Beta'd by Da-Awesom-One.

DROWNED DESPERATION

-Benjamin Carson-

"ALERT!... ALL HANDS TO DESIGNATED STATIONS! INCOMING HOSTILES DETECTED!... ALERT!... ALL HANDS TO...!"

"For gods' sakes, shut that frickin' thing off! I get it; we ALL get it!" my voice sprang forth loudly in an effort to be heard as I half-stumbled, half-sprinted into the chaotic atmosphere of the bridge before the door had even fully opened. Sweat beaded my brow, both my lungs and crippled leg burning with the speed I'd pushed myself with, even with the fresh implants to see me forward.

Just another 'helpful' reminder of how woefully out-of-shape I was. Good to know...

"Hemlock, status report! Tell me what's happenin'!? I thought we were runnin' silent!?"

"We were, Specialist! We were!" my Head of Security perked up from the stations set in the lower part in the bridge, having bent over to confer with one Ensign Sweets.

The young mousy-haired woman sat at the helm, hunched over her own screen, her panic-stricken face paled as fingers flitted across the holographic console with frantic if still deliberate motions, training having set in. Her skillful ministrations allowing the frigate to glide from the buffeting embrace of maelstrom with some semblance of grace... meaning a few bumps and scrapes here and there where a lesser pilot might've flown us out in pieces. But there she was...

Atlesians. They were a determined sort despite many, MANY other faults. I'd give them that much, and this lot all the more...

"And we still are, by all accounts! Some malfunctions induced by the storm, maybe... We can't rightly tell, sir!"

Knowing Hemlock as I had these last few months I could tell how much that admission irked him. His square jaw set in a tense grimace, and that wasn't even counting the glare I got for the blood coating my shoulder, having had no time to change after I'd left the Trappers in their... Well, couldn't call those piles of scrap 'cells' anymore, now could I?

Thankfully, I didn't need to dwell long, a distraction coming forth in the form of the towering mass of Professor Jacob Ambrose working his way slowly to his feet with the help of his... of Polendina. The strange patchwork droid was currently acting as a sort of crutch for the scientist, accounting for the uneasy imbalance of his bad leg.

This small charity allowed him to focus on the myriad of exposed wires and data displays he managed with practiced efficiency, if with a some unsubtle irritation. Ambrose shot clipped advice to the harried team of techs already hard at work, surmised short-term solutions on the fly, and formed recriminations on his own shortcomings as to why he should've expected this all at once.

"...Communications are shot. Navigation limited due to heavy magnetic interference... Tysh, I knew I should've tested in more strenuous conditions! If only I'd... No, there was simply no time, no bloody time...!"

"That's all well and dandy, Doc, but we could really go for a sit-rep right about now!" I demanded sternly, practically falling headfirst into the command chair as the whole of the ship shuddered underfoot.

Hard-Light Dust screens sprung to verdant life before me. Several competing scripts writ thick with gauges, status reports, and what little of our surroundings we'd managed to ascertain since stumbling free of that hell-storm. Not that it did us much good, our external captures fried or otherwise distorted by malicious static, with sensors and navigation befuddled by a soup of opposing magnetic forces.

"We're still flying, but just barely. We're fortunate the old air currents haven't shifted so drastically as I'd feared they might've. Polendina's calculations were sound," he spat back, sullenly stung by the light reprimand in my tone, pushing his glasses further up his brow. Of course he probably wasn't thinking over what might have happened if his AI had gotten a decimal or two off... "Even so, we're in poor shape, and, from what I can tell, facing great odds. I wasn't expecting Uncle... expecting Violette to have actually thought to post patrols so close to the Wrath."

"Nothin' we can do 'bout it now." The words weren't a comfort, and at the moment, I hadn't exactly meant them as one. However... "Thank you much for watchin' our way, missy. We got out, and that's what matters."

I found myself staring at the glowing green lenses that constituted the droid's 'eyes,' even as I offered the praise, tearing myself away as it... she... gave a humming chime of self-delight, apparently not reading the awkwardness...

It was better that way. Familiar. Like its... her... past self.

"Now do we have any numbers; a disposition!? Gimme somethin' to work with! Anybody!?" A familiar order, one I'd given a dozen times and more in the past. "Let's see how many poor bastards we've got marchin' headfirst into trouble today, folks!"

The confidently smug routine was a calming influence to some; a sign of control, however faint, from the so-called 'Bandit of Beacon.' The man that had faced down the breadth of a Grimm Horde with a pittance of men and material, snatching what few desperate hours he could in Vale's defense.

A fun story, good for morale and tabloid piranhas... I was brave, assured, and already thinking of how to win. Only needed the pieces, was all.

Internally, however, my heart was pounding fit to burst, just as it always did in situations like these. Sweat dripped across my brow, chest tight, and both palms itching despite only having the one good arm.

Joel Ambrose might be a psycho fit to run face-first into danger with half a plan and no care for the odds, but Benjamin Carson?... Benjamin Carson was a coward, giving it his very best not to soil this fancy leather seat. And close to failing, for what it was worth...

I wasn't perfect. Far from it.

"Three... Three, sir! Three contacts, closing in fast! Real fast!" There was Echo's reassuring nasal falsetto, doing exactly what I'd named him for.

A swift glimpse placed him off to the side across a bank of consoles, trying to direct the efforts of crewmen and women throughout the length of the Rock Star from his tablet, all while he manned his own station. The fruits of his efforts played across my view, engineering among a half dozen other stations flashing blue acknowledgement markers representing readiness.

But there were other worries on his mind, his ruddy face sweating beneath a shot of dark hair already matted under so many swipes of a nervous hand.

"Attack velocity, our AI assistance is monitoring emissions to identify... One... Two... Two Manta Fighter variants, ident-markers registering both as stolen, and...! A-and something else! Something approaching at... What? No, that can't be." He leaned in to his screen, blinking as Allison's copy relayed whatever news was causing such distress. "No... No way! No ship can maneuver so fast! It has to be...! Check again...I said check again; it's an error! What do you mean you've already...!?"

Having little time to spare and a dozen pressing concerns in the waiting, I divided my attentions. Easy enough to do, and familiar, given that I'd already had enough practice. Calculating when to jump onto a moving train while simultaneously comparing your odds of survival, checking to make sure you're not the only crazy idiot trying, and figuring the exact calculus of when a raid goes from worthwhile to far from worth it in the span of a few bullets, shattered chassis, and spent Dust cores...

That calculus had been taken out back and put down by Ironwood with this mission. Had been almost from the moment we'd set out, the chances of us entering unscathed slight to nonexistent, the chances of success...

'...Still, they could've at least waited a few more minutes, couldn't they?...' I thought bleakly with a smirk done more for the others' benefit than mine, glancing out as the heavy clouds that had been masking our front view-screen finally broke into something resembling clarity. My first look at the Frontier itself.

Craggy white marble cliffs veined thick with gleaming silver stood carved out across a jagged coastline. Their peaks were topped high with foliage of a clotted, bloody red hue so thick with vines and humid mists, it was nigh-impossible to glimpse what might lay within. Given I'd spent the majority of my life cooped up in a place where even barren wastes could hide a plethora of lethal surprises, this wasn't exactly comforting.

And If that wasn't enough, that uneven carpet of trees... Gods, some of the cursed things probably would've put Beacon Tower to shame. The sea of clotted crimson was broken by jagged stone outcrops jutting like fangs or spears pointed defiantly skyward. Almost as if the land itself cursed invaders... Cursed us.

By the gods, that notion alone was fit to make my stomach clench cold, but then there was the damned sky itself. The air seemed to blur and writhe under the sway of magnetic storms, pulsing an aurora of vibrant colors like some abstract painting commissioned across the heavens in some places while broken with crackling electrical storms in others.

Frankly, if that thing wasn't currently playing havoc with our delicate systems, I might have considered it a sight to take the breath away, just like Joel had always said in his more guarded moments. Whenever I'd overhear him whispering sweet nothings in Blondie's sweet little ear.

No, who was I kidding? It definitely stole the air from my lungs. And it was all the more terrifying for it, possessive of a sort of savage grandeur about it all.

'...Easy to see why Altrosa's fleet vanished, if this is what they walked into...' my mind chimed in bleakly, using that snide voice I'd come to recognize and hate as my own.

My eyes picked out three distinct signatures at the furthest edges of the horizon fast approaching. Two far beyond the other, at least from what I could gauge by sight. Twin Manta attack craft on intercept.

Scouts? A lucky patrol, maybe?... How to respond; how to react with what I had, that being not much?...

"Ben!" Weiss' voice sounded as the entrance juddered open again behind me, her high-heeled footsteps swiftly joined by others. Not alone, then... That could be good, or bad, depending. "What's going on? What's happ... What's that on your arm!? Is...Is that BLOOD!?"

"Not mine, Princess! For once!" I piped up with my eyes still fixed on the screens and figures, which was not at all reassuring going by the tight-lipped frown and frosty glare I could feel prickling at the back of my neck.

I'd suffer for that levity later, if there even was a later. Right now, my job was ensuring my overprotective ex - gods, that sounded weird - got the chance. "Seems the locals caught onto our scent. Company's incomin' with a welcome mat."

"This is hardly the time for jokes, Specialist Carson!" Just what I needed... Inquisitor Laura must fave gone to talk with the ex-heiress after all. Probably still smarting from the Trapper incident beforehand, knowing my luck...

"How did they find us!? I was under the impression this ship had countermeasures against detection!"

"It does."

"Then how...!?"

"Bad luck on our part, damn fine luck on theirs. The gods only know. What matters is that they've found us, and now we're currently in it, so if ya'll' could kindly excuse me."

I set myself to work on another holo-keyboard with a rapid series of confirmation chimes even as data continued to scroll across the other, my eyes flickering back and forth through screen after screen, alert after alert. Too slow, I was always too slow. And there was so much more to do...

With a deep breath and a thought-pulse - along with a sudden bout of nausea and aches above my brow - I felt the 'fingers' of the new prosthetic split and distend into a set of ten thin, separate appendages. Each went to work with a dizzying pace, the rate at which I could act and work even distracted with only one hand exponentially improved.

It was thrilling... I finally had a limb that could keep up with the pace my thoughts, inhuman as it was.

Ambrose seemed downright thrilled to see his invention put to use, or as thrilled as he could get under such circumstances. Weiss blanched at the sight, biting her lip while Laura simply frowned with that scarred mug of his...

Instead of being bitter, I focused on the now. The approaching aircraft marked out clearly in an angry red upon the occulus.

Three contacts, though only the Mantas were in any sort of focus. The last bogey was still too far off for our frazzled systems to discern a proper visual. A scout, probably, or something further off on the patrol. Either way, Echo hadn't been kidding from the look of things.

The damned thing - whatever it was - was closing in on us, and doing so damned fast. So fast, actually, I'd probably have thought it a false positive if Allison hadn't already triple-checked for certain beats before I'd asked. Creepy as they were, at least the AIs aboard seemed willing enough to pull their own weight... Rather literally in Polendina's particular case. Ambrose didn't exactly look graceful on that leg...

'...FOCUS, darn it!...'

"Find somewhere to sit tight, and outta the way! Got bumpy ride ahead of us! And nah, regrettably not me!"

I allowed the stuttering comeback to wash over me, ignoring Laura's bluster, eyes drifting about the bridge. I gauged expressions, noting the stress points as Winter had instructed, and accounted... I was always accounting. I took a deep intake of breath before I straightened up in the command seat, pulling at the collar of my uniform for effect.

"Helm, ready evasive maneuvers! I know we're runnin' ragged after that storm, so do whatcha can!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Stomach shifting as the low rumble of engines kicked into life, I settled into the motion with practiced ease, as did most everyone on the bridge... Well, most, at least. Weiss let out a shriek as heels failed her, a robotic hand wrapping itself securely about her wrist before she could tumble on those heels of hers into a bank of consoles. Given her own unease, I neglected to take a jab, slinging her deftly towards a support pole as my free hand darted across the holo-board. Figures ran ragged in my head, calculating angles, possible vectors, potential getaways.

Going back into the storm would be madness, especially in our current state. Three small ships... We could take those odds. Hell, we'd break those odds wide open. But they had to know that, too, yet they were still on an intercept course.

"Gunnery, get me some firing solutions for the lasers! Might be lettin' 'em spit first, but there's no reason to sit here pretty twiddlin' our thumbs 'forehand! Prep a warnin' shot, too, while you're at it!"

"Aye, sir!"

A half a dozen wavering red dots filled my tactical viewer, each signalling a powerful laser array fit to accurately take the heads off a swarm of Lancers from several hundred meters, give or take. A fact I'd made sure of during our first forays with a swell of pride, calibrating the beauties strenuously until they purred fit to make Belladonna jealous beneath my fingertips.

The Rock Star wasn't a fighting ship. Ironwood had made that clear from the first day he'd been transferred into my less-than-tender care. A runner of a frigate, lean and rangy compared to some of the over-designed monsters making up the Atlesian Fleet, designed with larger engines and a smaller profile alongside its delicate suite of sensor-baffling technologies... Too delicate, as it turned out, unfortunately.

Still, she had her teeth. We could win this...

"A warning shot?" Laura's voice made me wince, the judgement audible, though tactfully he expressed it so only me and Weiss would be able to hear him. I could appreciate that much... "Specialist Carson, you know we can't spare them. The General's orders were to...!"

"I know!" I snapped back with flint enough to give him pause, sparing a glance to my fellow Huntress before calming the spark in my belly. "I know. But it makes me feel better if the bastards choose it. Less murder, more necessity."

If he had a witty response or some diatribe to that, he didn't say it aloud, for which I was grateful. The pained regret in the Schnee daughter's eyes was enough for both of us on that score.

"Specs, give it to me straight." The broad shoulders of the young man stiffened before turning at the sound of his nickname, those eerily familiar blue orbs driving into mine from behind those flickering spectacles. "Have they ratted us out? Does the Frontier know we're here?"

"It depends. While some esoteric devices for short-wave communication do exist in the city of Mooring, most of those are dependent on floating buoys and relays. Aerial communication, especially given the frequency of the disruptive magnetic phenomenon, would be rather...!"

"Has this lot blown the whistle, yes or no?"

A moment of loud silence followed that pronouncement as though the entire bridge hung upon the Professor's next words, and perhaps they did. Our mission was to ascertain the fate of, and - if possible - the location of Specialist Altrosa and his initial strike force, or at the very least see if we could deny what resources they had to the enemy.

Months too late, and a Lien short for that last bit, but our orders were remarkably broad on the latter objective.

To 'waylay the forces of the Frontier and the Red Hand however possible' before retreating back to the northern Kingdom's snowy bosom.

But we were one ship. A ship filled with skilled operatives, and equipped rather well for the task, but still just one ship. If we'd lost the element of surprise before we'd even started...

"...No... I very much doubt it," he said at last, nodding to himself before looking to the supportive 'face' of the droid beside him, Polendina giving him a positively enthusiastic - and somewhat disturbing - nod of approval. "The same issues we're facing would preclude their more delicate systems as well. Radar, long-range communications... The land's no less forgiving just because they live here." He spared a glance towards the incoming contacts, likely wondering if any of his countrymen happened to be aboard, before dismissing the motion promptly with a shake. "My guess is they're just as surprised to see we survived Rowan's Wrath intact as we are."

"...Thanks for clearin' that up," I sighed, eyes narrowing as I tried to process this new information. "Glad to know we can still impress."

"They... aren't actually gonna try to attack us, are they?" Weiss breathed, watching the pair of Manta craft approach, Allison's warning cries of weapons locks pinging across her sensors. Even from the bridge, the racking of missiles underneath their wings was obvious for anyone to see. "That's crazy! We're a military warship, they couldn't possibly...!?"

I wanted to say something witty, reassuring, or maybe even comforting if I could. Something to make her first taste of ship-to-ship combat... of war, with an actual living, breathing, thinking individual somewhat less traumatizing than it had been for me...

"INCOMING!"

Of course, no such luck. 'Course.

Ensign Sweets was already in action before I'd even opened my mouth, the whole of the ship lurching underfoot in attempts to avoid a quartet of streaking projectiles burning towards us on contrails of sizzling Dust propellants. A targeted attack, the engagement started off with a bang, it seemed.

The Red Hand seemed to be playing for keeps... Nice to know that attitude of theirs hadn't changed.

Thankfully, it appeared this group wasn't quite so used to their environment either. Three of the missiles skirted harmlessly past the hull to pierce the billowing bulwark of storm clouds roiling behind us. Their targeting systems were just as off kilter as ours were in this crazy landscape, stolen and repurposed Atlesian technology hindering as much as helping, at least for the moment. Distant heat blooms signaled their detonation as they ran afoul of the electrical forces broiling within Rowan's so-called 'Wrath.'

Unfortunately, that left still left the one, our point-defenses suffering similarly in attempting to shoot down the last whizzing projectile. It didn't hit us directly, thank the gods, but it had still been a close call. Close enough to shave the paint from our hull, and leave us all wondering just how bad it could have been.

We had but a moment's warning to brace before the whole ship was rocking sharp enough to throw folk off their feet as a distant explosion sounded. A fresh wave of alerts screamed in my ears as damage reports slowly trickled in. Our opponents angled about past our hull, peppering the side with Dust rounds that split hull and more, daring in their intent for another go at us before pealing off.

"It appears they've chosen," Edward Laura grunted, picking himself up shakily off the deck.

I didn't even have the heart to argue, eyes hard as I keyed in, and gave the only order that made sense, even if it left my throat feeling dry. "Laser batteries, FIRE!"

Perhaps they'd thought our proper armaments were downed by the storm, or our bearings had been shot... I had to believe that was the only reason these fools had thought to take on an Atlesian Frigate, even one as small as ours. And they'd have been right, of course. With our frayed systems, the notion of hitting them at this speed would've been ridiculous, a miracle.

"...CONFIRMING. TARGETS SIGHTED. FIRING ROUTINES INITIATED..."

Of course, one didn't precisely need a miracle. Not when they had an Artificial Intelligence aiding the triggerman, calculations and compensations figured in moments, environmental readouts, it mattered little. Weiss looked away sharply just in time to avoid having to watch the twin laser batteries affixed to the front of the ship redirect and discharge, some - namely me - not allowed the softness of that instinct.

I watched as twin beams of radiant green Dust energy cut like a scythe across the wing of the first ship, and detonated the engine housing of the second in a momentary conflagration of opposing destructive elements. All in all if not precisely clean shots, it was all very clinical but for the first ship spiraling wildly in relative silence towards the ground several hundred feet below, its crew doubtless panicking away the last few moments they had.

"Quick and loud. That's a way to go if any," I muttered darkly, Laura narrowing his eyes but saying nothing as the bridge breathed a collective sigh of relief as two of the flashing lights blinked out. "Right, now we just need to get the last one 'fore he runs off. Echo, how're we...!?"

"INCOMING!"

I blinked, looking out the viewscreen as something dark and angular almost seemed to appeared before the ship with an echoing boom, whizzing past just in time for the entire ship to judder underfoot. Impact alerts trickled across my screen, citing hull breaches and damage reports, including a nasty bump across the head on my part that left me seeing stars, and Weiss on her knees clutching the support pole for dear life. Many others standing about hadn't been so fortunate, groans and grunts of pain filling the now red-tinged bridge.

"Echo, Hemlock, anyone! What the hell just hit us!?" I called out through gritted teeth, dismissing the alerts. They weren't helping, all of them saying approximately the same thing: we'd been hit. Hard.

It was almost like one of the Mantas had survived for another strafing round while our back was turned. But that wasn't possible. Allison was a lot of strange things I'd never truly understand - nor was even sure I wanted to - but she wasn't incompetent.

The only thing that was supposed to be out there - aside from maybe a stray Grimm - was that mystery ship. And that one should still be... Still be... Hang on...

"That last contact, sir!" the young Atlesian called back, face flushed bright red to match the emergency glow. "I-I don't know how it got on us so fast! One moment it's several dozen meters distant, then the next... the next...?" He checked his terminal, muttering under his breath before swiping a hand to his screen. "Allison managed to get a picture! Displaying now!"

An image sprang up for all to see, poor in detail and resolution, clearly doctored up to grant us as best a view as could be afforded. Still, it was enough to make out the loose outline of a small airship maybe a quarter larger than a standard Manta, much of that taken up by the overlarge engine housed along the aft stern. Resembling no ship I'd ever really seen before, the craft was all sharp angles worked into something vaguely avian, almost raptor-like in aspect. It's hull painted in dark steel, and vibrant arterial red.

I was drawing blanks, but from the ragged intake of breath from the young Professor Ambrose, I supposed something must have clicked. And he certainly didn't seem happy about it, that was for damn certain.

"That can't be... That's the...!"

A booming cavalcade silenced him, sparks spraying from overloading circuits drawing more than a few startled outcries from those whose uniforms had caught aflame. More pressing, however, was the missile salvo that had just silenced one of our engines, and almost opened the hanger decks to the static-laden air beyond, but that shouldn't have been possible.

We'd just registered the bastard's first attack barely seconds before. They couldn't possibly have skirted around for another run so close to the storm front. Not that fast. Allison had been tracking the strange craft... or trying to, I realized with a scowl. Our targeting systems may as well be chasing ghosts compared to this thing.

Nothing I knew of - nothing Atlesian, at least - could move like that... or apparently anything from Spearpoint. Weiss and Laura were having their fun back and forth saying just that, as though they hadn't just felt it for themselves.

Of course, I couldn't be bothered, too busy watching Jacob Ambrose pick himself up off the ground with his fancy droid's aid, a thin trickle of vibrant blood skirting down his brow from an open cut across a thoroughly bruised forehead. His leg sparked from the bad fall where he'd twisted off kilter, though from his expression, he cared not a damn.

If anything, it just added to the effect playing across his face...

"Professor, you're injured," it said in perfect simile of Penny Polendina's curious tonal cues, perfectly modulated to express her concern in as calming a manner as possible. "You shouldn't stand. I can apply an ice pack if you so..."

"The Storm Hawk... That's...!"

He said the name in a low, dangerous whisper of control swiftly being shaken loose, with eyes still fixed on the picture, ignoring the droid out of hand as he shook off her attempts to treat him. Something was building in his gut that had all across the bridge looking to the usually calm and composed futurist with no small amount of worry, though he didn't even seem to notice. "Uncle, you...! Y-you actually...!? That... That irredeemable tysh'at besom bastard!"

A scowling snarl of abject anger all pinpricks of storm blue and flashing teeth that I recognized at once with a familiar shiver down my spine split his features. I had seen a similar expression flicker in the depths of a darkened mine shaft filled with haunting nightmares. Seen them stare down a pack of screeching horrors alone in the wastes as they rushed forward. I had even seen them glaring at me from the halls of Amity Colosseum after watching a blonde young woman being dragged off.

Weiss noticed it too and caught my eye, the two of us sharing a nervous moment of keen familiarity.

It was the same sorta dogged look that his older brother had worn on several occasions. And it was just as terrifying as we both remembered.

"THAT'S MY SHIP, GODSDAMMIT!"

-Reika Murasaki-

...I felt small.

This wasn't anything new to me, though. At barely a handful of feet tall, I wasn't exactly pushing for beanpole of Beacon's first year class.

This was the first time, however - the first in a long while - that I'd ever felt so overwhelmingly... powerless. Trapped in the cold and the dark...

When Maxine had been taken, Beacon crumbling down all around me while some mad goat branded his hatreds into my back, I'd felt helpless, sure. Trussed up like some prize, goaded by that Trapper, Virgil, and turned into a pawn that would see my friends and teammates into his hands, I'd felt helpless then, too. In those fleeting recollections of an idyllic village beset by screaming monsters, my face burning from a monster's claws, that I - even now - was still struggling to piece together, I'd felt so very, very helpless.

Even so, I still felt I could struggle. Felt that I could still fight on. I would hurt, and get hurt, but I wasn't without some small sliver of a chance that I could rail against whatever happened to me. I might be small, but I was strong. Aurawise, that was for certain, with enough raw energy of the soul within to break or move most anything or anyone that thought to cause a problem. I was strong in that regard, as well as in many other ways, or so I liked to imagine.

I'd been through so much, been hurt and knocked down plenty, even for someone affiliated with AMBR. I had my scars, but I was still alive, wasn't I? I wasn't helpless. Not truly

But this wasn't helplessness... This was so much more, and a whole lot less. So much less.

Remember... I had to remember...

I'd been fighting, struggling...

'...So why was I here...How did I get...?'

...Caught in chaos... Wrapped up in panic...

There was so much panic as what had been a controlled suddenly became anything but, as I did anything and everything just to keep afloat both physically and mentally.

I was just like so much flotsam in the surf. Just like the ruined Queen, and all her crew whose wreckage still drifted all about me... slowly vanishing, swallowed by the ocean tides like some giant sucking mouth. Swallowed just like Blizz, and all the others who had ridden out with me from the Prism's hold.

All of them, laughing and cartwheeling through the air on their boards, making it look so damned simple.

Gone... They were gone after a single gulp from that massive... THING...

I'd never felt any Grimm quite so vast. Not even the so-called Scaled Horror that had claimed Beacon, nor the Goliaths that had wandered into the Badlands on occasion.

Only once had anything come marginally close.

Along the western border edging Vacuo and the Carmine Wastes, the Gang had been in the midst of a raid on a passing caravan, if it could have even been called as such. Most merchants that passed that way had long since grown to accept such inevitable losses, and we'd even cleared the way of raiders and lesser Grimm along the remainder of their route. Bill and their leader had practically laughed through their exchanging of old threats and counteroffers over tribute.

I still dreamt of it from time to time.

The job had been so standard; so routine. I'd been practically bored behind the wheel watching the whole affair... thirsty, thinking I'd want to needle at Ma for a rare swig of fruit juice if I could. Ben was snoozing beneath the shade of his poncho in the back of our Roller, his big blonde head still buzzing with the casual effort of accounting for their suspected haulage and such. Calculating how much to take and how much they would need for both to take an easy profit, then skewing it one way or the other for whoever talked the best talk, and wriggled out the best deal.

Inevitably, the Great 'Hangman' Carson would declare his victory, and we'd move in brandishing our weapons, and look suitably intimidating for the audio files which would later be shown to authorities for reimbursement of the losses.

Cornell used to laugh about such things. It was all a game - a routine - everyone with any experience knowing the score.

Everyone except the terrified young stowaway in the back of a rickety Cargo Hauler who had ran away from home, looking for adventure. At least... that's how I imagined it when the incident inevitably showed up in my nightmares.

I'd feel his terror nagging at the edges of my awareness just as it had then as freckle-faced Levi tore the tarp open, crying out along with the boy's screaming. The noise had startled me out my reverie as I frantically honked the horn looking for attention. Ben would snap awake, clutching his rifle to his chest, cursing while the rest of the Gang would react much the same. Voices rose one after the other, people calling for whoever it was to calm themselves... That might have been Bill; I can't remember rightly.

I'd felt it then. A vast presence wriggling beneath the sand and grit underfoot. An emptiness... A Creature of Grimm. A Blind Worm, several metres of cruel, black, wriggling flesh, and one gigantic maw coming up from underneath directly in the middle of everything.

So fast, so strong, so much.

It had taken Bill, myself, Ben, and half the explosives we'd had at hand to drive it off. This being after it had killed more than a dozen of ours, wounded several more, and torn its way through the convoy wholesale. So many bodies, so much screaming...

...But this thing was bigger. Way bigger, and worse. And this wasn't like back then, either. I had no gang to help me, no plans, and I was alone in the ocean. All alone and... and...!

'NO!'

I bit the inner lining of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, the twinge of pain and salt water clearing the panic long enough to remember the nagging familiarity tugging at my sixth sense. The familiar glowing of cocky calculation and warm wit, dulled by a cold as subtle as iron, and dampened by distance, but closer than ever before.

'Ben... Ben needs me... Ben is here... Ben... Ben needs me!... Ben is...!'

Not the most original of mantras I could come up with, though it gave me some measure of focus. Good thing, too, as I felt the waters beneath me begin to shift and displace with the flow of vast movement, the emptiness rising once more towards me. So much coming at me so fast...

My hand gunned the Netan's trigger rapidly, winding up the small motor as the board skirted me around in rapidly expanding circles before cresting at the last instant with a hearty jerk that propelled me away several dozen yards at speed. Blizz's favorite little trick saved my hide by seconds at the closest, and damned close it was. The water in which I'd been floundering had vanished in a geyser of black, sinuous flesh almost lost in the encroaching storm.

The first good impressions I got of the Grimm - the Leviathan, some of the others had called it in those last moments before they were swallowed or plucked from the sky, not that they did much to stomach my nerves - were earned in the flicker of the lightning strikes. Rows upon rows of quivering fins and sleek spines that crackled with dancing electrical discharge, a cylindrical maw ringed with needle-like teeth the length of my arm ringed in bony chitinous plate, eyes... A dozen bulbous crimson jellied eyes twitched as they adjusted to the dim light of their surroundings. The monster weighed the prey from several stories above, the contemptible little morsel flitting about, daring to try and challenge the apex predator in its own territory.

Oh, it knew I was there, most definitely. How could it not, what with me hurtling straight for it through the thrumming air, with body and sail pulled low to the board? The form turned what should have been a graceful surfing arc into a straightforward bullet shot upwards in the surf right for the nearest section of its wriggling length, a missile aimed right on a target too big to miss. I'd impact against it, my fist outstretched, and hit it with all I had, hoping that was enough to cause some lasting damage. Maybe tickle it if I was lucky enough before it gobbled me up.

I suppose that's what I would have done before; what would have happened. I'd be straightforward and direct in the assault, just as I'd been every other time I'd leapt into the fray and suffered for it.

Not this time, however. Harper's lessons had some influence, after all. Good thing, too, as the Leviathan was far, far faster than anything that size had any right to be, twisting its body about to bring me face-to-face with a pair of charged spines. The unmistakable taste of ozone was on my tongue, lingering memories coming to the forefront of what exactly I'd seen my Team Leader do with a fraction of that charge.

...None of the examples were overly pleasant.

I acted, giving the board a sharp yank as it unfurled, and sent me spiraling off at a random heading heartbeats before an explosive detonation not unlike a thunderclap turned the air into pure sound and light. The shock of it - literally and figuratively - almost knocked me from the board as every sense - sight, sound, Aura - all screamed at once in dismay. My equilibrium shot, I still managed to direct my course along the circumference of the behemoth, and wove in close.

My approach had been foolhardy in the extreme given I couldn't truly see through the flashing lights and salt spray, forcing me to strike out on the purest instinct driven by my Semblance, following the nothingness. An easy enough feat, especially when there's just so darn much of it.

Iron Blossom crashed home against flesh in a glancing right jab, the meat more pliable than I'd expected it to be, and coated in a slick layer of slime that absorbed the worst of the compressed force I drove into its side like a bee sticking it to a bear.

'...Worst sting of your life!' I snarled silently, feeling the telltale shift and crack of cartilage beneath the blubber and fat.

It was familiar and satisfying, but then the monster shrieked again. My ears popped under the strain as I cartwheeled backwards to catch a gust of headwind on the sail that set me slewing off on a downward spiral into the relative safety of the high waves.

With a good haul of wind to act as propulsion, and the right quirk of its humming-bird sized engine, a Netan operating at full capacity was capable of gliding several dozen yards with little effort, or so I'd been taught. The ornate function was surprisingly effective, if often a heavy-handed form. A Frontier trait I'd swiftly been coming to appreciate just as I had one Joel Ambrose.

Speaking of my friend, however, that short flight also happened to be when I learned rather quickly that a Leviathan doesn't like to be put on the defensive. This one in particular was apparently able to redirect its lightning attack at a distance with surprising accuracy.

As Maxine might say, that 'sucked,' especially when it struck me directly.

I felt pain. Lots of it, every muscle in my body tightening enough to put cracks across my board's frame. Luckily, my Aura caught and dispersed the worst of the charge, shielding my sail from undue damage. I was not so lucky, as I still felt more than a little dazed in the aftermath.

I floundered fast towards the choppy surf with the scent of burnt fabric, hair in my face, and the sharp twinge of smoldering copper bells ringing dully in my ears. Or I hoped it was the bells I'd tied to my hair. It would be real unfortunate for me if that wasn't the case. My Netan's Dust Battery sputtered, half-fried by the overcharge, and spitting a rather worrying amount of sparks and smoke.

Moving sluggishly, I corrected my descent just in time to catch the crest of a wave at its apex, though from the way my knees ached, it was more akin to hitting concrete. Worse, my speed was shot, what momentum I had gained stolen by the subsequent riptide that rose to swallow both board and body whole like another Grimm entire. Not that it would've have been so much of a problem, given how I was lashing out desperately at just about anything and everything as my world became salt, darkness, and a chill that enveloped me fully...

'...Huh... So that was it, then...'

What had only moments before been the roar of waves and storms, the thrashing screech of a behemoth, and the whining chirrup of an abused wave-strider had become muted echoes under the ocean's surface. The Red Queen's wreckage let out a distant, vibratory groan I could feel tingling through the cold, numbed fingers having lost their purchase on the mast of a sail long lost. It could have been a few feet forward, just ahead in the darkness, or it could have been on the moon, for all the good it did me.

I didn't have it, and so I was sinking weightless. Helplessly... Helpless before the Leviathan...

My Semblance-given Sense outlined the rough shape of what I was dealing with, and balked. It was so vast, bigger even than what I'd seen and assumed of it above the surface. Enough sinuous, writhing length to wrap about the width of a dreadnought like the Prism twice over, and barely visible through the darkness as sections of it glowed with a pulsing, lambent, reddish luminescence. Not quite enough to grant the whole picture, but just enough to know it was there, moving about the depths...

...Enough to know you were doomed.

That was the trap, I knew it. Such a thing didn't want you to hide. It wanted the prey afraid; all the better to track it by. I had to be calm. I had to focus... But I couldn't breath, my cheeks puffing, lungs empty, and what vision I did have was blurred and stinging with salt bubbles further obscured by my billowing yukata.

Devoured Blizz's teasing warnings slithered at the back of my mind. "Dead weight makes for a dead strider," he had once said, and I'd gone and huffed for that little scrap of individuality and rebellion. Stupid... And worse, he was the dead one, and had proved himself right, earning him one last gallows laugh.

Every motion I made twisted me helplessly in place, all my immense, Aura-fueled strength useless against the pull of the deep darkness. All the while the fabric I'd tried to define myself with sought to smother me further, my small, frail finger grasping... reaching, finding contact, tearing...

Once...Twice... On the third great yank, I felt the pliable material tear free in a scatter of drifting, darker strands. My movements were suddenly a fair bit smoother in the sleek, skintight tread of my wet suit, the oiled skin of the material clinging to what little heat remained at my core. It was slight - minimal in most respects - but it was enough of an anchor for my nerves as the lessons of my weeks in Mooring and the sea came rushing back to pierce the fear. My motions sharpened until they evened into a knifing fit to ride the current, instinctive gut feelings working alongside my inner ear to track my bearings, and properly seek the sky with closed eyes. I spun and leveled out until I stared upward towards the diffused sun gleaming through the clouds and rough surf above like the surface of a warped mirror. The direction of air, and with it life. A surface so close.

A surface that shattered as the enormous nothingness broke through, the underwater world breaking right along with it. Rough undersea currents became an onrushing torrent of pressure and displacing water shoving me down all the further, limbs flailing desperately against the flow pushing me below, only to painfully realize my mistake.

The ancient death-bringer was bearing down upon me, seeking, locating, opening its maw in a wide, suctioning intake that suddenly carried me up as the Nothingness made to swallow me whole as a malicious afterthought, with me paddling like a fool towards it.

There was no time to try and escape, or try to correct the mistake. My life, short, painful, but vivid enough to attempt to overtake what raw, animalistic thought and fraying discipline hadn't discarded.

Presences fleeting and familiar... My friends, and what little that I had left.

Pino, terrified, and trying not to lose himself aboard a roiling ship of a thousand equally-mortified Mooring souls no longer quite so united...

Ben, now so very near my own dimming light, struggling all his own with a mechanical certitude and resignation I'd never thought to feel him try to adopt, and wanted to weep for having done so...

Maxine and Joel, both so changed and surprisingly so close to one another. Shockingly so, and I was happy despite the childish disbelief at my own pun.

When had that happened? Had they found one each other at last after dancing about so close? I hoped they had. Their predicament was better than that of mine and my own partner's. At least that would look to happen.

I regretted that. I really did regret that I wouldn't be able to see any of them again. That finally, after so many shared experiences in places like the Badlands and Beacon, this was the end? This? Swallowed like a breath of... water?

Right, I supposed that would fit the mold right enough.

More than that, I hoped I'd be enough to make it gag on before... before what? Drowning? It wasn't a pleasant feeling, my breast burning as lungs clenched tight, head pounded to fluff by the cold pressure for want of oxygen. Still, it had to be better than getting chewed on. It had to be... It was a small mercy that I could live with...

...Or not?

My brow furrowed, and for a moment, I thought I might actually be grinning. Smiling like some kind of lunatic Ambrose, even as death incarnate sought to slurp me right up...

Gross, what on Remnant was wrong with me? And would my distant Team Leader have done the same? Almost certainly, if he weren't out of his mind laughing, somehow working out an insane, suicidal scheme to survive this... His light in the great vast scheme of things seemed to burn all the more defiantly with joy just to spite me.

...No. that wasn't Joel. This presence was much too close. Closer than Ben, or even Pino. This one...!?

'...Wait, is that...!?'

A weight, thin and bony, crunched against my chest fit to drive what little air remained to me straight out of my lungs, with an 'oh' of surprise at the displacement as I was carried up and away from the nothingness by what - at least to my fragmented Sense - showed was a manic, thunderous Aura all false faces and scheming brilliance. A presence unmistakable, especially since it had spent the better part of weeks stretching to months trying to figuratively smother my efforts to escape, and now apparently sought to do so literally.

Long, reed-thin arms were wrapped securely about my chest, and holding on tight as the pair of us shot through the surf at a velocity that should have been impossible for any soul who wasn't capable of adjusting his mass on the bludgeon, and soar through the myriad weave of conflicting currents. It knifed, corkscrewed, and split until finally - finally - we burst free of the surface in a welter spray of salt and foam. The figure propelled us into the air, and then landed to skate in slicing arcs upon the surf, carried forth by a pair of bladed boots humming with the same motive power meant to mimic that of a Netan, or perhaps the opposite.

Weightlessness, true weightlessness, assaulted me in an stomach-churning rush of storm-charged air that burned its way down my throat, though not before a spray of thin bile, blood, and salt water preceded it, upchucked in a coughing fit that never felt nor tasted so good until it didn't. My six senses returning soon after: a foul salt spume on my tongue, the boom echoing in my ears of wrathful storm clouds above and raging waves beneath, the smell of ozone and sodden sweat in my nose, and the combined feel and presence of a cackling Captain Harper Majorelle, the 'Strider of Mooring,' cradling me like a babe in his grasp... if one were hoping to rattle one to death, that is.

"Hahahahaha!... Phew! That's it, dearie! Better out than in, I always say! Attagirl!"

A husky melodic tone replaced the torrent, charged with adrenaline and a sort of courageous disbelief I could feel as much as hear rattling through the pirate princeling. Stripped as he was of finery, with not even a drenched wig or veneer of blush to sheathe the honest slick of darker skin and darker curls, one might think the great soul of the person I'd come to admire as much as despise would appear almost small in comparison to the unflappable legendary figure so usually purported.

They'd be wrong. Clad in the grip of a strategically padded shimmering body-glove designed as much to provide some measure of mass to the body svelte beneath as it was to conceal and protect against the world, his skin was battered raw near to breaking by salt and surf, sapphire eyes red and bleary, but still shining with ardent mischief. Despite all this, Harper, now more than ever, projected force of presence. An honest power both raw and shameless.

Splendid... And utterly incomprehensible.

It was something of a relief, really. But even so...

"...!?" My mind raced, looking up at the unassuming features neither too handsome nor too pretty. My fingers, more claws, were chilled bone cold by this point, fumbling and grasping out demands for some kind of answer to the ludicrous impossibility of what was happening.

"What!?" And of course I didn't receive an answer. Typical. Just a cheeky grin fit to leave me wanting to punch right through it. It was an impulse graciously ignored given present circumstances. "You didn't seriously think I was just going to leave a member of my crew to some wastrel abomination, did you, Murasaki!?"

The question hit my ears, fit to leave me flummoxed and gaping over his shoulder as the ocean itself buckled. The Leviathan rose from the stormy depths, the red forge of its eyes glowering with a hellish fury down upon the thief that dared think to steal away its prey... And impossibly enough, the thief deigned to laugh back. Only it couldn't feel the sort of chill that had nothing to do with the chill of air or ocean, but more the serious utter lacking of mirth.

Harper Majorelle had come to save me, abandoning the safety of his ship after deeming the action the only one fit to save us all. I could understand that notion well enough, another habit of Joel's. One selflessly selfish, devoid of logic or sense. Predicated on one simple unyielding fact.

This Grimm had killed members of this man's team. His crew; those he considered something akin to family. And it would die painfully for such a transgression.

And as Harper gracefully weaved and wove himself about, turning with a hair thin sheet of displaced water driven from the singing engines of his heels, I knew with a grim certainty that he desired my help with bringing that reality about. Even if it meant rather literally dragging his bedraggled wounded passenger back into the maw of a ship-killing nightmare to do it.

Worse still, I was glad of it. Grinning as broadly as he.

'...Wait, why!?... What am I doing!?... What...!?'

-Benjamin Carson-

"...do ya mean 'your ship!?'"

I struggled to make myself heard above the rumble of another series of detonations, this salvo narrowly avoided, though it had left Ensign Sweets a sweating, cursing wreck, muttering obscenities under her breath faster than this 'Storm Hawk' was tearing us apart. An impressive feat, if somewhat unprofessional.

All in all, I couldn't really blame her. They were really doing their utmost best to send us crashing down into the wooded depths below in flames, after all.

The small craft weaved across the sky like some annoying insect zipping just at the corners of your vision, rather except for humming wings and irritating buzzing, you had a roaring, multilayered engine, and variable configurations to allow it stunning levels of maneuverability beyond what even the AI in the room could predict. Moves that should've torn ship and the one it in half. The other pilot either insane, supremely skilled, or worse a heady mixture of both. All of this topped off with powerful close range armaments that were currently in the process of chipping away at Atlesian composite materials like sand in a razor storm... flaying us cut by cut.

"Mind runnin' that by me again!?"

"I meant... I-I mean it's not my... Tysh ed drana vas...!?"

"Right, how bout' repeatin' that in a language I understand, please?" I said firmly, silencing the tirade before it could blossom. Keeping the boy-genius on track. "What are we dealing with here, exactly!?"

"I-I don't know, really," he shrugged, definitely uncomfortable with the words. His face was still sour, and growing all the more so at my blank expression of disbelief. "I don't! The design I'd compiled was barely even functional when I'd left! I knew some other minds were trying to work up a prototype, but I didn't think they'd actually be so stupid to attempt to modify it! It... It's still inspired work, though. Crudely done along the forward frame, a high-pressure compressor, and the positioning of the internal Dust core... I wouldn't have gone with such a daring placement if I could've...!"

I snapped without meaning to, a nervous tick pulsed from the implants over my brow. Two of the quivering metallic digits my fingers had become scraped together with a jagged *keen.* Enough to get the Professor's attention, at least.

"It's my design, Carson; my work! Or based on it near abouts. An experimental means of propulsion utilizing a mixture of..." He paused, gauging his audience and the situation before continuing. "Simply put, it makes for a faster aircraft. Much faster, at least over long distances, or such was the idea. These cha'kaar, however, seem to have reworked design to provide this sort of maneuverability. Even so, the pilots would have to be crazy..."

"They're terrorists at war with the world, Professor," Laura joined the conversation, scarred lips curled in a deep frown. "I'd put little past such souls, reckless tendency least of all."

"Great, so the bad flyboy's crazy, then? Awesome. Glad to have finally worked that one out!" I muttered darkly, flinching as the 'Hawk' raked the hull with another spread of Dust tipped rounds, more systems suffering under the attention. Our armor was holding firm for the moment, but we weren't a fighting ship... Not in truth. "We still need to hit im' though, 'specially with his bird ridin' right alongside us! It's damned insultin', the way he's...! Wait a sec, why's he...?"

I trailed off, easing back in my seat, eyes narrowed as I followed the enemy's flight path. Allison compared it for reference in some harried attempt to calculate possible targeting solutions, the patterns too random to calculate... But they had one common thread.

Weiss was saying something, or at least gesticulating enough that words were somewhat redundant, shouting about wanting to go outside and stop the bugger herself. Laura took on the unenviable task of telling her how insane that notion was, and suffering the Schnee's attentive wrath as a result. He handled it rather well, all things considered, though I supposed he was used to dealing with uppity royals on occasion.

Ambrose had tried to move from his position, only for his leg to give out, or the blood loss had finally gotten to him. It was impossible to tell. Either way, he was left tumbling awkwardly into his droid's skeletal arms, and cursing while Garrett dislodged himself from his station in an attempt to aid the pair.

The Bridge was surrounded by barely-controlled chaos. And all the while my ship suffered. My crew suffered... And if it wasn't this asshole spitting us full of holes, it'd be one of those terribly large, and terribly ornery Frontier Grimm I recalled the older Ambrose describing so fondly.

This had to end. And as the firm words, shrill shouts, and heady alarms echoed in the background, I'd found I'd managed to work out a way to do it... And in a way that wouldn't see us dead, possibly. A decent enough chance if one were generous.

"Ambrose!" The estranged Frontiersmen glanced up, face knitted with discomfort to look at my manic expression. His eyes blurred, having cracked his fancy specs in the first fall. "Harryin' us rather close, ain't he?" My tactile metal appendages clicked and whirred as they came together as one to form proper fingers once more, the index jabbing at the pulsing trails outlining the Storm Hawk's route. "Why hasn't he just blown us outta the sky with missiles?"

"Same reason the others couldn't: the Wrath slays the targeting systems. It's also why Allison's having so much trouble..." His brow furrowed, apparently dissecting my reasoning, or at most the inklings, of what I had in mind. And he wasn't happy about it. "Even so, he's no fool. He saw she can beat it with enough leeway. He needs to keep up his speed to stand a chance. And at that velocity, aiming anything long range would be nigh impossible. So the Hawk... They've got to stick close. Navigate specific flight paths."

"Close enough to spit at us, then wheel off 'fore we can respond proper," I said appreciatively, bracing at another harsh judder that left the lights flickering ominously. "If they weren't tryin' to kill us, I'd want 'em... 'Course, they're Red Hand, though. Not too much of a shame. Sweets, proceed along this headin', full power!"

"Sir?" She actually dared take her eyes from the controls as my figures scrolled across her screen, the tension putting an edge in the helmswoman's voice. "This takes us directly...!?"

"I know! Just do it!"

She frowned, of course, and so did Hemlock, who'd peeked over her shoulder. But given the situation... I bit my lip, silently asking the question I'd been edging towards my teammate's young genius of a brother. Delighted to see from his own dire scowl that he'd finally figured it out with that big brain of his.

"We'll survive, Carson. The Rock Star will certainly make it if I remember the ratings right... Us, on the other hand... Maybe?"

'Maybe...'

Perhaps not the most comforting assessment, but when needs must...

"This equipment wasn't exactly built with that in mind, but we've a chance. A slim one."

"Good 'nuff for me. Helm, adhere to this headin'! Time to find out once and for all if Atlas really does make the best ships in the whole damn world, huh, Specs?" Of course, all that earned was silence and an askance scowl, one so much like his brother's, it left me smiling... "All hands to brace positions! We're bout' to hit a sudden patch of expected turbulence!"

'Here's hoping...!' I thought savagely, keeping that negativity from my voice and thoughts. No need to drag Grimm into this.

Besides, if my crew thought I had a plan to save us, damn straight they were gonna think I had all the confidence in the world in it. And to their boundless credit and my brimming pride, this situation should have had more than a few holding doubts, yet those regulars on the Bridge held their backs straight and faces set. Ensign Sweets and Sergeant Hemlock especially were the pictures of calm Atlesian efficiency. Resigned to the course, at the very least. A feat made all the more impressive by virtue of actually having some idea of what I was planning, given the former's role and the latter's experience.

Of course, there would be a few naysayers. Some of the newer additions to the crew weren't used to my particular brand of improv.

"Uh... Ben!? Ben, what exactly do you think you're...!?" Weiss clung to her section of the panel in a white-knuckled grasp, even for her pale skin. Her eyes wide as she struggled to put two and two together, disbelieving her first notion. I'd give her that, it was more of a 'Psycho Ambrose' sorta scheme in most respects... Or an 'Argus-Brand' at worst...

'...Probably... Naw, this is definitely an Ambrose idea,' I decided with a wry huff, surprising even myself with the swell of joy accompanying the move as I looked to the man's younger brother. 'That maniac'd be all about this madness... Probably even have a little speech worked out and everythin'...'

"Ben!?"

"Bit busy right now, Schnee!" I kept typing away, a metal flickering across the panel as the numbers swirled about in my head. The sheer volume of what exactly had to go right boggling, even to my quickened perceptions. "C'mon, lovely, just a teensy bit closer! You can take it! I know you can; c'mon...!"

"Specialist Carson, for the safety of the ship, I must insist that you move towards heading...!?" Laura had worked his way alongside me, his voice imploring with a note of calm that all but screamed "I'm not going to get myself killed following this crazy backwoods bandit!" Which was fair enough, I supposed, if far too late to for me to give a damn.

"BUSY!"

A flesh hand reaching up to snatch him by the front of his starched uniform and drag him down in some wild attempt to brace him further, taking an elbow to the side of the head for my trouble... Ungrateful sod. Still, I couldn't exactly lose an ambassador to a foreign settlement by accident, especially when it would be my fault. My ass explaining it all to Ironwood on the wild off-chance we got back in one piece.

Plus the contact was comforting, at least, if far from preferred company if I did get us sheared out of the sky. The foe wheeling past, an javelin soaring straight for the Rockstar's exposed underbelly with guns spitting to the sound of more distant detonations along our flanks.

'...Weiss would've been a better choice. Softer by far, less growling... Though it does kinda remind me of- SHOWTIME!'

"NOW! Arm Grimm deterrents, full spread! All hands brace for impact!"

My voice tolled over the mania of typing and clipped updates, measured and determined to ring across the bridge, and further into the ship proper. The knowledge of nigh a hundred souls leaping into action simultaneously, whether it be to snatch for handholds, or to bring my mad idea to fruition. It was empowering in the extreme... as much as it was terrifying as all hell.

"Hold!"

The Shrike angled about far ahead of us now, screaming as its engines executed a nigh flawless rotation to send it hurtling towards us like a missile on a direct course. This time it was seemingly intent on taking out the bridge proper. It was finally done playing around then, it seemed, having closed the seemingly vast distance in mere moments with that same startling speed... The pilot fully committed, then.

Damn shame. If only they'd been a bit quicker on the draw, they might've managed to take us down...

"Fire deterrents, now! Helm, hard to starboard! Axial rotation, thirty-seven degrees!"

The effect was immediate, shutters rattling open across the length of the arrow-shaped ship from bow to stern. Cylindrical canisters launched freely to explode about the ship in a hail of flashing light and billowing, Dust-laced smoke designed with the purpose of dissuading airborne Grimm attempting to close in and latch onto the hull. Startled, the idea was that they'd be easy prey for the hull mounted guns or onboard fighters to dispatch.

My idea was a whole lot simpler, and a favorite trick of mine. The eruption of several dozen of these at once formed an immediate cloud of startlingly reactive particulates in a swiftly expanding cloud that swallowed the whole of the Rock Star almost immediately. Our target attempted to veer off wide, though in this, their speed worked against them, as they were caught in the cloud, blinded.

In a perfect world - for them, at least - they'd skirt past along their intended flight path wide enough to avoid slamming into the ship they were trying to slay.

This wasn't a perfect world, however, and I'd guessed right. Sweet's swift maneuver jinked us abruptly out of position near enough to disrupt the Dust propellant keeping the ship aloft, the world aboard turning sickeningly on its side with stomach-turning abruptness. But it had the intended effect of putting the outermost starboard spines almost directly in the Storm Hawk's path, clipping the wing as it passed us by. A move that, at those speeds, sent the smaller ship spinning away in several separate flaming pieces, and tore the metal spire clean from the Rock Star's flank. Alarms screaming shriller than before, the entire length of the craft bucking wildly, Dust erupting within their internal housings.

But we were alive, for the most part.

Alive, and losing altitude rapidly.

Ensign Sweets shouted something about needing to set down, or we might just lose the grav-engines in their entirety. Another calling out that they were shunting off the Dust flow to preserve our supply. Hemlock marshaling his men over his scroll, organizing for an emergency landing into hostile territory. The most hostile territory imaginable at present.

But we were alive...

"...So, Specs, give it to me nice and straight, if ya don't mind!" I said, sluggishly, feeling the weight as I looked into one of the few undamaged viewers still bearing power. Watching the wreck of the Storm Hawk I'd just murdered tumbling out of sight. "You or your robo-pals see any alternatives that don't have us crashin' into one of the most dangerous regions in Remnant, short of Vacuo and Home Sweet Home?"

"Honest answer, Specialist Carson?" He'd braced himself in his Polendina's arms, blades all too familiar stabbing deep into the floor of the bridge as anchors... Something I'd need to bill him for when this was all over. "Not really, no. Though it may help to think of it as a another sort of controlled landing."

"Hmm... Noted."

I slumped into my seat and breathed out a long sigh, feeling suddenly tired, even as the shaking built to a crescendo fit to rattle the teeth inside my gums. Fingers both metal and meat dug into the armrests for some measure of stability as Laura clung for the seat, cursing my name under his breath as though he thought I wouldn't hear it.

All in all, not even the worst crash 'landing' I'd ever been through. Downright pleasant, in fact.

"Well, ain't this a fine apple pie order?... Ah, well. S'pose it ain't a frickin' train this time."

-END

A/N: Hey all, know it's been awhile.

This delay was more a fair bit of distancing from RWBY stories in general as I focus on little hobby/personal projects and such. Not to say that I dislike the content or that I'll never devote focus back onto them, that's not the case. Only that there was a fair period (several years) where I wrote for nothing else, so this is more my attempt at trying to branch out.

It's been good to get break.

Lets stay safe everyone! - Mojo

(Next Chapter: A dangerous chase)