CSG part 1.

It was three weeks after the day “they” emerged; creatures from beyond, terrifyingly strange and aggressive; twisted, warped analogues of the smallest torpedo boat to the largest dreadnaught. Nobody knew what they were, where they came from…or how to stop them.

They could be fought, they could be killed. That had been proven several times around the globe, though losses had been high during the initial attacks. For Canada, the price had been higher than most but less than it could have been.

Montreal, one of Canada’s largest shipping ports, had been attacked.  The damage had been extensive, the small and underequipped Canadian fleet stationed at Halifax incapable of mounting a meaningful response. Left completely unmolested, those strange creatures—Abyssals, as they were now being called—had been allowed to wreak near total destruction of the waterfront and cause significant damage to the interior of the city. Hundreds, thousands lay dead, just like the many other attacks that had occurred on the same day.

 Even now, ships sailing for Canadian ports had to be wary of attack as the overstretched RCN did what it could. There was hope, as counterparts to the Abyssals had started appearing in and fighting for the countries they had once represented. Yet none had appeared for Canada, despite her once having had the 5th largest navy in the world.


At the Air Canada Centre in Toronto, the mood was somber despite being packed with over twenty thousand fans. The Maple Leafs were facing off against the Montreal Canadians in what would be yet another great game in that longstanding rivalry. But even rivalry paled in the face of the recent and ongoing attacks. The fans were quiet, the teams coming to play not as opponents, but as symbols of Canadian resilience.

The announcer asked for a moment of silence for those lost in the attack on Montreal, the singer of the national anthem stepping forward between the two teams lined up on the ice. She was a local girl from Toronto, worried about her homeland just like everyone else in the stadium. Taking that moment of silence to lower her head, she thought of her brother who was one of those lost in the attack. As she began to sing, she put every last ounce of effort she could into making it the best she’d ever sung.

“O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command.”

As her clear voice rang out of the speakers, the crowd began to join in. First quietly, then a swelling crescendo.

“With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free!”

By the second line every throat in the packed crowd was singing; a well of human emotion filled the very air.

“From far and wide, O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.”

A vague consciousness stirred, pulled by the need of the crowd. It remembered vaguely a desire to fight, a desire to serve the nation it had been built for. It had failed in that purpose, coming too late to fight the enemies against whom it had been made.

“God keep our land glorious and free!”

The emotions swirled higher the lands of Canada under threat. The consciousness began to push, push itself to where it was needed, where it would be allowed to fulfill its ultimate purpose.

“O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.”

She would do it; she would stand on guard and protect her nation, her country and the people in it like she was meant to do.

“O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!”

The last word of the anthem hung in the air, strung out by twenty thousand people, each and every one singing their heart out. She could hear the singing, the music playing along to images of brave men saluting a flag blowing in the salty ocean breeze. As the crescendo hit, there was a flash of blue light and she heard a roar of noise. When the light finally cleared, there was one more person in the arena than there had been before.

Standing directly at the center of the ice was a girl. She was of slightly above average height, standing at nearly 5’7’’ and topped with a shock of long blonde hair. Her slim yet curvy body was covered in a slightly modified black double-breasted undress coat, its double rows of four buttons glinting in the spotlight, a white shirt and black tie tucked underneath. A short black skirt barely covered her lower body, a set of matching black stockings rising so that only a small gap of skin was visible between them. Rounding out her appearance was a backpack that looked like a smokestack. Three arms reached around her from the stack, each sporting an assortment of small guns along their length with a larger three barreled turret on the end.

As the girl looked up at the crowd, her eyes as wide as theirs were, she finally remembered who she was. She was HMCS Ontario, and she was ready for a fight.