Sergeant Simon Caraway, leader of the Fifty-Fifth Harrier squad; "Mavericks". That's who I am. Or, who I was.
I've been living in and fighting for NLA for a few years now, working for the BLADEs as a Harrier. I started fighting when I was about twenty-three. I thought that going out there into the wilds and taking down the indigens would be a great way to benefit everyone. Plus, it would be pretty fun to take down the biggest baddest monsters I could find.
I was assigned to a squad of Harriers called the Mavericks. They earned their name after disobeying a direct order from Commander Vandham to retreat, instead they all charged in, risking their lives and winning the battle against two simultaneous Tyrant attacks. When I was the new guy the squad was twenty men strong, but with time, the squad was whittled down to only six.
It took me a few years in the field, fighting indigens and xenos, watching my friends come and go, but I eventually got promoted to Squad Leader.
Things were running pretty smoothly for me and the squad, until that one fatal attack. The Mavericks had just won a fight against a Tyrant in Primordia called Seelah the Unseen, we were all exhausted, but our mission wasn't over. We were sent out to take down a Prone outpost, on the way we were attacked by a Seelah. We should have turned back and gotten some rest at one of our own outposts, but I decided to be an idiot.
We pressed forward without recovering. When we finally made it to the Prone outpost we were practically dead on out feet. To call the attack a battle is an overstatement. It was a massacre.
Now here I am. One of the sole survivors of the Mavericks. All because of my ego and overconfidence.
It's no wonder I resigned from the Harriers to become a Mediator, isn't it?
At this moment I was helping a couple of civilians with a legal dispute about whether or not someone mowed another's lawn by mistake since the two lawns are connected. I know, it's tedious.
"This barbarian went over from his lawn and onto my property! He ruined the fine length that every blade of grass had shared up to this point; one inch." Cried the prissy man whom I can assume was an upperclass man from Britain back on Earth. He was rather skinny and tall, wearing a fine black and burgundy suit. He held himself in such a way that an esteemed official would, and it was annoying the living hell out of me.
"What're ya talkin' about!" The other man yelled, a definitive Irish accent in his voice. "I was just mindin' me own business 'ver here, dont'cha know. Mowin' me lawn and whistlin' to m'self when this gobshite comes runnin' outta his hole an' whinin' 'bout the perfect length of his damned grass!"
I ran my hand through my messy orange hair, trying to calm myself down. After sifting through and building the Irishman's sentences back into proper english, I finally understood him. "Let me ask you this, Mr... Uh..."
"Estock." Stated the prissy Brit.
"Mr. Estock, where does the line between your grass and Mr... Um..."
"O'Brien, ye bleedin' tick!" The Irishman shouted.
It's days like these that make me wish a Tyrant would just invade the city and level the Residential District, just so I don't have to deal with annoying jerks like these.
"You both are acting ridiculous!" I said finally, shutting the two up. "Estock, your grass is fine!" I told Mr. Estock, pointing harshly at his face and causing him to flinch, "O'Brien, you need some attitude adjustment, if you hadn't threatened to shoot Mr. Estock here, I wouldn't have to deal with you two!" I performed the same gesture to Mr. O'Brien, gaining less of a reaction.
The two looked at each other then back at me. "T' Hell with ye damned grass, ye wet shite." Grunted O'Brien before walking off and going back inside his house.
Estock groaned, looking down at what ever imperfection he could see that I couldn't. "It's ruined now anyway, all of us walking all over it..." With that, Estock turned tail and moped back indoors.
My blue eyes shut tight as I massaged my throbbing temples. My days have seemingly gotten harder since I quit fighting. Every day I wake up in a bed that's way too comfortable, before heading out to a painful and mundane job with little to no adventure involved.
As much as I hate being a Mediator, it's probably for the best. I don't have the chance of hurting anyone with my stupid and reckless behavior.
Shortly after I'd finished my bout with Estock and O'Brien, I headed to the Commercial District to get a drink at the bar my squad and I would always hang around. The Limping Lepyx. I was gonna meet up and talk with an old friend there, specifically the only other survivor of the Mavericks.
On my way, I saw a wing of Skells flying above. Three formula frames and one verus frame. As much as I've always wanted to, I've never piloted one of those bad boys. After all, we have a limited supply and each one is only given every so often.
Driving down the streets of the Commercial District was relatively peaceful. I got to see people who could actually live their lives peacefully, have families. I envy them. No matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to settle down. Even though I have a peaceful job of solving people's problems and I have a nice home in the residential district, I don't think I'll ever be happy. It was especially feelsy when I saw a boy run into his father's arms when I passed the park. That's one thing that I will definitely never have.
Soon enough, I'd made it to the Limping Lepyx. Outside the place was the Sakuraba car that I knew my friend owned. After parking next to it slowly, I exited my own car that was a Grenada model. Out front of the bar were a group of BLADEs, all talking, laughing, drinking and smoking. I didn't pay them any mind as they yelled out ridiculous comments at me, laughing absently afterwards. I can't be mad at them, because that's exactly what my friends and I would pull back in the day. In fact, I kinda wish I could still celebrate and have fun.
Passing through the doorway I was immediately hit with a wave of smell. Alcohol and cigar smoke were mixed into a musty and thick odor that filled the dimly lit bar. The music playing was some sort of rock music from the late twentieth century. People were drinking and smoking just as they were outside. The clacking of billiard tables and the clinking of glasses filled my ears as I walked through and between the other attendants.
It wasn't long before I saw my friend sitting at the counter by herself. Her name was Aria, and she was beautiful. With her long flowing blonde hair, tied into a french braid, bangs parting in the front to reveal a soft and unmarked face, her eyes a brilliant emerald. She was dressed fully in her armor, her black leather jacket on over it and unzipped.
Quickly, I put on a grin that I hope would look good, raising one eyebrow as I practically strutted over to the barstool next to hers. "Hey, what's a knockout like you doin' in a dump like this?" I asked jokingly.
Maria giggled a bit before turning to me, "I dunno, Hotshot. I was supposed to meet my idiot friend Simon." It was then that Aria lifted her fist up for me to pound.
I gladly pounded my fist against hers, flashing her a smile. "It's good to see you again, Aria." I told my friend, "How've you been lately? What've you been up to?"
Aria shrugged lightly. "Soldier stuff. Being an Interceptor is a lot more different than I expected it to be from being a Harrier." Aria turned to me and smiled, flicking a bit of her hair out of her face and behind her ear. "And what about you, Hotshot? What has the great and fearless Sergeant Caraway been up to?" She asked with a playful tone in her voice.
"Well, I uh..." I stuttered, looking away briefly before turning back to her and sighing. "Medihrmfhr..." I mumbled, hoping that she wouldn't hear me.
"I'm sorry?" Aria asked, before her eyes widened. I followed her gaze to see that she was looking directly at my Mediator badge on my uniform. "Oh my God!" She exclaimed as I waved my arms defensively, "You're a freaking Mediator!?"
"Sweet Jesus, do you have to say it so loud!?" I asked, smacking my hand onto my forehead.
"I never thought that you of all people would change to a spineless and boring job like-"
"I'm trying to take it easy here, for a little while! Okay?" I told her with a bit of stress in my voice. I'm not gonna say that I wasn't embarrassed, but I won't say that I was embarrassed either.
Aria's eyes widened briefly before she turned to the bartender that had finally come to serve us.
"Hey, it's the Mavericks!" Said the bartender, who I learned was named Gill. "What'll it be, guys?"
"We're not Mavericks anymore, Gill." I said a bit ashamedly.
"Nonsense!" He countered, "Just 'cause your not Harriers doesn't mean you aren't still Mavericks." Gill was always a sentimentalist. He'd always ask your name when you walk into his bar for the first time so he could devote it to longterm memory. He'd keep your secrets, provide counseling while you drank, not to mention provide you with plenty of drink to keep you happy or drown out your sadness. "I remember when you guys would come here after every mission, drink the place dry, 'n tell me all about the crazy adventures and stunts you pulled back in the day."
I couldn't help but sigh when he started to bring up "the old days". I know he's a sentimentalist, but it can be a bit of a pain to look back. That's what my counselor tells me, anyway. Looking back will make you depressed, looking forward will make you anxious, so just deal with what's here and now.
"Strawberry vodka with mint, Gill." I said, leaning with my elbows on the counter. "Put it on the rocks, if you will." I turned to Aria and lifted an eyebrow, "What'll it be, then?" I asked.
"I'll have a Blue Rush, Gill." She said, looking at me hard. Why'd she have to order that of all drinks? Back in the day the squad would all order Blue Rushes when we came here to celebrate. What's she trying to pull, here?
"I got it guys," Said Gill as he turned away to get started on his alcoholic concoctions.
It was then that I finally spoke up. "Aria, what are you doing?" I asked, a level of confrontation in my voice.
"What do you mean by that?" Aria asked me in return, "I'm having a drink with an old friend."
"No," I replied, "This is all too planned out from my point of view. First you ring me up after six months without a word between us, then you suggest we come to the old bar where you know we used to hang out, you refer to me as Sergeant Caraway, You purposefully bring up the past, and then you order a drink that the Mavericks only drink on celebration."
After listing off all of the stunts Aria probably thought were subtle, I looked her straight in the eyes. "What is it you want, Aria?" I finally asked.
Aria rolled her arms back and sighed, looking at the ceiling, then back to me. "I'm scouting you, Simon." She told me.
"You're what?" I asked.
"I'm scouting you for a mission out in Primordia." Aria repeated. "There's a group of Pathfinders that're pinned down by a group of Marnucks that keep returning, and I've been assigned to go and rescue them." Aria then turned to me, looking me up and down and sighing. "My partner and I were gonna head out and do it ourselves, but we did the math and realized that we're a man short of victory. I was hoping that maybe you could do a friend a solid and help out, but..."
"Alright!" Interrupted Gill, "One Blue Rush and a strawberry vodka with mint, on the rocks!" Gill then slammed the two drinks down in front of us, letting the both of us take in his work he must be oh-so proud of. "Drink up, friends. Especially that Blue Rush, the fizz is dyin' away."
Aria and I took our glasses simultaneously.
"Thanks, Gill."
"I was gonna ask you to come with us on this little venture, but you seem pretty comfortable with your life of dealing with prats in the Residential District." Aria told me before taking a drink of her Blue dyed drink.
As if on queue, my communicator started buzzing. I took it out of my pocket to read:
"Agent Caraway. You are to report to the residences of Jonathan O'Brien and William Estock at the effect of immediately, unless otherwise occupied."
"Again!?" I cried out loud before I started slamming my head onto the counter repeatedly. Why can't those two idiots learn to get along, or at least solve their problems themselves.
"What's it gonna be, Simon?" Aria asked me, draining the last of her glass. "You gonna come with my partner and I to kick some Xeno ass? Or, are you gonna mope back over to be insulted and whined to by O'Brien and Estock?"
"I... Uh..."
TO BE CONTINUED...
So, what's the general consensus on the first chapter of Mavericks? Anything that needs improvement? Anything that you think I really excelled at?
For the most part, this story won't feature any of the canon characters. It's also a bit AU, as this story takes place a few years after the game starts and Elma never found Cross. But other than that, Mavericks is gonna follow the rules of the game!
That leads me to another important fact. Simon is NOT Cross. Cross is probably stuck in the Lifehold, or something in this story.
If you're wondering how old Simon and Aria are, Simon is 27 and Aria is 25.
I picture Aria as a really hot and confident blonde who would make most guys nervous, except for Simon who's been friends with her since the beginning of their run in the old Mavericks.
I also picture Simon as a disillusioned soldier who still has the fire in him to be a fighter, but has a lot of guilt from his bad decisions that he has to get over.
You'll eventually meet some of the other OCs that'll be coming in. Particularly one next chapter. I hope you like him!