The transit train ground to a halt. Caleb rested the back of his head against the rattling glass.
No flashing red and blue lights in the distance. The corporate security cruisers were miles away now.
The burner chip behind his right ear sat entirely dormant. No static. No pulsing purple text.
She was locked in a holding cell.
Caleb exhaled. The tight knots winding up his spine loosened just a fraction. The invisible leash was cut, at least for today. He shoved the restaurant, the hacked visor, and the unnatural heat knitting his bruised shoulder together into a mental lockbox. The zero-eight-hundred mobilization demanded everything he had.
The city above the transit hub was already shifting. Heavy hydraulic gears groaned through the bedrock. Civilian residential blocks lowered into reinforced subterranean silos. Tungsten blast doors slid shut across the surface streets. The deep vibrations travelled straight up through the soles of Caleb's boots.
He exited the train, joining the flood of dark-gray uniforms pouring down the central corridor.
The primary staging hangar spanned the size of an aircraft carrier. Arc welders showered bright sparks from the upper gantries. Engineering crews frantically bolted ablative plating onto the First Division's artillery mechs. The air tasted heavily of machine grease and plasma exhaust. Pneumatic loading drones hissed, dropping ammunition crates against the concrete.
Caleb found the Seventh Division's staging trench. He strapped himself into a scarred set of surplus armor.
The dead weight settled immediately on his shoulders. A pathetic 1.2 percent kinetic yield. Beneath his sternum, a dull ache scraped against his healing ribs. The parasite. He shoved the sensation down, compartmentalizing the unnatural hunger. He couldn't afford the distraction.
He locked his gauntlets, grabbed his combat rifle, and slapped the side of his helmet to initialize his HUD.
The military overlay booted up in standard blue.
He checked the top right corner of the visor. The viewer count didn't lock onto a single encrypted user. The public broadcast icon glowed a steady green.
The viewer count sat at zero.
He racked the bolt of his rifle.
The number ticked to twelve. Then forty. Then a hundred and fifty.
The public chat log began to scroll in his peripheral vision.
User99: wait is this the scrubber from the urban zone?RedLine: dude in the surplus gear carried the princess.GunnerFan: sync rate 1.2%? how is he even walking in that armor?
Eight hundred viewers. Climbing fast.
Engagement points equaled credits. Credits kept the family debt collectors away.
"Your public feed is active."
Kikaru Shinomiya stood two feet away. She had traded her academy dress uniform for a pristine set of white combat gear. Her posture remained strictly professional, though she favored her left side slightly to guard her cauterized ribs.
"The military monitors engagement during these mobilizations," Kikaru said, her gaze tracking the faint blue light of his visor. "Do not waste the exposure."
"I'll try to shoot something shiny," Caleb said.
Hiro and Iharu jogged up behind her.
Hiro was frantically adjusting the tension straps on his rifle sling. He popped the thermal optic off the rail, wiped the lens, and clicked it back into place. "The humidity down here messes with the thermal variants," Hiro muttered, his eyes darting across his weapon. "If we deploy into the transit tunnels, the ambient moisture is going to drop our effective range by at least twelve percent. We need to recalibrate."
Iharu slapped the back of Hiro's helmet. "Stop doing math, nerd. Just point and pull the trigger."
Iharu's custom crimson-trimmed armor gleamed under the floodlights. A fresh white bandage stretched across his broken nose. He crossed his arms, scowling at Caleb's battered chest plate.
"You actually showed up," Iharu grunted. "Thought you'd take the payout from the urban zone and run back to the garbage chutes. Seventh Division vanguard is basically a suicide squad."
"The pay is better here," Caleb said.
Hiro tapped the side of his helmet. A wide, relieved smile broke across his face. "People are linking our squad profiles from the trial. I already have three thousand people watching. My sponsor is going to be thrilled."
Caleb checked his own corner display. Two thousand, five hundred.
The Cathedral floodlights slammed off.
A collective hush fell over the thousands of assembled soldiers. A massive holographic projector flared to life in the center of the hangar. A three-dimensional topographical map of the city bathed the surrounding divisions in pale blue light.
Captain Ren Kade stepped onto the central command dais.
"Thirty minutes ago, the offshore perimeter grid went black," Kade's voice boomed over the speakers, carrying a heavy, grounded weight. "The public broadcast networks are calling this a Category 4 coastal event to prevent a civilian stampede."
Kade tapped a command on his console. A massive swath of the coastline lit up in violent crimson.
"We have a Danger Class-8 Titan making landfall at the commercial docks."
A low murmur rippled through the ranks. Recruits cursed. Veterans tightened their grips on their weapons. A Class-8 wasn't just a monster. It was a moving tectonic plate. Millions of tons of armored mass dragging itself out of the ocean.
"First and Second Divisions form the anvil," Kade continued, ignoring the murmurs. "Hold the defensive line at the sector walls. Heavy artillery and sniper suppression."
Kade's dark eyes swept over the gray uniforms of the Seventh Division holding the rear of the hangar.
"Seventh Division. Third Division. You are the hammer. The Titan's landfall triggered a subterranean stampede. Thousands of Scavenger-class Yoju are burrowing up through the subway lines, fleeing the landfall."
Vice-Captain Iris Calder stepped to the edge of the dais. Her scarred forearms crossed over her chest. "You drop into the flooded transit tunnels. Fight in the dark. Choke the tunnels with their corpses until the breach is contained. Check your filters. Load your mags. Do not break formation."
The blue hologram powered down.
Hiro swallowed hard, his fingers white-knuckling his rifle grip. Iharu bared his teeth, racking the bolt on his scatter-gun with a sharp metallic clack.
Caleb checked his HUD. Four thousand viewers. The algorithm was pushing him into recommended feeds.
"See you on the other side," Caleb said to the prodigies.
He turned his back on the pristine First Division staging area. The surplus armor dragged heavy on his shoulders as he walked toward the deployment tubes. The drop sirens started to wail, vibrating the concrete beneath his boots.