A horrible dream jolts Jung out of his slumber. But it is not the calming atmosphere he awakes to—rather, it seems, he has jumped from one nightmare to another. Rather than silence, he is greeted by a blaring alarm that drowns out any thoughts Jung may have. A siren so loud and so recognizable it brings him dread.
Abassi.
Jung springs from the bed and realizes that the intercom has also been going off, but Jung pays no attention to it. It would be faster if he simply went to the bridge instead—staying here and answering it would only be listening to pure panic. Jung slips on his shoes and heads out into the corridor lit by the flashing orange-tint siren.
This can’t be happening, this has to be another dream, Jung’s thoughts scream at him, this could only mean one thing and one thing only: the Federation has made its move—or worse yet they have discovered Li’s ploy.The narrow corridor is longer than Jung remembers. Jung finds himself still groggy and lightheaded from getting up so quickly. He can only afford to limp along the mechanical walls carefully—
And the Wulfhere rocks back and forth rather violently, catching Jung off-guard and throwing him to the cold, orange-hued floor. With a loud grunt, Jung springs back to his feet and reaches the end of the corridor, and climbs up the ladder steps. Upon reaching the top Jung activates a switch that slides open the hatch connecting to his commander’s platform on theWulfhere bridge. With another bout of gruffs, Jung pulls himself out of the open door and gets on his feet to examine the situation.
His bridge crew scrambles around like headless chickens, barking others at one another or yelling into headsets. It is, however, the main monitor that catches Jung’s eye—one that makes his eyes widen with terror, and induces shortness of breath. With each refresh of the monitor, several blocks representing none other than Federation military squadrons move further into the Rouen corridor—right towards Jung.
“This can’t be happening…” Jung utters—but it seems that because of the wailing siren he is unable to hear himself, let alone his thoughts. “What the hell is going on?!” Jung exclaims slamming a balled fist on the railing “—and turn off the alarm already!” Jung turns to see Jargon panicky making his way up the flight of stairs, and takes several gasps of breath before he starts speaking.
“We stumbled upon a couple of shuttles not too long ago… it was at our furthest warning line—maybe just right outside its parameter… of course, the captain of the ship that spotted it told us it was nothing to worry about—he would make quick work of it before it could escalate…” Jargon’s eyes furrow and he smacks himself on the side of the face, “of course—that’s not how it played out at all. The ship captain’s system jammer malfunctioned—they couldn’t stop the shuttles from sending a rather weak signal back to the armada…”
Jung simply could not believe a word he was hearing. But he has to accept it—he has no choice to be in denial when the monitor behind Jargon shows damning evidence of the consequences. “The messages…” Jung raises his head “do they know the Madame isn’t here…?” He stares intently at Jargon, who covers his head in shame. He says nothing at first—but then nods. Jung crashes into his chair and deflates with an exhaustive sigh. “Lübeck… have you already sent a message back to Simon? We need to let them know that hell has been unleashed.”
“Before you came up—I did. But I don’t know if it will make a difference now. It could take a while before they even get back to us—and who knows how long we will need to hold out for,” Jargon cranes his neck to look at the monitor—”a meager fleet numbering less than four hundred ships… even if the Scarface came back in time… I best think we won’t survive this, captain… and that’s just assuming the Scarface survived her battle at Valspon.”
“Have faith in Li,” Jung growls “she will make it in time—I promise you that. She has to.”
She has to!
The Federation blips were getting dangerously closer to their first parameter line. It won’t be long before the two fleets clash. Interestingly, though, it seems several contingents are noticeably further than its host—too far ahead to be considered a vanguard and too distant to be relieved in combat. Jung points to this stray vanguard, “this formation doesn’t seem to be acting in tandem with the rest of the fleet—so long as we eliminate them first,” Jung peers closer at the identification codes of the stray Federation vanguard “—an Ruthenian force, perfect,” Jung remarks with a devilish smile “anyway, so long as we readily get rid of them, the Federation will find it difficult to form a beachhead in the asteroid belt. How are our defenses there looking, anyway?”
“Well… from what I could tell, they’re more or less spread out… did you have a strategy in mind, captain?” Jargon asks, but before Jung can smile and give an answer, a young man from down below interrupts him.
“What is it now?” Jung demands, and the young man flinches.
“S-sorry, cap’n! T-the Don has been messaging us,” the orange-haired lad says with a fist salute.
Perfect, just the man I oh so wanted to speak to, Jung curses as he makes his way to the communication console. On its monitor is the weary-looking Don, intermediately tapping his shoulder.
“Explain this lovely shit parade to me, Wulfy boy,” Zhui says in his forceful cheerful tone “I love twiddling my thumbs over here, being the last to know what the fuck is going on at the front. Isn’t it lovely?”
“Don…” Jung addresses straightening up “the Federation has made their move.”
Zhui energetically bobbles his head up and down in a matter-of-factly way “oh! Lovely, isn’t that simply lovely?” He turns off-screen to repeat it to someone else, and looks back and slams a fist down on his console “and, oh! Do tell me how this might’ve possibly happened! I’m dying —actually on death’s door just wanting to know.”
“They slipped in a couple of reconnaissance shuttles, and…” Jargon didn’t even get to finish when the Don slams his console yet again.
“The Wulfhere, was it?” The Don scratches his ugly, deformed chin that makes Jung and the others want to gag—but they stifle themselves to avoid bringing attention to it. “You should all be grateful that my ungratefuldaughter has continued to protect this bucket of bolts for… gosh! I don’t even know how many years,” Zhui throws his hands in the air “one year too many!” The Don scoffs in such a way that it makes Jung ball his fists a little too hard. To lay down their lives for this despicable man—the fact that he, Jung, has been brought out of retirement for this wretched demon… it’s a fact that brings Jung great pain. If only Simon and Li were here…
“So,” the Don leans into his camera making his horribly disfigured face all the more caricaturing “my message to you? You will make up for this disaster and I have full faith you will do just that—but under no circumstances will we retreat, Jung… there will be no safety net this time… what was that battle you always languished over?” The burly man strokes his beard “Abassi, was it not?” Zhui leans in closer “do me well, Jung—it would be certainly no less than tragic if we had a repeat of that hell.
“We will hold our ground until my wonderful daughter arrives—” Zhui continues, “and if anyone even thinks about turning tail in the face of ourlovely guests,” Zhui trails off and sits back in his chair as his trained eyes wander off. Zhui gestures for someone off-screen to prepare him a cigar, “well… Jung—my dear Wulfy boy… let’s just say that I will not be tolerating cowardice, even from you,” Zhui sits back in his chair with eyes trained on the screen. He takes the cigar from his servant and takes one long inhale from it, “it would be better to die against the Federation boys than be killed by one of your own, don’t you agree?” Zhui asks as a shapeless cloud of purplish nicotine escapes his lips “I leave it all to you, Jung… this is your chance to redeem yourself for all those you failed at Abassi, is it not?” An eye twitch from Jung “—a chance to recover that hurtful pride that Li inflicted on you,” Zhui takes another long whiff from his cigar before obscuring the screen with a veil of toxin “I guess that’s all from thishandsome rogue, cha-cha for now, everyone!” With that forceful enthusiasm, Zhui waves the smoke away.
Jung—along with the others present—slams a fist into his chest in typical Mafia fashion—in Jung’s case perhaps a little too hurting for what it’s worth. The transmission then cuts to static. Hurtful pride, Jung scoffs, I’ll show the bastard what the hurtful pride of a Wulf can do. And with that said, Jung and Jargon step away from the communications console—but stop when the operator notions for Jung to come back. “What does the Don want now?”Jung asks, but the operator shakes his head.
“It’s a message from the Shiva,” the young man responds. If Jung remembers correctly, that was one of the Montepuez escort ships—what could they possibly want from Jung? “It’s also on an encrypted private line.”
Jung crosses his arms, and motions for Jargon to leave him be, “meaning?”
The operator shakes his head, unsure of the situation himself, “if you’re sending Jargon away, do you want me to give you some privacy as well?” He pauses “do you know how to use this thing?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, kid—I might be an old dog but I’ve worked my way around these things in my time,” Jung snorts “but yes—it’ll only be for a moment, so no need to be overly protective of your baby.” When it’s clear that both Jargon and the operator are out of ear-sight, Jung answers the transmission call from the Shiva. Jung is rather taken back to see a wild woman with flowing dark hair and feline eyes. She certainly does not look familiar to the old Wulf and could hardly be younger than Jean at best. “And you are…?”
“Beatrice,” the Shiva captain says wryly “I take it you are alone, Jung?”
“It would seem so…” Jung frowns wondering which way this could be heading “is there a reason for this private line? The time we squander here is crucial for the battle.” Beatrice looks off-camera for only a moment, as if cautious of listeners on her side.
“For a sage such as yourself, you seem to be missing the bigger picture.”
Jung rests a hand on the intercom dials, “and for something who looks like they could be my daughter, you’re acting far too cryptic for your age,” he retorts.
“I’ve been listening in on the Montepuez for a while now—as has the other escort ship, the Kleifar,” Beatrice says.
“What a lovely and loyal henchwoman you are,” Jung notes wryly. Beatrice’s stoicism is evident that she pays no mind to the remark.
“This battle will be a disaster, Jung,” before Jung can open his mouth to interject with another witty comment Beatrice continues “we’ll be shedding blood for absolutely no reason whatsoever. We all have sincere doubts that the Scarface will come—or even arrive in the nick of time.”
Jung looks up at the main monitor. Already the first signs of artillery barrages were commencing between the farthest parameter and the Ruthenian vanguard. As of yet, it doesn’t seem like they are in trouble—and that’s a yet. Jung has a hunch now on where this is going, but he’ll play Beatrice’s little cryptic game. “What are you getting at, Beatrice?”
The woman cuts a sigh and brushes off her bangs in the way of her eyes, “the Kleifar and I have contemplated a third way out of this shit parade—we will send some men over to the Montepuez and hold the Don captive until he seeks peace with the Federation.”
Well.
Jung can’t help but chuckle, “kids you days… back in my prime we would’ve gone with our iron and put lead in between the eyes,” Jung’s grin quickly disappears “is that all to your romantic plan? Hold the big bad Donhostage until he changes his mind? How exactly do I play into your little mutiny?”
“We seek your support—or, to put it another way—your blessing. If only so that Zhui doesn’t expect a thing. Hell, you send some of your ships over so that his loyalists don’t try to play rescue,” Beatrice replies. Jung brings a chair over to the monitor and scoots into the screen.
“And what if you fail to change his mind?” Jung inquires with a furrowed brow. Beatrice’s gaze wanders off for what seems like minutes before looking back at Jung.
“We’ll just kill him—and having you on our side will make things easier— we’ll merely relinquish command over to you,” Beatrice asserts. And with that, Jung leans back into his seat, scratching his whiskered chin. For some reason or another, Jung can only compliment Beatrice and the others for their youthfulness. He finds it rather bold of them to come to him of all people—although he and Zhui have had bad blood between them as far as back the late ‘90s, seeking to rid the man much like they have rid Araki never truly crossed his mind.
Truth be told—and thinking about it now is kind of funny—but he owes a lot to Zhui. He gave him a purpose in life when the aftermath of Fa’s death had taken everything away from him. And even after Jung walked out of the Mafia scot-free the Don almost uncharacteristically let him live a good and honest life—at least until a month ago, anyway. Though, this could be because of persuasion on Simon or even Kamon’s part. Even without either in mind, it’s even likely that Zhui simply showed him some compassion and one less obstacle to his reign of power.
Not to mention, if Jung were to backstab Zhui here, it would undoubtedly break his longstanding friendship with Simon. The three of them have made a blood-oath in their youth—in their teensy days under Araki. To go back on that now—to break an oath of fraternity after so many years would be a tragic note for the history books. Would it solve their short-term problem? Perhaps. Would it compel Li—or even Simon to stand down if Beatrice’s conspiracy fails and they are forced to play their hand and kill Zhui? Perhaps. Jung can only imagine that Zhui’s death will induce Simon to fight to the last man—Zhui, hypothetically, might be out of the picture… but there’s no telling what sort of sweet lies that alluring Kamon will whisper into Simon’s ear. Jung shudders at the thought of whatever she might plan in this chaotic scenario.
“Beatrice,” Jung says getting up from his chair after a long spell of silence “have you told anyone else of this plan? Aside from me—and the Kleifar,”Beatrice shakes her head.
“No—we were going to bring the other few escort ships into the fold… but I just wanted your insurance first,” she replies dutifully.
“Keep it that way, Beatrice,” Jung says after a good standing stretch much to a surprised scoff from the screen “I dislike the way the man as much as the next sensible person—but I owe my life to him. You may not know this, but we forged a brotherly bond in our days… and perhaps that may have fizzled out between us, but do you truly believe this solution to a bloodbath will stop Li from resisting us—or even Simon or Kamon?” Jung jeers “there’s no telling the Federation will even give us the time of day for negotiations—killing us would be easier for them—tight corridor and meteor shower notwithstanding. We’d merely be jumping from one hard place to another,” Jung puts a hand on the dial again, “you just sit back there, stand gorgeous and be a wonderfully loyal henchwoman as you’ve always been.”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Beatrice utters trying to keep her voice low “are you going to let yourself be manipulated by the Don —and cast aside a hundred corpses to caress your hurtful pride?!”
“We’ve fought all our life, love,” Jung smiles “for about as long as you were barely wearing diapers. We fight—and we hold out for Li—and even if she doesn’t come then we fight and go out in a blaze of glory. Do what you will, Beatrice—I will not take sides in this little coup of yours.”
Beatrice only looks agitated as Jung ends the transmission. “What was that all about, Jung?” The operator inquires returning to the station, “that was the Shiva captain… was it not?” Jung merely pats him on the shoulder.
“Some things are better left not known, son” Jung remarks solemnly “if you get any further transmission from the Shiva— or a private line at all, it would be best to ignore it,” the orange-haired man nods obediently. As Jung passes through the rows of computer consoles towards the deck hosting his seat, he catches a sea of eyes that follow his every step. When he reaches the top deck, he takes a deep breath and turns to face the bridge crew.
“A broadcast to the whole fleet—hell, broadcast it to the damn Federation dogs for all I care! Listen up you shit for brains! The battle has yet to unravel. Even now our brave comrades are battling it out against the advance Ruthenian vanguard—if they desire a death-wish that earnestly with the Year 217 Mafia—if they seek to avenge their fallen brethren at Abassi—then we shall give them a meaningful closure! To hell with the Scarface and the Don!— the Wulfhere—no,” Jung shakes his head and grins “the Wulf der Ruthenia will finish what it failed to do all these years ago…” Jung fervently pumps a fist into the air “—and deliver the killing blow!”
