Battalion

-Nyserian Wastelands, Ohtan, AO-018 Star System, 11:05 Galactic Standard Time-

The valley was like a bowl, a massive crater of orange dust and twisted heaps of slag. Nothing had survived the blast, thank heavans. The DI had even hired a digging crew to search a hundred or so yards deeper for any further sign of the failure. None was found. Jorges Ihsinger's polished black dress shoes crunched the dirt under him as they shifted slowly. There would be no one to blame except him for this. There was no one left, after the city was leveled. Just a few bureaucrats that couldn't even be connected to the incident, and Jorges's aid, Quisore. The damn thing would be pinned on him, with a million families to answer to.

Behind him the roar of burning air stopped abruptly, followed by an earsplitting whine and a thump. A booted foot stepped down, the cust under it crunching distinctly. He could almost feel Bruk's breath on his neck. There was a brief silence as a gust swept up the fine dust all around, creating a brief sandstorm around the two figures. Then, accusing words. "None of this had to happen, you know." Jorges grunted back at Bruk's words in angry affirmation.

"Why'd you create it if you knew it couldn't be controlled?" Jorges thought out an answer for that one for a few seconds before responding. "We thought we could. We thought we were controlling it. It had us thinking we were successful." Behind him, Bruk shifted his weight, sighing heavily. "Nevertheless, I've got to take you over to San Audria."

Jorges turned to face the hulking marine, and stepped past him onto the prison ship. This would kill his reputation.

Three days earlier...

"For twenty years Biotech has held Project Wetstone at the highest priority as a sign of its enduring service to the Coordinate's military forces. And now, after two decades of experiments, examinations, tweakings, and a few reconstructions, Biotech is prepared to formally announce the completion of Wetstone." The dank, pitch black room lit up as red klaxons began screaming warnings. A few yards ahead, a jumble of clinking and whirring halted abruptly as a door (which had frighteningly too much in common with an airlock) pulled itself open, revealing a vast system of artificial catacombs that stretches to the horizon of view.

Inside the catacombs, something rustled to life. Not just one thing, hundreds... thousands... no doubt millions. In the darkness of the room, a screen suddenly lit up, outlining what seemed to be a physical map of the product, a living organism designed and engineered to kill. The beasts were small, no larger than your average beagle. What scared every man and woman in that room was the double-jointed front legs which ended in jointed, chitin-based claws. The joints throughout the legs of each 'product' made it possible for them to extend foreleg length quickly, giving them a deadly slashing motion that could have your intestines on the floor in milliseconds.

During the time that the tour crew was presented the layout of Wetstone's physiology, second thoughts ran through each of the members' heads. Was this really a good idea? What were they getting into? Could peace really be bought through such gruesome weapons?

Later that night...

"Listen, if anything's impossible, it's these little critters getting out of the facility." Vince Tulu commented, brushing a hand fondly over the backup security systems' control pad. There must have been over a hundred large buttons and blinking lights on the thing, Colonel Jim Strayse thought to himself, bemused by the security presentation he had already finished earlier on the sewage and waste product removal systems. His attention was called back to Tulu when the large security officer began speaking in his grunting tones again. "Now, each of the critters has been engineered with a gene specific only to their species. We've created a protogas that will target this gene, and destroy it along with the organism. Gas faucets have been installed throughout the entire facility, so any signs of breakout and all I have to do is press this little red button," he motioned with one large hand to a 'little red button' on the control pad, "and the hallways and corridors will be littered with dead products." He shifted his view to another, larger green button now. "In addition, as of this moment, the products aren't even conscious. We keep their bloodstreams filled with a toxin that keeps them sleeping like babies. The bioengineers have emplaced a biological activation node in the brains of each of the little beasties, which we can send electrical pulses through to awaken them and give them rough commands, like 'move forward', 'stop', and 'eat'." He paused, scratching his balding head. "Of course, the neural node is relatively untested. However, all of our experiments with it have turned out positive."

Strayse nodded, picking up the survey sheet he had placed on a nearby iron-bolted desk. "Well, Vince, much as I hate having dog-sized killing machines doing the fighting for us, I would enjoy seeing them all rot in Biotech's halls." Strayse was one of the many Biotech cynics, as he wasn't officially affiliated with the corporation. Quickly checking off the 'Proper Safety Precautions' field in several areas, Strayse shook his old friend's hand and walked out of the office, building, facility, and security base, heading for Brohmston Military Base, not knowing that he would never again see the aging head of security.

The alarm blared in Strayse's ears, the red klaxons breathing crimson light into the shady hallways of the Nyseri Military Compound. Jogging towards the armory, the Colonel slowly reviewed the briefing in his head.

There's been an incident in the Biotech facility. While it'll most likely be dealt with by corporate security and safety systems, we must nevertheless assemble the men and assumen tactical bombardment position around the facility. Remember, if the signal to fire comes, do not let the battery operators hold anything back. If this problem escapes Biotech labs, we have specific orders to level the facility and everything inside.

Ahead him loomed the armory, the mechanically operated portion of the compound where the footsoldiers of the Coordinate's armed forces were equipped with their powered armor and weapons. Locking his feet in place on his designated armory platforms, Strayse attempted to relax as an iron molde forced itself around his arms, legs, and back, positioning his torso so the armor could be emplaced correctly and efficiently. As mechanized arms emplanted large chunks of steel, tin, and microfiber on the Colonel's body, a standard debriefing ran through the helmets of each infantry unit.

After the gauntlets and grieves had been fused on, the locks on Strayse's limbs eased off, freeing him of the armory and its cold effectiveness. "All AO-39 units, assume position around the Biotech facility. If anything steps a foot out of those labs, bring the whole thing down."