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File: For the Imperium.jpg (57 KB, 640x530)
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You decide to get right down to brass tacks.

‘What’s the situation?’

We have a problem.’

Three words that you should have seen coming a star system away.

‘What do you need done?’

It’s all that it boiled down to.

I won’t bother you on the details of signal boosting and piggy-backing,’ the chief engineer starts. ‘As things are, we have everything that we need to throw a line out, but … we’re unable to wholly over-write their override on Rhysode’s communications. Whatever they’re doing and however they’re pulling it off, it’s signed out like a spider’s web: twang it hard enough and they’ll be on us with a handkerchief. Right now, we’re essentially using the backdoor to get lines back up all around Rhysode, but any signal that’s too big or too apparent’ll get their tails up in a tizzy … which brings us to the crux of the issue: they’ll be on us the moment that we force our way into their hack and bounce it right off. My team can handle any defenses they have up on our end, but if any of the Alliance’s mechs get a read on on any of the hubs we’re bouncing right off … there’s not going to be much that we’re going to be able to do.

‘Understood,’ you acknowledge, nodding, ‘we’ll—’

Incoming!

WARNING! WARNING!

We got hostiles riding in, north by north west!

You raise your head, biting down a curse, eyeing the screen and squeezing the controls, barking out a call for calm and discipline. Your lance heeds your command in an instant, forming up as the four of you throttled it to the east, desperate to buy more time to prepare yourselves: the vector predicts contact in a matter of minutes, forcing you to push up even further. A hand strays to the instruments in reflex … right before your sanity pulls it right back, Wray’s owl-like leer playing in your mind, your role becoming clearer by the second.

You are the leader of this deployment. You are the bastion of the Emperor’s will and the Imperium’s sovereignty.

You will remain calm.

‘How many?’ you inquire, the initial read murkier than Ryosuke’s attempts at flirting.

‘Don’t have a proper read, but I checked four,’ Reinweld returns. You give the command to accelerate, spreading apart so as to not be picked off by a lucky blow.

Commander!

It’s the Chief Engineer again.

My team is in place,’ he continues, ‘There are fifteen nodes that we need to reactivate and re-purpose to beam a signal back off-world. We only need about eight or nine done, but the more you have left standing, the faster we can get things going. I’m sending you the coordinates.
>>
Fifteen blips appear on your screen.

‘Received.’

The tricky part is what comes next: there are only three viable data points and signal units in the city. We only need one to get a signal through, but while we’re getting them prepped, they’re going to be sitting ducks. It’ll take us even more time to activate the next data point, so it’d be preferred if you get it right the first time.

‘I hear you. We’ll hold the position. Get it up and—’

CONTACT!

It appears that you had last time than you’d previously believed.

You’re past the first building as a barrage of rockets zoom across your view.

Battle had resumed.

ACCESS POINTS LEFT: 3*
NODES LEFT: 15**

Turns Until Signal Sent: 7***

>Go on the offensive
>Hold your position
>Move to defend node (Assign yourself/Squadron Member)
>Move to defend access point (Assign yourself/Squadron Member)
>Write-in

*Destroyed Access Point adds: 5 turns
**Destroyed Node adds: 1 turn
***Destroying enemy mech shortens by 1 turn

>OOC: You guys can ask me about anything else you guys think you can do regarding the "write-in" and I'll see where it falls on the "action spectrum"
>>
What class type are we again? Vanguard or Commander?
>>
>>4494163
Vanguard.
>>
>>4494163
You're a Vanguard.
>>
2 on offense and 2 on defense sounds good? Anybody else have an idea?
>>
Also, I am SUPER streamlining this because people have complained that shit seemed to go on forever, and I agree. I'll try to make it less wordy and more "user input"-y.
>>
>>4494169
2 on Offense 2 on Defense sounds good to me.

Send out Maldante and Ryosuke to hunt mechs while we guard the Access Points with Emilio on Overwatch.
>>
>>4494174
That sounds good
>>
>>4494174
As the GM and since you have Vanguard, I'd like to just inform you that you actually have the benefit of being a defensive presence on offense. Defending stuff and keeping attentions on you is your speciality.
>>
>>4494177
Oh yeah, god it's been too long
>>4494174
Let's put Ryosuke on defense and take his spot on offense
>>
>>4494178
Sounds good. Maldante with us on offense while Ryosuke guards the Access Points and with Emilio on overwatch.
>>
>>4494182
Yup
>Emilio and Ryosuke on defense with us and Maldante on offense
>>
>>4494186
Hold let me reword that as it makes it seem we're sending Maldante out solo on offense
>Us and Maldante on offense
>Emilio and Ryosuke on defense
>>
>>4494186
>>4494193
I'll take this as confirmation, then?
>>
>>4494212
Yup
>>
>>4494212
yes
>>
File: 284th Century Combat.jpg (56 KB, 1148x649)
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>[You] move into an offensive position!
>[Lucion Maldante] moves into an offensive position!
>[Emilio Reinweld] holds position!
>[Ryosuke Umikaze] holds position!

[ENEMY ACTIVITY] Resolved
REVEALED POSITIONS: NONE of UNKNOWN
REVEALED FORCES: NONE of UNKNOWN

YOU: Vanguard Ability [Taunt] available in context of counter-action. Initiate?
>Activate
>Resolve current phase
>>
>>4494250
>>Activate
Time to shit talk our opponents
>>
>>4494250
>Activate
>>
>>4494250
>Activate
>>
File: TAUNT.jpg (12 KB, 300x300)
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Perhaps it was immature, considering the circumstances, but ...

"Your mother was a Volderian Sand Pig and your father smelled of Wickerberries!"

>DC: 3 (1d10)
>>
Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>4494281
Using that classical education I see.
>>
Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>4494281
>>
TAUNT SUCCESSFUL!
[ENEMY 03] Whitestorm has revealed its position!
>Configuration: Rapid Fire, Mid-Range
[ENEMY 04] Whitestorm has revealed its position!
>Configuration: Rapid Fire, Mid-Range

Enemies Revealed!
Initiate Overwatch? (Consumes turn if missed)
>Yes
>No
>>
>>4494291
>Yes
>>
>>4494291
>>Yes
>>
File: mech combat.jpg (350 KB, 1920x1080)
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Select OVERWATCH Activation:*
[Unit 02] Emilio Reinweld (1d20), DC: 10
[Unit 03]Ryosuke Umikaze (1d20), DC: 12

Select [TARGETS]
>[ENEMY 03] Whitestorm
>[ENEMY 04] Whitestorm

*Please roll with your selections. Successful overwatch does not consume an action. Unsuccessful overwatch might trigger enemy counter-action or, should the enemy not attack, consume your action for the next phase instead.
>>
Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>4494322
>[Unit 02] Emilio Reinweld (1d20), DC: 10
>[ENEMY 03]
>>
Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>4494322
>Unit 02
>Enemy 3
Phone posting is terrible
>>
Rolled 6 (1d20)

OVERWATCH SUCCESSFUL!

>Processing "Hit" (DC: 10, 1d20)
>>
Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>4494332
>>
File: top.jpg (135 KB, 1600x900)
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DEFENSIVE FAILURE! CRITICAL HIT! MECH DISABLED!(1 TURN!)
>Enemy Morale Affected!
>[No Modifiers]

[ENEMY 01] Gladiator has revealed its position!
>Configuration: Energy, Burst Fire, Mid-Range
[ENEMY 02] Crossbow Mk. III has revealed its position!
>Configuration: Defensive/Support, Kinetic Weaponry (Missiles)
[ENEMY 06] Roadrunner has revealed its position!
>Configuration: Scout/Disruption

ENEMIES REVEALED!
Timer Countdown: -1
Time Left: 5!

'There's five of 'em on my read!'

>'Stay frosty.' (Calm)
>'For the Imperium!' (Patriotic Fervor)
>'Good shot, Reinweld!' (Congratulate)
>[Stay Silent]
>Write-in
>>
>>4494336
That's mine, dude.
>>
>>4494340
>>'Stay frosty.' (Calm
>>
>>4494340
>'Stay frosty.' (Calm)
>>
File: You're Doing Okay.jpg (29 KB, 360x450)
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>>4494323
>>4494325

You’re doing great,’ the Chief Engineer cries out, ‘just keep them off our backs a little longer!
>>
‘Stay frosty,’ you mouth, your eyes on the prize. You don’t know how much longer you would need to last … but you would make the moments that are within your grasp count.

>There are no changes to morale

TURN TWO!
REVEALED POSITIONS: 5 of UNKNOWN (6?)
REVEALED FORCES: 5 of UNKNOWN (6?)
>Enemy 01: Gladiator (Forward Position)
>Enemy 02: Crossbow Mk. III (Rear Position)
>Enemy 03: Whitestorm (Flanking Position)
>Enemy 04: Whitestorm (Flanking Position)
>Enemy 06: Roadrunner (OUT OF FORMATION)*

Access Points Left: 3
Nodes Left: 15
Turns Until Signal Sent: 5

I’m getting movement on my sensors, Commander,’ Ryosuke lets out, his voice concerned, yet steady.

>Go on the offensive
>Hold your position
>Move to defend node (Assign yourself/Squad member)
>Move to defend access point (Assign yourself/Squad member)
>Write-in

*Enemies that are OUT FOR FORMATION are more vulnerable to flanking attacks, pot-shots and aggressive assaults!
>>
>>4494382
>>Go on the offensive
>Attack the Roadrunner
Smack their recon boi quick
>>
>>4494382
>Go on the offensive
>Attack the Roadrunner
>>
Okay guys, nice run. I'm going to go and take a nap since it's 3 AM here in Malaysia. Great to be back and I hope the new system is less tedious.
>>
>>4494389
>>4494390
You guys will have to once again specify who you want to move in offensive positions.
>>
>>4495052
Ok.
>Maldante goes on the Offensive to Attack the Roadrunner
>We go on the Offensive to distract the Gladiator
>Emilio and Ryosuke maintain overwatch.
>>
Running in approximately 10 minutes.
>>
File: Mecha.jpg (397 KB, 1680x1050)
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>[You] move into an offensive position! (Intended target: [ENEMY 01] Gladiator)
>[Lucion Mandante] moves into an offensive position! (Intended target: [ENEMY 06] Roadrunner)
>[Emilio Reinweld] holds position!
>[Ryosuke Umikaze] holds position!

The following units are on the offense against revealed hostiles:
>[You]
-Intended: Gladiator
-Protected/Disengaged Hostiles (Revealed): None
>[Lucion Maldante]
-Intended: Roadrunner
-Protected/Disengaged Hostiles (Revealed): None

Please specify follow-up action for the two units on offense from the options available
>Engage (Melee/Mid-Range/Long Range)
>Disengage
>Special abilities specific to class*
>Skip

*Currently, there are no abilities available to your units in the current phase.
>>
>>4495138
>[You]
>Engage Melee

>[Lucion Maldante]
>Engage Mid-Range
>>
>>4495141
OPTIONS SELECTED:
Please roll for success of action!
>[You], Melee, 1d20 (DC: 10)
>[Lucion Maldante], Melee, 1d20 (DC: 7)
>>
Rolled 9, 2 = 11 (2d20)

>>4495175
>>
>[You] action resolution: FAILURE!
>[Lucion Maldante] action resolution: FAILURE!

ENEMY ACTION!
>[Enemy 01] Gladiator engages [You]!
>[Enemy 06] Roadrunner disengages from combat!
>[Enemy 06] Roadrunner activates ability: FIELD INTEL
>[Enemy 02] Crossbow Mk. III holds position!
>[Enemy 03] Whitestorm moves into offensive position (Intended target: Node 02)
>[Enemy 04] Whitestorm moves into offensive position (No intended target)
>[Unknown Enemy Movement Detected], No Intel Available
PROCESSING ENEMY PHASE TRANSITION

[YOU]: Vanguard Ability [Taunt] available in context of counter-action. Initiate?
>Activate
>Resolve current phase
>>
Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>4495179
>Activate
>>
File: TAUNT.png (395 KB, 675x380)
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I’ve read balance sheets more intimidating than you, scum!

>[Enemy 01] Gladiator is simmering!
>[Enemy 03] Whitestorm disengages from intended target!
>[Enemy 04] Whitestorm disengages from intended target!
[ENEMY 05] Crossbow Mk. III has revealed its position!
>Configuration: Scout/Support, Kinetic Weaponry

Enemies Revealed! Initiate Overwatch? (Consumes turn if unsuccessful)
>Yes
>No
>>
Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>4495185
>Yes
>[Unit 02] Emilio Reinweld (1d20), DC: 10
>[ENEMY 03]
>>
>>4495186
Are you rolling for both? I'm kinda off here.
>>
Just having Emilio do the overwatch assuming that the target would be the same as last time.
>>
OVERWATCH SUCCESSFUL!

>[Enemy 03] Modifier: Critically Hit Last Turn
>Processing "Hit" (DC: 11*, 1d20)


OOC
Just for the players who are around, the last turn had two successful rolls against two enemy Mechs, who, in revealing their position, were hit by CRITICAL OVERWATCH. The "optimal" maneuver would have actually been to have assigned your two offensive Mechs (in this case, [You] and [Lucion Maldante] to wail on them after moving into offensive positions, while your two Mechs that had "held positions" in the turn before to snipe [Enemy 06] the Roadrunner before it could have restored battlefield equilibrium.

The optimum maneuver would have been:
>[You] : Go on the offensive (Target: ENEMY 03)
>[Lucion Maldante] : Go on the offensive (Target: ENEMY 04)
>The other two: pot shot the revealed Scout/Support (ENEMY 06)
>>
Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>4495225
>>
I was planning to run an hour ago, but I couldn't find anyone online. I'll try this again in the morning. Good night to you all.
>>
How many of you lot are alive?
>>
>>4496212
One here.
>>
>>4496212
i am unliving but not yet known to death
>>
>>4496238
>>4496243
All right. I'll run in about half an hour.
>>
All right, lads. T-minus 2 minutes.
>>
File: Fighting.jpg (334 KB, 1280x1742)
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DEFENSIVE FAILURE! CRITICAL HIT! ENEMY MECH DESTROYED!
>Enemy Morale Affected!
>[No Modifiers]

>No New Enemies Revealed

>[ENEMY 01] Gladiator Disengages
>[ENEMY 02] Crossbow Mk. III moves OUT OF FORMATION
>[ENEMY 04] Whitestorm is immobilized by MORALE DROP
>[ENEMY 05] Crossbow Mk. III takes an offensive position
>[ENEMY 06] remains OUT OF FORMATION

ENEMY DESTROYED!

>'Keep rank!' (Calm)
>'Forward!' (Fervor)
>'That's one tag, pilot!' (Individual congratulations)
>[Stay Silent]
>Write-In
>>
>>4496348
>'Keep rank!' (Calm)
>>
>>4496348
>>'Keep rank!' (Calm)
>>
ENEMY DESTROYED!
Timer Countdown -1


That was one down.

'Keep rank!' you bark, watching the enemy attempt to reform into a more structured shape. Reinweld had knocked one down for the count, but the numbers advantage favored your opponents, still. The last thing you wanted right now was risk an all-out assault that would have their advantage swell.

>There are no changes to morale

TURN TWO!
REVEALED POSITIONS: 6 of 6
REVEALED FORCES: 6 of 6

>Enemy 01: Gladiator (Disengaged, Forward Position)
>Enemy 02: Crossbow Mk. III (OUT OF FORMATION)
>Enemy 04: Whitestorm (Flanking Position)
>Enemy 05: Crossbow Mk. III (Flanking Position)
>Enemy 06: Roadrunner (Disengaged, OUT OF FORMATION)

Access Points Left: 3
Nodes Left: 15
Turns Until Signal Sent: 3

'Ready to receive orders.'

>Go on the offensive
>Hold your position
>Move to defend node (Assign yourself/Squad member)
>Move to defend access point (Assign yourself/Squad member)
>Write-in
>>
>>4496367
>>Go on the offensive
Us melee
Lucion mid range
both on Crossbow mk 2
>Hold your position
Emilio
Ryosuke
>>
>>4496367
>[You] melee [Enemy 02]
>[Lucion] mid range [Enemy 02]
>[Emilio] Long Range [Enemy 06]
>[Ryosuke] Long Range [Enemy 06]
>>
>>4496373
>>4496378
The combat options available aren't valid as I've changed the system.
>>
>>4496406
>[You] and [Lucion] go on the offensive against [Enemy 02] (Crossbow Mk III)
And can Emilio and Ryosuke take potshots at the Roadrunner [Enemy 06]?
>>
>>4496422
Sure. I'll give you the current range modifiers to see if you want to take the action.

>Ryosuke vs. ENEMY 06 (DC: 10)
>Emilio vs. ENEMY 05 (DC: 8)
>>
>>4496428
Those look good. I'll take them.
>>
>[You] move into an offensive position! (Intended target: [ENEMY 02] Crossbow Mk. III)
>[Lucion Maldante moves into an offensive position! (Intended target: [ENEMY 02] Crossbow Mk. III)

YOU HAVE FLANKED THE ENEMY!
>[Enemy 02] DC: -1

>[Ryosuke Umikaze] attacks from a held position! (Intended target: [ENEMY 06] Roadrunner) DC: 10
>[Emilion Reinweld] attacks from a held position! (Intended target: [ENEMY 06] Roadrunner) DC: 8
>Enemy is OUT OF FORMATION
>>
Rolled 19, 12, 5, 7 = 43 (4d20)

>>4496446
>>
Rolled 5 (1d20)

ATTACK INITIATED!

>Processing "Hit" (DC: 8)
>>
Rolled 12 (1d20)

DEFENSIVE FAILURE! CRITICAL HIT! ENEMY MECH DESTROYED!
>Enemy Morale Affected!
>Modifier: Squadron Scout KILLED! -1 to all tactical rolls

>No new enemies revealed

>[ENEMY 01] Gladiator moves into offensive position!
>[ENEMY 02] Crossbow Mk. III is unable to disengage from being flanked due to morale drop!
>[ENEMY 04] Whitestorm holds their position!
>[ENEMY 05] Crossbow Mk. III initiates attack (Intended Target: Node)

>Processing “Hit” (DC: 5)
>>
File: Comms.jpg (15 KB, 600x108)
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NODE DESTROYED!
Timer Countdown: +1

The volley of missiles sends a skyscraper topping to your right. You let out a curse as the comms flare up again.

Keep them away from the data nodes!
>>
File: pew pew bam bam.jpg (160 KB, 1280x720)
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Two down, four to go.

But you couldn't let them near another node.

>‘Steady as she goes, team.’ (Calm)
>‘Push!’ (Fervor)
>‘You’re on fire today, Reinweld!’ (Individual congratulations)
>‘Tagged it, Ryosuke.’ (Individual congratulations)
>[Stay silent]
>Write-in
>>
>>4496463
>‘Steady as she goes, team.’ (Calm)
>>
Steady as she goes, Squadron. Eyes up front; we’re not done yet.

>There are no changes to morale

TURN THREE!
REVEALED POSITIONS: 6 OF 6 (2 Destroyed)
REVEALED FORCES: 6 of 6 (2 Destroyed)

>[ENEMY 01] Gladiator (Forward Position)
>[ENEMY 02] Crossbow Mk. III (OUT OF FORMATION)
>[ENEMY 04] Whitestorm (Forward Position)
>[ENEMY 05] Crossbow Mk. III (Forward Position)

Access Points Left: 3
Nodes Left: 14
Turns Until Signal Sent: 2

Let’s do this!’ Ryosuke cries out, loading another round.

>Go on the offensive
>Hold your position
>Fall back
>Move to defend node (Assign yourself/Squad member)
>Move to defend access point (Assign yourself/Squad member)
>Write-in
>>
>>4496481
>[You] go on the offensive [Enemy 06]
>[Lucion] go on the offensive [Enemy 02]
>Emilio hold position.
>Ryosuke move to defend node
>>
>>4496495
[ENEMY 06] is dead, player.
>>
>>4496498
Woops meant [Enemy 05]
>>
>[You] are within engagement range of [Enemy 05]
[Enemy 05] is FLANKED!
>[Lucion Maldante] is within engagement range of [Enemy 02]
>[Emilio Reinweld] holds position!
>[Ryosuke Umikaze] moves to defend node!

The following units are on the offense against known hostiles:
>[You]
-Intended: [Enemy 05]
-Protected/Disengaged Hostiles: Gladiator
>[Lucion Maldante]
-Intended: [Enemy 02]
-Protected/Disengaged Hostiles: None

Please specify follow-up action for the two units on offense from the options available
>Engage (Melee Weapon/Ranged Weaponry)
>Disengage
>Special abilities specific to class*
>Skip

*Currently, there are no abilities available to your units in the current phase.
>>
>>4496515
>[You] Melee [Enemy 05]
>[Lucion] Melee [Enemy 02]
>>
>>4496525

>[You] get up close and personal! [Intended target: ENEMY 05], DC: 8
>[Lucion Maldante] gets up close and personal! [Intended target: ENEMY 02] DC: 8
>>
Rolled 10, 7 = 17 (2d20)

>>4496535
>>
Rolled 10 (1d20)

>[You] action resolution: SUCCESS!
-Flanked Modifier: +1 Stage of Damage!
-[ENEMY 05] is MODERATELY DAMAGED!
>[Lucion Maldante] action resolution: FAILURE!

ENEMY ACTION!
>[Enemy 01] Gladiator is attempting a flanking maneuver!
>[Enemy 02] Crossbow Mk. III is attempting a flanking maneuver!
>[Enemy 04] Whitestorm recovers from morale drop!
>[Enemy 04] Whitestorm attempts to attack from its position!

>Processing “Hit” (DC: 12)
>Modifiers: Scout Death (+1 to all rolls)
>Modifiers: [Ryosuke Umikaze] defending point (+5 to roll)
>>
>>4496674
>[Enemy 04] Whitestorm action resolution: FAILURE!

[Ryosuke Umikaze] defending point! (1d20)*
>No Damage (18-20)
>Light Damage (14-17)
>Moderate Damage (6-13)
>Heavy Damage (2-5)
>Disabled in Totality (1)

*When defending a point, asset or fellow man successfully, you run a risk of taking the damage intended for them. Get
>>
Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>4496680
>>
Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>4496680
>>
Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>4496680
dubs for 20
>>
Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>4496680
>>
I'll run this in a few hours. Hopefully you lads will still be around then.
>>
Sorry, my cat is in the hospital. I'll try to run in a bit.
>>
Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>4496680

see the power of f rank luck
>>
Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>4496680
>>
Okay, folks. My bad. I'm back and I will be running in about 3 hours. All four of you can come back then. I'm really sorry about the last few days.
>>
All right. Sorry. Here now. Running in a bit.
>>
Rolled 11 (1d20)

>[Ryosuke Umikaze] is [MODERATELY DAMAGED] defending the node!

>[ENEMY 05] attempts to disengage from engagement range of [You]!
>Modifiers: +1 (Subject of successful attack in same turn)

>Processing Engagement Attempt … (DC: 4, 1d20)
>>
[ENEMY 05] Crossbow Mk. III successfully disengaged!

'Systems still functional,' Ryosuke calls out over the channel, the sparks of an unfortunate hit laying the torso's mechanisms bare. 'Let's roll!'

>'Hold steady, team ...' (Calm)
>'Push on!' (Fervor)
>'Good one, Ryosuke.' (Individual congratulations)
>[Stay Silent]
>Write-In
>>
>>4500974
>>'Push on!' (Fervor)
>>
>>4500974
>>'Good one, Ryosuke.' (Individual congratulations)
>>
>>4500977
>>4500978
I'll take the second one.
>>
>>4500974
>Good one, Ryosuke.' (Individual congratulations)
>>
Good one, Ryosuke.

I owe you for that, sir,’ comes Ryosuke’s irritable grunt, moving back into position.

>Ryosuke’s morale has risen! (+2 to rolls)
>Ryosuke has recovered
>Ryosuke is moderately damaged

TURN FOUR!
REVEALED POSITIONS: 6 of 6
REVEALED FORCES: 6 of 6

>[Enemy 01] Gladiator (Forward Position, attempting a flanking maneuver)
>[Enemy 02] Crossbow Mk. III (Forward Position, attempting a flanking maneuver)
>[Enemy 04] Whitestorm (Holding Position, rear)
>[Enemy 05] Crossbow Mk. III (Forward Position) MODERATELY DAMAGED

Access Points Left: 3
Nodes Left: 14
Turns Until Signal Sent: 1

Just a little bit more!

>Go on the offensive
>Hold your position
>Fall back
>Move to defend node
>Move to defend access point
>Write-In
>>
>>4501000
>>Hold your position
>>
>>4501000
>[You] go on the offensive [Enemy 02]
>[Lucion] go on the offensive [Enemy 05]
>[Emilio] hold position
>[Ryosuke] hold position
>>
>>4501008
Yea this, need to remember how to do these right again
>>
>>4501000
>>4501008
this
>>
>>4501008
>>4501005
>>4501013

Sorry. I had to do a perimeter check and I know it's probably a little railroad-y, but why don't you try going on the offensive against the SAME ENEMY just this turn?
>>
>>4501041
You mean something like:
>[All] offensive [Enemy 5]
>>
>>4501041
>[You] go on the offensive [Enemy 05]
>>[Lucion] go on the offensive [Enemy 02]
>>[Emilio] hold position
>>[Ryosuke] hold position
Yea that smart, why can't test come faster so I can think about this better
>>
>>4501043
>>4501044
I'm just using this opportunity to showcase the new mechanics.
>>
>>4501043
Basically, use two dudes to flank the enemy, then activate a third to go on the offensive against that enemy from a distance for a free crit.
>>
>>4501043
>>4501044
I'm not trying to "force" you guys to do it, but it'd highlight the roles of certain "classes" better in the context of "active combat".

As in, right now, you have a countdown of "1". You have an active sniper, two frontliners and a damaged teammate, correct? Every kill drops the countdown. By bringing in two frontliners to activate the flanking bonus and bringing in the third for the potshot, you can kill the enemy mech in question and bring this battle to a close.
>>
>>4501072
Yea it's just me overthinking again
>>
>>4501072
Ok so.

>[You] attack [Enemy 05]
>[Lucion] attack [Enemy 05]

Would flank [Enemy 05] allowing

>[Emilio] potshot [Enemy 05]

To pretty much guaranty a kill ending the fight before the opposition has a chance of extending the fight additional rounds by taking out nodes/access points.

I guess my original suggestion would only stall the fight for another round rather than ending it. With your permission I'll change my vote to this.
>>
>>4501076
>>4501079
It's all right. It's also my fault for overcomplicating combat in the first place. Finding a sweet spot for online posting, tabletop mechanics and storytelling is pretty hard, since we can't just say stuff in twenty seconds across the table over pizza, figurines and pictures of naughty elves.
>>
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>[You] are within direct engagement range of [Enemy 05]
>[Lucion Maldante] is within direct engagement range of [Enemy 05]

[ENEMY 05] is FLANKED!
>[ENEMY 05] DC: -1

>[Emilio Reinweld] moves in offensive tandem with [You] and [Lucion Maldante] by attacking from a held position!
>[Ryosuke Umikaze] holds position!

SPECIAL EVENT:
Flanking Maneuvers are successful!
>+1 Damage Stage [Forward Position]
>+1 Damage Stage [Flanked]

You have managed to corral your enemy into a kill-zone. In doing this, you have left one or more attacking team members (who is not part of the two that have moved into flanking positions) with the ability to take a free shot with a high chance to do damage. This strike is considered an automatic critical hit, however, in doing so, you consume the turns of all three of your units in consolidating this action. As you level up, you may be given the ability to re-take actions even after moving into engagement range, but as things are, you do not have the ability to do so. You will now be given the chose whether to roll the dice thrice on three attacks that could potentially inflict more damage by virtue of having more rolls and more chances to do damage (potentially up to five times more) from normal rolls and bonuses, or you can take a single high-chance, high-damage strike! The choice is yours.

>Attack normally
>Execute kill-zone (DC: 3, 1d10)
>>
Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>4501083
>Execute kill-zone (DC: 3, 1d10)
>>
Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>4501083
>>Execute kill-zone (DC: 3, 1d10)
>>
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The Crossbow pilot is good; very good.

Skill, however, isn’t the deal-breaker of the battlefield.

Vigilance.

Improvisation.

Teamwork.

Those are the three attributes that press you on to victory. The Crossbow’s weapons module dictates superiority only in the case of guided fire and direct line of sight. The pilot’s confidence in their own skills had most definitely re-enabled their confidence in attempting to out-maneuver your pursuit and Lucion’s … and even you admit that they make a good show of it. Using the buildings as cover, you and Lucion press them back and forth, dancing a three-way rhythm heralded by the clanging of a collective one-hundred-or-so tons of metal joints and the juking of your mechs around tight corners and street-ways: the city had not been engineered with mech combat in mind … and the pilot’s awareness of its own diminutive size in comparison to your fifty or so feet enables them greater leeway in using the tops of building blocks in order to make up for the difference in out-fitted combat effectiveness. Lucion keeps up just as well; his attempts at playing off your shoulder are deliberate and without form, but his ability to recognize and follow through regardless prove invaluable.

You’d isolated them from the rest; the Gladiator was working on regrouping what remained of their unit … and for you, that chaos is enough.

The sights of your HUD catch a glimpse of the enemy Mech as it heads south … before hitting the air with its jump-jets, releasing a stream of suppressive fire to break you and Lucion apart. A sigh escapes you as your eyes furrow … and you signal Lucion to press him back west. A command rings over the channel; you and Lucion switch roles, with the latter pushing aggressively from the Crossbow’s right flank; the movement falls into an orthodox reaction module as the Crossbow ducks right behind away from you and back towards its allies in an attempt to form up …

Reinweld!

Right at the criss-cross where you’d moved Reinweld.

It’s almost … horrifyingly beautiful to watch. The first bullet clips the Crossbow in its walker joints, the lack of balance making its cockpit crash into the corner of a city block, bringing the structure down. The pilot makes a mistake in attempting to recover, back-pedaling in an attempt to return to relative city. A second, third and fourth volley fires from hundreds of meters away, tearing its missile rack off from sheer kinetic energy … and hitting its power plant on its underside.

Wires, modules and armaments fall onto the floor with every bullet that rips through the walker’s abdomen … and it becomes akin to a spit-roasted, over-cooked bird before long. A metal carcass falls to the ground, turning the street into an inferno in its own right.

Another one down for the—

We have control!

OBJECTIVE ACHIEVED!

>Write-In
>>
>>4501106
>Status Report.
>>
>>4501106
>Understood, send the broadcast.
>>
‘Status report.’

We’re up and running, Commander,’ comes the reply, the pitch having more in common with an Academy freshman finding out about 90 hour Rhysode weekends than it did a chief engineer of the corps. ‘SOP dictates a two hour frame before the Navy makes the system; get your men out of here while you can; the city’s still under siege and we—

Static.

You’re not getting out of this that easily.

That was definitely not from the your band. A quick glance to your instruments informs you of a hijacked signal, re-hacking and forcing its way into the channel’s broadcast configuration. Your Hellion rests against the building wall as you try to home in on the signal source … before realizing that it had been isolated and localized from less than a mile away; centralized and hanging on instead of broadcasting itself.

It was from the Gladiator.

You just killed three of my men,’ the voice—a craggy, edged, masculine tone—rumbles, ‘and that means you owe me some blood.

Your sensors—disturbed as they are—highlight his intention. One of the remaining three aggressors takes point; the other two realign into a more isolated triangle, with the Whitestorm placing itself in closest proximity several hundred yards away … and the remaining Crossbow just outside of what would have been a standard three-man operation formation.

It looks like he does, indeed, have no intention of pushing off the conflict.

You’re not sure if a part of you does, either.

Your instruments hum as you raise the nozzle of your machine rifle, ready for a fight.

>‘You are in violation of a standing agreement.’
>‘Stand down.’
>‘Blood for blood it is, then.’
>‘We’ve both seen enough blood today.’
>[Say nothing]
>Write-In
>>
>>4501752
>‘We’ve both seen enough blood today.’
>>
>>4501752
>We’ve both seen enough blood today.’
>>
>>4501752
>Write-In
>'I think you owe me blood for killing and attacking my civilians you fuck'
>>
>>4501795
this, when its time for more warcrimes, prepare to be warcrimed
>>
>>4501752
>>‘Blood for blood it is, then.’
>>
>>4501752
>‘Blood for blood it is, then.’
>>
‘We’ve both seen enough blood today,’ you counter over the feed. ‘You can either stand down or retreat. I would rather not have anymore lives circle the drain to damnation than both our sides have.’

An Imperial with the innate inability to be aware of itself? Just another grain of sand on a dead world.

>[AWARENESS] Attempt to maneuver your team for an pre-emptive strike
>‘You’re the one in violation of the terms.’
>‘An Alliance offensive that’s so arrogant that it’s imploded on it’s own short-sightedness; as expected.’
>‘I’d hate to betray your expectations.’ (Battle)
>[Write-In]
>>
>>4502024
>[AWARENESS] Attempt to maneuver your team for an pre-emptive strike
>>
>>4502024
>>[AWARENESS] Attempt to maneuver your team for an pre-emptive strike
>>
>>4502024
>>[AWARENESS] Attempt to maneuver your team for an pre-emptive strike
>>
>>4502024
>[AWARENESS] Attempt to maneuver your team for an pre-emptive strike
>>
>>4502024
>>[AWARENESS] Attempt to maneuver your team for an pre-emptive strike
>>
I'm sorry. I was supposed to run about 8 hours ago ... but I brought the wrong set of keys when I went out on my jog and had to be let back in by my father.
>>
>>4505806
That's an oof from me
>>
>>4505836
Just to add to that one of the reasons I went out FOR a jog was to get into town so I could buy some toiletries. About 8 hours later, when my father returned from his own stuff (buying clothes) I realized that I had forgotten to buy shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, aftershave and a spare loofa when I finally went into my own office/house (At 3 friggin' PM) for a shower. So yeah; big oof.
>>
You survey the situation, taking all the factors into account.

>[AWARENESS] 1d12 (DC: 5)
>Modifier: +1 (Awareness)
>>
Rolled 4 (1d12)

>>4506657
>>
Rolled 10 + 1 (1d12 + 1)

>>4506657
>>
Rolled 8 + 1 (1d12 + 1)

>>4506657
>>
SUCCESS

You turn your Hellion’s head towards Reinweld, then Lucion, moving the controls and allowing the VI to assist in making silent gestures, prompting them to move towards the outer perimeter of the combat zone. You rest the spine of your mech against the block that served as your cover as your comrades break off from direct engagement range, taking more advanced positions in what is very much an unorthodox formation. The sensors pick up heavy steps and moving parts, a sign that the Gladiator is, indeed, on the move, but thus far unwilling to risk an uncertain firing solution or unsuccessful engagement in a situation that had just seen a reversal of your numerical advantages. It’s a paradoxical consideration; the man had been insistent in drawing out the battle and had taken a pensive approach in his pursuit of a conclusion.

That, however, wasn’t something that you cared for.

I wasn’t aware that an Alliance dog could hold itself akin to anything resembling a standard,’ you throw right back, ‘but I suppose that if you could manage to bring a one-group invasion this far, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to congratulate you on your ability to string together two syllables.

Talking.

You have to keep him talking.

Keep him on you.

The blast from the Gladiator’s kinetic armaments tear right into where you had been a split second ago. Three marks on your sensors indicate an aggressive notion, but in the confines of the city, where interference and maneuvering mean more than firepower, they do little more than take away from Rhysode Alpha’s skyline.

Suppressing and flushing? Maybe you should have tried that with a configuration outfitted for close-up skirmishes instead; you’re not fighting on a clear plateau.

Talk, talk, talk. Show me what you’re made of!

You hit the thrusters, inadvertently slamming into the corner and clipping the block as you find that the remaining two mechs had rounded the corner, rounding you onto a wider street. You’re almost impressed with the Alliance Military’s tactics, and any other day, you admit, they would have had you dead to rights.

Open fire.

Except that you had meant for it to happen.

The first shot clips the Whitestorm’s right knee, sending it crashing head first into the building face; Lucion finishes it off with a clumsy swing of his axe, tearing through the mech’s abdomen and certainly all the way through its torso. Reinweld’s second volley marks the Gladiator’s other Squadron member, tearing through its front plate and cockpit, its bent carcass draping over the roof where it had stood not moments ago.

You wonder what thoughts race through the mind of the Gladiator’s pilot as the nozzle of the cannon rises in one last act of defiance …
>>
A brief thought, however, is all it is.

>Give the command
>Kill him yourself
>Try to reason with him one last time
>Write-in
>>
>>4506694
>>Kill him yourself
Hey we offered once, ya dont get it twice.
>>
>>4506694
>Kill him yourself
>>
>>4506694
>>Kill him yourself
>"Not much for the blood of innocents you've killed today, but it's a start."
>"What's the sit rep chief? These guys seem utterly unworried about naval response, and that worries me."
>>
It’s quick.

That’s the least you owed him, but you pay it in full.

The Heat Axe is lodged deep into the Gladiator’s torso, but the momentum from the larger mech’s previous motion has your Hellion slam against the face of another building, sending glass and concrete onto the street below. Moments linger as you find your vision clouded by the dead eyes of a motionless, metal carcass before move the controls and throw the Gladiator off your mech and onto the ground, the ensuing impact breaching the surface of the street due the Gladiator’s sheer weight.

Six down … none to go.

You were—

We have drop pod signatures incoming!

You’d spoken too soon.

You stretch out a hand to your instruments, a flurry of curses ready to fly from the tip of your tongue … before realizing that there was an unknown comm-tag blinking at the top of your visuals.

>Answer it
>Ignore it
>>
>>4506756
>Answer it
>>
>>4506756
>>Answer it
>>
>>4506756
>>Answer it
>>
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It’s a direct feed.

The reception is fuzzy, but you’re able to make out enough of who’s on the other end of the call. Through the faded colors, you meet a pair of sunken, gray eyes. There is a cold, piercing quality to his gaze, framed in a stony visage that is decorated by stubble, age … and power. There is a quality to him that you find oddly familiar, but are ultimately unable to pin-point. Crags and cuts mark his cheeks, age and power somehow emanating from his grizzled form. Black hair, thick neck, scarred nose … there is a strange weight to his presence, a heaviness to the man before you; you feel as though you are face-to-face with someone of great import and influence, but every visual cue that you are able to discern tells you otherwise. An aura of command emanates from the screen; a rigidity that is not merely practiced, but earned through discipline and experience. You are face-to-face with a soldier, from the marrows of his bones to the sweat on his brow; a man tempered in the forge of battles that you could not begin to imagine.

His eyes furrow in a scrutinizing glare, wrinkling one corner of his nose as he appears to size you up.

I presume,’ the man starts, his voice a gravely drawl, ‘that I’m talking to the leader of the Squadron that just carved our operation in half?

‘You’d assume correctly,’ you throw right back. ‘You are in violation of the standing treaty in conducting this unsanctioned and unprovoked attack on a planet under the Imperium. Lay down your arms and await judgment.’

You really think that we’re going to do any of that?

‘No,’ you snort back, ‘but it was worth a try.’

The man cocks an eyebrow, shifting his seat. You don’t turn away from the screen.

‘You’re in violation of the terms dictated between the Empire and—’

I’m aware, Commander.’

You’re not sure why his response draws your ire so much, but it does.

‘I’m sure you didn’t beam a direct line just to congratulate me for eviscerating your men.’

My apologies,’ he chuckles, his eyes flashing—briefly—dangerously, a sardonic smile carving itself upon his lips. ‘I didn’t think that they made them that young in the Empire. Goes to show what I know.

You’re uncertain if it’s praise; even if it was, however, you’re far too irritable to even take it as such.

‘If that’s it, then—’

Sorry, just … look,’ he sighs, placing a set of fingers to his temple, his visage looking troubled. ‘You’ve cost us too much to push right on and right now, we’re in the middle of calling in a full retreat of our forces out of the system. Now, I know that you’re about to push right on and eager to tear right through what’s left of us and you probably could, but … this is what I’m offering you: we leave quietly … and you let us leave quietly.
>>
You feel something inside you … snap.

‘You think we’d just—’

I do, because the alternative is pushing on as you are … and as good as you are, I seriously doubt that you have it in you to carve it out through three assault units from three strike points and a bead on your position.

Your eyes widen. How could you have been so—

And I have to say, I don’t want to play the odds with you, either.

‘So that’s it? We disengage and you leave?’

That’s the deal,’ the man confirms, nodding. ‘And we leave the blood deficit for another day, whenever the stars say it’s time to collect.

>‘Blood for blood; I’m not letting you off this rock alive.’
>‘Is this some sort of sick game to you? People have died.’
>[Agree to stand down]
>Write-In
>>
>>4506918
>I don't really believe you. You seem more the type to stall for time and then launch a WMD at us.
>>
>>4506930
going for this
>>
>>4506930
Okay, guys, I know that this is a remake, but I'd really not break the atmosphere with remarks such as this. You know where this is headed; I know where this is headed. Let's not, okay?
>>
>>4506918
>And what make you think I’d trust you to just leave? You launched an attack and killed civilians. The other squad leader seemed utterly unworried about being called out. That leads me to believe he didn’t think it mattered. You’re playing for time now. You’re not getting it.
>>
>>4506918
>Stall for time. Begin renegotiation, demand surrender couple of mechs and pilots and show of good will in this ceasefire negotiation.
>>
>>4507280
alright, ill go for this if its ok to change vote
>>
>>4507280
>>4507312
I'm going to go with >>4507123 's suggestion. Mostly because it's not so much a ceasefire agreement but a planet-wide retreat that's being made with the promise that it'd remain bloodless for both parties.
>>
You know exactly where that statement irritates you. If the man had been across from you in a conference, you would have tossed a brick in his face for his words. The only thing that you find holding you back is your upbringing as a Scion and the tempered discipline from your education as a man of the AEGIS … and even that had barely managed to catch your words. You grip your seat, making your best show of a professional soldier … and find yourself distinctly failing, remembering the carnage of the Kerensky Spaceport, of the dying—

Memories of a coquettish grin flood your mind; a light shines through an office; a teasing remark sounds in your ears … and your eyes fall, once again, upon your blood-laden clothes, a desperate grip begging for time and mercy as battle raged all around.

Something bends.

‘You expect me to trust you … after all this?!

He meets your gaze, unflinching and silent.

There are people dead. You launched an invading force in violation of standing treaties. The only thing your pilots were interested in until five minutes ago was seeing our heads on pikes. You are a criminal. You have launched an unprovoked attack on a world under Imperial rule. People are dead. The only thing that I’m taking from this is that you’re stalling for what little time that you have before the Empire makes the system. No deal.

The man stares at you, cocking an eyebrow but otherwise keeps his previous silence … before letting out a snort of concession.

I guess that’s all that this can be.

What did he—

The dropships are making a break for it!’ comes the Chief Engineer’s exclamation.

You key in a set of commands, changing the sensor configuration from active ground combat to aerial and orbital observation. The Hellion’s eighty year-old systems are basic for that very function, but what it does pick up is enough for you to confirm the Chief Engineer’s words. Three drop ships were making a break for it, one making it its very specific task to taunt you with its take-off mere kilometers away, just out of the maximum engagement range of your best sniper. Your mouth slackens slightly as your eyes widen, your fury boiling under your palms as you find yourself powerless to prevent their escape.

You had been right … and had fallen into it anyway.

‘You bastard!’ you swear, snarling at the screen. Forget a brick: you’d use your own two hands and wring the life out of the fart.

I’m getting my men off this rock, Lance Commander, one way or another.

Hands clenched into fists, you consider pressing your father into investing into psionic research tables, if only so you could put it to personal use.

>‘Coward!’
>‘This isn’t over, butcher.’
>‘Coming or going, your people can’t even make your minds up on that.’
>[Cut the feed]
>Write-In
>>
>>4507776
>>‘Coming or going, your people can’t even make your minds up on that.’
>>
>>4507776
>‘Coming or going, your people can’t even make your minds up on that.’
>>
‘Coming; going; you can’t even make your minds up on that?’

We were very adamant on the coming part,’ the man snorts, a wry upturn on the left side of his lip barely visible, ‘I’d rather not praise an opposing Commander on a job well done, though, if that’s all the same to you.

>‘I’m sure the courts wouldn’t appreciate the posturing anymore than I would.’ (Snipe)
>‘This isn’t over.’ (Angry)
>‘I suppose that finding humor in slaughter is very becoming of your ilk.’ (Insult)
>[Turn off the feed]
>Write-In
>>
>>4507904
>>‘I’m sure the courts wouldn’t appreciate the posturing anymore than I would.’ (Snipe)
>>
>>4507904
>‘I’m sure the courts wouldn’t appreciate the posturing anymore than I would.’ (Snipe)
>>
>>4507904
>>‘I’m sure the courts wouldn’t appreciate the posturing anymore than I would.’ (Snipe)
>>
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‘I’m sure the courts wouldn’t appreciate the posturing anymore than I would.’

A sardonic chuckle hits your ears. ‘Well, that’d be the truth, yeah.

You bore your eyes into his, your anger’s grip upon your actions very much vacuum-tight.

The name’s Uther. It’d be a shame if I didn’t catch the name of the maniac that just struck our op.

>‘I’m sure you’re used to disappointment.’
>[Give him your callsign (Write-In)]
>[Cut the feed]
>Write-in
>>
>>4507987
>>[Give him your callsign (Write-In)]
Ascalon
>>
>>4507987
>>[Give him your callsign (Write-In)]
Cipher.
>>
>>4507987
>[Give him your callsign (Write-In)]
Noblesse Oblige
>>
>>4507987
>[Cut the feed]
>>
>>4507988
>>4507990
>>4507993
Okay, let me give my weigh in:
>Ascalon
Ah, the sword of St. George, a valorous knight.
>Cipher
The dude from The Matrix, The X-Men or stealth "fuck you, I have no name"
>Noblesse Oblige
I could use this, but it's two words so ...
>>
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Ascalon.

The man fixes his gaze upon you again.

Good name.

A hand reaches out. The feed is cut.

You gaze up to the lit sky, surprised that daybreak had arrived. A strange sense of ease, unlike anything that you had ever felt before, falls upon you. Your hands release their hold on the controls as you let yourself fall upon the cushion of your seat, the scent of smoke, blood and sweat invading your senses. You are relieved, angry, sad … all at once. Over the now re-established communication channels you make out chatter regarding the resumption of emergency services, their reactivation largely in debt to the mass retreat currently underway. You don’t know where things were about to go from here, but for now, you’re thankful for the respite that you’re afforded in this … victory, if it’s what you could call it at all.

You’re just so … tired.

Emergency protocols are still in effect,’ Reinweld points out in the most obvious tone. ‘Enemy’s in full retreat and we’re getting reports of upper-atmospheric engagement petering out. Is the jurisdiction for current orders still under AEGIS authority or are we deferring to the ODF with the neutralization of the immediate threat?

That’s not our call to make,’ Maldante replies. ‘That’d be his.’

You chuckle, catching the mumble of curses from Reinweld’s feed. If there was ever a light at the end of the tunnel, hearing him swear was one that you would graciously accept.

As much as I’d rather trade in this temporary command for a bed and some scented oils,’ you start, sounding much more amused that you had previously intended, ‘I think it’d be best to adhere to current protocols and wait in for an executive override. As things have been … I’d rather not make a mess of things after making it this far. We keep to formation and await further orders: our status as active pilots remain unless relinquished by command decision. Keep formation … and keep it lively. I won’t be convinced we’re in the clear until those bastards clear the skies.

They’re in full retreat.

They’re in orbit,’ you mention pointedly. ‘Until we—

Senpai!

Now that was a voice that you’re all too glad to hear from.

Rosaria’s face appears on your screen, her hair ruffled and her clothes frayed, but otherwise appearing as healthy as she had been when you’d last seen her. Despite being a scant hour or so, it felt like an eternity since you’d departed the convoy.

We were able to restore the sight net’s extra-system relay permissions back to the world’s administration,’ she gushes, hovering over the monitor. ‘Reinforcements will make orbit within hours!
>>
>>4508124
>‘A little too late to bear the good news, Rosaria.’ (Amused)
>‘How’s everyone?’ (Inquire)
>‘You all right? Must have been a hell of a first day as an Imperial citizen.’ (Concern)
>‘I know.’ (Dismissive)
>Write-In
>>
>>4508128
>>‘How’s everyone?’ (Inquire)
>>
>>4508128
>‘How’s everyone?’ (Inquire)
>>
>>4508128
>>‘How’s everyone?’ (Inquire)
>>
>>4508128
>>‘How’s everyone?’ (Inquire)
>>
‘How’s everyone?’

E-Everyone?’ she blinks, looking around. ‘W-We’re fine … I’m a little scared and we’re still trying to fully re-establish the communication hubs back into the planet’s direct control, but otherwise, I’m—we’re—managing just fine. Everyone’s a little … on edge, too, but we’re managing things as well as we can, I guess. The algorithms are being written on a minutely update schedule … and I’m part of the primary engineering unit, so …

‘Ah,’ you let out. ‘Sorry, I must be carving up your time as is.’

N-Not at all,’ she stammers, waving her hands in distress. ‘I-I’m the one who contacted you and … I’m glad you’re okay.

‘Have you heard from Fisher? Memphis? Sansa?’

Miss Memphis is actually here with me,’ Rosaria answers, glancing to her right. ‘Oh, wait, I think … I’m sorry, Senpai; I think she’s gone off to the lavatory.

In the background, you notice a flurry of activity.

I’m sorry to say that I’ve … I haven’t heard from Miss Wilmots or Miss Fisher since we separated. I wasn’t able to catch much, but they told me that they’d be taking her to a treatment facility to tend to her … wounds. I … was not inquisitive enough to inquire as to where. I did see Miss Wilmots in one of the convoys, but I couldn’t …

She trails off, hanging her head once more.

‘It’s all right; I think with all the chaos, it would be unreasonable to expect you to …’

You trail off, too.

You’re just so very … tired.

>‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be seeing you once we get the rest of this mess sorted out.’ (Close the call)
>Write-In
>>
>>4508230
>‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be seeing you once we get the rest of this mess sorted out.’ (Close the call)
>>
>>4508230
>You saved a lot of lives today Rosaria thank you.
>>
>>4508237
this
>>
>>4508237
Sounds good
>>
>>4508237
Voting this
>>
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‘You helped save a lot of lives today,’ you extol, trying your best to lift the mood. ‘We couldn’t have been able to push their forces back without your input.’

Rosaria throws up a bashful smile.

Thank you, I—

Lance Commander, we’re reading some abnormalities in the atmosphere.

The chief engineer’s interruption has you reflexively checking your instruments. His statement rings true: there are anomalies that you find showing up … which, given the age and the technology available to the Hellion, even with an an upgraded operating system, shouldn’t have been so apparent. The effective range of the Hellion in comparison with more modern systems, especially with it not being outfitted for reconnaissance of that ilk only serves to confound you, as it generally took more than a few moments for the old girl to take in any shifts in atmosphere; unless it was—

‘It’s a Cloud Strike!

Your eyes widen in horror.

They wouldn’t.

They … they couldn’t.

We have four detonation points … we’re right on top of the overlap.

Commander!

Lucion’s voice shakes you from your stunned state. You had to work quickly.

‘We need to get everyone to a shelter. Get the EVAC units online and have them—’

We have incoming!

In … coming?

You are blinded.

First, by light, then … by the darkness.

There is a strange sort of gravity at work. You feel as though your body is spun around in an acclimatization chamber set at a hundred and eighty percent, your heart practically in your throat as the laws of physics jostle and tug you in your seat. You feel like an old wooden puppet being pulled at in all directions by greedy children, a violent vertigo assaulting you as you find your head repeatedly smashing into the back of your seat and your shins being crushed by something large and heavy. A ringing sound invades your hearing, as you find yourself unable to even summon your own voice … until it stops. Crunching and screeching arrive upon your senses, low groans and high pitched screeches; the whining of metal and the breaking of steel rising in tandem with your cries of distress.

Sparks and flames come into your vision. Metal flies; plastic panels and wires leap from their containers like screeching vipers, the bulkhead of the Hellion pressing down against your skull as the console introduces itself to your ribcage. You let out a breath, struggling to breathe … and find the air white hot. It is as though you are swallowing burning mounds of coal with every breath.

Distress, fear, dominates you. Your hand reaches out for the panel right as one of the monitors shatters, its shards scratching your features. You close your eyes and look away, gritting your teeth, raising your hand and—
>>
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Your chest is hot, boiling.

You turn your head downward, feeling a hot spear of metal pinning you to your seat … and right through your … chest …

Blood.

You are losing … bl … o …

>Close your eyes. It would be so nice to close your eyes ...
>Stay awake, soldier. Stay awake.
>Write-in
>>
>>4509638
>Stay awake, soldier. Stay awake.
>>
>>4509638
>>Stay awake, soldier. Stay awake.
>>
>>4509638
>>Stay awake, soldier. Stay awake.
>hit your distress beacon, assuming you still have one.
>>
Awake.

You have to stay awake.

Basic response.

Dozing off would be the worst thing you could do at a time like this. Your breathing is labored; you’d been pierced just to the left of your diaphragm. You can feel your chest caving in and the syrupy texture of blood at the back of your throat. It is as though you are in a clay oven, burning inside. The panels and the metal struts are hot to touch; your legs, while pinned tightly, are still functional. You take inventory of yourself and your surroundings, the emergency light immediately activating and bathing you in a sickly yellow light. The primary command console and the joystick had been bent out of place, with the secondary input console bent into the framework of the cockpit itself, its spot taken by a particularly large strut that had pierced the command pod’s ceiling and left side. An attempt to raise yourself towards the controls—or what remains of them—only results in a silent shriek. You are struggling for breath in a tomb that is most certainly cooking you to death.

It’s agony to reach out, but you have to do … something.

You cry out in pain as you fall back into your chair. You can feel tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

Stay awake.

It’s what you tell yourself.

Stay awake.

Do something.

>Find and hit the manual inject
>Reach for the console again; see if it works
>Sleep ...
>Write-In
>>
>>4509736
>>Reach for the console again; see if it works
>>
>>4509736
>Reach for the console again; see if it works
>>
>>4509736
>>Reach for the console again; see if it works
>>
With what strength you can gather, you stretch your right arm towards the console … and manage to flick the reboot before falling back.

It comes alive.

SYSTEMS: CRITICAL
WEAPONS: OFFLINE
//RESOURCE ERROR

‘Resource … error?’

You let out a cough, the motion almost prompting you to scream in pain as you find the jagged edges of the metal strut that was sawing into your right lung with every breath and word you managed. You consider your options; the Hellion’s design logic had the mech’s chassis built around the cockpit rather than being installed into it like newer generations. From what you’re able to discern from your surroundings, the upper torso’s support had more than likely caved in from force so tremendous it’d compromised the chassis’ integrity. You muse that that could only have meant that you’d essentially been smacked with the force of a superheavy mech barreling down with a shoulder charge with about a dozen jump jets attached to it.

You really shouldn’t be laughing right now.

The blood that you cough out is indicative of that.

Your breathing is quick, shallow …

‘Okay,’ you psych yourself, biting down on your molars as tightly as you can manage. ‘Okay.

You pray the sensors are still work—

WARNING: BREACH DETECTED
WARNING: EXTERNAL RADIATION DETECTED
LEVELS: UNSAFE
WARNING: CHASSIS COMPROMISED
AUTO-SHIELDING PROTOCOLS DISABLED
SHUTDOWN IMMINENT

Radiation?

SHUTDOWN IMMINENT

You can smell yourself cooking …

>Manually eject
>Use the last of the power to activate a distress beacon
>Write-In
>>
>>4509781
>Use the last of the power to activate a distress beacon

We'd just cook faster outside.
>>
>>4509781
>Use the last of the power to activate a distress beacon
>>
>>4509781
>>Use the last of the power to activate a distress beacon
>>
Your hand drops to your side as the indicator at the top corner begins to blink. The distress beacon had been lit. Your breathing grows more labored with every effort that you make to stay awake, the heated metal pressing against your body making you let out silent cries for it to end. The emergency light flickers slightly; you slowly realize that this metal coffin could very well be your tomb.

It’s strange to think about, but right now the only thing that you’d wished was for the end to at least have been quick instead of drawn out like it was now.

Or maybe that was just the delirium talking.

Lance Commander?

You were hearing things now …

GAIA-0401, do you read?

Your head hangs, your consciousness quickly fading …

Lance Commander?

You wonder if one of the servants could adjust the temperature so it would be a tad more … comfortable …

This was certainly no way to treat a Scion of House Mishima

END
>>
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SAVE GAME?
>Yes
>No
>>
>>4509844
>yes
>>
>>4509844
>>Yes
>>
The air is cold; inadequately so.

The sharp intake of breath that you take is akin to a dry, coarse sponge being shoved down your esophagus. At the second contraction, you catapult yourself into a sit, clutching your chest … and find that your bare chest had been treated by a bacta paste solution and wrapped in black and white medical dressing. The cold air assaults you again, prompting you to wrap your arms around yourself again … and once again, you feel as though your chest implodes. You glance around, finding your arms attached to several intravenous attachments on either side of what you realize to be a medical bed, a pair of drones absently hovering above your form. Your fingers are stiff. Your back is in pain. Your legs feel as though they are still pinned by a little girl—

You blink.

Little … girl?

You stare at the right side of your bed, puzzlement overtaking you as you realize that (barring the drones) you weren’t the only occupant of the room. There was a little girl, white-haired and wearing what appears to be a black sundress, using your right thigh as a pillow. Her eyes peer at you curiously, her head unmoving from its position. You meet her stare, uncertain of what circumstances could have allowed you to come to this, but …

Well, that’s what you had a mouth for.

Your throat is sore, but you’re able to find your voice, all the same.

>‘Where am I?’ (Inquire as to your location)
>‘Who … are you?’ (Inquire as to who the girl is)
>‘I was on … Rhysode. There was …’ (Try to recall the events that led you here)
>‘This isn’t … Rhysode, is it?’ (Obviously, duh)
>‘My leg is not a pillow, child.’ (Stern)
>Try to get out of bed
>Write-In
>>
>>4509863
>‘Where am I?’ (Inquire as to your location)
>>
>>4509863
>‘Where am I?’ (Inquire as to your location)
>>
>>4509863
>>‘Where am I?’ (Inquire as to your location)
>>
>>4509863
>>‘Where am I?’ (Inquire as to your location)
>>
>>4509863
>>‘Where am I?’ (Inquire as to your location)
>>
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‘Where am I?’

The girl’s mouth stretches, revealing a maw much too wide for a child of such impish attributes.

‘You’re awake,’ she practically gasps … and gets a painful grunt out of you as she shifts her weight from your lap to your stomach, half-clambering about you like a needy beast.

Did she not know the meaning of personal space?

>‘Yes, child, I am awake.’ (Point out the obvious)
>‘Could I … possibly get someone who’ll be able to … properly communicate with me?’ (Confusion)
>‘And you’re … a little girl.’ (Stoop to her level)
>‘Where am I?’ (Press)
>‘You’d do well to put your hands elsewhere.’ (Irritation)
>Write-In
>>
>>4510259
>Could I … possibly get someone who’ll be able to … properly communicate with me?’ (Confusion)
>>
>>4510259
>And you’re … a little girl.’ (Stoop to her level
BEST DAUGHTER FOUND
>>
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‘And you’re … a little girl.’

‘I am!’ she replies, cheerfully.

Her grin is so bright you can feel the pores on your skin blooming flowers.

>Write-In
>>
>>4510270
>So whats your name young one and where are we?
>>
>>4510270
>What is your name?
>>
‘So … what’s your name?’

Shigure!

Shigure?

>‘That’s a very nice name.’
>‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Shigure.’
>‘Your parents are in possession of very sound taste in names.’
>‘Shigure, would you be able to tell where where I am?’
>Write-In
>>
>>4510291
>‘Shigure, would you be able to tell where where I am?’
>>
>>4510291
>>‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Shigure.’
>>
‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Shigure,’ you address the silver-haired lass, dipping into a light bow.

‘It’s great to meet you too!’

Before you can react, you find a pair of arms locked around your neck, the little girl nuzzling you as she used her whole body as leverage, pressing onto you like--

You feel a sharp, stabbing pain on your abdomen, finding yourself gasping for air as pressure seems to force your ability to take in oxygen right out of your lungs. You reflexively grab the petite creature that had just invaded your personal space, shoving her away before keeling over and gritting your teeth as pain takes over your thoughts. You clutch your diaphragm; a cold sweat appears to form above your brow, the stabbing pain morphing into a cramping sensation within moments. Gazing downward, you experience flashes, moments of what had been before but what was now gone; the wound had been closed, the flesh mended (to a functional extent). The bacta paste was probably constrict—

Your eyes rest upon a fearful child … who you had inadvertently thrown off the bed and onto the floor. Her eyes appear to be lining up with tears, and her lower lip trembles as her downed form shakes; your gazes meet and …

>‘Get someone.’ (Cold, dismissive)
>‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Are you okay?’ (Concern)
>‘You should be more careful.’ (Irritable, scold)
>‘Leave.’
>Write-in
>>
>>4510301
>‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Are you okay?’ (Concern)
>>
>>4510301
>‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Are you okay?’ (Concern)
Fight though the pain, hopefully we didn't undo anything serious.
>>
‘Forgive me, I … I didn’t mean to do that,’ you apologize, absently reaching a hand out. ‘Are you all right?’

She still looks quite apprehensive of you. The container of bubbly energy had all but disappeared from sight in that one act, as inadvertent as it had been.

>Write-In
>>
>>4510331
>I'm sorry. I'm pretty badly hurt and you poked my wound when you tried to hug me.
>>
>>4510331
Support,
>>4510340
>>
>>4510342
Works, back to hellhole in plane
>>
‘I’m sorry,’ you manage, finding yourself more tentative than usual, ‘I’m still a little … sore.’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Hurt?’

‘You have all those things poking you,’ she points out, referring to the assortment of tubes sticking out from your arms. ‘It looks painful.’

‘I feel numbness more than pain.’

‘Numbness?’

‘I mean … no,’ you clarify, smiling down at her. ‘I don’t … it’s not painful. Just a little … uncomfortable.

That part you don’t sugarcoat. As the girl gets back on her feet—and approaches you more pensively—you begin to take in your surroundings. The room is … white. Almost blindingly so. The chill in the air is very invasive; what with a mere sheet of cloth the only protective layer between the cold and your unmentionables. There’s not much else around; the chamber looks as though it had taken the word sterile from the Imperial lexicon and aimed to exemplify it to the utmost extent. It’s circular and there’s a door by the wall. There are no plants, no decorations, no windows … but there is a ring of machinery and what appears to be some sort of sentry unit by the support systems that you were currently connected to. A glance downward showcases what appears to be another metal ring embedded into the floor … which, you realize, is connected to your bed.

You turn your head upwards to find one of the drones descending, its single red eye flashing as it appears to run a diagnostic on your person, before blinking—and almost blinding you—and making an odd buzzing sound, remaining the second thing to invade your personal space in the span of five minutes. You hear a muffled call above, unable to make out the words; you rub your ears, wondering if you’d—

The door hisses open, revealing a man in lime green sanitary clothing, accompanied by a smaller drone. He had a breathing apparatus around his mouth, a bald crown set upon a rather skinny-looking frame; the only other thing that makes him physically distinct from anyone you’d seen before were the pointed ears … which marks him as either someone who had enjoyed one too many pleasure world visits or that he happens to be someone of rather … curious descent. In any case … you think that he’s smiling underneath that apparatus, because his eyes seem to narrow cheerfully as he approaches the foot of your bed, which, you now notice, is … leaning forward.

‘Ah, good, you’re finally awake,’ a mix of relief and cheer sounding through a deep reverb. ‘You gave us quite the fright, my Lord. I was afraid that our efforts would have only been in vain.’

>‘You’re the one that saved my life?’
>‘What is this place? Am I still on Rhysode?’
>‘My Lord? So … you’re aware of who I am, then.’
>‘The last thing I remember before passing out was …’
>Write-In
>>
>>4510550
>‘The last thing I remember before passing out was …’
>>
>>4510550
>>‘The last thing I remember before passing out was …’
>>
>>4510550
>‘I feel numbness more than pain.’
RIP Mechanic. He hee'd his last haw. Cause of death: terrible sentence. Kill me. Kill me now.
>>
‘The last thing I remember before passing out was …’

The cockpit.

Blood.

The heat.

Your breath, slowly—

‘My Lord, please,’ the man implores, rubbing your shoulder. ‘Do not stress yourself with such matters. Rest.’

>‘How long was I out?’
>‘Rhysode. What about Rhysode?’
>‘My squadron, my friends … where are they?’
>Write-In
>>
>>4510640
>‘My squadron, my friends … where are they?’
>>
>>4510640
>>‘My squadron, my friends … where are they?’
>>
>>4510640
>‘My squadron, my friends … where are they?’
>>
‘My squadron, my friends …’

You briefly meet his concerned gaze before hanging your head again.

‘Forgive me, my Lord, I’m … not able to give you anything more than what I … I’m … you were transferred here, alone.’

You raise your head, confusion riddling your mind … more than before, at any rate. ‘Transferred? Alone?’

‘You were brought here from an outpost in the Rini-Troar system—’

Rini-Troar; it takes a moment, but the name does ring a few bells. Rini-Troar … one of the uninhabited systems within the vicinity of the system Rhysode resided in; a system with little more than—as the man had said—a few outposts and several exploratory missions, but nothing that set it aside from other places. Leaning back, you try to piece together what you can, the memories of your last moments on Rhysode marked with memories you’d very much not like to re-live right now. Being trapped in a boiling coffin is enough of a ward to such fancies. Still, outside of the cockpit and the heat, you can’t …

‘You were suffering from extreme radiation poisoning, internal bleeding … the outpost … they didn’t have the necessary treatment to fully commit to heal you and with the situation as it was … we were given that responsibility instead.’

‘They shipped me out? Just like that?’

‘I’m … uncertain of the details,’ he stammers, the audio module on his mask making a crackling sound. ‘All I was told by the Director prior was to expect and receive you. That was approximately one-hundred and seventy hours ago. There were no other … persons that came with you. We’ve been running treatment protocols to restore you to health since. On that note, we’re quite confident that you will be able to feel your usual self within the next forty or so hours.’

>‘I’ve been unconscious for more than a standard week?’
>‘So what’s up with all … this? I can’t feel my arms … but I can move them.’
>‘Do you have any idea at all of who … transferred me here? Couldn’t have been easy cutting lines for someone of unique … situation.’
>‘And what about the little girl there? Do you know who she is?’
>‘Any word on Rhysode?’
>Write-In
>>
>>4510713
>>‘And what about the little girl there? Do you know who she is?’
I am now curious about not!Jack
>>
>>4510713
>‘And what about the little girl there? Do you know who she is?’
>>
>>4510713
>>‘And what about the little girl there? Do you know who she is?’
>>
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‘And what about the little girl there? Do you know who she is?’

The man fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze. You feel … even more confused.

‘My Lord, I believe that you’re still a little … addled.

‘Addled?’

You blink, moving to gesture to the white-haired—

She was gone.

You mumble in incredulity, wondering if you had been so affected by your ordeal that you’d resorted to hallucinating about children, of all things. You truly hope you hadn’t been twisted into some extension of House Mirraca. Then you truly would have deserved your fate on Rhysode. You wave your hand in apology to the physician, opening your mouth to ask a more relevant—

The door hisses open, revealing—

Father?!’ you exclaim, unequivocally shocked.

‘Lord Mishima,’ the physician bows, stepping back.

‘I see that you have finally risen, my son.’

You let out a grumble, pondering on the best course of action … before settling with a nod.

Your father … is the same as ever: a powerful presence wherever he went; the Silver Lord of House Mishima stands before you, looking more like a man that spent his hours honing his Wargeass skillset than he did jotting down annual reports and balance sheets for worlds numbering in the dozens. Dark hair, thick eyebrows, hawkish nose to go with a pointed chin and an odd peak of hair that fooled people just enough to not think twice of what you are very sure is a receding hairline. He says not a word, tilting his head up and down as he appears to size you up as he had in the first fifteen years of your life … before grunting and humming … and snorting. He crosses his as he takes two steps toward your bedridden self, straightening the black and maroon cloak that adorned his shoulders, a white cravat briefly visible as he shifted his arms for more mobility.

An uncomfortable silence takes over the room … and a glance to your right shows that the physician had nod budged an inch since adopting the bow from before. The man before you; he who heads hundreds of corporations, conglomerates and interest groups merely grunts and hums as though he is a wolf sizing up its prey. You awkwardly look away, embarrassed: even five years of absence had done little to tamper your feelings of … awkwardness around your father. The man had always been one of few words; the bulk of the communication that you had shared since your tenure as an academy student began had been scheduled updates and the occasional grunt of acknowledgment. The one constant that had been present in those bouts of communication were the constant reminders of your stature and the expectation behind the name Mishima.

Being bound helplessly like this had not been your ideal choice for a proper, physical reunion.

Son,’ he starts, causing your heart to almost implode at the mere rumble of his voice.
>>
Father,’ you respond. You can feel your muscles stiffening just saying the word.

He looks up and down again.

‘You have lost weight. This is pleasing to me.’

>‘That’s … it?’
>‘Were you the one who transferred me here?’
>‘It’s, um, nice to see you too … father.’
>‘Thanks. You … look like that you’ve … done well for yourself in that sense … just as well.’
>‘Father, about Rhysode ...'
>Write-In
>>
>>4510751
>>‘Thanks. You … look like that you’ve … done well for yourself in that sense … just as well.’
>>
>>4510751
>"Yes, I did. How bad is it?"

Given this could very well be the start of another war, and he's choosing now of all times to be delicate... that bodes ill.
>>
>>4510751
>‘It’s, um, nice to see you too … father.’
Don't really feel like snarking to him.
>>
>>4510751
>‘It’s, um, nice to see you too … father.’
>>
>>4510751
>>‘It’s, um, nice to see you too … father.’
>>
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‘It’s, um … nice to see you too, father.’

‘Have you recovered your faculties?’

Good old dad, always to the point.

>‘I think I’d manage better if they turned the temperature up a little. I’m freezing.’ (Casual)
>‘I can feel my toes and move my limbs, if that’s what you’re wondering.’ (Snark)
>‘The doctor would probably be of better use to you in that sense. Why don’t you ask him?’ (Redirect)
>‘I’m fine.’ (Dismissive)
>‘Father, the situation on Rhysode …’ (Serious)
>Write-in
>>
>>4510796
>‘Father, the situation on Rhysode …’ (Serious)
>>
>>4510796
>>‘Father, the situation on Rhysode …’ (Serious)
>>
>>4510796
>>‘Father, the situation on Rhysode …’ (Serious)
time for serious talk
>>
>>4510796
>>‘Father, the situation on Rhysode …’ (Serious)
not sure my first vote went through
>>
>>4510812
okay it did but hella delayed so ignore this one
>>
>>4510796
>‘Father, the situation on Rhysode …’ (Serious)
>>
>>4510796
>>‘Father, the situation on Rhysode …’ (Serious)
>>
I will be resuming in about an hour.
>>
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‘Father, the situation on Rhysode—’

‘Is being investigated by the Regium Spectoris,’ your father informs you, setting his hands behind his back as he continues his explanation. ‘Your responsibility is to recover from this state that you threw yourself into.’

You’re uncertain whether he was being deliberately dismissive or just trying to be as irritating as he could be. Either way …

>‘It is hardly throwing oneself into a situation when my options were severely limited by the circumstances.’
>‘That’s not what I’m talking about. I want to know what happened to my … friends …’
>‘We’ve been apart for five years and you still delegate what matters you assume are relevant and irrelevant to me.’
>‘Regium Spectoris. The Obsidian Cloaks.’
>‘I’m a soldier. It was my job.’
>‘Fine. I have other questions.’
>Write-In
>>
>>4514939
"So sitting around and letting them kill is preferable father? I did not have much choice, and i do believe i did rather well considering what i had to work with. Still i was more asking about my friends and my lovers because last i hear they were still there and i do believe i am justifiably worried."
>>
>>4514939
Supporting >>4514945
>>
‘You were expecting me to just sit down and let them—’

‘I expected you to know better than to put yourself into a situation that, by all accounts should have had me preparing funeral arrangements by now,’ your father cuts in, his voice booming with such authority that you wonder if you didn’t flinch just a little. ‘I was aware of your proclivities, but I had never anticipated them to take such a hold of you that you would wade without a thought into odds that would have resulted in your death.

‘I didn’t have a choice in the matter,’ you protest, trying to venture some ground.

‘Putting your head down in the shelters and allowing those that actually have the responsibility and experience to deal with such a matter would have been an acceptable course of action.’

You aren’t able to keep your tongue down, despite yourself.

‘Yes, I’m sure that that Bartholomew raiding the spaceport would have been very happy to let me just hop in an EVAC unit and fly out to huddle with the rest of the civilians. I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Your father frowns, his expression … one of rare confusion. ‘What spaceport?’

‘I was at Kerensky Spaceport … when they made planetfall,’ you explain, feeling your patience wear thin by the syllable. ‘Even if I had been afforded the luxury of cowardice, I wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to execute on that response. Negotiations are not generally made with the threat of a Bartholomew unit expressing an opposing opinion in regards of where you wish to go and frankly, I think I did a pretty good job parlaying my way with an eighty year-old mech and a half-loaded machine rifle and a numerical disadvantage, if I may be so blunt … father.’

Your father remains silent … before furrowing his brow even further. It’s quite the remarkable feat.

‘And you rejoined the fray after re-securing it … and marched into a city that was reduced to mere atoms by a cyclonic bombardment?’ he lets out incredulously, looking at you as though you’d muttered a mathematical impossibility. ‘Son, your recklessness is—’

‘I didn’t know that the Alliance Military was about to play a bunch of sore losers!’

The flippant tone that you had taken appeared to have touched a nerve about three words before you ended your sentence, because—and because your mouth has a tendency to go prattle on when you aren’t keeping it in check—the Silver Lord of House Mishima had gone a righteous shade of purple by the time you’d put the point of emphasis at the end. This had the closest that your father’s veneer had been to being compromised.

‘Your life is not yours to merely throw away.’

‘I was not throwing it away,’ you affirm. ‘I was doing my duty.’
>>
Your father opens his mouth to say something, raising a finger … before coiling it back into a fist, looking away and mumbling under his breath.

'Anyway, I ... I was just asking about my friends. Do you know where they are?'

Your father regains his composure, crossing his arms and glaring straight at you.

'I am not at all acquainted with your friends,' he rumbles. 'It is a difficult thing to consider the well-being of others when one's own blood seems so set on cooking himself in the fires of a cyclonic firestorm.'

>'I ... you don't know ... I took in two Mistresses. They must have told you.'
>'Ryosuke? Gerard?'
>'The Reinwelds, then. You must know about their affairs. Their Scion was on Rhysode with me.'
>Drop it
>Write-in
>>
>>4514998
>'The Reinwelds, then. You must know about their affairs. Their Scion was on Rhysode with me.'
>>
>>4514998
>'The Reinwelds, then. You must know about their affairs. Their Scion was on Rhysode with me.'
This is also kind of important too considering 'heirs' and all
>'I ... you don't know ... I took in two Mistresses. They must have told you.'
>>
>>4514998
"Father i stood up because no one else COULD, because one of my two mistresses were nearly killed, and Darton Wray himself asked me because no one else was able. If there was ANYONE else I'd not have stepped up, but there wasn't. If the Allaiance had not been so dead set on committing numerous warcrimes because they're in a snit over one of their ambassadors dying, I'd not have been there. The peopel i am owrried about are as follows, Emilio Reienwald, yes that one, Scion like i was. Ryosuke and Gerald who were classmates of mine, Lucion Maldante who was top of of our class. Lucion, Emilio and Ryosuke were fighting with me when the torpedo hit. Rsoaria who was formerly a spacer before becoming Fisk's apprentice, she was what let us get a call out at all or else i and likely everyone else on Rhysode would be dead. Finally my Two mistress Sansa, who as you know is a friend of mine, and Instructor Fisher, who happened after my graduation was set, because we were both acutely aware of any impropriety being noted and magnified due to status. If you could check get someone to check on them all i would appreciate it."
>>
>>4515001
well this does an all in an interesting write-in, changing to this I guess.
>>
>>4514998
>>'The Reinwelds, then. You must know about their affairs. Their Scion was on Rhysode with me.'
to save mech a headache.
>>
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The Reinwelds, then,’ you start, wincing as you lean forward as your urgency extends to the rest of your body. ‘You must know of their affairs. Their Scion … Emilio Reinweld is in my class.’

Your father eyes you curiously, his arms remaining crossed. ‘It is very reassuring that you are doing nothing at all to dispel the rumors surrounding your enrollment.’

You make a face, wondering if this was, indeed, the time to comment on such things.

>‘Don’t tell me you’ve taken to believing that dribble!’ (Indignant)
>‘Father, please.’ (Urgent)
>Don’t say a word
>Write-in
>>
>>4515181
"He was in one of the three other machines fighting with mine when the cyclonic torpedo hit father. The man and i barely can say two words to each other without argument but he did his duty same as i and we're friends to a point."
>>
>>4515181
>I befriended him. I did not take him as a lover. My lovers are 2 others. Female in fact and one was heavily injured in the initial attack.
>>
>>4515181
>>4515183
>>4515185
Combination of these two.
>>
>>4515202
same
>>
‘The both of us assisted the planet’s defense,’ you clarify, pushing your irritation aside … if only for a bare moment. ‘He was caught in the blast radius, same as I was. If he survived, then …’

If.

It’s a word that’s almost … incomprehensible.

If.

If Emilio survived.

If your friends had …

‘The affairs of the Reinweld are their own,’ comes your father’s reply, his expression unchanging.

You open your mouth to press for more information, but upon meeting your father’s gaze, find what little energy you have left give away to a resignation that you hadn’t felt since your arrival on the Academy grounds. It is a stretch of emotion that it so foreign that it is almost beyond you: you worry. Not just for Emilio, but for the rest of your comrades. You are strapped in to this bed, your chest tighter than the bonds that keep you in place, mixed feelings of distress and reservation battling one another as you try to wrap your head around a possibility that should have been far from what you were bred, trained, to do.

It is difficult to accept, even in all the uncertainty that had followed.

You hope that it is not so.

‘I understand, father.’

Your father nods. It probably gave him some satisfaction to cut off such extensions of sentimentality—

That being said, I have come to understand that their Scion is no better off than you are,’ your father informs you, prompting you to meet his gaze; your surprise is more than clear in the reflection in his eyes. ‘I’m not certain which spiel is the most accurate, but the last I heard of the Scion of the Reinwelds was that he, too, was taken out of military care and put into a more private setting. I’d have done the same for you, but I was informed that if we didn’t restore your bodily functions to a less perilous state with the utmost immediacy, the radiation poisoning would have eroded what was left of your organs. This was the best that we could have done on such short notice. From what I’ve been told, however, their Scion remains stable and alive, which is probably the best one could hope for from such recklessness. I haven’t been able to ascertain much else. This station is painfully isolated and any opportunities for frequent real-time contact is reserved only for the utmost emergency.’

The scoff seals his statement.

‘Perhaps I should look into purchasing this accursed place. It’s not as if I haven’t rolled them enough as it is.’

Wait.

‘Wait, the physician … you’ve been here for a whole week?

Your father snorts, sounding extremely irritable.

‘Slightly less,’ he responds, staring at you incredulously. ‘Why?’

>‘What about the Trade House? Don’t you have affairs to attend to?’
>‘I just have a hard time envisioning you stepping away from your duties as Lord at all.’
>‘Okay, fine … what about the others?’
>Write-in
>>
>>4516063
>>‘I just have a hard time envisioning you stepping away from your duties as Lord at all.’
>>
>>4516063
>>‘I just have a hard time envisioning you stepping away from your duties as Lord at all.’
>>
>>4516063
>‘I just have a hard time envisioning you stepping away from your duties as Lord at all.’
>>
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‘I just have a hard time envisioning you stepping away from your duties as Lord at all,’ you confess. Indeed, the only time you could remember your father not pouring over data slates, tabs and charts was when he was asleep in his chair or attending conferences, trade agreements and legislative appeals. It was a rarity to see your father not within his working space or not working, unless, of course, it was related to interpersonal matters pertaining to the machinations of House Mishima.

The small smirk on your father’s lips tells you that it’s an idea that amuses him as much as it befuddles you … which is not a lot, but enough. He places his hands behind his back, slightly slumping forward as he takes a step back.

Give me some credit, son,’ your father finally responds, resembling your grandfather more than you’re comfortable with … before resuming the stoic demeanor which you are better—and more comfortably—acquainted with. ‘Your health and well-being fall well within the scope of my duties, as difficult as it is for you to comprehend.’

It really is.

‘The fact that you barely avoided becoming a dead end and a black mark in House Mishima’s history speaks volumes of just where we both are in regards to our adherence to our duty. You are incomprehensibly naive in believing that turning yourself into a boiling corpse is anything remotely adequate for someone of your blood.’

All right. Now that was the father you’d grown up with.

You shake your head, unwilling to argue the point.

‘So Reinweld is alive, then?’ you ask again, going back to the point.

‘He survived, to my understanding,’ your father confirms, nodding. ‘The extent of his injuries are not known to me, but judging by the lack of … buzz, I can only conclude that he’s not in any immediate peril.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘House Reinweld has hundreds, thousands of privatized units at their fingertips. Unless you’d like me to drop off a specific inquiry—which I currently am not at capacity to do—that shall be all you will be satisfied with. You’re awfully animated for someone who’s just survived being cooked by a cyclonic bombardment.’

‘Shouldn’t you be glad that I’m feeling better?’

‘I’d rather not be put in this position as external observer to your rounds of terrible decision-making.’

You’re barely able to restrain your chuckle. It wouldn’t have been in good humor. Almost nothing was, in fact, when it came to your father.

‘Well … I’m glad that Reinweld’s alive,’ you sigh, slumping over slightly. ‘I just … I just thought that if I could get to him we could check on the rest. I’m … I just want to know if they’re fine.’

‘One can remain optimistic.’

You sigh. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘The universe is built on pragmatism and ruthlessness,’ your father lectures. ‘Do you expect me not to respond in kind?’
>>
>>4516111
>‘I’ve been around you almost all my life. No, I suppose.’
>‘My friends might be corpses and that’s all you have to say?’
>‘The universe is built on random chance and exploding stars.’
>‘How’s everyone? Mother? Grandmother?’
>‘I guess I should be thankful that you’re here at all.’
>Write-in
>>
>>4516111
>‘My friends might be corpses and that’s all you have to say?’
>>
>>4516126
>>‘How’s everyone? Mother? Grandmother?’
>>
>>4516126
>You know what the worst part is? I had just gotten two mistresses when this shit show happened, and now they both might be dead.
>>
>>4516126
>‘How’s everyone? Mother? Grandmother?’
>>
I'll be running in about ... an hour. See you lads then.
>>
It’s all that you can take to keep yourself from rolling your eyes. As steady as the bond between head and heir stands, it isn’t one that you’re keen on pushing against for argument’s sake. You let out a sigh, pondering what less charged issues would make for engaging conversation; it isn’t as if you’d be able to just pluck one out of the air, however: your father had never been one for idle chatter (unless it was one to play to an advantage he had in mind).

‘How is everyone else? Grandfather? Mother? Grandmother?’

‘Your mother is present, just as much as I am,’ your father answers, almost nonchalantly. ‘She is currently reviewing your medical records for what I believe to be the eighty-fifth time since your transfer to this station.’

‘Mother’s … here?’ you let out, surprised. You hadn’t expected her to be … present at all. In fact, the last time that you’d even seen seen the white tresses flowing from her crown in person had been six years prior to the present day. The last time you’d been in her presence for a proper stretch of time had been when you were thirteen and attending some gala that you really didn’t have the slightest bit recalling outside of the fact that they had a rather delicious setting of sweets.

‘Is it really that much of a shock to you?’

‘I … it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her,’ you let out, wearing a thoughtful expression. ‘She’s usually off doing her own thing—’

‘Executing her duties to the fullest extent and competency as per the expectations bestowed upon her as my wife and an extension of House Mishima,’ your father corrects you, his eyes slightly flaring as they regard your prone form.

>‘Yeah, that.’
>‘And grandmother?’
>‘It’s times like this that you reassure me of just why you do not have a Mistress.’
>‘Father, you truly care for mother, don’t you?’
>Write-in
>>
>>4517773
>>‘Yeah, that.’
lord the urge to be a snarky fuck is strong
>>
>>4517777
It must be the genes.
>>
>>4517773
>Can you at least allow me to be surprised at the strangely normal fact that you both effectively rushed to my side after I was seriously injured when it was normal prior to my enrollment to fail to see either of you for extended periods of time?
>>
>>4517773
>>4517811
this
>>
‘Am I not even allowed the grace to be surprised at the fact that the both of you have essentially tossed your current duties aside to tend to me?’

‘Tending to you is part of our duties,’ your father counters pointedly.

>Write-In
>>
>>4517833
>Ah.. I walked right into that one didn't I? I guess you two show your affections in your own way.
>>
>>4517854
I'll support that.
>>
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If you could slump your shoulders any further than you’d managed … you would. Unfortunately, the tubes and devices sticking out of your limbs render such extremes of movement all the more painful to perform. You briefly meet your father’s eyes, your words unable to float off your tongue as you like. Perhaps you did owe your parents a little more credit than you’d afforded them in the twenty-odd years of your life. It’s not as if they’d out and abandoned you on some industrial hellhole and went gallivanting wherever they pleased.

‘I’m sorry, father,’ you concede, wearing a slight grimace. ‘I … suppose that you and mother show your affection in your own way.’

Your father neither accepts nor rebukes the point.

The doors hiss open, prompting you to look up and—

‘Mother!’

It is hard to believe that it had been so long since you’d seen her.

Your mother had been one for more ornate, complicated stitches of clothing. The instances where you had caught her in anything less than the most sophisticated of finery were few and far between: silver bells, golden sashes, black strips of silk ordained upon flowing red fabric … all of which are very absent from her being at the present moment. Her tall form marches across the clear floor of the room, clad in little more than a black blouse, simple white shoes and a pink suit over the top, with her usual adornment of jewels missing in favor of a simple, silver pendant. Her hair is slightly mussed and her triangular, thin features are much more sunken than you remember her, but it is no mistake: this underdressed lady, is, indeed, the same woman that had borne you to term.

You’re awake,’ your mother observes, her voice cracking as her eyes ran up and down your prone form. She looks as though she was about to crumple and break down any moment, a plethora of emotions forming upon her features as they shifted from one extreme to another, her mind apparently much too caught up in your conscious state to properly communicate the intended reaction.

You open your mouth to—

What do you have to say for yourself?’ she shrills, baring her fangs and jabbing a finger in your direction. ‘Well?

‘I—’

‘I read the report,’ she snarls, placing her hands on her hips and practically stomping towards you; her heels echoing so sharply that even the physician was flinching. ‘They found you cooking from radiation within a mile of a cyclonic detonation … in a mech!

You could swear that your father wore a very brief smirk at that.

Or it could have been a trick of the light.

‘T-They did, yes—’

Why,’ your mother starts again, closing her eyes as she appears to regain control over herself, ‘were you in a mech within a mile of a cyclonic detonation? Do you understand how fortunate you are to even have your …’

Your mother pauses, turning to the physician.
>>
‘The diagnosis informed me that there are still traces of the cyclonic effect within his system. Is he able to be fully discharged within the next forty-eight hours?’

The physician rises to his full height, approaching your parents. ‘I am sorry, my lady, but as things stand, we’d like to keep him under observation for at little bit more. We’ve afforded every bit of care we have available to the young Lord, but as he was very much exposed at such a close distance to the impact point we would like to make sure that there aren’t any complications. As you no doubt have been informed, he was exposed to a rather high concentration of—’

‘I am aware,’ your mother declares, nodding as the physician steps away from your mother and father before turning her attentions back to you. ‘Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Marching in so recklessly, endangering yourself with no regard … I thought that you’d outgrow your childish fantasies, not attempt to reenact them!’

>‘I already had this conversation with father.’
>‘It’s nice to see you too, mother.’
>‘I was doing my duty as a soldier of the AEGIS.’
>[Keep silent]
>Write-in
>>
>>4517957
>Because one of my Mistresses just got nearly killed by the Bartholomew, Said Bartholomew was trying it's level best to finish he job and dad me to the kill tally, and after that there was literally no one else who could hold the line long enough for us to get a call out. Otherwise I'd be a dead via cyclonic torpedo right now. I've already had this conversation with father. It is nice to see though mother, please take a seat i am sure holding all that vitriol for the appropriate moment was quite tiring.
>>
>>4517961
finish the job and add*
sorry autocorrect got me.
>>
>>4517957
>My graduation night plans did not involve an Alliance caused communications blackout preventing me from spending the night at the hotel, an attempt at a decapitation strike on the spaceport nearly killing me and critically injuring one of the women I was planning to spend the night with, or somehow beating back an Alliance attack group with 4 other recent graduates badly enough that they would try to kill me with a cyclonic weapon. The only reason I am even here to be yelled at is likely because I climb into the mech.
>>
>>4517961
>>4517986
I'll see what I can make from these two.
>>
‘My graduation night plans didn’t particularly involve the dressage with assault mechs in the wee hours, restoring a planet-wide communications hack and having to cobble together a resistance consisting of five students, a Spacer and some … prayer that we could somehow have competent bodies make planetfall and execute a more effective work-plan than the one that we had to make do with. The both of you are acting as though getting bathed in cyclonic aftershocks is my idea of … recreation.’

You feel as though you’d pushed a few boundaries there, but after hearing the accusations roll like consecutive gut shots, you’re also quite adamant that you are due some return fire.

Your mother bites her lip, observing you with a restrained expression, but otherwise doesn’t reply. You take that chance to continue, however much more your parents would allow you to.

‘I’m aware of what the both of you are pressing, but if I didn’t do what I did I wouldn’t even be here to … be lectured at all,’ you let out, sounding more fatigued by the syllable. ‘I’d rather be chastised for an irresponsibility that I am truly guilty of than a circumstance out of my control; I’m not so stupid to throw my life away for the sake of a cheap thrill.’

That wasn’t quite true … but it was true in the context of what had confined you to this recovery bed in the first place.

‘Very well,’ your father finally speaks. ‘It is good to see that you’ve regained some of your vigor.’

Your mother approaches you with a hurried series of clacks, touching your cheek as she observes you with a scowl. You’re at a loss of words. You can’t even remember the last time your mother had touched you, for better or for worse. The memories of your time at her side consisted mostly of her being seated and you playing with your brother.

‘You have a fever,’ she points out, her expression one of worry.

You don’t really feel that you have a fever. Mostly you just feel … cold.

‘His antibodies and tissue are still undergoing rapid augmentative procedures, my Lady,’ the physician speaks up again. ‘The Young Lord is, regrettably, not quite at the capacity where the effects of his … ordeal are able to be committed to just a memory. We are still in the process of making sure none of the radiation has left his capacities are left at less at what they were prior to exposure. The fever is just a side effect … but his other systems aren’t quite healed yet, so he probably merely feels a mere chill. It should subside within a few hours.’

Your mother turns your head to the right with a bit more force than you’re comfortable with … but you don’t protest. It’d been quite a while since she’d fussed over you … and she fuss had never been a word you’d associated with—

‘Where is Shigure?’ your father sounds, looking around.

>Write-In
>>
>>4518041
If you mean a white haired little girl she disappeared when the doctor came in and he thought I was addled. Given the circumstances I was in I let it drop. I didn’t see where she went but she was here when I woke.
>>
>>4518048
Supporting.
>>
>>4518048
same
>>
>>4518048
Supporting
>>
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‘You mean that little girl?’

Your parents turn to you, the both of them giving simultaneous nods.

‘I had assumed that she’d come in with you,’ your father addresses, turning to your mother.

‘No,’ your mother responds, crossing her arms and adopting a worried look, ‘she did come looking for me, but … she bolted off so quickly, I thought that she’d be going back to—’

The door hisses open, prompting you to look upward.

You’re met with the sight of a man in a brown hazard suit with a cyclopian visor, tubes, dials and knobs distributed all over his body. He stands at least a head taller than your father, with the heavy interface units installed to massive gloves and an exoskeleton that appeared to take up the bottom half. He stomps towards the gathering of people around your recovery bed, appearing to drag a—

My Lord, my Lady,’ the man starts in a raspy, mechanical voice, dropping into a small bow. ‘This one was found in the secondary bay.

He indicates the embarrassed-looking child clinging to his great glove.

‘Our apologies,’ your father replies, stretching his hand out towards the tiny girl … who detaches herself from the titan of a man and grabs your father’s right. ‘We trust that she did not cause too much of a disturbance?’

Not at all,’ the taller man answers, his tone one of amusement.

‘I got lost,’ the white-haired girl—Shigure—responds, hanging her head.

Your mother sighs, rubbing her temples.

‘Thank you for returning her to us,’ your father responds, half-tiredly, half-irritably. ‘We will see to it that you are rewarded for your efforts.’

The man appears to ponder the notion for a moment.

There is no need for such,’ he returns, bowing again. ‘I am a father of two myself. It is to be expected every once in a while. The secondary bay, however, is extremely dangerous to be due to the field proximity … I merely wish for my Lord and Lady communicate that such ventures into the supply levels are best made under more … supervised conditions. The gravity can be very disorienting if one is not suitably … suited for it. If she would like a tour, I could arrange for more comfortable circumstances for her to continue her exploratory habits.

‘There is no need for that,’ your father declares, to which the man nods. ‘Thank you very much for bringing her back to us.’

As I have said: I am a parent myself,’ comes the robotic voice sounds out, ‘and when it comes to children, I believe that any help that comes one’s way is help that is appreciated.

He bows again.

‘Very well. You may return to your duties.’

The large man turns around, exiting through the hissing doors, right as Shigure jumps up and down, waving an energetic goodbye.
>>
Your father—and your mother—then proceed to turn their gazes towards the little girl in their custody, wearing identical, disapproving glares.

What did your mother and I tell you about wandering off on your own?

>‘Wait, what?’
>‘Her … mother?’
>[Keep silent]
>‘She’s actually real?’
>Write-In
>>
>>4518661
>>‘She’s actually real?’
kek
>>
>>4518661
>"Am I to assume that i have a little sister and no one even so much as informed in the quite obviously several years since i have one? That i had to nearly die from circumstances near wholly out of my control to find this little tidbit out?" Give your parents the gimlet eye.
>>
>>4518661
>Do you best impression of your parents scolding you for wandering off before following up with >>4518667
>>
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The wheels don’t take much oil to turn from that.

‘Am I to assume,’ you begin, your ire tipping the scales with an almighty mental bang, ‘that the both of you … just gave me another sibling and no one even so much had the mental capacity to inform me of this development?

At the end of your sentence, you find Shigure tip-tapping over to your bedridden form, placing her hands on your thigh before smiling brightly.

Hi again!’ she greets you, her face split from ear to ear.

Your parents frown at the accusation; your father scowls as he drops his hands to his side while your mother places one hand on her hips. They look almost offended that you’d throw such an accusation out … but that didn’t mean that you weren’t right!

‘We did tell you,’ your mother practically protests, furrowing her brows even further.

You’re incredulous. You’re quite certain that you would remember being told of such an affair.

When?’ you press, very irritated by this … development. Briefly glancing downward, you see that Shigure was now curiously running her hands over the mini-console on the side of your recovery bed, humming absently as she did so.

‘When she was born, of course,’ your father shoots right back, to which you almost weep.

‘I think I’d remember that.’

‘It was around your first year,’ your father reveals. ‘I believe that I left it under the merger invitation between Hippo Phyctorus and the Almasy Group.’

‘I read through that—’

And it clicked.

No.

He couldn’t have.

>‘You left it in as a message attachment?’ (Incredulous)
>‘Fine, fine, fine.’ (Impatient)
>Drop it
>Write-in
>>
>>4518699
>>‘You left it in as a message attachment?’ (Incredulous)
>>
>>4518701
>‘You left it in as a message attachment?' (Incredulous)
>>
>>4518701
>I am not sure whether i should be appalled that your daughter and my little sister merited so little in our discourse, or utterly unsurprised by the fact she merited so little. Can we move on before i get a non-injury related headache?
>>
>>4518701
>>‘You left it in as a message attachment?’ (Incredulous)
>>
You left it as a message attachment?

Your father scratches his chin, adopting a thoughtful look. ‘Blaming others for your lack of attention is unbecoming for one of your station, son.’

>‘I think my sister deserves a little bit more than a post-script note.’
>‘I … am genuinely unsurprised.’
>Give up and turn your attentions to your newfound sister.
>Write-in
>>
>>4518869
>>Give up and turn your attentions to your newfound sister.
focus on new imouto, poke the imouto, hug the imouto
>>
>>4518869
>Give up and turn your attentions to your newfound sister.
>>
>>4518869
>>Give up and turn your attentions to your newfound sister.
>>
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You lean back into your bed, unwilling to argue the point any further. There is no victory over that horizon that is worth trying to turn your father’s perspective around … and you’re tired to do anything anyway. A glance downward to the only child in the room—fiddling around with the console connected to your bed—prompts a bout of apprehension; you are now aware of the full identity of the mystery girl … and the awkwardness of finding out that the blood that flowed within your veins was of a shared, common origin with such suddenness twists further apprehension into your tongue. Where you had once been able to engage in normal—albeit slowed—speech with the young girl, you struggle to even string together a simple inquiry of her current activity.

It’s all your father’s fault, really.

‘Uh …’

Little Miss Shigure turns her head upward, peering curiously at you.

‘I guess, uh … I’m your brother.’

Your mother snickers behind a closed fist.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, thoroughly embarrassed at having such unforgiving circumstances thrust upon you. It’s almost enough to have you wishing for a return to that tomb of a mech on Rhysode. The little girl pushes away from your bed, allowing her arms to fall to either side … before nodding energetically.

Honorable brother!

You let out a small chuckle, attempting to raise your hands … and realize that they still had a succession of tubes stuck in them. Those wouldn’t be working properly for a while.

‘So … you’ve been, uh … helping take care of me?’

‘She was quite enthusiastic to meet you,’ your mother steps in, placing her hands on your sister’s shoulders. ‘Under present circumstances … we were fearful that this would have been her only opportunity to do so.’

You bite back a retort about just whose fault that would be.

‘Why aren’t you fat?’

Your father looks away. The smirk on his face is extremely difficult to hide, however.

‘Um, uh …’

There is an uncertainty on how to approach the question … as simple as it should really be. The nuances of a proper diet, remedial fitness programs and a training regime to bring your body up to the acceptable standard as per requirements of the AEGIS, however … are hardly things that you believe that a five year-old could comprehend.

‘I … was fat, yes,’ you confess, smiling. ‘I lost weight.’

She tilts her head. You’re not sure how much simpler you could make that—

Shigure places both hands on your belly.

‘It’s softer than honorable brother Samuel’s!

You grimace.

>‘Well, Samuel is an athlete.’ (Affronted)
>‘Give me a few years.’ (Indignant)
>‘I’d expect it to be.’ (Acceptance)
>‘I think I’m a little tired now.’ (End it)
>Write-in
>>
>>4518954
>>‘Well, Samuel is an athlete.’ (Affronted)
girls love a little bit of pudge
>>
>>4518954
>"It's still a work in progress, better than it was however."
>>
>>4518954
>‘Well, Samuel is an athlete.’ (Affronted)
And likely spends most of the day in the gym or on the playfield.
>>
Samuel’s an athlete,’ you emphasize, feeling a little inadequate. ‘I’m … not.’

Shigure grins, gently patting your barely-covered stomach … at least until your mother decides that it’s one pat too many pats and pulls her away.

‘He’s taller than you, too!’

You chuckle.

‘I’d expect as much,’ you respond, smiling down at the young girl. ‘Do you like being around your brother Samuel?’

‘He’s very boring,’ Shigure confesses, her shoulders drooping … right as your father raises a fist to his mouth, holding back a chuckle. ‘All he does is look in the mirror.’

As if to emphasize her own point, Shigure flexes her biceps, striking a series of poses. You can’t help it: you let out an almighty laugh. One whose absence of restraint has you immediately doubling over and clutching your chest in pain. Your father’s look immediately morphs into one of concern … and your mother rushes to your side, as does the physicians. You can feel their hands all over you as the bed placed down flat, the drones above floating downward. Beeps and buzzes encompass your capacity to hear, but your amusement at the sight of Shigure’s flexing remains.

It had been a while since you’d laughed so whole-heartedly.

‘How is he?’ your mother inquires, pressing her forehead to yours.

‘His condition is stable, my Lady,’ the physician affirms, interfacing with one of the floating drones. ‘I believe that he merely just … bust a gut, as the term allows.’

You let out another chuckle.

That hurt.

‘Apologies, my Lord.’

Your body seemingly tightens as you feel the injection of … something into your system. Your bottom half and your throat seem to go numb as the moments pass, and for a moment, all you can see is the white of the ceiling and the silver of the reflective surfaces. The bed rises slightly, allowing your back to be set at a more comfortable angle, your gaze traveling downward to see that the numbness in your feet had not been some sort of visual trick to secretly deprive you of your limbs. You’re reassured by that, at least.

‘I’m sorry,’ your sister manages, peering over the rails of your bed.

‘It’s all right,’ you reassure her, resting your head against the cushion of the mattress. At her apprehension, you attempt to raise a hand to give her a small pat on the head … but only manage to brush your fingers against the white strands of her hair, such was your current capacity for proper orientation. The medicine must have been really working their magic now.

You feel—

‘Get some rest, son,’ your father sounds out, right as the physician places a mask over your mouth nose. ‘We’ll be here when you wake up.’

>Write-In
>>
>>4519085
Sleep. Not much more we can do, and i doubt we have the ability to form a coherent sentence given we can't move our hands properly


IF we can get it out asking him to look into the status of our friends and mistresses' would be a good idea though.
>>
>>4519085
>If it wouldn't be to much trouble could you find out the status of Gerard Jetdom, Lucion Maldante, Ryosuke Umizake, Sansa Wilmots, Morrigan Fisher, Rosaria El Moldavor Spirance, and if possible Emilio Reinweld.
>>
>>4519085
>>4519096
this ask if he can get someone to look for our friends and mistresse.
>>
>>4509844
No
>>
>>4519085
Tired
>>
Thank God for the election's end. I'm back and running Ashes of Rhysode. Prompt up in t-minus 25 minutes.
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You see more of your parents—and your little sister—in the three days since your return to the realm of consciousness than you had in the totality of the last decade. Your father had been insistent of your transfer to a more specialized facility, but the physicians had been just as adamant of your care remaining under their hold. The station—Sugnoma Theta—does not have much by the way of entertainment, what with its primary purpose as a surveyor unit outpost of fairly recent assignment (which meant that it was younger than fifty standard years, at most) and a rotation of deployment from the Expansion Council. The base’s rotation meant that at no times were there any less than five hundred total crew on board, from administrative suits to custodial staff. The base’s structure isn’t any different from any run-of-the-mill orbital outpost, with its orbit locked into one of the system’s local celestial bodies—in this case above the satellite of a gas giant—and the typical twenty-four hour Imperial standard utilized in regards to shifts. Outside of the lower levels being used as both ship docks and the like, of course: it was rare that such multi-purpose spaces were used on such a small scale. The only structures you’d seen employ such an approach were specialized docks … and Imperial ports with a Phalanx designation or above.

You slide down in your seat, letting out a sigh as your eyes stare out the window, your gaze following the swirling trail of the gas giant, a small spot on its surface making out the pattern of a violent storm the size of worlds. You are alone in a lounge, the rest of the base having entered the night shift. Your father had departed from your immediate company not hours before, right after having informed you of his inability to reconfirm the whereabouts of your comrades. The most that he’d been able to carve out was that of Emilio being in the custody of his House … and Fisher’s survival.

The relief at the latter fills you with elation, at least briefly … until it sets in that the fates of your friends as a whole remains unknown. Even Fisher’s presence remains so; the intelligence that your father had been able to dig up only discovered her emergency transfer from a response facility to a proper medical treatment center. Emilio’s situation was to be expected; left alive after such an ordeal. You don’t think his House would be keen to let him out of their sights … at least until he becomes their fully-fledged Lord.

Lord Emilio Reinweld. Such an amusing—

‘My Lord,’ comes the mechanical drawl.

You turn to see your attending physician, arms at his side and sporting a pair of glowing, mechanical eyes.

‘It is late.’

You chuckle slightly, getting to your feet. ‘It’s barely twenty-hundred standard.’

The man tilts his head. ‘Do you not feel light-headed at all?’
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>>4530773

>‘Sleepy.’
>‘Not anymore than usual.’
>‘Let me be.’
>‘Did you speak to my father?’
>Write-in
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>>4530776
>‘Not anymore than usual.’
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>>4530776
>>‘Not anymore than usual.’
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>>4530776
>>‘Not anymore than usual.’
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‘Not anymore than usual,’ you respond, getting to your feet. The man immediately drops into a bow, presenting his respect for the gulf between positions.

It takes a bit of readjusting for you to be comfortable with it. You’d spent the better part of the last five years being absolutely casual among a peerage that cared more for their dues and their service over reverence of your position. Now, you couldn’t walk around without at least one back stiffening or another dropping. It’s part of the reason why you’d preferred staying in the lounge since you’d been cleared to stretch your muscles without constant supervision some forty-odd hours prior.

‘I am pleased to hear that,’ the man returns in a monotone voice, gesturing towards your arm. You nonchalantly present your forearm to the man, who injects you with another medical solution … right on top of the slight discoloration that marked one of the previous entry points in your previously bedridden days.

‘Has there been any news on Rhysode since?’

‘Nothing more than what you’ve been told, I’m afraid, my Lord,’ he responds, before withdrawing the needle. ‘The planet has been written off as unrecoverable by the committee, and the councils seem to be of one mind in lining up an inquiry of the incident in question … but I believe that you’re already aware of that much.’

>‘You sound extremely nonchalant for someone who’s just been told the Alliance Military just directly assaulted a world that isn’t lined grey by borders.’ (Accusatory)
>‘We should be prepared for a swift counterattack. They violated our sovereignty. They must be held accountable.’ (Angry)
>‘I am.’ (Disinterested)
>‘Why would they attack Rhysode of all places? What made it such a … tempting point of attack? If this is war …’ (Curious)
>‘The politics of the situation are going to lean in one way or another; I wish I know more than what I do.’ (Regretful)
>Write-In
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>>4530830
>‘The politics of the situation are going to lean in one way or another; I wish I know more than what I do.’ (Regretful)
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>>4530830
>>‘The politics of the situation are going to lean in one way or another; I wish I know more than what I do.’ (Regretful)
>>
>>4530830
>>‘Why would they attack Rhysode of all places? What made it such a … tempting point of attack? If this is war …’ (Curious)
>>
>>4530830
>>‘The politics of the situation are going to lean in one way or another; I wish I know more than what I do.’ (Regretful)
>>
>>4530830
>>‘Why would they attack Rhysode of all places? What made it such a … tempting point of attack? If this is war …’ (Curious)
>>
You wince as the man pulls out, dropping tiredly upon your seat as your troubled expression returns.

‘The politics of the situation are going to lean in one way or the other,’ you mutter, regret lacing your tone. ‘I wish that I knew more than what scraps I’ve been fed so far.’

‘I am not well-versed in the comings and goings of the Silver Hall, my Lord. I am not at liberty to comment that which I cannot give reasonable input into.’

‘That makes you more reasonable than at least twenty seats in that asylum.’

The physician’s mask twitches slightly at your remark. ‘I am appreciative of your praise, my Lord,’ he returns, bowing and nodding in tandem. ‘I am quite surprised that you aren’t more vocal in your opinions regarding where the Silver Hall wishes to lean. Personally, if they’d polluted my cells with such deadly levels of radiation and left me alive to tell the tale, I assure you … I would not be so unemotional in response. That is, of course, a personal opinion; I truly am stunned that you are so … contemplative on the subject.’

‘It’s not so much that I’m detached,’ you clarify, slouching slightly … and briefly contemplate whether you’re a little bit too defensive in that mark. ‘It’s just that … outside of the prospect of all-out war, I’m actually quite curious about the attack.’

‘Was there any insight that you gained during the attack?’

Outside of the ego-driven theory that they’d bombarded the city because they couldn’t handle your Squadron by conventional means … no. You did not.

‘Only that they struck hard and fast,’ you recall, absently touching your abdomen. ‘It’s a miracle that we were able to push them back at all.’

‘I overheard,’ the man responds, nodding. ‘Forgive me. It was very courageous of you to put yourself in harm’s way to such an extent. I would not have adjudged someone of your blood to even consider such an action to be within your realm of consideration, my Lord.’

‘Is that praise?’

The man tilts his head again. ‘It is … meant to be,’ he clarifies. ‘Please forgive me if it comes across as impertinent. I did not wish to offend you, by any means, my Lord.’

You wear a slight smirk as you wave his worries off with a gentle motion of your hand, turning your gaze back out the window. The spiral upon the planet had tightened into a dark spot with white edges in the time you’d engaged in conversation with the physician.

‘I just wish that I could do more than just … sit around,’ you confess, tenting your fingers. ‘With everything that’s happening, I … I feel like I shouldn’t be sitting down here staring at planet-size storms through a window.’
>>
‘You are here due to your current state of health, my Lord. While it would be possible to transfer you to another facility, your transfer here from the previous outpost and out of the AEGIS umbrella and a return into the jurisdiction of private care would make it almost impossible to … comply with another transfer as the … trail stands. The documentation for another jump would be a nightmare for all involved … even for someone of your stature.’

You let out a sigh, understanding but still disagreeing.

‘I know, I know,’ you mumble. ‘It’s a little hilarious seeing my father have to comply with the bureaucracy as any other body in this Imperium, however. I suppose procedure and protocol are all that separates us from the sinkhole of chaos.’

‘I am not at liberty to comment on such matters, my Lord.’

You chortle dryly, nodding as you slouch in your—

‘My Lord,’ the physician declares loudly, prompting you to turn your head … and finding yourself face-to-face with the rigid form of your father once more.

‘Leave us,’ your father commands, prompting the physician—who had otherwise served as an excellent half of conversation, to bow and hurriedly depart. You cock an eyebrow as your father approaches your slouched form, his hands behind his back … and a look of puzzlement and exasperation intermixed upon his features.

>‘Didn’t you just leave?’
>‘Father?’
>‘Did I do something wrong?’
>Write-In
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>>4531089
>‘Father?’
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>>4531089
>>‘Father?’
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>>4531089
>>‘Father?’
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>>4531089
>‘Father?’
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>>4531089
>>‘Didn’t you just leave?’



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