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Futuristic NCQuest: Mecha flavored action, Story

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The meeting soon came around as Hazel waited for the clock to strike and with it doing so only moments later, the meeting started with a door slamming open towards the group of Linkers from the office, revealing a man who's face was a bit off putting. Hazel managed to avoid looking too surprised but that reaction quickly set in as the man began to curse. Clearly he had a short temper, which was quickly shut down by a rather bigger man who walked beside him. Identifying himself as Oswald and 'Mr Short Temper' as Malthus, Hazel was quite surprised by Oswald's dismissive gesture of Malthus, most likely being partners to some extent or at the lest being able to put up with each other on a day to day basis. Streuben was apparently assigned to Malthus, which was a surprise, considering Streuben's calm and professional nature, why on earth did he choose Malthus out of the other possible handlers?

Before getting lost in her thoughts of attempting to understand why Streuben choose that particular handler, Hazel entered the room after the quick introduction, looking around as she did. Unfamiliar faces turned to look at the entering group and she quickly managed to pick out Sarah among the small crowd accompanied with two other woman. An entourage perhaps? With her name called out, Hazel wandered over and greeted Sarah with a warm smile and a hello, full well knowing that Sarah doesn't slow down for anyone in particular.

The contracts that were given all seemed reasonable. Nothing too hard, though the 'final performance test' by MAVERICK did peak Hazel's interest. Just a simple 'shoot up shit and go home' she knew it would be good for pushing her NC to the limits as well as making a few connections along the way. She'd had her NC mainly built for a support role, knowing full well that she couldn't let everyone else do the heavy lifting. A good contract to prove that even an NC designed around support by it's pilot could match any other NC when need be. Noting that two other Linkers would be over viewing Hazel during the contract, it understandably made her feel nervous about expectations.
 
Adam hadn't paid too much attention to the two Handlers who had come to retrieve them. With how the conversation with Sarah had gone he had a feeling she might be his Handler. Sure enough she was the one that called out his name and with a smile Adam drove his chair over to the table she and one of the other Linkers were waiting at. "Good to see you again." While he primarily addressed Sarah with the greeting, he did give a Hazel a polite nod as well. After listening to Sarah's response, more business like than expected but it made sense given the situation, he turned his attention to the offered missions.

Of the three options, Adam found the first one to the most appealing. While the escort mission had the potential to be the safest, the life fire exercise would grant him much needed actual combat experience in a more controlled environment. And if he was to somehow impress one of the observers, well that had to be a good thing. "I'm going to go with the performance test. Though I wonder, do we have any idea who the observers are going to be or do we have to wait until we get there?"
 
“This is bullshit,” Cammy muttered under her breath when the door opened and they were verbally assaulted by some scrawny prick in need of an attitude adjustment. Late!? The nerve of that guy. She just wanted to work on her NC, run some tests, get more seat time. If she had any say in the matter, she wouldn’t even be here! And now she had to put up with being berated by this jackass, too? Leaving was starting to feel like a good idea…

If my handler ain’t a total dipshit, they’ll know where to find me, Cammy thought as the others began to enter the room. The various handlers were waiting inside and called out to their linkers, but no one called Cammy. After a minute or so, nearly everyone was grouped up, leaving Cammy standing alone in the doorway, impatiently tapping one foot, and looking very pissed off.

There was only one handler not taken; a woman quietly studying a tablet computer, as if nothing around her mattered. She was seated alone, at a table by the window, backlit by the midday sun in such a way that she almost seemed to glow. Her silky black hair was pinned into a neat bun by two red needles, leaving only a few stray locks hanging loose, as if to say ‘see, I’m not perfect’… even though everything about her absolutely was.

Her black skirt. Her dark stockings. Her bright red heels. The way she crossed her legs. The way that one undone button revealed the slightest peek at her red lace bra. She somehow looked like the boss and the secretary at the same damn time, which really pissed Cammy off for some reason. She was too perfect. Like a postcard in real life. She had a powerful presence, even while sitting there, doing nothing.

As if on queue, she looked up and their eyes met. Even from across the room, Cammy could see the woman’s were a clear, deep blue and, for the briefest moment, she felt as if they connected…

But then the woman’s attention returned to the device she was reading. She swiped left on the touchscreen with one graceful motion of her fingertip and that was the final straw.

Cammy marched across the room and noisily yanked out a chair. She flipped it around backwards, planted her ass across from the woman, and stared with murderous intent. “You better not be my fucking handler,” Cammy declared, drilling her finger into the tabletop to emphasize every syllable. “I can fire your ass, can’t I? That’s how this works, right?”

“Mhm,” the woman said in a calm, steady tone. She still did not lift her eyes from the tablet. “I am. If you truly wish to sever our working relationship, I can provide the necessary forms to do so. I will even submit them for you, waive the administrative fees, and set you up with a suitable replacement… if that is what you want.”

Goddamn, even her voice was perfect, like a chorus of angels.

Camille leaned forward, to make sure she heard that correctly. Who does this bitch think she is? she thought. If she wants out that badly, maybe I’ll… She weighed her options a little more and a devious grin began to form on her face.

“Naaah, you ain’t gettin’ out that easy,” Cammy said. “You’re stuck with me now, bitch. You wanna know what I want? I want to put you to work.” She laughed. “I don’t know what fashion show they dragged your Barbie ass out of, but you’re gonna sweat that fuckin’ makeup off before I’m done with you. It’ll be fun watching you try to keep up with me.”

The woman smiled. A kind, reassuring smile, with only the slightest hint of smugness. The type of smile that made Cammy’s skin crawl because she realized, at this moment, that she may have met her match.

“You are everything I hoped you would be, Miss Azata,” the woman said, utterly unfazed. She seemed genuinely pleased as she set down her tablet and gave Camille her undivided attention. “No makeup, though I am flattered you think so. While we are on the subject of one another’s appearances, allow me to say I thought you would be… taller.”

“Nice one, bitch. I thought you’d be smaller,” Camille retorted. “What happened? Was there a buy-one-get-one-free sale at the tit store?”

The woman laughed. “Just when I thought I had heard them all…” Without breaking eye contact, she deftly extracted a business card from her cleavage --because that’s normal, right-- and offered it to her client. “I already stopped by the hangar and met your crew,” the woman said. “They seemed quite pleased with you and I can see why. I am sure your brand of low-brow humor plays well in front of that crowd.”

“So, you swung by the hangar? Yeah, I bet the boys enjoyed that,” Cammy said dryly as she read the business card. “Doctor Elena F. Halliwell. Well, ain’t that fancy?” She stuffed it into her pocket. “Well, Doc, what’s the ‘F’ for? Fu-“

“Funbags,’” Halliwell said, finishing the insult before Cammy. She smiled. “Nice try, but I already told you I’ve heard them all. It’s ‘Francesca,’ by the way. Elena Francesca Halliwell. I usually go by my last name when conducting business, but feel free to continue making crude jokes. I thought we were here to work, but…” She shrugged. “Even I cannot resist having a little fun once in a while, Azata. You were right about one thing: It certainly will be fun watching you try to keep up with me.”
 
On another end of the room, Sarah went through the documentation, reading the specific details involved to help answer Adam's question. After chewing through two or three papers, she found the file with the relevant data after checking twice. "Yes, two confirmed observers, though one wished to maintain anonymity. And another slot is open so a third individual could show up right before or during the test. They all may or may not be in their machines. The confirmed observer is 'Henriq Dilan', the pilot of the NC 'Dreadnought'." She shuffled through some more documentation, and found a summarization file on the man in question.

She passed the copy to the two pilots sitting at her table with a polite smile, and gave them silence to look over it. Even on paper, his tiny, out-of-the-way photo depicting him was something intimidating. He was a large, well-built man, and if the scale behind him wasn't lying he was somewhat over two hundred centimeters. In terms of sheer presence he certainly gave that Streuben guy a hard time, and he wasn't even in the room. His apparent attitude certainly didn't help, a gruff, stoic scowl that implied he was going to berate the cameraman for the shoddy job. The document didn't offer too many details, but if it wasn't lying his record was literally flawless. The fact his rating was First-Rate, the best of the best, and he had a classified kill count of other NCs that was double digits... He was certainly going to be difficult to impress.

Sarah perked up when she thought the two were done reading what she had passed. "Oh, it's only the one paper. Mister Dilan is very secretive and this is all I could find. I couldn't fully confirm his NC kills, but it's at least six Irregulars and five other MAVERICK members, maybe more. I couldn't get any concrete info on his NC either, but he's definitely a heavyweight type expert. His NC was passed down to him from his own mentor about a decade ago.", for a second, she let go of her detached facade and apologized more openly, eyeing between the two. "..Sorry there isn't anything detailed... Uh, but, I do have a few theories on who else could be attending, but they're just educated guesses. I brought their documents too, if you'd like to see."
 
The past four or five minutes had gone from 'vaguely interesting' to 'extremely interesting.'

Not only had Jennifer met her handler, Alice, but right away her handler had presented a tactical analysis based on Peyton's skills, what types of contracts that would be the most beneficient to undertake and also more or less convinced her to take one of the other contracts that had been presented to her.

She was impressed, really. While not one to judge Jennifer had indeed made a first assessment based on the appearance of her handler. For someone whom had initially seemed to be lax, casual and utterly carefree Alice had in fact turned out to be a professional of the highest grade. Not only had she presented all of the aforementioned information but also a quick resume of herself citing the fact that Jennifer seemed to be a "hard facts-kind of girl".

Jennifer looked up from her datapad momentarily to glance at Alice, now with her hands folded patiently waiting with a soft and friendly expression on her face. She wasn't wrong.

Setting down her pad Jennifer motioned towards it. "You're sure that they're ex-Cronus?"

Alice nodded. "Your old boss asked for your specifically. He wanted to handle this "in-house," or rather, as private as it can be with MAVERICK involved."

Jennifer nodded. It made sense really. Cronus Developments, her old employer and a major Ruling Company, had always prioritized discretion. It was one of the reasons had been doing plenty of wet-work for them. Though those had been a mixed variety of missions including stealth, urban combat and unorthodox methods of pulling off static defense. Something that did surprise her though was the fact that they hadn't already taken care of it before; Bandits, regardless of former employment, were always bad for business. These were bad for PR too.

Then it struck her. Peyton narrowed her eyes. This is a test. For them to see if I was worth the investment.

It was the only logical reason. MAVERICK could have easily taken care of some bandits. Hell, even the Maryland corporates could've have muscled up enough mercs and contractors to get it done without paying for an NC squadron to deal with it.

She looked up at Alice and nodded with a stern look on her face. "Scrap the escort. I'll take this one instead. Any other piloting being deployed alongside me?"

Alice nodded. "One, as far as I know, though it is yet to be decided." She smiled. It was a warm and comforting smile. "I suspect one of your newly acquainted colleagues will join you for this one."
 
Reading through the documentation of Henriq Dilan gave Hazel quiet a shock. A First-Rate Linker would be attending? Not to mention another anonymous linker as well as a third slot for anyone wishing to attend. Cursing under her breath after finishing the single page document, her reaction was very much visible. Giving the prospect of the First Rate attending, she was about to say something but decided against it. It would be better if she kept her theories to herself about the matter.

The silence was broken by Sarah who added more information to the attendees of the mission, including some extra documents on hand about the possibility of other Linkers. Thinking back to about Henriq Dilan, Hazel still posed a confused look. Double digit kills? A heavyweight NC? Her train of thought was broken by Sarah, who apologised about the lack of information presented about Henriq Dilant though it was understandable, considering that he was a secretive man, which prompted Hazel to respond "It's alright. Better than nothing I guess. I'd like to have a look at the others, as much information that you can get your hands on. The more, the better. Though I'm wondering why a First-Rate would even care about a newbie mission..." Another itch to scratch figuring out the mans motives.
 
Sarah nodded at Hazel's inquiries, and shuffled about some more papers to facilitate her request. Finding two more, she handed them over and explained the details. "These appear to be the most likely candidates out of those whose information I could access, and were allowed to operate in this region. As you can see, they're called Corban and Yoko. There's some details on their NC's, too." And sure enough, the expose's were labeled as such. The first was a man, Corban.

Even reading his document, 'Corban' looked like a prick. The image attached showed an admittedly handsome, but just so arrogant and absorbed looking young man, who was obviously tampered with genetically. He looked a bit short and was just somewhat small in general, but the little touchups all around his face alone screamed 'genetic surgery', and lots of it. It didn't help he seemed to go so far as to have an unnatural eye color; a dark grey that nearly blended with his own pupils. It wasn't so terrifying as it was visually demanding, screeching to be paid attention to.

The data attached told he was another younger pilot, but a distinct up-and-comer in the Guild; already being Second-Rate and rising rapidly. It was evident that he was also the kind to want every eye available gawking at him. Another individual who decided to keep their early life private, but they've been involved in numerous incidents that couldn't be swept under the rug and has been noted for a self-aggrandizing personality. Also evident was a hatred of those newer to being a Linker compared to himself, which he surely didn't appreciate the irony of.

His NC was called the 'Kugelblitz', and a copy of its emblem was shown. It was a ball of lightning, fitting the name, being handled by the sharp claws of some shadowy figure in the background. The technical documents suggested a very high maneuverability type, a dedicated aerial fighter. Still, the statline was impressive all around; it merely had a design focus it optimized for.

Sarah commented when it seemed the two were done reading Corban's little biography. "...Yes, he's shown a great interest in monitoring new Linkers in the past. He has a tendency to go 'newbie-crushing' whenever he thinks he can get away with it.", she noticed a mild confusion, and explained before continuing. "..It's when an experienced pilot takes missions they believe are an antithesis to an operation a rookie pilot could be involved with, or otherwise find an excuse to shoot them down. I highly doubt he'll be able to start anything in this situation, however. Only a hunch he'd show up, too. It appears he's been busy with an extended contract, so it's a fifty-fifty chance."

She pointed to the other document and let the two Linkers read over that one. This 'Yoko', by contrast was even more private; not even having a picture. Still, her apparent biography was much nicer than the others. She was a very quiet individual who seemed to rarely speak during an operation, but had a history of mentoring younger pilots. She was also in the 'Second-Rate' category, and already had four students; one of whom who matched her skill level, and the three others very close behind. A noted 'martial pacifist'; her NC was a sensor-heavy one using a variety of special weaponry to disable, rather than kill targets whenever possible. A very popular figure, even in the public sphere. She sounded familiar already.

Sarah offered another piece of commentary when the two were done. "Miss Yoko has a good track record of attending performance tests. If she does show up, listen to any advice she's willing to give. She's considered to be something like a good luck charm." A nod with a smile, and a shrug of the shoulders as she looked off to the side, before inching her gaze closer to her clients. "Those are the biggest two contenders who have permission to operate in this region, and furthermore have a history of attending observations. As I said, these are only educated guesses. Anyone is allowed to show up and participate, so just stay on your toes."
 
A frown dominated Adam's features as he read the information on this Corban. Everything about the man's profile concerned him. If he did show up as one of the observers that would complicate things immensely as doing too well might get his attention, but doing poorly would affect his pay and lessen the chance of one of the other observers from possibly being a mentor for him. Unlike Corban, the First-Rate and the other possible observer, Yoko, didn't concern him. If he impressed either one of them, great, if not he'd just have to make do without their support.

He gave it another minute or two of thought before sliding the papers back over to Sarah, hoping his face didn't betray any of the anxiety he was feeling. "I don't have anymore questions about the observers right now. How long until we'd deploy for the mission?"
 
Elena Halliwell slid the datapad across the table to her client. “Your contracts,” she said. “There are three available to you.”

“Sign me up for all three,” Cammy said without hesitation, and was pleased to see the woman’s brows rise slightly, proving it was possible to surprise her, even if only a little.

“I admire your work ethic, but no,” the woman said. “The schedules overlap. All the jet engines in the world cannot allow your NC to be in three places at once, dear. And, even if you could, I advise you to pace yourself, Miss Azata.”

“I’m six hundred mil in the hole,” Camille said. “I need money and I need it now. I don’t like-”

“You don’t like to owe anyone anything,” Halliwell said with a wink and a smile. “I understand.”

“I was gonna say I don’t like you finishing my sentences."

“Duly noted," Halliwell said as her client skimmed through the mission details. "Anyway, if I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much about the debt. It can seem daunting when you are first starting out, but I assure you, this mountain can be easily scaled, one step at a time. Our financial strategy is simple: spend less, make more.”

“Wow, I hope you didn’t go to business school for that shit.”

“Medical school, actually,” Halliwell said with a shrug. “Business is all about finding out what the other party wants and what they are willing to pay for it. The true masters of the craft learn to make the other party want something and make them pay more than they are willing to." She smiled. "It's all psychological, dear. Once you understand how people think, understanding finances follows naturally. Money is, after all, a manmade construct.”

“File that under ‘dumb things rich people say,’” Cammy muttered as she slid the datapad back to Halliwell. “I’ll take the second one. Five million to shoot some bandits in the face? Easy.”

“Marvelous,” Halliwell said. “I was hoping you would choose that one. Since this is your first outing, I have no leverage to negotiate better pay for you. You’re unproven in battle. So, unfortunately, you will have to settle for what was offered. However, in my humble opinion, this mission affords you the best chance of getting noticed. The ‘spend less’ side of our strategy requires corporate sponsors. The relationships you build and the image you portray is vital. For your first contract, that is more important than the payout.”

“Hold up, if that’s what we’re going for, shouldn’t I take the performance test,” Cammy said, resting her elbows on the table as she leaned in. “If I wanted to put on a show, that’s literally what it’s for. The whole thing is basically an exhibition.”

“If you want to be noticed by other pilots, sure. There are always a few veteran linkers observing the test, but most of the corporations don't pay it much mind. It's too controlled and doesn't play to your strengths, as I see them. Besides... you already have Rosa Slyidina. You don’t need another mentor.”

“Fuck her, she ain’t my mentor,” Cammy said and folded her arms. “She tried to bribe me with candy and talks to me like I’m twelve. I ain’t a fucking kid.”

“Sometimes I wonder…”

“Screw you.”

The woman laughed for a moment, then looked Cammy straight in the eyes with a very serious expression. “We will discuss Slyidina at another time, in a more private setting,” she said in a low voice. “For now, simply remain neutral. Commit to nothing, but be open to everything. And most importantly, be respectful. She seems like the type of person who can take a joke, but don’t push your luck. That woman is more dangerous than you know. Are we clear?”

Cammy slumped into her seat. “Look, you saved my truck from the crusher, so you’ve earned some points, alright. But Rosa… she’s got a long way to go. Let’s just say if she was drowning and I was the only one around to save her… I’d have to think about it.”

“You can’t do everything on your own, Camille. This world isn’t like the one you come from," Halliwell said, with genuine kindness. "That is why I am here to help you. However, you said you would at least consider saving her? That’s a start. What if I were the one drowning? What then?”

“Impossible,” Cammy said, making a lewd gesture. “You have those two floatation devices on your chest. You’ll be fine.”

“There you go again…” Halliwell said, rolling her eyes as Camille snorted with laughter.

“I’m just messin’ with you. Look, let’s talk about this mission,” Camille said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Who else is in? Adam? Hazel? Please don’t let it be the man-giraffe.”

“Streuben?” Halliwell said. “You have a problem with Streuben?”

“Low-flying aircraft have a problem with Streuben,” Cammy said.

Halliwell’s eyes narrowed on her and Cammy could tell the woman was studying her. Well, she had been studying her all along, but now was doing it in such an obvious way it made her skin crawl.

“Jennifer Peyton,” Halliwell said after a long pause, abruptly changing the subject. The blank look on Camille’s face made it quite clear she had no strong reaction to the name. In fact, she had no reaction at all. “You don’t know who that is, do you?”

“It…. rings a bell.”

Halliwell sighed. “Five feet to your left, dear.”

Cammy spun around to face where Jennifer and her handler were sitting. “Ohhhh, her! Right, yeah, I uhhh remember now,” she said in such a way that it was clear she’d forgotten Jennifer existed until five seconds ago. She enthusiastically waved at the other linker, as if they were old pals, before turning to Halliwell again. “She seems… nice… I guess. Better than watchin’ paint dry, I suppose.”

“Professional. Reliable. Steady. Even-tempered,” Halliwell said. “She is everything you are not, which is precisely why I believe you will work well together. And, perhaps, somewhere in there, she’s also ‘nice,’ as you put it. Likability is optional, dear. She’s your wingman, not your drinking buddy.”

“Heh,” Camille said smugly. “Why not both?”
 
FREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

~~~~

Collaboration between myself and Windsock Windsock .

Having already established a well enough routine as was, Streuben, having taken his morning rejuvenation procedure, otherwise known as chain-drinking coffee, had immediately taken the quickest route out of the concrete mountain which his abode now resided within with plentitudes of prestige and towards the base. It was a private train line from an otherwise centrally located semi-public station operated by the New Maryland governmental apparatus with an inversion of MAVERICK plastered about. Most notably aboard the side of the carriages carrying the aforementioned's logo across it's side.

Forced to take it to arrive at the rather distant but still strategically located MAVERICK base, he was still moderately surprised by the luxuries afforded. It was a serene ride across the picturesque monotony of concrete jungles not dissimilar, but not yet quite the same, as what he had experienced on the military railroads through the New Europa national railway lines. And the seats were plenty relaxational, notably of expensive leathers with an interior decorated by the most scientific algorithms computationally possible to maximize comfort in some distant underground laboratory. But having already taken the trip more than a dozen times by now, he had grown bored of it.

Instead, he sat on his portable terminal, communicating with the technicians who had endured the night-shift of maintenance and computation checks associated with the Emperor. Apparently the paint he had used to decorate the machine in the inbetween-times of 'in-house testing' were 'meshing well' with it. He couldn't have possibly fathomed the fact that paint could 'mesh' badly with an NC, but in that same breath, the Emperor was a special case. Sensitive yet hardy, its neural responses seem almost lifelike in how much they can sway from one moment to the next.

Time flew calmly, naturally, as it tends to do with him. The train ride was slow yet fast, and his time spent daily in the hangar passed just as quickly, and the conversations he held with the technicians felt just as empty and meaningful as they always did. And the Emperor was still as much a mystery as always. Streuben even began to entertain the idea that the Emperor might only make sense on the battlefield, which suited him well. Though he wasn't quite sure why it did. All he could establish was that it felt right. But like all things, he'd simply have to wait and see.

As the time approached 1pm, he had been dutifully reminded of the briefing and handler introduction meeting the hour before its start. Just the right amount of time he needed to slowly walk his way up the stairwell and land perfectly, with a minute's margine, at the Operational Command Office. And, with that same rapid-fire pace, he slowly made his way over to an empty chair along the midline of the arranged seats provided for the occasion.

And as if on queue, within a second of the clock passing 1300 hours, the much discussed handler Malthus made himself known through iconic unpleasantries. Gossip about him were plentiful, especially amongst the maintenance and mechanics crew of the Emperor since he was assigned to it. Not much good seemed to be associated in the same sentence as the man, but strangely, Fredrich-Alexander did find it a good fit. But just like with everything else recently, he didn't know why. He had never felt impulsive before, but for whatever reason, MAVERICK seemed to bring it out of him. His otherwise incessant boredom seemed to fade into the darkness the moment he had taken to this new job.

Naturally, the tall man was too absorbed in his own internal monologue to realize the comments made in his direction, instead only providing the external presentation of someone who could take a wide variety of comments with a steeled face.

And in the middle of his distant, solipsistic pondering, the man-giraffe was rudely awakened by the harsh impact of two boney palms in front of his face. "Earth to Strudel, dipshit. I know you must have blood circulation issues because you're a damn mutant freak, but I know it can't apply to what little is in your skull cause you're still breathing."

The average-sized, but still plenty lanky boneman twirled around, fetching something from a nearby table in one swift motion as he turned back to his client. "Sign this-", Malthus blurted out, shoving both pen and paper into Streubens' waiting hands. "-Unless, you don't know how to read and write? Wouldn't be surprised about a surface rat like you."

In close contact, his breath smelled perhaps not quite awful, but he was certainly on something; his entire body reeked of the distant whiff of alcohol and perhaps some other drugs. His uniform was of a broken, slightly tattered 'business-casual' style; but his shoes were certainly immaculate as any taller person would notice looking down on him. The strangest thing was a tiny scribble on his shirt's clavicle, some arcane math-magic that might as well be ancient runes to the casual observer.

This apparent mad mathematician explained the document, heedless of what Streuben was actually doing as his Handler ranted. "Contract's on showing up to get your shit kicked in and hazed by your seniors. Bunch of other Linkers show up and see if you're worth as a pet or if you're gonna turn into dumbshit-paste as soon as somebody actually aims for your stupid ass." After his very sweet and tactful explanation, he pulled out two other documents after another bout of mad spinning.

Holding them up as he reclined backwards; a smug, deranged smile like he was going to throw grenades into a trench that ran out of munitions. "Unless you wanna waste your time handling little-time rootin' tootin' banditos or shuttling around fuckin' toilet paper?"

Being unceremoniously disturbed as the man aggressively shoved paper and pen at him. Needless to say, Streuben did not feel any particular interest in 'handling little-time rootin' tootin' banditos', nor 'shuttling around fuckin' toilet paper.' Having read the contract assigned to him, by his ever graceful handler whilst under the torrentuous assault of a hooligan's undoubtedly discrete verbosity, he signed in accordance with the judgement proposed.

"I will be taking the first contract," he finished in monotone as he added a period at the end of his signature, and dotted his 'i.'

The supposed giraffe-man then looked up at Malthus, his blank indifference both subservient and left wanting in its strangely neutral perplexion. Having clipped the pen to the assigned document, he raised the papers in hand to the man with all the required details filled out.

Malthus gripped his chin and looked up as the taller man handed over the signed documentation. Using one hand, he then focused both manipulators' attention to getting rid of the two unused scrips; folding them into his pocket for some later, nefarious purpose involving aerodynamically structured paper being thrown into eye-sockets.

Maybe that subdued, servant attitude wasn't what he was expecting; Malthus' own eyes were analyzing the towering individual like a new problem to be solved. After a second-long eternity of contemplation, he shrugged and continued, his train of abrasive thought momentarily disrupted. "Well, at least you're polite. There's more data on the contract. Up to three Linkers can show up; One confirmed publicly is 'Henriq Dilan'. I'm personally certain about the two others who're gonna show up; they always crash these kinds of parties. 'Yoko' and 'Corban'."

Malthus gazed at another table, where three people were sitting. His eyes matched with Sarah Nielsen's and the two nodded, the woman on the other end of the room quickly looking away in fear from his gaze as soon as the wordless exchange was over. Unfazed, he continued talking to his client. "I sent you data on them through the MAVERICK network to your inbox, I'm not going to waste my damn time when you could read the documents yourself."

Streuben nodded in response, surely invaluable information, had he not already overheard the conversation between the quick-stepped Handler, Sarah Nielsen, and her associated clients. "I know about them," he responded simply as he stood up from his chair, immediately dwarfing the man within one motion.

Reaching his hand into his longcoat's interior pocket, he took out one of his business cards. Flipped it in his hand, and placed it neatly on the man's temporary desk.

"I'll be off now, contact me when you need me," he ended, offering one last gaze at the man anorexically seated right besides the rather impressively hand-drawn card.

Malthus' temporary strain of slightly more friendly behavior was completely and utterly revoked as he saw the taller man display the unthinkable, especially unseemly for one who was quite literally still the bottom of the barrel as far as MAVERICK went. The nerve, the arrogance!

His heart pounding with a repressed rage once again, his teeth audibly clenched and nearly shattered as he picked up the heretical blasphemy printed on cheap, recycled paper before him. If life was a show; this would easily be the period where the music stopped, and this man's nose would explode outwards with steam like a bull that just saw a waving red flag printed with a message that disparaged his genealogy.

Breathlessly, inaudibly, he huffed slowly and used all ounces of his strength not to flip the table. At least he was already back to normal.

"Good day, Strueben."

The individual succeptible to the immense contempt of their cooperator left promptly, albeit rather slowly.
 
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Jennifer could only grunt in response. She noticed a movement at the very edge of her view and as she turned to see what it was she saw Cammy waving at her. Peyton made a curt nod before looking back at Alice, now smiling at Cammy and Halliwell. "Please tell me she is a professional."

Alice chuckled and smirked. "Don't worry. She might be quick on the mouth but her file says alot. Quick-thinking, good with initiative and fast. If you get bogged down for any reason she'll be there faster than you'd know, or at the very least she would try to tackle the problem head-on."

"That sounds suicidal," replied Peyton, pouting.

"No, it's about maintaining an upper hand," said Alice with her smile now slightly faded. "A professional like you should appreciate someone who's always trying to stay on-top of things."

Jennifer took a deep breath and sighed. "I guess I'll have to take your word for it, Ms. Ericsen."

Alice smiled. "Yes, yes you'll have to."

Slowly, the handler got up from the table and Jennifer was quick to follow suit. Alice nodded towards Halliwell and Cammy. "It's time for us to say hello. Act professional, as you always do, and we will all get along fine. The contract is all-round easy so let's try to not make it difficult by causing fractures with another Linker."

Jennifer nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Satisfied with the answer the two of them strode over to Halliwell and Cammy. Alice smiled and tilted her head. "Halliwell, Ms. Azata," she said while nodding. Extending a hand towards Cammy she nodded once again. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'll be the handler of Ms. Peyton." With a glance at Halliwell she continued; "I think you'll get along just fine."

Reluctantly, Peyton too extended her hand to greet both Cammy and Halliwell. "Peyton" was all she managed to blurt out. She never was much for formalities or social interactions, not even back in the military. That's why she liked orders; simple, no emotional nonsense and direct. Rubbing shoulders with important people and intentionally building social networks through words rather and action was still very much new to her.

Making observations was not however and as she stood there in front of the first colleague she had actually bothered to greet since she got here Peyton realized the irony over the situation. Whereas she was strict and disciplined Cammy looked like someone who didn't give a damm and whereas Alice looked casual and friendly this Halliwell-woman looked professional and outright powerful.

I bet someone at MAVERICK had real fun pairing up two couples of opposites together for this.
 
Hazel looked over the documents of the two other possibility attendees to the testing run, the first being Corban, who thought it was the best idea to look like a genetic failure in regards to his face. The man in the photo did strike Hazel as odd, other than it screaming 'I'm a prick'. They say a picture paints a thousand words, though this only painted one. A Second-Rate pilot which surprised her considering the mans age. He must've had the connections and the skills needed to climb quickly. Hazel noted that his NC was more adapted to aerial combat than much else, which carried it's own positives and negatives. It was clear that all of the pilots that Hazel had looked at loved to keep themselves private as possible to others, something that she herself should consider.

Listening to Sarah as Hazel read the rest of Corban's biography, learning that Corban may not turn up was a plus. Any possibility of newbie crushing was at best 50/50 by Sarah's words, though a 100% chance of him not turning up would be the best outcome.

Looking at the second possible attendee, a Miss Yoko, seemed to put Hazel's worries to rest about the entirety of Linkers not being insufferable assholes. A nice change of pace for one and she was quite popular. Again noting that it was probably best to listen to Yoko if she had any advice to give, Hazel was confused by Yoko's NC choice. An extremely heavy sensor NC which aimed at disabling opposing NC's instead of killing them and in the Second-Rate category as well hinted at the fact that Yoko had a few kills under her belt at the least. After finishing the rest of the document and listening to the rest of Sarah's informational talk, Hazel spoke up "Mind if I get copies of these to take back home with me? You've been hella useful miss, I appreciate it."
 
Sarah let her two assigned Linkers finish completely, and received their inquiries with a slight uncrinkling of the neck and a retrieval of some of the documentation. "On deployment time, this operation is due to begin at three in the morning tomorrow; it's a lengthy operation. It may take a while." Sarah produced a small pouch of water, perhaps to illustrate her implied point to bring a snack, or something. "Again, there aren't too many details on how it'll actually go, but I've seen that they're usually divided into two parts, and, as I said previously, at the end the observing Linkers have the right to request a duel."

The papers she left were self-evidently the ones that Hazel requested, and Sarah completed the discussion as she left a hand on the table. "-Anyway, yes, you can keep any documentation you want. If either of you would like to receive more copies or anything else I can dig up, be my guest and notify me through the MAVERICK network. If there's no other questions, I suggest this meeting to be adjourned. Your NC's should be loaded up onto NC transportation trucks later today, then you'll be ferried to the designated area." And with that, Sarah readied herself to get up from her own impromptu desk and offered a polite bow, as per her usual. "Good luck out there."
 
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written in collaboration with Viper Actual Viper Actual

“Oh, shit, here they come,” Cammy said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “How’s my hair? Do I have anything on my face? Oh, damn, I forgot to iron this hoodie….” She stifled a laugh.

“Stop fooling around. We both know you don’t actually give a damn,” Halliwell said as she fastened the top button of her blouse, fixed her collar, and sat up a little straighter, improving upon her already perfect posture. “And your hair is still obnoxiously blue and in dire need of a comb, by the way.”

“Just the way I like it,” Cammy said, sneaking in the last word before they both turned to face the two other women. Unsurprisingly, Peyton’s handler took the lead.

“Bonjour, Alice,” Halliwell said, suddenly sounding very French and confirming something Camille thought she’d detected throughout their conversation, but wasn’t sure of until now. She stood and shook the woman’s hand while blinding them all with her signature ten-billion watt smile, one of those I’m-campaigning-for-president-of-the-universe smiles that made Cammy want to backhand her. She did the same with Peyton, along with a, “hello, it is such a pleasure to meet you. Elena Halliwell. And this is my client-”

“I can introduce myself, Frenchie,” Camille said as she stood up, gave Alice’s hand a limp-wristed shake, then went to give Peyton a fist bump… which clumsily morphed into a handshake when it became clear the other woman wasn’t gonna play that game. “Camille Azata,” she said, finally releasing Peyton’s hand. “Camille, Cammy, Kami, Kaz. A.K.A. ‘Kamikaze.’ Take your pick, Jenny. Just don’t call me ‘Azata.’ Too formal. This ain't no dinner party.”

Jennifer had barely managed to acknowledge Halliwell's greeting before Cammy chimed in and tried to...fist bump her? The somewhat awkward gesture was turned into an even more awkward handshake followed by Cammy introducing herself. Jennifer narrowed her eyes and nodded slowly, she even frowned slightly in response to being called 'Jenny' by this near-total stranger in front of her.

She never really was one for nicknames but this woman clearly had an abundance of them. Did she expect her to choose for her? This better not be some stupid game.

At the very least she didn't seem to be the formal type which was perfectly fine for Peyton. Formalities and etiquette were just encumbering, especially in an environment centered around warfare. Being honest and direct was the way to go here. Eventually she nodded in response to Cammy and loosened her grip.

"'Cammy' it is then," she said with a neutral tone before continuing. "Please refer to me either as Jennifer, Peyton or- if you must- Jen. I'm not too big on nicknames for myself."

As she finished talking she could barely make out the smile plastered on Alice's face at the edge of her vision. Was there any way to make that woman stop smiling so warmly?

Shrugging, Peyton continued once more. "I've been told we'll work together on this contract. Based on the intel at hand I hope to be in and out fast. With any luck they'll throw in a bonus." She glanced at Alice and, indirectly, Halliwell, briefly before continuing.

"From what my handler told me speed is one of your greatest strengths, correct?"

"Well, I didn't strap a pair of surplus jet engines to my NC for show," Cammy replied with a fiendish grin. "Two JX-455 turbojets from a decommissioned supersonic bomber. They're old, but they work. Cheap. Reliable. Parts available everywhere. The team and I did a full rebuild, fabricated a custom thrust vectoring setup, and programmed it into the NC's control system so it plays nice with the on-board thrusters, and modified the fuel system to run on damn near anything that'll burn. Jet fuel, rocket fuel, gasoline, kerosene, whiskey, unicorn piss... because I got bills to pay and military-grade jet fuel ain't cheap."

Cammy concluded with a nonchalant shrug, as if she had done all of this in her sleep. "The machine I wanted didn't exist, so we built it. That's my greatest strength. I don't fuck around. I see a problem; I solve the problem." She planted her hands on her hips. "Andala said mounting a pair of battleship artillery cannons on my NC would slow it down. Well, James, problem solved." She met Peyton's eyes. "You said you wanted to be in and out fast? Well, I think we're on the same page there, but what do you bring to the table? Your rig looks cool as hell, so edgy and whatnot, but what does it do?"

The 'I see a problem; I solve the problem'-mentality would no doubt be a perfect match and at the back of Peyton's mind the fear of actually enjoying this mission began to form. She hoped that Cammy wasn't just the chatty and cocky type, but rather the kind of girl who has the skills to back her claims.

When Cammy inquired about her own NC Peyton hesitated. She narrowed her eyes. Worst-case scenario? They'd end up meeting each other on the opposite ends of a battlefield one day. After all they were in fact mercenaries and Jennifer knew personally how quick loyalties changed in this line of work. Perhaps a little too well.
Still, she would need to throw her a bone or risk being viewed with suspicion or outright hostility.

"It's designed for stealth and reconnaissance," said Peyton.

"Fast, nimble and adept at striking first. Assuming it works as intended, that is."

Peyton didn't lie. This was in fact the main purpose of her NC, though she decided to not mention the electronic warfare-capabilities of it. At least not yet. Then again, what harm could that possibly cause Cammy?

She wouldn't be on the receiving end of it so there's no reason for her to even know about enemy comms and electronics going haywire. It's an acceptable risk.

"That said I think speed will be our greatest advantage on this contract. Can't strike what you can't see and all that," finished Peyton, crossing her arms.

"Heh, I like being seen," Cammy said. "But it'll be too fucking late when they do." She abruptly spun around to face their handlers, who had been standing by while the two linkers talked, like a pair of proud parents. "Enough chit chat. I'm ready to wreck faces. Yo, Ell, when does this shit start?" Cammy said. "We've got a plan, or something like a plan. Let's roll out."

"Tomorrow morning. 0300 hours," Halliwell said, cool as ice despite Cammy's obvious impatience. She seemed to telepathically understand she was 'Ell' now. "It's in the file, dear," she added, wagging the datapad that Cammy had skimmed through.

"Nice. Night ops." Cammy turned to Peyton once more. "If that's all, I've got wrenches to turn. I few final checks and tests and I'll be ready to rock. Need to make sure these guys didn't fuck up my baby while I was away. If you need a hand with anything or get any bright ideas, you know where to find me."
 
Soon after, the meeting between Linker and Handler was adjourned. The clientele was notified later meetings would be less hectic, and could be set most anywhere, within reason. Nonetheless; the communion was over and the Linkers were sent back home, for a little while, until day turned to night and the early morning run was inching closer to the present.

The Curtain Rises
Two convoys, one after another were clearing out the lonely highway; a two-way, six-lane path of reinforced asphalt and lone toll booths being torn through with a fine speed as four armored cars from MAVERICK cleared the path for their charges. Civilian traffic was diverted by their sirens that lit up the darkness of the early morning, and the Guild and the local government were sure to notify the populace of just what those sirens meant. 'Neural Combatants' were being transported, and it was in everyones' best interest to let them pass; cars and trucks and cycles pulling over and letting the three-strong convoy of what would only technically be considered 'trucks' through, as the behemoths transported several trailers laden with another military machine each.

The heavy transports, which would perhaps be better described as 'truck-shaped crawlers', slowed down as one half of their escort stopped far in front of them; making certain to clear the way for and reinforce an exit-ramp which signified the completion of a part of the journey. Two of the trucks, one hauling a sole machine and the other dragging two, exited here; onto a far less glamorous path and onto the raw terrain of the earth. As the truck passed, there was one distinct individual who had stopped for them on the side of the road.

Resting against his classic-styled motorcycle, this individual eyed the convoy as it passed, flipping out an archaic phone and calling a very specific someone. The phone had a certain Ruling Companies' emblem on it; and the man spoke quickly, in a subdued panic as he was overlooked by everyone else gawking at the situation. "Yeah, it looks like two 'packages'-", he spat, in a hurry. The other voice interjected. "-Yeah, two! Two! They're headed there right now. I'll pickup from the other place. Take care.", and the man slicked back his red hair as the call ended. He shook his head, watching as two of the trucks continued onwards, where he came from. He'd have to lay low for now.

Operation 1A: 'First Showcase'
Two MAVERICK NC trucks maneuvered to the edge of a flat, featureless plain of earth; and stopped. Their three towed trailers were remotely unhooked, and the rolling platforms were left where they were, the NC's on them activating. The left truck's two pieces of cargo were the NC's 'Vanguard' and 'Hardpoint'; a duo under the same Handler crewed by one Adam Davion and another Hazel Scott; the NC's rising up from their sitting positions as it was obvious they reached the area. Their rightside companion, the 'Emperor', with one Friedrich-Alexander Von Streuben inside, followed suit; and the three looked about at the testing grounds as they entered combat-mode, the machines waking up to the call of battle.

It was a barren blasted heath, the only noise being the engines of the two trucks as they moved to a safer distance; and their communications relays sending connection requests to the NC's involved. A singular 'chat-room' as it were was brewing as their Handlers teamed up, just as their clientele teamed up for this operation. As soon as the electronic handshake was completed, the trio heard their two support personnel; Malthus, and Nielsen, talking in their ears.

"Sarah here. We're actually back at the regional HQ, so don't worry about us; just transmitting through the truck's relay. This is the operational area. Oh, just got a notification. Observational team is here; the IFF should've just showed up for you guys.-", before Malthus interjected. "-Unless your mechanics are as dumb as you guys are..." Thankfully, Sarah was correct. A plane revealed itself overhead, entering a detailed sensor radius. It was another MAVERICK transport; a large blended-wing-body type, with two open bays. Two other NC's dropped out, ejected as the plane broke its run and flew away. The two falling masses activated thrusters, one after the other, and the one impacted the ground with great force, kicking up dust and dirt as it landed at a fair closeness.

The greater mass rose from the storm, and it was obvious who this was as soon as the dust cleared; two glowing white eyes piercing through the dissipating field of loose soil. The massive, white-and-blue machine stood tall on two, perhaps short legs; its head nestled between large pauldrons, the left of which had the NC's heraldry stamped upon it. The image was of a mighty ship, piercing the waves with all guns blazing. 'Dreadnought'. The machine's left hand reached for its own right shoulder, temporarily unhooking a heavy, cutting sword with its four fingers gripping the handle. The cleaver was raised for a chest-level sword-salute, before the blade was returned to its sheath.

The Dreadnought was followed by the far more gentle landing of a lighter, daintier NC, that slowly hovered onto the ground. The shorter, comparatively, NC looked hardly half the mass of the other, but it still looked vicious in its own way. The NC was the craft of the private mentor, 'Yoko', and its small emblem was printed on the chest; a group of paper cranes surrounding a lone female hand which was coming from above, petting another of their ilk. The NC's IFF signature was named 'Senbazuru'. The smaller NC was distinct by way of its unique arms; or rather, the large armor plates attached to them, which were currently protecting the main body as if it was an all-encompassing mantle. Its head was tipped with a tall, long antenna that reached past behind its own cranium and the front of its face; which had four eyes in a formation similar to a plus sign. The NC nearly curtsied, before it stood straight back up.

Two pings showed that the two elder NC's requested permission to join their communications. They were very slightly early, so there was likely some time to talk.

Operation 1B: 'Spring Cleaning'
The other truck found itself far, far further from civilization; powering through roughly hewn tracts with two NC's in tow; the two nameless units of Jennifer Peyton and Camille Azata. The Seven and the Eight were stopped near the northern border to another small country closely neighboring the small Republic; and quite a ways away to the west was a well-known ravine, born after the Disaster. The canyon was the alleged HQ of a known bandit group, the one they were sent to destroy. As the two settled and watched their transports move to a far safer distance, their communications were tethered to a channel alongside their handlers.

Their handlers explained more details of the operation, such as the fact the group was ransoming a large sum of money from the relevant authorities; namely, the Republic of course. The Republic's primary target for this operation were two large artillery pieces the terrorists apparently had. Allegedly, the group involved had acquired chemical weapon shells and were preparing to fire them if they didn't get their ransom, and the NC's were to find and smash the big guns, and then the entire canyon to pieces. Afterwards, make sure every nearby cell or stash of equipment or whatever else they could find on the field was also slaughtered.

From so far away, there were no obvious signs of militaristic activity out here, but there were signs of some kind of activity. A fresh wheel-track was evident, due south to the Republic itself, and a lone tarp fluttering across the ground that was caught in the wind. It was quite possible the targets were notified, and are either gone or in hiding nearby. But, It was still time to investigate the alleged hideout, and at least trash what they had left there.
 
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FREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

~~~~

Time had passed rapidly, and just as quickly as Streuben had found himself leaving the OCO, he had found himself strapped into the submerged throne of his own personalized NC, with all semblance of the human norme far distanced from his present neural connectivity with the cybernetic synapses of the Emperor. Quite literally, they had become one entity thanks to the cybernetic implants left within his very flesh. Though, no longer quite as missable thanks to the massive wire connected to it, which no doubt included all manner of technomagic that he had no distinct understanding or comprehension of.

As he rode the roads to the mission, towed by his lonesome and serene self aboard his own personal cargo transport, he felt the very bumps of the road register within his brain, and every fiber of the mechanic muscle contained within the regal shell of the Emperor vibrate inside his mind. He had entered the machine far before most others, purely because he needed that time to prepare and adjust and acclimatize with the machine, to meld with its sensors and background calculations. Whilst all the hidden mathematics weren't exactly obvious, but unlike the lizard brain, he felt the presence of them, a sort of partial 'out-of-mind.'

By the time the transport hauler had arrived, Streuben closed his eyes and became the Emperor. He felt his mind drift along the circuitry, he felt his hands as he readied them to lift him from his seated position aboard the flatbed of the transport, and as he pushed down, he raised his leg, and took one, seven-meter long step, and shifted his center of gravity forwards, as he raised himself and the machine onto both feet. His characteristic slowness and patient mind still clearly visible in his handling of a behemoth of untold tonnage. And as he did, he felt a sudden sensation in the forefront of his mind, and allowed it passage; a communications request by the array.

Assuming an idle posture, he froze the Emperor with its arms flowing down along the side of his legs, its sharp talons extending a couple additional decimeters downwards. His hand-held armaments firmly placed alongside the NC by one of the hauler's mechanical 'arms,' though the term arm seemed inadequate; it paled in comparison to the human form which his own metal had assumed. Instead it was nothing but hydraulics, a cheap-heavy lifter that served its purpose.

As he listened in to the barely-important chatter of Sarah and Malthus which he heard within the center of his mind, he used the machine's optical instruments to scan the environment, and just as notifications were brought forwards by Sarah, and the snarling commentary produced by the latter, he spotted a single-wing aircraft turn around, and two high-mass objects plummeting surface-ward. Having focused his vision on them, his identification systems had already analyzed their IFF signature and the basic statistics provided within the default computational matrixes; Dreadnought and Senbazuru.

As the Dreadnought connected with the surface, the vision automatically overlayed infra-red, ultra-violet, and whatever else the machine had on-hand, to produce a clearer picture, albeit budgeted and hardly reliable; the heavy-weight Dreadnought raising itself from its braced posture seemed quite a serene scene for such a leviathan; equally so for the gentle landing of the rather unique contrast to the more utilitarian and robust NC; Senbuzuru had a rather fascinating silhouette, much akin to his own, but more abstract perhaps.

He locked his mechanical eyes with theirs in sequence, nodding as he did, before voicing himself over the private 'chatroom.'

"Kugelbitz is so-far absent," his voice not resonating from his lips, but rather the synthetically produced voice of the Emperor's own machine brain, converted into data, to be automatically reconverted into a metallic resemblance with slight echo and slight buzz. "But we can assume he will arrive eventually- if not on-time, then by the end, or during, our mission. " His data would suggest it, and the ferocious but still logical insults of Malthus during the meeting would reinforce that idea. Streuben was suspended within the internal chamber of the Emperor's pilot capsule, but in the weightlessness, he felt released, and instead merged into his role better. He was now Emperor, for the duration of this mission, and in that vein, he addressed everyone accordingly.

"Handlers, keep an eye on the air and ground traffic likely to be destined for this location, and notify us if something becomes suspect." Within the back of his mind he already had the environmental readings running continuous scans, but he could not see beyond the horizon, something that the operations headquarters was firmly capable of analyzing through whatever sensor network existed. "As for the Dreadnought and the Senbuzuru, I'll leave that up to Vanguard and Hardpoint."

It was clear which role Emperor had undertaken in the brief period since having stepped off the now safely distant transports, he felt it obvious that with his officer past this was the natural progression. And as for Malthus, he opened up a private text-based channel for pseudo-covert interaction through the MAVERICK network from the portable terminals, "Keep me informed."

His partially painted machine exuded with the same splendour that purples and crimsons are typically most associated; though due to the sudden mission, and the small-time frame alloted before its beginning, only 'key' aesthetic prevalences across the machine were granted the care of his paint and the laborious task of 'properly painting an NC,' and 'treating the paint and the surface rightly.'

But even so, the combination of splendid painting, and entirely stock surfaces, made for an interesting 'aura,' only compounded by the vicious screaming of his mighty reactor mounted along the Emperor's back. He tensed the synthmuscle fibers, allowing them to contract and relax in turn, to allow the several tonnes worth of arms to produce a motion which could be most adequately described as crossing one's own arms along the chest, but due to the sharp angles and pointed nature of his external surfaces, his crossed arms of metal extended slightly further than would normally be perceived as comfortable for most humans.

Though he wouldn't consider himself human any longer.

The first step had already been taken when he left the truck, he was something else now.

He felt that, had he not gilded the emblem across his shoulder, he would not even know who he was anymore. A feeling of such immensity that the world began to look different, it was no longer as grey as it had once appeared during the joyless years of endless wandering across the hellscape of Europa in his past life.
 
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Once the meeting was over Jennifer and Cammy, alongside their respective handlers, went separate ways. Peyton would spend most of the remaining time on-base double-checking and triple-checking her NC which had now been armed and equipped with appropriate equipment with some much-valued input from Alice.

When the time came to load up and deploy Peyton had been one of the first Linkers to be ready and awaiting deployment which spoke more of her professional attitude than anything else.

* * *
​
The ride had been a calm and easy one. Little to no complications as far as Peyton could tell and beyond some sporadic chatting with Alice she had been mostly silent and kept to herself. Now, as the trucks pulled away, she sighed. It was perhaps nothing of greater importance but in reality this small insignificant gesture represented plenty of feelings. She was finally here. A Linker, at last.

Despite her limited time piloting Peyton already felt comfortable. It was if her NC was an extension of her. Based on that feeling, something that was surely extremely unique, it was easy to imagine just why the Linkers loved their job and even though Peyton herself didn't feel it she could also easily see why and how some of the more arrogant and cocky pilots portrayed themselves as gods. Peyton blinked and looked up, making her angular and pointy NC adjust itself as it looked upwards towards the stars dancing above.

A clear night sky. Perfect for hunting.

With a firm grip the two arms grabbed hold of a large, NC-sized, bolt-action rifle. Chambered in 200m the weapon could easily knock out a tank while keeping anything NC-sized on their toes. For this special occasion Peyton had loaded the magazine with APFSDS rounds. These large-caliber sabot rounds were built on the same principle as their now-archaic counterparts used by main battle-tanks in the wars of old. It could practically pierce anything armored, be it vehicles or structures.

As per Peyton's personal request these massive rounds had also been fitted with a canister-shot payload, effectively turning the rounds into shotgun pellets on impact. It wasn't humane but it was effective from a tactical perspective as much as it was from a psychological one.

Once the weapon camera was online Peyton engaged her E-war suite. For now it would be used for tracking and thus required very little in the way of power. After all the only thing she needed was one single careless radio transmission to set her and Cammy on the right path. Considering the terrain of the enemy base and the fact that it was believed to be situated inside a canyon finding a signal should prove to be relatively easy once the two Linkers were in proximity of the ravine. With any luck a signal from some lousy guard post's walkie-talkie would come bouncing right at them and, well, considering the lax rules of engagement that would give the bandits one hell of a wake-up call.

Peyton opened up the encrypted mission channel once she saw that her E-war tools were running scans. Hopefully Cammy and her handler had managed to not only join the channel correctly but also made sure to stay encrypted, lest they would be discovered prematurely.

"Chimera, ready and holding steady within AO." Said Peyton in her usual neutral tone. Narrowing her eyes she only now realized that she hadn't actually named her NC and the hud simply identified her as "NC#07." Making a mental note she would need to speak with Alice about that afterwards. For now though there was the mission at hand.

"Cammy, are you operational?"
 
With the meeting finished between Hazel and Sarah, Hazel had some time to go over Hardpoint's weapon configurations though she was more concerned about one aspect of the weapon systems which was the explosive tool that James came up with. A gun able to fire large sticky plastic explosives. While she trusted James wouldn't screw up, she had to double check everything. Wouldn't be good for her if the gun exploded prematurely before the mission even started. After some excessive and what some would consider over the top checking, Hazel was satisfied with what she now called SPED or Self Propelled Explosive Device. In addition to last minute tinkering, Hazel set the PDG (Point Defense Gatling) to use a mix of Tracer-Self-Destruct (T-SD henceforth) rounds and Armor Piercing Discarding Sabot w/ Self-Destruct (APDS-SD henceforth) for the first magazine. The other magazine armed with High Explosive Incendiary Tracer w/ Self-Destruct (HEIT-SD henceforth). Even if Hazel was to miss with the shots, they would explode harmlessly to avoid any unwanted causalities.

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

The ride to the drop zone was strange to say at the least. The meshing between Hazel and her NC through the linking was surprisingly nice, though the small bumps in the road did make it's way through to her. Flicking the small lighter's top open and closed in her hand, she ignited it, watching the glowing flame with intensity, though taking care not to stare at it too long. Like the others, Hazel's experience of being in their NC's would probably be the same, though the effects of it would become second nature in time.

Arriving at the mission drop off point Hazel closed the lighter's top and commanded Hardpoint to stand up, feeling the sensation through her as she did, watching the others do so near her in the barren wasteland. It didn't seem so pleasant in terms of aesthetics but was perfect for a punching ground for testing purposes. Hazel preemptively un-holstered her assault rifle, while the time to the mission start was only a few minutes away, it was best to prepare for whatever was thrown at them. In conjunction with her arming herself, she checked the PDG, ensuring that the mix of T-SD and APDS-SD was already loaded and ready to fire.

A few moments later, her comms picked up a request from her handler and accepting it, was pleased to hear Sarah's voice though more displeased with Malthus' interruption. Going to retort to his interruption, Hazel thought better than to provoke the man. Her momentary thoughts were halted when her sensors picked up a plane overheard, followed by two large entities dropping quickly out of it, both activating thrusters before they hit the ground. The dust covered them both for a while though when cleared, showed two very distinctive NC's.

The first most noticeable once was a large NC, which Hazel knew instantly. The Dreadnought. While the picture in the documents showed of it's intimidating profile, seeing it in person was something more. The second NC was much more nimble than it's larger companion and both gave their own customary greetings, Hazel returning the gesture with her own two fingered salute. It was more informal than anything else, though nothing bad would come of it she hoped. Moments later, a familiar voice was heard, that of Emperors commenting on the absence of Kugelblitz which so far had not appeared, with Hazel taking his absence for granted.

"After reading what he usually does on these missions, I'd rather have him a few thousand miles away from here." Hazel added on after Emperor finished speaking "I don't speak for myself though I'm sure that he wouldn't have much else to add." It was a bit ballsy coming from a newbie and Hazel did chew her lip afterwards, probably regretting such smack talk to a Second-Rate NC but what was said was said. With the comms going quiet for a few moments, she spoke up once again "My apologies if it sounds like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, I'm not too keen on those who like to stomp all over new guys right off the bat." The words trailing off in her head, leaving the comms open up for anyone else to talk.
 
Operation 1A
The pilot of the Senbazuru greatly appreciated the informal greeting, and reciprocated with two 'finger-guns', revealing its talon-like fingers from underneath its shields in the process, but still hiding something within its bays. Afterwards, the two seniors looked to one another as the rookie pilots discussed the other possible observer; a wordless exchange was self-evident, until the larger of the two took charge of the situation, his voice booming with a gruff paternal reassurance. "Don't worry about him; no matter what, I'll ensure that brat won't be a problem." and the Dreadnought turned the other way, looking to the horizon. His voice was currently subdued, but it was obvious he could go further. "He knows he's on thin ice lately. He won't be an issue-", and the Dreadnought turned back, its glowing white eyes considering the rookies before it. "-All you greenhorns have to worry about are these drones, and us. Be as vicious as you would if they were aiming for your throat; there aren't people in them, so I expect to see you handle this situation with extreme prejudice."

The other NC finally tuned in, a soft, lightly accented woman explained the situation further, the Senbazuru's head turning to meet the sensors of each of the rookies, one after the other. "Usually not supposed to tattle, but both air and ground opponents are to be expected. Please, do your best. Live rounds are involved, but do not be alarmed. We will be watching intently and have access to shutdown codes in case you receive serious damage.", And the 'Dreadnought' made a nodding motion, confirming the safety. He went on further. "Nothing that can't be handled. If we think you're worth it, we're going to test you ourselves afterwards; so conserve your strength! We haven't decided between two on one or three on two yet, and I'm sure it'll depend on your performance. So don't fuck this up! Is that order understood?"
 
Before arriving at the mission area
Adam looked up at his NC, watching the techs do their last second checks to make sure the giant machine was ready for the upcoming mission. Finally one of them looked over at him and gave a nod before she and one other clambered to the top of the NC. While Adam wasn't relishing the thought of spending the entire trip to the mission site already inside his NC, boarding it in the field would be more difficult and far more time consuming than just doing it now. At least until they could figure out something better than the improvised mobile gantry with a hoyer lift that had been cobbled together. The tests they had done so far had indicated that it typically took a half hour or more to get it setup and ready to go, making it it almost worthless for this kind of mission. No, it was much better to use the hoyer lift that had been built into the gantry here for his personal use.

Maneuvering his wheelchair backwards into the lift custom designed for it, Adam then made sure that his chair was locked in place before pushing the button that would have the lift raise him up to the height of Vanguard's head. As he ascended he could hear the distinct sounds of the NC's head sliding back and the chair rising up to be ready for him. As the lift reached its peak, Adam noted that the two techs had already pulled the pad for the hoyer lift from its pouch on the back of the chair and were waiting for him. Not wanting to waste their time, the new Linker quickly unbuckled the lap belt that helped keep him in the wheelchair and moved the arm rests back out of the way. Then it was a simple matter of following the instructions of the two techs so they could get the pad underneath him and then attach the loops at the ends of the four straps the pad had to the device hanging above him. With that done all he had to do was cross his arms and wait while the techs had the clothes hanger shaped device pull him up by a couple of feet so they could move him over the NC's chair before lowering him again.

Once he was safely down, the techs secured the pad to the chair while Adam got himself plugged in and secured to his seat. As the techs moved away and the chair started to lower he closed his eyes. He knew that as soon as the chair was lowered into its proper place in the cockpit and the head was locked in place over him that the connection with the NC would be established. In these last few moments of being just a human he felt a jolt of anxiety in his gut. He was moments away from walking for the first time in his life and he was both excited to experience that feeling of mobility and freedom, but also nervous about falling flat on his face. The Linker didn't count the time spent in the simulator as it had felt disconnected, almost like he had been using some kind of VR game, but he had been told that the real thing would be different and far more 'real'.

As the connection with Vanguard was established and systems came online, Adam resisted the urge to move until he was fully linked in and had a few moments to get used to how the machine stood and how simple arm movements affected its balance. Taking a mental deep breath, he carefully had Vanguard take one hesitant, unsteady step forward out of the gantry, and then a second. With each step Adam was acutely aware that like he had been told, he could sense the impact of the foot against the floor and every movement of the NC's legs in a way the simulators hadn't been able to convey. Even better, he hadn't lost his balance! Resisting the urge to whoop for joy and decided that when he got back form this mission that he was going to see if he could just take Vanguard out for a run somewhere With any luck, his condition would allow him to use the excuse of 'training' to get away with it at least once or twice.

It was almost depressing when he got the NC settled on the truck bed for the ride to the target area. He wasn't ready to stop walking around, but unfortunately he had little choice but to remain still for the duration of the trip.

Adam was pleased with Kugelbitz did not show up, his feelings closely mirroring Hazel's statement about the NC's Linker. He really did not want to risk getting the attention of someone like that and thankfully the two Linkers that did show up seemed to be of a far nicer sort. Pulling his rifle free from his holster, he then had Vanguard give the observers a nod. "I appreciate you taking the time to observe us and hope we don't disappoint you." While Adam's words were said in a pleasant tone, inwardly he grew increasingly worried about the mission. In theory it should be easy money, but he was feeling a lot of pressure to do well as he couldn't help but think that if he screwed up that word would spread and he would have trouble finding work.

Taking a deep breath in attempt to calm his nerves at least a little bit, Adam added one last bit directed at his two allies for this mission. "Emperor, Hardpoint, do you have any particular way you want to handle this assignment? Or are we figuring this out as we go?"
 
“Thunderpussy,” Cammy said.

“No.” Halliwell said with a sigh. “For the millionth time, Camille, no profanity.”

“Pussy as in ‘pussycat.’ Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I’m French. I know what a double entendre is, dear,” Halliwell said. “You aren’t taking this seriously. Naming your NC is very important… which is why I told you to do this yesterday, not en route to your first mission.”

“Hey, I sent you a name and texted you the emblem I drew,” Cammy said. “It’s not my fault you’re so damn picky.”

“Your ‘emblem’ was a cartoon cat… ummm… pleasuring itself with a nuclear warhead,” Halliwell said. “Even you know that is unacceptable.”

“I’m workin’ on a better version,” Cammy said with a laugh. “More cats, more weapons. An orgy of fluffy feline firepower. You know what menage a trois means, right, Frenchie?”

“Not what you think it does,” Halliwell said with palpable disappointment.

“How about ‘Catastrophe?’”

“Puns? Oh, come now, you’re better than that, dear.”

“Psycho Neko?”

“Nice cadence. And I enjoy the way you’ve incorporated some Japanese flavor,” Halliwell said. “But it’s too long. A good name should be concise and simple, yet burdened with purpose and meaning. It should say little, yet speak to the ideals of its bearer. If we follow the common theory that NCs are manmade gods, don’t you think the name of a god should portray power, majesty, the virtues of-”

“Blah, blah, blah. You’re psycho-analyzing again. You know I hate it when you do that,” Cammy said. “I’m five feet tall. I don’t need a shrink.”

“Oh, such clever wordplay from someone whose best effort is ‘Crazy Cat,” Halliwell said. “Stop fooling around and impress me. I know you have it in you.”

“Rocket Rabbit. Booster Bunny. Cannon Kitty.”

“Perhaps we should have quit while we were ahead. Besides, you’re at the mission site. Time’s up,” Halliwell said. Cammy could feel the transport grinding to a halt and hear the solid mechanical thunk of the trailer hitch releasing. “Showtime. I’m going to switch us over to Alice and Peyton’s channel, so try not to say anything stupid, dear.”

“Thunderpussy,” Camille said with a giggle as she gripped the controls tightly and began to move her NC. “Sorry, just had to get it out one last time.”

Cammy felt right at home in her NC. The requested modifications to its cockpit and controls blurred the line between human and machine, while still maintaining a comfortable distance. She had explained to Andala that she didn’t want to be an NC, but wanted to pilot one, and he met her demands perfectly, even if the final product was a little... unorthodox.

Neural controls and analog controls were seamlessly intertwined. Number Eight’s cockpit had a center-seat design, with a control stick on either side, and a trigger for each finger. The hand controls were currently programmed to load, aim, and fire the artillery, but could be easily changed to support other weapons systems or attachments. Pedals on the floor controlled the jet engines’ output. The neural link controlled all motive functions, including Eight’s highly dexterous arms and fingers.

The absence of tactile feel she found in the simulators was gone. Cammy had logged hours of test runs and the machine quickly learned her habits. While the hand and foot controls gave Eight the old-timey ‘analog’ feel she was longing for, the neural link was actually doing most of the heavy lifting. There was no such thing as accidentally pulling a lever or squeezing a trigger. Eight knew what she was trying to do and responded accordingly, but never fully took over. The more she piloted it, the closer they became.

Due to the dual 200mm artillery cannons mounted on its back, Number Eight was transported on its belly, the opposite of most NCs. The moment the transport stopped, it sprang to life… literally. Its vine-like fingers flexed, undulating like snakes. It was a strange sensation, but one she was slowly becoming acclimated to.

The NC’s lanky arms were long enough to touch the ground while still lying on the trailer, which it did, sinking its gangly claws into the solid earth until it got a firm grip of rock and soil, at which point Eight dismounted the trailer by performing an off-axis somersault and landing on all fours. Surely, it could have just crawled off the trailer or stood up and walked off… but where’s the fun in that?

Cammy’s machine reared up onto its hind legs, looking slightly unnatural as it did so, and she took a look around, getting her first proper view of the landscape. It was barren enough to make use of her speed, but one thing about this mission really bothered her…

“The comm channels will be linked in about twenty seconds. Synching now,” Halliwell said, interrupting Cammy’s train of thought. “One last thing before we start: I want you to use your boosters as much as possible on this mission. Put on a good show.”

“Why?” Cammy said, but was ignored.

“Five… four… three… two… one… synched,” Halliwell said.

"Chimera, ready and holding steady within AO," said Peyton, her voice coming through clearly. ”Cammy, are you operational?”

“Raijin, ready for action,” Cammy said, standing nearby.

“Ohhhh…” Halliwell said, quietly.

“I’m just tryin’ it out. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Cammy commented, before turning to Peyton’s machine, who appeared to be cool as ice and professional as ever. Meanwhile, Cammy's NC seemed just as restless as Cammy herself, unable to stand still for a moment. Raijin settled on its haunches, like a predatory animal, ready to strike at any moment. If it had a tail, it would be wagging.

“So, Chimera, what’s the plan? The ransom really pisses me off," Cammy said. "If not for that, I’d afterburner down that ravine, find these fuckers, and teabag ‘em with their own balls…. buuuuut if I do that, people will die. So, I guess we gotta keep our heads down ‘til we find those cannons. Then it’s open season on these assholes. I've got the firepower to end their day real quick if you can tell me where to shoot.”
 
Operation 1A
The five total NC's were rudely interrupted by a low, rumbling murmur. On cue, the two elder Linkers excused themselves from the conversation, and re-activated their thrusters, boosting far to the youths' right side, allowing them to focus on their quarry. Another user entered through the seniors' own communication channels; an access code from deep within MAVERICK, certainly one of the Directors, likely the one in charge of this operation, and dictating orders to the unmanned combat vehicles involved. An augmented reality icon appeared in everyone's own heads-up-display, an azure MAVERICK logo further emblazoned with 'DIRECTOR OF RESOURCES' underneath.

The head honcho, the first amongst equals, the one in charge of the Ratings itself was the person orchestrating the test. This was the normal, the usual, but it was still terrifying. The voice finally came through after a period of silence; a reserved authoritarianism evident in his thorough, careful speech. He talked like the bureaucrat he was; he was somebody who controlled the most powerful mercenary organization in the world with only paper. "Greetings to you all. This is Xavier Crowley speaking. I am MAVERICK's Director of Resources; I hope you new pilots remember my name from your own deployment orders. The test will be underway starting now. You should perceive no less than fifteen targets.", and the Director wasn't lying. Fifteen ground targets, evidently a collection of medium tanks; a worthy tactical element on its own, thrown away as testing chaff.

"This is the first wave. The targets are Denver-Vegas Industrial model medium tanks, all of the A2 model line. This is considered the most common tank series in the world. These specific units are surplus from various donors, and were fitted with remote operation equipment. They are remotely automated, with a battle plan devised to test your abilities." All of the NC's sensors were hard at work tagging them as specific models, identifying add-on equipment from every unit. They were divided into three groups of five, each group headed to a specific Neural Combatant. Analysis was further assisted by the two Handlers back at base, feeding data and doing their own investigation; it looks like every tank was of the 'M-6' specification; the main weapon was an a-hundred millimeter gunpowder cannon; slightly archaic, but still a powerful weapon that could blow an NC's limb off in several shots at most. Thankfully, they were all stripped of whatever additional equipment they could hypothetically mount.

They were moving at maximum speed, but they weren't particularly quick as far as tanks go; perhaps fourty miles per hour, their treads digging deep into the cracking, diffusive soil. Kicking up a respectable amount of dirt, their turrets swivelled to their targets. Each group mindlessly aimed for only their designated opponent, the squads moving forwards in echelon formations.

Ms. Nielsen commented on the units involved; reaching the group through the common field channel, full of a subdued excitement. "Very popular model, but it isn't particularly high performance. I'm sure our resident military analyst could explain further. Mister Malthus?", and Malthus gladly took the opportunity; barking into everyones' ears with a little more particular information. "Sure, yeah. Notice he said 'Medium Tank' specifically, not 'Main-Battle Tank', in case you didn't realize there's a difference. To use an analogy, they're just grunts, not special forces. Low cost, low maintenance, average performance type. Just like most people in the army, they're not used to taking it up the ass. I'm sure you lot can figure out the rest?"

The tanks reached combat range, and began pinging threat detection systems; radar locks revealing themselves as their automated firing solutions began to be calculated. They collectively slowed their paces to a steady crawl; stabilizing themselves for more accurate shots.

Operation 1BOn the other end of the state, two NC's were situated far outside a deep, young ravine; likely discussing their plot to rat out the inhabitants of the impromptu base there. The colder of the two would quickly notice something, however, interrupting their mutual briefing. On Peyton's snooper, a stream of data was being intercepted; a low, consistent data-mumbling, the encryption quite starkly familiar. It was diffuse, but after decryption a slight conversation could be heard, temporarily.

"-It's in place?", a bout of unrecovered static followed, before the snooper found the signal again. It was deep in the canyon, at the far end relative to where the two Linkers were sitting, the mouth as it were. "-Yeah, his little experiment is ready. Won't know what hit them, Sir. We'd still be working on it if Davison didn't manage to get us a heads-up." The first voice spoke up again, evidently pleased. "Yeah, thank god. Just make sure to at least keep them busy. If we can open that door up, we'll be scot free. If you can't come with us... Your sacrifice won't be forgotten, I'll make sure of it.", was all that was heard before the encryption changed again.

The signals were still communicating, here and there. They were spread all about the canyon, and the overall quality of the encryption itself certainly wasn't evident of simple bandits.. This was at least actual military grade, if only entry-level. Judging from the traffic, there were at least four to six hits, but from what specifically couldn't quite be determined yet.
 
FREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

~~~~

Mere moments after the Emperor's rather valid council, Hardpoint, the well-famed Dreadnought, and Vanguard all seemed to dismiss his words. He could understand the Dreadnought, but it seemed that the concept of worst-case scenario preparation had not filtered into his fellow test-takers' brains yet. Obviously he hadn't portrayed himself wrongly, or posed an unreasonable worry; everything about Kugelblitz screamed that he'd show up based on the information available. If he didn't, it could only be due to unforeseen or unknown circumstance. His only response was silence.

He made a mental note for the future and followed it up by a mental shrug before turning his head towards the weapons carriage that had been recently deposited by his side.

The carriage was wirelessly linked, it would seem, and with a single thought, the weapons were presented in a more convenient posture by a rapid internalized lifting mechanism. He grabbed his Battle-Rifle and Assault-Rifle in turn, placing them against his machine hips, and through the use of an impressively powerful magnetic mount, the weapons snapped into place with an excruciatingly loud thud. The power even shaking some of the dust along the surface.

Naturally, none of it managed to stick to his own form, as was merely to be expected.

Finishing his preparations just when the Senbazuru made mention of aerial threats, he was getting ready to further investigate the examination, but could not manage to speak before the Vanguard raised its voice across the comms. Mild frustration now evident, the machine shifted its stature, and Emperor spoke across the channel.

"Figure it out as you go." The mental-audible data conversion of the Emperor's machine brain undergoing moderate inconsistency, the voice being audibly warped as it played across the speakers, but otherwise monotone and chilled by its pseudo-synthetic nature.

Streuben was moderately surprised at himself, his usual calmness and indifference had been progressively disappearing the further and further he entered into the MAVERICK lifestyle, but this was the first time he had felt anything truly legitimate; he almost didn't even know what it was he was feeling. No matter. He was shook from his internal monologue by the sudden appearance of the Director of Resources' personal insignia and emblem appearing firmly within the upper-corner of his electronic eyes.

Fifteen targets visibly activating across the horizon, heading towards his present location. Destroy being the only thought that crossed his mind, the machine entertained his request, and overlayed the notice across Emperor's mental interface. He would entertain the Dreadnought's request for ruthlessness, piloted or not.

In this moment, he did not feel his body, all he felt was the synthmuscles, his own muscle, tensioning as he shifted his stature. Putting one leg up front, and turning his torso appropriately, with the rear leg acting support, he became absorbed. He tried his best to remember the many days worth of MAVERICK simulation experience under his belt, and succeeded well enough for now.

As Xavier spoke, Emperor cooled, his mind cleared, allowing him to take in the information approriately; he was no stranger to the terminologies thrown about, nor the machines in question. If one were to look at him, one could see his shoulder-strung artillery cannon slowly fold itself into the appropriate form before quickly, like lightning, utilizing the hydraulic muscle of its pistons to mount itself into position across his left shoulder, locking itself through a series of clamps. He was no longer responsive, his heart-rate, his breathing, slowed.

He was now focused, very focused; as he raised his arm to support the mighty weapon now looming across his shoulder, he fired as immediately as he could, conveniently at the same time as the threat detection signal showed its face across his mental instruments. Millisecond-margines through sheer luck or maybe subconscious awareness.

The round flew like a single bolt of lightning across the wastes, kicking up the dirt along its passage; the sound crackled like thunder and roared viciously; the force conquered the elements, demanding even its own machine to slide backwards across the surface even when braced. Destined towards his opposition. He had used the plentiful bit of time that his Handlers had allowed him with their briefing to prepare his initiating assault, and as he didn't yet truly mesh with the neurology of the machine, every motion required all the more effort and all the more thoughtfulness.

He lowered his arm and gripped the magnetized, now unmagnetized, Battle-Rifle, his artillery cannon unfolding as he did, and entering into its naturally idle posture along the rear shoulder. Having spooled up his reactor at the same time he readied to fire the first shot, he lowered himself, before using the immense force within the synthmuscle within his well-plated legs to push the machine into the air, placing tremendous pressure upon the surface as he did, buckling it. Whilst normally a simple jump would not allow for much air-time due to the immensity and massiveness of the NC, thanks to the spooled reactor and his powerful waist-mounted, fully-articulate exhaust jets, it was all that would be needed to initiate flight.

Whilst not a conscious effort, the power of the jump and the force of the jets allowed his 'team mates' dust cover as it sprayed superheated air out across the landscape, forming a formidable cloud across the surface.

A slow hover increased to respectable, but still slow, speeds as he raised himself horizontally upwards into the sky. Whilst not a match for any naturally-born aerial-NC, it would prove a challenge to an A2M6.

As he leveled out at an approximate 1200 meter altitude, Emperor gripped his Battle-Rifle with both his arms, and loosed a shot at whatever remained functional. His jets shifting their thrust to allow for stabilized hovering.
 
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In their current state the two NCs looked more like two predators on the prowl for possible prey, especially when taking into consideration the way Raijin was positioned. Peyton could sense some excitement from Cammy's voice and in all honesty she didn't blame her one bit.

I can feel it too.

As much as she always maintained a good distance from her emotions- especially during work- she couldn't ignore the fact the NC made her feel outright powerful. She was in her element.

“So, Chimera, what’s the plan? The ransom really pisses me off..."
Click to expand...

Cammy's question and subsequent statement was, despite the rough fashion it was presented in, posed high importance. The ransom itself meant that the enemy had, indirectly, the upper hand through leverage as they more or less held the client itself as a hostage. Peyton had no doubt in her mind that whatever ordnance the bandits had could easily backfire, not to mention that MAVERICK would never set up shop in a civilian zone without at least installing some absolutely rudimentary form of point-defense systems.

Still, gambling and taking chances was never a good thing. To see this contract through they'd need to be smart, move fast and hit hard. Maybe pummeling through their lines on boosters isn't such a bad idea? The Raijin could very well make it through with little to no damage.

It was a solid plan. Had they maybe been gifted with the luxury of another one or two NCs for combat support. Peyton frowned and was about to say her piece when her E-war suite began to ping. Quickly she went over the information readily available to her. She narrowed her eyes and turned her head towards the edge of her vision to where the Raijin was positioned.

"I'm tapped into the enemy comms," she stated. "It's bouncing back and forth. Between four and six tangos in the area. By the sound of things they have something waiting for us, someone tipped them off to our transports."

It was bad. No upper hand beyond the initial shock and awe. No element of surprise placed the odds against them drastically.

"Peyton," said Alice over the channel, breaking a moment of silence. "There's several tactical vantage points alongside the two ridge-lines adjacent to the ravine. If you get the timing right you can use those vantage points to make yourself look bigger."

Jennifer looked at the map which had now been updated with markers for each vantage point. Some looked a bit too risky and exposed but the majority of them looked like the real deal. Good cover. Good angles. Plenty of space to maneuver a gun. Anyone standing below would need to haul ass fast if lead began to drop from any of those points. Whatever defenses employed would need to be moved around too.

"Raijin, I have a plan."

Peyton paused and forwarded the marked points to both Cammy and Halliwell. "We'll move on the ravine while shifting from cover to cover. Make it look like we're walking into their trap. Once we're in range I'll attack their sensors, radar, communications- the works. They'll be caught off-guard, hell, with the help of a fake transmission they'll believe we airdropped backup to flank them."

"Once the bandits begin to shift their positions we'll strike. Most of them will be looking the wrong way to see the punch coming. I'll hit them from afar and, well, you'll do what you do best Cammy;"

There was a brief pause with the only sound coming from the faint humming and beeping of onboard electronics.

"Hit them hard."
 
Hazel watched as the two observers made their way to the far right side, most likely to get a better view of the forthcoming battle between the three NC's with their rookie Linkers. A split second after the observers had landed to a new vantage point, the logo of MAVERICK appeared in Hazel's HUD with the man himself Xavier Crowley, joining in as a third observer. This was a shock to Hazel as she thought that the man would have far more important things than attend to a group of rookie's on their first slap-shit-around operation. Maybe she was reading too much into this. Usually the most simplest answer is the correct one and it's highly likely that Xavier was here to make sure he hadn't misplaced faith in the next generation of Linkers.

Listening to his voice, the icons of the A2 medium tanks appeared, each of them in a separate group for each NC. 15 in total, 5 for each NC to lay waste to. Fully automated, for obvious testing purposes. Hardpoint collected all relevant information about the tank and presented it without breaking a sweat. Going over the specifications, Hazel's thinking kicked into action. She could go a couple ways about this; The first being using her 90mm assault rifle to punch through the tanks armor. A reasonable idea, though the second idea was much more feasible. At least one grenade round fired at the incoming group making their way for her, then using the assault rifle to finish off any tanks that remained alive.

Holstering her assault rifle, she took out the grenade launcher, listening to Malthus talk about the tanks in greater detail, though he really could use some anger management lessons with the way he simply barked into everyone's ear like it was common place. Hazel would have to eyeball the range between herself and the incoming tanks, which was an issues considering that rotary-grenade launcher doesn't shoot projectiles in the same fashion as a gun.

Before Hazel could pull the trigger, Emperor had deiced to fire off the first shot and Hazel watched as the round made it's way to his choice of target, kicking up dust along the way. A few seconds later, Hazel fired her own volley, lowering the launcher to manually rotate the massive cylinder. Luckily for Hazel, the process was much easier and quicker than expected thanks to Hardpoint's precise hands. Dust clouds blocked her vision as the Emperor went airborne. An annoyance considering that she would need to know where the grenade had landed, hell, in hindsight maybe they should've acted like a team instead of wasting breath on petty things and this wouldn't have happened.

Deciding against pushing through the dust cloud, Hazel moved her slow yet steady NC around the dust cloud, attempting to somewhat flank the tanks. Maybe the dust cloud wasn't a useless after effect of a quick launch. Hesitating about the choice afterwards, she decided to keep her launcher up in case the first round didn't connect, which was most likely though a 250mm HE grenade could vaporise even the hardest of tanks in the epicenter of the blast zone.
 
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