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File: Ashes of Rhysode 4.jpg (329 KB, 1280x1539)
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‘Why don’t the five of us pull up table?’ you suggest, shaking the contents of your plate for emphasis. ‘It’s probably going to be the last time that we’re ever going to be seeing each other, so …’

You trail off, gesturing towards a vacant booth. None of them say a word, weighing the proposal for yourselves. Maybe it was a little … unreasonable for you to put that forward, but it didn’t stop it from being the truth. Even now you felt the weight of tomorrow leaning against your mind. You’d be up on a ship before dawn even broke, heading to parts unknown while keeping stock and making sure everything was maintained on its way to delivery. The first day that would definite the rest of your life would begin … and you already felt like there was too much to do, so much left unsaid.

Sanza not wearing underwear, though, was one that you were keen on not exploring.

Not in that way.

Nor in the other way.

‘Wait, five of us?’

You point to the Junior who was currently occupying the table with your head … looking thoroughly indulgent, wolfing down the mini-sandwiches, foreign crust, finger fillets and the everything else that she had previously procured. You’d considered just sitting down around there, but you’d have to be shoulder-to-shoulder squeezing—

Ryosuke practically balks. ‘Whoa, who’s the babe?

‘Your Junior,’ Sanza responds in lieu of you, ‘and I believe the date of our mutual friend here’—she gives your pectoral a light tap—‘so don’t get any funny ideas.’

D-DATE?!

‘T-This is a sick joke! This guy has a date?! How come he gets a date?! How come I don’t have a date?’

Sanza has much too much fun, though, crossing her arms and smirking at Ryosuke’s shaken, disbelieving form. She nears yours shocked, borderline-ashen friend, humming in mischief as Emilio tried his best to appear unaffected by the reveal. The slight twitch from the corner of his mouth, however, definitely said that he felt something akin to … well, something; it was hard to read Emilio when it came to things like this. He didn’t seem the type to indulge in schadenfreude, but you supposed that considering he had pulled Ryosuke from yet another potentially (assuredly) humiliating incident not moments ago and ended up a little worse off for it, you couldn’t fault him for trying to bask under those sick rays of satisfaction. Not that you’d ever known him to be the type.

‘I’ll go get us some chairs,’ Emilio declares, moving to do so. It would seem that that part of decision-making had been made for you.

‘This is a nightmare,’ Ryosuke declares, shoving his hands into his pockets. ‘I lost out to Mr Logistics. I’ve shamed my family name!’

You find that twitch on your brow rather ... distracting at this point.
>>
>>2403548
>'Come on, I'll introduce you to her.'
>'Maybe if you didn't come off too strongly at times, girls would actually give you a chance.'
>'Mr Logistics? Seriously?'
>'I'm just showing her around, Ryosuke. It's nothing like that; she's from a Colony Fleet, too.'
>Write-In
>>
>>2403552
>>'Maybe if you didn't come off too strongly at times, girls would actually give you a chance.'
>>
>>2403552
>>'Mr Logistics? Seriously?'
>>
>>2403552
>Maybe if you didn't come off too strongly at times, girls would actually give you a chance.'
>>
>>2403552
>'Maybe if you didn't come off too strongly at times, girls would actually give you a chance.'
>>
‘Maybe if you didn’t come off too strongly at times, girls would actually give you a chance.’

Ryosuke casts a half-lidded glare in your direction. For some reason, it makes you feel—just a little bit—accomplished. It was rare enough that you’d been able to get a step on Ryosuke—never mind Emilio—but to actually be able to turn a whole sentence on him in this manner at this stage, that bit of leakage to superiority felt downright satisfying. Not that you wished the worst on your friend, of course, but considering that you were actually in the position to give the lecture, passing up on the opportunity to assert yourself on the topic was not an option.

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ he grunts, huffing as he moves to the side as Emilio returns with the chairs. A tight, forced-looking smile forms of his lips, a glint of something in his eye visible with the slight tilt of his head. ‘Besides, you probably picked up a thing or two watching me anyway.’

You let out a disgusted noise at the insinuation.

‘If anything, you gave me a pretty good picture on how not to conduct myself, thank you very much for that.’

‘You’re learning, see?’ Ryosuke steadies his point, shrugging as he throws his hands up. ‘It’s like in close quarters combat; regardless of whether it’s the instructor or the instructed, the thrown or the one doing the throwing, it’s about the passing of knowledge. You probably wouldn’t even be able to talk to girls without seeing me screw up so often.’

Emilio stares at him in disbelief.

Sanza looks like she’s about to burst holding her laughter in.

>‘Emilio?’ (Ask Emilio to back you up)
>‘Sanza?’ (Ask Sanza to back you up)
>‘You’re the one tossing my ass on the floor-mat a hundred-and-one times out of a hundred … knowledge is knowledge.’ (Take it in good humor)
>‘Sure it is.’ (Annoyed, Sarcastic)
>Write-In
>>
>>2403626
>>‘You’re the one tossing my ass on the floor-mat a hundred-and-one times out of a hundred … knowledge is knowledge.’ (Take it in good humor)
>>
>>2403626
>You’re the one tossing my ass on the floor-mat a hundred-and-one times out of a hundred … knowledge is knowledge.’ (Take it in good humor)
>>
>>2403626
>'I'll have you know I spoke with my mother TWICE before I ever met you. How about that?'
Yeah, it's a joke.
>>
‘You’re the one tossing my ass on the floot-mat a hundred-and-one times out of a hundred,’ you shrug; no point throwing out some banter without being prepared to roll with it yourself, ‘not that I’d prefer it to having a night out on a pretty woman, but I’d be lying if I didn’t actually pick a thing or two up from your rambunctious ass.’

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, his forced grin giving way to a fond one. ‘Glad to know it, buddy.’

A cough from Emilio has the three of you turning your attention to him … his expression showing that he wasn’t amused by the fact that you had chosen to have a chat in the middle of the open floor of all places. It wasn’t as if you had made him get the chairs, though: there were enough booths to choose from that he didn’t have to go out of his way to go and drag three chairs for one small table—already occupied with a blissfully-content Kouhai who was halfway through her own meals, nonetheless!

The four of you make your way towards the island of a table, where your Junior instantly gets to her feet, noticing your return.

‘Rosaria, this is Emilio Reinweld and Ryosuke Kikitai,’ you announce, setting down your tray of meat, ‘they’re my friends and fellow graduates.’

‘P-Pleased to meet you!’ she greets, bowing in a manner that you’d found yourself all too familiar with. ‘And you too, Miss Sanza!’

Ryosuke eyes her up and down with scrutiny, causing her to stiffen slightly.

‘How old are you? Twenty-two standard? Twenty-three?’

He’s instantly met by a smack to the back of his head by Sanza, followed by a light shove from Emilio, who sets the chairs up behind his two friends in the same motion. Rosaria, however, doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Twenty-one, actually,’ she giggles. ‘I turned about five moons ago.’

‘Huh, so you’re our age,’ he points out, taking a seat. ‘Pleased to meet ya, too.’

‘Likewise,’ Emilio gruffly returns, pulling up a seat between you and Ryosuke … before promptly picking up one of your fillets and throwing it into his mouth. ‘Ah, they’ve downgraded a little on the sauce … must be the season for it, then.’

‘Hey, get your own—’

Before you can even finish your warning, you find two more hands picking up your food: Sanza’s, who had foregone her evening gloves in favor of a messy raid without so much as a plate for her own … and Rosaria, who had followed the lead of her Seniors and picked up one of the larger wings, munching and savoring the piece like no one ever did. Ryosuke places his elbows on the table, eyeing the young blonde woman with interest.

‘It’s a little bit old to start at The AEGIS, ain’t—ow!

He rubs the back of his head, glaring at the perpetrator, who was sucking the fat off her fillet in a manner that didn’t march the elegance of her dress.

‘Sanza, if there’s sauce in my hair, I swear!’
>>
>>2403701
>'Actually, I'm kind of curious myself. You're actually ... older than I am. Are Apprenticeships that different from being recruited normally?' (Curious)
>'So, Sanza, I take it everything went smoothly leading up to the party?' (Change topic)
>'Ryosuke, for someone in the top 2 percent, you can pass for a newbie on his first day.'
>'Being from a Trade House, I guess that you can afford to be that picky.'
>'You deserve it.' (Dismissive)
>Write-In
>>
>>2403705
>'So, Sanza, I take it everything went smoothly leading up to the party?' (Change topic)
>>
>>2403705
>>'So, Sanza, I take it everything went smoothly leading up to the party?' (Change topic)
>>
>>2403705
>>'So, Sanza, I take it everything went smoothly leading up to the party?' (Change topic)
>>
‘So, Sanza,’ you move to collect the vestments of calm into motion before Ryosuke caused a ruckus, ‘I take it everything went smoothly leading up to the party?’

Not seeing the point of leaving your own tray of barbecued meat unattended, you raid it before they could get to the nicer portions. Starting out with some fillets was good enough.

‘Not really,’ she replies thickly, the squirt of meat juice barely missing you as she bites down on a wing. ‘but I can’t complain; all the organizers and reps were swamped enough as it is, so even a little bit of a trickle is to be expected. The planet-wise news feed, though, I didn’t expect to be violated at all. I guess that they got desperate enough to leave their mark doing it like that.’

‘Nothing will ever top off Emperor Move-It Move-It,’ Ryosuke sighs wistfully. ‘Legends are there to remain legends, after all.’

Sanza glares at him (Although it looked rather comical with a piece of your ‘I swear, if you—’

‘Hey, I’ve been busy too, you know,’ Ryosuke interjects, huffing in annoyance. ‘You think I could’ve joined those guys on their runs with what I have to put up with?’

‘Considering your lackadaisical approach to your own prospective career, there isn’t really much you can do to counter that,’ Emilio answer, wearing a slight smirk. ‘Although, that is only for those that don’t know how much of an asset you really are …’

Ryosuke turns up his nose, crossing his arms. ‘You damn right, I am!’

‘Back on topic,’ Sanza grabs everyone’s attention, ‘there hasn’t really been much of an issue … but negotiating with the Precinct Officers for us to use a whole street took some persuading. It wasn’t until Instructor Wray convinced them that it was better to sacrifice half a block than let us run wild vandalizing a whole town.’

WRAY DID?

The three men at the table—you, of course, included—get to your feet, eyes wide in shock at the reveal by your friend. Rosaria herself jumps in surprise, shocked at the sudden raise in volume from you, Ryosuke and—surprisingly—Emilio. Although, to be fair, you suppose that Wray doing anything to actually perpetuate the madness of your class was … worthy of such a reaction.

Sanza tilts her head, chewing noisily, nonplussed. ‘I was surprised at first … but he was surprisingly helpful negotiating that detail down. I mean, he didn’t take out pom-poms and—’

‘Sanza, no,’ Emilio cuts in warily, raising a hand in protest.

‘It wasn’t as if he was pushing the boulder uphill with us, but he did manage to persuade them that it’d be a more acceptable form of damage compared to the previous years.’

‘You didn’t ask Fisher for any advice?’

The atmosphere drops several degrees at Ryosuke’s inquiry. Sanza doesn’t answer.

Amid the smoke and huddled around the table, you continue your meal.
>>
>>2403793
>'Actually, Sanza ... why don't you like Fisher?'
>'Emilio, you got any details on what you're going to be packing on your post?'
>'Rosaria, when Ryosuke asked about your Apprenticeship ... how does it actually differ?'
>'Been four years, huh?'
>Eat in silence and just enjoy the atmosphere
>Write-In
>>
>>2403797
>>'Actually, Sanza ... why don't you like Fisher?'
>>
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>>2403797
>'Actually, Sanza ... why don't you like Fisher?'
This is totally a bad idea but I want to do it anyway.
>>
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>>2403797
>>'Actually, Sanza ... why don't you like Fisher?'
>>
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At the fifth sandwich and third fillet, you finally work up enough courage, stupidity and curiosity to voice the one thing that had been plaguing you for the last few years.

‘Actually, Sanza … why don’t you like Instructor Fisher?’

Emilio chokes on a bun before promptly recovering himself, glaring right at you. You knew that it was a stupid question to even imply, never mind ask directly … but considering that there wasn’t a tomorrow for you that didn’t involve stacking boxes and long trips to worlds just to be off to another site in the galaxy, you decide that you might as well lay it out there. Maybe it was a little awkward to do it, judging by Emilio’s own reaction to your ask, but …

Well, no one was perfect.

When you wanted to know, you wanted to know.

‘I have nothing but respect for Instructor Fisher,’ she reinforces, not quite meeting your eyes. ‘I just didn’t see the need to ask her for help anymore than I don’t ask any of you boys because I feel that if I could still manage it on my own, I should stick to it instead of dragging people into my problems.’

‘That’s not what I asked, though,’ you round on her, licking the sauce off the tip of your finger. ‘It’s not about insinuating anything, but it feels like you don’t like her much at all.’

Ryosuke slashes his hand over his throat, shaking his head, glaring through the windows of his soul.

Emilio looks at you in desperation, fear creeping upon his ashen face.

Sanza sets her half-bitten patty down, her features neutral; cold.

>Write-In
>>
>>2403830
>Maintain eye contact (motherly women can smell fear like sharks smell blood) and wait for her to answer.
>>
>>2403833
Supporting
>>
>>2403833
>stay cool
dont show fear
dont even move
>>
You keep yourself steady. The last thing you wanted was for your last memory—your last living memory—was one of Sanza trying to force feed you the table you were eating at. She doesn’t respond, wiping the sauce from her pink lips away, roughly suckling its remnants off the print of her thumb. Her eyes are lidded, her brows creased … and she regards you not as a friend of years but like a Salamander spying a lone drum of Ether in an open meadow. There is a thickness in the air that you can’t quite pin-point, never mind exorcise … and all you can do is keep yourself steady. No sudden movements, no try to push up what ground you’d gained or what you’d lost. Sanza didn’t need people to push her over the edge … because she’d use your entrails as a rope to tow herself back up that muddy cliff before throwing the rest of your corpse down the pit.

She snorts, crossing her arms, pushing her chair back and crossing her legs in a show of defiance.

‘I already said I have nothing but respect for her,’ she counters, adopting a haughty tone that was wildly out of the norm. ‘Fisher’s an acceptable Counselor and someone that’s been on the field as much as you can ask anyone. She’s someone that made something of herself and lived to tell about it.’

The words come off as though she was reading off a script.

‘Why are you even asking me this?’

>Write-In
>>
>>2403861
So someone Sanza knew/was related to died serving with/under Fisher. Probably when she lost her meat arm(s?) and leg(s?).

>'It's just kinda weird to me how you get all frosty when she's mentioned, since she doesn't seem to have any problem with you.'
>>
>>2403861
Seconding this:>>2403861
Also:
>And because the way you're acting right now goes way beyond simple dislike.
>>
>>2403864
WELL, NOT ANYMORE.
>>
>>2403882
If you don't want us to know it's about someone being dead, don't point out Sanza sees Fisher as still being alive as important. There's really no other explanation I could think of, after she said "and lived to tell about it."
>>
>>2403885
It's just a joke, man. I already had this planned out. It's nothing that deep or cliche.
>>
>>2403897
Whatever you say~

I guess I'm too dumb to guess what it could be.
>>
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‘I guess it always felt weird that you seem to get rather cold whenever she’s brought up,’ you disclose calmly, leaning forwards and wiping your sauce-stained hands on the napkin before setting them down. ‘Thought you’d finally tell us why.’

Sanza licks the last of her sauce from her fingers, before returning to that predator-like flash of expression, staring right back at you. You don’t say a word further, allowing her to control the flow. It was hard, trying to actually convince her to divulge something so personal, but … after all this time, you believed that it was pointless to let such a lack of knowledge remain so. She throws her head back, stretching her arms over her head … before folding them on her lap, reluctant defeat etched across her face.

‘It’s not easy to say, but,’ Sanza looks away, her cheeks red, ‘I envy her.’

For a few moments, you stare at her, wondering whether or not you could cash that refund for all those years of guess work.

That’s it?

‘She and I … politically, at least, we’re on the opposite ends of a spectrum,’ she begins, ‘as a Rim-Worlder, I wanted more autonomy for my world. Many of the settled cities do, but at the same time … we didn’t want to leave the cloak of the Empire. I’d just about finished school up at the time … and my world, Dallas, was under threat by a militia that turned into a sort of local terrorist movement. The Empire sent troops to quell the fighting … but rather than welcoming them, the local government—all eight of the cities that made up the settlement—rejected Imperial resolution. A lot of people saw The Emperor as self-important and didn’t care much for what he had to say; enough to split the planet into a sort of cold blood war. She … was part of a Lance Command that was sent in as a security force and to … well, in a word, spread propaganda. I was in that phase in my life; rebellion was my thing. It was a phase for a lot of us. She came to the local schools with her Lance Command, threw up a smile and tell us that everything was okay.’

Sanza wears a wry smile as she looks down to her hand.

‘I threw a rock at her, telling her to go back … didn’t get away with it, though.’

‘You threw a rock at Instructor Fisher?’

Morrigan.’

You stop in your tracks. You’d never heard Sanza say her first name.

‘I was called in for an investigation; a bunch of us had our faces all over the feed as malcontents,’ she snorts, closing her eyes. ‘I remember screaming into the camera “Independence! Independence!” when they dragged me away. Proud moment for my family, for sure. They just wanted something better for me that didn’t involve working on the land.’

She lets out a sigh.

‘It must have hit some buttons, because after that, all Hell broke loose.’

>Interrupt her
>Let her continue
>Write-In
>>
>>2403918
>Let her continue
I gotta go to bed now, it's nearly 7am.
>>
>>2403918
>>Let her continue
>>
>>2403918
>>Let her continue
>>
>>2403918
>Let her continue
>>
‘It’d be arrogant to assume that there’d be one action that flipped the table, but on the media on Dallas were in a frenzy over that one thing I did; I wasn’t even in my holding cell yet when the feed started broadcasting riots all over the city,’ she snorts, smiling wryly once more. ‘That’s when Fisher—when Morrigan came in—and I kind of expected that she’d have a gun to my head and a note on the record, but … all she did was pull up a chair and talked. She told me about herself; her life back on home; her sisters, her mother … and how much Dallas bread sucked for the premium the rest of the universe paid for it. I felt that she didn’t get how we saw things; that the people on the settlements deserved to govern themselves and for themselves … that the Empire was archaic and crumbling. She laughed at that, by the way. Most annoying laugh I ever heard.’

There was a glint of something in Sanza’s gaze—no, it would be presumptuous to call it something instead of somethings. Regret; frustration; contemplation; you could see it, even from here … but paradoxically, you didn’t feel like this was a confession of any sort from your friend. Sanza was firm and meticulous in divulging the details; if there was something you could link her demeanor right back to, it would be some kind of bar hop-fueled talk that just happened to trudge onto more personal grounds.

Or rather, a hop-fueled talk that you segued into more personal grounds.

‘We talked politics for a while,’ she continues, nonchalantly picking up a glass of drink from a passing waiter, who didn’t even notice her pick it up in one impressive movement, ‘and I threw back everything and everything she threw back during her small talks back when she was doing her propaganda rounds … and she called me a child for it. I called her names, said she lived in a Mech and on a ship; that she didn’t know what people did in atmosphere … how we felt like nothing more than accessories; how we were unheard. She told me that she did … but that in the end it didn’t matter. She didn’t even care about the rock to the head, but she asked me something that I thought I could answer … which I did.’

You lean in, feeling curious. ‘What’d she ask?’

‘She asked me how far I’d go to stay true to my convictions, and I said,’ she smirks humorlessly, ‘that I’d take them with me to my grave. Typical Rim-World bravado, turning up my nose and trying to sound tough. Like I knew everything they could throw at me. I’m not sure if I was brave back then … or stupid.’

Emilio snorts, crossing his arms, but otherwise listens intently. Ryosuke, however, looks deep in thought.

‘I was allowed to go free … she said she’d write it off as a kid trying to act tough.’

Sanza mumbles under her breath.

Bitch.
>>
>>2411066
>'That's it? Doesn't sound political or ... personal. It just sounds like you're being petty.'
>'Sorry I asked.'
>'So you met her during her early career and ... just had a disagreement with her.'
>'That doesn't sound like the end of the story.'
>Write-In
>>
>>2411066
>>'That doesn't sound like the end of the story.'
>>
>>2411068
>'So you met her during her early career and ... just had a disagreement with her.'
>>
>>2411066
>'That doesn't sound like the end of the story.'
>>
‘That doesn’t sound like the end of the story,’ you state, frowning. Sanza never seemed like the type that’d let something that came out of a difference in belief define the rest of her relationship with someone.

Rather than answer your queries, Sanza’s explanation seemed to only raise more questions. You never knew that Sanza and Fisher were acquainted prior to touching down on Rhysode. Considering Sanza had said that it had happened during her late teens, you marked it down to an early point in Fisher’s career; a small assignment to give a talk on the position of The Emperor on a Rim World only reinforced the assumption. The math was easy enough for you to deduce that it was—at best—two years before you touched down on Rhysode … but that only made Sanza’s explanation contradictory to Fisher’s tenure. She must have been only twenty-three standard years at the most … and being part of the AEGIS, even in the capacity that [i[she[/i] was in, carried a lot of unsaid implications to her service.

Then there was the backdrop of civil unrest that had gone unexplored.

You had Sanza and Fisher sharing (sort of) a past; Fisher’s identity as a member of a Lance Command, which, considering her age, meant that it was more than likely one of the her first assignments; a planet that was in a cold war with itself on its standing as an Imperial Rim World and a time frame that seemed to be much too compact for it to be anything but volatile.

‘It’s not,’ she finally admits with a sigh, ‘but … I’m sorry, that’s as far as I’m willing to go with it.’

Sanza picks up a mini-fillet, tearing it off the bone and tossing it into her mouth.

Ryosuke’s mouth thins into a line, nodding but not saying anything; Emilio closes his eyes, letting out a grunt and raising a hand, gesturing for a waiter to tend to the table.

Rosaria stares at Sanza in wonder, but otherwise keeps her silence.

>Press her
>Allow her to keep her peace
>Write-In
>>
>>2411107
>>Allow her to keep her peace
>>
>>2411107
>Allow her to keep her peace
>>
>>2411107
>Allow her to keep her peace
>>
You decide not to pry any further. Considering that she’d confessed to throwing a rock at a member of Lance Command in her past, you supposed that this wasn’t the best place to spill. It wasn’t that you didn’t have a rough picture of it, anyway: Sanza and Fisher stood on opposing sides of beliefs and something had put Sanza on a more antagonistic stance. Sanza wasn’t prepared to give that much up … and you wouldn’t be the one to make her.

Ryosuke breaks the uneasy noise (It would be a stretch to call it silence, with so much going on) by opening chatter up with Rosaria, asking her about her experiences on-world. Rosaria is all too happy to return in kind, expressing her wonder, her hopes and her fears … and trying to talk Ryosuke through the more technical aspects of engineering. Ryosuke rarely had a head for that sort of thing; not that he wasn’t smart enough to operate in that capacity, but that he lacked the patience and passion for it. Rosaria’s simplification of the more elaborate cut-ups of engineering, however (Or the fact that it was a pretty girl doing the explanation) had Ryosuke listening intently—or at least, attempting and pretending to do so. For a while, their chatter and Sanza’s snappy comments to Ryosuke’s lack of knowledge are the only sound from the table, as you and Emilio dig into a tray brimming with content that was rightfully yours but had to end up sharing with the rest of them.

The word was willpower.

You had it.

You did.

‘That much works goes into putting a hydraulic cylinder to standard?’ Ryosuke lets out with disgust.

‘Of course,’ Rosaria chirps thickly, ‘or else anyone’d be able to just slap it together, no?’

>‘So, Emilio, what’s the story on your assignment?’
> While we’re on the topic, Rosaria, mind briefing us in on your apprenticeship?’
>‘So Ryosuke, did they approve on your Murasame callsign?’
>‘Been four years, hasn’t it?’
>Just enjoy the atmosphere
>Temporarily leave the table
>Write-In
>>
>>2411110
so close to quints
>>
>>2411159
>>‘So Ryosuke, did they approve on your Murasame callsign?’
>>
>>2411159
>‘So Ryosuke, did they approve on your Murasame callsign?’

>>2411160
Story of my life.
>>
>>2411159
>>‘So Ryosuke, did they approve on your Murasame callsign?’
>>
>>2411159
>>‘So Ryosuke, did they approve on your Murasame callsign?’
>>
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‘So, Ryosuke, did they approve on your Murasame callsign?’

Ryosuke stares at you with a look of betrayal; one that you can’t help but bask in. It was no secret that both you and Ryosuke were fanboys of everything Mech-related; or at least, that’s how you started out before slanting towards more realistic goals. Ryosuke, however, was passion incarnate, and he’d be nothing without those eccentricities. He’d even planned out his own custom Mechs (without much care for structural blueprints) and an emblem to put for his Squad (although he hadn’t quite come up with a name beyond Ryosuke’s Renegades) … but none of that even held a candle to the title that he’d bestowed upon himself … or rather, his dream call-sign, which only Savik and Fisher had taken a known shine to; the latter for teasing purposes more than actual respect for it.

Some men outgrew these things.

If anyone had a right to hold on to the obsession, though … Ryosuke did. You didn’t out-wrestle and throw people onto mats with that disturbing amount of frequency without being a little unhinged …or without having earned it. Four years on and you can still remember walking into his dorm and seeing him play with those action figures.

You wonder if he still held on to them.

‘Don’t remind me,’ he grumbles, shrinking and covering his head in a fashion that you find almost comical, ‘although, it could be a little better if Emilio here had—’

‘I am not using my Trade House connections to get you a callsign,’ Emilio declares nonchalantly, ‘and it’s not as if you’re unaware of the weight that it comes with, either; you’ll get there.’

‘Easy for you to say; you’re probably going to get your orders by the time you touch down on assignment,’ Ryosuke counters, bringing a foot up onto the chair and leaning back. ‘Man, what I wouldn’t give for—’

‘Excuse me …’

The four of you turn to the latest addition to The AEGIS, who had timidly raised her hand. ‘I’m sorry, but … what’s the significance of a call-sign? Isn’t it just a nickname?’

Ryosuke stares at her, disbelief etched all over his face.

You decide to run interference.

‘It’s not just a nickname,’ you explain, sucking the remnants of juice off your tongue. ‘A call-sign in the context, is a sort of title in a sense. They’re given to the most accomplished Mech Pilots. We usually have nicknames to go around, but a call-sign in this sense usually echoes a great deed or service. Traditionally, it’s not something you put on yourself, although there have been a few exceptions. Still, there’s a difference in the attribution of properties for a call-sign over a nickname. It’s not like in the Alliance Military where you have a code-name like Jolly Roger or Jackrabbit. You’re given the honor of the name.’

‘Do you want one, Senpai?’
>>
>>2411257
CORRECTION: 'Did you ever think of one up for yourself, Senpai?

>'No, never did. Wanted to be a Mech Pilot, though.'
>'No use lying about it ... yeah, I did. Once. Silly to think about now, though.'
>Write-In
>>
>>2411257
>>'No use lying about it ... yeah, I did. Once. Silly to think about now, though.'
>>
>>2411257
>[SHAMELESS LIE]'No, never did. Wanted to be a Mech Pilot, though.'
>>
>>2411262
>'No use lying about it ... yeah, I did. Once. Silly to think about now, though.'
>>
>>2411262
>'No use lying about it ... yeah, I did. Once. Silly to think about now, though.'
>>
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The look that Ryosuke gives you tells you that you weren’t about to get away with it, either.

You decide to come clean.

‘Yeah, I did,’ you confess, wearing a wry smile. ‘Once upon a time, anyway … silly to think about it now, though.’

‘What was it?’

There it was. The inevitable follow up.

>‘GALAHAD. I always fancied being myself being a … Mech-Warrior of sorts.’
>‘HAWKEYE. Precise, deadly and the last thing the enemy’d ever see.’
>‘MAVERICK. Lone wolf on the field, playing by my own rules …’
>‘ODIN. If I ever made it, I saw myself as tactical front-line Commander that brought out the best in my team.’
>‘REAVER. Nothing like crushing your enemies, driving them before you and cowering under the power of your Mech.’
>[UNIQUE NAME: Please provide follow-up]
>>
>>2411464
LOKI. A mech really isn't subtle at all, but the idea of a trickster, of stacking the deck with exotic and hidden gadgets and mining the playing field. It struck a chord in you.
>>
>>2411464
>>‘GALAHAD. I always fancied being myself being a …Mech-Warrior of sorts.’
>>
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>>2411464
>‘REAVER. Nothing like crushing your enemies, driving them before you and cowering under the power of your Mech.’
.........haha......hahahahaha....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YES
>>
>>2411464
>‘GALAHAD. I always fancied being myself being a … Mech-Warrior of sorts.’
>>
>>2411464
Well if my write in isn't grtting any traction.

>‘REAVER. Nothing like crushing your enemies, driving them before you and cowering under the power of your Mech.’
>>
>>2411464
>‘REAVER. Nothing like crushing your enemies, driving them before you and cowering under the power of your Mech.’
Rip and tear is best type of bot
>>
>>2411464
>>‘GALAHAD. I always fancied being myself being a … Mech-Warrior of sorts.’
>>
>>2411464
>[UNIQUE NAME: Please provide follow-up]
>Muramasa. I had a weeb phase okay.
>>
>>2411464
>REAVER. Nothing like crushing your enemies, driving them before you and cowering under the power of your Mech.’
>>
Archive link?
>>
>>2411599
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=ashes+of+rhysode

Here you go
>>
>>2411604
Thanks!
>>
>>2411464
>REAVER. Nothing like crushing your enemies, driving them before you and cowering under the power of your Mech
>>
File: REAVER.jpg (118 KB, 1920x1080)
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Reaver,’ you answer, throwing Ryosuke a dirty look. ‘Nothing like crushing your enemies, driving them before you … and cowering under the sheer power of your Mech. Long time ago, though …’

+1 EXP for TENDENCY: WARRIOR

‘Name suits your style,’ Emilio comments, nodding. ‘You always lean towards taking point. Though I do say that your luck dodging or tanking isn’t going to outlast out there on the field. Though, considering your profession and origin, imagining you as an axe-swinging monster in a Mech is hard for me to reconcile with what I know about you.

You snort, pressing a patty onto some bread and biting the half it off, before replying, ‘You’re implying that I’m going to actually see any action in a Mech; never mind a transfer into a proper Unit, Squadron or a Task Force … or part of a Battlegroup, for that matter. Promotion-wise, I think my career leans more towards being on a bridge if I ever get that far, but hey, we’re all given our destinies, right?’

‘Come on, man.’ Ryosuke rolls his eyes, before scooting closer and placing his elbows on the table, staring at you in amusement. ‘Falling out of love with being Mech Pilot’s one thing; giving up on the possibility that you can get up there at all’s talk of defeat. You’re acting like being assigned to Logistics is a death sentence. You do realize you’re still fully-certified to be a Mech Pilot in any situation, right?’

‘So’s about a third of the rest of The AEGIS,’ you counter, gesturing for a waiter to stop by the table and picking out a tall glass—mug, really—of cold juice. ‘You’re expecting me to actually believe the odds of me getting a proper transfer or getting into a Mech group at all are worth considering? I can be optimistic; I’d have a better chance of winning a regional lottery than getting into something like The Starjammers. Hell, I wouldn’t mind just being part of their Support Crew or Battlegroup, really.’

‘Talking like your whole career’s planned out for you,’ Emilio comments with a wry smile, ‘but there is some truth to that perspective.’

Sanza sighs, shaking her head. ‘Sometimes I wonder how I got saddled with you brainless idiots.’

‘You didn’t,’ Ryosuke says pointedly, smirking. ‘You could’ve left us at any time but you stayed lady. You stayed.’

He makes an attempt to poke Sanza’s cheek … only for his finger to be smacked away with a free hand and a roll of the eyes. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, pulling your chair in and sharing a look with Emilio.

Perhaps saddled was a word that was too close to comfort when it came to your … friendship.

>‘So, Emilio. What’s the story about your assignment?’
>‘Rosaria, about your apprenticeship … how does that work?’
>‘Hard to believe it’s been four years …’
>Just enjoy the atmosphere
>Temporarily leave the table
>Write-In
>>
>>2412389
>>‘So, Emilio. What’s the story about your assignment?’
>>
>>2412389
>‘So, Emilio. What’s the story about your assignment?’
>>
>>2412389
>So, Emilio. What’s the story about your assignment?’
>>
>>2412389
>‘So, Emilio. What’s the story about your assignment?’
>>
You decide to keep the momentum going. While you didn’t want to sound too nosy, the thought that this would more than likely be the last time that you’d see each other personally gave a sort of drive for you to keep it going, for as long as you want to keep it going. You fan the smoke out of your eyes, glancing to your latest target … who looked like he was done with your assemblage of meat and … meat.

‘So, Emilio, what’s the story about your assignment?’

‘No story about it,’ he answers quickly. ‘I’m being posted in the reserves in Max-Sigma a—’

Ryosuke raises his hand like a student would in a classroom.

‘That’s just an outpost world, right? Somewhere in the Voltaire Regions?’

‘Yeah, it is,’ Emilio replies with a nod. ‘Nothing special out there except a few scientific bases and outposts. I probably won’t be seeing anything big for the next ten years if the political climate winds down with the Jenner Limitations actually putting its money where its mouth is, but as far as I’m concerned, it suits me just fine. That means that I can probably punch in a vacation or two more than the average unit member.’

You’d passed the Voltaire Regions before. Although, you had to admit, passing by in Spacer sense meant anything from it being visible to the naked eye to actually and physically passing its galaxies. Space-time was weird as a Spacer, considering how powerful you’d tweak the warp engines in bending the very fabric of the universe to take a shortcut that didn’t have traffic. It was like overcharging a volatile engine just because you felt bored. Still, the point stood that you’d passed by the Voltaire Regions in that sense—or zoomed passed it, if the logs were anything to go by. As far as you knew, the place was quite uncharted … and a habitable planet was well out of range of current tech to modify to Imperial or Republic preference.

‘So you’re not attached to a Battlegroup or anything? That sucks.’

Ryosuke leans back, placing his hands behind his head … before instantly pulling them away, scowling at his stained hands.

‘Unlike you, some of us are actually content just getting somewhere,’ Emilio replies crisply, ‘and no one starts a career being the head of their own Squadron and attached to a Battlegroup. I don’t think that sort of thing’s happened for … what? 300 years?’

‘A fast track is an anomaly, Ryosuke,’ you reinforce Emilio’s point. ‘Besides, Emilio’s stretched himself far enough. You know how hard it is to get a slice of that action.’

Sanza nods in agreement, following up, ‘Emilio getting assigned to a Mech Unit at all is—wait, what is your unit?’

Patrol-3.’

None of you say a word.

Except for Rosaria, who asks, ‘Is that … bad?’
>>
>>2412650
>‘Wow, that’s … my condolences, man.’ (Pity)
>‘Running a security detail on an uncharted world … isn’t that bad. You’re in a Mech.’ (Optimistic)
>‘Seriously? You’re one of the best pilots in our class.’ (Outrage)
>‘Couldn’t you … twist an arm through your family?’ (Suggest)
>‘It means he’s essentially a grunt, but … more than that, it’s a dead-end unless he’s picked out of the reserves.’ (Explain)
>Laugh at his misfortune (Hypocritically)
>Write-In
>>
>>2412656
>‘Seriously? You’re one of the best pilots in our class.’ (Outrage)
and once we're calmer,
>‘It means he’s essentially a grunt, but … more than that, it’s a dead-end unless he’s picked out of the reserves.’ (Explain)
>>
>>2412656
>‘Seriously? You’re one of the best pilots in our class.’ (Outrage)
>>
>>2412656
>>‘It means he’s essentially a grunt, but … more than that, it’s a dead-end unless he’s picked out of the reserves.’ (Explain)
>>
>>2412656
>‘It means he’s essentially a grunt, but … more than that, it’s a dead-end unless he’s picked out of the reserves.’ (Explain)
>>
>>2412656
>>‘It means he’s essentially a grunt, but … more than that, it’s a dead-end unless he’s picked out of the reserves.’ (Explain)
>>
‘It means he’s essentially a grunt,’ you start, before considering your next words, ‘but more than that, it essentially means that his opportunity for a fast track out there’s non-existent unless someone comes over and picks him up out of the reserves.’

‘Isn’t being part of a Mech Squadron—a unit—an honor in itself?’

The four of you shuffle uncomfortably in your seats. You had said that; Hell, everyone at the table had said that at one point in their lives. Sitting through the classes and actually going through the hierarchy, though, you knew how promotions—how hierarchy and the opportunity to dig up—worked. Not that you’d put Emilio on the frontlines of a warzone so he’d actually get some sort of field promotion by trial, but being assigned out there meant that the opportunities would only come by with a hand out rather than constant accumulation of merit and service.

‘It would be,’ Sanza answers, surprising you with her initiative. ‘However, that kind of honor is usually … reserved for named units, Task Forces, Battlegroups. Emilio’s assignment must be a loan-posting of sorts. It’s not uncommon for pilots fresh out of the Academy to be given menial tasks, but that Emilio is … actually that far off the grid means that his unit’s probably full to the brim or it’s trying to get rid of him before he even sets foot onto the Battlegroup or a Lance Command. His assignment to Patrol-3, taking into account his position …’

She wears a pitiful smirk, throwing it in Emilio’s direction.

‘It probably says more of the latter, doesn’t it? You're on loan as a show of disdain.'

He snorts, hanging an arm off the back of his chair. ‘I’d like to think that my family doesn’t have anything to do with it, thank you very much.’

>'That's pretty thin, Sanza. Could really be just so he gets some ... experience?' (Counter)
>‘If you’re being tossed that far off, they probably didn’t.’ (Rationalize)
>‘I’m sorry, Emilio.’ (Sympathize)
>‘No use crying about it. You could end up like me; stuck in Logistics.’ (Encourage)
>Change the topic
>Stay silent
>Write-In
>>
>>2412832
>‘No use crying about it. You could end up like me; stuck in Logistics.’ (Encourage)
>>
>>2412832
>>‘If you’re being tossed that far off, they probably didn’t.’ (Rationalize)
>>
>>2412832
>That's pretty thin, Sanza. Could really be just so he gets some ... experience?' (Counter)
>>
>>2412832
>>‘If you’re being tossed that far off, they probably didn’t.’ (Rationalize)
>>
>>2412832
>‘If you’re being tossed that far off, they probably didn’t.’ (Rationalize)
>>
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You knew just how averse Emilio was in regards to his family. You don’t know much about the politics that laid behind what a Trade House had, but you doubt that it was anything on the scale you could think up. There wasn’t much to extrapolate; even most of the word out on Trade Houses were rumors, but if you had to key in on certain properties, specific attributes … you’d pin-point them to the term of a “kingdom within a kingdom”. Trade Houses were of significant—if not far-reaching—influence across the Empire. Their origins were shrouded in lies, legends and half-truths. Some say the Empire couldn’t bear the bane of its on existence without them … and many other say they’re opportunistic parasites that hold themselves to all the benefits and none of the accountability; a relic, a holdover from times past.

Even with the spare thought here and there, however, you could at least ascertain that Emilio and his House didn’t—or at least to you—have goals that were strictly aligned with one another. Emilio, for the most part, wanted to push on with his own strength if he could … and had given you enough information to argue that he didn’t have any desire to be a—for lack of better word—puppet on that particular string.

However, you don’t think a fast track would involve him being sent to a Region that far off opportunity, either.

‘If you’re tossed that far off, they probably didn’t,’ you rationalize, biting into a makeshift sandwich. ‘The rationale of a fast track is to put you on something that enables you maximum exposure, wouldn’t it? If you made the Reserves, what would be the point of them fast-tracking you to the middle of nowhere? It doesn’t make sense to stick you in the middle of nowhere if there’s any hand doing the movement behind the scenes.’

‘Might be a sign of the times,’ Ryosuke offers, right before gulping down half a mug of … something pink and purple. ‘if deescalation of threat is a thing, maybe your transfer’s just something to tell the whole military function that there’s going to be a bunch of changes. I mean, I know I’m not going to a Rim-World for security any time soon, either, but … maybe we’re just looking at it wrongly. I ain’t saying I’m right on the nose, but a lot of us … outside of a few merc groups, we’re probably not going to be encountering anything hot and heavy, right? I asked around, too … not one of us is going to be over-seeing or serving as part of any peacekeeping force or anything.’

You stare at Ryosuke, feeling a little … impressed.

‘You’re saying that this is a new militaristic direction in general?’

‘Just saying it might be. I mean, I know I’m good enough to get into a cockpit as—’

Emilio gives Ryosuke a friendly shove, toppling him off his chair.

‘Come on, man, I’m just trying to sound nice!’

The whole table erupts in laughter.

>Write-In
>>
>>2413231
>Ryosuke if only you could keep your smart mode on all the time, then you might've beaten Emilio in grades
>maybe
>>
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‘Ryosuke, if you applied yourself as often as you did just now, you’d be the top of the graduating class,’ you mention pointedly, before reconsidering yourself and adding, ‘or second to Maldante, anyway.’

‘I saw him with Fisher this morning,’ Sanza states, tapping the side of her fallen friend with her shoe until he pushed himself right back up, ‘in fact, outside of you and another idiot in my unit, I think that he’s been seeing her in her office the most. Wouldn’t have pegged Maldante for someone needing that kind of steering.’

‘He’s the top gun,’ Emilio offers neutrally. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure that it’s important. That, of course … or the both of them are having an illicit affair under the notions of him requiring some counseling.’

Ryosuke and Sanza stare at him, stunned.

‘That’s a joke,’ he clarifies, clearing his throat, ‘but Lucion doesn’t seem like the type to go in and ask just anyone for help. More than I am, he’s a man of pragmatism and surgical precision. It’s why he’s top gun … so if he’s going in to see Fisher, it’s probably something important. Although … I doubt that he’s going in asking advice about career pathways.’

Knowing what you did, it probably was.

Maldante was a surprising case. All that talent, charisma and actually being able to plow through The AEGIS’s training programs and classes … and you, of all people, found out that his heart wasn’t even in it. It was a shock that someone of his pedigree, of his skill level, would not even have it in him to be part of a Task Force or a Squadron—until your own intervention—or a sense of duty or responsibility to the emblem. You wouldn’t ask for nothing less than blind patriotism, but for you … you would have done anything to have even two-thirds of what Maldante had in his arsenal. He’d even out-scored Emilio as a pilot (Although you did think in a one-on-one situation, Emilio could do the business on him). A man who was offered almost every discernible door by merit and … he didn’t even think of anything beyond proving a point.

You had those with everything that the others wanted and didn’t care for it.

Then you had those with nothing but coveted everything.

‘The universe has a sick sense of humor if it ever has one,’ you mutter to yourself, taking a sip from your glass.

‘Senpai?’

You turn to Rosaria, who was now throwing you a look of confusion, probably having caught that last part without any of the boiling context. Shaking your head, you set your glass back down, giving a quick shake of the head.

‘Sorry, just … thinking out loud.’

You wonder if your words to him made any difference.

Probably.

Perhaps not.
>>
>>2413467
>‘So Rosaria, about your apprenticeship … how does that work?’
>‘Hard to believe it’s been four years …’
>Just enjoy the atmosphere
>Temporarily leave the table
>Write-In
>>
>>2413469
>>‘So Rosaria, about your apprenticeship … how does that work?’
>>
>>2413469
>‘So Rosaria, about your apprenticeship … how does that work?’
>>
>>2413469
>‘So Rosaria, about your apprenticeship … how does that work?
>>
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‘So, Rosaria, about your apprenticeship … how does that work?’

She peers at you curiously. ‘Oh?’

‘You said that you were here on a recommendation from an Admiral,’ you continue, watching the rest of your friends catch on and listen on in interest, ‘so do you have any clue on what basis or specialization your training is going to be in or is this something that’s different to us or … similar to what Sanza does? Some kind of joint program between the Academy and the local hospice?’

She pauses, looking thoughtful, before tilting her head and wearing a nervous smile.

‘I’m … not sure myself,’ she replies tentatively, ‘but I am supposed to meet someone in the Office tomorrow so that I can actually get my schedule running. All I know so far is that there’s supposed to be a … stipend that I’m supposed to get and that it will take four years to complete. As far as the specifics of my program go, other than it being deeply involved in military engineering, there aren’t really any … focuses that have been brought to my attention, I suppose?’

The whole table gives her skeptical looks. Even Ryosuke stares at her with eyes that intermingle curiosity and confusion.

‘I’m … very aware that to be here is a privilege, however!’ Rosaria follows up quickly. ‘That I’m here at all is a chance that I’m not willing to waste!’

‘Wouldn’t Naval Engineering be a destination more suited for you if there’s a recommendation from an Admiral?’ Emilio questions, frowning. ‘Feels a little strange that an Admiral would recommend that The AEGIS open things up to that end. What was the name of the Admiral again?’

‘P-Purvis! Admiral Purvis!’

Ryosuke strokes his chin, looking thoughtful. ‘Purvis … rings a bell … Purvis …’

‘He could be the head of a Battlegroup that falls under both The Aegis and The Navy,’ Sanza rationalizes, giving a slight nod. ‘Considering the military structure of the Empire, there’s bound to be a little crisscross here and there, right?’

‘The head of a Battlegroup that falls under the Naval and Aegis would make sense, I guess,’ Emilio returns, nodding, ‘but Purvis … if he’s an Admiral at all, his name would be—’

‘Oh, I remember him!’ Ryosuke declares cheerfully, catching everyone’s attention. ‘He’s the Admiral that the Navy offered up to The AEGIS as part of their new joint-research group on Mech advancement. Something about space-faring and warp-capable Mechs in the next century or something! Clinton Purvis! He’s not conventional at all … guy rose up through the ranks as a supervisor for several science divisions. He’s only an Admiral in rank; he doesn’t have any actual—what?’

The whole table—including you—stare at Ryosuke, expressions between disbelief and awe between the four of you.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
>>
>>2413486
>'How the Hell do you know something about Mech tech that I don't?' (Disbelief)
>'That's a pipe dream if I ever heard one. Warp Mechs ... that's something if it is a thing at all.' (Dismissive)
>'Ryosuke, you amaze me sometimes. You really do.' (Reserved)
>'Well, uh, that ... answers our question.' (Finish)
>Write-In
>>
>>2413490
>Ryosuke, you amaze me sometimes. You really do.' (Reserved)
>>
>>2413490
>>'How the Hell do you know something about Mech tech that I don't?' (Disbelief)
>>
>>2413490
>'Ryosuke, you amaze me sometimes. You really do.' (Reserved)
>>
>>2413490
>>'Ryosuke, you amaze me sometimes. You really do.' (Reserved)
>>
>>2413509
Got cut off?
>>
There’s really only one thing for you to say … if no one else would say it.

‘Ryosuke, you amaze me sometimes. You really, really do.’

Your blue-haired friend merely shrugs in response. Outside, the party was now in full swing, the noise was blasting through the doors and windows. Drunk ex-cadets and now fully-fledged members of society were stumbling through aforementioned doors and windows, with varying degrees of success and the waiters who had volunteered to brave the night were trying (with a much higher rate of success) to get them on their feet or away from windows.

You don’t envy Sanza’s clean up efforts of the night.

Although, taking everything into account, she probably had an easier time going about it than the previous generations did.

Probably.

>'Been four years, huh?'
>Ask to leave now
>Eat in silence and just enjoy the atmosphere
>Write-In
>>
>>2413518
>'Been four years, huh?'
This, and then we'll leave for thighs
>>
>>2413518
>'Been four years, huh?'
>>
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You look along the table.

Ryosuke; Sanza; Emilio.

You hadn’t actually thought about it until now, but … those three faces had been a part of your life the last four years. The day after tomorrow, you’d be waking up in a bunk going through some Region and suiting up to help out with deliveries and stock count. It hadn’t really occurred to you that those faces that you had been so used to seeing would be mere memories for the rest of your life. In all likelihood, you’d probably never see them again. Empire space was large, the galaxy even more so … and the chances of you getting posted to a place within a system’s throw were—in a word—astronomical.

It felt extremely poignant, how fleeting it all was.

‘It’s been four years, huh?’

The table shifts into an exchange of glances and smiles.

It seemed that it hadn’t really hit them until you’d brought it up, either.

Despite having brought it up … you really don’t know what to say. Chatter was the one thing that you’d say you had a pretty good tongue for, but right now, you felt as if anything you said would be the last thing that you’d impress on them.

You didn’t want to waste it.

‘You know,’ Emilio starts, surprising you, ‘when you fell on my face, I really wanted to kill you.’

Sanza giggles into her glass, wagging her eyebrows.

‘Never thought it’d be the best thing to ever happen to me.’

You find your jaw slacking, feeling genuinely touched.

Emilio raises his glass, smiling fondly, not just at you, but at the whole table. ‘To your baggy pants and your fat ass, my friend.’

‘Hey,’ Ryosuke cuts in, looking somewhere between anxious and melancholic, ‘I don’t know if you guys know this, but back in my hometown, we had a tradition. Don’t know if it’s for you guys, but … for goodbyes that we didn’t know when we’d meet again, there was something that we called one truth. It’s a little complicated, and I’m not sure if you guys know how to—’

Sanza throws a flat stare in his direction, looking slightly more impatient than usual. ‘Ryosuke …

‘Okay, okay.’ He raises his hands, looking especially anxious; basically, it’s … each and every one of us, uh … say one thing about each other than we always wanted to say. It’s one full bout of honesty, no holds barred. Only rules are that it has to be one sentence and no take-backs. Love, hate, everything in between, you lay it out on there. Kinda hard to, uh, do around here, you know, with how guarded most of the guys around here are, but, uh …’

He shakes his head, raising a hand.

‘You know what, forget about it. It’s silly.’

>‘Actually … you know what, Ryosuke … you’re full of good ideas tonight. Why not?’ (Follow his suggestion)
>‘Yeah, that’s … no.’ (Decline)
>Write-In
>>
>>2413541
>Actually … you know what, Ryosuke … you’re full of good ideas tonight. Why not?’ (Follow his suggestion)
>>
>>2413541
>>‘Actually … you know what, Ryosuke … you’re full of good ideas tonight. Why not?’ (Follow his suggestion)
>>
>>2413541
>‘Actually … you know what, Ryosuke … you’re full of good ideas tonight. Why not?’ (Follow his suggestion)
>>
>>2413541
>‘Actually … you know what, Ryosuke … you’re full of good ideas tonight. Why not?’ (Follow his suggestion)

I'm just waiting for shit to hit the fan.
>>
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‘Actually … you know what, Ryosuke,’ you pause mid-sentence, offering your friend an amused, heartfelt look. ‘You’re full of good ideas tonight, aren’t you?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Ryosuke shoots right back with a smirk, albeit one that doesn’t even touch his eyes, ‘I won’t let it get to my head.’

Emilios closes his eyes, shaking his head in amusement.

Sanza reaches over, placing a hand on Ryosuke’s shoulder.

‘I guess, uh, I should start first, huh?’ Ryosuke rubs the back his neck, looking around before letting out a breath. ‘This is, uh … a little harder than how it was when I did my leaving. Everyone kept saying the only way they’d ever shut me up is by sending me away, so uh, I …’

He shakes his head, gathering himself. It was the first time since … forever that you’d seen Ryosuke act like this. He’d rarely been anxious, even when taking those last trials. To you, Ryosuke had always been a … rock. An unsteady rock with jagged edges and without a comfortable flat surface, but a rock nonetheless. You could always expect him to be bombastic, obnoxious and coming up with some sort of wild theory to light things up when he wasn’t tossing the shoulders of men three times his size onto the mat.

Maybe there were some things he just didn’t joke around about.

‘Sanza, I think that you’re going to be a great mother; you had us for practice, after all.’

Sanza turns red, crossing her arms and huffing.

‘Emilio, you’re the toughest, most bull-headed piece of shit I ever met … and I doubt I’d ever meet someone in this universe that I’d call a brother as much as I do you.’

Emilio doesn’t say a word in return; in fact, he looks downright neutral.

‘And you, you tub of lard,’ Ryosuke grins, ‘you, I can’t figure out after all these years, but … if there’s one thing I know about you and what I believe about you is that I’d put my life in your hands, without a friggin’ doubt in my mind. ’

You blink, taken slightly aback by Ryosuke’s declaration of you. You’d … frankly expected him to put in a complaint about you being a bore or too stand-offish. Hell, you’d even braced yourself with the expectation that he had a bone to pick with you about your sudden lack of enthusiasm at the prospect of being a Mech Pilot. That Ryosuke said he would put his life under your whim … was something you didn’t expect. Ryosuke was never the type to be subservient (Ecept to Wray, Sanza and Fisher), so this admission was …

A little humbling, in a way.

‘Okay, uh … that’s me out of the way. Remember, uh … only truths. One thing that someone can take with ‘em; good, bad … it’s the last word on you.’

>Speak up
>Let someone else take it up first
>Write-In
>>
>>2413723
>Speak up
>>
>>2413723
>Let someone else take it up first
As the protagonist we ought to speak last.
>>
>>2413723
>>Speak up
>>
>>2413723
>Speak up
>>
‘I’ll go next,’ you offer quietly, just loud enough for them to hear, ‘I guess, uh, Emilio …’

>Write-In
>>
>>2413774
I have no idea what to say since I hardly know the character
>>
>>2413779
You voted to speak up, anon.
This is the future you've chosen.
>>
>>2413774
>You're always cool under pressure, we snark on each other from time to time but I can't help but respect how you can always stay focused and try to make something for yourself rather than just use family influence to get ahead. It shows a ton of resolve.
>>
It was hard.

You could just lie through your teeth and say something simple and attempt to be inspiring, but hearing Ryosuke let it all out, you … you can’t help it. This was the last time you’d see your friends. Good or bad, it was as Ryosuke had said: this was the last word for you to part with.

The one he’d remember you by.

‘You’re always … so cool under pressure,’ you confess, ‘and I always wished that I could approach things the way you did without getting myself all up in there. We throw shade at each other more times than we take oxygen in a day, but … I always respected you for taking things on your own terms. I never really did, well, never thought that someone from a Trade House would actually go out and do things on their own terms, hard or easy, but that resolve … I guess I admire that about you. That you were willing to take that leap without so much as a look back.’

Emilio, stoic as ever, turns away.

There is a twitch of something, but …

No, however he felt, those were your words to him. You wouldn’t change them; you wouldn’t go back on them.

That was how you’d remember Emilio.

You hope that your words to him are how he’d think of you, if he ever did.

It was time to get a move on. Ryosuke; it was his turn.

>Write-In
>>
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>>2413929
>On all levels except physical you are a goof.
>>
>>2413929
You're a goof, but you're way smarter than people give you credit for. You're genuine and always passionate about what you care about. With your love for mechs, the skill you worked hard to build, and your determination, I know you'll be known as murasame some day....but you really need to work on how to flirt with girls, you're terrible at it.
>>
>>2413980
>You really need to work on how to flirt with girls, you're terrible at it.

That ... That is brutal. That's like the most honest thing to say to a friend ever. You really sure about me typing this?
>>
>>2413992
It was somewhat meant in good humor, I'm hoping you're not going to take it super swriously and get him all upset. If it comes off that harsh though then I'm fine just dropping it.
>>
>>2413992
>>2414007
And it is getting to be a bit more than a sentence.
>>
Ryosuke was easy.

You my friend, are a goof,’ you begin with a fond smirk, ‘but I’d be lying if I said that there’s all that I think there is to you. You’re genuine, you’re honest … and to tell the truth, you’re burning with so much passion that sometimes I wonder if I need some lotion to nurse my burns from you, and I … this the hardest part to admit, but with everything you are, I kind of believe that Murasame isn’t just going to be another fleeting fancy to you.’

You let out a breath, wondering if you—

Oh, you did.

‘And I really think that you should look into some charm lessons because frankly, you are horrible at picking up or flirting with women.’

All of them nod in agreement, letting out grunts in accordance with the motion.

Now … you’d arrived at the last of your quartet.

Sanza, who looked as though she was bracing herself for walloping.

She was expecting the worst already, even without a word on the wind.

You weren’t that bad, were you?

>Write-In
>>
>>2414064
> Your the best mom I could have ever hoped for, Thank you.

Somebody else please save me, but I regret nothing
>>
>>2414064
Sansa you are....probably the kindest person I've ever met. You're always willing to put in the effort to help others no matter how hard, whether it's helping me stick to a diet, helping patients get better, or taking on thr planning to the biggest mess of the year on Rhysode. I genuinely admire your passion and dedication you put into helping others. Even if you're always teasing along the way.
>>
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‘Sanza, you are the kindest, most considerate and the most selfless person I have ever met during my time here,’ you let out, feeling something thick rolling up from your throat, ‘and this may be just me being high on high-end barbecue sauce, but you probably care about everyone at this table more than they do themselves. Me, Ryosuke, Emilio … Hell, I’d toss in Rosaria right in there if this wasn’t a confession of our respective retrospects, but it is. Whatever you think about us, I can honestly say that you are so dedicated to others that if you were a Saint in disguise, I’d consider it a downgrade. Thank you for giving me this rocking hot body’—Emilio makes a squeaking, grunting sound at that—‘and making sure that I stuck to it … under threat of strangulation, expulsion and extremely graphic details of illnesses induced by the composition of diet imbalance and changes in atmospheric exposure. I will remember your advice for all time … and I’m sure that after tonight, everyone that exits in the morning despising you will have their livers send spleen saying holy prayers to your guidance, as will your patients.’

Sanza chuckles, although she does give a visible nod, even behind the obscuring hand.

‘Nice speech,’ Emilio comments, crossing his arms. ‘You got Sanza spot on, so I—’

‘Oh, you are not skipping on this, Emilio,’ you say half-threateningly. ‘Tell us how you really feel.’

He narrows his eyes, throwing a reluctant look from you all the way to the grinning Ryosuke, before letting out a sigh.

‘You,’ he stares right at you, ‘taught me more than I ever cared to know: that I was arrogant, naive … and that even trying to strike it out on my own, I held on to the notions that I wished to depart from; you changed that … and you’ll probably keep changing that about me, even when I don’t see you anymore.’

Emilio wears a half-amused smile … before giving Ryosuke a friendly, if hardy, pat on the shoulder.

‘Ryosuke, you are an unpredictable bastard with no considerations to your surroundings, society or even a thought to what defines you but yourself … and to that, you will always be the first man who comes to mind whenever an outrageous rumor comes around my post. No matter how far-fetched or outlandish it can get.’

‘I love you too, Emilio.’

Emilio grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose … before turning his attentions to Sanza.

This would be good.

‘Sanza,’ he begins tentatively, ‘you’re a better mother to me than my own. I think that’s … sufficient.’

Sanza chortles, but doesn’t do or say anything else in response, her attentions fully on her drink.

The glass empty, she sets it down, now casting a gaze along the tiny table, looking more hesitant than she had any right to be.

‘Do I … have to?’

>Write-In
>>
>>2414255
>Naah, it's fine. I know you enjoy being a stick in the mud.
Said in a joking way.
>>
>>2414255
>Come onnn, We all manned up. You got this
>>
>>2414278
supportin
>>
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Come on,’ you say in a teasing manner, drawing the words out and throwing a toothy grin for effect, ‘we all manned up and put ourselves on the block … and you’re better at this emotional stuff than the rest of us, anyway.’

Sanza peers along the table, mumbling to herself … before letting out a sigh of defeat and bringing her knees to her chest, her bare feet teetering on the edge of the chair as her gaze turns downward, averting it from every one of you in the act. She lets out a few more grumbles, her shoulders drooping as they give way to a small whine … right as she looks up, wearing a nervous smile, looking as though she was facing a Battlegroup head on with neither Mech nor backup.

‘Emilio … I don’t think I have to tell you this, but,’ her breath hitches slightly, ‘you’re a great listener … even when I didn’t have anything to say. You can be a distant ass sometimes, but thank you for being my … my big brother. Quiet, annoying and you’re not as cool as you think you are.’

You and Ryosuke chuckle as Emilio turns slightly red, before Ryosuke stops.

‘Wait, isn’t Sanza the oldest out of the four of us?’

‘Not the point,’ she lets out with a roll of her eyes, before throwing a smirk his way, ‘but now that I’m getting to you … I’m loathe to admit it, but … thanks for looking out for me. I’m not sure if I have to be glad or insulted that I was never on your list of prospects, considering even Peggy Lagrange was an option for you, but … it worked out well for the both of us and … thank you for teaching me how to do a heel drop. It’s very useful.’

You find that you wouldn’t mind seeing Sanza drop a heel on some unknowing perv. Too bad it’d be a sight you’d probably never be able to even get a glimpse of after this.

‘And you.

You look up to meet Sanza’s gaze.

‘You are simultaneously the biggest headache and the biggest … inspiration to me since I set foot in this Academy and,’ she pauses, ‘I’ll never forget what you mean to me. You are that idiot of a fatass that fell from the top of the course’—Emilio barely holds back a chuckle at that one, you notice—‘and that if I ever feel down … I know that wherever muck hole or command seat you’re in, you’ll keep trying to do better. For yourself … for everyone else.’

Sanza’s expression becomes warmer by the word, until what she wears is a genuine, encouraging smile.

‘I believe you will.’

‘You know …’

You glance at Emilio, who was wearing the most coy smirk he’d ever worn.

‘I believe the stalls would be empty right now if you’d like to make a few last minute memories with him.’

You can actually feel your pupils constricting at those words. Sanza's expression remains neutral, but Ryosuke ... he looks he's gagging on air.
>>
>>2416364
>'Did ... Emilio just tell a raunchy joke? (Shock)
>'No thanks, man. Sanza'd tear my spleen out. I like my organs inside my body, thanks.' (Deny)
>'As much as I'd like to, uh, make some memories, a stall probably isn't ... the place for it.' (Serious)
>Actually consider it for a moment
>Let the joke die with silence (noise).
>Write-In
>>
>>2416375
>'Did ... Emilio just tell a raunchy joke? (Shock)
Better get ready for the Ninja Assassins from Mars to bust in and try to murder everyone.
>>
>>2416375

>Actually consider it for a moment
>'As much as I'd like to, uh, make some memories, a stall probably isn't ... the place for it.' (Serious)
>>
>>2416375
>>'Did ... Emilio just tell a raunchy joke? (Shock)
>>
>>2416375
>'Did ... Emilio just tell a raunchy joke? (Shock)
>>
‘Did … did Emilio just tell a raunchy joke?’

Sanza nods, her disbelief equal to yours. ‘I believe … he did.’

‘Whoa, this is surreal,’ Ryosuke comments, as though the discussion had taken a serious turn—which, considering everything, it probably just did. ‘Here I thought that he—’

‘It’s not that big a deal,’ Ryosuke counters crisply, throwing half glares at everyone, save for Rosaria (Who had taken the opportunity for your interaction to wolf down the rest of her food).

That comment, however, only garners more disbelief from the table, you included.

‘Hey, folks!’

You turn around to see one of your fellow—no, not a graduate. He looks like he belongs in second year at best, with his uniform (The lack of a four-point star being a dead giveaway). The freckles and spots were still all over his face, with a perpetual grin and goofy demeanor that matched his enthusiasm. That smile was definitely ear-to-ear, if not entirely honest, with a shock of orange hair that was probably just growing back from its latest trip to the barber. Next to him, however—

‘Is that an Omni-Bot?’

Multi-purpose tools meant to assist the paying hobbyist, they were expensive—emphasis on expensive—cousins of scan drones that were suited to a multitude of surveying tasks. The design of it was purely aesthetic, and if you could afford it, you could customize the shell to look like anything from a beach ball … to a floating skull, which was how this Omni-Bot had been designed to look like.

As a Colony Fleet Inhabitant, Omni-Bots were … treated with a mix of wariness and usefulness.

Mostly because Omni-Bots were descendants of scan drones, which were geared to make sweeping generalizations of terrain and to provide visual feeds … or serve as mobile data entry modules. The coding for their structure rarely made them suited to finer tasks … not to mention the risk of the Ether that the Omni-Bots were powered by risking a short-out in highly charged (In the literal sense) situations. It wasn’t that there weren’t purposes that they could serve, really, but to you, it was like cutting a steak with a chainsaw. Not to mention that they were very fragile, what with all that circuitry practically pressed next to a repulsor module, the slightest bump could render the whole thing a hunk of junk.

By the looks of things, this was one of the high-end models … specially suited for—

‘Are you recording the whole party?’

‘Yes, sir!’ the underclassman replies. For a moment you receive a brief swell of pride from being called “sir”. ‘Just going around capturing the special moments with permission from The Academy! All yours for …’

He wags a finger every single person at the table.

200 crowns each!’

Emilio glances at you. ‘One for the road?’

>‘This is spaceway robbery.’ (Decline)
>‘One for the road.’ (Pay)
>Write-In
>>
>>2416615
>>‘One for the road.’ (Pay)
>>
>>2416615
>‘One for the road.’ (Pay)
>>
>>2416615
>‘It’s not that big a deal,’ Ryosuke counters
Shit, he's already got space madness!

>‘One for the road.’ (Pay)
>>
>>2416641
Yeah, mistype. My bad.

It's a remnant of Ryosuke trying to joke around that it's "not a big deal and that it only means the odds of us winning a Regional lottery are actually achievable within our lifetime". Realized it wouldn't add anything and forgot to fully backspace.
>>
>>2416692
Yeah, I figured it was something like that. I just wanted to make the space madness joke.
>>
>>2416615
>‘One for the road.’ (Pay)
>>
‘One for the road, then.’

The young man’s grin only grows wider at your acceptance of the offer. The lot of you huddle closer to the table, Sanza leaning onto Ryosuke and placing her elbow on his shoulder as he placed his hand atop Emilio’s head, moving the strands of neat, arranged brown into a mess that made it look akin to a bird’s nest (and you see some sauce on those fingers, now that you had a closer look at it. You lean against the edge of the table, shoulder to shoulder with Emilio, whose own hands are interlocked between his knees, looking up and trying his damnedest to throw up a cheerful grin.

You absently wonder if the Omni-Bot had a filtration program for all the smoke, right as the underclassman presses a few key commands into the side of the unit. It must have cost a fortune by cadet standards to keep that thing running like it did. It beeps a few times, causing you to almost reflexively jump.

Whoever thought about putting a charged circuit and an Ether processor into tight quarters was a braver man than you’d ever be.

‘You too, Rosaria,’ Sanza says insistently, standing up and gesturing to your forgotten Junior … who had decided to sneak away out of the photo opportunity.

‘I … I couldn’t! It’s your night, after all!’

Ryosuke raises his hand off Emilio’s head, waving her over.

‘It’s a memory for you too, isn’t it?’

>Encourage her to take part in the photo
>Allow her to not take part
>Write-In
>>
>>2416830
>>Encourage her to take part in the photo
>>
>>2416830
>Encourage her to take part in the photo
>>
>>2416830
>Encourage her to take part in the photo
>>
>>2416830

>Encourage her to take part in the photo
>>
You give her an encouraging nod, gesturing for her to join. She looks up to your group of four, hesitant … before hurriedly skipping over and taking her place beside you. A glance at her tells you that she was as stiff as a board, more than likely a little embarrassed at being in a spot where she … probably didn’t feel like she belonged at all.

She glances nervously at you, as if seeking further permission.

You throw her back a smirk, gesturing for her to come closer.

The grinning cadet taps the side of the floating skull again, raising his hands like the conductor of the orchestra.

‘FOR THE EMPEROR!’

FOR THE EMPEROR!

The hum of processing hits your ears and you get to your feet to pay the—

‘I got this, man,’ Emilio insists.

>‘I’m not broke, Emilio. Don’t think I haven’t kept tabs of how much of your hot chocolate I’ve gulped down. It’s on me.’
>‘If you insist … and thanks.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2417055
>>‘If you insist … and thanks.’
>>
>>2417055
>‘If you insist … and thanks.’

We really need to visit that DI
>>
>>2417055
>>‘If you insist … and thanks.’
>>
>>2417055
>‘If you insist … and thanks.’

How much potential for WH40k jokes does the Emperor provide?
>>
>>2417257
for this quest
hopefully many
>>
>>2417312
So...
THE EMPEROR PROVIDES
>>
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‘If you insist,’ you give a mock bow as he hands his credit tab over, ‘and thanks.’

‘For a thousand, it better be in high-resolution capture,’ he jokes, shaking his head.

‘Of course, sir!’ The cadet replies, apparently having caught the words. ‘Complete scan and capture of the whole moment. I only operate with the most up-to-date of equipment!’

‘Is that even yours?’ Emilio questions, gesturing to the unit in question … which was now making buzzing sounds as it floated towards the ceiling. ‘Looks a little out of … budget for the average cadet.’

‘But it’d be right in yours, wouldn’t it, Ensign Reinweld?’

Emilio stiffens slightly, but otherwise doesn’t show any discernible reaction as he takes the credit tab out of his fingers. The cadet then dives into what looks like a knapsack, pulling out a data tab—this one even more outdated than the one you’d used to browse the planetary feed in the hotel—and handing it to Emilio, who stoically keys it in. The cadet still wears that damnably wide grin; one that has your palms itch and your knees wiggle, barely restraining themselves from grabbing and caving his whole mouth in.

‘Your contact details, Ensign?’

Emilio didn’t need that.

He fills in the rest of the particulars, handing the tab back to the flame-haired boy, who gives him an affirmative nod as he scrolls through the details before turning his attention to the floating skull, which was slowly descending to a level in line with his shoulder.

‘Your patronage is much appreciated; you can expect it to be in your hands by’—he raises his wrist, taking a quick glance at his watch—‘around an hour after midnight, depending on volume.’

‘Of course.’

He drops into a salute, still holding up those two corners of his mouth, before marching away, finding more familiarity with a wind-up toy more than he did the rest of humankind. From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Emilio, who was wearing a cruel smirk as he watched the cadet and his Omni-Bot step out of the establishment and back into the festivities, probably to resumed his hunt for graduates eager to immortalize their memories of the night. Still, despite his services, you were quite eager to be rid of him. More than that smile, you didn’t think some random kid would go below the belt in their approach to Emilio; an echo of his last four years.

You wonder when he stopped even bothering to defend himself from those afflictions, subtle or crude.

‘I’ll send you a copy before you blast off,’ Emilio says, bringing you back from your thoughts. ‘You still have the same address, right?’

‘Haven’t changed it since I touched down,’ you return, turning around to re-approach the table.

You give him a friendly pat on the back as you take your seat.

>‘So, uh, Sanza, I told you I had to leave early …’ (Leave)
>‘Any of the Instructors here?’ (Small talk)
>Enjoy the atmosphere in silence
>Write-In
>>
>>2417557
>‘So, uh, Sanza, I told you I had to leave early …’ (Leave)
Gotta take the junior home too
>>
>>2417557
>‘So, uh, Sanza, I told you I had to leave early …’ (Leave)
>>
>>2417557
>Enjoy the atmosphere in silence
>>
>>2417557
>‘So, uh, Sanza, I told you I had to leave early …’ (Leave)
>>
>>2417557
>>‘So, uh, Sanza, I told you I had to leave early …’ (Leave)
>>
>>2417557
>Enjoy the atmosphere in silence
>>
The chatter goes on for a few more minutes, maybe a couple, maybe several … but as soon as the topic shifts to Instructor Fisher and Commander Wray’s argument on cadet placement reallocation, you move to quickly check on the time.

It was still a little early.

A little early, however, was a lot better than a little late when Morrigan Fisher was involved.

You decide to call your departure to the organizer’s attention, getting to your feet and dusting the crumbs off your pants. ‘Sanza, I have to get going … I think I told you that this afternoon.’

‘You sure?’ she inquires, looking up with a half-smile upon her sauce-stained lips. ‘We’re not even at the good part yet.’

>‘Actually, yeah. Big day tomorrow and … you know me.’ (Insist)
>‘You know, I can afford to stay a little while longer, I guess.’ (Stay)
>Write-In
>>
>>2419352
>>‘Actually, yeah. Big day tomorrow and … you know me.’ (Insist)
>take care of Rosaria for me will you?
>>
>>2419352
>Actually, yeah. Big day tomorrow and … you know me.’ (Insist)
>>
>>2419352

>‘Actually, yeah. Big day tomorrow and … you know me.’ (Insist)
>>
>>2419352
>‘You know, I can afford to stay a little while longer, I guess.’ (Stay)
>>
>>2419352
>Write-In
"I'm sure that when we DO get to the good part, I won't be able to catch a wink of sleep for all the noise. When that time comes, you might see me rejoining the festivities, but for now I'm going to get what rest I can. Big day tomorrow, after all." (Insist, with a caveat)
>>
>>2419353
No anon, we promised to take her home
>>
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‘Sorry, but … well, big day tomorrow,’ you reply with a slight shake of your head and an apologetic smile for effect. You felt bad keeping the finer details (Fisher being the very reason you were leaving early), but considering what you knew now about their history … you’d rather not have Sanza explode into a thousand pieces in frothing rage. ‘I launch from Kerensky at 0500 … and I’d rather not get left in the bay my first day on the job. You know how I’m like.’

You glance along the table, each and every one of your friends—save for Rosaria, who was wiping her hands off with a moist towelette—wearing a solemn, reserved … but accepting expression. It only makes you feel worse for having to tell a half-truth, especially one like that, but … what was done was done; it wasn’t as if the other part was entirely untrue, after all. You did have to get up extra early for your launch … and you didn’t trust yourself to keep to your schedule with how late and wild the party would, very likely, get.

Ryosuke’s the first to get to his feet, throwing his arms wide and hugging you tight. It was expected that he’d have the arms for it … you just didn’t have the time to brace yourself this time. He lifts you about an inch up with a grunt, before depositing you on your heel, to which you’re barely able to afford balance from the sheer force he manages to deposit you back on your two feet, staggering slightly.

You expect a cackle or a comment about your lack of recovery, but all you get is a fond smile thrown your way.

‘Don’t die, eh?’

Emilio is reserved, even getting up from his chair. He raises a fist, which you give a gentle tap with your own.

‘What he said,’ Emilio snorts, smirking. ‘And … if you’re ever passing by, feel free to make up an excuse to pick up supplies or something.’

You laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

‘A science post in the middle of nowhere? How could I resist?’

Hey.

You turn around to face Sanza.

Before you can react, you find yourself in a rib-cracking embrace and have your ears drowning in the sound of rushing blood and a grunting, groaning woman performing the aforementioned embrace. She lacks the strength to lift you up, but compensates for it but practically digging into your chest with her forehead.

‘Remember to eat your vitamin supplements and metabolic stabilizers all right?’

A ring of groans sounds.

‘Sanza …’

‘I know, I know!’ she hurriedly follows up, sniffling. ‘Take care of yourself, all right?’

She hugs you a second time, before releasing you in what was practically the same motion. Raising a hand for one last goodbye, you head back outside, Rosaria beside you … and before long find yourself away from the festivities, now merely noise from half a road down.

‘They’re good people.'

You turn to Rosaria, who was wearing a warm smile.

>Write-In
>>
>>2419631
>yeah, they're the best friends a guy could ask for. Would it be alright if you watched over Sanza when I'm gone? She'll probably be a bit lonely after we're gone, and she'd be a great friend to have.
>>
>>2419631
>>2419675
This
>>
>>2419675
supportin
>>
You can’t help but smile at that.

When she was right, she was right.

‘Yeah,’ you concede, all too willingly, turning your gaze down to your swinging feet, hands in your pockets and the cold of the Rhysode air hitting you with a bout of realization: that you would be the first to leave … and she would be the last. ‘Do you mind if I ask you to, uh, watch over Sanza while I’m gone? I mean, I’m not asking you to, uh, stay here unless you really need to, but … well, she’ll probably be a bit lonely without us. She’s a bit too proud to admit that she’s practically our mom, but, she is. She’ll watch over you, too, so it’s a sort of … exchange, I guess. Friends! That’s what friends do, they watch over each—’

You stop yourself at the coy smile that your junior throws up at you, raising your hands and steadying yourself. That was just plain you; turning a simple statement, a quick request into a jumble of words that barely stood together on their own.

‘I understand,’ Rosaria acknowledges, putting her hands behind her back, ‘you care about her a great deal, don’t you?’

That was a no-brainer.

‘Of course I do,’ you declare, flexing for effect. ‘You wouldn’t be seeing a shadow of these biceps if you—oh, that’s cold yup.’

Rosaria giggles, taking long, stiff strides to keep up with your own unnatural pace.

It was definitely cold.

‘Do you mind if I ask a personal question?’

‘Huh?’

‘If she had offered it to you, would you have bred her?’

You almost trip into a nearby trash unit.

>‘No. No; absolutely not. It’d be like … it’d be awkward.’ (Deny)
>‘A lot of paperwork involved … especially since she’d be in training carrying the child to term.’ (Technical)
>‘Yeah, too personal.’ (Warn her off)
>‘If she asked? I guess … yeah, yeah I would.’ (Confirm)
>‘That’s for me to carry to my grave, my cute little Kouhai.’ (Tease)
>Write-In
>>
>>2419844
>>‘That’s for me to carry to my grave, my cute little Kouhai.’ (Tease)
>>
>>2419844
>>‘That’s for me to carry to my grave, my cute little Kouhai.’ (Tease)
>>
>>2419844
>That’s for me to carry to my grave, my cute little Kouhai.’ (Tease)
>>
>>2419844
>That’s for me to carry to my grave, my cute little Kouhai.’ (Tease)
>>
Luckily for you, you manage to recover quickly.

‘That’s for me to carry to my grave, my cute little Kouhai.’ You smirk as you give your reply, winking right back. She giggles in good nature, however, hiding behind her hand.

‘Come on, Senpai!’ She calls out, looping her arms around yours and almost sending you tumbling with the action once more. ‘You like her, don’t you? I think she’d be a great mother!’

You agree with the last part.

She’d done everything short of putting diapers on your bare bottom.

However …

‘Like I said, girly,’ you tease, smirking and winking again, managing to place your hands into your pockets as you continued your march back to the main road, ‘that’s for me to know and you to never find out.’

Rosaria giggles again, detaching herself from your arm and placing her hands on her clothed belly. She wasn’t quite what you’d call bloated, but it was more than apparent that she’d indulged herself just as much as you had with the barbecue spread and everything else she’d managed to procure prior to that. You want to point out that she’d probably eaten more than you … but you decide not to point it out.

At least, not with words.

S-Senpai!

Rosaria scuttles away at your poke to the side, her features growing red with the action.

‘Enjoy the food?’

She lets out a small squeak, looking downwards in embarrassment.

Yes …

>‘Ah, right … do you want to stay over at the hotel with me? I can give you the card key; I need to go meet someone.’ (Offer her a night at the hotel)
>‘So, we’ll take the transport back and … wait, you have access to your dorm, right?’ (Beeline to the Academy)
>Write-In
>>
>>2419926
>>‘Ah, right … do you want to stay over at the hotel with me? I can give you the card key; I need to go meet someone.’ (Offer her a night at the hotel)
>>
>>2419926
>>‘Ah, right … do you want to stay over at the hotel with me? I can give you the card key; I need to go meet someone.’ (Offer her a night at the hotel)
>>
Maybe it was just the more courteous part in you that wanted to make a more lasting impression.

‘Ah, right,’ you start, ‘would you like to stay over at the hotel with me? I can give you the card key and you can go up and enjoy yourself. I need to go and meet someone, anyway.’

‘Meet with someone? Here?’

‘No,’ you reply, giving a slight nod in the general direction of the Academy. ‘I’ll be visiting the Staff Housing Units at the Academy. I have some last minute things to sort out before I turn in and lift off. You can abuse the amenities until I get back; what do you say that?’

She brings a finger to her chin, humming in thought.

‘It’s an offer that I appreciate, but I have to decline,’ she answers, giving an apologetic smile. ‘It’s not that it’s an offer that I … would be disinclined to, otherwise, but I believe that I have taken more than enough of your time and your kindness. Besides, I believe that I still have quite a few things to sort out myself before I begin my classes … and it would be irresponsible of me and an insult to your generosity—as well as your friends’—to not at least take my own course into account.’

Rosaria drops into a courteous bow, not one that you’d peg as apologetic … but more of a formal, a professional, rejection of your offer.

>‘It’d be no trouble; I’ll even give you the credit tab so you can take the transport tomorrow morning.’ (Insist)
>‘Wow, it only took six hours for you to get rebellious.’ (Tease)
>‘All right, then, transport back it is.’ (Back to the Academy)
>Write-In
>>
>>2419980
>>‘Wow, it only took six hours for you to get rebellious.’ (Tease)
>>
>>2419980
>‘Wow, it only took six hours for you to get rebellious.’ (Tease)
>>
>>2419980
>‘Wow, it only took six hours for you to get rebellious.’ (Tease)
>>
>>2419980
>>‘Wow, it only took six hours for you to get rebellious.’ (Tease)
>>
>>2419980
>>‘Wow, it only took six hours for you to get rebellious.’ (Tease)
>>
You make a mock-glance to your watch, chortling.

The rumble down the street tells you that a transport was fast approaching. Everything was practically on a loop here (As you weren’t in the inner ring of the city just yet), so it wouldn’t take more than a few extra stops until you were back on Academy premises.

‘Senpai?’

>‘Come on, let’s get going.’ (Hail the transport)
>‘You sure you don’t want to stay a night?’ (Question her again)
>Write-In
>>
>>2420046
>‘Come on, let’s get going.’ (Hail the transport)
>>
>>2420046
>>‘Come on, let’s get going.’ (Hail the transport)
>inb4 its not a transport
>>
Guys, I have a massive headache coming on. I'm going to take some pills have have a nap to see if I get better. Sorry for this one being so brief.
>>
>>2420046
>>‘Come on, let’s get going.’ (Hail the transport)
>>
>>2420046
>‘Come on, let’s get going.’ (Hail the transport)
>>2420055
Rest well.
>>
>>2420046
>‘Come on, let’s get going.’ (Hail the transport)
>>
I'll be running a session in approximately an hour. Really sorry about the sparse sessions the last few days. I'll try to make up for it.

Also, either tomorrow or the day after will be a Shipgirl Commander session again.
>>
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There it was.

‘Come on,’ you gesture with your head, ‘let’s get going.’

Blue and silver with the city flag on the side, the transport turns the corner, doing its rounds as usual. You raise your hand, running to the other side of the road as it makes its stop. You and Rosaria make a moderate dash towards the transport, feeling blow of warm air with the opening hiss of the door, flashing your tab and going up the steps with your companion following right behind. While not quite full, the coach was more occupied than the bare state of the one you’d taken on your way to the city. A freckled youth with a cap sitting with a portly middle-aged woman who appeared to be his mother; a mustached man in a formal suit looking slightly disheveled going through his datapad; a trio of men about your age muttering and giggling as they huddled together, probably watching a feed of their own; a grown woman with curls that had an arrogant air about her, staring out the window at the barely-lit streets; these were your companions for the return journey to the Academy, it would seem.

Rosaria is quiet for the most part, imitating the woman’s action and looking outside at the streets. Since the route was practically on a loop, you couldn’t blame her; this was probably the most that she’d take in of the city until she’d be out on her own. It was an opportunity for her to have a good look before she popped in as a student—no, as an apprentice.

‘For a large city, it’s really quite … quiet, isn’t it?’

‘Oh,’ you clear your throat, ‘that’s just because the graduates are having their, uh … leaving traditions. The place is usually a lot more bustling otherwise. You’ll probably end up seeing a lot more of—’

Lucky Mart: A Sigma-Nine Subsidiary

‘Oh, that’s a place you have to remember,’ you point out the lit sign of the tacky-looking marketplace, a lone man smoking a cigarette puffing by the automated doors, ‘if you need anything that’s last minute and you’re low on cash, Lucky Mart’s the place to go. Sanza’ll tell you that it’s a dodgy place because the prices are never stable, but you’re not going to get a better deal on contraband or utensils anywhere else in the city … well, you could, but you’d have to go to one of the outpost towns, but that’s a little out of the way.’

‘There are other places?’

‘Yup,’ you nod, pointing down a wide, curved road that led to the outskirts, away from the Academy and city, ‘Not many, but since this is a paradise world … well, low-level, but still … uh … agriculture’s still a thing, even if it’s not so widespread in these parts. Rhysode’s not far from the usual spaceways, but it’s not smack dab in the middle either, so the planet needs to be self-sustaining in case of, uh, anything.’

‘Are all Imperial worlds like this? Rim-Worlds? Pleasure Worlds?’
>>
>>2421923
>'World variation depends on how well the Converters work. You won't get the same result every time, even among pleasure worlds.' (Rationalize)
>'No. Certain Worlds have certain designations. A Paradise World, at any level, is a rarity in itself. Then you have sub-categories like Pleasure Worlds, Primal Worlds. It's a big, big galaxy' (NAVIGATION NUT)
>'I guess so. Never really thought about it.' (Uncaring)
>'Aren't you being a little too chatty?' (Annoyed)
>Write-In
>>
>>2421936
>>'No. Certain Worlds have certain designations. A Paradise World, at any level, is a rarity in itself. Then you have sub-categories like Pleasure Worlds, Primal Worlds. It's a big, big galaxy' (NAVIGATION NUT)
>>
>>2421936
>'No. Certain Worlds have certain designations. A Paradise World, at any level, is a rarity in itself. Then you have sub-categories like Pleasure Worlds, Primal Worlds. It's a big, big galaxy' (NAVIGATION NUT)
>>
>>2421936
>NAVIGATION NUT
>>
>>2421936
>>'No. Certain Worlds have certain designations. A Paradise World, at any level, is a rarity in itself. Then you have sub-categories like Pleasure Worlds, Primal Worlds. It's a big, big galaxy' (NAVIGATION NUT)
nerd out- the character
>>
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You could recite it from the textbook, even now.

Hell, you could probably recite it from all the textbooks. Considering Rosaria was from a Colony Fleet, you thought that she’d have a better grasp of the designation of worlds, but … knowing just how it was on her Colony Fleet, you really couldn’t hold it against her too much. You’d be a poor sport for not following through with your duties as a senior, especially after Sanza and the rest of them made you feel like you actually belonged for the last for years.

Besides, she’d proven to be good company. There’d be no harm explaining to her just how things worked in Imperial space.

‘No,’ you answer thoughtfully, for some reason making a sphere with your palms and fingers. ‘Certain worlds have certain designations. Paradise Worlds are a rarity themselves. Basically, they’re Imperial Worlds with a successfully-engineered habitat suitable for human life, but able to be purposed for a variation of purposes: commerce, a military outpost, an engineering stop. Paradise Worlds are a bit of a misnomer; it actually only means that the Atmospheric Birth Units—’

‘Huh?’

‘Sorry, the Converters; those big mountain-like machines you saw on the feed? It’s a bit of a roll of the dice to see what you get out of them, and even certain planets only really have one proper biome. Paradise World just means that it’s as close as they can get to a successful multi-biome planet. Then you have planets who are put up to a certain output like Agri-Worlds, Forge Systems, House Worlds … the last one might be any of the former two. Trade Houses are insane rich. A little bit more out there, you have worlds under Imperial claim but don’t actually serve any current purpose outside of the odd outpost or scientist campsite; they don’t have a formal name. Which is weird, considering the bulk of Imperial Worlds are made up of them … but the Instructors just called them Claimed Worlds, just to put the Imperial stamp there.’

You turn to Rosaria, expecting her to be bored with your lecture … only to find her staring at you in wide-eyed fascination, hanging onto every word you’d uttered.

‘Then, of course, you have Primal Worlds and X-Worlds—’

‘X-Worlds are a conspiracy!’

It was probably one of the young men at the back of the bus. You pay him no heed, but instead move to lower your voice.

‘Primal Worlds are planets that already support an ecosystem—or a multitude of them—by themselves,’ you continue your explanation, not missing a beat from the interruption. ‘They have their own animals, plant life … and more often than not, they’re not friendly to humans. So far, all known Primal Worlds are off-limits to the general public. Emperor’s big on conservation and all that, but …’

You sigh.

‘But?’
>>
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'Well,' you clear your throat, beginning tentatively, 'if you have enough money, nothing's off-limits. Some Trade Houses procure exotic pets from these worlds. One of the most popular shows of wealth’—your imitation of Emilio’s voice gets you an extra giggle—‘is a creature known as the, uh …’

You pause, trying to remember the name.

'The dragon-thing from Garland-II. Fifty-foot long, winged lizard that breaks atmosphere as part of a spawning cycle. Sadly, that’s, uh, how poachers and the like catch ‘em … and they can’t exactly push the doors down on a Trade House and tell ‘em to send it back … not that it’s frequent enough that the poachers get away with it, anyway. Garland II’s atmosphere is practically lethal to humans on exposure. I heard stories of some poachers and Colony Fleets trying to make a quick cash-in only to get their lungs collapsing from the sheer toxicity of the air.’

You snort, smirking in morbid amusement.

‘You’d think that they’d listen to the people who actually went down there and said that the forecast was a ninety-percent chance of death wouldn’t you?’

Rosaria wears a wry smile.

‘Some people only see money in their eyes where others see their mortality.’

You can’t help but laugh at that, if only a little. ‘True, true.’

‘X-Worlds … what about th—’

‘They’re a conspiracy, lady!’

‘Shut up, Todd!’

You roll your eyes, turning your attentions back to Rosaria.

What were X-Worlds anyway?

>‘They’re … off-limits, but that’s all there’s to be known about them. Other than that, no one even knows if one exists at all. There was a world designated an X-World, but it got crossed off … forty standard years ago?’ (Rational)
>‘Actually, yeah, he might be right. They could be a conspiracy.’ (Conspiracy!)
>‘My head hurts, let’s stop here.’
>‘If you ask me … probably a world where some sort of Imperial hush-hush went on. Wouldn’t be out of order for the Empire.’ (Theorize)
>Write-In
>>
>>2422146
>>‘If you ask me … probably a world where some sort of Imperial hush-hush went on. Wouldn’t be out of order for the Empire.’ (Theorize)
>>
>>2422146
>‘If you ask me … probably a world where some sort of Imperial hush-hush went on. Wouldn’t be out of order for the Empire.’ (Theorize)
WMDs, bioweapons, complex projects that try to keep the Empire's citizens complacent but kill most and turn the ones that don't into madmen that ravage the galaxy and do unspeakable things to turn normal people into more of them.
Y'know, normal government stuff.
>>
>>2422146
>>‘If you ask me … probably a world where some sort of Imperial hush-hush went on. Wouldn’t be out of order for the Empire.’ (Theorize)
sounds like what i do in Stellaris
>>
‘Well, it stands for experimental,’ you stress the word, ‘so if there’s a designation like that, we can only theorize that it’s a world where there’s a lot of Imperial hush-hush going on, if anything at all. No one I know has actually seen pr heard from one, but with everything that adds up it just … it wouldn’t be far-fetched at all, would it?’

‘Experimental could mean a lot of things,’ Rosaria follows up with a nod. ‘Maybe it’s a world to test certain new pieces of technology for world settlement that would be dangerous otherwise?’

‘That’s one, I g—’

‘I told you, man! They’re growing shit out there that—’

‘All right, Todd! We’re getting off!’

You lurch slightly as the transport comes to a halt. You look up to see the trio of young men shuffling down the aisle, pug-faced friend—who you assumed to be Todd—stumbling behind them, his heels practically skidding as they brought him to the front, tapping their credit tab before falling out, but not before Todd yells out something indistinguishable (“Monsters and mothers!” was all you caught, but you missed about two or three more statements) as he was propped up by his friends, making their way to a nearby mart—probably to sober him up.

The coach must have made a few stops as you chatted with Rosaria, because you two were the only ones left now.

It’s not long before you’re on the wide open road on the plain, rolling towards your final destination, sitting right on the horizon … and two pairs of red lights that seemed to be descending upon it. You shift slightly, trying to get a better look—no, they weren’t descending … but ascending, appearing to lift what appeared to be a—

It was a Hellion.

Now that the moons gave some better light, you’re able to actually make out just what it was.

It appeared that the Rosaria’s batch would finally be getting some upgrades to the equipment. You manage to get a quick look of the new Hellion-Class sub-type. Not many changes, from what you can tell. More green than brown, but the armor points of the upper torso having a sleeker, off-the-line feel to them is what caught your attention. Rather than the cruel, clumsy bulk of the models you’d commandeered, this one was built for a little more agility, but something about it felt odd.

The Hellion was built for rough and varied environments.

This one felt like it was too pretty to even drop into the sand.

Well, at least the Academy finally answered some calls on the out-dated equipment. You could be happy enough with that … using an operating system that was the standard for 80-odd years.

The bus comes to a halt, prompting you to tap your tab and step out.

You absently lean towards the road to get a better look at the new unit, it—’

‘SENPAI!’

Maybe you were leaning a little too much.

Rosaria stares at you in worry.
>>
>>2422261
>'Sorry, just a little curious about the new model. Didn't think we'd actually be getting one.' (Apologetic)
>'When I supported an upgrade, I didn't know they thought paper would be a substitute for alloy.' (TECHNICAL HABITS)
>'Sorry, let's get going.' (Escort her to the dorm)
>'Did you see that?' (Awe)
>Write-In
>>
>>2422265
>>'When I supported an upgrade, I didn't know they thought paper would be a substitute for alloy.' (TECHNICAL HABITS)
>>
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>>2422265
>'When I supported an upgrade, I didn't know they thought paper would be a substitute for alloy.' (TECHNICAL HABITS)
RIP Geara Doga-chan. Your ugly cousin took your rightful place.
>>
>>2422265
>>'When I supported an upgrade, I didn't know they thought paper would be a substitute for alloy.' (TECHNICAL HABITS)
>>
You begin leaning again—consciously this time—and making your way down the pavement, seeing the VTOL craft moving up and down, more than likely in an attempt to get the thing steady. Even from here, with barely a head and a shoulder—and less light than a dorm with a couple trying to get their freak on—to see, you find yourself … disgusted. When you’d supported an upgrade to the systems, this was the last thing that you expected to show up and answer your prayers.

You make a disgusted scowl at the new Hellion unit, the shift of the head telling you it was about to be rolled back towards the hangar. The VTOL crafts were taking off, the only thing visible from their structure those blinking lights that you’d made out back on the coach.

‘When I supported an upgrade,’ you begin grimly, ‘I didn’t know they had paper in mind as a substitute for alloy.’

‘Excuse me?’

You shake your head, managing an apologetic glance as you let out a weary sigh and raise a finger towards the finned head of the Hellion.

‘Nothing, just … you see that Mech there? That thing looks like it can be bent in half by a Desert Unit. I wonder how they managed to get themselves gypped like that? You know what? Scratch a Desert Unit. The wind could probably topp—’

The Mech wobbles slightly.

Diagonally.

You can’t even hide your disbelief this time.

‘Do you want to … take a closer look?’

>‘No, no, I’d probably pop a vein or something. Let’s get you back to your dorm.’ (Decline)
>‘You know what? Let’s go. They must be insane thinking that that’s … urgh!’ (Go and take a closer look)
>Write-In
>>
>>2422318
>‘You know what? Let’s go. They must be insane thinking that that’s … urgh!’ (Go and take a closer look)
>>
>>2422318
>>‘You know what? Let’s go. They must be insane thinking that that’s … urgh!’ (Go and take a closer look)
>>
>>2422318
>‘No, no, I’d probably pop a vein or something. Let’s get you back to your dorm.’ (Decline)
>>
>>2422318
>>‘You know what? Let’s go. They must be insane thinking that that’s … urgh!’ (Go and take a closer look)
>>
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The call of curiosity is really that too much to bear for you. You only hope that Fisher wouldn’t hold it against you running a little late; besides, considering that you were going off-world in less than half a day’s worth of time, this would probably be the only chance that you’d get at seeing the … sham of a replacement to the old Hellion unit.

You run a hand through your hair.

Maybe you were getting a little too worked up over—

‘Let’s go,’ you declare, rolling your shoulder, having already taken a few unconscious steps forward. ‘I need a closer look at that insanity.’

You break into a light jog, sprinting through the entrance and past the open plaza. The Academy was enormous, but you knew your way enough to make a beeline to the hangar. Past the offices, the secondary offices, the tertiary communications unit and a few lax watch officers that gave you a friendly wave as you made your way past the small rec field. You slow down a little as you make your way around here, a wave of memories coming over you, remembering the drills that Instructor Memphis had—for lack of better word—drilled into your head in the nearby practical workshops. You wonder if Instructor Fisk was up, working up his usual mischief.

‘W-Wait up, Senpai!’

You turn around to see Rosaria wheezing as she dragged her feet past a nearby tree, her snorts sounding more like mechanical whines than anything else. A part of you wants to shake your head in disapproval …

Then you remember that you’d looped around about half-a-mile of the campus perimeter before cutting into the practical side of the facilities. You’d made a whole roundabout just to get to the front entrance of the practice hangar … and the only reason that you didn’t even feel it was …

Right.

You forgot just how many junctures you had to go through to get up to the standard.

She had touched down less than two days ago.

Considering Rosaria was from the same background, more or less, perhaps you’d been a little … too enthusiastic for her to keep pace with. You raise an apologetic hand, to which she returns, her knees quaking as she shuffles into a spot right next to you. Yo have to give her credit, though: she didn’t complain.

It’s not long before you’re in front of the practice hangar entrance … where you spy another of the Hellion replacements laid on a trailer unit, being wheeled around into the practice hangar itself, several crew members barking and yelling for caution and precision. The gate being shut tells you that entry isn’t allowed.

The two vermilion-clad crew members leaning against pill box and enjoying a thermos of hot drink apiece, however, tell you that conversation probably wouldn’t be—

‘Okay, you know the drill. Restricted area, yadda-yadda, turn the other way.’

You frown. How … unprofessional.
>>
>>2422371
>'You know, considering you're both commissioned engineers, you should be a little more ... distinguished in your approach.' (Confrontational)
>'Just here to check out the new Hellion. Looks ... thin.' (Comment on the new unit)
>'No chance at letting us in, huh?' (Bargain)
>'That's a waste ... let's get you back to your dorm, then.' (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2422372
>'Just here to check out the new Hellion. Looks ... thin.' (Comment on the new unit)
>>
>>2422372
>>'Just here to check out the new Hellion. Looks ... thin.' (Comment on the new unit)
>>
>>2422372
>>'Just here to check out the new Hellion. Looks ... thin.' (Comment on the new unit)
>>
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‘Caught a glimpse of you guys setting the new Hellions up,’ you declare, nodding towards the unit that appeared to be in the middle of being stowed away. ‘Thought we’d get a closer look.’

The engineers turn to each other, before shaking their heads.

‘Well, you got one,’ the one still holding the thermos declares, ‘and they’re not Hellions; they’re the new Piranha units.’

You blink, surprised.

You’d never heard of those before.

‘Piranha?’

‘The AEGIS is hoping to make them the standard across Empire space in the next thirty years,’ the other engineer declares, putting on a pair of green-tinted sunglasses. ‘They haven’t seen any action yet, but according to The Grand Hall, they’re viable enough to phase right through … or at least enough to put through a trial phase. Trade House Acura just bought up a bunch of ship tech and are going to try about sticking it on a Mech. They’re into overdrive with their production on these units. The Empire’s on track to make this their first ever mass production run on two-phase combat Mechs. The Piranha’s meant to helm that first wave.’

Your eyes widen.

‘Two phase? You mean that this is meant to fight on both terra firma and in space?’

‘You got it,’ the man with the thermos in his hand declares. ‘First standard for the Empire for both gravity-bound combat and zero-gravity. The future of Mech warfare and you kids are going to be the first to sample it. Man … wish I could re-do my AEGIS all over again. Would love to fight in these bad boys.’

‘You make a healthy salary, you bum.’

The man stares at his friend in annoyance. ‘Erik, you were born without a sense of wonder.’

‘Go and join the private sector, you wad.’

>‘Space warfare’s a whole different beast to fighting in an environment with terrain and gravity.’ (SPACIOUS)
>‘So those wing-like things … they’re actually thrusters to adjust vector, velocity … Trade House Acura? Wait …’
>‘What’s the standard loadout for the Piranha?’
>‘So what’s going to happen to the Hellions?’
>‘Heard enough. Let’s go, Rosaria.’ (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2422527
>>‘Space warfare’s a whole different beast to fighting in an environment with terrain and gravity.’ (SPACIOUS)
>>
>>2422527
>Space warfare’s a whole different beast to fighting in an environment with terrain and gravity.’ (SPACIOUS)
>>2422527
>Space warfare’s a whole different beast to fighting in an environment with terrain and gravity.’ (SPACIOUS)
>>
>>2422527
>‘So those wing-like things … they’re actually thrusters to adjust vector, velocity … Trade House Acura? Wait …’
>>
>>2422527
>>‘Space warfare’s a whole different beast to fighting in an environment with terrain and gravity.’ (SPACIOUS)
>>
>>2422527
>>‘Space warfare’s a whole different beast to fighting in an environment with terrain and gravity.’ (SPACIOUS)
>>
>>2422527
>SPACIOUS
>>
>>2424596
>>‘Of course. I’m sure the handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether is the same to you.’ (Retort, TECHNICAL HABITS) LEVEL 2: PASS
>>
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You and Rosaria both share a look.

On paper, it made sense.

However, having lived in space for a good chunk of your life ...

‘Space warfare’s a whole different beast to fighting in an environment with terrain and gravity,’ you state, furrowing your brows. ‘It’s why The AEGIS exists and so does the Navy. Same objective, different specializations. You can’t over-stretch an arm of dedication because then you’re going to require not just the re-allocation of asset attributes, but splitting the attentions of the bodies involved. Why would the AEGIS see fit to stand beside the Navy in combat outside of atmosphere?’

Both men turn to stare at each other, before squeaking out the remnants of suppressed laughter.

You can’t help but feel a little bit insulted at that.

‘Because the Grand Hall and The Admiral decreed it, that’s why!’ The man known as Erik reveals, smirking so wide you swear it was going to shatter his cheek muscles. ‘Kid, I worked in Logistics and carried out posting duties. Integration of the two arms of the military wing of the Empire is the only logical way to cut out the fat that makes up the bureaucracy and the crisscross of jurisdiction. I mean, come on, you need two different ships for practically the same shipment to the same damn place when you only really need one? Where’s the efficiency in that? Two birds with one stone … and it’s not like either of ‘em are lacking in space, yeah?’

>‘Of course. I’m sure the handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether is the same to you.’ (Retort, TECHNICAL HABITS) LEVEL 2: PASS
>‘If you say so.’ (Agree)
>‘There’s more to it than just space. You still need specialists in each position!’ (Argue)
>‘Can we talk about something else?’
>‘Let’s go, Rosaria.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2424605
>>‘Of course. I’m sure the handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether is the same to you.’ (Retort, TECHNICAL HABITS) LEVEL 2: PASS
>>
>>2424605
What does level 2 pass mean?
>>
>>2424605
>‘Of course. I’m sure the handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether is the same to you.’ (Retort, TECHNICAL HABITS) LEVEL 2: PASS

>>2424608
Guessing it means that the option comes from our Level 2 Technical Habits.
>>
>>2424608
It means you have a skill AND that it's of the required level to argue the point. It also means instead of the usual "1" point of experience you get arguing your point, you get 2.
>>
>>2424605
>>‘Of course. I’m sure the handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether is the same to you.’ (Retort, TECHNICAL HABITS) LEVEL 2: PASS
>>
>>2424605
>>‘Of course. I’m sure the handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether is the same to you.’ (Retort, TECHNICAL HABITS) LEVEL 2: PASS
>>
‘Of course,’ you reply crisply, ‘I’m sure that the handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether is the same to you, anyway.’

The smirk instantly fades from his face.

Even his friend raises an eyebrow.

‘Got a bit of a mouth on you, don’t you, kid?’

‘To be absolutely fair, sir,’ you clear your throat as the word leaves your lips, ‘you’re the one who likened the delivering and handling of Compressed Ether and Two-Stage Process Ether to be the same thing.’

‘Don’t put words in my mouth.’

‘Your words were “same shipment to the same damn place” with the implication that the similarities of AEGIS requisitions and Navy requisitions would be such that the handling and distribution—not to mention the window of delivery—would require general allocation of knowledge than a specialized one. You’d have one crew of a requisition assignment take care of both types of Ether, sir and I feel that to be an insult in the same mold that you’d call an engineering mechanic a patch artist.’

He stares at you neutrally.

If there was a fight on your hands, then—

‘Then training would remedy that, wouldn’t it?’ he retorts gently, sounding slightly strained, but otherwise in control. ‘Just because the mechanics of one aren’t known to the other doesn’t mean that they can’t be taught to be. Besides, Spacers play it on the fly all the time … what would the Aegis and the Navy be if they can’t, either?’

‘Erik, come on. He probably hasn’t even got his stripes yet.’

‘Can it, Crom.’

The other man, Crom, only shrugs.

>‘I apologize if I spoke out of line, sir. I’m … quite attached to the topic.’
>‘What’s the standard loadout on the Piranha? Those thrusters come pre-installed, so I reckon that they’re made for air, space and land?’
>‘Trade House Acura … that rings a bell. Those thrusters …’
>‘So what’s going to happen to the Hellions? They still in there?’
>‘Let’s go, Rosaria.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2424662
>>‘So what’s going to happen to the Hellions? They still in there?’
we need move on after this
>>
>>2424662
>‘Let’s go, Rosaria.’
>>
>>2424662
>‘Let’s go, Rosaria.’
>>
You decide to get to the thing that—to your surprise—carries the most weight with you. You turn to the roof of the hangar, wondering if the old girls were still in there alongside their replacements.

‘So what’s going to happen to the Hellions? Are they still in there?’

‘Actually, we moved all four housed units out this evening,’ Crom reveals, jabbing in the direction of the hangar. ‘Two units are on their way to Rossiu and the other two are going to be shipping out from Kerensky by tomorrow morning. The OS was an actual bitch to work through, though … it’s what? Eighty years old? We had to leave the weapon’s modules intact, but eh. No one’s going to get the bright idea to hop in one of those and swing the Heat Axe about unless they’ve got a death wish.’

Erik snorts, crossing his arms.

‘Well, no one’s going to have to worry about them anymore, I guess,’ he comments, turning absently to the now-raised platform carrying the Piranha, slowly disappearing in to the hangar. ‘These babies’ll be the new standard. Hellions have had a good life, but … eighty years is pushing it. I think even the new Crusher units Aramis-side are easier to fit out for zero-G combat compared to what we have.’

He gives a proud nod.

‘It’s a step in the right direction. Only way to go is forward.’

>‘What’s the standard loadout and specification for the Piranha?’
>‘Trade House Acura … rings a bell …’
>‘Let’s go, Rosaria.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2424668
>>2424670
Ah fuck, guys. Sorry. I had auto refresh on and it must have missed you two.
>>
>>2424681
>>‘Let’s go, Rosaria.’
>>
>>2424682
No, worries it happens. Just consider it a vote for the same for >>2424681.
>>
You spare one last gaze at the hangar.

The Hellions were gone.

The Piranhas, monstrous as they were to look at, would be the ones serving at the front. Thirty years; perhaps twenty if things went smooth enough. You hearken back to your conversation with Emilio, with Sanza and Ryosuke on the chatter of deescalation. From a technical perspective, you wondered if that really was true. As crude as the functions were, what would the purpose of widening and generalizing the scope of service for Mechs serve if it wasn’t in the other direction? You were no philosopher, no thinker … but more fronts of combat usually meant the anticipation and the search for combat rather than the avoidance of it. Piranhas would be able to fight on more fronts; after all, with the installed thruster systems and what you can only presume to be an OS that had more autonomy and multi-tasking subroutines … it probably was superior.

Still looked like it was made out of paper, though.

You give a small bow and throw up a salute for the two men, who don’t even bother returning them as they went back into the pill box.

‘Let’s go, Rosaria.’

She follows you with a small nod. You had to deliver her back to her dorm before anything else caught your eye; that and, of course, you’d wasted enough time here. You’d already promised to meet up with Fisher before you turned in for the night … and being distracted by both the sight of the Piranha and having to jog all around the campus to get a closer look, you doubt that Fisher would have any patience listening to your excuses compared to if you’d been about an hour earlier than … the current hour.

It wasn’t late, but it wasn’t a sensible time for you to drop in, either.

‘Something on your mind, Senpai?’

You shake your head. ‘No, just … thinking.’

Rosaria lets out a playful, cocking her head back as she marched mechanically next to your person.

‘What?’

‘I know what you’re thinking about.’

You cock an eyebrow. You hadn’t pegged her for a mind reader.

‘Th—’

‘You’re going to miss that Hellion when it gets going, aren’t you?’

You stare at her, bewildered. That wasn’t what you’d been thinking about at all. It had crossed your mind somewhat, but miss it? You were—

‘It’s not hard to tell that’s what you’re on right now,’ she continues, seemingly satisfied that she had pegged your source of worry (If it could even be called that). ‘I mean, after that chat we had on the transport … I can tell that you’re quite fond of the old model, aren’t you? The one that we saw when we were heading into the city?’

>‘Now you’re pegging yourself down in understanding nostalgia?’ (Retort)
>‘Actually, I was just thinking about an engagement that I am now … or at least, I believe I am late for.’ (Clarify)
>‘Yeah, I’m going to miss the old girl.’ (Segue)
>‘Wrong.’ (Brunt)
>Silence
>Write-In
>>
>>2424760
>>‘Yeah, I’m going to miss the old girl.’ (Segue)
>>
>>2424760
>>‘Yeah, I’m going to miss the old girl.’ (Segue)
>>
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You were going to miss the old girls.

It wasn’t hard to admit, of course. Even aged and worn, the base’s Hellions were still adequate for operation … in a sense. Their gait may have been a little stiff and their targeting systems antiquated (Although, considering all the patches you supposed that they were only about half a generation behind at worst), but you’d still found them rather—there was no other word for it—practical for their purpose. Probably why they’d endured service for so long. You could ascribe a number of tasks that the Hellion could actually drop in for with no problem, if not for performance than by efficiency alone.

Maybe it was sort of adequate that they’d be phased out by another all-purpose Mech.

You supposed that there was a truth to the saying: you don’t know what you have until it isn’t there anymore.

‘Yeah,’ you admit, electing to segue into the conversation anyway. ‘I’m going to miss the old girl. Clumsy and hardly one for performance, but she’s fit for every occasion … an old shoe you can just toss on and run out in.’

She laughs, holding her sides before smiling up at you.

‘Maybe it is a little bit endearing … that you’d put so much value in something like that.’

You smirk down at her, placing your hands on your hips as you stop in your tracks. ‘You’ll get there.’

Rosaria gestures to the side with her head, prompting you to continue your leisurely strides. The dorms shouldn’t be that far off from where you were. You could even see The Gardens from here … and several shadows that told you that you weren’t the only twosome that was having a night out. A glance at the clouds above, however, tell you to hasten your pace, eager to drop Rosaria off so that she’d have a good night’s sleep … and so that Fisher’s annoyance was contained as much as possible by arriving at her unit as quickly as you were able.

If Rosaria has anything to say about the both of you power-walking and ignoring the occasional distant rustling of bushes, she doesn’t.

You’re thankful for that.

It’s not long before you arrive in front of the dorm … which, to your surprise, was still bright. A pair of girls step out wearing a set of clothes even your Fleet Administrators would spare a second glance at, giggling as their heels clatter past you, on the way to a location that you were very sure that you didn’t want to pin-point.

You didn’t think much of the pig-tails, though. What was the blonde one trying to prove?

‘Senpai?’

You turn your attention back to Rosaria, who was looking up at you in curiosity.

Considering her origin, you probably should have expected that she’d be used to something of the nature.

Doesn’t mean you were.

‘Sorry.’

She shuffles in place, her shoulders quaking from a slight giggle.

‘So, this is … goodbye?’

>Write-In
>>
>>2424797
"For now, I guess. Hope we'll cross paths again in the future, whenever that may be. Don't hesitate to contact Sanza if you need help, okay?"
>>
>>2424812
>>2424797
Supporting
>>
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You move to give a quick follow-up.

For now,’ you assert, despite little to nothing to back it up. ‘Maybe we’ll be able to cross roads again in the future. You never know.’

She wears an accepting, albeit slightly deflated, smile.

‘Even I know the chances for that are … astronomically low,’ she lets out with a slight chuckle, giving a small nod, ‘but I suppose the reason people like me meet people like you is to realize that no matter where anyone goes … they’ll always find something worth keeping, even if it’s just a memory.’

You think about it, if only for all of five seconds.

‘I guess there’s a truth to that.’

Rosaria bites her lip, kicking her toes into the ground … before closing the distance and giving you a gentle peck on the cheek. You find yourself stiff at the warm—and slightly wet—pressure; unexpected … but not entirely unwelcome. This would count the second time over the course of the day that an admittedly pretty (Admittedly being the keyword) entity of the female persuasion had planted their lips on you … and that the score would count for four in this current lifetime. You’d doubled it in just one day; it was almost enough to put off that tomorrow you’d be handling some spare parts and delivering munitions to some far off corner of a nearby (or far-off galaxy).

‘Thank you for everything,’ she says teasingly, stepping back and looking dazzling under the light of the moons, ‘Senpai-Who-I-Have-Known-For-Less-Than-Eleven-Standard-Hours. I hope there are more people like you.’

‘You don’t want that,’ you retort in a joking manner, ‘trust me.’

She throws up one last grin, backing away and retreating towards the dorm … which was a lot more noisy than you remembered it to be on your first day.

‘I think I do,’ she chirps, turning around and glancing at you over her shoulder, marching towards the doors. ‘See you Senp—’

The sound of a dull thud has you wincing as you make a motion towards the staggered form of your junior, who looked to be clutching her face as she tried to regain her balance. The automated doors had failed to open in time with her motion to enter.

That you did remember.

‘I-I’m okay!’ she calls out nasally, right as the doors open, scampering inside as you barely hold in a chuckle of your own.

She would be.

You turn around, stretching your arms overhead, keen on making to the Staff Housing Units before Fisher blew a spring and came hunting you down. You pace yourself into a quick jog, walking by the lights of the walkway and into the central plaza. Her residence would be on the southern bank of the lake, just a short walk past the Gardens, coming right up in your view.

As did the couples that inhabited it.

You know I’ll never forget you …

I’d defy Imperial Orders to come back to your side …
>>
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You keep your head down, pinching the bridge of your nose as the cliches reach your ears. On the grass, behind the bushes, under the trees … there they were, soliciting privacy (You almost laugh at the irony of it) that they could have acquired at any hotel in Rhysode Alpha. Either the graduates were cheap or—’

You stop in your tracks as you see a familiar face, seated by the fountain. His face was shrouded and his form hunched over, but that was unquestionable Gerard … and he had a lady friend with him, her arms locked around his as they—with about four other couples with the same idea—seemed to bask in each other’s company. At least, that’s what you think it was about.

Even if you couldn’t make out what Gerard had on his face, his lady friend, a pretty blonde who was probably a second year at best, told you that whatever it was about warranted a look of worry—of slight distress.

>‘I barely know him. You’re pressed for time, moron. Let’s go.’ (Beeline to Fisher’s)
>‘Well, it’s not like I’m going to see him after this … might as well.’ (Talk to Gerard)
>Write-In
>>
>>2424960
>‘Well, it’s not like I’m going to see him after this … might as well.’ (Talk to Gerard)
....God damn it, I just wanted them thighs
>>
>>2424965
I feel like all my Questers are a little bit Peter Parker. They want their Mary Jane, but they'll put on the spandex if something prompts them to, even at the cost of Mary Jane.

I must meditate on this.
>>
>>2424960
>‘I barely know him. You’re pressed for time, moron. Let’s go.’ (Beeline to Fisher’s)
>>
>>2424974
Even though both Rosaria and Sanza are infinitely superior to scrap legs, we need to maintain some level of punctuality.
>>
>>2424970
It'd just feel shitty if you willingly let something bad potentially happen to someone because you felt like your personal time was more important. That's not a good person.
>>
>>2424965
>>2424974
Flipping a coin.
Thighs delayed.
>>
>>2424960
> beeline to fisher
>>
You really should just let things be. It was simpler; taking other people’s matters into your own hands rarely ended well for the busybody … but you weren’t you if you weren’t the least bit curious.

And you were curious of what Gerard Jetdom was doing with a lady in the middle of a Garden with several other couples in the vicinity … on his last day no less. Gerard was one of the top five exiting the four years of the Academy … and you suspect one of the reasons he hadn’t scored in the top two were because he’d declined to pursue Mech combat as a proper branch of study and elected to take Administrative Affairs as a major part of his self-assigned curricula (By the middle of year three, people usually got a hold of what they wanted out of their careers), which put less weight on his points towards graduation. Not that the AEGIS devalued being behind-the-desk any less, but … well, you suppose traditionalists tallied what they wanted on certain points.

If he didn’t decide to pursue a full career, he could be on the fast track to a cushy job for a Trade House as one of their administrators. Which … you knew he wasn’t after.

If nothing else, you approach him to say your last goodbyes.

‘Hey, Gerard.’

He looks up, revealing those piercing, perpetually-annoyed eyes.

‘Hey.’

He says nothing else. Neither does his lady friend, who only eyes you with curiosity.

This was Gerard Jetdom, all right.

>‘Just wanted to, uh, wish you luck. Been a nice four years knowing you.’ (Say your goodbyes)
>‘Going to introduce me to your lady friend?’ (Press, slightly)
>‘You know, you were a lot more open when we first met than this.’ (Annoyed)
>‘So, uh … enjoying the night?’ (Segue into small talk)
>Write-In
>>
>>2424997
>>‘Just wanted to, uh, wish you luck. Been a nice four years knowing you.’ (Say your goodbyes)
>>
>>2424997
>>‘Just wanted to, uh, wish you luck. Been a nice four years knowing you.’ (Say your goodbyes)
>>
>>2424997
>‘Just wanted to, uh, wish you luck. Been a nice four years knowing you.’ (Say your goodbyes)
>>
You wear a tight smile.

You remember him being a great deal—well, not a great deal, but certainly a lot more friendly than he was about now … not that Gerard had friendly as a default setting. He was almost always polite (except when it came to his groupies) and could give Emilio a run for his money on the deadpan he could deliver his statements and opinions. No, he was courteous … and treated everyone by the same amount of worth: by his gauge. If there was one thing you could rely on Gerard on … was that he didn’t care if one was from a Colony Fleet or the scion of a Trade House. He would like or dislike you based on his own experience, your own merits.

Which was quite contradictory to the lessons you heard them teach in Administrative Affairs.

Cloak and dagger rarely went in together with opinions that correlated with personal preference and character.

Maybe that was why he took those classes.

‘Just wanted to wish you luck,’ you mention civilly, taking a step back and offering a thumbs up, awkward as it was. ‘Been a … nice four years knowing you.’

He gives a small, silent nod … and you see a brief, almost-ghost of a smile.

There was no point testing your luck.

‘Hope to see you again someday.’

Luck had been tested. It was time to leave.

You depart the Gardens with haste, taking long, paced strides and shaking your head at the couples who were engaged in more … sordid affairs. A part of you had half a mind to tell the young men and women to cut it out, but seeing one of the jocks being involved, you decide against it. You may have lost weight and put on some muscle, but they’d knocked the stuffing out of each other the last four years. There was no desire to match up against something you knew would end up with you twisted like a pretzel.

The path to the Staff Residential Area, the Housing Units, was a long trek around the lake, which was as calm as ever.

At the half-way point, however, you’re unable to discern whether the constant increase in your pace was due to wanting to put as much distance with those shameless—and likely drunk—peers of yours or because you wanted to lessen Fisher’s annoyance. It didn’t matter either way, though, because you were in a sprint about four-fifths of the way … and barreling through on a road leading to the artificially-made hill where the Instructors made their homes, all provided and cared for by the AEGIS.

They were cubic, rectangular in structure, not too big and not too small, a signal tower right on top of the hill and a pathway that divided into three separate cul-de-sacs, where you notice that Instructor—no, Commander Wray was resting on the railing of his balcony.

It was like a small community in itself, really. A collection of about thirty homes built on generational grass on an artificial hill.

Suburbia. This was what Sanza would call it, you think.
>>
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In the middle of the junction of the pathway, you rack your brain trying to remember which path it would be on. You’d only been to her place thrice over the course of your time here, delivering datapads and the like … and all three times she’d received you on her lawn to take whatever it was you had to do. The houses all looked the same, save for a few embellishments (Which made you able to tell which one was Savik’s easily: the spears were a dead giveaway). Decently-sized and cubic and virtually indistinguish—

You snap your fingers as you make your way on the path heading away from the hill, closer to the lake. It was stupid for you to forget that she lived closer to the slope going into the lake than the artificial hill; she lived at one of the lower levels instead of the one on the higher echelon. You don’t know how you’d forgotten that Fisher’s house actually did stand out: it was the only one with an extension of a balcony looking over the slope … which was, incidentally, the only house that was located where the slope towards the lake and the slight plane leading to the hill met.

You hurry over to the door, raising your fist to knock, an apology already playing in your mind when—

A young girl answers it, the door hissing open as she looks up at you with wide, albeit slightly bored-looking eyes, resting behind a pair of glasses. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen standard years … no, perhaps she was closer to fifteen. Clad in a formal dress with a red tie for effect, she looks you up and down, not saying a word.

You check the door number, this time fully recalling the details.

You didn’t have the wrong house.

At least, you believed you didn’t.

>‘I’m, uh … here to see Instructor Fisher? Morrigan … Fisher?’
>‘Who … are you?’
>‘Is your mother in?’ (Joke)
>'Sorry, I think I have the wrong house.' (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2425088
>‘I’m, uh … here to see Instructor Fisher? Morrigan … Fisher?
>>
>>2425088
>‘I’m, uh … here to see Instructor Fisher? Morrigan … Fisher?’
>>
>>2425088
>>‘I’m, uh … here to see Instructor Fisher? Morrigan … Fisher?’
>>
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‘I’m … here to see Instructor Fisher?’

She stares at you with those wide glass eyes.

Maybe you did have the wrong house.

‘Morrigan Fisher?’

‘O-Oh, sorry!’ she blurts, stubbing her toe against the slight-raised partition of the doorway and hissing. You stare at the girl, bewildered, as her stoic expression crumbles, replaced by a hopping, hissing mess steadying herself against the doorway, muttering curses. ‘I tend to space out, you know! Well no, not space out, I just tend to zone out! I mean, not all the time, but I kind of get antsy and nervous at times and I just turn into like a scarecrow and it takes my brain to boot up a bit and … how do you do?’

You raise an eyebrow as she offers her hand, moving to take it … only for the girl to topple over right into your arms. You let out a grunt as you feel the toppled young woman upon yourself, instantly wondering if there was something going around today, perhaps in the air, that seemed that rewrote the very stars that were your fate to saddle you with …

Awkward, jumpy young women.

She looks up at you, chin digging into your diaphragm and cheeks as red as a perfected tomato.

‘Sorry, sorry! Really bad sense of balance and—’

You clear your throat as you feel something grasp onto your hindquarters as if for dear life.

>‘Miss, I believe you are … grasping my buttocks. Both of them. Very firmly.’ (Play it cool)
>‘I do not appreciate being man-handled.’ (Intimidate, Serious)
>Push her silently back into place.
>Write-In
>>
>>2425158
>>Push her silently back into place.
>>
You push her silently back into place, feeling her fingers drag along the outside of your thigh as she wobbles back, like one those inflatable punching bags that went vertical no matter how many times you hit them. She was silent again … only what you can only discern could be from embarrassment. You don’t say a word, looking her up and down … right as she did the same. A light whine escapes her throat as she looks as though she was trying to discern whether to hiss the door shut in your face of make a bolt for it.

‘Uh … um …’

You raise an eyebrow.

She was an odd one.

>‘Do I … even have the right house?’
>‘You would be …’
>‘I must have the wrong house.’ (Attempt to leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2425190
>‘Do I … even have the right house?’
>>
>>2425190
>>‘You would be …’
>>
>>2425190
>You would be …’
>>
>>2425190
>>‘Do I … even have the right house?’
get the fuck outta here before we get discharged for sexual harrassment
>>
>>2425190
>‘Do I … even have the right house?’
>>
>>2425190
>>‘Do I … even have the right house?’
>>
‘Do I even have the right house?’

She instantly covers her mouth as something—as realization, perhaps—hits her. She quickly shuffles out of the way, gesturing you inside. You’re hesitant, however. The last thing you wanted was to walk in on some random Instructor’s dinner.

‘I’m sorry … yes, you do,’ she answers. ‘I’m Iona Fisher … Morrigan’s sister.’

You glance over the top of her head. Fisher didn’t appear to be there.

Wait … Fisher had a sibling?

>‘Pleased to meet you, Iona.’ (Extend a greeting, proper)
>‘Ah, is … Instructor Fisher in?’
>‘Is there something I’m … interrupting?’
>Step inside stoically
>Write-In
>>
>>2425251
>>‘Is there something I’m … interrupting?’
>>
>>2425251
>Pleased to meet you, Iona.’ (Extend a greeting, proper)
>>
>>2425251
>>‘Pleased to meet you, Iona.’ (Extend a greeting, proper)
>>
>>2425251
>‘Pleased to meet you, Iona.’ (Extend a greeting, proper)
and afterward,
>‘Ah, is … Instructor Fisher in?’
>>
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You straight the creases on your shirt, clearing your throat before extending a hand as you stepped inside the abode.

‘Pleased to meet you, Iona,’ you greet. She takes your hand, giving it a friendly shake as she moves in front of you, leading you towards what appeared to be the living space. ‘I’m not sure if your sister told you, but I’m—’

‘Oh, she told us you were arriving,’ Iona chirps over her shoulder. ‘Made us clean up and everything.’

‘Us?’

‘My sisters,’ she pauses, ‘well … her sisters. Our siblings. Us. Siblings, yes. That’s the word.’

You step into the living space. It was simple enough. Lamps, lights, stacks of pads on a low-set table and two crescent-shaped couches (Which, considering their shape, must have been an absolute chore to fit in), a worn poster of an AEGIS recruitment poster with a handsome, bright-eyed gentleman in front with a backdrop of Mechs and red and blue stripes that had been fashioned into a portrait and leaning against a wall instead of being hung. The floor was made of wood … or rather, a close imitation to it. No way that the Aegis would give wood away for a residence such as this. You peer around the unit, finding the kitchenette and counter taking up about a third of the remaining space, with a corner dedicated to what you can only assume to be Fisher’s workload, with two tables that you knew were made out of wood.

They probably cost more than the whole unit, or at the very least as much.

The place was neat, tidy … like her office back on the campus. To the side, hanging from the ceiling and blocking the view of the lake through the glass wall, was a screen, which was already streaming a feed. The stream played silently, muted, detailing news of the latest weather patterns and the engineering folk being interviewed on their latest maintenance run … while a smaller screen on an upper corner showed a popular cartoon series from your days back on the Colony Fleet, currently paused.

‘So, uh, make yourself comfortable,’ Iona declares, picking up a pair of shoes from the floor and depositing them into a white box by the wall. ‘She’s … freshening herself up upstairs. Kind of … expected for you to be here a little early, but … well, she also said she wasn’t holding her breath if you didn’t decide to show.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t worry, in fact, I think she sounded like she preferred that you didn’t show up!’

You’re not sure if that was meant to be condescending or … comforting.

‘Can I get you something? We still have Rathian Chicken Donuts and some OJ.’

>‘You have actual orange juice?’ (Surprise)
>‘So … you live here? Never seen you around.’ (Curious)
>‘Do you mind fetching your sister? I’m kind of running on a schedule myself.’ (Direct)
>‘I’m sorry to intrude. I meant to come a little earlier, but …’ (Courteous)
>Write-In
>>
>>2425323
>>‘Do you mind fetching your sister? I’m kind of running on a schedule myself.’ (Direct)
>>
>>2425323
>‘I’m sorry to intrude. I meant to come a little earlier, but …’ (Courteous)
>>
>>2425323
>‘I’m sorry to intrude. I meant to come a little earlier, but …’ (Courteous)
>>
>>2425323
>‘I’m sorry to intrude. I meant to come a little earlier, but …’ (Courteous)
>>
>>2425323
>>‘So … you live here? Never seen you around.’ (Curious)
>>
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‘I’m sorry if I was … interrupting anything. I meant to come a little earlier, but …’

‘It’s okay, I understand how it is. Graduation night, right? Party, party, party!’

She pulls out a rectangular bottle and a plastic container from the preservation unit, depositing them onto the table. Morrigan’s supposed sister—Iona, her name is Iona—gives a courteous smile as she picks it up and takes a glass from underneath the table, pouring the contents of the bottle into glass, pushing it slightly your way. You walk over, picking it up and—at her insistent nod—take a sip and …

Oh, it is strong. So very strong.

‘Are you all right?’

You give a quick nod, swallowing the contents and raising a hand, indicating that your well-being, while temporarily compromised by the unexpectedly powerful mix of sweet and sour, had recovered. As she stares at you in worry, you decide to shift the topic to something a little more light-hearted; something to take your mind off the excruciatingly natural flavors of orange juice.

Maybe it was just the hick in you, but you preferred artificial processing of food if this was the natural option.

‘I’m … fine, really.’

‘So, I saw Mr Savik walking down the pathway wearing a white robe and brandishing a spear … did he take part in the festivities too?’

‘Instructors … generally don’t partake in graduation,’ you manage, feeling an itch in your throat. This was natural OJ, all right. ‘Man, that’s … that’s strong, sorry. Can I have some water, please?’

The only natural vegetables you could actually take (well, enjoy—same thing) were cabbages, lettuce and carrots. Fruits … different beast, different tolerance. Most Spacers couldn’t take anything natural. Something about certain soils having certain minerals that didn’t appeal. Iona complies, of course, taking your drained glass and pouring some water into it.

‘You’re really a Spacer, aren’t you?’

You turn to look at her.

‘I-I’m sorry,’ she apologizes, straightening up. ‘Was that rude? I heard that some people use it as a slur …’

‘You’re good,’ you cough, downing the glass and clearing your throat. ‘It’s all about context … and I know calling me a Colony Fleet Inhabitant is a bit of mouthful, isn’t it?’

You frown as something … strikes you.

How did she know you were a Spacer? You hadn’t said a word about it at all.

‘I always wanted to meet one,’ she goes on, ‘but you’re the first one I’ve seen up close. Not really … different. Outside, of course, uh, of the, um … fashion trends?’

Fashion trends? What would she—oh.

She trails off, pushing the box of donuts towards you.
>>
>>2425431
>‘Why is everything commenting on me opting for a casual set of clothes?’
>‘So, you’re Fisher’s … sister? You’re not what I envisioned a relation of the Instructor would be.’
>‘I’ve never seen you around … are you looking to join the Aegis too?’
>‘So, she’s … upstairs?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2425433
>‘Why is everything commenting on me opting for a casual set of clothes?’
>>
>>2425433
>>‘I’ve never seen you around … are you looking to join the Aegis too?’
>>
>>2425433
>‘Why is everything commenting on me opting for a casual set of clothes?’
>>
>>2425433
>I’ve never seen you around … are you looking to join the Aegis too?’
>>
>>2425442
>>2425448

>>2425443
>>2425470

Coin flipped.
>>
‘I’ve never seen you around … are you looking to join the Aegis too?’

‘No, no, I … I don’t have the,’ she pauses, looking downward, ‘I don’t have the guts for it, unfortunately.’

She laughs; it’s rather forced, an attempt to assure herself more than it is one to alleviate any of the weight on the situation.

‘I … well, my sisters and I only moved here after Morrigan’s lengthening of service went through,’ she reveals, leaning on the counter. ‘We used to live in the Klendath System. I don’t know if you know this, but it’s one of the—’

>‘One of the systems with three or more settled planets. I know. Nice sun.’ (NAVIGATION NUT)
>Don’t interrupt
>>
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>>2425535
>>‘One of the systems with three or more settled planets. I know. Nice sun.’ (NAVIGATION NUT)
Is the Klendath system full of giant bugs?
>>
>>2425535
>One of the systems with three or more settled planets. I know. Nice sun.’ (NAVIGATION NUT)
>>
>>2425535
>Nav Nut
>>
>>2425535
>‘One of the systems with three or more settled planets. I know. Nice sun.’ (NAVIGATION NUT)
>>
>>2425538
Of cINFORMATION REDACTED. STAY WHERE YOU ARE, CITIZEN. A STORM UNIT WILL BE SENT OVER SHORTLY.
>>
>>2425535
>>‘One of the systems with three or more settled planets. I know. Nice sun.’ (NAVIGATION NUT)
>>
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‘One of the systems with three or more settled planets, I know,’ you finish up, giving a knowing nod. ‘Nice sun.’

‘You’ve been?’

‘Spacer,’ you indicate yourself, jabbing a thumb into your chest.’Klendath is one of the few systems that actually have outposts and depots that don’t try to fleece us for all we have, so we make stops there every … I think every year or so. Kind of like an annual trip, in a sense. Still, to be living in a system with that much life … population must have already broken a billion some time ago, huh?’

‘Not sure myself,’ she begins tentatively. ‘We stayed on one Weyland’s moons: Nimoy. I think it qualified for an Inner Sphere, but … I left before I was even interested in the topic. Organa II and Crusoe probably were, though. Never been to either, but Crusoe’s almost wholly-owned by that Trade House, isn’t it? I forgot its name, though …’

You can’t recall the name, either … or if it was even owned by a Trade House; or just had so many cities leased it might as well have been owned by one.

It probably was, being so populated and in possession of so many titanic cities.

‘Anyway, we only moved here when sis got her service lengthened,’ she sighed. ‘It was … kind of a rough period, but we managed to make it through. I didn’t want to leave Nimoy, but … well, I guess it was the logical thing, in a sense. Rhysode would be too far off for her to keep an eye on us and … Delta was only thirteen and I was only ten … it was hard, but we had to leave. I’ve made a lot of good friend here, though! The hardest thing about getting used to this place was the gravity … Nimoy was on one of the lower ended planets.’

‘It’s why babies aren’t allowed to leave until they’re of a certain age,’ you comment candidly. ‘The stress needs to actually be a gradual change. Muscle strength, muscle management … I think we can thank Imperial medicine for making it more manageable. Can you imagine how they did it thousands of years back?’

‘You sound just like my teacher.’

You throw her an apologetic glance. ‘Sorry, just … I guess I walked down memory lane a little too, then. Beautiful system, though, definitely. I thought that if I ever wanted to settle, it’d be on a system like Klendath. Cost of living, though … heard that even ten thousand crowns wouldn’t break it through in a day.’

‘Yeah,’ she wears a wary smile. ‘Dad used to complain about the economy being Trade House-dictated a lot.’

>‘Parents? They moved out here too, huh?’
>‘You said sisters … there’s more than just you and … Morrigan?’
>Keep quiet
>‘You’re a lot nicer than Fisher is. Hard to believe you’re related.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2425644
>>‘You said sisters … there’s more than just you and … Morrigan?’
>>
>>2425644
>You said sisters … there’s more than just you and … Morrigan?’
>>
>>2425644
>‘You said sisters … there’s more than just you and … Morrigan?’
>>
>>2425644
>You're a lot nicer than Fisher is. Hard to believe you're related.
>>
‘You said sisters,’ you indicate, prompting a nod from Iona. ‘There’s more than just you and her.’

‘Yup! There’s Morrigan, you know her … then there’s Delta, who’s just a little bit older than I am, and then … there’s me!’ She squeaks the last bit out, wearing a wide grin. ‘Morrigan’s always busy, running and triple-checking psych evaluations and Delta’s just about finished with school … she’ll be deciding what she wants to do, but well, Morrigan’s been kind of been pushing her to just make up her mind, so there’s a little’—she makes a gesture with a thumb and index finger—‘bit of tension there because she kinda wants to join the Aegis, but Morrigan’s also trying to discourage her from doing it and Delta thinks she’s being too protective and I’m about two years away from it myself and I just can’t handle it because Morrigan says she’s just looking out for us and—URGH!

Before you can do anything, she takes the bottle of orange juice, tilting her head back … and begins chugging it down. You watch with wonder as this small woman acts like a hamster would its water bottle, gulping loudly and messily … until there’s only about one-third of the orange juice left.

Oops,’ she squeaks … before letting out an almighty burp. If you cared, you didn’t show it.

You did.

Maybe you didn’t.

Maybe you did but not so much that it crossed over into significant territory to indicate you did care.

‘Sorry, I’m a little jumpy myself … exams are around the’—she lets out another burp—‘corner …

She pushes the box of chicken donuts towards you.

‘You can have those …’

>Write-In
>>
>>2425693
>Eat the donuts.
>Ask her if Fisher mentioned anything about why she wants us here.
>>
>>2425696
>Ask her if Fisher mentioned anything about why she wants us here.
Sounds like a good idea.

Maybe only have a couple donuts.
>>
>>2425667
>eat a donut
>ask about what she wants
>ask about what fisher wanted tonight
>>
>>2425693
>Write-In
>Eat the donuts
"Thanks, but besides the donuts could you say why Fisher wants me here for?"
>>
You decide to grab a donut.

It’s not bad.

‘Thanks,’ you convey thickly, getting a nod from current companion, who grabbed a donut and began munching herself. ‘Would you happen to know why Fisher—why Morrigan—wanted me to come over?’

Iona taps her chin, humming in thought. ‘No, she didn’t say anything … just that she wanted us to clean up before you came over. I couldn’t tell if she was in a good mood or a bad one over it, either … but I’ve never seen her so jumpy when it comes to one of her students, except for … what was her name again? She came over once, a few years back … can’t remember … but it felt like she and my sister knew each other even before we moved here.’

You have a good idea just who that might be.

You’re not sure if that was your place to say anything, though.

>‘How did you know I was a Spacer?’
>‘So, Delta … Morrigan and Iona … it’s just you three here, then? Where are your parents?’
>‘Sanza.’
>‘You’re … full of energy, aren’t you?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2425815
>>‘Sanza.’
>>
>>2425815
>‘How did you know I was a Spacer?’
>>
>>2425815
>How did you know I was a Spacer?
>>
>>2425815
>‘You’re … full of energy, aren’t you?’
>>
>>2425815
>‘How did you know I was a Spacer?
>>
>>2425815
>>‘So, Delta … Morrigan and Iona … it’s just you three here, then? Where are your parents?’
>>
>>2425815
>>‘How did you know I was a Spacer?’
>>
‘How did you know that I was a Spacer?’

Iona looks up from the table, swallowing her bite down (rather noisily, you might add).

‘She talks about you a lot.’

>‘Go on …’ (Curious)
>‘Oh.’ (Surprised)
>‘Of course she would.’ (Pessimistic)
>Just nod to communicate acknowledgment; say nothing
>Write-In
>>
>>2426779
>>Just nod to communicate acknowledgment; say nothing
>>
>>2426779
>>‘Go on …’ (Curious)
you have peaked my interest
>>
>>2426779
>‘Go on …’ (Curious)
>>
>>2426779
>‘Oh.’ (Surprised)
Doesn't seem like something we should deliberately pry about from anyone but the woman in question.
>>
>>2426779
>Go on …’ (Curious)
>>
>>2426779
>>‘Oh.’ (Surprised)
>>
That was … unexpected.

It would be foolish not to dig up a little bit more.

You tell yourself to try not to sound too eager.

‘Go on …’

Iona opens her mouth, before stopping herself. ‘Wait, are you the only Spacer in the Academy?’

‘To my knowledge,’ you answer with a nod.

Colony Fleet Inhabitants deciding they wanted more than just their place in the Colony (Outside of the hope of being an Administrator) were, in a word, rare. Love for the Empire was a laughable concept in of itself up there in those quarters. Not that you felt love, either, but after seeing the Navy run interference on the behalf of your people, despite having no reason to … and the occasional feed of Starjammer exploits and the consumption of their merchandise, you found that you had to—and there was no better word for it—give back. It was a sentiment that was more scarce than unmodified Habitats, however. On your fleet, only you had anything beyond a neutral opinion on Imperial affairs.

So it wasn’t surprising when you found out that the count of AEGIS prospects making their landing on Rossiu in the last twenty-five years (from Instructor Memphis’s own lips) had only made double-digits with your arrival.

Plus, even if they could change the record, you’d recognize soap and shampoo made for Colony Fleets anywhere.

You don’t know why they instantly turned into stink-pies upon contact with atmosphere.

‘Well, she said that you’d exceeded her expectatio—’

You feel something graze right by your ear … smacking Iona squarely in the face. Your eyes widen with surprise as you watch her stagger, nursing a red nose and catching the object … which appeared to be a bunny slipper. Iona lets out a low whine, recovering almost instantly and looking rather tearful as she glared at the perpetrator … because who else would she have been doing that towards?

MORRIGAN!

‘Tut-tut, girl. Upstairs, now.’

You turn around to see—

Whoa.

‘Whoa.’

There she was, the school guidance counselor, wearing … practically nothing. No, nothing would be a stretch. She still had some clothes on … or did bikinis count as one? A pair of high heels, her ever-present cap and—no, no, you had to focus. She was clad in a bikini. A bikini. It looked much too synthetic and featureless to count as bedroom wear. However, what it lacked in look, it made up in sheer bravado. You’d always known Fisher to be a rather … untouchable beauty (and you’d slit your throat before admitting it to her face), but now? Her pale skin pressed up against that tight, tight two-piece, accentuated by the heels? It takes all of your rationality and every single schematic that you knew by heart to … not go there.

‘But I—’

‘Up.’

Iona whines, but otherwise does as she’s told, moving around the counter and waving her goodbye before disappearing up the stairs.
>>
At least until she pops her head out around the corner.

‘Bye!’

‘Iona!’ Fisher barks out insistently, whirling around to face the peeking head of her sister.

‘Okay, okay!’

Fisher rubs her temples, tipping her had back slightly, grumbling under her breath.

‘Am I gonna have a—’

Iona!

‘Fine! Fine!’

She disappears a second time, and by the sound of rushed footsteps, you can only assume that this time, her departure from the immediate vicinity was … permanent. Fisher sighs, raising her head as she leaned on one leg, the faint sound of the weight adjustment and compensation fibers working their magic, probably discernible only to your person. You lean against the counter as your eyes meet hers. Her very unamused set of eyes.

‘You come into my house and first thing you do is interrogate my sister. Charming.’

>‘So, uh … do you talk about me?’ (Try your luck)
>‘Nice girl. A little … clumsy, but she has the best intentions.’ (Compliment)
>‘Is this a … bad time?’ (Refer to her state of dress)
>‘Sorry I’m late; I was a little … held up.’ (Apologize for your tardiness)
>‘You requested to see me, ma’am?’ (Professional, Direct)
>Write-In
>>
>>2426955
>>‘You requested to see me, ma’am?’ (Professional, Direct)
>>
>>2426955
>>‘You requested to see me, ma’am?’ (Professional, Direct)
>>
>>2426955
>‘Sorry I’m late; I was a little … held up.’ (Apologize for your tardiness)
>>
>>2426955
>‘You requested to see me, ma’am?’ (Professional, Direct)
>>
>>2426955
>Sorry I’m late; I was a little … held up.’ (Apologize for your tardiness)
>>
>>2426955
>>‘Nice girl. A little … clumsy, but she has the best intentions.’ (Compliment)
>>‘Sorry I’m late; I was a little … held up.’ (Apologize for your tardiness)
>>‘Is this a … bad time?’ (Refer to her state of dress)
>>
>>2426955
>Write-In
>'I was offered an invitation for tea. I was not expecting to be served a full course of cheesecake.' (Snarky)
>>
>>2426970
bruh, one choice
if you want to use multiple choices
combo them into a single write in
>>
One of the first things that you were taught in your time as a cadet was that if you didn’t know what to do, it helped to at least be calm, professional … and to conduct yourself with a manner befitting a member of the AEGIS, no matter what capacity you operated in. So, of course, being a creature that had been pruned to the shape, you fall back the only way you can.

You adopt a rigid salute, throwing one out and hope for the best.

‘You requested to see me, ma’am?’

Fisher only raises an eyebrow at your … formal intonation.

Really?

>Write-In
>>
>>2427013
>sorry maam, force of habit
>>
>>2427013
>'I was invited for tea... I wasn't expecting a full course of cheesecake."
>>
>>2427013
>Sorry, just wasn't sure how to go about this. What with a bit of tardiness on my part, the bikini, and the fact you apparently talk about me a lot.
>>
>>2427014
Supporting
>>
>>2427029
this
>>
>>2427029
Eh sure. Support.
>>
You let your shoulders droop, sighing.

‘Sorry,’ you let out, rubbing the back of your neck as you feel the heat spreading from your neck to your cheeks. ‘I think I’m just feeling a little bit overwhelmed, between the party, you … and that you—wait, you do talk about me? I didn’t just mishear and tow in a branch that didn’t have any leaves on it, right?’

‘I do talk about you,’ she admits, casually, sauntering past you to pick up the orange juice container before placing it back inside the conservation unit. ‘You’re implying that you’re not interesting enough a topic to bring up at a dinner table? Spacer thinking that everything he can give is more than what the average member of the Aegis can. Combating doubts, actually putting the hours in and finding despair and motivation around every corner? It’s compelling stuff.’

You’re not sure if she was being sarcastic, playful or genuine.

You could never tell with Fisher.

‘I need to blow some steam off too, to borrow an old term,’ she follows up, bending over … and inadvertently giving you a view as to why the young men—and some women—of the Academy found her an objective of desire. That is, until her demeanor destroyed all semblance of attraction. ‘Just so happens taking your load off me seems to serve me best.’

She snaps back into a stand, smirking in your direction, a bottle of wine with foreign characters in her hand.

‘How’s your alcohol tolerance?’

>‘Non-existent.’
>‘I don’t mind.’
>‘You’re asking me that question after trying to prescribe me a bottle every weekend in second year?’
>‘Can I … ask why you’re, uh … barely in that bikini first?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2427123
>>‘I don’t mind.’
>>
>>2427123
>‘I don’t mind.’
>>
>>2427123
>‘I don’t mind.’
>>
>>2427123
>‘Can I … ask why you’re, uh … barely in that bikini first?’
>>
>>2427123
>>‘Can I … ask why you’re, uh … barely in that bikini first?’
>>
‘I don’t mind.’

As soon as the words leave your mouth, she bends over again, giving you a more direct view of her very nice … cabinets. You wonder how you hadn’t noticed those cabinets before, coming in here. They were very nice. Pale, a little off-color you suppose, compared to the rest of the surroundings with a very distinct volume … of cutlery. She pulls out two glasses, kicking the bottom cabinet close, before making her way towards your seated self … before pointing her head to something behind you. She moves around the counter, her heels lightly clacking against the pseudo-wooden floor, over to the glass partition, whistling so that the screen moved out of the way, folding up towards the ceiling. A light ringing sound hits your ears as you realize that view was actually a glass partition, a sliding door, humming itself out of her way and, allowing the cool air inside.

You find the hairs on your neck rising … but not at the cold.

Fisher throws her hat onto the chair, the breeze making her hair do a slight dance. The wind must have picked up since you’d arrived … but there didn’t appear to be any clouds in the sky. She stands there, one step onto what you understand to be an extended balcony, her thighs slightly rotated along with the minor turn of her torso to face you, an inviting, genuine … and altogether sultry smile playing upon her lips, the gatekeeper to your dreams.

‘Care for a moonlight sip?’

>‘Inside. Inside’s good.’
>‘I … sure.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2427171
>>‘I … sure.’
>>
>>2427171
>>‘I … sure.’
>>
>>2427171
>>‘I … sure.’
>>
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The warning klaxons going off in your brain tell you that you were probably hooked up to a machine that gave you your innermost desires. Although, if you ever had the chance to meet with your innermost desires, you’d give them a stern talking to because you’d never thought of Fisher in a sexual capacity … more than twice. Maybe twice and a half … and considering how much of a dunce you were at romance, the setting was just much too convenient for you to relax into. However, whatever it was, simulation or no … Fisher had offered a kindness and a great view. It would be unbecoming as a member of the AEGIS to turn her down after she looked like she’d bared herself out for your benefit.

If it is, as such, an illusion, you suppose the only thing you can actually do is … enjoy yourself for as long as it lasts.

‘I, I mean … sure.’ You clear your throat, getting to your feet and following her onto the balcony overlooking the still lake.

Fisher drags a table to the middle of the balcony, setting the bottle and gesturing towards a deck chair lying by the railing. Getting the message, you move to pick it up, setting it as she does: beside the small table where the bottle of wine and the two empty glasses had been set. With the arrangement of the furniture and the chairs, Fisher picks a glass and the bottle up, depositing the contents and handing it over to you.

‘Thank you.’

She nods, pouring the contents for her own glass … before taking a seat in the chair over, taking a large gulp that indicated that Iona and Fisher were definitely siblings after all. She lets out a contented, if slightly strained, sound, shifting and sighing in her chair as she lifts the glass of wine as if in toast to the sky. It bubbles slightly, a deep blue that seems to light up with the touch of the light of Rhysode’s moons.

You follow through with her action, taking a gentle sip and … finding a burning sensation at the back of your throat that you’re not sure made it better … or worse. The taste of it was basic, sweet … but that kick right at the end tells a more complicated story to indulging in high society beverage alone. Somehow, you’re able to suppress it … only to see your former Guidance Counselor still in her previous pose, her glass touching the lips of the wind.

‘Been saving this since I got here,’ she reveals, wearing a defeated smile. ‘Thought I’d be old and grey by the time I cracked it open.’

‘What were you saving it for?’

She turns to face you, a look of amusement on her face.

‘What do you think?’

>Write-In
>>
>>2427244
Hell if I know.
>>
>>2427244
>if some one passed the Toph-Lathu or chose to do what i did?
>or you've taken a liking to me
these are the 2 things i can think of
>>
>>2427258
why not both at the same time
>>
>>2427283
meant to put them in one line
i didnt
>>
>>2427244
"To celebrate a student you're actually going to miss."

Let's aim for the dominant emotion rather than the implied mechanics.
>>
break time lads
>>
>>2427258
I'll support
>>
>>2427299
Thanks for getting into the spirit of things and actually putting an effort into the RP part of it. I really appreciate that you put this through. Unfortunately ...

>>2427258
>>2427283
>>2427407
Has more votes and I'm going to have to find a way to make this sound right without it being somehow power-gaming.
>>
>>2427429
I'll throw in a vote for >>2427299
>>
>>2427299
If it's not too late, I'll second this as well. It seems far more natural a follow-up.
>>
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What did you think?

You didn’t have a clue as to why she’d invited you over … never mind why she was wearing a bikini and reclining against a deck chair with a glass of old wine with you as her choice of company. The whole scene was akin to the prelude to a badly-written romantic fantasy, so what you did come back to was the hypothesis that you were strapped to a dream machine and were being fed layers of lies to blurt out some sort of code or location to a structure posing as an ideal woman.

However, that was pretty convincingly-mitigated by the fact that you’d turned down a nude and willing young woman and had downed a glass of naturally-made orange juice which you found rather … lacking, to say the least.

You decide to forego the hypothesis of it being a fantasy and go straight logical … which for some reason, brought you to your conversation with Wray—Commander Wray.

He knew that you were meeting up with her.

No, he had heard that. Fisher didn’t seem like the type who would tell the blab to just someone without relative import to the situation … and talking with someone that didn’t have anything to do with your encounter would raise a few eyebrows, never mind Commander Wray’s. Except, of course, the fact that in this case … it didn’t. So you were able to deduce that your former Instructor had at least an inkling or something to do with this arrangement, but he’d never been fond of you, so …

It was a chance you were willing to take.

‘Does it have to do with the Toph-Lathu scenario?’

She groans, sinking into her chair with a whimper as you hear the faint sound of her strands and mechanical routines moving in line with her movements, a whir almost audible to the inattentive as she raises her right hand, as if to gesture towards or for something … before bringing it down again.

Silence breaks as you observe her form, staring absently at the night sky. You wonder if you had said something stupid … nonsensical and off-topic, perhaps?

‘You know how many people have even been able to grasp what that scenario is meant to draw out of people?’ she lets out, a light, yet sardonic laugh in her voice. ‘Desperation … resource management … tactical acumen … I’ve been through archives and there have been so many people trying to put their own thoughts on what the test is for and …’

She places her glass on the table, getting up from her chair and stretching an arm—her only flesh and blood appendage—overhead, right in the middle of your sights.

‘You’re … one of those that found the answer.’

You blink, surprise.

‘Imagine that … citizens and citizens filed together,’ she continues in a tired tone, somehow still managing to sound amused. ‘The first one to get it right since the Emperor’s holo did a jiggle-dance, is someone from a Colony Fleet.’
>>
She turns to face you, wearing a smirk that's somewhere between fondness and the realization of the sense of—

'Ironic,' she sighs, slumping over slight. 'It's ironic.'

>'Would that happen to be the reason that you're barely wearing the bikini, too?' (Inquire further)
>'Am I suppose to be insulted by that?' (Puzzled, Amused)
>'So this ... is about the Toph-Lathu scenario then?' (You lost me)
>Write-In
>>
>>2427501
>>'Would that happen to be the reason that you're barely wearing the bikini, too?' (Inquire further)
>>
>>2427501
>'Would that happen to be the reason that you're barely wearing the bikini, too?' (Inquire further)
>>
>>2427501
>'Am I suppose to be insulted by that?' (Puzzled, Amused)
It isn't a matter of patriotism; it's a matter of character. In that regard, those who find the answer we did could come from anywhere.

And besides, just because the answer we found was the intended one doesn't mean it's necessarily 'correct'.
>>
You tilt your head, trying to digest it as well as you can. Setting your glass onto the table, you lean forward, taking it all, but … well, one sentence at a time. You manage to get up to the part that there was confirmation that Wray—Commander Wray—and Fisher had communicated the results of your performance for the scenario. You’re not able to discern why they’d communicated about it in the first place, though: one Instructor hadn’t so much as cracked a smile in your direction in four years and the Guidance Counselor skirted the line of professionalism one time too many and had, thus far, gotten away with it.

Leading into that would be secondary, though. For now …

‘So … that’d be the reason that you’re … barely wearing that … bikini?

She sighs, pulling one of the straps. ‘I don’t own many and didn’t bother to do any shopping. This old thing’s been in my drawer since I finished schooling on Nimoy. Believe me, it’s exactly as uncomfortable on me as it looks to you.’

Perhaps it was because your brain had a particularly bad tolerance to the wine, but …

‘So, the risque factor is related to my success with the scenario.’

To your surprise, she lets out a heavy sigh. ‘No, this … this is as far as I was willing to go with it.’

She wears a defeated, humorless smirk, giving the middle strap a gentle tug.

‘Now that I’m actually wearing it, though …’

Fisher scowls, staring down her breasts and giving it a few more tugs.

>Write-In
>>
>>2427541
You like nice in it, really suits you
>>
>>2427541
I appreciate it, but if you're that uncomfortable with it, I don't mind waiting for you to put something else on.
>>
>>2427541
>Wait, did you lose a bet? To Commander Wray?
>>
>>2427541
Supporting >>2427559
>>
>>2427559
this
>>
You get to your feet, rubbing the back of your neck and casting a wary gaze onto you one time former Instructor, who returns it in kind with an annoyed look of her own … before turning her attention back to her bikini, which, as you had noted constantly since her descent the upstairs floor. As aesthetically pleasing as it seemed, it still felt quite odd that she’d go through all this trouble out of the kindness of her heart.

‘Did you … lose a bet or something? To Commander Wray?’

Fisher ceases tugging onto the strap, her shoulders slumping as she placed both her hands on her hips.

‘It’s … not to you, specifically. I mean … it’s not to you, really.’

Her hesitant expression was … enchanting.

Not that you’d ever tell her.

‘Hey.’

You’re shaken from your brief contemplation by the gentle tone of her voice.

‘This is a little strange, but … do you really want to hear the story?’

>‘You’ve listened to my neuroses for four years with no pay incentive. I guess I’m willing to hear it out.’
>‘I think that I’m good with the wine and the company, thanks.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2427595
>‘You’ve listened to my neuroses for four years with no pay incentive. I guess I’m willing to hear it out.’
>>
>>2427595
>‘You’ve listened to my neuroses for four years with no pay incentive. I guess I’m willing to hear it out.’
>>
>>2427595
>‘You’ve listened to my neuroses for four years with no pay incentive. I guess I’m willing to hear it out.’
>>
>>2427595
>>‘You’ve listened to my neuroses for four years with no pay incentive. I guess I’m willing to hear it out.’
>>
>>2427595
>‘You’ve listened to my neuroses for four years with no pay incentive. I guess I’m willing to hear it out.’
>>
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‘You’ve listened to my neuroses for four years with no pay incentive,’ you joke, leaning against the railing. ‘I’d be an ass if I wasn’t willing to hear you out for a change.’

Fisher gives a small, sarcastic laugh, but takes her place beside you, leaning against the railing.

‘I … didn’t believe that anyone could achieve the point of the Toph-Lathu scenario during my tenure,’ she confesses. ‘In fact, I believed that … what the Empire, what the Aegis imparted into the cadets into the wannabe Mech celebrities was insufficient for them to recognize the true value. I was just like you once … maybe a little worse, a little better, definitely more good-looking. I was … obsessed with finding out what I did wrong with the Toph-Lathu scenario.’

She pauses.

‘No, it wasn’t what I did wrong … if it was as black and white as that the purpose would’ve been found out much too easily, wouldn’t it? The passing grade was meant to be bait: that it was about the kills, that they weren’t doing anything wrong … that they were on the right track but came up short. I think I scored … no, I scored the fifth highest in that year. I went through the kill rates, the time logs … and I couldn’t get it. All up until an hour I was about to launch from Kerensky when I met with Instructor Wray. Darton Wray … man, myth, legend, maverick.’

That was a new one.

‘The only thing he told me was that if I couldn’t find the grade for excellence in the scenario … that I’d be able to find it out there.’

She raises her synthetic arm.

‘Aegis … it’s an old word … it’s something that protects. I lost both my legs and an arm … and lying there bleeding to death, I realize that this was what it was about. That I was deeming myself expendable not just for the Empire, not for missions … and not for a hall full of doddering blowhards looking to jostle each other out of their seats.’

You stare at her, incredulous.

‘I am a shield to the Empire, a shield to its people … and that if I have to choose anything, it has to be them,’ she continues, ‘it’s always been about them.’

‘Fisher …’

‘Wray picked me up, argued my case for a position here on Rhysode and … I think the day before you came into my office I had a talk with him, over the same thing: that there would be no one in my tenure as Guidance Counselor that’d even come close to breaking what it meant in their four years. There were close shaves, of course … didn’t expect Maldante to miss it entirely, but no … and then you came along.’

‘Me?’

She chuckles.

‘I told him that it would be impossible … that I would strip naked and gave them the most expensive wine I could afford with six standard months of salary if there ever would be one.’

Fisher runs a hand through her hair, a troubled expression appearing upon her features.
>>
‘A Spacer getting it, though … I think I’ll need a recording from security on the moment you made the call to hold back the forces on the city.’

>‘Naked, huh?’
>‘Well, thanks for the wine, then. I’ll take my leave.’ (Leave)
>‘Do you really enjoy just … dancing around people like that?’ (Hurt)
>‘Why was it so hard to expect?’ (Optimistic)
>Write-In
>>
>>2427696
>Why was it so hard to expect?’ (Optimistic)
>>
>>2427696
>You don't look naked to me
>>
>>2427696
>‘Why was it so hard to expect?’ (Optimistic)
>>
>>2427696
>>‘Why was it so hard to expect?’ (Optimistic)
>>
>>2427696
>‘Why was it so hard to expect?’ (Optimistic)
>>
>>2427696
>‘Why was it so hard to expect?’ (Optimistic)
>>
You frown, finding the ‘Why was it so hard to expect?’

‘Order,’ she begins, her voice firm but somehow strained, ‘arrangement and the line between the allowed and the forbidden are the only definitions that we’ve operated by. We’re taught what to do, what we can and what we can’t … what we won’t and what we will do. How many of your fellow cadets can you put up to that standard? How many would you really trust to make that call and realize that … that a bunch of people that fear you just as much as they need you are who you’re beholden to more than a military op or a routine pacification? The Aegis doesn’t even try to contest that; loyalty, duty … honor and glory.’

Despite the restoration of control, the evenness of her voice, you can’t help but think that there’s some bitterness there.

‘I don’t think that at all.’

Now it was her turn to be incredulous.

‘I came here to make a difference … to do good. If an idiot of a hick like me can get that, better men will, sooner or later.’

For the first time since you’d met her, you … had successfully rendered her speechless. It was quite a sight, really, seeing her wide-eyed, the sound of a faded groan coming out from the back of her mouth and her temple shifting between a relaxed smoothness and the onset of wrinkles … but for some reason, you couldn’t revel in it as you would have a few hours prior.

‘As long as we can protect the people we care about … who we’re beholden to, we’ll find our answers. Not everything’s based on just scoring a certain threshold, right?’

‘When did you get so mature about these things?’ she mutters quietly.

>Write-In
>>
>>2427983
>I don't think it's a matter of maturity, just trying your best to do the right thing should be common sense right?
>>
>>2427983
>'I've always thought this way, since before I arrived. It's why I chose to come here in the first place. It's just taken this long for the rest of me to catch up and be capable enough to follow suit with my actions. Still catching up, for that matter.'
>>
>>2428005
Supporting this.
>>
>>2428005
Thirding
>>
>>2427429
Ha, senpai noticed me. Let's just say I've learned some shit since your Kancolle quest.

>>2428005
I do like this answer.

NOW PEOPLE, REMEMBER WE WANT TO FUCK HER. Please don't be the losers we are in real life.
>>
>>2427983
>>2428005
I'll back this.

>>2428211
I'll have you know I've had a conversation with my mom AND sister. How about that, huh? Not a loser now, am I?
>>
I'll be running a session after my prayers: that okay with you?
>>
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>>2429691
The best I can do is 1 prayer and 2 Hallelujahs.
>>
>>2429691
Sounds cool. I'll get to attend a couple hours.
>>
>>2428211
>REMEMBER WE WANT TO FUCK HER
Please don't decide for me, anon. She's the worst waifu candidate so far.
>>
>>2429967
This isn't a time of waifuing. This is the time we cement a good memory and make an illogical decision. At least /try/ to RP.

Personally, I'd waifu the fuck out of Rosaria so far.
>>
‘I’ve always thought about it this way … even before I landed here; I think I’ve told you that I’ve wanted to make a difference enough times for you to turn in a bonus based on the sheer volume.’

She laughs, burying the bottom half of her head in her arms.

‘What?’

‘You came into my office asking about career pathways in the case you didn’t make the shortlist,’ she looks up, smiling coyly. ‘I remember that because you were somehow able to track a path back through Administrative Affairs and somehow joining up with the Navy as a backdoor back into the Aegis. That was also the fifth session in four standard months that you came to me for advice.’

‘Your job does detail Guidance Counselor, ma’am,’ you answer, albeit a little tightly. You remember that day too: you think it must have been the straw that broke the back of a by-the-book approach to your worries. ‘And just because I thought about it, doesn’t mean I could do it. Doesn’t mean I was meant for it.’

Fisher eyes you

‘So,’ she clears her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her neck. ‘are you ready to give me a real reason as to why you decided to divert from pushing through a weighted year as a mech warrior?’

‘I already told you, in the end I just wanted to serve.’

‘I want to hear it again, then.’

You turn around to face her fully, meeting her focused, inquisitive eyes.

>‘I was … intimidated. Gerard, Lucion, Emilio … even Murasame. How am I supposed to stand side by side with the best if the best are that far ahead?’ (Doubt)
>‘I was scared. It didn’t hit me until the end of my third year, but … I realized that actually having someone’s life in your hands? That’s …’ (Realization of the meaning of being a Soldier, a Leader)
>‘It’s just a grim acceptance of what you can and can’t do.’ (Practical)
>‘I didn’t want to face the truth that all I was was another footnote. It’s arrogant, but …’ (Prideful)
>‘None of your business.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2430171
>>‘I was … intimidated. Gerard, Lucion, Emilio … even Murasame. How am I supposed to stand side by side with the best if the best are that far ahead?’ (Doubt)
>>
>>2430171
>>‘I was scared. It didn’t hit me until the end of my third year, but … I realized that actually having someone’s life in your hands? That’s …’ (Realization of the meaning of being a Soldier, a Leader)
>>
>>2430171
>>‘I was … intimidated. Gerard, Lucion, Emilio … even Murasame. How am I supposed to stand side by side with the best if the best are that far ahead?’ (Doubt)
>>
>>2430171
>‘I was … intimidated. Gerard, Lucion, Emilio … even Murasame. How am I supposed to stand side by side with the best if the best are that far ahead?’ (Doubt)
>>
>>2430171
>‘I was scared. It didn’t hit me until the end of my third year, but … I realized that actually having someone’s life in your hands? That’s …’ (Realization of the meaning of being a Soldier, a Leader)

We can't be the guy who sacrifices for the mission, its not in us.
>>
It was hard to admit, even now. It was easy to go along with the joke of incompetency, to play it off, to brush it off almost became second nature. It wasn’t a lie: you had joined to serve, and you’d be glad to do so under any capacity, even if it meant sharing a stock count timetable delivering Two-Stage Process Ether to a Squadron that didn’t even care to know your name … but you actually did hope, once upon a time, to be fighting out on the line instead of being behind the scenes. Arrogance: that was what you had called it once upon a time; pride, selfishness, losing sight of the main goal, the main purpose as to why you would be here in the first place. You wanted to serve; that and that alone.

Except when you wondered what it would be like standing out there.

Being more than what you were … what you are.

‘I was intimidated,’ you admit with a small voice, remembering your first time in a Mech: invincible, ready to take on the galaxy’s biggest and baddest … and then you saw them. ‘Gerard, Lucion, Emilio … even Murasame’—Fisher gives a slight chuckle at that—‘himself … how was I supposed to stand side by side with the best if the best were that far ahead already? If the galaxy was that far ahead … if everyone was already six, seven steps ahead, what could I do?’

‘Catch up.’

‘Huh?’

‘You do what you’ve done the last four years,’ she offers, her face playfully condescending. ‘Why are you telling me this like you’re not even doing it right now?’

‘What?’

‘Since I’ve met you … you’ve taken two, three steps for every one they have. When you couldn’t get past that rope catch, you just worked a little harder, right? So … it’s a stupid statement, really. You’ve been keeping pace and catching up all your time here: why does it have to stop just because you got scared one time?’

‘But …’

‘You have less reason to be here than most can even manage; you’re the one cadet, the one factor that no one would have even considered a failure because stepping in, by everyone’s standard, by the Empire’s standard … you didn’t belong anyway,’ she goes on, distant, steady … and with words weighted by conviction. Even if you backed out now and took that eighteen-month offer, all you’d get was someone just saying it was expected of you … but!

She leans back again, letting out a satisfied huff.

‘For you, the hurdles haven’t changed … the world hasn’t, either, has it? Worse? Better?’ Fisher snorts. ‘You’re only making hard on yourself, you fool.’

‘F-Fool?’

Your scenario hasn’t changed at all … you’ve had to claw through the last four years: the game hasn’t changed. You’re still fighting for those inches, for every breath … so that—’

She raises a finger to the tip of your chin.

‘—is an answer I cannot accept.’
>>
>>2430336
>'Even if you say that, I'm kinda stuck in Logistics right now anyway.'
>'Ever the Guidance Counselor, huh?'
>'When did you turn into the Optimist?'
>Turn away from her
>Write-In
>>
>>2430336
>>'Even if you say that, I'm kinda stuck in Logistics right now anyway.'
>>
>>2430338
>>'Ever the Guidance Counselor, huh?'
>>
>>2430343
>>2430347
Flipping a coin. Coin flipped.
>>
You place a gentle grip around her hand, drawing her finger away from your chin with a defeated, albeit satisfied, smile.

‘Ever the Guidance Counselor, huh?

She gives away to a brief chortle, her artificial fingers enclosing around your thumb. ‘Just because you’re not going to be walking into my office anymore doesn’t mean I can’t give you advice. Besides … I had a good student to show me what it meant to be a teacher, too.’

Her grip is lazy, barely hanging on. Enough to pull at you … but not so hard as it is to not allow you the opportunity, nor the requirement of considerable strength. The tips of her fingers enclose around your thumb, their artificial texture dragging upon your skin. It’s not so gentle that you’d call it a caress, but …

You don’t know what else you’d call it.

>‘Naked, huh?’ (Divert)
>‘Right.’ (Relinquish your hold as well as hers)
>‘So …’ (Uncertain)
>‘Right, so … thanks for the wine. I should go.’ (Leave)
>Write-In*

*Honestly encouraging write-ins here, because the spectrum of possibilities was just too wide for me to properly set-up; I just put in the raw basics here.
>>
>>2430396
>‘Right, so … thanks for the wine. I should go.’ (Leave)
>>
>>2430396
>>‘Naked, huh?’ (Divert)
>so, your sister seems to be a lot different from what i would imagine a sibling of yours to be
>>
>>2430402
>leaving hot sensei
the fucks wrong with you?
>>
>>2430396
I'd either go with
>"So... what would you advise me to do now?"
or
>"Would you like to make another bet? That before you're gone from here, you'll meet more students, far better than I was."
>>
>>2430396
Ah screw it. I like to think of myself as less of a social potato as some people here, but that's like saying 1 pound of shit stinks less than 2 pounds.

>Perhaps, we should have some final revision? (Prod her with a proposition)

Eyebrow wraggling completely optional.
>>
>>2430411
i also would like to think that of myself
but its also 6 am here and i need to sleep
>>
>>2430396
>>‘So …’ (Uncertain)
>>
>>2430396
So... what would you advise me to do now?"
I'll go with this
>>
‘Perhaps you’d be willing to receive some last minute … tips?

The both of you stare at each other … before bursting out laughing. It wasn’t even a good joke, yet … here you both were, holding on to one another, overrun by amusement: you with a hand on her shoulder and she leaning against you with a hand squarely on your chest.

Terrible.

It was just terrible.

‘That was …’

‘That was a little bit of a mood killer, yes.’

The both of you are still shaking, light rumbles of amusement still rippling through your throats. You're not sure if you're uncomfortable or content with the development.

One bad joke.

Two immature adults who should really know better. That was a joke in itself, now that you think about it.

>‘Thank you for being my teacher.’ (Sincere)
>‘So what happens now, ma’am?’ (Even the situation out, take a step back)
>‘I should … go.’ (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2431832
>>‘Thank you for being my teacher.’ (Sincere)
>>
>>2431832
>‘Thank you for being my teacher.’ (Sincere)
>>
>>2431832
>‘Thank you for being my teacher.’ (Sincere)
>>
>>2431832
>‘Thank you for being my teacher.’ (Sincere)
>>
‘Thank you for being my teacher,’ you declare sincerely.

‘You’re welcome,’ she returns smugly, letting out a small huff and wearing a light smirk as her eyes close … and so does the distance, if only a little. There is an uncertainty to her action; Fisher’s a lot more … jumpy, pro-active even, compared to how you had usually known her to be.

You can feel her breasts pressing against yours. She’s not that much shorter than you. Perhaps a fifth of a foot at best outside of her heels and …

Just what did you expect of yourself, standing here under a sky once alien turned home?

>Risk it all and flip a romantic switch you never knew you had
>Back away because on the surface you look calm and ready, but your knees are weak and your arms are heavy
>Bring up Rosaria
>Bring up Sanza
>Write-In
>>
>>2431920
>>Risk it all and flip a romantic switch you never knew you had
>>
>>2431920
>>Risk it all and flip a romantic switch you never knew you had
>>
>>2431920
>Risk it all and flip a romantic switch you never knew you had
>>
>>2431920
>Risk it all and seize everything you ever wanted, in one moment
You only get one shot. Do not miss your chance to blow - this opportunity comes once in a lifetime.

Yo.

But the mood does feel appropriate. Though, I wonder what's going through Fisher's head at this moment?
>>
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You go for broke, lowering your head, slow—

Stop.

Ah, you definitely knew it’d be a little too good to be true. All those talks, all that teasing … how naive were you to dream that you’d actually achieved something worth taking with you to the abyss? Of course Fisher wouldn’t look at you in that way. It was stupid. Sharing a joke, banter, some light ribbing over a couch and pouring out your soul to her and taking her heartfelt notions? When was that even a point? When had that ever been anything that any woman wanted in a man? This wasn’t some … romance. Fisher probably had her eye out on someone rigid, cruel and definitely less crude or similar in origin to you at all. There was nothing hidden from her: she knew you as that awkward fat teenager with an uncertain step and that was all that it would be to her, it would seem.

‘Don’t.’

You heard her the first time.

Letting out a sigh, you begin coming up with an apology. Something that detailed that your hormones had kicked in after years of helping you with weight loss and muscle growth to address a more primal need sounded nice. Maybe even a little sprinkle about wishing her well with her—

You can feel her breath on your lips.

It’s warm, wet.

Her eyes are uncertain, desperate … dangerous.

‘Don’t do something you … you can’t take back.’

>‘I like you, Morrigan.’ (Confess)
>‘Y-Yeah …’ (Turn away)
>Write-In
>>
>>2432132
>>‘I like you, Morrigan.’ (Confess)
>>
>>2432132
>‘I like you, Morrigan.’ (Confess)
>>
>>2432132
>Write-In
>'And you? Are you following your own advice?' (Turn it back on her)
>>
>>2432132
>‘I like you, Morrigan.’ (Confess)

I'M AN IDIOT AND ITS OKAY
>>
‘I like you, Morrigan.’

She makes a sound akin to a dying toad, the air seeping out of its throat in its last, death-grasped croak. Despite the weight upon the situation, you can’t help but feel a little offended as the culmination, the summation of the last four years of actually developing an appreciation for the support system of your Guidance Counselor—not to mention your own emotions spilling beyond the standard fondness, the standard professional connection and right into personal territory—you thought that she’d at least have the consideration to … not look at you as though you’d just suggested putting dressing and mayonnaise into an Ether cell.

Fisher lets out a sigh, looking off to the side, a wry, disappointed grin morphing from the flat look she wore before.

‘That has to be the most generic confession I’ve ever heard.’

You feel your ears heat up as the words touch them.

‘I’m … I’m working on it, all right! Besides, I’d … rather go the simple route than give you a chance to pick apart everything that I have to say!’

She wears a smirk again.

‘What? You don’t trust me with your words? Even after four years and actually asking me if you thought that the standard formal wear made your butt look big?’

That was three years ago.

‘You’re only proving my point, ma’am.’

‘I would’ve gone into a thousand-word long soliloquy over my rocking curves and my perfect hair. You could go the extra mile, tell me how the healthy plump of my breasts makes you just quake with anticipation with every word that live my lips, or how you can’t help but long for me on those arduous exam-filled stretches …’

You can’t help but roll your eyes now.

And I like you too, soldier.

There she was again, turning everything on its head.

Morrigan throws up a grin: triumphant, shy, uncertain … expectant.

>Write-In
>>
>>2433107
>Kiss the girl
>>
>>2433107
>>Write-In

words dont matter now, only action. so just straight up kiss her hard and deep
kiss her, kiss her you fool!
>>
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>>2433107
>Do it
>>
>>2433107
>kiss her you fool
>>
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>>2433107
Kiss her. And make sure to cup her chin, make sure she can't pull away.
>>
You lean in, slowly, raising a hand to her chin, gently caressing the faint scar with your index finger as you tilt your head, engulfing her mouth with your own. Her fingers lace themselves between your locks of hair, her considerable—and surprising amount of—strength making it slightly harder for you to keep your balance as you try to keep the both of you (but mostly you) from tipping over. The kiss is clumsy, wet, it’s more like you’re trying suckle and taste jell-o without biting into it, and she isn’t any different with you. Fisher’s scent is upon you. Overpowering but not intoxicating. You absently wonder if you’re being too rough or too gentle, your motions are riddled with uncertainty and hesitation, but not quite enough that you were discouraged. The light, wet noise of parting, popping lips has her separating for breath … to which you follow, not willing to seem inconsiderate to her own needs.

‘Sloppy,’ she comments, although you can tell that it’s one borne out of her usual smugness than any real criticism, ‘but I think that that’s just going to be another think that we’re going to have to work on.’

‘Oh?’ You cock an interested eyebrow, more than willing to meet the challenge presented that flash of amusement. ‘And why would that be?’

‘I told you, didn’t I?’

She wraps her arms around you, burying her head in your shoulder, gently kissing the exposed skin of your neck.

‘I don’t do anything less than full throttle.’

You frown.

‘You never said that.’

‘Let a girl have her contradictions.’

>‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but … honestly, I thought that you’d have better taste. In all seriousness, I did.’ (Question)
>‘I’m not complaining.’ (Squeeze her tight)
>‘I ship off in several hours, though, you really think this’ll … work?’ (Doubt)
>Write-In
>>
>>2433276
>>‘I’m not complaining.’ (Squeeze her tight)
>>
>>2433276
>‘I’m not complaining.’ (Squeeze her tight)
>>
>>2433279
>>2433284

Honest question: in what capacity do you guys think I communicated "squeeze her tight"?
>>
>>2433290
Can I get an explanation on squeeze her tight?
>>
>>2433290
I figured it'd be cuddling or something. At least, I /think/ she's too professional to go for sexy times and risk making us miss our flight.
>>
>>2433290
hold her tight
>>
>>2433293
Squeezing her tight.
>>
>>2433276
>>‘I’m not complaining.’ (Squeeze her tight)
>>
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‘I’m not complaining,’ you breathe out, wrapping your arms around her and returning the contact in kind.

She laughs.

‘Good … because it makes this next part a little less awkward.’

You draw yourself back, wearing a frown that you hoped would communicate your confusion.

‘Fisher?’

Morrigan,’ she corrects you playfully, giving your cheek a gentle smack. ‘Now, come on.’

She detaches herself from your form, sauntering towards the sliding door—picking up the quarter-filled glasses and bottle while she was at it—and gesturing for you to follow … which you do. Fisher—no, Morrigan—places the glasses and the bottle on the counter, points her head in the direction of the stairs. Upstairs? She was inviting you upstairs? She doesn’t even wait to ask or prompt you, making her way around the corner. You trail behind, almost hitting your head against the ceiling (Which you only avoided out of instinct developed after just under 20 years of being in closed quarters). The walls leading upstairs are bare save for the aesthetic addition of synthetic flowers every six steps up. The upper floor, however, is much more spacious and full of content.

You’re not sure what time-space magic had done its worked here, but it was definitely bigger on the inside. Five doors to four rooms, each with their own security console (Although, judging by the blue light, you supposed that they had been disabled for the time being) and several photos … and a long wooden table lined with photos and a green lamp that looked …

It actually looked older than the Colony Fleet ship you lived in.

So it was either very good imitation or something that constituted the title of a relic.

The majority of the photos featured one of five particular people: a younger Morrigan and Iona; a white-haired young girl who was probably the middle sister you hadn’t met quite yet (Delta? Was that her name?); a white-haired man with a tough jaw and handsome, if slightly-aged, features and a stoic-looking woman that resembled Iona, wearing what appeared to be an optical-assistance unit. It didn’t take a genius to be able to deduce that these were photos of Fisher—Morrigan’s family.

‘My father.’

You give a slight jump as Morrigan approaches you, noticing your particular focus on a photo featuring the man, clad in fatigues and a beret, carrying the white-haired girl whose name you couldn’t quite get yet. She couldn’t have been older than four.

‘And Delta,’ she continues to elaborate. ‘My other sister, she’s probably out there trying to sneak into your graduation ball.’

‘You don’t mind.’

‘With how tribal your batch can get, I have no worries.’

You hear a low grunt from below and the sound of stomping feet.

‘There she is now,’ she chuckles, walking over to a door. ‘Come on in.’

In? In her room?

>‘I’d, uh … rather not.’ (Decline)
>Follow her inside
>Write-In
>>
>>2433413
>>Follow her inside
>>
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>>2433413
>>Follow her inside
>>
>>2433413
>>Follow her inside
always follow the lady when she says do the thing
>>
>>2433413
>>Follow her inside
>>
You wouldn’t be telling a lie if someone interrogated you on whether or not you were more nervous taking a hull-walk with half a tank of oxygen than you were stepping into your former Guidance Counselor’s room, but you were too far gone to turn back now. Anticipation and fear firing through your thoughts, the sound of the door hissing open almost has you doing a little jump, but you do little in the way of protest, following her inside. The automated lighting and atmospheric conditioning system comes on with a light hum … and you look around the room.

It was scary just how identical it was to your little corner in the dormitory.

Compared to her, though, Ryosuke would have branded you a … what was that word again? Normie.

There were model kits—expensive model kits—lined on stacked dressers, varying from ships to mechs from both the Republic and the Imperial catalogs. They were arranged neatly in rows, which, you notice, weren’t random: every row was from a particular production line, a specific contract. Four walls and three of them were lined with open cabinets, displays of practically every mass-produced and test-type Mech out there. From the standard Hellion to the goodwill-born and failure-ridden Crusher to the monstrous Bartholemew and to the failed Republic Rascal Unit, the place looked like a display room with a bed, two work-desks (One turned into a makeshift setting for photos of Fisher and her family as well as her friends), a drawer (which had an actual AEGIS craft on it, although you couldn’t place the name) and a cupboard and closet put in for posterity. The work-desk closer to the further corner of the room had mounds of pads and sheets of paper … shoved aside, where the latest iteration of a Squadron Command Unit, the Fenix, stood, half-complete, several bottles of paint and brushes lined up and arranged meticulously with a small bar to prevent it from making contact with the surface of the desk.

That wasn’t even getting into the vintage posters—on printed paper—that were framed and stuck against the wall. Old Squadrons, Task Forces, Legions, many of them gone: The Nine Tails, The Black Swords, The Lightwings, Able Squadron, The Ultra Warriors

Over her bed, hung two banners: a worn one, not quite faded but had clearly seen some wear and tear … and one that was damaged, the bottom burnt.

That one had caught your attention.

Because it had her name on it.

MORRIGAN FISHER
OMNI-09092
KNIGHTS OF THE PALE
BATTLEGROUP SARACUS


You almost swallow your own tongue, turning to your host … who, apparently, was searching for something in the drawers of her desk.
>>
>>2433491
>'Knights of the Pale, that's ...' (Take a closer look at the banner)
>Take a closer look at the model kits
>'Fisher, I mean, Morrigan?' (Try to catch her attention)
>Don't touch anything and wait for her
>Write-In
>>
>>2433493
>>Take a closer look at the model kits
SPACE GUNPLA
dont touch them
>>
>>2433493
>>Take a closer look at the model kits
nerd like us then
>>
>>2433496
>Nerd like you
You can't even touch her.
>>
>>2433497
A nerd that lived the dream, respect.
>>
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You walk over to one of the rows of the assembled models.

She’d done a better job with her painting and linework than you ever did … although you did see that she had at least a few tools that were hard to come by on the Colony Fleet. You were actually rather interested with how her Crusher was decorated: it was in the style of a Squadron that you hadn’t seen before, complete with the emblem of a skull framed inside the circle of a gear. You knew the Crusher units well: 60 or so years ago, they were an attempt by the Empire and the Republic to cool their relations a little … but as always, there had been a hitch between intention and execution. The Crushers were advanced: in possession of an aesthetic that was a mix of Imperial style and Republic conservatism and geared for projectile and kinetic weaponry with all the variation of the standard Hellion.

However, it also lacked significant melee defenses and a high energy consumption rate. The OS for the unit mainly focused on getting a proper lock instead of properly mounting an in-your-face offensive. The mix had the Republic steaming and the Empire offended … and production had halted.

Ironically, they still saw fit to deploy the units in service. Mostly for those of a higher rank.

The Bartholomew, though … you would loved to have ridden in one of those.

You hadn’t seen one before, but from what you could tell, the thing was a walking fortress. Even the scale showed just how much it towered over the average Mech. Cannons, RADAR, missile launchers …

Too bad it was under the Alliance Military.

‘No one has ever taken down a Bartholomew before.’

You nod, turning to face—

Morrigan.

As naked as the day she was born.

The only sound you can hear is the light hum of her compensation units as she leans to one side, one hand on her hip.

>Write-In
>>
>>2433554
>"Really?" while taking in the entire view
>and trying and failing to resist our boners control
>>
>>2433554
>Look annoyed. "Those beautiful legs really need to be properly adjusted. Your compensators are not supposed to hum like that." Time for some (lewd) maintenance.
>>
>>2433554
>"I'm about to take down your Bartholomew, if you know what I mean. "

Did worst girl really just win
>>
>>2433971
Second.
But, make up an excuse to get her to make a twirl so we get a full view.
"How bad is it? Give me a slow spin on each leg to give me an idea."
>>
>>2434157
>Win
Relationships aren't prizes.
>>
>>2434347
It's an expression senpai
>>
I'm running in about 15 minutes. Let me type things up.
>>
Fuck. tack on another 10 minutes. I misread >>2433971 and have to re-do it.
>>
Morrigan Fisher is a sight to behold. Her body is—and there’s no two ways about it—toned, tight, slender. Her height gives her much allowance for a more conservative distribution of her weight. Even showing as much skin as she did prior to entering the room, this was when your eyes, your thoughts, began to measure and store the information presented. Her breasts were large and firm, not enough to spill right out of your hand like Rosaria’s could have, but more than enough for you to get a gentle handful for a squeeze. There are faint cut scars: two on the underside of her right and one on the upper portion of her left. She’s a lot less curvy than Rosaria, built for more lithe, athletic endeavors: even with the lack of organic limbs, you found that she’d found a way to keep herself in tip-top shape. Her nipples are pink, minute, her hips and her thighs smooth, angular … and you have to admire the muscle strand adjustment of the artificial limbs for being able to keep up with her biological changes.

Although, you admit, the styled pubic hair was … somewhat surprising.

At least it was neat.

‘Really?’ you respond to her previous statement, pretending that she was as she had always been. ‘I thought these models were were always on the cusp of failure.’

‘A Bartholomew Mech needs eight hours of reparation for every three hours of operating time … I thought you’d know that, considering how much you love talking … mechanics.

Her coy smile has you raising an eyebrow.

>‘That doesn’t correlate to invincibility, though.’ (Focus on the Mech)
>‘Fisher … Morrigan … I’m at the end of my rope here.’ (Admit defeat)
>‘You brought me up here for … what exactly?’ (Direct)
>‘I think that those muscle strands could use a closer look …’ (Naughty)
>Write-In
>>
>>2434544
>‘I think that those muscle strands could use a closer look …’ (Naughty)
>>
>>2434544
>‘I think that those muscle strands could use a closer look …’ (Naughty)
>>
>>2434544
>‘Fisher … Morrigan … I’m at the end of my rope here.’ (Admit defeat)
>>
>>2434544
>>‘I think that those muscle strands could use a closer look …’ (Naughty)
>>
>>2434544
>‘I think that those muscle strands could use a closer look …’ (Naughty)
>>
>>2434544
>>‘Fisher … Morrigan … I’m at the end of my rope here.’ (Admit defeat)
>>
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‘I think that those muscle strands could use a closer look.’

She chuckles, closing the distance between the both of you and planting a gentle kiss on your bottom lip. You respond in kind, running your hands down her side and grasping her thighs. She breathes out a soft curse, the side of her head leaning into your cheek as you feel her trembling at your touch. You can’t blame her. Neither could anyone blame you. Morrigan had opened herself to you in such a way that you can’t help but give an earnest response. You don’t know who wants the other more: you or her, but you did want her. One hand runs up your torso and under your tunic, dancing on your diaphragm as she changes from quick, teasing touches, to desperation. You’re nervous, clumsy, inexperienced. The most you’d been exposed to the ministrations of women were those uncanny experience simulations. Your hand trails across her belly, the tips of your fingers touching the hair of her—

‘W-Wait …’

You stop, giving her a quizzical, worried stare. Had you done something wrong?

She bites her lip, pulling slightly away from you and producing what appeared to be a data slate: one fashioned in a way that you hadn’t seen before. It was … smaller, more akin to a card of circuits with a thin display rather than a proper interactive tablet. Even the side tells you that there isn’t much memory to it. Was it a communication-enabled model? Didn’t appear to look like it. The display glows red, several lines of gibberish making themselves known to you, before their yellow text transforms to green, line by line.

The red turns to black, showing the emblem of the Aegis, before minimizing itself and … showing an image of you, before that itself minimizes,, following a display of your vitals. A swipe of Morrigan’s thumb has it scrolling to the next page.

This one had the faded Emblem of the Emperor upon it.

She leans in closer to you, pressing her chest to yours and bringing the display up, allowing you to have a closer look.

GAIA-0401
RECOMMENDATION DESIGNATED: BLUE
REFERENCE:
DARTON WRAY
MORRIGAN FISHER

COMMENCEMENT: IMMEDIATE (TRIAL PERIOD TENTATIVE)


‘It took some convincing,’ she begins, sounding a little hesitant, ‘but I was able to push you through. So long as you keep your head down, keep away from any … infractions, you’ll be on the fast-track to being a Mech Pilot. Wray took a little bit more to convince, especially since Reinweld didn’t make it through, but … I think that we have enough badasses on the field out there.’

You turn to her, finding her eyes looking up at you, wide, wondrous … and hopeful.

‘Maybe what the Empire needs is a good man, big or small.’

>Write-In
>>
>>2434815
>hug her and thank her heavily
>>
>>2434815
>I, uh... I don't know what to say. Thank you.
>>
>>2434876
supporting
>>
>>2434815
>Thank you but that isn't going to stop me.
>>
>>2434815
>"Thank you. Thank you so much. But you do realize that you have literally the worst timing with this, right?"
>>
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Words fail you.

You gasp, trying to find something to say; anything. Instead, you wrap your harms around her naked form, the data slate falling to the floor with a dull thud as you find yourself trembling: you’d made it. Not just yet, but … the door was open now. Like it or not, you were on your way there. So long as you kept at it, worked your butt off and didn’t sass your superior, you were … you’d make it.

You’d make it.

‘Morrigan—’

‘Not good enough.’

You draw back, creasing your brows as you stare at her in confusion.

She brings herself close to your ear, teasing your lobe with the tip of your tongue.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Morrigan breathes. ‘Show me.’

It’s a request you’re only too keen to follow through.

END: EMBERS FOR TOMORROW – HOPEFUL DAWNS (2)
>>
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You trip down the stairs, falling into hard concrete, your bags the only reason you weren’t nursing a broken neck. Several maintenance crew members stare at you before going back to their chores. Groaning, you roll over from your fallen position, hissing as you rub your shoulders. Above you, the hangar number—13—lay before your very eyes, the bay doors still closed as the cranes and mechanical maintenance units noisily shifted, prepping the crafts for launch. You look to the ground level doors, rolling in supplies and parts, the hangar staff members tossing each other cables and datapads, marching to fulfill their orders.

Shaking your head, you push yourself back up to a stand and rub the back of your neck, picking up your bags before resuming your rush to your ship. The dagger-shaped Greyhound lay on an even level, the bay doors bottom to load up the stock. It was a supply cruiser, nothing more, nothing less … and you were going to serve on it for the next eighteen months before a reassignment request would even so much as sniff a place on an administrative table.

Your direct officer was Seraph Miloshov … and the man at the door had kindly told you that she’d—

‘I was supposed to be prepped up for launch two hours ago; you’re telling me that the control units don’t even have a lock on the when and a where?!

There she was, clad in the Captain’s garb and glaring angrily at a member of the maintenance crew and chewing on a cigarette as she walked down the catwalk, her growling practically echoing throughout the hangar.

‘It’s not our fault; all we do is make sure the Warp launches are clear enough for you to get up there. If we gave everyone a pass, we’d just end up seeing you guys crashing into each other.’

The crew member, a pony-tailed female who was around Morrigan’s age, only finds herself rebuked by a sarcastic gesture from your Captain, who was throwing her arms wide. ‘Space is huge. How does it take two stinking hours for me to actually get some form of approval signed off? This is a Paradise World, not an Emperor-accursed warfront!’

‘Exactly!’ the crew member retorts. ‘Do you even know how much traffic comes in here? We can’t just let you come and go as you wi—’

‘Just get me out of the atmosphere as fast as you can … stars.’

The crew members grumbles, stomping away as Miloshov is approached by a man in similar dress to yours, looking distressed and animated. Their conversation is too soft for you to hear, but it must have had a positive outcome, as you notice the eager salute before he departs, running up the catwalk.

You take the opportunity to introduce yourself.

‘Captain Miloshov,’ you greet, throwing up a salute.

She looks up, staring at your plates … before meeting your eyes, unimpressed.

‘You’re late, Ensign.’

You frown. It was only 0439 at best.
>>
>>2435172
>'I apologize, ma'am.' (Keep your head down)
>'I ... don't think I'm late?' (Rationalize)
>'What? No, it's not even 0500 yet.' (Incredulous)
>Write-In
>>
>>2435172
>>'I apologize, ma'am.' (Keep your head down)
>>
>>2435179
>'I apologize, ma'am.' (Keep your head down)

Murmur under the under.
"Is not even 0500 yet."
>>
>>2435172
>'I apologize, ma'am.' (Keep your head down)
>>
>>2435179
>Write-In
Check our Space!watch and see if we set it to the wrong time.
>>
>>2435236
No, I can assure you you didn't. Even if your watch is wrong, the clocks in the bay tell you that, indeed, it cannot even be 0439. You're on time by the clock. Don't know if you're on the Captain's clock, though.
>>
>>2435254
Oh, she's one of /those/ people.

>>2435179
>'I apologize, ma'am.' (Keep your head down)
>>
‘I apologize, ma’am.’

She only gives a curt nod in return, leaving you standing awkwardly in place as she turns to stare at the dagger-shaped ship, the bay doors open but little going on around them by the way of movement.

It’s as if she doesn’t even consider your existence worthwhile.

>‘Um, uh … is there anything you’d like me to do, ma’am?’
>‘Where … are my quarters?’
>Continue to stand awkwardly for a while
>‘So, uh … when are we, uh … launching, ma’am?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2435296
>‘Where … are my quarters?’
>>
>>2435296
>>‘Where … are my quarters?’
>>
>>2435296

>‘Um, uh … is there anything you’d like me to do, ma’am?’
>>
>>2435296
>‘Um, uh … is there anything you’d like me to do, ma’am?’
>>
>>2435296
>Write-in
>"What are my orders, ma'am? My papers only said to report to you."
>>
‘Is there anything that you’d like for me to do, ma’am?’

She turns an icy gaze upon you.

‘My … assignment only told me that I’d be helping with the ships Logistical Duties,’ you elaborate further. ‘If there’s anything I can do to start with, Captain, I’d like to … at least put the right foot forward.’

Miloshov stares at you … before turning back to the Greyhound again.

‘Your name isn’t on my manifest yet, so I can’t have you doing anything in the official capacity … but if you’re willing, Officers Welback and Ozel are having some minor issues of their own. I know that you scored quite highly working with software and hardware, so you'll probably find them more comfortable jumping-off points than being assigned straight to our communications maintenance or the Warp Engine failsafes. If you want to put the right foot forward, talk to either of them and then report back here to me. We’re not going to be jetting off any time soon with the current state of things, but be prepared.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She casts an eye to your two bags, before lifting her gaze back up to you.

‘You can leave your bags here,’ she offers. ‘No one’s going to be sneaking off from our bay with either of those. Just put them off to the side or somewhere so no one trips over ‘em.’

‘Understood, ma’am.’

>‘Where can I find the Officers?’
>‘Why aren’t we ready for launch yet?’
>‘I’ll get right to it.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2435465
>>‘Where can I find the Officers?’
>>
>>2435465
>‘Where can I find the Officers?’
>>
>>2435465
>‘Where can I find the Officers?’
>>
‘Where can I find the Officers, ma’am?’

‘Welback should be in Main Bay 06,’ she answers, pointing towards the closest bay, the one with half an automated catwalk hovering over the hull as a lifter exited the ramp leading to it. ‘He’s got a bit of a short temper, so if you deal with him, it pays to be direct.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.’

Miloshov nods, pointing to a moving platform that appeared to be at the front of the ship.

‘Ozel should be trying to synchronize the Warp navigation to a finer point, so if you can help him with that, you’ll be in his good books. He should be easier to deal with than Welback.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

>‘Could you re-confirm where the Officers would be?’
>‘Why aren’t we ready for launch yet?’
>‘How long have you served as its Captain?’
>‘I’ll get right to it.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2435523
>>‘I’ll get right to it.’
>>
>>2435523
>‘I’ll get right to it.’

>‘Could you re-confirm where the Officers would be?’
I'm sorry, my father was a goldfish and my mother was a tapeworm. I can't retain information for more than 1.46 seconds.
>>
>>2435523
>‘I’ll get right to it.’
>>
‘I’ll get right to it.’

‘See that you do.’

She moves over to the railing by the catwalk from whence she had descended before, taking out a tablet and scrolling through it. You pick up your bags, putting them aside as per your Captain’s instructions before dusting off your hands, eager to start your career … even if it wasn’t under the glamorous conditions you had envisioned getting down from the entry shuttle in Rossiu.

‘Okay, then …’

>Head inside Main Bay 06 of the Greyhound
>Make your way to the end of the Launch Bay
>Head back up the stairs from where you descended
>Talk to Captain Miloshov
>Write-In
>>
Also, taking a short break. Talk to you guys soon.
>>
>>2435561
>Head inside Main Bay 06 of the Greyhound
>>
>>2435561
>>Head inside Main Bay 06 of the Greyhound
>>
>>2435561
>Head inside Main Bay 06 of the Greyhound
>>
I'll be running in about 10-15 minutes.
>>
>>2436760
Mechanic told me not to listen to strange anons....
>>
Time to remember the guy likes being talked at in a direct fashion. This should be fun.

>>2435539
Ahahahahaha! I don't know why anyone else hasn't laughed at this yet.
>>
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Main Bay 06 is mostly bare, with only two lifters and less than a dozen metal crates stacked and rowed up on one side of the room, several members of The Greyhound’s crew already in corners doing their own tabulations. There were less than a dozen people inside; it wouldn’t take long for you to—

WARNING: DECOMPRESSION IMMINENT

It’s instinct, but you immediately move to duck and grab onto something … only to realize that you were still on the ground and the lights had gone yellow for less than half a second. None of the Greyhound crew members seemed to even care for it.

Except, of course, for one:

‘What is it with this stupid damn operating console? It can barely last a jump without us needing to realign the whole system! It’s one primary bay! One!

‘It’s called a Main Bay now, I think.’

‘Terminology changes like that are going to drive people away! Mark my words. A primary bay is a primary bay! The argument for which is redundant because this bay might come apart and need us to come to a full halt before we even drop out of a Jump because its grav-control and atmospheric shielding units can’t even handle themselves! It’s just one compartment! One!’

‘We can always just ask for a whole new—’

‘Do we look like a budget buster? We’re Logistics!

For some reason, something tells you that the large red-headed man is Officer Welback. He appeared to be crouched over a hole with some exposed cables and a connector unit, tools and pads laid out as he seemed to be engrossed in an issue that was more than likely related to that brief warning by the overhead systems. Another man appeared to be next to him, wearing large red goggles and peering into the hole, humming as he took one of the sealing tools and—

WARNING: DECOMPRESSION IMMINENT

‘Right, we’re just gonna have to work through this, then,’ the red-headed man groans, getting to his feet and stroking his beard. ‘If it starts rumbling mid-jump again, all we can do is cut the power to the compartment. Ask the bay management if they have any extra straps and bolts for us to keep the cargo down.’

‘Sir.’

The man dusts his pants off, running back out into the launch bay.

‘What the heck is wrong with this—’

‘Officer Welback, sir?’

‘Huh?’

He turns to face you, an irritated expression on his face. Good to see you got the identity right.

‘I was just assigned to the Greyhound today, first assignment from the Aegis,’ you begin, silently cursing as you stumbled through your words. ‘Captain Miloshov said you might need some assistance.’

‘She did, huh?’

He looks at you up and down.

‘You can go the tool depot up in the storage units and see if they can lend us a low-level grav-field testing tools. Tell ‘em to put it under ID 7760-8543-11.’
>>
>>2436859
>'Yes, sir.' (Leave)
>'What seems to be the problem?' (Inquire about the decompression alerts)
>'The Greyhound's pretty big for a Logistics craft.'
>'I'm not a ratchet fetcher, sir.' (Rebellious)
>Write-In
>>
>>2436859
>>'What seems to be the problem?' (Inquire about the decompression alerts)
>>
>>2436861
>>'Yes, sir.' (Leave)
We can see what the problem is when we come back.
>>
>>2436861
>'What seems to be the problem?' (Inquire about the decompression alerts)
>>
>>2436861
>'Yes, sir.' (Leave)
>>
>‘You can go the tool depot up in the storage units and see if they can lend us a low-level grav-field testing tools. Tell ‘em to put it under ID 7760-8543-11.’

That looks like a newbie haze.

>>2436861
>'What seems to be the problem?' (Inquire about the decompression alerts)
>>
>>2436861
>'What seems to be the problem?' (Inquire about the decompression alerts)

With every intention to follow his directives, but a little more information might help if the supply depot gives us the run around.
>>
‘What seems to be the problem?’

He casts a wary gaze upon you … before letting out a heavy sigh.

‘Well, you won’t be able to do any worse, I guess,’ he grumbles, picking up a sonic screwdriver. ‘The gravity and atmospheric functions of this particular bay have been acting abnormal for the last three standard months. Either the integrity of the grav-field becomes compromised … or when we try to boot up with a whole atmospheric reset, the whole damn thing seems to come down. Been through everything from the inhibitors to the warp shielding and so far all we’ve got is the same thing: the klaxons going off or an involuntary shut down.’

Welback lets out a sigh.

‘Now that you’ve heard my life story, mind getting me those tools, newbie? We got some extra time on this rock and I’m going to get this fixed, one way or another.’

>‘Right, I’ll just go and get those tools.’ (Leave)
>‘It could just be some loose wiring. (TECHNICAL HABITS)
>‘I’m not a ratchet fetcher, sir.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2436913
>‘It could just be some loose wiring. (TECHNICAL HABITS)
You still haven't put your name and trip back on.
>>
>>2436913
>‘It could just be some loose wiring. (TECHNICAL HABITS)
>>
>>2436913
>‘It could just be some loose wiring. (TECHNICAL HABITS)
>>
>>2436913
>>‘Right, I’ll just go and get those tools.’ (Leave)
lets do the technical habit after we get the tools
>>
>>2436920
April fools days script is fuckin with trips
>>
>>2436932
That's what I get for not reloading my page, I guess.
>>
>>2436913
>‘Right, I’ll just go and get those tools.’ (Leave)

As much as I'd like to give our advice, we can still suggest such after coming back with the tools. Better to be useful and /then/ be a smart-ass.
>>
>>2436913
>>‘Right, I’ll just go and get those tools.’ (Leave)
>>
>>2436920
>>2436924
>>2436925

>>2436929
>>2436943
>>2436950
Flipping a coin. Coin flipped.
>>
>>2436943
I'm guessing "low level grave testing tools" is a military style newbie haze. Most militaries haze newly enlisted members by asking them to go to a Sargent and ask him for a Prick E6 (the letter designation for the Sargent rank) or visit supply for a bucket of prop wash (term for the wind caused by aircraft engines).

This sounds like a request for guys taking a break at supply.
>>
>>2436968
I can see where you're coming from, but I think we have enough TECHNICAL HABITS to be able to tell if he's bullshitting us about /tools/ of all things.

Ah well, we'll see how the flip goes!
>>
‘It could … just be some loose wiring?’

Loose wiring?!

You immediate realize your mistake.

‘This is a 48 year-old Sheridan-Class Cruiser with Hammerhead Impulse Shielding and top-of-the-line kinetic dampeners. Nothing short of a Level 8 Hull Buster’s going to break through those massive plates and you think that what’s going on here is a case of loose wiring?

The only thing you can do is throw up a smile to pacify him. He’s just about Morrigan’s height … but a lot wider than you were. Judging by the tattoo on his forearm—which you’d failed to notice before—you can bet that he had renewed membership in a few cage fights of his own, presuming they weren’t just for decoration. He throws an ugly glare at you, scowling … before grumbling and walking over to the hole in the floor, picking up what appeared to be a testing rod.

‘Loose wiring … of all the damn things … makin’ me do my own dirty work … no respect …’

He steps into the hole, to which you hear a loud, groaning sound that was too familiar: it was an outer shell of a wire group being peeled off. Welback then reaches out from his place in the hole—which came up to his waist—to grab another nearby tool, bending over to the point you could only see his back and the top of his hea—

WARNING: DECOMPRESSION IMMINENT

You don’t move.

It was better to get it over and done with now rather than to let it—

WARNING: DECOMPRESSION IMMINENT

‘Son of a gun,’ he whistles, impressed, ‘can’t believe I—how’d you know that?’

>‘Just a guess.’
>‘I’m from a Colony Fleet, sir. My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first.’
>‘Basic techie habit: before going for the complicated, you look for the simple.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2437012
>>‘I’m from a Colony Fleet, sir. My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first.’
>>
>>2437012
>‘I’m from a Colony Fleet, sir. My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first.’
>>
>>2437012
>‘I’m from a Colony Fleet, sir. My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first.’
>>
>>2437012
>>‘I’m from a Colony Fleet, sir. My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first.’

Hopping on the bandwagon...
>>
>>2437012
>>‘I’m from a Colony Fleet, sir. My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first.’
>>
>>2437012
>>‘I’m from a Colony Fleet, sir. My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first.’
>>
‘I’m … from a Colony Fleet, sir,’ you answer, albeit a little hesitantly. ‘My block used to have issues where certain shorts overlapped. It’s almost habitual to check for loose wiring first at this point.’

He raises an eyebrow, his expression going from being slightly impressed to stone-faced.

‘Colony Fleet, huh?’

Welback spits onto the floor.

‘Never thought I’d see another of your lot coming out of the Aegis,’ he declares. ‘First one I’ve seen to come right out of Rhysode … thought you’d be on somewhere on a Border-World like Mauritia-II or Wodan trying to get your private sector boo-boos. What brought you to Rhysode, then?’

You turn your gaze up to the sky, intent on keeping any potential conflict to a minimum. Any possible goodwill that you thought you’d garnered by handing over that tip on loose wiring had all but evaporated with the reveal of your origins. You had half a mind to lie and just say you’d picked it up through experience or that it was just a lucky guess, but … you didn’t feel ashamed about it. You’d arrived here to serve … and let one glare and half an interrogation bully you into submission.

‘My Fleet was passing through the system,’ you reply matter-of-factly, ‘and it was going to be the closest we’d get to a world with an Academy for the next two years, if ever … so I decided to take my chances at grab a shuttle down to Rossiu.’

Timing, huh?’ he huffs, eyeing you neutrally. ‘Well, whatever … not like you’re going to be on the list after eighteen standard months, anyway.’

You can feel his gaze on you, practically digging through your cheek.

‘Now go and get me those tools … Ensign.’

>‘Sir, what … do you need them for? Aren’t those just to test the grav field?’ (Inquire)
>‘You … don’t like me, do you, sir?’ (Confront)
>‘Sir, I am not a gofer.’ (Annoyed)
>‘Yes, sir.’ (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2437086
>>‘Yes, sir.’ (Leave)
>>
>>2437086
>‘Yes, sir.’ (Leave)
>>
>>2437086
>‘Yes, sir.’ (Leave)
>>
>>2437086
>‘Yes, sir.’ (Leave)

Nothing to be ashamed of, We knew more then he did and he'll remember that. Dumbass
>>
‘Yes, sir,’ you answer curtly,

‘And Ensign!’

You turn around, facing the red-headed man again.

He spits onto the floor, throwing a smirk before showing his back to you once more.

Maybe get a mop, too!

>Head to the end of the Launch Bay/Tip of the Greyhound (Catwalk, Officer Ozel)
>Head up the stairs (Ready Room, Depot, Exit, Spaceway Traffic)
>Exit Main Bay 06 (Captain Miloshov, Catwalk)
>Write-In
>>
>>2437116
>>Head up the stairs (Ready Room, Depot, Exit, Spaceway Traffic)
welp this is gonna be a rough tour of duty aint it?
>>
>>2437116
>>Head up the stairs (Ready Room, Depot, Exit, Spaceway Traffic)
>>
>>2437119
It'll be a blast.
>>
>>2437116
>Head up the stairs (Ready Room, Depot, Exit, Spaceway Traffic)
>>
>>2437116
>>Head up the stairs (Ready Room, Depot, Exit, Spaceway Traffic)
>>
You jog past Miloshov and head up the stairs, careful not to trip over any uneven steps. It’s not long before you find yourself on the raised platform overlooking the town-sized hangar. Twenty-two bays and several “unofficial” nooks to undertake other means of repairs. To your surprise, they were all pretty much … full. You hadn’t been able to get a good look of the place, running down what appeared to be miles of catwalks and railings. It was a Hell of a time for most of the elevators to stop working—or at least, ones that went your way. It was mitigated, however, by the fact that the Greyhound was given a bay that was smack dab in the middle, though, so there was that. It was still a chore to navigate, though. Four years ago, you would have been a corpse on the upper deck.

A loud whining sound catches your ears as you look to your right, finding a sight you hadn’t quite caught on your rush to the Greyhound.

The Hellions laid in their holding units, the small but powerful lifters moving them to the side. That’s right … they’d left the Academy several hours back; two of them would be here and another two would be some miles north from Rossiu. Another lifter came in, dragging what appeared to be a deactivated Heat Axe and the standard issue rifle for the unit, docking it into the side of the allocated bay.

‘See ya later, old lady.’

If you had a fedora, you’d be tipping it about now.

>Go to the Escalator (Upper Floors)
>Head towards the Ready Room
>Make a run for the Depot
>Check with Spaceway Traffic
>Write-In
>>
>>2437172
>>Make a run for the Depot
>>
>>2437172
>>Make a run for the Depot
>>
>>2437172
>Make a run for the Depot
>>
It’s a good thing that there was a supply—a supply rental of sorts, really—depot for crews of ships that wanted to dock on Kerensky, or rather, there was a supply depot for about every three bays with eight. The one closes to you was another quick flight of stairs up: not quite on the upper levels, but built right onto the raised area overlooking the bays and down the corridor … right past two toilets. You flash your plates at one of the staff members looking to bring you a halt, before turning into a rather shabby-looking room that looked like it had more in common with a bar—with tools in boxes that appeared to be older than your underwear lined up on shelves and racks instead of boxes—and some rust on the metal plating that made up the room. In the middle of it all stood a bored-looking middle-aged man with a bald spot … and reeking of a scent worse than your own landing in atmosphere, his elbow on the counter and appearing to stare at something on the wall behind you.

You inadvertently kick a loose screw, which pings the counter and shakes the man from his reverie … although not by much. He rubs the back of his head, making an attempt to stand upright, staring at you as if in a drug-fueled haze.

‘Yeah, whatcha want?’

>‘Not very professional, are you?’
>‘I’m looking for low-level grav field-testing tools. They’re under ID 7760-8543-11.’
>‘Nice … place.’
>‘Nothing, sorry.’ (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2437222
>>‘I’m looking for low-level grav field-testing tools. They’re under ID 7760-8543-11.’
>>
>>2437222
>>‘I’m looking for low-level grav field-testing tools. They’re under ID 7760-8543-11.’
>>
>>2437243
>no thanks man, im good.
>so i take it there arent any tools i have to pick up for Officer Welback
>>
>>2437243
>That fucking cunt.
>>
>>2437243
You happen to know what Welback has against Spacers? Or is he an ass to everyone else as well?
>>
‘Officer Welback sent me to pick up some low-level grav-field testing tools,’ you begin tentatively, hoping to get this task over and done with. ‘They’re under ID 7760-8543-11.’

He stares at you with a flat expression.

‘What you do is your business and none of mine.’

You scratch the back of your head, confused.

Huh?

The flat expression immediately transforms into one of amusement and he holds up a hand before pushing himself upright.

ID 7760-8543-11 is old code for a rendezvous in the lavatory,’ he reveals, smirking. ‘You effectively just tried to pick me up for a quick go in the men’s room.’

Your ears turn red as the realization hits you … and you feel as though evaporation wouldn’t be such a bad way to go after all.

‘First day?’

You do the only thing you can: you give a dumb, hesitant nod, wondering how you’d missed it. The middle-aged man waggles his eyebrows and straightens his hair before leaning over a little more, throwing you a wink for good measure.

‘Not saying no, though, if you’re planning on follow through …’

>Write-In
>>
>>2437254
>>no thanks man, im good.
>>so i take it there arent any tools i have to pick up for Officer Welback
>>
>>2437246
>>2437248
>>2437253
Sorry, guys. Copy-pasted the wrong one.

>>2437254
Is the right one. You can re-vote if you wish.
>>
>>2437253
Same for >>2437254
>>
Knew it. We got prop washed.

>>2437254
>Got any novelty left handed bulb wrenches, cans of elbow grease or jars of prop wash?
>>
‘So … I take it that there aren’t any tools that I’m going to need to bring back to my Officer, are there?’

He only shrugs. ‘Dunno—what’s the issue?’

You want to say “loose wiring”, but that wouldn’t apply here. He didn’t even know what the problem was prior to your outing of the main issue. He’d been so focused on testing just what caused the malfunction that—

‘He was testing for a malfunction to the gravity and atmospheric control systems for a compartment for a Sheridan-Class Cruiser,’ you recite, as if right out of a textbook. ‘Would a low-level gravity field-testing tool do any good if that was fixed at all?’

‘Depends on what you’re testing for … low-level gravity testing tools’re usually for heavy duty stuff, like localizing a gravity field and you want to make sure it’s calibrated to a specific point,’ he answers with the same bored tone he’d adopted upon greeting you. ‘Still, even if you need ‘em, I can’t give anything over to you, though, kid.’

‘Huh? Why?’

‘You haven’t given me a proper ID,’ he answers with a snicker. ‘You can only take something out from here with a proper ID, so even if he does need what you want, you gotta still give me an ID for me to hand it over.’

‘I can’t just tell you I’m from the Greyhound? Leave my own identification?’

His lips shift into a scowl.

‘No can do, kid, sorry.’

>‘Thanks anyway.’ (Leave)
>‘Got a moment to talk?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2437321
>‘Thanks anyway.’ (Leave)
>>
>>2437321
>>‘Thanks anyway.’ (Leave)
>>
‘Thanks anyway.’

He doesn’t even bother to throw up a reply. The doors hiss open and you make your way down the corridor, coming out to the upper level, the stairs leading to the bottom platforms and the catwalks to your right and the noise of moving machinery on full blast. In the distance, you make out someone whose silhouette closely resembled that of the insane Instructor Fisk, riding a cherry picker … but it couldn’t have been him. Why would he come all the way out here to Kerensky? His madcap schemes were contractually-obligated to not extend beyond that of the Academy grounds. The AEGIS wouldn’t be so irresponsible to let that detail slip, would they?

He disappears behind a raised pylon.

You shake your head. If it was even him, what did it matter? You’d be on the Greyhound soon, anyway.

>Head back down to Launch Bay 13 (Greyhound, Captain Miloshov, etc)
>Head towards the Ready Room
>Check with Spaceway Traffic
>Go to the Escalator (Upper Floors)
>Write-In
>>
>>2437339
>>Head back down to Launch Bay 13 (Greyhound, Captain Miloshov, etc)
>>
>>2437339
>Head back down to Launch Bay 13 (Greyhound, Captain Miloshov, etc)
>>
>>2437339

>Head back down to Launch Bay 13 (Greyhound, Captain Miloshov, etc)
>>
>>2437339
>>Head back down to Launch Bay 13 (Greyhound, Captain Miloshov, etc)
>>
Commencing session in about 15 minutes.
>>
HINT: I suggest you do some exploration so you don't miss anything. The options are there for a reason.
>>
>>2440210
...well its a good thing you said that, because the impression so far has been that we could be leaving any minute. And the captain seemed like the sort to not bother waiting for us.
>>
>>2440225
Sorry, don't mean to sound rude, but how? From the excerpts in the conversation with that other techie, I kind of all but said that no one was taking off for one reason or another.
>>
You jog down the pathway and the stairs back down to Launch Bay 13. Captain Miloshov was still in her spot, going through her datapad.

>Talk to Captain Miloshov
>Head up past her onto the Catwalk
>Head to the end of the Launch Bay/Tip of the Greyhound (Catwalk, Officer Ozel)
>Head up the stairs (Ready Room, Depot, Exit, Spaceway Traffic)
>Enter Main Bay 06 (Welback, misc.)
>Write-In
>>
>>2440233
It sounded we were late and no one knew when the delays would clear. Which meant at any moment we could be leaving.

>Head up past her onto the Catwalk

This'll get us a better view of the ship? I'd like that.
>>
>>2440254
>Talk to Captain Miloshov
>>
>>2440254
>Head to the end of the Launch Bay/Tip of the Greyhound (Catwalk, Officer Ozel)
If we're not leaving any time soon, it seems reasonable to complete our assigned tasks first, and then ask Miloshov for time to familiarize ourself with the ship when there's no immediate work to be done.
>>
>>2440275
Fucking phone posting. Well, I changed my mind anyway.

>>2440254
>Head to the end of the Launch Bay/Tip of the Greyhound (Catwalk, Officer Ozel)

Let's avoid the racist and not bother the captain.
>>
>>2440330
I'm going to allow changing your mind this once because I need to type up and you changing your vote would break the tie.
>>
You hadn’t grasped the true scale of a Cruiser until you’d actually run its length. Past crates, lifters and cranes—and hangar and ship crew members too—you find yourself a little less energetic running from one end to the other. Not to mention your appreciation for the sheer capacity of Kerensky … it must have been at least thrice Rossiu’s size. You avoid two maintenance staff members moving in the opposite direction, then followed by a crate that you hadn’t seen, spinning around the obstacle and jumping over what appeared to be a cable or a hose thick enough to fit both your legs.

Compared to finding Welback, however, you weren’t able to distinguish who Ozel was so easily.

The miracle of evolution had given you a mouth and the capacity for words, however. It would be a shame not to employ them.

‘Excuse me?’

The first man you ask doesn’t seem to have heard you, carrying a crate without so much a glance in your direction the other way. Your immediate reaction is to be offended … until you realize that he was wearing what appeared to be a pair headphones and visors. He probably didn’t even see you.

‘Sorry?’

The second man doesn’t appear to, either. He appeared to be in a rush, though.

Perhaps Welback’s attitude towards you had hit some buttons you’d rather not been hit after all …

‘Looking for someone?’

You turn around to see a heavily-bearded man in a blue jumpsuit: one of the hangar’s on-loan crew members no doubt.

‘Yes, I’m looking for an Officer … Ozel?’

‘Ah, he’s right up there on the Catwalk,’ he replies, jabbing his thumb towards the ceiling rather than the aforementioned location. ‘Working with the Guidance Systems. I think.’

‘Thanks!’

‘No problem.’

He shimmies past you, picking up a toolbox on the ground and walking out of your sight.

>Head up the Catwalk
>Head to the other end of the Launch Bay (Main Bay 06, Miloshov)
>Write-In
>>
>>2440402
>>Head up the Catwalk
>>
>>2440402
>>Head up the Catwalk
>>
>>2440402
>>Head up the Catwalk

I'm glad you did, because getting a look at the ship like that is exactly what I wanted. Also, don't you discount replies if they fail to have your post number in the reply? Or am I getting the rules confused between quests.
>>
>>2440402
>>Head up the Catwalk
>>
>>2440427
It's just because this Quest is lacking the usual 4-5 player count for a healthy session and I have to make do with 1-2 votes on occasion.
>>
File: Ozel.jpg (12 KB, 280x200)
12 KB
12 KB JPG
You head up the catwalk, maneuvering past a few stone-faced crew members making their way back down the way you came.

Again, you have a healthy appreciation for the size of the Cruiser.

Natural gravity really did make a difference.

‘Officer, what are you doing?’

‘Trying to get this darn Navigation System to work, that’s what!’

‘It’s a Guidance System, sir.’

His accent was thick—heavy.

Which was misleading, considering he had an appearance that reminded you of an unsoaked noodle with two twigs attached to it. You could tell that he was about Welback’s age, maybe slightly younger … perhaps. He had a pair of goggles on him, an externally-connected console that appeared to be plugged into the ship’s nose, his uniform worn and decorated in a way that was definitely not regulation and a pair of interface gloves that had been heavily-modified for whatever purpose he had them for. He wasn’t remarkable in appearance, with a bony, pasty complexion that told you he was either malnourished by default or just couldn’t be bothered following standard nutrition regulations.

Next to him was a brown-haired pony-tailed young woman, also in an Officer’s uniform … but weirdly enough, was deferring to him in terms of rank.

‘It’s not as if the calculations are that much off, sir …’

‘Well, I wouldn’t be one of the Officers if I decided to let this slide, would I? This is a damn Cruiser! I worked on a stinkin’ friggin’ Battlegroup for two standard years and I refuse to yield to one stupid Navigation System!’

‘It’s a Guidance System, sir.’

>Approach the female Officer
>Approach Ozel
>Descend from the Catwalk
>Write-In
>>
>>2440547
>Approach female officer
She's the calmer of the two so probably should address her first to see what is going on
>>
>>2440547
>>Approach the female Officer

Let's get the skinny from the put-upon straight-girl first.
>>
>>2440547
>>Approach the female Officer
>>
>>2440547
>>Approach the female Officer
>>
‘Excuse me, ma’am?’

She turns to face you, her stoic expression immediately reminding you of Instructor Memphis, albeit much younger. She must have been closer to Morrigan’s age.

‘Yes … Ensign.’

>‘I was asked by Captain Miloshov to, uh, unofficially help Officer Ozel, is there anything that I can do to help?’
>‘You’re a … serving Officer on board the Greyhound?’
>‘When are we due for launch?’
>‘Sorry for interrupting.’ (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2440628
>>‘I was asked by Captain Miloshov to, uh, unofficially help Officer Ozel, is there anything that I can do to help?’
>>
>>2440628
>‘I was asked by Captain Miloshov to, uh, unofficially help Officer Ozel, is there anything that I can do to help?’
>>
>>2440628
>>‘I was asked by Captain Miloshov to, uh, unofficially help Officer Ozel, is there anything that I can do to help?’
>>
‘I was asked by Captain Miloshov to, uh, unofficially help Officer Ozel. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Unofficial?’

‘I’m … not on the crew list yet. I just got assigned today and I—’

‘You know, within some cultures, it’s considered six types of disrespectful not to address the one the topic in question concerns when they’re about two and a half feet away from you.’

You peer around the woman’s shoulder to see Ozel glaring at you through his goggles.

>Write-In
>>
>>2440696
>You were busy, sir.
>>
>>2440701
supportin
>>
>>2440696
I didn't want to interrupt you in the middle of trying to work the navigation system. But since you stopped now, if you'd like I can help
>>
>>2440696
I'll support this one, >>2440745

But if a tie happens again, I'm fine with the other.
>>
>>2440701
>>2440745
Flipping a coin for these two.
>>
You stiffen instantly, throwing up a salute that was almost reflexive … with the faint hope that he didn’t turn out to be as much of an ass like Welback had revealed himself to be. That seems to pacify him … somewhat.

‘I apologize, sir, I didn’t mean to interrupt you in the middle of working the Navigation Sys—’

Guidance System,’ he corrects you, crossing his arms. From the corner of your eye, you can see that the woman was trying hard not to smile at that. ‘So you’re the snapper we’re picking up, huh? Haven’t seen anyone come through from the AEGIS and get assigned to Logistics as their break-in … what’d you do? Flunk basic arithmetic?’

Your ears turn a little red at that.

‘I … advanced in engineering over standard combat,’ you reveal. ‘My mech operation skills didn’t scale well with my skillset.’

‘Taking cast-offs, huh? What a day … well, if you’re any good with Navigation Systems—’

Guidance Systems, sir.’

He curses under his breath as he glares at the Officer—wearing a ghost of an upturn in the corner of her lips—whose back was was turned to him … before rubbing the back of his neck and letting out a frustrated, tired groan. He turns his attention back to the external console, keying in several commands before taking a step back.

‘Well, unless you’re any good with Guidance Systems’—he takes the opportunity to throw an annoyed glare at the Officer—‘I’m gonna have to decline your help … well, unless you’re willing to hook yourself up and reassign the operating matrix with me. Damn thing keeps reverting to a shitty plane every time I try something. It’s been getting us off course every time we try to make a run out of a Jump. Maybe pick some Nav Templates up from Traffic? That’ll probably help … maybe.’

>‘Maybe I can give it a go. I used to live up there, anyway.’ (NAVIGATION NUT) INSUFFICIENT LEVEL FOR GUARANTEED SUCCESS – Lv. 1 [REQUIRED LEVEL: 2]
>‘I’ll go and see what I can do about those Templates.’
>‘Yeah, it’s out of my scope.’ (Decline)
>Write-In
>>
>>2440850
>>‘I’ll go and see what I can do about those Templates.’
lets not take risk here with a Guidance system
>>
>>2440857
It just means whether you can succeed or not. Remember, doing things that have a REQUIRED level gets you 2 points instead of 1.
>>
>>2440850
>>‘Maybe I can give it a go. I used to live up there, anyway.’ (NAVIGATION NUT) INSUFFICIENT LEVEL FOR GUARANTEED SUCCESS – Lv. 1 [REQUIRED LEVEL: 2]
>>
I should give a scale on the DC checks for winning rolls:

1 level higher: (1d100: 26+ wins)
2 levels higher: (1d100: 51+ wins)
3 levels higher: (1d100: 76+ wins)
4 levels higher: (1d100: 90+ wins)
5 levels higher or more: (1d100: 99+ wins)
>>
>>2440850
>‘Maybe I can give it a go. I used to live up there, anyway.’ (NAVIGATION NUT) INSUFFICIENT LEVEL FOR GUARANTEED SUCCESS – Lv. 1 [REQUIRED LEVEL: 2]

>>2440883
inb4 /tg/ dice
>>
‘Maybe I can give it a go,’ you offer, holding your hands out. ‘I used to live up there, anyway.’

‘Up—you from a Colony?

His apprehensive look makes you nervous. You’d already reserved yourself to the fate of having to deal with Welback for the next few years (Or at least eighteen months). You didn’t need another Officer that didn’t at least have a neutral opinion on you barking and spitting on floors for you to mop up. He lets out a sigh, pulling his goggles back and taking his gloves off … before tossing them your way.

‘Eh, not like you can do any worse. Go ahead.’

You give an appreciative nod, donning the gloves and approaching the console as both Officers step out of your way.

‘Right … Mephisto Regions … Auron Regions … pin-point …’

>[NAVIGATION NUT] RESOLUTION UNACHIEVABLE AUTOMATICALLY: ROLL A 1d100
>>
Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>2440922
Are crits a thing in this system?
>>
Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>2440922
>>
>>2440929
This is just for your "skill" system. Combat's a whole different beast.
>>
Also, just so you guys know: you could have leveled up "Spacious" twice if you visited the archives and thrice by talking with Gerard if you had chosen to meet him instead of talking to Rosaria and continued the conversation in the Gardens prior to meeting Fisher.

You also missed two "Navigation Nut" points by not visiting the Archive.
>>
Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>2440922
>>
NAVIGATION NUT HAS REACHED LEVEL 2!

‘There we go,’ you let out with a satisfied grin, wiping the sweat off your brow as you relieve yourself off the gloves. ‘It’s not a hundred percent to the point, but there should be an increase in guidance accuracy when Jumping out of a Warp. I can’t guarantee there won’t be any hiccups, but the guidance systems shouldn’t be causing you any problems for the foreseeable future.’

Ozel lets out an interested hum, looking you up and down.

You instantly remember your rank, adopting a more professional stance and backing away from the console. Ozel hums, giving the new settings a once over … before giving a nod of approval.

‘Not bad at all,’ he lets out. ‘You Spacers sure know your stuff, huh?’

>Write-In
>>
>>2440989
We try,Sir.
>>
>>2440989
>It's either that or die in the cold nothingness of space.
>>
>>2440998
edgy already, I like it before we get transfered to mech
>>
>>2441027
I just figured it'd be like serving on a submarine. Everyone has to do their job right or everyone drowns.
>>
‘We do our best, sir,’ you answer professionally.

He claps his hands together.

‘Well, so long as you do your best, nothing to complain about, right?’

>‘I wish I could say the same for Officer Welback, sir.’
>‘I hope not, sir.’
>Stand in silence
>Write-In
>>
>>2441046
>‘I hope not, sir.’
>>
>>2441046
>I hope not, sir.’
>>
>>2441046
>>‘I hope not, sir.’
>>
>>2441046
>>‘I hope not, sir.’
>>
Are you guys too tired? I know it's Monday's wee hours where most of you are.
>>
>>2441093
Kinda. I just didn't want to bring up Welback. Hearing that we're complaining about him behind his back'll just piss him off.
>>
Okay, I'll cut it off here to give you guys some mercy then.
>>
>>2441101
More or less.
>>
‘I … hope not, sir.’

He gives a small, satisfied nod, before glancing over to the console again then back to you.

‘I suppose that’s all the kinks sorted for now,’ he declares with satisfaction, puffing his chest. ‘Have you been assigned to a station yet?’

‘All I know for now is that I’m assigned to The Greyhound, sir.’

‘Interesting, interesting,’ he declares, stroking his chin, ‘maybe if you’re interested, I can put you to my attachment … keep an eye on you, make sure that you get ahold of things, have ‘em spic ‘n span and show you the ropes. Things can get crazy around here, don’t you mind. We ain’t going to be seeing solid ground for a while, but I think that that’s something you’re used to, no?’

‘M—’

‘So how about it? I’ll go and ask the Captain if she could assign--attach--you to my part of the works. It’ll get uncomfortable, lots of chatter and the hours are poor … but you offer good work, and I’m more than willing to put a good pat right back.’

‘Sir?’

He offers a toothy grin, again gesturing to the holographic display on the console, which was now compiling the corrections to the database that you had performed. It was tempting, really … someone you could trust on The Greyhound. Someone who had your back. Emilio wasn’t here, neither was Ryosuke … and at least for another eighteen months, you’d have Welback on your ass one way or another, so …

‘How about it? I won’t be offering it twice.’

>‘Thank you, sir, I’ll be sure to give it my all.’
>‘I … I’ll have to decline, sir. I haven’t even been assigned yet. I don’t expect any special treatment or anything.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2441506
>>‘Thank you, sir, I’ll be sure to give it my all.’
Better then having the chance of serving directly under Welback for the next year and a half.
>>
>>2441506
>>‘Thank you, sir, I’ll be sure to give it my all.’
>>
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You make a decision.

‘Thank you, sir!’ You throw up a salute for good measure. ‘I’ll be sure to give it my all!’

He gives a cheerful laugh.

‘Right, then,’ he begins. ‘First order of business: would you mind detaching that console unit and handing it over to one of the men down below?’

‘Sir?’

‘It doesn’t finish properly compiling for another … five minutes, at least,’ he begins, a quality of guilt to his voice, ‘and I can’t leave it alone … I have a schedule to keep and I’ve already wasted enough time making sure these things work. Now that you’re along, though, I don’t have to toil …just wait for it to compile, pull it out, close the port and make sure the drills are back in, all right?’

You can’t say no.

No, rather, he’s already marching down the catwalk with the Officer in tow, not even bothering to wait for you to agree … or protest. He doesn’t even bother throwing up a proper salute, turning away and waving you off as you spy him hitting the floor and continuing his march down the length of the ship. Seeing nothing else to do, you do as you are requested to perform, cleaning up minor kinks for good measure. It takes a little longer than the five minutes (maybe just under double that amount) that he mentions, but you have the console detached and the entry points properly sealed before making it down the catwalk, where you’re able to quickly find a staff member to hand the (admittedly heavy) console to.

Stretching your arms overhead, you begin the slow, leisurely walk back to the Captain. Even if you’d drawn the ire of one Officer in the act, you were able to perform the assigned tasks to the best of your ability … and then some. You stare up the side of the massive cruiser, letting out a breath before switching to a jog and hurrying back down to the other end of the ship. It was uncertain, for sure … no friends and one lone ally among the stars to start with, but …

Things would be looking up, after all.

Ensign.

You throw up a cheerful salute as the Captain marches over to you, that ever-present frown still there.

‘Captain Miloshov, I—’

‘You’ve been under my command for less than an hour and already? Unbelievable! Unreal!

‘M-Ma’am?’

‘Welback told you to get tools half an hour ago and you’re here marching up and down the bay just taking the sights?’

You sigh. Of course Welback would say that. You technically weren’t even given a proper ID to borrow items from the depot. Maybe—

‘And I tell you to go and help Ozel with the ship’s navigation systems and you only end up making harder for him to go about fixing everything that’s wrong with it!’

Your blood runs cold.

What?

‘What?’
>>
‘Officer Ozel just told me that you fooled around with the Console he was using to patch The Greyhound’s navigation systems. There’s a measure of incompetence and leeway that I allow on my ship, but getting things wrong before we even leave for space is a new record.’

What? No. Ozel had … he’d said

‘Captain, I—’

‘You’re lucky that he only sees it as inexperience, soldier,’ she states, clearly and concisely through a heated glare. ‘He’s requested that you be attached to his cell to have a better view of the systems. You’re very fortunate that the both of the Officers are forgiving enough to let your attitude slide and that I leave the ship’s engineering work to its engineers.’

She stabs you squarely in the chest with one strong finger.

‘This better not happen again,’ Miloshov warns you through gritted teeth. ‘Just because you’re out of the Academy, doesn’t mean things are going to be easy nor will I make it so. Do I make myself clear, Ensign?’

>Write-In
>>
>>2441543
"Crystal, Ma'am"
>>
>>2441548
Don't you just have the best superiors? :D
>>
>>2441543
>Understood ma'am
a true military experience right here
>piss off all your CO's
>>
>>2441549
way i see it is that its Ozel is just getting us under his command without screwing with pulling favours or whatever. Or maybe they're all dicks, whatever, it's military we ain't got a say in shit,
>>
‘Crystal, ma’am.’

Her eyes briefly narrow … before she finally draws back, satisfied.

Good,’ she continues in a slower voice, ‘I know that it isn’t an easy change for you, but this is the real deal now. Even if it isn’t as glamorous as you have no doubt envisioned, what we do is still vital, and thus, requires discipline and dedication all the same. You’re no exception, Ensign. You didn’t even score high enough to make the Instructors sneeze. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re not gallivanting in the reserves and being called on with your pantaloons pulled up.’

You’re not sure whether to laugh or get angry to that last one.

‘Or if you’re just here for the mandatory service, here’s the start to your eighteen months.’

She holds out a datapad, jabbing it in your direction.

‘We’re grounded until further notice,’ she announces. ‘Something to do with traffic being unable to clear us … and chances those relics one bay over are probably going to get a send-off before we even ignite thrusters. I want you to bring these pads to the Ready Room … and wait until they give the all clear.’

She speaks to you as if she’s explaining to a ten year-old.

Ask them if they can get a clear for us and follow their instructions on what to do after. You’re not on my clock. You’re on theirs, so try not to piss [i[them off.’

Miloshov turns on a heel, walking towards one of the open bays of the ship and leaving you with a datapad in your hand and three superiors who didn’t like you—two of them already making their dislike of you known. You wonder if things could have been easier if you didn’t mention you were a Spacer at all. It wasn’t as if you’d be allowed to go back, anyway.

Guess who, Senpai?

>Write-In
>>
>>2441569
Someone that doesn't want to make me look bad in front of my superiors since I've boarded this ship?
>>
>>2441576
this'll work
>>
Anyone alive?
>>
>>2441576
Sounds good.

>>2441712
Here.
>>
>>2441712
Around for the next hour or so.
>>
>>2441712
Hi
>>
You guys wanna run? I'm awake.
>>
>>2441853
Go for it.
>>
‘Someone who doesn’t want to make me look bad in front of my superiors, for once?’

‘Eh-Eh?’

You pool the hands off you, turning around. You had been surprised to here her voice, but …

‘Hey, Rosaria.’

Expecting Rosaria to actually be here was something you hadn’t quite envisioned. However, rather than feeling surprised … you actually had relief coming all over you at seeing a friendly face, even if it was one that you hadn’t known for even a full Rhysodian day. She takes a step back, throwing up a cheerful smile, as always … and you realize that she’d foregone her sleeveless top for a more formal uniform, albeit one that you realized was rather …

‘Why are you out here so early? It must still be the wee hours for you, wouldn’t it?’

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she confesses. ‘There was a note put out on the details of my posting … I’m not an official part of the Aegis. I’m here as an … well, you know: an apprentice. It’s a private recommendation that I’ve been given … I’m to be assigned to several Instructors, but not in the capacity of a student. My workload’s more … specialized and practical. No combat, no supplementary classes except for six months of physical conditioning and no weapons schooling. They said I won’t have any official rank leaving the Aegis, but since I’m on Rhysode and by Admiral Purvis’s request, I’m afforded the same treatment as you were! Allowance and everything!’

Rosaria practically bounces on her heels at that.

‘That’s great,’ you reply, glad for some pleasant conversation for once. ‘So what’re you doing here, then?’

‘Well … I told you I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to, uh, follow up where you left off.’

‘Where I left off?’

‘You were very … topical on the new Mech units and I couldn’t help but go and get a look for myself,’ she explains. ‘Maybe get an eyeful, but, well … call it fate, but, I ran into one of the Instructors that I’d be attached to for the year. He was a little angry, too. Said that it was crazy that those new Mechs would be part of the standard.’

You frown. He? You didn’t think that Instructors Johnston or Riker would have any sort of grudge against a new batch of suits. Riker was pretty emotionless and Johnston lamented the Hellion’s state as a practical fossil.

‘Weird, Riker and Johnston don’t seem the type.

‘Oh no, I’m assigned to Mr Will Fisk!’

‘Oh, Instructor Fi—’

You stop mid-sentence.

Wait, that meant that … just now …

You hadn’t just seen someone who you thought looked like Instructor Fisk.

You had seen Instructor Fisk.

Oh, no …
>>
>>2441933
>‘No, no, not bad at all.’
>‘Depends on whether you like your organs intact 1 day out of 7 of the standard week.’
>‘There’s a reason that that man’s confined to Academy grounds. Kind of a ritual sacrifice, really, when you think about it.’
>‘Sorry, I’m kind of busy right now.’ (Rebuff)
>Write-In
>>
>>2441934
>No, no, not bad at all.’
......
>>
>>2441952
Actually, the "No, no, not bad at all" is your anxiety on Fisk working up. Think 'Nam Flashbacks. It's the "comedic" option.
>>
>>2441964
Ooh. All the options seemed like they were a response to her asking about him.

>>2441934
>‘No, no, not bad at all.’
>>
>>2441934
>‘No, no, not bad at all.’
>>
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It’s your third day on the campus. You’re in a uniform that barely fits you, that kid with the long hair has been giving you the evil eye for as long as you can remember setting foot on here, but everything would be worth it. Basic training wouldn’t start until tomorrow, but the classroom units would have a head start on the other lessons. One of those was the one you had been looking forward to: Mech engineering. It’s where you’re headed to now. Not many people would be here, of course: the first week was all about acclimatization to the military aspect of The Aegis and the classroom units didn’t have any strikes off attendance if you didn’t show up for the first week.

Entering the hall, though, you should have suspected that something was off.

The drills and the gears turn an unholy whir as the doors hiss shut and you find yourself—along with five other morons—locked in with a wrinkled, mustached short devil-man, whose first words to you were:

Well, there’s only six of us, but that’s not too bad, is it?

‘No … not … not too bad at all … ha …’

‘S-Senpai, is something wrong?’

You shake your head, taken away from your brief daydream.

‘No, nothing …’

You sigh, not sure how to break it to her.

Instructor Fisk was insane. It was just too bad that he was a brand of insane that the Aegis seemed to relish. A hundred-twenty-one years old this year, he’d dabbled in practically every field of science in a long and illustrious—and you use that word very, very liberally—career, carrying himself over from civilian work to military application back during the Second Typhoon Conflict … and whose brand of innovation had made a mark on the … possibilities of the blending of sciences. Fisk was a walking disaster area, which was why they’d probably sent him to Rhysode to further his curiosities: one of which appeared to be the blending of psychic energies, biological amalgamation and mecha combat. It was a possibility you had no desire to see with your very eyes. Fisk unchecked wouldn’t blow a hole in a heavenly body: he’d mutate and turn the whole damn thing into a monstrous abomination that’d devour the whole galaxy if he had this way.

You had the stinking suspicion that many, many of the current rules applicable to the rules of weapons development had Fisk in mind. Not that, of course, he didn’t have a soft side. Sometimes he’d offer some good advice, help students with their own little projects and weapons development …

But then, of course, came the payback in the form of being a test subject.

Thus far, you’re thankful that the Academy had struck him with the limiter that all the effects would be reversible.

It had worked, thank the Emperor.

‘He’s incredible! Did you know that he transitioned from academia?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I think he’ll have a lot to offer as a teacher. He must have helped you a lot, too, huh?’
>>
>>2442024
>'To be honest, I wonder what has him out here. Why'd he be so interested in a Hellion? Shouldn't he be happy with the new Piranhas?'
>'I have to get going. I'm on duty now.'
>'He's ... something, all right.'
>'The man is insane.'
>'No comment.'
>Write-In
>>
>>2442027
>To be honest, I wonder what has him out here. Why'd he be so interested in a Hellion? Shouldn't he be happy with the new Piranhas?
>>
>>2442027
>'To be honest, I wonder what has him out here. Why'd he be so interested in a Hellion? Shouldn't he be happy with the new Piranhas?'
>>
>>2442027
>'To be honest, I wonder what has him out here. Why'd he be so interested in a Hellion? Shouldn't he be happy with the new Piranhas?'
>>
‘To be honest, I wonder what has him out here,’ you admit, eyeing Rosaria. ‘Why would he be so interested in a Hellion? Shouldn’t he be happy with new Piranhas?’

‘He … said that the new suits were a downgrade in every aspect except aesthetic,’ Rosaria reveals. ‘Brought up weight ratios, uneven thruster calibrations, a lack of proper targeting systems to accommodate the triple-change of scenario of operations and that the armor was too light to take the full brunt of anything that was a straight shot. He’s here because he thinks putting the Piranhas out is a bad idea and is using his and another Instructor’s credentials to revoke the transfer and bring them back to the Academy.’

‘At … just past 5 am local?’

She turns her gaze to the floor.

‘He is a very persuasive man.’

‘Why are you with him, then?’

At least she has the decency to be embarrassed.

‘I am … easily persuaded.’

>‘Well, I need to get to work now. I’m on duty.’ (Leave)
>‘Wait, another Instructor? What?’
>‘Where is Fisk, anyway?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2442055
>‘Wait, another Instructor? What?’
>>
>>2442055
>‘Wait, another Instructor? What?’

Looks like the Greyhound is not getting cleared because of Instructor interference.
>>
>>2442055
>‘Wait, another Instructor? What?
>>
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‘Wait, another Instructor?’

You hear the sound of feminine grumbling … and turn to find a face you didn’t expect to see until your first leave slip got approved.

She didn’t look one bit happy.

Not at all.

>Write-In
>>
>>2442085
>H-hey F- Morrigan.
>>
>>2442087
>H-hey F- Morrigan.
>>
>>2442085
>Morrigan, it's good to see you!
>>
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Morrigan was clad in her usual whites … a set of clothing that she looked especially uncomfortable being in right now. However, considering she was here in official capacity—even by Fisk’s persuasion—she probably had to wear it. Rosaria takes a step back, still smiling as she gestures towards Morrigan, whose gaze had gone flat as she approached with an unnatural gait in her step. A gait that you really have to try not to show pride by. Hunched over and looking thoroughly exhausted, she closes the distance between you and Rosaria, letting out an exasperated, exhausted, sigh.

‘H-Hey, Morrigan …’

‘Oh, you know Instructor Fisher?’

You open your mouth to answer, but Morrigan already has it covered, striding over to you and puffing her chest up … albeit not without some degree of effort on her part. You move to try to catch her—she appears to almost stumble through the motions—but a lightly-raised hand tells you to stay in wait. She had this.

‘Your Senpai here was one of the more frequent visitors,’ she answers, albeit a lot weaker than you usually expected of her. She appeared to be oddly … tired; even for someone that was up just past the wee hours. ‘I think it’s safe to presume that at this point, he’s intimately familiar with me, Miss Spirance.’

‘Ah, it’s definitely a bit of a stupid to assume that you wouldn’t … you’ve been here for four years, haven’t you? It’d be stupid to assume that you hadn’t met before.’

‘Taking a good tour of the place yourself, are you?’

She scratches the side of her cheek, looking embarrassed. ‘Well … I wanted to get a good look of those Mechs, but there wasn’t enough room on the cherry-picker for Instructor Fisk to accommodate me. He told me I could do whatever I wanted and I saw this ship and, well … Senpai was here.’

Fisher nods, crossing her arms … before shifting her expression to one of slight confusion. That something … was amiss to her. You thought the explanation was sound, yourself.

‘You say that you landed … the day before? How do the both of you know each other? Spacer connections?’

‘No, no, of course not … Senpai and I met … yesterday, really,’ she answers cheerfully. ‘I … didn’t know what to do or where to go, but Senpai was very kind. He showed me around the city … even gave me food and let me come with him to a hotel! He was very sweet …’

You wear a nervous smile, meeting Rosaria’s warm, thankful gaze … before finding yourself being brought down to reality with the click of Morrigan’s heels as her form, grinning ear-to-ear, neared yours. Her smile doesn’t even attempt to make a reach for her eyes.

‘A hotel, even? My, my, my, it seems that someone’s springtime is here to make up for lost time …’

She laughs, raising a hand to your cheek … and giving it a very affectionate pull.

Good on you, Ensign!

>Write-In
>>
>>2442215
>she needed the help, i even introduced her to Sansa to have someone help her out when I leave. After that I dropped her off home and went to the appointment we had about my "future". I'm not one to take advantage of my juniors, so you have nothing you have to worry about....ma'am

Play it cool, we did nothing wrong
>>
>>2442215
Rosaria, Queen of Misunderstandings.

>>2442230
I'll back this.
>>
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‘She needed the help,’ you manage, despite her thumb and finger—her synthetic thumb and finger—squishing the very life essence out of that lump of skin between them. ‘I’m not so cruel to leave someone from a Colony Fleet on an Imperial planet without so much as a support structure … and I wasn’t about to just let her wander around the city while I needed to nap. She had to a good time. She watched the weather channel the whole afternoon and then I brought her with me to the graduation party … nothing happened!

That last part you hiss with emphasis. It’s enough for Morrigan to release her hold on you, huffing and crossing her arms … before resuming her previously-lethargic state. You gaze at her with worry, but a look back from her tells you not to.

You don’t heed it.

‘Ensign, when I gave you the kindness of actually operating on your own hour, I didn’t say that you could abuse it!’

You stand straight to attention, turning to face your Captain, who, if she hadn’t been in your last encounter, was absolutely livid. Even Rosaria backs off, looking fearfully between you and the curly-haired woman.

‘At ease, Captain, he was just helping me.’

Morrigan’s voice reaches your ears. She’s a little hunched over now, her hat a little tilted compared to before.

‘Instructor …’

‘Fisher. Morrigan Fisher of the Aegis, formerly of the Knights of the Pale.’

‘Instructor Fisher.’

‘My prostheses are giving me a little discomfort … and he’s attending to my—unfortunately—rather immediate needs,’ Morrigan lets out with a grunt, really selling her role at this point. ‘Is there something that needs his attentions right now?’

She fixes you with a stern gaze.

‘Presently, no. If he knows where his duties currently lie.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ Morrigan cuts right in, preventing you from getting a word in yourself. It was probably for the best, anyway. ‘Would you mind if I request his company? I know him to be a rather competent body of work from experience.’

‘Of course,’ Miloshov replies coolly. ‘Ensign, do remember to hand those pads over to the Ready Room as soon as you’re able … and please, handle the Instructor with care.’

She throws up a salute and turns on her heel, walking back up the catwalk to resume her duties.

‘Miss Spirance,’ Morrigan starts again, ‘please go and check with Instructor Fisk … I wish to have this over and done with. It is nowhere near a reasonable hour for him to be indulging in his curiosity.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’

Rosaria makes a mad dash for the stairs, leaving the both of you to your own devices.

‘You didn’t have to fake it for my sake, you know?’

Morrigan doesn’t answer, stumbling forwards, the whirs of her legs sounding more than just merely audible.

‘I’m not,’ she lets out in a strained whisper.

>Write-In
>>
>>2442344
>What happened to them? I heard them making noise when we were talking last night, but I didn't think they'd get this bad so soon.
>>
>>2442359
>What happened to them?
The enthusiasm of a virgin
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>>2442363
I assumed that was probably what it was, but I figured the MC wouldn't.

Plus it'll be funny to have Fisher admit it.
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>>2442359
Supporting
>>
‘What happened to them?’

She casts a wary gaze in your direction in response. It’s enough to answer your query … but not enough to keep the brief smile from appearing upon your lips.

Fisher hisses in pain again, stumbling towards the stairs and away from you.

>Write-In
>>
>>2442392
>Want me to carry you? It'll hurt a lot less.
>>
>>2442392
>Hold these and let me carry you. The Ready room should have enough room to work.
>>
>>2442392
>>2442408
I'll switch to this.
>>
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You jog up to Morrigan.

‘Instructor?’

Morrigan stops, albeit not without a slight wince from the action.

‘Would you mind holding these for me?’

She glares at you, but complies, taking the items—all three pads—from your hands … which allows you to to place her into your hands.

‘W-Wait, what are you—’

‘Your prostheses aren’t functioning according to specification,’ you reply neutrally, tucking your arms under her back and between the hook formed by her calves and thighs. The explanation, clear and direct, is enough to redirect the unwanted attention of curious onlookers from the hangar bay staff and the Greyhound’s crew members back to their own work: nothing to see here but a rookie brown-nosing … a sight all too common around the galaxy.

She stares at you, wide-eyed.

‘Besides, it’s not as if I’m not at least partly responsible for this, am I?’

That does it for her. She covers half her face with the pads you handed over to her … before burying herself into your uniform, mumbling incoherently into the fabric. For a while, you stand still, watching Morrigan practically fidget and wriggle in your arms as your held her. You have to admit that she’s a little bit heavy, even for you … but you’re enjoying the situation way too much. It wasn’t often that you’d caught her in a fashion so vulnerable. In fact, until the last several hours, you hadn’t seen her so much as blush or putting a lid on her sarcastic tongue. Now? Her cap tucked down and the pads you handed her acting like a makeshift veil that you had looking anywhere but in your direction … she is the very antithesis of that sharp-tongued woman with an insult or two up her sleeve when walking into her office.

‘Do what you want …’

Stepping onto the flight of stairs, you decide to drop the most important question first.

‘Is there anywhere you need to be?’

Traffic Control,’ she answers, finally looking up at you from her cradled position, ‘but in their own words, they’ll get back to me when they actually find something substantial to report back that isn’t a blank screen.’

‘Huh?’

‘Fisk asked me to accompany him … but I got a call later to inspect some oddities with the spaceway grid,’ she lets out with a sigh, ‘or rather, it got passed on to me because for some reason my house comm is the go-to for a bunch of nervous traffic controllers … who can’t even give me a straight answer as to what’s going on. I want to call incompetency, but I suppose it is 5 am in the morning and the shift changes probably have them harangued themselves. Doesn’t stop me from putting all the blame on them, though.’

You take that last step, finally finding yourself on the upper level.

‘You can let me down now.’

You do so … and as soon as her feet make contact with the metal platform, she almost stumbles.
>>
Thankfully, you manage to get an arm around her … and cast a worried gaze upon her tired features. She doesn't even look up at you.

>'You know, you could stand to be a little less prideful and ask for help.' (Annoyed)
>'You're in no condition to walk, never mind come all the way out here to check on a situation.' (Worried)
>'I don't want to sound presumptuous, but ... there's no way what we did would ...' (Observant)
>'I have my duties to perform. I think you can take care of yourself from here.' (Leave)
>Write-In
>>
>>2442500
>>'I don't want to sound presumptuous, but ... there's no way what we did would ...' (Observant)
>>
>>2442500
>'You're in no condition to walk, never mind come all the way out here to check on a situation.' (Worried)
>>
>>2442500
>You're in no condition to walk, never mind come all the way out here to check on a situation.' (Worried)
>>
>>2442500
>Observant
>>
>>2442500
>'I don't want to sound presumptuous, but ... there's no way what we did would ...'
>>
>>2442500
>'I don't want to sound presumptuous, but ... there's no way what we did would ...' (Observant)
>>
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‘I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but there’s no way what we did would … end up this bad.’

She lets out a great big sigh, running her prosthetic over her face and handing you back your datapads. Right now, however, they seemed of less import to you than the woman standing—leaning—before you, staring at the bay that housed your cruiser. She stays silent for a moment, her expression hesitant to divulge the details. Prideful. She was altogether too prideful; Fisher—no, Morrigan had always been like this for as long as you’d known her … and now you knew just how far the pride extended. Too what extent that she would let that weakness show.

It’s ironic, really, that she had more in common with Sanza than Sanza would ever know.

Both of them were stubborn enough to keep their own problems to themselves.

Both of them had their own ways in guiding others to their destinations, whether they were aware of it or not.

‘I keep forgetting that you have an eye and an ear for detail,’ she lets out with a chuckle.

‘I don’t need one to know that you’re in discomfort,’ you gently reply, casting a worried gaze upon her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I … had to renew my Adelheid-Stern dosage today,’ she reveals. ‘I … put a dose in just before you arrived. It was why I was upstairs.’

You stare at her.

How had she done something so reckless?

Adelheid-Stern Fluid was a relatively new (and by that you mean an invention in the last forty standard years) addition to the world of artificial limbs. Robotic sensations had always been something of a chore to operate, but rehabilitation had seen to their new owners acclimatizing to the new changes that came with having a limb that wasn’t one of flesh and muscle. The Fluid was—luckily—an invention by the Public Institute of Imperial Research; a compound that was able to integrate the new cybernetic additions as actual limbs with actual sensations, sans debilitating pains … save for the first few hours of its application. Adelheid-Stern practically extended the body’s neural net from a biological compound all the way to a the connecting artificial tissue, right to the sensor simulators of the limbs in question. They were a huge step forward.

Those first couple of hours, though … they were a killer.

The same couple of hours that she’d applied just for—

‘What? Why’d you—’

‘A girl’s gotta hope, right? Besides …’

She wears an apologetic, grin, hanging onto the railing and letting out breaths.

‘There wouldn’t have been any point to … doing it with you if I couldn’t feel all of you, right?’

She holds out her hand, as if inviting you to take it.

>‘You … shouldn’t have done that. Especially not …’ (Guilt)
>‘That’s stupid and you know it.’ (Chastise)
>‘I could’ve rejected you or not come onto you at all.’ (Retort)
>Gently grasp it (Romantic gesture)
>Write-In
>>
>>2442627
>Gently grasp it (Romantic gesture)
>>
>>2442627
>Guilt
>>
File: Cute.png (150 KB, 1200x633)
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>>2442627
>Gently grasp it (Romantic gesture)
2cute
>>
>>2442627
>>Gently grasp it (Romantic gesture)
>>
>>2442627
>Gently grasp it (Romantic gesture)
>‘You … shouldn’t have done that. Especially not …’ (Guilt)
These do not seem mutually exclusive (but are listed in order of priority regardless).
>>
You take up her offer, gently grasping her hand.

She winces slightly, prompting you to reel back in worry, only to have her thumb hook around her fingers and an embarrassed, shy, smile breaking out of her pained expression as she runs it over the back of your knuckles. A light hum sounds from her throat as she gazes into your eyes.

‘These are the hands of a man I’ve seen grow,’ she begins gently, as if singing a lullaby. ‘They’re fragile but strong, rough, scarred … they’re hands belonging to someone who knows value, worth … and whose eyes keep looking forward. It hurts, but … I don’t mind that it hurts, so long as I get to hold and feel it … in mine.’

She gives a slight croak, raising her flesh and blood limb in embarrassment … and burying her face in it for good measure.

Morrigan doesn’t let go, though.

>Write-In
>>
>>2442715
>I don't know why you're embarrassed, that's way more romantic than anything I could ever come up with.
I figure getting her to laugh's a good idea.
>>
>>2442715
>You know your adorable, But be more careful next time.
>>
‘That’s a lot more romantic than what I’d ever come up with.’

‘Sh-Shut up, all right? My sister had all these weird romance novels lying around … you don’t know how boring it is to mark evaluation forms every month and give advisory notices to your peers. You pick up a few things. It’s nothing … big.’

She turns red, looking away. The way she is, though, you can tell that there’s a scowl.

‘How about you? Your Captain … Miloshov, was it? She seems very strict. Didn’t think a Logistics crew would have someone like that on board, of all things. She should be enough to keep you on your toes for your trial period.’

You grimace, staring at the Greyhound.

>‘I never thought that the anti-Spacer sentiment could get any worse … and it does.’
>‘Yeah, she’s … she’s strict. It’s what I’m saddled with and what I’ll have to manage.’
>Stay silent
>Write-In
>>
>>2442789

>‘I never thought that the anti-Spacer sentiment could get any worse … and it does. Its impressively honestly’
>>
>>2442789
>‘I never thought that the anti-Spacer sentiment could get any worse … and it does.’
>>
>>2442789
>‘I never thought that the anti-Spacer sentiment could get any worse … and it does.’
>>
>>2442789
>>‘I never thought that the anti-Spacer sentiment could get any worse … and it does.’
>>
‘I never thought the anti-Spacer sentiment could get any worse … and it does.’

She stays silent for a moment, then, ‘What did you expect telling them you were from a Colony Fleet?’

‘That they wouldn’t care? That after years and years in service, all they’d have on their minds is service to the Empire? Protecting their fellow neighbors? That they’d realize that whatever it is, they have to realize that I’m on their side and fighting for the same fight and that should be the end of it?’

Morrigan only throws a sarcastic half-smile your way. Even her eyes communicated as much.

‘All right,’ you sigh, leaning against the railing yourself. ‘Maybe that’s a little bit too idealistic.’

She cocks an eyebrow in your direction.

‘All right, fine, that’s … that’s just asking for a miracle, then, isn’t it?’

Morrigan chuckles, looking out at the bay. ‘It’s amazing that you came down here wanting to do better by yourself … to what you perceived to be duty, responsibility, to a man … and come out only to realize that the very people that you put your back against, that you want to protect, sometimes even from themselves … would actually push back against you. That’s a stiff glass of reality check, if I’d say so myself.’

‘Speaking from experience?’

Sanza comes to mind.

You’re not sure if this was the time … or the place to ask. Never mind receive an answer.

‘I’m not telling,’ she answers coyly.

The smile, however, doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

>‘I should get to my duties … are you all right just waiting around here?’
>‘So, uh, what’re your duties again?’
>‘So, I notice that you were a little jealous down there … afraid that some young thing’s going to snatch me up?’
>‘Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Sanza from before you served?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2442985
>>‘So, uh, what’re your duties again?’
>>
>>2442985
>>‘So, uh, what’re your duties again?’
>>
>>2442985
>>‘So, uh, what’re your duties again?’

We all need to head in the same direction, so let's do that.
>>
‘So, uh, what’re your duties here again?’

‘Outside of making sure that Fisk doesn’t bite the heads of the security personnel off … there’s been a report of an atmospheric abnormality. The meteorological departments stumped and thus far, we’ve had to ground all craft the last few hours. No one’s coming in, either, so they reckon there’s an upper-atmospheric charge of sorts. Scanners and drones can’t even get a proper picture of what’s going on. It’s all black.’

‘Have you tried to contact the Orbital Defense Teams?’

Considering how much they harangued you coming in four years ago, you reckon they’d have a better view as to what was going on. After all, they were the ones up there … and it’d be silly for them

‘They’d report something in, yes … but we reckon that the storm is causing some sort of interference because all the traffic are getting is one black hole.’

‘You’re … here to check on that? How is that even expertise?’

She glares at you. ‘I actually do have field expertise, you know? I didn’t get recommended for this line of work by being someone that just sat behind a desk all year long listening to complaints.’

‘So you’re just here to help traffic discern what’s going on, then? That about the size of it?’

‘It’s probably just another blackout,’ she answers. ‘Disturbances like this are uncommon, but … they happen. And before you ask, I can handle it. You have to get a start on your own career, Ensign.’

>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>‘I need to ask you about Sanza …’
>‘Before anything else, tell me one thing: were you jealous down there?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2443169
>>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>comms blackout
prepare anuses lads, shitstorm incoming
>>
>>2443169
>Write-In
>So you're telling me literally no information of any kind is coming in from past the upper atmosphere, all attempts to gather any has ended in complete failure, no one has any idea what's going on, and no one's suspicious at all? Is a /complete/ breakdown of communication, visualization and movement common or something?
>>
>>2443215
Supporting.
>>
>>2443215
This
>>
>>2443215
>>2443169
I'll support this one, because god damn that is way too suspicious. Anything in our NAVIGATION NUT that may offer an explanation?
>>
‘Wait, there’s a complete breakdown of information between you and the Orbital Defense Teams and no one is at all suspicious about that? Not even you?’

‘The warning systems haven’t gone off, the Warp Jump detectors are silent and the only visual feed available is total darkness,’ she states, pushing herself up. ‘Considering the sheer manipulation of gravity and magnetic fields in terraforming … and while it’s by no means common, incidents like these are part of parcel of setting a planet up to be habitable. Thus far, they’re routine … and because of how physics are bent, light doesn’t even come early.’

‘What if it’s an enemy attack, then?’

‘Then it would’ve happened about 4 hours ago because the blackout’s been up for 4 and a half,’ she explains nonchalantly. ‘It’s suspicious, but I won’t pull the trigger on a crisis situation just yet.’

‘So when are you going to pull a trigger on one, then?’

Morrigan glances up at the hangar, before letting out a thoughtful hum.

‘In about two hours.’

You make the sound of a dying toad, shrinking and pulling your hand away from Morrigan’s grasp … to which she responds with a smirk of acknowledgment. The way she acted, the way she approached her tasks … you envied that, sometimes. Outside of the occasional sniping and the sarcastic roll of the eyes, she almost always kept a calm head on things. Hell, it wasn’t until the last several hours that you realized that she emoted beyond sage-like if mischievous wisdom and a snipe that was insult and praise in the same breath.

‘You really are just too cool, you know that?’

‘You’ll get there,’ she snorts, before gesturing to the datapads in your hand. ‘Speaking of getting there … you should really get to getting your own duties sorted. I believe your Captain’ll be waiting for you to report your delivery in.’

The teasing tone of her voice causes you to frown.

>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>‘I need to ask you about Sanza …’
>‘Before anything else, I need to know one thing: were you jealous down there?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2443314
>>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>>
>>2443314
>>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>>
>>2443314
>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>>
>>2443314
>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>'Don't worry, the Captain isn't even half as cute as you are.'
>>
>>2443314
>>‘I should get to my duties, then. You all right waiting around here?’
>>
>>2443314
Welp, two hours until we can calm down. I kind of wish we could swing by where the Hellions are just to be sure we can reach them if need be.
>>
‘I should get to my duties, then,’ you nod agreeably. ‘You all right waiting around here?’

‘Senpai! Instructor!’

Fisher chuckles, jabbing a thumb in the direction of two approaching bodies: one you were very familiar with … and one you were unwilling to be anymore familiar with.

‘That answer your question?’

It really didn’t.

She got the hint, though.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she reassures you, throwing you a small smile. ‘Go and do your job.’

>Talk to Rosaria
>Talk to Fisk
>Talk to Morrigan
>Go to the Elevator (Upper Floors)
>Head towards the Ready Room
>Head towards the Depot
>Check with Spaceway Traffic
>Write-In
>>
>>2444333
>>Head towards the Ready Room
>>
>>2444333
>>Talk to Fisk

FISK! Commiserate with us about those shitty SEED designs!
>>
>>2444333
>Talk to Fisk
An insane scientist, two spacers and a cyborg walk into a bar...
>>
>>2444346
>Cyborg holds hands with one Spacer under the table
>The other Spacer buries her face in salted pretzels
>The scientist isn't insane, he just is.
>>
>>2444333
>Head towards the Ready Room
>>
>>2444333
>>Head towards the Ready Room
>>
You don’t waste any time.

Or, rather, you didn’t wish to end up in another one of Fisk’s madcap schemes.

The Ready Room isn’t that far. The platforms up here were mostly bare, save for one or two pairs of engineers that were jogging up and down the aisles, scribbling onto paper or datapad. It’s more of a tower, really, built right into the face of the metal cliff-face that made up the platform and its levels. There was only one Ready Room, a hexagonal building smack dab in the middle of the mess, looking out onto the bays. If you didn’t know any better, you would said that the Ready Room (In actuality the Launch Bay Management Office and Command, but no one wanted to drag their tongue that far) and Spaceway Traffic had switched operation spots. However, Spaceway Traffic was another hundred meters down on a level of its own … which, weirdly enough, linked directly to the Ready Room’s tower-like structure. You supposed it would’ve made it easier for them to actually drop things off with each other … synergy. It was called synergy.

Approaching the Ready Room, however, you return to base reality … and the ever-constant presence of a pair of guards that seemed to think of themselves as threshold guardians, standing outside. One glaring at you behind a pair of black glasses … and the other crunching his knuckles as he stared down the corridor from whence you came. Neither stop you, however.

It was noisy.

It smelled of smoke.

There didn’t seem to be a semblance of order to the place as over a dozen bodies ran around like headless chickens, growling and snapping and … weeping into communication receivers as only management could.

One of them—a man in a suit and tie—recognizes you, marching over to your person and glaring at you in a manner that made you wonder if you had murdered someone he had cared about in your life. For a while, neither of you speak. You stare at the man as if he was a crouching predator, ready to unleash the full fury of his instinct and savagery upon you … and he just stands there, the glare appearing to be a permanent fixture behind those—and you notice them last—a pair of glasses that appeared to be almost wholly transparent.

‘Well?’ He starts impatiently, stomping his foot and bending over like a mother did her child.

You rub the back of your neck, wondering if there was some protocol you’d missed. ‘Uh, well?’

‘What’re you here for? Complaint? Crash landing? Invasion notice?’

The words come, fast as lightning.

‘What?’

‘What are you here for?’

>‘Is that a philosophical question?’ (Joke)
>‘I’m here to deliver these pads … Captain Miloshov told me to … wait?’ (Professional)
>‘None of your damn business.’ (Antagonize)
>Stay silent
>Leave
>Write-In
>>
>>2444414
>>‘I’m here to deliver these pads … Captain Miloshov told me to … wait?’ (Professional)
>>
>>2444414
>‘I’m here to deliver these pads … Captain Miloshov told me to … wait?’ (Professional)
>>
>>2444414
>‘I’m here to deliver these pads … Captain Miloshov told me to … wait?’
>>
>>2444414
>>‘I’m here to deliver these pads … Captain Miloshov told me to … wait?’ (Professional)

also hooo boy sensors are down and my paranoia boner is up
>>
‘I’m here to deliver these pads … and Captain Miloshov told me to … wait?’

He snatches them right of your hands, scrolling through one with much scrutiny for all of forty-five seconds before tucking it underneath one of his pits.

‘Wait, all right … that’s a thing,’ he grumbles. ‘No one’s launching until we find out what’s going on. That’ll be another hour or another standard year at this rate. Tell your damn Captain that there’s no way we’ll be able to meet her demands for launch … and neither are we going to meet anyone else’s until we have a clear picture as to what’s going on a thousand miles up! Or!’

He straightens his glasses, staring straight up at you.

‘You can wait outside.’

>‘I’ll … tell Captain Miloshov.’
>‘I’ll wait out side.’
>Write-In
>>
>>2444430
>>‘I’ll wait out side.’
>>
>>2444430
>‘I’ll wait out side.’
>>
>>2444430
>>‘I’ll wait out side.’
>>
‘I’ll … go and wait outside.’

So you do.

The guards don’t provide good company, but at least they don’t glare at you much. The corridor is strangely silent, a stark contrast to the chaos going beyond that door. You can’t even hear the rush out here, really … which you realize, was rather the point. Many of the rooms here were meant to negate the vibration of the launching ships. The whole structure was probably built to keep the personnel working in it from going deaf. That’s why people had mufflers, headphones … and why it was quiet as an afternoon on a weekend by the lake.

The guards don’t even talk much, really … and you only have your own thoughts to keep yourself company, in the end. Welback and Ozel … you would have to deal with the antics of those two for the next few years, not to mention the hard commanding style of Captain Miloshov. You weren’t even on that ship yet and here you were, looking at the mess that would be the jumping off of your career. You consider everything that you’d been taught, everything that had been leading up to this. You’d landed here full of dread and anticipation, wonder … and now here you were, a cavalcade of jerks right at the front of the line.

Maybe you should have tried going into civil sectors. You could probably do a job just as well directing spaceway traffic … it was practically second nature to someone on a Colony Fleet. You doubt that a Colony Fleet Receiving Unit would have as much problems with whatever was going on in the Ready Room …

Before you’d even realized it … a good twenty minutes had gone by.

You were in a crouch, leaning against a wall … and staring at nothing in particular.

Frankly, you’re bored.

>Keep waiting
>Attempt to check up on the staff inside
>Exit the “Ready Room”
>Write-In
>>
>>2444458
>>Exit the “Ready Room”
>>
>>2444458
>>Exit the “Ready Room”
>>
>>2444458
>Exit the “Ready Room”
>>
You leave the immediate vicinity of the Ready Room, heading back towards the juncture.

>Try your luck with Spaceway Traffic
>Head to Launch Bay 13 (Maintenance Catwalks, Greyhound, Captain Miloshov)
>Head to a nearby Elevator (Upper Floors)
>Duck back inside the “Ready Room”
>Head towards the junction of the stairs and the lower platform (Fisk, Morrigan, Rosaria)
>Head towards the Depot
>Write-In
>>
>>2444471
>>Try your luck with Spaceway Traffic
>>
Spaceway Traffic was the closest to you … and you were curious, anyway.

You rush down the stairs onto the lower platform and into a corridor, passing by what appeared to be another depot, where you spy two men chatting animatedly while hoisting what appeared to be a hose and a conductor unit while the minder looked bored out of her mind staring at the two of them. This corridor was a lot busier compared to the rest of the place, with you having to dodge several fuming bodies heading in the opposite direction with angered or annoyed looks, grumbling and cursing as they left. The elevator closing just as you reach the end, you elect to jog up the flight of stares to the mid-level where Spaceway Traffic was being directed … only to come face-to-face with a gang of angered civilians and military personnel, all of them lined up and cursing up a storm as the ones that passed you by had. From the looks of things, it looked like everyone had the same idea that you did, coming over to check what the hold up was about.

The atmosphere wasn’t just tense. It was downright volatile,

‘We’re doing the best we can … please understand …’

A scrawny-looking techie stood at the end, right in front of the large automated doors leading towards what you can only assume to be the main relay. He looked deeply apologetic, giving rapid bows at the collection of crew members.

‘It’s been four hours! Four hours!’

‘Bunch of incompetents.’

‘Not as bad as Ylam, though …’

It looked like no one was having any better luck than the Greyhound, though … that was for sure.

>Talk to one of the present pilots
>Leave
>Write-In
>>
>>2444494
>>Talk to one of the present pilots
lets get their take on the problem
>>
You decide to approach one of the more harmless-looking ones.

Which, to your shame, meant the only pilot or crew member that you could without a doubt take out in a straight up fight. Given the rather explosive mood about, you’re half-ready to put up your dukes without even so much as a word or thought to the matter at hand. It was better to march into a battle when there was the guarantee—or the perception of a guarantee—of victory.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Huh?’

His voice sounds like a buzzing hornet. Not quite irritating, but he sounded like he could have used at least double the hydration from birth. He looks up at you quizzically, adjusting his clear goggles. He looked like a civilian … and he definitely was a pilot, judging by the tags. Private, perhaps?

‘You need something?’

>‘No, sorry.’
>‘Any idea what’s got the whole port grounded?’
>‘What’s everyone standing around here for?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2444502
>>‘Any idea what’s got the whole port grounded?’
>>
‘Any idea what’s port the whole port grounded?’

He lets out a mirthless laugh.

‘If you’ve got an idea, pal, half the whackjobs here’ll give you service for it. They aren’t telling us anything, only that they can’t clear us for Warp Jump or to exit the atmosphere until they can get the all-clear as to what’s going on. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me … and the longer I’m down here, the less crowns I’m cashing in. The management’s going to be in a tizzy when they don’t see us back in home dock.’

Home dock.

Now that was an old term.

One that you knew was explicitly linked to …

‘You work for a Trade House?’

‘Yeah, more or less,’ he shrugs. ‘Third party contract, yadda-yadda … all of which is moot because the geniuses behind that door there aren’t so much as interested as giving anyone a clear picture.

You turn your gaze to the frazzled-looking man standing between the door and the dozen-plus crew members crowding the corridor, giving frantic apologies and repeated bows of his head as he addressed those present with pacifying words, looking extremely distressed. You’d try and approach him, but considering just how compact the presence of several irritated men made the place, you reckon you’d have started a riot tip-toeing in his direction.

‘Bunch of morons …’

>Leave
>‘So he’s just been there apologizing? No word out?’
>Attempt to move to the front of the line
>‘So … what’s it like, working for a Trade House?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2444511
>>‘So he’s just been there apologizing? No word out?’
>>
‘So he’s just been there … apologizing? No word out at all?’

The pilot throws you an irritated gaze, gesturing to the men present.

‘What do you think?’

>‘Don’t have to sound so irritated …’ (Annoyed)
>‘I was just asking a question.’ (Pacify)
>‘Thanks, then.’ (Leave)
>‘Attempt to move to the front of the line
>‘So … what’s it like, working for a Trade House?’
>Write-In
>>
>>2444516
>‘Thanks, then.’ (Leave)
>>
>>2444516
>>‘Thanks, then.’ (Leave)
lets head back to the ready room
>>
‘Thanks, then.’

You skip several steps down the stairs, striding back down the corridor and back out onto the lower platform.

>Try your luck with Spaceway Traffic
>Head to Launch Bay 13 (Maintenance Catwalks, Greyhound, Captain Miloshov)
>Head to a nearby Elevator (Upper Floors)
>Duck back inside the “Ready Room”
>Head towards the junction of the stairs and the lower platform (Fisk, Morrigan, Rosaria)
>Head towards the Depot
>Write-In
>>
>>2444524
>>Duck back inside the “Ready Room”
>>
>>2444524
>Head to Launch Bay 13 (Maintenance Catwalks, Greyhound, Captain Miloshov)

We have info that might make out Captain happy.
>>
>>2444529
or at least less mad.
>>
>>2444525
>>2444529
Flipping a coin. Coin flipped.
>>
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You take a leisurely walk, letting out a sigh as you take your time along the platform. There didn’t appear to be much that you could do other than wait until the boys upstairs did their work. There really wasn’t much to be done, really … or at all. The whole operation seemed stagnant in a manner that was almost surreal. Here you were, standing in a massive port that could house anything short of a Battlegroup or a Wardaemon and the place was as still as a port on Ylam. Not that there wasn’t activity, of course. There was loads of that. Cherry pickers, crane, lifters … but nothing seemed to be taking off or even making the semblance of substantial moment.

Maybe it was just the Colony Fleet background, but it honestly felt disturbing to see massive ships like these grounded before you. They were meant to be up there as far as possible, for as long as possible.

The Hellions stood there, too, lying on their backs and waiting for their pickup.

‘Rest easy, ladies,’ you let out casually, tipping an invisible hat their way. ‘You’ll be off in time, don’t you worry.’

Here you were, talking to a bunch of inanimate mechs a whole level down. Your family would be proud, surely.

You spy Fisk and Morrigan chatting casually right where you left them, Morrigan looking as stoic as ever while Fisk was looking more cross every step you took towards the nearby steps. Rosaria is off to the side, gazing at them in worry as they continue their talk, which, really, upon nearing the group and turning the stairs is just Fisk rambling nonsense about the merits of weapon systems and operating system variations while Morrigan does her best imitation of someone not looking to strangle a peer of hers.

‘I am telling you the moment those things get up in the air they are going to be sitting ducks. There is a reason that the conjecture has held for the last hundreds …. no, thousands of years! You cannot put a Mech up in the air and expect it to perform it as well on the ground at the same time! It’s like asking a fighter to perform just as well on the ground or … or to put a spacecraft in the sea and expect it to have no loss in performance or efficiency! What we have is an imitation, an insult to the innovation that men and women have put forwards, Fisher …’

‘Fisk, I swear …’

You almost feel sorry for h—

‘OFFICER FISHER! MA’AM!’

You look up from your position a third of the way down. It was someone in a Hangar staff uniform, his face practically ashen.

They speak too softly for you to make out but a few words … but the man does appear distressed and muttering them quickly enough that even if you were within hearing distance, you doubt you could catch it then. Fisher gives a quick nod … and the three of them break into a brisk walk, following the man.
>>
You watch their retreating backs.

It was none of your business.

You had your duties.

However …

Something beckons you to follow after them.

>Follow them
>Head down towards the Hangar Bay
>Write-In
>>
Also, appropriate music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sodfIVM2ZpU
>>
>>2444555
>>Follow them
>>
>>2444555
>Follow them
>>
>>2444555
>>Follow them
nice dub trips
>>
There was something off.

You couldn't just leave it like this.

Deciding that you were already in the gutter, anyway, you decide that it wouldn’t make a difference if you went down the stairs or headed back up. You run back up to the upper platform. They’d broken out into a sprint (Well, three of them were—there wasn’t anything that Fisk had in him to even make a semblance of one, but he does try), heading towards what appeared to be where you’d just left: Spaceway Traffic. They disappear down the corridor just as you catch up, only to stumble back onto your own bum as two burly gentlemen push themselves out, throwing you annoyed glances and shaking their head. You push yourself back up to a stand, dusting yourself off and straightening your shirt. You manage to catch a glimpse of Fisk’s lab coat disappearing right up the stairs, past the layers of annoyed-looking pilots and crew. You make out excuses and apologies as you maneuver yourself down the narrower corridor, as the crew members had deemed it the perfect moment to make their exit as you make your re-entry to this particular section of the hangar. It takes a much longer time than you’d expected just to get to that flight of stairs. You sprint right up to the upper floor …

Where you see Fisher’s form begins to vanish, obscured by the thick metal doors …

>‘Fisher!’
>‘Morrigan!’
>‘Fisk!’
>‘Rosaria!’
>Write-In
>>
>>2444592
Choose the correct one to call out, bros. One gets you in, the others keep you out. Which one'll get their attention the best, you ask?

You'd know.
>>
>>2444592
>>‘Morrigan!’
>>
>>2444592
>>‘Morrigan!’
>>
Morrigan!

The doors immediately hiss back open, revealing a red-faced, blue-haired Guidance Counselor, who looked like she just had a dart thrown square in her forehead. You spare nothing, breaking into a clumsy dash towards the open doors and stopping right before her pale, shocked features … right as the doors hiss behind you.

The place is as you’d expect.

The lights are a little dim, with not much noise save for a few clicks and hums … and populated by a bunch of people bent over their instruments, muttering to each other in a manner barely above a whisper. The atmosphere was tense, even if the air seemed clearer than it had been down in the hangar. Morrigan stares at you with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape as her arms crossed over her chest.

A member of the staff approaches her, his hands raised in a gesture of pacification.

‘Excuse me, ma’am, but—’

‘He’s with me,’ she snaps, her surprise quickly shifting from surprise to annoyance as she stares you down. ‘At least if he can explain just why he’s here in the first place … and if I can that there aren’t any holes or cracks where it is meant to hold water.’

Morrigan takes a menacing step towards you, an expectant—and very, very irritated—look in her eye.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come here, after all.

>‘I’ll … I’ll take my leave.’ (Embarrassed)
>‘Something’s wrong, isn’t there?’ (Direct)
>‘I, uh … I came to, uh … see if I could, uh … offer my expertise?’ (Tentative)
>‘I was just … curious?’ (Excuse)
>Write-In
>>
>>2444605
>>‘Something’s wrong, isn’t there?’ (Direct)
>>
>>2444605
>‘Something’s wrong, isn’t there?’ (Direct)
>>
>>2444605
>‘Something’s wrong, isn’t there?’ (Direct)
>>
‘Something’s wrong, isn’t there?’

Fisk lets out a snort in your direction. Rosaria … she stares at you in uncertainty in confusion. Morrigan, however, only lets out an exasperated sigh before pinching the bridge of her nose and tossing her head back, appearing to count backwards from twenty (You heard something that sounded like “eighteen and two-thirds”) before letting out a defeated, exasperated sigh and gesturing you to take your place by her side. She doesn’t answer you, but her invitation is enough to confirm your suspicions. Morrigan follows it up by nodding at the staff member, who gives one in return, turning his back and gesturing the four of your to follow him around the office. You trail behind Morrigan, not saying a word. You were already here in an unauthorized capacity. Another word out of you would probably get her heel buried in your mouth.

The five of you enter an adjacent room, but it might as well have looked like the same one to you.

The staff member gestures Morrigan—and you know it is only Morrigan that he gestures to—to approach a console, which she does. Loud footsteps has you instinctively moving out of the way as the both of them approach the glowing green screen, curious, thoughtful looks etched upon their faces.

‘There,’ the staff member declares, frowning … and pointing at what appeared to be a black screen. ‘That … that’s the problem.’

‘I don’t see anything.’

‘That’s the thing … we can’t see anything,’ he reinforces, pulling up a seat and gesturing for another staff member to come over. ‘We’re unable to get any sort of visual feed within the effected area. It’s happening right above us and all we can see is blank. Readings are showing massive surges in sparing bursts, kinetic energy, warp … it’s jamming every single one of our guardian net satellites and we can’t even pin-point its origin.’

‘Is it local?’

‘Can’t say,’ he declares. ‘We tried talking with the meteorological department to run sensor checks, but all we get is the same thing with the readings. No energy spikes save for those surges and nothing we can make out with. It’s like there’s one big hole and we’re staring into a damn abyss. Can’t make heads or tails of it.’

‘Sensor array?’

‘Went through the whole spectrum. Nothing. Nothing at all. Scanners pick nothing up … we’re blind.

You look over Fisk’s shoulder, staring at the blank screen.

They couldn’t see? That was it?

>‘Why don’t you just … get a visual feed, then? Your satellites should have a function for direct line of sight.’ (Common sense)
>‘Have you tried sensing heat signatures within the … abyss?’ (Some common sense)
>‘Why don’t you just send a scout ship up there, then?’ (Not a lot of common sense)
>Stay silent
>Pull Morrigan aside
>Pull Fisk aside
>Pull Rosaria aside
>Write-In
>>
>>2444623
>>‘Have you tried sensing heat signatures within the … abyss?’ (Some common sense)
>>
>>2444605
>‘Something’s wrong, isn’t there?’ (Direct)
>>
>>2444626
We kinda moved past this already, bud.
>>
>>2444623
>‘Why don’t you just … get a visual feed, then? Your satellites should have a function for direct line of sight.’ (Common sense)
>>
>>2444623
>‘Why don’t you just send a scout ship up there, then?’ (Not a lot of common sense)
someone oughta be mad enough
>>
>>2444633
>‘Why don’t you just send a scout ship up there, then?’ (Not a lot of common sense)
>>
>>2444633
>>2444634
the hells wrong with you guys?
>>
>>2444623
>‘Why don’t you just … get a visual feed, then? Your satellites should have a function for direct line of sight.’ (Common sense)
>>
>>2444623
>‘Why don’t you just … get a visual feed, then? Your satellites should have a function for direct line of sight.’ (Common sense)
>>
>>2444623
>‘Why don’t you just … get a visual feed, then? Your satellites should have a function for direct line of sight.’ (Common sense)
>>
>>2444636
the most direct route is sometimes the best
>>
>>2444641
satellites are up there m8
you basically sending the scout up to die if it is an enemy fleet
>>
>>2444632
>>2444637
>>2444638
>>2444639

Did you even read the post?
>‘That’s the thing … we can’t see anything,’ he reinforces, pulling up a seat and gesturing for another staff member to come over. ‘We’re unable to get any sort of visual feed within the effected area. It’s happening right above us and all we can see is blank. Readings are showing massive surges in sparing bursts, kinetic energy, warp … it’s jamming every single one of our guardian net satellites and we can’t even pin-point its origin.’

>>2444642
Satellites are not working which is the problem.
>>
>>2444642
If the sensors are satellite based looks like they've scanned already. "Whole spectrum" to me implies entire EM spectrum, which includes visible. Unless i've missed something which is entirely possible.
>>
>>2444644
>We’re unable to get any sort of visual feed within the effected area
The visual problem is only within the affected area. Also, jamming satellite sensors != incapable of direct visual feed (presumably outside the affected area).
>>
>>2444649
Are you also missing the phrase (Common Sense) at the end of that answer?
>>
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>>2444652
>>2444646
Discord is entirely optional, but sometimes you get tidbits like this.
https://discord.gg/vk6GKg
>>
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‘Why don’t you just get a … visual feed up there, then?’

‘Excuse me?’

The whole room turns to face you, incredulous.

You’d heard what they said, but …

‘I mean a camera,’ you clarify. ‘A direct stream won’t work, but a picture would, wouldn’t it? You’d be able to catch a glimpse of something that’s visual but unable to be interrupted by any … interruption the abnormality would be able to cause. You take a picture, you store it to data and you beam it down. No direct stream to cut off, just one clear picture. Drop into the effected zone, get proper lighting and … just take a picture and send it back down. There shouldn’t be anything that’ll intercept something coming and going if it’s just one block of data on a local level. It’s … it’s common sense. If you don’t have the tech to use something big, just use something that you can. You don’t need anything fancy.’

No one says a word.

Then …

Fisk chuckles.

‘Archaic,’ he lets out, placing his hands on his hips. ‘Do we have the drones for it?’

‘That we do,’ the man answers, clapping his hands together and standing upright. ‘Okay, everyone, do we have remote control on the sensor drones?’

The place explodes in a flurry of activity.

‘Yes, sir!’

‘All right, turn off all streaming modules for the drones and get commands up there,’ he barks out, his small form raising itself, looking much taller than he was with the burst of confidence. ‘Send 100, 107 and 112 out. Packets on direct. Let’s get some pictures, people!’

‘We’re flying blind, sir.’

‘Just get within range.’

Morrigan gives you a proud smile, giving you a friendly shove as she takes her place to your side. Rosaria steps forward, taking in the bustle of human action that constituted the whole of the room.

‘Snap to it, people!’

‘Data confirmed! Uploading to the local server!’

‘Man, this is ancient …’

‘Packets arrived! Nothing from 100!’

‘112 doesn’t see anything either, sir!’

‘Sir?’

‘What is it, Porkins?’

The holo at the top of the ceiling immediately lights up.

Your blood runs cold. It was the Orbital Defense Team.

Or rather, what was left of them.

Metallic husks of dozens of ships, fighters, nothing more than scraps, bombarded by the tidal rays of the sun. It looked like a bleak graveyard, with engines, wires … corpses. Husks of the planet’s first line of defense. You hadn’t seen such devastation outside of a simulation. They floated without direction, without purpose. It looked like the sight of a massacre.

‘Sir, we have another picture.’

It was a ship. Blocky, white, about the size of—

Alliance Military

Morrigan doesn’t need a second catch.
>>
‘We’re on Red Alert right now! Non-Militia personnel head straight the shelters! Get the Defense Force on the comms right now!’

‘Ma’am!’

Morrigan rushes out the room. No one else moves, however, their eyes transfixed on the Alliance Military … the Republic ship that hovered, the proud emblem of the hammer and the cross on its side. The ship must have been about five times the size of the Greyhound … a ship meant for war. However, there was something that told you that …

‘That’s an Alliance Military Carrier,’ you state, staring at the screen. ‘That’s … They’re going to make planetfall.’

‘Get your fighters up in the air now. This isn’t a daydream, Commander. We have an Alliance Battlegroup in our atmosphere—I’m right here with Kerensky Traffic and … in the name of the Emperor,’ she cries out, glaring at an unfortunate staff member, ‘send one to Commander Reedus of the Orbital Defense Second Unit!’

You turn to Morrigan, a comm unit in her ear and her cap long since gone.

‘Fisk,’ she calls out, before turning to you … then Rosaria. ‘The both of you, too—come with me. Everyone else get moving!

The siren goes off. Morrigan marches back out the room. Throwing a brief glance at each other, you decide to not contest the command. The both of you jog after her, immediately introducing yourselves to the panic in the other room as the evacuation klaxons go off.

Then she stops … and turns around.

‘It’s not easy to say this, but … you might have just given us enough to mount a defense.

>‘Let’s talk about this once we get out of this hole. What’s our protocol?’ (Urgency)
>‘I know.’ (Receptive)
>‘A defense? That’s a Carrier up there!’ (Pessimistic)
>Write-In
>>
>>2444664
>>‘Let’s talk about this once we get out of this hole. What’s our protocol?’ (Urgency)
>>
>>2444664
>‘Let’s talk about this once we get out of this hole. What’s our protocol?’ (Urgency)
>>
>>2444664
>>‘Let’s talk about this once we get out of this hole. What’s our protocol?’ (Urgency)
>>
>>2444664
>‘Let’s talk about this once we get out of this hole. What’s our protocol?’ (Urgency)
>>
>>2444664
>‘Let’s talk about this once we get out of this hole. What’s our protocol?’ (Urgency)
>>
>>2444664
>This is the Toph-Lathu isn't it?
>>
File: Equivalent.jpg (734 KB, 1920x800)
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‘Let’s talk about this once we get out of this hole,’ you interject, eager to get out of this room as soon as you were able. ‘What’s our protocol?’

‘Follow me.’

You do. Rosaria and Fisk trail behind you.

Around you, chaos seemed to reign. The sirens were loud and people were rushing past you, heeding Morrigan’s call to get themselves to shelter if they didn’t belong out here on the battlefield. The Militia-approved personnel, though, were running in the opposite direction. Vests, helmets … you’d never thought that a hangar bay crew would be in anything resembling militarywear, but right now, you were thankful that they had them on-hand.

Rhysode … why Rhysode?

‘I’ve sent out the warning to Watch Commander Reedus,’ she states. ‘He should be able to mount a defense to slow down anyone taking a stab at planetfall. He may not be Aegis, but he’ll be able to do the job and soften anyone making landings. If that’s what I think it is, we won’t be able to resist for long. Status on the other cities are unknown, so we operate under the assumption that we’re the only ones up until further notice. Spirance; Fisk; get to the nearest shelter. I’ll alert the Aegis to join up with Orbital Defense Unit and we’ll run evac procedure to defend the line.’

‘What about me?’

The four of you step back out onto the lower platform, overlooking the hangar bays … which were already scrambling.

‘Head back to your Capt—’

The screech of metal almost renders you deaf. The heat of fire dances above your skin as all you see is the red of the sun before your eyes. You can’t breathe. There is no motion. It’s like swimming through mud. You can’t see Morrigan anymore … not even Rosaria. Fisk is yelling behind you …

You are falling …

You are rising …

Screeching. Tearing. Blossoms of fire and the cry of devastation are all about you …

And you think no more.

END: EMBERS FOR TOMORROW – A FLICKERING FLAME (3)
>>
Do you guys want me to press on do you want me to end it here?
>>
>>2444684
this a good place to stop
>>
>>2444684
I don't mind continuing, but either way you should probably create a new thread.
>>
>>2444684
whatever works for you
>>
Just in case anyone's still lurking this thread:
We're calling it, next thread will be up whenever (doubt this one will last much longer).
>>
>>2444737
Addendum: We're back to Botegrills next thread. Because.




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