Night at the Mausoleum.

“Axis floated in the blank skies over Earth’s only moon, chasing the lunar terminator along an orbital course that kept it perpetually beneath shadow. What remained of the once-proud fortress was blackened and cratered, surrounded by a shoal zone birthed by the destruction of its upper half. One tattered wing – twisted and metallic and massive – reached out of the asteroid’s former engine housing. Chunks of its brother could be seen floating inside the shoal zone, together with the wreckage of a hundred thousand mobile suits and warships. Leaking reactors, spread intermittently throughout the refuse, were the sole source of illumination. Their dim fluorescence painted the environment a pale green, and brought to sight the features of this rocky, shattered carapace.”

Masses of transports of varying size and shape had amassed, staying away from the certain death that awaited anyone unfortunate enough to enter the Mausoleum. Each of the pilots who had come to participate in the mass battle spent their time before the match in their own way.

Some, like Maximillian Bagoly of the Empruss, waited for the fireworks to start in a state of zen-like silence. In his hand held a small figure, the pilot contemplating his nephew’s Gelgoog model.

Others chose to mingle, joining other crews and pilots, many of the ships home to the gundam equivalent of tailgate parties.

—

“Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to do this, here?!”

Hermes looked out from the window of the shuttle that had ferried him and several other participants of the Free-For-All to their destination. Knowing what he knew about Axis, and the shattered remains of the Devil Gundam, the mercurial pilot’s mind raced to think of how such a place was at all suitable for what was probably the biggest collection of mobile suits this place had seen since the destruction of the nano-machine monster.

The ship carrying the Exia and its pilot hadn’t been the first to arrive, the cruiser gliding toward the massive fleet of vessels that had carried the other competitors to the staging area. Innumerable ships had clustered together just outside of the Shoal Zone, mobile suits flitting between them as pilots hopped from what was effectively one party to another.

“Wooo-weeee, what a sight.”

Chewing on what appeared to be an outrageously large drumstick of some unidentifiable fowl, Nero joined Hermes at the window. Extending a grease covered hand toward Hermes for a handshake, the pilot of the Gaia Gear Alpha introducing himself.

“Nero Testarossa, pilot of the Gaia Gear Alpha. Pleased to “meat” you.”

Desperately trying to ignore the combination of fat, and eleven secret herbs and spices that squelched between his fingers as he accepted the handshake, Hermes introduced himself in like.

“Hermes Mauser, Atlantic Federation, Gundam Exia.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.”

Taking another massive bite from the abnormally sized poultry, Nero spoke as he masticated the past-tensed bird..

“So me and some of the other pilots have something of a barbeque  going on in the hold, and well, we were wondering if you might be interested in joining us. Jack Verse, you know him, he’s pretty handy with the spatula and is making a nice spread, we’re even about to have omelettes!”

Discretely wiping his hand against his pants leg, Hermes took another gander at the mass of ships, and figured what the hell, there was plenty of time before the battle began.

“Sure! Why not?”

“Why not indeed!”

Both of them turned from the viewing window, and the twisted form of the Devil Gundam’s corpse strangling Axis, and proceeded to the mobile suit hold where a makeshift kitchen had been constructed.

Jack Verse, wearing a “Kiss Me I’m Irish” apron (despite the fact that he was not Irish),  labored over the promised omelettes, adding some green onions to the mind bogglingly large yolks before whisking them together.

Inside of a pen, there were a number of the massive birds, Graham was attempting  to use his mobile suit’s spear to end one of the ostriches. The N Dagger N would disappear with its Mirage Colloid, Graham waiting patiently for the birds to relax and wander close enough to his stealth unit for him to be able to skewer them with his mobile suit’s weapon.

Off to the side of the pen, Slade Garadan prepped another of the birds to be fried, stripping feathers from the ostrich’s body deftly.

Watching all of this, Herme’s initial reaction was a sort of horror, the sheer oddity of what he was witnessing threatening to consume him. He stood for a moment, then everything seemed to click into place, this was a Free-For-All, and not a “true event.” Everyone was always wacky in these. With this moment of clarity he stripped down to his boxers, and walked over to help Slade de-feather the deceased bird, a sense of calm descending on him as he pulled masses of bird fuzz from the dead ostrich.

—

Thick clouds of smoke filled the coffee shop like room, the lights dimmed while pilots talked philosophy, politics, and other equally sophisticated topics.

“Well I feel the Human Reformation League’s sole duty should be the betterment of humanity’s status as a whole, and not their own nationalistic needs.”

Junius Lethe, Declan Rochester, and Ariel Paz had chosen politics as their verbal sparring ground. Standing behind Ariel, Phil McCormick and Braddigan Hart, two other members of the Vanguard Horizon, listened intently to the debate.

“Ah my friends, you say that, but really what is it to be human?”

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a piece of twine, both Braddigan and Phil face-palming as they braced themselves for the “humanity is like twine” speech.

“You see my friends, humanity is like this piece of twine…”

Both pilots grunted as if they had been struck, the leader of the Vanguard Horizon launching himself into his well worn monologue.

“At least he kept his shirt on this time, right Brad?”

“Seriously.”

—

“Read’em and weep bitches, Read’em and weep!”

Penny won what was probably her sixteenth hand in a row, the small robot flailing wildly as it scooped the collection of small bills, a few poker chips, and what appeared to be a gold pocket watch with “To My Beloved Dr. Jolian” engraved on the faceplate.

Around the table Darius Carver, Cielo Avari, Sebastiaan Arts, and Michael Harrison groaned as they threw up their hands in disgust. The obnoxious little robot just didn’t seem to stop, Van Cruise and Seltak Amani both wearing barrels with suspender straps as they watched; earlier victims of Penny’s vicious poker skills.

“Excuse me gents?”

Alexander Elridge pushed himself toward the floating poker game, drifting to the table.

“Have any of you seen Kale? I heard he might be here.”

Sebastiaan was the first to reply.

“He was hear earlier, but he bet the Dynames on his last hand, and Penny cleaned him out. Last I heard he was off looking for a stool and some rope.”

It took Alex a moment to try to figure out what a stool and rope would have to do with Kale losing the Dynames, the pilot of the Phoenix Gundam realizing what was afoot after a little thought.

“Wait, doesn’t he realize he can’t hang himself in zero-g?”

Darius chuckled, looking up from his hand..

“I’m sure he’ll learn.”

—

“Feel good. Feel good. Feel good.”

Shizuru murmured the haunting refrain into her microphone while Victor thumbed an accompanying baseline. The entire room was dark except for spots of red lights that revealed a writhing mass of bodies as Shizuru sang.

“City’s breaking down on a camel’s back.
They just have to go ‘cos they don’t know whack
So all you fill the streets it’s appealing to see
You wont get out the county, ‘cos you’re bad and free
You’ve got a new horizon It’s ephemeral style.
A melancholy town where we never smile.
And all I wanna hear is the message beep.
My dreams, they`ve got a kiss me, ‘because I don’t get sleep, no..

Windmill, Windmill for the land.
Love forever hand in hand
Take it all in on your stride
It is sinking, falling down
Love forever love is free
Let’s turn forever you and me
Windmill, windmill for the land
Is everybody in?”

Around the room a series of wall-sized TV screens flipped to life, Cameron Sune’s face appearing on each of them as he began rapping.

“Laughing gas these hazmats, fast cats,
Lining them up-a like ass cracks,
Lay these ponies at the track
Its my chocolate attack.
Shit, I’m stepping in the heart of this here
Care bear bumping in the heart of this here
Watch me as I gravitate
Hahahahahahaa.
Yo, we gonna go ghost town,
This motown,
With yo sound
You’re in the place
You gonna bite the dust
Can’t fight with us
With yo sound
You kill the INC.
So don’t stop, get it, get it
Until you’re jet ahead
and watch the way I navigate
Hahahahahhaa”

While Sune was rapping, Victor had somehow relieved himself of his shirt, thrusting his hips seductively as he played his bass guitar, woman clinging to his legs while Shizuru continued to sing.

“Windmill, Windmill for the land.
Love forever hand in hand
Take it all in on your stride
It is sinking, falling down
Love forever love is free
Let’s turn forever you and me
Windmill, windmill for the land
Is everybody in?”

Cameron, who’s face had disappeared from the TVs, suddenly reappeared, carrying the beat of the bass as he rapped.

“Don’t stop, get it, get it
We are your captains in it
Steady,
Watch me navigate,
Ahahahahahhaa.
Don’t stop, get it, get it
We are your captains in it
Steady, watch me navigate
Ahahahahahhaa.”

The song reached its peak as Shizuru crooned “Feel good,” repeatedly while Cameron would laugh manically after each refrain, the room going completely black once the song was finished.

—

Dimitri had only been gone from his gundam for a couple of minutes, the pilot desperately needing to relieve himself in the little buffalo’s room. As he returned, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he saw smoke pouring from the Wing Zero’s cockpit. Boosting off a nearby wall, he flew to his mobile suit, clamoring up its body to the cockpit. Pulling on a latch, he opened the cockpit from the outside, a great wave of sweet-bitter smoke filled his nostrils as he waved his hand in a vain attempt to clear the smoke.

“…And that is why you need my patented New York Slider set! Big taste in little packages. You’ll never have the munchies again!!”

“Totally gnarly dude, that thing is sweet as hell.”

Inside of the Wing Zero sat Alex O’Rion, Marcus O’Hare, and Vale Blood. Vale and Alex were alternating tokes on what appeared to be a joint, while Marcus attempted to hawk his wares to the two impaired pilots. Looking up at the figure of his comrade, Alex waved.

“Oh hey Dimitri. I threw up in the Epyon so we came over here. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Seizing the small marijuana cigarette from Alex’s lips, Dimitri flicked it through the air toward the opposite end of the hangar where the Epyon lay reclined.

“Go! All of you! NOW!”

Grumbling the two stoners climbed out of the Wing Gundam ZERO, Vale and Alex taking turns launching themselves at the glowing joint, attempting to snatch the blunt from the air with their mouths alone.

“I’M BILLY MAYS!”

“You too Marcus! Go!”

“But with my new Super Putt–”

Not waiting for Marcus to finish his pitch Dimitri reached into his cockpit, grabbing the pilot by his collar. In one fluid movement he yanked the salesman from the Zero’s cockpit, and chucked him toward Vale and Alex. His cockpit no longer occupied, he slipped into the mobile suit himself, realizing that something smelled pungent; almost of poop. It was then he noticed that he had stepped squarely in what could have only been human refuse.

“Oh those sons of bitches…”

—

“Sign please.”

Lyric looked up from his cockpit, the pilot choosing to spend his time removed from the hustle and bustle while he finished his final combat preparations. Above him a man wearing a UPS uniform was floating, thrusting a clipboard at Lyric.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else, I haven’t requested anything.”

The delivery man’s right eye twitched in an involuntary tick that he had developed  after years of dealing with difficult customers, the khaki clad courier pulling a pen from his shirt pocket.

“Listen, I gots a package, and I needs a signature. Sign here.”

It struck Lyric as a little weird that the man would be so insistent, but still it wasn’t his package, or his business what was inside. .

“I’m sorry sir, this isn’t mine, I can’t sign for it.”

With another involuntary tick of his right eye the UPS man pulled out a form, sandwiching the form between the writing implement and the clipboard.

“Alright, well I got fill out a form then. What’s your name?”

“Lyric Sate.”

“Mobile suit?”

“Gundam Double X”

“Thank you. Have a nice day.”

Clicking his pen, the delivery man placed the tool back in his pocket, afterward handing Lyric the form with his information filled as having received the shipment.

“Asshat.”

With nothing else to do, Lyric sighed as he pushed out of the DX’s cockpit to see what the UPS man had left. It was a massive crate, across it a label reading “Features Pending.” Lyric scratched his head for a moment as he tried to make heads or tails of the package. Still stumped as to what the contents of the package may have been, Lyric began prying at the container, the pilot ah’ing gently as he realized what it was as he gazed at the mannequin like form without features. It was the Tallgeese II’s new pilot.

—

The Masurao was pink from head to toe, Ethan and Lyall unable to stop sniggering at their handiwork. It was amazing how a simple change in color had turned the once sleek and menacing mobile suit, into something of a joke, a series of pink bows tied along the Masurao’s “crown.” It had taken nearly two hours to complete, but the end effect was so very worth it in their minds, the two looking for a place to conceal themselves so they could gauge Lachesis’ reaction when she returned.

Beneath them a distinctly familiar, and feminine voice, cleared its throat. The two pranksters stared at her for a moment, their eyes huge as they realized that had been caught in the act. Without giving their compatriot a chance to deal out what they felt was certain death, the two boosted off the wall directly behind them, fleeing to the catwalks that led to the bowels of the ship, and away from their second in command.

“I wish they had stayed,” the Schneider sniffed, “…I rather like it.”

—

Tobi whistled appreciatively at the 00-Raiser, Deacon taking a well earned moment to smile as he gazed at his new upgrade. Standing next to the pair was Kai, his own new mobile suit the apple of his eye as the Mercurius stood shoulder to shoulder with the 00.

As the trio stood, collectively admiring the mobile weapons, Kale shuffled past them, a rope hanging loosely from his neck like a tie.

“Well hello Kale! Where are you off to?”

“Looking for an airlock.”

Deacon, his curiosity piqued by Kale’s strange answer, immediately pressed his brother in arms for more details.

“Why do you want to know where there is an airlock?

“Oh, no reason, seeya guys.”

Without another word Kale continued his search for a release chamber, the three pilots looking at each other for a moment until an alarm went off; the kind of alarm that only goes off in case someone is trying to depressurize the ship, all three pilots taking off after Kale in unison.

—

Come to Mars, and see why it is that ours is the drill that will pierce the heavens!

Scarth Maheart spoke atop a small soap crate, his hand raised to the sky. Directly behind him the TERRA-GOOhN did the same, its right arm modified with a massive drill.

Moshiro stood beside him while Scarth did his best to get people to sign up to work at the newly founded Aichaku Mines. Despite the rousing speech, none of the three pilots they tried soliciting: Dallas, Zelpher, or Nicholas Cale seemed in the least bit interested. ‘

Leaning over to Scarth, he whispered in his compatriot’s ear.

“Psst. I don’t think it’s working. Time for plan B.”

Scarth nodded sagely, agreeing with Moshiro completely.

“As a demonstration of only a sample of the bounty you will find on Mars, I come bearing gifts. Bring out the gin and loose women!”

From each corner of the hangar, women poured into the space, tittering as they waved around large flasks of alcohol. These “volunteers” were the comeliest women Scarth and Moshiro could pay to wear skimpy clothing, dance, and hopefully get the now excited pilots liquored up enough to sign a legally binding contract stating that they were the property of the Ultor Corporation.

—

Flession walked through the brig of the ship aptly named “The Shortbus.” Far from ideal, the asylum/prison ship was the last vessel available to take him to the free-for-all. However it wasn’t all bad, the pilot of the Gundam X taking a perverse joy in seeing all the loonies in their cages.

Next to him one of the vessels guards strolled with him, the two chatting, discussing the various tenants of the padded rooms that made up each cell.

“So what’s wrong with this one?”

Jabbing his thumb toward a comatose figure, floating in a straight jacket.

“Oh him. Poor soul, he’s a victim of DBS.”

“DBS?”

“Yeah, delayed battle syndrome. The poor soul waited as long as he could, then he simply stopped…”

Shuddering at the prospect of being stuck in some sort of limbo, Flession hurried down the isle, coming across another tenant. The man was tall, with pallid skin, and a flowing black hair.

“Hi, my name is Beowulf. How are you?”

Schaeffer’s demeanor was refreshing, an oasis of sanity in the Shortbus’ brigs. Turning toward the guard, Flession inquired about the seemingly decent human being.

“What’s wrong with him?  He seems fine to me.”

“Oh God no! Someone once slipped some bouillon cubes into his shower head as a prank. That man actually waited in his SUV in the hospital parking lot while blasting some speed metal, 5.1 surround sound, heavy on the bass; and then he mowed somebody down.”

“Oh wow. Hooch is crazy.”

“Yeah, Hooch is seriously crazy.”

—

It was nearly a full hour after the last ship had arrived when klaxons began going off simultaneously in each ship. All of the pilots looked up at the whirring lights and repeating sirens, the contestants of the FFA beginning to filter toward their mobile suits, the alarms signifying a ten minute countdown to enter the Shoal Zone.

From the peloton of ships, a mass of mobile suits evacuated their holds, mobile suit and armor entering the badlands in unison. Someone continued their festivities as they piloted through the defunct battle ground, while others took the area more seriously, knowing of the dangers of the deserted region.

Though the hulk of the DG had remained inert for years, not everyone could shake the feeling that they were being watched by some sort of malevolent force emanating from the colony sized corpse. However even the most paranoid among the pilots refused to turn back, the prestige and rewards of winning the mass battle more than enough to override their flight response.

Each of them watched the small synchronized clock given to each of them at the beginning of the FFA, the final countdown beginning.

5…4…3…2…1…GO!