Chapter 31: The II RX - Bascinet

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

Piper

In the confines of a small, box-like room, Piper found herself trapped, the dimensions reminiscent of a confessional chamber known to the old priests of Earth. It offered no view, just a solitary monitor at eye level, casting an eerie glow in the darkness.

Piper lay against the cold metal, the features of Zephyr flickering on the screen, casting a pall over the dimly lit space.

"Madam President, I assure you that the destruction of Jacen’s pirates is progressing well," she sighed wearily. "Even with the loss of Lieutenant Lucas, I have managed to assume his leadership role."

Zephyr, clad in a sharp suit, and the Madam President herself, donned a similar black dress with deep orange accents, their eyes fixed on the screen. White hair framed the President's worn, grizzled features.

"The loss of Marcus and Lucas is a tragedy…" she murmured solemnly.

Piper's eyes blazed with defiance. "They are not dead," she asserted firmly.

As the President of Planet Mercury and its neighboring sectors, colonies, and midworlds, she continued, "I am not implying they are... However, the pacification of the sector must proceed swiftly. The capture of Marcus and Lucas is indeed a tragedy. But the eradication of this threat is paramount."

"They're just pirates," Piper interjected sharply.

"Pirates who managed to outmaneuver..." Zephyr began, but Piper's sharp look silenced him instantly.

"Piper, this is not a debate on funding or command direction... We will be sending you a package soon, along with a group of new recruits," President Colemen interjected.

Piper's eyes widened, then she turned to Zephyr, who remained stoic.

After a moment of silence, Piper inquired, "A package?"

The President ignored her question, stating, "According to your reports, there remains one last lone command vessel. Destroy it, along with all of Jacen’s Pirates. Then, Mercury will claim responsibility for eradicating the pirate interference within the sector."

Piper's eyes widened in realization. "...and how long have the pirates been plaguing the Oceana sector? I understand that the Martians haven’t been maintaining order."

The president's silence hung heavy in the air, as Piper's gaze remained fixed on the screen, her eyes ablaze with defiance. "So, do the greater houses of the universe only extend their aid to other planets when they stand to gain something?" she challenged.

"Piper, you're out of line," Zephyr interjected, but the president's raised hand halted him. "It's fine, Zephyr," she said. "The package is of Martian design. Use it well to accomplish the mission."

Piper's eyes widened with curiosity. "Martian design? What kind of weapon is this?"

However, before she could receive an answer, the transmission began to falter. "Aw, you've got to be kidding me," Piper muttered, frustration evident as she slammed her hand against the console.

"That's all we need from you, Piper," the president's voice crackled through the static. "Aim for the heart, strike true... forever and always. Only devils and demons can take a bullet to the heart. Have no fear in fighting your common man."

Piper's feed scrambled into static, her mismatched eyes glaring at the screen as she sighed and opened the door, exiting the room.

Meanwhile, the President and Zephyr continued their conversation, the former lighting a smoke as Zephyr stood with hands clasped. "How long has she had that eye within her?" the president inquired.

"For a long while... most definitely over a month," Zephyr replied.

"Good," the president stated plainly. "Looks like the eye has accepted her. Keep me posted if anything else changes."

Zephyr hesitated, and the president noticed. "You like this one, Zephyr?" she probed.

Zephyr remained silent for a moment, then spoke. "Piper... even though she lost to Logan, Atticus, and the Wizard, she's a great Warcasket pilot. You don't know Piper like I do. She'll throw away her life in that cursed mech suit."

"You're wrong about that," the president countered. "I do know Piper. I've read through her files, same as yours before assigning her this mission. Likewise, the same as the senate and the Vice. House Mercury can profit from the power Piper may unlock from that mobile suit..."

Zephyr gritted his teeth, the president observing his reaction with a knowing smile as he composed himself.

"You've always been a good one, Zephyr," the president murmured, her voice carrying a weight of history and expectation. "I knew that when you took up your position as leader of the Academy House. I knew you were going to be different."

"Different?" Zephyr repeated, his tone laced with curiosity. "How?"

"You didn't have that wide-eyed innocence," spoke the president, her words weighted with the burden of leadership. "Maybe it's because the majority of presidents arose from true Mercurian stock, with talks of heroes, freedom, and democracy..." She paused, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.

"We don't have much say on what goes on in the academy. Yes, we may be able to influence certain regards... but the academy has been around longer than our government. It's just a way for us to train the exceptional of our society against all threats, sometimes external, and sometimes internal. After... the House Execution, you were the only one the position could go to," the president explained, her voice tinged with a sense of resignation.

Zephyr gazed at her, absorbing her words. "The other three above me died... that's why I got this position. It was luck that I was able to carve House Mercury back into a decent position at the academy. For a time, I thought we were just going to be the punching bags... or worse. Get the House Mars treatment."

The president nodded in agreement. "Yes, but you are wrong... luck did not save House Mercury. It was you," she affirmed, offering him a smile. "You've got two more years till you're done... you aren't having any second thoughts."

Zephyr's features tightened with resolve. "I fought and clawed my way to this position. I won't hesitate. Glory to the rings of Mercury."

"Glory to the rings of Mercury," the president echoed, her tone lacking the same fervor as Zephyr's. "You finish your next two years... and hopefully, this operation with Piper is a success."

There was a moment of silence as Zephyr contemplated her words. "How do you do it, president... send people to their death?"

The president sighed heavily at the weight of the question. "You've been doing it for years, Zephyr. Heck, Marcus and Lucas, Piper herself seemed more torn apart over them than..."

"I am more realistic," Zephyr interjected, his voice firm.

"...and that is what we need," the president agreed with a slight smirk. "A realist."

She sighed deeply, her gaze distant. "You know, Zephyr... they're the ones to sacrifice," she said, her eyes taking on a glossy sheen. "Gun-toting, democracy-loving, and bearing our orange with pride. They're the perfect ones to sacrifice... those young and willing to die for our ideals. It's horrible to say, but all nations must have their army, and we live in a universe where we are beset by the alien, the abomination, and even the machine. Our Emperor cannot breed... and the loss of his ARC means no more planets to be colonized or discovered. When he dies, everyone is going to be fighting for their pockets of land all throughout the solar system."

Zephyr remained silent as the president's words echoed in the room, carrying the weight of uncertainty and foreboding. "Like a bunch of rats locked within a great box," she rambled on, her voice tinged with a sense of impending doom. "Maybe not the first day they'll descend upon one another, but the next day, the next month, the next year? That is what this cursed mobile suit is for. Let's see if the Red Rocket will be able to bring that Martian relic back to life."

"...and you think she will?" questioned Zephyr, his voice edged with skepticism. "How do you know she isn't any different than the ones before?"

The Madam President chuckled at his doubt. "Because she's still alive."

Meanwhile, Piper traversed the dimly lit halls, her gaze drawn to the vast expanse of space beyond the window, where the stars danced in the eternal twilight. A transport vessel approached, its sleek silhouette cutting through the void with purpose. Piper's breath grew heavy as she felt the weight of responsibility settling upon her shoulders.

"We need to get rid of that cursed thing!" shouted a member of the engineering team, their urgency echoing through the corridor.

Piper's heart raced as she pushed open the door with trembling hands, stepping into the hangar where a crowd had gathered. At the center stood Ernest, addressing the assembled group in their orange flight suits. Piper's eyes swept over the recruits, most of whom appeared to be fresh-faced newcomers. Did Zephyr...?

But Piper pushed aside her doubts for now, focusing on the task at hand. She approached Ernest with determined strides, the engineers parting to make way for her. As she reached the center of the hangar, she cut through the tension with her commanding presence.

"Whatever that was, it's over now," Piper declared firmly. "I want everyone back to doing what we need to be doing." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the recruits. "And get the recruits situated and properly placed. I asked Zephyr for more bodies... this lot doesn't even look like they have their heads screwed on straight."

Ernest's eyes darted nervously over the crowd, noting the lackadaisical attitude of some of the recruits. As the youth laughed and snapped pictures, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, Ernest's apprehension grew. The crowd dispersed, leaving only Piper standing before him, a silent reminder of the seriousness of their mission.

"Ernest, what the hell," Piper's words sliced through the tension like a blade.

"What?" Ernest replied, taken aback. "Piper, you can't..."

"I don't give a shit," Piper cut him off, her tone razor-sharp. She closed the distance between them, jabbing a finger harshly into his chest. "This whole mission was practically about finding Marcus and the rest. Lucas is gone, dead, or fucking worse... and now you're out here trying to instigate a riot."

Her words hung heavy in the air, a palpable tension crackling between them. Piper glanced around the hangar, relieved to see that no one was paying attention. She narrowed her eyes, fixing Ernest with a steely glare. "Lucas was from a MilAcademy. He knew what he was doing, and he was captured by these pirates. Time is of the essence. And the last thing we need is a riot."

Ernest's features hardened. "Piper, that's not a normal warcasket..."

Piper's gaze shot upward, drawn to the ceiling where the larger warcaskets were stored. The vessel they were on, a medium-heavy class, had the capacity to hold more warcaskets, some of which were suspended in ceiling ports. Piper's eyes widened as she circled the massive mech.

"Whoa," she breathed, her gaze lingering on the imposing machine. "The Martians made this piece of art?" She turned back to Ernest. "But you told me before that they were blasted back into the past?"

Ernest let out a snicker. "I also told you that their weapons and Warcaskets were strangely advanced," he replied, his tone grave as he joined Piper near the mech. "...and this killing machine is sure as shit advanced," he muttered under his breath.

Piper had faced countless opponents during her time at the academy, encountering a wide array of mech designs and patterns. But this... this was something entirely new.

"A fresh coat of paint in Mercurian loyalties cannot hide what that machine is," Ernest remarked.

"...and what sort of machine is it?" questioned Piper, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ernest closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before speaking. "I was reading the files before you came here. It was the second model of a long series of developments, the... The II RX – Bascinet."

As he uttered the name, Piper's gaze remained fixed on the mech and its peculiar design. Bipedal, mid... medium, a hybrid between medium and heavy, this monstrous machine was shaped like a human. Compared to her previous suit, it was bulkier and larger, but that was merely the surface.

What truly caught Piper's attention were the mech's legs and its unusual head design. The legs, especially below the knees and calves, appeared bulky and heavily armored. Thrusters adorned the heels and the entire length of the mech, hinting at its extraordinary maneuverability.

Approaching closer, Piper addressed Ernest. "I want to get a better look at this thing."

Despite the expected protests, Ernest let out a resigned sigh and went about his tasks. Moments later, a crane emerged from the wall, delicately placing the Warcasket in front of Piper.

"What are the specs on this thing?" Piper inquired.

Ernest gestured toward the craft. "The Mercurian Government wasn't able to replicate it... it's far too advanced. But the new paint job is likely a mix of repairs and attempts to reverse-engineer it."

"No kidding," Piper murmured, her fingers tracing the sleek black surface as she examined the thrusters. "I've never seen so many thrusters on a Warcasket before, Ernest."

Ernest shrugged. "Nor have I. The internal structure of the legs is unlike anything I've encountered." Piper ran her hand along the pipes of the leg, feeling the sturdy armor. "The leg armor is quite prominent... almost like a dress," she remarked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Ernest shot her a glance. "Funny, but the 'dress' is extra armor plating... Scans show that additional fuel is stored within the legs."

Piper's eyes widened, and she turned to face him. "What about the main fuel?" she pressed.

"In the craft," he replied. "But each leg has its own individual fuel source. The mech has tanks in the calves and thighs to extend the operating time of the legs' propulsion devices."

Piper was awestruck. "So, that means this mech is going to fly and be even quicker!" she exclaimed with reverence. "Imagine the maneuvers I can make with that thing."

"Yeah," Ernest replied, his voice carrying a weight of uncertainty as Piper turned sharply towards him.

"Engineer Ernest, is there something I have to know about this machine?" Piper's voice held a note of urgency.

Ernest fell silent, considering his response. "Well, maybe it's best to show you."

He strode purposefully toward his laptop, already connected to the mech with his blue wires trailing along the sleek metallic floor. With a series of button presses, the mech lowered its mechanical appendages, extending an eager hand to the floor.

"What's it doing?" Piper queried, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Ernest shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. "The Martians have handlebars and a bunch..."

"You've got to be kidding me," Piper interjected. "No ladders or anything?"

"They were a military bunch, and when you think of it, it's quite efficient," Ernest explained. "They can scale their mechs, have people hold onto them, and it's quicker than it seems... I did it. Just be careful and mind your steps."

Piper sighed and rolled up the cuffs of her flight suit. "Here goes nothing," she announced, bracing herself to scale the suit. To her surprise, it was less taxing than she had anticipated; the handlebars were conveniently placed, and the hand's positioning made it easier to find her footing.

As she ascended towards the chest where the cockpit should have been, Ernest's voice interrupted her thoughts. "It's not there," he said, pointing towards the head.

"The head?" Piper echoed, puzzled. "But only old-school..."

"The Martians deviated from the status quo," Ernest interjected. "The heart handles all the command functions. The head... well, if you get hit there..."

Piper nodded, absorbing the information as she continued her climb towards the head. As she reached the designated spot, Ernest pressed a button, causing a piece of metal around the neck to chin area to open.

"Strange head," she murmured, studying the Avien design as she slipped into the dark confines of the cockpit.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Inside, it was the size of a standard cockpit, made entirely of metal. For a moment, Piper expected something far more alien, given the way others talked about Martian technology.

She settled into the chair. "Alright, all..." Her words trailed off as her eyes widened in awe and trepidation.

"Ernest, there aren't any controls," Piper remarked, her voice tinged with unease.

In front of her lay only the abyssal darkness beyond the glass of the Warcasket viewport. All she could see was the chair, surrounded by what appeared to be bars along its edges. She reached out, her fingers grazing the rusted, worn metal, and pulled, finding herself effectively latched within the chair.

"Whoa, awesome," she stuttered, casting a glance around the imposing piece of technology before her. But her gaze dared not delve into the shadows, into the murky depths of its past.

"Piper, be careful in there," Ernest warned. "That vessel is cursed..."

"Cursed," Piper repeated, her voice echoing slightly in the hollow chamber. She chuckled lightly as she tested her hand along the console—a long, desk-like apparatus. However, there were no buttons, no holographic displays at her command. "Christ, Ernest... I was just speaking to the Madam President about this... how am I supposed to get this working?"

"The President sent this to you!" Ernest's voice cracked with urgency. "This death machine... Piper, come on, Lucas warned me about you and mechs."

Piper's chuckle faded, replaced by a tense silence. "Oh really, then, what did he say?"

Ernest hesitated, his silence speaking volumes.

"Come on," Piper pressed. "You brought up his name... come on, Ernest. I went solo out there and Lucas got captured!"

"You were dealing with a warship," Ernest reminded her.

"I messed up!" she shouted, slamming her hand against the console in frustration. "How the hell am I supposed to face my friends? How am I meant to convince my father that leaving home was the right choice?"

"Piper," Ernest's voice softened, a mixture of empathy and concern. "Piper, we've known each other for a long time. We've weathered tough times together. Marcus, Jeremiah, Todd, Eric... now Lucas. I want these bastards to pay, but I don't want you to lose yourself. Don't let these crude imitations rob you of your humanity."

Piper's glare pierced through the darkness beyond the viewports. "You think I choose to be disabled?" she spat with venom.

"No," Ernest declared firmly. "Never, Piper. But Ed warned me that you were connecting to your Warcasket more frequently. I warned you about the cost, those nosebleeds..."

Piper's silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken tension. Ernest's words lingered, a solemn reminder of the weight resting on her shoulders. "Lucas is gone, and the recruits will look to you. You're famous over there, and we can't afford to lose you," he emphasized, his voice tinged with both admiration and concern.

A chuckle escaped Ernest, though it held a tremor of apprehension. "You're our rocket," he proclaimed, his tone wavering slightly. "Wild, fiery, and reckless... perhaps too reckless. But that's why you're so good at what you do."

Piper nodded, a sense of resignation coloring her features. "You're right," she conceded, exhaling heavily. "I carry Henryk's fury forever within me." Her fingers absentmindedly brushed against the artificial grey eye, wiping away the trails of hair that obscured it.

"Why did you forgive him?" Ernest inquired, genuine curiosity lacing his words.

A wistful smile danced across Piper's lips. "Well, you see," she began, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "It was an accident, and I should've worn a helmet... but he played the piano so well."

Ernest erupted into laughter at her unexpected response. "That's certainly one reason to fight well with what you've got. You've got Lucas's shoes to fill, after all..."

Piper fell into a momentary silence, her hands coming to rest on a gap within the console, contemplating the slim opening as if it held the answers to her deepest questions. A sense of emptiness washed over her.

"Before, you mentioned that your grandmother told you the Martians found a way to link to their machines," she interjected, her gaze drifting towards a peculiar rivet along the back of the machine, just below the throat.

"Why?" Ernest inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"I think I can find a way to connect," Piper replied, her voice tinged with determination. With a heavy breath, a smile crept onto her lips. "Do you still have the wires from before?"

Ernest stared up at her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Piper, you can't," he protested.

"To infiltrate the enemy... to move against them," she mused, her eyes alight with a fierce determination. "With the power of this mech, who knows what I can be capable of."

"Piper, there are lines you just don't cross," Ernest cautioned, his voice filled with apprehension. "You'll be risking your life out there for what? You're already more than capable."

"Not good enough to best Henryk in these shoddy mechs," she countered. "The Martians were renowned for their innovation... come on, let's see if I can even connect to this thing."

Ernest fell silent, a sense of foreboding settling over him.

Piper's voice sliced through the air, commanding attention and authority. "Ernest, you spoke of me filling Lucas's shoes... There's still time to save him, but the power I can unlock will decide his fate."

Ernest hesitated, his protests faltering under Piper's unwavering gaze. Reluctantly, he retrieved the cables, tossing them to Piper who caught them with a determined grip. With a steady hand, she connected one end to her eye, her movements betraying a subtle tremor as she hovered over the exposed port.

"This is for them... to return to normal," Piper murmured, her voice tinged with resolve as she clicked the cable into place.

Returning to her seat, Piper braced herself, a sense of anticipation coursing through her veins. "I've got a feeling this is going to hurt," she muttered, clenching her jaw as she settled into the chair.

"Initiate," she declared, bracing for the surge of electricity. A burst of energy crackled through her, sending a jolt of warmth zipping along her frontal lobe. Her eyes widened, a primal shout escaping her lips as her body tensed against the onslaught.

"Holy...!" Piper's exclamation was swallowed by the hum of the mech powering to life. Blood trickled from her nose, a small sacrifice in the face of her newfound connection.

Ernest's voice cut through the chaos, his shout echoing within the confines of the cockpit as the viewport displayed a perfect combat lens before Piper. "Ernest, I got it to work!" she shouted, her triumph punctuated by the whoop of adrenaline.

As Piper flexed the mech's arm, a realization dawned upon her, mirrored by the widening eyes of Ernest. She controlled it with her thoughts alone.

"This is insane!" Ernest's disbelief reverberated through the cockpit, his head buried in his hands.

With awe and trepidation, Piper manipulated the mech's fingers, each movement an extension of her own will. It was an eerie sensation, controlling appendages that weren't hers, yet it filled her with a sense of empowerment. But the most peculiar sensation emanated from her eye, or rather, the space where it used to reside. The mech made her feel whole again, as if her missing eye had been replaced by the machine's sensory inputs.

"If you were connected to the mech, your head is the mech's head," Piper exclaimed, marveling at the realization. "Those stories your grandmother told you were true. The Martians could connect to their mechs."

Ernest chuckled awkwardly, a sense of wonder mingling with his disbelief.

Piper's response was casual, her shoulders lifting in a nonchalant gesture. "I don't know, Engineer Ernest," she declared, her words carrying a weight that made Ernest's throat dry with apprehension. But then, with a sudden shift in demeanor, Piper's voice reverberated with determination. "But I do know one thing," she declared, her confidence unwavering. "I want to sortie!" Her proclamation echoed through the chamber, punctuating the air with an electric intensity.Top of Form

Henryk

Henryk emerged from the depths of unconsciousness into a world cloaked in darkness. The thick, oppressive void seemed to suffocate him, its weight pressing down on his chest like a suffocating shroud. Fumbling in the darkness, his hand sought the comforting weight of his laser rifle, drawing it forth with a desperate grip. Yet, even the weapon offered little solace in this abyss of despair. It was a darkness that consumed not just light, but hope itself.

As his fingers tightened around the cold metal of his rifle, Henryk was overcome not by rage, but by an overwhelming sense of desolation. Lost and bewildered, he grappled with the chilling realization that this might be all that remained, an eternity of emptiness stretching out before him.

Memories flooded his mind like shards of broken glass, piercing the veil of darkness. Images of home, of family, of his days at the academy flickered in his consciousness. Was this his fate? Did he... did he...

In the midst of his turmoil, faces emerged from the shadows of his mind. Edward's warm smile, Piper's infectious laughter, and Sirine... Sirine, the princess. They danced before his eyes like specters of the past, haunting reminders of a life he feared he might never return to.

Struggling to make sense of his fractured memories, Henryk's grip faltered, and his rifle slipped from his grasp. "Momma..." His voice was a whisper lost in the darkness, a desperate plea for solace as he descended deeper into the abyss.

A single memory emerged from the recesses of his mind, a fragment of a happier time. "Just one more picture, Henryk," his mother's voice echoed in his ears, accompanied by the gentle sound of his sister's laughter. "Hold still, Diana!"

Henryk's gaze drifted to his sister, her hands deftly working through his hair as she teased him with playful banter. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as he watched his mother fumble with an ancient camera, a cherished relic from a distant past. In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the love of his family, Henryk found a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

"Your duty, Diana," Henryk's voice cut through the air, weighted with determination. "Take care of Mom while I'm away. You and Hannah have that responsibility now."

Diana's gaze faltered, caught off guard by the gravity of her brother's words. "You're the second oldest," Henryk continued, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that brooked no argument. "You've got to step up. I'm going to the academy to succeed. I promise, give me time. I'll be embarking on real missions for the houses, venturing into uncharted territories."

Her response came swift and sharp. "There's politics between the houses, older brother."

Henryk studied his sister's face, their features mirroring their mother's, yet each bearing a distinct intensity in their deep blue eyes. Eyes are power, he mused briefly, recalling the words of an ancient wizard.

Diana's glare held a fierce determination. At twelve years old, she faced her brother with a defiance that belied her youth. Henryk couldn't shake the feeling that this might be the last time he saw her, but he pushed the thought away. Responsibilities demanded he press forward, regardless of the uncertainties that loomed.

"I'll be fine," Henryk replied curtly, rising to his feet and sweeping his hand through his hair, releasing its wild strands.

"What are you doing?" Diana's protest rang out, her frustration palpable. "All my hard work, for nothing!"

Their mother intervened, her presence a blend of annoyance and pride. "What's going on?" she asked, her hand resting gently on Henryk's cheek. "We were trying to take a family picture."

Henryk shook his head, a defiant smile playing on his lips. "The hair is power, Mom," he explained, running his fingers through his unruly locks. "It's who I am. Like the picture of Dad. He wore his hair like this in his youth."

A warm smile tugged at his mother's lips. "Yes, he did," she agreed, casting a knowing glance at Diana. "Alright, fine," she relented, as Hannah protested in the background.

"Hush now, child," Henryk's mother soothed, turning her attention to Hannah. "I'll let you play a bit longer on the game system before bed."

As Hannah scampered off, Henryk turned back to Diana, his tone softened but resolute. "I won't die, and I won't get involved in anything crazy," he assured her. "This is Eris III, a MidWorld bordering on being a CoralWorld. It's heavily guarded, with one of the most celebrated fleets in the system and a shield around the world. What do you think is going to happen?"

Diana's sneer persisted, but Henryk pressed on, his gaze unwavering. "Pirates, rebels, cults, or aliens. I'm not afraid, sis."

Her glare intensified. "I'm not calling you a coward, Henryk. But I don't trust those corpo or Venus-born trash, that..."

"Hey, who told you to use that language?" Henryk's voice cut through the tension, his tone sharp.

"Huh?" Diana faltered, taken aback.

"Don't be calling other people that. It doesn't matter where they come from," he admonished. "Where did you pick this up?" he prodded.

"Billie Mary," Diana admitted reluctantly.

"Alright," Henryk sighed. "What else is she saying?"

Hannah hesitated before speaking. "She just says that the core-worlders are just trash...that we should succeed and that..."

Henryk's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "You shouldn't listen to your friend's foolishness," he interrupted, his voice stern.

Diana met his gaze defiantly. "Henryk, the Emperor and the royal family..."

He silenced her with a sharp look. "You're not saying this around Mom. And you shouldn't be associating with that girl anymore. She's young, but out here, if she's caught saying something like that..."

Diana sighed, frustration etched into her features. "It's never the right time," she countered. "When am I going to see you next? You could die out there, Henryk."

"And I could gain glory," he retorted, his tone defiant. "Creed, honor, and glory. Who knows what I'm capable of?" He clenched and unclenched his fists, his eyes blazing with determination. "I've always been a fighter, sis. Remember what happened all those years ago...I acted, I did what Dad would've done."

"No, Henryk," Diana interjected softly.

"Yes, Diana. My father saved everyone in this colony. Everything was built upon his sacrifice, and now I can honor him..."

"Diana, you're not your father," Diania's voice cut through the darkness, firm and unwavering. "The debt you feel is imagined, Henryk. There's no guilt, no obligation."

Henryk's gaze lingered on his sister as his mother hurried to fetch the camera. Timing it perfectly as Diana rushed into his arms. "Hi, Hen," he whispered.

They embraced tightly, posing for the photograph as his mother hurried over. The camera clicked twice, capturing a moment frozen in time. One copy for them, another for him, perhaps still on that transport vessel. It was a precious memory, his last with them...hopefully, his sister would remember it more than his fate on a distant world, lost in darkness. Briefly, his mind wandered to Sirine, to Piper, but he pushed the thoughts aside. There was no point in dwelling.

Reluctantly, Henryk let go...

"HENRYK!"

A blaze of fire erupted before him. The Peyton, its light casting a harsh glow, its eyes burning with renewed vigor as it stood watch. Henryk's gaze flickered to the Peyton's spine, its bones jutting out like a macabre crown, reminiscent of the 'Sons of Mars.' Why was he...where was he?

The fire, the light! It jolted him awake, pushing back the exhaustion even as he felt himself sinking. The Peyton loomed above him, its gaze piercing. Its features, once animalistic, now contorted into a semblance of humanity, like a man wearing a mask of flesh. "What were you thinking?"

Henryk glared up at it. "Huh?" he muttered.

"You were about to give up!" The Peyton snapped. "Never, never, never...do that. You were ready to throw your life away!"

"I'm dead," Henryk stated flatly.

The Peyton's gaze hardened. "Yes," it replied solemnly. "But your soul hasn't found rest. You're in the in-between. And perhaps, if you're fortunate," it paused, casting a glance over its alien form. "My sons are in these caves. I wonder if they'll find you, or if you'll join the ranks of the forgotten, a talented young man, amounting to nothing in the end."

Henryk's sneer cut through the darkness. "You talk too much," he scoffed, his exhaustion draining away as he surveyed his surroundings. He recognized where he was now—death. Clutching desperately at the darkness, he sought something, anything, to anchor himself, but found only the slow descent through the gray clouds, guided by the rays of the Peyton.

The Peyton chuckled, its voice echoing ominously. "You're the last to speak of insolence," it retorted, tilting its head forward. "Turn around, Henryk. Look at the darkness you were about to embrace willingly." Its features contorted into a twisted smile, almost human.

Slowly, Henryk obeyed, and what he saw made his blood run cold. A howl of fear escaped his lips as he gazed into the abyss beneath him. "Why are you showing me this?" he screamed, trying to push himself away, but realizing with horror that he was only sinking further.

The hands reached for him, their dark eyes and ragged clothes a haunting sight. "What are they?" Henryk questioned, his voice trembling.

The Peyton glanced down. "Souls like yours, whose will demanded that their business was unfinished. Perhaps one day, they'll return to Earth, reaping and sowing. The dead crave life, Henryk, always. The Witches of Jupiter believe in such things."

He gestured toward the pile of souls. "That's how they believe the universe will end, Henryk."

Henryk stared down, his heart heavy with dread. "Am I going to become like one of them?" he asked.

The Peyton remained silent.

As he approached, the souls cheered, their hollow laughter echoing in the darkness. "They're laughing, they're enjoying this," Henryk observed.

The Peyton sneered. "Do you desire to live?"

"Of course," Henryk snapped. "I have much to do back there."

Then, Henryk paused, fixing the Peyton with a piercing gaze. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The Peyton met his gaze, and Henryk held his ground. "I am not a fool," he declared, raising his arm. "In the dream, you took my blood. I don't know why or how, but I was taught by tutors the importance of witch parts. You don't let a man own something that grows on you."

The Peyton nodded slowly, a glint of admiration in its eyes. "Clever. Not many people, not even sorcerers, understand how important that is," it remarked, tilting its head toward Henryk. "Is that why you burn your hair when you cut it?"

Henryk met its gaze. "It's safer that way, especially at the Academy. All the tenants from House Jupiter are witches. I've encountered them a few times before."

As Henryk began to rise, he couldn't help but inquire, "Is this your doing?"

The Peyton smirked and chuckled. "No, my sons. But Henryk, don't let this happen again. You have a dominating soul, a fiery soul, and that is what is needed for the times ahead."

Suddenly, Henryk was engulfed in a bright, powerful light.

"Hold to the light, Henryk. Remember the teachings of your tutors, the rules of your mother, and the lessons of all those who have trained and honed your skills. And trust in the Sons of Mars."

Henryk snapped his head, remembering the spikes. "Who are you?" he demanded again. "Why are you helping me?"

Then, there was nothing. And then, there was everything.

It came like a shell-shocked flashbang. Darkness, then light. Henryk was thrust upward, water pouring from his mouth as unfamiliar hands steadied him on unsteady ground.

"He's breathing!" someone shouted nearby. Henryk's gaze fell on his rifle, lying within arm's reach.

Footsteps approached, and Gerald's voice cut through the chaos. "You have a knack for announcing yourself, Henryk Brown," he remarked, kneeling to meet Henryk eye to eye. Then Henryk gazed around, and witnessed Squad Pluto in there military glory.

Piper

"Only five minutes out there, Piper, in and out," Ernest's voice echoed sternly through the radio.

Inside the mech, Piper bobbed her head to Henryk's music, her helmet enclosing her senses as she peered through the viewport. The clamps tightened, sending vibrations through her and the mech as its armaments clicked into place, alien to her eyes.

"Are you controlling them?" Ernest's inquiry cut through the tension.

"Yep," Piper replied, her gaze narrowing as she gripped two mech assault rifles, their design reminiscent of ancient Ak-47s but now heavily modified with dual drum magazines. A massive propulsion tank was secured to her back, while a scabbard gleaming with an ethereal blue shimmer held a blade along her thigh. In her right hand, she wielded a missile launcher with an extended magazine.

"How does it feel?" Ernest's voice was tinged with tentative curiosity.

Piper shrugged, feeling the weight of the machine's power resonating within her subconscious. "Like arms in the back of my mind, like my subconscious," she murmured.

"Like a gorgon," Ernest remarked, invoking ancient mythology.

Piper's mind flickered with the imagery, the power of the machine echoing the mythical creature. "Like a gorgon," she echoed softly, a determination settling within her as the viewport opened to reveal the vast expanse of space.

"I am ready," she declared, her mind flashing to memories of her father's screams, her mother's tears, and the weight of responsibility she now bore. "It had to all mean something... I will fill in their shoes." With a mental command, she willed the machine into motion.

With a snapping hiss, the cable released, and the ship detached from the warcasket, burning orange fuel propelling her into the cosmos. Sweat glistened on her brow as she soared, recruits below pointing at her blazing trail like an orange comet.

"Woo... hooo!" Piper's exhilarated cry pierced the void as she soared, cutting through the black cosmos, her…the mech arms outstretched, the rush of speed akin to wind against her face. Memories flooded her mind, from a carefree girl on a beach to the determined woman she had become, with thoughts of Henryk in the music hall spurring her on.

"Only I can fly high enough!" she shouted defiantly, maneuvering skillfully around an asteroid, unleashing her bazooka with precision.

"This was a good trade for one eye!" Her triumphant declaration reverberated through the cockpit, leaving Ernest wide-eyed with astonishment.

Piper unleashed the full force of her special bazooka, shattering an asteroid into a shower of space debris that glittered like a cosmic storm. With nimble precision, she sliced through the void, navigating past colossal chunks of wreckage, remnants of forgotten vessels adrift in the darkness.

"Piper, be—" Ernest's warning was cut short as Piper plunged headlong into the heart of a massive debris field, his frustration palpable in the air.

Unfazed by Ernest's exasperation, Piper hurtled through the ship's narrow corridors, her powerful engines igniting rusted metal into fiery trails behind her. With each twist and turn, regret began to gnaw at her, the perilous dance through the decaying vessel growing increasingly treacherous.

"Oh, shit," Piper muttered under her breath, her heart racing as she careened through the ship's labyrinthine passages.

"Are you okay, Piper?" Ernest's voice crackled over the radio, concern lacing his words.

A section of the ship's roof gave way, but Piper deftly maneuvered, narrowly avoiding disaster as she burst through the opening, her shoulder shield absorbing the impact with a resounding clang. Emerging into the hangar, she laughed triumphantly, the exhilaration of the chase coursing through her veins.

"Five minutes!" Ernest's voice echoed, barely audible over Piper's laughter, as she made her way steadily toward the waiting mech, determination etched into every step.

"E-Ernest," Piper's voice crackled over the radio, a note of urgency creeping in.

Ernest rushed to the mech, flinging open the door as Piper's voice came through again, slower this time, tinged with exhaustion. "I-I am alright now," she reassured him, attempting to muster a smile.

But when Ernest reached her, all he saw was a haunting scene of crimson, blood cascading from her nose, a ghostly blue wire trailing from her damaged eye and still connected to the console.

"P-Piper..." Ernest's voice caught in his throat as Piper collapsed into his arms.

Trembling, Ernest held her close, his gaze shifting from Piper to the monstrous machine before him. In that chilling moment, he realized the true cost of their desperate mission—the machine that threatened to devour not only their bodies but their very souls.