When the Autobots and Decepticons crash-land on Rubicon, humanity's leaders see them not as potential allies or invaders but as existential threats. These alien machines, capable of immense destruction and unprecedented adaptability, threaten to des...
621 didn't linger. He had one destination in mind.
The pilot arrived at a small, nondescript room tucked into a quieter part of the facility. A single desk and a holo-projector sat at its center, casting faint blue light onto the otherwise dark walls. Leaning against the desk was a figure he knew all too well—Handler Walter.
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Walter was a man of contradictions. His appearance—a mix of rugged pragmatism and an almost lazy demeanor—belied the sharp intellect behind his eyes. He didn't look up immediately, scrolling through mission data on a handheld device. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips, its faint cherry glow reflecting off the polished surface of the desk.
"You're late," Walter said without looking up, his gravelly voice tinged with amusement.
621 didn't respond, stepping into the room and folding his arms.
Finally, Walter glanced up, smirking at the silent pilot. "Still not much for conversation, huh? Fine. Let's get straight to business." He tapped the projector, and the hologram sprang to life, displaying a rotating map of Rubicon's surface. Points of interest glowed faintly, marking corporate installations, rebel strongholds, and known hazards.
"This one's coming straight from Balam Industries," Walter began, gesturing at a blinking marker near a mountainous region. "Seems some of the local RLF scum got their hands on a shipment of high-grade energy cells. The kind the corps really don't like being out in the wild. Your job is to head out there, recover the shipment, and make sure nobody else walks away breathing."
The hologram shifted, highlighting a dense cluster of cliffs and ravines. "The RLF's holed up in this canyon. They've got the cells stashed somewhere in their base, likely under heavy guard. Expect everything from anti-air turrets to mechs pieced together with duct tape and desperation. Don't let the scrap fool you—those rebels know how to use the terrain to their advantage."
621's eyes flicked over the projection, committing the layout to memory.
Walter noticed and nodded. "Figured you'd be the type to appreciate the details. Now, there's one more thing." He leaned forward, extinguishing his cigarette against the desk before fixing 621 with a more serious look. "We've got unconfirmed reports of something... unusual in the area. One of the recon teams spotted movement that doesn't match RLF signatures. Could be an Armored Core working off the books. Could be..." He trailed off, the implication clear.
621 didn't flinch. He'd heard the rumors, the whispers of alien machines and impossible technology. But hearing it directly from Walter lent them an uncomfortable weight.
"Whatever it is," Walter continued, straightening up, "the corps don't care. Your orders stand: secure the shipment, eliminate resistance, and get out. But keep your sensors sharp. If you run into something you're not equipped to handle, don't play hero. Retreat and call it in. Got it?"
