Be warned. This fanfic is a possibly-dystopian outlook on Infinite Stratos, from the eyes of an old man. If you do not want to read, just try rading. I am not sure whether you may enjoy this fic, or may not. You may never know. Also, I included a greater force in the universe, shown in the beginning. Read and review, please. I really need reviews to know what to do about my writing, and I need them to know your outlooks on this fic, so I can change if needed.

Lifeform System online.

A silver disk glides through the blank void of space. A searing orange orb is set behind it, radiating rays of light into the cold grasps of emptiness.

Requisitioning orders. Execute?

A soft, greenish glow lights up in one depression spaced in even intervals around the circular edges. The object veeres off its current path, towards a beautifully-blue orb framed by bright points of ever-distant stars.

Gaia sends its orders. Mercury has obliged, and is sending due processes for Execute, Land, and Commence.

Shimmering in response to the wordless communication sent through the space-time fabric, the silvery object points its conven point towards the planet in the background. One final flicker and it disappears, leaving a trail of blue crystals that soon dissipates.

Detailed info needed.

A response: Detailed info granted. Humans have spread across the planet, bringing their civilization and artificial constructions with them. They have dug up the minerals of the planet, bred past the nominal and maximum self-sustaining capacity of the planet. Gaia wishes for an end to them quickly. It wishes for five objectives.

Objective one is the special warping of any and all artificial constructions and substructures contaminated by human energy. Such structures include the- here, a picture can be seen, of a steel-girded needle pointing up towards the blue sky, piercing a white cloud, with multiple metal-wired constructions spanning across the blue waters- configuration shown here pointing due outwards, and the objects projecting into the 3rd dimension. Other anomalies of Gaia also included- a fat, mooing cow, splotched with brown and white spots, is placidly chewing the green grass in an otherwise browned field, empty stretches of brown, crumbly earth exposed to the harsh wind formations- this extremely vulnerable and inefficient life form.

Objective two is the actualization of the elimination of all and any humans you deem fit to eliminate. Gaia, however, has its own subclass of humans that worship and empower it, so those are deemed off-limits. An image of a tall, proud, feathered human dressed in animal skins flashes by.

Objective three is the crystallization of the surface. After crystallization of affected areas, Gaia will then take over, and you may return.

Objective four is to take and hold, in stasis, any particular specimens you deem fit to remove.

Objective five is to obtain and synchronize with the beast of Gaia, Primate Murder.

All this information, sent as an actualization of the clash between the Concept of Energy Transfer and the Concept of Removal, is received in a flash. With its orders, the alien prepares to land on the planet known as Earth.

Some random Fanfiction writer spresents:

An Infinitely Spiraling Crystal Rain

Chapter One: An Old Man's Short Confession

This world... I am tired of it.

I am one male human of the planet Earth. My name is on a need-to-know basis. After all, who really cares about a scrawny male who walks into the woods every single day, as poor as hell, when there are these great metal machinery that fly around on their thrusters?


This world... is doomed.

With the advent of the Infinite Stratos system of machinery, made possible by an individual genius named Tabane Shinonono, many years ago, the world has gone off into a different tangent than I have thought ever possible.

Infinite Stratos. Instruments of destruction crafted from the metal and materials of this earth, they are used by the many governments of this world as a sort of détente to lessen conflict across the globe and to consolidate power. Each IS is powered by an energy core, and in the heart of each core is an AI. These IS cores do not exist in significant amounts, and any attempts to replicate them always end up in failure, or the production of an instable and degraded one.

I know this. For I have lost much, too much, to them to count.

There are so few IS cores out in the world. Yet, there is so much spent upon them.

The development and production of core-compatible frames, and the research and materials to create them.

The training, physical modifications, and mental butchering needed to create capable pilots to run such a craft.

Wars and conflicts have been fought over a single core. Each nation wants the most cores, and are willing to do anything to obtain even more.

Organizations, all legal, illegal, and shadowy, have sprung up over the existence of these damned objects. And what have we accomplished?

We have accomplished the annihilation of human life everywhere. Villages, countries, and people have been blown up into smoke, massacred by bullet fire, burned into charred ashen imprints unto the very ground that we walk on by energy weapons. Yet, we have not launched ourselves into space.

All those time, resources, and lives, have been spent perfecting weapons of destruction. Yet, we remain on this planet, on this rocky ground, this white-concrete barrier, this murky, wooden and dirty hovel.

Enough of this. I feel as if this is all going to end, all this insanity.

Here I am, walking into this shaded grove, to wait for the end of it all. I will wait, wait for all these cursed walls, these steel skyscrapers, these grimy, garbage-chocked slums to burn down.

This device, with this shining, red button on it...


An old man, clothed in nothing but ragged khaki jogging pants, a red-stained grey shirt, and holding chipped, splintered cane walked down an empty concrete road. He looks up once, eyes blinking as he peers up into the majestic, white expanse of the IS Academy. Cocking his head to the side, he spits upon a gold-engraved plaque that commemorates the establishment of such an institution.

He hears a shuffling noise to the side. He watches as a dark, hooded figure walks up next to him. "So, you have spat onto that sacred plaque, haven't you?" a clear, soft voice speaks to him. It is muffled by a white scarf peeking out from under the black hood.

The old man snorts. "And what if I did, youngling? Are you going to tell that school over yonder, how I desecrated this trash, and send me to jail for it? Or perhaps get me convicted for an offense, like harassment?"

A low chuckle emanates from his companion. "No. I think that spending money on this is ridiculous. All we get from these so-called metal angels is cold war, cold war, and even more cold war. I don't give a rat's ass about it."

The senior blinks, then gave a cheerful grin. "I like your attitude, youngling. At least I now know I am not the only one with common sense in this blasted world."

The figure turns to bodily face him directly. The old man cannot see the eyes of that mysterious person, or the face for that matter. "Say, old man, do you wish to go out in a bang? Perhaps show these loons what you are all about?"

The elderly man turns to stare deeply into the shadowed face. His mouth bent in a downward line of disapproval, his wrinkled and pock-marked face shifting to accomodate the gesture. "What are you insinuating, young one?"

A throaty, low laugh. "Well, I certainly came here, bringing with me a device with a red button. I just happened to find this old man, who hates IS, perhaps not with a fury, but still hates it nevertheless, and I just happenened to give it to him..." The figure reaches into a deep, inner pocket in the jacket and pulls out a black plastic device, with a shiny red button on it. "It also happens to be linked up to a bomb in a room containing some IS training cadets, and a warning has already been issued to the general public..."

The old man tilts his head to look perpendicularly with the smooth, gray ground. "So, you want me to do... this?" A suspicious look flashes upon his face, but then vanishes, like white smoke in the wind, replaced by a large smile, exposing his brown, misshapen teeth. "Like hell I'm going to miss out on this opportunity! I'd rather die pissing on one of those high-and-mighty IS girls than die alone but respected in an otherwise forsaken senior center! I don't care for what you will give me after this. I'm going to die anyways." A sigh. Raising his furrowed, craggy hands, he slowly turns them, palm-face up. Multiple blue streaks run up and down them. Sliding up his sleeves, he revealesmany, many injection wounds, a black spot of necrotic flesh here and there, and angry-red streaks running up them.

"Them damned hospitals won't admit me. They say that there's nothing wrong with me! I know that they got healing nanotechnology and all, but they won't bother to use any to assist me with my condition." Letting his ruined hands fall, he once again shifts his body to face his visitor. "Alright, give it to me."

"Here you go. And, if you ever get yourself caught, you can either implicate me, or not. It doesn't really matter anymore. After all, we all die, don't we?" The figure begins walking up the tree-lined path, away from the shining bastion of IS training and a tired, dying man.

"Don't we all," he snorts.

The elderly citizen of the country shuffled weakly down the fairway towards the shiny, windowed buildings. He had the button device in his hand, his hand in his pocket, and wass now wearing a old, faded soldier uniform. His uniform was too baggy for him, its green-, gray-, and brown-splotched heavy-duty cloth faded in time. His brown beret sat on his head, a shiny five-starred medal sat pinned to its front.

At least, I think, the world won't end according to missiles loaded with universes filled with anti-matter, sonic bombs that can vanquish cities, giant plasma and hard-light weapons, mutual nuclear launches, or to some rabbit that is completely indestructible, and also extremely dangerous, able to take down an third-generation IS and annoy knights with no problem at all, the man reflected. His brain's load of gears began to shift once again, as he started to imagine all of the scenarios of what may happen if he proclaims what device he had, the consequences of what may happen if they don't fulfill his demands.

At least that person kindly gave me another button device for yet another room full of hostage IS cadets, this time with multiple buttons for intimidation.

He drew himself into his full height of five-feet-and-two-inches, puffed his nonexistant chest out proudly, and strode with confidence directly into the main courtyard. His head craned around, as he silently observed the gaggles of female students in their IS uniforms pointing, looking, gaping at him, and chattering. He could hear some of the conversation...

A tall girl with short, raven hair, "Oh, is that old man a veteran of the Trinity Pulsar conflict? I thought most of them died already!"

Her companion, a flamboyant red-haired girl with twin-tails, a uniform with multiple cat pins deemed "kawaii" by the populace, and a too-short skirt giggled. "Oh, looks like he is. I can recognize that star anywhere, 'cuz my grandpappy has one, too!" She placed her finger to her mouth, puzzling cutely. "Don't we have to get an interview for our contribution to the news? Why don't we ask him about his experiences in the war?"

The old man, already tense and combat-ready as he always was during that damnable conflict, paused.

Ah, the Trinity Pulsar Conflict. I haven't heard of that in a very long time. Almost losing himself in his memories, he frowned inwardly. Wait a minute. I am not supposed to be getting off topic. Damn my senility!

Noticing a rather large stage set up, with a large crowd of young academy students, the veteran adjusted his glasses. He spied a board that announced, "Welcome to the First Annual Visitor's Speech Occasion!" Also noticing a scattered amount of IS machines walking around as well, he made sure to keep the devices in his jacket. After all, the Trinity Pulsar Coflict required deflection of sensor-type scannings, and his clothing was still functional.

Perhaps that was why the crowd of girls parted, forming a lane for him to walk down to the platform, and more vitally, the podium. They knew who he was once he stepped inside the courtyard with his specially-treated but old uniform.

He watched the speaker on the stage: A young lady with shirt, green hair that dropped above her shoulders. Thin glasses framed her warm, green eyes. A yellow, short-sleeved dress framed her body, ending in a black strip just above her knees, and brown boots completed her looks. Looking at him, the assisant-teacher known as Yamada Maya spoke softly into the loudspeaker. "Oh, it looks as if we have a veteran here to speak to us! Give an applause!" The crowd responded in smatterings of applauses.

The elder walked up the brown stairs, across the wooden stage, and next to the podium. Yamada looked at him softly, and whispered, "I am sorry about that poor reception. I know that you deserve better." Standing aside, her green hair ruffling in the winds, the old man stood up to the podium. He cleared his throat.

"Hello everyone."

A loud response of "Hello" came back. Some of the girls pointedly glared at him. Others, like the raven-haired one and the flamboyant one that he noticed from before, beamed at him.

"You all seem to know who I am. Or rather, who I used to be. Yes, I was a soldier in the Trinity Pulsar Conflict. No, I do not need to give you my names, younglings."

He twisted around to regard who was behind him.

Orimura Chifuyu, the IS instructor. She seemed to be on guard for a reason. Perhaps it is because of the disappearences, the veteran mused.

A boy wearing an IS academy uniform. He must be the boy who managed to pilot an IS. What was his name? He also seemed to have a sorrowful look on his face.

Others that he did not know, and did not care about. He pondered his next move. He listed Orimura the instructor as the main threat if he proceeded with his plan.

"Oi, schoolgirls," he grumbled. A few of his audience flinched at his remark. "I am sure that not many of you know how it feels like to be trapped underneath a broken concrete barricade, high-caliber bullets speeding by and artillery shells raining down on your positions. So I'll show you a little game that my troops and I used to play."

He proceeded to unzip his jacket, and pull out, one in each hand, the button devices.

The large monitor right behind the stage, used for displaying a better and larger image of whoever is speaking, bugged out, and turned black. A second later, light flashed upon the screen. Numerous gasps were elicited from the audience.

Displayed upon the screen were multiple sub-screens of rooms. Within each room were IS cadets. Their usually-white uniforms were stained with black streaks of dust and dirt. Their faces showed abuse, bruises, and lacerations.

Instantly, two separate grating sounds sounded from behind, as Orimura Chifuyu materialized a sleek katana in partial deployment and streaked towards the veteran, while Orimura Ichika rose, hands clenched. He growled. And for a good reason.

In separate rooms, bruised, beaten, but very much alive, were his friends Shinonono Houki, Cecilia Alcott, and Lingyin Huang.

A withered, blue-streaked hand fingered a button, threatening to press it, and with it, the life of one of the girls upon the screen would vanish.

The old man slapped on a crooked grin. "We are as mayflies, aren't we, Orimura Chifuyu?" he asked, as the woman's katana, surrounded and encased in the colors of the rainbow, froze one meter away from his head.

Quite far away, up on a roof, a figure stood, cloaked. "Yes, that's right, you humans. Entertain me, for this world is about to end!" A nonexistant wind gusted, forcing the entity's cape to swirl. A short crystal dagger hung from its place on a belt, jagged edge gleaming around a dark line in the middle of its blade. It vanished in a vortex of kaleidoscopic colors. "I should get myself some popcorn."

A/n: Hmm... I don't know what I am really doing here, writing a possibly dystopian fanfic about Infinite Stratos. I sure did feel like it. I do not own Infinite Stratos or Nasuverse. Reviews are appreciated, flames are used to heat up my furnace. Oh yeah, repetiton is used. Reviews are really needed. I don't care whether they are critical or not. I am classifying Type-Mercury and that zany old man under Fate/stay night, because I can. Yes, I may get grilled for this. Hahaha. Oh look, a three-headed monkey!