[IC] The Things We Fight For

[Xiro Zean]

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SRX-12 Imaging Satellite
_{IC 286.06 // Petrichor-8 // Recording a Frontier Planet
Indeterminant Timeframe // No Accompanying Staff}

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Situated three thousand kilometers away from the planet it circled around, the recording device onboard the SRX-12 Imaging Satellite captured the depiction of the slowly revolving world below. Giant landmasses of brown and red covered the planet's surface, with borders of green lined along the edges next to the few and far between blots of blue. Patches of grey dotted the landscape, areas that would fill with light as they turned away from the star illuminating the planet from space, the earthy sphere one of twelve among those that orbited the heavenly body.

In the space around the planet, another device occasionally passed along the periphery of the satellite's lens, a massive circular construct with prongs perpendicular to its circumference. At certain points in the recording that seemed to be taking place over several months, pinpoints of movement left the planet's surface and grew into spacecraft, approaching the other device and disappearing with a sudden flash as they passed through the ring, other unfamiliar craft taking their place as they returned to the planet from off-screen at various angles. Then a period passed where no such craft were coming nor going, planets that were once visible in the background of various shots no longer appearing when they should have, a miniature asteroid belt appearing moments later that had been absent from previous recordings.

The attack had been sudden, as many planetary invasions were, the recording slowing to a more reasonable speed as specks far off in the distance among the stars quickly closed in within a minute of being detected. Massive freighters, Knight-Class Carrier-Type Red Whales, grew in size on the image feed as they approached the planet, bloated and large like their namesake with 'flippers' loaded with heavy space-to-surface orbital guns and hangers full of small form planet-boarding craft. A small squadron of three stalled just above the planet's exosphere while another ship crept into view from the other side of the satellite.

Knight-Class Flagship-Type Fringehead, a sleek, more narrow vessel with a rounded bow and a ballooned stern packed with thrusters of various sizes, its carapace a pale white. Pieces of the unseen Warp Gate trailed in its wake, flowing from the tip of the ship as if it was a predator's maw leaking blood from a recent kill.

Though no sound could be heard from the vacuum of space, radio chatter picked up from the planet's surface began to play over the recording, each of the Red Whales' fins aglow with several specks of light while voices overlapped with one another.

["-re those supposed to be spacecraft? I'm sure it's just the Constellations visiting for a routine-"]

["-king News: An announcement from First Lieutenant Carinae Richie has been broadcasted to all neighboring planets within the Petrichor-8 solar system. Please proceed to the nearest Mantle-Layer Shelter for-"]

["-ee it too, how the hell did the military let those things get so close to-"]

["-ello? Yes, this is the acting chairman of Anaxes Industries, I need you to send the fastest craft you can buy as soon as-"]

["-om, I'm scared! Do you think we'll be able to get away in-"]

["-ll personnel! Activate orbital defenses! I want our guns intercepting as many of those plasma payloads as possible. Deploy the Cherrkov Interceptors, and do NOT let those damn aliens finish a second firing sequence! I repeat, DO NOT-"]

["-ord in heaven, watch over us as we ascend into your loving embrace. Please accept our sinful souls, and lead us to an eternal paradise-"]

The tip of the Fringehead slowly opened, splitting apart like a flower to reveal rows upon rows of energized weapons, all alight with the same glow just as the bombardment began. Silently, the cannons of the Red Whales fired orbs of vibrant blue light toward the defenseless world, punching holes through the thin layer of ozone that protected the planet from the radiation of stars as retaliatory blossoms of flame and metal ejected from several points on the planet's surface.

Though more numerous than the Aberrant's salvo, it took dozens of intercepting shots and missiles to force a pre-emptive detonation of plasma, and several more of the cerulean balls of death made contact with the planet's surface than those that were stopped. The results of each impact could be seen on the satellite imaging, visible ripples forming from each civilization-ending blast, hundreds of thousands of screams overtaking the audio recording planet-side before being suddenly silenced by the telling crackle of a destroyed transmission device.

From similar locations as the orbital defense salvo, tiny specks took flight and approached the looming Aberrant ships, their shapes just barely perceptible in the form of small form spacecraft. Ascending past the mesosphere and through the thermosphere at record pace, it wouldn't have taken long for them to reach their targets and begin a counter-attack. Were it not for the Fringehead.

Having held its own discharge until the right moment, the weapons began firing as soon as the interceptors drew into range, an uncountable number of lights filling up the vastness of space as they precisely narrowed upon the human fighters' locations. Though evasive maneuvers were attempted, rolling around beams and deftly sliding through the smallest of cracks in the endless barrage, the few craft that had survived the assault were quickly overrun as the Red Whales released interceptors of their own.

The Fringehead slowly turned its bow toward the satellite, igniting its galley of weapons once more as the Red Whales prepared their next salvo, plumes of blue and red meeting in the skies above the planet as a final transmission played over the rest.

["Energy signal confirmed. Aberrant Princess-Class D-47 aboard the enemy craft. Send in the Constellations to Frontier System Petrichor-8 Planet #7, Alora-"]

The imaging and audio cut off simultaneously as the beam arsenal fires, the screen filled with light.

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[Xiro Zean]

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First Lieutenant Kris Periwinkle
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1421 hours // @Raijinslayer@Supermaxx@Lemons@Fading Memory@Feyblue}

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Kris Periwinkle, pilot of a military-issue G-37 Galea Dropship, wrinkled her nose as the details of the planet below grew clearer with their descent into the stratosphere. Even from 70,000 feet above Alora's surface, it was clear that anyone in-charge of rehabilitation was going to need one hell of a cleanup crew, the mega-city once known as Althea that had become the Aberrants' breeding ground a shell of its former self.

War-torn, shell-shocked, ruined. Whatever term one chose, it didn't sufficiently quantify what a mere two months of the Princess' presence had caused to the city and its surroundings. Centered around the giant, bulbous structure that had planted itself in the heart of the city, a massive spot of gray visible from space had spread across the dirt and soil, latched onto the planet's surface like a diseased tumor. Kris was certain that as they drew nearer she'd see that the dark coloration was caused by long dead grasses and plant life, unable to persist without the nutrients they require. In the city itself, buildings were destroyed, businesses dismantled, homes flattened, resembling the site of a hundred warzones rather than just one, the amount of completely intact structures probably no more than a couple dozen. Even now, as their altitude decreased at a steady rate, the pilot watched as several buildings disappeared in a ball of fire and smoke, lights of various colors flashing from both in and out of the megapolis as both Aberrants and military fought over control for sectors of land.

Kris hadn't been around for most of the battle on Alora, but the First Lieutenant had seen enough of these frontier wars to know they would lose if something didn't change soon. The air quality for flight was already suboptimal, the temperature beginning to drop despite being the planet's equivalent of summer, and the visible size of the Corrosion only belying the actual damage to the planet's habitability. Whether it be today or sometime within the week, the fighting would come to an end, one way or another.

Nothing she had any control over, perfectly content with her position as what was effectively a military taxi service, but she couldn't help but feel frustrated at the bleakness of the situation.

"Cover for me," she sighed to her co-pilot, diverting control of the aircraft to the soldier seated beside her with a few switch clicks, her steering wheel retracting into an open panel as she leaned back in her chair. Kris' partner grabbed hold of the wheel that appeared on his side while the First Lieutenant pushed a button, changing one of the monitors in the cockpit that displayed visuals of the ship's interior. The dropship being 350 feet long and 90 feet tall, she had to wait for the screen to flicker through multiple rooms before finally revealing her desired location: the drop-off area.

Made for enough space to fit an entire company of soldiers and several Pilot mechs, only a platoon's worth of people were riding inside, three docked mecha filling the background while the passengers were all strapped to their seats lining the far wall. Changing to another point of view, the camera she switched two had a convenient overhead view at an angle, close enough to catch the details of the people aboard her vessel. The troops were ordered from top rank to bottom, front to back, with the enlisted infantry closer to the mecha while officers and the like ordered closer to the exit. Most of them were people she knew, whether it be before boarding or in previous missions, but there were several who stood out to her.

The Pilots. One for each docked machine, they were similarly ordered in seniority, though the levels of experience seemed to wildly fluctuate between them.

The first being a blue haired young man, the most brightly dressed by fair in some sort of sleek form-fitting suit. She could almost see the green wafting off of his demeanor, clearly new from how brightly his eyes shined, although the fact that he seemed maybe a bit too young to be drafted might've contributed to that. The second was a woman who seemed like she was there as a tourist rather than for war, her eyes flitting about behind her glasses while her fingers fidgeted with... a handheld game system? The First Lieutenant wouldn't bash someone for their hobbies, but surely there was a time and place for that sort of thing. The last was the eldest, and was rigged up in such a manner that he would've looked right at home alongside the other platoon members. She could trust him in-case things went to hell in a handbasket, probably, but with the other two seated next to him Kris couldn't help but wonder if he had something wrong with him as well.

But as her eyes moved to the next group, her inner monologue halted, and she took a second to really process how valuable the cargo aboard her ship truly was. Constellations, their fabled weapons visible near their persons as they sat. Not just one or two, but six, with four of them seated like the rest while the last two stood before the entire group, two of the seats near the end of the line empty. Adjusting the audio levels to just barely hear what was being said, her co-pilot rolled his eyes at his partner's antics as she leaned closer to the monitor.

"-aven't had a chance to introduce ourselves before we took off," the older and taller of the two began, his bald head gleaming beneath the illuminating light, eyes hidden behind a pair of novelty sunglasses with his voice betraying a wide, teeth-revealing grin surrounded by a scruffy, grey circle beard. Large and imposing, though hidden beneath a heavy coat that covered his shoulders and back, the man's musculature could be seen through the few patches of his body visible around his neck and his legs. And, from how one of the soldiers she knew seemed to be eyeing him up, the coat was most likely open on the other side, revealing his chest and abs. "While most of you were already pre-briefed who we were beforehand, I thought it would be best to make sure things were clear to everyone involved. I am the Main-Class Constellation Douglas Eorman, callsign Rigel, and the deputy for our little field trip today!"

He punctuated his statement with a hearty laugh, hands to his hips and his entire torso shaking from the effort. The movement of his hands drew Kris' attention to his weapon, a massive gauntlet larger than most people's heads, complex mechanisms from within visibly clicking into place as Rigel gestured to the man next to him. Of a much more reasonable build, the blond simply sighed when directed to speak. Subdued despite his appearance being somewhat wild, he took a step forward with the hem of his cloak trailing behind him, stabbing his sheathed longsword into the space in front of him as he tersely spoke, "Maximus Solignis. Antares. Main-Class."

"You can just call him 'Max'!" Rigel suggested jovially, his gauntleted hand swinging to pat his peer on the back. Antares, however, had already sidestepped away, letting the larger man swing at open air, visibly disgruntled by the nickname.

"Insufferable," the blond mumbled as he returned to his original place, something the First Lieutenant had just barely overheard before he directed his voice toward the group with a bit more energy. "We will be landing on the planet's surface in five minutes, upon which we will immediately link up with an intelligence gathering group that will direct us to dispatch an area with known Aberrant presence. Our focus is to develop the talents we've brought along with us, and field test equipment that has just exited the experimental stage of development."

Antares' gaze swung over to the group of seated Constellations, whom Kris began to study just as he did. Seated next to the eldest Pilot was... well, she didn't want to call an honored Constellation an Aberrant, but that's what the woman looked like. Red as blood, black as night, and armored to the nines with the metal carapace seemingly bonded to the muscle within the skin itself, if it wasn't for the human face staring out from under it all she might've asked someone to shoot down her ship full of bug-loving freaks. She'd gotten the debrief as to what exactly she'd be carrying, and how important it was for this operation to succeed, but the First Lieutenant couldn't keep herself from reacting to such a sight.

The others, thankfully, were easier on the eyes, the white-haired young man draped in a similarly pale cloak equipped with a saber of some sort, along with a blond woman seated with a spear next to her seat were more along the lines of what Kris expected a Constellation to look like. Exuding a regal air, though they were clearly less experienced than the two standing before them, their mere presences demanded respect, and the pilot couldn't wait to see what they were capable of. But eventually, her eyes landed on the last bound to the furthest seat, older than anyone else in the group by far. She might've mistaken him for a hermit were it not for the way he carried himself, prepared for battle even in the safety of the dropship, a characteristic only held by those who've seen much and done more.

Something that Antares seemed to agree with, as he nodded his head deferentially toward the seated warrior, Rigel letting his smile fall as he mirrored his companion just as respectfully. "While the Eorman and I will be directing the operation, we will also be operating under an observer. Ser Lictor, thank you for accepting the position on such short notice."

"And while Antares brown-noses, I'd like to get to know our recruits!" Rigel immediately regained his grin as he turned his attention toward the Pilots and Constellations, several of the infantry leaning forward in their seats attempting to get a peek at the group of various faces. "I've seen some of your faces once or twice before, but never on the eve of battle. Better to have a name to the blades rather than strangers fighting by your side, no?"

"We have a list of their callsigns right-" Antares began, but cut off as Rigel swept his massive gauntlet around, nearly clipping the blond who ducked away with a pointed glower. The First Lieutenant watching the feed had to bring her hand up to her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

"Which of you would like to volunteer? If I have to call on your names like you're back in training, I'll be sorely disappointed!"

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Red Giant Ahkari Ganju
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1423 hours // @Eisenhorn@McMolly@Asura@vietmyke@OwO}

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Pressed against the inner wall of a dilapidated building, Ahkari Ganju observed with bated breath as a patrol of Knight-Class Jetsam circled overhead. Malformed shapes that resembled fish if one squinted, their unorthodox shapes allowed an unparalleled deftness traversing through areas with a high volume of obstacles, slipping around corners and squeezing through holes of buildings despite being larger than a minivan.

She watched as one swiveled its compacted head in her general direction, and the Constellation hefted her twin-headed javelin in preparation. The steel weapon hissed as air pressure built up inside, the compact handle tripling in length while the rounded guard of each spearhead curled inward, the overall shape becoming more aerodynamic as the pieces clicked into their new configuration. Even if the scout sounded the alarm, she had around eight seconds before any of the other Aberrant groups would reach the area for pursuit. With some effort, she could make her escape and draw their attention, but she rather not get to that point.

The violet-haired woman didn't realize she was holding her breath until she released it, her weapon returning to its original shape as she left the wall behind, hopping down a hole in the floor down several levels until she landed next to her group of soldiers with a subdued 'thump'. The group had been gathered within the lobby of an abandoned hotel, the interior turned to rubble and barely held together by what was left of the building's supports. Plasma burns lined the floors and walls, some of them outlining a strangely clean area in the shape of a human being while others were blackened piles of ash, their original shape unconfirmable. The company of infantry had thankfully cleaned away the corpses by the time she returned, but the woman could still smell the underlying stench of dried blood and guts.

"Commander Aurigae," Janice, the company's battlefield analyst, called Ahkari by her callsign, walking up to the Constellation with a holographic display of their current location. A detailed reconstruction of the hotel and the surrounding buildings hovered before the two women, slowly zooming out and revealing more of the landscape until their target became visible. Only twenty-five kilometers away by the hologram's calculations, yet they spent the last few days fighting for only half that distance. A red line passing from the hotel to the destination stretched before them, taking several detours to various rest points while the analyst claimed, "We're getting close. I have devised a path through what we've observed of the enemy's patrol patterns if we wish to proceed. At our current pace, we will be able to reach the Nest by the twenty-third, midday."

"We don't have enough time," Ahkari replied plainly, a hand up to her temple as she attempted to massage the oncoming migraine. The drone support that granted such comprehensive imaging of the Aberrant movements and allowed them to get as far as they have has been nothing but helpful, yet the Constellation couldn't help but wonder if the people operating them cared about anything but the immediate results at times. "Find us a faster route. We will take the Princess down today, or not at all."

Ever since she touched down onto the planet's surface, she'd been counting the days since the Corrosion began, with every precious second of time wasted taking a year off her life from stress. Retaking the planet had already been calculated as unlikely, and at the way things were going, reconstruction of human livelihood was next to impossible. But she couldn't let things end so meekly, allow hope to die when she had a chance to reverse fate. Even if there was only a million in one chance that she could see people running around on her homeworld once again, she'd take it, and damn the consequences.

Her inner monologue halted as the analyst caught her attention, the brunette visibly nervous as she spoke, "There is a way."

Ahkari didn't hesitate. "Speak."

Flicking through the holographic display a few times, Janice adjusted the route into one more direct, with barely any detours on the way to the Nest. Multiple red dots along the path, Aberrant activity, began glowing violently while the woman continued, "From the calculations, we will be passing through the territories of five Bishop patrols, three Knight scouting parties, and at least two Rook encampments. We will have to move at the fastest speed our company can allow, no breaks in-between. We would reach the Nest by 1956 hours, not accounting for any additional units that may be called during our breakneck blitz, and we would have to fight our way into the Princess' chamber immediately afterward, with the lowest accounted for number of Bishops in one Nest historically being seven."

Stressed for an entirely separate reason, Ahkari took a second to look away from the display and toward the people gathered within the hotel. Only 40% were from her own squadron, the rest being soldiers and manpower that had merged with theirs on the way to the Nest, being the closest to it of all the operations playing out to approach. If they waited a day or two, they would be able to regain their strength, their current position easily defensible against most forms of attack bar a Bishop raid and many of the troops tired from the month-long campaign.

Her mouth tightened as she left Janice behind, headed toward one of the smaller groups that had formed within the building. Many of the soldiers had gathered among their fellows, sticking together and mingling regardless of previous affiliation, but few if any approached the party that had formed by the caved-in fireplace. A group of Constellations and Pilots, five and seven strong respectively, the former group comprised of four Main-Class and an unlucky Proto, while the latter were seated among their mecha, the roof of the hotel high enough to acclimate for them and a previous engagement creating a hole for them to enter and exit through.

Only one of them was hers, the rest of her retinue gone in the second week during an ambush, but they were all she had. Clearing her throat to catch their attention, despite having seniority the Red Giant struggled to keep her composure as she called toward them. "So, what will you do?"

She hadn't been very secretive during her conversation, and the hologram had been large enough that most if not everyone in the lobby had been able to see it. Something she did entirely on purpose, regrettably, making it clear what the plan was without outright ordering everyone to follow it. The mission was dangerous, and with only around a hundred and forty men, suicidal.

Ahkari's gaze passed over the group, noting among the Constellations the one rumored to be nearing her rank, the infamous survivalist that returned from every mission she took on, and one she only knew of by name and not achievement. Similarly, the two most reckless Pilots, with one filling comms with various quips during firefights and the other having a mech that's needed the most repairs by far, giving the former a run for her money. While they were various levels of 'quirky', they'd all proven their worth, and she looked each of them in the eye as she asked once more.

"I cannot ask for your lives as I am not your direct commander, so I'll ask for your opinions, as one warrior to another. Do we play things safe, or shall we end the war on this planet here and now?"

[Eisenhorn]

To call it a very long month and a half would have been a gross understatement.

Solomon Howe, Callsign Dunkirk, was crawling across the top of his Mech while they were hunkered down in the ruins, doing field checks and spot checking various parts of Vickie while they were waiting for the order to move. Howe wasn't a fan of waiting, especially with what was on the line currently. They were going to reach the critical point of no return soon, where the efforts of the Princess they were hunting would be irreversible and render the last month and a half of fighting pointless. It was arguable they were wasting resources at this point, that the Corrosion had rendered the planet unsalvageable, arguments that he had heard more times than he ever cared to admit. New Alexandria was the first time he heard it, hell, this all reminded him rather unpleasantly of that very same fall, except this time there was something that could be done. By the time the Princess had been found on New Alexandria there wasn't any combat effective forces let that could mount an attack needed to breach the defenses surrounding it. Here, here was different, it was one of the reasons he volunteered the moment he heard about a planned attack on the Princess corroding this planet by its very existence.

A month and a half of wasted time, not counting the half month before reinforcements arrived, of fighting, waiting, covering Constellations as they dueled with the worst the Aberrant could muster. A month and a half of dying while analysists and intelligence officers debated and sifted through recon information. A month and a half to find this Princess, organize a strike force, and have them struggle to even remotely keep to the necessary time table to even give the planet and its survivors a chance to recover before the next Aberrant invasion. Sitting beside the 20mm mount for a moment, looking over the ammo feed, Howe lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and holding the warmth in his lungs. A month and a half to end up sitting in a bombed out, ruined hotel wondering if the roof was going to cave in and bury them all while waiting for the Constellation in charge, Commander Aurigae, to go back and forth with the battlefield analyst about their current planned route being too slow. Took long enough for that realization, Howe mused, clambering back down to where the other pilots had gathered under the towering Mechs. The CQB Package that was mounted on Vickie right now, among other things, was uparmored and that, ironically, made it easier to climb up and down to do spot checks when moments like this availed themselves. Damage to the armor was superficial at best, nothing critical or load bearing was damaged, and he had plenty of ammo to spare. A good day to get their collective asses in gear and get moving.

Aurigae was making her way over, leading Howe to exhale a plume of smoke before she got close enough that he would consider aiming it elsewhere. He met her gaze evenly, expression calm and collected despite all the openly shared information about how dire their situation was, no sense mincing words about it. He knew the reputation he had, he never argued about it, but what was a 35 ton war machine good for if you didn't put it in harm's way. Constellations were all fine and well for breaking Barriers, but they had to get there and survive long enough to make it happen. If another servo needed replaced after shoulder checking a threat, or a manipulator got mauled pinning an Aberrant down so be it. Job got done all the same, and Aurigae reminded him why he struggled to talk to her kind. Cannot ask for lives, speaking as fellow warriors, if he had a few drinks in him he would have started mouthing off at that point, but he composed himself instead. Taking another drag, and stomping the cigarette out, he spoke up, seemingly first.

"Not much to have an opinion over, is there? We keep playing it safe, time runs out, another planet lost to the Aberrant, the last month and a half of blood and sacrifice made completely pointless. Only option we have to do our jobs is go loud and punch through what the Aberrant puts between us and the target or die trying. More death, more sacrifice, but better chances of all that meaning something for once. Only option worth considering given the circumstances." More like the only option worth a damn, but he had to keep his professionalism intact while on the field. Howe had said his piece, however, lighting another cigarette as a sort of nail in that sentence, and another metaphorical nail in the coffin as he scanned the others gathered and present. Time to see the stock of, well, most of who he was with. He suspected he knew how Sabine would respond, in her own manner of speaking, but let her start rambling when she chose to. For now, he was more interested to see what the relative unknowns had to say about the whole affair.

[Supermaxx]

_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1421 hours // ♫ Rockin' Tunes for Diving Into Hell ♫}

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Two decades on and the waiting remained the worst part. Theodore Howser clutched a dataslate in his hands and tried not to stare at its timer as the minutes to drop ticked away ever so slowly. Five minutes before they'd wade into hell once more. He tabbed back over to a readout of his mech's pre-battle checkup: Hydraulic fluid was topped off, the SmartWorks system was in standby, the X-66 was purring like a pussy cat. All greens across the board. Just like the last time he'd checked it. And the time before that.

"This boat go any quicker?" Theo wondered aloud, trying to hide his impatience behind a lopsided grin.

Time slowed down the harder one focused on it, he knew. Better to find something to distract himself for their remaining minutes aboard the Galea or he'd go stir crazy. He could work on his combat playlist, maybe? Theo flipped over to it on the dataslate, and a long list of songs appeared before him. It was an eclectic mess of old favorites, recommendations from friends and the works of local talent.

It was a small thing, but he liked to remember the cultures these Aberrant invasions were crushing underfoot. That wasn't just a gray mess of dead buildings down there: people lived there. They went to school, played in their regional soccer league, ate bad food at dive bars. And they made music. Aloran compositions mixed traditional horns and drums with more retro-modernist sounds, like synthesizers. One particular song Theo had found was recorded by refugees that escaped the initial invasion. They used the mechanical cries of Aberrant monsters as part of the music, modifying it to produce a truly terrifying noise.

He didn't spend long on the playlist. It was already a cumbersome beast, and shuffling a couple of tracks around wasn't going to improve it all that much. Maybe he could work on a crossword...

The sound of someone speaking drew his eyes up from his slate. One of the Constellations was introducing himself. Douglas 'Rigel' Eorman was his name, and he was here with his partner to oversee the first deployment of their younger colleagues. They both had old, prestigious names, though only the latter really carried himself like nobility. Rigel looked like a frat guy that had aged fifty years, with his rippling muscles and oversized sunglasses. His rank indicated a martial prowess that his demeanor made hard to believe; at least he'd be fun at the after party.

Antares, the partner, showed nothing but open disgust for Eorman. Unlike Rigel's zany antics, Antares carried himself with the usual air of superiority Theo had come to expect from older Constellations. They were taught from birth that their powers made them special- made them better than baseline humanity. Such abilities came with the responsibility to fight and die against the ever-present Aberrant threat.

It always rubbed him the wrong way, if Theo was honest. Service shouldn't be born on a foundation of glory-seeking warrior families.

"Our focus is to develop the talents we've brought along with us, and field test equipment that has just exited the experimental stage of development." Solignis said, his eyes tracking over Theo- no, the woman seated next to him.

Teddy wasn't entirely sure how to react to her presence, at first. When the two had first met, he was ashamed to admit he'd flinched at the sight of biomechanical steel fused with human flesh. The same swarm tech he'd seen tear apart countless friends had been surgically attached to person barely older than his teenage nieces.

Even looking at her now, he felt a heat rising in his throat. This kind of thing didn't just happen. The Aberrants didn't leave human beings alive long enough to experiment on them. No, some fuckjob in a lab coat decided to play God. Equipment. That was the word Solignis had used to describe her.

"You ever notice how they all walk the same?" Teddy asked in a low voice, tapping Aissi on the shoulder. He kept his face dead as a door nail to avoid making a scene. "Legs all the way outstretched, struttin' so long they might fall over any second. Makes their whole upper body jostle around like a, uh, like a rooster."

Teddy placed his arms on his sides like he had a stubby pair of wings. "Y'know, bawk bawk."

[Lemons]

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AIS S1's bright red eyes had been averted from everyone else aboard the transport craft for a good long while now.

After the first time she'd been stared at by the blond Constellation, she'd turned them away, hating the expression she saw there. It wasn't hate, exactly; nor was it fear. She wasn't exactly sure what it was called, but it was painful enough that she decided to stare at the planet beneath them and listen to the engine roar instead to try and distract her from it. It was almost beautiful, she thought. It was the first time she'd approached a planet from above like this, and watching all of the details resolve as they grew closer—relatively, of course, since they were still essentially in orbit—was quite an experience.

She tried to imagine what the planet would look like without the hateful gray stain across its surface. She couldn't quite.

There was a clicking, grating sound as her Wingblades, which were jammed somewhat uncomfortably behind her to fit in the chair, scraped and clicked together nervously. A lump was sitting squarely in her throat that she tried to ignore. This was her 'test run,' Jacob had told her plainly. This was what proved whether or not she was worth keeping around. She wasn't sure what the alternative was if she failed, but it was a pretty safe bet that she wouldn't like it. So she had to do it exactly right.

She was in the middle of envisioning what 'doing it right' might look like when the first of the two Constellations with them—the older one that didn't look at her that way—began speaking, and her whole body twitched as she turned back to the rest of the drop area and looked over at him. Bald, open-chested, eyes hidden by some kind of viewfinder? He seemed nice enough, she thought, as he introduced himself followed by a laugh. Rigel. Douglas Eorman. Her eyes were drawn to the way his almost comically huge gauntlet bobbed beside him. AIS S1 blinked. She'd read the briefing, she'd thought, hadn't she? Or maybe Jacob had read it to her when she was doing something else? She didn't recognize the name, and the memory ran together in her head. She frowned. That shouldn't be something she couldn't remember.

But before she could focus on that, the younger one who had looked at her like that started talking. Younger, tall, blond, carrying a slender longsword with an expression like disdain on his face. Antares, he was called. Or Maximus. Solignus. Or, Rigel...Douglas...? said...Max? Like Jacob was sometimes called Jay, she wondered? Sometimes he liked it, sometimes he didn't. But it certainly seemed like Antares did not. With all that having been said, he swung his predator's gaze over to her once more.

Our focus is to develop the talents we've brought along with us, and field test equipment that has just exited the experimental stage of development.

She cringed away just slightly from his renewed gaze, and her blades twitched and rattled again before she could still them. According to Antares, and probably the higher-ups in general, she was experimental equipment to field test. That was why she needed a test run, after all. Equipment... They kept speaking, but at that moment, her focus was shattered by being tapped unexpectedly on the part of her shoulder that was still uncovered flesh, and she jerked with a quiet sound of alarm, her head whipping around to the man who sat beside her.

"You ever notice how they all walk the same?"She blinked. What?

"Legs all the way outstretched, struttin' so long they might fall over any second. Makes their whole upper body jostle around like a, uh, like a rooster. Y'know, bawk bawk." Another moment passed before...oh! Oh, he's making a joke! She was wholly unused to hearing jokes. And so, taken by surprise, even that caused her hand to fly up to her mouth unbidden to clutch back an open laugh, and she found herself a bit less tense. By the time she tuned back into what Antares and Rigel were saying, they were...asking about introductions. She opened her mouth, shut it again, looked around, looked back at the person who'd joked with her.

Then, unsteadily, shakily, she stood, putting her hands behind her back as her blades scraped and rasped again. She was quiet for a moment before her halting and slightly modulated voice emerged: "...Ab...I—I am...Aberrant...Aberrant Integration System. Subject One." She swallowed heavily at the eyes on her, including Antares' again, whose gaze she couldn't seem to look away from while she was standing. "...Aissi."

Then she twitched, then sat, then closed her eyes to the world. Five minutes. Maybe four now. A few moments passed in silence, then she whispered to herself, just loud enough to be heard the next seat over:

"Bawk bawk."

[Feyblue]

---

The rapidly-approaching landscape displayed on the viewscreen was by now a quite familiar view.

For almost the last month, Alto had been stuck at the back of the fleet, watching the grey overtake the planet below. All that time spent waiting, watching, and wishing they'd just give the damn order already. How many more tests did they need to run before the techheads would be satisfied? He'd already memorized the operational handbook backwards and forwards, and probably could have piloted the gunmetal gray colossus parked across from him in his sleep. He knew its armaments and their usage by heart -- and so, he knew the difference they might have made at stemming the unstoppable tide into which they were only now descending.

And so really, it wasn't that he was scared.

He wasn't.

He was just angry.

He told himself as much again, shifting in his seat for what felt like the dozenth time in as many seconds. His whole body felt electrified, as though every muscle had suddenly gone taut with nervous energy, and the feelings in the air in the cabin surrounding him told him that at least some of the ship's occupants felt the same. Seriously, how long could atmospheric entry even take? Since they were this close, shouldn't he be mounting up and running preliminary checks? What if the enemy attacked while they were still descending? Not that he was scared, mind you -- he just wanted to be ready to take the first shot if they did.

Must have been nice to have other things to worry about.

He shot a glance across the cabin to the Constellations seated in the opposite row of drop seats. Eorman. Solignus. He'd heard those names all too many times before. Big shots. He'd never much liked being in such esteemed company -- even when the esteemed individuals in question didn't clearly hate each other even more than they resented being stuck babysitting a bunch of newbies.

Though, that didn't quite seem to be the source of "Max"'s almost tangible sense of disgust, given the particular attentions he was directing to somebody seated a couple seats over -- though unfortunately, Alto wasn't tall enough to see past the large man seated between them as to who she was or why he was picking on her specifically. Not that it was any of his business, anyway.

Guess regardless of if you were a pilot or a Connie, the newbies always had it rough. His heart went out to whoever the unfortunate newcomer in question was -- quite literally, as almost without thinking he found himself tasting his own sympathy in the air, warm and bittersweet. He hastily checked himself, diverting his thoughts away from the outside world and centering himself once more to make sure his Anomaly didn't go noticed by the vitriolic Antares.

While he had been testing the waters, so to speak, though, he had noticed a certain... preoccupation with the way Antares had phrased his statement. Though he was fairly certain his Corvo was supposed to be the only machine getting field tested today, there had been something accusatory in the words he didn't much like. Maybe the man had it out for him after all? But then why was he so focused on the girl when he said it? Damn, if only he could see better what was going on -- hearing it, or even hearing it, could only do him so much good without actually seeing who they were talking to.

He scooted a few times in his seat, half-hopping to try and peek over the head of the girl sitting next to him -- with little success. Either way, it wasn't as if the mysterious newcomer was the only interesting thing to look at, so eventually, he cut his losses and moved his focus onto the next object of his attention.

He didn't recognize most of the Constellations on the ship at a glance. They were all very special and shiny and important, to be sure -- their names told him as much. Told him they were too important, in fact, to risk associating with. But one in particular, he knew all too well. That famous martyr whose planet bled to death before he himself did... Just what exactly was a man like that doing here, playing overseer to a ship full of grunts, long after he should have retired?

...Well, it wasn't hard to hazard a guess why someone like that would take up the sword again and find his way to Alora, at least. Alto checked himself before his sympathy could express itself again, not wanting to make the same mistake twice, particularly when it would mean drawing the eye of a man whose very presence made the air taste like lead -- heavy and cold. He knew that feeling all too well, and he'd come much too far to subject himself willingly to it again.

So, since two of his superiors had made themselves in one way or another quite undesirable to talk to -- and since both of them now seemed to be conversing with each other anyway -- that just left one more. The bare-chested Eorman was surrounded with a sense of forceful exuberance that reminded Alto of one of the Warrant Officers helping out as an instructor back at the academy. The guy had always been too fond of his own voice, and of forcing other people to raise theirs -- but he'd also let them get away with a lot on inspection days, so Alto couldn't help but remember him fondly.

Well, speaking of raising voices, it looked like it was time for everyone to sound off. The other newbie was first, thankfully, and with how quiet her voice was, he would have expected someone short and nervous -- not that he was projecting, mind you, that's just the first thing that came to mind. But when she did actually rise from her seat, he found his gaze going up... and up... and up.

Long metallic legs, ending in serrated points that seemed to skate across the ground in an all-too-strangely-familiar manner. Then, as if that wasn't enough, massive blades sprouting from her back that were almost as long as she was tall. Really, it was hard to tell where her cybernetics ended and her flesh began -- so much so that he almost didn't even process the way she introduced herself.

Wait, so the equipment that Antares had mentioned wasn't his Corvo, but rather...

Nah. There was no way. Right? Right. Surely he'd misunderstood something somewhere along the line. I mean, how would that even work? Anyway, there wasn't even time to think about it, since it was already his turn to sound off. Rising up from his own seat, clearing his throat, and, in the wake of the gargantuan Constellation who had gone before him, maybe trying to stand just a little taller than usual, he eagerly, if a bit uneasily, announced himself.

"Ehem. Apprentice Pilot and KHI Pilot-Designate, Alto Valenti, callsign 'Eight-Ball.' Just point me at anything you need gone, and my Corvo'll see it dusted!"

[Fading Memory]

The dim glow of a viewscreen reflected in his eyes. The nearly intangible thrum of a capital ship's engines emanated through the walls. The artificial gravity tugged at him in a way that was entirely too gentle. The blade, sheathed and shrouded, stand upright against the wall before him. Weariness gripped him. He blinked away the days of wakefulness. He blinked away the years of memories.

The last time he'd been aboard the Dream of Dawn, Thrax was shattering apart below him. He blinked through the fog of time and stared into the viewscreen anew. He'd reread this page thrice already. Alora approached. He began to read it the fourth time. The words were as new to his eyes as they were the first.

Abberant Integration System, Subject One...

Schematics. Blueprints. Anatomical drawings. Most of the information was redacted, but enough was there to have pulled Joab out of retirement. Enough was there for the brass to have gone to Maui Covenant and put a sword hilt in his hand. Enough was there for Lictor to be here now. His eyes watered. Through the reaches of memory, long bladed forelimbs rose from the viewscreen towards him. His hand tightened. The screen cracked. He blinked, and thumbed to the next dossier. As the now flickering holo-display shifted he wiped at his eyes.

A battle scarred Grizzly. Its paint job and loadout immediately drawing forth the smells of the jungle. Weight crept into his shoulders. He leaned heavier into the chair. His boot thumped heavily on the ground. He sniffed, and smelled the searing ozone of the tesla-trees. The still image of the Grizzly loomed in his vision. The Prometheus cannon spun as a phantom in his eyes. The roar filled his ears. Aberrant ichor and gunsmoke filled his nose. He could feel the earth tremble beneath the mech's titanic steps.

M.C.P.O. Howser, Teddy Bear, New Halcyon...

He licked his lips, and thumbed the cracked screen again. Carnifex loomed beyond the holo-display, the blackened scabbard piercing through a display of the Grizzly's tower shield and the phantom images of long-dead Bishops and Rooks. He blinked. The weight lifted from his shoulders. His eyes fell to the blade as the screen loaded the next dossier. A smiling face shattered his reverie.

Eight-Ball - Last minute addition, routing for accompaniment

That face. Those eyes. A familiarity loomed there. A familiarity that brought him far and away from Thrax. He leaned forward and looked down, away from Carnifex, and into the flickering screen. There was no mistaking it, that boy was a Valenti. He dug through memory. A battle, long ago now, where a man stood with blade outstretched. The phantom of a voice rose from his lips;

"I see the path." He murmured, gruff voice scarcely reaching his own ears. Word had reached Maui Covenant of Ricardo's historic rise in political sway. Word had reached him of a warrior who had taken up the pen. His free hand reached into his vest and retrieved a cigar. As he lit it, the ghost of the Ricardo he knew interposed over the face of the Alto he was soon to meet. He breathed deep. He blinked. He thumbed the screen.

Zejiang Erica Teteh...

He groaned through grit teeth, biting down on the cigar, and swiftly scrolled past the name to the end. Mortuuus-Orbitae LXXXV. He lifted the cigar from his lips and held it aside as he studied the academy reports of the girl's successes and failures. The thick cigar taste mingled with a bile born of quiet fury- but also a quiet pride. He had not kept up with the girl after he put his name on her sponsorship; seeing her career in writing before him was evidence that he had done the right thing. As he read, the cigar burned down until it burned the tips of his fingers. With one hand he crushed the display screen.

With the other, he put the cigar-stub out against Carnifex's scabbard.

---

Lictor was wearing a form-fitting tactical ensemble. Black nylon stretched skin-tight and silent from neck to wrist and waist in the form of a military bodysuit, atop which he wore an armored tactical vest complete with spare magazines, first aid supplies, short range radio equipment, and surplus ration storage which was partially being used to hold a cigar box. A heavy semiautomatic handgun was holstered at his hip, and at-rest in his lap was an infantryman's rifle. Carnifex, as tall as he was when seated, leaned against his shoulder with its rounded point resting between his feet. A radio headset connected to the equipment at his waists, and a tactical visor displayed data-feeds to his eyes.

Eyes which were closed. He leaned here, restfully, seemingly comfortable and at-ease in the thrum of the dropship and with the smells and thick scent of a soldier platoon around him. It wasn't until introductions were asked for that Lictor finally spoke;

"His nose wouldn't be so brown if your breath didn't smell like shit, Eorman. Keep that glove full-a Vaseline?"

It was ribbing, cold and direct, but it bore an unmistakable lack of vitriol or malice. Rather, it was the salted words of the grizzled soldier, an admonishment rather than a challenge. His posture shifted, but still he did not look directly at his companions. Carnifex tilted forward until it stood perfectly straight, his forearm resting on the crossguard as he thumbed the stock of his rifle and gazed into the thirteenth AB sword's black scabbard. His lips twitched upwards as Aissi's whispered echo of Teddy's humor reached his ears.

"I am the Lictor. This is Carnifex. White Dwarf, Main Class." He made a short gesture with two fingers towards Maximus, flicking his index and middle fingers to draw the man's eyes to Lictor's instead of gawking at Aissi. "You're gonna rile up the boys if you keep watching your ass like that. Focus up. I've got the pup."

Alto

Lictor's mind was a calm sea, minor ripples across a smooth surface, few disturbances on a reflective sheen. His harsher tongue and crude words were not of anger or disappointment, but of habit and familiarity. He was at peace, and a certain level of comfort emanated off of him. Like this was, in some way, a return to home for him. He carried an amusement that did not dare outwardly express itself at Theodore, but was unmistakably present.

[vietmyke]

---

Visiting Alora had always been something in the cards- supposedly the resort scene on this planet was to die for, but this wasn't exactly what Sabine had in mind. A a few months ago, if someone told her she'd be getting a month and a half on Alora, she'd have been jumping for joy. She was still jumping of course, though now it was mostly over rubble and pockets of radiation- not exactly her idea of a vacation. Not for a lack of trying of course, Sabine had conveniently parked her mech more or less in the center of the pilots' congregation and was currently lounging in a hammock strung between the mech's leg and the remains of a nearby pillar. In her hands was a scorched magazine, and the remains of the tanning mirror she'd found somewhere within the remains of the hotel did little for her skin- currently clad head to toe in her flight suit. To her side, a holo-display slowly scrolled by, displaying diagnostics information as she was wrapping up the Hare's maintenance checks. Only a scorch mark gouging through the left side of her flight suit from a rather close call signified that their current situation could've been anything other than a vacation to the young pilot.

Not that the situation around them was any better. Even after over a month of hard fighting, they hadn't made nearly as much progress as they needed. The planet was dying. If they didn't take care of the Aberrant threat soon, then the entire planet would be lost within the week. No doubt Howe was beginning to think this was all a wasted effort, and Sabine couldn't exactly blame him either. Sure, she enjoyed flying and fighting- loved it in fact, but brutal attrition wasn't exactly her style, blaze of glory was much preferred. The White Hare was designed for rapid assaults, and instead they were bogged down in what more or less amounted to a slow slog through the middle of Aberrant territory. Damage was slowly but surely mounting, and she down to about a quarter of her smartcannon and missile ammunition, forcing her to rely mostly on her energy weapons for the past few days. But with resources spread thin the way they were, they all had to make do: ad hoc units formed in the middle of fighting, picking up pilots and infantry from depleted and shattered units to fill out their own dwindling ranks.

Commander Aurigae- Ahkari had approached their small formation with a plan: One last daring, all or nothing type of raid. End the Aberrant threat in a day, no doubt at the cost of many- or most of their lives. A suicide run with dubious odds of success at best. Sabine snorted at the thought of the mission being a request. They all knew that at the rate they were going, the planet would be lost before they could get to the Princess. They were going in, or they were pulling out, no two ways about it, though Sabine at least appreciated the courtesy of asking, as unnecessary as it was.

"Safe is boring." Sabine whined. The mirror cracked and broke as it clattered to the ground, magazine unceremoniously dumped aside as Sabine swung off of her hammock and back down to the ground with the rest of the crew. Her footsteps light and bouncy as she casually sauntered over to Howe and swiped the lit cigarette from his fingers, taking a long drag from it as she leaned on the taller pilot. She winced slightly as she stretched the burn on her side, but otherwise ignored the discomfort. With a languid yawn, Sabine fixed her eyes on their current Constellation-Commander and winked. "Howie's right, and you said it yourself, we don't have enough time to take it slow. Might as well quit beating around the bush and hit that bitch where it hurts."

"Besides, as much as I've liked Alora, all the radiation really isn't good for my complexion."

[Asura]

Odessa

Location — Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora

Interacting — @Xiro Zean

---

War was never something to be taken lightly. It was a difficult, costly affair for all those involved. Even the most legendary of warriors grew weary of it after a time. The rush of battle, the thrill of found in glory, of clashing against foes beyond the ken of mankind grew dull in the face of constant, unending repetition. Like howling wind against a mighty cliff, it wore one down bit by bit, piece by piece, almost unnoticeable, until they were made lesser for it. After a time, war became laborious. Tiresome. The campaign to defend the planet Alora from the encroaching forces of the Aberrants had long since transcended tiresome.

Perhaps that was why Odessa chose the relative solace of solitude over the comfort of socialization. The burnt-out ruins of what must have once served as a hotel proved their meager force with a place to rest out of sight from the watchful eye of their foes, who circled the skies above like so many wild dogs, hungry for any scraps they might find amidst the desolation their packs wrought upon the surface. Most of their company had broken off into their disparate groups, the enlisted men trying to distract themselves from the gnawing dread of what was to come. The fighting to reach where they stood had been fierce, but the fight was yet to conclude. They were nearing their objective but not quite at it yet. The most ferocious resistance was yet to come, and already, they had lost so much. Those valiant survivors swept up in the orbit of a Red Giant on the warpath could be forgiven their discomfort.

Odessa would not forgive herself for such things.

There was nothing to be gained in ruminating on a fate yet to come. Those who dreaded the future to come—who allowed fear to turn their minds to the potential for imminent failure—already condemned themselves to an inglorious defeat. In lieu of such lamentation, the Constellation rested her body against what likely constituted a supporting wall during the hotel's heyday, arms crossed over her chest and her cap pulled down over her eyes, soaking in what rest she could manage between sorties. Some might have thought her to have been asleep. The more clever of them might have thought to get some sleep all their own, knowing what was to come. Such a luxury would certainly evade Odessa, if not for her responsibilities, then for the timely arrival of the group's 'commander'.

Ahkari Ganju was not a familiar face before Alora. To hear it told, she had been across the frontier on worlds foreign to Odessa, earning her place in the stars across what must have been dozens of planetary conflicts. Yet she hurried across the vast sea of stars when the archenemy threatened the world they now shared, and for good reason. Alora was more than just another front to Ahkari. It was home. Her home. And now, it was being made hollow by a parasitic host that could not be reasoned with nor easily repelled. Every day of the last six weeks, a little more of the planet's vitality drained away, used to birth the mechanical monstrosities that had swarmed over their ranks in the millions. A little more of Alora died with every second, minute, and hour. The specifics of how long a world could hold out against such a pestilence were lost to a woman who had steeped herself more in the lore of killing the disease than treating its symptoms, but it could not be very much longer.

Indeed, if Ahkari's very audible conversation was anything to go by, it would not be long until the event horizon was crossed. Their commander did well to hide it, but Odessa could hear it in her voice. A need to find an end. To make the sacrifices make sense. Desperation for a cure.

All understandable things to feel. How many could stand idly by and allow their homeland to be consumed? To have spent weeks on end, countless comrades, millions of lives, only to still lose the world that had birthed them? It was an easy thing to be objective about when it was not one's world. Could she be half-so-logical if Okeanos was threatened? If the lives of her daughter and her family hung in the balance? Perhaps she could. Perhaps, in her years of training, she had mastered herself enough to make the correct choice. For whatever else one might have said about Ahkari Ganju, however desperate she was to bring salvation to Alora, one could not question her instincts. Her choice was the correct one. The only one. To see their collective voyage to a conclusion—be it tragic or otherwise.

When the Red Giant stepped forward looking for counsel from those who had fought beside, Odessa tilted her cap up and scanned the room with a single aureate eye, following the first to voice their opinions. The pilots seemed to have the requisite dedication to see the plan through. For that much, they could be respected. Most of those not born of noble warrior's blood did not dare to face such insurmountable odds without overt protest. Either they were cut of stronger cloth than most, or they had given themselves over to the stark reality of their situation. Death was a likely companion in such campaigns. But death would come for all in due time. Better to meet it on one's terms than allow it to come to their door unimpeded.

But that did not mean it should be met eagerly or recklessly. Pushing herself off the heels of her muddied boots, the Perseid made her way through the ranks and toward their impromptu commander. Approaching from the side, she offered the comfort of her voice before that of her gesture.

"I concur with this course of action. There is no such thing as 'playing it safe' in regard to our enemy. With every moment they grow stronger. If we wait any longer, we consign ourselves to defeat. All we have sacrificed will have been for naught."

The weight of her weapons might have been enough to drag a lesser woman to her knees, yet after years of their constant embrace, the bulk of Odessa's gauntlets weighed no heavier on her than skin. A similarly unfitting lightness might well have carried over in her touch, as she brought one of her metal-clad hands to rest atop Ahkari's shoulder. She squeezed with all the comfort one could manage in their position.

"If we are to do this, however, we cannot allow desperation to reach a swift victory to cloud our vision. We must act swiftly, but not recklessly. We must carefully plot our course before setting off."

Her countenance bore both a gentle empathy, acknowledging her fellow Constellation's earnest wish to save her home, but also a desire in itself to see that want made real. A desire that she was confident could be made to come to pass, with the right direction.

She could feel the stiffening of the muscles even beneath her steel, the tensing that precluded battle. The Red Giant turned toward her, eyes searching, not for validation but for a purpose in her actions. It seemed she would take no comfort from the gesture.

"Do you have an alternative?" Aurigae endeavored, her arms crossing as she glanced at the holographic display hovering a dozen feet away, slaved over by the handful of information specialists in the company. "Be that as it may, this is a situation that calls for desperation. Our efforts must be swift if we are to minimize the damage dealt to the planet as much as we can. The mission is dire enough that the planet might have already been lost during this brief conversation."

The commander's words were straight to the point as ever. It seemed like she was all but ready to rush out into the streets with the company at her heels, prepared to go down in a blaze of glory if that was what was required to take the nest. All the more important Odessa had an alternative. Bravery was an expectation for those who called themselves Constellations, but there was a stark divide between bravery and foolhardiness. Such a line was blurred by the notion of caution equating to inaction.

"We do not have the resources to brute force our way to the nest and proceed to take it after arriving," The Perseid lowered her voice as she continued, offering a convenient excuse for their closeness when reassurance was placed out of the way, as well as keeping morale from crumbling any more than it already had, "We need to draw the Aberrants between ourselves and the Princess away if we are to make it in time and with sufficient force to kill it. Contact General Ackeroid and request he launch an offensive to cover our advance."

It was hard to say what forces the Brigadier General had at his disposal. It had been some weeks since their force had the mercy to rendezvous with anything greater than a few scattered platoons. Whatever he did have, though, was doubtlessly in greater number than their own company, and like as not to be fresher to the fight. As long as they could cause a significant enough disturbance to throw the Aberrant's equilibrium out of balance, it would be enough for them to land a decisive blow at the heart of their enemy. Once deprived of the head, the body of the beast typically collapsed in the days to follow.

"They need not take any ground. Only force the Princess to divert resources away from its protection to keep them at bay, opening a path for us to reach it. Of that much, he should be capable of providing us."

[OwO]

---

Rudis was worse for wear. In fact, she was half a month off of being feral. Her hair was knotted and frayed. The end of her ponytail had been scorched and burnt into a frazzled black end--really, it was closer to a donkey tail. Dirt caked nearly the entirety of her skin; the clean parts had been sanded down by road rash. The only part of her that wasn't worn down was her cloak. It wasn't for a lack of trying; it was just a fortunate timing of her having to recently replace her completely demolished one. One could easily mistake her as a beast already. Her current attitude didn't help either. As she rested sitting on a telltale slab of rock, a large pile of ration wrappers had formed by her feet. Though, perhaps littering in a warzone wasn't exactly the most pressing issue at the moment.

Any downtime that Rudis could manage had been filled with shoving her gob full of whatever calories she could find. In most cases, it was the rations that they were supplied with. Now was no different. While others had partaken in sunbathing, stimulants, and stoicism, Rudis had already eaten enough for four constellations. When the commander approached, Rudis hadn't even bothered to stop shoving rations in her mouth to listen. She could multitask. Not very well, but she technically could.

Rudis' answer to the commander's question was obvious. Even though a month's fighting had worn her down, she still had enough gas left for another month. Whether that was in brutal inch-by-inch attrition or to be burnt away in one final glorious strike was of little importance to the blattidaean Constellation.

She still let the others speak first as she ate more rations. Most--their ramshackle pilots, rather--were in simple agreement. Odessa went further and crafted a strategy. She was infinitely better than Rudis at crafting a strategy and the entire thinking thing. That, unfortunately, didn't stop Rudis from chiming in.

"That's your opinion." She refuted with an overdone smirk. "I got all the resources we need to get into the nest right here."

In one fell motion, she stuck her ration bar in her mouth and flexed both arms. It was difficult to tell if she was earnestly joking or jokingly boisterous. After all, Rudis could--in theory--be uncharacteristically subversive in an urban planet. Concrete and cement were simply another form of earth. Of course, her awful efficiency made getting through more than a handful of walls that way an exercise in endurance even for her. Also knowing her, she was moreso thinking of running through walls and going in a straight line.

A brief moment of gravity came over Rudis.

"No but uh--probably what Odie said. I'm ride or die, not a stratestician."

[Mcmolly]

---

As the remains of their little vanguard discussed the correct course of action, Selene sat quietly atop a discarded crate, listening intently and trying not to worry about how cavalier some of them sounded at the idea of a suicide mission. Five Bishop patrols, three Knight scouting parties, and two or more Rook encampments, all before even stepping foot inside the Nest itself, or facing the Princess. She didn’t doubt the capabilities of her companions, some of which she’d had the delight of fighting alongside before; unfortunately, the line between heroism and vainglory could be quite blurry. Yes, what else could Ahkari’s plan be considered but suicide? And she could not understand why.

She knew the reason, of course: to save Alora. To rid her home world of the Aberrants so that its people might return, rebuild, and regain their strength. It might take decades, maybe centuries. Entire generations of Alorans would grow up on a ruined world, working to recreate something they’d never seen themselves, and die hoping those that came after might be able to finish, so that their own children could enjoy the fruits of their labor. Planets were monuments, there was history rooted so deeply in the earth that could never truly be recovered if it was lost. People were tied to their homes in ways that defied the material. Not pride but duty, not heroism but instinct. She knew that, she knew all off that—she just didn’t understand it.

The civilians were safe, for now, evacuated or sheltered until they could be. The UAS and MHA had established themselves and while, true, there was resistance, progress was being made with each day, each hour even. Perhaps the answer was not to simply wait as long as they could, but surely vengeance was preferable to martyrdom.

She heard humming—or maybe she was humming herself—and felt inwardly ill. No, what a terrible thing to think. Terrible and callous to the suffering of people like Ahkari. Dr. Reom had told her—not dissuasively—that she might have been promoted a year ago, had she a habit of prioritizing the success of a mission over the wellbeing of her comrades, and not the other way around. That tendency had thus far failed to impress her superiors, but neither had it brought her any sort of court martial or official rebuke.

Still, it was best she hadn’t voiced those thoughts, and she was glad to hear a proposition that seemed to come from a place of similar—if more pragmatically-minded—sentiment. “I agree with Odessa too,” Selene said softly, hopping down from the crate.

She placed an extra ration bar beside Rudis with a smile, and then made her way over to the pair of pilots. She didn't recognize either of them, but then, protracted battles had a way of introducing strangers to each other, and she never turned down to the opportunity to meet new people. Though still in one piece, there was a weariness to the man—though Selene was not entirely sure if he simply looked that way normally—and the woman bore a scorch in her left side that Selene had noticed bother her more than once.

Reaching into her coat, she produced a small medipen. It was nothing more than an analgesic gel, but it was what she had, and it would likely serve the pilot better anyway. Sadly, she didn’t smoke and had already given her ration to Rudis, so had nothing to offer the man, but she made a note to remember in case they both made it back.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper burn kit.” she said, offering the medipen to her. “I’m Selene. I look forward to working with you both.”

[Raijinslayer]

---

The pain was always worse in a Cradle.

Like ants picking at her nerves, the sharp pains spiked with every jostle of turbulence that shook the lander as it rolled through Alora's stratosphere. Only years of discipline and training kept it from showing in her face and posture, forever the image of regal excellence that she had been made to embody. With eyes closed to help block out sensations, she would seem to almost be in a state of meditation with the way she remained still if not for the occasional deep breaths that she took. In truth, this was just the way the Mortuus-Orbitae were, every child learning to keep their breathing as minimal as possible to avoid overusing precious oxygen in case of emergencies. It also kept the mind calm in moments like this, when pain seemed an ever present companion.

The not-insignificant amount of painkillers she'd taken prior to this mission in preparation didn't hurt either.

Zhejiang was dressed lightly in her Zayin DC, bright red jacket seeming to be the heaviest piece of clothing on her.  Not unlike the Eorman, her own muscularity was on full display in the form of a strong core toned to the point where her abdominal muscles were just barely visible. If not for the suite of nanobots she held in her system, she'd likely be covered in no small number of scars due to the... intensity of her training methods. Instead, only one scar stood out—an ugly triptych of pale white lines that trace up from her hip to her right shoulder. A reminder of her greatest failure.

She'd be sure to give the creature that gave it to her one to match before she tore out his core with her bare hands. Slowly, so she could sa-

Zhejiang's eyes opened when she heard the Eorman constellation speak, thoughts interrupted by a voice much too loud and abrasive for his position in her opinion. Alas, such was the nature of the Dragon sect and it was not her place to correct a man many battles and years her senior. Though after she gave his figure a once over, she allowed herself a small amount of relief that Duccia was not here with her. Her Voidbound would have talked her ear off about the man's exaggerated physique. 

I'll never understand her taste in men. She shook her head before turning attention to the other overseer of this little 'field test' as he called it. He acted more in line with what was expected, but Zhejiang couldn't find anything else impressive to note about him. He gave an impression not to unlike her old tutor's when they caught her trying to sneak out her remidials, stern to the point of farce.

Speaking of a farce. . .

Zhejiang didn't look at the thing as it spoke with a quivering modulated voice, though she could not help the sneer that appeared on her face as it made an attempt at a joke. She'd heard the one pilot talking to it, likely beguiled by a pretty face and shy demeanor into pitying the thing. She had expected better from a man as seasoned as he was, but it was only a natural response. To pity the monster and ignore both the horror that created it and what horrors will follow. It's likely why they let it look passingly human to begin with. A perfect figurehead.

She didn't pay much attention to the pilot aside from noting the surname as being familiar, though with the buzzing in her head and the general irritation she felt, it proved hard to focus on where she'd heard it. He seemed fresh out of the academy, exuding a sense of bravado and confidence that came with either ignorance or a self-assured confidence in his own skill. She'd reserve further judgment of the boy until she saw him in action.

Before Zhejiang could begin her own introductions, as pointless as she felt they were given the aforementioned briefing they all should have received, Lictor spoke up all of a sudden. The man's tone held a low grumble, but no real anger to it for the most part. She did find herself appreciative that he was open about stating that the thing needed to be watched. Dancing around the obvious was not a tactic befitting a Constellation. It was only once Lictor was fully finished with his introduction that Zhejiang herself would take the stand.

"My name is Zhejiang Erica Teteh Almark Trace Aeolia Julianne Nova Trine Alzmille Lenore Chandra Ral Shagia Kycilia Lucille Jacqueline Agrippa Elysia Paraya Verlaine Haro Tieria Kelly Sune Stabity Drasso Visch Milla Romanof Rosso Christine Sys Lichtendahl al Mortuus-Orbitae LXXXV, Stardust class and bearing the Callsign Signus." Her voice remained steady and unbothered as she spoke her entire introduction in one breath (as was the custom), even as a wave of nausea overcame her for a moment. Fighting against the discomfort, she continued without missing a beat, a hand placed over her heart with a head inclined toward her superiors in the room. A crisp Mortuus-Orbitae salute. "The Blade I wield is the honored Brilliant Void, and we both hope to learn much from the masters present here today."

For a moment, she wanted to press her superior's about the nature of this... 'field test', and what it would mean going forward if it proved successful. If they could truly trust a thing that was barely human to begin with, especially with what they knew of Aberrant functions. But it was not her place as a stardust to question those above her, and if the Sects believed the thing would cause issues, they would never have allowed it onboard. Like Lictor stated, it would be handled, and she should focus instead on her duties and mission in helping the war effort on Alora.

So she instead sat back in her seat, the picture of dignity even as it felt like her skin was trying to twist itself off her body the further they descended. It wouldn't be much longer, however, till relief was in sight. The Thrill was the only thing that pushed the pain away—the sheer adrenaline of losing herself in a pitched battle. Absently, her fingers thumbed Brilliant Void in anticipation, a little bit of the Thrill singing in her mind as she finally turned her gaze towards their destination. 

Aalto

A chaotic Starburst is what filled Zhejiang's mind—a burst of pain and emotion flowing through every neuron kept in place only by chains of self-discipline and expectation. However, beneath the ache, the disgust, and even the slight tinges of battlelust, the star held in it a passionate sense of love that kept everything in place. Duccia was never far from her thoughts, and thinking of her helped to hold back both the pain and the Thrill in equal measure.

[Xiro Zean]

---

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Apprentice Pilot Kyra Newman
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching planet's surface.
1423 hours // @Raijinslayer@Supermaxx@Lemons@Fading Memory@Feyblue}

---

---

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Upon the metal bird that would bring her to hell, Kyra had been so nerve shot it was almost comical. Her first mission ever got her already regretting the contract she signed with the MHA, missing the comfort of her room and VR pod the second she’d stepped aboard. Surrounded by soldiers from every side, not even allowed to hide within the mech she’d been shipped with, the bespectacled girl chose instead to hide from the galaxy at large the only way she knew how.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The game system that lit up her face was the latest of the VirtualChild line of handheld devices, a prototype released only to a select few before it would hit the shelves after half an Earth year. Bought using the generous package that came from her signing, it was one of the few luxuries she could continue to enjoy during her training. Though it did not come with a customizable, touch-sensitive control scheme as most game systems of the time are made with, the brunette actually enjoyed the haptic feedback of buttons beneath her fingers, the click of each press helping drown out the sounds of the world around her.

Clack. Clack. Cla-

The constant movement from her right side eventually made the young woman pause her game, popping out one of her earpieces and furtively glancing toward her seatmate, wondering what had gotten him so riled up. The blue-haired Pilot she was seated alongside had been noticeably squeamish throughout the journey, though his nervousness seemed to be from excitement rather than fear, at times wondering if she had heard him pumping himself up underneath the sounds of the game in her ears. Now though, he was moving to and fro next to her, leaning forward and back as if trying to look past her, and it was through his thankless shuffling that Kyra happened to hear the tail end of the commencement happening before them. And a joke she immediately passed off reacting to when she realized whom it was pointed toward.

Nervously, she noticed the two Constellations standing before the seated group, explaining the premise of their mission and calling for names soon after. The name that came from the blonde’s lips made her physically shrink in her seat, recognizing it as the man who would be her warden on-field. She watched the leaders’ expressions as people began their introductions from her seat, noting how they changed as each person stood and announced their presence.

Though the larger man, Rigel, had been a welcoming albeit overbearing sort who had greeted her heartily when she stepped onto the ship, his face became strangely hesitant beneath his glasses when the half-mechanical redhead had stood up and stated her name. The other, Antares, who while dismissive and barely gave Kyra a glance, narrowed his eyes at the young woman in a way that didn’t seem positive. Not that she could blame him, merely the sight of the… whatever she was, had caused the brunette to skitter out of sight, peering out from behind a corner when the subject- no, probably better to think of the metallic girl as ‘Aissi’ now -happened to be walking down the same corridor as her from the other end.

Continuing on, Rigel seemed ready to crack out that boisterous laugh when her seatmate, Alto, had claimed his rig would be the star of the show, the muscle man’s grin crinkling as if barely suppressing a return greeting. Antares didn’t break eye contact with Aissi until the gruff voice of her retainer made him. The grizzled veteran who was effectively the highest ranked member of the operation, Kyra wondered how their first flight together on a planet’s surface would go. Sure, she read his file, knew who he was and what he was capable of in the worst conditions, and even informed that she had been assigned to his side as a favor from a Captain of all things, but it took more than a few words on a screen for her to get an idea of how to work with someone. Just like anyone who has ever queued for a team-based match could tell you, you’ll never know what someone’s like until you see them on the field.

“Hah!” Rigel finally broke his self imposed vigil at Lictor’s jab, his held smile revealing he wasn’t bothered in the slightest as he raised the ‘vaseline-filled’ glove in question, pumping his fist as the various mechanisms inside hissed and clicked. “I cannot say anything about my breath, but this gauntlet of mine was perfectly made for me. No hand products required!”

“Sir.” Antares immediately broke his gaze from the sub- Aissi -and addressed his superior, his tensed shoulders settling slightly as he nodded once in acknowledgement of the command. It was clear that the man set to watch over her performance had more pull than she thought if he could tame his peers with but a word, and the brunette shrunk a little more in her seat.

The next introduction surprised her, not expecting the next Constellation to say her entire name verbatim. She’d seen the file, and thought that the system had bugged, but apparently that string of names was real. Something Rigel mirrored, lowering his shades to reveal dull blue eyes that appraised Zhejiang owlishly. “...Huh.”

“We shall endeavor to live up to your expectations,” Unlike his partner, the blond didn’t visibly react to the name, doing a slight bow as a formal gesture with his sword held at his hip. Realizing it would be her turn next, Kyra unclipped the harness that had strapped her to the chair, rising to stand and say her piece before unceremoniously being cut off by a soft voice.

“Iona Smirnov, Stardust-Class, Callsign Dombay,” they began, mirroring the blond’s gesture with a much deeper bow that went down to the waist. Hair as white as snow aside from a single dark streak, and eyes closed even while greeting their superiors, they continued, “Thank you for guiding us through this mission, masters.”

The exchange was quick enough that when they sat back down without further comment, she was still standing unawares. And, when the two Constellations moved their attention onto her instead, the brunette felt her face burning while she shot up to stand fully and snapped a salute, eyes screwed shut. “A-Apprentice Pilot Kyra Newman. At your s-service sirs!”

“Nervous?” She heard the deep voice of Rigel comment, and she nearly winced when he hit the nail on the head. Bobbing her head slowly, as if afraid that agreeing with them would be a sign of weakness, she heard the man laugh once again and felt her ears heated up when Antares spoke in her defense.

“Enough. At ease, Apprentice Pilot.” Not even attempting to open her eyes to see their expressions, the bespectacled girl plopped back into her seat and covered her face with her hands while keeping her ears open to at least take note of what they were saying. She didn’t want to make another dumb mistake on her first mission.

“Remember those names, marines.” Antares seemed to be addressing the soldiers now, hearing the thud of his boots on the metal floor as he walked over toward the group on the other side. “Those are the VIPs you will be supporting on this mission. Many of them will be the future of mankind. They all come back alive, understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” A wave of voices cried out, around fifty responding in perfect unison. Kyra couldn’t help but notice his wording, and mentally winced. Hopefully someone else other than her was being subtly excluded from his idea of the future.

“Please be advised that we will be landing in the hot zone shortly,” a female voice from the intercom rang out within the compartment, the smile audible as she proceeded with her announcement. “Thank you for flying with MHA Airlines, we hope to see you again soo-”

Cut off as someone vested the microphone from the woman speaking, Kyra could still hear a faint chuckle in the background before the speakers crackled and silenced themselves.

“Look alive!” Rigel yelled vigorously as the ship began to rumble, the roar of the thrusters growing louder as it began the landing sequence on the planet’s surface. He gestured with his massive gauntlet for everyone to rise, his pearly whites shining. “Get ready to depart! I want Pilots in their mechs and everyone else prepared to move out as soon as that hangar door opens!”

“S-Sir, yes sir!” Not given a chance to think, Kyra nearly forgot to salute the two Constellations in her haste toward her machine, the near forgotten game system turned off and stored in the bag by her waist without bothering to save. Gazing up at a monitor displaying the situation outside, the brunette heard herself gulp at the sight of war, real war, happening not far from the landing zone.

She could only hope that her first mission was just as simple as the briefing made it sound.

---

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Red Giant Ahkari Ganju
_{IC 286.08.16 // Petrichor-8 System, Frontier Planet Alora // Approaching Princess D-47's Nest
1424 hours // @Eisenhorn@McMolly@Asura@vietmyke@OwO}

---

---

She’d certainly found herself saddled with a colorful cast of personalities.

Ahkari immediately felt her mood improve as she saw the two Pilots play off of one another, close enough that one was comfortable enough to have his cigarette stolen by the other. Or, well, more than likely Sabine had just done as she wished and Howe didn’t have a chance to stop her. Though she didn’t usually key herself in to Pilot chatter, the few times she had to convey orders it was usually the pink haired woman’s voice she had to shout over, a bit too casual with the situation to be healthy.

Rudis’ situation was… it wasn’t great. There was a level of dignity expected of Constellations while off their home worlds, but with how great of a toll the war on Alora had taken on everyone, Ahkari thought it best to just ignore it and accept the help. Pilots generally knew that Constellations were as human as anyone else, but she hoped that the general soldier morale wouldn’t take a hit seeing one of the illustrious Constellations acting like a beast. It wasn’t anything she could hold against the redhead though, if she didn’t have the position of command, she would’ve probably feasted in a similar yet more polite manner herself.

Selene, who seemed more preoccupied with her fellows than the mission, at least voiced her acceptance of the strategy while flitting around the various groups, lending a hand to her comrades no matter the rank or background. Thankfully, the Constellation had something on hand to help with Sabine’s wound, something Ahkari hadn’t noticed herself in her haste to get the various forces to go along with her plan. Perhaps, if she were in a sounder mental state, she would’ve gotten a medic to check on the Pilot and not require someone else to do it for her.

Something like how calm Odessa appeared to be, not only agreeing with the need to speed up the mission, but offering an alternative strategy. That, she could mull over, but the unsaid attempt to comfort her would be something she’d have to do without. The commander knew if she accepted it, allowed herself to be warmed by the concern over not just the planet, but herself, it would only hurt so much more if they were to fail. So she hardened her heart, steeled her mind, and took the words and gestures at face value, as a subordinate approaching their superior with an idea of their own.

The rest of the Constellations and Pilots weighed in as well, lending their swords and mechs to the cause despite the odds. Even the Proto-Class, which in any other circumstance she would’ve sent back to the forward base. However, in this situation she needed every able body she could muster, and reluctantly did nothing but acknowledge their sacrifice with a knowing look.

“...It’s worth a shot,” Ahkari eventually replied to Odessa after a long pause, nodding to herself as she slowly acclimated to the idea. While it stung her pride just a little to think that they weren’t able to complete the mission on their own, with a planet on death’s door that mattered little. It was uncertain just how effective it would be in weakening the forces along their path, but it was better than nothing. At the very least, it would give the people at the command center something to do. She rose her voice as she addressed everyone there as a whole.

“Thank you, all of you.” The Red Giant allowed her gratitude to bleed into her words, the relief that she would not be diving into hell alone the most she allowed herself to feel. “I cannot give you my word that we will all return safely. Even with the help the forward base can give us, the path ahead of us is steep. We will cut a bloody trail to the Nest with everything we have, our bodies the stepping stones for others to walk should we fail. There will be no reprieve until the mission is done, and at the end of all things this planet may need to be abandoned regardless of our efforts.”

She took a breath, not only to allow those heavy words sometime to settle in the minds of her men and women, but to steady herself. To come to terms with the fact that all she was doing could be for nothing, that the people who she will sacrifice for the mission could have lived the rest of their lives had she simply ordered a retreat. To understand that even if the worst came to fruition, and she was forced to leave her home behind, that she could learn to live with that burden for the rest of her life.

When the woman spoke again, it was with such sincerity that any who heard it would believe it to be true. “I can only swear to you this: the Princess of those damnable monsters will not live to see another sunrise.”

Face set with determination, Ahkari heard maybe a handful of voices cheer at the declaration, but she hadn’t said it for morale. Whether their company succeeded or failed, she was certain another would see the trail they’ll blaze and walk the path they’d left behind. It didn’t matter who it was fighting alongside them on this planet, but every human who walked on the soil had the same mind as she. The Aberrants were a poison, a disease within the universe, and they would purge it no matter the cost.

She called over one of the groups of communications staff carrying the various technologies required to radio into the various groups on the planet’s surface. Were she in any less of a serious scenario, she might’ve laughed at how they clumsily moved around with double their numbers’ load of equipment, but all she did was address the highest ranked among them as she ordered, “Staff Sergeant Barnes. I need a direct line to Brigadier General Ackeroid.”

The Staff Sergeant in question looked stunned, staring at her like a deer in headlights for a moment before quickly snapping to reality. “Ma’am, as he’s currently the acting general for the operation, jumping the chain of command is not advised. In this case, it would be best to contact a Colonel beneath him first, or-”

“I know the regulations, Barnes,” Ahkari hissed, disbelief in her voice over the fact that he was playing politics in a time like this. The Staff Sergeant had been a straggler she picked up early on in the war, and while he was very good at his job, he was one of those who liked to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Stickler for the codes, disliking the idea that a Constellation had taken command over the grunts when an MHA officer should have, and buying into the idea that the Sects and the MHA should power check each other. It was a pain in the ass, and this case was one she wouldn’t let him bully her into changing her mind. “Get me the Brigadier General, now.”

“But-”

“That’s an order, Staff Sergeant.”

Not even allowing him to speak, the Constellation stepped up to him until she was deep within his comfort zone. She may have lost to him somewhat in height, a few inches shorter than the information officer, but the death glare she gave him at such close quarters was enough to cow him as he very quickly paled and nodded. “Yes, commander.”

She let him do his thing, setting up the devices required to reach the Brigadier General through the communications haze caused by the presence of high caste Aberrants. They’d probably only get one shot at it as putting a temporary communications array up in the heat of combat wasn’t happening, and only a brief conversation in order to make certain nothing caught wind of their strategy, but she’d make do with what they had.

“As for the rest of you,” Ahkari turned to the Pilots and Constellations once more, internally wincing over the fact that she busted someone’s ass in front of them but choosing to ignore it as she addressed the small group. “Make your last minute preparations. Hug your friends, lick your wounds, pray to your gods if you have them. We depart as soon as we get the ‘go-ahead’ from the chain of command. ‘May the Constellations light the way, and the Pilots plot the course.’”

She snuck in that last phrase, a line that popped up in propaganda quite often, just before the communications squad gave her a thumbs up. They were ready. Having them move the display further into the hotel, she gave her warriors one last look. After this was all over, she probably wouldn’t see half of them at the end of the journey, if she was lucky enough to survive this endeavor herself. She could only hope that there wasn’t anyone waiting for them off-planet, the dour thought weighing heavily in her mind as she cleared her throat, smoothing her tired appearance the best she could just as the holographic image of the Brigadier General came alive. The man she knew was in his forties seemed to have aged dozens of years over the course of a month, and the expression on his face was grim as his eyes met with hers.

“Lenard,” Ahkari greeted casually, sending the man a salute that he mirrored but a moment later. “Should I congratulate you on the promotion?”

“This better be good, Commander Aurigae,” the Brigadier General replied, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it during their joint training on the planet long ago. It saddened her, just a little bit, but she stomped the feeling down as she put on a serious expression.

“I have a request.”

[Lemons]

---

As the introductions carried on down the line, Aissi found herself still paralyzed under Antares' poison gaze, and she couldn't help but meet it. It was only her peripheral vision that bore witness to the next; the blue-haired Alto, the stoic Lictor...she was choking on the scorn.

...And then he looked away.

Released of the near-physical pain that was meeting her eyes, Aissi sucked in a sharp breath as it felt like her lungs worked again, and then shifted so she could actually see the people she'd be working with as the introductions proceeded further. Zhejiang Erica...uh...Teteh...the blonde woman with too many names. The white-haired Iona Smirnov, the anxious Kyra. These were the Important People that she would be spending the incoming bloodbath with.

So how appropriate that the bloodbath was rapidly approaching, as the engine noise cranked up. “Look alive! Get ready to depart! I want Pilots in their mechs and everyone else prepared to move out as soon as that hangar door opens!” Pilots. Like Kyra, or Alto, or the man sitting next to her--

--Aissi realized that he'd not introduced himself. She'd seen his face before, knew he was a pilot. Perhaps she'd read the briefing after all? She'd seen it, she knew that. But his name escaped her. T-something. Something kind. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wanted to say something to him. Thank him, perhaps. Ask him...ask him...

...Ask him what?

She wasn't quite sure where that thought had been leading. What she'd ask him. What else she might do. So after staring at him for a few seconds, eventually she just settled for an awkward nod and an even more awkward "Thank--thank you," before she needed to hurry off.

Despite the dire situation, Aissi couldn't help let out a sigh of relief as she rose and, with a little shake, flared the Wingblades into a more comfortable position. Not wound quite so tightly up against her back, but rather displayed openly to either side of her body. Not the almost predatory position they'd be in as soon as combat started, but more than enough to be fully visible now as the weapons they were. Though...as she did so, she felt something odd. Like something was...loosening inside of her. A contorted knot coming undone that she hadn't known was there.

Then, with a gentle fwoosh from her internal engines, she glided down towards the hangar door. As she went, she looked about at those that had introduced themselves, tried to learn their faces and remember the little bit that she knew now.

The wick of blue hair that she passed by was Alto Valenti, 'Eight Ball.' He was an apprentice pilot...oh, that was right, she had read the briefing, she remembered now! She'd had to ask Jacob to explain since she didn't know what 'Eight Ball' meant and it had taken him an exasperated couple of minutes to explain. He seemed confident and excited. A feeling that Aissi wished she could share; her stomach was wrapped up into a tight tangle, and as she tried not to think about her test run, or rather her first test run, her head filled with a discordant anxious buzzing. She twitched a bit, and shook her head to try and clear the static, but it remained unabated. So distracted was she as she coasted without a sound that she barely even took notice of the horrific violence unfolding on the monitors. Not only was she anxious, she was hungry too. Very hungry. So hungry.

'Lictor' was the one with the ominous sword almost as big as her own, she thought as she tried to focus past her nerves as they dug fishhooks into her exposed skin. The sword, and the somehow incongruous standard-issue rifle--which she found herself wondering at the purpose of. Constellations were there to fight the high-ranks only, right? That's what she'd been told, that they fought the Bishops and above, and the pilots took care of the chaff. What use would a gun be? He seemed quiet, though Aissi obviously didn't have the closest grasp on human nature to make any more guesses; like talking was enough effort and energy for him to keep it to a bare minimum. White Dwarf were Constellations that had stopped fighting, right? She thought she remembered that. So what had brought him back to the front lines like this?

A moment later, she arrived right by the hangar door where the rest of the Constellations were gathering, letting her momentum slow. Iona was there already, and Zhejiang too-many-names as well. Nobody needed that many names. How did she even remember them all?

Aissi slid in between the two of them, passing into their fields of vision as she slowed to a stop. With some regret, she pulled her Wingblades all the way in right next to her core again, and as the craft continued rumbling around her, she waited in unnatural gravity-defying stillness and silence. She stared at the monitors with glazed, inattentive eyes as she wrestled against herself. Against the fear and anxiety. And against something deep within the underside of her mind: a vague, faint undercurrent of...elation that felt so terribly alien to touch.

And yet, so natural too.

---

_{@Supermaxx@Raijinslayer}

[Eisenhorn]

Howe made a half hearted huff of annoyance when Sabine strutted over, ignoring her own burn injuries and snatching his cigarette away as she chimed in with her own outlook. After she took a drag, as she was talking he reached over and snatched it back, taking another drag on it while he considered the outlook of each person. Of course Sabine was all for the assault option, she enjoyed pushing combat to its limits. Trailing her in his slower mech usually left him in a good position to observe the damage she could do, and keep her flanks clear while pushing ahead when he can, and such a loud mouthed pilot being on a nominally stealthy mission was funny in its own way. All that aside, he did have something to say to her as she continued to insist on using him as someplace to lean, when she wasn't busy stealing his smokes. "That's another pack you owe me Sab, that's at least three now if I am being generous. Don't your rations come with a pack anyways?"

Another Constellation decided to make her presence and voice on the matter known, Howe frankly didn't keep close track of them beyond who was hitching a ride on his mech at any give time before they jumped out to get stuck in. That was one thing he begrudingly envied, being able to face the Aberrant face to face and put the things down up close and personal. He knew he was a better pilot than he ever was an infantryman but having to rely on others for the real threats got tedious after awhile. Especially around the more egotistical ones, but that wasn't the case here currently. Her suggestion was to attack but request additional forces launch a diversionary attack. Neat idea, but if they had the manpower to pull that off it would have been part of the plan already. "Worth a shot asking, but if the manpower was available to make diversionary attacks I suspect it would have been planned for already. We might just be the last ditch effort to keep another world from falling, so it goes."

The next Constellation, when she wasn't busy stuffing her mouth to an almost absurd degree by the looks of things, was the cocky type he had come to expect from their lot. Willing to see this through, hell or high water, was at least something that could be respected. Then again, all of this relied on each person volunteering being willing to do or die. Sabine he knew was at least willing to put herself in harms way, he knew that death had stopped being an enemy for himself for years now, but the others were unknowns. It was relatively easy to say that one was willing to go down swinging for a cause, stepping into the grave was another matter completely. He would have to wait and see how this all panned out before measuring the character of those who were agreeing to a near suicidal change of tactics. Nothing to particularly say to her though, and Howe wasn't too keen on unnecessary chatter at the moment.

Last of the Constellations to chime in, at least in their current gathering, was probably the most gentle in her initial approach. Also actually introduced herself as well, how about that, offering a ration bar to the hungry one and a medipen to Sabine. Nothing for him, but Howe didn't take that personally, probably didn't have anything worth a damn giving. Still, she was showing some common courtesy in introductions and the like, even if remembering her would rely on her surviving he could at least be polite. He was professional, but his tone and face were as set as when Sabine had wandered over. A nasty case of resting bitch face, as he was told it was, but made gambling easier. "Callsign is Dunkirk, a pleasure. Sab, actually use that please, last thing we need is a chaffing burn distracting you at a critical moment."

Finally the lead Constellation got her fill, the others all volunteering, to the last, for this do or die change to the plan. Shame a group like this hadn't been available on New Alexandria, maybe he would still have a homeworld if that was the case. No, that wasn't exactly fair, the senior staff had failed that time. Still, it seemed like they would be contacting the powers that be and begging for help. More time wasted sitting around and waiting to be discovered, and ruining what surprise they could yet muster. Still, he wasn't in charge and that was probably for the best. With nothing better to do, Howe finished his current smoke and stomped it out. He resisted the urge to light another, in case they decided to move out soon. More importantly, it would keep Sabine from stealing another. Part of him wondered if he should say something, but no doubt the more chatty among them would fill the silence soon enough. He didn't count the Constellation Commander's communication, that was background noise right now, instead he started doing a visual inventory of what they had available. Pilots and their frames, Constellations and supporting infantry, anything that might prove useful in a pinch he was going to keep a mental tally of.

[vietmyke]

---

Perhaps luckily for them, it was more or less agreed upon that a dynamic plan was better than a slow slough. Unsurprisingly, the Constellations were unafraid of throwing themselves into the fight- though at least one suggested taking a slightly more calculated approach. Perhaps it was the superpowers or top of the line gear and special weapons that made them so much more bold than the average man or woman. Perhaps in another life, Sabine might've resented the sort of cavalier attitude they all had towards danger- easy to do so when you were by and far the most dangerous thing in most people's lives, a bit harder when you were just a regular human. Though at this point, Sabine had stopped caring, a fight was a fight, and a soldier was a soldier; Constellation, pilot, grunt, didn't really matter anymore.

"Aww, Howie, are you keeping track? I like when you pay attention to me." The head of pink hair bobbed as Sabine offered a sweet, albeit fake giggle. "Besides, my last ration pack is riiight- there." Sabine added lightly, punctuating her statement by pointing at one of the empty ration wrappers at Rudis' feet. Sabine wasn't particularly worried about finding more sustenance in case the fight ended up dragging out longer than they liked- it wasn't hard to sweet talk grunts, and for better or for worse, there was no shortage of bodies and vehicles to scrounge supplies from in an environment like this.

Though it was a pleasant surprise to not have to go scrounging for a medkit, as one of the Constellations approached them. Usually, Constellations held a sort of lofty, almost holier-than-thou air about them, usually not deigning to do much more than order their MHA colleagues around. At least by Sabine's recollection, most never really approached them for much more than to bark orders, but perhaps they were just not good with small talk- being trained to be a weapon from incredibly young ages could probably do that to a person. Could it be that perhaps Sabine's attitude made them not like her? Impossible, surely. The Constellation in particular introduced herself to them as Selene. Soft, gentle, refined even, like talking to a noblewoman at tea time rather than the burnt out hotel they found themselves in.

"Merci, belle." Sabine offered Selene a broad, beaming grin as she graciously took the medipen, flipping it once or twice casually in her hand. "Aren't you just the sweetest? Don't mind Howie, he's always a bit of a stick in the mud, but he means well. Probably." Popping the cap of the pen open, Sabine quickly applied the analgesic gel to her burn. Her eyes flickered a bit with a wince, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment, but made no audible complaints otherwise. She breathed out a relaxed sigh as the antiseptic painkiller did its work. She'd slap a wrap over it once she got back to her machine, but for now this would do.

"Sabine." She said as a way of introducing herself, pulling out a noticeably full pack of cigarettes from a side pouch and offering the soft-spoken Constellation one, "But the other flyboys like to call me Rabbit. I'm flying the big white one right there." She jerked a thumb at her mech, parked just a few meters away, the once pristine white paintjob now scoured and sullied by scorchmarks and ricochetting shrapnel. A particularly large scorchmark on the side of the cockpit's torso lined up with the burn on Sabine's own side. Luckily, the stray blast hadn't punched through the hull, but the resulting heat had been strong enough to cause one of her side displays to short and blow.

"Looks like you guys get to do all the fun stuff, again, but I'm happy to wingwoman your date with royalty." Sabine chuckled, offering Selene an audacious wink, "Though I guess she doesn't know you Constellations are the one-night-stand type, huh?"

[OwO]

---

"Hels yeah." Rudis said with a smile as Selene gave her another ration bar--one that she had immediately opened and scarfed down.

When Ahkari gave her sincere motivational speech, Rudis wasn't that impressed. Though, she wasn't daft--she knew it was a difference in culture. Forgeship speeches were considerably more... rousing. They were filled with such motivational lines as "If you don't die, you're going to live forever!" if you could hear the speech over the audience's profanity-laden cheers. Still, Rudis could only raise an eyebrow with the short speech.

Though, once she went off to the communications staff, Rudis promptly stopped paying much attention--her chewing out an underling was very much ignored. In fact, that's how most communication on a forgeship was. She wasn't one for the details, nor was she someone ever meant to lead in a formal hierarchy. She just did what command told her and, more important than that, did what she thought was the right thing to do.

When Sabine pointed at one of the ration wrappers, Rudis waved back at them. As she finished her last ration--the one that Selene had given her--Rudis rose from her stone throne and walked over to Selene and the two pilots as she sensed it was time for introductions.

"Rudis here." She said as she approached. "Or Rho Ophiuchi. But ain't nobody calls me that 'cept paperwork. I don't got gifts on me right now unless you're a little bold, so gifts gotta wait 'til we get spaceside."

[Fading Memory]

Lictor rose to his feet with the declaration of their swiftly approaching arrival. The subtle shifts of atmospheric pressure and engine thrust trembled through the airbus and into his feet. He rolled his neck, tapped his visor, then toggled the shortband feed of his radio transceiver with the same hand. Carnifex's slow lilt was caught by his other hand. Carnifex was lifted up, the scabbard's strap loosely pulled over one shoulder. The buckle was tightened, the long blade situated vertically down Lictor's back. He rested an arm on the rifle slung to his chest, loosely holding it with nary a finger on the trigger, as he turned and walked slowly along Aissi's trajectory towards the hangar doors. It was a languid pace, a comfortable one. A mosey, with purpose. He did not speak up to anyone in passing, but his nods and directed gazes were weighted. A nod to Howser. A lingering glance on Zhejiang. That flicker of familiarity at Alto.

His steps came to a natural conclusion by Kyra's mech as the woman scrambled into her machine. He cast his voice in a bark up to her;

"Keep cool. You're one of the best, yeah?" He prompted Kyra, clearly not expecting an answer. His eyes did not even rise to meet her, as his gaze focused through the HUD of his visor and observed Aissi's spreading wings and the display of her exotic stature. "I'll be up top. I'll keep your ankles clear. Don't worry about me falling off. Don't worry about anything besides keeping up speed. You've got three jobs."

He lifted his hand off the rifle to count the orders he had for her up his hand;

"Keep up with the winged girl." Pinky finger.

"Get me to any Bishops that show up." Ring finger.

"Don't fuckin' die. If things get to be too much and you can't get in contact with me then link up with Howser. That Grizzly is your best bet at not eating shit out there." Middle finger.

"We good, Newman?" He finally looked up at her. His barking voice, while firm, was not harsh. When she finally answered, he would effortlessly scale the mech and take a position atop it.

[Feyblue]

---

If anyone was particularly impressed by his assertive introduction, Alto didn't get the chance to taste it before the prevailing mood in the room switched to one of savory respect for the old veteran in charge of the operation, followed by a sweet-and-sour confusion towards the lady who came after him. It wasn't like Alto was unfamiliar with the almost cultish devotion with which old blueblood families cherished their histories, but even by the standards of those he'd had the misfortune to meet during his own high-class upbringing, that lady had way too many names.

There were a few more after that -- some Constellations he'd never heard of, as well as a fellow rookie pilot who seemed even more nervous than the giant girl had been under the gaze of their superiors. He resisted the urge to send her a little sympathy as well, but at least gave her a bright grin as she sat back down.

"Don't let 'em get to you," He said quietly. "That lot doesn't pay attention to anyone who's not a member of their shiny sword club anyhow."

Not sympathy, but on second thought, he allowed himself to share a bit of assurance. She had nothing to worry about, after all -- he'd be watching her back.

Either way, none of the others on the ship made quite as memorable a first impression as the first Constellation had. His curiosity flickered back to how she had introduced herself, and the implications thereof -- but since he didn't like any of the answers he came up with to sate that curiosity, he once again pushed it back for the time being.

There wasn't time for such speculation, anyway. He could feel the rumbling of the floor beneath him as the thrusters intensified, slowing their until-then rapid descent. The growing tension in the air confirmed his suspicions as the veterans among their ranks all felt it too, and set about their preparations.

Well, they didn't need to tell him twice. The moment he got the go-ahead, he hopped up from his seat and rushed to the back of the ship, scampering right up the boarding ladder before his Corvo's cockpit had even finished opening. Tossing himself through the half-open canopy, he tugged it shut behind him and tossed himself down into the pilot's chair, as all around him, projected screens began to flicker to life over the blank metal of the cockpit, as the machine around him seemed to fade and give way to the hangar outside, leaving him suspended at the center of the panoramic display as screens and readouts began to pop into being all around him.

If Alto had his way, he'd have already spent the entire ride in here instead of out in the bay socializing with his supposed betters -- these Connies had no respect for just how long it took to do a full pre-flight check, and do it properly.

...Granted, he'd already done it once before they even loaded his unit onto the transport. And so had the good Doctor before that. But what if they'd missed something? This was his first real action -- if something malfunctioned now it could be a permanent stain on his career!

Wracking his brains, he followed the steps as quickly as he could remember them. Fuel check. Green. Battery check. Green. Power on. Secondary systems check -- all green. Weapons check -- fully loaded and fully operational. Finally, the Craft system. First he'd have to toggle it on, test the stabilizers, and then --

A measured mechanical voice cut through the thread of his concentration like a hot knife through butter, and he almost jumped to hear it.

"Statement: Magni-Craft system is already fully charged and operating within expected parameters. Addendum: You have observed this diagnostic file three times already. Further testing is redundant, Operator."

"Ghh -- I knew that, Corvo! He insisted -- though his supposed knowledge didn't stop him from hastily closing the file the moment his Support Interface began to question him on it. "I was just... checking something."

"Suggestion: Would it not be more pertinent to check who our assigned partner is? Reminder: We are under orders to support the Constellations, and to do so without endangering either this unit or the Operator. Conclusion: Operating in tandem with a Constellation is critical to the success of our mission."

Alto groaned. The last thing he wanted was to have his first mission be to play taxi for some glamorous elite -- but then again, he also wasn't particularly keen on being lectured for insubordination... and just going by the numbers, they only had three mechs and twice as many Constellations. Logically speaking, someone was going to have to carry the precious Connies, and unfortunately, between his unit's mobility and its long range, his Corvo was rather well suited to play that role in a pinch.

"...Fine. Open up comms with the squad. I'll... deal with it, I guess." He sighed, then cleared his throat. The viewscreen in front of him flashed as, in the corner of his vision, a readout appeared displaying a list of signals. Anything beyond short range comms was a tall order, but at least like this he'd be able to see who was talking... assuming he could read such a small window in the heat of battle, anyway.

"This is Eight-Ball, reporting in. I don't have any extra seats, but I can offer the best view in the house if any of our VIPs has a taste for fireworks. Any takers?"

[Mcmolly]

---

Sabine and Dunkirk—or “Howie”, it seemed. Selene scratched both of their names into her wall, so she wouldn’t forget. They appeared to know each other well enough, though she couldn’t have guessed which one was the superior, if either was. Howie had the gruff, commanding edge that she’d come to expect of MHA officers, whose stoicism was at once a weapon to be wielded against the Abberants, and a shield to guard their allies. But Sabine spoke with the casual candor that made Selene think she was high enough rank to get away with it. She supposed it could all break down in circumstances like this. Formality among Constellations wasn’t particularly rigid regardless, and it was refreshing, perhaps even a bit relieving, to see pilots who could both keep their cools and their senses of humor in the thick of an invasion.

Sabine made a joke, and Selene giggled, partly because she found it funny, and partly because it was the appropriate thing to do. She enjoyed banter, though she was only recently starting to engage with it. A mere few years ago she’d had trouble differentiating jokes from truth, sarcasm from seriousness. Clarity and social awareness came to her in bursts, where she would realize how stunted her outlooks were and grow incredibly embarrassed, only to lose her grasp on the concept shortly thereafter and need things explained to her. But over time, and with more socialization, she trained that muscle back into memory. It was that sort of effort, and those results, that had helped get her approved for active duty in the first place. Nowadays most people only considered her weird in the same way that all Constellations apparently were, which to her was quite encouraging.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I always leave my number, but they never seem to call,” Selene said wistfully, and added a wink of her own because it also felt appropriate.

Another joined them then, the hungry Constellation. She introduced herself as Rudis, or Rho Ophiuchi, so Selene committed them both to the wall just to be safe.

“Selene. Nice to meet you!” she said to the imposing woman, with a smile, and turned her attention back to the pilots. “I’m sure you two will manage to find your own fun. Like…crashing a house party!”

That was a guess, of course. Selene had never been to a house party. Perhaps she could add it to her ever-expanding list of to-dos.