37-2

	"Brother, you are called in the Briefing Room. Report to the Commissar on duty and go to the Briefing Room as instructed." The Tier-2 Shieldbrother Protectorate ordered to him with a mechanical voice. Despite of him being superior over the Shieldbrother, George knew that the Mk. II Tier-2 was given high authority since he was on Sentinel Duty. Any Enochian Guardsmen Protectorate in Sentinel Duty is automatically given special authority to order people around, even if the said superior was a Tier-9 Crossbearer.
	"Affirmative, Shieldbrother. Dismiss." George replied as he nods at the armored Protectorate. His face was obscured by his Head Module's faceplate where silver eyes stares back at him instead of the Protectorate's own eyes. He turned about face, long bayoneted rifle at left hand and marched. When a stray Human obstructs at his path, he stomped on the ground and aimed it, yelling, "MAKE WAY FOR THE GUARDSMAN!"
	Ignoring the Shieldbrother, George stood up. Plates clacked in reply as they collided with one another. His armor hummed; energy flowed across the wiring, acting as a conduit between the power cells and the armor's circuitry inside. He moved to the left, walking across the underground tunnel with brown earth walls. Strips of fluorescent jelly lights attached above them were the only thing that illuminates his surroundings, putting shadows at bay. His black armor was wet, thanks to the bad weather topside. His kneecaps and elbow caps was painted in cobalt blue. Left arm up to the fist and shoulders were painted in grey while his right legs down to the feet and up to the thigh were painted in gray too.
	George walked past the refugees who were trying to find their way towards their respective chamber rooms. Some part of the tunnels were lit by candles, helping illuminate where the light of the fluorescent jellies couldn't reach. A man in his thirty one; Caucasian with a brown curly hair. A scar ran across his face diagonally from the left eyebrow down below his right eye. His blue eyes glowed in a pulsating rhythm. Light green letters flashed across his irises, feeding information to him. He walked past a corridor to his right but he made a left turn when he saw the second hallway leading to west. There, he saw a vault door with a viewing slit on the top of the access wheel. He was cautious not to touch it, because the 'Superiors' are present in the room and they might ended up killing him by accident.
	He knocked thrice, then a female monotonous voice spoke somewhere; he suspected it might have come from inside the vault doors.
	"State your name."
	"George St. John." George replied with gruff voice. He kept a straight face as he heard beeps and ringing chimes from inside.
	"State your Armor Designation."
	"Dreadkill."
	"Mark?"
	"Mark-IV"
	"Regiment?"
	"Enochian Guards."
	"Company?"
	"Stars and Stripes, Black Horizon Battleforce, 52-7 Battalion Kill Team."
	"Access granted."
	The Vault suddenly opened with a hiss; the access wheel spun counter clockwise before the door opened inwards. Inside, he was greeted by a Protectorate with a black armor but his elbow and knee caps are painted in grey. A green line of paint ran vertical across his chest, down to the groin-plate, and back; presumably his helmet has a green stripe as well, continuing the line on his chest-plate. His head was cleanly shaved, his face wore a warm smile, extending a hand to him.
	"Greetings, brother." The Protectorate greeted. "Mark II Tier-5 Tribune-Commander Protectorate Angel, but you can call me Dominic." He shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, brother." He gestured at the other Protectorate in black armor and gold elbow and knee plating. He was the only Protectorate in the room with him. "That's--"
	"Dominic," The Protectorate called. "Give me the chance to introduce myself." He said as he stopped typing at a laptop and turned to face George, or Dreadkill.
	"Tier-6 Paladin-Confessor Protectorate Blackshot," He said offering his hand. "We've met before, back in Manila."
	"Yeah," Dreadkill says as he shook his hand. "Luis, right?"
	"What?" Blackshot shot him a questioning look.
	"That's your real name?"
	"Highly mistaken." Blackshot said politely. "I'm a Mark 1 Protectorate from Three Stars and the Sun Company, Solomon's Blade Battleforce, Windwalker Frontline Team." He stated. "I have no name, brother."
	"Ah, yes." Dreadkill nodded. "THE Blackshot. The kid with no name. But why did she call you by that name?"
	"Who's she?"
	"April, the girl you saved back there?"
	Blackshot paused, turning to his workstation and shrugged. "That's a fake name. I go by many names, brother." He cleared his throat as he faced the two of them.
	George studied his surroundings. It was a small room cramped with banks of computers; old and new alike. Wires crawled across the green walls of the small chamber like tangled vines in a jungle. Red wires, blue wires, black wires, even white ones, were held together by cable ties to prevent it from looking like a mess.
	"Hacker's den?" Dreadkill inquired.
	"Sort of, anyway." His face becomes stern. "I called you out here because we're gonna fight."
	"Fight? Where?"
	"Cyber-Demons, brother." Blackshot nodded. It was year 2064, it was a long time since Blackshot had fought Demons made out of flesh. Though Hell continues to manufacture Demons with that kind, they became rare and the augmented ones took their places. "Kyoto was a under invasion by both Cyber-Yokai and Cyber-Demon Legions. There are three Legions, under the command of a Hellkaiser. That being said, they weren't just rip and tear, but they have strategy."
	"Assassinating the Hellkaiser would have solved the problem, brother."
	"I hope." Blackshot chuckled. "Then three Hell Dukes, or commonly known as Slipknots with three Apprentices each guards the Hellkaiser. How do we deal with that?"
	"Yeah, frontal assault. It doesn't make too much difference. Who are the Legions we are facing?"
	"Hell Guards, Darkshot and Red Slaughter." Blackshot says before spitting on the ground.
	"That's gonna be hard." Dreadkill says. "The Cyber-Yokai would just be easy for us to clean up."
	"Not easy, mate." Blackshot says as he glanced at Dominic. The latter glanced back, then they stared at Dreadkill. "They are augmented as well. Darn the ever changing process of technology. Back in my time, we use Carabao to plow through our fields." Blackshot says, having been born back in 1940s, yet managed to still retain his youthful appearance thanks to the benefit of his armor and his mutated Angelic DNA. "Anyway, are you in for the kill or not?"
	"What are we waiting for?"
	"The mission is easy." Blackshot walks towards him. "We go in rough and hard. Initiate Attack Protocol 37-2 and get out of there."
	"Frontal assault," Dreadkill laughed, knowing how ridiculous the plan is. Yet he ignores it. "I'm in."