1. Burning
Leaves turned to cinder as they fell to the ground. The air burned with the intense heat emanating from the crater that had been gouged into the floor of the forest. Caestrel, squad leader of Burj forward unit 4, stood slowly behind the ruins of the ancient tower he had been using as cover; his helmet was cracked across the left side, and his armor leaked interface medium from the left elbow and knee joints. Searching the forest around him, he opened a communications bridge with the reconnaissance ship in the upper atmosphere over the engagement area.
“This is Exhilt, bearer; Caestrel. Requesting tagging of moving objects in a fifty meter radius from my position."
A mechanical voice sounded in his helmet.
“Exhilt, confirmed. Processing request. Processing. Scanning. Scanning. Tagging complete.”
The display on the inside Caestrel's helmet populated with several orange dots, each one indicating a source of movement. Unfortunately, the left side of the screen was distorted due to the damage it had sustained in the blast a few minutes before.
Turning his head to offset the reduced field of view, Caestrel's breath caught as he saw one of the dots growing rapidly, indicating that the object marked was quickly approaching. He twisted his body to the right to get out of the way, the damaged armor on his left side reacting more slowly than expected due to the loss of the interface medium. The object glanced off his his left side, damaging the armor further, and sending him spinning to the ground. It came to a halt about ten meters away. Caestrel could tell it bore a humanoid shape, however, before he could make out more detail, it began running toward him, zig-zagging in and out of the distorted portion of his helmet display.
Grasping his faceplate, Caestrel triggered the release and tore it away, restoring his full field of vision. He was momentarily disoriented by the clear view of the forest and ruins around him, unaccustomed to seeing the world around him without the various status indicators and markers that usually filled his vision. Hot air met his lips as he took in breath, his lungs burning as they met the planet's unfiltered atmosphere for the first time.
Caestrel rolled as a plasma lance danced out from the figure, striking the ground where he had been laying. The ground seemed to ignite as another small crater opened where the lance struck, sending a torrent of painfully hot air washing over his exposed face. Rising quickly to his feet, he was forced back as he attempted to dodge several rapid strikes from the sizzling polearm. The figure whipped the lance around, bringing it sharply against the weakened armor on his left leg, shattering the panel and snapping the bones behind it before following through, severing the leg just below the knee. Caestrel fell on his back, crying out in pain and dismay.
The figure was clad in chunky grey armor that reflected the glow of the plasma lance as they readied it, charging the it for the final blow. At this short distance, Caestrel could see clearly through the transparent visor of the figure's helmet. To his shock, he saw a human's face, a woman, scowling back at him with disgust. Desperately, Caestrel cried out to her, his voice hoarse from breathing the ash laden air.
“Wait! You're human. What are you doing? I'm on your side. We should be standing together! Humans shouldn't be fighting each other at a time like this.”
Barking out a harsh laugh, the woman replied, her voice dripping with disdain.
“You're on my side? You? Do you honestly believe that?”
She leaned in closer.
“You're not a human, you're a joke.”
Leaned in as she was, Caestrel could see his visorless reflection on the woman's faceplate. With horror, he saw two camera's positioned in the eye sockets of a poor facsimile of a human face, the synthetic skin melted and drooping. Looking down at his destroyed leg, he saw a mess of steel rods and frayed cables, multiple tubes leaked viscous fluid on the ground. Struggling to reconcile what he was seeing, Caestrel tilted his head back up, returning his view to the woman's face. He briefly saw a look of pity there as she drew the lance back and rammed it into his chest.