Bang!
Ash’s fist collided with the steel door, sending a dull, suffocating thud echoing through the storage bay. Silver-white cracks radiated outwards from the point of impact, a blossoming metallic flower streaked with drops of crimson.
Crack! The sound of shattering metal followed as fractured pieces of the door rained down like a metallic shower. Ash glanced at his mangled fist, its skin torn and bleeding, and grimaced. I should probably avoid doing this with bare hands again, he thought wryly.
Without wasting another moment, Ash charged into the storage bay. His eyes quickly fell upon the neatly arranged sub-space controllers on a wall-mounted rack. A glint of hunger flashed in his eyes as he lunged forward. These weren’t ordinary controllers—they housed emergency mechs. While most of them were standard space-use models, a few specialized ones stood out, including recon variants.
Ash's gaze finally settled on a sleek, scorpion-shaped mech painted entirely in matte black: Sandstormer. Its speed, enhanced vision, and adequate armour made it an excellent choice for tactical maneuvers. The stealthy black exterior was perfect for space combat, but what caught Ash's attention were the unique features this mech boasted.
Without hesitation, Ash grabbed every controller on the rack, stuffing them into his utility pack. Better safe than sorry, he muttered.
Sliding into the Sandstormer’s cockpit, Ash was greeted by a holographic interface prompting an initial setup sequence. Panic flared in his chest.
“Damn it!” he cursed under his breath. Rune's mech was far simpler—all it required was a drop of blood to bind.
His fingers blurred as he worked the controls, inputting configurations and activating subroutines. Each system demanded precision calibration, and Ash couldn't afford to overlook a single parameter. His training had ingrained in him the importance of preparation—every second counted on a battlefield, and hesitation was death.
As he meticulously adjusted the settings, he muttered, “Rune would have had this done in seconds… Damn, I miss that guy.”
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Meanwhile, in the heart of the ship, Ferdinand sat quietly across from Zwei. The room was deathly silent as the two locked gazes, the unspoken tension between them palpable.
Outside, the battle raged. The Oakleaf Squadron, disciplined and united, fought valiantly against the chaotic tactics of the Crimson Eagles. Laser fire crisscrossed the void, explosions lighting up the darkness like fleeting fireworks.
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The Oakleaf Squadron, led by Ferdinand, was a force to be reckoned with. Their cohesive formations and mutual support kept them standing strong. However, the Crimson Eagles' overwhelming numbers and guerilla tactics began to tip the scales. The pirates struck at flanks and tails, never engaging directly but wearing the squadron down over time.
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Hidden behind a massive freighter, Ash nervously observed the chaos. Despite his years of surviving on Garbage Planet 12, the sight before him sent a shiver down his spine. Dozens of mechs darted through space, explosions rocking the battlefield, debris scattering in all directions. Even with his experience in simulated combat, nothing had prepared him for the sheer magnitude of this conflict.
Stay calm… Survive… Just survive. He repeated the mantra in his mind, forcing himself to focus. I didn’t escape Garbage Planet just to die out here.
His breathing slowed, his heartbeat steadied. The fear lingering in his chest began to dissipate.
Ash's sharp eyes scanned the battlefield. Oakleaf Squadron was holding on, but their defeat seemed inevitable. As skilled as Ash was, he knew his intervention wouldn’t alter the outcome.
Then his gaze fell upon the Crimson Eagles’ flagship, a uniquely designed vessel encircled by pirate mechs. A dangerous idea sparked in his mind. His eyes darted to the scattered asteroid fragments floating nearby.
This is it.
His plan solidified. Ash couldn’t help but smirk despite the odds. One gamble… Live or die, it all depends on this move.
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Sitting upright in the Sandstormer’s cockpit, Ash closed his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths. His body relaxed as his mind sharpened. His fingers hovered over the controls, loose but ready. When his eyes snapped open, a steely determination replaced his earlier fear.
The Sandstormer surged forward, accelerating to its maximum speed. Its trajectory seemed to aim straight for the freighter ahead, as if Ash intended to crash into it.
Ten meters. Five meters.
At the last possible second, Ash’s hands moved in a blur. The Sandstormer’s auxiliary engines roared to life, executing a hairpin maneuver that scraped beneath the freighter’s hull. The mech soared through the narrow space with less than ten centimetres to spare.
In less than a second, Ash’s mech emerged on the other side, its once-smooth exterior now riddled with jagged protrusions. The Sandstormer had transformed—its sleek scorpion design now mimicked an asteroid's irregular surface.
As the mech’s engines powered down, the Sandstormer drifted silently among the asteroid debris. In the chaos of battle, it was indistinguishable from the surrounding rocks.
Ash’s heart raced as sweat dripped down his face. His mind replayed every detail of the manoeuvre. His hands ached from the sheer intensity of his movements. For the first time, he felt a sense of gratitude for Rune's relentless steel-ball reflex drills.
The Sandstormer, now an inconspicuous fragment of floating rock, blended seamlessly into its surroundings. Neither the Oakleaf Squadron nor the Crimson Eagles spared a glance in its direction.
Now or never. Ash braced himself, eyes fixed on the pirate flagship.