Trent/Najib circled the salt dome’s summit in a clockwise/anticlockwise holding pattern, their S&R mechs throwing V-shaped shadows onto the shattered stalagmites below.


    <ul>


    <li>Thermal cameras activated…/Thermal cameras activated…</li>


    <li>DESYNC!/DYSYNC!</li>


    </ul>


    “Cassidy!” blared Trent through his parley speaker. “What the fuck…are you…doing?!”


    They had expected to find Robert ‘Flyboy’ Cassidy alone with his ?mech trophy, or to find that Christophite bitch gloating over the wreckage of his Mantamech. But it appeared the two pilots had come to some sort of…unauthorised agreement.


    Before Trent could get a response, his wingdude’s ever-calm thoughts echoed in his brain.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    <ul>


    <li>Two ?mechs incoming.</li>


    <li>They’re probably just looking for their pilot. And oh boy, have we found her, Najib, dude, have we…</li>


    <li>They’re in AFM with proton lances extended.</li>


    <li>FUCK! </li>


    </ul>


    Trent toggled the parley from the exterior speaker to the radio channel. “ATTENTION, Christophite mechs! Both of our pilots are alive. Repeat, both pilots remain very much ALIVE. We request that you stand down while we extract…”


    <ul>


    <li>Trent…</li>


    <li>WHAT?</li>


    <li>The ?mechs aren’t heading this way. We’re not the target…</li>


    <li>Then what is…</li>


    <li>SYNC!</li>


    </ul>


    The wormhole had appeared over the horizon in Najib’s nose/Trent’s dorsal camera. The two ?mechs were hurtling towards it, lances out. But…something was wrong. The wormhole was trailing what looked like giant tentacles across the morning sky.


    <ul>


    <li>What is THAT!?/ What is THAT!?</li>


    </ul>