The Cyclop’s final bellow still echoed faintly through the hollowed-out streets as its massive frame crashed to the ground, sending a tremor through the broken asphalt. My breath was ragged inside my helmet—each exhale cycling through its neuro-feedback chamber with a subtle hum. The HUD flickered, then settled as smoke curled across the battlefield like phantom limbs.
“Eagle Squadron,” I said through the link, tone low but carrying the weight of command. “Status report. Sound off.”
Carter’s tag blinked green first. “Vice-Captain Carter—operational. Minor laceration, left flank. Armor integrity holding. Raid sync at ninety-two percent.”
“Thompson here—operational,” came the gravel of Ethan’s voice. “Left shoulder’s jammed. No break, though. I’m good.”
“Lucas—operational. Blade systems
