Chequers had worn a mask for a long time.

The first mask he’d worn had been in high school, trying to fit in with the rest of the ‘boys’.

It hadn’t fit him very well.

His first mistake, Chequers acknowledged, was that he’d underestimated Billy Bowden. Billy had been - well - gorgeous. Big dark eyes you could lose yourself in, eyes with soul….

Alas, the eyes are not always the best measure of the soul.

Chequers had let his mask slip for a bit, back then. Just a little.

Billy had noticed.

And that night, Billy, and four other ‘friends’ - boys whom Chequers had laughed with, shared lunches and skipped class with - had decided to set Chequers straight.

By beating the gay out of him, of course.

Chequers had learnt many things that day. The first was that you couldn’t always trust people.

The second was that you could, in a pinch, punch your way out of a fight. At least if you had Battlecognition.

Billy Bowden had looked a lot less pretty with his nose broken.

The next day, Chequers had packed a simple bag, and left Leicester for good. His father had been too drunk to notice.

For six months, Chequers had lived on the streets.

Battlecognition gave you perfect timing. The right time to step into a shop and grab an unattended roll. The right move to make to avoid being spotted by cameras. The right moment to bump into a man, knocking his wallet to the ground.

For six months, he’d stumbled from place to place, living off the streets in one city after another.

He’d fashioned his first mask from newspapers, bound together with twine. Later, he’d stolen scissors and cloth, to craft something better.

He’d lived from stolen wallet to stolen wallet, never really sure where he wanted to go.

Then he’d been caught.

A young, heroic inventor had spotted a pattern of petty thefts in Birmingham. A splendid opportunity for a thrilling debut.

When he’d walked into Razorback’s trap, Chequers had almost died.

Almost.

Battlecognition allowed you to dodge missiles quite well.

Razorback had chased him for weeks, stalking him across the streets of the city. Every time Chequers thought he’d gotten away, the inventor would show up again.

The third time, however, Razorback had tried an unusual tool - negotiation.

Razorback wore a mask, too. One that was familiar to Chequers.

They’d been of an age, both hoping against hope to find someone in the world who shared their dreams.

Seventeen years had gone by since then. Seventeen wonderful years.

Razorback had served his time against the aliens, but a badly timed Sarnak ambush had destroyed his armor and his leg. Not that it stopped him - the robotic substitute was quite functional - but Chequers had been insistent.

And so he’d stepped in, being the bearer of Razorback’s most advanced devices in action after action.

The money helped, of course. A Battlecog could be a frontliner with relatively low risk.

‘Relatively low’ was not ‘nil’, of course.

Especially not on a battlefield with multiple Carnotaurs.

He glanced up at Shamrock. The Irish ultra had lit up a cigarette; smoke rings drifted lazily through the air.

“Are you sure you want to go?”

Shamrock shrugged. “We didn’t sign up to sit on the sidelines, did we?”

Unity walked up to them. “Loafing off?”

“Merely resting. You going to go with Belessar?”

Unity shrugged. “He seems to know what he’s doing. Which is more than I can say for this gaggle of shiny coats.”

“Shiny coats?”

“The army boys. And their generals.”

“Curry’s decent. So is Windsor.”

Unity’s nostrils flared. “Don’t let them fool you. The only thing the army boys care about is preserving the established order.”

“How do you mean?”

“You an aristocrat?”

Chequers stifled a laugh. “I grew up in Attlee Way.”

“And you, Shamrock? You like the army boys?”

“You know I’m Irish, right?”

“So you tell me, when you got the call to be here. In London. For six months, with a nice hunky salary. Did they tell you the aliens were coming?”

Shamrock shook his head.

“They got us here real good, didn’t they? And I’m willing to bet Curry knew what was coming. And Windsor. And all those fancy army boys.”

“Perhaps they were simply fortunate,” suggested Chequers.

“If you believe that, I’ve a moon plot to sell you.”

Chequers shrugged. “Does it matter? We’re here now.”

“And the army boys are still in charge, aren’t they? Telling us what to do, where to go. Except that they can’t, right now.”

“That’s the jamming field.”

“Which takes an ultra to get past. Nanocloud.”

“So?”

“So, it never strike you how the army boys decide everything, but it’s the ultras who do the real fighting?”

“The soldiers fight too.”

“Yeah, but it’s the ultras who make the difference. Comms down? Ultras pick up the slack. Need a Carnotaur killed? Ultras do the job. Need to protect Skyguard? Fifty ultras doing the job, thank you. But it’s the army generals who call the shots, tell us where to go. Where to die.”

Chequers shrugged. “That’s the way it is.”

“That’s not how it has to be. You know what they say about no taxation without representation?”

“... The Americans say that, yeah.”

“Ultras deserve representation.” She pointed to the soldiers around Belessar. “See them? They’re saluting.”

“How does that matter?”

“Soldiers don’t salute ultras. You know what they call us behind our backs, right?”

“I’ve heard the names.”

“So, he shouted at Curry and the guy had to back down. You know who makes a four-star general back down?”

“.... another general?”

“Exactly.”

Chequers digested this. “He got Agni here.”

“So?”

“So, isn’t she some sort of terrorist?”

“She wasted a bunch of foreigners in some backwards countries. Do you care?”

Shamrock snorted. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“If Belessar says she stays, the army boys can’t do anything about it. That’s exactly what we need. Representation.”

“Representation in the military?”

“People need to respect us. He gives us that.”

“I’m not sure about this Supreme Leader thing, though,” grumbled Shamrock. “We’re ultras. We make our own way.”

“I read up a bit about him, you know,” Chequers found himself saying. “After Liverpool.”

“And?”

“He wiped out the Grunters single-handedly. And there’s a rumour that he took on - and killed - all of the Blackhats. Ambushed Tigerstrike, Ultragorilla and Serpentor and cut them to ribbons.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Unity said. “We don’t get our positions handed to us by some fancy college. We fight, and the toughest amongst us lead.”

“You think he’s the toughest?”

“Hell, no. Chikaradzuyoi would wipe the floor with him, and Dr. Magnetic was another level. He’s good, though. Better than me, I’ll admit.”

“Wonders never cease,” muttered Shamrock.

“Hey. You try to put a spear in a charging kaiju’s mouth.”

“That was cool,” chuckled Shamrock.

“My point is, that’s how ultras earn their goddamn spurs.”

“What does that have to do with us?” asked Chequers.

“Don’t you see it? When they salute him, they salute us.”