Mara's Position - 7:14 AM
Dr. Mara Sato had killed fourteen people in the last six minutes.
She added each to her mental list with the same clinical precision she'd used for the previous forty-seven. Names when possible. Physical descriptions when not. Age estimates. Cause of death.
It was becoming harder to care about the details.
The magenta integration was dampening her emotional responses. She knew this intellectually—could feel the armor's systems regulating her neurochemistry, suppressing anxiety and guilt and horror.
Turning her into an optimal combat asset.
She should resist. Should fight to maintain her humanity.
Couldn't quite remember why it mattered.
She moved through the battlefield like a ghost, magenta armor's camouflage system blurring her outline. The Covenant soldiers were good—trained, experienced, enhanced. But they were fighting five targets in experimental armor that shouldn't exist, and their training hadn't prepared them for this.
Mara put two rounds through a soldier's visor. Watched him fall. Added him to the list: Male, approximately 30-35, Asian features, double-tap headshot.
Moved to the next target.
The magenta armor made her precise. Every shot counted. Every movement efficient. No wasted energy. No hesitation.
No feeling.
She knew this was wrong. Knew the integration was changing her, making her less human, less Mara and more weapon. Knew she should be horrified by how easy killing had become.
Instead she felt... calm. Focused. Like this was what she was always meant to do.
Subject exhibits decreased emotional affect, she thought, cataloging her own symptoms. Increased efficiency in high-stress scenarios. Possible sociopathic presentation. Recommend psychological evaluation if subject survives integration period.
She almost laughed. Almost. The magenta armor wouldn't let her waste the energy.
"Mara." Marcus's voice. "Status?"
"Fourteen confirmed kills," she reported. "Ammunition at thirty percent. Integration stable. No injuries."
"You sound different."
"Affirmative. The magenta integration is suppressing emotional responses to optimize combat performance. This is expected behavior per the integration manual. I remain functional."
Silence on the comm. Then: "Are you okay?"
Mara considered the question. Ran internal diagnostics.
Heart rate: elevated but controlled.
Stress hormones: suppressed.
Cognitive function: enhanced.
Moral reservations about killing: minimal to absent.
"Define 'okay,'" she said.
"Jesus, Mara—"
"I'm functional, Marcus. That's what matters. We can discuss the psychological implications after we survive." She acquired another target. Fired. Added him to the list.
"Fifteen now. How many left?"
"Silas says twelve," Marcus replied. His voice was tight. Worried. "They're pulling back. Regrouping for another push."
"Then we have approximately ninety seconds before renewed engagement. I'm going to use that time to reload and reposition. Mara out."
She cut the comm and moved to new cover. Efficient. Optimal. Empty.
Somewhere deep in what used to be Dr. Mara Sato's emotional core, a small voice screamed that this was wrong, that she was losing herself, that the armor was erasing everything that made her her.
The magenta integration suppressed the voice.
More efficient that way.
Commander Sable's Position - 7:15 AM
Commander Sable had led the Obsidian Covenant's most successful operations for eight years. She'd toppled governments. Eliminated warlords.
Brought SENTINEL—the most powerful covert organization on Earth—to its knees in a single night.
She was losing this fight.
Eighteen dead. Twelve remaining. Against five targets.
The math didn't work. Shouldn't work. Her soldiers were enhanced, trained, equipped with SENTINEL's own stolen technology.
The Spectrum armored targets were test subjects in prototype equipment with zero combat experience.
Except they were winning.
"All units, pull back to secondary positions," she ordered. "Establish firing lines. Concentrated fire on single targets. We can't kill them individually—we overwhelm them one at a time."
Her remaining soldiers moved with professional discipline. They were scared—she could hear it in their breathing, see it in how they moved—but still functional. Still dangerous.
"Obsidian-Two, what's our intel on the Spectrum armor's limitations?"
Her intelligence officer's voice came back strained. "Limited data, ma'am. SENTINEL's files indicate high power consumption. Extended combat operations should drain the armor's energy reserves. Best estimate: twenty to thirty minutes of sustained combat before failure."
Sable checked her chrono. They'd been engaged for seven minutes.
She had to keep them fighting for another thirteen to twenty-three minutes. Then the armor would fail and she could kill them like normal humans.
Simple. In theory.
"All units, harassment protocol," she ordered. "Don't commit to engagements. Hit and fade. Make them chase us. Drain their power."
It was a good plan. Sound tactics.
It might have worked if the azure-armored target hadn't been listening to every word.
Silas's Position
"They know about the power limitation," Silas said urgently. "They're going to kite us—make us chase them until our armor runs out of juice."
"How long do we have?" Marcus asked.
Silas checked his HUD. The azure integration was feeding him data directly from the armor's power systems. "At current consumption rate? Eighteen minutes. Maybe twenty if we reduce activity. Maybe ten if we keep fighting at this intensity."
"And when it runs out?"
"We become normal humans wearing very heavy, very expensive corpses."
"Wonderful." Marcus sounded like he was smiling. Aggressive. The crimson integration doing its work. "Options?"
"Kill them faster than they can run," Mara suggested. Clinical. Empty.
"They have vehicles," Silas countered. "I'm tracking two transports at the perimeter. They can evacuate and regroup faster than we can pursue."
"Then we don't let them evacuate," Atlas rumbled. He sounded better—the amber armor's regeneration was working, healing his internal injuries. Still injured, but functional. "We destroy transports first. Trap them here with us."
"That requires splitting the team," Marcus said. "We split up, we're vulnerable."
"We stay together, we lose," Silas said.
"They'll just keep running until our armor fails. We need to force engagement before—"
His HUD exploded with warnings.
"INCOMING!" he screamed. "Mortar fire, three rounds, impact in five seconds!"
The team scattered.
7:16 AM
The mortars hit where they'd been standing three seconds earlier. The explosions were catastrophic—shaped charges designed to defeat armor, probably scavenged from SENTINEL's own armories.
The blast wave caught Jesse mid-sprint. Threw him twenty meters. He hit a support pillar hard enough to crack both the pillar and several ribs.
The viridian armor held. His body didn't.
Jesse tasted blood. His HUD was flickering.
Damage reports scrolled past: CONTUSIONS, INTERNAL BLEEDING, POSSIBLE CONCUSSION, REGENERATION ACTIVE.
"Jesse!" Marcus's voice. "Report!"
"Alive," Jesse gasped. "Mostly. That... that hurt."
"They have mortar support," Silas said. "Heavy weapons team, positioned... calculating... northeast, elevation advantage, approximately four hundred meters."
"Can you jam their targeting?" Marcus asked.
"They're using visual range-finding and manual calculations. Nothing electronic to jam. Old school specifically to counter my capabilities."
"Smart," Mara said. "They've adapted to our capabilities faster than anticipated. Impressive tactical flexibility."
"Great," Jesse muttered, forcing himself to stand. His ribs screamed protest. The viridian armor's regeneration was working, but slowly. "So they're smart and we're running out of time. Fantastic."
"Jesse, Atlas, you're on vehicle destruction," Marcus ordered. "Fastest and strongest—get to those transports and disable them before the Covenant can bug out. Mara, Silas, with me. We push their mortar position. Force them to engage or lose their fire support."
"Splitting up is still dangerous," Silas protested.
"Everything is dangerous," Marcus shot back. "We do it anyway. Move out. Fifteen minutes until power failure. Make them count."