"Well," said Menelaus, "It's only fair that I introduced myself. I am Styx Menelaus, one of the senators of Venice 3."

Bruce, Gauntlet, Cornerstone, Crossguard and Hilt sat on plastic chairs in separate cells, deep underneath Venice 3's Senate building. The four spec-ops soldiers said nothing, as was their training.

"Could you tell us why you've kidnapped us?" asked Bruce.

"Ah. Not a kidnapping, I assure you," said Menelaus, licking his lips. "That was an arrest. Made without the knowledge of the rest of the senate."

Eight guards stood around the room. The same eight men had 'arrested' Bruce and his comrades just hours before, on Menelaus's orders.

"I," Menelaus began, "saw the Shikinami jump in over Venice 3. Curious as to what such a big ship could be doing here I paid a man named Lucian Jzaque to pose as a trade-hoarder. Sure enough, not all the traders from the Shikinami stayed with him. One such trader from the Shikinami," Menelaus pointed at Crossguard, "purchased a carbine. I tracked you down and hired my own private investigator to tail you.

She managed to intercept some messages you sent on some comms probes," Menelaus grinned. "And those messages seem to suggest that you five are agents of the IMC, a crime punishable by death."

Shit, thought Bruce. He knows!

Now, I'm gonna offer you all a deal. The first one of you to give me a written statement that the TKY Shikinami is actually an IMC-affiliated ship goes free. Paper and pencils are under your chairs. Think about it, gentlemen. You've got a day till your execution."

Menelaus strode out of the room, grinning wildly.

Bruce slumped on his chair; looked down at the ground.

Zeta.

It was you.

"Jenni," asked Sophia timidly, "can I, um, make a suggestion?"

"Yeah," sighed Jenni, "go for it."

"I think we should continue in our current orbit, below Carlyle's gas," began Sophia.

"Wehl, thats' a given, yeh," said Bonerhead.

"Our current orbit should slowly bring us closer to the gas pipeline," mumbled Sophia. "If we can get close enough to the pipeline we could move up towards the station using the pipeline as cover. They won't want to risk shooting the pipeline because it keeps them tethered in their low orbit."

"Overwatch, you got that?" asked Jenni.

"Affirmative," displayed the monitor. "Adjusting trajectory for Carlyle's gas pipeline."

Zeta strode through the front door of the senate, hands in her pockets, stroking the B3 Wingman concealed there. Made a beeline for the administration desk – and muttered, "now," to the microphone on her earpiece.

"Missile away. ETA two minutes, Zeta."

"Hello," Zeta smiled at the receptionist. "I was supposed to come in earlier today for jury duty, but I couldn't make it in time."

The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? There weren't any trials scheduled for today."

Just as I thought. Menelaus probably doesn't even plan to put them on trial.

"I received a letter. Like, a paper letter," said Zeta, eying the twelve guards in the room and the R-101C carbines held motionless in their hands. "Think there might be any records of that somewhere?"

The receptionist groaned audibly. The senate kept physical records of physically-sent messages – such as letters – in a filing room.

"I'll have to search through the filing room for you," grumbled the receptionist. "I'll be a minute or two."

"Thanks," smiled Zeta sweetly, waiting a second before following the receptionist. Not so close that the receptionist would notice her, and just close enough for the guards to think that the receptionist wanted her to be following.

"ETA one minute," said Snake in her ear. "I hope you're ready."

Zeta flicked the safety off of her Wingman, flashed her eyes over the guards as she rounded a corner, still following the receptionist. Let the smile slip off her lips.

"Forty seconds, Zeta. If you want me to abort it's now or never."

She ducked into an office away from the receptionist, saw a woman sitting behind a desk begin to stand, as if to say, "excuse me, what are you doing here?". Out came the Wingman and the woman stopped in her tracks.

"Shh."

The woman gasped.

"How do I get to the cells under the senate building?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," whispered the woman.

"Then your life is worthless to me."

"Wait! There's an elevator that accesses floors that I don't have clearance to..?"

"Where's the elevator?"

"Down the end of this corridor, take a right, then another right, then a left."

"Thanks," said Zeta. "Now, I want your ID."

The woman threw Zeta a card.

"Amanda Graves, huh? If you value your life, you'll keep quiet about this."

"Brace for impact," warned Snake, "in eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, MARK!"

There was a dull thud.

Then there was an explosion, a sharp, piercing noise that pierced the ears.

Then there was the rattle of debris and the wailing of alarms and men and women and children and the calls of the guards and the patter of feet running to the back entrance of the senate.

And Zeta was off, sprinting through corridors amidst the confusion. She took a right, then another right, then a left, and then there was an elevator. She waited for a second; heard the Ding! of the doors and ducked out of the way. Four guards leaped out; Menelaus in their midst.

That son of a bitch, thought Zeta with a snarl. Lowered her head, becoming just a figure in a hoodie and jeans. The only odd thing about her was that she wasn't running and screaming like the other civilians were after Snake's missile hit; and the four guards surrounding Menelaus had more to worry about than just a girl in a hoodie.

She waited a second; dashed into the elevator before the doors closed, slammed her fist onto the lowest button on the elevator's control button. Turned to face the now closing doors, pushed her hands into her hoodie's front pocket. Held her Wingman in her right hand as the elevator began to drop below the ground, accelerating downwards, then slowing, then stopping.

Doors opened; a guard glanced at her. Did a double-take.

"Hey, Ma'am. Are you -"

She shot the man once in the chest; once in the head and he dropped like a stone. Two more guards spun to face her, four bullets burst out of her hoodie's pocket and found their marks.

Sorry, she thought, striding forward, pulling the Wingman out of her pocket in her right hand, loading the pistol with her left. Caught a bullet with her vortex shield from a fourth guard, flung it back in the unfortunate woman's chest and she screamed as the plasma turned his armor and ribcage to molten flesh. A shot to the neck put her out of her misery and sprayed blood onto the wall behind her.

Zeta kept moving.

A fifth guard raised his carbine to his eyes and she shot him in the leg; grimaced as he fired twice. Two bullets caught her in the shoulder and she felt her reactive armor harden, stopping the bullets.

That's gonna bruise.

The man struggled to his feet and she punched him once in the head, dropping him to the ground. She placed her foot on his head and clicked her toes. Pulse rockets fired, kicked her foot upwards, punched a hole through the man's skull.

She rounded a corner into a small room. Four guards stood in a line at the opposite end of the room - this time prepared, R-101C's already at the ready.

RATATATATATATATATATATATA! went the carbines.

Foompfoompfoompfoompfoomp went her vortex shield as she pushed her left shoulder in front of her. Jets of plasma shot through her hoodie's arm, charring the fabric, swirling into a shape dictated by the electromagnets that her arm held.

Her foot slipped backwards a centimetre and she grunted under the force of the barrage. The vortex shield was doing its job, but it couldn't keep this up forever.

"20%," said Plus in her ear. "Warning. 17%."

With a yell she launched the plasma at one guard – missed, too – and rolled to the left, behind a concrete pillar that held up the ceiling. Bullets grazed her right leg, under-armor stiffened to soften the blow.

"Plus, their distance."

"Twenty metres. Vortex shield recharging. 19%."

"Damn. On three, Stim me.

"Affirmative. Vortex shield 21%."

"One."

"23%. Enemies approaching; 17 metres."

I can hear their footsteps, thought Zeta. I can hear them breathe.

"John, take the left. Lisa, the right," said one of them. "Lets kill this fucker and make it home for pizza Tuesday!"

A pang of guilt shot through Zeta's heart.

The lives of the innocent, huh?

"26%," said Plus. "Enemies approaching. 16 metres. Countdown abortion detected."

"One."

"15 metres. 27%."

"Two."

"28%."

"THREE!" Zeta screamed, rolling out from behind the pillar, drawing her Electric Katana from underneath her hoodie. "COME AT ME!"

Three bullets hit her.

So did the Stim.

Her pulse rocket boots fired once, kicking her to the side, away from the line of fire. The guards turned to adjust their aim – to have their bullets caught by Zeta's vortex shield.

"24%. 21%. 17%."

Her mind raced as she launched the plasma at 'john', blowing a charred hole in his leg and he screamed, dropping to the floor. Her katana crackled, her boots fired again, and suddenly she was upon them. 'John' lost his head; 'Lisa' had a gash cut from her breast to her shoulder. In a last-ditch attempt to save herself 'lisa' lifted her carbine in her right hand to block a fatal slash of her neck, only to be stabbed in the stomach instead. As 'lisa' doubled over Zeta took her head before continuing to the remaining two guards.

The Stim ran out.

One of the guards fired, close range, into Zeta's abdomen and she fell backwards, landed on her bottom as the reactive armor struggled to contain the force of the bullets.

That last one might have actually gotten through, thought Zeta, a dull pain in her stomach.

The man stepped forward to finish her and she thrust her sword upwards, catching his armor, knocking him off balance. She rolled to the side, grabbed the carbine from "John's" corpse and wildly fired upwards, killing the third guard.

Now, only the fourth remained – and he had just leaped back to his feet. Zeta swung her sword but he jumped, saving his legs. Pulled a pistol from his belt and shot at her head three times before dodging quickly to the right.

He saw my vortex shield coming, thought Zeta as plasma dripped from a fresh hole in the roof where the man's head had been just moments ago.

"Vortex shield at 15%."

The man backed away, dropped the pistol and pushed a fresh magazine into his carbine before raising it to his eye once again.

Zeta shot him three times with her Wingman.

"ETA to gas pipeline: 15 minutes," displayed overwatch's monitor.

"When we reach the pipeline," called Jenni, "we'll jump up the pipeline towards the station! IS EVERYBODY READY?!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" roared the soldiers.

"According to our mechanics, that station is moving too damn fast!" she continued. "The whole station is like a giant centrifuge! So be careful - we didn't plan to do this mission in gravity! DO YOU ALL UNDERSTAND?!"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Good!"

A siren erupted throughout the shuttle.

"What the hell?" muttered Jenni.

"Warning," displayed Overwatch's monitor. "SONAR scans through gas clouds indicate a large metal object hidden beneath the clouds. Avoiding collision. Brace for minor acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

The shuttle began to move upwards ever so slowly.

"How large is the object?" asked Jenni.

"Estimating size of structure: failure. Structure too large to estimate size accurately."

"Give me your best guess, Overwatch."

"Structure is approximately 3000 metres long, 500 metres wide and 500 metres high."

There was a stunned silence for a second.

"What in the fookin' hell..." muttered Bonerhead.

"Come on," grinned Sophia, shy personality gone. "Think. Surely you can guess what this is."

Jenni and Bonerhead looked at her blankly.

Sophia raised an eyebrow.

"How many legacy-class ships were built?"

"Four," answered Jenni. "We had to study history as part of our Pilot training."

"Now," said Sophia, grinning even wider. Wilder. "Can you remember each ship?"

"Well, there's the Austraeus and the Dauntless – the two legacy-drive freighters, for starters," said Jenni, counting them on her fingers. "Oh, and the Atlas. But the Atlas was destroyed. And… last was the Dawntreader, the Legacy-class logistics carrier that went MIA."

"Do you know how the Dawntreader went MIA?"

"Didn't it approach a gas giant to refuel-"

Jenni's eyes widened.

"I've still got no clue what you two are talkin' about," said Bonerhead.

"No. Fucking. Way," whispered Jenni.