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Outpost 415 airspace Planet Weisbaden, Jötunheimr (//Omega-54)
03/23/827 AS, 22:16

"Does the name 'Isaak' mean anything to you?"

"Does the name 'Isaak' mean anything to you?"

"Does the name -"

"Isaak" The replay of Admiral Steiner's voice played back like a loop, only it became more and more sinister, and slowly turned to a whisper.

"Isaak" The voice turned hispanic, male.

'Isaaaak!' The final one was bretonian, female.

ID - Heinrich, Generalmajor, you are cleared for entry. Welcome back General. There was no response like usual, a few more seconds and it was entirely possible the ship's trajectory would have zipped right through the outpost. The whispers still continued "Annabelle" playing back over and over again. The voice was male, Hispanic still.

Her vitals remained steady, all the focus she could muster for the remainder of her time underway was put into faking those vital signs until the ship landed and she signed off. After this weekend's performance she needed the analysts and intelligence operatives to believe that overwhelming numbers was the reason for not one but two fatal instances underway.

The R.O. requested a radio check as the ship's speed came down, after the hangar doors opened, she muted the Radio and proceeded to land the ship.

The hangar engineers could immediately see the cuts and bruises on the ships exterior, the power-core ran hot from the new weapons. Along with a bit of white smoke coming from the core out the exhausts attracted the attention of every person in the hangar bay. While they all flocked to the ship like birds to bread, Heinrich exited the vessel, waving off the medical personnel at the cockpit as she walked over towards the escalator leaving her just outside her room.

The delay must've been in the hundredths of seconds from the time those doors closed, to the time she ripped off her helmet and tossed it aside. All that remained was the flight suit and body armor; her hair was longer, disorganized, and full of sweat. It had been weeks since she made a return to Weisbaden on her own accord, being back home finally had to start with a personal clean-up. Wasting no time, she walked over to her bedroom where she could take in a face full of water and a long stare in the mirror. What she needed more than a face-full of water though, were the fancy little capsules on the shelf next to the mirror. She walked into the room, ready to crank the faucet on when- "Annnnnnabelllllle" There it was again, it was starting to become more frequent. The noise was more or less an irritation until her attention was captured by the sight of her reflection, the scars all over her face, the eyes; the whole image built up a surge of adrenaline-fueled anger until another phrase whispered close- "I L-"

In that instant everything went blank. It was as if her consciousness was blocked, she couldn't see or hear anything, just ringing in her ears and the feeling of a bruise on her knuckles.


As soon as she realized what was going on, it was too late for her to stop herself. That mirror was shattered, her fist was sent right through; pieces of it were scattered over the sink and the floor. Only fragments on the wall remained. It took her even longer to make her arm move again, but the whispering had stopped at least - for now.

Her attention turned the capsules, a bit larger than any pill-shaped drug. They were nifty little trick many in SOA and Coalition used to block certain endorphins from reacting to feelings of fear, pain, or pleasure. They were of coalition origin, it was more than likely every pilot needed them (or something like them) at some point in their careers, flying in the Omegas was by far the most dangerous job.

Especially flying as a hated revolutionary.

But Heinrich never needed them until after her return from Canaria, the trauma tampered with her flying. Likely as it was now.

With the capsule in hand, all she could do was stare at it. Something else besides rage was overcoming her, for the first time in a very, very long time.

Why now?! She said as she struggled to convince herself to just take the drug and be done with it.

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Provisional SOA HQ Medical facility Planet Tangier, Muspelheim (//Omega-47)
07/15/813 AS, 18:00

The room had compiled more attention than Doc was ready for. Direktor Dresner, Brigadegenerals Draay and Dreher. All had complied to see the state of one person whom the SOA had begun to value more than ever. Nurses were scramming back and forth, taking vitals, ensuring supplies flowed in steadily to the stasis chamber.

I hope you see this as a worthy investment, Direktor, the supplies you're investing into this individual now is currency that could go into the collective -. Draay was cut off before he could finish.

And no one in your collective has the potential this pilot has, she's much more talented than Liam ever was or will be. Even her revered grandfather would be impressed if he could see the raw potential his lineage created. Dresner interrupted.

Liam never ran from us, he had the spine.

With a few tweaks I'm sure we can make this talented young pilot into something more. Dreher spoke up, interrupting them both before Draay could finish, again. I'll support any investment here, she was considering our Officer program was she not?

She was, but it's not entirely her choice, especially if you have any say in it. Dresner replied.

Keep her here for now, we'll be closing the program for an indefinite time soon anyways. I think that settles that conversation, now Doctor, what happened to our lovely weapon here?

The Doctor distributed PDA's to the command members going over the incident in depth before he began to read his own assessment of the injuries.

There are two major lacerations, one traveling from her right deltoid down to the lower left Latissimus Dorsi, just above the kidney. Disruption of spinal fluid and connection was fortunately minimal. The erector spine muscles took the brunt of the hit from whatever sharp object stroked down. She will have full function once she has healed. The other major laceration was in the left interior portion of the forearm just 3 inches from the joint. Blood loss was contained, and she’s been stabilized but the amount was substantial; it will take time before she has fully recovered. Other injuries include the 2nd degree burn traveling from the right trapezius to the lower right tricep from the raw surface exposure. That wound has already completely healed. Unfortunately, raw surface exposure had also left facial scars from bits of magma puncturing her skin. The damage is not physically restricting in any way, but with our efforts focused on preserving bodily function and the healing the major wounds, the scars will remain for an indefinite period.

The Doctor paused for a moment while he scrolled down on the PDA to list the internal injuries.

There were two cases of internal blood loss in the lower left quadricep and in the head, we noticed another injury there that hadn't been properly treated. A puncture wound through the skull followed by distortion in the rear portion of the cerebral cortex. This indicates a bullet wound, but the age of the wound is different from the others.

The command members exchanged quick glances at one another before turning their attention back to the doctor.

Finally, two cracked ribs on the left ribcage, fortunately she had no instances of any other broken or damaged bones.

Re condition when she awakes. Jens concluded the small lecture just as the doctor finished, as if on que.

Of course, Brigadegenerale.

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Provisional SOA HQ Medical facility Planet Tangier, Muspelheim (//Omega-47)
07/30/813 AS, 10:00

She's regaining consciousness, maintain directive, have restraints ready. The scene went from one of desperate nurture, to one of cruelty as the pilot had already begun to undergo an even more rigorous cycle of pain. This one would be mental however, and much more permanent - or so it seemed at the time.

The pilot was restrained even further by a strange suit, it almost looked like body armor, though that wasn't really the intent. The suit was designed to be uncomfortable, painful even - all the while just barely compensating for the several recent injuries. It took days in stasis to recover to the bare minimum standard physically, most people suffering raw exposure to Tangier's satanic surface died within minutes. Not this one though, fate had other plans for this currently "unfortunate" pilot.

Please stop, it hurts... She muttered as she began to wake up, the back of the helmet had 3 cables that gave a real time feed of brain activity, and emotional response. Right now, there wasn't much more to be seen beyond the constant feed of fear and discomfort.

You will have me to thank one day my dear. You would be in more pain if you could see yourself in the mirror right now. I assure you, it may seem frightening for now, but soon you won't feel anymore fear. He glanced up at one of the nurses carrying a set of capsules, the "rage stims" as she would come to know far far too well.

Begin.

One person at the computer display began running some tweaks. The same cables that were taking readings could be used to further tweak certain emotional responses. The one they targeted immediately was anger.

Nothing but pure rage, rage that would last a lifetime.

Stop it hurts, it... so much pain, SO MUCH!

Make me stop, you're a freak. No one will ever look at you the same again.

The stims were doing a bit too well of a job. But that didn't stop the doctor, he was there to leave a mental scar.

Up the dosage.

It'll overwhelm her other hormones! She won't be able to- One of the nurses attempted to speak up quickly before she was cut off.

I gave you an order! The doctor spat over her. And just like that, there was no more hesitation from anyone.

AAGGGGH!!!!!! She screamed out in rage, the capillaries underneath her eyes, were bright blue. Her eyes were just concealed by the helmet she was wearing. The adrenaline was overwhelming, and in that same moment the restraints that once felt so heavy now felt like frozen zip ties. She broke free of them, ripping off the helmet violently before lunging at the doctor.

Restr-! The pilot was beating down the poor Doc's head. One fist after another, unyielding, there wasn't the slightest hint of fatigue. His blood only extended her drive to inflict pain. She had never felt such a drive in her life, it felt limitless... or endless...

Guards rushed in from either side to restrain the pilot. She rose up, fighting off the first two guards with the same grit and determination that broke those restraints in the first place. But there was little avail after that though - an overwhelming number came in, pinning down the poor pilot on the deck. In that bit of time -in spite of the all the rage inflicted- she could see her own reflection in the floor below. She saw the scars, the healed burns, her eyes - everything.

I... will... kill... ALL OF- *Thump*

Even all the rage in the world couldn't stop blunt force trauma from sending someone unconscious.

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CO's quarters, Outpost 415 Planet Weisbaden, Jötunheimr (//Omega-54)
03/24/827 AS, 05:16

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGH HELP MEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The sound of her own voice had entire upper torso snap upright into reality, and out of the dream. It was a memory, distorted, the same way it was when she daydreamed about it. That day left a mark that for so long she thought would be irreversible, it distorted her every action. Where it gave adrenaline and drive to be stronger, it also took away caution and reason - filling that in reckless action. The anger wouldn't let go, not for a decade, it felt like an endless thirst that needed to be quenched - or an error needed to be corrected.

Just in that moment, it felt like it had been corrected.

Taking in what had happened for a second, she let her body collapse back into the bed. She laid on her side, wrapping her arms around one of the pillows as she shut her eyes - trying to sleep for real this time. The whispers were still gone, but something else felt as if it was fading away as well. Something felt... different, the drive to get up and ignore extra time sleeping was gone. It felt almost too relaxing, she wanted to sleep in for the first time in a long long time.

What have I done? She muttered to herself as she shut her eyes again. For just a second there, two decade's worth of guilt felt like it was about to set in, but something interrupted. The guilt was suppressed by the same adrenaline-fueled anger that had broken the mirror yesterday. Only difference was, she blacked out for far longer this time.

-07:15-

And nothing was broken, at least not that she could tell when she awoke.

The shower, exercise, breakfast - everything felt different. The pieces of anger that drove certain actions no longer felt artificial, it felt... pure.

Other emotions flowed in, the balance of hatred and relaxation gave rise to what felt like for the moment - a new Generalmajor.

*Your ship's systems have suffered serious but not irreversible damage, it will take time to repair the unique blueprints, would you like me to inform command?*

No, have the engineers prepare the Fenriswolf Mk1, I will utilize that while the Mk2 is in its repair status.

*Acknowledged, the Fenriswolf mk1 still possess heavy weapons, as per your manual and recent combat history; you have stated that heavy weapons are too taxing on precision and reflexes to be used for prolonged time underway.*

No, I was wrong. And now I think I understand why. Have the ship ready. I am more than capable of wielding any weapon, and any ship.



Deck 3 Lounge Dabadoru Outpost, Omicron Delta
03/30/827 AS, 19:00

The violence had hit staggering highs in the pat few months. The Core were more intent than ever on taking back their beloved outpost, but of course, everything that can go wrong will go wrong.

The lounge was empty at this hour, every minute the duty crew wasn't underway they were sleeping. That was the "protocol" in situations like this; until the alarm went off - you were in your rack. But that wasn't the case for one man, not tonight anyways. Something was keeping him awake, more so than usual. He sat on one of the couches, scrolling down through CNS records on his hand held PDA. All them revolving around one particular subject, with no shortage of popularity.

As he scrolled and scrolled, taking in all the negativity, violence, and mischief that surrounded his person of interest - tears began to slowly roll out his eyes. "Deaths range in the thousands." "Rheinland's most wanted." He dropped the PDA, laying back in the couch, and placing both hands over his eyes. He took in a few sharp breaths through his nose and out his mouth, his face was peach red for the time being before he could regain himself a little. Once he finally could, his hands left his face and landed at his sides, he just laid there - starring up at the ceiling like it hypnotized him.

I'm so sorry. He muttered to himself as he continued to gaze into the ceiling.

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Somewhere in space ????, Omicron Delta
10/15/814 AS, ????

The sound of the man's breathing reflected his bluff to remain calm. He could see nothing, feel nothing, but was aware of his pod drifting in space. It wasn't moving terribly fast, and the view was to say the least - beautiful. But that really didn't dawn on him too much, he was left for dead out here with no one to help him. Dying of hunger or thirst, or lack of oxygen, in a claustrophobic escape pod likely months away from the nearest space station was terrifying. There was only one thing that could probably make it worse, but he didn't want to even think of it right now.

The pod had left him in stasis. but having been isolated for so long, all emergency and reserve power converted to keeping oxygen flowing for the remainder of it's time operational. The man slowly could feel function of his limbs coming back, he felt weak, exhausted even. It took all of his strength just to move his arm inches from its rested position.

His breathing rose a bit as he struggled to pull the weight of his arm up and over his head, there was an SOS switch just above the glass. It must've been over ten minutes he spent, but finally, he managed to press the switch and the signal began broadcasting. He let his arm float down at the mercy of space, just as he did so, he found himself drifting away into sleep again.

-23:00, 10/17/814 Planet Toledo, Omicron Minor-

W-Where am I? He muttered, his voice barely readable.

You were drifting away in space, one of our Research wings found you just in time. Some other parties were interested in you as well. Another man spoke, his voice came in clear, he sounded Libretonian though. You're on Planet Toledo in the Omicron Minor system. Here, drink some water and eat, you've been absent of food and water for far too long.

The Doctor walked over with a tray food and water. The man wasted no time, drinking all the water in one go and digging into the food.

You're clear of infection, we've checked you. Mind if I ask how you came to be out there all alone?

I don't know. His voice was much more clear now. His accent was Hispanic, which immediately gave the Doc a concerned look, drawing assumptions early. The last thing thing I remember was... Oh god, my family. You said I'm in the Omicrons? What year is it!?

It's 814.

It's already been a whole year...

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//Credit to the actual dude who made it I really think this is an incredible work of art that deserves it.

Barracks Planet Toledo, Omicron Minor
10/22/814 AS, 13:00

Days had passed and all the man could think about was his family, he recited to himself over and over in his his makeshift-barracks-room as if he was a patient in an insane asylum. The Doctor didn't go much further with questions beyond their original conversation, he thought it might be too traumatizing after it appeared the man had lost his family. Nothing seemed to calm him down, some hours he would be crying, others just pacing on and on - he was losing it slowly. The only requests he made from his room were requests for any art supplies. He told the guards he was a "respected artist" where he came from. Fortunately for him there were some lying around in some of the lounges in the other Barracks on the Outpost. He was able to drown his emotions, and concentration into his art, but eventually it came to an end. His guilt had managed to overcome him just as he finished the piece he was working on.

The poor man continued about over and over again, it was apparent he felt he had let them down. Whatever happened, he was immediately responsible in his own eyes; and that type of guilt was the most difficult kind for any man to overcome.

Nevermind if he was a father.

One of the Order psychologists on Planet Toledo had been tasked with helping the poor man who seemed too traumatized to speak to anyone about anything. Some of the Order personnel nearby thought it was trauma from contact with the nomads. Others thought he was literally insane, but it was time to get the "official" narrative on who he was and what was really wrong with him.

Hello? The doctor said with a soft tone as he opened the door slowly. He could see the man lying in his rack, tired, worn, mentally defeated - a man at the end of his last straw. On the floor just next to him though, was drawing, pieces of paper compiled to one image; it looked beautiful.

Hola. He said in response after giving the man a moment to take in his surroundings, he kept his head and eyes forward though.

That's some artwork, who is she? He said, opening the conversation in a way that might give him some insight. My wife. He responded.

She looks beautiful, do you know where she is now? The man saw his question as venturing a bit far, but the calm-attitude he brought with him elicited a more revealing response than he would have given to one of the guards. She died trying to help me. His response brought out a deep breath from the psychologist. He glanced down at the drawing one more time - one arm folded over the other in front of him - before he walked up closer to the man.

I'm so sorry, I didn't know... I never asked you your name. My name's James. He made a gesture with his hand, pointing to himself before he asked the obvious question while pointing at the man. What's yours? The man took a sharp breath in and out through his nose, glancing down at the drawing for a moment before finally revealing.

Luciano.

Barracks Lounge Akabat, Omicron Mu
10/18/824 AS, 19:00

Luciano, or "Lucian" as they would all begin to call him for simplicity - was not the person the Order expected him to be. He didn't know how to fly, but he had a "military" service record with the Corsairs. How did an artist get branded a full blown Corsair, and not know how to fly? It was beyond them all at first, but it wouldn't really matter in the long run. The only obstacle he would appear to have his first few months with the Order - by his own choice - was his nationality. Being Cretan, many of the Order personnel weren't too quick to trust him at first, but as they got to know who he really was - they had almost no problem connecting with him. He wasn't the same type of person the Order assumed the "collective" Corsair to be. Even so, the Order's recruitment policy didn't discriminate against anyone, different people meant a wider variety of knowledge; an Omicron resident for sure fit that category.

Lucian was slow to pick up the talent of piloting, he spent extra terms in the Order's flight school program to pick up the advanced necessary tactics they demanded of everyone. With patience came progress though, and eventually Lucian was made a full blown Order operative, and pilot. He graduated just in time to assist in the final effort to stop the nomads from completely destroying Planet Toledo. The devastation caused that day would warrant his stay with the Order permanently, any thought of his wife or child being alive had left his mind. in the absence of those things, came an even greater motive to stick with the Order until his final days.

Or would it?

Lucian was enjoying some down time, drowning himself in his artistic works; even practiced sparring with some of the marine instructors at the TRACEN nearby. To close out his R&R, he and two of his friends decided to have have dinner in the lounge. It was late, so the three were the only ones there. As the group exchanged laughs, talking about the time they spent together for the past few years or so, Lucien's attention honed in on the screen.

*CNS NEWS BROADCAST: Rheinland government officials have likely already begun yet another set of reliefs and advancements for new military personnel following the catastrophe in Omega-7. Last week, an unprecedented Red Hessian force entered the system and destroyed a crucial mineral processing artery. Reutlingen station -having served as an essential component to Rheinland's mineral economy- was completely destroyed by the overwhelming force of Hessians, the few survivors that survived are now receiving emergency care on Stuttgart. The embarrassment and inability to protect their citizens has almost certainly ended the careers of Admiral Wolf and Admiral Sterr. With this as well, the Bundestag is now prioritizing the bounty of the head of the snake - the Red Hessian "Generalmajor" Annabelle Mychaela Heinrich-*

Lucian's head snapped towards the screen. What?! He spat out suddenly, catching the attention of both his friends as well. His eyes widened and his heart raced as he carefully listened to every word from the news report. It was overwhelming, just when he had found a mellow point in his life; his past started reaching out for him.

I know, an entire station. The Red Hessians have become a lot more aggressive lately, I heard CO's gonna start pulling assets from the Omegas for the time being. One of his friends replied, anticipating his reaction was at the attack and not the person. Do we know anything about her? He composed himself, if it was really her, he couldn't afford it getting out. Not much, apparently she's some sort of Ace pilot. I've never seen a CO that flies with his or her pilots, she must be crazy - especially if she's responsible for this.

Lucian's mind drifted into memories of his past as he continued to appear hypnotized by the monitor. It was more than overwhelming, and would certainly put him at a conflict of interests.

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Vogtland Station Tennement B Deck-5 Vogtland Station Dresden,
04/2/ 827 AS, 16:35

Isaak was astonished by the contrast of horrors and beauty the station brought out. It was marvelous, a city constructed to function inside a massive Planetoid - but housing some of the most dangerous individuals in all of Sirius. Criminal acts weren't unheard of, but were at a staggering low, at least the reported ones. The Army covered all aspects of "civilian regulation" as Isaak came to understand it - basically a fancy term for law enforcement.

Passing customs was simple as cake, especially on orders of the Generalmajor. So Isaak's cover - while crystal clean - was almost unnecessary entering the station, he wasn't quite fond of putting on a fake persona; but his wanting to meet his mother overwrote that tenfold. That drive he had was really hitting him now, even more than the day he first heard of who he really was. He felt as if he was closer than ever to finding out the most he would ever learn about himself, but in reality he was probably still a ways away. Beneath it all, he and Alfred knew the time wasn't right, if his mother knew who he was - Alfred would likely turn up dead and Isaak would be forced to stick close. If anyone else in the Hessian ranks found out, it would be a weakness that would invite a distorted situation for the Generalmajor. One she would silence by referring to the first outcome, more than likely.

Isaak leaned against the wall, gazing out the window and onto the skyscrapers. Above them all was one giant pillar in the center, Hessian crafts were traversing in and out of a small port extending from it. That's probably where she was staying. Alfred was busy unpacking some extra things he brought back, in the midst of doing so, Isaak's stare out the window caught his attention. I can see some her in you, you know. He said, as he continued to shift through one of his suitcases. That's what my guardian told me... I don't know if I want to believe its true. Isaak replied. Your mother doesn't determine who you are son, you've chosen a better path than she has. And from what I hear, some of those traits you carry are for the better. I saw those flight test results, haven't seen someone with those in generations. Isaak took a few deep breaths, shifting his head a little bit as his eyes rolled. They're just numbers, I probably got lucky... wait, you served?

Have I served. He imitated him with a mocking voice. Of course I bloody served! They wouldn't just send some spinless old man here with no self-discipline.

Could've fooled me. He replied jokingly and with a smile at the end.

Ahh sod off, one of you is a handful, I don't need the younger one messing with me too. Anyways, the quartermaster said she would be on Vogtland this week, she offered to tour us through the Army's main TRACEN. Isaak turned around immediately, the statement grabbing his complete attention. She's here?!

Yes, don't get too excited. Remember, if she knows who you are we're both dead.

It was going to be a long stay.


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Gran Canaria Orbit Planet Gran Canaria, Omega-49
10/13/807 AS, 12:37

Shit. Come on... come on, come on. The hull-plating near the engines was buckling violently as the pilot attempted to keep the ship on course. All other damage to the ship was irrelevant, all she needed to was hold course for just a little longer to make stable re-entry. The stress and emotion of the moment were overwhelming, sweat was racing out of her body from every skin cell. She could feel her hands slipping on the throttles and yoke. Not only was she attempting to make planet-entry without a docking ring, but she was also running.

*Pilot, your course has deviated 9,238,403,928,409,820,934,890,238,490,823,942 KM from the nearest Army base. The punishment for desertion is -*

Shut the fuck up and do what I say! I'm NOT going back, I'm NEVER going back to that place ever again. Divert nano-repairs to the engine's exterior plating. She screamed in response while multitasking the ship's other systems. Flicking switches on and off, re-concertinaing the shielding, she took a second to glance back at the hull. No repairs yet.

I can do this. Come on... come on... She muttered to herself before being interrupted by the ship's VI again.

*I will alert Army personnel if you continue- * *Bang.* The voice cut in an instant.

The pilot sent her fist into the VI display panel. Now she was flying blind, but that didn't seem to phase her. What did seem to phase her though, was the HUD display turning red, and with text covering the top portion read: RE-ENTRY IN 3-2-1...

The ringing of silence in space turned to a loud roaring descent as the ship's shields slowly lost traction against the thick atmosphere.

*SHIELDS HOLDING 45%... 20%... SHIELDS FAILED. HULL BREACH IMMINENT*

COME ON! HNG!!!! The left-wing of the Odin completely parted the ship as it cleared the upper atmosphere. With no aerodynamics, the ship quickly deviated from its flight path and started to pitch down.

AGH!!!! STAY ON COURSE! She screamed as she put her body-weight into the yoke, pitching in the opposite direction to which it was deviating. Just as the smoke seemed to clear up, the ground below became more and more detailed - they were descending fast. The pilot reacted by pitching the yoke up, killing the engines, and attempting to start up propulsion discharge under the belly of the Odin.

*PROPULSION SYSTEMS OFFLINE, COLLISION IN 15... 14...*

Please, I don't deserve this, I never wanted this-!!!! The ship's collision sent her head into the cockpit glass, which in turn sent her unconscious. The sound of the roaring winds, buckling hull, and alert systems were replaced with a silent ring in a split second.

-Meanwhile Settlement 415 Planet Gran Canaria-

Alarms rang through the settlement, people could be seen walking and running into their homes and tenements. Locking the doors behind them, closing curtains, the place went on lockdown just like that - on a moment's notice. A few others weren't heading home though. Instead they were rushing over towards what could only be understood as a small command center. A large building in the center of the tiny settlement. The building was a bit wider, taller, and much more sophisticated than the others. It gave off the presence of an official building or the closest thing that could come to that in such a remote place.

Every individual that walked inside grabbed a weapon, some were tossing on flight suits and running to elevators leading down beneath surface level. Everyone else was heading up, in the opposite direction.

One man in particular, took a few moments to glance around the room before grabbing his weapon. He seemed to be in a bit of awe at just how makeshift this whole thing was. Zoner defenses? Well, anything was better than nothing.

He took the elevator up to a room resembling a command center. Several other people were gathered around a table in the center, displaying a chart of the settlement and the immediate surrounding area. Among them, another person stood alone, reading a monitor off to the side of the room. It looks damaged from this angle, on a crash course no doubt. But it's definitely a Hessian ship. Glances and deep breaths were exchanged in the room upon hearing the word "Hessian". Gran Canaria was a free settlement, but the people lived in slight fear of just one party deciding otherwise. Especially if that party was made up of terrorists.

It's a hike, roughly twenty miles off our exclusion zone. Forty in total. He won't survive unless he's not alone. James what do you think? He said as he continued to read the monitor display.

It's a hessian though, where there's one, there's another twenty. We can't risk it, we should go out there and make sure he's dead. James replied. James wore more of an authoritarian getup among them all. He had a Bretonian military service record, which propelled them to the "leader" of the militia. The other, was the man exiting the elevator.

"wE sHoUlD gO" Are you insane? Forty MILES off in the cold with 40 MPH winds!? He'll be dead before he even wakes up, assuming he's still conscious! One of the crowd mocked.

James turned towards the man coming out of the elevator, the same one that had glanced around the base level of the militia's Armory. Lucian, you know what these bloodthirsty Hessians are like. We need to make sure he's dead, otherwise more will show. What do you think?

Si. It's strange though, the Hessians don't have a base we know of this far out, and this is... FAR. Not only that, but you said the ship was crash landing? Damaged on the descent? Something's definitely different, I don't think we've ever seen a Hessian ship this far out. It could be a runaway. I'd say yes though in short. Lucien's statement eased the tension in the room, his accent gave away that he wasn't from the settlement. Likely Cretan instead. Others in the room were willing to listen when he spoke, just as he finished. The room was left in a sort of awkward silence.

We'll all go, for the safety of this settlement if nothing else. James spoke up. Everyone's head was cleared after Lucien reinforced James' decision, Lucien had that effect on the people. Despite his background oddly enough.

We have an APC that can take you out to the site, it's got plenty of space for y'all. We also have a few fighters on standby in case more show up. They could do some fly-over reconnaissance.

That should do just fine, let's suit up. Pack extra MREs and water in case we get stuck out there for a bit. It should be simple enough.

Terrain's nearly flat, looks like the crash site's at the base of one of the mountain ranges. It doesn't look like any other settlements have deployed any assets nearby. We are the closest one though. I'll keep in touch and let you know if we get any more visitors.

Thanks Raph. James replied.

-14:00, APC En-route to the crash site, 3M out.-


Comms were quiet, just routine checkups. The fly-over images from the Militia's pilots indicated the pilot was likely still inside the cockpit, and unconscious. Meaning it wouldn't be long either way until the pilot was dead. James was more optimistic about putting down the pilot. But Lucien's curiosity left everyone else with mixed feelings; still, their objective remained the same - but with a different form of due process. They would identify if the pilot's intentions were hostile, or if it was otherwise. Lucien reasoned that they needed more pilots in their ranks along with his earlier statement.

We're getting close lads, everyone knows their jobs. Any sign of hostility, we put him down. Let's not go too overboard, but exercise caution. Terminate if necessary. Everyone turned their heads to chat again, Lucien nodded.


You're coming up on the crash site, 400 meters. Said Raph on the comms channel. Upon hearing the response, James brought down the speed of the APC, and the crew exited. They all approached in a loose formation, weapons trained down on the wreck in front of them.

James gave a set of hand signals to the group. He, Lucien, and three others continued forward while 3 others stood back near the APC. The wreckage of the ship became more and more difficult to make out in detail as the sun came down. All the fires had been doused or put out by the wind speed, the group continued, slowly but steadily creeping up on the wreckage.

Once they reached the immediate vicinity of the ship, James could make out the cockpit, and determined that it hadn't been opened. There. It doesn't look like it's popped open at all, let's check. James jogged over, Lucien followed close while the others continued to eye around. James flashed his light through to reveal the inside contents - and it's what they expected. It's clear, the pilot's inside. Adam, Will, sweep around and see if you can find any other damage that might've not been dealt on the descent. The other two broke off as James squatted down on his toes, examining the inside to see if there was anything else worth noting. We've got to get him out, can't tell if he's dead. Plasma cutter's right here. Watch out. Lucien crept in front of him, cutting through the groove where the glass met the titanium alloy. The cockpit - along with the ship - had impacted on an angle facing down into the surface. Lucien worked his way from the bottom up before cutting a half-circle into the glass. Standby, it's coming loose... now! The pair caught the chunk of glass falling out of place and onto them. After a bit of a struggle, they both managed to set it aside. Lucien wasted no time creeping inside the cockpit; once inside, he quickly detached the seat harness and grabbed the pilot's arm, wrapping it around his shoulder. James. He said with the indication for needing help. James grabbed the pilot's other arm, transferring its weight from Lucien to James and dragging the pilot out of the ship. Once he had control, James carefully set the pilot on the ground and went to take off her helmet.

Upon removing it, both of them were caught a little off guard - wasn't the gender they were anticipating. My god... James put his fingers against the pilot's neck, feeling for her pulse. She's got a pulse... Lucien.... Lucien was taken back by the revelation as well, but for another reason. She looks... young. Jesus, it's surreal she's still alive. Never seen such a... beautiful Hessian before. This place is weird. I mean bloody hell, are they recruiting college students now? James made a confused gesture at Lucien, who was still examining the unconscious pilot. James. Lucien turned his head towards James before he spoke. Look at her, she's harmless. Hell she’s probably younger than me. We should take her back, there's no way she came out this far to scout or to conquer a settlement. James' expression turned to a bit of a smirk as he replied. Come on Lucien, not five minutes and you've already decided your date for tomorrow? Of course we're not just gonna leave her here. Come on, I'll let Raph know we've got a guest.

-1900, Infirmary, Settlement 415-

The crew that was initially eager to put down the so-called intruder quickly became her salvation. Maybe it was her age, or maybe it was her looks. Either way, everyone was grateful they didn't rush to violence in the end.

Lucien and James waited in the infirmary, just outside the room where she was resting. She was stabilized, her condition wasn't as bad as they anticipated; but the head trauma was enough to put her under for a while. Her face was a bit pale, black hair, let loose now. Young, female, and quite attractive were traits that didn't mix with Hessians at all - even the nurses were caught off guard.

I really hope I'm right. Lucien said to James, still focusing through the glass and into the room. She won't get far if she lashes out, don't worry. Unless you were worried about my other comment. Lucien's attention snapped towards James, ready to poke back at him. We don't even know who she- Lucien! James cut him off, and both of them snapped their attention into the room. The pilot was waking up, and a bit panicked.


A few flickers from her eyelids were followed by her torso snapping upright faster than she could process. It gave her tunnel vision for a second before all other forms of anxiety started to settle in. Where am I?! She said nervously as she snapped awake. Her tongue was Bretonian, and much more deep than the Nurse expected. The Nurse immediately moved in to try and calm her down. You're fine and safe. You're on Gran Canaria, this is a free settlement. The pilot shook her head, not knowing whether or not to trust the nurse or take precautions. I don't... I don- who are they?! James and Lucien entered, the nurse, Freyja - attempted to wave them both off. Unfortunately their entry only made the situation more nervous for the pilot. James, it's fine. She's just nervous. I don't want trouble, please. She spoke with a Bretonian accent, stuttered, broken, and nervous. You're a Hessian, with a Bretonian accent? Who are you? I don't want anything to do with the Hessians... I... I hate them, please! You have to believe me! I have to go, I have to getaway. The pilot's words were broken up, her nervous tone and anxiety were reflected even more in her breathing and facial expression. Both of them also took note of how hypnotic her eyes were. Bright and blue as the sky.



Immediately following Jame's aggressive approach, Lucien stepped in front of him, putting his hand against his chest to stop him while he went to speak up. This is James, sorry he's a bit more direct. I'm Luciano, my friends call me Lucien, we're all refugees and explorers living out here. There are no Hessians, no Corsairs, you're safe. He said shaking his head slightly in the process. What's your name? The pilot's look began to relax a bit, all the other glittering features fell into place with that of a normal person. She made eye contact with Lucien for a while.

Anna.

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