The regeneration chamber hissed as I stepped out, steam rising from my skin like smoke from a battlefield. My muscles were still tender, nerves tingling like static under my suit. But I was standing. That was enough.
I reviewed the combat data while medics examined me. Every frame, every twitch of the Rikapud soldier was cataloged, dissected by our AI core. Patterns emerged—repetition in defensive maneuvers, subtle imperfections in joint movement, a micro-delay in their sensory feedback loop.
We could exploit this.
And we would.
Down in the engineering bay, prototypes hummed. Inspired by the Rikapud tech, our researchers had already begun integrating new alloy compounds and refining our neural response time systems. The next-gen suits wouldn't just match the enemy—they'd surpass them.
But while innovation bloomed in one wing of headquarters, grief lingered in another.
I attended a private memorial that evening. Hundreds lost. Families shattered. I didn't speak. I just stood in the back, silent, remembering every scream I couldn't stop. Every building I didn't reach in time.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I walked the halls instead.
Eventually, I found myself outside the secure wing.
My father's cell.
Again.
He was seated cross-legged, calm. Not restrained anymore. He had earned a sliver of trust. Enough to roam a small section of the base under surveillance.
"You look like shit," he said, without looking up.
I didn't respond right away.
"I've seen the Rikapud fight before," he continued. "But this isn't like before. This time, they're desperate."
I leaned against the wall. "And desperate people do stupid things."
He met my eyes. "Or brilliant ones."
That silence lingered.
Then I asked what had burned in me for weeks.
"Why didn't you ever tell me the truth?"
He exhaled. "Would you have listened?"
I didn't answer.
The war wasn't just about weapons. It was about understanding. About preparing for the worst while hoping for something better. But hope was growing scarce.
Then the alert came.
An allied recon fleet detected a massive energy signature near Neptune.
Rikapud. Another warship.
No stealth this time. No subtle maneuvers. Just brute force.
It was bigger than the last one. Heavily armored. Bristling with weaponry. And at its core, the Rikapud king himself—finally stepping onto the battlefield.
Panic spread across the globe.
Earth's planetary defenses kicked into high gear. Satellite cannons were prepped. Shield fields activated. Global evacuation protocols refreshed.
But I knew this wouldn't be a defense operation.
It would be a war for survival.
I stood before my squad as the final countdown echoed through the hangar.
This was different now.
We weren't soldiers anymore.
We were symbols.
Leaders.
Hope incarnate.
"Line up," I called.
They formed behind me, armored, silent, ready.
"This isn't just another mission. This is the moment. The one we trained for. The one we bled for. Everything you've lost—everyone you've protected—has led to this."
I looked up at the screen.
One massive red dot approaching Earth's orbit.
I looked back at them.
"We don't run. We don't hide. We rise."
Engines roared as our fleet lifted into the sky.
The Rikapud wanted fear.
They'd get fire.