Nowhere to Run

By Ulquiorra9000 and RougeBaron

A/N: This story is a role-playing collaboration of Ulquiorra9000 and RougeBaron. Jeremy, Mickey, and the other Solaris Mechwarriors flee Solaris and join Prodigy Lance 10 to launch a coordinate strike against Hellgar II, a major Blake world where the local Blake forces are coming from. Meras Nimare, the current mastermind of the Clans, has other plans in store for them. Includes characters from Rubber Match and MECHWARRIOR: The Prodigy.

Also, take note that this story is presented in anime style. Flaming and/or rude comments in reviews will not benefit the readers in any way, so pleas refrain from them. Objective and open-minded feedback is best, to help both authors improve.

BattleTech/MechWarrior and all its components are copyright of FASA, Wizkids, Activision, and Microsoft.

MECHWARRIOR: the Prodigy and all its components are copyright of Ulquiorra9000.

Rubber Match and all its components are copyright of RogueBaron.

All rights reserved

Prologue: The Assassin and the Hatred, by Ulquiorra9000

Planet Peak Eighty, Clan Space (year: 3068)

The fiery, descending sun was sinking below the horizon, its orange and red light seeming to set the entire world on fire in its presence. This was nothing more than an illusion, as the windswept wasteland of Peak Eighty was nothing but frigid mountains and valleys, a desolate ball of rock with only hardy lichens and microscopic life calling it home. Tall, jagged peaks thrust themselves high into the thin, cold air, like silent giants watching over their domain as blizzards and storms raged between their peaks, nothing moving except the fierce gales of white snow and ice.

High above, in the reddish sky, a mammoth battleship drifted along, its hard-edged and gray shape contrasting with the natural scenery below. Its engines glowed ember-red, not unlike the air it occupied, its Clan Steel Viper insignia clear on its hull. The ship's belly opened as a pair of hangar doors folded open, allowing a single one-man transport shuttle to drop out of the battleship and roar off, angling downward at the forbidding terrain.

"Lord Khan Romenicus, he is here," one of the planet's boss's men reported as soon as a radar blip appeared on his screen. He and many other uniformed men occupied a large, square room deep inside the one and only man-made structure here on Peak Eighty, a massive compound run run by one of the top Mechwarriors of the Clans, a young man feared as The Relentless.

Theodore Romenicus, despite being a boy of only seventeen years, slid his hands into his black trench coat's pockets as he approached the speaker, his dull red eyes alighting in interest. "I presume you mean Shuran, quiaff?" he asked, his voice smooth and emotionless. His hair, as white as the snow outside, fell around his ears.

"Aff, sir, it is him. Right on time. His ship sent the proper identification codes," the man reported, saluting. "He will be here in a matter of minutes."

"Good. Prepare the northeast hangar for one transport shuttle," Theodore ordered, turning away and starting toward the door. "I will personally greet him there. He is rather impatient, you see." Around Theodore were many of his workers, diligently working at various computer stations and terminals, managing his part of the Clan war effort.

There was distant affirmation, and Theodore made his way through the halls of his compound without further interruption. The massive hangar doors opened wide, allowing a blast of cold, snowy air to rush in, washing over the parked ships and past the storage crates and catwalks. Theodore stood near one end of the hangar as the expected transport ship roared into view, its engines deafening and their heat warming the place. The ship landed heavily in the middle of the hangar as the doors began to close again, and the transport's side door opened, a boarding ramp sliding out.

"Welcome... Shuran," Theodore greeted his guest, approaching the boarding ramp.

"Get the hell back in your seats. I do not need guards," the guest snarled from within the ship, and within seconds, Shuran Thomela appeared in sight and descended the ramp, tilting his head to crack his neck. Many were intimidated by the sight of the Khan of Clan Steel Viper: Shuran Thomela was just over six feet tall, with pallid skin, a mop of messy blue-black hair, hateful red eyes, and a near-constant snarl fixed on his lips. He was garbed in a heavy green trench coat not unlike Theodore's, with brown pants and shirt under that. His heavy black shoes clomped noisily on the metal floor of the hangar as he exited his transport.

"I have arrived," Shuran announced unnecessarily. "Why did you choose this goddamn cold planet to be your base, huh Theodore? I hate the cold." Shuran's bitter and excessive hate for most things in life granted him the title "The Hatred" among the Clanners.

"It's too bad that my home doesn't please you," Theodore shrugged, as the two set off side-by-side to an intelligence room. The transport ship rumbled back to life behind them, taking off into the cold outside air again. "But its remote location and obstruction-free system are ideal for me, and there are no indigenous people to get in my way. It is tough to hunt your prey when a rabble is swamping you."

"Your assassinations," Shuran muttered. He knew that Theodore was a retired assassin even at his young age, his relentless and merciless habits on the battlefield earning him the title "The Relentless." Those who were chosen as Theodore's targets would never again know peace until they were killed. "Anyway. What is the mission you called me here for?"

"ilKhan Meras Nimare has a little assignment for us to tackle. Nothing too major," Theodore explained, once the two of them were in a conference room, alone. "Do you recall that to aid our war effort, General Nimare enlisted the aid of the Word of Blake forces? Their relentless tactics impress me, and I was more than eager to accept a mission to help them out a little."

"What? Our new allies already need our help?" Shuran snorted, dropping heavily into a chair, folding his arms.

Theodore nodded, his hand running along the metal frame of a heavy pistol holstered on his right hip under his coat. "We need a preemptive strike to maintain the Word's favor. Look."

A 3-D hologram image appeared over a table, displaying several planets and fleets. "The Word of Blake successfully took the planet Solaris, to better establish a foothold in this region of the Inner Sphere. Few were able to escape, but my spies report that a lance of Mechwarriors a a few others were among those who did get away with their lives. The leader of them is little more than a Solaris jock named Jeremy Stewart, fighting for sport, but I have word that his abilities are not to be underestimated, nor those of his companions."

"And just how do you know about all this?"

"You should know that by now," Theodore responded with a tiny grin, a fleeting expression on his otherwise coldly stoic face. "I have spies all over the Inner Sphere, eyes watching everyone. Nothing happens without me knowing about it."

Shuran rolled his eyes. "Right. So what is a Solaris jock going to do? Spit on us?"

"There are more players than that," Theodore added. "Listen. Prodigy Lance 10 of the Inner Sphere is coordinating a joint effort with Jeremy and the others, to strike Hellgar II, a major Blake operations point here. If they take out that planet, the Blake forces will be crippled and open to counter-attack. This region is too important for ilKhan Nimare to allow to slip away. Both you and I are to destroy the Solaris Mechwarriors and Prodigy Lance 10. Jeremy Stewart of the Solaris crew and Lane Farlow are the priority targets. They are the leaders of their lances."

Shuran grunted as he got up, rolling his shoulders. "If it is for Meras' sake, then I will do it," he agreed, in his usual surly tone. He was a man of only 25 years, but he found it easy to intimidate many people older than him. "When do we do this? I hate waiting."

"Immediately," Theodore said simply, turning and starting to leave the room, after turning off the holo display.

"What? Right now?" Shuran repeated, starting after him. "Do you know where to go?"

"The two lances are to meet on an Inner Sphere cruiser called the Keen Edge," Theodore explained, making his way to a different hangar. "We have less than a full day before they depart, and my intel is thin on the Hellgar II region. We must destroy them as soon as possible, without excuse. We will relentlessly attack until they are destroyed and all dead. Only you and I are allowed to leave the area alive."

"Hmph. Sounds like a good mission to me," Shuran had to agree. "Where are you going?"

"To my ship, the Silent Inquisitor," Theodore said, not turning around. "I will lead the attack in it, along with a detachment of my fleet. I assume you have a detachment of your own fleet handy?"

"Aff," Shuran snapped. "I'm not sloppy, Theodore! The first chance I get, I will rip their guts out. Along with whatever other defenses they have."

"A good plan. They are massing an invasion force there, to be led by Prodigy Lance 10 and the Solaris crew," Theodore nodded. "Get ready."

"They will not survive this," Shuran growled in affirmation, before turning away and heading back to his transport. The conversation was short, but Theodore insisted on face-to-face communication, a habit learned from his assassin days of meeting clients to determine if they were legitimate. Theodore was one to examine a person and then make shadowy plans for them later, calculating who was a threat and who was not.

Two ships roared off into Peak Eighty's air now, leaving the base behind to continue its work as the two Khans departed for their mission.