Disclaimer: I do not own Vandread.

A/N: This is just the prologue, and it's kind of short. It doesn't have any Vandread characters in it, but it does have significance, later in the story. Further explanation and familiar characters to follow in the first chapter.

Additional A/N: This is a rewrite, but I tried to stay within the boundaries of the original. This is partly why it took so long to update. The other part was my inability to come up with content at the time. I apologize for the wait.

The Perfect Weapon

Prologue: Last Stand

Location: Last Remnants of the Confederate Fleet, Final Confederate Defense Line. Two Years Ago.

This was his last stand… His final battle…

He was one of the last group of Confed survivors who were about to make their final stand against this faceless enemy that had attacked without warning or provocation. They had wiped out everything in their path, which included most of the Confederate fleet, as well as the several worlds that belonged to the Confed. In a series of violent, hopeless battles, the Confederate forces were annihilated by this faceless enemy, which seemed to be limitless in number. As it stood, less than a fourth of the total fleet was left.

In the humid confines of his cockpit, he was waiting for the enemy's final push. His humanoid machine, which was one of the most advanced weapons available to the Confederacy, yet it was unable to prevent this enemy from pretty much wiping the Confed out of existence. He couldn't hope to stand up to them for very long. Not that he was expecting to. He knew he was going to die in this fight, so it mattered little to him. From the very beginning of his training, he knew there was a high possibility of death.

He checked over the status of his machine. There was hardly any time to repair his mecha, and as a result, replacement armor plates had been welded over the gaps in the armor. For internal repairs, even less time, as they often required taking the apart the damaged area and replacing it. The wiring in his mech's left arm hadn't been fixed, giving that limb a slight movement problem. He was down to his last few clips of ammo, and the missile racks mounted to his machine were long since empty. That left him with little to fight with, but he'd had worse.

All of a sudden, the large blocky form of a Confederate ship collapsed in on itself, exploding a few seconds later. The shockwave could be felt, even though he was quite a distance away. He stood there, positioned on the dead hulk of a similar vessel, waiting for the chance to make his last stand. They had already taken too much from him, and they were going to pay for it. Cocking the anti-armor cannon slung underneath the rifle, he took aim at one of the awkwardly shaped cube carriers. As soon as it entered optimal range, he fired.

The heavy, high-velocity slug slammed into the carrier, and a split second later, it expanded, then exploded. The shell was designed to penetrate a target, then explode, dealing crippling if not fatal damage. He had no time to take any satisfaction in his kill, as several cube-type units; the minor grunt units, surrounded him, but were still a fair distance away. He locked his face into a grim mask, and fired the machine's autocannon, which was in the shape of a rifle, for flexibility purposes. He used short bursts, taking out several of the enemy before he ran out of ammo.

Cursing under his breath, he ejected the weapon's magazine, letting it float away from his machine. He grabbed the last magazine from the armored skirt of his machine, and slammed it home into the weapon. By now, they were too close to use precision fire, so he held down on the trigger, sending a lethal spray of metal into the path of the cubes, tearing them apart. After a few seconds, he realized the gun quit firing. Glancing at the status of the weapon, he noticed it was jammed.

"Shit!" he spat as he threw the useless gun away. He manipulated the controls for the mech's right arm, to grab the sword from its position on the machine's backpack unit. Activating his thrusters, he moved his machine clear of the wreck, moving to engage the enemy at a more personal distance. Using the weapon designed to cut through hardened metal and armor, he sliced through the first two that got in his way. He ignored the corresponding damage he received from the ones that got behind him. He swung the sword to his right, moving along with the blade and cut through one the close to his rear.

"Is that all you've got, you bastards!" he yelled as he impaled another on his sword, kicking his thrusters into full gear, slamming into a hunk of debris, crushing it with enough force to shove the shattered piece of debris into another cube carrier. By now, the cube types realized that he was a threat. It took a few seconds to free his sword, but once he did that attacked another one. But the blow never connected, and he felt a hammer force slam into his machine. The unseen attack severed the machine's right arm, taking the sword with it.

Recovering quickly, he screamed his inarticulate rage, and slammed the machine's left fist into the one the collided with him from the front. He tried to move the arm, but the wiring shorted out, rendering the limb completely useless. Another blast destroyed his backpack, taking his primary thrusters out of action. He was thrown forward, hitting his head on the control panel. The restraint harness and his helmet were the only things that kept him from splattering his brains all over the cockpit. As it stood, his helmet had a huge dent in it, and it left him with a headache. A second blast came just as quickly, tearing off one his machine's legs. Another shot removed the head.

Without warning, something in his cockpit exploded, engulfing his entire right side with an intense, burning pain. His helmet's visor shattered, cutting his face, and slashing into his right eye. It took him only a few seconds to realize that he'd been badly burned, and he probably had just lost his right eye. His machine had lost all of it visual and sensor systems, and was also crippled. He knew the machine had almost no fighting strength left to its name. Even so, he knew his machine still had one offensive system left to it.

Seeing as how he could barely move his right arm due to the intense pain, he used his left to grab hold of what appeared to be an ejection handle. Once he was sure he got a firm grip, he pulled on it with his remaining strength, and a countdown showed up on one of the few screens that still worked. He was starting to lose consciousness, and the sight in his remaining eye was starting to fade in and out. He leaned back in his seat, ready to accept what was going to happen next.

"Looks like I'll be with you soon enough…" were the only words he said before his world faded into darkness.

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Yeah, I'm rewriting this thing, and I plan on updated more frequently. Let me know what you think.