The atmosphere of the place, no matter how many times he'd visited, never failed to make Walter uneasy. Like a cold, metal coffin, the identical corridors and dim lights. And then the room itself, where the man did his grisly work.

"You again." said the man by him, "You know, I'm not exactly craving company here."

...

The sky had a bit of a dull gray. The sun could barely even crack open the clouds. The gray and white-colored ground shook as a tan and gray RaD scout AC came right by. Followed by two others.

"Hounds now entering combat zone." said a voice from the com.

It was Walter's top mercenaries: C4-617, C4-620, and C4-619. They all rode RaD scout ACs. Crappy material, but they've been in worse kinds.

617 was on the far left as it wielded a Gatling Gun, a Pulse Blade and Pulse Shield along with a Spread Bazooka.

He was practically the oldest of them all, and pretty much the most experienced, easily making him the leader, the head of this outfit. He was majorly strict, but fair in quite a few ways. He'd always make sure that his teammates could keep going. Push a hound too hard, one could get it to bite it.

He dealt with weaponry that could prepare him for most situations. The pulse blade would help him with close combat, the shield would help reduce incoming damage.

620 sped on the opposite side with its two large-caliber handguns along with an assault rifle by and an laser rifle.

He was 617's long-time partner, a "war buddy," having been on the team the second longest. He would usually use himself as a mere decoy, not caring about his own life, but rather others', such as the other teammates. He's been known to always be looking out for trouble.

He used an OS tuning system to give his AC the "Weapon Bay" tune: The skill to switch shoulder weapons with additional weapons mainly used for arms.

619 rode in the very middle with its assault rifle, a grenade launcher and two vertical missile launchers by Furlong Dynamics.

He was found a long while ago after the other two. He preferred tactics that involved inflicting major damage on other enemies. He wasn't a fan of close combat. He's sometimes a bit easily intimidated, but that doesn't stop him from helping his friends.

Soon then came in 621, riding in its own AC.

It rode in with an RF-024 TURNER Assault Rifle in its right hand, an HI-32: BU-TT/A Pulse Blade in its left, and a BML-G1/P20MLT-04 Vertical Missile Launcher on its right shoulder.

It was practically the newest of them all. However, despite not being known to have the most experience, it most certainly had potential and skill. It was considered the "prodigy" of the entire team: Always taking on the most dangerous of enemies, and somehow coming back from the battlefield, alive and well.

Ultimately, they were all teammates. Always came back from every mission they were sent on. They hardly ever understood just what exactly was the deal of all these missions from their handler, but they hardly ever found time to question him.

They considered each other friends. Of course they were rough with one another, but that didn't stop their ultimate caring and friendship.

"Initiating phase 2." said the voice again.

The four mercenaries all jumped off of a hill. 617 luckily engaged his side thrusters just in time, for a giant beam of energy had almost scorned it.

...

"So what happened to 617 and the others?" asked the man, "Fill me in, Handler Walter."

Walter's gaze rested on the body on the table as he stood in the doorway, the arms with heat lamps pointed at the vacuum bagged figure, a number of acupuncture needles pricked into it to assist with awakening muscles from cryo-storage.

"Their jobs." he said coldly.

...

619 could see that they were getting close. It was the defensive wall. It was supposed to be the very first major line of defense. Sure the mercenaries could use their AC's boosters to hover above, but it was very high, not to mention the majority of cannons waiting for them.

619 was already ahead of 617 before he could shout in command. "I'm on it!"

The small folds of the BML-G1/P07VTC-12 opened up. He targeted the defensive walls. All 24 cells of vertical missiles skyrocketed to the air and came crashing down, all the defense weaponry, including the wall, were destroyed.

"Okay, we're in the-!" 619 tried.

A beep in warning sounded in his ears. His blood ran cold as he saw something aiming right for him. He attempted to move.

"Willson, get out of there!" 617 screamed in fear.

The giant pulse cannon fired. The beam came at lightspeed. The salvo left them unable to evade incoming fire from the base's giant pulse cannon.

...

The man just sighed at that.

"Well, at least you're helping me clear my inventory," he replied.

A fogged breath, the product of lungs just warming, emitted from the breathing apparatus strapped to the face at the top of the table, obscuring it further.

Generation four augmentation was crude by modern standards for its reliance on Coral to achieve the same results that could now be had without, but it was comparatively cheap. The loss of humanity that often resulted didn't interfere with Walter's Hounds in any way he needed to be concerned about, unlike the psychosis or mental instability it could cause.

The hideous legacy of Coral based-augmentation surgery.

...

The missiles exploded as they made contact with the now gone defensive wall. 617, 620, and 621 flew above the destroyed front line of defense.

"619: Vital signs lost." said the voice again.

Even to them, that was...unexpected. They'll remember his sacrifice, for they wouldn't have gotten above unscathed had it not been for him. Being "old gens," they still had some empathy left. Not a lot, but still...

Their EYE FINDER head units glowed a bit, ready to hit harder now. 617 activated his pulse shield, hoping to get some artificial cover. "We're getting there, just keep moving-!"

However, a few shots fired from the enemy, and the shield gave out.

The next thing 617 felt was their left arm being shot off, disarming them of their Pulse Blade. But they continued on.

"Argh! Crap!" he grunted, "Nevertheless, keep moving!"

"Recalculating approach vector." the voice informed.

617 ducked beneath another plasma beam before a massive CATAPHRACT has suddenly come out of nowhere from the ground, coming right for it.

"Oh shi-!"

...

"This one is functional. But don't expect much more."

A datapad was handed to Walter as he approached, surveying the apparatus that was even now installing neural ports into the cranial structure and injecting Coral into key pathways to speed up synaptic processing.

"I'm not here to talk. Wake it up."

...

617 ducked low, but the bottom of the CATAPHRACT was able to break off his shoulder-mounted weaponry, leaving him with just his gatling gun. They had a standoff for a moment, and then 617 started blazing around with his gatling gun.

"Eat this mother-!" he screamed.

620 came right by and began assisting them. "Hang on, buddy, I got you!"

They went to the other side to get the CHATAPHRACT's attention. However, it seemed that it had too much attention. 620 shot out a round. The bullet ricocheted off. Damn it, 620 cursed mentally, Wish I went for a more powerful build. He then fired another round, aiming for the neck of the MT core. It barely chipped off a piece. But didn't bounce off. Now we're getting somewhere. He fired a third time. Chipped off a bit of the head.

The CATAPHRACT then fired three consecutive shots from that massive thing's laser turret.

"620: Signal lost." said the voice.

621 suddenly charged in right past 617.

"621, don't!" he commanded.

But he was only ignored. 621 would dodge from the right to the left. It then charged right for the CATAPHRACT. It engaged its assault boost. The forced cause the hulking the CATAPHRACT to stop.

He then aimed its assault rifle at the MT's neck and let it all out. It then suddenly felt 617 pull it out of the way and continue the blazing with his gatling gun.

And soon, an explosion occurred.

...

617's voice was weak over the comms. "62... 1... the mission. Finish it..."

The gatling gun glowed red hot from the overheat as the static died down. 621's highly-damaged AC sparked from so much damage it had taken during this mission, the insides flaring up from second to second. They struggled as they forced themselves to get back up.

"Updating target parameters." the voice informed once more, "Pattern 3, pattern E."

A cylinder-shaped object appeared on the top of the AC, charging up as sparks flew wildly.

While Kojima Particles were widely known for their defensive applications (Primal Armor), it was discovered that they could be weaponized.

First appearing in the prototype unit known as the, Assault Armor allowed a unit to expend its Kojima particle shielding to create a 360 degree explosion around the unit. Doing so completely depleted the unit's and any surrounding units Primal Armor, but resulting in devastating damage around the unit.

Despite its application, the technology did not become widespread until significantly later on after the destruction of Anatolia. It did see sporadic usage however, such as in the case of the Sol Dios cannons which operate around the same concept.

Omer and TORUS were the only companies that have deeply invested in the technology, although some such as Cougar have developed experimental parts. Some older models such as Akva Vit's still exist.

621 knew the risks, but didn't care. All of its friends were dead now. Might as well die with them too.

It charged right at the very heart of the base, causing a gigantic explosion.

...

The arms around the table whirred as they retracted, the squelching of the tubes connected to the hound as they were pulled with little care and the sharp click of cables engaging with the newly installed neural ports loud in the otherwise quiet room.

He glanced down at the pad. "C4-621" was the designation for this one, so he hadn't sold any new ones since he was last here. He watched as the secondary sensor eyes began to light up, his gaze trailing over the myriad of external connectors hooked up to the RaD core and head modules taking up that half of the room.

...

"617: Down." said a voice.

The wreckage of 621 was devastating: Its metallic body was quite melted down, wires dangling as most armor plates were missing. The already dull paint was now corned off entirely. Rain was coming down as the AC wreckage just kneeled there, almost dead as a helicopter came by, having sensed a very weak pulse.

"Reporting to Handler Walter." said the voice again, "Mission complete."

...

"621. I'll give you a reason to exist," Walter promised, "Let's get to work."

The sensor eye of his new Hound lit red as it woke from its slumber. The mission would go on. His friends' wishes were still within reach.

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