Chapter 5: Nebula

Earth Angel. She goes by many names.

Hell on Wings. The Just Destroyer. The Shooting Star.

She’s elusive; far out of anyone’s reach, and yet Sykra still tried and reached for the speeding comet; all to give back a rightful favor.

And now, she’s here, right in front of her… declaring her a dead woman.

Sykra and Rachel remain locked in their staredown, with Rachel heaving in frustration while Sykra appears completely vacuous.

Eventually, Rachel groans in impatience and shouts, “Oh come off it—Not even gonna respond? We don’t have much time here so make a move!”

Sykra snorts, “What do you expect me to do? I’m right in front of one of the most popular mercenaries in Corrin, and she just told me that I’m marked for death—”

“Now is not the time to become starstruck!”

“I’m not starstruck… I’m just carefully assessing the situation.”

“No time for that either! Do you want both of us to—!”

Rachel’s eyes go wide when the faint sound of footsteps make themselves known behind her—and they grow closer still.

“Shit…” Rachel turns her back on Sykra and swiftly pulls out a gun from her hoodie’s pocket—an Enforcer EMM.

“Wait… You stole that pistol?”

“Does that really matter?!” Rachel snaps before turning back to the encroaching enemy—enemies.

Multiple men come out of the aisles—clothed in black, donning blank masks of white that entirely conceal their face, holding in one hand a serrated dagger and in the other a silenced pistol.

They walk in practiced unison, each step taken with purpose as, one by one, they stop and face the girls, until the last man on the left completes the formation—a semi-circle, a cage to entrap cornered prey—dead prey.

Just like how they walked, they raise their pistols in file, from left to right, pointing them at the blonde woman with near-robotic movement.

Rachel huffs in indignation, “Surrounded ten to one… Ya’ll know that you need more than that to kill me, right?”

The blank faced men don’t reply to the blonde’s arrogant snark, instead, the one in the middle speaks to her in a hushed, yet blunt and authoritative voice.

“Nebula mercenary 241014, codename: Earth Angel, you have evaded capture for eight days straight, massacred twenty-three operatives across Fitron, and caused a 3 hour shutdown on Platform III. Come with us now and maybe your sentence will be lightened, especially if you admit to the thievery of two tons of Tearlight.”

Rachel tsks, “As I had said to those Operatives before they tried to kill me, I will not go quietly unless I am absolutely certain I get to meet with Director Nile.”

The Operative shakes his head, “No such acquiescence will come from us, Earth Angel, but if you come with us, then there might be a chance.”

Rachel growls, “If that’s the case, then know that I won’t go down without a fight.”

The Operative hums, “Suit yourself, mercenary.”

A fierce glint flickers in Rachel’s eyes as she grips on her pistol in one hand, and her Module in the other. She feels sorry for that white-haired lass that had to be involved with her, but at the very least she prevented her from becoming a bargaining chip for these psychoes. Best she can do now is…

“Missy!” Rachel whips around, “Get out of here now or—!”

“...What?”

“She’s long gone, Earth Angel.”

The blonde turns back to the blank-faced men, who somehow seem even more confident despite their inexpression. “Your white-haired companion fled the scene the moment we came. Don’t worry, no harm will come to her… lest you continue to resist.”

Rachel grits her teeth and squeezes the Armor Module harder in her hand. ‘Well, at the very least she left… which means I don’t have to worry too much about collateral.’

She presses a thumb against the center of the black and pink device and raises her pistol in the same motion, but just as the action comes to a head, a bright, red light radiates from the far side of the store.

The Operatives immediately take notice and collectively point their guns towards the source—

In that same instance, a loud bang deafens the shop and the sound of ripping wood and snapping metal resounds as something rushes towards them at blistering speeds.

The moment passes in an instant. Only one gun managed to fire at the white blur, before its scarlet blades began passing through each and every Operative as smoothly as a hot blade on butter.

In the next moment hot viscera sprays into Rachel’s eyes and face, blinding her with red and invading her senses with viscous gore.

Up her nostrils and along her tongue, all she could sense are the churning insides of what was once a human.

But then a wave of intense heat hits her, and the feeling of rippling energy soon after; both sensations apparently emanating from one point—the object of slaughter.

‘Ugh, what the hell…’

Rachel wipes away the blood from her eyes, the red blur of her gaze retreating until finally she could focus on the white and scarlet standing amidst the haze of blood red—gods they’re huge.

The viscera below the figure’s feet bubbles, and soon, as they turn their head towards the blonde mercenary, it squelches underfoot as the figure shifts to face her.

Clad in white and lit in red, the figure’s bright scarlet eyes fully match the feeling of being near them—a strong sense of powerlessness alongside blistering heat that makes even Rachel’s eyes squint at the stinging sensation. And those bright, plasmic claws that overshadow all lights present in the room—they seem so blinding that Rachel had to partially turn away from the figure’s visage.

Thankfully, as the armor’s plates begin to close up, so does the heat as the scorching thrusters recede back into their resting states. Same goes for the claws losing form and receding back into their emitters.

Only now, can Rachel fully comprehend the figure standing before her—the suit looks banged up; dents, scars, completely blown-off shoulders, yikes… Cute cat ears though.

Of course, its supposed “cute” features does not let it off the hook from consequences.

Rachel knows who’s inside the suit; it’s plain as day, and she’s pissed.

She walks up to the armored figure, ignoring the stickiness of the blood staining her shoes, and slams her fist into its chest.

…That hurt. A lot.

“Are you stupid?!” Rachel screams at the suit’s expressionless mask, “Do you have any idea what you did?! Isn’t your livelihood backed by the Nebula Organization? So why the hell did you intervene?!”

The figure doesn’t respond immediately, instead choosing to glare down at the infuriated blonde, until finally replying, “I wanted to keep you alive. I saved your life.”

“You know who I am!” Rachel shouts, “I would’ve made it out alive because I’m just that good! So why did you have to put yourself into Nebula’s crosshairs?!”

“...The best cannot survive a checkmate, Earth Angel.”

“My ass!” Rachel looks down, her breaths shaky with rage, before looking back up at the figure and looking beyond the artificial lights of their helmet’s eyes—to glare at the white-haired girl within.

“Take off that suit this instant. We’re leaving and you’re coming with me.”

Rachel walks past the armored blanchette, kicking a bloodied torso aside in the process, and steps behind the counter.

She grabs onto the backdoor’s knob before freezing; her head snaps to Sykra, who hasn’t moved an inch. “The hell are you standing there for? Move!”

A second of glaring passes, and Sykra complies. A bright red light emits from the blanchette’s form; the sound of collapsing metal and vaporizing matter following, and then stopping as the light begins to recede back into the white and red device in Sykra’s hand. Now, she’s only a girl standing idly amidst bloody carnage.

Rachel silently gestures towards the door, and Sykra quickly follows suit as she opens it, revealing the store’s inner warehouse.

Rachel rummages through her pocket and takes out a phone. She stands in place, scrolling through it for a few seconds before taking interest on a certain corner of the warehouse.

She walks over to the corner and finds it completely covered in boxes. So she begins moving.

“You. Help me move these boxes aside, we need to get outta here ASAP.”

Sykra silently complies and begins her part of the effort, moving boxes and shifting crates.

“Earth Angel, can you please explain why you insist I follow you?” Sykra asks the busy blonde, who replies in haste.

“Nebula always finds their enemies; something with or in their Operatives allows them to identify whoever attacked them and how many the offender has killed or injured. If I had to hazard a guess, it’s a similar system to our IDs.”

“Then can you tell me why you’re being hunted by them in the first place? You were never announced to the public as a criminal so—”

“They want to hide it,” Rachel snaps, “They know how popular I am amongst the other factions and even to some of the people. If it were announced that I am on their wanted list then there will be strife and unrest following…”

Then she stops her movements to glare at the blanchette, who only looks back with dispassionate interest, “The same cannot be said about you. You’re definitely gonna be made public.”

Sykra’s stomach drops at the blonde mercenary’s words. Public. Something perks up in her heart, draining her hands and feet of heat as a slight shiver crawls up her spine. This… dread, amidst her empty memories; it’s acting like a virus, connecting her recollections like a spider and its thread—and filling them, too, with dread.

Sykra places a palm over her chest and feels her beating heart against her cold hand.

The suppressants are wearing off faster than she thought…

She shakes her head and lets her hand fall to her side. The blanchette stares at the remaining boxes in front of her, and then she begins to move them, letting the dread at the bottom of her stomach simmer and boil.

“I know that look in your eye,” Rachel drawls as she stacks a box atop another, “I’ve seen it many times before… You’ve got someone to worry about, don’t you?

Sykra ignores Rachel’s remark, instead asserting her entire focus into moving and stacking more and more boxes.

Rachel tsks, “Even more of a reason for you not to be involved. Just keep your head low and hope the heat isn’t so high that they’d come after whoever you love, got it?”

“...Got it.”

“Good,” the blonde ends curtly, but then her tone quickly shifts as she uncovers a part of… something on the floor.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“C’mon, just a bit more!” She lifts and shifts boxes quicker and quicker, until finally revealing what she desires: a small trapdoor.

Rachel skips over to the door and lifts it open; clouds of dust follow the hatches’ reveal which the blonde swiftly swats away. She gazes down the hatch; there is only a ladder leading down an unending abyss.

Rachel heaves a breath, “C’mon, follow my lead, Missy.”

Rachel was the first to descend the long ladder, with Sykra above her following suit.

The descent is relatively quiet, with only the continuous sounds of hands latching onto metal bars accompanying the two mercenaries.

Eventually though, after a minute of silent nothings, Rachel decides to talk through the rest of the trip.

“According to an old friend, this hatch is supposed to lead down to one of the old maintenance tunnels,” the blonde explains, “Apparently the franchisee decided to keep it in case things go bad. No idea what they mean by that, probably some under the desk shady business.”

Sykra simply hums, having no thoughts on the matter.

Well, she does have one, but not regarding the passageway.

“Old friend?”

“Mhm, he’s been helping me navigate through my current… situation. We were supposed to meet at the clothes store until he decided to bail last second, telling me that I’ve been sighted.”

“But then—” Rachel groans, “—you came along; a merc that just so happened to interact with me, making you a potential hostage for Nebula’s lackey’s to use.”

Again, Sykra hums, “Apologies, then. But knowing that… don’t you think it’s fair to tell me why you’re being hunted?”

Rachel grunts as she rolls her eyes, “I suppose that’s fair. Fine, I’ll tell ya once we touch ground… which seems to be right~ here.”

Rachel lets go of the ladder as the sound of her shoes hitting metal ground echoes across the tunnel and up the ladder. Sykra does the same soon after.

The two stare down a long and dark tunnel, reeking of old metal and dense with stale air.

“Hmm, got a light?” Rachel asks with a hand to her hip. Sykra responds by opening up her satchel and rummaging through it. A moment later, a click resounds, and the entire satchel lights up. Sykra twists her wrist, and a beam shoots up from the satchel as the blanchette takes out her flashlight.

“Hmm, you’ve got good taste for brands,” Rachel compliments.

Sykra shines her light down the dark hall, frowning at the sheer impenetrability of the abyss before them, “No, I’m just good at finding what’s efficient.”

“Heh, spoken like a true mercenary.”

Rachel steps forward, and Sykra decides to walk in tandem with her, continuously shining the beam down the old maintenance tunnel.

“Sheesh, this place did not hold up well, huh?” Rachel comments as she looks around the steel tunnel.

Sykra doesn’t reply, instead focusing on hearing the echoes of their own footsteps. “Why was this tunnel abandoned in the first place?” She asks the blonde, who only shrugs by her side.

“No idea, but if I had to hazard a guess, it probably had something to do with the continuous expansion of the city platform, meaning the creation of more efficient tunnels, which in turn made this one obsolete.”

“So you’re saying this tunnel is worthless?” Sykra prods.

“Nah, I’ve been told this tunnel leads to a power station; we could gain more access to the rest of the tunnels from there.”

“Alright.”

Only a few seconds just walking passes before the quiet between the girls gets interrupted again, “Say, you’re oddly… obedient, to what I’m saying,” Rachel observes, ”Why is that?”

Sykra glances at Rachel's direction, but provides no elaboration, instead answering the blonde’s question with her own, “Tell me why you’re wanted first.”

Rachel groans, but after a few seconds of hesitation, complies. “Fine, but it’ll sound like bullshit, believe me.”

“I’m fine with that,” Sykra insists.

Rachel shrugs, letting her shoulders sag as she lets out a soft sigh, “Well, I warned you.”

And so, Rachel begins regaling Sykra with her tale.

It was just another mission—a private one, sure, but still nothing out of the ordinary.

Rachel was tasked to retrieve a massive shipment of Tearlight from a recently crashed Minerva freight ship by the forests. Luckily for her, the Mercenary City has its course set in that direction.

She initially raised concerns for the mission, citing that Minerva will find out about Nebula’s plundering, but she got the reassurance that concealment drones and various Operatives will accompany her to aid in her “invisibility”.

So she agreed, and set off for her objective.

Unfortunately, Liberationists found the crash first… Probably were the ones to shoot it down, too.

So she had to… dispose of them.

It was quick, so she told herself. She always does make it quick, but the frozen fear on her foes’ faces often say otherwise.

Either way, Rachel managed to capture the objective—Until it started floating away, and vanished out of sight.

“What the fuck?!?” She exclaimed to the night sky, and she flew into the direction of the disappearing cargo.

She flew like a wasp high on caffeine, zipping round and about endlessly, but… she couldn’t find anything.

After hours of searching and contacting the nearby Ops and drones for intel, she gave up, and returned to base.

But when she landed, she was immediately surrounded by guns and blades and she was told that she would be awaiting trial at Nebula’s Central HQ.

Confused and enraged, Rachel pressed her rising fury to the one in charge, and he told her that she stands accused of stealing the objective she was assigned to retrieve.

Again, what the fuck?

It doesn’t make sense. How did they know of the situation before her return? Why was that the immediate conclusion? Why was a trial already arranged for her?

She’s been set up. Tricked. Framed!

The scorching heat boils her blood up to her head. It burned, burned, burned!

And she lets it burn, and flow, and immolate the sinners surrounding her.

On flaming wings, she burned the airfield to ash and cinders, and shot into the night sky to fall into the shadows below.

Since then, she watched from the shadows as a phantom lockdown fell on the moving city.

Despite Fitron being Minerva owned, the truth is that Nebula runs the show, and it really began to show over the past eight days.

Checkpoints sprang up overnight. Nebula personnel began sweeping the entire city top to bottom. The presence of silent drones lurking along the dark halls and alleyways spiked tenfold. Hell, even Minerva’s forces have joined in the fray and began to scour every corner of the moving metropolis for her too.

How Nebula managed to convince Minerva to help—the faction that they were literally stealing from? She couldn’t tell you, and couldn’t care to guess; either way, they’re all after her head.

At the very least, she’s getting help from an old friend…

“Go on,” Sykra prods.

Rachel tilts her head, “Go on what?”

“About your friend?”

“Oh.” Rachel proceeds to not say anything for the next several seconds, until finally, she gives Sykra closure.

“Nah.”

“Excuse me?” Sykra replies, a bit taken aback.

“You’re excused,” Rachel quips.

“No—I mean why won’t you talk about your friend?”

Rachel hums, and doesn’t take long to give the blanchette an answer, “Because you’ll meet him anyways. It’s rude to have someone else perform your introduction for you when you’re not even present, no?”

Sykra exhales and tilts her head to the side in thought. “I suppose so,” she concedes, albeit reluctantly.

For the first time since the incident at the store, Rachel grins at her, “Don’t worry about it too much; I assure you that he’s my trusted companion for a reason.”

“Hmm. Well, I have no choice but to meet him regardless,” Sykra sighs resignedly.

Rachel chuckles, “Right.”

Rachel opens her mouth to speak further, eager to ride the wave of the newfound banter between them, until she is interrupted by a bright flash of light, forcing her arm up to cover her eyes.

And just as suddenly as the light appeared, it quickly flickers away, down to an abyssal tunnel to their left.

“A reflection,” Sykra mutters.

“Huh?” Rachel pulls down her arm to see what the white-haired girl means, and wow was she not paying attention to her surroundings at all.

There’s a wall in front of them. A giant, reflective, metal wall. Probably where that blinding light came from—or rather, bounced from.

Rachel turns her head to her left, where the Missy’s light is shining down; it’s a dark tunnel, similar to the one they went down.

She looks right this time; again, a similar dark tunnel.

It appears they’re at a crossroads.

Which is strange. She recalls that the instructions tell her to move forward and—in italics—”never stop”.

“Hang on Missy; I gotta contact my friend before we proceed,” Rachel instructs as she pulls out her phone.

“Mhm, sure,” Sykra replies nonchalantly as she walks up to the wall in front of her.

She plants her back against it and slides down to the floor to sit. It feels cold to the touch.

The blanchette looks over to the blonde mercenary, who seems to be tapping away at her device trying to reach someone, but judging by her expression, seems to be having some trouble.

Sykra has a phone too, but she doesn’t have much use for it. She prefers physical visits.

Out of boredom and a sliver of interest, she pulls out her phone from the satchel—it’s pretty old by today’s standards, but it should suffice to contact just about anyone… But no luck, no matter how many times she tries, she just can’t establish a connection. Signal’s dead.

In her opinion? Sounds like a pretty bad flaw of the tunnels; maybe the new ones have signal?

“Ugh!” She hears Rachel groan, her frustration echoing across the converging paths along with the stomp of her foot, “No luck, can’t reach him…”

Sykra exhales. They no longer have a guide; seems like they’ll have to take a gamble between these two tunnels.

A hint of frustration bleeds through Sykra’s heart, and she thumps her head against the wall she’s leaning on, the vibrations carrying out a hollow echo.

…Wait, hollow?

The blanchette shoots up to her feet, surprising Rachel into a flinch, and she takes a step closer to the wall… and punches it!

Again, a loud, empty sound resounds upon impact, and she notices that the metal bent a bit to her fist. It still hurt, sure, but not as badly as hitting an actual wall.

“Rachel,” she turns to the blonde, who seems to be quickly catching on, “I think I know what your friend meant.”

The blanchette raises her Module in front of Rachel, and a silent agreement passes between them, with Rachel’s nod being the final confirmation she needs to proceed.

A bright scarlet light consumes the darkness; the sounds of shifting metal and locking mechanisms are amplified in this claustrophobic space, made even louder when the sounds continue to bounce across walls and halls.

When the light recedes, Sykra has become the torchlight, her suit glowing brightly enough to keep the darkness far and away.

Plates shift around her right wrist; plasmic energy arcs across her arms and flow down to her emitters, which begin to spark wildly as more and more energy pours through.

And then, with a whip of her arm, the plasma surges and explodes from her wrist, congealing into sparkling scarlet claws.

“Does everything about the suit have to be cat themed?” She hears Rachel mutter offhandedly, which she deliberately ignores as she approaches the wall before her.

Sykra confronts the cold surface in front of her, and then points her claws, pulling back and winding up—

And then she punches, her claws plunging into the metal “wall” as easily as a blade to a piece of paper.

Sykra hums in confirmation and satisfaction in tandem—and then she begins to carve.

Up. Over. Down. Up. Over. Down.

Soon enough, she successfully cuts out the shape of a hole for both her and Rachel to fit through.

Now for the ultimate test: Pushing the cutout and confirming her suspicions.

Rachel walks beside her, patting her in the back as she does so, which makes the blanchette freeze up.

“Good job there, Missy!”

A few seconds pass of the blanchette mimicking a perfectly still statue, until she finally gives the blonde a shaky reply, “Yeah… Thanks.”

Rachel looks at the white-haired mercenary strangely, but eventually shrugs, and backs off a bit. “Now then, let’s push open a hole, shall we?”

Sykra nods, points a finger towards the cutout—and gently pushes it.

As the cutout falls, it reveals an abundance of shining white lights on the other side that feels so good to relish in. It feels like so long since they’ve seen proper light. And the air feels so fresh, so relaxingly chill and so easy to breathe… and then the cutout crashes onto the ground, a dull clang following.

Sykra takes a step forward to observe their new surroundings, with Rachel peeking over the hole beside her.

It’s a huge room illuminated in bright white lights and lined with white tiles above and below, with the walls simply being a dull grey.

There’s an endless churning sound resonating from the right, which guides the mercenaries’ eyes to a large, glowing structure embedded on the wall.

Starting from the center and stretching into a circle, the machine takes up most of the wall’s space. While it appears stationary, its insides are clearly spinning.

“This place…” Rachel begins, her eyes continuously scanning the chamber left to right, right to left, “This is the power station he talked about.”

The blonde hops down from her place on the ledge and lands on her feet gracefully. She looks up to Sykra and beckons to her with a gesture, “C’mon, it’s safe.”

Sykra nods and leaps down as the older woman did. She comes to Rachel’s side, and with the blonde giving her a knowing nod, they both walk in tandem as they continue to gain their bearings on the locale.

Sykra approaches the giant generator on the wall, and finds herself in front of a computer terminal. She stares down at it, unsure if she should mess with what it connects to.

“I suggest you don’t mess with the thing that powers a quarter of the city, wouldn’t you agree?”

She whips around at the sound of the unknown voice, claws already swiping down to claim the stalker’s life—but is ultimately met with air.

“Woah there! That isn’t any way to treat your friend~”

“Missy?” Rachel calls from the other end of the room, “What’s going on over there?!”

“Stay back! Rachel!” Sykra growls as she lowers her stance, “There’s an enemy somewhere in this room!”

But before either mercenaries could react—the enemy makes themselves known in a veil of multicolored pixels, right behind the unsuspecting blonde.

Emerging from the myriad of colors is a pale-looking young man completely enveloped in a green hoodie that falls from his head and down to his knees.

He wears a seemingly permanent smirk on his face, and the glint in his emerald eyes spell nothing but trouble… especially when the steps he takes are completely silent as he approaches Rachel from behind.

Plates along Sykra’s suit split open as her thrusters soar to blistering temperatures—but she knew she’s too late.

The green-hooded man grabs at Rachel’s shoulder, raises his arm, and—

“Yo. Been awhile, Rachel~”

Rachel’s eyes light up at the young man’s words; she skips away from his grasp and twirls to face him with a relieving smile plastered across her face. “Celus! You’re here!”

The older woman jets forward and wraps the young man in a crushing bear hug.

“Ack… Rachel— You’re choking me…”

Rachel skips away from the—honestly kind of frail—young man, with a gleeful grin on her face.

The elated blonde turns to face Sykra, who’s been locked in place at the sheer confusion happening right in front of her.

“Missy, meet the old friend I’ve been telling you about: Celus!”

“...Yo,” Celus waves, still recovering from the vice grip of a hug.

Sykra, meanwhile, feels utterly lost.