Prologue: Crimson Wires Spark
The wail of air raid sirens slices the city sky. Two huge shadows flick across apartment blocks, glass shattering in waves behind them. Mechs clash on the outskirts. You can’t turn away. Isn’t there an odd thrill in chaos?
In these first minutes, we meet Hoshino Riku, a seventeen-year-old pilot standing over the ruins of the public square. He doesn’t speak. Sweat clings to his hands on the twin sticks. In his ear, a calm but sharp tone comes: “Cadet Riku, input time: seven seconds left. Hurry — before all of Arc Nine sees this.
Below him lies his dearest wish: quiet. His parents fought in these machines before him. His sister never came back from a draft wing. Riku lives to keep that from happening to anyone else. Can you see his tension clashing with his orders?
Nightfall Standoff
Nori Yamada, Riku’s main rival, steps in with her black unit, Crowstrike. Her grin says this is fun, but one wrong twitch and both will blow the roadway open. Sparks shower their joint shields as cables tangle.
“Are you stalling, starboy? Didn’t know you could sweat,” she teases. Riku clicks on local channel. “Shut up, Nori. I just need words. The bombs…”
Can you see it too? When two people care, their fights burn bright. Nori wants—for reasons Riku can’t know—to push him to be better. No one asks if she ever wants softer nights again.
The Plot Thickens: Unknown Signal
Back at base, Dr. Isshin—a wizened Gemini, once pilot, now engineer—slams her cup down. “Interference keeps stacking. Our net got pinged from the off-limits sector.” With that, silence. The control deck hushes. Someone whispers: “The rebels?”
Nori gawks at the scrambled spy cam. “Why are red flares up on District 34? Isn’t there only scrap?”
Later, a vote: four squad captains stand in shadow, flat against the metal bulkhead doors. Isshin signals. Allies or spies? The deck splits. All agree—Riku leads recon into Sector Zero.
Marching Into the Unknown
The team steps through blasted freight tunnels, armor dials dimmed. Even you would notice how far Arc Nine still holds its old scars. Repairs, unmarked. Names quick-drawn on cracked glass.
Shima, their main tech, hums brittle code as she checks nearby data jacks. “These read like decoy files—wait, no. That’s real. My maps say some of these were coded by squadrons who vanished.”
Nori cracks a glowstick and huddles closer. “Ghost pilots? Give me a break.”
Riku frowns, tapping relay. “No cracks now. Keep focus. I’ll watch front.”
The Rising Threat
Halfway to Sector Zero’s main choke point, a roar fills the radial set. The net gets scrambled. Mech alarms shriek—another unmatched giant mecha just dropped in, wild and with never-seen marks. It stands guard over squat suitcases, running files from a defunct block.
This model, Hex Talon, runs so quick it blurs. Sharp digits crack fencing. Who sent a sleeper like that into the city without orders?
While Riku shivers, Nori winks: “So they did build migonever-class after all, didn’t they?” Shima quips: “It looks unstable. Wild power draw.”
Midnight Skirmish
Pinlights crackle on. They drop back to classic old moves, Riku and Nori working as a pair—until Hex Talon detonates red smoke. Suddenly they can’t see. Battery warnings screech. Shields crack. Isshin yells: “Map for street routing — or you’re cooked.”
Riku, voice cracked, begs beneath the static, “Cass, prime drag-line thrusters!”. Sensors scream out; Cass answers “Three, two—move!” They dive as brackets slam the floor beside them. Did you feel your heart pounding then?
Known/Unknown: Betrayal or Backup?
Isshin calls in automated air surveillance. Purple beam lances streak low: targeting marks light each team unit. The rookies raise hands. Nori, panting, snaps her helmet cold: “Someone gave us away. No way lock-ons should cross local beacon shielding!”
There’s a rising hum — the intruder went to passive mode so quick that Riku doesn’t trust his own software any more. Who set them up? Who profits when these teams destroy each other?
Words Speak Louder Than Fire
Squad finally corners Hex Talon in an alley. Inside its core, a lone battered pilot signals by flashlight. She doesn’t shoot. “What’re you doing? ‘You’re just kids!’” bounces through the earpiece, edged with cracks and pain.
“Kids, huh…” Riku almost laughs, then aims. Does it break or make them—that moment when you hesitate?
Loyalty Tested as Dawn Rises
The gun barrels dip. The core cracks wide, smoke curling. The stranger stares back, hands open: “Don’t trust base command. They sent you to die out here.” She falls from her straps, radio crackling static.
Nori says, “So orders aren’t orders, and plans are traps?” Shima wrenches a circuit board—salvages data. The new dawn creeps through broken beams.
Cliffhanger
A quiet voice hisses within static lines: “Sector Zero, grid engaged. Converge now or everyone left in Arc Nine burns.” Light slants red over their battered shells. Eyes flare open, tired but alive. The net shakes with signals—the storm hasn’t hit yet, has it?
What truth bought peace—the correct path, or the dying wish of a stranger in wreckage?
What would you do: follow order, or follow heart?
