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He would have to think about what to say, he supposed. They certainly had a lot of things that they could discuss, if they ever found the opportunity to do so. But how much of it would just be lies? Or manipulation?

Old friend or not, how could any semblance of trust between them ever be truly restored?

He felt the machine begin to decelerate, heard mechanical parts shifting and whirring. After what seemed like a couple more minutes, the change became even more pronounced, and the machine slowed down enough that Parson couldn't even tell if they were moving, anymore. The loud howling of jets changed, too, as if reverberating off of walls or perhaps the ground.

And then, at last, he felt a gentle touchdown, and the machine went quiet as its propulsion systems appeared to power down.

It took a while longer before the metal door slid open, making him squint while his eyes tried to adjust to the light. A pair of hands grabbed his chains and yanked him out and tossed him onto the ground like a sack of barley.

He looked around, searching for anything that would help him make sense of his surroundings.

There were so many robots, all lined up and standing at attention. And some of them were so much larger than others, black-and-silver giants amid a crowd of machines that Parson had previously thought quite large.

And he wasn't the only captive, he realized.

He recognized several of his fellow generals. Eckard, Malidnda, Meris, Harrison--and more.

So many more.

Then he laid eyes on Asad Najir, and his heart sank. Unlike the others, however, the tattooed man was blindfolded.

What about the marshals, though? Where were Lamont and Jackson?

Parson didn't have enough time or even the proper viewing angle to look over everyone before that all-too-familiar voice arrived.