Bio-Mech Warrior

0800 Hours — Catarman Province, Cornalian Region, New Sandesta

Somewhere in the highlands of Maria Acosta, two men were being blindfolded and dragged by armed rebels. Three others were already tied up in the center of the village, bound and kneeling beneath the cold morning sun.

The newcomers were shoved into place alongside them. A soldier yanked off their blindfolds.

All five men looked bruised and battered. Most of them pleaded for their innocence, but their cries fell on deaf ears.

Then, a man emerged from the crowd. He was old, with a long white beard and wrinkled skin. Despite his age, he stood tall, his posture rigid with authority. He wore a battered combat jacket adorned with faded insignias—proof of decades spent fighting in the mountains.

The rebels immediately stiffened at the sight of him. They raised their fists in salute. He responded with a brief nod.

"At ease," the old man said.

The men lowered their arms.

With a glare that could cut steel, the rebel leader turned to the prisoners. His face twisted in contempt.

"You Defense Forces dogs," he spat. "Your presence here is a joke. Your death will be the result of your masters' incompetence. And that death—oh, it will not go unnoticed. It will echo in every valley of this land!"

The bound men struggled, muffled by the gags tied around their mouths. One of them—wearing a tattered dark rebel uniform—thrashed in defiance.

The rebel leader motioned to a soldier. "Remove his gag."

The rebel obeyed. The prisoner immediately shouted, his voice hoarse but defiant.

"We will not waver, even in death, old man!"

He looked the rebel leader dead in the eye.

"You've been fighting in these mountains for decades. And what has it gotten you? Your so-called leader in Saxony is probably rotting in some comfortable coffin, while you all die like dogs for a cause that's already lost!"

The old rebel's face darkened. Without a word, he stepped forward and kicked the prisoner in the face. Blood burst from the man's nose, but he didn't look away.

"Death is too simple," the rebel muttered. "There are worse things."

He turned to his side.

A figure stepped forward.

The man was clearly foreign—his skin pale, his lab coat pristine despite the dirt around them. He wore round glasses, and his eyes were cold, devoid of empathy. The kind of eyes that didn't see people—only problems to be solved.

He said nothing.

He didn't need to.

His presence was enough to make even the rebels step back.

And for the five prisoners tied in the middle of the village, it was the beginning of something far worse than death.

---

1000 Hours — Camp Citu, Cornalian Region, New Sandesta

Andrew pulled into the base on his motorcycle. The guards waved him through after a quick ID check, and he parked in the open lot near the front gate.

With nothing urgent on his schedule, he decided to take a walk around the base. He noticed two large trucks parked near the motor pool—unmarked, save for industrial gray paint.

Something felt off.

He approached.

The truck drivers were lounging nearby, smoking and chatting. One glanced at Andrew's uniform and stood straighter.

"Oh, sorry—didn't notice you were one of the mercs," the driver said. "These are new-model SynthMechs. Delivering them to the 4th Devil Dogs."

Andrew's eyes narrowed as he looked at the tarped figures in the back of the truck—humanoid shapes, bulky and lifeless under thick white covers.

"And that's all you know?" he asked.

"Yeah. Heard your company's expanding its mech assets."

Just then, a technician stepped out of the building and waved to the drivers. He paused briefly when he saw Andrew.

"You're Captain Rowley, right? From the Black Hounds?"

"I am," Andrew replied. "And you are?"

"Ronald Kent, technician with the 4th Devil Dogs. We're starting a SynthMech program—select pilots from our company have already been assigned. Pretty big step."

Andrew nodded, unsure how to feel. "I see..."

Ronald continued, "Heard you were in Operation Dawnbreak. President Garfield decided to push forward on the expansion after that fiasco. We took heavy losses... this mech initiative is meant to rebuild and future-proof us. If the Devil Dogs make it work, the other units—yours included—might get theirs next."

"I see..." Andrew muttered again, something tight in his chest.

"Anyway, thanks for your time. I better get back before my supervisor finds me chatting again." Ronald gave a short salute and jogged off.

Andrew lingered, watching the trucks as they rolled toward the garage.

---

Inside the base, the briefing room was already half full when Andrew arrived. The others chatted casually until Colonel Gray entered at 1030 sharp. Conversation stopped. Everyone sat straighter.

Colonel Gray scanned the room.

"Gentlemen," he began. "Today's briefing concerns a strategic shift from our corporate leadership. Valhalla Limited is expanding its capabilities. Effective immediately, the 4th Devil Dogs will field the company's first dedicated SynthMech unit."

A wave of chatter rippled through the room.

Colonel Gray raised a hand. "Quiet."

He continued, "The 4th has the numbers and operational space to accommodate testing. While the Black Hounds are more capable tactically, we lack the manpower for immediate integration. However, if the pilot program proves successful, we may be next."

Tanya raised her hand. "Sir—who's funding the expansion?"

"The Board of Trustees, along with our finance and budgeting department. They've confirmed funding as long as our sponsors continue their support."

More questions followed, which the Colonel addressed methodically. Andrew listened, already having pieced together the story from the delivery earlier.

When the meeting adjourned, Andrew remained seated, eyes distant.

He had always wondered what it would be like to pilot a SynthMech. He wasn't against the integration... but something about it gnawed at him.

Tanya approached with Peter and Mikhail in tow.

"You alright?" she asked.

Andrew didn't respond.

Peter snuck up behind him and jabbed him in the ribs.

Andrew jerked. "What the—?!"

"Relax, Captain," Peter laughed. "You're sulking like a kicked puppy."

"Just thinking," Andrew replied.

"About the mechs?" Mikhail asked. "You against them?"

"No... not really."

But in that moment, a memory returned.Flesh twisted with steel.Tissue and fiber fused with cold, unfeeling machinery.A living weapon made from man and metal.

Andrew gagged suddenly and covered his mouth.

"I need some air," he muttered, brushing past them and heading out.