Author's note: 'Radelaide' is basically pre-earthquake Christchurch with shittier water. I wrote this in two days. Expect rapid updates whenever I can get internet.

"Compatible Overwatch systems detected," displayed the Shikinami's Overwatch on a display in front of Nina Soryuu. "Pair them and add them to the fleet?"

"Affirmative. Route them to the titan hangars and tell Stone. She knows what to do."

"This is docking control," said the shuttle's intercom. "Taking manual control over your shuttles… complete. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

Aisling felt herself being pushed into her seat as the shuttle's rockets burned gently, slowing it down. An outside observer would see the shuttle reversing slowly and silently into an open hangar in the Shikinami's hull. Huge doors began to silently roll closed, sealing the gap in the hull once again.

"Capture completed. Docking with shuttle…"

She heard thuds on the shuttle's hull.

"Shuttle locked in position. Pressurizing hangar in five, four, three, two, one, mark. Pressurization 0%... 20%... 40%... 60%... 80%... Complete. Shuttles, you may now open your airlocks."

Daniek unbuckled his seatbelt and glided from his seat to the airlock in the shuttle's hull. Grabbed the airlock's release lever and pulled. The shuttle's airlock opened and he leaped out, followed by Jaggerjack and then the rest of the soldiers.

"We want to be headed to Sorian as soon as possible!" called Jaggerjack. "Get to the armory, pick your weapons and load up with as much ammo as you can carry. Be back here in thirty minutes, okay!"

The soldiers dispersed leaving just the three mechanics and the three Pilots alone in the hangar with the two shuttles.

"Rim," asked Jaggerjack, "You know what Daniek and I use, right?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Can you head down to the Pilot armory and grab our gear, please?"

Rimjob sighed. "Sure. DMR and R-101C, right? Both of you use Arcs?"

"Yeah," replied Jaggerjack. "6x scope, extended magazines. Danniek, what scope do you use on your carbine?"

"HCOG, extended mags please."

"Ok. But you'll need to get your Stim reservoirs filled yourselves."

"I'm not going to be running Stim this time," grinned Jaggerjack. "Active radar pulse for me."

"Well, whatever flies your Goblin," muttered Rimjob, stepping into one of the corridors leading to the armory.

"Alright," sighed Jaggerjack, turning to address Aisling, Nathan, Philip and Danniek. "Time to load the Titans."

Elsewhere aboard the Shikinami a man struggled against unseen bonds, said struggle made that more difficult due to the lack of gravity.

"Oi! Where am I?!"

He heard muffled voices from somewhere above.

"Please, at least turn on the lights!"

The voices stopped. Then the lights turned on. He squinted for a second.

His name was Bish, he could remember that much. He was tied down to a chair. And - and this looked like the interior of some sort of starship. The walls were a dull grey - aluminium, perhaps.

"I have a few questions to ask you," came a male voice from behind him.

"Oh yeah?" muttered Bish. "Same here."

"Are Check Lorck, also known as Bish?"

Do I lie?

No, these people were looking for me and they found me. They know who I am. Lying will get me nowhere.

"Yeah, that's me. Who the hell are you?"

"Contractors from New Tokyo."

Bish froze. "What do you mean, 'contractors'?"

Are they here to kill me?

"Relax, we're not here on an assassination mission. A company in the Haven system has asked us to test the security of various organisations in the Venice sysem. Corporate espionage, if you will."

Bish began to laugh.

"And you want me to do it for you?"

"We've already profiled the infonet security of every major organisation in the system, and managed to break into all but one. We recieved a tip off that a certain Cheng "Bish" Lorck was the best hacker in the system, and decided that we'd... persuade you to help us break into it."

"Aww, don't flatter me."

"First we need to make sure that you really are Bish. We've arranged a test for you based on our observations of the security of the second-most secure infonet network we found. We want you to break into that, first. Once we know you're the Bish, we'll set you to work on the other network."

"And if I refuse?"

"Stone, the window."

A security window rolled upwards to the right of Bish, and he strained to turn his eyes and his head to see what was outside.

Cold, dark space, with a few pinprick stars to break the eternity.

Hold on, why are the stars flickering?

"And the lights."

Two spotlights on either side of the window flashed on to reveal what was blocking some of the stars.

Six corpses floated outside. Pale, cold skin with blue veins running below the surface.

One of the corpses was rotating slowly and Bish caught a glimpse of its face.

Brittle hair. Eyeballs frozen clear with a splash of red in the middle from where the ice crystals that had formed inside had punctured a vein. Jaw dislocated as the vacuum of space overcame this man's desperate urge to hold on to the air within his lungs.

But what really scared Bish was how similar the dead man resembled himself. Black hair, brown eyes, Asian facial structure and skin tone, the beginnings of a beer gut...

He dragged his eyes away from the scene and vomited the contents of his stomach into a drifting ball of acid and steak from the night before.

The voice behind him sighed. "The vacuum, Stone." There were the sounds of a large object being passed from one person to another - then a pole was extended past Bish's face. He heard a whooshing noise, and his ball of vomit disappeared into the vacuum.

"Those men claimed to be Bish too, but they couldn't beat our test. Are you Bish?"

"Yes, damnit! I'm Bish!"

"The others said the exact same thing."

Bish's chair turned. There was a man standing on the ground, likely via magnetic boots. He was a short man, with dark hair and a chizzled chin. Caucasian, perhaps of Irish decent.

"I'm Jack Ireton, 'Bish', and I've been assigned to your testing. I'm going to release you from that chair now and enable the magnetic boots on your feet. You probably know how to use magnetic boots, but if you don't, it's simple. Tap your toes downwards to engage the electromagnets, tap them upwards to disengage the electromagnets. Once you're released, you are to keep your hands behind your head at all times. Try anything funny and my colleague Stone will inject you with enough tranquilizer to stop a flier. Understand?"

Bish nodded.

"The bonds, Stone," called Ireton.

The rope-like things securing Bish to the chair loosened.

Artificial muscles, thought Bish. They'll be held taught with internal electromagnetic fields.

"The bonds, Stone," called Bish, curiously. Nothing happened.

"Nice try," scowled Ireton. "Stone isn't an AI, and she isn't stupid. The tranquilizer, Stone."

"Aw, come on Jack," said Bish. "I was jus-"

"I warned you."

There was a pneumatic hiss from behind him, a numb pain in his neck and then his knees were weak and the walls went black.

"That's three in," grunted Daniek, slowing the Atlas-class Titan with his body as it drifted into the shuttle. The three titans were standing around the shuttle's warp core, locked into position against the shuttle's lowest deck by magnets in their footplates and carbon nanotube tiedowns around their waists.

"Another three in the other shuttles, huh?" asked Nathan.

"Yeah. Y'know what, lets take a break for a bit. We'll be warping straight to the Kodai Industries' base on Sorian - we'll be aboard those damn shuttles for twenty hours. Go, I dunno, take a shower or something. Get your gear sorted out. The soldiers'll be back soon, I'll get them to load the other three Titans."

"Well then, we'll be back soon," said Aisling.

She left the hangar to Jaggerjack, glided along a corridor with her magnetic boots disengaged. It felt good to fly after being confined to the ground for so long; even if the gravity had been lower than normal. A tap of her toes downwards and she was hurtling towards the nearest wall; a tap of her toes upwards and a kick of her legs and she was catapulted along the next corridor. Then she saw it - the centrifuge entrance point. A long circular corridor stretching along the circumference of the Shikinami - just under her skin - gave access to the moving section of the ship immediately afterwards.

Another kick of her legs, a few more toe-taps - and an enormous jolt! from the floor and she'd found herself on the ground; the centrifuge providing the artificial gravity required for a good night's sleep. Or, in Aisling's case, a shitty shower.

"Snake, how many places are there on Venice 3 where I could buy a B3 Wingman semi-automatic pistol?" Zeta asked her communicator.

"Why, are you looking to buy one? 'Cos I can getcha one if you want."

Zeta pressed her lips together. "No, it's okay. I'm on a surveillance mission at the moment and the guy I'm following had one in his jacket pocket."

"Wai-"

"He left it at my place, okay? So- Snake? You there?"

"Heh, heh. Let me guess, it was the guy from the black market bar?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"You invited him to your house?!"

"I'll repeat myself: yeah, so what?"

There was a pause from the other end of the communicator.

"Are you out of your mind?! This isn't like you, Zeta! You're a professional! You - you're supposed to be distant! You don't talk to your targets, let alone... I dunno, invite them over for dinner!"

"Relax. He trusts me, alright? We're going podlaunching tomorrow."

"Hell, Zeta, if you get yourself killed I dunno who's going to save my ass next time I get busted."

"It'll be fine," Zeta said reassuringly, pacing around the room. "Now, on to my original question. How many places could someone buy a B3?"

"Well, they're military-grade guns, so you can't sell them legally. That said, they're damn good pistols. Reliable. Pack a hell of a punch if you use them properly. It's not like you can't pick one up at the black market bar... or any shady dealership, really."

"How difficult is it to find one of these places? Like, could an outsider find one easily?"

"No."

"That was fast."

"If an outsider could find one easily Styx 'fuck-the-IMC' Menelaus would have found and tortured the dealer till they spat out who their dealer was. And then he would have killed them both. And possibly their families too," Snake added, as if it were a side thought he'd just remembered.

"Ah. So, unlikely that my man purchased his gun here."

"Chances are almost nil. He's either ex-IMC, an ex-merc, or an ex-pilot. Like you."

"Okay, thanks Snake. You've been a great help."

"Damn straight I have. I reckon it's about time you stared owing me one, Zeta."

"Heh. I'll see you later."

She ended the comms' transmission, flopped down on her bed. She'd been up all night thinking about Bruce.

Who is he? Where is he from? What secrets does he hide?

It's a good thing I have Snake.

She and Snake went way back. Four years ago a man codenamed "Dread Pirate Roberts" had practically owned the black market. He dealt the drugs, he sold the guns, and he owned the brothels and the whores that worked in them.

NOTE: Check Oceanus 7's name.

And then Snake had come along, a 190 kilohour-old farming kid from Oceanus 7 who'd had enough of being a farming kid from Oceanus 7 and ran away from home. He'd tried to deliver some psychdust from a smaller dealer to a buyer. Next thing he knew, four delinquents working for Dread Pirate Roberts had him cornered. One of them pulled a gun on him, fired, and promptly died as the bullets hit at invisible Electromagnetic Displacement Field and bounced back. (Author's note: think Vortex shield. The EDF generator is the proper name for the Vortex shield, and Zeta's is significantly scaled down from a Titan's Vortex shield generator.)

Zeta had uncloaked, winked at Snake, decapitated the remaining three delinquents and then took him out for lunch. She'd left the New Tokyo military after her first deployment had ended in disaster and had now been hired to take down the Dread Pirate by an unknown client, and saw four of the Pirate's lackeys tailing Snake.

With Snake's brains, Zeta's gunplay and the fact that one of the delinquents had the Pirate's communicator address on his communicator they'd managed to track down the Dread Pirate.

The next day Snake had sauntered into the black market bar - at the time just a small time establishment cowering in the Dread Pirate's shadow - and dropped the Dread Pirate's head on a table. The black market, now longer the Dread Pirate's monopoly, exploded into a bustle of activity - and Snake made a fortune from selling the Dread Pirate's stockpile of psychdust after Zeta said she wasn't interested 'in that kind of thing' so long as Snake let the whores go free.

Zeta sat up, realized she'd been dreaming about the past again. Rubbed her eyes.

10, huh? I've missed half the day. Idiot.

She drew her curtains, let the light stream through from the almost-horizontal sun. Stumbled into the bathroom and relieved herself before taking a quick shower. The gunk came off her teeth with a stroke of her tooth-brush. On went a splash of make-up. On went a spray of deodorant. Back went her hair. Her underwear made its way into a washbasket; fresh panties and a bra made their way onto her hips and chest.

Today, she thought, is gonna be a good day. I wanna wear something special.

She pulled on her reactive under-armor but chose to leave behind her over-armor, donned instead jeans and a loose T-shirt. My underarmor will still block a bullet or two.

She slipped boots on next, the two-centimetre thick heels concealing miniature pulse rockets. Not a substitute for a jump-kit, but good enough - she'd be able to jump a metre or two high if she needed to. Into the right boot went her B3 Wingman; into her left went Bruce's. She filled both pockets with a fistful of ammunition. Slung her electric katana onto her back, strap running from her right shoulder to her left hip, passing between her breasts - which, for once, only had a layer of thin fabric and some reactive under-armor to protect them.

Makes it a little more exciting.

Zeta grabbed her wireless ear-piece.

"Hello, Plus!"

"Good morning, Zeta. Detecting a change in your appearance."

"You noticed?" grinned Zeta. "What do you think?"

"Your lack of armor could leave you vulnerable to enemy attack."

"Aw, whatever."

"I'm also detecting a strange chemical signature from the bathroom."

"Perfume and makeup, Plus. Nothing dangerous."

"This is unusual, Zeta."

"Aw, whatever. It's breakfast time."

"Correction. It is more appropriate to say 'brunch' at this time of the day."

"Aw, whatever. Plus, find me a good cafe nearby."

"I can arrange transportation, or you can walk."

"I'll walk, thanks. Where is it?"

"Exit your apartment, and take a left onto third street."

Time for lunch.

"Hey," said Danniek as Aisling left the woman's bathroom.

"Oh, hey," yawned Aisling. "How's life?"

"Not bad. I'm about to get on a shuttle and steal a fleet of military starships from a Kodai Industries factory on Sorain. You?"

"I'm about to get on a shuttle and help you steal a fleet of military starships from a Kodai Industries factory on Sorian," she smiled.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, you're a civilian. You could just stay here, nice and safe. If anything goes wrong you could just hop on a shuttle, jump to Oceanus 7 and live there, nice and peaceful. The IMC'd show up in a year or two, roll past Oceanus... you'd be back on the frontier in 22 kilohours. Well, I mean, it sounds like a long time, but you'd be alive at the very least -"

"Danniek."

He stopped, looked down at her and she smiled back. Laughed a quiet laugh.

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Have you ever been on a hot-drop before?"

Aisling put on a confused expression. "A what?"

"That's what this is gonna be. A hot-drop. The shuttles are gonna jump in over Kodai Industries' launching field and one of the pilots is gonna make up some good reason for us being there while the rest of us jump out the back of the shuttle under their radar."

"Well-"

"And let me tell you something. I've done these before. And y'know what? They turn to shit real fast. And when they turn to shit, they turn to shit. I'm talking, what, skies filled with lead and iron, ion cannons blowing holes in men thirty centimetres wide. Nothing but electric smoke for kilometres and kilometres on the ground. You know why the frontier calls the first galactic war the Titan Wars?"

"Uhh... no?"

"Because when the smoke clears, only the titans remained. If you're a human, you're dead. If you're a building - and can't dodge a nuke - you're dead. If you're a tank, you're dead."

"This won't go like that."

He looked down, ground his teeth together. "I sure as hell hope so."

Their communicators rang.

"Hey, it's Jaggerjack. Get your asses back to the hangar, okay? We're jumping for Venice 5 in ten."