"Well!" Jago barked a few seconds after their fathers steps faded into the distance. "You three rejects get going already."

Jacques turned on his heels and hopped into the elevator with a mock salute thrown overhead. His tendril-like fingers snapping loudly as he did so. "Whatever you say, edgelord. See ya next lifetime!"

Jordan gave his siblings a final glance-over before he turned towards the elevator as well. With the exception of the young ones, none of them seemed to be showing any sign of emotion other than apparent boredom or drowsiness. Jordan gave a warm smile to his younger siblings before following after James into the lift without a wave or word.

Wordlessly, the three ascended from the vestibule, through the upper floors and out the ceiling of the castle's penthouse atrium. After returning to the central axis platforms and boarding the maglev trains, the three sat on opposing sides of the egg-shaped cabin in silence. Seemingly ignoring each other until the callout of the last station rang through the cabin.

"Hey!" James called as he pulled himself towards Jordan. "You set us up yet?"

"Doing it now." Jordan pulled away from him and reclined his neck to look towards the ceiling.

After a moment of quasi-deep thought, the campaign software glitched into augmented reality along the ceilings surface.

"Mmcht. Typical." James sucked his teeth as he pulled himself back to his seat.

An inadvertent yelp was squeezed from Jordan's lungs after opening the software. As an endless cascade of card-like panels burst into existence around him and began scrolling along every surface in sight.

'Not what I imagined at all.' Jordan chuckled to himself in a slightly more dignified manner as he slowed the passing of the cards to inspect them individually.

At best, Jordan assumed Campaign was structured in a way similar to organized sports. Something akin to scheduled and regulated events people could choose to participate in on their own accord. While that was somewhat true, the zones were closer to areas that hosted ongoing conflicts that people could join in on at any time. Mostly deadly games by design, but war campaigns involving powerful organizations were frequent as well. As well as a few noticeably smaller zones reserved for the sake of duels.

"Hey, James!" Jordan called over his shoulder. "I think we enter a warzone and pick a side. Who do you wanna fight for-"

"Just hurry up and pick one already!" James barked across the cabin.

Jordan pursed his lips to a frown before turning to Jacques to ask his opinion. The former only continued his vacant stare at the window. Rhythmically bobbing his head as if he were listening to music and occasionally tracking something with his eyes when ever something fancied his interest.

Jordan shrugged and turned back into his seat to continue scrolling through the panels until his eyes abruptly halted their motion. Subconsciously, he sat forward in his seat while his lips curled from excitement. Without thinking, he entered his and his brothers name as participants in the zone while the familiar name heard on many occasions from his father's mouth was repeatedly mumbled to himself.

"Gan's Army." The words were repeated a final time in an attempt to spur his memory. Yet yielded nothing of value.

After the confirmation flashed along the top of his vision he closed out his augmented displays. Determined to not spoil the experience for himself, he fought against the impulse to reopen them again and gazed forward to peer vacantly at the approaching cap of the habitat.

After slowing to a gentle halt against the cap, an access port towards the front of the cabin hissed open with a gentle suck of the air. Exposing the tilled metal surfaces of the hangar beyond its ringed frame.

"Well. See you in a lifetime." Jacques managed a meager smirk as he held his fist out at arms length.

'You don't hate us after all.' Jordan smiled to himself as he tapped his knuckles to Jacques'. "I'll come visit you, someday," he said.

"Don't lie to me, Jordan," Jacques said coldly as he tapped knuckles with James, then drifted through the port without another look back.

The warm feeling once spreading through Jordan's body slowly bled from him once Jacques egressed from the cabin. Jordan emerged shortly thereafter, stopping himself above the access to take in the sights of the hangar around him.

Instead of the vibrant expectations of something grand and memorable for the guests, clan members and citizens entering or leaving the habitat, Jordan saw only bare walls, decorated sparsely with flora and light fixtures, as well as massive screens that detailed the incoming and outgoing vessels along with their berthing locations.

"Let's go." A thick, cold hand pushed Jordan from the small of his back, lurching him forward towards an alcove with a large screen set flush into the wall above it. Rendered on it was a shuttle that, to Jordan, looked identical to a long, relatively fat cigar. Albeit tinted a steel-gray and littered with seemingly small obstructions on the skin throughout.

Nearly ruined of his excitement, Jordan submitted against James pushing him through the terminal and then further into the docking tube. The near unobstructed view of the endless, milk-streaked black sky appeared and disappeared just as quickly before the two continued drifting through the shuttle's airlock.

Craning his neck around, Jordan saw a worn pilot's chair positioned dead center of the shuttle with dual joysticks protruding from the armrests at forty-five degree angles. Around it was a small eating station set into every cardinal wall. A circular section of pantries, rehydrators, velcro lined surfaces and refrigerators that formed a border between the bench-like seating arrangements on either side. Stacked like stories in a building from the main drives to the nose of the craft.

"Dad lied to you." Jordan randomly commented under his breath as he pulled himself into his seat.

"What'd you say?" James growled.

"You don't look great. Or, at least he wasn't talking to you." Jordan finished buckling himself and looked towards his brother. Wrinkling his eyebrows in pity. "You look like a delinquent student from one of those comics. A school bully. One who shoves people's heads in toilets cause you get bad grades and have a shitty home life."

"Yeah, well." James stammered as he wrestled his restraints into their buckle with increasing frustration. "You look one of those old bikers." James grumbled as finished buckling himself. "I've at least bullied people. You've never even seen a motorcycle. Much less rode one."

'That's... not an insult.' Jordan thought to himself while sizing himself up. 'And, that's nothing to brag about.'

Jordan's suit consisted of pointed boots that rose above his ankles, where they buckled and sealed into a pair of vacuum rated slacks that largely resembled black denim jeans. Covering his chest was a zip-up vest made of the same material and colored an off-white gray like his arms. Left unmarked and unembroidered, save a few connection ports for life support along the back and collar. A gray fur collar extended from the top button to the back of his neck that connected to a pinstripe textured, black, zip up turtleneck that ended under his jaw, ready to be sealed to his helmet.

"I don't know." Jordan sucked his teeth while shaking his head in disapproval. "I think it's clear, Mom took her time with mine-"

"Alright, welcome aboard everyone." A soft voice with a slight mechanical tone echoed through the shuttle moments before a comically short woman with dark, glowing skin drifted into the shuttle with around a half-dozen others in tow.

From first impressions, she appeared to be only a few months older than Jordan, around Jago's age at most. Her head was surrounded by a cloud of puffy, curly black hair and centered with bulbous eyes the same radiant yellow as her rank.

Like some in Jordan's family, the C-ranker carried herself with a sense of unbridled confidence that almost bordered arrogance. Unlike Jordan and the other passengers, no carrying pack or a helmet was seen on her person. Yet she drifted through the shuttle, directing passengers with the casualness of a hardened veteran of the airless moons. Almost uncaring of the fact that a single break in the docking tubes seals would make for an unpleasant end for the lot of them.

After securing the passengers, she looked around the cabin a final time while her fingers meticulously worked her buckles with the practiced efficiency gained by months of repetition. With a curt nod towards the airlock, which subsequently sealed shut, she addressed her passengers in a monotonous, yet cheerful tone. "Our flight tonight will take us from New Bran, Europa. Straight to the Safe Zones around the poles of Ganymede's surface. Due to their relative proximity, ETA is around four hours."

She clicked off the radio and proceeded to look about the shuttle to focus on seemingly random places until clicks or vibrations could be heard before moving onto the next item of interest. After a few moments of Jordan watching intently, a gentle vibration rang through the shuttle for the length of a few moments before it ceased and returned the shuttle to the sounds of air recyclers and ambient conversation.

Almost at a crawl, the orbital habitat, New Bran began to widen into view on the window-screens until the entirety of the structure was revealed to be floating silently above the ancient ice sheets of Europa like a steel leviathan. Spinning ever so slowly on its side as if to bask itself in the distant sun evenly on all sides.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you."

Jordan recoiled in surprise from the cold, flat-paneled elbow digging into his ribs. Then turned to James and his comparably nervous, weak smile.

"Yeah." Jordan let out a light snort through his nose and turned back to the rust streaked, gray-blue sphere of Europa still glistening far below. "Right."

The moment after Jordan's words, a fierce rumble reverberated through the shuttle just before his seat and the deck beneath him began to press into his body. Bringing back the sensations of gravity as the shuttle was accelerated out of Europa's gravity well.

***

"Hold out your neck."

Jordan's forehead wrinkled in annoyance as he turned his gaze from the white splattered, dark gray sheets splayed before the windows to meet the pilot's brimming golden eyes. Her afro swaying in place as she impatiently rocked her head from side to side.

Since falling into orbit, the pilot had remained silent while the passengers took the time to stretch their legs in microgravity. Prior to that, they had accelerated at just over 1g halfway to Ganymede's sphere of influence before rotating 180 degrees to decelerate enough to slip into orbit upon arrival. Since it first appeared as a faint, white pixel, Jordan had stared longingly at the moon, desperate to get on the surface and begin his campaign. The simmering influences of impatience only rose within him as the moon churned beyond the windows in tune with the passing time. All without ever drifting any closer.

Naturally, half an hour since then, that simmering had evolved into a rolling boil of blood. Steaming through Jordan's body in a way that failed to dissipate even after they began their descent towards the surface.

"Huh?" Jordan rather rudely spat her way.

"Everyone's Respirocytes get verified before we leave." She dismissively rolled her eyes while haphazardly waving some type of small, pod-shaped scanner around between the two of them. "House rules."

After reaching for his finger and subsequently reaching back with audible confusion, the pilot dug the probe's needle into Jordan's neck before quickly retracting it and moving on to James.

But not before the cold kiss sent painful memories flashing through his mind from the recently cruel replacement of his eyes.

"You okay?" Her golden eyes carefully surveyed him while she retracted the scanner from James. Disposing of the needle-like cartridge as she did so. "I can take you to one of the habs, if you want?"

"I'm fine." Jordan shrugged her away at once. "Just stress. That's all."

Her eyelids twitched, almost like a shrug, before she pulled herself to the benches across from them to continue her checks with an aura as if her worries for Jordan had never existed. Like she took Jordan's words at face value. Or never cared if he needed aid in the first place.

"I always knew I'd get them. But... It still feels surreal." James commented under an awed sigh. "I held my breath for over an hour the other day. While sparring!" He snorted proudly to himself and began jabbing at the air. "Still could've went a few more rounds."

'Respirocytes.' Jordan snorted to himself. "I haven't even tested them. So easy to forget I have them."

One of many regulations agreed upon by the four great nations of Sol during the first; and last, Interplanetary Summit. The artificial red blood cells were considered standardized implants for any space-habitating individual with a physically mature body. Mostly agreed upon by all nations to be at 17 Earth-years of age. Each spherical shell consisted of 18-billion carbon atoms arranged in a diamond lattice and contained glucose powered robotics and pressure and buoyancy tanks, among other things, in their internals. Despite being significantly smaller than their biological counterparts, the devices were limited in their augmented dosage to approximately half of an individual's blood volume. Yet increased the human bodies ability to exchange gases between cells by more than two-hundred percent.

Allowing an otherwise base-level human to physically exert themselves to their maximum capabilities for an average period of twenty minutes. On a single breath.

Or up to a few hours at rest.

"Our trial. Endless sparring." Jordan chuckled wryly as he continued. "So many things happening after another. So little time. All while trying to adapt to these new bodies. I haven't really had the time to test anything."

"And yet." James scoffed. "You're the one who so desperately wanted to come here the moment you were free."

"Yeah, well. Experience is the best teacher you can have." Now disinterested, Jordan summoned and turned his attention a digital, wiry display of his body now glitched onto the surface of the window. All throughout his head, down to his skin, a subtle green coating glowed alongside a set of annotations; detailing the almost hundreds of environmental scanners grafted into his skin. Tuning out his sensory implants, Jordan focused on a thumbnail-sized object glowing at the base of his trachea; then reflexively jerked his head back in surprise once the panel blew up in his face.

[Artificial Lung: A small vacuole between the lungs that acts as a loading and unloading platform for emergency reserves of respirocytes. Used only in the event of brain hypoxia.]

In addition to the small vacuole, Jordan quickly gazed over the other small annotation hovering beside his throat describing the microscopic communications hardware grafted within while the gears in his mind began turning madly. Only to be interrupted by the pilot's mildly distorted voice booming through the speakers. Halting his mental process in an instant and sending a wave of turning bodies undulating in her direction.

"Caps on everybody!" She declared. "Time to be briefed."

Jordan clenched his small rucksack nestled between his feet to pull his helmet from the main pouch with ease. After wrestling his arms through the straps and cinching another tightly to his waist, Jordan awkwardly reached behind him to extend the various hoses from the pack to plug them into their respective ports along his backside and collar. Then cradled his helmet in his palms before him to admire the aesthetic work of his mother.

The helmet resembled a large, gray, egg head with a thick 'crack' in a crescent shape on its surface, spreading from ear to hub-like ear. Forming a large, arcing groove on the otherwise seamless surface. On the face was a recessed 'Y' shaped region of black spots that made Jordan think of paint being dripped along the surface to make the design.

As it turned in his hands, pixel-sized glimmers of scattered light glinted from both the void region and the rest of the helmet. Attesting to the uncountable array of pinhead-sized cameras, telescopes, analyzers and scanners dotting the entire surface.

Fashioning the helmet onto his head felt like entering a coffin constructed solely to bury Jordan's skull in a primordial darkness, while his body was left free to bask in the light.

Dull rings and sharp hisses quickly rang through Jordan's cranial prison as the plates shifted and collapsed into a secure position around his skull. Accompanied with gaseous hisses and tastes of metal along with the frigid gusts of air blowing against his cheek as the rings at the base sealed against his turtleneck. Finally entrapping Jordan's head in a cramped prison of air with nothing but a few tubes and tabs for water or nutrient paste and the cold shell of his helmet to accompany him in the darkness.

As the seconds passed, the faint hisses and metallic ticks around him gradually grew to a radiant silence that almost haunted his mind. The sense of isolation seemed to conjure sounds that Jordan, in the back of his mind, knew didn't exist: Subtle, unrecognizable voices that scratched at the back of his consciousness. The occasional grouping of footsteps. A sneeze. A cough. A clearing of the throat or any other sound that faintly resembled a humans presence. Driven by his subconscious so that aid could be administered to the primitive hominid living in the depths of his still-very human mind. Panicking for being exiled from the tribe.

As Jordan sat in the primordial silence, a dense wave of warm pressure began flooding from his back to envelop his chest and legs as a coolant was pumped through the inner layers of his suit. Both to regulate his temperature as well as to provide pressure to his body where there was none. Additionally, a cacophony of sharp clicks and metallic reeling, along with a throbbing in his eyes ensued to bring a peace from the auditory hallucinations of his mind.

Just before James, their pilot, and shuttle interior glitched back into life around him.

"A few points for the rookies first." The pilots voice cackled around Jordan's helmet as a map of the moon's surface glitched into appearance on the seat before him. "We're currently landed at Safe Zone Four. There's 18 such zones on this side of Ganymede's equator and another 18 on the southern hemisphere. Located Between 60 and 70 degrees north or south. Returning from the Campaign Zones to any of the Safe Zones will allow you to either rest before going redeploying or depart to any two of the three habitats orbiting this moon. Oscana or Choece. Further north; or south depending on where you are, at and beyond 75 degrees, are the automated industrial zones. Off-limits to the citizenry."

She paused for a few long moments before holding two fingers high over her head. "Secondly, I'm obligated to ensure you're aware of the Campaign Recovery System and receive your consent to its terms. The system is comprised of a constellation of rescue, recovery and medical drones set into orbit of Jupiter's four large moons. Obviously, they need to be able to find you after you flatline in order to do their jobs. So." She snapped her finger towards the chamber beside her. "Stepping through that airlock means consenting to having your location tracked during your Campaigns. Both now and in the future. Naturally, this means the camera arrays will be able to track you as well. Meaning everyone in the Powers and beyond will be able to watch your actions if they so pleased."

She paused again in an awkward stare. Turning her shoulders every which way every other moment in search of an act of defiance or apprehensive expression. Jordan could only picture her hair brushing against her entire face as it was crammed into a helmet as it gracefully swayed with her turning head.

"You'll figure everything else out on your own." She nodded as she turned to the door in an acknowledgement of everyone's compliance. "At this time, calmly line up, check your seals and the seals of the one beside you. Then file outside. Once you're on the surface, follow the signs to navigate the zone to the southern side and follow the instructions given at the launch pads.

"Good luck."

Despite her instructions and the relative small size of the craft, the entirety of the passengers madly huddled inside the airlock after her supportive last words with ease. The seconds Jordan spent crammed against James' jagged arms and their pilots ticklish hair brushing against him seemed to drag as a barely noticeable weight was pulled from Jordan's shoulders.

The pace of his breathing slowly increased as the crimson light overhead pulsed brightly. Brightly pulsed in red before flashing to green as the droning hum of hydraulics rang across the floor to tremble through the soles of Jordan's boots. Though no true sound was to be heard, his mind accurately played sounds of hissing gas and shearing metal as the steel teeth of the airlock were pried apart to reveal gray-rimmed, black sky before them.

A rush of air from his lungs, perhaps influenced by awe, a new perspective, peaceful serenity, or some other feeling Jordan was unable to verbally describe, swirled around the confines of his helmet after he took his first step onto the rocky-iced surface.

[November 323rd, Y.G.P. 2. Anzu Crater, Ganymede. 63°N 62°W. 04:43. UGT]

[Gravity: 0.146 g]

[Atmosphere: O2]

[Pressure: 0.4µ]

[Temperature: -105 C]

A soft fizzing from the soles his boots distracted Jordan from the fading readouts that appeared at the top of his vision. Looking down, he saw the faint trails of steam plumbing from under his heels before they quickly dissipated in the void.

Jordan found himself extremely humbled in that moment. If not terrified. Looking down at his feet, concentrating on that subtle feeling of static ringing under his boots from the subliming ice beneath him. He recognized the fact that; besides the energy that for all intents and purposes he couldn't feel, that single stimuli was the only input from the universe to fall into his cloud of awareness. Looking up, he couldn't even see any of the cylindrical humanity now favored in lieu of planets. Only an endless dance of starry streaks animating the sky from every inclination imaginable.

Impulsively, Jordan pushed against the sensation with both feet. Inadvertently sending him on a lazy ascent above the surface. In a slight panic, Jordan began kicking wildly as the heads and shoulders around him seemed to be running away from him in an unburdened descent. Slowly rotating out view as Jordan gained enough altitude to garner an unbridled view of the seemingly endless compound.

By the time they rotated back into view at the apex of his jump, Jordan's party had already managed to hop over a hundred meters from the shuttle and were now deep within the zone. "How am I supposed to fight like this?" He groaned helplessly.

Jordan continued his slow return to the surface, basking in the awe of the market-life safe-zone that sprawled lazily across his field of view. Clusters of pressurized shacks, inflated bubbles and sealed trenches flashing blue from argon signs contrasted against the surface like glowing black seeds scattered across slightly dirtied snow. All assuring promises of shelter, equipment and supplies to those venturing into the campaign zones for as far as the bowl-shaped plains allowed Jordan to see.

"What faction are we?" James' disgruntled voice asked over the radio. Echoing in Jordan's helmet.

Jordan strained his eyes to enhance his vision to his mushroom-capped brother ahead of him.

Now completed, James' suit strongly resembled a mix between the battle uniforms of the ancient, 20th century and a standard private school uniform. A mushroom helmet covered the top of his head and connected to a bust-like visage of his face underneath that was kept perpetually shrouded in the lip of his cap. Leaving only a pair of softly burning eyeholes to stare out into his surroundings. The rest of his suit was like a gakuran. A black button down, high collared coat with the sleeves torn and straight-leg, high water slacks tucked into military-style boots in favor of the loafers worn earlier.

Jordan summoned the campaign software as he landed to confirm the pair's standings then dismissed it a second after. "We're fighting against Gan's Army." He pointed across the ice to a large assembly resembling a surface railgun, surrounded by a couple of bodies.

"WE WHAT!" James exploded.

"Load yourselves up," A voice radioed to them before James could continue berserking.

Jordan gladly followed their gestures to the large assemblies. Grateful to have been saved from James' assured tantrum. There were dozens of them lined in a row on the southern end of the zone. Each sitting squat on claw-like legs that seemed to melted as well as dug themselves a meter or two into the ice. Positioned on the was an 'L'-shaped platform set on a slight recline. Cocked backwards to the end of a large rail that pointed to the untamed horizon.

Following the motions of the ghost-like humanoid glitched into being in augmented reality, the two brothers mounted the structure and stood in place on the platform with their backs against the wall. Eyes set on the distant stars skimming the horizon before a giant's hammer struck the backside of their platform.

Accelerating up the rails, Jordan's body flattened in an instant as the violent ripple quaked through his body. Only to promptly cease after reaching its peak. Launching them across the surface with a painful whiplash of the neck.

After regaining his bearings, Jordan's eyes refocused to the domed helmet twirling in place beside him. To James. Who, while lounging in an auspiciously relaxed posture, seemed immobile from Jordan's perspective. Even amidst the furrowed ice skating past underneath them.

As they fell, Jordan once again found the overbearing feelings of isolation welling within him. Only this time it brought about a great peace within him. As the perspective of being isolated from all physical matter in the universe began to change his mental. He found himself humbled by the segregation from everything but the atoms and molecules that comprised himself and the relatively frail suit keeping him alive as he fell through this void of death and nullity.

Jordan's only response to the feeling was a maniacal laugh. To the situation, only an attentive stare at the dotted green line arcing from his body to the crowded ashen-colored plains ahead.

As if a diamond sheet settled on the rippled plains and lips of craters, the entirety of Ganymede's surface glistened with physical and digital light from rim-to-rim. Horizon-to-horizon. Flashes of blades and armor, limbs and machinery rendered as flashy warnings and dotted green figures that shone brightly in Jordan's augmented vision. All throwing themselves towards a pair of red aura'd, claw-legged behemoths smashing and clawing against the masses.

[New Campaign zone Entered: Open Conflict. Gan's Army Vs. Xandau Group]

"Well." James sighed as he readied himself to land. "See you on the other side."

'Good.' Jordan thought to himself. 'It seems the launch managed to calm him down.'

Jordan stretched out his legs as the ground came into contact and crouched into a squat after landing to absorb as much energy as possible. He quickly scanned his surroundings, even while bouncing to a not-so-gentle stop in the low gravity, and froze after coming to a landing twenty meters before one of the war machines of Gan's Army.

The mech itself was around the size of a bus. Ten meters long, seven tall, three wide and mostly made of four large clubs extending from a small hub at the center. It pushed itself around on its claw-like feet. Drifting comically above the surface for a few meters at a time before slamming one of its appendages into the ice to both influence its motion and spread chaos around the battlefield.

Before Jordan could fully rise from his recovery and decide on his course of action, a glint of light flashed from the edge of his vision. Prompting Jordan to instinctively cross his arms before him in a block just as a dull pressure dug into the top of his shoulder. After another blow to the sternum, Jordan was blown backwards. Peering through his arms, he saw a coveralled E-Ranker shrouded in red, digital light. Drifting back towards the surface with their arms splayed lazily above them. Sword glimmering brightly in the faint sunlight.

Still comically flying backwards, Jordan's feet tripped against the ice, flipping his body backwards without slowing his momentum in the slightest. Reaching overhead, he dug his fingers into the ice to slow himself and flip his body around. He kicked out with his heels as his completed its rotation, digging his boots into the ice to slow him to a grinding halt just as his assailant recovered their sword onto their shoulder.

Jordan clawed at the ice at his feet until his fingers took hold and pulled himself prone. Carefully and smoothly, he began clawing at the ground to propel himself towards his opponent. Raking the surface as if in a breastroke to impart as much horizontal momentum on his body in favor of vertically vector.

As the distance between them closed, Jordan's target planted their feet into the ice while readying their sword overhead. Jordan clawed at the ice a final time with a slight push off the surface. Launching him towards his target's chest and imparting an upward rotation on his body in the process. Jordan reached out with his left hand as the oppositions arm jerked. The blade slammed between Jordan's fingers in the next moment. Forcing the ground to impactfully return under his legs and allowing him to step forward with his momentum. To lean in with all his weight to drill his fist straight into his assailants stomach. Sending them tumbling backwards over the ice and bouncing Jordan gently a few meters off the surface.

As he once again drifted to the surface, Jordan reached down towards the ice again and suddenly froze as an ever so slight tremble raced up his boots. The sun eclipsed soon after. Washing the surface in the grainy, gray hue of infrared vision; night vision, while the trembling grew stronger with each passing second.

'Is Ganymede falling into Jupiter's shadow?' Jordan pivoted to his back as the question crossed his mind.

Catching sight of the horizon, Jordan's eyes widened in horror before he wheeled back around in a panic. He slipped as the ice suddenly bulked and the tremors beneath him suddenly spiked. Seeming to hammer against his legs and back as he came to the ground as if the very moon were alive. Quaked and rattled as if the ancient ice were threatening everyone present with cracking at the seams. Sending them plummeting into the subsurface ocean below its crust and filling Jupiter's rings with leviathan chunks of volatiles, ice and human bodies.

Jordan punched at the ground, seemingly in an attempt to settle it, and drifted backwards from the impact. Back into the sky and the peaceful silence of physical isolation. As his body rotated about once again, Jordan caught another glimpse of the horror he'd rather keep unseen.

A thick line of digital, red silhouettes covered the horizon before him. Enveloping the thick swarm of mechs in an aura that seemed to emanate bloodlust. The oppressive barrier of blacks and reds crept across the surface at an ominous pace, threatening all who saw it with a life of insanity. Jordan felt it staring at the wall of machines. The sickening, hopeless thoughts that came when facing such unbeatable odds. Cold guns towered above their domed hubs. Powered down, yet proudly brandishing their hostility via their turreted arms pointing to the black sky with barrels that seemed as large as a person. Footed by a sea claw-like legs and wheeled tracks that swept gusts of frosted dust across the surface like linear cryovolcanoes.

Witnessing such a sight, facing such helpless odds, Jordan's mind could only conjure one thought; one word, in that moment. One that forced itself from his lungs as his feet briefly returned to the reverberating, cragged surface.

"Stampede."

The sun returned as the words echoed through his helmet. Turning to his side, Jordan finally saw one of the towering mechs raising its club from the cragged, bloodied surface and swinging it around towards Jordan.

The crudely lumped appendage loomed in slow motion before Jordan's face. Causing the horizontal rain of ice pellets and gas to almost freeze in place and enhancing the echoes of his labored breath to deafening levels for a still moment before they pinged against Jordan's body and helmet like bullets. Prying his feet from the surface just as the blue-black surface of the club blurred across eyes.

Before his mind could input any reactions into his body, a cavernous explosion blossomed from the center of Jordan's chest. Forcing a wet cough from the depths of his throat and sending the once stable horizon on a dizzying tumble in his perspective. The scattered stars and faint sun jerked into long streaks that quickly turned the creamy band of the Milky Way churning into view from top-to-bottom. Followed by the undoubtedly recognizable blue streak of the Pleiades rotating by. Then in turn by the rusted ice of Ganymede. Now far, far out of reach.

Then back to the smeared streaks of light as he rotated again and again.

***

For over an hour, Jordan tumbled helplessly in Ganymede's skies. Kicking and thrashing about the entirety of the journey in a crude attempt to dissuade the laws of angular momentum and motion without a source of propulsion.

Finally, as the rotating sheet of gray began to continually outlast the other vistas, Jordan curled his body tight and emptied his lungs to brace himself for impact.

After painfully lithobraking to a halt, Jordan spent a few minutes splayed on his back to make peace with the throbbing pain blooming from his sternum. Once he'd made peace with his pain and assessed the situation, Jordan angrily drove his heel into the ground to vent his frustrations. "Dammit!"

While drifting to his feet as a result of his outburst, a silvery reflection in Jordan's peripherals pulled in his eyes to his left. Where, on the horizon, he enhanced his view further towards the object of interest until the figure took up the entirety of his vision. Then, his heads up display glitched to life with a message.

[New Campaign Zone Entered: Domain Keeper.]

"What. The fuck. Is that?"