Disclaimer: I do not own Titanfall.

Author's Notes: I've been slacking so much. Maybe this will illustrate why I was gone for so long. School, exams, summer school, etc. Hopefully it will. Probably not. Anyway, here's the next chapter that I wanted to push out. No promises for the next update.

Thanks for sticking with the story guys.

MUCH LOVE,

~SAYONARA~

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They're worse. MUCH worse than I thought. Bish thought to himself as he collapsed onto his bed. He could hear and feel the springs of the mattress squeal in pain from under his weight. Either the mattress was very old or he was just heavy… Bish wanted to think the former. He hadn't been in the tavern for more than thirty seconds when trouble started.

As soon as he walked into the inn, like the pilot suggested, the entire establishment went eerily quiet, as if someone had mysteriously died. Bish swore that the tavern was bellowing with laughter and banter the split second before he entered. Could he have misheard? Possibly. Was that true though? Not at all.

Bish uneasily made his way to the front desk; he felt all the eyes staring at him as he awkwardly waddled through the sea of chairs. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waddling, Bish reached the front desk and, to his surprise, an incredibly normal looking man tending to the books and papers of the tavern. The man looked up and made eye contact with Bish. For some reason, the man's face seemed vaguely familiar. He gave Bish a friendly smile.

That's probably the friendliest anyone has been to me this whole week, Bish quietly thought to himself.

"You must be the IMC techie that silenced all the boys here. " The man said in a warm voice. "D'you think you can work for me and keep doing that?"

Bish gave a half-hearted laugh. "Maybe. But how did you know-?"

The man burst into laughter. "Know what? That you are an IMC technician? I'd recognize that outfit anywhere."

True. Bish stood out like a sore thumb in the masses of the people who sat in the tavern. While those people wore brown-ish faded working garb, Bish's own blue coveralls seemed to distinguish himself more from what people could already see. And from what he could see, Bish could tell that these people here weren't very fond of him being in the same building as them all. It seemed that the pilot was right...

While Bish was lost in his own thought, he saw that the man was saying something to him. He couldn't hear what exactly the man was saying but from the man's gestures it seemed as if he were asking him a question.

"I'm sorry, ya say somethin'?" Bish asked sheepishly.

"I was asking you if you needed a place to stay for the night. All the transport shuttles have shut down for the night."

Bish nodded quickly. "Yeah, thanks. My commander told me something like that had happened."

"You mean that big shot up by that northern monstrosity?" The man asked as he wrote down Bish's stay in the records log. "Real charmer..."

"Oh," Bish said, surprised this innkeeper knew the Commander. "You've seen him before?"

"More than seen him," The man quipped, rolling his eyes. "He's always around, yelling at a Frontiersman or a Black Sparrow supporter."

"Huh." Bish mused, imagining the commander running around the dusty, barren landscape yelling at various people crossing the street. Funny thing was Bish found that it perfectly suited the commander, the situation.

"What was your name?" The man asked, using an end of a pen to rub his eyebrow. "I didn't catch it when you said it."

Oh man, where are my manners. First nice person and I haven't even told him my name.

"Cheng Lorck." Bish said, semi-grimacing with his legal name. He never really liked the sound of his name and surname together. It was a blend of his mother's Japanese heritage and his father's Danish side. It never really felt right to hear those two names together.

"Cheng... Lorck... got it." The man said as he jotted down the name. "Method of payment?"

Bish bit his lip. He knew his situation. The holo-watch of his screwed his credit balance over. He remembered what the pilot of the freighter had told him though.

"Tell them Nils sent you."

"Well?" The man asked, still flashing his friendly smile.

Bish glanced briefly from side to side. He could see that most of the people in the tavern had their eyes fixated on him as if they were waiting for him to do something. Letting out a sigh, Bish leaned a bit closer to the innkeeper and said what the pilot had told him to say.

"Nils sent me."

A completely different expression washed over the innkeeper's face for a moment. It was just for a split second but Bish could see that it was surprise that took over the man's face. The man seemed to have noticed that Bish had seen it too. He quickly cleared his throat and looked at Bish with a rather serious expression.

"Then I assume that you met my nephew already then?" The man asked.

"If you meant the freighter pilot, yeah. I met him. Funny fella."

"Well, humor isn't exactly his strong suit... But did he explain everything to you?"

Bish raised his eyebrow. "Explain everything?.. You mean how the locals don't really like the IMC?"

The man was taken aback slightly. "Well, er... yes. That's part of it... But is that all he said?"

Bish was getting suspicious. "He said he needed to make another run with that freighter of his and had to go... yeah, that was just about all he told me."

The man was quiet for a moment and then shook his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything more. Here's the keycard to your room. It's number 37."

Bish slowly took the keycard, keeping his eyes on the innkeeper as the man quickly went about other business. Bish could tell that he was intentionally avoiding eye contact. Although Bish found everything eerily suspicious, he shrugged it off as he picked up his belongings and made his way to the door. Still feeling the eyes stare at him intensely, Bish uneasily walked across the aisle of tables and chairs and finally made it to the door when a man sitting down blocked his path.

Bish looked at the man. He was a bit taller than he was and had a rugged expression all over his face. Bish could see unkempt stubble all over the man's chin and cheeks.

"Can I help you?" Bish asked, trying to sound as polite as possible.

"Yeah." The man spat. "You and your IMC friends can go piss off."

The entire tavern roared with laughter as the man finished his sentence. Bish felt the end of his ears go hot. He was too tired and hungry to deal with a guy like this. Maintaining his composure as much as possible, he said to the man, "I'll gladly do that if you can let me get through."

He tried stepping through but the man wouldn't budge. Now Bish was getting irritated. He dealt with so much predicaments today, he no longer had the patience to deal with something as trivial as this.

"Let him through Bridge." The innkeeper said from over his counter. "Nils sent him here."

The man, Bridge, scoffed. "These guys are our enemy but you are treating them like fucking house guests!"

"Bridge, I think you've had enough to drink for one nig-"

"I ain't done Rhodes!" The man yelled. "I'm done when I say I'm done!"

Bridge looked back at Bish. "You want to eat our food? You want to use our beds? Go right fucking ahead. But you'll have to go through me first."

I tried avoiding this...

Suddenly, with a quick motion, Bish clasped his hand behind the man's neck and pulled it towards him while simultaneously head butting the man's face. Still holding the man's neck, Bish kneed the man's gut as hard as he could, hearing the air explode out of the man's lungs and mouth. Then, grabbing by the scruff of the man's jacket, Bish flung him towards the empty patch of tables, hearing a satisfying crash. Bridge didn't even attempt to stand back up.

Picking up his bags again, Bish turned around and looked at the shocked innkeeper.

"Y'wanna know why I am a technician?"

No response.

"I got reassigned for putting four drill instructors in the intensive care unit."

And Bish walked out of the tavern only to hear the uproar and pandemonium erupt behind him.

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That was really stupid of me. Bish thought as he sat upright on his bed. Not only should I have tried to pacify the situation, I shoulda kept my mouth shut.

Bish kicked himself off of the bed and took a step towards the window and looked outside. He couldn't see an angry mob with pitchforks retaliating against him yet. Perhaps that was for the better. All he could see was darkness and dust flying around outside.

Letting out a breath, Bish thought to himself. It coulda been a LOT more worse...

It was true. The people in the tavern could have pulled a knife on him or a gun even. Bish was thankful nothing came to that. If it had, Bish didn't know what he would have done. What he said back in the tavern wasn't a bluff. He actually did put four instructors in the ICU after an altercation during the hand-to-hand combat drill. One of the instructors, a man that was out to make his life miserable, Bish was sparring with called his martial arts hybrid a mess and a disgrace to the uniform. That ticked him off. Although Bish didn't like the way his name was, he was still proud of his heritage and background. He wasn't going to listen to some snobbish instructor judging and telling him how to fight.

Bish almost killed the man.

It wasn't that Bish had anger issues. That instructor's incessant insults and berating set Bish on edge for the months the boot camp lasted. Bish was just glad it was all over...

And that the guy is still suffering from five cracked ribs, a broken jaw and arm...

Just as Bish was about to crack open the window to let in some fresh air, the Tele-Communications link hooked up next to his bed rang. Bish waddled his way to the comm and answered it.

"You've got Room 37, what is it?"

"Hey, Bish?" Bish recognized that the voice belonged to the innkeeper. Rhodes his name was?... "You there?"

"Yeah. I'm here." Bish said, nodding unconsciously "What's up?"

"You've uh... you've got a visitor here to see you."

A visitor? To see me? At this ungodly hour?!

"Who the hell wants to see me at this time of night in this middle of God forsaken nowhere?!"

"I dunno." Rhodes replied blatantly. "I guess that's for you to find out."

Bish sighed with defeat. "I'll be right out. Now, where is this person that wants to see me?"

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The cold air nipped at him as he walked his to the central plaza behind the tavern. If Bish had known that the Frontier would get this bloody cold at nighttime, he would have packed a thicker jacket. Bish abandoned his IMC garb of course in favor of donning something the locals would wear. He wore dark brown working class pants and simple beige sport jacket. They did little to shelter him from the cold.

Bish eventually arrived at the center of the plaza. He saw a tanned colored off-roader parked in the middle of the cobblestone walkway. Other than the car and himself, the entire central plaza seemed empty, devoid of life.

Could the front desk have mistaken? Possibly. It was quite late and the front desk was swamped with work and-

Bish froze, a chill running down his spine. He could understand that the front desk could have an obscene amount of work on their hands and could have misdialed him about a visitor wanting to see him.

But that didn't explain how they knew his nickname.

"Bish, you've got a visitor here to see you."

Bish NEVER told the front desk his nickname. Despite how scatterbrained he could act sometimes, Bish never had a slip of tongue. He never said anything he wasn't suppose to or didn't want to and he knew himself perfectly well.

So how the hell did these people know?

Bish. It was a nickname given to him by his martial arts instructor from years ago. He was nicknamed after Bishamon, one of the Seven Gods of Luck. Bishamon was notorious for his warlike attitude, wearing full armor and arming himself with a spear to boot.

But now, that wasn't the concern. Bish had no idea who these people were or how they found out about his nickname and he sure as hell didn't want to know either. It seemed as if the never ending trials of the day persisted on.

Bish approached the off-roader cautiously. He could hear the ticking of the engine and the heat it radiated as he walked near it.

Recently used... Could it be the person who wanted to see me that drove th-

"Don't move."

Again, Bish felt the all-too-familiar feeling of the chills down his spine. The voice that spoke behind him was cold, metallic. Bish wasn't even sure it was human. But still, Bish followed the voice's order and didn't move.

"Hands in the air, where I can see them."

Bish obliged.

"Turn around."

Bish turned around and saw that in front of him was a sight he never thought he'd see.

It was a man for sure. Bish could tell by the stature and figure of the armor the man wore. It was some prototype Pilot-class armor, something Bish would never be able to get his hands on, even while working for the IMC in the combat brigades. This was something on a whole different playing field.

Could this prototype armor be why I wasn't able to see him earlier?

"Who are you?" The cold voice spoke again from the Pilot. He looked more machine than man, his armor covering most of his body and his face consisting of four glowing slits of light on a helmet.

"Cheng Lorck, IMC Technician." Bish said, voice quavering slightly.

"You're the guy Nils sent, right?"

Bish shot the Pilot a glance. Had the news spread? Did what he tell the innkeeper make it around the town already?.. Bar fight included?

Bish simply nodded.

The Pilot briefly looked around, over his shoulder and back. Then, he looked back at BIsh.

"Get in the car."

Bish stood his ground. "And if I refuse?"

The Pilot reached to his side and pulled out a sleek, silver barreled handgun and pointed it at Bish. Bish knew that this Pilot meant business, both with his speaking and his weapon of choice.

"You don't have a choice."

Bish reluctantly opened the off roader's back door and stepped inside of the car, sitting down in the hard leather seat. The Pilot took his place in the front and gunned the engine back to life. The off roader roared down the cobblestone walkway and tore through the dusty unpaved sand dunes. Bish lurched forward with every bump and hill. The Pilot on the other hand didn't seem to care much at all. Bish gritted his teeth as he struggled to sit up.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?!

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(A/N): Well, here it is. The story is just beginning.

Stay tuned!

Until next time,

~SAYONARA~