Yep, two chapters today. Older readers may wish to turn back to the Prologue in case you received two follow updates (Not sure if that's how it works or not) or if you just got the one and are wondering where all old chapters went.

SECTION 01

WELCOME TO THE DOME

DATE: NOVEMBER 15, 250 A.D.E. (AFTER DRAGONOID EVENT)

TIME: 0014 HOURS (LOCAL TIME)

LOCATION: THE DOME, WEST SECTOR FIVE, MCKRILLEN RESIDENCE

It was the sounds of the alarm klaxons that woke me. The ever calm voice of The Dome's central computer reminding all civilians to make their way to the nearest shelter while all available Military Police personal report for duty. And while most really wished I wasn't, I was part of the former.

I'm stubborn I guess, to keep working against all the annoyed looks I get, but then again most officers can say the same, so I don't see what the problem is.

I am Private Alexander McKrillen. Some call me Alex. Most call me by my call sign, Hiccup. Laugh it up, everyone else has, even though I've heard worse. It's tradition for the newest officers to be given less than flattering call signs until they've proven themselves. In case the Dragonoids monitored our radio frequencies, call signs are used to try and confuse them, like our battle strategies wouldn't do that for them. Just get out there and make sure none of the giant death spewing machines get inside The Dome.

I was halfway into my maintenance overalls as ran out into the street, just in time for the artificial sun to blind panicked civilians clambering over each other to get to the underground shelters. You'd think we'd all be used to this by now. The Dome attracts Dragonoids like moths to a flame, mostly because every human who survives an attack wants to get in. The Mayor thinks we might be the largest human settlement left since the attacks began, but I think it's just moral propaganda. The elections aren't too far away after all.

"Out of the way Hiccup!"

I narrowly missed the giant foot of the Viking Assault Frame as it came to a halt by the roadside, the citizens around it parting like the Red Sea as the electric blue camera gazed down at me from its elongated head. These machines were to be respected normally of course. When you pilot a seventeen-metre tall seventy-three-ton killer robot, there's not a lot short of Dragonoid that can stop you. Each is cast in dark grey armour, capable of reaching just under a hundred and seventy miles an hour and turning on a dime thanks to the advanced yet short counterweight system that flank their shoulders. This one was taking the usual mounts, including a 430mm smoothbore cannon mounted to the right arm socket, a 77mm Recoilless rifle mounted to the left, and two launcher racks of eighteen missiles apiece mounted to each shoulder. We have some specialised units too, but this package generally gets the job done. It wasn't the Assault Frame's size or armament that made my throat go dry as I watched the camera dim, however. As the hatch popped open on its' thick chest, what made me wince as I shielded my green eyes against the artificial sun in anticipation of the lecture I was about to get was the pilot that stepped out, looking none too happy from beneath his helmet's peak.

The head of the Military Police is hardly someone you want to see the bad side of when the Dragonoids aren't attacking, but as I heard the sounds of artillery bouncing off the artificial skies above us, I knew this moment wasn't the best to be found running to my post, maintenance overalls half pulled over one arm.

His call sign is Stoic for a reason. I've never known this giant of a man to get worked up at a Dragonoid attack, no matter how big. Now this same man was staring down at me from on high, a look of impatience on his bearded face.

"What are you doing Hiccup?"

"Sir!" I saluted hastily with my clothed arm, the other quickly wiggling into its proper sleeve. "Reporting to Outpost 83RK for munitions duty Sir!"

Stoic frowned slightly, then let his shoulders slump as realisation kicked in. Sometimes our esteemed General forgets that everyone from sixteen to twenty years old belongs to the Military Police for mandatory service straight out of school. You'd think after two years he'd remember I'd been serving for as long…or he might have if he hadn't missed the graduation ceremony.

"Just…get to your post," he rubbed a hand over his bearded face as two more Assault Frames lumbered by behind him, "and turn your earpiece on so we can see you! The last thing I need is to be washing you off a Viking's foot!"

I merely saluted as his massive form ducked back into the darkness of his machine's cockpit, my own shoulders sagging slightly as I watched him launch into a run after his comrades. As you might have guessed, I'm not exactly a welcome addition to the Military Police, but I can get into that later.

I broke into another run as I fitted the earpiece into its proper place, jamming a baseball cap over my once neat dark brown hair to finish getting dressed. This tiny bit of technology worked both as an identification signal and a radio transmitter, allowing all officers on the battlefield to see where I was while I listened in on Combat Control directing the battle.

"CC, what's on your scopes?" Stoic's calm voice rumbled in my ear the moment I turned the device on.

"Spitelout reporting Sir. Confirmed raiding party: Five Gronckles, three Nadders, three Zipplebacks and all possibly being led by a single Nightmare."

"What about the Night Fury?"

"Dante reports he heard mention of it during the initial lock-on burst, but we haven't seen anything yet sir."

"Good."

The battle was in full swing as I ducked through the Main Gate moments before it groaned shut. The air was thick with the screams of Dragonoid engines and Viking leg gears grinding, the night occasionally lit up as beams of bright orange light sliced through the sky from above and muzzle flashes of smoothbore cannons flared from below. The rattle of machine gun fire from the backup ground troops seemed to be endless as I darted between soldiers and rocket pods. A raiding party was common, especially when winter was only a half month away. With space a paramount within The Dome, farming is kept to the surrounding countryside. The agricultural and livestock plants are left to be guarded by outposts such as 83RK, but these tiny forts are only meant to buy time until the main forces from The Dome can be deployed. Armed with a few anti-aircraft guns, this armoured single storey block was the closest to The Dome, near enough to run to but far enough that I would always be out of breath by the time I got there. It was also where most of the rookie squads like mine were assigned. I guess you could call it our home away from home.

"Ready the mass drivers. Try and locate the Nightmare first, that'll screw up their chain of command."

The duel electromagnetic catapults were firing their first salvos from the attack ring mounted halfway up The Dome's side as I darted through the open heavy door that led into 83RK's innards, pushing past foot soldiers on their way out from the Armoury and ignoring the irritated looks of those who I bumped into.

"'Bout time ye showed up lad."

I ignored the beefy soldier that grinned at me as I entered the Armoury, the memory of the look Stoic gave me beforehand urging me to just get to work as I turned the earpiece's radio down.

"Aww, ye run inta Stoic again?" I winced as I felt the metallic grip of artificial fingers grab my chin and force my mouth open, the blond-haired man jovially staring down my throat. "Ya didn' talk back ta him did ya? Nope, ye cannae have, ya tongue's still there!"

"Ugh. With respect major," I shoved the elder officer away with a weary smile. "Stow it."

My superior chuckled warmly as he went back to distributing his guns. Major Fergus Craigson, call sign Gobber, was one of those veterans of the war that had the greatest of scars and wore them proudly. Heavy synthetic limbs extended from where his left arm and right leg used to be, his barrel chest, tanned from years in the sun, covered in scars and old plasma burns that had never quite healed. But he always took it in his stride. While he rarely ventured further than the edges of the island due to his injuries, he always kept himself active within the service be it in The Dome or the nearby outposts when many others would have retired with whatever limbs they had left. While technically I've been assigned to Nu Squad for my tenure with the Military Police, most of my time has actually been down here under Gobber's watchful eye, filling out magazines and making sure the rocket launchers don't lock up. Don't get me wrong, I've learnt a lot more than I make out to have, but still…

"Well, it's nice of ye to join us this fine Monday mornin'," the Major laughed as he hauled a rocket launcher onto the counter, watching with mild amusement as it was snatched up moments later, "Bit worried for a moment there, thought the beasts had carried ye off somewhere."

"Oh yes, because I'm a real catch, I am," I smirked as I began quickly feeding 9mm shells into magazines. "Just look at all the muscle on me, I'm a real threat."

"Well, they need toothpicks don' they?"

I shook my head and continued working. The truth was no one had ever actually seen a pilot of a Dragonoid. The only humans to have possibly laid eyes on our visitors were the Americans and…well…they're not around anymore. And like any other invisible enemy, rumours are bound to start flying, like how our enemies from outer space consider human to be the rarest of delicacies.

"FIRE!"

The Armoury shuddered as something exploded nearby, my eyes darting to the security camera screen above my head of the battle outside. One of the livestock plants was ablaze, the wreckage of a downed Viking lying prone through one of its walls. One of the downsides of having hydrogen powered mechs: it takes a lot of damage, but if an Assault Frame gets hit in the wrong place it'll go up like fireworks on bonfire night.

"Nu Squad, we're moving in!"

I let a hand go up to my earpiece as I heard her voice, something aching in my chest as I scanned the battleground for a sign of…there! I smiled slightly as the military green fire truck sped onto the scene, troops no older than myself in fireproofed overalls of black and yellow jumping clear with hoses in hand before the vehicle had even stopped moving. Through the grainy footage, I could make out the chubby form of Patrick 'Fishlegs' Ingerman in the fire truck's driver's seat, his thick hands wrapped around the steering wheel tightly as he stared ahead with a terrified look on his face that he had actually gone so fast. Henrik 'Snotlout' Jorgenson was the first to the flames, spraying water across the blaze, a winning smile plastered across his snub-nosed face and sent the way of any girl under the age of twenty that passed them by. Rita and Richie Thornston, Ruffnut and Tuffnut respectfully, the narrow faced twins from The Dome's refugee districts, were meanwhile squabbling pathetically over one of the hoses near the truck, spraying water everywhere but the blaze itself.

And bringing up the rear was her. She's the leader of Nu Squad, call sign: Valkyrie. That alone should tell you she's a far better soldier than all of us combined. Her agile frame was a blur as she pushed past the arguing twins with hose in hand. Under her orders, the others quickly fell into line (Snotlout with a disgustingly dreamy look in his eyes), the fire out in minutes before another explosion shuddered across the land further across the battlefield. I watched quietly as she barked out orders I couldn't hear to her squad-mates, her shoulder blade length plait whipping around her head every time she moved, calculating blue eyes glancing at the new fire every few moments from behind long blonde bangs as she urged the others back to the truck.

Astrid Hofferson. Sergeant Astrid best of our class, the hardest worker…and my former best friend.

…

It's complicated.

"Not daydreamin' again are we?"

I glanced back at Gobber in bewilderment, only to realise I'd been sitting with a magazine and waiting bullet in my hand for the past five minutes. I gave him a sideways smile.

"If I say no, will you let me get out there and…"

"Oh no," the grin disappeared from Gobber's face in an instant. "Oh no no no no no. We've talked abou' this Hiccup…"

"Oh come on, do I have to beg?" I stood up angrily, slamming the magazine down on the table. "Just let me take a launcher and a few rockets and I'll be back in ten minutes, fifteen tops!"

"How many times do I have to tell ye tha' ye just not cut out for the battlefield?" Gobber sighed sympathetically. "Some guys are born soldiers Hiccup, and ye just weren' "

"Could you at least let me try? If I shoot down a Dragonoid, my life will get infinitely better!" I threw up my hands in desperation. "I…I might even get promoted! Get a decent call sign. At the very least I might be able to get Dad to stop looking so…disappointed…" I sighed bitterly at that thought, letting my shoulders drop slightly. "A date might be good too."

Gobber sighed, shaking his head, "Ye just not cut out for it Lad. Ye've got the lowest scores on the shootin' range, the lowest scores in the AA gun simulator…Half the time I wonder how ye've even got the strength to lift a bloody launcher!"

"Hey! Cheap shot!" I scowled indignantly. "I can carry the rocket launchers," I smirked as I pulled the tarp off a nearby stand, "Otherwise I'd never be able to carry this anywhere!"

Gobber stared down at the weapon, not even bothering to hide his scepticism. To him, at first glance it probably looked like the hundred or so other FIM-92 Stinger missile launchers we kept in stock; a long green barrel with a boxy targeting computer slung underneath before the trigger and a simple targeting scope mounted one side.

"Doesn' look that different ta me." he finally grunted.

I rolled my eyes, "Of course it doesn't look different. It's the missile inside that's been modified. I designed a warhead that latches onto a target and delivers a local EMP directly into the…"

"No."

"What?"

"I said no," Gobber shook his head. "I know what ye thinking Hiccup, but I'm not lettin' ye out onto the battlefield with sumthin' A, ya haven' cleared to even build with Stoic or Kingston, and B, you haven' even tested yet!"

"What exactly am I going to test it on?!" I gave him an exasperated look. "I can't exactly run to Washington Crater and ask a Dragonoid to stand still!"

"An' tha's me point lad," the Major placed his synthetic hand on my shoulder. "If ye were meant ta be a soldier, ye wouldn' even be tinkin' of building sumthin' like this, let alone testin' the damn thing. Soldiers fight, mechanics an' scientists build. So if ya ever wan' to get out there with the rest of Nu Squad ta fight Dragonoids, ya just have to stop all…" he paused, his face screwed up in thought for a moment, before waving his free hand in my direction, "this."

I gave him a deadpan look, "You just gestured to all of me."

"There ya go then!" Gobber smiled brightly as he slapped me painfully on the shoulder. "A new mission objective for ya: Stop bein' all of ya."

The deadpan look quickly became a sour one as the major lumbered away, chuckling at his own humour. I didn't try to fight it though. What would be the point? As long as Gobber was watching over me, there was no chance I was going to leave the Armoury before the battle was done. I'd get my chance though. I was only eighteen, after all. I still had time before my compulsory service ran out and my Dad forced me to do something more…mundane. I knew I would get out there…someday. Because in this day and age, the war against the Dragonoids means everything. Be you Stoic or the guy that packs his groceries, if you take down a Dragonoid, no matter how you do it, you're going to be respected for it. It's no easy task of course; the fact most of humanity has been wiped out should tell you that much. They control the skies now, while we're forced to fight from the ground. They also have many different kinds of Dragonoid, where we normally provide different mounts for the Vikings depending on what we need from them if we need them at all.

Most classes of Dragonoid we refer to by a corruption of their native names, mostly because the translators don't have a corresponding word for it in the English language. Each is designed to fill a certain role, and each performs that role with brutal efficiency.

The Nadder is a scouting class Dragonoid. It tends to fly at the heads of raiding parties and performs hit-and-run attacks until the main force arrives to soften up defences. Taking down one of those gets you noticed by the higher-ups.

The Gronckle class meanwhile is a slow flying general purpose Dragonoid. A combined attack from these heavily armoured workhorses has been known to destroy entire outposts in a single combined blast. I heard once three of them even managed to punch a hole through The Dome's thick walls. You bring one of them down and suddenly half The Dome knows your name.

The Zippleback is the Dragonoids' main tank, dropped in by other Dragonoids. It's equipped with two duel barrel turrets and is damn near impossible to sneak up on without getting shot at as a result. You make a crater out one of them, and your everyone's' hero for a few weeks.

Of course, if you shoot down a Command Dragonoid, your name is going to be on everyone's lips for a very long time. The Ca'vercopa is one of few machines whose name we actually managed to translate: Nightmare. A name it wholeheartedly deserves. These fast yet powerful machines are usually the most deadly Dragonoid on the battlefield. Only the Military Police's finest go after them. Mostly because they have this nasty tendency to cover themselves in burning plasma and dive-bomb our installations before unleashing hell with the twin energy cannons mounted to their backs.

But there's one more within their ranks that is the most coveted target. The one Dragonoid that no one has ever seen. It's only been on the battlefield for the last five years, but it is the most dangerous of our enemies. It is never seen, it doesn't show up on radar or thermal imagining, and if there is a target in sight, it will never miss. In the Dragonoid's language, they call it Ca'furor. Translated, we just call it a…

"NIGHT FURY!"

My eyes darted to another security screen just in time to see the north side mass driver explode in a fantastic ball of burning blue light, scattered support girders and other bits of debris crashing down the side of The Dome as the soldiers below ran for cover. Across the radio, I could hear the faint scream of the Fury's engines over panicked requests for orders and fire-teams. That faint whistling noise was the only way we could identify at Night Fury attack, and even then it came a split second before something exploded. No one has ever brought down a Night Fury. Which is why I designed the Stinger and its launcher to do just that.

If I could just get past the major…

"Man the fort Hiccup," I looked up in surprise as Gobber strode out of the armoury, a Javelin launcher and a rack of six missiles strapped to his back, "They're gonna need me out there if we've got a Fury on our hands."

I watched him leave with hiked eyebrows, hardly believing my luck…until he suddenly turned back, his eyes serious.

"Stay…put…there."

I gave him another deadpan look.

"Ah, ye know what I mean."

I smiled faintly as my superior charged out of the Armoury. Yes, I knew what he meant. Stay here and wait for the all clear.

I counted slowly to ten to make sure he would be coming back, before grabbing my launcher and running for the exit.

TIME: 0043 HOURS

LOCATION: THE DOME EXTERIOR, MAINTENANCE PLATFORM 7-C

As the elevator rushed up The Dome's smooth side, the sounds of battle became quieter, the ringing in my ears broken by the occasional Nadder swooping by trying to find weak spots. They all ignored the lone human on the open platform rushing along the maintenance tracks towards the mass driver attack ring. Their mistake I guessed.

From above, I could see the battle was going in our favour anyway. Several Vikings were aflame to be sure, but I could see the burned out chassis of at least two of the Nadders, and a group of Assault Frames (most likely led by Stoic) surrounding and netting a Zippleback, its pilots ejecting into the night.

But my target wasn't down there. It was somewhere in the darkness of the moonless night. It had already attacked the first mass driver, so I figured the now silent second one would be fairly high on the pilot's list of targets. Staying close, but not close enough to be hit by burning wreckage, seemed logical to me.

I stopped the maintenance platform several levels above the ring, around a third of the way to The Dome's peak. Across the curve of our home, the Mass Driver sat dormant and dark as I pulled the loaded launcher off my back and onto my shoulder, falling down onto one knee as I pushed up and looked down the iron sights, taking only a quick look behind me to make sure the backblast would have plenty of room. If I was right, our most powerful weapon wouldn't be silent for much longer.

"Come on," I murmured under my breath. "Give me something to shoot at. Please. I'll settle for a Nadder if I have too."

But I didn't have to settle for a Nadder. Far from it in fact. As I gazed desperately out across the darkness, that faint high powered scream gradually rising above the battle below to deafening levels as a smudge of black soared across the stars. The targeting computer pinged urgently as I swung the launcher across the smudge's path, hoping, preying the upgrade I gave the infrared tracking system within the missile would do its part.

As the scream reached an unbearable pitch, the sound of a confirmed lock-on was accompanied by an explosion of blue light as the second mass driver met its partner's fate. In the briefest of moments, I became the first human being to know more about a Night Fury then just the sound it makes. Its silhouette was framed against the electric blue fires of the Mass Driver for a fraction of a second, but in that brief moment I managed to make out a stocky body, long wings fanning out on either side and a pair of lethal looking cannons mounted close together to its front.

I had one shot, however, and no time to take notes.

The missile screeched off into the night as the booster charge gases from the launcher's rear lit up the darkness around me. I heard the arms starting to extend for a split second before the weapon got too far away.

A moment later, I heard the most wonderful noise: the sound of an engine dying.

I couldn't help but let the grin spread across my face as the sound of the Dragonoid nose-diving through the night met my ears, the silhouette streaking off across the countryside, soon lost to my eyes as it fell over the hills and out of sight.

"I…I hit it…" I let the empty launcher fall to the platform with a clunk, my eyes wide as I slowly got to my feet. "I…YES! I HIT IT! Did anyone see that?!"

A light burst into being above my head, the sound of a Dragonoid's engines zapping all the joy out of the moment as I cast my green eyes upward as the flaming Nightmare came crashing through the night towards me.

"Yeah, I was kind of hoping…you know…you wouldn't…" I sighed wearily as I slammed down the emergency release, "You guys can't let me have anything nice, can you?"

My stomach tried to leap up my throat as the platform dropped down violently, the dark orange Nightmare smashing into the maintenance tracks where I had been standing moments before. Claws on each of its four limbs tried to dig into The Dome's side, sparks flying across the metal surface as its long head turned towards me, a single glowing red camera flashing menacingly amid the flames of burning plasma.

"Can't you think of someone more important to shoot at?" the Nightmare turned to face me, the twin cannons mounted to its shoulders glowing with burning white energy. "Of course you don't."

The Dragonoid's attack caught the Mass Driver attack ring as the platform crashed past it, the Nightmare taking flight on a burst of fire from the jets mounted to its long rigid wings. The platform itself was rapidly gaining speed as The Dome quickly began to steepen, my cap flying off on the wind as I held onto the safety rail for dear life. Above me, the Nightmare soared up into the night before arcing over and down towards the tiny human that was currently plummeting down The Dome's side, its cannons glowing and ready for another assault. There was no attack ring to save me this time. It was kinda laughable really. I had gone from so high to so low so quickly in more ways than one. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my arms and the safety rail, a part of me silently wondering if the platform would smash into the ground before it was incinerated by energy fire.

A heavy thud from the ground rushing towards me brought me out of my stupor, my eyes opening in time to see a 430mm shell sail past metres away from the platform, knocking the Nightmare into The Dome with a sickening crack, one of the cannons crumpling into its wing against the flexi-steel plates while the other fired its shot harmlessly off into the sky.

My senses quickly with the realisation I didn't want to become a bloody mess on the concrete that surrounded The Dome, one hand blindly reaching for the brake as the Nightmare crashed past me, flames billowing from the remains of its wing as the burning plasma extinguished itself. Below, I saw the reason I was still alive; A single Viking stood in optimal firing position near The Dome, its recoilless rifle firing shell after shell at the now venerable Dragonoid, not even flinching as the Nightmare tried valiantly to escape into the night, only to be brought down by a smoothbore shot to its one remaining wing. With nothing to hold it in the air, the Command Dragonoid smashed into the ground, its front claws scrabbling against the ground to get away before it found the Viking's massive foot pinning it in place behind the wreckage of its once powerful cannons. As it weakly turned its head towards the Viking, the radio in my ear burst with static, a weakened yet angry voice filling all radio frequencies with a single alien word.

"Dema…golka…."

The Viking's pilot replied only with a single smoothbore shell at point blank range.

The maintenance platform's final descent was greeted with a massive fireball of orange and yellows that completely consumed the Nightmare, black smoke billowing up into the sky as the Viking turned to face me, looking like a mechanical demon from the pits of hell wreathed in its fallen foe's flames as those Dragonoids not captured or destroyed fled the battle at the sight of their commander's end.

I didn't need to know who the pilot was as the Assault Frame lumbered towards me. I could already feel the anger and disappointment practically seeping out of the machine before the hatch had even opened.

Because when your father is General Gregorio 'Stoic' McKrillen, you don't have to look at him to know he's less than happy with you.

Which in my case, was most of the time.

"Hi…Dad." There was no point trying to impress him with proper protocol like before.

A metallic groan from above broke the tension in the air, all eyes cast upward in alarm as several support struts of the attack ring near where the Nightmare's assault had hit suddenly gave way, the entire rig falling down to one side with a pathetic groan followed by a resounding crunch. Suddenly aided by gravity, the flaming remains of the southern Mass Driver broke free of its moorings. All I could do was watch with a heavy wince as the great weapon crashed down the side of The Dome with a nails-against-chalkboard screech, leaving black scorch marks in its wake before slamming into the surrounding concrete…and falling over into the nearest agriculture plant.

I let my shoulders sag as the building exploded in a wild plume of burning orange, Nu Squad joined by Eta and Serria to tackle the blaze. I could feel my father's stony gaze on the back of my head as he let the Viking's debarkation cable ease him to the ground. I slowly turned to face him as I heard his large feet touch the ground.

Once again I vaguely wondered how our esteemed General managed to squeeze his six foot two muscular frame into a Viking's cockpit, before deciding at that moment it didn't really matter. Stoic's dark blue eyes stared down at me as his mouth formed a thin line behind his thick brown beard. I could see a mental war going on within him as he folded his arms across his vast chest, the normally slightly loose fabric of pilot suit's arms straining slightly against large biceps. Should he explode at his son out here, or in the privacy of his office? To be honest it wasn't like everyone present would have seen something new. General McKrillen was known for being calm in battle, not when dealing with his son's mistakes. I glanced back at the burning wreckage of the mass driver and the agricultural plant, before turning back to my Dad helplessly.

"To be fair, it was on fire before the Nightmare got to it."

My father's form visibly slumped as though someone had let air out of a Stoic shaped balloon.

"Private. My office. 0830 hours," he glanced at the modified Stinger launcher at my feet. "And bring that thing with you."

I winced painfully as he pushed past me to go look at the damage. I'd quickly figured out that my Dad would call me by one of my different names or rank depending on how angry he was.

He called me Private. Trouble…didn't quite seem to say it.

TIME: 0835 HOURS

LOCATION: THE DOME, CENTRAL TOWER, MILITARY POLICE HEADQUARTERS, GENERAL MCKRILLEN'S OFFICE

Stoic hadn't said a word in five minutes. He just stared at the launcher I'd placed on his desk at his request, wearing a look somewhere between irritation and agitation.

We were both in uniform now; long black boots, forest green trousers and a white shirt and black tie the only similarities between out clothing. As one of the lower ranks, the wraparound tunic I wore came down to around halfway up my thigh, cast in the same forest green as my trousers and accented in black along the hem and tops of the shoulders, buttons hidden from view and all held close to my thin frame by a simple black belt and buckle around my waist. Under my arm I'd placed my peaked cap, the fingers of my free hand running nervously against the gold symbol of the Military Police placed on its front (A winged five-pointed star, The Dome rising proudly over it.). My father's own hat sat on his desk beside his meaty hands, his long heavy green coat hanging on a hook behind him; a knee-length wraparound ensemble of green and black hems and shoulders with the stars of rank stitched in, the Military Police's symbol emblazed on the large belt that would hold it around his waist with the four gold buttons above it. Only the officers wore these coats. It was supposed to show all subordinates where their superiors were, not that my Dad needed any help in that department.

Finally, Stoic sighed, slumping back in his large leather chair.

"It doesn't look any different to me."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, "Of course it's not…" I bit back my tongue, quickly counting to ten as the General gave me a hard look. "I mean…it was the missile that was fired from it that was important sir. I designed to deliver a direct EMP blast through a Dragonoid's armour in the hope that…"

"Did you clear this with Gobber or one of Kingston's men?"

"I…no."

"Well, I know you didn't clear it with me." Stoic sighed wearily, "You know it's against regulations to make upgrades to government property without the proper authorization…"

"With respect sir," I winced slightly at my father's glare, but held my ground, "if I'd asked you to let me modify a FIM-92 Stinger missile to latch onto a Dragonoid's fuselage and deliver an EMP burst directly to its power source in the hope that we could collect it and perhaps find something to help us get close to Washington Crater without being blown to smithereens, would you happily approve my paperwork or just tell me to go back the 83RK's Armoury and fill up the magazines?"

The scowl on Stoic's face said it all as he stood up and rounded his desk, towering over me threateningly. I knew I was treading a fine line, talking to the General in such a way. If I was anyone but his own flesh and blood, the chances would be good that I would be scrubbing toilets for the rest of my compulsory service, and that would have been if I hadn't been anywhere near the mass drivers when they fell. When the General spoke, however, it was a deadly calm, as though he was viewing the whole situation the same way he saw the Dragonoid attack a few hours before.

"You know the reason I try to keep you in the Armoury," he said finally. "Every time Hiccup, Every time we let you out onto the battlefield, disaster is sure to follow. Tonight is just a prime example of the chaos you and your damn theories cause. Because you were trying to shoot down Dragonoids with untested, un-cleared prototypes, the attack ring needs to be realigned and repaired before we can even start on the Mass Drivers. And of course it doesn't help that winter is a few weeks away, and now I have to go before the Council and explain why we might have a potential food shortage on our hands."

I scowled darkly, "It's not like I destroyed every Agriculture plant around The Dome Dad…"

"But you destroyed one Hiccup!" I flinched as his voice rose dangerously. "And that might be one too many. You have duties assigned to you. Why can't you just be happy with them and ride out your damn compulsory service in peace?"

"Gee Dad, I don't know," I threw up my arms in exasperation. "Maybe it's because I'm the only one of my Squad whose been locked in the Armoury with no one but Gobber to trade insults with for the last two years? Maybe I'm tired of watching Snotlout prance about the battlefield with a hosepipe looking like he's in the middle of a shampoo commercial while I sit there loading mags with bullets that probably won't even penetrate a Dragonoid's armour in the first place? Or maybe…maybe I just looked up at my Dad when I just came up to his knees and said, 'When I grow up, I want to kill Dragonoids just like him', and now I feel kind of betrayed because he keeps stuffing me in a dark room where I can't even prove myself to him!"

Stoic watched me calmly as I exploded in his face. This obviously wasn't the first time, nor did I expect it to be the last. But I was tired, it was early, and these little 'conversations' we had usually finished the same way anyway. Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand across his bearded face.

"You're a lot of things, Alex," he said quietly, "But you have to face facts. You're not a soldier, and when your compulsory service is up, you know I'm not going to recommend a renewal."

I let my shoulders slump, the tiredness of the morning overtaking me again, "Yeah, I know…sir."

"Good. I'm confiscating the launcher. I'm also putting you on a three-day suspension until it can be decided exactly how much of the attack ring's destabilisation was actually your fault. Until then, you're dismissed."

"Sir." I snapped to attention, saluting his back as he turned to his desk. He didn't return it. He didn't even say a word as I turned stiffly around and headed for the door.

"So…how did it go?"

I glanced up as I closed the glass-paned door behind me, my eyebrows hiking up in surprise at the sight of Fishlegs shifting uncomfortably in the plastic chairs set outside the General's office, fiddling with the brim of his hat. Patrick was one of those funny 'sometimes-friends'. The kind of guy who you would generally get along with as long as there was no one cooler around. He was…podgy, someone who had never really lost his puppy fat, even though he stood a good few inches taller than me, his uniform ever so slightly too small. He was intelligent though, a photographic memory apparently. I'd never found a Dragonoid statistic that Fishlegs couldn't repeat straight from the database off the top of his mousey brown-haired head. Like Gobber, he was the closest I had to a proper friend, and I was generally glad to see him.

"As…well as to be expected," I sighed as I fitted my cap over my head. "We talked, he looked disappointed…you know," I smiled tiredly as the portly corporal quickly stood up to follow me, "Same old, same old. So what brought you up here?"

Fishlegs trotted after me uncomfortably, his small grey eyes darting to junctions of the corridor in case Snotlout or the twins might be hiding behind them.

"Actually Hofferson sent me," I glanced back at Astrid's name. "She err…wanted me to ask the General if your reprimand would be going on the Squad's record."

"Oh. Of course she did," I let my shoulders slump again as we reached the elevator at the end of the hallway. Within the Military Police, your squad was supposed to be everything. You were rewarded together, and punished together unless the crime itself was particularly horrendous. As squad leader, it didn't surprise me Astrid would want to make sure my mistakes didn't reflect on her team. Of course, after two years I was surprised my Dad even considered me a part of Nu Squad, let alone my former friend.

"Is she mad?"

"Is she ever when you…be you?"

I smiled slightly at Patrick's attempt at humour as the glass doors opened for us. The only time Astrid was mad at me since she became Squad Leader was when my screw ups directly involved her. Most of the time she just gave me a look of disdain, or not even a glance at all.

I sighed as I entered the empty car, pressing my forehead against the glass wall as Fishlegs pressed the button for the ground floor.

Central Tower was the tallest building within The Dome. A beautiful construct of glass and steel over two hundred floors high, it looked like some had just taken a pinch of the earth and pulled it upwards, a wide base gradually narrowing to a tip surrounded by a large observation deck from which the entire city could be seen. It was here that most government agencies kept their headquarters, including the Military Police and its sub-agencies such as the Department of Intelligence and the Military Engineering Bureau. Most of the Tower was dedicated to The Dome Council though. Within the reinforced core, the bureaucrats and other such officials made their money running the city. The Council Chamber itself was a reinforced dome embedded in the Tower's floor where those that represented the people, the Police and everyone in-between gathered to present problems, strategies in the war and so on to the Mayor and those that followed her lead.

As the elevator descended, I gazed out at the lights of the city below. Most of the taller buildings were congregated towards The Dome's centre, gradually becoming smaller until you were left with the suburban and refugee districts that lined the edges of our home. The artificial sun above was at morning light now. People below would be getting up, getting ready for another day, most likely watching or reading the news about my latest screw up. It would probably be a small piece, maybe at the bottom of page seven or about five stories after the Mayor's latest press release on the TV.

"So…what happened up there?"

I glanced back at Fishlegs, who looked away under my gaze and fiddling with his hat brim in his hands again. I turned back to the window, watching the city slowly rise up towards me.

"I was testing…something. Something I thought would help."

"Again?" I turned back to glare at Patrick, who visibly recoiled. "Sorry! I didn't mean…I mean what I meant was…"

"No, forget it," I shook my head wearily. "It doesn't matter either way. Dad didn't 'agree' with my assumption." I chuckled grimly. "I can't remember the last time we agreed on anything I do. No matter how hard I try, the most I ever seem to get out of his is a disappointed scowl…like someone just gave him a bread sandwich," I twisted around angrily, putting on an incredibly bad impression of our esteemed General. "Excuse me, Waiter, but what kind of business are you trying to run here!? I believe I ordered an extra-large offspring, preferably male, with beefy arms and guts and glory on the side! This thing here is a talking salad!"

"I'm sure he can't really think of you that way," Fishlegs spoke quietly, afraid I'd glare at him again. "I mean you're his son right?"

"Sometimes I wonder," I folded my arms across my chest irritably. "I'm nothing like him, Pat. No matter how hard I try to imitate or impress him, nothing works."

"Maybe…you're trying too hard to be something your not?"

I regarded my friend quietly, wondering if the irony of Fishlegs of all people telling me this was lost on him.

"Maybe I am," I sighed at last, "but who am I supposed to be? I'm the son of the Military Police's highest ranking and most honoured soldier Pat. I wanted to follow in his footsteps from the moment I was old enough to realise who he was. I just…want him to be proud of me, and the only way I can do that is by getting out there and taking out Dragonoids."

The rest of the elevator ride went down in silence. No one came or entered the car, and in no time at all it was gradually slowing down as the ground floor neared.

"You can tell Astri…Hofferson I'll make sure Dad doesn't shell out any blame to the rest of Nu Squad," I turned to face Fishlegs as we came to a halt. "He probably won't anyway, but maybe it'll reassure her or something."

"Okay," Fishlegs didn't seem too comforted at my promise, but he nodded all the same. "I'll…try and keep Snotlout and the twins off your back. Can't make much of a promise for how long though."

I smiled tiredly as the glass doors opened out onto the Tower's Main Lobby, patting my friend gingerly on the shoulder in thanks and farewell before heading out into the first crowds of the day. I had no doubt Snotlout and the twins would probably hunt me down for a little verbal sport, but if I was lucky, I might not run into any of them before the end of the day anyway. Dad had given me a three-day suspension after all, and I knew the Stinger had hit the Night Fury. Combine those two facts together, and I had something to do for a while, something that might actually benefit The Dome and maybe even end this war once and for all. I'd like to see Dad look disappointed after that.

With that thought in mind, I adjusted my hat determinately and made my way out of the lobby.

First Stop: Outpost 83RK.

Dragonoid Translations:

"Dema…golka…."

(Monster)

Note: Full word is demagolka.

Author Notes: In case you were wondering, Characters ages and appearance would probably be akin to how they are in 'Dragons: Race to the Edge'. No teenage attempts at beards here though (they're in the military after all), and any characters who sport amazing facial hair in the films and series have had a cut closer to the jawline (So think less Stoick length and more Leonidas length.)

Fishlegs friendship with Alex is a callback to the original series of books. I always got the impression that the two of them might have been friends before the film, but Fishlegs was accepted for whatever reason by the 'cooler' vikings and didn't want to be seen as hanging around a 'loser' like Hiccup, so I thought I'd add this idea into the story.

Alex's 'complicated' relationship with Astrid comes from my thoughts as to why Astrid ignored him in the film. In HTYD, Hiccup just seems to crush on her big time, and the first time they really speak on screen is about half an hour in (aside from a comment that Hiccup was never around). Don't get me wrong, Astrid never seemed to be the kind of person to bully Hiccup like Snotlout and the twins, but the way she just ignored him made me think there was more behind the cold shoulder then simply thinking Hiccup was weird.

That's all for now. As always, constructive criticism is always appreciated.

All the best,

Dearing