2022-02-11: Dirty Job
- Log: Dirty Job
- Cast: Saraven Vai, Renato Germi, Ennil El, Job John, Sayla Mass, Shelby Korts, Sousuke Sagara
- Where: Mao Industries Facility, Luna
- Date: February 11, 0096
- Summary: Catching wind of Job John's latest work, the Sleeves pay a visit to the brains behind the Formula Project.
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
There aren't many fixed installations owing their allegiance to the Shuffle Alliance. That's the breaks when you operate outside the law. But connections are connections, and a little leaning into friendly shoulders can bear results. It's why Job John has been set up at Mao Industries on the Lunar surface, at a manufactory site well outside Copernicus City's dense and vacuum-sealed environment. The facility's far enough outside the city for anything to be tested with plenty of open space, with no danger of blowing open delicate colony domes or bulkheads. It's ideal for task.
It's also a tempting target for those out to cause mischief - a fact made clear when a Huckebein Mark IIM standing near the base's perimeter is suddenly pierced through by a bright magenta beam, bursting into flame and toppling to the lunar regolith.
[ BGM SHIFT: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEL5MQ8Umcs ]
Talons of beam fire rake towards the base, aiming to make short work of the mass-produced Huckebeins standing guard. The attack force consists of a few Dom IIIs and a couple of Gelgoog IIIs, well-armed and bearing elaborate sleeve cuffs in white on black. The Varguil heads them up, its dusty-lilac frame distinctive and frontally positioned. A couple of Gaza-A construction units bring up the rear, their lift units at the ready - and with them come a few smaller land vehicles, rovers that come speeding in with Sleeves aboard, armed for on-foot combat.
"Eliminate any defensive positions," Saraven orders quietly into her helmet pickup, focusing her eyes forward and the rest of her senses outward. "Falke Five, Six and Seven, stay back to cover the lifters and the insertion team. If there is another F-type Gundam here, I want to retrieve it intact."
As much as Mars Zeon has a reputation for traditionalism, Zeon's Earth Sphere remnants cannot afford to be stingy. News had leaked out that the brains behind the Formula Project was back on the job, designing something new.
The prospect of another Gundam in the same class of performance as the F90 and F91 can't be dismissed. Saraven checks her tactical readout before the Varguil arcs through the minimal Lunar gravity, heels making landfall on the base tarmac. The lilac mobile suit levels its long beam rifle forward as she scopes for targets ahead.
Her thoughts probe, too. A quiet pressure.
...Something hidden in there...
...I wonder...
The source of the attack is clear enough: A landship lurks on the horizon, hanging well out of the combat zone. It's painted in a flattened grey colour, nearly hidden against the moonscape. It's not a design regular to Zeon deployments in the Earth Sphere.
<Pose Tracker> Renato Germi has posed.
Renato has found himself a comfortable place in the middle of the pack. The Reben Wolf's thrusters kicking him along in the wake of the big, fat targets that are the Doms. He was still sceptical about Zeon aesthtics but they never failed to produce something big and fat to shoot at.
"Hoo, Hooo! Nice, nice, Little Monster! Isn't that pretty. The party's just starting and we already have some fireworks." Renato crowed in the heart of his machine, a broad grin splitting across his face as if it had been carved with a knife. With the flick of a switch, he saturated the area with M-particles. The music was already playing but if he could keep them from mounting a strong response, it'd just make his life a little easier.
And if there's one thing Renato loved, it was easy living. With another flip of a switched, he armed his missile pods. The two, small launcher boxes lifted into position before snapping open and loosing their barrage. Dumb-fire missiles zipping away at the head of thin, smokey contrails before they came raining down. Not a lot of punch but it aughta be enough to make them dance.
<Pose Tracker> Ennil El has posed.
Contact lights blink on on each of the Jenice Kai's secondary monitors, establishing basic status communications with the ground teams. "Remember, your lives are on the line. But that's why we get paid, right boys?" Ennil's body jolts as the Jenice makes contact with lunar surface, before the verniers kick in and she's gliding forward, sliding back and forth in a well-practiced patrol pattern ahead of the loader team. Moon transit wasn't cheap, especially when it couldn't be handled under Federation channels, but when you wanted a Gundam, you paid for the best.
"Just don't be stupid! I'm looking forward to drinks tonight, so I'd appreciate not having to dig our paycheck out of a smoking crater!" The staccato clap of machine gun rounds tear through the hip of a Huckebein too brave by half, Ennil letting out a little whoop from her pilot's seat as the legs of the Jenice flare and she shoots ahead to draw out the rest of the defenders.
<Pose Tracker> Job John has posed.
On Mao Industries's central factory floor, amidst blaring alarm klaxons and a frenzy of activity, Job John wipes machine oil from his broad brow with an unhurried air. The blond man evaluates the adjustments he has made, still for a long moment before, seeming satisfied, closing the small mobile suit's side panel. The lead of the Formula project has indeed been at work on a brand new machine. Furthermore, it showcases the improvements in miniaturization and mobility that characterize the Formula series, if not their biocomputing. But it makes up for that by adapting much more mundane technology and materials, the sort that might be found in a scrap yard, and amplifying their output significantly. The intelligence informing this raid was correct to a point.
"Mm. Looking good."
There's just what problem: this little mobile suit, if it is even worthy of the name, has no weapons. Not a one. It's a search-and-rescue mech, which uses its impressive power output and small size to fit into confined or collapsed spaces while retaining the capacity to lift heavy debris, as well as endure high-pressure environments without loss of maneuverability or pilot visibility.
Moreover, despite what Job has said, and the amiable confidence with which he says it, it looks like crap. Like, a real hunk of junk. Moves like a greased cat, sure, but resembles one too.
"Mr. John!"
A factory supervisor, visibly startled to see Job still on the floor, skids to a halt and nearly bumps into a member of the security forces taking up a defensive position, preparing for the possible invasion of ground forces.
"Please withdraw -- we can't risk you being captured or killed!"
"Thanks, but I can't do that," Job replies, his tone even. "The facility's under heavy fire. If any of it collapses, and anyone ends up trapped--" He raps on the metal hull of his glorified trash heap. "--we'll need this up and running."
The supervisor, brow furrowed, looks dubious.
"I need to do some more resistance tests," Job is musing aloud, seemingly ignoring the sound of laser fire tearing at the base itself. "If I can push the modified engine just a little harder without undermining the hull's pressure resistance, it could *probably* work for sending a submarine into space, too..."
Now the supervisor looks *really* confused.
"Sayla," Job sighs, shaking his head. "What am I letting you talk me into?"
The corners of his lips quirk upward. At least someone's happy?
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
On the factory floor, Sayla reviews the latest invention. It's... not pretty. But pretty isn't what she's here for. She's here for effective. "This is fast work, Job." She smiles, and gives a nod. "If it works the way the specifications say, this could fill the niche left by construction Arm Slaves." To be fair though, Sayla's not a mechanic. She has people to know this stuff for her. Job John is one of them.
And then the supervisor charges in, and Sayla's eyes widen. Attackers. "Do we know how many? Their numbers? Did you fire off a distress signal before the Minovsky radiation hit?" She's asking questions that they should have answers too, but. And then Job says he's not retreating and-
God damnit, why does everyone around her want to be a hero?
"...I thought I got you into a cushy design job. Guess it's not that simple." The dock isn't far. "Stay alive, Job John. I'm going to sortie!"
A few minutes later, something steps out of the facility. It looks, frankly, like a Bawoo. But it's painted like a Gundam- mainly the RX-78-2. It's also got a gundam's head, without the V-Fin. Inside the cockpit, her pilot suit is deidentified OYW Federation colors- Yellow and Black. It's been a little while since she's been here, but... It's familiar. Her hand grips the control stick. "Sayla Mass, Saint Lance, launching!"
The Mobile Suit charges as she scouts the attacking forces. "...Sleeves." She feels anger in her blood. Of course she does. Her sensors pull up what she thinks is the leader. The Varguil. She links into the psycommu sysem, and fires it at the suit, with it's guided system. Here goes. She's makng herself a target, but that'sthe point. Her, not the facility.
KTS: Sayla Mass targets Saraven Vai with Psycommu Guided Missile!
KTS: Saraven Vai successfully intercepts Sayla Mass's Psycommu Guided Missile
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
"You're gonna have to burn all the propellant in those booster tanks just to get there--"
"I know."
"You know that you know but you don't know -- you're not even carrying a full kit, are you? You're not gonna be able to take advantage of those tanks once you get there."
Settling into the seat of the spherical cockpit, Shelby Korts slides her glasses into a pocket in the padded suit's left sleeve, tucking her hair back behind her ears and pulling a set of prescription goggles on. Her helmet goes next, connecting the hose at the back of her helmet to the slim pack on her back. They're Sleeves. Zeon. Of course. Of *course*. The chamber goes dark, lighting anew as the vastness of space opens with the cargo bay doors and the display flaring to life.
'Ride the wave,' she said.
"Ride the wave," Shelby murmurs, opening her eyes. "I'm off!"
The Mobile Suit drops before all thrusters flare, sending it hurtling off-course away from the Totally Normal Cargo Carrier and toward Luna-- toward, specifically, the Copernicus area, the space-nitrus giving the machine a necessary boost in speed to send her hurtling toward the Mao Industries base.
Drawing closer, her attention drifts upward a smidge; the cameras tethered to the on-board systems and psycomm devices opening inset windows that start to provide a grainy-- but best-guess-- visual of the scene, albeit from way on high. Is that ... a landship? Or is there too much interference? And a few machines, she can tell from the weapons fire. Information starts flicking through consoles and windows that open to either side.
"Ride the wave," she repeats.
The Mobile Suit tucks legs back and shifts it's weight, flipping over to align itself with the local notion of 'up.' Controlled flight brings it closer to the battlefield, carrying a distinctive beam gatling rifle, bearing a shield with no emblem. It's painted in glossy knockout pink and black so matte it seems like it wants to consume the darkness of space and all the light around it, legs sweeping out to slow and steady the descent on the far side of the action.
The pilot is ... *there*. There's absolutely a newtype force on the field inside that machine; like a figure swimming through a stormy ocean made of screams and chaos, of thought and emotion and *focus*, like something that makes it's home in the garden of loud, violent turbulence.
"Mao Industries," her voice crackles on audio comms. "I'm here as support."
It is a MSN-03 Jagd Doga. It does not have cuff accents, nor does it look like a cobbled-together retrofit. Most importantly, it is absolutely *not* running the Sleeves' IFF transponder code for 'friend,' especially as evidenced as the machine drifts at a hovering height in low gravity -- and starts letting loose with bursts of rapid fire from the beam gatling gun!
KTS: Shelby Korts has activated the Strike Spirit Command.
KTS: Shelby Korts targets Renato Germi with Beam Gatling Gun Burst!
<Pose Tracker> Sousuke Sagara has posed.
The Arbalest needs to be tested in a variety of environments, and its pilot, too. Sousuke is mostly a terrestrial geurilla fighter; he finds the notion of lunar action not particularly enticing. Still, the assignment is clear. For the moment, he's simply waiting in the area in Arbalest, doing a live test of what lunar gravity does to the grounded M9 variant and its pilot.
"Alert. Minovsky interference has been detected."
Sousuke's eyes cut up from the study program he's been running on the main monitor, flicking over to one of the auxiliary alerts. "Combat densities?" he asks.
"Affirmative," AL, the onboard AI, reports.
"...alright. Get us into ECS. We'll step in."
*
As the Sleeves beams claw across the base, Arbalest, unseen behind the optical camouflage of ECS Invisibility Mode, rises to its feet. "ALERT: Lunar Regolith is a suboptimal condition for Invisible Mode use. Recommend transition to combat power conditions immediately."
"It'll last long enough," Sousuke says, and spots his target.
"Communications alert: Establishing battlefield radio network via base infrastructure," AL reports.
"Uruz Seven, entering combat," Sousuke announces, and then there is the dart of an anti-tank dagger slicing through space toward the Jenice. Hopefully, he accounted for the aerodynamics of 'no air' properly.
Arbalest appears shortly afterward, its ECS Invisibility fading with a spark of electric blue to reveal the all-white machine standing on a cratertop hill nearby. Its green eyes flare.
"Combat power achieved," AL reports.
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Little monster.
Saraven glances to one side, thoughts and eyes briefly checking Renato's Reben Wolf. The man's moods are clear to her, yet she only samples them shallowly when her mind brushes past. Diving deep always feels like it'd be a bad idea.
He serves.
A choice brought him here. That's fine.
The attack unfolds under the Lilac Gale's watchful eye. A pair of Dom IIIs and a single Gelgoog III move into position to cover the men in the rovers and the Gaza-As. Shielded by the mobile units' suppressing fire, the Sleeves' foot soldiers begin to unload. One of the Gazas releases a pair of sturm fausts straight into a launch bay door - the only weapons the machine carries.
Debris plumes out from the blast door in a soundless explosion. Chunks of metal tumble through the vacuum on slow, lobbing arcs, propelled well across the paved decking before the weak Lunar gravity begins to pull them back down.
One of the rovers drives straight through the smoking hole in the blast doors. They heard Ennil El clear as day. They want both drinks and paycheques. They'll follow her leadership and expertise - she's the scavenger, not Saraven. It'll take them some time to make it to the central factory floor - the launch bay they're in has security measures all its own
Their supporting mobile suits, however, answer to Mars Zeon. They're also coming in: One of the Gaza-As goes floating in right behind the scavengers.
Back out on the tarmac, the Varguil sweeps its rifle a few degrees to one side and opens fire. A Huckebein, emerging from a hangar, crumples about five feet from the launch point, its head blown clean off. Saraven purses her lips as she watches the indicators on her screen move. What's bothering her isn't on her monitor. There's a feeling. A tangible pressure.
...There's a red cardinal...
...I've never dreamed of one so red...!
The thought translates. The funnels loft from the Varguil's backpack racks and spread out.
Five seconds later, the Saint Lance steps onto the scene. The missiles fire. Anger surges. Saraven blinks, twice.
...Cardinal... you're hurting, aren't you...?
The missiles are in mid-flight when the funnels come snapping back in. The Varguil jukes backwards a few metres as the remote weapons converge and start blasting. Missiles burst in the air as the remotes catch them. The targeting involved is impossibly precise. The trajectories plot themselves out perfectly.
Saraven exhales. She pushes her thoughts outward. Sayla in particular can feel it - the palpable but cold pressure from the Varguil's cockpit. Not full of hate - merely a chill. Like a scarred rock face cooled by the depths of space.
"...Is that a Bawoo?" she transmits, her voice quiet, but intent. She doesn't sound much older than eighteen. "Even so... you should stand down and surrender the Formula Project research. This can end without anyone getting hurt."
The funnels sweep back out, then begin to converge again. Two of them crisscross dangerously to one side of the Saint Lance - but they don't fire. That comes from another direction, and another - to the left, and from above, two more funnels maneuvering to try and flank Sayla with a stuttering barrage of fire.
KTS: Saraven Vai targets Sayla Mass with Funnel Strike!
<Pose Tracker> Ennil El has posed.
Thump. Thump. Obviously, a mobile suit cockpit is pretty heavily stabilized. You can't mash a human body against lunar titanium at the sort of G-forces exerted by one of these titans jetting across the battlefield. But Ennil's spent so long in one of these seats she can feel the way the Jenice expresses itself, the impacts against the chassis, the shifting of autobalanced limbs, the creaking of joints finding new positions one after another. It's not a sound or a glint in the lunar dust that alerts Ennil to danger, though - it's a surge in her heart, an awareness of killing intent. She hisses at the scream of steel tearing at armor plating, plasma roaring to life in her hand as she kicks on the beam saber.
It takes a few moments more for the old legacy systems to make sense of modern Arm Slave design and assess her opponent for her. "Aw. Kinda cute, huh?" Her eyes narrow, red hair sweeping over them as she leans forward in the cockpit and snaps up her beam saber in challenge. "But the kind of guy who'd pull a stunt like that isn't cute at all! I hope you're ready for the consequences!" The Jenice throws its arms wide as the machine cannons in the torso rattle and bury the Arbalest's position in heavy fire, Ennil charging forward to try and corner the smaller machine before it can slip away again.
KTS: Ennil El targets Sousuke Sagara with Machine Cannon Dash Burst!
<Pose Tracker> Renato Germi has posed.
Renato Garmi is just catagorically is just a bad person... but he's cheerful in a vaguely racist way that makes him somewhat tolerable to be around... Or not. Where his charm fails, the fact that he has been shooting people in large machines with his own large machine for almost 20 years.
Almost two decades of experience can't be wrong!
I mean, it can, but still.
Gatling fire sweeps into Renato's comfy little place in the middle of the troop and blows his plans of hanging back and enjoying the show all to hell and back again. The Reben Wolf doesn't instantly cook off as it triies and fails to wind away from the burst fire like a stung snake. It's armor picking up some shallow scores and gouges while a few bolts blow through armor.
Tightening his belly against the fruitless evasive maneuvering. "Hah, sneaky little bastard, so some of you do have a bit of bite! And look at that, don't you have a fancy little toy. Wonder what hole you dug that out of?" he prattles to keep his wits sharp, keeping tabs on the only two folks he gave good odds to making it back from this alive. Engaged but still alive.
"You make it out of all of this in one piece and I'll buy your share myself!" barked the amiable war criminal as he kept an eye on the incoming Shelby, swinging around as he swept into the breached colony to try and abuse the urban terrain for advantage. "That goes to you two, Little Monster. Show them who the Lilac Gale really is!"
KTS: Sousuke Sagara successfully evades Ennil El's Machine Cannon Dash Burst
<Pose Tracker> Job John has posed.
"At least take cover, Mr. John!"
The engineer quirks a broader smile. No doubt Sayla has taken the field herself, Job thinks. If he had a Formula mobile suit with him, the veteran White Base backup pilot might have joined her. But it is no time for such idle thoughts.
"Will do," he affirms. "Now, you too."
The factory supervisor doesn't need any more encouragement. Defensive battle lines have been formed by what ground security forces are available as the scavenger assault squad can be heard contending with the blast doors and automated security systems. Job tilts his head. Based on the sound of their progress, it won't be much longer until they reach the factory floor. So he does as promised--
"Hup!"
--and springs into the cockpit of the thick-hulled search and rescue mobile suit, quickly flipping switches to bring it fully online. He'll be well protected in here, at the very least. And more than that, perhaps his fine-tuning has rendered this bucket of bolts more than meets the eye.
As in, he can move it around to help provide cover to the security forces, not like, it can turn into a truck. Alas.
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
Sayla grimaces as the funnels fly out and shoot down her missiles. She's used to how funnels work, but it's always a frustration. Not that the system in this suit gives her any excuses. Still, she opens comms to friendlies- Sousuke, and one of Nanai's factions. The amount of newtype activity on the battlefield- or extreme oldtype activity- is unpleasant. "Protect the facility if you can, but if you can't, prioritize evacuation. Losing this suit would be unpleasant, but it wouldn't benefit them."
And then she receives the transmission. The comms officer is running options through her head as the open channel gives her an opportunity. She doesn't answer the question on the suit- everyone knows what Anaheim is like. "There is no Formula Project research. We're developing search and rescue suits!" She's... not lying. That is what they're developing- if using the miniaturization tech. "You've already opened fire on a civilian facility and you're saying people won't get hurt, when they already are!"
She can sense the funnels coming for her, and dodges them. The Saint Lance is swift, and definitely refined beyond an ordinary Bawoo. The pilot also is... extremely aware, if not super powerful. But the opening gives her what she needs. A lock, finding the IFF of the Varguil and attempting to mark it a target to her systems and her allies.
"Leave, now. The dying gasps of the Zabi family have nothing to gain here short of stopping a chance to save lives."
KTS: Sayla Mass targets Saraven Vai with Designate L2!
KTS: Sayla Mass designates Saraven Vai, making her easier to target and opening her to indirect fire.
<Pose Tracker> Sousuke Sagara has posed.
Ennil's Jenice towers over Arbalest, as Mobile Suits must. But an ARM Slave is powerful, and Arbalest has secrets of its own.
"AL, what do I have?"
"Doctor Mass has deployed in the unit tagged here. Unknown Shuffle Alliance unit also detected arriving from beyond the field and has engaged the third attacker. Target is more than likely within the facility taggd here."
"Three on three," Sousuke mutters. "With a defensive target. Alright. I'll take it."
The Jenice charges at him with guns blazing, and Arbalest SURGES to the side, taps the tarmac once, and then VAULTS completely over the Jenice, soaring the full distance of ground to over top of the machine, narrowly evading the charging gunfire. He snaps his "Boxer" shotcannon around as he falls past her on the far side of the leap. Sayla implores for the enemy to leave: Sousuke does no such thing, silently pulling the trigger and firing a spray of shot into the Jenice's back, before flipping forward to land on Arbalest's feet.
"Stabilizers holding," AL reports.
"They'd better be," Sousuke mutters.
KTS: Sousuke Sagara targets Ennil El with Boxer 57mm Shotcannon Shotshell!
KTS: Ennil El fails to evade Sousuke Sagara's Boxer 57mm Shotcannon Shotshell, taking 3075 damage!
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Saraven has one advantage when it comes to hanging around Renato: She doesn't have nearly enough of a sense of self to stand up to a bully. She quietly accepts the 'Little Monster' encouragement - if she can call it that. "Thank you," she answers, voice quiet.
But her focus is outward - more mentally than anything else. The cold pressure centres on the Saint Lance.
This pressure... she's thinking, isn't she?
The Saint Lance moves. So does the Varguil. The pressure on Saraven's mind is intense, pulsing in the back of her consciousness - but the connection can't seem to fully complete. It's as though she's looking at Sayla from a distance, seeing but not fully touching, with Ennil and Shelby's distinct nodes of mental input hovering in the background like a flock of birds a little too distant to be identified.
The Saint Lance's computer can lock on readily enough even as the Varguil dashes to one side, kicking up regolithic dust clouds under the wake of its thrusters. The funnels come sweeping in, converging from a loose circle --
They break away, suddenly. Sayla can feel something in the other cockpit tighten.
It's a spark of surprise. Saraven's lips curve downward, and she looks off towards the facility. As much as she can't entwine herself with the depths of another mind, she can stand off and see that clarity bubbling on the surface.
No... you're not lying, are you?
What's here isn't a Gundam at all.
The Varguil keeps moving, but for several seconds there's no return fire. There is a tense silence.
Sayla can feel the truth, though. The quiet cold in the other cockpit struggles. There is a distinct feeling of recoiling.
Saraven looks down at her lap and presses her lips together. This wasn't the way she wanted things to go. And yet...
"...I have my orders," she finally responds, her voice neutral and automatic. That subtle discomfort doesn't fade. "And even so, Mao Industries is a supplier for the Earth Federation. So I'm sorry."
The Varguil's thrusters flare brilliantly as it increases its speed. One heel hits the ground as Saraven kicks off, launching from the lunar surface into a high, arcing jump.
The jump changes direction at its peak. With a burn of chest verniers, the Varguil suddenly lobs backwards, long beam rifle barking with a flash of energy, ripping towards Sayla's machine.
The shots are aimed with more than the computer. In Saraven's mind, blurry outlines of the figure behind the Saint Lance's controls phase in all directions. Reactions play out in her mind before they happen.
I don't want to hurt you anymore... but I have to. I'm sorry.
Inside the base, the men on foot are barging through corridors. The second Gaza-A has maneuvered into the hangar now. It's floating towards a still-docked Huckebein Mark II-M, attempting to grapple it and maneuver it out into the open.
The foot soldiers are armed with a mix of submachine guns and breaching shotguns, dealing with doors mainly by shooting them. Eventually, a group of two or three men bursts through a door and onto the factory floor -
And one spots the search and rescue machine that Job John has just hopped into.
"That ain't no Gundam," one remarks. "Where's the Gundam?"
"Who cares?" another grunts. "Anything that gets us paid!"
KTS: Saraven Vai targets Sayla Mass with Long Beam Rifle Tracking Shot!
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Sayla's voice sounds off in her ear, while a synthesizer line represents her call. Unblinking, Shelby Korts utters only a single, "Understood, ma'am." It is, notably, not as robotic or eerily calm as it *could* be, but...
So calm, but -- so much *chaos*. So much emotion just beneath the surface, and -- it isn't just her. There's Sayla, and ... that Varguil, and ...
The shots land as the audacious Jagd Doga continues to shift and skate just above the ground, using careful and controlled thrust to not stay rooted for too long as she moves across the tarmac. Her hands grip and tilt the control sticks a little more than she would need to otherwise -- for the psychoframe installed in the cockpit is ... not functional, at least for now.
Continuing the chase, she seems to be intent on continuing the sentiment of riding the waves, moving in swooping angles but never committing to a direct strike.
Shelby's jaw tightens as the Reben Wolf withdraws into the breached colony. She'd rather not take the fight in there if possible, but ... he might force her to just go ahead and do that. Unless--
Shelby's eyes close. "Funnels, please..."
Her eyes open again. The canisters mounted on the knockout pink-and-deepblack machine suddenly clip free with a metallic pop and scatter out at random directions on their built-in engines. Shelby does not give immediate chase inside, instead letting the six canister-style psycommu remotes blaze and flit after Renato in an attempt to attack from both on high and from either side-- a quintessential funnel pincer attack!
KTS: Shelby Korts targets Renato Germi with Jagd Doga Funnels Pincer Formation!
KTS: Sayla Mass fails to evade Saraven Vai's Long Beam Rifle Tracking Shot, taking 5280 damage!
KTS: EN Regen activates. Your new EN value is 95.
<Pose Tracker> Ennil El has posed.
The Jenice lurches forward with the impact. For another pilot that might be where it ends. Ennil breathes, twists the throttles, and rolls, raking the ground with machine-gun fire as she turns the forward lurch into a tight, high-G turn. Shells crash against the tarmac, throwing up clouds of debris while the ground-effect verniers on the Jenice spray hot regolith into the limited atmosphere.
Ennil's heart thumps, and what leaps out is laughter, her feet thumping against the floor of her cockpit as she pushes her thrusters to the limit. "Ohhh yeah, I changed my mind about you! You get it! You really get me, don't you? It's only worth it when you put it all on the line! Come on and kill me then, Mr. Arm Slave! Just try and kill me!"
In a flash, the mobile suit looms over Sousuke again, visor flaring as its beam saber springs out of the debris, streaking towards the heart of the smaller machine.
KTS: Ennil El has activated the Strike Spirit Command.
KTS: Ennil El has activated the Valor Spirit Command.
KTS: Ennil El targets Sousuke Sagara with Beam Saber Thrust!
<Pose Tracker> Renato Germi has posed.
Renato's jaw is set tight grin as he watched the entryway, beam rifle raised and ready, reticle hovering over air that is filled only with a keen sense of antici-
pation.
Shelby's too damn clever by half for Renato's dirty dog tricks. Funnels zip after him in pursuit, not a doga. His features color into a sour sneer, tongue clucking off the back of his teeth. "Damnit, they're one of Those!" the last word drips with old, bitter venom.
Working his feet into the pedels at his feet, Renato tries to throw off their tracking but the zippy little zappy cans pursue him fiercely. Gunfire rattles from the Reben Wolf's temples as he fixates on one can and attempts to gun it down in vain. "Dirty stinking cheating-!" he snarls past clenched teeth, not liking being on this side of the table at all as beams streak in at him. They come in and he tries to direct them towards the Wolf's shoulder shields, one erupting in a blast of smoke and thin flames.
Since his under-handed play got him only funnels, Renato works the throttle forward. As surely as the funnels would soon return, the Reben Wolf that Shelby had been after emerged as well, rifle up and eager to greet her. It rattled off, the machinegun flinging it's own barrage of fire back towards her. A brroding, bitter anger welling up in the heart of the battered Wolf.
KTS: Renato Germi has activated the Valor Spirit Command.
KTS: Renato Germi targets Shelby Korts with Beam Machine Gun Barrage!
<Pose Tracker> Sousuke Sagara has posed.
She's quick, Sousuke thinks to himself. "That maneuver," he mutters.
"Such maneuvers would put high stress on a Mobile Suit pilot," AL observes, factually.
"Resistant, or just skilled?" Sousuke muses to nobody. He's already moving, not waiting for the counter attack; juking back in long leaps. Arbalest stumbles from time to time; the machine's fine in this atmosphere but SOUSUKE has problems. He barely notices AL slightly tweaking the settings to make the stumble pass without major issue.
IT does let Ennil get back in range. Sousuke doesn't go for the space jump this time, just throwing Arbalest to the side. The machine in white lands off to one side, kicking up dust with its landing. "AL, slugs."
"Roger," AL replies, and the Boxer's action cycles on its own to switch ammunition types, before SOusuke whips the weapon up toward the Jenice and fires a 57mm slug that he's hoping will severely damage that sword arm.
KTS: Sousuke Sagara targets Ennil El with Boxer 57mm Shotcannon Slug!
KTS: Ennil El fails to react to Sousuke Sagara's Boxer 57mm Shotcannon Slug, taking 3690 damage!
KTS: Shelby Korts has activated the Wall Spirit Command.
KTS: Shelby Korts's Beam Wall L1 activates, negating 1000 base damage.
KTS: Shelby Korts blocks Renato Germi's Beam Machine Gun Barrage, taking 1920 damage!
<Pose Tracker> Job John has posed.
As the sound of gunfire approaches, Job finds his heart pounding in a way it hasn't in over a decade. He is pulled back to the longest year of his life, to the desperate battles aboard White Base, and the confines of the search and rescue mech, previously innocuous and familiar, being to feel constricting, claustrophobic. Back then, loyalty preserved his sanity. As others broke down around him, fearful of the death that could arrive any moment, he focused on his mission, his comrades, and his home.
But he's been a civilian for a while now. He wasn't able to return to his home: the One Year War didn't bring back Side 7. Those of his comrades that remain are scattered: he has rejoined one of them only for them to be split up when it counts, fighting separate battles here. And his mission-- what is Job John's mission, now, decades distant from his days alongside heroes? What if he dies here, on this factory floor? What if Sayla dies out there?
Job breathes deep.
"Here we go."
When the door bursts open, he doesn't hesitate, doesn't even blink. The doubts that assail him wash through and pass.
"This what you want?"
He sounds almost amused, not that anyone can hear him. To think that little old Job John would be so significant. Well, it's his fault for assocating with brilliant biocomputing scientists and giving people the impression he's some sort of genius inventor. He has no such pretentions.
But he *does* pilot the lumbering little mobile suit with an outsized alacrity. Its boosters surging, it skims like the ugliest butterfly across the factory floor. Job extends its grappling claws to grasp and pull at unfinished suits and heaps of scrap metal, shielding his allies from the first spray of gunfire with his suit's hull as he creates new cover with the debris for them to advance. Ignoring the small arms fire ricocheting off his reinforced non-combat mech, he surveys the factory as best he can from the confines of his mech to determine how to support Mao Industries's security forces, putting himself front and center rather than withdrawing like some VIP.
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
Some people have spent 17 years putting up walls. Some people cut through. This ius not one of those times. The Saint Lance stands groundborne for now, keeping up a defensive posture. The comm stays open. here's hesitation, but-
'I have my orders' says it all, doesn't it.
So does the blast from the rifle that tears into the Saint Lance. Sayla lets out a scream, and the suit tumbles back, her evasive maneuvers thwarted, and taking a blow to the leg. It would be disadvantageous to have to fight on that.
So she chooses not to.
The Saint Lance's thrusters put into the air, before it separates into two halves: The upper body becomes a fighter, while the lower becomes a bomber module. Two can play at multiple angles of attack. And Sayla Mass was most famously a fighter pilot.
"...That's the way isn't it. It's bad enough what you call yourselves, but you're just like the Zabi's liked them. No will of your own." There is a ruthless edge coming off Sayla, combined with hate. "You don't even care about the consequences for the Colonies and Earth both. You just have orders to hurt and you'll do it. I'm not going to allow it."
And then the Saint Lance Attacker's opens Vulcan Fire on the Varguil, as the Saint Lance Nutter Bomber charges forward, and past. Something releases from the bomber, floating in Low-G. It's an aggressive pattern of low power gunfire- but Sayla's not aiming to hit.
She's trying to drive the Varguil into the Plasma Leaders she prepared earlier.
Sayla Mass transforms to ARX-107 Saint Lance - Flight Mode
KTS: Sayla Mass has activated the Strike Spirit Command.
KTS: Sayla Mass targets Saraven Vai with Plasma Leader Capsule Spread!
KTS: Saraven Vai successfully evades Sayla Mass's Plasma Leader Capsule Spread
<Pose Tracker> Ennil El has posed.
Ennil sees the shotgun come up, arm lashing out in another swing cut short by the hammering impact of the oversized slug, sparks spraying from the battered elbow joint. The flare of green plasma swipes across Sousuke's field of vision, misdirected from its course. The crackling saber sputters and sparks dead - and the characteristic slow whirr of a beam rifle's charging sequence fills the silence.
"Hahaha! Couldn't do it after all, could ya! No, you weren't even trying, were you?"
The FCS finally gives a shrill little chirp, and Ennil clicks her tongue in satisfaction as her Jenice squeezes the trigger. There better be something to get excited for at the end of this little raid, the way the bills were piling up. "Well, you're finally gonna learn that Ennil El plays for keeps. Sorry if this hurts, little man!"
KTS: Ennil El has activated the Strike Spirit Command.
KTS: Ennil El targets Sousuke Sagara with Beam Rifle Aimed Shot!
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
The funnels immediately scatter after their shots fire, not staying in place for a second longer than absolutely necessary to land their shots. Scattering, swirling, it's hard to tell if they're moving for another set of attacks or merely keeping themselves safe from retaliation, but -- Renato is not going to give up the opportunity to change his fortune.
Gunning forward, Shelby's eye tics to recall the funnels as he chooses to instead close in on her position, firing accurately with the machine gun, and --
-- then she quickly angles the left arm up into position. The rounded shield with four large notches-- almost certainly part of a weapon of their own-- hefts up, the shots slamming into the surface. With the coating on the shield, it helps diffuse and scatter the energy across it, though the shield is on it's own not large enough to soak up every shot. A few cut across the armor on the left leg in it's guarding stance, some impacting with the large plate shields high on it's shoulders. Shelby grunts. He's closing in--
Immediately, her weight shifts back in the seat as she pulls hard on the control sticks, shifting her feet to dig her heels in hard against the pedals at the bottom of the cockpit chair. The Jagd Doga starts to back off, maneuvering itself in the same smooth nigh-skating motions as it seems very keen to keep distance from the Reben Wolf, if it can. She can feel it-- his drive to strike.
"Don't mistake this for a Qubeley," Shelby murmurs to herself.
Both feet lift before stomping down flat. The Jagd Doga vaults upward with a powerful pull of gravity in her legs and gut, the chair rattling as it makes a sudden directional change. The shoulder-mounted shield on the right side rotates, a casing opening... and with a loud pop of metal and brackets, a single missile corkscrews down at Renato's unit with the intent to take the legs right out from under it!
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
The Sleeves were not expecting to have to take on a robot that is most definitely not a Gundam. Certainly not a robot that is wielding the ultimate weapon.
Cargo.
"Look out!" one of the foot soldiers yells as an unfinished Wildschwein M frame falls, disturbed by Job's grappling claws. The skeletal personal trooper brings several crates down with it, parts scattering from them and braining one of the Zeonic soldiers in the head. One of the other men opens fire with his submachine gun, but the bullets score off the SAR mobile suit Job's piloting.
He doesn't have to deal with them for long. His chaotic defense buys Mao's security forces time. The guards move in; the factory floor is filled with shouting and the pop-pop-pop of gunfire as the Sleeves and the guards exchange shots from across the way.
And then a door blows inward in a fiery plume. Something large stumps its way through.
It's the other Gaza-A. It's plodding on its large "claw" limbs, a pair of small manipulator hands wiggling out in front of it. In mobile suit terms, it's not huge - it's a heavy construction variant of the Gryps War-era Gaza line - but it's big enough to shrug off small arms fire.
It shoulders through a few bullets before hopping at John's machine, attempting to catch it with its little T-Rex-like manipulator arms.
Some things are impossible to miss, even for someone like Saraven. The hatred practically boils off the Saint Lance. It burns into her mind like a violent red star. The cardinal seems more predatory than anything else now. She tilts her head and presses her lips together before blinking as the Saint Lance splits itself.
She knows how a Bawoo works. Seeing it done with Federation lines and colours is unsettling. But not as unsettling as the venom coming through the comline.
There is one effect to it that helps. The object of Sayla's hatred is clear. It's woven through both halves of the machine's psycommu, strongest from the fighter, but driving both. The Attacker's vulcans open up.
"...I never met any of the Zabis," she murmurs as she pushes the Varguil into the vulcan stream.
The machine hurtles forward in a sharp jump. It looks for all the world like it's about to throw itself straight at the Saint Lance Attacker - but the angle is slightly off. It drops its shoulder and tumbles beneath Sayla's machine, missing the vulcans' trajectory by mere inches. The Plasma Leaders spark, but the Varguil's moved in the opposite direction.
Saraven lets out the breath she was holding. The intentionality was all the clue she got. This person has skill. She has determination. She's no rookie.
And she's probably going to kill her, if she isn't sharp.
"If the Earth didn't mistreat the Colonies, there would be no need for the Independent Principality of Zeon," she answers, voice still low. The hatred is met with that same neutrality - dead of emotion save that mix of quiet discomfort and confusion. "The Mars Zeon Independence Army wouldn't need to be here. But that... doesn't mean much to you, I think...."
She lets her thoughts reach out. Focuses in on that anger. The burning feeling inside the Saint Lance's cockpit.
"...You hate me so much," she murmurs, that confusion coming to the fore in her voice. "But... why? We're at war... aren't we?"
The Varguil touches down, hitting the tarmac both toes and then hopping back for another long, lobbing jump. Saraven thinks quickly, the lilac machine actually flipping in midair and hanging upside down for a moment as she fires. Her shots are focused on the Saint Lance Nutter. It's an instinct. Saraven knows how to fly a remote weapon. She knows the challenges of guidance.
I don't hate you....
Those are just... feelings, aren't they...?
KTS: Saraven Vai targets Sayla Mass with Long Beam Rifle Shot!
KTS: Sayla Mass fails to evade Saraven Vai's Long Beam Rifle Shot, taking 4800 damage!
KTS: EN Regen activates. Your new EN value is 119.
<Pose Tracker> Sousuke Sagara has posed.
Getting the beam saber offline is good, but she got him with the beam rifle charge. "Minovsky charge reaching critical levels. Evade!"
"Too late!" Sousuke barks, and the blast of the beam saber washes entirely across Arbalest. It's a direct hit, the kind of thing that should obliterate a common machine.
The blast washes across the machine, but doesn't vaporize it, at least. "Class C damage across the frame," AL reports, the condition monitor blinking. Sousuke grimaces. But, there's nothing to do but continue. "I can't lose here," Sousuke mutters, scowling.
"My homework would be late."
With this declaration, he tries to buy himself some space by surging backwards, covering the retreat with a pair of Anti-Tank Daggers, each one sticking into the Jenice to breach armor, and then detonating.
KTS: Sousuke Sagara targets Ennil El with Anti-Tank Dagger Fan!
<Pose Tracker> Renato Germi has posed.
This wasn't going how he wanted, none of it was. Where were the laughs? She messed it all up, came in and stomped on the delivery before he could even set up the punch line! The sight of his rifle shots faltering againstthat shield only made matters worse.
The 'Doga pulls back as the the Wolf barreled in. It lit something up inside of Renato, a vicious, predatory joy. "Yeah, you better run!" he barked into the confines of his cockpit, putting more weight behind the throttle as if that would spur his unit into greater speed. His teeth were set upon her and he wasn't to going to let her slip away without taking a bite.
The missile streaked in and Renato's thumb slipped over to the secondary trigger that filled the cockpit with the distant rattle of the Reben Wolf's vulcan guns. Tracer rounds stitched though the air as he tried to line them up with the projectile. It came close, closer. His brows knit together sharply.
The plume of smoke that marked the missile's detonation cut the line of sight for just a moment before the Reben Wolf emerged from the cloud, the lingering fumes streaming off of the suit as thrusters slung the old Black Dog in pursuit.
"I'm going to rip you apart!" he bellowed, his own voice ringing in his ears as his thumb glanced over to another switch.
The two tubes mounted onto the Wolf's off-arm revealed their purpose. A pair of beam blades lancing out as Renato shoved the arm forward in a head-long charge.
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
Damnit... The Varguil is too fast, even for the Saint Lance. Of course the Sleeves would be used to it but... Is she that out of practice? Or is she loasing control? Damnit, Sayla, get your head in the fight.
The trap with the leader fails, and Sayla's getting tense. The pilot is good... young, she thinks? And that mobile suit is a cut above. Is she this outskilled? There's no time to really make the decisions, and her message comes through the comms.
"...And yet you carry out their legacy." Sayla's trying to rein herself, pull herself back, keep control. "The Federation are oppressors, but this... How does destroying a lab making rescue equipment help the colonies!?" And then the name comes. Of course the name comes.
"Zeon Zum Deikun didn't want any of this! He wanted Colonial Independence, not Spacenoid Supremacy! He wanted people to move forward, and become better! Not wage war and kill without a cause or reason!"
The fire in Sayla is lit up, hurt comes with that hate. Bitterness. Despair. And a deep, personal sadness. "But that's all you people do! You se his name as an excuse for your atrocities! Haman Karn, Char Aznable, Full Frontal, your Titan infested 'army' on Mars, you all just use him as an excuse to cause pain, without knowing who he was!"
And that's when the rifle shot score it's way along the Saint Lance Attacker's body, causing Sayla to desperately pull herself out of a spiral, and back up.
"Sagara, Korts!" Her laser radios are direct here. "We need to finish this- we can't hold out long enough for a full evacuation. Co-ordinate your assaults!"
The evacuation order is given for the facility, but it might be too late.
KTS: Sayla Mass targets Shelby Korts and Sousuke Sagara with All-Out.
<Pose Tracker> Job John has posed.
It's nimbler than the Guntank, at least.
Job manages to throw the Sleeves ground troops into chaos and even the odds a little before the full-on melee begins. Now that his allies have taken up the best positions they can, though, it is likely wisest to withdraw rather than muck about in a mech not built for fighting, inordinately souped-up though it might be. Even souped-up civilian vehicles shouldn't tarry when there's real military hardware around. This isn't Fast and Furious 10: It'll Probably Actually Be On The Moon.
Regrettably.
Or is it? Job was wondering if he took his upgrades too far when he improved the cockpit's rotation to grant better pilot visibility in dangerous conditions, but he's grateful now that he can quickly pivot to see the new mechanical adversary leaping at him, in what promises to be an epic battle of construction equipment.
"Hrghn--!"
This isn't Fast and Furious at all. It's Rock'em Sock'em Robots.
"Damn it."
Job winces as the hideous sounds of wrenching metal assail his ears. So much work undone, he thinks, as his mech is wrenched off-balance by the heavier machine, the momentum of its leaping attack throwing off all his instruments. His mind races as the warning lights he designed flash about him--
***
Job gasps for breath, blond bangs stuck to his brow with sweat, as he looks wide-eyed down at the larger man smiling up at him.
"There you go!"
The young engineer arches an eyebrow at the praise. He hadn't been sure about the other man's suggestion to work off steam with some grappling practice. Job figured that, with everyone on White Base already having half a mind to tear one another's heads off, people fighting hand-to-hand would only precipitate a full-on mutiny. But he finds, to his surprise, that the effort and the focus of training with his comrades, the opportunity to *do* something with the stress he feels, has calmed him. He can't help but be impressed with his gentle opponent's insight.
"Nice throw, Job!"
***
At the precise moment that his mech stabilizes, Job slams two levers in opposite directions. The search and rescue machine, claws entangled in the Gaza-A's, pivots to execute a judo throw, attempting to hurl the heavy construction mech upon the factory floor with an ear-splitting crash, potentially forming a wall between the fighting squads.
"Thanks, Ryu," Job quietly says.
<Pose Tracker> Ennil El has posed.
The Jenice's verniers flare, sending it into an uneven skid. The Arbalest's daggers flick out, skipping across the rounded shell of the shoulder shield, detonations hammering against the already shell-shocked arm as Ennil barks out strained laughter. The Jenice's visored gaze drifts towards the compound, taking in the chaos from afar while Ennil maneuvers over the lunar surface. "We can't play around much longer, I'm afraid. Sooner or later they'll get serious about this. I say we take what we have and get ready for the pick-up." She lifts the still-functioning arm and pumps out a pair of flares, blue and green. "I think I've earned what I asked for."
"As for you, Mr. AS..." There's a whirr from deep inside the Jenice, and then the chatter of all four torso cannons pumping rounds downrange. "I'm afraid I need you to step out!" She surges forward, swaying from side to side, limbs trailing as she pelts the Arbalest with a full-scale barrage. Her chest is heaving with exertion after all these back-to-back maneuvers, but all she needs to do is force a break-through...
Ennil El uses hyper reloader
KTS: Ennil El has activated the Valor Spirit Command.
KTS: Ennil El targets Sousuke Sagara with Machine Cannon Barrage!
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Vulcan fire clips through the air; the Jagd Doga shifts again, pulling back from the weapons fire as it rips the missile apart in-flight. Shelby grunts, her head twisting to glance down from between her legs to just over her thigh, footing on the pedals shifting again to get a better angle to--
-- the Reben Wolf bursting through the smoke and fire, lunging toward her at a sudden, sharp, and *very* direct angle!
"Gh--!!"
Though she thrusts the shield in front of her again, the blades puncture through the outer edges, catching the Jagd Doga low and in the side. Sparks pop from the layers of thick skirting armor, as well as the weight of metal slagging in the heat of the piercing weapon.
'Sagara, Korts!' They have to finish it. They can't hold ... out? Shelby's mouth draws into a flat line, allowing the knockout pink-and-black machine to shift positions again. "Yes, ma'am!"
As the machines continue to rumble through the air, the contact gives Shelby a moment to push her shield against the striking arm harder, attempting to shove the weapon away-- and then she speaks, her voice soft but firm all the same:
"You forgot about something."
The shield arm extends, attempting to shove-- or at least keep-- the Reben Wolf at arm's length. Suddenly, the six funnels spring up from all sides, jetting by with attacks that just, damn nearly, come dangerously close to hitting *herself* as they do with attempting to tear the Sleeves machine's armor apart, to sunder circuitry and mechanics, and give Renato something to think about!
KTS: Shelby Korts has activated the Strike Spirit Command.
KTS: Shelby Korts targets Renato Germi with Jagd Doga Funnels Follow-Up Formation!
KTS: Renato Germi rushes into the attack!
KTS: Renato Germi fails to react to Shelby Korts's Jagd Doga Funnels Follow-Up Formation, taking 5130 damage!
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
What isn't nimbler than the Guntank?
Job John's ingenuity is leaving the Sleeves on foot more than a few problems, but the factory guards are at least helping out. A few of them are trying to make off with smaller parts, but two of the Zeon men go down with bullet wounds and are carried away by comrades.
The Gaza-A reaches out with its little pincers. It's big and burly - but fundamentally it has some problems in an engagement like this. Its manipulator arms are tiny little claws that can't get a lot of leverage. Its bigger feet flail as Job John makes his move.
A very startled Sleeves pilot works his controls frantically as the SAR machine hoists the Gaza-A up and over. It flips upside down as it sails across the factory - and it slams into the floor with a screech of metal. A bulkhead gives way as the Gaza-A skids before ending up in a corner.
The Gaza's talonious legs kick frantically. It looks like a turtle flipped onto its shell.
Outside the factory, Saraven stands by the fire. The intensity of it nearly burns her without even touching her.
The Varguil's rifle tracks after the Attacker half of the Saint Lance. The lilac machine seems like it's lining up another shot.
The intentionality within the mobile suit is something else entirely. Saraven shrinks from the accusations, lowering her head slightly and pressing her lips together. She exhales slowly through her nose, then looks up again, as if she could somehow see the heart of that anguish through the bulkheads of the Saint Lance Attacker.
I wish I could understand how much you hurt.
I wish I could hurt with you.
But I can't.
She closes her eyes and draws a breath. For just a moment, something breaks the surface of her mental reserve, like a single crack put into it. What leaks out is a sliver of pain.
The flash of anguish is brief and intense. Images she buries. A blur - a flicker of white coats. Bright lights. An empty feeling.
you're making me think about
everything
think about
that pla ce
wh at they d
id
She opens her eyes after a moment - and the Varguil lowers its rifle. It moves out onto the tarmac in front of the facility. A slow waft of smoke drifts from the breached hangar as Saraven plants her machine in plain view, rifle resting in both hands in a simple guard stance.
"I can't change what those people did," she says, her voice quiet. "Or what they did to you. I don't know what Zeon Zum Deikun wanted - I wasn't even born then. I can't... make decisions for people like them." She curls a hand against her console, tracing a thumb tensely along its edge.
"...Everyone I fight hates Zeon. But...."
What comes next isn't verbalized. A pressure extends - tries to touch the edges of Sayla's anger. For just a moment, an image comes through that's more stable. There's a brief peek into the other cockpit. A dark-haired girl, blank-faced, a small arrow tattoo etched under the corner of one eye.
...You hurt more than anyone...
...It's your hurt, isn't it...? Not just the Earth's...
...Would you feel better if you killed me right now?
No channel with that name or alias found.
KTS: Saraven Vai targets Sayla Mass with Pass!
<Pose Tracker> Sousuke Sagara has posed.
He can tell he's losing ground a bit. The Arbalest's specs caught her off guard in the early going, but she seems to have caught up now, which mostly leaves Sousuke struggling to keep up with someone who knows how the moon works. Still.
"Four cannons," he mutters, seeing the weapons open. "At those angles--!"
"Evasion impossible," AL confirms.
Sousuke seethes a few breaths.
He thinks about a head of blue hair, dismissively waving him off to his work.
He can't let it end on that. "AL!" he roars, and the machine hums. For once, it answers when called. "Start the Lambda Driver!"
A meter fills immediately. "Startup confirmed."
What happens from the outside is that, in the space of time between Ennil pulling the trigger and Arbalest being ripped to shreds, the panels on Arbalest's shoulders open, and a set of short fins, BLASTING waste heat out into the void, unfurl behind him.
And then the bullets reach him, and instead of tearing him to shreds, they SLAM into something, an invisible wall that causes each and every one to compress into a disk like it had hit immovable steel. As it flares brighter, the bullets start fully disintegrating on contact.
Sousuke's teeth grit. Sure the machine's in good shape, but projecting that level of focus against a whole barrage has him sweating in his pilot suit. He reaches for his gun. Sayla calls for a finish. "Roger!" he barks, more fire in his voice.
Put your spirit in, she said.
He focuses his thoughts on the Jenice, and the barrel of the Boxer starts to glow, before releasing a penetrating solid blast - a slug? Maybe, once? - that rips through space and might just tear that Jenice completely in two on impact.
KTS: Sousuke Sagara has activated the Spirit Spirit Command.
<Pose Tracker> Ennil El has posed.
Ennil's eyes flare wide. She's sat front-row for the impossible before, but the way it hits her never changes. The light... the light that changes the world. The last time she saw it, where was she? What was she fighting for?
-It doesn't matter.-
She fights to live. Instinct kicks in. The blast pummels her back, peels back externals, but she shifts the ponderous weight of her mobile suit and it only stresses the already-shredded arm some more. Her heart's still beating. It's pounding in her ears, she's underwater again, but she's closing in, and impossibly, the sparking, sputtering arm makes a fist, and then slowly, grindingly extends a finger and thumb.
"Bang."
"Can you hear me, Mr. Arm Slave? Are you afraid?" She is. She can feel the adrenaline pulsing all the way down to her toes. She wants to look up, to look away and find her men, but she can't spare a moment's focus away from the machine that made that light. "If you're afraid, you'll die. But I won't die. You're probably stronger, but I won't die, you understand that?! Even if you beat me! So you'd better run!" The Jenice's hand grips its beam rifle, and it starts to swing up, but for some reason, Ennil still hasn't pulled the trigger...
KTS: Ennil El targets Sousuke Sagara with Shock.
KTS: Ennil El shocks Sousuke Sagara, reducing his Morale significantly.
<Pose Tracker> Renato Germi has posed.
The old Black Dog should have had plenty to think about.
He threw the Wolf's weight in behind those two, burning sabers, trying to hold the clench but that shield turned the arm away. He flicked a switch and they died, thinking to let the capacitors recharge for another strike. Now he just had to-!
His suit rocked, body jarring in his harness as Shelby shook free of him.
"You're not getting away!"
A barked retort even as those funnels circled the bloodied Dog like sharks in the water. The beams lanced through the suit but Renato pressed to keep the Jagd Doga close even as she picked him apart with her thoughts. Severing and searing. He twisted, spiraling at her, doing everything to throw off a center-mass hit. Thats all she'd need. One good shot and she'd be owed the adoration of several women... and the mysterious Witches from the OYW.
She plucks off an arm just past the elbow, metal gleaming at the edges as his sword arm fell slowly back to the lunar surface.
"I didn't forget anything, Little Sister."
He uttered with malice and glee, crowing with laughter as he kicked at the pedals and pulled back, showing her his belly at last...
The red muzzle in the belly of the wolf gleamed, he could feel the machine shiver. Watched a gauge fill.
"I just had to keep you right where I wanted you!"
Mega particles stream out in a broad pillar. Bright, blinding.
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
Newtypes can interact badly. Sayla has been incredibly good at putting up walls. But she opened in her rage and the feedback is... intense. A burst of anguish, pained memories. Intense, and horrible. It's a conncection, even as she tries to fight. The rifle drops, and the words come out but they are dulled by everything else. She doesn't even register what she's saying.
"Can you make any decisions?"
The image in her mind, a young woman. Who appears to be empty. The lack of understanding, of agency... The blank faced stare.
It all makes Sayla angrier.
"Korts. Sagara and I are in bad shape. I don't want to put this fight on you, but I'm counting on you to make sure as many people get out as they can. We all need to get back from this." This is probably not the way to boost Shelby's morale, but she's trying it.
And then suddenly the Attacker goes into an aggressive flight approach, as the large rifle that acts as it's main gun fires one full power charge shot. The trajectory is just below the cockpit.
It's a disabling shot. Just.
KTS: Sayla Mass has activated the Dash Spirit Command and has gained proficiency bonus.
KTS: Sayla Mass targets Saraven Vai with Saint Lance Beam Rifle Charged Shot!
KTS: Saraven Vai charges into the attack!
KTS: Saraven Vai successfully avoids Sayla Mass's Saint Lance Beam Rifle Charged Shot
<Pose Tracker> Job John has posed.
"It's about time, huh?"
The only one not surprised by the Gaza-A being hurled to the ground may be Job himself, who immediately whirls to check on the status of the melee as best he can. The ground troops that aren't just shocked into hesitation are likely having a difficult time targeting one another with a flailing piece of construction equipment in the way, and by the absence of non-security personnel remaining on the factory floor, Job surmises that the evacuation is proceeding as best it can, hasty and disorganized though that might be. Mao Industries is no fortress to be defended at all costs.
"Then let's go."
Firing up his boosters again, having done all he can by his own judgment, Job begins to withdraw through a damaged wall. He can afford to operate somewhat independently while the security forces withdraw to safer positions or escape vessels if necessary. Moreover, this machine wasn't actually built for throwing other machines. He might have a job to do.
And Job, even in the midst of a frenetic evacuation and life-threatening battle, is nothing if not a man who does his job. John.
Emerging outside the facility for the first time in his rent-armored but otherwise intact, and if anything now even uglier, mobile suit, skimming the lunar surface, Job turns to scan the factory itself from the outside, checking to see if any part has collapsed, such that people might be trapped inside. But, despite his focus and characteristic discipline, he cannot resist turning to try to catch a glimpse of the ongoing battle, of real mobile suits in action, of pilots from generations old and new, echoing the sights that once thrilled and inspired him. They were only children then. Are there children fighting still? No doubt. The cosmos is not so kind. Perhaps children will pilot the Formula suits whose design he led, or already do.
"Sayla..."
He impulsively looks for her on the lunarean battlefront, only now noticing the odd ache he has felt in his chest even since the moment before he threw the Gaza-A.
He can't lose another comrade, not today.
<Pose Tracker> Sousuke Sagara has posed.
AL lets the transmission through because AL wants Sousuke to have more friends.
The words do rattle him, a bit. IS he afraid? Is he....is he supposed to be? He gets lost in his own head for a few moments, troubled more by expectation than his own heart. Mostly he's frustrated. The Lambda Driver continues to be an unreliable tool. But...
He takes a breath.
Arbalest steps forward, weapon down, but its green eyes gleaming in the eternal night.
"Your death is not a stipulation of my objectives," he says, simply, coldly.
"Your departure is. I have work to do. If all you're going to do is yell about yourself..."
Something tangled in his gut fires into his throat and catches a few stray neurons on its way, remembering something Mao had said to Kurz the other day.
"Then do it in front of a mirror and stop wasting everyone's time!"
KTS: Sousuke Sagara targets Ennil El with Demoralize!
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Truly, Job John learned much aboard White Base, all those years ago. The Gaza-A, the unlucky recipient of a thorough Dirty Job, flails around a moment longer before a single Wildschwein M stumps over and kicks it like a football. The cavalry has arrived to back up the man with the SAR machine.
It's not alone. A couple more Huckebeins are busily loading supplies onto a Tausendfuessler. As much as the facility has taken its share of punishment, the central factory is fully clear of guards.
It could not have happened without Job John.
When Job emerges into the moonscape outside the facility, he'll find the factory in trouble - but remarkably, much of the facility itself is fine. Off in another part of the factory, he'll be able to spot two Dom IIIs covering the second Gaza-A. It is pushing a large hovertruck palette back towards the distant shape of the Sleeves' landship. A pile of parts lies on the palette, along with the frame of a massproduced Wildschwein. A good unit, but nothing unique. They can be bought if one wants.
Whatever the Sleeves gained, they did not get ahold of Job John's research. They did not put him out of a job.
John.
It's hard for Saraven Vai to build bridges. She's strugging to try and touch Sayla - but as much as she's trying to squint into the woman's heart, the fury at the core of it only seems to burn brighter. The feeling of the girl is scratchy - distant, almost heavy. Present yet struggling to feel something.
Sayla Mass feels enough for both of them. Saraven opens her mouth slightly, then closes it again, her hands resting on her controls in a relaxed posture.
In the distance, another feeling presses into her thoughts. Longing - searching. A flicker of Job John's consciousness. "Someone is looking for you," she says softly to Sayla. "Someone who cares about you."
With a furious suddenness, her words are cut off by the slashing attack of the Saint Lance Attacker. Sayla descends on Saraven, shining at her like a red shooting star. The shot is powerful - it would be deadly, if that anger were not so tightly constrained that it is aimed beneath the cockpit and not into it. It's still enough to truncate a mobile suit, and it reaches out through the moonscape, a single, blindingly fast line of destruction.
...I've decided to believe in him.
With a sudden surge, the Varguil MOVES. It hurls itself not back - not to the side - but in a direction a fighter pilot would know all too well is how you survive in a dogfight.
Saraven turns into the attack.
The beam of destruction rips inches past the Varguil. It cuts so dangerously close that the paint on its flank begins to melt and bubble, peeling away and leaving behind a line of mottled heat warping on the Gundarium armour. It all happens in the blink of an eye - coming with an astonishing precision of control. A blur of verniers - a twist in midair as she rotates the Varguil without throwing it into the beam, treating it almost like the path of a rail.
"I have to believe in him," Saraven whispers aloud as the beam saber in the Varguil's hand snaps to life. The base flares out, wide like the blade of an axe. She swings, and bites for the Attacker's side - trying to shear off a stabilizing surface with a single blow. And then she speaks again.
"The Red Comet... I believe in him."
KTS: Saraven Vai targets Sayla Mass with Beam Tomahawk Combo!
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Her emotions are flaring up. She can feel it. The chaos -- the noise, it's getting louder. Voices start flooding in -- pushing, yelling, chaotic, like a cacophany. The sea is loud, vast, and deep. People are being shot. Defense units are falling back, or struggling to evacuate. Saraven, and the Varguil. Sayla-- s-she can't give up. She *has* to hold out. People are counting on her--
'I didn't forget anything, Little Sister.'
The muzzle in the belly of the beast flares a baleful, hateful red. Shelby's eyes widen, but --
Ride the wave...!!
Shoving the shield ahead, Shelby does not shy away from Renato's cannon, instead leaning *straight into it*. The machine's megaparticle launcher howls, detonating fiery hot death in all directions; splashing across the surface of the round shield as the beam coating struggles to maintain it's integrity. Paint starts searing off across the curves of the Jagd Doga's shield -- head, arm, and leg, reigniting the orange glow of armor pieces already slagged--
-- and then the shield begins to glow a horrific, superheated orange as the Mobile Suit looks like it went nose-down into Hell itself. Starting to fall back -- not necessarily attempting to retreat, but just struggling to keep the engine from stalling out after a point-blank shot like that, Shelby closes her eyes. The psychoframe is still-- not--
"That won't finish me off, either...!"
The sticks pull back. One heel rocks back, one foot stomps down. The large thrusters in the shoulders fire, and with a hard push-pull of control sticks and interface with the psycommu, Shelby attempts to twist away in a swift move, firing her thrusters to get clear-- even if she's bringing herself back down closer to the tarmac. Hefting the large beam gatling gun, the Mobile Suit braces itself before just firing-- and firing. And firing-- and firing and firing and firing!!
KTS: Shelby Korts has activated the Dash Spirit Command and has disengaged.
<Pose Tracker> Ennil El has posed.
There's a silence only broken by the humming of Minovsky generators, the slow metallic squeak of a trigger slowly sinking back. The crashing waves in Ennil's ears are a deep, placid ocean now, her awareness shrunk so small that the screams of her cockpit's UI hardly register. The only sound she hears is the FCS pinging softly as it confirms her target. Fire roars out of her, and out of the barrel of her beam rifle, and she surges towards the Arbalest. Pulse after pulse of plasma slams into the terrain around Sousuke as Ennil races forward. Her heart pulses in her chest, but it can't be heard over the tides. Ennil El was never born lucky.
-I never want to see you again!-
The Jenice simply keeps advancing, keeps firing, beam rifle flaring over and over again with the sizzle and scream of particle blasts ringing into the colony atmosphere. There's nothing left for her here. It's time to go. By the time the e-cap finally sputters to its death, she simply hits the throttle and begins to peel away towards the waiting Martian vessel.
<Pose Tracker> Renato Germi has posed.
He wanted to see that blast, to hear that sound of struggle and then terror. To just wipe her out and leave her as nothing but more debris on the moon.
But we can't always get what we want, life is better that way sometimes.
Just don't try to tell Renato that.
"Oi, Oi, oi! Read the room and die already!" he chastises her as she pirouettes away from the particle stream even as it begins to wane and then abate entirely. "This is the good stuff here and you're making me look like some rookie chump that can't seal the deal! Get with it and die already!"
The battered wolf spins and pursues, tilting it's nose back down to the lunar surface in pursuit.
When she turns and makes her stand, he clucks his tongue against the back of his teeth again. Fore mounted booster burn for a hard break that has Renato's body straining against his harness. Another kick of thrust and he's taking off at a right angle. He's fighting to keep out of her crosshairs, zipping and turning. Tight turns that leave him growling before he lays in with a barrage of his own. Trying to zero in on her before she can draw a steady bead on him, squeezing the trigger and draining the e-pac dry with a answering hail of energy shots of his own!
KTS: Renato Germi has activated the Valor Spirit Command.
KTS: Renato Germi targets Shelby Korts with Beam Machine Gun Blitz!
KTS: Shelby Korts's Beam Wall L1 activates, negating 1000 base damage.
KTS: Shelby Korts blocks Renato Germi's Beam Machine Gun Blitz, taking 2940 damage!
<Pose Tracker> Sousuke Sagara has posed.
Sousuke and Ennil have a brief showdown, staring across the field at each other.
Sousuke, sadly, is confirmably less psychic than an actual rock, so Ennil's lamentation falls on deaf ears. All he hears is AL barking, "Enemy is advancing!"
"I see that!" Sousuke snaps. The barrage from the beam rifle peppers the landscape - one fires right past his head, as if that field from before is gone again. Sousuke notices the Lambda Driver has turned off again. Great. Cool. Sousuke surges to the side, away from the hand holding that beam rifle, then skips even higher. The Arbalest could already jump completely over Ennil; with a little extra oomph to it, he jumps clear over the nearest building and lands on the next, leaving her to rush away toward a retreat while he lands on top of the building.
"Sleeves forces appear to have claimed the facility," AL reports.
Sousuke bites out a curse. "Mission failed, then," he mutters.
"Not yet," AL notes.
"What's that supposed to mean? If the Lambda Driver worked properly, it should be possible. But it doesn't."
"There is no damage to the Lambda Driver's systems," AL says.
Sousuke grinds his teeth so hard he feels it behind his eyes, then draws in a long breath to force himself to calm. "...good," he says. "We're checking on Doctor Mass, plot a course."
"Roger."
=--------------------------[ Copernicus City [CTD] ]---------------------------=
Name Fac Idle Last Health % Energy Spirit Morale
Sousuke Sagara [SHF] 6m 6m 4320 30% 70 85 131
Renato Germi [SLV] 6m 9m 3595 25% 38 55 139
Ennil El [SLV] 12m 24m 5175 34% 52 15 116
Shelby Korts [SHF] 5m 27m 3105 22% 54 16 136
Saraven Vai [SLV] 0s 31m 14000 100 134 85 150
Job John [SHF] 29s 47m - - - - -
Sayla Mass [SHF] 12m 48m - - - - -
=-----------------------[ Sat Feb 12 01:30:32 2022 ET ]------------------------=
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
The move seems suicidal, and yet... It pays off. The blast goes wide and the Varguil is in her face. There's so much emotion and those words.
Those words are knives. Sayla doesn't ask. She doesn't want to hear it. She's focused, as the Varguil moves. And then Saraven expresses his belief. "He's not-"
The stabilizer is carved off, and the Saint Lance tumbles. It's little more than Sayla's skill as a pilot that drives the Nutter into place, allowing it to land, smoking and badly, on the lunar surface. Inside the cockpit, Sayla is bleeding, but nothing so bad as to need immediate attention. There's a burn, but... it's fine for now. Still, the Saint Lance is going to need help to get out cleanly. "...We have to retreat. Mao Industries, are the staff out? Did we lose anyone?" Instantly, she's trying to co-ordinate, as she starts to use what verniers she has to get away until Sousuke gets in position to aid. It looks like the Sleeves won't harry them, but... Her people have to come before shooting back. She can berate herself for incompetence later.
For Saraven, though, in that heated moment when the tomahawk struck. There was a flash, for that sentence she didn't complete.
A young man, maybe 15 or 16, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Then moments a later, a man with a mask that anyone who knows their history knows. Char Aznable.
That man's not
Casval
<Pose Tracker> Job John has posed.
As the Varguil and Saint Lance collide, Job looks up, in that instant, seeing the beam tomahawks flash against the velvet black of space.
"Sayla!"
And as the Saint Lance falls, the engineer revs the engines and takes off along the lunar surface, aiming to finally do what this machine is meant to do: participate in a rescue.
The damn thing's not equipped to tune into their communications, of course, but hopefully his comrade should recognize it as it approaches. At the very least, he can confirm her safety and that she doesn't need to be extracted, and if their allies buy them a little more time, Job might be able to perform the emergency repairs needed to at least get her craft off the ground, if not anywhere near fighting shape. But whatever they have to leave behind, he will, without a second thought.
All that matters, he thinks as he speeds toward her, heart pounding with anxiety belying his unseen resolute expression, is that they survive another day.
It's a familiar feeling. Can't say he misses it.
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
In that moment, there is a flash. A blur of blond hair. Bright blue eyes. A mask that's all too familiar.
One that's a little different. Saraven stares into open space even as the thin fingers of the Moon's gravity grasp the Varguil, drawing it back down to the lunar regolith in a slow descent. It lands in a crouch, beam tomahawk out at its side.
The blade snaps out of existence. Saraven closes her eyes and sinks heavily back in her seat, breathing out hard. Only the flash of Sayla's anger had warned her of the attack. Only a flash of intuition had allowed her to act so fast.
The Varguil stands and looks off after the Saint Lance. Sayla's instinct is correct in one respect:
"Lilac Gale to all units. Allow them to withdraw," Saraven transmits, her voice as level as ever. The emotions came hard and intense during the fight - but she pushes them away. These things can never last.
/I can't feel. I won't. I don't want to... remember things.
I don't want to hurt like you, Cardinal.
/I couldn't hurt like you./
The staff are allowed to retreat without further harassment. The landship draws closer, hatches in its hull opening. Reinforcements will eventually arrive, but for now, the Sleeves will take what they want. None of it will be special - none of it will be the work Job John has put his heart into.
For a band of lost warriors fighting yesterday's war, even that helps.
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
The beam gatling continues to chatter and rage and throw shots up into the air, while Shelby does her best to keep Renato locked down-- but she just can't quite get the shots to land, no matter what she tries. Things look bad, but she's holding her ground--
-- and then Sayla goes down--
Sousuke breaks off. The call to retreat is made, but she does not get far immediately. Shelby's forced to duck and sway again, taking steps and trying her hardest to keep the Jagd Doga navigating correctly in low gravity -- also low to the ground, and avoiding too much damage being done to the facility grounds.
'Casval...'
"... Doctor?" It isn't spoken on the radio. The words leave her mouth, yes, but they can also be heard in the heart.
-- and then the beam rifle shots rain down from on high. Some catch her off-guard, but again the rounded shield comes to her defense, the surface diffusing and scattering the blasts to mitigate at least part of the damage being dealt to the pink and black machine. Suddenly, the funnels move-- but not to fire at Renato, but to fire down into the asphalt at low intensity, churning the ground up and creating dirt and debris and making it damn hard to track her for more shots.
Her aura is loud, droning, and constant. It is unfettered and wild, and she moves through it like... well. Shelby's on her way to withdraw, keeping the flank covered as they collect their damaged and wounded on the way out.