Gundam SEED Fan Fiction ❯ Mobile Suit Gundam SEED: Odyssey V ❯ The Big Easy ( Chapter 7 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Wing Zero Alpha 
As the Crescent City holds many thrills and horrors, will it daunt our heroes' chosen path?
Anime/Manga: Gundam SEED Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Adventure / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 12.31.2005 | Pages: 8 | Words: 16.0K | Visits: 224 | Status: Completed
As the Crescent City holds many thrills and horrors, will it daunt our heroes' chosen path?
Anime/Manga: Gundam SEED Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Adventure / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 12.31.2005 | Pages: 8 | Words: 16.0K | Visits: 224 | Status: Completed
“There is a common proverb that is well known to the Sahaku family: keep your allies close, but keep your enemies closer. And in maintaining that kind of partnership, you must choose a suitable environment, preferably one where you can make your partner feel at home one minute, and then leave him open for attack the next.”
-Rondo Mina Sahaku
-Rondo Mina Sahaku
Phase 07: The Big Easy
“This is the bridge. We are on final approach to New Orleans. All personnel remain on standby.” the radio operator announced over the intercom. Outside of the bridge, just beyond the spread of Lake Borgne, one could see various buildings lights that made the city of New Orleans. Since New Orleans wasn't an ocean side city, the Rommel had settled into the lake itself and was moving towards one of the land ship harbors. The helmsman slowly brought the ship into one of the harbors that were designed to house cruisers or anything as big as the Lesseps-class.
One could almost feel the sheer excitement that had encompassed the crew for the past few days. When word had spread around the ship about Cunningham's plans for Operation Blitzkrieg, they were actually more excited that the meeting would be held in New Orleans than they were about the overall idea. New Orleans was essentially the outlaw capital of North American side of the continent, as it was generally avoided by the military and government while at the same time retaining its `wild' reputation. It was a good place to eat interesting foods, drink all sorts of alcohol and basically live life to the full without fear of repercussions. Cunningham had to admit, it had been a while since he had seen morale this high. Even his announcement about having to change status quo to that of Vultures and drop the Gray Wolf designation seemed to wash away by this.
Still, as inviting as it was for Cunningham to enjoy his time in the city with everyone else, he couldn't afford it. He knew Larson and the rest of the Atlantic Federation military were still out there, hunting for him and his crew. With any luck, Larson would've lost track of the Rommel when it crossed into the opposite side of the continent.
Then there were the people Cunningham was going to negotiate with. He had already taken a great risk negotiating with these people, and he was taking a bigger one coming out in the open like this. Cunningham had no idea how many of his rivals and enemies lurked on the east coast, and for all he knew; this whole thing could be a trap set for him.
It was risky on all ends, but it was well worth it.
Sighing heavily, the pirate captain pulled his Waffen SS cap over his forehead a little, thinking of the long road that was ahead of him. He watched as the Rommel slid through the water, continuing on its trek to the dock it was assigned to. At long last, the land battleship slid into the port, fitting evenly despite its size, stopping. Immediately, people started to run around the dock attaching cables that were meant for draining excess waste and replenishing the ship's reaction mass and water supplies, as well as moving a gangplank up to the nearest hatch.
“We're secured Captain,” the helmsman reported as he shut down his station. The sound of the scale motors deactivating echoed around the ship.
“Sehr gut. Things are off to a good start.” Cunningham said, taking a swig from his flask.
“Captain…” one of the bridge crew members spoke out. “Shouldn't you at least wait until we're settled in before that?”
Cunningham leered at the man who said that, as if he were an intruder of sorts. “We stopped haven't we? Shut up! I'm the fuckin' boss of this ship, not you!” he sounded drunk already, and that did not comfort anyone on the bridge. He took a swig and wiped his right hand across his mouth. “Any sensor contacts, Mr. Kinsley?”
“Nothing besides the occasional fishing boat. I don't think we'll be seeing any Vosgulovs in a lake sir.” The sensor officer replied sarcastically.
“We're not looking for Vosgulovs. We're looking for anything military, and that includes amphibious mobile suits which could have slipped in through any of those fucking rivers. There's just too much swamp land in this area for my liking.” Cunningham explained, taking another swig. “Any land battleships, like a Pietre or something?”
“Are you expecting anything sir?” the sensor officer retorted, getting pretty annoyed by the captain's paranoia.
“It's my job to expect anything and everything. But in this case, I guess there are more dangers in the city than there are outside of it.” Cunningham laughed. When he attempted to take another sip from the flask, it suddenly disappeared out of his hand. “What the hell-?” he looked up to see Lyn looking down at him with a hawk like gaze, which made Cunningham quell.
“It is far too early for you to be drinking, Captain.” Lyn snapped, quite irritated.
“Ah dammit Lyn, I haven't had a drink in two days.” Cunningham reached out to grab the flask, but Lyn's assassin-like reflexes were too fast for him. Between those reflexes and her stern look, Cunningham decided to quit, letting off a sigh and sinking back into his chair.
He looked past the bridge viewport, directly at the freshly lit city ahead of them. “What do you think, XO?” Cunningham asked with all seriousness. “Do you think just by setting everything up here, we're risking our lives?”
“I would say that is a definite yes.” Lyn replied, in an equally business tone. “Larson is still out there hounding us, and New Orleans alone is home to some of the worst scum on the Earthsphere.” She frowned at that. “But this is our best bet. The regular forces outside of Larson's control won't dare bother with us here, and being that we're regular Vultures now, I don't think anyone in the city will pay much attention to us.”
Cunningham nodded. “Yeah, that sounds just about right. As Gray Wolf, we never had any enemies on the eastern coast, and those that have heard the name have never seen our faces, so they won't discern us from any other group of Vultures.” Cunningham got up and picked up his cane which was leaning against captain's chair. “I guess I better get ready to meet with Flint. You will accompany me for that Lynsie.”
“Any orders for the rest of the crew, sir?” Lyn asked.
Cunningham shrugged. “Eh, those that are off duty are allowed to leave the ship and take residence in the city. They are to remain in contact with their section leaders at all times however, and if ordered, they are to return to the ship at a moment's notice. Anything can happen in this place, and I don't want to lose people because of that fact.”
One could almost feel the sheer excitement that had encompassed the crew for the past few days. When word had spread around the ship about Cunningham's plans for Operation Blitzkrieg, they were actually more excited that the meeting would be held in New Orleans than they were about the overall idea. New Orleans was essentially the outlaw capital of North American side of the continent, as it was generally avoided by the military and government while at the same time retaining its `wild' reputation. It was a good place to eat interesting foods, drink all sorts of alcohol and basically live life to the full without fear of repercussions. Cunningham had to admit, it had been a while since he had seen morale this high. Even his announcement about having to change status quo to that of Vultures and drop the Gray Wolf designation seemed to wash away by this.
Still, as inviting as it was for Cunningham to enjoy his time in the city with everyone else, he couldn't afford it. He knew Larson and the rest of the Atlantic Federation military were still out there, hunting for him and his crew. With any luck, Larson would've lost track of the Rommel when it crossed into the opposite side of the continent.
Then there were the people Cunningham was going to negotiate with. He had already taken a great risk negotiating with these people, and he was taking a bigger one coming out in the open like this. Cunningham had no idea how many of his rivals and enemies lurked on the east coast, and for all he knew; this whole thing could be a trap set for him.
It was risky on all ends, but it was well worth it.
Sighing heavily, the pirate captain pulled his Waffen SS cap over his forehead a little, thinking of the long road that was ahead of him. He watched as the Rommel slid through the water, continuing on its trek to the dock it was assigned to. At long last, the land battleship slid into the port, fitting evenly despite its size, stopping. Immediately, people started to run around the dock attaching cables that were meant for draining excess waste and replenishing the ship's reaction mass and water supplies, as well as moving a gangplank up to the nearest hatch.
“We're secured Captain,” the helmsman reported as he shut down his station. The sound of the scale motors deactivating echoed around the ship.
“Sehr gut. Things are off to a good start.” Cunningham said, taking a swig from his flask.
“Captain…” one of the bridge crew members spoke out. “Shouldn't you at least wait until we're settled in before that?”
Cunningham leered at the man who said that, as if he were an intruder of sorts. “We stopped haven't we? Shut up! I'm the fuckin' boss of this ship, not you!” he sounded drunk already, and that did not comfort anyone on the bridge. He took a swig and wiped his right hand across his mouth. “Any sensor contacts, Mr. Kinsley?”
“Nothing besides the occasional fishing boat. I don't think we'll be seeing any Vosgulovs in a lake sir.” The sensor officer replied sarcastically.
“We're not looking for Vosgulovs. We're looking for anything military, and that includes amphibious mobile suits which could have slipped in through any of those fucking rivers. There's just too much swamp land in this area for my liking.” Cunningham explained, taking another swig. “Any land battleships, like a Pietre or something?”
“Are you expecting anything sir?” the sensor officer retorted, getting pretty annoyed by the captain's paranoia.
“It's my job to expect anything and everything. But in this case, I guess there are more dangers in the city than there are outside of it.” Cunningham laughed. When he attempted to take another sip from the flask, it suddenly disappeared out of his hand. “What the hell-?” he looked up to see Lyn looking down at him with a hawk like gaze, which made Cunningham quell.
“It is far too early for you to be drinking, Captain.” Lyn snapped, quite irritated.
“Ah dammit Lyn, I haven't had a drink in two days.” Cunningham reached out to grab the flask, but Lyn's assassin-like reflexes were too fast for him. Between those reflexes and her stern look, Cunningham decided to quit, letting off a sigh and sinking back into his chair.
He looked past the bridge viewport, directly at the freshly lit city ahead of them. “What do you think, XO?” Cunningham asked with all seriousness. “Do you think just by setting everything up here, we're risking our lives?”
“I would say that is a definite yes.” Lyn replied, in an equally business tone. “Larson is still out there hounding us, and New Orleans alone is home to some of the worst scum on the Earthsphere.” She frowned at that. “But this is our best bet. The regular forces outside of Larson's control won't dare bother with us here, and being that we're regular Vultures now, I don't think anyone in the city will pay much attention to us.”
Cunningham nodded. “Yeah, that sounds just about right. As Gray Wolf, we never had any enemies on the eastern coast, and those that have heard the name have never seen our faces, so they won't discern us from any other group of Vultures.” Cunningham got up and picked up his cane which was leaning against captain's chair. “I guess I better get ready to meet with Flint. You will accompany me for that Lynsie.”
“Any orders for the rest of the crew, sir?” Lyn asked.
Cunningham shrugged. “Eh, those that are off duty are allowed to leave the ship and take residence in the city. They are to remain in contact with their section leaders at all times however, and if ordered, they are to return to the ship at a moment's notice. Anything can happen in this place, and I don't want to lose people because of that fact.”
-------------------------------
“I have to admit Vale, that looks pretty spiffy.” Edward complimented with an impressed tone, as he looked at the right shoulder of Vale's mobile suit.
Vale smiled, rubbing his hand across the plaque just been wielded over the shoulder. It was a black shield-shaped plaque, outlined by gold trim, and possessing a skull and crossbones mark on the center of it. Vale's personal logo. “I think this suit has done more than enough to earn this.”
“Does that mean you're over leaving the Raider behind?” Jane, who was standing next to Ed on the catwalk, inquired.
“I'm not that far yet.” came Vale's somewhat annoyed answer. He jumped down from the Saviour Kai's left shoulder, which he had been sitting on when Jane and Ed had came up, and landed on the catwalk with a strong rattling sound. He didn't so much as brace himself for the impact, as his legs held him up. “Too bad I can't use it right now. I wouldn't mind a good solo flight.”
Ed gave him a skeptical look. “You're thinking about flying now? We're in New Orleans, the Big Easy for crying out loud! Surely you'd rather hang around in the city.”
“Eh, not really. I'm not fond of jazz and Cajun foods, and there's nothing in the city I really want to see.” Vale said neutrally. He then folded his right hand into a fist and flexed it, the sound of his fingers folding over the gloved parts giving off a cracking sound. “Still, a good fight is nice once in a while.”
“Forget it, Vale. The Captain and Lyn will never let you get away with it.” said a new voice. Everyone turned to see Isamu Yuna Kotetsu walk up casually, his arms folded behind his head. He gave them a skeptic glance.
Vale smirked. “What's he going to do to stop me? He's got his hands tied with that whole `Blitzkrieg' thing. And I doubt he's dumb enough to send Lyn after me as a babysitter.” He said with great sarcasm.
“Nope, he just sent me along.” Isamu smirked dryly. “Cunningham thinks you're too much trouble, so he ordered me to watch you.”
There was a brief moment of silence, as the three ace pilots let that information sink in. But then Jane spoke up. “Why do I find that horribly wrong in some way?” she shook her head at Cunningham's reasoning.
Vale, however, seemed to find the prospect amusing. “And you're doing this, why?”
“Because I was ordered to. I said that already.” Isamu rolled his eyes.
“That's what Vale's trying to point out Isamu, you never follow the Captain's orders unless you feel like it. Even then, you usually just do your own thing.” Ed explained. “Don't you hate cities like this anyway?”
Isamu's left eye twitched, as if Edward had said something very annoying, and all three of the older pilots immediately caught it. With a sigh, he explained. “He told me if I didn't, I'd have to stick with him and Lyn when they meet with the Walrus.”
Vale laughed at that. “Maybe you should learn to be less obnoxious Isamu. Poor Freddy is getting on in the years, and nothing aggravates him more than people not following orders. After all, nobody hates an annoying know it all.” He said snidely, knowing the irony in his case. Ed and Jane both turned to look at Vale as if he sprouted a golden horn from his forehead, but all he did was give them a knowing grin each.
Of course, Isamu caught the irony as well, and a small cross-shaped vein appeared over his forehead. “For the record, I'd rather be off fighting Larson than wander around this slag pit of a city, but I don't want to end up in the middle of a boring conversation. So try to make this less painful than it already is.”
“You complain too much, kid.” Ed said. Jane nodded in agreement.
“Whatever.” Isamu said as he moved past the trio and looked up towards Vale's mobile suit, directly at his familiar skull and crossbone insignia. “So you finally got your mark on Saviour Kai, huh?”
“Yep.” Vale said, looking back up at his mobile suit proudly. “As I told Eddie and Jane, this mobile suit has served me well lately. I didn't think it was all that good at first, with the way Athrun Zala used the original, but it really made an impression when I fought that enemy Gaia…”
Isamu looked back at him questioningly. “I'm a little curious. Did you notice anything peculiar while flying it?”
“What do you mean?”
“This suit seems a little different from regular mobile suits. Granted, I know it has a lot more vernier thrusters than the average model, but when you fought that Zamza-Zah, the Saviour Kai seemed to move differently. It moved like… a human would.” Isamu explained.
“What's so strange about that? Mobile suits are designed to move like humans.” Jane cued back in.
“Not that closely. Even if they're based on the human body structure, mobile suits are still machines that move by internal pistons and gears. If the mobile suit moves too fast, the inner mechanics will generate too much friction and breakdown. Or if you put too much G-forces on it, it will strain. I know you two weren't there to see it, but the way Vale moved, I'm positive that should've happened to the Saviour Kai.” Isamu said.
Vale opened his mouth to say something, but then he realized what Isamu was talking about. He remembered the last time he fought like that, in his Raider, he ended up getting the wings and claws ripped off because he pushed the suit too hard. Yet the Saviour Kai didn't so much as have dent in its armor, and aside from routine maintenance, the tech chief didn't find anything in need of repair. Strange indeed.
“Maybe it has something to do with the configuration? I don't think it's a Kai just because it has those `Griffon 2' beam blades in its wings when the original Saviour did not.” Vale inquired.
“Perhaps, but I'm not too sure on that…” Isamu said.
Ed cricked his neck. “Ugh, do we have to think about this now? My shoulders are aching.” He leaned back and rest his left arm around Jane's shoulders. “Let's take off now, ma chiere. The night is young, and there is still so much to see.”
The much younger Isamu looked quite sickened at that. “And you kiss your wife with that mouth, Ed?” he quipped.
As if to add more spite, Jane winked at Isamu, then turned and drew her husband into a quick smooch. Edward Harrelson's eyes widened for a minute in surprise, but with an internal grin, he returned the kiss just as well. Vale let out a small `heh', while Isamu gave just turned his head into a downward pointed frown. “Does that answer your question kid?” Jane smirked.
“Grown ups.” Isamu sighed. “Can we go now?”
Vale didn't verbally reply, he just flashed his usual smirk. What the hell. This may turn into something interesting after all…
Vale smiled, rubbing his hand across the plaque just been wielded over the shoulder. It was a black shield-shaped plaque, outlined by gold trim, and possessing a skull and crossbones mark on the center of it. Vale's personal logo. “I think this suit has done more than enough to earn this.”
“Does that mean you're over leaving the Raider behind?” Jane, who was standing next to Ed on the catwalk, inquired.
“I'm not that far yet.” came Vale's somewhat annoyed answer. He jumped down from the Saviour Kai's left shoulder, which he had been sitting on when Jane and Ed had came up, and landed on the catwalk with a strong rattling sound. He didn't so much as brace himself for the impact, as his legs held him up. “Too bad I can't use it right now. I wouldn't mind a good solo flight.”
Ed gave him a skeptical look. “You're thinking about flying now? We're in New Orleans, the Big Easy for crying out loud! Surely you'd rather hang around in the city.”
“Eh, not really. I'm not fond of jazz and Cajun foods, and there's nothing in the city I really want to see.” Vale said neutrally. He then folded his right hand into a fist and flexed it, the sound of his fingers folding over the gloved parts giving off a cracking sound. “Still, a good fight is nice once in a while.”
“Forget it, Vale. The Captain and Lyn will never let you get away with it.” said a new voice. Everyone turned to see Isamu Yuna Kotetsu walk up casually, his arms folded behind his head. He gave them a skeptic glance.
Vale smirked. “What's he going to do to stop me? He's got his hands tied with that whole `Blitzkrieg' thing. And I doubt he's dumb enough to send Lyn after me as a babysitter.” He said with great sarcasm.
“Nope, he just sent me along.” Isamu smirked dryly. “Cunningham thinks you're too much trouble, so he ordered me to watch you.”
There was a brief moment of silence, as the three ace pilots let that information sink in. But then Jane spoke up. “Why do I find that horribly wrong in some way?” she shook her head at Cunningham's reasoning.
Vale, however, seemed to find the prospect amusing. “And you're doing this, why?”
“Because I was ordered to. I said that already.” Isamu rolled his eyes.
“That's what Vale's trying to point out Isamu, you never follow the Captain's orders unless you feel like it. Even then, you usually just do your own thing.” Ed explained. “Don't you hate cities like this anyway?”
Isamu's left eye twitched, as if Edward had said something very annoying, and all three of the older pilots immediately caught it. With a sigh, he explained. “He told me if I didn't, I'd have to stick with him and Lyn when they meet with the Walrus.”
Vale laughed at that. “Maybe you should learn to be less obnoxious Isamu. Poor Freddy is getting on in the years, and nothing aggravates him more than people not following orders. After all, nobody hates an annoying know it all.” He said snidely, knowing the irony in his case. Ed and Jane both turned to look at Vale as if he sprouted a golden horn from his forehead, but all he did was give them a knowing grin each.
Of course, Isamu caught the irony as well, and a small cross-shaped vein appeared over his forehead. “For the record, I'd rather be off fighting Larson than wander around this slag pit of a city, but I don't want to end up in the middle of a boring conversation. So try to make this less painful than it already is.”
“You complain too much, kid.” Ed said. Jane nodded in agreement.
“Whatever.” Isamu said as he moved past the trio and looked up towards Vale's mobile suit, directly at his familiar skull and crossbone insignia. “So you finally got your mark on Saviour Kai, huh?”
“Yep.” Vale said, looking back up at his mobile suit proudly. “As I told Eddie and Jane, this mobile suit has served me well lately. I didn't think it was all that good at first, with the way Athrun Zala used the original, but it really made an impression when I fought that enemy Gaia…”
Isamu looked back at him questioningly. “I'm a little curious. Did you notice anything peculiar while flying it?”
“What do you mean?”
“This suit seems a little different from regular mobile suits. Granted, I know it has a lot more vernier thrusters than the average model, but when you fought that Zamza-Zah, the Saviour Kai seemed to move differently. It moved like… a human would.” Isamu explained.
“What's so strange about that? Mobile suits are designed to move like humans.” Jane cued back in.
“Not that closely. Even if they're based on the human body structure, mobile suits are still machines that move by internal pistons and gears. If the mobile suit moves too fast, the inner mechanics will generate too much friction and breakdown. Or if you put too much G-forces on it, it will strain. I know you two weren't there to see it, but the way Vale moved, I'm positive that should've happened to the Saviour Kai.” Isamu said.
Vale opened his mouth to say something, but then he realized what Isamu was talking about. He remembered the last time he fought like that, in his Raider, he ended up getting the wings and claws ripped off because he pushed the suit too hard. Yet the Saviour Kai didn't so much as have dent in its armor, and aside from routine maintenance, the tech chief didn't find anything in need of repair. Strange indeed.
“Maybe it has something to do with the configuration? I don't think it's a Kai just because it has those `Griffon 2' beam blades in its wings when the original Saviour did not.” Vale inquired.
“Perhaps, but I'm not too sure on that…” Isamu said.
Ed cricked his neck. “Ugh, do we have to think about this now? My shoulders are aching.” He leaned back and rest his left arm around Jane's shoulders. “Let's take off now, ma chiere. The night is young, and there is still so much to see.”
The much younger Isamu looked quite sickened at that. “And you kiss your wife with that mouth, Ed?” he quipped.
As if to add more spite, Jane winked at Isamu, then turned and drew her husband into a quick smooch. Edward Harrelson's eyes widened for a minute in surprise, but with an internal grin, he returned the kiss just as well. Vale let out a small `heh', while Isamu gave just turned his head into a downward pointed frown. “Does that answer your question kid?” Jane smirked.
“Grown ups.” Isamu sighed. “Can we go now?”
Vale didn't verbally reply, he just flashed his usual smirk. What the hell. This may turn into something interesting after all…
-------------------------------
Well before the Cosmic Era took place, the city of New Orleans had been founded by and governed by the French as Nouvelle-Orleans in 1718 AD. The site was selected because it was a rare bit of natural high ground along the flood-prone banks of the lower Mississippi river, and as well as serving portage between the Mississippi and Lake Ponchartrain. This made the area an ideal place for trading, which was a French specialty. However, as far as landscape was concerned, the priest-chronicler Charlevoix described it as a “place of a hundred wretched hovels in a malarious wet thicket of willows and dwarf palmettos, infested by serpents and alligators”. It was an ironic spot for what would become one of the most infamous cities in the North American continent.
Since its initial days, and all the way to its founding by the French, ceding to the Spanish, and eventual joining of the United States of America with the Louisiana Purchase, New Orleans had a reputation for its wild nature. It almost seemed everyday was a celebration, as people came far and wide to indulge in the limitless alcohol, music and sex. The French Quarter of the city, which was home to the infamous Bourbon Street, was especially famous for this type of service, and there were various other places like casinos, bars, night clubs and red-light districts where humans could disappear too. Naturally, the city would seem quite attractive to the adventuring tourist or anyone looking for a wild time. That is, until one actually came to the city.
New Orleans was a filthy city. It was generally humid most of the year due to the proximity to the marshlands around the Mississippi. The streets were always grimy and bleak looking, with cracked concrete, weed infested sidewalks, ruined buildings and the scent of urban decay filling the air. Even the landmarks that made the city famous, such as the French Quarter and the above ground tombs, had all fallen into disrepair and only added to the city's bleak state. The heavy crime didn't help matters much, but then again, New Orleans had always been a haven to the less-than desirable traits of humanity.
The first reports of crime came from 1722 AD, when the governor sent complaints back to France about the uncontrollable populace, which contained deported galley-slaves, trappers, gold-hunters and city scourings. In the modern day, the crime rate had only gotten bigger, to the point where local guidebooks recommended one should carry pepperspray or a gun at all times, and that it is unsafe to visit the local parks, cemeteries or open areas unless in small groups. It was also recommended that one does not go past Bourbon Street in the French Quarter, and other selected areas of the city. As far as the criminal types went, there was a fair share of pirates, bandits, muggers, rapists, escaped criminals, scavengers and war criminals from either Bloody Valentine Wars.
Naturally, the modern day Atlantic Federation preferred to remain out of New Orleans, deeming the city as `beyond controllable'. As pointed out before, this made the city a nice little area to perform illegal activities, but it was no less desirable for some of the Vulture crew of the Rommel.
Currently, Vale Hunter and Isamu Yuna Kotetsu had bought a rental car and were driving around the city. They were driving on Jefferson Street, just some distance away from supposedly where the first levee broke during the 2005 AD's Hurricane Katrina incident. And conveniently, Vale had “Rock You Like A Hurricane” by Scorpions playing over the car stereo. Isamu didn't particularly enjoy that. “Is that really necessary?”
Vale cast him a side smirk. “It's early morning, the sun goes out… Last night was shaking, and pretty loud… My cat is purring, and scratches skin… So what is wrong with another sin…”
“Somebody's going to get offended.” Isamu warned.
“Who cares? Those hurricanes happened over a century ago. I doubt there's anyone alive who would remember them. Besides, this track rocks! I love that solo guitar!” Vale proclaimed, as the song came to a high note. “Here I am! Rocked you like a hurricane… Here I am! Rocked you like a hurrica-ane!”
Isamu's ears grinded at Vale's attempts to match the singing voice of Klaus Meine. Vale Hunter could've been considered many things, but a vocalist was not one of them, and it was driving a severe migraine into the kid's skull.
With a deft motion, he reached out and changed the music channel to another station that was on commercial. And when Vale attempted to turn the radio back, Isamu pulled out a Beretta 193R from a holster on his right hip and aimed it at the radio. “Keep it there.” He ordered.
Vale sighed. “Isamu, Isamu, Isamu… Even you should know it's immoral to come between a man and his music.”
“Not as immoral subjugating a child to your singing voice.” Isamu flatly replied.
“What are you talking about? I have a beautiful singing voice! You should learn to appreciate it.” Vale quipped.
I really should've just gone with the Captain and Lyn… Isamu thought. Then something caught the corner of his eye. “A Suncoast?” he wondered, looking over at the shopping mall they were passing. Sure enough, the familiar Suncoast display was on the side. He turned to the driver. “Let's stop here Vale.”
“I thought you didn't want to look around the city.” Vale said.
Isamu gave Vale his own half-smirk. “It won't hurt to look in familiar territory.”
“Agreed.” Vale replied. He turned into the parking lot and parked the car right in front of the store. Shortly after, both got out and entered the store.
Isamu inhaled the fresh scent of electronics that seemed to be inherent in DVD stores. It seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, with dozens and dozens of aisles full of movies, TV shows and other merchandise. Unlike the rest of the city, this electronics store seemed to be organized and well kept, with no signs of decay or disrepair. Isamu, already feeling comfortable in this setting, turned to Vale. “Meet back in half an hour?”
“Sounds good to me.” Vale answered, and both went their separate ways.
The first thing Isamu went to was the anime section. Having grown up in Orb, he was generally raised on anime and manga as a kid. They were responsible for getting him interested in giant robots with their gallant tales of heroes fighting against overwhelming evil with their trusty machines.
After a nice, long browse, he noticed a particular anime series he'd been wanting to own for a long time: Yoshiyuki Tomino's classic “Universal Century: Turn A”. He had been a fan of that show for its offbeat nature. And even better, it was a boxset. He picked that up along with two DVDs for the series “Black Cat”.
“Ugh, can you believe how crappy they're making the Universal Century franchise now? First all those crappy alternate universes, and now it gets concluded with that stupid-ass Turn A.” said some kid not too far away from Isamu's position.
The voice seemed to strike a nerve somewhere in Isamu's body, because he froze.
“Yeah, instead of ending the franchise with a bang, we end up back in the 19th century AD with a bunch of crappy mecha and dumbass characterization. Really, has Tomino gone insane?” another one ranted.
“Not to mention buttloads of unnecessary fanservice.” yet a third one spoke up.
Isamu, with as much energy as he could muster, turned his head to look at the commuters, and immediately felt his teeth grit together. One was a short, stout little butterball with under-sized shorts on, a black shirt with a bathing suit clad Lacus Clyne holding an SD Strike Freedom on the front, and a mop of greasy brown hair. The second was taller, having a pizza-face, short, curly red hair and wearing a pair of black box-frame `nerd' glasses. The third was more plain looking than the two, but he had a long mullet of blonde hair, which made him look rather poorly groomed instead of bishounen as he was probably aiming for.
The butterball was the first to notice Isamu, turning to look back at the silver-haired youth. His eyes immediately widened and his mouth dropped. “Hey guys, looks like we're not the only ones here.” he called out, pointing to Isamu.
Hair guy and pizza-face followed the finger and came over the other kid. Pizza-face's mouth curled into a sneer. “Well, well, well, look who it is guys. It's our old friend Isamu Kotetsu, or you go by what, `Kwaiden'? And what do you have there?” they looked at the handful of DVDs Isamu was holding.
“Why would a coincidence, chums. Our young, misguided colleague has gotten himself some Turn A. Weren't we just talking about that?” the hair guy inquired.
“Funny, I could've sworn I left you three for dead back in LA.” Isamu quipped. “Did you three follow me here or something?”
“Are you kidding? We're Vultures, of course we get around!” the butterball said.
“Hurrah for you.” Isamu rolled his eyes, and went back to looking through anime titles, trying to cast the cold shoulder to the three. “Why don't you go back to griping about stuff you don't understand and leave the rest of us in peace?”
The butterball snorted. “Actually, we were just here to pick up the latest Patlabor movie.”
“And the Universal Century: 0087 movies. They just came out.” the pizza-face chimed in, waving around the three DVDs around. “Believe in the Sign of Zeta baby!”
“Don't forget, I have the entire Universal Century 0079 collection back on the ship. We're not going to sleep for days.” the hair guy added. “It'll be a life changing experience.”
“Let's see… You have Patlabor and Universal Century: 0087 rehashes? My sympathies. You guys are even more messed up than I took you for if you if it takes all that to change your lives.” Isamu said in dry sarcasm.
“Fuck you Kotetsu. What the hell is wrong with regular those?" the fat one asked.
“To start, Patlabor is the `wannabe Cops' of mecha anime. It has no main plot or storyline to it; just a bunch of misadventures involving the SSVD thatched together and called a story. That only leaves the characterization to ride on, turning it into nothing more than a crappy soap opera with mechs.” Isamu explained. “If I want to watch police action, I'll just watch Law and Order. At least that TV series is interesting.”
“Who cares about story or characterization? Everybody knows the whole point of Patlabor is the realistic mecha! It would've been cool if the Atlantic Federation made Ingrams instead of those stupid Daggers…” the pizza face said wistfully.
“If you guys want to go out and fight Windams and ZAKUs with Ingrams, be my guest. It'd be fun to watch to say the least. And if that's the only reason people watch Patlabor, then that makes it even more of a waste.” Isamu shot back. He looked over the 0087 DVDs. “Now, as for those, they're just patched together scenes from the original series with new animation added in between. The story didn't change, and footage is reused, but damn, there's new scenes added in! It just makes me want to spend my hard earned cash to see less than 20 minutes worth of new animation out one and a half hours worth of stuff I've already lived through.”
“You don't have room to talk. I mean, look at you, you're getting Turn A? What the fuck is wrong with you? We were just going on about Tomino screwing that one up! Any self-respecting Universal Century fan would and should hate avoid that show like the plague," the pudgy one called out, pointing at the DVDs in Isamu's hands.
“Funny, I happen to like Turn A and despise people that make those `true fan' claims. How did Tomino mess it up exactly? It has everything the other Universal Century series have, only in a different setting.” Isamu said, raising an eyebrow.
“Weren't you listening to us? It's like Tomino saw `Gone With The Wind' and thought it'd make a nice mecha series.” the pizza-faced guy spoke up. “And worse, there was 50 episodes of that crap, and we all got headaches after each…”
“So why did you keep watching them if you hated the series so much?” Isamu asked.
“Because I'm a Universal Century fan, even if I hate that, UC X and UC 0083, I'll watch all those through.” pizza-face replied.
Isamu glared. “Then that makes you a hypocrite.”
“At least we're true fans of UC. You can't even stomach the original series, and until you can, it means you're not a true fan.” the pudgy one pointed out.
“Well holy shit, I guess I'm in trouble then huh? I mean, here I am buying and thoroughly enjoying a series that's part of a franchise I'm not a true fan of.” Isamu remarked. “Just because I don't obsess over Char Aznable's philosophical views, his shiny red colors and his pedophile relationships doesn't mean I'm not a fan of the franchise. By logic, a fan is someone who enjoys a story or whatever, not an obsessive fanboy who shares opinions with others mostly out of peer pressure and just to be part of the `cool' crowd. I don't need any of that, and I don't care for any of that. That being said, you guys should all get real lives and leave me alone.” He started to move away.
“Hah, yeah right! You're the one with no life. We were having an important conversation when you came up and started yelling at us.” The pudgy one seemed to squeal out.
This made Isamu turn around with a very annoyed expression. “Bullshit, you guys were the ones that called me out first! And as for importance, all you were doing was crying and moping about Tomino turning 180 and making a completely different series from the six or so that all follow the same fucking pattern. Obviously, he wanted to do something different, and who can blame him? It gets repetitive after a while when you just repeat your work over and over.” Isamu said. “Don't you guys have your own opinions, or does that not make you `true fans'? Because if being a true fan is to give up my own thoughts and opinions on something, then I'd rather not be part of that crowd.” Then he thought for a minute. “Of course, just the thought of having to associate with you three is another reason for that…”
This seemed to hit a nail on the three. “Oh shut up already! Obviously, the entire point of UC was wasted on you, because you haven't gotten it. Your whining only proves it.” the pizza-face fellow accused.
“Last I checked, the whole point of UC was marketing a bunch of giant robot merchandise and making lots of money, not spreading political views around the Earth. But if you mean the stories, I got the points there. I got all the Newtype mumbo-jumbo, the whole rivalry between Char and Amuro Ray over a girl that sprung up out of nowhere only to die, and the whole `war is hell' theme. I just don't care for or obsess over them like you and every other `true fan' seems to. In fact, I think it's all greatly overrated. Now for the last time, go leave me alone and do something constructive, like not bitching about a TV show.” Isamu said.
“Bah, whatever. You're just a waste of a human existence Kotetsu, pure waste. You're so dumb, you can't see it, and that's why you'll never get as far as we have. It's no wonder you're not running with the almighty Morgenroete anymore, stuck on the level of the common Vulture.” the pizza face laughed, along with the other two.
Isamu's teeth grit together again. “Now you're getting personal.” He snarled.
“What? Did I strike a nerve?” pizza face pointed out, the three of them. “Your reaction only means it's true.”
“No it doesn't. You have absolutely NO idea of what I've gone through up to this point. And besides, when did this become about my past? Do you three have nothing else to shoot at me that you'd shoot at me personally?” Isamu growled back.
“Yare, you're taking a bit of offense there Isamu.” came the voice of Vale Hunter right behind him.
Isamu nearly jumped when he heard Vale's voice, since he didn't even know he was there. When did he come up?
“Who the hell is this? Some Johnny Ridden wannabe? Now you have a personal babysitter Kotetsu?” the pizza face one taunted.
“Nah, that's his new boyfriend.” the butterball laughed.
Vale glanced over at the three, scanning each one of them over, then nodded. “Friends of yours?” he asked Isamu.
“Hardly. They're more like cheap aggravators.” Isamu replied scornfully.
“And we can't have that around here, can we?” he remarked, cracking his knuckles. In truth, he had been overhearing the entire conversation, and when the three decided to go and pick apart Isamu's personal life, he knew he had to step in before the kid did something stupid. “Can't say I'll get any thrill out of this, but I guess I could use the practice. And I happen to enjoy picking on anime otakus, them and their higher-than-thou ways.”
“Just go ahead and try.” the pizza face said challengingly. On that cue, a rather large and imposing man wearing black pants and a striped shirt came up behind them. The man was bald and muscular, looking something along the lines of a pro wrestler or a bouncer. Vale found himself looking up at the guy's head, but the smirk never left his face.
“This is our bodyguard, Boris. Our boss picked him up from Russia during our last visit, just so he can keep people like you from hurting us.” hair guy spoke up with a grin.
“In Mother Russia, meatsacks stomped by Boris…” he said, pointing toward Vale as he said `meatsacks' in broken English. It took a lot of effort for Vale not to bust up laughing, even as the guy reached out with a punch to Vale's face.
To the surprise of the three and `Boris', Vale not only reached up and caught the punch, but he held the massive, trembling fist there. The Russian then found himself struggling to overcome the mobile suit pilot's surprising strength. Soon, the sounds of cracking sounded up from the man's fist, and his face started to squelch from the pain. Vale didn't so much as break a sweat, although the smirk started to fade from his face as he was not amused by the larger man's struggle.
The mobile suit pilot then decided this man wasn't worth his time. Throwing off the man's fist, he moved quick and shot a punch right in the Boris' stomach, disorienting him. Then with an even more surprising burst of strength, Vale went under and literally picked the massive Russian up with his arms, turned around and tossed him into another aisle where the man slammed into a shelf full of DVDs, which all fell on top of him.
At the sight of their bodyguard being tossed across the store like a pebble, the pudgy one ended up soiling himself. “Did… did… he…”
“Holy shit, he threw Boris like a javelin!!” hair guy exclaimed.
“Yep, it just goes to show you that real life is just a wacky and imaginative plot. For example, I have a few neat little traits that most humans don't have. They're not super powers, but damn, are they out of this world…” Vale smirk deepened, and he looked quite sinister now. “The three of you, however, aren't so fortunate. I know your type well, people that conform to a larger crowd for a better image, but at the cost of their individuality. As well, they reinforce this by imposing on anyone else that disagrees with them and what they represent. So tell me, what gives you the right to stomp on other people when sound, act and talk just like every other annoying drone or in your case, fanboy?”
“What the hell does this have to do you with you anyway?” pizza face quivered in fear. “This was just between us and Kotetsu until you came along!
Vale laughed a little bit. “Yes, it was between you and Isamu, and I respected that until you pried where you were not needed. Tell me, are you three that insecure and afraid inside that you would attack on the personal level simply because you have nothing else to go on? Is it that hard to agree to disagree and move on? Please, enlighten me.” He finished by cracking his neck in an intimidating manner.
“Shit, I don't know about you guys, but I'm out of here!” the butterball let out, running for the store exit. The pizza face and hair guy followed after, with pizza face heading out the exit as well.
Hair guy, on the other hand, stopped for a moment and looked over the unconscious form of Boris. “Damn…” he let out, clearly impressed. He then ran after the others.
Isamu breathed for a moment, letting himself relax. “Thanks…”
“Think nothing of it. I can't stand to let my little Isamu be talked to like that.” Vale teased, much to Isamu's dismay. “And besides, I hate fanboys myself.”
Since its initial days, and all the way to its founding by the French, ceding to the Spanish, and eventual joining of the United States of America with the Louisiana Purchase, New Orleans had a reputation for its wild nature. It almost seemed everyday was a celebration, as people came far and wide to indulge in the limitless alcohol, music and sex. The French Quarter of the city, which was home to the infamous Bourbon Street, was especially famous for this type of service, and there were various other places like casinos, bars, night clubs and red-light districts where humans could disappear too. Naturally, the city would seem quite attractive to the adventuring tourist or anyone looking for a wild time. That is, until one actually came to the city.
New Orleans was a filthy city. It was generally humid most of the year due to the proximity to the marshlands around the Mississippi. The streets were always grimy and bleak looking, with cracked concrete, weed infested sidewalks, ruined buildings and the scent of urban decay filling the air. Even the landmarks that made the city famous, such as the French Quarter and the above ground tombs, had all fallen into disrepair and only added to the city's bleak state. The heavy crime didn't help matters much, but then again, New Orleans had always been a haven to the less-than desirable traits of humanity.
The first reports of crime came from 1722 AD, when the governor sent complaints back to France about the uncontrollable populace, which contained deported galley-slaves, trappers, gold-hunters and city scourings. In the modern day, the crime rate had only gotten bigger, to the point where local guidebooks recommended one should carry pepperspray or a gun at all times, and that it is unsafe to visit the local parks, cemeteries or open areas unless in small groups. It was also recommended that one does not go past Bourbon Street in the French Quarter, and other selected areas of the city. As far as the criminal types went, there was a fair share of pirates, bandits, muggers, rapists, escaped criminals, scavengers and war criminals from either Bloody Valentine Wars.
Naturally, the modern day Atlantic Federation preferred to remain out of New Orleans, deeming the city as `beyond controllable'. As pointed out before, this made the city a nice little area to perform illegal activities, but it was no less desirable for some of the Vulture crew of the Rommel.
Currently, Vale Hunter and Isamu Yuna Kotetsu had bought a rental car and were driving around the city. They were driving on Jefferson Street, just some distance away from supposedly where the first levee broke during the 2005 AD's Hurricane Katrina incident. And conveniently, Vale had “Rock You Like A Hurricane” by Scorpions playing over the car stereo. Isamu didn't particularly enjoy that. “Is that really necessary?”
Vale cast him a side smirk. “It's early morning, the sun goes out… Last night was shaking, and pretty loud… My cat is purring, and scratches skin… So what is wrong with another sin…”
“Somebody's going to get offended.” Isamu warned.
“Who cares? Those hurricanes happened over a century ago. I doubt there's anyone alive who would remember them. Besides, this track rocks! I love that solo guitar!” Vale proclaimed, as the song came to a high note. “Here I am! Rocked you like a hurricane… Here I am! Rocked you like a hurrica-ane!”
Isamu's ears grinded at Vale's attempts to match the singing voice of Klaus Meine. Vale Hunter could've been considered many things, but a vocalist was not one of them, and it was driving a severe migraine into the kid's skull.
With a deft motion, he reached out and changed the music channel to another station that was on commercial. And when Vale attempted to turn the radio back, Isamu pulled out a Beretta 193R from a holster on his right hip and aimed it at the radio. “Keep it there.” He ordered.
Vale sighed. “Isamu, Isamu, Isamu… Even you should know it's immoral to come between a man and his music.”
“Not as immoral subjugating a child to your singing voice.” Isamu flatly replied.
“What are you talking about? I have a beautiful singing voice! You should learn to appreciate it.” Vale quipped.
I really should've just gone with the Captain and Lyn… Isamu thought. Then something caught the corner of his eye. “A Suncoast?” he wondered, looking over at the shopping mall they were passing. Sure enough, the familiar Suncoast display was on the side. He turned to the driver. “Let's stop here Vale.”
“I thought you didn't want to look around the city.” Vale said.
Isamu gave Vale his own half-smirk. “It won't hurt to look in familiar territory.”
“Agreed.” Vale replied. He turned into the parking lot and parked the car right in front of the store. Shortly after, both got out and entered the store.
Isamu inhaled the fresh scent of electronics that seemed to be inherent in DVD stores. It seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, with dozens and dozens of aisles full of movies, TV shows and other merchandise. Unlike the rest of the city, this electronics store seemed to be organized and well kept, with no signs of decay or disrepair. Isamu, already feeling comfortable in this setting, turned to Vale. “Meet back in half an hour?”
“Sounds good to me.” Vale answered, and both went their separate ways.
The first thing Isamu went to was the anime section. Having grown up in Orb, he was generally raised on anime and manga as a kid. They were responsible for getting him interested in giant robots with their gallant tales of heroes fighting against overwhelming evil with their trusty machines.
After a nice, long browse, he noticed a particular anime series he'd been wanting to own for a long time: Yoshiyuki Tomino's classic “Universal Century: Turn A”. He had been a fan of that show for its offbeat nature. And even better, it was a boxset. He picked that up along with two DVDs for the series “Black Cat”.
“Ugh, can you believe how crappy they're making the Universal Century franchise now? First all those crappy alternate universes, and now it gets concluded with that stupid-ass Turn A.” said some kid not too far away from Isamu's position.
The voice seemed to strike a nerve somewhere in Isamu's body, because he froze.
“Yeah, instead of ending the franchise with a bang, we end up back in the 19th century AD with a bunch of crappy mecha and dumbass characterization. Really, has Tomino gone insane?” another one ranted.
“Not to mention buttloads of unnecessary fanservice.” yet a third one spoke up.
Isamu, with as much energy as he could muster, turned his head to look at the commuters, and immediately felt his teeth grit together. One was a short, stout little butterball with under-sized shorts on, a black shirt with a bathing suit clad Lacus Clyne holding an SD Strike Freedom on the front, and a mop of greasy brown hair. The second was taller, having a pizza-face, short, curly red hair and wearing a pair of black box-frame `nerd' glasses. The third was more plain looking than the two, but he had a long mullet of blonde hair, which made him look rather poorly groomed instead of bishounen as he was probably aiming for.
The butterball was the first to notice Isamu, turning to look back at the silver-haired youth. His eyes immediately widened and his mouth dropped. “Hey guys, looks like we're not the only ones here.” he called out, pointing to Isamu.
Hair guy and pizza-face followed the finger and came over the other kid. Pizza-face's mouth curled into a sneer. “Well, well, well, look who it is guys. It's our old friend Isamu Kotetsu, or you go by what, `Kwaiden'? And what do you have there?” they looked at the handful of DVDs Isamu was holding.
“Why would a coincidence, chums. Our young, misguided colleague has gotten himself some Turn A. Weren't we just talking about that?” the hair guy inquired.
“Funny, I could've sworn I left you three for dead back in LA.” Isamu quipped. “Did you three follow me here or something?”
“Are you kidding? We're Vultures, of course we get around!” the butterball said.
“Hurrah for you.” Isamu rolled his eyes, and went back to looking through anime titles, trying to cast the cold shoulder to the three. “Why don't you go back to griping about stuff you don't understand and leave the rest of us in peace?”
The butterball snorted. “Actually, we were just here to pick up the latest Patlabor movie.”
“And the Universal Century: 0087 movies. They just came out.” the pizza-face chimed in, waving around the three DVDs around. “Believe in the Sign of Zeta baby!”
“Don't forget, I have the entire Universal Century 0079 collection back on the ship. We're not going to sleep for days.” the hair guy added. “It'll be a life changing experience.”
“Let's see… You have Patlabor and Universal Century: 0087 rehashes? My sympathies. You guys are even more messed up than I took you for if you if it takes all that to change your lives.” Isamu said in dry sarcasm.
“Fuck you Kotetsu. What the hell is wrong with regular those?" the fat one asked.
“To start, Patlabor is the `wannabe Cops' of mecha anime. It has no main plot or storyline to it; just a bunch of misadventures involving the SSVD thatched together and called a story. That only leaves the characterization to ride on, turning it into nothing more than a crappy soap opera with mechs.” Isamu explained. “If I want to watch police action, I'll just watch Law and Order. At least that TV series is interesting.”
“Who cares about story or characterization? Everybody knows the whole point of Patlabor is the realistic mecha! It would've been cool if the Atlantic Federation made Ingrams instead of those stupid Daggers…” the pizza face said wistfully.
“If you guys want to go out and fight Windams and ZAKUs with Ingrams, be my guest. It'd be fun to watch to say the least. And if that's the only reason people watch Patlabor, then that makes it even more of a waste.” Isamu shot back. He looked over the 0087 DVDs. “Now, as for those, they're just patched together scenes from the original series with new animation added in between. The story didn't change, and footage is reused, but damn, there's new scenes added in! It just makes me want to spend my hard earned cash to see less than 20 minutes worth of new animation out one and a half hours worth of stuff I've already lived through.”
“You don't have room to talk. I mean, look at you, you're getting Turn A? What the fuck is wrong with you? We were just going on about Tomino screwing that one up! Any self-respecting Universal Century fan would and should hate avoid that show like the plague," the pudgy one called out, pointing at the DVDs in Isamu's hands.
“Funny, I happen to like Turn A and despise people that make those `true fan' claims. How did Tomino mess it up exactly? It has everything the other Universal Century series have, only in a different setting.” Isamu said, raising an eyebrow.
“Weren't you listening to us? It's like Tomino saw `Gone With The Wind' and thought it'd make a nice mecha series.” the pizza-faced guy spoke up. “And worse, there was 50 episodes of that crap, and we all got headaches after each…”
“So why did you keep watching them if you hated the series so much?” Isamu asked.
“Because I'm a Universal Century fan, even if I hate that, UC X and UC 0083, I'll watch all those through.” pizza-face replied.
Isamu glared. “Then that makes you a hypocrite.”
“At least we're true fans of UC. You can't even stomach the original series, and until you can, it means you're not a true fan.” the pudgy one pointed out.
“Well holy shit, I guess I'm in trouble then huh? I mean, here I am buying and thoroughly enjoying a series that's part of a franchise I'm not a true fan of.” Isamu remarked. “Just because I don't obsess over Char Aznable's philosophical views, his shiny red colors and his pedophile relationships doesn't mean I'm not a fan of the franchise. By logic, a fan is someone who enjoys a story or whatever, not an obsessive fanboy who shares opinions with others mostly out of peer pressure and just to be part of the `cool' crowd. I don't need any of that, and I don't care for any of that. That being said, you guys should all get real lives and leave me alone.” He started to move away.
“Hah, yeah right! You're the one with no life. We were having an important conversation when you came up and started yelling at us.” The pudgy one seemed to squeal out.
This made Isamu turn around with a very annoyed expression. “Bullshit, you guys were the ones that called me out first! And as for importance, all you were doing was crying and moping about Tomino turning 180 and making a completely different series from the six or so that all follow the same fucking pattern. Obviously, he wanted to do something different, and who can blame him? It gets repetitive after a while when you just repeat your work over and over.” Isamu said. “Don't you guys have your own opinions, or does that not make you `true fans'? Because if being a true fan is to give up my own thoughts and opinions on something, then I'd rather not be part of that crowd.” Then he thought for a minute. “Of course, just the thought of having to associate with you three is another reason for that…”
This seemed to hit a nail on the three. “Oh shut up already! Obviously, the entire point of UC was wasted on you, because you haven't gotten it. Your whining only proves it.” the pizza-face fellow accused.
“Last I checked, the whole point of UC was marketing a bunch of giant robot merchandise and making lots of money, not spreading political views around the Earth. But if you mean the stories, I got the points there. I got all the Newtype mumbo-jumbo, the whole rivalry between Char and Amuro Ray over a girl that sprung up out of nowhere only to die, and the whole `war is hell' theme. I just don't care for or obsess over them like you and every other `true fan' seems to. In fact, I think it's all greatly overrated. Now for the last time, go leave me alone and do something constructive, like not bitching about a TV show.” Isamu said.
“Bah, whatever. You're just a waste of a human existence Kotetsu, pure waste. You're so dumb, you can't see it, and that's why you'll never get as far as we have. It's no wonder you're not running with the almighty Morgenroete anymore, stuck on the level of the common Vulture.” the pizza face laughed, along with the other two.
Isamu's teeth grit together again. “Now you're getting personal.” He snarled.
“What? Did I strike a nerve?” pizza face pointed out, the three of them. “Your reaction only means it's true.”
“No it doesn't. You have absolutely NO idea of what I've gone through up to this point. And besides, when did this become about my past? Do you three have nothing else to shoot at me that you'd shoot at me personally?” Isamu growled back.
“Yare, you're taking a bit of offense there Isamu.” came the voice of Vale Hunter right behind him.
Isamu nearly jumped when he heard Vale's voice, since he didn't even know he was there. When did he come up?
“Who the hell is this? Some Johnny Ridden wannabe? Now you have a personal babysitter Kotetsu?” the pizza face one taunted.
“Nah, that's his new boyfriend.” the butterball laughed.
Vale glanced over at the three, scanning each one of them over, then nodded. “Friends of yours?” he asked Isamu.
“Hardly. They're more like cheap aggravators.” Isamu replied scornfully.
“And we can't have that around here, can we?” he remarked, cracking his knuckles. In truth, he had been overhearing the entire conversation, and when the three decided to go and pick apart Isamu's personal life, he knew he had to step in before the kid did something stupid. “Can't say I'll get any thrill out of this, but I guess I could use the practice. And I happen to enjoy picking on anime otakus, them and their higher-than-thou ways.”
“Just go ahead and try.” the pizza face said challengingly. On that cue, a rather large and imposing man wearing black pants and a striped shirt came up behind them. The man was bald and muscular, looking something along the lines of a pro wrestler or a bouncer. Vale found himself looking up at the guy's head, but the smirk never left his face.
“This is our bodyguard, Boris. Our boss picked him up from Russia during our last visit, just so he can keep people like you from hurting us.” hair guy spoke up with a grin.
“In Mother Russia, meatsacks stomped by Boris…” he said, pointing toward Vale as he said `meatsacks' in broken English. It took a lot of effort for Vale not to bust up laughing, even as the guy reached out with a punch to Vale's face.
To the surprise of the three and `Boris', Vale not only reached up and caught the punch, but he held the massive, trembling fist there. The Russian then found himself struggling to overcome the mobile suit pilot's surprising strength. Soon, the sounds of cracking sounded up from the man's fist, and his face started to squelch from the pain. Vale didn't so much as break a sweat, although the smirk started to fade from his face as he was not amused by the larger man's struggle.
The mobile suit pilot then decided this man wasn't worth his time. Throwing off the man's fist, he moved quick and shot a punch right in the Boris' stomach, disorienting him. Then with an even more surprising burst of strength, Vale went under and literally picked the massive Russian up with his arms, turned around and tossed him into another aisle where the man slammed into a shelf full of DVDs, which all fell on top of him.
At the sight of their bodyguard being tossed across the store like a pebble, the pudgy one ended up soiling himself. “Did… did… he…”
“Holy shit, he threw Boris like a javelin!!” hair guy exclaimed.
“Yep, it just goes to show you that real life is just a wacky and imaginative plot. For example, I have a few neat little traits that most humans don't have. They're not super powers, but damn, are they out of this world…” Vale smirk deepened, and he looked quite sinister now. “The three of you, however, aren't so fortunate. I know your type well, people that conform to a larger crowd for a better image, but at the cost of their individuality. As well, they reinforce this by imposing on anyone else that disagrees with them and what they represent. So tell me, what gives you the right to stomp on other people when sound, act and talk just like every other annoying drone or in your case, fanboy?”
“What the hell does this have to do you with you anyway?” pizza face quivered in fear. “This was just between us and Kotetsu until you came along!
Vale laughed a little bit. “Yes, it was between you and Isamu, and I respected that until you pried where you were not needed. Tell me, are you three that insecure and afraid inside that you would attack on the personal level simply because you have nothing else to go on? Is it that hard to agree to disagree and move on? Please, enlighten me.” He finished by cracking his neck in an intimidating manner.
“Shit, I don't know about you guys, but I'm out of here!” the butterball let out, running for the store exit. The pizza face and hair guy followed after, with pizza face heading out the exit as well.
Hair guy, on the other hand, stopped for a moment and looked over the unconscious form of Boris. “Damn…” he let out, clearly impressed. He then ran after the others.
Isamu breathed for a moment, letting himself relax. “Thanks…”
“Think nothing of it. I can't stand to let my little Isamu be talked to like that.” Vale teased, much to Isamu's dismay. “And besides, I hate fanboys myself.”
-------------------------------
“I have to admit, this is much better than that damned cafeteria food on the Rommel.” Edward commented as he dug into his hamburger. He and Jane had wandered around the city for some time before they came across a Roche Nattono restaurant and café, which was quite well known for its good foods and laid back setting.
“The cafeteria isn't all that bad Ed. You should learn to appreciate it.” Jane countered. “Compared to what either of us went through in the war, we've been pretty well off.”
“True, although I hate to admit it.” Ed sighed. “Ah well, it's nice to be able to eat food like this before we go on Cunningham's little offensive. Lord knows what we'll have when we get to Eurusia.”
“I agree with that.” Jane replied. Edward didn't reply to her, instead concentrating on eating his hamburger. As he did, Jane leaned forward and watched as her husband ate his hamburger happily, smiling a little. The other mobile suit aced noticed, and gave her a questioning glance. “Heh heh, you look cute when you're happy.” Jane said. “You're definitely getting better.”
“Better from what?” Ed asked after he swallowed his latest bite.
“A few days ago, you seemed very depressed about living as a Vulture and a pirate, but now you're really enjoying yourself. When did you start feeling better?” Jane asked.
Ed just shrugged. “Well, after we left Catalina, I spent my time… reflecting, for lack of better word. Nothing much, just looking through that scrapbook Jess sent us a while ago, the one with all the shots he took during South American War. Those were the good days, back when all we had was our two mobile suits, a small army of captured Strike Daggers and a few aces against the Atlantic Federation's legions. I looked at that, and then at what we were doing now, and you know what?” he smiled. “We've come a long way and we got what we wanted in the end.”
“And what was that?” Jane asked.
“Freedom. Look where we are now, living the way we want to, happily married, and not taking shit from anyone. Granted, we're still taking orders from someone, but Cunningham isn't a bad guy. And to top it off, we get to keep doing what we both love to do and enjoy moments like this.” Ed explained, taking a sip of his coke.
“Hmmm… I wonder though. When you looked at those pictures, did you ever feel like being the hero again?” Jane inquired.
Ed looked up at her, swallowed his coke, and then put his glass down. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean Ed. We've all gone through it. During the war, we got used to the fighting and the attention we got from it. Not to mention we were younger back then.” Jane mentally cringed at admitting that. She was one of those women that hated admitting her age. “Haven't you ever wanted to go back to South America, with your countrymen and your fans, and be the hero once again?”
The South American ace took a moment to think about that. Again, South America wasn't a subject he liked to talk about, but Jane already knew this, so she had chosen her words carefully. Ed was grateful for that, so he answered. “The thought has crossed my mind, and sometimes, I miss the fame I got from all that, but no. I like where I am; I've got you, Calamity, and weirdo comrades like Vale and Cunningham to fall back on.” Ed laughed.
Jane laughed to. “Heh heh heh, yes, there's nothing better than working with `offbeat' personalities. All we need is Barry and Dr. Coast to show up, and we have it made.” As she said that, her eye picked up something.
Sitting at a table directly across from the couple were three men, who she could've sworn cast a glance at them just now. One man was balled and somewhat well built, while the other across from him had a head full of brown hair, and what little Jane could tell, a mustache and thin eyes. The third, however, was the one that caught most of Jane's attention. He was a man with long black hair that went down to his shoulders, and an aura of superiority around him with the way the other two seemed to address him. When he turned and glanced over at their table, Jane found herself looking into his void black eyes for a moment.
Immediately, that sixth sense that came with being a mobile suit pilot and a warrior went off, and Jane knew that something was wrong here. “Ed…” she whispered.
“Yeah, I know.” Ed said, not turning to look at the three.
“Who do you think they are?”
“No clues. Either they're EAF intel or the one in the middle is a member of the twelve.” Ed said, referring to the twelve head aristocratic families that pretty much controlled New Orleans and the Louisiana state. “Don't look back. Make eye contact and they have an excuse.”
“I'm not…” Jane started, but stopped as she saw the three men get up from their table, with the leader laying down some cash for a tip (and quite a few dollars at that), then moved toward the exit. “What do you think that was all about?”
“Who knows? The Federation can't officially set foot here without repercussions, but they can always send agents in.” Ed said.
“You think it was Larson…?”
“Nah, he doesn't have that kind of pull. Just sit back and relax honey, it was probably just a coincidence.” Ed said, going back to eating his hamburger.
“I hope so.” Jane muttered, although deep down inside, she felt differently. At that point, her cell phone began to ring, so she answered it. “What is it?”
“Jane, it's Lyn. We got a problem. The Captain and I have just been informed of a Atlantic Federation cruiser in port some twenty kilometers south of the city.” Lyn explained.
“One of Larson's?” Jane asked. Ed's right eyebrow arced at that mention.
“Not sure. They may just be here for recreation, but be on the look out. We're considered criminals even outside of Larson's jurisdiction.” Lyn said.
“Understood, Ed and I will be returning to the ship shortly. Ciao.” She hung up the phone.
“Feds?” Ed inquired.
“One cruiser, docked at one of the ports. I don't think they're looking for us, but we better play it safe.” Jane replied.
“Right.” Ed then signaled their waiter, who was just walking by. “Check please.”
“The cafeteria isn't all that bad Ed. You should learn to appreciate it.” Jane countered. “Compared to what either of us went through in the war, we've been pretty well off.”
“True, although I hate to admit it.” Ed sighed. “Ah well, it's nice to be able to eat food like this before we go on Cunningham's little offensive. Lord knows what we'll have when we get to Eurusia.”
“I agree with that.” Jane replied. Edward didn't reply to her, instead concentrating on eating his hamburger. As he did, Jane leaned forward and watched as her husband ate his hamburger happily, smiling a little. The other mobile suit aced noticed, and gave her a questioning glance. “Heh heh, you look cute when you're happy.” Jane said. “You're definitely getting better.”
“Better from what?” Ed asked after he swallowed his latest bite.
“A few days ago, you seemed very depressed about living as a Vulture and a pirate, but now you're really enjoying yourself. When did you start feeling better?” Jane asked.
Ed just shrugged. “Well, after we left Catalina, I spent my time… reflecting, for lack of better word. Nothing much, just looking through that scrapbook Jess sent us a while ago, the one with all the shots he took during South American War. Those were the good days, back when all we had was our two mobile suits, a small army of captured Strike Daggers and a few aces against the Atlantic Federation's legions. I looked at that, and then at what we were doing now, and you know what?” he smiled. “We've come a long way and we got what we wanted in the end.”
“And what was that?” Jane asked.
“Freedom. Look where we are now, living the way we want to, happily married, and not taking shit from anyone. Granted, we're still taking orders from someone, but Cunningham isn't a bad guy. And to top it off, we get to keep doing what we both love to do and enjoy moments like this.” Ed explained, taking a sip of his coke.
“Hmmm… I wonder though. When you looked at those pictures, did you ever feel like being the hero again?” Jane inquired.
Ed looked up at her, swallowed his coke, and then put his glass down. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean Ed. We've all gone through it. During the war, we got used to the fighting and the attention we got from it. Not to mention we were younger back then.” Jane mentally cringed at admitting that. She was one of those women that hated admitting her age. “Haven't you ever wanted to go back to South America, with your countrymen and your fans, and be the hero once again?”
The South American ace took a moment to think about that. Again, South America wasn't a subject he liked to talk about, but Jane already knew this, so she had chosen her words carefully. Ed was grateful for that, so he answered. “The thought has crossed my mind, and sometimes, I miss the fame I got from all that, but no. I like where I am; I've got you, Calamity, and weirdo comrades like Vale and Cunningham to fall back on.” Ed laughed.
Jane laughed to. “Heh heh heh, yes, there's nothing better than working with `offbeat' personalities. All we need is Barry and Dr. Coast to show up, and we have it made.” As she said that, her eye picked up something.
Sitting at a table directly across from the couple were three men, who she could've sworn cast a glance at them just now. One man was balled and somewhat well built, while the other across from him had a head full of brown hair, and what little Jane could tell, a mustache and thin eyes. The third, however, was the one that caught most of Jane's attention. He was a man with long black hair that went down to his shoulders, and an aura of superiority around him with the way the other two seemed to address him. When he turned and glanced over at their table, Jane found herself looking into his void black eyes for a moment.
Immediately, that sixth sense that came with being a mobile suit pilot and a warrior went off, and Jane knew that something was wrong here. “Ed…” she whispered.
“Yeah, I know.” Ed said, not turning to look at the three.
“Who do you think they are?”
“No clues. Either they're EAF intel or the one in the middle is a member of the twelve.” Ed said, referring to the twelve head aristocratic families that pretty much controlled New Orleans and the Louisiana state. “Don't look back. Make eye contact and they have an excuse.”
“I'm not…” Jane started, but stopped as she saw the three men get up from their table, with the leader laying down some cash for a tip (and quite a few dollars at that), then moved toward the exit. “What do you think that was all about?”
“Who knows? The Federation can't officially set foot here without repercussions, but they can always send agents in.” Ed said.
“You think it was Larson…?”
“Nah, he doesn't have that kind of pull. Just sit back and relax honey, it was probably just a coincidence.” Ed said, going back to eating his hamburger.
“I hope so.” Jane muttered, although deep down inside, she felt differently. At that point, her cell phone began to ring, so she answered it. “What is it?”
“Jane, it's Lyn. We got a problem. The Captain and I have just been informed of a Atlantic Federation cruiser in port some twenty kilometers south of the city.” Lyn explained.
“One of Larson's?” Jane asked. Ed's right eyebrow arced at that mention.
“Not sure. They may just be here for recreation, but be on the look out. We're considered criminals even outside of Larson's jurisdiction.” Lyn said.
“Understood, Ed and I will be returning to the ship shortly. Ciao.” She hung up the phone.
“Feds?” Ed inquired.
“One cruiser, docked at one of the ports. I don't think they're looking for us, but we better play it safe.” Jane replied.
“Right.” Ed then signaled their waiter, who was just walking by. “Check please.”
-------------------------------
As casual as she could, Lyn pressed the End button on her cellular phone and placed in back in the hip pocket of her dress. She had walked out of the grand banquet room of the Grand Shirio casino, which Cunningham was going to use for his `briefing room' to the other three Vulture leaders, in order to make that call. That being said, she was nervous and she was out in the open, and being who she was, she didn't like showing the world Lynsie Schneider being worried. Get a grip Lynsie. They're all professionals, they can handle themselves out there. She reassured herself.
Like Isamu, she had a distinct loathing for the city due to the unlawfulness, but she had willingly gone with Cunningham's plan because it was supposed to have kept the Federation from watching them. Now, however, that all changed with that cruiser just over twenty kilometers south of the city, especially when they had just learned it had been there for hours. Granted, there was little evidence that the vessel had been looking for them and seemed to just be there for maintenance and shore leave purposes, she didn't want anyone getting mixed up with that ship's crew.
It was really hard being the XO of a crew of miscreants. Unlike the EAF, there was no soldier's honor system to keep the crew in line, and with the Captain constantly drunk, the role of Cold-Hearted Bitch fell to Lyn. As a former member of the EAID, or Earth Alliance Intelligence Department, she had been trained for things like this, where organization and commanding became just as important as collecting information and sabotaging the enemy's plans. It seemed like second nature for her to assume the role of the CHB and to boss people around while looking as big of an authority figure as Cunningham was. Even the most rebellious of the crew feared her, knowing that if any of them got out of line, the consequences would be severe.
The problem with that job was, besides having to sacrifice humanity on occasion, was the habit of constantly worrying about the unknown. Lyn likened that part to how a mother felt (not that she had experience) to watching over her children, because she always thought of the worse case scenario and tried to take actions against it. But at the same time, you end up constantly worrying about the variables and things that could go wrong, and Lyn knew if she let that consume her, it would kill her. Especially with this crowd.
She sighed at that fact again; she needed a break sooner or later, before it all piled up and she suffer a mental breakdown. But there were more important things to do now. Wandering back into the banquet room, she came to Cunningham's end of the table and nodded. “Everyone's been informed. I ordered the Rommel to recall all personnel.”
“What about our men and woman of the hour?” Cunningham asked, referring to Vale, Ed, Jane, Thomas and Isamu.
“They give me their assurances that they will also be returning to the ship.” Lyn replied.
“I must apologize again Friedrich. I honestly thought you knew.” Spoke the man sitting across from Cunningham, in a gruff voice that was even more so than the German captain's. The man was notably large, about as big and muscular as Cunningham was, and he even had a deep voice to match. Unlike the other captain though, this one had a full head of brown hair and an even thicker beard, complimented with a very structured face and small bead sized eyes. He wore a pair of black slacks and a black shirt which was covered by a red greatcoat with golden textures on it and a raised collar, the kind of coat worn by the captains of old.
“Not at all Barbossa, you just caught me off guard. We weren't expecting uninvited guests.” Cunningham said.
Captain Barbossa `Walrus' Flint of the land cruiser Balroq nodded. “Well then, I guess there is nothing to worry about. My men are already prepared for any interruptions, and knowing your reputation, you will not be hung open yourself.”
“Still presents a bit of a problem.” Lyn stepped in. “Would it be better if we changed the location of this meeting?”
Cunningham thought about that, but then shook his head. “No, that will only take more time and resources.”
“And if somebody runs into Ed, Jane or Vale?” Lyn inquired.
The captain opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped himself, thinking about that.
“She has a point Friedrich. There's also the problem of satellite surveillance of this area. Your Rommel is not exactly indistinguishable from the standard Lesseps. Neither is my Balroq for that matter.” Flint said.
“Yes, and any sightings would send freaks like Larson flying at us…” Cunningham muttered. “I suggest we set up a defense perimeter around the city.”
Flint laughed at that. “By our collective force, we have your Rommel, my Balroq, as well as the Garm and Fenris, and any mobile suits affiliated. That's one Lessepsbattleship, three Pietrie cruisers and approximately 18 mobile suits total. That's a sizable force in its own right, but let's say the Federation puts effort into this and sends a full fleet. How would you defend it then?”
“You're a pirate yourself Barbossa, you should be used to overwhelming odds by now. Or did your pilots lost their edge?” Cunningham taunted.
“Hardly!” Flint proclaimed with a thunderous boom to his voice, and a hearty laugh. “I'd stake them against an entire fleet, whether it is Alliance, ZAFT or whatever's in between. In fact, I'm hoping a little bit that somebody notices us, just to have a piece of action Cunningham!”
“You sound like our lead pilot. I don't think that's very becoming of you sir.” Lyn stated.
“That comes from years of being out of action my dear. I've only survived this far by getting my fill from the northern convoys, but if your captain's operation is as grand as he makes it sound, then it'll be more than worth a belly full.” Flint proclaimed. “But seriously, how do you plan to defend this place when you don't even know where your enemy is going to strike from?”
“Well, the most obvious place would be the sea, because of the city's proximity to the coastline. Knowing how the Atlantic Federation's tactics, they would most likely line a siege force around this area and commence bombardments on the city to flush the pirates out into the open, then use my own mobile suits as shock troops to storm the city.” Cunningham said.
“Just like Orb in CE 71.” Flint pointed out.
Cunningham smirked. “Exactly. Therefore, we must concentrate the initial line along the southern end of the city, but maintain a position of easy mobility, in case the Federation attacks from the north or something. God forbid they still have any Hannibal-class in service.” He shuddered at the memories of that type of battleship wreaking havoc on Berlin during the second war. And worse, those things could carry over thirty mobile suits as well as that giant Gundam-type. “But I can't really work anything out now just between the two of us, I'm going to need Anne and Hornigold in on this too.”
“Why didn't you invite them then?” Flint asked.
“I wanted to go over everything with you before we presented the bulk of Blitzkrieg to the other two, not to have a stratagem meeting. Your new information changed all that.” Cunningham explained.
“Heh, of course, of course. But can we wait during the two days before they arrive?” Flint asked.
“We have no choice but too.” Cunningham said.
Two days of being left in the open…Lyn thought to herself. She could feel that worrisome feeling come over her again.
Like Isamu, she had a distinct loathing for the city due to the unlawfulness, but she had willingly gone with Cunningham's plan because it was supposed to have kept the Federation from watching them. Now, however, that all changed with that cruiser just over twenty kilometers south of the city, especially when they had just learned it had been there for hours. Granted, there was little evidence that the vessel had been looking for them and seemed to just be there for maintenance and shore leave purposes, she didn't want anyone getting mixed up with that ship's crew.
It was really hard being the XO of a crew of miscreants. Unlike the EAF, there was no soldier's honor system to keep the crew in line, and with the Captain constantly drunk, the role of Cold-Hearted Bitch fell to Lyn. As a former member of the EAID, or Earth Alliance Intelligence Department, she had been trained for things like this, where organization and commanding became just as important as collecting information and sabotaging the enemy's plans. It seemed like second nature for her to assume the role of the CHB and to boss people around while looking as big of an authority figure as Cunningham was. Even the most rebellious of the crew feared her, knowing that if any of them got out of line, the consequences would be severe.
The problem with that job was, besides having to sacrifice humanity on occasion, was the habit of constantly worrying about the unknown. Lyn likened that part to how a mother felt (not that she had experience) to watching over her children, because she always thought of the worse case scenario and tried to take actions against it. But at the same time, you end up constantly worrying about the variables and things that could go wrong, and Lyn knew if she let that consume her, it would kill her. Especially with this crowd.
She sighed at that fact again; she needed a break sooner or later, before it all piled up and she suffer a mental breakdown. But there were more important things to do now. Wandering back into the banquet room, she came to Cunningham's end of the table and nodded. “Everyone's been informed. I ordered the Rommel to recall all personnel.”
“What about our men and woman of the hour?” Cunningham asked, referring to Vale, Ed, Jane, Thomas and Isamu.
“They give me their assurances that they will also be returning to the ship.” Lyn replied.
“I must apologize again Friedrich. I honestly thought you knew.” Spoke the man sitting across from Cunningham, in a gruff voice that was even more so than the German captain's. The man was notably large, about as big and muscular as Cunningham was, and he even had a deep voice to match. Unlike the other captain though, this one had a full head of brown hair and an even thicker beard, complimented with a very structured face and small bead sized eyes. He wore a pair of black slacks and a black shirt which was covered by a red greatcoat with golden textures on it and a raised collar, the kind of coat worn by the captains of old.
“Not at all Barbossa, you just caught me off guard. We weren't expecting uninvited guests.” Cunningham said.
Captain Barbossa `Walrus' Flint of the land cruiser Balroq nodded. “Well then, I guess there is nothing to worry about. My men are already prepared for any interruptions, and knowing your reputation, you will not be hung open yourself.”
“Still presents a bit of a problem.” Lyn stepped in. “Would it be better if we changed the location of this meeting?”
Cunningham thought about that, but then shook his head. “No, that will only take more time and resources.”
“And if somebody runs into Ed, Jane or Vale?” Lyn inquired.
The captain opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped himself, thinking about that.
“She has a point Friedrich. There's also the problem of satellite surveillance of this area. Your Rommel is not exactly indistinguishable from the standard Lesseps. Neither is my Balroq for that matter.” Flint said.
“Yes, and any sightings would send freaks like Larson flying at us…” Cunningham muttered. “I suggest we set up a defense perimeter around the city.”
Flint laughed at that. “By our collective force, we have your Rommel, my Balroq, as well as the Garm and Fenris, and any mobile suits affiliated. That's one Lessepsbattleship, three Pietrie cruisers and approximately 18 mobile suits total. That's a sizable force in its own right, but let's say the Federation puts effort into this and sends a full fleet. How would you defend it then?”
“You're a pirate yourself Barbossa, you should be used to overwhelming odds by now. Or did your pilots lost their edge?” Cunningham taunted.
“Hardly!” Flint proclaimed with a thunderous boom to his voice, and a hearty laugh. “I'd stake them against an entire fleet, whether it is Alliance, ZAFT or whatever's in between. In fact, I'm hoping a little bit that somebody notices us, just to have a piece of action Cunningham!”
“You sound like our lead pilot. I don't think that's very becoming of you sir.” Lyn stated.
“That comes from years of being out of action my dear. I've only survived this far by getting my fill from the northern convoys, but if your captain's operation is as grand as he makes it sound, then it'll be more than worth a belly full.” Flint proclaimed. “But seriously, how do you plan to defend this place when you don't even know where your enemy is going to strike from?”
“Well, the most obvious place would be the sea, because of the city's proximity to the coastline. Knowing how the Atlantic Federation's tactics, they would most likely line a siege force around this area and commence bombardments on the city to flush the pirates out into the open, then use my own mobile suits as shock troops to storm the city.” Cunningham said.
“Just like Orb in CE 71.” Flint pointed out.
Cunningham smirked. “Exactly. Therefore, we must concentrate the initial line along the southern end of the city, but maintain a position of easy mobility, in case the Federation attacks from the north or something. God forbid they still have any Hannibal-class in service.” He shuddered at the memories of that type of battleship wreaking havoc on Berlin during the second war. And worse, those things could carry over thirty mobile suits as well as that giant Gundam-type. “But I can't really work anything out now just between the two of us, I'm going to need Anne and Hornigold in on this too.”
“Why didn't you invite them then?” Flint asked.
“I wanted to go over everything with you before we presented the bulk of Blitzkrieg to the other two, not to have a stratagem meeting. Your new information changed all that.” Cunningham explained.
“Heh, of course, of course. But can we wait during the two days before they arrive?” Flint asked.
“We have no choice but too.” Cunningham said.
Two days of being left in the open…Lyn thought to herself. She could feel that worrisome feeling come over her again.
-------------------------------
Vale and Isamu weren't having it much better than Ed and Jane. Sometime after they left the Suncoast, they had picked up a stalker. It was a black van, probably of CE 60s vintage, and it had been following them at a distance as they wandered the city in their rented car. The two had played along with the guy, not doing anything suspicious or giving off signs that they had noticed his/her presence. But they knew they couldn't keep it up forever, especially after Lyn's warning call, so they both agreed that their best bet was to trap the stalker. And what better place to corner someone than Bourbon Street on the French Quarter?
Named after a noble French family, Bourbon Street had been in New Orleans since its beginnings. Like the rest of the city, the area looked particularly rundown and unsafe to all but the most daring and adventurous. Isamu himself had to admit, he wasn't sure whether the ancient architecture had always looked like that or if this was all caused from age as this part of the city had been there since before the Cosmic Era came into effect. What was worse, there were lots of suspicious people wandering around him, and some of them had even took notice of him.
“You lookin' ta get luc-ky sparky?” asked one of the many drag queens that were walking around to Isamu. “Her” breath stunk of alcohol.
“No, piss off.” Isamu retorted, walking past. He thanked God Vale was with him, because if worse came to worse, the mobile suit pilot's great strength would come in handy.
Vale noticed Isamu's discomfort, and chuckled. “Must you always be rude to people Isamu? It's not very becoming of someone with your maturity.”
“Stuff it Hunter. I don't like it here.” Isamu snorted, looking much more aware of his surroundings than he had been all day. Vale couldn't blame him; despite having an intelligence and maturity that was beyond even some adults, he was still a kid living in a big boy's world. “Damn it… Why couldn't we have gotten him in a better part of town?”
“Because people disappear here all the time. You should see it during Mardi Gra. I heard over twenty people all vanished during the last one.” Vale explained.
“Why the hell do people live in a place like this?” Isamu questioned, not believing that anyone would willingly live here.
“There are lots of reasons. For some, entire generations have lived in this city of eons, and to others, it's because of the vibrant atmosphere, like the jazz and alcohol. But for the majority, I think it's either because they're too poor to live anywhere else or they're too used to the chaos around the city.” Vale explained. He slapped Isamu on the back. “Just relax, alright? Nobody's going to bother you as long as I'm here. And even if they do, you're combat trained and armed.”
“I'm not afraid of fighting back, I prefer not to fight at all.” Isamu replied. “Unlike you, I don't have super strength.”
Vale just shrugged, and then pointed toward a building they were walking past. The sign hanging down from the building read `Club 735' “In there. We'll catch him there.” He told Isamu.
Isamu looked at the sign, then looked toward the doorway. His enhanced coordinator hearing could already pick up the techno music. “A dance club? That's where we're going to trap him?”
“Oh, it's the perfect place to.” Vale said, walking toward the club. Isamu didn't object and followed. They went into the club after paying the bouncer for admittance, and a little extra for a bribe since Isamu was technically underage.
And right when they got in, the kid hacker and electronics wizard was bombarded by flashing lights, loud techno music and the sound of what seemed like hundreds of people dancing on the two dance floors. Isamu felt his ears explode, his better hearing not helping at all, and the urge to rake his fingers over his skull started to come over him. Thankfully, he never lost track of Vale in the crowd, and so he followed the older mobile suit ace to the bar area, where the former took a seat.
“You serve maraschinos?” Isamu heard Vale ask the barkeep, referring to the infamous and very rare cherry flavored liqueur.
“Just got a new shipment in today.” The barkeep answered with a nod, as if he were proud to tell he had gotten his hands on the alcohol.
“Good. One Ed the Ripper for me and a Cherry Pepsi for my friend.” Vale ordered, gesturing to Isamu as he got on his own stool.
Isamu gave a confused glance to Vale after he mentioned `Ed the Ripper', and it became even more intense when he saw the barkeep go off to prepare the drinks. “Ed has a drink named after him?”
“It's technically an Aviator, it just got `officially' renamed after Ed's war exploits were showcased. Same thing happened to a couple others.” Vale answered.
“Examples?” Isamu inquired.
“The White Lady got turned into the White Whale, the Geisha became the Sakura Burst, the Rabid Dog is now the Moonlight Mad Dog, the Radler is the Magic Bullet of Dusk and the Bee's Kiss is named Balsam, after Shiho Hahnenfuss' insignia. And depending on which area of the world you're on, the One-Balled Dictator is referred to as a Copland, Djibril or Dullindal, for obvious reasons.” Vale explained.
Isamu looked at Vale skeptically after he was finished explaining all that. “You sure know a lot about nothing Vale.” Isamu said, although it wasn't known to be a compliment or not.
“I'm a self-improvement guru. That's all.” Vale said, with a narrowed corner glance.
At that point, the barkeep returned with their drinks, and Vale immediately started to sip his when another question came into his mind. “Is there a Black Joker?” Isamu asked, referring to Vale's own ace alias.
Vale put down his drink and smirked. “Yeah, that's what the Black Russian turned into. Bitter as hell though, I hate it.”
“Well isn't that fucking ironic?” spoke a new voice from the side.
Both Isamu and Vale looked over to see Thomas Kurtz sitting one row down, who just started drinking some kind of martini. He put it back down when he finished it entirely and stared at the other two with great disdain. “And here I was hoping to avoid you idiots. It only figures…”
“Nice to see you to Thomas.” Isamu shot back.
“And what do we owe to the occasion?” Vale asked.
“Well for one thing, your soon-to-be arrest. It looks like we're not alone.” Thomas gestured toward the doorway.
Out of the corner of their eyes, both Vale and Isamu could see what looked like seven Earth Alliance soldiers walk through the doorway, all wielding sub-machineguns, moving toward them through the crowd of people. The two soon realized that these were most likely the people following them in that black van. “Vale...” Isamu muttered.
“I know, I know.” The mobile suit pilot replied.
Sometime, the barkeep had returned with their drinks, and had also taken notice of the group marching toward his customers. The same thing with a few of the patrons, especially those around the bar, and they all held a general look of disgust.
And at that point, the group split with six of the soldiers assuming a perimeter around the bar while the leader, who bared the rank patching of a Lieutenant, walked over to where Vale and Isamu were sitting, a taunting smile sketched across his face. “Well, Well, Commander Hunter I presume.” He spoke as Vale had just begun to sip his drink.
Vale nearly barfed up the alcohol. I'm out of the fucking military already, stop using rank! He leered from the corner of his eye to the man. “Can I help you Lieutenant?”
“You can, actually. My orders are to apprehend the deserter Vale Hunter quietly, so if you would just come with us without any trouble, I would be most appreciative.” The Lieutenant said in that snide/intimidating voice that made people shrill.
Isamu himself didn't like that tone. It was like a poor `gestopoed' version of Vale's sarcasm. “What if he doesn't want to go quietly? You going to shoot up this place?”
“Ah yes…” the Lieutenant flashed a knowing grin to Isamu. “That is a fair assessment, young Isamu Yuna Kotetsu, former computer programmer of Orb's Morgenroete, Inc.” he looked over at Thomas. “And you must be Lieutenant Thomas Kurtz, late of the 301st Mobile Assault Company.” Thomas just flashed the man a finger.
The Lieutenant smirked and turned back to Vale. “Anyway, yes, I may just order my men to open fire on the rest of this slag pit if you don't cooperate, but I prefer not to waste good ammunition on these southern wetbacks. Now please, Commander…” he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Be a good boy and slip these on for good size.”
Vale arched an eyebrow. Somebody obviously knew what they were doing, because as far as Alliance records were supposed to concern, Isamu Yuna Kotetsu was either supposed to be dead or still under Morgenroete's employ. Much more, the man recognized Isamu immediately, even when Isamu had gone to great lengths in the past to erase any photos or images of him from Alliance records. This needed more looking into. “Nah, not interested. In fact, I have a better idea.”
With the well-above-average reflexes that only a mobile suit pilot possessed, Vale reached out and grabbed the Lieutenant's face by then neck and tightened his grip. The Lieutenant immediately gasped in shock at the renegade's great strength, and was even more surprised when Vale slammed his face onto the bar counter, with enough force to actually dent it. He struggled to escape the man's grip, but he might as well be trying to escape a metal vice.
“Shoot him!” he screamed out to his men, which was followed by collective sound of sub-machineguns being cocking.
This again, was stopped when to the Alliance soldiers' surprise, the barkeep had brandished an antique Remington 870 SWAT-styled shotgun and pressed it against the Lieutenant's head. The soldiers all stopped their attack.
“This has nothing to do with you. Be smart and keep it that way.” The Lieutenant spat, obvious hate filling his voice.
The barkeep laughed. “Oh, on the contrary, you brought a mob into my bar, so it has everything to do with me. And besides, in New Orleans, we don't take too kindly to you military types…” on that note, several of the bouncers and patrons themselves brandished guns of different types and aimed them all at the soldiers. The Alliance personnel all dropped their weapons almost immediately.
In the middle of all this, Vale had just finished his drink in one big shot while keeping the Lieutenant's head pinned to the counter. Usually, it was considered unhealthy and taboo to drink a cocktail like that, mainly because it was something one was supposed to savor, but Vale didn't have time for that. He now had something more important at hand. “Now, if you'd be so kind, Lieutenant, my associates and I have a few questions to ask…”
Named after a noble French family, Bourbon Street had been in New Orleans since its beginnings. Like the rest of the city, the area looked particularly rundown and unsafe to all but the most daring and adventurous. Isamu himself had to admit, he wasn't sure whether the ancient architecture had always looked like that or if this was all caused from age as this part of the city had been there since before the Cosmic Era came into effect. What was worse, there were lots of suspicious people wandering around him, and some of them had even took notice of him.
“You lookin' ta get luc-ky sparky?” asked one of the many drag queens that were walking around to Isamu. “Her” breath stunk of alcohol.
“No, piss off.” Isamu retorted, walking past. He thanked God Vale was with him, because if worse came to worse, the mobile suit pilot's great strength would come in handy.
Vale noticed Isamu's discomfort, and chuckled. “Must you always be rude to people Isamu? It's not very becoming of someone with your maturity.”
“Stuff it Hunter. I don't like it here.” Isamu snorted, looking much more aware of his surroundings than he had been all day. Vale couldn't blame him; despite having an intelligence and maturity that was beyond even some adults, he was still a kid living in a big boy's world. “Damn it… Why couldn't we have gotten him in a better part of town?”
“Because people disappear here all the time. You should see it during Mardi Gra. I heard over twenty people all vanished during the last one.” Vale explained.
“Why the hell do people live in a place like this?” Isamu questioned, not believing that anyone would willingly live here.
“There are lots of reasons. For some, entire generations have lived in this city of eons, and to others, it's because of the vibrant atmosphere, like the jazz and alcohol. But for the majority, I think it's either because they're too poor to live anywhere else or they're too used to the chaos around the city.” Vale explained. He slapped Isamu on the back. “Just relax, alright? Nobody's going to bother you as long as I'm here. And even if they do, you're combat trained and armed.”
“I'm not afraid of fighting back, I prefer not to fight at all.” Isamu replied. “Unlike you, I don't have super strength.”
Vale just shrugged, and then pointed toward a building they were walking past. The sign hanging down from the building read `Club 735' “In there. We'll catch him there.” He told Isamu.
Isamu looked at the sign, then looked toward the doorway. His enhanced coordinator hearing could already pick up the techno music. “A dance club? That's where we're going to trap him?”
“Oh, it's the perfect place to.” Vale said, walking toward the club. Isamu didn't object and followed. They went into the club after paying the bouncer for admittance, and a little extra for a bribe since Isamu was technically underage.
And right when they got in, the kid hacker and electronics wizard was bombarded by flashing lights, loud techno music and the sound of what seemed like hundreds of people dancing on the two dance floors. Isamu felt his ears explode, his better hearing not helping at all, and the urge to rake his fingers over his skull started to come over him. Thankfully, he never lost track of Vale in the crowd, and so he followed the older mobile suit ace to the bar area, where the former took a seat.
“You serve maraschinos?” Isamu heard Vale ask the barkeep, referring to the infamous and very rare cherry flavored liqueur.
“Just got a new shipment in today.” The barkeep answered with a nod, as if he were proud to tell he had gotten his hands on the alcohol.
“Good. One Ed the Ripper for me and a Cherry Pepsi for my friend.” Vale ordered, gesturing to Isamu as he got on his own stool.
Isamu gave a confused glance to Vale after he mentioned `Ed the Ripper', and it became even more intense when he saw the barkeep go off to prepare the drinks. “Ed has a drink named after him?”
“It's technically an Aviator, it just got `officially' renamed after Ed's war exploits were showcased. Same thing happened to a couple others.” Vale answered.
“Examples?” Isamu inquired.
“The White Lady got turned into the White Whale, the Geisha became the Sakura Burst, the Rabid Dog is now the Moonlight Mad Dog, the Radler is the Magic Bullet of Dusk and the Bee's Kiss is named Balsam, after Shiho Hahnenfuss' insignia. And depending on which area of the world you're on, the One-Balled Dictator is referred to as a Copland, Djibril or Dullindal, for obvious reasons.” Vale explained.
Isamu looked at Vale skeptically after he was finished explaining all that. “You sure know a lot about nothing Vale.” Isamu said, although it wasn't known to be a compliment or not.
“I'm a self-improvement guru. That's all.” Vale said, with a narrowed corner glance.
At that point, the barkeep returned with their drinks, and Vale immediately started to sip his when another question came into his mind. “Is there a Black Joker?” Isamu asked, referring to Vale's own ace alias.
Vale put down his drink and smirked. “Yeah, that's what the Black Russian turned into. Bitter as hell though, I hate it.”
“Well isn't that fucking ironic?” spoke a new voice from the side.
Both Isamu and Vale looked over to see Thomas Kurtz sitting one row down, who just started drinking some kind of martini. He put it back down when he finished it entirely and stared at the other two with great disdain. “And here I was hoping to avoid you idiots. It only figures…”
“Nice to see you to Thomas.” Isamu shot back.
“And what do we owe to the occasion?” Vale asked.
“Well for one thing, your soon-to-be arrest. It looks like we're not alone.” Thomas gestured toward the doorway.
Out of the corner of their eyes, both Vale and Isamu could see what looked like seven Earth Alliance soldiers walk through the doorway, all wielding sub-machineguns, moving toward them through the crowd of people. The two soon realized that these were most likely the people following them in that black van. “Vale...” Isamu muttered.
“I know, I know.” The mobile suit pilot replied.
Sometime, the barkeep had returned with their drinks, and had also taken notice of the group marching toward his customers. The same thing with a few of the patrons, especially those around the bar, and they all held a general look of disgust.
And at that point, the group split with six of the soldiers assuming a perimeter around the bar while the leader, who bared the rank patching of a Lieutenant, walked over to where Vale and Isamu were sitting, a taunting smile sketched across his face. “Well, Well, Commander Hunter I presume.” He spoke as Vale had just begun to sip his drink.
Vale nearly barfed up the alcohol. I'm out of the fucking military already, stop using rank! He leered from the corner of his eye to the man. “Can I help you Lieutenant?”
“You can, actually. My orders are to apprehend the deserter Vale Hunter quietly, so if you would just come with us without any trouble, I would be most appreciative.” The Lieutenant said in that snide/intimidating voice that made people shrill.
Isamu himself didn't like that tone. It was like a poor `gestopoed' version of Vale's sarcasm. “What if he doesn't want to go quietly? You going to shoot up this place?”
“Ah yes…” the Lieutenant flashed a knowing grin to Isamu. “That is a fair assessment, young Isamu Yuna Kotetsu, former computer programmer of Orb's Morgenroete, Inc.” he looked over at Thomas. “And you must be Lieutenant Thomas Kurtz, late of the 301st Mobile Assault Company.” Thomas just flashed the man a finger.
The Lieutenant smirked and turned back to Vale. “Anyway, yes, I may just order my men to open fire on the rest of this slag pit if you don't cooperate, but I prefer not to waste good ammunition on these southern wetbacks. Now please, Commander…” he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Be a good boy and slip these on for good size.”
Vale arched an eyebrow. Somebody obviously knew what they were doing, because as far as Alliance records were supposed to concern, Isamu Yuna Kotetsu was either supposed to be dead or still under Morgenroete's employ. Much more, the man recognized Isamu immediately, even when Isamu had gone to great lengths in the past to erase any photos or images of him from Alliance records. This needed more looking into. “Nah, not interested. In fact, I have a better idea.”
With the well-above-average reflexes that only a mobile suit pilot possessed, Vale reached out and grabbed the Lieutenant's face by then neck and tightened his grip. The Lieutenant immediately gasped in shock at the renegade's great strength, and was even more surprised when Vale slammed his face onto the bar counter, with enough force to actually dent it. He struggled to escape the man's grip, but he might as well be trying to escape a metal vice.
“Shoot him!” he screamed out to his men, which was followed by collective sound of sub-machineguns being cocking.
This again, was stopped when to the Alliance soldiers' surprise, the barkeep had brandished an antique Remington 870 SWAT-styled shotgun and pressed it against the Lieutenant's head. The soldiers all stopped their attack.
“This has nothing to do with you. Be smart and keep it that way.” The Lieutenant spat, obvious hate filling his voice.
The barkeep laughed. “Oh, on the contrary, you brought a mob into my bar, so it has everything to do with me. And besides, in New Orleans, we don't take too kindly to you military types…” on that note, several of the bouncers and patrons themselves brandished guns of different types and aimed them all at the soldiers. The Alliance personnel all dropped their weapons almost immediately.
In the middle of all this, Vale had just finished his drink in one big shot while keeping the Lieutenant's head pinned to the counter. Usually, it was considered unhealthy and taboo to drink a cocktail like that, mainly because it was something one was supposed to savor, but Vale didn't have time for that. He now had something more important at hand. “Now, if you'd be so kind, Lieutenant, my associates and I have a few questions to ask…”
-------------------------------
Isamu had to admit, it was really funny to see the obnoxious and now hand-cuffed Lieutenant struggling for breath as his head had been forced into a toilet seat, with Thomas holding his head in like that. It just seemed fitting for the wise-ass, getting his face pushed into water that was used to wash human excretion, even if there wasn't any in the toilet right now. Who knew what kind of chemicals were in there anyway.
With a hard yank, Thomas brought the drenched and gasping Lieutenant out of the toilet. “Now, are you going to tell us what we want to know, douche-bag? Or do you want to taste more shit?” Thomas growled at the Lieutenant.
“Lieutenant Breen… Andrew… EAS Arleigh Burke… Serial numb…” the Lieutenant spoke in between gasps. That's as far as he got before Thomas shoved his face back in the toilet. “I really, REALLY hate these straight laced military types.”
“Thomas, he's a trained soldier and an officer. I really doubt shoving his face into a toilet will persuade him. As much as I like watching.” Isamu said.
“We don't exactly have a pair of rusty pliers and a blow torch, so what the hell are we supposed to do with him!?” Thomas grunted, a little frustrated at not being able to break the guy. “I say we shove his face into some broken glass…”
“I have a better idea. One that will most definitely work.” Vale, who had been leaning against the side of the room. “Take him out, drop his pants and seat him on the toilet.”
Both Thomas and Isamu twisted with expressions that said `are you out of your fucking mind' on them. Vale laughed at those expressions. “No, I didn't turn into a homosexual. Keep his underwear on.”
“Fag.” Thomas shot at Vale as he yanked Lieutenant Breen's head out of the toilet again, then picked him up and made him sit down on the seat. As the Lieutenant was dazed, he moved quickly, undid the uniform pants and slid them to his knees, avoiding any sight of the man's groin. “Now what, Commander?” Thomas demanded snidely.
“Don't start with me.” Vale warned, as he drew his combat knife and made his way to the stall.
When Isamu realized what Vale was about to do, his eyes widened and he stifled a laugh, having remembered how that technique worked from a movie. Thomas also recognized it, and this time he had a look of shock and a little bit of fear on his face. Even he didn't think the ace pilot would go that far.
Vale made his way into the stall as Thomas moved out, placed his knife on the toilet paper dispenser and then produced the key to the handcuffs. Still dazed, the Lieutenant could barely make out the rogue mobile suit pilot he was sent to hunt down and bring back to Alliance control uncuff him for a moment, run the chain around the toilet piping and then recuff, basically bounding Breen. “Comfortable?” he asked the Lieutenant.
“What… are you going to do…?” the Lieutenant let off, a little confused and still dazed.
“Why, I'm going to cut off your balls.” Vale explained casually, picking up the knife again.
The Lieutenant's eyes widened in surprise and he impulsively attempted to reach with his hands and escape, but he was bound to the toilet. So, he moved his legs up and covered his groin area as he tried to struggle free. “You wouldn't…!” he started to call out.
“Here's the deal…” Vale started, smiling at the sight of the struggling man. “If you don't answer the questions asked, I'll cut off them off. Then we'll send one of them to Washington here in the Atlantic, and then we'll have a contact take the other one to Beijing in the Republic of East Asia. In other words, on the fucking opposite side of the planet.”
“…no…” Breen murmured in horror.
“Now imagine your life without having prizes with your cash and think for a minute. Why is your silence so important that you'd sacrifice your genitalia? We already know you were out to arrest me, but on whose orders are we talking about?” Vale asked. “Whoever he is, he must be one scary guy.”
“I… I don't know who exactly…” Breen started. “We originally just came to this place for some leave… Since New Orleans was outside of Alliance control, we thought we'd just have a night of living outside regulations…”
“Then somebody magically caught wind of us being here and sent you jackboots out?” Isamu asked. It was so cliché, it wasn't funny.
“Yes, exactly. Somebody contacted Captain Mires and gave him information on Commander Hunter's presence here, as well as direct orders to arrest him. I don't remember his face, but he didn't look like a regular EAF officer.” Breen said. “I remember the uniform though: it was gray, and had a cape attachment, like the one the Phantom Pain wore before he defected.” Breen explained, referring to the infamous masked Colonel Neo Lorrnoke of the 81st Autonomous Assault Battalion.
Gray uniform? You mean that wasn't just some custom type Lorrnoke wore? “Did you catch his name…?” Vale asked.
“He… he referred to himself as…” Breen said hesitantly. “Captain Osis…”
The mention of those two words caused Vale's expression break, and his face turn into one of pure rage. “What did you say-?” he seemed to growl as he leered the Lieutenant.
“I'm telling you what I heard. He called himself Captain Osis…”
Vale didn't care about the man's explanation. Whatever those two words meant, it angered him to a degree that neither Thomas nor Isamu had seen before. In fact, it was so much, that he slammed the knife into the man's left leg then started to cut down. Breen shrieked as he felt the knife tear a fresh cut into his leg, blood pouring out. “I swear to God, it's the truth!!” Breen cried.
“Vale, stop it!” Isamu yelled, going over to him and reaching toward his shoulder. On instinct, Vale twisted around and shot his gaze at Isamu, and in one of the few times the coordinator prodigy had seen, Vale's usual carefree and fun-loving expression had turned almost to a maniacal level. He could literally feel the rage and fury from Vale was generating, and it took all of Isamu's willpower not to draw his Beretta.
Thomas himself saw it and felt the same thing, but unlike Isamu, he wasn't going to let the bastard go into a killing spree if he didn't get it under control. He brought his hand to his own handgun, and waited for the mobile suit pilot to try something.
After a moment of looking at either of his comrades and their shocked expressions, Vale calmed himself down by taking in deep breaths. His look of rage turned into exhaustion and hesitation, but it was enough to tell Isamu and Thomas it was safe now. He looked back at the sobbing Breen, the knife still sticking into his leg.
“Let me tell you something, little man.” Vale said, grabbing the knife. With a sudden pull, he ripped the knife out of the man's leg, who shrieked as a result. “Don't buy everything you hear, especially from people in uniforms like that. Lincoln Osis is dead, KIA during Jachin Due, just like Captain Sutherland and Azrael Murata. Not only that, but he was an Admiral, not a Captain. But to the benefit of the doubt, it may just be an alias that gray uniformed was using, but if you ever come after me again with those orders, I swear to GOD I will kill you next time! And rest assured, it won't be a slow death.” Vale threatened. He produced the key again and unlocked the handcuffs, then walked out of the stall. “Now get the fuck out of here.” he said.
Breen did as he was told, rushing out of the bathroom while pulling pants up. Isamu moved to the side to let the guy go into a mad dash, then he looked at Vale with utmost concern. “What was that all about?”
“What do you mean?” Vale asked off-handed as he cleaned his knife with toilet paper.
“You get threatened to be arrested, and now you lose your cool?” Isamu inquired.
“Who the hell is this Osis guy anyway?” Thomas let out.
Vale gave him a dirty look that told him `watch it', and Thomas held his hands up in surrender. Vale then turned back and seethed his knife. “Admiral Lincoln Osis was the patriarch of the Atlantic Federation's Osis family, and as such, one of the higher leaders in the Alliance chain of command. When the fight went back into outer space, he took command of the 2nd Combined Fleet out of Ptolemaeus. Died during Jachin Due, killed by Raw Le Creuset and the Providence.”
“And what does that have to do with you…?” Thomas again asked.
“That, mein freud, I will not say.” Vale replied. He let out a small sigh as he turned around. “Now, I think I've had enough for one night ladies and gents.” He said, some of his composure returning. He looked at either Thomas and Isamu. “Shall we return to the ship?”
With a hard yank, Thomas brought the drenched and gasping Lieutenant out of the toilet. “Now, are you going to tell us what we want to know, douche-bag? Or do you want to taste more shit?” Thomas growled at the Lieutenant.
“Lieutenant Breen… Andrew… EAS Arleigh Burke… Serial numb…” the Lieutenant spoke in between gasps. That's as far as he got before Thomas shoved his face back in the toilet. “I really, REALLY hate these straight laced military types.”
“Thomas, he's a trained soldier and an officer. I really doubt shoving his face into a toilet will persuade him. As much as I like watching.” Isamu said.
“We don't exactly have a pair of rusty pliers and a blow torch, so what the hell are we supposed to do with him!?” Thomas grunted, a little frustrated at not being able to break the guy. “I say we shove his face into some broken glass…”
“I have a better idea. One that will most definitely work.” Vale, who had been leaning against the side of the room. “Take him out, drop his pants and seat him on the toilet.”
Both Thomas and Isamu twisted with expressions that said `are you out of your fucking mind' on them. Vale laughed at those expressions. “No, I didn't turn into a homosexual. Keep his underwear on.”
“Fag.” Thomas shot at Vale as he yanked Lieutenant Breen's head out of the toilet again, then picked him up and made him sit down on the seat. As the Lieutenant was dazed, he moved quickly, undid the uniform pants and slid them to his knees, avoiding any sight of the man's groin. “Now what, Commander?” Thomas demanded snidely.
“Don't start with me.” Vale warned, as he drew his combat knife and made his way to the stall.
When Isamu realized what Vale was about to do, his eyes widened and he stifled a laugh, having remembered how that technique worked from a movie. Thomas also recognized it, and this time he had a look of shock and a little bit of fear on his face. Even he didn't think the ace pilot would go that far.
Vale made his way into the stall as Thomas moved out, placed his knife on the toilet paper dispenser and then produced the key to the handcuffs. Still dazed, the Lieutenant could barely make out the rogue mobile suit pilot he was sent to hunt down and bring back to Alliance control uncuff him for a moment, run the chain around the toilet piping and then recuff, basically bounding Breen. “Comfortable?” he asked the Lieutenant.
“What… are you going to do…?” the Lieutenant let off, a little confused and still dazed.
“Why, I'm going to cut off your balls.” Vale explained casually, picking up the knife again.
The Lieutenant's eyes widened in surprise and he impulsively attempted to reach with his hands and escape, but he was bound to the toilet. So, he moved his legs up and covered his groin area as he tried to struggle free. “You wouldn't…!” he started to call out.
“Here's the deal…” Vale started, smiling at the sight of the struggling man. “If you don't answer the questions asked, I'll cut off them off. Then we'll send one of them to Washington here in the Atlantic, and then we'll have a contact take the other one to Beijing in the Republic of East Asia. In other words, on the fucking opposite side of the planet.”
“…no…” Breen murmured in horror.
“Now imagine your life without having prizes with your cash and think for a minute. Why is your silence so important that you'd sacrifice your genitalia? We already know you were out to arrest me, but on whose orders are we talking about?” Vale asked. “Whoever he is, he must be one scary guy.”
“I… I don't know who exactly…” Breen started. “We originally just came to this place for some leave… Since New Orleans was outside of Alliance control, we thought we'd just have a night of living outside regulations…”
“Then somebody magically caught wind of us being here and sent you jackboots out?” Isamu asked. It was so cliché, it wasn't funny.
“Yes, exactly. Somebody contacted Captain Mires and gave him information on Commander Hunter's presence here, as well as direct orders to arrest him. I don't remember his face, but he didn't look like a regular EAF officer.” Breen said. “I remember the uniform though: it was gray, and had a cape attachment, like the one the Phantom Pain wore before he defected.” Breen explained, referring to the infamous masked Colonel Neo Lorrnoke of the 81st Autonomous Assault Battalion.
Gray uniform? You mean that wasn't just some custom type Lorrnoke wore? “Did you catch his name…?” Vale asked.
“He… he referred to himself as…” Breen said hesitantly. “Captain Osis…”
The mention of those two words caused Vale's expression break, and his face turn into one of pure rage. “What did you say-?” he seemed to growl as he leered the Lieutenant.
“I'm telling you what I heard. He called himself Captain Osis…”
Vale didn't care about the man's explanation. Whatever those two words meant, it angered him to a degree that neither Thomas nor Isamu had seen before. In fact, it was so much, that he slammed the knife into the man's left leg then started to cut down. Breen shrieked as he felt the knife tear a fresh cut into his leg, blood pouring out. “I swear to God, it's the truth!!” Breen cried.
“Vale, stop it!” Isamu yelled, going over to him and reaching toward his shoulder. On instinct, Vale twisted around and shot his gaze at Isamu, and in one of the few times the coordinator prodigy had seen, Vale's usual carefree and fun-loving expression had turned almost to a maniacal level. He could literally feel the rage and fury from Vale was generating, and it took all of Isamu's willpower not to draw his Beretta.
Thomas himself saw it and felt the same thing, but unlike Isamu, he wasn't going to let the bastard go into a killing spree if he didn't get it under control. He brought his hand to his own handgun, and waited for the mobile suit pilot to try something.
After a moment of looking at either of his comrades and their shocked expressions, Vale calmed himself down by taking in deep breaths. His look of rage turned into exhaustion and hesitation, but it was enough to tell Isamu and Thomas it was safe now. He looked back at the sobbing Breen, the knife still sticking into his leg.
“Let me tell you something, little man.” Vale said, grabbing the knife. With a sudden pull, he ripped the knife out of the man's leg, who shrieked as a result. “Don't buy everything you hear, especially from people in uniforms like that. Lincoln Osis is dead, KIA during Jachin Due, just like Captain Sutherland and Azrael Murata. Not only that, but he was an Admiral, not a Captain. But to the benefit of the doubt, it may just be an alias that gray uniformed was using, but if you ever come after me again with those orders, I swear to GOD I will kill you next time! And rest assured, it won't be a slow death.” Vale threatened. He produced the key again and unlocked the handcuffs, then walked out of the stall. “Now get the fuck out of here.” he said.
Breen did as he was told, rushing out of the bathroom while pulling pants up. Isamu moved to the side to let the guy go into a mad dash, then he looked at Vale with utmost concern. “What was that all about?”
“What do you mean?” Vale asked off-handed as he cleaned his knife with toilet paper.
“You get threatened to be arrested, and now you lose your cool?” Isamu inquired.
“Who the hell is this Osis guy anyway?” Thomas let out.
Vale gave him a dirty look that told him `watch it', and Thomas held his hands up in surrender. Vale then turned back and seethed his knife. “Admiral Lincoln Osis was the patriarch of the Atlantic Federation's Osis family, and as such, one of the higher leaders in the Alliance chain of command. When the fight went back into outer space, he took command of the 2nd Combined Fleet out of Ptolemaeus. Died during Jachin Due, killed by Raw Le Creuset and the Providence.”
“And what does that have to do with you…?” Thomas again asked.
“That, mein freud, I will not say.” Vale replied. He let out a small sigh as he turned around. “Now, I think I've had enough for one night ladies and gents.” He said, some of his composure returning. He looked at either Thomas and Isamu. “Shall we return to the ship?”
-------------------------------
From his office on his new flagship, the Tawara-class assault carrier Halsey, Rear Admiral Richard Larson watched as the bright lights on the horizon. He couldn't confirm it, but his intuition and some tip off told him that this was where `John Silver' had docked his Rommel. It was fairly obvious of a place to hide, but then again, rats like Cunningham always preferred to be in groups of their own kind instead of working alone. That thought made Larson sneer at the city.
It had taken a lengthy argument with the higher ups before they allowed him to continue pursuit of the renegade Friedrich Wilhelm Cunningham and crew, but Larson was not about to give up his hunt. Even though `John' was not particularly viewed as a threat to the Atlantic Federation or the Earth Alliance, Larson argued that `Blitzkrieg' Cunningham had been a notorious strategist and commander during the first war, and if he chose, he could easily organize an army of his own together to fight the Alliance. He already had three former Atlantic aces under his command - Ed the Ripper, White Whale and Black Joker - as well as other former military specialists and personnel.
The main reason why High Command was hesitant to send Larson back out against `John Silver' was actually due to his defeat off of Catalina. In total, he had lost thirteen ships, including Larson's original flagship O'Bannon and the Hunley-class attack submarine Kern, well over a battalion's worth of mobile suits and one of the few Zamza-Zah mobile armors left in the Atlantic Federation's possession, all in an obsessive manhunt against a modified Lesseps-class and six to seven mobile suits total. While Larson's critics thought this was all due to his tactical incompetence, this only proved just how venerable Silver's little Vulture force was.
So here he was again, about to face off with his nemesis. But this time, Larson had a trump card up his sleeve, even if it was a card he had been unwilling to pull. Not so much because of a last resort, but because it was something that humiliated him on the inside for having to do.
Then he stopped in his thoughts and turned back to face the people that were sitting across. “So you see…” he continued from his explanation. “For your services in bringing down this criminal, the Atlantic Federation is willing to pay a good share of money, as well as some leniency towards your group in future endeavors.”
There were five other people in the room: a brown haired well built man with yellow shaded glasses and a tan-skinned and dark haired woman sitting down in front of the desk, both dressed in variations of the Earth Alliance uniform; a very bulky and bearded man, also wearing an Earth Alliance uniform, helping himself to the Admiral's bourbon collection; a younger looking, silver haired man dressed in a ZAFT uniform leaning against the corridor; and a young brown haired girl dressed in a vest, blue shirt and khaki shorts sitting cross-legged on the carpeted portion of the floor, playing a handheld game while listening.
The man with the yellow shades was currently looking through a file which contained Cunningham's profile, as well as information on the crew and like. “Let me see if I understand.” The man said in a laid back monotone. “You want us to disrupt the Vulture meeting and either capture or kill this man and his associates?”
“Yes, as I said before, John… er, I mean General Cunningham has proven himself to be a threat of security to the Federation and the Earth Alliance, and he must be taken down. Although we do not know what he's planning in this meeting, your best chance is to kill him before he can act on it.”
Larson continued. “According to sources outside of our own, Cunningham will be conducting the meeting with other Vulture leaders at the Grand Shirio casino, photo here…” He handed a picture of the casino building to the man. “…in three days time. Now, we do not know who else will be at this meeting, but Cunningham alone possesses the Lesseps-class battleship Rommel and at least six mobile suits under his command, even after he has dispersed his forces.
“Three of them are confirmed modified Windam types, and two others are the Sword Calamity belonging to Ed the Ripper, and the White Whale's Forbidden Blue. The sixth unit has not been confirmed, although we believe it's some aerial combat type mobile suit, since that fits the Black Joker's profile. Expect anything from a Murasame to a Raider type.”
“And we can't forget those potential threats.” Said the bearded man, as he took a swig of bourbon. “Ah, great stuff. You sure have some great booze Admiral!”
“I'm glad I can accommodate.” Larson scowled as the man took another swig, annoyed that a mercenary of all people was taking his alcohol.
“So we have a battleship and approximately six mobile suits at least, with three units being ace class.” The man in the ZAFT uniform added together. “Not that we haven't fought against odds like that before, but this will be very difficult. This isn't going to be a set price, is it?”
“No, price is still negotiable. Do not be mistaken, I wouldn't have called on your services if this weren't beyond my own power.” Larson admitted, his gut tightening on itself as he said that. “So, will you accept this assignment, Mr. Murakumo?”
Gai Murakumo, the infamous mercenary commander and pilot of Gundam Astray Blue Frame, looked at the Admiral and narrowed his eyes. “As long as we are paid for this, we will take any assignment. That has always been Serpent Tail's creed.”
“Although this will be challenging. We only have three days to come up with a good strategy Gai.” The tanned skin woman sitting next to him pointed out.
“Three days is more than enough Loretta! In fact, it'll be a lot easier than hunting them down.” The bearded man responded.
Loretta Aja, the reputed demolitions expert and tactician, gave the man a side glance. “But we have so many variables to consider in Reed. This isn't just going to be a simple hit and run mission.”
Reed Miller, former intelligence operative of the Earth Alliance, just gave Loretta a reassuring grin and wink. “Of course there are going to be variables, but we've done shit ten times harder than this before! Right Elijah?” he asked the man in the ZAFT uniform.
Elijah Kiel, the second mobile suit pilot besides Gai and ace from the Eleven Week War, nodded at Reed's assessment. “Yeah, I can't argue against that. And it's a nice change from hunting down the usual pirates like we've been doing for the past two years now.”
Kazahana Aja, the liaison of the group, child prodigy and (adopted?) coordinator daughter of Loretta, looked up and smiled. “Something exciting for once.” She exclaimed. “I say we give it a shot.”
Gai agreed nodded at the others. “Then that settles it. Serpent Tail will take this assignment.”
And with that, Larson's grin increased several inches. I've got you now, John Silver.
It had taken a lengthy argument with the higher ups before they allowed him to continue pursuit of the renegade Friedrich Wilhelm Cunningham and crew, but Larson was not about to give up his hunt. Even though `John' was not particularly viewed as a threat to the Atlantic Federation or the Earth Alliance, Larson argued that `Blitzkrieg' Cunningham had been a notorious strategist and commander during the first war, and if he chose, he could easily organize an army of his own together to fight the Alliance. He already had three former Atlantic aces under his command - Ed the Ripper, White Whale and Black Joker - as well as other former military specialists and personnel.
The main reason why High Command was hesitant to send Larson back out against `John Silver' was actually due to his defeat off of Catalina. In total, he had lost thirteen ships, including Larson's original flagship O'Bannon and the Hunley-class attack submarine Kern, well over a battalion's worth of mobile suits and one of the few Zamza-Zah mobile armors left in the Atlantic Federation's possession, all in an obsessive manhunt against a modified Lesseps-class and six to seven mobile suits total. While Larson's critics thought this was all due to his tactical incompetence, this only proved just how venerable Silver's little Vulture force was.
So here he was again, about to face off with his nemesis. But this time, Larson had a trump card up his sleeve, even if it was a card he had been unwilling to pull. Not so much because of a last resort, but because it was something that humiliated him on the inside for having to do.
Then he stopped in his thoughts and turned back to face the people that were sitting across. “So you see…” he continued from his explanation. “For your services in bringing down this criminal, the Atlantic Federation is willing to pay a good share of money, as well as some leniency towards your group in future endeavors.”
There were five other people in the room: a brown haired well built man with yellow shaded glasses and a tan-skinned and dark haired woman sitting down in front of the desk, both dressed in variations of the Earth Alliance uniform; a very bulky and bearded man, also wearing an Earth Alliance uniform, helping himself to the Admiral's bourbon collection; a younger looking, silver haired man dressed in a ZAFT uniform leaning against the corridor; and a young brown haired girl dressed in a vest, blue shirt and khaki shorts sitting cross-legged on the carpeted portion of the floor, playing a handheld game while listening.
The man with the yellow shades was currently looking through a file which contained Cunningham's profile, as well as information on the crew and like. “Let me see if I understand.” The man said in a laid back monotone. “You want us to disrupt the Vulture meeting and either capture or kill this man and his associates?”
“Yes, as I said before, John… er, I mean General Cunningham has proven himself to be a threat of security to the Federation and the Earth Alliance, and he must be taken down. Although we do not know what he's planning in this meeting, your best chance is to kill him before he can act on it.”
Larson continued. “According to sources outside of our own, Cunningham will be conducting the meeting with other Vulture leaders at the Grand Shirio casino, photo here…” He handed a picture of the casino building to the man. “…in three days time. Now, we do not know who else will be at this meeting, but Cunningham alone possesses the Lesseps-class battleship Rommel and at least six mobile suits under his command, even after he has dispersed his forces.
“Three of them are confirmed modified Windam types, and two others are the Sword Calamity belonging to Ed the Ripper, and the White Whale's Forbidden Blue. The sixth unit has not been confirmed, although we believe it's some aerial combat type mobile suit, since that fits the Black Joker's profile. Expect anything from a Murasame to a Raider type.”
“And we can't forget those potential threats.” Said the bearded man, as he took a swig of bourbon. “Ah, great stuff. You sure have some great booze Admiral!”
“I'm glad I can accommodate.” Larson scowled as the man took another swig, annoyed that a mercenary of all people was taking his alcohol.
“So we have a battleship and approximately six mobile suits at least, with three units being ace class.” The man in the ZAFT uniform added together. “Not that we haven't fought against odds like that before, but this will be very difficult. This isn't going to be a set price, is it?”
“No, price is still negotiable. Do not be mistaken, I wouldn't have called on your services if this weren't beyond my own power.” Larson admitted, his gut tightening on itself as he said that. “So, will you accept this assignment, Mr. Murakumo?”
Gai Murakumo, the infamous mercenary commander and pilot of Gundam Astray Blue Frame, looked at the Admiral and narrowed his eyes. “As long as we are paid for this, we will take any assignment. That has always been Serpent Tail's creed.”
“Although this will be challenging. We only have three days to come up with a good strategy Gai.” The tanned skin woman sitting next to him pointed out.
“Three days is more than enough Loretta! In fact, it'll be a lot easier than hunting them down.” The bearded man responded.
Loretta Aja, the reputed demolitions expert and tactician, gave the man a side glance. “But we have so many variables to consider in Reed. This isn't just going to be a simple hit and run mission.”
Reed Miller, former intelligence operative of the Earth Alliance, just gave Loretta a reassuring grin and wink. “Of course there are going to be variables, but we've done shit ten times harder than this before! Right Elijah?” he asked the man in the ZAFT uniform.
Elijah Kiel, the second mobile suit pilot besides Gai and ace from the Eleven Week War, nodded at Reed's assessment. “Yeah, I can't argue against that. And it's a nice change from hunting down the usual pirates like we've been doing for the past two years now.”
Kazahana Aja, the liaison of the group, child prodigy and (adopted?) coordinator daughter of Loretta, looked up and smiled. “Something exciting for once.” She exclaimed. “I say we give it a shot.”
Gai agreed nodded at the others. “Then that settles it. Serpent Tail will take this assignment.”
And with that, Larson's grin increased several inches. I've got you now, John Silver.
-------------------------------
TO BE CONTINUED…
A/N: So begins the New Orleans arc. Besides starting the move to the main plot, this chapter was put in to establish the setting and add some character development at the same time. Not to mention get Serpent Tail into the mix.
This is all based on my week long vacation to New Orleans back in April 2005, right before Hurricane Katrina came. In my personal experience, I don't think I've ever had so much fun while scared shitless in my life, and while going around the city, I just knew it'd make a great setting for my SEED story.
Also, in the period between putting up the chapters, I changed some names around some. Justeen Nicolo is now Isamu Yuna Kotetsu, highlighting on his Orb heritage, and Sanosuke Tosen got turned into Thomas Kurtz. Yes, he's named after the MSV turncoat ace from the original series. I just thought it strange for someone of Japanese origin to be working for the Atlantic Federation rather than the Republic of East Asia, y'know?
And finally, Happy New Years!
This is all based on my week long vacation to New Orleans back in April 2005, right before Hurricane Katrina came. In my personal experience, I don't think I've ever had so much fun while scared shitless in my life, and while going around the city, I just knew it'd make a great setting for my SEED story.
Also, in the period between putting up the chapters, I changed some names around some. Justeen Nicolo is now Isamu Yuna Kotetsu, highlighting on his Orb heritage, and Sanosuke Tosen got turned into Thomas Kurtz. Yes, he's named after the MSV turncoat ace from the original series. I just thought it strange for someone of Japanese origin to be working for the Atlantic Federation rather than the Republic of East Asia, y'know?
And finally, Happy New Years!