Note: Read NITO bots: Infection first, or you'll be lost

"It’s been… four months? No, it's been shorter." Hotaka hadn’t thought about it for a long time. He tried to shake his head free of the cobwebs. "Three, three sounds more like it. Three months since our team was cut by one third. Might as well be three years." It sure felt like that much time had passed.

"Anyway, it’s been hard on us, extremely hard. The Infection, the fighting, the losses, it’s all a strain on the mind, everyone’s mind. I’ve been affected pretty badly myself, but compared to the others, especially Midori, I’m the picture of health.

"The endorphins, they’re the main cause of it. We can take pills to feel better, but it only works for a little while. They’ve made a new shot that’s supposed to kill the endorphins, but we have to take it before we go in the Nitos, and it makes them feel really slow, unresponsive."

Earl gave Hotaka a thumb’s up, silently encouraging him.

But Hotaka was fresh out of material. His thoughts ran like melting butter and wouldn’t stay together.

When he didn’t speak for a moment, Earl asked, "Something wrong? You’re doing all right."

With a shrug, Hotaka said, "I can’t think of anything else to say."

"Hmm, I see." The reporter put a hand on his chin, and tapped his cheek. "Perhaps I could help by bringing up a few subjects."

Hotaka made a wan smile, despite his glum mood. "Sorry, Earl. I know I’m being a bit drab."

"No, no, you’re doing just fine," Earl insisted.

"I… I can’t do this anymore." Hotaka waved a dismissing hand at the floating camera, gently pushing it away.

"Well, we got enough tape for today." Earl Benningway, Nito Squadron’s unofficial reporter grabbed the remote camera, wiping the fingerprints and oil off the lens. So far, he had been the only one to get exclusive interviews with Hotaka, and that made the news station he represented ecstatic. The middle-aged reporter seemed to have a more sophisticated appearance each time they met.

If anything though, Hotaka’s appearance had been getting progressively worst. He had neglected his hair for the longest time, and it tickled his cheeks as rose and plodded to the window, looking outside to Earth.

A recent transfer had brought Nito Squadron to humanity’s birthplace, where cities rose high and trees were far and few between. Air filters kept the atmosphere from deteriorating any further, and wildlife was cornered into a few reserves.

Hotaka could not help but be impressed with the size of the building he was in, the office section of the recently re-named Human Alliance building. Here, paper pushers worked to keep almost every aspect of the H.A running in tune.

Several hundred meters underground was the real brain of the operation, where Emperor Schwartz was spending nearly all of his waking hours. Hotaka had only been down there once or twice, usually to be led by stiff guards to a briefing or conference.

Looking down from a towering loft, Hotaka saw the street below shift and undulate. People, thousands of them, were before the entrance of the building. Many were chanting a variety of scathing phrases, and those that weren’t had them on picket signs and posters. An extreme few were doing destructive or defacing work on the building. Police, in full riot-control armor and visibly displaying stun rods, made sure this crowd didn't get any further out of hand.

The crowd in question was an anti-war group. They had been watching the news, filled with more and more violence every day. The casualties were well into the millions, and it seemed everyone had been affected by the Galactic War and it's strict sanctions on civilians

The protestors were not just demonstrating against the war however. Some didn’t like the seemingly unfair amount of participation by Nito Squadron.

Hotaka had to agree, his team was in a constant scramble, be it to support a convoy of retreating ships, or reinforcing the frontline, or staging a counter attack on a Virus fleet. At least five times a week, they were in their Nitos. Sometimes, they’d even go from one mission to another without a rest. It all depended on how they were feeling. Usually Hotaka felt good enough to fight ten fleets of Viruses. He could regenerate whatever he lost, and the pain would subside to nothing.

But when he came out of the cockpit, the fatigue and pain caught up to him, and he felt like he couldn’t take another step. Then, after a few hours, he would get better, like waking up healthy after a bad cold.

However, the withdrawal symptoms would come with a vengeance after only two or three days without using the Nito. The list started at cramps, weakness, and fatigue, and ended with vomiting, fever, and the most undesirable of them all, diarrhea.

Down on the street, one person had a rather unglamorous picture blown up to one meter square on a poster. It featured Hotaka, ragged and dirty, barley able to stand after he climbed out of his Nito. "Free the pilots," was the caption under it.

With a look of distaste, Hotaka turned around sharply and walked away from the window. "Idiots," he said to himself. They have no idea what it’s like out there. All they have is the news. Curling a hand into a fist, Hotaka thought bitterly, They don’t know just how bad the Infection had gotten.

"Hotaka?" Earl asked expectantly. "You want to try again or should we call it a day?"

"I’m done," Hotaka confirmed. He was getting a headache already, and felt like taking a nap. But if he did, it would surely be interrupted by a call for action, and he preferred naps that lasted longer than ten minutes.

Now, perhaps, he should return to the Red Moon, where his team waited. To get there though, he needed a ride. With a quick, practiced snap, he unhooked the transmitter clipped to his belt and called up a transport. "This is Motishi, I need a ride to Red Moon."

"Roger that, Major. Where should we meet you, sir?"

"Roof of HQ."

"We’ll be there in five minutes."

"Thanks, over and out." Hotaka smoothly clipped the communicator back into place. Three months of use had made it a maneuver so natural, he didn’t need to think about it.

General Lars, their new overseer, had given the communicators to them as a present. After that came many more unexpected "surprises" that they felt indifferent towards, or hated entirely. The most detestable invention yet was the N-Suits. Nito Squadron hated the N-suits.

As he waited for his ride, Hotaka recalled first seeing and trying them on…

"What’re these?" Hotaka asked, holding up a lump of red and white material in an airtight bag by its hanger.

"Your new duds," said the junior officer with a dumb smile. He handed out the other three bags to their respective Nito pilots. "General Lars believes you should be monitored in your Nitos."

"Monitored?" Guy said sourly. He saw his suit was an exact copy of Hotaka’s.

"Yes, these suits contain nanochip sensor technology. They’ll read everything from heat output, to brain waves."

"This is a joke, right?" Midori asked. She had taken the suit out, and let it dangle like a shriveled, headless corpse.

The officer shook his head. "`Fraid not. We’ll begin testing in half an hour."

Looking, among themselves, the pilots of Nito Squadron wondered if a couple of bored officers had conspired to play a practical joke on them.

Hotaka and Guy went into the men’s changing room, while Midori and Eve headed for the lady’s. In the tiny compartment, Hotaka took off all but his underwear and began to stick his leg in the tight material.

Suddenly, a voice from the ceiling made him fall back in surprise. "You have to take off everything, Captain."

"What the… don’t you have any respect for my privacy?" Hotaka searched across the ceiling for something that could be watching him.

"Just a reminder. Don’t worry, we turned off the cameras."

"Reminder," Hotaka mumbled with disbelief as he dropped his drawers and covered himself up with the suit. It was a tight fit, but after some wiggling and pulling, he got his legs in. Then he pulled the sleeves on like a coat until it fit snug around his arms. He yanked the whole thing up, and his organs below the belt felt uncomfortably restricted, but he managed to get the back-zipper up to his neck.

At that point, Hotaka resembled a cold-water swimmer out of place. Maybe it doesn’t look as bad as it feels. When he slowly lowered his eyes, he felt like sinking into the floor and disappearing forever.

"Ready yet?" the voice asked.

"I suppose," Hotaka said with a sigh. He stepped out of the room and saw Guy, who appeared to be in a similar state of misery. Out of empathy, Hotaka didn’t laugh at him, but he had to disguise his laughter as a cough.

Hotaka and Guy returned to the hall, waiting for the ladies to finish. It took only a moment for Eve to come out in her curvy suit, and the two men had to make a considerable effort to keep their jaws locked in place.

"Midori may not be coming out right away," Eve said.

Overhearing, Midori shouted, "I’m not coming out ever! I can’t be seen in something like this, it’s indecent!"

"Tell me about it," Guy mumbled.

"Look, we’ll try them out once, just to see how they are," Hotaka said. "Then we’ll tell Lars that we don’t like them."

His resolve seemed to slowly draw out Midori. She peered around the corner, looking nervously at each of them. Finally, she came into full view with cheeks flaming red.

With every fiber of his being, Hotaka kept his face expressionless, for Midori's sake "Let’s get going," he said quickly. All four of them wondered how they would salvage their dignity afterwards.

In the ship hangar, the four locked their eyes forward to avoid seeing the amused stares from crewmembers. With all due haste, they walked to the access ladder and went up into their cockpits. Once the chest began to ooze close in it’s usual way, Hotaka felt a little less exposed, but not much more comfortable. He’d always gone into the Nitos wearing casual attire or his baggy flight suit. How would it react to him wearing this strange suit?

Apparently, the Nito took it just fine. Nothing unusual happened, and Hotaka felt no different, other than the dull ache between his legs.

"Everything working in order?" the same voice from the changing room asked him.

Hotaka looked around, then realized a transmitter was another one of the gadgets on the suit. "Nothing wrong," he replied, then muttered, "Yet."

"Okay, we’re going to do this by the books."

"You mean we have to go through all those boring procedures again?" Midori complained.

"You’re under new management," a different, more important sounding voice said sternly. "Greene was a fool to skip so many standards and requirements. We’re starting from square one."

Hotaka sighed and took a careful step forward, which brought a loud alarm to his head. He clamped on his ears and said, "What’d I do?"

"Captain, we haven’t given you clearance yet. Stay where you are."

"You gotta be…" Hotaka let out what he wanted to say with an exhalation between clenched teeth. When did the Imperials get to uptight?

After waiting an entire minute for permission, Hotaka slowly began walking toward outer space, working his way around the various other ships. When he reached the edge, he took off with a small hop and floated into space. He’d done the maneuver a hundred times, yet each was just as thrilling as the last. He was outside the confines of the hangar, and in free space. He enjoyed the moment for all of a second when that increasingly annoying voice grated his ears again.

"Captain Motishi, please hold steady where you are."

"Yeah, yeah," Hotaka grumbled. He didn’t like being confined to a leash like a dog. The Nitos were fighting machines that only worked when free to roam and trust their own judgement. Being tethered like this was going to really hamper their progress.

Finally, all four Nitos were out in space, and waiting for further orders. "Okay, we’re going to be activating the suits now. It might feel a little strange. Activating in three, two, one…"

Hotaka braced himself for anything, but nothing happened. "Did you turn it on yet?"

"What’s going on?" Lars asked. He hated it when things didn't work.

"Something’s wrong with the suits." The officer tapped a few keys, but the N-suits refused to cooperate. "They’re not responding." The tapping became frustrated. "Not even a signal."

"In a piece of unknown technology, I’m not all that surprised. Try the camera."

"No signal from that either. It’s like it was turned off completely."

Lars thought for a moment, then said, "Bring them back in."

"Roger. Nito Squadron, return to the hangar and disengage."

"We just got out," Hotaka groaned, buy reluctantly obeyed. He and the other three landed, after clearance, of course, and stepped out of their Nitos’ chests.

"The suits are responding again."

"How are they looking?" General Lars asked.

"Blood pressure is normal, body heat is as well. Brain waves though, have increased dramatically, but metabolism… is practically nonexistent."

"Interesting… switch to blood monitors."

The lieutenant did so, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Almost ninety percent of blood is going to the brain and nerves. Digestion organs… are borderline dormant."

"It’s a lot like a boxer," someone mentioned, and everyone turned to look at him. "When a boxer fights, their brain limits flow to digestion and redirects it to muscles. But I’ve never heard of the stomach or intestines just… shutting down."

"Record this, and send them out again for another half hour, then bring them in and check the stats again," the General ordered. "We’re getting a lot of good info."

Hotaka recollected the mortifying memory as the transport shuttle came into view. It quickly landed in front of him, and opened the side hatch. With his hair blowing wildly from the wind of his altitude, Hotaka stepped into the calm interior. The door closed behind him, and immediately, they were in the air and positioning themselves towards the Earth Defense Grid. The inertia dampers kept Hotaka on his feet, despite the sudden acceleration.

He took one last look outside the window, at the enormous crowd that seemed to have gotten larger, and bitterly muttered, "Morons."

The atmosphere became thinner and thinner, and blue skies faded into black. After several hundred kilometers, the shuttle passed the barrier into outer space. And just past that barrier was an amazing sight.

Because Earth had been controlled by the RISF, a massive planetary defense system had to be installed, and the results of it were more successful than anyone had hoped. The Earth Defense Grid, the most powerful planet-protecting force ever created. In terms of sheer size and resources, it was a wall not easily penetrated.

The layout of "the Shell," as pilots casually called it, was that of a chain link fence. Each link was a massive long-range Gun Platform, capable of engaging multiple capital ships at once. Approximately eight hundred of these beasts covered the entire Earth, and each platform had support from at least two others. Installed on each of these platforms was a shield generator that would be hard-pressed to fit in even a large ship hangar. These shield generators communicated with each other, decided where shields were needed the most, and provided enough cover to thwart nearly anything that could be thrown at it.

Swarming around the Gun Platforms were squadron upon squadron of fighters, each one having passed a rigorous test to guard this extremely secure place. Dotted between the platforms, capital ships of all sizes went about their business, brooding and waiting for someone foolish enough to try and start a fight.

Among those capital ships was the Red Moon, a stunning two-and-a-half-kilometer long carrier. Only five of these colossal warships were in existence, and General Lars was proud to own the best equipped of them. Even from his current position, he could count almost all thirty of the visible laser turrets on the port side. Of course, there was thirty more on the starboard, not to mention twenty missile launchers that could rip anything smaller than a Frigate to shreds in an instant. Nothing brought more morale to a losing force than a fresh carrier.

Hotaka though, had eyes for something even bigger: The Emperor’s own carrier, and the flagship of the Human Alliance. Schwartz never was one of subtlety, and the Titan was the physical manifestation of his grand visions. It was beyond a carrier, more like a super-carrier, easily dwarfing it's closest competitor by a solid two kilometers and double the maximum firepower. A crew of eighty thousand made it a small city, and it certainly produced enough power to fuel one with four independent nuclear reactors. When Titan came onto the scene, things got very loud.

There it is! Hotaka thought excitedly to himself. The enormous super-carrier was hundreds of kilometers away, but it still maintained it’s breathtaking size. The Human Alliance may’ve been struggling, but the Virus hadn’t seen their biggest guns yet.

Once a few minutes had passed, the shuttle docked with the Red Moon. Landing procedures out of the way, it touched down on the surface, and almost immediately, Hotaka was stepping down the ramp before it had fully extended.

Inside the immense hangar, he saw the four Nitos stacked against the wall. On the shoulder of the one that was covered with blades, Midori sat, dangling her legs over the edge. She might've been doing nothing in particular, or simply waiting for Hotaka. When she saw him down below, she put a smile on and waved to come join her.

With little else to do, Hotaka climbed up the ladder to the Nito’s chest. The arm was positioned just right so he could use one of the blades as a platform. He stepped onto it, and easily scaled the upper arm, joining Midori at the top.

"How was your interview?" she asked, making conversation.

"Didn’t finish," Hotaka admitted, grim-faced. "I just wasn’t in the mood."

"Oh." She swung her legs a little. "Are you feeling all right?"

"No worse than normal." He turned to face her, and forced himself to ask, "What about you?"

She looked back at him, and he suddenly felt a wave of heat overtake his body. Though he’d seen them before, her green eyes still radiated beauty, despite the dark bags underlining them, and her hair was still glossy black, even after ignoring it for a long time. "Okay, I guess, considering I realized this morning my monthly visitor is three months overdue."

"Nitos?" Hotaka suggested. It was the only logical answer.

"They’re doing something to us, Hotaka, you can’t deny it. We’re living proof, and there’s scientific proof too. These symptoms are more than just war stress."

"Why haven’t I seen this scientific proof?" Hotaka returned his gaze to the opposite wall.

"Maybe it’s because they think if we see it, we’ll stop fighting."

"But we can’t. The symptoms-"

"Force us to, I know," she finished for him. "But what’re the Nitos doing to us? What if…" she began, but paused for a deep breath. "What if they’re killing us?"

For that, Hotaka offered no explanation, but after a moment of thinking, he spoke his mind. "Even if that’s true, I’d still pilot them."

"Even if it kills you? Or cripples you forever?" Midori’s voice rose, and had a hint of pleading.

Slowly, Hotaka nodded.

"But… but why?"

"It’s all I can do in this war." Hotaka’s voice was husky, strained. "I’m just putting in my effort."

Now Midori was getting alarmed. "You’d kill yourself for the Alliance?"

"Yes, but it’s more than--"

A sudden stinging sensation on his cheek interrupted him, and he saw Midori’s hand in a follow through position. It was then that he realized he’d been slapped. His cheek was only beginning to feel the sting. "You didn’t let me finish," Hotaka said quietly.

"Get off my Nito, now." Midori’s sounded colder than liquid nitrogen, and her eyes were aflame, doused only by tears welling up. Hotaka hesitated, which instigated her even more. "Get off!"

Not wishing for another slap, Hotaka quickly climbed down. When he reached the floor, he dared to look at Midori one last time, but she had drawn her knees up to her face. The bobbing of her shoulders gave away her immediate mood.

Hotaka lowered his head and walked out of the Hangar, thinking to himself. Was what I said right? His belief had come straight from his heart, he didn’t really think about the consequences of saying it. Shouldn’t I be saying things the way they come out? Or should I be saying things that will make my co-pilots happy? He raised his head at his own thought. Co-pilots? Why am I still calling them that? They’re my friends, right?

His "friend" had just slapped him across the face for voicing his opinion. Guy and Eve had hardly spoken to him these past three months, and Wilhelm had ditched him for private training. Were those friends?

Suddenly, Hotaka felt like he hardly knew the other Nito pilots. They’d never sat down and had deep, revealing conversations about themselves. Rather, they’d learned about each other working together on the battlefield, and through body language everywhere else. Too much time had been spent on fighting, perhaps. The only real communication between them had been requests for help and head's ups on V-Nitos. They were too tired every night to have casual conversation.

What Nito Squadron needed was some kind of social occasion, something that would bring the human sides of them back together, let their inner selves open up. Their personalities had drifted away these past three months; something had to pull them back together. But how could he do such a daunting task?

A party, of course. Hotaka was certainly no party animal though. In fact, he didn’t like them all that much, what with all the people and socializing in one place. However, if it was to learn more about his teammates, he was willing to suffer through it.

But when the hell could he plan a party? It’s not like he could ask for one, either. He’d get a blank stare, or a fit of laughter.

As Hotaka opened the door to his room, he realized just how far his mind had wandered. It was beginning to ache after so much conscious thought. Usually he couldn’t concentrate for long before his brain fatigued. Ironic that, while many considered the mind a muscle that got stronger with use, the strain that the Nito imposed on Hotaka had left his mind weakened.

He flopped down on the unmade bed, and began to doze off, wondering how Wilhelm was doing.

Blank.

That’s how everything had to be for Wilhelm, completely blank. He had to wipe his memory completely, forget everything he knew about the subject at hand, and relearn it from the ground up. And he only had three months to do it.

Wilhelm’s "rented" freighter came out of X-Space, into an area as black as a cloudy, moonless night. This was the Ink Nebula, appropriately named for it’s thick black fog and unorganized shape. At the center, all stars were extinguished, leaving Wilhelm with no distractions. It would be just him, and his Nito.

He turned off the engines, and lay back in his seat, taking a moment to rest after the long search. It’d taken him a week of going the long way around RISF forces to find this place. He was losing valuable time that should’ve been devoted to training his mind and body.

For a little while, he’d wondered if this was all worth it. Three months alone, no human contact, perhaps he’d taken too big a step forward. Then, his memory immediately brought up pictures of him being overwhelmed and unable to defend himself, and he became convinced again.

The freighter he’d borrowed for an indefinite amount of time could barely hold his Nito. Even with it curled into a fetal position, it was a tight fit in the small compartment. Also stored in the vessel were a two-month stock of imperishable food and water (Wilhelm had counted on rationing them), a blanket, one change of clothes, and some assorted hygiene products. That’s all he brought, that’s all he needed.

Before he’d gone, he’d read about monks that still existed in remote areas of Earth. They could perform amazing feats of strength, endurance, and tolerance to pain. What really got Wilhelm was that they could do this without luxuries like beds or cooked food, and when he closed the book, he realized he wanted to be able to do something like that. Maybe not break a cinder block with his forehead, or lick a red-hot slab of iron, but something more reasonable that could really impress everyone: Hyper Mode.

Angelo had been the first to really try for Hyper Mode, though he never made it. Just as it looked like he was going to break through, he lost control of the energy, and paid for it with his life and his Nito. After that, Hyper Mode was considered too dangerous for Nito Squadron to use, but Wilhelm knew it was possible. Angelo had been close, tauntingly close, but in the end he just couldn’t handle it. All it took was some patience, training, and raw strength. Wilhelm had the first requirement, but the third would take a lot of the second.

Time to get to work, I suppose, Wilhelm thought. But work on what, exactly? What was he supposed to do in this black void?

He vaguely remembered Hotaka making a comment about the Nitos, how they were partly alive, and seemed to have personalities of their own. Slowly, Wilhelm formed a plan. It couldn’t hurt to try talking to his Nito, could it?

The pilot rose and headed to the compartment where his Nito lay in a cramped position. First he turned off the safety switch for the door, then stepped into the cockpit of his Nito, and felt his senses merge with it. Immediately, he was thrust into a claustrophobic situation as he looked around for the lever that opened the bay hatch. He reached out for it, delicately nudged it, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door to outer space opened.

Wilhelm shimmied his way through the pressure screen, and into the Ink Nebula. He flew far away from the freighter, having no worries about getting lost, since the freighter was easily detectable when there was nothing else around. Wilhelm began trying to talk to his ship. First, he approached in a friendly manner, saying a simple "Hello," in his mind.

Nothing came back as he drifted farther and farther away from the freighter, until it disappeared in the fog. He tried again, pushing a little closer, but it seemed his Nito was a hollow, lifeless thing, only providing senses but no soul.

Still no answer… or perhaps silence could be its answer.

"Maybe you just need to warm up your muscles," Wilhelm said aloud. He went through a long series of stretches and pulls, starting from his arms and working down to his legs. It was a good feeling to loosen his muscles, and it seemed the Nito, too, appreciated it, as withdrawn as it was.

Now what? Wilhelm didn’t have any opponents to fight, and jabbing into a vacuum seemed a little pointless. First things first, I have to see just what stage I’m at.

He held up his arm cannon, and began harnessing energy. Opening up his senses, he was surprised at just how much of it was lying around. In his mind, he imagined all of it scattered around the floor, so he began gathering up the individual pieces and putting them into his cannon. It was slow, agonizing work, really. He soon found that not only did he need to gather up energy, he had to hang onto the amount he’d gathered as well.

Several minutes passed, and Wilhelm was barely able to contain what he had brought together. He’d stolen a glance up, and saw his hard work amounted to a ball of energy half his size. With dismay at how little he’d brought together in all that time, his concentration broke and the energy ball lost power and shrunk. This only chagrined him even further, and before it got any weaker, he let it fly. It bowled forward until it disappeared from sight, but not before exploding in a brilliant flash, lighting up the Ink Nebula, despite its fogginess.

To Wilhelm though, it might as well have been a small firecracker. What he needed was some real dynamite, no, a nuke. But nukes took time to make, and he didn’t have all the time in the universe. Three months, he thought to himself. In three months, I have to make one that’s fifty meters across, at least. That was a pretty tall order, but Wilhelm had determination on his side. He would not fail.

I’ll try again, but this time, gather more energy and hold it longer. And so, Wilhelm began his three months of torment.