[center][h2]???[/h2][/center]

It was bullshit, complete bullshit! Why was it like this? Why did he have to go through something like this? This wasn’t what they were meant to be doing, not what he was told and promised of his time here. 

Training, in gravity space? On a planet? What sort of fight was that really? Who’d even care about something like that. They ruled Mars, they ruled Venus and the Moon. Anywhere worth being was a place that would be lucky to have their boots touching upon. Anywhere in Zern was a place that wasn’t going to have pirates. If anything they were lucky that they could be in space to begin with. But in space no Turncoat was going to stand up to the empire. 

His feelings on the princess were mixed. She was a pretty enough face, although that was to be expected of any royal member really. But her attitude grated on him a bit. 

William Allen did not particularly dislike his time in the Order of the Olympian Snow Beetles… until now.

The magnetically charged shot from a refurbished whiskey ripped through his arm, tearing through the joint and leaving his system to blare in warnings as though an outlet for the machine’s pain. 

“From that distance?!”

“Will’s been hit, fire back, fire back!”

“You’re wasting your shots. Get up closer!”

There were four of them. No, three now. Before the engagement happened they were simply waiting for any enemies and doing what they were assigned to do. A terrible drag, and a waste of time really.

The opening salvo that came from a forest was a combination of a Whiskey shot and and a wire-missile cut before the oversized MAG-shot ripped through his arm so it wouldn’t cause any deviation to the set course of the missile.

“Hayden!”

He could have sworn he felt the heat from the explosion wash over him.

Their LEWIN’s fired until dry. The blinking indicator of his own gun being out of ammo was ignored. He couldn’t see it, he couldn’t see anything. All he saw was the turncoat closing in, another shot heated up. His friends ran from another missile following while their vulcans showered it in a storm of bullets that eventually caused its premature explosion.

Another shot blasted out and slammed into one of his allies. It was just two now. 

An H-viper round shot towards the direction of the Turncoat, but it missed, the faster machine seeming to understand the path that the round would take. Combined with the panicked shot it was a wild threat, dangerous but easy enough to deal with if one had the right head and calmness.

Eventually his haze cleared and he realized his mistake with the gun. The LEWIN fell to the ground as his one handed mech grabbed at its Nanocarbon Saber. He wouldn’t let another shot happen.  He charged forth, chasing after the closing in Turncoat. “Don’t hit me, Lloyd!”

He didn’t know if it was due to looking down at him from being damaged, but the Turncoat didn’t bother to run away and instead moved to meet him. He felt the haze boil over again, this time with rage erupting in his heart. “Why you little!”

The Turncoat was faster, his weapon was better, he was better armored. But… their clash of blows was slow. This was one thing he remembered just fine from his training. But he felt his frustration and rage boil over more and more as the Turncoat stood after each blow. He was clumsy, he had no skill at arms like this. If it was a fencing match there was no contest. This machine was too slow… this arm didn’t spring to life with the blade like his ability deserved. He watched the blows of the enemy, saw where he could strike and only found himself gripping his controls tighter and tighter as he couldn’t actualize his vision.

Damn the damage, damn this piece of shit!

Faster, faster. He compensated for the damage, he adjusted his approach to try and deal with the flaws. He was cornering this damn pirate. His breath flowed, his eyes zipped from his controls and systems to the visual feed without stop. 

But then he made an error. A different way to use the controls that he hoped would bring the saber reversed in his grip and brought back in a scything cut to rip through the Turncoat instead brought a confused locking of his Tommy’s hand.

“CURSE YOU!”

As the bayonet filled his eyes he heard the crash of metal as it pierced into his tommy.

All went dark.

Then he “woke up”

The simulation was over. But they won. Apparently Lloyd managed to nail the Turncoat with a round after noticing that he lost the duel.

The calls for cheers that they stuck it to that “Loner-Fucker” that echoed in his comms were surprisingly quiet to his ears. The appearance of a simulation mission turning out to be what was considered an unfair and rigged match up against a single enemy machine was something that ended up a bemoaned and hated thing amongst the order whenever it did happen. So in cases like this where they took it down the squad would be “heroes” for a day and be treated for drinks. Really an excuse for another party, honestly.

“Sloppy.. It was so sloppy.”

That was what rankled him. If his machine wasn’t damaged before they fought with blades. If his machine didn’t hold him back..

But he felt it. He felt something. Even as a sudden wave of exhaustion struck him as though compensation for “dying” in the simulation, he felt a bit of something. What was that? 

He felt like going for it again.

Maybe tonight he’d actually go to the simulations on his own time and work on some stuff.

[center][h2][/h2][/center]
[center][h2][color=8493ca]Gaia Dryte[/color]
[color=ed1c24]The Venue[/color][/h2][/center]


He shuddered. Death, like what came for those who he shot at. Like the pirates that he blasted down. That was what he felt thanks to the machine. His hands shivered, his nerves steeped in ice. That nasty feeling that struck his body from time to time. Maybe in the future they could fix that, they could fix him. But should they? He always saw it as a warning, that something bad would happen. It was ridiculous some people said, but he chose to believe it was something like that.

His breathing took twenty seconds to get back to normal. Just before he would overwhelm the abilities of his mask’s flow of air. He was rattled, he had to admit. The first time it happened he had to tear it off, had to spent a few minutes collecting himself.

Weak constitution, Sheena commented sometimes. That went beyond just the physical, maybe. 

It was an idea put forth by Sheena to try and get some better training and experience. Although she didn’t say if it was for the Beetles or for him. He was sneaking in as another “Player” pilot in the simulations as a “Pirate”. As much as he felt a certain level of disgust having to pretend to be one. There was complaining at first, a lot of aggression and irritation as a suddenly lone, overtuned pirate took out squads and humiliated them. But the data was shown to be fair, that it was all a rather standard Turncoat, barely different from a run of the mill Redcoat’s specs.

It was all just due to experience honestly. He’d fought, he’d killed. They haven’t. But it kept getting harder. At first he could just have a fight and take them down. But what became a more and more even fight as they got used to it, even as they complained. Was something he couldn’t match. They could be good, they could definitely take him down, and they have. Even if they didn’t notice it they were getting used to this quicker than him. So he had to switch it up, fight “unfairly.” Was it just their training? Or was it the difference between a Earth-born human and a Martian Noble? Their blood, no, genes were different. Not just in treatment but in breeding. Or so he read and learned. 

There were a lot of things to get used to and figure out still. The divide that went beyond those who were enemies, those who were from the sky and those who were friends. The life up here was... indirect, complicated in ways that he knew he simply didn't understand, and in ways that he didn't even realize existed. But at least what he does didn't change too much. Work on things, try to make something nice and try to shoot pirates. Simple was okay sometimes too.

Soon at this rate they’d be moving to one on one duels just to keep it fair, or have him fight among simulated data units. What it came down to was that they were getting better, getting used to it. He’d been in some fights, he’d killed. But that only took him so far above them.

He left the chamber, smokey haze oozing out of his mask, leaving a wispy trail of dark soot in his wake. Not bothering to take it off as he lurched through the hall with numb legs and a aching chest.

Sloppy. He was a good shot, he could handle a few tricks, but when it came to close combat he was sloppy. So maybe he’d try learning that sometime. Even if the Fossil wasn’t built for that. But that was a time for later.

The Expo was coming soon. Something that was on the buzz, something that Sheena told him about. Thanks to her some of his stuff was going to be there. He considered a while what he’d bring, especially considering what he heard of the goals for it.

His magnetized fragment collector, the animal and intruder scaring siren. He tried a few other things but his attempts to introduce them into smaller markets, or present them as products never panned out well.

This was his chance then.

But for now….  He left for his room while sending a quick message to his Patron.

“Hey, Sheena. They’re done. Three down, taken down after a melee engagement by a H-Viper. Anyway you there? We should talk about the expo some more.”

If it was his luck she’d get back to him only hours later however.

So it was ok if he’d take some time off being at ready right?  Dropping onto a couch, luxurious enough to be called a bed one could kill for on Venus or Mars, he could only shrug as his tablet opened up to a feed of one of the Princess Asallia’s past concerts. Made sense. Everything was about her coming to Venus recently after all.

But he never really listened to her before. He was introduced to some music, but he never was taken to a concert or anything. Maybe he should ask Sheena sometime.

“Hm.”

Bathed in the lights from his screen as the princess’s show played, he drifted away. It’s pretty tiring to die, isn’t it?