The blue Martian sunrise casts a somber light across the ravaged city. Debris litters the landscape, a stark reminder of the devastation. The silence is heavy, broken only by the soft hum of remaining systems and the distant, mournful strains of music from the AI.
"SHUT UP!!" Wolf's voice cracks with raw emotion. "My bad..." he mutters, a wave of grief and frustration washing over him.
He takes a shaky breath and addresses the others, his voice regaining a semblance of its usual determination. "I'll gather what we need. The transport ship is still intact, thank goodness. Let's get it prepped for launch." He pauses, a grim reminder of their narrow escape. "We're lucky we all kept our helmet comms active; they helped us navigate when the dome breached."
Wolf surveys the scene, a monumental task ahead. He begins to clear debris, his movements jerky and fueled by a restless energy. The memory of Joe, the weight of their shattered friendship, is a constant burden. He absentmindedly bumps his large megasuit against doorframes and fallen structures, the metallic clang echoing through the desolate surroundings. The other survivors, their faces etched with sorrow and exhaustion, begin the arduous work alongside him, the blue light of dawn painting a picture of loss and resilience.
BJ is diligently cleaning, his fully enclosed suit protecting him from the harsh Martian sunlight.
Wolf's voice booms through the comms: "Take all the weapons you can find scattered around. But don't touch anything inside the weapon room – they're all fakes now. Get to work."
"Yes, sir, we will, BJ," BJ replies.
Wolf sighs. "Sir? Don't call me that. I'm still Wolf, just a slightly overgrown microwave now."
"Okay, Wolf, will do," BJ confirms.
The scene shifts, showing the survivors scattered across the ruined city, each engaged in tasks suited to their individual challenges. Some carefully collect debris, others organize salvaged supplies.
Wolf contacts another survivor, Big B: "Hey Big B, how's it looking down there? Have you found anyone else or anything useful?"
Big B's voice, small but determined, crackles through the comm: "Not yet, Wolf. I might be small, but these holes are even smaller. I have found some weapons and other things, though. I'm not sure what they are; they look like voice boxes."
"That's good work, Big B. We'll check them out later," Wolf responds, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
Rudy approaches Wolf, concern etched on his face. "Wolf, the fuel reserves on our ships... they're all depleted."
Wolf nods, his gaze distant for a moment, still fixed on the ruined city. "That's okay. We salvaged some fuel from the alien ship – it was falling out of the sky after they were defeated. Let's just hope it's compatible with your ship."
They begin the task of transferring the alien fuel, a crimson liquid they cautiously refer to as "Fever," into their larger transport ship. A sense of unease hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unknown properties of this alien substance.
Wolf pauses, turning back to Bluemars one last time. Everything they could carry – food, water, weapons, and other essential supplies – is now aboard. The six remaining survivors are ready to leave their shattered home.
The ship's engines roar to life, a powerful sound that cuts through the silence. "Let's move," Wolf says, his voice heavy with finality, though his eyes linger on the receding lights of Bluemars.
They board the ship, the heavy door hissing shut behind them. With a final surge of power, the transport ascends, piercing the thin Martian atmosphere and disappearing into the vast, star-dusted darkness of space.
From the inky blackness of space, an alien vessel materializes, its form sleek and menacing as it maneuvers towards the Martian transport. Suddenly, a violent jolt rocks their ship – BOOM! They've been struck by an unknown force.
An alarm blares, and one of the aliens on their ship is thrown against a wall, his suit compromised. They quickly retrieve him; he's massive, his body unnaturally cold and stiff – frozen solid.
Back inside their ship, they examine the frozen alien. His eyes are lifeless, vacant. Then, a faint red glow emanates from within them, slowly intensifying, like embers catching fire. The red light pulses, growing brighter, until his eyes blaze with a crimson intensity, akin to a car engine roaring back to life. A ragged breath escapes his lips, sounding like a death rattle.
Then, with terrifying speed, he bursts into motion, leaping away from his captors and attacking the nearest alien with brutal force, tossing him aside as if he were weightless. Ten more alien figures materialize, converging on the reanimated giant. After a fierce struggle, they manage to subdue him, and he falls unconscious once more.
Though still dazed, the reanimated giant hears the guttural voices of the aliens.
Alien 1: "Our king will be most pleased with this specimen. What manner of creature is it?"
Alien 2: "It bears a resemblance to the humans we encountered, yet no human possesses such glowing red eyes, nor such immense size."
Alien 1: "Indeed. We shall place it with the other low-grade goti for now."
Alien 2: "But it is far too powerful and large to be confined with such refuse."
Alien 1: "This is merely a temporary measure, to restrain it until it can be presented before the king."
The red-eyed giant is shoved into a holding cell already teeming with low-grade goti. One of them, young and frail, cries out, his voice filled with desperation.
Young goti: "Please, let us go! We've done nothing wrong. Yes, we are weak, but we can still be useful!"
A goti warrior sneers, his voice harsh and dismissive. "Silence, you vermin! We are a warrior race; there is no place for weakness. And look at your new cellmate," he shoves the giant forward. "He has more warrior in his single finger than all of you combined."
The goti warrior glances up at the giant, his bravado faltering for a fleeting moment as he meets the intense, glowing red eyes filled with rage. He quickly shoves the giant fully into the cell and slams the heavy door shut.
The red-eyed giant stands within the cramped space, his immense size dwarfing the other goti. Slowly, he lowers himself to the floor, sitting amongst them, yet even in this position, he remains a towering presence. The low-grade goti shrink away from him, fear evident in their wide eyes.
A deep voice rumbles from the giant. "What are your names?"
The young goti shrinks back. "We... we do not have names. Only the high-grade goti are deemed worthy of names. We are simply... nothing."
The red-eyed giant's gaze softens slightly. "Mike."
The young goti looks up, surprised. "Mike? That... that is a strong name."
The giant shakes his head. "No. That is your name now. It doesn't matter how they see you. You are equal to them. A weaker body does not equate to less worth. And my name... my name is Joe."
Mike looks confused. "I... I can't accept it. Even in my mind, I feel weak."
Joe's voice is firm but gentle. "That doesn't matter, Mike. Now then, I want all of you to name yourselves."
One of the goti, a slightly older one, speaks up hesitantly. "I'll go by Tcok."
Another follows, a flicker of newfound courage in his eyes. "I'll go by Sdik."
Then another, and another: "I'll go by Wabrik." "I'll go by Huim."
Joe surveys them, a grim determination hardening his features. "See? How does that feel? What they're doing to you isn't right, and I'll make sure this ends today. No life, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, deserves to feel like less. You too deserve to feel like you matter."
A fleeting moment of hope flickers across the goti's faces as they hear the approaching clang of armored boots. The smiles vanish instantly, replaced by fear. The cell door bursts open, and Mike, who had positioned himself near the entrance, is brutally shoved aside.
Warrior: "Get out of the way, you filth!"
Mike, bruised but defiant: "Mike."
Warrior: "Mike what?"
Mike: "My name is Mi—" BOOM! A heavy boot slams into his face, silencing him. "Don't disgust me, trash like you, daring to have a name! Disgusting!" The warrior continues his assault, kicking and punching Mike repeatedly. "You're nothing! You're weak! You're garbage! A lowlife!"
"STOPPP!!!" Joe's roar echoes through the corridor. He throws himself between the warrior and Mike. The goti warrior swings a fist at Joe, but it connects with his massive form without any effect. The warrior stumbles back, stunned.
Joe turns to the fallen goti. "Let's go, big guy."
Suddenly, seven more hulking goti warriors appear, their weapons raised. "The king awaits you," one of them snarls, and they move to restrain Joe.
Surrounded by the imposing goti warriors, Joe is led from the confines of the underground cell into a vast, multi-tiered world. It resembles a colossal structure, with at least three distinct layers visible. The underground city teems with the goti warriors, a stark contrast to the level above, an expansive cityscape where the king resides.
Their procession moves along a grand thoroughfare, a wide road ascending from the depths of the warrior city towards the elevated royal district. As they reach the midpoint of this imposing avenue, the sheer scale of the goti society becomes apparent. Hundreds upon hundreds of goti populate the upper city, lining balconies and walkways, their gazes fixed on the spectacle unfolding below.
At the end of the avenue, upon a raised dais, sits the king, flanked by four immense goti, each even larger and more heavily armored than the warriors escorting Joe. As the seven goti guards reach the dais, they all kneel in unison before their monarch. But Joe remains standing, his towering form and glowing red eyes a stark defiance against the bowing figures.
A furious roar erupts from Joe as all seven goti warriors lunge at him simultaneously. With surprising agility for his size, he pivots, his massive hand slamming into the first warrior, sending him sprawling. Then another, and another, each goti falling before his powerful blows.
The goti lining the upper city surge forward, a wave of armored figures descending to protect their king. Energy blasts and melee weapons rain down on Joe, but he seems to shrug off the attacks, healing almost instantly. He doesn't kill them, instead delivering powerful strikes that knock them unconscious, clearing a path towards the dais.
The king, witnessing Joe's relentless advance, scrambles backward on his throne, fear finally etching itself onto his regal features. Joe grabs a fallen goti warrior and hurls him like a spear, the impaled figure pinning the king to his seat.
Joe continues his inexorable march, ignoring the continued assaults, throwing aside any goti who dare to stand in his way. He reaches the base of the dais, his glowing red eyes fixed on the terrified monarch.
"You are no king," Joe snarls, his voice a low rumble. "I thought you said you were higher than others, greater than others. If you are so strong, so above us all, then why are you trying to run? Why not fight me? Show me how mighty you truly are!"
Even with several goti clinging to him, desperately trying to restrain him, Joe reaches the impaled king. He forces the king's head back, exposing his throat. With a swift, brutal motion, Joe's massive hand closes around the king's neck, and he rips the head clean off. The lifeless body slumps against the throne.
Joe turns to face the stunned assembly of goti, the king's severed head still clutched in his hand. "So," he booms, his voice echoing with newfound authority, "what is it to be you? Do you want to continue being seen as less? Do you want to be seen as equal, not used by a selfish king, not abused, not thrown aside? Or do you want to die like your king?"
He pauses, his red eyes sweeping across the silent crowd. "Pick a side. Follow me, and you will never feel like less again. Nothing will be thrown aside. You will be seen as my family, not my workers, not lesser beings, but equals."
A stunned silence hangs in the air for a moment, then a single goti cries out, followed by another, and another. A wave of shouts and roars erupts from the crowd, and hundreds of energy weapons are fired into the sky, their red blasts illuminating the city in a chaotic display of newfound liberation.
Joe raises his arms, the red light emanating from his eyes intensifying, bathing him in an ominous glow. "TAKE OUT EVERYTHING AND ANYONE IN YOUR WAY! FREE ALL THE GOTI!"
His voice booms across the city, a declaration of revolution. "FROM NOW ON, YOU ARE NO LONGER GOTI! FROM NOW ON... WE TAKE! WE CONQUER! WE DESTROY! WE REBUILD! WE UNITE! WE ARE... THE TAKERS!"
END OF CHAPTER TWO