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This takes place on the North American continent at the outset of the H.S.A-Federation War, three weeks before the events of Fallen Sky.

* * *

_ It is the year 2201. It has been over a century since the Great War, the war where Humanity was toppled from its place of power over Earth. Now, humankind's achievements, cities of splendor and wonder, lie in ruins, the race's dreams crushed beneath clawed feet. Only a few human cities remain. The main stronghold for the Human Resistance is the former English Alliance, what was once known as Great Britain. Now, the Dalynther, a race of dragon-like creatures, rule the world, although like the humans before them, they are divided. There are several countries - Halthan, the Akthali Federation, the Alliance, the Shadowstone Enclave, and many others. The world has changed much. South and Central America are inhospitable wastelands, Europe is a mess of hive-cities, factories, and pollution, North America is little more than a ruined cityscape, Asia is a land of nigh-endless plains broken only by the occasional fortress, Africa is now nothing but a series of shattered islands, covered in alternating deserts and jungles, Australia is merely a desert full of ruins and craters, and the countless islands that dot the sea are now mostly either military installations, human colonies, or they are merely nonexistent. The world has certainly changed._

* * *

Sergeant Hathtor of Third Squad, 15thMechanised Infantry, H.S.A. Elites, cursed and threw himself into cover as a heavy solid shot round from one of the Federation's O-19 Raider tanks slammed into the already ruined human building behind him. They were fighting in one of the human's ancient cities; a blasted, ruined hellscape once called New York City - apparently, one of the Akthali Federation's mechanised divisions had set up a forward base of operations here. The two factions were currently fighting in a place that had once been called "Timeless Square" or something like that - from the pictures Hathtor had seen of its day, it had been a too-bright place full of crude, flashy old neon signs and billboards, advertisements, that sort of thing. He leapt into a nearby impact crater made in some ancient war, yelling into his helmet's soldier-to-soldier radio for one of his squad to bring up the F-12 Tempest Missile Launcher to take out the Raider.

Hathtor was dressed in the green and black armour of the 15thMechanised, with interlocking parts concealing his entire body, granting it protection while still allowing for mobility. He also had a helmet, similar but not exactly the same as the ones used by the H.S.A. Regulars. It was more advanced, based off of reverse-engineered tech taken from the Federation and given only to the Elites. It allowed him to identify friends or foes by certain signifiers that were or were not transmitted directly to him via wavelength; it allowed him to see heat signatures; it allowed him to check on his squad's position and status, on the entire position and status of the whole damned taskforce; and, of course, it allowed him to pull up a map to compare his own position to his allies' and enemies', or call out coordinates for air or artillery strikes. He, like almost everyone in the 15th, was armed with a Z-37 Automatic Pulse Carbine - a weapon which worked by firing a solid shot and then a pulse signal on a high frequency that would ignite the volatile core within the round, turning it into a blaze of energy that burned through armour and flesh with equal ease, though the thick skin of a battle tank could absorb it and hundreds like it without a pause.

As for his physical appearance without his armour, he was quite different. He was tall, muscular, with simple gray-green scales all around, with black hair and green eyes. He was commonly regarded as too damn cheerful for his own good, and the good of those around him, but if one ever observed him in a combat situation, they would realise that the joking exterior was merely a cover for a stern, brutal core used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

The rest of his squad was different, as well. Four soldiers, three of them just the veteran Elites like Hathtor only without command, while the fourth was a big old drake that served as their heavy trooper. And, of course there was the Talon Infantry Transport Tank, a hover tank (Commonly referred to amongst the more crude-minded troops as the T.I.T.T.), which could hold up to ten soldiers, and was lightly armed and armoured - equipped with only a single pulse-minigun, it was designed for rapid response and deployment, and only minimum troop support once they were on the ground - the Mechanised Infantry regiments were starting to switch to the Hellstrike Combat Transport, which could only five soldiers, but was heavily armoured and was armed with two pulse-miniguns, one on each wing, and a heavy forty-five millimeter cannon turret-mounted on its top. It couldn't fly as fast, and so it was most often used in convoys, not the rapid-response teams like Hathtor's, but it put up a better fight.

From what Hathtor knew, there was a major armour battle going on outside this city - Federation tanks against those of the H.S.A., while the mechanised companies dueled within the cramped streets of New York. But right now, the only thing he cared about was the heavy Raider that was keeping him in cover, its hardpoint and sponson machine guns keeping him and his men in cover, while the main battle cannon destroyed that cover.

Even as this happened, Komak, the heavy trooper, rose up from the building behind them, shouldering the heavy Tempest and firing, the missile streaking down from the top floor and connecting with a solid explosion where the turret met the hull. Thick, ugly black smoke began rising from the hatches of the tank, and it had completely stopped moving, its tracks going dead.

With a halfhearted cheer, Hathtor and his soldiers, with the exception of Komak, who was rushing down to catch up with them, emerged from cover, storming towards the end of the square, intent on completing their objectives - capturing or destroying all of the bridges. Even as they started out, a group of Federation soldiers, who looked almost to be exact mirrors of the H.S.A. Elites, with the exception of a few details - their armour was red and white, they carried heavy solid-shot rifles (which, Hathtor knew, were deadly - their ammunition had an armour piercing tip and an explosive core that would only explode after puncturing armour. This caused much havoc inside of a suit of armour.), and their helmets and their armour in general was of a slightly different style to the H.S.A. - it seemed slightly more decorative - slightly flanged pauldrons, fancier helmets with enhanced gear, that sort of thing. They opened fire, a volley of highly explosive rounds, as soon as they saw the green-and-black armoured Elites storming towards them, who ducked into cover and returned the shots with a fusillade of pulse-rounds. He saw at least one of them go down, the rest scrambling for cover as they prepared to continue the firefight - at least delay these invaders.

And then, of course, the Ganhure arrived, as Hathtor had called for.

The Ganhure was a massive hover-tank, a battle tank. It was, in all respects, the H.S.A. equivalent of the Federation Raider. Its heavy cannon fired, blowing apart the corner where some of the Federation troops had taken cover. Two bodies, burned and mutilated almost beyond recognition, flew away from the shattered corner, as did a rain of body parts, armoured in red and white, while the Ganhure's heavy sponsons tore up the windows of the buildings where the rest of them were holed up.

Eventually, Hathtor ordered the tank to stop and move on while he and his squad stormed the building, finding that only a handful of the enemy troops were alive, and two of them were severely injured - the third was surrendering, it seemed. As he studied the three, he realised that the two hurt ones were both male, but the one that was unharmed was most certainly female. An oddity, for the shock-troops of a mechanised regiment.

"Helmet off!" Hathtor snapped, aiming his rifle at the female - all three of the warriors appeared to be unarmed.

She did as he said, releasing her helmet clasps and dropping the piece of armour on the floor, raising her arms once again in a gesture of surrender.

She was attractive, with black scales decorated with red tattoos, red hair, and red eyes. She had an ear piercing, and she looked at him with fierce hatred.

"Huh. What's a pretty one like you doing in a place like this?" He asked with a grin.

"To Hell with you! I'm here to surrender to your commander!" She spat on the ground.

"Hmhmhm, it may be a little while, sweetheart, maybe we can get to know each other a little better in the meantime?" He asked casually, pulling out some iron bracers, and putting them on the female's wrists and ankles, then clicked a button to mag-lock them together, then repeating the process with the two injured males.

"I'll get them back to the base; you guys go up with the Ganhure and secure the bridges."

Their orders received, they swiftly did as said and Hathtor began shoving her towards their squad's Talon, which was parked nearby - they had disembarked swiftly, and the tank was hovering on idle where it had landed.

"Come on, a bit of a walk, sweetheart."