Work Text:
The walls were basked in linen and cloth of purple, signaling the victory among the Nation, and pushing the Empire back into their inevitable collapse. Soldiers danced, drank, and took this moment as the only time they could forget their own fates, that they themselves would most likely follow their enemies into the dirt.
Leni stood on the balcony, canteen in hand, and looking among the other soldiers. Her eyes scanned the ones with awards plastered on their chest. Only fools aim for such goals in this bleak world— a target on their back is what'll be laid onto them, enemies or allies alike.
The cause of the banter had been due to her regiment spear-heading through Empire territory for the past couple of weeks. Each skirmish lead to another sector lost by the Empire. Now, as they have pushed back the Empire to the point reinforcements began to slip, they knew that this was the perfect time to strike.
A sip of the canteen made her stomach churn. The taste was abhorrent, the only purpose it had on her was to distract herself, driving her to take each swig.
“You were like the sun.” She muttered to herself. Even she took herself off guard, not knowing who she's saying it to. Another swig emptied the canteen. It numbs senses, pray it numbs the voices…
She clings onto God for repentance; He never answers. Belief had already faltered.
The awardings grew ever so louder, irking her senses as she kept her head down— these types of events are not what she's good at— walking away from the point and into the tunnels was the only way she could escape the rowdiness.
Must she repent? The voices keep telling her to, but she’s stopped, ever since she met Bridget. She doesn’t want her to tend to the wounds that she inflicts on herself just because she’s now fighting for a cause that she truthfully believes in. There is no shame, but guilt riddles her hands, her words, and the torturous wails muffled below the dirt.
The tunnels were neatly excavated, making traversal between points more easier. She always prepared extra tunnels laid out in advance with each skirmish. It's something for her to turn back to instead of the family and brotherhood she left behind, or even the Nation themselves who had been ostracizing her since day one. Alas, the tunnels were one thing that accomodated her needs of having some privacy and silence.
The bodies of the fallen were laid to rest under the rubble, and for a moment, she stared at the buried soldiers.
Lucky bastards.
You could join them.
Holstered, her gun called to her, a nagging voice bellowed from the Knell,
All it takes is one pull of the trigger.
Without hesitance, her hand pulled her Knell and aimed it at the bottom of her head. Tonight was gonna be a long one, and she isn’t willing to let the voices win in their favor. When she dies, they die. Maybe it isn’t so bad, but she has yet to make amends to everyone.
She can’t die yet.
The voice continued to claw into her head, only reminding her of what was to come— the people she has robbed of their lives. Hesitantly, she put the Knell back in her holster.
The barracks were filled with people, all of which were also partying with no signs of relenting as the night continued on. They're happy, at the very least.
She can hardly recall the amount of times she’s done this, but it’s much more better than having to deal with some snobbish Soldats trying to get up in her business.
A couple of turns between the tunnels, and she stood at the tunnel she prepped during the skirmish. This'll do.
She set up a couple nails, a sheet, and made herself an improvised hammock. It's not the prettiest, but it'll help her get some shut eye… Hopefully.
It wasn’t easy to make amends with those that she had killed when she was fighting the Nationers, way back when she was still in the Empire. Maybe this is why she was treated this way— not a person, but as someone lesser.
Now isn’t the time to keep wallowing over her thoughts; she needed rest.
The hammock creaked and swung, cocooning Leni around the fabric like a bug preparing for metamorphosis. The voice from before was just a palate test, she knew that. She won't come out the cocoon anew— only more hollow than the shell she's become.
The burden will crack her skin, the pain will remind her of what she is. What she's done. Forgive, but never forget. That's… what She preached.
The only thing she wanted was to forget.
It was only for a moment, did the voices begin their lullaby before fading into the silence. God, did she wish to make peace with them, even after all this time.
Please. Forgive me. Everyone.
The Queen’s orders was absolute, yet I betrayed Her. But for my brothers, I hold guilt and shame for what I’ve done. I took lives that didn't need to be taken. I will repent, I will do everything it takes to repay the lives I'm in debt to.
I don't want to remember.
Voices plague her ears for a moment before reeling back their temper. They remained garbled, muffled, but they became more incongruently clear as she dozed off, all the while her eyes locked onto hazy figures— flashing in and out of her sight.
Helix, Armsman Soldat. Vince Lorick, Knight Soldat. The first to show their faces. The first ones she took the lives of in the secluded corner of the Empire base.
Hands clenched, trigger pulled, one slumped down on the wooden floor.
Hand on mouth, slitted throat; all shall follow like the ones that came before.
They locked eyes. One opens their mouth— not to speak— just to sneer as the corner of their lip leaned up for a moment. The silent ones are the ones she has always been peeved about.
Shane Obrick, Inquisitor Rook. Auxiliary. a backup if the main rook died, and to maintain the defenses.
Blade in hand, between the plating, dropped without being noticed
The body, hidden, relieves her senses again, keep going.
Wails and curses. Covering her ears didn't help. Moments pass, and he disappears. There's still more, she sensed. A churn from her stomach signals her disdain already.
Chelsea, Inquisitor Officer. She didn't have to die. But she's a liability if she lives. A bounty on her head if she speaks wrongly of her with the Queen to hear.
A graze from their knife, her sword plunges deeper.
Do not falter yet. A handful more still linger.
I don't want to remember.
A group stands in front of her; in her eyes and in her memories. The guilt eats her up. Jaegers, Rooks, Soldats alike. They surround her, mimicking what they did when she took them head on.
Remember the fear in their eyes when you took out their last fighting soldier.
The others ran, but your Knell silenced them further.
Blood began to stain her clothes. A mix of hers, and theirs, she can't remember.
Don't linger on what you felt, there's still more of them if you want to prove you've switched your loyalty to the Kings.
Her stomach sunk lower in tandem with her blade scraping along the breastplate of another Rook, pulling it out of them. Pray there's less than what she had initially thought.
I don't want to remember.
The banners and walls—once perfectly pristine— were stained from the massacre. She dropped to the floor, feeling the pain from the wounds inflicted seep into her body like a leech draining the life away from a person.
A figure loomed over her. She only felt her presence from her peripheral vision.
I don't want to remember. Please…
In desperation, she tried to look up.
But she hesitated.
She can’t bring herself to look at her.
After what she’s done.
It wasn’t like this. The situation. She knew what she did to her.
Do you remember the look in their eyes as you pulled the trigger—
Her eyes snapped wide open, eclosing herself off the hammock. Her chest heaved with each passing second as she attempted to catch her breath from the nightmare.
It was a nightmare. Take it easy. Stop panicking.
A pulsating pain ached in her head. She could do with some hydrocodone.
She’s had these before, just not to this extent. At the very least, the worst has passed, but she’s not risking another nightmare like that. The negligence of her own emotions lead to this. She could’ve defected without killing them all. Without killing her.
That version of her died in that base. A shell walks in her place, scrutinized and outcast because of what she did. To repent, is what she deserves, yet it seems so wrong.
Her hands began to scratch her skin, hoping that something, anything, to happen. The pain reminds her of how fragile her body is, how fragile a human body is. It breaks so easily— tearing the top layer with ease— if she uses most of her strength, but she held back to ease the pain. The voices did not relent. Is the mind as susceptible to something to simple to silence something so integrated into her life now?
“Leni?”
A voice called out from the tunnel. Muffled, she thought for a moment that it was another voice in her head, until the tunnel’s walls reflected the light of the issued Nation lanterns.
The Nationer hiked up the incline to approach Leni. The etched tears made it easy to figure out it was Bridget. Her gloves were a bit stained with red, but she could pass it off as—
Bridget grabbed the hand that covered the back of Leni’s neck, her slim fingers touching the stained blood on the fingers of her gloves. The near instantaneous smudge on both the glove and the blood imprinting onto her thumb showed how recent the wound was. Leni tried to speak, to try and push her off, but she couldn’t. Her hands checked Leni’s sleeves, pulling them up— scars were etched everywhere, but nothing was wounded open, or was even remotely recent.
“Does it hurt anywhere?” It was hard to make out her words, even the tone was left to interpretation.
“… A small abrasion, Private Bridget…” Her hand latched onto the back of her neck again, wincing a bit in pain.
She went back and checked the back of her neck, and the scratches were laid bare. It was deeper than what habitual scratching or abrasions were from what she’d seen.
Silence lingered for a moment or so, Leni turning around to provide easier access to the wound. The clacking of the glass vials were the only noises other than the ruffling of their clothes, as she began to disinfect the wound.
Her hands kept a cloth against it, maintaining pressure as she applied an antibiotic salve, before covering it with a wound dressing. “… That should do it.” She murmured. “Don’t touch it, please.”
There was an urge to reach for the dressing, but she followed her orders as if she was of a higher rank than her.
“… I’m deeply grateful.” She twiddled her thumbs. God— she’s 37, and she’s acting like a kid more recently. She turned around, expecting them to walk away and give them a small wave, but she stayed.
They both stared at each other, unsure whether to break eye contact or not— not that she could see her eyes behind that mask, but Leni needn’t attempt to move, as Bridget moved first.
She wrapped her arms around Leni’s, her hand pushing her gas mask up and off her face. “Promise me.”
Promise? “Promise you what?” She didn’t feel the filter pressed against her shoulder. There were some people in the Empire that never showed their face, the reason why, she doesn’t intrude upon for their privacy. Some speculations, like dysmorphia, scarring, or appearance are what comes to mind. The war doesn't leave you pretty, all things considered.
“Don’t…” Her hand hovered above the wound dressing, touching it with a gentle caress before pulling her hand back, “You don’t have to keep being alone. I’m right here.”
The desperation in her voice was clear when she didn’t have the mask, it was oddly comforting to hear someone care for her this much, ever since she defected.
She knows who she spared will never come back to do the same.
“Y-Your heart rate—” Bridget pulled away. The mask was accidentally torn off as she fumbled around, giving them some distance as Leni put a hand to her chest, feeling it beat at an abnormal pace.
She remembered the scent emanating from their skin, “… Did you drink?”
Leni nodded, without realizing she looked into their eyes. She took a good look at them for the first time as Bridget didn’t even realize the mask wasn’t on her face.
She noticed how Leni was staring, like she had spaced out by looking at her— an expression she’s all too familiar with.
Bridget froze for a moment, looking around to see the mask laid below the hammock, reaching for it and putting it on as quickly as she grabbed it.
“I… I’m really sorry that you saw my face, um…” She turned to catch a glimpse of Leni. A face of disgust, or disappointment was what she expected, yet…
Leni seemed to be in a daze, her face was a bit flush, and she stayed in the same position, only her head and eyes turned to face her.
She scratched the side of her jaw, feeling the heat emanating on her skin. “Why must you apologize?”
Keeping her gaze toward Leni, she realized that she really was different. The Empire may have been their enemies, but their compassion is far more precedent than the Nation has ever been.
There was no shame in telling her, she’d understand.
“People switch up on me,”— Turning, her hand held against the filter of the mask, testing if the seal works— “all because I never match their expectations.”
“You’ve always exceeded my expectations.” Leni stated, standing from the hammock to hoist Bridget up. “The moment I laid my eyes upon you during that skirmish, it was as if I found my purpose. The opinions of another who hadn’t been in your shoes… I urge you to tell them to go fuck themselves. You’ve done more than enough saving the lives of others, all without even a kill to your name.”
“So please…” She began to unbuckle the straps of the mask. “Let me see you for who you are— Not by your beliefs, not by another’s opinions, but as yourself— Bridget.”
The mask fell slack and dropped to the floor, leaving her face to face directly towards Leni’s.
In which her sunken eyes laid dark eyebags, she stared for a moment. One thought only crossed through her mind.
This world is cruel for those who are kind. How could anyone hate the one person that had been saving their lives just for their appearance alone?
Arms wrapped, it took Bridget by surprise but she warmed up to it, letting her hands rest around their chest.
“… We have each other to take care of.” Leni muttered. “I’ll always be here.”
Bridget sank deeper into the hug, “Same… You’ll know where to find me, you always do somehow.”
They held each other firmly, not wanting to let go. Leni’s mouth remained gritted.
What's left unsaid, it remains in Leni's head. Her face was so close in her gaze, yet she felt so far away.
---
It was only the day after, yet everyone stood in the base connecting to the Empire’s last stand— the stronghold.
Not everyone had a good night's rest. The night was cold, everyone had drank, and the ones that didn't grew restless with the incessant whining of those that did. The decrease in overall morale was negligible, as reinforcements would arrive every so often to replace those that had taken the night for granted with new flesh, plucked straight out being conscripted. All that's required is to finally push the Empire off this sector.
A yawn escaped Leni's lips. Sure, her motor skills may be a bit behind for now, but it'll all end rather quickly. She's had enough experience to know how raids like these go. It'd be a lot more easier if they didn't strike now, give time for all the nationers to recollect their bearings, but doing so gives time for the Empire to prepare— at least that's what most of the people in the meeting agreed with. Cursed be the ones that bought their way up, she clocked a good lot of them as untrained and unfit for the role, yet they act like sheperds when they themselves are the sheep.
Soldats lined up, but she remained to look at the banners, torn asunder to the rising power of the Nation. The other officers were giving a speech, but she didn't bother to listen to them as it's the same old tune sung in a different tone. Hardly ever changes even if a different person she follows sits on the throne.
“And this is where we push them back, soldiers!” He stated, the soldiers cheering. “We lead the light that they refuse to follow!” A round of hurrahs ensued, “We will push back those fanatics into the dirt! We will bring them down, because it’s what they deserve!”
The gates crashed open, a flood of soldiers careening into the depths. A small chunk stayed behind, some morticians, and heavily wounded sending their farewells to those that will pave their way to the right side of history.
She took her time. To run into walls of lead covered by the mounted machine guns on the wall without any cover? She'd rather wait for the next set of reinforcements to arrive. More tolerant and less hungover.
There was hardly anything she could do in the base. Striking up a conversation where they treated defectors like a contagious threat…
She walked up to the piano laying against the wooden pillar, letting her hand rest on the grain before sitting down on the stool.
The piano played a note, Leni's hands gliding along each key to play a soft lullaby. The chatter within the base died down a bit. It's been a year since she held one under her grasps, the last time she saw one was…
Dark, broody, the hardness on the lower tones became more distracting to the lighter melody, yet it seemed so harmonious. It all lead up to a crescendo, a blend of both tones that seem so disconnected felt whole with each other within her hands.
She let her hands rest, before her fingers pressed on the keys softly. A small melody, reaching up to the highest octave before falling back down. A final chord tied it all together, and as she looked up, the rest of the Nationers seemed in awe, like an audience shocked by the performer’s sudden showcase in skill.
A small wave of claps erupted from the others. It caught her off guard, of course, but it’s as to be expected for having such an eloquent talent in the bleakness of war.
But did it ever feel genuine?
Bridget materialized by the corner of the piano, donning their helmet. “Where'd you learn to play?”
“… I was merely self-taught.”
“I don't believe you.”
Leni chuckled. It seems like not everyone will believe her answer. “I'm telling the truth, I do not jest.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“I've always wanted to play the piano.”
Bridget stared. To catch her expression behind the mask was difficult, but it felt demeaning. “You're playing one right now.”
“Pardon me, I've yet to explain.” Her hands rested on the stool. “Prior to the war— before my occupation, even— There was rarely a time I wouldn't play one. Yet, my parents insisted ‘A violin is more suited for you.’.”
Bridget adjusted the strap around their helmet, “Did ya listen to them?”
“For a while, of course. They were both… Elegant.” She hesitated for a moment, contemplating on her wording. “It didn't feel right to ache in a facsimile of elegance that I admired. They all stared at me, hollow in their stares at the mere beginning of my performance as I played, but for when the callous of my hands pressed against the strings instead of the keys, bearing praise only spoken due to something they all wanted; I would've rather chosen to pursue what I wanted, instead of the fake compliments that I’ve been warranted.”
They let the chatter from the other infantry pile in everyone’s ears, there needn’t be any more exchanges in banter as they had the last breach to do. They stared for but a moment, their eyes averting to the next wave of reinforcements, who began to march into the tunnels. They slipped in with the crowd, not that it mattered if they were with the wrong group, but it felt off to do so.
The marching continued before it devolved into sprinting. The whizzing and gunfire grew ever so much louder as the passage cleared up into the wooden building, barraged by the bullets spraying against the grain of the doorway. The careless went first, ones who thought the bullets couldn’t pen them behind the wood, or the ones that went rushing in without even thinking for a second when the down time of those things happen— if at all they even have downtime.
Leni grabbed one of the anti-armour grenades off of a Nation carcass. Another soldat was lamenting over their loss, and they’ve yet to get out of the main door to the stronghold.
“Where are the vanguards?!” Bridget yelled behind cover, before a line assembled horizontally, comprised of vanguards began to push out of the door as they kept their shields pointed at the general area the bullets were coming from.
“No, no, no… Stay with me!” The soldat patted the cheek of the one that Leni took their grenade from.
“She’s gone.”
“Shut the fuck up! She’s alive, it’s just a shot in her thigh!”
She pointed at the point of entry of the bullet. “At the femoral artery.” It pained her to say it, but they had a job to do. “She’s already succumbed to blood loss. Get your sobbing mess out there and get to work.”
A blow of her whistle made everyone begin to charge out the gates once more. The sheer mass of them made it difficult for the machine guns to try and target them all at once. Bridget and Leni managed to swiftly hide behind the sandbags of the trenches before they tossed their grenades at the door. These were designed to deal with armour but were more so used for gates that had been reinforced, and were mostly improvised before they were mass-produced by the Solace coalition.
Despite all the whizzing bullets, she kept her cool, even chuckling with the fall of the Empire within this sector. They really had gone soft now. “The downfall of the Empire, already within reach.”
Bridget turned to face her, all the while Leni grabbed another grenade and chucked it behind cover. “… What do you want to do when all this is over?”
“… Maybe indulge in giving myself a break.” She grinned softly, a small crack in her cold facade finally cracking. The other soldats began to chuck their grenades behind cover, before exploding in one big burst. The loud explosion caught everyone off guard, but the gate had finally been ridden with enough explosions to be splayed open.
They all rushed in, but Leni walked up with something clouding her mind. The traps have been sprung, The stronghold had already been breached and flowed the rest of the Nation to exterminate the remains of the Empire within the sector. The train will arrive shortly if she calculated it right, but it’d probably take longer due to this being a sudden attack. They could take their time, mitigate casualties on their side to a minimum if they played their cards right, but the Nation are hungry. Hungry for vengeance, for blood. One peek around the corner and she already sees the amassed bodies stacked on top of each other, forming a trench formed by the fallen. The sight didn’t waive any thoughts of them most likely joining the counts of casualties, boiled down to a number, but they had to fight.
Alike a dam that bursts open, the Nationer’s began to flood the possible points of entry to overwhelm the last set of Empire infantry, slipping within the improvised walls the carcasses formed. The defenses began to break down, the stragglers were picked off, but the train tracks were yet to be raided for the Bulwark that had positioned itself beside the tracks. They were a pest to rid of, but after raiding the second floor, a Jaeger managed to pen the helmet before finishing off the Bulwark with a clean shot between their eyes.
The last of the forces were about to be snuffed out, which gave enough confidence for Leni to look past upon the Nation soldiers and among the ones she used to side to as she drew her blade from the scabbard. The voices are from those that are dead. What more purpose do they have other than to torment her for what has already happened?
She aches for the feeling to come back, even for just a moment as she shot through a Nation soldat trying to charge at her with their bayonet. Everyone believed that the soldat that had been gunned down was the last off them. No one else seemed to be appearing, or accepting defeat around the stronghold, but Leni knew. The last one hid behind the sandbags, barely visible even to her keen eyes.
May this be the last kill of my service to this godforsaken dystopia, were her last thoughts as she rounded the corner, only to see a Lancer— hands wide, blade in hand— lunge at her and pin a knife at her throat.
“DON’T COME ANY FUCKING CLOSER!” The Lancer shouted. Their gaze switched their attention from the Nation infantry cautious of them and Leni, who had already accepted her fate to die. Her hand reached out to keep the Nation away, as if they’d even attempt to save her anyway.
“Am I glad to see you, my liege. We had thought you…” She whispered into her ear.
There had only been one person to ever call her that.
“… You’ll find salvation once more, my liege.”
Leni fell silent, she couldn’t possibly think that she was really here. This wasn’t her, no. This wasn’t who she thought Bridget was, this was someone she really wished she’d forget. The only one that she’d regret saving—
FWUOOOOOOOHNN!!!
The train came careening, not fast, but definitely like a Lancer charging into a tunnel. Not a single one of those Nationers dare even attempt to come closer. What’s one officer to do compared to the entire democracy that is the Nation? Nothing important was given to her, she was of the Empire in the past after all, no one even dared to form a liability for their own carelessness. She’s going back to where she belongs anyways, not a bother for everyone else.
“Leni!” Bridget coughed up as she tried to get closer, pushing past the infantry barricading the others from coming closer, but the carriage had already arrived. The Lancer pulled Leni inside, and shut the sliding doors as Bridget lunged to get on. But it always seemed like everything she ever wanted was just out of reach.
The train continued to push deeper into the fog. The Nation has won this campaign, yet Bridget…
She took a Soldat’s knife, etching another tear onto her mask that had remained up to one, now matching because of her incompetence to save a life.
Lance saw this, and promptly took the knife away from Bridget. “What do you think you’re doing?!-”
One look from Bridget was all he needed to know that this wasn’t something for him to meddle with. Despite the short time that she knew her, and he knew her, the best thing that he could do was for her to grieve. She may not die, that is a rare opportunity, but the Empire is no stranger to heretics that come back and the punishment that comes with it.
The herd is lost without their shepherd, yet they seem to follow the one who carries the light. But it is only another blind sheep who bring them deeper into the darkness, and all are none the wiser.