Chapter Text
Dawnlight barely broke when the sound of an alarm rippled in warning through the morning stillness of the base. The urgent transmission came through - a Rosenthal outpost in the distant southern plains had come under attack. The assailant was an unknown NEXT.
Luckily Gerald Gendlin had already been awake. The young Lynx immediately sprinted to board Noblesse Oblige without a shred of hesitation.
Who would dare? Why now? Rosenthal had few enemies, and those it did have were bound by protocol to resolve the conflict in a honourable duel. He and Dario would ensure to settle the matter as such. However this provoke was so far out of the scope of what they usually dealt it was - it was unprovoked, brazen, almost malicious , but there was no time to reflect as each second lost meant greater damage to the facility and more importantly, more lives at risk.
“No time to prep a VOB. I’ll fly in myself,” He told the bickering engineers clustered near the hangars. They all fell silent as he climbed into the core of his NEXT without heading their warnings, and then the cockpit sealed shut around him like a steel cocoon. The system beeped back to life with a series of short tones and the AMS neural interface locked seamlessly into place. Under his will the machine stirred, its movements smooth and immediate, as if an extension of his own flesh and bone.
Even without the VOB unit, Noblesse Oblige tore through the stratosphere, cutting through the sky like a tiny silver knife above the clouds. The NEXT accelerated, burning hot-white as the sun reflected off its pristine hull, the horizon ahead growing darker and darker as he drew closer and lowered his altitude. From a distance, it was like watching a falling star.
And then he saw it.
The main structure of the outpost had been catastrophically compromised. The base’s superstructure had collapsed inward, exposing the steel skeletal framework beneath. Concrete support columns had been crushed, the remaining copper wires bent in unnatural angles, some of them protruded from the debris like fractured bones. Portions of the reinforced walls had been carbon-scored and blistered from sustained thermal impact, the dark residue of incendiary munitions still clinging to the pale surface. Power lines hung in tangled webs from fallen pylons, sparking intermittently. Above it all, thick columns of smoke rose slowly, the fire refusing to die.
Atop the ruined husk of the central building stood a black and crimson reverse-legged craft, so dark it contrasted against the darkness of the night, as if a hellish fiend. Its body was composed almost entirely of Rayleonard parts - legacy AALIYAH and ALICIA parts, long since abandoned relics from the past best known for their aerodynamic aggression and midrange optimization. However, the hull’s polished finish glistened against the glow of the burning wreckage. Although Rayleonard no longer existed, the NEXT looked as if it had just exited their factories, its owner seemed to have belovedly kept it in immaculate condition.
That NEXT was known within Collard’s top security level records as Unsung. Gerald heard of it - he had seen security recordings of that same jet-black monster tearing through Arteria Fibula, before Collared’s reinforcements arrived. Lilium Wolcott had managed to chase it off, but the facility sustained heavy damage. Cradle 07 had been forced to endure a prolonged period of reduced functionality, its inhabitants subjected to austerity measures as critical maintenance protocols dragged on. Completely innocent and unprepared civilians found their peaceful daily lives disrupted, and their sense of safety was completely fractured. And worst of all, said perpetrator vanished without consequence.
That man was known as the ghost of Rayleonard, a terrorist called Maximilian Thermidor who justified his actions under a rhetoric of humanity’s salvation. He spoke liberation, of transcending dependence on the Cradles and the League of Corporations, even as his hands remained stained red with the blood of innocents. He was a dangerous man, who much like his predecessor from Rayleonard, the legendary war-hero Berlioz, chose the battlefield as his home. A single one-man army, who operated with cold precision and brutality which inspired fear in many, and served as a sort of boogeyman story to every Lynx who had encountered him.
However, to Gerald his presence posed a deep, growing frustration with Collared and their passiveness regarding the manner. Among the upper echelons of the Lynx, Thermidor’s existence was an open secret. Yet Collared, remained reluctant to place a public bounty on his head, or take a more active role in regards to resolving the issue. Once, Gerald had asked Wong Shao-Lung directly as to why Collared was sheltering Thermidor, and that scheming old man just laughed at him, making a case about how acknowledging him too openly would lend credence to his cause and invite further chaos. Gerald was getting more and more frustrated as he was treated as some child-like idealistic fool, who was only good as an attack dog. Among all of his fellow Lynx, the only one who understood and gave him grace had been his senior mercenary, Wynne D Fanchon, the Interior Union’s so-called "Brass Maiden".
Noblesse Oblige surged forward with a burst of green plasma, the dark sky gaining a pale hue as a result of Kojima radiation afflicting the area. The NEXT gave chase, pursuing Unsung, which met the charge gracefully, its black and crimson frame gliding across the ruins, propelled by the force of its reverse-jointed legs at an unmatched speed.
“Gerald Gendlin,” came the distorted voice over the comms, filtered through multiple layers of modulation. There was a familiar cadence to it. It was a that same deliberate drawl, calm and condescending as一 “Your arrival is... unexpected.”
Gerald didn’t respond. There was no time for theatrics. Instead, he veered sharply, attempting to draw Unsung away from the smoldering ruins of the outpost, hoping to minimize further collateral damage. He locked onto Thermidor’s craft and fired warning shots with his shoulder-mounted laser canons, driving the opponent toward open ground.
“Now we may settle this in a honourable manner,” Gerald muttered, voice poisoned with contempt.
The comms hissed with faint static, as Thermidor laughed. “You speak of justice and honour?” He said. “You still falsely cling to titles and symbols. Pride has blinded you and thus you bound your loyalty to humanity’s cage that is the League.”
“You’re just a madman hiding behind rhetoric,” Gerald snapped back. “A terrorist and a coward.”
He lunged. Noblesse Oblige raised its laser blade and slashed forward, but Unsung shifted away, evading the blow with an agile dodge. Unfortunately for him, the reverse-jointed legs coupled with the open terrain, allowed Thermidor to have access to unmatched mobility, which he exploited ruthlessly as he mockingly danced around Noblesse Oblige and didn’t even bother to punish Gerald for his hastiness.
“Pathetic,” Thermidor scoffed. “Is this the best Rosenthal can offer? A child masquerading as a warrior?”
“You wild beast—how dare you!” Gerald growled through clenched teeth. He swung again, but once more the blade cut through empty air and for his efforts, a few kinetic bullets connected with his Primal Armor.
The engagement had turned one-sided. Gerald realized with growing frustration that melee combat was near-impossible. Unsung ’s build, namely a mid-range configuration equipped with a high-velocity machine gun and enhanced energy rifle, coupled with its excellent movement rendered mid-range combat as suicidal and close-quarters combat as impossible. Besides that, Thermidor was faster than any Lynx Gerald had encountered. His movements were erratic yet precise, and the open terrain gave his reverse-jointed NEXT a clear advantage. Each attempt to close the distance was met with punishing suppressive fire, forcing Gerald onto the defensive.
Eventually, he was forced to pull back, switching tactics. His NEXT’s laser cannon charged and fired, sending concentrated energy bursts across the battlefield, trying to corral Unsung further into away and into open space. Seemingly realizing this, Thermidor began to pull back.
“You’re running?” Gerald shouted angrily over the comms. “Coward!”
Thermidor’s voice returned, calm as ever. “I have more important matters than indulging juvenile fantasies of heroism.”
Gerald grit his teeth, tracking him in his targeting system, but finding no such opportunities as his rifle fired into empty space. He was running low on ammo.
“Gerald Gendlin. This is coming straight from Rosenthal HQ - pull back,” The operator’s calm voice broke through the battle haze, and Gerald was forced to snap back to reality and he stayed back, external forces killing his boosters. He cursed - Collared was getting involved again.
“Consider this a mercy, Collared’s warhound,” Thermidor said coldly. “Next time, I may not be so gracious.”
With one final overboost of speed, Unsung disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving pale contrails that slowly dissipated into the smoke-choked sky. For a brief moment everything remained silent, save for the crackling of small fires and the low hum of emergency generators struggling to restore power. Gerald held still in the cockpit of Noblesse Oblige, his grip tight around the controls, jaw clenched. A stalemate - he had managed to chase away the pest. In fact, it was a merciful loss, if he were being honest with himself, as he was unable to deliver justice. It pained him to admit, but while he had failed to destroy the enemy, at least he had forced him to retreat, prevented further devastation. For now, that would have to be enough.
Gerald descended to the fractured remains of the main outpost, hastily dismounting as the cockpit hissed open. He was alone as he crawled and despite his pains and discomfort of improper disengagement, he ran for the bunker, which housed the skeleton crew of technicians and security personnel, the precious few who had survived the initial assault. He watched them greet him happily despite their uniforms were scorched, and their faces streaked with soot and blood.
“Gerald, Sir,” one of them called out, snapping a weary salute. “You made it.”
He walked toward them in a hurry. “Is everyone accounted for?”
There was hesitation. A young technician stepped forward, his expression grim. “Most of us... yes. But some didn’t make it. Commander O’Neil was in the communication tower when the initial barrage hit...W-we tried to pull her out, but the wounds were too severe. She died before medical support could reach her.”
She sacrificed herself to contact Rosenthal for reinforcements, remained unspoken. Gerald’s jaw clenched in anger. Commander O’Neil was a retired veteran from the National Dismanagement War who was promised a comfortable post in her senior years so she could provide for her family aboard Cradle 03. Rosenthal said that the base is far from the conflict, and yet一
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “She didn’t deserve this.” The crew remained silent. “I won’t let this be forgotten. I will get to the bottom of this. The one who did this一the man known as Maximilian Thermidor, will answer for his crimes. I promise you that.”
He made his way back to Noblesse Oblige. He needed to talk to Leonhardt - he will get to the bottom of this, even if it was the last thing he did.