The next day...
"Here we are, master." The mechanical yet upright English accent of Albreck filled the confined space of the elevator as it glided smoothly toward the ground floor of Hammond Robotics Headquarters in the heart of Earth's capital, Concordia.
Standing at his side and clutching his armored hand, young Samael Hammond gazed out at the world through the elevator's seamless, transparent walls. The walls weren't made of glass, but a shimmering digital material - a thin, flexible surface of reactive displays capturing the outside environment through countless sensors lining its exterior.
It rendered a flawless image of the bustling skyline, skyscrapers gleaming with polished chrome and glass, their surfaces flashing with the glow of endless advertisements. It was the same technology used by Titan cockpits, allowing pilots to see beyond their armored cages.
Ding.
The doors parted without the faintest sound, a perfect divide in the otherwise seamless surface. Albreck stepped out first, leading Samael into the vast, high-ceilinged atrium of Hammond Robotics Tower, where a sleek, modernist reception bathed in soft blues and silvers greeted them. Holographic banners hung suspended in midair, softly rippling like fabric, bearing the crimson insignia of the Hammond 'H'.
Their penthouse office loomed far above, but for now, the ground floor buzzed with activity.
Workers in tailored red and black vests moved briskly, the fabric catching the glow of overhead light panels. The emblem stitched over their hearts marked them as belonging to the corporation - a badge of pride for those fortunate enough to work here.
Each wore polished leather shoes that clicked against the marble-like flooring, the sound sharp in the cavernous space. Some of them, unable to resist, approached the young heir with hopeful smiles.
They adjusted their uniforms nervously, patting down creases, as if a stray wrinkle might cost them favor. A few even tried to catch his eye, hopeful for a greeting from the child celebrity - son of their employer, their future leader.
Albreck halted.
The grinding sound of servos accompanied his movement as his head twisted toward them, the subtle creak like metal plates scraping against each other.
His fingers flexed - elongated claws silently sliding out a fraction of an inch. His photoreceptors flickered, shifting hues, as if readying for a less diplomatic setting.
The unspoken threat was palpable. Even without a word, it was clear: approach the boy, and you might not leave the building intact.
"Its okay, Albreck," Samael's small hand tapped against the cold armor of his companion, his voice cheerful yet commanding. "You're making us look bad. Remember, public image is essential. Nobody supports wars for people they don't like."
"Ahh…" The towering machine relented. His optics blinked twice, and a holographic emoticon appeared above his head - a cartoonish smiling face, radiating artificial warmth.
The workers, on the verge of retreating, breathed a collective sigh of relief. Some even managed nervous waves as Samael offered them a boyish smile and a casual salute with his tiny hand.
They waved back but kept their distance, the unspoken threat still lingering. Even pacified, Albreck's towering frame - standing at seven feet two inches, clad in pristine white alloy plating - remained an intimidating sight.
Near the exit, the double doors of reinforced glass gleamed, reflecting the constant cascade of passing traffic outside. Two IMC soldiers stood at attention beside them, statuesque in posture.
Their armor, a composite of white ballistic alloy plates and titanium-reinforced helmets, was overlaid by red-and-white fabric wraps, a mark of their station and loyalty to the Core.
Samael beamed as he saw them and veered off course with a skipping gait. Though just a child, he wore the sharp attire of a corporate magnate: a finely tailored coat over a high-collared shirt, every stitch a statement of wealth and power. The soldiers stiffened, but recognition quickly dawned.
"Marcus! Andrew! How are you both doing today?" he asked brightly, recalling their names from a previous visit.
The two men exchanged a glance, momentarily caught off guard. Marcus, a tall, dark-skinned man with a shaved head, smiled first - a father himself, he knew how to handle these encounters.
"Good. How 'bout you, kiddo? Off to see the city again, are we?"
"Mhmm..." Samael hummed, eyes glinting, "I haven't figured out where to go yet, but I'll think about it later. I just wanted to ask if I could borrow your P2011?"
"Sir... I don't know if we're authorized to do that. If you hurt yourself, we'd be executed for treason." Andrew shifted uneasily, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple.
A veteran of the Frontier wars, he'd seen what the IMC did to those who failed them. Rumors of Ares Division were enough to make any soldier shudder.
"Hmmm... this is a dilemma," Samael's gaze flicked to Albreck, a satisfied glint in his eye. "Oh, but Albreck is my bodyguard, right? How about you give it to him for my protection?"
"Come on, numpty," Marcus sighed, pulling a sleek black pistol from the smallest holster on his waist. The weapon caught the light, a compact but deadly sidearm. "He's the bossman - even if he is just five."
The gun passed smoothly into Albreck's clawed fingers, his grip unyielding as he tucked it away.
Samael laughed, a bright, untroubled sound. "Well, see you later, guys. Have a nice shift."
He darted through the glass doors into the open streets, his bodyguard's heavy footfalls trailing behind. As the doors sealed shut once more, Marcus swallowed hard. A gnawing sense of unease crept over him.
It's just a kid… He wouldn't actually do anything with a firearm, right?
Right?
A few minutes later.
"Albreck, wouldn't it look cool if I dual-wielded these? Maybe with some depleted uranium rounds - could be a real threat to armor. At a fire rate of eight rounds a second, adding another one would double that to sixteen. Twice the damage." Samael admired the sleek black handgun in his small hand, ejecting the magazine with practiced ease. Twelve rounds of low-caliber ammunition glinted inside.
They strolled down a street overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, the buildings so tightly packed the sun barely touched the ground. Neon signs and projected advertisements painted the pale concrete in flashes of crimson and electric blue.
Pedestrians crowded the sidewalks: fatigued office workers, patrolling IMC security units, sharp-suited businessmen, and the occasional Marvin utility robot. Above them, cargo ships with heavy VTOL thrusters roared past, their massive forms momentarily eclipsing the light.
Hardlight billboards hung from every available surface, flooding the air with images of prebuilt homes, luxury transit vehicles, and corporate recruitment ads. One displayed the Hammond Robotics logo in bold crimson, promoting the latest labor units.
As they moved farther from the tower, the sterile corporate perfection gave way to a slightly rougher edge. The city center remained diverse, a melting pot of countless cultures and races.
After generations of war and strife, old divisions had faded in the face of survival. This was Earth - the birthplace of humanity, and the beating heart of the Inner Core.
Samael slipped the pistol into his inner coat pocket as he stopped beside a lone figure. The young man, no older than eighteen, stood rigid before a glowing holodisplay.
His pale blue eyes stared at the screen, fists clenched at his sides. His brown hair fell in unkempt strands as he watched a recruitment poster cycle across the display: an IMC general in full uniform, arm outstretched in a dramatic gesture.
WE NEED YOU!
JOIN THE IMC TODAY AND LIBERATE THE FRONTIER FROM MILITIA TYRANNY!
It was tempting. The IMC promised its soldiers handsome pensions, free medical care, subsidized living, and generous salaries while deployed. For a pilot, it was more than a career - it was royalty. 350,000 credits a year, lifelong healthcare, discounts, and the kind of respect only Titans could command.
"You should join, you know… we need more brave men like you."
The voice was soft but firm. The young man blinked, breaking from his trance. He turned - and his heart skipped a beat.
There stood Samael Hammond, hands clasped behind his back, studying him with unsettling intensity.
"Every day, the Frontier is plagued by Militia terrorists. Are you up to the task of ending them, young man?"
It should have been comical, a child addressing a grown teenager this way - but there was something in Samael's presence, a gravity that made mockery impossible.
"I-It can't be..." the man stammered, "Is it really Samael Hammond!?"
"Last I checked." Samael's grin was flawless, extending a hand. "Next time I see you, I hope it's in full uniform."
"I… I've been thinking about it since graduation. I've never had the courage," the man admitted, his expression falling - then, realization dawned. He was speaking to him. He straightened his shoulders, a new fire lighting his eyes. "But this isn't coincidence. Your presence must be a sign."
"That's the spirit, soldier!" Samael clapped joyfully, watching him march off toward the recruitment center. "Go get 'em, tiger!"
As the man vanished around the corner, Samael's smile faded.
"He won't last a second on the front lines."
"Indeed." Albreck appeared at his side. "Odds of defecating or surrendering before a Titan exceed eighty percent. He will likely die."
"If he does, it's for the good of the Core. Remember, Albreck - the ends always justify the means. If we don't reclaim the Frontier, the Inner Core will fade away… and with it, the Hammond legacy."
"I understand."
"Good. Now - where should we go?"