Otomedius Excellent -ntsc-u--iso- ◎ ❲Secure❳

But Aoba had downloaded the . The illicit, black-market data fragment that Esmeralda had flagged an hour ago. It wasn't a file. It was a memory. A ghost from the first Bacterian war. It showed a lone pilot, a woman with steel-gray hair and dead eyes, flying a black Vic Viper into a similar living moon. The ISO ended with a single line of text: “The core sings. But only the damned can hear the lyrics.” Aoba’s hands trembled on the controls. The others launched in formation: Tita with her laser-focused precision, Strue in her armored Goliath unit, even the wildcard Diol in her unorthodox Fairy type. They were a wall of firepower.

The ship lurched. The lights flickered. When they returned, the hangar’s main viewport showed a sight that made Aoba’s blood run cold.

“Status report!” Aoba yelled into her comm, strapping into the cockpit as the neural interface hummed to life. Otomedius Excellent -NTSC-U--ISO-

The Vic Viper was embedded in a field of inert, crystalline ash that had once been a living moon. The cockpit was open. The neural interface was dark.

Aoba was alone.

Aoba Anoa was sitting on the wing, eating a protein ration. Her hair was white now. Her eyes were the color of old, unreadable data.

The Bacterian moon spoke to her. Not in words. In need . It was starving. It had crossed the galaxy to feed on the one thing it couldn't synthesize: . The ISO. The games. The memories. All the digital ghosts humanity had uploaded to the orbital gate’s servers. But Aoba had downloaded the

No one laughed. Because no one was sure if she was joking.

“The NTSC-U sector is lost,” Tita said, her own Angel—the Lord British —launching from the adjacent bay. “All remaining forces, form up. We’re punching a hole for the Excellion to retreat.” It was a memory

“Retreat?” Aoba blurted. “Commander, that thing is heading straight for Earth’s orbital gate!”

“Which is why we are buying time,” Tita replied. “Not winning. There is a difference, Anoa.”