Proxima b.
That was the name they gave this exoplanet.
Located some 4.22 lightyears away from the Earth's Sol System, it is part of the neighboring one known as Alpha Centauri.
What made Proxima b special? Well, nothing much, just the fact that it was a planet with a similar atmosphere to Earth; that made it habitable, even without the use of terraforming projects.
Course, even though terraforming wasn't a requirement like on planets similar to Mars, or Jupiter, that didn't mean that colonization wasn't still an issue that took a few years and decades to accomplish.
Not that any of that mattered at the moment.
Resting in his MS, 732 found himself taking a breath as he felt the surrounding entry capsule start to rattle a bit as it started entering Mars atmosphere.
He'd swear to high hell that he hated it when he was dropping in from orbit.
Something about being stuck in a 20-meter tall capsule that weighed a few thousand tons and falling from orbit just scared the shit out of him. Sure thanks to a wireless connector feed going straight into his cockpit he could look outside, but all he could really see was the outer hull of his entry capsule burning up as made entry.
Whole thing reminded him that it was more of a giant coffin than anything.
[I'm powering down your entry capsules.]
The voice over comms, his Handler told him as 732 took another breath to calm their nerves as they saw that their entry capsule was still falling into orbit. It wasn't just theirs though, at the edge of their screen they could see two more falling with this; each one housing one of their two allies and companions; 731 and 735.
The fires from reentry died down, that meant that phase 1 was complete, and with Phase One out of the way, that just left Phase Two.
[Now, purge the entry capsules.]
They did as instructed, the armored chassis that made up their entry capsules flying off as the three MSs were left to fall from the sky as they made a b-line towards the ground.
As someone from a dead age once said, gravity is a bitch. Falling from the sky with so much G-force slamming into him made it feel like his skin was gonna rip off.
Still it was with a combination of instilled reflex and instinct that the pilot responded accordingly; the thrusters flared to life, the roar hitting the air so loud that it almost drowned out everything else in the vicinity.
It wasn't an instant, there was no 'one second' the MSs were falling and the 'next second' it was flying in the air with gravity having no effect on them.
By all means the MS's were still falling, but they were slowing down; not by a lot, but just enough to not slam into the ground and potentially damage something important on impact.
With that being said, the three MS's still hit the ground hard enough that they kicked up clouds of dust and cracked the proximan street beneath them.
[Descent to IS3172, "Proxima," complete.]
[Welcome to Proxima.]
Their handler said over comms as the three MS's took a few moments to stand upright, and did their system's check.
Looks like everything was still in working order, chassis was a bit shaken up but other than that it was still in good condition. Not great condition, just good.
[Looks like your position is City 21.]
Their Handler told them.
[Bit off target, but still within permissible range.]
The three MS's seemed to look at each other, scans telling them about the condition of their companions.
735 and Loader 4 were good to go.
731 and Loader 1 were also good to go.
That just left him and Loader 3.
A screen lit up at the edge of 732's monitors as he saw something being downloaded before it presented a map for him to see.
[You three better get a move on.]
Without a word the three MS pilots - Torchwood's hounds obeyed the order, marching their machines across the terrain.
The land before them could, at best, be described as the ruins of the old city; a place that at one point was caught in the crossfire between the Corporate dogs and the Proxima Militia.
Not gonna lie, if the money hungry Corporates never abandoned the colonists all those decades ago due to waning profit and interest, they probably wouldn't be fighting to begin with.
Regardless, this city, an old battleground, was littered with age and death. There's overgrowth covering the builds. Shadows are burned into the brickwork. The wreckage of old machines littered here and there; riddled with holes and covered with scars and rust and moss.
They looked… strangely at peace.
Does that seem strange?
Mobile Weapons like Mobile Suits were weapons of war, they were made for conflict and destruction. That was all they did throughout their lives - regardless of it being something short or painfully long. They fought, they bled and were ripped apart and mended till they could fight no more.
When you think of it that way, it made sense that they seemed at peace now.
After a lifetime of war they were finally able to rest.
The Three Mobile Suits just pressed on, and with no words being shared between their pilots the comms were completely dead.
This didn't come as much of a surprise to be honest.
After all 732 wasn't the only one who lost his voice due to the augmentation surgery.
As they continued to move through the old grave-like city, the three pilots occasionally activated their scanners in a series of intervals, in order to make sure they actually knew what was going on around them.
No enemies were being picked up.
Good.
When it's quiet, that means they're in the clear for a while.
Almost in unison they take a moment to warm up his boosters, the interior of such parts glowing a faint red before spitting out a burst of flames that propelled them forward for a moment. The next second though it quieted down. The fire was still coming out, this time more steadily than before as it continued to push the Mobile Suits forward.
For a while, it's just the six of them, Three pilots and three machines traveling through the deserted city.
Honestly, he kinda likes it that way.
No bullets are flying, no missiles are being launched, no beam sabers are trying to tear through the armored chassis.
It's a nice experience, just too bad it doesn't last.
Another round from his active scanner results in a pinging noise that he's all too familiar with, as it indicates that it's found something.
[Looks like a few Mobile Workers.]
He heard his Handler's voice break through comms.
[Proxima Militia markers.]
His Handler informed him as he pressed on.
[Well, this is a good time to make sure your weapon systems are working properly.]
Their handler admitted.
[Get rid of them.]
What followed could hardly be called a fight…
What was the point in coming to Proxima?
What was the point of Handler Torchwood sending his hounds out here?
The answer is painfully simpler than one might expect.
Work.
Like everyone in this system and beyond, Torchwood's pilots – his hounds had to work if they wanted to earn their keep.
The jobs they took put food on the table, it covered their living expenses, it covered their personal medical bills and the repair costs for their machines, not to mention so much more.
Like chipping away at the debt, they all individually amassed.
And the work they did out here on Proxima could result in all three of the Hounds make a killing, perfect for a trio of mercs who needed to buy their lives back.
[Are those Mobile Suits?]
A call went out on an open channel as a group of Mobile Workers started to turn, their attention focusing on the three MS that were suddenly closing in on their location.
A burst of laser fire tore through one of the MW, tearing a smoldering hole through the unit's core as it suddenly went down.
[Affiliation Unknown - there mercs!]
[Shoot 'em down!]
The order came as the Torchwood's three hounds fell upon them.
Loader 4's beam rifle howled as it released lances of green.
Loader 3's missiles rained fire from the skies.
Loader 1's gatling burned red as it launched a volley of shells.
The Mobile Workers and their pilots tried to put up a fight, but the Hounds effectively steamrolled them without so much as batting an eye.
735 was the one to notice the helicopters, trying to get away, and replied by launching the missiles located on his unit's shoulder.
'Wonder what their last thoughts were before they went down.' 732 thought as he noticed something popping up on radar. Without much warning he turned towards it, one of his weapon arms already pointed forward as he prepared to fire. His eyes widened slightly as he realized what he was looking at.
[That's an AH12.]
Their Handler muttered as Loader 3's camera zoomed in on something. An emblem of sorts.
[Shouldn't be surprised the Proxima Militia managed to get their hands on one.]
Their handler muttered as the monster of a helicopter continued flying in the distance as it made its way elsewhere.
[Keep a low profile, we don't want that thing breathing down our necks, understood?]
As expected the three pilots didn't say anything, instead just turning their units slightly as thor eye cameras flashed and they had an unspoken agreement.
They didn't wanna deal with that thing if they didn't have to.
They knew how damn dangerous it was.
[Regardless, I'm picking up signals from Mobile Suit wrecks. I'll set up the markers so you know where to find them.]
True to his word, their handler did just that, several markers appearing on the Mobile Suit's radars as the three looked at each other.
[Pretty spread out. Looks like you'll have to split up in order to get your hands on them.]
He told them.
[Be quick about it, but try and under the the militia's radar.]
Again the three pilots didn't say anything, instead just letting their MS look at each other before turning away and heading off in different directions.
Call it a preference; but the hounds worked better together.
Still that didn't mean that they couldn't work alone.
They didn't earn the right to pilot an MS just because the others backed them up.
'Still gonna take a bit to reach the nearest wreck.' 732 thought, making a noise. 'But at least I'm still heading in the right direction…' He admitted, his radar suddenly picking something up. Without much thought he moved, the MS rocketing to the side and then forward on almost a dime, both times accelerating to speeds that would have probably reduced him to a stain in his cockpit if not for the onboard inertial dampeners.
Moving as he did Loader 3 ended up dodging a stream of hot plasma that burned a hole in the ground.
The same could be said for the second, then the third and finally the fourth as he found himself circling around and shooting down an armored turret of sorts.
'That's a Tracked Weapons carrier.' The Hound thought as his radar picked up another heat signature and rocketed to the side to avoid another round of plasma. 'Another one…' He activated his scanner, as his radar showed him a number of hostiles in the area. 'Must be near a Proxima guerilla stronghold.' He took a breath, his Mobile Suit slamming into the ground before suddenly rocketing to the side, tearing apart trees and uplifting dirt as he moved away from another plasma round, and then again as several iron rounds ended up ripping through the trees.
[Die merc!]
'Much as I wanna take out the turrets first, I need to get rid of the guerilla forces to make sure they don't call back up.'' The Hound flew off, avoiding several Mobile Workers that were firing upon him as he moved through the city grounds before locking on and firing his missiles. Before charging forward, his left manipulator drawing a beam saber as he cut down one of the mobile worker, blade impaling the cockpit and the slab of iron it was using as a makeshift shield. The Next target was hit with rounds from the assault rifle the Mobile Suit was carrying. A few rounds slammed into Loader 3's chassis as he turned and rocketed towards it only to disappear, a quick boost to the side allowing him to get in the Mobile Woerker's blindspot as he pressed his rifle muzzle on the cockpit and pulled the trigger, caving in the Mobile Worker's cockpit as the pilot was crushed.
[You bastard!]
He didn't bother moving forward again, this time instead using his boosters to get around the deactivated Mobile Worker as he used it as a shield. He grabbed the Mobile Worker, and activated his boosters, the propelled the the mobile worker forward, slamming it into the active unit before heading towards the others.
Bullets were fired.
[Fall back into the city! We have to let the Militia know-]
Missiles were launched..
[Why are even here merc!?]
The blade burned.
[Do you even know what you're fighting for?!]
The last mobile worker fell and as it did Loader 3 found itself standing amidst the smoking wreckage of several machines. It's pilot didn't get a chance to breath though, he had to move to avoid the turret fire that was coming down on him.
Getting rid of them takes less effort than the Mobile Workers.
'That should do it.' The hound thought as he looked around, scanner pinging again as he did a quick check to see if any other potential hostiles were nearby. 'All clear' Now he just needed to get to that MS wreck and take a look at the license.
Hopefully it wasn't expired.
Or belonging to a Collared.
[731 has finished acquiring a licence.]
Handler Torchwood broke through comm silence, updating him and the others on the current situation.
[And it looks like 735 has been spotted by the AH12.]
732's felt a lump form in his throat.
[It's a hassle but they're going to have to engage.]
732 slowly nodded his head as he pressed forward. At least he did before he turned Loader 3 around, stared off in the direction his radar was showing him that 735 and Loader 5 were located.
[732?]
Handler torchwood called out as the MS started rocketing towards it's allied mobile suit's location.
[I see… you are in the same boat after all. Alright, go, they continue your mission.]
'Thank you.'
