Chapter Summary:

Trigger's first sortie with Sicario goes smoothly. Despite this, it actually turns out to be quite eventful.

(Recommended music: "Bankrupt Sea" by Jose Pavli.)


Monarch glanced back at his allies as they coasted towards the privateers' encampment. Comic and Dip were there, as always, but he could hear just behind him the telltale sound of an extra member in the back.

He could see the first buoy come into view as Galaxy's voice floated into his ears over the radio:

"This is the ever-lovely Airborne Warning and Control Systems aircraft Galaxy. Hitman Team, get on the clock."

"…Hitman 1. Ready," he offered. He'd almost forgotten that he was the one who had to do the talking, now that Prez was elsewhere.

"Hitman 3, Comic, punching in."

"Hitman 2, copy you clear, Galaxy. You gonna let us loose?" Diplomat asked.

"Just about, Diplomat. Hitman Team, take your flight on this vector 'til you start to see targets on the IFF. You are free to engage."

A few cheers erupted from the team.

"Hey, Trigger, how 'bout we botch this mission?" Prez joked. "I wouldn't mind saying a few more days out here."

"I have you on record saying that, Prez."

"Yeah, and I think Kaiser would kill me if I did that…y'know, assuming I'm able to swim back to shore…I haven't really tested it, but don't think prosthetics are particularly buoyant."

"Swim back to shore?" Prez laughed. "New guy's got some good jokes up his sleeve."

Monarch chuckled a bit, too. He didn't mind a bit of dry comedy here and there. "Yeah, good thing we've got copters on standby to rescue lost little pilots. Otherwise that might not be so much of a joke."

"…Wait, they'll rescue us if we get shot down?" Trigger sounded legitimately surprised at something so basic.

…That had been a joke, right?!

Shoving that slightly-disturbing question to the back of his mind, Monarch focused on the rapidly upcoming buoy on his IFF, firing a single missile at it the moment he'd locked on.

Did it actually matter to the mission? Probably not. Was it oddly cathartic to watch the harmless, stationary target explode? Oh, hell yes.

Seconds later, more targets popped up—a handful of patrol boats. No problem.

He felt his face curl up a bit into a forced smile, though the joy was superficial compared to the worry that penetrated his bones.

Monarch turned off his radio for a moment to collect himself. He'd always been a fan of stomping out unknown factors before they became a problem—and as harsh as it seemed, Trigger was an unknown factor. A wild card. A threat.

Of course, he couldn't just kill the guy, but he could send Trigger somewhere that was less dangerous for him…and the rest of his team…until he was able to figure the new guy out.

But where would be the safest…? He looked over at his wingmen, and smiled.

Comic had always been good at reigning in the crazier members of Sicario.

"Hey, Trigger," Monarch started. "You're still recovering, right? I'd like you to try and take it easy for this mission. Just try and shadow Comic for now; I want you both to swing around the perimeter of the island and take out naval targets where you can."

"Can…do…? Wait, this thing isn't really equipped for air-to-ground; shouldn't I be—?"

"That's fine. Just do as you're told, and things will work out."

"I—" There was a pause, then a sigh. "…Yeah, sure. I can do that." He watched as Trigger fell back to form up on Comic.

"All right. Dip, you form up on me. We'll hit them head-on."

He was a little surprised by how little resistance he'd put up to the strange order. He knew the guy used to be a Peacekeeper, but yeesh. Between that and his willingness to fly in a plane from hell, he wondered if Trigger wasn't some sort of extreme sycophant or yes-man in his previous job.

If Kaiser had put him here, then clearly he had some sort of talent. But of course, talent was far from the only thing that mattered in this line of work.

It had been a long time since Hitman had been more than a 3-man flight. It felt like lifetimes ago, but once upon a time Monarch had been Hitman 3, and there had been two others before him: Titan and Duchess.

Both had been great pilots.

Had been.

He just hoped that the new guy wouldn't meet their fate.


"Fox Two."

Trigger watched as Prez loosed a missile towards one of the floatplanes that had strayed too far from the main group—sparing it from Monarch's fury, but delivering it right into his own hands. A small explosion signaled its end.

He sighed, a little exasperated by his flight lead's odd commands, but not enough to actually object to them. Ideally, he'd rather be following Monarch to go hit the island itself and take out the scant number of jets above it, but he was fine with trashing some patrol boats. Sure, he only really had his standard missiles and guns to deal with the ground targets, but knowing his luck, he'd end up needing the multilocks and high-impact missiles for one reason or another.

"Hey, Trigger. Don't wander off too far, now," Comic's voice reached him, ushering him back. "We're supposed to be working as a pair for now, remember?"

"Right…" He looked wistfully over at the trail of destruction Monarch and Dip were making over the island, but eventually started moving back towards Comic.

"Hey, are you sure you only want control of the guns?" Prez asked from behind him. "I mean, I don't mind handling all of the missiles, but still…"

"They'd be wasted on me anyways," he assured her, holding up his false arm. "I'm not exactly gonna be doing much with this just yet."

He'd managed to work his way up to a wider range of motion with his arm, but the movements were still sluggish, and fine motor control still felt nearly impossible.

In that way, Prez's presence was sort of a blessing—it was a bit nerve-wracking having to rely on someone else to handle the weapons, but at least all he really had to focus on was flying; she could handle the rest.

"Besides, it looks like Monarch's nearly done wiping the floor with their AA…" He pointed over to their flight lead, who had just crushed the final AA gun. "Man, no wonder these Burlok guys turned to piracy. Seems like they could barely even afford decent equipment."

He whipped his head around when Prez started laughing. "What?"

"…Trigger, did you—did you forget what we're flying?"

Ĩ̴̤͔ ̶̱͋͗̔ḁ̶̭̒̚͠g̵̨͇̈́r̵̢̤̥̼̒e̴͔͕̽̒ē̴̟̱̊̒͝ ̸̣̻͑̉͐w̴̤͈̪̎̍̋i̸̬͛́͗t̸̞̙͋̓̓̕͜h̷̻̙̒̈̽ ̷̛̓͜Ṁ̵̱̫̾̊̅í̵̯̦͊̊͝ͅŝ̸̠̥̖̞̈s̵͉̎̾͌ ̶̨̭̳͖̍͑K̶̦͇̰̇̾́̾u̵͙̹̖͋ỏ̵̤͐̚.̵̨̠̱̲̅ ̶͒͜͠I̵̳̜̩̾͑̂̉f̴̹͓͑̏̂͘ ̶̧̱̼̪͂̉͝a̷͔̝̦͒͂͌ń̵͓͔̖͖͘ȳ̶͚̋o̶̱̩͉̳̐͆n̷͕̼͑ȇ̸͚̓̌ ̵̧̧̄̇̀h̸͙̝̄͛͐ͅe̶͙̋̐̚͠ͅṛ̶̢͎̂̇͠e̴͔̦̬͛͐̑͘͜ ̶̟̲̲͓͂̑̈́i̶̠̯̟͉̓s̶̩̘̺̪̈́͌̓ ̸͚̞͍̲̃b̴̼͍͎̍r̷͉̼̎ó̸̯̻̀̆k̶͙̟͍̭̈͒͊̕e̶͕̽̃̂,̸͖̻̳̹̅͝ ̴̨̳͙͈̎̾̕i̷̳̦̗͖̎͝t̸̜̳̲̺̿̒̓ ̶̫͔͐̓̐͜w̵̺͖͆̍͝o̷̟̘͓̿͗ŭ̷̬͍̹͒̾̊l̷̨̋̃d̷̰́̾ ̴̤̪̯̿̅͐̐b̶̯̊̃e̴̥̎̓́̇ ̷̢͠ū̴̝s̸͔̋.̷̛̼̲̩̜̽̇́

"H-hey, come on, this thing's not that bad—!" He was cut off by Prez laughing even harder.

He was thankfully spared from further mockery by Galaxy.

"Defenses are clear. Ronin, move in."

"Copy all! Drop the rope! In and out real quick! Looks like everyone's scattering!"

Squinting just a bit, he was able to catch a glimpse of the Ronin team entering the fray via helicopter far below.

"Hitman, we've got inbound. Enemy reinforcements coming down from due north, flashing mercenary IFFs. Greenlight to engage."

Ȑ̴͔͈̹͌̔ĕ̴̖̺̬̜̉̈́c̷̨͙̣̪͊ă̷̫l̷̢̤̮̈́͗͐i̶̳̯̾b̵̘̬̈ŗ̴͓̺̋a̷̪̜͝t̴̹͝ḭ̷̒͝ò̵̩͍͇̑͛n̸͓̥̾̆̎͌ͅ ̶̻͉̣͌à̶̯̇̓͝t̷̛̩͕̝͖̍͌̃ ̵͉̽̈́͒9̵̤̂͝0̵̫͉̉%̴̺̤̦̽͗̅̽.̵̲͂͂ ̵͇͖̊́̄R̴̖̦̫̆̊̇a̴̢̲͓̫͒ḋ̶̜̝̮͝ȋ̴̗̪͚͋̄ơ̴̬̾ ̴̢̩̩̥͝c̵̜̰̣̫̀̍̓ȍ̴͎̙m̴͙̝̝͑̀̓͑m̴̢̥͉̀u̸͎̣̣̿͝n̵̜̼͈͐͜i̷̧͎͓̔͑̏c̷͍͚̍a̸̦͚͎̩̽t̷̡̲̻͌ỉ̵͇̥̞ǒ̷͚͇͈̔n̷̨̘̊͒̀s̸̻̠̜̈́͠ ̵͖͛ǒ̴̰̝̚n̴̬̂̂͊̅l̷͉̦̐̌ḯ̷̛͍͎͍̐ǹ̶̢̤̘e̷͚̖͖̙̿̈,̸̧̨̗̅͊ ̸̛̗̺͆̆̾f̷̞͕͚̻̾̋̕u̵̱̩͊̎n̶̨̂̄́͝c̷̭͍͗͒̈́͆t̶̢̛̪̽ȋ̶̧̛̗͕̐̚o̶͍͖̅͠n̴̠̓̿̊í̶̞͇̗̎̚̚ň̶͍̤̫g̷̡͎̖͇̀ ̴͚̽͝ą̵̦͖̔̆ṯ̴̛̹̲͍͑̏ ̴̨͖̲̥̈́͊̽5̵͎̳̎͗0̶̞̻̞̜́̌̑͝%̴̦͍̀̓͊ ̸̰͖̇̽̎c̸͕̜͂̎̎̕a̷͖̿͝p̸̗͝a̶̼̅c̷͔̳͓̔̈́̚͝í̸̢̧̧ṱ̶͇̃ͅÿ̸̟͎́͝.̶̹̦͘

…Well, it looked like they were going to be using those multilocks, after all.

He pulled a sharp turn to the north, spotting the enemy on the horizon—a handful of COFFIN-less F15s. Monarch was already en route, so Trigger maxed out his throttle, trying to catch up.

"Prez. Two multilocks on my mark…" he watched them for any change in direction, and surely enough two of them began climbing shortly after they'd locked on. He shoved the stick forward, diving towards the ocean as Prez screamed behind him.

"What the hell was that for?" He felt a light punch hit his shoulder as he leveled out just above the water. He'd almost forgotten he had a passenger in here.

"Just setting up the perfect shot for you. Mark!" he called out as he pulled the nose up sharply.

Prez groaned, but fired out a pair of multilocks anyways. "Fox Three, I guess…"

He watched as they arced up towards their targets—one lost its lock as the pilot managed to turn too sharply to follow, but the other managed to catch up before the unlucky pilot could escape, sending it up in flames.

"Alright. Now, brace."

Using the momentum he'd built up from the fall, he pulled up to meet the remaining F-15 in a joust.

R̸̪̝̗̽̓e̸͚̜͛͛c̸̞̪̱̽̆̍́á̸͇̍͝l̸̬̪͉̆̈́̃̒i̸̱̝͚͗̎̽͠b̸̘͕̔͆̏̋͜r̵̢̳̞̄̅̄̚à̵͍͙͙́t̶̢̽̍i̵̧̝̝̳͑ó̷͇n̵͖͂̄̔ ̵̫͚͈̘͑̌̈́́ä̵̠̦͉̏t̵͉̏̕ ̸̪̮̭̃̊́͝9̸̬͝5̶̤̱̲̻̍̔̈́̏%̸̟́̌͗ͅ.̸̱͎̯̬̒.̸͕̼͂.̸̳̆ͅs̷̨͗́̎t̶̡̠̹̫̏̀̌i̵̤͑m̵̨̤̬͆̓ủ̶͎̩̤̂̈́l̴̖̀ȧ̶̞͈̮̗̐ṯ̸̊̀͌ï̸̼̣͖o̵̙̗̞̊̏̚ñ̸̼͙̖̲͘ ̴̼͈͛r̴̹͚̂e̵̗̳̯͋s̴̙͕̀̔ͅͅṳ̴̿̿͆̌ͅḹ̸̛͙̪͖̿̑t̷̢̗̒i̶͕͊ͅn̶̹̳̓̓̈́̍g̵̛̬͇̅̏ ̴̦̙̯̍̍̊͝ͅf̶̥̂̀̽̿r̵͓̣̰̺̉̇̏͌ö̶͈́͒m̴̢̪̗͗͛͊̎ ̵̠̖͔̳͂̈́̅c̷͍͂̓o̶̫̿̐̔̚m̸͚̱̂͋̉́b̶̧̩͋̉̕̕a̸͖̓t̵͇͎͈̓̈́ ̴̖͐͑p̷͔͒́͝r̸̪̫̬̝͌̈́ö̸̦̺̩́͜v̶͕̱̔̍̀i̶̞̲̔̈́͂͊d̷̬̈́͂e̷̛̻͍̦̝̚s̶̭̬̰͎̆̍͝ ̴̧͍̫̥̓s̵̢̢̥̐̏́͜į̶̧̮̰́͆g̵̝̰̈́̒͗̚ņ̶̩͈͂ĩ̷͈͈̙͛̓̓f̴̝̺̈́i̵̧̗̞͋͋̍͠ć̶̙̖̀̒͝ä̶͍́̊ṅ̷͇͇̠̰ţ̶̙̥̀̚ ̴̻̒̿͝a̴̢͓͙͖͋̓͆ḿ̶̱̂̂o̴̢̖͆ͅu̷̽̒͜ͅǹ̴̞̇̐t̵̡̘̓̾s̶͖̼̖̺̾ ̵̺̃͗̈͠o̸̼̯͍͝f̸̢̟̻̔́ ̵̨̛̆͑ȅ̵̺̥̯̼̍̐x̴̰̹̗̏̍̔͝ť̶̢͙͍͍͋͐̀r̶̖̤͐͑̿͘͜a̴̼̯̦̖̍̑̏ ̵͔̘̘̌͛̊d̶̢̹̣̎͗͋ä̶̡̨̱̔̑̀ț̴͍̟̍͑͜a̴͓̔͜.̶̝̜͂͛ ̴̜̖́̋Ḣ̵̡̱̘y̷̻̎̐p̴͙̦̭͖̅̋o̷̢͎͉̎t̶͚̺̱̏h̸̬̖̻̾̈́ę̸̧͕͉̂͌̈́͘s̸̹̑͜ͅí̵͎̮̤̰s̶̬͈̋̅̆͝:̴͈̭͗̓̑͜͠ͅ ̴̡͔͔̩͌t̴̤̦͈̜͗͊h̷͉̗̎̚̚i̸̧̭̙̐̾̋s̷̭̼͍̾̂̏͗ ̴̺͚̠͓̈͐͋̕c̴̗̏o̵̧͙̜͓͐̄ū̴̝̿͆ͅl̵̪̾d̷͈̐͌ ̷̟̾̑s̵̨̈͝p̴͇͒̐e̸̻͒̇̆̍ë̴͔̯͕́͜d̸̫̱̔̕͜͝ ̷̗̲̑̓̿̌ù̶̡͍̋́̚p̷͕̱̺͍̊̍̓ ̸̪̌̏̕t̷̠̗̦̀͒ḣ̶͎̘̦͂͠ĕ̷͙̪̙͇́͘͝ ̵̜͖̝̻͑̍r̸̘̈̆͂e̵͇̹̯͎̓̕͝c̵͔̊a̵̙͍̓̌͘l̶̲̲̀̓͝ĩ̵̙͚̎́b̸̺͍͇̾̿́r̶̺̱̬͚̿̈́̋a̵͈̖͋̐ẗ̵̤͕͝ĭ̷͎̗̰̯̎o̴͉͎̒n̵͓͔̺̪̽͗͗ ̴̲̩̆̏p̸̤̊̈͐̚r̶̢͛͗̇ǒ̵̫͈͘c̵̡̣̲̄́̂ễ̶̘s̸̯͒̓š̴̘̠̭͂̀ ̴̛̤͖̒̒̑͜ḡ̷̪̇̇̀ŗ̷̜͙́̅͜è̴̲̭̟̄̐a̸͍͆͘t̵̲͑l̶̺̉y̶̦̞͙̻̆̄̊.̷̬̐ͅ

Knowing a missile wasn't likely to hit at this range, he opted to try firing his guns instead. He didn't expect them to do much, but it might at least slow it do—

Oh.

The stream of hot lead struck true, shredding the unfortunate Eagle's right wing off and causing it to spiral out of control before finally slamming into the ground.

Huh. I don't remember guns ever being this useful before…

He'd have to keep that in mind, he supposed.

"…This reminds me of this old story I heard once," he mused.

"Ooh, mister Peacekeeper's got a story for us?" Dip teased over the radio. "Do tell."

"Yeah. They say there's a guy who actually landed like that—with one wing, that is," he clarified.

"Seriously? You'd have to be nuts to try that…personally, I would've just ejected."

Comic sighed. "It's probably not true, Dip. Most of those stories of 'legendary aces' are probably fake or overblown old wives' tales…I bet he only lost maybe a third of the wing."

S̶̼̐͠ú̵͎́̈́͘c̶̬̉͑́̈́h̷̹͔̐̂͝ ̵̪̼̗͓̍̓a̶̻̰̎͂̊ ̸̜̈́̋͆͘f̷̪̥̤͆͠ẹ̷̐a̴̡̼͔̦͛̿̊̑ť̷͙̭̫͆͠,̶̫̯͕̌́̋ ̷̼̽̕w̸̡͓̭͓̑̕h̷͕͕̒̀í̵̛̤͎̬̻l̴̢̲̠͚̅e̶͇̫̜͂́͛ ̷̛̤̖̫̤̓͠u̸̗͔͋̾n̴̙̯͚͈̊̈́l̷͚̯̥̇ͅī̴̺k̷̠̪̇͘e̶̪̭̻̾̅̒̊l̵̝̟͊̈́̈ͅy̴̭̿́̾͘,̸̠͖̃ ̶̝̉̾͘i̷̫͑͝͝s̵̮̹̀͛̚ ̴̟̠̘̝̊n̶̡̡̛̫ǒ̸̙̭̲͒̒͝ͅț̴̐͗̈́͒ ̸̧̌͂i̶̲̻̳̫̾m̶̘̤͌̾͜p̸͚̳̠̉͆̕͜ȯ̷̞̝̩́̅s̶͕̟̳͔̉s̶͉̯͇̅̿̇͜͝i̸̪̯͗̿͊͑b̸̤͓̟͖͂ļ̷̩̉̀̆͝ȩ̵̹͉̦̒̏ ̶̫̮́́̇g̷̫̦͋ï̴̺v̸͖̲̖͒̍͋e̷̛͓̩͎͖n̴͚̱̗͇͗̓̊ ̴͎̮͚̓̄̊̈́ṯ̶̪̤̱̿̃h̸͓̫̄͠ĕ̸̺̎̒ ̵͈̥̜͒ş̵̬͇̖̾̉̂h̶͕͂̏̋ã̷̗p̴̯̑ȇ̶̪͍̻̭ ̷͙͓̿̓a̵̡̱̳͇̿͘n̶̗̱͇̣͠d̸̢͓̏ ̴̟͍̞͐̈̓͝c̶̖͂ȍ̸̺̹ṋ̸̬̹͑s̸͇̗̝͍̅̓̅t̸̯̝̳̦͋̈́̓ŕ̶̳̑̈̅ṳ̶͔͍̒͘ç̵̟̗̗̔̈́t̴͕̏͋̆ĭ̸͎͓̏̑͠ò̴̜̉̔n̵̫̈́̒͠ ̸̯̔̊̏o̵̦͊̎f̴͓͇̓̍̑͝ ̷͓̺̭͑t̶̞̪̦͕̂͂̐ḩ̷̛̠͉̫́ẻ̴̮̺͌̋ ̷͓̽͂ͅá̶͙̱̂i̷̖̟̲̖͋̽͝ṙ̶̗͍̠͒͂͝c̵̝̔̅̋̓r̷̯͂̎͠ǎ̷̛͚̱̘̲͌f̴̈́̚͜͝t̴̨̗̬͇̒͋̒̈́ ̶͖̫͌̉i̶̭̟̤͌̀͜ṇ̸̐̊̇͠ ̷̢͈͎̣̊̉̓̚q̷͍̳̟̓̈́͜͝û̶͙͕̋̾ë̶̛͖͇̩š̷̤͛͌͘ṱ̴̂̓̾į̴̜̀̉̎͠ơ̴̰̞̟n̸͍̪͖̪͌.̸̟̝̎͝͠ ̷̥͕͌̅Ĩ̵̥ţ̵̥̬͔̈́̉̎ ̶̡͇̆w̴͈̹̤̳͋͆̑͗o̵͍̺̲̎̿̄u̷̳͚̲͐̅̏͐ḷ̵̨̐͊͘͠ḑ̷̪̬̟̈͑͝,̴̪͓͓͔̾̋̿ ̵̟̖͌͆̚h̵̢͍͚̯͛̈́̚͝ò̴̢̙͍̼̿̕͝w̶̮̃e̴̘̗͔̓͛v̷̗̟̿͒̑e̴̼̩͔̠̍͌͘r̸̞̖͚͋̈́,̸̲͇̏̈́͌ ̸̢͖̻͔̋̒̕͝b̶͖̜̜͑e̷̥͈̿ ̷̡͚͎͕̋å̵̰̊̄̀n̷̲̯̜͉͋̄̚ ̸̥͆ë̴̲̰̮̗x̸͈͎̪͚̋͠t̴̛̫̜͋̐ͅr̸̘̩̪̔͆̚ͅę̸̤̒̀̽͒ͅm̶̟̟͍̖̄͝è̷̟̎͝l̴̹̓̚͜ÿ̵̝͝ ̴̘̰̔b̴̝̯̔̒͠ā̵̛̞͌ḏ̸̮͕̥̒̕ ̸̛̹̜͆̌į̴͉̽d̷͉͇̥͆͜e̸̘̬̦̗̊̅͐a̸̡͍͕͕̋̋.̸̟͐͛̀

"Aw, c'mon. I bet Monarch could pull it off. Riiiiight, Monarch?" Dip pleaded.

"…The best way to survive a situation like that is to not put yourself in it in the first place." was the soft response.

"Ugh…you guys are total killjoys sometimes. Trigger here seems like a bundle of fun, though…maybe I'll stick around him for now. Whaddya say, 'Mick? You wanna trade?"

"Dip, that's not how this works…"

"̵…̵d̴r̵o̷p̵ ̵y̷o̷u̶r̸ ̵g̵u̶n̶s̶ ̵a̸n̴d̷ ̴l̵o̵o̵k̵ ̴i̵n̵n̸o̴c̷e̶n̷t̵…̸o̷b̵v̷i̵o̴u̴s̵l̸y̷ ̷l̷o̶o̸k̶i̴n̴g̷ ̸f̸o̸r̷ ̸s̴o̶m̶e̴t̸h̶i̶n̵g̴…̷"̸

What…?

He was hearing things again. Clearer than usual…it almost sounded like radio chatter. He tried to ignore it for now and focus on what was in front of him.

Luckily, there wasn't much to focus on. Monarch had already made mincemeat of the remaining reinforcements.

Galaxy whistled. "Well, that was quick. Hitman Team, stand by until Ronin Team gives the all-clear."

A laugh from Comic. "This wasn't much of a fight, Galaxy. I think we're fine by my mark. Between me, Monarch, and the new guy, we've got things locked down."

"Hey, what about me?" Dip pouted.

"What about you?" Comic retorted, resulting in some grumbling on the other end.

"…not my fault Monarch kept getting to the enemy first…"

There was a bit of a lull as the team waited on Ronin.

"Ronin to Galaxy, we've got eyes on target. Looks like some sort of…containment chamber? Not really sure what it is."

C̵̰̆̀͋̀h̶͔̔̓̚ä̴͖̪̌m̶̧͋͌͛b̶̢̦̭̜̏͗̍̍e̶̳̭͋r̸̗̹̼̬̎ ̷͖̘͂̈́̚ī̶̤̈́͌͝s̶̢͇̗͒̈ ̸̥̈͊̕e̴̹̠̱̽̊m̸̥̀̄̍ḯ̵̘͖͚̘t̷̙̙̔̂t̸̢̟̫̎̍̉̋ī̸̻̜̣̿̚̚ͅṇ̶̫͙̈̐̀͝g̷̺̯̬͗̌͝ͅ ̵͇̠̑̈̋s̵̛͖͝͝ẗ̶̼r̸̙̈̈́ō̶̬̬͚̰̔̆̀ņ̸̬̥̏͌̏g̴̗̎ ̵̙̱̗̽t̸͈̯̃̒̾h̸̗̦̃̚͝ͅe̵͓͍̅̄̇̑ŗ̶̥̠̣͆̊m̴͈͛ã̴̯̑l̷͈͇̐͒̃͋ ̵̗̙̀͛s̶̡̖̰͊͂ͅi̷͈̘͑͜ġ̷̳n̸̥̈̔̈a̸̩̣̤̿t̷͓̯͑u̴̦͗́́ŗ̵̨̥̃̈̚e̵͖͐̀͋͘ṧ̴͔̕͜…̷̨̰̮̬͒͒̐̕p̸̰̩̀r̵̡̋o̷̱͚̐̀b̵̮͔͖͑ạ̶̖͂̂̾̆b̷̡̬̟͔͒̈́̇į̵͙͋̀ͅĺ̶̖͚̃͝ͅi̸̧̝͔̜͗̍t̷͓͇͝ỵ̶͎͛̇̂͝ ̷͇̥̾ǫ̷̰͈͑̀͆f̸̧̠͎͉͆́̀ ̸̝̫͖͈̐́̕t̵̼̹͈͗̿̉̽h̵̫̥͎͆͂͋e̵̱̟͔͂͜͠ ̶̠̊̈́̈́̈́š̴̡̻̫̯̾o̴̳͒̇͘u̵̦͆̚r̸͓̭̟̜̈́͌̈́c̶̱͔̹̘͆e̴̞̕͝ ̸̳̖̙̮̔̑b̴̨̲̣̽̿͌͂ę̷̛̪̪͇̒̎i̵̦̟͒̔̄̃n̴̝͂g̵͉̘̐̋́̕ ̷̡̰̮͌́c̵̛̮͒o̵̮̠͉̐̍r̵̩̰͒̂̅̽͜d̵̼̑i̵̡̪̜̐̓͜͠ű̵͓͙̾̊m̷̢̨͕̠͝ ̴̬̃î̸̡͓͉̹s̶̡̹̃ ̴͖̐̓9̵̫̲̿̈́̚9̶̳̊̀.̴̫͖͙͌͊̉̔6̵̡̫̲̗͑͝%̶̱̏͘;̸̧͙͎̮͝ ̶̱̈́́̕̕͜ͅp̶̪̦͌̔r̷̟̭͍̽͠ỏ̵̞̂͝b̴͓̐̅̃̇a̴͖͌̀̂͝b̷͚̃̋ĩ̸͈̔̃́l̴̥̣̯̂̇i̵̹̓t̶̖̑͋y̵̛͍̦͜͝ ̶̲̍̀͜͝o̶̼̫͂f̷̪͐ ̷̣͌ͅì̸̡̢̗͂t̷̛͖̱̙ͅ ̶̗͚̖̼͆͝͝b̸̰͈͊͜e̵̫̟̭͍͂͂ĭ̸͉̽n̴̠̞̰̋̆́͋g̷̰̊̑̈́̆ ̷͓̄͑͗͠ȕ̶͉̯̆̕n̸͙͍̺̉̆s̵͚̅̓̕͜ṭ̵̢̭̎̈̕a̴̗̮͚͎͆͝b̸̢̘͚͌̀̍l̷̖̣͝ę̶͈͕̅ ̴͙̪̯̐́̉i̴̼͖̗͝s̶̰͙͛ ̷̪̃̍9̴̧͕̜́͒3̸͚̦͊̓.̶̫̖̤͗̕5̸̱̣̒%̴̞̿̌́.̴̧̮̇

"Right, uh...one moment, putting the contact on the line…"

"Clean the scene," the informant growled. "Everything you've seen is confidential by decree of the Osean Federation. Destroy it."

"Copy that. Ronin, exfiltrate. You heard that, Monarch? Highlighting new target on your IFF. Blow it when they're out."

"Way ahead of you, Galaxy. You're clear, Hitman," the Ronin member chuckled.

Trigger watched as Monarch flew towards the marked target, firing a single missile before flying low to confirm its destruction.

T̸̡̗̾̌̂͋h̴̡͉̹̏e̴͔̊̾̌ṙ̵̠͑͌m̴̨̢̥̻̅͂a̴̘̺̎l̶̛̹̦͈͗́̚ ̸̨̹̆s̸̢͔͆̍̈́͜i̸̡̠͚͍̅̏g̴̪̝̏͌n̸͈͌͋à̴͎̼̑̃t̵̮͖̉u̵͓͉̗͛͐ŗ̵͈̝̻̍͛͋͌ę̶̙͔͕͝͝s̷̨̡̩̩̍̍ ̶̡̧͚̩͐͘r̴̥̯̓̄ͅi̴̛̞̺͛s̵̬̑i̴̪͂͂̍̀n̶̰̤͕͔̐̈g̷̹̏!̵͇͎̬̥̀̄͂
̵͒́̌̃ͅ
̷͎̤̠̏̎̽͛g̷̺͗̾e̸͔̿͛̃̇͜t̶̺̣͍̥̔̎͗̉ ̷̻̌̕͘ö̶̯̭̠́̐̋̽ǘ̶͈̺̫͚t̷̨̳̍̈̈́̕ ̵̮̌̚o̶͍̣͛̀̒̚f̵̤͎̘̮̍͐̿ ̴̨͙̬̺̽̾͘t̴̡̫͑̃͝h̸̢́͋͋e̶͙͋ŕ̷͈̖͖̔͋ȅ̵̥̔ ̶̞̆͊͊̋ǧ̷͓͎͊̔e̸̝̫͔̬͆͗̍͝t̴̝̜̱̀ ̴̤̈́̈̓͜ô̴͕̿͜u̶̮͒ẗ̴̤̬͖̬́̒́ ̶͔̲͇̼̓G̶̛̯͈͑̂̈́É̷͍̙̖̲̌Ṱ̷̢̒͑́ ̷͔̫̤͉̍̕O̶̳̎Ų̵͕̯͚̊̆T̸̢̯̣̘͐̀̅͠

R̸͔̘̻͠é̸̝͎̳̪c̸̣̖͇̪̒̿̀a̵̦͒̒l̴̨̝̖̜̈̾͂i̵͇͍͛̄͋͑b̶͈͕̒r̵͓̠͊a̸͙͕͑t̵̻̗͔̽͋͘͘ị̴̟̏̔̔o̶͕̜̲̊͌n̷̞͚̊̈͒͋ ̴̥̭̀͠a̸̧̠͆̔̄̓ẗ̵̙̜͉̽ ̵̡̮̇̂̌̋͜9̸̹̃8̷̢̀̈͊́%̵̛͈̇̕.̵͔͇̀.̴͉̻̠̟̎̏̿.̸̨̻͊̅̽ 9̴9̶%̴.̸.̵.̸

…100%.

—CONNECTED—

"Monarch!" Trigger felt someone who wasn't him shout. "Pull up!"

"…What? Why would I need to…?"

"PULL UP!" The other shouted again. "You need to pull up!"

Monarch finally complied—just in time, too, as the world went white, before settling on a bloody scarlet.

"Oh shit!"

"What the hell?!" Diplomat demanded.

"Holy crap. I felt that in my teeth! You okay, Monarch? What was that?!" Prez asked.

Everyone seemed equally confused, but Trigger knew what had just happened. He'd seen it before a few times during the Lighthouse War. Each time, it had taken the form of a horrible, sky-rending orange blast.

"Cordium detonation," the other breathed, saying exactly what he was thinking. "Judging by the size of the explosion, there was probably enough there to power an airship for a year."

"...huh. Uh...objectives complete, Hitman, RTB at your leisure." Galaxy said, seemingly the first to recompose himself.

"Think the water's still alright? We've still got sunshine by the time we RTB," Dip joked, but it was obvious he was still a bit shaken up.

"Just drop out and become a surfer or something, you bum."

"Oh yeah, me, you, and flight lead here just running a little beach bar on a gentrified resort built from our blood money! Trigger and Prez can be our severely underpaid waiters, and Lawyer can be our mascot! Sound good, Monarch?"

"A bar with a possum for a mascot…yeah, I'm sure we'd be overflowing with guests," Monarch snarked.

"Hold that thought," Galaxy interrupted them. "We've got inbound from due north, same bearing as before. Fighters approaching the flight to your direct south, flash ident or we will flag you as hostiles."

An accented voice cut the silence. "Easy, easy, flashing IFF. We're just the help, and, by the looks of it, late to the Burlok party."

"You hired by the mercs in the fort, bud?" Dip prodded.

"Past tense now, I guess. We've got no beef with you. It's all business, I'm sure you guys understand."

Trigger held its breath, praying that the thing wouldn't suddenly decide to attack anyways. Fortunately, whatever it was at least had some common sense.

"Put me on, Galaxy... This is Assassin 1, callsign Kaiser, I'm the leader of the Sicario Mercenary Corps. We do understand your situation."

This had happened before, he was certain. He remembered now—it had first reared its head on the beach, puppeting his body, pretending to be him. But it wasn't him, it wasn't him, it wasn't—

—DISCONNECTED—

Trigger sagged with relief as the thing controlling him suddenly relinquished its hold. He turned the radio off for a moment and spent a few moments just gasping for air.

"Trigger? Are—are you alright?" Prez whispered. "You were acting, uhh…weird just a second ago."

"Fine," he lied, and regretted it immediately when Prez shot him a disapproving look.

"Bullshit. You're, like, the walking definition of not fine. What happened to you?" she prodded again.

"…I don't know. I-I think we just need to…get back to base. Then I can think about this, figure out what's wrong." He buried his head in his hands.

"Hopefully Kaiser can wrap this up quickly, then."

He turned the radio back on, heart still pounding.

"…but you know how this business goes," Kaiser continued.

"Don't sweat it, we were about to break off and go west anyway, towards Usea."

"Usea?" Comic asked. "The hell are you going there for? Everyone knows the market for independent mercs is deader than a dodo there."

"Oh, you haven't heard? Shit really hit the fan over there earlier today. Apparently GR and Neucom just declared war on each other. UPEO doesn't have its shit together—as usual—so they're paying a hefty price for mercenaries that aren't affiliated with either side to bolster their forces right now. It's been all over the news for the last couple hours, and recruiters have been dropping off contracts and information all day."

"UPEO might be practically worthless, but they're paying good money, and I need a job. Master Goose 1 out."

"Master Goose, eh? See, that's a team name that sounds fun to have…right, boss?"

Trigger but his lip at the similarity to "Mother Goose," but held his tongue. They didn't need to know about his history.

"…Boss?"

"So war's finally broken out in Usea…interesting," Kaiser drawled.

Whatever his new boss was cooking up in that head of his, Trigger had a bad feeling about it—to say nothing about his own health.

He had a feeling that he was starting to get an idea of what that chip in his head might be, and he didn't like it.