Jace took a deep breath.

            And then another one.

            And one more just in case.

            A hand slapped him on the back, surely knocking all of that air out of his lungs, “Come on Jace, we can’t hide from bad news forever.”

            It was Lionel, the high commander of Atlantis. ‘He was tall and imposing’ is probably the stereotype for people in his position, but Lionel was a meek man with a stooped back and neck. He had a few good sets of bags under his eyes and extremely pale skin, probably a few dozen times lighter than Jace’s. He could usually be found in his bathrobe more often than in his actual uniform, and most people on base agreed he never left. There was a bit of a bet on whether or not he was just a clever ghost haunting the place.

            The automatic doors hinged open once Lionel swiped his lanyard. Jace, with his deep and calming breaths knocked out of him, reluctantly followed.

            The table was small, and the ceiling was low. Not exactly the war room one would expect. However, the walls, floors, and most objects were plastered with diagrams, maps, and obvious marks of frustration (namely: bright red curse words on the more damning reports).

            Callista, who was already seated, nodded at him, but otherwise didn’t react. Although the muscular, deadly, and deadpan woman was Jace’s work buddy, work was probably the one place where they didn’t have much to do with each other. Jace wished they were out drinking at their usual place. Her personality changed a bit when she started drinking. Jace liked that version of her.

            The few other individuals in the room were either owners of major businesses or politicians. Jace took his seat across from Callista and started to thumb through one of the printouts that had been laid on the table.

            His hands were shaking.

            Callista noticed.

            Jace chastised himself for getting so shaken up, but his body just wouldn’t listen. It was just one battle, literally his job, and yet his body and mind felt so… so distant after everything. He couldn’t quite understand what this mixture of emotions really meant. There was fear and horror, there had to be, but underneath it all it felt like there was a different emotion… he felt like he needed to put a name to it, but he couldn’t.

            Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this.

            Of course, it was a bit too late to submit a resignation letter.

            Lionel stood at the front of the table and coughed, less for appearances and more so due to his general sickliness, but it caught everyone’s attention all the same, “Well, we’ve figured some things out.”

            A few moments passed before one of the business owner’s spoke up, “And?”

            “It’s all there in the handout. Once you’ve all read it, we can discuss the… uh, the issues at hand, I suppose.”

            A politician thumbed through the pages, clearly not taking in any information, “The short version?”

            “That is the short version.”

            “Dammit Lionel, just tell us what’s going on?”

            Clearly Jace and Callista were the only one’s bothering to read the thing. Maybe because their lives would be the most impacted.

            Lionel squeezed his eyes shut and sighed a bit too loudly, “Considering the fact that the fate of the city is being called into question, I would highly suggest reading it. This is one of those rare disasters that you should really be fully aware of.” He pointed at the map behind him, which was one of the documents liberally plastered with expletives, “The enemy MAC was a mass-produced model from the west, likely from The Alley.”

            “Warmongering bastards…”

            “Yes, they are a bit, and it appears that we’re next on the chopping block. They have a ground force centered around two mobile citadels. We don’t know the exact model, but each one could carry anywhere from fourteen to twenty MACs. Their conventional weapons are nothing to ignore either. Quite frankly, we’re outnumbered and then some.”

            “What’s Atlantea’s position on all this?” Callista finished the document and looked more than a bit distressed. Jace was starting to think he’d feel the same if the next few pages said what he thought they would say.

            “Atlantea is in negotiations. They’ll probably agree to cede their territory.”

            “Just like last time…”

            “Exactly. Unless they can get the support from the resistance in Old Mexico or the Union up north it will most likely be exactly like last time.”

            “So we’re just switching up leaders then? That makes it easy, no need to fight! I’ve heard The Alley is a dream come true for anyone looking to expand operations.” The businessman pushed back his chair and started to gather his things, “Let’s just hurry up and meet with their people and get things finalized.”

            “Well I’m not signing a damn thing! You think they’ll just let us continue to govern ourselves? They’ll bring in some new foreigners to run the place!” The politicians of the room were clearly unhappy about being replaced.

            “Oh calm down. The ‘campaign contributions’ our company has given you should be more than enough for you to live out a comfortable life.”

            The two continued to bicker back and forth; the businessman trying to leave and the politician holding him back. Lionel let them continue for a while, clearly too exhausted to bother with them or any of the other now-bickering participants.

            Finally, the businessman shouted as he took a step out of the room, “Just be glad you’re not getting hanged you cockroach.” It was quite the heated argument.

            The ensuing silence was enough for Lionel to step in without having to raise his voice, “Actually, that’s the sticky bit.” All eyes were on him, “The Alley, though they do a decent job of hiding it, has quite the history of… well, of genocide.”

            The room froze. This was the part of the handout that really broke Jace and Callista down: no reinforcements, an enemy that dwarfed them, both MACs damaged severely, and a nearly certain chance of mass murder. Although the city wasn’t surrounded yet, Jace doubted anyone could evacuate faster than The Alley could blow them to pieces.

            The argument had now shifted more toward desperation and fear. Nobody was happy about this news.

            Of course, the argument meant nothing. The Alley was the winner here. There was no debating that. They will be the ones making the decisions when all of the bodies are piled up. Jace gave Callista a bit of a nod and they excused themselves from the meeting.

            The door shut behind them, silencing the endless back and forth between the hopeless idiots inside.

            “Drinks?” Callista had only one way of communicating: through a bottle.

            But, with Jace’s head still filled to the brim with horrid, nightmarish, and complicated thoughts of his last battle, a drink or two… or a few dozen might clear up all this fog that he can’t seem to get away from. Or maybe fog things up enough that he stops thinking about it all.

                                                                                       ~~~