PROLOGUE: HAVEN
Year xx57, Aftermath Era.
The sun shined high above the vast, nigh endless stretch of the Gobi desert. The millennia-old, deep tan sand seemed fluid and soft, like an unmoving, all-encompassing ocean. Scraps of metal littered the dune surfaces, some small as a babe, others large as a battleship. But all were wrinkled, grey, and rusted.
Hundreds of baby blue tents stood in the middle of the desert, a temporary settlement, housing those who had come long and far to find a semblance of hope in a hopeless world. Men, women, and child alike waited anxiously under the scorching heat. Thousands formed lines, queuing in front of a red tent, where the Black Fang organization promised to provide food and supplies.
After hours of shuffling and feeling every corner of his body nearly combusting, a tall youth in a featureless black shirt and dusty tan pants stepped forward, his weary black eyes glancing to the large woman in front of him, clad in a pink apron and face mask and standing besides a large iron tin filled with gallons of pale yellow soup. To a normal man, the sight and scent would be nothing special. To the starving refugees, it was like a blessing from God.
The youth held up a small white bowl, which the woman quickly filled. He grimaced at the contents of the bowl for a few seconds. After so many dull hours, the soup felt like a pittance. Still, the young man nodded his thanks, then turned to leave.
"Nice hairdo," the woman remarked in a deadpan tone.
"Thanks," the youth replied just as flatly. He wondered if she was sincere. Probably not. The colossal mass of steel-grey spikes he called his hair could hardly be called 'fashionable'. But he liked it that way.
Out of the red tent, and back into the desert. The young man slowly looked up and squinted.
Before him, stood a gigantic landship. A mobile fortress of iron and steel, ten times the size of the temporary settlement, its rust red body shielding everyone from much of the unforgiving sun. Massive treads supported the vehicle, its rubbers new and almost free of dust and sand. Fifty cannons, each the size of five adult men, were mounted on both port and starboard sides of the mobile fortress.
Even after a week since he first arrived at this settlement, the spiky-haired youth could not stop marveling at the fortress.
An awe inspiring beacon of hope.
A refuge for the survivors of the unrelenting MASS onslaught.
"Haven".
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Hissing steam.
Rhythmic beating of metal.
All too familiar to those who took part in the construction of Mobile Fortress Haven. Nearly a year had passed since Black Fang's Arch Commander sent out his order. The workers, clad in their dirty blue overalls and oversized yellow helmets tolled through day and night to make sure the Mobile Fortress would be a stalwart place of refuge for the surviving humans of Eurasia.
"I need an english key, quick!"
"You got it!"
Orders shouted, tools exchanged. The workers moved swiftly as they delivered the finishing touches, sprinting upside down across the ceiling through magnetic boots, rolling through the interior with the aid of wheeled ladders...
Surveying the construction were two figures in Black Fang uniforms. The first, a tall, dark haired middle aged man with a gold-trimmed olive coat hanging loosely from his shoulder like a cloak. The second, a shorter young woman with bright orange hair and glassy green eyes, a neat and proper vermilion uniform on her person.
The two walked side by side, with the man, with one hand in his pocket, and another carrying a stainless steel flask, a casual smile gracing his face. The woman, in contrast, held a clipboard and pen in each hand, using the latter to tick away at several checkboxes.
"Commander Neuf, Section A and B are complete. The rooftops at Section C still need reinforcing, but it should be done by tonight," the young woman reported, maintaining a clear and formal tone.
The man, Base Commander Dix Neuf, gave a lax smile in response. "Good job, Tsubaki, send an alert to the Black Fang pilots. I want them to meet up with me at my office-"
"-Already done, sir," the young woman, Operator Tsubaki Horizon, quickly replied, the edge of her lips curving slightly into a proud smile.
Dix Neuf raised one brow in surprise, then smirked. "Working hard as always, eh, Tsubaki?"
Tsubaki raised a fist to her chin, and chuckled slightly. "Someone has to, Commander."
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Haven's hangar. A gunmetal grey chamber, accented by yellow lights to break up the monotony. The whirring and clicking of machinery echoed throughout this interior, located upon Haven's bow. The hangar was the third largest chamber in the mobile fortress, and the first to be completed.
Seven intricate catapult mechanisms were built on the hangar's ground, each connected to six giant clamps carved on the walls. Upon several of the clamps, surrounded by dozens of vertical, diagonal, and horizontal ladders alike, were five of Haven's Silhouettes. Or rather, four silhouettes, one hover tank, and one mundane fighter jet, the latter two of which were secured on the catapult deck itself, and not the clamp.
Haven's mechanics stood on the many ladders surrounding the Silhouettes, performing regular maintenances and check ups.
One of said mechanics was a short and petite girl, with large brown eyes and pink hair fashioned into two giant drill-like ringlets. The girl pouted, with furrowed brows, as she inspected each Silhouette one by one. Two humanoids, two walkers. She looked between the machines and a clipboard in her hand, matching each one with their model numbers.
"Huuuuuuuuu...," the girl's eyes narrowed as she whined to herself.
"Most of these models are downright ancient!," she mumbled, eyeing the fighter jet 'Corvidae', and the hover tank 'DK-13' in particular. "Are we a Silhouette defense force, or a walking war museum?"
Even their newest model, the absolutely gigantic 'Paladin', seemed rather simple and primitive. Though she had to admit, whoever had the bright idea to include a chainsaw sword among its armaments was an absolute genius.
"These babies better have top tier pilots," she thought aloud and nodded.
