Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Silence is deafening.

She’s lost count of the years that have passed since she heard the last edict of the Empress. The constant hum of orders and missives that had once filled her mind has gone, gone the way of her planet, gone the way of her past. Perhaps that’s why she chose to follow another whose orders could give her life meaning, could fill the void of silence that the loss of her world left her with. She doesn’t consider herself sentimental. But there is comfort in purpose. And with her body as it is, there are so few places where she can find comfort of any kind.

The door to her room opens and Silver Wolf saunters in, blowing a bubble with her gum, her eyes wholly on a gaming device held in both hands in front of her. Without looking up, Silver Wolf bops her shoulder against the door panel, shutting it behind her.

“Yo Sam,” Silver Wolf says, hopping up to the couch along the far wall and letting herself fall into it.

Sam, as she’s known to her fellow Stellaron Hunters, says nothing at first. She has nothing against Silver Wolf. To the contrary, she feels that they’ve become accustomed enough to each other so as to not always need words. Sam’s reached a similar rapport with Blade, though Blade’s silence is less a byproduct of absorption in his hobbies—as Silver Wolf’s is—and rather a tendency to consider frivolous words outside of a mission pointless.

In that, Sam has found some common ground, though that ground is infertile for the purposes of forging a connection. Not that Sam would want to. The other Stellaron Hunters are, after all, little more than a side-effect of her chosen purpose.

Still…

“Are you here to give me a mission?” Sam asks, turning slightly back towards the couch.

“Pffft,” Silver Wolf laughs, “You think Elio would send me over to give you a mission?”

Sam thinks on this for a moment. “If it was required, I’m certain he would.”

“Mmm guess you’re right but nah, I’m here for this.”

Sam turns the rest of the way towards her. “That game is on a handheld device.”

“Not that, this,” Silver Wolf says, patting the couch. She’s laying on her back, her head against the armrest closest to Sam.

It sometimes surprises Sam how easily Silver Wolf lets down her guard. It would be a simple enough matter to eliminate Silver Wolf where she lays. A single motion could end the little hacker’s life. But perhaps it’s only that Sam understands little of people’s hearts, that she would think this way. Silver Wolf, as antisocial as she often seems, likely knows Sam far better than the reverse. So it’s easy to assume that Silver Wolf knows that Sam has no desire to harm her.

But then...desire so seldom lends itself as a reason for Sam’s actions.

“I see,” Sam says, turning back to the console, though those words bring her back to a memory of a time long ago: her first time meeting Kafka. She crosses her arms and closes her eyes, though her finely honed hearing, enhanced for the purposes of hunting down key Swarm targets through the deafening hum of their legions’ wingbeats, hears Silver Wolf’s heartbeat; there’s no way Silver Wolf can mount a sudden attack without Sam knowing. Thus prepared, Sam allows herself to think back on that first meeting with Kafka.

However fleeting that memory might be, she feels that she may never forget it.

The woman before Sam stands well below Sam’s chest, but somehow, Sam has never felt this small before. But while she ponders this, Kafka lays a gloved hand against Sam’s chest, looking up into Sam’s visor with coy eyes and a teasing smile.

“I wonder when you'll show me what you're hiding, under all that,” Kafka says, her voice soft and sweet with a sensual tang.

Sensing herself still in control of her faculties, Sam concludes that Kafka did not in fact use her formidable ability. “I see,” Sam says simply.

“Aw,” Kafka says with a chuckle, drawing a little heart on Sam’s chestplate. “And here I was hoping you’d say the same to me.”

“I...see…”

Kafka smiles, turning away and motioning for Sam to follow. “I have a feeling you and I are going to get along just fine,” she says in that same alluring voice.

Sam says nothing but follows, a confusing swirl of emotions flooding through her. Yet though she can’t quite name a single one of those feelings, they feel somehow...comforting.

She wouldn’t be against feeling them again.

“Dude, you afk or something?”

Silver Wolf’s voice snaps Sam out of her reverie. Though she hadn’t lost track of Silver Wolf’s physical location nor lapsed in her scanning of potential threats, she…

On second thought, perhaps she had lost focus for a time.

“I am still at this keyboard, though I suspect that’s not what you mean,” Sam says, turning back towards Silver Wolf.

Silver Wolf has turned herself belly-down, her eyes still glued to her handheld gaming system. She idly moves her feet in a rhythmic little cycle, nearly kicking her own butt. “Lul, yeah that’s not what I mean. Just look like you’re spacing out more than usual or something. Anything fun?”

“I was thinking back to when I first met Kafka. So...I’m unsure how to answer that.”

Silver Wolf snickers, her bright grin and the playful way her ponytail shakes as she laughs filling Sam with a thrumming echo of those unknown, long-ago feelings. “Freaking, right? Hey, at least it went better than Blade’s, right? Though I dunno who could’ve possibly held you down.”

Sam smiles, though she knows Silver Wolf can’t see.

“So,” Silver Wolf starts, her lips pulling down into a little frown—a sign that she’s about to ask something she doesn’t want to ask. “Uhh...what do you uh...think of Kafka?”

Sam stares, quiet for a moment, before answering. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Y’know, like...do you two like...y’know…” Silver Wolf clears her throat but doesn’t look up from her game. If anything, she seems to press her face just a bit closer to it.

“I...am afraid I don’t know.”

“Well, like...do you ever do like...stuff that isn’t for missions?” Now Silver Wolf glances up, but only for the briefest moment before her pale eyes settle again on the little screen held in front of her.

Seeing the way those eyes catch the light, seeing the delicate, deft way Silver Wolf’s fingers work the knobs and press the buttons of her handheld…

Seeing the way her back arches as Silver Wolf adjusts on the couch…

Sam looks away. “I am still uncertain what you might mean, but...you should know that when I’m not on a mission, I spend my time wherever I’m assigned.”

“C’mon dude, you know what I mean.”

“I truly do not.”

A little tone plays as Silver Wolf pauses her game, and with a huff she sits up on the couch, on her knees. “So you and her are just...coworkers? Like...that’s it?”

Sam starts to realize, now, what Silver Wolf might be getting at, though how Silver Wolf could possibly have even thought of that as a possibility will likely forever elude Sam. “We’re nothing more. Though I would liken us all more to fellow soldiers than coworkers, if for no other reason than the typical level of danger our missions involve.”

Silver Wolf’s face—which before had been scowling—seems to soften, and she sits back on her heels a little more. “Huh, okay. You sure that’s all you are?”

“Did you really think we were more?”

Silver Wolf gives a little shrug but looks away, and Sam catches the unmistakable tinge of blush across her cheeks. “I dunno, maybe? No? Pick one.”

“Are my choices ‘no’ and ‘maybe?’”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mean yes they are, or is ‘yeah’ now an option?”

Silver Wolf breaks into laughter, little snorts sneaking in-between her giggles. “Nice dude, GG.” She hops off the couch and bounces over to Sam, her hair-bow dancing playfully as she goes. She holds up a tiny fist and Sam gently bumps her huge, metal fist against it, careful beyond measure, lest she accidentally hurt Silver Wolf.

“GG. Did I do that correctly?” Sam asks, earning another snort from Silver Wolf.

“Yeah, you’re good dude. But um...don’t uh...tell Kafka I asked about this, please?” Silver Wolf looks up, and up, and up into Sam’s visor, and seeing the fragile look on Silver Wolf’s face fills Sam again with that echo of feelings she has no name for.

“Of course.” Sam nods and Silver Wolf grins, and later, as Sam sits alone—Silver Wolf having long bounced off to another time-waster—Sam wonders what it would even be like, were she and Kafka more than what they are. But she can’t quite picture what such a thing might look like. She sighs, and turns her mind to other matters.

After all, such things are not for her.

Not that she doesn’t want them.

Not that she doesn’t, no.

She looks down at the metal suit protecting her slowing body, and imagines what it would be like to hold another close. To walk side-by-side.

Such lovely things…

She sees, in her waking mind, the nightmares of her past and the blood and fire of her present.

Surely...of all who live…

She thinks of Kafka, whose lips seem always to promise sensations beyond compare. And she thinks of Silver Wolf, whose easy laugh brightens even the darkest hells of Sam’s own creation.

Sam winces, though none can see.

Surely I, least of all, deserve such lovely things.

Surely I, least of all…

Could hope to be forgiven.

Chapter Text

Pop!

Silver Wolf raises an eyebrow at Sam as she licks the aftermath of her gum-bubble-pop back into her lips. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Through the viewport behind Silver Wolf, Sam sees the planet they’re orbiting crest into view. Down on the planet itself, Blade and Kafka are following Elio’s script, just as Silver Wolf had done when she had neutralized the automated countermeasures of the hijacked cruiser they’re currently aboard.

Just as Sam had followed the brief script she was given when she had launched herself across the void between their ship and their target’s...just as she had followed the script when she had neutralized the crew.

Sam motions again to the holographic—yet still fully interactive—screen Silver Wolf had summoned for her, per Sam’s request. But Sam’s second request…

“I am not messing with you,” Sam assures Silver Wolf, but Silver Wolf only narrows her eyes.

“There is like...no way you don’t know how to use the internet.” Silver Wolf plants her hands on her hips, clearly not buying Sam’s story.

Unfortunate, considering how true it is.

“I have had no reason to use it before,” Sam says simply.

Silver Wolf sighs, facepalming. “Dude…”

Sam shrugs.

“Dude,” Silver Wolf says again, snickering this time, her little grin shining in the bright lights of the scorchmarked cabin. “Wow, okay...let’s uh...do a little tutorial mission, ‘kay?”

“...’kay,” Sam says, earning a snort from Silver Wolf—an accomplishment Sam feels oddly proud of.

It’s never been particularly difficult to make Silver Wolf laugh, as far as Sam can tell, though…

No.

I won’t.

Silver Wolf brushes her hair back over her ear as she scooches in front of Sam and taps out a few quick keystrokes, and for a brief moment, Sam dares to let herself wonder what it would feel like, were she to run her fingers through that same hair.

Were she to...if she even could.

Within her mask of metal, Sam squeezes her eyes shut, focusing on blocking the thoughts out.

I won’t.

I won’t let myself…

She thinks of how often Silver Wolf seems to laugh around her, and wonders—for the briefest moment—if Silver Wolf laughs that way for others.

Sam squeezes her eyes tighter.

I won’t let myself think I’m special to her.

“So,” Silver Wolf says, presenting the scintillating, neon colors of the keyboard to Sam, who—within her helm, behind her visor—slowly opens her eyes. “Go ahead. Type out whatever you want, and it’ll search up anything you wanna know about it.”

“Whatever I want…” Sam raises her armored hands to the keyboard, noting how the keyboard seems able to detect her hands’ proximity, the keys shifting colors as she nears them, despite the fact that both the keyboard and screen are projections of light and data—creations that exist solely as a result of Silver Wolf’s mastery of aether editing.

Her hands hanging motionless atop the keyboard, Sam waits for curiosity to strike her.

But it doesn’t.

“Uh…” Silver Wolf starts, glancing first to the screen, then to Sam. “Sup?”

“What do I search for?”

“Eh?” Silver Wolf blinks. “What’re you asking me for? Just search up whatever.”

Sam looks to the screen, then back to Silver Wolf. “I...am not sure what I’d like to look up.”

Silver Wolf’s eyes go wide for a moment and her lips pull down in a surprised little frown, but soon she narrows her eyes and rubs her chin. “Hmmm...seems pretty sus, Sam…”

“Sus?”

“Yeah. Like...maybe you wanna look something up in private, huh? When I’m not around, eh?” Silver Wolf gives Sam a grin.

Sam, though…

“I’m...what is sus?”

“Y’know, sus. You’re sus.”

Sam looks to the screen again, then to Silver Wolf, then back at the screen. She turns again to Silver Wolf after a few moments, earning her a snort from the little hacker.

“Super sus, Sam.”

“Is that...short for something?” Sam asks. A part of her is thankful for the distraction from her thoughts.

Thoughts of what she might be feeling for her fellow soldier, serving beside her under Destiny’s Slave.

“Y-yeah,” Silver Wolf starts, her lips trembling, “It’s...hehe…uh it’s short for ‘sussy.’” Silver Wolf presses her lips together but they still quiver, leaving Sam perplexed.

More perplexed than she already is, that is.

“Sussy.”

“Y...yee…”

“Silver Wolf, are you inventing words on the spot?”

“N...no but uh...could you say it again?” Silver Wolf says, and now Sam realizes that Silver Wolf’s struggling—desperately—to keep from laughing.

“You’re...mocking me, aren’t you?”

“No, no, never,” Silver Wolf assures her, grinning. “But really uh...could you say sussy again?” Silver Wolf pulls out her phone and Sam—for a tiny fraction of a second, before the complex defenses Silver Wolf’s programmed into her phone kick in—detects, with her highly-advanced sensors, that she’s under video surveillance.

Sam dismisses, however, the prospect of refusing.

“Sussy,” Sam says, and though she doesn’t fully understand why, hearing Silver Wolf squeak as she breaks into a fit of laughter, seeing her double over, a hand across her stomach…

A warmth goes through Sam, but with it comes a strange anxiousness, and she finds herself wondering what might happen if she doesn’t keep making Silver Wolf laugh.

If she can’t keep her interested, if—

Interested?

Sam turns back to the screen, still holding her hands up, feigning focus on the internet search engine in front of her.

But it doesn’t work for long; her mind, designed to process the unending and irresistible commands of the Empress with unwavering loyalty and unfaltering efficiency, often fills the silence the Empress left behind with thoughts that spiral quickly into realms of black unknowns, the alien elements of life beyond Glamoth wholly inscrutable. So often, nothing in her past helps to contextualize her present, and she has no recourse but to assume the worst.

When in doubt, consider the unknown a threat.

Though even that core belief has seemed less true these days...

Silver Wolf recovers—somewhat—from her bout of laughter. “Hearing that word, in that voice…” Another little peal of giggles escapes her lips. After a bit, she lets out a quick exhale, trying to get herself under control and almost managing. “Wow...wow.”

“You’re...welcome?” Sam offers, earning another snort from Silver Wolf.

“Sorry,” Silver Wolf says with a shrug and a smile. “Hey actually...why don’t you look that up, as your official first search?”

Sam taps out ‘sussy’ into the search engine. Seeing the results brings a pout to her lips, as well as a realization that she doesn’t often find herself pouting.

It’s a nice feeling.

“I see. So I’m suspicious to you?”

“Just like...weird that you wouldn’t know what to look up. Though I guess you’re pretty much all about the mission and such…” Silver Wolf looks down in thought, though a faint sadness seems to drift across her expression, bringing a sting of guilt to Sam’s chest.

“I apologize,” Sam says. “Thank you for showing me how to search.”

“Eh? What’re you apologizing for?” Silver Wolf says with a smile—a smile that seems, to Sam, just a bit shorter than usual. But Silver Wolf turns to the screen and taps her fingers against her lips in thought, the faint melancholy that had found her now seemingly gone.

Had Silver Wolf been truly upset...Sam wonders if she would’ve known what to say.

Likely not.

“Hrm well,” Silver Wolf starts, going on as she taps out something into the search engine, “Since you don’t even know what you like, let’s start with something basic.”

Sam’s lips twist but she lets her worries smolder at the back of her mind and turns her attention to the screen. “Penacony?”

“Yeah. Like...everyone probably looks Penacony up at some point. Super popular, big vacation spot, blah blah blah.” Silver Wolf blows another bubble.

Sam thinks back on ‘sus’—the new abbreviation she had learned today—and a bit of curiosity finally strikes her. “Penacony...is that short for penal colony?”

Silver Wolf grins. “Y’know, funny you should say that…” She hits a button and an animation plays in the corner of the screen, showing a small, cute Silver Wolf winking—

Cute…?

—and the search results expand, showing a number of historical documents, investigative reports, conjectural discussions...all of which appear to hold rather critical views of Penacony. These results stand in stark contrast to the initial results, which appeared to all laud the locale as the tourist destination for anyone with the ability to travel there.

Sam presses one of the less rosy results and skims through the article. “A prison planet…”

“Yep. Well, sorta. Not actually a planet but yeah.” Silver Wolf smirks, opening a second screen and putting a muted video on, one that appears to be a documentary focused on the less savory aspects of Penacony. “People go there to pretend that life sucks less by diving into this big dreamland, rather than actually trying to find ways to have fun out in the real world. Kinda sad, not gonna lie.” She lets out a mirthless chuckle.

“Have you been there before?” Sam aims to shift the subject slightly. The thought of a world of dreams…

To one who can’t dream, it doesn’t sound wholly unappealing.

Silver Wolf shrugs. “Yeah, more or less. I mean, wasn’t an official guest but…” She flashes Sam a grin, sending a flush through Sam’s cheeks—a flush Sam tries desperately to ignore as Silver Wolf goes on, “There’s a lotta fun stuff there, to be honest. Not all of it’s advertised but heh...if there’s something fun to find, I’ll find it, wherever. Even someplace as tacky and fake as that.”

“If you don’t mind,” Sam starts, “Would you be willing to tell me about it? Your time there?”

“Oh-ho!” Silver Wolf snaps her fingers. “Looks like we found something you’re interested in, huh? Alright, here...I’ll give you a guided tour, Silver Wolf style.” With a sweep of her hands, Silver Wolf hides the burned and bloody cabin of the cruiser behind a VR projection of a grand plaza surrounded by skyscrapers and filled with smiling people wearing upscale clothing. It’s a sight similar to ones Sam’s seen before, but only ever from a distance.

Never as a part of the crowd.

Silver Wolf holds her hand out. “C’mon. If it makes you feel better, we can call it a ‘hypothetical mission briefing.’” She snickers, flashing another grin, and Sam takes her tiny hand in hers.

As she lets Silver Wolf lead her—though thanks to the magic of the VR program Silver Wolf’s running at the moment, their bodies never truly move from their spots standing in the cruiser’s cabin—Sam feels, for a time, as if she’s left her past, left her present…

She feels as if she’s left her suit of dreamless duty, of unfeeling metal...her cage of fire.

For a time—for the first time—Sam feels as if she’s left herself behind.

All she ever was. All she is.

Moving towards an unknown self she’s yet to be.

For the first time, Sam thinks she knows what it’s like to dream.

Chapter Text

The script was clear.

The execution of it, however…

Kafka sighs from Sam’s side as the blast doors slide down in front of them and shutters open all along the hallway, revealing a nest of turrets. A huge monitor descends from a hidden spot in the ceiling, presenting the smirking face of an elderly man in front of the backdrop of the heavily armored doors.

“He really doesn’t want to make this easy on himself, does he?” Kafka says, gripping the handle of her blade.

The man in the monitor lets out a dry chuckle. “Don’t waste your final moments talking at him,” he says to Kafka, motioning towards Sam. “Don’t you even know anything about your companions?” The man scratches his temple, grumbling as the turrets lock-on to Kafka and Sam. “Is this all I’ve earned, after all that? To be hunted down by a couple of amateurs?”

Sam sees, in her visor, an animation of Silver Wolf flicking her thumb back the other way. Without a word, Sam picks Kafka up under her arm and engages her thrusters, launching herself backwards towards the door they came through just as Silver Wolf disengages the metal bars that had criss-crossed across it.

Between the bars and the blast doors, the choice is clear.

“Tch!” The man sneers and scowls as Sam and Kafka escape the room a split-second before it fills with the deafening thunder of the laser turrets opening fire.

“Nice move,” Kafka says with a smile once they’re out. They look up for a moment, then to each other, and with a nod Kafka holds on as Sam takes off upwards, her thrusters propelling them up the now-windowless face of the mansion-turned-fortress they’ve been tasked with breaching.

Blade’s voice comes through their comms, oozing disdain. “The perimeter shield is holding where you’re at, but I’ve cut you a way out through the back. Doesn’t appear he has any allies but machines...and traps.”

“Oh, poor Bladie,” Kafka says with a chuckle as Sam evades the turrets that flip out from hidden panels in the building’s walls. “They can’t all be interesting.”

As if in rebuttal, a huge section of wall suddenly opens, coming down like a drawbridge right in front of Sam’s upward ascent and forcing Sam to stop dead then dodge to the side as the turrets below her start opening fire. Atop the panel, Sam hears the heavy thuds of dozens of robotic sentries. Sam spots a nearby turret and closes with it, turning her thrusters as high as they can safely go with Kafka still held in an arm. Sam grabs the barrel of the turret, crushing its focusing lens instantly.

A red ripple and a high-pitched ringing sound mark Kafka’s slash, and Sam tosses the severed barrel without preamble, proceeding to rip the turret out of the wall. Kafka slips in, silent and lithe, her every movement precise while still exuding her sensual style—it’s a feat that never fails to impress Sam.

Sam has never been very stylish.

Though...perhaps she’d like to try, someday.

She wonders, as she rips through the compromised armored plating of the wall to make an entrance for herself, what her style might be like.

Kafka mows down a sentry bot in the hall and flicks her gaze back at Sam and the corridor beyond. “You know, I get the strangest feeling that he doesn’t want us here.”

Another monitor slips out of a hatch in the ceiling and the man’s voice comes again as more turrets start popping out of the walls. “Do you know how many years I spent on that damned station? How many years of my life I wasted on her?”

“No,” Kafka says to the man, smiling, “But I’m sure you’re about to tell us all about it.”

“You’re damned right I will,” the man says as the turrets start opening fire.

Sam takes point, shielding Kafka with her armor. She sends a massive blast of flame down the hallway, melting the monitor and the metal turrets alike. One of the turrets overheats and erupts, setting the wooden wall around it ablaze.

Despite the hi-tech emergency lockdown mechanisms, the building itself is ancient, flimsy...flammable.

Sam feels an ache through her chest, but doesn’t pause.

She’s found that plowing forwards is often the only way to outrun regrets over things she can never change. As they round a corner—Sam taking the lead and drawing the predictable sentry’s fire while Kafka counters with a single shot to the sentry’s head—the man’s bitter, morose voice comes yet again from a nearby security console.

“Fifty years. Fifty! I don’t know how long your kind lives, woman,” the man says, venom in his voice. “But for my kind that’s a big chunk. And do you know why she fired me?”

“Your lovely customer service skills?” Kafka offers, earning her an unseen smile from Sam.

“Because she got bored! My entire department, shuttered overnight on the whim of a tyrant! She has to be the worst scientist I’ve ever known. Never even finishes half of her theses...I even took one to prove it!”

Both Stellaron hunters perk up at that.

“Oh?” Kafka asks as she rushes forwards, slashing a panel just right to hamper its function and trap a turret in the wall. “Do tell.”

The man’s silent for a bit. When he answers, the bitterness in his voice almost sounds as if it’s choking him. “You...you’re here for that, aren’t you? All this, to have some half-finished ramblings of a madwoman?” He laughs then, a weak and cracking sound. “Truly the story of my life. If I’m to die...it seems it’ll only be because I got in the way of something important. Well I won’t make it easy for you. Or the ones who come after. Or the ones after that!” His voice gains strength and a new alarm blares through the facility, though only for a few moments.

Silver Wolf comes through their comms then. “Heh...so he totally like tried a big ol’ cliché self-destruct thing but yeah, ain’t happening. Jammed up his getaway ride too. Anyway I got his location from it.” With a little 8-bit jingle, Sam’s H.U.D. updates with two map markers. One shows the location of their host and the other shows where Blade awaits them. “Dunno where the target’s at, but judging by how predictable the guy who stole it is…”

Kafka finishes for her. “Most likely right by him. On a desk, or in a safe…”

The man cuts in again, his voice nearly a wail, crackling through speakers set into the wall. “Damned fools! This could’ve been over for you already, but no, you have to just keep dragging it out! Come on then...I’ll make you take me seriously...I’ll make everyone take me seriously!” Hatches open in the floor along the hallway and squat, four-legged robotic sentries—little more than turrets on legs—rise up and take aim.

“He talks too much,” Sam says as she sends a scorching blast down the hallway, obliterating the sentries and setting the walls ablaze.

Kafka chuckles, following behind Sam as Sam leads the charge deeper into the complex. “Not to give him any credit, but words can hold a power all their own. Even if it’s just to trick a fool like him into slipping up.”

Sam thinks back to the man’s botched attempt at blowing the building up as she tries to navigate her way to the marker on her H.U.D., the labyrinthine hallways and endless sentries starting to annoy her, but Silver Wolf pops in with an update as a wall next to Sam inexplicably opens up to the outside.

“Yo,” Silver Wolf starts, “I got you two a way in. Best way is up the outside ‘till you reach the huge balcony outside the penthouse.”

Kafka wraps her arms around Sam’s waist without delay and Sam leaps outside and engages her thrusters, spinning to avoid a volley of fire from the waiting turrets.

Kafka purrs through her comm, “Thanks, Wolfie. I knew I could count on you.”

“Y-yeah,” Silver wolf stammers, and Sam can almost see, in her mind’s eye, how flustered Silver Wolf must be right now. “I uh,” Silver Wolf goes on, clearing her throat, “I gotta go do stuff and stuff stuff somewhere or something…”

Kafka chuckles, but Sam feels a twisting, clenching feeling worm through her chest.

Before she can think, Sam speaks—an oddity for her, though she at least has enough foresight to not speak through her comm. “Words have a power all their own, huh?” She swoops over the ledge of the balcony, though she notes—with an internal sigh—that the ‘penthouse’ looks almost akin to a miniature fortress, replete with enough fortifications and automated defenses to make the rest of the towering mansion look almost lax.

Kafka takes cover around a nearby wall, slashing the turret that tries to pop out next to her and turning her guns to the flying sentries surging out of hidden bays lining the perimeter of the penthouse. “Oh? Do you think I’m Whispering?”

“No,” Sam says, fully turning her outgoing comm off as she punches a sentry back into a cluster of its fellows. “I think you just enjoy toying with people.”

Kafka flicks off her own comm—though both can still hear their companions, neither Blade nor Silver Wolf can hear them without being in earshot—and unloads on a column of sentries as she moves up, joining Sam. They take cover as a massive anti-ship turret, sheltered in a swarm of sentries, unfolds itself from the roof of the penthouse. “Is that how you see it?” Kafka asks as she reloads.

“Am I wrong?” Sam pushes. She isn’t sure why.

She wants to know...and maybe that’s as good a reason as any.

Kafka closes the distance and uses Sam as cover, flinging a flurry of bombs up over Sam’s head, bombs which Sam deftly launches further with carefully controlled gusts of exhaust—powerful enough to send the bombs into the storm of sentries, but not hot enough to detonate them too early.

“We’ve known each other a while,” Kafka says, holding onto Sam as Sam rushes forwards, getting them under the firing arc of the massive turret.

“So let’s talk plain,” Sam goes on for her.

“Let’s.”

Sam breaks through the wall of the penthouse with a jet-powered punch, crushing the metal barricades like one of Silver Wolf’s drink cans. Sam says to Kafka, as Kafka slips into the building beside her, “You know how she feels about you.”

Sam wonders why saying this aloud hurts.

“I do,” Kafka answers.

“You have no intention of reciprocating,” Sam pushes on, back-handing a sentry that tries to flank them and sending it through an interior wall.

“I don’t,” Kafka admits.

In her metal armor, Sam clenches her jaw tight.

Don’t you know…

Another sentry rounds a corner and Sam grabs it in her hand and crushes it, then slams it down into the ground.

Don’t you know...how lucky you are, Kafka?

“Is she not good enough for you?” Sam nearly snarls but keeps most of her emotions out of her voice.

Most. Not enough to fool Kafka, but enough to help Sam fool herself, perhaps.

“That’s not it…” Kafka says softly, though Sam’s enhanced hearing picks it up easily.

What to make of the sad, gentle sound of Kafka’s voice, though...Sam isn’t sure.

“Then why?”

Kafka says nothing, not as they continue cutting and bashing and blasting their way deeper into the penthouse.

So Sam, her anger smoldering low in her chest, pushes on. “Too much fun, leading her on?”

“You really think so little of me?” Kafka’s voice is hard, carrying with it a rare edge.

Sam thinks, but not for long. She doesn’t need much time to find this answer.

“No. But you’re leaving me little choice.”

They round a corner and take cover and a moment to breathe, and Kafka briefly turns a smile to Sam before scanning the other end of the hallway. “What would you have me do?”

“Tell her,” Sam says simply. “Or stop leading her on.”

“Tell me, Sam,” Kafka says, pausing to throw a grenade down the way they came before they take off towards their target, the marker in Sam’s H.U.D. growing closer with every step they take. “If you could choose to either hurt her or give her hope, which would you choose?”

Sam turns the corner with a fiery kick, bringing her foot down on a sentry and crushing it before throwing a punch into the turret that tries to interrupt their talk. “If the hope is a lie?”

Kafka gives Sam a smile, though even to Sam, there’s a touch of sadness in it. “Sweet dreams are often kinder than the morning.”

Sam narrows her eyes then turns, leading them deeper. “Better to wake up, than not.”

They reach a wall. The marker is a ways past it. Sam, therefore, has little choice but to obliterate the wall with a roundhouse kick.

Clearly.

“You might change your tune someday,” Kafka starts as they pass through the flaming ruin, going on as they enter a vast interior garden, lit by lights made to simulate sunlight, “If you ever have a sweet dream of your own.”

Sam’s lips twist. “She’ll wake up eventually.”

“On her own time. And she’ll be able to work through it all, at her own pace.”

The quiet tranquility of the garden—its gentle, grassy slopes set between artificial ponds filled with colorful fish—stands in stark contrast to the nonstop battle of the last several minutes, but Sam doesn’t let her guard down, even as she grits her teeth and mutters back at Kafka, “Sounds like you just don’t want to deal with it.”

Kafka hums, caressing a flower she passes by with a gloved hand. “I could wake her from that dream, to one of two things. No...or yes.”

“You’d pretend you felt the same way about her?” Sam asks in disbelief as they pass by a tree in bloom, its blood-red petals swirling around them, carried along by artificial breezes that blow through the garden.

“Who said anything about pretending?”

Sam stops.

It’s unlike Sam to get distracted from a mission, even for a moment.

But she stops, on hearing that.

“What?”

Kafka motions to a door on the far wall—a door that almost certainly leads into a trap. “You should know by now. In this line of work, only those who’re skilled at calculating risks can hope to stick around for long.”

Sam aims for a spot far to the left of the door and launches at it, crashing through. She sends a firestorm through the sentries that were waiting to ambush them once they passed through the door, leaving nothing but smoldering heaps of sparking metal. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Kafka passes through the door casually, stepping over the annihilated sentries. “Let’s just say...I could see myself falling,” she says with a wink.

“So why don’t you?” Sam feels a sinking feeling in her chest as she says these words, even as she tries to push Kafka towards Silver Wolf.

She doesn’t know why. Why she feels this way...why she says these things.

Perhaps…

Because imagining Silver Wolf’s smile fills her with such warmth. Perhaps that’s why.

Kafka’s face shifts into an expression Sam’s seen only rarely—despite all their years of working together under Elio—and Kafka answers in a voice barely above a whisper, “Because I’d hurt her.”

They’re quiet for a time as they make their way deeper, the digital beacon leading Sam—and thus Kafka—to their target growing larger and larger as they near their goal.

Sam wishes she knew what to say, but her mind is stumbling as her heart churns, her thoughts wordless swirls of emotion and sensation. But there’s something in Kafka’s words that calls like an echo, and Sam wonders on that until Kafka breaks the silence.

“So...I showed you mine.”

Sam turns the slightest bit towards her in confusion and Kafka chuckles.

“Sam, with how curious you’ve been, I’d almost guess you had a personal stake in this.”

Sam turns back to the mission, but she feels a flush through her cheeks and an anxiousness in her chest. “Possibly.”

“I thought we were speaking plainly?” Kafka teases, sheathing her blade and drawing her second gun as they enter a grand hall lined by pillars, any one of which could hide a sentry or ten.

“I can’t give you an answer I don’t have,” Sam says, though even as the words escape her lips and pass through the voice modulator of her armor, she wonders at their veracity.

Kafka does too, apparently. “Don’t you have it, though?”

“I suppose…” Sam pauses.

Have I ever really faced it before?

This answer...how long have I held it out of sight? How long have I refused to look?

Sam goes on through a private comm channel as—on the grand stairway ahead of them—sentries start lining up and taking fire, sending both Stellaron hunters ducking for cover. “I suppose we’re the same.”

Kafka’s voice comes through the comm in their secret channel as Sam grabs hold of one the pillars and pushes her thrusters to maximum, tearing the pillar free. “Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

Sam hurls the pillar at the landing beneath a digital portrait of the man who stole Herta’s thesis, crushing a horde of sentries. “I’d rather not...cause her pain.” Sam feels a terrible, crushing feeling through her throat and on down into her chest, and—for the first time since she last thought of the extent of Glamoth’s doom—a faint wetness starts in the corners of Sam’s eyes.

“Pain doesn’t preclude pleasure,” Kafka says as she darts up the stairs, sidestepping the jittering, flailing remnants of the sentries Sam had crushed.

Sam floats up and blasts fire across the second-floor landing, blazing a path for Kafka. “You said people in our line of business don’t last long without being good at calculating odds. And I’ve been alive much longer than you.”

“You think it’d end badly?” Kafka asks, meeting Sam on the second floor and heading down one of the final hallways before their destination.

Sam says nothing. But Kafka won’t let it die.

She rarely does, when it comes to her fellow Hunters.

“Do you even know what it would look like, Sam? If things went well?”

“Are you intentionally antagonizing me?” Sam asks, her voice going low as her irritation builds.

Kafka gently touches Sam’s arm—so gently, that if Sam’s sensors hadn’t picked up the contact, she would’ve missed it. “It’s alright, Sam. I only mean, that if you start your calculations from a point deep in failure...it’s no wonder you’d never consider success as a possibility.”

“You could say the same about yourself.”

Kafka sighs, holstering her guns and drawing her blade. “Maybe we’re not ready. Maybe we will be...someday.”

“Will it be too late?” Sam turns to Kafka.

Kafka looks up into Sam’s visor, her smile gentle—so very gentle. “For some things. But that’s life. Too late for some things...but maybe we’ll be just in time, for others.”

They round one final corner and enter a large, open room with a single, heavy door sitting across the polished marble floor.

Sam considers Kafka’s words, but there’s too much uncertainty—too much, unknown. Too much reliance on a hope that the desired outcomes will simply occur on their own.

Sam sighs—rare, for her. “It must be comforting, to dream.”

Silver Wolf hacks a hologram of herself in front of Sam and Kafka. She pouts, glaring at each of them in turn, before speaking through their comms to them. “Alright, three things. One, the target whatever is through that door. Two, you had your outgoing comms muted, then set to private, for like...forever. Five-ever. Super unprofessional. I could’ve hacked in and heard you but I didn’t, so, you’re welcome. But you were offline so long that I’m pretty sure Blade’s napping.”

Blade cuts in, his irritation plain, “I was not napping.”

Silver Wolf mouths to the other two, ‘Totally napping,’ before going on, “And three, that yappy dude is behind that door with like...way too many turrets. Which is gonna be super funny in like 20 seconds when I get that door open.”

Kafka chuckles, a hand going to her hip. “Thanks, Wolfie. Sorry to leave you all by your lonesome.”

“Erm, yeah,” Silver Wolf mutters, crossing her arms across her chest and looking away. “Well like...don’t die and I might think about forgiving you or whatever.”

“We’ll try our best,” Kafka says with a smile.

Silver Wolf throws Kafka a furtive glance before mumbling something to herself and dismissing the hologram, vanishing into thin air and leaving Sam with a hollow feeling.

Seeing them...with what I know now…

Knowing that it won’t happen the way Silver Wolf wants it to.

And knowing…

Sam clenches her fists and readies her thrusters, stepping in front of Kafka to shield her from the turrets waiting behind the final door.

Knowing that what she wants, isn’t me…

When the door opens, were Sam not protected by her armor, she most certainly would have been blinded by the blazing lights of the turrets that opened fire the moment the doors opened.

Blinded, then butchered, a split-second later, by the searing beams of light that crash into her armor.

Sam blasts forwards and closes the distance, then she cuts her thrusters and shuts off her flame generators the moment she’s through the threshold of the door, relying instead on the strength of her armored limbs to crush and thrash every turret she sees.

After all, the thesis they’re seeking—having been written up by an eccentric—could very well be written on literal paper.

Kafka comes in after, surveying the wreckage of the sentries for only a moment before scanning the room for their target.

The man who had taken their target cowers in a corner of the room, looking in horror at the flaming ruin of his last line of defense. “You...you got through it all. Years of preparation...countless credits…”

Kafka doesn’t even spare him a glance. She walks along the outside of the room, seemingly engrossed in the various baubles that adorn the tables, from ancient star charts to stolen relics, collections of coins from long-dead civilizations and miniature models of modern cities.

“I’ll take care of him,” Sam says as she moves to the man, though her mind is elsewhere. Yet the words he says…

“You...you spoke? How?”

Sam blinks, but soon recovers and reaches down, lifting the man up by the collar of his elaborate and no-doubt expensive coat.

The man doesn’t seem to struggle...though he could simply be struggling so weakly that it doesn’t register to Sam’s sensors. But he does speak.

He does, unfortunately, speak.

“But you’re from the Iron Cavalry. How did you speak? How...how did you awaken from the dream?” the man asks, his voice faint, his eyes wide.

Sam rears back with her other fist. “I don’t dream. Never have.”

“You’re…? What...who...are you?”

Sam doesn’t answer, and after a simple motion of her arm, the man never speaks again.

When Sam turns to Kafka, she expects a questioning look—perhaps even a question asked. But Kafka’s still looking through the baubles like a shopper at a mall, until she plucks out a small, nondescript container from amidst a pile of maps.

“This is it...just like the script said,” Kafka says, presenting it to Sam, who takes it without a word.

Sam briefly considers asking Kafka what she thought of the man’s last words, but decides against it.

I can’t give answers I don’t have.

Not to her. Not to myself.

As they head to their rendezvous point with Blade, Kafka turns to Sam. “I could have her, but I won’t. For her sake. You, on the other hand…”

Sam tenses, her free hand clenching into a fist. “Do you think I’m a coward? Selfish?”

“I think you’re afraid...and you don’t want to get hurt.”

“So yes, then.”

Kafka looks up at Sam, a patient look across her face. “Words have power. And the choice of words, as much...if not more.”

Sam relaxes. She knows Kafka’s game. But to even entertain the thought of trying…

To even dare think that she might deserve such a thing, after all she’s done.

After all she’ll certainly do…

Sam turns to Kafka and asks, as Kafka asked before, “What would you have me do?”

“Me?” Kafka shrugs. “Nothing. I’ve got my own path to tread. As do you. You’ll have to think about what you want...and what you’re willing to lose…”

Sam looks back to the path ahead of them, to darkened halls and waiting dangers, to an escape from one mission and into the next.

Kafka goes on, after a time in silence, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. I...myself…”

“And if we regret it?”

“Regrets are choices we choose to dwell on, long after it’s too late to take it back. If you’re prone to regrets…” Kafka turns a faint smile to Sam. “Then live in a way you won’t regret.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“True…” Kafka turns back to the path, chuckling. “Regrettable, isn’t it?”

Sam never knew the name of the man who had stolen Herta’s thesis. But she’ll remember the day she resolved to let certain fledgling feelings die.

She’ll regret it, for a time.

But only for a time.

Chapter Text

“It’s been a while.”

Sam hears Blade, but doesn't answer. Her mind is too troubled with the scant few lines of her next mission’s script.

But perhaps that’s precisely why Blade took her aside for a sparring match.

“Draw your weapon.” Blade points his sword at Sam, the shining rivers of gold-colored metals that keep his blade together shimmering in the sunlight that floods the city ruins they wait within.

At first glance, Sam had thought the ruins deserted. Where they stand now, that’s become true, but only because the ruin’s residents have learned to avoid anyone dangerous. Anyone dangerous meaning, on this world, anyone who looks like they make enough money to live far away from the shattered ruins of a civilization bled dry by those who’ve long forgotten the people living in the outskirts.

It’s a tragedy, but one far too common to incite anything in Sam beyond the vague aches of a well-worn cynicism.

If she had the power to save them...she wonders if she would.

“To what end?” Sam asks, though she has a fair idea as to why Blade would want to spend their brief downtime on this.

Blade gazes down the edge of his sword towards Sam, his eyes narrowing. "You know why."

"Do I?" Sam draws one of her swords, the teal energy-blade robbed of its ethereal shine by the ambient light.

"Does it bother you that much?" Blade starts walking in a slow circle around the edge of their makeshift arena, his sword still pointed at Sam, searching for an opening.

Sam doesn't answer at first. She keeps her blade trained on her opponent, circling the same direction. Neither Sam nor Blade are masters of the art of swordfighting. Their skills have been honed by time and necessity, but neither were fully trained in it as an art, and their opponents are rarely true swordfighters themselves. Sam, and others of the Iron Cavalry, were given their blades for the purposes of cutting through the thick shells of their targets in situations when other weapons might cause too much collateral damage. There was little need for the finer arts of swordsmanship—much more need, instead, for the ability to cut as savagely as possible through as much as possible, as fast as possible, to stem the tides of a near-limitless enemy.

And Blade—from what little Sam has gleaned of his past—was more of a crafter of weapons than an actual master of wielding them, though certainly to craft a thing, one must have some understanding of how they are to be used.

She starts to think on his question, though just as she does—as if sensing the very moment her attention wanes—Blade surges forwards, his sword flicking to the side then slashing horizontally with the force of his forward momentum. Sam barely mounts a defense in time, but the strength of the blow is enough to knock her sword askew, leaving her open for a follow-up slash from Blade.

A slash he's more than willing to make. However, he's not the only one giving this little sparring match his all.

Sam engages one of her thrusters, one that happens to be—at this precise moment—aimed squarely at Blade's face.

Were her opponent anyone but Blade, that would have ended things then and there. But Blade doesn't let something as minor as a point-blank blast of flame to the face prevent him from taking advantage of an opponent's weak-spot, and his heavy black sword makes contact with Sam's armor, sending her reeling. She rights herself with another thruster and slashes back at him just as he tries to close in, drawing a gash straight up the front of his chest and keeping him at blade's-length, his pursuit halted by the sword tip pressed against his throat.

Sam steps back and watches as Blade's body regenerates, though their locked gazes never waver, lest either invite another attack from the other. "Perhaps it does bother me," she answers him at last.

"Why?"

Sam allows herself to ponder that, though this time she takes care not to let her attention waver too much. "It is...not something I am accustomed to."

Blade thinks on this a moment as his body stitches itself back together. "I hadn't thought of you as being...the type to be self-conscious in this way," he says slowly, as if carefully choosing each word.

Like Sam, Blade expresses discomfort when discussing emotions with others. But unlike Sam, Blade has chosen, in this moment, to fight through that discomfort to address someone else's issues.

Within her suit, Sam's lips twist.

She wonders if someday she'll have the courage to do the same, when one of her companions needs it.

"Your concern is..." Sam dismisses her sword, the blade flickering out of existence and the hilt recombining with the rest of her suit. "I am grateful."

"Regardless," Blade says, evading. "I don't see what the issue is with you having to be out of your suit."

Sam tenses. She knew that Blade knew she was feeling uneasy about the script. And she had suspected, too, that he had honed in on the precise element that brought her discomfort.

But hearing it out loud...

"I have my reasons," she says simply.

Blade blinks, sheathing his sword. "I won't press you. Though..."

Sam sighs, though she doesn't let the sound of it transmit itself outside the bounds of her armor.

He was willing to put himself through this, to try and connect in the only way he knew how.

He's clearly...worried.

The least I can do, then...

"I have a condition," Sam says, partially truthfully. Certainly, it's true, and certainly, that's one small part of why she's worried, but...

"Are you worried it'll worsen?" Blade asks.

"It will worsen regardless. This armor does slow its progress, but...if me succumbing to it is in the script..."

Blade walks to what remains of a nearby brick wall. "Understanding that the script is unavoidable...can be difficult. But your death wasn't in the script."

"No. And there's enough leeway for me to ensure that I don't spend too long out of the suit. This time, at least..."

"Does the thought of your death trouble you?" Blade doesn't turn around as he asks, seemingly inspecting the wall's construction.

What's left of the wall, at least. Like the rest of the ruins, time and the elements have worn it away, leaving it an echo of what it once was. Though it still stands, its purpose and the whole it was a part of are both long lost to time.

It stands, though it has no reason to.

Sam turns, gazing out across the rest of the ruins. "What troubles me is not finding what I seek."

"What do you seek?"

"A reason to live. For what little life I have remaining..." Sam clenches a fist, though she isn't sure why. She can hear Blade turn to her, though he doesn't say anything for a time.

Sam knows how vastly different their goals are. Though both lost their reasons for living long ago, Blade has always sought the death denied to him by the Abundance. But Sam, for whom death is a certainty, has always sought a reason to go on.

She's always wondered why she's fought so hard to keep enduring despite this lack of purpose.

Blade speaks then, his voice thoughtful. "I hope you find what you seek."

"As I, you," Sam says, turning to him. She thinks a moment, then goes on. Though it's difficult for her to do so, she feels she owes Blade—who, himself, has already gone so far out of his way for her—at least this much. "There are other reasons I am uncomfortable with being outside of my suit, however."

"I could waste both our time guessing, or you could tell me. Or not. I won't press the issue if you don't wish to speak about it."

Sam turns away. "You're...surprisingly thoughtful." After a time, she looks back to find him leaning against the lone brick wall he'd been inspecting earlier. "For the entire time you've all known me, I've been in this suit. I've heard Kafka lecturing you and Silver Wolf about the importance of appearance, in how it can be used to guide the perception of others."

Blade seems to narrow his eyes in thought, but tilts his head slightly after a few moments. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Me either. I hadn't thought I'd be concerned about things like this, but...evidently, how you three perceive me holds significance to me." Sam feels a warmth in her cheeks, saying this aloud, and that sensation alone is enough to convince her fully that—at some unknown point along the journey she's shared with her Stellaron Hunter companions—she's changed.

It's a promising sign, to Sam, that someday she may yet find what she seeks.

"I'd question your exclusion of Elio, but..." Blade gives the faintest hint of a smile.

Sam nods. "I doubt there's a single thing he doesn't already know about each and every one of us."

Blade returns the nod, but he frowns as he goes on. "I can't say I fully understand the issue, but considering how different our situations are..." He crosses his arms across his chest. "I don't really care what you look like under that. But if it's something that concerns you...maybe Kafka would be the best one to talk to."

"Kafka?" Sam asks. She hadn't expected any sort of guidance regarding this matter.

Least of all from one of the people whose perception she felt might change.

"I don't mean to imply she's shallow. You and I both know that's not true. But for things regarding appearance, she's the one I'd consult with. You're worried about our perceptions of you changing. And she's the one who best knows how to guide people's perceptions." He gives a small shrug. "Do whatever you like. But if you want help, she's the only one I can think of." His lips twist up in a bitter smile as he stands up off the wall. "Not that I know many people these days."

"A state we share. Very well. I will consult with her when time allows."

Blade nods, and they pass the time in silence.

And as they do, Sam's apprehension of revealing her appearance to her fellow Stellaron Hunters grows, her mind filling with feelings she has no name for. Though as time goes on, she's grown more and more hopeful that someday she'll know each of these feelings well.

Someday, before the end.

Sam hadn't known how things would go with Kafka.

But Sam does question how this could be, this not-knowing. After all...thinking on it now, standing before Kafka, Sam isn't sure she could've imagined it going any other way.

"Oh...oh my..." Kafka, failing utterly to cover the breadth of her smile, her palms pressed together in front of her lips, chuckles. "It's been quite a while...it's almost like seeing you for the first time again."

Sam's lips twitch. She's never considered herself skilled at reading people in normal circumstances, and the current situation is anything but. "Is...there a problem?"

"Problem?" Kafka rests her chin on her palm, cocking her head in thought. "Well now...that does shed a little light on things. Why do you think there'd be a problem?"

Sam opens her mouth, but has forgotten what she wanted to say.

Assuming she ever knew, that is.

The two of them chose to meet in a hidden, windowless room of a stolen freighter for what Kafka has termed "The Unveiling." After obtaining the freighter and diverting the shipment as instructed, their next step requires a thirty-hour trip through hyperspeed. After that, they'll arrive at their next mission, where Sam will have to operate without her suit alongside her fellow Stellaron Hunters.

Thirty hours...

I'm not sure if thirty anythings would be long enough for me to be truly prepared.

Sam looks away. "I...don't know. I've never been in this situation before."

"Really now? Never been naked in a room with another woman?"

Sam knows, very well, that Kafka has a certain proclivity towards teasing.

However, being teased while nude in a room alone with Kafka is not an experience anything in Sam's life could've prepared her for, and she finds her face flushing hot as her lips pull into a pout.

"My goodness," Kafka says with a chuckle. "I'd almost forgotten how cute you are."

"C...cute?" Sam feels more vulnerable than she's ever been and reflexively scrunches down, tightly gripping the special device that houses her mech.

Kafka gives her a warm smile, sitting on a nearby powered-off console. "Before we go on...let's get you some clothes. You won't be naked for the mission, so there's no need to keep you like this."

"Wait," Sam says, though her voice is hoarse. She clears her throat and goes on. "Instead of me borrowing someone's clothes, it might be better if I replicate their appearance. I just...need some outfit ideas..."

Kafka sighs, her smile even wider. "You just get cuter and cuter, don't you? I'd love to play dress-up with you. In fact..." She pulls out a small, hand-sized keyboard, one that Sam recognizes as being distinctly not Kafka's.

"That's...?"

"Silver Wolf's. I asked her for it beforehand, since I figured something like this might happen." Kafka taps out a few commands on the keyboard and several screens pop into existence. While Kafka can't move them freely like Silver Wolf can, she's still able to use them as normal monitors. That part doesn't concern Sam at all.

What concerns Sam is the fact that Kafka is now patting the spot beside her atop the console.

"Come now, little Sam," Kafka says with a smile.

Though Sam's long dismissed any possibility of expanding her relationship with Kafka, the fact remains that Sam's heart still thuds harder whenever Kafka smiles, whenever Kafka laughs...

Whenever Kafka turns her way, her breath goes just a bit lighter, and seeing the way Kafka moves...

Though Sam's long dismissed any possibility of expanding her relationship with Kafka, she can't deny her attraction to her. As she sits beside Kafka, Sam ponders how long it took her to even have a word for the feelings she felt from the first day she met Kafka. But before Sam can come up with an answer, Kafka's already piecing outfits together, throwing quick glances Sam's way.

Sam presses her lips together for a moment before asking in a mumble, "Is there anything I should do?"

"Mmm...look at me for a moment," Kafka says. When Sam turns to her, Kafka gazes deep into Sam's eyes, silent, and for one delirious moment Sam thinks she's about to have her first kiss.

Until Kafka turns back to the screen and shifts the color palette of the clothes she'd been looking at, that is.

"Um...?" Sam starts, her voice weak and wavering, her heart thundering in her ears.

Hearing her own voice outside of her suit is disconcerting. She's unused to how small and weak it sounds, how prone it is to showing her emotions. The modulator in her suit typically masks all such indicators by virtue of a design focused on projecting verbal acknowledgments.

Conveying emotions is a pointless feature for a member of the Iron Cavalry, after all.

For such a soldier, there is no emotion.

Only obeisance.

"Looking for something that goes well with your eyes..." Kafka says, her voice trailing off as she flips through option after option, deep in thought.

"Is...that really necessary? The outfit for the mission will be very specific. We may as well go with that, or something similar."

"No," Kafka says at once. Her eyes widen and she turns to Sam, offering her an apologetic little smile. "Sorry, I lose myself sometimes when it comes to looking through outfits. But this isn't just an outfit for the mission, or for us in this room right here and now. What I want is an outfit that captures you. Your...signature look, so to speak."

"Signature look?" Sam cocks her head. "Like how the three of you have your usual outfits, when the weather or the mission doesn't necessitate something else?"

"Exactly. What I need is something that catches the core of who you are. Though...it's a little difficult, I'll admit. Despite how long I've known you...it still feels like I'm barely scratching the surface." Kafka sighs, leaning back and pausing her search.

"I...feel the same. In regards to myself." Sam sighs as well, looking up at the dizzying variety of outfits on the monitors. "I've made some small progress, but..."

"Have you now?" Kafka turns to her. "If it's something you're alright with sharing...I could use whatever you're willing to give."

"It's..." Sam gulps. She's been using the internet more and more these days, searching for whatever might catch her interest, if for no other reason than to get a better understanding of what she finds interesting. She fell in love with the idea of Penacony, though the chances of her ever getting to visit it are slim, wanted criminal that she is. Still, she made many mock itineraries, imagining how she'd enjoy the Dreamscape to its fullest.

There were times she even felt like she could taste the food she'd get to try.

But after a time, thinking of such lovely things she couldn't have...

It was an unpleasant feeling. One she's all too familiar with.

So she'd turned to other searches, exploring all manner of topics. Unsurprisingly, she began to search for things that reminded her of herself, to find some representation of herself out there in the cosmos, something she could feel some slight kinship with.

Something, anything, that she could feel a personal connection with, that she could feel that ever-elusive sense of affirmation through.

'Surely, something out there has to be like me,' she had thought.

And she found it.

Ironic though it is, on several levels, one of which is the foes she was designed to destroy.

The other, her suit's very own designation.

Sam sighs and tries again. "It's...an insect."

Kafka blinks, but her smile doesn't dim. "An insect?"

"Yes...a thing I'm interested in...is an insect." Saying it out loud sounds ludicrous to Sam, but she tries to keep her face set and determined.

An effort that apparently only amuses Kafka, who chuckles and covers her mouth with a gloved hand.

"My goodness...I wonder how many times you were pouting so cutely in that suit of yours." Kafka lays her hand on the keyboard. "So, there's a bug you like?"

"It's more than that. I feel..." Sam shakes her head, frustration burning in her chest, and she's about to stand up and tell Kafka to nevermind when Kafka gently brushes her shoulder with her hand.

"Hey...it's okay, Sam," Kafka says softly. "I didn't mean to tease you about this. I want to know more about you, if you'd let me."

Sam glares at her for a moment but lets her tension out with another sigh, her gaze softening. "No, I apologize. It seems...well...that when I'm dealing with things like this for the first time, they're...profoundly difficult."

"It's only natural," Kafka says with a little shrug. "When we let ourselves be vulnerable, the first instinct is to get defensive. Once you get in firing range...that's the time to raise the shields."

Sam gives a weak laugh. "You're very skilled at explaining these things to me. Thank you."

"You're giving me too much credit. You're just a good student." Kafka patiently waits, a hand across her stomach, and Sam tries to put her feelings into words.

A difficult task, but every time, it gets a little easier.

"It's called a firefly. Just like my suit. And while fireflies symbolize many things to many different people, I kept finding one particular idea that....hmmm...." Sam's lips twist as she tries to come up with the words.

"Would you say it resonated with you?" Kafka offers.

Sam feels her face brightening. "Yes! That's perfect! It resonated with me. To some people, fireflies represent the idea that life is fleeting...and precious."

"Hmmm....you know..." Kafka types something into the keyboard. "I know a designer who has a collection that might just have what we need."

Sam feels her face dropping the tiniest bit. "Thank you. But...how useful could me liking an insect really be?"

"It's not the specific thing you like, it's the feeling. Though...as a little bonus..." She brings up an outfit, chuckling as Sam's face starts brightening again. "Little firefly...let's give you some wings, shall we?"

"Those colors..."

"Just like your suit's exhaust, when you get serious."

"I..." Sam feels a wetness at the corners of her eyes. Of all things, she had expected—least of all—to be so affected by something like this.

Maybe it's the thought of herself in something like that, something so beautiful...an outfit for a young, pretty woman.

Maybe it's the feeling of thinking of herself as anything but a weapon.

Maybe, just maybe, it's the woman sitting next to her, who listened to Sam stumble through her half-formed thoughts about emotions she doesn't understand. How that woman somehow picked out something so perfect for her.

Maybe it's that. That a simple little kindness like this, the kind of kindness she never thought she'd experience, happened, just for her.

Her, of all people.

Her, who—least of all—deserves it.

Kafka lifts a hand to Sam's cheek and gently brushes away her tears. "It's okay, Sam."

Sam's tears come in earnest then, though she doesn't stop smiling. "Th...thank you. Thank you, Kafka..."

Kafka chuckles, though even through her tears, Sam thinks she sees a hint of sadness in Kafka's eyes, and hears a hint of the same in Kafka's voice. "I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing pretty girls cry."

Sam gives another weak laugh, though there's a bright, light feeling in her chest. "Your own fault."

Kafka winks, pulling out a little handkerchief and setting the keyboard aside so she can wipe the rest of Sam's tears away. "Oh, but you're a sassy one, aren't you? Come on, little firefly...it won't do to have you crying in your pretty new outfit."

When the tears finally stop, Sam programs her new outfit into her device. Though when she dons it, she can't help but feel the tears start again as she sees herself on Kafka's phone, caught in the camera.

That's...

Me.

That girl is...

"So," Kafka starts, her kind eyes still carrying a touch of sadness. "How does it feel?"

"I..." Sam's arms seem to move on their own as she hugs herself, her eyes squeezing closed, feelings like she's never felt—feelings she's never felt she deserved to feel—flooding through her. "I feel...different. But right. It feels..." She sniffles, though her lips slip into a smile, bright and shining in the stolen freighter's lights. "It feels...like me."

Kafka smiles, motioning towards the door. "Little firefly...lets stretch your wings a bit, shall we?"

Sam nods, preparing herself. But worry's hold is weak on her now, slipping against her newfound shell of soft fabric, desperately scrabbling for purchase on the winglike patterns adorning her.

There's still much to find.

More, to understand.

But she's one step closer. To finding herself.

To finding her purpose.

To knowing why—bereft of a reason—she clings to life so stubbornly.

Clad in simple softness, she goes to greet her fellow hunters.

Clad in simple softness, she goes to greet her friends.

Chapter Text

"May I present, our little resident firefly," Kafka says, giving a small flourish with her hands as Sam steps out into the cabin where the other two Stellaron Hunters stand.

Sam waits, and though—thanks to Kafka—she's now fully clothed, she feels almost as naked as she did a few minutes ago, when she was quite literally nude.

Blade and Silver Wolf stare.

Sam's cheeks blaze.

Sam starts gathering up the resolve to speak, but before she can, Blade—of all people—is the first to break the silence.

"You're...shorter than I expected."

Sam's lips press together tightly for a moment. "Y...yeah."

Blade lets out a huff and shrugs, but Sam spots the smile he tries to hide as he turns away, crossing his arms across his chest.

Sam knows it's Silver Wolf's turn, but turning towards Silver Wolf is proving difficult. Anxiousness courses through Sam's body and she squeezes her eyes shut as worry fills her over what her longtime friend will think. Finally, with a gulp, Sam manages to open her eyes and slowly turn her head.

Silver Wolf's eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open in shock. She blinks and shakes her head, seeming to come back to reality, but her words make it clear she's not quite all the way back yet. "You...uh...um...."

"Hi," Sam says timidly, giving her friend a little wave.

Her friend, who once, she had very strong feelings for.

Her friend, who never knew.

Silver Wolf clears her throat and looks away, scratching the back of her neck as a soft pink blush tints her cheeks. "H-hi. Your um...outfit," Silver Wolf starts, mumbling. As she goes on, she meets Sam's eyes a few times, but only ever for a split-second. "It's...good. Good outfit."

"Thank you," Sam says, her eyes suddenly drawn down to the ground as her blush deepens. "Kafka helped me pick it out."

"Super good outfit. And um...your...your hair..." Silver Wolf crosses her arms across her chest as Sam glances up at her, and though Sam can't quite believe it, Silver Wolf's blush seems to almost match her own. Silver Wolf goes on, her voice wobbly, a nervous half-smile trying to fight its way onto her lips. "Your...hair is um...it's good."

Sam blinks. "Th...thank you. I...grew it...myself..."

Silver Wolf stares.

Sam stares back.

Silver Wolf's lips give a little twitch as she starts nodding, looking away again. "Cool, yeah. Uh...I gotta...go do...hacker. I gotta...hack."

"Yeah, um...see you soon?" Sam raises an eyebrow, unsure what to say, unsure how to feel, but sure, at the very least, that what she suspects is going on right now can't be what's going on.

It can't.

Not now...

Not so long after saying goodbye to those painful, hopeful dreams...

"Yeah," Silver Wolf says, still unsmiling, eyes wide, but there's a definite buzz to her, a flush to her cheeks and a tremble in her voice, all of it adding up to a sum Sam can't bear to accept. "Yeah, cool. Yeah...ok, um...yeah, cool..." Silver Wolf turns to go but collides with a bulkhead. She wobbles away, not turning back, her shoulders hunched as she escapes, leaving Sam with Blade and Kafka.

Sam turns to Blade, who looks like he's moments away from finding that end he so desperately seeks.

He turns to her, then Kafka, then presses a nearby panel, opening a door into a different corridor than the one Silver Wolf went down as he mutters, "I'm going to go stick my head out the airlock."

"B..." Kafka starts but snorts and both Sam and Blade turn to her, surprised that Kafka could make such a sound. Kafka holds up a finger, hiding her face in her other hand, clearly trembling from trying to hold back laughter. Finally, with a quick, sharp exhale, she straightens up, though her lips still quiver as her calm, collected smile threatens to break apart into a grin—a sight Sam can't quite remember ever seeing. "Anyway. Bladie, get yourself ready. Our little firefly here will need you in top form."

Blade gives a single nod and heads off, closing the heavy metal door behind him with a press of the console on the other side.

Sam and Kafka are silent for a few moments, until Sam breaks the silence with a sigh of relief.

Kafka lays a hand on her shoulder. "So. How do you feel?"

Sam glances over at Kafka's hand, then up into Kafka's eyes. "I'm...not sure."

Kafka tilts her head, removing her hand but not letting it drop to her side. Instead, she makes a small motion towards Sam's ear. "May I?"

Sam cocks her head. She hadn't realized it before—despite her profound sensory abilities—but her heart is hammering, and she imagines it has been for a bit now, ever since she stepped into the cabin. "May you...what?"

"Touch your hair. May I?"

"Oh. Sure," Sam says with a shrug, though her pulse picks up a tick, and as Kafka removes a glove and slowly runs her fingers through Sam's hair, Sam's mind starts racing, blindly, unable to catch a single thought that whizzes by as the emotions of the last few minutes become overwhelming.

"So," Kafka starts, her sudden voice startling Sam. She goes on with a gentle chuckle, floating her hand back out of Sam's hair and hiding it away in her glove. "What are you thinking, right now?"

"I'm...having trouble thinking," Sam admits, looking away, trying to will her heartbeat into slowing.

"What if we were on a couch, your head resting in my lap?"

Sam pictures it, but only for a moment before her mind blanks out. Her shoulders tense, heat blazing in her cheeks, only snapping out of it when Kafka chuckles.

"Sorry," Kafka says, stepping in front of Sam, drawing Sam's gaze up with a subtle, calculated motion of her hand. Kafka gives her a warm smile, her voice gentle. "It's nice, finally being able to see your expressions after all this time. I've been meaning to ask...your hair accessories..."

"Ah," Sam says, a hand going up to the ribbon tied in her hair. She remembers the day she plucked the fabric from a tattered banner as she spoke to long-ago friends of such small and precious things as freedom.

Individuality.

Sam closes her eyes, letting her grief fade back into the dim darkness of her past, a past she's shed too many tears for already. "I made it myself, from something pretty I found."

Kafka hums, but doesn't press it, yet. "So, how do you think the unveiling went?"

"I think...it went well...maybe?" Sam puts a hand up to her chin in thought. Her pulse has returned back down to normal, and Sam wonders if Kafka's plan was to keep Sam so off-balance that her mind wouldn't be able to agonize over any of the details of the last few minutes. If that was Kafka's plan...Sam supposes it worked. She goes on, her voice thoughtful, "Blade's reaction was about what I expected. Um..." Her shoulders tense again and her lips twist. "I guess I'm a little confused about Silver Wolf..."

"Oh, don't mind her," Kafka says with a wave of her hand, though what she says next makes it clear she didn't dismiss Sam's worries. "After the mission, you'll have time to sort through everything. Speaking of which, your...situation. It won't worsen from you being out of your suit?"

"No," Sam answers with a shrug, thankful for the chance to think about something other than her feelings for a moment. "The conditions on that planet...thanks to the Stellaron, I'm guessing...are such that I'll be able to spend several days if need be before my condition has a chance to worsen."

Kafka furrows her brow, a corner of her lips turning down.

Sam raises an eyebrow, uncertain what to make of Kafka's reaction. "What?"

"You just seem so...detached about it."

Sam reaches to where the device housing the rest of her suit sits, hidden in the flowing fabric of her dress. "There's..." Her lip twitches. "There's little point in trying to change fate."

Kafka walks to the front of the cabin, gazing out at the stars streaking by as they close in on their target. "Do you really believe that?"

Sam narrows her eyes. "This is an odd line of questioning from a Stellaron Hunter."

Kafka throws a smile and a wink back at Sam, though there's a knowing in that look that Sam doesn't like. "A fellow Stellaron Hunter, right?"

Sam opens her mouth to respond but her voice fails her at first.

She tries again.

"Yes..."

Kafka leans against one of the primary helm consoles, her smile a touch broader. "A fellow Stellaron Hunter...'for now.' Are those the words those pretty lips of yours are struggling so hard against?"

Sam grimaces. She usually knows Kafka's game, even if she doesn't understand the finer details.

But this is new. Uncomfortable.

Dangerous.

But Kafka's smile warms again as she sits at the helm, turning the chair towards Sam. "Sam. My little firefly...this isn't me, confronting someone planning to betray us. I know you wouldn't do that. Even if it was in the script..." Kafka looks off for a moment, her gaze seeming almost sad, before going on, "But I also know that nothing lasts forever. The script may call for us to part peacefully, someday."

"Kafka..." Sam clenches her fist in front of her chest, taking a step forwards. "If the script told me to stay, but I decided not to..."

Sam doesn't want to hear the answer.

But she knows, deep down, that she must.

Yet Kafka's words only bring more peace to Sam's heart. "You'd do what you'd do, I'd do what I'd do....but I'd miss you. And I'd never stop missing you."

Sam smiles.

Even if we fought...

Even if I left them...

A tear comes, and Sam thinks briefly on the last time she'd cried this much in a single day as she says, softly, "I can't imagine anything out there I'd want to leave you all for anyway."

Kafka leans back in her chair, giving Sam a gentle smile. "As long as you're alive, there will always be more to discover. And even if you go...for as long as we're alive, you can always come find us."

"And even if..." Sam squeezes her eyes against the thoughts that come next.

As long as we're alive , she says .

But nothing...no one...

She sees in her memories a scorched battlefield, blackened earth, dabbed unevenly by the pale bodies of her fellows, most unmoving, the few still alive only so, so very briefly.

Though her voice wavers, Sam manages to go on. "I'll always treasure the memories we've made."

Kafka looks, for a moment, like she might actually tear up. But she doesn't, her face relaxing back into that look of gentle tranquility—with just a touch of coyness—that has been her usual for as long as Sam has known her.

Sam wonders, briefly, if Kafka remembers the last time she's cried.

Though perhaps she cries in secret.

Kafka smiles. "You're such a sweetie, out of that suit."

"I'm the same person," Sam says, managing a stiff shrug. "Though...maybe I feel a little different..."

"Being vulnerable can often be the first step towards growth. Though...until we're actually on the planet, perhaps growth can wait."

"Oh!" Sam feels a cold shudder go through her, like a block of ice dropping from her throat to her stomach, on realizing how long she's been out of her suit. Though it would take a bit for her condition to start worsening, she hadn't expected to lose track of time like this. "Yes, thank you. I'll get back in." She pulls out the device, but gets distracted from seeing Kafka suddenly leaning forwards in her seat, watching intently. "Um...?"

"Oh, don't mind me. Go ahead," Kafka says, making a little waving motion with her hand.

Sam doesn't quite understand the appeal, but she nonetheless activates her suit, her special dress dissolving back into the device's housing, the adaptive materials becoming one with the rest of the mech.

"Marvelous," Kafka says, a dreamy drift in her voice.

Sam cocks her helm at her. "I hadn't thought the process all that special."

Kafka stands and approaches, her hips moving with that slight sway of theirs. "I'm sure you'll find this out more and more," she starts as she passes by, heading down a corridor towards where her own preparations await. "But we often overlook the precious things we've carried with us the longest."

As the doors shut behind Kafka, Sam thinks on these words, but for reasons she doesn't fully understand, the sight of Silver Wolf blushing keeps intruding on her thoughts.

Chapter Text

Sam grips the guardrail of the walkway leading to a series of small, flying vessels, each of which is barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side in. All around her, the humans native to the planet walk by in a constant steam of endless, carefree wandering, their wide smiles and loud laughs belying the tension Sam thinks they must all be feeling, deep down.

Surely, they can't be ignorant to their planet's plight.

Surely not, not with their city growing ever smaller as the vast fields of hardware required to power their precious supercomputer devour more and more space, more and more resources. Surely not, as the cargo ships bringing in such vital necessities as water and food become increasingly expensive.

Surely, they can't be ignorant to the strange sentience of their beloved supercomputer, can't be ignorant to its increasingly capricious demands, its increasingly xenophobic mandates.

Surely not.

And yet the people beam, and yet the people giggle, even as they know, must surely know, that for such an advanced civilization, there are an unusual number of missing people.

It's costly, to keep humans alive.

And their supercomputer can—if nothing else—compute.

Though it won't for much longer.

Sam clenches her fists, though the sensation of doing so without her suit is quite a bit different. It feels almost sad, and must surely look rather meager, but there's a strength in that weakness, one she doesn't have the words for.

She steps up onto the vessel Blade rents for them—one he can only afford thanks to the staggering funds Silver Wolf 'acquired' for the mission. But thinking of Silver Wolf leads Sam's mind to wander, to worry worries she never thought she'd have. She clutches at the borrowed dress she'd gotten from Kafka. Her 'signature outfit' currently only exists as a setting for her suit; for the mission at hand, she needed something separate from the mech.

Blade breaks into her thoughts, motioning for her to stand at the other end of the vessel, behind him—though the open-topped, tear-drop shaped aircraft doesn't allow for them to be very far from one another. "Did you read your script?"

Sam's lip twitches and she looks out over the edge of the vessel, down at a family walking happily towards a row of tiny, cramped housing modules. "Not...entirely," Sam admits. "I skimmed the rest after I saw I'd have to be out of my suit."

"I see." Blade guides their small ship upwards, into the artificial winds that breeze through the bright, sunny city. "Your scripts are generally shorter than the rest of ours."

"It seems that way," Sam says with a sigh, though her shoulders tense as the conversation with Kafka back on the freighter echoes in her mind.

All of a sudden...

It's like everyone around me is wondering if I belong.

Blade glances back at her. "You have more leeway to do as you see fit. To use your own discretion. Have you ever wondered why that is?"

Their ship suddenly jerks and Sam grabs the railing, but when she looks to Blade in alarm, he's simply gazing out over the edge, seemingly unbothered. Regaining her composure, Sam answers, "I haven't thought about the purpose behind my scripts being the way they are. I suppose...I've simply been following them. Though..."

A thought comes to her, one she's rarely given time to considering. But as she's become more and more cognizant of her emotions, she's begun to wonder strange thoughts, thoughts she thought she'd buried long ago.

Thoughts that had only flared to life briefly, as her former life faded into the ashes of memories too painful to remember.

A thought that perhaps, following orders might not be all there is to life.

The ship jerks again, and this time, Sam can't dismiss it as easily. "I um...I didn't know you knew how to fly things like this."

"I don't," Blade says simply. "Though it's vaguely reminiscent of vehicles I've seen others pilot before."

Sam feels uneasiness worm its way through her. She's not used to being outside her suit, and though—through training and design—she's tougher than a similarly built human, it's nowhere near enough to survive a fall from this height. "Um..."

"Is there a problem?" Blade narrowly dodges another vessel, though he still seems completely unphased by the near-death experiences they're slowly starting to rack up.

"Are you sure you can pilot this?"

"No," Blade says with a shrug. "But it's in my script to try."

Sam's lips twitch. "I see..."

"And fail."

"...wait what?"

But Blade's answer—if he had even been giving one—is cut off as a ship hits the underside of their vessel, its upward ascent unseen and un-dodged by Blade. For the briefest moment, Sam's mind is calm, even as their open-air vessel is upended, throwing both her and Blade into the sky. For a moment, her mind is calm, gazing up at their vessel as it floats, uselessly, above and out of their reach.

Because for just a moment, Sam forgets that she couldn't bring her suit; for just a moment, she forgets that the Stellaron-guided supercomputer controlling the planet, though it could be tricked by Silver Wolf's abilities into ignoring the IPC's regulations regarding wanted criminals, couldn't be convinced to allow weaponry of any sort.

That it allowed Sam herself to board, even bereft of concern towards her wanted status, is a small wonder to Sam.

She is, after all, as much of a weapon as her suit.

Though a fragile one.

And it's this fragility that breaks her out of her brief moment of confusion, as the feel of the wind whipping her body as she hurtles towards the ground sparks a seldom-known panic through her mind.

She's falling.

And she could die.

She looks around, desperate, trying to beat back the panic by scanning her surroundings, by feeding the fledgling flames of a plan, any plan, anything to keep her mind from succumbing fully to fear. She spots Blade, his eyes closed serenely, and a flicker of anger shoots through her.

All of this...

He looks so calm. Because I bet this was in the script.

The script...

She looks down at the fast-approaching ground, the clean, shining streets, the carefully maintained slivers of nature lining the wide, bright walkways where oblivious people walk merrily to and fro, all seen through the constant traffic of flying vessels following their predetermined routes, varying only slightly to make way for the dwindling numbers of tourists.

She looks down at what may yet be her death, and fury finds her in full.

No...

Not yet.

What I have to live for...

Until I find it...

She moves her body in a motion pulled from the memory of her long-ago training, adjusting her profile to manage some semblance of aim even as she freefalls, moving herself towards Blade and calling out to him. "Blade!"

Blade opens his eyes, glancing over at her. "You really should read the scripts."

"I won't die yet!" she yells to him as she gets within reach. She grabs hold of him, and surprisingly, he takes hold of her as well, guiding her to his chest.

"No. Silver Wolf will maneuver a large silver vessel holding various items in a stasis field. We'll be caught safely in the field and displace several shipping crates, which will cause the chain reaction we need."

Blade's words would bring some modicum of comfort to Sam, normally. Even in this situation, without her suit, knowing that this was all planned—frustrating as it still feels—could at least give her the ammunition she needs to quiet her mind enough to formulate her own path.

But Sam, like every member of the Iron Cavalry, was blessed with advanced sensory capabilities for the purposes of piloting their complex mechs. And Sam sees a large, silver vessel holding various items in a stasis field.

Far away, and high above.

"Something's wrong!" Sam yells over the sound of the wind rushing by them in their fall, pointing to the vessel.

Blade glances over, then immediately hits his emergency comm, one of a set Silver Wolf custom-made especially for this mission to hide their communications from the ever-present scans of the supercomputer.

If only she'd been able to hide their weapons...

"We're off script. The stasis transport was out of position," he says into the comm, his eyes narrowing and his lips pulling into a sneer.

"Silver Wolf," Kafka starts, but Silver Wolf cuts her off, her voice full of panic.

"I'm sorry! I...I can't...I can't get anything there, I can't...I'm sorry, I—"

"Enough," Kafka cuts her off, her voice hard. "Blade."

"On it," Blade says, and Sam finds herself suddenly pressed tighter against Blade as Blade holds her close, maneuvering their fall so that he'll hit the ground first.

"Blade?" Sam starts, looking up at him, but the calmness now filling his expression stops her.

"It's fine," he says. "It's not like I'll die."

Sam's lips twitch and she makes herself small in his grip, trying to make his job easier.

She knows he's right.

But still...the thought of someone she cares about getting hurt...

She squeezes her eyes shut moments before they hit the ground.

Were Blade, not Blade, the mere interposing of his body between her and the ground wouldn't hardly have been enough to save her. But the Abundance doesn't deal in moderation.

She wonders if he died for just a moment once he hit. Perhaps he did, for his curse responds with such aggressive, surging heat, such virulent growth, that she almost doesn't roll away in time before the bloody brambles manage to wrap themselves around her. They force Blade's body back into one piece, and Sam stares back towards him for a moment, the sight of that wretched curse damning her friend back into existence overwhelming, but the onlookers surrounding them take her attention.

They've been spotted.

Not bad on its own. The Denizens of the Abundance, though generally disliked by many star systems' residents, are not automatically cause for alarm outside the Xianzhou.

But there are bodies here, full of blood, and Sam hears Blade's deep, low growl as his mind breaks apart, his eyes going wide, feral, and Sam's thankful for the first time since they got here that they couldn't bring their weapons.

It gives her a tiny bit of time to work with, before the slaughter starts, before the vital signs of too many slain residents in too short a span of time trigger the supercomputer into realizing that something might be amiss, that it might be in danger.

"Kafka, Blade's lost control," Sam says in code into her comm, hiding their names as her mind races.

"Position?" Kafka asks.

Sam looks around, getting some sense of her bearings as the onlookers start commenting on the sight, their bright smiles and boisterous laughs drilling into her mind.

"Haha, would you look at that? They fell right out of the sky!"

"Mommy, why didn't they die?"

"Not sure, but it still might get interesting! Look at that man...he's looking awfully ragged, isn't he?"

A man sighs as Sam spots the designation on a transport terminal nearby and relays it to Kafka, and the words the man speaks next send a chill through Sam. "Such a shame...the man's bled enough, sure, but the girl's all in one piece."

Sam's lip twitches and she shoots the man a glare, but a heavy scratching sound takes her attention and she turns to Blade.

Or rather, what he's become.

The beast wearing her friend's skin is dragging claws hard as steel against the concrete of the sidewalk, drawing a twisted gash across it as the beast stares at a nearby family who are all utterly oblivious to the danger, instead marveling over how very marvelous Blade's blood looks set against the bright sidewalk.

"Get back!" Sam says, jumping between Blade and the family. She holds her arms out and faces her friend, but in his eyes she sees only the murderous hunger of a mindless animal. "It's me," she says softly to him, though she can't help but take a step back as he takes a step forwards. She remembers, moments ago, how he held her close, willing to endure the pain of the impact for her sake, without hardly a thought.

Willing to risk the very outcome she's witnessing now.

Her instincts shriek and she narrowly dodges to the side as he slashes upwards suddenly. He makes a motion to pass her by, to move on towards the vapidly smiling family, but she kicks him sharply on the shin, doing little damage but drawing his attention back towards her. "It's me!" she shouts at him now, arms wide, standing tall, trying to be the biggest threat to the wild beast rampaging in front of her, keeping it from hunting freely.

And still, the onlookers stand calmly, watching with interest.

"Oh, they certainly know each other."

"I wonder if they're lovers?"

"Wouldn't it be funny, if he killed the one he loved?"

"Oh that would be just lovely! I do so love a tragic romance!"

Sam's lips twist.

How long have they lived, without knowing need?

Knowing only the desperate drive for entertainment?

She looks into her friend's empty eyes, thinking of how long he's been alive, how strongly he fights against the beast that's taken hold of him.

Life without purpose...

It creates so many different varieties of monsters.

Blade surges forwards, the hunt dropped for a battle of dominance, for territory, for the right to hunt these grounds freely in search of prey, all these unspoken animal instincts driving him towards Sam, who waits with arms wide, her eyes set and determined.

Kafka's voice comes from their side then, suffused with the staggering might of her Spirit Whisper, a split-second before Blade's claws have a chance to meet Sam's throat.

"Stop. Regain control."

She didn't specify who, so Blade, Sam, and the throng around them all waver in place, their eyes going dim as their minds try processing the meaning behind the command. Blade, for whom those words hold the most personal relevance, staggers back. His body bends to Kafka's will, his claws becoming fingernails again as all semblance of the beast he almost became fades back into humanity.

Sam shakes off the command, her mind asserting that she never lost control, and she steps to Blade just as Kafka does the same. "Kafka, what's next?"

"Oh? Didn't you read the script?" Kafka says playfully, but her hands are already working double-time to check over Blade's body, making sure no lingering traces of the Abundance's hold remain.

Beyond, of course, scars from wounds that should've never healed.

"We're off script," Sam says, partially defensively. "Silver Wolf—"

"Has some explaining to do, but later." Kafka looks up, then all around. "Your next part is to 'find the path to the cut-off route.' And since our little chain has been un-linked, so to speak..."

"Where's it end?" Sam asks as she helps Blade stand upright again. Though his body is fine, his mind is still recovering, his will—by Kafka's command—taking hold, bit by bit.

"There," Kafka points to a tall, spindly spire that looks like a twisted, branching needle rising into the air in the middle of a nearby plaza.

Sam nods and looks around. To create an opening for their freighter, they need to disrupt the supercomputer from within. With the supercomputer stretched to its processing limit on a near-constant basis, sudden internal hardware damage in such a central area would create just enough of an opening for a master hacker like Silver Wolf to slip something through.

"There," Sam says, pointing to a large ship flying low in the air, slowly drifting their way. She steps closer to Blade, turning her back to him as she keeps her eyes on her target. "Throw me."

"...what?" Blade, slowly coming back to himself, holds a hand to his forehead, looking down at Sam with visible confusion. "Throw...?"

Sam turns to Kafka. "He'll have to engage the curse a bit, to be strong enough. With him having just come down off of it..."

"I'll need to be here to keep him in control. Do you think you can catch it?" Kafka narrows her eyes as she surveys the approaching ship.

"Yes, if I'm thrown high enough." Sam turns to Blade. "But it's up to you. We can find another way."

Blade huffs but shakes his head. "No, this is the best path. Alright...excuse me." He takes hold of Sam, and Sam can hear the sound of his clothes ripping as his muscles start swelling, his body given over—in as careful a manner as he can, in this situation—to the curse raging within him. He growls and Sam finds herself flung through the air, a strange giddiness filling her over the feeling of flying without the need for her suit.

She grabs the large, central antennae of the target ship, spinning around it to bleed off the speed of her flight until she can touch down on the deck. Were she not accustomed to the g-forces of piloting her mech, she'd need a moment to recover, but for one rare moment, she's grateful for the past that brought her here to this present.

The crew piloting the vessel approach, their calm faces and half-bored smiles making them look like sleepwalkers drifting towards her, their perception a dream superimposed upon their reality. She neutralizes the first one with a sharp kick to the throat, sending him to the ground. The next two are taken down with quick elbow strikes to their noses.

Though she's much, much weaker outside of her suit, here, with no witnesses, she's able to put her hand-to-hand training to use. After all, most of piloting her suit is simply moving her body as she wishes the suit to move, so naturally, training for mech combat often consisted of endless close-quarters-combat drills.

The pilot drops soon after and Sam takes the helm, sending the vessel careening towards the spire. Moments before the ship collides, Sam takes cover and holds on tightly, again made painfully aware of how very vulnerable she is outside of her suit.

The collision is massive enough that she blacks out for a moment, the sounds of the spire twisting and breaking against the heavy hull of the ship a deafening screech of metal-on-metal. When she comes to she's up in an instant, though the ship is now tilted, caught in the sparking, crumpling remains of the semi-standing spire.

She looks to the sky and sees their stolen freighter breaking into the city from the stardock, now unrestrained by the supercomputer's overwhelming security systems. There are no guards in the city, no police or emergency services. All matters of security and safety are left to the supercomputer.

Thus, when the freighter starts bashing through vessels on its way to them, no one seems to bat an eye. Clearly, nothing could be amiss.

Clearly, this must all be intended. After all, the supercomputer isn't doing anything to stop it.

So clearly, everything is fine.

A portal of block-shaped energy cubes in neon hues forms before her and Sam steps through, finding herself in the freighter with a scrambling Silver Wolf, who's opened another portal for Kafka and Blade, who soon enter the freighter and start equipping themselves with their gear.

"Kafka I'm—!" Silver Wolf starts but Kafka cuts her off with a raised hand.

"Enough. Later." Kafka nods to Sam as Sam gets her device and enters her suit. Kafka turns next to Blade, who's wielding his sword and who gives her a single nod. Finally Kafka turns back to Silver Wolf. "Alright, everyone know the script?"

"No," Sam admits.

"Yours is easy," Kafka says with a sigh. "Just burn the place. Preferably without burning us. Silver Wolf—"

Silver Wolf interrupts her, her eyes glistening but her voice nearly a babble, all too eager to make up for her mistake. "I portal Blade to the defense grid's mainframe so he can shred it and portal you to the core once we got eyes on it! R-right?"

Kafka nods, her eyes still hard, but she gives a little sigh. "Stick to the script, and you'll do fine." She turns to Blade.

"Easy," Blade says with a nod.

Kafka turns to Silver Wolf, who gives them their portals into the mainframe, and Sam prepares to do what she does best.

Burn.

With how the rest of the mission went, Sam's thankful that the final, most important part is going without a hitch. The circuits burn and spark as, in the distance, the sounds of Blade wreaking havoc on the mainframe's most vital subsystems clamor admist the warbling sounds of the supercomputer's eerie pleas for a parley, offering everything from money to technology to—most vile of all—offers of its own citizens, offers that Sam drowns out in blasts of flames that roar through the area. A portal opens beyond the bounds of her fires and Sam rushes towards it, knowing it's the signal that Kafka's obtained the Stellaron. She bursts through and finds herself on a newly stolen frigate just as it prepares to enter hyperspeed. Once Blade—the last one to arrive—steps through his portal, the ship takes off, leaving the planet to its fate.

Without that crazed computer...

Maybe they'll remember how to be human again.

Sam shakes the bitter thoughts from her mind and turns to see Kafka walking to the crew cabins, Silver Wolf in hot pursuit. Blade takes one look after them, frowning, and goes a different direction.

Sam isn't sure where she should go.

Silver Wolf messed up. That isn't like her.

But then again, I barely read through the script this time. I've been getting worse and worse at it, as time's gone on. If it hadn't been her, it very well could've been me, messing everything up.

Sam stays still for a moment longer before finally turning towards the crew cabins. As she approaches the room Silver Wolf and Kafka have gone to, she catches bits of their conversation.

Silver Wolf's voice comes first, wavering, the sound of a woman on the verge of tears. "—and it just kept getting worse and I don't even know why, but like—"

"Enough," Kafka cuts her off. "Silver Wolf...Wolfie..." Kafka's voice softens. "There's no point in me giving you a big lecture. You know what you did wrong. But not just because of the mission. Not just because of Elio's script. If I thought those things could motivate you on their own..."

"I'm sorry, I—" Silver Wolf starts but Kafka cuts her off again.

"Stop. I'm not blaming you. We all have our own motivations for being here. But I know the reason you're really sorry. So I don't need to tell you anything. You already know...how close you came to getting the people you care about hurt. So I trust you won't let this happen again."

"I won't, I promise," Silver Wolf says, the sound of her desperation, her sorrow, sending an ache through Sam's chest.

"You can't promise that. No one's perfect, Wolfie. You'll mess up again, I'll mess up again...all of us. So instead...just promise me you'll try."

"I'll try...I promise I'll try," Silver Wolf says. She lets out a soft sound a few moments later, and Sam can picture, in her mind's eye, Kafka patting Silver Wolf's shoulder, or maybe the top of her head.

"Now then," Kafka says with a chuckle as Sam hangs back from the door, wondering how to get closer without it being more awkward than it already feels. "I think there's someone else you should apologize to."

"Yeah, I'll...I'll um..."

"And maybe...there are a few other things you want to say to her." Kafka opens the door and motions Sam in, heading out as Sam maneuvers her large suit into the small cabin where a wide-eyed Silver Wolf waits.

As the door closes behind Kafka, Sam stands awkwardly, squeezed into the tiny cabin. She has a strange feeling though, and it's this feeling that leads her to make a decision she wouldn't have made even a day ago. She dismisses her suit, morphing it into the outfit Kafka helped pick out for her.

Silver Wolf's eyes go wider. "Whoah, wait...is that safe?"

"I can go a little bit without things getting worse," Sam says, mostly truthfully. "And...I think this is a special...thing. For some reason...just..." Her voice tapers off and she looks away. "I just feel like...this is a special thing."

"I...um..." Silver Wolf's cheeks flush but she grimaces and turns away, a hand going to her temple. "I...guess...guh I dunno. I'm sorry." She turns back, looking crushed, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I messed up and...and you almost got hurt..."

"We all make mistakes. And...getting hurt is kinda just...something that happens sometimes, with what we do." Sam gives a little half-hearted shrug, but furrows her brow as she goes on. "But...um...it's kinda...not like you. Is...is something wrong?"

Silver Wolf's mouth works for a moment but nothing comes out, and she looks away again. She sits on one of the two cots in the cabin, pulling her knees up and burying her face in them. For a time, neither say anything, until Silver Wolf mumbles out something that sends blank confusion through Sam's mind. "I just don't wanna feel this..."

Sam sits on the opposite cot, leaning forwards slightly as she asks in a soft voice, "Um...what?"

Silver Wolf glances up for a moment then buries her face again. "I don't...wanna have a crush on my best friend..."

"Your...?" Sam's eyes go wide as her earlier suspicious—against all odds—are confirmed true. But a part of her, the part that's grabbed hold of her vocal chords, apparently isn't ready to acknowledge what's going on. "Who?"

"You, d-...erm, Sam," Silver Wolf says, her voice weak. "I...I just..." She shakes her head, rubbing her eyes and leaning back, letting her feet hit the ground but not meeting Sam's eyes. "It's stupid...I just saw you out of your suit and just...like all of a sudden..."

"Y...you have a...?" Sam blinks, her voice going faint.

Never once in her life has anyone had a crush on her.

Never once in her life...did she ever think anyone could.

"I'm sorry. It's dumb, right? Like..." Silver Wolf sniffles, the tears coming at last, but she keeps herself under control, wiping them as she goes on. "You're the same person. But I didn't...know you were...you know. And so all of a sudden, I just have all these...feelings, and we're on this mission, and I keep getting distracted and making mistakes and then I can't fix them fast enough and I keep thinking of like, why do I feel this way, why does it make such a difference to me knowing that you're a girl, like am I messed up for suddenly having these feelings once I see you? Like I've always cared about you but...I always thought of you as a friend, and I still think of you as a friend and I don't want to...to lose you..." Silver Wolf's voice crumples and she rests her elbows on her thighs and her head in her hands. "I'm sorry...this is all probably coming outta nowhere to you, and like the first thing you hear is me saying I have a crush on you and I don't want to. I'm...the worst..."

"No," Sam says firmly, though she feels tears starting in her eyes too. She thought she'd already mourned this loss.

But she mourned it alone, a loss she had kept quiet, a secret between her and Kafka. She'd let her feelings fade, buried under the crushing belief that even if there was a reality in which anyone could feel that way for her, there was certainly no way that Sam could ever hope to know what to even do in a relationship, no way for her to know how to make the other person feel as happy and loved as Sam wanted them to feel.

Sam goes on, hunching her shoulders and wiping away a tear of her own. "I um...used to have a crush on you, too..."

"You...?" Silver Wolf stares at her for a moment, and Sam can't tell whether Silver Wolf's eyes are filled with pain, pity, or both. "Um...used to?"

"I...didn't think I could um...be any good in a relationship. I didn't...and still don't...even know what to do, and..." Sam gives a little huff and shakes her head, though she feels a tired, sad smile work its way across her lips. "I guess we're the same, though. I don't wanna lose you as a friend. From...what I've um...researched, I think being a friend is still a big part of a relationship. But...it's still scary...thinking I might lose you completely. And so I...let those feelings kinda...go away. It took a while but..."

"How um...how long ago?"

"A while. I'm sorry..." Sam clenches her hands on her dress, getting some small comfort from the feel of the fabric.

"No, it's...I don't...want you to feel like you missed your chance or something," Silver Wolf says, clutching at the sheets of the cot beneath her. "I'm just...I'm sorry. I never knew..."

"It would've..." Sam sniffles, hunching her shoulders and squeezing her eyes shut. "It would've just gone the same, huh? Both of us...feeling like our friendship was worth more."

"It is, though," Silver Wolf stands and sits on Sam's cot and Sam looks up into her eyes as Silver Wolf goes on. "Sam I really...you're just....you're like, my...um...is it still okay if I call you 'dude' and 'bro?'"

Sam blinks, giving a confused smile. "Yeah? If it bothered me, I would've said something before."

Silver Wolf smiles, though her tears still come. "You're my best bro, dude. I don't know how things would go if we were um...like...a couple or whatever..." She looks away for a moment and gulps before turning back and going on. "But I know how things go with you as my friend. So...I'd really like to keep that going. I never want to lose you."

"I..." Sam can't see through the tears anymore, but she feels herself smiling, and though her voice cracks as she answers, she feels a bright feeling through her chest. "I don't want to lose you either. Not ever."

They embrace, words failing them both, and Sam doesn't remember the last time she held someone like this, doesn't remember if she's ever held someone like this. Silver Wolf's warmth, the scratchy feel of Silver Wolf's coat, the soft scent of Silver Wolf's hair...

The sound of her friend crying on her shoulder as she does the same...

When their tears finally start drying, and they let each other out of the embrace, they stay sitting side by side in silence, until Silver Wolf holds a hand up in a little fist. Sam bops her fist against it, but this only results in Silver Wolf doubling over, snickering.

"Um," Sam starts. "Was that...the wrong thing?"

"No dude that was great," Silver Wolf says through her laughter, but when she recovers she holds her hand up again, turning to Sam. "But uh actually...I wanted to ask if I could hold your hand for a bit."

"Oh...um..." Sam tenses, but Silver Wolf gives her a little smile and goes on.

"We'll probably, y'know...hold hands a lot more as friends, like we've done already. But...just for a little bit...if it's okay with you...I was thinking we could hold hands as...something else. For the....um..."

Sam feels an ache in her chest but smiles for her friend, offering up the words she thinks might fit. "The first and last time?"

Silver Wolf's eyes squeeze close and she sniffles, but she nods, and Sam takes her hand gingerly in hers.

Sam doesn't know how long they stay like that, but she'll always remember the first—and last—time she held her friend's hand as something other than a friend. And the next time she holds someone's hand that way, she remembers, with warmth in her chest, the day she and Silver Wolf chose to let themselves love each other as friends, forever.

Chapter Text

"Dudes, Kafka's g—!" Silver Wolf busts into the cabin but stops dead, her sudden entrance—though it surprised Sam—apparently surprising Silver Wolf just as much.

Sam waits, pausing the low-output exhaust of her suit for a moment.

Silver Wolf, her eyes wide, looks at both Sam then Blade, then to the fruits of Sam's labor. "Are...you guys having a barbecue?" Silver Wolf's surprise turns to hurt as she pouts and puts her fists on her hips. "Without me?"

"It's not like that!" Sam insists, subtly trying to move a hand in front of her earlier charred attempts.

Blade, swallowing the bit of meat he'd been chewing, shrugs. "Sam wasn't sure how it would turn out, so she wanted me to taste test."

"I could've done that," Silver Wolf mumbles dejectedly.

Blade raises an eyebrow. "I believe her concerns were as to whether or not the food would be lethal to consume."

"Oh," Silver Wolf's eyes widen but then she narrows them again. "Hey, wait! You can't even die!"

Blade touches a napkin gingerly to the corners of his mouth, closing his eyes for a moment before fixing Silver Wolf with a glare. "As you often say...rude."

"Someday," Sam starts before Silver Wolf can shoot back, "I'd like to have a little barbecue for all of us. How is it?" Sam had gotten the idea for a barbecue after their recent mission, which involved taking down a borisin beastship.

Or rather, she'd gotten the idea after Blade had mentioned that the smell of the burning ship reminded him of home cooking back on the Xianzhou Luofu, a thought which carries a whole host of questions that Sam's choosing not to dwell on at the moment.

"It's not bad," Blade says, sending a flush of pride through Sam. He goes on, inspecting the meat held between his utensils. "We can work on more complicated matters like marinating and seasoning later, but this is an acceptable start."

Silver Wolf bounces up, her eyes fixated on the meat Blade's inspecting. "Great so I can have some yeah?"

"Oh," Sam says, suddenly remembering something. "What were you going to say when you came in?"

Silver Wolf gives her a blank stare for a moment before her face breaks back into the look of utter excitement she'd had when entering the room. "Oh man, you are not gonna believe this but Kafka. Our Kafka." Silver Wolf holds up the index fingers of both hands, emphasizing every syllable as she goes on, "Kafka. Has. A. Kid."

Blade slowly takes a bite of the meat he'd been inspecting and chews it thoughtfully for a moment. "Huh."

"Wha...?" Silver Wolf stares at him, baffled. "That's it?"

Sam cocks her head, raising an armored hand in a questioning gesture. "How did you find this out? Do...do you have some specially designed cameras hidden around?" Sam thinks back on her time spent on this new temporary ship of theirs, but she can't remember a time when her suit gave her any warnings about being under surveillance. Then again, Silver Wolf is one of the few people who could, given time to prepare, develop a surveillance system with the ability to evade Sam's sensors. She'd already done something similar with her phone camera.

Silver Wolf shrugs. "Nah, not in like personal spaces and such, just the usual in case we're boarded. But anyway," Silver Wolf goes on quickly as Sam and Blade both seem to process Silver Wolf's admission, "So like I was walking down the hallway and I see Kafka come out of this room and I'm like 'Sup' and she's like 'Nothing much fam, just watching my kid today.'" Silver Wolf holds her hands up, clearly trying to maximize the impact of the bombshell she's dropping.

Blade gives a look of mild distaste, though to Sam's relief it goes away when he takes another bite of meat. "Kafka...said 'fam?'"

Silver Wolf scowls. "Blade, why are you always amazed by the least amazing part?"

"Hmmm..." Blade narrows his eyes at her as he moves more meat into his bowl. He then turns to Sam, a corner of his mouth turning down in a frown. "I think she's lying."

"I am not! About...most of it. Okay she didn't say 'fam.'" Silver Wolf huffs, but her eyes go wide as she sees Blade snag another hunk of meat. "Wait, how much are you getting?" Silver Wolf looks behind Blade.

The only edible remnants of the barbecue are in the bowl in Blade's hands, and he gives Silver Wolf a smirk.

"You..." Silver Wolf growls. "I didn't get any!"

Blade stands and heads out, giving a small shrug. Right before the door closes behind him, he turns back to her and says, still smirking, "As you also often say...skill issue."

After the door closes, Silver Wolf stays staring at the door for a time. A sudden bubble-gum pop echoes in the cabin and she turns to Sam. "Hey Sam. You know those cookies Blade gets sometimes?"

"The ones with the little...tree nut right on top?"

"Yeah." Silver Wolf smirks. "I'm gonna get a whole bunch. And eat them right in front of him."

"That's so mean!" Sam says with a giggle, though the way it sounds through her suit's voice modulator unnerves her so she stops after a moment. "Hey, Silver Wolf...were you serious about that whole 'Kafka has a kid' thing?"

Silver Wolf blinks. "What? Yeah. Dead serious. Did...did you seriously not believe me?"

"Well...how do you know Kafka wasn't tricking you? Or...referring to you, to tease you?" Sam cocks her head. She starts a scan for the surveillance devices Silver Wolf admitted to having installed, and if someone told Sam right now that she was trying to avoid the realization that Kafka might have an entire life Sam knows nothing about, well...

They may have a point.

Knowing Kafka...I suppose that fits.

But with how devoted she always is to the mission, to the script...

Inside her suit, Sam presses her lips together.

I thought that was all she was about.

I thought...we were all she had. Just like how everyone here...is all I have.

"Hmmm..." Silver Wolf puts a finger to her chin in thought. "Well usually, if she was just teasing me, she'd chuckle and ask if I believed her then she'd give me this coy little smile. But," Silver Wolf throws Sam a grin. "She actually looked like she had a headache or something, so I think she might've meant it."

Sam glances at Silver Wolf. It's been a while since Silver Wolf last mentioned her feelings for Kafka, and Sam wonders at that.

If maybe having had another crush, and having had to give up on it...

If, maybe, having had a friend who'd done the same...

She seems like she's doing okay, for having learned that the woman she has feelings for might have a child she knew nothing about.

Sam feels a sting in her chest and her eyes widen for a moment, but the feeling is soon replaced by a pleasant warmth.

I've always had feelings for Kafka too, but they were always...different.

I guess what hurts, is having not known.

I knew she had secrets...

I just didn't know they'd be like this.

"Dude you're gonna get auto-kicked if you stay afk like this," Silver Wolf says, hands on her hips but a mischievous glint in her eye. "Plus, you'll be left out here while I'm racking up points in a bonus level."

"...please don't kick me, you might hurt yourself," Sam says, addressing the one thing she thinks she might've understood about what Silver Wolf just said, but Silver Wolf's stifled giggle makes Sam think she might've missed the reference.

"Yeah nah, don't think I'd win that kick," Silver Wolf says with a grin. She looks off towards the door she'd come through, cocking her hips and furrowing her brow. "I can't just port us in there or she'll obviously see. There's the air vent but...I don't think you'd fit."

Sam smiles brightly in her suit and activates a new monitoring system. Since the first time she'd gone on a mission without her suit, she's been finding the urge to leave it more and more overwhelming. She'd forgotten what it was like; the mechs of the Iron Cavalry were designed, after all, to never require their humanoid component to disembark for anything other than repairs and mech upgrades, so once a member donned the first mech they were issued, it was very possible that they'd never leave it again for the rest of their life. If the timing had lined up to allow the Republic of Glamoth to design a method by which the repair and upgrade processes could have been done without the human component leaving, they certainly would have made it so. Sam shudders to think of the lengths Glamoth would have gone to, if they'd known at the start how little they'd want the soldiers they'd created to last...to be remembered.

If they'd known how desperately they'd someday want the Iron Cavalry to fade away back when they were first designing them, the Republic might've instigated measures far more insidious than even Entropy Loss Syndrome.

Seeing the new monitoring system she'd configured up and running, Sam dismisses her suit, feeling the soft fabric of the outfit Kafka had helped her pick out once again encasing her in its gentle embrace.

"Dude!" Silver Wolf says, taken aback. "Get back in! It's not worth it for something like this!"

"I'll be fine," Sam reassures her, though she does feel a twinge of two conflicting emotions. The first, a sting of annoyance that Silver Wolf is telling her not to do something Sam really wants to do.

But the second emotion is stronger: a warmth, that her friend cares about her so much.

Sam goes on, giving Silver Wolf a confident smile. "I know my condition much better by now. And...I know this is just a silly random thing, but...I kinda feel like things like this are worth it. If all I do in life are the serious things....missions, the script..." Sam cups her elbows in her palms, her arms resting across her stomach as she looks down. "I dunno..."

"It's like, 'am I really living?'" Silver Wolf offers, grinning as Sam's face brightens. "I get you, but...seriously. The exact frame... uh, the moment you need to get back in, do it, okay? I don't wanna be the one who makes your condition worse. But uh...how will you even know when your time's up?"

"Well," Sam starts, feeling a touch of pride hit her as she thinks of the plan she'd made. "I've developed a monitoring system. Once S.A.M. detects that my condition is showing signs of worsening, I'll be notified, far before any permanent effects take place. And I've got the device to transform right here with me, like always."

Silver Wolf blinks. "Sam is...set to notify you?"

"Yeah!" Sam says brightly, nodding. "It's really helpful!"

"Um...Sam?" Silver Wolf's blank look confuses Sam a bit, but she figures it must just be lingering concern. So in an effort to reassure her friend, Sam keeps her smile bright. But as Silver Wolf goes on, realization slowly starts to dawn on Sam. "Uh...Sam. You're Sam. And Sam...is set to notify you. You...who is Sam."

"I...um..." Sam finds it suddenly hard to look Silver Wolf in the eyes, but she feels her friend deserves at least that much. "I guess...I've never really talked about this, huh? I only recently have started...well I don't know how to put this into words..." Sam sees Silver Wolf suddenly cover her face with a palm and turn away, filling Sam with a hollow feeling. "Um...Silver Wolf?" Sam says timidly, but Silver Wolf holds up an index finger to stop her, not turning around.

"Wait...dude...just a sec. Kafka's got a kid and now you're telling me...what? There's another Sam or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Sam says, taking a small step forwards as her hands come up and nervously tug at the golden bow adorning the front of her outfit. Silver Wolf turns back, and though she looks confused and—Sam suspects—even a bit hurt, Silver Wolf waits patiently for Sam to explain. Sam smiles gratefully, going on. "When I joined, I didn't have a name. Just a designation. I guess, back then, the first thing I thought of when thinking of a name was just...the acronym for my suit. Strategic Assault Mech. S.A.M."

Silver Wolf puts a hand to her temple, shaking her head and muttering. "Kafka's got a kid...your name isn't really Sam...Blade ran off with all the meat...I need to lay down."

"I'm sorry," Sam says, taking another little step closer. "I didn't even think about it. For a really long time...I never really got out of my armor. I guess..." Her eyes turn to the floor as she looks for the words. "I guess thinking of the suit and me as separate things...I haven't really done that. Not for a long time..."

Silver Wolf sighs and Sam looks up to find Silver Wolf giving her a pout, but there's kindness in Silver Wolf's eyes as she says, "Stop being all...feel-sey, you're making it hard to be mad at you."

"Sorry..."

Silver Wolf shakes her head with a grin. "I'm kidding, dude." Her smile fades a bit though as she goes on. "So...if Sam isn't your real name...is there something else I should call you?"

Sam's been thinking about this question herself for a bit now.

She didn't used to. Not since abandoning her designation. But recently, the name she chose when she started this phase of her life hasn't quite felt completely right.

Still....

"Sam's fine for now," Sam says, giving a small shrug. "I've...been playing around with some other options, but until I figure out which one I like most, I'm fine with Sam. It's a name I chose, at least."

Silver Wolf nods, giving Sam a little smile. "Alright. Just let me know, okay?"

"Definitely," Sam nods back, warmth filling her chest.

"Okay now that I'm outta that boss rush mode of emotions," Silver Wolf mumbles, rubbing her chin in thought. "Let's go check out Kafka's kid. But in a less creepily worded way."

"Yeah!" Sam says with a giggle, and the two head off on their adventure. And Sam wonders, as they walk side-by-side—their every word filled with giddy guesses about what they'll find—when life started to feel so fun.

And she wonders, as they get ready to enter the vents, how much longer it will last.

Chapter Text

"So," Silver Wolf says back to Sam, her voice somewhat muffled by the cramped ventilation shaft they've stuffed themselves into. "How's the view back there?"

Sam's thankful, at least, that the shaft is simply a horizontal path along the bottom of the main row of ship cabins, so they don't have to worry about them tumbling down a vertical shaft from one slip-up. But as to Silver Wolf's question...

"Erm...my vision's enhanced so I don't need extra light, but...pretty much all I can see are your shoes. And your butt..."

"Lucky you," Silver Wolf says smugly. "I think we're almost there..."

"How can you tell?" Sam asks, glad that any minor stains her outfit might get from their escapades will be dematerialized when her suit changes form.

Silver Wolf stops and Sam nearly runs into her feet. Silver Wolf shuffles a bit in the vent, and as Silver Wolf speaks, Sam gets the distinct impression she's trying to turn her head back. "I got the layout of the ship as a H.U.D. on my glasses. Don't you got a map?"

"Um...not out of my suit?" Sam says, cocking her head out of habit, despite the fact Silver Wolf can't see her.

"Ah, right. Sorry...not used to you being out," Silver Wolf says. She starts pressing onwards through the vent for a time, but eventually Silver Wolf speaks again, her voice caught over the rustling of their clothes. "So Sam...I dunno if this is an awkward time to ask since you're mostly gonna be talking to my butt, but...your condition. What's uh...the deal with it? If you wanna talk about it, that is..."

Sam blinks and presses her lips together for a moment, but with a soft sigh she relaxes. "No, it's okay. It's called Entropy Loss Syndrome. Everyone like me...all the members of the Iron Cavalry, that is...it's something we were designed to have."

Silver Wolf stops again, though this time it doesn't sound like she tries to turn her head back as she asks, "They made you sick like...right outta the spawn point?"

Sam looks down, an ache going through her chest. "From all I've researched...yes, I believe so. I used to think it was just an unfortunate side effect of all the genetic modification but...even if that were the case, they knew it was happening. So it means they either were happy it turned out that way, or it was their plan all along..."

"Hey," Silver Wolf says, now definitely trying to turn back to look at Sam. "Really, you don't have to talk about it if it's hard."

"No," Sam says with a sigh and a smile. "I haven't really talked about it before, and...it's nice. Even if it hurts. As long as you're okay with listening..."

"Of course," Silver Wolf says, "Wish I could turn around, though. So...did the others um...?"

Sam's lips tremble as voices from her past echo out from the darkness she'd thought she'd lost them in.

'Just looking through the lens makes the whole world feel different.'

'I hope to see the stars on the next battlefield.'

'Welcome back, everyone!'

Sam squeezes her eyes shut against her tears and her memories, and her voice as she answers is soft and wavering. "I think...they're gone."

For a few moments, the only sounds in the vent are a small shuffle from Silver Wolf and a single sniffle from Sam, until Silver Wolf starts twisting and adjusting, saying back to Sam, "Alright scooch, I'm coming back."

"Wh...? Back? Like back out of the vent? But we've come so far," Sam says, her voice still trembling.

"No you're not moving, except to like...get small. Smol. Squish. It's hug time. Just watch the knife on my right leg."

"But...I..." Sam doesn't have much time to put up any further resistance before Silver Wolf's shoes start gingerly poking their way towards her, so she squeezes herself to one side of the vent as best she can.

Silver Wolf slowly shuffles down once she's got enough room, and after a few moments of awkward bumps and apologies, she's finally down at head height.

"Sam," Silver Wolf says, her close breath hot on Sam's face, almost stifling. "Bring it in bro."

"...I don't think we could be...any closer than this...but..." Sam wriggles slightly until her arms can slip under Silver Wolf's and the two do their best impression of a hug, though it's little more than them being mashed against each other.

Still, the feeling that fills Sam as Silver Wolf presses closer is so very comforting, and Sam remembers a time, not so long ago, when she thought she'd never get to feel something like this...the warmth of someone who cares for her, enveloping her.

"Sam...I'm sorry for what happened."

"None of it's your fault..."

Silver Wolf presses closer. "I know but...I'm sorry it happened anyway. It's messed up, what they did to you."

"Silver Wolf...thank you," Sam says softly, closing her eyes and letting her tears come. But after a time, the faint, lingering pain of her past is overcome by a much more pressing issue. "Um..."

"Dude it is so hot in this vent right now I'mma die." Silver Wolf starts squirming her way back up in front and Sam presses herself against one side to help her go.

"Right?" Sam giggles. "Could you um...?"

"Sure can," Silver Wolf says, and after a series of colorful keystrokes on one of her special aether editing consoles, the climate control systems of the ship adjust and send a pleasingly cold breeze through the vents.

They continue on until Silver Wolf stops and whispers back at Sam, "Okay, we're here. But uh...I guess get up here but like...don't come past my chin and I'll look over you. But sideways. You get me right?"

"I...think I do," Sam whispers, an excited smile creeping onto her lips. She does want to see what Kafka might have meant when she told Silver Wolf she had a kid, but even if it turns out to be a pet or some other strange meaning Sam wouldn't have expected, just this little vent adventure on its own has been more than fun enough. She goes up beside Silver Wolf until they're both on their sides, peeking through the grating of the vent into the target room, with Silver Wolf's chin very nearly resting atop Sam's head.

Inside, they see Kafka, pacing slowly back and forth beside a console, her hands folded behind her back.

And seated at the console, her golden eyes following Kafka...

"There she is!" Silver Wolf whispers excitedly. "Or...there someone is. Is that her kid?"

"Oh," is all Sam can say at first. The young woman at the console has a strange air about her—a 'vibe,' as Silver Wolf would say—as if her mind is elsewhere. But there's a key difference between the woman at the console and the image Sam had been forming in her mind of Kafka's child. "She's...way past the larval stage."

Silver Wolf snorts and they both freeze, looking into the room with wide eyes, afraid that they've been discovered. But neither Kafka nor the young woman give any indication they heard, so the two in the vent relax, slowly.

"Dude," Silver Wolf starts, "You're gonna kill me. Why'd you pick now to get a sense of humor?"

"Heh, yeah...sorry," Sam says, not quite wanting to admit that she hadn't intended it as a joke, and noting to herself that the words she has for describing a living being's growth stages might be somewhat more unique to her upbringing than she had anticipated. "Can they hear us?"

Silver Wolf moves her face forwards, resting her chin atop Sam's hair as she adjusts her glasses. "I don't...think so? And we can't hear them so maybe we're alright?"

"I hope so..." Sam's voice trails off as she looks in wonder at the woman who may have been hiding right under their noses for who knows how long. Though the woman is watching Kafka walk back and forth, and though the woman nods and shakes her head and seems to be paying attention to whatever it is that Kafka's saying, Sam can't help but feel that familiar aura of someone drifting, as she herself once had.

Even after all these years, Sam still isn't sure that she's where she's supposed to be. She can only hope that she'll find her answers here in this interim between the horrors of her past and the unknowns of her future.

But she's not alone. And Sam has never felt closer to finding her path than now, surrounded by her friends. She wonders if this golden-eyed woman with the long silver hair has anyone other than Kafka to spend her time with. If...perhaps...she'd enjoy spending some of it with Sam.

Sam shifts and mumbles, her mouth moving before her mind can stop it. "She's pretty..."

Silver Wolf shakes with a stifled giggle. "Got a thing for chicks with silver hair, huh?"

Sam pouts, giving her best attempt at crossing her arms across her chest. "You're one to talk."

Silver Wolf flicks Sam's cheek and gives a quiet chuckle, and Sam smiles. After a few moments though, a thought hits her, but it's Silver Wolf who speaks first.

"Dude..."

Sam nods. "Elio."

"He totally has a thing for them too!" Silver Wolf whispers, though her voice almost edges up too high and they freeze for another moment, making sure they're safe before she goes on. "Three in one group, totally has a thing for them. Probably picked Kafka up then was like 'Hmmm actually I think I like silver more.'"

Sam almost giggles out loud, but Kafka's voice stops them both and sends a freezing shiver through Sam's body.

"You know," Kafka says as she turns and suddenly walks straight to the vent they're hiding in. Neither Sam nor Silver Wolf try to escape, instead staying still and hoping against hope that this sudden turn of events is just a really unfortunate coincidence, and that Kafka might not be talking to them at all. But unfortunately, Kafka comes close to the vent then squats down, cocking her head and looking at both girls' eyes in turn as she goes on, "It's rude to talk about someone behind their back." She runs a hand through her hair, giving a coy smile. "Not a fan of my hair, Wolfie?"

Silver Wolf mumbles something that could be "I didn't say that exactly" into Sam's hair, and Kafka chuckles, coming down onto all fours and arching her back as she looks into the vent.

"So you are a fan then, hm?" Kafka purrs, chuckling as Silver Wolf buries herself even further into Sam's hair. With a deft touch, Kafka disengages the magnetic fastenings holding the vent's grate in place and pushes it off to the side, revealing Sam and Silver Wolf in full. She glances back over her shoulder at the young woman, who is watching the whole ordeal, her eyes carrying more interest in the two in the vent than anything Kafka was saying before.

Sam's heart beats harder and her lips part for a moment, but that moment seems to be enough for Kafka to notice when she turns back to Sam and Silver Wolf.

But Kafka doesn't give her a coy little tease or a wink.

What Kafka's expression becomes, Sam isn't sure, but it sends enough unease through her that when Kafka speaks next, Sam gives a little jolt of surprise.

"Stelle," Kafka says to the young woman, her eyes still on the girls in the vent. "Give us a moment alone, please?"

Stelle nods, giving Sam and Silver Wolf a final curious glance before heading into a side-cabin and closing the door.

"Her name's Stelle?" Sam asks, looking up at Kafka.

Kafka nods. "That's right." Kafka shifts and stretches her legs, laying on her side and supporting herself with her elbow—very nearly getting down to Sam and Silver Wolf's level.

"So," Silver Wolf starts. From her motions, Sam guesses she's trying to avoid Kafka's eyes, but there's only so much evasion she can manage in such a small space so Silver Wolf stops after a few seconds and rests her chin back on Sam's head as she continues. "Did you uh...make her the OG way or do you got some kinda science baby DLC going on?"

Sam blinks. "Science baby?"

Kafka tilts her head. "DLC?"

Silver Wolf groans. "I'd cringe through the floor but...uh...I'm in a vent."

Kafka hums and smiles, putting a finger to her chin and looking up towards the ceiling, reminding Sam of a few paintings she's seen online. "Well, if I'm guessing your meaning from context correctly, closer to a science baby. Though closest, perhaps, to how our little Sam here was made."

Sam's lip twitches as her stomach gives a sickening lurch, a chill running all through her body. "To how...I was made?" she asks faintly.

Kafka meets Sam's eyes, her playful smile fading as she sits back up into a kneel. "Wolfie, be a dear and go say hi to Stelle, would you? If I leave that girl alone too long, she'll start getting into everything."

"Alright just...uh gimme a sec," Silver Wolf says. She's able—with Sam's very necessary help—to get enough room to summon one of her aether editing keyboards into existence, and with a couple quick strokes, Silver Wolf portals herself to the other end of the room.

Silver Wolf moves her glasses back up atop her head and fidgets for a moment before checking herself over once, then again, then one last time. Finally, she heads through the door Stelle left through and closes it behind her.

Kafka, unsmiling, sighs, turning back towards Sam and opening a small hatch beside the vent. A few moments later, Kafka's opened the maintenance hatch allowing Sam to get out, and she reaches a hand down that Sam—after a moment's hesitation—takes.

"Kafka..." Sam's voice is still nearly a whisper, though for a different reason than it had been before, when she and Silver Wolf were trying to avoid detection.

"It's not like it was with you. There are some very slight similarities in the technique, but only on a superficial level, technologically speaking...and there are no similarities, ethically speaking. It was done by different people...in a different time..." Kafka's eyes soften, and she starts looking more like she usually does.

Which side of Kafka is the real Kafka—whether the warm and wise guide, gentle but firm, or the taciturn enigma, with a face like an ivory mask—Sam isn't sure she'll ever know. But for now, it's enough to have faith in the woman who's been beside her for so very, very long.

"I believe you," Sam says, her hands folded in front of her. "So there won't be anything like what I have?"

Kafka shakes her head, but she still doesn't smile. "No."

"Is...she your child?" Sam asks, and now Kafka smiles, though it's a small one.

"Not at all. She was made for a purpose, like you. Although," Kafka sighs and takes a few steps away, her gaze drifting towards the side-cabin where Stelle and Silver Wolf wait. "I have raised her, in many ways. Trained her, taught her...watched her grow, accelerated though that growth may have been."

"How long?" Sam asks, though memories start staining their way across her mind like a smear of black paint spilled upon a canvas of gentle pastels, memories of a room filled with pods, filled with them, with her and the others like her, fireflies, every last one, born to burn.

Born, to die.

For the Empress...

"Years. Not as many as you'd think from looking at her, but nothing like the Iron Cavalry's growth rate." Kafka crosses her arms and rubs her elbows, and Sam realizes suddenly that Kafka, a person who can't—physiologically—know fear, might be anxious. Kafka turns back to Sam, her eyes turning strange again, her expression shifting into the unknown and unknowable. "Sam. I'm going to give you a choice."

"A...choice?" Sam glances to the door Stelle's behind, then back to Kafka.

"That girl..." Kafka turns to the door for a lingering moment before looking back. "Soon...not today, not tomorrow, not even in a system week or month, but soon...she'll be taken. Lost."

"Do...you mean...?" Sam turns back to the door.

"So I'm going to give you a choice, Sam." Kafka sighs and gives a weak chuckle, looking up to the ceiling of the cabin. "You know...my scripts were never overly verbose, but I never felt they gave me much choice. Not that it bothered me, but I had been curious, what it would be like, given the freedom you have. Here, though...with this...I wish I could rob you of that freedom. I wish I could choose for you..."

"Kafka, what...? What's going on?" Sam tenses, her hand reflexively going towards her device, but Kafka's eyes as she turns back to Sam—eyes filled with a pain like Sam's never seen on Kafka's face—end Sam's defensive instincts.

"Sam...my little firefly...it's nothing big. I just want to know...if you want to meet my Stelle. So do you?" Kafka's voice is soft, but there's a waver in it Sam's never heard.

"I...um..." Sam tries to think, but there's so much wrong about this that she can't wrap her mind around her feelings.

"Sam, remember. She's going away soon. Listen," Kafka comes close, locking her eyes with Sam's, and she takes both Sam's hands in hers as she goes on, "Everything. Everything you build with her will be lost. Whatever castles in the sky you play in...they'll all break apart into clouds. And no matter what you do, you'll never get them back. Do you understand me?"

"She...but...but if you know it'll happen..." Sam's lips tremble and she whips her hands away from Kafka, a sudden fury filling her as tears start in the corners of her eyes. "If you know it will happen, can't you stop it?"

"You can't stop destiny." Kafka gives her a tired smile, but that only fuels Sam's anger.

"Because of the script? Is that it? Is that all it takes for you to let something like this happen?" Sam sneers and her voice is nearly a growl, but her body is quivering and her tears won't stop.

"Sam," Kafka says patiently, "There's a lot of cruelty in the universe. No one has the power, nor the responsibility...nor the right to try and fix it all."

Sam throws up her hands, turning away for a moment before turning back with a scowl. "I'm not talking about being some sort of savior of the universe, I'm talking about saving the person right in front of you!"

"Do you mean Stelle...or yourself?" Kafka asks.

A bit of Sam's anger dims as she shakes her head and puts a hand to her temple. "I'm not talking literally, Kafka..."

"Neither am I."

Sam blinks, and her voice fails her.

So Kafka goes on.

"The ones who hurt you are dead. The ones who made you to fight, to burn, to die...the ones who made you broken, are gone. They never glimpsed your face, never heard your real voice, and when they died, they died without a shred of guilt in their hearts, praised as heroes, as geniuses, first for making you then next for denouncing you."

Sam grits her teeth, her fists clenched. "Why...are you saying this...?"

"Because your revenge can't hurt them anymore."

"This isn't about revenge..." Sam squeezes her eyes shut, hating the little squeaks that leave her as she fights against the tears she can't stop.

"These are two different situations, Sam. This isn't you, saving Stelle from suffering what you went through. What she'll go through—"

"Is what? What she'll go through is necessary? What she'll go through is what she must go through, for the sake of the script?" Sam glares, her lips pulled back in a grimace, fury burning its way through her chest, but even now, she knows she's lashing out.

She knows, deep down, that the ones she wants to hurt, aren't here.

And the one she wants to save...

As if reading her mind—and truth be told, Sam isn't completely sure Kafka doesn't have that power—Kafka speaks, softly, kindly, as only she could, she who was born fearless, who yearns to know fear.

"Sam...there was hope for you after it all, wasn't there?"

Sam shakes her head and closes her eyes, turning away from that gentle voice, but she knows there's truth in what Kafka's saying, and she feels her anger dimming even further, a wavering flame in the steady wind of Kafka's soothing words. "But you already know, Kafka...how it'll end for her, don't you?"

"I know she'll leave us. And I know...that I need to give you this choice. Two doors, Sam." Kafka points to the door heading out into the hall leading to the rest of the ship. "Door number one. You don't meet Stelle. I wipe your memory of this little moment. I'll leave behind the memory of the fun adventure you had with little Wolfie, but as for what you find here...you'll just remember coming here and seeing me playing with a cat. Meanwhile, in reality, I keep Stelle hidden away, as I've done for so long already, and when she goes, you'll never even know."

Sam looks at the other door in the cabin, the one heading towards Stelle, and Kafka continues, her voice gaining a touch of an emotion Sam can't quite place.

"Door number two, Sam. You meet Stelle. What happens, happens. And you'll feel the pain of her loss in full. And if that's the door you choose..." Kafka sighs, crossing her arms tightly across her chest as she leans back on the wall. "I won't be able to modify your memory, if we go down that path."

"Because of the script?" Sam asks, her eyes narrowing, but even this brief show of anger feels almost forced. She envies neither Kafka's position nor her devotion, and she knows that given a true choice, Kafka would choose the path that would hurt Sam the least.

At least, that's what Sam truly wishes to believe.

Kafka nods and Sam sighs, giving a weak smile.

"Kafka...weren't you the one who once told me that pain doesn't preclude pleasure?"

"Sam..."

Sam's smile gains strength and she holds a hand to her chest. She wants Kafka to know how certain she is of this choice, sure, but she feels such pride that she herself feels so certain.

Before, she made a choice to save her friend from pain. But it was to save herself, as well. And had she known then what she knows now...had she known that Silver Wolf returning her feelings could've been a possibility...

"Kafka. My whole life, I've known pain and loss. But through my time spent with you all, I've learned to feel other things too. So this time...I'd like to choose hope. Even if it hurts."

Kafka doesn't smile. She only gives a soft sigh as she stands up off the wall and motions for Sam to follow her. "Alright," Kafka says simply. As they near the door, she finally turns a small, sad smile back at Sam. "Just promise me you'll show her something other than video games. I think Wolfie's got that covered..."

"I promise," Sam says with a nod, wiping away the remnants of her tears. As she prepares herself to meet Stelle, she feels her heart beating harder, and she lets out a shuddering breath as Kafka's hand moves to the door console.

Whatever happens...

Sam smiles, a bright feeling flowing through her.

Whatever I might lose...

She smiles, one hand clutching her dress in excitement as her other hand nervously adjusts the ribbon in her hair.

Just knowing that I made this choice for myself, that I chose to believe in hope...will have made it all worth it.

Whatever happens, I'm one step closer to finally seeing it.

A sweet dream of my own...

Chapter Text

Sam's first impression of Stelle—the golden-eyed girl in the simple grey dress—is that she's shy.

Shy, and lonely.

The moment Kafka opens the door into the side room where Silver Wolf and Stelle await, Silver Wolf rounds on Kafka with a glare, holding up a plain-looking phone.

"Kafka, what year do you think this is?"

Kafka steps into the room and leans against a bulkhead, putting a finger to her chin and humming for a moment before answering. "Well, I suppose that depends on which calendar we're referencing."

Silver Wolf scoffs, waving the phone around. "This thing can call and text. That's it. Are you kidding me? This is child abuse."

"First, she's no child, as you can plainly see," Kafka says, standing up off the bulkhead and adjusting her gloves. "Second, on numerous worlds, that's all a phone can do, if it can even do that much...or if phones have even been invented on those worlds yet at all. Third..." She crosses her arms and winks. "There's also a sophisticated tracking device in there. So it can do a bit more than you thought."

"Not better," Silver Wolf says, holding the phone in front of her and narrowing her eyes. But after a moment, her eyes widen in surprise. "Wait...this phone..."

"That's right. One of the first things I asked you to make for me. Thanks, by the way." Kafka chuckles, going on with a smile. "Having such sophisticated security measures built-in by a hacker of your caliber has done wonders for keeping Stelle safe. Speaking of which...since I have you both here..." Kafka's smile fades as she looks to Silver Wolf, then Sam. "Listen. It is vital that Stelle not become known as a Stellaron Hunter. She cannot have a bounty." Her eyes narrow and her face goes cold. "Do I make myself clear?"

Sam and Silver Wolf nod, silent, and Kafka smiles that warm smile of hers again.

Silver Wolf cocks her hips, holding the phone up. "Gaming's alright though, right?"

Kafka's smile dims. "It's possible to track a person through online games."

"I can make it really hard, plus I can make it so if someone is able to trace things through, they'll just find some rando." Silver Wolf pulls up a screen and scrolls through a vast collection of faces and names, listing hundreds, thousands of people and all their most personal information. "Plus, it's online. Even if they track Stelle, and even if they somehow link her to me or any of us, they're not gonna know she's associated with us any more than any of the millions of other people I play with. And, even if they knew she was associated with us, there are tons of contacts out there who work with us but who aren't known as Stellaron Hunters and who don't have bounties. Plus plus, you trusted me to secure this phone in the first place so what, now you just suddenly start doubting me? What kind of—?"

Kafka holds up a hand. "Alright, Silver Wolf, enough." She sighs, shaking her head and giving Silver Wolf a smile. "You really want to play games with her, huh?"

Silver Wolf pouts. "Yeah, I do. So?"

"Fine, fine. Stelle, is it okay if Wolfie borrows your phone for a bit?" Kafka turns to Stelle, and after Stelle quietly nods, Kafka waves Silver Wolf out of the smaller side-room they're in. "Alright Wolfie, go set things up." Once Silver Wolf passes through the open doorway and back into the main room, Kafka turns back to the other two, motioning to Sam. "Anyway...Stelle, this is Sam. Sam, Stelle."

"Nice to meet you," Sam says unevenly, her voice unable to figure out what volume it wants to be. She holds out a trembling hand and Stelle timidly takes it.

"Nice to meet you," Stelle says back, though she's only able to hold eye contact for a few seconds before she looks away, her hand clasping Sam's only briefly.

A small chime sounds from Kafka's phone and she pulls it out. She glances down at the screen then up at Sam and Stelle, her lips pressing together for a moment before she speaks, loud enough for Silver Wolf to hear. "I need to meet with Elio for a while. Stelle, don't leave this room. Sam and Silver Wolf, if you leave, use one of Silver Wolf's portals to travel straight to the bridge. Got it?"

Stelle nods right away. Sam nods after a moment's hesitation, and Silver Wolf calls out "Got it" from the main room.

Kafka sighs and heads out, glancing back once before she closes the door leading into the outer corrider, leaving the three alone.

Sam looks at Stelle, her cheeks warming. She hadn't expected Kafka to leave them alone, and with Silver Wolf distracted modifying Stelle's phone, Sam feels more than a little awkward.

Surprisingly, Stelle seems to be feeling the same way, glancing around and shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she nervously cups her elbows in her hands.

"Um," Sam starts, her voice barely above a whisper. She goes on, a touch louder, "So...what kinds of things do you like?"

Stelle blinks, then looks away as she answers in a mumble, "I dunno..."

"Oh." Sam wants to shrink in on herself, and she wonders if this is what Silver Wolf means when she talks about cringing through the floor.

What do I talk about?

What do...normal people talk about?

Sam tries desperately to think of an answer to these questions, but Stelle clears her throat softly and speaks, though she still seems to be having trouble making eye contact. "Sorry, um...Kafka's taught me a lot of things, but I haven't really...experienced much. She also...didn't really teach me about um...how to talk to people."

"It's hard," Sam admits with a nervous laugh. Thinking on it, she realizes that most of the people she interacts with all have seemed, to Sam, to have a fair deal of experience interacting with others. The thought of Kafka or Blade stumbling over their words when dealing with a stranger, or of Silver Wolf being too shy to play an online game with voice chat, are so far outside what Sam would expect that if she ever saw such a thing, she would apprehend the impostor at once.

The fact that Stelle seems—like Sam—to struggle with it, though...

Sam feels a small smile cross her lips.

That's one thing we have in common, at least.

"Oh, wait," Stelle says. She steps over to a nearby console and reaches under it, picking out a plain brown pack. After fishing through it for a moment, she pulls out a colorful magazine. "I found this in the um...trash bay of a ship. Kafka wanted me to put it back but um..." Stelle gives an embarrassed smile, clutching the magazine to her chest. "I guess I kinda...cried a little. So...she let me have it. Ah! Wait...that's the part I shouldn't tell people, huh?"

Sam's lip trembles as an ache goes through her chest.

This girl...

This poor girl...

"It's okay," Sam says with a smile. "It's nice that you're so honest."

"Oh, that's...that's a good thing, yeah?" Stelle smiles brightly as she hands Sam the magazine, and that ache in Sam's chest gets worse.

She wants someone to tell her she's doing well.

She wants someone to tell her she's okay...she's normal...she's doing what she's supposed to do.

Sam keeps smiling as she nods and agrees, but the hand not on the rolled-up magazine clenches into a fist.

Kafka...what have you done to her?

Sam unrolls the magazine and her mind goes blank. She thinks—for just a split-second, before her mind starts noting all the differences—that it's a magazine about her, about S.A.M., a magazine, even, about the Iron Cavalry itself.

But it's not.

Thankfully, it's not.

"This is...?" Sam cocks her head and starts flipping gingerly through the magazine. It's filled with over-the-top action and blaring colors, and once in a while, a page features suits that look close enough to a Glamoth mech that Sam's mind immediately tries identifying the model by certain key features, only for her to realize that it's not a Glamoth mech at all.

"Oh, there are lots of things like this," Stelle says excitedly, though softly, as if afraid of making too much noise. "I think, at least...it says something about it being volume 585, so I imagine there are at least 584 more of these magazines. It talks about what sites to watch things on, so I think they're all...shows. They look really exciting..." Stelle beams, but her smile breaks into a look of embarrassment almost immediately. "Oh...ah, wait...sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Sam says, flashing Stelle a smile as she points to one of the mechs. "I have something like this and I thought the magazine might be about the um...place where mine came from."

"You...you have something like that?" Stelle asks, her eyes wide with wonder.

Sam nods and hands the magazine back to Stelle, stepping back a few paces. "Yeah, I do! Don't get too close though." When Stelle nods and steps back, Sam pulls out her device and activates it, and in a flash of flame, she's once more within her namesake.

Stelle stares, her mouth hanging open. Then she smiles, wider than Sam's seen, and the bright joy in Stelle's eyes sends a flush through Sam and brings a smug smirk to Sam's lips.

Stelle, shaking with excitement, bounces on her heels. "That's so cool!"

"Heh, yeah...I guess it is pretty cool." Sam puts a hand to her chest, taking a small bow and earning a squeal of delight from Stelle.

But Stelle's face suddenly fills with panic and she dives beneath a nearby console, her motions silent and precise, and were Sam's senses not so highly attuned, Stelle would be near invisible, her body contorted to fit into the shadows beneath the console.

Whatever happiness and pride Sam might've felt flip and tumble into confusion and she dismisses her suit, approaching Stelle timidly. "Um...Stelle?"

Stelle's eyes go wide and she blushes, stepping out from under the console with the magazine gripped tightly in front of her dress. "Oh, sorry. How things usually are for me is...I'm not supposed to make noise, and if I mess up, I'm supposed to hide. I know this is a um...different situation right now, and it's okay if you and Silver Wolf see me, but I guess...it's hard to shake the habit. I'm sorry." She gives a shaky bow of apology and Sam clenches her teeth.

"Does...does Kafka tell you to be quiet? To hide?"

"Yeah, all the time. It's hard. I wish...things could be different." Stelle looks away for a moment, her nervousness fading into a look of melancholy, but the moment passes and she looks back at Sam with a bright, vulnerable smile. "But it was worth it, since it's just how things needed to be, to bring me to this moment. I was supposed to have a chance of meeting you today, so until today was...today, I was supposed to be hidden from you all, where not even Silver Wolf's cameras could find me. I'm um...heh..." Stelle scratches the back of her neck, glancing at Sam. "I'm really happy you chose to meet me, actually. If you hadn't, Kafka says I would've had to keep hiding."

Sam feels a flash of anger burn through her.

This girl...

How long has she been near us, just out of sight? Hidden away...having to be quiet...unable to see the world, unable to experience even the tiny bits of life the rest of us have experienced ...

All for what?

The script?

Sam stuffs her anger down as Stelle mumbles something she doesn't quite catch. "Ah um...sorry Stelle, what was that?"

Stelle, her face flushed, taps her ear. "Ah, um...so you might have noticed that you couldn't hear Kafka talking to me at first when you were watching us from the vents, right?"

Sam blinks, thinking back. "Oh, yeah...we kinda thought maybe Kafka couldn't hear us, since we couldn't hear her."

"Mhm, yeah, that was the plan. She was just pretending to talk, though. We could hear you once you got here though because um...of these. They can't hear through doors or anything but they're good enough for hearing people in the vents at least." She taps her ear again and Sam notices now the tiny, clear insert.

"Ah, I see. I guess I wasn't paying as close attention as I usually would. I had thought it might've been a sound-dampening field. So that's one of those...hearing...amplifiers..." Sam's voice trails off, heat burning in her cheeks as realization hits her.

Stelle gives her a shy little smile. "I um...I think you're pretty, too."

"Y-you...you heard that?" Sam's eyes go wide but she can only look at Stelle for a moment before the embarrassment filling her makes her turn away.

But there's something comforting about that embarrassment...about the entire situation Sam finds herself in.

It feels...

She smiles, letting out a little giggle as she turns back to Stelle.

It feels so... fun. So exciting !

Is this how it is , to be normal ? Is this what everyone else gets to feel?

"You um..." Sam starts, and though her voice shakes, her smile doesn't falter. "You really think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah," Stelle says with a nod, and as Stelle goes on, Sam notices that she seems a little more confident, "Maybe it's a little strange for me to say that to someone I just met but...I figured I wanted to say it now, since I don't know if I'll get another chance. And I wanted you to know."

Sam giggles again, a bright feeling filling her. "Of course you'll get another chance! We can spend plenty of time together now, now that you don't have to hide anymore."

Stelle looks away, giving a sad smile. "Well, I still have to hide from the rest of the universe, feels like. But I'm glad I don't have to hide from you all, at least."

Sam beams, blushing, but the sounds of Silver Wolf getting up and heading their way takes her attention.

Silver Wolf enters, but once she sees the two of them, Silver Wolf pauses and narrows her eyes. After a moment, she heads to Stelle and hands her the phone she'd modified. "Alright, I got all my contact info in there and a bunch of games are either downloading or downloaded. Plus I set it up so you'll be able to friend me on everything once you start playing."

"Thank you!" Stelle holds her phone excitedly in her hands, giving Silver Wolf a bright, shining smile.

Silver Wolf nods as the faintest blush dabs her cheeks. Then, with a sigh, she holds her hand out to Sam. "Alright, gimme your phone."

Sam blinks. She has a phone, but...

"Okay..." Sam hesitates a moment longer, finally fishing it out of her outfit and handing it over.

Silver Wolf glances down at Sam's phone in her outstretched hand for a moment, then back up at Sam, her eyes narrowing further. "Um...Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"So...Stelle was like, hidden away for a while, sounds like. And Kafka seems pretty serious about keeping her safe and secret."

Sam glances at Stelle—who's holding her phone to her chest and looking down—then back to Silver Wolf. "Um...yes, that seems to be an accurate assessment."

"So..." Silver Wolf holds the phone up next to her head with one hand and points at it. "What's your excuse? Are you kidding me with this thing?"

"Huh?" Sam blinks in confusion.

Silver Wolf groans, throwing her head back. "Sam this thing's like one step above a brick. It's a brick with buttons! Can this even make calls?!"

"...probably!"

"Wha...? What do you mean 'probably?' When's the last time you even used it?"

Sam puts a finger to her lips as she tries to recall and Silver Wolf groans again.

"Alright," Silver Wolf sighs and summons a keyboard. "I made Stelle's so it was easy enough to upgrade but since yours came from I dunno, the freaking dawn of time, I'mma have to respec the whole thing."

"Why though?" Sam asks, a slight edge in her voice. Though she has zero pride in her phone anyway, it feels as if she's being insulted in front of Stelle, and for some reason that really bothers her. "I never need to use it. If I need comms, I have my suit. And since it gets melded into my suit anyway most of the time, if there was a situation where I'd need comms and my suit was out of commission, there's a good chance the phone would be unreachable as well."

Silver Wolf doesn't turn to her when she answers, instead continuing her process of swapping out components of the phone using her aether editing. "Because I'm going to get you the same games as us and add all our contact info in there."

Sam's mouth opens in surprise and she stares for a moment.

Stelle turns a shy smile to her. "I'm glad I get to play with you too, Sam!"

Sam returns Stelle's smile, but her lips tremble.

Silver Wolf...

She looks back at Silver Wolf and Silver Wolf glances up at her, giving Sam a little smile.

Sam beams, warmth filling her. "Thank you, Silver Wolf."

Silver Wolf shrugs, blowing a bubble with her gum before answering with a grin. "No prob dude. That's what friends are for."

Friends...

Wetness builds in the corners of Sam's eyes.

Never...I never thought I'd have moments like these.

I never thought...I deserved to.

"Ah!" Stelle, looking suddenly distraught, holds her magazine under an arm so she can reach out and wipe away a tear that slips down Sam's cheek. "Um...don't cry, Sam. If it's my fault, I'm sorry."

Sam giggles, her heart hammering in her chest. "No, it's no one's fault. I'm just really happy. Oh..." Sam's shoulders hunch the slightest bit. "I guess I promised Kafka I'd show you something other than video games, though."

"Oh hey," Silver Wolf says, pointing at Stelle's magazine. "If that's what I think it is..."

Stelle shows the cover to Silver Wolf timidly and Silver Wolf nods, giving a thumbs-up.

"Sweet, yeah. Let me borrow your phone again then. I can set up some streaming things on both of your phones and you can watch stuff like that together. Can even project it to a bigger monitor if one's around." Silver Wolf takes the phone Stelle excitedly offers.

"What about you?" Sam asks.

She knows what Silver Wolf's doing.

And she thinks she knows why.

Because we're friends...

She wants...to see me happy.

But...

Silver Wolf shrugs. "Shows aren't really my thing. Even if I got 'em up on another monitor while I game, I just kinda forget they're there. This'll be good anyway, most people can't keep up with my schedule so this'll give you two a chance to recharge."

"Silver Wolf..." Sam gently lays a hand on Silver Wolf's shoulder, giving a little squeeze. "Thank you..."

"...bro I'm just hooking you up with a bunch of randos' stolen streaming stuff, don't worry about it," Silver Wolf says with a snicker, but she moves a hand up to join Sam's on her shoulder. "But yeah," she says softly, giving Sam's hand a tiny squeeze. "No prob."

"Um, Sam?" Stelle says shyly from the side. When Sam turns to her, Stelle smiles warmly, meeting Sam's eyes. "I'm really happy...that you chose to meet me."

Sam learns, at that moment, what people mean when they say their heart skipped a beat.

"I made the right choice," Sam says, to Stelle but also to herself; it's a prayer she hopes will echo in the darkness of loss awaiting her.

A prayer she hopes will give her strength, when all her castles turn to clouds.

Chapter Text

"You shouldn't get too attached."

Kafka's voice comes the instant the door to Sam's cabin opens, but Sam heard Kafka approaching long before that. She'd been hoping, after all, to hear Stelle's excited footsteps coming down the corridor for another round of binging their favorite shows. It's been two days past a system week since Sam and Stelle first met, and Sam can't think of a time she was happier.

But Sam knows that every precious moment they spend together is just one moment closer to when Stelle...

To when...

Sam turns, looking down at Kafka through the visor of her suit. "She doesn't have much time left, Kafka."

Kafka's eyes darken and she turns away from Sam, hands folded across her stomach. "Before she leaves us? That's true...but doesn't that only prove my point?"

"When I asked you how long you've raised her..." Sam looms over Kafka, her fists clenching. "I didn't realize I was asking how long you've kept her from living life."

Kafka shuts off a console with a sharp flick of a switch and sits atop it, turning a cold gaze up to Sam. "You know how this goes. You blame me for all the terrible things I've done, and I tell you it was all according to the script. Do you think I want this?"

"What you want, is whatever future Elio foresees, is it not?" Sam takes a step closer, trying to temper her anger and barely managing. "That's what you truly want, all you've ever wanted. If what you wanted was something else...like to give Stelle a worthwhile life—"

"Do you know why I'm telling you not to get too attached?" Kafka stands up off the console, closing the distance with Sam and glaring up into her visor.

Sam's anger falters as she thinks through this question, but Kafka answers for her.

"You know, Sam. You know I'll always do whatever it takes to make Elio's future a reality, even if you don't truly know why . So hit me with it all you want...tell me I'm terrible, tell me I've made the wrong choice, tell me all the awful things I've done if it makes you feel better. It won't change the path I tread. All it'll do..." Kafka looks away for a moment, her expression softening as she looks back. "I'm telling you not to get too attached, because if possible...I'd like to spare you from going through what I've gone through."

"Kafka?"

"You've known her barely over a week. I raised her. From the moment she came to. She came out knowing language, knowing how to walk, how to think, just like the Iron Cavalry...just like you. But she knew nothing of the universe or the people in it. She knew nothing of life. I've tried, Sam...within the bounds of the script, I've tried. And everything..." Kafka turns to go but pauses. "You had a choice, Sam. I didn't. There was no future in which I wouldn't meet Stelle. So since you had a choice...please. At least hear me out, when I'm trying to help you."

In her suit, Sam's lips tremble, and she feels a painful tug in her chest. "Alright, Kafka. I'm—"

"Don't say you're sorry," Kafka interrupts her, heading to the door. But before she passes through, she turns a warm smile back at Sam. "If we could give to one another all the apologies the other deserved...well..." She chuckles, turning to go. "I think both our lives would be better spent moving forwards. Don't you?"

Sam nods. "Agreed. Though..." Sam sighs. "I wish fate had been kinder to her."

Kafka, one hand on the doorway, looks down for a moment before turning back. "Well...then here's your chance to do what fate couldn't. Give her a bit of happiness. But knowing what comes after...try to make it at least a little easier on yourself. And who knows? Maybe..." Kafka shakes her head and lets out a nearly imperceptible sigh, then goes, leaving Sam to wonder.

To wonder if she'll ever know the meaning behind that stray 'Maybe.'

Sam knows she's taking a risk, coming out of her suit so often.

But she can't help it.

She presses her shoulder just a bit closer to Stelle's and looks up into Stelle's eyes, and when Stelle smiles down at her, Sam feels a fluttering in her chest, like the wingbeats of fireflies flying through the summer night on a nameless moon.

They don't talk much during their binging sessions. Sam once thought it odd, how quiet they are when they're watching their favorite shows, but now Sam thinks that maybe that's just how they are when they're alone together. When the three of them play games—though Sam spends much of that time just in voice chat and not actually playing, as she hasn't yet found a game she could stand for more than a little bit—they all talk, easy and often, as if Sam and Silver Wolf have known Stelle for years. Stelle's a bit awkward, and more than a bit odd, but then...isn't Sam, too? The laughter they've shared, as Sam gets stuck almost right after a game starts, as Silver Wolf rattles off all her best 'strats' and Stelle promptly ignores them but wins anyway on accident...

It feels like Sam's living another life, a new one, one where she can waste time on little things, where she can laugh about nonsense, whine about things that don't matter and don't really bother her anyway...

It feels like a dream, but Kafka's words, from a day cemented in Sam's memory, call out to her:

'Sweet dreams are often kinder than the morning.'

"Are you okay?" Stelle murmurs down to her and Sam tenses up in surprise.

"Ah! Um, sorry...I was thinking about something..."

Stelle opens her mouth as if to say something, but closes it again, staying quiet. But before Sam spends more than a moment calculating what's safe to say versus the cost of silence, Stelle smiles and points to the screen. "So um...do you ever...do poses and such?"

Sam shakes her head. "No...we were trained to avoid unnecessary movement."

"Ah...it's...kinda silly I guess..." Stelle hunches her shoulders but it's Sam's turn to shake her head.

"It's not!" Sam says, more enthusiastically than she had anticipated. She sees her own surprise mirrored on Stelle's face and Sam blushes, but she doesn't back away, going on, "Every time they make a pose, or do something like this," Sam pauses and holds her hand out, palm-up, her fingers curling as if she's crushing something in her grip. "Or every time they do a big flourish with one of their attacks, it's just...I don't know how to describe it. It's...beautiful. I..." Sam scrunches in on herself and her voice goes small. She's never tried to express her emotions about something like this before. But here, next to Stelle, looking up into those gentle, golden eyes, Sam can't imagine keeping quiet, so she goes on, her voice gaining strength. "I've never been...stylish. I think this outfit is the most stylish thing about me, and I only get to wear it sometimes. Most of the time I'm just...a soldier. Fighting. But I see things like beautiful dances, synchronized swimming...all of these carefully choreographed, stylish things...and I wish I could have something like that. But that's why..." Sam flashes Stelle a smile then turns her eyes back to the screen, where the heroes are striking their signature poses. "I see things like this, where warriors can have their own sense of style, and...and I want that. There's...no big logical reason, no argument for efficiency. It's just...something I want. For...for my sake."

Stelle smiles, her hand timidly wrapping around one of Sam's as she speaks with a blush. "Then...you should have it. I think...just wanting something...I think that's more than enough of a reason. We shouldn't need any more reason than that, to try."

Sam opens her mouth but no sound comes, and when Stelle's gaze flickers down to Sam's lips, Sam's heart hammers.

But Stelle turns back to the screen, giving Sam's hand a squeeze.

Ah, well...maybe next time.

Sam rests her head on Stelle's shoulder, marveling over how natural it feels. The start of their togetherness wasn't like the romances she'd read about. There was no big confession, no grand declarations to the world. Instead, little by little, they'd found themselves holding hands, laying against each other...

Little by little, Sam found herself thinking of Stelle more and more, and little by little, Sam had seen those same thoughts reflected in Stelle's eyes, in her smile...in the big sighs of relief Stelle gave every time Sam came home safe from a mission.

But little by little...they were running out of time.

Stelle rests her head against Sam's for a moment, but they both perk up and sit on the edge of their seats as the heroes on the screen get ready to unleash their signature attacks.

The poses, the catchphrases, the crazy over-the-top moves, and the sheer excitement that courses through Sam on seeing it all...it makes her forget her worries, for a time. It fills her with hopes she never put much faith in before...a hope that the heroes will win, that the problems will be solved.

A hope that nothing's set in stone.

Not destiny.

Not fate.

A hope that a soldier, born to die in a long finished war, can live her own life, with a style all her own.

"That was so cool," Stelle says dreamily, squeezing Sam's hand in hers.

"It was...it really was." Sam squeezes Stelle's hand back and lays her head on Stelle's shoulder again, nuzzling against it. "It really, really was."

Stelle rubs her temple against Sam's head, saying softly, "Now we just gotta find you a catchphrase or two."

Sam blushes and giggles, and though she knows it won't come true, she wishes, more than anything, that this moment could last forever.

Silver Wolf's annoyed huff comes a split second before her voice. "Alright. What're you dorks doing?"

"Nowhere!" Stelle says, though her own face fills with confusion right after. "Wait..."

Sam, in her suit, slowly lowers Stelle back to the floor of the fighter bay they're hanging out in. "We are...performing routine maintenance."

Silver Wolf raises an eyebrow. "Routine maintenance."

"...yes," Sam says, standing at attention.

Stelle stands right beside her, mimicking her stance and nodding. "Affirmative."

"So..." Silver Wolf cocks her hips and crosses her arms across her chest. "Which part of routine maintenance involves yelling out the cheesiest lines known to the galaxy over and over at the top of your lungs?"

Stelle clears her throat and makes an indecipherable hand signal that might be a salute. "Every....part. Every part."

"Every part," Silver Wolf repeats back.

Stelle nods.

Sam stifles a laugh.

Silver Wolf rolls her eyes. "Look...I don't really care. Like, you do you and such, but...when I'm in voice chat and my team keeps hearing things like 'Prepare to be exterminated like the bug you are' and 'I'm the Iron Cavalry, and I ain't horsing around,' it makes it really hard to like...get them to shut up about it."

Sam's suit is built to withstand heat; naturally this is so, as it uses heat as one of its primary on-board weapons.

Still, she feels as if her cheeks might be burning hot enough to melt through it anyway.

Stelle rubs her chin. "I guess that horse one probably doesn't fit too well...especially on worlds that don't have horses...man...." She sighs and rubs the back of her neck. "This is way harder than we thought, huh?"

"It truly is," Sam says dramatically, holding her hand out, palm-up, crushing nothing in particular in her fist.

Silver Wolf groans. "The two of you are just...guhhhhhhhh." She rubs her eyes, but when she looks up at them again, there's a smile on her face. "So don't like...make this all weird or anything but...it's really nice, seeing the both of you like this."

Stelle covers her mouth with both hands, raising up off her heels and making an exaggerated squeaking noise as she gives Silver Wolf her best puppy-dog eyes.

Sam holds out her hand again, once again crushing nothing as she asks, "Like what?"

"I'm gonna die," Silver Wolf says as she facepalms. "I'm dead, you two have killed me."

Stelle drops to her knees and yells, "Nooooo!"

Sam does the same, though the sound of her suit hitting the floor is quite a bit more dramatic.

Silver Wolf opens up a portal and shakes her head. "Ughhhhhhh you two just...." She laughs, though, as she steps through it, and before the portal closes behind her, she gives them both a thumbs up. "Fly that dork flag high, alright?"

Stelle gives a salute and Sam nods, and as the last few neon remnants of Silver Wolf's portal disappear, Stelle turns to Sam, rubbing her chin. "So...catchphrases..."

"What makes a good catchphrase?" Sam wonders aloud.

"A lot of them are kinda random since they're just tied to like transformation sequences and such. Other than that...I dunno. Something important and meaningful to the character in some way? Though a lot of times it's just something that sounds cool." Stelle flops onto her back and starts scooting across the ground towards Sam. When her head gently grazes against Sam's leg, Stelle looks up into Sam's visor. "Hey, Sam?"

Sam cocks her head, looking down at Stelle and wishing she was out of her suit.

Stelle makes a pillow out of one of Sam's armored legs, seemingly unphased by how uncomfortable it must be. But before she can speak, her phone goes off, just as Sam's comm lights up.

Kafka appears in Sam's visor, and Sam hears Kafka's voice both through her comm and from Stelle's phone. "Sam, report to the bridge. Elio's got our scripts ready. Stelle?"

"Got it," Stelle says with a nod, "Shielded storage compartment on Deck E, concussive weapons only."

"Got it indeed." Kafka gives the faintest hint of a smile. "See you soon, Sam."

After Kafka disappears from the inside of her helm, Sam turns to Stelle. "So...what were you going to ask me?" Sam asks

Stelle hops to her feet and looks up at Sam as Sam stands. "Ah um...I'll ask you later." Stelle nods and turns to go, but after a few steps Stelle suddenly turns around, looking panicked. "Wait! The flag!"

Sam cocks her head, but realization hits after a moment. "You're right! Starting a question and getting interrupted, then saying you'll ask later..."

"Exactly," Stelle says with a firm nod. "Massive death flag. I was just gonna ask...if you think about me, when you're on your missions."

Inside her suit, Sam's eyes go wide and her heart goes wild, thundering through her slowing body. "All the time," she says. "I'm always thinking of how I can't wait to come back...and how...I hate worrying you."

"This...is probably the wrong thing to say," Stelle starts, holding one of Sam's armored gauntlets in both hands. "But I'm really happy...that I get to worry about you. That I met you...ah, this is probably a death flag too, huh?"

"I won't let it be," Sam says, holding out the hand Stelle's not holding in a pose from one of their favorite shows. "If death wants to claim me, it will have to do better than...than sticking a flag in me."

Stelle bursts into laughter, leaning against Sam's suit.

Sam blushes. "We definitely need to keep doing routine maintenance until we find some better lines."

"I can't wait," Stelle says, flashing Sam a dazzling smile, a smile that stays at the back of Sam's mind all through the next mission, even as the pleas of the hostiles are drowned out by Sam's roaring flames.

I can't wait either...

Stelle...

I can't wait either.

Sam, sitting at a bridge console, analyzes the data from the last sensor sweep they performed with the ship they just claimed as their own, but she isn't quite sure what to make of what she's seeing.

"Little Sam," Kafka starts from behind her. "Are you really going to keep poor me in suspense?"

Sam turns back to her. There's still a lingering bitterness in Sam's heart that sends a twist of discomfort through her every time she looks at Kafka, but it's been getting better as time passes. "It appears that the three IPC ships are breaking off pursuit." Sam turns to Silver Wolf. "Were you able to analyze the surrounding area's conditions?"

Silver Wolf blows a bubble with her gum before answering. "Yep. Nothing. There's a definite territorial boundary line we just crossed, but in terms of things that actually exist, there's nothing."

Blade steps to the forward display and narrows his eyes. "Are they really going to let us get away just on account of that?"

Kafka chuckles. "What do you think, Stelle?"

Sam turns back to Stelle. She's not used to seeing Stelle so soon after one of their missions, especially in such a tenuous situation. Typically, it's not until they're far, far away from the conflict that Stelle suddenly appears out of whatever carefully chosen hiding spot Kafka had assigned her to.

Stelle hums, twisting in place a few times before answering, though Sam notes the signs of Kafka's training in how—despite Stelle's goofy movements—the barrel of Stelle's weapon never points at anything but reinforced interior plating. "The IPC has copious regulations regarding territory and jurisdiction, but in normal circumstances the theft of a Patron-class vessel would afford all pursuers full amnesty in the event of territorial trespass and would allow the captains of the pursuing ships the chance to earn performance points based on the current market value of the stolen vessel's cargo, plus a percentage of the stolen vessel's own market value, adjusted by years in service."

Silver Wolf blows another bubble. "Aw dang. I was just about to say that, too." She narrows her eyes and turns to Kafka. "So you can teach Stelle a bunch of random IPC trivia but you can't show her how to use emojis?"

Stelle turns to a baffled Kafka and grins. "I learned how to make a winky face today."

"...I'm very proud of you, Stelle," Kafka says, stifling a laugh that comes right after. But the warmth in Kafka's gaze when she looks at Stelle is like nothing Sam's ever seen from her before, and the bit of bitterness that flickers forth soon dims, replaced with a dull ache.

Whatever pain I go through when Stelle...leaves, I'm sure Kafka will feel it, just as much.

Maybe, more.

Blade turns from the front of the ship, glancing at Stelle. While he hasn't spent much time with Stelle, the few interactions between them Sam's seen have all been friendly, and often carry a strong vibe of a youngster excited to hear an elder's tales of the olden days.

Naturally, Sam wouldn't say this out loud to Blade, partially for Blade's sake and partially so he'll keep wow'ing Stelle with his stories of the Xianzhou, carefully redacted though they often are.

He turns to Kafka, tipping his head towards Stelle. "Is she alright to be out here?"

"Stelle? Got any intel for Bladie?"

"Yes!" Stelle says, snapping a smart salute with the wrong hand. "But I won't call him Bladie because he got frumpy at me last time."

Silver Wolf and Sam both snicker and Blade closes his eyes for a moment, and even Kafka covers her mouth with a gloved hand to hide her smile.

Stelle puts a finger to her chin, holding her rifle flat and level in one hand in a surprising show of strength. "You've probably figured it out by now, but the usual go-to for keeping me hidden is having me in a shielded compartment. But an IPC Patron-class vessel is a shielded compartment."

Blade grimaces. "This ship has over fifty decks, and I've never seen anything with this much cargo space..."

Stelle nods giddily. "Yep! It's intended to allow the transport of illicit goods through IPC space."

Sam blinks. "The IPC made a ship to smuggle contraband...through IPC space?"

"And other space," Kafka interjects. "Sometimes you need to grease a few unsavory wheels to make business happen."

"And," Stelle pops back in, "They have special anti-overtime pay regulations in place which make it so IPC workers can't spend differing amounts of time scanning a target ship. So when one of these things rolls through, the checkpoint crews scan it for way too short a time, fail to find anything because of course, and then the Patron-class goes merrily on its way with all its illegal goods, and even though everyone knows what's up, no one can do anything about it without breaking the law!"

Silver Wolf huffs. "That's the most dystopian thing I've heard in like...at least twenty minutes."

"Why do we have this ship?" Sam wonders aloud.

"Not sure," Kafka admits, drawing everyone's surprised stares. "Hey now. I know how I seem, but all I know of what's to come, comes from the script. And where the script ends, well...that's where I find myself at the moment."

"So," Sam starts, "You don't know why those ships cut off pursuit?"

"I don't..." Kafka gives Sam a look that tells Sam, immediately, how dangerous their situation might be, and Sam turns back to her console, quickly tapping out new commands.

"Commencing scan for ship communications and transmitting the data to you, Silver Wolf," Sam says, turning to Silver Wolf, who's pulling up a series of monitors to start her analysis.

Kafka stands over the sitting Sam, looking at Sam's monitor. "If it's a trap..."

"They might've been called off," Sam finishes for her.

Silver Wolf pops a gum bubble. "Got one...no, three hails. All three ships, around the same time," Silver Wolf mutters, not looking up from her screens.

Kafka walks to her, her eyes narrowing. "Who called them?"

"No one," Silver Wolf says. "Outgoing." Silver Wolf suddenly stops and stands, pulling Prometheus out and arming it. "Emergency frequencies..."

"If they were calling for assistance in pursuing us," Blade starts, drawing his sword. "They would've kept up the chase."

Stelle takes a position where she can cover both entrances to the bridge with her weapon. "Kafka, orders?"

Kafka holds up a hand, palm vertical and flat. "Sam, life readings on those ships?"

Sam focuses the ship's scan again and turns to Silver Wolf for the results.

Silver Wolf's lips twitch. "None."

"Everyone," Kafka starts, but stops for a moment, staggering in place. When she speaks next, her voice draws everyone's rapt attention, the power of the Spirit Whisper weaving through the air. "Listen. Look at me."

They look, and Sam feels a quiet tranquility flow through her, even as a purple liquid starts spilling its way along the room's metal floor from a source unknown.

Kafka's eyes are calm, even as that liquid starts flooding the room, and her voice sings serenity through the bridge, holding her friends in peace. "I want you all to know...that you're going to be okay. You'll make it through this. You'll—"

A great claw, longer than Sam is tall, slips out from the undulating waves of purple liquid and taps Kafka on the forehead, dropping her to her knees. A voice comes then, old and venomous and filled with sadistic mirth, as a creature Sam's unfamiliar with rises from the depths. "That's enough from you, Devil Hunter..."

Blade and Sam, broken free of Kafka's Spirit Whisper, try to move towards their opponent, but Blade roars in agony and Sam—right after standing—finds her suit malfunctioning for the first time in her life. Inside her suit, unheard to anyone else, it gives her warning after warning as every motion she tries, fails.

'Insufficient power.'

'Catastrophic system failure.'

'Unable to process request.'

'For the Empress!'

"What's...wrong with you?" Sam growls at her suit, gritting her teeth. She looks up and sees the strange creature—like a hunched-over humanoid bird with skeletonized wings, the bones used for flight now long, lethal-looking claws—bending down to talk to Kafka, who sits, dazed, on her knees, an expression of horror painted across her face.

Wait...

But...

Kafka can't feel fear...

"Tell me," the creature says to Kafka, cocking its head and clicking its beak once before going on. "How does it feel? The terror that awaits you at the end...the fear you so desperately yearned to know...tell me, was realizing that charlatan's dream truly worth it, Kafka?"

It...it knows her.

It knows Elio.

Sam tries to clench her fist but her suit fails. She can do little more than move her head, so she looks to her side and feels a sinking feeling in her chest as she sees Stelle, dazed, on her knees, inching towards Kafka as the purple liquid slowly rises around them all.

"Stelle...no!" Sam turns to the bird as it gets near Blade and Sam tries to shout at it, but is met only with error messages from her suit about her malfunctioning outgoing comms.

The bird chuckles as it taps one of its claws against the struggling Blade. Blade drops to his knees, his eyes going wide and vacant for a moment. Then the changes start, rippling muscle and cracking bone, as the curse within him starts taking firmer hold.

The bird clicks its beak and shakes its head. "Ah, Little Yingxing. That's what she called you, wasn't it? And what was that young Foxian's name again?" It chuckles, moving away from Blade as Blade's body twists and warps. "Well, you see your future now, don't you? And you see how even the memory of someone so precious to you will be subsumed in the depths of an eternal's broken mind. Enjoy forever, Little Yingxing..."

"No...don't you dare!" Sam roars in her cage of metal, but the bird walks to Silver Wolf next, who's desperately trying to summon her aether editing tools through the anguish etched across her face, Prometheus barely still-held in one quivering arm.

"Give it up, little hacker," the bird says as it taps a claw to Silver Wolf's forehead, dropping her into the purple liquid that's nearly up to Sam's waist, sending a chilling horror through Sam. Sam looks over to where Stelle was and sees an unmoving form beneath the liquid, an arm reaching out towards Kafka.

"Stelle?" Sam says faintly a moment before furiously thrashing within her suit, desperate to make it move, desperate to fight, desperate, more than anything, to save the ones so precious to her.

"Silver Wolf," the bird says at it walks away from Silver Wolf, towards Sam. "What is there to say? You always knew the fun would end eventually. Game over, then."

Sam turns but can't move her helm enough to see the bird as it passes behind her. Fury burns through her body, panic sears through her mind, and tears run rivers down her face as the past meets the present, as once more Sam stands alone amidst a field of her fallen comrades.

"No...I won't let this happen...I won't lose them!" Sam roars within her suit, fighting aside very error that pops up, rerouting power, running subroutines, taking every possible measure she can to break free of whatever force is keeping her bound to this destiny.

But her focus falters as she hears a sloshing sound to her side, and she turns to see the bird holding Stelle up above the waters, regarding Stelle's face with what could only be disappointment.

The bird sighs. "I have no use for a candle without a flame."

And with that, it drops Stelle back into the depths.

Sam's fury reaches a peak and crashes over it so far that her mind can't process her anger. Her rage gives way to sudden serenity, the certainties of her conviction rising to a clamor within her mind.

I won't let this happen. I won't let them be treated this way.

Their futures...

Their dreams...

"And you. AR-26710. Sam. You're rather far past your expiration date, aren't you?" It chuckles, pressing a claw against her visor and pushing hard, and Sam can hear it start slowly puncturing through the metal, tearing its way through the circuitry of her helm, bit by bit. "And yet you always knew...little firefly, burning in the night..."

Sam finally sees one of the subroutines she activated come online and she engages it without hesitation, ignoring the pain of her suit drawing power from her body, ignoring what it means for her lifespan.

Just a little more...

"Tell me," the bird says, and its next words blank Sam's mind out, filling it with the crashing waves of memory, memories of loss, of grief, of a hopeless future. "For what do we die?"

Sam's lip trembles as she sees them, her comrades, her fellow fireflies, their bodies motionless, strewn across a field, a dozen fields...

How many battles were there...?

How many deaths?

How many unique voices, silenced forever?

The bird chuckles. "For what do we live?"

The words the bird speaks, drawn from her past, echo in her mind through a dozen voices, a dozen dozen, hundreds, countless, voices she'll never hear again.

The bird's claw digs deeper into Sam's helm as the bird cocks its head, seeming almost to smile. "The answer to both these questions was only ever one thing, for the Iron Cavalry. So why? Why do you swim so strongly against the current of destiny, when the one answer perished, so very long ago?"

Sam clenches her fists and her suit responds, now powered by her body, by her blood and by her will , and for a moment the bird's conviction falters and it leaps back, spreading its dead wings wide and raising the swirling purple water—water that Sam's suit now tells her is roiling energy drawn from an unknown Path—in a waiting wave behind it.

"You," the bird snarls as Sam's suit comes back online, wreathed in the teal flames of her unbound might, the heat turning the liquid purple energy around her to steaming tendrils of impotent smoke. The bird seethes, its body trembling with rage—and perhaps, also, fear. "You can't escape the brackish waters of your end, none of you can!" The bird sweeps its wings forwards and the massive wave surges forth, blasting Sam back, the fell energies of the alien waters arcing like lightning across her suit, sending painful jolts through her limbs.

"I won't..." Sam says despite the pain screaming through her. She steadies herself against the battering waves, drawing her blades. "I won't let you hurt them!"

"Fool!" the bird cries as it raises itself atop a column of blazing violet light. Water rises behind the bird higher than ever before, ripping through the deck above them and the deck above that, a tidal wave of lethal energy waiting to be unleashed.

Seeing the overwhelming attack coming her way, Sam hears them all again, the voices of her long-ago comrades.

But she hears, too, voices from not so long-ago, and these voices she answers, as she grips her blades and pushes her flames past their limits.

'If you’re prone to regrets…then live in a way you won’t regret.'

Kafka...maybe...it isn't too late...

'I hope you find what you seek.'

I will, Blade...we both will.

'I never want to lose you.'

You won't, Silver Wolf...my precious friend.

'I'm really happy...that you chose to meet me.'

Stelle...no matter what happens...

The bird's eyes go wide, sparkling like amethysts, and it calls down to Sam, its wings sweeping forwards as it sends the cataclysmic flood of death down towards her, screeching, "You were only ever destined to drown in the seas of fate!"

As the tidal wave falls to her, Sam rises to meet it, her blades gleaming with the fires of her hope, and as the flood crashes on her she burns brighter than ever, her body screaming in pain but her blades burning a swath through the waters, her wings of flame raising her higher, and higher, and higher as she shouts to the bird, to the heavens, to every silenced voice, every shattered dream, "If I'm to drown in the seas of fate... then I shall set the seas ablaze!"

Like a comet, unstoppable, she rises past the tides, and in a flurry of fire, her blades find their mark, slashing through her foe—a shooting star cutting through a midnight sky.

The waters fall and release their hold on her friends. She sees Kafka rushing to quiet Blade's curse. To the side, Silver Wolf starts running diagnostics and using her aether editing to cheat repairs to the ship into existence.

Stelle reaches out to Kafka's fleeing form for a lingering moment before Stelle stands, looking up at Sam with eyes full of an emotion Sam's almost too frightened to name.

The bird's voice comes again and Sam turns, raising her blades, but she sees the flaking form of her opponent, breaking apart like ash, and Sam knows the battle's over.

"How...why...? Your only reason to live, was to fight, and die. Why do you persist?"

Sam looks back down at Stelle as she answers, the same emotion that brightens Stelle's eyes filling her. "I was made...to live to fight. Is it any wonder...that I'd fight, to live?"

Her foe says nothing, ever again, and Sam descends to her friends.

To her friends, and to one other.

To her friends, and to the one she loves.

Chapter Text

The first person Sam goes to right after the fight is over is Stelle. She does it without thinking, pulled to Stelle's side by the emotion that filled her as she looked down into Stelle's excited face.

But the moment Sam lands—her suit powering down to normal levels—Stelle holds up a finger.

"One sec!" Stelle says, running to Kafka, who's using long, focused Whispers to guide Blade's body back to humanity.

Sam's lips tremble but she nods, glancing at Silver Wolf. "Silver Wolf?"

"I'm fine, 11/10, five by five, all the numbers," Silver Wolf says brusquely, but her eyes go wide and she glances into Sam's visor after a moment. "Erm, sorry Sam, just...a lot of collateral damage I gotta get a handle on. Thank you though," Silver Wolf says with a little grin, "I'm cool, thanks to you. GG dude."

"GG," Sam says back to her, a comfortable warmth in her chest.

Good.

Thank goodness...

She turns back just in time to see Stelle reporting to Kafka.

"Kafka, I'm here," Stelle says, standing straight and giving a bizarre hand gesture—another salute Sam's never seen before.

"Status?" Kafka asks, though she only looks Stelle over once, briefly, before immediately going back to drifting gentle Whispers to the dazed Blade.

"No injuries," Stelle says stiffly.

Sam narrows her eyes as she slowly approaches them.

Kafka...

Why don't you just tell her you're glad she's okay?

Is it really just the script, or are you afraid...of getting too attached?

Or is this fear, too, the sort you can't feel?

Kafka nods, then glances up at Sam. "And here's the one you have to thank for that." She looks back behind them, to Silver Wolf. "Silver Wolf, what's the status on the sensor shielding?"

"Totally down here and the two decks above. Eighty-percent on the deck just below, hundred-percent all other decks." A series of small, hot-pink cubes forms by Silver Wolf's feet. They dissipate after a moment, leaving behind equipment ported up from the engineering bay. With a quick sweep of Prometheus, Silver Wolf summons a series of small, chibi Silver Wolves who start carrying the equipment throughout the bridge, initiating minor repairs as Silver Wolf focuses her own efforts on more substantial fixes.

"Alright," Kafka says, turning back to Sam and Stelle. "Sam, take Stelle two decks below. Come back alone and I'll debrief you. Got it?"

Sam nods, turning to Stelle, who stands straight and gives another salute. This time, it's one Sam recognizes, though seeing a human perform a wingweaver salute, complete with head bobs and Stelle's best attempt at simulating wings with her arms, is almost enough to wipe away the unease and bitterness that have taken hold of Sam since the end of the battle.

Almost.

Sam and Stelle head off, but the moment they're off the bridge and the door closes behind them, Stelle leaps onto Sam's armor, wrapping her arms around her.

"Wha—?" Sam starts, surprised, but Stelle squeaks with joy, furiously rubbing her face against the least pointy parts of Sam's suit she can find.

"That was incredible!" Stelle squees, letting go of Sam and bouncing on her heels. She takes one of Sam's armored hands and tugs Sam along to their destination, but she's looking back at Sam so often as she goes that Sam has to guide her to prevent Stelle from backing into random bulkheads. "I wish I'd been awake the whole time and even when I was awake towards the end I was kinda fading in and out but what I saw was just...gahh those moves, the way your suit got that big wooshy fire, the shiny swords and those catchphrases!" Stelle lets go of Sam's hand and runs off ahead a bit before turning to Sam and striking a series of poses, switching between them as she drops each line. "I shall set the seas ablaze! Live to fight! Fight to live!"

Sam feels a flush go through her on seeing Stelle so excited. "I wasn't even thinking of doing catchphrases when I said all that. It was just...what came up in the moment..."

"That's even better!" Stelle waits at the head of the long, metal stairway down, and once Sam arrives Stelle leaps up into Sam's arms, letting Sam carry her down as she wriggles in excitement. "When it comes out naturally the first time, that's the best! Then it becomes a catchphrase and it carries this special significance because of what led to it happening!"

Sam's heart is hammering as she cradles Stelle in her arms, and when they arrive at their destination and Sam closes the door behind them, Sam sets Stelle down and dismisses her suit at once, embracing Stelle the moment she's out.

"Oh!" Stelle lets out a surprised chuckle but wraps her arms around Sam, resting her head atop Sam's.

"Stelle," Sam starts, but her voice wobbles and breaks as tears come.

Sam's not sure why she's crying. Maybe it's the feeling of coming down from the rush of battle. Maybe it's how strange and awkward things had been right after.

Maybe it was seeing Stelle so deadset on reporting to Kafka first, before anything.

Or maybe it was just having come so close to...

To losing her?

But...

Won't I lose her anyway?

Sam shakes her head.

Maybe I will.

But maybe...

"Stelle," Sam starts again, her voice wavering, "I'm so glad you're okay. I was so scared I'd lose you..."

Stelle's quiet for a time, gently running her fingers through Sam's hair. When Stelle speaks next, it's in a voice barely above a whisper, and Sam catches a slight tremble in it. "You...didn't lose me. You saved me." Stelle chuckles, going on louder, her voice more steady. "You're totally a hero! Beating the bad guy, saving everyone..."

Sam steps back, looking up into Stelle's eyes with a furrowed brow. "A hero...?"

Stelle nods, but her smile breaks into a frown as she notices Sam's troubled look. "Ah, um...sorry, did I say something strange?"

"No, just..." Sam looks at her palm. In the lights of the cabin they're in, her hands look soft and slim, like the hands of any other girl.

But Sam knows what her hands have wrought.

Sam clenches her hand into a fist, then lets it drop to her side and stares off across the room as she goes on, "I've hurt a lot of people, Stelle. I've never...been a hero."

Stelle raises a trembling hand and cups Sam's cheek, lifting Sam's gaze until she can look into her eyes. "Well...you're my hero at least, Sam."

Sam's breath shudders and she can't see through her tears. She buries her face in Stelle, holding her close as her body quivers, and Stelle holds her right back, her arms gently enveloping Sam.

Her hero...

And yet...soon, she'll...

Should I tell her?

Before she can think on it, Stelle goes on in a mumble. "I'm actually...kinda surprised sometimes. That...you'd want to spend your time with me."

Sam blinks, loosening the embrace and taking a small step back so she can look up into Stelle's eyes. "Why would that be surprising?"

Stelle's lips twist and she looks away. "You're just...incredible. You're so strong, so determined...there's so much you can do. I...I'm not really good at anything. I know a bunch of random things Kafka taught me...mostly to help me escape if I'm ever caught...and she's given me a bunch of combat training, but I'll never be in a real fight. Ever since I found that magazine...I've always wanted to be the protagonist of my own story. But I'm just..." She shakes her head, and when she next looks into Sam's eyes, there's such a crushing sadness on Stelle's face that Sam's heart feels as if it's breaking. "Sam...you're just so cool and strong and I'm just...I'm the girl that hides and hangs out in the trash..." Stelle's voice breaks and her lips tremble as her tears start, and she moves her hands up to clumsily try and brush her tears away, turning away from Sam.

Sam guides Stelle back towards her gently, and when Stelle turns to face Sam, her face a mess of tears—tears, Sam suspects, she's only ever shed alone, in secret, hiding in whatever dark little space she was told—Sam looks between each of Stelle's eyes in turn and puts her hand on Stelle's cheek, smiling up at her. "Stelle...who you are. That's who I want to be with. And if you change, then that's who I'll want to be with, because who I want to be with is you. I do...wish you could have more happy moments. So...I hope the moments we spend together are even a little bit as amazing for you as they are for me."

Stelle's eyes go wide for a second before her whole face crumples again, and she holds Sam close, bending down so she can bury her face in Sam's shoulder. She sniffles, sending an ache through Sam's chest, and when Stelle speaks it's in a cracking voice, suffused with so much conflicting joy and sorrow that Sam's tears come harder. "Sam...I feel like all the happiness I felt before I met you hasn't come close to the happiness I've felt in these few weeks with you. You saved me. Even before today...you've been my hero, from the moment you chose to meet me."

Sam can't form words, and the thoughts come harder then, as she feels Stelle trembling.

Should I tell her?

Is it kinder?

If I tell her...and I can't stop it from happening...then she'll just be afraid this whole time.

I could make her happy...I could fill up this time with joy, instead of fear. Instead of uncertainty...

And if I find out I can change it...if I find out I can change her fate, then maybe...

Maybe that's when I should tell her. Maybe...?

Sam opens her mouth, still unsure of whether or not to tell Stelle how close her end may be, but before she can even say Stelle's name, Stelle's phone goes off and Stelle brings it up to her ear. On the phone, Sam hears Kafka telling Stelle to send Sam up.

"On it," Stelle says, keeping her voice as steady and level as she can. She hangs up and turns to Sam but before she can relay the message, Sam nods, pulling out her device.

"I heard. Stelle..." Sam enters her suit and holds an armored hand out for Stelle to take, and Stelle wraps both hands around it. "Stelle...meeting you is a choice I'll never regret. No matter what happens..." Sam sniffs as her tears keep coming, but there's a conviction that takes hold of her in that moment: the conviction to change Stelle's fate, to defy the script, and when she goes on, her voice is full of her newfound determination. "No matter what happens, Stelle. I'll never regret this. And whatever the future holds...I'll face it with you, by your side. I will be your hero."

Stelle gives her a smile, but as Sam leaves her, she can't help but think that Stelle's smile at that moment looked a bit sad.

The first thing Kafka says to Sam is more than a little surprising.

"How is she?"

Sam stares at her for a moment before answering. "She's fine. All things considered..."

Kafka lets out a sigh of relief, baffling Sam further. Kafka pats Blade's shoulder and stands, surveying the progress of Silver Wolf's repairs. "I'm glad. I wasn't kidding, though, when I said it was all thanks to you. So thank you." She gives Sam a nod of acknowledgment and a warm smile, and Sam speaks before her mind can stop her.

"I'm surprised you care. You seemed very cold to her, right after the fight."

Kafka's smile dims, but her eyes soften. "It's a bit late for me, Sam, to take my own advice in regards to that girl. But I still try, sometimes..."

Sam looks over at Silver Wolf, who's engrossed in her repairs, then to Blade, who's rubbing his head in a daze. "Do they both know? That she'll leave us?"

"Yes." Kafka starts strolling across the bridge, motioning for Sam to follow. Once they're a bit away from Blade, Kafka goes on. "Unlike you, though, they never had a choice in whether or not to meet Stelle. The only one with that choice was you."

Sam blinks, thinking back. "But Silver Wolf met Stelle while you were giving me that choice. What would you have done if I'd said no?"

"As I told you, I would have modified your memory. I then would have instructed Silver Wolf to never reveal the truth to you. I could've sealed her memory until later, if she didn't think she'd be able to lie." Kafka glances over at Silver Wolf, who has summoned a tray of snacks and energy drinks to float alongside her while she works. "Silver Wolf was always destined to meet her, like I was. Blade..." Kafka sighs. "It could've gone either way with him, largely dependent on you. But even if you'd decided not to meet her, he would have seen her, at least a few times."

Sam looks back at Silver Wolf and Blade, thinking of the times they've spent with Stelle. "I'm glad I chose the way I did, then. I think...it's given Stelle more happiness than she would have had otherwise."

A brief look of hurt crosses Kafka's face, but it soon leaves, replaced with a sad, gentle smile. "I wish...well...I'm happy for her that you made your choice. It only worries me, for you."

"I'll make it through," Sam says, though she knows, even now, that a good deal of her certainty in this comes from her newfound conviction.

I'll defy fate.

I'll defy the script.

I won't lose her so easily...not to destiny...not to the script.

Not even to you, Kafka.

"Well, considering you finally managed to rid the universe of Zhang He, I'm sure you'll pull through." Kafka chuckles, inspecting one of her gloves.

"Zhang He?" Sam glances to where her foe had crumbled to ash.

"They were an old headache," Kafka says, leaning against a console. "A wingweaver, if you can believe it."

"A...?" Sam blinks, taken aback. "I...suppose...they did look vaguely birdlike..."

Kafka laughs. "Not your fault at all if you couldn't tell. They looked nothing like other wingweavers. I suspect it could be a result of cutting ties to the Abundance. Back when Muldrasil fell, Zhang He lost faith in Yaoshi and turned to Terminus."

"The Aeon of Finality?" Sam cocks her head. She's never had much interest in Aeons. She was created to fight the lingering echoes of Tayzzyronth, and she's seen the horrors of Yaoshi through Blade's curse.

As far as Sam's concerned, none of the Aeons seem to bring anything but ruin to the universe, though she'll be the first to admit her knowledge of them is rudimentary at best.

Kafka nods. "Mhm. Zhang He fancied themselves Elio's rival. Though I don't truly know if Elio even spared a thought for them..."

"Does Elio follow the path of Finality?" Sam's never thought much about Elio's motivations. For the longest time, it was enough to simply have some direction in her life.

"That, I'm not sure of," Kafka says with a frown. "But it was enough for Zhang He to hear that Elio had predictions of the future. But thankfully, you've taken care of that little lingering worry, so we're all quite a bit safer now."

Sam thinks back on the fight, unease working through her. "Were we sent here to fight Zhang He?"

Kafka gives a small shrug. "It wasn't in the script...largely on account of all our scripts having ended with us obtaining this vessel. But...I suppose you've guessed by now. If it would best serve the purposes of the future Elio seeks, he may very well keep us in the dark."

"Before the fight began...you used your Spirit Whisper to calm us, and tell us that everything would be alright. Was that Zhang He's influence?" Suspicion tenses Sam's body as she goes on. "If you had not done so...would we not have been able to more effectively mount a defense?"

Kafka looks up into Sam's visor, raising an eyebrow. "I understand your misgivings, given recent...events. But I hadn't realized your trust in me had degraded quite so much." She sighs, looking down. "Well...I hope the future changes that, for us. But as to your question..." She looks up into Sam's visor again. "Zhang He wasn't suited to taking down a team of powerful opponents in direct combat. Their general M.O. was to force their victims to experience one possible future...generally the one Zhang He thought would be the most debilitating. Then, they'd kill their incapacitated foes with that destructive energy they channeled from their path. Once I sensed that they were starting their attack, I had hoped to instill in you all some semblance of peace and comfort, in the hopes that it would shield you somewhat from whatever future they showed you. But..." Kafka chuckles, giving Sam an appraising glance. "I guess what saved us in the end was you, breaking free before they could show you your future."

"My future..." Sam thinks for a moment. She knows that whatever future Zhang He would have shown her would have only been the one deemed the most damaging to her psyche. Still...she can't deny that she's curious as to what such a future might have been like. "They seemed to know much of our pasts, as well. It even sounds as if they knew Blade's original name."

Kafka stares at Sam blankly for a moment before blinking her apparent surprise away. "Sam...let me ask you this. What do you remember of our first meeting?"

In her suit, Sam blushes, glancing away. "As I recall...you seemed to indicate a desire to see me naked."

Kafka covers her mouth to stifle a sudden laugh. "Well now...ah, I remember that, actually. But as it turns out, that wasn't quite our first meeting. I'd been working with Elio for some time before we found you, but..." She glances off towards Blade and Silver Wolf, going on much softer. "I think that may be a discussion for another time...in private."

Sam stares for a few moments, a cold chill filling her.

If that wasn't the first time we met...

Then my memories are...?

"Sam?" Kafka cocks her head and Sam clenches her fists.

"Kafka. Did you alter my memories?"

Kafka nods, as if it's the easiest admission in the world, but before the full impact of that hits Sam, Kafka says something that drains Sam's fury, replacing it with confusion. "Per your request, yes. But as I said...we should speak of this later, in private."

"I..." Sam's lips twitch but she nods, squeezing her eyes shut. "Very well."

I'll hear her out.

If she's not going to tell me here, I can't make her.

And maybe...

Maybe she's telling the truth.

Maybe.

"Well," Kafka goes on, "Suffice it to say, the last time I encountered Zhang He was before we assembled this dream team of ours. And as for how they knew so much about us, well...I have a few theories. Either they're able to deduce the past from seeing the various futures, or their ability to see along the path of Finality wasn't limited to one direction. Or...maybe they simply hunted down enough people to piece our past together. They certainly had enough time..."

Sam's lips twist. Though there isn't any reality in which she could see herself sparing Zhang He, their powers do sound useful.

Especially when she can't trust her own memories.

A sudden thought occurs to her, though she isn't quite sure how to word it properly. "Kafka...to use a...Stelle-ism, I'm not quite sure if this is the right way to say this, but..."

"A Stelle-ism, hm?" Kafka chuckles. "I suppose she does seem to worry about how she's wording things quite often."

"She does," Sam says with a nod, warmth in her chest. "But...when you were affected by Zhang He's powers, you appeared...frightened. Very frightened."

Kafka huffs. "That's...frustrating." She looks over towards Blade, who has managed to stand up and who is being goaded into helping with the repairs by one of Silver Wolf's small assistants. "The truth is, once you break out of it, you don't really remember the future you're shown all too well. And what little I remember..." Kafka shrugs. "I have no ability to feel fear, as I am. So what little I remember makes no sense to me. I have no capacity to comprehend the emotions I was feeling in that moment anymore. It just feels...like a void. A void in which I'm making very strange facial expressions."

"Kafka...if I may ask...why do you wish to feel fear?"

Kafka lets out another chuckle, standing up off the console. "You're a curious one today, aren't you? I have a saying. 'When making friends with someone, keep the right distance, in order to maintain a long-lasting relationship.'" She flashes Sam a wink, putting a finger to the corner of her mouth as she takes a few meandering steps. "Well...with everything else I've already said, I might as well, hm? As you know, I was born without the ability to feel fear. But what you might not know, is that feeling fear is the primary reason I'm here, following Elio's script."

Sam, confused, looks away, then back, cocking her head. "The whole reason you're following Elio...is to feel fear?"

"Is it so strange?" Kafka steps up closer to Sam, gazing up into her visor. "We're all here seeking something. For me, it's that. The chance to change myself...in a way I can't do by myself." Kafka doesn't stop closing the distance until she's so close that the toes of her high-heels nearly touch Sam's armored boots. "And fear is so much more than being frightened of something that might harm us. Fear of death, of being forgotten, of leaving no mark on history when we pass...many great inventions, works of art, all manner of creations that have changed the course of the universe, have all been made from that fear. And then...as you so remarkably demonstrated, a matter of minutes ago...there are other fears that can drive us to greater heights. Like the fear of losing the people precious to us..."

Sam's lips tremble. "Is that why you're able to let her go? Because you can't feel fear?"

"Even if I can't fear it," Kafka says, taking a few steps away before turning a tired gaze back towards Sam. "I can mourn it. I can feel grief...I can feel loss. But maybe you're right. Maybe that's why I'm able to accept what will come to pass, with Stelle . But I'm not looking forwards to it, Sam." She looks away again. "I'm sure you know how it feels...to feel as if your emotions aren't the correct ones. As if there's something missing in you...something that keeps a rift between you and those around you." She looks back, and Sam thinks—for just a moment—that she'll see a tear fall from Kafka's pained eyes. But Kafka sighs and her expression drifts again to one of tired thoughtfulness. "For me, that missing piece is fear. But I'm asking you, Sam. As someone who's fought alongside me for so very long..." Her eyes narrow and her voice drifts lower, a flicker of anger in it. "Don't assume that my inability to feel one emotion means I can't feel others." Her eyes and voice soften as she goes on. "You and I...aren't terribly alike, in most aspects. But when it comes to emotions...I think we both struggle, in our own ways."

Sam looks away. She doesn't know how Kafka does it, but it always seems that whenever Sam starts to blame Kafka for something, Sam always ends up feeling guilty.

Still...she can accept, at the very least, that they share some of the same struggles.

"I'm sorry to press you on this. I..." Sam turns back to Kafka. "I feel...protective of her."

Kafka crosses her arms, looking off towards Blade and Silver Wolf. "I'm glad. That girl needs protecting."

"You say that, and yet..." Sam grits her teeth, wetness in the corners of her eyes as she goes on, "You already know that she's leaving us. Is there...?" Sam squeezes her eyes shut, her own fears escaping through her words. "Is there any point in keeping her hidden, in protecting her like this, when she's going away so soon?"

Kafka doesn't answer for a time. For a time, she only watches the others work. It isn't until Sam starts turning to go that Kafka answers, a sad smile on her face. "I'm surprised. You, of all people, should know how precious life becomes, when there's a time limit."

"Precious...and yet she lives her life in chains. If we really wanted to make the most of her limited time—"

"Sam...it may be some time before you find this truth..." Kafka uncrosses her arms and starts making her way to the others slowly, not turning around as she speaks. "But this is what's best. For Stelle, most of all."

Sam hears every word Kafka says.

And she almost believes her.

Almost.

Chapter Text

"Um...Stelle?"

The hatch of the garbage bin lifts and Stelle peeks out. "Hm?"

Sam shakes her head, giggling, ignoring how odd it sounds through the voice modulator of her suit. Sam doesn't have time to worry about little things like that anymore...not with how little time she has left with Stelle.

Though Sam still hasn't told her...

I don't know when it'll happen, or how...

If I tell her now, I'll just be worrying her for no reason. She might...

She might start to think she really should be hiding away all the time.

Pushing the heavy thoughts out of her mind, Sam cocks her head and asks a question she's been wanting to ask for a while now. "Why are you always so interested in trash receptacles?"

"Hmmm..." Stelle steps out of the large bin—which is secured to a nearby bulkhead with a series of heavy-duty metallic clamps—and puts a finger to her chin in thought. They're still aboard the IPC Patron-class vessel, though at the moment they're hiding the ship within an asteroid belt until their target arrives. It's been two weeks since the fight against Zhang He. While Sam has tried to keep things going as normally as possible between her and Stelle, it's been getting harder and harder for Sam to ignore the gnawing anxiousness that fills her when she thinks about the day she knows is coming, an anxiousness made all the worse by the fact that she doesn't know when precisely it will arrive.

And Sam still hasn't asked Kafka what she meant, regarding Sam's memories.

Who I am right now...I'm happy with who I am, even if there are things I would like to work towards changing.

But if I ask Kafka what she meant, and she reveals memories that change me...

Sam enlarges Stelle on the H.U.D. in her visor, her body filling with warmth as she gazes at Stelle's face, into her eyes, at her lips...

Will I still be someone who feels this way about her?

Will I still be...me?

"Well," Stelle starts, snapping Sam out of her thoughts. "Kafka taught me that everything's made for a purpose. So if that's true, I wonder why some things end up in the trash. It's not like being in the trash was their purpose, so...it makes me wonder what happened," Stelle finishes with a shrug, fishing an action figure out of the open bin and smiling as she starts posing it.

"Huh. So you wonder what went wrong?" Sam never spent any time wondering about refuse. She wonders now, though, how many treasures may have been hiding just out of sight.

Treasures like Stelle.

"Mmm, not necessarily. Well..." Stelle turns and hands the toy to Sam, who gingerly takes it in her gauntlet, earning a grin from Stelle. Stelle reaches back into the bin and pulls out a small, decorative pillow, its lush purple fabric glittering in the cabin's lights, though Sam sees a spot where the cover is torn. Stelle gently pushes the stuffing back in with her thumb as she goes on. "What I mean is, it's not like winding up in the trash is necessarily a bad thing." She puts the pillow on a console and motions Sam over, and after Sam carefully places the figure atop the little pillow, Stelle gives her a warm smile. "They're certainly not alone."

Sam's lips tremble, the urge to hold Stelle overwhelming, but she's been out of her suit too often these days; the alert for when she needs to get back in comes the instant she dismisses her mech, and it will take time for the complex workings of the suit to undo the damage she's done from being out so often. There is always a level of irreparable harm that comes as a result of the passing of time; even a member of the Iron Cavalry who never leaves their suit will eventually succumb to Entropy Loss Syndrome eventually.

Still, leaving so often has left her in a temporarily worse state, and if she continues leaving it before her suit stabilizes her condition, she risks permanent degradation, or even succumbing completely.

It was careless of her, but she can't imagine having done things any other way. Now, though, she needs to stay inside. The thought of suffering in front of Stelle...

I don't want to make her see that. I don't want to trouble her. Not in the small amount of time she has remaining...

Sam looks at the little figure atop the torn pillow. "Perhaps...failure doesn't need to be the end of things. Or if it is, it could be the end of what was, and the start of something new. Something nice..."

Stelle nods, laying her back against Sam's armor and guiding Sam's arm into holding her. "And even if it's a failure...it's not their fault, really." Stelle glances up with a rare look, a look burning with the early embers of anger. Stelle rubs the back of her head against Sam's suit, against the ancient machinations of a desperate civilization—a civilization that devised a cruel end for the soldiers who were their last hope. "If they were made for a purpose, and couldn't fulfill it...then I guess whoever made them didn't do their job. So we shouldn't blame the ones who wind up in the trash. We should blame the ones who should've given them what they needed to wind up elsewhere."

In her suit, Sam's heart beats harder, and she holds Stelle closer, wishing she could hold Stelle without the suit between them.

Yet she realizes, as they hold each other in silence, that Stelle isn't only talking about Sam, even if Stelle doesn't realize it.

So she holds Stelle even closer, her resolve to change Stelle's fate strengthening.

Sam finds Kafka alone later that day, inspecting the weapons systems of the ship. Though it's primarily a cargo vessel, the value and rarity of the ship necessitates a robust array of self-defense weaponry. And with a crew so much smaller than the recommended—a mere five compared to the ideal of some several hundred—they don't have the luxury of a dedicated team constantly running routine maintenance on their vital systems.

"Sam, could you scan the connection here, between the targeting system and the sensor array?" Kafka motions to a complex wall of circuitry lying underneath the metal plating she'd removed.

Sam nods and runs a scan as she tries to figure out what she wants to say to Kafka.

I can't just tell her I want to stop the future Elio foresees. She'll just tell me I can't. She'll just say there's no way around it.

Or at worst...she'll make it so I can't stop it.

Her suit feeds her the results of the scan, and she blinks in surprise for a moment before relaying her findings to Kafka. "The weapons systems have all been altered to be fired in tandem at a single point."

"Silver Wolf's doing," Kafka says, tapping a finger to her cheek. "I had asked her to, and she said she'd done it, but I wanted to make certain."

"Did you not believe her?" Sam says before she can stop herself. It's gotten harder and harder to not drive every interaction with Kafka towards some sort of conflict. To Sam, it sometimes feels as if she must, as if opposing Kafka at every turn can somehow help Sam save Stelle from her fate.

"It's not that so much, but rather I was wondering if you'd do as I asked or question me at every step."

Sam's lips twist and she turns to Kafka. "I don't appreciate these sorts of tests."

"And I don't appreciate...any of this." Kafka ends with a sigh, crossing her arms across her chest. "Sam...I really wish we could move past this. Before what will happen, happens."

"What, precisely, are we moving past?" Sam clenches her fists, but doesn't step closer. Perhaps it's the insinuations that Kafka seems to be making regarding Sam's perceived hostility, but the idea of standing over Kafka, glaring down at her through her visor...

Sam's done it before in her anger, but thinking on it now just fills her with a hollow feeling.

She knows Kafka can't feel fear.

But that doesn't mean Sam wants to threaten her.

"Sam. Please...you can feel it, can't you? Even if you're not doing it on purpose..." Kafka comes closer, leaning against a bulkhead and looking out across the room, away from Sam. "It always feels like we're one wrong word away from a fight."

Sam looks down, that hollow feeling in her chest replaced with a painful ache. But she won't allow herself to suffer the full weight of the guilt alone again. "It does feel that way. But it's not as if I'm the only one at fault."

"You know that—" Kafka starts but Sam interrupts her.

"It's not that." Sam shakes her head.

She's not truly dismissing what she thinks Kafka was about to mention; Sam knows that Stelle's fate is most certainly a point of contention.

Rather...Sam simply feels there's no use in discussing that issue with Kafka anymore.

Sam goes on, looking to Kafka. "Before I even said anything, you asked a favor of me. To test me. Please don't proceed to imply that I'm the only one approaching our talks from a wary standpoint."

Kafka stares up at her in surprise for a moment before chuckling and giving Sam a small smile, her eyes no longer carrying that tired look they seem to have so often these days. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I'm sorry, Sam."

"It's fine...and...I'd also like for us to go back to how we were."

Kafka sighs softly, her small smile fading. "Unlike the future...we'll never reach the past, no matter how desperately we try to grasp it." She stands up off the bulkhead, offering Sam her hand and giving Sam a warm smile. "But we can find a new way to be, since we're both willing."

Sam gently takes her hand, letting Kafka guide the handshake. "I'd like that."

Kafka gives her a nod, but after the handshake ends and they start heading towards the engines to check them, Sam asks a sudden question that's been nagging at her.

"Kafka?"

"Yes?"

"Why does Stelle do so many strange salutes?"

Kafka turns a curious glance back towards Sam. "Oh? You haven't asked her yourself?"

"I...keep forgetting, whenever we're together." Sam presses her lips together, mildly uncomfortable about lying so soon after they had resolved to start trying to get along again, but the truth is, Sam finds that part of Stelle endearing, and she's afraid to make Stelle self-conscious about it.

She wonders, at that moment, when it was that she started to think of things like this.

"I think," Kafka starts, resting her chin on a fist. "That she wants to make me laugh."

Sam's quiet for the briefest of moments, then quickly breaks into a chuckle, warmth filling her chest. "That does sound like her."

They continue on in comfortable silence, but there's something else that Sam has been wanting to discuss.

Not about her memories. Not yet. Though Sam suspects that if she does in fact save Stelle, she may never know what Kafka meant.

Still...there are new memories she wants to make. And until she makes them...

The past can stay buried.

"Kafka. I require...your assistance in a certain matter."

Kafka turns up to her, a coy smile on her lips. "Oh? My my...I hadn't thought you two had progressed quite that far yet..."

Sam blinks. "I...would like to learn more about fashion."

"...ah, yes, of course," Kafka says, turning back to their path.

"What did you think I meant?"

"Oh Sam...don't worry, your night will come."

"My...?"

"So, fashion..." Kafka hums, and Sam decides to drop the inquiry for the moment.

"I would like to learn more about fashion, so that I can pick an outfit out for Stelle."

"Sam..." Kafka looks up at her again, concern plain across her face.

Sam reaches out and opens the door for them as they head onwards. "I know that we likely can't go to a physical store. But there should be no issue with online ordering, correct?"

Kafka's expression warms, though her eyes still carry a soft pity. "That should be fine. Well, if you're looking to help her pick out an outfit, I don't really think there's anything I need to teach you. You know her, and you have a good eye for aesthetics. But...here." Kafka pulls out a small, thin black rectangle and places it in Sam's hand.

Sam looks down at the small black rectangle in the palm of her metal gauntlet. "Is...this what I think it is?"

Kafka nods. "You'll need the pin for it too, but yes. Using that card, you should be able to get whatever you'd like for her. Ask Wolfie to help you with shipping. Here, let me patch into your comms directly." Kafka pulls out her phone and Sam reaches her free hand out as she slips the card into a compartment of her armor.

Small metal tendrils—adaptable cables, capable of changing to fit nearly any connection port—connect Sam's mech to Kafka's phone, and Sam sees Kafka typing her pin.

"Got it?" Kafka asks, and Sam nods. Kafka wipes the numbers, but then starts sending various links, all with exotic-sounding titles. When Sam cocks her head, Kafka smiles up at her. "You know, if you used your phone more, sending you links would be easier." Kafka chuckles, going on, "You won't really need any research for picking out an outfit for her, but if you're curious about fashion, these are some sites I like to check out to keep up on new trends, see new designer lines, things like that."

"Thank you, Kafka," Sam says, a bright feeling filling her.

When Kafka's done she taps Sam's hand, and after the cables recede from Kafka's phone, she gives Sam another gentle smile. "I'll leave it to you...though I'm glad you're letting me help."

As they go, Sam nearly starts to ask Kafka again about changing Stelle's fate.

But despite the warmth in her heart when she looks at her longtime friend, Sam resists.

She still, even now, doesn't think there's anything left to say.

"You...wanna buy me clothes?" Stelle cocks her head and Sam nods, grinning despite her nervousness—and despite the fact that Stelle can't see it.

"I do. If that's alright with you." After her meeting with Kafka, Sam had spent hours going through the online catalogs of numerous top designers looking for something that would fit Stelle, taking advantage of how little sleep she needs to spend as much time as possible finding the right match.

Stelle looks down at her simple grey dress. "I guess I don't really have any other outfits...other than spares."

Sam's eye twitches, but she lets the brief flare of anger towards Kafka that had sparked up in her go. Kafka likely had her reasons for dressing Stelle so plainly despite Kafka's own interest in fashion, but Sam doesn't want to try and figure out what those reasons might have been.

Right now, the only thing in the universe that matters is this moment, with her and Stelle, under the watchful gaze of the stars that shine through the tall viewports lining the luxurious recreation room they're in. Sam had wondered, on first finding the room, what the purpose of such a room might be on what is ostensibly a cargo ship, but upon remembering that only the absurdly rich can afford such a ship, and that said ship is often used to help forge business relations for the IPC, the existence of such a room seemed much more logical.

Stelle bunches her fists in front of her and gives a determined nod. "Alright, I'm ready! Hit me with your best shot!"

Sam raises her eyebrows for a moment in surprise before laughter takes her. "Stelle, I'm picking out an outfit, not sparring with you!"

"Bring it, I can take whatever you got! And I will, because...because it's like a gift, and when someone gives a gift to someone else, the other person takes it. So I'll be taking it...but in a grateful way, and not an entitled-to-it way. But I will be taking it. So bring it!" Stelle's eyes gleam with an indomitable passion, and though Sam is giggling, seeing that look in Stelle's eyes only makes Sam more certain that the facet of Stelle she had focused on when searching for outfits had been the right one.

"Okay, so I just want you to know that if this outfit doesn't do it for you, I have a few others I was curious about, so please don't feel like you have to pick this one. Now, you stand right over there, at the top of the steps, please." Once Stelle's in position, Sam pulls out the special hand-sized keyboard Silver Wolf had let her borrow—the same sort Kafka had borrowed when picking out Sam's outfit—and taps out a special command Silver Wolf had programmed in, per Sam's request.

The lights of the room dim until the two are cast in darkness, the viewports the only source of light. Until, that is, shutters start closing across the viewports from the sides, hiding the stars beyond behind the reinforced metal, like curtains drawing closed. When the two final shutters meet in the middle of the last viewport, the room is in pitch blackness, save the dim teal lights of Sam's suit.

But then, from where the two final shutters met—and made to appear as if coming from a great distance further—a golden light twinkles into being. It starts small but soon grows larger and larger, curving slightly, perfectly creating the illusion of a comet closing in.

Sam glances over at Stelle, who is watching the light with wonder, her eyes wide and her hands balled into excited fists, her expression looking so similar to the face she'd made when Sam had revealed her mech, on the day they first met.

The golden ball of light is soon accompanied by music. For a moment, Stelle only stares in disbelief, but then, as the music picks up, she looks back at Sam with such warmth and tenderness that Sam's heart skips a beat, and Sam's so very, very happy that she picked the theme song from their favorite show to play here.

Stelle looks back to the ball of light just in time, and it arrives in front of her, glowing brighter for a moment before bursting into a shower of golden sparks. But there, floating where the light had been and glowing with a light all its own, is the outfit Sam had picked, and though it's just a hologram at the moment, Sam sees Stelle reach out to touch it, as if she's drawn to it.

They're both silent at first, Stelle simply staring at the outfit with wide eyes and Sam slowly growing more anxious by the moment, until Stelle turns a teary gaze back at Sam.

"Sam..."

"You're...you're crying! Is...is it that bad?" Sam thought she was ready in case Stelle rejected one of her suggestions, but the terrible dropping feeling in her chest leads Sam to believe that perhaps she hadn't prepared herself for this rejection as well as she had hoped, and—if she's being completely honest—Sam doesn't feel as confident about any of her backup suggestions as she does about her first choice.

"Bad?" Stelle stares for a moment, then breaks into laughter, wiping her tears. "Sam this...this is the most incredible...."

"The...?" Before Sam's mind can catch up completely to this sudden turn, Stelle closes the distance and embraces Sam, her laughter and sniffling throwing Sam for a loop.

"Sam it's so...it's so perfect!" Stelle lets go and takes Sam's hand, leading her up to the hologram of the outfit. "It's so cool! You remembered how much I loved the black coat and skirt from when the hero went undercover in 'Knights of the Stars!' And these designs! The belt and this badge thingy are like, like...remember Colonel Crimson from 'Eagle Saint,' and how like everything she had was like military themed and I said it looked so cool but I wouldn't wanna wear something so constrained? And this is like, like it's got the look but it looks so comfy, and the yellow all over, especially on the jacket and especially on these ribbon looking things are just, just!" Stelle squees, excitedly bouncing on her heels as they arrive back at the hologram. "Sam, this...this is so cool," she says dreamily, reaching out her hand and passing it through the projected light. "Every bit of it. Even this random blue circle floating off by itself." Stelle points to a light blue circle sitting just beneath the skirt.

"Ah, that's um..." In her suit, Sam blushes. "That's a garter belt. It's worn high up on your thigh. I um...I think it'd look really um..."

"Oh!" Stelle blushes too, but then turns a confident grin to Sam. "Well, if you get it for me, I'll naturally expect for you to help put it on."

Sam is stunned into silence as she pictures such a scene, but soon recovers, just as Stelle's expression shifts, her grin becoming a fragile smile under teary eyes.

"Sam...this outfit...every part of it is just so...cool. It's like...it's like what a protagonist would wear."

"That's why I picked it," Sam says softly, stepping closer. "I know how much you want to be the protagonist of your own story. Stelle...just because you haven't gotten to do much yet, doesn't mean you won't get a chance, someday. I picked this outfit out for you, because I believe in you. Because I believe that when that day comes, you'll make the choice that makes you a hero."

Stelle's mouth moves but no sound comes, so she answers by embracing Sam tightly, her shoulders shaking as she lets out little shuddery breaths.

Sam holds her gently for a time, and is about to break the silence with a suggestion that they find Silver Wolf to sort out the shipping when her suit detects a massive power surge throughout the ship.

Before Sam can ask the other Hunters what happened, though, Kafka's voice comes through. "Alright all, the target ship showed up precisely on time, and they've been properly welcomed with the little surprise Silver Wolf set up. I'm sending your scripts over now."

Sam's script pops up in her H.U.D., a simple text document she can open and read.

Stelle's phone goes off.

And Kafka's voice comes through Sam's comm right after, through a private channel. "Sam...my little firefly...if you don't see Stelle right now, I can have her wait for you somewhere. But if you're near her...it's time. If you're the type to say goodbye..."

As Kafka's words start to sink in, Stelle looks up into Sam's visor, holding up her phone as she speaks.

"Well," Stelle says softly, "Looks like I got my first script. It doesn't say much though, just says to go with Kafka..."

Stelle smiles, a small, sad smile.

And Sam prepares...

To stand against her oldest friend.

Chapter Text

For a time, they're quiet.

The only sounds in the ship's vast corridors are their footsteps: Sam's, heavy and metallic, and Stelle's, soft and small. Were Sam someone else, those soft, small footsteps would likely not be heard at all.

Though, soon...

How do I tell her?

In her suit, Sam scowls at her own hesitation.

I'm out of time. I can't afford to ask questions anymore. I'll never be able to know how something will go, if I don't try it and find out.

They arrive at a four-way intersection of passageways. Thanks to an update from Silver Wolf, they both know that Kafka's waiting for Stelle in the docking bay.

The docking bay is down the passageway to the right.

So Sam turns left and reaches her armored hand, palm up and open, towards Stelle, who looks down at Sam's hand but doesn't yet reach out.

"Stelle...this way." In her suit, Sam's voice is soft and trembling, though she knows that her modulator will take those subtle indicators of her emotions away.

Perhaps that's for the best.

"Ah, erm..." Stelle's lips tremble and she wrings her hands together nervously, but still doesn't reach out. "Actually, I think I have to go...this way. Heh..."

"Stelle..." Sam's lips twist for a moment but she sets her jaw and goes on, fighting through the anxiousness that tries, even now, to drag her away from this admission. "Ever since the day I first met you...I knew that there would come a day when you would..." In her suit, Sam gulps. In her suit, Sam feels so very, very small, so very, very weak. But she fights on, regardless, because she's finally found a reason to fight; she's finally, after so very, very long, found her reason to live. "Stelle, I knew that a day would come when you'd be called on to go away. To go away...forever."

Stelle winces, her hands little nervous fists in front of her dress, and Sam goes on.

"But it doesn't have to be like that. I don't care what the script says," Sam says, her teeth gritting, the hand not reaching out to Stelle clenching into a fist. She doesn't know how much time she has before Kafka realizes they're not coming.

Though, Sam suspects, Kafka may already know.

Sam shakes her head. "I won't lose you just because the script says so! Stelle..." Sam holds her hand out a bit further, a bit closer to Stelle, who looks down at it with a pained expression. "Stelle, please. We don't have much time. We...never had much time...and I'm sorry." Sam feels the tears welling up in her eyes, but pushes onwards, ever onwards, on towards the dream she found, waking, towards the person who's shared that dream with her; towards her reason for being, her reason for fighting against her destiny. "I'm sorry I never told you. I—"

"I knew."

Stelle's reply is soft, tiny, barely even a whisper.

But Sam hears it.

Stelle looks up, her eyes glistening with the onset of tears. "I...knew. That this would happen eventually. That...today would happen, eventually."

Sam's lips move, but even in her suit, no sound comes. Her mind refuses, completely, to acknowledge the truth she just heard.

Stelle goes on, gripping the sides of her plain grey dress, and for a moment, Sam has enough time to regret that Stelle will never get to wear the outfit she picked out. "Sam, I'm sorry. I knew...but I still..." Stelle hunches her shoulders as her tears come in earnest, but even as she starts clumsily wiping her tears away, she speaks, her voice choked, "I just...had so much fun with you. Every day, every second we got to hang out was just..." Stelle sniffles, covering her eyes.

"It doesn't have to be over!" Sam turns to Stelle in full, sparing a glance at the door behind Stelle, listening closely for any indication of anyone coming, but the only sound she hears in the intersection is the sound of Stelle sniffling as she wipes her tears. With an ache in her chest, Sam reaches out again, with both hands this time, offering her palms to Stelle. "Please, Stelle...stay with me. You said that I was your hero...please, let me save you!" Sam tries to fill her voice with confidence and bravado, but in her suit, all she hears is the echoing helplessness that fills her as Stelle steps away from Sam's empty hands. "Stelle, please...don't go."

"You said...that someday, I'd get to make a choice. A choice that would make me a hero." Stelle looks up into Sam's visor with a fragile determination, tears streaking down her cheeks. "Ever since I woke up for the very first time, Kafka's told me about my destiny. She told me that everything she's worked for, everything all of you have worked for, relies on this. I know...that I can't do much." Stelle's lips tremble and she looks down to the ground, past Sam's outstretched hands. "But if I can help...even if it's by...leaving..."

"It doesn't have to be like this! Please, Stelle...we can escape! We can be together...so d-don't..."

Sam's never felt this helpless. Everything she wants, every reason she has for struggling onwards, stands just out of her grasp.

Her strength means nothing. Her resilience, her determination...everything that's brought her to this moment, through every tear she's ever shed, through every foe she's ever fought...

It all comes to nothing.

Stelle still doesn't take her hands.

"I'm sorry, Sam...I knew today would come, but..." Stelle takes a small step back, sending a vast hollow feeling through Sam's chest.

"Stelle...please..."

Stelle takes another step back, looking up at Sam through her tears. "Maybe...it would've been b-better...if we'd stayed strangers."

For a few seconds that feel like forever, there's only silence.

Sam can't speak.

She can barely think. The only words that fill her thoughts are Stelle's, as the memories of their time spent together flash through Sam's mind.

The door opens as Stelle nears it, triggered by a proximity sensor. Sam takes a step forwards, and for one crazed moment, she considers taking Stelle with her by force.

If it means saving her...

But her foe isn't an enemy assailant. It's not even Kafka, not truly.

Sam can't use force, because force can't save Stelle from the destiny she was raised to believe in.

The destiny she's choosing over Sam.

"Stelle...do...you really believe that? That it would've...been better if..."

Sam wants to not hear Stelle's answer.

But wanting is never enough. It never was.

It isn't now.

"I was happy you chose to meet me," Stelle says softly, taking another step back. "It was like living in a dream, after being asleep my whole life. But now..." Her hands go limp and drop to her sides, and she lets out a soft, sad sigh. "I'm sorry. Sam...I..." For a moment, Stelle looks as if she's about to say something else, an admission they've left unsaid through all their time together.

But Stelle shakes her head and turns away, running down the hallway with a final, "I'm sorry..."

The door shuts behind her and Sam's left by herself in the deafening silence. For a time, her mind is blank.

Until, with a sad, broken smile, she dismisses her suit, filling the silence with the steady beeping of S.A.M.'s alarm.

It's rare for Silver Wolf to panic. Most times, she's at least able to rage-quit out of whatever situation is stressing her out.

But the sight of Sam laying against a random wall in a four-way passageway as her suit's weird device beeps is more than enough to send Silver Wolf straight over the edge from confusion to pure panic, and now she can't string two thoughts together long enough to get any words out aside from some gibberish that she hopes sounds like "Get in your suit, what are you doing?!"

The mission had gone fine, considering it was the worst thing Kafka's ever made her do. But seeing this...

Silver Wolf looks back to see if either of the others had come through, but Blade was probably hobbling off to wherever he can rest while he healed the one thing he couldn't heal easily: his mind.

And Kafka...

"Silver...Wolf?" Sam's voice is small and cracking, but what hurts the most is the smile she gives.

It's the sort of smile someone gives when there's nothing left to worry about.

When someone's ready to never have to worry again.

She's never seen it in real life...and Silver Wolf wouldn't mind if she never sees a smile like that a second time.

"I'm here but you won't be for much longer if you don't...c'mon!" Silver Wolf grabs Sam's device and starts trying to work it, first with her fingers then by hooking into it with her aether editing console, but Sam's device resists every attempt at accessing anything but the most rudimentary processes, and Silver Wolf's frustrated growl comes between the device's ironic alarm.

Ironic because it wouldn't be going off if the damned thing would just let her use it.

"I just..." Sam starts but Silver Wolf, her whole body trembling, shushes her with a finger against Sam's lips.

"I don't care what your excuse is, just get in! Sam you're..." The tears are making it hard to see, and a selfish part of Silver Wolf thinks that maybe that's better, because the sight of those glowing lines in her friend's face send a twisting pain through Silver Wolf's chest. "Sam, please dude, c'mon! I know..." Silver Wolf sniffles, and it's only then that she realizes she's crying, but she doesn't have time for that. Sam doesn't have time for that. "Sam please, I know it hurts...I know it's hard, but please, don't do this. You said...you said you never wanted to lose me, so please..." Silver Wolf's voice wavers and she holds her friend close, and even when a nearby door opens, she still doesn't want to let go. "Who's there?"

"What's happening?" Kafka answers with a question.

Because of course it's Kafka who finds them. But despite the anger that fills Silver Wolf on hearing Kafka's voice, Kafka's exactly who she needs right now.

"Kafka, she won't get back into her suit! You gotta make her, please!" Silver Wolf begs, turning to Kafka, her hands still gripping Sam's shoulders tightly, a terrible, fearful certainty filling Silver Wolf that if she lets go, Sam will somehow slip through her fingers forever.

Kafka kneels by them, her eyes hard and her lips pressed tightly together until she opens them with another question. "Sam, what are you doing?"

Sam's smile fades, her eyes narrowing the tiniest bit, but as she speaks a new smile sneaks its way onto her lips, a bitter, bitter smile. "Was this...in the script, Kafka? I can't control much, can I? But I can control this. If nothing else..."

Silver Wolf glares at Kafka, her voice a snarl. "Just do it already! This is all your fault anyway!"

Silver Wolf knows that isn't precisely true, but she also knows that right now she doesn't give a damn, and if there's one person in this room who's at fault, it's more Kafka than anyone else.

Kafka speaks to Sam, ignoring Silver Wolf, "You fought so hard, Sam. My little firefly..." Kafka reaches out and takes one of Sam's hands, and Silver Wolf has to fight a maddening urge to swat her away. Kafka goes on, but she still doesn't use her Spirit Whisper. "So why give up now?"

Sam's bitter smile fades, and such a look of pain and loss cross her face that Silver Wolf can't help but hold her close again, even as Sam answers Kafka, and even as that answer sends more painful twists through Silver Wolf's heart.

"She's...gone. And before she left, she said..." Sam squeezes her eyes closed and tries to turn away, towards the wall, as she continues, "She said it might've been better, if we'd stayed strangers."

"Sam." Kafka holds Sam's hand between both of hers. "Don't you think she hated seeing you in pain? Don't you think she would've suffered any loss, given up anything, to keep you from that?"

Sam tries to sit up and Silver Wolf helps her, gently, every tiny, slow motion seeming so painful for her friend.

As Sam speaks, her voice seems to gain the tiniest bit of strength, even if it's only out of pure bitterness. "Anything but the script. Anything but you, and the destiny you filled her head with."

"And you?" Kafka, somehow, manages to glare right back, the sheer audacity of it overwhelming even Silver Wolf's urge to snap at her, though as Kafka goes on, Silver Wolf holds her tongue for another reason entirely. "Is your pride really worth hurting Silver Wolf for? Are you honestly going to die right in front of her eyes, when all you have to do to live is get back in your damned suit?"

Silver Wolf wants to slap her.

But she's right. And if Kafka, being Kafka will get Sam back in her suit, Silver Wolf will happily let Kafka be as Kafka as she wants to be.

"I..." The hardness in Sam's gaze melts away instantly and she's left squeezing her eyes together, helpless to stop the tears escaping them. She slowly, weakly moves her hand up towards Silver Wolf, and Silver Wolf puts the device in her hand, standing up and stepping back.

Without another word, Sam gets back in her suit, her body lifting slightly as the soft, thin fabric of her dress becomes the hard, thick armor of her mech. Seeing Sam sitting against the wall like that while in her suit might have made Silver Wolf laugh, on any other day.

But not today.

Instead, Silver Wolf steps up to Sam and punches Sam's shoulder, though she regrets it immediately and is left shaking her hand around to try and diminish a bit of the pain.

"Hey," Sam starts, "Don't hurt yourself, please."

"Yeah that's real rich coming from you," Silver Wolf grumbles, putting her hands on her hips. "What were you thinking? Do you...?" Silver Wolf winces, but manages, somehow, to get the words out. "Do you really...want that?"

"It wasn't...that I wanted to hurt myself. I just..." Sam shakes her head. "She left...and I couldn't do anything. This was...something I could do...I guess."

"Great." Silver Wolf kicks at Sam's leg. "Now never do it again."

Kafka stands, her hands crossing across her stomach. "Sam, how bad did you let it get?"

Silver Wolf's about to lay into Kafka and demand that she leave Sam alone for a bit, but before she can focus her anger into something word-like, Sam answers.

"It did...progress a bit. I'll be able to be out again after I spend some time recovering, but...I don't think I'll ever be able to be out as long as I used to."

Kafka narrows her eyes. "Permanent damage?"

Sam looks down at the ground between her suit's legs. "Yes."

"Sam..." Kafka steps forwards and bends down, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You fought for a long time. A long time, without a reason."

Silver Wolf glances over at Kafka, and for a moment, the lingering feelings she told Sam about long ago resurface, as she sees the gentle look in Kafka's eyes. But Silver Wolf stuffs those feelings down, burying them under concern for her friend.

She knows that Kafka probably knows. But Silver Wolf knows, too, that even if it did happen, there's no way she wouldn't get hurt. As for whether it'd be worth it...

She'll think about that later.

Sam turns her helm up towards Kafka. "I finally found a reason. And now...she's gone."

"So what will you do?" Kafka asks, softly, but Silver Wolf knows the meaning hidden in those words.

She wants to know...if we'll be able to leave her alone, or if she'll try this again.

Sam's quiet for a time, but when she speaks, her words come smoothly, without hesitation. "I'll keep going. Until I find another reason."

Kafka stands, a hand going to her hip. "And if you can't? If you never find something else?"

"Then I'll keep going." Sam stands, and though her suit moves as well as it always did, there's a definite slowness that still lingers. "Maybe...that's enough."

Silver Wolf rushes forwards, holding her friend tightly, ignoring the sharp bits of Sam's armor she's pressing against. "If you do that again..."

"I won't," Sam assures her. "I promise. I wasn't thinking clearly. I wasn't...thinking about anyone else." Sam lays a hand on Silver Wolf's shoulder, and as Silver Wolf cranes her neck back to look up at her, Sam goes on. "I'm sorry I scared you, Silver Wolf. I was selfish...and I'm sorry."

"You better be," Silver Wolf grumbles, but she squeezes Sam tighter nonetheless.

She doesn't know how long they spend like that, but eventually they part and head to their respective quarters.

Though not before Sam—at Silver Wolf's insistence—patches her suit's alarm system into Silver Wolf's own alert system.

Later that night, in her quarters, Silver Wolf finds herself a little less alone that she had planned on being.

"Something you want?" she nearly snarls at Kafka, who enters the room and closes the door behind her.

"Can you set it up? The sound barrier?"

Silver Wolf huffs, pulling out her aether editing console for a brief second—long enough to engage the barrier. "What, you got more secrets you wanna keep from her?"

"Thank you for doing this," Kafka says, sitting on the bed near Silver Wolf's desk.

"I hate this. Just so you know..."

Kafka lets out a soft sigh, looking back towards the door. "I know. So...how is she?"

Silver Wolf doesn't have to ask who she means. There's only one reason Kafka would ask for the sound barrier first. She pulls out her console again, hesitating this time, then brings up a small screen and stands up off her chair, coming to stand next to Kafka to show her what she wants to see. "She's fine. If she wasn't...her, there might be some issues, but apparently this is something she was built for."

Kafka reaches out to touch the screen, a tenderness in her eyes that Silver Wolf hadn't expected. As Kafka's fingers gently brush through the image of Stelle, Kafka's lips tremble. "She almost looks like she's sleeping."

"Pretty much is. Not saying I like the idea of keeping people as data." Silver Wolf looks at the image of Stelle, an ache going through her chest. Though she wasn't as close to her as Sam was, Stelle was still her friend.

Silver Wolf doesn't know what's worse: the fact that she'd helped do this, or the fact that Stelle had, too.

Or maybe it was the way Stelle had already looked as if she'd cried every tear she had left by the time she got there.

"She won't be like that forever." Kafka sighs, then cocks her head. "That outfit..."

"Ain't changing it." Silver Wolf blows a bubble and lets it pop before going on. "Don't care what you say. I checked the history on my console, and it's the one Sam picked for her."

Kafka smiles, a sad, heavy smile. "It suits her." She takes her hand back, and after one last, lingering look at Stelle's face, Silver Wolf dismisses the console.

As Kafka stands to go, Silver Wolf tries, once again, to change Kafka's mind. "I still don't get why we can't just...tell her. You saw how torn up she was when she thought Stelle was...y'know. And you told me it doesn't matter either way, as far as the script goes."

"Even if it's not in the script..." Kafka looks away, her gaze unfocused, as if she's looking at something beyond the pulsing hues of L.E.D. lights that grace nearly every bit of Silver Wolf's gaming setup. "It'll be better this way. She needs to move on."

"And what'll happen when she sees Stelle again? When she finds out you were lying to her? You really think 'Oh, but I never said she'd die!' is gonna fly?" Silver Wolf sneers, her hands clenching into fists. "You really think she's gonna forgive you for that?"

"It doesn't matter if she does. I'd rather make her hate me, than make her hold out hope that Stelle will ever remember their time together." Kafka turns a sad smile to Silver Wolf. "Our little firefly...staying still doesn't suit her."

Silver Wolf huffs, looking away and crossing her arms. "Whatever. Maybe you're right...but I still hate this."

Kafka chuckles, turning again to go. "Thank you, Silver Wolf."

"Don't thank me. Sam sure won't."

"Maybe...but you, she might forgive." Raising a hand and waving, without turning around, Kafka leaves.

And in the pulsing lights, amidst the 8-bit graphics of the only constant in her life, Silver Wolf sits on her bed, her head in her hands.

For the first time in her life, she doesn't really feel like gaming.