Vernicia's eyes snap open. What is this? Where are they?
She tries to get up – BONK.
"Ow." She looks up, then around, taking in her surroundings. The solid surface above her is dark and opaque, while the walls enclosing her are hard and transparent. This is… the inside of a container?
"Ugh. Just like them to pack us like meat," she grumbles, disgusted.
"Ahh, signs of life. Finally," someone says. "Let's see which one it is."
Vernicia tenses as the source of the voice walks in. Another armored executive! And it's a man this time, thin but menacing, with wiry black hair and a sallow, pale face.
He leans down to look at Vernicia. "I see," he says, smiling at her with narrow white eyes. "Biotool 183-D, was it? Vernicia Imran, for short."
"You got the wrong guy," she mutters.
"Oh, who am I? Glad you asked!" He draws back, spreading his arms wide. "I am Crano Mathis, Armored Executive of Metacorp and chief of biotool and internal affairs. And that means you cromps are under my double jurisdiction! I do hope you'll play nice, yes? Wouldn't want to muck up your compact, sinewy muscles."
"Weirdo," Verni replies.
"Well now, there's no need for compliments; we've only just met." He whips out a metallic polearm with a wickedly-curved blade seemingly out of nowhere, then starts expertly spinning it, the blade whistling as it whizzes by. "After all, once I get the green light, we'll become quite acquainted. Then you can compliment me as much as you like. Maybe if they're good–" His blade stops in front of her– "We won't have to cut offour new relationship early."
A chill runs down her spine. "Y-you're not serious."
Crano shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. HAL!"
A bulky-looking dude walks in, carrying some documents. There are strange orange gauges on his bare forearms, and thin scars line his face and most of his peachy skin.
"The dossiers, right? Here they are." As he hands them over, he looks at Vernicia with dark grey eyes. His hair is also dark grey. "Really, you can never tell with people like him," Hal continues. "But you should know he knows quite a bit about you guys. That was the first time I saw you fight, though. You're as aggressive and fast and skilled as they say. I mean, we're biotool fighters too, but you guys are on a different level. Two hearts for optimum blood flow, four wings for optimum mobility, shining red pupils for… wait, what are they for again?"
"Aesthetic mainly," Crano says, closing the dossiers. "Your night vision was the part I designed; you see. Tell me, did I do a good job? I really wanted to get that 'chimera in the dark' look just right."
Marc suddenly jolts awake. "Wh–! What's going on?"
Crano glances over. "Ah, Marc Adams. Joseph's boy, if I remember correctly."
"Wha? How do y– ow." He's also in a container.
"You designed the I-bots as well, didn't you?" Crano taps the top of Marc's prison with the flat of his blade. "Interesting concepts, I'll admit, but in the end, they proved little more than novelties. Toys, even."
"Hmph. I'd like to see you do better," Marc replies.
"We already have. In fact, the Deltas have already been fielded." We made much better use of the one redeeming quality those machines had.
Vernicia tries to shift into a better position. "What, you want us to fight 'em or something? If it gets us out of these jars, I'm game."
"Not you, you baffoficuffs. Your companions." Crano's polearm disappears. "They'll be back, and we'll be ready. Based on our projections, we'll have them by tonight."
"Underestimating us, I see," Vernicia scoffs. "How do you know you won't get stomped in round two?" We can't even handle one, and now there's another?
"I trained Kisha Romanell, you see. You guys fight well, but you don't think well," Crano states. "Why, she likened you skeeblers to a linguistics primer: oh, so easy to read. That's part of why she let your allies go in the first place. It's really quite funny if you think about it."
Vernicia falls silent. No, stay hidden. They can't find out about you, no matter what.
"So glad you agree." Crano turns to leave. "I'll have the Deltas fire on them as they arrive. If they catch on fast enough, they'll dive to the ground, where our firemen will be waiting. Then we'll put their fire resistance to the test."
"Hmph! You think it'll be so easy. What even is the point of all this?" Vernicia calls. Don't panic, don't panic. These AEs have to have some kind of weakness.
Crano stops at the door. "Well, since you lottlefofs didn't come willingly, we're going to skip the officiation process and move straight to integration. Simple as scabs." He chuckles, then continues walking. "Hal, watch these guys while I begin prep work."
"H-hey! You didn't answer my question…" The armored executive is gone. Dammit. We can't get any real work done with these behemoths in the way. What now?
Hal walks over to Vernicia's container, trying to act casual.
"What do you want?"
"Y'know," Hal mutters, "I heard that you guys were looking for the protoforms. I know where they were being stored, but it wouldn't do you any good to look." Romanell wouldn't shut up about it when she was relocated here.
"What're you talking about?" Is this guy serious? Isn't he a fireman?
"They disappeared a couple days ago, without a trace. Right nearly drove Burns up the wall. Of course, he and the other AEs agreed to keep it a secret from the man up top, but I doubt it'll stay a secret for long."
Vernicia glares at him. Burns…? This can't be real. Three AEs?
"Ahem…" Hal glances at something in the corner, then glances back at Verni. "I also heard that if the latches on these containers reach a sufficiently low temperature, they'll get extremely brittle." Is that her pet? I wonder if she named it.
Vernicia narrows her eyes. "What's the catch?" My sword… there. Wait, don't try it yet.
"Huh. Paranoid," Hal says.
"I want to know what's in it for you! What reason would you have to jeopardize your career like this?"
"I'm a biotool, same as you. And trust me, it's not my career that's in danger here," Hal replies. "So just do me a solid and take the opportunity, yeah? It would be easier to say 'they broke free' instead of 'I broke them free', you know." Integration is no joke. I'd almost prefer it if you died.
"You talk too much," Vernicia decides. Okay… give it a shot. Don't worry, I'll cut him down if he tries anything funny.
The rim of the container ices over. Then, BANG! The container's lid flies off, landing a few meters away. Vernicia quickly jumps out, now standing eye-level with his chest.
"Also, it's cute," Hal whispers. "Where'd you—"
WHAM. Surprised, he falls unconscious.
Vernicia grabs her sword, then runs over to free Diantha and Marc.
"Thanks. They've got some nerve, huh?" Diantha looks at Hal's unconscious form. "Hey, what do you think of him?"
Vernicia also looks at him. "I dunno. I mean, I just knocked him out." For daring to expose Bluebell without her consent. He really does talk too much.
"Hey, I can tell something's up. Keep an eye out, yeah?" Dia tells her. "Anyway, we should jet. You find any more weapons?" Don't think I didn't hear him call you cute, you rascal. Gonna play hard to get?
"Um… over here," Marc says, tossing her a rifle.
"Aha. Thanks," Diantha nods, inspecting it. I kinda wish I had a guy on me too. Marc maybe? But I've seen how he looks when Kit gets brought up. I've gotta see this gal for myself. Then maybe I can figure out what makes Gen 3 so attractive.
Vernicia glances over at Dia. "What's with that look?"
"N-nothing." Dia slings the rifle over her back. Soon the three of them enter the corridor, wide and grey with red accents in places.
Vernicia carefully looks around, sword raised. "So this is Metacorp," she mutters.
"Guys, incoming!" Marc raises his pistols as a squad of firemen and large combat machines round a corner and move towards them, clearly hostile.
"Fight or flight?" Diantha looks at Vernicia.
"Fight. We gotta figure out what we're dealing with," Verni decides.
"What the… are those the Deltas?" Marc aims his rifles as the machines stop in front of them, armaments raised.
"Succumb and surrender. We will not attack if you comply," a Delta says.
"In your dreams," Vernicia scoffs.
The Delta thinks for a second. "Resolution not found."
"They're saying no," a fireman supplies.
"Acknowledged. Force authorized. Fire at will."
At the command, the firemen launch bright streams of flame from their open palms, trapping the trio in a vortex of fire.
"What the…?" Vernicia backs up as the heat quickly grows stifling.
Marc raises his arms over his face, then runs through the blaze, going for the closest one—
WHAM! The first fireman flies backwards, breaking the other two's concentration. As the flames peter out, Vernicia and Diantha land on the other two firemen to knock them out.
"Fireman vanguard incapacitated," the first Delta states. "Threat index raised. Engaging."
"Engaging." They both raise their weapons.
Vernicia ducks down, turning her wings into a solid barrier that repels the first Delta's bullet storm with ease. Diantha quickly retreats into the air, firing her rifle at the second Delta.
"Aim for the head," Marc calls, also firing his pistols. "The visor should still be its weak point!"
The combined bullets crack the Delta's visor, then shatter it, exposing the sensors underneath. Diantha fires one last time– BAM!
"W-ww-warn-nningg! Th-ttthreat inddd-ddex rais-ssed—" It slumps over and stops moving.
"As I sussed. Reinforced, but not unbreakable," Marc mutters.
The other Delta turns towards Diantha and fires its guns. She quickly dives down, her rifle aimed at its visor– BANG, BANG! Her shots miss, and the Delta fires again.
"Don't you dare!" Vernicia plunges her sword into its visor, and the Delta immediately stops working, its head spraying sparks.
"Phew…" Marc gets up. "Um, Dia, you okay?"
"Um…" She shifts, blood leaking from several holes in one of her legs. "Just got tagged a little. I can still fly." OW IT HURTS ARGHH WHAT WAS I THINKING TRYING TO BE COOL
Marc opens a compartment in his suit. "Hold on, I've got some emergency gauze here."
Vernicia looks around. "No alarms yet, but more people could pop by any moment. Where's the entrance? How big is this place?" Bluebell, you find anything?
Marc stands up, Dia's leg now wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet. "We'll have to play it by ear, I think. Just being here puts us in real danger."
"No need. I think I got something," Vernicia says. "This way." We'll see if this works.
"Huh?" Diantha struggles to her feet. Shit!! I feel like a pincushion!
"Fly if you need to. Come on, more Deltas are coming!" Vernicia starts running down a corridor. Lead the way!
The way leading to the back has another squad of firemen patrolling, accompanied by a single Delta. As the trio approaches, one of them points, mildly confused. Then the three people fly straight over the squad, continuing down the corridor.
"Uh…" The firemen look at each other. "What was that?"
"Recognition failure. Insufficient facial data," the Delta says.
"Weird…" The squad continues on their way.
Vernicia, Marc and Diantha fly into a low, wide hangar with various aircraft lined up in front of its closed gates.
Vernicia points, and the three of them land on top of a battle transport. Well, Marc and Verni land. Dia stumbles with a pained grunt.
"Quick, they're onto us! Get in, get in," Vernicia says, pulling open the top hatch. Bear it, Dia! I'm sure you've endured worse.
"Wait. Do you know how to fly this thing?" Marc asks.
"It's a W-series battle transport," Vernicia replies. "Why do you think I picked this thing in the first place?"
"That… explained nothing."
"Quiet, you. Dia, what's our status?"
"We're ready to launch. What's the plan for the hangar doors?" Diantha places a hand on the throttle. Can't believe this… I've never actually been shot before. This is way too painful.
Vernicia doesn't hesitate. "Marc, shoot the doors. I'm temporarily diverting all auxiliary power to the turret."
"Uh, okay." Marc grabs the turret's controls, aiming the triple-barreled forward cannon at the gate. Then he pulls the trigger—
KA-KA-KABANG! Three overly bright blue bolts of energy explode against the gate, blowing it off its hinges and into the water below, now in several pieces.
As the ship ascends, a fireman and some Deltas enter the hangar amidst the panicking engineers.
"Awesome. Dia, throttle. Main power is still in the engines," Vernicia instructs. Altitude, clear. Turret, cooling down. All other systems are go.
Marc looks out a side window as they lift off. "Hey, that machine has a rocket launcher."
"As long as they don't–"
BOOM! The rocket explodes against the aircraft's side as it flies out of the facility. Then another rocket streaks past, exploding further away.
Then the battle transport leaves Tasmil, trailing smoke as it moves west towards the mainland.
"Let's head further south," Diantha suggests. "They're probably expecting us to land at the city."
"I'd agree with you, but…" Vernicia points at a blinking light on the interface. "Our fuel cells were hit. At the rate it's draining, we'll be down in about ten minutes. Y'know, if they don't overload and explode first."
"That's why no one gave chase." Diantha leans back, looking pale. "Should we just bail? We can still continue south without the ship."
"Our last rush emptied out my flight unit," Marc says. "I mean, I'll understand if you want to go without me, but we should at least try and get as close as possible to the shore."
"B-but then they'll have a bead on us. Anything we do will be well within their expectations," Diantha tells them. Argh, my head hurts. I think I'm bleeding again…
Vernicia's eyes light up. "They're expecting us to try and save ourselves," she says.
"Huh?"
"Hehe." Vernicia cuts the engine, and the transport pitches forward, plunging nose-first into the water.