As Ruth walked into the Slipstream BRAVE, she kept a hand to her mouth, face pale. Her other hand still held the script in front of her, even though the screen had long since turned off. Her grip made clumsy by shock, she stuffed the device back into her pocket.

Her mind raced.

There was no way. Dragan was trying to enter the Dawn Contest? Why? He definitely had no interest in becoming Supreme, and -- and there was no way, anyway, even if he did. He wouldn't betray Skipper like that. They'd all fought to take down the Supreme, not take his place. That hadn't been what it was about. Never. Was this even real? Maybe someone else was using his face and name. But this meant that Dragan Hadrien was still alive. She'd started to doubt. But if it was fake, he could still be dead. But if it was real, it didn't make any sense. But…

Ruth planted a hand against the wall of the hallway to steady herself, heavy and ragged breathing stabbing at her lungs. It had been a long time since she'd had an attack like this. For a good minute, she remained there, hoping against hope that none of her crew would walk past and see this. This wasn't the kind of image she wanted to convey.

Finally, the panic subsided, and Ruth could stand up straight. The issue… the issue wasn't what Dragan was or wasn't doing, not yet. She had to keep that in mind. For now, the issue was just what she needed to do next.

Bruno had wanted to meet up and pursue Dragan together, but that wasn't realistic. Even if it was really him, the locations Inner Melee participants were assigned to weren't available to the public in advance -- just to prevent this kind of pursuit. They couldn't very well check all of them, either -- there wasn't nearly enough time to zip all over the galaxy like that.

Besides, even leaving concerns like that aside, she couldn't just run off like that. She had people to look after, a business to run. She wasn't as free as she'd been back then.

Sleep on it, she told herself. You can make a decision once you've had time to make a decision.

Steeling herself, she pushed off the wall and strode into the common area, hoping that her face wouldn't give away her distress.

The Slipstream BRAVE was a fair bit larger than most of the ships Skipper had ever managed to get them. The common area had some couches, a videograph on the wall, a ping-pong table, along with a hologram projector built into the floor if they needed to run a briefing. Even with all that, there was room to spare -- room that was currently being taken up by storage boxes lining one wall.

Ruth raised an eyebrow as she saw that their pilot, Ellis Maine, was not using those boxes for their intended purpose. The young man -- a couple of years younger than Ruth -- was sitting atop one of the higher piles, his legs swinging in the air as he occupied himself with some game on his script. The young man had shaggy brown hair barely restrained by a hairclip, his baggy red sweater and black skirt looking like they'd never seen an iron in the entirety of their existence. Anything that wasn't the cockpit or a simulation of one held little interest for him.

"Maine," Ruth snapped as she walked past. "Get down from there."

Without looking at her, he offered a lazy salute. "You got it, Miss Road," he mumbled, gaze still fixed on his script as he hopped down to the carpeted floor. As a cheery litany of victory music was emitted from the device, he finally looked up at her -- and immediately frowned. "You okay?"

Damnit. Maine had seen through her. You'd think the kid was a Cogitant if not for his brown eyes.

"Fine," Ruth lied. "Just got back from negotiating with Allizon -- she'll be passing us some more work before long."

Maine's eyes flicked back to his game. "Cool," he mumbled, already lost in the screen.

Cool? Ruth rolled her eyes as she continued her walk to her personal quarters. She guessed it was cool that they might actually make a profit this month, even if it wasn't as interesting to everyone else. Was she the only one around here who worried about these things?

Alice Pirouette, one of their heavy-hitters, was pacing across the center of the room as Ruth approached. The young Scurrant woman's pink hair and pink eyes might have been attention-grabbing if not for the curling horns, like those of a ram, that extended down from her temples. Those were a little overshadowing. One hand plunged into the pocket of her leather jacket, she nodded to Ruth as she passed.

She was on her script as well -- although she was calling someone, not playing a game. Ruth caught a snippet of it as she walked past: it was a familiar conversation.

"Listen," Alice -- or as she preferred to be called in the field, Alice☆Alice -- said sternly to whatever unfortunate was on the other end of the phone. "That's bullshi -- sorry, no, I just don't think you understand the angle I'm going for with this. Haven't you heard of Tai Nigatsu? It's like what she does. How is it different? You can just censor that stuff!" She visibly gritted her teeth together as the other party spoke. "Have you even watched the reel I sent you guys? I bet you haven't even watched it. Wow. Wow, that's very disappointing for a company with your reputation. Is there someone more senior I could speak to, or…"

Poor Alice☆Alice had been trying to get some weird documentary series about mercenary life off the ground for a while now. Seemed she wasn't having any more success with this production company either. Ruth had to admire her tenacity, if nothing else.

Near the door, as if on guard, stood Roman Hitch. His arms were crossed and his gaze -- beneath the military helmet he wore on his shaved head -- was hard. Ruth hadn't seen this guy smile once since he'd joined their crew three months ago. She expected the day she did would be the same that hell froze over.

"Mr. Hitch," she nodded professionally as she passed him. He just grunted in response.

A hallway from the common area led to their individual crew quarters -- again, bigger than they'd been in most of the previous Slipstreams. More room for absence. Ruth opened the door to her room and closed it behind her, letting out the shuddering breath she'd been keeping deep inside.

Dragan. Alive. If it was him. It had to be him. It couldn't be. Could she really sleep on that? What if the chance was gone by the time she woke up? She'd have messed up. She'd have messed up again. She'd have gotten cocky. Again.

It was like the last two years had been stripped away from her. It was like she was the same as she'd been back then, bleeding down on the ground, having given up on thinking for herself. Back on that UAP ship, wondering why her friend had left. Fearing the worst.

She couldn't do this -- she couldn't get lost in her own head. Bruno would be waiting for a response. She couldn't just sleep on it.

Ruth threw herself down onto her bed, clutching her temples as she tried to navigate through that labyrinth of fear -- when there was a gentle knock at the door.

"Yo, Ruth," Rex's voice was muffled by door and mask both. "You good? Ellis said you seemed a little funky."

The kid was a damned snitch. "I'm fine," she called back -- but from the hoarseness in her tone, it was obvious that wasn't true.

At least Rex pretended he believed her. "Cool," he said, without missing a beat. "Mind if I come in? Got some stuff we gotta talk about."

With a sigh, Ruth pulled herself up off the bed, running her hands through her hair in a vain attempt to quell the chaos that falling down had wrought. "Sure," she replied after a moment, accepting the futility. "Come on in, I guess."

The doors slid open, and Rex Restorossi -- her business partner, co-founder of Restorossi and Road -- poked his head inside. If the face behind that mask had changed any in the two years since they'd met at the Final Church Truemeet, Ruth wouldn't have been able to tell. She'd never seen him without it, after all.

Coming from Abra-Facade, Rex always wore a mask -- he considered that his 'real' face. Swapping those masks out was just like changing his expression, and so today he was wearing a new helmet, bright red with a circular visor like a porthole in the center. A digital exclamation mark blinked in the center of the circle, the closest thing to eyes Rex's current visage had.

The door slid shut behind him.

"I've been talking to some of the mechanics," Rex said casually, offering a hand up in a casual wave. "They're thinking that even if we end up having to settle for the XLD fuel, there's a converter they can rig up that'll --"

"Bruno found Dragan," Ruth said quietly.

Rex's hand paused awkwardly in midair, slowly lowering down until it rested by his side. "...your old friend Bruno?"

"That's the only Bruno I know," Ruth nodded.

For a good while, Rex didn't say anything else. He just stood there, discomfort radiating from his posture, that red '!' blinking idly in the center of his face. It was obvious why. More than once Rex had accompanied her on one of the wild goose chases Bruno had called them out for, and so he had a pretty good grasp of the situation when it came to Dragan Hadrien.

So, seeing her like this -- so somber -- and hearing that Dragan had been 'found'... the conclusion he'd come to is obvious. No wonder this situation seemed so excruciating for him.

Ruth decided to put him out of his misery. "He's not dead," she said -- smirking ruefully despite everything.

"Oh. Oh!" Rex's face was concealed as ever, but Ruth could hear the smile in his voice. "Well, that's great! Right?"

With a sigh, Ruth ran a hand over her face. "He's entering the Dawn Contest."

"Oh." And just like that, the smile was gone. "That's, uh…"

"It's a mess." Ruth threw up her hand in some vague and indecipherable gesture before rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I don't… I have no idea what's going on. Whether it's even true or what… argh…"

Rex silently stepped over to the chair in the corner of the room and sat down, leaning forward, his gloved hands clasped together. "Well, what does Bruno say?"

No doubt he already had an idea, but Ruth told him anyway. "He wants to meet up," she said. "Go after him, that kinda thing. I don't even know how we'd do that, but…"

"Do you want to do that?" Rex asked calmly.

Ruth shook her head. "It's not even about that. I -- we can't. There's stuff we need to do. We can't just go running around on an -- an adventure or whatever."

It was Rex's turn to sigh -- but through the mask, the noise was distorted until it could barely be recognised.

"If it's what you want," he said. "Then I'll make it happen."

"Don't say that," Ruth said, looking away. "Just getting to where Bruno is on such short notice, and then doing whatever plan he's put together to find out Dragan's location… it'll cost us a fortune. We can't."

"You keep saying we can't," Rex observed. "But you won't say whether or not you want to."

The room grew quiet. For a long time, Ruth just sat there, the words she wanted to say hovering on the edges of her lips. Finally, though, she had no choice but to let them escape.

"I do. I do want to find him. I want to know what's going on. He's…" she sniffed. "He's my friend."

And again, when Rex spoke, she could hear that damned grin of his in his voice. "Then we'll figure it out. Hey -- we make money so we can spend it, right?"

"Right…" Ruth rolled her eyes at the line she'd heard so many times already.

"Besides," Rex tapped his finger against his visor -- his nose was obviously out of reach. "I'm a pretty savvy businessman, as you well know. I'm sure I can figure out a way to turn a profit from this."

Ruth snorted, despite the tension still churning in her stomach.

There was something about Rex, the way he could put on the faux-greed like that, that put people at ease. People expected those in their line of work to be money grubbing, she supposed, and Rex just gave them what they wanted. A businessman uninterested in business would be far more unsettling -- even if that was closer to the real him.

They didn't talk about the past. They didn't concern themselves with it. That was how they found something close to stability in this crazy world.

And now, Ruth thought, they were just throwing all of that away. A shiver went down her spine.

"You know…" she muttered, leaning back on the bed as she ran a finger along her temple. "You know what worries me even more?"

Rex cocked his head, and the '!' on his mask switched to a '?'. "What's that?"

"After everything that happened, I really did try to lay low for a while -- don't laugh, I did. Hiding out in Final Church territory, joining up with you… hell, I even changed my last name, just to be safe. Doesn't look like Dragan's done any of that. You get me?"

"Ah."

Ruth lay back fully, staring up at the familiar ceiling. "If Bruno noticed him…" she said. "Who else did?"

The world was on fire.

The reason why it was on fire was simple enough. In the chaotic brawl that constituted an Outer Melee, a pyrokineticist had clashed with an oil manipulator. Things had escalated naturally from there, flames quickly consuming the wooden temple that had been the site of the battle.

This place, where two-hundred hopeful warriors had come together to discern who among them was strongest, was a recreation of a real temple that existed far beneath the depths of Azum-Ha. The efforts taken by the Organizational Committee -- a combination of respected military figures and Body officials -- to replicate the site had truly been exacting. It was as close to 1:1 as a counterfeit could get.

But the reason they'd elected to make this the arena for an Outer Melee? There was no great purpose, no reason this specific environment would draw out more strength from the fighters. They'd simply decided this would be an interesting locale for people to kill each other in.

Daisuke Ono supposed it did make for quite the spectacle.

Now, it was like the temple itself was composed of flames. Great walls of fire surrounded him on all sides, and the grand statue of the Secret Chief that resided in the center of the main hall was quickly melting. Daisuke paid no mind to any of that, though, even as the flames licked at his body and the molten metal scorched at his feet.

From pain came power, after all. That was his Devil's Mantra.

Daisuke growled as he looked out into the haze of flames all around, his heavy armour rattling as he adjusted his weight. He was a massive Pugnant, nearly eight feet tall, and almost all of his body was wrapped in thick metal armour. If not for his infusion, though, even that would have surely melted away by now. This had long since ceased to be a temperature at which normal human beings could survive.

The only part of his body Daisuke's armour didn't cover was his face -- that was concealed instead by a leering demon mask, his golden pupils glaring from beneath it. Searching for his final enemy.

Six hours ago, there had been two-hundred fighters here. Now there were but two.

Grunting with effort, Daisuke lifted his massive nodachi and roared out into the flames: "Show yourself! Show yourself, coward!"

For a moment, there was no reply save for the growling of the inferno. There was a crash as the Secret Chief's head, finally losing integrity, collapsed down to the floor. Only then did Daisuke's adversary reply.

"I'd advise you to surrender now," the swordsman said calmly as he stepped out of the fire.

He wore a flowing white war-robe, somehow unmarred by the flames around him or the soot raining down. Beneath that, a red shirt and a black tie, utterly contrasting the traditional attire above. This was a man who defied chronology. He kept one arm tucked behind his back, like a traditional fencer -- while from his other hand, palm extended out to the side, a burning blade of white light blazed.

One half of the man's face glared at Daisuke -- the expression calm, stern, rigid but still human. The other half of the man's face was taken up by a pure white mask, a jet-black artificial eye staring out from it. The face of a doll, lacking even colour. Inhuman. Eerie.

Special Officer Atoy Muzazi. The supreme commander of the Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir. The one they called the Full Moon.

"Surrender?" Daisuke hissed, pointing his sword at the incoming opponent. "After all this? Is that a joke?"

Crimson Aether crackled menacingly around the huge man -- but if Atoy Muzazi was intimidated by the display, he did not show it. He simply nodded calmly as Daisuke addressed him.

"Indeed," he said seriously. "You should have been provided with something called Caravan before the Outer Melee began. It's attached to your wrist like a watch. Tap at the face three times and it will accept your surrender immediately."

Daisuke narrowed his eyes. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you will die," Atoy Muzazi said, his expression unchanging. "Here and now."

Daisuke Ono chuckled.

Daisuke Ono laughed.

Daisuke Ono guffawed.

Daisuke Ono raged.

"Don't get cocky, you son of a bitch!" he bellowed, crossing the distance between himself and Muzazi in a second, his nodachi crashing down like a meteor.

But Atoy Muzazi was ready for him.

Their blades clashed in that instant, so many times that counting would have been impossible, a contest of strength that Daisuke narrowly won. He seized Muzazi's sword-arm by the wrist -- the blade vanishing as he applied pressure to the limb -- and brought the nodachi down towards his head. Against an ordinary opponent, that would have been it.

It went without saying that Atoy Muzazi was not an ordinary opponent.

Right before the blade would have struck Muzazi, he pulled his other hand out from behind his back -- and five smaller blades of light burst out from his fingers, like claws. Daisuke's sword was heavy, beloved by gravity as it was pulled down towards its target's skull, but Muzazi's five swords held no weight at all. It was the simplest thing for him to thrust them forwards, pierce through Daisuke's armour, and skewer his body.

Daisuke hesitated as that sharp pain stabbed into him. Muzazi did not miss that opportunity. Aided by those thrusters of his, he slammed his foot into Daisuke's side, breaking the giant's grip and launching Muzazi up into the burning rafters. There, on a foothold that was surely not long for this world, he perched and observed his opponent.

His eyes -- one grey, one black -- were fixed on the five smoking holes he had left in Daisuke's armour.

"My aim was exact," he declared with all the confidence in the world. "I know for a fact I pierced your lungs just now. It should be impossible for you to move, let alone fight. Surrender now and they may be able to save you."

Daisuke Ono's hand shook as he pressed it against the burning marks. He chuckled again -- a wet, bloody chuckle, but a genuine one all the same. That dull golden gaze turned upwards to look at Muzazi once more.

"Don't underestimate me, you piece of crap…" he muttered, a joyless grin spreading out beneath his mask. "...you don't know what my power is, huh?"

"I expect you'll tell me. You seem the type."

"Devil's Mantra!" Daisuke Ono roared, throwing his arms wide as if asserting his existence to the very world. His Aether exploded around him like a tempest, furiously crackling through the air. "The more I get hurt, the more powerful I become! When I got here, I was at the peak of human potential! You just made me a damn titan! Now die, you little shit!"

Daisuke kicked off the ground, shattering the fragile wood beneath him as he leapt up towards Muzazi. The Full Moon made no move to dodge or deflect. He just crouched there as Daisuke came, quietly considering the man's words.

"First a man, then a titan, you say?" he said, rubbing his chin. "I see. In that case…"

Atoy Muzazi vanished.

Daisuke had no time to see what had happened. He had no time to comprehend what had happened. There wasn’t even time to feel pain. But that was perfectly natural. After all, he had been stabbed right through the back.

“...you may perish a god,” Muzazi said.

Daisuke Ono collapsed dead to the floor without word or spectacle. Just another man, too easily slain -- and just another corpse, too easily burnt.