Specalist Havel was damned glad for the mask that the soldiers had found for him, as dust particles pelted what little of his face that the thing failed to cover. The pace they were running at was... He was tempted to use the word insane, but even that failed to do it justice. There was only one thing he knew for certain now. These guys aren't human. The thought weighed heavily on his mind.

It had started when they had abandoned the command bunker. The soldiers had begun falling back so impossibly quickly. He had asked them if they didn't need his help to pull useful data from the systems, but had only received a short no in response. The man who had picked him up also hadn't bothered to put him down. Being carried on one arm like a child was a new experience to the veteran infiltrator and not one he'd be keen on repeating. Power armour made for crap seating. It was preferable to being left behind though, as the sound of minor skirmishes rang through the metal hallways.

That had been another thing. Everything they encountered was either totally spotless, minus functioning doors, or a scene of a brutal, one-sided slaughter. Or booby traps. He wasn't a demolitions expert, but it was hard to miss the piles of explosives that the soldiers had attached to critical equipment. He barely had any time to throw more than a furtive look at it, though, before his taxi had ferried him into the next room or hallway already. They had been moving at a breakneck pace. What he had assumed was one, at least. He didn't know how long it had taken them to get out of the complex, but by the time he saw the sky again, he also suddenly discovered the rest of the soldiers as well. Hundreds of them. Hulking, power armoured individuals who hadn't been beside him a moment ago. One of them had offered him a gas mask, with no further explanation. The only one who had occasionally said a word to him was the man who was carrying him now. The man he still thought of as the commander, even if he played cargo mule.

'Put it on. You will need it.' The man had been nice enough to wait until he had put it on, before suddenly wrapping him into something big and green. He recognised the shape of the Novican standard issue bedding just before he was rolled up in it, his hands pinned to his side. Then the soldiers had taken off. Really taken off.

He squeezed his eyes shut when a flash of light tore apart the dark of night. It was so bright that it burned through his eyelids and seared his retinas. For a split moment his mind believed that they'd been struck by a lance strike from orbit. Then a second massive, armoured arm clenched around him and forcefully shoved his head deeper into the bedding. He tried to protest, but the hold was tightened and the air was pushed out of his lungs and he felt several ribs break under the inhuman force. He screamed in pain and anger at the treatment. Before his mind could fully process just what was happening to him, the shockwave reached them. It tore at everything and the cloth around him began breaking apart under the insane pressure. It lasted what felt like an eternity, slowly ripping apart his protective cover. He had seen what happened to people standing too close to shockwaves of that calibre. Suddenly a few broken bones were a lot more tolerable. It still stung like a bitch, but at least he was alive.

He forced his mind to focus on what was going on, even as the world around him was torn asunder. He didn't need to think long. The explosives had been linked to the generators, shield projectors and targeting systems. They wouldn't have given the Novicans a chance to find them and disable them. No, the moment his allies had gotten clear, they'd detonate them. Which was evidently what had happened. Now, with gaping holes in the shields, half the power grid in flames and most of the missile defences unresponsive, the Imperial Navy was having a field day. Direct fire was still hard to achieve, as the Novicans still held tight control over space directly above it, but that didn't stop them from launching angled attacks. What those shots lost in power, the Navy made up for in number.

It never mattered if Kolpovka died in the attack, Havel realised as the ground trembled and the enormous complex began a slow collapse, plasma eating away at the superstructure. He imagined the reinforced concrete shattering under the impacts, tremors reducing the thick support pillars to dust. Metal struts were undoubtedly breaking and the blue streaks of energy melted everything and filled in the gaps, sealing off the lower levels for months, if not years or decades. He could feel the sweltering heat radiating from the beams slamming down many miles behind them. It rapidly escalated as the bombardment intensified. First it was uncomfortable, but it rapidly outgrew that and became painful. His breathing became ragged, the rising temperature making it agonising to suck in the sweltering air. His sight began to swim, little stars darting around at the dimming edges of his vision. He tried to fight against the encroaching darkness, but to no avail. Still hours away from the extraction point, he blackened out.

At nineteen hours, fifty-seven minutes and twelve seconds, the last of the Genesis soldiers boarded their transports. Dreamer accessed the mission database and updated their status, labelling it as complete. He linked up with the global network and found several messages waiting for him. They were not urgent, otherwise they would have been sent to him over the tight beam link ups. He ignored them for now, handing over the passed out infiltrator to some of the medical support personnel. The man was wounded. Several broken ribs, first degree burns and a minor case of asphyxiation. He would be fine. He was the only infiltrator aboard. The others had been handed over to the supporting armies. There had been no time to give this man the same treatment, or they would have gone over their allotted mission time. He handed over his weapons, walked out of the med bay which doubled as a minor armoury and went to the main one. He was not wounded enough to make use of the equipment in the med bay and have them remove his power armour there. There were hundreds of normal humans running around. He knew each of them by name, rank and number. They were capable people, even if they were levels below him and his brethren, but they would take care of their equipment, run tests and further improve their combat capabilities. He was grateful to them. If Genesis was the spear, then these were the men and women who made up the sturdy shaft.

A few minutes later he was freed from the confines of the massive armour. He rolled his limbs, enjoying his regained freedom of movement. He joined the rest of his unwounded brethren in the short queue for the post mission check-up. It was a mandatory thing. They were still very much an experimental unit and there were plenty of unknowns in regards to how they functioned. Blood samples were taken. Heart rates were measured. They had to perform a wide range of exercises while doctors dutifully noted down everything. It was a busy, fast moving and efficient process, but it still took up the better part of an hour. By the time the superhumans were finally cleared, the transport ships had docked with their carriers again and the Genesis were moved back deep within the safe confines of Nemesis. With the mandatory post operation checks finally behind him, Dreamer could set to the other tasks awaiting him. He went to the quarters that had been assigned to him and opened the links with the rest of the Strike Force commanders and their aides, beginning the long process of filing a proper mission report.

It was an easy task for him and his commanders. They could recall every action, every thought, every taken decision with perfect clarity. He pulled up the data of the satellite feeds, the combat footage of the other Genesis soldiers, radio reports, enemy casualty lists, fielded equipment, ammunition used and countless other details that he twined together in a gargantuan report. Then, once he received the other, similar reports of his brethren, he added them together. Thousands of pages of information, each and every part meticulously categorised and labelled, all ready for review. His fingers danced over the keys as he started formulating a second, much smaller report. A preliminary after action report, with links to specific parts of footage. The original report was for Doctor Eisel and contained a lot of information that would be omitted from the second one, due to the high security clearances attached to Genesis. The after action report would be shared with the rest of the Imperial forces and could not contain those sensitive topics. The Berserker's Gland being one of them.

He felt his mind run over that final clash. It had been occupying his thoughts for hours now, looming over the rest of his consciousness. 521, 522, 523, 524. They had been the first ones in. Acting on his orders, they had fought. Acting on his orders, they had died. It had been the right choice to make. There had been no alternative. As a direct consequence of that decision, those four had been the only casualties. If they had tried to spread out, the incoming fire would have been far more intense. More Genesis would have been wounded. More Genesis would have been killed. It didn't matter. He still felt uneasy about it. His fingers paused as he ran the calculations again. And again. And again. His mind kept drawing the same conclusion. He opened up a tactics simulator and put in the information. He ran it. The same results. His hands balled into fists. He did not understand where these feelings of annoyance were coming from. He had made no errors. There had been no flaws in his judgement. Yet the faces of the men who died kept lurking in the back of his mind. He forced his hands to unclench and opened a new page. He'd postpone the preliminary after action report for now. These things were not normal. The other Genesis soldiers showed no sign of them. He had read the questions X-12845623 had put in her report, regarding his decision to interfere with the base. It hadn't been on their path. How she had not understood why he had taken the time to redirect the tank past the wounded pilot. He had expected it, but even so it was not a pleasant sensation. He wrote that down as well. A personal report, to Doctor Eisel. He was somehow different to the rest of his brethren. It was... He could not define it. It felt wrong. That was all he could type down. He would ask for another meeting with the Doctor. He could ill afford these distractions.

A good while later he was finally done with penning down all the necessary reports. Now he had, just like the rest of his battalion, free time. He was the only one still occupied with work. The rest were either polishing their combat skills, reading up on equipment manuals, pilfering through reports of ground combat or maintaining their equipment. He was planning on going down to the combat room as well, but first he still had those messages to check. The first one was sent by General Shivran. It was a short message, containing a note of thanks for the assistance provided and an expression of hope to fight side by side again. He replied with a simple, standard acknowledgement. The next was from Admiral Verloff. It was a request to join him on the bridge of the Ad Astra at his earliest convenience, with an aide. He wondered why it had been sent as a non priority message, as this felt like an order to him. He opened the last message and felt his heartrate jump up when the system opened up several security scanners to confirm his identity before opening the mail. Naval Intelligence. Sender: Admiral Cindy. It was another meeting request. At his earliest convenience. Except this time, the Admiral would be coming to him. That confused him. He thought that the ships they were on were treated as classified on a strictly need to know basis. Still, if the message got through to him, it meant that it was allowed. Otherwise she would not manage to get aboard the ship anyhow. He sent her an acknowledgement as well as a time. He added a request to transfer the wounded infiltrator as well. He checked the timetable, then replied to Admiral Verloff, while contacting X-12845623. She was his de facto second in command. Despite that she was in the midst of a sparring match and not wearing an earpiece, her confirmation came within a few seconds. He logged off and went down to the combat room. He still had time left before the Admiral would arrive. He could get a few rounds of combat in before changing into his uniform.

The screens turned off and Onoelle and Jane collapsed in their seats. Their clothes were soaked in sweat and their muscles were cramping up. As the lights slowly were turned back on, Nightmare's voice drifted through the room, as chipper as ever. 'Nineteen hours, fifty-eight minutes and forty-two seconds after making planetfall, the Genesis lifted off from Lufer. Their mission: complete,' she happily announced. 'Total losses amounted to four men. Total wounded amounted to a hundred and twenty-three. All of them would recover and partake in the battle of Nagalan.' The small projector changed side and a blue beam of light swept over the exhausted women below, pausing at Jane. 'Did this further your understanding of why I said that they were not a crack team of elite soldiers?'

'Yes,' panted the Historian. 'Lord in Heaven, I... I need a break.' Jane climbed unsteadily to her feet, shaking.

'Shower's yours,' gasped Onoelle, no less tired than her friend. She watched her friend stumble off and disappear into the bathroom. She tried to keep her mind focused, but it kept jumping all over the place. Not overly surprising, she thought to herself. Not after being up for more than thirty hours. She looked at her husband. The twenty hours of constant action had been exhausting to watch. It really drove the point home just how utterly superhuman her husband was. Another aspect she had known, but not fully grasped. His strength was only the tiniest part of how alien he was. She turned her eyes upwards towards the black box. She slowly willed her breathing to calm down. 'Stars above, I thought I'd seen you run fast before.'

'Without armour, I am significantly slower,' her husband dryly commented.

She flashed her eyes towards him, concern grasping her heart, but he was just sitting there, as hard to read as ever. She gave him a smile and he returned it, gently holding her. 'Slower, he calls it.' She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. Only he could call it that. She leaned back against him, resting her head against his chest. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed how he wordlessly read every cue her body gave out and reacted with an intimate touch that warmed her heart. She felt the slow pulse of his heartbeat. A steady, calming rhythm she had fallen asleep to countless times. She laid her hands on his, her ring softly sliding against his, the clear sound sending a single chime throughout the room. She just stayed there for a bit, enjoying his presence, idly wondering what went on his mind. He had told her of so many memories, of how he had felt, the pain, the confusion, the guilt. She thought she had grasped his heart. And she did, to an extent that baffled her. Yet there was so much more to him than she had thought possible. For all her skill, for all the time spent with him, probing his memories, listening to his past, there was always more to him. So, so much more.

'Six centuries between the fall of the Empire and now,' she whispered, ruminating on the sheer amount of time. 'Eighty years of war before that. Two and a half thousand people, just like you. Millions of soldiers behind you. Millions of enemies in front of you. And yet here you are.'

'I am here,' he replied.

She could hear the confusion in his voice and giggled. 'It's...' she began, before falling silent. How to explain it to him? She pondered it for a few moments, stretching languidly in his embrace. 'People don't live that long. Eighty years? Maybe. Six centuries? No. And in war, that is even more exceptional. As a soldier? Nobody goes through that. You did. Survived the impossible. Lived through it all. And now you are here, with me, a farmer with his wife. It seems like a twist of fates—' she felt his body shift underneath her and rammed her elbow against his side. 'I know you're not a fan of that sentence, mister preparedness trumps all. It's a verbal expression.' She felt his movement cease and was mollified by his acquiescence. 'It strikes me as funny. Something that shouldn't have happened, has happened.' She fell silent for a bit. His lack of a reply didn't bother her. He didn't have anything to add, so he remained quiet. His touch told it all. She was getting better at reading him that way. She was still no match for how well and thoroughly he could read her, but she was a fast and very eager student.

'Hey, Nightmare?' she began, sighing dreamily when Mentuc ran his fingers just right over her sides, sending a delightful tingling through her body. The AI responded by directing the beam of blue light onto her. 'Thanks. For showing me. You were right.'

I told you, the once Genesis replied, her grin audible as she dropped her human façade. I usually am.

'You're usually insufferable as well,' Onoelle teased back, earning a soft chuckle.

Only to you. Do you think me insufferable, Mentuc?

'No,' came the predictably honest answer, to Onoelle's dismay.

For a moment it seemed as if the AI was going to add something more, but then Nightmare seemed to hesitate. Being intimately familiar with banter, Onoelle predicted what the AI had been about to ask next of her husband. And aren't I usually right as well? Given recent events and the sheer anger Mentuc had displayed after the fact? It was a good call Nightmare had cut her friendly ribbing short.

What do you think of the surround stereo systems and the video quality? Pretty good, huh? There was an almost childlike tone to Nightmare's voice. Very uncharacteristic. Slightly concerning. But not unpleasant.

'It's amazing,' she answered truthfully. 'Though next time? The two of you—' she made a point of glaring at her husband. 'Need to give me some word of warning before turning the entire damned house upside down.' She bit his nose, hard enough to transmit her annoyance over the fact. 'You need to start consulting me in these decisions, Mentuc. I'm your wife! Not a pet!'

I beg to differ~ the AI sang.

Her finger shot up in a threatening gesture. 'You shut your holographic mouth or I'm going to superglue magnets to your database!' Promise of electronic vengeance delivered, she turned back to Mentuc and threated him to the same gesture. 'And you! Stuff it in your ears. Wife. Not. Your. Pet!' Then her faked outrage broke in a million pieces as she couldn't sustain her laughter anymore. She fell down on him, digging herself deeper into his neverending embrace.

'Duly noted,' he replied, moving one massive hand off her back and onto her head, where it began systematically messing up her hair. 'I will do so in the future. I apologise. I did not have enough time left to inform you.'

She frowned at him. 'You had enough time to get all the stuff for this, but not enough to warn me?'

That's my bad, actually. I changed my mind on this pretty late and used drones to deliver it all. Mentuc only had to install it.

'Mentuc?' Onoelle began, struggling to keep her lips from twitching. 'Do we have any magnets and superglue laying around?'

Oh what do you know, I just had a bug in the system and now my external doors won't open. Such a shame. I'll be all week with it, Nightmare smoothly replied, not missing a beat. Coincidentally, that is also how long it takes for an irate human female to cool down.

Realising she was fighting a losing battle, she decided to change tactics. 'As long as you clean up the mess. Speaking of, you are aware that once she's done showering Jane will positively haunt you with questions, right?'

I've seen her take notes, yes.

'You're stuck to the blasted ceiling. How—'

It's really not hard to deduce what she was writing down from the way her wrist moved. I'm an AI, darling. Scariest, god-like machine entity in the universe, remember? And my starting point was a Genesis soldier carrying the nickname of Nightmare. She conveyed a loud snort without the actual noise. You really need to stop underestimating me.

'Consider me unimpressed,' Onoelle fired back. She didn't dare say more, not with Mentuc there, but the subtle shot hadn't missed its mark.

Fair enough, the AI admitted after a brief pause. To answer your question more thoroughly, yes. I am looking forward to it. I will not tell her anything that is off limits, but at this point she is already drawing similarities between Genesis and you, Mentuc.

She felt her husband stiffen underneath her.

Not in a direct manner, however. The idea that a human might have survived roughly seven centuries is so ridiculous she has not even entertained it. She is more interested in how we have come to possess this information. I also would like to note that it is of minor interest to her. She's far more obsessed with giving our battalion a place in the larger picture. She has begun to question other reports that came from official sources, including those of the battle on Nagalan.

Onoelle felt the AI's gaze fall upon her and a chill went down her spine.

I am unsure if I should show you that footage... Nightmare said, hesitating.

'Genesis did not suffer casualties on that world,' Mentuc replied, pre-empting her response. Something about the way he said it unnerved her.

'Then what happened there?'

'Nagalan was their main logistics depot. With the military coup ongoing and their headquarters crippled, it was lightly defended on the ground. To gain time, Genesis was sent planetside without additional back up. We were to wreak havoc, evade counterattacks and military fortifications we could not take out and avoid orbital bombardment.'

She held her breath. He was giving her the tactical information first. He always did that. It was a way to buy time as he formulated how to best phrase the emotional bomb he was about to drop. It wouldn't be the first. Every time she hoped it would be the last.

'Do you remember our discussion about whether or not it was morally right to kill civilians?'

Her mouth fell agape and her skin turned to ash as her mind understood what he meant.

In her mind's eye she saw the images Nightmare's showing had seared onto her brain before. Men. Women. Children.

We were sentient weapons, Nightmare stated, her voice sad and coming from far. We were without morals. Without remorse. Like unfeeling machines we set about our tasks. We had been taught how other humans reacted to such concepts and used them to our advantage. We—

Nightmare's horrible words were cut short by the bathroom door going open. In the dark, Jane couldn't see Onoelle's contorted features and instead dashed over to the black box with a light spring in her step, already picking up her notes and twirling a pen around in her fingers. Mentuc moved past her, carrying the still paralysed Onoelle with him. The bathroom door fell shut, cutting them off from the enthusiastic Jane, who started barraging the AI with questions.

She looked up at her husband, who just held her, his eyes tracking her as they always did. She shivered, felt as if his touch should abhor her and felt even worse when it didn't. Then she threw herself into his arms, wordlessly begging him to hold her. The thoughts pounded in her head. She had seen footage of it before. Minor bits. Flashes here and there. Nothing big. Nothing major. Nothing like what she would see on Nagalan. She knew why he did it. Understood it even. He had no morals. It had not been right or wrong to him. He had never been a child. Couldn't differentiate. The cold equations told him that a child could become a soldier. The icy truth of war dictated that any object in their way had to be taken out. Genesis wasn't human. Her husband had not been human. Now he was. Mostly. Largely. Now he did not kill. Now he did not hurt, harm, threaten, attack or any of those dark, destructive things. She whispered the words to herself. That this was a past long gone, long buried. That he was a caring husband now. That for once, the circumstances did excuse the actions.

His ring tapped against hers and the sound echoed across the bathroom and pulled her out of her dark thoughts. She looked up at him, into his eyes. Eyes she had looked into a million times. Eyes that watched her with nothing but love and care. She shook her head, dismissing the images, letting the present take hold again. How ironic that the memories that bothered her so much, didn't bother him in the slightest. 'If I won't look', she whispered. 'Will you think me a coward?'

He laughed, to her surprise. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of it, but when his laughter died down, it was replaced by a broad smile. 'If I refused to step on a mine, would you call me one?' he asked.

Her frown deepened, not understanding his comparison.

'You know what I did,' he began, tucking a few rogue strands of hair back in place. 'I have told you. Nightmare has shown you. You would gain nothing from watching it, aside pain. You are not a coward for avoiding that. You have common sense.'

She pondered that statement for a while. He didn't say it to placate her. He literally was incapable of that. So he meant it. Which was good. 'You're right, I guess.' She still couldn't suppress the feeling that she was a coward though.

She felt the growl in his throat before she heard it and the next thing she knew she was pinned between him and the wall, his forehead pressed against hers. His facial expression was serious. A subtle difference from his usual neutral expression, but a telling one.

'You will not consider yourself a coward for this,' he hissed.

Her eyes went wide. 'You bastard,' she shouted. 'You're mimicking me!' She pressed back against him. 'Don't you dare blame yourself,' she repeated.

The pressure lessened as he withdrew himself slightly, still managing to pin her against the wall with ridiculous ease. 'I am,' he admitted. 'Is it working?'