It's odd how when we remember the most hellish moments in our lives, we curse how unsuspecting we were.
I vividly remember how we sat eating breakfast in the KG mess hall. How I faked flinging a spoonful of cereal at the cute Lieutenant at the next table over... the calm before the storm.
Our expectations were fairly low for the day. After all, there had been no Metal Heads on the radar for weeks.
The familiar clacking of armored boots reverberated on the metal floor as I saw my commanding officer approaching.
A smirk crossed my face as I stood. "And what do I owe the honors to, Commander?"
I gave a hearty salute.
"Don't give me that." Erol spat. He placed his hands on his hips and threw his shoulders back. "I don't need your attitude today, Cyrun."
I chuckled to myself. "Did someone water down the coffee this morning? What's wrong with you?"
I barely caught his twitch of a smile. Either he had found some humor in my coffee comment, or he knew something I didn't.
Erol adjusted his mask on top of his head and dismissed my comment. His untamed fire-orange hair and bubble-eyed mask didn't do much for his "not-crazy" image, but I felt that it might not have been the best thing to bring up right then.
"Your group has patrol out east today." He spat.
I raised an eyebrow at him. My men were specially trained for the Metal Head lines. This was the kind of mission my men would joke about. However, it's not like I was in any position to argue.
"Alright." I replied. "I'll round up the team and head out."
Our orders were simple: A routine check at the East Harbor.
I carried out roll-call as my team mounted their zoomers.
East Harbor was one of the oddest parts of the city you could ever be in. Not only was it the historical area that held the sacred site, but it was also the least visibly protected. There were a few, strikingly tall metal walls, but other than that, the purple-tinged shield-wall was all that kept any theoretical metal-heads from waltzing right into Haven. This was the only area where you could see the small island that Haven City rest on— The only place in the floating fortress where you could see sand. There were ships docked near houses build on sand-dunes. A sense of unfamiliarity was always present in the area.
It was odd not being surrounded by metal.
I hopped off of my zoomer as Braxton and Emerae arrived with a HellCat.
Braxton leaned out of the cruiser, one hand on the dividing beam, the other firmly on his gun.
He was my strategy assistant right out of boot camp. He had a keen eye for finding weaknesses in enemy lines, and, if given a few minutes to study, could draw incredible maps of any unfamiliar area.
"Good thinking." I joked as they drove up to me.
"As always, sir." He grinned back.
It was standard procedure to bring at least one HellCat to every foot patrol on the city. Whether or not we thought it was needed was inconsequential, especially if I didn't want to have my ass chewed by Erol again.
Driving the large cruiser was never a problem as long as Emerae was around, though. At times, I wondered if she was physically joined to the team's HellCat. You could never find her in the rec-room. In her free time, she would take it around town for pleasure cruises, or polish it in the landing. Rumor was that she slept in that cruiser, but I hadn't ever witnessed that much.
All I knew is that she had the innate ability to handle corners with the clunky thing without touching anything else on the road—which was more than I can say for half of the other KG.
Actually, it's more than I can say for myself.
The metal gate that separated the Slums from East Harbor closed behind us as the last of my men trickled through.
I directed Emerae to take Bricker, a big man who carried most of the heavy artillery, toward the center of the Cove and lap around a few times.
I sent Braxton with a few others—Jessamine, Bently, Raizel and Aubri—
to patrol the coastline while I took Lark, Corvan, Wyler and Tinder to the docks.
A little over an hour passed, and there had been no trouble. There were a few arrests for minor infractions, a few notices written on doors, but nothing big. Nothing unusual.
I had been returning for my fifth lap of the docks when a static came from the communicator at my side.
Certain that it had only been a simple "All Clear" from one of the other groups, I started to continue on and dismiss it.
A single glance from Lark told me to wait though.
Lark pulled out his radio and pressed the microphone button.
"Repeat? Repeat last message." He asked clearly.
It would be fair to say that it's difficult for me to describe what happened next. I'm not sure if this is because of the haze that settles into your memories as time passes, or because of the jumble of information that's taken in when your senses heighten from adrenaline.
There was static, then a screeching noise and a distant scream.
Several gunshots.
"Shit!" came a voice from the radio.
The whole Harbor turned dark for a moment. It was as though a large cloud had moved over the sun. Almost simultaneously, faces of the people in the harbor looked up. Guard members, shoppers, sailors and traders all turned to the sky.
A shocking purple seemed to coat everything above us as the shield wall zapped to life. Slowly the purple faded—dissipated as though being eaten by bugs.
"The shield is down!" Braxton's voice called through the radio. "Metal Heads everywhere. Get the Civilians out!"
The sun shone brightly through the cracks in the shield and a strange kind of light seemed to rise over the watery horizon.
Like a darkened dawn of glowing metalhead eyes and skulls among the sea of black. The dawn of our death.
Welcome to Hell.