Tobias watched as the holographic likeness of Briggs manifested on the bridge's holo-table, and looked at him with some surprise—and disapproval.

"Pilot—to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Sorry to disturb you, ma'am," he said breathlessly, the technicians in the room watching him with careful eyes. Their concern was understandable—he had practically barged in here unannounced and demanded to speak with Briggs immediately.

Hopefully, they'd forgive his intrusion once they'd all had a chance to hear him out.

"'Disturb' is right—what the hell do you think you're doing?"

He turned around to see Gates stepping onto the bridge, Dimitri following close behind her. Neither looked too pleased with Tobias's abrupt actions, but he held a hand up to make them halt. "Just listen to me—please."

He turned back to the hologram. "I think I know how we can obtain more information on this 'Atlantis' project."

Briggs crossed her arms. "Is that so? Mind filling me in?"

He nodded. "Captain Gates told me that you need an access-point to the IMC's data-network; but tracking one down is going to be hard for two reasons. One, you don't know where research facilities for the IMC might be located. And two, even if you did start assaulting every base you came across, they'd figure out pretty damn quickly what you're up to—that is, assuming they haven't already."

Briggs kept her arms interlocked, but her expression was less disdainful—she showed a genuine interest now.

"Alright, but I fail to see what you're getting at. Those aren't factors we can change."

"They're factors that I can change." He furrowed his brow. "Or, at least I can tell you how to change them."

The Militia's leader narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you getting at?"

"You need a connection terminal, you need a reliable location for it, and you need to get everything right on the first try so that the IMC doesn't catch wind of what you're up to," he explained. "What you need isn't in a facility—it's on an IMS frigate."

"I'm sorry?"

"All frigates run off of the same network that their ground facilities do," he continued excitedly. "Data stored in local drives will be different—information that only pertains to each base or ship, so to speak. But thanks to Spyglass, you can access shared data for the vast majority of IMC operations from anywhere."

"Spyglass?" one of the technicians asked confusedly, the name escaping their recognition. Briggs, however, curled her lip at the mention.

"The IMC's leader—the rogue AI?"

"After Demeter, it was put in charge of all IMC forces stranded on the frontier," Tobias confirmed. "But its original function was as a wartime intelligence—and for an AI to make effective decisions on a galactic scale, it needs to be aware on a galactic scale. Its mainframe is the heart of the network's infrastructure, so anything that it knows is something that IMC forces know, no matter how scattered they might be."

"You seem to know a lot about this—why didn't you share this earlier?"

He shook his head apologetically. "Gates mentioned something that clicked in my head, the network. I realized that something this big has to be known by Spyglass, which means we don't need to find a research center—we just need to find a ship under his command."

"And how do you propose we find one?"

"Simple," he stated. "I already have one for you—the IMS Kraken. It's assigned to a constant patrol of the frontier's mid-rim, and has regularly scheduled fueling and maintenance breaks every other month on the planet Jantii, a neutral colony."

Briggs blinked at him blankly. "And you know this ... how?"

"It was the ship I served on," he said quietly. "Trust me—it will be there. Jantii is a popular refueling station for several frigates, but my former CO, Major Boyles, used to be particularly fond of it. Was closer than most to the patrol perimeter."

"When will it be there next?"

He thought about the timing, and did a few short calculations in his head based on how long he'd been with the Militia. "In roughly twelve days, give or take one or two."

She hummed and held her chin in thought. "It's an opportunity for sure, one that we don't have much time to prepare for ... what if we miss the window you've given?"

He clenched his jaw. "It would be another two months at least before we have a chance like this again, ma'am."

Briggs was silent for a long while, contemplating her options and weighing them against one another. "On the one hand, trusting a former IMC with something like this is one hell of a gamble. On the other, such gambles have paid off in the past." She eyed him cautiously. "My people's lives aren't something I take lightly, Pilot."

"Of course, ma'am," he agreed. "That's why I'll be right there on the ground with them."

This time, it was Gates who did a double take. "Hang on—what?"

"I know that ship inside and out," he reasoned. "With me on the infiltration team, they'll be better informed and have a higher chance of success."

"A higher chance of you getting killed is more like it," Dimitri argued. "What is it with you and getting yourself into dangerous places?"

"Call it a character flaw," he said with a roll of his eyes. He looked back at Briggs. "You know I'm your best bet."

The commander hesitated before replying. "You'd be risking a lot by being there. What if they were to recognize you?"

He grimaced. He knew full well what they thought of deserters like him. "I don't have any family for them to go after. I'd only be endangering myself, and that's a risk I think is worth taking."

She regarded him with respect for a moment before reaching a verdict. "Approval granted—but on one condition. I'm assigning you as a team leader."

He blanched. "Wait, hold on—"

"You said you're my best bet, you proposed the mission, you take responsibility for the lives you're putting on that ship," she said bluntly.

"What about my squad?"

"Who's your leader again?"

"Warrant Officer Vale, Foxtrot-Three of the SRS division."

Briggs nodded. "Understood, can't have a conflict in the chain of command. Simple way to rectify that—as of this moment, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Chief Warrant Officer."

He stood motionless, nonplussed by the commander's decision. She arched an eyebrow at his reaction. "It's Four, right? Four, things move fast here on the frontier—blink, and you might miss them. After the intelligence and value you've provided to us, as well as your expertise concerning IMC matters, I'm willing to bypass a few formalities. You'll need people to listen to you if you're going to lead them. But if I'm going to agree to this, I need to know that you're someone I can count on not to miss things—is that clear?"

He'd never expected to make it higher than a lance corporal—and here was the commander of the Militia's SRS division, speeding him through the ranks until he was one higher than Vale. Clearly, the Militia weren't as preoccupied with regulations as the IMC were.

Then again, he could understand where she was coming from—at the end of the day, the Militia wasn't even a proper military force, let alone a recognized government. Their ranks and titles were effectively meaningless to anyone on the frontier aside from themselves—but that was exactly the point. These ranks, they weren't indicators of a pay grade or a level of education; they were measures of responsibility, of one's duty.

Briggs was putting her faith in him, faith that he could get the job done. It was a show of trust that he wasn't accustomed to from others in the Militia, and he knew that this wasn't an offer he could afford to waste.

He swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She glanced back at the 6-4. "Gates, please keep him from doing anything too stupid."

"I'm on it, ma'am."

The hologram winked out of existence, and Dimitri turned to face him.

"Four, what the hell have you just gotten us into?"

He had no answer for the man—right now, he was just focused on manually breathing, half afraid that he'd forget how to if he stopped.

Chief Warrant Officer.

"I ... uh, have to go do something."

...

"KT!"

The Titan heard her Pilot call out to her, and turned around to locate him. He had just strolled into the hangar where he'd asked her to meet him, though, peculiarly, his familiar white armor was absent.

"Yes, Pilot?"

"C'mere, I got something to show you." Indeed, he held a package in his arms—a box that he set on the ground as she approached.

"Where is your armor?"

"Got it here in my hands. Part of what I wanted to show you." He opened the box, and lifted its contents up for her to see. It was a standard jumpsuit for Militia Pilots, steel blue in coloration aside from the dark padding, pouches, and chest plate that offered auxiliary protection.

"What do you think?"

She was silent for a moment. "Is that yours?"

Tobias nodded. "Apparently, I'm moving up in the Militia's ranks. I thought it might be good to look the part—I'm still keeping my helmet, though."

KT narrowed her optic. "But I am confused; would your other armor not give you better protection? It was crafted by the IMC, after all. The Militia's standards may have improved, but we do not possess the quality resources they do."

He nodded slowly. "No, you're right—it would protect me better." He glanced up and met her gaze. "But it would also separate us."

"I do not understand."

"I'm your Pilot. You're my Titan. We're a team—and one half of the team shouldn't be sporting the enemy's colors." He came a bit closer. "I wanted to show you that I meant what I said earlier—I'm not going to abandon you. This armor isn't about protection; it's about showing you that we are one."

She blinked once. "You're doing this ... for me?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because you're more than my Titan—you're my friend. And I need you to know where I stand." He gave her a small smile. "You told me that you were afraid I might leave you—and I'm telling you that it's not gonna happen. You're part of my life now, whether you wanted it or not."

There were a few seconds before she spoke again, and the warmth in her voice was unlike any he'd heard in it before. "Thank you."

He nodded, then sighed tiredly as she looked on.

"Do you think we can do it, Kay?"

The Titan looked at him oddly. For a massive war machine, she was surprisingly capable of telegraphing her mood and expressions. "Are you asking me about the probable success of the mission? Or if we can win this war?"

He wasn't even surprised this time to find out she already knew of the upcoming assignment. He obviously needed to get better at filtering his neural-link. "Just the first one for now—let's focus on the bigger problem later."

KT considered it for a moment. "To be honest, it is quite dangerous. Then again, most of your ideas are. Higher risk brings a higher chance for failure."

He nodded, accepting that.

"But ... I don't believe it will fail."

He glanced up at her. She looked at him and nodded with her optic. "The Militia has often utilized risky and dangerous plans in the past. Yours is no exception. But if there's one thing I trust about the plan... it is you, Four. I trust you."

He smiled, and patted her on the leg appreciatively. "Thanks, Kay."

"Four!"

He turned to in surprise at the sudden mention of his name. He was greeted with the sight of the Heartless striding towards him, Vale in front followed by McFarlane on her left and Tyra on her right. "Oh, hey. I wasn't expecting—?"

He stopped at the sudden appearance of three mechs walking behind them; a charcoal-painted Ronin with golden highlights, a standard sand-dune colored Scorch, and the grey-and-green Atlas that he knew belonged to McFarlane. "Ah—these your Titans?"

Tyra was the first to respond, and gestured towards the Scorch. "I prefer to think of myself as a heavy hitter, and this guy hits even harder—that's what makes us such a great team. Say hello, Cee."

"Greetings, sir. I am CH-1134," the Scorch boomed in a deep baritone voice, maneuvering the various optics atop its chassis to look at him.

He nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to Vale. The simulacrum pointed up and behind her at the Ronin.

"This here is SKD-3812. We were each other's first, in a manner of speaking," she said with mischievous chuckle. "Linked nearly four years ago, and haven't been apart since." She made a motion with one of her metal hands bouncing off the other, like a rock skipping across a pond. "I call him Skids, on account of the fact that he sends his enemies' bodies skidding across the floor."

He wrinkled his nose at the statement. "That sounds like a line Tyra would make up, not you."

Vale laughed heartily. "She actually did. Truth is, on one of our earlier assignments, he was following behind me and skidded on a patch of ice. Fell right over. That little slip-up cost him his dignity and gave him his name."

"I'm standing right here," the Ronin said coolly.

"You've already met June here," McFarlane said, cutting in and waving at the Atlas. "JUN-1300, if you want to be formal."

"And despite what little imagination he used for his Titan's name, he seems to have quite the surplus when it comes to adding custom mods," Vale said teasingly. "Seriously, he spends more time tinkering with that chassis than he does interacting with people."

"People are hard to understand. Machines are simple."

"Never figured you for the mechanical type," Tobias said with surprise.

McFarlane eyed him with a playful glint in his eye. "And I didn't figure an ex-IMC could be so compassionate. Guess what they say about assumptions is true, huh?"

Tobias held a hand up in acceptance of the jab, then turned to Vale. "To what do I owe the pleasure, ma'am?"

"I don't think you have to address me as 'ma'am' anymore, Four," Vale said with a light tone. "Gates told us about your ... accelerated promotion."

He grimaced. "Right—sorry. I swear, I never asked her for anything like that—"

"Oh, don't apologize," she said with a dismissive wave. "You're the one who's stuck with filing paperwork now. After-mission reports are the worst."

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't removed from Foxtrot-Three," McFarlane explained slowly. "But with you outranking Vale now ..."

Understanding dawned on him. "I'm not ... I'm not in charge, am I?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" Tyra chuckled, stepping forward and clapping him on the back. "Amelia, tell our contestant what he's won!"

"You are now the proud owner of three socially-dysfunctional Pilots!" Vale said in a startlingly accurate impersonation of a game show host. "All of their lives are now yours to command—"

"Stop," he said quietly. "Just ... stop. I don't want to order you three around—I don't want to order anyone around."

"That's probably why Briggs thinks you'll be good at it," Vale admitted, becoming more serious. "I've found that the best leaders are those that don't want to lead—they aren't hungry for power, and that's why they're the safest to trust with it."

"But what if I screw up? What if someone winds up hurt—or worse, dead—because of me?" He shook his head emphatically. "I ... I spent a lot of years putting myself first. I don't know that I'm the guy you want watching your backs."

Vale said nothing, taking the time to thoroughly examine his answer before replying. "Did I ever tell you how I became a simulacrum?"

Confused by the sudden tangent, he shook his head no.

"Almost two years ago," she began, "Skids and I were abducted by Vinson Dynamics, a company that often partners with the IMC. I was taken to a massive underground arena under the guise of a weapons-testing facility, and forced to fight for my life with a team I had never met before."

Her voice had lost all warmth in it, becoming cold and distant at the recollection. "We couldn't discriminate against others we killed—Militia, IMC, it didn't matter. Only one team ever made it out of those fights, and for weeks I was wondering if I'd ever survive."

Tobias remained silent the whole while, not sure what he'd even say if he had the chance to. She continued.

"Then, I was transferred to a new team and met someone. He was a simulacrum, and I was hesitant to trust him because of it. But slowly, as we became friends, he began to share his inner doubts with me—and I realized there was more to being human than simply flesh."

She stared directly into his eyes, preventing him from looking away. "He wasn't accustomed to having others depend on him either—in fact, he'd never wanted to be our leader in the first place. But it was because of him that any of us made it out alive—although, some of us came away worse than others."

At that, she looked down at her hand and flexed her robotic fingers. Then, she turned back to him. "You remind me of him—the same doubts, the same responsibility. But you also have the same strengths—ingenuity, empathy. Determination," she said, placing a finger on his chest and giving him a light shove.

"But how do I know that's enough?"

"You don't," she said simply, placing a hand on his shoulder. "As a leader, others are going to trust you to make choices—and choices aren't always fair. All you can do is trust in yourself the way others do ... and hope. No one can ask for more than that."

He couldn't say anything back in response to her due to the lump in his throat, but he nodded shakily and flashed her a quick smile.

"You know what all this bonding calls for?" Tyra suddenly called out, stepping forward and clapping both of them on their backs. "A picture! Nothing cements a good memory like a photo does."

"Oh boy, here she goes," McFarlane muttered in embarrassment.

She waved at a nearby MRVN, one of the automated robots that helped with maintenance. "Hey, blinky! Can you do us a favor please?"

After several minutes of tiresomely explaining exactly what they wanted it to do, it finally took a photo of the group from its ocular systems and provided a copy. Tobias lifted his arm up, and allowed his wrist-interface to project the image holographically in the air. The Heartless gathered around, admiring the photo; Pilots in front, Titans behind them.

Tobias looked at the image of himself next to McFarlane and Tyra, the latter lifting her arm up behind Vale's head and making a 'peace' sign, noticed the jovial smile featured on his face ... and felt something he hadn't in a long time.

A sense of belonging.