Prologue 2
“My apologies, you clearly mourn for a great many. Then what about your own, the name of the man I met at the end of the world?” One man asks soberly.
“End of the world? The world is always ending. I've seen it end at least twice before, no– The world has ended hundreds, thousands of times over the years. For someone, the world is ending right now, tomorrow or the day after. No, this isn't the 'end' of anything.”
“I would still have your name, Neo pilot,” the man asks again.
“You don't remember it, do you, the sound of my voice?”
The man pauses, the radio line they spoke over falling silent momentarily as he considers his answer carefully, “No, I'm afraid I do not. Like you, I have seen many people come and go or fall in battle over these many years, too many perhaps. It would surely break any man's heart to try and remember all those names and faces all the time.”
“True enough, you can't remember every story, only the ones that really hit you right?”
“Something like that,” the man relents.
“My name should be forgotten. It's the one name that shouldn't survive today, that deserves to just disappear. Leave me, be on your way, commander.”
“Won't you at least let me bring you to the Tradech? Remembrance is closing in as we speak. If they find you, you will surely be taken prisoner. Our forces are still waiting a little longer; I can bring you there.”
“No! M- My helmet is broken, yes, and this cabin is leaking air. I will have already passed by the time anyone finds me… Please, leave me be,” the reply comes earnestly, though the one who speaks it lies, their helmet at their side completely intact.
A long hesitation follows before the man speaks again, “I see now that you have already decided this is where your journey ends. I must keep going for a while longer, but I apologise for disturbing your rest. Farewell, nameless friend, last Nemo standing.”
Clunk
The contact link breaks, the radio line goes silent.
A black box floats through space, over endless lapping waves of empty darkness, in a void of nothing on a journey to nowhere. The black box floats through space, waiting for someone to find it again, emitting the faintest of signals so that perhaps, one day, it will speak once again.
****
“It's a shame we have to split up here,” said the young blond-haired woman.
“Why Una is the real question. Our moon-stranded is hardly elite material,” snickered a ginger-haired girl next to her, though despite her words, her tone lacked any actual malice.
‘Una’, a shorter than average young woman of seventeen, dressed like the others in a black uniform with silver highlights, her short cropped hair under a neat military cap, could only blush in response, unable to rebuke the statement.
The fourth member of the small quartet soon intercepted this, thinking, “Now now, you two, can’t you see you’ll make her uncomfortable like that? Besides, we will be working on the Fluchtig’s escort ship. In all likelihood, we will still see and even get to train with Una daily. This is hardly a dramatic parting.” The other two grinned at this sensible statement.
“Heh, and that’s why Una has to go; it wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t have Hikari to guide us,” the blond laughed while the ginger nodded along.
‘Hikari’, visibly a year older than the others with her chestnut brown hair the neatest of the three and her own black uniform better pressed and without a single crease, blushed herself, coughing to cover her embarrassment at the open praise, “Yes well, look after yourself Una, don’t work too hard you hear? Trying to keep up with the veterans of your new squad would be foolish. Take things at your own pace, and you’ll be fine.”
“W-work too hard? I’m not like that...” The girl in question mumbled back.
“Oh yes you are,” smiled the blond fondly.
“Harder than anyone else we know,” added the ginger.
“They are right, you know. You weren’t picked for being the least proficient of us four, but because you are a hard worker who always does her best. Now go and show those elites what the 117th cadet core is made of,” Hikari said with a broad smile and a pat on Una’s shoulder.
As always, despite their teasing, Una’s temporary squad mates had a way of bringing a smile to her face. As the metal doors of the transport slid shut, Una waved goodbye to her friends, and they, in turn, saw her off until she was fully out of sight.
Today was to be the start of a new adventure, an opportunity to prove herself. There’d be no mess ups this time, she would do her job better and make her friends proud, she was sure of it!
****
A grainy view full of score lines from the cracked glass of a camera lens. The image only holds for a few fleeting seconds before the camera finally gives its final breath, but that is long enough. Staring at the low-quality picture before him, the young man observes a usually green Neo-M mech shrouded in an all-consuming void of vicious flames. Pouring out from each and every joint and especially from around the cockpit door, creeping and swirling with vigour as though trying to escape from every opening of the human-shaped machine.
A radio link sounds one last cry of anguish from the pilot before his entire machine explodes into a magnificent ball of smoke, soot and fire, the camera cutting out partway through this gruelling process.
One machine is destroyed, and the dream moves to a second. The young man tries to help with the recovery operation - Severely burning his hands in his overt eagerness to open another’s mech doorway - Now he stands on the melted metal frame leading into the Neo, looking in at what lay before him.
Like all the others today, the damage to this one also had been fatal. A unit with ‘twenty-six’ embroidered on its shoulder had been rammed in the right side of the lower sternum. The cannon's impact alone had penetrated the first layers of ill-suited armour. When the colossal weapon had fired its powerful barrage, not only had it cut the machine clean in two, but it had also torn straight through to the far side of the mech, causing massive damage to the backpack and taking the right arm off in the process.
According to the firemen, it was a minor miracle it hadn't immediately blown up on impact. Furthermore, it caused the entire cabin to be irradiated, and much like her loyal mech, the woman inside, her entire right arm and much of the right side of her chest and leg had been eviscerated, without leaving any traces of ever having existed - There very make-up having being superheated to nothing. The blood loss following had been more than enough to end what little agonising life she had been clinging onto, as heard by the young man over the comm link. Now, all that remained was barely even recognisable as human. The sheer heat had immediately cauterised the severed limbs and equally coloured what remained of the woman a charcoal black.
There was no indication left that what was now in front of him had once had a full head of beautifully kempt blond hair. No sign left of those slightly angular cheekbones and those ever-bright blue eyes–
“Sasha!” The young man roars, bolting upright in his bed.
The room is pitch black, his skin drenched in sweat. He throws off the blanket after realising the dream is at an end. Making his way to a sink in the corner of the room, he attempts to clean his face; it reflects in the mirror. The image he sees is that of a stranger, but it doesn’t go away no matter how long he stares.
“You alright lad?” Asks an older man’s voice from a small window in the room. The young man grunts back a response. Giving up on cleaning his skin off, he grabs a towel and leaves the room, headed for the gym. The time is four thirty am.
****
A woman with long, vibrantly crimson hair, the ends showing the faded remnants of black dye, switched on a tablet screen and began scanning the available information.
"So this is the new gig, huh?" She asked without looking up from the files.
The person next to her - A well put together woman, her age somewhere in the twenties, her hair an ill-defined shade of brown - Nodded in response.
"Indeed, a new team is being put together to take the strain off the Tradech, as well as to test certain new tactics. And for the purposes of 'Operation Deadlight.' "
"Deadlight, huh? Sounds interesting. Anything worth all of this effort?" The redhead responded, grinning a little in anticipation.
"If the rumours are to be believed, then maybe. How does an invisible Troy-class ship, accompanied by an experimental high-performance Casnel sound to you?" The younger woman replied back, offering her own grin in return.
"So what, a group of other top pilots in the newest machines and I go to hunt down this thing? Sounds fun!"
"Ah, not exactly. As part of the operation, we will be making use of the new V-MBT-Neo-C; however, if you move to that page--"
The brunette leaned in while still talking to move the page on the tablet display forward, "-- you'll see that we're going to be doing the trial run for how well Neo's can be effectively customised to their pilot's needs. Hopefully, with a goal for this to be rolled out across the whole of the organisation, and in doing so reduce the somewhat high casualty rates of pilots as of late," she finished. Clearly, this part of the conversation had been pre-scripted as it were.
The older woman’s enthusiasm seemed to wane a little at the sight of the Neo's rather mundane specifications - But before saying anything, a particular file picture caught her interest, "This is?" She half muttered to herself.
"Hmmm? Oh, that. I happened to be passing near Glas-Noa on a particular errand and found a Gen 1 Heavy-Type mech in strange colours - Just floating around near a former battlefield - I didn't have the room to take it all back with me, but it's weapons and some of the armour; the shoulder plates with all those names on in particular. Looked like they might still be useful.”
The interview was clearly over.
"You can use Scarlet as a first name, but you will have to go with 'Grimizan' for the surname. As Ensign, I’ll outrank you until your former rank is reinstated. That alright, Warrant Officer?" She held out an old-fashioned paper contract backed by a clipboard.
‘Scarlet’ offered her hand before speaking, "Understood, Ensign Bachika, I'm in."
****
In the year 2024, a group of researchers based in London made a shattering discovery. Using a device known as the NTME, they could view a VR-like experience of another galaxy. To see into the lives of a humanoid species somewhere out in the stars. This solar system was called ‘UnderCurrent’, and this book recounts the tale of one warship of that world, which, for whatever reason, the NTME focused on, showing a brief window into the lives of five pilots caught up in a war far greater than any one of them.
This is the start of that story.
