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Corax guided the LAM to land, wincing as the craft landed just a bit too hard, struggling with the harnesses and neurohelmet that tied him to it. As quick as possible, he exited and secured the ‘Mech, before moving swiftly through the deserted city blocks to the location he'd received in a message an hour ago.
Please, Robert, he thought. Hold on a little longer.
As he walked, he drew his weapon, the weight of the Sternsnacht Claymore comforting in his hand, holding it ready, eyes peeled and ears open, until he reached the crossroads indicated in the message.
Suddenly, from above, a voice called out.
“You are Corax McKenna, confirm?”
"Aff, that is I," he said, taking cover instinctually before looking up to behold the voice's owner.
For a moment, he saw nothing, until with a small cascade of rubble and environmental camouflage, a pile of debris on an upper terrace revealed itself to be a man in an armored bodysuit, with a concerningly large rifle leveled at Corax's head.
"You can confirm this, verify?"
"Look at me," Corax said, becoming annoyed. "I am the only large white bird-man that you know of, quiaff? Now, are you going to help me, Mister "I bring my drone suit to active warzones", or not?" Corax said, already exasperated. "You can help me, or shoot me. Either way, I am going. Stravag damned spies... Kerensky's cock, the drama," he mutters to himself, stalking off to go find Robert, on his own if need be.
With a quick bounce off of a nearby wall, Hustler landed in front of Corax, now with his rifle slung across his back. "Look, if you want to run off on your own, that's fine. But my employer has a vested interest in ensuring your little boytoy's survival, and our chances are better if we stick together."
"Additionally," he said, with an almost quizzical tilt to his head. "What is a 'drone suit'? I am unfamiliar with the term."
Corax looked over Hustler's suit, particularly the blank semi-domed mask, trying not to smirk. "That, what you are wearing."
"This is not a drone? It's a polymer bodyglove designed to allow a maximum balance of protection and mobility, while also minimizing visual and nonvisual detection. The mask is designed to allow maximum visibility, while still offering a full HUD." He looks down at himself, body language betraying his self-consciousness. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"A different meaning of drone."
After a moment, Hustler seems ready to drop the subject. "Very well. Whenever you're ready, I believe he headed southeast."
"Let's go, Drone-boy," Corax chuckled, heading off southeast, weapon drawn. Drawing his pistol, Hustler followed, still slightly puzzled from the 'Drone Boy' comment. They stalked through the streets, which were largely empty of civilians - the few they did see wisely chose to hide or make their way in the opposite direction. Abandoned vehicles littered the thoroughfares, and signs of artillery impacts were evident all around them.
After fifteen minutes of travel, Hustler holds up a hand, face up as if smelling the wind. "Hold," he said, looking over his shoulder. "Blakist patrol, coming this way. Hide and hide well, they've got thermals."
As he speaks, he ducks into the shadows, nesting himself into the rubble thrown up by artillery craters. Corax hides behind the most concealing piece of cover he can find, Claymore ready if needed. He watches Hustler for signs of all clear.
A few minutes later, a group of five men in the robed infantry kit of the Blakists came walking past. "Keep your eyes up," one says. "He's been sighted in this area." The soldier next to him scoffed.
"What the fuck are you worried about?" he asked. "It's one fuckin' guy, for Blake's sake. We've got cybernetics, he's got a pistol and a knife."
Suddenly, a third speaks. "Shut up, both of you." He snaps."You weren't there. He was like a wild animal."
Even from a distance, and under the prosthetics, Hustler and Corax could see that the soldier's mind was far away from the here and now, their hand rubbing the casing of a shiny new metal eye.
"After he got me, he mauled Ezekiel. He stabbed him a dozen times after he was already dead, arguing with someone only he could see." The haunted soldier took a shuddering breath. "He might be one guy, but I don't wanna be caught off guard again. So keep your damn head on a swivel."
None of the Blakist troops said another word until they passed out of earshot. After waiting a few more seconds, Hustler gave the all clear.
"I do not wish to presume, but that seems like it may be Robert," Corax whispered.
Hustler looks over his shoulder, and despite his blank visage, Corax could practically feel the agent's incredulous look. "Is he often prone to fits of psychotic rage?"
"I do not know. But he is an older man, and has gone through a great amount of combat. It is not inconceivable that he could have some underlying mental afflictions."
"Hm." Hustler said, "I suppose. Well, we'd ought to find him, then." With that, he resumed his light jog.
Corax followed behind, scanning and listening. They continued for another mile, picking their way through the streets, dodging the occasional Blakist patrol. Once or twice they again saw a civilian out roaming the streets, but it seemed that, for the most part, all those still left in Coen City had locked themselves in their homes and taken shelter.
In the distance, they heard the sounds of battle, from the coalition forces engaging the Blakist defenders in the northeast corner of the city.
"Eerie place, this," Corax said. "Fitting I suppose, for what we've doing."
Hustler hummed in acknowledgement. "It is unusual."
As they walked, Hustler stopped for a moment, turning his head to face the cloudy sky like a flower seeking the sun, before resuming the jog at a quicker pace.
"There's a storm rolling in. We're going to want to be quicker."
"Aff, let us hurry," Corax agreed, beginning to jog as well.
Before long, Hustler sped up even more, jogging towards a specific building further down the wide avenue. "There's something happening in there. I can hear an angry man and smell blood." He looked back at Corax, drawing his smart pistol. "Doesn't take a genius to put 2 and 2 together."
"Let us investigate then," Corax said, outwardly calm, pistol ready.
Please be Robert... Corax thought. Great Father, please let it be him...
As they entered the building - seemingly the foyer of an office complex of some kind - there were only two things that stood out to them.
One was the desperately shaking form of Robert Harwood, babbling nonsense to thin air.
The other was the trio of mutilated corpses, all wearing Blakist robes - not the camouflage fatigues of soldiers, but the stark white robe of civilian adepts.
"Robert..." Corax said, approaching slowly. "Robert, it is Corax..." he whispered, voice tinged with hope. He holstered his pistol, gingerly touched Robert's arms, hoping... Hoping it might help, but knowing it would not. But he had to do something, say something, he had to be there. Even if Robert didn't know.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Hustler check the bodies. Not for signs of life, for no human could have been alive in the state the bodies were in, but for any clues, intelligence, reasons.
Reasons ... Corax knew there would no reason. None other than whatever had broken Robert, anyway. None that would be rational, for Robert was not rational in his current state.
Unbidden, unexpected, and un-Clanlike tears came to Corax's eyes in that moment. It... pained Corax to see him this way. The confident, blustery, but deeply professional man he'd come to know so shortly ago.
The man that he was now beyond certain that he loved.
Before Corax could even make contact, Robert recoiled from the touch, brandishing the knife he held like a totem.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" he roared. "You're not real, I know you're not real, don't touch me. You're not real, I kno-" Robert continued his mumbled refrain like a prayer, eyes blown wide as he stared Corax in the face, uncountable emotions flickering through his expression.
"Robert. It is Corax. I am very real, I assure you. I promise I am. I can show you, if you will let me. Or, you can see for yourself. Just, please don't point the knife at me. Keep it, by all means, but please don't point it at me."
For a moment, recognition flashed in Robert's eyes, before fear ripped it away.
"No, no, no. You said that before, and so did he, and you were both lying, and you're lying now, because you're NOT REAL!" Robert shouted - as if by being loud enough, he could force himself to believe it, and force his painful visions to disappear.
A look of inevitablity came over Corax's eyes. "Very well," he said. "What things have I said before?"
"You know damn well the kind of horseshit you spew." Robert said. "That endless fountain of crap about how I'm 'better than this', 'just go home, Robert', 'the war is over, Robert', 'is all this worth it, Robert'." He trailed off, hunching in on himself. For a moment, he seemed to be laughing, until choked sobs begin to tear themselves from his throat. "I know you're not real because if you were really here, you'd shoot me as soon as look at me."
Corax, entirely unheeding of the knife in Robert's hand, hugged Robert. And he did not let go. "Why would I shoot you, Robert? Why? What, in all the galaxy, could make me want to that?"
The knife dropped from Robert's hand in utter shock. Faltering, hesitant, he brought his arms up to wrap around Corax, before burying his blood-matted hair in Corax’s shoulder.
"Oh, god. I fucked up, Birdie. I fucked up bad."
"Robert, it is okay, you are okay. I am here. I am not letting you go. I will stay, quiaff? I will not leave."
Robert just tucked in closer and let out a broken whine. "I didn't mean to. God, I didn't know what I was doing until I came to, and I realized I wasn't there. You've gotta believe me."
"Robert, Robert, calm... calm... breathe... wasn't where?"
Instantly, Robert curled in on himself once again, as if to protect himself from anticipated blows. None of which came, only Corax hugging him more. After a few moments more of sobbing, Robert begins to speak, in halting breaths.
"I thought I was back on Rollis, Corax."
"Rollis... you mentioned Rollis before, after we coupled... what happened there?"
"Rollis. It's a Capellan world on the Taurian border. Some brass-chested idiot at High Command thought that it ought to be a Taurian world instead. They sent us, a bunch of fucking kids," he chokes up for a moment, before continuing. "After a year of hard fighting, the Capellans signed a treaty. They'd fuck off, and Rollis would be the Taurian. Of course," he says, scoffing. "They lied. As soon as High Command's backs were turned, the Capellans struck. They knocked out our comms, grounded our ships, and do you know what High Command did?"
"They left you there, quiaff?"
Robert laughed. A bitter, acerbic thing, far from his normal hearty roar. "I wish. No. They didn't fucking notice. We were kids, Nevermore. We were a bunch of kids with no supplies fighting a guerilla war to avoid being taken as slaves. So many of us died, Birdie. So many..." A haunted look takes his eye. "Sometimes I wish I was one of them."
Corax hugged him closer. "I am sorry, Robert. Truly."
Robert gripped Corax tighter, whispering through clenched teeth. "They put us in camps, when they caught us. 'To repay our debt to the Confederation' they said. They're animals, Corax, they deserve to die, every one of them." His sobs once again took over. "And then I woke up here... and I was back on Rollis again, like the first airstrike was yesterday."
Corax stroked Robert's cheek tenderly. "I am sorry, Robert. I am so very, very sorry," he whispers. "But you know now, this is not Rollis. And you know I am real. That I am here for you."
"I know that now," Robert replied, " but... I didn't then. And I don't know how much is memory and how much is what I actually did, but..."
"What has happened, has happened Robert. It cannot be changed. What can change, however, is what you do about the aftermath," Corax interrupted. "Regardless, you cannot stay here, it is not safe. There is a new FOB just west of the city. My 'Mech is not far, we will take it, and go there."
Corax looked to Hustler. "Anything of note?"
Hustler nodded, standing up from where he had been searching the last of the three bodies.
"They're diplomats, from the planetary government. If the message they've got here," he says, waving a tablet in his hand, "is valid, they were here to attempt negotiations with the SLDF."
Robert sagged in on himself more, his sobs beginning to fade in place of bone-deep weariness.
"Can you get that information to the Commanding General?" Corax asks. "I must see to Robert, to his safety and recovery."
"I will see to it that the information reaches the right people." Hustler said, tucking away the tablet. "However, that artillery fire is approaching this position, and unless we'd like to join the ambassadors, I suggest we get moving."
"Agreed," said Corax. "Come now, Robert, on your feet. We are leaving."