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Head straight for their territory….Blue’s territory, their pride and joy, their base. Andrea thought to herself. She weaved through the crowd before reaching Blue’s barbed wire gate



She grabs Rey roughly by the shoulder— though only an act for the general. “Go help Dantier.” She hisses, softly, so soft even Rey would have to strain to be able to hear her, and she was right next to his ear, then gives him a cold smile, saying out loud. “Good luck, soldat” Andrea grabs a backpack, and casually steps off the plane. Red’s territory. Blue’s territory. It was all quite obvious to her. Dead bodies scattered all over the place. Especially blood. Now this was precisely why she hated the battlefield. She preferred being a spy. Well she would rather she was not in this war at all. But being a spy was better than being a soldier. Andrea knew a lot of people. Even those from Blue. After all, she was a spy. Dantier had jumped off first, she saw him. Andrea’s head is working furiously. She knew Blue had a formidable team. Jaxon, Bree, Sans, all old ‘friends’. Well, they were a good trio, no doubt about that. She feels about in her pockets for her blades, making sure they’re safe.

The chaos magic calls her, causing an urge so great to use it she might just die from resisting it. The battlefield had sparked a insatiable hunger in her, one that seemed so psychotic yet at the same time so right. As much as she tried to deny it, despite all the surface fear of losing allies, hating being in battle, she knew this was where she truly belonged. The fear would come afterwards, she would deal with it, that weaker part of her. Deep down, she knew she was a killer. A monster. Coming from the fiery pits of hell, a part of her itched to see more bloodshed, to ruin lives. Back where she belonged. The Queen of Chaos

---

Jaxon armed himself with a Beretta M9 that he checked over quickly, removing the clip and placing it back, checking the bolt, the shell rejection, and the safety. Storing it in the front of his pants, the large soldier stepped over to the edge of the helicopter. He was among the last few to jump. The heavy man wore no parachute, much to the surprise of the pilots. One of them turned, looking back at the remaining soldiers, who were getting ready to jump. "I don't think he was wearing a parachute!" One soldier grinned, a senior officer to nearly all who had just jumped. "Of course not!" With that, he stepped out of the chopper, freefalling. The large form of Jaxon fell before him, freefalling the full way. Deploying his parachute, the officer grinned, watching Jaxon fall, lower, lower, lower...

When he hit the ground, Jaxon sent up a wave of metal shreds and dust. He'd hit the rear of a tank, demolishing the armor in an instant. He sat frozen for two seconds, forced into silent stillness. After those seconds passed, he stood carefully, stepping over sharpened fragments of heavy metal. Looking around through the clearing dust, he saw bodies scattered, bloody and mauled. The crew of the tank shouted, scrambling out of their quarters with great alarm. Looking down at where he'd landed, Jaxon paused. He'd smashed through the engine housing, breaking open the fuel tank. This left the engine prone to explosion, and it didn't seem to stop with the sparking that was happening, the tank trying in vain to restart itself. Jaxon sighed, then grabbed for his weapon, hopefully not crippled by the impact. Kicking at the engine, Jaxon tried to stop it from sparking, from flinging the begging sparks into the leaking fuel. This only caused it to spark more, much to his dismay. After a few moments, the engine itself caught on fire, causing Jaxon to sigh and quickly hit the ground, braced for an impact. The engine exploded mere moments after he activated his ability, a violent fireball flinging the poor soldier a good ten yards. When he landed, he heard the all-too familiar sound of a sandbag resisting his push. He went still, listening to a vicious gun firing just above him. A machine-gun nest, or part of one. Jaxon had already used his two charges for the fifteen-minute time period. Checking his weapon quickly, Jaxon determined that it was still in a fully operational state. Taking a few quick breaths, the man put a shell in the chamber. He had fifteen bullets in that magazine, and two more clips with him. That was forty-five rounds to defend himself and clear out the entire nest. He'd have to resort to fighting guns with his bare hands, if anything went wrong...

Grey was almost there. He was getting closer and closer to the base. His leg seemed to be on fire, though only slightly more than usual. He kept crawling, his fingers digging through the dirt, until-


He took the backpack, shouldering the straps and checking each one to make sure it was secure. He looked down, and immieadiently regretted it. The sounds of the battle were competing with the screams in his head, ripping his brain Grey was no amatuear, he knew what he was doing. But for some reason, he paused slightly before jumping off. He shook his head. The nerves were getting to him again. He jumped, and at the right moment, he released the parachute, letting it bloom out behind him as he went. He landed easily, checking his arm guards. They were his Old Faithfuls, the guards that had lead him to victory and kept the metal in his fists from shifting. He could trust them and them alone. A young, naive soldier near him looked up with confusion as he crouched. "Why don't you have a weapon?!" Despite himself, before sprinting off, he yelled back with a pained grin, "Son, I am the weapon!"

---

Lediana had just landed. She had a strategy in mind: Kill as subtly as possible, keep in the shadows. She had a few throwing stars, blades, and a pistol hidden in her bodysuit. She grabbed the pistol, keeping distance was better for now. She locked onto a Red soldier, he didn’t even know she was there! But she couldn’t fire. Memories rushed back, a voice, her old neighbour’s voice, calling her dangerous, calling her a monster. She lowered her pistol. She wouldn’t let her old neighbour be right! But then what was she here for!? This was a battle, she couldn’t just stand here doing nothing! She wasn’t a medic either, her job was to fight. Lediana felt lost. For now, she could only sneak around, watching.

---

"Duck!" Rey ducked. Everything was a dizzy trance, and Rey's bright flame had reduced to a small ember. All he could do was follow the little voice's instructions. In the background there was a faint shouting, from probably the general. He was ordering everyone to charge towards blue. Rey took a step and prepared to run, or stagger, towards the base. "Duck!" screamed the voice. No, too tired. Said Rey's entire body. "Move, Move!" thought Rey. But he couldn't. He was completely drained. Out of nowhere, a bullet whizzed past and grazed the side of Rey's head. Blood pouring, he staggered backwards, and fell. Then everything went black.

The world started spiralling, and Rey fell into a dark cold room. Was he dead? He openned his eyes. The room was large, Cracked, black marble lined the floor, and smooth obsidian pillars lined the walls of the room. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't so dark. Rey turned around, and a stone chair stood grandly at the middle of the room. Red candles, flickering brightly lined the platform where it stood. It served as the only source of light in the room. On the chair, sat a young woman, which probably wouldn't be any older than him.. Chains from the ceiling, the floor and the chair enveloped her, so that only her head was visible. Many broken chains lay on the ground, broken from a obvious struggle.

"You've finally come. Free me." Rey took a step forward, only to collapse on the ground. He couldn't move. The walls started to crack. A bright red liquid started to leak, undoubtly blood. The young woman looked and sighed. "Huh. You're dying. I can't have that happenning. Well then, we'll leave that to our next meeting." That was undoubtly the voice inside his head. It was her. The woman took a deep breath, and somehow, the cracks on the wall seemed to repair itself, and the red liquid on the ground seemed to disappear. "We will see each other again, don't you go dying again, there isn't much I can do like this." And just like that, the room seemed to dissolve, and Rey was back on the battlefield, lying flat on his back.

Rey opened his eyes. His injury on the head seemed to have disappeared. The burn marks had gone too. Practially all his injuries had healed. His arm was still gone, but he felt great. Rey got up. He had a job to do.

---

After jumping out the plane, Bree become painfully aware of all the auras beneath her. There were so many people.... Too many bodies crammed in one place. All their auras seemed to be calling out to her- distracting her. Some were hurt, some were dead. It was a very unpleasant sight to see from up here- yet she couldn't look away.

Bree winces upon landing. Her body felt sore and tired. How was that possible? Maybe she had grown weak, it had been awhile since she used her ability. No, none of that was important now, she still had the strength to heal Jaxon. Since he was supposed to act as a tank, he would need her help. But where was he? It was nearly impossible to focus on one specific aura out in this battlefield. I'll find him eventually Bree tells herself while moving out into the battlefield to heal those currently in need.
...
Without knowing it, Bree ending up moving out deep into the battlefield. Soon she came across an injured person with a serious head wound, and a slightly minor side and leg wound. Despite her exhaustion, she pushes forward, desperate to heal the person. She reacts too late to the sudden movement from a nearby aura.

The kick was rough, and well placed. The breath was nearly knocked out of Bree and it sent her crashing down onto the ground. She grits her teeth and tries to catch her breath so she could say something to her attacker.

"Look at you... Such a weakling.... I'd feel bad for you if you weren't about to stab my friend!" The girl taunts. "You creatures from the Blue group are all the same... I'll take pleasure in crushing all of you under my boot!"

"No, you don't understand, I was just trying to heal her, plea-" Bree's words were cut short when a flurry of fists slam into her. Bree could barely defend herself against it. She was exhausted, already pushing herself too much. Her attempts to block each attack did nothing. The moment she lifted an arm to protect her face, it left her body exposed. The knife... Bree's grip tightens on the knife. Do it, do what you did to the man who tried to take you in. Bree's shoulder tenses up, she was prepared now, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. One mistake is all she needed. The girl had long forgotten about her knife. Bree doubt that she even glanced down at her outstretched arm. Do it! Survive! Suddenly, the punches stop. Bree listens to the sounds of the girl's breathing. Her face and body hurt, she could feel blood- her own blood- dripping down onto her face off the girl's knuckles. The girl must've caught the sudden change, the sudden darkness in her eye, because she heard a terrified whimper within the girl's breathing. Don't be scared... Bree's grip relaxes on the knife and she calmly stares up at her attacker. "I'm no threat now. Please, just let me heal your friend. I fear they don't have enough time!"

But before she could get an answer she hears gunfire. Two shots were fired. Bree turns her head away just in time to avoid the girl's lifeless body from slamming into her face. She became aware of a strange but familiar aura circling around her as she struggled to push the girl off of her. Bree fights the urge to glance at the two bodies near her and instead glances towards Erin.

"You're welcome" the calmness in Erin's voice was terrifying to Bree. Especially with everything that happened. But Bree couldn't respond because she could already hear Erin's retreating footsteps. She was left out here by herself, bloody and bruised... But alive.

*Grimm had had enough of waiting. Without hesitation she ran towards the exit of the camp. She knew she had wasted time. She hoped it wasn’t too late to help anyone hurt in her absence. She ran as fast as she could towards the battlefield touching anyone injured along her way. She made it to one soldier. They had a tag that said Dantier on it. she saw they where pretty beat up. She opened her bag and began to wrap his wounds with her bandages. She touched the spots where he was injured the most. She hoped he would regain consciousness.*

---

"Sannie"

It was so easy to simply hold a finger over the trigger and let the bursts of bullets spit out from the barrel, soldiers falling like marionettes. Something splattered over its face and it payed no mind, only whipping around and letting another burst of lights block out whatever destruction was waiting. It was a mindless task, items not needing to think. Simply to do as they're told and to fire. There was nothing beautiful nor glorious in dancing amongst the dead, padded bare feet stepping on broken bones and empty shells.

"Sannie, come back please. We need help."

It was ever moving. Never staying still enough for bullets to bury into fur and flesh. It was as it should be, ever flowing as blood tended to do on a hopeless battlefield. There was a never ending red accompanying the shower of bullets, hailing a bleak future for both sides. Under a nest of hairpins and fabric, the delicate skin of a sensitive ear pinched by various clips and comms twitched. An order had been received and it would be heeded. Digitigrade legs skidded against the copper dust, claws scoring deep grooves as it turned on its heel and looped towards the source of the order, leaving behind an empty battlefield. A sensitive nose scented the air for the familiar taste of family and it followed the sense of safety and assurance it provided. It was a black blur, blowing past warring sides as fractured bones screamed in protest against the strain yet continued to push the creature towards its destination. There in the distance, a flicker of blue drew in the eye of anyone who looked, a helpless situation in an already dreadful environment. A hand mechanically clicked the settings on its weapon from Burst to Automatic before its arm lifted and blood painted the outside of the wavering shield. Its body twisted and bent in odd angles as it slipped through the throng of enemies to slid beside wounded allies. In a seamless movement, the clawed hand that didn't have a finger glued to the trigger came up to snap off one of the various rows of pouches strapped onto its body, digging into another pocket to reload the gun.

As the chaos began to wind down around them, it spared a glance for the group it was protecting. White and red streaked across the mundane armor that they all wore, nothing separating them from the other. But still, they smelled of safety and it lifted one finger to point and the dense forests. They would lead away from the battlefield and the others understood it, picking up the discarded belt of pouches containing a small array of medical supplies. "They're asking for you." One of them whispered, gently tugging on its tail still wrapped firmly around its waist. "Don't get decommissioned. Please." It frowned at that. Did it slip enough that it could no longer be controlled? No, items didn't think. There was nothing to think about, nothing to feel. Paving over the worry that claws his way past the fog, it simply carded gentle claws through blood matted hair before looping away on light legs and an ever lighter body. One look back had it catching a glimpse of its family disappearing into the black trees, supporting one another as they fled from the destruction. It couldn't stop the relief that crashed over it as a path towards Blue's base was carved by a shapeless black blur, death sweeping through the ranks

---

Grey pushed through the enemy lines like a bulldozer. He was meant for war, always had been and always would be. Because it seemed, every day, that this was what he'd spend the rest of his miserable life doing. There would be no rest for him. With the lives that he'd taken, and no doubt what he'd done before his memories had dissapeared, he'd be burning in hell. The pain would never stop. Never cease. Not even after he died. He had, at one point, tried to love the pain, embrace it. But no matter how hard he tried, it was like a parasite that clung to his body.

He happened to come across Jaxon, as the pain from the metal in his gun and the tank, though exploded, spiked horribly. His gun was still there though, the metal calling to him. And so, he stood his ground, letting the voices take over as with an outstretched hand, he began to crumble the metal.

---

Jaxon felt the metal in his hand start to warp, his head whipping to the side, spotting Grey instantly; it would be hard to miss a soldier standing over his fallen shape. His gun warped dangerously over his hand, making him fling the weapon away from himself. He rolled away from the sandbags, as dangerous as it might be to be seen by the machine-gun crew, and stood, kicking away scraps of metal from his feet that seemed intent on crawling up his legs. He rolled his shoulders, cracking joints carefully, his eye always on Grey. He shook out his hands, the gun he threw useless, and discarded his tool belt; it would only weigh him down. He rubbed his hands across his chest, cleaning them of anything that would get in the way; it left grey marks across his uniform.

Stepping back a few steps, out of the machine-gun's potential turning radius, Jaxon popped his neck. He seemed ready for a battle in just those few quick steps. "Come on now, friend. Let's see what you've got." He flung his arms out to the side, making half-fists with either hand; something between a fist for punching, and a cup for hooking. It was a dangerous way to hold one's hands, and Jaxon knew it. Without any way to become immune to damage, he had to do his best with what he had... And then still clear out a machine-gun nest.

Grey was ready for this. The minute that Jaxon had threw down the gun, his fists curling and boot twisting as he leaned back. "Wish I could call you friend, but I'll surely show you what I can do." He leaned back on his foot, before running forward to close the space between them. Normally, he didn't deal with fights with someone who was fighting back in this way, but that didn't mean that he wasn't prepared for this. But when did he prepare for this? The lack of memories was getting to him hard, so he attacked fast, and hard.

---

Jaxon felt a fist hit his gut, knocking his breath away. Grabbing his own hands, he brought the combined fists down hard, hoping to score a decent hit on his attacker's back. It was a basic move, of course, but it was a powerful one. Jaxon knew CQC like he knew his own voice; if there was something to do, he knew how to do it. The attack was heavy, both to and from his opponent. The only problem was that his enemy was faster than him. Of course, he held strength high over his attacker's head, giving him the opposite bonus. It was an ancient question; Who wins? Strength or speed?

Grey moved to dodge, but before he could, the attack hit him squarely in the back. He fell forward onto one knee, a race of shock going through his body. That's when it all clicked, and a memory fell into place, rushing him back in time.

It was over, for the most part. That day's training had left Grey drained, having to up against a round of machine guns. It was a risky move, and a painful one. They had only protected his vital organs, leaving the looming threat of having a bullet rip through some part of him that wasn't protected. It wouldn't kill him, but it would surely hurt like hell. But what else could he expect from these people? They'd treated him like this for awhile. Grey vented his frustrations on the punching bag, pounding into it like it was the face of that obnoxious scientist, the man he especially hated. He'd manipulated him into this situation. Maybe one day he could get him back. He looked up to see Jaxon watching him from across the room, and laughed. "You'll get your turn eventually, I need this."

Grey pulled back, falling onto his back and rolling to the side, jumping up. His shoulders were heaving, and he stared with a new found shock at Jaxon. "Jaxon?!" he asked breathlessley. The name had come to him suddenly as he realized somehow, he knew this person. How?!

---

Jaxon stepped back a step, keeping his distance from Grey in case another attack was launched. Upon hearing his name, however, he paused. His stance stayed defensive, each muscle tense and ready to counter, to block, or to strike. His eyes searched Grey's face carefully, a critical stare, the stare of a fighter. After a moment, he spoke. It was an angry sentence, a harsh string of words slung like profanities. "How th'hell do you know my name?" His feet squared, bracing for an impact, any attack thrown at him. It was a trick, he told himself. Anything for the enemy to gain an advantage. They knew who he was... Of course they did.

Chips leg burned. His lower legs, the parts below the knees, were scarred with bruises and cuts. His feet themselves were burned with traction marks regardless of whether he wore shoes or not. "Bruises and cuts . . ." The words fell out of his mouth autonomously, but it sparked some hidden forbidden memory that was previously locked up tight by the bonds of trauma. Chip hadn't really wanted to forget his past as it was his anchor. His one thing keeping him from breaking and losing himself. But he learned of new things over the years.

Bruises and cuts. . Bruises and cuts.

One noticeably large scar on his left leg was actually in the process of healing itself. But it was big and covered most of his leg, as his leg had gotten horribly hurt. He couldn't remember if it was in the past or one of the many battle scars he had gotten over the years.

---

"I know you, I do. I saw you...Do you remember me at all? Grey?" He didn't know what was going on. He didn't know what he was saying or doing. He was going with his gut, something he didn't often do. Maybe it would get him killed, but then again, many things would, this was no different. He didn't let down his guard, but he didn't advance. "Why did I see you? What memory was that?"

---

Jaxon's eyes narrowed further, waiting for something else. "What's the punchline?" His hands were still up, ready to grapple, to catch a fist and return it. He wasn't going to put his guard down, no matter what he was told. He was suspicious of this soldier, his supposed enemy. "I'm still waiting to laugh, or to be shot from behind. Stabbed, even..." His voice slowly lowered into a growl, readying to fight again.

Grey sighed, and shook his head. "You don't seem curious. Eh, neither am I. Let's finish this." He attacked Jaxon again, this time he went for the other soldier's stomach. He was prepared, and his guard up, but maybe he would be able to catch him in a weak spot. Even if he stopped him, it was most likely the plates holding his arms together would buy him enough time for Grey to recover. His fist moved fast, as he used speed to his advantage.

---

Jaxon brought up a knee, hoping that, even if he were stuck again, he would be able to put the other soldier on the ground for a larger advantage. If that succeeded, he would- No, this wasn't a time to think ahead. In a duel, everything happened twenty-at-a-time. If you tried to plan, you got confused. Jaxon let the next attack come at him, his knee driving skyward and one hand lashing out to try and catch the other soldier. He still had strength over this metal-bending opponent. He could use that in any way he could think of. If he had to guess, he also weighed more than his enemy, giving him the chance to rest atop him with ease, no opposition able to lift him from the other. If he got a good choke hold, he could take the Red soldier in as a prisoner of war, to be interrogated... He couldn't help but wonder at what Grey had meant, by a memory...

Grey was caught off guard by the knee, and mentally cursed himself for losing focus. Of course his enemy would be predicting this, why didn't he think ahead? Grey was getting soft, going against normally unprepared opponents. The knee caught him in the gut, and pushed him back. He stumbled and slipped, making an attempt at grabbing his leg. He wouldn't go down easy.

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