"He - he did it! The Ameise aren't there anymore!"

"I can confirm the destruction of the Ameise. BT, he's heading toward your location. Spearhead Squadron, reposition and return to the original pincer formation."

"Affirmative, Undertaker. Ceasing suppressive fire."

The Predator Cannon continued whirring as he slammed back behind cover, the gun glowing red-hot from how many rounds had been unleashed across the last two minutes. Once this was over, if he did not manage to acquire new ammunition for the weapon, the Legion module would be useless in battle.

Shields began to recharge. Some hull damage had been taken, but it was otherwise insubstantial, compared to his original plan of forcefully breaching the enemy's fortifications. There were things that only a pilot could do, and now that Jack had returned, their combat effectiveness was finally back to what it once was.

Initialising Expedition loadout...

He switched back to his favoured set of armaments that had been part of the Vanguard-class' original design. It was the most economical loadout at present - since he could scavenge and replenish ammunition for the chain-gun - and was fairly versatile at all aspects of combat.

"Third Platoon, the Legion will be heading toward the intersection up ahead. Ambush them before they attack BT's pilot."

"Roger that," Laughing Fox spoke. "Hey, BT! You think I can zip and fly around like he does?"

Hmm. Analysis indicated that Laughing Fox excelled at utilising the grappling hooks of his Juggernaut to fight in all three spatial dimensions. In that aspect, his skills exceeded even those of Undertaker.

"Perhaps. A Juggernaut is no heavier than a Northstar, and modifications to that Titan chassis can allow for sustained flight."

It was what made Viper as big a threat as he had been during the operation on Typhon. Freely able to exert control of the skies, a single Titan had managed to stand toe to toe against the entirety of Blackbird Squadron, and had almost emerged victorious.

Laughing Fox gave no reply for a moment. "...you're being serious?"

"Affirmative. However, I do not know if you possess the technology to replicate the Northstar's flight systems."

"Huh."

With the Ameise serving as the spotters destroyed from the combination of Spearhead Squadron's and his pilot's efforts, the ground troops were left without artillery support. There were still a decent number of Löwe and Grauwolf remaining, but he had destroyed or damaged many units while keeping his stranglehold on the southern end of the city.

His shields were now fully filled, and the Expedition loadout was engaged and ready. He stepped out of cover, re-entering the battle. Jack was visible in the distance, jetpacks lighting up every few instants as he made his way from cover to cover, completely avoiding the enemy while he made his way over.

"Hold the position, Spearhead Squadron. I will retrieve my pilot."

He rounded an intersection, leveling a burst of gunfire at a Grauwolf attempting to make intercept Jack's route. It likely couldn't do much on its own - the rocket launchers wouldn't be able to easily hit a flying target - but BT would rather be safe than sorry.

"Uhh, BT? Your pilot's bringing a hell of a lot of Legion over to you."

BT snorted. "He tends to do that."

Funny. When he was still linked with Lastimosa, that behavior had never been part of his programming. Adapting to the neural link with Jack Cooper throughout the course of Operation Broadsword had changed him in ways he couldn't understand.

"Spearhead Squadron isn't in a good position to intercept," Handler One warned, probably reading the battle data on whatever tactical map she had at hand. "I am reading two Löwe and six Grauwolf units chasing after your pilot. BT, I recommend heading to the next intersection on your left, and reuniting with him there."

It was a good suggestion. However, though it marginally improved the outcome, the risk to the safety of his pilot with their current intended route was minimal at best.

"Negative. I have done the math. The situation is fully under control, Handler One."

"But-"

"Trust me."

BT sprinted forward, pushing his thrusters to their maximum. Jack was similarly now beginning to move on a lower elevation, each new kick off a wall and assisted burst of his jetpack angled lower.

DISTANCE TO PILOT: 127m.

Cannon fire and rockets continued to track Cooper, but he was too quick and agile. A storm of debris was released from where errant shots had hit buildings, glass and concrete alike shattering, but Jack was undeterred in the slightest.

DISTANCE TO PILOT: 43m.

Still sprinting, BT extended his left arm outward.

ACTION: PRIMING VORTEX SHIELD.

The Legion switched tactics. They must have figured out what his pilot was attempting to do, because they were now angling their weaponry at BT, leading their target, and intended to destroy his pilot as he tried boarding the Titan.

DISTANCE TO PILOT: 23m.

Cooper landed, sliding on the ground, jump kit stuttering in mild corrections to blunt the impact that would otherwise have shattered the pilot's bones.

"Hey, BT!" Cooper shouted. "Miss me?"

DISTANCE TO PILOT: 11m.

"Negative."

DISTANCE TO PILOT: 7m.

"Wait, what?"

DISTANCE TO PILOT: 5m.

"Clarification – I was not aiming for you."

He tossed the chain-gun in his hand aside, reaching out to scoop Jack at the termination of his slide. The hatch to the cockpit was already opened in eager anticipation of reuniting with his pilot.

DISTANCE TO PILOT: 0m.

ACTION: ACTIVATING VORTEX SHIELD.

All incoming projectiles suddenly had their momentum arrested, caught by the magnetic fields created by the tactical module. They drifted in mid-air, his pilot safely protected behind the blue swirling dome.

Jack chuckled. "Good to see you again, buddy. Didn't think I'd hear a joke from you that soon, BT."

Without further ado, BT placed Jack into the cockpit, and sealed the hatch shut.

"Likewise. Welcome back, pilot."

Though BT had never truly been programmed to have emotions - only the simulation of such - he now experienced what it was like to be relieved beyond what words alone could describe.

-X-X-X-

All was dark in the interior of the Titan's cockpit.

"Protocol One: Link to Pilot," BT's voice was transmitted through the internal speakers. "Re-establishing neural link with Pilot Jack Cooper."

His HUD began to light up with text as BT spoke, indicating the progress of the recalibration of the neural link.

PROTOCOL 1 - LINK TO PILOT

Green lines of light began to appear in his vision, glowing with blazing intensity, before bursting into a flash of white light, just as it had those weeks ago when he first linked with BT.

"Neural link recalibrated. Temporal anomaly successfully corrected. Protocol 2: Uphold the Mission. With the successful destruction of the Fold Weapon, we do not currently have any active orders. Pilot Jack Cooper, you have full command over Vanguard-class Titan BT-7274 in the absence of further communications from the SRS."

PROTOCOL 2- UPHOLD THE MISSION

PROTOCOL 3 – PROTECT THE PILOT

"Re-initialising critical systems..."

The screens on the interior of the Titan began to flare to life - and he could see the mass of projectiles still being collected by the Vortex Shield listlessly floating about, eager to retaliate against the group of

enemies just up ahead. Tags began to paint enemy targets across his HUD - Löwe and Grauwolf were the names of these models, apparently.

"Neural link complete. Weapon control and motion link re-established."

He gasped involuntarily, as a familiar sensation filled him, one that had been missing since being forcefully transported across space-time by the Fold Weapon. BT's limbs were now his own, an extension of his own body. It was this instinctually that made the Titans as powerful and feared on the battlefield as they were - beyond just mere tanks and mechs, Titans themselves were representations of their pilots.

"...transferring control to Pilot."

"Music to my ears, BT."

Jack grinned, loosening his shoulders, the action itself translating to a movement of the Titan. He'd missed this feeling.

And with that, he returned the sizeable payload collected within the Vortex Shield, sending them all flying back toward the enemy drones. He stretched over, grabbing the chain-gun that BT had discarded.

He raised a brow. "... BT, have you been tinkering with this?"

"Affirmative. Compatible ammunition was difficult to procure. I have taken the liberty to make minor modifications in order to utilize scavenged ammunition. Cooper, I recommend taking a conservative approach with regard to our available armaments."

Drat. Guess he wouldn't be utilizing the laser core of the Ion or plasma railgun of the Northstar any time soon. Beyond the energy cells that powered those weapons, he had not yet come across plasma or particle-based ammunition that energy weapons utilized.

"Cooper, I have made contact with a group of tentative allies resisting the Legion's advance. Patching you into their version of a neural link communications network now."

"Wait, hold up! A neural link communications network?"

That was - well, unheard of. Even among pilots and Titans, a neural link was strictly kept between a single pair. These allies had to be the ones he had seen during the battle, and who had covered him while he raced toward the enemy position earlier.

But more importantly...

"Been busy making friends, BT?"

"Friend; definition – one attached to another by affection or esteem, who is not hostile, or who is of the same nation, party, or group. Yes, Cooper, I have made eighty percent friends."

He snorted, recognizing BT's joke. His amusement was being made apparent through their neural link. "You never change, do you?"

Jack – and BT by extension – ran forward, sliding low as he crossed the next building, the entire thirty tons of the Titan's chassis braced into a firing stance. He was in a perfect flanking position, the enemies fully occupied with BT's allies.

He opened fire, listening to BT apprise him of the situation while Grauwolf units turned around to engage this new arrival.

"In response to your query - they call it the Para-RAID. It appears to be similar in theory to the neural link, but fundamentally different in execution. Sharing of sensory information appears to be its sole function, and even then, only hearing is transmitted in most situations."

Interesting. That had to be how they could still maintain troop movements, even with the long-range radio jammers in place.

"Our new allies are the members of the Republic of San Magnolia's Eastern Front's First Ward's First Defensive Squadron 'Spearhead'."

"BT, you're going to have to explain everything once this is done, because I am absolutely clueless as to who we're fighting, why we're fighting, or where we even are. Hell, I –"

Immediately, he was attuned to the sounds of their new allies that came directly at his ears.

"Initialization successful."

"That's one hell of a mouthful, BT," an unknown male voice complained – Falke, BT supplied, transcribing the audio feed onto his HUD. "Everyone just calls us Spearhead Squadron. Also, nice moves back there. Big fan of your flying."

"Uh - thanks?" Jack asked uncertainly. Another Grauwolf fell to a concentrated burst from his chaingun, and he moved to reload with the magazines that BT had scavenged. "Rifleman 3rd Class Jack Cooper of the 41st Rifle Battalion, by the way."

BT snorted, interjecting. "Commander Briggs would have promoted you to a full Pilot by now, Cooper, even if she likely believes you to be dead."

"Posthumous promotion? That's cold, BT."

"Anyway - what the hell, BT?" A girl's voice came over the neural link an altogether strange sensation different in several ways from the link between himself and BT. "What did you mean we were only eighty percent friends?"

"Kirschblüte, focus on the battle."

"Bah, they're already routing, Undertaker!"

BT answered regardless. "We have not yet made confirmation as to whether our affiliations are identical, even if our interests align. I believe eighty percent to be a generous estimation of our current friendship status. Seventy would perhaps be more accurate."

"Uhh... what?"

Jack sighed. "BT, people won't recognize your jokes until they get to know you."

"Understood. I shall now declare a joke whenever one is made, until friendship rating reaches a hundred percent."

"... that really wasn't my point." Jack shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. How he'd missed this. "She's right, though. There aren't many more of them left. Let's save the introductions for later, yeah?"

The so-called Undertaker seemed to be the spokesperson of their group. "Got it. We're finishing up on our end as well."

Rushing a group of Ameise that were pinned down by Spearhead Squadron, Jack slammed the butt of his chain-gun against one of them, shattering the carapace-like armor plating. He grabbed it, as it still struggled to move despite its broken limbs, machine gun firing wildly. Smiling grimly, Jack used it as a shield against the incoming gunfire, cutting the distance to the next unit, before hurling the makeshift defense aside and pummeling at its peer.

"Cooper – the XO16A2 Chaingun took me ten hours to modify. If you desire a weapon for melee combat, I would suggest the Ronin's Broadsword."

...oops.

He switched from striking at the hapless foe with his rifle, to simply puncturing holes through the hull of the sole remaining unit with rounds of unknown calibre that BT had modified the weapon to be compatible with.

"Pilot Cooper - this is Handler One," yet another voice came over the link. "Two units are fleeing to your three o'clock, distance 200."

He had noted their presence - well, more accurately, BT had marked the targets down on his HUD - but the gesture was appreciated all the same. This had to be their intelligence officer, then.

"Got it. Thanks."

They were mopped up with ease – in some ways, even though this 'Legion' was comprised entirely of drones that could easily kill any foot-soldier, that composition made them easier to fight when linked to his Titan. Back on Typhon, he had to watch out for Spectres and grunts that carried anti-Titan weaponry, all while skirting around the dozens of IMC Titans on the battlefield.

In no time, the battle was over. At the end of the three-pronged attack that saw the enemy funneled inward into a death-trap with no escape, he caught sight of all the sixteen vehicles piloted by the members of Spearhead Squadron.

"…all Legion units confirmed successfully destroyed. Good work, Spearhead Squadron. Thank you for the assistance, BT-7274 – and you as well, Pilot Cooper."

"Just doing my job," he said automatically, then paused. "...although - BT - it would be very helpful you could explain to me just what the hell is going on."

"This will be a lengthy explanation, Pilot. I recommend proceeding toward Spearhead Squadron's base for further negotiations. I can update you as we travel."

"Sounds like a plan," Jack said. "That fine with you guys?"

"Yes," Undertaker spoke curtly, and popped open the canopy of his vehicle. "Please follow us back to base. As Handler One says, thank you for your assistance."

One by one, they followed Undertaker's lead, opening the opaque canopies of their vehicles. Thin aluminium, he could see on his HUD, based on what information was now available on the database shared between himself and BT-7274 They were highly mobile, but exceedingly fragile crafts.

Hell, even the thin depleted uranium armor of the IMC's mass-produced Spectres might just be more durable than them.

What surprised him most, however, was how young they all were. The eldest of them all couldn't be older than twenty, while the youngest was just barely a teen. Most soldiers of the Frontier were at least in their twenties, and the majority – like himself – were well into their thirties, having joined when the Frontier War was just starting to kick off.

He popped his hatch open as well, and he climbed on BT's offered hand, perching himself comfortably on the Titan's shoulder. He much preferred riding there rather than the cramped confines of the cockpit. He took off Lastimosa's helmet, carrying it beneath one arm.

From their reactions, they clearly hadn't expected him to be quite as old as he was, either. More than before, he was confused as to how this war had even begun, and why the Republic was fielding soldiers as young as themselves, and engaging in warfare solely with such an odd choice of vehicle. Pilots would likely favour its mobility – Davis, for one, would probably swoon over it — but it was not a craft meant to be piloted easily on the battlefield by the average soldier.

"Good to meet you all. Thanks for taking care of BT for me," he said again, giving a firm nod of respect, and then put his helmet back on. "Lead the way."

With that, they began to move at a comfortable cruising pace, likely slowing down for the sake of BT.

JACK, THERE IS PERTINENT INFORMATION THAT MUST BE SHARED WITHOUT BEING OVERHEARD.

Cooper raised a brow at the encrypted message. BT seemed to trust Spearhead Squadron a great deal, considering how he factored their involvement during the battle. Why the cloak and dagger?

IT CONCERNS THE NATURE OF SPEARHEAD SQUADRON, AND THE REST OF THE EIGHTY-SIX.

From what I have been able to gather, ten years ago, the Giadian Empire collapsed from within, and the Legion created by them began to attack all neighboring powers. In the Republic of San Magnolia, the immediate response was to withdraw all citizens into their capital, and to draft all members of any racial group not arising from pure-blooded Alba lineage into internment camps. Millions of Eighty-Six have died in the past nine years.

He watched, lips pursed, as a video feed streamed across their neural link. Hundreds of destroyed crafts littered the battlefields, likely having been found by BT while he had roamed the area in search of Jack.

Cooper - by my analysis, the Republic is not an ally to be trusted. They may perhaps be even more twisted than the IMC. The Eighty-Six are fighting only because they are forced to. I believed that you and the Frontier Militia – would be sympathetic to their plight, and intervened on several counts where possible, by intercepting enemy battlegroups and eliminating them before they engaged with the Eighty-Six.

"Uh," one person suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence that had taken hold as they headed back. "Alright, what's with the silence? We all made it back after today's engagement! We should be celebrating!"

One craft shifted closer, falling in step alongside BT. Jack turned toward it as the canopy popped open, revealing a tanned-skinned youth with grey-black hair waving at him – although he was clearly slightly nervous. From his earlier cursory inspection, he looked to be on the older end of the spectrum among his peers.

"Name's Kujo. 'Sirius' is my Personal Name," he said. "BT saved me just more than a month ago. I – never really got the chance to say thanks."

"BT did?" he glanced at BT. Then, he smirked, as BT turned away slightly, and he nudged him on the shoulder - tried to, anyway. "Feeling shy, buddy?"

"Negative. I am unable to feel shyness — or for that matter, any other altered emotional state."

Yeah, right. As if he'd believe that. He remembered just how angry BT had been when the Draconis had been about to crash, and how he had stayed and protected Jack.

The Republic's fortifications include a series of reinforced walls known as the Gran Mur that surround the capital, with a dense minefield extending for over a hundred kilometers toward the areas controlled by the Eighty-Six. They possess interception cannons, that serve as long-range artillery covering up to 120 kilometers from the Gran Mur. Additionally –

Jack didn't know how BT was simultaneously broadcasting on both the Para-RAID and their more private neural link, but he was multi-tasking brilliantly. Kujo laughed, not at all aware of what BT was discussing behind their backs.

And from the looks of it... the situation was bad. For most of his life, he had fought for freedom of the Frontier, although only recently contributing directly to the war effort by enlisting as a rifleman just years ago. He only had a brief picture so far, but his impression of the Republic was souring by the second.

They stripped an entire group of people of their rights, forced them to fight while poorly armed, all while holding a gun to their heads via the unspoken threat of long-range artillery within distance of their camps. They could not fight back – not with the nature of their crafts, and the minefield surrounding the capital's walls – and were caught between death at the hands of the Legion, and by the Republic they had been driven out of.

The command structure of all the Squadrons comprised of Eighty-Six involves a Processor within the capital communicating to ground units under their command. Based on my interception of transmissions across unsecured Para-RAID channels, the overwhelming majority of Handlers are grossly incompetent – and in many cases, are driven by malice. Primary equipment utilized by Processors are the M1A4 Juggernauts. Sending specifications to you now.

"So, uhh..." Kujo made idle conversation. "Where did you two come from, anyway?"

Hmm. BT hadn't told them yet, then. "That's kind of a long story. It's probably best that we discuss that when we reach your base."

"Well, if you've got more of these Titans, sign me right up."

He grimaced. If the Legion had their way, they certainly would be seeing some Titans in due time - only on the other end of the battlefield. He had tried destroying what remained of the Titan chassis that had been brought to this planet, but it was impossible to know just how far-reaching the effects of the Fold Weapon's detonation ranged. Short of searching the entire damned planet, it was likely that the Legion would find bits and pieces of various Titan chassis that had been left on Typhon at the time of the detonation and sent along with them for the ride.

"You'll have to wait your turn, Kujo," a second Processor piqued up. "I'm calling dibs."

"Wait, not fair! I called dibs first!"

"Wait in line, boys. I'm getting a Titan first."

"You too, March Hare?!"

Jack snorted in amusement. He'd heard plenty of such chatter among grunts of the Militia and IMC alike - had been these same starry-eyed soldiers looking upon Titans and their pilots with awe and amazement. He wouldn't have dreamed he would ever join their ranks this quickly - Lastimosa's death still weighed heavily on him – but here he was now, riding on BT-7274's shoulder, thrust into a foreign world with threats of an altogether different sort from the IMC.

"So, I'm curious..." One voice that BT told him on his HUD belonged to 'Wehrwolf' spoke up. "How do you pilot one of those things, anyway?"

He considered the question, then shrugged. It was common knowledge, anyway, and would likely come up later. As BT continued feeding him information about the local situation, he answered the question.

"Once the neural link is established, the Pilot gains full control of his Titan, if manual control is transferred. You... become the Titan, really. Every movement is translated to movement of the Titan. You feel every hit that your Titan takes, and all the stones beneath his feet."

He paused, remembering how bizarre that sensation had felt, when he had first gained manual control of BT. "It just becomes instinct. It's why Titans are all modeled after the structure of humans - when they were first built, although the neural link could be established, there was no way for the human brain to consciously exercise control of any other design."

"There aren't any controls at all?" 'Griffin' asked curiously.

"There are some," he corrected. Even he hadn't used them, however - he couldn't fathom ever forcing BT's fusion core to go critical, and eject himself to safety while dooming his Titan. "For the most part, though, it's all just down to the pilot's own movements. It's why pilot training begins without ever being on the inside of a Titan – until just a few weeks ago, I hadn't ever piloted a Titan before."

"But that means... BT's alive?"

Kirschblüte wandered over as well, joining the little escort party inspecting BT. Popular guy, him.

"Of course he is," he responded flatly, feeling mildly offended on BT's behalf. One couldn't see Titans as mere mechanical creations, after experiencing the neural link first-hand.

"Correction - my central control systems revolve around artificial intelligence bound within my data core."

That brought a wave of tension amongst the Processors, though they tried to hide it. "Like the Legion?"

"Fundamentally, yes. However, I suspect that the nature of their programming and their primary protocols are radically different from my own."

That brought a close to that line of discussion. In silence, they continued on, several Processors observing them with both mixed wariness and curiosity.

"I know you mentioned something about the Frontier Militia before, BT – but where even is that? Did some other country survive the Legion's invasion?"

"We'll explain soon," Jack said, looking ahead, where what he assumed to be Spearhead Squadron's base of operations was now coming into view. All things considered, it was barebones, fitting the profile of the Eighty-Six's plight that BT had apprised him of. "BT, what have you told them so far?"

"Nothing beyond our affiliation to the Special Recon Squadron of the Frontier Militia, and my designation as Vanguard-class Titan Bravo-Tango-Seven-Two-Seven-Four. All other information is classified, to be revealed at the discretion of a ranking officer. In the absence of the Militia's command structure, that now falls to you, Pilot."

"Great. Leaving all the work to me, huh?" Jack sighed. "Well, I'll need your help with the explanations - because I'm still clueless how we even got here."

They were now entering the hangar. Jack hopped off from BT's shoulder, joining the Processors who were exiting from their Juggernauts.

"Right. So, uhh..."

He stared at them, unsure of where to even begin. Before Typhon, he hadn't even been an officer, merely a Rifleman Class-3. He wasn't meant for diplomatic negotiations with potential allies.

Well, a direct approach would be best, right?

"See, the thing is this – BT and I aren't technically from around here..."

-X-X-X-

"Let me get this straight - you two are from a whole other galaxy, and time-travelled from another world," Theo said, staring at them with disbelief.

"Correction - the Fold Weapon folds space-time about its own axis, powered by the Ark. It would be more accurate to state that we crossed both space and time to arrive here. Without a full understanding of how the Ark functions, it is also possible that we travelled across dimensions entirely."

"That doesn't make any more sense, BT," Theo groaned.

Shin could understand his skepticism. It was an extremely far-fetched tale, and unlike anything they had ever encountered – or even heard of- before.

Still, they did not seem to be lying. Even though BT was, by his own admission, a form of artificial intelligence, Shin could not hear any of the voices of the Legion coming from him. Along with the fact that they possessed technology that no Processor had ever seen before, and fought in ways that even Shin wouldn't consider to be feasible - which was saying something, coming from him - it lent credence to their words.

"Is no one going to point out that this Fold Weapon had the power to destroy an entire planet?" Kaie burst out. "How does that even work?"

"The generation of hypergravitational waves around a target causes a local distortion of space-time, resulting in —"

"BT," Jack Cooper interrupted, giving an exasperated smile at his Titan. "I think that was a rhetorical question."

"Ah. I shall associate that vocal pattern in my entry of Processor Kirschblüte's profile for future reference."

Cooper was also another factor that Shin hadn't expected. He appeared to be in his middle thirties, bearing features that one would associate with the Colorata - black hair, brown eyes, with a neatly-trimmed goatee and moustache. Few of the older Eighty-Six had survived the initial years of the Legion invasion, and those who were still around were now part of maintenance crews. Unlike the Processors, he wore a simple armored vest outside of his pilot's suit.

On his helmet, that he was now holding in one hand, there was an image of a predatory beast that Shin had never seen before, looking as though to be stalking and ambushing its prey. A motto was arrayed around its triangular borders - UNITED WE STAND. DIVIDED WE AMBUSH.

There was a second emblem hinting toward his affiliations, supporting their claims of arriving from another world – and possibly, dimension. It was a bone-white skull with an 'M' emblazoned within, surrounded by a green and orange border. Marauder Corps, according to the explanation of their origins.

They had been embroiled in a war of their own, against a force known as the "Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation" or IMC for short, who sought to colonize entire planets and drain them of their resources. The Militia had been formed by those forcefully displaced or subjugated, and from bands of pirates and mercenaries rebelling against the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation. Most details had been scarce, but the pair had recently been involved in a major operation on the planet Typhon, tasked with securing and retrieving a powerful artifact known as the Ark, that the IMC wished to use to power a weapon capable of destroying entire planets.

They had failed to retrieve the Ark, but were able to successfully disable the weapon by destabilizing it as it was firing – saving millions of lives on the Militia stronghold of Harmony in the process, while fracturing Typhon itself. They had been caught up in the implosion – and somehow, through the actions of the weapon, ended up being transported here.

While BT-7274 had ended up inside the contested lands of the Republic itself, Cooper had been forced to navigate his way through the former Giadian Empire, and sneak past the significantly greater number of Legion troops close to the border. He had been light on the details with what pilot training entailed, but considering he had no such ability to hear the voices of the Legion as Shin could, making it all the way here alone amazed him – and further led him to believe that they were, in fact, telling the truth.

"Have you ever heard of these planets, Kujo?" Anju asked.

He shook his head. Though he may not appear it at first glance, Kujo had a deep interest in astronomy. "No," he said, mixed incredulity and wonder in his voice. "To think that there would be other planets out there capable of sustaining life..."

"But, if that's the case... then you two can't return home?" Major Milizé spoke over the Para-RAID.

"I'm guessing so?" Cooper glanced at his Titan. "I haven't seen any functional aircraft capable of getting through the Legion's aerial defences so far - never mind any starships capable of interstellar travel. I doubt you've got an interstellar relay beacon we could use to signal the Militia either. The Fold Weapon's also destroyed, so..."

"Affirmative. The probability of returning to the Frontier is negligible, at best."

"But then what will you two do?"

"About that..."

Cooper gave a slow nod toward his Titan, the two of them exchanging an unspoken message. When next he spoke, his tone lost some of its former humor, turning deadly serious.

"Handler One, I'll be frank – BT has been telling me about the Republic's state of affairs, and about the Alba's oppression of the Eighty-Six."

They had been expecting that, given BT's exchange of words with them just a week ago, but still Shin was surprised to hear the clipped edge in Cooper's voice. There was a coldness to his gaze, and there and then, there was no mistaking him for the Pilot who had masterfully traversed the battlefield without a Juggernaut, and eliminated the high-value Legion targets with practiced efficiency.

Looking at him, Shin wondered if that was how it felt sometimes when his fellow Processors saw him. That skull, the symbol of the Marauder Corps – did the Personal Mark of Undertaker carry that same weight?

"BT and I - and the rest of the Militia – we've been fighting for freedom of the Frontier from the oppression of the IMC. The Frontier was the only home I've ever known, and I couldn't just sit by while the IMC continued taking our land and resources. What your Republic is doing here... I can't accept that." He turned, looking at BT. "We can't accept that."

He continued. "But BT also tells me that you're one of the few in your Republic who might be worth a damn. We want to hear your side of the story as well, before we decide what we're going to do from here."

It was hard not to feel Cooper's genuine anger radiating from him – and surprisingly, from his Titan as well. From his account, though, it was easy to see why - unlike the Eighty-Six, who were forcefully thrusted into war, the Militia was filled with those who had voluntarily taken up arms after being displaced from their homes or subjugated by the IMC. His convictions ran far and deep enough to enlist as a rifleman, with minimal resources and equipment, in a war fought with weaponry unlike any they had seen the Legion utilize thus far.

He was not an Eighty-Six. He did not know what it was like to be caught between two foes who could not be defeated, where all that awaited them in the end was death. Where the Eighty-Six fought for the sake of their own pride, to prove that they remained humans who would not yield even to the threat of death, Cooper had dreams and ideals that he strongly believed in.

In some ways, he was like how Major Milizé had been - an outsider who, perhaps, pitied their plight, and was trying to change things in his own way.

They were similar, and yet, so different. Where Major Milizé was inexperienced but tactically brilliant, Cooper had been to battlefields harsher and more demanding than those that the Eighty-Six fought in, and with higher stakes hanging in the balance, relying more on individual skill and the combined prowess of himself and his Titan to achieve what might have been impossible for anyone else. In the Frontier, he had seen wonders and horrors alike that no Processor had ever witnessed.

Without question, however, they were both on Spearhead Squadron's side. Allies.

"... understood," Major Milizé said, after a heavy pause. "It's... shameful to have to say this, but it is all true. My people have been brutal in the treatment of the Eighty-Six. I will tell you what I know."