Episode 233

A quiet update. I might finally be in an environment where I can write again.

Zayed. A galactic armpit so obscure that 99.99% of the Empire's citizens wouldn't even recognize the name if it popped up in their consciousness. Once a bustling hub, it had become a hollowed-out husk—a remnant of the Early Imperial Expansion Era that everyone had spent the last few centuries ignoring. Now, it served as the backdrop for a plan so shady people were afraid to even mention it out loud.

In the void of the Zayed system, two fleets squared off: one hundred and fifty ships against three hundred. The hundred and fifty were arrayed as a shield for The Facility, while the three hundred charged forward like a spear intended to gut them.

"The enemy only has two weapons capable of actually hurting the Samasa," the captain of the massive battleship barked over the comms. The Battleship Samasa loomed over the rest of its fleet, a titan among gnats. "Keep your eyes peeled for that weird gunship and those physical shells we’ve heard about."

His bridge crew, looking far too relaxed for a life-and-death struggle, chuckled. They treated the bridge like a high-end firing range, swapping jokes about how easy this would be. They were corporate mercenaries, battle-hardened and arrogant, and they knew they were the best money could buy.

"Main guns, fire! Let’s make sure they never forget the name Samasa!"

On the other side of the vacuum, the twin captains of the Techno Boy—the heavy hitters of the RS side’s Volunteer Force—were having a very different conversation. Despite the "we’re probably going to die" atmosphere, they looked perfectly at home.

"Standard procedure says we aim for the Shield Ships, but we’re going to ignore that. We’re just gonna keep blasting the small fry," one twin said. "The enemy knows our flagship is basically a Carrier. If we thin out their air defense, they’ll be too scared to make a move."

"Classic, brother," the other twin grinned. "Stealing Commander Bella’s orders and reciting them like they’re your own brilliant ideas? That’s the kind of low-tier scum behavior I can really get behind."

They both smirked. Around them, the amateur crew was vibrating with enough nervous tension to power a small planet, but the twins' casual banter seemed to help them unclench just a little.

"Alright, you losers, fire the main guns! Show 'em not to mess with a nerd! Goraaa!"

Colossal streaks of blue light tore through the darkness as both battleships opened up, their salvos crossing paths in the silence of space. The exchange of death repeated every few minutes, and with every pass, the casualty list grew on both sides.

"Seal bulkhead four, now! If it reaches turret two, we’re all space dust!"

"Fire suppression is in the red! I don't care if you have to spit on it, get those fires out!"

"Dammit! The Reserve Bridge is gone! How are we supposed to aim the rear guns now?!"

"Keep moving! If we stop, we’re dead! A shield isn't gonna stop a slug that big anyway!"

If history ever bothered to record this battle, these screams would be lost to the footnotes. These nameless warriors were giving everything they had just to stay in the fight.

"Boss, we’re hitting the Second Engagement Range. Ready to initiate Collective Control?"

"No, not yet," Bella replied, her voice muffled by the cigar clamped between her teeth. She stood on her bridge with her jacket draped over her shoulders like a cape, arms nowhere near the sleeves. Her Gift, Collective Control, was the perfect tool for a fleet commander, but she was holding back. If the enemy is really peeking into our heads, moving the fleet based on my thoughts alone is a suicide run. "Wait until we’re so close that it doesn't matter if they're watching us think. Besides, I’ve got a plan."

"Admiral, it’s started. Long-range scanners are picking up multiple high-energy signatures."

"I see..." Admiral Sod stood at the head of a fleet that eclipsed both opposing forces combined. He watched the distant flashes of light from the safety of the void. "Fine. Advance the fleet. Prepare the drives."

As the cogs of war turned, the two Supreme Commanders at the heart of the chaos found themselves in a rare moment of synchronicity. Despite being bitter enemies on opposite sides of the line, they both stared at their displays, eyes wide with shock, and uttered the exact same words at the exact same time.

"—What a monster!—"

Mercenaries Etta had assumed the first wave of a thousand physical shells was mostly a bluff—a cloud of dummies meant to distract her. She’d figured maybe a hundred of them would actually be capable of dodging her Debris Incineration Beams.

She was wrong.

Every single one of the thousand incoming warheads was dancing, pulling complex, jagged maneuvers that mocked her targeting systems. She had decrypted the enemy flagship’s command sequences and synchronized her entire fleet's Anti-air Barrage Interception to counter them. It was a masterclass in defensive warfare, and yet, it wasn't enough.

She had expected to swat them all out of the sky. Instead, nearly two hundred shells tore through her Air Defense Network.

The terrifying part was that she knew she hadn't missed anything. She had intercepted the BISHOP commands the enemy commander was sending to the shells with 100% accuracy. The messages weren't even encrypted; they were simple, bare-bones instructions.

The problem was the sheer, impossible volume of it.

"Cruiser MS17 is sunk! MS213 is gone! Shield Ship Da Riga has taken major damage—she’s a floating brick! Defense hole detected in C-Block! MS121 reports moderate—wait, no, [MAJOR DAMAGE ASSESSMENT]. MS54 is hit, fires spreading—"

Etta barely heard the dispassionate reports. The side effects of her drugs were starting to kick in, twisting her face into a mask of pain, but she waved the adjutant off.

"...What is that?! How?! No one should be able to do that!"

Etta shrieked, her eyes bloodshot. Beside her, Tetta winced as she gripped his arm hard enough to bruise.

"Minor damage to MS48 and MS91..." the adjutant continued, pausing to look at the data. "They must have an incredible number of operators on that ship handling Warhead Control. It looks new, but maybe it’s an old-school high-crew design like the Samasa?"

"No," Etta hissed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "That’s one person. I know it. Same source, same wavelength, same habits. It’s definitely just one guy... but even in The Facility, no one was that..."

Her voice trailed off into a low mutter as she retreated into her own mind.

"I underestimated them. I actually believed Admiral Sod’s reports... If all five thousand of those things are real warheads, we have four waves left. We can survive, but the cost is going to be astronomical."

She closed her eyes for a long five minutes, calculating. Finally, she sighed. "That was one hell of an expensive lesson."

"Change of plans," Etta barked. "We’re switching to a war of attrition. No more aggressive pushes until the Strike Fleet reinforcements arrive. Get me a line to Admiral Sod, and tell those EAP military goons to move their asses. If they hit the enemy from behind now, this is over. No more playing around. We crush them here and now with everything we’ve got."

As her fleet began to shift from an offensive wedge into a defensive shell, she whispered one last time: "...What a monster."

On the bridge of the Battleship Plum, the usual rowdy atmosphere had been replaced by a silence so heavy it felt like a funeral. The only sound was Taro’s ragged, heavy breathing.

"...They shot down nearly eighty percent of them?" Taro groaned, massaging his temples. My brain feels like it’s been through a blender. "Teiro-chan is officially depressed, guys. That was a total shock."

"She can really see them..." Marl muttered, her brow furrowed in pure frustration. "That’s cheating! Reading BISHOP emissions is basically the same as reading someone's mind!"

Taro wiped a smear of blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Why does overusing BISHOP always lead to nosebleeds? It's so messy. "Yeah, tell me about it," he agreed weakly.

"It truly is the height of unfairness, Miss Marl," Koume said, her expression perfectly calm even as her fingers flew across the controls. "Koume is quite offended. This is a blatant violation of privacy."

Taro blinked at her. "You care about privacy? I mean, you’re an AI. Does that even apply?"

"Hmm? Are you suggesting I should strip, Mr. Teiro? That I should get naked right here on the bridge? Is that your wish?"

"Wait, what? How did we get there? No, I’m not interested! Sorry!"

"Even I have a few secrets I’d rather keep to myself, Mr. Teiro," Koume continued smoothly. "For instance, the fact that I’ve been using the Battleship Plum’s high-powered scanners to track the exact locations of your hidden—cough, cough—'adult' books in real-time."

"What are you doing?! Do something about my privacy then! Also, that fake cough didn't hide anything!"

Taro huffed and chucked a hand towel at her. Koume swatted it out of the air without even looking. Taro grumbled a "nuuuuguuu" of defeat, but his mind was already back on the tactical map, busily prepping the Second Wave.

"So, Teiro, what's the move?" Marl asked, her voice tight with worry. "The shells are helping, but that giant hunk of junk is still sitting there. They’re focusing everything on protecting it."

Taro looked at the enemy super-dreadnought on his visor and let out a long, weary sigh.

"If we don’t kill that thing, we’re done. They’re playing defense for now, but once we run out of warheads, they’re gonna steamroll us. If we lose a ship a minute, our main force is toast in two hours. I’m not feeling that vibe."

Taro shivered at the thought. That is definitely not a 'happily ever after' scenario.

"At worst, we could try to ram them with the Plum, but she’d just read the move and back off. We’re stuck."

He shrugged, looking completely defeated. Marl looked anxious, and Koume remained a statue. Taro let the silence hang for a second before raising an eyebrow.

"So, with that said... let's take that thing out. Our secret weapon just arrived."

A camera feed from the Battleship Plum’s airlock flickered onto the main screen. A figure in a spacesuit appeared, navigating a small jetpack with practiced ease. Taro smirked. As the figure entered the ship, a flash of blue hair was visible through the visor. I bet she's still got that cigar in her mouth.

"I used to wonder how a company run by idiots doing idiotic, crooked things could stay at the top," Taro mused. "But man, being able to peek at BISHOP is a hell of a cheat code. You can do anything. Phantom-san said we should assassinate her the moment we get what we need, and honestly? He’s probably right."

In an age where every action was tied to BISHOP, there was no secret she couldn't uncover, save for thoughts kept strictly internal. She was practically a god.

"But so what? I’m gonna make her realize who she's dealing with."

Taro cut off his daydream of being an all-powerful ruler, clenched his fist, and muttered:

"What a monster."

Two commanders. One phrase.

The words were identical, but the expressions behind them couldn't have been more different.

One was a bitter snarl of defeat.

The other was a fierce, hungry grin.