Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Illumination ❯ Mission 07: Assassination ( Chapter 12 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: Dragonball Z belongs to Akira Toriyama and numerous other companies. This fanfic is only for fun, no monies are being made.

-+-

When the car finally parked and the driver cut the engine, the young short-red-haired man in the back seat let himself out. He hated being driven, he preferred to drive himself but it was a matter of image. As head of this organization, he had to play certain parts despite how much he despised them. After closing the car door behind himself, he adjusted the front of his blue blazer and strode quickly toward the elevator. The facade of this location was a derelict warehouse, and once inside he needed to take an elevator to the lower levels where the real action happened.

Moments later he stepped out of a rusted elevator and onto the polished floor of the fourth basement level. As he walked toward his destination, men around him nodded in respect or simply said “sir.” He hated the whole 'sir' business too but it was too ingrained in everyone, from even before he began his tenure as the head of the family. His blue eyes scanned everything with careful calculation as he walked, always on the lookout for anyone who seemed out of place. Law enforcement had given up trying to infiltrate their ranks years ago, but occasionally a wayward mercenary or bounty hunter thought they could outsmart his system and get 'inside.' It was laughable, really, and he enjoyed killing each and every one of those leeches personally. He smirked to himself as he reached his ultimate destination.

Pushing through two wide double-doors into the heart of their surveillance and network group, Ryan Rieve paused to look for the man who had called him to say he'd found something of interest. “Comonstoro,” a man not much older than Ryan called out to him, catching his attention. He hated that too, when his subordinates used that outdated word for 'leader.' They should just refer to him as Rieve, since he had literally become the organization itself almost fifteen years ago. Rieve took a deep breath and headed over.

“Palmer,” Ryan said coolly when he was within proper speaking distance, “good to see you,” he tacked on at the last second. It wasn't really good to see him; he didn't careabout this man but he had to put on the right airs or things just wouldn't run smoothly. Ryan had learned that lesson the most difficult way anyone could.

With short brown hair and eager eyes, Palmer nodded to his leader before speaking. “I don't want to waste your time, so take a look at this monitor,” he said and motioned to the large console and corresponding holographic monitor to his right. Ryan followed Palmer's lead and a smattering of data appeared on screen.

“Following local pings from Corvus's phone, we can see that he did land on Bmyhad in Temelt-Ran as scheduled,” Palmer started and brought up a map condensed to just the city with orange dots placed around it. “Looks like when he got there he checked into a hotel and stayed put for about a day,” the information specialist added and looked to Rieve's leader for approval or input.

“Sounds like him all right,” Ryan replied. “He can't sleep on shuttles so he probably decided to rest for a while before doing what I asked,” he added, thinking of how his best friend used to get green in the face when their ship would accelerate too quickly.

Palmer nodded and turned back to the screen. “This group here,” he said and a blue circle appeared around a handful of dots concentrated away from the hotel itself. The map zoomed in on the area and the tech continued, “contains the last coordinates we received from his phone before it went completely offline. What's even more interesting,” Palmer looked down and typed into a screen lower than the one they were looking at, “is that one of local agents' phones showed up at the same time as this last set of data from Corvus's device.” Several pale red dots appeared, each one nearly overlapping with the blue dots. Palmer turned to look at Rieve who was still staring at the map, “The local cell in Ute was wiped out only a day before Corvus arrived.”

“It was the mercenary,” Ryan said flatly while still studying the map. He was trying to piece together what happened, how their fight had gone. It still wasn't clear to him, especially since it had been weeks since Corvus was dispatched and he should have returned by now.

“With the typhoon, at the time a lot of local surveillance equipment was down,” Palmer turned back to the console and began typing again. “We couldn't find anything useful on the ground,” he added. Ryan turned to him and was about to ask what the hell he was doing here if Palmer was so worthless, when the tech interrupted him before the leader of Rieve could start. “But, we finally broke into the back end of some older Bmyhadian military satellites. Sifting through the images, we only found one where the cloud cover was thin enough that we could effectively enhance it.” A new image appeared on the screen, a top-down view of a skyscraper in downtown Temelt-Ran.

Ryan took a step closer, his eyebrows coming together in concentration while his blue eyes studied the image intensely. “That's Corvus,” he said, pointing to a faint image of a man standing or floating—it was hard to tell—near the edge of the building.

“Yes,” Palmer affirmed. “Through some energy signature scan data we retrieved from the region, we can definitively say thatis Corvus,” he added and a green hexagon appeared around the grainy image of the Rieve enforcer. “The body closest to Corvus,” Palmer said as a blue hexagon appeared on screen around what looked like a body laying down on the roof, “while we can't confirm with a hundred percent certainty, we believe is the mercenary.”

Ryan studied the image of his enemy for a brief moment before saying “She's injured.” There was a hint of surprise in his voice.

“We thought so too,” Palmer nodded to himself since Rieve wasn't looking at him. “The real question is,” he clicked another few buttons and a purple hexagon appeared on the image, highlighting another grainy figure that also appeared to be standing, this time on the far side of the mercenary across from Corvus. “Who is that?” Palmer finished.

“What do you have on him?” Ryan turned to Palmer, his tone sour.

“Not much of anything,” Palmer replied. “We were only able to find partial energy signature streams before every sensor within three kilometers went offline.”

“What?” Rieve spat. He'd never heard of such a thing. Usually the only way to cause equipment like that to go offline was a bomb or specialized electromagnetic pulse targeted to throw off the calibration of the equipment.

“We also lost all signal on Corvus and his phone at the same time,” Palmer added with a downtrodden sigh.

Turning his attention back to the image, Ryan would have stared a hole in it if he didn't want to replace the equipment in the room. Whoever this person was who had interfered, they would pay. Ryan was no idiot, he knew by now that Corvus was dead—or close enough to it that he may as well be dead. This man, woman, beast, whatever it was—had assisted the mercenary. Now they would both suffer immeasurably. “The mercenary has an ally?” he found himself asking under his breath.

Having heard him, Palmer replied. “Maybe. She's never had one in the eight years she's been operating, at least none that we could find,” he said.

Ryan turned to look at Palmer again. “Find them now, this person and the mercenary. But make sure the men know not to kill them,” he nearly snarled, “because I want the pleasure of killing them myself.”

“Yes sir,” Palmer nodded and turned to leave; he had plenty of work to do trying to track down these two targets for his boss.

Rieve turned his gaze back to the blurry satellite photo. The mercenary could never have killed Corvus; even at their highest estimate of her strength she was no match for him. If someone killed or otherwise incapacitated Corvus, it was likely this interloper they knew nothing about. Corvus had been Ryan's right-hand man since the beginning of his reign in Rieve. He would never forgive the person that killed his best friend. Not that he really forgave anyone, ever. In his line of work it was a sign of weakness. In Ryan's case though, he never felt the urge to forgive.

-+-

Illumination

Mission 07: Assassination

-+-

When Trunks opened the door to the ship and walked in, he headed straight for his room to drop off his bag. Armada's ki wasn't around so he knew she was gone, though that wasn't surprising. She didn't have a job lined up when he left for his job, but there was no reason she couldn't take one after he left. Once inside his room, Trunks walked over to the bed he used and set his bag down. He'd been gone for four days on guard duty for a politician in Temelt-Ran, on the other side of the continent from Ute. It was a boring job, but it paid well—he had sixty-thousand betas to show for it upon returning.

He and Armada had returned to Ute almost six weeks ago. Once she was well enough to leave the hospital, they sat and devised a plan. At a minimum, Armada determined they would need four million betas for upgrades to the ship, which mostly consisted of defenses—physical andvirtual. It didn't surprise Trunks to learn that electronic defenses were just as critical as physical. It didn't matter if the ship could withstand a missile attack without taking a scratch if the ship's OS could be hacked in a matter of seconds.

Regardless of their intended uses for the money, the fact remained that they needed to earn in a hurry. So it was decided they would take as many small jobs as they could. Work that still paid well, but was relatively low-risk. Now was the time to lay low, as their resources were sparse and they needed to build up their “war chest,” as Armada had called it. Trunks wasn't sure what their exact earnings currently were, but he did know they'd already passed the one million mark. He thought that Armada might have gone out to start securing the parts needed for the ship. He hoped she was going to return soon, as he didn't have another job lined up yet and she had been adamant that she be the one to find and accept work for the two of them.

The next few hours Trunks kept himself busy. He showered; washed and dried every stitch of clothing he owned, which admittedly wasn't much; caught up on Bmyhadian and Federation news; and cooked a modest dinner. It was when he was eating and watching some kind of drama he didn't quite understand on the network that Armada returned. Like him, she took a moment to head to her room before walking into the lounge.

“I made dinner if you're hungry,” Trunks said between bites, glancing over at her briefly from where he sat at the table in the lounge. She nodded to him and disappeared into the galley. A minute later, she walked back into the lounge and sat down at the table, around the corner from her comrade.

“Where were you?” Trunks asked once she had seated herself, curious if she was out buying parts like he thought.

“Courier job,” she said quickly before taking a long sip from her water bottle. “Had to hand deliver a package to Flora; it's a city in the north,” she explained. “Forty-two-five for a total of six hours of work,” she looked down at her plate and took a large bite of the pasta-like mixture her comrade had created.

“Better than me,” Trunks laughed ruefully. “Sixty grand for four days,” he added.

“How'd it go?” Armada asked after swallowing.

“Good,” Trunks replied quickly. “Nothing happened; it was pretty boring actually,” he added with a slight smile.

“Boring is what we want right now,” his comrade replied flatly, her eyes still trained on her plate. She didn't say anything else and kept eating.

Trunks was mostly done with his meal when she had arrived, but he stayed seated despite having a clear plate. After a few minutes of relative silence, he finally voiced the question that had been bugging him for a while. “What exactly did you do to piss off Rieve so badly?” he asked, his eyes moving to look at hers. She didn't seem to be in bad mood, so now seemed like an opportune time to ask.

Armada looked up at Trunks as she chewed, then took a moment to swallow before answering. “I destroyed a piece of real estate that they reallyliked,” she said, her face betraying no underlying emotion associated with her statement.

“Well their reaction is kind of extreme then, isn't it?” Trunks asked curiously. He had a feeling he wasn't getting the whole story.

“It was worth a lot of money,” Armada said flatly.

“Okay that sounds a little more plausible,” Trunks laughed more to himself than her. He paused a moment before his next thought came to mind. “How'd you end up on Bmyhad?” he asked. Armada's eyes went up from her meal to meet his, and he clarified awkwardly with “It doesn't seem like you're from here.”

She stopped chewing and glared at him. “Bmyhadians aren't physiologically capable of manipulating life energy,” she said. Her voice came out garbled as she spoke with a mouth full of food. Clearly she wasn't concerned with proper etiquette while eating.

Trunks laughed, “Are you an expert biologist now?” He wondered what point she was trying to make with that statement. She could have just said 'no.'

In response, Armada sighed and set her fork down. “The old Republic, the planets and nations that were part of its foundation,” she began, “formed the GaReXa Republic some sixteen-thousand-and-something years ago. Space flight was going on long before that, let's just guess and say twenty-thousand years ago, okay?” She wasn't looking for an answer to her words, just that Trunks was paying attention—and he was. “Even so, twenty-thousand years isn't long enough for the level of evolution to take place that's evident today across the universe. Different planets, different people were already evolved from basic life forms long before that.”

She picked up her fork and started to collect another bite on her plate. “Some of those people were lucky, and evolved with the ability to manipulate energy—latent or not,” she continued. “Bmyhadians are one of the unlucky groups in the crapshoot of life,” Armada finished her sentence by taking another bite of her dinner.

Trunks took a moment to think over what she'd just said. She might be on to something, considering that humans weren't born with the innate ability to manipulate ki. They could, given time and intense training learn to do so. But clearly it wasn't an everyday thing, just based on what his mother and Gohan told him. “So,” he started, “that whole thing was your way of saying you're not from here?”

“It's my way of saying it should be obvious,” she shot back with an angry glare.

The next thing to ask was clear to Trunks. “Well then, where are you from?” Why was she being so cryptic, anyway?

Armada had a forkful of food in front of her open mouth when Trunks spoke, and she stopped herself. Did he really think she was that stupid? That she didn't see what he was trying to do? An idea suddenly struck her, and in the moment she decided to go with it. Again, she set her fork down and spoke. “I haven't asked you shit about who you are and where you're from because when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter,” she began, keeping her anger out of her tone. “But if you're really curious,” she lowered her head slightly, pausing to hopefully catch his interest and string him along, “then I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Only if you do the same,” she quickly added. “You ask a question, I answer; I ask a question, you answer,” Armada explained. “Deal?”

Trunks thought for a moment, but came to a decision quickly. “Deal,” he said flatly.

“Since you've already asked several questions,” Armada interjected before he had a chance to say anything else, “it's my turn.” She considered how to phrase the question she wanted to ask him. There was a chance he wouldn't answer it, and that was fine—it would mean she was off the hook. She secretly hoped he would answer, however, as the information was worth far more to her than protecting inane details of her own identity. Where she was 'from' hardly mattered, not that he knew that. She instinctively narrowed her eyes at him as she spoke. “What exactly is that transformationof yours?”

Trunks's eyes widened slightly. Honestly he'd considered her proposition too quickly, as it never occurred to him that she would ask him about that. Then again, who wouldn't? He was no expert on Saiyan history and he had no idea how far knowledge of his father's people had propagated through the universe, or what any of the knowledge might include. He did know from conversations with Gohan years ago that Frieza had known about the 'Super Saiyan' legend and specifically had feared it enough that he decided to eliminate his most productive slaves en masse. If Frieza had that information, and his army had that information, there was no telling how far it had disseminated.

The end result of all of this was simple: he couldn't tell her. Because even if Armada had no idea who or what a Saiyan was, she could probably find out relatively easily. Then there would be questions about how he came into existence considering the Saiyan homeworld was destroyed years before his birth. And above all else, he had to protect the Earth and his friends and family there—he had to protect his mother. He knew from the Bmyhadians that the location of their world was still classified, even to the Republican government who had contracted out exploration of that part of the Frontier to the Bmyhadians. She couldn't be trusted with knowing of its existence, regardless of its location. He couldn't answer her question. He considered lying, but he'd never thought about a cover lie before for everything he would need to lie about—and lie consistently—so he ruled that out. If he lied, and she found out about it, she was more likely to dig around for more information, and more likely to learn about the Earth. Even a lie seemed too risky.

Apparently he had stayed silent while in thought for too long. When Armada shuffled to her feet, he looked up not even realizing he'd looked away from her. “Let me know when you feel like answering that,” she deadpanned before she turned and walked away.

Trunks sat and smarted over what had just occurred. He'd let himself walk into that without thinking, and felt really stupid for it.

-+-

Several hours later, well into the night, Armada sat in the bridge, leaned back in her chair with her legs propped up on the ship's console in front of her. After her comrade had gone to bed, she completely wiped the ship's systems and began reinstalling the various operating systems that made flight possible. Armada was no hacker, but she knew where to get the right tools. Knowing that she wanted to add new equipment to the ship, she knew the ship's software systems would need to be updated. She had already contacted someone and sent them the source code to make the changes. He sent it back, and she compiled the code and began installation.

The total time to reinstall all of the ship's respective operating systems would take anywhere from six to eight hours. Not that she had anything better to do, really. She only slept about two to three hours a day, and while she knew she was burning off energy to make up for the lack of sleep, she couldn't stop herself. After living like this for more than twenty years, she wasn't sure she could change it. Not that she ever really tried.

As the progress bar on the monitor in front of her slowly ticked away, Armada was deep in thought. Her arms were crossed over her chest while she rolled a small storage device around in her right hand, and her eyebrows were pulled together in concentration. She ran over scenario after scenario in her head and she still wasn't sure what Trunks's game was. If he was working with Rieve, he was sloppy—he nearly got himself killed and if that was faked, Rema would have known and he would have told her. Additionally, he'd be a hell of an actor. Being an accomplished liar herself, she could usually spot a con game from a kilometer away. Her gut told her he wasn't lying, most of the time anyway. Her gut also told her that Corvus was dead and that Trunks had killed him. Rieve would sacrifice its own to maintain cover, but not soldiers of Corvus's caliber. She couldn't rationalize her comrade's actions from the perspective of Rieve; not only were they nonsensical, they were counterproductive.

There was a possibility that he was working with Dax specifically, and not necessarily Rieve. She knew Dax well enough to know that his only real loyalty was to himself. Why or how he was with Rieve she didn't know, but she knew it had to serve some greater purpose. Dax always played the long game. So if Trunks was working with Dax, the question was why? What else did she have that Dax wanted so badly that he would try to get someone on the “inside?” He had already taken all of her money. Her ship, while heavily modified and customized, wasn't worth much. What else did she have? If he wanted her dead, he was the type to do it himself, but he didn't try to attack her when they last met. And he wasn't so thoughtful as to plan something so elaborate to kill her. Nor would he want her to think it was anyone else. That wasn't who he was. She knew him, she was confident in that.

If Trunks was not with Rieve or Dax, she had to entertain the possibility that he was who he said he was. Some random person from a backwater world only connected to the greater universe through Bmyhad. She didn't know the details, but a little research yielded that Bmyhad was indeed charting regions of the Frontier for the Republic. This wasn't classified information though, so anyone with a network connection could learn this. Armada felt bitterness as she thought about how ridiculously powerful he was. Someone like that, just hiding on a random unexplored world? If she had never met Lex, she would have thought something like that to be impossible. An image of him flashing her a smile crossed her mind, and she quickly banished the thought.

So if it was pure chance that she met Trunks when she did, that Dax had, in a few seconds, tricked him into getting involved, what was his motivation for sticking around? Clearly Trunks had wanted to get her away from the institute in Ute. He cared about the people there. But after that, why didn't he take the first chance he had to bail? He didn't really owe her, and he was clearly powerful enough to kill her and end it before it all began. Why didn't he? Naivety? Was he simply doing what he thought was “right?” Someone with his kind of power couldn't be selfless or want to help others; it was impossible. There had to be some motivation behind his actions, she just couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to traipse around the universe and wreck shit. She smirked to herself; if that was the case then they were more alike than she had previously thought.

Armada sighed; the more she thought about this the less sense any possibility made. She needed more data to analyze the situation, and the only thing she could do to get intel was wait. She would have to wait and see what he did, how he reacted to certain situations, before she could take another crack at the problem. She was impatient, but swallowed down her frustration. If all she could do was wait, then that's what she was going to do. Her life was almost entirely ruled by necessity, and this was no different.

She glanced up at the monitors in front of her to see the system rebooting again. The primary OS for coordinating the various sub-systems of the ship to work in unison always took the longest time to install, and had to reboot a dozen times at least during installation. Armada thought about their recent jobs and felt frustrated.  She'd relied on Mace to supply work for her, and now that she had to do it on her own again she realized exactlyhow much she had relied on him and it made her angry. She was angry with herself for letting Mace become a crutch. She looked at the storage device in her right hand, recalling when she first received it and Mace's contact information two years ago.

He held out his right hand, a small data storage device in his fingers. “Here. This,” he paused and made a slight motion with his outstretched hand, “is your new broker. Do the jobs he gives you, and you'll stay off of the radar of law enforcement.”

Armada looked from his hand up into his blue eyes. “Why are you giving this to me?” she asked, guarded concern painted across her face.

He sighed, his black bangs falling into his eyes as he shifted slightly. “Everything in the universe has a place,” he said in that calm, authoritative tone he was known for. “Consider this a moment when you were in the right place at the right time.” She eyed him warily for a moment, which prompted him to speak again. “Go on, take it.”

She reached out and took the small device from his hand, taking a few seconds to look at it before shoving it into a jacket pocket. Her eyes went back up to meet his. “I'm not big on owing people favors,” she said flatly.

He smirked. “Don't consider it a bargaining chip, consider it a thank you,” he replied, his smirk growing slightly wider as he finished speaking.

Armada closed her fist around the drive, pushing thoughts of the politician from her mind.  Instead she thought about Mace, and how she felt some guilt for what happened to him.  However, he would be protected, and he’d be safe.  Besides, he’d given her that job in the first place, and he would have known what the consequences would be.

-+-

The next morning, Trunks was brushing his teeth and thinking of how he could answer his comrade's question. Specifically, he was trying to craft a believable lie. It was a lot of work, and he still wasn't sure he would say anything. Regardless, he felt like he should have something in his back pocket if need be, so he started constructing it last night. He spit into the sink and rinsed his mouth out. At least for now he would keep quiet, until he had something of substance.

He dressed and headed for the galley to throw something together for breakfast. While passing through the bridge, Armada spoke without turning around to face him. “Once I finish this last reboot of the ship, we're taking off. Another job,” she added on at the end as an explanation.

Twenty minutes later, Trunks was seated in the bridge to his partner's left, sipping water from a bottle as they sailed through space. “So,” he paused to take another sip of water, “what is this job exactly?”

Armada was intensely watching diagnostic information on the monitor in front of her and didn't bother to look at Trunks. “A client wants two pieces of art taken from a couple. The couple are two movie stars who are married and live in a mansion that's also a space station,” she explained quickly.

Trunks's eyebrows came together and the left raised up higher than the right. “Wait, their home is a space station?” he asked. He needed to make sure he heard her correctly because that just sounded insane.

She still didn't bother to look at him, and started typing away at the digital keyboard before her. “They're both ridiculously rich, and the best way to stay away from the press is to hide somewhere it's not easy to get to. You have to have an authorization code to successfully dock to the station,” she said quickly.

He nodded in response. “And I take it you have the code?” he asked warily.

“No,” Armada replied, glancing sideways at him from the corner of her eyes. “We'll crack it on-site.”

“We? Will crack some encryption algorithm?” Trunks asked, exasperation dripping from his voice. She couldn't be serious... right?

“No,” she said in annoyance and narrowed her eyes at him. “I have a program that will crack it once we are within range of the signal.” She paused a moment before adding in an equally annoyed voice, “Do I look like a tech expert to you?”

Trunks rolled his eyes in response. “That's why I was asking,” he said with a sigh. I'm not sure that you're an expert in anything but getting your ass kicked,he thought bitterly. If she had bothered to keep looking at him she would seen the irritation painted across his face.

“The station is close to the Republican border; it'll take most of today to get there,” Armada explained, her attention back to the ship. Glancing between a few different screens on the main monitor in front of her, she focused on a map showing their current course and destination. Kneeling in the dirt, Armada looked up from the small tablet in her hands to see the ship they were after sailing away over the horizon.

She reached up with her right hand and pressed down on a button on the side of her helmet. “Laevatein, do you copy?” she asked, an icon on her HUD flickering to indicate she was speaking over the open channel. “This is Eris-Four, I've tagged the ship, are you getting the signal?” she asked between deep breaths.

“Copy Eris-Four, this is Laevatein,” she heard Commander Juvius's voice respond. “We will pursue from here, your orders are to return to the landing zone for extraction.”

“Roger that,” Armada replied and released the button for her radio. She took a moment to fold the cover over on her tracking device before reattaching it to the side of her right hip. The waypoint displayed on the HUD inside her helmet told her to head southwest, and she still had about twenty-two kilometers to go to reach the extraction point. Their enemy had deployed a Minovsky field to slow down Valencia's attack long enough to retreat. Armada had followed to tag the ship the enemy commander fled in, and was still within range of the Minovsky field. It would take more time to go find the generator and destroy it, so she chose to just run for the edge of the field and fly the rest of the way back. She could sense that the field was weak in her location meaning she was close to getting out of it.

With her equipment secured, she took off running. The ruins of the city made it difficult to sprint; her path was littered with burning rubble from the initial bombing from orbit and she had to climb over bits of jagged debris on the way back. After a few hundred meters, she found a relatively clear street and took a detour to run down it. She stayed off of the radio while running, but that didn't stop her comrades from flooding the airwaves.

“Looks like your team has finally done something useful for once. You should be proud, Cain. Your squad isn't a total waste of resources.” The radio icon flashed with the words 'Bia-Four.'

“Come now Dheihar, no need to be so harsh on our dear comrades,” 'Bia-Three' said mockingly.

“Don't defend those peons, Hirlos. They've done nothing of use for months now, we may as well execute the lot of them.” Bia-Four paused. “I might have reconsidered if any of them were decent to look at.”

'Bia-Two' laughed. “Funny you say that Dheihar, considering Ar damn near looks identical to you. Could've sworn you were sisters myself if I didn't know any better.”

“Don't be stupid, Dax,” Bia-Four replied. “I couldn't possibly share genetics with someone so pathetically weak. Besides, you were just promoted to our squad, you don't want to make enemies of your new squad-mates now do you?”

“Well seeing as how I'm ranked above you that doesn't mean shit, now does it?” Bia-Two replied with a laugh. Armada heard others laugh as well, their call-signs scrolled on her HUD too quickly for her to register. Still running down the street, she heard something crack to her right and glanced toward a building set aflame. As soon as she set eyes on the multistory building, there was an explosion and the building began to collapse. She sprinted as fast as she could, but it was too late. A large piece of concrete fell on the back of her feet, causing her to trip and fall forward.

She turned as she fell, and landed on her back just in time for more debris to fall on her chest. The air was stolen from her lungs due to the force of the hit, and her helmet's visor was covered in ash and dust, obstructing her view. She struggled for a few agonizing seconds to breathe, and finally was able to inhale.

“What the hell just happened?!” Eris-One shouted. “Eris-Four, do you copy? Eris-Four, status!” she heard the voice of her squad leader Cainus scream into the radio.

“I take back what I said,” Bia-Four said lowly in a mocking tone.

“Her vitals look bad,” another voice chimed in, Eris-Three. “She must still be in range of the Minovsky field.”

“Eris-Four, respond!” Cainus barked out once more. Armada wanted desperately to reply, but it was all she could do to keep breathing. She couldn't find the energy to speak.

“Evac in a hundred-and-thirty seconds,” Bia-Three cut in mechanically.

“She's hurt,” Eris-Three reiterated. “There's no time. We have to leave because they're going to glass the place.”

“Damnit!” Eris-One shouted.

They continued their conversation, and Armada stared up at the sky through her helmet. The dust on her visor mostly blocked her view, but at the top of her visor it was thinner, and she could see the sky. She could see a few stars in the sky as Welgoss's sun was setting, leaving the sky a mixture of purple and pink. She couldn't move under the weight of the concrete that had fallen on her. This was it. She wasn't going to make it back. She felt relief wash over her; it was finally over. She would stare at the sky as the fleet's plasma weapons bombarded the surface of Welgoss. It would be a quick death, and in battle. She couldn't ask for more.

“Screw this,” she saw the icon flash for Bia-Two and heard muffled sounds she couldn't identify.

“What the hell are you doing? We have orders,” Bia-Three yelled. “Be ready for extraction at the landing zone. Are you disobeying orders?”

“The landing party isn't here yet, so as long as I get back before they get here, I haven't disobeyed shit,” she heard the distinct accent of Dax reply to Hirlos. There was more shouting, but Armada tuned it out. She closed her eyes and prayed that Dax wasn't about to do what she thought he was about to do. He had always been a stubborn ass, and he continued to prove that he hadn't changed. She didn't need his help right now, she didn't want it. She wanted to stay right where she was and let it all end.

“Give me the damn radar, Tren,” she heard Dax shout above the chatter of the rest of her comrades' voices. Didn't he understand? He'd been part of Valencia longer than she had. Didn't he realize that she wasn't fighting for her life for a reason? She willed herself to push it out of her mind; he wouldn't get to her in time anyway. The extraction was because they were preparing the orbital bombardment. They wouldn't stop for half a dozen infantry, even from the the Baluarian squads. But the most damning thing was that she was stuck in a Minovsky field, and he couldn't just fly straight to her. She was too far in the field for him to make it to her and drag her back to the ship in time. He would realize this and give up.

Armada was tired. The pain started to subside and she felt tired, more tired than she had in years. Just as she felt the muscles in the base of her neck and across the back of her shoulders relax, she felt it. She felt the Minovsky field fall away. Seconds later someone was tugging at her right arm, and she heard muffled sounds like someone speaking to her. Then she felt a hand press against her helmet and Dax's voice entered her ears.

“Hey, time to go,” he said, the icon on her HUD flashing that he'd opened a private line with her. He pushed the rubble off of her and pulled her to her feet by her arms. “You're not gonna die today,” he reiterated and she finally made an attempt to steady herself on her feet.

Trunks scowled as he looked at Armada. He'd asked her repeatedly what the plan was when they arrived at their destination but she continued to ignore him and stare straight ahead. Her hands weren't moving on the control panel in front of her so he figured she was deliberately ignoring him, and it was damn-near infuriating. “You're such a child,” he said angrily before rising from his seat and leaving the bridge. He wasn't going to deal with her attitude right now.

Armada let out a quick breath and looked down at her hands. She quickly glanced around and recognized that she was in the ship, in the pilot's seat, in the bridge. Realizing what had just happened, she brought her right hand up to her forehead and closed her eyes to help clear her head. Rema wasn't exaggerating about the hallucinations. She knew this would happen, but she didn't think they would be so real.

-+-

The door hissed in front of him as the air pressure was equalized with the dock on the other side. Trunks stood just behind Armada while they waited for the door to open. The rush of air stopped, and the door slowly slid to the side, revealing the long dock on the other side. The pair casually strolled the fifteen meters down the dock until they reached the second air lock, this one leading inside the station.

When they reached the door, Armada pulled a small computer from her belt and flipped it open; Trunks recognized it as the same device they used back on Bmyhad when tracking the rebels in Juu. She pulled out a small cord and plugged it into a socket just below the digital keypad next to the door. She held the computer with her left hand and typed with her right. “Five minutes at most to crack the code,” she said flatly before turning to her right to look at her comrade.

“I thought you said the encryption on the dock was harder to crack,” Trunks said with a questioning gaze.

“It was, but we had more computational power to run the algorithm using the ship's computers,” she stated quickly. “Door locks like this require local access to hack so it just takes a little more time,” she explained, taking another glance at the progress on the small computer. They waited in silence a brief moment before she looked at her comrade from the sides of her eyes. “Is that necessary?”

“What?” Trunks asked in an annoyed tone. He was more confused than irritated but it came out that way all the same. She looked over his shoulder and nodded her head, and he understood she was motioning to the sword strapped to his back. He scoffed, “With all the crap we've walked into recently that wasn't what it was supposed to be, yeah, I brought it with me.”

“We're here to pick up a painting and a vase,” Armada said, turning her gaze back to the computer in her hands. “You going to cut our painting down from the wall with that? I'm certain our client wants the items in the same condition this couple bought them in.”

“Very funny,” Trunks deadpanned with a scowl. Another thought hit him; “How much is this stuff worth anyway?” he asked.

“Between the two pieces,” she paused in thought briefly, “about thirty million betas.” She kept her attention on the decryption program she was running.

“Thirty million betas?!” Trunks repeated with an incredulous laugh. “Why the hell are we delivering these for a half a million when we could sell them for thirty?” This had to be the stupidest job they had ever undertaken.

Armada turned to look at him and glowered. “First of all, you have to know a fence who deals in fine art. A good one, otherwise you'll never off-load your take. Second,” she continued her rant, “the problem with priceless art is that every piece is unique, so everyone will know that youhave it and exactly how you got it. Makes it that much harder to get rid of, and get paid.” She looked like she was about to laugh when she turned her body toward her comrade. “So if you know a very good black market fine arts dealer, now would be a greattime to share that information,” she finished, her mouth in a flat line showing her displeasure at even entertaining his thought.

“Sorry I asked,” Trunks muttered in response and shifted on his feet. The keypad next to the door in front of them suddenly beeped and drew his attention.

“We're in,” Armada said and collected her cable from the wall as the airlock on this door hissed while equalizing pressure just like the door to the ship. As Armada put her computer back in its hitch on her belt, the door opened, sliding up from the floor toward the ceiling. Upon walking in, they found themselves standing in a lavish entry.

Trunks took several steps inside and slowed, his eyes roaming around what he saw in shock. He knew this was a rich celebrity couple who could afford a space station for a home, but he wasn't expecting it to look like an actual home on the inside. Almost everything was a pristine white, from the marble floors to the walls and ceiling. From the entry there was a wide view into a living room, with hallways heading from the entry to the left and right. The room in front of them was decorated with fine art and fine furniture, and had a large golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The trim and ceilings were finished with decorative molding, and in general the whole place radiated wealth. Nothing was made in a utilitarian fashion.

Taking several steps into the sitting room in front of them, Armada glanced around. The ceilings were far above their heads, and taking a look to her right she saw a second story with a balcony running along the far side of the room. “Nothing in here,” she said, taking another few steps toward the glass doors opposite the entrance. “Looks like this courtyard serves as the center of the station,” she said while looking 'outside'. In the center of the station was a patch of greenery which included a grassy area with a garden at one end. The courtyard was surrounded by glass, and Armada could see across to all the other rooms that bordered it, on both levels. Her eyes scanned everything in her view, until a blue and green vase with gold designs painted on it caught her eye across the courtyard.

“There's the vase,” she said and turned to her comrade. “Let's go around,” she added and started walking toward the far end of the sitting room where the balcony ran across the top. Something told her they should leave the courtyard alone and she intended to do just that. She heard her comrade fall into step behind her as they followed the outer edge of the courtyard while staying inside the building.

When they reached the room where Armada saw the vase, the lights began to flicker. “What?” Trunks said lowly to himself as the lights finally dimmed and the station went dark. Emergency lights kicked on within a few seconds so the mercenaries weren't in total darkness. Armada turned to him and opened her mouth as if she was about to say something when she stopped. Trunks felt her ki completely disappear at the same time he felt his own fall away from him, as if he was trying to grasp water in his hands and it just fell through into nothing.

“Minovsky field,” Armada whispered to herself, her eyes darting around the room.

Trunks didn't catch what she said, and immediately asked “What?” Before she could respond Trunks thought he heard a 'click' in the distance, and it looked like his comrade heard it as well since she looked at him.

“Get down!” she shouted and reached for a table sitting a meter in front of them. She pulled the wooden table back so it fell over on its side, knocking the chairs under it down as well. As she and Trunks ducked down behind their makeshift cover, gunshots rang out and peppered the table.

“And you said my sword wasn't necessary,” Trunks shouted sardonically to her over the noise of gunfire.

“What are you going to do, block the bullets with it?” Armada angrily countered. Before Trunks could say anything back to her, Armada winced and clenched her left shoulder with her right hand.

“You're hit?” Trunks asked frantically.

Armada removed her right hand to see a smear of blood across her palm. “Just grazed,” she said before looking at her partner again. “When they stop to reload, find cover behind something more substantial,” she barked out before looking back over her left shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” Trunks questioned her warily. She sounded like she wouldn't be joining him in hiding.

The blond mercenary turned back to him. “I'm going to take care of the bigger problem,” she said with a determined visage.

Trunks opened his mouth to speak but the gunfire stopped and the room fell silent. Armada turned and fled, sprinting across the open room headed for another doorway on the far side. Trunks hesitated only a second before fleeing from cover as well. He ran away from his comrade toward the hallway behind them which was much closer. Once he reached the hallway, he immediately stopped and pressed his back against the wall to the side of the doorway. He held his breath and listened intensely for any sign of who had fired at them. From the direction of the sounds initially, he suspected the shooter—or shooters—was on the second floor firing from the long balcony that ran around nearly the entire mansion. The emergency lights didn't provide enough lighting to see that far, so he had to rely on his better-than-average hearing to find their assailant.

After a very long half-minute of silence, Trunks heard something move in the distance followed by a loud crash. It sounded like something huge had hit the floor, and he wondered if their assailant went after his comrade first. A few seconds after the crash, he could hear a few dull clicks that sounded like they were moving toward him. Trunks let out a deep breath slowly, before inhaling and holding his breath again. He needed to stay quiet to hear what was happening.

It was then that Trunks thought he heard someone speaking, but the words were too low and muffled to hear. There was a pause, and then someone spoke again. This time he heard the words clearly, “You can't hide from me.” A woman?he thought curiously; he was fairly certain that was not Armada's voice. He stayed put but kept his gaze glued to the doorway.

A dark figure suddenly appeared in the doorway, with an arm outstretched toward him, pointing the barrel of a pistol right between his eyes. “Surprise!” he heard that same voice say with mirth. Despite not having his ki to help him move, Trunks could still react quickly and was able to slam his left forearm into the right wrist of his attacker in time to avoid the bullet that shot from the pistol.

He quickly followed up with an uppercut to the gut of the woman in the dark. However, his fist felt like it had hit a solid wall and he was certain he'd hurt himself more than he hurt her. Swiftly following up his punch, he planted the base of his right palm into where he estimated the woman's sternum to be. His hand hurt like hell from that hit, but he heard the distinctive rush of air as it left someone's lungs who was stunned. He took the opportunity to flee down the hallway away from her, not daring to stop and look back. He hoped that whatever Armada was doing, it was going to help—because at this rate things weren't going to go well for either of them.

In a different area of the station, Armada ran down a long hallway, glancing in each room as she ran by. Her first goal would have been to take out the Minovsky generator, the device creating the Minovsky field which was blocking use of her energy. However, something was off with this field, and she couldn't feel the pulsation of the generator so that she could locate it. Until she figured out how to track down the generator, she needed to get the lights back on in the station. Life support had not been cut, so the lighting was a strategic outage. Which meant that it wasn't destroyed, and it could be reversed fairly easily. She just had to find the electrical closet.

The next room she glanced into on her right turned out to be her destination. She stopped and slid slightly from the momentum before she was able to run into the room. Though the station was mostly dark and running on very dim emergency lighting, there was enough in this room for her to see what had happened. She saw that the main electrical breaker panel had been removed and the wires were exposed. Several small, black circular devices were clipped around a number of wires in the box, and Armada breathed a sigh of relief that whoever this group was, they used a low-tech solution. She quickly pulled the black clips from the wires, and when the last was removed the lights flickered several times before turning on and staying on.

With the lights back on, she stayed put for a moment and considered what to do next. All Minovsky generators had a pulse, and this was no natural Minovsky field. She had to find it; they didn't have a choice. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes; she had to focus on that annoying buzzing in the back of her skull. After a long moment, she started to feel it—started to feel the pulses coming from two different directions. She cursed herself for not realizing sooner that this was how it was done. With two generators synced to equal but opposite timing, it would feel like a natural field with no indication as to where the generators were.

Armada took off running for the first generator. It was a good thing she had so much experience dealing with Minovsky fields and was so sensitive to them, otherwise they may have never figured it out. She hoped her comrade had managed to stay out of harm's way while she worked. She could sense that the two generators were evenly placed apart on opposite ends of the station. She ran first for the field that was closest to her and farthest away from they were first attacked. Unable to sense anything, she hoped she wouldn't run into their assailant, at least until she got the first field down. It would make finding the second generator immeasurably easier.

With the lights back on, thanks to his comrade he was certain, Trunks stayed ducked behind a wooden dresser in what appeared to be a bedroom. He wasn't sure he could fight this woman, because when he'd punched her he hurt himself more than he did her. Not to mention that she at least had a gun, and he wasn't keen on getting shot today. He did still have his sword, but he wasn't sure he would get an opportunity to use it. Whoever, or whateverthis woman was, she wasn't slow.

Trunks then heard three high-pitched beeps in rapid succession, coming from beyond the doorway of the bedroom he crouched in. At the same time, he felt an annoying buzzing in the back of his head, like it was coming from the base of his skull. “Aw shit,” he heard the woman speak, close enough to make him sweat. How had she gotten so close to him so quietly?

“She's as good as they say,” the woman to herself, but loud enough for Trunks to hear clearly. Was she speaking to him, he wondered? He glanced to his right, and could see the reflection of the woman in a picture frame sitting across the room from him. She wasn't looking into the reflection, which meant she wasn't using it to see him. But she did appear to be looking right at the open doorway, and walking his way.

“There wasn't supposed to be two of you,” she said, still slowly moving forward. As she inched closer, Trunks could see her face more clearly in the transparent reflection. She had long black hair and eerie red eyes, with yellow-lens sunglasses sitting on the end of her nose, below her eyes. She kept her gaze fixed against the wall, not the door, and Trunks's mind raced with questions about what she was doing. “That's okay,” she continued, coming to a stop only two meters from the room. “Maybe I'll get hazard pay.” She immediately lifted her arm along with the pistol in her hand, and Trunks realized she could see him through the wall.

The assassin fired, and Trunks ran out from his cover through the open door toward her. He swiftly drew his sword and slashed at her hand holding the gun. The assassin recovered in time to move her hand so she parried his sword with her pistol, however she didn't have enough leverage to take the full force of the hit, and the pistol was knocked from her hand. Wasting no time, Trunks stepped toward her and again swung his sword down at her. She leaped back to escape his attack, reaching over her head and pulling a long black cylindrical rod from back.

With her rod in her right hand, she fell back into a battle-ready stance and paused. She was wearing some kind of black body suit, and wore a long black trench coat over it. With all of that black, it was no wonder to Trunks why she was so hard to see in the dark. “A sword? Really?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Who uses those anymore?” she asked in a half-mocking tone.

Trunks stayed silent, having no intention of speaking to this woman. They stared at one another for a moment, when something was heard on the far end of the room. Both he and his enemy looked to the side with their eyes, and Trunks saw his comrade sprinting down the hall on the other end of the station. He glanced back to the enemy in front of him, and she seemed more concerned with what Armada was doing. That said to Trunks that whatever she had done so far, was good for them and bad for this assassin. So now it was his turn to provide backup and keep the assassin busy.

Gripping his sword with both hands, Trunks swung at the woman in black. She parried with her black rod, which looked meager but was apparently stronger than appearances let on. He stepped forward and kept attacking, kept slashing at her, and she kept blocking with her rod. It might have appeared that they were evenly matched, except that she kept taking steps backward to keep her balance, which told Trunks that she was taking the kinetic energy of his sword through her whole body. He just had to keep at it and not give her a chance to counterattack.

His plan was short-lived though, because the woman ducked slightly and parried his sword with her rod set underneath the sword. She then pushed forward and up to the right, pushing his sword up and away from her. Trunks didn't let go, so both of his hands were forced away from the center of his body. She followed up with a kick to his abdomen with her left foot, and the force was far greater than Trunks expected. She sent him flying backwards through the air, and he crashed into an end table set against the wall with a lamp on it.

She charged at him and leaped into the air, with both hands on her rod above her head. She swung down, intending to bash his skull in, but Trunks was able to roll out of the way at the last second. He made a half-hearted swipe at her legs with his sword in his left hand, but she raised her foot and parried the blow. There was some kind of dense material on the bottom of her feet that made a sound like metal clashing with metal when his sword hit it. The blow had made her stumble slightly, and Trunks scrambled to his feet while she was off-balance.

The woman charged at him again, and the two of them entered another duel, Trunks's sword clashing her with her metal rod. This time, she took more of the offensive and Trunks felt an overwhelming strength in her attacks that he didn't feel before. He found himself forced backward so he wouldn't lose balance, and she slowly pushed him more into the center of the room, away from the walls. He took another step back to block another swipe from her, and found himself standing against the back of a decorative white sofa. She pressed forward, and with their weapons locked Trunks was bent over backwards over the couch.

The black assassin pressed farther, until the blade of Trunks's sword was only inches from his throat. “How sharp is that thing, anyway?” she asked with a devilish grin, pressing forward with a strength that Trunks could not counter in this state.

On the second floor, Armada dashed through room after room, trying to locate the second Minovsky generator. She was close, but she couldn't sense its exact location. She turned toward the inside edge of the second floor, and ran out to the balcony where she jumped down over the edge. Falling into the dirt below, she rolled forward to help soften the blow.

“Come on!” Tren screamed next to her as he snatched her up by the shoulder, latching onto her armor. Explosions sounded around them, causing dirt and debris to fly into the air. She heaved for breath inside of her helmet, struggling to keep up with Tren as they sprinted away from the enemy.

Trunks was staring into the creepy red eyes of the woman bearing down on his neck with his own blade, when he saw her eyes flicker to his left briefly, looking at the blade of his sword. He saw recognition in her eyes, as if she saw something reflected there. Instead of continuing the fight to kill him with his own weapon, she swiftly shifted her rod underneath Trunks's sword and pulled up, throwing it away from him and out of his hands. She then planted a hard left fist into his face, sending him flying backwards over the couch and onto the floor.

She turned and reached for her right hip with her left hand, pulling out a second pistol from underneath her coat. Trunks looked up in time to see her turn and aim up at the second floor balcony, straight at his comrade who was standing there, unmoving. “Armada!” Trunks shouted, but she stood still, her eyes blank as if she was in a daze.

The assassin fired, hitting Armada in the chest, right above the heart. Fortunately, the breastplate of her armor deflected the hit and it caused her to jerk in reaction. That seemed to jar her senses, and Armada turned and fled as the assassin continued to unload the rest of her clip at the mercenary on the second floor.

His sword too far away from him at the moment, Trunks leaped back over the couch to tackle the woman in black from behind. The pair of them hit the floor with a much louder crash than seemed reasonable. The black assassin reached back and swung her elbows at Trunks, and he managed to avoid them, even capturing her left arm in his hands and pulling it behind her in an attempt to restrain her.

She stopped flailing for a moment and Trunks thought he might have her pinned, but she laughed darkly. Then, despite his best attempts to stop her, she slowly brought her left leg forward enough to get a grip on the floor with her foot, and then forced herself to stand up. She had inhuman strength, Trunks determined, as she pushed herself up and then threw him off her back like he was nothing. His back slammed into the white couch again, this time splintering the wood and pushing the furniture back with him several meters.

The woman walked over slowly and picked up both her rod and Trunks's sword. She turned, flipping the sword around by the hilt in her right hand. “Nice weapon,” she said, stalking toward him while he forced himself to his feet once more. “I think I might actually keep it,” she said with a malicious smirk. “After I use it to kill you, of course.”

She swung the rod in her left hand first, aiming to hit Trunks across his abdomen. He tried to catch the rod in his hands but she was too fast, and the rod slammed into him with a force that he hadn't felt in years. Dazed, he fell back a step, but she followed with another swing. The rod smashed into the bottom of his chin, knocking his head back and causing him to fall to the floor. The woman walked over to him quickly, and before he could register what happened she nailed him across the face with the rod, and he could feel his mouth filling with blood.

She leaned over him, leering as she pointed the tip of his sword at his throat with her right hand. “I don't know who you are,” she said, sounding a little winded, “but you picked the wrong mercenary.” Before she had a chance to move, something happened, and that annoying buzzing in the back of Trunks's head went away. He immediately felt his ki rush into him, like a dam had broken and the water flooded a dry valley. Wasting no time, Trunks jumped up faster than his enemy could register and wrested his sword from her hands before planting his right elbow into her abdomen, sending her scrawling across the room and into another table which broke apart upon impact.

As Trunks walked over to the woman in black, who stayed where she landed as she struggled for breath, he looked up to see his comrade jump over the balcony railing and float down to the floor. “You okay?” she asked him, noticing the blood running from his mouth.

“Yeah,” Trunks answered simply and nodded, continuing his walk toward the enemy. Armada turned and followed him, and the pair of them stopped when they reached their attacker and stood on either side of her.

“Dos verkanna,” she said lowly, sounding like she was in pretty bad shape. Trunks knew he hit her hard, but maybe he used more strength than he thought he had. In his defense, she was about to kill him.

“Xyros Kikulade,” Armada said with a knowing gaze as she finally got a good look at their assailant's face. “Never thought I'd run into you,” Armada added flatly.

“Hah,” Xyros laughed. “So you know your competition?” she said with mirth.

Trunks watched their exchange with guarded curiosity.  Now that he had the time to really look at her, he noticed that Xyros’s skin was quite a bit darker than his own.  Not to mention that since Trunks had regained his ki, he could sense his comrade, but he couldn't sense the woman in front of him on the floor. Is she an android?Trunks thought, a sick feeling coming over him.

“You really thought you could kill me?” Armada asked. Trunks nearly guffawed; hewas the one who fought off Kikulade, not her.

“Hell yeah, and I would have too, if this guy wasn't with you,” she said, her eyes motioning toward Trunks briefly. “It's bullshit, all the intel said you worked alone.” She reached up and wiped at her mouth, a small trickle of blood coming out. Trunks didn't feel bad about it.

“Who hired you?” Armada pressed, the scowl she typically wore reappearing on her face.

“Normally I wouldn't divulge that kind of information, but considering the circumstances, what's the point in keeping someone else's secret?” Xyros nearly laughed. “The Terretto family,” she blurted out, wiping again at her mouth with her right hand. “They were pissed off about something you did some years back, I don't know I didn't really care to pay attention,” she finished.

“The Terretto family?” Trunks repeated, looking pointedly at his comrade. How many mafias did she intend to fight against?

“I stole a mark from them five years ago,” Armada answered, looking at Trunks. “He was worth six-point-four million betas, that's why they're angry,” she explained.

“They're weak anyway,” Xyros interjected. “They always contract out the big stuff but they're cheapskates, they never buy the right person for the job.” Trunks and Armada both looked at the assassin warily, considering what she just said. “Well,” she clarified, her face darkening in embarrassment, “they offered seventeen million to bring you in, dead; I figured it was worth a try at least.”

“Seventeen million?” Trunks asked, his eyebrows raising at that amount.

“Have you seen her record?” Xyros countered, raising one eyebrow higher than the other in disbelief that he seemed to ignorant as to who he was working with. The mercenaries exchanged a glance before Kikulade spoke again.

“Whatever,” Xyros let out a breath and dropped her head back down to the floor. “It doesn't matter now since I'm gonna die. Sucks though,” she said, her gaze turning inward, “there was a new restaurant in Milvallen I really wanted to try.” She seemed to be speaking more to herself than anyone else.

Trunks's eyes looked over at Armada, and her gaze met his. “You don't have to die today,” Armada said, still looking at her comrade. Trunks's visage contorted in confusion; what was she trying to pull? “We need resources,” Armada said slowly, and Trunks suddenly understood what she was getting at. Resources. To fight Rieve. She turned her gaze to the mercenary lying on the floor, “Why don't you come work for me?”

Xyros laughed darkly. “Well if those are my two options, it's obvious I'll go with you,” she replied with a smirk.

Armada reached out toward Xyros, holding an open hand toward her. Xyros sat up and took Armada's hand in her own, and the blonde haired woman helped the black haired assassin get up from the floor. Once she was on her feet and they were looking at each other eye-to-eye, Armada spoke again. “Don't try to kill me,” she deadpanned. “You won't be successful, and it's not necessary because I'm going to give you your share of what we earn,” she added in a flat tone.

Xyros smirked. “All right, sounds good,” she said with excitement dripping from her voice. “By the way,” she said in a much more serious voice, “the name's Laiserta. You can call me Lai for short, most people do.”

Armada smirked. “I already knew your code name,” she said and turned, walking away from her partner and the new recruit.

Laiserta fell into step behind her. “Yeah but it's so much cooler than Xyros!” she said excitedly, motioning wiht her hands to emphasize her words. She glanced at Trunks and stopped walking. “Oh, sorry about all that, by the way,” she said sheepishly, motioning toward his torso. “Seeing as how we're on the same team now I figured I should apologize,” she said lowly with a nervous smile and shrug of her shoulders. “You know how these things go,” she laughed while throwing her hands up to either side of her body. She walked toward the weapons she had dropped previously to retrieve them.

“Yeah,” Trunks said slowly to himself and watched curiously as 'Laiserta' pick up her rod and one pistol. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events.

-+-

Thanks for reading! :] And yes “Minovsky” is a reference to UC Gundam series however it's not the same thing as it is in Gundam. More explanation will be forthcoming on what it is and how it works. Please leave feedback if you have a moment.