Zoey and Etrius settled into a strained routine at the airfield. Zoey focused on repairing the VTOL-G7’s engines, her movements methodical but edged with frustration. Each day, she pried open panels, tightened bolts, and adjusted wiring with her powerful prosthetic hands, which lacked the tactile feedback she needed for finesse. The broken-down aircraft remained stubbornly silent beneath her touch, its tangled mechanics testing her patience. Whenever the engine refused to respond or a part snapped under her grip, she cursed under her breath, and sometimes, she hurled a wrench into the sand, letting her anger flare.
Between the repair work, Zoey would step out of the Titan Vulpes suit, her body aching with fatigue. She'd stretch out on the cot in the Mantis, her dark redscales catching the dim light filtering through the windows. The Mantis’s battery harness hummed as it siphoned energy from the powered-down suit, keeping their lifeline barely alive. Etrius often found her there, eyes closed, muscles tense, the occasional shudder of pain rippling through her. Even her breaths seemed rough, as if each inhale battled the changes taking hold of her body.
Etrius spent his time walking the perimeter of the airfield, rifle slung over one shoulder, plasma sword strapped to his back. He knew every corner of the ruined control tower and the rusted hangars by heart, his footsteps muffled on the cracked tarmac. Sometimes, he thought he saw flickers of movement at the edge of his vision—a fleeting shadow or a gust of wind swirling dust across the runway. He would pause, his green eyes scanning the horizon, muscles coiled with readiness, but he always found nothing. Deep down, though, he knew their enemies were still out there, waiting.
As Zoey worked, Etrius took on the task of preparing meals with what little food they had left. His cooking skills were crude at best—watery stews with canned meat and dry rations. They ate in silence most nights, the air thick with unspoken tension. Etrius would watch Zoey as she forced down the food, her black lips curling slightly at the taste. Despite her irritation, he could see the complete exhaustion in her eyes, a weariness that went beyond the physical pain.
Zoey’s transformation had grown more pronounced over the days. The red scales now covered her entirely, replacing her fur, and her face had taken on a sharper, more predatory shape. Her eyes, still the same fiery intensity, seemed to burn with a constant fury. Even when she rested, her foot claws twitched, digging into the air as if she was struggling against some internal battle. Her voice had become harsher and raspier like their assailants, now also laced with a bitterness that lashed out at Etrius whenever he tried to help or offer a few words of comfort.
Etrius did his best to care for her despite the barbs. He would check the bandages on her injuries, make sure she took the painkillers that barely dulled her suffering, and tried to give her space when she needed it. But the weight of the situation pressed down on him, too. He had grown used to the sharp tongue and the anger, but he couldn’t help wondering if Zoey would ever come back from this—if the woman he had fought alongside for so long was buried too deep beneath the scales.
The nights were the hardest. Zoey would shift restlessly in the Mantis or under the broken fuselage of the VTOL, trying to find relief from the pain in her body. Etrius would keep watch, sitting by the open hatch of the Mantis, the cold desert wind brushing against his face. Sometimes, he would glance back at Zoey, seeing her silhouette outlined against the interior lights, and he’d think about everything they had gone through together. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he might lose her—not to a bullet or some alien weapon, but to this transformation that seemed to steal more of her every day.
Zoey’s bitterness wasn’t the only thing that gnawed at Etrius. He couldn’t stop thinking about their dwindling supplies. They had enough ammunition to fight off a small army, but the food situation was growing dire. As he patrolled the empty airfield, his thoughts drifted back to their original plan—to go to Manhattan, find out more about Zoey’s past, and return to Sigma City. Now, that goal seemed so far away, buried beneath the constant threat of attack and the creeping changes overtaking Zoey. He knew they had to move soon, but with Zoey still recovering and the VTOL far from operational, leaving felt like a distant hope.
The fifth day came and went, marked by the steady rhythm of Zoey’s labored work on the G7. She spent most of her time inside the Titan Vulpes suit, its exoskeletal support holding her fractured body together as she navigated the tight spaces around the VTOL’s engine bay. Her movements had become more measured, a grim necessity to avoid jostling her broken spine and ribs, and she winced beneath her helmet with every shift of the suit’s hydraulic systems. The pain was a constant ache, only kept in check by the suit's stabilizers and the occasional dose of medication. Yet even through this, Zoey’s determination never wavered, her eyes focused on the tangled mess of components that she had to bring back to life.
Etrius continued his patrols, watching the desolate airfield and keeping his senses sharp for any sign of their pursuers. He heard the muffled clanging of Zoey’s work echoing from the hangar, each sound a reminder of the physical toll she was enduring. He wanted to help with the repairs, but he knew better than to interrupt her when she was so focused. Instead, he found ways to make himself useful—tightening the Mantis’s armor plates, cleaning their weapons, and keeping an eye on the skies for any hint of incoming trouble.
By the eighth day, Zoey’s progress had become visible. She had replaced most of the damaged wiring and even managed to rig up a temporary power source, pulling from the Mantis’s batteries to test the VTOL’s electrical systems. The engines, however, remained stubbornly silent, their internal mechanics tangled in decades of disrepair. Zoey’s frustration simmered over more than once, leading to bursts of anger that echoed through the hangar, her curses and German yelling directed at the uncooperative machine. Yet she kept pushing, using the suit's raw power to wrestle with components too heavy for most, occasionally pausing to steady herself as the pain flared through her body.
Etrius watched her struggle, trying to hide his concern. He knew she couldn’t keep up this pace forever, not with her injuries and sleep deprivation, and he worried that she was pushing herself too far. He would approach her during the quieter moments, offering her some of the tasteless food he managed to scrape together, or just sitting nearby, letting her vent without responding. She rarely showed gratitude, but sometimes, he caught a soft look in her eyes that suggested she understood his efforts. He clung to those fleeting moments of connection, knowing they were one of the few things holding them together in this desolate place.
On the tenth day, a sandstorm swept through the airfield, forcing them both inside the Mantis. Zoey sat in silence, stripped of her suit for a few hours to let it recharge the Mantis, her breath short as she tried to find a comfortable position against the pain. The scales on her body gleamed in the dim interior lights, the harsh edges catching the shadows. Etrius sat across from her, his back against the wall, occasionally glancing through the window at the swirling storm. The tension between them felt almost tangible, but neither spoke, their words lost in the howling wind outside. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and they both fell into a fitful sleep, the storm rattling the Mantis around them like a drum.
The following day, Zoey returned to her work, her anger and determination burning even hotter in the aftermath of the storm. Etrius could see it in the way she moved, the subtle tremor in her hands as she reassembled the VTOL’s engine. She barely acknowledged him when he brought her water, her focus entirely on the machine before her.
She was hunting for something in this process, a sense of control, a victory over the pain that had taken hold of her body. Etrius understood that drive, even if he feared where it might lead her.
Finally, on the twelfth day, Zoey reached a critical moment. She had rebuilt the entire engine from parts Etrius brought her, salvaged from other decrepit aircraft on the tarmac. The engine, a bulky, piece of machinery, now had just enough of its original components and mismatched replacements to hold together. Zoey stood over it, her breathing heavy through the Vulpes Titan suit’s external speakers, her fingers flexing nervously around the control panel she had patched together. Her injuries still pulsed with pain beneath the suit’s exoskeleton, but she ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.
Etrius hovered nearby, keeping his distance but ready to intervene if something went wrong. He had seen Zoey work miracles before, but he had also seen things explode violently when those miracles fell short.
Zoey took a deep breath, then punched in the startup sequence. The patched control panel flickered to life, dim lights blinking in sequence as the VTOL’s onboard systems began their slow, grinding attempt to wake up. For a moment, nothing happened, the air filled only with the distant whistle of the wind outside the hangar. Etrius glanced at Zoey, ready to suggest another round of diagnostics, but she held up a hand, signaling him to wait.
Then, with a deep, shuddering rumble, the engine finally roared to life. The sound was rough, uneven—far from the smooth turbine hum it might have once produced—but it was unmistakably alive. Exhaust fumes billowed out from the turbine, mixing with the dust that swirled through the hangar. Zoey’s face, visible through the transparent visor of her suit, twisted into a feral grin. For the first time in days, her eyes held a spark of triumph instead of anger.
Etrius felt a surge of relief, even if he knew it was too soon to celebrate. He gave Zoey a nod, a small acknowledgment of what she had managed to achieve. She met his gaze for a fleeting moment, her expression softening ever so slightly before she turned back to the control panel, adjusting the settings to stabilize the engine's output.
The VTOL-G7's engine sputtered, but held steady, its rhythmic growl filling the hangar like the heartbeat of a long-dormant beast. The engine's rough startup was only the beginning of the repairs needed for the G7. Over the next several days, Zoey pushed herself through grueling shifts inside the Vulpes Titan suit, working to get the rest of the systems back online. The pain from her broken spine, ribs, and femur persisted beneath the suit’s stabilizing framework, a constant reminder of the damage she carried. Despite this, she kept pushing forward, her focus narrowed to the VTOL’s systems: avionics, hydraulics, and weapon systems, all needing attention to make the aircraft ready for their desperate flight.
She started with the avionics, knowing that without a functional guidance system, crossing the Atlantic would be suicide. The G7's avionics had suffered severe degradation, with most of the internal wiring corroded or chewed through by time and desert mice. Zoey cursed under her breath as she crawled into the tight space beneath the cockpit, stripping out the ruined wiring and replace it with salvaged wires from other crafts. Etrius had managed to scavenge parts from some of the base's old communication equipment, which she repurposed for the Donnerdrache. It was a patchwork job at best, but the avionics gradually began responding to her adjustments. She rerouted power from the Mantis’s batteries once more, testing each circuit as she went, until she managed to get the navigation screens to flicker back to life.
Next came the hydraulics. The G7's tilt-rotor mechanisms, which enabled its transition between vertical takeoff and forward flight, had been rusted and locked in place for years. With the Vulpes Titan suit, Zoey used her enhanced strength to pry open the access panels and force the seized pistons to move again. She manually cleaned out the sediment from the fluid lines and replaced seals using spare parts scavenged from the old vehicles around the base. She had to work slowly, knowing that one slip could send a jolt of pain through her broken bones, but eventually, she managed to coax the hydraulics back to functionality.
The weapons systems were a lower priority, but Zoey knew they couldn’t afford to fly unarmed. The Dragon's standard armaments had been stripped long ago, but she found a few usable 30mm autocannon rounds and ammunition belts scattered through the base’s munitions depot. Etrius helped load the autocannon on the underside of the fuselage and test its automated firing mechanism, a job that involved much grumbling and frustration as they dealt with the outdated control software. Despite the headaches, they eventually managed to get the turret to track targets accurately. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
As Zoey worked, the Mantis sat nearby, its damaged and shot solar panels extended, slowly charging its batteries under the desert sun. Zoey needed as much time in the Vulpes suit as possible, which wasn't viable if the Mantis needed it for power. She made occasional trips back to check on the power draw. Etrius monitored her closely, stepping in when he saw her struggling with the weight of exhaustion, though he knew better than to offer help directly. Her stubbornness remained undiminished, even if her strength was faltering.
During one of these moments, as the engine of the Donnerdrache roared to life in a test spin-up, they found themselves taking a rare break together in the shadow of the aircraft. Zoey leaned back against the landing gear, the weight of the Vulpes suit pressing her against the metal, while Etrius stood nearby, arms crossed, looking out over the cracked tarmac.
“We need a plan for when we get to Germany,” Etrius said, his voice low as he kept an eye on the sky. “We’re going to need supplies. Food, rest. You’ll need time to heal up more—your body can’t keep pushing like this forever.”
Zoey let out a short, bitter laugh, her breath fogging up her visor. “Yeah, I’ll heal up when the goddamn aliens stop trying to kill me. The second we land, we’ll have to scavenge whatever we can find. My old lab isn’t exactly sitting there with open arms and a welcome mat.”
Etrius glanced over at her, his expression unreadable. “I'm sure there are a just as many abandoned military depots in Germany as there are here,” He hesitated before continuing. “Or...we could try stopping at the Sigma City jetport.”
Zoey’s head snapped up, her scaly features twisting into a scowl. “No fuckin' way. You know what that would mean. They’d demand an aviation license, and this—” she gestured at the Dragon’s bulk, “is technically US military property. They’d confiscate it in a heartbeat, even if they’d just want it as a museum piece. We’d have to explain the German KKP-42 and those British Rexor rifles too. They’d impound everything, and we’d never see any of it again and be back at square one.”
Etrius shrugged, but his voice remained level. “You’re a contractor for Sigma City’s military. They’d probably be willing to help if it meant stopping whatever alien operation is going on here. If you have a lead on something that could threaten Sigma City...”
Zoey closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the suit’s padded interior. She knew Etrius was right, but the thought of having to deal with the bureaucrats at the jetport made her stomach twist. “Maybe.” she said after a moment, her voice quieter. “But that’s not how it works anymore, is it? We're being hunted by creatures just as strong as we are, and they have the numbers for a full assault on the city if they wanted to. They're after me, my suit, my brain, everything. We hide in military bases because they know we can best them even with old prewar tech.”
Etrius softened, a rare hint of sympathy breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. “I get it. I miss my place, sometimes. And the way things were. But we can’t ignore what’s in front of us. It might be the difference between making it or losing everything.”
Zoey sighed, a hiss escaping from the suit’s external vents. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it. But let’s get this fat bird in the air first. If we’re flying across the ocean, I need to make sure this thing doesn’t fall apart halfway there.”
Etrius nodded and stepped away, giving her space to return to the work that still lay ahead. Zoey pushed herself off the landing gear, ignoring the stab of pain that flared up her spine. She climbed back into the G7’s underbelly, her focus shifting to the last of the fuel line repairs. The conversation lingered in her mind, though, an uneasy reminder that even if they got this aircraft airborne, their real challenges were only beginning.
She spent the next few days rechecking the G7’s systems, checking the thrusters, the turbines the avionics, and calibrating the control systems with Etrius’s help. He would join her in the cockpit, running simulations on the navigation system while she tested the fuel flow to ensure it was balanced across all four turbine engines. It was slow, painstaking work, but they couldn’t afford any mistakes—not with a transatlantic journey looming ahead. Zoey ignored the soreness in her chest from the broken ribs, biting back her anger at the sluggish pace. Her body might be betraying her, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from getting them both across the ocean.
By the end of the fifteenth day, Zoey finally stepped back from the Donnerdrache, feeling a sense of grim satisfaction as she watched the VTOL’s engines whine to life. They roared steadily now, their vibrations coursing through the ground beneath her feet. She glanced over at Etrius, who gave her a small, encouraging nod, and for a moment, a weary smile cracked through her usual scowl.
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