Grave

“This is Tempes — we’re being overrun, retreating back to you!”

Static.

“This is Lucky Eight. We’re facing an overwhelming force. Are we allowed to retreat?”

Multiple strained voices crackled through the radio, urgent and overlapping. Sear leaned forward, snatched the mic.

“Tempes, return to the stationary radio. Lucky Eight — has Blackout and Pulse reached you yet?”

“Yes, Pulse and Blackout are here. Only reason we’re still standing. But we’ve lost Whispy, Lamb, and Clover before they showed up.”

Sear’s fingers drummed anxiously on the mic housing. His eyes met Fallow’s — then without warning, he grabbed her hand, wrapped her fingers around the mic, and pressed it to her chest.

“Do what you think is best, i don't feel like dealing with this now”

He didn’t wait for a response, already turning to join Blip and Halfy.

Fallow squeezed the mic tight, drew a breath, then spoke.

“This is Commander Fallow. Lucky Eight, you are clear to retreat.”

Just seconds later:

“Thank you, Rookie out.”

Time passed. Fallow stayed by the radio, eyes locked on it. A little ways off, Sear rummaged through gear with Blip and Halfy. Slick ambled up, caught a water bottle tossed by Blip, gave him a grateful nod, then walked toward Tace.

“Mind if I sit?” Slick asked.

“Go ahead.” Tace didn’t look up.

Slick dropped down next to him. “Here, you must be thirsty.”

Tace took the bottle, uncorked it, and drank. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Slick’s eyes drifted over to Fascia. “Heard what you did. Reckless as hell. But… brave.”

Tace handed the bottle back. “I don’t want to lose her. I’m sure you’ve got someone like that.”

Slick’s gaze shifted toward Blip. A quiet shadow crossed his face. “Yeah. I do.”

Tace snorted faintly. “Still. Doubt you understand me and her any more than I understand you and your brother.”

Slick paused, bottle halfway up. His eyes flicked from Fascia to Tace — then softened slightly.

“Oh. I see.”

CRACK.

A sharp branch snap made Slick drop the bottle, hand flying to his sidearm. He aimed into the trees.

“Don’t shoot, Slick!” Raven’s voice cut through the air.

Out of the brush stumbled two Fallo soldiers, followed by a massive man in a black coat, bodies slung over his shoulders. Havoc headed to greet them Slick let out a breath, holstered his gun. Tace felt a light tap on his shoulder before Slick rose to join Havoc.

“Tempes. Good to see you back,” Havoc said.

“Thanks. Got bait and Target out alive,” Tempes rasped. “i also managed to retrieve the fallen’s bodies”

Havoc’s eyes dropped to the bullet dents in Tempes’ armor. “Yeah… I can see that. Let me take one—”

“No.” Tempes shifted. “They’re my responsibility.”

He walked past, over to Tace, dropped the bodies gently by the rock. Slick watched, murmured, “Poor guy.”

Some time passed in silence. Slick handed out two shovels to what was left of Final Hour. They started digging — simple, grim work.

Blip and Halfy dozed off leaning on each other, and Sear, after a moment’s thought, draped a blanket over them before walking back to Fallow, who sat by the radio with a sly grin.

“What is it now?” he muttered as he sat.

“Nothing,” Fallow said, grin not fading.

The radio crackled.

“Lucky Eight approaching your position now.”

Pulse and Blackout arrived with two Fallo troops. Havoc and Raven moved to meet them, Havoc grabbing them both into a crushing hug.

“Havoc, seriously—too close to you know who here,” Pulse wheezed, elbowing Blackout. Havoc laughed, ruffled Blackout’s hair.

“Come on, you two.”

Lucky Eight’s remaining soldiers settled by Halfy, grateful just to sit. The funeral for Critical and Pebble was brief. Tempes, Bait, and Target stood with heads bowed. Tempes fist clenched tight before he turned and walked to Fallow and Sear.

“We need to pull out. Now.”

“We can’t,” Sear snapped. “Failure’s not an option. The lab won’t allow it.”

“Screw the lab. We’re not their property.”

Sear stood, grabbed a handful of Tempes’ coat. “Really? Because this coat is theirs. That radio’s theirs. Our guns, our abilities — all theirs. We. Are. Lab. Property.” His finger jabbed Tempes’ chest with each word.

Tempes didn’t flinch. “Copy that, sir. But if I ran the lab, I’d want my property alive and well.”

He turned away. Sear just stared after him, expression unreadable — until Fallow gave him a look that dripped disapproval.

“Don’t start,” he grumbled.

“Maybe you deserve it.”

before their bickering could turn any worse

Raven’s voice cut through the static of the radio.

“We’ve got incoming.”

Sear moved instantly to the equipment shaking Blip and Halfy awake. The other two Fallo soldiers stood, grabbing weapons. Sear Grabbed extra bags that he tossed to Tempes team, as he and the others walked by, “We’ve got trouble coming.” Bait and Target fell in behind Sear without a word. Tempes lingered at the graves for one last look, then followed.

Havoc stood with Raven, Pulse, Slick, Blackout, and Tace.

“You sure you’ll be okay? It’s closer than before,” Havoc asked.

Raven gave a small smile. “Long as it doesn’t get too close.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t.” Havoc hugged her, then turned to lead the others off, Tace stomped at the ground once shocked to find his leg didn’t hurt. Fallow stayed back with Raven and Fascia, still at the radio.

Sear moved at the front, twin pistols up. Blip and Halfy flanked him. Tempes broke right with his squad, while the rest charged straight ahead into the looming threat. Gun fire erupted as the two forces started fighting.

Sear and his squad pushed managed to push all the way back to the fallen tree. The opposing force slowed, their retreat halting just beyond the twisted trunk. For a tense moment, there was only the heavy rhythm of breaths and the echo of gunfire.

Then a Scream. Rookie staggered, a bullet punching through his shoulder, his rifle slipping from numb fingers. He tried to grab it with his other hand—another shot tore through that shoulder too. Then one last round caught him dead center in the chest. He fell backward, landing beside Thirteen, the last of Lucky Eight.

“Rookie!” Thirteen’s eyes went wide. She dropped her gun, pressing her hands to his wounds. Already the brown color of her Fallo uniform was turning as red as Rookie’s hair.

“Thirteen…” Rookie’s voice was small, fading. A faint, broken smile touched his lips. “It’s fine. We did well… right?”

Then he went still.

A strangled scream burst out of Thirteen. “AAAGH!” She ripped her hands back, blood soaking her fingers wrapped around her pistol, she pushed it up under her own chin.

“No—WAIT!” Slick lunged toward her.

Click. Click.

The gun jammed. Thirteen’s eyes widened with raw, tear-streaked rage. Slick crashed into her, wrenching the weapon from her grip.

“Get away from me! I will not go back alone!” She shoved him off. Her hands snatched two grenades from her belt. Without a second thought, she broke from cover and ran straight toward the enemy line, arms out wide. Bullets slammed into her torso, snapping her backward, but she kept going.

She ripped both pins out with her teeth. Managed to fling one grenade forward even as more rounds tore through her legs, dropping her to her knees. The grenade landed right among a cluster of UAF soldiers.

The second grenade was still clutched in her hand when both charges detonated at once — a deafening roar and a burst of fire that swallowed Thirteen and shredded the UAF soldiers where they stood.

When Slick finally dared to look, there was nothing left of her but torn earth and silence.