Artificial Melancholy

[Lewis!]

The cabin of the beast shook under the pressure of torrential wind, the omnipresent hum of the synthetics colossal engines forming the only sound which could pierce into Nine's otherwise silent prayer.

He had removed his helm, desperate for relief from the constant buzz of discordant radio chatter. Even the overwhelming biomechanical purr of the dropship was preferable to another moment of control barking in his ear, issuing new directives, updates on the old ones or just another bloody reminder to maintain "cohesion" while on the field. Oh, how he missed the artificial softness of Dispatch. Never a change in tone, never a stutter or a mistake. Every order clear, swift and codified to perfection. Now every operation was managed by a control team, dozens of men and women sat huddled in a room flush with fluorescent displays and beeping panels. A veritable army of signalmen fell under the employ of the Nerve Center, such magnitudes of personnel were needed in order to carry out even a fraction of what Dispatch was once capable of.

A smack to the shoulder woke him from the haze of memory. He longed for how things once were, Dispatch was only scratching the surface. He glanced over to see his Rank Leader looming at the back of the capsule, his bulky figure illuminated from below by an assortment of dying candles. The Officer had been trying ferociously to get his attention, eventually having his cohort slap him awake. The RL made a motion to his head with both hands, indicating it was time for Nine to return his helm to where it belonged.

He huffed, clipping his mask of hard polycarbonate back into place, greeting him near instantly with the unbearable static fizz of radio chatter.

"Keep your fucking head in the game, Nine. Last warning."

He offered a firm nod to his superior, leaning back in his seat as the solemn voice of control began to reverberate in his ears.

"Control to Inoculation Team Six, approaching grid eight-dash-twelve-four, ETA thirty seconds. Expect heavy resistance, expunge your target vector, over."

The team nodded in unison, their Rank Leader confirming to control on their behalf.

"Yep, copy that, over. We hit them hard and fast boys, we won't have any of them walking away from this one. Breen willing."

The dropship shuddered on approach to the landing zone, the tinker of splintering lead already beginning to batter at the cabin's armoured hull, the drone of the engines overpowered by the wail of the living vessel landing procedure. The door to the craft flung itself open, Four Inoculates charging into the fray of battle.