Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The personnel carrier lurches forward as it makes contact with the underside bay ramp of the land ship, Rhodes Island. The back tires kick up dirt as the slight difference in the two speeds of the disparate vehicles caused them to spin. The loud clang of the carrier bed smacking the ramp is almost deafening even from within it. W’s ears are always ringing, any noise that isn’t an explosion within throwing distance doesn’t even cause a flinch. Despite her lack of reaction, the vehicle climbing the rest of the ramp did send her jostling into Hoederer, a slight grunt as he shoulders her back into position as the carrier rights itself. She gives an exasperated sigh as the vehicle finally forces its brakes into position, and stops dead.

“We could still blow this whole fucking place up,” W grumbles, hoping it won’t be taken as a joke.

Hoederer stands up and gives the sarkaz a small smack on top of her head, “The nice Doctor is paying us far too much for me to consider that until after we leave.”

W rolls her eyes and grabs her pack, standing up to fall in line behind Hoederer and the handful of other mercenaries crazy enough to join Rhodes Island.

Join Rhodes Island, feels like such a cruel joke to W.

She’s been here already, she predates Rhodes Island.

She helped christen the land ship that still carries Theresa’s hopes, or what’s left of them, somewhere in its dense and twisted halls. She knows those hopes are no longer inside of her, not after Chernobog. The door latches open to the loading bay, landing with a loud metallic thud on the floor.

“Welcome to Rhodes Island, sarkaz mercenaries,” a cold, nearly robotic voice greets them, as the old hag gives her warmest welcome, “You will need to proceed immediately to our check in point. Unload any current gear you possess, then make your ways to our Staff Resources department to begin onboarding. You will be treated as potentially dangerous outside visitors until the moment at which you have read, agreed, and signed a formal contract to become Rhodes Island operators or staff. Your initial designation as operators or staff is flagged as a threat until we deem it suitable for reevaluation.”

W takes in the scene around the bay as Kal’tsit yammers, nothing she hasn’t heard before after all. There is a squad positioned to follow them to make sure they actually remove all weapons and place them into the outlined areas.

The loading area is dark. The only light is shining in from the cracked bay doors, showing the afternoon desert where they had been picked up. There were several pallets lining the walls, with various color codes that W no longer recognizes. They are likely rations, medicine, water, and survival equipment, things Rhodes Island would need to be able to load and launch quickly in the event of an emergency dispatch. A makeshift checkpoint has been set up a few meters away from the only loading bay entry that didn’t involve disembarking at 80 km/h.

The group shuffles forward, the hag must have told everyone to follow.

W reshoulders her slumped bag and follows from the back. She doesn’t recognize anyone in their “escort” unit. A bunch of stock standard RI operators, barely above chaff in her opinion, led by a dark haired liberi who seems particularly focused on the red horned sarkaz.

W was certain any number of her exploits against Rhodes Island in the last few months had earned her quite the reputation with many of its operators; she should have known it would include the first new face she lays eyes on. The three individuals staffing the impromptu checkpoint pique her interest even more than the sharp eyes liberi, however.

A blue kuranta, a blonde vouivre, and a stern looking perro glare down at the mercenaries, despite some of them towering well and above the women.

The perro speaks first, a commanding authority emanating from her, “Bags down, pockets out, stand over on the other side of the tarp while we inspect your items and confiscate contraband.”

W cranes her head back towards the ceiling as her other companions begin the process of dumping, flipping, and discarding various objects on their persons. She can’t help thinking how boring this all is, how she’d rather be torturing some poor conscript or other mercenary somewhere else in the wastes right now. She knew the banality of this job was going to be the worst part, but the ache of her itchy trigger finger and restless legs are creeping in faster than even she anticipated.

“W-” she snaps back attention and swivels her head slowly toward the hag, “Give it to me, we both know there’s nothing you will be able to keep aboard Rhodes Island.”

W groans in frustration. The old bitch is already getting on her ass again, like this situation could get any worse, “Saves me the trouble of saying it myself, I guess. Here, all yours Madame.”

W tosses her bag at Kal’tsit with just enough force to make sure she felt it, but not enough to appear overly aggressive.

“The detonator you hide in your sleeve, and the micro launcher under the flap of your jacket, too, please.” Kal’tsit’s unwavering gaze pierces right through W.

She shrugs, “Knew I should have swapped it up since Chernobog, hardly had the time to take a piss since then, though.” W snaps her wrist, revealing her originium detonator. She hands it gently to Kal’tsit - a caution she’d only take if the wavering threat of that beast weren’t ever present. Next she unlatches the micro launcher behind her back, almost as though she’s undoing her bra, and sets it in Kal’tsit’s other hand.

“Operator Plume, take these and place them in the third floor armory,” the dark haired liberi walks over swiftly, carefully plucking the items from the old hag, as she leans in and whispers something else, before whisking quickly away.

“Now, if you’ll follow me, W. We have different procedures for previous employees of Babel, so you will have to part ways with your comrades here.” Kal’tsit is already pacing off at her even and steady pace. Those steps have carried her through uncounted centuries and places. W feels the urge to punch the feline square back in the head die about halfway down her arm.

She is not so eager to be thrown through a wall again.

For now, at least.

W follows the hag past the checkpoint, trading glances with Hoederer as she walks by. He crooks an eyebrow as he dumps his sword and knives to the ground, hesitant for a moment as he goes to draw a hidden blade from his waistline. W shakes her head dismissively. As much as W hates the old cat and this place, she knows getting into trouble this early would be pointless.

The two women walk into the elevator. Kal’tsit hits the button for floor 3, home of Rhodes Island’s infamous Staff Resources department. W swallows, suddenly sobering up to the situation she finds herself in, and hoping to whatever it is she can that Kal’tsit won’t attempt conversation.

The hag is normally pretty stony in these situations-

“So, W,”

God damn it.

“Despite whatever reputation you had with Babel, your history as a mercenary precedes you in this new Rhodes Island. Ascalon will be watching your every move, so do make sure this precaution appears unnecessary. Do I make myself clear?”

W can only handle so much humiliation and authority in a day, and her limit had been reached before she even stepped into the storage bay earlier. She can’t help herself, “If I’m so dangerous, what’s even the fucking point, hag? Why not just kill me and be done with this whole pathetic show?” Her eyes glow, betraying the smoldering anger, a fist clenched at her side.

Kal’tsit sighs, a response somehow worse than admonishment to W, “Theresa saw something in you, though I appear unable to perceive it. You are a child of Kazdel, were you to beg for me to leave you in the waste to wither and die, I am not sure I could oblige such a request even now.” There is an indiscernible look in the feline’s eyes, at least to someone like W.

“Wha- hold on.” W starts. The elevator stops, the doors opening a moment later. In the wake of Kal’tsit’s uncharacteristic frankness, W is caught off guard by the presence of a body outside of the elevator, and her wily instincts kick in, head tilting.

Bright blue eyes meet her wild amber ones. It’s the bunny. She’s much taller than W remembers, a large black and blue Rhodes Island jacket making her twice as big as she might appear otherwise. Her ears stand straight up, in surprise. Her mouth is slightly open as her eyes flick between W and Kal’tsit, before recovering, “Oh, Kal’tsit, I didn’t know W’s mercenaries were arriving this soon, I was just here about Warfarin’s request-”

“You really should not entertain her whims, Amiya. She is brilliant, but prone to taking advantage of the kindness of others. Now, if you will excuse us, I must see to it that W’s paperwork is updated and a new contract is established with Rhodes Island.” Kal’tsit strides purposefully out of the elevator, gently skirting Amiya, as though she were some valuable vase she was taking extra caution to avoid knocking over.

Amiya, somewhat wistfully, turns her head back to W, “Welcome back, W.” An honest and disarming smile flashes from the cautus.

W feels incredibly uneasy. Her mind flashes back to shouting and begging the young girl in the Chernobog control room, wishing she could wipe those moments of panic and desperation from the other girl’s mind. Frustration bubbles up inside. W feels the sudden and intense desire to get out from the view of those sincere eyes.

“Don’t get used to it.” W scoffs, pushing past Amiya. As easy as she thought it would be to shoulder the little rabbit, she finds herself shoved to the side more than she anticipates.

“Oh, sorry! I should have gotten out of your way-” Amiya apologizes.

W grits her teeth. Still a goody two shoes, I see.

“W, W! You had trouble doing the paper work last time, do you think you’ll need some help to-” Amiya is already following the sarkaz.

W snaps around, “No, I do not, can you mind your own business?” The anger and resentment from being talked down to by the bitch hag rears its ugly head.

Amiya stops in her tracks, a small crackle of hurt betrays an otherwise gentle demeanor. The hand she has in the air wavering between reassurance and retreat.

“It very much is her business,”

Son of a bitch. Kal’tsit is mad.

“As I am sure you ascertained quite plainly back in Chernobog, Amiya is the CEO of Rhodes Island, personnel and onboarding is well within the scope of her concerns, though she need not be so directly involved in the process as she is offering. Additionally, I was planning on W being present as a mere formality, it should be simple to transfer all of her information from previous documentation and have her provide whatever it is she considers a signature.” Kal’tsit’s steely gaze falls directly onto W, and her hair stands on end.

It’s like she is being set upon by a predator.

“Oh, of course, that makes sense, Dr. Kal’tsit.” Amiya forces a chuckle, trying to defuse the situation.

W’s brain ticks over and she plasters a lackadaisical smile back on, “Yeah, of course, it makes total sense, I’m only good for killing and destroying, I just need to shut up and show up for everything else that isn’t that, I got it.”

Amiya’s eyes dart back to W with a small frown. Kal’tsit lets out another sigh. In that instant W feels a small pang in her chest, but she pushes it away. Instead she turns to face the old hag, before walking past her into the Staff Resources department.

Kal’tsit attempts to give the young CEO what she sees as reassurance, “Do not trouble yourself with her, Amiya, she may very well be a lost cause.”

Amiya clutches the stack of papers close to her chest and turns to walk into the elevator.

W’s sad attempt at the letter resembling her own code name leaves a distinct impression on her. She can’t tell if she hates the thing or not. Her “name”, as it nominally represents her, has always been a complicated thing.

It was tossed to her like some secondhand pair of shoes, and she put them on and walked a thousand miles. Now, looking at the four lines on paper, she wonders how bad her feet feel, and whether she should bother to take those shoes off or not. The contract is snatched away from her before she can process. W blinks up and sees Closure already walking away.

“Now, I can’t even begin to imagine the litany of diseases and ailments you have managed to accrue as a mercenary, so we’re going to medical next. Mandatory for Rhodes Islands operators, but exceptionally necessary in this case.” Kal’tsit barks orders at W like she was born to do it.

The monotony of moving about the land ship begins setting in: elevator, corridor, elevator, corridor.

Why couldn’t Theresa have laid this place out more sensibly? Because segmentation provides insulation during infiltration from attackers- is what she would say. Not that it seemed to help the day Theresa was murdered. W shakes her head, these thoughts won’t do anything for her now.

“So, you guys planning on doing some renovations to this place or is it always gonna look like a hunk of junk pulled out the scrap yard?”

“Rhodes Island is always undergoing constant renovations, Closure has a single minded devotion to the task, and her responsibility towards the ship is commendable. Unlike others.”

Her desire to poke people’s nerves has its limits even with the old hag. Not even an ear twitch, what a bitch.

The doors open to the medical section as Kal’tsit swipes her keycard.

The sterile air hits W’s nose. Even though she is accustomed to the smell of gunpowder and blood, experiencing them mixing with the sharp scent of antiseptic, is rancid to the senses. The pair walk past the rows of sick bays and the handful of ICU rooms housed with the pharmaceutical company. The beds are pretty full at the moment. Not surprising given the operation that occurred less than a week ago. If there were a cemetery on Rhodes Island, W is confident there would still be calloused hands chucking dirt out of holes. She wonders how many people here she was responsible for, before turning into the doorway where Kal’tsit went. She comes face to face with the bunny yet again, this time with Warfarin, and that damnable specter, the Doctor.

The three turn their heads as Kal’tsit and W enter examination room, all conversation dying out in a single hushed moment. Amiya still looks a bit sullen as she casts her eyes downwards. Warfarin is as predictable as ever, her red eyes scanning W the moment she gets her in view, looking for even superficial wounds. It’s the Doctor that is the most unsettling now, the hood blocking most of her facial features.

Never having the privilege of seeing under it herself, W only has the low tenor of her voice to build a mental image of the secretive and timid Doctor. But like many here, the Doctor is not to be trifled with. W knows first hand the Doctor can rival Kal’tsit or the bunny with ease.

“W,” Warfarin snaps, “You’re 1136 days late for your check up, you better have a damn good reason for being the most annoying pop up I have to dismiss in the system every morning!”

Amiya chuckles a bit, and a small flush forms at W’s cheeks, “Yeah, I got lost, won’t happen again doc.”

She walks over and grabs the other chair in the office, taking the opportunity to get uncomfortably close to the Doctor, “Great seeing you again, too, Doctor.” She plops herself down in the chair, already rolling the sleeve for her left arm up.

“Alright, everyone else out, she’s got so many check ups for me to run her through I’m gonna be here the rest of the evening. Kal’tsit, could I bother you with doing the outstanding walkthroughs for the remaining patients?” Warfarin asks in that irritatingly sincere way of hers.

“I can help, too,” the quiet register of the Doctor mumbles out. W grits her teeth, that’s not how she sounded last time, and that pisses her off.

“Very well. Doctor, come along, we’ve started placing the charts at the head of the bed since we’ve got so many in right now.” Kal’tsit turns, the Doctor not far behind.

Amiya, suddenly noticing she’s the last one in the room, and with Warfarin’s gaze on her, shuffles towards the door. She reaches the frame before seeming to think better of it, “Oh, and for the record, I’m okay with the trial drug Warfarin, but I guess we’ll need to have another meeting with the Doctor and Kal’tsit about it, haha….”

Warfarin sighs, “Yes, those two seem exceptionally protective over changing any part of your treatment regiment, but I think its a marginal increase in risk for a considerable increase in symptom management, but I digress. I’ve got to see to this basket case.” She’s getting her band ready to tie around W’s exposed arm.

W closes her eyes in frustration, leaning even further back in the chair. She is caught completely off guard when she feels the brush of a polyester jacket against her shoulder and a low whisper in her ear, “I don’t think you’re unsalvageable.”

W snaps her eyes open and turns her head, just in time to catch a whisk of black and blue closing the door to the inspection room. Then the prick hits her elbow.

Chapter Text

W feels herself nodding off in the unlit room, the projector casting a dim ambient light off the reflection of the wall. A battle record plays out in front of the group sitting in the briefing room. It’s stitched together drone footage of a Rhodes Island encounter with Reunion forces inside Lungmen. It’s an awfully drab fight in W’s eyes, unable to keep her from dozing.

Far too much retreating, far too many “tactical” movements, far too few casualties.

According to instructor Dobermann, this is supposed to be a lecture on the importance of tactical retreats, particularly in the face of an enemy who out numbers you. That’s the only thing W caught before the lights turned down and her eyes with them. They must think so little of her and her Sarkaz mercenaries if the first thing they want to teach them is to run when you’re outgunned.

Dobermann pauses the record, standing up to point some self-ascribed important detail and scans the room to make sure attention is had. W puffs her cheeks and leans forward to make sure she isn’t chastised for staring at a different, more interesting, part of the wall. If W ever had regrets in life for missing an education or discipline, she was quickly losing it sitting here in a glorified classroom being talked at by an instructor with an inflated ego.

A splint of light slashes the gloom. The door creaks, closing swiftly as the new participant enters. The action barely registers for the Sarkaz as she avoids flicking her eyes away from the screen again. The flash washes out the perro and her boring lecturing. Probably a member of her squad who overslept and just remembered the duties of an operator.

W waits to feel the schadenfreude of Dobermann chastising someone besides her for a change, but it doesn’t come. The instructor's eyes just glance over to the door, a single eyebrow perking with a hitch, before returning to the task at hand. The act is just suspicious enough to elicit a turn in W’s head, just in time to see a silhouette shuffle past her from left to right, before settling in the seat next to her, one of the only available chairs left in the briefing room.

Sheepish from being caught off guard, W pretends to remark on something at the other end of the room, not wanting to admit her curiosity made her turn her head. She catches the eye of another Sarkaz who is hanging on to the lecture by a thread. He makes a snickering motion at W and points, with a finger gun, behind her.

Rolling her eyes, W turns back around, suppressing the relief at being given a reason to, and comes face to face with the bunny again. The cautus looks up nervously from her data pad, already filled with notes, and gives W a bright, genuine smile. W feels her face burn.

Her gaze snaps forward again, only to see the same visage of the small girl next to her on the screen, ordering Liskarm forwards to cover for the retreating slum civilians. She fires off one of her arts blasts at a rooftop, creeping Reunion members ducking back down from their advantageous positions.

The figure she cuts is so unlike the girl who hunches around Rhodes Island.

Instead she gives off the air of someone strong, her eyes full of determination for the mission. Painting the battlefield with those black lines of hers, fully in sync with her squad members, living up the moniker of Rhodes Island CEO.

W can’t help but think on how different Amiya’s style is from her own. W sets her squad in positions that will help her draw out most of the enemy. The larger the number, the easier to annihilate them from her own lone position. It’s a winner-take-all strategy, risky for both W and her squad, but she doesn’t know how to do anything else.

If you don’t put everything on the line with every move you make as a mercenary, you’ll never survive.

Plus, W only takes the ones crazy enough to agree to being glorified bait and are comfortable with the feeling of shockwaves and viscera. But the rabbit, she’s putting herself in front of enemy fire, maneuvering her operators into sensible positions only when the opportunity is at its best. She minimizes risk by relying on the training of her operators and not making any off-the-cuff calls.

It's honestly pretty sickening to W.

“Since a member of Amiya squad is with us presently,” Dobermann’s voice punches through her thoughts as she feels bile rising up from her stomach, “why don’t you explain your thought process during this retreat, Ms. Amiya.”

Amiya fidgets with her notepad, darkening the screen, before standing up, “Oh, uhm, yes of course Instructor Dobermann. Reunion was attempting a pincer movement at the time. It’s not very sophisticated, and they operated fairly loosely, so the difficulty was not in evading the maneuver itself, but in avoiding being boxed in by their overwhelming number advantage. Thankfully, we had a superior technological advantage. I leaned on our Blacksteel operators and the drones to help us scout ahead for escape routes, and filmed the footage we’re looking at now. Additionally, operators Liskarm and Franka have high synergy in the field and were instrumental in being able to lay lines of cover to facilitate our retreat and escort the civilians with us.”

W frowned in surprise as the cautus spoke. That was more of a concise breakdown than she expected. Even Hoederer wouldn’t put that much thought into a response, much less on the spot. Amiya bows her head at Dobermann’s nod and sits back down, going right back to her notes and punching in a few new ones. The thought rattles around in W’s mind that she can never square the circle on the Rhodes Island CEO. The little bunny is always so unassuming and timid wandering the halls, but when she’s put into a life or death situation she makes the hard choices, even if she struggles and doubts herself. W can’t help but tell herself that makes Amiya nothing but a poor imitation of the former Babel leader, but she finds herself paying a modicum more attention to the way Amiya acts in the remaining battle footage.

As the lights flick back on, Dobermann gives a few trailing remarks about one more session, before W’s ears pick up on the word “deployment”. The scowl she has finally turns back into a grin. She can finally get back to something exciting! The free food and board is a nice perk and all, but W has felt her blood boiling since stepping back onto this place. She’s ready to get out into a fight and blow something, possibly someone, up. She kicks her chair back, ready to be the first out of the room.

***

Amiya watches W kick the chair back and lumber towards the door. She begins to wonder why she decided bringing in the impulsive mercenary was a great idea. Then again, the conversation she and Kal’tsit had in the Operations Room only half an hour earlier bubbles to the forefront.

“I do not believe it is entirely necessary for you to participate in these battle record briefings. They would be remedial for you, and you’re the subject of many of them. While there is value in reviewing one’s own performance, I have reservations about the value of spectating with such outlandish participants as the W squadron.” Kal’tsit is in a particularly unfortunate mood today for this type of conversation. Amiya wonders if her favorite brand of coffee is out of stock in the pantry again. She needs to check on that.

“I understand Dr. Kal’tsit, but I think it’s valuable to know their opinions on the matter. This way we can learn how to instruct them better in the future.” Amiya sees the friction W squadron cultivates with the rest of Rhodes Island. Wayward comments in passing turn into shouting matches and end in fist fights, sometimes with the titular W at the center of them. Amiya wants to figure out a way to reach out to them better, to understand them so these sorts of things can be avoided.

Kal’tsit makes a sour face. Amiya knows what is about to come, before she’s cut off by a quiet voice, “Come on Kal’tsit, let her go. What other opportunities is she going to have to hear from people who, we hope, are former enemies without it coming to blows?” The Doctor had stepped into the Operations room at some point, holding a stack of papers in her hands.

“You make too many exceptions for her, Doctor,” Kal’tsit’s brow furrows, taking a sip of her coffee.

The Doctor sets down the stack of papers, “And I could say you don’t trust her intuition enough, but that may be a bit presumptuous of me.” Amiya sees the visor turn towards her, the warm gaze beneath it falling onto her, “You just have Rhodes Island's best interest in mind, right, Amiya?”

Amiya tends to be caught off guard by The Doctor addressing her directly during these spats she has with Dr. Kal’tsit, “Y-yes! If the W squadron can feel like a part of Rhodes Island instead of just hired by us, that might go a long way to establishing ties with other Sarkaz elements!”

Kal’tsit’s punctuates her sentence by knocking her coffee cup against the counter, “You may find the sarkaz are not so easy to align, especially with one as unruly as that W. I can see you’re set on this, Amiya. I will acquiesce, seeing as W already has ears and eyes on her. I doubt there is anything she could do within this landship to bring real harm to you.”

A smile spreads across Amiya’s face, “Oh, thank you Kal’tsit, I’m going to go get my recorder, they should be getting close to our Lungmen operations, so if I hurry I should be able to catch the last half hour," her voice fades as she hurries down the hall.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Doctor?” Kal’tsit is a micro adjustment away from a scoff.

“I’m never really sure of anything these days, to be perfectly honest with you, I just know Amiya needs to not be lost in her own thoughts right now after everything with Chernobog. It’ll at least be a good distraction, don’t you think?” an invisible, calm smile flashes underneath the mask of the Doctor.

“W!” The amber eyes of the sarkaz woman flick immediately upon Amiya, like the flash of a barrel should follow. Amiya hesitates a moment, “I…uh, um, did you and your squad want to run through some exercises and practice everything you just saw?”

The woman almost doubles over in a fit of laughter. Amiya flushes, suddenly very self conscious of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Hahaha, yeah. You know what little bunny, that would be great!” She straightens up, all the humor vanishing from her face in an instant, “Mind showing us the way?”

Amiya swallows her uneasiness, something W always manages to instill, and stands up, “yes ...of course, you can follow me.” She puts her head down and sets her eyes forward, opening the door out of the briefing room. With W’s squadron in tow, they leave a confused Dobermann behind.

It’s a long, quiet walk to the field operations exercise facility. Located within the belly of Rhodes Island, a number of operators loitering in the corridors give curious looks to the CEO leading the W squadron, but thankfully keep the snide remarks silent.

Arriving at the exercise facility, however, is a different story.

Blaze is in the middle of some drills. Before Amiya can rack her brain over how to avoid an awkward situation, she hears the telltale signs of the big cat’s shouting.

“Amiyaaaaaaaa!” Like a crack of lightning, the feline sweeps Amiya up in a hug, swinging her around, and setting her back down, “What brings you to the training bay? I didn’t see you on the schedule today!”

Blaze’s joyous demeanor takes a concerted blow as W interjects, “Well, you have little ole me to thank for that. Bunny here just begged me to show her some of me and my squad’s moves, you see, so we decided to drag ourselves down here to entertain her.” Crackles of laughter spread from the mercenaries behind W.

Cyan eyes narrow and Blaze clutches Amiya closer, “Oh, it’s you, roach. Fat chance of that, I bet. Amiya, why’s this scum sucker following you? Need me to squish her?” Her tone is light, but Amiya can feel the threat behind it.

Amiya wriggles her way out of Blaze’s clutches, more so being let go than forcing her way out, seeing as the feline’s attention has been set squarely on W. She takes two steps back, positioning herself equidistant between the two women, for their safety more than hers.

She fluffs her jacket back up, making sure to let the moment pass intentionally before clearing her throat, “No, Blaze, seeing as W’s squadron is still in the process of integrating fully into Rhodes Island, I thought it best to have them give some live demonstrations of some techniques they were just shown in a battle record briefing. Mercenary strategies are a whole other ball game compared to Rhodes Island when it comes to combat. Working those things out now instead of in the field is the best course of action.”

Blaze blinks, her eyes snapping to Amiya, then back to W, looking for any signs of waywardness. A beat later, she relents, closing her eyes in exasperation, “Alright Amiya, have it your way, not that I think these stone heads have learned anything. Mind if I watch, at least? I’d hate to let this cockroach ruffle your fur anymore than she already has.”

Amiya chokes back the desire to lightly chastise Blaze for the inflammatory comment. She settles on her usual passivity, “Of course, Blaze, you’re an elite operator, I’m sure any advice you have would be greatly appreciated!”

W walks past, taking extra care to skirt close to Blaze, “Wow, cool off there, kitten, if I didn’t know any better I’d think I was the one making you all hot and bothered.”

“P-please don’t tease her like that, W!” Amiya catches up and puts her hands on W’s back to help push her away from Blazet, “Let’s just get your squad set up and conduct the training exercise.”

W lets out a long, drawn out sigh, but complies nevertheless.

Relief washes over Amiya as the sarkaz woman rounds up her squadron and begins giving them deployment instructions. She finds Blaze and gestures to join her at the observation tower.

The two meander up the stairs as they hear W’s squadron fanning out and taking positions at the starting areas. This side of the field operations exercise facility resembles a mock town. A row of one and two story houses take up close to two square blocks. Various debris and rubble is set up to simulate an urban combat environment where considerable damage has already occurred. For this block, the usual simulation consists of street-by-street clearing, tactical retreats, then search and rescue operations.

For this, Amiya’s choice is obvious this time.

She clicks the button on the broadcast intercom, “For this training exercise, you will be simulating a tactical retreat from a larger force, please try to employ some of the tactics instructor Dobermann taught you. Move from the south east corner of the training area to the north west while providing tactical cover and rotating points of defen-”

Amiya’s well intentioned advice is cut off by the sound of six explosions happening in sequence, rocking the observation tower and causing her to lose her footing. Blaze grabs her arm and steadies her. Thanks to her, Amiya won’t cash an impromptu trip out of the observation tower. Once the dust and debris settles, both occupants can hear W’s howling laughter as she stands on top of a building near the back of the training area, “Blew the defensive line to smithereens! Ideally, at least half of their front line would have stepped over it first, but seeing as we don’t have any live targets, you’ll just have to trust me that it would have been demoralizing as hell!”

Frustration sparks in Amiya’s mind as she aggressively pushes the intercom button once more, “W! That wasn’t a part of the training course! Not to mention it’s extremely dangerous and unnecessarily destructive!”

“Yeah, you psychopath, what’s the big idea detonating explosives that close indoors like that?” Blaze chimes in, shouting from where she is.

“Unnecessary? Don’t joke around, if there’s a huge army coming to crush me, I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. It blows a bunch of their frontliners apart, demoralizes the remaining forces, and makes a physical barrier they’ll have to crawl through and over to keep chasing us. I think it’s the most efficient!” W twirls one of her spent grenade pins on her pointer finger.

“But, that-that’s wrong! You should be trying to minimize casualties!” Amiya remembers the words Kal’tsit spoke to her the first time she saw W back on the land ship.

Do not trouble yourself with her, Amiya, she may very well be a lost cause.

Amiya takes a few moments before speaking again, “Operator W, would you care to join me in the observation tower? I’d like to have Operator Blaze demonstrate the correct tactical proceedings we discussed earlier, so I will have her take command of your squadron.”

Both the sarkaz and the feline look at the cautus with their mouths agape.

“Amiya I-”

“You damn bunny!”

Amiya speaks a little louder into the speaker, “As Rhodes Island CEO, I’d like to make sure your capacity as squad leader is met to its fullest capability, Operator W, please come up to the observation tower.” Amiya attempts a gentle smile. However, she can’t help but feel a small pang of guilt throwing around her position so casually like this. But it's for the best, she quietly tells herself. She lets go of the intercom button.

Blaze hesitantly reaches out a hand, “Are you absolutely sure about this? I don’t think they’ll listen to me, and do you think she’ll really pay attention?”

Amiya faces the feline, takes a breath, and speaks, “I do, Blaze. I think she just needs someone to be patient with her- with all of them. No one seems to give the sarkaz any patience. You’re a strong field commander, I know you can garner their attention and respect. They’ve already seen what you can do, after all, I doubt they would refuse orders from you.”

Blaze’s expression shifts from doubtful to playful instantly, “Yeah, you’re right, I guess I did rough them and a few of their guys up in Chernobog. You know what, Amiya, you make a great point, actually. I’m gonna run these guys through their paces!” The feline’s warmth fades as quickly as it arrives. The sound of her footsteps becomes a flurry as she descends the observation tower.

Amiya sighs in relief. Turning around, she notices W has already disappeared from the roof top she looked so smugly triumphant on, and unease spreads up from her feet.

She had come up with orders on the spot, but would W actually listen to her and come up here? Would she actually pay attention to anything she had to say? She thinks about the sarkaz looking idly at the wall in the opposite direction of her during briefing, not paying attention to a single word Dobermann said.

At least, not until Dobermann called on Amiya. She noticed W occasionally looking at the flickering images on the wall every now and then after that.

The sound of plodding steps in the stairwell answers Amiya’s first question at least.

The prongs and horns of W crest the stairs and she makes a reluctant stop a foot from the young CEO. Amiya takes this moment to size W up. How much trouble is W about to be? The woman sports a dour expression, like a student who was just scolded by the teacher for passing notes. She avoids direct eye contact with Amiya as she watches Blaze shout orders at the troupe to create a more sensible deployment position. Amiya watches W grit her teeth and all but hiss in frustration. The woman finally gives in and meets Amiya’s gaze.

Amiya can’t help but blurt out, “Oh, you washed your clothes, W. Good job!”

“Wha-” W looks dumbfounded as she turns to look out the observation tower, “What the hell does that have to do with anything? A mercenary can’t have clean clothes once in a blue moon? Let’s just get this over with, little bunny.”

Blaze has half the squadron fan out one and a half meters from each other on either side of the street, while the other half retreats in a single file line down the left side, covered by several overturned vehicles and piles of rubble.

“See, she’s making sure to use the environment to her advantage. The forces spread out so larger arts won’t hit more than one person at a time, but individual units can still perform recoveries of injured personnel without exposing themselves too much.” Amiya checks if W is paying attention, but W’s face is turned away.

“W,” her breath catches in her throat. Amiya doubts if she should really voice what she’s thinking. What if it results in W wanting to walk away from Rhodes Island? She’s overheard bits of conversation between Tal’tsit and other Rhodes Island officials. W leaving wouldn’t be a first. Amiya isn’t sure exactly what drove W away the first time, but she doesn’t want to be the reason it happens again. She knows W has faced a lot of adversity, and been forced to change because of it. How difficult it must have been for W to come back here after all that.

W speaks without turning her head, “Cat got your tongue? Speaking of, what’s she doing?”

Amiya turns her gaze to the training field. Blaze now has the squadron in two columns up a back alley, periodically sending a scout out to check the road, before resuming their movements. They traced half a block like this already.

“Oh, Blaze is checking for good crossing opportunities. The previous spot was too open, not enough cover on the streets. The one they just passed there had good cover, but was open to higher level ambushes from the taller building on that corner. She’ll probably check the next two streets and cross on the third one. It’s still not perfect, but there’s enough ground cover and the buildings are low enough that she’ll likely consider it the safest crossing.”

Almost like she planned it, Blaze moves the squad in accordance to Amiya’s predictions. Fanning out, they make another roughly evenly spaced line while the remaining squad members move across one at a time, with Blaze bringing up the rear. She taps each one of the covering squad members on the shoulder as she moves laterally, finishing the column.

“Damn it. I have to admit it looks smooth when she does it,” W sounds like she had the statement beat out of her.

Amiya feels the weight and urgency of the question she wanted to ask fall away. She gives herself a brief moment to smile and appreciate the fact that her hasty plan might have actually worked. She looks back out, seeing Blaze has nearly reached the exfiltration point, with a two story building - the one W chose as her perch - requiring clearing before the squad can reach it.

“Do you feel like you’re learning something, W?” Amiya walks up next to her, putting her hands on the railing, her rings clinking gently against the metal.

“Yeah,you could say so. I’m learning how to be bored to death,” she’s slumping down with her elbow on the railing, hand propping up her chin. Amiya watches those yellow eyes trace to where Blaze kicks in the door to the building. They trace a line to the railing she and the cautus are sharing, before landing on the rings on her fingers. They linger there for a moment longer than Amiya believes a casual glance would require.

Before Amiya can prod, W takes initiative, “What were you gonna ask earlier? You said my codename, speak your mind, precious CEO.”

Amiya feels the rapidly commonplace unease snap right back into place, “I thought that was your name?”

“What’s it matter? I never said it was, that’s just what Hoederer called me when my ass rolled up on his merc group. Don’t change the subject.” Amber eyes stare right through Amiya.

Amiya’s grip stiffens on the railing and she sends a small wish to Theresa that she doesn’t regret this, “I was going to ask, if you don’t like being here, then why are you doing this?”

A minute glimmer of surprise shimmers in W’s eyes. She looks out and appears to contemplate the question for a moment, before retorting, “I might just have a really sick sense of nostalgia being here. Trying to decide if I want to blow the place up or not. It was her majesty’s dream, though…”

Amiya starts momentarily, her left hand reaching out to W, almost on instinct, before she stops herself. W must mean Theresa.

“Gahh- forget I said that, not used to thinking out loud. What about you, little bunny, wanna answer a question I have?” W turns to face Amiya. The cautus is suddenly reminded how much taller the sarkaz woman is. At least a foot of height separates them. W slumps so much it's easy to forget she can have an intimidating pose when she chooses.

W takes Amiya’s lack of response as tacit permission, “What the hell was up with what you said to me in Warfarin’s office last week?”

Amiya can’t look at W and answer this. The left hand she reached out with now curls up to her chest. Another one of her spur of the moment ideas come back to bite her in the ass.

She remembers the conversation Rosmontis had regarding the Sarkaz mercenaries in Chernobog; the prejudice she held for the Sarkaz, and how it made things more difficult. Amiya has seen how disdain for the Sarkaz ruins many of their opportunities. No, more than that, everyone has been saying things about W since she arrived.

Amiya has seen the preconceived, and at times justifiable, biases towards W for everything she’s done. The older staff hate her for abandoning Rhodes Island before, the newer ones hate her for fighting for Reunion, and everyone else hates her for being Sarkaz. Even if Amiya has her own complicated feelings about the things W has done, to her and her squad members, she doesn’t want to pile another thing on. She doesn’t want to give W yet another reason to leave. It’s time to end the prejudice, not perpetuate it.

A swirl of feelings stir in Amiya. She finds herself unable to give form to the specific reason she said it, so she gives her best attempt, “I wanted-”

A loud buzzer interrupts Amiya as Blaze shouts from the far corner of the training facility, “Did you see that bug! Now THAT’S how you clear a training course!”

W, as always, is quick to anger, “You son of a-”

Amiya smiles softly, she’d have more time to think of a better answer to W’s question.

Chapter Text

W leans against the rumbling wall of the elevator as she ascends to the third level of Rhodes Island, anticipation winding in her legs like a spring. Finally she is being deployed. After being marooned for a month on this stuffy ship, deployment brings a giddy spring to her step.

She hasn’t quite settled on whether she was going to come back or not.

However, that consideration is far beyond her at the moment. She had been given authorization to retrieve her “tools” from the Rhodes Island armory by the Doctor and had zipped over here as soon as she could. W managed to shunt the indignancy of receiving the news from the shadow herself, but couldn’t help the overwhelming desire to feel her launcher in her hands again and a rifle slung on her shoulders. The elevator jostles to a stop, W picking herself up and stepping forward, impatience rising as the elevator took its time to open the doors.

She sees the gleaming doors of the armory down the corridor from the elevator exit. She has traced by this place many times, thinking of the exact words she’ll use to inflict the maximum amount of frustration to the poor operator responsible for returning her equipment. As much as anyone here would be loath to openly admit it, no one came close to trusting her with her weapons. She wants to tell herself it won’t matter soon, but it still very much matters, as the two Penguin Logistics personnel wander by, shooting stray and uncertain looks at W.

In her gleeful smugness, W can’t help herself, “Keep staring, sankta, I’ll make sure this evil little devil is the last thing you see before you go to heaven.”

The lupo’s eyes grow dark and W could’ve sworn for a split instant she reached for her blade, only for the sankta’s hand to stop her. The obnoxious redhead turns to W, “Please, W, I’m gonna die somewhere way nicer than staring at your sorry ass. Come on Texas, she probably wants to start a fight.”

The lupo, with great effort, puts her hand back at her side and keeps walking, staring at something off in the distance. The sankta pulls her bottom eye lid down and sticks out her tongue as they pass.

The sarkaz suppresses her desire to take a swing as they walk by, only the promise of her weapons a few dozen feet away staying her hand. She ups her pace to the sign quietly displaying ‘Rhodes Island Armory’ and pulls at the door. A loud rattling noise fills the corridor. W can hear a sneer from the sankta down the hall. Stuck for a moment between frustration and confusion, the girl can do nothing but shake the door quieter this time, before remembering the scanner just below the room sign.

She fumbles around her jacket pockets, hoping, for once, she actually stuck the damnable ID badge somewhere on her this morning.

She fishes it out of her right hand jacket pocket and slams it onto the scanner. A loud electronic tone plays, and she feels the door unlock. Wrenching it open as soon as the door is loose, a quiet, semi lit room awaits her on the other side. Some small benches and tools lining either side leading up to five caged counters, most all of them empty, save for a lone sarkaz woman with blonde hair sitting behind the one in the center.

“Ah, hello W, the Doctor just sent me a message you were gonna be here, otherwise I might have thought you were here to start trouble again.”

The woman stands up, her tall frame occupying the entirety of the stall she was sitting in, and turns around and walks into the armory proper.

W can’t help but grind her teeth, she gets lip from everyone in this god forsaken landship, even other Sarkaz. Her single minded approach of blowing it off every time and sticking to her whims has worked well for deflecting most of it so far, but this woman’s words managed to sting this time, for some reason.

The sounds of metal and plastic clanking around echo from the back of the room, and heavy footsteps approach the metal gate. W sees her grenade launcher and rifle deposited onto the bench right in front of her, a metal gate separating their reuniting.

“W, what do you plan on doing with these weapons?” The question is direct, a hammer strike delivered on the head of a nail.

W groans, “Do I need a lecture everywhere I go? What else do you do with weapons, I’m gonna kill with them.” She puts her hand on the grate and grips it tight, the thin metal work warping slightly under her strength.

Yellow eyes glare at her through the gate, taking a moment to flick to W’s hand, before settling directly on the red horned woman’s eyes, staring straight into them, “Sorry, I expected too much from you with that question, let me rephrase. Why are you going to kill with these weapons?”

W crooks her head, her “why” had escaped her long ago. Even if she still had it, this random Rhodes Island operator, sarkaz or no, was certainly not worth a truthful answer.

“Because I’m good at it.” The response comes out as a low growl, tinged with a mixture of eagerness and menace.

“If you’re so good at it,” the grate shakes as the sliding door at the bottom is opened abruptly, with great force. The door scrapes across the tips of W’s fingers peaking through the grate, and she recoils with a small grunt of pain, snatching the wounded one into her opposite hand.

“Then take better care of your weapons, you’re not good at it without them.” A box of oil and spare parts, a small set of tools, and a handful of brushes are slid through the new opening.

W looks up, shaking her hand and sticking it into her pocket, “And my guns? If you’re gonna play drill sergeant, so be it, but at least don’t keep me from my fun.”

The woman, wearing the same frown from when W walked in, picks up the grenade launcher and faces it towards W with the stock facing her and slides it into the gate. She repeats the same motion for the rifle, before speaking once more, “It may very well be our lot in life to be violent, but I do not believe we have to fight for inherently violent reasons. I have found a good one with Rhodes Island. I only hope that your wicked soul can manage to find something more fulfilling here.”

A deep well of regret and misery lurches in W’s stomach, she finds herself ill composed and the next outburst feels well and truly beyond her control, “I had my reason here, and I lost it here. Don’t you dare tell me to look for it in this place once again, you won’t like the answer I find, not with that traitorous bastard here.”

Unblinking eyes reflect W’s rage right back onto her, “As far as I can tell, the only person here who has been called traitor here is you, W. The Doctor and Kal’tsit let you back on. I would think about why that is, if I were you.”

W grabs her weapons, the cleaning and repair supplies scattering to the ground in a flurry of disorder, “I don’t need this shit from you, mind your own business.”

She slings her rifle across her back and throws the launcher onto her shoulder. Turning away, she kicks the box of oil and spare parts, sending it scattering across the floor, before marching out and pushing the armory door open once again, no ID necessary this time. The door softly closes and latches behind her and she takes a deep breath.

A thought suddenly bubbles into her mind, slipping and sliding past all of the anger, frustration, and aggravation.

She remembers a certain schedule she looked at earlier this week while poking around the Operations Room. If she can recall correctly, a certain somebody should be making the rounds on this floor of Rhodes Island.

Perhaps seeing the heir apparent might quell some of these raging thoughts in W’s heads.

She stumbles off at first, before settling for a subdued walk, following many of the sign postings for one of the meeting rooms in this part of the landship. W’s thoughts broiled as she wandered, only barely drifting to whether this was a good or helpful idea, before being quietly strangled by the oppression of her melancholy.

She hasn’t needed a reason to steal lives for so very long. Ruminating on the why, instead of the how, would only serve to prod the wound left in the place of the former for so long. An open, festering, puss filled wound everyone could seemingly spot plain as day.

For a split second, W ponders what it would feel like to be given a reason again, like she had been long ago, before she finds the purpose of her wandering upon turning the corner down another long corridor.

The little bunny is facing away from her, talking to a blue haired kuranta, a fair skinned cautus with her eyes shut, and an unassuming perro. W stops dead in her tracks, and slumps against the wall next to her. The bunny has her data pad in her crossed arms. Her head points to the kuranta, who nods, and turns to the cautus beside her. The cautus stares up at the ceiling quizzically for a moment, before putting a finger to her chin and mumbling something.

The bunny laughs, W can tell from the way her shoulders roll, and the kuranta shakes her head. W moves her eyes a millimeter and notices the perro has been staring at her.

As soon as they see each other, the perro blinks away and flushes red, turning her head down and staring straight at the floor. The kuranta and cautus continue to banter back and forth, but W can only watch as the bunny’s ears turn to and fro, to and fro, to and fro.

A feeling of disappointment crawls up W’s back, latching onto her neck, and whispers in her ear that it would be better to turn away now, before she sees anymore that drops the pebble of hope deeper within the sea of her sinking heart. W picks herself up off the wall, eyes still drilling into the back of the bunny’s head. A single long ear twitches, and the girl’s head turns to the side for a moment, eliciting an inquisitive glance from the kuranta. Just as W turns, she sees the perro lift up an arm, pointing directly at W. Amiya’s gaze traces it down and along the corridor until they land right on the armed sarkaz woman.

“Oh, W, I thought you might be around here!” Amiya’s voice rings across the corridor, and W stops in her tracks, her feet stumbling as she tries to pretend she wasn’t just sulking and turning away.

W turns back to see the expressions of the three operators behind the bunny. They held twinges of apprehension, caution, and fear. Amiya’s face, however, is beaming as usual as she waves.

W puts her devil may care smile back on and begins wandering over to where the four girls are standing. She makes sure to straighten her back as she does, allowing the vibrations from her uneven steps to jostle the weapons on her back and shoulder, making them clank and rattle unnervingly. She stops right before the bunny, standing as tall and imposing as she can, doing her best to intimidate.

“I see you got your weapons from Meteorite, if I’m right,” Amiya clicks on her data pad, either oblivious to, or ignoring, W’s attempts at intimidation, “your deployment is another hour and a half. Have you ridden in one of Rhodes Islands airships before? I can show you the launch deck, oh!”

Amiya turns, “These will be some of your team members for your operation, these are three of our five trusty Operations Reserve Team A1 operators: Fang, Kroos, and Beagle!”

A moment passes awkwardly as they all shoot W variations of suspicious looks, before the kuranta speaks, “Your reputation precedes you, W.”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” W smirks, making sure to put emphasis on the word, “You guys are gonna be my new bait, great.”

The bunny’s eyes cut to W again, glaring this time, and W is suddenly thrown back to memories of Chernobog, which she banishes with a frown and a hand to her temple, “Fine, fine, just don’t make that face at me again, rabbit.”

W sighs, “I’ll do my best to not blow you up on purpose, how about that?” Her eyes glance back at the bunny. She’s replaced the glare with her signature beaming smile. W stops momentarily in her mind and wonders why it’s relieving to see.

Before the thought can come to rest in her mind, a new voice pops up from behind, peppy and excited, “Finally tracked her down everyone, we can get final prep done now and oh-”

W turns, another unfortunate grimace settling on her lips as she comes face to face with two purple haired sarkaz girls. One sports bright eyes and the shadow of a smile, while the other casts a downtrodden look and a frown to rival W’s.

The slumped one manages to get a sentence out first, “No one told me she was going to be on this operation, can I quit now?”

Amiya jumps forward, “Now now, this is going to be a good training opportunity for W to learn to get along with some of the new, permanent, operators working at Rhodes Island. This was approved by Dr. Kal’tsit herself, Lava, so you’re stuck with this assignment unless you can convince her otherwise.”

The girl on the left perks up, “See Lava, look at that! We’re gonna help remediate this delinquent, why don’t you check and see how that’s gonna go for us?”

The one on the right looks away, “Don’t need my cards to tell me it's gonna go poorly.”

Amiya steps between W and the two girls, “Come on, I’m sure it’ll be fine, besides, Fang won’t be taking point for this operation, I was just letting everyone else know Operator Nearl has been assigned squadron lead for this operation.”

The yellow cautus chimes in, “Also from Dr. Kal’tsit, I imagine.”

The blue haired kuranta smirks, holding back full laughter.

So that’s how it is.

W understands the position she’s in now, this was never intended to be anything close to freedom. In what world did she expect to be given her own squad and operation in this shit heap? She began to make up her mind on the spot that she would find a way to worm out of this glorified baby sitting trip, and maybe take a couple of these “permanent” operators with her.

That’s when Amiya’s eyes land on her again, full of a quiet, but deadly, fire. W’s heart lurches in her throa., She can almost see the black lines darting off the cautus woman, the same way they did against Talulah back in Chernobog. W remembers something very important about the bunny that should not have been forgotten.

With a cold tone, Amiya issues an order masquerading as a suggestion, “Why don’t the rest of you go and start loading the helicopter, I have a few last minute details to go over with Operator W.”

Everyone in the corridor can feel the smoldering heat in Amiya’s words.

Uncertain as to what led to the Rhodes Island CEO’s unusually serious demeanor, they all nod blankly and move down the hallway towards the nearest elevator. Only the scraggly haired sarkaz woman darts her gaze back as they turn the corner down the hall.

The silence falls heavy upon W’s shoulders. She realizes she has slouched back down from her intimidating pose earlier. She curses at herself, feeling ridiculous that such a small woman can cause her such grief. She attempts to puff her chest back out, but is cut short in her efforts by the small cautus’ words.

“W, I understand your frustration at the situation, but you have to understand, even with Dr. Kal’tsit and Doctor Minerva’s confidence, there are certain steps that need to be taken in order for everyone to be assured of your position within Rhodes Island. If there is something you are unhappy about, please address one of us, do not direct your anger and hatred towards the other trusted members of Rhodes Island.”

W slumps even further, and is thrown back into the recesses of her brain.

She recalls hearing similar chastisement from someone, in what feels like another life. She had been quick to raise her voice and fists at another trainee, and had given them a black eye and a few broken teeth. She was taken to the side, a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. It was explained calmly to her why what she did was wrong, and how to correctly vent her frustration. W no longer remembers what exactly was said to her, none of it ever felt like it helped, but what did stick with her was the reassuring tone. That, despite her wrongdoings and mistakes, she was given more chances to not make the same mistakes. She was still punished, of course- a week in the brig with no dinner.

W’s had far worse punishments and perpetrated much harsher crimes since then, but for a while, two months or so afterwards, she didn’t fight with anyone else in the practice rooms.

A soft, but reprimanding, voice brings light back into her darkened thoughts, “W, are you listening to me?”

She picks herself up, standing straight once more. There is no intent to terrify this time, though, she simply feels it necessary to stand fully up before responding, “Yeah, bunny, I’m listening. I get it, okay? Those shits didn’t ask to be paired with me anymore than I asked to be paired with them. I’ll try to take it easy, maybe just a limb or two, yeah?” She tries to flash a smile, quick to bring those emotional walls back up.

She is met by yet another disapproving glare, but W takes solace in the fact this one is at least less intense compared to before, “Alright, alright, you don’t get my jokes at all, do you, little bunny?”

“Why do you only call them jokes after I don’t laugh?” The cutting retort catches W completely off guard.

She looks away from the cautus for a few moments, another one of those shameful feelings crawling over her. A small blush forms at the edges of her cheeks.

She doesn’t like when the bunny stares at her for so long.

The last time this feeling overcame her, she blew up an entire block at the training facility. She is not so eager to engage in a similar act of destruction at the moment. She finds herself wanting to get out from under the girl's gaze as soon as possible.

“Call it my way of dealing with things, then. Does this complete our little chit-chat, Ms Rhodes Island CEO?” W continues to look away, finding different cracks in the fabricated wall to go over several times while she mumbles out the words.

“Can you look at me, W?” She feels the woman step closer. Why does she have to get closer? Shouldn’t she be able to tell W wants to get away from her right now? Why doesn’t W just take the initiative to leave and storm off like she always does?

W searches her mind for answers to these questions, but her brain keeps filling in all the blank space with static. After several tense moments of searching, she gives up, her red horns rotating as her head moves to match her gaze with the little bunny. Resentful amber eyes find their match within deep compassion of blue eyes.

“This is what I meant, back then in Warfarin’s office. I know you can be good, so try and be good, okay?” instead of that ever present gleaming smile, a genuine, heartfelt one is worn proudly instead.

For the first time, W feels like she has seen someone she thought she could never meet again, a single tear wells up in her right eye and streams down her cheek, “Y-yeah. I will.”

The cautus opens her eyes and sees the tear, her hand moving faster than her brain to wipe it away, “Oh, I’m so sorry W, I didn’t mean to make you cry, are you sure you can-”

Her concerned question is cut off by the sound of the door right behind Amiya opening. A large, overwhelming figure steps out. Fully clad in armor, a shield in one arm, a large mace on the back. Vibrant white hair erupts from the waist and head, as Nearl steps out from the meeting room in front of which the two have been standing the entire time. Her steely gaze sweeps over the scene in front of her, her brow furrowing.

“Amiya, I would suggest keeping your distance from the troublemaker there. I will ensure that no harm is brought upon the heads of Reserve Team A1, from threats inside or out.” Shimmering golden eyes land directly on W, a promise behind them.

Instead of Amiya moving, W takes a few steps back, “Yeah, I was just going anyways, gotta keep my distance.”

A whisper of disappointment escapes Amiya’s lips as the hand she uses to wipe away W’s tear reaches out. Amiya recalls the woman standing directly behind her, and pulls it back instead. Just as originally planned, W turns her back and marches off from the little bunny. This time, however, the disappointment she feels aches in a completely different part of heart compared to earlier.

Chapter Text

Fresh, cool air fills W’s lungs as she stands on top of one of many rolling hills that define the border between Ursus and Kazimierz. She opens her eyes from the refreshing exhale and takes in the vibrant green meadows dotted with villages here and there. It would look much better if it were at least a little on fire, she thinks to herself. The Rhodes Island helicopter dropped the Reserve Team off three days ago and they have been making their way, painstakingly, on foot towards a quiet village claimed by neither of the countries it sits between.
Nearl has been attempting to cram the details into W’s loose brain for the same amount of time, but all she manages to retain is this is some sort of “welfare” check on a village another operator did some work for about a month ago. W rolls her eyes and throws the information into “another Rhodes Island charity case” basket in her mind every time.
Almost as though the simple thought of the pegasus wills her presence into existence, Nearl climbs the hill next to W. She blinks at her with that slow, deliberate look saved exclusively for reprimanding her. W feels annoyance swelling up once more, readjusts her weight to slide her pack further up, and carries on down the hill ahead of the squad.

Quite frankly, it has been a miserable three days so far.

W does her best to stay well ahead of the group. She knows how to orient and sets up her own camp as far away as Nearl will permit, much to W’s chagrin. Every time she thinks about bolting in the middle of the night with a few timed explosives in her tent, that damnable bunny’s stern face flashes back into her mind. It wouldn’t be something she’d simply be able to get away with, not in spirit, nor in body.

The other five members of the team annoy W more at this point than her assigned watch dog. She can always hear them chattering and laughing at their camp site. Even Nearl, the “shimmering beacon of knights everywhere” will occasionally give a smirk and half a chuckle at something Kroos says. W grits her teeth in frustration at even bothering to remember one of their names.

Despite this operation’s intent as being a “bonding opportunity” for W with some of Rhodes Island’s finest, they all seem rather content at staying far, far away from each other. W can’t tell if the weight in her chest is from some twisted satisfaction at the bunny’s oncoming disappointment, or her own.

W’s eyes move to the first modest hut establishing the beginning of the village they have been marching towards for the last 72 hours. Her instinct immediately tells her something is wrong. That sense she developed from spending her entire life in battlefields, getting ambushed on the road, and surviving close encounters with death raises the hairs on her arms. She finds herself sticking her left one up to signal to the operators following her to stop where they are. The arm sticks at a right angle, her amber eyes scanning past the house she walks up to, moving past it to the treeline, then to the rows of houses that make up the town proper. She sees a shutter tilt open. She immediately turns to the group and motions across her neck with a flat hand before pointing to her forehead.

Danger.

At this, Nearl drops down and hurries forward as the rest of the team spread out to nearby foliage to take cover. W is at least satisfied that she doesn’t have to bother barking orders in a hushed tone like she usually does with her own squad, but the neatness of the Reserve Team’s movements irritate her in a different way.

“What seems to be the matter, Operator W?” Nearl manages to sound confident even when quiet.

“Place is really quiet, pretty sure our bounty hunter buddies have already taken this one and are waiting for us. Must have had a scout spot us earlier. Sloppy.” W hasn’t taken her eyes away from the building where the shutter moved.

W can feel Nearl’s mouth twist into a frown as she speaks, “If we moved in formation, that likely would not have been an issue.”

W snaps, “Do not give me that shit right now, we got eight people here! It would’ve been hard to keep us concealed from someone who knows the terrain better than us in the first place, damn it!”

She looks back at the pegasus and locks eyes with her, finally feeling as though she is justified in challenging them. Nearl narrows her eyes, before relenting, and snapping forward to catch up to the deductions W has already been making.

“Are you gonna give orders like a good field leader or am I just gonna start blowing shit up?” W drops her pack, unzipping it one swift motion to retrieve her launcher and linked grenade rounds. She smoothly attaches the end of the chain to her belt and shoulders the launcher, opening the breach and slotting one of her high explosive shells inside.

Nearl takes W’s opposite forearm in a strong grip, the other hand on her communicator, “No engagement until we confirm contact, I need a visual. Myself, Fang, and Beagle will approach the village directly, W and Kroos will provide overwatch from the far house. Lava and Hibiscus will direct support from the opposing tree line.”

W grins, “You know, it is a little bit of a relief to work with professionals again. Hope it doesn’t get too boring.”

She runs off, not waiting for backup, making straight for the cover of the low roughage and trees on the edge of the clearing leading up to the village. She keeps low, slinging her launcher onto a shoulder and replaces it with her rifle. The metal and plastic always feels so comfortable in her hands, and its presence calms her heart rate, allowing her to breathe evenly as she rushes forward to the back of the house furthest from the rest of town. Gently pushing open the back door, she trains her rifle on the nearest corner, before opening it the rest of the way and sweeping across the rest of the interior.

Clear.

She sighs, moving quickly and quietly up to one of the windows on the side of the house facing the village. She begins to take in her surroundings, she needs a better vantage point. The table by the window is home to four bowls, filled with some kind of stew, which has long gone cold and begun to smell. There’s still a spoon dug into one of them. She grabs the chairs, slinging them back towards the kitchen, before grabbing an edge of the table and shoving it into the corner a few feet away.

By the time she takes her position at the window, rifle sitting at an angle underneath the sill, raring to be readied, she hears another pair of footsteps come in from the back.
Kroos, the orange haired cautus, takes her position on the opposite side of the window. Crossbow at the ready, a bolt loaded into it, Kroos holds it across her chest. W rolls her eyes and taps the muzzle of her barrel against the window sill where it sits.

The spacey cautus notices and shakes her head.

Getting ready to open her mouth to tell the rabbit off, W is cut off by the sound of Nearl announcing her presence at the entrance to the village, shouting in a regal and commanding tone about Rhodes Island’s presence here. She has Beagle to her right, Fang to her left, and is approaching unarmed, with both of hers raised up in a grand greeting.

As is expected, it only takes a moment for shit to hit the fan.

Several bolts hit the ground around Nearl, one finding purchase in her shoulder. A bolt of arts streams from one of the houses on the left hand side and barely misses Fang. About a dozen armed individuals, geared in what is clearly retrofitted Reunion armor, at least to W, rush out of several of the houses towards the group. W readies her rifle, tipping the barrel just over the window sill. She flicks the safety off and squares the sights on the most forward aggressor making a b-line straight for Beagle.

She hears the latch on the crossbow release next to her as she squeezes the trigger. Her originium bullets move just a hair faster than the cautus’ bolt, catching the machete wielding combatant in the shoulder, as the bolt hits their opposite thigh.

Sparing a moment to take in the scene, W can see Nearl has snapped the bolt in her shoulder, and is wielding that intimidating mace of hers. She forms a line with Fang and Beagle, moving forward. A splash of purple arts lands in the group of attackers, scattering them, before they’re rushed by the advancing melee group. Beagle bashes her shield into one that has made a stand, before he’s struck down by a precise spear strike from Fang. Nearl advances forward, and W’s eyes trace a line to where one of the bolts came from. She squares her sights again, her trigger finger restless for more. She waits for a head to pop out, squeezing as soon as it does, and gives a small laugh as her muzzle flashes and the sight is gone from her view.

The noise of her rifle conceals a very important fact from her and the cautus next to her, who flings another bolt just after W finishes her second burst: they are being advanced on.

Before she can register the movement, the front door is kicked open, a large chainsaw wielding man stepping into the shabby hut. Several thoughts flicker through W’s mind in a single moment. The rifle won’t punch through. The launcher won’t travel the minimum arming distance. A slip in the armor could be the only chance.

Another bolt flings past W, the air it displaces causing her ashen hair to jump up excitedly. The bolt catches the aggressor right in the face mask, shattering it as the bolt bounces off.

W sees her opportunity clear as day. She tosses the rifle, yanks the knife from her waistband, and rushes the attacker. She saw a lot of these heavy plates during her time with Reunion; she knows exactly where the armor is weak. She uses her foot to kick the flat side of the chainsaw, tilting the body holding it. There - the armpit - she quickly jabs her knife into the opening and twists, using her weight to tilt and swing herself around the assailant's back. She rips the knife out and pushes the head forward, plunging it directly into the back of the neck. The man stumbles for a moment, then falls flat on his face, chainsaw still humming. W huffs, the sudden exertion catching up with her. She wrenches the knife out, looking up at the cautus, who is notching another bolt and aiming for the back door. W’s eyes see another shadow looming in front of the loose planks constituting the back door.

An unexpected thought appears in the very back of W’s mind. She thinks about dying in this unmarked shithole of a town. No, that’s not it, she’s felt that thought many times. This wouldn’t even be the most asinine place she has had the chance to die in. She searches again for the novel thought.

She finds herself thinking the cautus is much more comfortable with violence than she expected. Nope, not that one either, that one is an annoyingly recent one she’s had. Once more, she digs into the depths of her mind and finds …. regret.

She feels herself regretting possibly not being able to come back from this. W finds herself incensed at her own bullshit, there is absolutely no time to be thinking about any of this, much less any tiny pang of regret she might feel about anything.

The back door has already been smashed open; a brute with a large sword, and a caster behind him barrelling through. The girl flings another crossbow bolt, seemingly missing the immediate threat, but piercing the caster straight through their staff hand, causing them to drop their channeler.

W sees the operator turn her head and shout something at her, before she watches the cautus kick her rifle up. W feels a twinge of anger at seeing her favorite gun kicked, but dives forward, snatching it out of the air. She shoulders it in a prone position and squeezes the trigger, relying on her trained instinct to find her target.

True enough, the bullets find their mark, backblasts tracing up the sword wielder's chest and knocking them out of the house. The sword falls out of their hands and they collapse backwards onto the disarmed caster.

She stands up, the noise of the world seeping back into her ears, no longer blocked out by the rush of adrenaline. She can hear Nearl shouting in town- the sound of steps, uneven and hurried, racing out from the opposite end. She hears the heft of her own breaths, and the shakiness of Kroos’. Her ears ring from the sound of firing her rifle inside of the house, and she’s sure the cautus’ does, too.

She takes a few heavy steps over and finds herself checking the girl over. The squinting eyes look back, curious, surprised, despite never opening anymore than they usually do.

W realizes how strange her behavior seems, and exhales to catch her breath, “Making sure no one thinks I gave you a wound, alright? Wouldn’t be able to look the little bunny in the eyes again if she thought I was the one who hurt you-” She stops dead in the middle of her sentence, a defeating realization occurring to her.

The cautus, unaware of W’s sudden lightning strike of self incrimination, replies, “Thankfully, didn’t even get a scratch~ You’re real good in a scuffle, thanks.” She notches another bolt and turns to step over the large body in the doorway leading out the front, “But let’s make sure everyone else is okay before we start taking stock of things.”

W is immensely glad Kroos walked past her as she spoke. Now, she can take a few extra moments to calm herself down and get the flush off her face. She shakes her head as she hears Nearl let out another taunt. W collects herself and checks the remaining originium bullets in her magazine, trying to claw at some sense of normalcy to rid her of the feeling of wanting to be greeted by a familiar shining smile back on that damnable landship.

☆--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------☆

Amiya blinks heavily, lifting her head from her desk, a small pool of drool having formed where her head laid. She grumbles to herself and checks the digital clock on her desk.

The time is 8:36, she has lost 13 minutes of productivity.

She pushes her chair back and stands up, meandering across her empty room to the bathroom door, pressing the button to open it. It slides open pneumatically, and she flicks the light on. She stands over the sink and sees her own face reflected in the mirror.

It feels as though she’s outside of her own body- and she looks far too tired. If Amiya saw anyone else walking down the halls of Rhodes Island looking like this, she’d have half a mind to issue them an immediate order to rest, as well as a few mandatory days off. For Amiya, though, she is somewhat used to feeling like this.

She turns the hot water on, giving it a moment to run before checking the temperature. She pools some in her hands and splashes her face with it. She fumbles for her hand towel, snatching it off the hook, and wipes her face down. She shuts the faucet off and leaves the bathroom, flicking the light off and shutting the door behind her.

She wipes up her pool of sleep-induced drool and tosses the dirty hand towel in a small basket next to her bare bunk. Two pairs of tights and an undershirt with a small stain on it making up the towel’s bunkmates until the next wash day. She knocks her head up to look out the window above the bed for a moment and sees even more rolling plains of endless dirt and sand. She silently wonders how long until Rhodes Island moves on to more idyllic scenery. She shakes her head, admonishing herself for characterizing these lands as she just did.

She pulls the chair at her desk out a little further to sit back down and is overcome with a wave of lethargy at the thought of returning to reading and approving more of the ordering and supply documents.

Doctor Minerva’s words rattle around, reminding her how resting for a few minutes can deliver a few more hours of good work.

She slides the chair back in and settles on making some tea for herself instead. She paces over to the small set of drawers inlaid within the wall to the side of her bed and opens the top one, retrieving a small kettle, a mug, a tea bag, and a bag of leaves. She sets down everything but the kettle on the other side of her desk, well away from the stack of vulnerable, important papers. The bathroom door opens and closes again within the time it takes the girl to fill the kettle up halfway. The kettle is plugged into an outlet at the back of the desk where it meets the wall and is left to warm.

Amiya picks up the small bag of leaves and smiles gently.

She just received this as a gift from Ch’en, after everything with Chernobog. It’s a family blend of green tea leaves, sourced directly from Shangshu. Though Ch’en said she’d never been to the teahouse where it's made before, she attested adamantly about its mentally restorative properties, telling Amiya it had gotten her through many a late night at LGD headquarters.

She pulls open the small bag and pinches a handful of the leaves, carefully setting the leaf bag down and scooping up the teabag in her other hand and gently stuffing the leaves inside. The drawstrings of the tea bag close, and Amiya sets it gently at the bottom of the mug, making sure to wrap the loose strings around the handle of the mug so that no leaves end up at the bottom of her tea. By the time the bag of leaves is cinched again, the kettle has flicked off, fresh boiling water beckoning Amiya to pour it. She picks it up from its hot plate and fills her mug nearly full, taking a small moment to glance at the clock.

She is relieved she has only spent three minutes doing this; her mind feels refreshed already.

The kettle is set back down where it belongs, content with being stowed back away at a later time, as Amiya settles back into her chair. She moves her mug over to the right hand side, gives it a blow, and picks her pen back up. Making her way through the remaining stack of papers, Amiya thought about how she used to ask herself why every individual order needed to be read, signed, and approved, and at some point she even asked the good Doctor and Kal’tsit why. Minerva responded that it’s good to be dutiful and examine every shipment carefully. Kal’tsit took a much longer method of explaining it, so much so that Amiya felt more overwhelmed by the responsibility the feline put on it than the action itself. That is Kal’tsit’s way of showing encouragement, however, the cautus thought to herself.

For her own feelings, Amiya knows this is the position she wants within Rhodes Island and she’s willing to accept whatever burden is placed on her to realize those dreams.

Though, her dreams keep trying to find her instead of the other way around.

She wakes back up a short time later, glancing back up at the clock and seeing 10:43 in bold green lettering. She’s lost about an hour, and the half of the tea she slipped away into sleep for was now cold.

Amiya sits back in her chair, putting her arms behind her head and stares at the ceiling.

Even through her irritation she has to accept the fact of the matter: in this state she is useless. Nothing is going to get done like this. It had been nothing but fitful sleep remembering the encounter with Talulah at the top of the control tower. She hasn’t managed to scrape together a single full night’s rest in the interluding month. Between that and passing out repeatedly at her desk, Amiya comes to terms with the fact that she can at least be comfortable if she nods off in bed.

She walks up to the exit of the room and shuts off the overhead lights. Her clothes slump off of her as she trapses through the dark to her bed. First goes the overcoat, then the skirt. Next she’s shaking off the leggings and unpinning the plume from her undershirt. She crawls into bed, shuffling under the gentle sheets. The pillow is moved carefully away from the wall to give more space for the large cautus ears extending beyond it, and the night light on the headboard of the bed switches off.

Amiya closes her eyes and does her best to relax several coils of stubborn tension refusing to leave her. Her resistant body prepares itself to relive those dark memories of the past few months. She shudders in apprehension.

They always bleed into her consciousness a short time after she stops expecting them.

Devastation and grief at the loss of Ace and Scout.

The feeling of helplessness for Misha, the despair of taking a life to save others. The breakdowns before and after - of feeling unable to do anything - then feeling like she wanted to do nothing.

Her determination in the face of Talulah and her invisible captor gives way to the regret and shame whispering there was more she could have done. It’s all too much, mixing with the unending shame of being a “pawn of the sarkaz” as the specter said.

When surrounded by the ones she cared for, and in turn cared for her, she is able to hold strong to her resolve. But here, in a dark and lonely room, filled with only the vast whispers of her psyche and the maelstrom of doubts within it, the small girl can only grab her head and wish someone was there to take her feelings like she does so often with others. She misses the feeling of those warm hands on her cheeks, and cries silently knowing that she will never feel them again.

She shuts her eyes harder and rolls over in bed. Hours pass.

Eventually the well of grief and self doubt sputters out. Exhaustion gives way to peace, the synapses of her mind simply too tired to embroil her in any more misery. Down at the bottom there, in that solemn, dingy place, there is something new. A mote of light, sitting peacefully on the ground. She remembers to look up, seeing an ocean of lights streaked across the night sky of her imagination. A number of stars shone brighter than the rest, but all were a glorious reverie of twinkles that keep the girl's legs from giving out and her hope from collapsing. Her eyes set on the brightest star in her sky, glowing a soft pink, with a warm light. It sits next to a dull, quiet star, but in the reaches of her mind Amiya knew it was massive, just too far away to tell. Beneath both of them, an old star broils, feeling unapproachable, but Amiya always felt secure from the sight of it.

Looking back down, she picks the new light off the ground, and is surprised to feel the heat coming off of it. Pinching it between her pointer and her thumb, she holds it up against her mind’s sky, and wonders where it would sit among her stars. She blinks, trying to imagine it, only to find herself back in her bed. The rolling, thunderous sound of Rhodes Island is a comforting lullaby to the dozing cautus. Bed sheets shuffle as the girl rolls over once more, gripping the blanket tight to her chin. She begins to imagine that mote of light on the ground again. Just before she dozes off, she recalls a carefree smile of a devil - no - not a devil, of a dashing girl.

Chapter Text

Turbine blades thump rapidly as the helicopter flies through the air, making its way back to the landship Rhodes Island. Turbulence rocks the chassis and the metal bird, large and imposing to those seated within, sways in the air like a sparrow buffeted by a gale. The rocking motion wakes W up from her slumber, slumped in the fabric chair against the metal paneling of the vehicle. She blinks once, twice, three times in quick succession, recalling her surroundings. The sisters sit directly across from her, with the inseparable trio a few seats to the left. Nearl is only one seat to W’s right, as well, with two of the former Reunion vagabonds next to her, in restraints. She groans the exhaustion out of her body and stretches an arm behind her back, sitting up in her chair. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Operator W.” Nearl sighs, “It is, quite frankly, astonishing what you can sleep through.” 

W is still too drowsy to register the condescending words of the great knight. She simply droops forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and wipes the sand away from her eyes. She’s only this tired because she stays vigilant in the field. She hardly sleeps at night when camp is set, far too used to expecting a knife to slip through her tent, attempting to find her neck. She treks the furthest and longest during the day, keeping a healthy distance from anyone who would seek to launch a surprise attack at point blank range. She thinks back to how the only marching partner she ever felt a semblance of safety around was Hoederer, and he was long gone back to Victoria. She laughs with a wry smile. 

Old habits die hard, I guess. 

There is a W in the back of her head chastising her for even feeling comfortable enough to sleep here, right in bed with people who would have been clamoring to kill her only a few weeks ago. Her mind can’t comprehend any of them being willing to let what she did go, especially not in that short of time. Loyalty to Rhodes Island must buy a lot of self restraint; if anyone in this helicopter had killed anyone W really cared about, they would have been dead before they hit the ground. The idea triggers a rather unpleasant thought in W’s mind: who does she care about that much? She shakes her head, wanting the thought to fling itself away. 

She knows the answer will upset her more than the question.

Nearl stands up and grabs the stabilizer cord above the windows, moving up to where W sits, lost in her own thoughts, “We’re landing soon. I suggest you be ready to disembark. Debrief will be in half an hour. We will discuss your capability in battle, and the incident with the village chief.”

W rolls her eyes, grabs her pack, and stands up, turning her back to the towering knight. The helicopter tilts and shakes as it begins its descent to Rhodes Island landing pad. W is immediately tossed forward and to the left, directly into the wall, falling flat on her face in a row of canvas chairs. She hears a chortle of laughter from behind her.

Nearl’s voice has no shortage of smugness as she speaks, “Operator W, that is why we brace ourselves using the cords. Please remember that so that you do not injure yourself during something as routine as a landing.” 

W rotates her arm back and flicks a middle finger at Nearl, upside down. After a moment, she picks herself up shakily as the vehicle continues to buck to one side and the other, managing to shift her hand from the back of a chair to the cord quick enough to prevent a repeated smashing into the wall. Finally, the bird touches down. The door alarms sound loudly for 15 seconds, then open to reveal the deck of the landship. The rotors of the helicopter wind down and the exit light flicks on, telling the team it's finally time to disembark. W begins stepping off first. 

The sun blinds her for a moment, hanging in the middle of the eastern sky, signaling a late start to the morning. Once her eyes readjust, she is met by a peculiar gaggle of Rhodes Island operators - including some faces she’s never seen before. 

A dark haired feline stands to the left of Kal’tsit, with a white haired perro and sankta behind her. To Kal’tsit’s right stands a shrouded sarkaz with long, twisting horns protruding from her cloak, and a timid blonde one behind her. Nearl brushes past W, causing her to stumble down the rest of the ramp as the pegasus immediately makes for the two sarkaz women. She stops abruptly upon clocking Kal’tsit’s presence. 

Nearl starts, an unusual sheepish look on her face, “My apologies, Dr. Kal’tsit, I-” 

She speaks without turning to the pegasus, “By all means, Operator Nearl, I brought them because they have something urgent to share with you regarding the Kazimierz Major. I’ll take over operational duties from here. You are relieved.”

The knight’s frown hangs for a heartbeat before it turns to a slight smile, “You are as mysteriously magnanimous as ever, Dr Kal’tsit. My deepest gratitude.” She steps toward the shrouded sarkaz which beckons her to move along as they start to talk. 

Kal’tsit has had her eyes trained on the prisoners within the helicopter the entire time, “Alright, Melantha, Cardigan, Adnachiel, retrieve our guests here and transport them to the brig. The rest of Operation Reserve Team A1- unload your gear and find your way to debrief room B6 in half an hour. Operator Nearl will be in dispose so I will require the rest of you to paint a complete picture of your deployment.” 

W, in the middle of slinking past the old hag, stops dead in her tracks. She feels Kal’tsit’s cold gaze sweep over her, “You too, W. Weapons in the armory. Your presence at the debrief.” 

She rolls her eyes, putting her hands up and kicking her legs as she continues to walk away, “Can’t get a thing past you now can I?”

W looks back, but Kal’tsit’s attention is already back on the prisoner escort. She finds an air conditioner unit to lean against and watches as the rest of the A1 team gets into the elevator and leaves, followed shortly by the A4 team, Kal’tsit, and the two prisoners. A moment later, the elevator dings again, this time with someone coming up. A small lump of hope catches in W’s throat, she remembers there was something she wanted to see upon her return. 

She kicks herself off the air conditioner unit and begins walking towards the elevator. Just as it opens, her pace slows, and she is terribly disappointed to see a lone Mechanist walking out. Clipboard in hand, he walks up to the helicopter and greets the two pilots for a post-flight inspection. 

W turns angrily and kicks the ground in front of the elevator before walking inside. Slamming her fist on the button for the floor of the armory, she simmers in her confusing flurry of emotions. Her frustration boils at the top of her head, and she dares not put form to the thought she had before those doors slid open. 

A stupid thought from being tired, she reassures herself, just a stupid thought. 

Just like asking herself what she would have even done on the day Her Majesty fell, or if she had known the truth behind Talulah the whole time, the thought only serves to sting and ruin her mood. What’s even more upsetting to W is how she always seems to think of the King when she sees that girl. Whether through her eyes or in her mind, it didn’t matter.

The doors slide open, W plods out into the harshly lit hallway. She passes Kroos on the way to the armory, strangely separated from the other two operators she seems attached at the hip with. The cautus stops for a moment, as if to say something, before W looks at her, amber eyes raging with anger and shame. Kroos appears to think better of opening her mouth to the brooding sarkaz, and carries on into the doors that just shepherded W out. 

The girl's heavy legs carry her on instinct to the armory doors. Even with her mind clouded, she manages to avoid adding embarrassment on top of it as she takes her ID card from her breast pocket and scans it. 

She is met with another set of bright lights, always having to squint her eyes is starting to get on her nerves. She looks behind the center stall and finds it empty. She considers for a moment that she should just leave with her weapons. It would be a small consolation at this moment to be able to keep them in her room instead of with some untrustworthy Rhodes Island mechanic. She sways in place, letting the thought find its way around her head. In her mood, letting herself have this begins to feel more appealing by the second. 

Just as she begins to leave, there’s a gentle, but firm voice, “Ah, yes, thank you for returning your equipment. I was just placing the rest of A1’s weapons back.” 

A thin woman with a prosthetic right leg and tall horns, one of them snapped off at the tip, makes her way out from a door behind the stalls. Her expression is dour, but her tone of voice projects reassurance. W walks over to the right most stall where the woman has already raised the gate to deposit her weapons.

W sets her launcher down first and slides it across the counter, “They only staff this place with sarkaz or something? Maybe I should sign up, I bet you guys got some pretty toys back there.” She languishes her sentence with a smile. 

“I am not a sarkaz.” She grabs the launcher, opens it, inspects it, closes the breach, and sets it to the side. 

“Eh? Oh, well, where the hell are you from?” W sets her rifle on the counter. 

The rifle is scooped up, the magazine popped out. A grimace flashes across the unknown woman’s face as she pulls the charging lever back on the rifle, an originium bullet pinging against the wall of the stall. 

“Please unload your weapons before bringing them onto Rhodes Island, this is common courtesy.” She says without looking up.

“Hey, I put the safety on, that’s good enough, right? More than I’d do normally, anyways.”

Nothing, not even a glance.  

“Hey-I asked you a question.” She sets both hands on the counter, wary of the iron mesh gate. 

“It is not good enough, safety protocols are established to keep others safe, but users, also. You can still get a misfire with these types of firearms even with the safety activated. Please be more mindful of that or I will have to file a report.” The rifle is set down next to the launcher. 

“Bite my ass for your report. Are you gonna tell me where you’re from or not?” W’s anger flashes back, fueled by the aggravation of turning over her weapons again. 

The armorer's red eyes finally look up from what they’re doing and look at the sarkaz woman, “I am Minoan.”

W crooks her head, “Never heard of it.”

The Minoan woman looks away again, “Then you should get out more. That will be all.” 

“Alright, so they always staff this place with people who have sticks up their ass then!” W drags her hands away from the counter and makes a swift exit, hitting the lever bar of the armory with her hip and slamming it open. 

She trapses back down the hallway, her hands in her pockets. As she considers where to try and vent her frustration next, she feels an acute pang of hunger gnawing her stomach. Almost a week surviving off field rations is what she’s used to, but it always leaves her feeling weak. She settles on heading to the cafeteria and taking advantage of the fact that she has access to warm meals. Might as well get something useful out of this awful place. 

Her mind is a blur as she makes her way to the cafeteria on memory alone, finding it sparsely populated at this time of day after the breakfast rush. There are slim pickings to fill her stomach with, and the peppy ursine behind the counter of the serving area almost makes W regret choosing to come here. She even asks how W’s day is going, which the sarkaz shrugged off, half due to surprise, half due to her bad mood. Despite that, she settles on some sausage, eggs, plain toast, and a lukewarm cup of black coffee. 

W takes her tray and notices Meteorite sitting with her other team members in a near corner of the eating area. Desperate to avoid any interaction with anyone else who might piss her off more, W makes her way to the very back of the tables. Just as she sets her stuff down and goes to sit, she feels a presence standing at the opposite end of the table she has chosen. 

A short, silver haired feline stands there, and if looks could kill, W would be a fine mist already. 

You have got to be kidding me, W thinks. 

There are a handful of people on this ship who actually give W a reason to be scared of them, and half of them are felines. This girl in particular was terrifying simply because of how little W can understand her. Also, of course, the overwhelming and destructive arts she has that were on full display at Chernobog. Those two things combined subdued W’s anger and kicked her survival instinct in as the little girl walked to the space beside W and put her hand on the table.

“I think you should leave. You’ve trampled through the flower garden of Rhodes Island enough already as it is.” The girl speaks in a distant tone, like she discovers the meaning of each word as she says it. 

W chokes back a smart ass retort. Angry as she is, when her gut tells her to run or to do whatever it takes to stay alive, she always capitulates, “That’s a cute way to put it, kitty, but I’d like to think I got shoved into your little flower box. Not exactly like I wanted to tear everything up.” 

What the hell, the thought spikes in W’s brain, that was your best attempt at passivity?

The hand balls up into a fist, the feline’s eyes narrowing, as to focus her anger more precisely, “And I….I remember. I remember how you’ve taken things from me. Important things.” 

W swears she can feel the bench shaking. A bead of cold sweat forms at her brow. Snapshots of Scout’s dead body contorted on the ground, pockmarked with wounds, a large gash in his back. Her breath catching in her throat, Hoederer’s indifferent expression, Ines’ shock at the whole situation. W pushes her reaction deep, deep down inside. Of course it comes back up now.

“And I’ve had things taken from me, we all get hurt, girl. Is hurting me gonna make you feel better?” She is trying hard to project nonchalance, cutting up a slice of one of her sausage links, but her mouth is as dry as sand paper.

“Hurting you won’t make me feel bad. Not even in the most painful ways I can think of.” 

W is sure her entire table is rattling now, and she curses herself for not grabbing a knife. A rising sense of panic and dread claws its way up towards her throat, she can feel herself shifting into survival mode. Her eyes sharpen and she begins scanning the little girl over for vulnerabilities as the tension thickens. 

Just as she thinks about going for the feline’s throat, a voice cuts off the oncoming altercation, “Narcissa! Narcissa there you are.” 

A Rhodes Island medic hurries over, draped in drab grey gear, a staff in hand, twisting grey horns coming out of a flat cap on her head, “Sorry about that- oh, hello W. I was taking her for an examination and got caught up talking to, well, it doesn’t matter. Come along, Narcissa, let's let her be.”  

The feline's sky blue eyes drift over to the woman, “Touch...how can someone who has caused so much pain and misery, and with such ill intent, be let onto Rhodes Island?”

Touch sighs, “Times change, Narrcisaa. Indeed, yesterday she was our enemy, but today, she is our ally. At least in name.”

“But she’s hurt us.” The fist has relaxed a little. 

The operator leans over and grabs the girl's hand, unballing it and holding it in hers, “That may be so, but Kal’tsit has said this is how it is for the time being, so please refrain, Narcissa.” 

Narcissa blinks, looking back at W with that far off look in her eyes, then back to Touch, “Kal’tsit….I’ll listen to her. I trust her. But I will never trust you, W. Stay away from the people I care about. Stay away from Kal’tsit, stay away from the Doctor, and stay away from Amiya.” 

Touch takes the girl’s hand and leads her away from the table, but those piercing blue eyes stay doggedly locked onto W’s. 

W, feeling as though the danger has passed, retorts, darting her eyes around to make sure there isn’t a green feline in ear shot, “I have to talk to the old bitch for my job sometimes, so no can do, kitten!” 

Her hands shift and move without her control, the lunch tray her meal was on flings up, scattering plates and food everywhere with great force, smacking her straight in the face. She tumbles backwards, the back of her head hitting the hard stone floor of the cafeteria. Her ears ring from the impact, head reeling from the sudden stop. She can hear the other operator saying something in a disciplinary tone as W rolls onto one side and grabs her head underneath her horns. She looks up and sees Meteorite standing there, asking if she’s okay.

“Don’t - don’t touch me! I get it okay, I’m getting out of here, damn it!” W scrambles to her feet, leaving the scattered food on the ground - that’s someone else’s problem now. She makes for the exit opposite from where Touch is hauling the accursed girl out of. 

W wanders down the corridor, trailing back and forth in an uneven line as her head continues to spin and pound. The searing lights of the corridors bleach the edges of her vision. She wishes it weren’t so bright all the time. After a few minutes of stumbling she puts her shoulder to the wall, resting for a few minutes until she can get her senses back in order. That wasn’t the most explosive confrontation she’s had with another operator here, but it was certainly the most emotionally charged. 

Breaths, slowing to an even pace, keep W from breaking something in the hallway. There’s a door to her right she could kick in. She recalls the door she destroyed the first time she was in Rhodes Island. If her head wasn’t in so much pain she would consider reliving the moment again. Her hand slides up the back of the head and touches the tender part where she landed on the concrete floor. She sucks in air as she grazes over it. 

Definitely at least a bruise. 

She curses the Doctor and Kal’tsit for bringing such a volatile, emotional girl onto Rhodes Island, especially one that hates her so much. Then she thinks about Amiya. W didn’t give a shit that the girl had bothered to mention the other two, but why does she care about W talking to the little bunny? 

Regardless of whether she wanted to or not, and she wasn’t sure a lot of the time these days, W resents the idea someone that small- that petty - could tell her what to do. W had told herself she was going to ignore that complicated well of emotions today, especially after the elevator incident on the roof, but now her desire for provocation overwhelmed any uncertainty. She shook her head one last time, rubbed her temples, and turned on a heel to make her way to the operations room. 

Several minutes of walking and no less than two elevator rides later, W quietly opens the door to the Rhodes Island operations room. The usual retinue of staff occupy it today: a team of analysts, technicians, communication directors, and hopefully, a certain cautus on oversight duty.

W hangs around in the platform serving as the walkway for the senior Rhodes Island member directing the landship and its operation, peering from side to side looking for a now familiar visage, but finding none. Despite having slunk in here before, it was only now that W began to notice some of the differences between the room in her memories and the one in front of her. There wasn’t a raised platform before, and she sees the warm visage of Theresa walking amongst the operators in the control room, humbling herself as she always did. Before she can clock it, a shadow runs into her, a small yelp of surprise as the unfortunate body is thrown to the ground. The reminiscing is over. 

Of course, only one person on this ship would be weak enough to get thrown to the ground just by bumping into her: The Good Doctor Minerva. Her disappointment at her absent quarry is replaced with a twisted satisfaction at running into the Doctor alone without any of her lackeys. 

This time, it’s easy for W to go on the offensive, “Well, good day Doctor Minerva, what do you have planned for Rhodes Island, today? The usual?” 

She gives the most twisted grin she can, not budging an inch as the hooded figure looks up and shuffles to her feet. 

“Oh, good morning, uhm, afternoon? W? I didn’t know you and Ops team A1 had returned.” There’s that grating, gentle voice, nothing like how she was before. 

The air of certainty was gone, like all of her willpower and authority had dried up. W pitied herself; how had she ever looked up to this person in any way? 

“Yeah, just flew back in actually, real smooth ride you guys have, when’d you get em? The helicopters? Or, do you not remember things like that?” W takes a step forward. 

The woman draws back a bit, yet refuses to take a step, “No, no, it’s not that I don’t remember, I just wasn’t here when we acquired the newer models. They’re quite durable, they even managed to survive a crash landing. I hear Closure and Mechanist fought pretty fiercely over the make and model. ” 

A twinge of agitation causes W’s eyelids to tremble, “Real gearheads, those two, not good for doing anything but tinkering with toys and spending all your cash, way I see it. Could be spending that money on more operators to keep this place protected. I hear you need it.” 

The Doctor looks up at W, clear grey eyes looking right through W’s taunting words, one of the only times she’s seen them, “We are spending our money on you, after all, W.” 

The woman can’t stop herself from letting out a full belly laugh, turning some of the heads of the staff at their work stations. The echoes of her entertainment at the Doctor’s words bounce off the walls and reverberate back in her own pounding head. It takes a full half minute to get control of herself, the chuckles wringing out of her like a gushing wound. 

“What, you think I’d jump in front of a bolt of arts for you or something? I’d rather pull you in front of one aimed for me, but that was good, Doctor, I’ll give you that.” She lets out another small chuckle at the idea, followed by a satisfied sigh. 

“Well, I’m glad you’ve at least got something to laugh about, even if it’s at my expense.” The woman begins to try and walk past the towering sarkaz woman.

W feels an opportunity beginning to slip her by, and the Doctor’s attempts at brushing off her words has reignited that smoldering anger back into flame. She grabs the Doctor by the shoulder just as she’s moving past W. 

Such a frail body, she thinks, it would be so easy to snap the bone under my fingers without a second thought. 

The fire inside of her rises.

How? How could someone so pathetic, so weak, be responsible for so much of the pain she refuses to show the world? How could they just walk past her like she was nothing? Just as she is beginning to get lost in the thoughts of maiming, she sees a small purple flicker in the corner of her vision. 

She releases the doctor in an instant. 

“Doctor Minerva, I just wanted to say,” she turns to face the Doctor, putting her best smile forward, “It is a shame that you really don’t remember anything. You may be safe here, and you may have this starry eyed optimism now. But if I ever see you twisting her ideals into some self serving, simple minded mockery, you won’t be safe for long.”

A confused voice searches for a moment, before finding purchase, “I’m afraid, W, that I’m not quite sure who it is you’re talking about.”

W had waited for this moment. Standing here now, staring into the eyes of Doctor Minerva, she sees it. Her answer. W feels her heart drop as she finds genuine confusion and concern in those clear eyes. Even the slightest twinge of regret, remorse, or even satisfaction would not be missed by W’s unscrupulous gaze. 

But those emotions are nowhere to be found in those eyes.

It’s almost enough to make her shout in rage. 

She grits her teeth and makes for the exit, “Then ask Kal’tsit about Theresa sometime. It seems as though you trust her far too much.” 

W finds herself lost in another swirl of thoughts in her head as she kicks the doors to the operations room open and stomps out. Her plan for revenge on the Doctor needed a whole new angle if the traitor couldn’t even remember what injustice she had perpetrated. She thought she could get some quick, grim satisfaction out of gently threatening her in the heart of her own fortress, but now she just felt frustrated. 

Killing her would mean nothing if she wasn’t able to understand why. 

If she couldn’t feel the same terror and fear that Her Majesty must have, then what was the point? W cuts off her own thoughts, contemplating if she had just committed some sort of blasphemy by implying Theresa would have died with anything other than dignity and self assurance. She casts the thought out, asserting confidently to herself that it was simply the worm of that treacherous Doctor finding its way into her brain, and bleeding the colors of Her Majesty in her mind. 

As her anger quells from her self soothing, exhaustion takes its place. The two hour nap on the flight back was the most sleep she had gotten in six days, and the flurry of this morning was beginning to dull her vision. She felt the ache in her head from her fall earlier, and the heaviness in her feet from all the walking. Her stomach still contracted on nothing, but she was content with ignoring that in favor of getting some rest. She was used to sleeping on an empty stomach. Her feet began to take her to her room aboard the landship. 

Plodding her way back to her room near the bottom layer of the ship, she began to think about her arrival back here this morning, and her reason for visiting the operations room. Rhodes Island was large, for sure, and while there aren’t as many people here as when it was known as Babel, there were still certainly a fair many people walking around. Still, through these justifications, W found it odd that she hadn't run into the little bunny even once since she got back. A shadow of doubt began to creep into the back of her mind. 

What if the girl was avoiding her?

After the silver haired feline’s comments in the cafeteria, W wondered if the little bunny had finally come to her senses. Perhaps she realized what a fool’s errand it was to try and help W fit into this new Rhodes Island, and was giving up the ghost. She had to know that kind of optimism was pointless, that W would resist it at every step. She already was, after all. 

W let her disappointment slip even further as she told herself that was most likely for the best. Nothing good could come from her association with the red devil woman. She stopped in front of her door, the heaviest she has felt all day. 

W went to grab the sliding door handle to her room, when something on it caught her eye. A small bag was taped there, right around chest level to her. Just below it there was a note, also held up with a small piece of clear tape. W plucks the note off the door and reads it to herself.

To W,

Here’s a sample of some tea I got from Ch’en recently. I don’t know if you drink it, but I hope that you can try it and that it will help you feel refreshed after your deployment. If you don’t know how to make it, you can always ask me to come by and show you, as long as I’m free.

Warm regards,

Amiya. 

She can’t help but let a small, satisfied smile crawl across her face, “Hah. Stupid little bunny.” 

She pulls the bag off and examines it, flipping it over and giving it a quick sniff. The leaves smell gentle and herbaceous, a scent unusual for W to process. She rests the bag in her hand a few moments more, before sighing contently and stuffing it into her jacket's breast pocket. Her hand reaches once more for the handle of her door. No more surprises left for her today.

Just at that moment, the loud speakers placed throughout all of Rhodes Island’s corridors crackle and come to life, with Kal’tsit’s steely, agitated voice breaking through the digital static, “Operator W, please report to debrief room B6, you are half an hour late to your mission debriefing.”

W’s forehead hits her door hard, and all she can manage is uttering a single word, “Shit.” 

Chapter Text

The battlefield. 

Earth shattering explosions rock the ground beneath W’s unsteady feet, causing her to tumble to the side as she runs. 

Battle cries, the clanging of metal, the tearing of flesh. 

She surveys the chaos around her in the mud, hastily scoops up a hand grenade, and makes sure her disadvantageous position is not being exploited. Amidst the trampled earth and gray, lifeless debris strewn about, she sees two groups fighting nearby. A large group, directly ahead of her, locked in a brutal, sprawling skirmish. The other, smaller, group to her three-o-clock is in the tail end of their fight. She can see Hoederer’s horns moving precisely through the pack of opposing mercenaries. Their ranks will soon break and he will reinforce the main contingent. 

W needs to get a move on.

As she picks herself up out of the suctioning mud, she feels her ankle pull on something. She expects to look back and see a gnarled root or tripwire, only to see a hand, flesh pulled back on the fingertips to reveal pristine bone. Startled, she pulls on her leg harder, only to falter forward and collapse entirely in the mud. She whips onto her back and pushes the ground hard with her opposite leg, shoulders digging in for more leverage. A body rises completely out of the mud, jaw half attached, a jagged broadsword buried in the upper portion of the chest. 

“You left us to die, W.” The jaw flaps, the sunken eyes of the sarkaz corpse not even giving W the decency of being looked down upon as they stare vacantly forward, cloudy. 

“Damn it, give it up already, what kind of arts is this?” She kicks at the wrist with her opposite leg and, despite hearing several snaps and cracks, it does not relent. 

Another body rises from the mud, then another, a whole platoon rises out of the mud in front of her widening eyes. 

“Ines, if this is another one of your tricks, it's not funny!” W thrashes, trying to slip this noose of a hand around her ankle. 

“You used us, W, we were your squad mates. Your friends.” The voices resonate, repeating, overlapping, amplifying in a discordant chorus. 

W’s memories light up like an orginium circuit board, connecting too many switches at once, she pulls the pin on her grenade, holding the lever down, “I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t ruthless, I just happened to survive every time!”

The bodies shamble closer, repeating their accusation. More decayed, withered hands grab onto W. She lets go of the lever, and it pops off the grenade with a spring. 

“It became all I knew how to do, guys. I’m so-” 

W only gets to hear a microsecond of the blast. Instant and thunderous. 

She snaps awake, bolting upright in her bed, cold beads of sweat flying down her face and chest. Her hands immediately go to her stomach where she had been holding the grenade, making sure there isn’t a hole found within. She searches the rest of her body, making sure all of her is still here. Those searching hands finally stop when they get to her head, cupping her cheeks with them and leaning over, stomach knotted. The shaky breathing finally calms as her brain, still processing the waking world and pulling away from the sleeping one, realizes she’s still undetonated. 

The dream, already turning into blurry fragments in the back of her mind, is one she’s sure she has had many times. The hands of her mind let the dissolving pieces go, relieved to not feel those aches of regret and sorrow in her conscious mind. 

Amber eyes, adjusting to the dull light seeping from the window in her dorm room, begin scanning it to find the clock. They find the standard issue digital clock on the prefabricated desk in the far corner and read the time: 5:35 AM blinking coldly back at her in a neon green. Hands fall to her lap as she turns back to the window again. At least it was half an hour more than last night, and it will be another half hour until sunrise, give or take. 

Kicking off the sheets, W climbs out of bed, visits the bathroom, and comes back out to survey where she scattered her clothes a few hours earlier. She kicks her bra off the ground and into her offhand, sliding it on, and fastening the straps as she wanders over to her sweater. She throws it over her head, some of the fibers catching on her left horn. She sighs, sweater half on. Her hands gently pick the sweater apart from the tip of her red horn, forcing the shirt down onto her shoulders, spraining one of her antennae on the way down. She smooths it out, and considers the fact she may need to get some new clothing soon. 

Fishnets slide up her legs, nestling just below her thin tail, before hiking the skirt up over them. She decides to leave her jacket behind for this early morning romp, this side of the land ship tends to run pretty warm as it is. Grabbing her ID off the desk, one of only two items ever there, she slips her feet into her shoes, tapping them securely on. She slides the door to the hallway open, she always prefers it to pushing the automatic button. 

The sterile lights of Rhodes Islands corridors collide with her eyes in an explosion of blinding white. She blinks, squints, and takes a few moments to make the harsh adjustment. Once her eyes are used to it, she sets off towards a break room nearby.

W found kitchenettes spread out in many of the break rooms provided to operators on shift throughout the land ship. They were usually much quieter than the cafeteria, and had a modest selection of food to pick from. She was willing to limit her selection of meals if it also meant limiting her exposure to others on Rhodes Island. Especially after the day she had last week; what with the Minoan, the feline, the Doctor, and the debrief from hell. 

Her head hurts just remembering how Kal’tsit read her the riot act for being late to the meeting and for threatening the chief of that remote village. As though arguing with a small Kal’tsit in her head, she repeats one of her protests to herself: He had to have known about that raiding party, and they just left them there for us to handle. 

She sighs. Kal’tsit saw no reason in her points. Sometimes she can’t tell which the old hag cares more about: helping hapless people or her own operators. For how much pessimism and caution the bitch seems to harbor, W can’t help but feel she takes the well being of her own employees for granted sometimes. She remarks snidely to herself that if even she, the resident renegade, can see this issue, it must seriously be a problem. Not that she cared too much for anyone else here, but Kal’tsit should. She pulls the door open to the break room closest to her dorm. 

W only hears the chatter of people inside the room after she has already stepped through the threshold and let the door slide close behind her. They were in the far corner. 

A snappy, direct voice, edging on condescending, carries across the empty room, “And you are positive these results are accurate? How much do you trust the analysis capabilities of the doctors here?” 

W’s eyes roll over, annoyed at anyone else being present in her break room, especially at this time of day. She sees a tall vouivre with long ashen hair, a white jacket with a long black skirt. A spiky tail whips back and forth, the star at its end making a faint whipping noise. She has another woman practically backed into a corner. 

The other one looks like W feels: half awake and somewhat annoyed. Her round glasses rest halfway down her nose, spikes of brown hair disheveled and shooting in every direction. Her tan overcoat sways gently as she puts an elbow into her opposite hand and cups her cheek. 

“I have no reason to doubt the validity of Rhodes Island’s medical operators, there’s no need for you to intervene. Ifrit is gaining more control over her powers by the day, and these results speak to the ever evolving nature of her arts.” 

W walks up to the fridge and quietly opens it, searching for a suitable breakfast. The noise causes the head of the vouivre to snap instantly, a set of large horns pointed at the lone sarkaz. There is a flash of surprise and frustration in the light orange eyes, before they turn back around. 

“We can continue this conversation later. I must get back to my shift in the reception room. You should be on your way, as well, Dr. Silence.” The large woman practically slaps the data pad into the hands of the other, and takes long strides out of the room. The door opens and shuts in one swift movement. 

W hears the disheveled girl sigh heavily. She picks up a coffee cup and sits down at the far end of the long table set in the middle of the room. The data pad is laid out, and the liberi sets her attention to it. If W is forced to have company this morning, she’s at least grateful they’re as unlikely to start a conversation as she is. As much as she is able to, W feels a small twinge of sympathy for her disquieted break room-mate. She at least knows how it feels to have conversations cut off by hurried and self important individuals with unpleasant comments thrown at you as an afterthought.

W grabs a few eggs and half a loaf of bread out of the fridge. She carries them over to the stove and searches through the cabinet until she can find an appropriate pan to cook with, also taking the opportunity to take down a toaster. The desire to just crack open dry rations and skip all the hassle of cooking her own food inches its way up her back. She pushes it back down, determined to have her warm meal. She flicks on the coffee maker further down the countertop, only then remembering the bag of tea leaves in her jacket. Her hand reaches for her pocket, finding nothing. W tilts her head back in frustration as she realizes she left it behind in her room. 

She sets her focus back on her eggs and toast. Just as they have many times before, the eggs come out dry and with shells strewn all throughout them. Even though she is only responsible for setting the toast in the machine, it somehow comes out burnt every time. She has only managed to not set off the automatic fire detection system by sheer luck. Her only solace is that the coffee maker does not treat her with as much scorn as the toaster. She pours a half mug of black coffee and finds herself wishing it was a nice cup of tea. She drops the plate of overcooked eggs and burnt toast onto the table, coffee in her other hand, and settles in for her disappointing meal when the door opens once again. 

A light, excitable voice breaks the quietness W had been enjoying this morning, “Wow, this place sure is busy already! Woah, goodness, did someone burn something in here?” 

W grips the fork she had just picked up tight in her hand, and turns to face her verbal assailant, finding a gray haired cautus in a black overcoat and tights. 

Before she can get a word out, the girl beats her to it, ears twitching, “Oh, W, fancy seeing you here!”

The woman walks over, leaning an arm at the end of the table where W is, as far away from the other occupant as possible, “Please do not tell me you’re planning on eating that…” 

W collects herself, pride wounded from the genuine disappointment present in the woman’s tone, “No, I was planning on sitting here with a plate full of food and thinking about how great it would be to eat it.” 

The cautus pokes the eggs, “I really don’t think anyone would think about how much they’d want to eat that. Here, let ole auntie Charlotte whip you up something proper! The Doctor and Amiya would be disappointed if they saw one of their elite operators feeding themselves something sorry like this.” 

“Hey, don’t-” her words are cut off as her plate is snatched up and whisked away into the trash.

Charlotte collects the ingredients once again and W is reminded of her familiarity as she makes quick work cracking eggs, this time splashing in some spices and other ingredients W doesn’t recognize. She recalls a faint memory of this woman, looking only somewhat different, standing next to the Doctor on a few occasions. W’s mouth pulls into a frown. Another ghost of Babel come to haunt her. Her eyes glide over to the liberi woman sitting at the end of the table and decides she isn’t at any risk sharing this information with the four eyes so absorbed in her data. 

“Must have pretty good memory, then, remembering me. I haven’t been in this place in a number of years. Only got back about a month and half ago, been deployed for most of that anyways.” She twirls the fork between her fingers. 

Charlotte scoots the pan on the stove top, flipping the omelette inside of it, “I like to think I have a preeeetty good memory. Especially of that time.”

The toast pops out, safe from the toaster’s ire, and she snatches it with her free hand, setting the two pieces on the plate. She takes the pan over and gently slides the prepared eggs next to the toast. She takes some butter and plasters it over both of the hot pieces of bread, before breezing over and setting it back down in front of W.

“But, and I hate to disappoint you, I don’t remember things that well. Doctor and Amiya just handed me your dossier again when I got back on, thought I should reconnect. Go on, dig in!”

W gives her trademark smile, “My, how thoughtful of them. I’ll have to thank them both for spreading my personal information around like that. Very personally.” 

Her fork cuts smoothly through the omelette. She had heard of these before, but never thought she would be having one on Rhodes Island of all places. Her frustration at learning about the two do-gooders meddling is overwhelmed by her gnawing hunger, and she takes a bite.

 Her tongue almost aches at how good it tastes. 

She annihilates the rest of the plate in record time, the buttered toast leaving even more of an impression for its indulgence than the savory omelette.

The surprise on Charlotte’s face, mixed with just a pinch of satisfaction, is clear, “Do you want some more? It’s obvious you haven’t had a decent meal in some time.” 

W feels the flush clawing up her ears, “Huh? Don’t be stupid, just didn’t get to finish my dinner last night. I’m all good now.”

She damns her own pride, knowing she’d do just about anything but forsake that right now to get another taste of buttered toast. 

Charlotte chuckles, “Well, you should at least say thank you-” her teasing is cut off by radio chatter on her hip. 

W’s ears twinge as she hears the little bunny’s voice, distorted as it is through the static fuzz, “Savage? Savage come in.”

The cautus grabs the radio and lifts it up to her mouth, clicking the button for the receiver, “Roger, I hear you Amiya.” 

A relieved sigh comes through the hum of static, “We’ve got Catastrophe reports coming in. No general alarms yet but we need to retrieve one of our messenger teams. The usual retrieval squad is on deployment with Doctor Minerva right now in Kjerag, so me and you will have to go out and get them. I would like a third operator, if you can find one. Rhodes Island is pretty low on staff at the moment.” 

Charlotte’s eyes immediately flick to the sarkaz woman sitting across from her. W puts her hands up in protest, her mouth already going to shape the words for “Don’t you dare”, before the woman turns and looks at the liberi. 

“Silence, are you available for deployment at the moment?” The woman asks in an overly polite tone.

W feels her heart sink like a stone as the cautus asks the other operator. She reflexively crosses her arms and looks in the opposite direction. A momentary flash of anger at her own disappointment overtakes her. This combination of feelings has become far too commonplace lately. 

The liberi turns her head, “Oh, uhm, sorry, I’m technically still on shift at the production facility, I was just taking a few minutes to go over some medical data of another operator.”

W’s eyes drift slowly back to the cautus’ silver ones, finding they are already looking dead at her. She blinks, knowing she has lost this nonverbal contest.

“Fine.” Is all she can mutter in an indignant tone. 

Charlotte gives a teasing smile, before pressing the receiver on the radio, “Shame, looks like I can only scrape up one sorry W for this field trip. At least she’s freshly fed.” 

The radio is quiet for an extended moment before lighting back up with static, “W? That’s great! I mean, great you could find another operator to help with the retrieval. I’ll meet you both in the loading bay in fifteen minutes. Amiya, over and out.” 

W almost wishes she could have the grenade from her dream back at this moment as her ears fully flush this time. Stabs of embarrassment, pangs of frustration, aches of anger, the tiniest amount of relief and another, unknown feeling, all fight for control in her mind. She taps a finger on her opposite arm, trying to decide which emotion she wants to win the wrestling match. 

Before W can decide, Charlotte stands up, “Okey dokey, you heard our darling CEO. Loading bay in fifteen, and it’s a ten minute walk from here, let’s get a move on, W.” 

W picks herself up from the chair, moving to step out of the room. She opens the door ahead of her new squad mate, and is surprised to find herself alone in the corridor for a few moments, before Charlotte emerges.

“You forgot to put your dirty plate and utensils up! You need to work on your manners.” The cautus lightly admonishes her. 

W laughs languidly, “Hah, manners? Don’t have any use for those in my line of work.” 

Charlotte walks a step and a half in front of W, turning back momentarily to respond, “I very much believe that, but in case you needed a reminder, this is your line of work now.”

W lets the moment pass, there’s no need to dignify the statement with a response. She spites the Rhodes Island contract she signed, and this is her small way of finding retribution for it. How much could she reasonably be expected to live up to it when she couldn’t even read it, anyways?

As though she is responding to an inaudible retort W made her own mind, Charlotte adds, “Plus, manners help you deal with other people. Shows you respect them, or at least, the space you both inhabit.” 

Now this W can work with, “I can tell you my problem right there, I don’t respect anyone in this place.” 

Charlotte opens one of the large bay doors separating two corridor compartments from each other, sliding it open manually with surprising ease. The sarkaz cannot help but silently wonder if all cautus are freakishly talented in different ways. 

“Not even the nice Doctor Minerva or Doctor Kal’tsit?” Charlotte probes. 

Feelings about both of them splash into W’s head: one hot, raging and quick; the other slow, apprehensive, and cold. 

W cocks her head to the side,  jagged horns tilted at an angle, “Got a score to settle with one, and I prefer to keep my distance from the other. Haven’t quite squared that circle yet. Respect doesn’t exactly come to mind, either way.” 

After a few minutes of silence, the pair stops in front of a closed elevator door. Charlotte presses the down button, her silence in the face of W’s answers gives her some satisfaction. Perhaps she has succeeded in clamming the inquisitive cautus up with wayward comments. 

“I suppose that is understandable, given everything.” Her answer is irritating, but W can’t help noticing her tone has lost the springiness it usually carries. At least she knows she can get to this one. 

With a careful gaze, Charlotte turns to look at W as she asks her next question, “And what about Amiya?” 

Sharp, amber eyes immediately snap away. As much as W is good at reading others' emotions, she is all too aware how much her eyes can betray her own thoughts. Ines reminded her of that one too many times during all of their arguments. She can only hope her attentiveness to this fact can save her from having the next statement scrutinized too heavily.

“What about the little bunny?” She folds her arms again, a last ditch attempt to sell indifference. 

The elevator dings, Charlotte steps in first, pressing W, “I’m just asking about Rhodes Island’s leadership, seems natural the CEO would come up. That’s a much shorter statement than the other two, should I take that as your measure of her?” 

The sarkaz steps in after her, the doors closing. She hits the button for the loading bay before leaning back against the wall, “Take it however you want. I just don’t think about her much.”

Charlotte’s ear twitches, “You’re a bad liar, W.” 

Her teeth grind. So much for not being scrutinized too heavily, now she’s being directly accused of lying. It was a bold-faced lie, after all, and W’s anger at it being pointed out is only beaten by the anger of admitting it’s a lie to herself in the first place. She picks herself up off the wall of the elevator and steps closer to the opposite wall where the woman stood. She squares her shoulders and keeps her gaze low. 

She will betray nothing else in this conversation. 

“Excuse me?” She uses her deepest tenor.

Charlotte almost seems unnerved by this, but presses her luck anyways, “I read in that dossier that you make a habit of sneaking looks at her schedule and following her around sometimes. Doesn’t exactly seem like behavior you’d have if you never thought about her.” 

Just as the words leave the cautus’ mouth, W’s hands grab her collar, pulling her in close, “Alright, I’m sure that damn Doctor is going to get it now. But I’m one smart ass comment away from putting you first in line.” 

Charlotte makes no overt attempts to resist W, besides putting one hand on her left wrist, “I don’t make a habit of getting into scuffles with other Rhodes Island operators, W, I just wanted to check on something. I promise I’ll let off now. Besides, we’re almost at the loading bay. You wouldn’t want our dear CEO to see you physically threatening me, would you?”

While her words make W want to slam her into the wall and give her a head butt she would remember for the rest of the week, she drops the woman, “Like I give a shit what she sees me doing.” 

The elevator jostles, arriving at their destination. Charlotte fixes her neckline just as the doors open. As expected, the Rhodes Island CEO waits nervously on the other side of them. 

“Oh, hello Savage, W. I thought I felt…..” Her blue eyes scan over the two women, tension still palpable in the air between them. 

Charlotte flashes Amiya a carefree smile, stepping past W, “W was just helping me get some crumbs off me from the breakfast we had earlier, nothing to worry about Amiya.” She pats the small girl on the shoulder as she walks by. 

W takes a deep breath before turning around. She feels that indifferent expression plaster itself across her face, the one she gets every time she looks at the little bunny. Not quite a frown, but an altogether neutral face. Despite the lukewarm disposition, W can’t help but notice her heart rate accelerate a touch faster. The shift is altogether involuntary at this point. She steps out of the elevator, hunching her shoulders again, and makes to walk past the young girl.

“Good to see you again, W. Did you get that tea I left you?” Her tone is soft, caressing W’s ear drums as she speaks, and causing her to pause. 

“Oh, yeah, I, uh, left it in my jacket in my room.” W cannot seem to get her thoughts in order. 

Amiya’s face gives a befuddled look, one ear bending down slightly as she appears to process this information, “Well, I’m glad you got it, at least.” She offers up an awkward smile. 

A blush seeps from the edge of W’s face towards her cheeks. She needs to make it go away, “Yeah, I ended up having to make some crummy coffee this morning because I forgot it.” 

Amiya’s expression shifts as W speaks, and she can’t help but feel as though she has made some critical mistake. What it is, she can’t even begin to fathom. 

As she tries to find words to follow up with, Charlotte breaks the faltering moment, “Hey, do I gotta run this retrieval all by myself? Can I get a hand over here?” 

Amiya’s dour face transforms into a small panic as she turns around, “Oh, yes, right away Savage, sorry!” Her jacket bounces with each frantic step towards the retrieval truck to assist with loading.  

W is left to wonder how she could turn the little bunny’s face so sour without even meaning to. Typically, she relishes in the feeling of ruining someone’s mood. But not this time. Doing so by accident in this case is entirely unsatisfying to her. Even more-so, she doesn’t understand what she said to make the girl so upset. Between running over her sentence a dozen times in her mind, analyzing it for the problem and ruminating on the ruined feeling of satisfaction, W totally overlooks the part of her response that demands she should be sad for upsetting the little bunny. 

It is only when she hears the very same person’s grunts, attempting to lift up a particularly heavy piece of communications equipment, that W snaps out of her stupor. She walks over, finding herself all too willing to put some honest work in now. Wordlessly, W grabs the other side of the bulky signal booster and hauls it into the back of the retrieval vehicle; a large truck with an oversized bed in a long row of parked cars. At least her natural strength as a sarkaz is handy frequently in jobs like this. 

“Thanks Savage, I’m getting a little better with heavy things, but I think I’m already overestimating my - oh. Thank you, W.” The cautus quickly looks away, grabbing small packets of wilderness survival gear. 

Desperation punches W in her gut. She digs through her mind to try and find a cause and an answer, but she is hopelessly lost in the insidious maze of her thoughts. She falls back on instinct, and decides to focus on the moment. She hops into the bed of the truck and reaches an arm out.

Her assertiveness gives way to something unusual: a suggestion, “Go ahead and toss the ration packets to me, I’ll stow them in some of the empty containers already up here.” 

Amiya stops in her tracks, packets already in both hands. A small glimmer twinkles in one of her eyes. She complies without one of her usual peppy comments, grabbing rations and water bottles from one of the nearby palettes, handing them to W for stowage. The repetitive process of grabbing a handful of supplies from Amiya, turning around, taking a few steps, and sorting them into the storage containers at the back of the truck serves to calm W’s mind and nerves. By the time they’ve loaded up two full boxes - enough for their retrieval team and the catastrophe messenger team, W notices Amiya’s expression is closer to normal. 

Just as W works up the courage to say something, the engine of the truck roars to life, kicking exhaust out right under where she’s standing, and right where Amiya is. Amiya coughs, lifting her sleeve to her mouth. She waves her hand and steps to the side, away from W. 

Charlotte raises her voice over the engine, “Alrighty, if we’re all loaded up, you two can climb in the back and we can get this show on the road!” 

Amiya coughs a few more times to the side and raises her thumb, walking up to the passenger door. W sighs in frustration, parking her sorry ass on the wooden bench built into the side of the oversized bed truck. Her tail pinches on the side and she twinges. She shifts to give it some more space, flicking it a little bit to make sure the pain was superficial. She grabs the tip and pets it gently, almost as if to soothe herself. However, the shock from Amiya hopping into a seat directly across from her has her swatting her tail back down to the floor of the bed 

The truck rumbles and kicks backward from its parking space, making a large reverse turn, before switching gears and accelerating out of the stationary land ship via the exit ramp, which has been dropped for this operation. The sun, just cresting the far eastern horizon, splashes across W’s face as the truck leaves Rhodes Island’s shadow. Cool air rushes past as Charlotte gets the truck up to cruising speed. The gentle whistle of the wind and the rumble of the engine is almost peaceful as W looks across the dirt hills and wastes of the lands to the south of Ursus, large originium spires hanging over as portents of inevitability. 

W wonders how to break the ice, as she still senses an imperceived injustice lingering in the air. 

“So, the good Doctor and the old hag are out on missions. When you get off the landship, who does that even leave in charge, then?” She tries for her most casual tone of voice.

Amiya gazes over her left shoulder, towards the front of the truck, “Ideally, Rhodes Island can always function even without critical leadership present. It's basically a skeleton crew with so many operators out now, anyways. But, in this situation, I delegated Dobermann as executive of operations in my absence.”

W leans over the side of the truck, putting her arms behind her head, trying to find whatever it is the cautus is looking at, “Geeze, sounds like a rip roaring time. You gotta fill out a bunch of paperwork to do that, too?”

“Yes, actually. Three different forms. One to transfer directive authority, one to approve mobilizing Rhodes Island staff, and one to authorize moving the landship.” 

W blinks at Amiya, half stunned at the response, “Seriously? Hah, and I was joking! Can’t believe a girl like you is stuck with all that menial work.” 

W is shocked-but not displeased-to find Amiya is finally looking back at her, “I don’t find it all that menial. It can actually be quite meditative, if you look at it the right way. It's good to have clear lines of communication and delegation, as well.” 

There are times when Amiya sounds like Theresa, which W prefers most. At times she sounds like Kal’tsit, like now, which she prefers the least. And finally, times where she sounds like herself, which W hasn’t seen enough of to attribute a feeling to yet. She splays her arms on the outside paneling of the truck, before rattling out an off beat rhythm and sitting back up. 

“But nothing beats getting out of that stuffy place and feeling the sun on your skin and wind in your hair again. I prefer to be out here, feeling as free as I can be.” W stands up and lets the air buffet her, tossing her hair into a frenzy. 

Amiya offers a quizzical look at W, before laughing gently. She stands up as well, the air from the front of the truck immediately catching her ears and flattening them out. She struggles to fight the wind, and the truck rumbles over some rocks, causing her to stumble forward. Before she pitches towards the back of the bed. W quickly grabs her arm, hauling her back to the middle of the bed, stabilizing the young cautus with her other hand. W meets Amiya’s gaze, and the sarkaz can’t help but notice a faint pink glow to the younger girl's cheeks. 

It must be the chilly air, W tells herself.  

She gently lets go of the little bunny, “If you fall off while I’m on the back of this thing, Kal’tsit will kill me.”

Amiya giggles, “And here I thought you were worried about me for my own sake.”

W looks towards the front of the truck, always eager to avoid those revealing blue eyes, the sprawling wastes stretching out before her. The scent of the crisp air passing all around, laid heavy with originium, certainly signals an oncoming catastrophe. W can feel it in her bones, no fancy equipment needed. She steps up the cabin, resting her forearms on it as she leans. Looking at the miles of nigh untraversable land, an honest feeling bleeds through W’s face for the first time in ages as she rests here, wistful and longing, to feel true freedom again. She wonders when she may have ever first felt it.

The wind whips and settles as another form takes its place next to W, eyes barely cresting the roof of the truck. Amiya steps up on the lip of the bed, putting her within touching distance of W’s height. She spreads her arms out on the cabin and lays her head down, looking at the sarkaz woman. 

“You better not be using those mind reading powers on me right now,” W warns, desperate to be the only one to get to feel her own emotions, as few and far between as they are, “worry about what’s in your own head for once.”

A few moments pass.

“W,” Amiya has returned to her pensive expression from earlier, “Was my gift….really that forgettable?” 

W’s earlier confusion only grows at this question, “What are you talking about little bunny? I read the note and everything.” Her annoyed tone grows quieter and more subdued at the next part as she turns her head, “I even wanted to make some this morning but I left it in my jacket. That side of the ship has been warm lately, so I left it behind. Only realized it later.”

She can feel Amiya’s deep blue eyes on her once again. She always finds it so frustrating how she can know the little bunny is looking at her without even seeing it. She does her best not to return the gaze, afraid of what her own eyes might tell the young girl. 

“Oh, I see now. I understand, W. Did you still want help making some?” That gentle and caressing tone has returned to Amiya’s voice. W doesn’t understand the pulsating and rapid sensation shooting from throat to chest. 

“It’s tea, how hard can it be?” She takes another swing at braggadociousness. 

The little bunny’s expression turns again.

Nope, I know what it was this time. 

“But, I mean. I guess having someone there who knows what they're doing couldn’t hurt.” She hopes she can still save herself another half hour of recovering from this by intervening swiftly. 

Amiya’s face lights up, and suddenly W wishes she weren’t so good at reading people’s expressions. The little bunny raises her head from the truck cabin and inches a smidge closer to W. 

“I have found the ideal temperature to be around 165 degrees for that specific blend of leaves, and you need to let them steep for about 10 minutes. A little longer than typical, but they use a special drying method to preserve them so it takes that long to extract all of the flavor out of them.” Amiya is suddenly her usual, bright self. 

W sighs, “Woah, woah, little bunny. Save it for making the tea, I’m not gonna hold onto any of that crap.” She takes a step back as the cautus’ face turns sour once again. W can’t help but feel she is being taken advantage of this time.

This is going to be a long retrieval mission, she thinks to herself. 

Chapter Text

Waves of fine dust roll over three silhouettes huddling around a radio transmitter on the ground behind the truck, the bulky signal booster atop the cabin. The whips of the oncoming maelstrom are a sign of an operation already spinning out of control. The small team had driven three hours to the original rendezvous location given by the Catastrophe messenger team, but found the location and its surroundings vacant. 

The communicator crackles in Savage’s hands as she kneels next to the radio, Dobermann’s voice on the other end barely recognizable through the garble of interference, “Last report received….dicates massive orginium swells, advise return ASAP…..fourteen hours until full strength.” 

Savage tweaks a dial on the radio and turns to Amiya, “Move the antenna on the booster about 3 degrees to the southeast, I think I got our coordinates slightly off. That map in the glovebox is old.” 

W shields her face with an arm to keep the dust from flying into her eyes as she watches the small girl climb the bed and trudge up to the signal booster. She thinks back to their conversation on the way here. Well, really, it was the little bunny talking and W being subjected to hearing about all the kinds of tea leaves you can drink and ways to make them. When the swells of the storm began to kick up, they had to return to their seats, and W felt the distance between them in the bed of the truck was shorter than it had been before. 

As Amiya fixes the antenna and looks down to Savage for an okay, W remembers the split second her and the cautus went to sit down earlier, and how the little bunny seemed to hesitate walking back to the opposite side. She pushes the thought away, her uselessness in the current situation impressed upon her as the two rabbits work competently before her. 

Savage gives a thumbs up, “Got it, signal is transmitting, you can come back down Amiya. Dobermann, do you copy?” 

The perro’s voice breaks through in the cleanest burst it has yet, finally having gotten the team’s hail, “I copy you, Savage. The signal is choppy but we should still have roughly a thirty minute window before the originium density is too high for broad range communication.” 

Amiya hops down off the bed of the truck, passing the radio and taking shelter in the wake of W. She smirks at the little bunny’s resourcefulness. 

“Well, we got to the rally point, but there’s no Provence or messenger team to be found. I wanted to check in and see if they sent a message before we arrived, and the status of this typhoonic Catastrophe.” Savage speaks with urgency, but there isn’t a speck of panic in her voice. 

The communicator on the other end shuffles around, “We didn't receive a message from the Catastrophe messenger team, but I do have news for you about the storm itself. Magallan, can you give me that report on the Catastrophe from internal monitoring?” 

A distant voice speaks, too far to be picked up, before Dobermann kicks back in, “No, I’m just going to let you handle it.” 

There’s another short break before transmission picks up again, “Greetings there folks, hope you’re staying high and dry out there. I’m not entirely used to the read outs of Rhodes Island Catastrophe reports yet, but I can at least tell you we went from a 42 hour development window to a 14 hour one. This puppy is gonna be nasty, lots of energy building really rapidly. My guess is the Catastrophe messenger team saw that too and headed for cover. The area the rendezvous point is in is really exposed. Personally, I’d advise doing much the same, you have a really tight window of finding the messenger team and getting back to Rhodes Island before we have to move.” 

Savage glances back at W and Amiya, meeting both of their gazes in turn. Almost simultaneously, Amiya nods with conviction as W shrugs. The other cautus’ eyes linger for a moment, amusement dancing in them for a spell, before returning back to business. 

“Any guesses on where the Catastrophe team would have headed to? Our map in the retrieval truck is out of date, we’re flying blind out here.” She relays. 

“I thought you were driving-” Magallan is cut off, a curt “thank you” being delivered by Dobermann before she takes back over, “Geographical data on Rhodes Island shows a twin plateau approximately 6 klicks to your south west, heading 223. Scouting reports indicate there may be a village there that uses the plateaus as a natural barrier against these kinds of Catastrophes.” 

Amiya speaks up, “That’s about enough distance for Provence’s team to cover in the time since we left. We were lucky you decided to bring the signal booster, Savage, they likely couldn’t have gotten a message out by the time they realized what was happening. I would bet they moved toward that rock formation. We should be able to catch up in time with the truck.” 

W is once again reminded of the Rhodes Island CEO’s capability, and questions her presence here. She’s only good in a fight; all this logistics, deliberation, and decision making, was above her. She shifts uncomfortably. 

“Alright,” Savage switches on the communicator, “Looks like we’re gonna try to find the messenger team at the mountains, Amiya seems confident that’s where they would have headed.”

Dobermann follows up immediately, “Will you be attempting to make it back to Rhodes Island, or should I initiate mobilization protocols?”  

Amiya steps up, politely extending a hand to take the communicator from Savage, “Hello Dobermann, it’s Amiya. The storm is already pretty bad out here, we won’t have much time once we make it to the twin plateau. I’m authorizing you to move Rhodes Island out of the critical path of the Catastrophe, we will find shelter with the messenger team and reestablish contact once the Catastrophe is clear. This is my decision.” 

Silence hangs in the air for a borderline uncomfortable amount of time, before the signal returns, “Roger that Amiya. Can’t say it’s what I would do, but I trust your instincts. Rhodes Island will mobilize and pick you up on the other side. Be safe out there.” 

Amiya hands the communicator back to Savage, who slots it into the face of the radio, before she stands up and looks at the other two, “Alright, let’s pack this all up, we have little time to spare with this storm getting worse by the minute. W, get the signal booster off the roof, I’ll get all the cords and haul the radio up.”

W rolls her shoulders, finally something she can do. She jumps up onto the bed, fighting the sheets of dust as she hauls the booster down from its perch. The cords plugged into the back come out with a satisfying yank, and she scoots the device under the bench where it came from. Turning back, she grabs the radio Savage just deposited on the bed and kicks it next to the booster. She grabs a bungee cord and secures both in place in the corner of the truck. The wind is picking up even harder as she works, and W can barely keep her eyes open in the onslaught. W scoops up the remaining cords on the bed and hops off, handing them to Savage, who is waiting on the other side of the truck out of the storm. 

“Thanks,” Savage turns, beckoning W, “you’re getting in the cabin with us, no way anyone is riding in the back like this. Amiya is still pretty small, she’ll sit in the middle.” The cautus walks up to the driver's side and hops in, the door slamming. 

W, despite being buffeted hard by the currents of the oncoming Catastrophe, hesitates for a moment. A forbidden thought flashes through her mind almost as quickly as the wind grazing her. She lowers her head and walks towards the other side of the truck, making for the passenger side door. She pulls the latch and looks inside. 

Savage is fumbling with the keys, finding the one for the ignition, slotting it, and twisting hard. Next to her, frontmost in W’s vision, sits Amiya. Her shoulders and knees are pushed together, anticipating W’s arrival in the seat next to her. The truck rolls over once, twice, then finally starts. W climbs in, not wanting to let any more sand fly in than is already there. The sound of the wind transforms from deafening to a muffled growl as the door closes.  

She climbs into the spot next to Amiya, and W’s fleeting thought becomes a reality as her arm brushes against the little bunny’s. She sits down, suddenly aware of her own stature. The cabin of the truck is fairly roomy, but even for two cautus and a sarkaz, there’s not enough space. W’s leg sits pressed against Amiya’s, and she notices the girl looking down with an unreadable expression. The flood lights of the truck illuminate as Savage flicks a switch, turning the car while reading the map on the dashboard. As the truck tilts, Amiya is pushed towards W by the inertia, her shoulder slipping past W’s arm and resting on it. 

Throughout many times in her life, W has been shocked to have never frozen. Facing countless life or death battles, she shoved fear and terror to the side, refusing to let either seize her. However, at this moment, with this young cautus girl leaning against her, she cannot think of a single action to take. Savage finishes the turn, accelerating forward through the rapidly diminishing visibility. The inertia allows W to lean back in her own seat, but she notices the little bunny has not moved from where she was thrust onto W’s arm. The sarkaz considers for a moment that the cautus may just be unaware of her current position, so she shifts the arm a bit. 

Nothing. 

Something akin to protest rises in W’s throat. Her mouth opens, but not a single thing comes out. Instead she falls silent, pressing her lips shut. Unsure of what else to do, W rests her head against the cushion of the seat, eyes wide.

Ten minutes of slow, agonizing driving fill the intervening space, the bunny resting against her the entire time. At one point, W sees Savage glance away from the dustfilled desert towards them. Her look can only be described as self-satisfied. At what, W is hopeless to answer in her current state of mind. Finally, the wide plateaus came into view, darkening the sky against the haze of dust and sand thick in the air. Between the two natural structures, a single narrow passage stands wide enough for the truck to pass through.

Savage revs the engine and climbs the incline, the truck teetering over a lip as it nestles into the passageway. The rumbling of the truck shakes the three side to side, finally separating the cautus from the sarkaz. W feels like she can breathe again, but all that comes out is a sigh. 

The defile between the two plateaus is largely straight, with only occasional protrusions or bends in the sheer, sandy rock walls. It’s a perfect narrow to drive down, and the improved visibility is a welcome relief as Savage lets out an exhausted breath, reclining back in her driver’s seat. After another few minutes of driving, the passageway reveals a large hollowed out bowl between the two plateaus. A village, some 40 odd houses strong, sits in a neat depression in the ground. 

Savage parks the truck right as the narrows spill out into the depression and climbs out. W follows, opening her door and dropping both feet on the ground, not knowing whether to feel relief or frustration at finally separating from the little bunny. The wind is still whipping ferociously, swells of it swirling into vortexes. The remaining windstreams crest and flow through the hollow. The volume of sand is considerably lighter in the lower elevation, protected by the two stony giants. Amiya hops out next to W, surveying the area. Her ears look like radar dishes scanning for a signal from where she’s standing just a pace ahead of W. 

The sarkaz shoves her hands in her jacket pockets, once again being reminded of the fact she doesn’t have it with her right now. 

“Amiya? Amiya! What are you doing here?” A squirrely voice calls out from behind the truck. 

W snaps around in surprise, unaware of any presence behind her. Her eyes land on a purple lupo with an oversized tail, dressed in all black wilderness gear. The instant W turns, the crossbow in the woman’s hands levels directly at her.

“Woah, woah, Provence, the sarkaz is with us,” Savage rounds the front of the truck, hands up. 

“Huh, that so? Funny, she looks like one of the ones we got into a skirmish with earlier,” the crossbow doesn’t move a centimeter.

W’s eyes narrow. Regardless of circumstance, she is never partial to having a weapon aimed at her, especially when unarmed. 

Amiya steps in front of W, arms out in front of the sarkaz woman, and holding her other hand open towards Provence, signaling her to stop, “W is an operator with Rhodes Island, you haven’t been back on board since she joined us. I can promise you she hasn’t been responsible for any skirmishes out here. She’s been sitting with me.” The last part comes out unassuredly. 

Provence reluctantly lowers her weapon, keeping her finger disciplined neatly on the frame above the trigger, “If you say so, Amiya.”

The lupo puts her fingers up to her mouth and whistles, “Alright, not the sarkaz group, you guys can come out.” 

W’s eyes dart all around as five figures emerge from the faces of the rock, perfectly camouflaged within the nooks and folds of the carved out stone. They’re decked in gear emblematic of Rhodes Island operators, and W is quickly able to find that infamous logo on all of their outfits. 

Provence hops down from her vantage point, crossbow still in her dominant hand, “We’ve got two more that are injured, they’re resting down with the villagers. They were kind enough to let us camp out here, apparently this village has weathered Catastrophes before. They have a cave system in the plateaus.” 

Amiya lowers her hands as Provence approaches, looking back at W for a moment, her blue eyes steely, before turning back, “And what about this sarkaz group you mentioned? Were you waiting to ambush them?” 

The lupo looks to W, before putting her attention back on the CEO, “We tried to make contact with them as we were making our way here and a fight broke out. They injured two of ours and we,” the woman hesitates for a moment, before continuing, “we got one of theirs and injured two more.” 

W should be used to this by now. Any time she thinks she can feel comfortable in her own skin, there’s always some awkward and painful reminder of how most civilized people look at her. 

She points at the crossbow, “Let me guess, you walked up to them with weapons drawn like you just did me.” 

Provence’s eyebrow crooks, “Of course we did, they are a roving band of sarkaz mercenaries.”

W laughs contemptuously, “Yeah, and if I had my gun on me, I woulda shot you, too. First rule of talking to mercs, especially sarkaz ones, if you walk up with guns drawn, you’re gonna get shot at. Real deals only get made with the weapons down. Anything else is a threat.” 

Provence’s eyes betrays her aggravation, but Amiya interjects before she can offer a rebuttal, “Regardless of previous conduct, I take it that the mercenaries continued to follow you, and you were waiting here for them before they arrived in the village?” 

Frustration bleeds through Provence’s words as she addresses Amiya cordially, “Yes, we fell back from each other after the skirmish, but I know they tailed us all the way here. We had wounded and they must have known we were looking for shelter. I thought if they got into the village, they might not be as amicable in their dealings with the villagers as we’ve been.” 

The increasingly insidious pejorative sentiments set W off again, “Yeah, beastly savages, the lot of them, I’m sure. Because your reflex to massacre them as they walk through here is a much more moral position.” 

Anger rises on Provence’s face as W spots dissatisfaction crawl across Amiyas. Savage’s hand grab her shoulder, “W, I think we need to calm down.” 

W wrenches out of the cautus’ grasp, “Then tell our fluffy wolf friend to sling her damn crossbow. I’m not having a polite conversation with someone ready to shoot me at the drop of a hat.” 

Provence makes no motion to comply with this demand. Amiya shoots W a forlorn look, before turning to the purple lupo, “Please, Provence, we need to get out from this Catastrophe and figure out what to do about the mercenaries. I promise if you holster your weapon, W won’t make any aggressive movements.”  

Even if she resents being spoken for, W is at least satisfied to see others complying with the bunny’s beseeching. Provence lets go of the crossbow, strings out her sling, and throws the weapon over her shoulder, the rest of her team following suit. She looks begrudgingly at W, who returns it in kind. The dispirited look in Amiya’s eyes just a moment ago lingers in W’s mind. She knows she must have upset the little bunny’s peaceful sensibilities with her inflammatory comments. Her tail flicks back and forth in frustration, an antenna twitching. She decides to do something she knows is reckless. 

“Let me deal with them,” the words escape W’s mouth before the rest of her mind can catch up to what a dumb idea this is. 

Amiya and Provence both share a look of surprise. 

W seizes the moment, “If you ran into a sarkaz group this far out, in the middle of nowhere, I probably know them. If I talk to them, I might be able to get them to cool their heads a bit.” 

Provence exclaims in disbelief, “Yeah, after the diplomacy you just showed me, I highly doubt that.” 

“Please,” Amiya walks up to the uncertain lupo, “let’s hear W out. I trust her.” 

Provence is shocked into submission by that comment, and W herself finds an unnatural stir of confidence welling within her. 

W walks up, standing to the side of the women and the young girl, “Now, I’m not going to say it’ll work, just have the best odds of working. You still shot at and killed one of them, there’s all the chance in the world they still won’t listen to me. But I figure it's the best chance we got of keeping this from going full blood bath, much as I would love that.”

She shares a moment looking at Amiya, searching for the confidence the bunny has in her within those deep, blue eyes. She finds what she is looking for, and a small spark of something else. W looks away before she can put any names to the feeling. 

W continues, “But I’m not stupid, won’t go into this without a back up plan. You guys got any explosives?” 

Provence looks at W apprehensively, touching her temple as she responds, “Yes, we keep some C6 on us to clear out blockages in caves and remote trails. About half a dozen satchels, plus a remote detonator. Operator Pearl also keeps a handful of hand grenades on her.” 

A devilish smile crawls across W’s face as she realizes she can get her hands on some explosives again. It might not be her beloved D12, but it’ll do, “Alright, fork em over. No way they didn’t see our truck go into the narrow. It’s now or never if they’re gonna make a move with the Catastrophe bearing down on everyone. I’ll talk to em in the bottleneck near the village, if things go south, I collapse the passageway, everyone wins.” 

Provence looks to Amiya, her face full of enough alarm to communicate her concerns without uttering a word. Amiya simply nods. 

“Alright,” Provence relents, “Our stores are down in the village, I’ll go grab the C6. Pearl, hand W your explosives pouch.” 

Savage seizes the opportunity to speak up, “I’m gonna move the truck into the village so it can be safe during the Catastrophe. Provence, can you have a member of your team show me and Amiya where the caves are so we can take refuge?”

Amiya turns on her heel, “I’m going with W.”

W laughs, “Like hell you are! I’m doing this solo, little bunny.”

Provence follows up, “No, I’m with Amiya on this one, you are not doing this alone. Best case scenario you’re being honest and you’ll need back up anyways. Worst case scenario you’re lying and someone needs to be there to help stop you.” 

One of Provence’s team walks over, a satchel in her hands, and W snatches it, “Fine, but just you and the bunny, no one else. I can’t work worrying about catching too many people in the blast.” 

The purple haired lupo is exhausting her patience, her words weary, “That is exactly what concerns me. But, if that’s what you want, then so be it. Pearl, show Savage where she can park the truck and take the rest of the team back to the caves. Pick up Rhodite and Topaz on your way back.” 

Provence and her Catastrophe messenger team break ranks and begin walking down the decline towards the village. Savage pauses momentarily to look between W and Amiya, then turns around to follow the rest of the group, leaving them alone. W, eager to see what’s in the satchel, kneels to set it on the ground and unzips it. Inside she finds four originium hand grenades and a detonator. She plucks one out of the bag and hooks the lever on her waistband underneath her skirt. 

She looks up to see Amiya watching her, “Never know when you’ll need one on you to play a little chicken with, right, little bunny?” 

The wind causes Amiya’s hair to come undone somewhat, frantically blowing back and forth across her face, disrupting W’s view of her. Small strands of hair fall out of her long, low ponytail. The young girl is unusually quiet as W watches this unraveling. The sight of the loose, free flowing hair flowing in the wind gives startles W, as she sees the ghost of Her Majesty. She falls back, her ass hitting the ground, followed by her hands. She blinks, and the hair is a beautiful pink for a moment, before returning to that burnt brown as W wipes her eyes and looks again. 

As though almost no time has passed, Amiya brushes the hair out of her face, grabbing her hair tie and pulling it back once more, “Sorry, W, did you say something? The storm is picking up again. Are you okay? What happened, is there something wrong with the bag?”

The young cautus hurries over, bending down to look into the bag and turning to look at W when she can find nothing suspicious. 

Too close. 

W inches further back before collecting herself and stands back up, refusing Amiya’s outstretched hand, “Yeah, no, I’m fine, the gale just caught me off guard.”

W blinks and looks at the little bunny once again, finding no doubt within her blue eyes. She wonders what that prior moment was as she walks over, zips up the satchel, and throws it onto her shoulder, “Come on, I need to find a good spot. I think I noticed one as we were driving through earlier. Our lupo friend can catch up.”

Amiya takes a few quick steps to catch up, “You are going to try and talk to them….right, W?” 

W gives a small scoff, “Yeah, wouldn’t be sticking my neck out for you for no reason.”

“Funny, from my perspective, I thought I was the one sticking my neck out for you.” 

W turns and sees a bright, beaming smile painted across the little bunny’s face. She swallows a twisted feeling of joy, turning away again. That was the second time she’s seen that look on the young girls’ face.

More to herself than Amiya, W says, “Don’t get used to it.” 

The sarkaz feels the cautus walk half a step closer to her, their arms almost touching again, “It’s not so bad to have someone believe in you again, don’t you think?” 

That damn tone of voice -soft and caressing- now the third time she’s heard it, and on the same day. W suppresses the thought that if Amiya asked her to sit down and roll over in that voice, she would at the very least take the request seriously. Her brow furrows, feeling that sense of frustration and antagonism bubbling up whenever the little bunny shows her any kind of understanding. She can’t help but hold onto the anger. Only now does she realize it isn’t pointed at the girl walking in lockstep with her. 

“Stop,” W forces her attention back to the task at hand, “This is the spot.”

Attaching herself to the comfort of familiarity, W scans the two sides of the passageway with her sharp amber eyes. Despite the fact she is no architect, engineer, or geologist, she can always pinpoint the weaknesses in any structure, both natural and man-made. She can feel the exact location where attaching or throwing explosives will create a disorderly cavalcade of debris right where she needs them to be. 

She thrives in the chaos and the uncertainty of detonating a satchel of D12, like she is connected to them. They always create the result she envisions. She can see it now, the four locations climbing up the sides of the ravines where the charges could be attached to create a blockade. Tall enough to prevent a platoon of mercenaries from climbing over it in a manageable amount of time, and wide enough that digging through it would result in much the same conclusion. 

She looks at the satchel bag at her side. She’ll need to place these three grenades on the ground in front of where the boulders would fall, string them up with tripwire, cover it all in a nice layer of dust, and wrap the pull cord around her index finger. A contingency in case talking to the mercs leading the pack doesn’t work out. She tells herself it’s only a last resort, repressing her instinct telling her how fun it will be to play with her food before blowing it up anyways. As she looks back, making eye contact with Amiya, she sees the growing wave of concern in her eyes. Before she can address it, Provence breaks the wall of dust permeating the narrows, arms laden with satchels of C6 explosives. 

W finds her worries are much easier to ignore with such appealing work laid in front of her, “Good, give me four, I’ll attach them and prime them for detonation. Stuff the other two in the satchel and take it with you.”

“Don’t you want help?” Provence probes. 

W, already setting the primer on the first satchel out of the lupo’s hands, doesn’t look up as she responds, “If I don’t do all of them, they won’t be right. You two can fall back and find a good spot to provide support. I can handle this.” 

As the two wander off, she begins climbing the sides of the valley. She zeroes in on those spots identified earlier like they’re all she can see. 

One, two, cross over, three, four. 

The satchels all go up and she slides the remote detonator into her waistband. She envisions the spot where the rubble will fall, taking three exaggerated steps forward, before kicking up dust. She sets the grenades on the ground in a row, carefully spooling tripwire from the ring she keeps in her skirt to each one in line before moving onto the next. She ensures there’s enough slack to allow her to wander a reasonably safe distance away from the epicenter of the explosion before cutting the end with a nail and tying it to her hand. She picks up handfuls of sand and spreads it over the whole area, making sure the impromptu mine field is undetectable to anybody but someone with her experience. The wind has hit gale force, even with the narrow passageway between the plateaus. W’s ears pick up the sound of disordered marching not far off. 

W leans against the left wall of the narrow, crossing her arms, emanating all the devilish non-chalantness she can, believing herself entirely in control of the upcoming altercation. She can tell the exact moment the lead mercenary spots her. Boots hit the ground hard, stopping on a dime, followed by a drum of successive stomps. She picks herself up off the wall of stone and strolls out to the center of the passageway, one arm hanging carefree at her side, the other crooked on her hip. 

“Like seeing a ghost, W.” the gruff voice of the lead sarkaz is layered with utter disbelief. 

W’s face shifts from condescending smile to pleasant surprise, “I'll be damned, you guys made it out of Lungmen, huh?” 

This should make things easy, W thinks to herself. 

“Not with any help from Reunion, at least. Heard they bit the dust. Thought you might have something to do with that.” The hulking man walks forward, and W remembers his name: Cyrnis. 

W shrugs, “Tried my hardest. Unfortunately I didn't get the satisfaction of finishing the job at the end of the day. Things were complicated.” 

Cyrnis shifts his weight as he stands opposite W, “Things always end up complicated until everyone's dead, isn't that something you said? Or has being with Rhodes Island softened you up already?” 

W’s face drops, “News spreads fast, even among a bunch of wandering good-for-nothings like you guys, huh?” 

“That make you good-for-something, now?” A few crass laughs pepper behind the towering sarkaz, and W curses her ears for being able to pick it out above the whistle of the storm winds. 

She groans, pinching her bridge with her offhand, “Can we not do this bullshit right now guys? If you know what my deal is, then you know I can cut you all a deal and get out of this Catastrophe.”

Cyrnis lifts his arm and rests his hand on the hilt of the sword at his side, “Let me guess: we promise to drop all our weapons and come with you like good devils to the folks who shot and killed Tiern, yeah?” 

“Shit.” This got a lot harder. 

“You know how this goes, W. As much as I’d love to, I ain’t just gonna let bygones be with the people who just killed my brother.”

W curses herself. She understands his anger, his resentment, his inability to let this go. In the past she even encouraged him to seek retribution for smaller injustices. But now she stands here to refuse him. 

She's so angry, and wishes she could just let him go and do what he wants. But in this moment, when it should be easiest to open that door and let that version of herself take control, she finds the handle stuck. As the wind lashes against her and the originium in the air makes her hair stand on end, she looks up with a solemn, steady gaze. W doesn't want to do this, but in equal measure she is unable to stop herself. Even though Provence threatened her, and is here because she doesn’t trust her, W still knows it would be another chip out of her soul, if she even has one, to let her old merc buddies through to seek their retribution. 

Like before, she can feel Amiya's eyes on her.

W steps forward, “Come on, I’m not asking you to forgive that, just work with me here. We can sort this out, Cyrnis.” 

Cyrnis is unmoved, “It works out when you decide to grow your spine back. You’re still gonna defend people who killed one of your own? We were members of your squad, once, W.” 

“You don’t gotta remind me, I know.” W feels a crack starting to form in her voice. 

“Then start. Acting like it.” The sarkaz’s hand curls around the handle of his sword. 

W thumbs the remote detonator tucked in the waistline of her skirt, “Don’t make me do this.”

“I knew it.” Steel flashes just as the words leave Cyrnis' mouth. 

The switch flips, the shockwave hits W as the rocks begin to fall, cutting off the rest of the line from Cyrnis’ charge. By the time the first rubble hits the ground, a sword is already in W’s face. A crossbow bolt forces him to lurch backwards, killing the swing he had started with his dominant hand. His undamaged arm reaches out, black streaks tearing through it as the hand grabs W’s neckline, dragging her forward. She knows she’s too close to the grenades now, but it’s better than being run through by a sword. She pulls hard on the trip wire string as a pang of regret stabs her instead. 

The roar is instant and thunderous. 

W wakes with a start. It’s dark, cold, and a sharp, acrid smell assaults her senses as consciousness floods back in. A hand is placed gently on her head, patting the antennae down. While confused, W can’t help but admit the pat sends a wave of calm through her whole body. She’s laid out, her head resting on something soft. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she looks up and sees a familiar set of blue eyes gazing warmly back at her. A spike of surprise and embarrassment shoots through her whole body like she’s struck by lightning. She bolts up, scooting a few inches away. 

“Welcome back, W. I’m glad you’re awake already.” Amiya is using that irritatingly gentle tone of voice.

“Can you not…” W holds a hand up as though she is keeping bright light from damaging her eyes. 

“Can I not…?” Amiya parrots quizzically.

W puts her hand down, “Nothing. What happened after I knocked myself out with my own damn blast?” 

Amiya tucks her legs back under her. W swallows as she realizes that’s where her head just was. 

Amiya’s hands clasp together, “Well, the one who attacked you didn’t make it out. Thankfully, besides some superficial wounds, the blast mostly just knocked you out. I’m not really sure how, though. It almost blew me off my feet from a few meters back.” 

W’s throat tightens as though someone is choking the life out of her. She reaches up and grinds her fingernails across it, digging into the skin, but finding no relief. 

“Yeah,” W’s voice is shaky as it ekes out of her, “I’m lucky like that.” 

“W….” Amiya is leaning over, threatening to move closer to the sarkaz woman, who can feel herself starting to lose grip on her composure, “Do you….need anything?” 

W’s eyes go wide, recoiling from the hand reaching out to her, “Don’t! Don’t touch me. Don’t use those powers on me, stay out of my head!” Her voice comes out in a panic, close to a shout. 

Amiya’s hand recoils, “I, I’m sorry, I can’t…..I’m not as in control of them as you might think. Your emotions right now…..are overwhelming, W. I’m sorry.” W can see tears flowing down the young girl’s cheeks. 

W looks at the little bunny, half strewn across the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, and all she can think about is how undignified Theresa’s successor looks at this moment. Were there ever any moments Her Majesty lost all bravado and face, weeping for herself or for others like this? W’s arms are wrapped tight around herself as she considers this question, concern for the girl in front of her and the grief for her recently deceased squad mate, at her hands, fade into the back of her mind. 

Amiya chokes a little, wiping her eyes, a small strand of snot trailing after her hand, “W, why are you thinking about her right now?” 

A pebble at the bottom of W’s heart stirs where it had been dropped a while back. She remembers seeing Amiya in the hallway, and feeling disappointment at the way she carried herself. She remembers that smile Amiya gave that made her shed a tear for one of the only times in her life. She remembers the relief she felt at seeing that note from her on her door. There are too many emotions swirling inside of W right now. She can quiet one or two, but there are dozens, filling her head and making her numb. Without really being conscious of it, she reaches a hand out and grabs Amiya’s. 

Amiya’s eyes, red, with fresh tears still welling at their corners, look up in surprise, “You - you don’t have to touch me, really, I’m okay-” 

“I don’t know who you are.” W whispers, before her waking mind fades along with the rest of her emotions. 

A long, quiet darkness passes over W. She feels her mind right itself, reconstructing walls, and setting things back in their proper, hidden places. The few minutes spent in the dark, dismal cave are like another bad dream in this state. Her mind lets go of it, just as it did the nightmare from this morning. It drifts away into the murky sea of her forgotten memories, filled with shrapnel and debris.

This time she wakes up feeling the sun on her skin. She’s being carried on a stretcher, swinging gently back and forth. Opening her eyes again, she sees a grey haired cautus in front of her. She blinks, looking up, seeing brown hair, tall ears, and deep blue eyes. The sun shines brightly in the center of the sky, making the little bunny’s face shine brightly from the angle W has on the stretcher. Her face is determined, if not pensive. 

“I can walk now, if you don’t mind.” W mumbles, waving a hand. 

She watches the little bunny’s eyes widen, quickly looking down at W with concern and surprise. 

Savage gives an exclamation as Amiya stops in place, causing her to almost lose her grip, “Hey, what’s the big idea?” 

W hops out of the stretcher, finding her balance as she goes. Her legs are a little unsteady, but she shakes them out to get feeling back. 

“W,” Amiya’s voice is thick with worry, “You really shouldn’t be up yet.” 

W turns her head, she sees Rhodes Island parked in the far distance, the retrieval truck not more than a dozen meters away from them. One of the land ships' helicopters thunders overhead as it makes its way back to its home. W has no way to know for sure at the moment, but she gets the feeling Kal’tsit is returning. Amiya has dropped the stretcher, putting on the sternest face she can while walking up to W. 

W stops her before she has a chance to chastise her, “Uh uh. How long have I been out?” 

Savage grabs the stretcher and folds the two rods together, “It’s been two days since you blew yourself up.” 

“And you’re not ready to walk yet-” 

W cuts the little bunny off, her tail sweeping back and forth, “Tell you what, you let me walk my ass back to the truck and I’ll let you make that cup of tea for me when we get back on the landship? Sound like a deal, bunny?” 

Amiya’s nose twitches, “I can tell you’re going to insist on being up, either way, so fine. We can get to know each other better that way.” 

W turns as Amiya walks by, perplexity written on her face, “What do you mean ‘get to know each other’? I’ve known you since you were half my height, little bunny.” 

She’s never used that tone with me before, W contemplates, I must have said something really stupid this time. 

Chapter Text

W sits with her eyelids half closed in the medical bay, the warm lights here a welcome departure from the unnatural, overbearing grip the flood lights have on the rest of the ship. Her leg twitches nervously up and down in the bed, eager for her opportunity to leave. The bed she has been reluctantly placed in sits at the end of a long row of eight other beds, in one of the wards tucked into the back of the medical bay. Warfarin must have wanted to make sure there would be lots of opportunities to be noticed on her way out if she tried for an early discharge. W tilts her head to the side to peer down the hall, focusing on the exit to the room. A shadow passes by the door. She turns her gaze back up on the ceiling, where a fan spins idly. Jailbreak would have to wait a little longer, once again. She thinks back to returning to Rhodes Island after the eventful retrieval of Provence’s Catastrophe messenger team to occupy her time and lament her frustration. 

The drive back had been so peaceful. W is certain there’s no better feeling in the world than the air fresh after a Catastrophe. The swirl of orginium blending together and catapulting itself, far, far into the sky leaves behind some of the only true fresh air on Terra. She stood up and leaned on the cabin the entire drive back, taking in as much of that sense of freedom as she could before stuffing herself back into the landship. Evidently, the presence of Provence and her team in the back of the truck kept Amiya from joining her this time. W seemed to be the only one to notice that her mood had soured a bit, those naturally perky ears slumped ever so slightly, even while twirling in the wind.

It would be a great topic of conversation to have over tea once they returned, but in one final defiant act of this wayward mission, things didn’t turn out as planned. 

As the truck made it up to the top of the ramp, the old hag was waiting for them. Kal’tsit had, indeed, just returned. One of those strange Abyssal Hunters was with her as well as a member of the Inquisition, which the feline bothered to painstakingly explain to Amiya as soon as she stepped off the truck. W had been listening closely, hoping for a moment where she could step in to explain that her and the little bunny had already made prior arrangements. However, she was rebuffed when Kal’tsit told her to report to Warfarin, storming off with Amiya in tow. Wondering how Amiya put up with being bossed around all the time, W sulked at her own lost opportunity. 

The last thing W wanted to do after enjoying the pleasure of a Catastrophe and nearly blowing herself up, was visit the medical bay. Warfarin seemed to sense the intent to avoid any and all doctors of Rhodes Island, and was there to snatch her up as soon as W passed the check point back into the land ship. W, smug after concealing the grenade she had picked off Provence’s team from the guards at the entrance, ran right into Warfarin without looking. The vampire grabbed a hold of the sarkaz and forced her to come to the medbay. She rattled on about some need to make sure there weren’t any lingering effects from being so close to such a large explosion. 

So here W laid for 24 hours, completely devoid of visitors, save for the occasional check in by Warfarin to make sure her vitals are stable. She managed a few hours of sleep in what felt like the middle of the night, but it's hard to tell in this place. Sleep ended up just being another one of those nightmares she’s trained herself to forget. All of the silence and waiting made her ruminate on the deal she had made with the little bunny before boarding the ship. Despite the fact Amiya had been unceremoniously torn away from her, W couldn’t help the dredges of guilt plaguing the back of her mind. She’s compelled to find the cautus and ensure she knows W still wants to see her obnoxiously rattle off each detail about making her a cup of tea. The anxiety accompanying her need to see her was enough to overwhelm W’s usual disdain for medical checkups, it was all she could focus on. 

Rhodes Island’s CEO is too busy for her own good. 

W flicks the end of her tail in irritation; her mind wants to surreptitiously lay blame for foregoing their deal at the feet of the little bunny. The woman rolls her eyes. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s clearly the old hag’s for running the poor girl ragged. Amiya’s excitement has never been so palpable as it was on the back of that truck. There is a desire bubbling within the sarkaz to pull her away from all the responsibility. That idea, just a mere flicker in the back of W’s mind, is tossed back and forth by the unforgiving gales of her psyche. The door at the end of the hallway swings open, the pressure in the room shifting as it does. Warfarin wanders in, reading a clipboard as she walks with purpose down to the single occupied bed, stopping at the foot.

“Okay, 24 hours, no abnormal brain signatures or signs of internal bleeding. I don’t understand how you survive these things, W.” An exasperated sigh escapes her lips as she hangs heer head at the end of the bed. 

“That mean I’m finally free to go?” W sits up, anticipation breaking past her boredom. 

Warfarin flips a page on her patient report, “Based on the details from Provence and Amiya, you should at least have had a concussion or some kind of hemorrhaging. I wish all of your checkups were this clean. You’re clear, for now. I couldn’t convince you to stay for more bloodwork on your infection, could I?” 

W grabs the edge of the bed and swings herself out of it, leveraging the momentum to propel herself a few feet forward. Time to skitter, “Not a snowball’s chance in hell, doc, see you never!” 

Warfarin shakes her head and puts a hand to her forehead as W leaves. 

She quickly traces the corridors out to the end of the medical wing, passing by another in-patient room where the injured members of Provence’s team lay. She peers through the rectangular window, seeing two figures in beds at the front of the room. She snickers to herself before moving on. Walking up to the set of double doors, she shoves them open with both of her arms and breathes in a fresh gasp of air. She sets her eyes on the corridor hallway directly in front of her, and is immensely disappointed to see Doctor Minerva standing off to her right hand side. 

“You again?” W groans, “Out of my way, you damn specter, I got places to be right now, I ain’t in the mood.” 

The hunched figure flinches ever so slightly, before that timid, reserved voice speaks up, “Sorry to interrupt you, W. I was just looking to give you something and Warfarin let me know you’d be getting discharged around this time.”

The Doctor hesitantly stands in front of W and holds out a new Identification Badge, “It just got approved by Field Operations this morning. After your performance with the Kazimierz border town and handling unforeseen situations in retrieving Provence’s Catastrophe Messenger team, it was decided you had earned a promotion. Your new badge has updated permissions in the system, and you’ll get an assignment on board Rhodes Island now between missions. Congratulations.” 

W stares blankly at the card and blinks, her eyes lingering between it and the Doctor for an uncomfortable heartbeat, expecting this to be some sort of practical joke. 

“Sorry we couldn’t be more ceremonious about it, but I figured you’d scoff if it were anything more than this,” The Doctor’s hand trembles slightly, “W….are you listening to me?” 

“Yeah, I’m listening. Didn’t think you’d be the one personally handing this to me, though. I’d much prefer to steal it when you weren’t looking than have it given so freely.” W snatches the ID out of her hand, flipping it over and inspecting it. 

It is a slightly glossier version of the ID card she already had. Additionally, it carries the moniker of “Elite Operator” written in bold white text next to the letter W. The woman stares at her “name” for a few moments before crooking her eyes back up towards the Doctor. As she clips the badge to her belt, W ponders what kind of assignment they might give her, and how much of a pain in the ass it's gonna be. 

“Whatcha got in mind for me, Doctor Minerva, gonna make me your personal bodyguard or something? Sure you could be comfortable with me watching over you while you sleep?” W’s voice hinges on excitement. 

The doctor’s hood bobs up and down in time with laughter, “No, nothing so grandiose, W. Kal’tsit and I both agree your years of practical experience in the field would apply most beneficially to the training regiments of sniper operators onboarding with Rhodes Island. Of course, you won’t be responsible for teaching basics, you have far too much acumen for that. We’ll get you to refine techniques and administer practice for more high level operators.”

W’s eyebrow twitches. It’s disarming to hear the Doctor heap any kind of praise on her. Much more than that, when she spoke about W’s aptitude, it is reminiscent of before. There are traces of that old “Doctor” in front of her, and she can feel her hand balling into a fist on instinct. The only way to stay calm is by looking away from the figure as she continues rambling. 

The Doctor shuffles the clipboard from under her arm and reads from it, “In fact, we just got a new batch of candidates in from Kazimierz. They hail from the Pinus Sylvestris knightclub! One of the knights, Fartooth, is going to be receiving a designation as a sniper operator, so we thought it may be a good idea to assign you to give her training on the nature of real combat. Knight duels are deadly affairs, for certain, but altogether different from the type of combat she’ll see as a Rhodes Island operator.” 

W’s grimace is visible now as she stares at the Doctor, emotion simmering behind her eyes. It’s a moment before W notices she’s thumbing the knife on her back. She takes a deep breath before responding, “Great, want me to baby sit one of these crazy knight kids, got it. When do I start?” 

The Doctor, appearing to sense the ever shifting plate of W’s mood, returns to a more timid voice, “Well, your first assignment will start tomorrow at 0700 in the firing range, room A01-3.”

“Fantastic,” W mumbles, moving past the Doctor, “can’t wait.” 

Great, more bullshit work to do. 

W can’t even muster enough energy to shoulder check her this time. She walks along the corridors, considering for a moment that she might want to stop by for her jacket before visiting the command room. She decides against it, wanting to get on the hunt to absolve her feelings of guilt as soon as possible. She does not like leaving things undone. Though, that’s rich coming from her, someone who has one of their pinnacle targets in front of her standing like a lost dog, still alive. It puts a smile on her face. She is just waiting for the right time - not leaving her retribution incomplete. 

It’s a small blessing that the medical wing and command room are both on the top level of Rhodes Island, it's a relatively straight shot through the hallways to get there. Only occasionally does W have to hook a left or a right in places where meeting rooms and operator dorms are dotted. Turning a corner and approaching her target, she runs into the Reserve Team A1 trio once again, talking in the hallway. 

Fang and Beagle give her a cautious look, but Kroos offers W a small smile and a wave. W shoots a wary look, and scoots by as quickly as possible. Turning another corner, she feels a small tug on her shirt. The sarkaz turns on her heel and glares at the one stopping her, coming face to face with the sleepy eyes of a cautus. 

“Is everyone in the mood to stop and talk to me today?” W says half to herself, “Really gotta work on my approachability.”

“No,” the girl says softly, “You always look in a bad mood, but you at least seemed better than the other day when we got back from our mission. Speaking of…”

Kroos produces a small camera from her jacket pocket, “I wanted to thank you that day for being such a good teammate. To be perfectly frank with you, I thought you might run at the first sign of trouble and leave me in a pinch. I’m always getting hurt on missions, so it was unusual to get ambushed and not even get a scratch on me!”

W’s face screws up in surprise and skepticism. 

She holds the camera out to the sarkaz, “So, to thank you for that, and to make up for thinkin’ so badly of you, I had Mayer dig one of these up from her spare parts bin and fix it up. Some of the old crew say you used to run around with a camera, so I thought it’d be a nice fit!” 

W cautiously grabs the camera out from the cautus’ hand. Sure enough, it’s almost the same model from the one she found and carried around on the landship when Her Majesty still walked upon it. Graciously flicking the power button, the camera comes to life, and its viewfinder lights up with Kroos in the center, who wears a faint smile. W can’t help but feel all the bunnies on this ship are too nice to her. 

“Well…” W pauses, her kindness is disused, “Thanks, then. Kroos. I’ll get some use out of this.”

She laces the strap of the camera around her wrist and gives it a twirl. It’s almost the same weight and heft as her detonator, which she misses dearly. When W looks back up, Kroos has already wandered back over to the other two, and they seem intent on heading off somewhere else in the landship. She watches the group begin to walk away, talking about the next planning meeting for an upcoming operation, and twinges a bit as she thinks about the companionship with her old mercenary squad. The hand holding the camera clutches it tighter, the plastic and glass straining under her powerful grip with a groan.

She forces herself to let go before the new gift breaks, and raises her head, “And hey, if you guys ever need anyone to keep your sorry asses from getting killed again, you know where to find me!” 

After shouting, W turns and races towards her destination before the untimely, but not altogether unpleasant, distraction. The strain on her heart from attempting to reciprocate kindness is reminiscent of the sensation before flipping the switch on ten pounds of explosives. She holds the camera in both of her hands while approaching the command room, wishing she could retrieve the pictures from the previous one she had. Where did that thing even get to? Perhaps it's better to consider it later. There is a perfectly good use for this new one standing just beyond those double doors. 

She pushes the doors to the command room open to reveal a flurry of activity. W wastes no time locating her mark, and sees the central command platform where a young cautus girl in a black and blue jacket stands next to a feline in a green and white dress. The camera, still on, is brought up to eye level, and she zeroes in on the little bunny. If it were a rifle scope, it would be a kill shot. 

A burning sensation touches W’s cheeks, and she suddenly realizes what she’s doing. She yanks her arm down hastily, peering straight down at the ground, and hurries to her usual spot leaning against the wall next to one of the spare work stations on the raised platform overlooking the deck. That burning sensation now caresses the entirety of her face. She takes a few moments to collect herself, turning over the feeling in her mind, and assuring herself it's just the ghost of a memory.

After a few disquieting moments, the hustle of the room tuning out, she finally gathers the wherewithal to look up again. The noise returns at once as she sees the little bunny receiving a report from one of the control room staff. She nods her head every so often at the informant, her attention undivided. The staff member leaves, and Kal’tsit points to something on the central monitor. Amiya looks at her with a serious expression as she listens intently to the words of the old hag. W is naturally curious about where Rhodes Island will be going next, but she can’t shake her itchy trigger finger. While Amiya’s face is still in view, she fixes the camera’s sights back on her. 

In an instant, there is a click, and the picture is saved.

Amiya turns to look at a point on some map the old hag’s finger directs her to, but a different set of eyes stare back at W. Cold green ones, analytical and observant. They stare daggers directly into W as they sharpen to a point. W has done something she knows she can’t undo, and the worst person imaginable just saw her do it. Fuck it, time to throw caution to the wind. She gifts Kal’tsit a devilish grin, tilting the camera up and waving it as though she’s saying hello. The feline has an imperceptible frown. Most other operators on Rhodes Island might never notice the change, some of the more experienced ones might be able to feel the shift, but W knows that is the look of genuine rage. 

Despite the anger Kal’tsit must be feeling at W’s trickery, according to her, she simply turns back around and resumes her duties. W continues to watch, occasionally flicking the camera on to look at the only picture on it. She studies the screen containing the stern expression of the little bunny’s face. It’s so different from the carefree, almost effortless way Theresa looked when W took a picture of her. It was as though Her Majesty was teasing her about something, and W had spent so much time since then wondering what that was. She felt the same feeling when Amiya giggled in the back of the truck after W had kept her from falling out. 

Of course, there were moments when Theresa had looked determined, but the expressions are the only similarities Amiya could hope to share. Theresa carried her convictions and ambitions with such grace, it made everything she did look weightless. That’s how W felt snapping that photograph, and when Her Majesty offered her spiriting words of encouragement. Looking up, W can’t help but think about how Amiya flails about all the time, constantly behind on all the work she needs to do. She’s inelegant, faltering, even insufficient at times. All the same, W finds herself painting the silhouette of the late King of Sarkaz over that little bunny from time to time. It happens again now, as Amiya squares her shoulders and belts out a command to change Rhodes Island’s direction. W squints and rubs her eyes, trying to erase the comparison she, herself, has invited. 

You must really be out of your mind this time, W chastises herself, as though I’m not always in the process of losing it. 

Time carries on and the afternoon winds away aboard Rhodes Island. W is unmoving from her position watching the command room operate. Well, watching one person operate the command room. Eventually, Closure pouches the door to the room open. She pauses to survey the space, a look of disgruntlement washing over her upon spotting W. W waves, but the vampire stomps off before seeing it, tapping Amiya on the shoulder and handing her a data pad. Kal’tsit turns to the cautus and says something, before gesturing to the exit doors. Amiya nods her head and turns to step down the walkway leading to the exit of the command room. W, almost lost in her thoughts of how to get back at Closure for always brushing her off, nearly misses her opportunity to step up and intercept Amiya. Quickening her pace, W manages to catch her just as she was putting her hands on the door to leave. 

“Hey! Little bunny!” W’s voice came out a little stifled from needing to get her attention.

The cautus stops dead in her tracks, blue eyes lighting up as they throw their gaze over the sarkaz woman, “W! They released you from the medical bay, excellent! Are you feeling better?” 

W swings her arm around and does a quick stretch back and forth with it, “Yeah, healthy as ever now.” 

Amiya smiles, warm and gentle, and crooks her head as she does so, “I’m glad to hear. I was so worried about you when we got back to the cave after you were wounded.” 

A suppressed memory tickles the back of W’s head, and her reluctance to reveal it pushes her to say something she wishes the little bunny would bring up, “Yeah, so, I wanted to ask about getting that help with the tea-”

Amiya frowns and looks away, “Oh, right, we did say that…..I’m sorry W, but Kal’tsit says we need to move Rhodes Island and there’s a number of operations that need my attention planning and sorting logistics for. I actually needed to be in a meeting with some representatives of Karlan Trade five minutes ago…” 

A pained wince is clear on the face of the cautus girl. A sinking feeling begins in W’s chest and tears its way through her, like a dumbbell has just been dropped directly on her stomach. 

Taking a moment, she glances back at the old hag still standing in the center of the command room, looking nonchalant and mysterious as she always does. W flings a silent curse at her. Returning her attention, W finds the little bunny is tapping her foot. Right… she’s keeping the CEO from her duties. The sarkaz woman briefly considers that it would be appropriate to let the little bunny go. However, she recalls that picture she took, and how she must already be on the old hag’s bad side. Might as well get something else out of today if she’s going to be getting shit for it later. The sinking feeling hits the pit of her gut, bounces back, and transforms into opportunism. 

“Then at the very least,” W kicks the doors to the command room open, and they rattle loudly, “Let’s walk and talk.”

W flourishes her arms, satisfied with how many eyes turn and look at her this time. Amiya blushes as W ushers her through. Kal’tsit’s aggravated gaze burns the back of W’s head until the last moment the doors close, causing Amiya’s ears to flick as they are left alone in the halfway. 

She is safe from the feline’s ire, for now. 

With her rogueness properly expunged, W strides confidently next to Amiya. Hands behind her head, she walks with a small swagger as the little bunny paces nervously next to her, hands clasped near her waist. Red horns teeter as W leans her head over, taking another peak at the young cautus’ face, finding that it is still flushed red on the top of her cheeks.

“Not that embarrassed about me making a show back there, are ya?” W teases. 

Amiya glances up at W, hesitance swirling in her eyes, “You must enjoy being the center of attention, W.”

The sarkaz woman waves a hand, “Nah, just like giving hardasses like that old hag a hard time, and man are there no shortage of hardasses in this place.” 

The little bunny takes up a reproachful tone, “I think Kal’tsit works hard to make sure everyone on Rhodes Island is safe, including you W. Her demeanor is the result of how seriously she takes that.”

“She takes it seriously alright,” W lowers her arms, “But at least I’ve heard that shameless Doctor laugh. Doesn’t it kinda freak you out that you’ve never heard her laugh?” 

Amiya sobers up instantly, “Kal’tsit must carry a lot of grief and regret with her, I imagine her ability to laugh is awfully limited because of that.”

The little bunny is quiet for a few moments as the steps of the two girls echo off the empty halls of Rhodes Island. W’s braggadociousness is beginning to bleed away into regret as the silence permeates. 

Amiya suddenly speaks again, “What about you, W? Have you ever heard Kal’tsit laugh?” Amiya looks at her with genuine curiosity. 

W would never normally dredge up old memories of the hag, both due to the pain of having to think of her lost time in Babel, and because it might make her feel sympathy for the woman again. She can’t let the anger she feels for Kal’tsit’s complicitness in the Doctor walking around guilt free simmer down. However, at Amiya’s beckoning, she finds it hard to resist the question presented to her. 

W recounts the only time she can remember, “Once, after a mission back into territory surrounding Kazdel, Her Majesty was in a particularly good mood. She had decided to get some of the staff in the kitchen to scrounge up a cake for a job well done.” 

The amber eyes of the sarkaz woman soften as they peer through the mirror of her mind, “That ‘old’ Doctor was completely against it and skipped out on the celebrations entirely. It ended up just being me, half the squad, the old hag, and Her Majesty. Halfway through the party, that study bitch wanted another slice, but Theresa offered to get it for her. She cut the slice, and as she was going to put it on the plate, she threw it right into one of the other operators' laps by accident.”

W can’t help but chuckle retelling the story, “Everyone else cracked up besides the guy who had cake in his lap, even the old hag. It was a high pitched laugh, kinda shrill, now that I think back on it.” 

While it can’t be seen by the woman currently lost in thought, Amiya’s face is warm with a soft gentle smile, “Was the cake good?”

A sense of nostalgia overwhelms W as she thinks about the flavor of the cake, “Yeah, it was one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”

Amiya stops in front of a meeting room, and W halts a step after her, turning to face her after snapping out of the daydream. At the smile on the cautus’ face, she feels the warmth from it in her heart for the first time. 

The young girl speaks in that affectionate tone, lighting W’s ears up once again, “I hear cake goes really well with tea. We’ll have to make that soon, too.”

As much as she is loath to let it, W can not stop the crooked smile spreading across her face, “Any idea when you’ll be free for that, precious CEO?” 

An exhausted sigh escapes Amiya’s lips as she looks at W with a silent weariness. The taller woman is acutely aware of how haggard the girl before her looks. She barely resists that earlier temptation to grab her and force her into bed. As though responding to her desire, the little bunny reaches out a hand to W. The sarkaz goes to grab it, and hesitates for a moment, looking the cautus in her eyes, those deep swirls of dark blue.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready,” Amiya smiles, not quite fully, “I’ll find time, W. Maybe…..this weekend?” She is as quick to cover her beleaguered state as W is to shield her emotions. 

She wishes she could grab it, to feel the tender touch of Amiya’s hand against hers, but fear seizes her up. The arm is still pinned to her side, stuck there under a weight that cannot be measured. She hopes Amiya doesn’t think less of her for not being able to return the gesture, because W can do it enough for the both of them in this moment. The fight in her head to move the hand, even an inch, is lost as quickly as she starts it. The least she can do is answer the girl.

W almost chokes on her words, “I’ll be looking forward to it, then, little bunny.”

Amiya retracts her hand and turns around, grabbing the handle of the door to the meeting room. The handle clicks. Amiya pushes forward, stops, and turns back, offering a smile W has come to associate with their conversations. W’s hand manages to move now, the camera in it snapping the moment. Amiya jolts in surprise, eyes wide. W waves the camera and smiles back, her muscles straining for a feature she almost never uses. She feels weightless. 

“Good luck in there, CEO.” W hums.

Chapter Text

A bolt lodges in a target far down range at the Rhodes Island sniper training facility. 

W groans, “Your shots are clean but you really need to cool it with the panache.” 

Today was the second day of Fartooth’s training assigned to W by Doctor Minerva herself. The first day, W showed up half an hour late and got the woman to show her what she could do in a sparring match. The Kazimierz knight is flashy and quick, but all her parlor tricks in a fight serve as nothing more than a smoke screen for W to blow away. The knight has raw skill and an undeniable willpower, but her form and technique will require a lot of refinement to be of use in a high level operation. However, W did find a modicum of enjoyment in getting her blood pumping again amongst her mundane life on Rhodes Island. She began to think being an instructor may not be all that bad. That is, until she had to start critiquing Fartooth’s shooting. 

The ashen haired liberi, donned foot to feather in gaudy knight armor, lowers her custom crossbow and sighs, frustrated, “I’m really not sure how my ‘panache’ has anything to do with my ability to hit targets on a real battlefield.” 

The sarkaz’s eyes dart to the bolt lodged dead in the center mass of the outline of the target, “Combat - real combat, none of that fancy knight stuff - is dynamic, explosive, messy. You make way too much of a show of flinging that thing around and lining up your shots. Just shoot the damn thing.” 

W leans against the stall of the firing range, her arm above her head, hand splayed while impressing the importance of practicality in shooting demeanor. While this one may not be as haughty as Nearl, she still carries all the flashiness of one of those Kazimierz knights that W loathes. She flourishes her weapon when she draws it, makes sure her movements pulling the string and notching her bolt are exaggerated. Too many little things she’s picked up from having to be entertaining as well as deadly. 

It’s the kind of thing that would get you killed in a single skirmish with any mercenary worth their weight in salt. If they were fighting to the death yesterday, W would have killed her in all ten bouts. Even her weapon: a slim, hand made crossbow with an added tether that can be linked to a loaded bolt, is uniquely indicative of her peculiar combat style. 

Fartooth plucks another bolt from her quiver, drawing a long arc with her arm as she slots it into her weapon. 

“See, there,” W moves forward, grabbing the underside of the crossbow in Fartooth’s hands, “You don’t need to draw it like that, just pull your arm up, not around.” 

The liberi reflexively yanks her arms to release W’s grip, “I get the feeling you’ve never actually seen me use this in a duel, I draw it like that in case I need to use the bolt to stab if they rush me.” 

W pinches the bridge of her nose, “Listen, you provide support for other operators. If you're getting rushed in combat, things have already gone terribly wrong, you need more than that to defend yourself. Plus, you really need to work on your hand-to-hand, if yesterday is anything to go by” 

She reaches behind her, and grabs her knife from its hidden sheath, “You need something like this, at least. For you, though, I don’t imagine a sword would look too out of place.” W smiles mischievously as she brandishes it in the most carefully careless way she can.  

Fartooth frowns at the knife and sets her weapon down, “Can we take a break for now, then? Maybe I can dig up a sword or something, in the meantime. Then we can spar again.” 

W shrugs, “I’m not your boss, I’m just supposed to tell you how things work here. Always down for kicking your ass, though”

From the way the woman silently departs it’s obvious she’s just as disappointed in her instructor as W is in her trainee. A heavy sigh escapes the sarkaz’s lips; is she really cut out for this teaching business? While not directly responsible for instructing them, she has seen a number of new recruits onboard the landship in the last week since the Doctor and Kal’tsit returned from their missions. They all seem like the naive, hopeful sort. She wonders to herself how far along Rhodes Island can get if they have to spend so much time catching every fresh blood up to speed on the brutality of conflict. The door to the end of the range closes shut with a click of its latch as Fartooth leaves. W sheaths her knife and meanders over to the row of chairs at the back of the shooting stalls and sits down. 

Babel had been different. Operators had been plentiful, all coming from hard walks of life, strengthened by Theresa’s resolve and pushed forward by the harshness of war. Even with all of that, it still fell. 

This new Rhodes Island was somehow even softer, even kinder, than Babel was. It must be due to the harmonious cautus leading the place now. She is far kinder than she is resolute. The thought that Amiya may, one day, also be betrayed by the specter of the Doctor worms its way into the back of her mind. She thinks of Theresa, and once again the sensation of the pain and brutality of her last moments dances in W’s mind. She clenches her hand as though something is about to fall out of her grip. She is always on the verge of remembering everything she lost. Being on Rhodes Island doesn’t feel like getting it back anymore, it feels like having the wound reopened. 

The door opening to the firing range snaps W out of her head, almost mercifully so. As she sulks in her own recollected misery, a shadow casts over her sitting in the chair, legs spread, arms hanging limply between them. She perks an eye up and annoyance hits her as she sees Kal’tsit and that pet lupo of hers: Projekt Red. 

Kal’tsit looks at her with her trademark expression of disinterest, “W, your presence is required in the armory. Certain concerns have been raised about one of your weapons and your testimony is necessary to come to a proper judgement about how to handle it.”

W hangs her head, sighing, before standing up languidly, “If that damn Minoan is complaining about how I treat my weapons again, I’m gonna rip her other horn off.” 

The lupo in the red jacket growls instinctively. Kalt’sit puts her hand up and stares straight through the sarkaz woman, “Please do not make this more difficult with provocations and threats of violence, W.” 

W smiles, “That why you brought your little guard dog? Afraid I might start a fight?” 

“I am a wolf. Not a dog.” she snarls.

W opens her mouth but is met with the old hag's most serious face. Images of the command room the day before yesterday flash in W’s mind. She relents, however reluctantly, and follows the feline out of the door. The lupo takes a position uncomfortably close to W’s back, in her blind spot. W slowly becomes more unsettled as the trio make their way to the armory. 

This kind of security should be unnecessary, even for her. 

She has been on her best behavior ever since returning from her first deployment. Well, good behavior for W. As they all pile into the elevator to take them up to the third floor, the fierce yellow eyes of the guard wolf burrow into W, and her wariness rises alongside the elevator. 

Kal’tsit steps out first, but W stays in place, testing the extent of this little precaution the old hag has set on her as she stares down Red. After several moments of a tense standoff, Kalt’sit calls for W. The sarkaz peels herself off the wall and keeps her eyes squarely on the other woman while making her way out. In the hallway, W feels her creep up like a shadow again, and focuses her attention on making it to the armory door without losing her cool. She feels like a caged animal. The old hag scans her ID at the armory door and leads W inside. 

“You can stay watch out here, Red, Amiya should come by soon to help mediate.” The feline says as W walks in. 

W’s antenna twitches at the mention of Amiya. While she feels a certain ripple of excitement pulse through her, the mention of the little bunny needing to be here intensifies the uneasiness. The old hag would only bring her in if there was a real chance things were going to go poorly. Hairs on W’s arm stand up as she fully readies her fight or flight response. For W, though, it’s closer to a fight or kill response. 

The armory is fully lit up and empty, except for two figures standing in the far lefthand corner from where W walks in. She turns to face them and sees the sarkaz Meteorite, standing tall with her long blonde hair and sharp eyes. Next to her stands a man W has never seen before. 

She immediately recognizes the halo hovering slightly above his head and the wings behind him as he turns to face the new visitors, white overcoat shifting as he does. He wears a serious expression, though the specific emotion behind it is unreadable. Looking next to him, W sees her favorite rifle sitting on the work bench between the sarkaz and the sankta. Well shit, now everything clicked into place as to why she’d been summoned. 

Kal’tsit brushes past where W is rooted to the floor, palms clamming up and eyes sharpening, “W, Executor here has raised a potential concern about your firearm possibly being a Guardian Gun, would you care to enlighten us as to the truth of that question?” 

As W concocts a believable response, Executor beats her to the punch, “With respect, Chief Medical Officer Kal’tsit, I have confirmed its status as a Guardian Gun and would like to inquire over the nature of its acquisition, as that helps direct the course of action to follow up with.” 

Kal’tsit bites back, “I appreciate your dutifulness in this manner, Executor, but please, leave Laterano legal concerns back with Notarial Hall for the time being. On this landship, we will resolve things as Rhodes Island does. Please let W respond.” 

Her mouth is dry, and Kalt’sit’s unusually candid response leaves her stuck between the lie she had slapped together and the truth. She had been certain the old hag would have immediately thrown her under the bus considering the stunt she pulled with the little bunny in the control room less than 48 hours ago. Her fairness leads W to believe telling the truth may not be the worst option in this situation. 

Hope I’m not making a big mistake trusting the old hag…

W clears her throat, “Yeah, it’s a Guardian Gun alright. What’s it to ya?” 

The sankta’s face remains unchanged as his body shifts to face her directly, assuming a threatening stance, “Then you will have to be charged with unlawful possession of a Guardian Gun outside of Notarial Hall regulations, subject to tribunal. The next step is determining the extent of the crime beyond illegal ownership. Promptly disclose the manner of how you came into possession of this weapon.” 

Meteorite takes a step back, also sensing the open hostility the sankta regards W with, and Kal’tsit puts a hand up, “Once again, Executor, while you are here on behalf of Notarial Hall and carry prerequisite duties associated with the sankta aboard Rhodes Island, you do not have permission to enforce their regulations and punishments aboard this landship. Do I make myself clear?” 

W, feeling as though she has the advantage, is quick to let it go to her head, “Where do you think a sarkaz ‘comes into possession’ of a Guardian Gun? I just picked it up off the side of the road?” W crosses her arms and shoots Executor her most carefree smile, “My old merc group used to raid supply convoys outside of Laterano all the time. We all got Guardian Guns as trophies of those hard fought victories.” 

The pale light of the fluorescent armory flashes on Executor’s halo as he moves to stand in front of W, only a hair’s breadth separating them, “Stealing a Guardian Gun is already a considerable crime as it is, yet you also admit to killing the sankta owner of this weapon, as well as making unsanctioned modifications to it?” 

“Executor.” Kal’tsit’s voice is stern, “Step away from W.” 

W tilts her head back, she will not be intimidated by this sankta, “Yeah, not like anyone would ever get in trouble if those very same sankta killed me. No one would stand around and demand answers if I had gotten torn to bits by that gun. I bet you the sanctimonious bastard that rifle belonged to wouldn’t have even remembered what I looked like by the time he got back to your shining shit city.” 

Executor moves fast, but Mon3tr moves faster. 

A flash of green. W’s heart jumps as black talons, glowing faint green, stop between her and the sankta. Executor’s fist found purchase in Mon3tr’s left claw, while its right one pushed W back, almost knocking her off her feet. Adrenaline kicks in as W gazes up at the jagged creature in its entirety, its craned neck and alien eyes staring back at her. A bead of sweat runs down her cheek and drips off her chin. The urge to run as far away as she can is overwhelming.

“Executor, stand down.” Kal’tsit raises her voice, exuding a commanding authority.

The door to the armory opens as a small cautus walks in, an ashen lupo just behind her. As W’s eyes shift to look at the little bunny, the mechanical latching of a gun cocking is heard. W snaps her head back, seeing a lever action shotgun in the sankta’s hands, pointing square between her eyes. 

“You will relinquish the Guardian Gun immediately and are subject to the maximum allowable punishment I can administer as an Executor of the Notarial Hall, devil of Rhodes Island.” Executor demands. 

W’s adrenaline mixes with her excitement at having a sankta’s weapon pointed at her again, his ludicrous demands causing her twisted mercenary facade to overwhelm her. It lingers just below the surface of her consciousness for a moment, held back by the inhibition of letting Amiya see too much of that side of herself, but it is only a temporary restraint. She lunges at Executor, her hand reaching for his muzzle. A loud crack reverberates throughout the armory, echoes bouncing off the wall in a discordant chorus. W’s ears ring sharply as she wrestles for control over the weapon in the sankta’s hands. Within a second, Executor and W are once again tossed in opposite directions by Mon3tr. Executor hits the far wall, while W is thrown completely onto her back. She slams hard into the ground, the breath knocking out of her. A final string breaks in the recesses of her mind. 

“Red, restrain Executor. W, have you lost your-” Kal’tsit stops, having cast her gaze onto W and hesitating. 

A pin hits the floor. An originium grenade, pilfered from Provence’s Catastrophe messenger team, is held tight in W’s grasp. The old version of W explodes to the surface, aided by adrenaline. What little sanity W has is gone. 

She holds the lever down while standing up, the grenade acting as a dead man’s switch. The room goes dead silent as all eyes lock onto the explosive held in the sarkaz woman’s left hand. Her eyes are wide, taking in the scene of the armory, a malicious smile back on her face. Executor sits slumped against the wall, his weapon thrown a few feet from him. Meteorite stands still at the end of the work bench wearing a grim expression. Kal’tsit is only a few paces in front of her, a hint of surprise on her face. Mon3tr stands the closest between W and her weapon, crackles emanating from it as it coldly stares at the sarkaz. She can feel the presence of Amiya and Red behind her, one cautious, the other apprehensive. 

Amiya is the only one to speak, “W, what are you doing?” Her voice pleading.

W feels the pull of the little bunny’s voice, but shrugs it off, her breathing haggard as she walks quietly past Mon3tr, “I’m getting my damn rifle, leaving, and no one is following me, understood?” 

She keeps her body pointed towards the crackling and growling monstrosity as she bumps into the work bench. With her right hand she grabs the barrel of her rifle, sliding it off to clutch it close to her chest. She maintains eye contact with Kal’tsit while inching closer to the armory exit. Beneath the feline’s icy layer of apprehension, a well of disappointment is visible. Her heart drums in pain as well as exhilaration as she steps past Amiya, careful to avoid meeting her gaze, lest her resolve weaken anymore. She pushes the door open with her back, stepping quickly to the side, before kicking the door shut as hard as she can, folding it in the middle. W turns down the hall and runs faster than she ever has, rifle in one hand, grenade in the other. She can hear the door being thrown against the hallway as she turns the corner. 

She keeps running, her adrenaline still at full tilt, blood pumping in her ears, the world around her drowning out from the pulses she can hear inside her own head. She takes a left, a right, another right, then keeps going through several intersections in the corridors of the landship. She passes team A1, all of them mystified as she passes by in a blur. Breath burns up in her throat as she heaves, sucking in the warm air. She makes it to the access door she was searching for. Hastily, she slings her rifle onto her shoulder, scrambling to fish the ID out of her left breast pocket. The ID falls to the floor, and she hears sounds of approaching footsteps around a corner to her right. She picks it up and quickly scans it against the access door panel, and the light goes green. She pushes it open with her shoulder, rolling around the edge of the door, and leans against it to shut it quickly. 

W hears the footsteps approach and leave the access door. She slowly slides down, coming to a resting position with her knees propped against her. She drops the rifle at her side and almost does the same with the grenade before she realizes how crucial of a mistake that would be. Having reached the exterior of the landship, she gazes out over the wastes traveling by at considerable speed. Dots of taupe hills and pitch black originium spires roll by as the landship barrels forward. W is suddenly aware of the wind buffeting her and cooling her down. Minutes tick by and the adrenaline slowly leaves her as she sits here and recollects her thoughts. She looks at her left hand as sense returns to her. 

Great, now I have a live grenade in my hand. 

The back of her head smacks against the door. 

Not even my biggest fucking problem right now.

The intensity of the moment brought her maniacal side out, and she knows she over reacted. Something about being on this landship, cooped up all the time except for two missions, has made her stir crazy. She was all too eager to take the most drastic option when she should have otherwise been cool headed. She thinks back to how relaxed she was to breathe the fresh air of the low hills in Kazimierz. The freedom of running headlong into an oncoming Catastrophe, with all of the unknowns and uncertainties that it comes with. It reminds her of her mercenary days. As though they are already behind her. 

She stands up, pushing herself against the door to raise herself up without using her arms. She takes a heavy step forward and leans onto the black guard rail, the hand holding the grenade resting over the side. She thinks back to flipping the switch on the detonator with Cyrnis charging straight at her and can’t help but wonder if the rest of his group, one of her old squads, managed to survive the Catastrophe within the narrows of the twin plateau. She chastises herself for not being a better commander. She should have been able to connect with them better, to talk them down from their anger and rage. A burrowing sense of insufficiency claws its way back into her chest now, having stirred up from that shit storm she just caused back there.

She wonders how disappointed Amiya is in her. 

At that moment, the door latches, and slowly swings open. W flips around, holding the hand with the grenade in it up, threateningly. 

Long, brown ears poke out, followed by worried blue eyes. Amiya peers back inside for a moment, then slips out onto the exterior walkway completely. W slowly lowers the grenade and the two eyes meet. Avoid it as she may, W cannot resist the pull of those sorrowful, compassionate eyes this time. The little bunny walks up to the railing and leans on it, as W had done a moment earlier. Apprehensive, W turns around again and resumes her previous stance. Minutes pass in silence as the two sit there, until W’s heart beat calms once again. This is a conversation just for them, is what Amiya is telling her.

The wells of guilt and frustration build up in her, W knows she should apologize, “I’m sorry about that.” She says roughly, breaking the quiet.

“I know.” Amiya responds calmly.

The casual, almost clipped, response is like a slap. W would never tell anyone else she was sorry, and it’s like the bunny has just thrown it back in her face, “Can you please not make this harder for me than it already is?” W turns to face the young cautus. 

As she does, she sees a war between sympathy and anger swirling in Amiya’s eyes. At the moment anger appears to be winning and W feels a stir of emotions well up inside her. Sharp regret through her heart and heavy guilt in her stomach. It makes her want to give into her rage more. Her tail whips back and forth wildly as she contemplates letting her frustration out.

W’s face contorts with grief, the situation is already getting away from her, “I know you’re mad at me, I’m mad at myself. That was a dumb fucking thing to do, but you have to admit that asshole deserved it.”

Amiya sounds distant, as though she is speaking from somewhere, far away, “Executor was out of line, from what I saw. But you don’t have to be so explosive-”

Her words hit a wall as she eyes the primed grenade in W’s hand, “So incendiary, W.” 

A twisted laugh comes from W, starting out deep in her gut, “That’s real funny, bunny. That’s kinda my thing, you know?”

The cautus stares at her with cold eyes, “W, this is not a joke.”

W smirks, “And I’m taking it seriously. I meant what I said, no one would have given a shit if I died and someone took my horns as a trophy. Would you even care if you saw them hanging on some sankta’s walls?”

A sorry, sorrowful look casts a shadow across Amiya’s expression, “Of course I would care, that would be wrong, too.”

Biting her tongue, W feels the sting of the implication in Amiya’s statement and doubles down, “I don’t really give a shit if it was wrong, he had it coming.”

Amiya’s hand slides down the railing towards W, and the woman feels tension build in her, “You were in a state of survival, weren’t you? I don’t think that’s the person you are, not really.”

Indignation swells in W’s throat, “What makes you so sure? You don’t know me, bunny, and I don’t know you.”

I don’t know you.

A flash of memories. Amiya sprawled out, crying. A void between the two girls. W tells her something. She is caught between a bad dream and a rotten memory. She feels a ripple of pain start above her right eye, and it drives straight through her to the back of her head. Her thoughts spiral in pain and confusion. She pulls her head up, hoping a change in elevation will create relief. The movement makes it worse, and now, she is looking straight into the eyes of a passionate cautus. There is conflict within those bright, blue eyes. 

She takes a breath, “I do know some things, W. Kroos told me about how you looked out for her on your mission together. In that passageway, you truly wanted to help your comrades, even if it didn’t work out. Savage talked to me about how much you used to do around Rhodes Island. I don’t think the you that pulled that grenade out is the real you.”

W’s brain is too beleaguered to process what Amiya is saying, the words passing through her mind like boots through puff mud. Those amber eyes look back down, her overworked mind rolling like a stone in her head, the pressure shifting to the front. She stares at the grenade in her hand, and she can’t help but feel an impulse to let go of the lever. Slowly, gently, another pair of hands enter her vision, ten shining turquoise rings on them. The hands carefully wrap around the explosive, and the pin is cautiously inserted back into it. They clasp around W’s hand for a moment, before letting go. Like a vice grip breaking, W lets go of the grenade, and it thunks to the floor, rolling off the landship. Her hand is cramped. 

“I’m not what you think I am, there’s no fixing me at this point. I’m not going to satisfy that savior complex of yours.” W flexes her hand, squeezing and relaxing it, trying to get the pins to go away.

Amiya’s ears twitch and flatten a moment, “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you’re as unsalvageable as you say you are. You’re more than-”

“And how would you know that?” W snaps, “I’ve told you before to stay out of my damn head. Just because you’ve rooted around in there doesn’t mean you know shit.”

“If that had been me taking the weapon away, would I deserve to have a grenade thrown at me too?” The little bunny shot back. 

W’s mouth went dry, “Yes.” She answers before her brain has a chance to catch up, “No - I don’t know!” As the word barrels from her mouth, the regret is instantaneous.

“W, please, I want to help, just be honest with me. I thought after everything with the Catastrophe messenger team, in the cave, we could trust each other more….” Amiya’s voice trails off. 

A loud ringing noise blasts in W’s ears, her headache from earlier is now a full blown migraine. Anxiety grips W’s throat, a sense memory overwhelming her. She reaches up to where the feeling is to dig her fingers in, to pull the sensation out with her nails. She recalls the acrid, wet cave, the sound of crying, a disquieting statement, and a motionless discomposition. That fear spreads from her throat, where she can’t tear it out, up to her chin, then it is crawling around her eyes.

“Don’t talk to me like you’re her.” Why am I saying this?

The look on the little bunny’s face is something W has not seen before. There is deep hurt for sure, and anger, but beyond that it’s something else she can’t understand at the moment. The cautus’ ears twitch again, then pull tighter to her head as her hands ball to fists before releasing once more. 

“Then stop speaking to me like I am Theresa!” She yells. 

The tension is palpable at this point. Perhaps W had dropped the grenade too soon. Warring desires wage brutal conflict in her mind. In her conscious thoughts, she knows this little bunny standing in front of her is connected to the King of Sarkaz in almost no way besides name. She knows that, but that long standing desire to wrap others up in the anger and resentment she feels so intimately burns as bright as it ever has. The other part of her knows it's unfair to put this on the one person who has made any effort to see past the spiky exterior.

Amiya continues, “I thought it was just a coincidence at first, I took it as flattery. But you keep looking through me, like there’s a ghost standing behind me. I didn’t even really know Theresa, not like you did. Not like Kal’tsit did. It’s not like I could even know how to act like her if I wanted to. But even when we were alone, you still only thought about her. When are you going to look at me?”

W is at a loss for words. The little bunny is not Theresa, but there are so many signs and similarities. Theresa’s ghost is still here. The lonely sarkaz stands there, silent and stunned, she feels like she is that young, helpless girl lost on a battlefield again. She is waiting for a stray shot to snuff her out. The uncomfortable silence stretches on as Amiya refuses to break her gaze from W. Neither one of them moves, the air pulling their hair in a myriad of directions. Eventually one of them needs to speak, to break this tense standoff.

Amiya eventually relents, her eyes taking a gutting shift away from W’s. She straightens up and W sees a wall come up which hadn’t been there before as the cautus turns towards the door into the landship. 

“Whatever you may think of me W,” The little bunny begins as she rests a hand on the door handle, “I am not Theresa, as much as I may act like her, intentional or otherwise. I want to believe you’re more than a mercenary with no other aspirations in life because it’s what I want to do. I hope you can learn to do the same for me.”

W picks herself up from where she’s stood on the railing. The sunset casts a crimson light on the two girls standing on the walkway on the edge of Rhodes Island. Shadows of them pitch against the dusty exterior: one tall, but hunched, the other short and resolute. Heavy footsteps clamor over to the doorway as the sullen shadow moves. The rifle that had been left by the side of the door is lifted gently by the barrel and the stock by two rough hands. W gives a remorseful look along the length of it. She touches the receiver, tracing a line to the ejection port. Those hands flip the gun over, and W makes up her mind.

“Then I oughta start by giving you this.” She holds the weapon out by its barrel, offering it to Amiya. 

The girl steps over and softly takes the gun out of the sarkaz’s hands, stopping mid way as W tightens her grip on it again, “One question first:” her sharp amber eyes pierce through the cautus, “How long are you gonna stay mad at me?”

“It’s not about being mad at you, W. It’s about wanting to be seen for who I am, not who you think I am.” Amiya tugs at the rifle, and W feels another weight drop on her as she lets it go. 

The little bunny shoulders the weapon, the gun far too big for her frame. It would’ve been endearing if this newfound tension weren’t set between them. She pulls the door open and looks to W without a word, urging her to move first. W has fucked up, she knows this, but in her fractured mind, she’s still upset at being put in this position at all. 

Suddenly, being yelled at by Kal’tsit seems like the better option.

“Let’s get this over with.” She murmurs aggressively as she stomps back into Rhodes Island.