8/11/14

Author's Notes: I'm going to start right out, I apologize for the fact that this story will be un-updated for for quite awhile. College for me is starting very soon and considering the nature of my college, I don't think I will be writing fanfic till next summer, and maybe the holidays. However, my goal was to at least share the first six out of sixteen chapters, before I'm off. Hopefully, the first six will be enough to have what you readers might be looking for...

Sometime before 8/11/14...

Author's Notes: So, why is there only two other stories in this category? You would think this stuff is crossover gold, but apparently not. :/ Besides writing this story for the sake of it, I also writing (er typing) it to help improve my overall writing skill that has practically been untouched during my second semester of senior year. I know what you guys are thinking. Writing fanfiction in preparation for college, that's insane! But then again, I suppose if you actually found your way in this sparse corner of the Internet, you're probably insane as much as I am. Nonsensical rambling aside, I'm gonna address the possibility of the confusion of which titan is gonna be which. Shouldn't be too much of a problem, since the majority of this story is told from the eyes of a Titanfall pilot, so hopefully that will help you know which is which.

Titans = Titans from Titanfall, aka the mechs.

titans = Titans from Snk/Attack on Titan. Exceptions include the Colossal Titan, Female Titan, etc. since they're major characters and whatnot.

Anyway, on the Titanfall side of things, the story takes place some time after Mission 3: The Odyssey, after the Militia appoints MacAllan as their new leader. Spoiler alert, but I doubt anyone would care due to how hectic and unnoticeable the "campaign" gets. You can just imagine the battle depicted in this prologue as some random Attrition match. For the Attack on Titan side, story picks up somewhat during the Battle of Trost.

Disclaimer: Attack on Titan and Titanfall belong to their respective owners, Hajime Isayama and Respawn Entertainment.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Cosmology - Stephen Barton

Earth. Home planet of humanity. Like any home it was getting crowded, dirty. Our fault I suppose. Human ignorance and the works, you know? Still it was home, but like anyone growing up, we looked for another place we could call our own. To begin anew, to start with a clean slate. So we turned to the stars. The moon landing was our first big accomplishment, but we were still taking baby steps, poking and probing any of the planets that were in reach. Our dream of a new Frontier diminished, some written off as impossible. But a few of us were more persistent.

Said few happened to be scientists. And from their determination came the very engine that allowed humanity to accomplish our dreams. The whitecoats call it Space and Time Folding, but most of us just call it Jump. We went far and fast, looking for everything that would answer our questions of the dark abyss we called space. Turns out we found something better. A deadzone of habitable planets. A galaxy of Earth-like planets, untouched and ripe to start a new living.

The new Frontier.

But despite of all our wonderful advancements and technology, our history followed. And it repeated. Greed, violence, the darker sides of our race. As rich the Frontier was in life, it was also rich in resources. The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, private military arm of the Core Worlds, sought to exploit said resources. Even if meant booting the freshly arrived colonists off the planets. Tempers flared and tensions exploded. And then before you knew it, another war began. The Militia was born, a ragtag bunch of bandits and settlers that happen to have the guns and guts to stand up against the IMC. Most people didn't really see eye to eye to with them, but as the IMC stepped up the pressure, many more joined the cause. A few of the Militia brigades fight hard for their freedom. Some fight dirty. Others, a little bit of both. Chaos and destruction erupts through the Frontier as the war goes on. The IMC garrisons do their best and worst to maintain peace and order, while the Militia do everything they can to earn their independence.

My name is Garrett Nguyen, Titan Pilot for the M-COR Brigade of the Frontier Militia. And this is my story…

I couldn't help but marvel at how my visor had not fogged up to kingdom come, at the rate I was breathing. I had to hand it to the IMC, as much as I disliked them; they actually make some pretty good stuff if it wasn't for their ridiculously high prices. And their tendency of making some morally, questionable business practices. And the fact that it's their mercs and their property that happens to be shooting at me.

Forget dislike. I can honestly say that I hate them now.

I shook my head, focusing all my thoughts on the glowing arrow that lay before my eyes thanks to the Heads-Up Display in my visor. My off-tangent thoughts meant that my mind was getting oxygen depraved, even for my augmented lungs and that if I didn't calm down for a few seconds, I was going to make a mistake.

And if I made a mistake, I was going to wind up dead.

Or tortured.

Very high chances it was going to both anyway.

A 40mm round that just tore right through the air, only a few inches away from my head, killed that thought immediately. Forget the possibility of tripping on my own two feet and face-planting to my death. If I so much as slowed down by a millisecond, I was going to be nothing but a red mist.

'Thank the friking deities of above. And science' I thought when I saw the two-story building that served as the dropship's landing pad.

Roger, an older teammate and impromptu mentor of mine who had split off during the middle of the IMC counter-strike, was standing at the edge, Mag-Launcher in hand. Firing off a burst of grenades, he spotted me rounding the corner.

"Newb, get your arse up here! We only got five seconds 'fore we leave ya to the dingoes!" his Australian accent barked through the air.

Usually Roger had kept his native accent subdued; living for about a decade on the Frontier with only "French tarts" and "Bogans" for company will do that to your voice apparently. The only time I would hear it break through were either cause Roger had his sniper rifle in hand, was talking to his relatives, or we were in deep, sometimes literal, fecal matter.

Guess which one was the most accurate depiction of what was going on around us?

Anyway, back to the problem of only having five seconds to get into that drop-ship. Now, five seconds to haul your buttocks, 40-some pound kit, weapons and etc. up of two flight of stairs was pretty damning if you were the run-of-the-mill minuteman or even a *C.I Jackboot on stims. Plenty of time, however, for someone of the likes of me.

I leaned my head forward, propelling myself at full tilt. And just when it looked like I was about to splat myself silly all over the concrete wall, I leapt up at the last second, kicking off the wall. As I reached the peak of my leap, I triggered my jumpkit, the linchpin of a Pilot's equipment, clearing the rest of the wall's height like a sugar-high grasshopper. Bullets of various calibers practically kissed the path I ran on, my beeline for the dropship being an easy target even for the IMC grunts that were closing in.

One, two, three strides later and I was in! I had literally tumbled into the troop compartment of the drop-ship, the hull door shutting so quick that my back would have been shaved if I had gotten in a second later. However, danger was still nigh, evidenced by the shuddering of explosions that impacted right outside of the ship, and the waning meter on my HUD that indicated what little strength remained in the drop-ship's shield barrier.

"'Right, that's everyone! Get this tin can out of here!" Rogers yelled to the ship's pilot.

As the pilot quickly tapped at the controls, I watch through the narrow window compartment as a bulky silhouette of a white painted, Ogre Titan dashed into view, quad-barrel missile cannon at the ready, no doubt with the intent of permanently grounding us from safe-haven and blasting us all into a fiery oblivion as an added bonus. Before intent became reality though, a brightening glow covered the rising dropship before transforming into a blinding flash. Blinking my eyes rapidly, pieces of floating, metal debris, greeted my sight and behind them was the vast, starlit darkness that was space. Instead of a hostile Ogre, IMC grunt or Pilot, in view came bearing down a beaten, but not broken, form of the Militia 1st Fleet's Flagship.

The Red-Eye.

We were home.

We were safe…but for how long?

"Captain on deck!"

"At ease kid" said MacAllan, the newly appointed leader of the Marauder Corps brigade as he briskly walked into the command center of the Red-Eye.

"Alright, talk to me Sarah. How are we doing down there?"

"We got the supplies, but barely. A few of the last dropships just got into the bay. All hands accounted for."

"Boss, we got incoming! Starboard side, hostile energy readings are at thirty percent and increasing. The IMC ships look ready to fire!"

Eyes wide, James MacAllan barely suppressed a shiver of horror before he snapped back into action.

"Starboard? But that's where some of the civilian ships are!"

Rushing over to the central command terminal of the ship, MacAllan slammed down on the buttons that would open the fleet-wide, communications system.

"This is MacAllan to all Militia forces and civilian ships. I am giving the order for a full retreat, I repeat, a full retreat. We got what we need, all hands, start your jump sequences and get the hell out of here!"

Already, the smaller Frontier ships began to glow the telltale sign of a long distance jump. Lances of energy and missile contrails that were being exchanged on both sides begin to intensify, each ship trying to out-destroy the other before their targets became out of reach. In the blink of the eye, the Militia ships zoomed off into a beam of light, traversing across the galaxy in a matter of minutes. The Interstellar Mining Corporation ships did not bother pursuit, for instead, they decided to home in on the Red-Eye, which unlike its smaller companions, still remained where it was, in orbit over the raided planet. Being one of the last and largest of the Militia ships to resupply, the Militia flagship was still in its final processes of preparing for its jump.

"Bish, tell me when those engines are ready. The IMC guns are looking very hungry and they just found the main course" MacAllan said with apprehension in his tone.

"Engines are at fifty and climbing steady! We'll be able to jump in a couple of minutes!"

"We don't have a couple of minutes, Bish. We need those engines at seventy and we needed them yesterday!"

Already, the whole ship shook under the combined fire of the IMC's fleet, beating down on its shields like heavy rain. The crew in the command center nearly toppled over, but quickly grabbed on the nearby railings and terminals that were designed to support them for such an occasion. MacAllan had just steadied himself when several of the crewmen began to shout their respective information out to him.

"Captain, shields are at fifteen and decreasing! We're not going to hold on much longer!"

"We got new contact, bearing forty-seven degrees, port-side! IMC support frigates coming in fast!"

"Long range sensors have just been knocked out! We're almost blind!"

As a slew of information streamed in from all directions, the Captain was force to tune it all out; focusing only his attention on the singular line of communication with Bish and the Red-Eye's engineering crew.

"Lorck, are we good to go?" MacAllan asked, his voice becoming a steady calm despite of the chaos that rang all around.

"Engines are at sixty-seven! We can do a randomized jump but it ain't going to be pretty!"

"If I wanted pretty, Bish, then I would've settle for just staying here as the IMC's turkey shoot! Hit it!"

And with that, the flagship began to violently accelerate forward, picking up enough speed that the distant stars began to blur together in a pure, shining light. In a single, warp of white, the Red-Eye was no more.

To be continued…

Author's Notes: Eh, pretty short, but it is a prologue after all. Oh, for anyone who may have noticed and is wondering, the C.I in C.I Jackboot stands for Corporate Issued, aka mercenaries. Just a little term I made up that would seem appropriate. Also, Garrett wearing the IMC assault helmet is in reference to the Militia Pilot models that wore the "Boba Fett" inspired helm according to an interview with one of the designers from Titanfall. These guys are seen in the early E3 announcement and gameplay trailers, but for some reason got cut from the official release.