The impact was seismic.
A red-plated mecha soared across the training dome, rocket boosters flaring, and smashed into its opponent with a deafening boom. Steel rang against steel. Servo joints groaned. Sparks erupted like fireworks as twin blade-arms locked mid-strike.
Inside Ravager, Kael Drayven grinned. Sweat rolled down his brow, but his hands were steady on the dual controls. "Come on, Tyren," he taunted through the private comm, "you call that footwork?"
His opponent — a sleeker, blue-trimmed support unit known as Pulse Fang — pivoted away, its thrusters whining under the strain.
"You're built like a war rhino!" Tyren Quade's voice cracked through the comms. "Of course I'm dancing around you!"
Pulse Fang launched a flurry of light-speed jabs with its retractable arm-spikes, trying to keep distance. But Ravager didn't slow. Its hydraulics flared. Kael activated the magnetic knuckle module — and drove a single, thunderous punch straight into Pulse Fang's chestplate.
The shockwave blew dust off the far walls.
A bright red overlay flashed across the simulation screen above.
> K.O. — Pulse Fang: Disabled. Ravager: Overclocked. System Overheat: Warning.
From the catwalk above, a sigh echoed through the comms. "That's not sparring, Kael. That's attempted vehicular homicide."
Oris Vale stood in his uniform, arms crossed, black-gloved fingers tapping the railing with barely disguised irritation. His own mecha — Specter — remained untouched on the hangar's launch line, idle and pristine.
"Come down and join if you've got critiques," Kael shot back, climbing down from Ravager's cockpit as the sim shut down. "I'm warming up for real combat."
"You nearly blew out the entire left stabilizer grid again," Oris replied. "Training damage protocols still apply. We're technically not at war."
Tyren stumbled out of his cockpit, smoke still trailing from one shoulder module. "The man has no chill. Zero. Zilch. I should start welding explosive surprises into his elbow joints."
"You'd never get through my security panel."
"I'd bribe the engineers with pizza."
"You can't. You used up our delivery privileges—"
An alarm blared, cutting the banter short.
> "Unit 404, report to Command Deck. Priority Level: Delta Black."
All three froze.
Kael looked up. "Wait… Delta Black?"
Oris was already pulling up the codex on his wristpad. "That's an active mission code."
Tyren's jaw slackened. "No. No, no—who let the AI drink coolant again? There's no way they're assigning us anything."
---
They were Unit 404, known unofficially as "The Wreckers."
Three elite-grade cadets assigned together not because they gelled — but because no one else would work with them. Their file was a mess: damaged stations, bypassed restrictions, combat drills that ended in near-wrecks — but always impressive enough to avoid a full suspension.
On paper, they were expendable. On the field, unpredictable. And somehow, always standing.
---
The command deck was cold, sterile, and way too serious for their liking.
Three brass-decorated admirals and one floating AI orb stared them down. Holograms flickered overhead, showing a pale, cratered planet labeled C-17.
Admiral Lora Ven didn't waste time.
"You are being assigned to a recon mission to Planet C-17," she said sharply. "Last known coordinates: Sector XG-92. Status: unresponsive. All prior contact lost six years ago."
"Six years?" Tyren whispered. "That planet's off the maps."
Oris stepped forward. "Why us?"
The AI pulsed cold blue light. "All official strike teams are occupied. Your... flexibility and previous exposure to Class 3 hazards make you 'adequate' for low-investment deployment."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You mean disposable."
"We mean expendable," Admiral Ven said, unapologetic. "You'll take Nox-4, a long-range stealth transport, armed with three launch hangars. Your mechas are pre-loaded."
Oris studied the orbit map. "Travel time?"
"Twenty days in stasis to reach orbital entry. After landing, 48-hour sweep, recovery of any survivors or black boxes, then extract."
"And backup?"
"There is none."
Oris didn't flinch. "We'll need atmosphere analysis, terrain risk data, kaiju threat level, field beacons, enhanced weapon packs—"
"All standard," Ven cut him off. "Check your mission brief. Dismissed."
---
They were silent as they walked toward Hangar Bay 12.
Kael cracked his knuckles. "So. Real mission."
"Suicide mission," Tyren muttered.
Oris was dead quiet, scanning through his wristpad until he stopped cold.
"…what?" Kael asked.
Oris tilted his screen toward them.
It showed Nox-4's fuel manifest.
There was enough propulsion for one jump. Only one.
Kael's voice dropped. "That's not a round trip."
Tyren blinked. "They sent us with no fuel to return?"
"Not just that," Oris said. "There's no long-range comms module. We can't even send for pickup."
The silence this time wasn't awkward — it was deadly.
"They're not assigning us a mission," Oris finished. "They're dumping us."
---
Kael looked up at Nox-4's dark, dented frame. Despite the soot and damage on its hull, the ship radiated menace. Like a coffin outfitted with guns.
Their mechas — Ravager, Specter, Pulse Fang — were being loaded aboard by drone arms. Final diagnostics running.
"Looks like they want us to disappear," Kael said softly.
"Then we'll make sure they can't forget us," Oris replied.
Tyren pulled out a cracked piece of wiring and grinned. "And if we don't die out there? We're sending back everything we find. They want us silent? Too bad. I brought noise."
---
By the time they were inside Nox-4, the atmosphere had shifted.
No more jokes.
No more noise.
Just the low, pulsing hum of jump prep and the slow descent of cryo-pods.
Kael placed a hand on Ravager's hull before stepping into the pod.
> "You and me again, big guy. Let's tear the unknown apart."
Oris input final route commands, fingers steady. If this was their last mission, they'd complete it on their own terms.
Tyren slipped a microdrone into a hidden panel. Something to send back secrets — or warnings.
> "Let's find out what C-17 is hiding," he whispered.
The cryo-lids slid shut.
---
Far above, beyond the hangar, stars shifted and bent as Nox-4 activated its core drives.
Space warped.
And three mecha pilots disappeared into the swallowing dark.
---