Gears of War: A.E.

“The world isn’t black and white; as I’m sure you’ve seen and heard, sir. Shades of gray mix in with the two obvious choices, causing a whole lotta confusion during a combat situation. Of course, can you really blame a soldier for making snap decisions like that? I sure as hell can’t and you shouldn’t either. We’ve made too many decisions like that to damn them without damning ourselves, too. Still, I hope the choices my Gears make will never be as terrible as our own.”

-Colonel Hoffman, talking with Chairman Prescott about moral ethics on the battlefield

Over the border of Ephyra, Stranded Convoy, Arriving at Stranded Shantytown;

2140 hours.

The ride to the Stranded Camp was uneventful, surprisingly, given the passengers that shared the small space of the APC. The smell had been a problem at first, making Nyvar’s eyes water, but eventually his nose got used to the smell, even if it felt like there was a lining of trash covering his throat.

Slowly and without any rush or alarm, Nyvar felt the APC first slow and then come to a complete stop. Nyvar looked over to the Stranded that sat across from him, giving a questioning look toward Parker. The man brought his wrist up to his mouth and pressed a button on the small device strapped to it.

“Parker here. Why are we stopping?”

A buzz of static washed across the channel in lieu of response, causing Parker’s face to redden in a rush of anger.

“Hank? You there? Answer your god damned comlink,” the Stranded leader said, frustration evident in his tone. Receiving nothing but the hiss of static back, he sighed, looking like he was trying to calm himself. “Mind driving our asses up to the front, Gearhead?”

“Sure thing,” Nyvar replied, patting Ven on the shoulder. The South Islander Gear grunted and shifted the APC into drive and moved around the car in front of them. Looking through the windshield to try to get his mind off of the smell inside the small compartment, Nyvar saw a line of red lights in the thickening rain. Thunder rumbled somewhere over their heads, rattling anything loose on the inside of the ‘Dill.

“I hate rain,” Marov muttered, looking down at his shoes to avoid meeting the gaze of the woman across from him.

“I dunno, Marov,” Ty replied with forced cheer, a grin plastered on his face. “The rain’s relaxing, ya know?”

“What about the rain is relaxing? Can’t see but two feet in front of you, it’s cold, and most of all it’s wet,” Nyvar’s second in command said, sighing as he looked dolefully out of the window. “Damn rain. Rustin’ my gear and shit.”

Nyvar just smiled, glad Marov was taking out his frustrations on something other than those near him. The men across from them were also grumbling in dismay at the sound of water pattering on the roof of the vehicle – Nyvar thought he heard the words “annual bath” somewhere in the mumbling dialogue, but he couldn’t be sure.

Another rumble of thunder drew his attention back out into the rain washed landscape outside their car. Every now and then the APC fishtailed as it ran through a particularly slippery puddle of mud, but the massive treaded tires were more than up to the job.

Presently, they sallied up to the front of the line, coming to a stop parallel to the lead vehicle, a rusted hulk of metal with a bit more scrap bolted to its front than the others in the convoy. Nyvar nodded in respect, glad Parker was able to drill some sense into the feral humans – protection on the lead vehicle was vital, especially across Locust infested land.

“Try ‘em now, Parker?” Nyvar asked, his eyes scanning across the huge hunk of metal that served as a gate in the small canyon. The hinges were covered in a reddish-orange color, rivulets of the same color running down the side of the gate reminding him of blood. He had a bad feeling about this place.

“Hank? You there, boy?” Parker asked, bringing his wrist back to his bearded mouth. Nyvar noticed the man’s other hand was drifting down to the side-arm pistol belted at his waist. So it wasn’t just him that was having an uneasy feeling about this business. “Damnit, boy, if this is a joke; I’m gonna skin the hide off your ass when I get in that overloaded piece of shit you’ve been driving in my convoy.”

Grunting with annoyance, Parker unlatched his seatbelt and drew his sidearm as soon as he got up. A click sounded to Nyvar’s right and he looked over to see Marov with his Lancer aimed directly at the Stranded leader. A dozen more clicks sounded out in the small space as Ty and the Stranded in the APC also drew their weapons. Out of the corner of his eye, Nyvar noticed Ven slowly reaching for the Gnasher shotgun clipped to the side of his seat, out of line of sight to the non-COG personnel.

“Boy, you better put that gun down if you wanna live another day on this hellhole,” Parker said, his face turning red as he stood motionless, his pistol dangling from his hand, pointed at the ground.

“You first, old man,” Marov replied, steel in his voice, not even seeming to notice that they were outnumbered by the Stranded.

“Marov, stand down. You are out of line,” Nyvar said calmly, a bead of sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. He didn’t want this to end up in a firefight they’d only lose. Ty obediently lowered his weapon – Nyvar was glad someone in here trusted him.

“Listen to your Sergeant, boy. Your behavior’s startin’ to test the limits of my civility,” Parker said dangerously, his eyes glinting in the light provided by the Dill’s interior.

“Stand down,” Nyvar said through clenched teeth, resting his hand on Marov’s gun and pushing it down slowly. His second in command only minutely resisted, the vein in his throat throbbing as he bit down on his anger. “Now we’re all neighbors here, alright?”

At a twitch of a finger from Parker, the Stranded, including Naleena, lowered their weapons, their demeanors suggesting they were prepared to bring them up and fire at will if they were given the chance. The same hatred Nyvar had glimpsed in Marov’s eyes was echoed in three or four of the Stranded’s.

“I’m gonna go over and press the hatch button, alright?” Nyvar said slowly, unbuckling himself and hauling his armored form out of the seat. He crab walked over to the button and hit it, the hydraulic hiss accompanying the intensifying sound of rain. The bottom ramp plopped into a mud puddle, the end of it disappearing into the soupy earth.

Without a word, Parker and the rest of his goons filed out of the APC and into the rain, gathering in a semi-circle around the scrap metal reinforced Junker. Nyvar heard some banging and harsh words before he ducked back inside the ‘Dill and motioned for Ty to join him out in the rain.

“Hope you get some relaxation out there, rookie,” Marov jeered, his mood already uplifted by the absence of Stranded in his proximity. Nyvar looked away as Ty returned the comment with a one fingered salute and waltzed down the ramp. Ty’s boots sank a few inches into the muddy ground as he stepped outside, yet even that small fact did not seem to diminish the playful smile on his face.

“Marov’s in a better mood, huh Sarge?” Ty asked, his Lancer held against his chest in a relaxed manner. The status lights flickered as particles of rain smashed through them, their blue light eerie in the dark, rain swept landscape.

Nyvar just grunted in response, gesturing for the kid – no, a man, now – to follow him over to the other APC, where Parker was yelling inside the cabin at an unfortunate soul. As he strolled up, a few of the Stranded looked at him with their hands hovering near their side arms, mindful of what had transpired only a few minutes ago.

“What do you mean the radio isn’t workin’, boy? It was workin’ fine a few minutes ago when Johnson was chattering away with some floozy on my command channel!” Parker yelled, spittle flying from his lips, some getting caught in his scraggly beard.

“There’s just static, Parker, nothing I can do. I’ve tried to raise the camp, but they won’t answer!” the Stranded, Hank, replied with a petulant tone of voice.

“Well have you tried getting out and knocking? Or are you afraid of a little rain, Hank?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t tried that yet,” the man replied, his eyes darting to the radar. The bar of light was circling, but there was only a static-esque feature to it. Nyvar’s eyes widened as he saw that, remembering where he’d seen it before. Before he could mention anything, Parker kicked Hank down the ramp and forced him to walk over to the gate.

The massive doors loomed over the man, the rusty orange near the hinges glistening with what seemed to be sick delight. Thunder rumbled, drowning out the first knock Hank performed – at least, it drowned it out to human ears, anyway.

A long screeching howl rang up as soon as the thunder faded, joined quickly by dozens more of the same noises. The sound echoed in the small canyon they were in, sending a ripple of gasps and yells through the forces outside the APC. They all brought their guns up, scanning the sides of the canyon, looking for any traces of the Wretches that were making the awful noise.

Nyvar, however, was looking at the Stranded’s makeshift gate when the battle started. Hank, his ratty clothes offering no protection against anything deadly, was standing at the gate, his eyes wide with fear. The man’s body was paralyzed, like a deer in headlights.

“Run, you idiot!” Nyvar bellowed with growing anxiety, bringing his gun up to scan the ground. Did he spy a flicker to the left? He brought his gun there quickly, lining up his shot and pulling the trigger. Light sputtered and died, the corpse of a Wretch appearing out of thin air. The rest of the Stranded surrounding him started panicking, randomly firing at the canyon walls.

“Shit, shit, shit, where are they?” one of the Stranded cried in terror, dropping his weapon into the mud in his horror.

Another flicker drew Nyvar’s attention to the canyon wall to the far left. He fired, his bullets just sparking off of the stone. When he looked back to Hank, he watched as a flicker of movement appeared in between the man’s legs. Seconds later, the man was ripped open, long gore covered claws materializing in front of the man’s chest. Hank looked down and screamed with whatever air was left in his chest, silenced instantly as a bullet blew a hole in his head and ended his misery. Another bullet quickly followed, leaving another Wretch corpse in the muddy ground. Nyvar looked over to Parker, whose pistol was smoking with the shots he had fired. Nodding with respect, Nyvar ran over to the Stranded leader.

“These Wretches got their hands on our ‘bot tech, Parker. Light seems to work at shorting their cloaking fields,” Nyvar yelled over the din of the battle and the rain, firing the rest of his clip into another of the flickering shadows dusting over the mucky terrain. He noticed Naleena was closer to Ty than Parker, her Longshot echoing again and again as she picked off the Wretches.

“Light? That doesn’t make any sense, the ‘bots don’t flicker out when they get into the light!” Parker replied, his brows drawn down in consternation, reloading his pistol quickly and bringing it back up to shoot another shadow that was close to killing one of his soldiers. A petrifying scream rang out over the sounds of death all around them, chilling Nyvar to his soul.

“The women and children!” Parker yelled out with a hoarse voice, his eyes widening in fear. His face quickly filled up with red as he grew angrier, belting out a battle cry as he pulled out his shotgun and disappeared into the rain further down the convoy.

“Ty!” Nyvar yelled, looking around for the youngest member of Echo Three. “Ty, where are you?”

“Over here Sarge,” Ty’s voice replied over the sound of a Longshot going off.

“The Wretches are after the convoy. Get down there and secure the area. We can’t let them get the kids!”

“Shit. Yes, sir!” Ty said, his heavily armored form turning and running towards where Parker had vanished. Nyvar grunted as Naleena whipped past him, her eyes murderous, following Ty and her Stranded commander.

“Ven!” Nyvar yelled as he ran toward the APC, the main gun swinging back and forth looking for targets. When he ran up the ramp and into the APC, he saw Marov up the small ladder, his body twisting around with the big chaingun. “Ven, move us back down the Convoy. The Locust are hitting us hard down there!”

“But there’s only kids down there!” Marov yelled, his hatred of the Stranded momentarily forgotten in lieu of the situation. No doubt he was remembering his own daughters. Nyvar hit the hatch button, the rain somewhat muted.

Ven didn’t reply with words, but his hands quickly found the gear stick and shoved it into reverse, slamming the back end of the APC into the canyon wall in his haste. Shifting it back into drive, the APC fishtailed and started moving quickly down the line. Nyvar was hanging by one of the hand holds as the ‘Dill jumped and slid, his heart hammering in his throat.

Nyvar was staring out of the viewport, peering into the darkening gloom when the world went white. The armored car they were in skidded and flipped as Ven brought a hand up to his face to ward away the sudden light. Nyvar held onto his handle for dear life, his eyes squeezed shut as the APC flipped back onto its wheels, as if it knew it was needed for a future date and did not want to fail its occupants. His armor protected him from the worst of the tumble, his head a little dizzy when he’d smacked it against one of the seats.

When he opened his eyes, Marov was on the floor, his eyes closed and a thickening red splotch staining the man’s doo rag. Nyvar rushed over, yelling something incomprehensible, hearing the chatter of automatic weapons outside the APC. He brought his fingers to the man’s throat, checking to see if he was still alive. He felt a pulse and worked quickly to stem the bleeding – he reached up for the First Aid kit that was still latched against the wall, but Ven’s hand got there first.

Nyvar looked up at the man’s face, noticing nothing but a bleeding lip was wrong with him and held out his hand. Ven held pressure against the man’s head with a gauze after removing the doo rag while Nyvar wrapped a bandage around his best friends head, muttering ‘c’mon, man’ over and over.

Another explosion sounded out in the background, lifting their car on two wheels and causing Nyvar to fall over, catching himself on the seat beside him. He looked up to Ven and the South Islander nodded, his eyes conveying the message that he’d take care of Marov while Nyvar went out into the field.

Pulling his Lancer from behind his back, Nyvar ran to the end of the APC and waited as the ramp fell into the mud. As soon as he could, he ran back into the rain, his eyes widening with a horrible display. Two of the Junkers carrying civilians were burning, small bodies lying around it, some of them still aflame. He tore his eyes from the display, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the rain, and looked up. A comet of green was careening directly at them, hitting another of the convoy’s Junkers. Seeders.

Sickening screams sounded out as a teenager jumped out, his body covered in flames, flailing around and yelling. Nyvar knew there was nothing he could do for the boy, so he turned and scanned the battlefield, bile rising in his throat. That could have been his own son.

“Ty!” Nyvar yelled, running through the wreckage toward the muzzle flashes and five silhouettes he saw in the distance. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he jumped over a piece of scrap metal that once had belonged to one of the Junkers. The fires all around him were glistening, hissing with a savage delight at the carnage around them.

Nyvar stepped over a body of small child, its features unrecognizable aside from the expression of sheer agony evident on it. A charred dress attested that the child had been a female. Shuddering with disgust and empathy, Nyvar continued, another explosion lighting up the area where the muzzle flashes were taking place, followed by a thundering secondary detonation as gas exploded in a spectacular display.

Screams ripped through the night again, competing with the sounds of rain and the whistling of the Seeder’s rounds. As he raced toward the scene, he noticed only three of the five shadows were still standing, hiding behind an overturned Junker. With relief, he saw that one of them was Ty, the man’s normally jolly face turned ugly by the angry yell that was accompanying every burst of his Lancer, ducking down as returning fire peppered the position. Naleena, her eyes devoid of any emotion, dealt out death quickly and methodically. Looking over the defenses, Nyvar watched as Drones disengaged themselves from an Emergence Hole, their countenances hideous in the firelight.

A stray shot pinged off Nyvar’s shoulder, leaving an already swelling bruise as he ducked and slammed his armored form into the cover, throwing one of his bolo grenades over his shoulder blindly. Something splattered against the Junker as the explosion went off – Nyvar hoped it was grub blood. Parker broke cover and fired his shotgun into the stew of flesh and mud, popping back down as soon as Hammerburst rounds returned his ‘hello’.

“We need to get out of here, Parker!” Nyvar yelled over the din, blindly firing his Lancer over the cover.

“Fuck you, Gearhead, I’m not leaving my convoy. I swore to protect these people!”

“Well right now, what good are you doing them? They can’t move, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Nyvar replied, looking down the line. He and the other three were at the end of the convoy, the last Junker nothing but slag. “They’re sitting ducks. We need to cut our losses and leave. This isn’t a battle we can win!”

“God damnit,” Parker replied, breaking cover and running into a hail of bullets as Nyvar peeked over the Junker’s frame. Miraculously, none penetrated his armor or his uncovered head, pinging off the COG-issued breastplate. The man was like a fiery angel of death, running over to a grub and hitting it in the face with the butt of his shotgun before turning it around and blowing holes in its chest.

Cursing, Nyvar took down a grub that was rushing in from behind, catching it in the leg and forcing it down to a crawl. Parker turned at the noise and swung his shotgun like a golf club, turning the drone’s head into paste, blood splattered his face. Fury danced in his eyes as he looked over to the remaining enemy, its mouth open wide as it spoke!

“Die, groundwal- urrk.”

A sniper shot to its shoulder spun it around, its gun falling into the mud beside it. Quickly, Naleena reloaded and stepped into the open, coldly shooting the Drone in the other shoulder, bone splintering and ripping out with the bullet through its back. She reloaded again, her face starting to betray her, an angry expression dancing across her face. If Parker was the angel of death, Naleena’s face turned her into an avenging goddess, white hot wrath dancing in her violet eyes.

Another shot, this time in the thing’s throat. Blood gurgled out of the hole, the thing’s yellow eyes wide as Naleena drew closer. It fell to the ground, staring up at her with a very real fear evident in its corpse-white face. Naleena screamed at it, dropping her Lancer into the mud and bringing her foot up, a heavy boot coming down and smashing the drone’s head into the puddle, blood and brain thickening the muddy water. She choked on her sobs as she brought her boot down again and again.

Another explosion turned one of the Junkers near the gate into slag, forcing them all to turn around and look. Of the convoy, only a few cars remained, their wheels melted due to the heat all around them. Women and children tried to run out of the stationary vehicles only to be cut down by the approaching drones.

“We need to go, Parker! There’s nothing left we can do here!” Nyvar yelled, running to the man and tugging on his arm. The man just looked at him with shock on his face, nodding, his bald head reflecting the flickering fires all around them. “Ty, grab Naleena and let’s get back to our APC. It’s under a ledge over here,” Nyvar ordered, running back the way he’d come earlier.

A drone sprang from the wreckage, a Gnasher shotgun coming up to take an unfortunate down. Nyvar just yelled and shoulder charged the thing, hitting it and slamming it into a twisted hunk of what was a Junker. When he brought his Lancer up, he noticed the thing was already dead, a rod of steel puncturing its eye. Its hand twitched, as if even in death it wanted to kill.

They made it to the APC without further incident, another Junker going up in flames and a crowd of refugees being slaughtered by a crossfire in the distance. Naleena seemed like she wanted to run and try to do something to help, but Ty held her in an iron grip as he pulled her toward the APC, his face conveying his concern over his charge.

“Get us out of here, Ven,” Nyvar said brokenly as they entered the ‘Dill. His eyes flicked over to the right side of the APC, most of the seats taken by Marov’s form. The second in command waved groggily, a grim expression on his face.

“What about survivors, sir?” Ven asked, his eyes looking toward the last remaining Junker, able to see a kid cradled in his mother’s arms looking out of the window. The display vanished in a white explosion, the whistling sound of the Seeder round ripping through the air a death knell.

“There are no survivors,” Nyvar whispered as Ven slammed his heavy boot into the pedal, the ‘Dill racing away from the carnage. The sound of screams followed them, even through the metal plating.