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August 6th, UC 0080

"You ever feel bad about what we do?"

Jeremiah looked up from the bodyguard he'd just garroted to look at Graham. It was a strange question from a man who was currently wiping skull fragments and brains off of his gloves, but there seemed to be genuine emotion behind the words. Jeremiah quickly put a bullet into the base of the dead man's neck as insurance before answering.

"Not really," Jeremiah admitted. "What's there to feel bad about?"

"Well, we just burst into this guy's home while he was in the middle of dinner, shot his guards, and then choked him to death with a pork chop," Graham continued. "That's crazy shit."

"Yeah, but nobody we go after doesn't deserve it," Graham agreed. "He stole company secrets and was going to sell them, the pirates we kill frequently kill others, and that freighter crew had no intention of paying for the stuff they bought from the company."

The company...that was a phrase Jeremiah used a lot these days. Better to call it that though than accidentally give a name to whoever might be spying on their targets. Jeremiah didn't mind the killing so much; Zeon's boot camp had done a pretty good job of instilling the idea that killing bad people was a noble duty. That the bad people had changed from being the Federation to people who would wrong Anaheim Electronics didn't matter to him.

"Alright, I got the guards out back," Nevada reported, walking in with a small satchel.

"What's in the bag?" Jeremiah asked, leaning in close.

"Just taking a few things to make this look like a robbery," Nevada whispered. "Unless you think investigators are going to buy that the bodyguards killed themselves after their employer choked on lunch."

It made sense and would give the squad time a little more cover as they left the city. Backwater colonies like Moon Moon rarely had anyone worth a shit running the police. Hell, half the people in the colony were already part of some crazy cult, dressing up like Aztecs or something. Investigators would hit a wall if they tried getting answers out of them.

"Alright, grab some more shit," Jeremiah ordered. "The old bastard's gotta have something else worth taking."

An optional order had been to recover whatever it was the fat bastard with the porkchop in his trachea had taken, but wasn't necessary as a hefty bribe had arranged for a small hull breech to conveniently suck the entire house into space before a conveniently-placed bomb destroyed it. Moon Moon would never find out what really happened, not when their defense force consisted of one poorly-armed construction unit and a pre-Universal Century spacecraft. The three quickly went about looting the house, taking a few odds and ends while Jeremiah looked for the data. He thought he'd found the data when he discovered a secret compartment in the man's bedroom, but found only...diamond-studded collars? A whip? Jeremiah pocketed the collar, but quickly wanted to burn the rest.

Ever since Derpy Hooves had followed him home months ago, the dog had become an official member of the Rum Runner's crew, if only to further their typical cover story as humble traders. He hadn't gotten anything particularly nice for her before, but - after a thorough sanitizing - the collar would likely make a nice gift.

"Hey boss, found it!" someone shouted from below.

Jeremiah quickly descended, looking at a disk in Graham's hand. He slid it into a compact, portable reader the company had given him for this purpose. Screens of data flashed by, including a partial schematic for the GP-00. Devastating data to lose...if they hadn't gotten it first.

"Alright, we got enough stuff," Jeremiah decided. "Let's get the hell out of here."

The hot water scalded his hand and the rough texture of the sponge grated against his skin as he swept away the remains of someones dinner. The plates clattered through his station one after the next for half an hour; an hour; two hours; until he lost track of time all together. All the while plastered across his face was a broad stupid grin mouthing the words to the songs shuffling through his earbuds. Occasionally he would lose himself in thought and start singing out-loud which would be curtailed by a quick yell from the head cook. The energy from that moment was still coursing through Link, the vibe inspiring him. A few hours ago he finally got to crush that fucker that had been a thorn in his side for so long. It was an experience he would never forget and made the entire shitty arrangement worthwhile. Now if he could just remember exactly how the fuck he had won in the first place. Song after song ran through the player as he tried to recall the events, but they weren't quite complete. What was it he couldn't remember?

École du Ciel Academy had sucked so far. All the people Link met were uptight and full of themselves just because mommy and daddy were rich enough to get them into the Earth Federations new academy. Sure, there were a few that weren't bitches, but too many of them were timid sheep that got steam rolled by their peers background. Who the fuck cares if your dad is the CEO of a weapons manufacturer if you suck at piloting a mobile suit? The classes weren't any better. A huge let down. Who gives a fuck about what happened in 20th century AD? They lived in a completely different era now. It was kind of cool when they talked about that Hitler guy though. At least someone back then knew how to get shit done. Too bad he sucked at it. But the tactics and Judo class with Yahagi kicked ass! The highlight was the simulators. It was like really being in the middle of a battlefield and they could program it with any mobile suit they had on file.

Outside of those classes the only place Link found respite was in the recreational center. It was still pretty lame, but they had a small arcade and some weaker combat simulators for students to play with so the real things weren't used for joyriding by the students. When he was skipping the shitty classes this is where he'd sneak off too and spend time wasting digital Zeek-fucks or playing his guitar using the amps meant for karaoke nights. There wasn't much else to do. The school was just completed in the forests outside of Montreal. It was too far to make it to the city by foot and they'd kept a close eye on the school vehicles after they caught him trying to sneak one out. So he took enjoyment where he could.

He would lose track of time when screwing around and was routinely late for class. Not a big deal except when it was simulation training. Yahagi would make him sit out from all of the practicals so he could only watch the shits play twiddly-winks or whatever they did with those suits. It was the worst punishment and urged Link to sprint across campus only stopping when he skidded into the austere room with two large simulators and a group of kids milling around them.

That day was different. Yahagi wasn't there to yell at him and blacklist him from the machines when he slipped into the room. There were just two old guys that looked familiar that the other students were ogling over when they weren't watching the monitors. It was kind of creepy. Link shrugged and walked in closer to figure out what the hell was going on. Above him someone in a GM II was being thoroughly thrashed by a GM Kai. The mismatch in ability was so great that it couldn't even be called a fight. Pathetic really, but as Link watched it he found himself slowly mesmerized. There was something off about GM Kai's movements that he couldn't shake. He didn't get much time to watch as the Kai plunged a beam saber into the GM II. The screen paused before the suit exploded and the battle information was displayed.



The simulators opened up and a girl – Sara, as best as Link could recall – stumbled out of the false cockpit. Sweat beaded down her forehead and she looked terrified when she bent ove- Yup, it was Sara. Out of the other simulator came the drunken yelling of some bastard with brown hair and a suspicious mustache that looked even older than the other two. Hell, Yahagi was young compared to him.

“Don't you think you overdid it, Monsha?” The darker skinned one with black hair and mustache complained. “The captain is going to be pissed when he finds out you were abusing the children while drunk. We are only supposed to help evaluate their progress.”

“Shaddup, I barely enjoyed it,” Monsha spat back, his eyes committing Sara to his memory the same way Link's had. This transpired to the amusement of the third man, a clean shaven blonde. “These kids are useless. Why the hell are we even here?”

“Looking for the next Lieutenant Bate,” the blonde answered with a smug grin, “or maybe the next Monsha.”

“Not in this group,” Monsha grumbled at the thought of being compared with untrained kids. “Who's next on the list?” He stumbled over and grabbed a clipboard from the dark haired man.

Link didn't know who the old fuck was, but he was someone worthy of going all out against even if he had been drinking. “I'm up,” he yelled while stepping up to the simulator Sara was still hunched over next to.

“Hah!” That laugh came from behind him. Link knew that laugh without needing to look. “You're in the bottom third of the listings. Don't act like you're a match for Lieutenant Monsha of the Immortal 4th when you can't even beat me.” It was Drena, the bane of Link's existence.

He glared back, snarling the words out with vitriol, “fuck off faggot. I'm next.” Who the fuck gave a damn who Monsha was or this Immortal bullshit. Link would beat all their asses.

Monsha grumbled as he looked over the list in his hands, getting one of the girls to point out the placement of Drena and Link. “5th and... 22nd... You both suck. Especially the box of rocks,” he muttered, “and I don't do boys. You handle it,” he thrust the clipboard back to the dark haired man.

“Fine,” he sighed, “you two have issues so how about the two of you fight each other with our supervision. Monsha, you're with... Drena and I will be with... Rocz.” He looked for a sign of approval from the three, drifting from one to the next. Link and Drena shared a glare of ultimate disdain for one another while Monsha knocked back a silver flask he was hiding. With another sigh the dark haired man herded them into the simulators.

“What suit are you going with?” The man questioned Link over the speakers in the simulator after the cockpit sealed itself.

“GM II is enough for this asshat.”

“Equipment?”

“100 mill, frags, and an arm shield.”

“Ok, it's all set. The simulation will take place in map D21.”

The screens around Link began to click to life as he pried away a panel at the base of the control column in front of him exposing a mess of wires. He picked out a pair and peeled back a bandage of electrical tape to reveal bare wires. Around this bare portion he wrapped two more wires that trailed back to his player. The countdown for the start of the simulation was about to finish as he completed his adjustments. Sorry old timer, but Link wanted to take Drena down without any outside interference for a change. He hit play and the music thumped out of the speaker system and looped back into the comms, effectively jamming both simulators and the holding room.



Link shut his eyes tight as the music infiltrated his ears urging his head into a gentle rocking motion. Slow deep breaths filled his lungs, increasing in pace as the vibrations from the beats soaked into his skin. The stimulus coursed through his veins, agitating his muscles into movement, priming them for combat. His hands clinched and released the controls, each finger rose and fell in a wave to find a slightly better purchase each time. His eyes flitted wide open between hardened brows and a crazed toothy smile. The simulation kicked into gear, rocking the cockpit as the virtual GM II clicked towards the opening rear section as the music built up with the release of the mobile suit into a free fall. Lifelessly it tipped head over end, falling head first towards the ground blotted out bhe the dense vegetation of the jungle below. A roar echoed through the cockpit in time with the music and the verniers fired, rocketing the mobile suit towards the Earth at a speed in excess of terminal velocity. That fucker was going to pay for shit talking, but first Link had to get to the ground before that bastard got any bright ideas.

Too late. Out of his periphery he caught the gleam of a light and shifted the GM's legs to alter his trajectory. It wasn't much, but it managed to push him far enough from the crackling beam. As much as Link hated Drena, he had to admit the smug fuck was a hell of a shot; almost better than Link himself. A barely audible claxon blared over the top of the music, warning Link that he was dangerously close to the ground and his rate of descent was beyond the safety limits of the mobile suit. Bending at the knees he forced the GM II to rotate a full 90 degrees and popped his parachute. The main opened wide, jerking him upwards, placing tremendous strain on the harness and dropping his stomach to his ass. It was just what that dickhair was waiting for. A beam burnt through the trees at the very point where the parachute brought him to an almost complete stop. Link could only pull the emergency release prematurely and freefall the last 200 meters at high speed. He monitored the temperature levels of his verniers while tracking his dropping altitude. If he fired them too soon he'd come up short and hit too hard, if he was late he'd just smash into the ground. With gritted teeth he cranked the verniers' output to maximum and prayed that his timing was right. To lose before even being able to attack against someone like Drena would be unbearable. The cockpit rattled around and through him, his teeth chattering until he clenched them tight in anticipation for the impact.

Fuck did he hit hard. It was probably beyond the simulators range of motion to accurately imitate the force of the collision. The virtual side kept perfect track of the damage sustained. Verniers one and four were shot, he wasn't going to be able to use them anymore and the stabilizers in the left leg were hanging on by a thread. He would have to compensate with the right leg. The head took a hard blow causing static in the displays and knocking the vulcans offline. Outside of that, the damage was minimal. Link got lucky – really fucking lucky.

He yelled in frustration while guiding the GM up to a standing position. In the left hand, still protected by the arm shield that miraculously survived, he grabbed one of the frag grenades and in the right he carried his 100mm machinegun. The bastard was going to be there soon to finish him off, confident that the fall did him in, and when he came Link was going to be ready to take him out; or would be if Link was some timid shit-bag. Link smiled and rocked the entire mobile suit to the beat of the music before launching himself into the lush vegetation towards the origin of the beams. Across his static-laced screens flashed a sea of foliage too dense to see more than thirty meters at best, but he pushed the GM II as fast as it would go.

Drena may be one of the best shots among the students, but he couldn't handle himself in close combat situations and he was way too confident. If Drena can't do it, no one can. What a load of bullshit. Just thinking about it pissed Link off. Who the fuck did that asshole think he was? That cunt was probably gloating about how he just took Link without even being spotted. Damn it! There was no way that asslicker was going to beat him! No fucking way!

“FUUUUUCK!” Link yelled, skidding to a halt. He used the momentum to spin on the right leg and spray the jungle around him with the 100mm. The music blared in his ears, telling him to kill. Entire trees were annihilated by the gunfire, leaves kicked up into the air like green blood as the corpses fell around him. It was all he could see anymore; corpses and blood. He was going to fuck them all for this shit. The gun ran dry with a series of clicks and was immediately flung deep in the jungle in anger. “Mother fucker!” The GM II swung the arm shield wildly through the air and made solid contact. The force was enough to lift the GM Custom charging from the GM II's right flank off the ground and and rotate the entire suit around the point of contact just below the head. Two ignited beam sabers hurtled through the air, coming lose from the GM Custom in the wake of the shock. Carrying through with the motion the GM II slammed the Custom into the ground and released the primed grenade held in the left hand.

With Daren switching to captain a ship shouldn't his starting income be adjusted to match his new rank? He is also missing the Ship Captain specialization.

(Day 1 (pending Timeline to confirm date))
-----

Hello (>o.o)>. These are your personal thoughts. Not sure why you have to do this, but if you want any chance of getting that year's worth of backpay the military owes you for the year you spent working the line for those spacenoids, we have to keep a daily log of both of our thoughts going forward.

So... how do we do this? I'm kind of hungry... are you? We should probably hit the fridges after this, see if the leftovers from last night's meatloaf are salvageable. Should be good, you did a nice job with that slop the brass gives you. When will they learn that ketchup cannot be used to substitute for every tomato product, or you need more meat varieties than what comes in the can with the dog on it.

Man, this is boring. Oh! There was something on your desk earlier, letter from some "Colonel Reece" in Australia. Yeah, you saw it. Looks like we're getting a new assignment at least. Maybe they finally found a mobile suit they can spare for you to pilot. Hell, with my luck, they'll just put me in the kitchen again and forget to raise my pay accordingly.

Man. We're going to have to do this every day aren't we? This is going to be the worst diary of all time. What? No, it's not a journal. I don't care what the doctor said, you're recording your inner thoughts in a book, not the progress of a mission. It's a diary. Fine, reread this when you come back tomorrow, and you'll see I'm wright. That's not how you spell right. There's no W! You know what, let's just go get that meatloaf. I'm too hungry to argue.

~Scarth Maheart

Scott Archer has spent the past three years on the Luna 2 base. He has been there as part of the reserve defense force/fighter jet instructor. During his three years he had maintained his Ground Forces ranking of Sergeant. His daily routines consisted of mock dogfighting against saberfish. Usually the instructors would be in the same unit as the trainees but since Scott is a veteran of many battles, he was given special treatment and continued to use his Core Fighter.

This is how his days went by. the trainees nicknamed Scott "the silent pilot" because true to his core he only spoke when the situation warranted it. Sure he had some lazy pilot trainees that thought they could just cruise through his mock dogfights, then Scott showed them why his lessons were supposed to be taken seriously.

The year is now 0083. On his way to the hanger to start yet another mock dogfight, a EFSF solider handed him some papers... they had the seal of the EFSF and a big confidential stamp on it. Then that same solider handed Scott another set of papers which contained a letter from EFF command, it read,

"To Sergeant Scott Archer. As of this moment you are put beck into active duty with the Earth Federation Space Force. You are granted the continued use of your current mobile weapon assignment, Core Booster. Enclosed is a approved transfer into the EFSF as well as a promotion and ranking within the Space Forces. Also you will receive your mission brief, which is to be destroyed upon reading. Your field CO will contact you shortly. Welcome back to battle Senior Chief Petty Officer Archer."

The courier saluted Scott and left. Scott looked back at the rush of mechanics working to get the Core Booster back up to spec. He then looks at the file folder and looks back up and out into space. A slight grin came on his face as he quietly said...

"Core Booster, Launching"