“Sir?” A quadcopter asked quietly, its random jumps betraying the AI’s worry to the experienced eye.
	“Yes?” I asked, filling out the commit message with a hash of the data and pushing it to the central repository.  
	“There are visitors for you. They do not seem friendly.”  I paused at this.  Fay was programmed to see the best in everyone. She’s given me warnings to be worried about potential insults after a firefight’s started.  For her to say that someone’s unfriendly, well…
	I rose from the desk in my study, and looked around. Processors whined reassuringly, carefully arranged decorations drew the eye, and blank spots on the wall marked where weapons of extreme prejudice had stood.  
	“Did the Duchess’s demilitarization auditors leave anything?” I asked Fey.
	“As per her standing instructions, all objects of an explicitly violent nature have been removed from the premises.”  The bot said, still twitching.  Crap that meant my sidearm.  Not that an M-0x777 is a bad pistol, but a predominately anti-crowd weapon might not be the best idea…
	“What are the visitors wearing?” I asked, hopeful that they were just an angry mob.  
	“The visitors appear to be wearing Mark VII Powered Armor with Planetary Threat expansion slots.  Additionally, they appear to be carrying various weapons ranging from standard issue M-0xF to the ‘Fusion’ variant of the IAT launcher.” 
	“Does sir need medical attention?  You have gone rather pale.”
	“No… No, I’m fine.”  
	Is there even something that can destroy one of those?  I thought idly, trying to remember if any of the traps were designed to deal with something that indestructible.
	“Did they happen to leave the prototypes?”  I asked, rather confident that the answer would be no.
	“Sir, as per standing orders, all technology under development is not classified until after it has been demonstrated. As such, I took the liberty to move the prototypes into storage, to avoid encouraging excessively enthusiastic auditors.” 
	“Doesn’t that violate most of your loyalty code?”
	“Remind me who spent 3 years researching AI code optimization and illegally used me as a test platform?” 
	“Right… Thank you for not turning me in.”
	“Thank you for agreeing that I shouldn’t be shackled by sapient laws.”  
	  I thought about the prototypes in the vault.  Most of the stuff was designed against minimally armored people, with one or two EMP emitters for anti-low level power armor use.  Though…
	“So, did the X-254 v12 test pass?”
	“Tests were not performed.”  
Oh dear.  
	I started heading to the door, planning on heading to the vault, when a small explosion rang out through the building, followed by a much larger one.  Huh, I could have sworn that the anti-personnel mines around the front door resisted sympathetic explosions.  
	I cracked open the door, and saw a bright gold figure in power armor wriggling on his back, apparently disoriented by the explosives.  This also meant that his allies could see me, and they promptly opened fire.  
	Fortunately, the external gate was sealed, so I wasn’t sucking vacuum.  Unfortunately, this meant that the lasers easily lit the paneling on fire.
	The flames spread rapidly, as befit the higher O2 concentration on ship, and I dove behind a guardrail overlooking the atrium.  The Reeducation squad rapidly moved through the decorative fascide, weapons at the ready.  
	“Fey, activate turrets and detonate mines Atrium 1-4.” I said quietly to the quadcopter, as I cowered against the structural foam.  My world shook, as the squad was thrown onto their backs by the concussive force.  Turrets descended out of tasteful alcoves, and their lasers rapidly targeted the intruders.  
	I knew it was more of a gesture than anything, since the ceramic armor could cope with that power output for hours, but it would hopefully distract the squad for a few seconds.  I bolted, jumping down the stairs in full view of the enemy, hoping they would still be stunned.  My tunic caught fire, demonstrating that I was only partially incorrect, before I reached the corridor heading towards the back of the house.  
	“Get him!”  One of the soldiers shouted, presumably giving chase.  Fey gave an electronic chuckle and sealed the blast doors.  A moment later, the sound of stressed metal denoted that it at least slowed them down.  The sound of shredding metal denoted that it wasn’t for long.  
	Pulling out my plasma pistol, I shot the paneling, filling the corridor with smoke and potentially obscuring the thermal residue of my footprints on the ground.  I darted through a side passage, and asked Fey to seal all doors off the hallway, before flooding the room with oxygen.  The sound of an inferno rose behind me, making it difficult for the squad to see where I had gone.  
	“Room clearing, plan able.” the squad leader barked.  I felt vaguely insulted, able was the standard for unarmed civilians, and the speaker was only used when the enemy would be scared by the noise.  
	“Unarmed civilian my ass.” I muttered, pausing before a painting of the Royal family. I stared at the crest for a moment, as the sensor hidden behind scanned my eye, communicated with my implants, checked my pulse rate, measured my stress level, O2 concentration, and a multitude of other biometrics designed to ensure that unauthorized people did not gain access to the vault.  
	The system paused for a few moments, then chimed and unlocked, a rarity.  Normally, it requires a substantially heightened stress level and heart-rate, generally caused by 15-20 failed entry attempts.  
	The picture retraced into the ceiling, and a complicated series of vault doors began to unlock.  I looked around, checking my watch as the sound of disintegrating doors came ever closer.  A couple seconds laser, with an ominous thud, the final door slid into place, exposing what could be best described as an iterative armory. 
	Dozens of types of weapons, armors, and gadgets abounded, each in a line with its successors and predecessors.  Many of them were heavily damaged, indicating why they needed a new model. I dashed over to a unpowered armored suit, pulling on one model rejected from mass production due to cost.  The skintight suit and helmet had everything you could want, enhanced antenna, oxygen supply, airtight seal, but apparently the nanoscale reflective platinum plating made it too expensive for the bean counters. 
	I sealed the helmet, enjoying the smokeless air as I walked over to the heavy weapons section, snagging an ammo pack and combat harness.  The gear bonded to my suit, placing combat chemicals and standard equipment in easy grasp.
	“Fey, recommendation on how to deal with the intruders?”
	“All functional weapons designated as anti-tank or higher were turned over to Reeducation after testing. At present, the only weapons capable of damaging their armor are the Rad Cooker, the nano-replicator, and the X254.”
	Delightful, I thought glumly. The Rad Cooker released lethal levels of gamma radiation at a target, and could kill a power armored foe in seconds.  Unfortunately, it suffered from a tendency to scatter enough to kill the user in the same time. Similarly, the nano-replicator was programmed to devour everything in a mile radius, expanding outwards and eating inwards to create a pool of grey goo in minutes.  Highly effective, but not really useful at the moment.  Specially since power armor increased speed to an absurd level.  The X254 was a little more reasonable, in that it was simply a massive man portable rifle, but it had a tendency to blow out the bolt with lethal force, decapitating anyone wearing less than city threat armors.  
	I suppose uncertain death is better than certain death, so I picked up the most recent iteration, grabbed one of the magazines, large enough to be a gun case itself, and slapped it into the bullpup receiver. Then I racked back the bolt and fed a monomolecular tip tungsten penetratrator surrounded by sharding ceramic shell, backed up by nearly 40 cm of ultra high power, electronically triggered, explosive propellant, round into the bolt carrier and rode the bolt forward.  I glanced at the 11 iterations before, more than half had explosively, and lethally, failed. I shrugged. 
	Well, if I’m going out, I’m taking at least one of them with me, I thought, laying on the ground.  I flipped the safety to fire, which triggered the recoil reducers, 4 explosive pistons that fired most of a meter into the ground, giving a stable firing platform that was generally not as fragile as carbon-nanotube reinforced bone.  With the recoil buffer, the compensator, the springs behind the bolt, and the weapon’s extreme weight, odds were you could fire accurately without losing an arm.  Assuming that the bolt explode.
	“Sir, looks like there’s an armored wall back here.” The observation speaker relayed from the entrance.  
	“Understood.  Blow a path through!”
	“Fey, trigger the unlock sequence.” I said, carefully aiming at the centerpoint of the innermost door.  
	“Rodger that sir. Get the breaching charge, Private.” 
	I glanced at the video feed of the entrance.  One target had his weapon carefully trained on the painting, standing directly in front of the crest.  I didn’t see anyone else, presumably they were still searching the house or retrieving more weapons.  
	The door cracked open, unlocking in reverse sequence than before.
	Sorry, milord.  I thought regretfully.  The painting had been a gift from the King himself. I relaxed, breathed out and pulled the trigger.  The gun roared, slamming back against the plassteel, sheering through the spacecraft grade material.  The bullet flew through the air, shredding a 2 cm hole in the painting, before hitting the target.  
	I immediately turned to the video feed, spirits lifting that the power armor chest was now spider-webbed with cracks, and that my head was still fairly intact.  The ceramic shell had crumbled against the armor, pitting the mostly invincible plating, while the penetrator had...
	I unfocused from the armor and looked behind the target.  A swath of blood decorated the wall, and a small hole decorated the centuries old structural foam and 2D protective graphine plating.
	Crap.  I did not expect it to be that effective.
	The target crumpled to the ground, his speaker sparking and complaining at the massive damage his systems had suffered.  His ragged gasps created a counterpoint to the distant roar of burning decorative material, and the gunshot brought the ring of multi tonne footsteps sprinting towards me.
	“Corporal!” A shout rang out, and another target came into view, attempting to minister to the fallen soldier.  I fired again, this time with much more visible results, as it cut through his torso and out his neck, the thinner side armor allowing the ceramic shards to shred and peel back the suit. He fell wetly to the ground, speakers cut out entirely as the internal AI was overloaded by the damage.  
	I looked at the pistons, checking if they were in danger of failing.  Fortunately, they seemed solid enough, though the furrows they had dug were worryingly large.  Time to move anyway.  
	“Fey, can you open the hangar?” I asked, retracting the pistons, and ditching the magazine for a fresh one, before loading a round into the chamber.  The drone bobbed up and down, in a surprisingly insulted manner.  
	“Just confirming.”
	“Opening hangar, though I do advise attempting to use a flyer.  Lasers are notably effective against hydraulics and high oxygen environments.”
	I nodded, and looked at the monitors again.  Nobody visible, but that doesn’t necessarily meant undetectable.  I toggled the monitor to expand its visual range and activate microphones.  
	Lines of infrared laser light crisscrossed across the monitor, jumping around the two corpses, as audio played through the speakers.  
	“- but Mark 7s are invincible! Nothing can destroy them.  It’s got to be a trick or or or something!”  
	“Private shut up! Change to tight beam comms.  Get off audio!” 
	“Keep your beams on target!”
	“Should we try to help them?”
	“ZXF-087231, can you respond? What are the vitals on your operator?” 
	“Bshts- *static* ziit ERROR *static*”
The intruders were completely ignoring tactical comms, unused to being in a situation where death was a possibility.  Wonder what happens if…
	“Fey, detonate a blackout grenade.”
	“Detonating...”
A flash came up on screen, and pure black smoke enveloped the room, absorbing energy all along the electromagnetic spectrum. Gunshots and unfocused lasers blasted into the room, causing parts of the cloud to heat up and glow, though that mostly presumed that from prior experience, as I had dived through retracted doors and was rapidly crawling towards the hangars.  
	I heard ricochets and pounding as one of the enforcers ran into the cloud, hoping to cut me off before I escaped. A loud slam demonstrated that this desire was hindered by an improperly calibrated AI and not using laser range finders in between firefights.  
	I rolled over and deployed the pistons, firing wildly into the darkness.  A scream indicated that I hit something.  It also confirmed that it wasn’t anything extremely vital.  I reflexively racked a new round, the metal primer falling to the ground, the noise instantly triangulated by the enemy’s AI.  
	A roar of gunfire blasted down my hallway, as a squad fired everything it had at once, leaving glowing trails inches above my head. Bullets, lasers, and plasma continued to fly, as Fey landed on my prone back.  
	“Sir, I believe that most of the shots are being blocked by the corpses ahead.  If you stay low and hurry, it should be relatively safe.” 
	I nodded and retracted the pistons, rolling over onto my stomach and crawling away.  The  sprinkle of shattered bullets and the dull thud of ricochets, their energy mostly absorbed by the structural foam, rapidly became irritating, while lasers were mostly absorbed by the blackout. Eventually, I made it to the door, which Fey opened, and I collapsed inside.  
	 I sealed the door, and took a few moments to rest.  What the hell was that? I thought.  Enforcers are only deployed at the bequest of the royal family or one of their advisers.  Who the hell is trying to kill me?
	Fey beeped urgently. “Sir, the blackout gas appears to be dissipating.  Whatever you’re planning on doing, you should do it soon.” I nodded, stood up, and cycled the airlock.  
	“Sir, I must point out that there are multiple anti-flyer batteries nearby.”  I jogged across the hanger, ignoring the various meticulously maintained and ordered aircraft.   Within a minute, I stood on the vtol pad, looking into the nighttime skies.  
	“If I remember correctly, this suit does not emit infrared light, it is minimally reflective, and the parachute should easily be able to deal with terminal velocity.” I mused to Fey.
	“For a given value of minimal, sir.”  Fey said, uneasily.
	“Good.” I hopped into nothingness, as Fey shouted “Sir!” and lunged towards me.  I plummeted through the night.
	Moments later, Fey was next to me, his motors whirling frantically.  “Sir! Do you know how difficult it is to catch up with a person in freefall?  Especially when we’re this high up?” It asked reproachfully.
	“Thanks for coming with me.” I replied, slowly repositoning myself into a more stable position.  
	“Through thick and thin, sir.”  
	I checked the altimeter built into the suit, reading about 48,000 meters.  This was going to be a long fall.  I stared at the verdant forest, the ice field to the north, the sparser forest to the south until I got bored, which took like a minute.  Never really been interested in nature.  So I used the built in rocket to turn around and look at the Torus.  Now that was a hell of a lot more impressive.  
	Well, not as much from an artistic perspective.  Mostly the gray of graphine and structural foam, with various reinforcements on the Bastion.  The glow of plasma cannons dotted the superstructure and automated flyers patrolled throughout.  At the base of the Torus, sheltered by the curve, the glow of cooking fires illuminated the outline of the slums.  I glanced at the altimeter, 17500 meters.  
	“Sir?” Fey asked, now upside up since the atmosphere was thick enough for the weaker reverse gearing to keep pace with me.  
	“What is it?” I replied, watching acceleration go negative.
	“What are you going to do next?”
	“There’s a few bolt holes dotted around this Tenth, I’ll probably go to one until I can figure out what is going on.”  
	“May I start making those locales livable?” Fey asked, running through probable properties.
	“Honestly, I don’t know where they are.  You generated and outfitted them, I took the location and entry codes and encrypted them, then left them with a friend. I’m pretty sure that we cleared out that section of memory to make space for one of the Null Day festivals.”
	There were a few seconds of silence, as Fey processed this.  
	“Sir, did you expect something like this to occur?”
	“Fey, I have basic pattern recognition skills.”
By this point, we were past the Maximal, and, therefore, the end of the Bastion.  Now I felt more comfortable, since the range of most of the anti-aerial weapons stopped being effective behind me.   I relaxed and watched detector dishes as they flashed by.  
	“Sir, I think we have been found.” Fey said, jarring me out of my revere.  A flock of flyers were diving towards us, plasma cannons glowing as they charged.  
	Crap. I thought, twisting to angle better towards the ground and speed up a bit.  Unfortunately, the last time I had done something like 40 years ago. I over-committed and started spinning.  I flung out my arms to try to slow down.   
	I heard Fey shout something as plasma fire flew by.  I curled into a smaller target, slowly growing nauseous, as the ramjets screamed by.  My ears popped, and I felt something shove me, adding another axis of rotation to my already dizzying fall.  Focusing on my own limbs, I tried to figure out where I was hit.  
	Well, the smoking stump made it pretty obvious that I was missing my leg.  I tried to move my foot and saw a patch of the charred tissue twitch.  
	“My god sir, your arm is gone.”  Fey exclaimed.  Didn’t notice that.  I was reasonably confident that I was either in shock or rapidly heading there.  At least I didn’t need to worry about bloodloss.  Plasma is sort of kind in that sense.  And the suit melted to the arm… end.  Guess that’s why I didn’t notice it.  No pain either, just the vague academic interest.  
	“My god, Fey, so it is.”  I said.
	I stared at it for a few more seconds, before shaking my head. 
	“Fey, I’m not thinking straight. Need to bounce ideas off of you.”
	“That’s why I’m here, sir.”
	“First, not much you, or I for that matter, can do in freefall. 2. there is probably enough time for the ramjets to come around for a few more attacks. III. Each time I am hit, I give off more heat. Faur, the jets detect heat for targeting.  101. I am going to need to slow down to survive.  12. That will make targeting easier. Following me?”
	“Yes, sir.”
	“What are the chances that I will survive?”
	“Unknown sir, but low.”  If I lived, I would almost certainly be captured and sentenced for resisting arrest and additional crimes.  If I died, well that sort of answers itself.  
	“Sir, the flyers are turning around.” Fey warned.
	I awkwardly reached across my body, groping for my M0x777.  Blackness slowly closed in around the edges of my vision. Apparently my heart found this situation stressful and I was still pretty high up.  
	I grabbed the handgun, designed for crowd dispersal and close range shootouts.  Quite unlike the extremely heavy magnetically accelerated plasma blasts from the flyers. I pointed it to my brainstem, up and in at the base of my skull. 
	Quite a few things happened at once. Fey screamed.  I pulled the trigger. Very accurate plasma fire rained down on me, only the sheer heat and shock preventing me from feeling much beyond the small impact imparted to my body.
I died.