“After we break through the ozone, you will deploy here, and, here. Team alpha will disable coms towers before they can croak, and team beta will mount an assault on the barracks. They aren’t expecting company so they won’t have time to mount their Argonauts. It’ll be like squishing bugs. You can squish bugs, right?!” The man let out a raspy laugh after speaking. The kind of laugh that you laugh after making a dark joke. The kind of laugh you make to break the tension before someone thinks too long about the joke. The joke of human life. He was a rather burly fellow, but with the kind of brawn that straddled the between muscle and fat. He had a rather squashed face, including a coarse and greying beard and a head of hair that was hanging on for dear life. Furthermore, he was dressed in rather standard attire for his line of work. A neat shirt with an identification tag strapped to one of the rolled up sleeves, a pair of tight trousers with foam knee pads slid into the clothing itself. In the room were six other individuals. Some seated, if you call it that, in 0 G. others were just floating around, occasionally bracing for soft impacts on the walls and floors. The old man talking found himself behind a large map that was held up by a robotic arm. The rest of the room had a similar overengineered feel. Standard grey with parts painted a lighter white to break up the monotony. All the individuals were carefully watching the man as he continued. Some even had pieces of paper or other note-taking devices. For most, this was the most important job of their carrier. The pay was extraordinary, seeing their target though, the risk was equally noteworthy. Not many people had the guts to mount an assault on Vanguard. They were as sensitive to aggression as an exposed skin, twitching and itching until a speck lands on its surface. Then it goes into a fit and defends itself from further pain. According to the man, though, there was substantial backing, so after they punched the wasp's nest there were suits ready for them to jump into so that they could survive the sting.
The man continued to babble on about tactics. What each team's goals, objectives and other relevant information were, all had their ears pitched, all except for one. Seated in such a way that he wouldn’t float away was a young man, Jax. His head was void of all hair except for little shoots that softly covered the surface of his scalp. Draped over his torso was a poncho of sorts. A thick and heavy piece made a lined dark desaturated brown synthetic cotton. Underneath was a long sleeved shirt that had multiple other items of clothing underneath, holes in the clothing betraying the multi layered nature. His shoes were equally exaggerated. Large lips and base, all made of a heavy-duty matte black leather. His eyes at the moment were closed, but you could still see the bags underneath. They were as black as night, so black you’d think it was makeup. Other blemishes and scars dotted his mangled visage. Some were large, bright gashes on his nose and cheek. Others were small darker imperfections that contrasted against his almost ghost like skin. Little brown dots caused by the many suns of the planets he’d been to. As the briefing ended, the room slowly cleared and the man cleared his things.
“Hey, wake up. I’m not keeping the lights on for your sorry ass.” He said, glaring down at him.
“You know I can’t sleep, I’m just resting my eyes.” Jax replied.
“Well, keep the resting for at home. Don’t forget, you’re on a job, at least try to act like it.”
“I am, this is how I’m like on every job…” He said, shifting slightly to prevent floating away. The old man sighed; replying
“Jackson Alcreed… Seeing your current situation. I’d advise you to take a more serious approach to this job. The stakes are high for everyone on this ship, and you're the weakest link. You're here because I’ve seen your documents, because I believe your certain qualities are of use in this situation. And I’m ready to pay you big time if you man up-”
“I don’t go by Alcreed…” Jax interrupted.
“Excuse me?” The man said, furrowing his brow.
“I don’t like to go by my second name, it has a bad connotation.” Jax said as he prepared to go
“Fine, whatever. Alcreed… is that Alphonsian?”
“Yeah…” Jax said, kicking off the floor and out of the room.
The interior of his quarters were cramped, very function over fashion. A bed was attached to one of the walls, on the floor were various boxes of different sizes for personal material. The rest of the empty surfaces had a dark grey metal colour and were made up of separate panels with a black foam between the geometric shapes. There were also orange straps on every empty panel for storage or grip. All of Jax’s were empty. His storage boxes were also rather barren. He got given the bare minimum from Vanguard, enough money to live off, and supplies so that he didn’t die. Despite this utilitarian nature, he had one thing that followed him everywhere he went. Opening a storage box in the floor, he pulled out a little booklet with a pencil strapped to the front. Bracing the booklet on his leg, he opened it to reveal pages upon pages filled with different sketches and objects. The quality was however akin to a child's drawing or the scratches of a mad man. Despite this fact every page that had drawings was filled, barely any blank paper was left, there were all kinds of images, objects such as boxes, lamps, food, and weapons. There were skylines, buildings, also trees and shrubbery. It was hard to identify what was what at times, at least at a glance. But one recurring image that was unmistakable were faces, Young, old, man, woman, it was a gallery of faces. And every face was a stranger.
He turned to a blank page and begun to sketch. The page already had some scratches, mainly of things he had seen on the way here. The ship itself, the launch pad it left from and some other guns for hire he would be fighting alongside. To him, they were still strangers, He didn’t bother learning their name, their age, or anything else because when it came to his line of work, They were just ID tags on a HUD, not people. After all, why would he give others the same privilege that he was denied?
Plucking the pencil from the book cover, he began to sketch once again. He pressed the pencil hard against the paper, making thick and uncontrolled lines. His face was clear in his mind's eye. The beard, greasy hair, clothing. However, as he took pencil to paper, it was as if the lines were drawn at random. The face was angular and sharp, the beard was an erratic bush of lines and the clothes were blocky and unrealistic. Despite the trouble, he continued. Never erasing anything, never stopping. After he had finished one illustration, he redrew it, sometimes in a different angle or changing minor things. Before he knew it, the page was full of crude images of the man. Every itch of the page reflected this job, in a way, as he stared at the page, it felt like he could see it all. What the job meant to him, the things on the line, and what would happen if it went sideways.
Closing the booklet, he decided it was best to blow off some more steam in the simulator, sketching could only do so much. He opened his door, kicked off and. CRASH. He was sent flying through the corridor as he heard a faint female voice shout “Hey watch it!”, stabilising himself he saw on the other end of the corridor another one of the pilots on the mission. She was a young woman with long pale hair tied up in a fluffy ponytail with strands of hair loosely hanging on the side. She wore a rather official looking uniform with a shirt adorned with two little garnishings as well as rank patches on the shoulders of the shirt. The rest of her outfit was as standard as the rest of the people, cargo pants and durable boots. “Weren’t you ever taught to look before crossing the street?” she said, shaking her head and angrily staring in her direction. Shaking his as well, Jax replied, saying, “Maybe you shouldn’t be barrelling down the corridors at Mach 2.”
“Whatever, it's not like you're that dense.” Jax scoffed and turned his back, continuing his path to the hanger. He heard the voice again however, “You heading to the Argonauts?” followed by the sound of boots on metal as she followed him down the length. “Yeah, wanted to get some reps in.”
“Funny you say that. I was on my way there as well.” Jax didn’t reply, simply maintaining focus on the route. The young woman sighed and said, “Good, another pilot who’s just full of sun shine. What is it this time, dead partner, some big grudge against the big three, oh no I got it, dead, parents. Yeah, that's should do it.” Jax raised an eyebrow at the remark, spot on, but it wasn’t the whole story… “Partially true.”
“Ah! It talks” the young woman said jokingly
“But then again, who doesn’t have dead parents in this line of work? To even get in the cockpit you need to have a couple screws loose and the best way to loosen those nuts up is to kill ya folks.” Jax said
“True that…” She sighed, taking a breath and retuning to his gaze and saying, “So, now that we have that out of the way, what are you doing here?”
“Money.” Jax said
“Yeah sure, everyone here wants to get paid, but we're all here for some, other, reason. Are we not? Of course, we all want a pay check, but under the surface there’s a spider's web of contracts and legal bullshit. For instance, one of our team Alpha members is stuck in a debt circle where he owes these mobsters some money, but they owe him the same amount. So because of their contract, one person needs to pay the other to break the loop.” Once again, spot on.
“I’m not inclined on dropping the sauce just like that. Anyone who’s been in the big leagues knows that that kind of info gets people killed.” The young woman let a sharp exhale escape her nose, and replied, “You mean to tell me that someone who looks like they were fished from the west fringes knows what the “big leagues” is like?”
“I am good at what I do, so I feel enabled enough to call it for what it is.” Jax said, rolling his eyes. By the time silence had rolled back in again, they had arrived at the hanger. Descending through an access tunnel before arriving in the hanger. The room was massive and suspended from all sides were the Argonauts, the tools of war used in this era, machines of death. Each one was unique, brisling with different weapons, armour, and posture. There were 6 in total across the length of the hanger, suspended by bright yellow pillars and supports. In the ceiling were the folded up drop pods, as below the massive doors made up the entire floor. Grappling onto a handle and kicking off, Jax flew over to his Argonaut. It stood approximately 9 metres in length. A biped with a flat head that almost blended into the torso. It was painted a dark grey, with some elements being highlighted a deep wine red. Most of the long flat surfaces had smaller blocks strapped to the top, ERA armour, a reliable, old-fashioned way of blocking kinetic projectiles, his own modification. It also came equipped with an assault rifle mounted to the back and for easy access, as well as a combat knife on the front of the oversized shoulder pad. It was a standard issue Vanguard mark 1 Ogre chassis. Heavy armour and so simple to operate and fix that if someone could establish a transference they could hop in this Argonaut and fight. Jax, however, took some liberties when it came to his own model. Removing plating and replacing it with the ERA armour, mounting powerful directional thrusters on the rear and shoulder pads. Finally, he ditched the combat knife it came with and attaching a “Shikishimi hyper AP knife” or just simply called a progressive knife, that costed a fortune. “Huh, didn’t expect mister doom and gloom to have such a rank and file Argonaut. Kinda thought you’d be the type to run around in one of those bullet mechs.” The young woman's voice said from behind his. Peering over he saw her floating over the machine holding onto the cockpits opening. He saw her shirt floating over to his machine, glancing back over he noticed she was wearing a tight top underneath, exposing the import points on her back and lower spine, plugging in cables as she inspected his Argonaut. Hers was an angular and sharp looking machine. Painted in a glossy black with pieces of the oversized back thrusters, blade like arm and leg armour painted a glossy dark blue. “Not all of us can afford those big, shiny toys. Besides, all I need is this thing to kill you.” Jax replied with a smirk
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“Is that a challenge” The young woman asked
“Maybe… depends on how much you value your dignity.”
“You're one cocky motherfucker… got the skills to back it up?”
“You bet…”
“Good, see you on the battlefield then” The young woman said slinging her self into the cockpit as the door slid closed above her with the hiss of pistons and depressurisation. Slinging himself over to his own cockpit after being sure she couldn’t see him, he began to shed the layers of clothing. As each shirt, piece of cloth and other covering was shed, more and more of his body’s texture began to peek through, and the more blood stained the cloth was.. Starting with a large bump and small spikes along his spine. Then the cables and hoses in his chest and arms began to show, this process continued until he was left bare. His entire back was a mangled mess of flesh, steel and cabled. Imports that sunk so deep it made him look like he had no organs, cables too wrapped in scar tissue that it looked like they burst from his flesh, and spikes and other imports that lined his spine, giving him a monstrous silhouette. As the clothing was removed, he felt an inner shame. Not guilt, simply shame. Floating there, with a body so morphed that no one could see it, sunk his hart as low it felt like it fell out of one of the many holes that robbed him of his humanity. But as he stared at the machine, at the Vanguard logo plastered onto the shoulder, and behind it a kill tally in the hundreds. He felt his shame turn into a sense of… emptiness.
He slung himself into the coffin like cockpit. Plugging various cabled and neural confections into his back, arms, neck and chest, the speed of which almost made it seem instinctual. Each cable plugged in increase the hum of the cockpit. A robotic voice mimicking his actions, “Calibration: Check, Frontal cortex: Check Left hemisphere: check right hemisphere: check. Ocular connections: check Life support and automatic breathing: check all systems are connected, all brain signals are identified and ready for transition.” A buzz at the base of his spine started to appear, waking him up. He gripped the arm rests and said, “I’m ready. Initiate conscious transference”
And that line, the buzz grew, and grew and grew. All of his limbs slowly feeling like they're being dipped in pins and needles, followed by a simple feeling of numbness. Until the buzz had spread to his neck as a robotic voice said, “Transferring consciousness, now-”
Slowly
Very slowly
Jax, opened his eyes.
Before him stretched a long desert landscape, a bright sun silhouetting a jagged bipedal form. “Took you a while” He heard the female voice say. A heads-up display flickered to life around his peripheral vision. Different values, weapons stats, environmental info and other relevant data flooded his brain. Once the neon green vignette settled, a single crosshair locked onto the silhouette; H1202 “Shimmer”. ““Wight?” the female voice said as a small speaker graphic appeared above the call sign and crosshair. “I picked it on a whim. Just needed something to punch into the system. Never gave it any thought.” Jax replied. “What about you. “Shimmer”, the hell kinda call sign is that?”
“It reflects the tech I got in this puppy.”
“Fancy bitch…”
“Hey!”
“Sorry” Jax replied, rolling his eyes. Even though he couldn't physically, the machine sent the signals back, creating the illusion that he did.
“So, ground rules. First to force the other Argonaut into an inoperable state, wins. Any objections?”
“Nope… I’m ready.”
“Hmm, good. I never gave you my name actually now that I think about it.” The voice said as the machine in the distance spread its stance and bent its knee’s.
“True that… I go by Jax.” he said, unholstering his rifle and revving up the thrusters.
“Nice to meet you, Jax. I’m Fraser… begin.”
Suddenly, the HUD around Jax’s vision turned a deep red and the cross-hair morphed into a more combat oriented assistant as the Argonaut, in a burst of dust and bright blue thruster flair, began speeding towards him. Jax similarly fired up his engine and swiftly boosted to the side, maintaining speed as he skated around her. She was fast, like really fast. Those massive thrusters on the back weren’t for show. But while she was physically faster than him, he still had the edge. Jax began to unload her magazine into her Argonaut as she tried to get close enough. She was clearly trying to get into melee range, so if he could keep her at bay for long enough, eventually he could turn the tables. “Running away?” Fraser said mockingly. “No, no, no, that simply won't do!” Then in a flash of prismatic blue light, her Argonaut seemingly disappears. Only to hauntingly reassemble in the font of him with simmering, almost hard to look at blade of some form of shimmering blade like attachment on the top of the forearm. Jax, with barely any time to react as she attacked him, grappled her other arm in an attempt to throw her off. A tactic that partially worked as the blade carved a chunk out of his shoulder. Jax flinched as he felt the blade cut though his armour, pain receptors slowly turning down to maintain operational performance as a warning flashed in the bottom right of his HUD “Alert, damage to armour has been detected”
“Fuck, you’re fast…” Jax says half jokingly as the sheathe of his combat knife released the blade with a satisfying click, sending the knife falling before catching it. The blade then began to vibrate, the edge slowly growing into a hot orange edge. “You say that, but you’re not too bad yourself. Never seen someone react so quickly in an Argonaut” She then charges forward again, forcing me to dodge back. Her blade is stronger than mine, so trying to parry is useless. She didn’t blink forward, though, so it must have some sort of limiter on how many times it can be used. No surprise, however, it must be pretty powerful. Another strike is dished out after he recovers, forcing Jax to dodge sideways, then another, and another. “Come on! Fight me!” Fraser shouts as she dashes upwards and strikes down, sending dust flying as she collides with the ground below. With a powerful boost, Jax retreats and continues his circling. The dust kicked up from her attack creates a veil that obscures her Argonaut, his systems struggling with identifying the target. Jax collects himself, trying to think of a strategy to take out Fraser. Her blink, in hindsight, doesn’t make her faster, she would have arrived at his location at the same rate as if she used the so-called blink, it's a cloak, she simply boosts faster when cloaked. Material acceleration would be too costly to put on an Argonaut. So all he has to do, is to wait until she blinks and predict her strike, then counter-attack. “Alert high heat signature detected” Then in his rear vision he sees Fraser's Argonaut materialize behind him and, with one decisive strike, plunges her blade into his gut. Thanks to his reflexes though, he narrowly prevents it from hitting the cockpit, pistons, stabilisers, and other critical machinery though, those are toast. The hot blade sliced through the machinery, cables, and shrapnel sent flying like stray pieces of flesh, creating an eerily gory scene despite its robotic nature. A warning flashed in Jax’s vision, alerting him that the pain receptors in his right hip had been disabled, that didn’t stop him from clutching his side, his brain filling in the gaps. “Oh come on, it's just a simulation, man up!” Fraser said, lunging in for another strike. She was right, but to Jax, thanks to all that machinery shoved in him, it felt all too real. Jax let go off his side and manoeuvred to the side, grappling the arm with the blade and taking his own blade and shoving it into the joint and running it up to her shoulder. Fraser turned her thrusters on for but a short moment, vigorously turning in an attempt to shake Jax off. But as the nose of the thrusters sputtered to life, Jax planted his feet and with one hand grappled the head of Fraser’s Argonaut and with the other plunged the blade into its head. However, due to the damaged stabilizers in Jax’s Argonaut, as Fraser boosted he couldn’t hold a grip and was sent flying into the dust as she spun. The open gash in his side sparked, wires hung loosely and busted servos and pistons still tried to preform their duty, but to no avail. Jax stumbled to his feet, quickly scanning his surroundings as he reloads his rifle. However, she is nowhere to be seen. Now it was time to deliver the finishing blow, the fight was wearing on him, damage was building up, and he could fight in his current situation. Broken stabilizers were fine in the heat of battle, he could brace himself on the enemy and didn’t have to matter about quick facing. But during a stalemate like this, the enemy could approach from any angle. The broken servos in his side sputtered again, causing him to lose his footing. It was for but a moment, a second of lost focus, but it was all Fraser needed. Jax heard the roar of her engine, but in his disoriented state couldn’t pinpoint it. She was coming, he couldn’t see her, he only had seconds to react, but then it hit him. Aiming his rifle, he let out a never ending burst of rounds, wildly spinning. Most landed in the sand, kicking up the coarse floor into a cloud of smoke. “Ha! Resorting to spraying and praying. Guess I overestimated you. Here I’ll give you a warning this time. Catch this!” Fraser taunted. But Jax didn’t need a count-down, because now. He had already won. Seconds passed like minutes, as he spun, the rifle had already been run dry, but he still whirled around. Carefully watching the smoke could around him as in the corner of his eye, a large patch of smoke disappeared, as if being displaced by a fast moving object. Jax dropped to his knees as over him, Fraser's Argonaut materialised, lunging forward with her blade struck forward. But, she missed, Jax had already hit the floor and in one easy motion, plunged the blade into the cockpit and sliced it wide open. All Jax heard over the coms was a faint sputter from Fraser before he was plunged into darkness as the words “Call sign “Wight” is victorious.”
“Consciousness recovery successful. Disabling life support systems. Current disabled nerves: Right hip, rib cage and shoulder. Extent: Major. Full shutdown was required. Administering aid.” The message was followed by the sound of an empty syringe administering drugs that ran out years ago. “Aid administered, shutting down.”
Jax lay there. In the cramped cockpit. With the hard chair. Rotten smell. And a hum that he had long since got used to. He debated in his head weather to add this win to his kill tally. It would round it up to a nice 50, but in the end he decided not too. It would feel like cheating. Slowly he took out the various wires and cables. Tearing himself off of the chair as if he’d become one with it, and after breaking free, opening the cockpit door. “Hey man, you were crazy out there. How were you that fast, it felt like you were operating on a completely different tempo!” His eyes adjusted to the bright light, but before long he could make out the facial features of Fraser. She floated above the entrance to the cockpit, still wearing the top, as small lights under her skin blinked at the various mechanical points on her body. Jax frowned, feeling around for the button to close the door, but Fraser had already leaned in as far, kicking in the collusion prevention. “You have got to tell me how you did that…” Jax furiously mashed the button and replied: “There’s no magic behind it. Now get out of the way.”
“Aw, I’ve never seen such a sore winner, come on, get out of the cockpit and get some drinks with me.”
“I don’t want to, now get out of the way.”
“Why would you want to stay in here. It's a mess, all these cables, wires, it can’t be good for your health.”
“I said. Get out of the way”
“No, you get out of here!” she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out in one swift motion. Then she stopped. As Jax floated through the hanger, he was laid bare. His mangled skin, the monstrous physique and the blood, leaking from his spine. Slowly, Jax turned his head to Fraser and said, in a slow monotone, “I told you, you were in the way.” Fraser’s face was a wash with confusion, fear, and disgust. “W-what? H-how?” She threw her hands in front of her mouth, only slightly muffling her ragged breathing. “What kind of implant is that? How are you still alive?”
“It's the kind you can’t buy on the street.” He replied, retrieving his shirts and slowly putting them back on
“No one person should have that many implants. Are you insane?! I mean, for fuck’s sake, you're bleeding!” Her voice morphed from confusion and empathy to fear and anger as she spoke, lowering her hands and gripping onto one of the handholds to brace her self. She continued, “I mean, what if you fry out? You’d leave everyone in the dirt. Those implants, it can’t be sustainable! You do know that there’s a legal limit! This breaks that line and then some, you psycho!”
“It wasn’t my choice-”
“I don’t give a shit that it isn’t your choice!” she interrupted, “What I care about is why you’re a god-damn pilot after all that! What sick bastard would have all that tech shoved in their body and then choose to pilot! God knows what It's like for you, with all that you’d be- you’d be like…lost… Just a corpse in a coffin…” Jax finished putting on the final shirt and as he fastened the poncho he replied, “It's not your god-damn business. You saw how effective I was, that speed, it's all because of this.”
“No, no, that speed isn’t a boon. It's a side effect to a curse!” She kicked off the structure, retrieving her shirt and before leaving the hanger, turned around and said “if you know what's good for you, you’ll ditch the mission, ask to be set down on the nearest habitable planet and never pilot an Argonaut again.” Then, with one final glare, she kicks off her Argonaut and floats away, leaving Jax alone in the Hanger. Alone with the hum of war machines. And alone with the buzz at the base of his spine.
