"Pilot Log, entry five-two-six. It is Tuesday, Day Five of self-conditioning."

Zaqqum hung in the air for a moment, arms hooked over the chin-up bar he'd installed in his quarters, and re-checked the numbers in his head. Day five, day five...yes. Yes, a Tuesday. Of course. He slipped back down into position and continued his drill.

"Moving onto physical prep, beginning with chin-ups. Sixty repetitions. In thirty minutes I will begin electro-muscle toning. My first gravity chamber stress test before full operation status is granted with the 003 is in two days. I am thirteen pounds from my weight goal. By my calculations, I'll hit negative twelve by Thursday morning. Will make proper adjustments to training schedule."

The heat of tightening deltoids turned his shoulders to putty for a moment, and he again loosened his grip. He wasn't used to the weight belt just yet, but he'd been pushing hard for the last few hours despite the imbalance. Perhaps it was beginning to take its toll.

"Note: decrease belt weight by thirty pounds for Day Six."

The wrist straps keeping him firmly tied to the bar were beginning to wear into his skin, but he hadn't noticed it until moments ago. Red streaks lined his wrists, and raw flesh set off tinges of pain with every minor shift in his weight as the fatigue poisons amassed over the last few days began to work him down. He couldn't stop, however- there simply wasn't time. He was on a deadline. He could only spend so much time on self-prep before beginning the second stage of the training program: facing the Venusians' Battlewing.

"Specifications for the acquired unit designated Formula Fifty received 0900 this morning. Pending additional intelligence, it seems they've done little more than shrink the same pest of years past into a quicker, more nimble package. Same weaknesses, same nauseating design...there is the detail of the pre-placed mounts. My contacts in Engineering seem to think the unit was meant as a platform for multi-role weapons systems- artillery mounts, possibly, or external power sources for larger beam weaponry? Captain Raske seems to hold a similar belief, from what they tell me. Certainly something to look into.

"However, I am most curious as what the Patriarch has in mind regarding this new high mobility army our morning star cousins are producing. The F50 aside, their designs are becoming much more streamlined, favoring speed launches much like our old war predecessors. It was no coincidence our Zando became a mainstay in aerial combat, nor was it a coincidence the Dolor line has expanded thrice, now. We are no strangers to high-mobility combat, but it seems they've reached a new level of performance through this miniaturization.

"Truth be told, I could care less. If anything, this Battlewing frenzy will provide me with the momentum I need to elevate myself beyond the honorable Captain and his weak-willed subordinates. I am sure that, with proper planning, I can turn this situation in my favor. With Geir behind the controls of our purloined Battlewing, I believe my chances of a promotion in the near future have risen considerably. Old men are prone to sudden lapses in health, after all...who's to say he won't get himself killed in that tasteless mishmash of Cytherean garbage? His own self-importance will be his undoing."

"Day Six, continuing with second session. Forty minutes into electro-muscle toning."

Lowering himself from the bar had proved to be quite a task, but now, safely seated at his kitchenette and the electrodes in place, he was beginning to grow accustomed to the exercise. The electro-toner pulsed on his abdominals and lower back, contracting his muscles in a circular pattern every half-second as he reviewed the Battlewing's performance numbers. Hard-wired to the Union's secure database through his room's holo-interface, he ran the unit's numbers against his Dolor's own, and clearly didn't like what he saw.

"This Wing outclasses my own unit in just about everything other than general aesthetics- however hideous it may look, it does seem superior to our own specialized designs. Its smaller frame gives it a lower center of gravity, aiding in thrust-free movement- the lack of fuel reserves due to size is almost completely balanced by the heightened response in vector-based evasion maneuvers.

"The Dolor's acceleration rate and general launch speed is less than impressive by comparison, but it's variety in weaponry may be enough to offset the performance gap- if I can get close enough for it to matter. The 003 is larger, stronger, and capable of crippling damage at close range. I'm afraid the same can't be said for this mysterious 'ninja' wing, however..."

"There's a secret here somewhere. Beyond the knight-in-shining-armor aesthetic, beneath the polished titanium and sharp edges, the Battlewing's secrets keep victory out of reach, as always."

Alone in his quarters again, Zaqqum had come to the conclusion that physical training wouldn't be much use at this juncture- whether it was age or an old injury acting up, something would get in his way if he tried to muscle his way to victory. There were dozens, hundreds more suited for mindless drilling. His victory lay in the subtle, simple movements, quietly gaining ground on the enemy without giving away even a hint of his intentions.

He was reviewing the Formula unit's specifications again. Things he'd passively explained away last time now took center stage- there were issues in his strategy. The unit was faster than even he'd anticipated, and apparently the miniature weapons did not suffer in terms of firepower. Missile launchers, chemical lasers...the thing was a monster, small enough to crawl inside and eat away at him. Even the powerful Dolor wouldn't match up to it in close range, despite its strength advantage. It was simply too quick; too nimble to hit, its blows too precise to counter with the 003's clumsy, general controls.

"Max gross roughly eighteen tons..."

It was impossible. The G(eneral)-type had everything the previous incarnations touted, only smaller- more compact, deadlier in space and under gravity. What could there be? What could-

"The weight. The weight remains low despite the weapon and armor load out. Obviously, the armor is weaker...but ammunition would be limited as well, wouldn't it? Yes. Vulcans are the same caliber as the systems used in full-scale units- less space means less ammunition. Likewise, charged particles cannot shrink, meaning the laser weaponry is just as short-lived. Ah, but this just brings us back to the beginning- it can be beaten by waiting out its munitions, but only a unit as fast or faster than the Battlewing would be able to do so. That is, unless, we exploit common weaknesses to force a scenario in which our units hold the tactical advantage.

"Common factors in mobile suit designs abound, but to successfully exploit them, we must develop a secondary, superior system to replace the one we shall abuse to cripple the Battlewing. What, then?"

Test data for the Dolor was practically non-existent; Zaqqum's position, lately, had served to shield him from even the smallest of encounters. He'd essentially spent the last few days in a box, talking to cadets, looking over these damned numbers...had they forgotten he was here? No word had a arrived as far as reassignment- perhaps they'd finally decided to place him in the instructor's program? A political dead-end, sure, but a chance to build fine young warriors loyal to him.

He recalled the Patriarch's debriefing...one of the younger lieutenants suggested some manner of seismic rubbish. Certainly nothing to be taken seriously, but the basic concept- removing the Battlewing's stability and forcing it to exploit the superior thrust capacity -did have some merit. As long as the Wing remained reliant on a limited resource, he could simply trick the pilot into defeat.

Ah, but what use was this planning without the chance to implement any of it? He needed to act...he needed to ensure his progress hadn't been cut short by some arbitrary administrative decision. But what could sway those glory-hogging heirs to empty power? Perhaps a decision from one more deserving of his position..

Certainly the Captain had better things to do.

Mister Otoya, as well.

Perhaps he could manage a visit to the source.

"..the Patriarch, then?"

The only way.

"So be it."