The Alloy Gate Arena.
Arenas have existed for as long as there have been Ravens. When humans started to reclaim the surface from the Fall, formal duels in Armored Cores were commonplace. As humans created and occupied settlements like the City, these duels became a form of entertainment and prestige. In the time of the League, a unified global Arena under Collared displayed the strongest Ravens for all to see. In the space colonies Mother once called home, the great noble families held duels for prestige and honor.
Here in the City, though? It’s nothing but a crass form of violent entertainment for the masses.
…but, the benefits of participation far outweigh any ethical considerations you might have, at least at the moment. If Ariel gains more ranks, she’ll be able to choose her missions much more freely.
“…by the way. Did you have anyone in mind for me as a bodyguard?” you ask Mother, as her car stops in the parking lot. She doesn’t usually say anything like that without reason…
“I might. There are candidates, certainly. I can arrange some interviews - it’d have to be someone Ariel is comfortable with too, right?”
You nod to Mother, sighing as you adjust your tie, checking your hair in the rear-view mirror and…
…
…something is wrong.
A glint in the rear-view mirror catches your eye.
The crowd is rather sparse - as you'd expect for a 'cheap seat' day, featuring only one ranked match on the card. One whose outcome is, in the eyes of most, all but certain. But you see it -
A man in a heavy coat and sunglasses, who was formerly just a part of the crowd, of a tailgate party, striding toward you. And reaching into the coat -
But you're not fast enough.
You open the door and dive, remembering your training. The mirror shatters as a round hits from the gunman - what, is he insane? Is he going for Mother in the Arena? What idiot -
No.
No time.
"Mother!" you yell, your handbag out of reach - but not the gun Mother keeps in the glovebox. Mother is reaching for it too - but will she be fast enough?
You have to make a decision.
...you reach for Mother's gun - a memory of her time in the Colony War. You've been trained in marksmanship, but you'd never call yourself a good shot...
Where the hell is Nezha? Goddess help you...
And you miss.
In this position, you can barely see the man, and your shot goes wild - thankfully, not into the crowd.
And everything else happens so quickly -
You hear another shot, and the glass of Mother's prized TESTAROSSA breaks, and then she's clipped in the shoulder -
You hear Arena security yelling as they approach -
And then, a burst of blood escapes the gunman's head, as you hear the roar of a motorcycle engine, Nezha having wheeled in, and taken him out with effortless grace.
Thank the Goddess it's not lethal. Mother is breathing rapidly, but though there's blood on her shoulder, her car seems to have taken the brunt of things.
Nezha hops off her motorcycle and runs over, still holding her firearm, scanning the area as security rolls in. An attack on the Arena? You've never seen it before - it's neutral ground, for a reason. "Miss Miri? Are you okay?"
"...I'm fine," Mother says, smiling with the same composure as ever. "I'd be more concerned about our would-be assassin."
"Mother, you're bleeding..." You reach into the back, tugging out the first-aid kit. "Hold still. I'll take care of it."
You manage to dress and disinfect the wound easily, tugging Mother's coat aside. From here, you can clearly see the corset she wears under her blouse - an old holdover from her days in the noble courts of the orbital colonies. (You personally prefer her without, but...)
Maybe not the time.
Wrapping bandages around her, you carefully dress it...
"How does it feel?" you ask.
"...perhaps a bit deeper than expected," says Mother. "Perhaps I should get some medical attention first?"
You nod. It's...not the best situation to be in, though. "Nezha can escort you. I'll...I'll be fine."
You hope.
If Mother's not there, you'll have to face any interviews or media alone - and Delacroix might well be waiting there, too. You've always entrusted these things to Mother; can you really be sure you'll be alright if you're the one who has to speak?
You'll just have to find out.
"Not to worry," says Mother, smiling as ever - it looks like she's in pain from moving her shoulder, but a couple of hours with a doctor should take care of it. "I fully trust that you'll handle anything that comes your way. Including our 'mutual friend'..."
"Delacroix," you say. It's not hard to guess who hired the gunman, because you know of only one person who would be stupid enough. You expect Red Rum won't be happy that Delacroix is so brazenly violating her territory...
This is starting to escalate.
Angelina Delacroix was always small-time. But these days, she has Father's ear - she even works directly out of the Successor Pyramid. You wouldn't expect someone whose business is movies to want that kind of power, but...
Well.
She's always been your enemy, for what she does to other women, to members of the Order. Exploiting them for her tapes, commodifying them, objectifying them.
This just means she's made it personal.
With Nezha escorting Mother to the Arena's medical facilities, you find yourself wandering underneath into the garages on your own.
There are a few other teams around, not just yourself. A single Arena match isn't exactly a day's worth of entertainment, so the schedule is usually padded out. Other Ravens, ones not worthy enough to even have a Rank, make up the Sub-Arena - those hopefuls fighting for a sponsor and a chance to make a name for themselves. Their ACs are decrepit things, parts barely functioning, lacking the special touch needed to make them powerful war machines.
There's a few Muscle Tracers around here too, some even seemingly home-made machines, looking like scrap metal; the MTs of the Arena lack the special functions of ACs for duels, and being part of those proceedings is a dangerous, life-threatening thing. Most of those pilots are hopefuls, people with enough AMS compatibility to pilot an AC, but no AC to call their own. There may be dozens of ACs in the City region, and many more across the world, but there are still far more Ravens than ACs they can pilot.
No concerts or anything today - Red Rum is famous, but your Ariel is not. Thus, just another 'cheap seat' match featuring a D-tier Raven, scheduled in the morning of the weekend before the real action begins in prime time...
You'd prefer not to be here, to be honest.
But your Ariel can't fight without your voice in her ear.
Eventually, after wandering the expanse of the garages, feeling the roaming gazes of their pilots, some familiar enough with you to know you're rarely seen without being in Mother's shadow...
You arrive, and witness Ariel's AC. Lilith.
Being worked over by a half-dozen mechanics, wearing simple jumpsuits marked with Collared's emblem, the machine over three times your height towers over you as you stare upon its surface.
On its right shoulder, the emblem of Collared - of the mercenary organization, the Ravens' nest, that your Ariel works for.
On its left shoulder, the emblem of the Fourth Order - of the faith you shared with Ariel, of the promise of salvation for all women from this Fallen world.
Upon its chest, 魔女, that is 'majo' - the word for 'witch', in the sacred language.
And within it...
"Huh. The boss isn't here yet?" you hear, from someone adjusting the fuel lines that fill the bladders beneath the armor. The sniper cannon, Ariel's main weapon, is currently being refreshed, new HEAT rounds being grown within its magazine from feedstock from another line. Some of the armor exposes the organic components of the AC, currently being conditioned to keep up with the demands of Ariel's movements.
"It's just me today, Kobayashi. Mother is currently indisposed."
The man walks around, ducking under a fuel line - you're shocked he didn't bump his head again - and sighs, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. "Figures. She can't be bothered today, I guess. I know everyone thinks she's just going to lose to Red Rum, but what about us little guys?"
...John Kobayashi. Lead mechanic on Ariel's AC, Lilith, and one of the highest-ranked mechanics of Collared.
In your old cult, the one you abandoned ten years ago...'Kobayashi' is a watchword for a no-win scenario. A situation in which victory is impossible, and there are only different degrees of losing.
His attitude certainly fits the bill.
Black hair full of grease, ill-fitting glasses, and a general poor attitude. You're not sure where he got the name Kobayashi, because he certainly doesn't look much like you. But, then...
You've never really asked, have you? It always feels like he's annoyed...
"Actually, she was shot," you say, thankfully interrupting the mechanic before he can light that cigarette. Honestly, no matter how many times you tell him...
"Seriously?" he says, putting it away. "Ah, jeez, I'm sorry. Is she alright?"
"She's fine. Just clipped. A bit of medical care and she'll be fine." You adjust your glasses, and look back up to the marking on Lilith's chest. "Is Ariel in there?"
"The princess? Yeah. You know how she is, she'll only leave for you and Mother. Can you check on her? She's usually fine, but since it's Red Rum..."
You nod, and walk toward the front of the AC that you helped design, alongside Kobayashi. One tuned for Ariel's talents - ones she uses, despite the pain inflicted upon her by the corporate colony Aspina, making you wonder whether she's found an answer for herself to the question of continuing to live, to fight as a Raven.
(You, yourself, aren't one to believe Ravens only belong on the battlefield, after all.)
"Akarui Akuma," you command, speaking in Ariel's callsign - in her AC, she will answer to nothing else. "Come out and let me check on you."
...a moment of silence passes, as several of the workers clear the region of the front hatch.
And as the chest opens up, you see her.
You watch as she climbs down, leaping off without using any line to lower herself onto the ground.
As her eyes light up, as she rushes toward you, and wraps her arms around you - just the faintest hint of a smile, that two years before would have been unimaginable.
And, despite yourself...
You can feel a warmth in your heart.
After all...
it's your Ariel.
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