>>> The Swingin' Twenties...

Flat on your back on a hard, gravelly surface, you blink your eyes as you come to.

The bright lights overhead blind you momentarily and you shield your eyes with a hand as you squint. You ache all over and you can feel a wet stickiness on your arms and sides. You struggle to sit up on what you find to be a narrow strip of road.

You hear a sharp squeal as a blocky shape stops next to you. There's a loud rumbling coming from its front end. As your eyes focus, you make out the details of a Kord Model R automobile. A door slams open and you behold a dark-skinned dame with dark curls in a blood-stained cream flapper dress.

"Hurry up! Get in!"

Her words are a shout but seem to roar in your head, your ears ringing.

A large man with broad shoulders, dressed in a dark suit and wearing a black fedora with a cream headband, sticks his torso out of a window. The chattering of a tommy gun fills the air. He growls, "We don't have much time, kid. Get in the car. Now."

You feel arms lift you up from the ground and half-drag, half-carry you over to the car and unceremoniously throw you in. You turn as you try to sit properly and see a young black man, possibly barely out of his teens, slamming the door shut. You notice that his teeth are amazingly white as he shoots you a toothy grin, blood smeared across his face and clothes.

The automobile shoots off as the young man jumps onto the tailbar, a hand clapping his argyle flatcap to his head. The dame is driving and you realize that she's barely any older than the young black man hanging on for dear life in the back.

She shouts back into the wind, "Patrick Nemowe, if you die now, I will never, EVER forgive you!"

"Awww, shucks, Miss Paz, that's so sweet of you," came the reply, dripping with cheekiness. And how anyone could hear it over the racket, no one will ever know.

The big man growls as he reloads the tommy gun, "You still owe her thirty bucks, Nems. Now hang on tight, there are three of 'em and they're gaining!"

The young dame lowers herself to the wheel and floors it.

Looks like you're in for the ride of your life.

WHAT DO YOU DO?

_{... seems like a good setting for the Exalted.}

>>> Everybody get up...

"How do you like that, sports fans!? It's a tie going into halftime here at Sakuragawa High's Zone Amphitheater. And, man, has it been a brutal match so far! I dare say that the number of fouls today has been unprecedented in Kami High School Divisional League! Especially the ones that have gone right under the ref's noses, Ken!"

"Indeed, Mark! But it's so hard to prove those to be fouls and not as the accidents that they seem to be. Tsuyosa has a reputation for powerful, forceful plays. But, recently, stories have been spreading about a new style which is both dangerous and crooked."

"Right you are. But there's no way to substantiate those claims. Though, a review of past games might be in order... Now, let's look at these numbers! Tsuyosa's monster of a Power Forward and their number 2nd Year ace, Setsuden Kenta-sama. True to his heritage, he is the very essence of strength, working on a double-double in field goals and rebounds. He is 10 for 15 from the paint and has 9 rebounds so far. Sakuragawa's own starlet, Par-...."

"Mark, there seems to be a commotion at the referees' table! A player from Sakuragawa just walked over and declared something that has EVERYONE agitated! Managers, coaches and players from both sides are mobbing the table! Oh, wait, looks like Setsuden-sama is getting in the Sakuragawa player's face!! What is going on!?"

"Oh. My. Gods! Could it be? Oh, yes, Ken! YES! Looks like there's going to be a halftime JAAAAAAAAAMMM!!!"

"For the first time in three years, Mark, in Sakuragawa High, there's going to be a JAM at Halftime! AMAZING!!!"

"For those watching from home, a Jam is a one-on-one match using the full court. It's like a duel, only with Basketball! And, like a duel, Ken, there's always something at stake, varying anywhere from favours to consorts!"

"Especially with the players being the Scions of the Divine! But who's the challenger!? Wait, wait, wait! The announcement's on the video screens! Looks like it's... Sakuragawa's number 13, Akihito Konamo'i?? Against Tsuyosa's ace, Setsuden-sama!!? Who in the Nine Hells is this kid!? Mark, do you have anything on Sakuragawa's number 13!??"

"Well, Ken, for starters, we don't have much to go on, paper-wise. He's a transfer student from the States, starting his first year of high school here. Plays as a Center Forward, but his stats are non-existent!"

"He's a FRESHMAN!? He MUST be INSANE to challenge one of the best, if not the best, Power Forwards in the Kami Junior Leagues!"

"Hold on, Ken, something's not right here. That kid looks intense. Can you see that aura!? More info is required! We need the ORACLE!"

"Right then, Mark, I've got you covered. The mob and furor around the refs' table has dissipated, but can you feel that tension in the air? The stakes are on screen now: a female player from each side has been laid down on the outcome of the Jam! Whoever wins the Jam has the wagered player transfered to the winner's school!? On a best two-of-three Jam!? Incredible! Unbelievable!"

"The first player to score two baskets out of three attempts in a 1 minute and 30 seconds or under of playtime WINS. If Sakuragawa's number 13 wins, Tsuyosa will lose their talented - and rather pretty, she has a fan club dedicated to her in Tsuyosa - Point Guard Tetsubara Rin-chan. If he loses, he will leave Japan and Tsuyosa will receive Sakuragawa's star player, Parvathi Araviswanadha!! AMAZING!!!"

"Seems like some harsh words being exchanged between Setsuden-sama and Tetsubara-chan. The Sakuragawa bench is strangely quiet... Akihito is waiting, seemingly unconcerned, at the refs' table."

"And the two players have moved to center court... TIP-OFF! Akihito grabs the ball ahead of Setsuden-san. My gods, what a leap! And such height! But, wait! The whistle's been blown! What, Akihito touched the ball before it hit its highest point!? UN-BEE-LEE-VAH-BEL!!! Let's see that in a quick replay!"

"Ladies and gents, Akihito's height and wingspan may become a pain for other teams in future! It's CRAZY!"

"Returning to the Jam at hand, Setsuden-sama has possession and moves in at a quick jog after a quick bounce check from center court. Akihito is crouched between the three-point and free throw lines, arms out. Wait, he's straightened up! His posture's become very relaxed. His head is even crooked to the left! What is he DOING!? Setsuden-sama dribbles, here comes the cross-over and then, suddenly, dashes in, cutting past on Akihito's left! What the... But, Akihito is suddenly right in Setsuden-sama's face! How did he move so fast!? Setsuden-sama has been stopped in his tracks, almost right back at the free throw line! The snarl on his face is fierce! What is he goi-..."

"WOAH! WOAH! A STEAL, A STEAL! AKIHITO HAS STRIPPED SETSUDEN-SAMA OF THE BALL! HE'S GOING COAST TO COAST!! SETSUDEN-SAMA'S CHASING!!! THE CROWD'S ON ITS FEET AND ROARING LOUD!!! SETSUDEN-SAMA HAS ALMOST COMPLETELY CAUGHT UP!!! BUT!!! AKIHITO SUDDENLY LEAPS FROM JUST PAST THE THREE POINT LINE!!!! A LANE-UP FROM THERE, IS HE COMPLETELY INSANE!?!!!!"

"OH! MY!! GODS!!!"

"SLAAAAAAAAAMMMDUNNNNKKK!!! 18 FEET LONG AND 13 FEET HIGH AIRWALK A LA MICHAEL JORDAN!!! UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE!!! AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!"

"Look at this kid! So composed, so focussed! Just a small fist pump after his dunk! And Akihito calmly backpedals towards the free throw line. And there's the bounce check! Setsuden-sama is powering down woodwork. He's really pulling out the stops, he's so fast that he's almost a blur!!"

"But Akihito is keeping pace! Seriously, Mark, who is this kid!?"

"Still checking, Ken!"

"O-kay, Mark, and... WHAT A MONSTER OF A BLOCK!!! Took my eyes away for only a few seconds and the Jammers already made it to the hoop! But! An impossible block on Setsuden-sama's double clutch dunk!! Akihito slipped in between him and the basket!!! And Akihito is acting like it was nothing special!!!"

"Both benches are stunned! BOTH! I don't think that Sakuragawa was expecting this level of output from Akihito!!"

"Bounce check from the sideline for Setsuden-sama. You can almost taste the aura pouring off of him. He. Is. Pissed."

"And, yet again, Akihito is already up in Setsuden-sama's grille on defence! He's quick, I'll grant him that, his speed has been beyond fantastic so far."

"Less than 50 seconds on the countdown and 18 on the shot clock to go."

"WHAT!? THE BALL'S KNOCKED LOOSE! THEY'RE CHASING IT AS IT BOUNCES UPCOURT TOWARDS TSUYOSA'S BASKET!!"

"AKIHITO SCOOPS IT UP AND HEADS TO THE BASKET! A CUT-IN FROM THE LEFT, A JUMP, SETSUDEN-SAMA'S SUDDENLY BETWEEN AKIHITO AND THE BASKET!!"

"AKIHITO IN MID-JUMP, MID-AIR, DOUBLE CLUTCHES, SPINS OUT A 360 AROUND SETSUDEN-SAMA AND SLAMS IT HOOOOOMMME!!!"

"THIS JAM IS OVER! AKIHITO WIIIIINNNS!!!"

"Akihito offers a handshake but Setsuden-sama slaps it away and walks off. Ooooooohhh. But he suddenly stiffens mid-stride. Was it something that Akihito said?"

"Ken."

"Yes, Mark?"

"Sakuragawa has gotten their hands on a MONSTER."

"Eh? Sory, say that again, Mark?"

"Akihito Konamo'i. Born October 1997 in Hawai'i, USA. Moved to New York 2009. 6 feet, 9 inches tall, wingspan 6'10.5". Ticonderoga High School, Defiants, junior high to sophomore year in high school. Center Forward. Drafted to the Dark River Ferrymen of the Olympean Basketball Association in the beginning of his sophomore year. Played 6 first string games. Averages 20 points a game with a high number of assists, blocks and rebounds, usually double-doubles. Then took a leave of absence after February's end. Transferred here in July as a freshman. There are rumours that he's a Scion of Nike and his leave of absence was actually a quest of some importance."

"He's 17!? And a Dodekatheonite!? AND PLAYED FOR THE HADES' SPONSORED TEAM!? NO WAY!"

"I KNOW! IT'S CRAZY! Sakuragawa has a MONSTER of a player and I don't think that they even realized! But, let's get on with the Halftime Report, Ken, before we run out of halftime!"

"Right you are, Mark!"

"It's going to be a hell of a season!"

"Looks like it's going to be, Mark!"

---

The idea of writing a short story about a combination of basketball, high school and Percy Jackson-esque demigods through the eyes of a third party came to me when I was just thinking about creating a unique character for Scion.

Enter Akihito Konamo'i, Scion of Nike, part-Hawaiian, part-Japanese, the young man nicknamed 'Breeze'. 

And then my brain started churning out ideas for the setting he would be in. And I thought wouldn't it be cool to set him up in a high school for young demigods. A step higher: what if there were several schools like that in a region. So Sakuragawa High School was constructed on an island off the Japanese shore and hidden by the Mist.

And the rest was a snowball travelling downhill from there.

I just thought that it would be cool to do a story using just sports commentary.

Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed typing it out on my mobile!

Cheers!

_{... it's time to jam now.}

>>> Crossbones Squadron /02...

SORTIE:02

Morose and cholic

The void freezes the blood cold

Bitter war blossoms.

Zetsubou

Wolfhound-class prototype Mech-Armour

<< in communication with >>

Conference Room

USNS Haephaestus
Forge-class patrol carrier

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

Avril 21^st, 2213

0635 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

“You. Are. Completely. MAD!”

“I did warn you, Ice,” came the reply as he exhaled a gust of smoke. It swirled and faded as the recycling filters silently kicked in. “A week's notice, actually. It went pretty alright, all things considered.”

“I'm not one of your pilots any more, Commander,” snapped Antione. “And you could've been killed and your Mech – which is more valuable than you, I might add - turned into so much scrap. Damn it, Smoke, we were using live rounds for everything.”

“Blah-blah-blah. Then write me up and put me on charges, Ice. It's not like they'll take me away to rot on Charon or Uranus. I'd choose Charon, though, heard Uranus frackin' stinks. ”

He shrugged as a conference chair flew at the screen and bounced off the ceiling, clattering loudly to the floor. More smoke was exhaled as he scratched at his forehead under his rolled up balaclava. How on earth did she manage that? Those things are bolted to the deck! He leaned back in his seat, poker-faced, as the XO Antione stood quivering with fists clenched and glaring at him through the screen.

“Commander, could you please take this seriously?”

The quiet tones of the Captain Theorés Rafael Harlington broke the deadlock between Antione and Smoke. Smoke shifted his attention and addressed the captain.

“Sir. I am.”

“Explain yourself then, Commander.”

“Aye, Sir. The ship's crew needs to be drilled and tested. Ice has handled the drill and practice, but they've had no test. Loading dummy rounds and sensors will give the crew warning which then defeats the purpose of a test as well as, more importantly, leaving us momentarily defenceless in the case of a sudden assault by hostiles. We're still in contested territory. Sir.”

The captain nodded slightly, a finger tracing the line of his moustache. Smoke had couched his answer in understated, political correct speech for the benefit of the recording devices. He's learning, that's good, thought the captain.

“But still, Commander, it was a reckless move. You endangered your life and the sanctity of your machine.”

“Acceptable risk, Sir.”

“You are not just a pilot any more, Smoke. You lead the entire squadron,” interjected Antione in admonishment. The captain sighed.

“Well aware of that, Ice. Contingency plan was for you or Panzer to take over until a replacement can be found. IF I died, that is.”

“Oh, so you thought of everything, did you?”

The captain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. If he wasn't already sitting in a chair, he would've sat down on the floor. Mother did tell me that there'd be days like this. He sighed again.

“Well, I do try to cover all the bases.”

“Well, COVER THIS!”

Another conference chair flew through the air, right through the holographic screen and crashed against a wall. Smoke didn't even flinch, instead just raising an eyebrow. She is well and truly pissed off, I'm lucky that I ain't there. And seriously, though, how the hell is she throwing those chairs?

“This ship and its crew needs you and your machine in one piece. Your squadron needs you. You can't keep risking your life recklessly and without a thought or care, damn it!”

Antione was screaming, fists balled so tight that the knuckles were going white. Her nails bit into her palm, breaking the skin. Smoke and the captain sat quietly as she raged, berating Smoke. Finally, almost spent, she asked in a hoarse voice, “Smoke, for frack's sake, why do you keep doing things like this, constantly throwing yourself in harm's way?”

Smoke replied laconicallly, almost inaudible, “Because I'm a combat pilot... and I've been living on borrowed time for far too long.”

Smoke cut the connection before either his captain or XO could reply, switching back to First-Person-Flying as the VR-HUD plates of his helmet extended once again to encase his face.

“For far too long while good people die all around me,” he said, his voice filled with morose and melancholy.

Quickly typing a short flight order, he beamed it back to the Haephaestus. He exhaled slowly, flicking his cigarette stub away, and rolled his head around his shoulders, hearing a satisfying crick. Firing his thrusters, he rocketed up and over the asteroid whose surface he'd been cruising across.

In the zero-gravity of his cockpit, the stub of his cigarette tumbled in place.

---

Ground Crew Offices

USNS Haephaestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

0640 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

The dark-skinned redhead flicked the remote's buttons, rewinding the holo-video of Smoke's flight through the gauntlet of the Haephaestus' defense batteries. Her mouth was pressed tightly together as she watched the replay.

She flicked another button, pausing the video. Manipulating the little joystick on the remote, she zoomed in closer for a view of Smoke's Mech. Her mouth moved silently as she noticed the crystallised shards trailing behind the machine.

Zooming further in and adjusting the resolution, she saw the minute fractures and fissures that were spread like multiple latticed webs throughout the lower right leg, lost amongst the furrows dug by flak. And the dark colour of the fluids that were slowly leaking through and crystallising in the vacuum.

Xell flung the remote as she ran out the door, screaming for Panzer.

---

Bridge, The Johannes Run

Mule-class cargo hauler

Jovian Coreward Trade Run

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

0644 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

The crew clung onto their seats and consoles as the ship shuddered, the tortured groans of the ship's hull filling their ears.

“She honestly can't take much more of this, Cap'n!”

“Terribly cliched, Mister Fisk, terribly cliched,” came the calm, cold reply.

“Even so, Cap'n, even so, it's the still the fracking truth!”

A shrill shriek and the smell of singed meat filled the bridge until the ventilators kicked in and cycled the air. “Now, remember what I've said about propriety, Mister Fisk. I will not have any foul mouths aboard this vessel.”

The rest of the bridge crew stared at the smoking form of Fisk, the damage control officer. The electroshock had burned him badly, cooking his skin from underneath as the spike had buried itself an inch under his skin before it triggered. But he was still alive. Barely. A crewman quickly carried him off the bridge, while another rushed to take his place.

“Except my bloody own, of course.”

It was a strange moment, the battle raging outside overshadowed by the act of cruel 'discipline'. Time crawled to a halt. The trembling and shuddering of the ship went unnoticed in . Armillo Thrann, captain of the Johannes Run, smiled coldly and steepled his fingers together. He sank deeper into his plush throne in the center of the bridge. His eyes washed slowly over the comely communications officer.

“Miss Emett, please do tell me that someone has responded to our distress transmission.”

The petite redhead at the communications station swallowed, a cold knot of fear tightening in her stomach. Her mouth was dry and she could barely speak. She spat out in a squeak, “No, captain, not at this time!”

She clutched the sides of her station as the ship shuddered violently and listed to the port. Several of the bridge crew fell out of their seats while a few clung white-knuckled to their stations.

Armillo breathed out noisily, his frustration evident on his face as his fingers dug into the arms of his throne.

“This is rather trying for business.”

---

Port Cargo Module

The Johannes Run

Mule-class cargo hauler

Jovian Coreward Trade Run

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

“Godddamm-URRRGH!”

Flight Officer Zenna Marsalas cried out in pain as she was sent crashing into a stack of plasticrates by the latest violent shudder as the Johannes Run fired its manoeuvre thrusters wildly. She pushed herself up, coughing and gasping for breath.

She shook her head and swore when she got her breath back. She looked up and saw her ground crew strewn across the hold like broken dolls. All of them wore their combat EVA suits, prepared for decompression in case of a hull breach. The ship's artificial gravity was still active and the hold was still pressurised, contrary to combat regulations.

These factors were not doing the suited up spacers any favours.

In the momentary calm of the straining ship, they scrambled for handholds, anything that would keep them upright.

Zenna had just wrapped her hand around a cargo restraint when the ship lurched again, sending one of her ground crew careening into her. Both of them went down in a heap, her arm pulled and stretched agonisingly at the socket.

Blinking back tears, she cursed and swore.

---

Starboard Cargo Module

The Johannes Run

Mule-class cargo hauler

Jovian Coreward Trade Run

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

More cursing and swearing was being conducted in the opposite hold.

Valkyrie Flight's ground crew were scrambling for handholds and cover as its three pilots watched on from their cockpits. They'd been unpacking and assembling their Mechs just before the ship's erratic manoeuvring had begun. The ground crew had been working feverishly to certify the Mechs fit for operation.

But unless the ship's captain de-pressurised the hold, they were stuck.

They were just spectators.

And inaction didn't sit well with them.

---

... being the second chapter.

>>> Crossbones Squadron /01...

SORTIE:01

Burning always burning

Molten sphere of rage within

Waiting explosion.

Crew Quarters, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey

Avril 21^st, 2213

0630 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]

Smoke cursed aloud as his head smashed into the top of his bunk. Clutching his aching head, he took in the collection of memorabilia affixed to the walls and ceiling.

And the slumped, sleeping forms of his mostly female ground crew in various stages of undress, some still clutching their poker hands. Must’ve been quite a party, he thought.

Too bad I don’t remember any of it.

He scanned the cabin for the cause of his current headache. His eyes narrowed to slits as he found it.

He threw a pillow at the shrilly beeping 21^st century alarm clock, only accomplishing a muffled trill.

He sighed heavily.

Gently removing the tattooed arm that was draped across his hips, he swung out of his bunk. “Sorry, Xell, I’ll see you when I get back,” he whispered as he bent and kissed the redhead softly on her forehead.

Stretching, he muttered, “Damn.”

He grabbed his flight suit off of a rail and slipped out, quiet as a ghost. As the hatch slid shut with a soft hiss, the pillow flopped to the floor.

The alarm wailed out anew.

- - -

He flicked his smoldering cigarette and watched it tumble through the zero-gee of the hangar module. Smiling thinly, he slipped his skull-and-crossbones emblazoned balaclava over his head.

He kicked off the floor and floated upwards towards his Mech’s cockpit. He put out his right arm as he neared the opened hatch. He gripped the edge of the hatch and swung himself in, twisting to face the other way as he landed in the seat.

He donned his helmet as the hatches sealed. Screens and gauges came to life as he flipped the switches, bringing his machine to life. His helmet hissed softly as the side- and top-plates slid out, covering his face as the holo-projectors lit up, creating a VR Heads-Up Display.

His right eye flared blue as the cybernetic combat system built into his optics activated, revealing the ‘V’ shaped optical slit.

<<PLEASE ENTER VOCAL AUTHORIZATION CODES>>, scrolled the letters across his HUD screen.

“Kakurenbo,” he whispered, softly. “Victor-Yankee-Kilo-Niner-Niner-Three-Romeo, Lieutenant Commander Vinzent Azraleodias-Dubois, callsign Smokescreen.”

<<ACKNOWLEDGED, COMMANDER, WELCOME ABOARD>>

“Good to be aboard, buddy,” he said into the empty air, sinking into the well padded seat.

A faint ping and violet glow announced the appearance of a feminine face with flowing hair framed in the top right corner of his screen. Smoke stifled a groan. Of his two AIs, this was the one that had the better ability to 'read' him.

Of course, considering that we’d based her off my dead fiancée, why shouldn’t she be able to</i>, he thought with a pang. Yet he quipped, “Ho, Valkyrie of my Heart, how goes the electronic life?”

“Save the charm, you horrible boy,” came back the sultry voice of his AI. “You’ve barely slept and it’s obvious you’re not in a good mood. Couldn't you have traded your flight with someone else?”

He laughed, a soft chuckle. “I can't do that, now can I, Vyky? Have to be a proper role model and show a good example. So, how’s the old boy?”

“The old boy, as you put it, is fine. All systems green and weapons loaded. Ready whenever you are, Commander.”

“Thanks, Vyky,” he replied with a cheeky smile behind his mask. “Somebody's going to hate me in the morning.”

Vyky looked horrified, “Commander! You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

- - -

Bridge, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

“Sir, I’m registering a sudden decompression in hangar module 1, pod 5.”

The XO, Antione Jazareth, turned around sharply and asked, dreading the answer, “Whose machine is in that hangar?”

“Commander Dubois’, sir,” answered Ensign Pomela Andretti, a Venusian volunteer assigned to the bridge crew. Which had been in spite of her protests, Antione noted inwardly with a grimace. “Bulkheads are sealed, logs indicate 10 minutes before the event of decompression. Detecting and reading IFF now, sir, the Commander is in flight and, erm, oh, dear.”

“What is it, Ensign?”

“He, er, erm, he seems to be heading straight for us, sir. Err, directly at the bridge, sir,” came the nervous reply. Several of the bridge crew exchanged puzzled looks.

The XO held her face in her palm, frustration radiating off her in waves.

“What the frack is he doing!?”

- - -

Zetsubou

Wolfhound-class prototype Mech-Armour

You are the machine, and the machine is you.

A shiver ran down his spine as the thought ran through his mind, the voice of his old flight instructor ringing clearly through his head. He blinked and shook his head.

He sped through space, skimming barely inches above the hull, his fingers drawing sparks as they brushed against the armor plating. He felt a tingle in the tips of his meat fingers.

Meat is weak. Steel is strength. Draw strength from the Steel into your Meat.

In his head, his flight instructor, an 'ancient' of the fabled Steeled Fists’ squadrons of Earth, droned on. Fine, fine, old man. And now I’m almost half Steel, so I hope that you’re bloody happy, his inner thoughts snapped at the recalled words.

As he gazed ahead through his electronic eyes, he saw the bridge beginning to retract into the hull.

He threw his throttle open as he rolled left, his thrusters flaring. He accelerated, head up and looking straight, closing the distance as the bridge seemed to speed up its descent. He twitched a finger, and an audio track, a rousing mesh of 19^th century classical and 20^th century heavy metal, roared out into the air of his cockpit. His two AIs looked on with frowns.

He grinned behind his mask, the skin-hugging cloth stretching slightly.

Lookie, lookie, the Big Bad Wolf's come out to play, kiddies.

- - -

Bridge, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

Antione stood in the middle of the bridge, quivering with her anger and balled, white-knuckled fists. She spat a curse as she realized that the bridge would not be fully retracted in time.

“Comms, get that maniac on the horn. And someone wake up the Captain now. Engineering, can you please speed up the bridge's descent,” she barked. “Tactical, what exactly is he playing at?”

“I believe he's playing a rather dangerous game of tag, my dear XO.”

She spun around and found herself staring at the chest of the ship's captain and standing way too close to him for her own comfort. She held back a surprised gasp and stepped back quickly, snapping off a salute. How had he got on the bridge with no one knowing!?

“Sir, I,” she began, and floundered as the captain waved her off in a dismissive manner.

“Do what you must, Anti, I'm just here to observe.”

Lips pressed thin, she turned back to Tactical and gave her orders. The crew went to work after a second's pause, their training kicking in despite any misgivings that they harboured. Their movements and actions were quick and efficient. Antione looked on with pride and then turned her attention to the view-screen that displayed the recalcitrant Mech.

She stood ramrod straight with a fingertip to her lips as she murmured, “If you want to play, you daft idiot, I can play right back.”

- - -

Zetsubou

Wolfhound-class prototype Mech-Armour

The bright lances of lasers and the tracer trails of solid projectiles crossed space, weapon turrets tracking the swiftly moving Mech.

Ignoring the comms alerts and proximity warnings, he concentrated on slipping through the fields of withering fire. He'd had already weathered the initial wave of weapons fire, shrapnel having left furrows in his lower legs. “Score one for the Home Team,” he thought out loud. “But I only need to score once.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, the glow of his artificial eye brightening. He danced his machine across the void, spinning, flipping and somersaulting but maintaining his forward trajectory.

Turrets swung round, muzzles spitting death. He zagged left, then rolled up and over, coming down in a loop from another track that led in from the bridge's starboard side. A battery of missiles fired, their payload rushing towards him with corkscrew contrails. He spun sideways, feinting a dive and then pulled up hard, accelerating. He swung round in a shallow fish-hook, spinning and rolling as the missiles gave chase. His eyes swept his HUD, small reticles appearing over the approaching swarm.

“Aw, crap. I should never have suggested that Seeker payload as a defensive measure!”

The swarm drove into him, the explosions lighting up the void.

- - -

Bridge, USNS Hepahestus

Forge-class patrol carrier

Some of the bridge crew gasped, not completely comprehending the . An ensign stood up from his station, hands planted on his console with disbelief on his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Status report!” barked Antione, cutting off the ensign.

“N-no trace of IFF, sir,” replied Pomela, shaken by the event. “But the Seekers' explosions may be interfering with the scan of that sub-section of space, sir.”

“Visual. I need a visual!”

“Lenses are still blinded by the Seekers' mass detonation, sir, they're compensating. Compliance in under thirty seconds,” came the reply from Tactical.

“Goddammit, someone get me a visual confirmation of the kill! Can we run weapon-cam playback?”

“Working on it, sir, running through the vidfeeds now.”

Antione held her arms crossed in front of her chest, solemn and serious. She stared at the armoured shutters of the bridge.

“Wind back the shutters, lads, but continue the bridge's descent.”

Antione glanced askance at the Captain. “Sir?”

“Old school method visual confirmation, my dear, we do it by eyeball,” said the Captain, holding up a pair of ancient binoculars. Must have be one of those presents that that idiot found on one of his 'treasure hunting' trips, thought Antione with a touch of irritation.

She spun around when she heard a gasp rise from the bridge crew. The rescinding shutters revealed a massive dissipating cloud of dissipating smoke.

Which in turn revealed glimpses of a pair of glowing optics set in a scorched and blistered stylized wolf's head. With the smoke wafting off it, it truly looked like a monster out of a fairy tale. The bridge went still as a grave, the crew almost glued in place, some halfway out of their seats.

Then, suddenly, a metal finger flicked out and tapped the viewport, a bell-like sound ringing softly through the bridge.

The comms system pinged once and the speakers spoke.

“Tag, you're It.”

---

... being the first chapter.

>>> Crossbones Squadron /00...

SORTIE:00

Through brightest nightmares

Escape from reality

Within darkest dreams.

Dripping with sweat and blood trickling down his face, he opened his remaining eye.

Through his cracked visor, he looked out at the cockpit.

His cockpit.

It was bathed in the crimson glow of warning lights. Alarm klaxons wailed, viewscreens crackled with static and frantic comms-net traffic competed for his attention. And yet, above the chaotic din, he heard the sibilant hiss of leaking atmosphere.

He sighed and looked down at the simple two-dee picprint of his fiancee affixed to his dashboard by a piece of chewed gum. The ghostly echo of her last words rang in his ears. He plucked it from its place and gazed at the woman he had loved through tearing eyes.

Then, surrealistically, the picprint began to fragment and dissolve. He blinked and his fingers held nothing, the last fragments winking out of existence.

As the collision proximity alarm shrieked, his eye snapped up to his last operating viewscreen. The bulk of an escort carrier filled the screen, details becoming larger as the seconds passed.

His target.

He sprang into action, juking and jinking his already battered Mech as the escort carrier's point defenses opened up, solid projectiles and laserbeams crisscrossing space, slashing up towards him.

A laserbeam sheared off his Mech's left leg. Solid shot peppered his mecha's frame, gouging and shattering armour plating. The reactor was pierced by shrapnel, venting atmosphere and reaction mass like a glittering cloak of stardust.

The operating systems shut down, his last viewscreen winked out, his life support faded with the hum of the 'cyclers and his flight controls froze.

Trapped by momentum and inertia, his Mech was locked in a fatal, suicidal dive towards the carrier.

Gripping the useless controls, he shut his eye with a scream on his lips.

---

... being a prologue of sorts.