Alex Powell stared at the abandoned structure before him, the ruined city and rising sands its backdrop. His helmet scanned the area for threats, but the Guardian stayed still for a moment. It looked like a hospital, maybe, once. In days gone past had it housed the dying as humanity lost Earth? Had soldiers like him screamed for their girlfriends and mothers as bullets buried in their stomachs ripped away their lives? “Locking.” Alex raised his rifle again and studied the readings his helmet brought to him. The signal wavered for a moment, then continued strong from the abandoned halls before him. Alex wished his crew was with him, but someone had to watch the ship. The Fallen would descend right down on an unfueled beauty like the Pandora Storm, and the fuel cells they needed were small enough Alex could carry them himself. Still. The wind swept through the Buried City, carrying on it the faintest shriek of a Fallen. At least a mile away. Right? Alex advanced into the building, flicked on his rifle’s flashlight.. Each step clicked on the tile flooring and echoed through the long empty halls. The signal drew nearer. After a few turns, Alex came into the generator room. Dark. Dusty. A generator marked with the letters “GMC” dominated the middle of the room. Shelves lined the walls, all holding precious fuel cells. Alex nodded and let out a breath he hadn’t known he held. He approached the wall and grabbed three, just enough for the trip home, and slipped them into his belt. He turned. His stomach leapt for his throat as his flashlight illuminated five Fallen and one hulking Captain. Alex eased his finger to the trigger and prepared to move. “Earth doesn’t belong to you,” he growled. The firefight erupted.