<span style="font-style: italic">I won't forget...I'll never let myself forget</span>Tyrius thought, his mind wandering into a darker place and a harsher time. A Baoa Qu, the last stand of Zeon in the One Year War, where he'd staked his claim as a pilot, some said gifted, others merely wrote him off as an arrogant and opportunistic bastard. There for the glory, and absent for the hardship. After all, he'd only fought in two battles during the One Year War, and as major as they were, Solomon and A Baoa Qu were only the fading moments of glory for the Zeon war for freedom.<br/><br/>What had he done since that one battle at A Baoa Qu?  He'd flashed some hints of skill, and even moments of leadership, brief and fleeting moments of necessity where he was the next man up, so to speak. He wondered if perhaps that battle had broken him, as confident as he was in himself, as arrogant as he was to the outside world, he truly, deeply wondered if he could ever measure up to those fleeting hours where he's proven himself to be more than just some promising youngster, he'd actualized himself, lived up to the potential he'd shown in the academy. But what did it mean now? Nothing. Zeon was dead and now he and the rest just marched around the corridors of Axis, masquerading about as if they still mattered.<br/><br/>The hissing and crackling came over his comm and he shook his head,<span style="font-style: italic">Great, more simulated patrols...</span>but the voice that carried over the comm was familiar, it carried a power and it struck a chord with Tyrius, a sensation of enthusiasm and pride that he hadn't known since he was first rallied into to combat at Solomon when he was only 18. "Now is the time to rise up!" Tyrius found himself nodding along as the pre-recorded speech reached its crescendo, in unison with the Captain's message, Tyrius mouthed "Zieg Zeon." His mind suddenly shot into the present, the numbers '37', a potent reminder of his friends and comrades lost in combat during that suicidal mission to defend A Baoa Qu when they had only been recently graduated cadets, given their wings weeks, if not months too early, but the war effort demanded more manpower and as such, their lives had been sacrificed to the fires of war.<br/><br/>Tyrius' mobile suit was already given a combat loadout as he still took part in patrols in and around Axis' space perimeter, but he would need his personal affects. He turned to a mobile suit technician and barked orders with as much authority as he could muster, "See to it that my Gelgoog is ready to launch in 10 minutes, I need it fully loaded for combat duties as well as maximum propellant. I've got orders to escort the Abyssal Fury to her decommission ceremony!" The tech simply looked at him, somewhat dumbfounded, the kid was probably even a couple years younger than Tyrius was and though he had never really spoken with the young man, he knew he was a good technician. He raced to his quarters to grab his belongings.<br/>-----------------------<br/>By the time he was done, his room looked like it had been almost ransacked. Miscellaneous pieces of clothing that he never wore anymore strewn across the floor. His duffel from his days in the academy was stuffed to the gills, but neatly packed. His dress uniform, two sets of fatigues and boots were all that were contained in the pack. He grabbed a single picture from his mundane, standard issue desk. It was a framed and signed picture of the 37th, all wearing their dress uniforms the day of their corronation, the night before they fought at Solomon, the last night the band of friends, brothers and sisters would all be together. The last night they'd all be alive. Karzas died within a minute of launching, Lucia never made it out of the hangar, their ship had been destroyed before her number had been called up. His heart wretched in his chest for all of them, those he knew were dead, and those who he didn't know what had happened, M.I.A. In space, that was almost worse than just being dead. The tears welled in his eyes, but they weren't simply sorrowful, there was a gratitude he held in this moment, that he now had a chance to fight again, fight for his friends.<br/>------------------<br/>He swaggered back through the corridors of Axis, a refound pep and arrogance, his duffel slung over his shoulder, his pilot's suit was close fit, the brass toned epaullette's rustling a little as he maneuvered through the hustle and bustle of the mobile suit hangar. The attending tech ran up and saluted him, "Ensign Garrou, your mobile suit is ready to launch!" Tyrius nodded, and wordlessly walked past the man. He could remake himself in the eyes of others, though privately he grieved heavily, still felt the losses keenly from the One Year War. He clambored into the cockpit of the Gelgoog R, painted in a royal and midnight blue color combination that lent itself to operations in space, though if he were being truthful, his reasoning was far less tactical, he merely liked how it looked. "Ensign Tyrius Garrou, launching to rendezvous with Abyssal Fury." He spoke without hesitation and didn't wait for proper confirmation. The thrusters burst to life, creating a wash of blue white fire that sent him careening out of the hangar into space. He flipped through several channels before dialing in the encrypted line for the Abyssal Fury. "Captain Jaryk, this is Ensign Tyrius Garrou, you may not remember me, but at A Baoa Qu...You saved my life Sir. I will do everything I can to repay you sir."