Hoo-boy! I just wanna start by saying I do very humbly apologise for keeping you all waiting longer than you initially expected for this one. Due to a mix of problems at home and work due to Covid-19, my free time was practically swallowed. So, I strung out Chapter III as an apology and ILY to all you readers who inspire me to carry on.

This chapter does focus a bit more on Benik Thorne, and he WILL become quiet a focus in the later chapters. If he seems a bit 2D right now, don't worry, all shall become clear soon.

I'll try to get Chapter IV to you all as soon as possible; I've got some nasty plans for Hadley's Gorge.

Enjoy the read!

Prologue

Chapter III - 'Call to Arms'

~ Lizzie

The instant Valker's voice demanded total assembly of the hangar bay, she was amazed with how quickly the ramshackle disorganised mass of Gears quickly arranged itself into a quieted set of ranks and files. Lizzie and Echo squad found themselves quick to organise themselves, feeling Alvarez's arm unhook from around her shoulders; whenever Ellen got serious, it was time everyone followed suit.

Finding her feet, Lizzie found herself shuffling to the side of Benik, giving him a faint stare only to see his eyes were glued to the announcement podium. There was something...off about the way he stared at the microphone on the booth- almost like he wanted to break it off and fashion it into a weapon. At first, she feels a strong urge to open her mouth to try and spark a bit of communication, but she thought herself better of it; the Colonel would be around soon and she'd be damned if she missed a single word of what the man had to say.

A set of echoing boots approached the podium, drawing the attention of the few Gears, including Lizzie herself. Her eyes brightened, and she held back a beaming smile as the burly figure of Clayton Carmine came into view- proudly sporting his sleeveless 'Grub Killer' armour. He cradled his signature helmet under his rippling left bicep- Lizzie found herself musing on how it was extremely strange to see her uncle without a helmet, but it was offset by the fact Clay had made the effort to straighten and trim his black beard and buzzcut to the regimental standard. Some of the Gears greeted him with quiet mumblings of his official rank; some by his name, others gave him a curt nod. Unsurprisingly, Clay only returned a few of them. But the moment his cold blue eyes found Lizzie's own, he gave his niece a soft nod with a faint twitch of the upper lip.

Lizzie gave her uncle a silently-mouthed 'hey!' in response.

She was happy to see her uncle, but the vivid image of his bloodied, half-decapitated corpse from her nightmare crawled before her eyes, and she felt the cruel bitterness of fear gnaw at her heart.

She bit her lip, and felt Alvarez lightly bump her elbow in a comforting manner- it only marginally worked.

An uneasy quiet began to settle over the hangar. All the chatter had died; even Alvarez had somehow managed to shut herself up. Most of the Gears took to idly glancing around or silently whisper to their adjacent comrades.

Another set of boots began to approach from the sideline, yet before the Gears could turn their heads to spot the newcomer, Clay's voice piped up.

"Officer on site! Atten-TION!" His right hand came up in a crisp salute, and the hangar erupted into a sharp symphony of rising, clapping boots and the swift motion of hands to heads. Lizzie sharply followed, clenching her jaw, slapping her boot heels together and bringing her hand to her head as Colonel Richard Valker stepped into the limelight, flanked either side by the tank-like plated armoured uniforms of NCOG Marines.

'Does he have a personal drycleaner, or something?' Lizzie thought to herself. Even at this distance and lowlight, she could spot the immaculate quality of the Colonel's ash-grey dress uniform, complete with shining medals and pins decorating the left breast.

Her eyes flicker to the side, and she spots a certain change in Benik's face...something she couldn't quite place. It almost looked like admiration.

The Gears all held their salutes as Valker and his retinue ascended the few steps to the top of the podium, and utterly dominated the limelight- casting a thick black shadow onto the projector screen behind him. His own hand comes up in a return salute to the Garrison, and holds it for a handful of seconds, before he sharply slaps his hand back to his side.

"At ease, soldiers." He begins gruffly, motioning to the Garrison. All the Gears relaxed themselves, and slowly retook their prior positions of comfort in their chairs, whereas Lizzie just felt herself recline against the drum-like fuel pump she was resting her butt on beforehand. She watches Uncle Clay place his helmet on over his head- the bright blue eye lenses glowing to life, before he folds his hands behind his back. She holds back a snort, and her attention returns wholly to Valker.

"As you are aware, ladies and gentlemen, we are now at war, once again. Not the COG; not the Outsiders; not the remnants of the UIR we have here, today. Humanity is at war." A grim resignation befalls Valker's face as both hands softly grasp the sides of the podium. That aged stare seemed to be drinking in every face in the hangar, and Lizzie felt his eyes sweep across her for a moment. "Despite the sacrifice of you or your predecessors, the Locust have returned. And with them, they are amassing a Swarm of unprecedented numbers and abominations of many forms all around Tyrus."

The hangar began to buzz with the low crescendo of shared whispers and murmurings between the gathering; something the usually-strict Colonel allowed. After a brief reprieve, he cleared his throat, which once again beckoned for silence, he took a small extendable stylus from the podium desk, and stretched it out to its full length with a few sharp clicks.

"However, with great thanks to Lieutenants James Dominic Fenix and Delmont Walker, Sergeant Marcus Fenix and one Kait Diaz, we have extensive intel gathered on these varying breeds of Swarm; their behaviour, their stature, and most importantly, what to expect when fighting them." Valker gives a nod to the Gear beside the projector, who in turn spurs into action, and begins to fumble with the machine.

Almost simultaneously, the lights of the hangar began to dim, bathing the assembly in a veil of perpetual darkness, only for the projector to whirr into life- the beam of artificial light scything through the darkness in a rainbow-hued cone onto the blank canvas as Valker and the Marines stood to one side as the presentation began.

The slideshow went on for a good hour, and not once did Lizzie feel at ease during any of it; she wasn't even keeping track of how long it took. The slideshow consisted of raw sample footage of the various documented Swarm creatures, and 'terrifying' was a gross understatement to describe the savagery shown in each and every one of the still images; the photo grain quality, the way the lighting of the drone cameras cast their crustaceous carapaces like sickly exoskeletons, even in the photos where they weren't lashing out or staring at the camera with bared teeth still looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

Valker spared no detail or sugar coated anything, his in-depth analysis of the basic Swarm Sniper alone lasted nearly fifteen minutes, yet it was still enough to cause her belly to tie itself in a knot.

With every click of the small remote in his hand, Valker advanced the slideshow, illustrating a new, somehow more-horrifying abomination. The reports of their behaviour, intelligence, how they think and fight were truly extensive, even down to their group tactics and how their rudimentary gunplay can be classed as a somewhat savage doctrine, yet this was undoubtedly still unknown territory to many of the Gears in the hangar.

As the slideshow came to a close, Valker pocketed the remote, and nodded back to the soldier operating the projector. He fumbled with it briefly, before the cone of light began to rapidly diminish, restoring the darkness in the hangar, once more. Much like in reverse, the lights shortly followed after- rejuvenating the Gears in the cool mint light from high-on above.

The colonel turned on his heels, and straightened his coat whilst giving his throat a steely clearing. How the man was capable of delivering such a constant speech for nigh-on hours, only to carry on after a moment's reprise was something that usually fascinated Liz, but given the circumstances, she was only waiting for more bad news.

~ Benik

He never really cared much for Valker; too much of a posturing man who liked to flaunt his ability to give a bloody good speech with his rich-boy education-level vocab, though that wasn't to say Benik didn't approve of how Valker handled things; Benik was a bloke who liked saying things the way they were- short, sweet and as blunt as possible, no nitty-gritty details or any of that bollocks, yet Valker was capable of doing all of that whilst explaining every single corner on the topic at hand and summing anything way better than Benik could put together, himself.

And given the fact Jinn was assigning Dick Valker to this briefing meant these Gears needed to hear everything.

Yeah. This was bad fucking news, alright.

He noticed Chief Sergeant Carmine's appearance, of course; how can you miss the presence of a tank like Clayton without being half-witted and blind to boot? He could practically feel the buzz of suppressed joy radiate off Lizzie by his side, and whilst he wasn't going to openly admit it, it was adorable.

Lizzie spoke many times of how her uncles were her inspiration and heroes, even though Anthony and Benjamin (God rest their souls) were no longer amongst the Carmine clan, Clayton obviously spared no details in how heroic they were in their servitude to the COG- that alone, that Clay chose to idolise his younger brothers to her instead of himself, only strengthened her fondness of him.

Echo squad may have been crew, brothers and sisters-in-arms, but Clayton was her rock, her anchor to hold onto for the coming storm, and he could see the apprehensive doubt in her eyes as he seldomly glanced at her- the same look she had been wearing for the past few weeks, now.

For some reason, Benik felt the urge to place a hand upon her shoulder- to just give her a notion she wasn't alone. But fuck, would he feel awkward doing it.

Fortunately, Alvarez beat him to it, and he silently thanked the red-haired diva bitch in his head to save him from potentially making himself look an utter prat.

"Officer on site, Atten-TION!" Chief Sergeant Carmine's rough voice bellowed out across the hangar, shearing through Benik's delirium alongside the explosive synonymous clap of a hundred-plus salutes. Mouthing a silent swear, Benik follows a heartbeat behind, praying no-one noticed his moment of daydreaming.

'Really gotta stop doing that, slapnuts…' He berated himself inwardly.

As Valker approached the stage,- flanked either side by the stone-grey gunmetal plates of the NCOG Marines, Benik felt something shift deep down inside, seeing those familiar helmets struck a mournful pang within him; the uniform of his father. He felt his lips twinge as he smiled somewhat sadly.

'You'd be happy to see your boys are still going strong, dad. I miss you.'

He couldn't shake the images of that fateful day from his head, where he and Sierra-5 defied orders to investigate the Thorne homestead. The carnage. The bodies: his father's body.

Benik inhaled sharply and silently, puffing his chest out as Valker eased the attention of the hangar.

"As you are aware, ladies and gentlemen, we are now at war, once again." The colonel began, and this only served to stoke that fire kindling within Benik's heart, for he's been at war with the Swarm for much longer.

As the hangar lights began to fade whilst the projector whirred into life, Benik felt himself disassociate from the background noise- usually he could rely on his uncanny ability to pick up all the idle noises around him, no matter how quiet. He called it a curse in disguise as selectively hearing Gears talk about their explicit personal dramas and passions during mess in the galley was not something he was ever keen on. Yet this time, there was no sound coming into his ears as his eyes focused on the still images of the Swarm.

He could physically see and hear them, even as he stared at the blank photos. He "heard" the Drone's guttural pidgin speech that bastardised the Tyran language boom in his head from cruel memory as he stared at the gnarled fangs of the creature as it snarled at the camera in suspended photography. It set his teeth on edge.

Some of the beasts he recognised; most of them he had already encountered and took his Lancer to. Others, however, were hideous monstrosities he had been spared the luxury of encountering when he and Sierra went on their manhunt.

And suddenly, the next slide came up. And somehow, the creature displayed on there caused Benik's heartbeat to still. He knew not the name the COG had dubbed them, but he had only seen them once before...and he had a faint inkling to what the Swarm used them for.

A grotesquely-large quadrupedal beast; a bulbous red carapace protecting a muscular underbelly that thrummed with a sickly-orange bioluminescence, suspended on four spindly spider-like legs.

There was no distinct joint between head, thorax and abdomen- the entire body was one singular entity, tipped one end with a chitinous crest-shielded head punctuated with a cavernous fang-lined maw and two baleful eyes; the other end was a long, prehensile tail, tipped with a serrated bone-like tip- like a scorpion's stinger, but more barbed for ripping flesh like a giant bone harpoon.

For some reason, the creature's underbelly was swollen- almost like it was ready to rupture and burst, and given the position of it's posture and evident gait, it was clearly on the move; it wasn't sparing the COG camera a glance, unlike the rest of the Swarm creatures that had taken the liberty of snarling, reaching out, or even aiming whatever firearm they were equipped with at the drone before saying cheese.

"This is what we have called the 'Snatcher'." Valker began. The hangar began to murmur, once more in collective thought. "We do not know how the Locust were able to produce these beasts, but we can effectively guess that much like the Drone-types, the Snatchers are Ukkon-class Locust beasts mutated by the Imulsion countermeasure system.

Our intel confirms the Snatchers are the first and usually the last wave for Swarm raids. As the name suggests, the Snatches are responsible for the abduction and harvesting of humans to drag back to hives for conversion into biomass for reproduction of the Swarm army. We know that they rarely kill; the grubs seem to prefer having living tissue for their pods." Valker's jaw clenched in visible disgust- the exhale of aspiration grazed the microphone, broadcasting his abhorrence to the assembly.

"The survivors rescued from pods have expressed varying accounts, and we have been able to range that conversion progress can take anything between a dozen hours to maybe a couple days, tops. But death is usually certain within an hour, given how the victims are kept in some kind of non-oxygenated amniotic gel, and the pods are usually located deep within the heart of the hives; an adaptation to our recent interference, without a doubt."

Benik felt his mouth hinge open; his breath hitched in his chest, confirming what he had already suspected. He felt his lips quiver- the telltale dampness behind his eyes began to well up. Clenching his jaw, he bit down hard, and swallowed. He knew that was the case, but hearing it loud and clear from Valker himself only served to strike it home, loud and clear. He forgot when he folded his arms across his chest, but he only took notice when he realised his biceps had begun to ache from how tight he was gripping them.

The presentation came to a close not much longer, after, and Benik found himself (unsurprisingly) uninformed. The horrid truths he had long known to be true were now concrete-solid, and the Swarm were gathering in strength; he knew this meeting wasn't over, and even as the lights returned and the projector died off, Benik managed to sneak a hand up to idly wipe away the stray tear that somehow leaked from the corner of his eye, entirely unaware that a certain Lizzie caught a glimpse of it.

God forfuckingbid he'd have no idea how to explain that to her if he saw that…

Valker turned his head offstage to Clayton Carmine, and nodded his head. The growling visor of the chief sergeant returned the nod, and Clay immediately turned on his heels to stalk off into the darkness towards the door. Simultaneously, the two NCOG Marines also stepped down the podium, and drew out a small ramp from beneath- sliding away the three-step stairs they used to walk on-stage and replacing it with the ramp.

He doesn't have much time to peruse the situation, as Valker is quick to dominate the microphone again. His timing and wording serve to act as a welcoming committee, as Carmine can be heard shortly after he just left, only something hung in front of his silhouette, trailing a faint creak of rolling wheels.

"Now, you've been gathered here for a reason, my fellow Gears. But I thought it best if you heard it not from me, but from someone you actually like."

Unsurprisingly, that caused a faint, brief ruckus of snickers and chuckles. The colonel smiled at his own self-humiliating joke.

"Soldiers, all rise for Colonel Victor Hoffman."

Benik wasn't surprised in the slightest that the assembly erupted into a symphony of applause and cheers instead of a single crack of one united salute as the old colonel was wheeled onto the stage by the chief sergeant. He even joined in, nodding in admiration as his palms crisply clapped together; Hoffman was a fucking war hero, and deserved to be hailed as one.

This was the man who served from the Pendulum Wars, all the way to the end of the Locust War, whilst refusing to sit behind an officer's desk to bleed in the trenches with his men. And up until now, Benik had no damn clue that Hoffman had returned out of retirement for this.

The old colonel lifted a hand,- the grizzled face beset by a trimmed, well-kept perimeter of snow-white hair pinned in place by his signature flat cap. By his gesture, as if a command, the assembly's applause faded into silence.

Clayton removed the microphone from the podium, and offered it out to Hoffman, who gave the old sergeant a thankful nod with a few hushed mouthed words, before he directed his attention back to the gathering.

"Ladies and gents. Normally I'd have avoided this return...but I fought nigh-on eighteen years alongside some of you; some of your parents, siblings, children, to bring about this tomorrow. And I'm sure not letting my ass stay out of this fight, wheelchair be damned." The old colonel's jaw clenched, and he audibly cleared his throat with a noise akin to tyres grinding over gravel.

"I'll cut to the chase. These Swarm may have gotten a head start on us with their abductions, but our intel shows us that we have a bead on one of their hives. My plan is for us to strike first, strike hard, and have these parasite bastards reeling; I want 'em to realise just who they're fucking with, this time, around."

The hangar broke into a small ruckus of cheers, whoops and more-than-eager outbursts of agreement. What Benik found a tad alarming was how Valker didn't even motion to silence the noise; it was good- building morale and confidence in a time like this was Hoffman's natural talent, and it was obvious Valker didn't want to disrupt the magic.

Hoffman holds out his hand, to which Valker places the projector remote into his palm. The Gear manning the projection goes back to his assigned duty, and activates the machine. When Hoffman pressed the button to begin whatever presentation he had, however, what Benik saw made his stomach turn, and his throat tighten.

It was a DB-1 satellite view of roughly a 200 mile stretch, with New Ephyra smack bang in the bottom right corner. In the top left, far amongst the rugged outside land, dots of the odd small-scale windflare and stretches of woodland was a portion of land circled in a thick red outline. A small valley embedded in a temperate forest in the belly of a small mountain range, and Benik knew it all too well.

"This is Hadley's Gorge. 'Bout hundred and fifty klicks outside of New Ephyra. Also the closest known Swarm hive, identified by satellite imagery." Hoffman began, pressing a button on the remote to flick to the next slide, which showed a zoomed-in version of the gorge- complete with red and yellow annotations. The old osmium mining complex was visible on this slide, alongside the cavernous mouth into the mountain.

"Unfortunately, the grub bastards are dug in deep in the old osmium mine. A frontal assault on the hive would be impossible; the Swarm'd have the higher ground, a lot of cover, and we'd never be able to fit an army in there without taking catastrophic casualties, and I'm done throwing the lives of Gears away." He motioned with precision to the annotations circling the mouth of the mine- whilst there was no visible presence of the Swarm's pods or secreted fungus, it made perfect sense that they'd set up shop deep underground.

'Once a grub, always a grub.' Benik mirthlessly thought to himself with a faint smirk- the fleeting humour didn't replace the sick feeling he had pooling in his gut.

"So, instead of attacking the hive from the outside, my plan is to attack from -within-."

~ Lizzie

She wasn't at all surprised that this...well, 'fucking insane' would be a gross understatement for this plan of Hoffman's drew the audience of Gears to suddenly rise in a shared murmuring of concern, confusion and outright disbelief at such an idea. Lizzie even saw Clayton's helmeted head snap at Hoffman like he had just spoken gibberish. The old colonel remained seated in his wheelchair, his eyes sweeping across the assembly with conviction on his face, plain as day.

That alone served only to unnerve Lizzie; she knew Hoffman wasn't one to joke when on the job, but Christ did this scare her.

After a solid minute of the noise, Clayton took a step forward, raising both palms before lowering them multiple times.

"Alright, people! Settle down, settle down! Assembly ain' adjourned just yet!"

Clay's voice, despite the evident aged drawl showing in the mechanical filtering of his helmet, resonated across the gathering, and within moments, the ruckus began to quieten once again.

Usually uncle Clay's burly tough guy act would always cheer her up, but she didn't feel herself cheered up just one bit.

Hoffman nodded.

"Thank you, chief sergeant. Now, there is a project I've been working on with CIC for a while, now. Ever since the Swarm were announced to us, we began this operation with the sole intent of rooting out and destroying the Swarm at the source before a hive gathered enough strength to attack our cities. We call this the 'Hivebuster programme'." Silence fell. And given the faint smile that crept onto Hoffman's lips, it seemed he was appreciating the quiet instigation to elaborate.

"A small, crack team of three-to-five Gears plant a device inside the heart of the hive, then make their escape before the Swarm ever realises just what in seven hells hit 'em."

The vote of confidence was short-lived, as Hoffman sighed, and removed his cap to run a hand through his hair.

"To do this...the Hivebusters need to be willingly abducted by Snatchers, and transported back to the hive."

Again, the assembly broke out into a small enclave of whispering- some now more frantic than others. Lizzie's jaw practically thundered on the floor, throwing a glare over her shoulder to see Alvarez staring in abject disgust at the stage whilst Gorchev filled his palm with his face.

"Is he fucking serious?!" The kashkuri hoarsely whispered rhetorically. The sight alone was enough to only heighten her nerves, and as a last resort, she looked to Benik, hoping- praying for some kind of reassurance. But as usual he just...stared silently at the podium, deep in thought.

'Come on. Talk to me...tell me it's all gonna be fine.' Lizzie knew she was letting her head get the better of her, but she couldn't help it.

Despite the awkwardness she and Benik have towards one another, she always felt this compelling urge to confide with him; the guy was sweet enough beyond his cold exterior, and right now, she needed some of that rare sweetness. Fuck, she'd kill for just one of his icy stares, right now; just anything to let her know she didn't have to freak out, alone.

Her panicked thoughts were sapped when uncle Clay roused for silence again, this time a bit more rowdy and foul-mouthed, and got his request fulfilled.

When silence returned, Hoffman took the mic again, this time, Valker moved to stand beside him- almost as if the two were in on this together.

"Gears. What I'm asking of you ain't gonna be easy. This is war; safety is never guaranteed...but for the five of you that volunteer for this operation, I can't guarantee you'll come home safely; I can't guarantee you'll come home at all." Valker's head bowed at Hoffman's words. "But for your efforts, you could help bring us three steps closer to winning this damn war before it truly begins. I'm asking you- all my brilliant, badass warriors of the COG...will you stand with me against all odds? Risk your everything to take theirs from them? Who will aid in the Hivebuster programme, and put Hadley's hive down?"

Lizzie looked around as Hoffman's semi-inspirational words roused no response. The silence felt heavy, ugly and grave; the lack of any kind of immediate response spelled an uncertain future in the fights to come against the Swarm. For the first time in her life, Lizzie felt lost...perhaps her nightmares were some fucked-up premonitions of the future to come?

But then, a set of boots stepped forwards from the crowd. Her eyes looked left to the sound. A lone Gear- an absolute brick outhouse of a guy- stands forwards, removing his helmet to produce a blonde buzzcut and sharp blue eyes. His hand immediately comes to a crisp salute towards the podium, unfazed by a hundred-plus eyes on him.

"Captain Abraham Soren, Charlie-5. Sign me up, sir." The moment the words left his lips, the assembly roused into a sudden, loud symphony of applause, whoops and nods. Hoffman reciprocates the salute, flawless and as clean as his dress uniform, before motioning to the stand.

"Come on up, son." Without hesitation, Soren begins to approach the stadium. And as expected, the domino effect of rising morale took effect; a dark skinned engineer, with her sable hair in a ponytail, rises to a sharp stand from her chair in the front row, and also salutes.

"Corporal Regina Blake, Alpha-2! Lemme at 'em, sir!" The brash, vicious engineer was rewarded with the same deafening applause of the assembly as Soren, and without another moment, was summoned to the stage.

Lizzie felt a fire stoke within her, as the faintest dwindling of hope began to rise inside; a familiar sharpness she hadn't felt in a long time. On her immediate right, Lizzie's gaze turns to a vasgari teenager. He looked fresh out of boot…

"Private Henri Patel, Bravo-6!" The kid's squad, unsurprisingly, didn't join in the applause. Lizzie was certain the squad sergeant even reached out for the kid's arm, but he was already beelining for the stage.

Whilst Lizzie felt herself join the applause, she couldn't help but feel for the boy's comrades; she looked and acted exactly like him when she and Ellen first graduated from the academy. Eager, desperate to prove herself, uncaring of the imminent danger she was posing to face. The poor kid had no damn clue what he was getting himself into...she just hoped he was lucky. But at the same time, private Patel's enthusiasm began to make her think…

Maybe this is the turning point? The part where she can finally face her fears, tackle them head on, earn her name as a true Carmine. Her applause grew more fierce, and her jaw clenched. She couldn't even begin to remotely believe she was about to outdo Alvarez in terms of sheer volume and obnoxiousness, even when the fourth volunteer steps out. And this one truly surprised the crowd.

One of Valker's own NCOG marines took a step forwards, placing his Lancer down on the podium. His partner gave them a helmeted double-take as the marine steps towards Valker. The colonel turned to face his escort with wide eyes and mouth agape, as the marine reached for a handshake.

"It's been a pleasure, sir. But now, it's time I do my part." The marine grated out- the words grazing the microphone enough for the audience to hear. Begrudgingly on the spot, Valker shook the soldier's hand, and took a step aside to make way.

The marine stood forth, and removed his helmet to show a simple man of Tyrus blood; short brown hair, grey eyes and a rough-cut face.

"Marine Jackson Yarez of the 84th NCOG brigade." Lizzie joined the audience's applause easily. By god, seeing that kind of devotion was pure fucking beauty and straight-up badass. What got her heart going even more, was Benik was right alongside her, clapping genuinely with a completely-alien smile on his face.

'Holy. Shit...he looks so cute when he smiles. Why does he look so cu-...god dammit, Elizabeth, fucking stop.' She couldn't help herself. Her morale had bolstered with the rest of the assembly. The age of peace was coming to an abrupt close, and war loomed over the horizon, but right now? Lizzie felt hope. She could feel that humanity stood a chance, and she knew she would get her moment and prove herself; she was training for this. Born for this, so as far as she was concerned, she could sue herself for getting a bit fuzzy at the smile of the guy she's been curiously crushing on.

But she wasn't so eager to forget her seeing what could've only been a tear shed, earlier. She caught it in the faintest glance, but fuck does she wish she hadn't seen it; Benik wasn't one to be cornered or questioned, and now she only wanted more answers...but she couldn't break what little they had when she cherished it so much.

But whatever he saw brought that tear, and Lizzie found herself not wanting to know any further. Now wasn't the time to get soppy over someone else's heartbreaks...but maybe one day, when this was all over, she'll tell him he wasn't alone.

Lizzie's sombre smile at Benik went unnoticed, much to her favour, and the applause began to decline, causing the uneasy silence to return, again. Many heads turned in apprehensive pause; one of the Hivebuster slots was still vacant...and no-one seemed to be answering the call. Hoffman remained perfectly still, and didn't say a word, which Lizzie remarked as a smart trick. Morale was so high, right now, he couldn't risk saying the wrong thing, silver tongue or not.

In the silence, Lizzie looked back at young private Patel. He stood on the podium between Blake and Yarez, staring into some invisible point with a beaming smile. She felt herself sharing his passion...she had to face her fears and prove herself. But her eyes fall on uncle Clay, to see his helmeted visor glaring straight at her. He had been watching her this entire time...arms folded, body language plain as day. She saw the ever faintest shake of his helmeted head, and Lizzie felt her confidence waver.

'I'm...I'm ready, uncle. I'm fucking ready for this. Please...let me do this.' She heard herself silently plead, as if Clay would be able to read her thoughts. He didn't budge an inch; he continued to watch her, that silent demeanour telling her everything she needed to know.

She knew he didn't want her to go not out of not thinking she wasn't ready or anything...she knew that much. But she knew he cared for her safety just a bit too much...acting more like her dad than her mentor and uncle. Right now, she needed that guiding mentor to give her the push; she wasn't going to sit back and tweak some flat tyres whilst her squad's out fighting in the gorge, fuck that.

The fire returned in full force, and for once, Lizzie was ready to misbehave. She needed this; she was ready.

"No. Wait, -no-!"

"What're yo-"

Lizzie heard Alvarez and Gorchev hiss in protest...but Lizzie hadn't even taken a step forwards, and when her eyes inevitably turned to the sound of boots stepping forward, the fire in her belly turned to cinders, her mouth parted with a quiver, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"Private Benik Thorne. Echo-4. It's time I went home."