Serenity

During the early years of humanities acceptance in the galactic fold they had been introduced to many new types of technology.  Humanity brought with them new, albeit primitive, forms of combat. Projectile weaponry that shot physical projectiles, such technology had been long abandoned by their superiors, but humans engineered better and more efficient equipment than their overlords had ever explored.

None of that compares to the wonder of their own unique creation known as the M.A.S., or the Mobile Armament Suit. The titans of the battlefield thought to be the key to humanity's salvation and autonomy, if they had more of them it would have been so.

At the beginning each suit carried the same skeletal frame and stood twelve meters tall, but as time passed and technology improved more variations were created. Each one varied in size and weaponry and caused doubt amongst the enemy upon hearing one would be present. 

The outer galactic community did not see these things as a threat.  They focused on starships and the diversity of its sentient races for superiority in space and holding key cities.  The M.A.S. proved far too cumbersome for their traditionalist military doctrines.

Now the suits remain underutilized by the ruling bodies of the galaxy.  Used almost exclusively by mercenaries and revolutionaries to great effect in isolated skirmishes against the Galactic Collective in human held space. Their variations give them an edge as no two suits are the same in these modern times.

The ruling class and military minds of the Galactic Collective, as a whole, may brush these metal giants off as grandstanding shows of an overconfident race but those who have seen them in person, and lived, will tell you otherwise.

They are unstoppable.

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XJ-041 "Shikaius Prime",  Inside human independent space.

Base of the Four Horsemen Mercenary Company

Standard Earth Calendar 05/24/2865

Time has passed.  Months after the New Hope job Death had been forced to bedrest while the team went out on their own on missions.  They come back every time, all of them successful. Three M.A.S. units come and go with the skeleton of a fourth still sitting damaged.  Death would inspect it and do small patchwork jobs on it when he is left alone.

Time alone is dull. The base offered little to entertain him and he spent much of his time in quiet solitude within his room. Alone with his thoughts, to plot and plan, he found the isolation to be unfulfilling.

Being near his new teammates was no better to him. Strife would force him away to do what she calls "training". She would invite him to attack her and he would only show her half hearted attempts, ending in his "defeat". These bouts did not matter to him, she was too weak in his mind to challenge him and so he would not bother using his full capabilities.

Famine on the other hand actively attempted to aggravate Death. Constantly prodding him for information and asking for his memory drive, forcing him to sit with her to watch shows that did not interest him, and finding different small objects to throw at his head to make the boy's usual cold exterior crack in anger.

War was noticeably hands off with Death during his time in recuperation. Whenever he was around the man he would give short greetings to Death or offer him a juicebox and be gone again for some unknown purpose. Death did not mind this, for at least one of the three were leaving him alone.

After his arm healed, his hunt for War began. At first his attempts were fairly straight forward, his strikes would reward him with being flipped over onto the ground like a child at play. Then he would utilize stealth tactics and War would pretend to not notice him until the last second, again throwing him around like he was nothing.

He failed, again and again, but War would leave him uninjured.  Every day for weeks he would try, getting varying degrees of success on how close he would get, but ultimately he would fail.

Hiding in War's liquor closest and springing like a snake, jerryrigging a machine gun to fire as War opened his private quarters door, night time assassination, and open combat in various rooms of their base.  The man was on his guard at all times and left no openings.

Each attempt became more and more creative in his approach but the sisters were getting tired of it as each fight became more and more distracting. An agreement was made between the four of them, with little regard to what Death had to say about it.

Now the boy sits watching holovid with Famine, his latest attempt bringing him into forced service to her.  His old rags were replaced by an oversized jersey with the number 02 on the front and back and name Death over top the numbers in red.  Red colors over the shoulders and sleeves with black around his body.

Famine, laying across the couch with her head over his lap, wears her sleepwear.  Jogging shorts and a white tank top.  Her hair is a mess as though she hasn't brushed it since waking up.

"Change the channel slave."  Famine commands slowly at him while he feeds her a chip.  He complies without a twitch in his expressionless face.

"I grow tired of this, when are we done?"  He refuses to look her in the eye during his ordeal.  Giving her the satisfaction of showing her any sort of physical annoyance.

"You know the deal, every time you fail to kill War I get to boss you around for the whole morning.  Don't forget, you got training with Strife after this."  She kicks up a foot and brings it back to scratch him behind the ear.

"I do not see the point, I am more skilled and stronger than her"  He continues to feed her chips as she harasses him with pokes from her toe to his face and cheek squeezes.

"Kinda hard to tell when she wins everytime. I could probably beat you if I wanted too."  She teases as she flicks him across the nose and he snaps a chip in half. "Oooh, finally getting mad, are you?"

He grinds his teeth with the same empty expression as she stares at him with a wide grin.  "No, I am not mad. She wins because I am uninterested. You, I would litter the floor with a thousand of these chips and drag your face across them."  He feeds her the broken chip and continues to flip through the holovid.

"Sounds like you're mad, but a thousand of those chips?  I'd eat them before you got the chance."  She graciously accepts his tribute to her and scratches his chin affectionately as she watches the holovid flip through different channels.

"I realize this as well, you should think about exercising. I am noticing a significant gain in weight."  He crushes an empty bag of chips and throws it behind him over the couch.  "I recommend going for a run, but that would require you to leave your room and not overeat."

Famine took offense to this.

War and Strife walked in with grease staining their work overalls and some parts of their faces, Strife looking over a datapad as War drank from a juicebox.  He was the first to notice the struggle between the two on the couch, Death struggling and squirming around as Famine tries to get him into an armbar.

"You know I feel left out when you two fight like that. Take a break, I got something for the kid."  He says as he throws the juicebox at the two on the couch.

"Shut up!  He's mine for the morning, get your own slave!"  The juicebox hits square on her head but she doesn't let up.  Her attempts at an armbar are in vain as Death locks his fingers together to keep her from breaking his arm.

"Now!"  War says in a booming voice and pulls out his magnum revolver and holds it barrel up. 

  "You should know what this means by now." Smiling, in his usual smug way, War locks the hammer back with a loud click.

The two on the couch got the message and Famine lets up, without Death retaliating.  He walks to war, eyeing him up to look for an opening, and stands tall before him.  He greets War with a bored stare and says nothing.

"Got nothing to say?  Good."  He tosses a fingerless glove to the boy, who catches it with lightning speed.  He knew what this was from a glance, a pilot's control device.  On the top of it held the insignia of a skull with a wing coming out the right side and scythe across the back on the black material.  The main thing that stood out was a device across its forearm that Death didn't recognize.

This glove is one of a pair that identifies a user as a M.A.S. operator to a single suit. It synchronizes with the pilot's unique DNA signature to prevent theft by mundane means. This one is blank and simply putting on the glove would give him permissions with the paired M.A.S. unit.

"You trust me with one glove but not the other? Is this punishment?" The boy puts on the glove and finds that it fits perfectly. The device lights up a screen with options for remote control access to several systems to the M.A.S. 

"What is this?" Death asks in annoyance, it looked to him like someone besides him could access his own suit with this device.

"Shut up and get in the hanger, you'll figure it out on your own." War walks away, back to where he came from, and holsters his firearm, with a leisurely stroll.  The man was full of openings but Death didn't act on them. This gift was too unexpected and Death's mind filled with questions.

Strife pulled out the other glove and held it out as she folded her arm.  It caught Death's attention and his hand stretched out to grab it until she pulled it away.  The boy opened his mouth to speak but stopped as Strife stomped a foot forward, making him take a step back in surprise.

"There's rules to this. First, quit threatening me and my sister.  I don't give a fuck what you do with War.  Second, we work as a team.  Got a problem then there's the door.  Trust me I won't stop you."  Her mannerisms give him a vague sense of deja vu, causing him to take another step back without thinking.

A small victory to Strife. Famine watched from the couch, grinning from ear to ear as her sister laid down the law.

Death had nothing to say back. There wasn't anything he could say. He wanted to pilot and fight again, but now he would be chained by this woman and her rules should he accept. He knew, deep in his core, that he would be back to square one of his own objectives but he can't get his body to refuse an air of authority.

He is a soldier.  Voluntarily or not he is a part of this group and he had a duty to serve as per his training. Honor and duty were his doctrines and stealing it or killing comrades would spit on the honor of someone who sacrificed herself for his safety.

He stood silent, bowing his head as his heart dropped, and slowly held up his fist to his heart.  He turned it inwards with his elbow down and bent upwards sharply. The sisters both recognized it as a salute from the rebel human standing army.  No one said anything as they waited for his verbal response.

"I agree… this I swear."  His voice was barely audible. Again he is a slave. A dark pit caved in his chest and an old familiar empty feeling filled him. He couldn't leave, this was the closest he's ever been to becoming stronger. More chains would keep him held down and he wondered how many more he would have to endure before becoming truly free.

"That's… we'll talk about this later. Fuckin' killjoy."  Strife tossed the other glove to him and it landed on his shoulder without him reacting.  The sisters look at each other out of the corner of their eyes and back towards the broken child. Strife nodded her head towards him as if to ask Famine to speak up, or something.

"You ok?" Famine asked hesitantly at Strife's head nod motions towards him.

"I am operating at full capacity, ready to deploy."  Again they could barely hear him.  The sound of defeat in his voice was mentally painful for Strife as she winced at his words. She intended to make him listen but he sounded broken.

Famine waves her hands in a gesture meaning 'well, what do you want me to do now?'. Strife shrugged and eyed around the room to find something to talk about, then thought about the kids annoyance at the attachment to his glove.

"Alright kid, I'll teach you about that handy little add-on we put on your glove.  You'll love it seeing as you like to go off on your own."  Strife's words were more cheerful, doing her best to lighten the mood after seeing his spirit so broken.  She walks him back to the hanger and leaves her sister behind in the lounge.

"Yea ok, just take my morning slave. No it's cool, not like we had an agreement or anything. Couldn't get that drive away from him while you were at it! Huh?! You ever thought of that when you made your stupid rules!"  Famine started complaining to herself and gradually got louder until she was shouting and ranting at them through the metal door, leaning over the back of the couch as they left. She didn't really care, honestly she just wanted to complain after the mood had been soured so thoroughly.

The stench of oil and metal reeked in the air.  Several power tools lay on the ground at the feet of the fourth M.A.S. unit that had sat in disrepair.  War and Strife stood on both sides of Death but he kept his head down.

"Took us a while to get it back in shape, had to undo your piss poor patchwork you did behind our backs, but it's finally ready."  Strife says with pride and confidence.  "In case you're wondering, this is how I say thanks for saving my life."

"Yea, I don't really care about all that.  I just wanted to see you fight with this baby.  You can't beat me with fists and guns, so might as well get you something that would actually give me a challenge."  War pats Death on the head and forces him to look up.  "Check it, now you're officially a part of the team."  His excitement was contagious for Strife as she smiled down at Death as well.

She pulls out a gun, takes aim, and fires at the rope that held the tarp in place and it falls. For the most part it comes down but snags on the shoulder of the fourth suit and forces Strife to run forward to pull the tarp off completely as it hangs down.

In comparison to Famine's M.A.S., it stood a meter taller.  A skull shaped helmet housed the two red optics and the rest of the torso had some resemblance to a beefed up human skeleton, with the ribs on the outside of its metal musculature.

Thin metal plates over the sides gave it the impression of ribs and studded armor going down the back acted like a spine.  Death could see they had already housed a weapon system in its wrists, two bladed claws for hand to hand combat.  The rest of its armor on the arms and legs are bolted and welded flat plates, from a glance the repairs seemed to be rushed but capable of deploying.

"I know you can pilot it. You know I saw some of your files on that thing of yours so no denying it." Strife struggled with the tarp as she shouted back, part of it getting caught on the arm as it fell further.

"Yes, it will suffice. I will request additional armaments at a later date if allowed."  Death did not sound particularly happy, even by his own standards.  Both noticed it immediately but War was the first to act.

"What do you mean 'if allowed'?"  He mocks Death's phrase with as much sarcasm and anger as he can. Picking the child up by the collar of his shirt and arm to carry him to his new machine. "Why do you need to ask permission, you're a damn mercenary! You want something, then take it! I got a mission anyway and you're going!"  He throws Death at the M.A.S, soaring through the air with a flip, and Death lands on his feet with grace.

The more Death listened, the more it sounded like he would not be a slave. This was just false hope to him, he knew he had no say in any matter and should play the part.  All he needed was this machine and his skills to survive. One defeat for a thousand victories would give him the strength he needed.

"Yea, about that. Can we just lay low for a while? The Galactic Collective is still on our asses about that New Hope job." Strife gives up on taking the tarp down and stands next to Deaths M.A.S.

Looking back at the warmachine made his heart race, how long has it been since he fought inside one? The days blended together since his escape but it felt like a lifetime ago. He thought he could feel someone's hand on his shoulder as he approached and put his own where it should be, the other two were too busy with each other to notice.

"Oh?  Did they send another formal complaint?" War says mockingly, while folding his arms and as he picks at her. "Am I gonna have to cower in fear of their most powerful lawyer? Will he stop me from tearing apart the first ship they send our way?"

"They may send someone discreet to silence us. If they do and when that fails they will declare us a hazard to the safety of the galaxy. Then they will send a fleet, most probably with Vice Admiral Ca'thilliun." Death speaks up between them, silencing both as he admires his new partner and walks to it.

"So uh, that salute?"  Strife asks in caution as he puts his hand on its metal foot.  "Any connection with the guy?"  She eyes curiously at him as he fixes his gaze on the skull.

"We fought, he lost. Change the subject?" Death started to come back to his normal self and his short reply confirmed it.

War chuckles as Strife sighs, giving up on the stubborn tarp and its death grip on whatever piece of metal it was caught on.

"Whatever, are we still going on that mission Captain Asshole? Might wanna consider what our new teammate is saying."  Strife blew off his short answer to jab at War again, who didn't seem to pay her any attention.

"I knew there was something I liked about you."  War watched the boy with pride.  While the new Death gave almost nothing in his answer, he knew just surviving a battle against a full blown Vice Admiral, and his army, was a feat unto itself.  His heart swelled with anticipation to how strong he could make this new addition to the team, and how exciting their climatic battle would be in the end.

Strife coughed loudly as she stared at War in annoyance. War finally came back to his senses and noticed her, his smile fading to a scowl.

"Yea we're still going. Go get your sister, we leave at noon." War spoke as a commander and snapped his finger with a point to the door that led to their recreation room.

"Yes sir, General Fuck boy."  Strife mocks an old Earthen salute to him, a knife hand with the palm facing completely at him over her forehead and walks away back to the lounge, giving War the middle finger.

War kneels down next to Death and puts a hand on his shoulder. Death didn't react and War saw the boy was infatuated with his new machine. 

"So, ready to massacre some real soldiers?"  War says and looks up with Death at the rebuilt M.A.S.  He can hear a soft hum from Death, a melancholy tune that sounded like the old Earth birthday song.

Death whispers something unintelligible to himself, but War could probably guess what song he was singing. The boy never expressed joy during the short time he has spent with them but if he had to guess this must be his way of showing the world his happiness through the ten feet of crap between him and his inner emotions.

Even as the boy quietly sang, War could see something in his eyes. Behind that dead gaze a fire still burnt. He saw anger, hate, pride, the will to survive by any means necessary.

What kind of monster are you hiding in there? War couldn't help but wonder as his anticipation built.

"I'll take that as a yes, Good. Suit up, it's time for work."  War spoke but Death did not stop his song. The tune quietly haunted the hanger as War walked away and left him there to quietly stare.