Chapter Text
(SP-8) Honor Thy Father
The graduation ceremony was a momentous occasion in every cadet's life—the culmination of rigorous, tumultuous, and often unnecessarily brutal trials that defined SEAF Academy training. Those who survived the gauntlet of drills, sleep deprivation, and live-fire exercises now stood in loose formation before the stage, their uniforms crisp and their faces set with the grim pride of the enduring. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that settled heavy in the chest and made the heart beat just a little faster.
At the center of the stage stood one of the Academy's most prestigious and distinguished officers, a veteran of multiple dissident uprisings and the pacification of hostile planets. Super Drill Instructor David was a mountain of a man, his jaw carved from super granite and his eyes, or rather, eye, was sharp enough to cut through steel. Without warning, he stomped his boot against the platform with enough force to echo across the field, then bellowed with a voice that could have commanded the stars themselves to align.
"ATTEEEEEEEENTION!"
Almost by instinct, every cadet snapped rigid, their fists slamming against their shoulders in salute to the Super Earth flag waving proudly beside Drill Instructor David. Other decorated SEAF servicemen flanked him, their hands clasped behind their backs and gazes fixed on the sea of young soldiers before them. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the distant flutter of the flag and the faint hum of the Academy's perimeter defenses.
David let the silence stretch, his eyes sweeping across the formation as if searching for the faintest hint of weakness. Finding none, he spoke again, his voice rolling across the field like thunder.
"Cadets! Today is the most important day of your lives. A day that establishes that YOU are what stands before the enemies of humanity. A day when you have made a promise—not just to protect our citizens, but also our way of life! Our Liberty. Our managed democracy."
He paused, his jaw tightening with barely contained fervor.
"Before, all of you were just sorry sacks of blueberries. Unripe. Small. Weak. Now, you are as plump as Lady Liberty's bosom. You have become stronger than you ever were before, and in that strength, you must be strong for others who aren't."
His voice rose, climbing toward a fever pitch. "That is your destiny. That is your duty, for Super Earth and our freedom. Be proud of how far you've come, cadets. Be proud of the responsibility, for your true purpose—OUR true purpose—is to uphold the greatest virtues of our society: Life, Liberty, prosperity, and democracy! You are the tinder that lights the torch of liberty, guiding others to the path of managed freedom!"
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and then his voice crested into a roar.
"Understand this, purveyors of democracy: we may not know when the enemy will come, how they will come, or where they will come, but if they ever come after our society, come at them harder than they came at us!"
A few childish snickers rippled through the ranks, quickly suppressed but not unnoticed. David's eyes narrowed, but he let it pass, his own lips twitching as if he understood the absurdity of the metaphor.
"Our ancestors fought long and hard to get us to where we are now, and we will not let their sacrifice die in vain from our failures! Will you allow that, purveyors of democracy?!"
"SIR, NO, SIR!"
"Then know that there's no better sacrifice than for our society, and now that you have made it, that responsibility falls to you!" David thrust a finger toward the sky. "Be proud, cadets! You are well and truly known as the defenders of our democracy!"
The cadets screamed, their voices rising like a tidal wave, raging against the heavens for their indifference, then whooped in cheers for the one true flag, for the one true society that the standard represented, and for the sacrifices they themselves had made to get this far. The sound was deafening, a chorus of pure, unbridled patriotism that shook the very ground beneath their boots.
"STAY FREE, CADETS! FOR FREEDOM MUST REIGN OVER EVERY LAST STAR!"
As the Super Earth anthem blared through the speakers, the wild energy of the crowd snapped back into disciplined formation. Every cadet stood rigid, fists pressed firmly against their shoulders, eyes locked on the flag as Drill Instructor David turned to do the same. Then, with one collective breath, they began to sing.
"FREEDOM MUST REIGN OVER EVERY LAST STAR! THROUGH CITIZENS' BLOOD, SPILLED IN OUR RIGHTEOUS WARS! HONOR THEIR DEATHS, DO YOUR PARTS FOR THE CAUSE!"
Each cadet sang until they were hoarse, straining to outdo the anthem itself, to prove the depths of their devotion to Super Earth. Their voices filled the field, drowning out every other sound until there was nothing left but the choir of proud patriots; their song carried on the wind like a promise written in fire and blood.
After the opening ceremony came the awardings, a time set aside to commemorate each cadet for their own exemplary achievements. The names were called one by one, each accompanied by a brief description of the honor bestowed. Best Squad Leader. Best Marksman. Best Pilot. Best Runner. Best Medic. Every exemplary cadet was given the opportunity to be immediately signed on to the ceremonial Helldiver Corps, a corps of heroes from the First Galactic War, now defunct without humanity's enemies to challenge them. Without an enemy to fight, Super Earth had felt no need to keep them around. But should the enemies of democracy ever return—an inevitability, like all things in the galaxy—they would be the first to be called into the Helldivers. For now, they were officially commissioned into the SEAF's many branches: the medical corps, engineering corps, air force, navy, etc.
One such cadet was awarded Best Squad Leader, a recognition of his performance when in command. As Drill Instructor David put it, with absolute conviction, "There's no better cadet to trust your life with than him. He would sooner get himself declared a traitor to haul your behinds to extraction than to leave you alone. He represents what humanity does better than any other lifeform out in the galaxy: that we do not leave each other behind. That we are at our best when we serve others, so let us strive to do so! That is how civilization prospers, and that is how Super Earth will reign supreme!"
The awarding ceremony usually had the cadets' parents pin the medals on them personally. But as he stood on the stage alone, it was David who pinned the medals on him. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the distant sounds of the crowd and the rustle of the flag overhead.
"Where's your family, son?" David asked, his voice low enough that only he could hear.
The cadet swallowed, his throat tight. "Probably looking after my father, sir."
David's brow furrowed. "It's the most important day in your life, and they're missing out."
"True, sir, but my father needs company more than ever, sir."
"I see…" David held his gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he waved one of his personal aides over, a clean-shaven assistant with a head polished to a literal mirror sheen. The light caught the surface of her scalp and bounced back in a bright arc, making her look almost ethereal. Her eyes widened in anticipation of his order. "Abi, give this cadet's family a call."
"Yes, sir." She walked away briskly, already fishing her phone out of her pocket.
After that little interruption, the ceremony continued with brief remarks from the Superintendent of the Academy, a Ten-Star General whose chest was so laden with medals it seemed a miracle he could stand upright. This was followed by a digital, definitely not pre-recorded message from the President of Super Earth. Diplomas were distributed to each graduate, and as they returned to where they once stood, Super Drill Instructor David declared them all officially graduated.
The newly instated officers erupted into vigorous cheers, hurling their hats high into the air. The sky filled with a storm of black fabric and gold trim, a moment of pure, unbridled joy.
But the celebration was brief. Thus began the Academy's time-honored tradition: each officer was required to remain where they stood until their families tapped them out.
The Cadet was among them, standing with his diploma clutched tightly in his hands, chest puffed, shoulders squared, holding his breath as if the very air might betray him. One by one, the families of the officers around him tapped them out, releasing them from formation. Some of them—friends he knew, teammates he had saved—waved goodbye at him as they departed, their faces bright with relief and pride. But they did not tap him out.
Understandable. They were not his family to do so. And so, he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The formation shrank. Each officer went home to celebrate with their families, their laughter fading into the distance. Cleaners came and went, dismantling the stage and the decorations on the field. The sky turned orange, then deepened toward purple at the edges. The air grew cool, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and distant exhaust.
And yet, the Cadet remained there, his entire body aching, his bladder screaming, holding a stance for far longer than any body should be asked to endure. His muscles trembled with exhaustion, but he refused to move. He had come this far. He would not break now.
Finally, someone came.
It was Drill Instructor David, now in a different yet still crisp black service uniform. His aide, Abigail, followed tentatively behind, looking more subdued. David approached slowly, his boots crunching against the trampled grass. He eyed him up and down, the deep lines on his face pronounced by his frown.
He reached out and tapped he's shoulder, releasing him from formation at last. But his hand did not withdraw. It held there, anchoring him in place. His body sagged with relief, but something about the way David looked at him made the relief curdle into dread. Nothing good ever came from that frown.
"Son… You need to come with us."
Something about the way David stood—the rigid set of his shoulders, the softness in his voice—spoke of nothing good. The Cadet felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. Was he in trouble? What had he done wrong this time? He racked his brain for any infraction, any misstep that might have earned the ire of his commanding officer, but nothing came to mind. That only made the dread worse.
He had no choice but to follow David. The older man led him across the empty field toward a Fast Recon Vehicle painted in light blue ceremonial colors.
Abigail slid into the driver's seat with practiced efficiency, her mirror-polished head catching the dying light one last time before she pulled the door shut. David climbed into the back beside the Cadet and the buggy rumbled to life.
As the vehicle pulled away from the Academy grounds, the Cadet stole a glance at his Drill Instructor. This was the man who had run him into the ground, who had made him run laps until he threw up, who had made him assemble and disassemble his rifle in several different positions just to "be comfortable with the discomfort." The man who had screamed at him, berated him, broken him down and rebuilt him into something harder. Yet sitting here in the dim confines of the buggy, David seemed different. Diminished, somehow. The natural, instinctual chill that came from asking your commanding officer off-the-books questions crept up his spine.
He cleared his throat, steadying his voice. "Sir… am I in trouble?"
David slowly turned to look at him, his frown deepening. But it wasn't an angry one. There was something else in his eyes now, something that made he's chest tighten with unease.
"Remember when we made your platoon look at nasty photos of what happens after a botched bombardment?"
He felt a chill shoot down his spine as the images surfaced—charred landscapes, twisted metal, and worse things that had been burned into his skull. "Vividly, sir."
David held his gaze for a long moment, then turned to stare out the window. "…You're gonna want to brace yourself like y'all did that day."
He frowned, his mind racing. Was David going to make him look at dead bodies again? By that point, after live-action exercises that had cadets fighting actual dissident guerrillas, he had grown desensitized to violence and its aftermath. Blood, viscera, the cold stillness of the dead—these things no longer made him flinch. He could handle whatever the Drill Instructor had in store. Maybe this was another test, another lesson meant to toughen him up for the real deal. Whatever it was, he would endure it. The protectors of Super Earth did not falter in the face of grim mortality.
But David's silence said otherwise.
The van pressed on through the gathering dusk, the Academy shrinking in the rear window until it was nothing more than a smudge against the horizon. The city lights began to bloom in the distance, a glittering sprawl that should have felt comforting. Instead, it only deepened the sense that something was terribly, irrevocably wrong.
He still wasn't sure what David had meant, but he heeded the words all the same, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. One technique he'd learned during training involved distracting his mind by focusing on his surroundings, because thinking about what was to come only sowed more panic, and panic was a luxury no soldier could afford.
The tall spires of the city loomed over them, casting long shadows across the streets until the colony's star sank fully beneath the horizon. The last rays of light caught the windows of the towers and set them ablaze with orange fire before fading into cold blue glass. As they passed by the central park, the Cadet’s eyes landed on a statue of a Helldiver saluting proudly over the citizens who walked beneath it. He remembered a live-fire urban combat exercise conducted here once, designed to acclimate cadets to the chaos of urban warfare. The citizens had been very eager to join in when they saw the cadets rushing through the streets—too eager, perhaps. They'd come running with their own registered firearms, the complication being that they'd brought live rounds as opposed to the cadets' training ones. The memory would have been funny if it hadn't been so terrifying at the time. It almost felt like an insurrection unfolded before them.
The city shrank in the distance as Abigail steered them through its outskirts, into the colony's vast agricultural countryside where super farms filled the space where forests had once stood. Endless rows of genetically optimized crops stretched toward the horizon, their orderly ranks a testament to Super Earth's mastery over nature itself. Then he finally noticed something.
This path felt familiar. Too familiar.
It was the same road he took when returning to his family's farmhouse. The next city was several kilometers away, and there was no way David had booked them for a road trip when he'd been particularly vague about why they were leaving.
The cadet could only sit there in silence, unable to stop the dread creeping into his chest like ice water. The noise of the FRV's wheels grinding against the pebbles on the road did little to fill the silence. If anything, it only made the quiet between the three of them feel more suffocating.
After what felt like an eternity, the FRV reached the open fence gate of what the cadet recognized as his family's farm. The familiar creak of the hinges, the weathered posts he'd helped repair as a boy, the dirt path worn smooth by years of footsteps. They had really driven him home.
He could not distract himself with the scenery, not when his eyes fell upon the commotion at his house. His heart sank at the sight of the sirens flashing above a transport shuttle painted in stark black, parked near the farmhouse.
He turned to David, searching his face for answers, for some explanation that would make sense of the scene unfolding before him. But he found nothing except a sympathetic grimace, wearing an expression of having no words capable of softening the truth. Abigail hesitated at the wheel, her hands frozen mid-action, only continuing when David tapped the back of her seat.
The Cadet almost wished David would tell her to turn around and drive them back to the Academy. Just from the context clues outside—the black shuttle, the solemn couriers, the muffled sounds drifting through the open door—he didn't want to see what was going on in there. But the inevitable arrived as Abigail brought the FRV to a stop near the farmhouse. His farmhouse. He could hear the cries coming from inside, the kind of sounds that no amount of training could prepare a person to hear.
David exited first. He looked back at him, his eyes steady, making sure the young man left the vehicle too. It was too late to back out now. He stepped out of the FRV, his legs moving on instinct alone, while Abigail remained behind. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of her anxiously running a hand over her scalp, the polished surface catching the dim light.
He cast one more look at the transport shuttle. It wasn't an ambulance. It was a remains transport. The distinction mattered, and the realization of it settled into his bones like frost. The couriers who stood vigil beside a stretcher wore all-black utility jumpsuits and wide-brimmed hats that cast their faces in shadow. They bowed their heads as he and David stepped onto the porch, a gesture of respect that only deepened the hollow ache spreading through his chest.
The door was wide open. Warm light spilled onto the porch, carrying with it the scent of home—the faint sweetness of his mother's candles, the lingering aroma of a meal prepared but never eaten. He paused on the threshold, his feet refusing to carry him further.
He looked at David again, unsure what to say, unsure if any words were adequate for this moment. His instructor didn't know what to say either. For once, the man who always had a speech ready, who could command a room with a single word, offered only a hand on his shoulder and a nod toward the door. The pressure of that hand was firm, grounding, the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
He braced himself, or tried to, but no amount of preparation could have steeled him for what he witnessed inside.
His mother sat in an adjacent armchair, her head sunk into her palms, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. His sister sat on the floor beside the couch, tightly clutching the hand of the person lying lifeless upon it, interwoven with fingers that would never squeeze back. An oxygen tank stood unused in the corner, its mask dangling like an afterthought. A box of medicine, hastily prepared and left unopened, sat on a nearby table—all of it for naught.
And there, on the couch, lay his father.
He recognized him even beneath the white linen blanket draped over his body. It was a small mercy, but not enough. It could never be enough.
The sight sapped away all of his strength. His hands went slack, and his diploma slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor with a sound that seemed to echo through the entire house. He propelled himself toward his father's side, but his legs gave out halfway there, sending him crashing to his knees. The wail that tore from his throat was not a word so much as a rupture, a single syllable that carried all the weight of a world collapsing.
"Dad!"
David had heard recruits cry until their voices were hoarse—from pain, from frustration, from the sheer unrelenting anguish of training. But never had he heard the cry of grief. Not like this. It was a raw, despairing sound that cut through the air and lodged itself somewhere deep, the kind that stuck with you, that made you feel their sorrow as if it were your own. He had never heard his Cadet make a sound like that, and as he peered through the doorway, watching the young man collapse over his father's body, something in his chest tightened.
He wanted to say something, to offer some words of respect or comfort, but he didn't want to make this about him. This wasn't his grief to claim, not his moment to fill with rhetoric. He met his aide's eyes, and found that Abigail, too, wore a look of second-hand sadness, her usual composure cracked by the weight of what they were witnessing.
They gave the family a moment to mourn. But a moment was all it was.
One of the couriers glanced at his wrist, and a sharp beep cut through the air. "Their time is up. Time to retrieve the cadaver."
Without consulting the family, the two couriers took up the stretcher and pushed it close to the doorstep. David's eyes narrowed as one of them stepped toward the door, drawing a breath to speak. But before he could, David moved between him and the doorframe, filling the space like a wall of muscle and barely restrained fury.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Their regulated time to mourn is up. We have to bring the body back to be processed."
"Can't you see they're not ready yet?" David jerked his chin toward the family inside. "You let them decide when they're done. It ain't yours to decide."
"It's protocol, sir. I don't make the rules."
David's jaw worked, the muscles flexing as he fought the urge to break someone's jaw. Instead, he turned slightly and pointed at his Cadet, still deep in his despair, still kneeling beside his father's body. "My cadet just got here. You give him the space he needs, or I swear to Liberty, I'll make you wish you were the one who died."
The couriers exchanged a glance, then finally backed off. "Alright, sweet Liberty… damn."
David posted himself at the door and waited, unmoving, until his charge had let it all out.
The sun had fully dipped beneath the horizon, and the cold wind howled through the fields, carrying the scent of turned earth and distant rain. The family had finally finished mourning—or at least, they had reached the point where grief had to make room for the practicalities of loss. All three stepped outside, letting the couriers repatriate the father's body.
David stood beside his Cadet as the couriers emerged, carrying a zipped body bag between them. The stretcher creaked under the added weight. As one of them offered a few bureaucratic instructions delivered in a monotone to the mother and sister, Abigail finally exited the FRV. She approached the two women first, offering her condolences in a soft, careful voice. Then she moved to the Cadet.
She gave David a look, asking for permission. When he nodded, she reached out and wrapped him in a comforting hug. "Stay strong, soldier. He's at peace now."
His arms remained firmly at his sides, but his head lowered, resting his chin against her shoulder briefly.
David moved in after she let go, placing a hand on his shoulder once more. "May your father's soul rest peacefully in the arms of Lady Liberty, for he has given his fight to yours. The torch of his determination is yours to hold high, and it is up to you to take up his quarrel, and ensure he rests through every victory for democracy."
"I don't think now is the time for you to deliver your rhetoric, David," Abigail reproached with an unamused expression.
The Cadet said nothing. He crouched down to retrieve his fallen diploma, brushing a speck of dust from its surface. As he straightened, he looked to what remained of his family—his sister holding their mother in her arms as she continued to sob.
"Sir… may I request leave so I can be with my family?"
David nodded once. "Take all the time you need. Once you're combat-effective, contact Abigail, and I'll send you to your next deployment."
"I guess we should… return to the Academy, right?" Abigail asked sheepishly.
"We will leave you to yourselves, soldier. And if I haven't said it, my condolences."
He waved Abigail to his side. She cast one more look at the Cadet before they entered the FRV.
He watched as the vehicle drove away, its headlights shrinking before disappearing down the road. The silence that followed was vast and complete, broken only by the whisper of wind through the crops and the distant call of night birds.
He looked to his family one more time. Then to the sky, to the swirls of stars scattered across the darkness like spilled milk, to the waxing moon that hung low and pale on the horizon. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold night air, and went to them.
A year had passed since his father's passing. On May 17th, 2184, the Second Galactic War was declared, and the cadet had become a Helldiver—not just any Helldiver, but one of the first batch deployed into the fray. The galaxy had changed overnight, and so had he.
David had since taken him aboard the SES Flames of Liberty to serve as her Democracy Officer, a role that allowed him to remind the Helldiver now designated as A1 of why he fought. For Super Earth. For their homes. For freedom. And most importantly, for his father.
It was August 27th—the day he had lost him.
A1 was supposed to deploy on a Terminid-infested planet in the Celeste Sector, but instead, he was found on the observation deck, staring into the void. Literally. The stars stretched endlessly before him, cold and indifferent, and he stood motionless before the vast panorama like a man waiting for an answer that would never come.
Democracy Officer David stood by the star map, his arms crossed, his gaze flicking between the mission console and the distant figure of his charge. He knew what this day was, knew it with the same certainty that he knew the weight of a rifle in his hands. So he warned everyone—crew, pilots, deckhands—not to disturb the Helldiver in his rumination.
But one brave, rather reckless, and utterly oblivious soul managed to slip past him.
Evelyn had her pilot suit tightened, her oxygen mask filled, her core pulsating with anticipation for another mission. She was eager to get down there and tear things apart like they used to, to feel the familiar rush of dive-bombing a bug nest and watching the fireworks. But she had never seen her Diver like this. Not once. And it worried her.
Without announcing herself, she stood beside him, her eyes following his gaze to wherever it led. A distant star, perhaps. A meteor streaking silently through the dark. The cold expanse of the void. She waited, mustering the courage to speak.
"So… what's on your mind, big guy?"
"…A lot…"
"…Wanna talk about it?"
A1 thought about it for a long while. David glared at the back of Evelyn's head from across the deck, his jaw tight, but he remained where he was, for reasons only he understood.
"Today is… the day my dad passed away."
He kept it blunt, and the words landed like a slap to Evelyn's face. Her eyes widened, and she recoiled visibly, her bravado crumbling in an instant.
"Oh… shit." She swallowed hard. "I… Sweet Liberty, I'm… really sorry. What… what happened?"
He bit the inside of his cheek, the familiar sting grounding him. "A multitude of tumors wracked his body. So many that even our best healthcare providers couldn't cure him. And… it also had something to do with the amount of Dark Fluid radiation he was exposed to when he was working in one of those refineries."
"No one survives that much exposure to universe juice. It's… unfortunate he was one of them. What's… what's he like, if you don't mind?"
She shuffled closer, trying to use her physical presence to ground him, to remind him that he wasn't alone in this vast, empty observation deck.
A1 stayed silent, collecting whatever he could recall about the man who had shaped him. "Well, I told you he used to work at a Dark Fluid refinery for a spill, no pun intended. It was a high-paying job at the time, but then he started getting respiratory complications, so he quit. After that, he was part of the Super Earth Armed Force Arbitrator Corps—basically a military police. It got dissolved into the Super Earth Police Department instead, but what remained of the Arbitrators formed the Colonial Internal Affairs, tasked with making sure Super Earth colonies are following the laws that built our home's indestructible foundation."
His voice slipped into a tone resembling David for a moment. "Anyone who fell out of line was reeducated accordingly. But after getting too old for the job, he retired and bought a farm with many acres of land from my grandfather's pension and his own earnings, wanting to give back to Super Earth one more time."
Evelyn processed his words for a moment, then slinked her arm around his, holding his hand in comfort. "Hard-working man. Gave way too much for Super Earth, and still wanted to give more… I never even knew my dad. I'm just sort of… assigned to another family after a breeding initiative. It came without a father, but… I had a lot of brothers. Some of them acted like a dad. Only one of them came with me on this ship—as I'm sure you're familiar with him—but… he raised quite a hard-working son like yourself."
"Hardworking?" A1 chuckled faintly. "We each serve Super Earth in our own way."
"Well, I haven't seen other Helldivers busting their super ass to make sure everyone else makes it to the Shuttle before themselves. Most of the time, it's every Diver for themselves. Never once was a reinforcement ever spent on a mission with you around, and… I always wondered why. Most don't really give a super damn."
He sighed, reflecting on another memory. "That's because before I joined the Academy, he… told me something that stuck with me. That every person has people waiting for them to return, people who loved them, who only wish to see them again. And if I wanted to become a Helldiver—if they make their return—and I can't bring myself back, then I should make it so everyone else can have that chance."
"Hardworking and wise." Evelyn nodded along with genuine admiration. "You have any idea how many people would even consider that? That mindset is what we all should strive to have, but…" She sighed. "We each serve Super Earth in our own way. Our own sometimes scummy, sometimes selfish, sometimes reckless way."
"Yeah, if only other Helldivers could be like me." He chuckled with a hint of irony. "I'm… still surprised I'm alive anyway, because that's not really a safe mindset to have."
"We should…" She sighed again, saddened. "Be thankful you're still around. Because keep in mind, asshole, I'm the one waiting for you on this ship. All of us are, sure, but me? Most especially. So for my sake, you better not get your ass killed pulling your altruistic stunts."
"Eve, you know I can't make that promise."
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Better start practicing fulfilling promises, then. Anyways… how about we get your mind off of being all sad, and go squash some bugs, yeah? Your dad wouldn't want you to keep mourning him, not when all these things are happening."
A1 let out another sigh—content this time—and turned to face her, nodding with determination. Then he looked towards David, who gestured toward the star map with an expectant smile. Together, they moved to join him.
"The floor is yours, Helldiver. Let’s make your old man smile.”
A1 stopped beside the star map, looked at the planet they were orbiting, and began cycling through the available missions. His mood was renewed, his morale restored, and most importantly, his fervor to eradicate aliens burned bright once more.
"I'll finish this mission in your name, Dad," he muttered to himself, and to someone he hoped would have heard.
…
