The dark void of space had become a constant companion of his over the years, noted Radomir Pajari as he leaned back comfortably against his captain's chair, gazing upon the view of distant stars from the Jannah's bridge viewscreen. The Russian man had served in space for longer than some of his subordinates had been alive, and in that time he had grown to regard the cosmos (despite its cold, uncaring nature) as a friend of sorts. It was an unchanging world, infinite in size. This he found ... reliable.

And reliability had always been something he had cherished. It was for that reason, after all, he had married his wife.

"No signs of pirate activity yet, boss," interrupted the voice of one of the bridge crew, breaking him free from his idle thoughts.

It had been two hours since the Jannah had resupplied at Deimos Station, and now they were once more sailing through the Martian Sphere, patrolling the sector in search of a group of pirates that had grown increasingly adventurous in the past year. Given the presence of many companies both on and around Mars, it was quite obvious why such criminals would have set up shop in the area. There was a not-insignificant amount of wealth to be plundered from the shipping vessels, and the lack of centralised military power this far out from Earth made taking action far easier. The companies did have their own guard forces, and the larger ones essentially controlled what was akin to a PMC, but they couldn't move so freely that they could flush out pirates.

Hence, the presence of the Jannah. After all, why waste their own dime when they could rely upon the OSDT?

Captain Pajari held in a quiet sigh. Although the OSDT had been formed to combat any threats to mankind, the utter lack of alien hostiles had made their mandate quite irrelevant. Instead, they were relegated to becoming more or less an "odd jobs" task force, sent to provide minimal support to whoever had petitioned the Secretariat that year. It was true that pirates, being "hostis humani generis", technically fell under the purview of their mandate, but other humans weren't exactly what the original signatories had been thinking of when the task force had been established.

The OSDT had supposed to serve as defenders of humanity, but in the decades since it was formed, it had really become more or less a dumping ground for undesirables, with a smattering of those who truly believed in the OSDT's mandate. That was not to say that they were a particularly horrible group of people (he had made sure to instill greater responsibility in all his men, after all), but they weren't exactly the height of professionalism.

"Mr. Riley, I would like you to refrain from making use of the term 'boss'," he reprimanded, shooting a look at the redheaded young man handling one of the sensor consoles.

For example, subordinates who were far too casual on duty.

"Sorry bos-sir, won't do it again sir."

It was a work in progress, trying to instill some more professionalism in them.

At least he had managed to get rid of the man's eyepatch.

"A sizeable pirate presence has been frequently noted in this area," continued the captain, glancing over all the members of the bridge. "Do not allow yourself to become careless. It is possible that they could appear at any moment."

Awareness was key when dealing with a possible combat situation.

"Send a message to the HFV Squadron to remind them to stay ready."

3:25 pm Earth time.

In a ship that never sleeps, morning is relative. Different crews work different shifts, and at any given time there are both people getting up and going to sleep. Even so, somehow, Yusof had a reputation of being up before everyone else. Legend among the crew says that he only sleeps two hours a day, and even then, he's just waiting to get up and start again. The morning routine worked like clockwork, the same every time, without exception. 3:25 PM Earth time, wake up an hour before the rest of this shift is suppose to be up. 3:30 PM, jumpsuit on, teeth brushed, chops combed, cassette player acquired. 3:40 PM, off to the showers, usually empty at this time, good place to stretch the vocal cords with a song or two. 3:55, Breakfast, whatever the ships cook had made at the time, but always with a side of boiled chicken and ice water. 4:12, best part of the morning, off to the gym. A rigid health regime must be kept up with using daily exercise, the training for that day depending on the day of Yusof's own home made month long regime. At this time, the music comes on as well, the cassette player is almost ancient, but it's something from home. Plus, it helps pump iron. 4:40 After outpacing everyone else in the gym for almost half an hour, it's time to go to work.

By now most of the rest of the shift are up and on their feet, albeit in a bit of a zombified state. Back to the crew quarters and to the lockers, Yusof suits up. His own TR-76 compatible suit, hard space rated canvas connected with light titanium plates around the shoulders, crotch, and boots, covered in a set of jump webbing. Light enough to move around comfortably, but still durable and space rated. Sidearm strapped to his hip, helmet under arm, Yusof heads to the HFV bay whilst the stay ready message comes through on his personal comm. He'd almost immediately return the ready report with a green light as he steps onto the elevator leading to the HFV bay. As the elevator descends, he spies his own suit out of the bay through the open elevator scaffold. A proud and old machine, just like him. It stood shoulders above most other suits in the bay, nearly maxing out it's maintenance bay's capacity. The vast machine bore a number of livery and decals on it's dull base red paint. The numerical designation 76-JM-4231 plastered proudly on it's shoulders, the decal of a tiger on it's right arm, a thunder cloud raining missiles painted on the left side of it's Zhavda pod, the 'Mechanical Encumbrance Indicator" text jokingly painted under each knee, indeed every piece of art, livery, and even the technical decals were all more than well known to Yusof. It was something he took pride in, in his own way. He stepped off the elevator as it stopped at the deck and paced through the center of the HFV bay. Mechanics went about their busy work as Yusof made his way to the empty bay 12, an unused location where some of the HFV crew had taken to as a casual location whilst ready conditions required them to be on deck.

Here was Levi, sitting astride a milk crate before an old ammunition dolly turned makeshift table with a set of playing cards strewn about it in a game that had been going on for days. Yusof made his way opposite this 'table' and sat on a metal camping stool wherein he leaned forward to observe his game, requiring no exchange with Levi as he did, this was a regular affair. As he settled in and reached forward to take his turn at the cards, he spoke.

"You get the ready message? Sounds to me like we've shown up finally! Unfortunate, I was going to win too." He'd say, as he gestures to the cards. He spoke with his deep Russian accent, smoothed over by years of working among English speakers, and spoken in perfect English.

So early in the "morning", the large open spaces in the hangar are left eerily desolate. A number of the lights throughout the hangar are turned off and the odd one left over occasionally flickers between shadows being cast by the odd bug that found its way aboard flickering about them. Not too far away from the launching rail stands the dimly lit Russian behemoth standing imposingly over the rest of the mecha in the bay and next to it, standing at a bit under two thirds its height, the OS Type 7, with its single eye faint and shield arms supported by scaffolding. In contrast to the low lighting, a colorful spectrum of lights splash at the feet of the two mecha alongside various digital clashes and bangs; at the feet of the two mecha, Levi thwacks her thumbs at a handheld console with her tongue half poking out and a mix of concentration and irritation on her face.

It's pretty hard to miss the Russian behemoth - no, the human one, not the mecha - walking across any hangar bay, let alone a quiet one. Levi sneaks a glance in Yusof's direction before ultimately focusing on her game, refusing to yield any more than she has to.
"You get the ready message?" comes Yusof as he approaches his 'seat', "Sounds to me like we've shown up finally! Unfortunate, I was going to win too." Levi, after letting him finish, semi-seriously lets out a 'shh' as she beats at the buttons on the handheld. After not even a few seconds, she lets out something resembling an unflattering, irritated grunt before pressing on the power button and setting the handheld on the floor haphazardly.
"Psh," she jabs as she reaches for her hot drink of choice for that morning and brings it half to bear, "not if you keep crumpling your cards like you do in those hands of hours. It's easy to find them once you put them down, y'know?" Admittedly, she's just poking fun - she wishes she was that sharp, but something'd have to be wrong if she didn't greet Yusof with a light jab of some description. Exactly what she's drinking is a bit of a mystery, though: she never has settled on anything in-particular, but it always has to be a hot drink.

"How'd you sleep anyway? Are they using the gym in the morning yet?" Levi moves on to ask after taking a mouthful from her cup. She lazily reaches over for the portable stereo and presses at the buttons until finding what she's after, now that she's done with her game. Music plays faintly across the hangar bay, sitting happily in the background.

"Shoo. I can do pre-flight myself."

"But-"

"Shoo! Too many cooks. Go get coffee or something. If you really want to help, bring me some coffee while you're at it." Sasha tried to look stern, but at 5'4" and her usual level of enthusiasm the effect was lost pretty quickly. She gestured towards the hangar exit with her nose, both hands being occupied with pulling her hair back into a ponytail, and waved a hand in her technician's general direction when one was free. "You already did most of the day's maintenance, I just have to run through the pre-flight checklist. All primary system diagnostics are coming up green, right?"

The technician nodded and sighed, rolling his eyes while he turned and headed towards the exist. "Alright, alright. I'll bring some coffee by. We'll report to the hangar if the HFVs sorty, Rising Star'll need maintenance when she brings the G-Valk back."

"Mmm." Sasha hummed noncommittally, already turning her attention to the task at hand. Best way to avoid saying anything odd, too. It was still weird to act like Rising Star was another person. Made perfect sense why she needed to, but it was still a little odd. Taking the extra step to make sure anything to do with piloting the XC|PT-01 was put not in terms of Sasha Mackenzie, but Rising Star. "She needs", not "I need". At least she didn't have to maintain the act constantly, that'd drive her crazy. Just needed to do it while she was in the cockpit. What was a pain, though, was having to wear the pilot suit underneath her outer layer.

The colonist was eternally grateful ships like the Jannah naturally tended to be much cooler. Otherwise the suit underneath her bulky pants and zipped jacket would roast her alive. At least she didn't need to keep the helmet on her, that was in the cockpit with Rising Star's mask. She was getting sidetracked, though. Sasha crossed through the hangar's open space, giving a quick wave to the two pilots already in the hangar as she went by.

The XC|PT-01, G-Valkyrie as she much preferred to call it, wasn't too far from the entrance. Only took a few seconds to reach, and (to Sasha's delight) kept her close enough to all the other pilots to chat. If they felt like it. She was just a technician to them, so she didn't really get to talk shop with the people outside Paper Tiger. The G-Valk really didn't need much work; Sasha's fingers flew across the console's keys, running the HFV through its pre-flight diagnostics, but there wasn't anything to find. It was just procedure. Munitions were loaded. Reactor was operating within optimal levels. Computer systems functional, transformable frame checked out, et cetera, et cetera. It only took a couple of minutes to run almost all of the checks, only waiting on the ones still running.

Soooo her eyes wandered. She was in a hangar full of giant robots, how could they not? She knew all about the XC|PTs, the thrill of looking through their specs wore off ages ago, but the rest... There were two different Omnienvironmental Series HFVs on board! A Type 2 and a Type 7. The Type 2 was nothing special to look at, it was the program's backbone for a while, but it was fascinating how compatible it was with newer tech. The Rook's consistence was beautiful in its simplicity. And the Type 7! So much faster than most HFVs that big. Sasha would've loved to see how fast it was compared to the G-Valk. Either one would've been fantastic to tinker with, especially after the series was shut down. There was even a Senta.A Senta! One of the earliest Russian HFVs! Her father would've loved to take a look at it, and Sasha was no different. She'd never even gotten to see a Senta in person. Its design was nothing like what X Corp put out, which was why it was so fascinating.

Lucky Jannah techs. Getting to work on all the different types.

Sure, some of them probably wished they were allowed to work on the four XC|PTs on board, but Sasha had spent her waking hours around those for ages. The different stuff was where it got interesting.

...

Hopefully no one objected to her staring at the other HFVs. That'd be kinda awkward.

Henry was already inside the HFV Yukine, doing some last-minute diagnostics. Briefly, he gazed at the Valkyrie; it was a majestic sight, what with its reds, blues, and yellows, and he didn't know if he can beat Rising Star in a fair fight. He was tempted for a split-second to wave, but decided not to; he was not going to gain the 'rapport' needed to get the OSDT Jannah's captain to set up an observation post in this region of space if he acted unprofessional. Oh, did he forget to mention? It was this region which his parents insisted be the site of an observation post to look for more Alien signals.

Either way, he was hyped, but not so hyped that he would break protocol just to squee or otherwise communicate how he was hyped...

((Sorry for the short post))

"A charmed existence," came the lilting greeting from over Sasha C. McKenzie's shoulder, "is church shorthand to be used when discussing lives such as yours. The more fortunate among us in the clergy live them, too. Lives removed of all fears and all desires, save the desire to grow closer to God. Once it was different, so I hear, but in this day and age much of my Church's advice is dedicated to charming the existences of others. Yours, however, consists entirely of others bringing you caffeine and getting to slave away on the day-to-day minutiae of your mech. Once again, Sasha McKenzie, I fear I must admit that the Lord is powerless to help you."

A hot paper cup, complete with a cardboard warmer to deter burning, was pushed into the feisty engineer's hand.

"Latte, extra sugar." A lush smile grew on the face of Father Joan Heidenreich as she found a large box of parts to recline on cross-legged, hands underneath her as she balanced her own coffee on her right knee. "Straight from the chapel's espresso machine. Fear not. It comes pre-blessed."

Her gaze drifted over to her own HFV, the Lion of Judah, and then back to the giddy technician. Two enormous emerald eyes commenced to rolling. Though it was her job as OSDT Jannah's chaplain to provide spiritual comfort and perform religious ceremonies without bias, she nonetheless spent the majority of her time as counsel for the Paper Tiger crew, having volunteered as a member herself after the original pilot left X Corp on maternity leave. The extra time with the trio of madmen, time mostly spent as an outsider both ideologically and chronologically, had allowed her a unique view of the...idiosyncrasies of each member. And though many on the crew would no doubt share a different opinion, Sasha C. McKenzie, more pixie of legend than human girl, was no doubt the biggest handful to deal with.

"You forgot to rinse your hands again."

Emerald eyes rolled again in a show of good nature.

"There is grease in your ponytail."

"Is there?" The technician's free (un-rinsed) hand pulled her ponytail back over her shoulder, neck straining to turn far enough to get a good look at her own blonde hair. After a few moments of examination, the colonist nodded in agreement and pushed the ponytail over her shoulder. Her focus transitioned without warning, eyes darting over to her monitor and inputting a few commands with uncanny speed for one hand on the keys. The other was bringing the cup to her lips so she could take a long swallow of the hot, sweet beverage. "So there is. Thanks for the latte. Better replacement for sleep than the sludge in the mess hall. Extra espresso? You know I love extra espresso. Even if that starts to stretch the definition of latte, but whatever."

Without waiting for a response, the perpetually-manic technician continued.

"Gotta make sure the G-Valk is in top shape if Star's gotta go out. Don't want servos acting up in the middle of space, computer blue-screening, transformable frame jams, none of that. I don't feel like finding out what happens if I get fired in the middle of space, y'know? Besides, she'd kill me." Balancing the cup next to her workstation, Sasha vaulted onto the HFV without pausing for breath. She spent a few brief moments on top checking energy levels, then jumped back down, grabbed her cup and resumed speed-reading the analytics at her disposal intermittently punctuating a point by gesturing emphatically with her coffee-holding hand. "First real combat run. She's gotta be perfect. Gotta show what she can do. Checking servo status, energy levels, reactor output, control latency, armor integrity, all that. She's gonna go out there feeling her best."

"Running diagnostics on Judah too." Emphatic gesture with her cup in the general direction of the mechanical lion, followed by a long sip. "Results should be done in a minute or two. If there's time I'll do the whole checkup there too, but the humanoid form's what really matters. I mean, what're you gonna do with a lion in space? Aside from look fu- really cool? Nothing, that's what, no traction. Inferior form for zero-g maneuvering. Stay outta it."

"Do we have any idea if you're going out, anyway? Any sign of the pirates? I mean there's no big white sail with a black flag to catch, but really? Nothing yet? Everyone around here's just kinda sitting. Real quiet. Quiet's boring."

Inside the HFV Yukine, Henry Yatogami realized his mistake in getting inside the mech too early; he was missing a chance to participate in some Base Drama! Not that he was a fan of that, but he preferred it to boredom. So, opening the cockpit with a snap-hiss, Henry hopped out to the nearby engineering lift; a platform suspended between two scaffolds and elevated by a mechanism of motors and cables. As it went down, the 19-year old boy looked over his blue, white, and orange jumpsuit, made of carbon-fibre with ceramic trauma plates, as his boyish face, with dark green eyes that were less slanted than his father's, gazed out towards where Joan and Sarah were conversing.

Letting his black, short-trimmed hair glisten, the young man walked over to the two women without ceremony, before bowing in respect, then interrupting:

"Ms. Joan, Ms. Sarah, I am glad to see you two in such high spirits."

As he paused, Sarah and Joan would remember who Henry Yatogami was; a recent transfer from the OSDT Gugnir, who apparently left its Captain on bad terms involving Henry's parents' research. As said research involved chasing after 'Alien signals' that may not exist, it wasn't certain which side they would regard as right, and what they would think of Henry as he butted in on their conversation. So, Henry sought a reason to keep talking with the two, and decided to be honest:

"I'm bored as well; yes, I heard the last snatch of your conversation. However, it's not as if skirmishes against pirates, even the more widespread ones, last long; even at the end of its strength the OSDT is still powerful." A snatch of pride at the end of his voice; Henry clearly believed in the OSDT's mandate. Then he spoke again:

"Anyway, Valkyrie...it hasn't been combat-tested before, according to the dossiers?" His voice was open, and so was his face and the set of his shoulders; he was genuinely curious, not scornful. "Well, I think it'll preform well, especially with such a skilled pilot as Rising Star piloting it. I've seen only pictures, but I think she's beautiful." A smile.

"You know, if our dear Chaplain would pardon me for admitting to sinful thoughts, we don't lack for anything except beautiful men. All the women pilots are supermodels or supermodel-tier, but the men are all 'pragmatically built', except for that other X-Corp guy; I think he's male, but I don't like long hair..."

@Krayzikk@Plank Sinatra@Crimmy

@Plank Sinatra @Letter Bee

"Don't think I'd call the Ozzies powerful, not anymore, but I guess they're strong enough to do their job. So 'powerful enough', I guess. You're... Yamcha? Yatchagama? Yatigamo? Yatogami! That's it." The technician nodded, satisfied with herself for having remembered the pilot's name, and gave a brief wave with her latte-hand. Sasha didn't much mind the intrusion into the conversation, it was a free Mars Sphere after all, but she wasn't paying too much attention during most of his commentary. The Judah's diagnostics had just come back, and she wanted to make sure the Father's HFV was in just as good a shape as the G-Valkyrie. If not better, given its disadvantage in space. It wasn't until he commented on the G-Valk, and her pilot, that her ears perked up a little.

"Can't comment on the testing process, I like having a job." Sasha commented cheerily, patting the blue machine's armor affectionately. "But she's done great so far. She's only out here so we can grab a little more data. She's a good girl. Not too hard to maintain, great specs, and a sweeeeet color scheme. Absolute dream to work on. Only Judah comes close. And that's because Judah's a robot lion. Took X Corp long enough to make dreams come true, but boy did they deliver."

"Rising Star, though, she seems pretty good. Don't see much of her. I do my job, she does hers. Can't really comment on how she looks, hard to tell past the mask. Lucky girl to pilot the G-Valk."

@Krayzikk @Letter Bee @Plank Sinatra

Jack Thor-OSDT Jannah:HFV Hanger

"Rising Star is a good girl." Came the unmistakable booming voice of a certain X-Corp employee. The large man had walked into the area just in time to hear the last part of the conversation. "Good morning everybody. How are you all today?"

He took a large sip of coffee from the equally large mug in his hand. The edge of a pound symbol as well as a block print D could be seen peeking out from beneath his hand.

"Hello, Mr. Thor!" Henry said, almost chirping. "Glad to see you, and I'm fine, though still a bit bored." He then fully turned towards the highly-muscled guy. "I must say, the design of your machine is most unorthodox, much more than Father Joan's. It's really practical and useful, and also something that our pirate enemies would find strange."

Henry then rememebred something: He didn't have a cup of coffee! Well, he'd already had some earlier in the day, but still, having a cup right now would help him socialize!

He then rubbed the back of his head.

"Thanks for the warm welcome, guys." He had been afraid of being looked down on by the people in the OSDT Jannah due to the cause of his transfer; it was so very easy to think him in the wrong...

@Silvan Haven@Krayzikk@Plank Sinatra@Crimmy

@Plank Sinatra@Silvan Haven@Letter Bee

"Morning old man." Sasha said cheerfully, waving at the much, much larger man with her unfortunately dwindling latte. It was fortunate he had to look down to see anyone, if he didn't then Sasha would've been invisible. She was barely chest high. If she was being really, really generous with herself. At least Joan and Husam could see her if they were looking straight ahead. Still, the big man was one of her favorite people. Biggest ham ever, though. Disrespectful as it sounded, 'old man' was her favorite term of endearment. He hated when she called him 'Mr. Thor', made him feel even older, and 'Jack' was too generic. So 'old man' it was. The technician beamed and jerked a thumb at the Ball. "Hope you slept well, you might be headed out. Hate to have to explain how #1 Dad got shot down. Take the thirty seconds to do pre-flight on that thing, will you?"

She was midway through turning to Joan when she heard Yatogami's remarks and stopped still. First she looked at Joan, with eyes that expressed nothing but pure confusion and indecision before pivoting slightly to the younger pilot. "I uh, yeah. Unorthodox. Don't think I'd praise it so much, though. It's... It's a support craft. A spherical coffin with a laser cutter and an ejection seat."

A pause.

"Joan doesn't like it when I call it that. But she also says I shouldn't lie. So it's a struggle." Another, slightly longer pause. "The old man's good at using it, though. Once won a sim tournament I watched with a twenty year old grunt mech, and he's done great with the thing's sims. Just... I hesitate to call it a 'mech'."

"A n y w a y, Joan, I need you to take a look at the Judah's diagnostics." Sasha took a long sip of her latte, disappointment increasing as it dwindled. "Anything look wrong to you? Looks fine to me."

@vFear@AreaQD@Mugi@Deejay@Silvan Haven@Onarax@Plank Sinatra@Krayzikk@Bravebuckshot@Letter Bee


"Bos-sir, the sensor's got blips at 86 degrees. Confirming how many we've got right now!"

So they had finally shown their faces. Captain Pajari leaned forth, steepling his hands in thought as he gazed into the black of the viewscreen. It had been quiet waiting for the last hour, wondering when their foray into the midst of pirate territory would provide them with their dividends, but now that waiting had finally paid off. The Jannah would be soon in combat with whatever force their targets would bring to bear, and whether or not his crew's mission would result in a failure would depend on their skill, and that of the enemy. If they were weaker, they would lose, but if they were stronger, then the pirates would win. That was fact.

"Looks like a real doozy from up here," interrupted Lumen 3, Lydia Popova, with her trademark drawl. The HFV pilot and her machine were sitting on top of the Jannah's hull, serving as both an additional gun and extra pair of eyes for the ship. Her voice was tinged with the slightest bit of static. "Thinking about thirty or so of them?"

It appeared as if the pirates outnumbered them almost two-to-one, then, if her observation had been correct.

"Thirty pirate IFFs exactly, sir!" Riley shouted, the redhead only glancing once at his direction before returning to the console. "Popova's got it right."

"There are twenty-eight Rooks rapidly approaching!" noted another member of the bridge crew, a bespectacled blonde woman with her hair tied back into a bun. "And ... there are two Bradleys as well!"

That was a significant amount of HFVs for mere pirates. No wonder they were so adventurous so recently. Such an amount of machines in one's possession so far out into space was more than enough to deal with any company's escorts. Enough for one to be confident against any foe, even an OSDT ship like the Jannah. If he knew the pirates' mindset clearly, then downing his vessel would likely be a massive boost to one's reputation.

"All hands to battlestations!" he ordered, alarms beginning to ring across the ship. "Launch all HFVs now!"

"I wouldn't bet that we'll get outta this without a scratch, old man," said Lydia casually, even while she was likely preparing to fire her cannon at the approaching pirates. "Bit of a gamble there."



"Gambling is restricted to poker nights, Ms. Popova," was Pajari's immediate reprimand. "Focus on the enemy before worrying about losing more of your money."



"That's harsh, old man."

Once the battle was over, he would really need to work on fixing her irreverence.

A sigh at having to halt this conversation, but Henry Yatogami had been fighting pirates for as long as the other Pilots, at least most of them. So, he was going to act professional. When the alarms blared out, he fast-walked straight to the HFV Yukine, hopping into a lift that began floating faster than usual. Hopping into the cockpit and closing it, making sure that the interior was pressurized without a leak, Henry waited for the signal to go, go, go!

It came sooner than he expected, and with the other pilots, he was flying through the starlit void of space...to encounter an unusually large set of decomissioned US mechs and former terrorist HFVs; thirty of them - the enemy had numerical superiority. Henry began to regret his words about the OSDT's strength, but censured himself; he was going to show these Pirates that the OSDT was nothing to mess around with!

Trusting the others to hold the centre of the formation, Henry observed the enemy, reviewing what he knew about Bradleys and Rooks; Rooks were mostly ranged mechs, vulnerable to close combat, while Bradleys were the opposite, having few options for distance fighting. Nevertheless, he knew that his weak Assault Rifle would not do anything to this swarm, not as much as they can deal out, at any rate. He needed fancy tactics and maneuvers, maneuvers with the goal of getting him as close to as many vulnerable Rooks as possible.

((Edited out))

@Crimmy@Krayzikk@Silvan Haven@Plank Sinatra

Klaxons, sharp and screeching, crashed through Sasha’s thoughts. There was no doubt as to what they meant, and even if there was the order from the Captain carrying over the loudspeakers dispelled it immediately. It was time to sorty. Yatogami left immediately, without a word, but Sasha wasn’t paying him any mind; she was gulping down the last few swallows of her latte, tossing aside the cup, and looking about the hangar. She had an extra step that the others didn’t need to worry about. She needed to find a corner, some kind of obstruction, somewhere they weren’t looking-

“Technician Mackenzie! Why isn’t PT-04 ready for launch?” The harsh tone broke the state of indecision, especially when her chief tech put his hand on his shoulder and gave her a slight push towards the back of the Waverider. When he mouthed ‘go’, out of view of the rest, she got the hint and headed around behind the G-Valkyrie while her tech turned to Joan and gestured to the Judah. “Morning, Father. You should get to your HFV.”

Whatever the chaplain said in response, Sasha didn’t catch. Distance (and HFV armor) muffled it, and the rest was drowned out by the buzz of activity in the hangar. A quick glance confirmed that no one could see her, and then she went into action. Her jacket was unzipped and practically flung aside, followed by her boots and then work pants she wore over her pilot suit. She was thankful, for a brief second, for the relief ditching the outer layers provided; keeping them on over her normal suit had been unbelievably hot. Not that she had the time to think about it. The clothes were bunched up into a ball and tossed aside, somewhere Sasha could retrieve them when she was done, and then she had to contend with one more problem.

How was she going to hide her face? It was a couple of meters to the G-Valk’s cockpit, time during which she would be out in the open. Her mask was in the cockpit already. She didn’t have time to sneak through or get her tech to cover her. She needed to go now. So what could she use… After a few seconds of desperate searching, she grabbed the first thing that she saw. A hard hat wasn’t perfect, but she was extremely thankful someone had forgotten to put it away. It was good enough to cover her hair and pull down low over her face. Temporary disguise accomplished, the pilot rushed out from behind the Waverider, all but vaulted up the ladder, and threw the hard hat back out of the HFV before closing the hatch.

Now everything was as it should be. She could feel it. Just settling into her chair made all the uncertainties fade away, like slipping into a comfortable set of old clothes. Familiar and right in a way that can’t quite be described. Her mask went on, the material cool on her face, and a brief clearing of her throat confirmed that the modulator was working. Her helmet twisted on with a soft click, finalizing her preparations. Without the flurry of background thoughts, the dozens of miscellania that so often cluttered up her mind, Sasha could feel her growing enthusiasm. The stakes were high, the odds stacked against them, and she was excited. Her heart pounded, her blood pumped, adrenaline rushed, and it all came together to heighten every sensation to a profound, razor sharp focus. Every molecule of her being hummed in synch with the machine around her, her energy swelling in unison with her reactor’s growing output, feeling the feedback from every shifting fin, every swiveling vernier, perceiving the feedback as though the senses were her own. Thew XC|PT-01, no the G-Valkyrie, spoke. It sang.

And Rising Star could understand every word.

Systems came online with the flip of a switch, all functions responding appropriately to her light, testing touch. The hangar personnel waved her on, and she taxied towards the launch deck. The G-Valk moved smoothly, the lightest application of its thrusters rolling it into place on the catapult’s tracks. She felt the launcher brace against the Waverider’s rear, the soft thunk of it coming to rest behind her, and saw the status lights appear on her monitor. All red, for now, but that would change in a few charged, anticipatory moments.

“Transferring timing controls to G-Valkyrie.” She recited, protocol coming out in a lower, more commanding voice than Sasha’s own. “All systems green.”

The air was electric, sending tingles running up her spine. Every iota of her will was focused on this one instant, her last moment of contemplation before joining the fray. She barely heard the acknowledgement from the bridge, the confirmation of control transfer, while she closed her eyes and took a single deep breath. She was fraught with tension, a tension both immeasurably excited and unbearably fearful. It was time to fight for real. It was time to prove her reputation. It was time to shine.

It had been the merest fraction of a second, but an eager smile graced her obscured features.

“Rising Star,” The words escaped with unbelievable intensity, matched instantly by the release of the catapult sending the G-Valkyrie rocketing out of the Jannah at incredible speed. She felt the pushback, the force of the acceleration, and her grin only widened. “Launching!”

Gunmetal gray gave way to starry black, and most importantly, to the foes arrayed against her. Thirty units. Twenty eight OS Type 2s, Rooks, and two Mm C44 Bradleys. Those were a rare sight. The vast majority of them had been destroyed eight years ago, only one hundred and twenty one were estimated to exist by 106 SA. Taking into account how many had been destroyed without the UN’s knowledge… Rare indeed. The Bradley was a close-combat-use HFV, with command variants often equipped with remotely controlled drones. Limited long range capability. High performance unit. With a skilled pilot, those two would be the real problems in terms of one-on-one capability.

The Rooks were armored ranged units. Tough, but relatively old. They would be lacking for speed in zero-g. Reliant on armor and heavy firepower which, admittedly, was potent enough to knock her own HFV out of the sky. Buuuut… They shouldn’t shoot her down if they couldn’t hit her, now could they?

She made her assessment right out of the gate, and decided that based on how quickly the enemy was closing in, there was no time to lose. The G-Valk fired off a shot from its Beam Shot Launcher, intent on nailing one of the closing Rooks in its torso. Sasha banked left immediately afterwards to clear the airspace for whoever was launching after her, beginning to curve out and around the attacking force with the intent to flank.

“Watch out for the Bradleys.” She said into the comms, making sure they were keyed to the Jannah team’s frequency. “The Rooks will be slow in space, but they’ll punch a hole right through you if they get the chance.”

“Paper Tiger, ETA?”

@Letter Bee @Plank Sinatra @Silvan Haven @Onarax @Crimmy

Not every pilot spends his days in the hanger, contrary to the popular conventions some pilots enjoyed having some time to pursue their own personal affairs. Husam ibn Muhammad ibn Ali al-Farsi was one such pilot. While others spent their time in the hangers, ogling the HFVs the way twelve year old's peered into their neighbor's windows, Husam found little enjoyment in simply wondering the hangers the way his teammates did. That's not to say he disliked his HFV, far from it, the man was continuously imbued with passion upon entering the cockpit.

Yet he also was not one for long passionate silences where he would stare longingly into the Sword Shroud's eyes amidst the hustle and bustle of the mechanics around him. If he felt like lounging about, he may as well perform such a task in his room. At least here he had the comforts of his notebook and his P5P to strengthen his mind and reflexes. Which also served X Corp's purposes quite well, as it would be rather peculiar for an investor to spend all his time around one HFV. It was far more plausible for his cover story, if Husam kept his presence in the hanger to a minimum.

Thus he was sprawled across his bed, the latest One Ok Rock single playing in his ears as he immersed himself in his newest Last Judgement Portable campaign. Now while it normally wouldn't make much sense for X Corp to produce a portable release of their star franchise, particularly after the project had already selected its pilots, Husam had been granted a personalized copy as a way of constantly keeping his reflexes in check. It had become a bit of a contest between the developers and Husam as they sought to continuously up the difficulty in hopes of increasing the odds of Husam getting shot down in game. The new game plus in particular was extremely punishing, as the enemies had learned and adapted to the methods Husam had previously employed.

He was currently on his fourth play through.

Next to the young man laid his open notebook, scratched out were his previous attempts at a new story. For weeks now the man had been seized by an idea, a story about a young pretty boy and his descent into the dragon culture his friends had enjoyed for years. Yet currently he'd only been able to formulate the main character's name, and that of a few of his friends. The adventures of the young Tytius and his friends would take some time to truly formulate in his head and, like most young writers, Husam would rather procrastinate than work. Thus he had found himself once more in the world of Last Judgement.

The rest of the room was fairly rote, with the only interesting items to note were a few model kits resting around a rather full bookshelf. Husam's desires for frivolities had faded out many years prior, and thus all that existed in his room were the bare essentials and a handful of his passions. It was a boring room, but it was a comfortable room for the young man.

That comfort was quickly interrupted by the blaring noise of the ship's alarms.

Now if one had been peering into the lethargic man's room, they might have expected a sigh, or some sound of resignation as he set aside his P5P. Instead it was as though a defibrillator had been used upon a corpse. The sounds of the alarms electrified the man with new found energy, as he quite literally leaped out of his bed to done his gear in the closet.

Husam entered and The Persian walked out.

The change in appearance wasn't too drastic, it was just a simple pilot suit after all, the unique aspect was the pilot's helmet, which perhaps is more aptly described as a mask. A black mask embossed by a white X, sure it was a bit on the nose, but it invoked the company and hid Husam's hair and face. Besides, an eccentric mask was perfect for an eccentric man. For while his physical clothing may not have been too different, the way the man carried himself and spoke was not what those who had seen Husam merely in passing might have expected.

There was a bravado in how he carried himself and new found conviction in his voice as he activated his intercom. "Brother Hector!" by now 002's lead technician was used to the greeting cry of his pilot, "What is the status of the Sword Shroud? And are the other tigers ready to roar!"

"We're ready to launch here sir, Rising Star is already making her ascent."

"SUBARASHII!" This time Hector was somewhat startled, but only because The Persian had now appeared behind the technician as he inspected the magnificent Sword Shroud. Not one to be outdone by his teammate in dramatic launching, The Persian also deemed fit to vault into his cockpit as the Sword Shroud came to life. The hum of his HFV coming to life, was an echo of the man's own soul. The flashing lights, the opening beeps, the static of the comm system, even the pulses as the life support system came to live, it filled The Persian with even more vigor.

Of course, another key aspect, was the syncing of his MP3 Player as his playlist started up.

The Persian's smile only widened as he realized he was being greeted by a familiar friend, it'd be a long time since he'd been greeted by this song. As the music started building, The Persian took in every less ounce of data the Sword Shroud was currently relaying to him. He may not have been a mechanic, but the OS had been his brain child and what kind of gamer could barely understand his HUD. Now the minutiae were coming to light, as The Persian felt the gentle locking of the catapult system. Despite this being The Persian's first true test of combat, there was no nervousness as he recited the protocol he had been thought for the past few years.

"Transferring timing controls to the Sword Shroud. Everything is Green."

The Persian may very well have lacked the mask, for there was no doubt that beneath it lay a massive grin. A grin that no doubt only increased as a single word flashed upon the Sword Shroud's custom OS.

READY?

Y

There had been no hesitation in The Persian's selection, and just as suddenly he could feel the machine veer around as the catapult began in earnest. The words that came next were filled with an energy far surpassing any previous utterance by The Persian. These were the cries of a man's heart, these were the words that had ignited Husam's life, these words had given life to The Persian.

"Sword Shroud!"

The lock dropped back, the lights in the runway came to life, and the hum of the 002's thrusters matched The Persian's beating heart.

"LAUNCHING!"

With equal intensity, the catapult responded to the man's cries and the Sword Shroud finally took it's rightful place amongst the stars. "Rising Star!" came the voice over the intercom, "The Persian is here by your side. You can rest assured that he'll allow no shots through."

The untouchable man had finally arrived upon his stage.

What difference did a few pirates make?

Even on the Jannah, a veritable Island of Misfit Toys in space...

Joan Heidenreich didn't fit in.

She was just a chaplain. A reserved woman of God, expected to fit into this team of strong personalities without taking too much care to let them run amok or massage them. She may as well have been balanced precariously on one of Judah's mighty fangs. In her unmentionables. While her hair was on fire. It would do her as much good as trying to get a grip on the masked men and enormous windbags of the Paper Tiger unit.

Even despite all its symbolism...Judah had been built for a pregnant woman. Someone they had joked with, trained with, someone Joan would never meet...who had delivered another little miracle to God and allowed Joan a place on a team she both admired and shrank away from.

"Morning, Father. You should get to your HFV."

Sasha would often inquire if there was something wrong with Judah, for the Father would always keep the HFV at arm's length when not performing live fire exercise or overseeing its maintenance. She took it as a personal failing on her part that Joan didn't go moon-eyed at the very thought of being nestled in the cockpit and never emerging again. The original cure had been more cuddling and twenty-six seconds of hair stroking, a remedy specifically concocted to wipe the pout off Sasha's face and bring back the bright eyes and the sunbeam smile the hyper mechanic was known for. The second had involved them sneaking out of bed one night to the hangar and Joan physically climbing into the cockpit and pretending to pilot.

Not like a simulation.

Just...sitting in the cockpit. Like a little kid.

Making pew pew noises.

It wasn't that there was a thing wrong with the mech. It was Judah. The Lion amidst Paper Tigers.

She wanted Judah.

She just wanted it to feel like hers.

But there was no point in waiting to stop feeling like an outcast when there were pirates at the door. Pirates. Corsairs. The Barbary pigs of the Solar Age, here to pillage what they saw as the last ghost ship of a dead agency. God her Lord Above only knew what the Paper Tiger prototypes in the hands of such brutes could mean for X Corp. And though she was not X Corp herself...her team was.

Bonded by name, blood, and non-disclosure agreement...

...for now, she was X Corp.

But that was not her primary calling.

By the time she had changed into her pilot suit and reached her HFV, most of the coffee that the mechanic had brought for Sasha McKenzie was consumed, and the remaining joe swished around softly in the paper cup. Standing before Judah's full might, Joan tilted back her head to glare at the lion's gleaming visage...and chugged the rest of the coffee in a gulp. A mean brew in the morning was necessary as it was delicious for Joan Heidenreich. In the days of old, when Catholicism ruled Western Earth with a death grip, there was a fabled land in the east where women who were deprived of both coffee and a satisfactory lover could demand a divorce and come out on top.

Sasha loved that little piece of trivia. Especially when she pointed out giddily that Joan, ordained as she was, had the power to bring the tradition back on board. The selfish blonde imp. She had even needed to move her espresso machine from Jannah's chapel - where she preferred it - to their room in order to keep Sasha's energy levels up, as if they were ever in danger of going down.

She didn't seem to understand that Joan, as a coffee-chugging woman herself, was just as entitled to cut loose if she was not allowed a chance to properly savor her coffee. And thanks to these pirates, she'd had to rush her morning cup.

"Those..."

"Those..."

I n f i d e l s.

She would just have to bring this conflict to a quick end in the name of the Lord, and let Him sort out the dramatis personae for himself! He would understand!

"Transferring timing controls to the Judah. All systems green. One way or another, I will bring them closer to our Lord."

She had never been in combat, but the urge was there inside every good Catholic - a bestial hymn that rivaled any pure song that rang within a church's walls. It was no different for Joan.

The rest of the team thought she was sane because she hadn't spent her childhood with mecha.

They forgot to consider that she had spent her adulthood with Catholics. And they had clearly forgotten the story of Daniel.

Only the Lord could turn back the lion at its hungriest.

"Father Joan Heidenreich...announcing a Crusade~!"

She would spill the blood of the Barbarians who had ruined her morning full of lattes and mecha geeks.

Spill.

Spill!

SPILL!

For Jesus her Lord, of course.

"LAUNCHING!"

The catapult flung her out into space - vast, terrifying space, dotted only with HFVs and Jannah behind her. Space, the grave of so many pilots before her. Space, the blissful dream and the waking nightmare of so many frontier spirits. Space...so cold, so black, forever expanding...

She loved it for just that reason. More space meant more room for God!

As the pirates would soon learn, as Joan Heidenreich kept to the back of Paper Tiger's formation and trained her gargantuan twin railguns on the triangle of HFVs.

All they needed to do to avoid being cooked alive was throw down their weapons and throw up their arms. Cast their eyes skyward. Plead loudly for mercy from on high.

And Father Joan would take them into her flock with her open, gentle, caffeinated heart.

Amen.

Jack Thor-OSDT Jannah

The whoop of the alarm, the call to arms.

The group scattered, each person heading to suit up or climb into their respective HFVs. Jack was no exception. He downed the rest of his coffee in a single gulp and took off to one of the nearby locker rooms. Large lungs such as those housed in his equally large chest made for an impressive voice. A voice that the pilot now made use of.

"Make a hole!"

The age old words reverberated along the metal walls of the ship. From the time when a navy meant boats sailing upon the ocean it meant that somebody needed to get someplace in a hurry and that everybody needed to get out of the way.

The locker rooms were almost directly next to the HFV bay for situations just like this. The doors slid open at his approach and closed behind him. There was about thirty seconds of silence in the hallway before Jack came tearing his way out at full tilt, now in his pilot suit and minus his oversized mug.

The rest of Paper Tiger were already in their mechs or getting into them now and Jack had no intention of falling behind. The Scandinavian pilot's job was keeping his teammates alive and in the fight. A duty he had no intention of failing. With a nod in response to his head mechanic's thumbs up Jack vaulted up the first few stars of the wheeled set next to his HFV. He positively flew up the rest of the way.

Settling into the cockpit of The Ball, Jack took a moment to calm himself as the machine started up and the hatch sealed. A deep breath cleared his mind. His teammates needed him to be able to think out there on the battlefield. A panicked medic was a useless medic.

Reaching into his breast pocket the large man retrieved something odd. A physical photograph. In it Jack stood with a giant smile on his face, a young boy who could not be older than ten years old sat upon his shoulders with an equally wide grin. A woman in her late thirties stood nearby watching the pair. A laugh making her face glow.

With a fond smile Jack set the picture in a small clamp set in the wall beside the main screen.

A hum filled the cockpit as the vehicle finished powering up. A faint vibration following it as a crane lifted The Ball over to the launch catapults. It's distinct lack of legs meant that it could only move using the maneuvering jets. In space that was fine, in the bay not so much.

"Transferring timing controls to The Ball. Everything is green and good to go. Nobody dies on my watch!"

A light burned in the "Old Man's" eyes as he focused his gaze on the screen in front of him. His hands flexed momentarily on the controls and adrenaline surged through his veins.

"Launching!"

He yelled his defiance at the cold uncaring void and those who hunted the innocent within it as the G forces pushed him back into his seat. Jack Thor shot into that same uncaring black void with one sentence on his lips.

"Nobody dies today!"

@Letter Bee@Plank Sinatra@Krayzikk@Onarax@Silvan Haven

BGM Set: Uninvited Guests

"Hey chief, I bet you five bucks that I can smack their lead Rook with one shot."

The comms, initially silent, were interrupted by the carefree tones of Lumen 3. Lydia's GT-010 was continuing to act as a gun emplacement on top of the Jannah's hull, her targeting sensors constantly adjusting themselves as the OSDT vessel too began to close in upon the incoming swarm of pirates. Its signature Mega Beam Cannon was in position, the prominently-placed barrel hanging menacingly above the artillery HFV's right shoulder.

"This is not the time for the impossible, Lydia," was Francis' cool reply. The leader of Lumen Team was making a careful approach towards the pirates, his heavily-armoured OSDT Rook ready to screen his teammates against any attack from the front. "Nor do I have any interest in taking your five dollars."

Behind him, Lumen 2's M5-改 did a short, lazy loop, his agile tan machine a direct contrast to the hulk of metal that was his wingman's HFV.

"Francis' last five dollars got eaten by a malfunctioning vending machine," explained Marco, his Italian-accented voice tinged with conspiratorial amusement, as if he was revealing something truly exciting rather than just a run-in with mechanical failure. "He couldn't take the bet even if he wanted to."

"It is of paramount importance that they repair that infernal device."

Marco's cheery chuckle echoed over the comms. He was clearly amused by his friend's seriousness in the face of such a minor issue. "We're not going to get any repairs soon, my friend. I ran into McMahon in the mess hall earlier, and he told me that old Schrijnemakers was purposely avoiding doing any work on the thing."

"Hn."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" added a confused fourth voice. Buddy Wang, Lumen 4, also piloted an OSDT variant of the Rook, but his was yellow rather than his leader's light green, and his mastery over the HFV was inferior as well. He hung behind the other two male members of the team, preferring to move more slowly. "The drinks were trash anyway."

Silence filled the comms. The pirates had yet to move into firing range.

"Lumen 4, I will be judging your performance this sortie," spoke Francis, his deep and powerful voice suddenly turning quite chilly. "Be prepared for a detailed report when we return to the ship."

"Anyway," Marco immediately cut in, trying to stall Buddy from further irritating his wingman with all the tact of a bull in a china shop, "go ahead and fire, Lydia. Nothing wrong with taking the shot, and I have faith in your aim."

Inside her cockpit, the Jovian girl grinned, eager to try her luck. Her viewscreen zoomed in onto the pirate Rook in the lead of the large triangle formation, targeting reticule centering itself on the flying tank's torso. Given the speed and mobility of most space-based OS Type-2s, it was a sure-kill shot. Energy began to build up in the GT-010's cannon, bright blue light radiating outwards as the amount of exotic particles began to increase in density and number.

"Gotcha!"

An intense streak of blue shot across the empty void, screaming through the darkness on a collision course with the pirate.

It missed.

"He dodged?!" she exclaimed in shocked surprise. That wasn't possible for a Rook!

"I will be taking my five dollars, Lumen 3," said Francis dryly (and ignoring the "Hey you didn't accept the bet!"), watching as the thirty-large group of pirates immediately split away from their initial formation, instead consolidating into two groups of fifteen. The blue Rook that Lydia had failed to hit had joined the wedge furthest from them, showing off far greater manoeuvrability than was expected. "It appears that our foes have upgraded their machines as well."

If there had been any excitement leaking through his voice, then none of his teammates made any comment. Instead, the leader of Lumen Team was free to analyse the situation before them. Two formations of Rooks, each containing one Bradley. They were no longer rushing directly towards them, but appeared to be performing a flanking manoeuvre. That was a legitimate tactic: given the superior numbers of the pirate forces, encircling the members of the Jannah's HFV squadron would be rather effective.

They would be worthy opponents.

"This is Lumen 1 to all units," he said, broadcasting his message across their comms. "Lumen Team shall be engaging the right-most flank. Also, the opposing Rooks, despite their appearances, have undergone unknown refits to better function in vacuum. Please be advised."



"So my friend, shall we be going with the usual?" asked Lumen 2.



"Why not?"

The enemy had numbers and they had tactical acumen. This was going to look like a fierce battle. Henry Yatogami smiled; he was not going to disappoint. These Rooks were much faster, and he presumed, stronger than the usual pirate...rabble that came the OSDT's way. The Bradleys would probably be the same. And their tactics ensured that they filled the spaces above and below.

Wait for them to come close enough, then countercharge. That was simple, deceptively so, but the alternative was to use Sword Shroud as a makeshift bunker, and while that would be flattering to Husham, it would not wreak maximum havoc to the enemy. And so, taking up his Assault Rifle, Henry fired once the swarm of pirates made contact, presumably dispersing to further envelop the ship and the team.

As expected, it did nothing except add to the chaos of light and ordnance - there was no sound in space unless you stimulated it using unecessary equipment - but that was enough for Henry, as he zigzagged, spiralled, and deliberately travelled erratically, trying to reach the Rooks so he can cut through them with his beam saber; hopefully, the improvements to the enemy mechs didn't include additional beam treatment.

Nevertheless, his tactics would amount to making several cuts and slashes at an enemy, then withdrawing to a relatively empty patch of space, then cutting again, kicking out at any enemy that came close. Every part of his mech was a weapon; legs, arms, elbows, and the head. Trying as hard to be as confusing as possible, the only pattern discrened was the fact that he was eager for engagement, as well as his taking care not to conduct any attack that would lead to immediate death, even to an enemy.

As he kicked a Rook's gun away from him, cut off another one's sensors with a swift dash of his blade, then deliberately rammed another mech that blocked off his way of escape, Henry thought about his parents and their goals.

Who knows how many civilizations there probably are in the wider cosmos? Henry's father, Hiroki, was saying. It had been calculated that it is unlikely for Humanity to be the first technologically-advanced civilization, even before the millions-old Alien ship was found. Who knows how many Alien Empires there are out there...and if we can live with them or not. His grave face, whose eyes were lowered, would then sigh. Whatever happens, calculations alone must ensure that Earth doesn't grow complacent.

Alien Signals, Henry! Signals coming from outer space! Maria Yatogami, Henry's mother, was smiling, her red hair, tied in a bun, bouncing in joy. Whether we can live with them or not doesn't matter; what matters is that we're not alone! All we need to do is build that extra observation post, and we can -

"We will build that observation post!" Henry found himself shouting as, growing braver, he moved to engage one of the Bradleys in a straight duel, his beam saber deactivated until the last moment, when he would turn it on so he can hack at the enemy with swings that were wild and furious, before jumping backwards, hoping that his enemy was disoriented, and launching his one-use micromissile swarm, forcing the Bradley to either retreat or face ordnance. He would then jump up, in order to allow the other friendly mechs to fire.

"Is that all you can do?!" To Henry, it would seem that the enemy ranks were getting closer and more tightly packed, and he should probably jump back to where his allies were, soon.

And so that's what he did, rolling upwards, cutting at the waist of a Rook blocking his way, and trying to make his way back to where Sword Shroud was, in order to draw his Assault Rifle again and begin firing from cover again.

Mom, Dad, or should I say Okaa-sama and Oto-San? thought Henry, I will build you your observation station, I will capture or destroy these pirates, and I will fulfill your dreams - no, our dreams! Because I believe in you, because I believe in the existence of Aliens, hostile or not. Because I believe in Humanity's best interests!

"So you Pirates - come at me!" Henry shouted, deciding to turn back and resume hit-and run strikes at the enemy forces...