Bobo and Luce moved quickly, stripping off the fallen soldiers' gear and slipping into it. The wind tugged at their clothes as they changed, the steady rhythm of the ocean brushing up against the hull of the stolen patrol boat. Moonlight gleamed off the metal plates of the armor.
Bobo grunted as he tried to squeeze himself into the uniform. The fabric stretched comically tight around his chest and shoulders.
Luce glanced over, halfway through sliding on the pants. A grin tugged at her lips.
"You okay over there, big guy?"
Bobo gave a short laugh, tugging the last strap into place.
"I'll live."
Luce finished fastening the armor over her torso and rolled her shoulders, twisting her back to test the fit. "A little snug on me, too," she muttered, adjusting the shoulder plates.
Bobo glanced over and smirked, making a vague gesture around her chest with a wink.
"Yeah, really squeezin' you up here."
Luce snorted, walked over, and slapped him on the chest with a metallic clang.
"You old perv."
Mikey watched the exchange, unable to stop a small smile from forming. There was something comforting in their easy banter. His eyes lingered on Luce for a moment longer than he meant to—she looked striking in the gear, strong and composed. He quickly turned away, cheeks warming.
But Luce caught it.
"You're just like him, you ass!" she said, grinning as she gave Mikey a playful smack on the chest.
Mikey nearly jumped.
"Sorry—sorry!"
Bobo burst into laughter, clutching his stomach.
"Not his fault, Luce! He's Dez's son. Can't help what runs in the blood."
The moment settled into a quiet, shared amusement, a brief breath of levity before the mission ahead. When the laughter faded, Bobo and Luce pulled on their helmets, sealing away their faces behind dark visors. They looked like different people now—cold, anonymous soldiers.
Mikey stared at them, the reality beginning to settle in.
"So… what happens when we get inside?"
Luce glanced at Bobo, then back at Mikey.
"Honestly? We couldn't think that far ahead. Couldn't find any intel on what Jöten's like on the inside. Shit, no one alive knows."
Bobo shrugged and patted Mikey on the back.
"We'll improvise. Don't worry—"
He gave him a reassuring nod.
"It'll work out."
Luce stepped over to the controls, flicking switches with muscle memory. The engine rumbled beneath their feet as she reeled in the boarding ramp, disconnecting them from their old boat.
She glanced over her shoulder.
"Not our first time getting creative. We'll be fine."
Meanwhile, Bobo walked to the corner of the deck, where the bodies of the three soldiers lay. The moonlight made their still forms appear even more lifeless—twisted limbs, blood-slicked armor, glassy eyes.
Bobo grabbed two of the corpses by their collars and hefted them up like sacks of meat. He turned to Mikey.
"Help me with the last one."
Mikey hesitated. His eyes locked on the soldier—young, not much older than himself. He swallowed hard and approached, his footsteps sluggish. The corpse was heavier than he expected. He tried not to look at the man's face, turning his head away as the stench hit him.
His stomach churned.
Bobo noticed. His voice was low, steady.
"You're doing good, kid…"
Mikey nodded wordlessly and forced himself to move. He dragged the body to the edge, knees wobbling. With a final push, he rolled the man into the sea. The splash echoed unnaturally loud.
Mikey stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow, his breath shaky.
The water swallowed the bodies like they were nothing.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Mikey knew—this wasn't the last time he'd have to do something like this.
The patrol speedboat cut across the waves, slicing through moonlit waters. A low hum buzzed beneath their feet, the engine steady as they approached their destination. Bobo rummaged through a compartment and pulled out a pair of electric restraints—thin, metallic bands glowing faintly blue at the seams.
He snapped them around Mikey's wrists with a practiced flick. They tightened automatically.
"Need to look authentic," Bobo said, flashing a crooked grin. "You're our prisoner now."
Mikey shifted uncomfortably, flexing against the cuffs.
"I get it… Just saying—they're a bit tight."
Bobo smirked and leaned in, tucking a small sidearm into the waistband at Mikey's lower back.
"You'll be fine. That's in case things get funny."
Mikey nodded, the weight of the pistol oddly reassuring.
Then, through the fog and haze of the ocean's edge, Jöten came into full view.
His breath caught.
The fortress rose like a jagged claw from the sea. Towering sixty-foot walls of dark carbon-fiber and gleaming chrome lined the perimeter, cold and impenetrable under the floodlights. Watchtowers jutted up at each corner like broken teeth, their searchlights sweeping methodically. Drones buzzed overhead, crisscrossing the night sky like angry insects, while massive tilt-rotor aircraft descended onto metal platforms, their engines screaming into the wind.
The structure didn't just look secure—it looked alive. A humming, breathing beast of steel and circuitry.
"We're almost there. One minute out," Luce shouted over the roar, her voice taut.
Bobo placed a steadying hand on Mikey's back.
"Here we go, Mikey."
The dock loomed ahead, a wide concrete slab lit by rows of floodlights. Other boats were already moored, unloading prisoners in black jumpsuits—lined up and chained together, being marched single-file through towering security gates like cattle through a slaughterhouse.
Mikey muttered under his breath.
"Holy shit…"
Luce expertly guided the boat alongside the dock and cut the engine. The three of them stepped off as one—Bobo and Luce flanking Mikey, gripping his arms with calculated force. Mikey kept his head down, playing the role.
Then Bobo leaned in again, voice barely audible.
"Sorry, kid. Gonna have to be a little theatrical."
Mikey blinked.
"What do you—"
THUD.
Bobo's boot struck Mikey square in the back, sending him sprawling across the cold concrete.
"Get up, you Defector swine!" Bobo bellowed, his voice echoing across the dock with drill-sergeant authority.
Mikey groaned, pushing himself up with his cuffed hands.
Goddammit, Bobo…
I know you've gotta sell the bit, but holy shit, man.
Tone it down.
Bobo grabbed him roughly by the arm, hauling him upright. Luce took the other side, both of them dragging him forward like he was just another insurgent caught in the system.
They nodded to the soldiers they passed—helmeted figures in matte black armor, faces obscured by reflective visors. No one asked questions. No one looked twice.
Mikey squinted through the blinding lights. His ears rang from the overlapping chaos: the whipping wind, the thunder of waves slamming against the dock, the constant whirl of drones, the mechanical hiss of hydraulics from unloading aircraft, and the barked orders of soldiers echoing from loudspeakers mounted on the walls.
This was Jöten.
A fortress carved from cold machinery and cruelty.
And now, they were inside it.