Disclaimer:

Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha is the creative property of Seven Arcs, whom created this wonderful anime/manga series. Anything not attributed to Seven Arcs belongs to their respective owners, such as other series, references, and vice-versa. This story is written purely just for fun, guys; please for God's sake, don't sue me! I'm just a college student with too much free time on his hands! On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further ado, let's get on with the show!

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk.

Mahou Shounen Enforcer Chrono!

Before Lyrical

Entry 1.2:

Recruit Days are Harsh

A Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha AU fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

I was enrolled into the Battle School about two weeks after the funeral. The whole time, I think, my mother was doing everything in her power to dissuade from joining the Bureau in any capacity, be it as an enlisted man or a commissioned officer. It was only with great, extreme, teary-eyed, hysterical reluctance that she signed the last of the papers, officially deeming me property of the Time-Space Administration Bureau on a nine-by-four contract: nine years inactive, wherefore I would complete my training and schooling, and four years active duty.

Training and regulations back then were different from what we go through today, on both the enlisted and officer side. The Bureau was in its childhood, a paramilitary force comprised of both the old and the new, and we were in short supply of everything, most importantly manpower. Thus, young children like myself, who were willing to sacrifice our childhoods and become the next generation of leaders, were accepted without question as long as we could pass the necessary aptitude tests and vice-versa.

Grandfather warned me, of course, before I added my own signature that the next nine years of my life was to be the most excruciating crucible ever imagined. He was a decorated officer from the war and now a combat instructor at the Battle School, but even his own blood grew uncomfortable at the thought of training regimen conducted there. The instructors there made men out of boys, leaders out of the meek, and the finest warriors out of mewling schoolchildren. Weakness of the body, inadequacy of the mind, and flaws of the soul would be sought out and eradicated with extreme prejudice.

Any boy or girl who was incapable of living up to the task would be sent home in disgrace, right away; no questions; no trial; no appeal; end of discussion. The Battle School would make me --- or they would destroy me.

I arrived to Recruit Training Depot Dilos Island, in the wee-early morning of Juno the 22nd, T.C. 4653: Monday morning jitters, anxiety, anticipation, cool, and a touch of a breeze. Standing on those yellow footprints amongst a sea of a thousand odd hopeful boys and girls, of all races and backgrounds gave me an appreciation of the wide diversity of peoples we were representing in the galaxy. From here, we would be taking our infant steps to our destinies, for we would be in-processed and sorted out accordingly to ability: those who possessed the magical talent and those who did not, as both recruits had their roles to play and unique challenges to surmount.

I would spend four long, arduous months on that island, before my graduation as an officer candidate. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. The island was about two kilometers across in any direction, surrounded by a marsh on the inland side and the sea on the other, partially civilized with the base, an old abandoned airfield, firing ranges, obstacle courses, dirt roads crisscrossing through the harrowing woods, and so on. The only way off, reasonably speaking, was the three kilometer bridge linking the mainland to the island.

It was here I would come face to face with Master Drill Instructor Sergeant Major Walon Vau, a Mandalorian mercenary hired by the Bureau, who oversaw training here at Dilos Island and taught classes at the Battle School's various terrestrial war colleges. His image would be burned forever into the retinas of my five-year-old self (and I imagine many others in my training platoon): a tall, cadaverous man, wearing a plastic smile, and eyes burning with a darkness that held no pity or compassion.

Even now, I pray I never cross paths with the madman again, as the sergeant major took it upon himself to become a second father to me. You see, on the day we were standing on the yellow footprints, I was the only "son of a nerfherder" to make eye contact with him (big mistake) and not flinch away (bigger mistake). Apparently so, he took a liking to me straight away, and thus, appointed himself the one and only drill instructor for my training platoon.

The next time we cross paths, I swore, one of us was going to need to see a healer, and it was not going to be me.

Platoon 2058, 3rd Deck, Lead Series, Hotel Company, 2nd Battalion: we were run like dogs. In fact, we were Master Drill Instructor Sergeant Major Vau's personal devil dogs. We had the highest "drop" rate, that is recruits being sent home or sent to medical --- "the broke ones" --- as they were no longer physically able to train, on the entire island. Being a Mandalorian, he only thought it obvious that we should be brought up as Mandalorian warriors as well, and he taught the Mando way through discipline, and all too often violence.

The choice was really quite simple: either fight your buddies --- or fight him. Needless to say, no one ever choose the sergeant major; after all, a five-year-old boy to take on a fully grown man that made war and legalized murder his trade, was obvious enough to suicide. I could only wonder how he would have trained female recruits at 4th Battalion, whom I prayed never had the "pleasure" of being under his tutelage.

At Dilos Island, I was indoctrinated the fundamental basics of soldiery: discipline, physical fitness, marksmanship with both old fashioned autorifles and modern blaster rifles, teamwork, our culture - the espirit de corps, martial skills, first aid, survival skills, drill, and sure enough, academics. The only thing missing from that entire training schedule was "Magic", which according to the sergeant major, runts like us did not deserve to learn "Magic" yet.

We would get our chance, if we managed to "graduate."

Fortunately and unfortunately, I had the additional joy of receiving "hands-on" leadership training from Master Drill Instructor Sergeant Major Vau. Right from the start, I was nominated the 4th Squad leader along with four other individuals: the platoon guide --- our "leader", 1st squad, 2nd squad, and 3rd squad respectively. We had a 125 (including ourselves, though that number was subject to change, swiftly) recruits in our platoon, and the squad leaders were responsible for thirty recruits a piece. We were to memorize the names of those thirty, know where they were, what they were doing, and command their respect and obedience at all times.

If somebody screwed for the tiniest thing, such as being unable to dress and/or undress expediently enough to Sergeant Major's liking --- the consequences were on us. And by the Stars, he fell on us like a demon from hell; if this were not military training, what he did to us on the quarterdeck, in the showers, and in the sand pits would have been tantamount to child abuse and plenty more atrocities. We learned quick to take charge, expect nothing short of perfection from our boys, and they too learned as surely as lightning struck that "Sithspit" rolls downhill fast. Once Master Drill Instructor Sergeant Major Vau was done with us, we would be going after them next --- after lights.

The training was unbelievably hard, and I wish for no other five year old to experience the same horrors I did. Though I have to admit, there was no doubt on the island we were the hardest training platoon, and the other training platoons gave us a wide berth out of respect. Of course, with training that hard and getting "killed" at any minute by the sergeant major, a lot of boys did not make the cut, and I soon found myself promoted to platoon guide.

We made honor platoon, the most decorated training platoon on the island that training cycle, no contest. PFT (Physical Fitness Test), Drill, Academics, and Rifle Range; we won them all. I was the honorary graduate, marching in front of the entire company with the company guidon over my shoulder, dress uniform smart, pressed, and savvy, feet numb and hurting, hands bandaged up, and bandaids and gauze crisscrossing my arms and neck. Watching us on that parade deck, I think, was the only time I ever saw the sergeant major smile with any real emotion, obviously proud of his work

I would learn later we were not the first of his students but the latest in his long illustrious history of "excellence." In the end, there were only thirty-five of us left (a clear seventy-percent failure/drop out rate), and they were the toughest bunch of five and six-year-old boys you will ever come across. They were ready and able to go to war, right now, and if they were under Master Drill Instructor Sergeant Major Vau's leadership, they would kill without hesitation.

Graduation was --- a day of days for me. It was the first day in four months that I, finally, let my guard down. I felt safe and relieved for I had inexplicably survived the worst ordeal in memory at that young stage of my life; if I could survive four months of hell with Walon Vau, I felt I could do anything for that evil man had prepared me so well.

Novem the 1st, T.C. 4653 was the day I graduated: Officer Candidate First Class, Chrono C. Harlaown. My mother, my grandmother, and my grandfather showed up that day; they were the ones I was closest to in our long, old family -- the House of Le Fay --- so I invited them, personally. Of course, they were free to invite the rest of the house, our relatives, the manor staff, their friends and acquaintances too, if they wished, but considering the occasion was rather intimate and personal...well, it is understandable, yes?

As soon as the sergeant major dismissed us, along with the rest of the company, there was a huge outcry of celebration: cheers, whistles, whoops, confetti being flung in the air, banners, and ribbons. The blast of emotion hitting my back sent chills up my spine (as we had about faced as our last drill movement upon being dismissed), drawing out a rare smile, as I resolved to step away from the mob of graduates, parents, relatives, and friends. No offense, but I never did like being in crowds, chalk it up to my upbringing, not to mention Vau's lessons that being in gaggling crowds opened oneself up to ambushes.

Naturally, I barely managed to get to the rim of the festivities before I heard a long histrionic suffering and pathetically cute:

"CCCCCCCCHHHHHRRROOOOOONNNNNNOOOOOOoooooooooo!"

I recognized the voice, and thought about briefly over several possible course of actions:

A. I could take evasive action, with the right timing, sidestepping the cyan-haired human bullet of motherly love and watch her plow mercifully into the grass beyond the parade deck.

B. I could turn around to face the cyan-haired human bullet of motherly love and watch her plow into me, my brain case mercifully ricocheting into her blessedly endowed "inertial retardation devices" --- read: bosom or breasts--- before she proceeded to smoother me between the said glorious bust in a beautiful suffocation of love.

C. I could brace for impact, accept my fate, and at least not be suffocated to death, while praying she does not break me too badly. I am partially injured here, you realize? And I am not prepared to argue with the laws of motion and Murphy right now.

I tried to think it over again in the few terminal seconds I had left, and ironically, decided to settle for option B. Drama is not my expertise, but considering my mother loves it, I think can stomach losing some air and being abused for a teddy bear, temporarily.

"Hello, Mo-MMFff!" I managed out just before the impact.

The first thing that hit me was assault of scents and freshly laundered clothing: her fragrant perfume of the day, a soft green scent, combined with a modern androgynous aroma, courtesy of her sunscreen lotion. Naturally, it spiked a gagging reaction out of me, compounded further by her body heat and my inability to breathe. I did not catch any of the doting "gibberish" that came flying out of her "BS dispenser" at a million miles per minute, considering I was concentrating on not moving to conserve my limited air supply.

Honestly, she could not have missed me that much, could she? I had kept consistent written correspondence (rather old fashioned but it works) with her, grandmother, and grandfather. It was all I could do to strip down the "care packages" she sent me with all of her letters, grudgingly most of it went to Vau, a source of amusement for him to no end:

"Recruits like you need no frakkin' chocolate chip cookies! Oh, an' Guide? My complements to your mum. I will be sure to let you watch me eat these the next time you sithspit fodder are on my quarterdeck!"

I loathe that man.

"Um, Ma'am, Colonel Jaohm: isn't she being a little rough?" an unfamiliar masculine voice, a firm authoritative baritone chimed in with attentive concern.

A lilting laugh responded, belonging to my Grandmother's lyric soprano, a warm voice with a bright, full timbre, "Tee hee hee, dear, that is perfectly normal for Lindy! After having not seen your loved one for so long, wouldn't you want to do the same to express your love and affection for them?"

"Uh, well...that's..."

"Do not fret too much, Lieutenant-Commander Onodera; for our sake's, I would not want my grandson to die prematurely of overly zealous...embracing," Grandfather's ever reliable bass boomed out.

I pray my mother comes to her senses soon, or someone rescues me. I think I have another good thirty seconds left. Please? Somebody? Anybody? Help?

"...C-Captain Harlaown, please! He's starting to turn blue!" the lieutenant-commander gallantly came to my rescue. The Stars bless the man.

Of course, this earned a gasp of shock from my mother who promptly wrested me free, allowing me to breathe and see something else besides the black rim of my barracks cover. Unfortunately...

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!" she apologized to me, forgetting altogether to steady me.

... the unintentional suffocation (partly my fault) had left me a touch weak in the knees and dizzy at that, though once again, Lieutenant-Commander Onodera was my savior. He caught me by the shoulders, preventing an undignified trip straight to the concrete of the parade deck, not exactly a flattering experience. I would have lived on in infamy as the one graduate who "passed out" and broke his noggin' on Graduation Day, not from the heat or stupidly locking his knees for too long in formation, but from his mother being too affectionate.

"I got you, kid. Just breathe steady."

"C-Chrono, honey! I'm so sorry. Mommy didn't mean to; it's just..."

Sensing her distress, I replied as soothingly as I could manage, "'Tis all right, Mother. I understand your feelings, I missed you, and I love you too. Four months is a long time to be separated from you and everyone at home."

My mother's happy sigh of relief, and the once more uplifting atmosphere meant I had managed to avert the sudden crisis with the right words. I suppose everyone was a touch surprised I still spoke so formally, as the environment I had lived in tended to foster a natural affinity to more rough, casual vernacular. Despite the roaring chatter and celebration close to us, a kind of hushed silence settled in as I propped up my cover for a better look at everyone.

Grandfather was the same as always, never mind he was occupied yet again with an uncharacteristic item --- a parasol no doubt for my mother. He had come today clad in electromesh armor, a lightweight, glossy black and form fitting battle suit that allowed for maximum flexibility, with his "combat" power sword at his side. He named it "Olde Ye Faithful" (transliterated into Galactic Basic from his beloved Zabaraki, a less than satisfactory attempt must to his ire) for it had served him well, as evidenced by the wear and tear all over the aged "broadsword" yet still serviceable from dedicated maintenance. Now, if you are wondering as to why my grandfather is always "ready and willing," that is, him appearing in combat/battle suits and being armed, the explanation is simple:

You can take the soldier out of a fight but you can never take the fight out of a soldier. He had been born and raised on Iridonia, homeworld to his race, and where their greatest warriors originated from. The much belated war against the Separatists had been his coming of age. Every day he prepares himself for the next war, and the only reason he is not out fighting right now amongst the stars: it was time for him to teach. In accordance to his warrior culture, what he had learned thus far was to passed down to the younger generation of warriors and soldiers, before seeking to attain more knowledge from "the mother of battle" that could end his life.

Understandably, it must have been one of Grandmother's secret worries, hoping no doubt that he would continue his present "meditation" as long as possible. Today, she had mirrored my mother with a parasol, a simple white sundress, and tasteful sandalettes, her long silky platinum hair free and unbound to enjoy a merciful breeze. What she was thinking or was feeling behind that serene smile and twinkling cyan blue eyes I did not know, but the least I could say she was proud of me.

Mother, on the other hand, wore her hair up as per usual and wore a more youthful cut of the said sundress in a light sky blue color. They were both very much so beautiful. However, I could not shake the ill feeling that my mother had not altogether recovered from my father's death. Four months, after all, is much too soon, and I could feel that heavy emotion drifting through the sugar coat of happiness in her eyes, as she looked upon my face.

She noticed the gauze, the bandaids, and the bandages on me, of course. Training policy on the island was simple: unless you were broken and bleeding out all over the place, you did not need bacta or a healing spell to patch you up. Our predecessors from wars long past had to make do with much less conveniences, and we would make do as well. If we cannot bear this much, what the hell were we going to do when the real shooting, the screaming, and the dying starts?

I imagine Mother wanted to say something, judging by how her eyes began to water and quiver, but she abruptly looked away, unable to look at me. I think it would be wise to talk to her later in private. It seems she might not be well adjusted to my coming future yet, which is understandable.

My mother, Lindy, already lost a loved one, the closest one to her heart, to the uniform I will be wearing some day soon. How could she possibly bear to lose another in the trials of the coming years: an accident, a training exercise gone wrong, or worse, killed in action? It would shatter her heart, completely...

...destroy her.

Yes, I needed to talk to Mother.

Now, my savior and unexpected "guest" came, of course, as a surprise. I was not expecting anyone else to show up, besides mother, grandmother, and grandfather. So who was he exactly? Well, he was certainly a officer, human presumably (if not from a near-human species), a navy man by his rank of Lieutenant-Commander and his light khaki-colored full dress uniform: around my mother's age, but her junior by around five cycles. He was tall, fit, broad shouldered, clearly handsome by human standards, with a touch roguish and wild, short curly brown hair and brown eyes that could have mistaken him for a casanova if it were not for the conservative air of respectability about him.

If I was not mistaken I had seen him before...yes, back at the funeral in the presence of an older gentleman dressed in the same fashion as him, smoking a pipe despite the rain. My scrutiny of his person, however, did not go unnoticed by my subject and the lieutenant-commander smiled sheepishly:

"Ah, I guess I ought to introduce myself: Lieutenant-Commander Tetsuya Onodera, Weapons and Tactics Evaluation Corps, 'Taskforce Forty-Seven'. You --- you could say I'm an acquaintance of your father. I was in town taking care of some reports to the higher ups, when I ran into your mother, awkwardly; one thing lead to another and...well, she invited me to come and here I am."

I do not know why he was blushing, and I felt compelled to find out, strangely enough:

"Sir, is it not a little too hot to be wearing your full dress uniform?"

"...Ah! Well, y-y-you see..." If it was not possible before, the man flushed redder.

"Ch-Chrono!" Mother scolded me, drawing my attention to her, where I discovered she, too, was sporting a healthy shade of red upon her complexion. "What did I tell you before about teasing adults?"

...Excuse me? Teasing adults?

Grandmother laughed, "Nonsense, Lindy! Setting fire to Dear Tetsuya's luggage was ingenious. The poor dear had nothing else to wear besides his dress uniforms! I was more than happy to take you two out shopping to properly compensate him, while he was still on leave."

...My mother did what?

"M-Mother! You promised me you wouldn't say a word about, um, that!" Mother cried foul play, with a girlish pout.

"So sorry, Lindy, the devil in me just, oh, could not resist!"

I felt a big sweat coming down as the classic histrionic showdown between mother and daughter was about to be unleashed: elegant Morgan, the ruling matron of our noble household, armed with a sharp tongue, eerie penetrating wit, and a "killer" haughty laugh. Then, there was her upstart daughter, Lindy, still in the rough, her youth and benevolent stubbornness be unwilling to give up without a fight. Grandmother had been a force in the political scene ever since she succeeded as head of our house and has been in her fair share of scraps in "The Game of Houses" against the other noble houses that ruled the High Council, which governed Mid-Childa.

There are seventy-eight houses in total: twenty-two major families, the major arcana, and fifty-six lesser families, the minor arcana, whom come and go surely as the seasons turn. Those of the major arcana, like us, "squabble" and plot, much like our lesser counterparts in an effort to reach the top of "the game." As it stands, the House of Le Fay bears the title of "The Judgment (XX)", unchanging and rightly so for ten-thousand years of recorded history.

You see, it is our geis passed down by the Stars from the time of "The Dreaming," a lost fantastic age that existed presumably before the time of the Golden Empire of Al-Hazard, "to pass judgment". We are not to seek our own gain or glory. We are guardians, sentinels, the servants of the people; here to bring "judgment": hope, redemption, salvation, rebirth, the end of repression, and a new beginning.

Ah, but I digress. Thinking about politics, my family history, and Mid-Childa history is not something I ought to be wasting time over. Today's my graduation and the start of my short leave, about week's worth, before I report to my next duty station at the Battle School's terrestrial war college, "Atlas, the Giant's Pit", in the state of Yuktobania. I could not very well have Lieutenant-Commander Onodera passing out in the heat on the parade deck either, while we waiting for dueling "dragons" to settle their fond mother-daughter spat. He was our guest!

"Grandfather, any ideas how to stop mother and grandmother?" I inquired to my grandfather, standing vigil and silent, as the two women swashbuckled in a titanic duel of wills and heated witticisms. Poor Mister Onodera could only stand by helplessly at the edge, tempting fate and wondering if he should step in or not.

Grandfather Soki nodded grimly, "I do, but it would result in yourself, myself, and young Onodera receiving a flurry of slaps to our faces. Righteous feminine fury, you understand?"

"...How about an alter-?"

I never finished my words for it was then he made his appearance. The drawling, sarcasstic bordering on sadistic, Bel Canto baritone of Sergeant Major Walon Vau grated against my ears, effectively ruining my good mood:

"Good day, Ladies an' Gentlemen! I wouldn't 'appen to be interruptin' a sweet family reunion now, am I?"

As a matter of fact, you are the last face I want to see any time soon. Grandmother and mother, instantly, cut their playful "contest" short: the former stiffening, a harsh glare on her face, while the latter reeled back with tentative caution. It seemed Grandmother knew a "wolf" when she saw one, and my grandfather moved to interpose himself between Vau and the womenfolk. Oddly, his golden eyes seemed to gleam with recognition at the sight of Vau, and he did not tense but rather relaxed, coiling up like a pit vyper ready to "sting".

Poor Lieutenant-Commander Onodera sensed, distinctly, the hostility in the air, and let out a suffering sigh.

"Colonel! So good to see you again," Vau smiled that signature plastic "smile". Having a thermal detonator delivered straight into your fighting hole at 0300 in the morning was more comforting than it.

"Aye, sergeant major." Grandfather nodded.

"I heard that a death in the family was your reason for absence, but I had no idea you were related to that Harlaown, sir. Imagine my surprise!"

"I trust, training is as high to your standards as ever, sergeant major?"

"Of course, sir. It was my personal pleasure to oversee the training of Officer Candidate First Class, Harlaown. By Jango's bones, if he does not make commissioned officer, he 'ill still be the best Mandalorian to ever walk off this parade deck. I guarantee, the good Admiral Harlaown would be proud to see the young warrior his son has become. No one trains harder on this island than me, and my boys are proof!"

"That would explain his lingering injuries and your noticeably small platoon," Grandfather noted dully.

Vau chuckled openly with an eerie grin, "Sithspit, shavit, and scum floats just like cream, sir. It's our duty, our mission to weed out the weak from the strong. After all: impotence is a sin, and considering we are talking 'bout the oh-so-precious lives of folk that these boys and girls will be leading some day...I wouldn't want anyone's ghost to haunt me and make me the easy scapegoat."

The atmosphere between the two men grew positively frosty, even I was forced to take a step back with the lieutenant-commander. If blood was to be shed now in this festive atmosphere of jubilation, I would not be surprised one bit. The human Mandalorian and the Iridonian were sizing each other up in barely subtle animosity.

"War is a terrible, ugly business, sir. It touches us all, an' changes something inside. I have only acted in my capacity to do justice to the dead by doing my duty, so that they will not be sullied by the living."

"Understandable, but I have a different means of achieving the same ends, sergeant major."

And lo, did Vau smile, satisfied apparently by Soki's words...

"I see, so will you be returning to full duty for the remaining training cycle, sir? I just finished up my rotation here and will be posted to Atlas over in Yuktobania..."

Wait...! Atlas! Did he just say Atlas?

"...which, I believe, means I'll be seeing you and Officer Candidate First Class, Harlaown, won't I? We can't very well let another brave fool of a Harlaown go adventuring off into space and get himself killed again, yes?"

That son of a Sithspawned harlot!

Anger, indignation, fury...! I was ready to hurl myself at the evil man. My blood was boiling, the fight flooding into my veins, and balling my hands into fists. I did not know how he had did it, but Vau had provoked me. The entire time I had been here, he had never succeeded once, but just now...to me, to Mother, to father, our family...he-!

I. can't. forgive. him.

However, before thing could turn bloody, I was stopped unexpectedly by the firm hand of Lieutenant-Commander Tetsuya Onodera. I was riled up enough then to lash out at him for getting in my way, but the look in his brown eyes stilled the beast in my heart. Back then, I was too young to describe and comprehend what those feelings were that shined with captivating clarity in his eyes. And he spoke this much to me, a playful conspiratory whisper in my ear:

"That guy... Who the hell does he think we are? He has no idea, no clue in the galaxy! Oh, we'll show him. We'll show him he's dead wrong. 'Whether it's impossible or laughable, great men open up paths of victory! If there's a wall, we smash it to smithereens! If there's no path, we make one with these hands!' These fiery words that are mine now, and this burning soul...that I learned from your father, Chrono."

I was in awe. How...unexpected, to hear such a thing that bizarrely resonated with me as well. Then again, I suppose I should have expected it from this surprising man, whom I was to acknowledge eventually as my second father, truly. And little did I know this was something of a joke from my own father, seemingly reaching out from beyond the grave because all the men who I was to acknowledge as my fathers and grandfathers had been moved by him.

In this different and special way, you could say, even though he was dead, my father was still raising me, teaching me, and I was getting to know him.

To be continued...

Author's Notes:

Well, there you have it. Entry 1.2 in all of its glory. Thoughts, feelings, questions: hey, fire away, fellas. I tried to make this kind of exciting, but I hate to say it turned out to be more exposition and gritty military realism, than I would like. Then again, there really is not anything glorious about going through recruit training/boot camp having been there myself as an enlisted, and Walon Vau would appropriately be the drill instructor from HELL. Becoming a commissioned officer ain't easy or a joke.

In any case, look forward to Atlas for some militaristic school drama-style fun, homage set pieces, and don't sweat: three years there is going to fly by real fast so we can hit up our next stop.

Oh yeah, time for a small advertising service announcement thingie here: if y'all get bored in between waiting for new episodes, be it anime, manga, or fanfiction and whatnot, but you're dying for a fresh/unique AU fic go read Kara no Kyokai: The Borderline to Emptiness by Tempest Dynasty in the Naruto section. He just got chappie 14 out as of this posting. I guarantee, he is the only fella who has the guts to fuse Magical Lyrical Nanoha with Naruto and the infamous Warhammer 40K gothic-scifi military tabletop game series. Give it a shot; you won't regret it.

Thank you all for tuning in and remember, I always encourage each and everyone of you to feel free to comment, review, and/or discuss the story. Your comments can really make a difference, I assure you, and if you're up to it, feel free to ring me up on AIM, or even send me an e-mail (although you really don't need to boost my ego too often). You know how to get in touch with the maestro here.

Tsudzuku!