The Void Guard

TW: Depicts fictional violence, war and potentially intense psychological concepts. Discretion advised

Newly promoted Void Sentinel Pike Santos burst into a full sprint, fumbling his EMP grenade before lobbing it overhead and diving into cover behind the temporary barricades. The grenade sailed over the courtyard, buzzing with a soft blue light.

Santos could barely hear the rain and gunfire over the heartbeat pounding in his head, but still he heard the muffled fizz-pop as the grenade detonated with a powerful electrical impulse.

He pressed his back firmly against the barricade and pulled the fusion magazine from his rifle, examining the charge and wiping soot deposits from the contacts before clicking it back into place. He took a deep breath of sulfuric air and closed his eyes, the red outlines of his hostile analytics software and blue HUD fading to afterimages.

This mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes - what was supposed to be a simple data sting turned to a full-on gang war for seemingly no reason. Whatever had been on that holo must be worth a fortune, or at the very least several dozen lives.

He counted to three aloud and prepared to break cover and lay down fire. As his muscles tensed for movement he saw something in the corner of his eye. His head automatically snapped to see what the motion was as his eyes whirred to life enhancing the image some 10 meters away. He saw two medics dragging a wounded soldier to the edge of the battlefield.

His display identified the soldier in green outline: Markus Downing, his Squadron Leader. One of the medics was heavily packing gauze and medi-foam into the gaping, mostly cauterized wound on Downing’s lower abdomen. The man screamed in agony, grasping at the air and his companions blindly. Santos zoomed in on the flailing arms, all of the synthetic skin had been melted and peeled away from his hands, exposing the bare metal and cables of his cyberware beneath.

Santos shook his head, trying to regain his composure. There’s nothing he could do to help anyways. He said a small prayer under his breath before pulling his rifle tight to his shoulder.

The comms cracked on, drowning out the firefight, “Santos, sitrep.” The voice was Darnell Flint, second in command to Downing.

“I’m still ticking. Downing got hit hard, southwest corner, under the awning, med has him sanctioned.” He eyed the flashing blue holo-barricades the medics had set up around Downing, now stabilized, sedated and waiting for evac.

“Shit.” Flint paused. “Glad med got to him, at least. Guess that means I’m up now. Metkiy, Himitsu, report.”

“All good here,” Metkiy phrased softly, her sniper rifle popping in the background.

“I’m pinned, but good on ammo,” Himitsu chimed, “Ready when you guys are. How about you, newbie? You ready?”

Santos’ augmented legs tensed with his breath preparing for action. “I’m good.”

Flint’s voice crackled, “Then let’s push these criminals back into the depths of Titania where they belong. Mark!”

Santos exhaled forcefully, bolting upright, firing through gritted teeth. His neural augment vented steam as it outlined each target and assisted his aim in overclock. But as his crosshairs settled on the next target, his perception slowed - young, scared, and fumbling with their weapon, just like him. The mission or his conscience: he had a split second to decide. His finger hesitated on the trigger.

Just then the young fighter dropped to the ground like a rag. A trail of ionized air glimmering back to Metkiy’s last position. Her voice whispered over the comms, “I got you, Santos. But I won’t always be here to make the tough choices for you.”

Santos barely had time to process Metkiy’s advice before a shot whizzed past his ear forcing him back to action, his digitally linked muscles automatically aiming and firing in reciprocation mode. As he advanced steadily, a thought burned in the back of his neural matrix; in this war hesitation can cost much more than your life.