Socotra was a beautiful and rustic island, seemingly untouched by the tides of war and change elsewhere in the world. Home to the famous 'dragon's blood' trees, the local Prince-CEOs of Al-Amir have treated the place as their private reserve, maintaining a barracks to keep their slice of the Red Sea safe from their rivals, both those within the Ruling Corp and outsiders. Right now, the barracks was leased to the Electrum Company under arrangements that were not fully disclosed to the rank and file, including Andrew Avalon, the current field-captain of the Electrum Company's NC Team.

And that was okay; the young-looking man with silver hair had his ways of finding out. Walking the streets of the barracks town - a small village that was situated over the military headquarters of the Electrum Company's underground base - Andrew Avalon smelt the mist that had crept over the land; the humidity was a welcome break from the artificial environment of Electrum Base.



Alas, the young-looking man had to return to said base soon; he had to show up early. Walking into one of the buildings, then continuing on to a hidden elevator inside, Andrew went down to the elaborate series of tunnels and chambers that occupied Socotra's underground.



Once he had come from the lift, Andrew was met by the constant sound of machinery as the maintenance staff persistently repaired small breaches in the insulation. It was not comfortable, but he was used to it. Hurrying to the changing rooms, the young-looking man hoped that he'd be in his pilot suit in time for the briefing given by the higher-ups; he only had some minutes left to arrive early. Thankfully, changing his clothing from the formal suit he normally wore to an NC Pilot's body suit took only a few of those minutes, and he would arrive in time to the meeting hall.

Inside the chamber, Andrew activated the table's holographic projectors, then sent the summons to his team; they were to come from wherever they were and hurry to the meeting room - They had a job.



Red-Star's pilots came in two flavors; one was the 'Comrades', free men (and a few women) who willingly piloted for the Corporate-State. The other were the 'Slave-Pilots', indoctrinated and brainwashed soldiers who were literally bred from Red-Star's 'Eugenics Camps' for a high Sync Ratio, and who lived and died for the chance to prove their worth and loyalty to their masters. Osamu Akiyama, despite his Japanese heritage, was one of those masters, and the fact that he barely avoided the fate of a slave did not stop him from regularly going to the Slave-Pilots' quarters to regularly punish the slaves for minor infractions.



Right now, the genetically-engineered Artificial Human had singled out Mako Shintai, one of said Slave-Pilots and a fellow 'Japanese', for punishment. Mako was a black-haired and black-eyed young man with marks of soot on his face due to being forced to do mechanic work on his NC late. Exactly the pretense Osamu needed to vent his sadism.



"Mako Shintai!" shouted Osamu Akiyama as he approached the young man; Mako had just turned 18, "Is that dirt on your face?"

"Sorry, Osamu-sama!" shouted the young man as he halted, knowing all the while that he was in the middle of the Slave Quarters' hallway. "The others were cleaning their NCs after the last battle first so I had to do it late! Please make the punishment as severe as it needs to be; I know what I did was wrong, master!"

Osamu smiled as he drew a whip from his belt, saying to Mako as his smirk recalled that of a sterotypical psycophath: "Oh, the punishment will be as severe as it needs to be. You're going to the lashing post yet again, bishonen. I am going to have a lovely time slowly relieving you of your stained, sweaty jumpsuit, before -"

"Commissar Akiyama, stop!" a voice interrupted the two. It was Alexander Sky, the senior Slave-Pilot of Red-Star. Known as 'Chainbringer' and the 'Bane of Denver-Vegas', even the Comrades treated him with respect; it was rumored that he was going to be one of the latter soon. Approaching the two before placing himself in front of Mako, Alexander said:



"Pardon my phrasing, Commisar, but Mako Shintai is an asset to the coming mission. Not to mention that being only eighteen, he hasn't developed the endurance to take multiple punishments, experiences in 'The Room' aside. I, however, have. So as his commanding officer, I must ask to take his punishment." All respectful words, and Osamu briefly lost himself in sadistic fantasies on what to inflict on the twenty-four year old Alexander when the latter interrupted once more:

"That said, has Commissar-sama been informed of the new law? Punishment of Slave-Pilots for infractions below high treason needs the agreement of the Lieutenant-General. So we'll have to go to him to request Mako's punishment and my taking it on for myself." Alexander bowed his head to conceal a smile; he knew Dai Anson would never agree to let Osamu satisfy his perversions on the Slave-Pilots.

Osamu knew it too, and respect mingled with annoyance in his next words. "Clever. So let's go to him and get this over with!"

@Conscripts@Gentlemanvaultboy@ArmorPlated@Bartimaeus

Slice didn't have to go to the meeting room.
Slice was already in the meeting room.
Slice had been hard at work in the meeting room for four hours.

He slid one of the chairs noisily across the floor into the far corners of the room, standing back and appraising it like a fine antiques dealer looking for the flaws in what he knows is a forgery. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a palm sized red book, flipping it open and studying what was on a specific page for a few moments, then he reached out cautiously and nudged the chair slightly off kilter with the tip of his boot. He stuck out his arm in front of the chair, nodded sagely, moved to another spot and did the same, nodded again, and hastily scrawled some notes in his little red book.

All the chairs were in similar situations as this, scattered around the room like guests at an awkward party. Hardly any of them were facing one another, a few were facing directly at the wall, a few had potted plants sitting in them that he bought yesterday. Some of them had pieces of paper taped to them bearing the names of his squad mates. It was a jumbled mess but, according to the principles of "Feng shui" as he understood them, the room now had the optimal flow of luck. He tore a little page out of his book, wrote "Andrew" on it, and pinned it to the chair he had just been fiddling with.

Not a moment too soon, as he suddenly received the message to head to the meeting room. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and sat backwards on the chair he'd marked for himself, resting his chin on the back of it. This would be good. Every single chair that was meant to be sat in was at a fulcrum of good luck. In addition, every plant sat at a fulcrum of bad luck. That way no one would be sitting in them, and he'd know he'd done it right if any of those plants died.

It was better than testing in on people, even people he disliked. He already had enough ghosts after, him he didn't need more. Hopefully what he'd done here would mean that this mission wouldn't go as tits up as the last one.

Adam sat in the cockpit, his usual clarity replaced by distraction and made murky with pain. He could feel the ache of the new actuators deep in his bones, his limbs sore as if they were deeply bruised all over. He was held in place, yet he was free, he sat unbound in his pilot seat, paradoxically restrained by the service racks as All Nerves concluded it's maintenance checks. The racks released, and the sensation of weight returned to it's legs. Adam gasped, his face a grimace of pain, as his eyes watered and his jaw clenched.

...All I need to know is, are they going to make it?

Adam snapped out of his dreamlike state to the sound of a socket wrench tapping against an interior panel. His eyes tracked downwards and met someone else's. It took him a moment to get his bearings, and he recognized Ryan, his sensor technician. "Call came in, Andrew wants you at holo ASAP." Adam nodded as he extricated himself from All Nerves, climbing out of the seat with slow, deliberate movements. Everything still ached, but his expression hardened. "Is the overhaul done?" Ryan nodded as Adam followed him across the boarding ramp and onto the catwalk. "Just need to load the guns and you'll both be mission-ready. You ok?" Adam grunted, rolling his shoulders. "Ghost pains." Ryan nodded and stepped out of the way. "Good luck, boss."

Adam wasted little time getting to the holo-room, ignoring most of the passers-by, and returning the occasional greeting with a nod. As he opened the door, he found himself motionless as he surveyed the room. Chairs were strewn about in a chaotic jumble, with little rhyme or reason applied. Several of the chairs were occupied by plants stolen from the corners of the room, and at the center, untouched, was the holo-table and the squad leader he had been assigned to, Andrew. He entered and took a position opposite the pale-haired young man, scanning the portions of the room he hadn't been able to see from the doorway. Halfway across the room he again stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes locked onto what he could only describe as someone clearly suffering from some kind of psychosis, wearing a pumpkin mask. He stood and stared for several heartbeats before continuing to the table.

"Is there a reason for this room's state, or is... that a pilot?"