Mobile Suit Gundam: Siora

[Seperallis]

Mobile Suit Gundam: Siora

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. . : : Table of Contents : : . .

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Chapter 1: Charon

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Reserved for when I put stuff here.

First RP post is below.

[Seperallis]

Chapter 1: Charon


The history of the world is a history of warfare. Man's insatiable lusts for power, glory, riches, and a myriad other ambitions have driven hundreds of millions to their untimely deaths over millennia, for the self-serving gains of a few. For countless generations have the people of the world echoed the refrain for no more war, an end to killing, peace in our times. Yet still there is conflict even as the world changes, as mankind moves into space thrust upon the winds of boundless energy and unmatched prosperity.

Mankind rises onward into an age where poverty and want - long given the blame for mankind's vices - may be snuffed on a whim by those with means, and yet still these crimes exist, and still those with the power to transform the world into a new utopia grasp greedily to their hordes and play ancient and petty "games" for power. The world changes and yearns for a real and just peace, yet these relics of a bygone age use the fruits of humanity's inheritance to enslave and corrupt, to reduce the value of life with autonomous engines of destruction to clash with little consequence to themselves and all consequence to those around them.

The soul of humanity yearns for an end to strife, yet even a decade of death has brought no change to actions of so-called "leaders." Parasites cling to the old ways of humanity's past and chain us all to a perpetual cycle of a painful, rotten, dying civilization with wars of exploitation and conquest. These engines of a bygone age must be swept aside, so that a new order may rise and lead humanity into a prosperous future.

Charon thus declares war upon the rot and decay of the old world.

The nations of the world are hereby on notice.

----- - ----- - -----

Lanlania - late Spring, 1700. Mid-day (local time)


"In any case, that's what this 'Charon' purports as their manifesto, of sorts. No concrete threat of action, no known membership... I don't think intelligence would even consider it if the message hadn't been planted within the systems of half the Union's security sections." Selma chuffed in amusement to the ding of the lift doors opening. "Can you believe, they labeled it a 'notable concern'... out of embarrassment more than anything."

Today was one of those special rare days where the public was invited into military bases to ogle the country's military hardware and earn appreciation of and support for the military by the public at large. This annual Lanlanian tradition had been started countless generations ago, a tradition that had been mostly lost for some decades before being revived again in the 80's. Today was no different; spread across several military hangers beside the base's runway was a rather large gathering of people - gate estimates gauge that this year was the largest military expo for the fourth year running - milling about between a spattering of small demonstrations and vendors' tents linking the main attractions of the fair: a scattered selection of the Lanlanian military's hardware.

Several old planes and weapons drew an enthusiastic crowd of military historians as they took pictures of and within the relics of bygone wars, and the small selection of the country's current weaponry was a perennial favorite amongst younger children especially, always wooping in delight at the heavy bulk of any Bastions on display. This year's showstopper though was the massive Hjolrun at the end of the line: cordoned off in a wide area and with armed guard posted and keeping watch, Lanlania and the Union's new and true mobile suit stole the show, evidenced by the huge crowd of onlookers with cameras in hand, as its sleek humanoid design towered meters above even the largest and heaviest of the old mobile armors on display.

Selma and Feryn received a wide view of the proceedings from within the base's flight control tower as they stepped out of the lift. From here the sea of onlookers and enthusiasts ebbed and swirled as a single living mass that buzzed at the ankle of the country's newest weapon. Already up here were a handful of photographers from the media, their many-foot long cameras peering across the field and runway with the best vantage of the proceedings. Standing to the side and talking amongst themselves were a handful of men in suits, easily recognized as generals and advisers keen on the upcoming main event of the show: a live demonstration of the new autonomous variant of the Union's mobile suit. While the the MS-02 Hjolrun manned mobile suit had been in Lanlanian service for some months now, this unmanned version had only reached service in recent weeks. This public demonstration not only served as a public show, but would also be used as a demonstration of capability to Lanlania's and the Union's rivals.

The announcer over the PA system couldn't be heard from this distance, but it seemed apparent that this demonstration of the country's newest weapon was about to begin by the throng of people working their way to temporary seating along the flightline's edge. Selma remarked to that effect, "Just in time, the autonomous weapon demonstration should begin in a couple minutes. Would you like a seat, Your Grace?"

The few photographers in the room noticed the country's leader in the room, and turned their cameras inward toward him during this lull in events.

[Ayzek]

"Later perhaps," Feryn whispered. The Archking, of course, dominated the room the moment he entered. The cadre of officers and high-ranking government, both Lanlanian and Union, officials pounced on him, leading to a few minutes of quick handshakes and short greetings, each timed and staged for the photographers whose agencies were privileged enough to be present. This was not the first demonstration of the unmanned Hjolrun for many of the officials, including the Archking. The entire tradition was for the people, after all: an effort to bolster Lanlanian patriotism after its devastating defeat in the Great War and setbacks during the Syorid Affair and the First Solar War. While that had become less of a priority since its inception, the Lanlanian government nonetheless had significant interest in its success and looking good throughout it.

"I trust you're all enjoying this year's demonstrations here at Fort Theodore," Feryn said, shortly after greeting the Minister of Defense and replacing him at the center of the cameramens' attention. Only two of them had been allowed into the flight tower, from rival but prominent Lanlanian media groups. "It's such a shame you weren't able to join us in person." Fort Theodore wasn't far from Halvadag and consequently received extra attention. It was the only facility showing off the autonomous Hjolrun.

"I'm sure Minister Bjorn has already told you how special this year's exposition is," the Archking continued. Feryn looked rather young for his age and moved like it too, undoubtedly a perk of being the monarch of a first-world state. He took a position in front of the large windows specifically installed to give a greater view of the flightline. The Hjolrun stood at the far end, on stand-by. The Lanlanians had elected to showcase its most well-armed load-out, for maximum shock and awe. While the missiles and rockets inside were blanks, the unit was nonetheless maxed-out with 4 arm-mounted 4-pack missile racks, dual back-mounted 54-pack rocket launchers, and its 36-pack shin-mounted rocket pods. Its railgun was held at-ease in both arms in front of its body.

"Today we give our countrymen and the world a first-hand look at the next-generation war-fighter in action." The Archking looked very pleased, almost smug, as he looked down at the Hjolrun. The cameramen at his side captured it perfectly. "No longer will the Archkingom need to put her sons and daughters in harms way. Soon the age where men and women laid down their lives en mass for king, country, and family will be behind us and the defense of our loved ones, our liberties and way of life will instead be shouldered by steel. By machine.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the AMS-Hjolrun." Feryn gestured to the mobile suit at the end of the runway. "A new weapon for a new century. These autonomous warriors will come to be--"

The Archking was suddenly drowned out by the air-raid siren. It was a sound that only the oldest of Lanlanians had heard at its worst. The vast majority had heard it only in movies or school drills--entertainment and a respite from studies. There was a moment of confusion, before a white blur suddenly dropped into the base and, as panic began to spread and the gathered crowd scattered, immediately cut down the Hjolrun with a blade protruded from its shield. Upon sensing the critical failure, the Hjolrun attempted to eject its nuclear reactor in a fiery explosion, but it was instead instantly vaporized by the gundam's GS sword.

With the Hjolrun's destruction, the Archking's face immediately soured into a deep scowl. As lesser men evacuated the room, he and a few aids, as well as one of the cameramen remained. A pair of soldiers moved on the cameraman, moving to eject him from the room. Unknown to all of them, the live signal had already been cut by the Gundam's GS particle field.

The Archking had read the reports from Solhaven. "So this is the White Ghost," he whispered. "It seems it wasn't Solhaven after all." While the Union had obviously kept it classified, it had its suspicions about the disastrous invasion of Solhaven. Black boxes, survivor testimonies--entire bases and formations being wiped out in the middle of the night.

"It's not impossible Solhaven has brought the war to Lanlania," said General Noventa, Supreme Allied Commander Brigidna.

Feryn glanced at the officer, who joined him in surveying the sudden battlefield. Much of the crowd had already been evacuated. After destroying the Hjolrun, the gundam seemed to glare back at those in the tower, waiting waiting for their counterattack."Solhaven has neither the technology nor the resources for this. This is someone else." The rain of small arm and tank fire did nothing to the unknown mobile suit, instead being absorbed or deflected.

"'Charon'?" The general scoffed.

"I see a very grave threat, General. In the middle of Lanlania, no less."

"Your Majesty," a junior officer began, "we have successfully evacuated 90% of all civilians."

"Let's test our enemy's full capabilities, then," replied Feryn. "Before he runs."

[Seperallis]

"I'm not dressed for combat today," Selma muttered dryly with a glance to her heels and pencil skirt as she tapped away at her watch screen. During Feryn's presentation, she had been deliberate in keeping either well out side the camera angles or hidden behind the figures of others until the white mobile suit appeared. Slightly startled to hear the mechanical voice of the operator in her earpiece apologizing for the lack of connection, she did a double-take on the screen before raising an eyebrow and showing the Archking with a confirming, "No signal."

"Hello? What the shit?" The interjection came from the side, from the earlier junior officer. Apparently keeping in touch with events via the tower's wired, land-line headset around his ears, he visibly strained to keep concentrating on a voice that faded into and out of static, punctuated by the room's lights fading and buzzing slightly as unshielded infrastructure reacted in unhappy ways with the presence of the new mobile suit. Selma glanced between him and Feryn before walking over to see what the commotion was about, and was about to lean in and speak with him when she noticed a peculiarity on the monitor at that workstation between moments when it flickered and dimmed. Not only did the system's radar picture not show the intruder as it had crashed the gates, so to speak, but it wasn't registering anything as existing, at all.

She narrowed her eyes at the figure standing across the field. "Electronic warfare, too? What is this thing?"

Throughout the commotion in the tower and the gundam standing there menacingly, the demonstration team was not idle; already warmed up to begin the demonstration, the team of five autonomous suits and their piloted handler crouched within the nearby woods across from the runway. The arrival of the new mobile suit blocked the communication link between the autonomous suit intelligence and the base combat computer, forcing them to switch to full autonomous control, and they awaited orders from their manned commander unit.

Captain Martinsson cursed his luck as he input the combat commands to send to the other units; whatever this white mobile suit was doing was playing havoc with the command reception to the drone suits, but at least the wireless signal worked with all six suits clustered together like this. What's more, the team wasn't particularly heavy on weaponry, being only intended to show off some of the Hjolrun's capabilities; Martinsson's own suit didn't even carry any weapons aside from head lasers and chest gatlings, and these weren't armed as he was intended to only be a presenter and narrator.

However, they were the only units active and ready to defend the base.

"Systems operational, awaiting orders," came the ring of five identical voices as the drone suits' internal systems checks completed.

To complicate matters further, there were still people down there. Whoever this sick son-of-a-bitch was had just exploded a mobile suit in front of a massive crowd of onlookers, and Martinsson wasn't about to add to the potential body count with indiscriminate rocket use. With a growl of frustration, he locked out the rocket and missile pods and set the order to attack the new-model mobile suit. "Eat hot lead ya fucker. Begin attack pattern."

The autonomous suits immediately responded; two suits in the middle of the formation rose above the treeline, chest compartments opened as their gatlings spun up and poured an obscene number of shots at the gundam with robotic accuracy, backed up by their head-mounted lasers. Two more suits on the far flanks remained deep within the trees and opened fire with their railguns in support, but the real show took place a second later when two Hjolrun suits burst forth from the woods in an explosion of splinters and branches and raced directly for the intruder; one suit fired on the move with its railgun as it closed the distance, while the other curiously gripped the thick trunk of a tree in the other.

[Seperallis]

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>> Listen to the super cool opening song every Gundam anything needs to have that Sal picked out <<



L.U. Elevator Spaceport, Venius, Krinis - late evening (local time)


A muggy, overcast, late spring day in Krinis had just come to an end with the last setting rays of the sun painting the blanketing clouds a deep crimson from beyond the horizon, by the time the convoy of trucks had finally arrived at the Venius Spaceport. A sprawling complex adjacent to the Port of Venius, the spaceport served as the hub for cargo from all across the Union, most of which arrived via the nearby seaport for inspection, before being loaded upon one of the several dozen round-the-clock maglev trains to the Space Elevator. Orderly stacks of crates lined the yard beside their relevant rail lines as, even at this twilight hour, dozens of semi-autonomous cranes moved to a clockwork rhythm as they lifted and set specially-designed transport canisters onto and off of their sleek transports to and from space.

The truck convoy was large, at least two dozen and more stragglers that had joined in with their line as they rolled down the Arkianian highway, but the facility was meant to handle much more traffic than this: as the trucks approached the spaceport, a system of gates and lane markers directed them to just as many check stations, open and ready to receive them.

A tall set of bollards blocked the lead truck as its driver pulled into his assigned station, and the inspector leaned out of the guard shack, nodding a greeting. In response, the driver lowered his window.

"Evening, can you turn on your cabin lights, please."

"Oh yes, sorry," came the reply, a deep voice with a heavy Near-Eastern accent. A second later, the cabin light came on, illuminating a sun-leathered man of middle age, hair closely cut around a sharp, hawk-like face and carefully manicured beard. He smiled a friendly, crooked smile.

"Please don't smile; it throws off the scanners."

"Oh yes, sorry."

"Don't worry about it, it's...nothing personal," the inspector shook her head in dismissal slightly as she glanced between the driver and her screen. "It just makes this take longer. Your credentials, please?"

"Of course," said the driver, handing over his card. The inspector took it, tapped it against her station, and handed back the card as the driver's manifest and personal information came on the screen.

"Your name?"

"Shapur Rostami. And you?"

"And what are you hauling?"

The driver shrugged his shoulder, head tilted slightly and his crooked smile returning. "Specifically, I was not told. My manifest says 'construction supplies' for the habitats?"

"It does indeed. One moment," the inspector noted, replying to a question that really needed no response. Apparently fine with the man's answers, she pressed a prompt on her monitor, and several sets of external lights illuminated the entire length of the freight truck and its cargo in the recently receded evening light. "You have been selected for a random search. Please wait a moment, this should only take a couple minutes."

"Of course."

Inspectors had the tools to perform their duties from within the comfort and safety of their shacks, but this one was different. She liked getting up close and personal with the cargo, trusting her eyes better in person than against a computer monitor. Some of her coworkers had chastised this "old-timer" for her habit, but she persisted, undaunted: she knew what worked for her and she wasn't about to rely upon technology as a crutch, no sir. With the inspection lights now on, she drew her scanner from its hip holster and donned her "SeedSys" hat as she approached the seals on the "universal cargo canister;" a container specifically designed to be loaded upon and go into space with the elevator trains, it was also designed for use with special electronic tamper-proof seals. All designed by and only compatible with SeedSys...well...systems, the entire process of loading materials onto and sealing the containers was designed to be highly secure and proprietary, to minimize risk to the elevators.

As part of that proprietary process, the inspector lifted her scanner to each of the seals in turn, and the data returned exactly what was on the manifest: construction materials, with no evidence of tampering since being put in place. Taking a few steps back, she paced several laps around the container and truck while on the lookout for other suspicious signs of tampering, checking in several places beneath the vehicle. Seeing none, she walked back around to the driver's side.

Her heart stopped in her chest for a second. The driver was gone. She knew for a fact he had been watching her at her task the entire time, having made split-second eye contact multiple times. She looked behind her, then doubled the turn frontwise again as the white-knuckled grip on her scanner grew icey. She chanced a look beneath the truck; no driver.

Returning upright, she nearly had a heart attack when she came face to face with the man in the window of his vehicle, unlit cigarette in his mouth and dark eyebrow raised.

Sighing away the tension, she smacked the side of the vehicle. "You're all clear. I'll open the gate for you."

----- - ----- - -----


Smoke from the cigarette puffed from his hooked nose as Shapur Rostami watched the crane's methodical movements, picking one container from a waiting truck and placing it upon the waiting train before tracking to the next truck and doing the same. He marveled at the speed and efficiency: within the span of a few minutes, almost half the trucks had their cargo removed and replaced with a new container for transport off site. His truck sat last in line, delayed slightly by the surprise inspection; no doubt the crane would get to him in only a few minutes more.

As he waited, a couple of the other drivers gathered and he gave them an appraising look-over as they marched over to him.

They were an odd sort, such as most truckers were, but almost exclusively not native to Krinis - or certainly not Arkiania - by looks alone. A couple had the dark skin of the distant Skathian continent, while two others were clearly from South Ostara and the Near East, respectively. The tallest was a man he recognized, a long-haired, tattooed, pot-bellied, bearded caricature of a trucker who called himself "Lukas," and the only one of the group passably native in both appearance and speech, and it was he who spoke as he glanced shiftily into the starkly shadowed corners of the well-lit cargo yard.

"I don't like this."

Shapur didn't react immediately, drawing in the last long drag before tossing the spent butt to the ground, amongst many more like it. "We're not here to like it, we're here to do it," he commented with a long exhale while pulling out another cigarette from his pack.

Thinking a second, he offered the pack to Lukas, who waved it away in polite refusal while clarifying, "Not this, the job; this, the…this." Lukas gestured vaguely to the area at large, pointing out everything and nothing at once. "It all went too smoothly."

"I was absolutely dripping the entire time, I was sure they would get one of us," commented one man, eliciting snorts and chortles of amusement from a couple of the others. The man seemed confused for a moment before realization hit him. "With sweat.”

Shapur shrugged, as much at the refusal of his offer as at the mens' concerns. "When have I steered you wrong? You must have more faith, my friend."

Lukas huffed. "Maybe I'll have some of your faith when we get out of here," he said, glancing upwards at the undercarriage of the crane as it tracked above them, continuing about its work. "I don't know how you keep pulling it off like this."

Shapur didn't respond as he lit up once more, following Lukas's glance upward into a long gaze. The crane floated above the truck in front of his, paused a moment, then lowered its telescoping claw upon the container; latching automatically at designated points above and below the container, the claw raised, its cargo secured, and tracked swiftly yet carefully to the next empty train truck and reversing the process. Once in place, magnetic and mechanical clasps secured the precisely-placed container upon its truck, holding it against the acceleration of the train's imminent departure, and the zero-gravity environment of the elevator's higher reaches.

"I should go take a piss," he responded as the crane's claw rose again, and it made its way towards his truck, "before I run out of time to do so."

"Yeah," said Lukas as he looked back at the others, "we should get ready to go. Octitania lives forever, comrade."

"Sure, yeah," Shapur dismissed with a wave as he left for the port-a-toilets.

[Sal]

Destroy the cargo.

Demonstrate the Asphodel.

Minimize bystander casualties.

Targets are present.

Destroy the cargo.

Demonstrate that Asphodel.

Minimize bystander casualties.

Targets are stationary.

Destroy the—

“Hey, new guy, eyes up front before you lose your head!”

Taraneh snapped to attention, her eyes fixing on the annoyed mechanic in front of her. ‘Kids,’ his expression seemed to groan. Or maybe, ‘Foreigners.’

“Sorry!” she chirped in her best Arkianian, punctuating the sentiment with a sheepish grin.

The man sighed and pulled a bandana from the rear pocket of his coveralls to dab at the beads of sweat gathering in his forehead creases. “They always assign me such rookies,” he lamented aloud but to no one in particular. “Such rookies! Can’t even speak more than a sentence in our language— feh! I tell you this: retirement cannot come one day too early, my young friend! Oho no!”

Distracted by the indulgence of self-pity, the man didn’t notice when his apprentice snuck another lingering glance to the motley group of truckers who had assembled themselves some hundred yards away, across the concrete and metal expanse of the spaceport yard. Six of them. At least six trucks, then, but were there more?

She narrowed her eyes.

Destroy the cargo.

Demonstrate the—

Wait. One of the men was on the move. Taraneh watched him cross the expanse between his comrades and the toilets.

“Sir?” she interrupted her supervisor’s pitiful ramblings. “I, eh, I have to make toilet.” To be sure she was understood, she nodded at the bank of stalls, and tried her hardest to look very uncomfortable.

The mechanic threw up his hands in surrender, tossing his dampened bandana away like a white flag. “Sure, fine! I have all night, after all!”

“Many thanks!”

…

Men were disgusting creatures Melinoë noted as she hid in the stall beside the terrorist, waiting. She could hear him over there, pissing. How could someone enclosed in their own stall piss so loudly that she could hear it enclosed in her own stall? It was like a horse. Disgusting.

A dim light turned blue from the faintly translucent plastic making up the walls of the portable toilet filtered in from the bright fluorescence of the spaceport beyond. Melinoë squinted down in the dim at the slight bulge in the right hip of her coveralls. She had been given the freedom to use force, to use any means she felt best. She slipped her hand down over the fabric and felt the hard lines of her holstered sidearm.

She would not fail.

Destroy the cargo.

Demonstrate the Asphodel.

Minimize bystander casualties.

The faintest sound of a zip squealed in the adjacent stall.

Go time.

With purpose in every motion, Melinoë tossed open the door, quickly scanned her periphery for anyone who might catch sight of her — no one, luckily; the rest of the terrorist group had dispersed and were not waiting on their friend it seemed — and caught hold of the wrist the man — Shapur Rostami if intel was correct — just as he was opening the door of his own stall. She was silent like shadows, quick like a breeze. She didn’t allow him the opportunity to cry out. The young soldier caught the confusion, maybe fear in the elder’s eyes as she forced him back into the stall, the gun previously holstered at her side now in her hand, now pressed against Shapur’s stomach.

The element of surprise seemed to work in her favor as she backed the man into the enclosure.

“How many trucks?” she hissed, sliding the gun up until it was pressed into his chest. “How many containers?”

[Seperallis]

The surprise on Shapur’s face lasted longer than he’d care to admit until it faded among the full realization of what had just happened: one second he’s taking a relaxing moment alone, and the next he’s been backed into the port-a-john with a gun pressed against him. It felt oddly warm, in contrast with the slow spread of ice at the base of his feet and back of his skull.

“Eh, thirty? Thirty trucks, thirty containers,” the bearded man responded, quietly, just as the silence sat on the cusp of growing long and awkward. It was an embarrassment to be caught like this, but he knew he had nothing but himself to blame; he had thought the plan was going smoothly, and once inside the gates they were safe. “Just don’t shoot me. Please?”

Clearly he was wrong.

Who even was this young man with? Surely if this was a “counter-terrorism” sting, a sniper’s bullet would have kissed his forehead by now. Shapur remained tense, but felt more in control of himself now as his eyes darted out the ventilation slots, to his truck and his comrades. He could shout, but it’s unlikely anyone could hear him over the sound of the cranes and idling truck engines; the grip on him wasn’t unbreakable and he could probably throw it off, but the steel barrel on his gut reminded him he couldn’t throw off a twitchy trigger finger, and he certainly wasn’t being paid enough to take a bullet.

“Please, I am just paid to drive, not to die.”

[Sal]

Melonoë swallowed thickly. Thirty? Thirty containers? That was far more than she’d been prepared for — about five times more to be precise. Clearly Shapur and his comrades had been moving their product into the elevator for days if not weeks. If not months.

Damn the inadequate intel she’d received.

Her hesitation lasted only a second.

“Stay here,” she barked, her gun still pressed tightly against the man. “If I see your face, I’ll kill you.” Unmentioned was the fact that she planned to kill him either way before the evening’s end.

Before she’d even finished her last word, she jumped backwards, opening the door with her weight and keeping her eyes and gun trained on the man until the springs pulled the door closed again. She wheeled herself in an about face and set off across the port floor at full tilt, not bothering to look back to see if she’d been obeyed - it didn’t matter. She clumsily holstered her gun as she sprinted, jamming it down through the unzipped top of her coveralls; in a moment, a pistol wouldn’t matter, either.

As Melinoë ran, she ducked and wove behind concrete support pillars, laden forklifts, and other solid structures, putting something of a barrier between herself and the man she’d left behind. Surely Shapur would have radioed his comrades for support by now, and it was better if she could lose herself in the sprawling complex — getting shot would really put a damper on things.

Destroy the cargo.

Demonstrate the Asphodel.

Minimize bystander casualties.

The checklist replayed in her mind as if it were a grocery list and she might forget an ingredient for a meal. Oil, flour, salt. Destroy, demonstrate, minimize.

As she closed the distance between herself and the outermost security checkpoint at the base of the elevator, she jerked up her sleeve and tapped a button on the hands-free communicator strapped to her forearm. At the same time, a group of inspectors and customs agents, discontented by this disheveled mechanic sprinting directly at their area, began waving their arms as if trying to flag down a runaway semi.

“Hey, you’re not permitted beyond this point!” they shouted, and, “Stop! Hey, you, stop!”

At once, they were cut off as the deafening sound of warping metal and straining synthetics squealed and groaned into the cavernous space from behind them. The din swallowed the ambient sounds of the lifts and trains and myriad other mechanical processes. When it was over, the Gundam Asphodel stood at full height in the wrecked carcass of an elevator train: a fully formed warrior Athena burst from the head of Zeus. A demon of the underworld.

[Seperallis]

Various curses and exclamations could barely be heard over the deafening din of debris, the gate agents attempting to both cover their ears and feebly obstruct the fleeing Gundam pilot. When it was over, only groans of painful tinnitus punctuated a shocked and uneasy silence at the sudden entry of the mobile weapon, broken only by the occasional “oh my God” and “what the hell is that?”

Some ran for cover, some stood dumb and inactive, but virtually all forgot about the ultimately inconsequential mechanic running through the gate.

“What the hell is that!” Lukas shouted at Shapur above the din and his covered ears from beside his truck.

The cacophony of destruction had boomed across the yard while the man raced from the toilet stall to rejoin his comrades. Now, with the silhouette of the Gundam standing at attention at an uncomfortably close distance, he waved away the question and urged the trucks along with wild hand motions.

“I do not know and it does not matter; we have been found. Move your trucks, get them out of here,” Shapur shouted back, climbing into his own truck as the other man radioed the dilemma to his drivers.

The man stole a glance over to the loaded train; the crane had since stopped moving, the cargo loaded, and he could see the automated bots completing the final safety check. While the electric motor of his truck quietly whirred to life, he could hear the soft whine of the train rails magnetizing.

[Sal]

The huge metal creature knelt in the wreckage as if a squire bowing before its lord to be knighted, and a hatch in its torso opened to expose the dark hollow of a cockpit inside.

Not missing a step in her all-out sprint, Melinoë was practically flying over the space separating her from the Asphodel. She swerved once around a security officer grasping for her, once more around a scrap of what once was a train car. Leap, leap, leap – and then she was under it, in the shadow it cast, grasping for the hand-hold on the extended hatch. She made contact and hoisted herself up, thinking she heard a rubber bullet plink off the alloy frame of her cockpit but not stopping to confirm.

Soft blue light from the Asphodel’s rousing console display provided the only illumination in the moment that the hydraulic hatch latched itself behind the incoming pilot. In a moment more, the panoramic displays blinked on to provide an augmented reality view of the world just beyond the metal and circuitry.

Melonoë strapped herself into the pilot’s seat and brought her suit to stand at its full imposing height.

“Elysium,” she announced to her communicator, unsure if anyone was able to actually receive her message. “Thirty container units confirmed at Venius. Initiating search-and-destroy.”

The “destroy” would be simple enough, but for the time being, the “search” aspect provided some challenge. The sheer amount of metal, electronics, and electromagnetic components inside the station dampened the effectiveness at Asphodel’s ability to suss out the cargo from innocuous trade goods being prepared for shipment.

She would destroy it all, then. If it was the only way, it was the only way.

Her left-most display panel blipped pleadingly for its pilot’s attention, flashing up a window with an enlarged view of some goings-on down below: armed security forces had emerged from deeper within the complex and were aiming what appeared to be semi-automatic rifles at her mobile suit. They were no threat. Melinoë dismissed the alert and scanned the rest of her display. Amidst the movement of bystanders fleeing and security forces approaching, she spotted a small fleet of cargo trucks peeling away from the holding area.

Those were her targets.

“Engaging the--”

Just as she was preparing to take out the trucks, the whirring of a train preparing to depart caught her attention. A judgment call was required immediately. These things were certain: The trains were faster. Much faster. Within seconds, the trains, inside the elevators, would also be much harder to access. The trucks were slow, but were going to be on the main roads surrounded by innocents.

Minimize bystander casualties.

“I’m taking out the trucks,” she declared with the subtlest hint of uncertainty in her voice, eyes still tracking the trains as they began to creep upwards. “Beginning GS particle dispersal.”

Within seconds, the entirety of the Asphodel had begun emitting a bright cyan glow. Like a second skin, the GS field encased her suit until the entire form was sheathed. A dimmer plume of particles seemed to radiate away from the Asphodel and fill the station; it would be troublesome if other mobile suits were to show up, but flooding the area with particles should buy her some time.