Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. Now, things are about to heat up! :) Terminal, Eurasia, Scandinavia, and the Resistance are gonna really let the Atlantians have it this arc. ;3
Review replies:
- Spiceracksargent001: Oh, I wanted to do that kill switch for a while! XD And yes, Sicario is moving out. ;) Plus, the kill switch will be very needed if more Extended are deployed. But it will not be easy to trigger it in the middle of battle.
- operation meteor: Heh. :) This arc is gonna be one hell of a battle and build up. ;) And glad ya liked Turbine's hotheadedness! :) I wanted to take a sharp tack from the stereotypical AIs and showcase that each AI could have its own flaws and personality. :)
- CT7567Rules: You could say that. :) You'll have to read and see. ;) And thanks again for the weapon. :) I'll be sure to ask you for some specs and ideas if needed. :)
(A small light is shown flickering before it flares across the screen, fading to show the Strike Dagger S, Spray sitting on its shoulder, his trench coat fluttering in the breeze)
START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO
(The camera pivots to show the mobile suit outside the main base of the resistance on Earth in Denver, the door open to show the interior of the warehouse with several shapes before the cylinders)
Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera zooms in on them to show President Eisenhower, Dr. Keith Martinez, Dr. Klaus Brand, Warren Thompson, and Marcus Wolcott with Turbine behind the warehouse itself)
Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The camera pivots away from them and out to show the resistance forces mobilizing to attack a camp in the desert, guards arming their rifles)
I can't hold back this rushing speed (The leading machine speeds in front, showing a NEMO armed with a clay bazooka, its pilot being shown to be a woman, her hazel eyes hard as she aims the gun and fires at a Destroy)
A familiar town becomes a diorama (The Destroy is hit by the explosive round, the flames engulfing the camera before it fades to show the camp in ruins)
Burst through the unclear skies (The camera pivots away to show another explosion as a Murasame blasts past, bearing an unfamiliar emblem)
Blow away your worries and discontent (The camera zooms in on the wolf head emblem before it starts to flutter as a flag, panning down to show the leader of Sicario, Arnold Franken, on the screen)
Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The commander of the mercenaries waves his hand and three mobile suits blast overhead, their pilots shown with their emblems behind them)
Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The three engage a number of shadowy mobile suits before a beam engulfs the camera before fading to show Stella being held by Shinn in her agony)
Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The boy is glaring as images of the Extended march past him, his eyes hidden in shadow before he looks up, his eyes in SEED Mode)
I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (The camera pans away to show the captain of the Archangel and Heero standing beside one another, their hands entwining)
Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The two look at one another before a mobile suit flies past, panning up to show the Strike Dagger with a new Striker Pack resembling phoenix wings)
Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (A dark shadow looms behind the machine, its hand grasping for the image of the Earth as a ship is shown flying away, its name glinting in the light)
Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The image shows the resistance ship and their allies facing down the dark shadow, Djibril's face behind it as he looms over them)
GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING
Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall
- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane
CHAPTER XXIII: Conquering Camelot
December 8th, CE 0073
Tarawa, Atlantic Ocean
"So we're finished then?" Robin asked.
Arnold gave a nod as he sat at his desk before her. "Yep. Our current contract came to an end yesterday. So we're ready to take on this new one."
The two currently sat in his office, which took up the entire top rear of the carrier's superstructure. The room was big enough to allow a number of people to sit in it rather comfortably. There was a desk in the middle of the room, a pair of windows in the rear of the room. A monitor was placed on one of the walls closer to the door and a bookshelf was positioned to the left of the door. A bed was in one corner, as was a small kitchen and a bathroom. The commander had spared no expense to make it a place for meetings as well. The desk itself had the emblem of Sicario carved into the front and the same symbol was placed in the flooring as well.
The woman leaned back in her seat. "So, what's the new contract entail?" she asked. "Is it with the Atlantic Federation?" Her eyes narrowed as she asked this.
But much to her surprise, Arnold gave a laugh and shook his head. "No. In fact, that's what I was going to mention at the briefing. And that reminds me." He keyed the COMM on his desk and spoke into the mike. "Would all pilots of Hitman Team report to the commander's office? Thanks."
The commander pulled his hand away. "This is far too important to mention at the briefing room. I'll give you guys the full details personally."
The two didn't have to wait long as the door slid open and in came the last three members of Team Hitman.
The first one was none other than her partner, David Emmerson, callsign Monarch. David was a huge man at six foot four, with a powerful build and muscular stature. He had a scar going across his left eye, a mark from when he had gotten nailed in the face by some shrapnel after one of his helmets had shattered during a dogfight during the First Bloody Valentine War. It had been a miracle he had been able to salvage the eye and was still able to see out of it after it had healed. He had blue eyes and dark brown hair with a thin layer of stubble across his face.
A former ace for the Eurasian Federation, he had gone on to join Sicario after the CKP had taken over, feeling it was time to take his talents to the real threat. But as to what that threat had been, he hadn't known. Until now, anyway. Monarch was not only an ace, but also a pilot who had an uncanny ability to zero in on his enemies and attack them before they could even shoot him down. Some said that the pilots he fought against had been the most devote and fanatical when it came to exterminating Coordinators. David refused to comment on that, seeing as how it was all true. An individual with highly advanced spatial awareness, he was able to pick up on the hatred and zero in on those enemies, sparing others while going for the real threats. In fact, according to the resistance, he was labeled as a 'Newtype', or someone with enhanced spatial awareness. But due to his abilities, he was very stoic and silent, trying to maintain a distant relationship with others so as to not be overwhelmed with their thoughts or feelings.
The next member was Evelyn London, callsign Comic, a former soldier in the Eurasian military forces. She was the next tallest at six foot one, with bright blonde hair and dark green eyes. She kept her hair very short for ease of maintenance and a number of men had to admit it made her look good as it flattered her face nicely. She was athletic and her uniform did nothing to hide the curves of her figure. But despite this, she was a real talented pilot, having worked her ass off to get to her rank in the military prior to her discharge.
Unlike her friends, she was a Coordinator, born to a pair of wealthy industrialists. She wisely kept her genetic enhancements secret, although most of the physical enhancements had been done away with. Her mother and father had elected to go without all of the enhancements, instead choosing those wisely. Her immune system was one of the only three things enhanced. The other two were her reflexes and her eyesight. In the aftermath of the Chicago arson attacks, her parents had moved out of the country and made the Eurasian Federation their home. It was a wise move, as when the Atlantian Reich had taken hold, anti-Coordinator resentment had shot through the roof. Evelyn went on to become a decorated ace during the First Bloody Valentine War, only to flee and head off to join her friend David as a mercenary with Sicario. Her aptitude with mobile suits was picked up on by Arnold, as was her ability to hold her own. It helped she had the SEED, a trait that let her go toe to toe with other aces of much greater caliber than herself.
The last member was Peter Kennedy, callsign Diplomat, the heir to the famous Kennedy political bloodline. At five foot ten, he was the shortest member of Hitman Team, but he was just as muscular as the others. He had thick brown hair he kept back in a small ponytail and his eyes were a gentle brown color, a lot like chocolate. He had a slightly boyish face, something a few women found attractive. He was a lot more serious than Evelyn who was more hotheaded, but less stoic than David. He too was a former Eurasian Federation ace, but his family was back in the Atlantian Reich, held captive in a prison camp.
His family was a prominent political one, enabling him to have been born into a life of relative privilege and luxury. His father was a former senator and his mother a government representative for the embassy in Beijing. It had been through them that he learned about LOGOs well before anyone else, and it was due to this that his parents had both been detained and locked in a prison camp. As a teenager, Peter had made it his dream to fly in the air force of his home country. But that was rendered moot when his folks had been locked up. He had been abroad as an exchange student in the Eurasian Federation at the time, so he renounced his citizenship and applied for asylum in the Eurasian Federation. He enrolled in their air force academy and graduated, albeit barely. After that, he struggled to rise through the ranks, becoming something of a lame duck pilot most would not put on the front lines. But he endured, working his ass off to get sufficient experience to become a well-rounded pilot during the First Bloody Valentine War. After the CKP took over, he went on the run, joining David and Evelyn as they were recruited by Arnold while down in Spain. Unlike his two comrades, he did not have any Newtype abilities or the SEED, instead relying on his skill and experience to hold his own.
Arnold nodded as the three sat down before him.
"So, what's the big deal, chief?" Peter asked as he folded his arms.
"Yeah. Why did you have to call us down here in the middle of the night?" Evelyn asked around a yawn.
David said nothing, but he folded his arms as he leaned back in his seat.
It was easy for Robin to read his body language. He clearly wasn't in the mood for games, if she was reading it right.
Arnold sighed. "I know it's late, and you can get some rest after this. But seeing as how we're en route to England right now, I may just be blunt and say it straight."
He looked up, his eyes hardening. "We got a new contract. And this one... well... let's just say there's more to it than you know."
He proceeded to outline the situation as it was. He went into complete detail on what was happening in the Atlantian Reich, even showcasing the camp where children of political dissidents were being held against their will. He told about the pay decreases, of the resistance and its sheer scale, along with the efforts undertaken to expose the truth about what was going on in Atlantian borders. When he got to LOGOs and of their control of the government, Peter's eyes hardened and he clenched his fists on his arms in anger.
When he was finished, Evelyn was shocked. "T-That..." Her voice trailed off as she slumped in her seat, trying to process this. "How could that... even be possible? Or true?" she whispered.
"So what does this have to do with our new contract?" Peter asked, getting to the heart of the matter.
Arnold scowled as he glared at his number two top pilot. "Everything," he said. "I was about to reply to Evelyn and explain the deal. So let me do so."
The pilot didn't say anything, but he did grunt in acknowledgement.
Satisfied, Arnold nodded. "Right. So, Evelyn, to answer your questions, it's all true. The leader of the resistance didn't mince words on this one. She showed us data and evidence to prove it." His eyes narrowed. "And as for how? Simply put, they're hypocrites in every sense of the word."
He then leaned back in his seat and tented his fingers. "Now for the contract. Simply put, we've entered into a mutual contract with the resistance. Our goals and theirs align. They want LOGOs out of their country, and we want to bring the fight to the Atlantian Reich. They want support and we want to take out Master Goose Militia. They supply us with repairs and maintenance free of charge and we bring them the head of Hans Hess."
"And our operational code?" Peter asked, narrowing his eyes.
"They will allow us to work at our own discretion like always," Arnold replied. "And we train their troops in exchange for that."
"Train them? How so?" Robin wondered.
"So far, all their forces have been trained to an extent, but what they really need is the mentality of real soldiers, not goose-stepping thugs." Kaiser's eyes glinted. "And by that, you know how we operate. They want that same kind of thinking for their forces. Specifically the defectors they took in from the military."
"Just like the United States Army used to do..." Evelyn muttered.
Arnold gave a nod. "Yep. So, since our contract is mutual, we'll be providing them some serious help."
"I take it this contract is why we're heading to England then?" Peter asked.
The commander didn't even nod as he glanced out the window of his office. "Yeah. It is," he confirmed. "The resistance is planning an operation to coincide with the attacks on Clyde and Portsmouth Terminal is going to carry out."
"Did they say what this operation is called?" Robin wondered.
Arnold was silent for a moment before he answered. "Operation: Merlin." He turned back to face the pilots. "It's an attack on Devonport. They intend to take out the base in, according to the President, an explosive fashion. But she didn't say anything more than that."
Robin pursed her lips. "Did the President detail anything else about the resistance?"
Arnold gave a nod. "Yeah. She did. She told me that they have a plan to rebuild the United Nations."
Now that threw them for a loop. Evelyn blinked in shock as Peter spluttered in disbelief. Robin's eyes went wide as David frowned a bit. He glanced to his partner and she caught the look in his eye, along with a soft pressure in her mind. She nodded back.
"To rebuild the United Nations? With the state of the world as it is, that's considered impossible by many," she pointed out.
"True, but President Eisenhower seems to think otherwise," Arnold clarified as he leaned back, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth. "In fact, she's already reached out to both the Eurasians and the Kingdom of Scandinavia, from what she told me."
"That's a start, but the real issue here is how the rest of the world sees the Americans," Peter countered. "They see them as nothing more than fascist warmongers who could give a rat's ass about the lives lost in those barbaric attacks on Berlin, Vienna, and Moscow, the first of which, I might add, not just torched the city, but destroyed essential medical services that could've saved people's lives!"
Arnold was silent as he stared at Peter who by now was standing and panting from his mini-rant.
He closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes, I'm well aware of that," he remarked. "But Eisenhower said she has a plan to disrupt that view." He opened his eyes. "I'm not too sure on the details, but from what little she informed me of, they seem to have an asset high up in the ranks of LOGOs. She wouldn't say whom, for security reasons, but... the idea is apparently to get the truth of what is really happening in their borders out to the world to see."
He could clearly recall the shock he had felt when he learned of their asset in LOGOs' higher circles. He had been gob-smacked to learn that they possessed on their side the head of all LOGOs run news media, all because of them saving his son who was a Coordinator. But he had also seen the potential at their disposal. And with their Task Force Narrative also working behind the scenes, they were slowly exposing the people to the brutality of what was happening, albeit far too slowly in his mind.
At least it was a start.
He finally looked up. "Now let's get down to business."
"About time," Evelyn stated. "So, what's the deal? Why did you call us here?"
"Long story short, remember Desperado?" Arnold asked.
"Who could forget those guys?" Peter remarked. "They may not have been as good as Master Goose Militia, but they at least respected their contract and targeted only military targets." His eyes narrowed. "So why'd you bring them up?"
"They're no longer a threat to us," Arnold stated as he eyed each of his top pilots. "Their top pilots, the Winds of Destruction, were all killed in battle by the Gundam pilots of Terminal." He paused, then narrowed his own eyes. "And I don't mean the pilot of the Freedom."
"Hold on. You mean Yuy and those new pilots?" Robin blurted.
David's face was impassive, but he gave a thoughtful hum in response.
Arnold was silent for a moment. "Yes. Them."
Robin let out a whistle as she shifted in her seat. "They're clearly a cut above the rest then," she noted.
"And I doubt we'll be able to match them if we go toe to toe with them," Peter muttered.
"We won't be," Arnold clarified. He rested his elbows on his desk. "As such, due to Desperado losing their top pilots, they are now considered useless and have been cast aside. That means Master Goose Militia is going to be replacing them as the Atlantians' top mercs."
"Oh... That's why we're involved then," Evelyn remarked.
"Only part of the reason." Arnold was dead serious as he placed his hands on the desk and stood up, walking over to the monitor on the wall of his office. He often used the monitor there to conduct briefing operations for Hitman Team rather than in the briefing room. He pulled out a small clicker from his uniform top and pressed it.
The monitor flickered and the screen fizzled before the static cleared to show the image of the former United Kingdom.
"Here's what we're going to be doing." Arnold stepped closer and drew out a pointer, extending the device to its maximum length. He tapped the screen with it, circling one of the three bases marked with a red triangle. "Right now, Terminal is currently planning to make an attack on two of the naval bases the Atlantians are using to reinforce the invasion of Eurasia. A reverse Overlord, if you will. And one that has to end." He tapped the base. "This one here is Portsmouth. Terminal has made plans to attack it, along with Clyde." Here he moved the pointer to Clyde. "These two bases are the most dangerous. But Devonport is also a key one."
His eyes narrowed as he turned to face his pilots. "That one is the one the resistance is planning to take out with Operation: Merlin. They didn't say how they'd take it out, but from what I assume, it will involve sabotage in some way." He then tapped the clicker and another image appeared, the emblem of Master Goose Militia. Evelyn narrowed her eyes as Robin shuddered at the image. David frowned as Peter had to keep from spitting in disgust.
A derivative of the old Wagner Group's symbol, it possessed the same skull and crosshairs design, but instead it read Master Goose Militia over the skull and beneath it was the old Nazi swastika surrounded by a pair of olive branches. A mockery of the United Nations symbol as well.
Beside the image, five photographs appeared, each of them displaying the name and image of the squadron commanders. One of them, the third image, flashed before it enlarged. "Master Goose Militia is sending one of their best fighters, and their heavy hitter, to Devonport to intercept and prevent Merlin from being carried out," Arnold explained. "Jorge von Schweppe. He's one of the more dangerous for not just his bulk, but his cunning as well."
David scowled as he clenched his fingers on his arms. Behind him, Robin shivered a bit. "I hate him..." she muttered.
"We all do," Peter told her. He gritted his teeth. "Particularly since he cares little for those of 'lesser genes'."
Arnold nodded grimly. "You got it." He tapped the monitor with his pointer. "This man is the one who will be involved in leading the attack. Now..." His eyes narrowed as he tapped the clicker again and the image of Devonport zoomed in to fill the left hand side of the screen. "I want you to study this map and memorize it. Our goal here is to limit collateral as much as possible while keeping Master Goose busy. The overall objective: to allow the rebels to enact Merlin. I want each of you to be prepared for this. You guys are my top pilots, and you are the only ones who can go toe to toe with these brutes. Even if you can only delay them, that's a lot better than some others under my command."
"The issue is that second in command of theirs," Peter remarked. "This brute squad has one hell of an anti-aircraft machine on their side."
Arnold knew who he was referring to and nodded darkly. "Yes. So we have to find a way to eliminate him from the game. But seeing as how Jorge and the man work well together, it's going to be easier said than done."
"One question though," Evelyn stated. Arnold nodded at her to continue.
"It's got to do with the forces involved. Who else is going to be in?" she asked.
Arnold gave a smirk. "Our forces here... and aboard the other carriers we have in this vicinity."
"But the Trinity is off the coast of what was once Libya and the Zoltan is currently heading to Spain for resupply," Peter protested.
"The Trinity can meet us there in three days," Arnold said. "And the Zoltan can join as well once they finish resupplying."
The Trinity was the home carrier of Assassin Squad, although Arnold typically operated off the Tarawa due to the carrier being the headquarters for Sicario. The Gunsel Team was based off the Zoltan as their home carrier. Both squads were some of the best as well, but even so, they were still nowhere near the skill level of Hitman Team.
Regardless, they were still forces to be reckoned with.
Peter gave a sigh as he realized he couldn't argue with his superior. He just leaned back and grunted. "Fine."
"Now, since Master Goose is sending these guys to interfere, we'll have Assassin and Gunsel Squads harass the Atlantian forces out at sea," Arnold continued. "This way we can keep them from sending reinforcements ashore or into the area to support von Schweppe." His eyes hardened. "And that also brings me to another point."
"They'll want to establish aerial superiority," Evelyn mused, recalling von Schweppe's tactics. "It's common for them to do so and then go after other areas of possible attack."
Arnold nodded. "Exactly. So our goal is to deny them the aerial superiority they seek."
"A lot easier said than done," Robin muttered. "You know how good they are."
The commander was silent as he closed his eyes. "Yes. But we're the only ones who can do this." His eyes snapped open. "So it falls to us to do hold the line until Merlin is enacted."
"Yes, sir!" the four pilots exclaimed as one. They stood up and gave a crisp military salute.
Arnold had to crack a grin at that.
. . .
Archangel
December 8th, CE 0073
Major Gardinier slowly opened her eyes as she heard her terminal beeping.
The spec ops woman sat up, rubbing her eyes as she got to her feet, grumbling about being awoken at four in the morning.
She walked over to the terminal and booted it up. The first thing she did was check the email.
And her eyes widened as she read the news.
The resistance had scored a major coup with the capture of Dr. Guo Sung, and with the capture of his lab, all Extended experiments had been halted. Not to mention the news about the kill switch for the programming of the Extended. A sneer crossed her face as she looked at the list of all the personnel who had escaped. A 'C' by a number of them indicated they had been captured and were now, according to the email, being held within cells in the American resistance bases. And most of them had been interrogated as to why the Atlantian elite had chosen to do such barbarities.
Her eyes roved down the list, and she nodded as she copied it and pasted it to a document for printing. She then forwarded the email to Heero directly. Within mere minutes she had the list and she left her quarters.
Her brisk pace caught a number of people by surprise, but they didn't question her as she made her way down to the bridge.
She had to sidestep the boy, Shinn Asuka, as he made his way to the medical bay to check on the girl, Stella.
Maybe perhaps after this attack, she decided, she'd show him the email and tell him about the kill switch for the poor girl's Extended programming.
The major heard footsteps behind her and she turned, spotting Heero Yuy himself coming back from the hangar bay. "Major." He gave a nod to her.
"Monsieur Yuy." She gave a nod in return. "I have something from the resistance you may find interesting."
Heero frowned, but he took the paper. His eyes narrowed as he looked it over. "What is this?"
"A list of all the men in charge of the Extended program," she explained. "The ones that have a C by their name have been captured by the resistance."
The Gundam pilot's eyes widened just the tiniest amount before he lowered it. "And this came from them," he noted, his question being more of a statement.
Sybille nodded. "Oui. I also took the liberty of forwarding the email to you so you could read it. There was an audio file embedded into it, but I couldn't crack the encryption."
"I'll look at it when I get a chance," Heero remarked. He pocketed the list. "A good move on the resistance's part." Then his eyes narrowed. "I assume that if they captured those men, then they had a good reason to, correct?"
The Frenchwoman was silent, but the way she nodded indicated that Heero was right on the mark. He made a note to check his email later that day.
He finally looked to her directly. "Keep me informed of their whereabouts."
"Oui. I will." Sybille nodded.
As he turned to leave, his eyes narrowed as he pondered the list in his pocket. Personally, he wanted to know more about the one behind it, and although his desire to balance the ledger was great, some part of him was telling him to leave the man to the resistance. If his hunch was right, then there was no way the man would survive jail once word of his crimes got out to the public, and that included the criminal elements in prison.
In some ways, it would be poetic.
A savage smirk crossed his face at the thought.
He had no idea how right he was.
. . .
Bismarck, Atlantic Ocean
The Spengler-class carrier surged across the waves, its Strike Daggers assembled for battle.
The machines each were outfitted differently, but each one was geared towards one goal: total supremacy of the air.
And in front of each one stood the pilots, eyes locked onto their superior as he spoke directly to them over communications, the screen displaying his face on the side of the bridge.
He had his arms crossed as he gave a nod to his men and the screen went dark.
Jorge von Schweppe turned to face his troops directly.
Jorge was a big man, huge and burly, with massive hands that looked as if they could crush someone in between them with ease. His blonde hair was thick and shaggy, and his beard and moustache stood out to the clean shaven faces of his fellow pilots. He had slate blue eyes and he was huge at six foot eight, just two inches taller than the unseen threat of the resistance leader. He was a former lumberjack who had been kicked out of the company he worked for after having killed a Coordinator coworker with a chainsaw. His boss had actively insulted him, saying that he belonged in the military of the blasted Atlantians instead of working in heavy industry, so he had taken the suggestion to heart.
The only issue was he was not allowed to join on account of his huge size. He was not small enough to fit inside a mobile suit cockpit, and his eyesight, while exceptional for a Natural, was nowhere near enough to qualify for a mobile suit.
So he instead went the route of the mercenary. It was during a mission to take out a Coordinator rebel that he had been spotted by Hans Hess and offered a chance to join his company. Jorge was surprised to hear about his beliefs, which mirrored his own, and the two found themselves seeing themselves as kindred spirits. It also helped that Jorge had a fascination with the Nazis and their ideological teachings. The two men forged a strong bond, and Hess was able to acquire a Strike Dagger and have it modified to fit his new subordinate's impressive bulk.
Jorge proved to be a surprisingly competent pilot even in the simulators. Hans was impressed and assigned him his own squadron to command on the battlefield. The five men were a surprisingly good fit for one another, and it was said amongst the company that they shared a hivemind of sorts, with the way they seemed to anticipate the enemy's movements and strike to deny them air superiority. Jorge favored heavy weapons that could attack large numbers of targets in the air, usually relying on missiles to deal the damage he desired.
The other four men in his unit were also very dangerous in mobile suit combat.
He nodded at each of them as he began to speak.
"Zis is ze day, mien comrades!" he declared. "Zis is ze day ve show ze Eurasians und Terminal our strength! Zey have no idea ve are coming, and zey vill see our true might!"
"Hurrah!" his men cried.
"But... zere is... a complication, if you vill..." he growled. "Und it starts vith an 'S'. Zey have been a zorn in our sides for far too long! Und zey vill also suffer at our hands!"
"Sicario is also moving to ze field of battle. Our mission is to deny zem air supremacy. Zey vill be at Devonport to try and stop us. Our overall goal is to prevent zeir allies from conducting an operation zemselves. I do not know much more ozzer zan zis. But I vill say zis. Zey too shall feel ze might of ze Master Race!" Jorge cried. "For it is Master Goose Militia's vay! Ve are ze new Master Race! Und ve shall deliver ze final blow to zose race traitors of Terminal!"
"Heil Djibril!" the men cried, thrusting their right middle fingers into the air, hips cocked forward.
Jorge gave a nod as he turned to look in the direction of England, a sneer forming on his face.
This time, they would definitely be ready.
Of course, they had no idea just what was lurking beneath their eyes...
. . .
Devonport, England
To say this job was terrifying was an understatement.
To Logan Thrush, it was downright horrifying.
To be in the belly of the beast was one thing, but to actively work to keep themselves hidden this whole time was just as nerve-wracking, if not more so.
The thirty-two year old Englishman was no stranger to high-stakes, high-pressure jobs. But this was pushing him to his limits.
He ran a hand through his short brown hair and his gray-green eyes flickered in worry as he adjusted his uniform. He was currently waiting for three of his fellow moles, and they were running late, which made him wonder if they had been caught. There were a total of thirty moles on this base, and it was very difficult to find a way to get them all to meet at the same time. So they worked out a compromise to meet in smaller groups, one of whom would pass along the word to the rest of the team.
It wasn't efficient, but it was the best they could do in such circumstances.
The sound of footsteps reached his hearing and Logan turned to face the newcomers, narrowing his eyes as he saw three men approaching, each one looking solemn.
"Logan," the first man said.
"Drake." Logan inclined his cap towards the older Natural. Drake Josh was eight years his senior, and was one of the higher ups at Devonport. But unlike his fellow officers, he was a resistance mole, having defected after his wife who worked in a shopping mall was nearly killed for having even touched a Coordinator customer as she said goodbye to him.
The other two men were close associates of the base commander, whom had disguised their true allegiances well. The first of those two was Butch Harrison, and he was in charge of the mobile suit forces. The second man was Wally Luddison, and he was in charge of base security. Both men had been friends with Coordinators in their youth, but they wisely kept that fact a secret from their superior, who Logan knew would execute them rather than merely boot them out.
It was only a mark of how low the Atlantians were going.
To even consider letting a 'tainted man' run around the military, according to their demented thinking, was to invite weak thoughts and ideals of women and men serving the same country equally into the pure man's world of bloody glory and status. Logan had to refrain from scoffing at such ideals. He personally had served with a number of women and they had proven to be as competent as the men they served with, if not more so in some cases. But now that world was dead, and Nazi Germany had possessed the body of a once great nation, taking it over and twisting its dreams and goals into warped, demented versions of what they had once been.
To him, the resistance was the exorcist. And Nazi German was the demon.
To purge their very blood from the halls of power would take more than just words.
It was going to take a revolution in every sense of the word.
Drake looked to the younger man. "You good, bro?"
Logan gave a solemn nod. "Yeah. I'm fine," he muttered.
"So, what's the lowdown?" Butch asked.
Drake nodded. "The ship's inbound even as we speak," he replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper. He handed it to Butch as he continued. "Command called in and gave us the name."
As he spoke, Butch opened the paper and examined the orders written on it. "Hmm..."
"The operation is going to commence as soon as it docks," Drake explained. "Of course, we need to be prepared to accept some possible help as well."
"What? Why?" Wally wondered. "And who are they sending?"
"Apparently Command got the crazy idea to hire a group of mercs," Drake informed them. "The name of this merc group is Sicario Security Services, at least according to official records. In reality, they're the Sicario Mercenary Corps, and they are one of the largest, if not the most well run, merc group in the entire Earth Sphere."
"Sicario, huh?" Butch examined the emblem on the orders. "I've heard of 'em. Supposed to be a tightly run group. Rumor also has it they've got the mentality of true soldiers, limiting collateral and sparing as many lives as they can in their ops."
"The boss also says that they're well situated for flexibility and adaptability on the battlefield," Drake noted as he leaned against one of the buildings.
"If they're all that, then why haven't they taken contracts with some of the other, more sensible powers?" Wally inquired. He crossed his arms and chewed the unlit cigar in his mouth. "Seems to me like Orb coulda used their help in the First BV War."
"They tend to stay neutral in some ways, but they do offer anti-piracy services to some of those powers, save for the Atlantians," Butch informed his fellow soldiers. He looked up and folded the orders, putting them in his pocket. "But now, with the political winds changing, things may have caught their eye."
"All the more reason for us to accept their help," Drake stated. He looked at each of his fellow moles and resistance fighters. "They're also being sent for another reason." His eyes narrowed. "To intercept and stop Master Goose Militia."
"Those nutcases?!" Wally's face literally paled at the very mention of the name. "You gotta be kidding me!"
Drake shook his head grimly. "No. I'm not, Wally. I know you lost a brother to those freaks, so..."
Wally nodded, his blue eyes becoming hidden by his sandy-blonde hair as he clenched his fists. "Michael... He betrayed our family and joined those freaks... all because he was brainwashed by Blue Cosmos..."
Logan felt a pang of sympathy for his fellow soldier and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wally..."
The other soldier could hardly blame his friend for feeling angry. He knew how the man's older brother had been brainwashed due to repeated encounters with Blue Cosmos over the course of his army career. And now he was one of the Master Goose Militia's ace pilots after the First Bloody Valentine War saw his unit wiped out in the Battle of Armageddon.
Wally wanted to do nothing but bring his brother back to his senses, only he never got a chance to. Only with the resistance did he have a chance. And that chance was going to be coming his way.
Logan finally turned to Drake. "What's the name of the ship?" he asked. "The Atlantian one coming in."
Drake ran a hand through his hair. "It's called the Halifax," he replied. "It's an ammo supply vessel."
"Any idea when it'll be here?" Butch wondered.
Their commanding officer nodded. "In four days. So we have time to prepare for the efforts." He eyed each of them critically. "I'll be sure to inform the others, but you three are the ones who know your way around ships more, so you're the first to be briefed on this."
His gaze landed on Butch as he folded his arms. "Butch, you actually worked on ships of that type, right?"
He nodded in the affirmative. "You bet."
"Good. Then you'll be the one to enact the sabotage of the Halifax's ammo stores. You remember the training?" Drake asked.
Butch gave a savage grin. "Oh, hell yeah."
Drake smirked. "Good." Then he became serious. "Your code name is Excalibur for this op."
"Excalibur? Like the mythical sword?" Logan asked.
Their superior nodded. "Yep."
Butch frowned, but didn't question the code name. Instead he merely grunted.
"Wally, you'll be in charge of clearing as many people away as possible from the explosion site," Drake told the other man. Wally gave a grim nod in response. He then turned his gaze to Logan. "Logan, you're going to be in charge of trying to lure the commandant and the adjunct as close to the ship as possible."
"I know exactly what will lead those blokes here," Logan snarled. "A claim of a Coordinator being here on base. That'll get them running."
Drake's eyes darkened at the thought, but nodded his approval. "Good. Just make sure you don't let them escape."
The man nodded.
Drake then stood up straight. "You know your orders. Dismissed."
. . .
Resistance Headquarters
Denver, Colorado
December 8th, CE 0073
Eisenhower frowned as she read over the data and notes pertaining to the treatment of the Extended.
This was just what they had needed.
Well, in addition to capturing the man behind it himself as well.
So, with those two assets, it was only a matter of time before they could do something to cure their newly liberated victims.
The discovery of over fifteen hundred Extended undergoing what the mad scientists had called 'final tune up' had been a real coup. And with Satellite City's major medical facilities up and running, they were already working around the clock to develop a potent, and very dangerous, chemical cocktail designed to purge the drugs from their systems. A number of them had also been discovered to have actual machines implanted on their chests to send the nasty toxins surging through their bodies to further enhance their capabilities. These new Extended they had termed "Super" Extended due to the fact they were meant to fight against the most dangerous man alive.
Heero Yuy.
And that was enough to make Eisenhower sick to her stomach.
She pushed the notes aside and turned to look at the chief medical officer of the resistance.
Dr. Henrietta Lars was a woman in her late sixties, but she was perhaps the medical professional to deal with this kind of brutal torture. She had worked in a hospital for the majority of her career before being transferred to an Extended lab where she had learned of the brutal treatment they put children through. Possessing a mind like a steel trap, she absorbed all the knowledge of the drugs and their effects, along with the counterdrugs used to purge the chemicals from the bodies of their captives. It was she who had set up the recipe for the dangerous chemical cocktail to purge the drugs from the children. She was also a woman of considerable morals, having protested this entire program, only to be dismissed and fired from her last job in order to render her homeless. It was only by pure luck her husband had been a resistance fighter and was able to 'illegally' acquire enough assets to pay off the mortgage of their home so she could continue to have shelter over her head. Through her husband, she was able to get a position in the top government ranks of the resistance's leadership, and therefore was able to put her knowledge to good use in helping the poor kids.
Her hair was a shimmering wave of gray, having chosen to let it grow out due to her now living underground. It framed a face that looked aristocratic, having high, refined cheek bones and deep green eyes that looked much like a feline's in their shape. That was only helped by her glasses. Her face was a tad pale from being inside a lot of the time, but she had a figure that made some other women jealous, with a modest bust that her shirt and lab coat did little to conceal. She also had a decent figure in the waist, and she wore a skirt with high heels. She carried in her left hand a clipboard, and she had her right hand pressed to the headset she wore on her right ear. She gave a nod before lowering her hand.
"Madame President, I just got word from Dr. Martinez," she said in a cool tone.
"Just spill, Doctor," Eisenhower ordered. "How's it looking?"
She nodded as she adjusted her glasses. "Well, the drug cocktail is just about finished being produced. There are several issues though that have to be dealt with." She held up the clipboard and handed it to the President. "You can see for yourself."
The resistance leader took it and scanned it over, her eyes narrowing as she made out the names of the drugs and their effects. "The cocktail will purge these drugs?" she asked.
"That is confirmed from my experience," Dr. Lars answered. Her eyes narrowed. "The real problem is the mental effects in regards to the drugs and the treatment of their mental breakdowns in regards to their trigger phrases."
"And what about the kill switch?" Eisenhower asked. "They going to use it?"
"Once they get more information from Dr. Sung, then yes," Dr. Lars replied. "Dr. Martinez wants to interrogate the man personally from what I heard."
"Then let him," Eisenhower snarled. "The more information we can glean to help these kids, the better a chance we'll have to help them heal from all the trauma." Her eyes hardened into glaciers as she tented her fingers in front of her mouth. "I'm going to be honest and say I want to go down and give the man a real interrogation myself. But..." She closed her eyes before opening them. "...I can't help but wonder if I'll just go overboard and kill the man."
"That's not for you to decide," Dr. Lars told her. "Just let him do it."
"I know," Eisenhower answered. She leaned forward, studying the desk beneath her elbows. "But for now... keep me informed as to what he learns. As well as whether the chemical cocktail actually works."
The woman gave a nod. "Also, one last thing. Heero wants more information on the escapees."
"He'll get it, and then some," the President responded. "I've got agents and moles keeping tabs out for them."
"Very well." Dr. Lars nodded. "I'll be sure to keep you informed of the medical status of the kids in Satellite City."
The President gave a nod before she stood up. "Good. Send anything important directly to me so I can forward it to Heero. I've got other projects to examine."
. . .
New York Resistance Base
December 9th, CE 0073
'Warehouses... who would've thought they'd prove to be assets in this movement?' Liam Wills thought as he adjusted his coat.
The young Natural glanced around furtively before he extended a hand and rapped on the old door.
A slot slid open and he spotted two piercing sky blue eyes staring back at him.
"Password?" came a deep rumbling voice.
"We have nothing to fear but fear itself..." he whispered.
The slot slid shut and within seconds he could hear the clattering of a lock system. It lasted for a minute before the door swung open and the young man hurried inside. The occupant of the room shut the door before locking it once more.
Now out of the bitter cold, Liam lowered the scarf over his mouth as the lights flashed on, forcing him to shield his eyes for a moment. He blinked repeatedly to clear the blurriness from his vision before he lowered his arm.
The interior of the old warehouse was a far different cry than one would have expected. The windows were all covered in blackout glass, although it was painted to seem like it was showing an old warehouse that was empty. To Liam, that was a very cunning move. He removed the scarf and hat from his face and head, exposing thick red hair that stood up in curls. He could see a number of resistance staff working at computers and examining the huge servers that loomed in one corner of the building, right below a huge AC unit that pumped chilled winter air into the glass-enclosed corner.
The overseer of the facility turned to face him directly.
A big man at six foot five with big, burly arms and a gut that hung out over his belt, Darrien Hunter was the commander of the technical side of things here. And it was just as well since no one bothered to look inside old warehouses for rebels. As a former railyard manager, he had been in charge of handling the technical aspect of running trains and making sure they arrived on time. The huge man earned a reputation for being a drunkard, but he was far from stupid. He only drank on rare occasions, and even then it was from only the light wines. His gut came from his love for fried chicken, something he admitted was a guilty pleasure that even now he refused to give up on. He was almost always seen with a wing or leg in hand when people came to talk to him.
Darrien's eyes were a piercing sky blue color, a mark of his enhancements as a Coordinator, which went nicely with his black hair. He had a thick beard and he clearly looked like he needed a shower. His shirt was stained with sweat at the arm pits and his pants were full of grease and dirt. But that did little to hide his competence in the art of organizing charts and maintaining personnel notes with the utmost degree of precision.
And it showed in how he ran this data center for the resistance.
He turned to one of the women working the servers. "Hey! Make sure that thing is still running at the exact temperature as the others!" he barked.
"Yes, sir!" she replied. Her fingers darted over the server as Liam smirked at the older man.
"Still busy as ever, sir," he joked.
Darrien had to keep in a guffaw at that. "Well, someone has to!" he chortled.
Liam just sighed. "So... you get the message?" he asked.
Darrien's jovial smile faded into the recesses of his beard as he gave a grim nod. "I did," he remarked. He turned to face the servers here as he spoke. "I'm surprised the brass wants that kind of data. We've got everything we could possibly need to hack into other aspects, and she wants us to go for the top."
"So you can't do it?" Liam queried.
The big Coordinator grumbled. "Not saying we can't get that data from LOGOs, but it's gonna be tricky." His eyes hardened as he chewed on the chicken leg in his hand. "The LOGOs members of the technical communications industrial complex will have been working to keep that information from the public eye."
"But you can do it," Liam mused.
Darrien nodded. "I can. It'll take some time though. Finding the truth about Copernicus..." He smirked. "I love a challenge like that. Any data pertaining to it... I'll be sure it's filed to its utmost accuracy and send it in a neat little package."
Liam grinned at that.
"That's some good news for once," he remarked.
The former railyard manager nodded once. "But it's gonna be a while," he muttered. "This has never been done before in all honesty. Hacking into such records... Anonymous back in the AD era was known as a hacker group. And they were some of the best." He looked down. "Shame we don't have anyone like them on our side..."
The younger Natural had to admit he had a point.
But still, as long as they worked hard to get that data, then they were sure to be victorious in some way.
Darrien glanced back to the staff at the servers. "Hey! We got orders from the top!" he barked.
One of the men working at the computers looked up. "What orders?"
"The message came through! Project Artemis!" Darrien replied.
The word spread rapidly, and Liam watched as the men and women alike took their places. Some sat down and donned headsets while others booted up their laptops. One man jacked his computer into a massive hunk of hardware, and Liam blinked as he watched the glowing red lines on it flash into activation. "The Beast is up and running!" he replied, looking back to Darrien. The Coordinator returned the announcement with a nod.
Liam blinked. "The Beast?"
"Yep. That man's got a hunk o' hardware he built himself. Supposed to be able to chew through any sort of firewall, but the tradeoff is that it can only do one thing at a time," Darrien replied. "It's kind of a lame tradeoff, but the results are worth it."
The young delivery man frowned. "You sure?"
Darrien gave a nod. "Yep. He dug up a number on Azrael's finances some time back."
Now that was impressive to Liam. Not many had been able to even get the man's financial records. But if this man had done it, then well, what else could he find?
The big man turned his gaze back to the man in question. "Be sure to dig deep, Brian! I want this stuff found yesterday!"
"Yes, sir!" Brian Greenwell replied. The former computer engineer slipped his headset on and flipped down the visor. He flexed his fingers and within minutes they were flying over the keyboard of his computer as he went to work.
. . .
Resistance Headquarters
Denver, Colorado
December 8th/9th, CE 0073
Eisenhower was fast asleep in her chair when her phone went off.
A snort escaped her as she slowly came back to the waking world. She opened her eyes and glanced at the device responsible with a sleep-filled glare before she reached for it. Her hand groped a few times before she found it and pulled it close, activating the device as she did so.
"Hello?" she murmured around a yawn.
"Ma'am, it's Harold." The voice of the commander of the Seattle Spooks caught her attention and she was up in a flash. "I'm sorry to disturb you this early but..."
"No apologies needed," Eisenhower remarked. "Did you find anything?"
"In regards to the bombing of Copernicus, no." The tone of his voice was enough to make her growl. "But we did find something that pertains to Djibril's past."
That was all she needed to hear. "Tell me everything you found out about that man!" she barked.
She could hear Harold Livingston shifting through his papers on the other end of the line. "Let's see... Well, it's not confirmed, but there are rumors swirling around Atlantian high society that he may not even be really a naturally born member of the Djibril line."
"Oh?" Eisenhower quirked an eyebrow. "So they think he may have been genetically engineered?"
"Not even close," Harold replied with a derisive snort. "The rumors actually deal with a crime that is considered taboo amongst normal society."
Eisenhower did not like where this was going. She narrowed her eyes. "You mean... that kind of crime?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Harold told her.
"That's sick!" she muttered.
"That's affirmative," he said. "At least according to the rumors. We have been digging into that, but so far no luck as to proving whether or not it even happened. Djibril's father, as you know, died sometime back in the early 60s. And his mother never spoke of her son's birth. In fact, one conspiracy magazine actually interviewed his aunt, and she refused to comment on her brother."
"Hmm..." Eisenhower's keen mind was already working as she pondered this. "You know, this may be something to look into. I want you to try and track down Djibril's aunt. I want to get a meeting with her as soon as possible."
"But... But ma'am... She refused to talk about her brother!" Harold protested.
"Yes, I know," Eisenhower said as she got out of bed. She held the phone to her ear as she walked over to the door and gazed out into the chamber where the tubes holding the deceased children stood. "But that was to a magazine, remember? I'm not from the media, Harold. You know I'm supposed to be dead, right? Well... I'm going to take full advantage of this and go to her house to get some answers."
Harold was silent before he finally sighed. "Okay. I'll get that information and send it your way. Although don't expect finding her to be easy."
"Just do it." Eisenhower turned and made her way to her closet, opening the door and pulling out a T-shirt before slipping it on over the sports bra she wore. "I want that info found an hour ago."
The man sighed again. "All right. I'll get to work." He hung up and Eisenhower put her phone back on her nightstand as she slipped on some shorts; the warehouse's heating systems were cranked to the maximum potential for her living space.
As she got dressed, she was already thinking of the logistics and effort needed to get herself to the woman's location, wherever she was. If this woman held answers as to Djibril's past, then all the more reason to track her down. That was something she was not about to miss out on. Eisenhower was not above taking advantage of key opportunities to exploit the weakness in LOGOs' new vision for her country.
But the biggest implications would have to come from deep within the political side of things.
And as it stood, she was nowhere near as skilled in that area as she thought she was.
So she had to consider recruiting someone to help her in the political arena. The only question was...
Who was good enough to stand with her as an equal?
. . .
Kiddie Kamp
American Desert
The entire scene was something right out of a depraved writer's mind.
The sight of seeing such a camp on American soil was enough to make her blood boil.
Mackenzie Samantha Allen was pissed off at just seeing the thing.
She narrowed her eyes as the wind teased her hair, barely concealing the fury in her eyes.
She held her pilot helmet in one hand and the other was resting on her hip as she studied the facility closely.
As it stood, despite her being in her thirties, she was far from losing her touch. She stood at five foot eleven with short, messy brown hair and sharp hazel eyes. Her form was very fit for a thirty-four year old woman, and she had some decent curves that her pilot suit did nothing to hide. But anyone who tried to flirt with her was often met with a sharp, piercing gaze that made them back off. A no-nonsense pilot, she was also a very savvy political figure, possessing a background in politics that came from her family's career in that very field.
Unlike other notable political figures who had either been scandalized or executed, the Allen family had not allowed themselves to be swayed or cowed into submission by the likes of LOGOs. In fact, it was because of their political aptitude that they were able to sniff out LOGOs to begin with. Her father and grandfather had both been very pro-Coordinator, and had actually come the closest to getting Coordinators the recognition they deserved as human beings in the Atlantian home. But with the entrenchment of LOGOs into the corridors of power, their efforts had been in vain. But that hadn't stopped them from trying to delay the takeover of the government. Passage of laws meant to ensure protection of governmental watchdogs had helped, but only for a short time.
It was only when rumors started swirling of a possible scandal involving the Allen name that they decided it was time to jump ship. And in order to secure such a departure without a scandal to their name, the two senators had conspired to leak LOGOs' information to the public if they weren't allowed to retire from politics with grace. The puppets had not liked it, but seeing as how their ultimatum allowed the Allen family to retire on their own terms, they had agreed. But on the condition that they didn't show themselves on the Capitol again.
It was a gamble, but one that paid off as despite leaving governmental service, the Allens still had connections, and they used those connections to help the resistance keep tabs on LOGOs activity in D.C. The family retreated to the safety of Denver's forested outskirts, where they bought a small house and lived in relative safety. And it was a good decision, as the resistance, as soon as it had been formed, snatched them up for their own safety.
Mackenzie had always wanted to serve in the military, even as a kid. She had had that chance, but it had never fully materialized until now. As a resistance pilot, she was one of the best in the field, having earned a reputation for rather unorthodox strategies and tactics to stay ahead of the enemy. No one could fully predict her next movement, but if there was one thing she did have that messed up her plans, it was her temper. She was, like all in her family, possessing a very notorious temper when it came to Coordinator rights.
And right now, that temper was just simmering below the surface.
She wanted nothing more than to take down that camp and liberate those kids within.
But unfortunately, until Merlin was completed, there was no chance of that happening.
She turned as she heard footsteps behind her.
Her superior officer, George Landon, ran a hand through his own short red hair as he sighed. "Man... I still hate seeing that thing..." he muttered.
"Same here, sir," Allen replied, her voice filled with hate. "I just wish we could get this operation under way already."
"Believe me, I want that, too," George replied. "But... we have our orders. And it's just as well, seeing as how our drones picked up a Destroy down there."
"One of those monster war machines?" Mackenzie quirked an eyebrow. "I thought we took out two of them for repairs. They lost five in Europe, two were damaged down in Mexico, one was taken out in Mexico, and we captured one. Shouldn't there be only two left?"
"That's not true," George told her, his brown eyes narrowed. "They were keeping this one for this very location."
Mackenzie pursed her lips. "I see..." She could clearly see why that would be the case. A Destroy was meant for just one thing: destruction. And it was supposed to not even be backed up by other machines. One alone could wipe out an entire city. "So, given the defenses of this place, what are the chances for us succeeding with what we've got?" she asked.
"Well, to be frank, the chances aren't good," George told her. "And that's why we're supposed to be getting reinforcements."
Now that made Mackenzie arch an eyebrow. "Reinforcements? From who?"
"Some outfit calling themselves Sicario or something like that," her superior remarked. "Don't know the details, but what I do now is that these guys are supposed to be even more well trained than LOGOs Marines." His eyes glinted as a smirk crossed his lips. "And by that, I mean they know how to fight as soldiers, not Nazi thugs like these guys."
The emphasis he put on their profession as soldiers made Mackenzie's eyes narrow. "You mean they think like the US soldiers did," she noted.
George let out a chuckle at that. "You got it!" he chortled. Then he became serious. "And that's why the op's been delayed until Merlin is finished."
"I can accept that," Allen mused. "Even if I don't like it."
Her companion gave a grunt. "Yeah. Sure wish they didn't have to resort to such barbaric atrocities."
The pilot hummed in agreement as she looked up. "The whole thing is such a waste of time and resources... we should be using those resources to ferret out real threats, not hold innocent children prisoner, least of all hunt down people based on something as trivial as genetics."
"It's such a stupid temper tantrum," the ex-cop agreed.
"Glad I'm not the only one who thinks that," Allen replied.
Her gaze drifted back to the camp and she scowled as she spotted the huge, hulking shape of the war machine that had torched Berlin and nearly destroyed Moscow and Vienna. "Man... when we get our country back..." Her eyes hardened into shards of bronze. "I want all plants that make those things scrapped and the necessary infrastructure for them dismantled and torched to ashes."
"That's not gonna be easy," her companion stated. "But... I can see why you want those things removed entirely. LOGOs is seriously compensating for something down there... and you know what I mean."
Allen couldn't help but cackle loudly like a hyena at that remark.
Of course, given the circumstances, it was really kind of inappropriate.
But she wouldn't have it any other way.