Snippet #2706418

Genna took a step back and stared, a mildly startled look in her brown, round eyes. She did not audibly object when the older pilot felt up her pink curls, her mouth hanging open as she struggled to find the proper words.

In an attempt to shake off the awkwardness, the pink haired girl giggled. "Tee..heehee! Heehee!" Then, with a polite smile, she replied to her offer, "I'd have to take a rain check on that! I'm going to be really busy for a while. Heehe, these machines can't maintain themselves, you know!""

As if just suddenly remembering, Genna held one finger up and said, "Oh! That reminds me! I still have to help my team with Raiza's machine!" The girl turned around, kept an upbeat smile on her face, and sprinted out of the restroom while waving at Anna. "See you later, Anna! Excited to see your tank in action~"

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"Officer Lane, this is Command. Thank you for the heads up, I'll alert Commander Neuf and all relevant personnel!"

With a sigh, Tsubaki leaned back in her chair, her eyes darting to the myriad screens around her. "Looks like we won't have five hours in the end...," Tsubaki thought aloud within Raiza's earshot. The operator glanced to the variable pilot and continued, a serious expression in her face. "It might be best if you and your fellow pilots get ready to sortie."

Without waiting for a response, Tsubaki spun in her chair and began typing away.

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Tsubaki's commanding voice soon traveled throughout Haven and its surroundings, aided by the many speakers on board the mobile fortress.

"Attention to all Haven personnel! We have received word of heavy winds from the north. Mechanics and auxiliaries, please retreat behind the fortress' walls! Combatants, put on your pilot suits and prepare to sortie!"

In an instant, the previously, relatively calm hangar livened up with the rush of a thousand footsteps. Construction workers in yellow hardhats finished what they could, slid down their ladders, then headed deeper into the fortress, followed by engineers, custodians, and other non-combatants.

Renzam watched the scene unfold before him, catching sight of Camille's distinctive blue hair chatting with Rhys not too far away. The silver-haired pilot turned to Minerva. "So, our first combat operation together is going to take place in a sandstorm. Should be fun." His tone was deadpan, his expression unenthusiastic, or at least sedated.

Around the hangar, Renzam saw the pilots of more conventional fighter jets and crews of simple tanks strap into their skintight, yet padded pilot suits. Some could be seen complaining.

"Why do we have to wear this shit in the desert?!"

"Are you stupid? These suits shield us from the MASS' contamination! The black liquid they spew will rot your insides!"

"Isn't that why we're riding inside tanks and silhouettes in the first place?"

"Well, of course! But what if our fancy vehicles get busted? We can't survive out there without a suit for more than two hours, you know! The MASS really messed up our atmosphere...."

Renzam glanced to Minerva one more time, then nodded, encouraging her, "Good luck." before departing to change into his suit.

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Lit by the blazing sun, the Eurasian refugees began their docking of Haven. Their final refuge, their last hope. Twenty thousand men, women, and children marched through eight entry points, two each on Haven's four sides, supervised by Black Fang soldiers both on foot and inside tanks.

With a megaphone in hand, a Black Fang soldier, clad in standard issue black pilot suits, barked through a loudspeaker, "Come on people! Let's march in an orderly fashion! There's room for everyone, no need to push!"

Amongst the crowd, a family of three huddled together. A middle-aged father with a toothbrush mustache, his pregnant wife, and their tiny daughter, clutching a teddy bear. The parents guided their daughter, holding her shoulders protectively with one arm each.

"Don't be scared, darling. Everything's going to be alright, now...," the mother encouraged her youngling with a smile.

"Black Fang will keep us safe," the father added, turning his attention to the organization's logo, painted proudly upon the mobile fortress' starboard. An ivory fang, upon a grey and blue shield, with pitch black blood dripping from its tip. The blood of humanity's sworn enemies, the MASS.

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With a hiss and a click, Renzam sat himself upon the Diesever's cockpit. A narrow, boxy chamber, with large screens at his front and by his sides. The silver-haired pilot took a deep breath, sniffing the fresh coat of purple paint on the cold metal. his pilot suit, a magenta version of the standard Black Fang suits had been polished to match the clean colors of his cockpit.

In his hands was a magenta helmet to go with his suit. A headgear fashioned from the remains of Adzam Aubrey's own. The young man closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against said helmet. When the Diesever was pulverized, the salvage crew deemed its cockpit far beyond restoration. This helmet, somehow, miraculously survived, remaining perfectly still, albeit heavily damaged, on his brother's mangled and bloody corpse.

"Hoy. Brother."

A long sigh. Renzam wondered why he said that. Out loud, at that. He was never religious. He did not believe in ghosts, or the afterlife, or whatever.

"...Nevermind."

Renzam stood straight, slid the helmet into his head, and twisted the Diesever's ignition. A low hum accompanied various green lights flickering to life around the cockpit, displaying tons of technical information on the black screens around him. Renzam quickly glanced around to scan it all. Silhouette parts integrity, ammunition stock, fuel supplies. The works.

His black gloved hands wrapped around one of the machine's levers. With the press of a button, the spiky-haired pilot alerted command. [magenta]"This is Caestus, on the Diesever. All systems go. Launching![/magenta]

A jagged line formed upon his silhouette's black visor. The hum emanating from its engines intensified. The machine's servos whirred and clicked, as it raised a foot, then stepped forward. A 15-meter titan of purple and lavender steel, with a swiveling bazooka mounted on its back left shoulder. Every step it took sent vibrations across the hangar, its movements rigid, heavy, precise.

The hangar gate at the bow slowly opened, bringing the bright sun into the dark hangar. The Diesever's boxy feet departed the cold steel floors and arrived upon the hot, coarse sand, standing tall and proud as one of Haven's prime vanguards.