Where man meets machine, legends are forged.
The Iron War has been raging for ten years. In a world ravaged by nuclear fire, an unstoppable army sweeps across the globe, conquering the world in Mechanized Embarkable Combat Hardware.
The year is 2052...
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Report: Fisk The Nevada Desert. Arizona. Axion manufacturing base. Designation: "The Forge"
The door to my office slid open with a quiet hiss, flooding the room with dim light from the hallway outside. The shadow made a perfect rectangular shape on my floor.
This pleased me. The interruption did not.
"Director Fisk, sir?"
I sat up, taking my eyes off the console I had been watching. I cleared my throat.
"Yes, soldier?"
A young man stood before me, tan military uniform infuriatingly dishevelled. He was clearly one of the newer folks here in Nevada, shipped in only a month before.
The man's brown military crew-cut was slowly growing back, neglected due to stress, and a five' o'clock shadow darkened his tanned skin. His green eyes darted around the room in a nervous motion, scanning for my reaction.
Even his stubble was lopsided. I tried to push the annoyance from my mind.
The soldier seemed nervous. Scared, even. A pity, considering the man had nothing to fear. He was worth something, no matter what news he was about to deliver.
He was worth the money spent to train him. Eighteen-thousand dollars, exactly. Not a cent more.
"I'm not a soldier, sir," the man informed me. Was his accent Spanish? I couldn't place it. "I'm a geographical tactician," he continued. "From section seven."
A tactician? The man was worth twenty-thousand dollars.
"I'm here to report," the man continued, "that the occupation of the Moscow Exclusion Zone has failed."
I sat ramrod straight, the cost of such a defeat already running through my head. I took a calming breath of the base's recycled air. My office was cool, calming. I was still in control here. Things were in order here.
"Failed?" I inquired. "The city was empty. Russia's forces were meagre and very slow to respond. How could it have failed?"
The scruffy tactician shuffled slightly. One of his lapels was bent.
"An attack by an unknown force, sir. The enemy possessed weapons and mechs we've never seen before."
He spread his hands wide as if attempting to convey the magnitude of the failure in some way.
"They had advanced technology, sir. Mechs with strange abilities."
This took me aback. I couldn't fathom the costs of a rogue faction in the Iron War. I'd heard rumours from my Consultant, but hadn't expected an organized attack so soon.
This wasn't good. The scales were nearly at the tipping point. These days, my schedule was set to the hour.
"Are you sure they weren't Russian forces?" I asked.
