Author's Note: Buckle up, because this is going to be a long chapter. We're talking over six thousand words of plot development, character establishments, and combat. Speaking of the last, the song I had envisioned in use was "4 The Answer" from Armored Core: For Answer's OST.

At least a few members of the crew in the command center, along with the Inspector General, retired for the night. Kasumi Sumika and Jill, however, were still up. Jill was anxious, smoking like a chimney as Kasumi sifted through the incoming data.

"So, what's the word?" Jill asked.

"Hold on," Kasumi said. "You don't rush a deciphering job like this…"

Kasumi was getting a response; it seemed the translation key was still up to date. Numbers returned to her tablet, and she quickly went through her applications to decipher the message.

ALPHA BRAVO COPIES

AMMO LOW. SUPPLIES LOW

GO TO 101.5 MHZ

"I've got a frequency," Kasumi said. "I'm patching it in, now. Alpha Bravo, this is Kilo Sierra, do you read?"

"Alpha Bravo reads," the voice came from the tablet, and Pamela – the only member of the communications crew still here – stiffened. Jill quirked an eyebrow up, showing interest, though not necessarily surprise.

Kasumi's contact was a man.

"Great to hear you again, kid," Kasumi said.

"Good to hear you, too," the man on the other end said. "I have to keep this brief: I need coordinates to head to and lay low."

"I bet…" Kasumi said. "I'll encrypt them to you later."

"Roger that, and…wait one…I'll get back to you soon."

On his end, Arthur cut the transmission because his sensors were picking up a contact – infantry-sized. He wasn't sure who was out here, but if it was a foe trying to get the drop on him, they would quickly learn that taking on a NEXT on foot was suicide.

"I have you on sensors," Arthur said over his NEXT's PA system, popping the hatch and fixing a flashlight on the position. "May as well come out."

Arthur's physical link with his NEXT allowed him to keep control of its weapon systems even though he was not physically manning the joystick, and the very large muzzle of his 051ANNR keeping track of the target it had acquired in the bushes. Out walked some kid in jeans and a faded shirt – no older than 17 – with brown hair and violet eyes.

Huh? A kid out here?

"Who are you? You're not here from Mana society – did one of the others send you?" the kid asked.

"No, I'm not with the Mana society," Arthur said. "If you're here to report me for that, you're out of luck. Otherwise, if you want to talk, you can keep talking from there."

"I'm not looking for trouble," the kid said.

He seemed fairly harmless, but Arthur trusted no one at face value, especially if they were able to live alone on an island like this. Living in the wilderness required some serious balls to pull off, and for as clumsy as this kid seemed to come across as, Arthur got the feeling he had them.

"What's your name, kid?" Arthur asked.

"I'm Tusk."

"Tusk? Is that a code name or something?" Arthur asked.

"Close enough," Tusk said. "That machine of yours. I don't recognize the design – it's too big to be a Para-mail."

"This, kid, is what's called a NEXT," Arthur said. "A second-generation Armored Core."

"Armored…Core?" Tusk questioned. "Look, if you're concerned about me reporting you to Mana society, don't be. I can't use Mana, anyway."

"Huh? Oh, you must be one of what Mana society calls 'the Abandoned Ones'," Arthur remarked, and then his NEXT lowered the muzzle of his rifle. "That makes two of us, if true. You seem civil enough, so I'll leave you be. Just don't start any trouble – trust is in short supply with me."

"What about your name?"

"Hm. If Tusk is a code name, then extend to me the same courtesy by accepting an alias: you may call me Strayed," Arthur said, descending on a lift line from his craft. "It's what my NEXT used to go by."

"Strayed. Look, I've got something on the stove," Tusk said. "From the looks of you, you don't seem to have much in the way of food. We can talk more at my camp."

"Hmm. Well, you're not wrong," Arthur said. "Fine by me."

Unknown to either the kid or to the veteran LYNX, sitting right between the main boosters of the NEXT, a small device that wasn't there before was planted…

From where she was, Riza tracked the blinking dot on her Mana screen as she ran both name and face through all databases. When Julio first met the young man, he had introduced himself as Jim Milton. There were plenty of people by that name in Mana society, but none of them matched the facial results. The young man with the scar across his nose was not in any of the Six Nations' databases.

That would make the name an alias or that the young man was born off the grid. While the latter is explanation is not entirely unheard of, she did some digging over the few weeks between Julio's first meeting with the young man and yesterday. She'd been tailing him without him knowing; he carried himself as a career soldier and he was definitely good at avoiding notice from most people.

Of course, most people in the world of Mana could not sprout wings and fly. And that led her right to the young man's mysterious machine. And it all culminated in his encounter with the Princess, his defense of the Norma, and his violent escape.

There was something about him that Riza could not place her finger on. Why defend a Norma if he was going to venture so close to Arzenal, regardless? And did he not possess the stolen power that the False Earth knew as the "Light of Mana"? If he didn't, then what was he?

The planted tracker doubled as a listening device, and she could make out that the pilot had referred to it as an "Armored Core." Not a Ragna-Mail, not a Para-mail, not even one of the Ryuu-Shin-Ki – an Armored Core. Come to think of it, there were reports of unusual lights and a streak across the nights in the northernmost areas of the Six Nations.

Riza was quite familiar with the concept of dimensional rifts; it was how she was here. It was how this shadow war between her people and the World of Mana was waged. What she was not certain of was the presence of yet a third Earth. Thus, the question became: was the young man really from outside the World of Mana?

Riza's entire gamble with the tracker and listening device was predicated on one objective: forming a hypothesis. If it went in the direction her initial thoughts are saying they will, it would dramatically affect how her objective – and even the entire course of the hidden war between the Earths – would go.

Perhaps he could even prove to be of indirect aid to her assignment…

She dismissed that part of her screen – she figured that, for the time being, the stranger's whereabouts would remain safe with her.

Back at his cave, Tusk scooped out a bowl from the pot of soup simmering atop his clay stove. Over at the table, his unexpected guest had been surveying thew shelter that had been Tusk's home for the past ten years. Just who was Strayed? His 'Armored Core' did not seem to use any Mana technology, so Tusk had doubts that he was one of Embryo's humans – nor did the man seem to have any knowledge of him.

But he wasn't one of his old comrades from Libertus, either. Even so, he carried himself with the presence of a hardened combat veteran. For all his seemingly relaxed demeanor, Strayed looked ready to go for the pistol in his holster at a second's notice. That told Tusk that Strayed made a career out of combat.

If nothing else, Tusk was glad to have company. After so much time isolated on this island, Tusk had forgotten what human company was like.

"Here you are," Tusk said as he offered Strayed his bowl.

"Thank you," Strayed said, before digging in. "A bit bland, but the meat is good."

"It's a fresh-caught sea snake," Tusk said.

Strayed stopping mid-swallow and looked down at the bowl before shrugging and continuing.

"I guess when your focus is survival, you make food out of anything," Strayed said. "Cave is pretty sheltered from the elements – that tells me you've been around the block more than once."

"You could say that," Tusk said. "So, what are you doing here?"

"You want the long version or the short version? Either way, I've left bodies behind," Strayed said.

"Keep it short and simple," Tusk said.

"Well, a mother was about to have her daughter taken away, and I stepped in and helped them both escape from the Misurugi Empire. We decided to travel separately, and I shot my way out. So, here I am," Strayed explained, setting his bowl down and crossing his arms.

"This girl…was she a Norma?" Tusk asked.

"Maybe," he said, one of his hands looking like it was ready to go for his pistol. "What if she was?"

"I'm just surprised," Tusk said. "There's not a lot of people who would put their lives on their line for a Norma."

"I'll say…" Strayed said. "Seems a lot of people back in society won't lift a finger. So, that left me. So, what about you? What's a guy your age doing out here?"

"I'd keep you up the entire night if I told you," Tusk said. "I do have a friend in the area that might be able to keep you undercover, though. They're not fond of Mana society, either."

"I'll keep that in mind," Strayed said. "I've actually received word from a contact. I'm waiting for coordinates over where she wants me to go."

"She? Is she trustworthy?"

"She's my mentor – she showed me the ropes when I first became a LYNX," Strayed explained.

"LYNX?"

"Pilots of NEXTS like mine are called LYNX," he said, gesturing to the back of his piloting suit. "They call us that because our nerves are literally 'linked' into the operating system while piloting. It's done through a series of surgical implants and cybernetic modifications."

The piloting suit seemed to fit over a series of grafts and implants along the spinal column, culminating in a series of ports, much like the plug suits for Para-mail.

"Basically, I can control my NEXT with my thoughts alone," he finished.

"So, you bypass manual controls completely?"

"Not quite. Communications systems still require manual input," Strayed said, before a beep caught his attention. He pulled out a data pad and looked at it.

"What's going on?"

"It's from my contact. Coordinates on where to go, and a time to meet up; about this time tomorrow night," Strayed said. "I just hope no trouble crops up – I don't have the ammo left for a drawn-out engagement."

"Well, I have some Para-mail ordnance stashed away on the island," Tusk offered.

"I doubt that you have ordnance that can fit a thirty, forty, and a one hundred-twenty millimeter bore…"

A Few Hours Later…

Well, that shut me up really quick…

Tusk was not lying when he said he had spare ordnance lying around – in fact he had plenty of scrap "Para-mail" parts. None of them could outright replace in internal structure of a NEXT, but the ammunition for both larger caliber light cannons and revolving cannons that would apparently normally be mounted on the back of a Para-mail managed to – somehow – properly seat into the chamber of each rifle. Tusk said he occasionally found them on salvage runs. As for the 120 mm shell…it's been here for the past decade – Arthur had no doubt it would seat properly in the OGOTO's chamber, but whether the round would be a dud was a different story.

There was also some spare armor plating that Arthur could use to patch up some of the bullet holes his NEXT had been riddled with. So, he asked Tusk for a generator and a welding torch, and he worked through the night with his patchwork repairs. The OS needed a bit of recalibration to make up for the non-standard ammunition, but by the time that was done, he had one spare round in the OGOTO and two rifles with one magazine each.

Not exactly a full payload, but it would be comforting to not have to be reduced to simply ramming his target.

He continued welding and riveting armor in place, rerouting systems as needed, and the cables running into his back fed to him data on the NEXT in real time. Based on estimates, his AP was at about twenty percent of its maximum. Enough for a light skirmish, but nothing he wanted to gamble on a protracted battle.

"Ugh. Doesn't it hurt, having those things in your back?" Tusk asked. Arthur was out of his piloting suit, which had gotten stuffy with all the humidity, and was clad in the jeans he'd gotten back on the mainland.

"I thought you'd gone to bed," Arthur said.

"I did, but I couldn't sleep. So?"

"It only hurts to connect and disconnect to the system," Arthur explained. "Otherwise…well, the implants itch and chafe every so often. The hard part is recovering from the surgery."

"Can anybody use the system?"

"Actually, no; only people with a very specific neurological – some might even say 'psychic' - trait can even become a LYNX. And even then, not all LYNX perform equally well with the system," Arthur said.

"How so?"

"Well, some are very compatible with the system, while others have poor aptitude with it. If you had poor aptitude and tried to push the system too hard, the system could render you insane. I've even seen it kill someone," Arthur said, chills coming to him as he recalled one of the prospective LYNX dead with his eyes open in horror and pain. "Exceptions exist, but they're just that: exceptions."

"What about you?"

"I get the occasional headache if I use it for too long," Arthur admitted. "Light ones. Nothing that really hurts my focus."

Tusk looked at him and back to the cables – wincing at the sight of where metal met flesh – then at his NEXT.

"So, it really feels like an extension of your own body?"

"Exactly," Arthur said. "Its optics are my eyes; its generator is like my heart. That's a double-edged sword, though."

"Hearing you describe it almost reminds me of…" Tusk trailed off.

"Go on…" Arthur prodded as he shut off the torch, allowing another piece of plating to cool into place.

"Sorry. I was just thinking out loud…"

"Fair enough. I get why you're so guarded, kid – living out here alone can't have been easy," Arthur said. "I may not be willing to tell you everything, but I've been nothing but honest with what I have told you. I just hope you don't keep things bottled up forever."

"Thanks," Tusk said.

"Hmm. I think that's as much as I can repair without a dedicated facility," Arthur commented, looking his handiwork over. The slabs of plating he put over the most problem spots weren't particularly thick, but they would easily stand up to small arms fire. Things would get dicey once his NEXT started taking hits from large caliber rounds.

"I'll head back to the shelter," Tusk said.

"Go ahead. I'll stay hooked up and monitor the radar; make sure I wasn't followed," Arthur replied.

The kid and the veteran LYNX parted company, and the later stayed in the cockpit, monitoring the radar for the next few hours. Soon after, he found himself dozing off in his seat, proximity sensors active. There came no contacts on radar to wake up.

The Next Day

Arthur remembered where to go to find Tusk's shelter, and the scent of food reached his nostrils. Arthur didn't pry, but after seeing the cache of parts and ammo, he already figured that Tusk wasn't just some awkward kid living alone in the wilderness – being a mercenary, he naturally wasn't expecting Tusk to open up to him on the second day, if ever. Arthur was perfectly content to keep things professional between the two of them.

In any event, he spent the day away eating and then getting some cardio work done before the deadline to meet at the rendezvous point came. Since the cooked meals that Tusk had wouldn't remain fresh for long hauls, Arthur took to hunting for fruit to store and seal away. He ultimately kept some sun-dried pineapple in an air-sealed bag. Tusk had plenty of coconuts from which coconut flour could be made. Coconut flour was not ideal for making hardtack when compared to wheat flour, but given the lack of other options, it would have to do.

Hardtack was historically used in the early days of sea travel, land migration, military campaigns, and pioneering back when modern food preservation techniques hadn't been developed. Stored correctly, it had a shelf life lasting several years. Arthur picked up the recipe before ever becoming a LYNX, when he still lived in Anatolia, and he used it in the interim period while traveling after his colony was razed to the ground.

It was a rather simple recipe: flour, water, and possibly a bit of salt, all baked in an oven. An improvised skillet and lid were used due to the open nature of Tusk's clay stove. The hardtack that resulted was not Arthur's best work, but it would have to do. Letting it cool, Arthur got around to getting together drinking water however he could find it: from springs further inland, and even distilling seawater. He had a few canteens by the end of his run and sealed the hardtack away by the time the sun had reached the horizon.

Dinner was spent in relative silence. Arthur had cleaned out his piloting suit and was clad in it again. It was well in the dead of night by the time he'd returned to his NEXT, and Tusk came along with the lantern.

"So, are we going to see each other, again?" Tusk asked.

"Depends on the circumstances," Arthur said. "A little bit of money nudged my way if you need a hand with something is always welcome."

"So, where's you contact waiting?"

"Some island north-northwest of here, five kilometers, give or take," Arthur said.

"About them… listen; I'd appreciate if you kept me being on this island between just us," Tusk said. "I may have an old acquaintance there, but it still has connections to Mana society. The less it knows about me, the better."

"I suppose I could be discrete," Arthur said as he approached his NEXT, inserting the cables into his cybernetic rig, the status of his craft immediately being fed into his nervous system. In response to his thoughts, the NEXT began powering up, and he started to go through the checklists to make sure it operated safely before climbing into the cockpit.

"Hey, Tusk? Whatever you're doing out here, I you find what you're looking for," Arthur said.

Tusk nodded, smiling, before adding, "Good luck, Strayed."

Giving a two-fingered salute, Arthur dropped out of sight as the hatch shut over his form. The main boosters hummed to life, giving his NEXT lift as he edged out and hovered over the surface of the water. He keyed in his destination, adjusted his heading, and thrust away, putting considerable distance between him and the island before activating his Primal Armor.

"Hmm. This was an interesting turn in my experiment," the blonde man, eclipsed by a massive draconic figure in a prison, mused aloud.

Weeks ago, he had conducted an experiment with the dimensional resonator, trying to broadcast Aura's biorhythm though a Singularity to a randomized destination. Something had intercepted it, the Singularity suffered an unexpected form of feedback, springing Aura from her stasis, with her roar destabilizing the connection.

It didn't require his genius intellect to know that the experiment and the images that surfaced on the Mana network in recent days were connected. Rather, it added rather curious questions to his appetite for knowledge. The images would indicate a natural violent streak, and a tactical cunning that rivaled most military tacticians.

And a Norma was in the area – it may have been coincidence. Coincidences happen all the time, but Embryo did not trust coincidence.

Embryo – the architect of this world – was a tall, pale man in a finely-tailored green suit with long blonde hair that swept down his back. He was the closest thing that the World of Mana had to a god, though Embryo himself would think the term too crude for him. "Tuner" had a far more refined ring to it.

Regardless, the World of Mana was a system he created, and its new visitor came from outside the system. That made the new visitor a variable – one which needed to be removed as a factor for the system to function as intended. An efficient removal was predicated on a gauge of this visitor's capabilities.

"I wonder…was this one's arrival truly happenstance?" he queried as he turned to the giant DRAGON. "Or did you have some influence over it?"

Shrugging, he opened a few screens and said, "Either way, let's see what he's capable of…"

Open Ocean

Arthur had been making good time when the weather seemed to shift, and a flash filled the sky.

Where did the sudden inclement weather come from? Things had been fine up until now. The storm seemed to form a cyclone with red lightning, with a hole forming in the sky. Once more, a flash blinded him.

The flash eased, the light faded, and all of a sudden, dragon-like creatures – like those that had only existed in folk tales – appeared. Just when he thought things weren't going to get weirder in his life, they did. There were around sixteen or eighteen such things, most of them being relatively small at around fifteen meters in length. But there were a few larger ones in the mix – they could hardly compare to the Answerer in size, but they still eclipsed his NEXT.

At first, Arthur hoped to continue on course, hoping the creatures would just ignore him. But the smaller ones began to charge him, and he hit the Over-boost function to dodge. A quick turn with his thrusters, and he had a smaller one within his sights, letting loose a round from his 051ANNR rifle, hitting it dead center, taking it out immediately.

The remaining smaller ones started to go evasive – they seemed to be fragile, but there were so many of them. The big ones roared, and his screen filled with static as his AMS seemed to suffer some form of feedback…

Just like when he was fighting Answerer…before that light engulfed him.

As his vision cleared up, he immediately noticed orbs of light approaching him, seemingly projected by the big ones, and once more, he hit the Over-boost. The orbs were tracking him, though, sticking to him like missiles he just could not shake. When one impacted him, his eyes widened over what his HUD was reading: his Primal Armor had no effect on the orb, whatsoever!

He had to break off, engage only what gave chase, and hope that something else caught the creatures' interests. In a normal engagement, Arthur would have been more willing to push his luck, but this was not only not normal, but his NEXT was also not up to full strength. He had only about a magazine in each rifle, a handful of missiles, and a shell in the OGOTO that may or may not be a dud. There was a fine line between instinctive and reckless when it came to piloting a NEXT, and Arthur was not the reckless type.

Fortunately, his most immediate pursuers were the fragile small ones. They were well-coordinated, but it seemed that they could only engage in melee combat. If Arthur could keep his distance and pilot in a more conservative manner, thinning the small fry out would be no problem.

Elsewhere…

Alarms blared as the Mail riders of the First Troop jumped into their Para-mails on the base's catapults. Out of nowhere, a Singularity had opened up, and the Norma that made their livings fighting the creatures that came out of those portals had suited up in record time. The First Troop consisted of eight people, but only seven – Captain Zola, her lieutenant Salia, Hilda, Rosalie, Chris, Ersha, Vivian – were deploying.

The eighth member was still laid out with injuries from an earlier sortie, but the rest of the team knew they had a job to do. And so, First Troop launched in waves, with Zola taking point in formation.

From their position in the command center, Pamela, Hikaru, and Olivier watched their respective screens. Olivier's screen gave a grid view radar of the area surrounding Arzenal. Allied units – such as the First Troop – showed up as green dots, along with the name of the unit. Red denoted hostile contacts, as the color would suggest, and unrecognized contacts turned up as yellow; and there was one such contact near the sea or red dots.

"Huh?" Olivier said, before turning to Jill. "Commander, we have an unidentified contact already in combat – unknown, not one of ours."

"An unknown?" Jill asked. "Pamela, can you fetch us a live image feed?"

"Yes, ma'am," Pamela said. "Getting live feedback from the coordinates…done." She frowned as soon as the feed appeared on her screen. "That's…not any Para-mail I've seen before."

"Get it on screen," Jill ordered.

"Enhancing image. Here it is," Pamela said. Eyes drifted to the screen, and everyone gawked in surprise – save for Jill and Kasumi – at what they were seeing. The image intensification settings made things a little blurry, but it was apparent that a white mechanical unit was in combat with the DRAGONs. Most of the DRAGONs were Schooner-Class, and the majority of them were already being handily dealt with by the white machine as it zipped to and fro around the combat area with considerably more speed than a Para-mail.

How its pilot hadn't entered G-LOC after so many sudden changes in directional thrust was beyond Jill.

"What is that?" Emma asked, readjusting her glasses. "Is that some new Para-mail prototype?"

"I doubt it. It's taller and the proportions are off," Jill said. "Olivier, can you get me a link to its pilot?"

"I'm trying, but its communication link seems to be heavily encrypted," Olivier said. "It could take minutes before I get a matching signal."

"Allow me. I'll use my mobile communications monitor to translate the signal into something we can use," Kasumi said, working her own computer that she hooked into the systems. Her fingers glided across the touchscreen as she adjusted her headset. "Come on, kid. Respond."

The words on her monitor formed to say, "Connection Established", and her eyes narrowed as real-time data on the machine was fed to her screen. She adjusted the headset and started to translate the codes, using her equipment as a proxy to feed it into the command center's system.

"I got it. Okay, kid. How are you holding up?" Kasumi said.

"Not good," the pilot responded, and most of the command center was taken aback to hear that the pilot was a man. "These unidentified targets have a serious numbers and weight advantage over me; I can hold them, but not for long."

"Hang in there. Reinforcements are on the way," Kasumi said.

"How about forwarding me their IFF codes before I end up shooting something I'm not supposed to?"

"Transmitting…" Kasumi said, her unit's processor working overtime to get the machine's pilot the codes.

"White Glint receiving. I'm low on ammo – tell those reinforcements to double-time it," the pilot said.

Jill raised an eyebrow and used the microphone. "First Troop, we have a positive IFF on the unknown machine – designated 'White Glint'. Cooperate with it and escort it here – you have permission to use force to bring it in, if needed."

From their cockpits, the Mail riders received their orders and transformed their Para-mails to Destroyer Mode as they closed in on the combat area.

Start "4 The Answer"

Arthur

The reinforcements appeared to be moveable transforming frames as they approached. Roughly the size of a SELJQ Normal when fully transformed, most were armed with the rough equivalent of a rifle, and a few even had revolver cannons.

These must be Para-mail, Arthur concluded, deciding he would put a pin in that for further questioning.

"This is White Glint. I don't know who you are, but your timing is impeccable. I'm low on ammo – give me a hand," he radioed, using the newly-received communication codes.

Stunned silence met him. Perhaps the communication codes were not working? Just when he was about to key the radio again, a sultry voice spoke. His HUD read that it was from a "Zola".

"It's been years since I heard such a masculine voice," she said. "Sure thing, hun. Maybe later you could show a unique form of gratitude."

The image of what she was talking about was already forming in his head, and Arthur groaned.

"Time's wasting…let's stay on task," Arthur replied, sounding more frustrated than he intended to. "I've got several missiles left – just get clear when I tell you."

Zola suddenly went from flirty to serious, replying, "Right. Ersha, Chris, Rosalie – you are all on fire support and cover. Hilda, Vivian, on me – we're going straight in. Salia, break off and provide sniper support!"

"Yes, ma'am!" six other voices sounded off.

Have they never heard a man speak before?

Arthur lay back, the careful observer, a sly predator looking for a chance to pounce. Zola, he gathered, was piloting the purple para-mail with orange accents. Her piloting style was aggressive and impulsive – dangerously so, in his opinion. The red para-mail similarly matched Zola's aggressive and brute-force approach, while the pink one seemed to treat close combat less like a brutal joust and more like a fencing match – rarely stationary at any point and focused on economy of movement.

The three that hung back and set up a firing line had a yellow unit with light cannons taking point, while isolated from the rest – and near him - was a blue unit. It took potshots with a long-ranged sniper rifle, not dissimilar from anything that BFF would manufacture.

Arthur, for his part, kept an eye on the radar and was playing interception. The JUDITH FCS offered a long-range view of radar, though its refresh rate was not the best. He caught two contacts attempting to flank their south end.

"Two contacts – small ones – bearing two-four-niner from bullseye," Arthur radioed. "Moving to intercept."

"What are you…?" the HUD said "Salia" as the speaker, only for her to let out an exclamation as her unit caught his NEXT zipping by with its Over-boost.

"So fast…" she trailed, looking at the jet of light moving to attack the two Schooner-Class DRAGONs, seeing firsthand why the machine was called White Glint. Before the Schooners could properly reorient themselves, he was on them. The jet of white cut off from the rear of his craft, only to be replaced by others as he rapidly changed his facing and acquired his targets – one rifle gunned down one of the Schooners, and the other hit the other immediately after.

"Salia, right? On your six!" Arthur radioed, snapping Salia out of her haze of admiration, seeing two other Schooners using her distraction to get behind her.

Her shot went wide, as her targeting system could not lock fast enough at this close of a range, so she retrograded with her thrusters and drew the blade on her para-mail's back, slashing up and decapitating one as it approached.

"Missile launched!"

Salia, not questioning, immediately switched to Flight Mode and made a nosedive, leveling out and maxing out her throttle mere meters from the ocean surface. She caught the missile out of the corner of her eye splitting apart to release its submunitions that chased the Schooner, high-velocity shrapnel from the detonation tearing it apart.

"Missile kill…" Arthur confirmed.

"One Brig down, girls," Zola said. "Get the other."

"Zola, I've got a 120 millimeter artillery shell loaded and ready to fire. Just how fragile is the underbelly on these big boys?" Arthur asked.

"They aren't. Hit it from above," Zola said. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll keep it distracted."

"That's a crazy idea!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Stick around – I'm full of them," Zola said.

Huh. Crazy minds thought alike, it seemed. Rather than question it, Arthur once more started to charge – this time under the Brig-Class, letting loose a missile just before going under. It seemed to sting the thing more than anything else, and it started to move after him, sending more of its energy-based orbs after him.

The First Troop began moving to angle their weapons on the flank and fire, while Arthur used some rather clever timing of his quick boosts to get the orbs to hit each other rather than him. The Brig struggled to face him. His energy gauge read half by the time he got above the Brig and readied the OGOTO.

"Clear the fire area!" Arthur warned as he aimed right where the neck met the torso.

The shell let loose, the cannon's recoil sending his NEXT backwards, with the shell hitting an embedding into the Brig's hide. But it failed to detonate.

"It's a dud," Arthur cursed. "Time to get creative. I'm going in."

Arthur rushed, acquiring the impact point of the artillery shell on his sensors, moving to fire at it. One salvo came from his rifles, going wide. He sent another pair of shots, these ones landing closer. By the time he reached the embedded shell, he was skimming the Brig's hide, using the raw momentum to add force to his NEXT's foot colliding with the Brig's muzzle and pushing off to target the artillery shell.

And then he fired, and that was just the persuasion that it needed.

A massive explosion engulfed the neck of the Brig, sending it roaring in pain as the shrapnel not only spread out, but maimed its innards. The fireball was mere meters behind Arthur, sending shrapnel towards him, but his Primal Armor took the brunt, visible as a half-sphere of energy that shimmered in the night sky. A massive roar filled the night as the Brig fell towards the sea, hemorrhaging from the wound and unable to maintain air, sinking into the moonlit sea.

"Confirmed…all targets down or in retreat," Arthur said.

End "4 The Answer"

"Not bad," Zola said. "On a better day, you might have been able to take them all yourself."

"I didn't exactly have my best foot forward," Arthur admitted. "So, what happens now?"

"We have orders to bring you in – by force, if you don't cooperate," Zola said.

In all honesty, while Zola didn't doubt the First Troop could neutralize White Glint, she was certain – after seeing the moves that he pulled off – that over half the squad would perish in the process. That being the case, Zola felt it was in everyone's interest for him to come quietly. Besides, it would be the first man she'd seen in years – opportunities like that don't come often.

"Just tell me one thing: you're all Normas, right?" Arthur asked. "Those machines don't look like they use the Light of Mana, or anything like it."

"What if we are?" the pilot of the red unit – Hilda – asked.

"Just asking," Arthur said. "I noticed the vector you all came from; I was heading that way, regardless. Besides, I'm looking for someone, and I expect you all have figured out who."

"So, what's your answer?"

"Ah, Hell…I owe you for the cavalry rescue," Arthur said. "Lead the way."

"Glad to hear it," Zola said. "Zola to command; all DRAGONs down and White Glint has been secured. We're escorting it to base."

Just what had Arthur gotten himself into?

Satisfied with the results of his experiment, Embryo closed the Mana screen. While it was obvious to him that the interloper wasn't at full strength, he nonetheless gleaned some useful insight. The interloper was in possession of pre-Mana technology, is sympathetic to the Norma, and had his entire combat style revolve around high-risk, high-speed combat, foregoing brute strength for finesse and longevity.

These suggest that he originates from a civilization not dissimilar to those wretched primitives. No doubt Alektra and other anti-establishment elements would seek to use him. And given his showing, it would benefit Embryo to know more of this world he came from.

A new row of screens appeared before.

"So," he started. "Let's take a look at your world, shall we?"

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