The skies are clear of precipitation, a plus if you're accustomed to aerial-based combat. High above some forgotten relic of a Soviet republic, Anne-Marie Rosencrans pilots her starkly-colored Aries in a circular course, working tireless to stave off sleep. She'd been waiting for her sparring partner for a good two hours. Perhaps she had been a bit hasty when she gotten the call in the middle of dinner. She'd left it right then and there and started a preflight checklist. She missed her canned beans and beef jerky – probably already in the hands of some rodent by now. She checks her radar for any signs of a contact – nope, still just her Aries companion, working the same circular pattern, but in the opposite direction.

“When do we quit and go home?” Asks Archy, his eyes probably as swollen and heavy as hers.

“We can wait a bit longer I think. The guy came all the way from Africa to see us, so I guess we should cut him some slack.” She remembers her exposed chest, and moves to cover it when she brushes her hand across one of the outer pockets. She reaches her hand in and extrudes a meager piece of jerky. She's elated.

Before she can enjoy this simple pleasure, a blip appears on her radar. A rather fast blip.

“We got incoming, Ms. Rosencrans.”

“Acknowledged.” She leans slightly closer to her viewport, straining to make a visual. What she sees frightens her. A giant black and blue avian makes incredible time, hardly subdued by the laws of gravity. It proceeds until a few meters and stops dead in its tracks, as if contemplating something. It shifts and conforms until it takes the shape of a humanoid with wings. It parks itself on an outcropping cliff side, not too far from Anne-Marie and Archy.

A man's voice, of approximately thirty or some odd years old, comes to life over the communications system.“Good evening to both of you.” The art deco Gundam politely nods its head to either Aries, “I apologize for my tardiness, but I was a bit delayed. I trust I haven't kept you too long?”

Anne-Marie pauses briefly, not quite sure what to say. “Um, not really. You're Marques, right?” She asks with a high level of pessimism.

“Yes. Well, then. I suppose it's time to get down to business.” He draws in a long breath. “As I said in our previous correspondence, what you see is what you get. I won't hold anyone's hand, nor will I succumb to handling anyone's dirty work or trash. I expect payments to be generous and on time – in full and non-traceable... and If the people you represent uphold to the contract, all will run smoothly.”

Both Aries are silent.

“So I suppose it's time for my initiation. What do you say?”

“That's what we're here for,” Archy says dryly.

Before either Aries pilot has time to fall into formation, the Griepe begins to exude a golden aura from its cliff perch. Then, without warning, he leaps. Grasping its beam lancer with both hands, it all-out rushes Archy's machine. The feathered-tip beam pierces the Aries' leftmost turbine, but is quickly removed. In response, Anne-Marie opens fire with missiles, undoubtedly worried about the fate of her comrade. The missiles impact the Griepe as Archy breaks the radio silence:

“Marie... I can barely hold it... I gotta put her down...”

“Just go! I'll be fine!” She's shaking at the thought of being alone against the beast, but her resolve shines purely. The subordinate Aries has time to break away and make for a lake bed, but the Griepe emerges untarnished from the previous attack.

She wastes no time, deciding that speed, above all else, takes priority. She gets some distance, firing her chainrifle hastily with each impending second. The Griepe, still able to propel itself in mid-air, inches toward her. She guages the distance, and puts that much more between them.

Popping in another magazine, she opens fire once more – praying that it'll hit something significant. But, alas, it doesn't. Instead, she's spent too much time firing and not enough time maneuvering. The Griepe thrusts lightly, catching the Aries' leg, nearly taking it off. This doesn't impede on her ability to run, though.

“I won't play cat and mouse,” says Marques, jet lag apparent in his voice.

“Well, what do you expect me to do?!” Rosencrans demands incredulously. She's aware that she's out-gunned, out-performanced, out-everything. She hears an audible sigh from across the radio frequency, and has time to see the the Gundam brandish its buster mega particle cannon.

“You leave me no choice...” He moves to fire it.

“All right! You made your point! I'll phone ahead to HQ and tell them about you.”

Outcome: Gundam Griepe wins; Aries loses.
Gundam Griepe - Damaged (0) days.
Aries – Damaged (1) days.

A shanty town with an approximate population of nearly five hundred thousand peasants lies half a kilometer to Richard Blake's left. To his right is what few might describe as an engineering marvel, a product of human ingenuity. A colossal hydroelectric dam, stretching the entire width of the Yangtze River, taunts and entices the water it keeps at bay behind its concrete mass. Somewhere in between these two entities, amidst the void and bitterness of reality, lies reason. Or better yet, destiny. This is the arena that Blake has chosen to ally himself with. Some dedicate themselves to bettering the human conditions with incredible inventions and quixotic ideals, others have admitted defeat and conceded to a life of monotony and abuse. Blake is not some.

He can see human outlines crossing paths, winding in and out of traffic on rustic bicycles and scooters, avoiding collisions yet secretly wanting to collide. Due to the Wing Zero's optical enhancers, he can see the smallest nuance on each and every sun-stained face. A man wears a baseball cap of a long-forgotten championship team. A woman carries her crying infant aloft her feminine curve, reaching into her bag to find a distraction and some well-deserved peace. Richard directs an audible sigh in their direction, despite their distance. As his mind unglues itself from monotony down within the town, his competition arrives...

“You're early,” John Henry Blackburn declares over a pictureless broadcast. The Heavyarms, bristling with armaments of every variety, comes to an effortless halt several meters from the reclined Wing Zero.

Blake shrugs, mostly for his own benefit, “I wanted to survey the topography before we got started.” He switches to a video channel, welcoming Blackburn to do the same. The light in Blake's cabin changes hues as a face replaces various graphs and digital readouts. The man before him seems young, yet disturbingly tame.

“I do not require 'surveying'. We begin now.”

There is no further discourse, no monologues or flamboyant showmanship. The Heavyarms extracts its blade from beneath its wrist and lunges full-force at a seemingly unsuspecting Wing Zero. Yet, unknown to Blackburn, Blake had already entwined himself within the ZERO System – becoming one with the time-space continuum and the stark madness which accompanies it. It's an unfamiliar feeling – foreign in its design. The attack is awkwardly dodged, and before there is a moment for Blackburn to correct his bundling error, Zero's ribbon red foot connects with an even rosier red chest plate. The Heavyarms stumbles several paces backward, cushioning most of the blow with the proper amount of weight distribution. In other words, he dances.

The Heavyarms brandishes its beam Gatling gun, ready to repay the favor with the unadulterated violence of his forefathers. Theoretical round after round expel from the multifaceted weapon only to impact harmlessly against the Wing Zero's partially upraised shield (and already nearly indestructible Gundanium alloy armor). Blake charges, shield still raised, toward the Heavyarms, a brief sense of exultation coursing through his veins – when, out of the blue, two seemingly random lances of energy strike the Heavyarms in the back and send it head-first into the onrushing Wing Zero. They collide with utter defiance, and a broadcast is briefly transmitted more out of negligence than want:

“Score one for this antiquated piece of shit!”

The Gundams recover from the slight inconvenience. Both Blake and Blackburn turn their attention to the space around them, stretching out with every sense available.

“Oh shit!” the comm reverberates. “Fire, fire, fire!”

As if asked a trivial question, God himself seemed to respond with an unconventional answer. More and more beams of energy come from afar and land amidst the fray. Blake is screaming hideous, inhuman noises amidst the cacophony; completely unawares. The ground around the two Gundams is riddled with wanton destruction, hardly a blade of grass is left untouched. The once picturesque scene becomes a pock-marked dystopia, a chilling reminder of war's true nature. The “shelling,” as it would be known if it were actual shells being fired, finally stops after what seemed like hours. Scorched, yet still very much intact, the Heavyarms picks itself up from the ground - again. Blackburn's patience are clearly strained, his Gundam's poor posture a testament to that. He quickly pinpoints the only likely source of the attacks: the dam. Its constant electromagnetic fluctuation a perfect masking for any would-be assassin.

Blackburn quickly patches through to Blake. “He must be near the dam. He would require close proximity to its turbines to truly mask his presence. Maybe the tree line---”

“I'm aware, toad.” Toad? Where did I pick that up from? I think I'll turn the system off...The twin buster rifle raises. No way! I feel... I feel like I'm on FIRE, man. Got some ants and stuff behin---AH, CHOCOLATE?---no, no, no. Don't do this. People will---dance? Probably, I mean, I make such great MUSIC. Light gathers at the tip of the obtrusive rifle for a split millisecond, yet to Richard, it's as if half a dozen stars go supernova and envelope the evening sky within the time frame. Swirling, spinning, obliterating. In that moment of release, everything tastes purple.

And the dam explodes.

“What have you done!” Roars Blackburn in disbelief. The water that was once held tentatively behind the mass of concrete and machinery comes spilling out with urgent force. In less than a minute, the town below will be underwater. The hills surrounding the Heavyarms and Wing Zero convert into islands, a soup of debris filling in the space between. Blake has little time to dwell on his actions. Before he can even begin to let out an exclamation of despair or regret, a segmented metallic tentacle of sorts jumps out of the nearby water's edge and wraps around the Wing Zero's ankle. Blackburn simply looks on with puzzled amazement.

Wing Zero is pulled far below the muddled mess of sediment and corpses. Along the way, he drops his buster rifle – but he hardly notices. A myriad of contorted light filters down from above as Blake is pulled down to the bottom. Without hesitation, another tentacle strikes from behind, attaching around Wing Zero's neck. He's trapped.

------------

Still amazed by what had just occurred before his very eyes, Blackburn fails to notice a growing, high-pitched scream in the background white noise of his cockpit's audio feature and a small, almost indistinguishable spec in the sky advancing on his monitor. The destructo-beam-of-failure hadn't truly eradicated the original source of the harassment, and what was left of the original assault force decided to make a last-ditch attempt at victory...

“I will bring you down!” Snarls Decimus Arrius, pilot of the ill-reputed Leo. His flight pack saved him from the aforementioned avalanche of energy and debris. He charges triumphantly at the dazed Heavyarms, “I will avenge poor Absolon!”

Blackburn hears the plot-driven rhetoric and responds the only way he knows how: with a series of simple button presses. The sky is filled with micromissiles and anti-aircraft fire. The Leo dodges a series of tracer rounds---easily distinguishable in the failing light, only take the full impact of several missiles, stopping him in mid-air long enough to attract the attention of several more. They swing around in a meandering pattern, nicking the flight pack and sending the Leo into a downward spiral. His smoke trail traces his progression into the horizon and beyond. A comical “thud” marks his failure.

------------

The water displaces the image of the Aquarius, giving it an even more hellish appearance than original conceived. Clearly, this had not been a part of his original plan. The destruction of the dam had occurred mere meters from his hiding place. The surge of water and knick-knacks played havoc on his instruments – not to mentioned instilled a strong case of the bends. Regardless of his current state, Molotov Spencer spins the Wing Zero around to face him...

“I desire your head.” The tentacles tighten around the Zero's neck and leg, probing the Gundanium's reliability. The neck joint begins to give way and exposed wires spark amidst the sullen darkness.

Alarms are sounding in and throughout the cockpit of the Wing Zero. With the ZERO System down, Blake tries to fight the sudden panic and slow withdrawal symptoms that creep behind his eyelids and deep within his gut. He tries to grasp a beam saber, something, but he's lost all knowledge his weapon's systems. He reaches out in desperation and startling speed, and grabs hold of the Aquarius' head and palms it like a melon. Pressure is applied with maximum effort. Stalemate.

“Call off your friend in the shadows and I'll let go...” The hidden Tragos stirs.

“...maybe not this time, but I will have it.” Molotov spits, ominously vanishing with the tide, his compatriot with him.

Outcome: Heavyarms wins; Wing Zero, Leo, and Aquarius lose.
Heavyarms – Damaged (0) days.
Wing Zero – Damaged (1) day.
Leo – Damaged (2) days.
Aquarius – Damaged (1) day.




Geminass 02 duels Leo-R

“Let's duel, like, right now!” Rehana pleads, her valley-girl mentally coming off rather strong for once. The periwinkle blue Geminass 02 is nearly invisible with the starlit backdrop, yet still viably flamboyant regardless. She props her Gundam in a smart pose and awaits her girlfriend's response.

“All right... I suppose...” Sighs Marianne, working haphazardly to assuage the boredom out of her voice. “What're we doing out here any---”

“Okay! I go first!” Rehana cuts in, letting the Geminass' PX System invigorate her to the core. She grabs a beam sword from its rack and charges forward, intending to neatly clip off the Leo-R's bangs (commander antenna). Instead, Marianne yelps apparent surprise and upturns the Leo-R's dober gun, firing blindly into the Geminass' cockpit. The shot misses and brazes the left index finger of the Rehana's machine. “You BROKE my nail!”

Marianne, being the more tom-boyish of the two, half-grins at her friend's disgust.

“Your hair is so frumpy!” Rehana cries.

“What's your problem!” The Leo pilot demands, clearly out of her element. “I just wake up like this---I mean, it's always been like this---I mean... what are you talking about?!”

The Geminass exudes teen angst with sudden clarity. The accelerate rifle is drawn from an undisclosed location and is fired in all directions. One shot pierces the Leo-R's left pauldron, sending the suit into an awkward 180 degree spin backwards.

“Rehana... please! I'm, I'm going to puke!” Cries Marianne.

“Promise me you'll do something about that hair!”

Within the upturning custom Leo, Marianne frantically attempts to dissect the situation. What, exactly, was going on inside her friend's head?! Was all this zero-gravity making her mad? Despite the nausea and complete confusion, she is able to speak, “oh, okay! I promise! I yield!”

Rehana teehee's and aids her friend in correcting her balance.

Outcome: Geminass 02 wins; Leo-R loses.
Geminass 02 – Damaged (0) days.
Leo-R – Damaged (1) day.