With the interceptor flights wiped from a second suicide attack, the Wraiths agreed to take break for various real world needs and to meet that night for a debriefing. Amongst the rainbow of fading sparks, Aero logged off from Parallax Gate and let his consciousness return to his dormitory.

A sunset glow filtered through the window as Mark awoke in his reclined chair. With a grunt, he sat up and removed the VR headset clamped over his ears. After laying motionless for two hours, his stiff muscles welcomed Mark's now standard stretch routine. A glance to the left revealed Ivan still in bed with his headset on.

Mark sighed. Twain's words replayed over and over in his head. Your frigates have torpedoes. Isn't that enough? Twain said. I look forward to your success, he said.

“Like hell it's enough! What kind of operation commander sends fleets on suicide runs!?” Fist clenched, Mark nailed his desk. With each passing second, that sneering face became more and more punchable. “How the hell does your org even hold dominion with such idiotic tactics?”

“You're being too noisy Mark,” Ivan groaned, “but that Twain isn't their usual op commander.”

Mark turned to see Ivan rolled onto his side, still wearing his headset. “Sorry, I know you're feeling the same way.”

“Nothing we can do about it now. I still managed to get five kills, so it wasn't too bad.”

“Always the optimist,” Mark said, “but what was that about their usual op commander?”

“Their org leader, a guy named Sid Griffen, usually commands dominion wars. He's really good from what I hear.”

“I see…” Mark said. I suppose that explains half of Lily's behavior…

“I'd still work with Bystanders again, but they'd have to pay us a lot more next time.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I am. I'd rather not close off any good opportunities we might get in the future. It'd be good to see how Sid handles big battles too. So what's for dinner?” Ivan asked. “We set the meeting for eight, so we've got two hours. It's Friday though, so most places will be busy.”

With perfect timing, their phones beeped and alerted them of a new message from Regina.

Massachusetts Avenue, the street which intersected the heart of MIT's campus, was also the site of a multitude of small small shops and restaurants. On Friday evenings, the tree-lined street with brick sidewalks bustled with student groups chattering away about classes, school life, and the latest developments in consumer tech. Under the light of a setting sun, crowds gathered outside the doors of popular dining locales.

Mark, Ivan, and Regina sat in a booth of the restaurant Pepper Mesquite, decided at Regina's insistence. Under subdued glow of traditional lamps, the three pored over their tablet based menus. An aroma of smoked meats wafted by their seats, teasing their palettes with a bouquet of flavor.

“I know assholes exist online, but I never thought anyone would so flagrantly show it,” Regina sighed. “Do those people show up often in combat orgs?”

“That was the first time for us too,” Ivan said. “By the way, I haven't been here before, what's good here?”

“Oh, pretty much anything off the grill,” she said. “The mesquite charcoal they use is their big selling point. I liked the seafood skewers I ordered the last time I came, and I've heard the steaks are good, but they're too big for me to finish.”

“That sounds nice. I feel like I need plenty of meat tonight,” Ivan grinned.

“How are you so calm after that piece of junk used you that way?”

“I think of it as his loss,” Ivan said, “and he's now landed himself on the Temple Wraiths' shit list.”

“What does that mean?”

“We won't work with him again, and the guys might do some… petty things here and there,” Mark explained.

“Petty?”

“I think Legius plans to set up shooting range targets of Twain's face,” Ivan said. “That happens most often. The worst that's happened involved urinals, but let's not talk about that here.”

“But in VR there aren't any… never mind.”

“Agreed,” Mark said. “Are we ready to finalize the orders?”

“Just a second…” Regina paused. “Grilled trout with southern slaw for me.”

“Sirloin steak with mashed potatoes and roast vegetables here,” Ivan said.

“How did you want that done?”

“Oh, medium please.”

“Got it.” Mark flipped through the tablet interface pressing inputs for each order, selecting lamb chops with a side salad for himself. The device beeped in confirmation and suggested additional appetizers and sides, which Mark promptly dismissed.

“In any case,” Ivan said, “Parallax is a game. If something good happens, you can be happy, and if something bad happens, it's not real anyways.

“Exactly,” Mark said, “ignoring the ass, the dominion war was quite fun I think.”

“I can't believe how quickly we were killing those torpedo bombers,” Ivan said. “I could've sworn the priest ship was dead on arrival. That alone was worth the experience.”

“Yeah, you're right. Oh, Lily's reactions were really fun to see,” Regina smiled. “I kinda want to work with her again.”

“Wait, what? No. Stop.” Mark waved his open hands before him. “That girl couldn't stop talking.”

“That's not a bad thing,” Regina said. “You won't have a community if no one socializes.”

“Whoa, wait a minute Rena. You have to fill me in on who this Lily girl is.”

“Most annoying ally ever,” Mark sighed.

“That's not nice,” Regina said, “couldn't you see how excited she was playing the game?”

By the time the automated cart delivered their dinner, the group's conversation was long diverted from Twain Zeff. Their chat wandered from debating their ideal in game communities to their in game accomplishments and personal goals both in game and out. Ivan spent much of their time bragging of his sim matches and ranking, only to be shot down with Mark's mention of his record against Nova. As the meeting time approached, Regina thanked the two for cheering her mood, and they strode back to their dorms in cheerful anticipation of their next exploits.

To their dismay, a sour mood permeated the lobby space when Aero and Sinn arrived. Unlike their pleasant time at dinner, several members let their frustrations ferment and threatened to spoil the org's atmosphere.

“Why do we have to meet like this again?” Alf asked.

“Because your body's dead Alf,” Ecks said. “Same for everyone else.”

“I still can't believe that cunt would send us on two suicide runs.”

“Calm down Jake, we set ourselves up for it with that contract,” Myles said

Sparks crowded the lobby for the dominion war debriefing. Several Wraiths grumbled and cursed the meager outcome of their first large scale battle.

Right... not everyone's gotten over the poor treatment yet.

“Alright, alright, everyone settle down,” Sinn's orange spark bumped raced around the room. “I know some of you are still pissed, but we didn't do badly at all for our first dominion war, and we learned some things as well.”

“Yeah… like not to trust people who put 'innocent' in their name,” Ducks said.

“Okay, that's enough whining. Next person who complains gets thrown out an airlock.” Sinn said. “Its time to properly evaluate what we earned. Stevie, have we received the performance bonus from IB?”

“Yes, they sent thirty point five mil for damages totaling one-twenty-two mil. Total payment for the job is forty-five point five, and if we deduct fleet replacement cost, we're left with a profit of… eight point nine mil.”

“That's more than I thought,” Myles said. “My estimates were that we dealt about a hundred mil in credit damages. Where'd the extra twenty come from? Eckos, can you check the kill data?”

“Sure I'll take a look,” Ecks replied. A window appeared before his spark with several tables displayed. “By category, we got forty-five mil in bombers, thirty-two mil in fighters, then there's the generator ship Spirit for fifteen mil… wait, what the hell!?”

“What's wrong?” Sinn asked.

“Uh… we're credited for the loss of a destroyer, named Cardinal Aegis with a value of twenty-one mil.”

“Wait, what?” Sinn flew to the floating display. “You're joking right?”

“We never had the firepower for that,” Mayto said. “It's amazing enough we sank that space priest. How!?”

“Oh! That was us,” Legs said. “I didn't know that counted as damages.”

“What did you do Legs?” Aero asked.

“Well after we rigged the priest to blow, we snuck out using its transfer shuttle. It was more convenient than returning to the Jackknives. Much roomier too I have to say.”

Chuckles arose from the sparks by Legs, sparks representing his squad of marines.

“What does that have to do with killing a destroyer?” Paws asked.

“Well after we escaped from the priest ship, Wave here had the bright idea of sabotaging the next ship. He said, 'If it worked once, why won't it work again?' or something like that. So we flew that shuttle into the shield radius of the closest Phalanx medium ship, that destroyer, and I hit the detonator to kill the priest.”

“So since you used a Phalanx transfer shuttle, they didn't bother defending themselves. They share friendly transponders after all.” Chase said.

“Exactly,” Legs said. “Now when we docked, Match realized that instead of setting the ship to blow, it'd be more profitable to claim it for ourselves. And that's what we did.”

Not a sound remained in the dim lobby. Twenty-some sparks froze in space as if the game server itself froze. Had the Wraiths met in their briefing room, the pilots would've stared, jaws agape from the revelation. A solid minute passed as the group contemplated the implications.

“You… stole a destroyer,” Aero said.

“We did.”

“You took a Phalanx transfer shuttle, used it to sneak onto a four hundred meter ship, and then hijacked the thing.”

“Well we had to shoot like thirty people along the way, but that is correct.”

“And… where is it now?”

“We sailed it through Phalanx space then docked it at an NPC station in Four Points system. She's pending transfer now and could be at our base in a few hours once we get an escort together.”

“What are we even going to do with the thing!?”

“Well, we did prove to Ducks that sixteen guys with rifles aren't useless.” Chuckles arose again from the crowd of space marines.

“Seriously, this changes everything,” Aero said. Unlike small ships and fighters, which were readily purchased on the market, combat ships larger than frigates required multi-system dominions to construct. The extensive build time forced orgs capable of their production to hoard their fleets for their dominion's defense. Though the limited supply pushed their market value far above their production cost, no org would sell them for the risk of seeing their produced ships on an enemy side.

“This thing is loaded,” Stevie said. He activated another display which revealed the ship's specs. “Three long range plasma cannons, eight torpedo launchers, and the whole thing is covered with missile pods and other anti-fighter countermeasures. We could sell the thing for at least a hundred mil.”

“But think of all the jobs we could get if we used it for ourselves,” Myles said. “I don't think any org has a destroyer for hire.”

“The money would go a long way towards our dominion plans though,” Aero said. “We don't need a destroyer right now.”

“Who cares? Its a destroyer! A destroyer Aero!” Sinn said. “Do you see how many guns this thing has? By executive order, we're keeping it, and I'm taking it for a spin at least once. Hey Myles, we've got a job tomorrow right?”

“Yes, a merchant escort mission… for a convoy of Argo-class freighters”

“Okay, then its decided.”

“Sinn…” Aero asked, “you're bringing a four hundred meter warship to escort a few eighty-meter delivery trucks?”

“Yes! And it will be awesome!”