Chapter Two

 

 

 

            “Subject B confirmed, suspected of heading to residence of subject C.”

 

 

            Gamlin Kazaki coughed uncertainly, and his fist fell to his side again, leaving him just a bit more aggravated with himself then he had been moments before, on the verge of knocking on the door he stood at.  A muffled grunt rumbled in his throat, and quickly he tussled his light blue hair, having to pinch the paper-wrapped flower stems under his arm.

            He had been through this exact scenario so many times before... a sigh forced past pursed lips, and then he tried again.

            If he had not been so focused on the square of wood where his knuckles had to rap, Gamlin surely would have recognized the tickling at the bass of his neck that was suspicion.

            Parked a ways away was a large van, burgundy in colour.  It bore a legal license plate; it was not parked on the wrong side of the road; it was sitting, peacefully, and non-obstructively.  Nothing was out of the ordinary.  Even the man who was stationed in the front seat did not seem out of place.  Except, of course, for the black device that hung from a headband over his right eye.

            See, this was the problem with leading a completely military based life - he had no idea how to deal with actual people.  It was most annoying, Gamlin decided; he would have to get a social life.

            Abruptly, as the skin of his knuckles passed over the door, it opened inward; he blinked widely, the dark green of his eyes flashing with worried shock.

            “A-ano...” He stumbled over his tongue for a moment as it changed composition from flesh into lead, and his mind blanked like it had never before held any concepts of thought or knowledge; hence the inability to communicate.  For the longest moment, all he could form were rudimentary sounds that he wouldn’t have put past cavemen. ”Ah... aiiee...”

            “... Gamlin-san...?”

            “... o-ohayo!”  Stiffly, as if programmed to do so, he held out his arm, fist offered out to her; he had moved the flowers from that hand, though, and so they fell to the doorstep.

            It took him a bit to realize that he had dropped the valuable, fragile things, and when his eyes did trail down to where they lay, he began to stutter once more.  “Go-gomen nasai!”

            Seeing the blush that spread over her cheeks as he righted himself and graciously presented her with the dusted off blossoms made him mimic the action; she accepted the gift, and they both paused, looking anywhere but at each other, before finally she moved aside to let him in.

 

            “Correction.  Subject B confirmed, with unspecified specimen... repeat, Subject B confirmed, no sign of Subject C.”

            “Confirmed; A-5 and A-8 tracking Subject C, continue with Subject B.”

            “Understood.”

            Gabil paced quietly, thoroughly annoyed with the simplistic coded conversations raging on around him.  Finally, when he grew tired, he placed himself directly behind a brainwashed specimen with the G-615 marking on the back of its neck.  “Where is Anima Spiritia?!”

            “... Subject A has not yet been identi-“

            “Why not!?” The small form howled, voice shrill and loud, echoing off of the metal walls.

            There was no response, until slowly, G-615 suggested, “... Subject C suspected of heading towards residence of Subject A.”

            Gabil paused, looking at the screen glowing in front of him, where a few flashing lights showed the location of all the search members.  One was moving quickly, chasing something, twisting and turning and snaking to keep speed with it.

 

            She had a heavier foot then normal.

            Even as she checked the sign that raced past her in a blur and made a mental note to ease up on the pedal, the engine revved loudly and Mylene was pushed back into her seat.  No one was here, on the roads, anyway.

            At speeds at least a constant ten over the legal limit, it took her none of half an hour to skirt the suburbs of City 7 and arrive in the crumbling habitat that was Akusho.  Here, she slowed down, for the precarious chunks of rubble that skirted the road seemed to move with a life of their own, and had, more then once, ended up directly in her path.  Even as she descended the stairs, wheels thumping more then the usual bouncing, she made sure to control the car with the utmost care.  Foot on the brake, she continued to decrease her speed, half-lidded eyes fluttering over the road top, trying to put her attention on anything but her destination.

            But, sooner or later, she had to end up somewhere; this time, it just happened to be in the half-broken garage of Ray’s apartment.  “Ray’s apartment,” she confirmed, a dull slight of emotion passing over her paled cheeks.

            From the back of her car, Mylene hauled her bass guitar; the strap over her shoulder was unusually heavy, and as she mounted the steps towards Ray’s door, it seemed to only grow in weight.  Feeling as if the weight of the world was hanging from her left side by the time she finally stopped to knock on his door, she let the guitar slide from her arm to the floor; the case made a loud crack against the old wood of the floor, and she winced.  One hand scrubbed at her eyes, while the other repeated to tap against the door.

            “Ohayo... Ray?”

            A few seconds of silence passed, and she knocked harder.  “Ne, Ray.”

            When silence was the only thing to greet her, her voice edged louder, reaching the high-pitched note of aggravation as she pounded the flat of her fist on the door.  “Ray!  Ray, it’s me!  Open up!”  She emphasized her finished sentence with a kick, and the wood rattled loudly enough to cover up the opening of a different door somewhere above her.

            “He’s not home!  And it’s not morning, either.”

            Mylene’s fist continued for just a few beats, before she halted it and let her slumped shoulders tighten.  This situation was much too familiar...  “You don’t need to be rude,” she replied without turning; now that her fist and foot were silenced, she could hear him take a breath to argue - and Basara could yell when he wanted to.  That would just do miracles for her headache! She thought, the voice in her own head sweetly sarcastic.  Instead, she continued, forcing him to wait for his turn to holler.  “What about practice?”

            Basara, still standing in his upstairs doorway and looking down at the back of her head, blew out his cheeks to subdue the quick, but not quick enough comment he was about to make; instead, he softened it, and said simply, “you weren’t here.  We went on without you.”

            “You could have phoned,” she replied, the angered note that he was so used to rising in her voice.

            “You think we have phone lines connecting to the city out here?” He retorted snidely, just before he noticed the dimmed colour of her skin.  Briefly, she looked up to him, breathing quickly through her nose as her green eyes flashed at his own amber ones; then, she turned her sight down, lifting her guitar from the floor.  Without his permission, she stormed across the hall and into his apartment; he watched with mild amusement before following her by route of the top door.

            Her bass was much too heavy today; she placed it down at the door and let her eyes trail momentarily upwards as his green and blue figure skirted a ledge of ceiling no wider then two feet without any thought to it at all.  That was just like Basara, reckless, irresponsible, aggravating...

            Without another glance in her direction, he leapt over the small space between his actually upstairs; her throat caught for just a heartbeat as all rational thought told her that he would plummet down onto the stove below.  But, he made it safely across, and proceeded to sit himself down on a cinderblock padded by an old, ragged pillow.  In a second the guitar was sitting in his lap, and he had lost all attention for her.

            Mylene let a sneer form at his back for a moment, before her eyes trailed once again to the stove - there was a kettle there.

            “Can I make some tea?” She asked as soft music floated down to her ears, abruptly ending as he made some adjustments to the tune.

            “... nani?”  She opened her mouth to repeat the question, finding it thoroughly annoying how he could not focus on more things then one, before he responded.  “Oh, yeah.  The kettles on the stove.”

            “I saw,” she told him back, but it was the end of the conversation; he continued on with his music as if he had never known she was there.  At least it wasn’t another fast paced song - the beat would never be able to keep up with her pounding temples.

            It was almost as heavy as her guitar had been, she thought, as she wrapped both hands around the metal handle, hefting it out of the sink where she had filled it with water.  It clanged down onto the stove; she winced and moved to cover her ears; Basara did not seem to notice.

            Idly, she looked around for something to busy herself with, and settled with seating herself at the table behind her.  The window beside it was open, letting in the cool breeze, and she enjoyed it for a moment, hoping that it would somehow rid her of this sickness that had seemed to infest her body this morning.  Well, actually, afternoon... it was already past twelve thirty...

            Eyes blinked and focused after staring out into nothing; she gazed at the mammoth of a valkyrie that he housed behind his apartment.

            “... you should get the dents on the chest plate fixed,” she said to herself; he heard, though, and stopped on an abnormal chord.

            “Nani?”

            “You should get those dents fixed,” she repeated simply as she sat.

            “It’s fine,” he assured her in a gradually deepening tone to signify his annoyance at her interruptions; she continued, though, in the most natural tone he had heard her use in a while.

            “Well, you should at least get Ray to look at it... what if the protodeviln manage to catch you on a weak spot?”

            “They won’t,” he responded louder, subconsciously trying to warn her that he did not need advice on how to take care of his own plane.

            “I was just saying,” she murmured, catching his hint, before the kettle began to emit its shrill hiss of steam.

            It was so loud and sharp that it forced her to physically put a barrier between the sound and her ears; she covered them and drew herself into as small a form as she could, and let the kettle call.

            “Are you going to get that or what?!” Basara finally howled, dropping the guitar and standing; he stomped over to the ledge and glared down where he knew she was, before his features grew more confused then furious.

            She felt him leap down from the upper story, and then the sound died down; Mylene peeled her hands away from her ears and looked up from where she sat, hunched over her knees on the chair.  His back was to her once again as he dutifully finished the process of making the tea in silence.

            “Here,” he said, sliding the cup slowly across the table towards her; she blinked at it slowly, before obliging and picking up the warmth into her palms.  “Why weren’t you at rehearsal?” He asked after a bit, still standing across from her and still looking down at the top of her head.

            “I was sick,” she said as she let the steam rise onto her face, as if it was suddenly cold.

            “... ‘was’?” He repeated, his tone disbelieving and scrutinizing.

            “Oh, shut up,” she growled, and he straightened his back at the outward sign of anger.  “It’s just a headache now.”

            “You look pale,” he added.

            “Thank you,” she snarled sweetly.  It was enough to know that he was annoyed with her presence - but now, he had to make rude comments about her appearance?  Especially when she could not even help it!

            “... maybe you should see a doctor,” he offered after a long pause, and she snapped back at him.

            “Maybe you should mind your own business!”

            “Maybe you shouldn’t barge into other people’s apartments!”

            “Don’t yell!” She spoke through her teeth, eyes finally turning up to glare at him where he stood.  “My head hurts enough as it is!”

            Not one to back down from an argument, especially when his cause was a righteous one, Basara almost got to retaliate; but, the city wide alarms rang clearly in the distance, and his attention was snapped away from Mylene.  He did catch her cringe at the noise, though.

            “An attack?” She said, looking out the window past the fire-red valkyrie to the brick wall behind it as if it would giver her some insight into the situation; it did not, and Basara turned to leave.

            “Let’s go!” He yelled, suddenly oblivious to her splitting migraine, but she managed to stand and follow after him so closely that he had to stop and spin on her as he ran up the stairs towards his valkyrie.  “What are you doing?”

            “Huh?”

            “What... are... you... DOING!?” He roared; she cringed, and clamped a hand firmly down on the stairwell banister to keep from loosing her balance.

            “I’m coming with you!”

            “Your valkyrie is here?” He asked, and she looked almost annoyed with him, as he had been with her but moments earlier.

            “No!” She said dumbly, and he blinked.

            “Well, you aren’t coming with me!”

            “Yes, I am!”

            “No! You aren’t!” He turned his nose up and moved to make his way up the rest of the stairs, his victory assured.

            He had forgotten how fast she could move when she wanted to, though, and since they were almost at the top of the stairs, he had no time to overlap her as she darted forward to the doors that lead directly outside.  Placing herself in between him and his valkyrie, she made her demand.

            “I go, or you don’t go.”

            All Basara could do was stare blankly at her for a moment, and it took him a moment to gather all the anger at her defiance as she pushed open the doors and repeated the action she had seen him take so many times before.  Clipping the gliding handrail onto the taut wire that stretched across the apartment building to his valkyrie, she threw herself across the gap.

            “Mylene!” He cried, taking a step forward; she landed, though, safely on the shoulder of the red beast with nothing more then a few awkward steps to make him worry.  So, instead, he changed his composure to show anger.  “You’re not going with me!! Get back over here!”

            She repeated herself; “I go, or you don’t go.”

            Still ready for a good argument, he readied himself to cross the wire by hand; but, as suddenly the air around him became heavy and menacing, she tossed back the handrail.

            He crossed with ease and punched in his code into the control panel, jumping into the comfort and warmth of his valkyrie as she stood above the hatch, looking elsewhere.

            “There’re here!” She cried; he heard the wavering fear in her voice.

            “Just get in already!” He ordered; Mylene looked down, blinking in confusion, before she took a wobbly step and fell into the cockpit, landing with a less-than-gracious thump half-on the armrest and half-in his lap.  He made it a point to pretend not to mind where she was sitting, and then pulled the guitar console snugly over their bodies.

            “Let’s go!” He repeated, customary to his taking off; she cringed and mumbled, “don’t yell...”

            “You’re the one who decided you needed to tag along with me!” He argued ferociously, but made an attempt to lower his volume.  “Look, just sit still and be quiet and-“

            “WATCH OUT!” She hollered and pulled back on the controls, causing the valkyrie to dodge backwards, scantly missing an attack from the large, purple-blue metal fist of their new audience.  “Stop yelling at me and do what you’re supposed to do,” she told him with angrily.

            Basara snarled at her, but did what she had suggested and focused more on evasive maneuvers then Mylene.

 

            “Confirmation!  Subjects A and C, now entering the valkyrie - repeat, Subjects A and C are in the same valkyrie, and RD-4 is in pursuit!”

            “Over - what about Subject B?”

            “Subject B is on the way!”

            Gabil sneered dangerously, before leaning over the control panels, his wings fluttering with the apprehension of victory.  “Are RD’s one through seven equipped with the proper missiles?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Then tell the reinforcements to surround Anima Spiritia and then tell them to fire at will!”

            “Yes, sir!”

            The beauty of morbidity!

 

            Basara, now singing at the top of his lungs, did not notice the six other goliaths rise from the cover of Akusho’s rubble; Mylene, though, let a cry escape as she saw them all rise at once, power rifles loaded and pointing directly at the cockpit she was sitting in.  As he continued to spiral backwards, away from the oncoming menace, something jarred Basara’s valkyrie as it contacted the two behind it.

            “Nani?!”

            “They’ve surrounded us!” Mylene yelled into his ear; he took a quick look around him to confirm what she had said.

            And that was all it took.  The pause to make sure she was telling the truth gave all seven of their adversaries enough time to let loose the most devastating attack that their had ever felt.

            Mylene was the only one who saw the huge canisters, resembling a torpedo, fire towards them both; and, her hand shot out purposefully.  Basara’s eyes snapped to her as she hit the pilot eject button, and he was unceremoniously thrown from the valkyrie.  Mylene was pushed to the side and into the bottom of the cockpit, where she huddled in a ball and screamed as something crashed into the front casing.

            The parachute, which had automatically clasped over his shoulders and onto his back, made landing on the ground a furiously slow procedure; it also gave Basara the perfect view of his valkyrie being pounded on by the seven monsters surrounding it.

            He was too dumbstruck to even scream her name as he watched every single abnormally large cartridge they fired bounce of off the Fire Valkyrie’s head and shoulders until one canister, obviously misfired, flew further downward and struck a dent on the chest plate.

            And the metal snapped, as if it had been no more then a stale cracker.

 

            All she was aware of was a faint nauseating smell, and then the world spun into black. Mylene lay, crumpled, in the bottom of the cockpit, as a disturbing green gas began to fill the valkyrie from where the canister had gained entry.

            She didn’t even hear Basara scream for her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Author interlude... yay!)

 

 

            Gah... I apologize for the reeeaaallllllyy bad chapter... I wrote it in a rush (something which you should never do, I’ve learned!) and did not read over it - if there’s anything majorly wrong, please inform and then forgive me! ;_;  It’s eleven o’clock and I have a mega-science test that I haven’t yet even BEGUN to study for - and considering I slept through most of that class... eep!

            Sorry if some of the characters seem out of character, too... I hope they weren’t too odd!  I need to learn how to develop characters better... ^^;;

So, er, review... tell me what you think, ‘kay? ... I KNOW I made a stupid mistake somewhere in there!  ^^;;