied. "Glad they didn't find you." His room had been among the last the White Fang team had searched.

"Well, sir…I confess I was hiding under my bed."

Ironwood, despite the situation, laughed. "Well, Lieutenant, let's go join the battle, shall we?"

Task Force Gagnon

Near Oakdale, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

1450 Hours Local

Major Jacob Gagnon grinned as he looked into the rearview mirror. Coming up in the passing lane were three M1A1 Abrams, pieces of asphalt flying from the tracks; Interstate 94 was not really reinforced with 60-ton main battle tanks in mind. Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata was as good as her word—better, because she'd brought three tanks rather than two.

"Major? Problem." Sergeant Fletcher, who had taken over driving duties on the deuce and a half truck that was carrying 2 Troop, pointed ahead as he began slowing down. "Tabarnak!" Gagnon cursed. There were dozens of cars halted in front of them. As the truck stopped, Gagnon swung out of the passenger door, even as he heard the tanks rumble to a stop as well. He ran forward to a Wisconsin Highway Patrol car. The patrolman saw him, came to attention, and saluted, despite the fact that the WHP wasn't exactly in Gagnon's chain of command. "What's going on?" Gagnon said, returning the salute.

"Are you guys headed for Beacon?" The WHP thumbed towards the base, only eight miles away. Smoke was rolling up in the distance. "Sorry, sir. We've got a massive traffic jam. Both lanes. We've stopped traffic until we figure out what the hell is going on. I can reroute you around it—Highway 12 is still clear."

"Major Gagnon!" Bighorn-Vlata was waving for his attention. He crossed over to where the tank was parked, the main gun distressingly close to another WHP patrol car; the patrolmen were looking nervously at the tank. "We have to get around this shit. I'm going to take my tanks across country, break through to the north."

"We'll head for the main gate. Get moving, then!" He looked at the tanks. Gagnon wished he could load some of his men onto them, but the gas turbine of the Abrams put out a lot of heat; it would not be like in World War II, where they could ride into combat on the rear deck of the tank. "Fletcher! Boucher! Wilburn! Get aboard the tanks! Take up the loader position!" It was better than nothing. "Take the Stinger!" Gagnon looked up, and saw a F-5 and something with forward swept wings orbiting above them.

"We've only got one shot for the Stinger!" Private Wilburn yelled back.

"Those bastards don't know that! Move your ass!" He nodded to Bighorn-Vlata, who dropped back down into her commander's position, her hands on the .50 caliber machine gun. That could do a great deal of damage as well. As his men pulled themselves onto the tanks, Gagnon turned to the patrolman. "Lead on."

Above them, Adam dipped a wing and saw the tanks on the road, then checked the round counter in the HUD for his cannon. He didn't have much left, and he didn't want to be flying around with empty guns. He still had his missiles, but few fighter pilots only wanted to be dependent on that. He toggled his radio switch. "Fang Six, this is Adam," he sent out.

"Fang Six." It was not Sienna, but her radioman; Adam could hear automatic weapons fire in the background.

"Tell Sienna to move her ass. You've got three tanks about eight miles away, and Roman and I don't have a thing to stop them."

Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)

1455 Local

"Tanks?" Sienna asked her radioman. "Is he sure?" Her radioman raised the mouthpiece of the radio to his mouth, but Sienna motioned for the radio. "Adam, Fang Six Actual. Are you sure about the tanks?"

"Fang Six, I am looking down at three M1 Abrams main battle tanks, which are now leaving the highway and going across the field. At the speed they're progressing, you're going to have them in your laps in about ten minutes or less."

"Strafe them!" Sienna ordered.

"Negative. Our twenty millimeters won't get through that armor, and those tanks have machine guns. I am not getting down into their kill zone, and neither is Roman if he has any sense."

Sienna looked around her. She'd already taken heavy casualties, and though Ilia's teams still had their Javelins, she didn't like her chances against tanks. There was an explosion behind her, from the dispersal. They'd already done quite a bit of damage, and with any luck, they could do more before they finally had to disperse into the woods and exfiltrate the base. The plan had never been to take Beacon in any case, but to delay their reaction. She hoped Cinder had succeeded in her part of the plan, at least.

"Adam, Fang Six. Maintain position. We'll fall back to Yuma's team and keep the runway closed. What's your state?"

"I've got about another thirty minutes before bingo."

"Understood. Fang Six out." Sienna handed back the mike to the radioman. Adam had around another thirty minutes of fuel before he had to leave the area. Neo and Roman would have more. The plan was still working, just not as well as she'd like. "Give the order to fall back to Yuma," she told the radioman. Then she reached into her pocket, pulled out a whistle, and gave three blasts on it.

Ilia watched as the F-16 in the first revetment burned, then exploded again as one of the missiles touched off. She could delay no longer.

"Team Bravo from Fang Six." Ilia reached up and touched the headset pickup. "Fall back to rally point. Repeat, fall back to rally point. Be advised, armor coming from the north."

"Team Bravo, acknowledged," she radioed back. Ilia reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the trooper with the Javelin on her shoulder, a burly cougar Faunus. "Hold your fire. We've got tanks headed for us. We need to hold on to what we've got left."

"But the enemy aircraft—" she began to protest.

"Let the others handle them!" Ilia snapped. "Those six Javelin rounds are all we have against tanks! Unless you want to try taking them on hand to hand!" The Faunus nodded and hefted the Javelin. Ilia ordered her team to fall back. The deer Faunus knelt over the female pilot. "Is she still alive?" Ilia asked.

"Yeah. Pretty badly burned on her head and neck. She passed out, thank God." He shook his head. "I know she's a human, but…"

"We don't have to be monsters, Royce. Let's go." Ilia's team began to fall back.