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Chapter Text

Interview #1
Tkaronto, Columbia
22 January 1115

JESSICA BRYNLEY
RHODES ISLAND OPERATOR/BLACKSTEEL MERCENARY/PIONEER SHERIFF

"Jessica Brynley, former mercenary and operator of Rhodes Island. After more than a decade of service in the Pioneers, she left for the city of Tkaronto where she is busy with her new life as a writer, publishing books relating to her experience in Blacksteel, Rhodes Island and the Pioneers.
Getting in touch with her was easy enough, considering that I lived in the same city as her. The difficulty came in scheduling as she was occupied with writing and my interview had to be postponed to late January; regardless, she agreed to an interview."

Sitting in her humble Tkaronto apartment, the now 34 year old Feline did the interview in her living room, sitting on a simple blue couch with a white wall and some old pictures of her and her old co-workers as a backdrop.

"My experience back in Rhodes Island?" She fidgeted with her fingers and paused. "Honestly, I was incredibly nervous. I remember my hands trembling and it was hard to maintain my balance. I was so scared that I was a huge burden to the other operators. My teammates tried to reassure me, but it never seemed like I could relax..." She nervously chuckles, shifting on her couch a bit. "The first time I met the Doctor is a bit... fuzzy nowadays, I can't even put it into words. But it was very... interesting nonetheless, I'd even go as far as to say that the Doctor was one of the most genuine people I've ever met."

"If you had to describe them in one word, what would you use?" Thompson asks, jotting down the words she said in a notebook.

"One word... I'd probably say unique? Yeah, I- I'd definitely say unique. For me personally, I could never read what the Doctor was thinking or what was on their mind half the time, maybe it was the mask? Maybe I was just too anxious to ask? I dunno, a part of me wishes I'd got to know them better, but the other part of me just says to keep my distance."

"Miss Brynley, your first book detailed about your first ever taste of actual combat against Reunion and the subsequent events that happened after. How much do you think this first taste of combat affected you personally?" 

Jessica bit her lip, her first deployment with Rhodes Island and that war torn city was still deep ingrained in her mind, there was no getting it out of her head no matter how hard she tried.

"I'd say most of it is already explained in detail in my book... but if you really wanted to know, it was nothing short of hellish to be honest." She took a deep breath, reaching for a glass of water. "My hands were shaky, chilled to the bone. I felt like I'd seen a ghost, and considering my dreams after that day... I might as well have seen multiple, dozens even... some nights I couldn't even sleep, at one point the medics gave me medicine for it and it worked... for a month."

"Did you feel like you could keep going after what happened?"

"Honestly, I kinda had to." She shrugs, looking away from the camera and staring off at a nearby window before focusing back. "I called my parents, I called my therapist, they told me to keep hanging in there and they promised to send me my allowance to distract myself. But at that point, I just- I- I knew no amount of money would've done anything, staying where it was nice and comfy and warm wouldn't have done anything. Even if it meant shriveling up and crying every other week, I kept going, I kept training, I took advice from my teammates and uh... yeah, there's not really much I could explain." She rubs the back of her head and her neck, leaning back into the couch.

Thompson flipped a page to ask his next question. "You attracted a good amount of attention by turning down a position as CEO of Raythean and subsequently letting your younger sibling take over, did you think that was a good idea in hindsight?"

"Honestly, I didn't need the blood money to live, I also didn't really feel at home in Raythean or even the whole defense industry in general. Honestly? I'm tired of fighting, everyone has their limits, me included. Some people commit themselves to the fight for years, decades, sometimes even their whole life... but that's not me, that's not what I want to be. I'm happy, I'm content, I couldn't ask for anything more."

"Do you still keep in contact with those back at Rhodes Island? Or Blacksteel?"

"Do you take 'phone calls once every few months' as an answer?" She jokes, laughing in the process. "But seriously, uh... can I name drop them here? Is that okay?"

"Go ahead."

"For Liskarm, I don't really keep in touch with her with how much she moves around. Franka runs a small shop in DC, I've never got around to reconnect with her due to being on the other side of the country. Vanilla's... in Sargon I think? It's been years, maybe she stayed in Columbia like I advised her to. As for the others... I'm sorry, but... I couldn't tell you about them even if I wanted to, I kind of cut myself off a bit after I left Rhodes Island."

"And that's all the time I have for today, Miss Brynley." Thompson closes his note book and reached out for a handshake. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, I'm glad you were able to take time out of your schedule to do this interview."

"It's been good talking to you too!" Jessica shakes the young man's hand. "I enjoyed the interview." She smiles, nodding her head.

Thompson turns off his camera before pulling out a book from his bag. "Would you mind signing this book by the way?" 

"My book... and here I am thinking journalists were supposed to be impartial." She chuckles, reaching for a pen.

 "I'm just a fan of your work, miss."

"So it would seem." She finishes signing the book and gives it back.

"Thank you so much, I look forward to your next book." He packs up all his gear and stands up.

"How about sending me your address so I can mail it to you, autograph included." She chuckles again, seeing him reach the door.

"It'd be an honor, miss." 

The door swings and closes, leaving Jessica on her own again. "Holy shit, what an interview." She sighs and gets up, going back to her desk situated near her apartment balcony with a window overlooking the city's skyline. "I should probably stop slouching around and finish the book..."

Chapter Text

Tkaronto Union Station, Columbia

27 January 1115

“After my interview with Miss Brynley was over, I packed my bags and headed over to the airport to book a flight to Max DC where I would meet my next interview subject. Unfortunately, an ongoing Catastrophe in the Midwest interfered with the direct flight path and all flights in and out of Tkaronto were grounded for a week.

I couldn't afford to wait that long, so I went to the Union Station to take the train instead…”

As Thompson waited for the train to arrive, an older Sarkaz man took a seat beside him as he held a newspaper in his hand.

The man opens his newspaper, with the main headline written in all caps: “SARKAZ SEPARATISTS DRIVE KAZDEL MILITARY COMMISSION OUT OF SOUTH KAZDEL”

"About time, those Military Commission bastards had it coming for a long time, thinking they speak on behalf of all of us." The old man mutters, before turning to Thompson who's scrolling on his phone.

"Are.. you talking to me?"

"Just felt more comfortable talking about this to a fellow Sarkaz is all, I noticed your horns." He points at them. "Gargoyle?"

"From my mom's side, my father's a Lich."

"I see, I see... the name's Abelard by the way, ex-Military Commission." The old man introduces himself.

"Thompson, Albert Thompson, I'm an independent journalist." He nods. "I couldn't help but notice you seem really bitter despite being a former serviceman."

"That's because I got no respect for the new guys, I fought from '73 to '89 until me and my brother left for Columbia after we realized the war was gonna keep going until one side was completely dead.” He huffs and sighs before reading the newspaper again. “But my brother? He was still under the influence, thinks the only way things are gonna get better is if we make everyone lick our boots instead.”

“He sounds like a reasonable man…”

“Ain’t anything reasonable about him, I'm afraid. Guy left a perfectly good job as a carpenter to go fight for some warlord in ‘99, you believe that shit?” He motions with his hands in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I dunno, maybe it's because I never liked Theresis but I don't even know where he was coming from going back to the Military Commission, ever since they replaced old school vets with some respect to the enemy to bloodthirsty mercs, things have just been going to shit.”

“‘99…? You mean Londinium?”

“Yep, also known as the biggest farce in history for Kazdel.” He sighs. “Looking back in hindsight though, I’m glad the Military Commission got the reality check they deserved, these guys have got too comfortable thinking they’re invincible.”

“You still seem very bitter for your former homeland.”

“I just hate the warlords, simple as.” Abelard shrugged. “I still won't forgive them for using my brother as fodder for the meat grinder, we deserve better. What’s respect good for if the ones giving you are folk who spend every single waking moment of their life fearing you're gonna blow their head off?”

“I… I don't think I can answer that, I'm a journalist.”

“Good on you, too many young Sarkaz nowadays just wanna be roughnecks and tough guys, intellectuals are a good change of pace.”

“I wouldn't say I'm an intellectual, I'm just doing my job.”

“It's still breaking the norm, no? As long as you're becoming the change you wanna see, I'd say that's good enough.”

A few minutes passed before the station PA announced the arrival of the next train heading to DC.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the train on Platform 4 heading to Max DC will be leaving in five minutes.”

“Well, looks like my train’s here.” Thompson grabs his bag. “It's been good meeting you, sir.”

“All the best to you too, son.” Abelard bids him farewell.

Meanwhile, Thompson takes a seat in his First Class cabin as he pulls out some notes regarding his next subject. "Franka Embers, lives on No. 78 Magallan Street… got it."

Chapter Text

Interview #2
Max D.C., Columbia
31 January 1115

FRANKA EMBERS
RHODES ISLAND OPERATOR/BLACKSTEEL MERCENARY

"Franka Embers, former Blacksteel mercenary and Rhodes Island operator. She signed up for Rhodes Island to treat her Oripathy complications and served until 1108 right after she obtained her Oripathy shot, officially resigning from both organizations to live a quiet life in the capital."

With the faint sound of trickling raindrops as background noise, Franka sits at one of the empty tables in her humble little store managed by her and her mother, selling cupcakes and coffee.

"I met the Doctor back in ‘97, the Chernobog crisis I mean." She crosses her legs and sips her black tea. “For me back then, it was nothing more than a routine escort job, I've done enough to know what I was doing and I wasn't all that familiar with the Doctor yet. But I knew the Doctor was something else from the get go, how did I know? Gut feeling, mostly… but I just knew they were different, as if they had a different… aura, y'know? It felt different compared to taking orders from the higher ups at Blacksteel.”

"And by different, I'm assuming you meant that they were positive?” Thompson asks, flipping a page on his notebook and jotting down her words as usual.

"Abso-freakin’-lutely, pardon my Gaulish.”

“It's okay, I've heard worse.”

“Ain't you one hell of a reporter?” She chuckles before clearing her throat. “I'd be lying if I said I didn't dream of joining Rhodes Island every time I visited that ship, the hospitality… the facilities… the people there… it felt amazing! Hell, I'd say it felt more like a second home than Fort Barron ever did.”

“And they gave you treatment for your Oripathy?” The young Sarkaz asked, in which she nodded. “It said here that you volunteered to get the first ever Oripathy shots after Rhodes Island collaborated with Rhine Labs to make a serum out of discovered rare flora in Sargon, correct?”

“Bingo.” She nods, smiling in the process. “But it wasn't all sunshine, no medicine doesn't have side effects.” Franka bites her lip. “Sure, it reduced the Originium crystals in my body and normalized my blood levels… but it made me feel weak in the process, I felt lethargic after taking those shots to the point where I couldn't walk for too long or I'd collapse!” She exclaims.

“And that's why you filed for retirement?”

“Yep, but it wasn't just that.” She sighs, finishing her black tea as she stared off at the rain. “I made a promise with my… buddy, her name is Liskarm… I told her after we both agreed to leave Blacksteel that we'd go out together, go see the world and have fun. But then… my mom sent me a letter, she begged me to come back home and settle down, to come back and see my face again.” Her voice breaks as she sniffles. “I've never made such a… difficult decision in my life, but Liskarm… she respected it and she said: ‘Alright, if you want out then don't let me stop you, live the life you wanna live.’ She said to me, those words still ring in my ears to this day.” 

“And where is this Liskarm, if I may ask?” Thompson leans back, eating a cupcake she offered him earlier.

“Probably returned to her home in the Voivuvre Territories in Sargon, I heard they opened up to the world and got foreign investors, not too far off some urban cities you see here in the West. Knowing her, she's probably out there kicking ass while I'm serving cupcakes.” 

“And one last question, if you may.” Thompson flips his book a bit. “Where do you think the Doctor went? There's many theories floating about what happened to them as of recently.”

“Sorry, but no dice.” She shrugged. “But if I know a thing or two about that lanky ol’ leader, if Chernobog, Lungmen and Victoria couldn't kill ‘em, I'm sure they're just playing hard to get.”

“I see.” Thompson jots the last few sentences into his book as he finishes up. “Thank you for agreeing to this interview, miss Embers.” He gets up for a handshake with her.

“It's all good, this is probably the most notable thing I'll be doing in months.” She chuckles again, shaking his hand.

Turning off the camera, Thompson packs his bag and prepares to leave when Franka halted him for a sec.

“Hey, if you're planning to go to Voivuvre Territory, it'd be best to bring some bodyguards with you so you don't get murked by a stray rocket. I still got some friends in BSW if you need it.”

“I’m a Kazdel immigrant, I'm not a stranger to conflict.”

“Then I hope you got heavy enough balls, young man.” She sneers as Thompson walks out the door, Franka pulls out her phone as she stares at her lock screen, the last ever selfie she and Liskarm took before officially parting ways. “Oh Lizzie… keep yourself safe, you crazy b-”

“Franka? Is your interview with that journalist done? I- I need help.” An elderly voice calls out from the back of the shop.

“Coming, mom!” The Vulpo gets up, turning off her phone as she rushes to help her mother.

Chapter Text

26 January 1115

Gilloise, inside the Gaulish-Victorian DMZ

Five kilometers away from the Gaulish border

It's dark at night on the highly monitored Demilitarized Zone between the Victorian Empire and the four year old Gaulish Republic, born from Victoria's inability to hold on to her territories facing years of continuous internal strife. The Victorian Armed Forces launched a successful coup d'etat and has turned against the Dukes and by proxy, young Alexandrina Victoria herself. The young would be monarch has fled the capital along with her Glasgow mates, bringing Delphine Windermere along with her as she was also on the Army's hit list.

"Me legs can't take it anymore, Vina... how close are we to the Gauls..?" Indra sighs, her and the gang have been trekking for approximately a hundred whole kilometers away from Londinium, not to mention having to dodge Army patrols, Trilby Ashers, drones and even civilians more sympathetic to the army than the nobles.

"We should be approaching the village of Gilloise, it's five klicks from the nearest border post and administratively belongs to them." Siege pulls out her paper map, ever since she had to ditch her phone in her escape she had to rely on a compass, radio and a map she stole from an Army camp.

"The bastards better have a bloody aid station then, I don't think ol' Windy's gonna last more than an hour with that leg..." The grey haired Feline replied, looking back at the rest of the group.

Dagda had carried Delphine by the shoulder ever since she was hit by a sniper during one their stops at a rural farm, her wound being patched up by nothing but ripped jeans and some off the shelf antiseptic they were forced to steal. "There, there... we're almost free, come on." She tries motivating the girl, still limping from the shot.

"Just let me go..." Delphine spoke up, her voice cracking. "I'm already halfway to meeting mum, your lives are worth more than mine..." 

"Hey! Don't say that type of stuff!" Dagda grabbed the side of her face and yells at her. "You heard what Vina said, five kilometers away and we're free! Free! You're not gonna toss that away aren't you!?"

"And what then? Do you think they'll just accept us? Just like that? Just because we strolled right in their border?" Delphine protested, stumbling right after she finished her sentence.

"I gotcha, get up now." Morgan catched up and grabbed her other arm, Delphine was now being carried on both her shoulders.

"Wake me up when I reach Gaul... or when I meet my mum... either works..." She falls asleep due to fatigue of marching for more than a week as she gets carried by both Dagda and Morgan as they try and catch up to both their leaders.

"Oi! Vina! I found an old truck 'ere!" Indra yelled as she broke the driver's side window of an abandoned Victorian military truck left behind when the DMZ was established. Regardless, she jumped in and hotwired it which surprisingly worked.

"Water bottles, cans of food, a blanket... this is the perfect ride..." Siege hopped on the back of the truck and saw that whoever ditched this also forgot to carry their supplies. "We don't even need that much fuel to get to the border..." The Aslan Feline breathed possibly the greatest sigh of relief ever, sitting back against the bed of the truck, letting out a big exhale and just... sitting there... with her thoughts... wondering where it all went wro-

THUMP

The sound of Delphine's sleeping body being laid onto the back of the truck was followed by Dagda and Morgan, the former grabbing the nearby blanket and draping it over the late Duke's daughter.

Checkpoint Zulu, Gaulish Border, twenty minutes later....

A lone Gaulish soldier sits on a wooden chair near the boom gate separating Gaulish territory from the DMZ, puffing a smoke as he keeps his rifle by his side, enjoying the peaceful night as another man approaches him.

“(Martins! You're not going to sleep?)” The other soldier asks, standing beside him.

“(What for? It's not even ten yet, I still have to operate the boom gate.)” Martins replied, spitting out his cigarette on the ground.

“(Right, I forgot Etienne's the one that relieves you.)” His friend chuckles, leaning against the guard post where Martins usually sits inside.

“(Straight out of military school and we get posted here, what a good waste of three years in the academy, eh Jacques?)” Martins asked.

“(I'd take this over open war with the Vics any day of the week.)”

“(Amen, but it wouldn't hurt to have some actio-)” Martins' words were cut off by an alarm being tripped as his radio crackles to life.

“(Victorian military truck approaching the border! Close the gate! Close it now!)” The other voice on the radio yelled as searchlights illuminated a speeding truck along the lone dirt road as it tries to beat the gate.

Martins rushes over to slam the button to close the boom gate as Jacques rushes onto the middle of the road, pointed his rifle and yelled at the oncoming truck. “STOP THE TRUCK! STOP OR WE WILL SHOO-”

What followed after was the impact of the truck slamming straight onto the half closed boom gate that decked it straight on the windshield, knocking Siege out as her head was cushioned by an airbag, Indra… not so much. The Gaulish soldiers at the checkpoint were all woken up as about six soldiers all rushed to the truck.

Martins and Jacques were the ones to rush first, dragging Indra and Siege out of the truck respectively. “(These guys are civilians, I can't find any insignias or anything…)”  Martins commented, inspecting Indra’s unconscious body and bruised forehead. 

Meanwhile, Dagda and Morgan were forced to face the truck as two Gaulish soldiers tried to force their way with them, until….

“(If I see one of you touch these women inappropriately, I will personally mail your mother and tell them how disappointed I am!)” A loud voice echoed through the post as a tall imposing Gaulish officer found his way to the scene. “(Charles! Florian! Hands off or I'll cut yours myself!)” He yells as the two soldiers forcing Dagda and Morgan lets go and backs off. “(Manon, Giselle, frisk them.)” He orders for two women to frisk them instead.

Meanwhile, Jacques finds an odd logo on Siege’s body. “(Glasgow… hey, Martin! Do you know what Glasgow is?)” He asks the Liberi as he lets go of Indra and lets a medic take care of her instead.

“(Glasgow…? Holy shit, let me have a look.)” He walks over and tries to get a glance before the officer walks over and stands beside them.

“(What are you doing?)” He asks sternly, looking at the two soldiers.

“(Sir… she's Glasgow, whatever that is.)” 

As the three keep conversing, Siege gets a hold of herself and awakens to the sight of three soldiers all looking down on her, in a panic due to not knowing where she was, she quickly pushes Martins away and partially gets up and stares at them in a panic. 

“W-Where… where am I? Who are you? What's going on!?” She panics, breathing rapidly as the mere sight of soldiers scared her.

The officer, who was one of the only soldiers who knew better than basic Victorian, went over and tried reassuring her. “Don't worry, you're in Gaulish territory, you said you're Glasgow?” He asks, asking Martins and Jacques to lower their weapons to show they're not hostile.

“Gaulish? Wait… did I hear that right? Did I… I- I finally made it…” She still had an irregular breathing pattern and her heart wanted to jump out of her chest and run off but she tried answering his question.

“Yes, you're in Gaul. My name is Alain, I'm a border guard, I'm not here to harm you.” He spoke slowly, trying to calm her down more.

“Alain… Alain… yes, yes I- I- hear you… where's my friends?”

“They're being helped, but I need you to answer my question: are you with Glasgow?”

“Yes… or… at least I was…”

“Is your name Alexandrina?”

“W-Wait- how- how did- you know what? Fine, yes… I'm Alexandrina of Victoria, please… I’m seeking asylum.” She begs the Gauls. “If I go back past that border, they'll kill me… please….”

Alain offers her a hand, which she accepts as he hoists her up. “(Welcome to Gaul, Your Highness.)” He talked to her in Gaulish, which she partly understood.

“I'm not royalty anymore, I'm afraid.” She sighs, looking at Indra who was carried by two medics on a stretcher. “I need a ride to the capital, I plan to seek the Kjeragian embassy.”

“Kjerag? I see, we can facilitate that after your friends have been cleared.” Alain nods. “Jacques! Martin! Escort her to the infirmary, God knows I only trust you two anywhere near women.”

“Thank you sir, I mean it.” Siege looks back at Alain as the two soldiers wait for her to move.

“I should be the one thanking you, nothing ever happens in this post.” He jokes, before turning to the other soldiers calling out orders as Siege slowly makes her way to the infirmary, one more step and she’ll finally be free.

Chapter Text

Interview #3
Max D.C., Columbia
2 February 1115

KATARYNA “FANG” DABROWSKA

RHODES ISLAND ELITE OPERATOR/FORMER CAPTAIN OF RESERVE TEAM A1

“As I was unable to travel to Voivuvre Territory due to the increasing tensions in the area, I decided to seek other people of interest in the capital.

Kataryna Dabrowska, former captain of Rhodes Island’s Reserve Team A1. Following an incident during the Bolivar Revolution, she was promoted to Elite Operator, retiring just shy of three years ago to pursue a quiet and less remarkable life as a history teacher at an elementary school.”

The bells of the small school within the capital's northern district rang, a blue haired Kuranta was sitting in an empty classroom, she wore glasses and had wrinkles near her eyes as light shined through the windows, the clock showing 2:30 PM.

“Rhodes Island… a name I haven't heard in years, might as well be a decade at this point.” She sighs, glancing at a stack of learning books on her table. “I was chosen as the captain of Reserve Team A1, I held the position by recommendation and due to my previous experiences back in Tkaronto.”

“When did you meet Kroos, Beagle and the others?” Thompson asks, taking occasional glances at his phone about how the Columbian government has blocked access for any non-military personnel into Voivuvre Territories.

“When I joined the team, obviously. They were all so fresh back then, full of life too.” She turned over a small photo frame on her desk, displaying all the members of A1 during their youth, the year 1098 written on the bottom right corner. “But things have a habit of not lasting, perhaps this was just some twisted fate of mine…

Bolivar, ‘98… I'm sure you knew what happened.” She sighs.

“The Bolivar Revolution, also known as the Great March.” Thompson answered.

“Yeah, sometimes I wish I hadn't got that assignment… I still do. But I think it's best that I let it go, that's what she would've wanted…”

“Who?”

“...” The old Kuranta stayed silent, creating a really awkward atmosphere in the process. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Right…” Thompson’s eyebrows furrowed, he knew he wouldn't be able to get anything without ticking her off so he decided to use another question. “How about your final assignment? I've heard Londinium was one of your last.”

“Londinium wasn't my final assignment as an operator, my last one was in ‘08 or ‘09, after that I mostly reduced myself to training and helping recruits until I filed for retirement. But it was my biggest deployment yet, it was the one with the most stakes anyways.” 

“And what about the aftermath?”

“Trying to go back to the landship was a struggle, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't extremely exhausted from everything.” She sighs. “Those seven mushroom clouds from the massive Originium bomb explosions weren't a sight for sore eyes either.”

“And what about the Doctor? Did you meet them after the incident? Did you meet them at all?”

“I used to deliver reports to them a lot before… everything happened, but after Londinium? I… I dunno… it felt I was detaching, I wasn't- I didn’t- it's hard to explain… I felt nothing. No pride, no after-party celebrations, I didn't even get to meet Kroos.” Her eyes darken, her head sunk down. “Kroos, Beagle, Hibiscus, Lava… anyone that meant anything was gone, the least I could do was keep living so I could keep being a pain in the ass for anyone who was still after me. As for the Doc? I knew they left but I didn't pay much attention, I only realized how big of a deal it was when Amiya came and told me about it.” 

“And what did she say to you about it?”

“At least they left on their own terms, that's what she told me.” She shrugs. “A shame, really… I met them a couple times after the incident, a few hi's and good morning’s, but never a heartfelt talk…”

“And your former teammates?”

“Normally I wouldn't entertain a stranger with personal questions like these, but you do seem trustworthy… Kroos and Lava are in Yan, I haven't talked to them since I retired, and Hibiscus? She stayed in Leithanien, we had a nice talk about her being a lecturer at the Dinsmark-Fleischer University, she landed the job five months ago.”

The camera’s red light turned off, signaling the end of the interview.

“I'm sorry if the interview is a bit sudden, I hope I didn't interrupt your duties.” Thompson apologizes, getting up and offering a handshake.

“It's okay, I rescheduled my parent-teacher conference when I got the email. I'm not the most comfortable when it comes to digging up old memories, but at least you knew your limits.”

“It's the most important aspect of a journalist, ma'am. I wouldn't get much material pushing people around.”

“That you do… and if you can do me a favor? When the documentary releases… can you send it to me? I just really miss everyone, that's all.”

“Don't worry, it's free.”

“Oh- alright then, take care of yourself.” She waved the young Sarkaz off, looking back at her phone as her notifications show that the conference is starting ten minutes. “I know you're out there, Beagle. I just- I probably shouldn't have hid information about you, God! What the hell were you thinking?” Fang sighs, putting both palms of her hands on her face. “It's fine, it's fine… he's clever enough, he’ll probably find you from someone else…”

Meanwhile, Thompson wandered down the empty halls of the school as he looks down at some news from his phone, coincidentally stumbling upon news from Leithanien that said: "CLASSICAL MUSIC FALLS OUT OF FAVOR AFTER MONARCHY LOSES POWER, ELECTRIC MUSIC ON THE RISE?"

Chapter Text

Kirsten Wright International Airport, Max D.C, Columbia

4 February 1115

Sitting in the airport's relatively empty lounge, Thompson finds himself reviewing his papers and persons of interest on his list. He knew full well that there is the possibility of having to travel across Terra just to get a few words in, but that didn't really shake him.

He's a Sarkaz after all, and a war correspondent for more than a decade at that, digging himself deep in places like Bolivar, Sargon, The Icefields and even Kazdel itself.

He then turns to his phone as he calls a fellow journalist friend that might be able to help him navigate Leithanien, considering he hasn't even been there before.

“Hey, Lehmann? You touched down in Zwillingstürme yet?” Thompson asks, still staring at the departure/arrival screen and looking back at his plane ticket.

“I just got out of the hotel for a walk, what's up?” The Caprinae replied, strolling through the capital which has been decorated significantly as if a major event is happening there.

“How’s the situation at the capital? Lots of people are talking about it online.”

“Oh! They're probably just talking about Tag Des Volkes.”

“Tag Des Volkes? What's that about?”

“It’s the day of the people! Don't you remember? They're officially transitioning power away from the monarchy to the Bundespark and Prime Minister this week!”

“I suppose the days of the Empire are numbered, huh?” Thompson jokes.

“Yep, they're renaming a good amount of streets too. Like how the street leading to William University got renamed from ‘Königstraße’ to ‘Naumannstraße’ yesterday.”

“Alright… any more things I should know about?”

“There's a few others, like how the Gendarmerie and the Army are out patrolling today to make sure nobody ruins the Prime Minister being sworn into office.” Lehmann keeps talking, but sounds of military vehicles can be heard from the other side.

“Lehmann? What's going on out there?” Thompson asks, getting up as soon as the clock strikes the time of departure for his flight.

“Just a few APCs passing by, don't worry about it.”

“Look, I'm about to board my flight and I can't call for long so if you can send me some pictures of the capital that'd be very appreciated!” Thompson starts rushing to his plane now and finally makes it to the other end of the airport where his gate is at.

“Alright, I'll send you the pictures now, there's also this cool statue of Adele Naumann if you wanna-”

“Just send it before I take off, Lehmann.”

“Alright, alright… you don't have to shout at me.”

The call hangs up as Thompson finds his seat on the plane, a nice window view seat near the back of the airplane as a woman accompanies him soon enough sporting blonde hair, black blocky horns, a leather jacket and jeans .

“Hey, can you scooch a bit? I need space for my sling bag?” She asks, standing in the middle of the plane.

“Oh, uh- sure! I'll move away a bit.” Thompson moves a bit, pressing himself against the window.

“Thanks,” The woman nods, sitting beside him. “Tell you what, DC traffic’s a bitch.”

“Side effects of a car oriented society, ma'am.” Thompson makes small talk.

“Ain't that the truth….” The woman then pulls out something out of her bag, the cover says 'How to speak basic Leithanien in 8 hours!'.

Chapter Text

Naumannplatz, Zwillingstürme, Leithanien 5 February 1115

Among the hustle and bustle of the civilians visiting the capital to witness the end of an era, Terra’s last legs of a total monarchy will soon meet its end. All it takes is one last transfer of power between the old Empress and the new Prime Minister to end a long trend in Terran history, with Ursus long deposed of the Ivanovich family and the exile of Aslan royalty, Empress Lieselotte is on her way to give up one of the oldest monarchies in Terra.

But some people aren't interested in a once in a lifetime event like the end of an era of monarchy in Terra, maybe they just want to visit a monument dedicated to someone they hold very dearly, like Ifrit. Being at the ripe age of 29, she had become a semi famous glass sculptor using her fire Arts which led to a rather successful career outside of Rhine Labs; under the guidance of Saria and Silence, she's grown to become a more mature individual capable of making her own life choices, coming to terms with her less than bright past after so long. 

Maneuvering through the somewhat peaceful pro-democratic demonstrations in the capital, Ifrit and her bouquet of flowers found themselves at the site of a statue located near the center of the capital, depicting a Caprinae woman holding a staff on one hand and a bright flame on the palm of the other. It stood proudly in the center of a large park as a plaque is displayed just below the statue, which read in both Leithanian and Victorian:

ADELE NAUMANN SQUARE

This square and its statue is dedicated in lasting memory to the life of talented volcanologist Adele Naumann and her groundbreaking discoveries in the field of science, volcanology and geology. May her dedication, determination and unwavering spirit remain unshaken.

“Plant seeds beneath my ashes, so that they may bloom after I perish.”

Kneeling in front of the plaque, Ifrit laid the bouquet of flowers as she sat there and just… read the plaque in silence. It wasn't fair, the only reason Ifrit survived her Oripathy was due to her volunteering for a shot and assisted by her Diablo Sarkaz genes, the guilt ate her up for a while knowing that somehow there were those who had a less severe infection than her yet she would outlive them first. 

With a heavy heart, she stood up and stared at the towering statue, muttering only a single sentence:

“So long, Adele.”

Chapter Text

Interview #4
Zwillingstürme, Leithanien
7 February 1115

HIBISCUS

RHODES ISLAND OPERATOR/COLLEGE PROFESSOR

“Hibiscus, another former member of Rhodes Island’s Reserve Team A1. Having moved to Leithanien thirteen years ago, she was scouted for her medical Arts by a local university, having been a professor for seven years.”

Sitting in her living room, the purple haired Sarkaz sits on her chair preparing to be interviewed as a photo frame is included sitting right beside her on a table, showing what seems to be a group photo of Reserve Team A1 with the numbers ‘1096’ on it. 

“I had moved to Zwillingstürme after the whole incident back in ‘99, I was also the personal aide to a man named Ebenholz during my initial stay here. After a couple years went by, my services were no longer needed after his condition stabilized somewhat and I found another job as a university professor for one of the medical schools here.” Hibiscus starts, crossing her legs as she finishes the sentence.

“And Ebenholz?” Thompson asks, focusing the camera on her expressions.

“Well… he's not home right now obviously but he's doing well!” She exclaims, flashing a smile. “He still says that he's not fully recovered but he's getting adjusted to civilian life and also finding other hobbies to pursue.”

“And do you find it hard living with him?”

“Well… not really, I knew what I was getting into when I said my vows five years ago. He's a good man really, he's just… complicated.” Hibiscus shrugs. “Other than that, I'd say that adapting to living here in Leithanien is surprisingly easier than I thought. There's also a small community just near the college, we call it ‘Little Kazdel’ due to the majority of people living there being immigrants or expats!”

“I see, I actually visited the district too.” Thompson nods. “Really lively market and culinary scene, reminds me of my dad’s cooking personally.” The half Gargoyle, half Lich chuckles a bit as Hibiscus follows suit.

“Well, I'm glad you enjoy our little district then Mr. Thompson, a lot of people still misunderstand it as some slum until they come to see it for themselves.” 

“Well, speaking of which… do you think you'll go to Kazdel anytime soon? Or Rhodes Island at least?” Thompson goes over to the final question on his list.

“Well, I'm still in the middle of a long semester so maybe not in a while, but I do have plans to visit Rhodes Island and I've actually been consistently going back to the ship every four… or was it… five months?” Hibiscus ponders, looking up at the ceiling. “Regardless, I do regularly visit them and in fact, I do actually have a student here who used to ride along with Rhodes Island ever since she's a kid!”

“And may I have their name if you don't mind?”

“Oh, absolutely not! Her name is Lisa, a very talented girl and hardworking too! I… try not to have favorites but it is very hard not to when it comes to her due to the… history between the two of us, I'd probably call myself her surrogate aunt if anything!”

“Well, that's all the questions I have for you today, miss Hibiscus.” Thompson gets up and shakes her hand. “I really hope I didn't take out any of your time.”

“Oh, no worries! It's not like I can do anything outside due to how loud it is with the festivals going on.” Hibiscus smiles again, giving the camera one last smirk before Thompson ends recording.

Chapter Text

Nouveau-Lingones, Gaul, 

1 March 1115

Siege, now going simply by Alexandrina, have successfully retreated from Victoria into Gaulish territory; more specifically, the nomadic city of Nouveau-Lingones, formerly the capital of County Skyes before being sold to Gaulish separatists. Being secretly escorted into the city, she's being held in the main office of the Directorate of National Security or the Direction de la Sécurité Nationale (DSN) for further questioning.

The door to the interrogation room where she's been held swung open on the morning of March as a sharply dressed looking Liberi man walks in. “Pardon me for being late, Miss Alexandrina.”

The Aslan woman tilts her head up, leaning back on the chair she's been sitting on for what felt like months at this point. “....what?”

“Don’t give me that look here, it would be more unfitting to call you Her Majesty, non?” The man sits down across the table, staring right into her eyes. “Charles Giroud, you haven't met me before but I'm the one who facilitated your transfer here.”

“I see.” Alexandrina still looks downcast. “How about my friends? Are they safe?” 

“They are in good hands, I expect them to recover in the following weeks.” Giroud replies, before drawing a long breath. “We reviewed your request to stay here and unfortunately, we deem it… impossible.”

“What? Why!?” Alexandrina asks, bewildered by his statement. “I thought Gaul hated the junta.”

“While that much is true… we’re not big fans of yours either.” Giroud shrugged. “You do remember who brought down the first Gaul, don't you? If the populace ever found out your lineage… they'd want you dead more than the Vics.” 

“Please… I can't return to Victoria, I won't last a week back there.” She pleads desperately. “Can you at least allow me to travel to another location?”

“That depends, we can probably escort you to an airport or a dock… but as much as I hate to say it, you're not welcome here.” 

Alexandrina remained silent, her mind still in disbelief over the rapid fall from being next in line of succession to desperately wishing to get as far away from the country as possible. After saying nothing for two whole minutes, she finally caves in. “Fine, what are my options?”

“Well…” Giroud crosses his legs. “I heard Kjerag’s beautiful this time of year, it’s remote, scenic, and its people aren't calling for the head of the relative of a monarch who has crushed an entire nation state and systematically stripped their identity.” 

“You don't have to rub it in.” Alexandrina sighs, clearly not enjoying the whole thing too much.

“But someone has to remind you of those sins. You can't expect to simply leave another country and reside in another one that easily, I hope you understand.” Giroud leans forward towards her face. “You were born into the Empire in the twilight years of her glory, and you left it in a state of confusion and crisis. It's no surprise that the people lost faith in you.”

“Are there any limitations regarding my exile to Kjerag?” Alexandrina asks him, knowing this will be the last time she will be remotely close to Victoria.

“Well… you'd have to live as a civilian, meaning giving up your noble blood… no forming governments in exile, and you're the only one we’re going to escort into the airport.”

“And my friends?” 

“They can join you post-recovery, we’ll ensure the Victorians can't touch them.”

Alexandrina breathed a sigh of relief, the first time in many months. “...Thank you, I guess… when’s the next plane?”

“Tomorrow, don't be late.” Giroud stands up and nods at the Aslan woman before walking out of the room. “Bonne chance!”

Chapter Text

Interview #5

Zwillingstürme, Leithanien, Brenner University

9 February 1115

LISA VENEZIA

RHODES ISLAND OPERATOR/COLLEGE STUDENT

“Lisa “Suzuran” Venezia, a Rhodes Island medical operator and college student of Leithanien’s prestigious Brenner University of Zwillingstürme. She might be my best lead heading towards my next destination, Siracusa.”

The raindrops fall on the massive capital of Leithanien, yesterday’s festivities having died down as the majestic large twin towers look down below on every single other building as the camera zooms out to a study room with a blonde haired, nine tailed young woman sitting in her study, drinking her cup of tea.

“I love rain like this, it reminds me a lot of Siracusa… even if some of my memories are mostly bitter.” Lisa sighs, turning to the camera. “So, you wanted to talk about Siracusa, right?”

“Yes, I'm planning to go there next week actually.” Thompson nods, shimmying himself on his chair. “I've read travel guides but I'd like to listen to some input from a true native like you, alongside some details of other Siracusan operators if you don't mind.”

“Sure! Who do you want to talk about? I only know a few but… I'll try to answer as much as I can.”

“For starters, how much did you know your fellow Siracusans back at Rhodes Island? Did you interact much? I mean, I know you were just a child back then but… did they have any impact on your life or…?” 

“Well…” Lisa exhaled, staring back at the rain before looking at the camera. “For the most part, living in Rhodes Island changed me a lot for the better.” She flashes a smile. “Lots of friendly faces, top class medical treatment, fancy living spaces… you know, RI always advertised themselves as a hospital but it always felt like a hotel or upper class housing complex!"

“It also says here that you lived with your mother?” He checks his notes, citing that she did indeed live with her mother when she moved to Rhodes Island a couple years after she was admitted.

“Well, she showed up a couple years after, but I did! She always told me to study abroad and live away from Siracusa, because of what happened there, with the Originium doll that pierced my hand and infected me.” She showed off a faded scar on her right hand and arm showing off roughly where her infection was. “But it's mostly gone now, I'm not as infected as I was anymore.”

“Thank you for your insight on Rhodes Island, Miss Venezia.”

“Anytime, Mister Thompson.” Lisa nods as she sees the red light of the camera being turned off.

“Now, how about operators Texas and Lappland? Do you know where I can find them?” Thompson asks, with a slightly more serious tone, no longer putting up the friendlier facade for the camera.

“Oohhh… I've encountered Signora Texas a couple times during my trips back to Siracusa, she's working as a civil worker at a small town called Brunello as far as I remember… I remember her saying she wants a more peaceful life when she gets old. But as for Signora Lappland… I didn't get to know her much, but she probably followed Texas considering how close they are.”

“Alright, so Miss Texas resides in Brunello nowadays?” Thompson jotted down ‘Brunello’ in his note, marking it as a place of interest.

“Yup! I've been there a few times and I can see why she did it. It's tranquil, peaceful, still has some degree of control from the Familia but they mostly shy away from her or anyone in her circle.”

“You seem really in the know of Siracusa’s families for a regular medical student.” Thompson remarks, jotting down more notes in his book.

“Yeah, well… I got most of it from my mom. She gave me a book of all the territories all these families control and which ones are dangerous or not, a weird gift, but it's definitely something I don't take for granted.”

“Right, anymore people of interest you can think of?”

“Well, you have the former Judge Lavinia Falcone… although she's quite old nowadays, she's one of the most revered people in Siracusa today too.”

“Got it.” He nods one last time as he gets up from his chair. “Oh, and by the way, do you still have a copy of that book your mother gave you? The travel guides I find online doesn't mark mafia territories.”

“How about I draw one for you instead? I have a tablet here that I can use to make a digital one, then I'll send it to you when I'm done!”

“Alright, I suppose we should share contact information then.”

“Seems good to me!”

Chapter Text

Brunello, Siracusa, Stadio Municipale di Martinelli 

26 February 1115

Thompson continued his journey through Terra, now finding himself in the city of Brunello, situated in the breezy north region of Siracusa, famous for its mountain borders and love for sports.

Looking from outside his hotel window, he can clearly see the large football stadium that had become the center of attention and revenue for the city, hosting two of the city’s football clubs simultaneously due to the size of the city and the complexity that comes with constructing another stadium when most of the city is occupied or used for farms and vineyards. Regardless, this was the place where he and Miss Texas had agreed to meet after managing to track down her email address.

[A. Thompson]: Miss Cellinia? Are you still available for the interview?

[C. Texas]: Yes, I'm attending the game at the stadium right now, checking in at a VIP lounge.

[A. Thompson]: Good! Should I schedule the interview at halftime?

[C. Texas]: Any time is fine for me, but I would appreciate it if I didn't miss any action on the pitch.

[A. Thompson]: I'll arrive at 16:40 then, sound good?

[C. Texas]: Yes.

“Ey, Texas! Who are you texting?” A middle aged Lappland leaned forward to peep at her phone, still being as playful (and a bit of an asshole) as she was when they were younger.

“Can you not?” Texas puts her phone back in her pocket. “I thought you went out to get food?”

“I did, want some hotdogs?” Lappland hands out one of the hotdogs she’s holding in both her hands, looking like it got dragged through the garden.

“Did you… did you put every single topping on the menu in this? This thing looks ridiculous.” Texas grabs it, confused on where to start biting. “Let's go to the VIP box, kickoff’s in a few minutes.”

Lappland shrugs as she follows Texas to the VIP box area located on the top of the stadium, she's slightly confused over her choice of seating as she usually just goes cheap.

“Why'd you buy VIP tickets anyway? Is there some sort of special event nobody told me about?” She raises her eyebrow at her. “Oh… don't tell me you're-”

“I'm going to do an interview, I'd rather it be somewhere private and away from all the noise, for the journalist’s sake.” Texas replies. “He said he wanted to interview me about my experiences back at Rhodes Island.”

“Ooohhh! Look at you, being all popular even when you're in your late thirties.” Lappland chuckles a bit, almost dropping her hotdog. “Think I can join in?”

“Just don't take his head off.”

“Come on, Cellinia! You know I've changed, right? It's been so long since I've murdered anybody!

“You call a year a long time?” Texas opens the door to the VIP box as she checks her phone again. “I'll go wait for the journalist, you can go… eat all the meals first if you want.”

“Calling me a glutton, Cellinia?” Lappland looks unamused until she looks at the amount of free food in the room. “Well… I suppose a plate wouldn't hurt.”