Zone Of The Enders Fan Fiction ❯ Zone of the Enders: Triad 2177 ❯ Jamming With Edward ( Chapter 11 )

Edward Harsborough was the happiest man on the face of Mars. It was his sixty-fifth birthday and that only meant one thing: retirement.

He had slaved away from the very beginning; working as a mailroom clerk at his father's company. So many long years later, he worked his way up; batting off his competitors and scraping to the top. He became president of and eventually the main stockholder of his company.

On this day, though, he looked back at his accomplishments and lamented it. He had aspired for other things; not to be a wealthy businessman. He never really saw his children grow up, he never got to love his wife as much as he could, and he especially never got to go out and do all the things he wished to do when he was younger. He had slipped into the stereotype of being a "workaholic"; he was now empty and hollow. He was a machine, meant to pump out reports and manage sales, never to enjoy what it was like to be a happy man. Even when his wife died two years ago, his life couldn't be interrupted. He was missing at her funeral.

But not anymore.

He sat at his desk, his eyes set on the clock. Mere seconds separate him from his father's corporate hellhole he'd been trapped in for so long and absolute freedom.

Twenty seconds.

His hand drew up his briefcase tightly. He matted what was left of his balding head over the bald spot (a bad habit of his, made him look stupid) as he bit his lip.

Ten seconds.

All around him were boxes marked "Edward Harsborough - To be archived". Every last report, budget summary, and possibly even napkin he scribbled something down on was packed up and ready to go. His desk was bare, the computer shipped to the network department to archive his files. His office supplies were all sent to inventory for the next poor shmuck to use.

Five seconds.

Edward remained calm as he scooted to the edge of the seat. He pulled his coat closer to him and clutched the briefcase tighter.

Five o'clock, PM.

Edward stood up, calmly putting his coat on. He slid the chair back under the desk and picked up his briefcase. He quietly walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him. He slid the key into the lock and turned, sealing his living hell behind him. He walked down the hall, stepping into his private elevator. He rode it down to the ground floor, stepping out and dropping off his key at the reception desk as he walked out the revolving doors. Stepping onto the sidewalk outside the building, he finally smiled. There was only one more thing left to do: the retirement party.

Later that night, Edward sat at the head of the table inside the ballroom of the fanciest restaurant in town. As much as he appreciated the effort, his coworkers should have picked something more his new style; like The Titty-Twister Bar, about two miles out of town. He sighed and remembered his previous position. After all, he was the president of one of Mars' premiere mining companies. His company was in the top five grossing businesses on Mars thanks to the fact that they owned mineral rights to some of the frozen glaciers. Water was always in demand; a key piece of advice Edward's father told him when he was just a junior executive. "Always invest heaviest in anything that might have Metatron or water. Never be afraid to take risks" was the full quote from his father. No need to worry about it any longer, he thought, because this was it.

After speeches and gifts (one was a clock that said "Who cares!?" on it, this cracked him up), Edward grinned widely. Someone had managed to find Happy Nappy's Polka Time Band, his absolute favorite band ever, and get them to play at his retirement party. He leaned back and took a long sip of his whine as the others applauded the people coming out on stage.

Something was odd, though. The people on stage were setting up guitars, amplifiers, a drumset, and a keyboard. Edward's smile turned into an angry frown. The rest of the people at the party just murmured amongst themselves, just as confused as he was.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?" Edward said, standing up and slamming his hands on the table.

A man with several piercings all of his face stepped out of the curtains and picked up a double neck guitar. His hair was in long spikes, sharp and pointed in all directions. He had a "stylish" ensemble of ragged black clothes and combat boots. He smiled with his blue eyeshadow glimmering in the light. "I'm Happy Nappy, dude," he said in a drugged tone.

Edward raised an eyebrow as two more men came out. One was dressed in a plaid work jacket and blue jeans that were in rags, his blonde hair unwashed and stringy. The other had a thick beard and long yellow hair, dressed in black shirt and pants.

"Dude, we ran out of needles. Tell that guy to go get some more, I can't find him," the plaid-jacket man said, slipping on one of the other guitars.

"And tell him to get more booze, I'm seriously dry right now," the all-black bearded man said, picking up a bass guitar.

A completely bald woman in a black cocktail dress stepped out, walking to the keyboard. She pressed a few buttons and knobs and hit a few chords.

Finally, a man with tons of dreadlocks and a Scottish kilt on came out and sat behind the drumset.

"Excuse me, but you people aren't set up for polka at all. Where's the accordion player, for example?" Edward said, increasingly angry.

"Chill out, pops. We're Happy Nappy's fucking Polka Time Band, we just also happen to be known as The Cushions," a final member said, stepping to the front of the stage and taking the microphone. He had on a backwards red baseball cap and incredibly baggy clothes, a thin goatee on his chin.

"'Chill out'? What is the meaning of this? Get out before I call security!" Edward yelled, infuriated.

"We're gonna play some polka for you, right guys?" the singer said, giving a thumbs up to the rest of the band.

The rest of the band nodded in agreement.

"One, two, three, four!" the singer yelled. The rest of the band came in on cue, starting up a hard and fast rock song. The people at the table started to get up and go for the door, their evening ruined. Others just covered their ears and started for the stage to try and pull a plug or something.

Just then, the plaid-coated guitarist flipped the pick-up switch on his guitar. Instead of the tone changing, a short tube came out of the top of the head of his guitar. He aimed it at a small group of people crowded around one of the doors. The crowd was dumbstruck; the door was, for some reason, locked tightly. All around the ballroom, people struggled with the doors; someone had locked them all tight. The guitarist then broke into a guitar solo, strumming hard and in rhythmic intervals with constantly changing chords. What the guitar did, however, had everyone in a panic; the long tube was a barrel and the guitar was firing shotgun rounds at the crowd with each chord he struck. "Hope you're having a...blast, folks!" he shouted, grinning madly.

To add to it, the bassist flipped a switch on his guitar too. A metal tube came out the head and he lifted it up to eye level while still playing. He picked a man who was just standing in the crowd aimlessly. The bassist grinned widely, slapping a specific note on his guitar. The bass fired a high-powered rifle round at the man's head, causing his brains to splatter all over the woman behind him. "Hate to see you folks....losing your heads over us!" he shouted.

Keyboardist snatched the keyboard off the stand and threw on a strap, holding it like popular 80's bands did. A small tube came out of the side of her keyboard and ignited. Another hole opened above it and when she played a chord on her keyboard, a line of flame spewed out of the instrument. As she held the chord, she spread the flame around a small group of people, setting them on fire instantly. "I know you're all just...burning to leave, but stick around a while!" she said, seeing a man's shoe melted on to the ground.

The drummer played fast and hard, laying into a long snare drum roll. As he played, he hit a small switch on the top of the bass drum. A red cylinder stuck out of the sound hole. The next time he hit the pedal for the bass drum, the cylinder fired, randomly aimed in all directions. "Bass, bass, bass, bass," he said as several rockets struck tables, others exploding in the middle of crowds of people. When the rockets ran out, he hit two more switches, causing the cymbals to pop off their racks when he hit them. They flew into the crowd and cut people down, sliding through flesh like butter. "How did you like our new studio...cut?" he said as the cymbals homed in and sat back on their stands.

After watching the others do their work, the lead double-neck guitarist then flipped the pick-up switch on his guitar too. A long barrel came out of the head of the top neck. He held the middle of the body between the two necks as far in front of him as he could with the strap at his neck and began playing a fast solo. The head began firing like a submachine gun into the crowd. After taking down a few people, he got even more mischievous. Flipping the pick-up switch for the lower neck, another barrel came out of the lower head, this one a bit longer. A compartment on the front of the body popped open and a string of high-powered bullets fell to the ground. As the lead guitarist played another fast, hard solo, the bottom neck fired like a minigun. His assault cut down several more people as they all ran for cover. "I'm the lead guitarist, and don't you forget it! Or, in this case, the...lead guitarist!" he said ([leed] for the first instance of lead, [led] for the second), looking at one of the bullet casings.

As their song came to an end, the dust and smoke cleared. Every last person in the room was dead; either shot, burned, mortally wounded, or all three. Edward Harsborough peeked up from under the main table. His hiding place was perfect, they only targeted everything around the table; where all the people were fleeing in a panic.

The singer, who was sitting on the edge of the stage while the others massacred the crowd. He threw his microphone into the room fast and hard, wrapping around Edward's throat. He yanked hard, dragging Edward onto the table and through all the dishes and to the front of the table. He sneered madly and leapt from the stage to the table. The lead guitarist leaped with him, slamming the two guitar necks into the table on each side of his neck. The other members of the band gathered around the table, looking down on Edward as he struggled with the microphone cord.

"No heard feelings, man. We're The Cushions, assassins for hire. We also happen to be a band," the singer joked, taking the cord off the microphone and toggling something on the side. The other members all laughed and nodded.

Edward let out a whelp. He could hardly breathe.

"Say your prayers pops. You don't seem to get the picture, so I'm gonna have to scream this script into 'ya!" the singer said, leaning over Edward's head. The singer screamed into the microphone as loud as he could. Coming out of the other end, supersonic sound waves emanated. As he screamed, Edward's flesh began to pull back until soon his whole head simply snapped off his neck and plunged through the table. The other members did the "rock on" sign with their hands and slowly headbanged. "Not like you'd get anymore a...head in life, buddy," the singer joked, leaping off the table. "And that's rap, people! Break it down!"

Miryhn stared out the canopy from the lounge couch. One bandaged arm was laid across the top of the couch, the other held a can of Pepsi in his hand.

Since his score settling with Lazarus, two things happened. First was that Jim ordered them to go to Mars; something about Norris Contraus ordering them there for some reason. The other was that Miryhn went into a meditative state. He only spoke if spoken to, only moved if absolutely necessary, and stayed away from the others as much as possible.

To him, he had experienced something someone of religion would call "a miracle" or perhaps "an epiphany". Through his thoughts, he saw it more as "a calling". The evidence, to him, stacked up plenty; in his mind, something great and omnipotent truly existed and it deemed him to remain alive. Of course, he attributed the gun being empty to his stupidity of not counting the clip. However, checking later, he found three bullets left in the magazine. Obviously, Ricdeau's old gun must have failed on him then; but he still couldn't help but think of it as "a religious experience" in its own right.

He sighed, knowing he was anything but a religious person. He never cared for believing in anything but himself and his abilities as a common man. He chuckled, though, knowing he wasn't "common" at all; after all, as Lazarus said, he had something inside him he couldn't possibly imagine. All because of that, he must have a higher purpose.

Suddenly sick of his pondering, he rolled his eyes and sipped the Pepsi some. In his own little system of belief, somewhere lost in the rambling of his mind and complex theorizing, he had begun a rebirth of sorts. He drew in his mind all the facts: he could kill lots of people without taking a scratch and every chance he tried in the past six years, he couldn't seem to die. Suicide was always halted by his own fears of death, his friends and comrades, or, recently, what seemed like the hand of God itself. Maybe, in at least a metaphorical sense, he was an angel, deemed to grant death to sinners. Maybe, just maybe, he was an ascending being of some sort; again, only in the metaphorical sense. He felt like he was slowly accepting this and that maybe the curse he lamented for so long was finally becoming a blessing.

He scoffed and sipped his Pepsi again. Even though he was, he knew he'd never submit to being under the manipulative thumb of Lazarus. He was his own person and free of will. If he really was Metatron, Archangel of Death, in metaphor, he'd damn well deem who dies and who lives himself. He smiled, starting to almost be intoxicated with this thought.

Suddenly, he shook it off. With this great power came the great responsibility behind it. He stared forward, realizing this; then suddenly laughed at it. Fuck being responsible, he thought, he was confident and content in living just the way he was; and God help anyone who got in his way. They would be who he deemed for death.

He then frowned again, remembering his last thoughts before passing out in Masamune. He saw his eyes in his reflection and he knew he couldn't even control "it" anymore. He'd just have to use discretion, else he end up being a dick to Vera or any of his other comrades like last time. Obviously the only way to counter one of the Seraphs, if they ever come after him again, was to use "it" and fight back. It's how he almost defeated Lazarus and would be the key to any other situation he would be backed into a corner. The only problem was he had no idea where to start to master "it" again.

So he summed it all up in his mind. He obviously had a sort of power and that if used correctly, it was a blessing. From now on, he wouldn't be afraid to take a life. He was the Angel of Death, in the metaphorical sense, and he knew his actions would be just. Even if they weren't, then screw it. Life is fleeting anyway, for him and for his slain opponent. From now on, he'd just have to get use to his "angelic" state and use it when he knew he'd need it. He stood up, holding his arms out wide and closed his eyes. The starlight came in and he smiled. He was a new man, no longer a sin-stained killer; he was redeemed and awakened as an angel among men. He was still himself; the apathetic slacker ship pilot, but something a little more. This made him smile for the first time since the ordeal with Lazarus. He laughed, Thinking that super heroes must feel the exact same way as he did at that moment. He now had an alter ego: Miryhn, the carefree freighter pilot who always got the shopping wrong, and Miryhn, blessed Angel of Death.

He grinned, stretching out and then sipping down the rest of his soda. He decided to forget about all of that for now. He was a new man, a superhero, but he was all the good things he liked about himself. He crushed the can with his bare hands and laughed stupidly at his "super" feet, feeling playful. He let it float into the recycling bin and shut it. He turned and pushed off, floating into the hallway.

The ship was incredibly quiet for that time of day. Usually Jim was going around bitching at everyone to do something productive; often suggesting rather menial things to do. He then remembered that Jim said he was going to go nap after he threw a fit at Miryhn after he asked to borrow some of his "nest egg" Metatron ore to repair Masamune (in particular the enormous hole in the canopy). Jim was surprisingly nice, saying he'd "sleep on it". This gave Miryhn a chance to go "borrow" some. He knew Jim never takes inventory on it, after all, he could barely remember the combination to the vault he kept it in.

Yep, it was a nice, quiet day onboard The Entropy.

Miryhn floated down the stairs and turned, going towards the bridge. Opening the door, he peeked inside and saw Vera playing with Peniel.

"Ok, kitty, you gotta push off of stuff if you wanna move in zero-g, ok? Like this," Vera instructed, pushing off the floor with her hand.

Peniel floated slowly in the other direction, licking its paw and not paying attention.

"Stupid cat!" Vera spouted, pushing off the ceiling and back to the floor to grab Peniel. She looked over and saw Miryhn in the doorway. "You haven't messed with your bandages today, have you? You set back your healing process by going and doing whatever it was out there," she nagged.

"No, I haven't. Thanks for the change, though, because those wet ones itched after a while," he said, cringing.

"Just don't do anything stupid like...whatever it was that happened anymore, ok?" Vera said, a look of concern as she said it. She then slowly tossed Peniel up towards the ceiling, still trying to instruct the cat on movement.

Miryhn sighed and shut the door, heading back down the hall. Just as he grabbed the handle to float back down the hallway, he ran into Nash.

"Watch it, I feel filthy," Nash said, almost losing the mop he was carrying.

"What the hell is that for?" Miryhn asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nash rolled his eyes. "Since you're her other pet, I seriously hope you never go piss all over the carpet too," he said sarcastically.

Miryhn grinned,"And what if I did?"

Nash grimaced. "Then you'd be cleaning it up!" he said, shoving the mop into Miryhn's face. He then moved around Miryhn and into the bridge. As the door closed, Miryhn could hear him bitching out Vera and the cat.

Maybe it wasn't just another quiet day on The Entropy after all.

Miryhn then floated down the hall, using the mop to push off of stuff in a fancy pole-fighting manner. He made his way to the hangar to check on the Frames.

Pushing off the floor, he caught the tip of Masamune's cockpit and stood squatting on the end of it. "Yo, how's it going?" he said, smiling and twirling the mop on one hand.

"Repairs are going as scheduled. If not for the deep punctures, this would have been done the moment you gave me the Metatron ore. You should be more careful next time," ADA scolded.

"Geez, give me a break. Not like I had a choice in the matter," Miryhn said, his smile going to a scold.

"You could have easily dodged 63% of the attacks executed against Masamune. You hesitated at many intervals, especially the attack upon the cockpit itself," ADA said.

Miryhn wasn't about to let this thing ruin his good mood. "Yeah, well..." he said, struggling for a comeback. He shrugged and smiled again, backflipping off of the Frame and into the area behind it. "You should believe in me a little more. From now on, I promise no more hesitation. I have full confidence in myself. No regrets, no holding back. I'm a new man now!" he said, pushing off the ceiling and back to the floor in front of Masamune.

"I don't understand," ADA replied.

"Don't have to. See 'ya!" he said, going back to the door.

As he floated down the hallway, he tossed the mop into the storage closet. He stopped in the hallway and held onto the railing. He realized he was bored.

The first thing he decided to do was get rid of the trash in the kitchen. The damn thing smelled all the way up to the deck he was on. He knew it'd be one less thing for Jim to complain about, so he headed for the stairs and floated to the first sublevel.

Inside the kitchen, he grabbed the bag of trash and wrapped a twist-tie around it tightly. He floated back out to the hallway and down the stairs once again to the hold level. Down there is where they kept all the miscellaneous supplies, weaponry, storage space, and other things they didn't want topside. One of these was the trash compactor, of course, along with the waste water tanks.

Miryhn opened the circular hatch to the room with the trash compactor and flipped the light switch on. Just then, the noxious fumes hit his nostrils. He almost threw up on the spot, but suppressed his gag reflex. The trash compactor was about the size of a large cooler and used a high powered vacuum system to break trash down into cubes about as small as the human thumb. The only problem was that this only seemed to amplify the stench from the trash; almost like it combined all the smells into one super-smell. Miryhn dropped the trashbag into the compactor, shut the lid, and hit the button. With a brief shriek of the vacuum's motor, the process was over with. However, the trash compactor shook violently to let out the excess air; this only made the room smell worst.

Miryhn turned to leave, but noticed the trash compactor's violent shaking had jarred it loose from the clamps holding it to the floor. He groaned loudly and floated back to it from the doorway. "We have to bolt it to the floor, Jim. The clamps won't hold forever, I told him. Did he listen? No!" Miryhn grumbled, stopping in front of it. The problem with the trash compactor was that it, for one thing, weighed a ton. It took him, Nash, and Jim to carry it down here and since it weighed so much, Jim was too lazy to have Vera drill holes for bolts to hold it down. Instead, Jim used a pair of plastic clamps. The problem with this, of course, was that plastic isn't exactly that sturdy. Miryhn looked on the side of it and saw that the clamps had slid open. The solution was simple, push it down hard enough so the clamps lock back down.

And so, he did just that. Miryhn reached up and pushed the trash compactor down onto the clamps as hard as he could. The behemoth floated down, slamming onto the clamps. However, the cheap plastic mechanisms failed to grab the compactor and it simply bounced back up at Miryhn. It smacked him squarely in the jaw and sent him spiraling backwards in pain. Miryhn groaned loudly, rubbing his chin. He watched as the trash compactor then hit the ceiling and bounced off some pipes and the wall like an enormous pinball. As Miryhn gritted the pain back, the trash compactor floated out the doorway and he heard it clinking hard against the wall. He quickly made two pushes for the door, closing it behind him. It didn't help, though, the smell was everywhere in the corridor. He looked both ways down the hall and spotted the trash compactor floating into things like a pinball, bouncing its way up the stairs. Miryhn growled, knowing that if the smell got all over the ship, Jim would simply bitch even more and dock another paycheck. With this in mind, he made his way down the hallway as fast as he could and off the wall to float up the stairs.

When he reached the top, the trash compactor's lid was open and belching a smell that made his stomach turn. What was even odder was that it was malfunctioning and the motor started up. It collided with the wall and one of the sconces were sucked into its gaping, toxic mouth. It was instantly drawn up into a smaller piece of matter with a violent smashing and crunching sound; this, once again, made the trash compactor waft out a horrifying scent. It rebounded off the other wall and continued down the hallway.

"Oh my God, I've released a monster," Miryhn murmured to himself.

This was definitely not going to be a quiet day on The Entropy at all.

Norris Contraus stood on his desk, mouthing the words to an opera in sync with the singer. The powerful overture filled the room so loudly he didn't hear Lamar come in.

"Sir!" Lamar yelled as loudly as he could.

Norris waved his hands around, perfectly mimicking the singer.

"Sir!" Lamar yelled again.

Just then, the singer crescendoed into a powerful ending and the music stopped. Thunderous applause resounded for the singer as Norris turned around and gave Lamar a bow.

Lamar cleared his throat loudly and hefted the two thick folders in his arm twice.

Norris gave him an angry look and climbed down from his desk. He pulled a remote control out of his breast pocket and turned the volume down to a whisper. He then switched it from opera to Pachelbel's Canon played by a string quartet.

"What was that look for, sir? I'm only here to give you some good news," Lamar said, putting the folders on his desk.

"You have no respect for good music, do you? Jesus Christ, Lamar, at least clap!" Norris said, disappointed with him while he shook an accusing finger at Lamar.

Lamar sighed and rolled his eyes. "Ok, fine," he said before clapping.

"Stop that, you already missed your chance. What the hell has gone on now?" Norris said, pulling a folder in front of himself.

"Sir, first I'd like to tell you Alpha team is on their way here to Mars as you asked them to. Hauser called and said his pilot had something personal to attend to and that's why they're a bit late," Lamar said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm-hmm," Norris replied, half interested.

"Bravo asked for a two day delay. She's having trouble tracking down a bounty. She also reported that she received the Orbital Frame we sent," Lamar continued.

"Mm-hmm," Norris replied, nodding and still half interested as he read the contents of the file.

"Delta, though, hasn't reported. The last thing he said was that he was 'making love to his woman, don't fuck with me'," Lamar said, rolling his eyes in recollection.

"Diaz, that shit-for-brains. Who recommended him anyways?" Norris said, giving Lamar a puzzled look.

"Not me, sir," Lamar said, slowly shaking his head.

"Whatever. What's all this?" Norris asked, shaking the folders at Lamar.

"Those are the latest reports involving Nereidium's mysterious profit spike. Their capital has skyrocketed recently with hardly any turn-out recorded by the Martian Business Bureau. It seems obvious that they are either getting lots of generous donations or they are releasing products unrecorded by public company records," Lamar explained.

Norris took a deep breath, starting to do Tai-Chi. "So isn't it obvious? Someone is buying something from them that Nereidium or the buyer don't want anyone to know about," he said, his eyes closed as he did his motions.

"But, sir, what could it be?" Lamar asked, folding his arms behind his back.

Norris cut into a rave of laughter. "That's even more obvious, Lamar. All those Orbital Frames we've seen pop up lately among the Enders!" he said when he finally calmed down.

Lamar raised an eyebrow. "You really think they'd risk that? Since a year ago, Earth has had full occupancy of Mars until they come to terms with Mars supporting BAHRAM and the supposed 'anti-Terran terroist attacks on Earth'. I mean, we all know it's just because some greedy Earth forces wanted Mars again*, but those talks are a hot topic becaues of all the racism. If Orbital Frames suddenly started appearing again..."

"Then Nereidium would just pin the blame on a rogue anti-Terran militia the U.N.S.F. missed three years ago!" Norris said, finishing his statement. "Nereidium has a clean slate with the Earth after they submitted plans for several mass-produced Frames to the U.N.S.F.," he added, continuing his Tai-Chi.

"Sir, is this true? How would you know?" Lamar said, raising an eyebrow.

"It's true because I have my ways of knowing. The key to good business is good resources: people, capital, and material" Norris said, still doing Tai-Chi. "We both know the U.N.S.F. went on a Crusade of sorts to eliminate all anti-Terran forces on Mars after that...guy put an end to Aumaan single-handedly. They removed TEMPEST, Ruff Ryders Syndicate, N.A.W., Serpent Hill Pit Lords, Spirit Assassins...you know, all the ones that never made it as big as BAHRAM. Even now, the U.N.S.F. is hunting out the smallest ones; the ones that have been committing random acts of terrorism all over the Earth embassies in Margaritifier County and Earth military bases and all that."

"Oh, I see now. To protect the investor and themselves, they'd pin it on a no-name militia and be overlooked," Lamar nodded in agreement.

"Why must you repeat everything I say?" Norris said, suddenly stopping his Tai-Chi.

"Sorry, sir, I'm just trying to keep up with your obvious higher understanding of what's going on," Lamar said apologetically.

"That's another key to good business," Norris said, resuming his Tai-Chi,"You gotta know what's going on in the world so you don't end up with an unwise investment."

"If what you say is true, then what is the point of distributing Orbital Frames to...questionable individuals. Every single Frame that we've managed to intercept was en route to an odd individual. Masamune and Freya weren't even delivered to Tarver Urenbach, they were in the hands of some random shmups on a civilian freighter" Lamar said, trying to piece it together.

"I wouldn't put it past them. Nereidium is just a business, they don't care who they sell to as long as they get the money in full," Norris replied. "And that is blatantly obvious since two days ago, three Frames attacked a Ryan storehouse inside the sphere."

"Excuse me? I never heard that!" Lamar exclaimed.

"Only us top officials knew. Seems two of the Runners were men from the Layon crime syndicate and the other was from the Stein family," Norris said, still doing Tai-Chi.

"I...don't understand at all what's going on!" Lamar said, groaning.

"Why do you think I'm calling all my little 'pawns' here? They need to defend their king! Ryan Corporation cannot afford to be checkmated by criminal element attacking us in Orbital Frames for whatever reason," Norris said, a little firmer than his previous tone.

"So that's why you left some of the Frames in the hands of those individuals. You're using them because you wanted some merc power to our militia?" Lamar said, going out on a limb with his guess.

Norris smiled and nodded.

"But still, why the hell would anyone want Ryan Corporation destroyed by crime families?" Lamar exclaimed.

"That I can't answer. There's no way Nereidium could convince Carmichael Layon and Kramer Stein to work for them, they're two of the worst criminals on Mars. Layon and Stein must see Ryan as a threat in some way," Norris said, still grinning and shrugging.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see why this corporation would threaten anything at all," Lamar said, scratching his head.

"Go back to your office, Lamar. You've learned enough business prowess for one day. Contact me again if you find out anymore," Norris said, propping his feet on his desk and shooing Lamar off.

"If you say so, sir. I'll keep in contact," Lamar said, turning to leave.

"And clap next time, you idiot!" Norris added as Lamar stepping into the doorway.

"I will, sir!" Lamar said quickly before shutting the door.

Norris smiled and switched back to his opera album. He picked up the folder and walked to the glass wall behind his desk and looked out over the cityscape.

"Why are we a threat? We have Orbital Frames too, of course," Norris said to himself. "Especially my precious Ehecatl," he added with a grin. "So does everyone, for all I know. Orbital Frames aren't exactly that big a secret."

He tossed the folder back on the desk and looked out over the city again as the opera started up again.

Miryhn tucked the silenced handgun into the back of his belt, slipped the string tied to his sword around his waist, put his sunglasses on, jammed a grenade in his pocket, and held the mop over his shoulder. There was no way in hell he'd let that trash compactor get away with this.

Leaping out into the hall, he pushed off a doorway and floated down at top speed. It was last seen floating towards the top deck where the lounge and rarely used passenger seating area was. Pushing off a wall and up the stairs, he caught the scent of the trash compactor as it ricocheted off a wall and into the passenger seating area. He approached the doorway, hot on its trail and pulled out the handgun. He slowly peeked around the corner.

Inside, the trash compactor had attached to a seat and was in the process of breaking it down and eating each section that fit in its "mouth". Within a few seconds, it had consumed a chair. Miryhn dropped his jaw and whipped around the doorframe and into the room.

"Damn freak of machinery! Die!" Miryhn screamed, opening fire on the trash compactor as it bounced off the floor and back into the space above the chairs. Each bullet either bounced off its thick exterior or made a hole in the plastic areas; releasing more noxious fumes into the area. Miryhn growled at his failed attack and took the mop in each hand, slipping the gun back in his belt. He launched himself at it, feeling like an Orbital Frame dashing to an enemy, and bravely struck at it several times with his own Combo Smash. The trash compactor motor weakened and started up several times during the attack signifying Miryhn must be doing something right. The goal was, after all, to simply make the machine stop functioning long enough for him to move it back to the sublevels.

The trash compactor counterattacked, though. With another hard swing of the mop, Miryhn cracked the storage enough for several cubes of waste to float out. The smell grew even stronger, making him hack and wheeze and struggle for fresh air. He countered this by using his secret weapon: a freshly washed sock! Strapping it across his nose and mouth with a rubber band, all he could smell was the detergent and fabric softener's sharp spring-time freshness. With this, he used another chair to launch himself at the trash compactor again.

This time, however, the behemoth caught the broom in its "mouth" and began sucking. Miryhn panicked and put his feet against the sides of it, pulling against the vacuum force. It was no use, and within seconds the broom was drawn up into the belly of the beast. Miryhn broke off his attack and floated over to a fake potted planet in one of the corners of the room.

His only choice now was his sword. Hopefully he could cut the conduits between the generator and the motor and end the beast's parasitic rampage through the ship. He drew it slowly, trying to be dramatic. Just like being Masamune, he thought, its like a Frame fight. I can do this no problem, he added to his thoughts.

Miryhn pushed off the potted plant and held his sword just he did before initiating one of Masamune's combinations. He added a hard kick to the beginning of his attack, making the trash compactor spin. He then laid into it, cutting at random spots between the item chamber and the motor, hoping to hit something important. When he finished, the trash compactor went away from him, spinning and floating quicker than before. It bounced off the wall, moving at a rapid pace, unable to be stopped by just one person. Miryhn panicked and used the top of a chair to push off of in an attempt to escape. It was hopeless, though, since the moment his back hit the wall, the trash compactor caught up and slammed into his gut like a cannonball. The device activated once again and began to suck at the closest thing possible: his shirt. Miryhn whined loudly and began pushing the trash compactor away with all his might. However, the trash compactor managed to catch his shirt and the whole thing ripped right off his back and right down the behemoth's gullet.

Miryhn was getting sick of this. Now shirtless with his abdomen aching, he screamed in fury. He pushed off the wall once again and floated parallel to the trash compactor. He planned to finish it with one decisive stab to the motor area. His plan backfired because within a foot of the trash compactor's "mouth", it caught his hair. Miryhn screamed in both pain and panic and his precious mane was being drawn into it. He twisted around, causing a surging pain to yank at his scalp, and thrusted the sword into the motor of the behemoth. It sputtered and exhausted another cloud of toxic swill before the motor quit entirely. Miryhn yanked the sword out again and maneuvered himself so he could inspect the mechanical monstrosity.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that the trash compactor had a system in which the motor only activated when the lid was shut. However, the wires had crossed at some point and whenever the "mouth" opened, the motor turned on. This was the obvious cause of why it turned on whenever it got a hold of something it'd "eat" it. Obviously another one of Nash's fucked up repair jobs. Miryhn didn't care, though. It was time to eliminate the threat once and for all.

He sheathed his sword and pushed the "corpse" of the beast into the passenger load/unload airlock on the side of the room. Once it was inside, he pulled the pin out of the grenade and jammed it inside the vacuum motor area. Without a second to spare closing the hatch, he punched the airlock opening override and the airlock opened; sucking the behemoth into absolute zero. Miryhn overlooked the fact that he was close enough to be sucked in too and at the first sign of him being drawn in, he quickly drew his sword and jammed it into the floor as hard as he could. Flapping around like a helpless windsock as the airlock finally began to close, Miryhn was pelted and struck by miscellaneous items like seat covers, potted plant, and even a small coffee table!

When the airlock closed and the hatch shut, Miryhn breathed a long sigh of relief. He got to his feet and yanked the sword out of the floor, re-sheathing it. He walked to one of the windows and watched as the trash compactor; amidst a coffee table, potted plant, and several seat covers and cushions; exploded, sending compacted pretzel bags, old and moldy leftovers, and God knows what other odd bits of refuse the crew put in it in all directions. Miryhn grinned and shouted,"w00t!" in victory.

Just then, Jim walked in with the most thunderstruck look of shock on his face Miryhn had ever seen.

"What in the goddamned hell happened in here? What's that smell? Where's the seat cushions that potted plant? Where'd the coffee table go? Why is there a long gash in the floor?" Jim said, pointing to where each of the missing items had been or at the gash in the floor caused by the suction dragging Miryhn out the door.

"Um..." Miryhn said with a chuckle.

"And why is there a sock over your face?" Jim added, his flabbergasted tone reaching a new extreme.

Moments later, Jim turned on the artificial gravity and called one of his "staff meetings". Miryhn was seated in the lounge on Jim's smoking chair. He was unanimously decided to be separate because, quite simply, he reeked. Vera and Nash sat on the couch, glaring at Miryhn as he sat there shirtless and stinking. Peniel laid in Vera's lap, quietly snoozing.

Jim stepped in front of the TV holding a clipboard. He cleared his throat loudly and looked at each of them.

"Michaels," Jim said, putting on some reading glasses and clicking a pen.

"Captain, why do you always do that. We're all here," Vera said, rolling her eyes.

"Michaels, Vera?" Jim said, ignoring her.

Vera sighed loudly and raised her hand. "Here," she said.

"Peniel?" Jim said, checking off the list.

"Why the cat?" Vera asked, now aggravated.

"Peniel? Is Peniel present?" Jim asked again, insisting on his way of things.

Vera groaned and held up Peniel. "Here's here!" she said.

"Troxel?" Jim said, checking off the list.

"Present," Miryhn grumbled while raising his hand.

"Harsborough?" Jim said, checking off again.

"Currently within the proximity," Nash said with a laugh.

"Shut up," Miryhn spouted.

"Asshole," Nash replied.

"Quiet! This is an official staff meeting of my ship and we'll have order!" Jim said strictly. He then cleared his throat and continued. "Please ignore Mr. Troxel's...odd conditions for attendance. He'll be questioned later about why the trash compactor is missing, several miscellaneous objects are missing from various places on the ship, there is a pungent miasma wafting everywhere through the ship, why the potted plant and coffee table from the passenger deck is drifting outside the ship along with a cloud of debris, and why there is a large rip in the floor," he said with an angry crescendo.

Miryhn grinned cheesily and chuckled.

"And also where the hell the mop is," Jim added quickly.

Miryhn rolled his eyes.

"Old news first. As you know, we're current en route to Mars. It seems our employer wishes for you two to protect him against some outside force or something," Jim said, pointing his pen at Vera, then Miryhn. "The details were not given, only the strict order to go there and be at his beck and call twenty-four-seven."

"Sounds like fun," Vera chided.

"In new news; Nash, you got mail!" Jim said, taking a folder off the clipboard and tossing it to Nash.

Nash caught it and opened the top, taking about a fancy slip of stationery. He carefully read the text on it, his face slowly drawing into a smile.

"What is it? Can you tell us?" Vera asked, curious.

"My old man was killed. I have to attend the will reading!" Nash said excitedly.

The others glared.

"What?" Nash said with a shrug.

"Dude, your dad died. Aren't you...sad or anything?" Miryhn asked.

"Edward Harsborough? My father? That dirtbag? He was no father of mine, he was a dickhead. I'm glad he's dead!" Nash said, doing a dance from his sitting position.

"Yes, anyway, in other news, we'll have the air conditioning fixed as soon as we land on Mars. And one quick note; Vera, housetrain that damn cat. That is all, any questions?" Jim said, taking off his reading glasses.

Miryhn and Vera looked at each other. Nash was too busy dancing in his seat. Peniel stared at the coffee table.

"Good. Refreshments are available in the mini-kitchen, go get them your damn self. Meeting adjourned," Jim said, putting the clipboard on the TV behind him. He then proceeded to light up.

"Money, money, money! I love inheritance!" Nash said, leaping off the couch and dancing down the hallway.

Vera stood up and stretched, Peniel leaping out of her lap. "I don't know what the hell you've been doing today, but you're about to get it bad. Trust me on that," Vera whispered at Miryhn.

Miryhn grinned smugly and nodded.

Vera grinned back and shuffled down the hallway, Peniel in tow.

Jim sighed and held his cigarette with his index and middle fingers. "Just give me another one of your half-assed excuses and lets get this over with. I really want to watch the big match that's coming on in," he said, looking at his watch,"about ten minutes."

"You're suddenly Henry G's biggest fan?" Miryhn asked with a grin.

"Shut up, just give me an excuse. Anything," Jim said, putting the cigarette back in his lips.

"Well, I put some trash in the trash compactor and it broke off the clamp. It began floating around with a mind of its own, sucking shit into it. I went after it and killed the motor after it managed to chew up the passenger deck and the mop. I then stuck a grenade in it and pushed it out the airlock, using my sword as a handle to keep from being pulled out too," Miryhn explained, rolling his eyes around with the explanation.

Jim chuckled. "That's bullshit. That clamp is hard as a rock."

"Jim, I told you a hundred times, you have to bolt it down. That chip-clip couldn't hold Nash's grandma down," Miryhn explained with a sigh.

"Don't' matter now, does it? You just blew the fucking thing up!" Jim said with another laugh.

"You're mocking me, aren't you? If something wasn't done, it would have just kept chewing up the ship," Miryhn replied.

"You're an odd one, Mister Miryhn Helseth Troxel," Jim said, holding his cigarette between his index and middle finger and shaking it at Miryhn. "Now go take a shower, get a change of clothes, and clean up that mess. Put some resin or something in the crack and don't ever do it again or I'll kick your ass and dock thirty paychecks. Got it?" Jim said, a grin on his face.

Miryhn raised an eyebrow. He expected all hell to break loose and his pay revoked for years. He simply nodded and slowly walked out of the room, eyes on Jim. Jim looked back, still grinning and puffing his cigarette. Just as Miryhn left eyeshot, Jim groaned and sat in his smoking chair. He flipped it to SSPN and another grin came on his face as the match started up.

"It's just no use, he ain't right. What a bunch of weirdos those numbskulls are," Jim said with another laugh, rubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray.

The next day, Dingo shuffled bare-chested and sweatpant-clad from the crew quarters of the freighter up to the upper deck. Heading into the kitchen, he met eyeshot with Leo; sitting with a shirt and sweatpants on, chewing on toast, his hair tossed with bed-head. Dingo grinned, thinking that his method of life might be rubbing off on the kid.

"Well, good morning," Dingo greeted, pulling the tub of orange juice out of the refrigerator.

What's so good about it? Every single lead we've tried to link Nereidium to the appearance of all those new Frames turns up cold. They've been covering their tracks incredibly well!" Leo muttered, his mouth packed with toast.

Dingo stared at him. "You're awfully well informed for someone who obviously just woke up," he said, pouring a glass of orange juice.

Angie walked up and started fussing me out. She was up all night tracing every last line we had. Dingo, it's hopeless, we're never going to find Nereidium's reasoning and we'll never find out why they're distributing ancient Orbital Frames to irreputable individuals," Leo sputtered, still chewing on his toast.

"Now don't give up so easily," Dingo said firmly, sitting at the table and brushing his bangs back a little. "We can always rely on our back-ups. Remember that civilian freighter? The Entropy? We can always go and get information out of them."

"Dingo," Leo said, now taking time to swallow his food. "Those people have Orbital Frames themselves. One of them single-handedly batted off all three of us and we're the ones who singlehandedly took down BAHRAM!"

"You mean I did! If I recall, you and Ken weren't the ones who bravely dove into Aumaan with a suicidal Frame and put a stop to it," Dingo bragged.

"Whatever," Leo said, biting off another chew of toast. "But defeating Tarver Urenbach was no accomplishment. I still say they're hacks."

"Anyway, at the very least, those people will be the only ones left if Angie doesn't find out something soon. We've been on this case for months now ever since we caught wind of Nereidium distributing new Orbital Frames," Dingo said before taking a long gulp of his orange juice.

"Dingo, remind me why we're bothering with this," Leo said with a sigh, chewing toast.

"'East Wind' was founded so disasters like Aumaan never happen again. We're the people who clean up messes before they become dirty, 'ya know?" Dingo explained, propping his head on his hand and rested his elbow on the table.

Leo rolled his eyes.

"And that includes Orbital Frames being put in incapable hands. Orbital Frames are tools for justice, not oppression. When they start showing up in the hands of criminals, terrorists, and...freelancers on ratty old freighters...that's when we have to step up and do something!" Dingo said, then finished his glass.

"Then tell me why 'freelancers on ratty old freighters' not only defeated us in high-speed combat, but also took down a small terrorist faction," Leo retorted.

"Those were flukes! I don't know or care who they are or how they got to know how to pilot a Frame. If they ever step up to me again, I'll take 'em down for sure!" Dingo said, suddenly raising his tone. He shot up and poured another glass of orange juice.

Leo raised an eyebrow and buttered his second piece of toast. "I think you're just mad you got your pride hurt a little. That gray-haired guy in Masamune was obviously no amateur. Very people know where the critical points are on an Orbital Frame. The girl in Freya used a rather generalized strategy in fighting, but she still destroyed Tarver's freighter all be herself," he explained.

"I don't care who that white-headed freak is. I'll kick his ass next time, just watch," Dingo said, now confident and smirking.

"Dingo, if you ever want to rival him, you'll need a Frame, not a Vic Viper," Leo said, rolling his eyes.

"Leo, you and I both swore an oath we'd never go get that certain Frame unless we absolutely needed it," Dingo said firmly, leaning over the table a little.

"Jehuty is mine now! You said so yourself! You're getting the Durandall II like we agreed!" Leo sputtered amongst a mouthful of toast.

Dingo sighed. "Look, let's be realistic. We're sticking to the oath: no Jehuty, no Ardjet, and no Orbital Frames unless we absolutely need them. Got it? We're going by the book and we're going to make sure this matter is settled without going to that extreme," he commanded firmly, then taking a long gulp of his orange juice.

"And I didn't say anything about going off and fighting some white-haired freelancer who happens to know a few moves," Leo said, rolling his eyes.

Dingo cringed. He hated it when the kid was right. There was no way around it, Dingo wanted to test these people as best he could. He couldn't seem to help it; after conquering Nohman in Aumaan's core, he had suffered a massive ego boost. He remained as modest as he could about it, but the truth was he wasn't through with being a Runner. He so desperately wanted to go back to the battlefield; that is where he felt he belonged after all the deeds he did with Jehuty.

"Look, I'm going to go talk to Angie. Go tell Ken to get her ass up, we're going to Mars for an update on the situation there," Dingo said, finishing his drink and putting the cup in the sink.

"Recon, sounds like fun," Leo said sarcastically as Dingo charged out of the kitchen.

Vera yawned, slipping her hands into the pockets of her white kimono with the matching red sash. The outer robe was the only part she wore; simply because they were so soft and comfortable. The morning sun peeked over the horizon as she looked out the windows of the lounge. As she sat down to sip on a plastic "Keep on space-truck'in!" mug (one of Jim's extensive collection), she saw a shape further down the top of the ship. It was leaping back and forth, swinging something around. As a ship drifted in front of The Entropy's hangar, the glare off the side of it revealed it was Miryhn swinging his sword around. Vera rolled her eyes and walked into the hallway. The "secret" hatch to the topside of the ship was indeed open. Nimbly climbing up with one hand, the other clutching the mug, she walked across the scarred and dented hull of the ship to a few yards away from Miryhn. He didn't even seem to notice her there.

"So what's Mars like? This is my first time here," Vera said, sitting down on the scarred hull.

"It's a planet full of the scars of war and people scarred by war. Not even in the three years after BAHRAM dissolved and all anti-Terran shit was wiped out this place could never recover," Miryhn said, not interrupting his routine. "Not even their fancy tourism campaign can help get people to move here. All the Terran vs. Ender racism still runs cold through everyone's blood. No one sees Mars as anything but a source of conflict. In other words, it's just a ludicrous bump in the road to the prestigious Jupiter colonies. Or at least that's how I see it," he added with a tone of cynicism.

Vera nodded and stood up. "This thing didn't use to be so dinged up until you showed up," Vera said with a smile, dabbing her foot in one of the deeper holes in the hull.

"This thing didn't hardly look used until I showed up. I gave it some character," Miryhn said, his motions uninterrupted.

"So what are you doing up here anyway?" Vera asked, then sipped some coffee.

"I use to have to do this every morning back when I worked under my previous boss," Miryhn replied, still uninterrupted.

"Back when you use to kill people every day?" Vera said, a little softer and looking down.

Miryhn dropped his sword. He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. "How do you gather that?"

"Miryhn, you have not been doing a very good job lately of covering your tracks," Vera said with a smug grin. "You pilot an Orbital Frame like you've been doing it for years, you killed like fifteen men singlehandedly in that park, and you have that...eye-color change thing that makes you all psychotic. It's obvious, you're either a homicidal freak or you keep getting put in positions where it's you or them," she said, strolling back and forth.

Miryhn grinned and picked up his sword. "So what if I am? Are you afraid of me now?"

"Of course not. You stop it the moment I open my mouth," Vera replied with a wink.

Miryhn dropped his sword again in the middle of a fancy spin. He looked at her with wide eyes. He stuttered to come up with a sentence.

"That was obvious too. To be honest, I'd rather not see you end up like that and make a big mistake," Vera said, lowering her head again. She pushed a side of her bangs behind her ear. "The minute I got upset about you, you stopped it and acted like yourself again. Except for your crying fit, that is. You never seem to get too broken up about anything. I guess whatever it is pretty deep in you?"

"You speak of that to no one, ok? I wasn't exactly in control there...and yes, it is quite 'deep'," Miryhn said with a grimace, picking up his sword once again.

"Well, what the hell happened to you? You don't have to tell me, I can already guess what made you angst so much. What I want to know is the...eye-thing," Vera said with concern.

"Vera, it's hard for me to explain," Miryhn said, resuming his routine. "But to be honest, I think I'm getting better about it. From now on, I'm going to try and control it as best I can. Promise me, though, that if I loose it again, you'll do something, ok?"

"Excuse me? What are you trying to tell me? I have to get upset about you every time you want to go back to being yourself?" Vera said, raising an eyebrow and sipping at her mug.

"No, just do anything, ok? I guess it's just when I begin hurting someone I care about emotionally, that's when it stops," Miryhn said, tossing his sword up. He held up the sheath and it landed perfectly into it.

"You care about me? In what way?" Vera said, now smiling.

"I haven't known you that long. Probably just a coworker, a fairweather friend," Miryhn said, turning to her.

Vera's expression hardened. She stood up and tossed the coffee on him. "A 'fairweather' friend, huh? Sheesh," she said, stomping off.

"That didn't exactly help your 'friend rating'!" Miryhn yelled at her as she started down the hatch.

"Neither does this!" Vera yelled from inside the hatch, a middle finger sticking up briefly.

Miryhn sighed and rolled his eyes. "Women...can't live with 'em, can't reproduce without 'em," he said, wringing some coffee out of his hair.

Nash was the most miserable he had ever been in his entire life. As he sat in living room of the house he grew up in, all around him his direct family buzzed with their particular brand of annoyances to him.

Nash was the middle child. He had an older brother and sister, Claude and Mirielle (fraternal twins of the age of 25); and a younger sister and brother, Danielle and Perry. Danielle was 19 and Perry was 16. They annoyed him the most.

Claude was a producer with one of the biggest TV stations on Mars. He had long red hair that he always kept in a stupid ponytail and kept his sunglasses on every chance he got. He was also fond of casual suits and penny loafers. He was loud, arrogant, and was always on his phone when he wasn't disciplining his two 7-year-olds: Eliza and Claude Jr. He was married to a starlet from the recently cancelled remake-show "Popular Reality Show", a show that overdramatized the old "reality TV" shows from the 21st century. It was cancelled, of course, because no one gave a flying fuck what eight people on a desert island were doing when a war was raging outside their houses. Claude and his damn family were probably his third most hated.

Mirielle was modestly dressed in a long one-piece green dress. Her hair was bushy and tossed into large swoops and curls. Nash absolutely hated this for some reason and just looking at her grated at his nerves. Mirielle was a highly successful writer, publishing everything from children's stories to novels about the injustice of Ganymede Sea Rodent harvesting. She was also a hardcore vegetarian; she never shut up at the dinner table if someone ordered a slab of meat. She'd always insist on having the person who ordered it removed because "the sight of dead animals makes me emotionally fragile". In reality, Nash knew it was because she was a terrible gossip and liked to see Uncle Harvey and Nash's cousin Tim moved away from the table because she hated them. Mirielle was probably his second most hated sibling.

Then there was Danielle. Danielle was extremely shy and quiet. She would never utter a word unless she was extremely upset or you asked her at least three times. Nash didn't totally understand what made her this way, but he knew it was because father, quote, "hated her tone of voice". Danielle was a girly-girl, though, and was damn proud of it. She sat there in a tight white blouse and a green pleated mini-skirt. Her red hair was straight down and she wore a sparkling crown on her head. Nash always thought Danielle was a bit removed from reality; she often fantasized as kids that she was a princess and somehow it stuck all the way into her college life. She was often prone to slip on ballgowns and be extremely dainty, thus strengthening the idea that she believed she was, indeed, a princess of sorts. Nash didn't mind this, but her overly silent and unnecessarily whiney attitude when she'd open her mouth irritated him. She was the fourth most hated.

Then comes Nash enemy number one: Perry. Perry was the worst sibling an older brother could ask for. Perry sat in his seat, smoking and listening to incredibly loud "death metal" on his headphones. His hair was a mess of blue-dyed spikes and he never wore anything but black and shirts from obscure "death metal" bands. Perry was your stereotypical trouble-maker too. Nash recalled a time he was leaving his engineering trade school and Perry had dumped sugar in the gas tank of father's Serpentine 3000X (one of the fastest and most expensive cars on Mars). Both him and Nash were put to blame, but Perry managed to avoid it entirely my sneaking out his window and going off to smoke pot with his friends. Perry did every drug imaginable; Nash even remembered the time he stumbled in late at night, having the biggest acid trip he'd ever seen. Perry also killed three dogs in the neighborhood with the gun father bought him for shooting clay pigeons. No one would ever blame Perry, though, since Edward Harsborough would have hell to raise on whoever pointed a malicious finger at his son. Perry was a shitbag and he didn't care because he'd always get away with it. Plus, as Nash sat there, Perry only seven feet away, he could smell the smell of marijuana reeking from his "Heavy Metal Machine" T-shirt and pants covered in patches from bands that no one's heard of. Nash hated the little mother fucker more than any person in the room.

Finally, there was Nash himself. He sat in one of the dining room chairs, arms folded and legs crossed. He slicked his red hair back for the occasion, threw on some pants with the least number of grease stains, and his denim jacket for the walk over there. Mars was rather cool that time of the year, after all. Nash wore a displeased countenance, staring into space and hoping to God the lawyer would hurry up and show the video will.

Nash was always seen as the black sheep since Claude and Mirielle were such successful people. Nash dropped out of Nereidium University the first chance he could simply because his father had sent him there. Nash didn't aspire to be a businessman of any sort, he wanted to be an engineer. Nash, with the financial help of Claude, entered a trade school where he gained a very rudimentary engineering career. To him, it wasn't worth it. The problem was that not only did Claude decide to stop helping him pay for school, but all the colleges he applied for didn't find his education up to par. Nash thought it was because his father struck down every recommendation when they called him about the enrollment. For this, his hate of his father only grew after his incredibly snooty upbringing.

After his many failed attempts to enter college, Nash sought help from one of his trade school buddies. He got a job working in the shipyards repairing ships with some minor appliance work on the side. This experience payed off the most because after a year or so working there, that's when he was employed by Jim. Jim had landed on Mars with The Entropy on its last legs. Out of all the repairmen working on the ship, Nash showed the most enthusiasm and vigor in getting it done as soon as he could. When it was finished ahead of schedule, Jim asked for the name of the man who saw it through and met Nash in person. He was impressed that such a young man did most of the work himself and offered him a permanent role as repairman and engineer on his ship. Nash didn't hesitate to agree. Anything to get off of Mars.

A man with neatly-combed blonde hair and a brown suit walked in the room carrying a briefcase and a small device. Nash glanced over, realizing it was his father's corporate lawyer: Worthington Gable. Worthington placed the device on the coffee table in the middle of the semi-circle of siblings and set his briefcase by the fireplace. He cleared his throat loudly, signifying to Claude, his wife, the kids, and Mirielle to quiet themselves. Perry kept nodding his head around to the music. Mirielle drew an angry look and ripped his headphones off, pointing to Worthington. Perry cussed to himself and leaned his head back, pretending to sleep.

"You all know why you're here. I won't waste any of your time speaking the obvious. I'll now show you Edward's video will," Worthington said firmly, reaching forward and flipping a switch on the device. The device projected an image of Edward sitting at the dining room table.

"Good day, my dearest children," the video spoke.

"Yeah, right!" Perry heckled.

"Perry! Shut your hole!" Mirielle snapped at him.

"If you are watching this, that means I've now passed on. Ooo, I'm speaking from beyond the dead. Creepy, huh?" the video said with a laugh.

"Shut up and get to the cash, you dead coot!" Perry heckled again.

"Why don't you shut up? Show some respect you little whelp!" Mirielle shouted angrily.

"Make me, cunt!" Perry said with a sneer.

"Don't you use that language around my children, Perry!" Claude suddenly chimed in.

"Oh, sorry. I thought the cunt here already fucked them up enough with all the veggie shit she feeds them," Perry said with a laugh.

"Why don't you clean yourself up, you little dickhead! Or how about you go walk outside the dome for a little while?" Mirielle shouted back.

"Excuse me, did I insult you? I didn't know only eating shit plants gave you more fucking privileges!" Perry quipped.

Claude and his wife covered their children's ears. Nash sighed and reached forward, pausing the video.

"Why don't you go blow your own head off? You already did it to enough poor, defenseless animals! You probably ate them too!" Mirielle shouted, her face red.

"Why don't you just die, veggie-head?" Perry screamed back at her.

Danielle burst into tears as Claude joined the argument in Mirielle's defense.

Nash growled and stood up. He slammed his fist into the fireplace hard enough for the fine China to rattle and a picture to jump off the wall. The others stopped and stared at him.

"Why don't you all shut your goddamned mouths? At least until the will is shown!" Nash said, face red with anger. He plopped back in his seat and turned the video back on, turning up the volume to maximum. The others all groaned or sighed, sitting back to listen.

"I know you all have such busy lives, so I'll get down to it. Claude, I know you have a growing family to take care of, so you get the house and both of my cars and limousine," the video said, Edward's image grinning.

"Yes! Booyah!" Claude said, sticking out his tongue at Mirielle.

"Mirielle, my precious creative genius, I leave you the contents of the mansion. Plus, I leave you my wife's priceless collection of statuettes from Earth," the video said.

Mirielle stuck her tongue out at Claude as he dropped his jaw. Just the thought of furnishing the rest of the house was mind-boggling.

"For you, my precious Danielle, I leave my wife's collection of gowns, dresses, and...well....you can just have her whole closet. All of her jewelry too," Edward's image said with a smile and nod.

"Oh-my-God!" Danielle said with a happy squeal. She began to cry again, waving a hand near her face to prevent fainting.

"For Perry, I leave a full partnership in Harsborough Mining Associates as well as three quarters of my stock holdings. That is, of course, when you turn eighteen and can work somewhere other than fast food," Edward's video said, a tone of sarcasm at the end.

"I'm in the fucking money! Whoo!" Perry shouted, shaking his hips vigorously.

Nash watched the others and then looked at the video to make sure he wasn't forgotten.

"And for Nash...although a bit of a disappointment, you're still my son," the video said, Edward's voice turning sad.

"Damn, what a kick to the nuts," Perry commented.

Nash shot him a dirty look and then looked back at the video.

"For you I leave this...odd crate that arrived for me recently. I have no idea what it is, but you can have it, I guess. Oh, and you can have all the ottomans in the house, I know how you loved to wrestle them and fix them with your plastic tools," Edward said, laughing.

The others looked at him and all laughed. Nash laid a hand on his face and groaned.

"Well, that's all. Anything else I left in the care of Worthington to give to charity. I figure it's the least I can do after all the mistakes I've made...Well, I'll be watching you all from now on and I wish you all luck...especially Nash. Goodbye, my dear children," the video said and cut off.

"So there you have it," Worthington said, picking up the device and putting it into his briefcase. "You may deal with your earnings as per your own time. Nash, the crate is already on its way to your residence...one...freighter parked in the Tharsis Shipping International Shipyards," he continued, looking off a piece of paper taken from his briefcase.

"How convenient," Nash said, now furious at his father. He stormed around the room, picking up two ottomans from in front of each chair. He walked out of the room and grabbed two more from the den. He walked back into the living room, two ottomans under each arm. "Well, I hope you're happy with your mansions, cars, fancy clothes, and stock shares. I'm going to take my mystery prize box and goddamned ottomans and put my feet on them!" he said with a furied crescendo. "I hope that sack of shit is burning in hell!" he added quickly before charging out the door.

The others looked at each other. Danielle burst into tears.

"Well, you going to go say something to him? You're the only one he'll listen to!" Mirielle said to Claude.

"Me? He never listened to me!" Claude said, adjusting his sunglasses.

"Yeah, he did, you fucking moron. Go say something," Perry said.

"What did I say about using that language?" Claude suddenly said, grabbing his children by their ears.

"He'll never change, Claude. He's got his head right up his ass until he dies of an O.D.," Mirielle said.

"Shut your fucking mouth, cunt!" Perry snapped at Mirielle.

As Nash kicked open the front door, he heard them arguing again. "Rot in hell, Edward," he said under his breath, hefting the ottomans into a better grip.

Upon boarding, Nash walked into the lounge and dropped the ottomans on the floor with a loud metallic bang from each one. Miryhn and Vera stared at him from the couch, where they were watching a rerun of "Popular Reality Show". Jim stared at him from behind the newspaper, a cigar in his mouth. Peniel was asleep on top of the TV.

"They're ottomans! God-fucking-damn ottomans! That's what I got, so put your feet up!" Nash ordered, shoving an ottoman under each of their feet.

"Hey! Quit it!" Miryhn said as Nash forced an ottoman under his feet.

"Nash, what the hell?" Vera whined, her ottoman going under her feet.

"Hey! That feels good!" Jim said as Nash jammed an ottoman under his workboots.

"There! Be comfortable! I'm going to go see what my 'special mystery box' is!" Nash said, his words rank with sarcasm. He then stormed out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the stairs down to the hangar.

Jim tapped the ash off the end of his cigar. "Someone go check on him," he said, sticking it back in his mouth and raising the paper back up.

"I'm not doing it. Last time I checked, he was upset for clogging the toilet doing the stupid 'pull the toilet paper down the hole when you flush' trick," Miryhn said, folding his arms over the back of the couch.

"I did it last time! He was pissed off at the microwave because it didn't work. Turned out he left the spoon in it and he had to go fix it himself," Vera said, folding her arms.

"She's right. Miryhn, you're on call," Jim said from behind his paper.

"Aw, come on! You can't be serious!" Miryhn whined.

"Do it or you loose this month's paycheck. Not like you have one since your debt to me has gone up recently thanks to robbing my private stash," Jim said, still from behind the paper.

Miryhn sighed. "Alright, fine," he said, getting off the couch. He stopped and looked behind himself. "You know, these things are kinda comfortable when you're sitting," he said, pointing to the ottoman.

Miryhn walked into the hangar, yawning. There was a crate inside the hangar; it was a little taller than Masamune, which was standing right next to it on the supports Nash had fashioned to suspend Masamune and Freya, but much wider. In fact, Nash had somehow raised himself up in Masamune's hand as Masamune pulled on the side of the crate to open it up.

"Hey! How'd you do that!" Miryhn shouted angrily.

"What? This? Oh, ADA...gave me a hand," Nash said with a chuckle.

Miryhn groaned. "Well hurry up with it. I don't want my Frame getting infected with your idiocy," he said, folding his arms.

"Just chill, I'm only borrowing your precious Frame you never wanted in the first place for a moment here," Nash said, steadying himself as Masamune finally pried open the crate.

"That's none of your concern!" Miryhn shouted, pointing at him. "Me and ADA have an agreement and I-"

Miryhn was interrupted by what he saw in the crate. There, packed in the biggest hunks of styrofoam he'd ever seen was a green and red Orbital Frame.

Nash was lowered from Masamune's hand and Masamune hung itself back up on the restraints. He walked around to the front and caught a glimpse.

"Dude, it's another Frame," Miryhn said, scratching his head.

Nash's jaw dropped. His inheritance was four ottomans and an Orbital Frame.

This was, by no means, by any stretch of the imagination, a quiet day on The Entropy.

* Read the prologue to Wing Zero Alpha's "Zone of the Enders: Resurrection". Grievances with Mars was their reason for invasion, but some Earth officials were really just greedy for dominance. That's a point that's being worked on in the continuity between Triad and Resurrection. It's not Konami-official cannon, just story continuity so don't believe us on that when Zone of the Enders' 3rd game comes out. -_-()