The lower rings of the Aegis Citadel didn't have a sky.They were topped with dripping ferro-crete, cramped with rusted exhaust pipes and naked, buzzing power lines. Here the air was coppery and foul with cheap synthetic fuel and the shadows were deep enough to conceal an army.We took an abandoned underground plant for reclaimed water in Sector Four. It was a miserable, rotting hole of dry concrete cisterns and broken analog machinery, but it had three separate escape routes and walls thick enough to block Citadel thermal-scans.I was sitting on a turned around chemical drum in the darkness, watching the Vanguard veterans carefully scrubbing their kinetic rifles with chemical light-sticks. There were only forty-seven of us left. We were in the pit of the world's bestial economy.With her fingers dancing across the shards of glass on her pioneer datapad, Nova announced softly, "I've tapped into the Citadel's main broadcast grid. Her violet eyes mirrored the stark, scrolled, city's new

The Aegis Citadel was supposed to be a fortress, but to a slum-forged rat, it was just a house with too many doors.We did not wait for the morning. We passed through the dense, thick fog of Sector Four, through the broken down ferro-crete walls and the thick walls of the Citadel rose above us. The rain had stopped, and the night was full of the smell of ozone and the metallic tang of impending violence.I was in the shadows of a broken overpass with my kinetic rifle in my hands. Behind me, in the dark, were 47 Vanguard veterans, with their weapons ready.Deep underground, in the underworld transportation systems, Vargas and his Iron Vipers were waiting.Nova's breath fanned out in the cold air, "Vargas confirms charges are set," she whispered over the short-range comms.I said, "Blow the floor.I told him to "blow the floor.There was a localized earthquake which vibrated through the soles of my boots and was muffled. In a split second, a huge geyser of fire and broken asphalt shot up

A throne of ash doesn't come with an instruction manual. It comes with a mop and a target on your back.The Aegis Citadel was a bloody mess, for three days after the siege. The Vanguard held the upper spires, but control is a tenuous thing when 80 percent of the city is hungry, rioting, or attempting to rebuild barricades. Where the High Council had been held was now a sterile, shiny marble surface marred by footprints, dried blood and the smoke of a thousand small fires.I was at the large, window-to-window window, gazing down at the lower rings. In the glass, I saw a dark figure, with dark circles around my golden-blue eyes, tactical webbing around my new, dark-forged Kevlar vest, and my heavy, tectonic-scarred arms crossed over my chest.Maya entered the chamber and said, "We have bread riots in Sector Two. She laid a pile of analog logistics reports on the broken remains of Thorne's desk. The agricultural silos in the Fringe haven haven't been able to ship a new harvest since the

A vault built before the dawn of time doesn't have a keypad, and it doesn't have a handle. It is secured by the sheer, terrifying arrogance of the people who forged it.I was standing in front of the huge door of the First Witness. The metal was unworked, unpolished and had no seams. It was not of the sleek, silver True Architects nor of the rusted iron Caretakers. It was a solid, primal alloy that absorbed the light of the Dead Zone.No looking for a lock. I laid my bare, scarred from tectonics hands against the middle of the large slab.I applied the unnatural density of my skeleton, which is Omniversal-baked. I didn't push with muscle, I pushed with the weight of a man who will not be deterred by closed doors. A cracking of the earth under my feet, spidering outwards as the kinetic transfer reached its peak.The universe stood silent for a second. After that, the original alloy creaked. The giant vault door began to slowly back up, and as it opened, it made a sound loud enough to e

Pain is the universal language of the living. When your bones are forged in the raw, crushing gravity of an Omniversal core, breaking them requires a cataclysm.I was speaking that language fluently, lying on the flawless, polished, silver floor of the Archive. My arms were completely useless and my bones were so dense they were shattered into painful splinters under my skin. On every shallow breath I took, a localized tremor of white-hot agony shook my chest.​But I didn't scream. I simply looked up at the tall silver automaton that loomed above me.The machine said, "Your biological chassis is critically compromised.It was my voice that was heard. It wasn't ragged, it wasn't slum-forged, it wasn't exhausted, but it was absolutely finalized certainty of the tone, and it was a perfect, chilling replication of Kaelen Vance.​"Who are you?" I grunted, rolled onto my side with an agonizing spasm, not wanting to stay flat on my back in front of a threat.The automaton replied, "I am the