Dante trudged into the empty battlesim room, only turning on half the lights from the little controlpanel near the doorway. She liked it best this way, the dim half-gloom where shadows fell and it seemed like dusk inside the large space. Sim pods were clustered at either end, a huge holograph table centered in between, where the space projection would be lit during actual battles. For now, she just made her way over to a nearby pod, climbed inside without shutting the door, and clicked on the individual screen.

Nothing like a little fighting to take her mind off of the world. Putting on the headset to hear the AI commands, she settled into the seat, gripping the controls with more strength than necessary. Dante could sense her own tension, her own frustration... she felt as if she were trying to strangle something in her hands as she held the controls so tightly. Damn Nathan, she repeated to herself. Damn Nathan, damn those boys, damn everyone for everything...

Nathan.

He wanted to see her scared, not coldly impassive. Even her tone was icily composed, no hint of fear bleeding through. And what did she mean, third? He was just returning the fucking thing she'd given him now because he hadn't been able to find her yesterday. She was acting like he'd given it back before.

Dante was in the far part of the room, standing next to one of the pods whose screen still flickered with the lights of a simgame. Holding her tightly by the arm was a man he'd never seen before, and as he turned to meet Don's gaze he wished he'd not seen him at all. Dante's ice was bitter. This one's chill came from something deeper and more twisted. It took him a full second for the shock to wear off and his memory to kick in at the sight of the white Charybdis armband.

Terrence. He was here, right here, and Dante didn't look happy to see him. Don stepped forward confidently, an appropriate glower on his features. He and Terrence were nearly the same size. If Terrence wanted Dante to toy with, he'd have to deal with him first.

Dante knew how this would end. The way it had before-- in blood.

The boy's eyes were on Dante, a little wide with disbelief at how little thought he took to striking her down, and Asmodeus wore a vicious grin when he kicked the boy in the stomach. The kid was fast, almost moving quickly enough to block, but not fast enough, and he wheezed as the air was forced out of him.

Hellishly rapid and graceful, Asmodeus brought his right hand up in a tight fist and caught him under the jaw as he fell forward, and then smashed his left into his eye, and the boy staggered. Gripping the boy's uniform shoulders, he drove his knee into his stomach twice before backhanding him and sending him to the floor next to Dante.

It couldn't happen like this, not again, not ever again. She wouldn't let him hurt anyone else. Wasn't it enough that he'd broken her so many times? Weren't her blood and tears good enough for him? As he backhanded her, beat the man who'd tried to save her bloody, his body crumpling beside hers, Dante felt a wave of rage like she'd never had before. Nathan pulled on her curls painfully, tugging her to her feet before releasing a backhand that knocked her head to the side. His breath was hot on her face as he taunted, and turning to stare at him, she lost the last remnants of violet softness in her gaze as she froze and shattered.

"Only from you." The words were barely out of her mouth as she kneed him in the stomach, making her hands into one fist that she smashed down onto the back of his head as he leaned over slightly before her, trying to catch his breath. An angry hiss escaped his throat, but she swung her fist against the side of his face, like she'd done to Wick so long ago, during that first fight when he'd come to her aid. Had come to save her... and here he was again, destroying her. "You're not going to break me again, Angel..." Her ton was mocking, icily taunting as she backhanded him once more before backing away, retreating toward where Don lay bleeding on the floor.

He started toward her - and stopped. His mind was clouding over faster than he could compensate, and he took an uncertain step back, a hand fluttering to his temple. Not now, not now...

Touch her again and know death.
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!? You'll die too!
So be it.

Asmodeus shuddered and fell to his knees as the braided angel with the silver eyes began to overpower him from within. Pain blossomed in his brain, and he gasped for breath as his nose began to bleed, choking him until he threw his head forward.

STOP! They'll...they'll kill us...
Let them. You deserve it.

He was interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open and glowered as he turned, releasing her wrist and pushing her away somewhat gently before facing the newcomer...and stared in surprise. The newcomer was the boy he'd just beaten unconscious...but unmarked and blinking in disbelief and fury at the body on the ground before focusing on him with murderous intent, his indigo eyes taking in the blood, the bruises on Dante's face.

His face grew darker as he took in the chaotic scene before him... Donovan crumpled bloody on the floor, that Terrence boy with a bleeding nose and twisted expression in his eyes, Dante's bruised face and bitterly angry gaze. Shaking his head slightly, black spikes falling across his forehead, Dominic took one last glance at his fallen brother before launching straight at Nathan.

The sudden force of his blow knocked them both to the ground, Nathan throwing out an arm, accidentally catching Dante across the chest before she could move. The three tumbled painfully, hitting the floor with three synchronized thumps, and pinning his brother's attacker to the ground, Dominic slammed the boy in the face. Indigo rage lit his eyes as he raised his fist for another strike, some dim part of his mind registering a frantic voice pleading as two small hands wrapped around his wrist. Turning his head to see Dante holding him weakly, she shook her head, tortured love and pain in those violet-silver eyes. "Please, don't, it won't do any good..."

"You caused this; he came to save you, Dante..." Disbelief, then icy anger enveloped her at his words. She didn't ask for his help. She didn't ask for him to involve himself in the battle between her and Nathan. And she'd tried to stop them, tried to keep him from getting hurt. Quicksilver eyes narrowing, she hissed back as she scrambled to her feet and advanced.

"I don't even know your names. I don't know you. He was the one who tried to interfere, and I kept Nathan from hurting him further. So don't blame me, whoever you are. Get your brother to the infirmary. I certainly don't need your assistance anymore." Dante was surprised at the vehemence in her voice, a bit taken aback and remorseful as she met his tortured gaze. It was his brother, for God's sake... and some measure of guilt stabbed at her. She was acting like Asmodeus.

Hurrying to the fallen man's side, she looked down at his bloodied face, long fiery curls obscuring her eyes until she glanced up to meet his brother's glance. He sighed and reached up to wipe a drop of blood from her cheek before returning his attention to his twin. "I'm Dominic, and this is Donovan. We need to get him to the infirmary. Can you help me carry him?"

He switched on the holo display and didn't bother with the headset for the moment; commanding was not his field. Absorbed in the expertise of his own maneuvers and flightcraft, Kevo let some time pass while letting his mind wander. He hadn't been able to meet Pallas in the sims that other night; Ryan had called them to bunk unusually early so to reorient their biological clocks to CS time. He had been hoping to see her during the past two days, but training had been more demanding than even he had expected; he could handle it with a calm mind as he could always handle anything, but... he'd just wanted to meet with the girl.

To her increased frustration, one of the displays was already lighted up. Someone had beaten her to it, and she would have to fight for her solitude. That suited her mood perfectly. Perhaps a few explosive sim deaths would convince whoever it was to get out and back to the Game Room where it was safe.

Slipping into the nearest pod before her intruder could see who she was, she dialed it closed and brought up her display as she dropped into the simulation the other player was already running. This was one of the normal pods, a Talon-class fighter, not the Scout or the Supply ship. The layout of the simulation made her smile. Lots of asteroids with stretches of open space between - a runner's board. Just her style.

Her opponent was already out there, already moving. A round had just been completed, and a new set of Formic fighters was spawning in the nebula, six of them, and her scanner brought them up into the three dimensional display as they swirled into existence. She considered diving in to help before she finished the other player off, but changed her mind and decided to watch instead. If this was some vet working off steam, it would save her the humiliation...and if it was some green who'd muddled through on luck so far, it would save her the trouble.

The other Talon was weaving back and forth as the buggers approached, dodging their long-range lasers. That was unnecessary; at this level, they lacked more than tickling force, and most of them would miss anyway. It more fuel efficient to sit there and take them out at a distance and ignore the light damage their lasers inflicted, to finish the round and move onto the more difficult scenarios...but she did the same thing herself, much to the amusement of the high rank holders. They knew the program backwards and forwards, knew how to abuse the system to the utmost degree. They seemed to forget that when it came down to it, in real battle, there weren't going to be any "levels"...and those lasers would do a lot more than tickle.

Pallas raised an eyebrow as the advancing Talon suddenly paused and reversed, the nose of the craft turning as it ran full speed in the opposite direction, back into the asteroid group it had come from. The buggers followed it, of course...and only two of them emerged from the other side as a series of explosions registered on her scanner. Amazingly, the green dot that indicated the other player was still lit, but the Talon didn't emerge from the growing cloud of debris. Maybe it was going to be a delayed explosion.

The pilot had obviously fired a cluster missile within the relatively confined space of the asteroid formation. It didn't alter the landscape at all - the asteroids were impervious - but it had effectively destroyed four of the six bugger ships. The little Talon fighter had probably been badly damaged, as well. Cluster missiles were really only viable at a distance. A little of her respect dwindled. It had been a daring move, but a stupid one.

Her proximity alert went off, but not in time to allow her to completely clear the cluster missile bearing down on her from behind. Her right engine was badly crippled, and her left was completely out of commission, and her Talon drifted slowly to the side as the other human fighter blasted past her, completely unharmed. Pallas stared, too shocked to be properly angry. The pilot must have used one of the asteroids to shield himself from the explosion that had killed the four buggers. What a pretty trap... she mused idly before her appropriate anger kicked in and she limped off to the side, desperately trying to gain a perspective on the enemy.

The last two buggers should have been easy for him to finish off, but Pallas had no intention of allowing him the chance. Her maneuverability was practically gone now, but her weapons systems were intact, and she launched a cluster missile at the remaining buggers as he came closer to them. They were still too stupid at this level to dodge well, and the resulting flash from the explosion left spots in her vision. The other Talon sheared away, but she was pleased to see that most of his weapons array was fused.

He could move, and she could fire, but they were at an effective stalemate. Pallas sat back in the seat and stared. Not a vet. No vet would have tried anything that cheeky and then left her for dead. But one hell of a green, to pull off a stunt like what he'd done with the cluster missle and the asteroid.

She dropped out of the simulation and raised the pod roof. She wasn't sure whether to be angry or not. She had wanted the room for herself...but the other pilot had been here first. He had attacked her, but she had gotten lazy and let him, not noticing when he slipped out of the debris cloud and snuck up behind her.

The other fighter- the one being flown by the girl- was hovering nearly stationary outside the field of asteroids, seeming to follow him in his maneuvers. As Kevo wound his Talon deftly around debris and bugger lasers alike, he eased back the slightest sense of annoyance; he did not like being watched, even less did he enjoy being evaluated. Analyzation was his expertise; moreover, he knew exactly who he was and what his skills merited; he did not need any evaluator deciding that for him. Not even the Goddess of the Mind. He considered turning on the headset now, to ask her to team with him... but inches away from reaching for it, Kevo's hand retreated and he grasped it back onto his controls. The asteroid field was a risky terrain; it gave advantages that shut themselves up in the face of its disadvantages. Given this and still, he could use it. He was of the hivemind, he knew well that unional maneuvering was limited when the units needed individual attention just to avoid collision in fields like this one. He could use this fact against them; it was one benefit derived by not being an actual Formic. And so when he'd lured the computer buggers into the rocks, he didn't risk the deflection of his own lasers harming his Talon; he didn't fire at all and simply wove madly about the terrain, flying headlong into the faces of asteroids and veering away at the last possible moment so that the buggers following so close at his tail would all crash themselves into their sim-death one by one. And this they did. All of the six but two.

The gleam in Kevo's eyes blazened in a mimicry of Mika-like mischief as he suddenly remembered Pallas's Talon still stagnantly watching over his. The throes of his flight had put him at an angle that was not likely to be in her view; and so with this in mind and missiles on hand, he abandoned the last two buggers and sped in her direction. An array of video-induced explosion and Pallas's crippled fighter floated out of Kevo's view. Then he turned back to deal with the remaining bugs, putting his mind back into its characterisitc battle focus. So what if embarrassing the girl in the way that he just did was not likely to put him in her favor? They were soldiers preparing for war... and she could do with some lowering of ego. She could show some respect.

Kevo mentally shook himself after this thought. Damn. Maybe there was such a thing as being a little too Jayde. Suddenly-

Flash.

"Aw, shit."

Well... she paid back, Kevo thought as he tried to fire retaliation at Pallas's Talon and found that he couldn't. The round cancelled; the girl was immobile and his arms were useless. In reality, this would not be a complete victory unless Kevo came to the other pilot's aid and allowed her to fly back to base in his own Talon... and as if to punctuate this thought, Pallas stepped out of her pod to discover for herself who her unseen rival/ally turned out to be. She tapped a greeting onto the opaque surface of his pod and Kevo, looking out at her through the dark plastic that was not quite so opaque from the inside, felt the excitement of the sim edge away into a calm sort of reverie.

She was so beautiful.

Kevo Jayde. Kevo Jayde was the pilot she'd just unforgivably allowed to cripple her. He'd only been here three days, and her negligence had let him reduce her to a dishonorable stalemate. Ashamed anger brought color to her cheeks, but she refused to give it outlet.

And then he smiled at her.

It was just an echo, and her own lips tugged into a similar quarter-smile in response, despite her wish to remain blank. "Yes," she said in response to his ironic statement, but didn't trust herself to speak further. It was one thing to enjoy fluid teamwork in harmony against the buggers, and another to be beaten senseless. He'd thought her disabled, and that was the only reason she'd survived long enough to destroy his weapons array. If he'd been more practiced, she would have completely lost, and that stung her pride...but...

But it was Kevo who'd nearly beaten her, and that took a little of the sting away even as it sharpened her shame...but could she really maintain an interest in someone who couldn't defeat her?

The thought angered her because she didn't want to think about that, and because it was true.

The ghost of a smile returned to Kevo's lips and the intenstiy of his whisper lit into the darkness of the room.

That smile was still on his lips, somewhere between intelligent admiration and infuriating taunt, but she gave no more ground. An unaccustomed blush was creeping into her cheeks, turning them a delicate dusky rose, but she chose to ignore it, leaving her gaze locked with his.

The blush rose further up her cheeks, but still the girl retained that stubborn challenge within the green of her eyes. Kevo contemplated on how to break that challenge, but then decided he didn't want it broken at all... His hand rose to touch Pallas's cheek and again the images of the island and the Pacific flirted into his mind. "Prove to me that you deserve to game in the sims and maybe I won't be so easy on you next time, lady..."

A loud announcement echoed in over the loudspeaker, and she almost jumped. "Jaydes! You know when it's time for practice, your asses better be at the Battle Room in three minutes or else you're going to be doing bombs for an hour! This is your captain, says move!" She struggled to get her surprise under control, but her eyes were still far too wide when he pulled back, his finger running over her lips as if memorizing the texture. He was still too close for her to think clearly, and it took her a moment to decipher his question, to apply the meaning to the syllables he spoke in the same low, intense manner he'd insulted her with.

"If I can't stay, will you meet me here tomorrow?"

The little taste of pleading in his voice made her eyes soften despite herself, and she nodded twice before she regained control. He gave her a hint of a smile and then left the room at a jog.

Pallas stared at the place where he'd been for a moment before placing a hand on the smooth plastic carapace of the simulator pod he'd been in. The display was fading as it shut itself off. The boy had completely circumvented her guard, attacked her when she wasn't expecting it and darted away entirely unscathed...and the simulator battle hadn't been much better. Chagrin and excitement warred for supremacy, but eventually it was masked by a sort of pleased, defiant confusion. Why did he do that? No one had ever kissed her before. What made him so sure she wouldn't strike him or yell at him or any of the other inexplicable things she'd seen Swede and her other friends do more than once?

Nope, wouldn't have noticed at all. Her turquoise eyes were narrowed, trained on the display screen before her. Her hands were wrapped tightly around the pod controls, moving with deft, practiced motions as she destroyed any AI fighter ballsy enough to attack her. Her blonde-red spiked hair fell across her face, obstructing her view for a moment as she huffed and cursed wildly in accented irritation.

She was oblivious to the world, even as the door to the battlesim room opened.

"Kick harder," he mused, "and maybe you'll be able break the damn thing. The way you fly and fire, that's the closest you're ever gonna get to killing any buggers, belladonna."

Tony walked up beside her and for long moments simply stared her in her face, so insanely lovely in this furous state. He took her hands and laid them out on the controls under his own. "Better watch out. Maybe I'll teach you like I did last time."

She hated being laughed at, hated this Jayde and his kind. It didn't matter if he thought he was hot shit, all handsome and arrogant and as much a bastard as she was bitch. It didn't matter if she'd won, because the smooth insulting tone of his voice stabbed at her already testy mood, and it didn't matter because Swede just didn't like anyone in the entire fucking world. Especially not now.

And he had his hands on hers, dark eyes staring into hers intently, and she scowled, blowing away the spikes that had fallen into her eyes when she'd thrown her little temper tantrum. A desire to kick him now instead was overriden by the biting, malicious need to get at least a bit of her self-respect back after being blown away... so with a smirk, Swede twisted away from Tony further and gave him a look that was usually enough to tell whoever annoyed her at the time just what she thought of his ilk.

Slowly Tony turned to face her again, leaning back on the pod and saying nothing. He watched her, watched her violent disdain for him, and he smiled. This bitch must figure herself to be something special indeed. Didn't matter. He would break her down, and if that took too long... well, it was early. Hardly any other people around.

"You seem to be in an especially hoish mood today. Care to say what's the matter?"

And care to watch me pretend to give a shit if you actually tell me? Goddamn, none of your problems could be half the shit of what my family has to go through. Suck it the fuck up, shut up and suck me. Bitch.

While she strongly disliked anyone as cocky as her, the upfront manner of Tony's comment made her smile despite herself. Unusually hoish today. Didn't he know she was always like that? Maybe he'd leave her alone if she got too quick for him to follow. Maybe not. Oh well; she could always kick him or something as a last resort.

"Bitch, don't even pretend to give a shit. You don't know a fucking thing."

Bryo had ordered that no harm would be caused to Kitty Quistin by Jayde hands... Tony didn't get it; he hated it more than any of his brothers possibly could. But Bryo had seniority. And by the code of Jayde, seniority was at all times obeyed. So Kat was left alone, and for the time being, so was Mode. And what the hell was Tony supposed to do while someone figured out a plan; sit in his cell and knit? He stared into Swede's angry face, felt his body nailing hers futilely to the wall. His hands were moving, touching her body in possessive caresses... shit, he hadn't even noticed. All he knew was that he had put this girl into a state of temporary "Kat"... and if everything was against him giving the original what she deserved, then nothing would stop him from having his way with this one.

"I don't care if you want this," he growled lowly from his lips at her neck, his hands tugging her shirt roughly open.

No, that probably wasn't an accurate enough description. Angry, perhaps. Ragingly angry. Livid. Incensed. Beyond just mere mortal rage. No one had ever dared to touch her like this. No one had ever dared to cross the line from everyday irritation to true hate. No one had ever dared to really, really make her angry. Only once before had she felt like this, that ill-fated day she walked into Dante's quarters to find her best friend nearly beaten to death. At that moment, she could have killed Nathan Terrence and spat on his remains.

What Tony Jayde was doing was even worse, and Swede didn't bother to hold in her wrath.

"Italeen foocker!" He had her shoved against the wall, tearing at her clothes, but Swede pushed away with a mighty shove of her arms, screaming insanely at him. Those turquoise eyes saw only red as she kicked out, catching him in the knee, and it was with murderous glee that she watched him buckle slightly as she gave him a punch in the face, one with a strength to rival that with which she'd hit Nathan once.

He wasn't afraid to hit her back, either, and her vision swam for a moment as he backhanded her viciously. But, too angry to care, Swede kicked him again, this time in the side of his chest as she spit full-out into his face and hissed with accented rage. "I'll keel yoo, mudderfoocker, I'll foockeeng keel yoo!"

She felt her trembles abating as she slipped into the pod and gripped the controls. She sat there, staring at the blank screen for a few minutes before actually starting it up. She paused as the menus came up for the missions.. the level.. scout? maybe fighter?... She contemplated doing the fighter, so she wouldn't get out of practice, but she liked flying the scout more. More agile, quicker, didn't have the same heavy weapons or armor, but that's what made it interesting. She pulled up the scout and started at level 55. 55 was a bit easy, but she didn't feel like trying to beat the upper levels right now, those took too much concentration, she wanted to relax.

She didn't play through the levels nearly agressively as she had when she'd played for Sasha, or when she was really practicing. The levels took a little longer to complete at the eased up pace, but overall she completed the mission a bit more gracefully and with less damage to her ship in the end...but then again, in a battle she couldn't just take her time.

Somewhere around level 70 she unconciously slipped into what could probably only be described as a trance, when her hands moved over the controls without her actually thinking about it. At 93 her ship was destroyed and her screen went blank. Helen started climbing out of the pod and froze as she saw another figure walking across the room. It was a little dark so she couldn't exactly tell if it was a vet or a veg like herself, but she stood there for a moment as the person climbed into the pod. After a minute or so no light came from the pod. They're not even going to play? If they were, the screen would have lit up by now.. something must be wrong

This was not, and Wick was two shades away from losing her mind.

She pressed the release for the simpod door and kicked it out fast enough to knock Helen sprawling and leapt out. Any lingering effects from her fight with Mode were gone or well-masked by her emotion, and she didn't even pause to look at the girl before she bolted from the room.

This was getting out of hand. He'd just wanted to talk sense into her; was that so much to ask? He'd tried to leave it alone, countless times, but she brought it up every day in class, and the teacher was no better. He was aware of the rivalry between his students (and so was the rest of the class), but he always seemed to gear it so Callenstrom came out on top, and it was beginning to affect his concentration. It took longer for him to focus on his studying and his training. Instructors who had never criticized him before were beginning to single him out for discipline, and he couldn't blame them. He wasn't paying attention. He couldn't. It was like a sickness, slowly infecting his entire life.

All he wanted was for it to stop.

Maybe he shouldn't have bothered trying. If she hadn't known before how miserable he was, she surely knew now, and she'd use that against him as well. Callenstrom had to be dedicating a considerable amount of her time to his humiliation each day; what had he done to deserve that? Called her out in class once? She got him back the next day. It should have been even. That should have ended it...but she kept picking, like this was a game that it was impossible for him to win. Ignoring her did no good. Talking to her did no good. What did that leave?

Things couldn't go on this way. Maybe he could talk to his AIT leader and consider a transfer. They were still in relatively basic courses; surely there was some other field the IF could use him in. He had no special love for the demolitions AIT. One was just as good as another.

He left the pod and walked towards the door when a shape he recognized - a very large shape - walked past. He froze as he heard the bootsteps stop and reverse, and then the shape filled the doorway nearly to capacity and stood glowering at him with an expression that left little doubt as to the purpose of his visit. Trevor felt his knees weaken a little, but he stood erect, his face grim.

Maybe he was wrong.

When he and Wick had arrived at Command School what seemed like countless years ago, he had been confident. After all, what did he have to worry about? Nathan had been iced, Dante was too withdrawn to care, and there was nothing to stand in their way. That pleasant dream had quickly been shattered, however, and Jor was struggling valiantly to reassemble its pieces. Nothing at all had gone the way he had hoped when they had first stepped off the shuttle onto this asteroid, and the constant fear of losing Wick was enough to drive him to extreme measures to ensure their safety. No sacrifice was too much. Bereft of his comfortable arrogance and satisfied security, even now after three years of relative safety, Jor just wanted to take any threats to his love and grind them into the dirt before moving on with the difficult task of forging something akin to peace with Wick.

But now, this man Daniels was threatening that peace, and it did not please Jor. He knew all these battles were the result of Wick's scheming or toying around. He knew, yet he didn't care, because long ago he'd learned to accept her games. It didn't occur to him to lay blame on Wick. Causing trouble was just something she did, and getting her out of those messes was just something he did. But Jor was rapidly becoming tired of having to extricate his love from these little tangles, and feelings of jealousy and fear that he might lose her did nothing ti improve his temper. It made him angry, and violent, and while a small part of him enjoyed being her overprotective guard, the rest of him was fed up with everyone and everything that involved himself or Wick.

Unfortunately for Daniels, Jor had just found himself an outlet for that rage.

He didn't wait for the man's reaction; just grabbed the front of Daniels' uniform and shoved him forcibly against the wall, the thin restraints of his dangerous anger loosening with each blow. Jor imagined the bruises on Wick's arm, and slammed Daniels in the face with a tight fist, drove his knee into the other man's stomach, cocked his elbow straight into his temple. He forgot why he was even fighting in the first place; just kept smiling and striking without any forethought or worry. Only when Daniels had collapsed on the floor did a rather belated alarm sound in Jor's head, and he lost his grin, his eyes muting back to jade as he realized what he had done.

I'm just a pawn too, if she can make me do this.

It was a disquieting thought, and he let it slip from his mind quickly, so that he wouldn't be forced to contemplate it further. A slight hint of disgust flickered across his face, and Jor tried to slow his breathing, tried to untense his muscles and unclench his fists as he stood over Daniels and glared, more at himself than at his victim. Wick. All for Wick. Was this really worth it?

Of course.