The pressure of millions of gallons of water crushing against Schezerade’s control cabin was resounded by warning lights flaring to life, sparks pelting her hot skin, and ozone pervading her nostrils.

Her mind panicked, reeling with apocalyptic flashes.

I’M GONNA DIE! I’M GONNA DIE! I’M GONNA DIE!

Cramps wracked her insides as a defiant roar of adrenaline cut a burning trail through her arteries and veins.

I’m gonna die… and I’m gonna take this bastard with me.

She jammed a neural remote into the small cavity at the base of her skull before triggering the EVS of her skinsuit. Her entire form quickly enveloped by a nigh impervious nano-weave.

Helrot pumped one of his armor’s mechanized, ebony fists into the air. “I’M THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ MAN!!”

The crowd around his Assault Training Armor clapped and shouted in unison at his victory on the dock outside the academy.

She kicked the manual release for the control cabin’s external vents and green sea water rushed into the little cockpit, the dying circuitry frying in the wake of the aqueous, invading force of nature.

Schezerade shut her eyes and focused her sense, blocking out the growing cold. New thoughts formed in her consciousness as the telemetric link between her mind and the slowly sinking bipedal armor finalized.

Her green eyes blinked open, she was completely submerged but the nano-weave synthesized the water around her into breathable oxygen and kept the silt and sodium laden liquid from blurring her vision.

She looked about the cabin as a spectral image of the Armor’s HUD overlaid her vision. The young woman chuckled softly as she simultaneously activated the Utility-Mech’s tow cable apparatus and infrared sensors.

A quiet voice came to life in Helrot’s control cabin.

“A.T.A. has been targeted. Repeat, A.T.A. has been targeted. Navicomp suggests immediate course of action.”

Mercer Helrot dismissed the Navicomp’s warning and simply extended the A.T.A.’s arm and gave the burbling sea where Schezerade’s Utility-Mech had landed the middle finger.

“Lock-on to this, you Tradejack bitch.”

A spray of water drenched the cheering crowd as the magnetized tow cable shot out of the sea and latched onto the A.T.A.’s arm.

Helrot lurched as the sound of foot and leg servos fought for both balance and purchase for a moment before his Armor seemingly pitched itself into the water.

Schezerade almost wished she could have mashed the retract key with furious glee but sufficed to simply watch both her Mech and Helrot’s Armor slowly sink into the welcome abyss of the sea floor.

Her insides seized again, as her body forced another dose of hormones into her system to combat the cold and the weariness of her limbs. She half heartedly started for the surface.

Anthology Two Presents…
SERAPHIM WING: Doomsday Clock
By Ashley Corgan

Stripped of her silhouette skinsuit, which had been hastily replaced with a bland, beige work jumper, the redhead’s mind swam in the biochemical soup that was working its way out of her body’s metabolic cocktail.

“Schezerade Pucelle, step forward.”

She groggily obeyed the voice of the darkened state room, an archaic fireplace crackling in the background. Schezerade winced at the sounds of the pops, reliving the sensory memory of the frying circuitry of her ill-fated Utility-Mech.

“Tribunal Case T-J-2764/0 is now open and presiding are the active Academy Administrator, Body Politic Representative, and Civic Councilor.”

“Pucelle”, Representative Mort spoke in his baritone way, “are you lucid enough for these proceedings?”

“I-I am awake, sir.”

“Good. Councilor Jace, would you like to begin the sentencing?”

Jace’s little rodent-like face sprang up for its paperwork, biting his lower lip all the while, as his eyes drunk in the features of the dazed detainee.

“Yes, and I’ll start by asking Prisoner Pucelle to explain her involvement in the disappearance of Mercer Helrot, Jr. and his assigned Assault Training Ar-”

The third Tribunal member exploded from his seat, “You murdering CUNT… I’ll have your HEAD!”

Schezerade cleared her throat, and dared not cast the glare she masked.

“Your son, had a similar temperament, Administrator Helrot”.

He sat back down, seething.

“Well it started when I was assisting in the Mobile Combat Exercises last cycle. Helrot, Jr. was soliciting matches with the other cadets for credit chits during their off hours, using and damaging Academy equipment in the process.”

“PREPOSTEROUS! He doesn’t NEED the funds!”

She continued, her eyes still cast at the long table they sat behind.

“He’d also been going against Academy policy by modifying his Training Armors in an effort to mimic the ‘Overdrive Coefficient’ exhibited by some pilots.”

“She’s clearly lying, gentlemen. Disregard that last remark.”

The other two of the Tribunal nodded, Mort gesturing for Schezerade to get to the point.

“So I had him brought up for suspension when his antics brought about the deaths of 3 other cadets during combat exercises.”

Admin Helrot sunk back into his plush chair.

“In the end he never came before the Tribunal but he was left out of his Graduating Class, due to his failure of successful completion of his Mobile Combat Exercises portion of his training.”

She cast a furtive glance at Helrot, Sr, but the flickering shadows of the firelight obscured his visage.

“After my… tenure was abruptly ended I moved on to a… maintenance assignment. Unfortunately, I had assumed I had removed the training beacon that was set to Level II from the chassis of my Utility-Mech, and thus I was left targetable by any and all weaponry used during Mobile Exercise Combat Level II, which is live ammunition and unshielded piercing.”

Schezerade sighed, the drugs from the Silhouette Skinsuit finally worked out of her system. She lifted her head high and began her tale of the skirmish that resulted.

“So my Navicomp reported an active Lock-On while I was performing a maintenance routine on the Academy’s…”

Admin. Helrot drew his pistol and leapt out of his chair, clearing the long table in a deft movement, “YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH!”

She turned and faced the Tribunal’s lone dissenter. He fixed his grip on the weapon in order to begin delivering the first strike of the pistol whipping.

No one stopped him. There was no real reason to.

Skull fracture, broken clavicle, a floating rib from the initial pounce.

She was nothing to him.

To Helrot, no matter how fierce her green eyes flared, no matter the firmness of her body, not even the comely, fullness of her breasts; the possibility of impregnating this creature with a much deserved brutal ravaging was enough to dis-engorge his other ready weapon.

So he beat her.

No mercy, no concern, simply a savage bludgeoning until her green eyes were buried beneath swollen flesh.

Schezerade was left to lay there to wallow in her bruised, bloodied state for about 10 microts before the tribunal spoke.

“The sentence has been served. Release her to her people,” Helrot commanded.

She is not broken. She is strong.

“Also revoke any active and standing obligations with her affiliate.”

She is a Tradejack.

* * *

It only took her 6 days to heal from the beating. A modified Silhouette Skinsuit coated her now, head to toe, various nano-meds freely traveled her body mending and reinforcing muscle and skeletal tissues.

Schezerade was back to work, or rather, she was freelancing now. Her affiliate dropped her shortly after recovering her from the Tribunal’s state room.

All but dead, her ex-affiliate raided her personal accounts with the Union. All she was left with was an outmoded Utility-Mech that dated back two wars, and the modded Skinsuit she now wore.

It was enough.

Her comments to Helrot Sr. were what cost them the contracts, but she’d always been a defiant one.

As the Mech descended deeper into the dark green waters she placed a beat up neuro-chip in the base of her skull.

“Back up and record”, she said aloud in the musty control cabin.

I’d always been told Tradejacking was not just a social class but a way of life. Mercenaries, day labor, clean-up, and salvage duties were all we were good for. Maybe a sedentary side job or two as a Courtesan but I never had a stomach for that even at the Academy. Anyways, we were born to adapt to any and every situation.

It was this that led to ‘The Rule Of Tradejack’… the golden rule, the only rule we kept, Tradejacks could never master a skill.

I theorize that my lineage dates back to the first colonists of 3 Planets. Science Officers, Explorers, Pioneers of a whole new age. Now their children becoming little better than paid slaves.

Fuck the rule.

So yeah I’ve gone against the rule, not my fault though. It just turns out once I’m in a machine, any machine, it’s like it’s a part of me. I almost feel at home inside them, like a womb, at peace. Each armor, mech, or vehicle giving me that extra-protection and or strength of the mother I’ve never known.

Yes, even amongst my own… kind, I felt better alone working with the machines. They called me insane when I’d volunteer to do Spot Substitutions with the Panzer Divisions, ‘Nothing but coffins with a gun turret and legs’, they’d say. Ha! I outlived even their most decorated veterans.

They chalk this up to a combination of luck, my P.D. gender designation, and the possibility of unapproved Tradejack Mech-Mods.

Bullshit.

But I can’t say a damn thing about it, now can I?

A Tradejack… no… a Tradejack Bitch, besting the Noble Class Specialists. That’d be genetic blasphemy.

*sigh*

It was during my time in Mobile Combat Training that Meier trained me. It was then that I learned I had it… I could achieve the Overdrive Coefficient. He saw this and hid it from his colleagues. When I turned 16 he used up all his favors to get me assigned to his living quarters as his Bed-Ward.

Instead of long nights of forced intercourse he taught me all he knew on Mechanized Theory, Armored Kinetics, and the “Panzer Kunst”. Meier went to great lengths to keep me from falling in with the useless rabble of the other Tradejack trainees. We were held in the lowest favor as the disciplines of The Academy were meant for future Generals and Warlords, but every Warlord needs a good number of vassals from time to time to march into Hailfire Salvos.

I logged thousands of hours in the simulators, surpassing even Meier’s records, breaking numerous Academy standings, only for them to be erased before the campus’ systems could enter into the back ups.

And yet, even after graduating, Meier would take any chance to have me come back to the Academy. Maintenance, Training Substitutions, and even Waste Disposal runs. I think he fancied more than just a student, but even with the right to bed me, he made no such advances.

*sigh*

She pulled the recording device out of her head and placed it close to her waistline, the Silhouette black material oozed over the neuro-chip and seemingly absorbed it into itself.

Now here she was hundreds of fathoms below the water’s surface, she flicked a manual switch, activating the search lights. The beams parted the darkness from the viewscreen’s countenance.

Outmoded as it was the sonar was more than sufficient to locate Helrot’, Jr’s ATA and her personal Utility-Mech.

Only 200 Meters til she can start hauling up Helrot’s remains and ransom them for a nice sum. The same for his Assault Training Armor… once she’s stripped it of the illegal mods. Helrot would be doubly pissed, but it’ll be worth it.

[160 Meters]

Her stomach rumbled. The Skinsuits really demand a large meal between healings but right now she needed her gear back, and cash, if she wanted to secure any future meals beyond the dried skin on her lips she was so oft to peel and chew during long runs.

[120 Meters]

The Utility-Mech started shuddering, the control cabin began to hum, the smell of burnt plastics wafted into the cramped space.

[80 Meters]

The search lights went dead. The viewscreen rolled, flickered, and finally went black.

The Utility-Mech wasn’t designed for these depths but she knew it could do it. She had a gut feeling… deep down.

Her insides cramped from the ever present cold and gnaw of hunger.

//SCRAG!//

The violent mating of Metal on Metal contact, muffled by the tenebrous water, and filtered by the control cabin itself gave Schezerade a start. She found them at last.

Wonderful.

No water leaked into the Utility-Mech’s chassis but all her instrumentation was gone. She gnashed her teeth before kicking the manual escape release of the cockpit.

She had but 130 microts before the pressure would wear out the Skinsuit’s biothermal energy reserves. Then about 20 more microts before hypothermia would kick in. The odds were not in her favor.