Chapter Text
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday (?)
The air smelled like smoke and dust. The city—if it could still be called that—was a wasteland of shattered buildings and crumbling streets. Twisted metal, broken glass, and the occasional burned-out vehicle lined the road.
It kind of looked like Detroit in the 1990s.
Or the 2000s.
Or the 2010s.
Or the 2020s...
Or... Just Detroit in general, honestly.
A young man strode through the wreckage, trench coat billowing slightly with each step. Beneath it, his military-style clothing suggested he belonged somewhere civilized, somewhere disciplined. But his face, locked in an annoyed scowl, made it clear that he didn't feel like he belonged anywhere right now.
His hands were jammed in his pockets and he walked like a man who had seen enough to not care anymore, yet somehow still found things to be irritated about.
He muttered something to himself, too quiet to hear.
Maybe about the heat?
Maybe about how his boots were covered in grime.
Maybe about the sorry state of the world.
After a few moments, he let out a sharp sigh and pulled a phone from his pocket. He clicked the power button and squinted at the screen.
No signal.
His scowl deepened.
With his thumb, he tapped the side of the screen. Nothing.
He tapped again.
Then again.
And then—he started hammering the screen like it owed him money.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
TAP-TAP-TAP—
CRACK.
His thumb paused mid-motion. His eyes widened slightly. A thin fracture spread across the glass like a spiderweb.
A slow blink. Then, a sharp inhale through his nose.
"Shit in my ass," he muttered.
What an absolutely amazing first line.
He tilted the phone, angling it toward the sunlight filtering through the dust. The screen still lit up, still barely functional. It just needed a replacement.
Annoying, but fixable.
"Of course. My luck is absolute dog—"
BOOM.
The explosion tore through the air like a roaring beast, shaking the ground beneath him. A nearby building buckled inward, windows shattered and debris rained onto the pavement.
He didn't flinch.
"Fortni—"
BOOM.
Another detonation, this time further down the street. A car flipped onto its side, its windows blowing out. Flames licked at the sky.
His expression didn't change.
"I'm gay—"
BOOM.
Another explosion, this time closer. Something metal and flaming hurtled through the air and crashed into the wreckage of a car a few meters away. He didn't even spare it a glance.
"Doro—"
CRACK—CRASH!
An entire building to his right gave up the fight against gravity, collapsing in on itself with a deafening groan. Dust and debris rolled outward, filling the air.
"...Barbeque sauce—"
KRRRSH!
A chunk of metal skidded across the pavement near his feet, clanging loudly before rolling to a stop.
His eye twitched.
"—FUCKIN'—"
BOOM.
He sighed sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as another explosion rocked the landscape.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
KA-THOOM.
A massive support beam gave way, and an entire building groaned before collapsing in on itself.
The young man stopped mid-step, his mouth slightly open as if about to finish his sentence. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaled deeply, and continued walking.
"I'm filing a complaint to HR."
The young man found and sat atop the rusted hood of an old, half-buried car, arms crossed, one leg lazily draped over the side.
His trench coat was open, revealing the military garments beneath, but he barely looked the part of a commanding officer. Instead, he looked more like a man who had just had one too many bad days in a row.
His phone, still cracked from earlier, rested on his thigh. Occasionally, he'd glance at it, as if hoping the damage would somehow reverse itself.
It didn't.
Lmfao.
He sighed, dragging a gloved hand down his face.
The world around him remained a ruined mess. Smoke curled from collapsed buildings, distant fires flickered in the wreckage, and the occasional groan of shifting rubble filled the otherwise quiet street. Well—quiet for now.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps. Multiple pairs.
They were light, practiced, moving in a rhythm too orderly to belong to scavengers. It wasn't hurried, wasn't cautious. It was deliberate.
He exhaled slowly, tilting his head just enough to see the approaching figures. His gaze landed on the one leading them.
A young woman with impossibly long grey hair, strands catching in the faint wind. She wore a sleek black bodysuit, accented with crimson lines tracing her form, and along her forearms, the iconic look of samurai armour.
On her hip, attached to a belt, sat a massive scabbard housing an even more massive sword. In her right hand, she held the hilt in a reverse grip, as if it was simply a natural extension of herself.
Her eyes met his, and she offered a small, warm smile.
"Commander," she greeted.
His eye twitched.
Pushing himself off the car, he landed with a solid thud on the cracked pavement, straightened, and ran a hand through his already messy hair.
"Rose," he started, exasperation dripping from his voice, "how many times do I have to tell you? Lieutenant. Just Lieutenant."
Rose's smile didn't waver. "Ah. My mistake."
He squinted at her. "That sounded insincere."
"Did it?"
"Yes."
She gave a light chuckle, shifting her grip slightly on the sword's hilt. Behind her, the other members of the squad continued their work, securing the area, performing post-mission checks, and ensuring none of their equipment—or themselves—had suffered any unexpected damage.
These weren't just any soldiers.
They were Nikkes.
The higher-ups called them that, though, to the Lieutenant, the term felt more like branding than an actual designation.
As far as he was concerned, they were cyborgs.
Human brains, metal bodies—sure, their skin looked and felt real enough, but under that? Some kind of metal composite he'd already forgotten the name of. Whatever it was, it let them take damage a normal person would die from and still walk away like it was a mild inconvenience.
The Melee Squad. That was what command called them. A specially modified team of close-quarters specialists designed to dish out an absurd amount of punishment. It was effective.
He just wished the name was a little more creative.
Rose, as their squad leader, was the most human of the bunch. At least in how she carried herself. Always smiling, always composed.
If she had doubts, fears, anger—she never showed it.
She tilted her head slightly. "Forgive me, Lieutenant. I may have been... distracted during the last mission. It must have slipped my mind."
The Lieutenant's face remained thoroughly unimpressed.
Rose's smile then took on a sharper edge—not outright hostile, but something dangerously close.
"Lieutenant," she said smoothly, "are there any injuries I should be aware of?" Her tone was pleasant, but there was an undercurrent to it.
A silent we will talk about this later energy.
She shifted her stance just slightly, the weight of her massive sword adjusting effortlessly in her grip. "Your plan of luring the Raptures away on foot was..." she paused, then continued with that same unreadable smile, "...risky."
The Lieutenant, unfazed, crossed his arms and straightened slightly, switching to a more professional tone—but not without letting sarcasm drip through.
"Well, the only real casualties were the Raptures," he said casually. Then, with a sigh, he held up his cracked phone, tilting it slightly in the dim light. "And this."
Rose raised an eyebrow.
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose. "Tripped while running. Fell. Cracked it. Real tragic loss, honestly."
Rose didn't say anything for a moment, just watching him with that ever-present, slightly-too-knowing expression.
"..."
Did she believe him? Nikkes weren't human, but they weren't just machines, either. Their intelligence varied depending on their models and the freedom from their NIMPH, but Rose? She was sharp—sharper than most of the officers he'd met in command.
She could probably tell when he was lying.
If she did, she didn't push the issue. Instead, she turned slightly, scanning the surrounding area, where the other squad members were finishing up their checks.
"..."
The battlefield—or what remained of it—was littered with Rapture debris.
Raptures.
He still hated the name. It felt like some scientist had named them after their own personal apocalypse fetish.
They existed in every variation imaginable—small, insect-like drones that scuttled across the ground, medium-sized walkers bristling with turret arrays, towering mechanical monstrosities that could level entire buildings with a single blast. Some were quadrupedal, some were bipedal, and some didn't even have a proper body, just twisted amalgamations of metal and weapons.
They weren't just machines.
Hey, wasn't that phrase already used?
Guns, explosives, razor-sharp limbs—whatever it took to kill. Some of them functioned like mindless drones, attacking anything that moved. Others had tactics and intelligence. The smarter ones coordinated, flanked, and set traps.
They evolved their combat strategies.
And all of them—every single one—existed to wipe out humanity and the Nikkes that fought for them.
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose, his thoughts still lingering on the battlefield.
Then, he felt it.
Another presence is approaching.
He didn't turn immediately—just slightly shifted his weight, casting a glance over his shoulder. A second later, a figure stepped into view, her movements just as silent and fluid as Rose's, yet carrying an entirely different air.
Scarlet.
Rose's younger sister. Another Nikke.
Like Rose, Scarlet wore a sleek black bodysuit, though there were a few differences. Unlike her sister, she had additional armour plating on her shoulders. Her sword, while smaller than Rose's, was no less impressive—gleaming red and slightly curved—like a katana!
Scarlet was a serious, no-nonsense type of woman.
Where Rose smiled, Scarlet frowned. Where Rose made conversation, Scarlet only spoke when necessary.
And when she did speak—
"Pray tell," Scarlet said suddenly, "What dost thou stand to gain from such deception?"
The Lieutenant sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
Yep. That was Scarlet for you. She spoke in a way that made every interaction feel like an interrogation from some ancient court. She was direct. If she felt wronged in any way shape or form, she'd voice it out.
He opened one eye, already expecting her to be staring at him like he was a trash heap.
"Alright," he muttered. "I lied."
Scarlet's yellow eyes narrowed slightly, unamused. "Then I would have thee tell the truth."
"I was getting to that." He glanced left, then right, subtly checking for Rose before leaning in slightly. With an exaggerated flourish of his hand, he lowered his voice and, mimicking her speech, whispered, "Lend me thine ear, fair Scarlet."
Scarlet gave him a blank stare. Then, after a short pause, she actually leaned in, tilting her head slightly to listen.
The Lieutenant smirked before quietly explaining what had happened.
The cracked phone.
The signal check.
The increasingly frustrated tapping.
The harder tapping.
The accidental screen destruction.
By the time he finished, Scarlet looked... perplexed. Her expression remained neutral, but her eyes held a slight glint of disbelief—both at the sheer absurdity of the situation and at the fact that he even bothered to cover it up.
"A trivial folly," she murmured.
"Right?" he whispered back, nodding. "But now it's a mystery."
Scarlet was still looking at him as if he had just described the most unnecessary plot twist in existence.
"...And thy reasoning for the deception?"
He shrugged. "Felt embarrassing."
Scarlet blinked once. Then again. Slowly, she turned her gaze downward, staring at the phone in his hand as if it were the mastermind behind all of this.
"You are strange, Lieutenant."
"Been called worse."
They were still close, whispering, when—
"Aha!"
The Lieutenant barely had time to react before Rose popped up beside them, looking way too pleased with herself.
His shoulders jumped slightly. Scarlet, to her credit, remained perfectly still, only flicking her gaze toward her sister.
"You did break it!" Rose declared triumphantly.
The Lieutenant sighed. "Oh, for—"
"I knew something was off," she continued, now grinning. "So, what was it?"
The Lieutenant waved his phone slightly. "I tapped too hard."
Rose's grin faltered just slightly. "...You tapped it?"
Scarlet exhaled quietly. "He struck it repeatedly, fueled by frustration, until it fractured beneath his own strength."
Rose stared at him, then at the phone, then back at him.
A slow smile stretched across her face again.
"This is very humourous," she said. "And you lied about it? To me?"
"Hey, I'm the one who came up with the plan and ran 3 kilometres across this buckshot hillbilly city," he said, throwing his arms up. "I didn't need a phone-related inquisition on top of that."
Rose shook her head in mock disappointment. "Shameful."
Scarlet simply sighed, stepping back. "Utterly hopeless, this one is, without honour."
The Lieutenant sighed for the umpteenth time, shoulders sagging as he ran a hand through his already messy hair.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself. "I'm getting tag-teamed by Terminators 1 and 2."
Scarlet's eyes flicked to him immediately.
Rose followed half a second later.
The Lieutenant froze.
There was a weight in the air now. Scarlet's stare was sharp with an edge to it that suggested she was already dissecting his words. Rose, on the other hand, was still smiling—but that smile had turned ever so slightly predatory.
Scarlet tilted her head ever so slightly. "Which of us, pray tell, dost thou assign to each?"
Rose leaned in, curious. "Hm, I'd love to know."
The Lieutenant mentally cursed himself into oblivion.
A few meters away, the rest of the Melee Squad—now finished with their post-mission routines—had begun gathering nearby, just in time to witness the unfolding disaster. And, because the universe loved screwing him over, several of them giggled.
The Lieutenant's eye twitched.
This was a problem.
Rose and Scarlet had a rivalry. Both were incredible with the blade, and neither ever passed up an opportunity to compare themselves to the other.
Rose was better by a long shot, so she was Terminator 2.
And now, thanks to his own stupid joke, he had just given them a brand-new reason to measure their worth.
Scarlet crossed her arms, looking at him expectantly.
Rose mirrored her, tilting her head. Her smile hadn't faded in the slightest.
"Well, Lieutenant?" she asked sweetly. "Which of us is the first movie, and which is the second?"
The Lieutenant swallowed. His mind raced. Was there a way out of this? A neutral answer? A distraction?
No.
No, there wasn't.
He was well and truly doomed.
As they continued to press him for an answer, he could feel his soul withering away, shrivelling into nothing.
As he stood there, staring at the two CYBORG warriors now demanding answers, only one thought consumed his mind—
In fact, he didn't think he was even qualified to be commanding prototypes of all things!
How the hell did he get here in the first place?!
Year: 2X33, Two Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning
The hallway smelled of stale metal and recycled air.
The Lieutenant walked in step with his superior officer, his hands tucked in his pockets, posture straight.
"I assume you've been briefed on what Nikkes are, but I'll summarize," the superior began, voice firm, no-nonsense. "They are the spearhead of humanity's survival effort. Cyborgs—effectively—but not in the traditional sense. A Nikke is a human brain housed inside a mechanical body, enhanced for combat and augmented for survivability. They function at a level no human soldier can match. Faster, stronger, more durable."
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose. "...And more expendable."
His superior didn't acknowledge that. Instead, he continued. "The companies producing them—Elysion, Missilis, Tetra—each have their own methods, but the goal is the same. The war against the Raptures won't be won with sheer manpower. The sooner humanity fully integrates Nikkes into its forces, the better."
The Lieutenant tilted his head slightly. "I assume by 'integrates,' you mean 'relies on them entirely'?"
"..."
"..."
"Perhaps."
The Lieutenant hummed, unconvinced. His gaze flicked toward the nearest wall, where various mission reports and newly minted propaganda posters lined the surface.
One caught his eye.
A Nikke, standing tall with a massive rifle in her hands, the words: Glory to Humanity written in bold beneath her.
A brain in a metal body.
He resisted the urge to sigh. "And you're sure they're stable?"
His superior finally looked at him. "Meaning?"
"We're talking about human consciousness ripped out of the flesh and shoved into steel. That doesn't exactly sound... gentle on the mind." The Lieutenant kept his tone professional. "Do we have data on long-term effects? Psychological stress? Mental degradation?"
His superior raised a brow. "You sound like you think they're ticking time bombs."
"I think we don't know enough yet."
A beat of silence.
Then, his superior smirked. "That's why you're here, Lieutenant. You're gathering that data."
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression neutral. Of course.
They turned a corner, the hallway opening up slightly. He glanced at his superior. There was something about the way the man carried himself—something off. The stiffness in his shoulders...
...The way he hadn't quite made eye contact since they started walking.
"...Is there anything else I should know?" the Lieutenant asked. "About the prototypes. The 'Melee Squad,' as we're calling them." His voice carried a dry note at the name. "Are there specific tests you want me to run? Combat simulations? Psychological assessments?"
His superior stopped walking.
The Lieutenant halted as well, glancing at him with a raised brow.
The man's expression was stone-like, unreadable. Slowly, he reached into his coat, pulling out a clipboard filled with notes. "There is something," he admitted. "Look through these."
The Lieutenant took the clipboard, flipping through the pages. Basic diagnostics, combat evaluations, mission parameters... standard stuff. Until—
His fingers paused as he reached the final page.
One order stood out. The words were plain, clinical. But their meaning was anything but.
Missions will escalate in difficulty until casualties take hold. The last remaining unit will undergo the Grimms conversion.
The Lieutenant's grip on the clipboard tightened slightly.
Grimms models. He had been briefed about them—The most powerful classification of Nikke, designed to surpass all others. Only a handful had ever been created...
And if his squad birthed a Grimms model...
The prestige would be undeniable.
A slow exhale left him. He glanced up at his superior. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
His superior's expression didn't change. "You accept?"
The Lieutenant looked down at the clipboard once more, staring at those cold, inhumane words.
Then, after a moment, he smiled lightly.
"...I accept."
And just like that, his fate—and theirs—was sealed.
Notes:
Ah, isn't this unique? Set 100 years in the past instead of the canon timeline? How interesting, right?
Oh, also, I don't think I'll give the MC a name for now. Just know that he's a dude.
WTF AM I DOING HERE? I'M MEANT TO BE WRITING WAX WINGS INSTEAD!
FUUUUUUUUUUU—
Chapter 2: Vol 1.2: Strange Cyborgs
Notes:
Just for future reference, whenever I refer to a Nikke's "heart stopping" or something like that, I mean it metaphorically since they don't have those lmfao.
Chapter Text
Year: 2X33, Two Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday
The Lieutenant stepped off the transport vehicle, tugging his trench coat tighter around himself as a sharp gust of wind cut through the fabric. He shuddered.
Spring was supposed to be getting warmer by now, but instead, it swung chilly gusts of wind and annoyingly humid warmth like it couldn't make up its damn mind.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. Bipolar season strikes again.
Then, as if to punish him for his thoughts, a sudden itch tickled his nose. He barely had time to react before—
"Hh'CHH!"
A sneeze.
He groaned, sniffling in irritation before making a face like he'd just swallowed something bitter.
"Disgusting." He wiped his nose on his sleeve, then muttered under his breath, "I'm filing a complaint with HR about this entire season."
With a final, begrudging sigh, he stepped forward, the sensor at the entrance scanning him. The reinforced doors let out a heavy thunk before sliding open, allowing him entry.
As soon as he was inside, the doors slammed shut behind him, sealing out the wind. He took a deep breath, adjusting to the artificial warmth of the facility. The interior was sleek, sterile, and well-lit—standard military design.
No frills, just function.
It seemed in the end, the brutalists won.
Disgusting.
He shifted the weight of his duffle bag over his shoulder, glancing down at its contents as he walked.
He rifled through it absentmindedly—shaving cream, fresh blades, general hygiene supplies, and a few bottles of water. He had learned early on that no matter how advanced a facility claimed to be, it always ran out of useful supplies first.
In a separate pocket, his fingers brushed against something solid. He pulled it out slightly, just enough for the edge of a picture frame to catch the artificial light. The glare obscured the image inside.
His expression flickered for a fraction of a second before he exhaled and shoved it back in.
The second set of doors ahead of him hissed open, and he walked forward, pulling a small, slightly crumpled note from his coat pocket. His superior's handwriting—much better than his—marked the paper with directions leading to his assigned office.
He scanned it once before tucking it away again.
Not that he was expecting to get lost. Military facilities weren't exactly known for creativity in their layouts.
As he neared the front desk, the woman stationed there glanced up from her terminal. She was middle-aged, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun and the air of someone who had long since stopped being impressed by anything.
"Name?" she asked, barely looking at him as she tapped at her screen.
The Lieutenant set his documents and badge on the counter. "Lieutenant—" he kept his tone professional. "—here regarding the prototypes."
That got her attention. Her eyes flicked up from the terminal, scanning him briefly before she took the documents and started flipping through them.
A hum of approval. "Everything's in order." She stamped one of the forms and slid them back toward him. "Do you know where you're going?"
"I do," he replied with a short nod.
The secretary clicked her tongue, then asked, "Do you want me to call a facility-wide announcement for the Melee Squad to gather?"
The Lieutenant considered it for a second before shaking his head. "Give it thirty minutes."
"Suit yourself. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant."
He took his documents back, giving her a nod before heading deeper into the facility. The corridors were clean and quiet, aside from the occasional murmur of personnel moving through their morning shifts.
When he reached the door to his office, the sensor activated with a soft beep, and the automatic doors slid open.
He took one look inside and let out a quiet, surprised, "Huh."
The room was bigger than he expected. About the size of a decent hotel room—far more space than he was used to. There was a desk with a terminal, a simple but comfortable-looking bed, and a private washroom.
He stepped inside, setting his duffle bag down on the desk with a soft thud. He rolled his shoulders, stretching a bit before mumbling to himself, "Might as well get settled."
The Lieutenant stood at the edge of the training ground, hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat as he surveyed the empty space.
Then, right on cue, the announcement echoed through the facility.
"This is a special announcement to all special-type mass-produced belonging to Unit A within this sector. All close-combat Nikkes, assemble to the training grounds. We repeat..."
The Lieutenant let out a long, slow yawn, barely covering his mouth.
Alright, let's see what the hell I just signed up for.
Mentally, he placed his bets.
How much time until one dies? How many years until only one of them is left standing? How many look like complete rookies?
Then, slowly but surely, they started arriving.
At first, it was just one. A Nikke with a sleek black bodysuit, armoured forearms, and pinkish-gray hair tied neatly into a ponytail. She stepped in with grace, moving straight to the lineup.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
The Lieutenant's brow twitched slightly as the pattern became obvious. Same bodysuit. Same armour. Same pinkish-gray ponytail.
They all look the same! Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.
By the fourth identical Nikke, he had stopped greeting them entirely, simply staring in mild disbelief. By the fifth, he was spacing out entirely.
By the eighth, he was mentally screaming.
They just kept coming. It was like someone had copy-pasted the same unit eight times and called it a squad.
It wasn't until the last two walked in that something finally changed.
The first was different. Gray hair, a more refined presence. She walked in calmly, giving him a small nod of acknowledgment before taking her place in the lineup.
The last Nikke followed shortly after, looking quite similar to the previous one but with much longer hair and a massive sword. She offered the same quiet nod. She had a different air about her, a little more relaxed. Almost friendly.
The Lieutenant blinked a few times, then inhaled sharply through his nose, resisting the urge to get the hell outta here.
He looked at the row of nearly identical faces before him, his expression carefully neutral despite the exasperation bubbling under the surface.
Clearing his throat, he asked, "Is this everyone?"
The Nikke with the very long gray hair answered with a simple, "Yes."
He hummed, writing something down on his clipboard before nodding to himself. His trench coat swayed slightly as he shifted his stance, tucking the clipboard under one arm.
This was going to be an interesting assignment.
"Right," he began. "You're here because of your stellar performance in combat simulations. As a result, you'll be officially deployed as..." He grimaced, glancing at the clipboard once more. "...the Melee Squad."
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Was that really the best name the higher-ups could come up with?
Uncreative as hell.
Still, he pressed on. "Your primary assignments will consist of infiltration and reclamation missions. The specifics will vary, but expect close-quarters engagements, enemy strongholds, and hostile territory recovery—Everything you've trained for."
There was a ripple of acknowledgment through the squad—until he added, "All under my command."
That got a reaction.
One of the unique-looking Nikkes—the one who'd given a small nod earlier—tilted her head in surprise. "A human will be accompanying us?" she asked, her tone carrying just the slightest edge of disbelief.
The other blinked once before murmuring, "So... we're being assigned a... what was it called again? A commander? Like the Goddess Squad?"
The Lieutenant sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had expected this.
"Think as you like," he said flatly, "but do not refer to me as 'Commander.' Just Lieutenant will do."
The gray-haired Nikke furrowed her brow slightly. "Why?"
"For the sake of continuity and my personal preference," he answered, his voice clipped but not hostile. "Going forward, regardless of stature, all Nikke squads will be assigned a commanding officer. That includes this one."
The first unique Nikke he encountered had a contemplative expression. She muttered under her breath, just loud enough to be heard, "To make such sweeping policy changes... It would seem that the accomplishments of the Goddess Squad are greater than I thought."
The Lieutenant hummed but said nothing, flipping through the clipboard in his hands. His gaze trailed down the list, scanning each of their names.
Most of the squad shared names that followed a pattern—short and straightforward. Names like Vera, Cora, Lise, Mara, Rina, Nia, Orla, and Sera.
Identical appearances, similar names—great, that was going to be a headache.
Then, at the bottom of the list, he found the last two names.
Scarlet.
Rose.
He looked up at them again.
"Rose."
The taller of the two—the one who had nodded at him upon entering—perked up slightly. "Yes?"
"You scored the highest in the last combat test," he said, matter-of-factly. "That means you're squad leader."
There was a small beat of silence. Then, Rose blinked and let out a soft hum, tilting her head slightly. "Ah, so whoever got the highest score gets to be the leader? I didn't expect that."
The Lieutenant fought back a sigh. Something about her reaction was... too easygoing. He had expected a more decisive response, maybe some pride, maybe some resistance. Instead, she just took it—like it was just another minor detail in her day.
He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.
Shaking the thought away, he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a water bottle. He unscrewed the cap, took a small sip, then rolled the bottle absently in his palm.
"That's all," he announced. "Return to your posts and prepare for deployment. The first mission is tomorrow morning."
With that, the meeting was over.
As the Nikkes began to file out, he exhaled softly.
Later that night, the Lieutenant sat at his desk, staring incredulously at the list of names and identical-looking profiles of the eight Nikkes under his command. He rubbed his temples, exhaling through his nose.
The mission was set for tomorrow, and he still had no concrete way of telling them apart.
"Stickers?" he muttered, then immediately dismissed the idea. "No, that's dumb. Armour placement changes? Maybe, but HR would probably take weeks to approve that."
He considered assigning them individual identifiers, but with how they were made... the manufacturers probably didn't even bother giving them distinct features beyond the basics.
With a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly on the desk. "This is going to be a nightmare."
A gentle knock at the door broke his train of thought. The voice on the other side was smooth and polite. "Commander? May we come in? My sister is with me."
Straightening up, he exhaled and adjusted his posture. "Come in."
The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing Rose at the front, her ever-present soft smile in place. Scarlet stood just behind her, arms crossed.
As they stepped in, Rose greeted him warmly, "Commander, it's a pleasure to see you again."
His brow twitched. "Lieutenant. Not Commander."
Rose smiled lightly at his correction but made no promises to abide by it. He decided to let it slide—for now.
"Is there something you two need to be clarified from the briefing?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. "Or do you have questions about tomorrow's mission?"
Scarlet sighed, shaking her head. "Dear sister, we should not linger here unnecessarily. We ought to prepare for battle instead of engaging in trivial chatter."
Rose simply smiled at her sister, undeterred. "We're not here for questions. We simply wanted to greet you properly."
The Lieutenant blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"...Greet me?"
Rose nodded cheerfully. "Since this is our squad's first time having a commander—"
"Lieutenant," he corrected, again.
"—I thought, since there were no introductions earlier, we should come in person to introduce ourselves."
He stared at her, visibly dumbfounded. "You... really didn't need to do that."
"Nonsense," Rose said lightly before stepping forward. "I am Rose, as you know, and this is my dear sister, Scarlet."
Scarlet hesitated, clearly not interested in entertaining pleasantries. "Introductions are unnecessary. We should simply focus on—"
"Scarlet, don't be shy," Rose cut in.
"I am not shy!" Scarlet declared, stepping forward abruptly. "I am Scarlet, master of the sword."
Rose giggled, tilting her head. "My, such a bold proclamation."
Scarlet shot her a glare. "Wouldst thou challenge my claim? Again?"
"Oh? Another duel already? Are you still upset about the last one?" Rose teased playfully.
The Lieutenant was aware of their duels and small rivalry already... Rose was heavily in favour of winning, having won nearly all 900+ duels, with only a few draws in between.
Scarlet placed a hand on the hilt of her weapon. "I will have satisfaction."
The Lieutenant stared at them in stunned silence. "If you're going to spar, do it in the training grounds. Not here."
Scarlet huffed but lowered her hand. "Very well."
He exhaled. "It was nice meeting you both in person, but I agree with Scarlet—somewhat. You should be preparing for tomorrow."
Rose, still smiling, shifted slightly and observed him. "You seem rather tired already, Lieutenant. Are humans truly so fragile?"
He gave her a flat look. "It's called mental exhaustion, dear. I'm not too aware of Nikke's compositions, but having to babysit 10 people while doing administrative work is bound to tire anyone."
Scarlet scoffed. "Nikkes do not tire like humans."
His eye twitched. "Uh, huh. Of course, Cyborg. Dismissed."
Rose giggled, "Of course, Commander."
"..."
"Get out," he muttered.
Scarlet gave him a nod of acknowledgement before following her sister.
Just before the door shut behind them, Rose peeked back in. "Sleep well, Lieutenant. We'll be in top form tomorrow."
The door finally hissed shut, leaving him alone again. He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"..."
He closed his eyes for a moment, considering his options for dealing with the squad before a sudden realization struck him.
"...Did I just get mothered by a damn android?"
Scarlet walked in measured steps, her boots tapping softly against the metallic flooring of the hallway while Rose kept pace beside her.
Scarlet suddenly exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "Thou art far too flippant with our commanding officer," she said, casting a sidelong glance at Rose. "It would do thee well to mind thy tongue in the future."
Rose blinked, tilting her head in that same absentminded way she always did when her sister scolded her. "Was I?" she asked, curious. "I must not have noticed. I will be more careful with my words next time."
Scarlet let out a small huff, though she remained wary.
"..."
"..."
They walked in silence for a few moments before Rose suddenly spoke again. "What do you think of him?"
Scarlet slowed her pace, thinking carefully.
"..."
"..."
"He appears to be competent," she said at last.
Rose hummed. "Mmm. That's all?" She cast her sister a teasing look. "I think he seems nice."
Scarlet raised a brow at her. "Nice? That is a flimsy evaluation, sister. Niceness is not a trait necessary for command."
Rose laughed softly. "Perhaps not, but it's still a good thing to have, is it not?"
Scarlet didn't respond immediately, her gaze distant as she mulled over something.
Noticing her sister's shift in demeanour, Rose nudged her lightly with her elbow. "What is it?"
Scarlet frowned slightly. "When we were in his office, he referred to me as a... 'Cyborg.' Yet in my memory, I have no recollection of such a term. I have reviewed my logs, and it appears absent from all prior knowledge."
Rose pressed a finger to her lips, considering this. "Hmmm. Maybe it's something you can ask him about tomorrow before the mission?"
"It is of no consequence. If he uttered it, then surely it was deliberate. Should this be some manner of test regarding my intelligence, I shall pass with flying colours."
Rose let out a light giggle at her sister's determination. "That's the spirit," she said playfully before stepping ahead.
Before she could get too far, however, Scarlet reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"Do not think me so easily distracted, sister," she said. "Thou dost still owe me a duel."
Rose blinked, then let out a sheepish laugh. "Oh. I nearly forgot."
Scarlet's glare sharpened. "How convenient."
"Shall we settle it now, then?"
Scarlet smirked, tightening her grip just slightly before releasing her. "Aye. Ready thyself."
Year: 2X33, The Next Day
Time: Afternoon
The battlefield had settled the storm of combat. There was nothing more than the hum of post-mission procedures. The mission had been a success, the squad unharmed.
Their commanding officer, however, had not been as fortunate.
From a short distance away, Rose and Scarlet stood observing the scene before them.
The Lieutenant sat slumped on a rock, arms resting on his knees, his usually composed expression dulled with something akin to quiet resignation.
His face, streaked with soot, twitched slightly as Vera crouched in front of him and dabbed at the mess with a cloth.
"Hold still," Vera muttered, wringing the cloth out in a small container of water. "You're making this harder than it has to be."
The Lieutenant exhaled sharply through his nose. "I don't remember ever being this unlucky with doors before," he said. "All I wanted was a safe place to deploy my drone. Observe the operation. Simple."
Vera shook her head. "And yet, despite all of us walking away unscathed, you were the one who got blasted by an unexploded bomb. You're lucky, Lieutenant."
"You're making it sound worse than it was. It was a malfunctioning smoke bomb—Now, I look racist!"
The gathered squad members found this particularly funny; chuckles rippled through the group. Even Orla, who had just returned with a small bucket of water, allowed herself a small smirk.
She set the bucket down beside Vera and placed her hands on her hips.
"Here. Use this; might as well clean him up properly." Then, with a raised brow, she turned to the Lieutenant. "So... is this going to be a common thing?"
The Lieutenant gave her a dry look. "Define 'common.'"
"You. Getting caught up in things you shouldn't."
"I prefer to think of it as 'anomaly mitigation,'" he replied, wiping a hand down his face—only to smear the soot further. He blinked once, sighed, and gave up.
"Sure," Vera said, wringing out the cloth again before swiping it over his cheek. "We'll go with that."
Meanwhile, a short distance away, Scarlet and Rose observed the interaction. Scarlet's expression was unreadable.
"Our Lieutenant is most unfortunate," she mused, watching as he endured Vera's ministrations with what could only be described as resigned suffering.
Rose giggled lightly, placing Fleetly Fading's scabbard on her lap. "It's kind of admirable, though. He stayed close."
Scarlet turned her head slightly as if considering this. "It may also be called foolish..." she murmured. But then, after a beat, she trailed off, her gaze lingering on the man as though something about that thought didn't quite settle right with her.
"...?"
Rose tilted her head. "I've got a good feeling about this," she said, her voice carrying that light certainty. "If you can accept the commander, then we have nothing to worry about."
Scarlet's expression flickered instantly. She snapped her head toward Rose with a sharp glare. "Lieutenant."
Rose simply grinned, humming in amusement. "Right, right. Lieutenant."
Chapter Text
Year: 2X33, Fall
Time: Afternoon
The Melee Squad had enjoyed success after success under their Lieutenant's command. His leadership was serious, yet it carried a touch of leniency, allowing them to operate efficiently without suffocating under military rigidity.
Their nearly flawless record spoke for itself.
However... perfection was an illusion.
Scarlet, Rose, and the Lieutenant stood over a broken Orla, the evening light casting long shadows over her wrecked body.
Scarlet was the first to speak.
"I do not believe she shall last much longer," she murmured, her eyes solemn as they studied the damage. "Her body is compromised... and the integrity of her cranium is..."
For Nikkes, bodily destruction was not the end.
So long as their core and brain remained intact, a new body could be acquired, and the fight would continue. But Orla's wounds were different. A massive fracture along her temple extended down, spiderwebbing through her synthetic skull.
Her core, too, was failing.
Rose took a breath before turning to their commanding officer. "Lieutenant," she called. "Can we arrange a casket for her?"
The Lieutenant, standing stiffly, responded with a slow nod.
"It can be done," he said absently.
He set down his drone and its controller beside him, exhaling heavily before lowering himself to a knee.
Orla's body twitched slightly as her damaged optics adjusted, her barely functional eyes settling on him. A weak smile played on her cracked lips.
"Lieutenant..."
He forced a small smile in return. "Yeah. It's me."
Orla blinked slowly. "Am I hurt?" she asked, her voice light. "I... I don't feel anything."
Scarlet's jaw clenched as she looked away, her fists tightening at her sides. Rose lowered her head, pressing her lips together, unwilling to watch.
The Lieutenant inhaled sharply before forcing his voice to remain steady.
"You're fine," he murmured. "Everything's fine."
Reaching into his trench coat, he pulled out a sleek black pistol. His fingers curled around the grip, though there was no comfort in the motion. He was going to kill again.
It was protocol—standard procedure. A Nikke who was compromised beyond repair had to be euthanized.
It was considered an act of mercy.
But in his mind, it felt no different from putting down a wounded dog.
Still not looking at them, he spoke to the two sisters standing behind him.
"Scarlet. Rose. Leave."
There was no argument. Without a word, the two turned and walked away, their footsteps fading into the background.
Orla's lips parted again. "Did we do it?"
He nodded once. "Mission's complete." He forced a comforting smile. "No thanks to you."
A soft chuckle, strained but genuine, escaped her. "Good," she whispered. "At least I was of some use." Her optics flickered, and she smiled at him, her expression oddly maternal.
His grip on the pistol tightened.
Orla shifted slightly, her gaze drifting over his soot-marked coat. "Are you covered in dirt again?" she joked weakly. "You're always such a mess... Commander..."
The Lieutenant swallowed.
The lump in his throat was painful. He raised the gun, steadying his aim at her head. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Rest now. You're going to get help."
Orla's damaged optics dimmed. She obeyed his final order, allowing herself to relax, to let go.
The trigger was pulled.
BANG.
A single gunshot echoed through the cityscape.
And then, there was silence.
For the glory of humanity.
Year: 2X33, A Few Days Later
Time: Afternoon
The steady rhythm of keyboard clicks filled the office, punctuated only by the occasional sigh from the man seated at the desk.
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
"Come in."
The door eased open, and Rose stepped inside, her gaze immediately drifting over the office. It was neat and orderly—an environment fitting of the man who occupied it. Her eyes landed on the Lieutenant, who remained focused on his monitor, his expression set in that same serious, ever-neutral state.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant!" she greeted chipperly.
"Afternoon," he returned, fingers still moving over the keyboard. "Apologies, I can't give you my full attention at the moment."
"It's alright. Patience is a flower that blooms in its own time."
The Lieutenant glanced at her briefly before nodding, apparently accepting her words without much thought. "Take a seat and do whatever. I'll be done in a moment."
Rose did as instructed, settling into the chair beside his desk. As he continued typing away, she took the opportunity to glance over his workspace. It was precisely what she expected—tidy and minimalistic. Stacks of reports, a few pens, a notepad... and an unfinished MRE meal sitting near the edge.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "You're still eating rations? We're not on the battlefield, you know. The cafeteria has real food."
The Lieutenant, without looking away from his screen, replied. "I've been here for a while. Didn't feel like the cafeteria menu today."
"Why not?"
"The sides."
"Sides? What sides—"
"Brussels sprouts."
Rose blinked, then let out a soft giggle. "So you'll eat standard-issue field rations, but Brussels sprouts are where you draw the line? You can be surprisingly childish sometimes for someone with such a hardened shell."
At that, the Lieutenant's fingers paused on the keyboard. Slowly, he turned his head toward her.
"Pot, meet kettle."
Rose laughed, shaking her head. "Fair enough."
Her gaze wandered again, this time landing on a small frame resting near the back of the desk. Curious, she leaned forward and picked it up. A faded photograph—rare in this day and age—of a group of people... happy people.
"Who's this?"
The Lieutenant's posture stiffened just slightly. "Put it down."
Rose hesitated but obeyed, setting the frame back in its place.
"Your family?"
She could tell who the lieutenant was in this picture. The little boy, around 5 years old, to the left of who she assumed to be his father, lips curled in a polite smile. Everyone else in the picture had wide ones, showcasing their pearly whites.
"Yes." His voice was quieter now. "I keep it so I don't forget their faces. It's been a long time."
"..."
Her brows furrowed slightly. "Do you ever take leave? Or even get leave?"
"..."
"..."
This time, the Lieutenant stopped typing entirely. The pause stretched just long enough to make the air feel heavier. Then, with a slow exhale, he straightened and motioned to the chair. "Sit back down. There's something I need to go over with you."
Though slightly thrown off by his avoidance, Rose complied, shifting in her seat as he resumed speaking.
"After our last mission, the Melee Squad has been officially consecrated."
Rose's eyes widened. "Wait, really?"
"Yes. Despite our... single casualty, we've performed well enough to be recognized as an official squad."
There was a brief pause before he continued.
"This means we'll now have access to more resources. Other squads can support us if needed. And in time, the quality and quantity of our equipment will improve. So I guess I have to give you your praises. Good job."
Rose's face lit up with excitement. "That's amazing!" She stood up. "I can't wait to tell the others!"
The Lieutenant nodded once. "You're dismissed."
Rose turned to leave but hesitated at the door. After a moment, she looked back at him.
"Thank you, Lieutenant. For everything."
He let out a low hum, a sound that was neither dismissive nor particularly sentimental. That seemed to be enough for her. With a small smile, she turned back and exited the room, the door hissing shut behind her.
The office was quiet again.
The Lieutenant leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. His eyes flickered back to his screen, his fingers moving once more. He finished composing the final email of the evening and hovered over the send button, reading the last line to himself:
"Starting the New Year, I request to begin the supply deprivation assessment."
He hit send.
For a moment, he simply stared at the screen, the glow casting small shadows across his face. Then, without much thought, he picked up his MRE, took another bite, and chewed slowly.
"They're just robots... Cyborgs... Whatever."
Something felt off.
A strange energy lingered in the air, a feeling in his gut telling him to check in on the Melee Squad. His intuition rarely steered him wrong, and after everything they'd been through, he had learned to trust it.
As he approached their quarters, the sound of chatter grew louder.
It wasn't just casual conversation—it was lively, bordering on chaotic. Rounding a corner, he spotted Scarlet walking towards him.
The moment she saw him, she let out a small sigh and picked up her pace.
"What's going on?" he asked, eyeing her as she approached.
Scarlet stopped before him. "I did all that I could to dissuade them, but it was a most futile endeavour. My dear sister's insistence would not wane, nor would the others' enthusiasm."
The Lieutenant arched a brow.
That phrasing... It almost sounded like Rose had refused a duel, but that was near impossible.
"You're going to have to elaborate."
Scarlet exhaled through her nose as if discussing the topic alone was cause for a headache, which it probably was. "It is better if you see for yourself," she murmured before turning on her heel, gesturing for him to follow.
Now thoroughly intrigued, the Lieutenant followed Scarlet to the squad's quarters. As they neared, the voices became clearer—debate, a few muffled laughs, and the occasional exclamation of disagreement.
When the automatic door hissed open, he was met with an unexpected sight.
The entire Melee Squad—Rose, Vera, Cora, Lise, Mara, Rina, Nia, and Sera—were gathered around two large boxes, digging through their contents and bickering over something. The Lieutenant immediately recognized the containers.
He requested those boxes of old movies and TV shows.
He blinked.
Wait, those were his!
"What the hell is going on?" he asked, his face etched with pure bafflement.
Rose, kneeling beside one of the boxes, perked up at the sound of his voice. She beamed. "Lieutenant! Perfect timing. Do you want to join us?"
Scarlet, still standing beside him, frowned. "This is completely unnecessary," she cut in. "There is no reason to be sifting through belongings not designated for our squad's use."
The Lieutenant waved his hand subtly, signalling for Scarlet to drop it. She pursed her lips but obeyed. He then turned his gaze back to the group.
"Explain," he ordered, still trying to process the scene before him.
Rose hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. "Well, since we're now an official squad, I thought it'd be nice to have a small celebration. The nice secretary up front had these in storage, so she let us take a few to watch."
NICE!? A FEW?! THAT'S ALL OF THEM!
The Lieutenant cursed the secretary in his head.
Would it be legal if he choked-slamed that quote 'nice secretary'? Or would that be too far?
Lise, leaning against the couch with her arms crossed, remarked. "Rose was gonna ask if you wanted to watch something with us." Her tone carried a certain lilt, though Rose nodded in agreement, brushing it off.
The Lieutenant sighed. These damn robots...
"I was planning to watch these by myself, but..." He exhaled and shrugged. "Fine. Celebrations and downtime are good for morale and mental health. I'll allow it this once since it contributes to these things. But if you're going to do things like this in the future, please inform me."
Rose cheered in delight, clapping her hands together before turning back to the others. The squad collectively exchanged satisfied grins, clearly pleased by the unexpected approval.
Vera walked up to him, curious. "Didn't peg you as the movie type, Lieutenant."
"I'm not," he replied dryly, "but I am someone who recognizes art and the importance of team cohesion."
Cora snorted. "He says that, but I bet he has a favourite movie he won't tell us about."
The Lieutenant simply shook his head, not taking the bait. "Pick something already," he said, taking a seat on the couch.
Scarlet, however, remained unamused. "I shall be in the training room. I have no need for such trivial activities."
Rose waved at her retreating figure. "If you change your mind, you're always welcome!"
Scarlet didn't respond.
The Lieutenant shook his head slightly before moving toward the couch. Vera handed him a bag of popcorn, which he took without complaint. Someone dimmed the lights, and the screen flickered to life.
For the first time in a long while, things felt... peaceful.
Nia curled up on the floor with a pillow and glanced over at him. "What's the bet that he falls asleep halfway through?"
The Lieutenant shot her a look, but before he could respond, Rose giggled. "If he does, we'll let him rest. He works too hard anyway."
I don't work that hard. What kind of impression do I give off, Rose?
"Need I remind you, you're still talking to your commanding officer?"
"Hm... Does that mean we can call you 'Commander' now—"
"No. Watch the damn movie!"
The Lieutenant stood at the edge of the loading bay, arms crossed, staring at the massive supply truck that had docked itself in the early morning.
His expression was one of sheer bafflement (Again).
The vehicle was far larger than any standard supply drop they usually received, and judging by the size of it, the Melee Squad wouldn't need to request another shipment for months—if not years.
He murmured to himself, shaking his head. "I wasn't expecting anything like this."
Beside him, Rose tilted her head. "On the bright side, at least we won't have to bother requesting additional support for a while."
The Lieutenant died inside.
"You make a good point, but this..." He gestured toward the truck, "is a gross failure of the United Forces of Humanity's bureaucracy."
"Hm... I won't argue with that."
As the back door of the truck frilled open with a mechanical whirr, revealing an almost absurd number of supply crates varying in size, the driver hopped out of the cabin and made his way over to the Lieutenant, a clipboard in hand.
"Lieutenant," the driver greeted with a tired nod, handing over the clipboard. "Here are the forms. Standard confirmation of receipt, signature required."
The Lieutenant took the clipboard but didn't sign it immediately. Instead, he flipped through the pages before glancing up. "You mind explaining why we're getting a shipment this big? This is overkill."
The driver shrugged.
"HQ said this was what the Melee Squad required. If you've got a problem with it, take it up with your superior officers."
"I don't want to do that... Figures..."
Meanwhile, Rose had climbed up into the back of the truck, weaving through the labyrinth of crates.
"Hey, Lieutenant," she called, sticking her head out from behind a stack. "You might want to come see this."
He narrowed his eyes, glancing at the driver, who gave him a 'don't look at me' kind of shrug before moving to oversee the unloading crew. With a resigned sigh, the Lieutenant stepped up into the truck.
Rose was crouched near an already unsealed crate, a curious glint in her eyes. She reached in and pulled out... something.
The Lieutenant squinted at it.
"...Is that a can opener?"
Rose turned it over in her hands before nodding. "A really big one."
"Why the hell would we need an industrial can opener?"
"Industrial-sized cans, perhaps?"
"I don't like your jokes, Rose."
Rose grinned, setting it down and reaching into the crate again. This time, she pulled out what looked like a high-tech plunger.
"That better be a thermal charge in disguise."
"Nope. Just a plunger," Rose confirmed, testing the suction by sticking it to the side of a crate. She then wiggled it free with a satisfying pop. "I wonder what they're trying to tell us..."
"Yeah," the Lieutenant muttered. "That they have no idea what they're doing."
Undeterred, Rose reached into the crate a third time and retrieved an item so bizarre that even she hesitated.
"Uh." She turned it over in her hands, studying it. "Is this... a tactical frisbee?"
The Lieutenant stared at the object, then at Rose, then back at the object.
"That design... I think that was meant to be my new drone! What the hell is it doing in there with all that junk!? Give that to me!"
Rose giggled but wasn't done yet. With one last rummage, she emerged with what looked like an unmarked bottle.
She squinted at the label.
"...Wait a second." Her eyes widened slightly. "Lieutenant, you might actually like this one."
She hopped down from the crate, holding out the bottle for him to see.
It was a bottle of sake.
The Lieutenant's eyes widened, inhaling deeply before exhaling even slower. "I may need that later," he muttered.
Rose grinned, giving the bottle a small shake before tucking it under her arm. "So, should we keep looking, or—"
"No," the Lieutenant hissed, ushering her out of the truck. "Get back over here and let the loading crews do their job before we find out they sent us a shipment of rubber duckies."
"Rubber duckies?"
"Yes. Now, get down before I turn you into a rubber duckie."
Rose finally relented, hopping down from the truck with an amused hum. As the Lieutenant turned back to the driver to finalize the paperwork, she cradled the sake bottle, grinning to herself.
She had an idea in mind for the upcoming New Year.
Year: 2X33, Two Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Near Midnight, New Year's Eve
The Lieutenant sat near the fire, his trench coat pulled tightly around his shoulders as he stifled a yawn. The embers flickered in the dimly lit space, casting elongated shadows across the worn concrete walls.
Around him, the Melee Squad settled in, some preoccupied with maintenance, others simply existing in the lull of another long day in this seemingly endless war...
Vera and Cora sat across from each other, diligently tending to their swords.
The rhythmic sound of whetstones gliding against metal was oddly soothing to his ears.
Tap...
Tap...
Lise and Mara trudged in from a scouting run, their boots scuffing against the floor as they shook off the cold.
"Anything?" he murmured, glancing at them briefly.
Lise shook her head as she unfastened her gear. "Nothing unusual. Just more ruins and more of those things prowling around."
Mara sighed, dropping onto a makeshift seat. "We should be grateful they aren't pushing further in this direction—yet."
By the fire, Rina, Sera, and Nia had formed their little conversation.
"You know," Rina began, leaning back with a small smile, "it's the New Year already."
Sera hummed, tilting her head as if she hadn't considered it. "Huh. I guess it is. Doesn't feel like it."
"Well, that's because we don't have fireworks, parties, or, you know, basic human civilization anymore," Nia muttered. "Just another night."
"Come on, Nia," Rina nudged her shoulder. "Even if things are tough, don't you think it's nice to acknowledge we've made it another year?"
Nia exhaled through her nose, staring into the flames. "I guess. But it's not getting any easier. Missions are getting harder. It feels like we... No, I'm barely keeping up..."
The Lieutenant listened quietly, watching his squad interact while gazing out one of the shattered windows.
The sky was pitch black, the stars barely visible through the thick clouds. His drone, a small hovering machine no larger than a basketball, approached from the outside. With a few deft movements, he guided it to land beside him, the mechanical hum fading as he shut it down and set the controller aside.
He pulled his coat tighter, shifting slightly against the secure pillar he had chosen to lean on for the night. The fatigue was setting in now, pulling at his eyelids.
As he adjusted his position, his ears picked up the sound of quiet conversation near another window—it was Scarlet and Rose.
"Say," Rose mused, "did we ever drink together when we were human?"
Scarlet was silent for a moment before answering, "...Not sure. All I recall is that we were sisters."
Rose chuckled softly. "Heh, it's interesting, isn't it? How do you figure that's the only thing we both remember? From what I've observed, unless you're a Grimms model, you either have no memories at all, or you remember everything."
"I suppose it was a particularly indelible memory for both of us."
Rose tilted her head while her sister continued.
"Perhaps I convinced myself to never forget my sister, even in death..."
The conversation blurred in the Lieutenant's mind as his body finally gave in to exhaustion. His thoughts circled back to the same refrain, the same mantra he had repeated over and over to himself since the beginning of this assignment.
They're just robots. Not humans.
He tried to believe it. He tried to cling to the idea that everything they did, every humanlike gesture, was nothing more than artificial programming. That their laughter, their complaints, their memories—were all just illusions.
He tried to believe it because it was easier than acknowledging anything else.
For the "Glory of Humanity," or something like that.
As his consciousness faded, sleep finally took hold.
And on this New Year's Eve, for the first time in a long while, the Lieutenant dreamed.
A nightmare.
Notes:
I think now I've established that this Lieutenant is much different from the New Year, New Sword lieutenant
Instead of being a dick from the get-go, he's more grey! Yay! Something different!
Chapter 4: Vol 1.4: Just Robots
Chapter Text
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night
The facility was quiet—at least, most of it was.
The lieutenant walked through the corridors, very bored.
He had finished his reports, filed the necessary paperwork, and even sat through a mind-numbing debriefing earlier in the day. By all accounts, he should have been in bed.
But sleep wasn't appealing. Not yet.
His gaze flicked upward, glaring at the harsh fluorescent lights above.
They buzzed faintly.
Those brutalists won the architecture war!
"Who the hell picked these damn lights? Feels like I'm stuck in a hospital."
And that's called foreshadowing.
His aimless wandering nearly continued—until a sharp, metallic clang echoed through the hallway.
His head turned slightly, brows furrowing.
More clangs followed, paired with the distinct sound of heavy footfalls and sharp grunts of exertion.
His expression was deadpan.
"...They're too loud."
His feet changed direction instinctively, carrying him toward the source of the noise.
The simulation room.
When he reached the door, he peered through the glass panel.
Inside was...
"Scarlet? Of course it's Scarlet..."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her move through the cityscape.
Even with all the engagements he had witnessed, seeing Scarlet in a full-fledged combat simulation was something else entirely.
Three massive Raptures lunged toward her from different angles—massive constructs of metal and synthetic muscle—Their glowing cores humming with murderous intent.
Scarlet did not retreat.
Instead, she pivoted sharply, using a broken-down car as a stepping stone. Her boots met the roof for only an instant before she pushed off, flipping over the closest enemy's body.
"Hah! Thou move like a drunken bard. You lumbering oaf!" she taunted midair, twisting her sword in an elegant downward arc.
Her blade cut clean through the first Rapture's core before her feet even touched the ground. Sparks exploded from the severed construct as its body crumpled.
Before the other two could react, she spun into a low stance, blade gleaming under the neon lights of the mock city.
One of the Raptures fired at her—a split-second miscalculation on its part. Scarlet used the projectile's impact against the ground to propel herself sideways, sliding across the pavement before launching upward again, this time rebounding off a nearby streetlamp.
Her next strike came like a bolt of lightning.
"Ha! Thy aim is as pitiful as thy existence!"
Her blade cleaved through the second Rapture's arm, then followed up with a flourish that severed its head in one clean motion.
The last enemy remained. It was larger than the others, a bulkier frame with reinforced plating—no doubt the "boss" of this particular training sequence.
Scarlet smirked.
The Rapture charged. She didn't.
The lieutenant, watching from the window, tilted his head slightly.
With impeccable timing, Scarlet stepped aside at the last possible moment, letting the enemy's massive leg slam into the pavement where she had once stood. Dust and debris exploded outward, momentarily obscuring her from view.
Then, from within the dust cloud, her voice rang out in a singsong tone:
"Thy brutish might is naught before mine grace."
The lieutenant caught the briefest flash of red.
A single, lightning-fast stroke.
The dust settled, revealing Scarlet behind the Rapture, her back turned to it. She flicked her blade outward, a faint hum following the motion.
The Rapture stood frozen for a moment. Then, its core split apart, and the entire construct collapsed, lifeless.
The simulation flickered off.
"Huh..." He huffed before moving toward the door.
The lieutenant hummed to himself, pushing the door open with an easy shove.
Scarlet, standing before a glowing scoreboard, was too preoccupied to notice his approach. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead before sighing, her eyes narrowing at the results.
"Tch... Curse thee, Rose... Thy score is an insult to reason itself."
She glared at the ranking system as if sheer willpower alone could close the gap between them.
It didn't.
lmfao.
That was when the lieutenant spoke.
"You always talk to scoreboards, or is tonight special?"
"Eek!"
Scarlet visibly jolted, letting out an uncharacteristic, almost girlish squeak as she spun on her heel.
Her golden eyes locked onto him, first in shock, then in mild exasperation.
"By the stars, Lieutenant! Dost thou take pleasure in startling maidens in the night?"
The man leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"Depends on the maiden, to be honest," he said flatly, his brow quirking. "I'm not back at the academy anymore, so I'd rather keep old habits old, if you know what I mean."
Scarlet tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Old habits? Was thou a troublemaker, then?"
The lieutenant scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping further inside.
"Not exactly. Got dragged into it more often than not." He rolled his shoulders, a tired expression settling onto his face. "You know how it is. Strict parents make the wildest students. They have curfews until they don't and stuff like that."
Scarlet hummed at that but let the topic drop.
The lieutenant glanced past her at the scoreboard, then back at her with a raised brow. "So, what's got you out here training this late?"
She sighed and gestured toward the board with her sword. "This."
His gaze followed where she pointed. The bright, near-impossible score beside Rose's name made him blink. He whistled lowly.
"Impressive. Haven't seen her perform in a while, but I remember—she's quick, efficient, and just about the best warrior in the squad."
"Aye. That is why I must surpass her."
The lieutenant turned his head slightly at her tone. "You must?"
"Aye." She exhaled. "Over our thousand duels, I hath never bested her. Not even once." She lifted a gloved hand, curling her fingers slightly. "A dozen times, we drew. But all others... I lost."
He studied her for a long moment before shaking his head.
"So that's why you're out here instead of getting some rest."
"Nikkes do not tire as humans do."
He gave a tired nod.
"Yeah. Nikkes don't need sleep, can presumably go decades without performance issues, and yet..." His gaze drifted down to her stance—feet firm, fingers gripping her sword tighter than before. "You still train like you'll die tomorrow."
She huffed, placing her free hand on her hip.
"Thou art correct." A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Yet that alone grants me motivation to grow stronger."
He remained silent for a second, watching her.
Then, in an almost lazy tone, he asked, "You ever consider just... spending time with your family instead?"
Scarlet blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then, she looked at him as if he had just grown a second head.
"Preposterous. Why would I do such a thing? If I halt my training for even a moment, I cannot be certain the gap between my sister and I would not widen further. She seemingly gets stronger by simply existing, lieutenant, you must understand."
The lieutenant exhaled. "Right. Of course. Strength, strength, and more strength."
Scarlet frowned slightly. "What dost thou mean by that?"
"Ever consider that maybe Rose only accepts your duels because she wants to spend time with you?"
That made Scarlet pause.
Her brows furrowed. "I... do not understand thy meaning. My sister always accepts my duels because they test our strength as swordsmen."
He deadpanned.
"Of course. The cyborg doesn't understand humans. Why am I not surprised?"
Scarlet crossed her arms but said nothing.
He took in a slow breath before exhaling.
"You and Rose are sisters. And families are usually—" He made a vague motion with his hand, as if struggling to find the words. "—tight-knit. They spend time together. Because they're family—That's my impression, at least."
Scarlet still looked lost. "And?"
His brow twitched. He clenched his jaw for a moment before forcing himself to stay calm. He decided to switch tactics. "Have you ever seen Rose train to the point of forgoing sleep?"
"...No."
"But she's better than you, right?"
"A natural prodigy," Scarlet affirmed. "If I am to close the gap, I must train and train and—"
The lieutenant let out a low, exasperated groan. His head tilted back slightly as if pleading with the ceiling for patience.
If he was looking for any deity to give him strength, they had left him years ago.
lmfao
"Scarlet. Stop."
She blinked. "But I must—"
"Do you remember our first mission?"
A flicker of surprise crossed her face before it settled into something more thoughtful. She lowered her sword slightly, eyes unfocusing as she recalled.
"Yes," she murmured. "I shall never forget it."
The enemy was unlike anything they had faced before: twenty ground-type Raptures, larger than the ones they had fought in training, bordering on Servant-class. Their joints whirred and clanked as they moved, their sheer size making the ground tremble.
Scarlet gripped her blade tighter, her breath shallow. No one moved. They were trained for this, built for this, but staring down at those monstrous machines, a terrible fear pressed against them.
No one dared to jump.
Until Rose did.
She leapt from the vantage point, hitting the ground with a forceful impact before surging forward. Her blade was a blur, carving into the Raptures like they were nothing more than brittle husks.
Sparks flew.
Metal groaned.
She tore into them without hesitation.
Scarlet had barely registered it when she turned to glance at him.
The lieutenant.
He stood behind them, hands in his pockets, watching the battlefield with an expression that could only be described as... unimpressed. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, as if the growing mess below was nothing more than an inconvenient delay to his day.
Scarlet swallowed.
He was just human—the Raptures' primary target.
No enhancements, cybernetics, no combat body like theirs.
And yet, he showed not an ounce of fear.
Rose's voice sang through the comms.
"You know, I always found the sword to be better than a gun~"
Scarlet's fingers twitched around her weapon. But her body still didn't move.
The lieutenant sighed.
"So..." he said, glancing at the rest of them. "Are you all just gonna let your squad leader die?"
The words stung.
Before anyone could respond, he simply turned on his heel.
"Whatever. I'll go find a place to hide and play with my drone. If you finish the mission, or if you need help retrieving Rose's body, come find me."
And then—he left. Just like that.
The squad protested. He couldn't just leave them! But he didn't look back. He didn't wait for an argument.
He simply walked away, hands still in his pockets, disappearing into the ruins.
Scarlet's heart pounded.
She had never felt fear like that before. The weight of it was crushing. The Raptures swarmed below, tearing through the rubble, closing in on her sister.
And yet...
The lieutenant's words rang in her mind.
Are you all just gonna let your squad leader die?
Scarlet exhaled sharply.
No.
She tightened her grip on her blade, then turned to the others.
"Protect your squad leader!" She shouted. "We shall not abandon her! On me!"
She didn't wait for their response.
Her legs bent. The fear burned away, replaced by something fierce.
And she leapt.
The wind howled around her as she descended. Her blade ignited with power, and the moment her feet touched the ground, she drove it forward, piercing the core of one Rapture, then immediately spinning and slicing through a second before it could react.
The moment the others saw her move, something turned.
Fear cracked.
They jumped, one after another, their hesitation burned away by the sheer force of Scarlet's conviction.
The battle became a blur—metal clashing, fire burning, sparks flying. What should have been their first failure instead became their first victory.
Scarlet's voice drifted off as she returned to the present. She looked down at her hands, still gripping the hilt of her blade.
The lieutenant watched her quietly. Then, after a moment, he exhaled.
"You were scared," he said. It wasn't a question.
Scarlet nodded slowly. "Terrified."
"But you still jumped."
"Because I could not let my sister fall alone... I also did not wish for your proclamation to become true. I was truthfully frustrated."
"Yeah, well, you weren't the only one pissed at me back then." He gave her a sideways glance. "Got a lot of flack for that stunt—from you and command."
Scarlet huffed, shifting slightly where she stood.
"I... may have yelled at thee," she admitted, a hint of sheepishness creeping into her voice. "But in hindsight, I understand why thou did it. We were terrified. We needed—" She hesitated, as if the realization was just now settling in. "We needed something to burn that fear away."
"And you figured out why I did it, huh?"
She regarded him carefully before speaking.
"Thou knew Rose would jump first."
His expression didn't change, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.
Scarlet pressed on, her tone almost analytical.
"'Tis basic psychology. She is our squad leader, and we follow her. Tis our duty, our instinct—to protect our leader. Yet..." She tilted her head slightly. "Had we jumped first, we would have hesitated. Had thou ordered us to engage, we would have wavered. Our performance would be clouded by fear. But by abandoning us, by forcing us to choose between duty and fear, thou ensured that duty would prevail."
"Huh. You really overanalyzed the hell out of that one."
Scarlet flushed slightly but held her ground.
He continued, shaking his head.
"Scarlet, that mission did not go the way it did not because of Rose or me. It was you who rallied everyone."
She blinked.
"You've got leadership instincts, plain and simple." He rolled his shoulders. "And, not to bash Rose, but you're a better leader than she is."
Scarlet's eyes widened slightly.
"What...?"
"Rose fights well, no doubt about it. She's got the skill, the experience, the guts to dive headfirst into hell and carve a way through." He paused. "But you? You were the one who got everyone moving. You were the one who gave the order to protect her. You were the one they listened to."
Scarlet opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"Here's the thing, Scarlet."
She looked at him warily.
"You keep trying to 'close the gap,' but you're missing the point."
Scarlet frowned. "What dost thou mean?"
He regarded her for a long moment. Then, he shrugged.
"You already jumped."
Silence.
Scarlet stared at him, her mind whirling as she deconstructed the words.
He wasn't talking about that first mission.
He was implying something far more than that.
She had spent so long believing that she was leagues behind her sister. That she had to train and fight and struggle to ever hope to match Rose's brilliance. But now, the lieutenant was telling her—no, insisting—that she was already there.
Already on her sister's level.
That was impossible.
Her hands curled into fists.
"Nay," she said, shaking her head, her voice quieter now. "That... That is nonsense."
The lieutenant exhaled, already sensing where this was going.
Scarlet continued.
"I acknowledge thy analogy, but thou ask too much of me to accept such a thing. I cannot simply be on the same level as my sister." She squared her shoulders. "The only way I can surpass her is through the blade. Through swordsmanship. That is what I was made for."
The lieutenant groaned dramatically, running a hand down his face.
"God help me," he muttered under his breath before suddenly turning to the door. "It's always about strength; it's always about swordsmanship, physical—augh..."
"I give up."
Scarlet blinked in surprise. "What—"
His hand gripped the handle, but before stepping out, he threw one last glance over his shoulder.
"You should spend time with your sister." His voice was firm, but there was an edge of something else there. "Maybe teach her how to improve her terrible cooking skills—don't tell her I said that. Mingle with the rest of the Melee Squad more and get to know them. It'll make the unit stronger and you along with it. There. That's what I wanted to say... I really shouldn't have gone on that tangent."
With that, he pulled the door shut behind him.
Outside, his footsteps were heavy against the cold floor as he walked toward his room.
His scowl deepened, and he exhaled sharply.
"Putting too much effort into this," he muttered under his breath. "All for some damn robots."
The hall swallowed the sound of his retreating steps—until they didn't.
The distinct clack of boots against the floor echoed behind him.
God, I'm ready! Take me!
He didn't even have to turn around to know who it was.
"Lieutenant."
He stopped. Exhaled through his nose.
Slowly, he turned his head just enough to see Scarlet standing outside the simulation room. Her golden eyes were locked onto him, unwavering as ever, but there was something else there—a flicker of hesitation.
What a rare sight.
She took a deep breath before speaking again.
"I shall attempt to fulfill thy expectations."
He blinked at her.
Once.
Twice.
Then sighed.
"Yeah? Then do me a favour and start small." He gave her a lazy, deadpan stare, waving a hand vaguely in her direction. "Take a shower. Get all that sweaty smell off you, please."
Scarlet blinked, slightly taken aback. "I—"
"Turn the damn simulation room off until at least six in the morning," he continued, "and for the love of everything holy, go to bed."
There was a pause. Scarlet processed his words, standing stock still. Then, after a beat, she gave a sharp nod. "Aye, Lieutenant."
"Good," he mumbled, already turning away.
He barely made it five steps before she called after him again.
"Lieutenant."
He flinched. "What?!"
Scarlet hesitated for half a second before adding, "Rest well."
The lieutenant groaned internally. He lifted a hand in half-hearted acknowledgment and kept walking.
As he turned the next corner, he reached up and tried tearing his eyeballs out as he silently sobbed in mock agony.
"Why is her voice so loud?" he grumbled. "Why was she yelling all the way from over there?!"
The lieutenant sat in his office, legs lazily propped up on his desk, flipping through the worn pages of an old book. The overhead light hummed faintly, casting a dull glow over the room.
He was reading mostly to kill time, his mind half-engaged in the words in front of him. His fingers drummed absently against the cover as he skimmed another paragraph. Then, his brows furrowed.
He narrowed his eyes, reading the passage again, and then let out a short huff of surprise.
"Huh. That's crazy," he muttered under his breath.
Before he could dwell on it further, his door slid open with a mechanical hiss.
The sharp click of boots on the floor followed as Nia stepped in, standing stiffly at attention. She wasn't usually one to barge in unannounced, so whatever she had to say was probably important.
"Lieutenant," she said crisply. "The United Forces of Humanity Transport is here to take you."
The lieutenant barely glanced up from his book, giving her a quick once-over before flicking his gaze back down.
"Oh, that?"
Nia subtly stiffened under his brief scrutiny. Her pinkish-gray ponytail swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, though she remained otherwise composed.
After a beat, he turned a page and asked, "What were they wearing?"
Nia blinked. "Sir?"
"The people in the transport," he elaborated, voice still bored. "What were they wearing?"
Nia frowned slightly, puzzled by the question. "Uh... standard UFH military uniforms?"
The lieutenant grunted but interrupted before she could continue. "Yeah, but did they look like they had a stick up their ass?"
Nia made a choking noise.
"I—I don't know?" She sputtered slightly, ears tinged pink from either confusion or mild embarrassment. "They, uh... looked a bit unfriendly? If that's what you were wondering?"
The lieutenant finally placed his book down, marking his place with a bookmark before pushing himself up. He stretched, rolling his shoulders with a sigh.
"Yeah, that tracks," he muttered before gesturing towards the door. "Alright. Walk me there."
"Right!"
As they made their way through the halls, the faint hum of machinery filled the space between them. The lieutenant, hands in his pockets, walked with an unhurried pace. Nia, still a bit tense, kept a step behind him.
After a moment, he glanced at her.
"You ever wonder why I asked you that question?"
Nia stiffened slightly again, her mouth opening—then closing—as she seemed to struggle for an answer.
The lieutenant clicked his tongue. "If you hesitate like that in a non-hostile environment, it'll be the death of you in a real one."
Nia inhaled sharply, nodding once. "...Understood, sir."
"Melee Squad doesn't get the same discipline as most other units. No forced push-ups, no laps, no standing at attention for half the day."
"Well... from what I hear, in comparison to other commanding officers, you're rather lenient, sir. And, um... a bit laid-back."
The lieutenant shot her a sideways glance. "Then take after me and relax, you damn robot."
She blinked at him.
"If you do," he continued, "you'd be able to answer my question. So—why did you think I asked you that?"
Nia hesitated for only a second before taking a slow breath, visibly loosening her shoulders. "...Maybe because there are people within the UFH you don't like? Or maybe a rivalry with some?"
"Good theory. Bit off the mark, though."
Before she could ask what the right answer was, they stepped outside.
The UFH transport convoy sat in the lot, sleek, uniform, and completely devoid of personality. The vehicles, all painted in the same dull shade of military grey, stood in perfect formation.
The lieutenant took one look at them and scowled.
"...Yeah, no, you were right," he muttered. "I don't like some people within command."
Nia barely suppressed a laugh, though a nervous chuckle still slipped through.
As they approached, he glanced at her.
"Stick with me. Make sure I don't get kidnapped."
Nia's face twitched.
"Wh—Kidnapped? Sir, why would they—"
"Because," he said flatly, "I'm pretty sure one of my old academy mates is in one of these cars."
Nia's expression twisted between confusion and concern.
"And... that means?"
"It means I need to be careful picking which car I get into," he said, scanning the vehicles with narrowed eyes. "Because if I choose wrong, I'll have to sit next to them the entire way."
He started toward a specific car, seemingly at random.
"...Sir?"
"You're in charge while I'm gone," he said over his shoulder, already making his way inside. "If anyone misbehaves, drag them into the simulation room and put it on Overclock Difficulty for an hour."
"Wait, what—?"
Before she could fully process it, he was gone, the door shutting behind him.
The convoy engines rumbled to life, and within moments, the vehicles pulled out, disappearing into the distance.
Nia watched them go, her arms crossed, a slight frown on her face.
Then, just for a moment—
She swore she could see the lieutenant's soul physically leaving one of the cars.
Her brows furrowed before her lips curled into a small, fond smile.
"...Unlucky as always, huh?"
Chapter Text
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Afternoon
THUNK!
The Lieutenant hit the ground hard, pain searing through his side as he gasped for breath. His ears rang, his vision spun, and the weight pressing down on him was relentless.
Nia—no, not Nia, not the one he knew—stood over him. Her movements were erratic, her eyes burning with something unnatural.
She had suffered a Mind-Switch and had become an Irregular.
"You'll get us all killed! Die!"
She lunged again, and he barely managed to roll to the side, her blade slamming into the concrete where his head had been a second earlier. He scrambled backward, teeth gritted.
"Nia, what the fuck are you doing?!" he shouted, trying to reach her, to snap her out of it, but there was no hesitation in her movements, no moment of clarity in her expression.
She was fast—faster than she had ever been in training, her attacks were now fueled by raw aggression.
He barely ducked under another wild swing, his trench coat slicing open as the blade skimmed too close. His feet slid against the rubble, and before he could regain his footing, she was already moving again—
THUNK!
A knee slammed into his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs and cracking his ribs.
He hit the floor again, coughing, barely able to react as Nia straddled him, pinning him down. The cold gleam of her sword caught the light as she raised it, poised to drive it straight into his heart.
His body screamed at him to move, but her weight pressed him into the ground, rendering him helpless.
Desperate, he gritted his teeth and grabbed at her wrists with his non-dominant hand, straining to keep the sword at bay as he fumbled for his pistol with the other.
The blade inched closer.
His fingers fumbled against the grip of his pistol, trying to pull it free.
"Fuck—!" he spat, sweat dripping down his temple.
He wasn't fast enough.
He wasn't strong enough.
The sword tip touched his chest, piercing through his shirt and drawing a thin line of blood. He bared his teeth, snarling against the overwhelming force pressing down on him.
And then—
Shink.
A sickening sound of metal slicing through flesh.
The weight on top of him lessened as something warm and artificial splattered across his face and chest.
His vision blurred for a second, his mind catching up to what had just happened.
Footsteps. Urgent. Fast.
"Lieutenant!" Rose's voice.
His dazed eyes snapped toward where Nia had been, but she was already gone.
No.
Not gone—her upper half had separated from her lower. Her body collapsed in a pile, arms twitching as her blade clattered onto the ground.
Scarlet and Rose were at his side in an instant.
Scarlet knelt down, her hands grabbing his shoulders as she pulled him up.
"Lieutenant, dost thou suffer from grave injury?!" she asked. "The others shall arrive in mere moments—can thou speak?!"
His mouth opened, but the only thing that came out was an incoherent string of words.
His chest ached.
His mind felt like static.
Scarlet clicked her tongue. "Tch. Dear sister, see to it—put an end to this spectacle."
Rose hesitated, looking down at what was left of Nia. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, her lips parting as if she wanted to protest. But she didn't. She knew what had to be done.
Neither of them wanted to execute a comrade.
The Lieutenant barely remembered what happened next. The weight of exhaustion and shock dragged him under.
What he did remember was waking up in the infirmary.
And that the Melee Squad had lost another member.
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, Two Days After
Scarlet's arms were folded as she walked.
"Our lieutenant is possessed of strength most formidable for a mere human."
Rose, who had been absently adjusting the straps of her gloves, tilted her head at her sister.
"What, physically? Like as strong as a Nikke?"
Scarlet gave a thoughtful hum. "I would not jest of such a matter. Nia was already poised to end his life. Yet, despite his wounds, despite the certainty of his defeat, he yet resisted her. With bare hands, he did hold back her blade, if only for a moment."
Rose's steps faltered slightly, her brows knitting together. She remembered. Of course, she did.
The image was burned into her mind.
"Perhaps it was like... What was it called? Hysterical strength?" Rose murmured. "Sometimes humans can tap into unnatural amounts of power in a life or death situation. It's... remarkable."
Scarlet turned her head slightly, watching her sister's expression carefully.
"Had we tarried but a second longer... his life would have been forfeit."
A pause.
Then, Rose's brows furrowed, her gaze darkening.
"Before I struck Nia down, I hesitated."
Scarlet's gaze softened.
"'Tis no light burden to be the hand that slays a comrade. The heart recoils from such cruel necessity. But you have done the right thing, sister."
Rose closed her eyes for a brief moment, exhaling through her nose. When she opened them again, the sorrow was still there but softer, as if the edges had been dulled.
"Thank you." A small, tired smile touched her lips. "I know that. And yet, I cannot help but think—had I been quicker, had I not wavered, perhaps he would not be in a hospital bed now."
Scarlet merely listens.
There was a brief silence between them before Rose sighed and forced a change in tone.
"Still, what's done is done. We got him out. He'll be back in a few weeks." Her lips quirked slightly. "Even after a storm beats a flower down, it finds a way to bloom again."
Scarlet hummed in agreement.
"A fair sentiment." Then, after a moment, she glanced toward Rose, her expression shifting to something more uncertain. "And yet... I find myself most wary of the days ahead."
"Why?"
Scarlet hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against her arm. "With our lieutenant absent, the reins of command shall be passed unto another. And as thou well know... not all hands are fit to steer a vessel through treacherous tides."
Rose gave her a long look before smirking.
"Huh. Or maybe you just prefer him over anyone else."
Scarlet stiffened, noticing that look.
"T-That is absurd!" she sputtered.
"Ohhh, but you didn't deny it outright."
"I did!" A faint dusting of red crept over her pale cheeks, and she immediately turned her head away, scowling. "Speak not such nonsense, sister! I merely consider the welfare of our squad. To place our fate in the hands of an untested leader is cause for concern, nothing more."
Rose let out a teasing hum.
"Suuuure. Nothing more, hmm?"
Scarlet shot her a glare.
Rose only giggled, shaking her head as they neared the door.
"Still, I'll admit it—I do prefer him over anyone else." She remarked lightly. "But who knows? Maybe this one will lead us to even more victories."
Scarlet huffed, brushing past her sister to push open the door.
"They shall have much to prove."
Rose grinned, following after her. "Guess we'll see soon enough, huh?"
The moment Rose and Scarlet stepped in, the voice of their new commander cut through the room like a blade.
"Finally decided to join us, did you?"
Both sisters instinctively halted mid-step. The tone wasn't just authoritative—it was dripping with condescension.
The man standing at the head of the room was tall and broad-shouldered and carried himself with the stiff arrogance of someone who believed respect was something to be beaten into others. His uniform was immaculate, pressed to perfection, and his expression was one of thinly veiled irritation.
He wasn't their lieutenant.
And it showed.
"If this is how you two treat orders, I can see why your squad is in the shape it's in," he continued, arms crossed. "Just because you're the top performers doesn't mean you get to waltz in whenever you damn well please."
Rose and Scarlet exchanged a glance. The rest of the squad didn't dare to move, their silence telling enough.
Scarlet's expression remained composed, but inwardly, she was already unimpressed.
Rose, to her credit, held her ground.
"As Squad Leader, I take full responsibility for our delay." Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she added, "Though, unless my internal clock is malfunctioning, this meeting was scheduled for three minutes from now. By all accounts, we are early."
A flicker of annoyance crossed the commander's face, but he masked it quickly with a scoff.
"Tch. Sounds like excuses to me."
Then, the real venom came.
"I don't know how that sack of shit you called a lieutenant ran things, but it's clear he was far too lenient on you robots."
The shift in the air was immediate.
A few squad members subtly tensed. Others lowered their gazes, knowing better than to speak out.
Scarlet's eyes narrowed just slightly.
Ah. So it is not mere authority he seeks—it is domination.
The commander continued, tone laced with unhidden contempt. "I don't plan to be here long, but for the next few weeks, you're under my command. And I will instill discipline into this squad before that lazy excuse for an officer drags you all back into bad habits."
Rose, who had been rather composed up until this point, felt her grip on restraint waver. But she caught herself. Barely. Her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tightening, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she simply inhaled through her nose, exhaled, and gave a curt nod.
"Understood, sir."
Scarlet didn't say a word.
The rest of the squad remained silent as well, though the discomfort in the room was palpable.
The commander straightened, clearly satisfied with himself. "Good. Now, let's get to work. This squad is going to learn what real discipline looks like. This next mission..."
Tyranny is a heavy yoke, and not all shall endure its weight.
Indeed, in the weeks that followed, the Melee Squad's numbers were reduced from 8 to 6.
The Lieutenant sat upright in bed, bandages wrapped around his torso.
The dull ache in his side had dulled to a manageable throb, but the pain in his chest had nothing to do with his injuries.
A tablet rested in his hands, the screen illuminating his face with cold blue light. His eyes scanned the report—line by line, page by page—his expression growing darker with each passing second.
Mission Report: Melee Squad
Objective: Infiltration & Intel Extraction
Status: Partial Failure
He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around the edges of the tablet. The words on the screen blurred slightly, not from exhaustion but from sheer frustration.
Bodily malfunctions. Severe Rapture ambush. Building collapse.
Casualty: Mara (KIA).
His grip nearly cracked the screen.
The next page details Vera's injuries.
Severe cranial damage. There is a high risk of Mind Switch or total brain death. Immediate monitoring is required.
Suggestion: Termination of Vera
The Lieutenant's breath hitched slightly, his pulse thudding in his ears.
"Six," he murmured under his breath.
Six members of the Melee Squad left that were still functioning somewhat normally.
Just six.
He swiped a hand down his face, inhaling deeply despite the discomfort in his ribs. The air in the infirmary felt stale, artificial, and suffocating.
He shut his eyes for a moment.
"They're just robots," he muttered as if repeating it enough times would make it true. "They're just—"
But that wasn't how it felt. It never was.
He had been sidelined for too long. Weeks of forced rest, healing from the wounds Nia had left him with. While he was stuck in this bed, his squad—his squad—was out there, barely holding together with some wack-ass commander who didn't know how the hell to lead...
He needed to get back to duty.
He was killing all of them by simply being here.
Slowly, he leaned back against the pillow, wincing as a sharp sting ran through his side. His body was telling him to rest, but he wouldn't.
His gaze shifted toward the nightstand beside him. The picture frame he had requested sat there, undisturbed. His fingers hovered over it for a second before he finally picked it up, turning it over in his hands.
A familiar image.
His family.
He stared at it, feeling something bitter crawl up his throat.
"I hate it here."
The silence of the room swallowed his words, leaving nothing but the soft hum of machinery and his own shallow breathing.
"..."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a question surfaced—one he had never dared to dwell on for too long.
Could he just run away?
Would it even be possible?
Would they allow him?
Or had he already lost the chance?
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday, Spring
Woosh!
Rose took a step back, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted her grip on her blade. Across from her, Scarlet held her sword in a steady stance, her yellow eyes locked onto her sister.
They had been at this for a while—sparring had always been a good way to keep their skills sharp and their bodies from stagnating. It also helped clear the mind, at least usually.
But Rose's mind wasn't clear.
Clang!
She shifted her weight forward and, in a swift motion, struck out at Scarlet's weapon with a sharp twist of her wrist. The force sent Scarlet's blade spinning from her grasp, clattering onto the floor.
Scarlet blinked at her empty hands, then let out a breathy chuckle. "A most abrupt maneuver, dear sister. I must admit, I did not expect it."
Rose hummed in thought, lowering her weapon.
"Yeah, I guess I was thinking about something else."
Scarlet arched an eyebrow, reaching down to retrieve her sword. "Would this 'something else' happen to be our Lieutenant?"
Rose didn't answer right away, which was answer enough.
Scarlet sighed. "So you've noticed as well."
"How could I not?" Rose muttered, sliding her sword back into its sheath. "He's different."
She was happy when he came back. The temporary commander they had been assigned during his recovery was... well, not the greatest. In her opinion, he was incompetent.
In Scarlet's?
She absolutely despised the man.
And then there were the losses. Two fewer members of the Melee Squad.
Mara was gone.
Vera was too.
There was also the issue of supplies. They had been able to service almost all damage if this were a few months ago; however, now the pressure was on to ration enough supplies and encourage more cautious maneuvers.
Their best guesses were that the bureaucracy was keeping vital aid from reaching the Melee Squad.
But even with all of that, she didn't expect the Lieutenant to be so... closed off.
Sure, he was always a little strict, maybe a little too sarcastic sometimes, but he knew when to let up. If they had downtime, he let the squad indulge in pastimes to keep morale up. Watching old movies together, playing card games, even letting them mess around with that ancient arcade console they salvaged a while back—he didn't stop them.
Hell, sometimes, he even joined in.
Rose was more than certain it was his way of keeping himself occupied, too.
But now?
Since returning, he'd barely left his office. He engaged with them less and less like he was keeping a wall between himself and the squad. Rose tried to rationalize it. Anyone would be in a bad place after being taken out of action and learning their squad suffered a loss. But the way the Lieutenant shut himself in for weeks wasn't just grief. It felt like something deeper.
And that worried her.
As squad leader, she needed to know what was going on in her commanding officer's head—at least a little. His behaviour would affect the team sooner or later.
"I'm going to talk to him," she finally said, straightening her stance.
Scarlet regarded her for a moment before nodding slightly.
"Tis best that you do. His absence from our interactions has been... strange." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "I have had my own concerns, yet I do believe thou art best suited for this task."
"Hmm? Do you not want to give one of your speeches?"
"I doubt he would be receptive in his current state."
That was fair.
Rose turned to leave, though...
Before she could take a step, Scarlet reached out, grabbing her wrist. Rose blinked, looking back.
Scarlet let out a soft sigh.
"On second thought, I shall accompany thee."
"Changed your mind?"
Scarlet offered a small, almost reluctant nod. "Indeed."
Rose didn't argue. If anything, she was glad. With Scarlet by her side, maybe the Lieutenant would actually talk instead of brushing her off.
A few moments later, the two sisters stood before the door, Rose lifting a hand to knock.
"Lieutenant, are you inside?" she called out.
"..."
"..."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, a quiet sound—almost a grunt—followed by a tired, "Come in."
Rose pushed the door open and stepped inside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim room.
The lights were off. The only illumination came from the faint light of the desktop monitor.
At his desk, the Lieutenant sat hunched forward, fingers tapping away, only barely acknowledging their presence. His voice was softer than usual when he finally spoke.
"Something you need?"
Scarlet frowned. "Why are the lights off?"
The typing didn't stop. "Forgot."
Scarlet rolled her eyes before flipping the light switch. The overhead fluorescents flickered to life. The Lieutenant let out an audible sigh, squinting against the sudden brightness.
Rose stepped forward, stopping just in front of his desk. "How are you doing?"
The Lieutenant hummed, his typing slowing. "Fine."
Scarlet scoffed. "Let us not play at pretense, sister." She turned her gaze to the Lieutenant. "Pray, tell us what truly ails thee."
Rose shot her a look, but Scarlet didn't waver.
The Lieutenant's fingers stilled over the keyboard. Slowly, he leaned back, resting his head against his palm as he regarded them properly for the first time. Now that they could see him up close, it was obvious—small black circles sat under his eyes. They were like stains.
"I've been... out of it," he admitted, the excuse sounding hollow. "Spent weeks out of commission. Guess I'm still getting back into things."
Rose frowned.
"That doesn't fully explain the..." she hesitated for a moment, searching for the right word, "distance."
The Lieutenant let out a short hum and spun his chair slightly, staring at nothing in particular as he thought.
Then, he asked, "How are you two feeling about 40% of our squad dying?" His voice was even, but there was something underneath it. Something unreadable. "20% of that in the span of a single moment."
Rose stiffened slightly. Scarlet, however, met his gaze and answered without hesitation.
"'Twas difficult, at first. Bonds were formed over the past year, and their loss is not one easily accepted." She tilted her head slightly. "Yet, it is not something we of the Melee Squad can dwell upon for long."
The Lieutenant hummed again. "Good answer." He turned to Rose. "You gonna say the same thing?"
Rose hesitated but then nodded.
He exhaled through his nose, nodding absently before turning back to his screen.
"Then there's no issue." His tone was final. "And if there's no issue with either of you, there's no need for you to check for issues with me."
He dismissed them with a small wave of his hand. "Oh, and if you were wondering, no updates on the supply shipment."
Rose and Scarlet didn't move.
They simply stood there.
The Lieutenant, upon realizing they weren't leaving, exhaled sharply through his nose and leaned back in his chair. He dragged a hand down his face before taking a slow, deep breath.
"...You know," he said, "as your superior officer, it's not the duty of subordinates to do impromptu mental health checks whenever something traumatic happens."
Rose folded her arms but said nothing. Scarlet remained silent as well, but the way her gaze sharpened told him she had words on the tip of her tongue.
He sighed again. "That being said... it's my fault I let myself get this bad to the point where you'd notice." His hand dropped to his lap. "So I apologize for worrying you."
The sisters blinked, both a little surprised by the admission.
Then, softer, almost to himself, he muttered, "It's... disheartening. Watching everyone die."
He covered his mouth with his hand.
Rose frowned.
The Lieutenant lowered his hand, fixing his gaze on the desk in front of him.
"There are multiple ways of dealing with grief," he said. "Some healthy. Some... not. Depends on the person." His lips pressed together for a moment. "And I just so happen to dip into the unhealthy ones."
"So, yeah. I'm sorry for—"
"You shouldn't be."
Scarlet's voice was sharper than usual, cutting through the air like a blade.
The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst.
"A superior officer shouldn't apologize to their subordinates," Scarlet continued, her usual eloquence wavering slightly, the emotion behind her words more raw than refined. "T'is improper... undignified. You—"
She stopped.
Her hands clenched at her sides, her lips parting as if she had more to say. But no words came.
She hesitated. Then, without another word, she turned sharply on her heel.
"I have overstayed. Goodbye," she muttered before stepping out, the door sliding shut behind her.
That left only Rose and the Lieutenant, both watching the space where Scarlet had stood just moments ago.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't tense, but it wasn't entirely comfortable either.
"..."
"..."
Out of the entire Melee Squad, they were the closest.
After a beat, Rose huffed out a breath, tilting her head toward the door. "She looks up to you, you know."
The Lieutenant hummed lightly. "Always has, huh?"
Rose gave a small nod, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"So," he said, "are you going to ask me about something important, or did you just want to talk? I'm open to both, I guess."
Rose blinked, a little surprised at the question. She pulled up a chair.
"What brought this on?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair before looking back at his monitor. "Figured I might as well at least somewhat return to how things were before the whole incident," he admitted. "Even if it's just a little bit."
There was a pause.
Then, he let out a low chuckle.
"Might not have realized I was being an—" he made air quotes "—Emo Asshole to everyone if you and Scarlet hadn't barged in."
Rose smiled brightly and laughed.
The Lieutenant shook his head with a tired smirk, rolling his shoulders before focusing back on his work.
And as he typed, Rose remained where she was, the two of them talking—nothing important, nothing serious.
Just talking, as if everything was normal again.
Even if only for a little while.
While the guilt gnawed at him...
"I would like to resign from my position."
Notes:
There's a certain feeling I get from writing characters with obvious flaws but who are somewhat realistic, like the lieutenant having an almost casual Nikkephobia by calling them "robots" or "cyborgs" from time to time.
I'll expand upon it later, the whole Nikkephobia thing, but doesn't it feel at least a bit unique?
I most certainly think so.
Chapter Text
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday
Colonel Adrien Vos sat behind his desk, hands clasped together, staring at the man seated across from him. His expression was impassive at first—until his eyebrows shot up, his composure slipping for just a second.
"...What did you just say?"
The Lieutenant shifted slightly in his chair, feeling a sharp sting flare up his side.
He winced but ignored it.
"I said," he repeated, "I want to resign from my position as commander of the Melee Squad."
Vos blinked.
Then, with an exhale, he leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his closely cropped greying hair.
"You sure as hell don't say something like that lightly," he muttered. His eyes studied the Lieutenant carefully before he continued. "So, what brought this up?"
There was a slight pause.
"...Multiple factors."
Vos's gaze didn't waver. He rested an elbow on the desk, rubbing his chin.
"I assume," he began, pausing for just a second as if searching for the right name, "the... incident with Lina—"
"Nia," the Lieutenant corrected forcefully.
Vos gave a small nod.
"Right. Nia." His fingers tapped lightly against the desk. "Is that the main reason?"
The Lieutenant held his gaze, but there was a stiffness to his posture. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair before settling back against his seat.
"...It's not just that," he said. "It's everything."
A sigh.
Vos leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk.
"Look," he said, "if you need more time—more medical leave, therapy, whatever it takes—you can have it. Almost getting killed is a hell of a thing to process."
The Lieutenant shook his head.
"I've mulled it over for a while. This isn't a rash decision." His voice was calm, but his tone had an underlying exhaustion. "I do not feel comfortable with frontline Nikke operations at this moment. I think it'll be best if I step down, Colonel."
"At least elaborate." He said. "You can talk to me like you did back at the academy. No bullshit. No rank. Just talk."
The Lieutenant's jaw tightened.
For a brief moment, he looked like he might refuse.
But then, slowly, his mouth opened.
"You know who I am," he started. "You know what I've been through."
Vos gave a slow nod, waiting.
The Lieutenant exhaled sharply, his gaze falling to his hands. "Do you remember Orla?"
The Colonel's brow furrowed, but he nodded again.
"When her body was too damaged after that mission, and she couldn't be recovered or repaired properly, I had to put her down myself." He thought back. "I thought to myself... it was like putting down a dog."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Vos leaned forward slightly. "And now you feel different?"
"Hm."
The Lieutenant's eyes darkened, and his fingers twitched against his knee.
"Then there was Nia." He continued. "When she lost control and attacked me... I almost died, Colonel. She was on top of me, blade inches from my chest, and I could feel her strength. It wasn't just—it was..."
He trailed off, shaking his head.
The Colonel scowled.
"That's what a Mind Switch does. You know this. And maybe it didn't help that you keep calling them robots."
The Lieutenant's expression darkened instantly.
He leaned forward, eyes flashing.
"Because that's what they are, Colonel. Robots. Cyborgs. I don't give a shit." He sneered. "They follow orders without question, even when it's stupid. Even when it's suicidal. Look at the fuckin' bureaucrat who got 2 more of Melee Squad killed while I was inactive—They barely have any free will to call their own. They'd follow me to the ends of the earth like—"
His teeth ground together.
"Like lost fucking puppies."
Vos exhaled through his nose, watching him carefully.
"They're not human, Colonel. Not with those... whatever-they're-called. NIMPH. That thing in their brains. It makes them what they are—mindless machines dressed up to look like people. They're assets! Not people!"
The Colonel tilted his head slightly, observing him.
"I've... I've been living a fuckin' lie, Colonel," he flexed his fingers in a way that excetuated his point. "I've forgone my duty to humanity to watch movies, play games a-and spend time with ASSETS. It's wrong! I'm meant to build relationships, friendships and all of those things with my comrades! Not assets! Not robots!"
He looked increasingly more distressed the further he spoke, his composure cracking.
Then, after a long pause, the colonel spoke.
"Why are you resigning, lieutenant?"
The Lieutenant's breath hitched.
His eyes widened—not in anger, but in something else. Something cold and paralyzing.
Vos tensed.
That look—he had seen it before.
The Lieutenant swallowed, staring at nothing. Then, slowly, he spoke, each word dragging itself from his throat like a confession.
"They look too human." His voice was a whisper now. "They act too human. They mimic human emotions too well... their behavior, their mannerisms... all of it."
A shaky breath.
"When I put Orla down... when I pulled the trigger... I didn't see a dog."
He blinked, as if the memory was playing in front of his eyes.
"When Nia nearly ran a katana through my chest, I didn't see a robot."
His voice grew fainter.
"And when I saw her... cut in half, arms twitching, eyes still open..."
He swallowed his hands, shaking now.
"I didn't see a monster. I saw—"
Silence.
And then, finally, his voice barely above a breath—
"It terrified me."
Silence settled between them for a long moment.
Vos studied him carefully.
Of all the commanders he had seen, only two truly followed their Nikke squads into battle—closely, personally. The man sitting across from him and that Mercenary leading the Goddess Squad.
And out of the two of them, the Lieutenant had been the unluckiest.
Time and time again, he had been the one sent into the thick of it. The one caught in the most dangerous encounters. The one who had been forced to watch as his Nikkes—his subordinates—succumbed to Mind Switches, to critical failures, to injuries so catastrophic that they weren't even given the chance for repairs.
And when that happened—when command dictated there was no other choice—he was the one who had to pull the trigger.
Of course, this was part of the mission: to weed out the weak slowly but surely, leaving only the strongest to be converted into a Grimms Model. However, getting to that place took a long time and involved many uncertainties.
Vos could only think that the Lieutenant's time in the hospital and seeing more casualties pile up was his breaking point.
The Colonel exhaled through his nose.
"...Maybe," he said at last, voice quieter, "we made a mistake assigning you to the Melee Squad."
His gaze flickered downward, almost as if he regretted saying it.
"You've been through enough. Your record, your past... Perhaps putting you in charge of human-like prototypes—ones designed for frontline combat, ones bound to die—was a bad call."
The Lieutenant said nothing.
Vos let the thought settle before shaking his head.
"That said... There is another option."
The Lieutenant tilted his head slightly.
"There have been breakthroughs in the Second Generation Grimm models," Vos continued, sitting up straighter. "If you want out of direct combat for a while, there's a position opening up to oversee the last of their development. If you want to field test them afterward, be my guest. And if I pull some strings, I can get you reassigned by the end of the year, if not sooner, if you're ready."
The lieutenant's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair. His face gave nothing away, but his body language did.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. His hand clenched, then unclenched.
His voice was barely above a mutter.
"You're assigning me to oversee more Nikkes."
Vos didn't blink. "I am."
The lieutenant let out a slow, measured breath. His shoulders tensed, his discomfort practically radiating off of him.
"You just heard everything I said," he muttered. "And you want me to—" He stopped himself, wincing slightly, before leaning back in his chair. "Christ."
"We still need your skills within the Nikke program," Vos continued smoothly. "At least until mass production is achieved. You're too valuable to let slip away."
The lieutenant didn't look convinced. If anything, he looked worse. His fingers twitched against the armrest again, his foot tapping once against the floor before stopping.
His voice was lower when he asked, "Are these Second-Gen models more human-like or less?"
Vos's lips barely moved.
"That's for you to find out."
The lieutenant ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
"I don't want to." His voice cracked slightly, but his tone was firm. "The whole experience with the melee squad was messing with my head. If I have to—"
Vos cut in, his voice sharp.
"The United Forces of Humanity cannot afford to have its rising star out of commission, stationed at some base in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere again, because of cognitive dissonance over his Nikkes resembling human behavior too much." His eyes locked onto the lieutenant's, unflinching. "It would be bad for morale. And it would set horrific precedents for the war effort going forward."
The lieutenant inhaled through his nose, but Vos wasn't finished.
"You accepted the assignment for the melee squad," Vos reminded him. "You accepted the consequences that came with it. So don't sit here and act like a baby just because the robots are better at being human than you."
The lieutenant's eyebrow twitched.
He snapped.
"Shut your damn mouth."
He shot forward, gripping the armrests, his glare burning into Vos.
"I am human. They are not."
His voice was sharp, like something barely held together. His breath came faster, his fingers flexing like he wanted to strangle the air.
But then, just as quickly, the anger dissipated into something resigned as the fire in his eye extinguished.
His shoulders sagged. His hands fell back to his lap.
"If the bureaucrats want to get me killed," he muttered, "and this is the only way to keep me moving, then fine." His lip curled slightly. "If you're telling me this is my only option—then fine. I'll accept."
He let out a short, humorless laugh before slumping further into the chair, running a hand down his face.
"I just..." His voice dropped. "I just need to get out of frontline combat for a while. Those fuckin' robots are doing too many things to my head."
Silence.
He exhaled, long and slow, before muttering, "I don't give a shit anymore if the Second-Gen models are human or not... I just need an out."
Vos studied him for a long moment.
Then, the lieutenant lifted his head slightly, his eyes distant, thoughts circling something else entirely.
A beat passed.
Then, almost absently, he spoke.
"...Would you hear me out a moment?"
"I'm listening."
"I have a plan," he said. "One that might get me out of combat sooner."
The Colonel's eyes narrowed slightly, his interest piqued.
"Go on."
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday, The Present
The Melee Squad had just wrapped up another mission—this time, a three-kilometre goose chase through the ruins of a city, with the Lieutenant personally baiting a group of Raptures while the squad finished the job.
It had been messy but ultimately successful.
Now, standing at the loading bay, Rose, Scarlet, and the Lieutenant watched as a truck backed in. The logo of the United Forces of Humanity was painted across the back in its standard military-grade font.
That could only mean one thing.
Scarlet scoffed, arms crossed over her chest. Her yellow eyes narrowed as she took in the size of the vehicle.
"Surely thou jests..." she muttered, tapping a finger against her arm impatiently. "It hath been nearly nine moons since last we received aid, and now, when at last it comes, it arrives in a carriage barely fit for moving household furniture?"
Rose frowned, hands resting on her hips. She wasn't as outwardly irritated as her sister, but her concern was clear.
"She's right," she said, glancing toward the Lieutenant. "This... isn't much. I mean, back during that mission in District 14, we ran into a squad that was getting regular shipments—full-sized ones, too."
The Lieutenant exhaled sharply through his nose, relaxed but noticeably tired.
"It's whatever," he muttered. "At least something is coming in."
Rose didn't let that slide so easily.
"Something is better than nothing," she admitted, tilting her head slightly, "but... this is barely even something."
Scarlet nodded, folding her arms more tightly against her chest. "Indeed! This inconsistency is naught but a cause for concern."
The Lieutenant, however, simply watched as the truck finally came to a full stop. The driver hopped out, a clipboard in hand, and made his way over.
"Must be supply chain issues," the Lieutenant said flatly. "Not much we can do about it. There are other fronts, after all... Again, at least they're sending something instead of nothing."
He didn't wait for more discussion before stepping forward to meet the driver and sign the necessary papers.
Scarlet let out a frustrated sigh, glancing toward the truck as the back door finally swung open. Her expression darkened as she took in the contents—several crates, stacked neatly, but nowhere near the number they had received before.
"This is laughable," she muttered under her breath. "We risk life and limb, proving our worth in every battle, and yet they see fit to grant us nothing but scraps? Have we truly gained so little recognition?"
Rose glanced at her sister before looking toward the Lieutenant, watching him silently as he signed off on the delivery.
"...He's doing as much as he can," she murmured.
Scarlet scoffed. "Of course, he is."
Rose smiled slightly. "Then we can't really blame him, can we?"
Scarlet let out a small huff but said nothing.
Rose's smile widened just a bit.
"It's fine," she said lightly. "Even if the whole world's against us, we'll still do our best."
Scarlet let the words settle before sighing and shaking her head. "Tch. Ever the optimist."
The Lieutenant, who had just finished signing the forms, suddenly hopped onto the truck's loading platform, turning back towards them.
"C'mon," he said, gesturing toward the crates. "Let's get this over with."
Rose chuckled softly, stepping forward. Scarlet, after one last glance at the paltry supply shipment, followed with an irritated sigh.
Later in the afternoon, it gave way to a... particular scene around the crates and a wooden chessboard found lying around.
Scarlet's hand hovered over a knight, her fingers twitching slightly as she hesitated, eyes narrowed in deep concentration.
Across from her, the Lieutenant leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on the board with an unreadable expression.
He gave nothing away.
Scarlet scoffed, glancing up at him.
"Thy silence is most vexing, sir."
The Lieutenant didn't reply. Instead, his eyes flicked to the knight she had been contemplating, then back to her.
Scarlet exhaled through her nose and finally moved the piece forward.
A beat passed.
"You sure you want to put it there?"
Scarlet straightened in her seat, lips pressing into a thin line. "I am assured of mine own victory and shall not be swayed by thy trickery."
The Lieutenant merely hummed, reaching out to make his own move.
From the sidelines, Sera sat cross-legged on a crate, chin resting in her palm. She grinned slightly, watching the board with amusement.
"That knight's not gonna last long."
Scarlet shot her a glare before snapping her attention back to the game.
A few more moves passed.
The battle tilted steadily in the Lieutenant's favour. Scarlet found herself struggling to anticipate his attacks. Every time she thought she had an opportunity, it turned into a trap—her captured pieces stacking up at the side of the board.
She clicked her tongue, eyes darting between her remaining forces. "How dost thou read me so easily?" she muttered.
The Lieutenant, shifting a rook into position, gave a quiet hum.
"I've been fighting alongside you all for over a year now. Watching. Learning." His fingers released the piece, and he leaned back slightly. "You pick up on things when you've been in the field long enough."
Scarlet exhaled sharply through her nose, moving a pawn forward.
Immediately, her eyes widened.
The Lieutenant was already reaching for his queen. He slid it across the board and—
Checkmate.
Scarlet's fingers twitched at her mistake before she sighed in resignation. She leaned back, arms crossing over her chest. "Tch. Again, thou dost outmaneuver me."
Sera gave a low whistle. "Oof. That was brutal."
The Lieutenant smirked ever so slightly, resting his head in his palm. "You make it easy."
Scarlet's gaze snapped to him, her expression a mixture of disbelief and mild indignation. "Unfair! Thou art familiar with our every habit, our every mannerism—thus granting thee undue advantage!"
The Lieutenant's smirk deepened.
"Or maybe," he said lazily, "you're just easier to read than the others."
A brief silence.
Then, Scarlet stiffened, a deep red dusting her cheeks.
"I—W-What?"
Sera, grinning from ear to ear, leaned forward with exaggerated curiosity. "Oh? Scarlet's easy to read?"
"I am not!" Scarlet's voice pitched slightly as she whipped toward Sera. "I am a master of subtlety! A fortress of mystery!"
The Lieutenant chuckled quietly.
Sera snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Scarlet."
Scarlet huffed, arms tightening over her chest, but the warmth in her face lingered.
The Lieutenant simply reached out, lazily resetting the board. "Another round?"
Scarlet, despite herself, leaned forward. "Hmph. Thou shan't win thrice in a row."
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, Aboard a Transport VTOL
Scarlet sat near the open side door, peering past the edge to watch the landscape rush beneath them—charred fields, remains of buildings, and cracked roads.
The stale air inside the VTOL was thick with the familiar mixture of metal, sweat, and the faint scent of old gunpowder. Even with the cabin's vents pushing air through, it did little against the smell and heat.
Then, the comms crackled.
A burst of static. A muffled grumble.
"Damn thing—" Another jolt of interference. "—fucking hot in here."
Scarlet rolled her eyes at the voice of their lieutenant. His words were not meant for them, but they still came through the intercom.
A few chuckles sounded from the squad.
A clearing of the throat followed before the Lieutenant's voice turned more professional, albeit still slightly annoyed.
"Alright... Let's get this started."
The squad fell silent, turning their attention to the intercom as the Lieutenant launched into the briefing.
"We're heading past the frontlines towards a bridge sitting over a steep valley. It wasn't destroyed when our forces retreated, and the high command wants it gone. That's our job."
Scarlet folded her arms, tilting her head slightly. "Hmph. If our task is merely to plant explosives, then 'tis an errand for an engineer, not a battle-hardened squad. I believe that there is a complication."
Beside her, Rose nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."
"Yeah, this feels too simple," Lise muttered.
The Lieutenant, still on the intercom, made a low noise of acknowledgment.
"You'd be right. We've had extra recon sweep the area. High command confirmed multiple Master-Class Raptures in the vicinity, along with a few dozen Servant-Class. We're expecting resistance."
The mood inside the cabin immediately darkened. The squad exchanged uneasy glances.
Scarlet pursed her lips, gripping her weapon tighter.
Were we still at full strength, it'd be... she started to think, but the thought was useless. There was no point in mourning the dead when the living still needed to fight.
The Lieutenant continued.
"I'll be setting up in a secure structure nearby, repurposing it as a temporary command center. I'll have my drone running recon like usual. I'll guide you all through."
Scarlet exhaled through her nose. "Hmph. Hiding away once more while we brave the storm?"
"Scarlet," Rose muttered with a sigh.
"Hey, if you want me out there with a rifle instead of on overwatch, I can make that happen," the Lieutenant replied dryly. "Won't be as useful, though."
Scarlet scoffed but didn't argue. The Lieutenant's way of handling things—providing battlefield coordination, spotting threats, calling in airstrikes when possible—kept them alive more times than she could count.
She really couldn't fault him, either since...
Nia...
The sound of rapid tapping came through the comms as the Lieutenant worked on his tablet. A moment later, a soft ping sounded in Scarlet's earpiece.
"I've just sent over a topographical map," he said. "Take a look before we drop. And stock up on extra explosives. You'll need them. I heard this bridge is a stubborn little bitch."
A light overhead flickered from red to yellow.
"Two minutes until landing," the pilot called.
The squad moved with purpose, checking their gear and tightening straps. Scarlet adjusted the sheath of her blade, making sure it was secure.
Then, the transport jolted slightly as it descended. The doors opened, letting in the harsh sunlight and distant artillery echoes from the battlefield miles away. The squad poured out, boots hitting the cracked pavement.
The Lieutenant was waiting for them just outside, standing near a pile of supply crates. His usual worn-out expression softened slightly as he gave them all a once-over.
He lifted a hand and gave them a thumbs-up.
"Don't get yourselves killed."
Scarlet rolled her eyes. "Aye, Lieutenant. If only surviving were so simple."
Rose smiled slightly. "We'll do what we always do."
The Lieutenant faintly smiled.
"Yeah. I know..."
With that, he turned and walked toward the nearby structure, already pulling up data on his tablet and sending his drone up into the air. Scarlet watched him for a moment before exhaling and looking toward her squadmates.
Just another day for the Melee Squad.
Scarlet's blade gleamed in the midday sun as she twirled through a group of Servant-Class Raptures, her movements as fluid as a river's current. Her katana carved through mechanical limbs and armour plating, sending sparks and oil spraying across the cracked concrete of the bridge.
"Come forth, wretches! Let your deaths be swift and your ruin eternal!" she bellowed, her voice thick with battle fervour as she pivoted mid-air, blade piercing through another Rapture's core cleanly.
Beside her, Rose danced between enemies like a spectre. Her long katana, Fleetly Fading, cleaved through metal like silk.
She moved with frightening precision, so effortlessly.
"Cora, Rina—keep the perimeter tight!" Rose ordered.
"On it!" Cora shouted back, ducking under a swinging metal claw before driving her sword through the Rapture's core.
Rina, just behind her, intercepted another enemy attempting to flank, vaulting over debris and driving her weapon into its exposed joints, wrenching the blade free in a spray of black fluid.
Through the comms, the Lieutenant's voice cut in, calm yet firm.
"Two Master-Class Raptures moving in from the north side. Watch your flank."
Scarlet clicked her tongue.
"Hmph! Always, they come in droves. Rina, Lise, with me!"
The trio rushed toward the northern edge of the bridge, where two towering Master-Class Raptures were, their multi-limbed, insectoid-like bodies bristling with weapons.
"One's moving up to vaporize," the Lieutenant warned. "Scarlet!"
She didn't need to be told twice.
With a sharp inhale, she pushed off the ground just as a blast of energy scorched the air where she once stood.
Twisting mid-air, she angled herself downward, blade first, plunging her katana into the Rapture's body.
It let out a metallic shriek, its optics flickering wildly before she wrenched her weapon free and severed it in half with a single stroke.
"Good work—Tch, can you shake them off? I'd rather not get shot dow—"
SHINK!
BOOM!
Lise and Rina had already engaged the second one, dodging its massive swings as they hacked away at its legs.
"We need to speed this up!" Rina called.
"Already on it!" Scarlet leapt in, slicing across its core in a flurry of slashes. Within moments, its body collapsed in a heap of sparking metal.
Rose's voice cut in.
"Cora, Sera, give us an update!"
"Bombs are almost set!" Cora called out from underneath the bridge, her breath heavy from exertion. "Just hold them off a little longer!"
A Servant-Class suddenly slipped through their line, its bladed limbs skittering toward the explosives.
"Shit—!" Cora tried to move, but it was too fast—
A blur of red.
Scarlet landed between Cora and the Rapture, blade already mid-swing. The creature's core had already shattered before its body even hit the ground.
"Stay focused!" she barked, exhaling sharply as she turned back toward the battlefield.
"Lieutenant, how's it looking topside?" Rose asked between swings.
There was a pause. A slight crackle in the comms.
"...Nothing too bad. Not sure yet."
Scarlet furrowed her brow as she parried an incoming strike. "You are cryptic as ever, Lieutenant."
"Yeah, well," he exhaled, the sound of typing in the background. "Not major. Just keep going for now."
Rose exchanged a glance with Scarlet but nodded, refocusing on the fight.
The battle rages on. Each squad member worked in perfect tandem, covering one another and striking where needed.
Then, a deep rumble vibrated beneath their feet.
"Bombs are set!" Cora shouted. "We need to clear the area!"
"Everyone fall back!" Rose ordered.
The squad disengaged, retreating from the bridge as the Raptures gave chase—only for the detonators to be triggered.
BOOM!
The explosion shattered the air, a column of fire and smoke consuming the bridge. Metal groaned, stone fractured, and in an instant, the structure collapsed into the valley below, taking the remaining Raptures with it.
Silence followed. Then, over the comms—
"Okay..."
Scarlet exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "Hah. 'Tis done, then."
But the Lieutenant was still quiet for a moment longer.
Then—
"Yeah... but stay sharp. I still hear something..."
Scarlet frowned. What was he hearing?
A moment of silence followed, filled only by the distant hum of wind over scorched earth.
Then, the comms flared up again, but now with even more static.
"̶̼͝.̷͎͂.̴͛͜.̵̬̈M̴̥̾ỵ̸͗ ̴̰̊d̷͕̑ṟ̷̛ö̷̧́n̵̹̿e̵͈͠ ̴̞͘i̷̛̬s̴̳̽n̵̜͊'̷͕̓t̸̡̔ ̷͍̈́r̴͊ͅe̵̜͑s̸̤̈́p̷̱̔o̶̞̍n̸̹͒d̶̮͗i̷̾ͅň̴̰g̵̜͛,̴͈̋"̵̲̊ ̵̯̕the Lieutenant muttered, voice slightly strained. ̸̹́"̵̭͌C̵̻̉a̵̙̓n̸̬̚'̴̼̏t̴̗̎ ̶̦̍g̷̹͐e̶̗̍ẗ̸̺́ ̵̬̀ä̵́͜ ̶͓͝g̸̡͝o̵̢͂ò̸̹d̸͓̉ ̶̻́š̴͜i̵̹͆g̶͍̉n̸̡͒ã̴̳l̶̗͐.̶̫̅"̶̫͊
Scarlet exchanged a glance with Rose, who had been standing tensely beside her. Something felt off. Why would there be a sudden high concentration of Alva Particles interfering with tech when they had just destroyed so many Raptures?
Unless...
"Shit," Cora muttered, adjusting her grip on her hilt. "That's not good."
Then, the Lieutenant's voice cut through, sharp and urgent.
̴
"̵R̷o̴s̶e̴.̷"̶
Rose stiffened. The way he said her name—it wasn't a report. It wasn't an order. It—
His voice was quieter now, just loud enough to push through the distortion.
̴
"̷C̸o̸m̶e̸ ̴t̴o̴ ̷m̶y̶ ̶p̵o̴s̵i̷t̷i̸o̷n̶.̴ ̷N̵o̶w̶.̶"̵
Scarlet's stomach sank.
̷
"̶T̴h̴e̷y̴ ̵f̴o̸u̷n̶d̸ ̷m̷e̴,̴"̶ ̶ the Lieutenant continued, barely above a murmur, as if he was already moving, already bracing himself. ̴̹̉"̵̗̌I̷̟͛'̴̱̚l̴͖̒l̵͖̃ ̷͇͑h̷̪͋o̵̻͛l̶̥̈d̴̯́ ̵̺̓ő̵͉û̶̻t̷̰͒ ̸̖͊a̷̲̅s̴̖͝ ̷̳͘l̵͔̑ö̵̲́n̶̘̉g̸͙̉ ̶̠̔ă̶̞ŝ̴̱ ̴̪̀I̵͉̓ ̵̙̿c̸̨̈ą̷̀n̴̞̓,̷̗́ ̸̞̓b̸̭̚û̷̬t̷̫̀—̸͚̌"̸̟͝
The transmission cut.
A dreadful silence followed.
Then, Rose moved.
She was gone, sprinting forward before Scarlet even had a chance to react.
"Sist—!" Scarlet shouted, her own boots kicking up dust as she launched after her. But she couldn't keep up. Rose was too fast—faster than she'd ever seen her move before.
Scarlet clenched her teeth.
"Squad, MOVE!"
The rest of the Melee Squad followed, their heavy footfalls pounding against the cracked pavement.
Ahead, Rose pushed harder, her breath ragged, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.
I should've checked on him sooner. I should've listened to my gut. I knew something was wrong, and I just—
"SISTER, DAMN IT—SLOW DOWN!" Scarlet yelled.
But Rose barely heard her.
And then—they saw it.
The outpost.
Or rather—what should have been the outpost.
It was swarming.
Raptures. Dozens of them. All Master Class types.
They weren't just attacking. They were waiting.
Rose skidded to a stop, her katana trembling in her grip. "No... They—"
Scarlet caught up, her breath hitching. "They tricked us," she muttered.
The realization hit like a gunshot.
They had drawn the squad away—
—to leave the Lieutenant defenceless.
And now—
Rose took a step forward, her expression darkening. She reached for Fleetly Fading, her fingers curling around the hilt. "We cut through. Now."
She didn't wait. She lunged.
Scarlet cursed, drawing her own blade and rushing after her. "Squad, SPREAD OUT! Cut them down!"
Blades flashed.
Metal clashed against metal.
The sounds of combat erupted around them—shouts, screams, the screeching wails of Raptures being cut down.
Rose tore through the frontlines like a force of nature, her katana slicing through armour and steel.
Scarlet covered her flank, every swing of her blade meeting resistance, every step forward costing blood and sweat.
Cora and Lise worked in tandem, cutting down anything that tried to break past.
Sera and Rina fought back-to-back, deflecting strikes with precise movements, their swords flashing under the sun.
But the Raptures kept coming.
And then—
A sharp whine.
A blinding glow.
Scarlet's instincts screamed at her.
"MOVE—!"
A massive energy beam exploded from the center of the building.
The air burned white-hot.
Scarlet didn't think. She acted.
She tackled Rose, slamming her to the ground just as the beam tore through the air where she had stood.
The shockwave followed, hitting like a freight train.
Then—
BOOM.
A secondary explosion.
A monstrous, deafening detonation ripped the building apart.
Scarlet hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Debris rained down, dust clogging the air. Her ears rang. The world felt distant—muffled.
For a moment, everything was just... noise.
Scarlet felt the heat of it against her skin, the force rattling her bones. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring everything in a storm of ruin.
Her body ached as she tried to push herself up.
Rose—where was Rose—
Then she heard it.
A voice.
Shaky. Weak.
"Lieutenant..."
Scarlet turned, coughing, eyes stinging.
Rose was on her knees.
Staring.
Staring at the place where the building had been.
But there was nothing left.
Only fire.
Only ruin.
Only—
Nothing.
Scarlet opened her mouth, but no words came.
Because what could she even say?
Rose trembled, her fingers digging into the dirt, eyes wide, wet, and full of something Scarlet had never seen in her before.
Despair.
Real. Unrestrained. Unbearable despair.
Notes:
See what happened there?
Our lieutenant is a bit of a badass and a pussy.
What does that make him?
A Bussy?
Chapter Text
[End of Volume 1]
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Afternooon
The hallways of the facility were always quiet at this hour.
Not empty—never empty—but quiet in a way that made it feel colder than it should be.
Rose's boots clicked against the pristine floor as she walked, hands folded behind her back, posture perfectly straight. Her long, grayish hair swayed slightly with each step, and she absently reached up, brushing a few strands between her fingers.
It was a pointless attempt to soothe herself.
Three days...
It felt like three weeks.
The mission had been successful. The bridge was gone. The Raptures were set back. High Command called it a "necessary sacrifice."
But the Melee Squad hadn't felt the same since.
No, Rose corrected herself. I haven't felt the same.
She replayed the mission in her mind, over and over, sifting through each second with obsessive scrutiny. The mistakes. The oversights. The possibilities.
If she had been more scrutinizing, more cautious—if she had told the Lieutenant to perform another scan.
If she had pressed harder about his suspicions instead of brushing them off in the heat of battle.
If she had listened to her instincts sooner.
If they had been quieter.
As she walked through the corridors of the facility, her thoughts spiralled once again, dragging her back to the moment of failure.
She could still hear the Lieutenant's voice through the static. "Come to my position. Now."
The Raptures had known.
They knew exactly where he was.
How was that possible?
How could they have mobilized so quickly?
Rose had spent the last three days analyzing every possibility. The only logical conclusion was that they were sharing data. That they had learned.
They had seen the squad. Noted them. And once the squad was drawn away, they moved.
If the Melee Squad had been more stealthy, if she had insisted they operate differently...
Maybe...
Rose exhaled slowly.
Approaching the Lieutenant's office—no, the office now—her posture straightened. Even as her chest tightened, she pushed it aside and knocked on the door.
"Rose, reporting in."
A voice came from within.
"Enter."
The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the dimly lit office.
And standing behind the desk—his desk—was a man Rose recognized immediately.
Colonel Adrien Vos.
The Lieutenant's superior.
He was holding something. A picture frame.
Rose's throat tightened. She knew that frame.
It had always been on his desk. A photograph of his family.
The Lieutenant had always been reserved, but she knew—some demons haunted him outside of the Raptures. Things he never spoke of.
And now, there was no one left to speak them at all.
Colonel Vos looked up, his sharp eyes settling on her.
"My condolences to you and your squad."
Rose inclined her head slightly. "Thank you."
Her voice was steady. Too steady.
The Colonel studied her for a moment before speaking again.
"I am Colonel Adrien Vos," he said. "I understand this loss is difficult, but you must know—" He placed the frame face-down on the desk. "It is common for commanders to die in this field of work. Ambushes, direct assaults... We've been at war for years now. This is not an anomaly. It is a reality."
Rose's fingers twitched slightly.
"Do not let yourself be burdened with guilt over failures beyond your control," Vos continued. "There are circumstances we simply cannot manipulate."
Rose's expression remained impassive, but inwardly—she rejected that entirely.
She could have made a difference. She should have.
She nodded anyway.
Vos let out a quiet hum as if he saw right through her but chose not to push the matter. Instead, he continued, "Due to the special circumstances surrounding your squad, a replacement commander will be assigned soon."
Already?
"Your squad is to rest and recover until then," he added. "Orders will be given when the time comes."
Rose hesitated.
Then, after a pause, she spoke.
"With respect, sir," she said carefully, "this type of information doesn't usually warrant an in-person visit from someone of your rank."
"That is true."
He gestured slightly to the desk.
"I was sent to retrieve the Lieutenant's belongings. What little he kept on him."
Rose froze.
The implication sank in instantly.
Even the photograph of him and his—
She swallowed, suddenly aware of her own heartbeat.
Like all models of Nikke, her model had limited memory. She knew she would forget things with time, but she had hoped—just hoped—to keep something—some piece of his presence.
Now, even that was being taken away.
Vos noticed the hesitation. His gaze flickered toward her. "Is there an issue?"
Rose's expression smoothed over immediately, a soft smile forming. "No, sir," she said lightly, shaking her head. "Just... a bit unexpected."
But Vos wasn't convinced.
He studied her for a moment, then exhaled quietly.
"I was aware that your squad formed an... irregular bond with your commander," he remarked, placing the frame into a small bag. "It reminded me of the Commander of the Goddess Squad."
Rose blinked.
Were they that similar?
Vos straightened, adjusting his gloves. "Do not see this as the end," he said simply. "Use this bond—now severed—as strength."
With that, he turned, stepping toward the door.
"...And if it helps knowing this. He cared deeply for all of you. Understand that."
Rose didn't move.
She stood there, silent, as the Colonel left, the door sliding shut behind him.
The office was now empty.
"..."
The Nikke felt rather hollow.
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Early Morning, New Year's Eve.
It was New Year's and...
Scarlet did not like their new commander.
Not because she still grieved for their old one. Not because she missed the way he treated them—not because he played chess with her, or because she had memorized every little nuance in how he addressed each of them, how he adapted to their strengths and balanced their weaknesses.
Not because of any of that.
But because this thing that had replaced him—this creature of rank and arrogance—saw them as nothing more than mindless automatons.
Tools.
Buckets of bolts.
At least her previous commander was somewhat cordial with them despite reservations.
"..."
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the holo-table displaying their mission briefing. Scarlet stood with her arms folded, eyes hooded but sharp, watching as the so-called commander droned on.
"—approach will be swift and decisive," the man said, standing before them in crisp, unblemished fatigues. He had the look of a bureaucrat, not a soldier. "You will clear the designated sector within thirty minutes."
Scarlet's eyes narrowed slightly.
Thirty minutes?
Unbelievable. It would take at least twice that to sweep the terrain properly and ensure no Raptures lurked beneath the surface.
"I will check in on your progress when the mission is over," the commander continued, his voice dripping with the sickly sweet arrogance of someone who had never once set foot on the battlefield.
Scarlet resisted the urge to sneer.
Check-in, was it?
Like a noble peering over his balcony at the foot soldiers struggling below?
No air support. No tactical adjustments mid-mission.
No leadership.
It was something their squad had been lacking in the past 3 months, and yet this creature of a man didn't have the guts nor brains to notice or execute such trivialities. It was increasingly infuriating.
Scarlet's grip on her forearm tightened. If she had lungs—real ones—she would have exhaled sharply, but she simply stood still, her posture the only indication of her disdain.
Rose, standing beside her, kept her face neutral, but Scarlet could feel her unease.
This was not the way their old commander led them. He had never once thrown them into battle without watching over them, without adjusting strategies on the fly, without ensuring they returned alive.
The moment the debrief was over and they were moving toward the drop zone, Scarlet leaned in slightly toward Rose.
"I have devised a superior course of action, my dear sister," she murmured. "One that will not see us reduced to mere scrap by the whims of this blundering oaf."
Rose shot her a warning glance, but the rest of the squad leaned in slightly, listening.
Scarlet smirked. Even now, they still trusted her instincts more than they did that arrogant fool's.
"My plan is simple," she continued. "A two-pronged assault instead of a head-on charge. We cut through the side paths, limit exposure, and eliminate whichever scouts they have before they alert the swarm. We control the field, rather than blindly stepping into it."
Rose sighed. "Scarlet—"
"Come now, you must see the wisdom in this," Scarlet pressed, voice insistent. "It is far superior to walking into a death trap."
Rose hesitated.
Scarlet could see that she wanted to agree. She wanted to trust her sister's intuition over the orders of a commander who barely knew their names.
But then—
"We can't," Rose said finally.
Scarlet blinked.
"We can't just keep doing our own thing," Rose repeated. "High Command is already watching us after... after what happened."
Silence hung between them for a moment.
If the higher-ups suspected them of deviating too much from orders, they'd brand them as compromised. Irregulars. And then...
She remembered the look on the Lieutenant's face after he executed Orla.
Scarlet scoffed.
"Outrageous," she muttered. "That we must suffer such incompetence merely to appease those who know naught of the battlefield."
Rose's expression softened just slightly. "I know. But we don't have time to dwell on the past, and we have to respect the chain of command. As I respect the commander's... you must respect mine as Squad Leader."
Scarlet clenched her jaw, but she did not argue further.
The past...
It was always there.
The operation was technically a success.
Scarlet had known it would be because they were not weak—they had clawed through worse, survived worse.
But when the mission report came in—
Sera (KIA)
Lise (KIA)
Cora: Heavily damaged.
Rina: Heavily damaged.
Scarlet stared at the report, her lips parting slightly.
She closed her eyes.
Her old commander... he would have never—
Her fists curled.
And yet, that thing still called himself their commander.
Scarlet turned away, jaw tight, her teeth grinding.
She had been right.
She had been right.
But it hadn't mattered.
Not this time.
And not for Sera and Lise.
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night, Two Days Before New Year's
Across from the Melee Squad's Squad Leader, the new commander reclined in his seat, legs spread just enough to radiate undeserved authority, his fingers idly tapping against the armrest.
His lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made Rose's stomach turn.
"So," he began, his tone laced with that sickly sweet arrogance her squad has become used to. "Let's talk about that mission."
Rose didn't flinch, though her fingers twitched ever so slightly against the edge of the table.
The commander tapped a few times on his tablet, bringing up data on the screen in front of him. He leaned back, tilting his head as though he were trying to piece together a puzzle he already knew the answer to.
"The results were... unacceptable," he said, voice lilting with feigned disappointment. "Two losses. Sera and Lise. Gone. The Melee Squad abandoning their mission objective—" he let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head "—a gross violation of orders. A failure."
His eyes flicked up toward Rose as if waiting for a reaction.
She gave him none.
His smile faltered.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, the once-renowned Melee Squad has fallen quite far, hasn't it?" He tutted, shaking his head as he lazily swiped through the mission logs. "For the life of me, I cannot figure out why your squad's performance has tanked so hard. I mean, soldiers don't just stop being good at their jobs, do they?"
He leaned forward suddenly, fingers steepling beneath his chin.
"Tell me, Rose. Why is that?"
She took in a slow breath through her nose. The sharp sting of metal and recycled air filled her lungs, grounding her. The tension in her shoulders did not lessen, but she controlled it, held it where it wouldn't be visible.
"Do you have the answer, commander?"
The commander chuckled.
"Is it because I'm new? Because I don't have your squad's respect yet?" His voice dripped with mock sympathy. "Or perhaps... they would rather die than follow my orders?"
Rose closed her eyes for the briefest moment before exhaling and pulling up her own tablet. She navigated through a few files, then turned the screen toward him.
"Sera and Lise did not die because of a lack of discipline," she said.
"Sera's arms malfunctioned mid-combat. Lise's legs locked up, leaving her immobile." She swiped through the files, pulling up damage reports. "Cora and Rina suffered similar failures, but we were able to extract them before permanent loss."
She leaned back slightly, watching as his smirk faltered.
"This pattern," she continued, "indicates a serious lack of proper supplies. We have been requesting new parts for weeks. Those requests have been ignored. The last time we had received even the smallest amount of supplies was when our previous commander was still with us. That was over 3 months ago, and it hasn't sustained us at all."
The commander huffed through his nose, scrolling absently through the reports.
"Something wrong?"
"Be patient," he snapped, waving her off. He continued tapping at his screen, muttering something under his breath as his expression soured further.
Rose watched him carefully.
A few beats passed before he stopped scrolling. Then, without looking up, he asked absently,
"How many are left in the Melee Squad?"
Her eyes flicked downward for a moment before she answered.
"Four," she said. "Two, if you count only those who are in working condition—my sister and me."
The commander hummed at this, but the sound was oddly neutral. He tapped his screen a few more times, and finally, he straightened.
And he read.
"Upon the Melee Squad reaching under 50% operational capacity, they are to be considered failures and are set to be decommissioned and prepared for scrap."
Rose's blood ran cold.
The commander barely reacted to her silence.
"High Command wants results," he said, scrolling further. "Not complete and utter failure. Not a waste of resources."
Rose clenched her jaw.
"But," he continued, as if granting her some great favor, "there is a way out."
She lifted her gaze.
He smirked.
"There's a mission in need of more bodies. Given your squad's... experience, I think you're fit for it."
Rose stared at the order on the screen, then exhaled through her nose, a soft hum escaping her.
A mask.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
"When do we move out?"
The commander looked taken aback for a moment. He studied her, searching for some sign of sarcasm, some crack in the façade.
When he found none, he scoffed, slumping back in his chair.
"Even with the extra bodies," he mused, "survivability is near zero."
"Then we'll take that near zero... and survive. All of us."
He snorted, rolling his eyes.
"Optimistic," he muttered, waving a dismissive hand. "You're dismissed. Prepare your squad."
She stood, turning toward the door.
Just as she reached it, he muttered, loud enough for her to hear,
"I only got this job because that street rat of a lieutenant decided to disappear into thin fuckin' air." He huffed. "Can't even access his damn emails... damn rat was keeping secrets."
Rose's fingers twitched at her sides, but she didn't stop.
She stepped out of the office, the cold air of the hall hitting her like a slap. She walked a few steps forward before stopping, her back pressing lightly against the steel wall.
Her eyes flicked downward.
She breathed in.
Then out.
The metal felt solid against her back as she closed her eyes.
What could she do?
She thought back.
Year: 2X33, Two Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening
The lieutenant sat behind his desk, legs kicked up onto its surface.
His eyes were unnaturally distant at this time, his expression unreadable.
For a moment, Rose thought he was lost in some complex tactical consideration, but then something shifted. A flicker of a pained expression.
It was so fleeting that she would have almost missed it if it wasn't for her enhanced senses.
"What are you thinking about?"
The lieutenant blinked, his focus snapping back to the present.
"Nothing important."
Rose didn't quite buy that, but she let it slide.
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but weighty in a way that felt rare. There was a bit of clamouring in the background, but nothing too serious.
Then, without warning, he broke it.
"Am I your first commanding officer?"
Rose blinked at the abruptness of the question. "Huh?"
He turned his head slightly, looking at her now, his expression unreadable.
"I mean, before I got stuck with you lot," he continued, "did you have anyone else leading you? Or am I the poor guy making your first impression of command?"
She tilted her head.
"Nope, you're the first." He hummed at that, but before he could say anything, she smirked playfully. "Then again, you don't even like being called commander, so I don't really know."
A deep, exaggerated groan of agony came from his throat as he dramatically threw his head back against the chair.
"God, thank you for reminding me," he griped, rolling his eyes before pointing a finger at her. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? I am not a commander. I'm a lieutenant. A Lieutenant First Class. Commander is a bureaucrat's word, and you know how I feel about bureaucrats."
Rose giggled this "Oops."
"Oops," he mocked, groaning in mock agony again as he covered his face with one hand. "I swear, one day, you're gonna call me that in front of someone important, and I'm going to keel over on the spot."
"Wouldn't be the worst way to go, lieutenant."
"Yeah, right. You'd probably loot my corpse before I was cold."
Rose placed a hand over her chest in faux offence. "I'd at least wait until they took you away."
"So considerate."
He tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, humming to himself in thought.
Then, in a quieter voice, he muttered:
"So, I'm your first impression of command... That's scary."
Rose blinked.
She never really understood why he thought that was scary.
He was always so easy to talk to, so... normal.
Compared to what came after, he had been the best leader they could have asked for.
But if he was different...
Scarlet moved slowly, her boots clicking against the floor as she approached her destination.
The air felt heavier here—right outside the Lieutenant's old office.
No, the commander's office now.
A title unearned. A position undeserved.
Scarlet stopped just short of the door.
Rose.
She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her expression caught in a storm of thought. Her long, grayish hair fell slightly over her face as she stared at nothing in particular, lost in whatever conversation she had just finished inside that cursed office.
Scarlet exhaled through her nose and spoke.
"So, tell me, my dear sister, did the puppet master behind yonder door offer you words of great wisdom? Or did he merely reinforce his grand incompetence?"
Rose sighed, pushing off the wall. "Scarlet."
"Do not 'Scarlet' me," she said, folding her arms. "We both know this new leadership is a farce. Yet we continue to dance to their tune, even as the strings fray—"
"High Command is considering shelving the Melee Squad project."
Scarlet let the words settle before scoffing, the sound dripping with venomous sarcasm.
"Oh? And why ever would they do that?" she mused, a bitter smirk pulling at her lips. "Surely, the absolute brilliance of our new commander has done nothing but inspire confidence."
"Scarlet."
Scarlet's smirk faded.
The look in Rose's eyes—calm, yet strained—told her that now was not the time for mockery.
A slow exhale.
A beat of silence.
Scarlet forced herself to ease her stance.
Rose continued, "They think our losses are unsustainable. We're down to below half-strength now, and with how dangerous our operations are... well, they don't see the point in keeping us around much longer."
"So they would rather discard us as if we are but worn-out tools?"
Rose frowned. "I understand why they're thinking this way."
"I do not." Scarlet's tone sharpened. "We have fought, bled, proven ourselves time and again. But now—now, because of one disastrous mission under a fool's command, they consider throwing us away?"
She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head.
Rose reached out and placed a hand on her arm. "Scarlet."
The warmth of the touch was enough to quiet her.
"I know," Rose said gently. "But getting angry won't change what's happening."
Scarlet let out a slow breath through her nose. "Then what is to be done?"
"...They're sending us on another mission soon."
Scarlet's head snapped toward her.
"That is absurd. The casualties, the damage—we are barely functional as a unit, yet they demand we fight once more?"
"I know." Rose's voice was tired. "But we don't have a choice. If we fail, then... we'll most likely be decommissioned."
Scarlet studied her carefully.
There was something in her voice. Something else was lingering beneath the surface.
Scarlet tilted her head. "Sister... what is it?"
A pause.
Rose's lips pressed together. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
Then, just as quickly, she released them. She forced a small, reassuring smile.
"It's nothing," she said. "I'm just uneasy. Our numbers are too small, and I don't like how different things feel now."
Scarlet did not believe her.
But she did not push.
Not yet.
Instead, she took a step back, sweeping her hand toward the corridor. "Then we shall carry on, as we always do. However foolish the path laid before us may be."
Rose nodded. Then, just as she turned to leave—
"Scarlet."
Scarlet glanced at her.
Rose hesitated for only a second before speaking. "Meet me in my room later."
Scarlet regarded her for a moment but nodded.
"Very well."
Rose gave a final, small nod before walking away, her figure disappearing down the dimly lit hallway.
Scarlet stood alone for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it.
And later in the night—
A horde of Raptures would fall upon the facility and rip it to the ground.
Abe sat at her desk, and her blue eyes flickered from the screen to the notes she had scribbled down just moments ago.
The footage on the screen played at a steady speed—an array of Raptures moving in strange, almost coordinated patterns.
Abe frowned, reaching for her pen again, but halfway through writing, she stopped. With an irritated sigh, she set the pen down and began typing the observation directly into her computer.
The pattern suggests advanced data-sharing capabilities, possibly even—
She stopped again.
Scoffing, she closed the digital document and returned to the familiarity of pen and paper. Despite the efficiency of modern technology, something was grounding about handwriting. It felt way more personal than just typing things on a keyboard.
"I need to get myself together again," she murmured, rolling her shoulders before stretching her arms above her head. The motion caused her white coat to shift slightly, revealing the parts of reinforced plating underneath.
Unlike some Nikkes, Abe had willingly undergone the conversion.
Not out of necessity, not out of duty, but because sleep had always been an inconvenience. It was a biological limitation, one that wasted hours—hours—that could have been spent researching.
Becoming a Nikke had removed that inefficiency.
She pressed play on the footage once more, eyes scanning every detail, every movement, as she jotted down another line of notes.
Then, halfway through a particular clip, she paused. A thought surfaced unbidden.
"Right... The Colonel was sending someone over."
She tapped the pen lightly against her chin, trying to recall the date.
Had it been today?
Tomorrow?
She'd forgotten, but it didn't matter.
If it was important enough, she'd find out soon enough.
Notes:
Now that the first volume is over and we're getting further into the story, I'll have to ask:
What do you think of the lieutenant so far?
Meaning his character, actions, etc.
In my opinion, just from the first volume, he's a bit contradictory.
Chapter 8: Intermission: Fleeting Feeling
Notes:
This chapter is specifically used to separate volumes from one another, add a few canon scenes/events that happened throughout the time covered in the volume and act as a bookmark for the readers.
It also acts as a little Q&A section, in which the readers can ask questions about the story coming forward.
Chapter Text
Intermission I — Fleeting Feeling (Scarlet and Rose)
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening
Scarlet strode beside her commanding officer, her long, grayish hair cascading over her shoulder with each step.
"You look exhausted, Lieutenant," she mused. "Doth the trials of the day weigh so heavily upon thee?"
He scoffed.
"More like I didn't get enough sleep." He rubbed his neck before glancing at her. "Besides, I'm not the one who's been brooding lately."
"I do not brood."
"You definitely brood."
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he just raised an eyebrow, unphased.
"Anyways," he yawned, shifting to a more serious tone. "I know you've been thinking about how to get stronger... about how to surpass your sister. But strength isn't just talent. Remember, I told you this before."
Scarlet hummed in response, folding her arms as they walked.
"And what, pray tell, art thou getting at?"
"I'm not saying talent doesn't matter. Rose is a natural with the blade—there's no denying that. But strength isn't just about skill in combat. It's about other things too. For example, you are relatable and..." He shot her a weary glance. "I'd much rather have you cook when we're out on missions than Rose."
Scarlet stopped mid-step, blinking at him. "...Art thou implying my sister's cooking is subpar?"
"I'm saying... don't tell her I said that."
Scarlet let out a soft sound of amusement. But as quickly as it came, it faded, replaced by a pensive expression.
"Thou speakest as if I possess strengths outside of the blade, yet... I cannot see it. Relatable, thou say?" She shook her head. "How could that be? I merely watch from the sidelines, observing my comrades at most."
The lieutenant sighed, already sensing this would be a tougher conversation than he had anticipated.
"Scarlet, you are relatable. The others can see themselves in you because your strength didn't come from some inborn genius. You worked for it. Earned it. That's something the whole squad can respect."
Scarlet furrowed her brow, skeptical. "And yet, my sister bests me time and time again. If effort alone sufficeth, should I not have surpassed her by now?"
He shook his head. "You're still thinking about this all wrong. Stop comparing yourself to Rose. Strength doesn't have to be about beating someone. In the Melee Squad, it's about lifting up the squad as a whole. When you allow yourself to lead, when you help them grow with you, that's when you'll surpass her. She loves you, and she wants to see you succeed. And the moment you shift your perspective—when you see strength as collective instead of just individual—you'll surpass her in a way that'll make her proud."
Scarlet's lips parted slightly, her expression unreadable. She wasn't often left speechless, but now she stood frozen, as if trying to grasp something just beyond her reach.
"...I... cannot refute thy logic," she admitted, though it was clear she was still trying to fully accept it.
Her gaze drifted downward.
"And yet, satisfaction must come from personal effort, must it not?" She trailed off, the words lingering before she suddenly glanced at him. "Didst thou come up with this wisdom thyself?"
"Not even close. It came from a mentor of mine."
"He must have been a wise man."
The lieutenant let out another yawn, running a hand through his hair.
"Wise? No, I don't think so. He's not that old... Just someone who had to deal with a lot of rats." He stopped in front of his quarters. "Just... think about what I said, alright?"
Scarlet stood tall, her golden eyes burning with quiet determination.
"Fear not, Commander. I shall meet thy expectations."
He gave her a sideways glance, lips curling ever so slightly.
"Expectations? Yeah, sure, whatever... I'm just trying to make you more social."
The door slid shut behind him, and Scarlet remained standing there, staring at the metal surface in silence.
"..."
Her expression wavered, her ears warming ever so slightly.
She wasn't quite sure what this feeling was... but it was strange.
And, for some reason, she didn't mind it.
With a quick turn on her heel, she strode down the corridor, heading toward the simulation room.
Training—that would clear her mind.
Before she could get far, a cheerful voice cut through the quiet.
"So, what were you and the lieutenant talking about?"
Scarlet's entire body jolted as Rose appeared out of nowhere.
Scarlet immediately took a step back, eyes narrowing.
"Whence didst thou come from?!"
Rose simply laughed, twirling a strand of her silver hair.
"Oh, just out for a casual stroll," she said innocently. "And wouldn't you know it, I just so happened to stumble upon your little chat."
Scarlet's face warmed again, her expression darkening.
"Thou art lying," she accused.
Rose's grin only widened. "Maybe~."
Scarlet felt a small alarm ring when Rose playfully tapped her chin.
"Hmm... you weren't conspiring with the lieutenant to take me down, were you?"
"Nay! Never would I stoop to such cowardice!"
Rose let out a lilting giggle. "So defensive! I was only teasing."
Scarlet scowled, but Rose wasn't done.
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in ever so slightly. "Though I am curious," she mused, "what exactly did you mean by 'I shall meet thy expectations'?"
Scarlet stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"T-That... I simply listened to what the lieutenant had to say," she said, her voice a bit too quick, "but I shan't be following it. I shall defeat thee with mine own strength!"
Rose let out a long, dramatic hum.
"Ohhh, so you were lying to him, then?"
"I did no such thing!"
"Then you do believe in what he said~?"
Scarlet growled. "Wouldst thou cease thine infernal questioning?!"
Rose laughed, enjoying every second of this.
"Alright, alright, I'll stop," she said, though her amused expression didn't fade. "Though, you have to admit, the lieutenant does deserve your admiration. He's done a lot for us."
Scarlet immediately opened her mouth to refute that—only to falter when she saw the look on Rose's face. It wasn't teasing, not anymore. It was warm.
After a few moments of silent struggle, Scarlet exhaled sharply and looked away.
"...I suppose there is some merit to thy words."
Rose's smile softened before, suddenly, she gasped, her eyes lighting up.
"Ohhh, I see how it is!" she said dramatically. "You and the lieutenant would be perfect together!"
Scarlet nearly choked on air. "What?!"
Rose nodded sagely, completely ignoring her sister's horrified expression. "It makes sense now. The brooding swordswoman and the grumpy lieutenant. A classic tale of love!"
"ROSE!" Scarlet's entire face was practically burning now.
"Ah, such a tragic love story—two warriors bound by duty, separated by their pride, yet drawn together by fate—!"
"I SHALL SMITE THEE!"
The hallway burst into a flurry of action as Scarlet drew her blade and lunged at her sister.
For the next week and a half after this, Scarlet would tentivaly avoid her superior officer, not like he knew what was going on.
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: New Year's Eve, Late Evening
ROAAAARRR!
The sky rumbled with a mechanical, whale-like roar that sent a shiver through the ruined facility. Overhead, the massive Rapture flew above, its titanic body blotting out the stars as it slowly ascended into the heavens, leaving behind hundreds of its spawn to finish the job.
Scarlet and Rose stood back to back, their blades gleaming under the moonlight.
The air was thick with smoke, the scent of scorched metal and burning oil clinging to their lungs.
They had been fighting for what felt like hours.
Their squad was gone. They hadn't even found the bodies.
All that remained were the two of them—and the endless tide of Raptures pouring down upon them.
But they fought.
Scarlet, her yellow eyes burning like embers, cut through the Raptures with rapid, precise strikes. Her movements were fluid, her sword flashing in arcs of crimson and silver as she carved through their cores, using the broken debris of the battlefield to propel herself forward. With every step, she pivoted off broken walls and leaped from overturned tables, using her surroundings to enhance her strikes.
Rose fought differently. Her swings were heavier, each one carrying a devastating force that sent air pressure rippling outward.
A single arc of her blade sent dozens of Raptures collapsing to the ground, their bodies sliced cleanly in half.
They fought like twin hurricanes.
"Behind thee!" Scarlet called out, her voice sharp as she flicked the blackish oil from her blade and turned to parry another attacker.
Rose pivoted on her heel, slicing upward just as a beast-like Rapture lunged. Its core shattered instantly, and its lifeless body tumbled backward, sparking against the ground.
"Cover my right!" Rose barked, stepping forward into another swing.
"Understood!" Scarlet darted into position, intercepting a lunging Rapture before it could get close.
They fell into rhythm—one fought, the other covered, and then they switched.
Again.
And again.
But the enemy was relentless.
Rose exhaled, watching the bodies pile around her. Even as she struck down wave after wave, more poured in from the sky, clambering over the wreckage.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Scarlet.
Her sister was several meters away, still within her line of sight, her blade a blur as she hacked through the horde—
And then she saw it.
A flicker of light in the distance.
A hum.
The charging of a beam.
Her stomach twisted.
It was going to—
"Scarlet!"
Scarlet barely had time to turn.
The Master Class Rapture fired.
The beam of energy tore through the air, cutting across Scarlet's abdomen.
For a second, the battlefield fell into an eerie silence.
Scarlet blinked, a strange look crossing her face—then, suddenly, her upper body separated from her lower half.
Rose's breath hitched.
"No—!"
The town smelled bad.
The lieutenant wrinkled his nose, his scowl deepening as he stepped over a half-collapsed section of the road. Beside him, Rose walked with an easy grace, seemingly unbothered.
"Smells amazing," he muttered.
A few paces behind them, Nia and Sera made quiet, disgruntled noises of agreement.
"Goddess above, it reeks," Nia complained, covering her nose with her sleeve.
Sera grumbled under her breath. "I'd rather have my olfactory receptors fried than deal with this."
Rose let out a soft chuckle. "If it bothers you, lessen the intensity of your receptors. No use in making yourself miserable."
Nia and Sera exchanged glances before nodding, adjusting their sensory input. The lieutenant, however, wasn't as lucky.
He sighed, shooting Rose a look.
"I don't have that luxury," he grumbled. "And unless you want me trying to fly a recon drone while gagging on the scent of dogshit and corpses, we need to find a different spot."
Rose giggled, her lips curling into a small, amused smile.
"What a way with words you have, lieutenant."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "All I'm saying is, I'd rather not spend the next twelve hours dry-heaving while trying to do my job."
Rose hummed in thought, glancing around.
"Fair enough. We'll be here all day and night, most likely," she mused, then turned her head slightly. "Scarlet?"
Scarlet, walking a few paces ahead, turned. "Aye?"
"Take the squad, scout ahead. Find us a place to stay the night and see if you can gather any supplies along the way," Rose instructed smoothly. "Cut down any Raptures in your way, but try to avoid them. We'll stay here and move along the path."
Scarlet hesitated.
"Thou wouldst have me take the entire squad and leave thee both alone?"
Rose waved a hand. "We'll be fine."
The lieutenant gave a lazy wave. "Yeah, I'm sure we can hold hands and cry together if we get ambushed."
"And if something doth happen?"
"We'll scream real loud," Rose teased, smiling.
Scarlet sighed through her nose, clearly not thrilled, but she gave a short nod. "Fine. But shouldst thou hear aught amiss, summon us immediately."
With that, she turned on her heel, leading the rest of the squad away, their footsteps fading into the evening.
Now, only the lieutenant and Rose remained.
The lieutenant exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
"Well, great. Guess I better rely on you to protect me. If anything jumps out at us, I'll just... wave my arms and hope for the best."
Rose grinned at his sarcasm. "Do not worry, Lieutenant," she said with mock solemnity. "I shall defend you with my life."
"That sounds very corny. Please don't try to reassure me again."
"Heh."
They started walking again, stepping off the main road to navigate through the abandoned ruins. As they moved, the lieutenant absently rubbed at his arm, his thoughts idly drifting.
"Wonder if there's any tech out there to make humans actually kill Raptures," he muttered. "Makes me wonder if there are cybernetics out there that'd let me fight them myself."
Rose tilted her head. "Why do you ask?"
"Just thinking out loud. It's not like I want to fight them head-on, but, you know, self-defense. If I get caught out in the open, I'm pretty much dead weight."
"You have us for protection," she pointed out.
"Of course, but I'm saying, "he muttered. "it's just for defence or something like that. Unless the bureaucrats figure out a way for guys to be Nikkes, I doubt there's anything I can do but sit back and complain. And even then, the only way I'm getting cybernetics shoved into me is if I get blown up in an air accident or something."
Rose hummed in thought. "Would you become one if it were possible?"
He froze mid-step.
For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, his lips curled downward into a deep frown.
"Absolutely not," he said, his voice sharper than intended.
Rose blinked, surprised by the intensity of his answer. "Not even if it meant you could fight alongside us?"
"Not even then."
She studied him for a moment. "Is it because of the process? The low survival rate?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "No."
"Then why?"
"I just don't want to," he said, quieter this time.
Rose didn't push further. Instead, she gave a small nod.
"Fair enough," she said simply.
Silence fell between them as they continued walking, the ruins stretching endlessly before them.
Then, in a shift of tone, she spoke again, her voice light. "You know," she said, glancing at him with a soft expression, "serving humanity doesn't require you to fight. You're already helping in your own way."
He clicked his tongue.
"Uh-huh. I know that."
Rose let out a small laugh, then reached up—gently adjusting his coat collar.
The lieutenant blinked at her, caught off guard. "...What are you doing?"
"You were walking around like a mess," she teased, smoothing out the fabric. "Someone has to make sure you don't look like you rolled out of bed."
"I did roll out of bed."
She giggled, stepping back. "Then consider this an act of kindness."
He sighed again, trying to dispel the creeping heat from the bottom of his neck.
Liliweiss moved swiftly, her boots crunching against the remains of what appeared to be concrete and steel. The air was thick with dust and the acrid scent of burnt metal. The ruins of what was once a holding facility stretched around them.
It looked like hell.
Dorothy walked a few paces behind.
She noticed the deep grooves in the floor.
"These aren't just structural collapses... Look at the slashes, the divots. Something cut through this place like paper. At least 2 meters deep and... My goodness."
Rapunzel stepped carefully over a broken support beam.
"Think there are any survivors?" she asked.
"Hah!" Red Hood let out a laugh, rolling her shoulders as she examined the destruction. "You know what this looks like? Like a damn dragon tore through here! Wouldn't that be sick? Fighting a Rapture dragon?"
She turned, draping an arm lazily over Snow White's shoulders. The younger-looking girl tensed slightly at the contact but didn't move away.
"What do you think, Snow?" Red Hood grinned. "If I fought a dragon, who do you think would win?"
Snow White hesitated, glancing at the ruin surrounding them. The sheer level of destruction made her uneasy, the carnage speaking of a battle far beyond anything she wanted to imagine. She swallowed before answering with certainty.
"Y-You'd win, Red Hood. No doubt."
Red Hood chuckled, ruffling the girl's white hair before giving her a reassuring pat on the back. "Damn right I would."
Before the conversation could go further, Liliweiss's voice cut through the air.
"Everyone, over here! Now."
The squad snapped to attention, immediately breaking into a run toward their leader's position. Liliweiss stood at the edge of a massive crater in the ground, its surface lined with more enormous slashes.
Whatever had carved through the facility had left its mark here as well.
Red Hood peered over the edge and groaned.
"No dragon, huh? What a letdown."
But as she swept her gaze over the area, her expression shifted. Her eyes locked onto something in the debris. She gasped, pointing.
"Wait—there! Survivors!"
The squad's eyes followed her gesture.
Among the wreckage, barely visible against the scorched metal and stone, was a Nikke with long, grayish hair. She was slumped forward, her breathing ragged, one leg severed below the knee. Her arms were wrapped protectively around another Nikke—one whose body had been cut in half.
The wounded Nikke was still trembling slightly, signalling that she was still alive.
Liliweiss didn't hesitate. "Secure the area! Now! Dorothy, Rapunzel—grab medical supplies. Red Hood, Snow White—see if you can find parts for stabilization. I'll get into contact with the Commander. Move!"
Chapter 9: Vol 2.1: Fairy Tales
Chapter Text
The alarms shrieked through the cabin, the piercing wail barely cutting through the chaos inside the spinning aircraft.
"Shit! We've been hit!" someone bellowed.
"Brace! Brace! Brace!" another voice.
The aircraft was going down, hard and fast.
Hands clawed toward the parachutes, but the violent spin made movement impossible. One man managed to unbuckle his harness, only for gravity to throw him sideways, his skull cracking against the bulkhead with a sickening thud.
Another reached for the emergency handle, his fingers just brushing against it before the world turned inside out.
Then—impact.
The metal shrieked as it met the earth, the crash shattering bones and steel alike. The heat surged instantly, fire licking hungrily at fuel-soaked wreckage.
Someone was screaming.
No—many were screaming.
Flames burst through the shattered hull, engulfing those still trapped inside. A jagged piece of metal, glowing from the sheer heat, shot through the air, cleaving an arm from a body.
The agonized wail that followed was almost inhuman.
Then—silence.
The fire crackled hungrily, its orange glow casting flickering shadows across the torn landscape.
Metal groaned, shifting as the wreckage settled.
More silence.
Then—voices.
They were far away at first, muffled by the ringing in the air.
Boots crunched over the debris, approaching cautiously.
Flashlights danced through the smoke, cutting into the darkness.
"Jesus..." one of them breathed.
Another stepped closer, his flashlight shaking slightly.
"He's alive."
His voice was thick with disbelief.
"How the fuck—?" A different man, older, spat into the dirt. He crouched beside the survivor, taking in the sight with a grimace. "He's missing an arm... His leg's all mangled like that, too."
The survivor barely stirred, breath coming in shallow, wheezing gasps.
Blood pooled around him, mixing with the oil and dirt.
"Only one left breathing," someone muttered behind them.
Another voice cursed under their breath.
"Fucking hell... We can't catch a break." The words were bitter, nearly lost in the wind.
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, Fall.
A sharp jolt ran through his body as consciousness forcefully dragged him back from oblivion.
A dull, pounding headache spread through his skull, and for a brief moment, he simply lay there, eyes shut, focusing on the beeping of the heart monitor beside him.
Could he file a complaint to HR about this?
His fingers twitched against the fabric.
A hospital bed.
When was he not in a hospital bed?
He let out a slow breath, his muscles stiff as he blinked himself fully awake.
White walls.
Fluorescent lights overhead...
The faint scent of antiseptic.
Yeah.
This was a recovery ward, alright.
"Looks like I made it out in one piece..." he murmured dryly to himself. "Fuck those bureaucrats. If they want to... kill me, they'll have to do better then..."
Though, if the dull ache in his body was any indication, "one piece" might be a stretch.
He shifted to sit up, only for his movements to falter.
Something felt wrong.
Or rather, something didn't feel at all.
His gaze lowered toward his feet, and as he hesitantly poked one out from under the blanket, he was met with the gleam of metal where flesh should have been.
His left leg, from the knee down.
Gone.
"Oh..."
He swallowed hard, flexing the prosthetic experimentally. It responded instantly, almost as if his nerves were still intact.
The wonders of cybernetics.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Figures."
Nikke technology had revolutionized what cybernetics could do, literally turning people into cyborgs, but even before them, prosthetics for the battlefield weren't new. The transition must've been seamless enough that he hadn't even noticed it right away.
He could get used to this.
Probably.
Then, a second realization struck him.
His breath stalled again as he turned his attention to his right hand—or rather, the lack of it.
From the elbow down, all that remained was black Goddesium plating. His fingers—if they could still be called that—curled into a hesitant fist before unfurling.
"I wonder if I can take Raptures down with these now that..."
He gasps before his lips press into a thin line and break into a cold sweat. Slowly, he leans back into the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.
Scarlet. Sera. Lise. Cora. Rina.
His throat tightened.
His breath wavered, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
They were gone. Every last one of them.
Because of him.
Why did he have to do this to himself?
Why did he have to torture himself like this?
"They're just machines," he muttered under his breath. "Nothing more. Just robots."
Their emotions weren't real.
Their smiles weren't real.
Their pain wasn't real.
He shouldn't feel this way.
He repeated the thought like a mantra.
And yet...
He raised his mechanical hand again, staring at it.
He didn't want to look like this. Didn't want to feel like this... failure.
Would they at least let him cover it up with synthetic skin? Something, anything, to make him look less... robotic.
Because every time he looked at himself now, all he saw was the wreckage of a prodigy.
All he saw was a graveyard.
A deep sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, exhaustion washing over him once more.
The beeping of the monitor continued its steady rhythm.
And the cold metal of his right arm remained against his chest.
At some point, a nurse had come in, her voice softer than he expected as she checked his vitals.
Then another had arrived, a man this time, running a series of mobility tests on his new limbs. Flex. Grip. Walk. Balance.
The nurses had given him the usual spiel.
"You're healing fast."
"Adjusting well."
"Everything's looking good."
He nodded when necessary and responded when expected, but his mind was elsewhere.
It wasn't long before they cleared him, and a soldier arrived to escort him. The words barely registered.
Colonel Adrien Vos had called for him.
When the soldier gestured toward a door, he didn't hesitate.
The room was simple, much like the man inside.
The Colonel stood with his back turned as he looked over a tablet. The moment the Lieutenant stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him, the Colonel spoke.
"How do the new limbs feel?"
The Lieutenant's jaw tightened slightly. His fingers twitched at his side.
"I want some skin over them. I hate them."
A hum. Not surprised.
"That can be arranged. Fret not; no one actually thinks you're dead. According to everyone else, you decided to resign due to the stress of working on the frontlines and taking severe injuries in an accident." The Colonel's gaze remained fixed on the screen, scrolling through something. "Though, you should've expected as much. It was the price for pulling off a stunt like that..."
Finally, the Colonel turned to face him.
"And leaving the Melee Squad behind."
The Lieutenant met his superior's eyes. His left hand flexed instinctively before he shoved his mechanical right arm into his pocket.
"It's no matter." His voice was quiet. "I'll still get credit for whoever undergoes the Grimms model conversion, and I've already gotten my ticket for the Ark."
The Colonel nodded slightly as if he expected the answer.
"We've chosen your replacement, already," he said, setting the tablet down. "Orders were to speed up the selection process. As of now, we're still certain Rose will be the one chosen for conversion."
A pause.
Then, the Colonel's expression shifted, something calculating behind his eyes. He leaned forward slightly.
"How does it feel?"
The Lieutenant didn't hesitate.
"Nothing." His voice was cold. "I failed. I treated them as companions rather than the property they truly were. As long as I live, I will always do what needs to be done to correct my mistakes."
Even if it means running away and discarding your comrades? The Colonel wanted to say but didn't.
"I don't tolerate mistakes. Even in myself. Leaving and learning from that experience was the only way I could think of handling the situation."
Silence.
The Colonel studied him, but there was something else there—something close to disappointment. Something in him twisted at the Lieutenant's words. The way he spoke—so resigned, so mechanical in his logic.
He saw what his supposed death did to the Melee Squad.
He saw how much it broke them.
Most of all, he saw how it affected Rose.
He had expected her to ask for something—anything—of the Lieutenant as a keepsake. Maybe even the picture frame he held. He'd give it to her if it meant she'd find comfort. She never did. She just stared ahead, into space, inside that now-empty office and said nothing.
The Colonel straightened, pushing the thought aside.
"You were out for a month and a half," he informed, shifting the topic. "Given how fast you learn, we estimate another two weeks before you're conditioned enough to be sent out again."
The Lieutenant barely reacted.
Just another detail.
Just another number to consider.
The conversation was over.
And the Lieutenant's shadow stretched across the floor as he turned to leave, the door hissing shut.
"..."
"..."
"God, what am I going to do with him?"
Abe stood with her arms crossed, observing the young man before her with a neutral expression.
He couldn't have been more than his early-to-mid twenties, his features sharp, composed.
His trench coat draped over his military uniform, its open front revealing the insignia of a Lieutenant.
That, if nothing else, caught Abe's interest.
She calculated internally. Being a Lieutenant at his age likely meant he ranked within the top five of his graduating class.
Interesting.
But externally, her voice was flat. "You the officer Colonel Vos sent?"
The young man hummed a noncommittal sound before extending his right hand.
Abe glanced at it before reaching out to shake it. A standard greeting. But the moment her fingers pressed against his palm, she felt it.
Her grip subtly tightened.
The texture was flawless. The warmth, the give of the synthetic skin—almost indistinguishable from the real thing. But almost wasn't enough.
Abe's eyes flickered up.
"Cybernetic?"
She didn't ask out of curiosity. She already knew. She recognized the model. It was a bit old, but it was still high-end.
The Lieutenant's eye twitched, just barely, before he inhaled slowly.
"Yes," he answered simply.
Abe let go of his hand, humming in acknowledgment before pivoting.
"Come inside."
She turned, leading him toward the facility.
As they walked through the halls, Abe began speaking—her tone casual.
"Despite their stellar results, the VTC and UFH haven't approved the Second Generation Grimms for field testing against the Raptures yet." She cast him a side glance, a faint suspicion in her eyes. "They've grown... a bit uneasy."
The Lieutenant gave no outward reaction.
Abe exhaled through her nose before continuing.
"And yet, you were able to be appointed—not as their commander, but as an overseer. Not exactly sure what that means." She shrugged slightly. "Colonel Vos says you're a sort of... gray area."
She paused briefly, then added, "I wasn't informed on what's going on behind the scenes, but I assume you know what your duty here is?"
The Lieutenant didn't hesitate.
"I'm here to oversee the last few tests for the Second Generation." His voice was even. "Despite what it may seem, I'm authorized for field testing when I deem them ready."
Abe's steps slowed. Her head turned, her sharp gaze scrutinizing him.
Field tests?
Her fingers twitched slightly, though she remained outwardly composed.
"That's an interesting level of authority for an overseer," she murmured. "Why?"
The Lieutenant gave a small shrug.
"Colonel Vos gave me this authority." He met her eyes. "I don't question his orders too much."
Abe studied him for a long moment.
That answer told her two things.
First, he was loyal. Loyal to Vos, specifically. And second—he was the type to follow orders to the letter, no matter what they entailed.
She tapped a finger against her arm, thoughtful.
"Well." She exhaled, turning forward again. "The girls will be very surprised to hear that news."
Their footsteps echoed lightly, his heavier than hers. The occasional researcher passed by, either engrossed in their work or actively avoiding looking at the man beside her.
Abe barely glanced back at him as she spoke.
"Before we go in, one thing," she said.
The Lieutenant arched a brow but didn't verbally respond.
"They're not officially called the 'Second Generation Grimms,'" she continued. "Internally, we refer to them as the Old Tales. Just something to keep in mind."
The Lieutenant made a low sound in acknowledgment. Not quite a hum, not quite a grunt.
Abe stopped in front of a reinforced door, swiping her credentials. A small beep echoed, and with a slight hiss, the doors slid open.
Inside, five figures stood in a neat row, side by side. Each was different in appearance, yet there was a unity in the way they subtly straightened at his presence.
The Lieutenant instinctively scanned them from left to right.
The first one, a girl with long, flowing black hair tinged with blue, had delicate features and striking golden eyes. Her bodysuit clung to her form, the material mimicking the texture of mermaid scales.
Abe gestured lazily in her direction.
"Little Mermaid," she said. "Though we call her Siren. She doesn't speak."
The Lieutenant blinked at that but said nothing.
"Her ability—Kotodama—allows her words to influence others, sometimes dangerously so. As a result, she communicates through... alternative means."
Siren perked up at the introduction, offering an excited wave before tilting her head and letting out a string of soft sounds.
"Ohhh~! Ahhh~!"
The Lieutenant's brows furrowed slightly.
He looked at Abe, then back at Siren. Then, back to Abe.
"What?"
Siren giggled, clapping her hands together.
Before he could figure out how to respond, the second in line—Red Shoes—stepped forward, her short blonde hair bouncing slightly.
"You're confused, huh?" she mused, her reddish-brown eyes amused. "Don't worry. She's just excited to meet you."
Her bodysuit had a unique contrast, white at the top and black in the middle, but what stood out the most were the large mechanical red boots that extended up to her knees. They whirred softly as she shifted her weight.
What also stood out was her big ole tidd—
—How the hell is her spine not broken!? Are Nikke's really that strong!?
She placed a hand on her cheek. "I'm Red Shoes. Looking forward to working with you, Commander."
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose. Red Shoes appeared to be observant just from the impression of being around her. He also recalled she was also a researcher for the VTC...
"Right."
Then his gaze shifted to the next two.
Identical light-blue twin tails. Identical features. Different outfits.
The Lieutenant barely masked his growing unease. Sisters, again?
Abe, beside him, sighed through her teeth.
"Hansel and Gretel," she introduced flatly.
Hansel—the one in what could only be described as a two-piece swimsuit mixed with a maid outfit—tilted her head slightly.
"Let Hansel guess," she said, her tone dry. "You can't tell which of us is which."
The Lieutenant's eye twitched, confirming Hansel's thoughts.
"Gretel thinks he's just like you. Hansel thinks the same," Hansel said, turning to her creator.
Abe scowled. "I swear I will put name tags on both of you."
Hansel made a soft "hmm" sound, clearly entertained.
The Lieutenant, deciding that dealing with them further could wait, turned his gaze toward the final figure.
She stepped forward gracefully, silver twin tails swaying as she moved. Her deep blue eyes were quite elegant, and her silver bodysuit shimmered under the lights, its transparent sections subtly revealing slightly toned muscle beneath.
A soft, refined voice rang out.
"Hansel," she chided gently. "Be kind. Our new commander is still unfamiliar with us. It would be unfair to tease him too much."
The Lieutenant barely had time to process the strange sense of relief he felt at her tone before she bowed her head slightly.
"I am Cinderella," she introduced, lifting her gaze to meet his. Then, with an effortless motion, she floated toward him, her feet barely touching the ground, before extending her hand.
She smiled.
"With you here... perhaps, no... We will reach the beauty of the Goddess Squad."
The Lieutenant hesitated for a fraction of a second before grasping it. Her grip was as light as her voice.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Commander."
The Lieutenant's lips pressed into a thin line at the title. He wasn't their commander, not in the proper sense. But he didn't correct her. Instead, he met her deep blue eyes.
"...Likewise."
Cinderella's expression didn't change, but her eyes drifted downward, settling on the hand she held. There was a faint, almost imperceptible tilt to her head—curiosity.
The Lieutenant exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Yeah," he muttered. "It's cybernetic."
Cinderella's gaze flicked back up.
"If you wanted to shake my real hand, you'll have to go with the left one," he added, half-joking, half-apologetic.
Cinderella hummed thoughtfully, her fingers shifting slightly over the synthetic skin.
"No, it is alright," she said. "I believe that what makes someone unique is beautiful."
The Lieutenant barely managed to keep his face neutral.
"And in fact," she continued, lips turning upward, "this may have improved my first experience."
He froze.
For a split second, the noise of the facility faded into the background.
He didn't like them at all. It made him feel inhuman, as they mimicked organic limbs in such a way.
It felt wrong.
It just felt cold.
Cinderella didn't seem to think that way.
He pulled in a slow breath.
"That's a hell of a perspective," he muttered.
Then, realizing she was still holding his hand, he cleared his throat.
"Cinderella," he said flatly. "Let go of my hand."
Cinderella blinked, her mouth forming a soft "o" shape. "Oh."
She gently released him, floating back to her original spot with a weightless grace.
Hansel, still smirking faintly, let out a barely audible snicker.
The Lieutenant ignored it, exhaling through his nose before straightening his posture. His gaze swept over the assembled squad.
"I'm your... uh, let's just say commander to make this easier. My designated rank within the United Forces of Humanity is Lieutenant, and you may refer to me as such," he began. "It's a pleasure to meet you all, Old Tales."
The squad listened, feeling there was more.
"I'll be overseeing you for your last tests," he continued. Then, with a glance toward Abe, who merely shrugged, he added, "And once those tests are complete..."
His expression didn't change, but his next words carried weight.
"I'm authorized to conduct field testing."
For a brief second, silence.
Then—
Excitement.
Siren slightly bounced on the balls of her feet, her golden eyes practically glowing. Red Shoes grinned, shifting her weight as if already preparing for action. Hansel and Gretel exchanged looks, some wordless conversation passing between them before Hansel smirked. Even Cinderella's expression brightened, her hands clasping together.
They appeared eager to get moving, considering how they broke up into chatter.
The Lieutenant felt something twist in his chest at their reactions, though he didn't let it show.
A sigh came from his left.
Abe walked up beside him, hands in her pockets. She shook her head.
"Knew they'd react like that," she muttered, sounding equal parts exasperated and unsurprised.
The Lieutenant simply exhaled.
Of course they would.
They're robots mimicking humans, after all.
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, The Next Day
Abe and the Lieutenant stood behind the protective screening, their eyes fixed on the simulation chamber in front of them. The space beyond the glass flickered as the environment shifted—high-rise ruins, cracked streets, and a dull, grey sky forming from the simulated data.
On the far side of the chamber stood Siren. The blue tint in her hair shimmered as she moved, her golden eyes sharp with focus.
Floating beside her was her weapon—a massive, translucent bubble that pulsed and shimmered like liquid glass—Spindrift.
"Begin."
Little Mermaid/Siren — "Shit Yourself"
The simulation began.
Siren stepped forward.
A pack of simulated Raptures materialized—low-class, fast-moving types. They rushed her in a jagged formation, metallic limbs scraping against the simulated ground.
The Lieutenant crossed his arms, watching as Siren barely reacted. Instead, the bubble quivered before splitting into a dozen smaller orbs, each darting forward like guided missiles. The moment they made contact, they expanded, encasing the Raptures in themselves.
A second later—pop.
The bubbles burst, leaving nothing but shattered metal and data flickering away.
Abe smirked.
"Effortless," she muttered.
"That's some versatility. She's got complete control over that thing."
As if in response, the large bubble reformed in an instant, hovering protectively around Siren before shifting into a thin, whip-like tendril. She twirled her fingers, and the tendril lashed forward, slicing through an incoming enemy like a hot knife through butter.
The Lieutenant barely saw it move.
"That thing's insane."
Abe's smirk widened. "I know."
Siren continued her advance. More Raptures spawned—mid-class this time, heavier armour, stronger weapons. Siren remained unfazed. Her bubble condensed into a single lance, piercing through three enemies at once before liquefying and forming a wall, stopping another batch in their tracks.
The Lieutenant observed in silence for a few moments before glancing at Abe.
"Her Kotodama—how does it work?" he asked, eyes flicking back to Siren. "Does it need organic targets, or is it—"
"Shh," Abe cut him off, raising a hand. "Watch."
There was a glint of pride in her expression.
The Lieutenant frowned but obeyed, turning his attention back to the chamber.
That was when the real test began.
From the edges of the simulation, massive figures emerged. The air seemed to distort as two dozen Master Class Raptures spawned in—a formation of hulking, multi-limbed war machines, their bodies covered in heavy armour.
The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed.
"That's... excessive," he muttered, his brows furrowing. "A single Nikke—even a Grimms model—should struggle against that many."
But Siren and Abe showed no signs of worry.
The bubble beside her began to ripple again. Instead of forming weapons, it split—dividing into multiple floating spheres, each orbiting her in a slow, hypnotic pattern.
Then, her mouth opened.
A soft red glow flickered at the edges of her lips.
"Fall."
The word barely left her mouth before the Master Class Raptures collapsed.
All at once.
It was as if gravity itself had turned against them. Their massive bodies slammed into the ground with a deafening crash, sending dust and debris scattering through the simulation. Limbs strained, weapons twitched—but they didn't move.
They couldn't move.
Siren's bubbles pulsed.
Then—shapes formed. Jagged blades. Spiked tendrils. Even more lances.
One breath.
The Lieutenant barely had time to process it before the battlefield erupted.
In a series of perfectly synchronized strikes, the bubbles lashed out, each one finding a point of impact. The armour was punctured, and cores shattered. The Raptures were reduced to nothing in the blink of an eye.
Silence.
The Lieutenant's mouth parted slightly. His brain caught up half a second later.
"Holy shit."
Abe snorted beside him.
"That," she said, "is why she doesn't speak full words."
There was unmistakable pride in her tone now.
The Lieutenant tore his gaze from the battlefield, looking at her.
"You're saying—"
"Her words are absolute," Abe said simply, crossing her arms. "If she says 'stop,' you stop. If she says 'die'—"
"You die," the Lieutenant finished for her. He ran a hand through his hair. "That's terrifying."
Abe chuckled.
Why are you laughing?! I'm scared!
"Hm. But also really convenient in combination with Spindrift."
His mind raced.
"If it works like that," he started, narrowing his eyes. "Then it works on humans too, doesn't it?"
Abe nodded.
"It's the main reason she speaks the way she does. The 'ohhs' and 'ahhs'—that's her way of talking without, y'know, accidentally telling someone to drop dead. The only reason we're unaffected is that we're out of her range right now. But I can upgrade that, given enough time."
The Lieutenant exhaled through his nose. His head was starting to hurt.
A long pause.
Then—
"Okay," he said. "But have you thought of just... giving her a notebook or something?"
Abe blinked.
Then, she blinked again.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Motherfucker," she hissed, rubbing her temples. "I knew I forgot something."
"You forgot to give the reality-warping Nikke a basic method of communication? She sounds like a damn fish out of water half the time!"
"Listen, we—I was busy, alright?"
"Unbelievable."
The simulation room's lights flickered as the test concluded. Siren turned toward the glass, beaming, giving them a wave.
The Lieutenant waved back weakly. He didn't know if she could see him.
Abe, meanwhile, pulled out her tablet, muttering to herself as she began typing furiously.
"Fucking notebook, I swear to god..."
"What about a text-to-speech—"
"Shut. Up."
The Lieutenant stepped into the hallway just outside the simulation chamber. His boots barely made a sound as he walked, his mind still replaying what he had just witnessed. Siren's power was terrifyingly effective—more than that, absolute. If the rest of the Old Tales were anything like her, then he had his work cut out for him.
They were definitely less human-like than his previous squad, which put his mind at rest, even a little bit.
As he rounded the corner, he spotted a small gathering of the squad.
Red Shoes leaned against the wall, her red mechanical boots idly tapping against the floor. Beside her, Hansel and Gretel stood close together, identical in expression, arms crossed in near-perfect synchronization. Cinderella was the only one sitting, legs folded neatly as she rested her chin on her hands.
She gave him a light wave.
He nodded in greeting. "Hello."
"Commander," Cinderella responded smoothly.
Hansel gave a slight wave, Gretel mimicking her motion half a second later. Red Shoes smirked but said nothing.
The Lieutenant's focus, however, was on the one standing slightly apart from the others.
Siren.
She blinked as he approached, tilting her head in mild surprise. Her golden eyes were wide, a faint questioning sound escaping her lips—somewhere between a hum and a soft "Oh?"
His expression dulled slightly.
"I have no idea what you just said."
Siren's lips parted before she made another small, thoughtful noise: "Ahh."
"...That said, I was impressed. Your creativity with that weapon of yours is something else."
Siren straightened slightly at the praise, blinking rapidly before making another soft noise—this time a quick, pleased "Mm!"
His eyes flickered toward the rest of the squad. They were watching with a mix of anticipation and excitement—not openly, but it was there. There was a faint shift in Red Shoes' posture, the way Hansel's brow quirked slightly, even Gretel's hands fidgeting at her sides.
It was subtle but enough.
"You all have unique abilities, don't you?"
The way their expressions shifted—Red Shoes' smirk widening, Hansel's eyes glinting with amusement, Cinderella's calm smile deepening—told him all he needed to know.
Yeah. I figured as much.
That meant none of them relied on standard weapons. Guns, swords—they probably didn't bother with any of it.
That complicated things, but also... opened up opportunities.
"If that's the case," he mused aloud, "then given enough time, I should be able to come up with strategies that make full use of all of your strengths."
Red Shoes let out a small hum of approval, stretching her arms above her head.
"Sounds very interesting," she said, her reddish-brown eyes glinting. "You'll be watching me closely then, Commander?"
"You're already making it sound weird."
She gave an exaggerated shrug. "Is it? You're gonna observe me, aren't you? Stare real hard? Analyze every move?"
I wonder if Nikke's like Red Shoes get back strain from the wieght of their boobs.
"...Yeah. I'll be watching closely. Happy?"
"Very."
He shook his head before turning back to Siren.
"You did good," he told her simply. "Give it more time, and no Rapture will stand in your way."
Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she looked genuinely taken aback. A faint red dusted her cheeks as she made a small huffing noise, puffing out her cheeks just slightly. It wasn't exactly a pout, but it was close.
Hansel, watching this, decided to interject.
"Siren's acting like she's not enjoying the compliment," she remarked. "Gretel says she is."
Gretel, beside her, nodded once in confirmation.
Siren made a noise of protest—"Oh!"—but didn't outright deny it.
The Lieutenant smirked slightly but said nothing.
Before the conversation could go further, a sharp chime rang through the hallway.
Abe's voice crackled through a small intercom overhead.
"As much as I love hearing you chatter away, time is money, yadda yadda—Red Shoes, you're up."
The blonde perked up, rolling her shoulders as she stepped away from the wall. She turned to the Lieutenant, flashing him a confident smile.
"Well then, Commander," she hummed, a slight smugness in her voice. "Keep your eyes on me. I'll make sure you don't miss a thing."
She strutted past him toward the simulation chamber, her mechanical boots clicking against the floor.
The Lieutenant let out a slow breath before following.
Seriously, what was the purpose of those massive bazookas?
Abe, standing beside him, tapped at her tablet.
"Alright, let's keep this moving. Next up—Red Shoes."
Red Shoes — Abe, Why Is She Looking At Me Like a Piece of Meat?
The blonde stepped forward, rolling her shoulders as the simulated enemies appeared. A wicked smirk crossed her lips.
Showtime.
With a blur of motion, she launched herself forward, her mechanical boots whirring to life. A group of Servent-class Raptures rushed her, but Red Shoes met them head-on. She pivoted on her heel, delivering a spinning hook kick that sent one flying into a nearby wall.
Before another could react, she flipped backward, her boot catching the enemy under its chin and sending it skyward.
"Her speed and power are unreal," the Lieutenant muttered, watching the destruction.
"Hm. And if she ever gets knocked down, those boots have a mind of their own."
As if on cue, a Rapture managed to sweep her leg, knocking her off balance. But before she even hit the ground, her boots emitted a pulse of energy, self-correcting her fall mid-air, flipping her upright just in time for her to deliver a devastating downward axe kick, caving in the Rapture's body and destroying the core.
The Lieutenant blinked.
"...Huh. That's ridiculously useful."
The next Rapture barely had time to react before she twisted into a spinning kick, her foot colliding with its torso at an inhuman speed. A shockwave rippled through the air before the thing was blown apart as if an anti-tank round had hit it.
"All legs..."
"Taekwondo, Savate, Capoeira—you name it, she's mastered it."
"So, everything that has to do with kicking?"
"Mhm."
Inside the simulation, Red Shoes delivered a final devastating heel drop, shattering the last Rapture's head like glass. She landed lightly before shooting a smirk towards the glass.
The simulation powered down.
"Next," Abe called.
Hansel & Gretel – Abe, What's With These Costumes?!
As Red Shoes exited, Hansel and Gretel stepped forward.
Unlike the others, they didn't look particularly excited.
Abe frowned slightly. "Tch. Meant to test them separately," she muttered under her breath, but she shrugged it off and activated the simulation anyway.
The twins took their positions.
Gretel immediately went to work, assembling a massive weapon that the Lieutenant was sure wasn't there when he last looked—The Witches' Cauldron. Meanwhile, Hansel remained standing at the ready, scanning the battlefield as more Raptures appeared.
"They're stuck together," Abe explained, watching them. "Mind-linked. Makes it hard to test them separately, but together..."
Within moments, a massive turret-like construct was formed, and Hansel stepped forward and took control.
The Witches' Cauldron roared to life.
Plasma shots rained down, adaptive in real-time—adjusting for enemy movement, countering attacks before they even landed. Every time a shot nearly missed, Gretel adjusted the weapon, making it stronger and faster.
The way that they moved The Witches' Cauldron... it almost felt like they had some sort of precognition.
Like they knew where the Raptures were going to be before they even spawned...
"Best suited for backline defence."
Abe rolled her eyes.
"You're thinking too small, Commander. It adapts. It can be used for offense too."
The Lieutenant watched the twins dismantle the Rapture swarm in perfect harmony, then exhaled.
"...Noted."
The twins barely looked winded as they stepped back, the Witches' Cauldron collapsing neatly back into its base components.
Abe let out a small hum. "Their scores are improving across the board," she murmured. "Guess they're motivated. Cinderella, you're last!"
Cinderella — Abe, Do You Have an Armpit and Twintail Fetish? I’m Sensing a Pattern Here!
The moment Cinderella floated into the chamber, the Lieutenant could tell she was different.
She was quiet—Not just in demeanour, but in presence.
"Cinderella was designed to be the strongest Nikke. Stronger than Liliweiss of the Goddess Squad."
His brows lifted. That was a bold claim.
Then, the simulation started.
And it was over in less than a minute.
Cinderella moved—a flash of silver and blue as she darted through the battleground, her weapon, Glass Slippers, firing concentrated beams that cut through enemies like paper.
Raptures, regardless of size, power, or class, didn't even get close to her.
The Lieutenant barely had time to process what he was seeing.
"She's like a WMD. If she can fly like that constantly, she has a range as far as the eye can see. She's powerful..." he muttered.
Abe's expression shifted slightly at that comment.
"The only issue is stamina. She can't maintain this level of output forever. Power inefficiencies, overheating—I'm working on it."
Cinderella landed, and the final simulated enemy was reduced to nothing, though there were small wisps of steam coming off of her.
The system beeped—record completion time.
The Lieutenant exhaled. "If she gets even stronger—and if the rest of them do too—" He trailed off, staring at the field.
Abe raised an eyebrow.
He finally finished, "—we might end this war in the next five years."
Silence.
"Ugh. Now you're making it sound stressful."
"I'm just saying."
Abe huffed and walked, motioning for him to follow. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's go."
As they turned to leave, the Lieutenant paused.
"...Abe."
"Hmm?"
"Was Red Shoes a priest?"
"Yeah? What of it? She's a researcher and priest for the VTC."
"I'm just struggling to picture it."
"...You and me both."
The lieutenant looked at his notes, quickly compiling them into an analysis for each of the Second Generation.
Chapter 10: Vol 2.2: Food For Thought
Notes:
Baaah~
Chapter Text
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Late Evening
The day had stretched long but productive. After finishing assessments with Siren, Red Shoes, Hansel, and Gretel, the Lieutenant spent hours discussing tactics with Red Shoes.
Surprisingly, she had kept up with his train of thought with ease, bouncing ideas back and forth with the kind of precision that only a researcher could.
Red Shoes leveraged her time and experience as a Nikke to give the lieutenant a better view on how Nikkes functioned beyond the surface.
By the time they exhausted their immediate ideas, both of them had to admit they had reached the limits of what could be solved without more field data.
Hansel and Gretel had been far less chatty in comparison, though Hansel was receptive (sassy) to feedback while Gretel had simply grunted through most of the conversation.
Now, with the day nearly over, there was one last person to check in on.
Cinderella.
The Lieutenant approached her room, raising his hand to knock. Before his knuckles even met the door, it slid open with a soft hiss.
There she stood, silver-haired and elegant, blue eyes peering at him with mild amusement.
"I have been waiting," she said smoothly, a small, knowing smile on her lips. Then, in a slightly teasing tone, she added, "Keeping a lady waiting is not beautiful."
"Apologies. Red Shoes and I were going over a few things for a while. But I'm here now."
"Hmm." Cinderella tapped a delicate finger to her lips before nodding in approval. "Then I shall forgive you, Commander. Please, come in."
The room was neat, for the most part. Everything was arranged with a clear sense of personal style. A large body mirror stood in the corner, and a small stool was placed before it.
He could only assume it was for when she brushed her hair.
Cinderella took a seat, gesturing for him to do the same. He sat across from her and opened the assessment report.
"You did exceptionally well in the simulation. Trimmed your record down even further."
Cinderella smiled, a pleased hum escaping her lips.
"There's little to no concern about your performance," the Lieutenant continued. "You play your role well. Almost too well, in fact."
"Almost?"
"You overexerted yourself," he noted. "I caught a bit of steam rising from you in the footage, and Abe has already mentioned the overheating problem. So, besides power inefficiencies, is there something else causing it?"
She made a small 'o' with her mouth, blinking in realization. For a moment, she hesitated, then opened her mouth as if to say something—but closed it again.
Then, with a slightly sheepish expression, she spoke.
"I may have... overexerted myself because I was excited," she admitted. "I wanted to show my beauty to you."
The Lieutenant blinked. Then sighed.
"There was no need for that," he chided. "You'll have plenty of chances to do so. Pushing yourself to the point of overheating for the sake of showcasing your 'beauty' to me defeats the purpose of it all."
"Hm..."
"I am not aware of... exactly what you all are as a unit, but during my time in the military, individuals who are unable to judge and decide on critical subjects are bound for a... load of pain. Be aware and cautious of yourself as you are to others, so to speak."
Cinderella's gaze flickered, considering his words.
Then, after a beat, her expression shifted. Her small, knowing smile returned, but this time, there was something warmer behind it.
"You are a beautiful soul, Commander," she mused. "It is truly wonderful to have such a person leading us."
Beautiful soul? That's...
"That's not the point."
She merely continued, undeterred.
"Abe and you will make Old Tales match the beauty of the Goddess Squad. And I will ensure that I do not let my excitement dull my radiance too soon."
"...Good. As long as you acknowledge that... its all fine."
Then, just as he thought the conversation was wrapping up, Cinderella stood from her seat and floated over to the mirror.
She undid the ribbons tying her twin tails, letting her silver hair cascade down like liquid metal. With her back still turned, she spoke softly.
"Commander," she said, "would you be so kind as to help me brush my hair before bed?"
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
"I still have work to do after this."
"It will only be once," she said lightly. "And only for a short while."
"Are you sure it'll only be once?"
She tilted her head slightly and said nothing.
He eyed her for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up and walked over.
Cinderella's reflection in the mirror showed nothing but satisfaction.
She really has a soothing voice.
"Thank you, Commander. I like listening to yours as well."
"...Shut up."
He's definitely in the right state of mind!
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Early Morning, A Week Later
The lieutenant stirred.
Something was... off.
Even half-asleep, he could tell he wasn't alone.
His brow furrowed.
Was someone here to kill him?
He certainly hoped so.
Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was Hansel and Gretel.
The two blue-haired, twin-tailed Nikkes had completely taken over his chair. Hansel straddled the armrest and lazily spun her twin in slow circles like a child testing the limits of an office chair's swivel function.
Gretel sat silently, hands in her lap, allowing herself to be rotated like a piece of office décor.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, watching them with vague curiosity, was Siren.
The moment she noticed him stir, she made a sound.
"Aooh."
Without hesitation, she reached out and tapped Hansel.
Hansel's twirling stopped as she and Gretel both turned to face him in perfect sync, their identical eyes locking onto him.
Creepy.
Hansel's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Hansel and Gretel say good morning."
Gretel gave a small nod.
Siren huffed as if agreeing.
The lieutenant blinked. Then frowned.
Then blinked again.
What the hell?
His sleep-addled brain struggled to process the scene.
Why are they in my room? Where's Cinderella? Where's Red Shoes? More importantly, where the hell is Abe?! Isn't she supposed to be controlling her creations?!
As his brain continued short-circuiting, Hansel tilted her head at his baffled expression.
"Commander looks confused," she teased. "Not used to waking up to sights like this?"
No. I'm not used to waking up to a sight that vaguely resembles the plot of low-budget porno...
Surely, they had better things to do than hang around his room, right? Was having a commanding officer, even one like him, really that interesting?
Siren made another sound.
Still in his sleepwear, the lieutenant slowly pushed himself up, his confusion still plain on his face.
"Alright." He exhaled. "What are you all doing here? And where is everyone else?"
Hansel hummed, resting her chin on her palm. "Was the commander looking for Red Shoes? He was talking to her for a long time yesterday..."
He scowled. "What—?"
"Red Shoes is in her lab," Hansel answered her own question, twirling a lock of Gretel's hair idly. "She stays there most days when there aren't tests, researching Nikkes and Raptures. Abe works with her in there sometimes."
The lieutenant sighed as he processed this before noticing a flicker of white just outside his door.
Then Cinderella floated in.
"Ah! I finally found everyone!" she declared, gracefully stepping inside with an innocent smile. Her gaze shifted to the gathered trio before landing on the lieutenant. "Why are you all in the commander's room?" she asked before giving him a small wave.
"Good morning, Commander."
"Hansel and Gretel wanted to see what the Commander looked like in the morning. He doesn't snore, but he shakes sometimes."
"Aooah!"
The lieutenant looked at Cinderella.
Then, back to the twins.
Then at Siren.
He inhaled deeply.
Am I dead? Is my hell just full of Nikkes?
He coughed into his fist and finally acknowledged them properly. "Right. Morning... Everyone. Besides the fact that you've invaded my privacy, have you all eaten yet?"
Siren shook her head.
Cinderella smiled, shaking her head too. "I was looking for everyone, so I haven't yet."
Hansel tapped her fingers against the chair arm.
"The first thing Hansel and Gretel wanted to do this morning was to see you," she admitted easily before grinning. "Siren tagged along once we explained what we were doing to her."
The lieutenant deadpanned.
They hadn't eaten yet and already decided to disturb him.
Right. That's it.
—THUMP.—
The hallway now had four Nikkes sitting in an unceremonious pile, rubbing their sore backsides.
The lieutenant, standing in the doorway, sighed like a tired parent.
"Breakfast first," he grumbled as if scolding children. "Go eat. I'll be out in a minute. I need to change."
With that, the door slid shut with a whirl.
The four remained on the floor, blinking.
Cinderella, still not entirely sure what just happened, stared at nothing in confusion.
"...What just...?"
Gretel, still rubbing her backside, finally spoke up.
"...How did the Commander lift us?"
Siren simply responded with an "Ah."
The lieutenant spent the rest of the day babysitting Old Tales... reluctantly, of course.
The lieutenant wasn't hungry, per se.
Just... peckish.
So, on a random night in the beginning of fall, he stealthily made his way toward the common area. It was late—no one should be up. If he was quick, he could grab a snack and a drink without dealing with anyone.
That was the plan.
But when he turned the corner—
—he stopped dead in his tracks.
Sitting at the counter, with lollipops in their mouths, were Hansel and Gretel.
Hansel twirled the stick of hers between her fingers, rolling it lazily around her lips, while Gretel, eyes gleaming with pure childlike bliss, had a large, circular lollipop practically stuffed in her mouth.
The lieutenant just stared.
Hansel, noticing him first, slowly pulled the candy from her lips with a quiet pop and met his eye.
"...Don't tell Abe we were here."
He continued staring, processing the situation like a malfunctioning machine.
"You two really like candy, huh?"
Hansel grinned. "Hansel and Gretel do. Was it not obvious from what we were named after?"
Gretel, still enjoying her lollipop, gave a small nod of agreement.
"I'm not too familiar with your stories, but I would've thought you'd avoid candy..."
"Heh."
Hansel leaned forward on the counter, speaking conspiratorially.
"Abe keeps a stash around here. Doesn't like it when we go through it."
The lieutenant blinked, looking at Gretel, who...
Her expression could either be one of pure bliss or ecstasy.
"..."
Either way, the lieutenant was more than sure that out of the two of them, Gretel represented the basic thoughts. There were certainly no thoughts beyond "Eat," "Sleep," and "Candy."
Silent but deadly... This is not my problem.
He let out a slow exhale, rubbing his face.
"Right..." He should say something about discipline, but honestly? He didn't have the energy for it. "Fine. Whatever."
With an accepting hum, he reached for a bottle of water and a protein bar from the snack shelf. Moving slowly, he backed up toward the hallway.
Just in case.
Then, on a whim, he suddenly snapped his gaze back to where the twins were—
—only to see nothing.
They were gone.
His grip on the bottle tightened slightly, and a chill crawled up his spine.
"...Am I losing my goddamn mind?" he muttered to himself, genuinely questioning if PTSD had finally pushed him to the point of schizophrenia.
Shaking his head, he turned around—
—only to find Hansel and Gretel standing directly in front of him.
He inhaled sharply. His muscles locked.
The bottle slipped from his fingers.
Then—
—He fainted.
Another day. Another headache waiting to happen.
Why did his Colonel have to transfer him to one of the only facilities in the world surrounded by Nikkes!?
Hansel and Gretel scare the shit out of him.
He can't look at Red Shoes without his eyes wondering (WHAT ARE EVEN IN THOSE THINGS?).
Cinderella is fine and is actually quite normal.
And Siren...
I guess she's fine. Likes attention.
The lieutenant sighed as he walked through the corridors leading to the lab. The message he'd received from both Red Shoes and Abe had been cryptic, claiming he was the only one who could resolve the issue.
That could mean one of three things:
1: A frontline combat issue.
2: Some bureaucratic nonsense that he would reject answering
3: Nikke Anatomy and how compatible they are with humans (Obviously).
Still, when both Abe and Red Shoes were calling for him, it usually meant something serious.
As he neared the entrance to the lab, their voices filtered through the door—both blondes already deep in an argument.
He stopped just outside, catching parts of their conversation.
"—I'm telling you, it's an issue with Nikkes themselves," Abe said. "Something in the NIMPH. It's too... unpredictable."
"And I'm telling you, it's a side effect of Rapture adaptation," Red Shoes countered, arms probably crossed. "They learn from us. We know that already. You think it's a coincidence this is happening now?"
The lieutenant stepped in, crossing his arms as he observed the two women standing in front of a large screen.
Abe, as expected, looked unimpressed with everything in life. She had one hand lazily propped on her hip while the other scrolled through data.
Red Shoes, on the other hand, was practically leaning forward, eyebrows furrowed in thought.
"Alright," he announced, making his presence known. "What's so urgent that I'm apparently the only person who can understand it?"
Red Shoes perked up immediately.
"Oh, perfect! Just the person we needed."
Abe gave a small nod before lazily gesturing to the screen.
"We need clarification on something from someone with actual combat experience."
He sighed but obliged, stepping beside them. "So? What's this about?"
Abe flicked her wrist toward the screen. "Take a look."
He did.
It was data—combat logs, system reports, scattered clips of engagements. The footage showed multiple Nikkes freezing mid-battle—bodies locked up, eyes flickering erratically.
But some...
Some were attacking their own.
His brows furrowed as he observed one Nikke—her form twitching unnaturally before she turned on her squad, cutting them down.
"Corruption," Abe said flatly. "From what we know at the moment, it's a malfunction in the NIMPH, causing system and body lockups."
"But now," Red Shoes added, "it's evolving."
She pulled up another video. This time, a Nikke didn't just freeze—she lunged at a human soldier, gun swinging wildly, before being put down by her allies.
The lieutenant's fingers curled slightly.
He had to remain calm.
Nia was dead.
"You're saying this Corruption is turning Nikkes into Irregulars?"
"Possibly," Abe muttered.
"We've had incidents where they simply freeze, but now..." She gestured toward the footage. "It's getting worse."
Red Shoes nodded.
"Abe and I were debating the cause." She turned to him, tilting her head. "You were on the frontlines. Did you ever see this happening?"
He hesitated.
His breathing increased in pace slightly.
He didn't see them as robots.
They weren't just robots.
They were—
No. Stop.
"Not exactly like this," he admitted. "But... I did have a Nikke who turned on me after a Mind Switch."
The air shifted slightly.
"Interesting," Red Shoes murmured.
"We were arguing because of the why behind this corruption. I think it's a byproduct of the Raptures' rapid evolution—specifically, their ability to share battle data. It's possible they're spreading something like a computer virus to mess with Nikkes."
The lieutenant hummed. "And Abe thinks...?"
"That it's a flaw in NIMPH itself," Abe answered, pushing up her glasses. "We don't fully understand NIMPH technology. It's been a mystery since we started using it. And given how disturbingly compatible Rapture technology is with Nikke systems, I believe corruption is stemming from a flaw within NIMPH rather than external interference."
"So Red Shoes thinks it's a virus, and you think it's a glitch."
"Essentially," Abe confirmed. "A glitch exploited by the Raptures."
Red Shoes hummed, placing a hand on her cheek. "So, lieutenant, what do you think?"
He thought about it.
If corruption was evolving alongside irregular behaviour, that was a problem. If it was some kind of computer virus, that meant it could be spread, weaponized and used as a tool against them.
But if Abe was right and it was a fundamental flaw in NIMPH, then it could already be embedded in every Nikke, waiting for the right conditions to trigger.
Neither option was particularly comforting.
Finally, he exhaled.
"We shouldn't take one approach and dismiss the other. Both of your theories hold weight, so we should consider every angle. That said..." He met Abe's eyes. "If NIMPH is at the centre of this, then studying it further should be our priority."
Abe gave a thoughtful hum. Red Shoes, on the other hand, huffed and pouted slightly.
"That's your answer?" She said, crossing her arms. "You usually have unique responses when we talk. This is just a safe bet!"
He shot her a flat look. "Sorry for not being unpredictable enough for you."
Abe rolled her eyes at their bickering, already typing something into the system.
"I'll send a request for a sample of NIMPH," she muttered.
The lieutenant glanced at her. "I can get that for you."
"That'd be helpful."
Red Shoes grinned. "Oh? Look at you, being all cooperative."
The way she said it—just a little too sweet, just a little too close—made the tips of his ears burn.
"Right," he muttered, abruptly turning toward the exit. "I'll go handle that. Goodbye."
"Bye~"
The lieutenant sighed, running a hand down his face. He was still processing the last conversation.
He sneered to himself, shaking his head.
Always something new to deal with.
As he walked past one of the rooms, a sudden burst of excitement caught his attention.
Cinderella's room.
He blinked. For someone so soft-spoken, she sounded way too enthusiastic about something.
Curious, he knocked on the door.
"Cinderella? Everything alright in there?"
A sharp squeak came from the other side. There was a brief shuffle of movement, then the door slid open with a soft whoosh.
Cinderella stood there, hands lightly clasped together, her twin-tailed white hair flowing like silk. Her deep blue eyes still shimmered with excitement, though she now seemed slightly flustered from being caught.
"Ah... Commander."
"What's got you so worked up?"
Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she motioned for him to step inside.
"You just missed it," she said, barely containing the giddiness in her voice. "The latest news about the Goddess Squad was just on! Another glorious victory."
"The Goddess Squad? You watch the news?"
Cinderella nodded enthusiastically.
"They're amazing. They take on the strongest Raptures and always come out on top!"
He had to take a second to process the way she was talking—like she was fangirling.
"I mean... they're some of the strongest Nikkes in existence," he said. "Pure specs alone put them leagues above—"
"I know!" Cinderella interrupted, her voice uncharacteristically eager. "I've always been a fan of them."
His brain short-circuited for a moment.
"...You're a fan of the Goddess Squad?"
She nodded again, clasping her hands together, practically glowing with admiration.
"They're my idols," she said. Then, without hesitation, she reached out and clasped his hands in hers, her blue eyes locking onto him with unwavering determination. "I want to stand among them as equals someday. And I know we can do it—with your help."
The sheer admiration in her voice was almost childlike—pure, untainted by cynicism.
He wasn't sure how to respond at first. It was... rare to see that kind of unwavering belief. He had spent so much time following orders, going through the motions, dealing with the ugly, practical side of things. Dreams like this—big, unreachable dreams—weren't something he thought about anymore.
Had he ever looked at anyone like that?
Had he ever wanted something so badly?
Maybe.
Maybe he just forgot.
He pushed the thought aside and exhaled.
"The second generation of Nikkes was meant to surpass the Goddess Squad in every metric," he said. "I won't say it'll be easy. Their achievements do seem unreachable, but with enough hard work, time, and some scientist" —he thought of Abe— "tinkering with upgrades, it'll happen."
Cinderella's smile grew. She hovered slightly, bringing herself up to his height, still holding onto his hands.
"And," she added, "we'll need you to lead us."
The lieutenant stared at her for a moment before slowly nodding.
He exhaled slowly. "...Right. Of course, I'll... I'll be there."
"I know you will."
A brief pause.
Then, his brow furrowed.
He glanced down.
"...You can let go of my hands now."
Cinderella blinked, then looked down as well.
She was still very much holding them.
Her expression remained completely serene as she tilted her head. "Oh."
But she didn't let go.
"Do you like holding my hands?"
She hummed. "I suppose."
She still didn't let go.
And he felt odd.
Chapter 11: Vol 2.3: Beauty is Subjective
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Late Evening, Winter
The lieutenant sat on the testing bench, rolling his shoulders as he eyed the clunky black helmet resting on the table beside him. It looked more like something meant for deep-sea diving than a piece of anti-Kotodama technology.
Apparently, Abe had made this thing... somehow.
He still didn't understand how the Second Generation worked at all.
The most simple power set was Red Shoes's enhanced strength and her red boots, which contained a plethora of modifications like propulsion and balance control.
Hansel and Gretel still scared the shit out of him—with their seeming precognition, mind link and the ability to somehow summon a gun that shoots plasma out of nowhere.
Cinderella's abilities were numerous as they were powerful. Glass Slippers, her speed, flight capabilities and the forcefield she could project around her made her nearly unstoppable.
And those were the abilities he was aware of.
Then there was Siren's Kotodama...
Simple on paper; words come out, actions follow... or so Abe says would happen if he doesn't put on the helmet.
Of course, he knows how Kotodama works. Have you not read the first chapter of this volume?
He poked the helmet with a finger.
"This thing is really supposed to work?" he muttered, arching a brow.
Over the intercom, Abe's voice crackled in.
"Yes, that's why we're testing it."
The lieutenant sighed.
"Then why aren't you the one doing this? You're a Nikke too—you can take more punishment if this thing doesn't work." He gestured to himself. "Just because I've got cybernetic limbs doesn't mean I'm any less fleshy everywhere else."
Across from him, Siren giggled, the melodic sound rolling through the air like an ocean breeze. She tilted her head, her yellowish eyes glimmering with amusement.
"Ohhh~" she cooed playfully. "Aouhh~"
The lieutenant shot her a glare, but she only seemed more amused.
Damn fish robot.
Abe huffed.
"Relax. The only things Siren's testing on you are basic commands. 'Sit down,' some others—that's it. Stop whining and put on the helmet."
He rolled his eyes but reached for the helmet. Before putting it on, he glanced at Siren, who preemptively nodded, her lips parting slightly as she made a few more sounds—ones that, oddly enough, gave him the impression she was saying she was ready.
With a sigh, he slid the helmet over his head. It was sealed with a faint hiss.
His vision was nearly blacked out, just barely visible through the dark-tinted glass.
No HUD, no indicators—just vibes.
Perfect.
Abe's voice came through again.
"Alright. Beginning the test in three... two... one... Siren, start."
Siren straightened slightly, clearing her throat before speaking. When she did, the rim of her mouth pulsed with a soft red glow as her voice rolled out.
"Sit down."
The lieutenant's brain registered it instantly. His knees buckled just slightly—but he caught himself before he could move any further.
A pause.
Then, Abe muttered something over the intercom, no doubt jotting down the results.
"Hmph. Needs more work," she mumbled before sighing. "Alright, Siren, another command. Try a different range of movement."
Siren smirked and hummed lightly, almost as if she enjoyed this.
"Raise your right arm."
Again, the words settled into his head—not like an order, but like something his brain thought was his own idea.
His fingers twitched, a slight jerk in his arm, but ultimately, he resisted.
Abe hummed. "Tch. Again, Siren."
This time, Siren leaned forward ever so slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Hug me."
The lieutenant's brain short-circuited.
For a brief, horrifying moment, his arms actually moved. His shoulders tensed, his muscles twitched, and his entire body instinctively leaned forward as if preparing to wrap itself around Siren like a needy idiot.
NONONONONONONONO—
His survival instincts screamed, and he just barely managed to override the command before he actually hugged her. He jerked his arms back down, standing stiff as a board, blinking rapidly behind the visor.
"...What the hell, Siren?"
She let out a soft giggle, her eyes practically twinkling with amusement.
Abe's sigh came through the intercom. "Really, Siren?"
Siren made an innocent sound, tilting her head slightly. "Hmm~?"
"This is not the kind of experiment I signed up for."
Abe grumbled. "Alright, that's enough data for now. Both of you, come to my lab."
The lieutenant yanked the helmet off with a sigh, shaking his head. As he glanced at Siren, she simply smiled, her lips parting as she made another soft, pleased sound—one he couldn't translate, but something told him it was smug.
He squinted at her.
"...You did a good job, I guess."
Her smile brightened further.
"Aoooh!"
Siren seemed to like the attention.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Early Morning, Winter
The lieutenant let out a deep yawn, shoving his hands into his pockets as he trudged toward Abe's lab. The early morning chill bit through his uniform, and he regretted not grabbing an extra layer before making the walk over.
The lab doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the blonde-haired scientist hunched over a workstation, fingers deftly working on something small and intricate.
Even with night vision, or whatever the hell Abe had put into herself, he was more than sure that this wasn't healthy for the eyes.
He turned the lights on.
"Morning."
Abe barely acknowledged him, humming in response as she continued to tinker with the components in front of her.
His gaze drifted around the lab, familiarizing himself with the usual things—wires, half-assembled tech, and a whiteboard filled with indecipherable notes.
Why would she need to write stuff down in Spanish, he never questioned it.
Something else caught his attention: a small setup in the corner, complete with a kettle and a few instant coffee packets.
He scoffed under his breath.
Did she even drink coffee?
Before he could ask, Abe spoke without looking up.
"Make me a cup while you're there. You can have one, too if you want."
"I thought Nikkes didn't need coffee since you don't technically need sleep."
He still moved toward the space, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water.
Abe finally glanced at him, adjusting her glasses before returning to her work. "We don't need to sleep, but our brains still mostly function like humans do. Caffeine helps with focus."
The lieutenant hummed, setting the water to boil.
"So you just need it to get your brain going."
"Pretty much." She said with a tired sigh. "And for some damn reason, we can still get caffeine headaches."
That made him snort. "You guys can get headaches? That's just bad engineering."
Abe grumbled something under her breath but didn't look up.
The lieutenant leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he watched her work.
Despite his usual aversion to getting too familiar with people—especially Nikkes—he found Abe... different. She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't on the front lines, taking orders or throwing herself into battle.
Instead, she was stuck here, in her lab, constantly working on upgrades and tech for the Old Tales Squad.
She was... human.
Not machine.
Not an asset.
A human.
It was a terrifying thought—seeing something he'd always considered the property of the United Forces of Humanity act so naturally, so human-like.
But for whatever reason, he allowed himself to make small talk with her.
"So, what are you working on?"
"Ever since those tests with Siren's Kotodama a few days ago, I've been working on upgrading the helmet you wore."
His eye twitched. "Yeah, I remember those tests."
Abe pushed her glasses up with her wrist.
"And?"
"And I'd rather not be your lab rat again."
Silence.
At that, she did look up.
Slowly, she adjusted her glasses and narrowed her blue eyes at him.
There was no immediate response—just an unimpressed glare.
A long silence hung between them.
"I made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgment, and I don't expect to be forgiven—"
Abe snorted.
"What the hell are you even saying?"
"I am apologizing for my transgressions."
"...Uh huh. You're a weirdo."
"Rude."
The kettle clicked, signalling the water was ready. He grabbed two cups, tossing in instant coffee packets before pouring the steaming liquid. He stirred them lazily before placing one in front of her.
"Put some sugar and cream in it. It's hot, so be careful—"
Before he could finish, Abe took the cup and downed the entire thing in one go.
The lieutenant stared.
"ಠ_ಠ"
Abe sighed contentedly and set the empty cup down.
The lieutenant stared.
"ಠ_ಠ"
Before he could say anything, the lab doors slid open, revealing Siren and beside her was Cinderella.
The black-haired Nikke gave an enthusiastic greeting in the form of drawn-out, airy sounds.
"Ahhh~ Ohhh~"
Cinderella gave a small nod toward Abe. "Would it be alright if I watched?"
Abe shrugged. "No problem. It's nothing top-secret."
As the conversation went on, the lieutenant remained frozen in place, his brain still catching up to what he had just witnessed.
Abe finally noticed his expression. "What?"
He shook his head, mumbling under his breath.
"I'm talking to psychopaths who drink boiling hot coffee in one gulp."
Abe's eye twitched.
"Let's get started," she said flatly, gesturing for him and Siren to follow.
The lieutenant sighed, falling into step behind them.
By the time the tests were done, the day had stretched long.
The Kotodama helmet had performed well.
Even under Siren's influence, it had resisted most of her commands. That was the good news. The bad news? Some of the more personal ones—like "hug me"—still managed to make his muscles twitch involuntarily.
He sat slouched in a chair in Abe's lab, arms crossed, head tilted back as he exhaled through his nose.
Beside him, Siren slowly spun in her chair, making small, contented noises every time she completed a full rotation. He found it cute.
Across from them, Cinderella examined herself in a small, handheld mirror, occasionally tilting her head or adjusting stray strands of hair.
Abe, meanwhile, was at her desk, reviewing the final data logs, muttering under her breath.
Then, she abruptly stopped.
"Wait a second."
She stood up from her chair and briskly walked over to the lieutenant. Before he could even process it, she grabbed the edges of the black helmet he was still wearing and yanked it off. The device came off with a sharp hiss as the vacuum-sealed lining released.
The lieutenant flinched as the sudden brightness of the lab hit his unshielded eyes. He squinted, raising a hand against the light.
"Damn it, Abe—"
"You forgot to take it off," she deadpanned, inspecting the helmet before shaking her head.
"I forgot because the HUD doesn't show anything but still blocks out the light," he grumbled. "I swear, I would've fallen asleep if you hadn't taken it off just now."
Abe sighed. "I'll work on it more. Adding a HUD next..."
Siren let out a satisfied hum, still spinning in place.
For a brief moment, it was quiet.
Then, the lab doors slid open again.
In strolled two identical Nikkes with light-blue twin tails—Hansel and Gretel.
"Ah, we found them."
Before anyone could react, a yawn echoed behind them.
A short blonde Nikke with reddish-orange eyes shuffled in after them, stretching her arms above her head. Red Shoes looked half-asleep, lazily blinking as she took in the sight of everyone gathered.
She let out another yawn. "What's everyone doing in here?"
Hansel turned her head slightly.
"Hansel and Gretel were looking for everyone." She gestured vaguely to the group. "And everyone is here."
Gretel, as usual, said nothing, simply tilting her head as if agreeing with her twin.
Cinderella lowered her mirror, glancing toward the twins.
"I was watching the tests," she said, nodding toward the lieutenant.
The lieutenant, still lounging in his chair, absently hummed in response. "Good afternoon, Red Shoes, Hansel and Gretel."
Abe exhaled through her nose, looking around at the now-crowded lab. "Why is everyone in my lab? Red Shoes has her own," she grumbled, but, notably, she didn't tell anyone to leave.
"Heheh," The VTC scientist giggled. "Yours is more organized than mine, Abe, and it feels a bit more homely, so maybe that's why."
"Augh... Just don't make me lose concentration."
"Okay~"
The rest of them took that as permission to stay.
Chairs were pulled up. The group naturally formed a loose circle as conversations sparked here and there. Siren eventually stopped spinning and leaned forward on the desk, lazily observing the chatter.
The lieutenant, meanwhile, kicked back in his chair, closed his eyes, and let himself zone out.
The voices around him faded into a dull murmur.
For once, he didn't mind.
Then, just as he was beginning to drift off, something snapped him back to reality. His eyes flickered open for a moment before settling into a half-lidded, still-sleepy state. A yawn escaped him, and as if remembering something trivial, he lazily muttered,
"Oh, right. Since the tests are going so well, I talked with my superiors. They want some 'field testing' against actual Raptures."
The room went completely, painfully silent.
Not even Siren hummed.
Red Shoes blinked slowly, her drowsy expression vanishing. She looked between her comrades, then to Abe, who had frozen mid-scroll through her data logs, eyes slightly widened.
Finally, Red Shoes turned back to the lieutenant.
"...You're serious?"
"Mhm. Despite some minor issues—heat buildup, calibration adjustments—you're all combat-ready. Outperforming expectations, actually."
Another silence.
Then Cinderella suddenly shot up from her seat, practically floating across the room in her excitement.
"Really?!" she blurted, her voice filled with disbelief and barely contained joy. She stopped just short of the lieutenant, hovering inches away, eyes wide. "Wait—wait—wait, really?! Like—actually?!"
The lieutenant leaned back slightly, caught off guard by how fast she'd moved. "Yeah. You guys were on standby for a while, weren't you?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
A chorus of voices followed.
Hansel, gripping Gretel's hands, whispered, "Hansel must be dreaming."
Siren muttered a quiet "...No way..." under her breath.
Even Abe, still frozen in disbelief, didn't immediately chastise Siren for breaking her usual non-verbal communication.
She turned sharply toward the lieutenant.
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" she demanded. "I should have been informed of this."
He waved a lazy hand.
"Relax. The VTC and United Forces of Humanity are still bickering over mission details. But a faction of the military pushed for live testing. They want combat data so that—" His lips curled slightly into a sneer. "—so that the bureaucrats will get off their asses."
Abe made a face, exhaling. "That's not exactly reassuring."
He ignored her, instead turning back to the squad. A light smile tugged at his lips.
"Congratulations. You're moving up in life."
Another silence.
Then—chaos.
Red Shoes let out a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief before grabbing Hansel and Gretel into a half-hug. Siren clapped her hands together excitedly, a quiet but genuine show of happiness. Cinderella twirled once midair before turning to Red Shoes.
"I never thought this day would come," Red Shoes admitted, on the verge of tears.
"I was just about to say that!"
"Aoooh!"
Hansel and Gretel, now caught in an impromptu group hug, simply let it happen.
Even Abe, despite her usual grumbling, couldn't bring herself to interrupt the celebration.
After a while, the lieutenant exhaled through his nose and slowly shuffled toward Abe's side of the lab.
Abe sighed before he even opened his mouth. "Did you have to make this announcement in my lab?"
"Everyone is here, so I might as well. Would've forgotten otherwise."
She rolled her eyes.
"Of course you would've." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Did the Colonel or anyone connected to him have anything to do with this?"
"Classified."
Without missing a beat, she jabbed him in the side.
He grunted, rubbing the spot. "Tch—what was that for?!"
"Consider that my way of saying thanks. If you had anything to do with it."
He rolled his eyes as he watched Cinderella, still smiling contentedly, drifted away from the celebratory huddle.
"Commander."
He immediately recognized the tone. There was something expectant about it. He furrowed his brows slightly, but before he could say anything, Cinderella continued.
"When are we going?"
That was what they were all thinking.
The excitement was real, but now, reality was starting to settle in.
The lieutenant shifted his gaze toward Abe.
"That depends. When will you be finished with your upgrades?"
Abe sighed through her nose.
"I was planning to work on the helmet today," she said, a little tiredly. "But since I've been blindsided by the news I should've known about—" she shot him a look, which he ignored, "—I'll prioritize the upgrades instead."
She paused for a moment, calculating.
"Maybe... another three days."
The lieutenant hummed. "Alright. In that case, I'll put in a request for deployment about... two weeks from now. Maybe one and a half, depends."
Cinderella looked satisfied with that, though her fingers twitched slightly at her sides.
"I'm anxious," she admitted, tilting her head. "Do you know what kind of mission it'll be, Commander?"
He exhaled, about to answer, but Abe cut him off before he could even start.
"Don't dance around it," she said flatly. "This is a mission."
"Abe, at least let me try to look mysterious!"
She gave him a dry look.
He let the silence sit for a second before addressing the squad as a whole. "It'll most likely be a reclamation mission or a delaying action."
That got their attention.
"A delaying action?"
The lieutenant nodded. "Meaning that your job will be to assist in the retreat of a section of humanity's forces and slow the Rapture advance. That means in the next few days, you'll be conditioned and trained on how to conduct those kinds of operations. It won't be just a standard 'search and destroy' like the simulations."
Then, Old Tales's expression firmed into something more determined.
"Aooh!"
Hansel and Gretel exchanged looks before nodding in sync.
Red Shoes leaned back, exhaling through her nose. "...Alright."
"Now, since I know the whole lot of you are really looking forward to this, I might as well give you a little incentive."
They all turned to him again.
"If you all behave—" he lifted a hand before any of them could protest, "—and perform well, not only will you make your mom proud—"
He pointed at Abe.
"Oy."
"—but you'll also impress the brass enough to possibly open up collaboration missions with other squads in the future."
"Other squads?"
The lieutenant let the implication hang in the air before adding, "Maybe even Goddess Squad if you're lucky."
That did it.
The atmosphere instantly shifted.
Siren perked up slightly, looking around the lab as if looking for something.
Cinderella's eyes widened. "Really?"
He smirked a little. "You never know. You all are their successors, after all."
The group exchanged looks, some smiling, some nodding in excitement.
Abe, meanwhile, just shook her head, muttering something about "manipulating them with their idols."
But as she glanced at the squad—at how eager they looked—she didn't complain.
I mean, have you seen the looks on her children's faces!?
Notes:
Author Note:
The lieutenant is complicated to keep consistent because he has these thoughts on Nikkes being robots or subhuman (as highlighted by the conversation with the Colonel where he said they had no free will) while also wanting to do his duty as an officer and keep morale high with things that "mimic" human behaviour.
He's in a position of authority—but tries to keep his underlying thoughts on these "assets" away from affecting his leadership style is what I'm trying to say—therefore not compromising the chain of command and leading to horrific results
Chapter 12: Vol 2.4: Red Rum
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Early Morning, Winter
The lieutenant stirred awake, groggy and vaguely aware that something felt off.
Hey isn't this scene familiar?
His body felt... heavy.
Not like the usual stiffness from a bad sleeping position, nor was it because he slept more than 4 hours this time—no, this was something else.
It felt like someone had stacked a pile of weights directly on top of him.
His half-conscious brain processed this in slow motion.
And then—
A blank, expressionless face edged closer to his.
His eyes shot open.
Gretel stared back at him, her nose mere inches from his, the full weight of her Nikke body crushing his torso like an industrial press.
Now, some people might find this pleasurable or even desirable, but our lieutenant here isn't a masochist.
There was a beat of silence as his still-waking brain tried to process the situation.
Then, predictably—
"What the hell is your robot ass doing—GAK!"
Before he could finish, something was shoved into his mouth.
Hard.
A lollipop.
He gagged slightly, the oversized candy muffling his outburst as the artificial sweetness hit his tongue. His glare darted around the room until he caught sight of Hansel, standing nearby with a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she giggled.
"Mmghffh—!"
He furiously turned his glare on her, still struggling under Gretel's weight.
Hansel grinned.
"Oh? The commander sounds like he had something important to say."
His muffled irritation intensified.
He tried again, this time opting for hand gestures—one pointing at Gretel, the other waving in exasperation at Hansel.
Get your damn sister off me!
Hansel only smirked wider.
He groaned, giving a half-hearted squirm beneath Gretel's body. It was useless. It was like trying to push a brick wall off himself with one arm. His cybernetic limb strained slightly as he exerted more force, but Gretel didn't budge.
So much for that!
"If you two wanted to feed me candy for breakfast as some kind of prank, it's working," he grumbled, his words still somewhat garbled around the lollipop in his mouth.
Hansel stifled another laugh.
Fine.
Fine.
Everything is fine!
If brute force wouldn't work, he'd just take the damn thing out of his mouth and properly chew them out.
He reached up to yank the lollipop out—
Only for Gretel to shove it right back in.
"GHRK—!"
He froze, eyes widening in pure disbelief.
Hansel howled with laughter, practically doubled over at this point.
The lieutenant's face contorted into a silent scream as he sagged back into his bed in defeat.
At that moment, he caught sight of Siren standing beside Hansel, looking uncertain, her hands clasped in front of her chest.
The two locked eyes.
Siren let out a quiet, nervous, "Aahhh..."
A silent conversation ensued.
Help.
I... I don't know how.
Get Gretel off me.
But—
GET. CINDERELLA. THEN.
Just as Siren hesitantly took a step toward the door to follow through—
Gretel, without warning, stood up and stepped off him as if nothing had happened.
The sudden lack of weight was almost as shocking as its presence had been.
The lieutenant blinked, slowly sitting up, his body now free to move.
Hansel, still grinning like a devil, gave him an exaggerated bow. "We humbly apologize, Lieutenant. We were just curious to see what would happen."
There was a long, tense silence.
The lieutenant's eye twitched.
Later...
WHAP!
Two loud smacks echoed through the hallway, followed by simultaneous pained yelps.
Hansel and Gretel sat on the floor, large steaming bumps swelling on their heads, both looking like thoroughly punished children.
The lieutenant stood over them, arms crossed, an absurdly long newspaper fan still gripped in his cybernetic hand. He slowly rolled it up again, clearly considering another round of correction.
From behind a nearby corner, Abe, Cinderella, Red Shoes, and Siren peeked out, watching the scene unfold.
Abe squinted.
"What happened to them?"
Siren, still watching the defeated twins with the blankest expression she could muster, let out a small, nervous sound.
"...A-Aahhh..."
Oh, isn't the field operation is tomorrow?
Why don't we time skip to that?
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, Winter
"Ohhh, this is going to be so much fun," Red Shoes said, grinning. "Finally, some real action! Not just simulations or those tiny little exercises they give us."
"Didn't take you for the gung-ho type."
Red Shoes tilted her head and smirked. "Oh, I love fighting as much as I do research. You should know that by now, Commander."
"I really shouldn't be hearing that with that much enthusiasm."
She giggled but then sighed, the excitement in her expression softening into something more genuine. "No, but seriously. I'm thankful for this, you know?"
The way she said it caught his attention. He glanced at her again, this time more seriously.
"Thankful? What do you mean?"
Red Shoes grinned, bouncing forward a step before spinning on her heel to face him while walking backward. "C'mon, you know what I mean. Research!"
"Should've figured. It's all about finding more about Raptures and things with you."
She nodded eagerly. "I've been dying to gather some real-time data on Rapture behaviour. Simulations and recordings are fine, but actually being there? Seeing how they react, how they think—if they even do? That's something I can't get from a lab."
"Haven't I told you about Raptures before? I can't remember."
"Oh, you have but I just wanna see something else besides recounts."
"Well, you're a close-quarters fighter. You'll get plenty of time up close and personal, that's for sure."
Red Shoes' grin turned sly as she leaned toward him. "Ooooh, up close and personal, huh?"
The lieutenant stiffened immediately, a faint heat creeping up his neck as he grimaced.
"That's not what I meant."
"Ohhh, I know what you meant, Commander. I'm just saying, you really do have a way with words."
His glare was half-hearted. "Can you not do that?"
"Do what?" she asked, blinking at him innocently, though her lips twitched at the edges.
"That. Whatever the hell you're trying to do."
Red Shoes giggled again, placing a hand on her cheek as if in deep thought. "Aww, but your reactions are priceless! And really, the only time I ever get to see them is when we're talking about Raptures, research... or—"
She let the last word hang in the air, her grin widening as his expression darkened.
"Forget it," he muttered as if this conversation had physically drained him. "These fuckin' robots are going to be the death of me."
Red Shoes threw her head back with a laugh, reaching over and giving him a solid pat on the back.
"Awww, Commander, you wound me! I'm just having some harmless fun!" Then, she leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough. "Unless... you do look at Nikkes that way and you're just not admitting it?"
"I'm not even dignifying that with a response..."
The lieutenant sighed as Red Shoes let out another mirthful giggle, thoroughly enjoying herself at his expense. As the two rounded the last corner and entered the room, the rest of Old Tales came into view.
Cinderella sat with her legs crossed, a small smile on her lips. Hansel and Gretel were huddled together, the former whispering something into her twin's ear that earned a tiny nod. Siren was quietly spinning in a chair, making small, satisfied noises as she rocked back and forth.
Abe, however, stood at the center of it all, arms crossed and with an unimpressed look, already prepped and waiting.
"Would you look at that," she said, her voice dry. "The lieutenant showing up late to his own mission. Is this common practice in your previous commands?"
Red Shoes let out a soft giggle. Cinderella's smile widened a fraction. Hansel snickered under her breath. Even Siren made a small, amused noise as if agreeing with the scientist's words.
"Hey—"
The lieutenant locked up before he could respond.
For just a split second, his vision blurred, and instead of Old Tales standing before him, he saw different faces. A flickering fire. Smiling expressions, their laughter carrying through the night's air. Voices calling his name.
Then—
Nothing.
What the hell was that?
He clenched his jaw, forcing the image away before it could dig its claws deeper into his mind.
With a quick shake of his head, he refocused.
"I knew you'd be here first to keep everyone in check," he said. "Didn't want things getting too rowdy while I dealt with the red one."
Red Shoes gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. "Commander, are you saying I'm troublesome?"
"Yes."
Abe huffed. "Just be more punctual next time."
The lieutenant gave a small smile. "I'll do my best."
Even as he spoke, he could feel his pulse still slightly off-rhythm, and his mind was somehow scrambling with strange thoughts, but he forced himself to suppress it. There were more important things at hand.
He stepped forward, standing before the gathered squad. "Alright, you've all had time to condition and prepare," he said, his tone shifting to something more professional. "I want to know if you have any questions before we move forward. Anything unclear?"
For a moment, there was no response. Just the faint hum of the overhead lights and the quiet rustling of movement. Then—
"Commander."
Cinderella's voice hovered over his ears.
The lieutenant turned to her, only to find her looking at him—not with excitement, but with something more scrutinizing. Her expression wasn't quite concerned, but there was a flicker of something like it in her blue eyes.
"How are you feeling today?"
"Huh?"
"...?"
He wasn't sure what had given it away. Maybe it was the way his posture had stiffened for that brief moment, or maybe it was just Cinderella's perceptive nature or something like that.
Either way, the question caught him slightly off guard.
But he was good at adapting.
He let out a small breath, giving her a reassuring look.
"I'm fine," he said smoothly. "I'd say I'm just as anxious as all of you. It's your first time in the field, after all. First-time jitters are normal."
The atmosphere in the room shifted slightly, his words redirecting their thoughts. Cinderella studied him for a moment longer but eventually nodded.
"And I have full faith in all of you to perform the task ahead," he continued. "You've put in the work. Now it's time to prove it."
That seemed to do the trick. Excitement returned to their expressions.
With a nod, the lieutenant gestured for them to follow.
"If that's all, then let's—"
He paused, glancing at Siren. She was staring at him with a strange expression, as if she was confused on why he was soloing her out specifically.
"...Siren, you have everything with you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Specifically... your notebook?"
There was a brief moment of silence.
Then—
Siren's yellowish eyes widened.
A small, barely audible noise of realization escaped her lips before—
"Ahh!"
Without another word, she spun around and bolted out of the room, her long hair flowing behind her as she dashed down the hall.
Hansel giggled, watching her go. Abe let out a heavy sigh, pressing a hand to her forehead.
The lieutenant simply gave her a heavy-lidded stare.
"We'll be waiting for you, Siren," he called out, his voice flat. "Be quick."
Siren's footsteps faded into the distance. The squad remained standing, waiting patiently—or in Hansel's case, amusedly.
Cinderella, however, wasn't paying much attention to the scene.
Her thoughts lingered elsewhere.
The lieutenant—her commanding officer—had always been composed, unreadable, carrying himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had seen far too much. But for just a second, before he masked it again, she had seen something else.
An expression so raw, so utterly distressed, it had sent a chill down her spine.
Her gaze lowered slightly.
Down to his right arm.
Then to his left leg.
Metal where flesh should be.
He always hated those things, didn't he? Even with the synthetic skin on, he never liked them, did he?
She had never asked. None of them had.
But for the first time, she wondered.
What exactly had happened to him?
This was a disaster.
Smoke clogged the air, blending with the screams of retreating soldiers.
The rumble of distant explosions rattled the ground beneath their feet as Old Tales arrived at what was supposed to be an organized withdrawal.
This is a Nikke story, dude, did you expect any of the humans besides the commander to be competent?
Instead, it was a mess—men scrambling, dropping gear, some not even looking back as they ran.
The lieutenant clicked his tongue in sheer annoyance.
He scanned the retreating forces, his irritation boiling over as he caught sight of a sergeant barreling past them, eyes wide with panic.
Without hesitation, the lieutenant reached out and grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him to a stop.
"Where the hell is your commanding officer?" His voice was irate. "Your captain? Your lieutenant colonel? Anyone supposed to be keeping this from turning into a goddamn circus?"
The sergeant was breathing hard, sweat streaking his dirt-covered face.
"They—they're dead," he stammered. "All of them. It's been chaos ever since! No one's—no one's leading anymore—"
The lieutenant's eye twitched.
With a shove, he pushed the sergeant away, nearly sending the man stumbling.
"Then run. Run like your life depends on it and let me deal with it."
The sergeant hesitated, eyes flicking between the lieutenant and Old Tales.
"Them?" He gestured toward the squad, his voice incredulous. "You're gonna let a bunch of Nikkes hold off the Raptures long enough for—"
He didn't get to finish.
"I'm taking command of this retreat," the lieutenant cut in, his voice sharp as a blade. "You don't question me. You do as you're told, and right now, that means hauling ass before I decide you're more useful as bait."
"S-sir?!"
"Do you have a family?" He sneered as the soldier made a sound that closely resembled affirmity. "Would you rather they see you alive but wounded or in a GODDAMN bodybag!?"
The sergeant paled, nodded quickly, and took off without another word.
The lieutenant exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before turning to face Old Tales. They were standing by, looking at him with wide eyes—not in fear, but in shock. This wasn't the relaxed, occasionally short-circuiting commander they knew.
This was something else entirely—a man who had no patience for hesitation.
"Listen up, you damn cyborgs!"
His voice snapped them into focus.
"Hansel, Gretel—you're setting up Witches' Cauldron on that hill." He pointed toward a vantage point just north of them. "I want full firepower on any Raptures pushing through. You'll also be my eyes—spot any abnormalities and report them in full! I don't want your little cryptic bullshit you pull on me in the lab."
Hansel and Gretel nodded in unison.
"Siren, Red Shoes," he continued, shifting his gaze. "You're going in the frontline. Engage the enemy head-on, keep them from breaching our retreating forces."
Siren gave a small nod, and Red Shoes grinned, practically bouncing on her feet in anticipation.
"And Cinderella," he finished, looking at her, "you're in reserve. If any Raptures make it past those two, I want Glass Slippers lighting them the hell up. You've got permission to make your own judgment calls—and you can fly."
Cinderella blinked, processing for a moment before she gave a small smile.
"Understood, Commander."
The rest of Old Tales quickly affirmed their orders before moving into position.
Cinderella, however, lingered. As the others sprinted off, she slowly began floating upwards.
She hovered beside the lieutenant, head tilting.
"Should I scout ahead?" she asked. "Maybe take out any Raptures getting too close before the others get set up?"
The lieutenant looked at her, then gave a small nod of approval. "Good thinking. Just don't overextend yourself."
Cinderella's smile widened just a fraction. "I won't."
And then, with a burst of speed, she shot into the air, Glass Slippers clicking to life. Within seconds, streaks of glowing plasma ripped through the sky, raining down on the advancing Raptures.
Dozens of them were cut down in a single sweep.
The lieutenant watched her go, arms crossing over his chest.
He sighed through his nose. "Not bad," he muttered.
Beside him, Abe was grumbling under her breath, arms folded as well. "Tch. And here I am, useless on the sidelines."
"Mothers are naturally protective. It's only fair you'd want to see your kids on their first day of school."
"Did you just—?"
Before she could finish, she jabbed a finger toward his side—only for him to smoothly sidestep it, raising a brow as if unimpressed by her attempt.
Abe clicked her tongue. "Tch. Figures."
The lieutenant shrugged, looking forward again. "You can try again later. But for now—" His eyes scanned the battlefield, watching Old Tales execute their roles effortlessly. They seemed to perform better than in the simulations.
He gave a satisfied nod.
"I told you. I have full confidence in them."
Later in the day, when the sky burned orange as the sun dipped toward the horizon...
Explosions still thundered in the distance, illuminating the retreating soldiers and the advance of Raptures. The sound of gunfire, mechanical screeches, and distant shouting had dulled into a constant hum in the lieutenant's ears.
Is he going deaf?
He stood alongside Abe, both of them watching as Old Tales continued to hold the line.
He'd managed to establish some kind of order to the retreat, though it had taken a lot of yelling, more than a few death glares, and probably enough stress to take a solid year off his lifespan.
But in the end, it worked.
Didn't mean it felt good.
Abe stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the endless tide of Raptures.
"They're not stopping," she muttered.
"They never do."
Abe pursed her lips, gaze flicking toward the direction the military had been retreating. A thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. "Wait."
The lieutenant caught the shift in her expression and furrowed his brows. "What?"
"The retreating forces—look at where they're coming from."
He followed her gaze, his irritation momentarily forgotten. The realization clicked almost instantly.
"...Shit," he muttered.
The Raptures weren't just randomly advancing. They were pushing from the space elevator's direction.
The lieutenant grumbled, running a hand down his face. "Of course they are. Every time we so much as poke toward that thing, they bulk up their forces. If the Queen's anywhere, it's there."
Abe already knew this, but something about it still nagged at her.
"Still... It's weird."
"You know what's weird? The fact that we haven't just nuked the damn thing and called it a day."
Abe's head snapped toward him so fast he almost flinched.
She gasped.
"Wait. You don't know?"
"Know what?"
Abe turned to fully face him now. "There's a Rapture codenamed Gluttony—it evolved specifically to eat and redirect ICBM attacks on the space elevator."
"...You're shitting me."
"Wish I was," Abe muttered. "It's classified information. Highly classified. But I don't have any issue telling you."
"What else is classified? Like Hansel and Gretel's development?"
Abe visibly tensed. Her eyes widened just a fraction before she parted her lips to respond—
But the lieutenant raised a hand.
"Relax," he said casually as if he hadn't just called her out for illegally creating two extra Nikkes. "I haven't told anyone. You don't have to explain yourself... but one day, I'd like to know what you were thinking."
Abe exhaled, adjusting her glasses.
"...I figured by now you'd just forgotten to confront me about it."
"The only people who know Hansel and Gretel exist are you, me, and—"
At the same time, they both muttered, "The Colonel."
A synchronized sigh followed.
The lieutenant rubbed his chin, looking between the distant frontline and the retreating forces, who were now fading into the distance. There was still some chaos—there always was—but they'd done their job.
He exhaled boredly, making up his mind.
His hand went to his comms.
"Cinderella."
A moment later, her voice came through into his ear. "Yes, Commander?"
"I need you to use Glass Slippers on the ground. Make some trenches. Deep ones—enough to get the Raptures stuck."
There was a pause before Red Shoes chimed in, "Uh, why?"
The lieutenant clicked his tongue. "Because we've bought enough time." He took a breath. "I'm calling for an evacuation."
Silence followed for just a second. Then—
"Understood."
"Got it."
""Acknowledged.""
"Aaooh!"
Thank you, Siren, for your input.
One by one, Old Tales confirmed.
The lieutenant exhaled, eyes locked on the battlefield.
It wasn't a victory.
But it was enough.
For now.
Notes:
The first volume mainly focused on the Lieutenant's personality and establishing him as a character.
Even now, you're able to learn more about him through the various interactions he has with the Nikkes.
Oh, and the canon divergence—Old Tales got deployed... somehow!
I wonder what'll come from this~
Chapter 13: Vol 2.5: The Rewrite Starts?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Noon, Spring
The lieutenant tapped a few keys on his tablet, scrolling through the latest reports before glancing up.
"Abe."
She hummed absentmindedly. "What do you need?"
He slid over toward her workstation.
"Red Shoes and I were digging into corruption patterns recently, and we found something... strange." He turned his tablet toward her. "Take a look at this."
Abe leaned in, adjusting her glasses as her eyes flicked across the data.
A small, thoughtful "Huh." slipped past her lips.
The screen displayed a compiled report on the rate of corruption in Nikkes across the world. It wasn't just spreading—it was accelerating. The numbers were climbing at a concerning rate, particularly in cases where corruption-induced aggression was recorded.
"That's... not great," she muttered, scrolling through the information. She paused as the lieutenant swiped to the next screen, revealing a bar graph.
It compared recent violent incidents among corrupted Nikkes to the same period just a few weeks prior. The difference was stark—an exponential spike in attacks, erratic behaviour, and coordinated assaults on human forces.
Abe clicked her tongue. "Shit."
"Raptures don't usually evolve at this rate, right?"
"No, they don't," Abe muttered, fingers tapping against the side of her screen as she scanned the data again. "If corruption keeps getting more aggressive like this, we could reach a point where—"
He cut her off.
"That's not even the worst of it." His brows furrowed deeply as he swiped to another section of the report. "We've noticed something else."
Abe glanced at him, catching the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. "What?"
He hesitated before exhaling sharply and pointing at a series of reports. "Corrupted Nikkes... they're using tactics they weren't programmed for."
"...Come again?"
"Look at this." He tapped the screen, pulling up multiple battle logs and video footage from engagements against corrupted units. "These things shouldn't have the ability to strategize like this. But they are. Look at their formations. The way they use cover. The way they bait out attacks."
He didn't say it, but it was stuff he learned from the academy.
It made him feel uneasy.
Did, somehow, the Raptures or whatever was influencing the Corruption code somehow gain access to a field tactics manual?
"..."
Abe narrowed her eyes as she analyzed the footage. She could see it—patterns that felt wrong.
They were... adapting.
"That's not good..."
"I already sent a notice to the VTC," the lieutenant continued, "but I think you—no, the two of us should get in contact with the United Forces of Humanity too. This isn't normal."
Abe nodded. "I'll get it done."
The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, then scrolled to the last piece of data he had compiled. It was a timeline—showing when this aggressive corruption had first started spreading.
Abe glanced at him, noticing his expression darkening slightly. "...What?"
He turned the screen to her again.
Strangely, the day Old Tales was first deployed for combat... was the same day the corruption's aggression levels began to spike.
His hand started to shake.
He clenched it into a fist.
"I'm gonna get some water," he muttered, standing up abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor as he turned toward the exit.
Before he could take more than a step, Abe's voice cut through the room.
"Before I forget."
He stopped.
She didn't look away from her monitor, adjusting her glasses as she typed something into her system.
"Would you be interested in some augmentations?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "...What?"
Abe finally turned to face him, her eyes shifting pointedly toward his right arm.
"Where's this coming from?" He flexed the fingers of the metallic limb instinctively. "And what kind of augmentations are we talking about?"
She leaned back, arms crossed.
"You're always near the frontlines," she said matter-of-factly. "Even if you don't mean to be. That means there's always a risk of a Rapture getting the jump on you. So, I figured—why not make sure you can hold your own for more than five seconds before one of the girls has to drag your ass out of the fire?"
He scoffed. "Aren't you literally beside me at every operation?"
Abe rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, but I'm not built for combat, genius. I'm talking about something basic—kinetic energy storage for increased physical strength that won't strain your body. Maybe I'll give you something else if I'm feeling generous. Nothing fancy. Just enough to give you an edge if something does get too close."
The lieutenant frowned slightly, considering it.
It made sense.
Even if Old Tales was always there to cover him, an extra layer of security wouldn't hurt.
"...Do I need to leave my arm with you now before getting water or after?" he asked dryly.
"Just give me your damn arm."
He snorted, unfastening the limb with a few quick motions. "Usually, people go out to dinner first before asking for body parts, Abe."
She shook her head, exasperated, as she took the arm from him. "Shut up."
The lieutenant smirked, shoving his free hand into his pocket as he turned toward the door.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll grab water. You want one too?"
"Obviously..."
He gave her a lazy salute with his remaining arm before heading off.
Abe shook her head again, looking down at the detached limb in her hands.
"...Dumbass."
Before she could even start examining the arm, the door slid open again, and the lieutenant strode right back in like he never left. Without a word, he reached out, plucked his arm right out of her hands, and started reattaching it.
Abe's eye twitched.
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, yeah." He flexed his fingers as the limb clicked back into place. "I'll give it back later."
"What do you mean 'later'? You just said you were going to get water!"
He nodded. "Yep. And I need two hands to carry two bottles of water."
Abe's brain short-circuited for a second. "Are you serious—"
"C'mon, you should've seen that coming," he teased, giving her a lazy smirk.
Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. He was right. She should've seen it coming. That didn't mean she had to accept it.
A sharp breath left her nose as she turned on her heel.
"You know what? Fine. I'll just get my own damn drink." She walked past him, muttering something under her breath that might've been a curse or a threat.
The lieutenant snorted, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he followed after her.
"Abe, c'mon. You're not gonna make me carry yours too?"
"Shut up. You're stupid."
"How?"
"I'm not even going to explain it to you. You just are."
"I can understand concepts; it took you years to master them in the blink of an eye. How am I stupid?"
"First of all, you're only good at data collection and organizing. Second of all, you're stupid in various other ways."
"Which ways?!"
"Figure it out yourself."
Their voices faded down the hallway as they bickered, footsteps disappearing around the corner.
A few moments later, Cinderella passed by, pausing as she caught the tail end of their exchange. She blinked, watching them for a beat longer than necessary, before tilting her head slightly.
Her lips parted like she was about to call out.
At first, she looked like she was about to say something, maybe a simple greeting—but then, after a brief moment of hesitation, she simply nodded to herself and continued on her way.
She had no reason to interrupt them.
They seemed to be doing just fine.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening, Spring
Little Mermaid—Siren, as her team called her—sat quietly in the common room, a small drink nestled between her fingers.
Her yellowish eyes flicked toward the surface of her drink, its ripples reflecting her face.
She wasn't good at expressing herself.
It wasn't that she didn't want to.
She couldn't.
Kotodama—her curse, her gift—made it so that every full word she spoke had the chance to manifest into reality. A simple greeting, a passing comment, anything spoken with full clarity had the potential to affect the world around her in ways she couldn't always control.
So she didn't speak.
She could only make sounds—grunts, hums, gasps, and small inflections to convey her thoughts.
Even then, it wasn't enough. Conversations moved too quickly, people didn't understand what she was saying and things like that.
She was basically left behind.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the drink before she exhaled through her nose and shifted her gaze to the small pen and pad sitting beside her.
A faint smile ghosted over her lips.
Abe had given it to her.
She remembered it vividly—Abe handing her the notebook, saying it was to help her communicate better.
But what had stuck with her most was what came after.
It had been his idea.
Her commander. Their lieutenant.
Siren had stared at Abe in shock when she'd said it, her eyes wide and filled with something close to joy.
She cut off the memory before it could go any further, but her expression remained soft. Ever since she had received the notebook, things had felt easier. She had felt included. No longer just a shadow in the background.
Thank you, she thought, brushing her fingers against the cover. Thank you, Commander. Thank you, Abe.
Before she could dwell on it further, the door slid open.
Siren jolted slightly at the sudden noise, looking up as Abe and the lieutenant stepped inside. They both looked exhausted—Abe's hair was slightly messy, and the lieutenant's posture screamed of someone running on fumes.
She made a small sound, an "Ahh," placing her drink down as she reached for her notebook.
The lieutenant hummed in greeting, offering a tired nod.
"Hey, Siren."
Abe stopped by the fridge, glancing at her. "You should get to bed soon. It's late."
Siren gave an absent nod as she finished writing, the soft scratch of pen against paper filling the silence. She turned the notebook around so the lieutenant could read it.
Are you working late today? Are there any more operations?
The lieutenant rubbed a hand down his face before reading it aloud. Abe pulled out two bottles from the fridge, tossing one to him as she grabbed her own. He caught it with one hand, twisting the cap off with a small sigh.
"There's something coming up," he admitted, taking a sip. "The deadlock between the United Forces of Humanity and the VTC seems like it's finally breaking, so maybe something official will be greenlit soon. But since bureaucrats are slow as hell, I'm not guaranteeing anything."
Abe made a noise of agreement as she took what she needed from the fridge.
Then, after a pointed glance at the lieutenant, she added, "I'll be working, but he's going to sleep."
The lieutenant raised a brow, bottle halfway to his lips.
"Am I?"
"Yes," Abe said flatly. "Because you have been draining our espresso supply. And you, as an organic human, should not forgo sleep for more than two days."
The lieutenant rolled his eyes in the most exaggerated way possible.
Siren giggled.
"Look, I would sleep, but you know what happens when I do?"
"You rest like a normal person?"
"No!" he declared. "I get pranked."
Abe's eye twitched. "That is the dumbest reason I have ever heard—"
"Oh yeah?" He turned to Siren, gesturing wildly. "Gretel shoved a lollipop in my mouth while I was sleeping! Siren was there, too!"
Siren covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking, trying not to spit her drink out.
Abe exhaled slowly as if trying to summon patience from the depths of hell.
"And you're telling me," she said, voice dangerously even, "that you'd rather permanently damage your body, more than it is already than risk waking up with a goddamn piece of candy in your mouth?"
"Yes!"
Abe looked at him like he'd just professed his love to a brick wall.
"You're an absolute moron."
The lieutenant huffed. "Look, sleep is—"
"I don't care." She cut him off, already done with this nonsense.
"Your blood pressure is too high. I can detect it. And your reason for not sleeping is too stupid for me to accept it." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "Either you're trying to prove something, you're dealing with nightmares...Or you're just that much of an idiot."
The lieutenant said nothing. His fingers tapped idly against the counter.
Abe didn't press further. Instead, she turned to Siren.
"Tell him he needs to go to bed."
Siren perked up at the sudden attention, blinking once before quickly reaching for her notebook. She made a soft "Ooaah" noise as her pen scratched across the page.
After a few moments, she turned it around.
As our commander, you shouldn't not sleep because it's bad.
The lieutenant exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "That's just basic reasoning."
Siren continued writing.
...And it'll make me sad.
The lieutenant's eye twitched.
Abe raised an eyebrow at him.
Siren just looked at him expectantly, her eyes slightly wider than usual.
The lieutenant opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again.
Then sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
"Fine," he muttered, "you win."
"You're actually going to listen?"
"Yeah, yeah, don't get all smug about it." He turned, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. "I'll head to my ro—"
BAM.
He fell.
Face-first, dead weight, straight to the floor.
Siren let out a startled "Ohh!" while Abe groaned.
"Siren, just—ugh—move him to the couch," she grumbled. "I'll make sure no one bothers him."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening, Winter
The lieutenant sat at the long, clean table, his expression unreadable, hands folded neatly.
Across from him, a man—one of many in the room—slammed his hands down on the polished surface, the sharp crack echoing through the space.
"Do you even know what you've just done?" the man barked, pointing an accusatory finger straight at him. His name was Captain Elias Corbin, a by-the-book officer with a reputation for not tolerating reckless decisions.
His dark eyes burned with frustration, his usually pristine uniform slightly dishevelled. He had clearly been pacing before this.
The lieutenant stayed silent.
Corbin clicked his tongue in irritation, straightening as he began counting off on his fingers.
"You took classified United Forces of Humanity assets into the field without prior authorization! You used them not in one, not in two, but in—" he lifted a third finger, his voice rising, "three unauthorized operations before we were even made aware of it!"
The room remained silent for a moment, then another officer shifted in his seat.
"Corbin," came a calm voice from the other side of the table. Colonel Adrien Vos. "Let's keep this civil, shall we?"
Corbin let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.
"Civil?" He turned his glare on Vos. "I don't know what the hell you pulled to get him—" He jabbed a finger at the lieutenant. "—into the Old Tales program, but you'd better fess up now."
Vos, unfazed, held his gaze. "How about you listen to what he has to say first?"
Before Corbin could fire back, another voice cut in.
"If I may," said Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hale, adjusting his glasses as he turned his tablet toward the group. "Regardless of authorization, Old Tales has already been tested in real combat situations. And the results?"
He tapped his screen.
"Minimal repairs needed—scratch that—zero repairs needed at all. Three missions, three successes. That's a hundred percent effectiveness. And I don't think we need to remind ourselves how rare that is."
Corbin scoffed.
"Oh, so now you're siding with Vos?"
"That's not what I said." Hale leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table. "I'm saying that the data speaks for itself. We can argue about protocol all day, but the reality is—this worked."
The murmurs started instantly, officers breaking into hushed discussions. Some agreed, nodding, while others looked unconvinced. Then, as if a dam had cracked, the room broke out into full argument.
"This was insubordination—!"
"—Tactically, it was a brilliant decision—"
"—It doesn't matter if it was effective! If everyone acted like this, we'd have chaos—"
"—Why are we turning on each other? We're on the same damn side—"
The lieutenant exhaled quietly, tuning them out.
He knew what he did.
He also knew these people didn't like that he did it without asking first.
Yes, he had taken Old Tales out on operations without the proper clearance. Not just one, but three times.
And not even Vos—his own superior, his mentor—had been informed beforehand.
But he'd had his reasons.
His gut told him that these missions would serve two purposes: one, to get Old Tales actual combat experience, and two, to break them in gently so their nerves wouldn't betray them when it really mattered.
If he had waited for approval, the process would have dragged on for weeks—maybe even months. The bureaucrats would've debated over safety concerns, ethics, and paperwork.
Meanwhile, lives would've been lost.
He didn't have time for that kind of nonsense.
And now, here he was, listening to them hurl accusations, try to make amends, and generally act like this was some kind of political infighting rather than a discussion about survival.
For a faction of the military that touts itself as the shield against the UFH's increasing tyranny, they surely love fighting with one another.
The lieutenant sighed, leaning back in his chair.
It was always like this.
The argument showed no signs of dying down. If anything, it had become worse since the last time he was here.
The lieutenant remained seated, unmoving, watching the chaos unfold.
Am I having a flashback sequence? While I am asleep? Wow! That's like a massive meta-joke...
Across the room, someone cut in with a sharp accusation.
"Corbin, you've got some nerve tearing into him." The voice came from a seasoned officer, Major Baron Drexler, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed. "Considering the mess at the Seed Vault."
The room quieted slightly as heads turned toward Corbin, whose expression twisted in immediate indignation.
"What the hell are you implying?" Corbin demanded.
"I've heard reports," Drexler continued, adjusting his uniform like he wasn't throwing a grenade into the conversation, "that Crown's deployment there was a complete mismanagement. Defensive measures were half-baked at best. That entire vault would've been lost if it weren't for the automated countermeasures."
Corbin let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh before slamming his hand against the table again.
"Take that back, Drexler."
Drexler didn't.
"If the vault's defences had been adequate, we wouldn't be having this discussion."
"That situation wouldn't be as bad as it is now if we actually focused on long-term strategy!" Corbin snapped. His voice dripped frustration, but there was genuine conviction beneath it. "Pooling our resources, actually building up our strongest forces for one decapitating strike—that's what we should be doing. Not throwing assets into skirmishes like they're disposable! Nikkes have only been around for so long—And who knows how long Lieutenant Liliweiss has left!"
Then, as if realizing he was losing the room's focus, Corbin shifted his glare back to the lieutenant.
"And you," he said, pointing an accusatory finger, "if you had kept Old Tales hidden from the Raptures, it could've been our trump card. A perfect combination alongside Naked King and Goddess Squad." His sneer deepened. "But no, you just had to reveal them, didn't you? And now, who knows? Maybe the Raptures are already adapting to counter them."
Silence.
"Anything to say for yourself?"
The lieutenant sighed through his nose. Corbin wasn't wrong, not entirely. Despite how much of a pain in the ass the man was, it was clear he wasn't just being obstructionist—he believed he was protecting humanity's best interests.
If only he wasn't such a sucker for the rules.
Guess that's what happens when you're trying to gain the trust of the higher-ups.
"...I deployed Old Tales without authorization," the lieutenant admitted. A few in the room scoffed. "I accept full responsibility and am prepared to face any punishment. However, I'd like to justify my action—"
A man at the far end of the table spoke up.
"Then let's strip him of a rank and remove him from Old Tales altogether." He said bluntly. "If he can't be trusted with property, he shouldn't be in charge of it."
A few murmurs of agreement. But just as many were skeptical.
"That's going too far," one officer muttered.
"Is it?"
"Oh, God, haven't we already had this argument?"
Vos, who had remained silent for a moment, finally leaned forward.
"Before we jump to a decision, how about we listen to him?"
The lieutenant straightened slightly. He wasn't sure if Vos was intervening out of personal investment or just because it was the logical thing to do, but either way, he was grateful for the lifeline.
Taking a breath, he explained.
"Old Tales was stuck in months of standby," he began. "From what I could gather, they were left with no orders, no deployments, nothing. The higher-ups couldn't make a decision, and the longer they waited, the more unstable morale became. I took them out because I needed to—because they needed experience. Keeping them in a lab doesn't train them for real combat."
Corbin scoffed. "So that justifies ignoring protocol?"
"It justifies keeping that property functioning well under high-pressure situations, yes."
Corbin exhaled harshly, rubbing his temples.
"Just because you're some rising star doesn't mean you get to do whatever the hell you want." He shook his head, frustrated. "There's a process, damn it. You're lucky it got to us before high command! There's a reason we have bureaucracy."
The lieutenant bit down the urge to scoff at the word bureaucracy.
"I understand," he said instead. "But the welfare of my men has always been my priority."
A sharp clack of fingers tapping against the table.
Hale was looking unimpressed.
"That one Nikke left standing must be soooo grateful then."
The words were casual, almost lazy, but they cut through the air like a knife.
Melee Squad...
Vos immediately turned to him.
"Hale," he warned, voice low. "We are more civilized than that."
Hale shrugged, though there was something almost regretful in his expression.
"...Apologies." A pause. "But the point stands. His welfare-first approach is inconsistent, at best. How many men and how much property has he lost under this so-called priority?"
The lieutenant clicked his tongue, inhaling sharply.
Hale wasn't wrong.
Soon, he'd have to face it, right?
One of them has to be alive, right?
He glanced at his arm and sighed.
Corbin exhaled through his nose.
"We're getting off track." He looked at the others in the room. "The fact is, we don't have time to be debating this anymore. I might be one of the more inexperienced officers here, but I propose we push the higher-ups to move on the decapitation strategy."
Silence settled over the room.
"Now that Old Tales has been exposed," Corbin continued, voice grim, "it's only a matter of time before the Raptures retaliate. And if we wait too long... The power gap's going to widen."
For once, there was no immediate counterargument, no biting remark, no division.
Major Drexler was the first to move.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood, adjusting his uniform as he surveyed the room.
"I'll bring it up," he said, voice steady but lacking conviction. "Though I doubt they'll listen—though they trust me more than any of you so..."
"Piss off Baron!"
"English twat!"
Colonel Vos, still seated, let out a dry chuckle.
"Then we make them listen." He leaned forward. "I say we flood the UFH with emails, reports, mission proposals—hell, just crash their servers. They'll have to respond if their entire system grinds to a halt."
There was a beat of silence. Then, against all odds, a few officers snorted. Even those who had been at odds with Vos the entire meeting found the idea amusing.
"Ridiculous," muttered Hale.
"Borderline insubordination," Drexler added with a sigh. "You're lucky that after all these years, your suggestions haven't gotten you sacked, Vos."
"But it's effective, no?" Vos countered smoothly.
The lieutenant, still seated, found himself smiling.
It was a rare thing to see actual agreement in this room.
He exhaled through his nose, straightening up slightly.
"That's great and all," he said, humming lightly to himself, "but weren't we supposed to be deciding on a punishment for me? Or did that just... disappear?"
Corbin rolled his eyes, arms crossed.
"As much as I'd love to drag you through the mud for your little escapades," he admitted, then, a bit sarcastically, he added, "there are slightly more pressing matters at hand. We can just sweep it under the rug like we always do."
There were a few reluctant nods of agreement. It appeared cover-ups like this were fairly common.
"I'll try not to be too flattered, Corbin."
Corbin ignored him, shifting his focus back to the rest of the officers.
"Look, we can actually use this. While the Raptures are busy trying to evolve and counter Old Tales, we blindside them." He exhaled sharply. "A strike on their leadership. The Rapture Queen."
Silence.
Then, agreement.
It wasn't loud or dramatic, but heads nodded, postures shifted, and for once—just once—the room was unified.
Drexler drummed his fingers on the table. "If we're doing this, we need to be precise. One good shot, not a drawn-out war like we are in now."
Vos nodded. "Agreed. We need a team capable of hitting hard and fast."
"I can have Crown and her squad on standby—"
Hale cut Corbin off. "No. Her job is to protect the seed vault for now. A concentrated strike shouldn't blatantly deprive other areas of support. Keep her there, Corbin."
"R-right... sorry."
The major turned to the lieutenant, studying him for a long moment before speaking.
"Have Cinderella on standby, lieutenant."
"Cinderella?"
The room murmured at the name.
"Don't overuse her," Drexler warned. "She's one of your strongest assets, but I don't want her burning out before we actually need her. Liliweiss isn't going to last forever, and you know what that means."
Corbin frowned. "By the way... why Cinderella, specifically?"
Drexler glanced around the table before answering.
"Because I can get the Mercenary and his Goddess Squad prepped for an operation. If we time it right, Cinderella might be the key to getting this done cleanly." He paused. "We might not even need Old Tales at full deployment if we play this right."
That caught everyone's attention.
"So what you're saying," Hale began, rubbing his chin, "is that we finally have a way to take the Queen off the board?"
"If we do this correctly?" Drexler nodded. "Yes."
The discussion stretched on for a few more minutes, fine-tuning details and clarifying roles. The arguments were still there—disagreements on methodology, concerns about risk—but for once, they weren't tearing at each other's throats.
It was a rare moment of unity.
Finally, as the meeting wrapped up, the officers began standing, one by one.
And then, almost instinctively, they raised their hands in a slightly time-worn declaration.
"For the people, we stand," Drexler declared.
"For the land, we fight," Vos followed.
"For the will to endure," Hale vowed.
"For the right to be free," Corbin swore resolutely.
"All for The Glory of Humanity!"
It was the only thing they all truly agreed on.
The only truth they all shared.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening, Spring
The lieutenant stirred, consciousness slowly seeping back in as he registered the weight of a blanket draped over him.
Something soft pressed against his face—the hell?
He reached up and tugged at the fabric, peeling off what turned out to be a sleeping mask.
His brows twitched in confusion.
He blinked blearily at his surroundings.
He was sprawled out on the couch, with an empty chair nearby and a folded towel on the table.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Guess I collapsed at some point."
Abe. It had to be Abe—or maybe Siren—who dragged him here.
He vaguely remembered their scolding before everything went black.
With some effort, he sat up, stretching his sore limbs. His eyes flicked toward the large window on the far wall.
Outside, it was still dark.
Still night?
He grabbed his phone from the armrest and checked the screen.
3:07 AM.
His hand froze.
Wait.
His eyes darted back up to the window, then back to his phone. He scrolled through the notifications, watching them stack up—messages, missed calls, emails.
He had slept for an entire day.
"Shit."
How exhausted had he been? His last memory was... what? Abe and Siren nagging at him? Had he really been that far gone?
He let out another long breath before standing, shaking off the stiffness in his leg.
He needed food.
Maybe coffee.
Probably both.
Fifteen minutes later, with a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and a lukewarm cup of instant coffee in the other, he wandered toward Abe's lab.
The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, he saw her—hunched over her workstation, entirely focused on whatever mess of code and machinery she was working on.
She hadn't noticed him.
He thought about stepping inside and saying something but decided against it. She was in her zone. No point in interrupting her when she was working at full speed.
Instead, he turned and headed for his own quarters.
The computer screen illuminated his face as he turned it on and settled into his chair, sipping his coffee.
He reached for the keyboard but paused as his own reflection stared back at him on the dark screen.
There, across his forehead and cheeks, were the unmistakable remnants of marker scribbles—large, round glasses and a comically curled mustache.
Silence.
His eye twitched.
"Hansel... Gretel..."
Dragging a hand down his face, he grabbed a tissue and wiped off what he could before booting up his emails.
A ridiculous number of unread messages flooded his inbox, most of them routine reports, mission updates, and logistical nonsense.
He skimmed over them, responding where necessary—some from the officers in the last meeting, others from... obviously other things less important to narrate.
Then, one particular email caught his attention.
His posture straightened.
━━━━
[Sender: Colonel Adrien Vos]
[Subject: Standby Orders]
Lieutenant [?]
Ensure all units, especially Cinderella, are on standby. Drexler managed to get through to the higher-ups. The decapitation strike on the Rapture Queen has been greenlit.
Await further orders.
- Vos
━━━━
The lieutenant leaned back, exhaling through his nose.
His fingers tapped absently against his desk as his face hardened.
It was happening.
His hand moved to his face, rubbing at his temple before dragging it down to rest against his mouth. His mind drifted—not to Cinderella, not to the squad, not even to the logistics of the mission. Instead, his thoughts flickered to the space elevator.
The Raptures had come from there. That much was certain.
But how had they gotten inside in the first place?
His brows furrowed.
"Just what the hell happened up there?"
Notes:
I've introduced a few characters that'll be slightly important going forward.
Can you guess the lieutenant's relationship with them? I've hinted at this before~
Oh, and Crown was mentioned... Just as a little Easter Egg before Easter.
Chapter 14: Vol 2.6: Simple Desires
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening, Late Spring.
The lieutenant's face was pulled into a mild scowl.
He walked with a tablet in hand, flicking through the most recent messages. The words "Operation Approved" were plastered across the screen, the attached orders confirming it—after months of delays, after endless bureaucratic stalling, it was finally happening.
The mission to take down the Rapture Queen and destroy the space elevator was greenlit.
He barely contained the urge to sneer. If there had been even one more delay, he would have taken Old Tales on another unauthorized mission and blown the damn thing up himself. The war could've ended right then and there.
They were lucky he still had an ounce of patience left.
As he turned a corner, he spotted a familiar figure up ahead—Siren. She was walking in the opposite direction, seemingly lost in thought.
"Siren."
She jolted so hard that she nearly dropped her notebook. A high-pitched, "Nnnnuooaah!" escaped her lips as she spun around, clutching her chest.
"Relax. You're not in trouble."
Siren gave him a pout before flipping open her notebook and quickly scribbling something.
You scared me!!
"Yeah, yeah." He waved off the complaint. "Hurry up. We've got a meeting. Big announcement."
She blinked before hastily jotting down another note, holding it up to him.
Good news or bad?
He didn't answer directly, instead giving her a look before pressing a hand to her back and lightly pushing her toward the briefing room.
"You'll find out inside."
She made another dramatic little noise of complaint but obediently hurried along.
The moment he stepped into the room, all eyes turned to him.
Red Shoes sat with her arms crossed, quiet but attentive. Hansel and Gretel lounged in their seats—tilting their heads at the exact same angle the moment he entered.
Abe sat near the back, her laptop open, already watching him with a knowing look.
Cinderella, standing near the table, perked up. "What's going on?"
"Good to see you all too, I guess."
Abe arched a brow. "You look like you've been sucking on a lemon."
He ignored that.
He exhaled before speaking.
"I just got word," he began. "An important operation is taking place in a week's time. I'm informing you all now so you can prepare yourselves accordingly."
He paused for a beat.
"Cinderella," he continued, locking eyes with the white-haired Nikke, "you'll be going on a joint mission with the Goddess Squad."
Cinderella gasped, her pure blue eyes widening in shock.
Eyes immediately locked onto her. Even Gretel furrowed her brows. "You're lying."
Hansel let out a small "Oh," before turning to Gretel. "Gretel spoke."
Cinderella placed a hand over her mouth, visibly stunned. "A mission with... Goddess Squad?" she repeated in a near whisper
Hansel and Gretel muttered between themselves. Red Shoes gave Cinderella an appraising look. Even Siren furiously scribbled something in her notebook before showing it to Red Shoes—who merely nodded.
Abe sighed.
The lieutenant ran a hand through his hair.
"So much for staying calm," he muttered. "I thought field operations would've burned this kind of reaction out of you by now."
"You really thought that?"
"Alright—settle down."
No one did.
"For fucks sake...Quiet!"
That did the trick.
Abe crossed her arms and gave the group a sharp look. "Listen to him. We don't have time for you all to be acting like this. This is important."
The lieutenant nodded in appreciation before continuing.
"Now that you're actually paying attention—the mission is to attack the space elevator."
The lieutenant exhaled before continuing. "The area surrounding the space elevator is swarming with Raptures. Not even ICBMs can clear the battlefield."
Red Shoes, leaning forward, narrowed her eyes. "Because of Gluttony, right?"
The others turned to her as she spoke.
"That's the one," the lieutenant confirmed.
Abe pushed her glasses up, nodding. "If I recall correctly, that particular Rapture was able to absorb and redirect ICBMs fired at it, turning them against our forces."
"Like some kind of nuclear-fueled artillery piece," Red Shoes muttered.
"Exactly," the lieutenant said, arms crossed. "And since it's a Rapture, we can't write off the possibility that there's more than one of them."
"Then I assume we have a solution?"
His gaze shifted toward Cinderella.
"You."
Cinderella flinched. "M-Me?"
The lieutenant nodded.
"The higher-ups have seen Old Tales in action. They know what you're capable of." He paused. "You've been chosen as the one to clear the way."
Her eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face.
"They really expect me to do something like that?"
The lieutenant sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Cinderella. You singlehandedly wiped out a horde of over 500 Raptures—including several Lord-Class—in less than a minute. If anyone can do it, it's you."
"Mnnnh?!"
Everyone turned to Siren, who was furiously scribbling in her notebook. She held it up for all to see.
What about us?
The question hung in the air.
"I don't have any information on that, " he said. "I was told to have the rest of you on standby."
A ripple of murmurs went through the squad.
Siren furrowed her brows, lightly tapping her notebook against her palm. Hansel and Gretel exchanged glances. Red Shoes leaned back in her chair, while Cinderella seemed even tenser than before.
After a moment, the lieutenant continued, "For now, this next week is designated for rest and recovery. I expect all of you to take it seriously. Any more questions?"
No one spoke.
The lieutenant scanned the room one last time before nodding.
"Then dismissed."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night, Late Spring.
It was the night of the operation. The most important mission of Cinderella's life.
And she couldn't sleep.
All week, she'd been excited—no, giddy—about this. Even though she had managed to sleep normally leading up to today, tonight was different. It was real now.
She was going on a mission with the Goddess Squad.
Her idols.
The thought alone sent a shiver of excitement through her, but as she stared at the ceiling, it was clear she wasn't getting any rest.
With a sigh, she pushed herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I'll just get a drink," she mumbled to herself before slipping out of her room.
The halls of the base were quiet at this hour.
Cinderella padded softly toward the common area, opened the fridge and rummaged through it for something to drink.
A bottle of water?
No, too plain. Maybe juice?
Then, from behind her, a voice mumbled—
"I knew it."
Cinderella flinched, nearly dropping the juice box in her hands. She spun around sharply, her white hair swaying with the motion.
Sitting at the common room table, illuminated faintly by the light of his tablet screen, was her commander.
The lieutenant let out a tired sigh. "I knew this was gonna happen."
Cinderella tilted her head. "What, me not noticing you there?"
"No," he muttered, glancing up at her. "You not being able to sleep."
Cinderella blinked at him before closing the fridge.
"What are you doing here, Commander?"
"Looking out for you." He gestured toward the table, where a small ceramic cup sat. "I made some lavender tea. Helps with restlessness. Sit down and drink."
She hesitated, her blue eyes scanning him carefully.
Her commander looked... tired. More than usual. The faint dark circles under his eyes stood out a little more under the lighting.
After a moment, she walked over, taking a seat across from him.
There were snacks on the table, too—walnuts, cornnuts, little things to nibble on.
She stared at them for a second.
Looks like he was planning on eating all this by himself, she mused internally.
The lieutenant took a sip of his tea, exhaling quietly. Cinderella followed suit, the warm, floral taste settling on her tongue.
Without looking at her, he slid a small dish of snacks toward her.
"Eat if you want."
"I'm not hungry," she said.
He hummed lightly, leaning back. "Usually, eating light before bed makes me sleepier."
"You don't look like you sleep much at all."
That got a short, amused snort out of him. He grinned slightly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Yeah. Don't sleep much anymore."
"...Why?"
He trailed off, gaze flickering away from her. His fingers tapped idly against the ceramic of his cup, but he said nothing.
Cinderella didn't press, merely sipping her tea.
She had always admired him. That much hadn't changed.
To her, he was a beautiful soul.
Someone who carried the weight of humanity on his shoulders without faltering. Someone she had always wanted to follow. To fight under.
Someone... similar to the commander of the Goddess Squad.
And yet, her commander was still his own person.
He never looked at the news, opting to do more administrative work to kill time.
And even in the free time he had, he spent it all watching over them.
He was sarcastic, always in some kind of foul mood... and so, so tired.
The lieutenant sighed and leaned forward, his expression darkening slightly.
"...You can't tell anyone about this," he muttered. "Not even Abe."
"...Alright."
For a moment, he hesitated. Then—
"I get nightmares when I sleep."
Cinderella hummed lightly, swirling the tea in her cup as she took in his words. She didn't immediately respond, letting the quiet settle between them for a moment before speaking.
"When did it start?"
The lieutenant let out a short, amused snort.
"What, you giving me a therapy session now?"
"Just asking."
He sighed.
"...Don't really remember. Probably after the new year... or before that. I get them regularly enough to the point where I prefer staying awake, I guess."
She let out a small "oh," taking another sip of her tea.
Had something happened back then?
She couldn't recall anything major—at least, nothing he had personally gone through. Unless the nightmares involved Gretel stuffing candy into his mouth while he slept, but somehow, she doubted that.
The lieutenant caught her expression and shook his head.
"It's just stuff from the past," he muttered. "Nothing I feel like talking about."
That was the end of that.
He shifted the topic, nodding toward her cup.
"How're you feeling now?"
Cinderella glanced down at the tea, then smiled faintly. "A bit more at ease."
The lieutenant hummed in approval before grabbing a handful of snacks from the table and tossing them into his mouth. He chewed idly, his posture loosening slightly as he leaned back, resting against the chair.
His eyes drifted closed.
Cinderella didn't say anything more, simply watching him as the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air.
She always wanted the best for her squad—her family. She wanted them to reach their peak, to be the best versions of themselves, to be beautiful and to find pride in that. It was why she paid attention to details, why she was so observant when it came to the people she cared about.
Her commander was no exception.
Softly, she called out to him.
"Commander."
He hummed, leaning forward slightly as his eyes cracked open.
"Can I ask a question?"
"You already did."
She pouted.
"Relax, I'm just messing with you. Go ahead, but make it quick. I want you in bed soon."
Cinderella nodded.
"Your limbs... how do they feel?"
His brow quirked slightly at the question. "Odd thing to ask."
She simply waited.
He exhaled through his nose, leaning back.
"I don't feel much from them, really. They have haptic sensors, so they mimic touch and sometimes pain, but... Other than that, it's just... nothing." He glanced at her. "Why?"
Cinderella didn't answer immediately. She looked at him, searching his expression, before setting down her cup.
"Can I see your arm?"
The request was stranger than the first.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but curiosity.
Still, after a beat, he reached up, disengaging the lock.
The arm disconnected from his shoulder smoothly, and he handed it over without another word.
She took it carefully as if it were something fragile.
Her fingers traced over the synthetic skin—warm, flexible, lifelike. It flexed its fingers at her touch, responding like a real hand.
It did normal things.
Looked normal.
Felt normal.
And yet...
Her commander hated this.
She could see it, even if he rarely said it outright.
He hated his cybernetics. His arm. His leg.
And she had a general idea of why.
The Goddesium skeleton was flawless, engineered to function as a perfect replacement for what had been lost it was a seamless recreation of flesh and bone.
And yet, to her commander, it was nothing more than a reminder.
She looked up at him. "Commander."
"Hm?"
"Are you anxious about me going alone with the Goddess Squad?"
The lieutenant shook his head, gaze flickering toward the arm still in her hands. "No," he said simply, before sighing. "What I am worried about is you embarrassing yourself by asking for their autographs or something."
An amused smile spread across Cinderella's lips. "That does sound like something I'd do."
"Exactly. Don't." He shook his head again, this time with faint exasperation. "They're expecting a lot from you. Make sure you fulfill that expectation instead of fangirling all over the place."
She laughed softly, nodding.
"I'll try."
"Wrong answer," he cut in, playfully firm. "You will do it. Not try."
Another small giggle escaped her as she glanced down at the arm again, her fingers absently caressing its surface.
"I'll take your word for it."
A moment of silence followed, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.
Cinderella traced the contours of the arm, marvelling at its construction. It was made from the same material as Nikkes—her material. She knew it was designed to replicate every sensation that had been lost from the elbow down.
A replacement, but never the original.
Her fingers intertwined with the prosthetics, her blue eyes searching for something—though she wasn't entirely sure what.
Then, out of nowhere, she spoke again.
"If you're giving me instructions on how to behave," she mused, "may I make a recommendation of my own?"
He gave her a look, slightly caught off guard.
"I was just about to ask for my arm back, but alright, what is it?"
Cinderella glanced up at him, then back down at the hand still linked with her own. She ran her thumb across the synthetic knuckles, then, softly...
"In exchange for giving this back..." Her voice was gentle. "Try to accept yourself."
The lieutenant's expression shifted.
"Don't hate yourself," she continued, her fingers tightening around the lifeless hand. "Just try."
"If only it was that easy," he murmured.
"It is easy."
She tilted her head slightly, her white hair cascading over her shoulder.
"In the pursuit of beauty," she murmured, "you have to accept yourself in all facets. If something that is a part of you makes you despise what you've become, then that isn't beautiful."
Her voice was gentle, but her words hit deeper than she probably realized.
His dark circles.
His nightmares.
His missing limbs.
His missing self.
She listed them, one by one, her blue eyes watching him.
She looked at him, truly looked at him.
"You're my commander," she said, almost reverently.
"A great one. I'm so grateful to have you in my life." A small, almost wistful smile crossed her lips. "And yet...The ugly feelings in your heart... they don't just stay inside you. They affect me, too."
He didn't move. Didn't react.
"I want you to love yourself," she continued. "To take care of yourself the way you take care of us, took care of your other squads... Don't leave yourself behind just because of ugly thoughts."
He still didn't look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the table, on nothing in particular. His expression was unreadable.
The quiet thickened.
Cinderella took a long sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle in her chest. She finished the last drop, setting the cup down with a soft clink.
Still, he said nothing.
Then—finally—his voice broke the silence.
"When you're in my position," he murmured, low and quiet, "you'll understand."
She blinked, brows furrowing slightly.
He exhaled.
"Give my arm back, Cinderella."
She hesitated. Only for a moment.
Then, carefully, she placed the arm back in his hand.
For some reason, she couldn't read him anymore.
She had no idea what he was feeling.
No idea if her words had done anything.
The lieutenant didn't immediately reattach the limb. Instead, he simply held it, his fingers lightly brushing against the synthetic skin.
He glanced at her, nodding toward the door. "Go to bed."
She shifted, standing slowly. Before leaving, she hesitated at the doorway, looking back at him.
"...Did I offend you?" she asked hesitantly. "Are you angry with me? I—maybe I said too much, I—"
"Go to bed," he repeated. "Get ready for tomorrow. Take some sleep medication in the infirmity and go to bed. That's an order."
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something more.
But she didn't.
She simply nodded and turned away.
The door slid shut behind her.
The lieutenant remained at the table, staring at the detached limb resting in his hand. He didn't move to put it back on.
Didn't even try.
"..."
He just sat there.
Then, after a long moment, he reached for the dishes with his remaining hand.
It wasn't easy.
The awkwardness of using only one arm made it take longer than it should have, but he worked through it, collecting everything and bringing it to the sink.
And then, under his breath, he muttered, "See? All they do is follow orders once you tell them it's one. No free will. Just do what they're told..."
His voice was bitter.
His gaze flicked back to the cybernetic limb lying there on the table. His fingers clenched around the sponge as his expression darkened.
"Mindless robots..."
He thought about a conversation he had with Rose about becoming a Nikke if it were available to him and sneered at the thought.
"I'll never become one of those things."
His chest ached with something ugly. He didn't like thinking about it—not the arm, not the leg, not what he'd lost, and definitely not what he'd become in the process.
He wasn't a machine.
He wasn't some programmable puppet.
Was he?
His vision blurred, and for a moment, something else surfaced in his mind.
A child. No older than five or six. Dirty, scrawny, but quick on their feet. Small legs darted through the street, slipping between bodies, fingers snatching a few bills from a rich man's coat before dashing into the shadows.
"Hey! Get back here, you little shit!"
But the kid didn't stop running. His feet carried him far. Far enough not to get caught.
The image faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind only the steady sound of water running over his hands.
The lieutenant exhaled sharply, shaking his head before shutting off the faucet. He dried his hand, then looked at himself in the reflection of the metal cabinet. The dark circles under his eyes. The tired set of his shoulders. The ever-present feeling of something wrong.
A quiet scoff left him as he grabbed the arm off the table.
"I'm not a mindless robot," he muttered to himself. "And I'm not a fuckin' street rat, either."
He reattached the arm, flexing the fingers once before turning toward the door.
Sleep.
That's what he needed.
He just had to get back to his room and—
He stopped mid-step.
A thought crossed his mind.
The lieutenant closed his eyes for a moment before exhaling through his nose.
Then he turned on his heel, cursing under his breath.
"Dammit... That fuckin' kid..."
He changed direction, heading toward Cinderella's room.
He wasn't about to send her off thinking she'd upset him.
The lieutenant moved briskly through the quiet halls.
He wasn't second-guessing this. He had no reason to.
Cinderella hadn't done anything wrong.
He reached her room, the automatic door sliding open with a soft hiss. Inside, the white-haired Nikke turned slightly, startled, her twin tails shifting as she hastily placed something down on her nightstand.
Before she could even ask why he was there, he got straight to the point.
"You didn't upset me," he said firmly, crossing his arms.
"Not in any way. And it was wrong of me, as your superior officer, to just let you walk away without at least acknowledging your concerns. You shouldn't feel guilty, nor should you feel ashamed of yourself." His eyes locked onto hers. "Is that understood?"
Cinderella's lips parted slightly. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out at first.
After a beat, she nodded.
"I... I was just about to apologize," she admitted, her voice quieter. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with the topic."
The lieutenant sneered lightly.
"Don't apologize. Not for that." His voice held a rough edge, but not an unkind one. "I just came here to make sure you actually get some damn sleep instead of lying awake, thinking I'm pissed at you."
"...I appreciate that, Commander."
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
"Look, if you really wanna know all this stuff about me, we can talk after your mission."
She looked up at him, tilting her head slightly. "Are you sure?"
He hesitated. Just a little.
"I want all my—" he paused for half a second before correcting himself, "—everything under my command to function properly. And I'd rather we talk about this like adults instead of dancing around it like some kind of high school drama."
Cinderella took in a deep breath as if something heavy had finally lifted off her chest.
A soft, genuine smile curved her lips.
"Then I'll look forward to it."
For a moment, the lieutenant just studied her, his tired eyes lingering on her expression before he sighed.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, then glanced at the small bottle of pills on her table. "And I see you've got those to help, too. Good. Should knock you out in no time."
He reached out, giving her a firm pat on the shoulder.
Cinderella didn't look away from him as he turned to leave. Even as he stepped out, even as the door started to slide shut, her blue eyes remained on him, thoughtful.
"Goodnight, Commander," she said softly.
The lieutenant lifted a hand slightly in acknowledgment before disappearing into the hallway.
She sat there for a moment longer, still smiling to herself.
And so did Red Shoes.
Notes:
Hehehe~
Chapter 15: Vol 2.7: You Fail
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
[End of Volume 2]
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, Late Spring
The lieutenant made his way down the hall toward Abe's lab, stifling a yawn behind his flesh-and-metal fingers.
Four hours of sleep.
Not great, but better than usual.
Only woke up once, too.
Could've been worse.
As the door to the lab slid open with a quiet hiss, he leaned lazily in the doorway, scanning the room with tired eyes.
Red Shoes sat perched on a stool, tool in hand, adjusting something on Cinderella's exposed shoulder joint while Abe hovered over a console, monitoring the diagnostics. The white-haired Nikke sat still, posture straight, though her gaze flicked toward him the second he stepped in.
He grunted a greeting.
"Good Morning. Finishing up maintenance?"
Red Shoes, without looking up, gave a casual thumbs-up. "Almost done here."
Abe hummed, fingers tapping along the screen. "Good timing. Think you could round up the others?"
The lieutenant sighed but nodded.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it." He pushed himself off the doorway but paused, glancing at Cinderella.
With a lazy flick of his hand, he waved up and down in her direction.
"Don't worry. Just remember our talk. You'll do fine."
Cinderella's expression shifted slightly—not a full smile, but something more certain. She gave a firm nod.
That was enough for him.
Rolling his shoulders, he turned on his heel and stepped out, stretching as the door slid shut behind him with a soft click.
And just like that, his expression dulled again.
His boots tapped evenly against the floor, his mind idly wandering—until a brief flash of memory struck him.
Red Shoes' hand. The way it had moved—just slightly—across Cinderella's exposed shoulder joint. Not like someone checking a mechanical function.
Something else.
Something... unnatural.
His mouth pressed into a thin line as he exhaled through his nose.
"Nikkes are so damn weird," he muttered, shaking his head.
His pace didn't slow, but the thought lingered.
The lieutenant didn't have to search long.
Rounding a corner, he found them—Siren, Hansel, and Gretel—all clustered in the same hallway. It was convenient, sure, but that also meant dealing with them as a group. A headache waiting to happen.
He exhaled through his nose, shoving his hands into his pockets as he strolled toward them.
"At least you two aren't playing hide-and-seek with me this time." He nodded toward Hansel and Gretel, eyeing them suspiciously.
Hansel smirked, tilting her head. "Would you like to play while we wait?"
"No," he said flatly. "Not now, not ever."
Siren giggled, bringing a hand to her mouth.
The lieutenant shot her a look. "Don't encourage them."
She merely hummed, then fished (get it?) out her notebook, flipping to a fresh page before scribbling something down with quick, fluid strokes.
When she finished, she held it up expectantly.
Do you think the Goddess Squad will give me an autograph?
His lips pulled into a thin line as he read. Siren even flipped to another page—one already organized with neat spaces for each signature.
He raised a brow. His eyes skimmed the names she had listed, but they stopped at the last two.
His brow furrowed.
Before he could say anything, Hansel remarked: "We think autographs are tacky."
Siren huffed at this, making a few animated gestures as if to ask, Oh? And what would you two do instead?
Hansel smirked. "We'll ask for a picture."
The lieutenant let out a slow, tired sigh.
"You three shouldn't act like fangirls." His voice carried a mix of exasperation and reluctant patience. "I already had this talk with Cinderella. You're all going to be working with the Goddess Squad in the future. You'll have to act like their equals, not..." He gestured vaguely at them, "...whatever this is."
There was a brief silence, broken only by the looks of mild disappointment on their faces.
He scoffed.
"I'm not saying you can't get autographs or whatever. Just don't act like fangirls."
Siren let out a determined yet relieved-sounding, "Aoooh!" as if to promise she'd be professional—before immediately flipping through her notebook again, remembering something.
She found the page she was looking for and turned it around, holding it out to him.
"What now?"
His eyes landed on the section she pointed to.
A spot was reserved for a signature.
Above it, in her careful, delicate handwriting, was the label:
[My beloved commander]:
His lips parted slightly in surprise, and he blinked, taking a second to process.
Siren, beaming, made excited noises and held out a pen expectantly.
"I... it's a little weird to be a fan of me of all people..." He trailed off, glancing at her expression—which was completely genuine. "...But if that's what you think, I can't stop you, I guess."
He took the pen and, with a bit of hesitation, signed his name.
Siren let out a bright "Thank you!" before gasping and quickly covering her mouth, eyes widening.
"Siren..." he sighed. "Be careful."
She nodded quickly, cheeks flushed, but the joy in her expression remained.
Hansel, watching this unfold, pouted. "That's not fair. We want one too."
"You want an autograph, too?"
Hansel grinned.
"No, no, no~" She pulled out her phone. "We want a picture."
His already tired face became even more exhausted.
Before he could refuse, she was already angling the phone.
"But you already have... whatever..."
A little while later, the rest of the squad had gathered.
The lieutenant stretched his arms behind his back with a slight yawn. His sleep was never great, but at least he got more than usual. Not that it meant much.
His gaze shifted toward Cinderella.
"Everything go well with maintenance?"
She nodded, her white twin tails swaying slightly.
"I'm feeling well," she said, though after a short pause, she added, "I'm still a bit nervous."
Abe, standing beside her, crossed her arms, like a teacher reminding a student of something obvious. "Don't be," she said, then repeated with emphasis, "As long as you don't overreact, everything will be fine."
Cinderella exhaled a soft laugh, smiling. "Thanks."
Just as things settled, Siren made a small noise—somewhere between excitement and urgency—before flipping open her notebook and holding it up for everyone to see.
The lieutenant immediately felt a headache forming.
Abe, Cinderella, and Red Shoes all leaned in, eyes scanning the pages meant for the Goddess Squad's signatures. But it was the already filled-out signature—his signature—that drew attention.
Abe sighed through her nose, then shot him a look.
"Fangirling, huh?" she muttered under her breath.
Cinderella made an 'oh' sound, tilting her head slightly.
"I never thought of getting an autograph from our commander. I think its good thinking, Siren," she mused, almost as if considering it.
"Aooh!"
Red Shoes grinned, resting a hand on her cheek. "Well, well~ It's so rare to see him signing something that's not a mission report. Maybe I should get one too?"
The lieutenant groaned. "I swear to—"
Hansel took this as her cue to add fuel to the fire.
"But, Commander," she drawled, "what about the pictures?"
He didn't even respond, choosing instead to stare at the farthest corner of the hallway.
"I don't see the big deal. You can take as many pictures as you want. He's your commander." Abe remarked, then raised a brow. "What's so special about these pictures?"
Hansel giggled.
The lieutenant gave up.
He had long since stopped fighting against the absurdity that came with leading this group.
There was no point in arguing, no point in trying to wrestle back the image of himself they had decided on. If Siren wanted his signature, if Hansel and Gretel wanted pictures, if Cinderella got it in her head that he was some mythical figure worthy of an autograph—fine.
It wasn't a battle worth fighting.
These robots are going to be the death of me.
So, he walked at the back of the group, hands stuffed in his pockets, listening to their chatter as they moved through the hall.
Old Tales...
The second generation of Grimms Models. A project spearheaded by Abe, the scientist walking in front of him, was built with the sole intention of surpassing Goddess Squad in nearly every metric. Longevity. Memory. Combat capability. Adaptability.
And yet...
His eyes flicked toward Red Shoes. She was laughing softly as Siren excitedly flipped through her notebook, showing off crude but earnest drawings of all six of them.
Red Shoes grinned, reaching out to tap the sketch of herself, while Siren made a delighted sound.
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes.
Something had been gnawing at him for a while now.
The corruption code had been getting more aggressive. Every engagement, every corrupted Nikke made it more apparent. He had started noticing patterns, calling back from the first days when he joined them—the way Red Shoes wanted his opinion on tactics, the way she engaged him in long conversations about strategy and decision-making.
And then there was her expertise. A scientist specializing in Nikkes and Raptures.
He thought about the way she moved when conducting maintenance on Cinderella.
There was something else there that she did.
Something subtle.
Too subtle for Cinderella to pick up on.
A pit settled in his stomach.
He called out to the Nikke.
"Red Shoes."
She turned to him, her orangish-red eyes gleaming under the sterile lighting.
"What's up, boss?"
His gaze bored into hers. He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough so only she could hear.
"...What did you do to Cinderella?"
Red Shoes blinked. There was something unreadable in her expression. Not shock. No confusion.
Just... stillness.
Before she could answer, Abe gasped.
The scientist's eyes were wide as she stared at Cinderella. "Cinderella... your eyes... they're red."
Cinderella(?) paused.
She blinked slowly as if processing the words. Then—
"Oh."
Soft. Gentle. As if she had only just realized it herself.
Glass Slippers detached from her body. The floating, shield-like constructs hovered in the air, shifting, realigning—
They entered attack mode.
His eyes widened
"GET DOWN—!"
A sharp, high-pitched hum filled the corridor.
Multiple blasts of energy erupted from her, sending plasma beams in all directions.
The lieutenant moved on instinct.
He lunged forward, throwing himself at Siren just as a plasma blast from Glass Slippers screamed toward them.
His body collided with hers, knocking her flat against the cold floor—
—just in time for his right leg to get clipped.
The plasma is carved through it like paper.
"AUGH!"
A sickening hiss filled the air as the superheated energy severed the limb cleanly, instantly cauterizing the wound.
" FUCK—! "
Pain exploded up his thigh. His body twisted mid-air from the force, and he crashed down hard, tumbling with Siren.
His breath caught in his throat but he clenched his teeth and shoved the pain down.
No time.
No damn time—
Another blast whined toward them.
Gritting his teeth, he slammed his arm onto the ground, forcing himself up on his remaining knee.
A hard-light barrier burst to life—a body-sized holographic shield.
BOOM!
The plasma struck the barrier head-on, sending shockwaves rippling through his body.
The force shoved him back a few inches, but the shield held, crackling as it absorbed another blast.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Siren gasped underneath him, hands shaking as she stared at his missing leg.
He barely heard her over the fire.
The rest of the beams carved through the lab, slamming into machinery and support beams, igniting a chain reaction of explosions.
The facility screamed as metal tore apart. The walls buckled, sparks and debris raining from above. Warning sirens blared in a deafening wail, flashing emergency lights tinting the room in a reddish colour.
His mind focused on one thing—
Cinderella(?).
He stole a glance at her—no, not her.
Cinderella stood unnaturally still.
Her lips were slightly parted, but her expression was empty.
Like something had flipped a switch inside her, shutting off everything that made her—
He sneered in both pain and rage.
These fucking robots!
"Siren!" He barked, his voice hoarse from the pain.
Siren flinched.
"Make her stop!"
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with fear, but she nodded, sucking in a sharp breath.
Another plasma blast barreled toward them. The lieutenant barely had time to brace as it smashed into the shield, sending another ripple of force through his arm. His muscles screamed in protest, but he held firm.
Siren swallowed hard, then—
"STAND STILL."
And like a tidal wave crashing over them, it struck.
The effect was immediate.
Hansel, Gretel, Red Shoes, and Abe all went rigid. Even the lieutenant, on his remaining leg, felt something invisible seize his body.
Siren, panicked, stood abruptly. Her heart pounded, her mind racing. Everyone was frozen. Even the lieutenant. Even Abe.
This... this isn't what I wanted—!
She had to act. She had to make the call herself.
She reached out, ready to summon Spindrift.
And then—
TRWACK!
Her head snapped to the side.
Pain flared across her jaw as she stumbled, her vision blurring with the force of the impact. Before she could even process what had happened, another weight slammed into her, knocking her off her feet.
Cinderella(?).
The imposter had somehow broken free.
The lieutenant barely had time to react before he was shoved aside, his back slamming into the ground. The world tilted, his body struggling to adjust—his missing leg made him momentarily forget how to fall properly.
Siren! How did Cinderella break out of the Koto—
Then the plasma fire came.
Glass Slippers discharged at random, sending searing beams in every direction.
The lieutenant gritted his teeth and forced his body to move. His forearm was burning now but he had no choice. He summoned the shield again just in time to block another plasma shot that would've torn through him.
Siren wasn't so lucky.
Cinderella(?) was on top of her, straddling her, fists flying.
The first punch rattled Siren's head against the ground.
The second cracked something in her jaw.
The third sent blood splattering onto the lieutenant's face.
His eyes widened in horror.
"SIREN!"
He tried to push himself up.
His arm faltered.
His balance was off.
He forgot he didn't have a second leg to brace himself with for a brief, humiliating moment. He collapsed back onto the ground, helplessly watching as Siren took another hit.
Blood dripped from her cracking lips, her expression flickering between shock and pain.
The others were free now—Abe, Hansel, Gretel, Red Shoes—and they could move again and restrain Cinderella(?) if they moved quickly enough.
But the next few moments would destroy that hope.
The lieutenant flexed his new arm to test its range of motion.
He clenched and unclenched his fingers and adjusted his movements.
"Alright..." he said, rotating his wrist experimentally, "what'd you stick in this thing? And if you tell me it's a self-destruct switch, I swear—"
Abe, standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck.
"Please. I would never do that." Then, after a beat, she added dryly, "No matter how annoying you are."
"You wound me, Abe."
"Good. Maybe it'll slow you down for once."
"Baaah, so mean."
The arm moved smoothly, with no stiffness and no lag.
If anything, it was more responsive than his last one. He turned his gaze back to her.
"So? What's new?"
Abe sighed, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face.
"I used the empty space inside the forearm to modify it a bit," she said, stepping forward and tapping a few points along the limb. "First, kinetic energy storage. It absorbs small amounts of impact and builds a charge—at full capacity, it can take down at least a Husk-class Rapture in one hit."
"Huh. Damn." He turned his arm over, inspecting it again. "And here I thought I'd have to punch things twice to kill one. What a shame."
"Oh, and I added a shield function, too."
"...?"
His eyes snapped back to her. "Wait, what?"
She nodded, a small smirk on her lips.
"Integrated a hard-light barrier into the wrist module. It's strong enough to take some serious punishment, but it's got limits. Ten-second bursts at a time, max, or it overheats. If you push it past that, it'll fail."
"I see... Maybe I should start losing more limbs on purpose," he mused, lifting the arm again. "If this is how you're gonna treat me, it's almost worth it."
Abe's smirk immediately vanished.
Her finger jabbed hard against his chest.
"No. Absolutely not."
He blinked at her sudden shift in tone.
"The only reason I'm upgrading you like this is because you have a death wish," she snapped, eyes narrowing. "You wouldn't even be down two limbs if you weren't so damn reckless. I don't even know how you lost those two in the first place, but don't go thinking this is some kind of damn reward system, you idiot."
He raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Hey, hey—was just my way of saying thanks. No need to get all uppity."
"Get out of my lab."
"Mhm~ Bye-bye!"
The door slid shut behind him, leaving Abe to shake her head, muttering under her breath.
WOOOOOOSH!
A burst of light.
The lieutenant barely had time to react before Cinderella(?) lunged, her body moving with an inhuman force.
His arm jerked up instinctively as his holographic shield flickered into existence.
A split second later, a fist tore through it like it was nothing.
The CRACK was deafening.
A force unlike anything he'd ever felt slammed into him, sending him flying backward with the force of a cannon shell.
"GAHH!"
His back smashed against a jagged piece of the collapsed facility wall, and another, more sickening crack followed.
White-hot pain exploded through his body—then, just as quickly, it vanished.
No feeling.
Nothing.
His limbs—his legs—were gone.
"..."
No, they were still attached, but he couldn't feel them.
My back... Something snapped. My spine? I'm losing feeling everywhere.
His remaining leg twitched uselessly, sparking from the hole burned clean through it.
He gasped or tried to—his throat choked on something thick, warm, and coppery.
Blood.
His own.
He barely managed to spit it out before his vision blurred, his mind struggling to process what the hell just happened.
Then, in his blurry, fading peripheral, he saw—
Old Tales, laid out like broken dolls.
Siren, her jaw—gone, her face a ruin.
Hansel and Gretel, limbs torn from their bodies.
Red Shoes, legs missing entirely, collapsed in a spreading pool of her own blood.
This... This is your fault—
The lieutenant's body spasmed involuntarily. His fingers twitched, his arm struggling to move—to do something—but his body wouldn't listen.
A voice was screaming his name.
Abe.
She was alive. Injured, but alive.
She was calling out to Cinderella(?).
"CINDERELLA!"
But Cinderella(?) didn't stop.
Her red eyes shined coldly as she strode toward him.
The lieutenant barely had time to react before her fingers wrapped around his throat, hoisting him up effortlessly.
His body dangled, useless, his weight pulling against his destroyed spine as her grip tightened.
He gasped, vision tunnelling—his right arm flailed, slamming against her wrist, pushing, grasping, but it was like trying to pry apart solid steel. His organic fingers scrabbled against her skin, nails digging in, but she didn't flinch.
He couldn't feel his legs.
He couldn't breathe.
His face turned red, then purple, black spots invading the edges of his sight.
And then—
He spat at her.
Blood dripped down her cheek, mixing with the red already staining her face.
She didn't react.
So he sneered.
"Do it." His voice was hoarse but the venom laced in it was unmistakable. "Come on, I know you can."
The pressure increased.
His vision blurred further, but he refused to look away.
"You want to kill me? Then do it! That's an order!" His throat barely let the words escape, but they were there. "Snap my neck, right now. It'd be so easy for you, right?"
His nails dug into her wrist, his cybernetic fingers tightening weakly as he goaded her, mocked her, pushing out every last bit of breath he had left.
Tears stung his eyes—hot, pained and furious.
"Prove it to me."
Cinderella(?)'s grip tightened.
" Prove to me what you all are. "
His vision tunnelled further.
" Prove to me that Nikkes are nothing but programming. "
The pressure became unbearable.
"That you're all just—just—" His breath hitched, barely able to escape now— "—just mindless robots—"
For the faintest moment—a crack came across her blank expression.
Hesitation? Doubt?
It lasted for a single heartbeat.
And then—
SNAP.
The lieutenant didn't even register the sound.
He felt nothing.
Only a brief moment of weightlessness—
Then his body flew, hurled like garbage across the room.
He crashed into Abe with a bone-crushing impact. A gasp came from her lips as his limp body smashed into her, knocking them both onto the floor.
His mind blackened.
His world turned dark.
And the last thing he heard—
—was the unnatural screech of a Rapture signal echoing through the collapsing lab.
His last thought came slow.
That's how it is...
That's what you all are...
You're all just robots.
Notes:
Thoughts?
Btw uploads will become a bit less frequent due to me running out of drafts.
Thank you for your understanding.
Chapter 16: Intermission: Beautiful No Longer
Notes:
This chapter is specifically used to separate volumes from one another, as well as act as a resting place/bookmark for the readers.
It also acts as a little Q&A section, in which the readers can ask questions about the story coming forward.
Chapter Text
Intermission II - Beautiful No Longer (Cinderella/Anachiro)
Cinderella knew her commander.
He would never say it outright, never make a show of it, but she knew.
Knew the warmth buried beneath the steel of his voice.
Knew the way he cared.
He tried to hide it behind exasperation, behind orders and scolding. But there were moments—little moments—where the truth bled through.
"Hansel! Gretel! I swear to God—"
The lieutenant's voice echoed down the corridor, utterly exhausted.
Hansel darted around the corner, giggling as Gretel followed close behind. Their footsteps were a flurry of light taps against the floor, and despite their speed, they barely looked winded.
Behind them, Siren was not as graceful.
She made a strangled noise, trying to wipe her face with her sleeve.
Black and red marker streaks covered her cheeks, a childish swirl drawn right across the bridge of her nose. It wasn't much better for the lieutenant—there was a very clear mustache scribbled above his lip, and someone had written "Commander Grump" in hasty letters across his forehead.
"I told you not to touch the sharpies!"
Hansel turned her head slightly as she ran, putting a finger to her chin in mock thought.
"Hansel and Gretel may have forgotten," she said sweetly.
"Hansel and Gretel are going to be on cleaning duty for a month!"
Their laughter trailed down the hall.
Cinderella knew her commander tried to act indifferent.
He tried to keep himself distant and separate from them.
But she saw him.
Saw him in those rare, unguarded moments.
Her commander was a beautiful human.
The common room was quiet that morning.
Cinderella had just wandered in, stretching her arms above her head, when she spotted him.
The lieutenant was at the counter, carefully drizzling honey onto a fresh stack of pancakes. Steam curled from the top, golden syrup pooling at the edges of the plate. He took a forkful, bringing it to his lips—
And the moment he tasted it, his expression melted.
Pure, unfiltered bliss flickered across his face.
Cinderella just watched, something amused settling in her chest.
Then he turned his head, still mid-chew—
And saw her.
They stared at each other in silence.
The lieutenant's expression immediately twisted back into neutrality. He swallowed fast and pointed his fork at her.
"Not a word to anyone."
"Of course not, commander."
She never told a soul.
He was proud of them.
She knew that, too.
The battle had been hell.
They were a bit bruised, battered, and hungry.
Their commander was still trying to catch his breath, hands on his hips, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what just happened.
But there was something else, too.
Something warm.
Before any of them could react, he pulled them in—one arm hooking around Hansel's shoulder, another ruffling Red Shoes' hair. Gretel was wedged between them, and Siren barely had time to let out a startled laugh before being dragged into the group.
"You did good," he murmured, voice thick with something none of them could name. "All of you. That was goddamn amazing."
His grip was strong.
And even as he tried to pull away, tried to mask the emotion behind another tired sigh, Cinderella saw it.
Saw the way his expression softened.
Saw the way he looked at them, like they were something worth holding onto.
Saw how he looked so relieved—
Like he could cry at any moment.
And that?
That was the most unlike him she had ever seen.
Her commander's beauty was... tainted by something ugly.
Cinderella had seen it.
No matter how much warmth flickered through him in those rare moments, there was always something lurking beneath.
It was in the way his jaw tensed when he watched them during tests or evaluations. The way his arms remained folded, the subtle scowl that tugged at his lips when he observed their movements—like he saw something he didn't like.
In team exercises, he was stiff. His gaze would flick between them, then to himself. To the metal of his arm.
To the artificial mechanisms of his remaining leg.
And then his scowl would deepen, as if he was seeing something... wrong.
Cinderella had never asked why.
She had been afraid of the answer.
"What were your old squads like?"
Hansel's voice was casual, but there was something eager in the way she leaned forward, legs crossed on the bench. Gretel sat beside her, idly sitting with her hands in her lap. Red Shoes looked up from dusting her legs, and even Siren glanced over with some interest.
The lieutenant, however, had gone still.
For a moment, he only stared at the floor.
Then—
"For fucks sake, do you ever stop talking?"
The words snapped like a whip.
Everyone flinched.
Even Cinderella did.
The realization hit him immediately. His shoulders slackened just a bit. A hand ran through his hair, and when he spoke again, his voice was... softer.
"...They were pieces of work," he said, half-heartedly. "But they were... disciplined. Very, very disciplined. S-Something that you lot should strive to be."
No one pressed further.
He wept when he slept.
What little sleep he actually got.
Cinderella had learned that by accident.
Abe had told her to fetch him when he was late one morning. She didn't think much of it at first—it was just another errand.
Then she opened the door.
He was asleep at his desk, head resting against his arms.
And there was a small, glistening pool of tears beneath his cheek.
She had frozen, unsure of what to do.
But she never spoke of it.
Never in front of others.
Her commander was an ugly person.
Not in form, not in action, but in the way he hid things.
He tried to bury his caution—no, his discomfort—around them. Around Nikkes. He was careful with his words, but sometimes, he slipped.
"Machines."
"Cyborgs."
"Robots."
Always accidents.
Always followed by an immediate correction, an apology, or a flicker of guilt that crossed his face before he could swallow it back down.
Cinderella knew he didn't believe those words.
She knew him.
And she knew, beyond all else—
Her commander loved them.
Cinderella watched from behind the invisible barrier, helpless as the nightmare unfolded.
Her commander—her commander—was being torn apart.
And she could do nothing.
Her blue eyes brimmed with tears, wide with horror as her red-eyed self—that imposter, that aberration moved forward.
It wasn't her.
It couldn't be her.
She pounded on the barrier, her fists slamming against the thing over and over again, but it didn't budge.
"STOP!" she screamed. "PLEASE, STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!"
Her voice cracked, breaking apart into desperate sobs.
It didn't work.
The imposter smashed the commander's shield, and it shattered like dust, scattering in the air like it had never existed at all. Before Cinderella could even process that, the lieutenant was sent flying back, crashing into a jagged wall with a force that rattled the hall.
CRACK.
Her body froze.
Then—
"No, no, NO!"
She clutched her head, shaking violently. Her vision blurred with tears as she saw it—his body slumping, his leg sparking.
She felt it—something in her was breaking.
"STOP IT!" she screamed at the imposter, slamming her fists against the barrier again, harder and harder. "YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM! HE'LL DIE! HE'LL DIE! PLEASE, JUST STOP—"
Nothing.
The barrier didn't so much as ripple.
He wasn't like them. He can't just take this much damage and get a new body.
Her voice faltered.
Her strength was leaving her.
Her fists slowed, her fingers trembling against the cold wall.
She gasped for breath, her entire body shivering as she watched.
This couldn't be happening.
She saw the way his body twitched and tried to move.
But with that damage, no matter how willing he was—he was effectively rendered immobile.
She saw the imposter—her own body, her own Glass Slippers—being used in such ways...
"No, no, no, please... please..." her voice cracked as she slumped against the barrier.
"I won't get to hear it..."
She choked on the words, hardly able to breathe.
"His story... I won't get to hear it..."
She weakly pressed her forehead against the wall.
"Please..."
She wanted to know more, so much more about her commanding officer and help.
So why must it end this way?
A distant voice called out:
"CINDERELLA! "
Abe.
Cinderella lifted her head just enough to see what she already knew was coming.
The imposter loomed over the lieutenant's barely conscious body.
He wasn't moving anymore.
He wasn't even trying to get up.
Her lips quivered.
"Run..." she begged. "Please, just—just run. I beg you..."
He didn't move.
The imposter reached down, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him.
His body dangled like a broken puppet, his fingers weakly clawing at the hand around his neck.
"Please..."
Her hands slipped from the barrier.
Her strength was gone.
"Don't hate me..."
Tears streamed down her face.
The imposter's grip tightened.
Cinderella watched in horror, her shaking hand pressed against the barrier. Tears blurred her vision, hot and endless, spilling down her cheeks.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't think.
His struggling was growing weaker, his fingers barely twitching at the iron grip around his throat.
"No, please," she whispered, voice breaking. "Stop... Just stop..."
Cinderella's fingers twitched against the barrier, uselessly—
—until something warm and wet slid down her cheek.
She blinked. It wasn't tears.
It smelled of metal.
Slowly, shakily, she wiped her fingers across her face and looked down.
Blood.
Her stomach dropped.
She turned back to the scene before her, and for the first time—
She saw him looking straight at her.
Her commander.
His body was limp in the imposter's grip, eyes dull with pain, but something was burning behind them.
Hate.
She lifted her shaking hands, staring at the dark crimson staining her fingers.
"No... no, no, no..."
Her tears came faster, her vision completely overtaken by a blur.
He hates me... He hates me...
Her body slumped against the barrier, her forehead pressing against it as sobs wracked through her.
I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him.
Then—
"Do it."
Her head snapped up.
"Come on, I know you can."
Her eyes widened in horror.
The lieutenant's voice cut through the air like a jagged blade.
His hands weakly clawed at the imposter's arm, his face twisted with pain, his breath coming out in laboured gasps.
"You want to kill me? Then do it!" he spat, blood pooling at the corner of his lips. "That's an order! Snap my neck, right now. It'd be so easy for you, right?"
"NO!" Cinderella shrieked. "STOP IT! PLEASE, DON'T GOAD HER!"
Her cries went unheard.
The imposter's grip only tightened.
Cinderella could see it—see the veins bulging in his temples, the way his body spasmed from the sheer pressure crushing his windpipe. Tears burned his eyes, not from fear, not from regret, but from pure, unfiltered rage.
"Prove it to me," he choked out.
Cinderella gasped as he sucked in what little air he could, but it wasn't enough.
"Prove to me what you all are—"
"NO!" she screamed, pounding her fists harder against the barrier.
"Prove to me that Nikkes are nothing but programming."
Cinderella started to splinter.
Her breathing came in ragged, shallow sobs. She clutched her chest as if trying to hold the pieces of herself together, but they were already slipping through her fingers like sand.
"I'M NOT!" she wailed. "I'M NOT JUST THAT! I'M NOT—please, please, I'm so sorry—just forgive me—please—please—"
The lieutenant's breath hitched. His body sagged slightly, his muscles failing him.
"That you're all just—"
He could barely speak now.
"—just—"
Cinderella frantically clawed at the barrier, her nails scraping uselessly against the unseen force.
"—just mindless robots—"
Then—
Her hand pierced through the wall.
She gasped.
Her fingertips touched the air beyond the barrier for a split second—just one brief, fleeting second.
She reached further—she could reach him!
But—
SNAP.
The lieutenant's body went limp.
And like delicate slippers made of glass, she splintered into a thousand tiny pieces.
Chapter 17: Vol 3.1: All for Humanity
Chapter Text
Year: 2X31, Mere Weeks Before the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning
The alarm hadn't even gone off yet when he opened his eyes.
Morning, just like always.
The cadet sat up in his stiff dormitory bed, feet touching the cold floor.
He exhaled quietly, rolling his shoulders before he stood up, pulling the sheets tight, tucking the corners, and flattening every wrinkle.
His lips curled into a small smile.
Perfection.
It didn't take long before he was dressed.
The morning routine was almost mechanical by now—efficiency first, everything else later.
His gaze flicked to the row of beds across from him.
Still asleep.
Of course they were.
He sighed, stepping over to the first bed and rapping his knuckles against the metal frame. Not too loud. Just enough to make sure they heard it.
"Up."
The lump under the blanket groaned.
"Five more minutes," came the grumble from underneath.
He knocked against the frame again.
"Up. Now."
A hand emerged, fingers grasping blindly for the alarm clock before realizing it wasn't even ringing yet.
"Damn it," the cadet muttered, rubbing his face before sitting up.
Another figure stirred from the opposite bunk, groaning.
"Why the hell do you always wake up before the alarm, man?"
The first cadet, half-awake, grumbled his name—no, not his name. It was scrambled, redacted. The sound didn't register, lost in static, but he knew what they meant.
"Keeping us in check again?" Another cadet said lazily. "Its basically over... we can do what we want!"
The lieutenant—no, not yet—the cadet merely shrugged.
"Someone has to. Otherwise, you'd all sleep through inspection."
"Humble as ever, eh, Boss?" another one laughed, swinging his legs out of bed. "Top of the class, the big name on the graduation board, yet still our personal alarm clock."
"You can stop calling me that," he muttered.
"Come on ▇▇▇▇! You've been this way for the past 4 years; just embrace it for once!"
The cadet sighed, shaking his head as more of them begrudgingly rolled out of their bunks, stretching and rubbing sleep from their eyes. He had spent four years like this. Four years of regimented discipline, of structure, of pushing himself to remain at the top.
Not just in military tactics.
But in administration, finance, logistics—he had studied these things, drilled them into his mind alongside everything else the academy threw at him.
Year after year, his name remained at the top of the rankings.
Discipline.
But at the cost of something else.
As the room stirred with the sounds of half-awake complaints, dry jokes, and the rustling of sheets, the cadet simply watched.
Four years of training.
Or...
Was it eight?
Either way.
And he still hadn't gotten the hang of people.
Year: 2X31, Weeks After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Afternoon(?)
The war was an opportunity.
That was what he told himself as he adjusted the nameplate on his desk.
Lieutenant First Class ██████ .
The title still felt surreal.
It had been barely a month since he'd been commissioned as a lieutenant second class, and already, his performance had earned him a promotion.
He was exceptional, after all.
Everyone said so.
His instructors at the academy, his superiors, even the begrudging compliments of his peers.
So why stop here?
The Rapture war was just another stepping stone. It was the first real global conflict in decades, the kind that created legends and reshaped the military hierarchy. It was brutal, yes, but if he could prove himself—again, and again—he could climb even higher.
Colonel before thirty.
Maybe a general by the time it was over.
That was the plan.
His fingers brushed over the edges of a photo frame as he exhaled through his nose.
He set the frame down gently on his desk, facing it toward himself. A family of four stared back at him—his mother, father, older brother, and himself, much younger, stiff-backed and serious even as a child.
Wherever they were, they had to be proud of him, right?
He sat back.
The Raptures were a menace, but when he climbed the ranks, he'd have resources. Authority. Influence. He could find them.
He would find them.
Because they wouldn't have just left him in that ghetto without any explanation.
Right?
Year: 2X32, One Year After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night
He felt snubbed.
The lieutenant sat at his desk, fingers tapping against the surface as his scowl deepened.
Another day.
Another week.
Another month.
No notice.
No recognition.
No promotion.
It had been over a year since he was first commissioned as a Lieutenant First Class, and despite everything he had accomplished, he was still sitting at the same rank.
He had gone through the motions. Assisted in managing military assets. Helped organize countless new forces in the now United Forces of Humanity—and yet, nothing.
Sure, the world was burning, and sure, promotions were probably getting lost in the chaos of a never-ending war against a mechanical enemy hellbent on wiping them out.
But that hadn't stopped his other classmates from climbing the ranks.
Hell, he was pretty sure a few of them outranked him now.
And he was still here.
His hands moved to the keyboard, fingers typing out a new email.
The recipient: Colonel Adrien Vos.
Unlike most others, he gave Vos more respect than usual. More than what was technically required.
He didn't give a shit.
He attached a file detailing all of his current accomplishments:
-His role in organizing new battalions for the UFH.
-The strategic allocations of military assets he had assisted with.
-His logistical work in supply chain management.
-The many missions he had either led or contributed to.
At the bottom of the email, his message was direct.
━━━━
[Sender: Lieutenant First Class ██████]
[Subject: Promotion Request]
Colonel Vos,
I apologize for any inconvenience this message might bring, but I would like to formally request an assessment regarding my current standing. I have compiled a list of my contributions to the war effort over the past year, and I would greatly appreciate any guidance on whether there is an available opportunity for promotion.
I understand the circumstances of the war, but I would still like to hear your thoughts on the matter.
Respectfully,
Lieutenant First Class ██████
━━━━
He read it over once.
Then again.
Satisfied, he hit send.
And then—
A near ear-splitting screech ripped through the air.
The ground beneath him shook. Not like a tremor, but like something massive had just landed somewhere it shouldn't have.
His scowl deepened. A strange feeling settled in his stomach.
He stood up, fast, pushing away from the desk and heading toward the door.
The moment he stepped out into the open air, he saw soldiers.
Moving fast. Running past him, heading straight for the tanks.
A moment later—
ALARMS.
The emergency sirens screamed to life, red lights flaring across the compound.
A voice crackled through the speakers:
"ALERT! RAPTURES DETECTED! ALL PERSONNEL, PREPARE FOR ENGAGEMENT!"
His eyes widened slightly. Then they narrowed.
"For fuck's sake—Raptures?!" he muttered under his breath, already reaching for his comlink.
He pressed the device to his ear, voice sharp and commanding as he shouted into it:
"All units, report! What the hell are we dealing with?!"
His comlink crackled with static before the frantic voices of multiple officers and squad leaders filled his ear.
"Raptures breached the perimeter! They came in fast—too damn fast—"
"Lost an entire patrol team near the east wall, sir! We barely—"
"They're eating people! They're—"
He clenched his jaw.
He scowled a bit. And under that scowl?
Disgust.
Not the kind that made you sick to your stomach, not quite. But the kind that made your skin crawl, made you want to turn your back and pretend you hadn't just seen it.
It was one thing to fight an enemy that killed indiscriminately. War, after all, was war.
But eating their bodies?
That was something else.
They weren't scavengers. They weren't desperate, starving animals picking at scraps.
They chose to eat humans.
Of all things.
Not plants, not other Raptures, not anything else that would make sense in some cruel corner of biology.
No.
Humans.
The bony, lanky, awkward great apes were somehow their primary food source.
The thought was so ridiculous that even now, in the middle of a battlefield, part of him wanted to believe he was stuck in some shitty nightmare...
Or worse, some zombie apocalypse fanfiction where the monsters had just been given a new paint job.
It was almost surreal.
Except it wasn't.
And so, instead of dwelling on the absurdity, the lieutenant fought...
For about an hour.
His boots crunched against scorched dirt as he adjusted his night vision goggles, scanning the battlefield. The green tint made the world feel even less real, as if he were just watching some old war footage.
Thirteen Raptures.
One is already disabled. That husk of metal was still twitching as some malfunction fried whatever passed for its nervous system.
"Fuck off terminator."
His eyes flicked back to the others.
They moved like insects, grotesquely mechanical in some ways and horrifically human in others.
He muttered under his breath, "The captain really shouldn't have gotten himself killed. I could've used him as a reference for my promotion."
It wasn't even a joke.
The man had been in charge of the base, and his death had left a convenient power vacuum—one the lieutenant had instinctively filled with ease. Efficiently.
It should've been his command in the first place if the world had any sense of justice.
But there was no justice.
Just war.
And if war was his path to something greater, then he'd take it.
He snapped his fingers toward the nearest officer, not even looking their way.
"Get me a sitrep on the evacuation status."
A few seconds passed before a hurried voice came through his earpiece.
"Sir, all essential personnel and supplies have been fully evacuated."
Good.
His fingers hovered over the radio's frequency dial before switching to another channel.
"This is Lieutenant ██████, requesting immediate airstrike on my position. Coordinates incoming."
A brief pause. Then:
"Copy that, lieutenant. ETA five minutes."
The lieutenant exhaled through his nose, pushing down the quiet irritation that it wasn't immediate.
Still, five minutes wasn't bad. He turned back to the battlefield, narrowing his eyes at the ruins of the base.
Twenty men lost.
That wasn't bad, either.
For an operation like this, twenty was acceptable. More than acceptable. Any wartime commander worth his salt would call it a success, given the circumstances.
But he still sighed.
Not out of sadness. Not even out of frustration. Just... the fact of it. Twenty was twenty. It will be thirty tomorrow. Forty next week. The numbers would stack and stack, and he would count them, but in the end, they were just that.
Numbers.
His grip tightened on his radio as the distant hum of incoming aircraft filled the night.
"Airstrike incoming, brace for impact!" someone shouted.
All around him, soldiers ducked behind cover, shields raised, heads down.
The lieutenant?
He just stood there.
He felt the heat of the approaching firestorm curl around him like a second skin.
His trench coat flared in the rush of wind, and the world turned to light.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then came the roar of hellfire.
A shockwave tore through the ground, rattling teeth, shaking bones. The Raptures screeched—then their voices were gone. Swallowed whole by the detonation that turned them into nothing more than molten wreckage.
The earth quaked beneath him, but he didn't move.
Just stood in the center of it all, eyes fixed on the destruction.
A thought slithered through his mind as the heat faded, leaving only embers and smoke in its wake.
Maybe this will finally get me promoted.
Year: 2X32, One Year After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening, Early Winter
Another few months had passed.
Another few months of grinding, of clawing for recognition, of throwing himself into anything that might catch the eyes of high command.
He had done everything.
He inspected the equipment. Led supply runs. Organized relief efforts. Devised new training programs for rookies, overseeing drills with a critical eye and a tight jaw.
Every waking hour was spent working, perfecting, and pushing himself further.
For what?
To be seen.
To be acknowledged, not just as another cog in the war machine, but as something more.
Someone more.
A name on a screen.
A face on a broadcast.
A soldier that people whispered about, pointed at, and respected.
Someone who wasn't just left in a dumpster.
Because what else was there?
The war wasn't ending. The Raptures weren't slowing down.
Cities kept burning, and the death counts climbed like a stock market crash in reverse.
He had grown numb to it all.
At first, the horror of war had stuck to him like oil.
Every ruined village, every pile of bodies...
Now?
It was just another part of life.
The vacant look in his eyes had worsened.
Back at the academy, he had been stiff and awkward but still human.
A year ago, he'd still had some fire.
Now?
Now, there was just this exhaustion.
Perhaps because of—
The ground was nothing but scorched earth and mud, a wasteland of bodies and debris.
His ears rang.
A dull, droning buzz made everything feel like it was underwater.
His breath came in short gasps.
His boots felt glued to the ground, as if the mud itself wanted to keep him here—to make him watch.
A platoon lay scattered across the ground.
Bloodied, broken and moaning in agony.
Some were too far gone to move. Others writhed in pain, hands clutching at stomachs, throats, legs that weren't fully attached anymore.
The medic was dead.
Slumped forward in the dirt, face down, a crimson pool soaking into the mud.
The lieutenant moved before he could think. Crawled forward on unsteady limbs, grabbing the medic's shoulder and shaking.
"Hey—hey, wake up."
His voice barely worked.
The body didn't stir.
Another shake. More desperate.
"Come on. Get up. I need you to—"
Nothing.
Nothing.
The moans continued.
Pain-filled, gasping.
Begging.
And there were no medical supplies.
No backup.
No one is coming.
He had nothing to stop their suffering.
His chest heaved. His fingers twitched. His eyes darted from body to body, his mind running through every possible option, every possible way to fix this.
But there wasn't one.
The ringing in his ears got louder. His body was locked, stiff with indecision, but his face—his face remained disturbingly blank.
A tear slipped from his eye, unnoticed.
Then another.
And another.
Somewhere in the haze, his fingers wrapped around his sidearm.
He inhaled.
Held it.
Exhaled.
And then—
Bang.
The first voice went silent.
Bang.
Another.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The voices stopped.
The bodies stopped
The pain stopped.
Eventually...
He stopped.
Stare at the bodies, lieutenant.
Try to memorize their faces.
Because if he didn't—if he let himself forget—
Then what was the point of any of this?
Were those men really just numbers to you?
̶W̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶N̶i̶k̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶r̶o̶b̶o̶t̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶?̶
He never forgot things easily.
Names. Faces. Failures.
And yet—
The email sat on his screen.
━━━━
[Sender: Colonel Adrien Vos]
[Subject: Re: Promotion Request]
Lieutenant [?]
I read your request. I'm sorry to say it's not something I can personally push through. It would look like a conflict of interest. I hope you understand.
That said, I don't know why the higher-ups haven't processed your file. Maybe they're too swamped, or maybe they just don't see it. Either way, I don't have answers for you.
You're a smart kid. You'll figure something out.
If you're looking for another angle, consider taking back some key territory. A strategic position. Or... well, there's always the experimental programs.
Think about it.
-Vos
━━━━
He scowled.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but what was there to even say?
He had done everything. He had gone through hell. And yet, here he was. Still stuck.
Still overlooked.
For the first time in months, a thought flickered across his mind.
Why am I even doing this anymore?
The ambition, the drive—it felt distant.
Like something belonging to someone else.
His gaze drifted to the small photo frame on his desk.
A family of four.
A father. A mother. A sibling.
Him.
He blinked.
For some reason—
Their faces were blurring.
Why?
They were right in front of him.
What was he doing here?
"Who are these people?"
"All for Humanity."
That was a slogan the United Forces of Humanity went by, among others.
The words echoed through the office, the glow of the projector casting a flickering light against the walls.
The lieutenant sat at his desk, elbows resting on the armrests of his chair, his fingers loosely interlocked as he stared at the grainy image on the screen.
The movie was an old one—some wartime drama, black-and-white, the kind meant to inspire. Soldiers in crisp uniforms march in unison. Factories were running at full capacity, their workers singing patriotic songs. Families gathered around radios, listening to speeches about sacrifice and duty.
And then the line.
"All for Humanity."
The protagonist—a veteran—had spoken it like it was some universal truth, something that justified every hardship, every loss.
The lieutenant barely blinked.
But why that phrase?
Why All for Humanity?
What did it really mean?
Giving your body as a soldier?
That was the obvious one.
You fight, you bleed, you die.
You become a number on a report, a name on a plaque.
Your labour as a weapons manufacturer?
The factories churned out rifles and shells at an inhuman pace, pressing engineers, machinists, and technicians into brutal work schedules. Those who couldn't meet quotas... well, he hadn't heard anything about those people yet.
I wonder why.
Your soul as faith to the cause?
They had cracked down on anti-war sentiment early.
Dissent equaled disloyalty.
The press had been forced into compliance, broadcasting only approved narratives. Universities were being "restructured" to focus on wartime advancements. Even religious leaders had been made to publicly endorse the war effort, as if salvation could be bought with patriotism.
Your money in the shape of war bonds?
"Support the front, support the future," they said.
Donations were no longer optional.
Every civilian, every merchant, every corporation had to contribute.
Those who refused were... persuaded.
It was all-consuming.
All for Humanity.
Or was it all for the state?
None of that bothered him, not really. He wasn't some idealist who thought the world was sunshine and rainbows.
But this—
This forced devotion—it nagged at him.
Maybe it was because he saw what blind loyalty led to.
Some took it too literally.
Like Lieutenant Liliweiss.
A prodigy fighter pilot. A legend in the making.
What made her different from him?
And, if the rumours were true, she was about to volunteer for something that might kill her.
The lieutenant frowned, fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. He had heard rumours about it—an experimental procedure. No one had explained the details, but it had something to do with enhancing human performance beyond normal cybernetics.
The military had already perfected the art of replacing limbs. Mechanical arms, neural implants, spinal reinforcements—none of that was new. If a soldier lost something in battle, they were rebuilt and sent back to the front.
But this?
This sounded different.
The only thing he could think of was... a full conversion.
Something closer to a machine than a human.
Like turning someone into the Terminator.
It wasn't a secret that humanity was desperate. The Raptures were pushing them further and further into a corner. Every strategy, every technological advantage was being thrown at the problem like a dying man clawing for air.
But turning their best pilots into machines?
That was something else.
The lieutenant sighed.
If Liliweiss survived—and that was a big 'if'—she wouldn't just be a pilot anymore.
She'd be an asset.
She'd be property.
A puppet on a string.
The sneer formed before he even realized it.
"Going from human to property," he muttered under his breath.
The words tasted bitter.
The movie continued playing, but he wasn't watching anymore. His mind drifted, the light of the projector flickering against his vacant gaze.
Because if it works, it works...
...right?
If it was all for humanity, and he could just blur the line—his desires, their desires, what he wanted, what they told him to want—then maybe it didn't have to hurt so much.
Maybe he didn't have to think about being left behind.
Left by the ones he was supposed to love the most.
Right?
Right...?
"..."
"..."
Dust floated like ash in the stale air.
A once-proud United Forces of Humanity installation, reduced to a skeleton of bent alloy and melted wall plating.
And there he was.
Slumped against a wall, neck tilted at an impossible angle. His right leg was missing—torn off cleanly at the hip. His left leg sparked weakly, sizzling every few seconds with dying electricity.
His spine was broken.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been awake. Or if this was even awake.
His vision kept flickering for some reason. His neck had been snapped a while ago, so why wasn't he dead yet? All that filled his eyes were cracked support beams, slagged data terminals, and smoke that never stopped curling into the air.
Why couldn't he contribute more?
He had given everything—his time, his youth, his body, his identity. All for a chance. A shot. A footnote in someone else's record.
More.
He could've done more.
He should've done more.
But...
Where is everyone?
There was no answer.
Not from the collapsed ceiling.
Not from the static humming inside his skull. Not from the corpses scattered around the lab, both human and Nikke alike.
Nikkes...
His head rolled to the side, pain jabbed through his neck. Through blurred vision, he caught sight of a downed Nikke. Face-down. Motionless. The artificial muscle in her arm was still twitching slightly.
They weren't even supposed to be here. This lab wasn't meant to be a front-line post.
Where were the hundreds of people meant to come to his funeral?
Where were the hundreds of people who adored him?
Where was the Colonel?
Where...
Where is everyone?
Why were there only Nikkes here?
Nikkes.
They were just tools.
Assets.
Robots.
Cyborgs.
He always told himself that.
Their emotions?
Not real. Programmed into them. Forced by the NIMPH to appear more human, more obedient. More... palatable.
He used to scoff at the idea of them "feeling" anything.
Because it made it easier.
Made it easier to treat them like units.
But I never did that...
So why...?
Why were they the only ones who ever made him feel like someone gave a damn?
He stared at the ceiling.
Cold seeped into the edge of his nerves.
His memories were fading now, one by one.
Faces blurred.
Family.
He couldn't see them anymore. Not his mother. Not his father. Not his brother. Not their smiles, or their touch, or even their voices.
He clung to the only ones that hadn't slipped away.
Rose. Scarlet. Melee Squad. Old Tales...
Those were not real people.
Those assets were not supposed to matter.
Just... machines.
So why did they feel like the only thing keeping him here?
On this planet?
Why did he hate NIMPH so much when it forced him into authority?
He should've loved it, adored it.
Held onto it.
"..."
And yet he ran away for some reason.
"..."
Just let go.
None of it was his fault.
He was just going through the motions for a selfish desire.
They were all just robots.
His eyes were glassy now.
Cinderella proved that all it took was a code.
His fingers twitched one last time.
"..."
Then there was nothing.
Just another corpse.
Chapter 18: Vol 3.2: I Wish I Did Not
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, The New Year
Scarlet stirred.
Her eyelids parted slowly, her lashes fluttering like old shutters, and her gaze wandered the ceiling.
This wasn't the facility...
She blinked, then looked down.
Her legs. She could feel her legs.
A slow breath escaped her lips, part relief, part disbelief.
"Ah! You're up!"
Scarlet turned her head slowly.
There, sitting beside the cot with a brilliant smile, was her sister, Rose. Her cheeks were pink from whatever she had eaten or maybe from excitement, but the joy in her eyes was real.
She held a small bottle of sake in one hand and three dainty cups in the other.
"We made it. Another New Year survived." Rose wiggled the bottle with an almost celebratory flair. "Thought we should toast to it. Just a little."
Scarlet sat up slowly, her hair spilling over her shoulders.
"Where... are we? I recall naught but the frenzy of Raptures. And then... naught again." Her hand drifted to her abdomen, frowning at how seamless her body felt. "I—was cut in half. I felt it happen."
Rose's smile faltered, just slightly.
"We're on a hover carrier." She added quickly, "But don't think too hard about it, alright? You're safe."
Scarlet's brow twitched, the words stirring something in her memory.
"A hover carrier...?"
Scarlet sat cross-legged on her bunk, palms face up, eyes half-closed in a meditative trance.
Silence reigned. Peace, at last.
CRASH!
The door slammed open with military fury. The lieutenant stormed in like a hurricane, a scowl on his face like someone had stolen his movies (that was probably Rose again).
"Scarlet!"
That wasn't Rose's name.
Her eyes snapped open.
"...Lieutenant?"
"What do you think about hover carriers?"
Scarlet blinked, unsure if this was a test or something else.
"I—uh..."
"Well?"
"I... I doth believe they are a waste of coin?"
He pointed dramatically at her like she had insulted his mother. "Wrong!"
Scarlet flinched.
"They are a waste of money, yes, but you said it like a little mouse gossiping about cheese! You gotta own it!"
"I-I thought... it was rhetorical—"
"Everything's rhetorical until it ain't, Cyborg!" he barked. "You ever seen the underside of one of those things? It requires more maintenance than a dozen gunships and is just as easy to shoot down! Flying around like a fat FUCKIN' parade balloon in a warzone—its nonsense!"
"W-what has brought this on, lieutenant—"
"UTTER BULLSHIT!"
He ranted on. Scarlet stared in stunned silence.
She had never seen her lieutenant so animated before.
Scarlet exhaled from her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly.
"Hmph."
"What?" Rose tilted her head, pouring into two of the cups.
"'Tis naught."
Rose handed her a cup. "Maybe a tiny drink'll help. A reset for the new year."
"I do not favour drink. 'Tis a bitter concoction. Disagreeable to my tongue."
Her words belied her actions. She took the cup anyway.
"Mm-hmm," Rose hummed, tapping her cup lightly against Scarlet's but pausing before the actual clink.
Her eyes glanced at the third, untouched cup.
With a quiet hum, as if remembering something, she uncorked the bottle again and filled the last glass.
She placed it gently on the tray beside them.
"I almost forgot you," she murmured, barely loud enough to hear.
Scarlet didn't ask.
Both of them let it sit there a moment before lifting their glasses again.
They sipped.
Scarlet immediately winced.
Rose burst into giggles.
"You still make that face," she said between laughs. "Like someone shoved a lemon in your mouth."
"I fail to see the humour in my suffering," Scarlet muttered, brushing a lock of silver-grey hair out of her face. "It upends my balance and fouls my tongue."
"A lightweight, through and through."
Scarlet exhaled slowly.
It wasn't strong, but her body hadn't had a drink in who knew how long.
She pushed off from the cot, slow and steady.
The world tilted—just slightly. Her knees wobbled.
She gritted her teeth, keeping her chin high.
"Hmph."
"You okay?" Rose asked with a grin, already knowing the answer.
"I remain upright. That is sufficient."
Scarlet reached over to the nearby hanger and slid her sword free from its mount. The sheath clinked softly as she held it close, fingers moving across the hilt and edge, checking for hairline cracks, warping—any insult that battle might have left behind. She nodded once, absently.
"Who was it," she murmured, "who arrived in time to spare us from annihilation?"
Rose glanced at the third, untouched cup beside them. Her gaze lingered for a moment.
"Oh, that? It was the Goddess Squad."
Scarlet blinked, turning her head sharply.
"They came right in when things got dicey. I got my leg lopped off. Didn't even notice until I tried to run." Rose laughed lightly, waving it off. "But the Goddesses came down, cleaned house, and saved us both. At least, that's what Red Hood told me—I don't really remember what happened. Cool, right? The Goddess Squad!"
Scarlet blinked once, then twice.
"...'Tis fine. I... suppose."
The sword clicked back into place at her side. She looked around the room again, this time with a more appraising eye.
"This vessel. This... hover carrier. Does it now belong to them?"
Rose nodded, plopping back into her chair with a soft fwump.
"Yeah, we've been stationed here for a few days now. They patched us up, gave us a place to rest." She tapped her finger to her lower lip, thinking aloud. "Still don't really get how this thing floats, though. What's it even for? Recon? Storage? Flexing on the ground units?"
Scarlet gave her a flat look.
"And what now?" Her voice dipped lower. "Melee Squad is gone. We are squadless. Stray blades. What purpose doth remain?"
Rose blinked. Then tilted her head like a puzzled cat.
"I thought you'd have figured it out by now."
Scarlet frowned. "Figured out—?"
"We're joining Goddess Squad, of course!"
Scarlet blinked.
"What?"
"I talked to the Commander," Rose said proudly. "And Liliweiss, too. She seemed really interested in us. Signed us both up, and now it's official! New year, new squad, right?"
Scarlet stared at her sister. She could feel the alcohol working harder now.
"...You did what?"
Rose grinned like a raccoon caught elbow-deep in a snack bin. "You were unconscious! So, really, you weren't using your veto power."
Scarlet closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.
Her sister could really be a headache.
"I... yield. So be it."
She then adjusted the sword on her hip, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Have you tested the mettle of our... new comrades?"
"Tested? No, not yet. Why?"
Scarlet's lips twitched upward, a rare, small smile forming.
"Because," she said, stretching out her arms just a bit, the way one would before a duel. "'Tis only proper, since I have awakened... that I should introduce myself."
Rose stared for a moment.
"Scarlet. Don't duel the Goddess Squad."
"They shall understand," she said, already stepping toward the door."'Tis tradition."
"Scarlet—!"
The man leaning against a crate on the far side of the hangar didn't so much stand as... lounge.
His military jacket wasn't on properly, draped lazily over his shoulders like a blanket. He wore his sunglasses inside, and his posture made it unclear whether he was ready for war or ready for a nap.
He spotted Scarlet and offered her a casual salute with two fingers.
"Yo. You must be Scarlet. Welcome aboard."
Scarlet blinked once. Slowly.
"You address me thus," she said, "from that most... relaxed of postures?"
"Gotta save energy where you can," he said, smirking. "War's a marathon, not a sprint."
Scarlet stared at him for a long moment. Then turned to Rose.
"This is our new commander?"
Rose gave a little shrug. "Mhm."
"I see," Scarlet said flatly.
She turned away.
"Still got ears, y'know!" the commander called out behind them.
A kid stood at a workbench, surrounded by piles of dismantled weapons. A rifle's barrel was in one hand, some dense component in the other. The white-haired girl glanced up at Scarlet's approach, slightly startled as she came into view.
Snow White. Apparently, the weapon expert.
She looks like she should be learning multiplication, Scarlet thought, not without some guilt.
"A-Are you the other new squadmate? U-um, I'm glad we have some new people!" Snow White asked, tilting her head. "I'm Snow White, by the way!"
Scarlet nodded slowly. "Verily. I'm Scarlet."
The girl nodded back, already turning back to her work, tightening something with a tiny wrench.
"Your blade's carbon-forged?" she asked, not looking up.
"Aye."
"Edge retention?"
"Better than most."
"Refraction index?"
Scarlet blinked. "...I slice things. They fall."
Snow White paused. Then gave a small nod.
"Acceptable."
Scarlet moved on, uncertain if she had passed a test or been dismissed.
She saw the red hair before she saw the Nikke.
Red Hood was tall. Broad. And absurdly loud, laughing at something Snow White had muttered under her breath. A massive sniper rifle was propped lazily on her shoulder, looking more like an anti-ship cannon than anything portable.
Scarlet stopped a few paces away, scanning the woman up and down.
At least she appears strong, she thought. But why does she look... sticky?
Red Hood noticed her gaze immediately. A sly smile tugged across her lips.
"Well, hello there," she drawled. "You checkin' me out?"
Scarlet blinked, instantly scowling.
"I am doing no such thing."
"You sure?" Red Hood leaned down slightly, grin widening. "'Cause you were lookin' like you were about to ask me to dinner—"
"I merely question whether my olfactory sensors are malfunctioning." Scarlet pinched the bridge of her nose. "I smell... spaghetti."
The entire hangar froze.
Red Hood froze.
Even Snow White slowly turned from where she was working, eyes wide.
"...W-what?!" Red Hood stammered.
"Something is... lodged within the chamber of your rifle," Scarlet continued, frowning. "Something edible."
"I—I can explain!"
"No. You cannot!" Snow White snapped, springing to her feet. "Give me that rifle. Now."
"Wait wait wait, I thought I cleaned it—!"
"You put food in your barrel again?!" someone shouted from behind a container. "How does this keep happening!?"
Scarlet folded her arms, glancing at her sister.
"W-Well..."
"Do not speak, dear sister. I beg of thee. The ones we are to be bunked with are insane!"
The scent of perfume and polish preceded the next woman.
Dorothy stood with perfect posture, a slight smile on her lips, pink hair cascading down like a waterfall of silk. Everything about her appearance was exact—her uniform, her gloves, her makeup.
If she was aware of the spaghetti incident, she didn't show it.
"Scarlet," she said in a smooth tone. "A pleasure. I've heard much about your exploits."
Scarlet nodded stiffly.
"I wish I could say the same."
Dorothy only chuckled softly. "You'll come to appreciate us in time."
Scarlet didn't reply. Something about the way she said us made her skin crawl. She couldn't place it.
She moved on.
Rapunzel looked like she belonged in a stained-glass window. Her blonde hair, her white uniform and her serene smile gave her the presence of someone always halfway between heaven and earth.
"You are one of the wounded ones we rescued," Rapunzel said kindly.
Scarlet nodded. "I am whole now."
"I prayed for your recovery," Rapunzel said.
Scarlet inclined her head in polite acknowledgement. "That... was not necessary."
Rapunzel just smiled again.
Scarlet wasn't sure what to do with that.
She turned and walked back toward her sister, who waved at the nun.
"She's not too bad."
"See? They're not that weird!"
No one tell them about Rapunzel's search history.
The First Nikke.
Liliweiss.
The woman who, according to rumours, didn't use weapons because they broke in her hands?
"She seems nice," Scarlet said aloud after having a small conversation with said Nikke.
"Mm," Rose replied, trailing close behind her. "She is."
Scarlet turned, squaring her shoulders.
"I would like to challenge her."
"She's such a—Wait. You what?"
"Don't panic. I simply wish to assess my position within the hierarchy," Scarlet replied, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear. "If I am to exist within a new squad, I must understand where I stand."
"Yeah, but—" Rose looked behind them. "Her? Shouldn't I—"
"There is no need, dear sister. If I am to beat Liliweiss, then I should have the capacity to beat you."
"..."
By now, the rest of the Goddess Squad had gathered on the edge of the hangar, forming a loose semi-circle. Some leaned; some stood still. They were watching like spectators already knowing the outcome.
Snow White blinked. "...I should probably prep a backup forge for that sword."
Dorothy didn't even try to mask the condescension in her voice. "The new recruit is ambitious. Or arrogant. The line between the two is so... thin."
Red Hood scoffed and sauntered over to Rose, arms crossed.
"Hey, real question. Between the two of you—who's the stronger sister?"
"Well, Scarlet does train more than I do, but—"
"Right. So she's gonna lose," Red Hood cut in flatly.
Rapunzel smiled sympathetically from the corner. "Should I go get the stretcher now or...?"
Scarlet stepped forward into the centre of the makeshift combat circle.
Liliweiss was already there, waiting. Still smiling.
"I appreciate your acceptance," Scarlet said. "Let's not hold back."
"Let us," Liliweiss replied gently. "But I don't think I need to, either."
Scarlet's brow twitched. "I would like you to prepare yourself, regardless."
From the edge, Rose raised her hand.
"Okay... three... two... one—"
Scarlet's boots slid forward, sword unsheathing with a hiss of metal.
"–Go!"
Scarlet was in motion instantly. Her stance was perfect—controlled, tight. Her blade lined for a slash right at Liliweiss's midsection—
But then the world moved wrong.
There was a blur. A gust of wind.
And Liliweiss wasn't in front of her anymore.
She was already behind her.
Scarlet's eyes widened, but she couldn't even finish turning before—
WHUMP.
A strange, sharp pressure lifted her by the jaw.
There was a loud burst of displaced air.
Then—
CRACK.
Scarlet was no longer on the floor.
She was firmly embedded in the metal ceiling.
There was silence.
Only the faint whir of carrier engines and maybe a groan of twisted metal.
Rose winced.
"Scarlet?" she called out. "Are you... okay?"
There was a long pause.
Then a muffled groan.
Rapunzel shaded her eyes, looking up.
"She's definitely conscious. That's a good sign."
Snow White exhaled and walked over to inspect the sword left behind.
"At least the blade didn't break."
Red Hood gave an exaggerated shrug. "Told ya."
Dorothy gave the ceiling a thoughtful glance. "Remarkably durable hull. Who knew?"
Liliweiss looked up at her ceiling-stuck opponent with concern, brushing dust from her gloves.
"Oh. Um. Sorry."
"I-I'm fine," came the pained, muffled response. "...I am, however, stuck."
"Should I get a ladder?" Rapunzel asked.
"I'll get the pulley," Snow White sighed, already walking toward the storage bay.
Red Hood turned to Rose.
"Hey. You sure you're not the stronger sister?"
A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek. Had Red Hood let her finish her initial sentence, she would've said they were probably even by now, but...
Rose just smiled sheepishly as Snow White brought in the pully and Rapunzel the ladder.
Afterward, her little sister would attempt to challenge everyone else to a duel, only to be rebuffed or beaten in some other form, such as weapon assembly or meditation/prayer.
Year: 2X35, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night, Early Spring
The Commander leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, legs propped on the edge of the desk, eyes tracing the ceiling like he was trying to see through it.
He wasn't normally one to monologue to himself, but after weeks of watching the new squad dynamics unfold, he could've written a decent thesis on the psychology of tight-knit units.
Scarlet and Rose. The newcomers.
Rose had adapted fast.
She'd charmed Red Hood within two sparring matches and got along with Rapunzel so well that he wondered if the nun had a twin.
Snow White had attached to her instantly, curious about Rose's sword—Fleetly Fading, a name that had a weird sort of poetry to it. They spent long hours in the training halls, Snow White learning footwork, disarm timing, and edge discipline.
Scarlet though...
Scarlet tolerated everyone.
That was the word.
She got along best with Snow White, albeit in a rigid, almost mentor-student way. She didn't talk confidence, but everything she did screamed that expectation. That girl was intense. And it led to frequent clashes with Dorothy.
The commander could almost hear it now—Dorothy's calm, clipped tone saying something vaguely superior, followed by Scarlet's deadpan "If you're done talking, I have actual work to do."
Or something like that.
And then there was the other rivalry—Scarlet and Red Hood.
It wasn't even open hostility.
It was almost like... trying to figure out who would mentor Snow White, that's all.
It was all fun and games, though, he told himself again.
Until the desk lit up.
A chime blinked red across his interface.
Encrypted line.
TOP PRIORITY.
He sat up, feet dropping to the floor with a heavy thunk. The lights dimmed, and the holo-projector buzzed to life.
A tired-looking man appeared above the desk in ghostly light. Greying at the temples and dressed in a high-collared military uniform.
The commander straightened and saluted immediately.
"Colonel Vos."
"At ease," Vos said, voice gravelled, eyes half-lidded. "I apologize for the late call. And for the secrecy. But everything in this conversation is classified. You're not to speak a word of it to your squad. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Vos leaned forward slightly.
"Let me start simple. Are you familiar with a Lieutenant ██████?"
"I... no, sir. Only active lieutenant in my knowledge is Liliweiss."
There was a beat.
Vos exhaled, disappointed. "Thought you might've heard. No matter."
"Sir?"
Vos waved him off.
"Never mind that. Let me ask about your squad. You recently picked up two new members, correct?"
"Yes, sir. Sisters. Rose and Scarlet. Both use blades. Skilled enough to be worth the paperwork."
"Bringing your total to seven."
"That's correct."
"Do you know what unit they served in prior?"
"No, sir. They don't talk about it much. I gathered it was some sword-based combat group. Something specialized. High mobility, melee-centric."
Vos nodded slowly. "That unit was Melee Squad. Highly experimental. Pushed beyond normal Nikke loadouts under the command of Lieutenant ██████ before rotating through a handful of temporary COs before that Rapture attack."
There was something off in the Colonel's tone now.
"Commander," Vos continued, eyes sharpening. "Can you confirm that both Rose and Scarlet survived the Rapture facility attack?"
The air shifted. The hairs on the back of the commander's neck stood up.
"Yes, sir. Scarlet was the most damaged, though. Almost completely out. Rose was conscious when evac arrived."
Vos stared for a long moment.
Then, flatly:
"Is it possible to dispose of Scarlet at this moment?"
The silence was immediate.
The commander's palm slammed the desk.
"What?! Sir, I—I don't understand. Why!?"
Vos didn't blink. "Because Melee Squad was experimental. And because we have limited resources. The Raptures are taking more sectors by the week. We can't waste potential. If one sister falls, the other can be repurposed into something far greater."
"You're asking me to separate those two—and for what!?"
"All Nikkes have volunteered. They knew the risk," Vos remarked back. "Scarlet is a liability. Her hard work is admirable but nothing like her sister's talent. Rose, on the other hand, had a unique profile. Adaptability, recovery time, and responsiveness. The lieutenant believed she could outperform Dorothy with the right modifications."
"...You're talking about a Grimms Model conversion," the commander said.
Vos gave a faint nod. "Confirmed. The procedure is mapped. We estimate at least a 30% increase in reflex acceleration. And that's conservative."
The commander stood there, fists clenched at his sides.
"And you want me to separate those sisters for that?"
Vos met his gaze. "It's a weapon that can win us the war."
The tension hung.
Eventually, the commander shook his head.
"No. I won't sign that order. And you know I wouldn't."
Vos exhaled. "Then I suppose this channel's purpose is complete."
"Wait," the commander said. He leaned over the desk. "What happened to the Lieutenant? May I talk to him?"
Vos didn't speak.
Vos didn't blink.
He simply stared.
The silence stretched for a beat too long.
Then, the line crackled faintly.
"No."
Just that. One word, no elaboration.
The kind of 'no' that meant don't ask again.
The commander's jaw tensed. He sat back slightly, but his stare didn't leave the image.
"Then help me understand," he said, his voice slower now. "What was the purpose of the Melee Squad? Why go through all of this just to try and throw Scarlet away and... 'upgrade' Rose?"
Vos let out a breath. Not quite a sigh. More like a release of tension.
"Very well."
He reached down, tapping something out of view, and the hologram flickered—pulling up a slow-moving image: grainy archive footage.
Rows of Nikke units, lined up in a simulation room.
Ten of them.
Each holding a blade. Young. Eager. Some smiling. Some nervous.
"The Melee Squad was a proof-of-concept initiative," Vos began. "One of the most resource-heavy Nikke combat models ever greenlit. Overseen personally by Lieutenant ██████, who understood the long-term game we were playing."
The commander remained silent. He didn't need to speak—the Colonel wasn't finished.
"Each of the squad's commanders was briefed. They knew the full truth. Melee Squad wasn't meant to survive. It was meant to shed layers—pressure testing, supply deprivation, increasing mission difficulty. Until only the most viable remained."
A pause.
"That's all it was ever meant to be."
The commander's fingers curled slowly around the edge of his desk.
"We started with ten," Vos continued. "It started with training drills, then real missions, environmental extremes. Slowly, the cracks formed. Some couldn't keep pace with repairs. Some couldn't handle mental degradation, suffering Mind Switches. Some died."
On the flickering projection, the faces started to blur and vanish, one by one, until only two remained.
Rose.
Scarlet.
Vos' tone didn't change, but there was something faintly admiring in it.
"Rose was always expected to be the one left standing. Her simulations outperformed every other candidate, even when damaged. She could function at 100% with a fraction of the maintenance her sister needed. No tantrums. No lag. That's what we were looking for."
The commander's grip tightened further.
"And Scarlet?"
Vos finally turned back toward him.
"She was never meant to win. But she's impressive. She gave us valuable data. Leadership qualities, as brought out by their lieutenant. Tough. Aggressive instincts. Perhaps future melee-type Nikkes will be based on her."
He tilted his head slightly, almost as if offering reassurance.
"But Rose... is the grand prize. A mass-produced Nikke with the power of a Grimms Model. Now imagine if she were just one to begin with—the battle could be taken to the Queen at this instant."
A silence fell again.
He saw the pictures and reports of what Rose was capable of—especially when they first met the two sisters. With simple air pressure from her blade alone, Rose was able to carve massive divots in the ground and hold off hundreds, if not thousands, of Raptures while defending her sister at the same time.
If that was just her as a Mass Produced Nikke, imagine her as a Grimms Model.
But at the cost of scrapping her sister?
No. I can't think of them this way. I mustn't. He thought.
The commander slowly stood up. Hands flat on the desk now.
"You took human women—volunteers who gave up their lives, their humanity—and you turned them into some kind of selection experiment?"
Vos' eyes narrowed.
"You care for your squad. I know that. But this is war, Andersen. We don't have the luxury of sentiment. The enemy doesn't care about fairness. They don't care if our weapons had dreams once."
There was a long pause.
"If you won't give us Scarlet or authorize Rose's conversion, then so be it. I knew you'd say no. But I had to try. Orders from the top."
Andersen's lips twitched. A bitter smile.
"You knew I'd say no, huh?"
Vos didn't respond. Instead, he simply said:
"One extra Grimms Model could shift an entire frontline, win the war, and secure the future for this planet. What's that worth compared to your bruised conscience, Mercenary?"
The line cut.
A single line scrolled across his screen as the transmission terminated:
End of file.
Classification Level: OMEGA. All logs erased.
Andersen slumped back into his chair slowly, dragging one hand down his face.
Then he let it drop to the armrest, sighing. His eyes traced the ceiling again.
He muttered under his breath, almost like a joke no one else was meant to hear:
"...Never saw him look like just another cog before."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He recruited me, too. Over a dozen other candidates. All more qualified. All higher-ranked. And he picked a goddamn mercenary to lead the Goddess Squad.
Another long silence.
"...Guess I know why now."
He closed his eyes.
Somewhere just beyond the door, a barely audible sob could be heard. Their owner pressed a hand against their mouth, struggling to stop the noise from escaping.
There was then a footstep retreating.
Then silence again.
Notes:
Just to clarify, since some might be confused with the timeline, this entire chapter takes place during the time after the events of New Year, New Sword and during the lead up to Red Ash.
One of the major canon divergences is that Rose is alive! Yay! I wonder what her role will be coming forward~!
Hint: Pain!
Chapter 19: Vol 3.3: What Do You Think?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Early Morning
Rrra-dun-dun-dun... drrrrn-dun-dun-dun...
Some old electric guitar riff roared from tinny speakers, clearly suffering from age and abuse. Red Hood was sprawled across a couch, one leg lazily flung over the armrest, fingers drumming in time with the music on her thigh.
Rose paused mid-step as she passed the open door, drawn in by the nostalgic sound.
"...He used to play stuff like that," she said, almost to herself.
Red Hood's ears perked up.
"Huh? Say again?" She asked. "You talkin' about your old lieutenant?"
"That kind of music. Rough, old-school. He liked stuff like that. He had a huge collection of... I think they were called DVDs?"
That got Red Hood's attention.
"You're joking," she said, grinning widely. "The flat discs? Ancient tech? I've only seen one, like, once! Thought it was a mirror before someone told me what it was! I-I mean I have a cassette player but that's it! He sounds like my kind of person!"
"He watched old movies. Sometimes black and white stuff, others from Hollywood. Would put them on for the whole squad sometimes, but we had to be quiet," she giggled lightly. "We weren't, and it annoyed him sooooo much!"
Red Hood snorted, half-laughing.
"You're talking like he's dead. He's not dead, is he?"
That wiped the smile right off Rose's face.
"...I don't know."
The silence landed like a brick on the conversation.
Red Hood winced.
"Shit—I didn't mean it like that. Sorry." She rubbed the back of her head and changed the subject fast. "Still, sounds like a cool dude. Would've loved to meet him. Bet we'd be best buds, swap old records, talk shop, y'know?"
Rose offered a small nod.
"He wasn't like our current commander."
"No?"
Rose's gaze wandered toward the floor as she recalled something, her lips curling into the gentlest of smiles.
"He was serious. Really serious. But he'd have the cutest reactions to unexpected things. Like one time—"
She happily recalled a few memorable 'incidents' as he called them, for a while with a whistful expression on her face. Some of them were able to incite a general laughter from the red-haired Nikke, others made her baffled on how he was able to survive directly on the frontlines.
Soon enough, however.
Footsteps padded lightly against the corridor floor.
Snow White walked in, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"What are you two talking about?"
Red Hood turned with her usual swagger. "Old stories. Rose's old lieutenant. Apparently, he and I would've gotten along."
Snow White blinked. "Why?"
Red Hood slapped Rose on the shoulder.
"Because of my stellar taste in music, that's why. Right, Rose?"
"He might've appreciated that. Just that."
Red Hood narrowed her eyes. "Might've?"
"You're... a bit more expressive than he'd prefer."
"Expressive? Girl, I'm charm incarnate!" Red Hood held her arms out like she was presenting herself to a live audience. "I'm sexy, got good taste, and did I mention sexy?"
Snow White's expression didn't change, but her tone was drier than the Martian dunes.
"If your old lieutenant was like how Scarlet described him, I think he'd hit you over the head with a rolled-up newspaper the moment he saw your... 'collection.'"
Red Hood froze.
"That traitor! Scarlet's corrupting you!"
Snow White shrugged. "It's not hard to imagine..."
Rose was already chuckling.
"Scarlet's been influencing people since day one."
"A-a-and so what?!" Red Hood blurted, flustered now. "With my charm, I could've convinced him to look the other way! I could clean up, even! Come on! He's like my soulmate I've never met before! Rose! Come on!"
She turned to Rose for support.
But Rose was already backing toward the hallway, waving casually.
"I think I hear someone calling me! So sorry, Red Hood! See ya!"
"No you don't hear anyone! Rose! Don't leave me!"
Too late.
She slipped out, vanishing behind the door like a ghost.
Red Hood sighed and dramatically flopped onto a couch, arms sprawled across the cushions.
"There goes my last chance at a kindred spirit..."
"Kindred spirit? You'd give the man a heart attack, you spaghetti monster."
Red Hood groaned loudly.
"You're all haters!"
Rose rounded the corner, laughter still tugging at her lips.
Eventually, she found herself near the common room.
The soft hum of the TV caught her attention before she spotted the back of her sister's head, nestled into the corner couch.
Scarlet's posture was unusually relaxed.
No sword on her lap.
No training video looping.
No intense stare.
Just... watching TV.
Rose blinked in disbelief.
"Well, this is rare," she said, grinning as she walked over. "What are you watching?"
Scarlet glanced back, mildly acknowledging her presence like a noble might acknowledge a servant delivering wine.
"Ah, dearest Rose," she said, "I have, for the past several minutes, been perusing the chronicles of current events—thus, the news, as they call it."
Rose stared at her for a beat, then broke into a wide grin.
"You're watching the news?" she teased, practically launching herself onto her sister, rubbing their cheeks together. "Not sword drills or anything like that? Are you feeling alright? Have you been corrupted?"
Scarlet gave her a deadpan glare. "I am in perfect health. Cease this assault."
Rose only tightened her arms around her sister's shoulders, burying her face against Scarlet's cheek.
"I'm so proud of you! Look at you, taking a break! Relaxing! Living!"
Scarlet tried to pry her off with one arm.
"Thou art suffocating me!"
"You love it~!"
"I tolerate it under duress!"
Rose finally let up, taking a seat beside her and chuckling softly.
"So, what's got you so interested in the news?"
"There is mention of a fresh squad," Scarlet replied, adjusting her posture. "I overheard Dorothy murmuring of them to the commander—thus, I took it upon myself to observe their introduction."
Rose tilted her head. "New squad?"
Scarlet nodded once.
"A second generation of the Grimms models... And..." She trailed off, gesturing toward the screen with an uncharacteristically vague wave. "Witness for thyself."
Onscreen, a crowd of civilians is gathered around a small figure, surrounded by smoke and wreckage. An entire section of a refugee outpost appeared devastated—but the civilians, every one of them, were unharmed.
"You saved us! Thank you!"
"What squad are you with?"
"How did you take down all those Raptures on your own?"
In the centre of it all stood a Nikke. Long, black-blue hair flowing down her back. She clutched a strange, purple bubble-like construct in both hands as if to try and comfort herself from all the attention.
The girl blinked rapidly, mouth parted as if searching for the right sound.
"Ah... ahh..."
"???"
"Aaooh! Eeh!"
Her lips formed no words. Just a few soft vocalisations some, small, others high-pitched.
"Oh, she's shy!" someone in the crowd said kindly.
"She's probably overwhelmed!"
Rose smiled at the screen.
"She's cute."
Scarlet gave her a sideways glance. "She utters but 'ah's and 'eh's. And for this, you dub her cute?"
"Yes," Rose replied without hesitation. "And?"
Scarlet looked back at the screen and sighed, long-suffering.
"Gods preserve me."
The screen overlay displayed her name:
Little Mermaid: Grimms Model Mk II
"She doesn't speak," Scarlet explained. "But she wields that bubble like a weapon. Her aura reminds me of a shy tiger, perhaps."
"Is she always like that?"
"Apparently. Yet she fought off an entire swarm by herself."
The video cut to a corner of the outpost. Siren sat on a supply crate, hunched slightly forward. A notebook rested on her lap. With a soft sigh through her nose, she uncapped a pen and carefully began to write.
The camera zoomed in on the page just as she turned it to face a group of children nearby:
I can't really talk. But I'm glad everyone is safe.
A murmur of 'aww's filled the background. One of the kids handed her a juice box. Siren stared at it for a second, then gave a tiny, sheepish nod and accepted it.
Rose rested her chin on her knuckles, her smile turning tender.
"I think I like her."
Scarlet watched the screen in silence for a beat. Then:
"...She appears to be tolerable."
Rose snickered.
"That's the nicest thing you've said about anyone this week."
Scarlet gave a light "hmph" and resumed her stately posture on the couch, arms crossed like a general at a strategy meeting.
The automatic doors slid open with a quiet hiss. Dorothy entered the room with her usual grace, long legs crossing the threshold as her heels clicked against the floor. Her long, pink hair was flowing freely down her shoulders and back, but the immaculate sheen suggested it still took time and effort.
Rose gave her a small, casual wave.
"Morning, Dorothy."
Dorothy's eyes flicked toward her with a polite smile forming.
"Good morning, Rose. What are you—" She paused the moment her gaze settled on Scarlet. Her tone shifted ever so slightly as her words slowed. "—doing? Ah. Family bonding, perhaps?"
Scarlet rolled her eyes.
"Hardly. This is an act of intelligence gathering. Something I, apparently alone, take seriously while others... dedicate themselves to the ancient art of plastering one's face in makeup. You must be quite the master."
Rose froze mid-blink.
Oh boy.
Dorothy blinked slowly.
A sharp smile then tugged at her lips.
"My, how attentive of you. I didn't know you kept track of my beauty regimen. That's rather... intimate of you."
She stepped further in, gliding like a ghost across the room.
"I always assumed you had little appreciation for makeup, Scarlet. After all, it's hard to powder one's cheeks when you're busy flinging your body around like an ape mid-swing."
"O-oh no..." Rose whispered under her breath, subtly trying to melt into the couch cushions.
She cleared her throat loudly. "Okay! You two, can we not—"
Dorothy waved her off gently, voice still sweet. "Don't worry, Rose. You're different. I've always admired your swordplay—it's far more... refined."
"Oh come on," Rose muttered, turning red. "I swing a sword the same way as—"
Scarlet blinked.
"Oh-hoh," she began, the tone deceptively light. "So, the verdict is in. One sister is favoured. But fret not—if Snooty, as Red Hood so fondly calls you, cannot appreciate the artistry of my form, perhaps a live demonstration shall be more... enlightening."
A pause.
Dorothy's smile didn't fade—but something in it sharpened.
"Oh my," she said, voice laced with venom-sweet amusement. "Getting uppity so early in the morning? Perhaps Lilith's uppercut did more than leave a few bruises. Brain damage, maybe? Perhaps we should get that checked."
Scarlet stood in one fluid motion.
Rose, startled, looked back as her sister reached behind her—and pulled out her blade.
"Where—! That wasn't there five seconds ago!" she yelped.
Scarlet's hand rested calmly on the hilt, like it had been waiting for this moment the whole morning.
"It perplexes me, truly. Out of all the squadmates I have fought, sparred with, or been humbled by... not once have I crossed blades with you, Dorothy. Curious, is it not?"
Dorothy's smile dropped half an inch. Her eye twitched.
"Almost as if you were avoiding me since our arm wrestling match," Scarlet continued smoothly. "Strange, coming from someone so apparently sure of herself. But perhaps it's fear. Or prudence masked as pride."
A tense silence.
Rose leapt to her feet, arms out.
"Hold on!"
Rose looked between them like someone watching two trains on a collision course.
"Please don't do this—"
Too late.
Scarlet lunged forward with enough force to knock a training dummy flat.
Dorothy didn't move, not right away—but the instant Rose blinked, she'd pulled something from her sleeve.
A snap, a flash—
A table overturned.
The coffee mug on the counter shattered.
The TV fuzzed into static as a cushion was sent flying across the room like a missile.
A thud.
Then a second.
Then groaning.
Later...
The furniture was crooked and tilted.
The TV screen was cracked.
Pillows were gutted.
The couch had somehow been bisected at the centre.
Rose sat in the far corner, cradling a mug of tea she definitely didn't make herself.
She smiled nervously, watching the two culprits in the middle of the floor.
Scarlet and Dorothy sat side by side, both with massive bumps on their heads, arms crossed, and cheeks puffed out like sulking children.
Liliweiss stood in front of them like an angry teacher, arms akimbo, glaring down at the two.
"I left the room for barely ten minutes," Liliweiss said in disbelief. "And you turned it into a war zone."
Dorothy muttered something under her breath.
"What was that?"
"I said," Dorothy repeated icily, "the table attacked first."
"Then next time, stab the table, not each other!"
Scarlet grumbled something about honour and interrupting duels.
Liliweiss glared harder. "Do it again, and I'll make you two spar with Snow White on overdrive settings."
That shut them up.
Rose looked down at her tea, steam curling quietly into the air.
"...They're totally doing this again tomorrow," she mumbled to herself with a sigh.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: The Present
The sun sat low, casting long shadows over the broken landscape below it.
And beneath the elevator's base platform, floating a few dozen metres above cracked soil, was her.
Anachiro.
She hovered in perfect stillness.
Her long hair hung still in the windless air, her limbs relaxed at her sides like a doll waiting to be played with.
Her red eyes reflected the sun, catching its light at odd intervals like mirrors.
The Raptures surrounded her, but none approached.
None even turned toward her. She existed outside their interest, outside their hunger. As if they couldn't see her.
Or rather if she was a part of them.
She didn't blink.
She didn't speak.
She didn't move.
For hours, she hadn't.
Her face was unreadable—passive, serene in the same way a mannequin's might be—
Huh?
Her hand twitched.
Just slightly. Enough to disrupt the stasis.
Her brows creased slightly.
The smallest crease.
Her gloved fingers rose, brushing slowly across her cheek.
She rubbed at her face.
She blinked once.
Her hand fell again.
She looked at it. No words. Just... staring.
The motion wasn't planned. It wasn't ordered. It wasn't logical.
Ever since she'd wrapped her hands around that lieutenant's throat—since she'd heard the crack and felt the last struggle leave his limbs—Cinderella had gone quiet.
No more begging.
No more screaming.
No more resistance.
Just silence.
Which was good.
It meant Anachiro was whole. It meant she was the one in control, the only voice left, the one fit to protect this place, the one chosen to guard the space elevator, the path between earth and heaven.
And yet.
Her body had moved without command.
She had rubbed her cheek.
She didn't know why.
It hadn't been Cinderella. She was gone. Folded away somewhere in the dark like a child's toy in a locked drawer.
So why had her fingers moved like that?
Why had she blinked?
Why did her throat suddenly feel... tight?
She didn't know.
She didn't question it.
Anachiro raised her eyes again, back to the endless length of the Space Elevator, climbing into the clouds like a god's own spine.
She must protect it.
She must protect the Space Elevator.
She said nothing.
She moved no more.
And the sun dipped lower behind her unmoving silhouette.
[Thowaway Scene]:
Case 17: Red Hood
What if the lieutenant was the CO of Goddess?
Snow White hummed softly as she walked down the corridor, the scent of cinnamon lingering and tickling her nose faintly.
She cradled a warm, gooey cinnamon bun in both hands—fresh from the cafeteria.
Her eyes sparkled.
"I know I'm not supposed to have this much sugar, but... It's just one. Just one," she whispered to herself before taking a blissful bite.
She chewed in perfect happiness.
Then she spotted him.
Her commander—the lieutenant—nonchalantly striding down the hallway...
With Red Hood slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
What?
"Good morning, Snow White," he said, not breaking stride.
Snow White blinked at the sight, mouth still full of bun. She managed a muffled, "G'morning, Commander..." before swallowing.
He nodded again and pointed lightly at the bun. "That your second one today?"
"N-no, just the one," she replied quickly.
"Good girl~! Remember to savour it."
Snow White beamed and took another bite.
One... two... three more steps—
Pause.
She blinked. Chewed. Swallowed hard.
Hold on.
She whipped around.
"WAIT—WHAT DID YOU DO TO RED HOOD?!"
The lieutenant, already halfway down the corridor, glanced over his shoulder and called back:
"SHE TRIED TO STREAM PORN ON MY PROJECTOR. IN THE BRIEFING ROOM."
"WHAT?!"
"I KNOCKED HER OUT. NOW I'M TEACHING HER A LESSON."
Snow White gasped. "W-What kind of lesson?!"
"THROWING HER OFF THE HOVER-CARRIER."
"You cannot do that!"
Liliweiss came sprinting into view from down the corridor, boots clacking hard against the floor. Her eyes were wide with panic.
"Commander, you cannot throw personnel from moving vehicles again!" she yelled.
Red Hood stirred on his shoulder like a reanimated cartoon character, eyes blinking blearily.
"Snow... Snow... SNOW!" she wailed, flailing weakly. "He's gonna yeet me off the ship! Like a salad!! SAVE ME!"
"Stop squirming or I'll add a spin to it," the commander barked, adjusting her like a duffel bag.
"My God, you're so strong!" she yelled, simultaneously fighting for her life and admiring her carrier's core strength. "Like, you're not even breathing heavy! Do you realise how heavy Nikkes are!? I wonder how you're like in bed—"
PLAP.
A sharp smack echoed through the hallway as he slapped her inner thigh.
"Did—did you just SPANK me!?" she shrieked. "T-That's—hold on, that's not a punishment!"
"You're getting spun, you porn addict!"
"You can't kill me! I'm a national treasure, and you're my music buddy!" she cried. "Is this how Caesar felt? Betrayed by someone he trusted?!"
"How do you even know who Caesar was?!" Liliweiss gaped.
Red Hood grinned sideways.
"I skimmed a history book once. The guy got stabbed like a thousand times for wanting to be king. Mood, honestly."
Snow White stood frozen, the last of her cinnamon bun forgotten in her hand, trailing icing onto the floor.
"I—I don't know what's happening anymore..."
Suddenly, the commander broke into a sprint, charging toward the hangar bay like a man on a mission.
"Commander, STOP!" Liliweiss yelled.
"THIS IS A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION!" Red Hood screamed. "TELL MY MAGAZINES I LOVE THEM!"
She twisted around in the lieutenant's grip, somehow managing to make eye contact with the others down the hall again.
"Tell Snow she's adorable! Tell Rapunzel I left Burning Passion Vol. 4 under her bed! Tell Dorothy her umbrella makes her look so cool!! And tell Scarlet... tell her... she's almost as hot as me!"
"You're both lunatics!" Liliweiss shouted, barely keeping pace.
"I'm a visionary!"
They disappeared around the corner, Red Hood's dramatic voice echoing behind them:
"TOO SEXY TO DIEEEE—!!"
At that exact moment, Dorothy and Scarlet were walking together down a perpendicular hallway.
Quietly.
Peacefully.
Civilly, even.
Dorothy held a clipboard, reading something aloud. "...If we adjust the forward assault ratio by just 2%, the Raptures would fall within a sixty-seven second window—"
WHOOOSH—
A blur zipped past them.
First—the lieutenant, hauling a shrieking, flailing Red Hood.
Then Snow White, still holding the now deformed cinnamon bun, eyes wide in horror.
Then Liliweiss, arms pumping, eyes ablaze.
All gone in an instant.
Scarlet slowly turned her head back to the hallway they came from.
"...Our squad is filled with lunatics."
Dorothy sighed.
"For once," she murmured, "I am inclined to agree."
Rapunzel peeked around the corner just in time to see the tail end of the chaos vanish into the hangar.
"Are we racing?" she asked softly.
[End of Throwaway Scene]:
Case 17: Red Hood
"What Do You Mean Red Hood is Playing Nickelback!? I'M GOING TO KILL HER!"
Notes:
What the hell's up with Anachiro? I wonder~
Oh, and don't expect those alternate scenes too often. I'm gonna be honest: I only wrote that scene because I didn't reach the 3k word count I usually set for myself. It was fun to write, though.
Anyway, the popularity poll is going on again, so you should go and vote for... Uhh... I dunno, I haven't decided yet.
Chapter 20: Vol 3.4: Shattered Glass Slippers
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday, Early Spring
The sun was high.
Somewhere near the central courtyard, a scene was unfolding.
The lieutenant stood with a jar of colourful candy held high in one hand, the other occupied with fending off a very determined Gretel, who was hopping in place like a sugar-deprived bunny, arms stretched upward.
"Gretel, I said not to touch it!"
"Hansel says Gretel wants the blueberry one," Hansel intoned in her signature monotone, standing just behind her sister like a ventriloquist with a twitchy puppet. "And Hansel would like the grape one. It's only fair."
The lieutenant's eye twitched. He was holding the jar over his head like a lifeline.
"I already gave you candy today. That was supposed to last all day! You two sucked it down like a vacuum cleaner on steroids!"
From a few metres away, Cinderella watched with a quiet smile. She was seated at a stone bench in the courtyard, gloved hands folded neatly on her lap. Her platinum hair caught the sun just enough to gleam with that fairy-tale-like shine.
She looked the part of a noblewoman watching theatre.
Hansel tilted her head. "They're very small candies. Hansel remembers Gretel sharing one with a squirrel. So really, she only had one and a half."
"Did she force-feed the squirrel candy? Can I check on this supposed squirrel? Is it even alive?"
Gretel huffed and crossed her arms. She then scrunched her face up in a glare of pure betrayal.
"Don't look at me like that!" he snapped.
Then—
WHACK.
The kick landed with a metallic clank. Gretel had aimed squarely for his shin. The wrong one—the cybernetic one. But the offense was taken all the same.
"Don't kick me, you gremlin!" he barked. "Hansel, control your sister!"
"She will only stop if she gets a blueberry candy. And Hansel would like the grape one."
A pause.
Then, a creepy, synchronized shaking of the head.
"No deal otherwise."
"I hate that you speak in the third person," he muttered under his breath. "You're like those kids from the Shining. Can you both say 'Redrum' so I can test this theory?"
"Commander," Hansel said, tone unnervingly polite, "Gretel will escalate."
Gretel's boot scraped the floor.
His eye twitched again. He sighed in defeat and finally turned slightly toward Cinderella.
"Are you going to help at all or just enjoy the show?"
Cinderella waved with the gentlest curl of her fingers, still smiling.
"You're doing splendidly."
The officer balked.
Thanks for the help, Cinderella—Not!
"Okay, fine! One. Each. That's it," he muttered, reaching for the jar.
Hansel's eyes gleamed. "Two. Two each, and we shall be satisfied."
"Absolutely not."
"One will make us scream. Two will make us dream."
"No, it's more like you make me want to scream..."
Just then—
Abe marched around the corner. "What's all this?! Lieutenant! Are you giving them candy again? Are you insane? You know how hyper they get!"
The lieutenant pointed to his shin, then to Gretel, who was still trying to reach for the jar.
"The blue one kicked me! This is damage control!"
Abe folded her arms. "Both of them are blue, you dolt! And your legs are made of Goddessium. Quit whining."
"One of them is!" he cried in despair.
Cinderella let out a soft giggle, covering her lips with her gloved hand.
Black.
Empty.
The laughter was gone.
Now, only the echo of it remained in Cinderella's ears.
She lay on her side, surrounded by nothingness. The floor—if it could be called that—was cool, infinite, and mirrored the black above.
Her gloves pressed against it as she weakly giggled.
A brittle, hollow giggle.
Her eyes shimmered, not with joy.
But tears.
"Ah..."
A breath escaped. It trembled.
"I suppose... that was nice, wasn't it...?"
Her voice cracked as her words died off.
"...."
She closed her eyes. The memory of the sunlight, the laughter, the noise—it flickered like a dying candle.
But her hands weren't hers anymore.
Her body wasn't hers anymore.
And the man whom she had cared for and called her commander... was gone.
Because she killed him.
Because something took her and used her hands to kill him.
"I'm sorry..."
Her sobs came suddenly, the way only a person who's long past the edge of grief could cry.
Not loud.
Not wild.
Just broken.
"I'm so sorry... Please forgive me..."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday, Late Spring
The table groaned beneath the weight.
Abe grunted, bracing her legs as she carefully adjusted the lieutenant's limp body into place.
It wasn't elegant—hell, it was almost clumsy—but she caught his shoulder before it could roll and knock into the steel frame. She cursed under her breath, sweat forming just above her brow as she eased him flat.
"Goddammit... easy... c'mon..." she muttered, pushing her glasses up with the back of her wrist.
Her eyes darted over him, scanning the uniform, the dark blotches blooming like rotted bruises beneath the surface of his skin. His neck was twisted. His spine—ruined. His torso had collapsed inward from the sheer force of impact.
And yet, somehow, that wasn't the most impossible part of this situation.
"Oh, you're dead... so dead," Abe whispered, standing straight and pulling her gloves off with a snap. "And that's the least of my problems?"
She shook her head, pacing briefly, muttering to herself like she was trying to convince her brain to catch up with her instincts.
"What the hell am I doing? What am I actually doing?"
The room flickered.
To her left, four large capsules sat in upright pods, filled with pale-blue fluid.
The emergency repair capsules were already running.
Red Shoes. Siren. Hansel. Gretel.
Alive—technically.
Their old bodies were a wreck.
The corrupted Cinderella made sure of that, tearing through the facility, them included, like a comet.
She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
"I got their spare bodies ready, got their cores too. I might... might be able to get ninety-six percent function if I grind for the next two months straight."
She spat the thought like it offended her. Ninety-six percent? Unacceptable.
But there was only so much she could do.
The Old Tales were damn near irreplaceable. Their construction was like art.
One-of-a-kind.
Her gaze flicked back to the table.
To him.
"You..." she began bitterly, "were supposed to be the guy who kept them in line."
His face was still. Quiet. That usual permanent frown, the narrowed stare, the way he'd always scolded Hansel and Gretel like some overworked, sarcastic dad—Gone.
She folded her arms, hunched slightly forward, and stared him down.
"And what now? Huh? I drag your body through hell and back—risking my own ass—for what?" Her voice cracked. "You're dead. Your spine's wrecked. Every second you're here, you're decaying more."
She clenched her fists.
"What am I even thinking? Turn you into a Nikke? What a joke. You hated us. As much as you tried to hide it. You hated just looking at us... Why?"
A harsh laugh pushed out of her throat.
"Yeah, that's smart. Really fuckin' smart. Let's just take this dead guy and throw his meat into the same nightmare he despised."
She stared at her own hand, her fingers twitching.
"...Not like I could even make it work. Male bodies don't bond with the NIMPH. It's not compatible. He'd probably disintegrate the moment I powered him on. Or worse—he'd wake up and scream until he went brain-dead."
Her mouth tightened.
"Stupid. Fuckin' stupid..."
She walked back to the table, eyes glassy now. Not from concentration. From the sting that was working its way out, no matter how badly she wanted to bottle it.
"Why'd I bring you, huh? Why'd I risk getting killed for you?"
She reached up and slapped herself across the cheek—not hard, but enough to shock herself out of it.
"You're not thinking straight," she hissed. "You're not a teenager. You're a scientist. A realist. This isn't a comic book."
Her voice hitched.
She looked away, knuckling her eyes before wiping the back of her hand across her face.
Her glasses smeared slightly with tears.
"Fuck."
She stood there for a long second. Breathing. Then another.
She looked back at him.
And suddenly, Abe asked herself a question.
Was he really that important to me?
No answer came.
Abe slapped herself again, harder this time. A crack of skin on skin, just sharp enough to sting, not enough to bruise.
"Alright. That's enough," she growled to herself, wiping at her eyes one more time. "Get it together, Abe. You're not a little girl crying in a garage. You're a goddamn engineer."
She looked at the lieutenant's body again, her lips thinning.
"I'll... I'll store him somewhere cold. Properly. Then I'll get started on the girls. That's what matters."
Her hands shook slightly as she grabbed a set of gloves from the counter. In her mind, she was already rerouting her work schedule—hour by hour, who would need what, what pieces were salvageable, what hardware she'd have to fabricate from scratch.
Every second counted.
Especially when her equipment was third-rate compared to the corporate military labs above ground.
She cursed under her breath again, about to hoist herself over toward the storage module—
A voice sliced into the room like a scalpel:
"Didn't know you could get this sentimental about anything that wasn't welded to a circuit board."
Abe jumped a full foot in the air.
"JESUS CHRIST!"
Her arm instinctively flung a tool toward the sound. It phased harmlessly through the shimmering blue hologram, clattering against the wall behind it.
Her eyes locked onto the figure slowly forming through the light-blue shimmer of a private holographic line.
Colonel Vos.
The greying officer stood casually in the projection, arms folded behind his back, uniform sharp as ever. His face, as usual, didn't betray much emotion.
Her eye twitched violently.
"How long," she began, voice rising, "how long have you been spying on me down here?! This is a private lab! You don't get to just waltz in like some—"
Vos cut her off mid-rant with a sigh.
"Relax. Your little lab wasn't half bad at masking itself. But the way you rerouted your communication protocols? That was a mistake."
"...Excuse me?"
Vos exhaled through his nose. "Bit of a mistake on your part. The way you configured the comms? You thought you were off the grid, but you left a few ports open to tap into military frequencies. A clever workaround... sloppy shielding."
Abe's jaw clenched. Her eye twitched again. "Sloppy—?"
"I majored in cybersecurity at the Academy, back when that actually meant something."
She stared at him, deadpan. "So you've just been... what, watching me?"
"Monitoring," he corrected. "Ever since you activated the main part of the lab. And before you go shouting 'breach of privacy' again, keep in mind—this lab, and your research into Hansel and Gretel, is in violation of several operational protocols."
"Right. And yet, here you are. Not shutting me down. Weird how that works."
"Because shutting you down would be less productive than letting you finish, Abe," Vos replied. "And now, I'm here to check on you before someone with less patience does... if they can even find this place... I doubt Oswald can, so it might as well be me."
Her eye twitched again. She made a choking noise and threw her hands in the air.
"Great. Fantastic. Brilliant. So the walking haircut with shoulder bars was a hacker in a past life. Wonderful. What the hell do you want, Vos?!"
"Hostile. Not unusual. But you did just lose your entire unit, so I'll chalk it up to grief."
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm not. I'm checking in. Personally. As of now, I'm the only person on the planet who knows you survived, so there's that."
"...Fine. Ask what you need."
Vos didn't skip a beat. "Status of Old Tales."
"They got ruined. Their lieutenant is dead. Cinderella got corrupted and tore through them. I've got their backup bodies, thank God, but I'm short on parts, high-end linkage components, and synthetic tissue. Even if I rebuild them from their spare bodies, I don't have the gear to get them back to full."
Vos stared at her through the projection.
"How much can you recover?"
"With what I have?" Abe muttered. "Ninety. Maybe ninety-six percent. With sleepless nights and a mountain of luck."
Vos gave a slow nod.
"...What do you need?"
Abe blinked. Her arms dropped a little. "Wait. What?"
"I asked what you need, Abe."
She stared at him, mouth slightly open. "You can just... do that?"
"I've been a Colonel longer than you've been alive," Vos said flatly. "Yes. I can 'just do that.' So give me the list."
There was a pause.
Abe groaned, rubbing her temple. "Fine. One second, old man."
She stomped off-screen, boots clanging on the floor as she muttered to herself. A few moments later, she returned with a datapad and uploaded a manifest through the call's encryption channel.
Vos glanced down. "Hm... One of those Kotodama... things... exoskeletons... other shit... Pricey."
"You said you could get it."
"I can."
Abe blinked. "...Well. Thanks for being ancient, I guess."
Vos ignored her.
"I'll have everything routed through a clean channel. ETA, thirty-six hours."
She gave a small nod, then glanced sideways at the lieutenant's body.
Vos caught the glance.
"Keep the body from decaying further."
Abe's brow furrowed. "What?"
"I'm bringing something else."
"He's dead, Vos," she said sharply. "He's dead. Like, dead-dead. Hours ago. You know what that means. There's nothing to bring back."
Vos gave a half-smile, expression as infuriatingly calm as ever, and began to fade from the hologram.
"Don't worry, Abe. Just don't let him rot."
The flicker started, but then he returned for one last note, voice briefly glitching before stabilizing again.
"Stasis. You'll need to put him in it—immediately. There should be enough equipment tucked in that mess you call a lab. Trust me. I checked."
Her head snapped up again.
"What?! How the hell do you kn—"
But the signal had already cut.
Just static now.
Gone.
She stared blankly at the space where his projection used to be, mouth slightly open in disbelief.
"...Great," she muttered. "Just fucking great."
Turning back to the lieutenant's body, she hesitated.
Then, without another word, she crossed to the far side of the lab, moving quickly now through a chaotic sea of shelves, storage crates, and dust-coated machinery.
Sure enough—there it was: a preserved, portable stasis capsule, originally designed for emergency neural preservation.
Obsolete by modern standards. But still operational.
She grabbed it, pulled it toward the main table, and grumbled as she hooked it up to the wall terminal.
The display blinked on, humming quietly as it scanned the subject.
[Vitals: flatlined.]
[Biological decay at 3%—acceptable for neural imprint stabilization.]
Abe stared at the option highlighted in amber:
[Initiate Mindprint Lock?]
She sat down beside the table, letting out a long breath through her nose.
"Goddammit, Vos..."
She tapped a few commands. The machine hissed open, and a neural harness extended from the side. Carefully, she slid it over the lieutenant's temple, adjusting the contact nodes just above the ears, at the nape, and across the forehead.
The display began mapping.
Electro-synaptic traces. Cortical patterning. Limbic memory clusters.
Does the author even know what this means? Google is one hell of a tool, huh?
Even personality structure—still there, just waiting to be captured.
"It's a full pattern map," she murmured. "Not just memories. Conscious-state capture. Emotional baselines... identity cores..."
A perfect snapshot.
She swallowed. Hands hovering over the console.
This was it.
Then she pressed [Confirm.]
The capsule sealed with a faint hiss, blue light pouring across the lieutenant's head as the scan began.
The machine hummed as lines of data flooded the screen.
She sat there watching, waiting. Arms crossed. Jaw locked tight.
Then, without thinking, she spoke to the body.
"You better not hate me for this."
The stasis machine beeped—scan complete. Mindprint secured. Locked.
Abe leaned back, exhaling. Her eyes lingered on the console, the soft blue glow of the cryo-feed illuminating her face.
"...A mindprint," she said quietly, brows furrowing. "This is what they use to prep Nikke candidates... early stage stuff. Baseline identity capture before they move that stuff to the NIMPH."
Her gaze drifted slowly toward the still body.
Her voice, this time, was barely audible.
"...What the hell are you planning, Vos?"
She didn't know. Not yet.
But as the light from the capsule flickered and dimmed into its holding state, she couldn't shake the feeling she'd just crossed a line she couldn't uncross.
Abe looked at the lieutenant's body for a while longer.
Then she groaned and rubbed her temples.
"I need to work on the girls. Don't turn into a skeleton on me, alright?"
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, Early Spring
"There you are~"
Cinderella's voice chimed through the courtyard as she drifted across the path. Her heels clicked gently as she floated up to Siren, catching her hands in her own.
A radiant smile bloomed across her face as their fingers laced.
"I saw you on the broadcast the other day," Cinderella beamed. "You looked divine."
Siren's expression flickered from neutral to vivid red in seconds. Her yellowish eyes widened and darted away as she let out a flustered gasp:
"A-aah...!"
The two of them spun gently together, an impromptu little twirl as if dancing.
Behind them, Red Shoes giggled, covering her mouth with a dainty motion. Hansel watched with a pensive tilt of the head, but there was a faint smirk playing at her lips.
"Gretel says that Siren looks like a broken thermometer," Hansel stated.
Gretel, as always, stood silently behind her, nodding solemnly as if confirming a diagnosis.
Siren flailed slightly in place, cheeks redder now. "Mmn—! Ngh—!!"
She barely managed to hide behind her notebook in time before—
Ruffle.
A hand mussed her hair, fingers dragging softly through her blackish-blue strands.
Her commander's expression was the same unreadable one he wore most days—half-tired—but there was the tiniest upturn at the corner of his mouth.
"Good work, kid," he said, giving Siren's hair one final tousle before stepping beside her. "Solo mission went better than expected, didn't it?"
Siren looked up at him with trembling eyes, her mouth opening, closing, then nodding frantically. She took out her notepad and flipped it open, scribbling quickly with her pen. Then she held it up.
The people were very nice.
The lieutenant glanced at it and nodded.
"See? Wasn't so bad."
Hansel's voice floated in. "Her core temperature is spiking."
A beat.
"Cheeks are flaring. Heart rate increased by 32% the moment he touched her."
Siren let out a loud "NNGHH—!!" and sprinted at Hansel, trying to cover her mouth with her own hands before the blue gremlin could say anything else.
She failed.
Hansel blinked once. "Confirmed. She's in denial."
Gretel gave a solemn nod of agreement.
The lieutenant sighed. "Someone kill me..."
"Oh my~," Red Shoes teased, fanning herself with her hand. "Siren, do you have something to say~?"
"Uwawa—"
Abe sighed hard. "Hansel, Red Shoes, enough. Siren's had a long week."
Hansel offered a shrug.
"Siren is the one radiating body heat like an oven."
"I said enough," Abe snapped, eyes narrowing.
Cinderella watched the chaos with a faint hum, still standing just a bit outside the fray, hands folded in front of her. Her eyes flicked over to Siren, still red-faced and now furiously writing in her notebook again.
Suddenly, a gentle pressure tapped her scalp.
Cinderella blinked.
Another hand was on her head.
She looked to the side.
The lieutenant stood next to her now, hand gently ruffling her snowy-white hair like she were a small cat rather than one of the most powerful Nikkes in history.
"You're doing a good job too," he said quietly.
She blinked again. "...What did I do?"
"Don't know. Thought you'd want to hear it."
For a brief moment, her carefully crafted composure cracked a tiny bit.
A tiny pink blush painted her cheeks.
"I see..." she murmured. "Then... thank you."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Midday, Late Spring
She sat alone.
Nothing beneath her. Nothing around her. Just darkness.
Endless cold.
Her white hair drifted slightly in a wind that didn't exist.
Her hands lay limply in her lap. Her expression was blank.
She wasn't crying.
She couldn't.
She had cried all she could at the moment already.
"...Commander?"
Her voice was soft.
"...Am I doing a good job now?"
No answer.
Just her voice, echoing quietly into blackness.
"..."
She didn't know how long it had been.
Days? Weeks? Minutes?
Time was a blur here.
Cinderella drifted in the black.
Her body hadn't moved in... well, she'd stopped trying to count.
There was nothing to count with.
The only thing that broke the black was that mirror.
It showed her the outside world and mocked her with it.
Her blue eyes stared at the reflection in it. Her own face... but not quite.
The imposter.
Her body stood silently on the platform before the Space Elevator. Motionless.
And Cinderella... just floated.
Until the explosions began.
A sudden flare of light in the mirror made her jerk. She blinked rapidly and leaned closer, floating toward the glass.
Another explosion.
Then another.
A wave of Raptures went flying—cut down, vaporized, annihilated—you name it.
Screeches. Metallic limbs flung through the air. A cleaving shockwave cracked across the soil.
Her mouth parted slowly. A sharp crack rang out—
A sniper shot.
A familiar sound. One she heard once many times.
Cinderella's eyes widened.
"...That sound..."
Her voice caught.
"...Goddess," she whispered.
There was no mistaking it. That rifle—Red Hood's. Those powerful explosions? Snow White's twin turrets. The Raptures being flung everywhere—Liliweiss.
Her idols.
They were here.
"How long have I been gone...?" Cinderella breathed, panic threading into her tone. "What day is it? What—what day is it!?"
Her hands pressed to the mirror, eyes darting across the battle. The Squad was moving as a single storm, tearing through the Rapture lines toward the elevator like nothing could stop them.
"No way," she muttered, almost smiling. "They... they can do it. Of course they can. They're the Goddess Squad! And there's more of them now! T-they can win! Even without me. They have to..."
Her voice tried to convince her heart, but then she looked—really looked.
But her hopeful thoughts shattered in an instant.
Because there, drifting slowly into view... was her.
No.
Anachiro.
Cinderella's face went pale.
Her own face.
Her stolen body.
Floating in front of the elevator—arms outstretched like a sentry.
"...Protecting it...?"
The word caught in her throat like a shard of glass.
She shot toward the mirror, practically slamming into it.
"No—No—no—nononono—!"
Outside, Anachiro hovered high above the battlefield, head slowly tilting. Her arms extended as Glass Slippers began to glow a sharp, menacing blue.
She activated Glass Slippers.
Dozens of plasma beams screamed downward.
"STOP!"
Cinderella screamed, slamming her palm against the mirror.
Anachiro's hand paused mid-cast.
For a moment—just a blink—her head tilted, brow furrowing ever so slightly.
She stared at her own fingers, her face pinched in vague confusion.
It was like deja vu.
It was just like—
The moment before she—
"Snapped his neck—"
The memory split through her skull like an axe.
And then, the imposter adjusted her flight path and fired again, beams tearing through the sky in razor arcs, cutting the air toward Goddess Squad.
Cinderella clawed at the mirror.
"Don't hurt them!"
She reached for the edge of the mirror, but something invisible caught her wrist mid-extension.
A force yanked her back sharply.
She gasped, flailing.
"Let go of me!! LET ME GO!"
The pressure increased. The force wound around her limbs like a rope, pulling her back into the void.
Tears started flowing, trailing off her face into the black.
"I already killed him, I already—I-I already killed—I can't—I won't hurt them too!!"
Her eyes burned as she writhed, screaming. She kicked, cursed, and begged.
The mirror didn't care.
The world kept turning.
She sobbed freely now, floating uselessly once more, the mirror still showing the carnage below. The light from the plasma beams reflected in her eyes.
Her fingers twitched.
"Please..." she whispered. "...Don't make me watch..."
The void didn't answer.
Two of them, the newer members, darted forward in a pincer motion.
Cinderella gasped softly.
You could see it in the way they moved. Synchronized. Like they'd trained together since forever.
Scarlet launched herself toward a Rapture, cutting through its limbs in a blaze of red energy before vaulting off its collapsing body. Rose mirrored her, slicing a swath of smaller drones with precise arcs of her sword, sending them sailing into the sky.
They were forcing the imposter's attention upward—toward them.
Cinderella's hands clutched her own shoulders, trembling as she tried to hover closer to the mirror.
"They could... they could win," she whispered, hope threading weakly into her voice. "They're... they're doing it..."
But then the imposter moved.
Descending like a spectre of death, blue plasma beams flew. Glass Slippers screamed in fury with every blast, lighting up the sky. Below, the rest of the Goddesses tried to regroup, but the barrage was too thick, too concentrated.
They couldn't move in.
Scarlet and Rose were on their own.
"No," Cinderella murmured. "Please... don't... don't hurt them..."
She could see the imposter's cold stare fix on Rose.
"No... No, please! Not her!"
Rose darted left, barely missing a searing plasma bolt. She spun, blade up, parried another blast with a precision that spoke of years of combat. The third, though—it missed her barely, scorching the earth beside her.
The fourth never came. The imposter was already moving.
And then—
THUNK!
A white foot collided with Rose's chest, sending the older sister flying, her body slamming through debris with a sound that echoed even in the silence of the void.
"SISTER!" Scarlet screamed, her voice shrill with fury.
She charged.
Her blade tore through the air as she ripped through a field of Raptures like paper, dust and metal flying in her wake. A roar rose from her throat as she neared the imposter, her body practically glowing from speed and heat.
Hundreds of Raptures were ripped into nothing as she carved a straight line toward her sister's attacker.
"G-Goddess—no—" Cinderella whimpered.
But even that bravery—
It wasn't enough.
A blur of white intercepted the battle.
Liliweiss.
Her short white hair barely moved as her sheer presence created a shockwave that blew back the imposter mid-strike.
The air bent around her as if reality itself refused to contain her.
In an instant, she gathered the squad—Scarlet, Rose, Red Hood, Snow White, Rapunzel, Dorothy—and vanished from the battlefield in a single, brilliant flash of white energy.
Silence.
Cinderella didn't even realise she was holding her breath.
They grew smaller and smaller.
Her idols... gone.
They retreated.
She reached toward the mirror.
Her fingertips touched its surface—only for that same invisible force to finally snap.
The tension holding her in place released with no warning.
She dropped. Fell to her knees—though there was no ground, not really. Her body crumpled as she clutched herself.
"I hindered them... I hurt them..." she croaked out. "My Glass Slippers... My name... My Body... I killed him... and now... I'm hurting them too..."
Her head lowered.
Tears fell again. But these weren't violent sobs.
They were soft and exhausted.
They were just... so defeated.
Notes:
Ah, just for the sake of clarifying and making this situation worse... the corruption code is a bit different. Its more aggressive/tactical and therefore has kinda-sorta buffed Anachiro a bit... But that's fine!
EVERYTHING IS FINE!
EVERYTHING IS FINE!
EVERYTHING WILL BE A-OKAY, CINDERELLA!
Chapter 21: Vol 3.5: Moonflower Blues
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Nearly 18 hours later
Abe grunted as she tightened the last miniature part on the inside frame of Little Mermaid's jaw.
Her gloves were sticky with adhesive resin, and faint streaks of soldering gel were across her lab coat.
"Your jaw's still broken," she mumbled. "But it's better than being nonexistent. You're welcome."
She sighed and glanced across the lab.
The others—Hansel, Gretel and Red Shoes—lay sealed in their capsules and off in the far corner in the stasis pod, lay the lieutenant—now bearing the imprint of the Mindprint Lock.
Abe hadn't dared open the capsule again since.
Every time she looked at it, her stomach twisted a little.
Why'd I even agree to that?
She hadn't slept. Not in eighteen hours. But still, her hands didn't stop. Not while there was something to fix.
Plus, Nikkes didn't need sleep, so she wouldn't complain.
That moment of silence was shattered when the side door slammed open.
BOOM!
"What the—?!"
Abe nearly flung her wrench as Colonel Vos marched in, flanked by a parade of drones—from wheeled to flying—and tracked cargo units. Her shoulders hunched instantly, her heart jumping into her throat.
"Jesus Christ, Vos! You trying to give me a heart attack?!"
The greying officer only gave her a curt nod, his uniform slightly wrinkled, and his expression was... off.
Not as steely as usual.
"Looks like you've been busy, Abe," he said airily, looking out of breath.
"Of course I've been busy; I've been reattaching a jaw from scratch." Abe's voice rose sharply. "You said 36 hours—I barely even got to Siren's jaw and now you're here like it's a damn house call. What are you doing here already?"
Vos raised a hand, halting her barrage of questions like he always did, with that infuriating calm.
But his next words carried none of that calm.
"The Goddess Squad failed their strike on the Space Elevator. Badly."
The tool fell from Abe's hand.
"What?"
"It was Cinderella," he continued, walking past her toward the central table. "She intercepted them mid-assault. Tore them apart. No one is dead, but the assault was blunted."
What?
"No... no, no, no—" Abe's eyes widened. "She—What is going on out there?!"
Vos didn't answer. He moved toward the main communications array near the centre of the lab. She watched, frozen, as he pulled a knife from his belt—a knife—and began cutting through several critical cables.
"HEY! What the hell are you—those were tuned to emergency channels!"
Vos glanced at her sharply, the lines in his face harder now.
"I'm keeping you safe. High Command's going to pin this on Old Tales—and, by extension, you. They're already rumouring that Cinderella's corruption came from inside. That your code, your work, was part of it. You're about to become a scapegoat."
Abe stared at him, stunned into silence.
His voice wasn't angry.
It was...
Shaken.
"...You're serious," she whispered.
He didn't reply.
Instead, he turned to the swarm of utility drones still gliding into the lab. They began unloading fresh equipment: newer frames, reinforced neural scaffolding, high-efficiency nanofiber bundles—high-quality stuff.
Even a full surgical-grade construction rig was already being installed behind her.
Abe blinked.
"...Is this why all these damn bots are crawling around my lab?" she said dryly. "You only move fast when the sky's falling, huh? Lazy old bastard."
Vos exhaled through his nose. She couldn't tell if that was a sigh or a laugh.
"No time to argue."
He stepped over to one of the robots and pulled a small, unmarked crate from its grip—sleek, black, and sealed with biometric locks. Vos walked over to the stasis pod containing the lieutenant and set the crate down beside it with a clunk.
"Get him out. Now."
Abe blinked. "Wait—what?"
"Put him on the table."
Her brows knitted together sharply. She pushed her glasses up.
"Hold on. What's in that crate? And why are you going through all this trouble to bring back a dead man? It's been more than a day, Vos. I've never heard of anyone getting revived after that long. Not without full AI integration or—"
"Abe." His voice cut through hers like a blade.
"Get him. On the table."
The silence that followed rang loud in her ears.
She looked at the crate. Then at Vos. Then, finally, the stasis pod.
There was something in his voice. Something urgent.
And it made her stomach sink.
"...Fine," she muttered, already moving toward the capsule. "But you better explain what the hell is going on when I'm done."
Vos didn't answer.
He just stood there.
Watching.
Abe rolled her eyes, more out of habit than annoyance, and keyed in the release code.
With a hiss of pressure, the stasis chamber opened. Mist poured out, cascading around her ankles as she stepped forward and reached into the cold fog. Her fingers hesitated for just a moment—just long enough for her to notice the paleness of the skin, the bluish tint beneath the eyes...
But her hands moved anyway.
She guided the lieutenant's body out, her gloved hands supporting the ruined torso as she lowered him gently onto the table beside the crate. The lift assist arms helped with the rest, locking his body in place with magnetic fasteners.
She stood straight, pushed her hair back with a breath, and stepped away.
And then she really looked at him.
"...Christ."
His right leg was gone—cauterized clean above the knee. No blood. Just seared meat and a carbon-black stump. The left one was mangled, a ragged hole punched through the shin module like someone had taken a spear to it.
His spine had clearly been crushed. There was a brutal angle to the way his lower back arched, and her scans confirmed at least two shattered vertebrae. His neck—twisted violently, a sharp break near the base.
And his chest...
She grimaced. Multiple ribs cracked inward. Internal bleeding.
Its the kind of slow, agonizing trauma that didn't kill right away—but guaranteed you wouldn't make it without a miracle.
"Okay, Vos. Seriously... what kind of black magic are you about to pull to bring him back?"
The colonel didn't say anything right away.
He just looked at the body.
Staring...
It was almost like he was remembering something far off.
The silence grew long.
Abe frowned.
"Alright. I'm done with the mystery routine. Talk. Why is he so damn important, huh? Why all the resources? Why risk everything just to drag back a dead man?"
It might've been a bit irrational of her to say these types of things, and she didn't truly doubt the colonel in what he was about to do, but... Perhaps a bit of fear of what would happen next to the lieutenant worried her.
Vos didn't flinch at her outburst.
Instead, he approached the table slowly, his eyes scanning every inch of the lieutenant's body.
He sighed.
"Look at him."
She blinked.
"Seriously," Vos said, his tone quiet now. "Really look. Does that seem like the kind of story that should've ended here?"
Abe crossed her arms, but her gaze drifted back to the body anyway. His jaw was still clenched, like he'd gone out angry, and she would know... she was there.
"Torn apart by the things he fought beside," Vos continued, "by the things he feared, maybe even hated. Killed by a Nikke... confirming his thoughts in the end. That's no way to go out, is it?"
That stopped her.
Not the words. The truth in them.
For a moment, her mind drifted back to that very moment before the end.
Cinderella's corrupted eyes.
The lieutenant, bloody and broken in her arms.
"Prove to me that Nikkes are nothing but programming."
"That you're all just—"
"—just—"
"—just mindless robots—"
SNAP.
She didn't realize she was breathing through her mouth until her throat caught.
Abe's gaze flickered.
She hadn't let herself think about it too much. Not until now.
"I was just... focused on the squad," she said softly. "The girls were nearly wiped out. My work, my girls... my creations."
She exhaled slowly.
A beat.
"But..."
She exhaled, slowly, her shoulders tightening.
"In the last half-year... after working with him... seeing how he went out—" she paused, glancing at the body again. "—I won't lie. It hurts. He was so full of hatred in those last seconds. It's like..."
Her voice trailed off.
She couldn't finish it.
Vos gave a small chuckle. It wasn't joyful, but it was real.
"That answer's so you," he said. "Still such a kid."
She immediately scowled, pushing up her glasses with a jab of her index finger. "You done psychoanalyzing me, old man? If you've got some miracle tech in that box, then get to it. Stop dragging this out."
Vos smiled faintly, then turned back toward the crate.
"I will," he said, placing a hand on the latches. "But I want some privacy. Go back to your girls. You've still got a lot of work to do."
"You sure you're not about to desecrate his corpse or start chanting incantations?"
"No chanting. Just science."
She didn't budge at first. Then she clicked her tongue and shook her head.
"Fine. I'll go to work. If anything explodes, I will hold you personally responsible."
"Wouldn't expect anything less. Expect me to come over once in a while, however. The robots will do most of the work for me. I'm not exactly a surgeon, after all."
Abe cast one last glance at the lieutenant's body. Then the colonel.
And with a sigh, she turned and walked out of the room, muttering to herself.
"Goddamn military secrets. No such thing as privacy anymore..."
But as she left, her mind circled back again to what Vos was planning.
The Mindprint Lock.
The stasis.
The unmarked crate.
There was something about the entire process—something eerily familiar.
She slowed her pace.
Mindprint locking... full neural state preservation... identity reconstruction... Vos knows it's basically impossible to create a male Nikke due to the difference in reaction between male holders of NIMPH and female holders. So what's in that box is probably something other than a NIMPH.
Her eyes narrowed slightly behind her glasses.
I've heard of people being revived hours after brain death, but not this long. Though the military has had all the money in the world to create things that could extend this window of time, and I don't doubt that Vos has some sort of experimental technology...
Little Mermaid's body was right in front of her now, and she began to work again, though her thoughts still lingered.
Mindprint locks are usually used in the beginning process of making a Nikke, but... they've also been used in the past to create copies of very important people...
Abe sighed.
This would be a few long weeks, wouldn't it?
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Afternoon, Late Spring
The wind was lazy that day.
A cherry tree stood just off to the side, its thin pink blossoms still clinging even this late into the season. Beneath it, sprawled on her side in the grass with one elbow propped and the other hand plucking at dandelions, lay Rose.
"Rose."
She blinked and turned.
"Hm? Lieutenant?"
He came to a stop beside her, arms loosely crossed, gaze flicking out to the open field.
Scarlet was in the middle of the clearing with the rest of the Melee Squad, giving orders before engaging one of them in a sparring match.
Steel clanged, laughter rang out, and dust kicked up around them.
"Good afternoon~ What's brought you here?"
"Nothing, really," he said. "Actually came to talk to you since you don't appear busy."
"Oh? Is this about your secret crush on someone? Asking me for relationship advice, are we?" Her grin widened. "If so, sorry to disappoint. I don't remember much about my human life, but I think I was single."
The lieutenant frowned.
"What?"
She giggled.
"Your expression—I love it."
His expression turned irritated.
"Is this how you treat your commanding officer?" he asked, pulling out a rolled-up newspaper. A worn old thing, duct-taped at the ends, was his preferred non-lethal punishment of choice. "You do recognize that cases of buffoonery such as this are causes for disciplinary action?"
Rose's eyes widened in mock fear.
"N-No! Not the newspaper!"
He loomed closer, holding it up threateningly.
"Okay, okay!" she laughed, waving her hands. "I yield! I'll be good!"
He squinted at her suspiciously before lowering the paper and tucking it back behind his belt.
"Tch, so annoying... I'll ask the damn question anyway."
She perked up.
"How are you so far ahead of everyone in swordplay?" he asked bluntly. "I mean, it's obvious you've got natural talent, but Scarlet always hogs the simulation room. I don't even see you train."
She blinked at that as if it hadn't occurred to her before.
"Huh."
She tilted her head again—she did that a lot—and tapped her chin with her index finger.
"Well, I guess... it just kind of comes naturally, like you said," she said slowly. "It's like something in me remembers doing the perfect motions, even though I don't."
She smiled softly, watching the sparring matches continue below.
"You know the saying...'The inner strength flows silently.'"
"I'm not familiar with those kinds of proverbs, Rose."
"Well, it means strength isn't shown bluntly; it works in the background without constantly seeking praise. It applies to me nicely, don't you think?"
He side-eyed the young lady.
"...Are you just saying you're a lazy genius?"
She gasped in mock outrage. "Lieutenant! I wouldn't say lazy..."
He shot her a look.
"...But that's not an unfair assessment," she admitted with a sheepish smile.
The two stood side-by-side now, watching Scarlet wave her blade in the air and shout commands at two bickering squadmates. She was trying to form duelling pairs, it looked like—and no one appeared to be cooperating.
"She's taking her job seriously," the lieutenant remarked.
Rose nodded slowly, her smile turning sly.
"Mmhmm. Someone put the idea of leadership in her head." She looked at him sideways. "I wonder who..."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Not that I'm mad or anything," she added lightly. "Just a little bummed, you know? My beloved lieutenant... didn't have much confidence in me."
He turned his head slightly toward her.
"Beloved lieutenant?" he echoed. "Really? Is that what we're doing now?"
Rose's eyes sparkled.
"Ehh~" she drew out the sound, bouncing slightly in place. "You're the one who said it. Not me."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, already regretting engaging.
He looked forward again, toward the field.
He could feel her gaze on him.
That look.
That smug, content look she wore...
Stupid, smug... augh!
He groaned under his breath.
"Fine," he muttered. "Yes. You're good at things. Swordplay. Coordination. Keeping that lot from killing themselves. You're reliable and have my full confidence to lead the Melee Squad. There, are you happy?"
Rose blinked, then smiled again—but softer this time.
She didn't say anything, just let the warmth linger.
He side-eyed her and instantly looked away.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she said, her voice calm now.
"Tch."
He didn't respond. Instead, he nodded slightly toward Scarlet, who had started circling two duelists like a referee.
She was performing as expected of him.
If only she were more of a people person like her sister... but you can't be perfect; that much was true.
"Someone with motivation will do anything to reach their goal. Doesn't take confidence. Just willpower," the lieutenant remarked suddenly.
Rose perked up before flexing her arm.
"I'm motivated!"
"Motivated? For what?"
She opened her mouth... paused... then hummed.
A long, drawn-out hmmmmmmmm filled the air.
"...I don't know!"
And she beamed.
Like a flower bursting into bloom under sudden sunlight—radiant, bright, beautiful...
Eh...
If she were a flower, she'd be a very dumb flower in his opinion—A Doofus-Daisy.
And it would possibly be invasive.
His eye twitched.
Squish~!
Then, without a word, he reached over and grabbed her cheeks with both hands, stretching them outward.
"Eeehhhhh—!!" she yelped, batting at his arms with no real strength. "What—why—?!"
"How the hell are you the strongest out of everyone here!? What did they put in your NIMPH, huh!? METH!? Modified Mass Produced Nikke my ass! You're more like a Grimms Model, goddamn it!"
Rose flailed, legs kicking lightly against the grass.
"Nnggh—Scarlet!! Help me!!"
Across the field, Scarlet turned toward the tree—sword still resting on her shoulder—and broke into a run.
"I come, dear sister, who dares—!"
She slid to a halt under the cherry tree, hair wild from the sprint, eyes blazing...
Only to deadpan at the scene in front of her.
"...Lieutenant. Must thou manhandle my dear sister's face like a baker assaults their dough?"
He glanced at her, still pinching the troublemaker's cheeks.
"She asked for it."
"Scarlet," Rose whined through squished lips, "he's bullying meee!"
Scarlet sighed, sheathing her sword and crossing her arms.
"And yet I know thou provoked him knowingly. Truly, thy misfortune is earned."
"Traitor!"
The lieutenant finally let go, and Rose fell back into the grass with a dramatic groan.
He stared down at her, arms folded once more.
"Strong. Lazy. Genius. Scarlet, do you know what your sister is on?"
"...Is thou prompting another rhetorical question?"
"No."
"Then I do not know."
"I'm still here!!"
Rose bounced back to her feet in a second, full of energy again.
The lieutenant didn't even look her way. "Did you hear something?"
Scarlet blinked once, glancing briefly in her sister's direction.
"...Nay. 'Twas surely the wind."
"Now I'm invisible!?"
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning
Rose blinked slowly.
White ceiling panels.
Soft footsteps nearby.
It was over.
The dream—no, the memory—still lingered at the edge of her mind. The sakura tree. Laughter. The warmth of a certain voice...
She exhaled softly, almost smiling to herself.
"Sister?" a voice called gently.
Scarlet stood beside the cot, hands folded carefully in front of her as if she'd been waiting there a while.
"Oh," Rose blinked up at her. "Hey."
"By heaven's mercy... thou live. I feared thy ribs shattered in two after that harpy's strike."
"Cinderella hits like a truck... but I'm guessing, from the look on your face, that we lost?"
Scarlet didn't speak—she didn't need to. Her silence, the tight line of her lips, the exhaustion in her posture, said it all.
"Wow," Rose muttered with a breathy chuckle, closing her eyes for a second. "That quick, huh..."
"Our blades found no victory this day."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Scarlet looked toward the door.
"Come—if thou art able to stand. Red Hood prepares to leave. She returns to her hometown soon, and we shall make haste."
Rose's brows knit together faintly as she pushed herself upright, wincing at the strain.
"She's leaving already?"
"Aye. I... had not dreamt her corruption would fester so deep. But is of her mind and prerogative for such action..." Scarlet trailed off.
But Rose didn't respond.
Her gaze had drifted, unfocused. Her eyes didn't follow the words.
Instead, she asked softly:
"Scarlet... do you remember him?"
"Whom dost thou mean?"
"Our first commander. The lieutenant."
Scarlet blinked, caught off guard by the question's timing. "That is... sudden."
Rose said nothing. She just looked at her.
Scarlet nodded slowly.
"Of course. He was bold. Unshakable. And as cold as a winter's night." She smiled faintly. "But I respected him. I do still."
Rose's lips curved—not quite a smile. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
"I wonder," she murmured.
"Thou wonder what?"
"If..." Rose's voice slowed, as if forcing the words. "If he wasn't the person we thought he was."
Scarlet blinked, straightening slightly. "What dost thou mean?"
Rose didn't answer directly. Her head tilted as she stared at nothing in particular.
"If he lied to us," she said. "If he... cheated us. If he..." She hesitated visibly. "Betrayed us."
The word hung in the air.
Scarlet didn't respond right away.
Her mind raced—this didn't feel hypothetical.
Rose's expression, her tone, even the way she refused eye contact—it was all off.
But how?
The lieutenant had died over a year ago. She had seen it. Both of them had. That explosion would've killed any normal human being.
Why would Rose...?
Unless he wasn't actually there—
She opened her mouth. "Rose—"
But Rose stood up suddenly, stretching her arms high above her head and groaning.
"Oof. I've been lying down too long. That kick really knocked something loose in my brain."
Scarlet stared.
"Anyway~" Rose chirped, her smile back in place. "Forget what I said. I'm just being a downer. It's the post-defeat blues, you know?"
"Rose..."
"Oh!" She perked up, pointing a finger dramatically. "Maybe you can be the one to knock some sense into Red Hood before she vanishes, huh? I have a bad feeling she's going to do something shortsighted. You know? For closure and all that."
She winked and waved her hand over her shoulder as she started toward the door.
"Let's go!"
Scarlet didn't move.
Not right away.
She just stood there, staring at the spot Rose had just occupied.
Her heart pounded strangely, and unease curled in her chest like smoke.
Then she exhaled through her nose and followed.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss.
What have you overheard, dear sister?
Chapter 22: Vol 3.6: Paths Converge
Notes:
I have basically 0 medical knowledge about how some of the stuff in this chapter actually works, so please bear with me. If something doesn't make sense just think "Sci-Fi bullshit" or something.
*insert Dorothy trying to shoot herself here*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Around a Month After Cinderella's Corruption
It began with voices.
Two of them—half-muted, like hearing a conversation underwater.
"...should be close now. Heartbeat stabilizing."
"Prep the defib again just in case. I don't want him flatlining if the signal stutters."
"He won't. The synaptic wash held."
"Still. Floor's sterilized?"
"Triple-checked. If spasms start—"
"—we isolate and sedate. Yeah. Got it."
The words were garbled.
Light trickled into his eyes before sense did. His vision was a film of glare and shapes, his breath shallow and wet.
He blinked.
Something hurt.
"...?"
Wait...
No.
What?
Everything felt... off.
He couldn't remember what was going on.
There had been—
Red?
"Vos—his eyes."
Then, closer to him: "Lieutenant?"
The feminine voice, again. It was familiar.
"Can you hear me? It's Abe."
Abe...?
He knew that name. That face. The glasses, the tone.
His tongue felt heavy, but his lips twitched. A garbled sound pushed from his throat, slurred and barely a whisper.
"...Yehh..."
"Confirmed," Abe said, exhaling in some combination of relief and disbelief. "Okay. He's alive. He's responsive."
There was a shifting of boots. Another presence near his side now.
Vos.
"He's rather docile," the Colonel remarked dryly.
"Oh, shut up," Abe said, not even looking at him.
Then—
A flash.
Cinderella.
No... that wasn't... Cinderella...
The Red-Eyed One.
Her hand. Around his neck. Her eyes.
His words.
SNAP.
He flinched while his eyes widened in horror.
And he sat up.
Abe stumbled back with a startled curse. "Shit! Hey, calm down!"
"Lieutenant. Easy. Breathe. You're safe."
But he wasn't listening. He tuned out their voices entirely.
His eyes tore down to his lower body.
His legs—
Both were metallic now.
Not just any prosthetics. Goddesium.
Nikke-grade Goddesium.
His fingers trembled as they moved to his neck.
There was no pain.
No fracture of the vertebrae.
He pushed around the base of his skull, down the spine. His jaw clenched as he traced the contours of an unfamiliar feeling.
His brain... moved faster.
There was no lag between intention and action. The muscle response was too smooth, and he felt mentally faster as well. It was like he could enter a math competition and win first place- type of mentally fast.
He didn't feel fleshy.
That was wrong.
He blinked, panicked, eyes darting to his right arm. Still cybernetic. Nothing changed. His left—still flesh.
He jolted again.
His spine...
It was replaced.
All of it is gone. I can feel it. Were my injuries that bad? No wait...
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Abe stepped back unconsciously.
Vos watched, expression unreadable.
The lieutenant stared at both of them, sweat breaking across his forehead.
He spoke low, testing his voice.
"What did you do to me?"
Abe opened her mouth, but no words came.
Vos sighed faintly as if bracing for something. "You were dead. Nothing was left to work with."
"That's not an answer."
"You were gone. Brain activity—flatlined. Body—broken. We salvaged you."
"Salvaged?"
"You were too far gone for traditional reconstruction," Vos continued. "I used... experimental cybernetic integration. Some of it came from—"
"What did you do to me, Colonel?!"
"You were brought back to life," Vos said plainly. "Revived, stabilized, and functional. As close as your body could handle."
"No! I mean—How much?" The lieutenant's voice trembled. "How much of me is still me? How much of me is organic?!"
Abe tried to step in. "You're still—"
"How much?!" he snapped, cutting her off. "Am I still human?!"
Vos hesitated.
Then, quietly:
"You're... About 57% Nikke-compatible parts and other cybernetics total. The rest is made up of organic tissue, like your skin, the upper and lower body, and the brain. You're still—"
The lieutenant made a sharp, choking sound. Like a breath caught in a vice.
His hands clutched his head—fingers digging into his scalp, gripping hair like it was the only part of him still real. His knees came up, and the Goddesium scraped softly against the edge of the slab.
Breathing accelerated.
The lights above glared. Every new sensation from his body—every movement, every nerve response—was wrong!
It all worked too perfectly.
He shook. Quietly, violently.
And then, he looked up.
Right at Vos.
Their eyes met. The Colonel said nothing.
The lieutenant's lips parted—but no sound came.
His chest heaved once, twice.
"Why..." his voice cracked. "Why did you do this to me?"
There was no fury in the tone—only raw disbelief. He didn't look betrayed so much as detached, like his brain hadn't caught up to the reality of his own voice in the room. His own body is sitting upright. His legs were hanging over the edge of the surgical slab...
He blinked slowly.
"...No," he muttered, voice steadying, though his brow remained furrowed. "Wait. How... how was I fixed?"
Vos exchanged a glance with Abe before speaking.
"You were placed in stasis a few hours after your brain shut down. That timing—it's the only reason you're breathing now."
The lieutenant sat up on the table. His joints clicked softly with the movement. Vos didn't stop him.
"If I were dead, even for a few hours—even with stasis, that shouldn't have worked." He reached toward his neck, fingers brushing across the back of it. "My spine was broken. Neck too. I should've been brain-dead. There was no one around when I died."
He paused.
"And the memories..." His gaze drifted slightly. "I remember all of it. Every second. Even the exact moment that—"
A twitch pulled at the edge of his eye.
"...That fucking robot crushed my neck."
Abe, standing off to the side, looked away. Her expression soured for a brief moment before she smoothed it over.
Silence followed, long enough to make the air of the lab feel heavy.
The lieutenant exhaled again. Slower this time.
"And then... nothing. No sound, no light. Just—cut... Like falling asleep. No fade. A blip."
Abe cleared her throat and stepped forward.
"You remember because of the timing," she said. "Right after Vos called me, I ran a Mindprint Lock—preserved your active neural state. Identity signatures, long-term memory, reflex maps, emotional engrams... all of it. Froze your 'self' before synaptic decay set in."
The lieutenant's eyes followed her carefully.
"That was the easy part," Abe continued, gesturing to the surgical arms suspended from the ceiling and the robots around the lab. "Over the next few weeks, we stabilized what we could. The stasis chamber bought us time. Vos's robots handled most of the reconstruction—spine, neck, internal bleeds, all that stuff. I kept you monitored while working on the girls."
"How long have I been here?"
"About a month now."
"...Damn..."
She folded her arms, stepping back a bit.
"Basically, you were rebuilt piece by piece. Slowly. Carefully. We were lucky the brain hadn't liquefied. You probably also felt different when you woke up. You're now mentally faster than the average human, able to process more information at a time thanks to your... new body parts..."
The lieutenant stared for a moment, clearly absorbing the weight of it. Then, he let out a breath that was somewhere between disbelief and an incredulous chuckle.
"I never knew tech like this even existed," he said, shaking his head. "And you had access to it?"
Abe shrugged.
"Not all of it. The stasis pod and Mindprint systems were mine. The rest?" She glanced briefly at Vos. "His private stash or whatever. I still don't know where he pulled half this equipment from."
Vos finally spoke again, calmly.
"It was experimental medtech, lieutenant."
The lieutenant raised a brow, then slowly nodded.
"I see."
"Anyway," Abe gestured toward the back of the lieutenant's skull, "I can't be fully sure what he did to you, but your body was already being reconstructed. There was a temporary neural bridge in your brain. It allowed the Mindprint Lock to take root. Think of it as... syncing your saved 'data' to the new internal systems."
The lieutenant glanced toward Vos.
Vos nodded once.
"The tech is Nikke-grade, yes. Experimental, yes. But you're not a Nikke. You're not a robot. You don't have a NIMPH. You're not wired to Command. No external control. It's more like—" he paused, searching for the right analogy, "—more like those deep recon soldiers from Mars. Biomech hybrids, but free. You're still a person."
A pause.
Then, the lieutenant breathed out a tired sigh.
He seemed a bit more relieved at that reassurance.
"So... I'm Robocop now."
Vos didn't answer that. But the lack of denial said plenty.
The lieutenant again exhaled longly.
"Right."
He slid off the table.
His landing wasn't graceful—he stumbled slightly, a faint metallic thud echoing from his new legs.
"Great," he added, sarcasm bleeding through. "Missing cape and motorcycle, but I'll live."
"You're not nearly as cool," Abe remarked from the side.
"Wow, I just came back from the dead, and I'm not cool? You're a mean robot, Abe."
"Yeah, and this 'mean robot' is 80% of the reason why you're alive in the first place. So watch yourself."
"Of course, of course," he waved her off. "Wait, do you have any synthetic skin or fat you were going to use? For the Nikkes?"
She blinked. "What about it?"
"I don't like looking at my legs. It makes me feel like someone stapled car parts to my body."
Abe frowned.
"...Follow me, then. We'll patch your delicate sensibilities."
He stepped forward, immediately misjudged the weight transfer, and stumbled again, catching himself on the table with a sharp grunt.
"Smooth."
He groaned, straightening. "Rude. I literally just came back from the dead."
"You said that already."
Vos remained where he stood, watching the two retreat into the lab's back corridor.
There was a reason he had gone through with all of this. Not just to bring the lieutenant back, not just to avoid losing another asset.
No.
The real goal—what he couldn't let happen—was the complete loss of the man.
Because even 43% of the human body was better than none.
And what remained... was still him.
Vos looked down at his hands.
Then at the crate was half full now.
Its purpose was fulfilled.
For better or worse
Abe had her arms crossed again, her eyes cast toward the floor for a long moment before finally raising them to Colonel Vos.
"Hey," she said. "Thanks. I mean it. For believing we weren't part of some... deeper mess."
Vos, straightening the cuffs of his uniform jacket, gave a low hum of acknowledgement. "We'll see if Command feels the same. I'll push for full brain scans of everyone in Old Tales if necessary."
"Yeah. Fine. If they're already considering us compromised, we might as well lean into the diagnostics. Better than being labelled rogue."
There was something off about her now. A crackling, disquiet energy under her usual snarks. She looked like someone who had just connected a dot she didn't want to see.
Vos noticed it, but didn't press. Instead, he turned toward the lieutenant, who stood near the doorway.
"Before we leave," the Colonel began, "let me give you a quick health advisory. Since you're walking around with... well, half your anatomy sourced from Nikke tech and cybernetics, we need to be cautious."
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Vos gestured toward him.
"Your new spine alone gives you enhanced reflexive control, reaction time, posture stabilization, theoretical shock absorption—hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you could jump 10 meters in the air with a running start."
The lieutenant glanced down at his legs.
"But don't do that," Vos added flatly. "We don't know how much strain your remaining organs and muscle fibres can tolerate. Your lungs are still real. Your heart is still yours. Push the system too far, and you could snap something biological that your implants can't compensate for."
"I'm the first case, then?" the lieutenant asked.
Vos nodded.
"In this configuration, yes. You're not a Nikke. But you're not a baseline human anymore, either. You're in a category by yourself."
Abe, returning to her normal rhythm a little, stepped up and waved a finger at him. "So act like nothing happened—No stunts. No heroics. If you try to test limits, your remaining organics will probably explode or do something else horrific."
The lieutenant folded his arms.
"Understood... So is frontline combat off the table for me now?"
Abe cut in before the Colonel could speak. "It's not recommended, no. Sure, you're theoretically stronger—but 'theoretically' is doing a lot of heavy lifting. Too many unknowns. One misstep and we lose a commander and a case study."
The lieutenant held her gaze for a second, then gave a short nod.
"Noted."
Vos turned slightly and gestured to one of the maintenance drones huddled in the corner.
"I'll leave my units here. Tools, diagnostics, mobile labs. It'll help speed up repairs on the others."
Abe nodded quickly. "Appreciate it. That'll help a ton. Less time scavenging, more time rebuilding."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, now locked on the lieutenant again. "That said..."
He met her gaze.
"You'd better prove to the brass that were not full of shit. I'm putting my rep on the line vouching for you. If this blows up in our faces, I'm dragging your synth-skinned ass back here myself and turning you into a coffee table."
The lieutenant rolled his eyes and started to walk toward the exit, raising a hand as he passed her.
"I'll do what I must."
"Do more than that."
He didn't stop. The metal doors hissed open and then sealed shut again behind the lieutenant and Colonel.
"..."
Abe stood in the centre of the lab for a long while, listening to the soft hum of the drones now shifting into standby.
She exhaled.
"C'mon," she said to herself. "A traitor from the inside...?"
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Hours Later, Early Summer
The halls of the Central Military Base hummed with activity.
Colonel Vos walked forward, flanked by the lieutenant.
Around them, soldiers and officers snapped to attention, saluting the Colonel in passing. A few approached rapidly to hand off tablets or deliver reports in hushed voices, but Vos gave each of them a quick glance and a motion to stand by or wait.
The lieutenant kept pace, mostly silent. His eyes didn't track anyone.
The quiet walk stretched on as they passed through two checkpoints, their ID chips scanned and validated without hesitation.
Vos finally slowed once they passed into a quieter section: a longer corridor leading to the high-clearance meeting wing.
"No one else should approach us from this point on," Vos said calmly, straightening his gloves. "This meeting will be sealed, classified, and recorded under Omega-grade confidentiality."
"Because I'm the most relevant individual," the lieutenant muttered, not looking at him. "Now that I'm... patched together."
Vos glanced sideways at him but didn't respond to that directly.
"So what's going to happen in there?" the lieutenant asked. "And who's attending?"
"Only Major Drexler and I," Vos said. "And a small witness team. They had witnessed this new Cinderella firsthand and lived to tell the tale. It's odd, really."
"I take it she's been rampaging around the world since I went off-grid."
Vos didn't try to sugarcoat it. "She's done damage to three continents. Set back our Pacific operations indefinitely alongside Kraken and wiped out a large portion of our remaining forces."
A bitter breath escaped the lieutenant's nose.
"...So that's my biggest failure, then... How delightful."
"It is."
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow.
"But you couldn't have seen it coming," Vos added, not as comfort, more like a fact being filed in.
They reached the meeting room, two black-armoured security agents stepping aside to let them pass. The door opened with a hiss, revealing a clean chamber with a reinforced ceiling and walls, lined with sensor arrays.
A long oval table dominated the centre, its surface matte grey, embedded with display projectors and ID readers. Around it sat half a dozen people—some in uniform, others in civilian wear.
All heads turned as the two entered.
"Colonel Vos," Major Baron Drexler said. "And... the Hydra has regrown a new head. Good to see you vertical again, lieutenant."
The lieutenant gave him a nod but offered no smile. Drexler's voice held professional respect, but it skimmed the edge of being performative.
Vos walked calmly to the head of the table and sat, unbothered by the attention. The lieutenant followed, taking a seat two down from Vos at one of the designated chairs. His eyes scanned the room, noting the observers' expressions — a mix of discomfort and scrutiny.
Drexler crossed one leg over the other, glancing at the ID tablet in front of him before looking back at the lieutenant.
"Before we begin, I'd just like to say: we're glad you're back. Really. Your name's been stamped on a lot of internal documents over the past year. Some with commendation... others with concern."
"Let's get to the part where I explain myself, then."
Drexler chuckled under his breath and waved a hand. "All in due time."
Vos tapped the console at his seat.
The door hissed closed behind them with a pressurized lock, and an alert chimed:
[Security Lock – Meeting in Session.]
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Around a Few Hours Before
A few moments later, Abe and the lieutenant had returned, and synthetic skin now wrapped the latter's legs.
His new spine was shielded by a protective brace cleverly integrated beneath his uniform. The old trench coat hung from his shoulders once more.
He looked brand new.
Fresh off the assembly line.
He walked with measured confidence, though there was a slight limp in his step due to the new sensations he experienced. His boots halted just short of Colonel Vos.
Vos said nothing.
From across the lab, Abe leaned on a table, arms crossed, tools scattered beside her. She raised an eyebrow, eyeing the lieutenant with deliberate disapproval.
"What's going to happen now? You going to run off now?" She said dryly, pointing vaguely over her shoulder. "Not like they're your squad or anything. Nope. Go on, skip off into the sunset with the old man while I work on."
"They're out of commission until you fix them. But the upside is..."
He gestured subtly toward the racks of equipment and other parts stacked by the wall.
"...You've got all the parts and their spares now. Clean environment. Enough tools. Hell, you could get them back on their feet in a few more days..."
His voice trailed off on the last word. Something shifted in his expression.
"...Repairs," he repeated quietly. "Wait—"
He turned, suddenly focused.
"Red Shoes. Is she still alive? In any capacity?"
Abe blinked. Vos looked up from the monitor feed he'd been checking on the far side of the room.
Abe replied after a beat, nodding once. "Yeah. She's in that holding tank. I was about to start work on her next. The damage wasn't too severe—just missing her legs. Honestly, she's the only other one who can assist with rebuilding the rest—"
"Don't."
The lieutenant's voice cut through the air like a crack of thunder.
Both Abe and Vos stared.
"Don't repair her," the lieutenant said again, louder now. "Don't revive her. Don't touch her body. I'm serious."
Vos squinted slightly.
"What the hell is the matter?"
Abe frowned. "Is this some kind of joke? You two were tight, if I recall things properly. Did something—"
The lieutenant didn't answer right away. His fingers flexed, twitching toward invisible objects. His eyes darted around the room, as if looking for something that wasn't there.
"I—no—hold on. I need to sit." He pointed vaguely to the side. "I need a chair—can I—just—everyone needs to sit down. Please. I—I remembered something. This conversation just reminded me. It's important. It's extremely important."
He stumbled toward the wall, pulled up a chair roughly, and dropped into it with a metallic thunk. His trench coat folded around his knees like a weighted blanket.
"Okay," Abe said, tone shifting from irritation to concern. "You're spiralling, lieutenant. Take a breath. What the hell's going on?"
Vos frowned, walking closer now.
"Lieutenant. Start from the top—"
"Red Shoes was the one who corrupted Cinderella."
Notes:
A double note, how about that?
2.5 Anni is going on, so get your pulls in and stuff like that. I was able to get Siren in 40 pulls, and she's very, very good in my opinion—though you need a high level of investment for her.
Chapter 23: Vol 3.7: They'll Get Along Fine
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
[End of Volume 3]
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Around a Month After Cinderella's Corruption
The witnesses sat stiffly.
One of the men could barely meet anyone's eyes.
"She left one of us," said one of the soldiers. "That was me. My whole squad was... vaporized. One second, they were fighting. The next..."
She didn't finish. Her hand trembled slightly as she pressed it to the bandage around her neck.
"She didn't always use that weapon," the second soldier muttered. "The Glass Slippers thing... yeah, she used it to melt the terrain, cook tanks. But she... she didn't stop there. I saw her crush someone's head with her hands. I-it wasn't a clean kill at all, it was... Just... Oh my god..."
Drexler exhaled and tapped a button, recording the audio.
Vos leaned forward slightly.
"And she left you alive."
The wounded soldier nodded slowly.
"Arrogance," Vos muttered. "She's using an old tactic. A cruel one. Leave one behind to carry the horror. Makes her actions louder."
"She was smiling. Not like a crazy person. Just... Like a predator when it bears its teeth. Like that."
Vos held his stare for a moment before nodding to the guards near the rear doors.
"Escort them to the transport wing. See that they're moved to the Ark's perimeter refugee clinic. Full psychological support."
The guards responded immediately, gently but firmly helping the shell-shocked men and women to their feet.
As the door hissed shut behind them, silence lingered.
Drexler leaned back and exhaled, steepling his fingers.
"The kind of horror you'd expect from a Rapture—but with intent. Style. That's what unsettles me."
Vos turned to the lieutenant.
"Before her corruption, did Cinderella—Anachiro—show any signs of this?"
The lieutenant shook his head slowly.
"No. Never. She was soft-spoken, almost... demure. A bit melancholic sometimes, but always smiling and laughing with the other members of the squad. More often than not, I'd find her looking at herself in the mirror, rambling on about beauty or whatever."
"Which makes this all the worse," Drexler said, pulling up a new data set. "Post-attack recon. After one of her more recent appearances."
The table lit up, casting dull red and orange glows on their faces—dozens of twisted wrecks, melted tanks, fractured terrain scorched to black. One shot showed what appeared to be boot prints seared into reinforced concrete.
"Here," Drexler gestured. "Look at the blast pattern. It's wild, no targeting cohesion. Just... raw discharge. No thought for efficiency or any of that horseshit."
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes.
"That's not right. Cinderella knew better. Glass Slippers needs proper heat cycle management—uncontrolled use could force system shutdowns or something worse. She'd never use it like this unless she didn't care about the heat."
Vos folded his arms.
"Or unless she doesn't feel it anymore."
That hung in the air.
Drexler's face hardened. "So the corruption altered her personality, and her body was modified somehow by the Raptures. That's what we can conclude here."
Vos nodded once.
"This isn't Cinderella anymore. It's a puppet with her weapons and body. That's why we dub her 'Anachiro' now, lieutenant."
"Then she's gone."
It was a bit unsurprising that the lieutenant would feel at least some sort of apathy toward the corrupted 2nd Generation Grimms Model, considering she killed him with her own bare hands.
If anything, there was more contempt in his thoughts regarding Cinderella than pity.
It just solidified the thought that Nikkes were just robots—that they could be hacked, modified or corrupted at a moment's notice...
They weren't Nikkes.
Never Nikkes.
Just Robots.
A brief pause passed as the room returned to low idle hums from the projectors.
Drexler switched topics, cleared his throat and pulled up another window.
"We've tried to predict her next target," he began. "So far, she hasn't followed a strategic pattern. No resource hubs, no command centres, no manufacturing. Just... destruction. Population centres, front-line camps, logistical nodes."
"She's sowing chaos," Vos concluded. "Nothing more."
Drexler nodded.
"We considered the Seed Vault as a possible objective."
"That would've made sense. Strategic value. Long-term sabotage," the lieutenant remarked. "If humanity is to ever come back from this invasion, the seed vault is paramount."
"And yet—she's passed near it twice. Sensors picked up her signature less than 80 kilometres out. No shift in path. It's like she doesn't give a damn," Vos added thoughtfully.
"Which makes no sense," Drexler said, rubbing the side of his temple with a stylus. "If she's just spreading chaos, the Vault should've been first."
"Crown's team's already stationed there," Vos said. "Corbin, too. If she makes a move, they'll hold. But I am concerned—Crown doesn't have enough Alva Particles in her system to activate Naked King reliably."
"That's not a problem we can solve overnight," Drexler replied. "Best-case scenario, Corbin sends her into an Alva-heavy zone. Maybe a few relic points, an old reactor. But that's a long shot."
"We can't risk the Seed Vault," the lieutenant added flatly. "It stays protected. No matter what."
All three men nodded in agreement.
A silent pause followed—one of those moments in war meetings when everyone understands what's truly going on but doesn't voice it.
Drexler cleared his throat again and leaned forward.
"Alright. That brings us to the next problem."
Vos looked up.
"Assuming the lieutenant and the rest of Old Tales aren't traitors—which the evidence increasingly suggests—Abe's agreed to a full brainscan of the team. If we find anything other than what's expected, then we take the Nikke in question for further scans."
The lieutenant hummed absently.
He'd want to look at the brain scans personally.
Vos didn't speak as Drexler addressed him directly.
"You head up the Goddess Squad. You headed Old Tales, too. If we're mounting an operation to take Anachiro down, we need a direction. What's the play?" The Major asked the Colonel.
Vos was quiet for a beat.
But the lieutenant leaned forward.
"I've got a suggestion."
Both officers looked at him.
"We wait. Let Abe finish patching up Old Tales. Once they're operational again, we hit the brass with everything at once—the brain scans, internal diagnostics, and proof that Old Tales is clean. Then we propose that we—as in my squad—go after Anachiro ourselves."
Drexler raised an eyebrow.
"You're suggesting patience? You?"
"It's not patience, Drexler," the lieutenant replied coolly. "If we go straight to the higher-ups with the data and the squad in full, we pin them in a corner. They either approve the mission and look cooperative, or they reject it—and I take Old Tales on another 'unauthorized' op, crush Anachiro, and shove their incompetence in their faces on live comms."
Vos let out a short, barking laugh.
Drexler was less amused.
"This coming from the man who dragged Old Tales into several black zone missions without proper clearance? Now you want to wait for bureaucracy?"
"I'm playing them," the lieutenant said. "And I'll play them well. They already think we're unreliable. Might as well make 'unpredictable' part of the pitch."
Drexler stared for a second.
"You used to throw away rules for data. For kills. Now you're coordinating paperwork to cover your ass. What the hell happened?"
The lieutenant smirked faintly.
"Despite all the parts in my body, I'm still me. Still throwing rules out. Just not wasting the opportunity to use those robots as weapons."
Vos nodded slowly.
"Smart."
"Still going to do it my way if they say no," the lieutenant added, then muttered under his breath, "Those central government bitches can suck me nicely."
Vos actually chuckled. "Now that's more like it."
Drexler sighed, shaking his head.
"God help me, I'm starting to root for this plan."
Vos cleared his throat.
"If you're volunteering for this mission," he said, levelling a serious look at the lieutenant, "then you're not doing it blind. You need a backup plan. Tactical support. People you can trust. That means allies who can counter Anachiro's new buildout, not just shoot at her and pray."
The lieutenant didn't answer right away. He rubbed his jaw, thinking.
Then, slowly, he turned back toward the Colonel.
"I've been thinking about that..."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"And I've known you long enough..." He tilted his head with a mocking sneer. "To know exactly what you're about to do to me next."
Vos smiled thinly, fingers tapping once against the table.
Drexler leaned back again before standing up. "I'm going to need a drink before this whole damn thing kicks off."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Day Later
Andersen stood at full attention, hands behind his back, boots perfectly aligned with the tile seams on the floor.
His jaw was clenched, and for some reason—God knows why—his aviator shades were still on.
Inside.
Where there was no sun.
"Why the hell do I still have these on?" he muttered to himself. Then louder: "Image. Right. Commander of the Goddess Squad. Icon. You've got this, you glorious bastard."
He inhaled deeply.
Then exhaled.
Then panicked again.
What if this is about the elevator mission?
He shifted his stance.
Nah, it's been a month. Surely too late for disciplinary action, right?
Unless it was a build-up, a deliberate wait to make the shame worse. Psychological warfare.
Vos was good at that.
"Shit," he muttered again, now fidgeting slightly. "Maybe it's the Cinderella thing. I didn't know she was corrupted, damn it! Nobody did! I had the numbers, we had the firepower—tactical advantage, that's all that mattered! Sure, Rose got clipped and we had Lilith had to bail us out but we didn't lose—"
The door hissed open.
Andersen went rigid like someone had flipped a switch.
Colonel Vos stepped in with all the presence of a man who'd rather be somewhere else but had resigned himself to this moment. His face was unreadable—stone-faced and void of any hope that this conversation would be brief.
Andersen's mouth ran before his brain caught up.
"Colonel! Uh—good afternoon! Sir! How are you doing—uh, any, orders from Command you need me to carry out? Given you came in person, I can only assume this is an urgent matter and—"
Vos raised a hand. Just one.
Andersen stopped talking immediately.
Vos stared at him for a long beat, then let out a slow breath through his nose.
"Stop overthinking," he said flatly.
Andersen blinked.
"You're not being fired. You're not being court-martialed. Your pay's not getting docked. I'm not here to dunk you in glue and roll you in feathers so you can cluck around the base like a goddamn chicken."
The commander opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"I'm also not here to yell at you about taking your squad to the Space Elevator without confirming Cinderella's position. Or that she'd gone rogue."
Vos narrowed his eyes.
"Unless you want me to do those things."
Andersen's spine straightened even more, if that was possible.
"N-no, sir! No! Thank you for your mercy, Colonel, truly. I just assumed because the girls are outside and—and I thought you might—"
"Commander."
Andersen froze.
"You're a mercenary," Vos said, voice still deadpan. "But you're also a bit of a damn weirdo. I know you've been playing all those scenarios in your head."
Andersen coughed. "I... may have run a few simulations."
"Sit down. Before I regret not bringing glue."
The commander obeyed quickly, nearly tripping over his own chair as he sat. Vos moved slower, pausing near the edge of the table.
"You got a drink for me?"
Andersen paled.
"I—I was just waiting here, I didn't think to—"
"Forget it," Vos sighed. "Everyone's stressed. Not like anyone's throwing tea parties these days."
The two sat in silence for a moment. Vos leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for half a second. Andersen sat ramrod straight, hands folded in front of him like God was interviewing him.
Then, finally, Vos cracked one eye open.
"How's everyone?" he asked.
Andersen blinked.
He hadn't expected that.
"...Everyone?"
Vos gave a slight nod. "Your squad. Rose. Liliweiss. Rapunzel. The lot. How are they doing?"
Andersen paused.
Then, almost shyly, his shoulders relaxed.
"They're fine, sir. For the most part... Though... The mood's... different. A lot quieter."
Vos arched a brow.
"Because of Red Hood."
Andersen nodded once. "Yes. After her disposal, it hit the team. Hard. Especially Snow White. She barely leaves the armoury or her quarters now. Doesn't talk much, and when she does, it's just...uh—No small talk. Not even with Scarlet or Rapunzel."
Vos hummed.
"Was Red Hood disposed of properly?" he asked. "And was the body recovered?"
Andersen was ready for that. Even though he respected the Colonel greatly, he couldn't and wouldn't compromise the fact that Red Hood was sauntering off to her hometown.
"As soon as the Space Elevator op ended. I had to dispose of her personally. No time to recover anything—we were still regrouping, and evac was messy. She's probably still somewhere near the debris zone, but retrieval wasn't prioritized."
Vos exhaled through his nose, a soft hiss of disappointment.
"Could've used her body. At least study the corruption a bit more. Might've helped with the Anachiro situation."
Andersen's jaw twitched. His voice stayed neutral. "Unfortunate."
"It is."
Vos's stare lingered on him for just a second longer than was comfortable, like he knew Andersen was biting his tongue. But he let it go.
"Any direct messages from the brass?"
Andersen blinked again, processing the shift.
"None, sir. If anything, they've been oddly quiet. I imagine they're too busy stitching together the UFH and VTC structures into the Central Government framework."
Vos gave a single, slow nod.
"Matches what I've been seeing. High Command's not sticking their noses into front-line affairs for now. Just broadcasting orders to 'hold the line' while the Ark is being finished."
He said the phrase with mild disdain.
There was silence for a moment. Then:
"The issue with holding the line," Vos said, "is Anachiro."
"Believe me, sir. I learned that first-hand."
Vos nodded once more.
"She was built to outperform Liliweiss. Outlast her. Outgun her. Now, Cinderella's body wasn't just tuned up—she was overhauled. Probably reinforced with Rapture tech."
Andersen didn't respond right away. He was watching the Colonel now with a sharper gaze.
Then Vos said it.
"We need to deal with her. Now."
He sat forward, elbows on his knees, interlacing his fingers.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat this," he said. "We need to deal with Anachiro. Soon. Before she picks another strategic target. I'm prepping a rapid-response operation to either disable or destroy her, depending on opportunity."
"Are we being deployed?"
"You'll be on standby. When I give the word, you'll move."
A pause.
Andersen frowned slightly. "Are we going alone?"
Vos gave a small nod.
"You won't be alone. Another team's being rerouted. Similar calibre. Not as refined as your squad, but they'll carry their weight."
Andersen tilted his head. "Anyone I'd know?"
Vos didn't answer, just gave a dry smirk as he pushed himself to his feet.
"You'll find out soon."
He paused at the doorway, hand on the panel. Then glanced over his shoulder.
"Prep your girls. The quiet won't last long."
"Yes, sir."
Vos turned to leave—then paused at the door.
"...And take off those damn shades. You're indoors."
Andersen whipped them off immediately. "Yes, sir!"
The Colonel left without another word.
Andersen slumped back in the chair, wiping a hand down his face.
"...He was going to dunk me in glue, I knew it!"
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Hours Later
The humming of fluorescent lights overhead didn't help the tension in the air.
A table divided the two men, but it might as well have been a canyon.
The lieutenant sat back in his chair, arms crossed, one leg over the other. His piercing gaze hadn't moved in minutes.
It was fixed in an intense, analytical sense on the person in front of him.
Across from him, Andersen sat stiffly.
His posture was (again) ramrod straight, like he was still trying to make a good impression despite the growing unease crawling down his spine.
Why's he looking at me like that?! Andersen thought, sweat forming just behind his temples.
This guy... is the one Colonel Vos said was going to be helping me take down Anachiro? He's terrifying!
He adjusted his shades nervously, pretending to read something off his tablet that wasn't even turned on.
The stare continued.
Is he trying to drill a hole through my skull? Is he reading my fucking soul?! Jesus, why does Colonel Vos only recruit terrifying people who look like they eat gun oil for breakfast!?
The Goddess Commander cleared his throat and finally spoke, breaking the tension with a forced cough and a wavering grin.
"Uh. Y'know, it's rude to stare."
The lieutenant blinked. It was the first motion he'd made in the last ten minutes.
"Sorry," he said flatly. "Just wondering why the hell you're wearing aviators indoors."
Andersen froze. His smile twitched.
A beat passed.
Then, like someone just triggered a self-destruct, he yanked the shades off and held them like they'd killed his family.
"I just—! I always wear them. Even when I'm not on the field!"
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes.
"I figured you were either blind or had a superiority complex."
Andersen opened his mouth and then closed it.
"I wear them for image. It's kind of my thing, okay?"
Silence.
Then, the lieutenant gave a low, near-imperceptible sigh. He leaned back, shook his head slightly, then lifted a hand and waved at him.
"Put 'em back on."
Andersen blinked. "Huh?"
"Put. Them. Back. On."
He did, awkwardly sliding the shades back into place.
The lieutenant stared again. Then nodded.
"There. That's better."
"...Better?"
"My image of the Commander of the Goddess Squad is back where it should be. You ruined it when you took them off. You looked like someone's out-of-work uncle trying to sell me insurance."
Andersen's face twisted in visible offence.
"Excuse me?!"
"You looked like someone who sells phone plans at a mall kiosk. Or hand out pamphlets on nutritional supplements."
"What the hell—?!"
Andersen stood up slightly, a hand on the table, fully affronted.
"I command Goddess Squad! You know, the ones in the news all the time? The most elite Nikke squad ever created! What part of me says 'cell plan salesman'?!"
"The part where your squad has a ninety-five percent success rate."
"...What?"
"Old Tales has a Ninety-seven percent success rate," the lieutenant added. "Zero losses. Barely any damage. No bailouts by Lieutenant Liliweiss. No backup calls. Just clean work."
Andersen's eye twitched under the shades.
"Yeah, well—maybe if your squad wasn't kept classified half the time, the stats might be a little harder to pad," Andersen shot back. "What's three years in operation compared to three months, huh?"
The lieutenant didn't flinch. In fact, his mouth tugged slightly into the kind of smirk that people wanted to wipe off with a chair.
"We make up for shorter run-time with consistency. Early affinity for solo operations helps. Fewer variables. Cleaner results."
Andersen narrowed his eyes.
"That's what you're going with?"
"I'm just stating facts," the lieutenant said, reclining again. "You're the one who brought up how elite your squad is. Statistically speaking, you're two percent less elite."
Andersen clutched his chest like the insult physically struck him, dramatically slumping back into his chair.
"Unbelievable..."
"You're taking this very personally for a man who wears sunglasses indoors."
"I'm cultivating an image!"
"It's cultivated, alright."
Andersen threw his hands in the air. "Why is everyone around Vos like this?!"
The lieutenant glanced at the ceiling, then back at Andersen, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.
They'll get along just fine... probably.
Notes:
Alright~ Anachiro is the main threat, the lieutenant is alive (if you call being over 50% cybernetic alive lmfao) and all is peachy!
Nothing is wrong!
Everything is fine!!!
Anyways...
Thoughts?
Chapter 24: Intermission: What Will You Do?
Notes:
This chapter is specifically used to separate volumes from one another, as well as act as a resting place/bookmark for the readers.
It also acts as a little Q&A section, in which the readers can ask questions about the story coming forward.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Intermission III - What Will You Do? (Lieutenant ██████ & Rose)
Year: 2X34, Three Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Evening, Early Summer
The lieutenant leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. His expression was unreadable as usual. It was always a bit too intense for someone so relatively young, to be honest.
He rubbed a thumb along the corner of his jaw absently, glancing at a chart he'd already memorized twice.
And then—
"Lieutenant?"
He blinked, attention drifting from the screen. Sitting across from his desk, arms loosely folded, was Rose. Long grey hair, gold-tinged eyes...
When did she get here?
He tried to recall the recent events...
Ah, right.
She probably was just coming back from recalibration. Even a near-perfect Nikke like her needed one once in a while.
"?"
She didn't need a reason to be here—Rose just showed up when she felt like it. Always had. Sometimes it was for a conversation. Sometimes it was to sit in silence.
He'd stopped questioning it after the first few times.
"Yeah? What's going on?"
She tilted her head, almost innocently. "I forgot to ask you something. I've been meaning to for a while now."
"Go ahead then."
"What are you going to do after the war's over?"
The question hung there for a second longer than it should've. Like smoke from a fuse just lit.
The lieutenant's brow furrowed, and he leaned back slowly in his chair.
"That's a strange question."
"You think?" The young lady smiled faintly. "I asked everyone else already. Scarlet. Rina. Even Sera."
"...Really?"
"Mhm," she nodded. "Sera said she wants to sleep for a whole week. On a giant mattress. Said she wants to know what a dream feels like."
Do Nikkes not dream? He internally questioned, but brushed it off for another time.
He exhaled a short breath through his nose. "She would, but I have to say they're not up to all the hype."
Almost daily nightmares and sleeping issues do that to you.
"Rina said she wants to make a massive pot of soup. Bigger than any she's ever made. And then eat the whole thing herself."
His expression turned concerned.
"Like... her beef soup or..."
"She never specified, but maybe a combination of everything."
"...That sounds illegal."
She giggled at his horrified expression.
"Scarlet's answer was funnier. She said she wants to spar with me with no armour."
"She's going to kill herself trying that. Not like you lot wear much armour in the first place."
"You think so? I like to think of it like it'd be like her version of a vacation."
There was a brief pause.
Then he murmured, "That sounds like all of you."
Her eyes met his for a second, and she nodded slowly, her voice soft.
"So what about you? What would you do?"
"..."
He didn't answer immediately.
Because he didn't want to answer.
Because deep down, he didn't believe any of those answers mattered.
They weren't real. They weren't going to be real.
Scarlet. Rina. Sera, the rest of the Melee squad, like the casualties all before them, were going to die.
Not right away, but eventually.
One by one, chewed up by the war machine. Torn apart in the field. Salvaged. Studied. Repurposed. That was the end game for every Nikke in this squad—no matter how skilled or resilient.
He didn't say any of that, though.
He had to keep up appearances.
Who knew what would happen if they found out the true nature of this assessment too early? It would either be mutiny, a Mind Switch or something else incomprehensible to his thoughts at the moment.
"It's a strange question," he repeated, quietly this time. "I'll probably still be in the military. Moving up. Climbing the ladder. Paperwork. Reports... Things like that."
He trailed off.
Then his eyes shifted, just slightly.
To a small picture frame on the edge of his desk. Half-shadowed by the desk lamp's light.
"If that wasn't the case," he added, "...then I'd probably go looking for my family again."
His fingers tapped once on the side of his arm.
"It's one of the reasons I joined up, after all."
Silence settled in the room again. Not the kind that felt awkward or heavy, just... there. Like a pause in the wind.
The lieutenant shifted slightly in his chair.
After a moment, he asked, "...What about you?"
She blinked at him.
He glanced at her briefly, then back toward the monitor, which now displayed nothing but a standby logo.
He couldn't explain why he asked. Not really.
Maybe because something in him had already decided she would survive. Out of all of them, Rose would be the last one standing.
The strongest.
"..."
If anyone made it past the end of his assessment, it would be her.
So it felt... okay, somehow, to ask. Even if the guilt made his stomach churn. Even if it was stupid. Even if talking to her like this, regularly, in tiny stolen moments, felt like rubbing salt into a wound that hadn't fully opened yet.
Still. She was here.
Might as well be human about it.
Rose hummed quietly, the way she often did when thinking. She looked toward the ceiling, like she was chasing clouds in her mind.
Then she said, "Follow the wind. Follow the clouds. Follow your heart—Wherever those take me, that's where I'll go."
Of course, it would be something like that.
"So a nomad, huh?"
Rose didn't answer immediately, but her eyes flicked toward the picture frame on his desk.
"Maybe something like that," she mused. "There'll be so much to do once the surface is ours again. I don't even know where I'd start."
She gave a faint shrug after.
"Being a nomad... wouldn’t be the worst idea," she added, a little more certain this time. "The world’s going to be wide open again. Might as well see it."
Then, she leaned forward just a bit, resting her arms across her knees.
"Maybe... I could help you look for them. If you want," she said, like she was only half-serious.
His expression twitched.
"Your heart telling you that, too?"
"Maybe," she replied, still looking at the photo. "But... isn't that why you're still here? Even with everything else going on, even after all this time... you still think about them."
He clenched his jaw and groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.
"...I shouldn't have told you that."
"You did," she said simply.
"I'm stupid," he muttered.
"No, you're not."
He ignored that. "Made a mistake. Should've kept it to myself."
"You didn't."
He gave her a sideways glare, but there was no bite to it. He didn't know if she was trying to be annoying or genuinely attempting to reassure him...
Whatever.
Then, after a moment, he sighed and slouched back in his chair, the tension draining slowly from his shoulders.
"If the wind or your heart, or whatever, is telling you to do something that dumb," he muttered, "then I guess I can accept it."
"Hm?"
He exhaled, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say.
"I mean... it'd be nice, I guess."
Rose blinked.
He mumbled, half under his breath, "...Why not?"
She leaned forward a bit, interested now. "Why not what?"
The lieutenant didn't look at her. He just kept staring off at the corner of the room, lips moving slowly.
"Looking for them together, I guess."
Her eyes lit up.
"Really?" she asked. "Then maybe we can bring Scarlet along. I can already think of a few places where we can start. T-that's if you don't have any ideas in mind already, haha. All three of us on an adventure—it'll be fun!"
That made his chest tighten.
Scarlet.
He almost forgot how easily Rose could say things like that. How casually she could drop names like her sister's, like she wasn't the one the data said would probably fall next.
She wasn't... but still.
He swallowed and looked away.
"I'm still human, you know," he muttered. "I don't think I can keep up with both of you."
"We'd go easy on you, lieutenant."
"Wouldn't count on it," he grumbled.
There was another pause—longer this time.
Then, he added, more softly:
"...When the war's over, maybe I'll file for discharge. Pull the pin. Walk away."
Rose blinked in surprise, the grin on her face mellowing into something gentler.
"You'd really do that?"
He nodded, eyes still fixed somewhere far off. "Yeah. Maybe. If I'm still alive, and so are you two... maybe."
She stood up slowly but didn't walk away—just leaned against the edge of his desk, eyes still on him.
"You know," she said, "you're more sentimental than you look."
The lieutenant rolled his eyes. "Don't start."
"I'm serious. You pretend you're all steel and procedure, but deep down, you're kind of soft."
He deadpanned at her. "Say that again and I'll deny it under oath. Publicly."
"Hey, so if you do get discharged... does that mean I finally get to call you by your actual name—"
"Absolutely not!" His voice jumped half an octave as he jolted upright, actual panic flashing across his face. "N-no! Not happening! Out—out of my office! This was already a weird conversation!"
She laughed, backing toward the door, hands raised in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it! I guess I talked a bit too much this time~"
The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss. Her faint giggles echoed down the hallway for a moment before fading away.
He sat there in silence.
Just breathing.
Slow.
Then shaky.
The kind of breath you take when you're trying to hold something in.
He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"...Fuck."
It came out low.
"I hate this shit."
They weren't supposed to be like this.
Not supposed to be so full of laughter. Hope. Life.
Why did they have to be so goddamn human?
Why did she have to smile like that?
Another silence.
He stayed there for a long moment before finally muttering:
"I can't do this anymore..."
And he meant it.
He would leave.
He had to.
But what would be left when he did?
And at what cost?
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night, Early Spring
Rose walked fast, her boots striking the floor in rapid rhythm, too loud for someone who usually moved without sound.
Her hand was clamped over her mouth.
Her eyes stung.
Keep walking.
She rounded the corner, picking up her pace. Past the break room. Past the empty med bay window.
Don't stop. Don't cry here. Not here.
The door to her room recognized her instantly, sliding open with a pneumatic hiss. She stepped inside, then turned on her heel sharply.
The door sealed shut behind her.
Silence.
She took one slow, unbalanced step forward. Then another. She didn't even realize her knees had started to give until she caught the edge of her desk, fingers gripping the edge just to stay upright.
She stared forward, but her eyes weren't seeing the room. Not the bed, the shelf with her books, the datapad sitting half-charged in the corner. Not the potted vine she'd kept alive since last winter.
All of that was just background.
Her expression...
It cracked.
Subtle at first. Lips were trembling slightly.
A tear rolled down her cheek. She didn't brush it away.
Another followed.
It was all a lie.
The banter. The lazy evening conversations. The chats in his office over coffee. Those quiet moments where he said something hopeful and human and tired—like maybe they could all live through this, like maybe there'd be something worth salvaging after the war ended.
Fake. All of it.
She'd asked him once what he'd do after the war, and he told her. With that quiet way of speaking that almost sounded like affection, like trust, she told him she'd follow her heart and maybe help him find his family.
She had meant it.
He never had.
None of them were meant to survive.
No one.
Not even Scarlet. Her sister. Her blood.
Only her.
The only one they needed.
The others were... were what? Test data? Control variables? Scrap?
Her mind replayed it again. The voice on the other side of the commander's office door. The conversation her new commander had with Colonel Vos, the one she wasn't meant to hear, but she had.
All of them.
Not failures in combat. No. Just variables. Numbers in a long-running field experiment. Push the squad until something breaks. Monitor degradation. Measure when and how they die. That's what it was for.
That's what the supply delays were.
That's what the sudden difficulty spikes were.
Not random. Not bad luck. Not fate.
It was all planned.
Her head shook slowly, but the weight in her chest didn't leave.
And the worst part—the part that wouldn't stop playing over and over—was his voice.
"If that wasn't the case... I'd probably go looking for my family again."
His words. His little half-smiles. Those moments by that picture frame. Those rare flickers of something softer, human, under the stoic surface. The idea of something beyond war. A future. A journey.
None of it was real.
He knew. He had to. He was the one running the assessment.
All of them were.
She gripped the edge of the desk tightly, her knuckles whitening.
How many times had she spoken with him? Trusted him? Told him about her thoughts? Her dreams?
How many times had she looked at him and seen a person?
How often did he sit there with that quiet face, that calm posture, as if everything was normal?
Acting like he cared?
As if they weren't just names in a file.
As if they weren't just data points—
—As if they all weren't walking corpses in his ledger?
Rose felt her legs weaken again, and this time she didn't stop it.
She slid down against the desk until she was sitting on the floor, knees bent loosely, arms draped over them. Her head lowered, hair falling over her shoulders.
Another tear slipped out. And another.
She mourned for him.
Or at least, for the version of him she'd thought existed.
The one she'd imagined on the other end of some distant, peaceful road. Someone who might have taken that walk with her, far away from blood and death.
Maybe the others had suspected something was up.
Maybe Scarlet did, once or twice.
But not her. She had believed in him.
And now?
"..."
The way he said, "It'd be nice, I guess."
That was what he said.
As if it meant something.
As if any of it had meant something.
The way he pretended.
The way he looked them all in the eyes, every day, like none of it weighed on him.
Was that a lie, too?
She didn't know.
She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
But what she did know—what she couldn't push away—
Was how it felt.
Like something had been carved out of her chest and left hollow.
Not just horrified.
Not just betrayed.
But truly, deeply—
Heartbroken.
Notes:
I've twisted the knife enough, haven't I?
Are you all ready for Volume 4?
Any questions for me?
Chapter 25: Vol 4.1: Don't Look Back
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, Early Summer
Scarlet stopped short of the meeting room's sealed door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
"..."
There had been something wrong with her sister for months now.
It wasn't a physical wound; those injuries had been repaired many weeks ago.
It was subtle things only a sibling would see.
It was like a pause that lingered too long.
Smiles that didn't quite reach the eyes.
Conversations that ended before they began.
She had noticed it shortly after the failure at the space elevator.
Since then, Rose had grown quieter. Not in the way someone becomes serene. It was the silence of someone guarding a secret too painful to voice.
One even Scarlet hadn't dared pry into.
At first, she thought maybe others would notice too.
Surely Rapunzel or Snow White.
But no one said anything. Maybe they were still reeling from Red Hood's departure. Maybe the grief from the failed Queen assault had stolen all their attention.
Or maybe they were simply too exhausted to see it.
But Scarlet saw it.
Because Rose was her sister. Because she'd promised someone—him—to be the one who watched over others when no one else would. To step up when others hesitated. To become something more than just a sword.
She wanted to meet his expectations, even in death.
"..."
She exhaled slowly.
"Let not the ghosts of yesterday linger too long," she muttered under her breath. "Time dulls all pain—or so the tales claim."
It sounded good on her tongue.
But she wasn't sure she believed it.
Why did it hurt so bad?
The door to the meeting room hissed open. It was dimly lit—there were no holoprojections yet, and no commander was present.
Though that latter part was almost always a given, their commander was a bit of a clutz at times.
Scarlet stepped through, arms still folded, and she scanned the room.
Rapunzel sat near the far end of the oval table, her presence gentle as ever. She looked up and smiled softly.
"Scarlet," she said warmly. "It's good to see you."
Scarlet returned the gesture with a subtle dip of her head. "And thee, gentle Rapunzel."
Dorothy gave her a mild nod, expression unreadable. Scarlet returned it with equal simplicity.
Her gaze drifted.
Snow White sat closest to the head of the table, her gloved fingers absently turning a small, folded schematic over and over. Her eyes were far away, her focus clearly internal. Scarlet lingered on her for a moment, considering, maybe even wanting to ask something, but decided against it.
It wasn't the right time.
Instead, her eyes moved to Rose.
She sat quietly, arms resting on the edge of the table, her expression blank—not the practiced neutrality of a professional soldier, but the absence of effort.
It was like she didn't have the energy to wear a mask anymore.
Scarlet approached and stood beside her, uncrossing her arms at last.
"Sister. Where be our ever-elusive commander? And Liliweiss?"
Rose blinked and tilted her head slightly toward her.
"They'll be here soon. This one's about future operations, apparently."
Scarlet hummed low in her throat, sliding into the seat beside her. She leaned back, glancing briefly at the ceiling before speaking again.
"Operations, hm? One wonders what need we've left to press forward. Of late, all our orders seem fixated on holding ground long since lost—rear-guard movements, and the like. What grim page shall we turn next, I wonder?"
There was no reply.
Just the quiet sound of air circulators and the occasional metallic shuffle of movement.
Scarlet didn't press.
She glanced at her sister sidelong, just long enough to see the faint tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers stayed too still. How her eyes didn't stray from the table's surface.
Another hum. This one was quieter.
She would not force Rose to speak. Not yet.
The lights overhead buzzed, casting a pale glow on the trio advancing toward the meeting room.
The lieutenant walked on the left, his expression taut. A shallow scowl sat on his face, mostly suppressed but unmistakable to anyone watching.
They were late.
Not by much, but enough to bother him.
"..."
He gave a brief glance toward Andersen walking in the centre, his usual stride relaxed, hands behind his back like a teacher on a stroll.
The lieutenant's gaze flicked to Liliweiss beside him.
She had only just returned from recalibration.
That's what took so long, the lieutenant thought. Andersen insisted on waiting... of course he did.
He didn't say it aloud, but the disapproval gnawed at him.
It wasn't just the delay that annoyed him, it was the optics of the delay.
Andersen showing this level of attentiveness to someone within his own command structure felt... improper. There were lines that shouldn't be blurred in wartime.
Favouritism compromised judgment, especially in a situation as precarious as this, with Anachiro still out there, and the failed Queen operation putting everything on edge.
The lieutenant exhaled quietly through his nose and adjusted his collar.
Focus on the mission, he reminded himself.
This was his first official contact with the Goddess Squad— the legendary First Gen Grimm models. Despite Old Tales being battered and whittled down to fragments, it'd open doors if they could forge a working relationship here.
And more than anything else, it could cement his role as a reliable counterbalance to Andersen's looser style.
He could already think of a multitude of tactical and battle scenarios that could help in a confrontation with the corrupted Cinderella.
All he needed was trust.
The lieutenant broke the silence.
"Andersen," he said plainly. "Would you mind handling introductions and leading the start of the meeting?"
Andersen gave him a sidelong glance. "Really? Thought you'd want to make a strong first impression on the girls."
"This is only one of many meetings they'll see me in," the lieutenant replied. "Better for someone they're familiar with to open. I'll speak when it matters."
"Fair enough."
Liliweiss smiled faintly, her tone airy.
"My, you two get along quite well for people who only met a few hours ago."
Andersen let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah, well... war makes for strange dynamics."
The door to the briefing room hissed open.
He scanned the interior for the Nikkes quickly. Just as he'd expected, they were all there.
Dorothy: long, pink hair cascading over her shoulders like silk, posture poised. She barely turned, offering a polite glance his way.
Rapunzel was next, seated at the table with a calm, warm smile, almost like a schoolteacher welcoming new students. Her eyes lingered on him before giving a small wave.
Then—
Snow White.
She was hunched over part of the table, her visor resting on her forehead, fingers nimbly adjusting to some small device. She didn't look up.
His brow twitched.
A kid.
That's what she looked like.
She couldn't have looked more than fourteen—and yet here she was, surrounded by weapons and war charts.
Kids shouldn't be here.
Not on these frontlines. Not anywhere near them.
It irked him greatly for some reason.
"..."
He pushed the thought aside, keeping his face unreadable.
Andersen stepped forward.
"Apologies for the delay," he began. "Recalibration took longer than expected. But we're here now, and I want to get everyone acquainted. I know we're running low on time, but this one's important—"
The lieutenant wasn't listening anymore.
His eyes were moving across the room, doing one final headcount.
And then—
Two pairs of eyes locked with his own.
Golden, amber—whatever colour they were, they were as sharp as firelight.
Rose and... Scarlet.
"...What...?"
Neither of them moved nor did they speak. But the recognition was instant.
Their eyes were wide in utter shock.
And his chest hollowed out.
His mind went blank.
The names. The reports. The planned talking points he had for this meeting, to make a good impression.
"What...?"
He simply stayed quiet and let Andersen do the talking.
He stood beside him during the remainder of the briefing, his gaze vaguely fixed on the terminal screen.
His mind spun in slow, suffocating loops.
At some point, he heard his own voice offer a few words—something about this being humanity's darkest hour, something about unity and trust.
And then it was done.
As the meeting adjourned and the Nikkes began to rise and stretch or murmur among themselves, the lieutenant stepped forward toward Andersen.
"I'll be within the facility. Some of the brass are here—I need to speak with them."
"Now? Something urgent?"
He nodded once.
"It came to me during the meeting. The reason I was... quieter than expected. It's relevant."
Andersen looked at him for a long moment, probably wondering if he should pry. Then he offered a neutral smile.
"Alright. Must be important."
The lieutenant offered a brief, professional apology, turned on his heel, and left without another word.
Vos. I need to find Colonel Vos. I need to know what the hell happened after that day. I spent too much time with those Second Gen models that I forgot about—
"Lieutenant!"
He froze.
That voice.
Old-school cadence or not, he'd know it in a crowd of a thousand.
He didn't turn around immediately. He heard the steps—fast, light, but growing louder.
She was running.
And if he didn't stop, she'd reach him anyway.
So he turned, slow, half-expecting to be slapped or shouted at or—
Thud!
Arms wrapped around his torso.
A face pressed against his chest, ear against his sternum.
He stood stock still, wide-eyed, one hand twitching as if unsure whether to push her away or return the embrace.
"Scarlet...?"
He looked down. Her face was turned to the side, half-buried into his coat.
"This is... uncharacteristic of you."
She didn't look up. Her cheeks were turning as red as her namesake.
"I must know if thy heart doth yet beat... or if mine own eyes deceive me," she murmured, voice muffled. "Perchance I hallucinate... and this reunion is but a cruel joke..."
He blinked, stunned.
A few heartbeats passed.
Finally, Scarlet stepped back slowly.
Her expression was guarded now, trying to put the mask back on. But her eyes betrayed it. They were glassy as they tried to project strength.
"I thought... I thought you were killed," she whispered, brow furrowed as if the very memory pained her. "Thy body... the explosion—such force would surely rid thee from this world. And the Raptures... if the flames did not, surely they would."
She stepped forward again, circling slightly, gaze raking over his body with barely restrained emotion.
Her voice picked up pace, almost breathless.
"How long hast thou been absent? How long walking hidden from thine own? Does thy body—do the augmentations pain thee? Do they feel foreign still, even now?"
Her words tumbled out faster than he could process.
"Scarlet—Scarlet. Stop. I'm here." He raised a hand. "I'm alive. And... so are you. You and Rose."
She blinked rapidly.
Once.
Twice.
Then slowly nodded.
"Aye..."
She inhaled sharply, grounding herself.
"We are the only ones. The sole members left of Melee Squad. All others... perished." Her voice cracked slightly, and she grimaced. "I should not cry—I have no right to. It is unbecoming. And yet—"
She bit her lip and looked away.
"I am... so glad thou yet live..."
He didn't respond right away.
He simply looked down the hall to the far end.
And saw her.
Rose stood there, still as a statue, watching them. Her face was impassive, but her eyes... her eyes said something else.
"...Right," he muttered.
"This is splendid," she said, taking a step toward her sister. "With thee still among the living, and though our paths differ in assignment... I daresay we now possess the edge to smite Anachiro from the face of this blighted world."
Rose's eyes flickered.
"...Yes," she said after a long pause. "Agreed. But—" she glanced sidelong at her sister "—he was headed to meet with the brass. Before you ran off."
Scarlet gave a sheepish hum.
"Ah... Yes. Forgive me." She straightened slightly. "I did, perhaps, lose myself in the moment."
The lieutenant didn't immediately respond. His brow furrowed, lips slightly parted as if trying to recall something far-off.
Then, almost absently, he asked:
"How are you still alive...?"
Scarlet turned toward him.
"Our facility was attacked around New Year's Eve," she began, her words more measured now. "It came without warning. A coordinated Rapture strike. Cora and Rina... they fell during the first wave. Our commander at the time was as well."
"I see... You were taken by surprise, after all..."
"I was injured sometime in the future, though I do not recall too much... I was bisected. My dear sister... she defended me and held the line alone until the Goddess Squad arrived. They pulled us from the rubble. And now..." She glanced at her sister. "We serve under them. The last remnants of Melee Squad."
The lieutenant closed his eyes for a moment, as if that helped him hear it better.
Then opened them again.
"Your minds," he asked. "Are your memories intact? Any... Mind Switches? Brain damage? Mindwipes?"
Scarlet gently shook her head.
"Nay. Our minds are untouched. Though our bodies sustained harm... no damage to the seat of our souls was ever reported. I remember thee. I remember that day. I remember..."
She trailed off.
The lieutenant studied them both again. Scarlet, still holding firm. Rose, unreadable.
His eyes lingered on the latter.
"...Alright," he said finally. "...We'll talk more later."
He turned without waiting for a reply.
Scarlet watched him go, a bit confused at the change in the air.
When his footsteps faded, she exhaled.
"Thou did not speak much," she said to Rose quietly. "Still in a state of shock, mayhap?"
Rose blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Her eyes flicked to where the lieutenant had walked off.
Then, with a visible effort, she spoke.
"Y-yeah... I think so." Her voice cracked slightly. "His body..."
Scarlet's tone turned grim. "Indeed. I estimate over half his physical body hath been remade. Nikke parts... cybernetic replacements. For his remaining organics... it must be a burden."
"It must hurt... Yeah..." Rose repeated, almost a whisper.
She then inhaled sharply, looking away.
Scarlet tilted her head.
"Sister," she said softly, "was this the shadow that hath plagued thee these past weeks? The far-off look you wore? Was it something like this?"
Rose stiffened. Her mouth opened—then closed.
She didn't answer and wouldn't meet Scarlet's eyes.
"...I don't know what you mean," she mumbled. "I feel a bit dizzy. I'm going to drink some water."
She turned on her heel quickly, leaving Scarlet behind.
Scarlet reached out slightly, as if to stop her, but her hand froze halfway. Her lips parted, but no words came.
She could only watch.
Watch as her sister disappeared down the corridor, her back growing smaller with each step.
The overhead lights hummed softly.
And Scarlet stood alone.
CRANK.
The heavy door slammed open with a mechanical hiss.
Colonel Vos didn't even have time to look up from his tablet.
"Lieuten—"
"How much do they know?"
Vos blinked, his mouth still mid-greeting. "I—pardon?"
"The girls. Rose. Scarlet. How much do they know?"
The Colonel's brows furrowed, lifting his gaze fully now. "Alright, take a breath and calm—"
"They weren't mindwiped. No Mind Switch or anything! They remember everything. Everything!"
"Alright, slow down—"
"They're smart, Colonel!" the lieutenant snapped, cutting him off again. "Scarlet's clever, but Rose? She was staring at me that whole damn meeting like she knew. Like she'd figured it all out."
Vos leaned back slightly, his fingers lacing together. "And if she has? NIMPH blocks violent action. Even if she wanted to harm you—"
"That's not the problem!" The lieutenant slammed a palm on the edge of the desk. "This isn't about whether she can shoot me. It's about trust! I'm supposed to lead a joint operation with the Goddess Squad against Anachiro, and two of its members—two people I was assigned with in the Melee Squad—were marked for death under my command! What the hell does that do to morale? To cohesion!?"
Vos's jaw tightened slightly. "You're overestimating the emotional fallout. These girls are trained—"
"You didn't tell me they were alive, Vos!" the lieutenant growled, now pacing slightly beside the desk. "And not only that, you didn't tell me they weren't blanked! You knew. You knew and said nothing."
Vos opened his mouth, but the lieutenant didn't stop.
"Don't give me that look. You had time. Between my revival, an entire half year I had with Old Tales, the new task force formation—don't tell me you couldn't squeeze in a sentence. 'Hey, by the way, two of your old squad survived and they remember everything, don't get blindsided like a dumbass in front of Andersen.' That would've been nice."
Vos exhaled slowly.
"You were already knee-deep with the Second Gen Nikkes, and you weren't their commander anymore, not after what you pulled. Melee Squad—"
"Was still my squad to command!" the lieutenant snapped, spinning around to face him fully. "I don't give a shit what the title said after the evaluation. I commanded them. I trained with them. I led them into how many fuckin' battles!? I should've been told how that goddamn project ended—who died, who lived, who got converted into a fucking Grimms!"
Vos raised his voice now, just enough to hold the room.
"There was chaos, Lieutenant! The government was splintering, and command channels were breaking down daily. But yes—yes, I should have told you once this assignment began. That was on me."
The lieutenant stared at him, chest rising and falling.
"Did you want this?" he asked coldly. "Is this some kind of test? A punishment? What kind of game are you playing? Because I'll let you know that me being half fucking robot is already a punishment enough!"
Vos didn't flinch. "There were no games. Just bad timing."
"Bullshit," the lieutenant muttered, voice bitter.
He turned back toward the desk, one hand braced against the edge.
"This mission hinges on cohesion. On me being able to relay orders between the most powerful Nikke squads on the planet. Liliweiss, Dorothy, Snow White, Rapunzel, Little Mermaid, Hansel, Gretel, Scarlet, and Rose—nine Nikkes, that Mercenary and me. I've got eleven percent of the team already compromised because she might not trust me anymore, and if she talks?" He scoffed. "That's not a crack. That's a goddamn rupture in the hull."
Vos was silent for a long beat.
Then:
"When I got word that Scarlet and Rose were still alive... The brass initially told me to authorize a full mindwipe."
The lieutenant's glare sharpened. "And?"
"I didn't."
"Why?"
"Because Andersen stepped in." Vos leaned forward slightly now. "Andersen blocked it. Said it wasn't necessary. Then, a few months later, before the mission to the Space Elevator, the order changed. No mind wipe. They wanted Scarlet scrapped so Rose could be reprocessed into a Grimms model."
"Of course. That was the main idea behind the Melee Squad assignment."
"Hm..."
The air in the room thickened.
"Andersen... didn't do it either," Vos added.
"Of course he didn't." The lieutenant let out a bitter breath and clicked his tongue. "That fucking Nikkephile."
There was silence.
Then, quietly, he muttered:
"Thank you. For letting me say my piece."
"You done yelling?"
"For now." The lieutenant turned sharply on his heel, pacing toward the door. "I'm going to check up on Abe and Old Tales. I need to cool the fuck off before we kill Anachiro."
The door opened again, this time without violence. The lieutenant didn't look back as he exited.
Colonel Vos exhaled and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead.
This operation was going to be a mess.
And it hadn't even started yet.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Outside Central Government Facility, Early Summer
THUNK!
The dull crack of cybernetic knuckles colliding with metal rang out through the air
A pause.
THUNK!
Then another, harder impact.
A dent formed in the alloy-clad wall, followed by a low curse.
"Fuck...!!"
THUNK!
A second slam.
THUNK!
A third.
"Shit—!!"
The lieutenant's left hand gripped the side of his face, fingers digging into his temple as though trying to physically scrape the thoughts out.
THUNK!
His right arm reeled back and struck the wall again, a twisted dent now spreading in a spider-webbed pattern across the plating. He leaned forward, forehead pressed against the wall, chest heaving.
His whisper-shouts came in ragged bursts.
"Why... why are they alive?"
Thunk!
Another fist connected with the wall, slightly lower this time.
A low, metallic groan vibrated down the structure.
He drew his cybernetic fingers down the scratched, dented surface until they caught on a seam in the plating.
His other hand covered his face completely now.
"Why weren't they—? Why weren't they scrapped!? Mindwiped!? Recycled, fucking something!"
He gasped sharply, as if choking on the air.
Sweat beaded along his brow.
"Haah... Hoooh..."
One breath.
"H-haaah.... hoooh..."
Another.
But it wasn't helping.
His thoughts slammed into each other like freight trains.
"That fucking Nikkephile..." he seethed, dragging both hands down his face. "Andersen. That spineless fucker! He's gonna get us all killed because he doesn't have the fucking balls to mindwipe a NIKKE of all things!"
He staggered back from the wall, arms falling to his sides.
A civilian contractor who'd wandered too close for a smoke break caught a glimpse of the officer's twitching silhouette and immediately turned heel and vanished behind a nearby support pylon.
The lieutenant didn't notice. Or care.
He stepped forward again and rested his forehead against the wall's cool metal.
The only thing that didn't feel like it was on fire.
"What the hell do I do now?" he muttered, voice low, hoarse. "Walk into the barracks? Turn them off and drag them to get mindwiped like nothing happened? You think Dorothy won't notice? Snow White? Fucking Rapunzel?"
His right fist trembled at his side.
"They'll know. Doesn't matter how deep NIMPH's protocols go. Those first-gen Nikkes are super weird. They'll know." His voice cracked, lips pulling into a grimace. "And if they know, I'm dead. They'll end me before command even catches wind of it."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Fucking optics..."
A pause.
"I can't even think. This is shit. This is so bad."
"Are you alright?"
He stiffened, eyes narrowing as he turned slightly toward the sound.
"I heard... banging. I just wanted to check."
Rapunzel.
Standing a few metres away with her hands folded gently in front of her chest, fingers interlaced like a prayer.
The lieutenant let out a quiet, annoyed sigh through his nose and shifted his weight back, straightening up from the wall.
"Well," he muttered, brushing off the dust on his sleeve. "There goes my first impression."
Rapunzel's smile was mild and open.
"If it helps," she said softly, "I don't think less of someone for being angry. Or frustrated. As long as they don't hurt anyone else when they are."
He scoffed, eyes rolling to the side.
"What, you programmed to be a therapist or something?"
Rapunzel didn't lose her composure. She just adjusted her hands slightly.
"I'm here to listen. Whether it's the brass chewing you out, being unfair or something else entirely." She paused. "Even if it's just you needing to shout into the wind for a minute... I don't mind being that wind."
He didn't respond immediately.
The lieutenant eyed her for a long second.
His lips twitched as if to say something, but he stopped himself.
"I'm good," he muttered. "This is... a first. Getting like this. Wanting to punch things. Usually, I keep it together."
She glanced at the wall again, eyes tracing the warped impact marks.
"You must hit pretty hard."
He blinked.
"Those outer plates are designed to withstand high-explosive Rapture rounds. And you dented it with a single arm."
The lieutenant clicked his tongue.
"Yeah, well..." He rotated his shoulder slightly, flexing the metallic fingers of his right hand. "I'm mostly parts now. I'm sure you noticed. Makes me stronger than most. Not something I want to talk about."
He turned halfway, clearly signalling the conversation was over.
"I understand," she said, the tone of her voice remaining warm but nonintrusive. "Then I won't keep you. If you've got somewhere to be, don't let me stop you."
She smiled again—gentler this time.
"But if you ever need someone to talk to... I'm available. No judgment or anything of the sort. That's my guarantee."
He looked at her again, tiredness leaking through the edges of his usual guarded expression.
"Whatever you say... Sister," he muttered dryly, before turning on his heel and walking away, hands in his coat pockets.
Rapunzel chuckled softly behind him.
"I haven't been called that in a while," she murmured.
Then, more clearly:
"Take care. I'll pray for your well-being."
He didn't respond.
Notes:
Rapunzel, besides the gag of her being a closeted pervert, is such a sweetheart, don't you think?
I saw a few comments thinking that the reunion between the last of Melee Squad and the Lt would be emotional or involve some sort of yelling, slapping or whatever but I don't think, due to the situation, that's how it'd go. They're all rational people (presumably) and understand that compromising the mission this early on would lead to further losses for humanity and possibly risk Anachiro getting away.
But this fact also gives me the ability to build pressure until it all explodes: Scarlet, for example, is clueless about what's going on.
When will it explode? Hm~?
Chapter 26: Vol 4.2: Tread With Caution
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Abe's Secret Lab, Early Summer
The lieutenant stepped into the lab quietly, his eyes scanning the space, boots clicking softly against the grated floor.
...Were there this many before?
Small robots skittered past him, some dragging small carts of tools, others moving with no apparent task at all.
His brow creased.
"Tch."
A voice rang out from the back of the lab.
"Yeah, I know," Abe called out without looking. "I had to shut off half of them after you and Vos left. Thought I was gonna get trampled, to be honest."
He sighed.
Of course, she noticed his expression without looking.
How the hell does she even do that?
He walked toward her voice, weaving between tables cluttered with parts—some humanoid, some alien, some halfway in between.
At the center, beneath a jury-rigged surgical lamp, sat Abe: hunched, focused, blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail streaked with grease. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, arms buried up to the wrist in Siren's jaw, which was still opened like a clamshell.
"Wasn't sure you'd still be here," he muttered.
"I haven't left in over a month, idiot," she deadpanned, not looking up. "If you're here to tell me good news, make it quick. If you're here to drop more bodies off, sorry, I only work on my girls."
He stopped at the edge of her workspace, folding his arms.
"It's going up the chain. Drexler's on board."
That made her pause just for a second.
She blinked once, then resumed tightening a joint inside Siren's metal cheek.
"Drexler, huh? Now that's a name I didn't expect."
"He believes it was Red Shoes who corrupted Cinderella," the lieutenant continued. "Your account and mine—he's pushing it up the chain of command. Everyone's basically free now."
"Wonderful," Abe muttered. "Tell me you didn't give him my location."
He shook his head.
"No. I told him to wait until you finish the repairs. Then they'll conduct scans on the others."
"Hmph." Abe scoffed softly, pushing her stool back and finally turning toward him with a half-tired, half-suspicious glare. Her gloves were stained with synthetic blood. "That's surprisingly considerate of you."
"..."
He didn't bite.
"Where's Red Shoes?"
Her expression changed, shoulders subtly tensing, hands lowering to her lap. "Why?"
"I want her body," he said bluntly. "Need to get it scanned. Now."
Abe leaned back slightly, clearly weighing the request. "I don't have the brain scan equipment used for the info you want. Not even with all the junk Vos left me. You know that."
"I know."
"Then why now?" she asked. Her voice softened a little, almost apologetic. "I get it—one of my girls went rogue, caused all of this, and now you want to trace the infection back to the root. But I'm almost done with Siren. Hansel and Gretel are next, a couple of days at most. Why not wait until I've got everyone patched up?"
"Because it's already been over a month," the lieutenant replied. "It's been a month since Cinderella got corrupted. Since she turned into Anachiro and started tearing apart the front lines. Every second we waste, more people die. I want to know what Red Shoes did to her. How. Maybe I can't fix it, but I can prepare for the inevitable confrontation."
Abe flinched slightly—not from fear, but from something else. She looked away at the name.
"...Anachiro," she repeated, almost under her breath. "They're really calling her that now?"
"That's what she goes by. Whatever's in her now—it isn't Cinderella anymore."
A long pause followed.
Finally, Abe stood from her stool. She rubbed the bridge of her nose with a greasy glove, sighing through her teeth.
"Alright," she said, voice quieter. "You can take her. I'll have everyone else fully operational in a few more days. That's the best I can promise."
He gave a single nod. "Good."
Abe blinked, as if remembering something.
"Wait—Red Shoes used to work with someone in the VTC before... One of the Goddess Squad. Rapunzel, right."
The lieutenant looked up at that.
"Rapunzel?"
"Yeah. I don't know the details, but they had some kind of joint development thing. If anyone might know what Red Shoes was doing or understand it better, it's her."
He filed the information away instantly.
"Where is Red Shoes?" he asked.
Abe wiped her hands on a nearby rag and motioned toward the far end of the lab.
"Storage room. Red Shoes is still in stasis—whatever's left of her mind is locked tight."
He hummed absently and went to secure the traitor.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Lab, Night
The cold hum of overhead lights filled the otherwise silent lab, their flicker bouncing off the smooth white walls and brushed metal floor. Everything smelled faintly of sterilizing agents and electric ozone.
With a quiet grunt, the lieutenant set the body of Red Shoes down onto the padded table.
Despite her humanoid appearance, she was heavy—damn heavy—as all Nikkes were.
Around two and a half times the mass of a standard adult. But his augmented body barely broke a sweat. Cybernetics had their uses, even if he hated how many parts of him had been replaced to get there.
He gave her one last glance—her blank eyes staring nowhere, facial plating untouched despite everything she'd done—and turned to the console, tapping through the setup menus.
The interface chirped, beginning its process of neural mapping.
He took a few steps back and folded his arms.
And then... he waited.
The monitor's soft green glow illuminated his face.
"..."
His mind was a mess.
Rose and Scarlet are alive. Andersen refused to wipe their minds. Or even scrap one of them.
Why?
That was his question.
Why did he show so much outwardly affection and care for a Nikkes of all things?
Why do that when they can just turn on you like flipping a switch?
All it takes is a singular code, the corruption code, and the robot that you so dearly care for turns into a killing machine.
Is that really something to cherish?
"..."
Red Shoes... she corrupted Cinderella. That much was now fact.
And the fallout?
Cinderella had turned into Anachiro, and Anachiro was butchering everything in her path.
How the hell was he supposed to navigate this situation?
Talk to Rose and risk her blowing the lid off everything?
No—the best strategy was non-engagement. Let her talk first. If she opens the door, then he plays defence. Maybe even turn it around if he's clever enough.
He ran through the mental scripts again, over and over.
Orders are orders. Emotions have to come second. We'll talk later. It wasn't my call. We can't compromise the mission...
And if all that failed?
He could just activate their NIMPH override. Their obedience protocols. That would be his last line.
He scoffed, curling his lip.
"That's cheap..."
Another scoff. "And stupid."
He turned slightly, watching the scanning module complete its process with gentle pulses of light flowing across Red Shoes' temple.
"Nikkes are slaves..."
The lab door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, breaking the tension like a needle through stretched skin.
In walked Major Baron Drexler.
"You know what time it is, Lieutenant?" he asked, glancing down at his watch with mock irritation. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The lieutenant stood straight, then offered a small nod.
"Major. I brought Red Shoes." He gestured to the scanning going on. "The one we discussed. I figured you'd want the scan done ASAP."
Drexler walked in slowly, boots echoing. His eyes lingered on the body of Red Shoes.
"Hm. Curious that you had her on hand," he said without looking at the lieutenant.
The lieutenant sneered faintly.
"If I started revealing where I get everything, it'd get leaked within the week. Be glad we're getting answers at all."
That earned the Major's approval—barely. A slow nod followed.
"Fair," Drexler admitted. "That's why I came. Oswald's been snooping again and asking questions about the Old Tales unit. Asking where they are and such. We can't let him stumble into something by accident."
"This is about Abe's lab?"
"Yes. Keep it off-grid. We do this scan, commit the data to memory—your memory, ideally, since it's... famously irregular—and then you put her back. Same place. Same condition."
"Before the real investigation starts," the lieutenant finished for him.
Drexler nodded once.
"Exactly. That way, if they come asking, we're the ones who know what's been tampered with. Not them."
The scan let out a soft ding.
The lieutenant looked back at the monitor. "It's done."
"Good," Drexler replied, already stepping toward the door. "Let's see what the traitor's got buried in that metal skull of hers."
And what was in those files...
...Horrified the two men.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, Morning
"Lieutenant. Art thou aware of how long I've sought thee?"
He turned his head, catching sight of flowing greyish hair and a purposeful stride. Scarlet had approached him as soon as he made it back to the main facility.
She gave him a once-over, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Thou look'st a shadow of thyself. Were thee up all night, perchance?"
The lieutenant let out a short, quiet hum.
"Something like that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Bit tired, yeah."
Scarlet folded her arms, cocking her hip to one side. "Thou should rest. Or at the very least not wander the halls like a revenant."
Before he could respond, another voice drifted in.
"My, my. Scarlet, you've found him at last."
From around the corner floated Dorothy.
She clasped her hands loosely at her waist, pink hair falling just right despite the early hour.
"Since the briefing yesterday," she continued with a polite smile, "you've been circling like a hawk searching for him."
Scarlet threw her a half-lidded glance. "And yet thou chose to watch instead of aid, like a cat enjoying the mouse's confusion."
Dorothy brushed the jab off with a faint smirk, stepping lightly beside the two.
"I did wonder when we'd finally meet properly, Lieutenant. Our last interaction was rather... brief, wouldn't you agree?"
"I have been a bit preoccupied with things, so I apologize for that."
"Understandably." She inclined her head. "Still, now seems like a wonderful time to fix that. Don't you think?"
"I'd love to, really. But if I don't collapse for a nap soon, I might fall over in a hallway. Could we pick this up in, say... three, maybe four hours?"
Dorothy blinked, clearly caught off guard by the blunt honesty.
"That would put us at around lunchtime."
"Exactly," the lieutenant muttered.
She nodded with mock gravity. "Very well. Lunch it is."
Dorothy then turned slightly toward Scarlet.
"You know... he's almost exactly like your rambles described him. Such a particular way of answering things."
"And pray, doth that count as praise or mockery, fair lady?"
Dorothy's lips curved faintly. "A bit of both. But in all honesty... It's a compliment. You didn't let your obvious admiration for him cloud your judgment."
"Flattery wrapped in barbs. Typical of thee."
Dorothy offered a polite smile.
"I only speak what's evident. Would you prefer I lie and say you never spoke of him at all?"
Why are you two doing this now? The now very tired man internally remarked.
Scarlet crossed her arms. "I would prefer thy silence."
"And yet, you're always so vocal," Dorothy replied lightly.
The lieutenant's eyes bounced between the two like someone watching a fuse slowly burn toward a stick of dynamite.
He took a step back.
Then another.
Are they always like this? He would run off, but it would look very suspicious.
"Alright," he said, voice raised only slightly. "You two behave. I'm going to... not be here for this."
They either didn't hear him or didn't care. Dorothy gave a faux-courteous bow as Scarlet rolled her eyes with the exaggerated elegance of a theatre performer.
As he turned the corner, the faint echo of bickering followed him.
"...At least I don't float about like a princess on parade—!"
"Would you prefer I stomp like a rhinoceros? That seems more your style—"
He didn't look back. Didn't need to. That back-and-forth was bound to keep rolling without him, and he, at this point, would prefer if they broke something instead of him intervening.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders slightly slumped, hands buried in the deep pockets of his coat.
Just a few more meters.
That's all he had to last for.
Just a few hours, no alarms, no Nikkes, no—
Thud.
"Oof—!"
He collided with someone.
Something plastic clattered to the floor.
His body responded before his brain could: one hand caught a slim shoulder just before the figure before him stumbled completely. His sluggish eyes snapped open out of reflex.
And then his brows lowered.
"...Snow White."
She blinked up at him, wide-eyed and clearly flustered. Her white hair bobbed slightly as she righted herself, cheeks flushed just a touch from embarrassment.
"Lieutenant—I, um, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."
The hallway around them had a few scattered plastic containers now lying near the walls—takeout boxes, utensils, a cup lid rolling to a stop near his foot.
What the fuck? This kid has so much junk! No wonder why she couldn't see!
"I dropped—these," she added, quickly kneeling to start gathering the mess.
Still holding her steady for a second longer, the lieutenant sighed through his nose before letting go and glancing down.
"You've got... a lot of these."
She froze for a split second before responding.
"Y-yes, I was going to throw them out, I—forgot."
"You should've thrown them out earlier." His tone wasn't angry, just tired. "If you've got this many lying around, you're going to lose something important eventually. Not to mention, it's a mess."
"Yes, sir. I apologize for the mess. I didn't mean to cause trouble."
He rubbed one eye with the back of his hand.
"It's fine," he muttered. Then, with a little more firmness creeping into his voice, "But keep your quarters clean. Always. Especially now."
"Right. Of course."
"You're going to be working with me on the Anachiro op. I expect discipline, Snow White. That includes small things like this."
She straightened up now, containers awkwardly stacked in her arms.
"Understood, sir! I won't let you down!"
He eyed her expression—earnest, but a little stiff—and sighed again, though this one was gentler.
"Don't get too wound up over it," he muttered. "You're still young. Mistakes happen a dozen times before they get fixed. Just clean it up and be mindful."
She nodded quickly. "Y-Yes! Thank you!"
A soft set of footsteps came from the other end of the hallway. A logistics staffer, clipboard in hand, slowed as they spotted the scene.
"Do you need a hand with those, Miss Snow White?" they asked, gesturing toward the containers.
Snow White looked between them and the lieutenant. He gave a faint nod of approval.
"Go ahead," he said, already turning to leave.
Snow White gathered the containers with the new help and murmured a "thank you" as they moved off.
He didn't move at first, just watching them go.
"Ah..."
His eyes drifted to the floor again. Something caught the ceiling light near his boot: a thin, slightly curled rectangle.
He crouched slowly and picked it up.
A photo.
Not official print stock—just the kind you'd get from a terminal or a cheap printer, maybe even from a converted digital image.
His tired eyes scanned it.
A group. Smiling faces, heads leaning in. Arms looped casually, grins wide...
It was the Goddess Squad.
"..."
Though his tired gaze focused on one particular member of the Goddesses.
Wild red hair. Fierce eyes, but laughing like hell.
Red Hood.
He blinked.
The dossier said she was disposed off due to corruption right after the Space Elevator operation.
Yet here she was, frozen in this tiny frame, carefree and... alive?
"..."
The lieutenant didn't move.
He turned the photo slightly in his fingers.
He looked again at the others
They were happy.
"..."
So that's why she carried this around.
Not carelessness—grief.
Keeping her comrades close, keeping them all close. Maybe she'd looked at this picture every night before bed. Maybe she'd thought of giving up every time she saw it—and didn't.
He contemplated going after the kid and giving it back.
But his legs didn't move.
He just stared.
The light above him flickered once.
Somewhere, a vent hummed louder for a second, then fell back into rhythm.
He turned the picture over, then back again. Rubbed a thumb across a crease.
He frowned slightly, feeling something knot in his chest.
"..."
He finally started walking again, this time slower. He didn't even register when he passed the threshold into his quarters. The lights inside auto-adjusted as the door slid shut behind him.
He dropped his coat onto the back of a chair.
The picture stayed in his hand.
When he finally laid back on the bed, arms over his eyes, boots still on, the photo sat on the edge of his desk.
"..."
He closed his eyes for a few moments.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, Four Hours Later
Dorothy had only heard of the lieutenant in fragments.
During the rare moments when Rose and Scarlet let slip pieces of their past—those odd, quiet windows where combat and command weren't the focus—their words always circled back to him.
There weren't many details, but there was enough to paint a picture.
From those threads, Dorothy pieced together an image: a tired-eyed disciplinarian, firm in tone, a bit sarcastic, cutting in thought, and smart—painfully smart.
He would be the kind of man who'd once made waves in a world that no longer had time for waves.
So when he appeared at that strategy meeting, standing beside her commander, she had blinked. Just once. But that alone was more than she usually gave.
Scarlet and Rose had never said he was dead... but she had assumed. She wasn't the only one.
Now they sat together, just the two of them in the lounge.
Across from her, the lieutenant exhaled a breath and chuckled lightly, a sound not quite full.
"My goodness..."
Dorothy tilted her head.
"My curiosity is stirred," she said, lips curving into a faint smile. "I've heard quite a bit about your... time with Rose and Scarlet. Though nothing too detailed. I suppose they left the colourful stories out."
He gave her a sidelong glance.
"Let me guess. You're hoping I'll supply you with some embarrassing material for your next sparring match with Scarlet?"
Her smile twitched a tiny bit at that remark.
"I confess I may have been slightly... unrefined this morning. Not my most elegant moment. I hope it didn't ruin your image of me."
He waved it off.
"It didn't," he said plainly. "If anything, it just confirmed what I already suspected. It's natural to find yourself clashing with someone when you're... well, when you're the strongest."
A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
"Flattery? From you? I'm flattered."
"Observation, dear Dorothy."
They let the silence settle for a moment.
"I imagine," he said, leaning back slightly, "that Scarlet hasn't changed all that much. Still obsessed with getting stronger and hogging whatever training grounds you lot have."
"That does sound... consistent."
"And Rose..." His voice faltered slightly. Just a beat. "Well. She's probably still the same, too."
He didn't elaborate.
Dorothy tilted her head again, watching him closely.
"They've managed, you know, for all their... quirks. There's tension, yes—but it's balanced. We've all had to find a rhythm. And while I'm not always eager to admit it... "
The pink-haired Nikke paused a moment.
"They may not be cut from the same cloth as myself... their combat capabilities speak for themselves. Remarkable, truly. I suppose that's a credit to your training."
The lieutenant's expression faltered, just slightly.
"Don't give me too much credit," he muttered. "Their strength wasn't forged by me. I just directed them in certain ways."
She tilted her head, curious. "Is that so?"
"Scarlet once hogged the simulation room for so many nights in a row that I had to ban her from touching it after 2200 hours. It was either that or risk having her collapse mid-mission from sleep deprivation."
Dorothy covered her mouth with two fingers, giggling behind them.
"I believe she did do that a few times when she first joined us... but muttered something about a newspaper and never did it again. Was that because of you as well?"
"..."
He gave her a stare that told her everything.
A beat passed. Then his lips curved again, more visibly this time.
"Rose never used the simulation room."
"Never?"
"Never. And still she's the strongest out of Melee Squad for whatever reason."
Dorothy blinked.
"It's the same now! I have not once in my time seen her train! Does she do it in secret? I... don't understand how it works."
"I still think there's meth in her NIMPH. I don't have any proof, though."
Dorothy burst into laughter.
Their conversation mellowed after that, the two seemingly finding out enough about one another to understand each other to a certain degree.
Chapter 27: Vol 4.3: Obsession
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Day, Spring
Obsession.
It was a simple word.
People threw it around too easily, equating it with passion or fixation, like it was a byproduct of longing or loneliness.
They didn't understand the truth.
Obsession wasn't about desire.
It was about function.
Purpose.
Trajectory.
And nothing—nothing—defined Red Shoes better than obsession.
It shaped her entire existence.
It defined her every thought.
Obsession with Raptures.
Not just their destruction, no, that was too primitive. Too emotional. She wanted understanding. Structure. Harmony. The perfect ecosystem where machines and their monstrous cousins could coexist.
Obsession with uniformity.
Obsession with improvement.
And then—
Obsession with him.
The Lieutenant.
At first, she barely noticed it.
She registered him the same way she registered everyone: by output value. Assigned to Old Tales. Commander. Overseer. Human. Another factor in the equation.
But then they talked.
He asked questions most never thought to. He answered her like a peer, not a subordinate. He challenged her theories—not rudely, but with depth. He picked at her assumptions like someone who understood.
And somehow... she didn't want the conversation to end.
They spoke for hours, often longer than necessary for assessments or reports. After training runs... After debriefs.
She'd always find a way to talk to him.
They talked about Nikkes. The ethics of augmentation. Tactical doctrines from before the Collapse.
Anything.
And with every passing conversation, something... changed.
Her combat performance improved.
At first, she thought it was a coincidence...
Maybe she was finally acclimating to her latest updates.
But it kept climbing.
Reaction time shortened.
Her physical strength increased.
And all of it... seemed to trace back to him.
She ran diagnostics. Triple-checked data. Consulted her logs.
The trend held.
The stronger her bond to the Lieutenant... the stronger she became.
So what did she do?
She kept talking to him.
More often.
Longer sessions.
More personal topics.
She didn't care how forced it seemed at first. There was no such thing as wasted output when the returns were measurable.
He probably thought it was just friendship.
He probably wanted to think that.
But Red Shoes didn't do friendship. She got results.
She did progress.
And this?
This was power.
A replicable, expandable, emotional-to-physical conversion of strength. A hypothesis that had never once been proven in open science, yet here it was—active inside her.
Him.
That man. That Lieutenant.
Some part of her hated how much she needed to hear his voice. How her fingers paused over every new transmission from him. How a small, silent glitch bloomed in her chest when she saw him enter a room.
But another part of her grinned.
Because if she could harness this... if she could channel it, refine it, reproduce it...
Then she'd win.
Her vision of coexistence wouldn't be a theory. It would be doctrine.
Raptures. Humans. Nikkes.
All united under a single idea.
Her idea.
Power, controlled through emotion.
Progress, driven through human connection.
Systems made perfect by the bonds between their flawed, fleshy components.
And at the centre of it—
Him.
So she talked with the Lieutenant.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"..."
She wanted to know more.
There had to be a reason. A scientific reason.
It was impossible—unacceptable—that there wasn't.
Her combat metrics didn't just improve. They spiked. At first, she thought it was a placebo—something psychosomatic.
But the logs didn't lie.
They all rose steadily, in sync with her interactions with him.
That shouldn't happen. Talking didn't reconfigure Goddesium alloy. A conversation didn't rewrite ballistic trajectory modelling.
Bonds weren't physical.
Not unless—
...no. She scoffed at her own thought.
She wasn't intimate with the Lieutenant. Not in any conventional sense. All they did was talk. At length. Often. Over trivial things. Over everything.
But that wasn't concrete.
It wasn't measurable.
And that irked her.
She needed something. A trigger. A switch. A data point she could touch.
Something solid.
Her internal dialogue looped in frustration until a heavy thump and dull dragging noise pulled her from her thoughts.
The Lieutenant stood just outside the hallway entrance, shoulders sagging in a very specific kind of despair.
Behind him were Hansel and Gretel, being dragged along the floor by the collar of their clothes like bags of concrete.
Red Shoes blinked, then tilted her head slightly, bemused.
"Everything alright?"
Hansel lifted a thumbs-up.
"Hansel and Gretel are fine," she said. "Though Gretel has transcended existence and bliss."
Gretel, for her part, sat lazily against the floor with her eyes glazed over, half a bar of chocolate clutched in one hand.
She blinked once...
Then took another bite...
Red Shoes giggled.
The Lieutenant groaned and dropped both girls. They landed with dual thuds, but didn't protest.
"It's the same thing every time," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "My hair is going to turn white by the time I hit thirty."
"The commander will hit that mark before then," Hansel said offhandedly, hands behind her head.
His left eye twitched.
He reached into his side pouch.
The girls froze.
The newspaper.
Red Shoes moved smoothly forward.
"Commander," she said quickly. "If I could borrow you for a moment. I know you're busy... but it's something important. For my research."
His hand hovered mid-reach, fingers curling around the rolled weaponized document.
Hansel gave a smug grin.
Gretel bit into another piece of chocolate and offered none to her sister.
The Lieutenant stared at both of them, visibly exhausted, then sighed and let the newspaper drop back into its pouch.
"Fine," he said, voice resigned. "You're free to go."
"Yay~" Hansel chirped, immediately grabbing Gretel's wrist and hauling her up. "Hansel and Gretel have been liberated from the witch!"
"Witch!?"
"Run away!"
Gretel chewed slowly and followed with all the urgency of a slug.
Red Shoes stepped aside, watching them pass with a gentle smile.
The Lieutenant followed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"I swear they do it all on purpose..."
Now that they were alone, the tone shifted slightly.
Her mind... was still ticking.
This was another data point. Another interaction to log. Another variable to test.
Another excuse to talk to him.
She didn't know what it was, exactly.
But she would find out.
And she'd start here.
"You want to do what?"
Red Shoes blinked, unfazed.
"Just some DNA."
"That's not what you said two minutes ago. Two minutes ago, you asked me if I could give you 'a non-trivial amount' of my blood."
"I did." She tilted her head slightly. "Still would be preferable. But hair works too. Or nail clippings. I'm not picky."
The Lieutenant gave her a long, blank look.
"You know how weird that sounds, right?"
She snorted.
"To you, maybe. To a researcher, it's just resource acquisition. You wouldn't be this suspicious if I were drawing blood from Hansel."
"I wouldn't be surprised if you did draw blood from Hansel. But Hansel isn't a human. And last I checked, Nikkes don't need human blood."
"It's not about need." Red Shoes leaned forward slightly. "It's about... Discovering something."
"Are you trying to clone me or something?"
She gave an overly theatrical gasp, placing a hand to her chest. "Lieutenant. How could you accuse me of something so... scientifically illegal?"
"Because you're weird, Red Shoes."
"I'm brilliant, not weird."
"Both."
She paused. Okay, that was fair.
Maybe she was a little weird.
"Look," she said, a bit more seriously now. "It's for future Nikke research. Regarding male Nikkes."
That got his attention.
He stopped pacing and turned toward her, one brow raised now—not in mockery, but in curiosity.
"Male Nikkes? I thought that was... I mean, isn't that impossible?" He flexed his cybernetic hand. "The closest thing I've seen so far is my limbs, but that's it."
"Currently," she said quickly, stepping forward, clasping her hands behind her back. "But so were half the technologies we use today. Neural Mapping, advanced cybernetics... And don't even get me started on well... Nikkes!"
He didn't answer right away.
"So," she continued, calm but eager, "if I have a small sample of male DNA—just a bit—I can start modelling baseline simulations. It's groundwork. I'll get an organic female sample later for comparison studies. But this? This is... foundational, how about we phrase it like that."
She wasn't lying, not exactly. It was good research. But the part she wasn't saying was how she'd correlate that data with the strange performance spikes she'd experienced.
The unexplained phenomenon.
The anomaly wrapped around him.
She needed this.
Needed him.
He looked down, sighed, then rubbed at the side of his head.
"Alright, fine. Do you have scissors, or...?"
Red Shoes blinked.
"Scissors?"
"Hair's easier. Less mess. Unless you've got a sterile blood kit somewhere."
"Oh—right. Hair is fine," she said quickly, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a small steel pair. "You can just... take a lock from the back. I won't be weird about it."
"I should hope not," he muttered, already reaching back to snip a small tuft.
Snip~
He handed it over.
She took it gently with two fingers.
She turned toward a small vial and inserted it carefully.
"Promise me you're not going crazy and planning to make a paintbrush out of that," he said dryly.
Red Shoes gasped. "How dare you. I would never do something that unscientific."
He gave her a look. The kind of look you give someone who just might do exactly that.
"I'm serious. No cloning. No paintbrushes. No weird voodoo. Got it?"
"Yes, yes," she waved him off. "Go be grumpy somewhere else."
He turned to leave. "Have fun."
She watched the door slide shut behind him.
Her gaze drifted to the vial again.
A lock of hair. A small thing. Just cells, really.
But they were his.
She stared for a few seconds too long.
Then turned back to her station.
And grinned.
Obsession.
Of course, she'd have fun.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night, Spring
Obsession.
That's what this was.
Not love. Not a crush.
Those were simplistic emotions.
This was something else.
Her fingers hovered over the console, scrolling down his genome sequence. She cross-referenced it again with Nikke physicals—both baseline and enhanced—and the results remained consistent.
Outlier.
He was an outlier.
Muscle fibre density was 32% higher than the average soldier, even factoring in rigorous combat conditioning.
His body naturally reduced adrenal fatigue, leading to faster recovery.
His brain was also wired in a way to take in more and process more information than any normal human.
This wasn't just good genes.
It was extraordinary.
Her gloved hand tapped the vial on the table—the same one holding the clipped hair he'd given her days ago.
They'd given her enough to begin.
Enough to get a glimpse.
But now?
Now it wasn't enough.
She turned away from the console and walked across the room to her analysis terminal.
A progress bar read:
[Data Exhausted. Additional Samples Required.]
"Damn it..." she muttered, voice laced with frustration. "It's too shallow. The hair only gives surface-level profiles..."
Her hand clenched into a fist.
She needed more.
She needed blood.
Real data lived in the bloodstream. Epigenetic markers and the chemical balances that showed how his body endured under stress, under combat, under the Bond phenomenon.
She thought of that again—how Nikkes, including her, changed the closer they got to him.
It wasn't psychological. It couldn't be.
She felt her systems improve after just a few conversations.
Was it pheromonal? Bio-electric resonance?
She didn't know. And not knowing was driving her mad.
Her hands dropped to her side.
"Hair isn't enough..." she whispered. "But I can't just ask. That's... weird."
She turned and looked at the corner monitor.
Security feed. Command dormitories.
One window: his room.
The footage was old. Archived from a day ago.
He was sprawled on the couch—uniform jacket tossed lazily over the backrest, hand draped over his eyes.
Not asleep, not really...
He was...
Vulnerable.
Red Shoes leaned forward. She tapped the monitor and ran playback at 8x speed, watching him shift in patterns.
Sit, lie down, sit again, pace.
"...Still insomniac," she murmured, lips curling into a half-smile.
She adjusted the timeline, slowing the footage down and logging timestamps.
He always settled between 0300 and 0430.
Not always in bed.
Sometimes at the table, head resting on folded arms. Sometimes curled on the couch, back against the armrest.
And when he did sleep, his body entered light REM quickly. She could tell by the change in breathing.
"Haha..." she laughed softly. "So predictable."
She straightened up, eyes bright. Excited.
She knew what to do.
No need for confrontation. No awkward request.
She could time it. One quick draw. Just a few millilitres. Enough for comparative analysis, and if she calibrated the extraction tools right, he wouldn't even feel it.
Not now, not after.
And by then...
By then, she'd have already sequenced his entire biochemical profile.
Her hand reached out and opened a drawer.
Inside, a compact sterile case.
Her fingers brushed along the cool steel surface.
She bit her lip.
"This is necessary," she said aloud.
He wouldn't mind. Probably.
He'd understand.
Eventually.
Her eyes flicked back to the monitor.
He was lying there again. Jacket pulled over half his face. Motionless.
"...You're so cute when you're still," she said aloud. Her voice trembled a little—either from excitement or something else. "Not shaking like a maraca for once."
She chuckled.
Then covered her mouth with a hand and giggled harder.
Her laugh just now was the kind of laugh that lingered a bit too long.
"..."
She silenced herself, took a breath, and exhaled slowly.
"Yes. I know what to do."
She reached into her drawer, grabbed the kit, and placed it on the table next to her.
She would wait for the right hour.
When everything was still.
When no one would be awake.
She'd take what she needed.
And no one would know.
Just her.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Lieutenant ██████ 's Quarters, Night
She stood over him, heart beating faster than she wanted to admit.
He didn't stir.
"Just... a little. That's all."
She knelt, rolling up his sleeve with slow precision. His skin was warm. His pulse was strong beneath her fingers. Her gloved hand moved with familiarity... too much familiarity that she had to stop herself from brushing the back of her knuckles against his wrist.
Focus.
She attached the micro-needle.
The vial began to fill, drop by drop.
She watched it like it was divine.
Blood.
The code of life itself.
His life.
He stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent. Her breath hitched, but she didn't move. She froze, one hand instinctively gripping the kit to prevent a spill.
"..."
"..."
"..."
He settled.
She exhaled, barely.
The vial slowly filled.
She detached the needle, pressing a small sterile pad to the point and rolling his sleeve back down gently.
She stood, stepped away, and packed up in seconds.
One last glance.
He hadn't woken.
But his brows were furrowed slightly.
As if something troubled him in his dreams.
Red Shoes reached out without thinking—her fingertips just barely brushing the edge of his temple, sweeping back a few stray hairs.
"You're too extraordinary," she whispered.
She turned and walked out.
The door closed silently behind her.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Lab, Early Summer, Night
Major Drexler leaned forward, arms crossed, mouth slightly agape.
"...Jesus Christ," he whispered.
The Lieutenant stood a step behind, eyes locked on the shifting brainwave patterns and memory fragments being reconstituted from the scan. His jaw tightened as fragmented visual flashes scrolled across the side monitor—snapshots of him, clipped with notes, strange overlays, physiological calculations, voice memos, even small blurry photographs clearly taken without his knowledge.
"...She's fucking nuts..."
Drexler turned his head slightly but didn't respond.
Then the Lieutenant stepped forward, as if drawn by something magnetic. His eyes dropped to his left arm and slowly rolled up his sleeve.
Two faint puncture marks near the underside of his bicep...
They were barely visible, but clearly still there.
He stared for a moment longer than he should have. Then, with a shake in his fingers, he pulled the sleeve back down and turned toward Drexler.
Drexler felt the weight of the look before he saw it.
The Lieutenant was staring at him like he was tracking enemy movement.
"...What?" Drexler said, holding up his hands slightly. "Listen—this doesn't leave this room. No one will hear of this. Not Vos, not Hale, not Command, no one. We'll pull the memory cluster and scrub it."
The Lieutenant said nothing at first.
Then, flatly: "If we erase this, someone's going to notice."
"No one has to know what it was."
"They'll know something was taken," the Lieutenant replied. "Someone with clearance high enough to authorize this kind of extraction doesn't do it quietly. They'll look at us again, and it'll give them an excuse to get us all killed."
Drexler exhaled through his nose, agitated. He rubbed his temples.
"Okay. Okay. But even if they suspect something, they can't prove it. Only we know what was in here."
"And I'm supposed to trust that?" The Lieutenant's tone was still low, but now each word had an edge. "You? You're close to Vos, Hale, Corbin, and everyone with authority over me. How do I know you won't share this the second I step back onto the frontlines?"
Drexler's eyes flicked up sharply, caught between offence and disbelief.
"You think I want to deal with this?" Drexler snapped. "Do you think I get anything out of knowing this garbage?! She's sick, alright? She's also a traitor. I didn't ask to see it, and I sure as hell don't want to be the one to report it to the brass."
The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed.
That was a mistake.
Drexler tried to salvage it, raising a brow.
"You're seriously acting like Vos doesn't care about you? The man pulled you out of a crater. You think he'd use this against you?"
"He didn't raise me," the Lieutenant snapped. "He found me. Fed me. Trained me. That's not the same thing."
Silence.
Drexler let it hang there for a moment before sighing.
"Fine," he said. "I get it. Trust is dead currency around here."
The Lieutenant turned back toward the monitor. Red Shoes' brain scan continued to flicker. Her memories, isolated as visual bursts, still lingered.
She was still watching him.
"Even if we wanted to, neither of us knows how to manipulate neural architecture like this," Drexler admitted. "Wipe the wrong set of neurons and we scramble her language centre. Or things like that. You wanna be the one to tell Command that their top-tier researcher-turned-traitor just forgot how to talk?"
The Lieutenant didn't answer.
"So we leave her with this," Drexler continued. "This freakshow collection of blood notes and photos and god-knows-what-else—and if someone ever finds it? If the right person looks at this scan?"
"I'll be off the field," the Lieutenant said. "Possibly detained. Maybe worse."
Drexler folded his arms, pacing once before stopping short.
"Yeah. That's the shit storm."
A long silence followed.
Drexler rubbed his chin for a moment. Then his expression shifted and tightened. He looked like a man who had just made a decision and immediately regretted it.
"...But maybe we don't have to erase anything," he said slowly.
The Lieutenant turned his head slightly.
"You just said we couldn't leave it."
"No, I said it was a mess. But I've got something in mind. A backup plan." Drexler didn't look at him as he spoke. "Something that keeps you where you are, keeps her in this state, and doesn't involve lying to everyone in command."
The Lieutenant stepped forward, cautious.
"What kind of plan?"
Drexler gave a half-shrug.
"Contingency. It's... developing."
The Lieutenant's tone turned harder. "Who's involved?"
Drexler looked at him for a long second. His answer was deliberately vague.
"Someone nearby," he said simply. "Someone who can help with... keeping you here."
"That could mean anything."
Drexler took a step closer. "And right now, that's all I'm telling you. If I lay this out too early and it backfires, it's both our asses. Just trust me on this."
The Lieutenant stared at him, hard.
Drexler held the gaze.
After a long pause, the Lieutenant finally gave a slow nod.
"Fine," he said. "But if this spirals out of control, it's on you."
Drexler managed a grim smile.
"That's fair."
They both turned back toward the screen.
Red Shoes' brain scan pulsed gently.
The Lieutenant's face was unreadable.
Drexler exhaled.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, The Present
"Lieutenant?"
Dorothy's light voice brought him back to reality.
"Huh? Oh..." He blinked, realizing he had been staring blankly into his bagel. "Sorry. I still feel a bit ditzy from... waking up a few moments ago."
The pink-haired nikke studied him for a while longer before seemingly accepting the answer with a quiet hum.
"It's alright, lieutenant. Even now, I have fallen victim to spacing out, even with sharpened senses."
He snorted and shook his head.
"Right... Right..."
Notes:
Unbreakable Sphere's Hard Mode ending made me a bit relieved, I only made Hansel and Gretel's interactions with the Lieutenant a sort of "gag" instead of going into possible details on what they actually are.
Anyway...
Red Shoes is crazy.
Chapter 28: Vol 4.4: Bittersweet
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, Midday
"You've learned a great deal about me today. But tell me—what have you learned from me?"
"That you were probably dangerous even before you became a Nikke?"
Dorothy's smile widened.
"Hmm. I was... raised by politicians... I'll accept that answer, haha."
"Politicians? I would've assumed they'd raise you on a strict routine on self-preservation, no offence—let alone allow you to become a Nikke."
"I volunteered," she corrected, with a quiet note of pride. "After seeing the commander and Lilith on the battlefield... Those brief moments stuck with me. I signed up within a week."
He made a sound in his throat.
"I think I remember hearing about that. A pink-haired Nikke in a spotless white dress fighting alongside Lieutenant Liliweiss. I thought this was some sort of military embellishment scheme."
Dorothy laughed softly, the kind that managed to still sound dignified.
"Oh no, that was me. And the dress stayed clean because I made sure it did."
"It shows. The fact that you have the time and patience to apply eyeliner before a deployment in this hellscape of a world... well, I couldn't not notice."
Her eyes widened just a fraction—only a sliver—but her smile warmed. "A perceptive man and honest. I'll admit, that's... quite relieving to hear. All that time spent in front of a mirror... not wasted, then."
"Wasted effort is having to teach someone how to reload under fire. You? You're clearly operating on a different level."
Dorothy let out a genuine, unfiltered chuckle. "Is that your way of saying I'm high-maintenance?"
"I wouldn't dare. But I am saying it's impressive, even if I'll never understand it."
A comfortable quiet stretched between them.
Then—
Click!
The two turned their heads slightly, and in peeked a familiar face framed in short white hair.
Liliweiss.
"?"
Her starry eyes swept the room, settling on the Lieutenant almost immediately.
"There you are," she said. "Sorry to interrupt. You two seem to be getting along."
The Lieutenant blinked, a bit surprised.
"Lieutenant Liliweiss. I thought today's schedule was clear."
"It is," she replied lightly. "This isn't urgent. The commander and I want your input on something. Five minutes."
"I won't keep you, Lieutenant. Thank you for the talk."
He dipped his head slightly. "Likewise, Dorothy."
Liliweiss dipped her head politely to the pink-haired Nikke, then looked back at him.
"Shall we?"
He followed the strongest Nikke outside into the corridor.
They walked side by side in silence, passing a few Mass Produced Nikkes and personnel who barely glanced their way—likely out of either respect or... whatever emotions they felt. He didn't bother.
After a few steps, Liliweiss glanced at him.
"I noticed," she said, "that you referred to me by the rank I held when I was in the Air Force."
The lieutenant didn't immediately answer, blinking once before looking ahead again.
"That's what I best know you for," he said simply. "And I respect it."
Liliweiss looked a bit confused. "I'm more well-known for being a Nikke nowadays. I wouldn't have expected that to be the reason."
"Huh... I guess people do forget pretty quickly, then."
She folded her hands behind her back as they walked.
"Since we'll be working together closely over the next few weeks, I wonder if we should... break down a few walls. For efficiency's sake."
"Such as?"
"Such as..." she tilted her head with a tiny grin, "dropping the formalities. Dorothy calls me Lilith. So does the rest of Goddess. I wouldn't mind if you did the same."
He stopped walking for just a beat—enough to miss a step before falling back into stride.
"...That's far too informal for my liking."
"Aren't we friends, though?"
The word hung in the air a bit longer than expected.
His mouth parted, as if to answer—then shut again.
"...Friends?" he echoed.
"Since you get along well with the Commander, I'd say his friends are mine too. It makes things smoother, don't you think?"
The lieutenant frowned a little.
Friends?
He wouldn't say his opinion of the Goddess Squad commander was the greatest, let alone consider them friends at all.
If he were being honest, he thought of Andersen as a propaganda tool the Central Government used for their deprived recruiting schemes as well as a buffoon with how unserious he was.
They weren't friends.
Coworkers would be a more generous term.
"We'll be cooperating to deal with Cinderella—" He paused and corrected himself, "—Anachiro. But I still think calling you that feels out of place. Unnatural, maybe. You've always been Lieutenant Liliweiss, the air force pilot, to me."
Her eyes rested on him for a second longer than usual, searching his face.
"Hm. I suppose I read into things a little too much, then," she murmured, the edge of her voice warm rather than disappointed. "But if that makes you more comfortable... I can't stop you, can I?"
"I'm not like Andersen."
In many ways he wasn't, whether they be good or bad.
"I can tell," she replied gently. "It's alright. I should've been more mindful."
That was when the lieutenant halted, stopping mid-stride with an exasperated noise from his throat.
"Let's not spiral into taking blame," he muttered, adjusting his coat with a hand. "Let's just call it a... neutral restart."
"Agreed."
Commander Andersen stood behind the desk, arms loosely crossed, a rare seriousness marking his face.
He turned as they entered, giving a small nod to the white-haired Nikke first.
"Thanks for bringing him, Lilith."
"Of course."
The lieutenant's boots clicked to a stop a few feet inside the room.
He raised an eyebrow slightly at the lack of usual eccentricities from the Commander.
"I assume you don't want me to call you a cellphone salesman again, even as a joke."
"No time," Andersen replied, gesturing them closer. "This won't be long."
He tapped a control pad on the desk. A soft whir sounded, and a holographic display blinked to life above the table before stabilizing into grainy footage.
Anachiro moved across a blasted battlefield, tearing through tanks and debris alike with inhuman momentum. Her motions were erratic and faster than most drones could track, even tearing through reinforced concrete with Glass Slippers to reach terrified soldiers.
The lieutenant watched it in silence for a few seconds.
"..."
"This is from a skirmish outside Broken Tooth Ridge. Two nights ago."
Andersen paused.
"I wanted to ask you something. As her former commander... do you think Lilith here could beat Anachiro, one-on-one?"
The lieutenant blinked. His eyes narrowed, then glanced sideways toward Liliweiss before looking back to Andersen.
"Where's this coming from?"
"Just answer."
The lieutenant exhaled, folding his arms.
"Well—sure. Anachiro's an unknown. She's more brutal than before. Less predictable. But unless something's changed—unless the variables shift, I'd still bet on Lieutenant Liliweiss."
He glanced at her again.
"She is the strongest Nikke we have left."
That earned an uncomfortable shift in the room.
Liliweiss looked away slightly, while Andersen sighed and removed his sunglasses. His tired eyes flicked to Liliweiss, who met his gaze silently. Then she took in a small breath, like she'd already played this moment out in her head.
"Do I really have to be the one to say it?" she asked softly.
"If it's too much, I can—"
"No," Liliweiss cut in. "I'll speak for myself."
She looked back at the lieutenant, and for the first time since they met, there was something behind her calm exterior.
"My body's gotten weaker."
The words struck hard in the air.
The lieutenant's head turned sharply.
"What?"
"It's complicated," she went on. "During the failed Space Elevator operation, I pushed past safety thresholds. Heat overload, power strain... a few systems fried from the inside out. I kept going. I had to."
"You're saying you sustained heat damage. Is it systemic?"
She nodded once.
His tone sharpened.
"Who knows? Is this classified? Have you filed medical logs? Has Vos—"
"Let her finish," Andersen cut in gently, raising a hand. "Just... let her talk."
The lieutenant gritted his teeth slightly but fell silent.
Liliweiss continued.
"Only a few people know. Andersen was one of the first. It's not something we've made public, not even internally."
Andersen coughed into a fist.
"To be exact... the only people who know are in this room right now."
The silence that followed was like a dropped weight.
The lieutenant stared between them.
"Just us? No one else? Not even Drexler? Hale? Vos? Anyone?"
Andersen didn't answer right away.
"This should've been reported," the lieutenant snapped. "You know that. Even if I disobey orders from time to time, I at least log the important developments before I get torn up by my superiors! This changes everything. Mission risk assessments, backup teams—this kind of information needs to be logged!"
"I know! Believe me, I do. But we also know how fast things move once command starts making decisions."
He leaned forward slightly. "That's why we wanted to tell you first. Just you. So if something happens to me or Lilith, someone knows what really went down. Someone who'll speak the truth."
The lieutenant's mouth opened, ready to retort—but paused.
He studied Andersen's face, then Liliweiss's. Slowly, he pieced it together.
So annoying! Is this why he's been so buddy-buddy with her? Because her body is basically giving out? Augh!
"So you do plan for the possibility that you both won't be there when Anachiro is confronted."
Another silence.
Andersen's voice came out quieter, almost breathless.
"...That's... basically the idea."
The lieutenant let that settle. He stared ahead a moment, the hum of the holo-display the only sound in the room.
For fucks sake this is bad...
"Alright." He looked toward Liliweiss. "I'm able to keep a secret and this is no different. But I hope you get better."
Her lips pulled into a small smile—one that didn't quite reach her eyes, but tried.
"Thank you for the words."
He nodded once, turned, and walked toward the door.
The door slid open and closed behind him.
The lieutenant stood still for a moment in the hallway, mulling over his thoughts before walking off to nowhere in particular.
Liliweiss is weakening; she, the strongest Nikke, had pushed past her limits.
Andersen is afraid and was now preparing for something.
"..."
Why didn't he say more?
He tried to rewind the conversation, mentally isolating Andersen's inflection near the end. The Commander had been about to say something else, but didn't for some other reason.
A small knot formed in his chest.
They're expecting a scenario where they're not around. Both of them.
He knew what that meant.
If Liliweiss broke down before they faced Anachiro, command structure would collapse mid-op. And Andersen—he never planned missions without fallback layers. If he's treating this as a silent contingency, it means things are worse than they let on.
The lieutenant's brow furrowed.
So why tell me now? Unless... I'm Plan C.
The thought lingered like a cold breeze under the collar of his uniform.
He reached the end of the corridor, rounding the corner that led toward the west wing—his steps beginning to slow as his thoughts turned toward Anachiro.
She didn't strike military targets. Not really. Not the ones that mattered tactically.
She struck where it hurt. Retreating units. Civilian convoys. Medical routes. Broadcasting nodes. And always—always—someone left alive. To tell the tale.
Demoralization tactics, he realized. Purely psychological warfare, dressed in brutality.
It was human in the line of thinking.
Destroy hope. Not armies. Undermine faith, not supply chains.
Ironic, he thought. More than what most in the officer corps are willing to do to win a war.
He stopped just short of the stairwell, pulling in a long breath, when he heard a voice from ahead.
"Lieutenant!"
The voice broke through his thoughts.
He stopped mid-step, eyes flicking up.
Standing a few metres ahead, just around the corner of the junction, was a Nikke with long greyish hair and a blackish-red bodysuit. Rose.
She looked different now—no soft smile, no gentle hum in her tone, just a serious expression on her delicate features.
"...Rose."
"I've been looking for you," she said.
The unease settled deeper in his gut.
"Do you need anything?"
"Could you come with me for a moment?" she asked. "It'll be quick."
He didn't think so.
And yet...
"Lead the way then."
He still prepared.
They arrived at her quarters within minutes.
She stepped in first, the door sliding open with a gentle pneumatic hiss. Her hand hovered near the panel until she felt him pass the threshold. The door shut behind them, sealing the silence inside.
Rose stood in the centre for a moment, back to him. Then she turned.
"...How have you been?"
The lieutenant blinked. The question caught him off guard—no, disarmed him. It wasn't what he expected. Not from her. Not now.
"I—"
"Why are you here? Are you here to finish me off?" she asked, her tone still painfully even. "Or maybe it's for her. Since she wasn't meant to survive like the rest of them."
His eyes widened just slightly. Barely noticeable—unless you knew him. But she did.
He didn't respond.
Rose stepped toward him slowly, as if her own movements required restraint. Her face was neutral, but cracks appeared. There was a tightness at the corners of her mouth, a tremble in the breath she inhaled through her nose.
"...Why are you here?" she repeated.
She found out, the lieutenant thought grimly. Or pieced it together. Either way, it's bad.
Either truth, spoken or implied, was bad. Both meant something had broken past the point of repair.
"...No matter what I say," he said aloud, "you won't be satisfied."
There was no reaction at first. Then Rose's gaze dropped. Her shoulders sank just slightly. The light in the room caught the faint shadow cast by her lashes, her eyes hidden under her hair.
He took that as his cue to continue. He opened his mouth.
Thunk!
Then her arms wrapped around him.
He froze.
Forceful but not aggressive, but tight. Like she was trying to hold something together.
The movement had pushed him back a step, and his shoulder hit the wall with a dull thud. His breath caught, confused, uncertain.... whichever emotions were going through his head.
His arms lifted reflexively, halfway, hovering in the air like they were unsure what to do. Defend? No. Push away? Definitely not.
But... what even is this?
"...What are you doing?"
Something warm soaked into the fabric at his shoulder.
He stiffened.
"...Crying?" he muttered, disbelief plain in his voice. "What...?"
Her arms tightened further, pulling him into her, to the point where it was nearly uncomfortable. His back pressed fully to the wall now. The smell of her hair, synthetic oils and faint lavender reached him.
Then came the words, muffled and breaking.
"I hate you."
"..."
"You lied..." Her voice cracked apart, splitting like brittle glass. "You lied to all of them. To everyone. They're all gone because of you..."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, so pained it barely made it past her throat.
"...Everyone."
Then, again—clearer this time, but trembling.
"I hate you."
I hate you.
The thought didn't stop. It circled and stabbed and bloomed like fire behind her eyes.
Why is he here? she thought. Why now, of all times? Why stand in front of me like he belongs here?
Her sister had barely survived. Her squad hadn't.
And he—the one who should've been dead too, the one who had commanded them, chosen their fate, stood here, alive...
Why does he still look like that? What happened to him? What happened to his body?
Why did he lie?
Why— her thoughts hiccuped.
Why am I hugging him?
She wanted to tear him apart.
Her fists twitched at his back as if fighting the urge.
Kill him.
Revenge for everything.
For Melee Squad's screams.
For all their pain.
For all their suffering.
For her suffering.
Her fingers twitched against his back, the muscles in her arms pulling tighter with the urge.
It would've been easy.
So easy.
Just a squeeze. A twist. She could end his life here.
KILL HIM—
But—then the headache came.
A stabbing migraine behind her eyes, searing pain that wasn't hers but buried somewhere deep in the NIMPH's protocols and other nanomechines working their 'magic' to make her stop.
Any lethal intent toward an allied human triggered something like this.
You serve humanity.
You protect the ones who remain.
Protect humanity.
Serve humanity.
Obey humanity.
But I want to kill him, she thought, trembling. God, I want to.
Because what kind of person lies, backstabs, and abandons their squad—their family—and still gets to be called human?
He wasn't. He wasn't human.
Not when they act just like the Raptures. No heart. No guilt. No soul.
He should die.
But still—
Despite everything—
She was so, so relieved he was alive.
Her arms, already around him, only tightened.
At first, he barely reacted, still dazed by her words.
But as her grip squeezed tighter:
"R-Rose," he muttered, trying to ease back. "Let go of me."
She didn't. If anything, the embrace became suffocating.
The NIMPH in her head chimed again.
Serve humanity.
Protect humanity.
Obey humanity.
Preserve human life.
Preserve human life.
Preserve human—
The lines ran through her head on repeat like white noise. She tried to block it out, tried to feel something through it... anything but that looping script.
Ever since that... that meeting. When he just appeared beside her new commander, like it was nothing. Like Melee Squad hadn't been destroyed because of him, like he hadn't abandoned them.
And now he was meant to come with them?
Him? To hunt Anachiro?
It was unacceptable. Unforgivable.
What if he betrayed them again?
What if Scarlet had to die next time?
What if none of them made it home?
What if Goddess Squad ended up just like Melee?
None of it made sense. None of it should make sense.
Then the Lieutenant's voice broke through again. Shouting this time.
"Let go of me!"
He shoved her hard.
The next moment passed too fast.
Her body flew back and hit the floor with a metallic thud, and he slumped against the wall, hand bracing his lower back, one knee nearly buckling underneath him.
Both of them froze.
His chest rose and fell. He stared at her like she was a stranger with a weapon.
His lips parted slightly, eyes wide.
"Shit that... fuck, that hurt..." he whispered. "You actually hurt me."
His hand came away from his back, checking for damage. There was no blood, but pain was clearly there. There would definitely be bruising in his torso...
He looked at her again, shaken.
"Your NIMPH... it should've stopped you..."
Rose's jaw slackened.
She messed up.
Panic surged in her stomach like battery acid. If he reported this— if he even hinted at this to anyone above—Goddess Squad status or not, Commander Andersen or not—it would be over.
Scrapped.
Scarlet would be alone.
Her fingers twitched.
Her thoughts collided—had she... tricked the NIMPH? Convinced it that this wasn't violence, but grief? Or had she truly seen him as something other than human, even for a moment?
"...!!"
He looked at the door.
Rose shot up like a missile.
"No—!"
She tackled him before he could even straighten his spine.
The impact drove them both to the ground, his back hitting the cold floor with a wince. He opened his mouth, probably to yell, maybe to call for help—but her palm slammed down over it.
Serve humanity.
Serve humanity.
SERVE—
Pain stabbed into her skull like hot needles. Her NIMPH fired warning pulses, screaming at her nervous system, but she didn't pull back.
He thrashed. His hands clawed at her wrist, trying to wrench it off, but she shifted her weight quickly, planting a knee near his hip and twisting just enough to unbalance his strength.
Her voice trembled, rushed, nearly begging.
"Don't. Don't tell anyone. Please. I didn't mean to. I didn't know what I was doing."
His eyes darted around the room, looking for leverage, an escape, anything.
He growled against her palm, still struggling. Her grip started to falter, torn between fear and the thundering pain pulsing behind her temples.
"LISTEN TO ME!"
Silence crashed into the room again.
Her hand trembled where it covered his mouth.
She stared down at him—at this man who had lied to them, abandoned them, let her squadmates die, let Scarlet almost die—who deserved to be cut down like the Raptures she'd destroyed hundreds of times before.
She hated everything he stood for.
And yet...
Why couldn't she bring herself to kill him?
She could've ended it right there, ripping out his throat, snapping his neck, driving her fist through his heart.
But—
She didn't.
Because once... just once... she looked at him like he was something more than a squad leader. More than just a superior officer. Back when he laughed with them. Back when he actually gave her hope.
And that—
That was the part of her that hurt the most.
Her voice cracked.
"If you don't tell anyone... about this—what I did—then I won't tell anyone about what you did."
He froze under her.
She was bargaining.
What was even her plan when this all started? What even was it? Talk to him? Kill him? Hug him?
Her mind was scrambled from all the warring emotions inside, she could hardly point out a valid reason for this debacle.
"Scarlet doesn't know what you did. No one else does. I'll keep it that way. I won't tell anyone about you. Or what happened..."
Her words died in her throat.
She should kill him.
The world would have one less backstabber to worry about.
One less traitor amongst them.
One less... him.
"Do you understand?"
For a long moment, he didn't move and just looked at her.
Then... he nodded slowly.
Not because he accepted it. She knew better than that. This was his self-preservation kicking in.
"I'm going to remove my hand," she said softly. "You're going to pretend nothing happened. Just breathe. Say nothing. Understand?"
He nodded again.
Rose lifted her hand off his mouth. Her other palm was still pressed to his chest. Her knees bracketed his sides, keeping him pinned.
The two of them remained like that.
"..."
His breathing was slightly heavier.
"God," he muttered finally, voice dry with disbelief. "If my spine wasn't made out of Goddesium, you would've actually snapped me in half."
She didn't answer.
He chuckled a tiny bit.
"...For once, I'm actually thankful for being more like you than a human."
Still, no reply.
His eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
"What was the plan?" he asked. "Greet me? Kill me? Cry?"
He tilted his head a little, eyes tracking her face.
Her eyes narrowed faintly, but she still didn't meet his gaze.
"You can't even do the second one, right?" he went on. "You're hardwired to preserve human life. That's the mission. That's the sacred rule. Yet you nearly crushed my ribs and spine. So what does that say?"
Rose's jaw twitched.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he studied her.
"Is your NIMPH malfunctioning? Or are you..."
"Shut up," she snapped suddenly, voice trembling.
She brought one hand to her temple, fingers digging in like she could claw the pain out.
"I said shut up," she hissed, her other hand joining the first now, clutching her head as the pressure surged. Her shoulders hunched forward, and her knees slipped slightly from their pinned position.
The Lieutenant used the shift to his advantage. He twisted, gritting his teeth, and managed to push her weight off to the side.
Thud.
She didn't resist much.
She dropped beside him with a quiet thud, curling inward, forehead brushing the cold floor. Her body trembled as her fingers clawed through her hair.
The Lieutenant scrambled back a bit, not rising fully, watching her like she was a bomb.
She let out a choked sound.
Her mouth moved as if trying to form words, but nothing clear came out. Only the same phrase, over and over in her head—
Serve humanity.
Protect humanity.
Preserve life.
But hadn't she just tried to kill someone?
No, not someone. Him.
It didn't count if it was him. It shouldn't count.
Her breathing evened, and the tremors in her limbs dulled.
Eventually, the world around her came back into view.
Her eyes stung.
Serve humanity.
Preserve life.
Protect command.
Serve humanity.
Protect.
Serve. Obey.
Preserve—
Her breathing steadied after a few more moments, NIMPH's protocols fading into the background as she calmed down.
She slowly lifted her head.
"...You really want to kill me?" the Lieutenant said.
He sounded less angry than shocked.
He was seated on the floor now, legs half-bent, leaning back on one hand as if too tired to fully rise.
Rose's eyes met his for only a moment.
Then, she looked away.
"Who wouldn't?"
"Not a Nikke," he said flatly. "Not a functioning one, anyway."
She turned her head toward him slowly, painfully, and sneered. It was lopsided. Not filled with the usual fire—just a broken thing, carved by grief and disbelief.
The NIMPH jabbed her skull again.
Preserve humanity.
Do not harm.
Protect command.
Protect allies.
Preserve life.
Obey.
Preserve.
Preserve.
PRESERVE—
"You're no better than the Raptures," she hissed.
The headache sharpened as if punishing her for the words.
"What kind of commander... what kind of human would do what you did?"
She slowly pushed herself up to her knees, fists clenched at her sides, head still bowed like she couldn't fully meet his eyes yet.
"Where were you... really?" Her voice cracked now. "That day."
He didn't move.
"You weren't in that building when the swarm came, were you? You weren't in there, were you? When the building blew up. You left the battle after sending us away."
Her voice trembled harder now, the pace picking up.
"I checked," she barked. "We all did. I ordered it! We looked for anything—bones, dog tags, ash—anything to prove you existed. But there was nothing. Nothing!"
Her voice rose at the end, like a cry yanked from the bottom of her gut.
And still, he just watched her.
Her eyes flicked up to him again, wild and wet.
"But look at you now," she spat. "You're barely even human anymore. You think I don't see it? Whatever they did to you, whatever you became..."
She paused, chest heaving.
"Were you ever human in the first place?"
The NIMPH thrashed in her skull.
Preserve life.
Do not attack.
Obey.
Protect.
Serve command.
Preserve.
Obey.
Obey—
She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down a scream.
"It would've been better," she said through clenched teeth, "if you had just died that day."
Her voice softened at the end, defeated.
"It would've been better for everyone."
The Lieutenant stood up slowly, grunting, rubbing the side of his neck, and then a bruise formed on his ribs.
Still, he didn't answer.
He turned halfway toward the door, then looked back at her.
"Well," he said, brushing off his uniform, "if that's all you wanted to say... then I should go."
He didn't hide the irritation or the exhaustion in his voice.
"It's obvious my presence makes you unstable," he added. "We'll find a workaround next time we have to deal with Anachiro."
And then he gave a slightly pained half-smirk.
"Maybe that'll be a better time to kill me."
Rose's expression twisted.
Her glare could've pierced steel.
That smile—that tone—like he hadn't just broken everything.
The NIMPH screamed.
Do not harm.
Serve humanity.
Preserve allies.
Obey.
Do not harm.
Do not harm.
Serve.
Obey.
Obey.
Obey—
She ignored it.
"I hope you die horrifically," she spat, rising to her feet. "I hate you."
He didn't flinch or look surprised.
"Hm. Do not follow me. That's an order."
It was all he said.
And then, he left.
The door slid open, then closed behind him.
Serve humanity...
preserve life...
serve humanity...
preserve life...
preserve life...
Frozen in place, her fists at her sides, nails biting into synthetic skin. Her shoulders shuddered once, then again.
Preserve life.
Do not harm.
Do not pursue.
Protect.
Obey.
Serve command.
Do not harm.
Do not harm—
Her head jerked slightly. Pain shot behind her eyes. The NIMPH was clamping down again, hard.
Every muscle in her legs twitched. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to run after him, to strike him down. Crush his throat. Slice him to pieces. Do anything and everything to get revenge.
He was a traitor.
He abandoned them.
He should have died that day and stayed dead.
Her squad was gone. Her friends. Her unit. Melee Squad bled out, burned, buried beneath rubble, bullets and corpses—and he just disappeared.
Then reappeared
And he had the gall to come back into her life like this.
Preserve.
Obey.
P reserve.
Preserve.
Preserve—
Another pulse of pain behind her temples. She stumbled slightly, placing a hand on the nearby wall to keep from falling over.
She wanted to hate him.
She did.
She had to.
She told herself it was hatred.
Over and over again.
He was a monster. A coward. A betrayer. A backstabber.
He was nothing.
She hated him.
She hated him.
She hated him.
But even as those thoughts echoed louder than the NIMPH's screaming, she felt something clawing beneath them.
Something she thought she'd buried a year and a half ago. Something small and stupid.
He should have stayed dead.
Because now he was something worse.
Now he could walk back into her life and remind her how much she'd once needed him there.
Her jaw clenched as her knees finally gave out. She sank to the floor, back to the wall, staring at the same spot he'd just vanished through.
Serve humanity...
preserve life...
preserve life...
preserve...
preserve...
preserve...
"I hate you."
I̷͍͝ ̴̮̬̋͆l̵̖̲͐̾̔ȯ̷̧̫̾̕v̷̧̯̓è̷̺́͛ ̶͔̪̗̀̓͐y̵̧̤̓̓͘ǫ̷̑̕u̴͎͐͒̓
Notes:
Uhhh I spent the last of my braincells trying to make this
Give me a bit more time than usual to make another chapter
thanks
Chapter 29: Vol 4.5: To Eat
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility
"Detach."
It's the word.
The one he's repeated to himself since he was old enough to understand what it meant.
Detach yourself.
From the fear. From the pain. From the burning feeling that comes just before you hesitate.
He never flinched.
Not in the slums where weakness got you bled dry.
Not when the shelling started, when the bodies of children were left half-buried in dust.
Not even when his own men screamed into static during that ambush.
Because he had to survive.
And surviving means one thing:
Detachment.
The Lieutenant stood by the narrow window, lights off, arms folded, back straight. His silhouette was barely more than a shadow against the cold blue glow of the city's skyline.
But none of it held his gaze.
He stared at nothing.
He'd told himself a long time ago:
Emotions are fragmentation. Attachments decay.
If you care, you hesitate.
If you love, you grieve.
And grief gets in the way of judgment.
And that was a luxury he never had.
Since he was a child in that godless concrete maze, he trained himself to split every situation into actionable fragments.
Never the full picture.
Never the full pain.
Just shapes. Vectors. Possible outcomes.
Statistics.
He didn't just learn to do it.
He needed to.
When you're clawing for food scraps in the corners of a world that's already forgotten you exist, you don't get to cry about it.
So why change now?
Why question it?
The world is burning. Raptures are multiplying. Nikkes are dying. Soldiers vanish in the dark between bunkers.
There's no room for sympathy. No space for kindness.
Every bond is a crack in the armour.
Every emotional compromise is a risk he can't afford.
He knew what would happen if he let it in—let them in.
"..."
The ones who watched his back.
The ones who asked about his past in half-jokes.
The ones who smiled at him like he was still human.
And the worst part? A part of him wanted to know them more. Their dreams. Their stupid little wishes. Their fears and triumphs.
If he let that in...
Then he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger if they got corrupted.
He wouldn't be able to send them to die.
Wouldn't be able to make the choice between them or the mission.
Between them and Humanity.
He mustn't.
Not now. Not ever.
Love makes it harder.
Wanting makes it impossible.
Whether they were flesh-and-blood soldiers once following behind him in the trenches or metallic, nanomechanical-equipped, and synthetic skin now... doesn't change the truth.
They are his assets.
His command.
His responsibility.
They're just robots.
And none of them can be anything more.
Because he can't afford to break.
If he breaks—if the centre gives out—then everything around him collapses.
The pressure's been building. He knows it.
The dreams have gotten worse. The nights are longer. His hands twitch when they shouldn't.
Then... that voice.
"I hope you die horrifically."
He hears Rose say it again.
It wasn't screamed. It wasn't yelled.
It was spat with disgust. Real pain. Raw betrayal.
A voice that used to call him... a friend?
He let her in.
Just for a moment.
And now those words are etched behind his eye socket like a permanent scar.
He tensed his jaw. Looked down at his left hand—his real hand. The only part of him that still feels temperature. It trembled, barely.
No.
He mustn't.
He can't allow himself to feel this way.
Not for her. Not for any of them.
He looked up again, meeting his own reflection in the window.
Half-man, half-machine.
What was left of the boy from the slums was long gone.
This version was built from cold calculus.
He had to be.
For Humanity.
He has to survive.
And to survive—
He has to detach.
From emotion. From connection. From love.
From himself.
He pauses in the hallway and takes a deep breath.
And didn't think of Rose again.
"..."
He lies to himself again.
He didn't remember when he stood up.
Didn't remember sitting back down.
Reports were signed.
Tactical overviews skimmed. Supply orders confirmed. Casualty updates noted.
His body worked—writing, typing, parsing data—
But none of it registered anymore.
The Lieutenant barely looked up from the terminal screen in his office. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Empty mugs lined the edge of the desk... He rubbed at the corner of his temple, as if that'd quiet the droning in his skull.
He didn't speak to anyone. He didn't want to.
He hadn't heard his own voice in hours.
And he preferred it that way.
The fewer people he spoke to, the less risk of emotional leakage.
Just keep going.
Work.
Work for the Anachiro operation.
Work for the mission.
Work for the recognition.
Because being useful is the only reason he's still alive.
Work for the recognition.
Because it distracts from the thoughts.
Make sure you don't starve.
Steal the shiny watch so the rich prick comes back to look for it.
Hit him in the stomach when he bends over, take the credits.
Run like hell.
Hide with the others.
Four hours of sleep is enough.
No one expects a kid to fight dirty. Use it.
Use everything. Always use everything.
Live. Live at all costs.
You need to find them.
You need to find your family.
"..."
His hand was cramping.
He flexed his fingers and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
If the Raptures never came—
Would this version of him have faded out on its own?
Would he have been a nobody in the military, fully organic, just a pair of boots behind a desk doing paperwork in peace?
Would he be... less tired?
Fewer nightmares.
Fewer cybernetics.
More sleep.
"..."
He rolled his eyes at himself.
Useless hypotheticals.
He groaned quietly and stood up, stretching until something cracked. A glance at the clock showed it was well past dinner hours.
He hadn't eaten since... when?
Whatever.
He might as well head to the cafeteria and grab what was left before it all went cold.
And maybe swipe a few MREs. Fewer reasons to leave the office tomorrow.
That would be convenient.
He left his room quietly, his boots making soft clicks on the metal floor panels. The hallway was mostly empty now, only the distant echo of patrol units and cleaning drones humming in the background.
By the time he reached the cafeteria, only a skeleton staff remained—mostly support personnel eating in silence or Nikkes chatting over empty trays. He kept his head low, walking toward the hot trays like he was on a mission.
He grabbed a tray without thinking. His eyes scanned under the heating lamps: still-warm pasta. Overcooked greens. Dry meat slices. Acceptable. He filled his tray in seconds.
He moved down the line, the soft hum of the lamps buzzing above. It was all routine.
Then—
A cinnamon bun.
There was one left, and it looked so soft and... warm.
He reached out, already forming the justification—he'd be working overnight and needed the sugar.
But another smaller hand reached for it at the same time.
Their hands nearly touched.
"Oh," he muttered.
"Ah—!" the voice opposite him squeaked.
He blinked and turned slightly. His gaze met silver hair and a pair of yellow eyes looking up at him wide-eyed—
Snow White.
She froze. And then, realizing who she'd bumped hands with, straightened up, giving a polite nod.
"Lieutenant."
They just looked at each other for a second. Her posture was disciplined, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed a little embarrassment. Her hand hovered over the cinnamon bun again, hesitating.
"...Can I have this?" she asked, her voice faintly awkward.
He looked down at the tray in his own hands—standard ration loadout, mostly protein and carbs.
Then to hers.
"..."
My fuckin' God, he thought absently.
Her tray was stacked like a small mountain: pasta, greens, gravy, protein slabs, and even a wad of pudding stuffed into the side cup.
What is she doing out here this late with all this food?
He'd heard the rumours, of course. Snow White always seemed to be eating something. But seeing it was another matter.
Huh. She must've missed dinner.
He exhaled. Then gave a small wave of his fingers.
"Go ahead."
Snow White brightened.
She quickly reached out and plucked the cinnamon bun from the tray, as if afraid he'd change his mind.
And then—she bit into it immediately. Right there at the end of the line.
Her expression changed in a blink—eyes closing, shoulders dropping.
Bliss~
The Lieutenant, still holding his tray in one hand, stood still for a few seconds, observing the almost cartoonish pleasure on her face. She looked like she'd ascended somewhere far from here.
He gave a small hum under his breath.
"Eat slower, kid," he said dryly. "You're gonna choke."
Snow White's eyes snapped open mid-chew. She straightened up in a panic, the moment of sugar-induced nirvana evaporating. A smear of icing clung to the corner of her cheek.
Her cheeks flushed a warm pink as she quickly swallowed, her hand going to wipe at her face.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to eat it right in front of you. That was rude," she said quickly, bowing her head slightly in apology.
He blinked once.
"...Didn't say it was rude—"
But she was already stepping back, gripping her tray tightly. Her voice shrank a bit.
"I'll, um, I'll get out of your way now..."
She turned, about to speed-walk toward the exit, when his brow furrowed slightly.
"...Hey. I didn't say anything."
She froze mid-step.
"Come back."
Her steps retraced themselves reluctantly. She looked almost... tense. Like she expected a disciplinary notice or worse.
When she stood in front of him again, her shoulders were stiff.
"Why are you standing like that? You running off to eat in your room?"
She glanced to the side.
"...Maybe."
"With all those plastic containers?"
The blush returned. "You remember that...?"
"Unfortunately."
A pause.
"I'm not letting you turn your room into a pigsty again. So—" He tapped the side of his tray with his finger. "—as punishment for jumping to conclusions before I could even speak... you're going to sit down. With me. And eat."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"And slowly."
Snow White's mouth opened, then closed. A faint pout appeared on her face—more reluctant than offended.
"...Fine," she mumbled, like a child caught stealing snacks before dinner.
They walked in sync to a quiet two-person table in the corner. The Lieutenant slid his tray onto the table with a mechanical motion and sat down with the weariness of a man fifty years older. Snow White sat more carefully.
He gave her a glance as she eagerly picked up her fork.
"Slowly," he reminded. "You're not fighting a timer."
"Mmhmm," she replied.
But he watched her lean in anyway, spooning food into her mouth like she was on the brink of starvation. Not quite inhaling it, but certainly on the edge.
She's probably not used to pacing herself, he thought.
As he quietly unfolded his napkin and began to eat, his mind drifted.
Always drink water before eating. Fills the stomach.
Eat slowly. Makes you feel fuller.
Greens are best. People never fight over greens.
Let them fight over meat. You get what you need quietly.
Get in. Get out. Be invisible.
Survive.
Find your family.
He stabbed a piece of pasta absently.
After a few more moments of chewing silence, he spoke up.
"So what were you in a rush for, anyway? Something important in your room?"
Snow White looked up from her mashed potatoes, chewing quickly to answer.
"...Kind of," she said after swallowing. "I was going to eat while working on some things. Multitask, you know? But then..."
She trailed off.
"...I stopped you?" he finished.
Her mouth closed again. She didn't answer.
Which he took as a yes.
His tone stayed level, but he leaned forward slightly, arms crossing.
"Does your CO ever hand out disciplinary actions?"
Snow White tilted her head. "The commander?"
"Yeah."
"Not... often. But sometimes," she said thoughtfully.
Then her eyes lit up a little, and she gave a small, barely suppressed giggle.
"There was this one time—one of us had to balance a jukebox on their head while riding a unicycle down the hallway."
The Lieutenant stared.
"...What?"
"It was a punishment!" she said through laughter, finally breaking a little. "He said they had to do it without letting it fall or break, or the whole team would have to skip dessert rations for a week!"
The Lieutenant shook his head slowly, a tired sound escaping his throat.
"Yeah, that sounds like what he'd do."
Snow White's eyes brightened more. She leaned forward on her elbows, a grin growing wider.
"You should've seen Red Hood's face! It was—"
And she launched into a detailed description of the chaos that followed. Fork in hand, words tumbling out of her mouth between bites. Her posture was relaxed now, enthusiasm taking over.
She described how Red Hood had tried to bluff confidence, the inevitable crash, and the blaring of the jukebox mid-spin. Snow White laughed softly throughout, mouth occasionally still half-full of food, waving her fork like punctuation.
The Lieutenant listened quietly, chewing as he watched her talk.
Eventually, he swallowed and leaned slightly back in his seat.
"What happened to her?"
Snow White blinked. The joy drained from her face as if someone had unplugged the power.
She didn't speak at first. Her eyes shifted downward, then to the side.
"...She's dead," she said finally, her voice flat. "She's not coming back."
The words hung there like drying beef (get it?). The cheer in her voice moments ago was gone, buried under something darker. Probably bitterness.
The Lieutenant's eyes rested on her a second longer before he let out a low hum.
"Didn't sound like the farewell was too rosy."
Snow White stabbed at her food, lips pressed thin. She didn't answer—just resumed chewing, slower this time.
His voice came quieter now, almost thoughtful.
"Losing comrades... can do terrible things to the mind. Especially at your age." He paused. "They die in front of you. Buried in mud, blood, half-rotted organs still clinging to broken ribs... and you can't move or stop it. You just watch and carry the memory. That's the world I come from."
Snow White muttered into her plate, almost too quietly for him to catch.
"...Red Hood didn't die like that."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"...Then how?"
Snow White's jaw clenched. Her fork hovered halfway between her plate and her mouth.
"She left and abandoned us. Her team. Me. She just—" She looked off to the wall, her voice tightening. "She went off to die somewhere else. Alone."
Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of her tray.
"I hate her for that."
The word hung in the air like smoke.
"She couldn't just stay?" she went on, almost pleading with a ghost. "She had people. She had us. We could've... she could've just been with us. With me."
The Lieutenant didn't move.
But something behind his eyes shifted. A slight pull at the corner of his brow.
The word hate echoed in his mind a few times before, finally, he exhaled.
"...I don't have advice for that," he said simply. "I've lost more people than I can count. None of them left much behind. Some I buried with my own hands. Some, I didn't feel anything when they were gone. But every situation's different."
He leaned forward now, forearms resting on the table.
"But why?"
Snow White looked up, startled by the directness of the question.
"If Red Hood was still alive, still thinking and walking when she left," he said, "there had to be a reason."
She hesitated.
Her gaze dropped again. She fidgeted slightly, the corner of her tray squeaking on the table as she shifted it.
"...She was corrupted," she finally said, almost a whisper. "By a Rapture. Ultra."
The Lieutenant's chewing stopped.
Snow White stared at her food, as if hoping it would give her the words.
"She fought it, the corruption, I mean. She... held on for weeks. She joked with us, trained, and tried to make it seem like nothing was wrong. But..."
Her voice cracked slightly. She didn't finish.
The Lieutenant's eyes sharpened, the fork slowly lowering to his tray. His thoughts buzzed behind a blank expression.
So that was it.
Andersen had said he neutralized her right after the Space Elevator op. That she was too far gone and somehow got corrupted during the operation.
But she was already corrupted before he claimed that. She kept functioning for weeks.
Why?
Why didn't Andersen report it?
That data—symptoms, cognitive drift, physiological breakdown—it could've been invaluable. A base to study sustained corruption, maybe even reverse it.
Cinderella...
His jaw tightened.
We could've found something. Anything.
He exhaled quietly through his nose, the tension leaving in that slow breath. His gaze slid toward Snow White again. She was still picking half-heartedly at what little food remained on her tray, shoulders hunched just slightly.
"You can't stay like this forever," he said plainly.
Snow White blinked, slowly looking up.
"I mean," he clarified, leaning back slightly in his chair, "you'll have to move on. At some point. At least start the process of doing so."
He didn't look at her while he spoke. His eyes were on some distant, invisible thing across the room.
"I'm an outsider looking in. And a numb one at that. Losing someone... it doesn't make me feel much anymore. Not like it used to."
A pause.
"So I can't sit here and tell you to forget Red Hood. I won't. That's not how any of this works."
His gaze finally returned to hers.
"All I can do is tell you to eat your food, avoid cavities, get a proper night's sleep... and keep going."
Snow White said nothing at first. Her fork hovered over an empty plate. Her eyes shimmered faintly. Not enough for tears to fall—just enough to sting.
"...That sound good?" he asked.
She gave a small nod. A grateful one.
"...Thank you," she whispered.
The moment lingered... and then her voice rose, slightly sheepish.
"Um... can I have some of your beef?"
He blinked. Slowly turned his head to look at her tray.
...Empty.
Already?
He leaned over slightly, squinting at her plate.
There wasn't a single speck left. Not even a trace of gravy. Just an innocent white tray and one very polite, expectant Nikke.
"...How?" he muttered.
Snow White blinked, confused.
"...How?! There was a hill of food on that plate!"
She shrank in her seat a bit, looking down.
"I was... hungry?"
The Lieutenant stared at her for another long second, then sighed through his nose and nudged his tray toward her.
"Fine. Take it."
"Thank you!" she beamed.
He rubbed his temple.
"I swear, that makes three vacuums I've been assigned to command now."
Snow White blinked between bites. "Three?"
"A pair of twins." His voice dropped with a hint of dread. "They're insatiable. Live off sugar. Constantly pilfer desserts from base kitchens. And when they're not doing that, they're pulling pranks that shave years off my life."
He leaned in slightly, narrowing his eyes at her.
"You're not like that... right?"
Snow White nearly choked. She sat up straight, waving her hands.
"N-No! I don't pull pranks! I never have!"
"Hmm."
She puffed her cheeks slightly. "I haven't!"
He hummed again, not entirely convinced but not pushing the issue.
"I believe you," he finally said with a faint nod. "You seem like a good kid. Unlike those two Sharpie-snorting disasters I've got under my command."
"...Huh?"
Snow White tilted her head, eyes squinting slightly.
"Who...?"
"Don't ask," he cut in, standing by it with the flat delivery of a man who had no intention of elaborating. "You'll sleep better not knowing."
Her curiosity twitched, but she let it slide. Instead, her expression lifted, intrigued.
"So... your squad now, Old Tales—where are they? Are they here?"
"They're getting repairs," he answered, picking up his tray and giving it a small shake to settle the contents. "Heavy damage from... our last assignment. They'll be back in a few days."
She nodded, letting that sink in. There was a quiet respect behind her eyes. She understood what 'heavy damage' usually meant.
"Alright," he added, stepping back from the table. "I'm heading back to the office. Still got some work to finish."
Snow White glanced down at the last bits of food on his tray, and he noticed. He sighed, half-turning.
"There's still a bit left. If you want—"
But it was already gone.
She blinked at him mid-chew, cheeks slowly reddening.
"I-I'm chewing slowly," she said through a partially full mouth.
He stared, unblinking.
"You're a weird kid," he muttered.
She made a muffled noise of protest, quickly swallowing. He shook his head and gave up.
"Whatever. Clean your room. Eat slower next time."
Snow White gave a small salute with her spoon. "Got it. Thank you for the food!"
He gave a soft grunt in place of a response, turning away.
"Night, kid."
"Night, sir!"
Her voice was still warm when he stepped past the cafeteria doors.
"..."
"..."
His footsteps echoed softly through the corridor.
"..."
"..."
He kept walking, hands in his pockets, but a pressure had settled into his chest again.
It felt hollow.
I hate you.
The words echoed again, but it wasn't Snow White's voice.
I hate you.
He stopped walking.
Stared at the floor.
"Fucking dumbass..." he muttered to himself. "...You should've given a decent farewell..."
No one was around to hear it.
And he didn't clarify who he meant.
Notes:
Okay, we're back after a 2-week break.
I'm doing fine, thanks for asking. Arcana had me acting unwise, so that explains the absence. Seriously, blue-haired, direct and goofy—smash—next question.
Anyway~
Lots to unpack this chapter, huh? Isn't Small White so adorable? I want to pinch her cheeks and tell her everything is alright when it isn't
Chapter 30: Vol 4.6: Damned
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, Next Morning
The lieutenant blinked awake at the faint but insistent beeping.
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
...BEEP.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment...
...Then he turned his head, slowly.
His eyes flicked down to his right arm.
"...Why the hell is my arm beeping?"
A faint glow pulsed beneath the skin of the forearm plating, and with a mechanical click-hiss, a small holographic window projected upward from his wrist.
And in it, there she was.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," Abe said, voice flat as a board. She had shadows under her blue eyes, her long white lab coat slightly crooked, and a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. "You're up. Good."
He squinted at the hologram.
"Abe? Why are you... why are you calling me through my arm?"
She sipped her coffee, deadpan. "I told you about this."
"No. No, you really didn't."
"Well, I meant to."
She set the mug down on some off-screen surface and adjusted the glasses slipping down her nose. "Since I built your arm, I decided it would be a waste not to add a direct link. Communication access, diagnostics, and emergency signals. Efficient, isn't it?"
"Efficient?" He sat up on the side of the bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his other hand. "I liked the part of my body being mine. Not on call like a damn switchboard."
"Oh please," Abe muttered, waving a hand as though brushing away a mosquito. "I'm not listening in. It's push-to-call only. It just doubles as a private, low-trace channel. You should be thanking me."
The lieutenant grumbled something about boundaries under his breath.
"Anyway," she went on, oblivious or ignoring him. "I'm nearly done repairing Hansel, Gretel, and Siren. They're going through final calibrations now. I want you in the lab when I activate them."
He glanced at the clock on the wall. "You patched them up already? You work quickly, huh?"
Abe pushed up her glasses with the bridge of her finger and gave him a look.
"Who do you think you're talking to?"
"..."
"...Congratulations," he said flatly.
"Save it. Just get down here. I also need to discuss Cinderella's corruption in more detail. Face-to-face."
The lieutenant nodded at that. His voice lowered slightly. "Better in person. If someone's monitoring encrypted channels..."
His mind wandered to Oswald.
"They're not," Abe cut in. "This is a closed system. One-to-one link. No remote servers. I designed it myself."
He smirked faintly, shaking his head. "You went all out."
"..."
"I am a genius," she replied, almost too quickly. "Feel free to say it out loud."
He groaned and rolled his shoulders.
"You're a workaholic."
"Pot calling the kettle black."
She tapped the side of her glasses, and the hologram flickered.
"Get your ass down here, Lieutenant."
Click
The projection snapped off.
The room returned to still silence, except for the quiet buzz of the light overhead.
The lieutenant stared at his arm.
Then he muttered:
"She didn't tell me how to hang up..."
His hand fell to his side, fingers twitching.
"It's my body, goddammit."
The metallic hiss of a door sliding shut echoed softly behind him. The corridor was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet where your own footsteps sound like accusations. The lieutenant walked briskly, head down slightly, hood drawn up, scanning without looking like he was scanning.
No tails...
Good.
His fingers tightened into a light fist at his side.
He had to move carefully now. Things were too delicate. His squad—his—was slowly coming back together, but 3/5ths wasn't a whole, and the world didn't just have a Grimm's Model factory where they could churn those things out like sausages. No.
The Goddess Squad was combat-effective, but integrating them with Old Tales wouldn't be simple. They needed field synergy. They needed to trust each other.
And then... There was Liliweiss.
A very unstable variable.
He frowned to himself.
Liliweiss's condition—what Andersen told him—meant they were walking a razor's edge.
If she strained herself even for a second longer, she'd be as useful as a snowball in a plasma storm. Repairs would mean downtime. Downtime meant vulnerability. He didn't like vulnerabilities.
And then there was the other problem.
Anachiro.
The thing Cinderella had become.
He'd watched it over and over again, the combat footage, ever since he had woken up.
"..."
How do you deal with that? What's the best way to handle something like that?
Ambush.
But baiting someone like her... that was a separate risk altogether.
The doors to Abe's lab slid open with a mechanical thump and hiss.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the smell of disinfectant and machine oil greeted him.
Abe stood by the far terminal, fingers already dancing across a digital interface. Her long blonde hair was tied back like usual, safety goggles perched uselessly atop her head.
"You're late," she said, glancing sideways.
"I'm not," the lieutenant replied simply, stepping inside and letting the doors close behind him.
She didn't argue it.
She nodded her head, indicating he should follow her. He caught up, walking alongside her past rows of sealed capsules, probably the robots Vos had given her to work on Old Tales at this speed.
"So," he began, with a raised brow, "calling me through my arm, huh?"
Abe smirked faintly, not looking up from her work. "It worked, didn't it?"
He scoffed. "Still invasive as hell."
"You'll live. Hopefully."
He grunted something indistinct as they approached the central terminal—a podium-like interface between three sealed pods, each containing a motionless frame.
Abe tapped through menus. Lights blinked in sequence.
"They're mostly patched up," she began, fingers sliding across a virtual screen. "Hansel and Gretel are at full operating capacity. Siren's jaw... Its around there but it's still a bit off, so to say."
"Is it going to affect her Kotodama?"
Abe nodded slowly. "It'll strain her more than usual. Might cause feedback. Don't make her shout too many things. That's my advice."
He made a mental note of that.
She continued typing, but her tone dropped just slightly. "...Not sure how they'll react to seeing you."
He blinked at her. "Why wouldn't they?"
She stopped for a moment.
"You weren't this cybernetic when they went down," she said carefully. "Left leg, right arm—sure. But now... spine, ribs, both legs, even your neck... You're more machine than man in some ways."
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"They've seen worse. They've been through worse."
She didn't argue that either.
Her fingers hovered over the terminal again, but this time they paused.
"...Besides that," she muttered, voice low. "What about Red Shoes?"
"...!"
He didn't respond at first. Just looked at the three Nikkes quietly.
Eventually, he said, "I'll tell them the truth."
Abe slowly turned her head to look at him.
"That we had a traitor in our ranks. That she made her choice. That, whatever reasons she had, she made herself the enemy." His voice was steady. "They'll have to accept it. Just like I did."
Abe sighed a slow, weary breath.
"I don't think it'll be that simple."
"They'll have to accept it. They have no choice."
She gave him one final glance before nodding and reaching for the activation switch.
"Brace yourself."
He nodded once.
Abe hit the final command.
The lights in the room dimmed slightly. The pods lit up, internal mechanisms groaning to life. Hydraulic locks hissed open.
Monitors blinked in cascading green. Readouts began spooling information.
Three synchronized gasps filled the lab.
The pods hissed open.
Steam curled upward.
Inside, Hansel blinked rapidly, Gretel mirroring her every twitch, her twin's hand tightly held in her own. Siren sat upright more slowly, her breathing short and uneven, hair damp from condensation.
Her eyes searched the room like a deer startled out of a dream.
The lieutenant stood a few paces back, still, silent, arms folded over his chest as he watched.
Abe let out a long, relieved sigh and leaned forward against her console.
"Finally. I need to stop second-guessing myself... This was obviously going to work."
The lieutenant hummed faintly at that, but his eyes never left the three. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Old Tales. It's been about... a month and a half since any of you were last conscious."
Hansel's eyes slowly turned toward him, still adjusting to the light.
"Hansel and Gretel are... alive?" she whispered, almost uncertain. "It feels like a dream."
Then her gaze focused and locked onto him.
Her mouth opened slightly.
Her pupils dilated.
She scanned from his legs to his chest, then his neck and jaw. Something shifted in her expression.
"The lieutenant's body..."
He cut in before she could spiral further.
"I'm alive," he said firmly. "That's what matters. The Goddesium prosthetics are irrelevant. I'm still the same person."
Hansel didn't respond right away. She looked over at Gretel, who hadn't spoken—just stared, eyes wide, clinging a little tighter to her sister's hand.
"...Gretel wants to know who did this to you," Hansel murmured.
The lieutenant didn't answer.
A sound pulled his attention to the side.
A soft, "Aough..." followed by a quiet, questioning "Ohh?" escaped Siren as she pushed herself upright. Her fingers curled on the side of the pod, her brows pinching as she looked between the others.
Her gaze held concern or something else—fear?
Abe snapped her fingers, as if remembering.
"Hold on—wait." She crouched beside a small cabinet, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a worn notebook.
"Here," she said, handing it to Siren along with a pen. "Write what you're trying to say."
Siren blinked at her, then nodded faintly. Her fingers trembled slightly as she started writing.
A few seconds later, she turned the notebook around.
Where are we? What happened to Cinderella?
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut steel.
Hansel's eyes widened.
The blue-haired Nikke turned back to the lieutenant, piecing something together in real time—her mouth moved slightly, but no sound came at first.
Then—
"Cinderella... did this, didn't she?" Hansel whispered. "Before everything went dark, we saw her. She was attacking you. And then... There was a crack, like... your neck—"
Her voice wavered.
"Then everything just... went black."
Siren's mouth fell open slightly. "...Did she—?" she tried to ask, the words strangled halfway as she coughed a bit.
There was a pause a moment as Siren recomposed herself.
"Did she really do that...?"
Hansel turned her eyes toward the lieutenant again, steel and sorrow both brewing inside them.
"Where was Red Shoes?" she asked. "Was she... killed by Cinderella too?"
Abe and the lieutenant locked eyes.
That was the wrong path. That line of thinking would take them to the worst possible conclusions. And if they built their own narrative, without facts, it could undo everything.
The lieutenant's brow furrowed and his tone sharpened.
"Enough," he said. "Stop thinking like that."
He tapped the side of his head, then gestured to Abe.
"The evidence is here. With me. With her. You want answers? Then listen."
He stepped forward a pace, his boots clicking softly on the metal floor. "You just woke up. I know you've got questions. You deserve answers. But jumping to conclusions won't bring clarity."
A moment passed.
Hansel nodded slowly. Siren bowed her head slightly. Gretel remained quiet, her hand still in her sister's.
The lieutenant took a deep breath.
"Settle in," he said, his voice lowering. "We'll explain everything. Abe will help fill in the blanks. But first..."
He looked each of them in the eye.
His next words were slow.
"What do you know about corruption?"
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility
Colonel Vos leaned back in his chair, shoulders squared, expression unreadable, a jaw so clenched the muscle ticked near his temple.
Across from him sat Oswald, one leg casually over the other, a small folder in his hand. He slid it across the desk.
"I'll give him credit," Oswald said, cracking the silence. "He's a sneaky one. Getting some of these shots wasn't easy. Every few minutes, he's glancing over his shoulder like a hawk. Survival instincts that sharp... he must've had one hell of a teacher."
Vos said nothing at first. His eyes swept across the photographs. The lieutenant slipped through a side exit under dusk light. A second photo showed him cutting across a maintenance corridor. Another—faint but clear—captured the lieutenant moving through the outer perimeter, heading toward where...
Abe was...
Vos exhaled once, slowly through his nose.
"I didn't train him like that," he muttered.
Oswald blinked, head tilting slightly. "No? Then how'd he get that way?"
The Colonel finally lifted his eyes to Oswald's.
"Let me ask you something. When you were in the academy—wherever the hell they processed you—were you ever starved? For days at a time?"
"Only if I missed a mess because I fell asleep during a lecture. Not unless you're in black-ops or special forces. That kind of routine'll break most cadets."
Vos nodded faintly. "Exactly."
He set the photo down. "Have you ever lived with the knowledge that every person you met saw you as expendable? That every relationship, every handshake, every meal shared was just a transaction? Nothing real. Nothing mutual. Every man for themselves."
Oswald didn't answer right away.
Vos smirked a bit.
"Didn't think so."
He sat back again, folding his arms.
"They don't make soldiers that way anymore. It's too cruel. Too... inefficient. Years of that kind of hardship would gut most people of their sanity before they ever touched a rifle. But him?" His eyes dropped again to the photo—the lieutenant. "He lived through it. For years. Long before I ever found him. Long before the war made him useful."
Oswald's brow twitched faintly. "He's had it rough, then."
Vos didn't respond.
Instead, Oswald straightened a bit, tone shifting.
"So, you knew where he was going. And you let him go."
"I didn't stop him. That's different."
"But you knew it was Old Tales he was headed toward?"
Vos gave a half nod.
"And you've known all this time?" Oswald asked, tone cautious.
There was a pause.
Vos didn't answer directly.
"I assume," Oswald continued, voice slightly softer, "that if I were to report this to our superiors, that wouldn't change much?"
"No," Vos said flatly. "It wouldn't. And you already know that."
"So I'm boxed in."
"You're a career man. I trust you to be smart about it."
A beat.
Then Vos added, "You can go. Follow him if you want. You'll get close—maybe even get a word in before he figures out you're there."
"Any warnings I should take seriously?" Oswald asked, slipping the photos back into the folder.
Vos's gaze darkened slightly.
"He's been slipping into old habits. Desensitizing himself to reality, ignoring what I taught him... Add to that the fact he's no longer fully human anymore..." He trailed off, then waved vaguely toward the photo. "That makes things murky. He's running on something deeper than orders now."
Oswald rose from his chair.
"You think he's dangerous?"
"I know he's dangerous," Vos replied without hesitation. "But that's why he's useful."
Oswald tucked the file under his arm and adjusted his collar. "I'm not looking for a fight, Colonel. You need Old Tales operational. And I need to understand just what the hell he's doing out there."
Vos leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk.
"Then be careful. You approach him too much like a handler, he'll walk. You push him too far, and he won't hesitate to shoot you."
Oswald gave a thin smile. "Don't worry. I'm not reckless. I'll just talk to him."
Vos gave no farewell. He just watched Oswald go.
As the door shut behind the officer, Vos finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
His eyes drifted again to the last photo—one where the lieutenant was half-turned, eyes sharp, as if he sensed the lens even then.
"..."
"Hang in there, kid... It'll all be over soon."
Of course, that's what they all say, Vos.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Abe's Lab, Morning
Hansel sat with her arms crossed tightly, leaning against the cold metal wall with Gretel beside her, mirroring the posture. Their eyes were wide and unblinking, but not with surprise anymore. That had passed.
Siren stood to the side, arms wrapped gently around herself, notebook tucked loosely in one hand.
Her gaze was downcast. Unlike the twins, she wasn't angry. She just looked... hurt. Like a crack had splintered her entire being.
The truth had landed like a bomb—Red Shoes had corrupted Cinderella.
And everything that followed—the suffering, the lieutenant's augmentations, and their own brush with death—stemmed from that betrayal.
Someone they had trusted. Someone they had fought beside.
Someone they considered family.
The lieutenant stood before them now, arms behind his back, posture steady but tired. His voice broke the silence, calm but laced with weariness.
"We're being reassigned," he said. "To a joint task force."
Hansel blinked.
"With the Goddess Squad."
There was a beat of silence.
Even Siren's brows lifted.
Abe, who stood off to the side with a data slate in hand, didn't flinch. She had known. But for Old Tales, it hit like another punch to the chest.
Hansel's voice came next.
"Hansel wants to know... Gretel wants to know..." She turned her gaze toward the lieutenant, icy and sharp. "Where is Red Shoes. What's happened to her?"
"She's being held in a secured facility. Being watched by trusted personnel."
He took a breath.
"You're not killing her."
Hansel blinked slowly, face unreadable. "Hansel wasn't asking permission."
"Doesn't matter," he replied flatly. "She's alive. And she'll stay that way until we know everything she's been exposed to."
Hansel didn't speak again, but the clenched fists at her sides said enough. Gretel leaned into her slightly, forehead brushing her sister's shoulder.
Siren shifted, stepping forward and flipping open her notebook. Her pen scribbled quickly before she turned it around to face the lieutenant.
Are we part of the task force, too?
He nodded once. "Yes. You're all being transferred to the Goddess Squad's location. All first and second-generation Grimms are being consolidated into a single unit. It's the only shot we've got at Anachiro."
A low sound escaped Siren—somewhere between a hum and a dismayed whimper. She rubbed her arm, looking at the floor again.
Abe exhaled, stepping in. "With the kind of power Anachiro's developed—especially with the Raptures enhancing her body—it's unlikely she's operating at her original parameters anymore."
She hesitated.
"...The corruption code's effects are still evolving. She's not the same... not fully. We can't let that continue unchecked."
Her voice cracked slightly at the end. Abe cleared her throat, looking down at her slate. There was no hiding the pain behind her words. She had created Cinderella after all.
The lieutenant took over.
"Which is why we're moving out soon. The longer Anachiro remains functional, the more damage it does. Every hour we delay is another nail in the Ark's coffin."
He looked over the three of them.
"You'll be transported to the staging facility tonight."
There was no joy in the announcement. Normally, even the mention of working alongside the famed Goddess Squad would've brought excitement, questions, chatter, even pride.
But now, the silence remained.
Hansel finally spoke again, her tone even flatter.
"Gretel was always excited to meet the Goddess Squad. Hansel too. But now..."
She trailed off, glancing down.
"The pain doesn't go away."
Siren let out a quiet "Auhh..." and gave a subtle nod, still holding her own arm.
"Then you'll carry the pain. Like we all do."
He stepped forward, eyes fixed on the trio.
"Cinderella is gone. Red Shoes betrayed us. And the surface is lost. That's the reality."
His voice lowered.
"My body is more machine than human now. I don't have to worry about aging into dust for decades. I don't get to retire. I don't get peace. I just keep going. Because as long as I'm useful, I'll fight for what's left of humanity."
He stared at each of them—Hansel's tight-lipped rage, Siren's quiet devastation, Gretel's blank, haunted expression.
"And like me... what other choice do you have?"
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Eastern Defensive Bunker, Noon
The low hum of dying machinery filled the air, interspersed with flickering emergency lights that casted long shadows across the jagged, broken walls of the bunker.
Dust hung thick like smoke, making every breath gritty and acrid.
Private Jansen gripped his rifle tightly, his back pressed against the cold corner of a half-shattered barracks wall, his chest rising and falling erratically.
Somewhere in the distance, metal screeched against metal—a sound like a ship being torn in half. It was getting closer.
"...Is it inside—?! No, no no no—GET OUT—!"
The comms erupted in chaos. One voice screamed incoherently. Another was shouting about power fluctuations. Then came the high-pitched whine of a particle cannon, followed by a sound that resembled a wet crunch.
Someone let out a shriek before being cut off mid-sentence.
"Please, please, I have a family—"
"—It's her! It's Anachiro—!"
Jansen slammed the side of his helmet with his palm, trying to mute the noise, but the voices kept breaking through.
"AAAAAAH—!!"
One final scream bled into static... Then, silence.
Jansen's breath caught, and his hands trembled. The only sounds now were the faint crackle of distant flames and... that clicking...
Like the heels of a woman's heels on ceramic tile.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Each step is growing closer.
"No—no, please..."
He raised his rifle with shaking hands, aiming at the half-blown metal door just ten paces ahead. He could barely swallow. His finger hovered near the trigger.
Then—
She stepped into view.
She was beautiful—terrifyingly so.
A flowing silver bodysuit clung to her like liquid metal, accentuating every movement. Platinum hair floated around her as if underwater. Her crystal-red eyes were lifeless, devoid of anything resembling mercy or recognition. In her presence, reality seemed to warp as if the air itself were reluctant to touch her.
Jansen screamed, and he fired wildly.
The bullets sparked and ricocheted off her body like raindrops on reinforced glass.
She didn't flinch.
Before he could blink, his rifle was gone—ripped from his hands and flung aside like a toy.
Then came the hand.
Her fingers—slender but impossibly strong—clamped around his neck. It wasn't immediate; she squeezed slowly, deliberately, the pressure building with the eerie calm.
His boots scraped against the floor.
His hands slapped at hers, clawing for air.
"G-Glory... to humanity..."
CRACK!
Blood splattered in a fine arc across her cheek. His body went limp.
She stared.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint buzz of dying lights and the hiss of steam from a ruptured pipe nearby.
"..."
Then she reached up, slowly wiping the red off her face with the back of her hand.
And she paused.
Her red eyes—so void, so cold—narrowed slightly.
Then again.
...Something flickered behind them.
"...!!"
A choked sound escaped her lips.
She looked at the blood on her hand. Her expression twisted, confused, then to horrified. She turned around, surveying the room and the hallway she had come from: charred walls, limbs scattered in pieces, the blackened remains of men and women who screamed her name in terror only minutes before.
"I-I... What?"
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed beside Jansen's body and let out a small, broken sob.
"No... No no... No... I-I did it again... No...."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
She clutched her head.
"Someone—anyone... Hansel... Gretel... Siren... please..."
She looked down at the soldier again. Her hands were stained. Her fingers, trembling. She pressed them to her mouth as if trying to keep something inside. But the memory was too strong.
The image, clearer than any 4K recording, of her own hand crushing another's neck.
His neck.
Her lieutenant's.
Her cry was louder this time.
"I did it again... I—" She sobbed, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry... Lieutenant... Someone... kill me... please..."
Her shoulders convulsed with each breath, and tears dropped to the floor, joining the blood around her knees. She remained like that for a moment, a crumpled figure among the dead.
Then—
"..."
A twitch.
Her head jerked slightly, and her body stiffened.
Her eyes rolled upward for a moment before snapping forward.
She stood up—mechanical, puppet-like, and her face returned to its blank state, though the tears remained.
"..."
"..."
Those tears still fell.
But her body no longer seemed to belong to her.
She turned away from the soldier's body, walking in the opposite direction from the chaos she created.
The corrupted systems and code within her surged, trying to reclaim full control.
But something... something still resisted. Something splintered, something trying to hold on.
And as she vanished into the shadows of the ruined compound, one truth lingered, floating in the aftermath of blood and tears:
Despite the corruption, despite the programming, despite the horrors she committed...
The glass princess's story had not yet ended.
Not in this war.
Not while her heart still remembered the weight of sorrow.
For even now, buried beneath the corruption that clung to her like soot, some part of her still searched for the final stroke of midnight. A last chance to leave behind these halls of horror.
To step, one day, back into the light.
And perhaps, just perhaps...
The key to that forgotten fairytale—
The one thread that might guide her home through this nightmare of shattered glass—
Ran red through the blood of the man she could never think to kill.
A prince without a crown.
Even now.
While her NIMPH was getting systemically destroyed.
Notes:
I've employed this trick in a few works. Sometimes I'll reveal one thing, then reveal another in the same chapter to hide the other thing—since now the other thing is on your mind, you think of it first instead of—ehh? You get it?
Isn't that cool?
Chapter 31: Vol 4.7: Push Come to Shove
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
[End of Volume 4]
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, The Present
The lieutenant moved quickly, ushering Old Tales through the back door. Hansel and Gretel glanced around in silence, the latter clutching her sister's hand tightly.
Siren, following in a more fluid pace, emitted a low cooing hum in acknowledgment when the lieutenant turned to her.
"Keep a low profile. No unnecessary noise," he instructed. "Use your notebook to communicate if needed."
Siren gave a gentle "Ahh," the sound soft, almost apologetic. She nodded, keeping her notebook close and clutching it to her chest.
Abe was the last to enter the hallway. Her arms were crossed around her midsection as if trying to keep something in, anxiety, perhaps, or doubt. She cast a glance at the lieutenant, brows furrowed.
"Before we go in," she murmured, keeping her voice low, "what's going to happen? Is this task force... secret? Even from the rest of the brass?"
The lieutenant, eyes cold but focused, gave a short nod.
"This squad is still under watch. Suspicion hasn't gone away. If I take this to the top now, they'll be forced to act. Either they take us in and use our abilities, or..." He paused, then said flatly, "I'll lead Old Tales into this fight alone. No military. No Goddess Squad. Just us."
Abe blinked. "That's suicide. You know that, right?"
"I know the risk," he said. "Now get inside. Talk to Colonel Vos. I'll handle things out here."
Something in his tone made her stop. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"...You're expecting something. What is it?"
He held her gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a small shift. His eyes flicked, subtly, to the right.
Abe caught it instantly. Her expression tightened, and she inhaled sharply.
"...We're being followed?"
"Inside. Now," he barked, shoving her through the door. She barely had time to object before the metal slammed shut behind her.
He turned.
The corridor was quiet... for a moment.
Then, movement—
The lieutenant spun, his right cybernetic arm shooting out and gripping a figure by the throat. In his organic left, he drew the figure's sidearm in a flash, jamming it against their stomach.
A strangled "Gah!" escaped the man's lips—
—And then there was a click, then several more.
A dozen barrels trained on him, surrounding the corridor in a semicircle.
The cold press of a gun barrel touched the back of his neck.
His eyes narrowed.
Oswald. Of course.
Without glancing back, still staring into Oswald's stunned eyes, he spoke evenly.
"Let's play a game. What's faster: my arm snapping your neck... or your men pulling their triggers?"
"Don't!" one of the soldiers barked. "Let him go, Lieutenant!"
Oswald, still choking in his grip, croaked:
"Stand... down. Lower your weapons...!"
"Sir—!"
"Do it!"
A tense second passed.
Slowly, hesitantly, the rifles dipped. Fingers loosened from triggers. The lieutenant, expression still unreadable, released Oswald and dropped the stolen pistol at his feet. Oswald stumbled, rubbing his neck and grimacing.
"You sure know how to make a point," he wheezed.
"You're good at ambushes," the lieutenant said flatly, "but pulling one right outside a Central Government Facility? Poor choice. You could've tried crashing my helicopter again."
Oswald grimaced harder. "I wasn't in on that."
"Of course not. You're just the friendly neighbourhood watchdog." His tone dripped with quiet venom. "Still sniffing around on orders from above, mutt?"
"No," Oswald said, straightening with difficulty. "We got off on the wrong foot, alright? I didn't come here to fight."
"Of course you aren't. Your division tries to kill me twice without a word, losing me parts of my limbs. Do you want a confession before you put a bullet through my skull since I'm so troublesome?"
"I'm not your enemy." He rubbed his throat again. "I just need answers. About Red Shoes."
The lieutenant said nothing, just stared. Oswald pressed on, quieter now. "I'm not here to drag you or Old Tales in front of a tribunal. I just want to know the truth. About her. About what happened. If you can give me that, we'll disappear. Like this never happened."
There was a long pause. The lieutenant's cybernetic fingers twitched.
He looked at Oswald—measured the man, his sincerity, the steadiness of his words.
Then...
"Fine."
Oswald let out a slow breath, tension easing from his body.
"Really?"
"Really," the lieutenant said, voice low. "But after this, you vanish. You don't follow us. And you sure as hell don't get in the way."
Oswald nodded slowly, sincerely. "Agreed."
"..."
"..."
"So," he began, "tell me about Old Tales. Half a year before Cinderella's corruption... did you see anything? Unusual behaviour. Deviations in their operational patterns. Anything that stood out?"
The lieutenant didn't answer right away. His posture remained still, but his mind flared with warning lights.
Hale should've handled this.
That was the deal.
Get Oswald off his back, redirect him, smother the trail.
But no—here they were. Still poking. Still digging.
That meant one thing: they'd already run the brain scans. Maybe more.
If they'd even glimpsed the truth about Red Shoes—about her growing obsession... about the biochemical resonance that occurred between her and him... if they'd detected even a trace of what made her stronger, the deeper their bond was, in his blood—
Shit. They were sniffing for answers about that.
Tsk.
He exhaled and kept his face impassive.
"I've been through this interrogation line before," he said coldly, "and I already gave my answers to Colonel Vos. Ask him if you're still desperate for paper trails."
Oswald didn't budge. "High Command wants an official statement. A firsthand one. This doesn't come from Vos or from tech logs. We need your version."
"You're not going to get anything new."
"Still need it."
Before the lieutenant could respond, the door at the far end of the corridor hissed open with a pneumatic rush. A tall figure stepped through with brisk steps and an exasperated tone.
"Oswald. What the hell are you doing?"
Oswald turned to see Major Baron Drexler approaching with quick, precise movements. His uniform looked freshly pressed—still warm from a heated meeting, no doubt—but his expression wasn't patient.
Oswald kept his voice measured. "Just wrapping up a line of questioning—"
"Wrap it up faster," Drexler said, cutting him off. "New intel just came in on Project V. You and your techs are needed now. We've got an update on the earlier breach and its priority. Command wants eyes on the new architecture. Not here."
That got Oswald's attention.
He blinked once, then looked from Drexler to the lieutenant, then back. For a moment, he seemed to weigh something.
Then he gave a quiet nod.
"To be continued, then. If you're going after Anachiro," he said to the lieutenant, "and things go sideways... get in contact with me. I still want answers about Red Shoes."
The lieutenant let out a low hum in acknowledgement. "If I'm alive, I'll think about it."
Oswald gave a faint smirk—a half courtesy, half warning—then motioned for his men to move. They passed the lieutenant without further incident, weapons holstered now. As he followed the last of them, Drexler gave the lieutenant a sideways glance. A flicker of guilt? Or apology?
Maybe both.
The glance said it all: "Sorry for the scare."
The door closed behind them with a hiss and finality.
"..."
The lieutenant stood alone for a few seconds longer, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. The silence returned.
And he sighed.
Then, wordlessly, he turned on his heel and began walking. His footsteps echoed softly through the hallway, metal against metal, punctuated by the occasional flickering light overhead. He passed door after door, expression unreadable.
The corridors of this facility felt as hollow and cold as ever, it seemed.
It wasn't long before he turned a corner and spotted Abe waiting further down the corridor. She had her arms loosely crossed in front of her, face thoughtful, eyebrows slightly pinched.
Their eyes met, and without stopping, he approached.
He stopped a few feet from her and leaned slightly closer.
"How the hell did Drexler know where I was?" he asked, voice low. "If he hadn't shown up when he did, I'd probably be a corpse in the hallway right now."
Abe blinked at him, stunned.
"What?"
"I'm serious," he added. "Oswald's team had a clean formation. If I hadn't grabbed him first, they might've opened fire. Drexler showing up broke the tension."
She stood straighter, lips parting in realization.
"I—I ran into him. Drexler, I mean. I was looking for Vos and I saw him near one of the access junctions. He was trying to track Oswald down—said there was some new information—and I just pointed him in your direction."
Her brow furrowed.
"Wait, back up—why would they want to kill you? What did you even do to make them that jumpy? Is this because of Anachiro? Because the squad produced a traitor? They think you had a hand in corrupting her?" Her voice softened. "You didn't... You'd never—"
"I didn't," the lieutenant cut in firmly. "And they don't have proof of anything."
He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling.
"But let's just say the central government doesn't exactly hold me in high regard. Never have. I've gotten close to being killed more than once. The implants?" He tapped his right arm, then gestured to his leg. "Weren't from the Rapture. A Helicopter crash. The engine just happened to explode over a ravine. An unmarked team was on board. There were survivors except me."
Abe's eyes widened.
"Wait—you never told me that."
He didn't answer.
She scoffed.
"Seriously? I have connections—half the boards at Elysion, Missilis and Tetra owe me favours. You had half a year. I could've done something—swept records, shifted risk profiles, pulled a few strings—"
"I don't need it," he cut in again. "This isn't about me staying alive. The only thing that matters right now is Anachiro."
He stepped past her, voice cooler now.
"If the central government wants to put me in the ground, they can try after I put her in it first."
Abe stayed silent for a beat, then sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of her nose and adjusting her glasses with a tired flick of her fingers.
"You're so damn stubborn."
"So what?" he replied without missing a step.
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Did you make it to Vos?"
She nodded, voice regaining focus. "Yeah. He's prepping the announcement now. Told me it'll happen in a few minutes. Main hall."
He gave a quiet hum in response, eyes narrowing just slightly.
Soon.
In his head, the picture was already clear.
It was your fault it all ended up this way. Rectify it by all means necessary.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Main Hall, Morning
[Please assemble in the main hall for an important announcement. It is highly recommended that all personnel, Military and Nikke alike, attend.]
The announcement came suddenly.
Snow White froze mid-bite, her fork hovering over a steaming tray of eggs in her private quarters.
"...Ah."
Her brows furrowed slightly at the seeming urgency and formality of the voice.
She glanced at the barely touched food in front of her and winced.
She'd promised the lieutenant she'd try not to... uh... eat in her room.
But technically... this wasn't her room, right? This was just her workshop where she spent most of her time nowadays, eating, sleeping...
"..."
"Whatever," she muttered, standing with a quick pivot and snatching up her jacket, throwing it over her shoulders with practiced speed.
Boots clicked lightly against the polished floors as she made her way through the corridor, her gear belt slapping lightly against her side. She hadn't been summoned to the main hall like this in months—no one had. That only meant one thing.
Something was happening.
And if it was about what she thought it was... then it had to be serious.
The quiet pounding of nerves behind her ribs began building up again, like it always did when her mind wandered toward one topic: Anachiro.
That secret meeting a few days ago... with the commander, the lieutenant, and the others—it hadn't sat right with her. They hadn't said much, but they hadn't needed to. She knew that tone. She could read it in the way they spoke. It had to be about her. It had to be about that mission.
She walked faster, turning the corner toward the central stairwell, her brow knit with concern.
"Troubled, are we?"
The melodic voice floated beside her like a breeze. Snow White blinked, almost startled, turning to find Scarlet walking at a calm pace beside her.
Snow White fumbled for a second.
"Ah, Scarlet—I didn't... I didn't see you there."
Scarlet tilted her head with a soft smile, yellowish eyes alight with amusement. "One's presence need not be loud to be felt. I merely noticed the shadow of concern flitting across thy noble brow."
"...Huh?"
Scarlet's smile widened. "I asked what weighs so heavily upon thy mind, dear Snow White."
"Oh. Right." She looked down, adjusting the clasp on her glove. "I just... have a bad feeling. About this meeting. The timing... I think it's about that mission. The one they mentioned. The task force for Anachiro."
"Ah, yes. The gathering with our commander and the valiant lieutenant. Most curious."
She adjusted her sword slightly as they walked. "It is most likely that you are right. The Ark's evacuation, I presume, shall be entrusted to the mass-produced units. While we are loosed upon the Harlot herself."
"You're still calling her that, huh..."
Scarlet's lips curved slightly downward. "She did strike my sister through the stomach and flung her like a ragdoll. Surely even thou would agree that titles matter less than... satisfaction."
"I'm still alive, you know," a voice called out ahead.
Snow White looked up to see Rose stepping into formation beside them, hands tucked behind her back.
She gave a small, sheepish smile.
"I mean, she didn't kick a hole through me. Just a minor internal rupture and some shattered ribs. Nothing permanent."
Scarlet rolled her eyes. "Verily, your jesting grows tiresome. One must seek balance. A swordswoman does not simply forget a duel left unresolved."
"I mean, yeah, but..." Rose lightly stroked her long hair, glancing away. "Sometimes it's okay to just let things go, y'know?"
Snow White watched the interaction silently, letting her eyes settle on Rose. There was something behind the quip.
When Rose turned slightly away, her smile fell for the briefest moment. Her eyes dulled, and her shoulders were just a bit too stiff.
Grief? Regret?
Snow White didn't ask.
The three walked in silence for a while longer, the murmur of other units joining them growing louder as the halls converged into one main artery. Dorothy and Rapunzel joined up behind them, followed by units from various sectors, draped in various states of readiness—some armoured, some casual, some still adjusting gloves and gear.
They all streamed into the vast main hall, where the walls stretched high into the steel sky above. Bright floodlights hummed overhead, reflecting off the polished tile beneath their boots.
Snow White positioned herself near the front—tried to, anyway—but as the crowd swelled, so did her frustration.
"...I can't see."
She rose on her toes and tried to peek around a taller soldier in front of her.
Ugh.
She pouted.
Conversations layered over one another, some idle, some hushed.
But as officers began filtering in, one by one, the tone of the room changed.
Snow White caught the murmurs rising as they entered.
Her commander—always the focus of whispers and of admiration.
Then came the lieutenant. She didn't even need to see him to know. The thudding of his legs against the reinforced floor was enough. He walked differently from anyone else.
Her eyes flicked toward the sound instinctively.
And then...
Silence.
Total silence.
The last officer entered, but it wasn't murmurs this time.
It was something else: Respect.
Snow White shifted in place, squinting.
Still can't see.
Then, a movement—someone stepped aside just enough for her to see over the shoulder of a tech officer. Upon the platform near the front, Vos stepped forward and raised one hand.
"Silence, if you will," he said calmly.
The hall seemed to somehow fall deeper into silence. Even the low hum of the facility's environmental systems seemed to fade.
Colonel Vos looked over the assembled Nikkes, soldiers, officers, and engineers. The kind of look that felt like he was examining each of them individually, despite the size of the crowd.
"I won't keep you long," he began. "I apologize for the sudden nature of this gathering. I know some of you were resting, eating, or working. But what I'm about to say is time-sensitive, and it concerns the future of the Ark Evacuation Operation."
"..."
"I'm not one for speeches," Vos continued, "so I'll be brief."
Snow White tensed, and so did a few of her comrades beside her.
Vos turned slightly, nodding to the left and right of him—one toward Snow White's commander, the other toward the lieutenant standing at attention, arms crossed.
"Effective immediately," Vos said, "the First and Second Generation Grimms models—designated units from the Goddess Squad and Old Tales—will be reorganized into a single operational task force."
Whispers began to bubble up before dying quickly at Vos's glance.
"This squad," he continued, "will operate under the joint command of their respective officers. The commander of the Goddess Squad. The lieutenant of Old Tales. Your responsibility begins now."
Snow White felt her pulse pick up. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, eyes darting toward her commander, then to the lieutenant, who remained unreadable.
"This unified squad will serve one directive: the elimination of the heretic known as Anachiro. That is your only mission."
"..."
"This threat has endangered not only the success of the Ark Evacuation, but the long-term survival of the human race. And so, I say again—eliminate her."
There were a few audible inhales. Someone further down in the crowd muttered a curse under their breath.
Vos glanced across the hall.
"Everyone—technicians, logistics personnel, standard units, and supporting divisions—will be aiding this operation. Resources are being redirected as of now. Every part of this facility will serve to ensure this mission succeeds."
He scanned the crowd, then added with finality:
"My officers expect discipline. And I expect results."
With that, he stepped away from the centre of the platform and turned toward the stairwell that led offstage.
As he descended, his voice echoed one last time behind him:
"You will receive new orders shortly. Dismissed."
As Vos exited the platform, the crowd broke like a wave.
What had been orderly lines and quiet rows began to shift into a dense convergence, as personnel from all corners of the hall moved toward the front—technicians, intel officers, squad leaders.
Everyone wanted a word with someone—Colonel Vos, the lieutenant, or the Goddess Squad's own commander, Andersen.
A blur of uniforms pressed forward.
Snow White stuck close to Scarlet as they edged to the side, watching the crowd condense into a loose swarm.
The colonel was already engaged, flanked by aides trying to funnel requests.
The lieutenant looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
Snow White could've sworn she lip-read him muttering a "Kill me!"
Scarlet, watching the front with her arms crossed and sword loosely hooked against her side, leaned slightly toward the others.
"If my old lieutenant commands the 'Old Tales' unit," she said flatly, "then I confess—I have yet to see a single one of them among the rabble."
Rapunzel, who stood just behind her, gently tilted her head. "They're probably still within the building. It's quite likely they couldn't arrive in time."
Dorothy, gave a light nod.
"That would explain why Lilith wasn't present either," she said, brushing off her dress with her hands. "I imagine she was off somewhere doing checks before the announcement."
Snow White, hands behind her back, tried not to fidget. Scarlet's brows drew together slightly.
"I've half a mind to ask directly," Dorothy continued, voice smooth. "It would be good to get clarification—if we're to be integrated, we'll need to coordinate."
With that, the elegant Nikke turned and began to glide toward the center aisle, cutting diagonally through the crowd with fluid ease. The rest of the Goddess Squad naturally fell into step behind her.
Rapunzel offered a small chuckle, walking beside Scarlet.
"I've only seen the Second Generation Grimms through the news," she mused. "They all have such... unique appearances. There's one with a fish motif, I believe?"
Scarlet raised an eyebrow.
"And the one with... large—"
"Red Shoes. The Nikke with disproportionately cumbersome breasts, quite ill-suited for close-quarters combat."
Rapunzel nearly tripped on her next step. "T-that's not what I meant—!"
Snow White snorted, muffling a small laugh into the back of her glove.
Scarlet shrugged. "Besides the obviously ridiculous boots, that's her most defining feature. You could spot her from orbit."
Rose giggled quietly beside them.
"My sister does have an eye for detail."
"I'm merely stating what anyone who's seen Red Shoes has thought but dared not voice."
The crowd thinned just enough for the five of them to approach the commanders, now half-surrounded by a half-circle of chatterers trying to ask questions all at once.
Dorothy raised her voice, but only slightly enough to cut across the others with gentle assertiveness.
"Commander. Lieutenant. May we have a few moments of your time?"
The lieutenant turned his head first.
He looked like he'd been chewing glass all morning.
Lmfao.
Andersen turned as well, giving a quiet nod in recognition.
The lieutenant exhaled and raised a hand to the people clustered near him.
"Later," he said, voice gravelly but polite. "They take priority."
A few protests started, but the weight of his tone—and the way he gestured for the Goddesses and Andersen to follow—cut them off.
"Let's speak elsewhere," he muttered.
The hallway outside the main hall thinned out quickly as the officers and personnel, still murmuring about the announcement, instinctively parted to give room to the high-ranking squad members.
"I'm taking you to where I've been hiding my squad," he said over his shoulder, tone clipped. "Or... I guess, our squad now. Doesn't really matter anymore."
Behind him, Commander Andersen chuckled lightly, adjusting the sunglasses perched across his face with a single tap.
"Guess we'll have to think of a new name, then," he mused. "Can't go around calling ourselves 'Old Tales-Goddess Special Combined Division One' or whatever mouthful command wants."
He hummed thoughtfully, in a way only the Goddesses could understand.
"How about... Goddess' End? Old Deities? Second Coming?"
The lieutenant didn't even glance back.
"No," he said.
"Goddess Redux?"
"No."
"Old Goddesses?"
The lieutenant turned his head slightly, just enough to glare. "Definitely not."
"Okay, fine—what about 'Tales of Grace'?
The lieutenant slowed near a corridor junction, stopped in front of a thick, metal-reinforced door with a keypad.
"Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"
"Only when I run out of good material," Andersen replied lightly. "How about 'New Goddess'?"
The lieutenant hesitated, hand above the keypad.
Then, reluctantly:
"...It's optimistic. I'll take it for now."
Snow White perked up from her spot just behind Andersen, brightening slightly.
"I like it," she said with a small smile. "New Goddess has a nice ring to it."
Scarlet, arms crossed, glanced sidelong at her. "If our new name is settled, then what of our new comrades? I've only seen one of them before... Little Mermaid, I think her name was. She appeared rather shy."
The lieutenant sighed, long and deep, and punched in a code. A soft hiss followed as the door unlocked. "You'll find out soon enough."
He gestured for Andersen to enter first, and the commander stepped inside with a nod. The rest of the Goddess Squad halted just outside.
Snow White, now at the front of their line, looked back uncertainly, then to the interior beyond, unsure if she should step in.
Dorothy, ever poised, gave her a gentle gesture forward. "Go on."
Snow White nodded and crossed the threshold.
The space was a repurposed intel hub, dimly lit but well-organized. Large screens flickered with mission logs and readouts. Snow White didn't really explore too much of the facility in her free time, but it felt... kind of new?
As the others began filing in behind her, Andersen was already mid-sentence, arms crossed loosely.
"The second-gen Grimms models were already in development as soon as Lilith hit the field," he explained to the group. "Top brass wanted something that could surpass the first generation by a mile. Can't say I buy the hype until I see it myself, but from their combat logs..."
Snow White, eyes scanning the room, took it all in.
Then—
Pop!
Two blue-haired heads suddenly blocked her vision.
"AH—!"
She yelped, stumbling backward and landing flat on her backside with a thump.
Two identical Nikkes stared down at her, expressionless and glassy-eyed, with long twin-tails that swayed slightly as they leaned in.
"Observation complete," one said in a flat monotone. "Hansel and Gretel have found her: Grimms Model Number 4, Snow White."
The lieutenant pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh my God."
"Hansel! Gretel! Seriously?" Abe's voice rang out behind them. She stormed in from the side, grabbing each twin by the collar and dragging them back with a strained, "I left you alone for five seconds."
Behind her, Little Mermaid stood a quiet Little Mermaid who was holding her notebook... almost... excitedly?
"I-I'm fine," Snow White mumbled, cheeks red as she sat up.
Scarlet, observing the scene with amused detachment, tapped her chin.
"I know not these blue-haired sprites. They were not among the news broadcasts I've seen before. Might they be newly unveiled?"
Dorothy stepped forward, arms folded neatly.
"Indeed. Where's Red Shoes?" she asked, scanning the room.
Rapunzel perked up as well. "Yes, I was curious about that too. I worked with her briefly back at Sector Twelve. She was always so... energetic."
The lieutenant's face twisted like a man having a small stroke.
His soul audibly exited his body.
"Of course you'd ask about her first," he mumbled. "Alright, I might as well give it to you all straight since news doesn't flow the way I want it to anymore: Red Shoes is the traitor who corrupted Cinderella and created Anachiro. She is now in a containment facility. We are going to take down that monstrosity wearing Cinderella's face."
Notes:
Alright! There's the end. Volume 4 is a bit quieter in comparison to the previous ones, but that's all part of the plan.
The next one will be way more confrontational and action-packed, that's my guarantee... which also means chapters will come out slower, but that's the trade-off for proper choreography. I hope you'll understand.
Anyway.
Thoughts?
Chapter 32: Intermission: Stitches
Notes:
This chapter is specifically used to separate volumes from one another, as well as act as a resting place/bookmark for the readers.
It also serves as a brief Q&A section, where readers can ask questions about the story as it unfolds.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Intermission IV - Stitches (Lieutenant ██████ , Colonel Adrien Vos)
Year: 2X25, 10 Years Before the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning
He never had a choice.
Not in where he was born.
Not in what he ate.
Not in how long he had to go hungry.
And certainly not in how the world would treat him when it found out he had nothing to offer but instincts and silence.
He never had a choice in whether he could cry.
Even now, even as skyscrapers changed and wars redrew borders, those earliest years clung to him like rust. Children don't forget the cold of a dark room, the hunger that tightens like wire around the stomach. They don't forget having to scan a room before walking in.
Not even after escape.
Not even after healing.
A child stripped of care doesn't simply "grow out of it," they adapt.
They fold trauma into routine. They wear it like skin.
An abused child may one day sleep in silk sheets... but will still wake up at the sound of a shoe dropping.
They might smile, laugh even—but their laugh will never come without checking the room first.
They might be free, but the shackles leave outlines.
They always do.
"..."
Some grow up anxious, never able to stop shaking.
Others become aggressive because they don't know what to do when there's no one to fight.
And then there are the quiet ones.
The ones who look like they've adjusted... until you notice they never sit with their back to the door.
He was the third kind.
A small apartment hosted the faint scent of artificial syrup and heat from an old electric griddle.
Perched on top of the kitchen counter like a bird surveying a field, a boy—maybe eleven—sat cross-legged, chewing slowly on a forkful of waffles. Syrup dripped lazily down the edges of the plate, threatening to pool on the marble.
A dog-eared magazine was open across his lap, its cover reading:
"What Makes a Perfect Household?"
One article headline read: "Fathers Who Listen: The Backbone of Trust," while another posed, "Do Children Really Feel Safe? Signs to Watch For."
He scanned it all, expression unreadable.
The waffles were warm, chewy, and oddly fluffy.
He liked their texture.
It was unlike the dense bricks of ration bread from the camps.
He made them himself, using a box mix Vos had bought on a whim last week.
The sound of boots slamming into the floor snapped the quiet.
"—Brat! What the hell are you doing!?"
The boy blinked once, turning his head to the source of the voice. Colonel Vos stood in the doorway, still pulling on one sleeve of his jacket, face pinched with restrained irritation.
"I'm reading, Colonel," the boy replied without emotion, slicing another piece of waffle with the side of his fork. "You told me to start mornings with reading. I was also hungry. So I made waffles."
Vos's eye twitched.
"Get off the counter. Eat at the damn table like a person."
The boy gave a faint hum of acknowledgement and slid off the counter, carrying his plate and magazine without argument. He settled at the table and resumed eating, the magazine opened once more.
They sat in silence for a bit. Vos rubbed the side of his face and grunted.
"It's not a good habit. Waffles that early in the morning can mess with your sugar levels. And you're still growing. Stunt your height at this rate."
The boy barely glanced up.
"I like the texture. It's... unique. And the sweetness is comforting."
Vos muttered under his breath, tone half-joking. "At this rate, your blood test'll come back as ninety percent syrup."
The boy paused, slowly turning his eyes toward Vos. "...Am I getting bloodwork done today?"
"No." Vos furrowed his brow. "It was a figure of speech."
"Hm."
The boy turned the page of the magazine. The images of smiling children and attentive parents flashed across the glossy paper. His eyes were reading, but his mind was observing.
Vos watched him for a moment longer, noting how the boy's eyes flicked—not just at the article, but to the window, the hallway, the kitchen—always watching the corners—watching for angles, like he was still somewhere dangerous.
It had been almost a year.
A full year since he'd pulled the kid from that hellhole. And still, the brat acted like he might be ambushed while reading a parenting article.
That wasn't just paranoia, it was a defensive strategy masquerading as distracted reading.
"You're getting older," Vos said finally, letting his tone drop a bit. "I spoke with the Academy board. They said there's a chance you could enlist through their accelerated cadet program. If you pass the entrance testing."
"Hm." The boy didn't look up, flipping the page again. "I'll read up on what to expect later."
Vos tilted his head slightly. There wasn't even a flicker of excitement in the response.
Then the boy asked softly, "What happens if I fail the exam?"
Vos straightened. "Well, we'd figure something else out. You'd—"
"Would you throw me back into the slums?"
The air went thin.
The Colonel's hands tightened on the ceramic coffee mug before him.
"...What? No." The shock in his voice was real. "You're under my care. You don't go back. I'd never—"
"I understand now," the boy cut in quietly, not meeting his eyes. "If I fail the accelerated program, I'll just take the regular one instead. It's not that complicated. You don't have to explain everything out loud. People get nosy."
Vos stared, dumbfounded.
The boy took another bite of his waffle, slowly chewing, his eyes already back on the article about "Father Figures Who Build Trust."
"..."
It was a strange moment.
The kid was more composed than most adults Vos knew. Smarter, too. But behind that calm face was a truth Vos couldn't ignore:
He'd survived too much.
And he'd already learned the lesson most soldiers only discovered too late.
No one gives you safety. You earn it. Or you pretend you don't need it.
The Colonel let out a breath and sipped his now-cold coffee.
Across the table, the boy didn't say another word.
Colonel Vos leaned against the wall, arms crossed, boots planted shoulder-width apart. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, then to the steel door his ward had disappeared behind half an hour ago. The low murmur of staff voices, the occasional shuffle of paper or movement from nearby offices, and the distant clink of medical instruments filled the silence.
Vos's gaze narrowed.
He hated waiting in clinics.
Click
The door opened.
Out came the brat walking in that same soft-footed way he always did, as if trying not to draw attention to himself even when there was no one around to see him. He had one hand casually holding a small plastic-wrapped pack of sandwich cookies.
In the other was a thin, glossy magazine.
Vos's eye twitched.
"What the hell's that in your hands?"
The boy blinked at him as if just noticing the question. He adjusted the cookies slightly in his grip.
"The doctor who stole my blood gave these to me." He held them up. "As an apology."
Vos gave him a blank look. "Stole?"
The kid nodded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"She didn't say she was taking that much. I think it was two whole vials."
He looked at the cookies again.
"I'm saving them for later."
"Not the cookies, brat." Vos jabbed a finger toward the other hand. "The other thing."
The boy looked at the magazine like he'd forgotten it was there.
"Oh." He paused. "It's a magazine."
Vos's voice sharpened. "No crap. Put it back. It's not yours."
A twitch—subtle, but there—fluttered under the kid's eye. A crease formed between his brows, and his grip on the magazine adjusted defensively.
"Can I trade the cookies for it?" he asked quietly. "I want to read it."
Vos raised an eyebrow. "What's even in it?"
The kid held it up like he was offering a peace treaty. The cover was bright yellow with stock photos of smiling children and teens.
The title read:
"How to Connect With Others and Build Lifelong Friendships."
Of course it was.
Vos pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Kid, no. That's clinic property. You can't just trade snacks for it. I'll buy you something similar later, alright?"
The boy just stared at him. He wasn't pouting. That wasn't his style. But the slight narrowing of the eyes, the subtle clench of the jaw—it was clear enough.
"I'm going to ask the doctor who stole my blood if she wants to trade."
And with that, he turned sharply on his heel and strode back toward the clinic room, walking faster than usual.
"Brat—hey—that's not how it works!" Vos said, groaning as he pushed off the wall and followed.
This kid.
If he wasn't reading, he was watching TV.
If he wasn't doing either, he was trying to perch on top of counters or cabinets like some kind of feral bird. He once caught him squatting on top of the refrigerator, flipping through a military history journal and eating a banana like it was a routine thing.
And don't even start on the time he picked the lock to the neighbour's apartment because he smelled pastries baking and wanted to ask what kind they were.
Vos nearly melted into the floor in embarrassment when Mrs. Chao politely returned the kid while offering him a muffin.
"He said he was doing reconnaissance," she had said, trying not to laugh.
But his obsession with magazines, shows, and media about people interacting—that was harder to laugh at.
He would lose himself in those shows, family sitcoms, old documentaries about social cues, and teen dramas.
And if you tried to change the channel or interrupt?
He would freeze up. Not yell. Not lash out.
But his expression would go cold and withdrawn, like a door slamming shut. It was the only time Vos saw a real crack in the usually placid surface.
Something must've happened. Something from before.
But the kid never talked about it.
Just like he didn't talk about most things.
Vos eventually caught up to him just as he was about to knock on the clinic door again.
"Alright, stop." Vos reached out and gently pulled the magazine from the kid's hand. "I'll get you one like it, alright? But no bartering with cookies. You're not a damn merchant."
The kid narrowed his eyes again but didn't argue. Vos handed him back the cookies.
"You're lucky that doctor's soft. She probably would've just taken your trade and smiled like it was normal."
The boy huffed quietly and stared down at the cookies.
"She took two vials."
"..."
"I was dizzy for ten minutes."
"You had a cookie in each hand two seconds later."
The boy said nothing.
They walked down the hallway together. Quiet, as usual.
And though the brat never smiled, Vos caught him glancing toward the magazine under his arm one last time before looking away, pretending he hadn't.
A few days later, Vos found himself sitting across from the clinic's head physician. The office was warm, brighter than most of the other facilities in the compound, with light filtering through frosted glass and a soft hum of medical monitors in the background.
He adjusted his sleeves and offered a nod.
"Doctor. Heard you called?"
She looked up from a datapad, smiling faintly. She was in her late thirties, sharp-eyed, and always a little too perceptive for Vos's comfort.
"Colonel." She returned the nod, then waved off his formal tone. "Relax. I'm not calling you in for another behavioural report."
"Good. I get enough of those at work." He glanced toward the folder on the table. "About the brat?"
She chuckled softly.
"Yes, your 'brat.' First of all, I wanted to say... thank you for the entertainment. I've never been accused of 'stealing' blood before. That's going on the wall of honour in the lab."
Vos smirked, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Yeah. Sorry about that. He can be... colourful with words."
"Don't apologize. The staff had a good laugh. It was a unique experience." She flipped through the folder, and her demeanour shifted—more professional now. Her tone evened out.
"But I did call you for a reason, Colonel. I wanted to talk about the bloodwork results."
Vos leaned in.
"Bad news?"
She hesitated, not quite nodding, not quite shaking her head.
"Not bad. Just... unusual. Like the last time. We ran a full panel, and once again, his blood doesn't match any known types in our records. Not A, B, AB, O... and not even within the Rh factor spectrum. It's completely isolated. Unique."
Vos frowned.
"What does that mean? He sick?"
"No. He's healthy. But... think of it like this. You know what 'Golden Blood' is?"
He blinked. "Sounds like something rich people sell each other in capsules."
That got a short laugh from her.
"Close. Golden Blood, or Rh-null, is one of the rarest blood types in the world. Fewer than fifty people alive today have it. It lacks all the Rh antigens—completely clean, making it universal for certain transfusions, but also extremely risky because only another Rh-null donor can match."
She tapped the folder.
"Your kid's blood is like that... in terms of rarity. But that's where the similarities end. We've never seen anything quite like this.
We're calling it: Rh Type X
until we have better terminology."
Vos leaned back in his chair, silent.
"We've run some internal studies under your oversight, limits checked for immunity markers, allergies, even cellular regeneration. He heals faster than baseline. Not abnormally fast, but enough to register."
"How much more do you need?"
"Years." She didn't hesitate. "We've barely scratched the surface. If we had the authority, we'd build an entire sub-department around his case. But as things stand, the best we can do is monitor and advise."
Vos looked away.
"So what do I do?"
She closed the clipboard with a click.
"Keep him safe. Keep him out of situations where he'd need a transfusion. Or where his blood could fall into the wrong hands." Her voice lowered. "Whatever's in him... It's one of a kind."
Vos gave a slow nod.
"...Right. I'll keep that in mind."
Years passed.
The boy grew into a young man. Passed the accelerated academy program without stumbling once. Vos remembered watching him present flawless combat simulations, ace exams, and stand at the top of his class.
The blood tests stopped. The clinic had more than enough samples archived.
And Vos... he kept his end of the deal.
He taught the brat to be human. How to look people in the eye.
How to make jokes that weren't copied word-for-word from sitcoms.
How to stop squatting on top of bookshelves to observe "domestic patterns."
He taught him how to shake hands properly. How to pretend to be normal, even if he didn't feel it.
He watched him grow tall. Watched the wiry limbs thicken with muscle, watched the boy's voice deepen into something calm and firm and unreadable.
He taught him to be strong. To survive.
But now, in the present—
Vos sat alone in his quarters, far older than the man who once leaned on clinic walls and scolded children for climbing on counters. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the photograph.
A young man. First Lieutenant.
Sharp jaw, cold eyes that hadn't belonged to a child in years.
And metal.
So much metal.
The boy he raised...
Limbs. Spine. Neck. Legs...
And so much more...
More machine than man.
Vos couldn't stop staring.
That wasn't the kid who used to sit on the kitchen counter reading about ideal families while eating waffles.
That wasn't the brat who broke into neighbours' apartments for muffins, or obsessed over magazines about how to make friends.
That wasn't the child who eyed every room like an ambush was waiting in the shadows.
And yet... it was.
Vos closed his eyes tightly. But the tears still came.
He pressed his knuckles into them, trying to shove them back inside—but it was useless.
His regrets.
His pain.
His hatred.
All of it...
His fault.
The world had torn that child apart. Piece by piece.
And Vos had stitched him back together as best he could.
But the stitches had been loose. Not enough to hold against the pressure. Not tight enough to keep the bleeding from seeping through.
The boy—no, the man—still stood. Still fought. Still obeyed orders.
But those stitches?
They were close to breaking.
And when they did...
All the world would see was a wounded child again.
Not a machine. Not a soldier. Not a prodigy.
Just a boy. Alone.
But...
Maybe they were there for someone else to finish the work.
Someone who might still come along...
And stitch him back together.
What a failure of a father I am...
Notes:
Hahaha, the little lieutenant was always a... strange person, wasn't he? So were the people around him, don't you think?
Anyway.
Any questions for me?
Chapter 33: Vol 5.1: New Goddess
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility, 5 Minutes Later
Scarlet and Rose stood together near a sparse sitting area, both sisters blinking slowly at the two identical blue-haired Nikkes before them—Hansel and Gretel—who, in turn, were standing perfectly still. Perfectly still, and staring with what looked like uncontainable admiration sparkling in their eyes.
Rose shifted slightly. Hansel leaned forward, eyes wide. Gretel's hands were visibly trembling, either from excitement or energy overload.
"...They still gaze upon us," Scarlet murmured to her sister. "Their eyes, like enchanted orbs, see not the world around, but the souls of we two."
She adjusted the hilt of her blade at her hip with suspicion.
Rose offered a small, diplomatic smile to the twins. "We are, after all, part of the same unit now. It's only natural for there to be some curiosity."
"Curiosity?" Scarlet tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Nay, what I feel is less curiosity and more... obsession. A strange energy coils in their gaze. Look now, their eyes shimmer like starlight reflected upon cursed waters—"
"Gretel wants to show you something," Hansel interrupted suddenly, breaking the silence with a sing-song-like delivery.
"Yes!"
Gretel bounced where she stood, fingers jittering with barely contained enthusiasm.
From somewhere, possibly the folds of quantum space, Gretel produced what could only be described as an absurdly large artillery cannon.
The moment it cleared the air—
"Don't you dare fire the damn Witch's Cauldron indoors!" came the lieutenant's thunderous voice from across the room.
Hansel and Gretel both froze, visibly deflating.
"Awwww..." they pouted in unison, and the weapon slowly deconstructed into modular chunks, before disappearing into... wherever it came from.
Scarlet stared, then took a step closer to her sister.
"Thou didst hear it, Rose. Witch's Cauldron. I was right—they are spirits. I mean—" she waved vaguely at the now-gone death machine, "—from whence did such an infernal device manifest?"
Rose let out a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know, but we're all on the same side. Please play nice."
"Call it what you will. I shall be sleeping with both eyes open tonight—"
"Scarlet, they only torment me sometimes, you can trust them."
"A-aye, Lieutenant!"
"..."
"..."
"What dost thou mean by that framing of word?"
Across the room, another interaction played out—quieter, but no less curious.
Dorothy had crouched slightly to glance at a notebook being held tightly by a pale, delicate Nikke seated nearby. The soft flick of her dark hair shifted slightly as she flipped pages, nervous but visibly excited.
On the page was a neatly handwritten message:
I'm happy to be in the same squad as you. I'll do my best!
Dorothy's smile was immediate, gentle and warm.
"You're sweet," she said. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine. Though I am curious... why the notebook, dear?"
Siren hesitated. Then, slowly, she flipped several pages back for an already prepared statement:
My Kotodama prevents me from speaking freely. If I talk too much, it can accidentally activate... and it can be dangerous.
Dorothy blinked, leaning in slightly. "Oooh, that's fascinating. That's such a rare ability. But I must admit, it's a shame I can't hear your real voice."
Siren looked down, her cheeks colouring faintly.
Dorothy tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"Actually, what should we call you? I remember seeing you referred to as 'Little Mermaid' by Abe. But you're also called 'Siren' by the others, right?" She tilted her head. "Which do you prefer?"
There was a pause. Siren seemed to mull it over with more weight than expected, then finally, she leaned forward a little.
"...Siren is fine."
Dorothy's smile deepened.
"There it is," she said, voice soft. "A lovely voice, just like I thought."
Siren's blush deepened as she ducked her head.
Rapunzel sat on a bench in the corner, her long hair curled around her like the drapery of a ruined cathedral. Her hands were limp in her lap, and her eyes... blank, downcast, trying to make sense of something senseless.
She whispered, almost to herself, "We were meant to help them. Not... not turn them into monsters."
Her voice trembled.
"We were supposed to find a cure to the Corruption Code. That was our mission. Not..." Her throat closed. "Not this... Red Hood..."
Across the room, the lieutenant leaned against a railing, arms folded.
His scoff broke the stillness.
"The sister shouldn't be talking like that," he said, not even glancing her way. "It isn't your weight to carry alone."
Rapunzel flinched but looked up. "But if I had—"
"You couldn't have known," he snapped, cutting her off as he finally turned to face her. "Hell, I had my suspicions way before this. Data anomalies. Aggression spikes. Incidents where Nikkes turned on their commanders, or worse, on themselves. I saw the signs."
He tapped his own chest. "It's on me. I should've popped a bullet in Red Shoes the moment those patterns started lining up with her being near Raptures. She was improving the code by GIVING it to them for fucks sake! I should've shut her down before it came to this. Before Cinderella—"
He bit down on the name like it physically hurt to say.
Rapunzel's voice was softer now.
"Would you really shoot someone without a trial? Based only on a hunch?"
"My instincts," he muttered, "are rarely wrong. And this time, I ignored them. Got too soft, too cautious. I should've confronted her weeks ago. Not just before everything fell apart."
A sharp sigh cut through the chamber. Abe stepped forward from where she'd been standing with her back to the wall, arms crossed.
"Blame's a game with no winners," she said plainly. "And as much as I'd like to toss Red Shoes into a furnace... it wasn't just you. Or her. I had the incident logs. I saw the spikes. The irregularities. I should've flagged her or run a brain scan Maybe pulled her into diagnostics under some excuse. Hell, maybe I should've overridden her and shut her down myself."
She looked away. "We all saw the signs. We all thought someone else would step in."
Andersen, who'd been pacing in quiet thought, finally stopped and looked around the room. His sunglasses reflected the overhead fluorescents as he spoke, calm and measured.
"A failure on multiple fronts," he admitted. "And a painful one. We all share a piece of it. I wasn't there for the moment Cinderella... turned. I didn't see the trust between you. Or how it fractured. But now she's in containment. And that means we still have a chance to fix this."
He turned toward Rapunzel.
"We bear that guilt. But if we're to honour what was lost and prevent this from happening again, we must act. With clarity. With resolve. The Ark still stands. Humanity still breathes. That's all the opportunity we need."
The lieutenant rubbed his face, his voice suddenly hollow.
"You once told me," he said, addressing Rapunzel again, "that if I ever needed someone to listen, you'd be there."
He gave a low, bitter chuckle.
"Now we're all just confessing in the ruins, huh? I wonder if God's still listening."
His voice dropped.
"I helped kill humanity's last shot at surviving above ground. Now we're rats in a bunker, playin' soldier while the surface belongs to nightmares."
He straightened slowly, exhaling through his nose before muttering, "Andersen."
The other man nodded.
"Where's Lieutenant Liliweiss?"
Andersen tilted his head toward the door. A slight nod and a silent gesture which told him everything.
The lieutenant sighed, muttering to himself, "Of course."
He turned back to the squad now gathering in the room. His voice, rough but regaining its bite, cut through the air.
"All right, if we're done sharing trauma for the afternoon, we're movin' on. Team-building exercises. Get used to each other. Personalities. Combat styles. We're not a squad until you fight like one."
There was a collective shift as the squad perked up—some stretched, some simply stood, already preparing.
Snow White, sitting on a crate with one leg crossed over the other, raised a hand slightly. "What about Lilith? Will she be joining us for the drills?"
Before the lieutenant could answer, Andersen interjected smoothly.
"She mentioned she'd be late. She'll join you all soon."
The lieutenant side-eyed Andersen as they began walking toward the corridor exit. "Nice save. Is she under repair?"
"She's undergoing routine diagnostics," Andersen confirmed, in that same smooth tone. "...Yes, they're trying to extend her... service time as long as possible."
"...Its bad, huh?"
The lieutenant exhaled sharply through his nose, not arguing further.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Simulation Room, Later in The Day
The last of the holographic terrain fizzled out, fading to a low blue static before vanishing entirely. Sweat steamed off limbs. The New Goddess Squad gathered in the centre of the simulation room, trading words, stretching, or just leaning against the walls.
It had gone... surprisingly well.
Despite being thrown together from two different eras of Grimms—units not designed to complement one another but rather improve upon the last—the squad functioned. The First Generation girls were solid, trained for conventional combat: Dorothy with her gunnery, Snow White with her various weaponry and Rapunzel with her unconventional ability to heal others.
Then there was the Second Generation: Hansel and Gretel, the Witch's Cauldron, being able to shoot out different substances and adapt on the spot, making them perfect for an ever-changing battle.
And then there was Siren, the real wild card. Her abilities weren't just supernatural; they bent battlefield logic. Constructs from her bubbles, and her Kotodama... the potential was as lethal as it was difficult to control.
On the observation deck above, the lieutenant stood, arms folded. Andersen leaned against the railing beside him, a data-slab tucked under one arm.
"Didn't expect that," Andersen said, glancing down at the squad. "No ego clashing. No shouting. If I didn't know better, I'd say they'd worked together for months."
The lieutenant didn't move. His gaze stayed locked on the floor below—more specifically, on Rose, who was kneeling beside Siren, watching the girl form what looked like a bubble ladder spiralling up into the air.
"They're friendly. That's different from effective," the lieutenant muttered.
"Meaning?"
"You've got seven girls with different operating logic, weapon speeds, and fields of effect. Siren's Kotodama affects everything in its path. Hansel and Gretel don't have predictable firing arcs. How do you think that'd clash with Rapunzel trying to protect everyone?"
"So you're saying they're not compatible."
"I'm saying," the lieutenant said slowly, "friendly fire is one bad call away from catastrophic. Their cohesion looks good now because no one's bleeding."
Andersen considered that. "But they are getting along. That's a foundation."
"That's sentiment." The lieutenant finally looked at him. "The Raptures don't care how many inside jokes your squad has."
Andersen laughed lightly. "You sound like Command."
"...I was trained by them."
That shut Andersen up for a moment.
Down below, Siren flicked her wrist. A dozen bubbles drifted into the air and began to take on abstract shapes—one forming what looked like a bird mid-flight. Rose was mesmerized.
Andersen squinted at the sight. "That's... beautiful."
"Until it blows your head off."
"You're acting like they're walking timebombs."
"I think they all are. In the wrong conditions."
Andersen leaned in slightly. "So what, split the team? Divide by generation?"
"No. Then it's not a team."
"But you just said—"
"I said it won't work. Not like this."
Andersen frowned. "So fix it."
The lieutenant exhaled through his nose. "Not possible."
"You're being a defeatist."
"I'm being a realist, you mercenary."
There was a pause, then Andersen gave a small grin. "You always like this?"
The lieutenant didn't answer. He kept watching the floor.
Andersen pushed forward anyway. "You used to command Scarlet and Rose, didn't you?"
He got no response.
"I checked their old logs before they ended up with us. Back when their squad was bigger. Something like ten of you at the start?"
Still nothing.
"Must've been something, though. Scarlet barely talks about it, and Rose completely avoids it. But it had to mean something. Seeing you again after all that time, I mean."
The lieutenant's expression twisted, just slightly. His voice dropped a note colder.
"Rose used to talk to me, sometimes. Weather. Flowers. Things she finds interesting."
"..."
"Scarlet plays chess."
Andersen blinked.
"...She always lost to me."
"Heh..."
Another awkward pause.
Andersen scratched the back of his neck. "The three of you... tight-lipped bunch. You realize that, right?"
"We were part of an early prototype program. Melee Squad..."
He looked back down at the girls again.
"And when things went to shit... they were buried. Along with everyone else. It should stay that way."
Andersen stayed quiet. He couldn't tell whether that last line was anger, regret, or just exhaustion.
Then—
"Did you all start without me?"
The voice was casual, playful.
Liliweiss approached, arms stretched overhead, white hair shining like a slow-moving wave. Her expression was light, a small smile tugging at her lips.
The lieutenant didn't acknowledge her.
Andersen did.
"Well, if it isn't the late arrival. Welcome, Lilith. You're just in time to miss the fireworks."
"Oh? Really? What kind?"
The two eventually left to go down with the others in the simulation room, the other officer following discreetly behind them, only stopping at the entrance to the chamber.
"..."
Siren kept humming as the last of her bubbles drifted upward, the other members of the squad mesmerized by their beauty.
Andersen stood among them, smirking at whatever Liliweiss just said.
Laughter bubbled up.
They looked like people, not soldiers or robots.
A unit, maybe.
...A family?
Perhaps.
The lieutenant clicked his tongue.
"Tsk."
He folded his arms and stared beyond the squad, beyond the walls. While they were enjoying themselves, he was thinking about how to deal with that corrupted rust bucket known as Anachiro.
She wasn't like the others.
Rapture logic didn't apply to her. Strategy didn't either. She wasn't targeting infrastructure or command posts for strategic value. She appeared, levelled anything breathing, and vanished. Cities, bunkers, long-range artillery hubs—it didn't matter.
The Seed Vault Crown and her team were guarding? Anachiro hadn't even touched it.
Which made her unpredictable. Or worse: disinterested in anything that could be used to lure her in.
He tapped a finger against the metal railing.
A bait base wouldn't work. She wouldn't bite.
Ambush during an attack? Possible. But then, the cost would be—
"Not acceptable."
They couldn't afford another wrecked city, another three-digit casualty list, just to catch one heretic. Even if it was her.
What he needed... was a terminal decision.
And then a new idea slithered into his mind.
The Ark.
He stared across the room again.
Eight.
Rose. Scarlet. Dorothy. Rapunzel. Snow White. Hansel. Gretel. Liliweiss.
Andersen was with them, kneeling to talk to Gretel, the silent Nikke nodding as he went on.
Siren was hugging a signed page of her notebook from Dorothy, nearly bouncing.
Rose had her hand lightly on Scarlet's shoulder, whispering something that made Scarlet roll her eyes with a crooked smirk.
They could handle her.
Anachiro.
They might not survive, but they'd hurt her.
The thought wormed deeper and took shape.
If he led her to the Ark...
All he had to do was set things up. Delay support. Let her smell weakness. Let her think it was soft. Exposed.
Draw her in.
Just like—
His eyes narrowed. The thought circled back.
Just like when he didn't stop Cinderella's conversion.
When he stood still while Red Shoes embedded the corruption code inside Cinderella
When he let humanity all die simply because he was too soft to be more scrutinizing of what that blonde scientist was doing.
When he let all those souls in Melee Squad get exterminated while he simply left them behind—!
And here he was, again. Preparing to bury more bodies in the name of a simple goal.
His fingers twitched and clenched his hand slowly, feeling the subtle vibration in the socket where it met his remaining flesh.
He had to become less.
Less alive.
Less feeling.
Less attached.
That's how he'd fix it—this endless collapse of everything they once stood for.
Detach yourself from reality and focus on the goal at hand.
His eyes drifted back to the squad.
Those happy... things.
Laughing. Teasing. Building something like camaraderie from the ashes of hell.
There was no time for happiness. Not anymore.
Not when the future was just—
"Lieutenant."
The voice cut through his thoughts like a cold blade.
Get it?
He blinked.
Scarlet stood there, arms crossed in her usual poised fashion. "Wouldst thou accompany us? We have reached a consensus to dine outside tonight."
"...What?"
She tilted her head slightly. "We are eating out. Collectively. In celebration of our first completed trial as a unit."
The lieutenant's brows furrowed. "...You're serious?"
"I used to find the idea somewhat... odd. Unbecoming, even. Particularly in regard to thy former expectations of us. However..." She gestured behind her. "The new ones agreed."
As if on cue, Siren gave a shy nod, her mouth pursed as though she wasn't entirely sure how much permission she had to speak. Hansel and Gretel gave a collective thumbs up as well.
Liliweiss chimed in. "You could frame it as another team-building exercise, lieutenant. Squad cohesion is often bolstered by shared meals. Or so I've read."
He looked at her for a moment. Then at the rest.
They were all looking at him. Except Rose.
She stood behind Dorothy, arms folded, quiet. Their eyes met for a breath, a flicker of tension dancing between them. Then hers broke away, gaze dropping to some invisible point on the floor.
So did his.
Great.
It'd been days since that mess. Since that—
Never mind.
He could read the room. They wanted him there. Even the ones who'd only known him for less than a week were looking at him with those expectant eyes.
That made a supermajority.
He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck with his cybernetic hand.
"...Are there even places to eat out anymore?"
Andersen's head popped up from behind Rapunzel's shoulder like a jack-in-the-box. "Actually, yeah! There's this half-functioning joint with Korean BBQ. Power's spotty, but the meat's real. Might even have working beer taps if we're lucky."
They carried off into conversation, already following Andersen.
The lieutenant stared at them all again.
Every fibre in him told him to leave.
He had work to do. Plans to revise. Kill zones to model. Traps to evaluate.
And that every second spent pretending to be human was a second lost in a war humanity was already losing.
It annoyed him greatly.
He hated them
Those Nikkes.
Those pieces of code.
"..."
But his legs moved anyway.
Not toward the front.
But at the back, behind them all, his footsteps echoed slightly as the squad began filing out with Andersen leading the charge.
"..."
Glory to Humanity
That phrase was never meant for you, lieutenant. No matter how many times you repeat it.
It was made for those who can still smile, still bleed, still imagine a tomorrow without tallying its cost in corpses.
But you don't dream.
You plan.
And when there's nothing left to plan, you wait for orders.
You don't march for humanity.
You march because you've forgotten how to stop.
And they—those smiling dolls you hate—remind you of everything you left behind in every crater, every corridor, and every piece of flesh you traded for steel.
So go on. Follow their steps.
Pretend the smoke rising off scorched meat smells like peace.
Glory to Humanity.
Even if you don't belong to it anymore.
Notes:
This volume will be shorter than the previous ones. Down to, depending on how I write it and the pacing, around 6 or 5 chapters.
Chapter 34: Vol 5.2: Your Old Self
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Andersen's Office, A Week Later
"What the hell are you two thinking?" the lieutenant snapped. His cybernetic fingers flexed unconsciously at his side. "No—scratch that. What the hell is the Central Government thinking?"
Andersen sat behind his desk, a steaming mug in hand. Liliweiss stood beside the window.
The lieutenant took another step forward.
"They're recalling you? Now?" He pointed sharply at Andersen, then to Liliweiss. "And her?! At this point in the war?"
He wasn't shouting. But the venom in his voice and the clipped rhythm of his speech—it said more than volume ever could.
He had every right to be frustrated.
This was a critical phase. The pieces were aligning. He was weeks, days maybe, from setting up the first real chance at luring Anachiro into a controlled zone.
And now—
Now the only person keeping the squad in one piece—Andersen, with all his ridiculous charm and command presence—was being called away? With Liliweiss no less. The only two capable of keeping the Nikkes focused and off his damn back?
Sure, technically, the lieutenant was the joint commander of New Goddess. If Andersen left, command fell to him.
But they'd start looking to him now.
Shit. How the hell am I supposed to pull Anachiro toward the Ark without it looking like I laid the trap myself? I can't risk a damn mutiny.
If Andersen was present while the lieutenant planned to lure Anachiro to the Ark, the former could be used as a distraction to draw the Nikke's attention away from the true nature of their operation.
With Andersen, it'd be much easier to deceive Anachrio, but the New Goddess Squad as well.
Without him... he'd have to adjust accordingly, which was irritating.
He ran a hand down his face.
Andersen set down his mug. "It'll only be for a few days."
The lieutenant stared at him.
"'A few days,'" he repeated flatly. "That could mean anything from forty-eight hours to never returning. Don't insult my intelligence."
He turned to Liliweiss, who met his gaze.
"What are they calling you in for? At least tell me that."
Liliweiss gave a small, diplomatic shrug. "They didn't say. But it's likely tied to my performance metrics. The Space Elevator conflict drained more of my core than expected. My remaining capacity is significantly diminished."
"Right. Right..." The lieutenant nodded slowly. "You burned through too much energy at the Space Elevator. Operational window's what now? Down by half? More?"
"Fifty-eight percent," Liliweiss replied. "Though stable, for now."
"That's still barely enough for active deployment," he muttered. "But that doesn't explain why you need to go."
He fixed his glare on Andersen again.
Andersen hesitated for half a second. "I wasn't told. But if I had to guess... it's about Lilith's continued service. Us being the first two Nikke-Commander duo might mean something."
The lieutenant's jaw clenched.
Then he sighed, stepping back and gesturing vaguely at them both.
"Unbelievable. Not even a full week with New Goddess on the board and you're already resigning on me." He then added dryly, "Figures. Mercenaries always vanish when the real paperwork hits the table."
That drew a short, amused snort from Andersen. Even Liliweiss smiled faintly, covering her mouth with a hand.
"We'll be back before the next briefing with the Colonel. I'll go tell the squad now. You're in charge until then."
"Lucky me," the lieutenant muttered, folding his arms. "Really. This couldn't be more perfect."
Andersen stood and stretched lightly, collecting his coat from the wall. "You'll manage. Honestly, they respect you more than you think."
"I don't need their respect," the lieutenant replied flatly. "I need time. And space. And a goddamn command structure that doesn't randomly rip its own backbone out mid-operation."
"Bureaucrats aren't soldiers," Liliweiss said quietly.
"No, they're leeches that want to suck my blood like vampires."
Andersen raised an eyebrow. "You're on a roll today."
The lieutenant didn't respond. He simply stared at the ground for a second, gears turning in his head.
"..."
"..."
Then, quietly, almost awkwardly, he asked:
"...What's your blood type?"
Andersen blinked.
"...What?"
"Your blood type," the lieutenant repeated, tone weirdly tense. "You ever know it?"
Andersen's brows drew together in momentary confusion. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
"...You know, I actually don't," he eventually said. "Never really needed to."
The lieutenant said nothing.
A long silence stretched between them.
Andersen tilted his head. "Why?"
The lieutenant's gaze sharpened.
"...Is there any blood test equipment nearby? Ones that won't be missed? I need it now."
Liliweiss raised an eyebrow from her post near the window.
"Why?"
He turned slightly, scanning the wall behind Andersen's desk, as if expecting a medical kit to leap out and solve his problem.
She added, more gently, "Do you even know how to operate one?"
"I've had blood tests before," he muttered. "When I was younger. I just need to try something."
Andersen looked between them.
"You're being... weirdly vague," he said cautiously. "What's going on?"
The lieutenant stepped forward, not threateningly, but with focus.
"I need to know before you go, Andersen. Your blood type. Not for curiosity. For the sake of humanity."
Time: Later that Day
Andersen closed the file in his hands with a soft snap, then looked across the room—across the gathered team that had, somehow, become a unit. "Well," he said with an easy half-smile, "you know who to complain to if things go sideways while I'm gone."
A few scattered chuckles rippled through the squad.
Liliweiss stepped forward beside him and met each of their eyes with a quiet fondness. "Don't give him too much trouble."
Snow White took a step toward her.
"Lilith..." she began. "You'll be right back, right?"
Liliweiss gave her a small smile.
"I promise," she said, hand lightly brushing Snow White's arm. "And if the brass starts dragging things out, I'll sneak out of a ventilation shaft or two."
"Don't do that," the lieutenant cut in, arms crossed, brow twitching.
"Agreed," the younger Nikke added, raising an eyebrow. "That would be extremely reckless."
Liliweiss just chuckled.
Andersen checked his wristwatch, then looked back at them. "All right. Time to go. Don't burn the place down while I'm gone."
The team lined up casually to see them off.
The lieutenant stood apart at the rear.
"Stick close," he said, voice low. "And stay safe."
Andersen gave him a small nod, more serious now. Liliweiss gave him a brief glance, and then the two turned and exited through the doors. They closed with a hiss.
The lieutenant exhaled through his nose. Silence lingered for a second longer before he stepped forward to the centre of the room, where the squad still stood, semi-relaxed.
"I've had the time to get to know most of you," he began, "either over a few days, a few months... or over the last few years."
The atmosphere shifted. Their post-briefing casualness fell away.
"You already have a rough idea of what I expect. Discipline. Obedience. Execution."
He glanced across them, each one meeting his gaze in turn.
"Orders are not optional. Half-measures get you killed. Our job is clear: kill Anachiro and secure the Ark from any threats that undermine the evacuation."
Dorothy raised her hand.
"Question," she said. "This squad was made specifically for Anachiro, correct? So... do we have a plan? Or are we to wait for our commander and Lilith to come back?"
The lieutenant's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Stalling," he said, "gets people killed. But it can also provide much-needed time for decisions to be made."
He stepped forward.
"We are not waiting. Not for Andersen. Not for Lieutenant Liliweiss."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: 3 Days Later, Around 30 km away from the Ark
The lieutenant stood atop a hotel tower. Sandbags and jerry-rigged antenna arrays surrounded him, along with half a dozen comms operators and field drones whirring overhead. A clear, steady wind swept through broken windows and carried the distant sound of gunfire and mechanical roars.
He placed a hand on his chin and rubbed it absently
Dorothy's voice crackled in.
"—Lieutenant, this is Team Two, southeast quadrant. Reporting heavy Rapture convergence. Unknown number—at least several dozen moving in fast. The Mass Produced Molles are holding, but if you want this perimeter to stay yours, we'd kindly need a few extra hands."
Her voice was poised, as usual, but there was a slight hitch in her breath. The kind that slipped through after hours of fighting.
Perhaps she was tired?
"I'd send you champagne for saying 'please,'" the lieutenant replied dryly, "but I think you'd prefer functional backup."
"Very droll, sir." Dorothy gave a soft, breathy laugh, covering up a tired cough. "But yes, I'd take both; however, I do enjoy an Earl Grey."
A second voice cut in—Scarlet.
"Oh? So now the Lady of Bullets petitions the Lieutenant for rescue? Tell me, dear lieutenant—why pair one such as I with a flower that wilts before the sun has even set?"
"Scarlet," the lieutenant said, already pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Speaketh not in jest, I do protest," Scarlet insisted, the sound of her blade slicing through something wet and mechanical ringing out behind her words. "Would you place a hawk beside a dove in the hunt for wolves? I seek only to prove that steel and body—my body—are still valid coin in war's game."
"..."
Scarlet, please, phrase that better.
"She's insulting me mid-battle," Dorothy muttered. "Again."
"You never clashed like this with Melee Squad," the lieutenant admonished. "Why now?"
Scarlet sniffed. "None among them challenged my right to supremacy."
Right, that was just your sister, He thought absently.
"By goading your squadmate into a duel?" he asked, stepping away from the command table with an audible groan. "During a live operation? Through thinly veiled insults?"
He muttered something under his breath.
"...Fine. You want to prove something?"
He tapped the control interface and opened the full squad comms.
"All New Goddess units, listen up. Let's make it a game."
"Lieutenant?"
"Aough?"
"Each Husk-Class Rapture? One point. Servant-Class? Two. Master-Class? Five. Lord-Class? Twenty."
He could practically hear Scarlet's smile through the comms.
"What of the great Tyrants, then?" she asked eagerly. "Or Anachiro herself?"
"You win," the lieutenant said flatly, "if that ever happens."
Scarlet, clearly missing the sarcasm, gasped in delight.
"Then I shall paint this battlefield in score and Rapture guts!"
Her line cut off with the sound of her charging back into the fight.
The lieutenant exhaled. "Dorothy."
"I heard." Her voice was calmer now. "Thank you. That might've... helped more than you realize."
"I'm sending two extra platoons of Mass Produced your way," he said, tapping through deployment routes. "ETA five minutes."
"I'll be ready."
He switched to squad-wide frequency again.
"All New Goddess members, maintain position. Reinforcements are en route to each quadrant. You are to command them in my stead. I expect clear relay and no solo heroics. Scarlet."
One by one, the voices answered.
Hansel's came first.
"Hansel will command the Weaker Ones. Gretel says they will follow the formation."
The lieutenant wasn't so sure about the wording of that statement...
Snow White followed.
"Understood. We'll stabilize our flank and direct incoming fire. Rapunzel's already attending to the wounded."
Then Siren. Her voice was soft, almost too soft to catch through the static.
"I understand."
The lieutenant watched a fresh wave of drone data populate the map—units shifting, the Mass Produced Nikkes pushing toward their designated zones.
Behind him, the comms centre buzzed with motion, operators rerouting frequencies and cycling reports in real-time.
He stood still in the eye of it, face unreadable.
His fingers tapped once against his cybernetic arm absentmindedly.
Let her come, he thought, as he watched the map fill with more red dots.
"You're too quiet for someone at the centre of a battle," came a soft voice behind him.
He turned.
Rose stood at the entryway, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sheathed blade. Her grey hair flowed down her back, loose strands framing her face, wind-tossed and soaked in the orange hue of the sky. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp.
"Does Scarlet—or anyone else—need assistance?" she asked, diplomatically.
"No," the lieutenant replied. "The mass-produced will do just fine. Scarlet's still chasing her high score."
Her jaw tensed slightly. "This wide formation you're running... meant to draw Anachiro out. It's not like you. You don't draw out enemies. You crush them, or you vanish before they can react. Blitz. Overwhelm. Clean sweep."
He gave a small tilt of his head, not denying it. His eyes returned to the map.
"Out of everyone here," he said, "besides Scarlet... you should 'know' me the best."
He glanced at her. "Same goes the other way."
"..."
Red dots disappeared in clean, synchronized bursts. One could only wonder who was destroying those Raptures with such large groups.
That was probably Hansel and Gretel.
"If I die in this box of wires surrounded by metal," he said absently, "you'll be the first to witness it."
He smirked faintly.
"Wouldn't that make you happy?"
Rose's lips tightened. She looked away.
"I have this... feeling," she said, tone sharpening. "You're planning something irrational."
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow.
"Something weird. Like faking your death again, maybe?" she continued. "What's next? Vanish into the Ark? Get shot into orbit? Swim off into the sea?"
He clicked his tongue, sneering slightly. "You should let that go."
Her eyes flashed. "Let it go? They were my squadmates. My family."
She took a step forward.
"And you lied to them. To me. Left us to die while you—what? Wandered around doing God knows what?"
"You know the nature of Melee Squad," he shot back. "Only one of you was meant to survive. Only one. You, Scarlet—you lot only lived because the Goddess Squad was in the area that day. If they weren't there, you'd be with the others, haunting me in hell."
"You—!"
Rose staggered back a step, grabbing her head. Her body twitched violently, visibly resisting her NIMPH. A sharp electric buzz echoed as it rerouted the spike in her system.
She didn't lash out, instead steadying herself.
"So that's it, huh?" she murmured. "The only reason I'm even here is so we can have this argument. You could've picked anyone. Snow White. Siren. Gretel. Dorothy."
She stared at him. "But you picked me. Why?"
"It's simple math."
"Don't lie to me."
A pause.
"...Maybe you just don't—"
"I trusted you!" she shouted, louder than she'd intended.
He snapped like a whip.
"Then that's your fault!"
The words landed like a backhand, stumbling back half a step, stunned. Her expression crumbled, but she held fast.
He came closer and pointed right at her chest.
"You want to know why I hate Nikkes?"
His voice rose—harsh and rising with every syllable.
"Look at me. Look at my legs. My arm. My neck. My spine. All the visible parts of me."
He pounded his own chest.
"Why aren't I human anymore, Rose?"
His eyes flared with a fury she had never seen before.
"Because the first fuckin' thing Cinderella did as Anachiro— was snap my spine, cut off my legs, and snap my neck!"
He pointed at her again. "It's because of that goddamn corruption code. It exploits the shitty obedience processes in your NIMPH. The same code that turns obedient soldiers into mindless, human-killing robots. Doesn't matter if you're 'uncorrupted.' That switch is still there. Whether it's me commanding you to give your life to me or the corruption code telling you to murder humans—it's all the same! You're all fuckin—"
He spat the next word.
"—Mindless robots."
The room froze under the weight of it.
Rose's voice wavered for a second, then hardened.
"...What about Melee Squad, then?"
His expression shifted slightly.
"Nothing happened to you back then," she said. "You weren't injured. Anachiro wasn't even in the picture. So... what was it?"
She held his glare steadily.
"Did you hate us from the start?"
"..."
"You left because you didn't want to be there?"
"..."
"Silence is not an answer, Lieutenant." She pressed forward. "Even if the mission was... extraction, and one-by-one our data was to be extracted and we were left to die... why didn't you stay? Why didn't you see it through?"
Her voice was beginning to tremble.
"Why did you fake your death and run?"
He didn't answer.
Rose blinked hard, steadying herself. She looked like she was about to say more when the comms rang.
It was a sharp, short burst, a frantic voice cutting in.
"Lieutenant—this is Forward Scout Unit Delta-Four!"
The voice cracked, overridden by static.
"Anachiro is here—she's here! Approaching fast from the northeast sector! Confirmed visual—engaging!"
Rose's head whipped to the monitor. Red dots bled inward like spilled paint.
"..."
Beside her, the lieutenant stood still.
"...Heh"
Then he giggled.
It was small at first—a stifled breath that escaped between clenched teeth.
A twitch of his lip.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
"...Hehehehe!"
Rose froze.
She turned slowly, hesitant, eyes narrowing as she caught the faint sound again. It wasn't amused. It wasn't amused at all.
It sounded... wrong.
The giggle turned into something between a cough and a stifled snort, as if he were struggling to contain it. His shoulders twitched once. Then again. His fingers curled slightly over his cybernetic forearm.
"...Lieutenant?" she said.
He didn't respond.
His eyes were wide, not with fear or panic, but—
Anticipation.
He stared at the map as though it were a birthday cake waiting to be sliced. His breathing deepened, but not from stress.
There was something gleeful about it.
"Retribution..." he murmured. "She's coming. Finally. It's coming."
"What—" Rose started, stepping in. "What are you saying?"
His head turned slowly, as if dragged by strings. His gaze met hers, and the laughter stopped.
She flinched.
His face went slack.
"Are you alright?" she asked, softly now, her fingers flexing near the hilt of her blade.
The lieutenant stared for a moment longer. Then, as if flicking a switch inside himself, his posture straightened to something more familiar.
The mask was back on.
"Yeah," he said, with a voice that sounded far too even, even for how he normally spoke. "I'm alright."
He stepped past her and clapped her once on the shoulder. The contact was light, but his fingers were cold.
"Come on," he said. "We've got a date."
Rose blinked.
"A date?"
"With Anachiro," he said casually, now already walking out of the room. "We'll meet with New Goddess soon. I'll ping them the location."
He paused at the entrance.
"We'll put a round in her skull before sundown. Then you and I can go back to yelling at each other. How does that sound?"
Rose didn't answer right away. She just watched him go.
The map behind her still blinked red.
"..."
His laugh still echoed in her ears.
Chapter 35: Vol 5.3: New Problems
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Andersen's Office, 3 Days Before Encounter With Anachiro
Andersen's office was quiet. Very unusual for someone who liked to talk a lot.
The soft hum of the portable blood analyzer filled the silence, interrupted only by the faint click of the test vials as the lieutenant inserted them one by one. The machine blinked softly on Andersen's desk, casting a green light across it.
Liliweiss sat rigidly beside Andersen, her hands clasped in her lap. Andersen, across from her, tried not to fidget—but the silence was grating. The only one who didn't seem bothered was the lieutenant, hunched slightly as he scrutinized the data readout.
He hadn't spoken more than a few words since entering.
Every time Liliweiss or Andersen tried to ask why this was important, he shut them down.
"Quiet. It's important," he'd said.
Again.
And again.
And now, that silence broke.
"...Fuck," the lieutenant muttered, so low the machine's whirring nearly swallowed it.
Liliweiss's head shot up. "What is it? What's wrong?"
He waved a dismissive hand, still staring at the screen, but something in his jaw tensed. "I probably looked at it wrong, just—hold on..."
Seconds passed.
"..."
"..."
"No. No, that's a match."
He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, exhaling slowly through his nose.
Liliweiss looked at him. "A match for what?"
The lieutenant didn't answer right away.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly toward Andersen.
"He and I... have the same blood type."
Andersen blinked, glancing at Liliweiss, then back at the lieutenant.
"...Is that... good?" He gave a nervous little smile, trying to break the tension. "I mean, you're not dead, so—"
"Shut up," the lieutenant snapped. "It's serious."
The words slapped the air. Andersen recoiled. Liliweiss stiffened.
"...Okay," Andersen mumbled.
The lieutenant looked down at the tablet in his lap, thumb tapping lightly against the side.
"I don't know everything," he said, quieter now. "But I know that I was the first confirmed case of this blood type. RhX. That was... when I was eleven. They found it during one of the standard battery of tests when I was a kid. Back when I was still mostly organic."
He waved his cybernetic arm in the air.
"RhX..." Liliweiss repeated, rolling the unfamiliar syllables around. "I'm assuming it does something strange. What does it do?"
"Unnatural things," the lieutenant replied. "Increased immune response. Faster recovery times. Cellular adaptation. Minor stuff—superficial wounds heal quickly. Bones too. The basics."
Andersen perked up, smiling weakly. "Well, that doesn't sound too bad. Hell, maybe I've been lucky all this time—"
"It's not luck," the lieutenant cut in flatly. "Its... between bad and complicated."
Andersen's face fell. "What?"
The lieutenant sat forward, resting both forearms on the desk.
"There was... research. Unapproved. Done by Red Shoes," he said. "You remember her, don't you?"
Liliweiss and Andersen both nodded grimly.
"She took samples from me. Ran her own experiments, under the radar and found something," he continued. "When others bonded to me—prolonged exposure, operations, extended missions—there were consistent spikes in combat efficiency. Reflexes. Processing time. Things like that."
"..."
Andersen's face appeared to realize something.
Liliweiss glanced at her commander, then back at the lieutenant. "You're saying the reason the Goddess Squad performed as well as it did was because... we were exposed to the commander?"
He gave the smallest nod.
"I don't think it was a coincidence. Red Shoes was meticulous, psychotic and borderline obsessed. And if she found something..." He trailed off, then glanced toward Andersen.
"And if they know about this now—the Central Government, I mean—they'll want to replicate it."
Andersen sat back, stunned. "But... why us?"
"Because of the blood match," Liliweiss said, the realization settling in like a stone in her stomach.
The lieutenant confirmed with a nod. "Your body, Andersen, is organic. Untouched. Prime subject. Same goes for Liliweiss. You were the first of the Goddess Squad. It's more than natural they'd want to test their two most valuable assets."
Andersen ran a hand through his hair. "So what happens now? We get called up to the Ark, and they run a few scans on us?"
"No. You get sequestered. Monitored. Blood drawn. Reflexes tested. Week after week. Until they've squeezed out every piece of data you have."
"And we can't say no," Liliweiss murmured.
"No," the lieutenant said. "Refusing now—especially with the match confirmed—would set off alarms. They'll think you're hiding something. You'd put yourself—and anyone around you—at risk. Including me."
Liliweiss and Andersen exchanged a long look.
He finally sighed.
"Then what's the plan?"
"Simple. You go."
"And you?" Liliweiss asked quietly.
"I hold the line," he said. "I'll command New Goddess until you're back. If you're not back by the time Anachiro makes a move..."
He trailed off.
"...I'll keep operating until the Ark is sealed from the outside world."
The words hung like smoke in the air.
Liliweiss gave a quiet smile. "Of course you will."
Andersen nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "We'd all do the same if we were you."
Then Liliweiss tilted her head, frowning lightly.
"Something's been bothering me, though."
The lieutenant's gaze flicked toward her.
"If the Central Government wants to use my... condition as an excuse to test the commander's blood, why the charade?" she asked. "Why not just ask? Why not say outright what they're doing?"
The room went still.
The lieutenant's face didn't change. He considered her question for a long moment.
Then finally:
"I don't know," he admitted. "Honestly. I've never seen the full picture of how my blood's been used or what for. All I ever got were bits of information I wasn't meant to hear about it... by snooping around."
His voice lost some of its usual sharpness.
"I know what my blood does. Better immune system. Faster clotting. And... enhancements. I know that bonding with me boosts a Nikke's combat metrics. That's about it."
He paused, then forced them all back to the ground.
"And all this is guesswork. We don't know what they're planning. I might just be seeing ghosts. Or I may be going schizophrenic."
Andersen snorted. "You're not."
The lieutenant turned to him.
Andersen uncrossed his arms, leaning forward slightly. "You're not wrong to be cautious. I never trusted the Central Government. Still don't."
The lieutenant's lips twitched into something between a frown and a smirk. "Then why the hell did you sign up with them?"
Andersen chuckled. "I was a mercenary, remember? They paid well. Back then, it was just another contract."
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow.
Andersen's voice softened. "But then I met the squad... It stopped being about the job."
"..."
"I didn't stay for the pay after that."
The lieutenant looked away. "Hm."
"Anyway, thanks. For the warning. It means something, coming from you."
The lieutenant sighed. "I'd rather have you both alive and angry than dead and dissected."
Andersen stood up with a stretch. "Then I'll make the announcement to the squad. Lilith and I are heading up to the Ark."
"Do it fast," the lieutenant replied. "Rumours travel faster than sense."
Andersen gave a small salute, fingers brushing his temple. "Hold the fort, Lieutenant ██████."
The door closed behind him.
But Liliweiss stayed.
The lieutenant glanced over. "Something else?"
She stepped toward him, stopping just outside arm's reach.
"Just one thing." Her voice was soft. "Whatever's going on between you and Rose. And Scarlet. Fix it."
He blinked, feigning confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't lie to me," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. "I've seen it. The way they look at you. And how you avoid them?"
The lieutenant's expression tightened.
"You left Melee Squad with something unresolved," she said. "I don't know what it is. But you matter to them. Whether you like it or not."
She inhaled, then added with a small, sad smile:
"You're family too, you know."
"..."
He didn't respond, and she didn't expect him to.
Liliweiss turned and walked out.
The door shut behind her.
"..."
The lieutenant stood alone.
"..."
He let out a sharp breath through his nose and muttered—
"...Tsk."
His sneer returned, faint but deep.
Then it faded, leaving only a cold, tired expression.
Did she really have to force that choice on him?
...It made things so much harder.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Northeast Sector, 2 Minutes After Sighting Anachiro
Siren moved alone.
The others were scattered in positions across the wide net the lieutenant had cast. But her isolation was no accident—it was deliberate. Kotodama wasn't something that played well with others.
She released a breath, casting another wave of bubbles into the air, sending the clusters into the hordes of encroaching Raptures.
"Frontline holding," she murmured lightly to herself, "but pressure's building. Should I join up with—"
That's when the call came through.
"Confirmed visual—Anachiro. Approaching fast from the northeast sector. She's already engaging mass-produced units."
Her blood ran cold.
Siren didn't wait.
She dashed forward through the field, sprinting past smoking husks and fallen Nikkes—burnt-out shells of mass-produced bodies—until she reached the rise.
And there she was.
Hovering erratically above a ruined plaza, Cinderella... no, Anachiro... twitched and jerked like a puppet with tangled strings.
Her arms flailed, releasing brilliant blueish-white beams from Glass Slippers that tore through squads of mass-produced Nikkes. Limbs and torsos exploded in every direction. Her hair, so smooth and taken care of, whipped in the chaotic wind.
But it was her eyes that chilled Siren the most.
One glowed red.
The other... flickered blue.
"...Siren?" Anachiro muttered as she gazed upon her.
Her voice sounded... small.
A second later, she screamed, grabbing her head with both hands and letting out a piercing Rapture signal screech.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
She fell from the sky, smashing into the concrete with bone-breaking force. Dust and rubble kicked up as her limbs pounded the ground in spasms. Glass Slippers blasted wildly in all directions—scorching lines through the earth, walls, sky.
Siren froze for a heartbeat.
Then the Raptures came.
Dozens of them, bounding from every angle—lunging, scraping, screaming. Siren spun, unleashing a barrage of bubbles that collided mid-air with explosive force. She slid under a claw swipe, twisted, and countered with a wave of her special weapon.
But she was pinned—Anachiro's beams fired indiscriminately, forcing her to dodge blasts while defending against hordes of feral machines.
"Too many—!" she shouted.
But then, there was an opening.
Siren leapt forward, weaving between broken slabs of cover, vaulting up the rubble, eyes on Anachiro, who was still thrashing and screaming at the ground.
She summoned her voice.
"Do not move."
The words rang with supernatural force, like a bell tolling.
Anachiro froze mid-spasm, body twitching but locked in place.
Siren advanced, hand raised to summon more Kotodama—ready to end it.
But then—
Glass Slippers fired.
The shield-like construct jerked unnaturally, somehow breaking free of the command.
A beam screamed toward her.
Too fast.
She braced for pain—
BOOM.
An explosive crash echoed across the field. A blur slammed into Anachiro's face with such force that it sounded like artillery hitting a bunker.
Anachiro crumpled face-first into the cratered ground. Debris flew in all directions.
A figure rolled with the momentum, planting one foot against the ground, skidding to a stop.
Siren's eyes widened.
"Commander...?"
He stood slowly, cracking his cybernetic knuckles, a cruel sneer pulling at his face.
"I was hoping that'd do more damage," he muttered, eyes locked on the convulsing form of his former subordinate. "Augh... my body feels like shit..."
Then his tone snapped into a cold bark.
"Kill her, now, damn you!"
Siren raised her hand.
The bubbles swirled back into existence—
—but too late.
With a shriek that shook the dust from the ruins, Anachiro broke the Kotodama again, spinning with an inhuman torque as Glass Slippers fired in every direction.
"Down!" the lieutenant shouted—
But Siren had already leapt forward, tackling him behind a collapsed concrete barricade just as a beam sliced the air where his head had been.
The ground exploded beside them.
The two tumbled behind cover as more beams tore through the air, lighting the battlefield like lightning strikes.
"Cinderella is acting weird," Siren gasped, shielding him.
The lieutenant didn't look fazed.
His eyes burned with something harder than hate.
"Yeah," he muttered, clenching his arm in what appeared to be pain. "No shit! She just tried to kill me a second time!"
Siren winced beneath the broken wall they were using as cover, dust still falling in slow waves around them as beams crackled through the air and rubble thundered from distant impacts.
"You're... hurt," she said softly, voice barely above the noise.
He snorted, shifting and bracing against the wall as another shockwave rolled past.
"My cybernetics are doing most of the work," he said. "Which is a problem. They're so strong they're starting to beat the shit out of what's left of me that's still organic. I feel like I dislocated something with that one blow..."
BOOM!
Another blast lit the sky, and both flinched.
"Rose'll be here in a minute," he added. "Hansel and Gretel are rerouting to our position. We just have to hold the line until—"
"Aough..."
The small, involuntary sound from Siren cut him off.
He turned to her sharply. "What?"
She couldn't say it. Not properly. Just that look—doubt, hope, fear—all twisting behind her eyes.
The lieutenant grabbed her shoulder.
"Hey—look at me," he snapped.
She did.
"That thing out there? That's not your friend anymore," he said. "That's not Cinderella. That's a Heretic. You don't hesitate. You don't bargain. You destroy it and—"
"I didn't mean to..."
It was distant—barely louder than a whisper—but it silenced them both.
Siren blinked. The lieutenant slowly turned toward the field beyond the rubble.
The dust had begun to settle.
And there, sitting in the middle of it all, amidst the corpses of mass-produced Nikkes, was Anachiro.
She was slumped forward on her knees, holding her head in her hands.
Tears ran down her face.
"Forgive me... I'm sorry..."
Glass Slippers floated uselessly around her body, inactive.
The lieutenant's brows furrowed. "What the hell—?"
Anachiro looked up.
Both of her eyes were glowing blue.
Cinderella.
"Commander...?" she murmured.
"!?"
Siren gasped, pushing forward. "Cinderella!"
He immediately threw an arm in front of her.
"Stay back!"
"But—her eyes! They're blue! She's back! She's—she's—"
"She's not stable," he growled. "We don't know if this is a trick."
Anachiro's—no, Cinderella's—face twisted in pain as she clutched her head.
"I don't... know what's happening," she whispered. "Everything hurts. I killed them. I killed so many. I didn't mean to kill you... I just wanted—"
Her voice cracked. And suddenly, her hands dug into her skull.
"It's my body!" she screamed. "I won't let it hurt anyone else—go away! GO AWAY!"
Siren stood, trembling. "Cinderella—fight it! Please!"
But the pleading was too late.
Like a glitch in the fabric of space, Anachiro vanished.
Then—
BOOM—BOOM!
Anachiro reappeared in front of them.
The lieutenant barely had time to activate the energy shield from his arm before she lashed out with a bone-crushing kick.
CRACK!
The shield held barely, but the impact sent him flying. Siren, too, was flung in the opposite direction like a ragdoll, being sent tumbling across the field.
Pain shot through the lieutenant's ribs as he slammed into a cratered chunk of road. He coughed, trying to get his bearings, limbs trembling from the blow.
Anachiro didn't give him time.
She shot forward, hovering over him, preparing to drive her heel into his chest.
Then—
CLANG—CLANG—CLANG!
She staggered back, sparks flying as a flurry of strikes beat her off-course.
A blur interposed between her and the lieutenant, grayish hair fluttering.
Rose.
Sword drawn, stance perfect, she slid one boot forward and narrowed her gaze.
"You're supposed to command us," she said coldly over her shoulder. "Not die ahead of us."
The lieutenant coughed, wiping blood from his mouth.
"Tsk... maybe if you weren't so slow! I'm not even a Nikke and I beat you here."
High above them, glowing streaks screamed across the sky.
A hailstorm of fire slammed into Anachiro's position, pinning her under blasts of searing light.
Hansel's voice crackled over comms, unimpressed.
"Hansel and Gretel think we should've brought acid instead."
The lieutenant, coughing blood, finally forced himself upright.
His ribs groaned in protest, spitting red onto the ground.
"Then load acid! She's still got the same body and shell structure as Cinderella. Make it intense!"
"Understood," Hansel replied. "Gretel is changing loadout to acidic compound now."
He staggered toward the edge of the overpass, overlooking the field where Rose's silhouette darted between shockwaves.
I was only able to get ahead of Rose due to my head start and pushing my body to the limit for that one blow, He thought, feeling his limbs tremble. Unlike her, I can't sustain that level of movement for long periods, nor can I get a similar hit like that first one ever again without killing myself. Shit.
Glass Slippers flared again and again—beams of light punching through buildings like paper.
Rose met it with elegance. Her sword blurred through the air, narrowly evading them by a hair. She couldn't afford a direct hit.
WOOSH!
She twisted under one blast and pivoted off a chunk of ruined stone into a hard clash against Anachiro's left flank.
Anachiro, still twitching from residual system glitches, barely kept up.
"Far easier than last time," the swordswoman shouted, almost cheerful, even as another Glass Slipper blast grazed her shoulder and seared part of her bodysuit. "Our last duel was a complete wipeout—on my end!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
Anachiro screeched, head twitching, her arms jerking back and forth—still struggling with Cinderella's true personality clashing with her own.
"Siren!" the lieutenant barked over the short-range comms. "Get off your ass and support Rose, now!"
He flicked a switch on the wrist console.
"—To all New Goddess units," his voice snapped out on the open frequency, "Rose, Hansel, Gretel, and Siren are now in active engagement with Anachiro in the northeast sector. Be advised—stray beams from Glass Slippers are being shot at random and are unstable. Exercise extreme caution."
"Revenge shall be sweet," Scarlet's voice responded. "Perhaps this shall rectify our shame, sister. Dost thou not agree?"
"Scarlet—" Rose muttered, ducking another near-miss, "—I'd really like to focus right now!"
Another bolt seared over her shoulder.
Dorothy chimed in after. "Looks like the party's started early. We're on route as we speak, lieutenant."
Rapunzel's voice followed: "Understood! Please stay safe!
"Acknowledged!" Snow White chimed in soon after, voice edged with concern. "Dorothy, Rapunzel, and I will rendezvous at the marked coordinates. We'll reinforce as soon as possible."
She then addressed him directly:
"Lieutenant... please fall back. You're still human. Let us handle this!"
He didn't answer right away. Another blast sounded nearby, sending a ringing sensation in his ear.
"I'll fall back when I'm ready," he said, voice like gravel. "Execute your mission. That's an order."
The comms went quiet.
Then—
Everything hit at once.
A shrieking downpour of acid rained from above, Hansel and Gretel shifting to their flanking positions. The corrosive blasts carved glowing green trenches into the ground, sizzling through anything that touched it, whether it be dead or alive.
From the left, bubbles shimmered into existence, flying faster than eyes could follow—each one bursting mid-air and freezing Anachiro's advance.
And from the front—
Rose, her sword arcing in clean, precise movements, wind-slicing swings sending razor-pressure waves directly into Anachiro's gut, slowing her enough for Hansel's next volley to land home.
The Heretic screeched in fury, her red and blue eyes flickering.
Anachiro's body jerked, spasming mid-stride.
!!!!?
Her whole state stuttered, jerking between Anachiro's murderous glare and Cinderella's wide, tear-filled eyes.
A harsh, guttural scream tore out of her throat in Anachiro's voice—
"—MAKE IT STOP—"
—and then it fractured—
"Commander..." came Cinderella's voice. "It hurts. It hurts, please... help—"
!!!?
Her face contorted again, flickering in rapid succession between the two personas. One eye glowed crimson, the other flickered blue. Her fingers tore at her own skull, drawing blood, shaking violently.
"I DIDN'T—MEAN TO—TO—"
She screamed and cried, a cry of something being torn apart violently on the inside.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"
The lieutenant froze for a moment, watching the glitching monster sob like a child and howl like a demon.
Even the squad's barrage slowed—Siren even stopped for a moment—at the pure agony of her scream.
But the lieutenant didn't call them off.
"...Keep... Keep going. She's broken, not beaten."
And so they did.
Anachiro's body jerked in a sickening whip-crack as bubbles burst against her body, acid ate away at shielding, and pressurized wind cracked the sky. One eye flickered between blue and red, twitching toward the lieutenant's position.
"Com... mand... er..."
From above, more fire rained down.
Notes:
Combat sequences for the next few chapters will be a pain in the ass. But I was able to give a preview of the power of the Lt's cybernetics. They hurt him as much as they hurt others. Poetic, right?
Anyway, I've been debating something that's somewhat critical to the plot.
Should the Lieutenant's name be revealed at some vital point in the story? Or should it stay blanked out? I'm asking this because I'm currently debating with myself on rewriting the planned ending for something else, and 2 of those endings involve his name being revealed at some point. What do you think?
Chapter 36: Vol 5.4: Your Old Body
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Around 34 km away from the Ark
The lieutenant was running fast. Faster than any normal human should've been able to. His boots barely kissed the ground before launching him forward again, clearing dozens of meters in mere seconds, his silhouette flickering through trees and ruined infrastructure like a ghost.
The terrain blurred.
He could feel—
A jolt of searing pain flared down his right hip.
He stumbled. Then—
"Tch—shit!"
His body crashed into the dirt. He rolled, slammed the hollow shield from his arm into the ground, letting it absorb the bulk of the impact, then skidded to a stop on one knee.
"Fucking shitty-ass legs—" he hissed, gripping his thigh where the cybernetics met flesh. "Fucking... Cinderella had to cut off my legs! FUCK!"
No time.
He forced himself up with a growl and broke into a run again, each step now off rhythm, but determined.
His fingers tapped the comm line.
"Snow White. Position check."
There was static, then a shaky breath.
"Y-Yes, Lieutenant!" Snow White's voice was nervous but composed. "We've taken cover in the trench line just beyond the ravine. Charges are prepped. We're ready for the signal."
He winced again—pain flaring along his arm this time.
His right hand twitched, and he gripped the shoulder joint hard, holding it still.
"Good." He said tersely. "Rose and Siren will pull her into range. Once she's in the clearing, we collapse the formation and pin her down."
A new ping lit up his radar.
His pace faltered.
Just a few kilometres out from their position—
"What...?" he murmured.
There was a strange... very familiar signature that came on his hollow map.
A 1st Generation Grimms model.
No. That couldn't be right. Every 1st Gen unit had been accounted for. Dorothy. Rapunzel. Snow White.
And Liliweiss... was with Andersen, at the Ark.
That left—
"...Andersen you owe me an explanation."
"Lieutenant?" Scarlet's voice chirped in. Her tone was bored. "Art thou wavering? Dost thou wish to revise thy strategy, or shall we remain coiled like hounds awaiting a thrown bone?"
The pause had lasted a second too long.
"Continue the ambush," he barked. "Controlled retreat until she's in position."
There was a moment of static, and then Scarlet hummed through the channel, "As you command, honourable lieutenant. But the theatre of war waits for no audience..."
He switched channels.
Lmfao.
"Dorothy."
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Monitor the sector approaching the site. Anything suspicious, you call it. Immediately."
"Understood. But may I ask—"
"No." His voice dropped. "Just keep your eyes open."
Another ping.
The signal was still closing in.
He opened his mouth—then quickly switched comms again.
"Scarlet—don't engage it."
"But I haven't even—"
"Unless you have a bullet up your ass, then don't! That's an order!"
He slammed the comms off, breathing heavily through his teeth.
"..."
Dust clung to the corners of his vision.
Each heartbeat rattled his broken ribs.
"...Fuck..."
He blinked, forcing his footing to stay straight.
His lungs burned.
He spat hard onto the side of the road—dark, thick blood.
"Goddamn it..." he wheezed, coughing harshly into his elbow. "Abe better have cybernetic lungs lying around somewhere or something to help with breathing. Anything... She'll probably scream at me again."
He started running.
Again, slower this time.
His body could no longer withstand any more punishment.
He clicked the comms.
"Hansel. You and Gretel at the next checkpoint?"
A second passed before Hansel's voice buzzed in, dryly remarking thusly:
"Hansel confirms the setup is complete. Gretel is loading acid again." There was a small pause. "Gretel is also hungry."
He grimaced, muttering, "Aren't we all..."
Screeeeeee—!!
A glitched-out wail tore across the comms and reality itself.
His eye twitched.
WOOSH!
He dropped low, just as a white-hot beam from Glass Slippers sheared through a ruined billboard above him, raining molten metal behind his trail.
"Fuck—"
He vaulted the next mound of rubble.
Then—
BOOM.
The side of a building exploded.
Bricks and rebar flew in all directions.
Rose burst through the wall, sword locked against Anachiro, who had her pinned like a meteor, both slamming into the ground.
"MOVE, SIR!" Rose barked mid-fall.
The lieutenant didn't think. He launched forward, right arm buzzing violently—purple arcs of stored kinetic force dancing across the limb like angry lightning.
It screamed against the air as it connected—
BANG!
A Glass Slipper interjected, catching the brunt of the punch, yielding barely any damage; however, Anachiro staggered.
Rose didn't waste the chance. She twirled in, blade slicing with surgical precision across Anachiro's flank and side, forcing the Heretic back with several fast, jarring blows.
The lieutenant moved to follow—
CRASH.
Another Glass Slipper smashed down from above like a guillotine.
He barely activated his hollow shield in time. The impact cratered the concrete beneath him, driving him several inches into the earth.
He and his spine whined in agony.
"F-fuck—!" he rasped, another spray of blood painting his lip.
He didn't get to breathe. A pair of arms yanked him free.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" she hissed, hauling him aside as Siren surged into the fray, sending purple bubbles in a wide arc. They burst across Anachiro's body, each one causing a feedback jolt.
The Heretic screeched, shifting mid-cry.
Red to blue.
Screams to sobs.
He barely registered it. His vision swam. There was blood in his mouth again.
"You planned this!" Rose shouted, ducking under another shot from Glass Slippers. "You set this all up and still decided to show up?! There was NO REASON to put yourself in danger!"
He coughed harshly.
"It's MY goddamn operation!" he snapped. "I get to do whatever the fuck I want! And if I hadn't distracted her, you'd be VAPOUR by now!"
Rose's eyes narrowed. She then dropped him gently against the side of a half-standing vehicle, shielding him from further blasts.
"Stay down. That's an order."
"You're giving me—
"Rest. Or you're dead. I'm taking command of the field operation. You will organize the response units."
She turned in again, rejoining the fray, calling out to Siren. A second later, an acid barrage thundered down from the treeline.
The lieutenant tried to rise but failed.
He spat another wad of blood, furious.
"You can't order me around—" he wheezed, "You—FAKE FUCKING HUMAN...!"
He slammed his fist into the dirt, knuckles scraping gravel, blood oozing out from the cracks between metal and skin.
From far ahead, the twin booms of shockwaves echoed, marking Rose's renewed engagement and Siren's bubble waves firing at max frequency.
It started in front of him. Then to his left.
Then to his right.
Then behind him.
And then...
Silence.
The engagement rolled away into the distance, as if the whole battle was retreating without him.
Hansel chimed in:
"Hansel reports hit rate: 21%. Damage... minimal. Gretel has dismantled the Witch's Cauldron, and we are proceeding to the next checkpoint. Ambush sector stable."
The lieutenant said nothing.
Hansel continued anyway.
"Gretel thinks the target is laughing at us."
He didn't respond. She took his silence as confirmation.
Another chime hit his ear.
It was a Mass Produced Nikke.
"We've linked up with New Goddess at staging position Theta. Setting traps and defensive structures now. ETA until readiness... ten to fourteen minutes. Additional MPN units arriving at the final two checkpoints to assist in stalling actions."
The lieutenant doubled over, coughed hard, spattering yet another mouthful of blood onto the already stained dirt, his boots and onto his palm.
He muttered bitterly:
"...That's five times now. No—six?"
His fingers trembled as he touched the comm again.
"Make haste..." he croaked. Then, sarcastically, he remarked: "...And don't fear the reaper."
The MPN on the other side didn't miss a beat:
"Glory to Humanity, sir."
He scoffed, wincing as he pushed himself upright. His hip screamed, his cybernetics grinding inside his legs. Another kilometre, no, maybe two... three at most.
Three more kilometres.
"I don't know if I can take it..."
But he had to.
He had to be the one to fix it all. To rectify everything.
This is retribution...
Retribution for the dead.
Retribution for Melee Squad.
Retribution... for Cinderella.
"Commander... it hurts. Please... help—"
He froze, eyes wide, staring at nothing.
Cinderella's voice echoed again in his skull, louder now, clearer, with each step forward.
He stumbled, hard, clutching at his chest, his ribs, his shoulder—anything that wasn't already broken.
"Commander..."
He gasped as pain overtook him, bending over and vomiting.
A sick mixture of bile, blood, and what little food he'd eaten before the op splashed the concrete.
He swayed.
Tears—actual tears—ran down his cheeks, seared hot by pain and frustration and something he would never name.
"You are a beautiful soul, Commander," Cinderella had told him once. Back when she was still whole. Back when he hadn't screwed everything up. "It is truly wonderful to have such a person leading us."
"THAT 'BEAUTIFUL SOUL' LED TO HUMANITY'S FUCKING EXTINCTION, YOU NAIVE, STUPID—" He clutched his side, his heart racing."—fucking child...!"
His hand fumbled for his sidearm. He ripped it from the holster, staggered back to his feet.
One foot in front of the other.
Toward the rendezvous.
The comm crackled again.
A younger-sounding MPN this time. Quaking slightly:
"S-Sir, we have visuals at checkpoint Delta! Large cluster of Raptures—at least one hundred or more are bearing down on our position!"
His face contorted.
He forced the comm live.
"Scarlet. Move to the second checkpoint. Engage the cluster and hold until your sister and Siren arrive. Then... help with the controlled fallback. No heroics."
Scarlet's voice crackled through.
"As you command, honourable lieutenant. We shall paint the ground red—ours, or theirs."
She cut the channel.
He dropped the pistol, then caught it halfway down.
His knees hit the wall behind him... He let himself slump.
He was breathing in ragged bursts now. Chest hollow. Shoulders trembling.
He looked down at the blood drying on his hands.
"...Have to go," he whispered. "Still have to go..."
But for now—
Just a moment.
Just a second.
He tilted his head back as the sky spun.
Perhaps he could rest... a little.
"—Hey."
"..."
"—Oyy!"
Shut the fuck up and let me die...
There was a voice close by, female and...
And... uh...
Loud.
"Hey, you alright, dude?" the voice repeated, annoyed.
A shadow fell over him. Something shifted nearby.
"Jesus, that's a lot of blood. You leave a trail like that on purpose, or is this some weird attention thing?" she muttered. "Vomit too. Seriously, you should be dead. Like, so dead. How are you not dead?"
The lieutenant groaned and turned his head just slightly toward the voice.
"Seriously, though," she continued, voice rising a notch, "are you the one who's been pinging my systems like a maniac? 'New Goddess here. Checkpoint this. Ambush that'—it's like a headache, but it talks back—"
SPLAT!
Blood slapped wetly against her cheek. She jerked back, blinking.
"...Really?" she said flatly. "That's rude."
His eyes cracked open, red-rimmed and resentful.
His voice came out as a guttural rasp:
"Shut the fuck up. You're just as loud as the files described you..." He coughed again. "...Red Hood."
The Nikke blinked, then a slow grin spread across her face.
"Well, well. He even read my file. I'm flattered."
The lieutenant's blurred vision finally adjusted. Long crimson hair, red scarf, black cropped leather top. Rifle as long as she was tall, slung across her back like a skyscraper folded in half.
Yeah. That was her.
Red Hood.
Grimm's Model #5.
She crouched, balancing easily on her boots. "I was about halfway through a battalion of Raptures when I picked up your signal. Heard your squad's lighting the sky on fire like a New Year's display. So, here I am. I assume you're the one barking all the orders?"
He gave her a look that could sear steel. "...You offering a ride, or trying to recruit me into your fan club? If it's the latter, I'm going to shoot myself."
Red Hood laughed a little bit.
"I'm saying you look like a wet corpse someone dressed up in military cosplay, Commander. Want a lift or not?"
He sneered, though his fingers twitched as he tried to shift his body. "Andersen has a hell of a lot of explaining to do... but yeah. Welcome back, Grimm's Model 5. I could use a lift. If that freakishly massive sniper of yours plus me won't weigh you down..."
He slumped forward, catching himself.
"I have gained a bit of weight..."
"Weight? Muscle or fat?"
"Cybernetics," he coughed, tapping his legs with a metallic clank.
Red Hood squatted low. "Then climb up, Boss Monkey. Wrap those terrifying robot arms around my neck— And if you pass out, I'll try not to drop you into a crater."
He groaned as he shifted, dragging himself toward her. His arms looped around her shoulders, his cheek resting awkwardly near the base of her scarf.
My God, this thing smells like abysmal dogshit. Did she ever wash this thing?
"Comfy?" she teased, standing up with ease.
"Shut up," he growled, letting his legs dangle. "~2.7 kilometres southwest. Near a ravine. Follow my directions exactly."
She took off at a steady jog, barely rattled by his added weight. "Copy that, Boss Monkey."
He spat again.
Splat.
"...Did you just spit on me again?!"
"Commentary tax. Shut up."
"You're lucky you're cute," she muttered—half flirt, half joke.
He sneered without turning his head, voice like crushed gravel. "Please let this be a hallucination..."
Red Hood let out a huff, half-offended. "Wow. Rude. I'm hauling your nearly-dead ass like it's VIP cargo and this is the thanks I—"
She blinked mid-stride.
"...Huh. Weird."
"What now...?" the lieutenant rasped.
She tilted her head slightly. "My headache. The one I've had since I woke up... It's just gone. Completely. First time in months I don't feel like I'm being stabbed in the brain."
He didn't answer.
"Hey, that's kinda cool—do you know what might've—?"
She paused and looked down.
His head had slumped fully against her shoulder, limp, giving shallow, rattling breaths.
Red Hood's voice went quiet.
"...Ah. Okay. That explains it."
She adjusted her grip slightly, settling into a faster stride toward the ravine.
"Guess I'll carry your grumpy, bleeding self the rest of the way then," she muttered, eyes scanning the horizon. "But when you wake up, you're telling me what the hell that just was..."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Checkpoint Delta, Around 32.3 km Away From the Ark
Scarlet spun mid-jump, her blade trailing silver in an arc that sliced clean through a Rapture's core. It didn't even have time to scream. She flipped mid-air, landing with a sharp slide and raising one hand.
"Left flank! Fire at the behemoth's exposed gullet!" she called out to the mass-produced Nikke squads, pointing with the edge of her blade as she dashed toward another Rapture. "Strike whilst the beast is dazed!"
Gunfire obeyed. Hot rounds tore into the chitin of another monster as Scarlet ducked under a flailing limb, then buried her sword up to the hilt in its chest. She wrenched it free, flicked it once, and exhaled.
"That makes ninety-seven," she muttered to herself, lips curled in satisfaction. "Soon shall I surpass yon hundred. A worthy performance..."
Another Rapture charged. She didn't flinch. She dashed forward, vaulted off the collapsing body of the previous kill, and twisted mid-air like a red blur. Her blade cut through the charging foe with precise, poetic savagery.
"Art thou surprised? I have trained thrice as hard since our last clash, scrap metal!" she snapped, stabbing the creature's master core with a flourish. "Never again shalt thou have the better of me!"
She landed light on her feet, eyes locked ahead, breathing steady. Even in the chaos of battle, her thoughts lingered.
He should've been here by now...
The lieutenant. Her commander. A human, brittle of flesh and gruff of temper—but unmatched in tenacity. She had trusted him since the early days of Melee Squad. Every expectation he set, she met. Surpassed, even. His belief in her pushed her forward, a weight both heavy and divine.
And yet...
"Why, dear lieutenant?" she whispered under her breath, cleaving through a thin scout Rapture with a backward slash. "Why place thyself at the forefront, when thou shouldst be overseeing from safety?"
She didn't want to think it, but there was only one answer.
It's because she was his squadmate.
Cinderella. Anachiro. Heretic.
Or was it something else beyond being apart of the same squad—
Her thoughts cut short as a shriek echoed through the comms.
A Nikke's alarmed voice cried, "Incoming projectile—!"
BOOM—
Scarlet was slammed into from the side—hard. The world spun, her shoulder slammed into gravel, and pain sparked along her back.
She hit the ground rolling, tumbling into a crouch, sword up—only to freeze.
"...Rose?!"
Her sister's body was crumpled beside her, trembling, smoking in places.
Scarlet lunged, grabbing her and turning her over.
"Rose! Sister, speak! Art thou injured gravely?"
Rose coughed, blood lacing her breath. Her expression was half a wince, half a smirk. "I'm... here... haha... I thought I cracked my spine hitting you."
"Your arm—" Scarlet gasped. There were gaping holes through her sister's shoulder and a chunk missing near her side.
"I can still fight," Rose said through gritted teeth, gesturing over Scarlet's shoulder. "She's... not the same. She's broken. Mentally, I think... Siren's buying us time."
Scarlet twisted to look—and there she was, screeching, twitching, beams from Glass Slippers razing a dozen MPNs while Siren weaved between cover and bubbles sprayed through the air in violent torrents.
"She's not even damaged," Scarlet whispered.
"No," Rose confirmed, pushing herself to sit upright. "I hit her more than once. It staggered her, but... it's like she's built to take it now. Something's wrong."
"If she continues..." Scarlet's voice hardened. "She will breach the Ark's perimeter. The ambush may not suffice."
Rose stood, barely. "Then we'll back Siren up. Keep her in check until the next checkpoint is ready. We'll stall her. No matter what."
"But... where is he? Where is our lieutenant?" Scarlet demanded, grabbing Rose's wrist. "He should be here. He promised—!"
"I left him," Rose snapped, pulling her wrist free. "At the prior checkpoint. He was bleeding out. Took too many hits—gave too many. I ordered him to stay behind. I took command. It's done."
Scarlet's mouth parted in disbelief.
"You left him alone?!"
"We had no choice!" Rose barked. "If I didn't, he'd have died using his enhancements again. I will extract him once the fight allows. But right now, I need you with me."
Scarlet gritted her teeth, trembling.
Then she stood.
"Aye," she said solemnly, lifting her blade again. "I shall follow thee, sister. But once this battle ends, we retrieve him."
Rose nodded once. "Deal."
She then called over comms: "All MPNs—fall back ten metres. Tighten formation. Provide suppressing fire! Focus only on remaining stragglers. New Goddess will reengage the Heretic directly."
"Understood, ma'am!" a squad leader replied, the audio crackling under nearby explosions.
Anachiro moved like a ghost caught in a hurricane.
A blast from the left—her left Glass Slipper absorbing a bubble burst from Siren. A twisting motion—a right-angled swipe with her shield construct that knocked three MPNs through the air like bowling pins. Before they hit the ground, beams lanced out from the crystalline cannons, cutting them down mid-flight.
Brutal.
Scarlet blinked away the blood mist, then ducked low and slashed at Anachiro's ankle. The blade hit, deflected with a screeching ring. She barely had time to vault back before a beam tore through the air where she'd stood.
Rose struck high—her sword a blur—but the impact barely staggered the Heretic.
Anachiro's face twitched. The left side still bore the shape of Cinderella. The right was glitching, red eye shifting from a deep crimson to blue.
"Sister—she doth not fight. She writhes," Scarlet muttered between parries.
"She's in pain. But she's still trying to kill us!"
A low hum began to build. Anachiro's arms extended outward, and all the Slippers glowed.
"Siren—Kotodama now!" Rose snapped.
Siren, crouched behind a broken pillar, flinched. She pressed both hands together, trembling, then shook her head, mouthing something.
"Aghh...!" She let out a soft grunt and tilted her head, glancing toward the MPNs, then Anachiro.
"She... she fears she'll enchant us all," Scarlet translated.
Anachiro noticed her. One red eye flared.
A beam lanced out.
Siren's thigh exploded in blood as she was struck clean through the muscle.
"GH-Hhhk—!!" Siren let out a whimper and crumpled against the rubble, clutching the leg with one hand while still trying to summon bubbles with the other.
"SIREN!" Rose barked, darting forward, but Anachiro was already moving again.
"I'm so sorry, Siren—AAAAAGUH!" Cinderella shouted out.
Glass Slippers spun midair, pinwheeling like boomerangs, forcing both sisters to disengage.
They leapt into cover behind a collapsed tank. Scarlet was panting, a smoking hole burned through her shoulder.
"I've taken three hits!" she growled. "Mine circuits scream louder than thine voice!"
Rose didn't respond at first. She sat, pressed against the tank hull, blood dripping from her mouth and the scorched hole in her torso. Her hands trembled.
"We can't keep this up," she muttered.
"What sayst thou?"
Rose looked across the battlefield—Siren wounded, MPNs thinning out, and Anachiro still barely staggered. Still glitching and moving.
"I say it's over. All units—retreat!" Rose barked into comms. "Fall back. Defend the next checkpoint line. Now!"
"Hansel says Gretel just finished setting up. The acid is primed. Now we flee again? Really?"
"Sorry!" Rose snapped. "Fall back or you'll be cut down where you stand!"
"...Understood," Hansel replied curtly. "Gretel is angry."
Rose's knees buckled, and she fell forward—
"Woah—!"
Scarlet caught her, hoisting her up with one arm, turning to find Siren trying to crawl, her eyes wide and unfocused.
"No—no, nay—thou art not dying here."
Scarlet grunted, blade sheathed, lifting both injured women onto her back. Siren clung limply, eyes squinting, while Rose gritted her teeth in frustration.
"What are you doing? You can't carry us both—"
"I must," Scarlet spat. "Because thou—idiot—left him behind. And thou—" she glanced at Siren's battered form—"cannot die screaming for a friend who can no longer hear thee."
Behind them, Anachiro let out a distorted howl as another volley of MPN fire struggled to suppress her.
Scarlet began running, shielded by smoke and the last bubble bursts of Siren, giving her cover. The MPNs fell back in units, leapfrogging toward the next ridge.
The battle line was broken.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Near Checkpoint Delta, Around 32.8 km Away From the Ark
CRACK.
The unmistakable thunder of a high-calibre round tore through the humid air, followed by the shriek of a Rapture splintering apart.
Then another.
And another.
Each shot came with a rhythmic grunt from Red Hood's throat, her boots pounding against broken concrete as she darted through the ruins of the perimeter.
The lieutenant stirred on her back, coughing into her shoulder.
"Mmgh..."
His eyes peeled open just in time to see the back of her red scarf flapping against his vision, her massive rifle reloaded with one hand, smoking at the tip.
"Oh!" she chirped, nearly upbeat, "Boss Monkey's awake!"
He groaned.
"Welcome back to the land of the barely breathing. Had a good nap? You were drooling. And bleeding. A lot. I cleaned most of it off... mostly."
He groaned, blinking past the blood crusted near his lashes.
"Where the hell are we..."
"Pushing toward Checkpoint Delta," she said. "We're about 800 metres out, maybe less. I've been shootin' and scootin'—but the Raptures are coming in waves. Slowing us down more than I'd like."
He coughed—a wet, dragging sound from the pit of his lungs.
"Just..." he muttered hoarsely, squinting through the pain, "Go through them."
She blinked, reflexively ducking as a projectile whizzed past her and struck a chunk of twisted rebar.
"What, just run through the wave?"
"Yeah. Don't slow down to kill. Killing them is slowing us down. I need to get there... now."
There was a pause, but then she grinned. "Aye aye, Boss Monkey."
And with a scream of static and exploding earth, she launched forward, vaulting over a car frame, slamming her foot into the face of a mid-sized Rapture, snapping its skull like brittle glass. The rifle turned in her hand like an extension of her body, slamming into another Rapture mid-leap, then swinging backward in a single fluid motion to fire again.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
How much ammo is in that thing? I swear to God she's been firing her rifle nonstop since getting here. He thought, trying not to die midair.
They cut a wild, straight line through the battlefield.
The lieutenant grunted with each impact. Every shot vibrated through her back, into his ribs.
After a minute of this—
"You got a kink?" he wheezed out, spitting a clot into the wind. "Like... being spat on by half-dead people or something?"
"Excuse me?" Red Hood yelled over the boom of another shot.
"There's a wad of blood in my mouth again," he grumbled, leaning his head slightly. "And you keep calling me Boss Monkey. So either you like being spat on by half-dead guys or you've got one hell of a brain tumour."
Red Hood snorted. "Well, it's not every day I get to carry someone this good-looking on my back like a princess."
He stared at the back of her head flatly. "That's not a denial."
"Nope," she said cheerily, hopping onto a ledge and kicking off. Two more Raptures splattered behind her from the force of her takeoff. "And let's be real, Boss Monkey—who else is gonna rescue your pretty ass? Snow would've called in air support to lift you out. I'm the bold option."
He groaned again, muttering. "Fucking Americans..."
Red Hood gasped. "You did not just—! Wow. You're on my back, bleeding to death, and you're tossing slurs now?"
"Not a slur," he rasped. "Just a cultural observation."
Red Hood rolled her eyes. "You know what? Keep talking. It means you're awake. And plus, I like listening to your voice."
"I'm filing a complaint to HR," he spat. "Sexual harassment. Whole case right here."
"You're the one leaking all over me," she huffed. "Pretty sure this counts as biohazard contact."
He coughed again, another spray of blood wetting her scarf. The Nikke flinched.
"...You did that on purpose."
"Didn't say I didn't."
"I liked you better passed out, Boss Monkey," she pouted.
He managed the smallest smirk.
Another bullet snapped through the air.
The lieutenant's eyes fluttered. His head rolled slightly against her scarf.
"...That nickname... is so fuckin' stupid," he mumbled.
"Right? That's why it sticks."
Notes:
Red Hood is here, and she's already taking years of the lieutenant's remaining lifespan!
...Seriously, someone get a doctor, I don't think it's healthy to be leaking blood from your limbs.
Chapter 37: Vol 5.5: New Future
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Inside the Ark, 2 Minutes After Checkpoint Delta was Overrun
The hum of the Ark's lights buzzed overhead as Andersen and Liliweiss made their way through the west corridor. The atmosphere was quiet—eerily so. After weeks of tension, to finally walk without escort or emergency lighting had begun to feel like a temporary peace.
But then the peace was shattered.
Footsteps thundered past—dozens at first, then more. A rush of personnel surged around them like a sudden tide, most clutching datapads, some visibly shaking. Officers. Technicians. Even civilians.
Andersen's brow tightened.
"What the hell—?"
Liliweiss slowed beside him, blinking rapidly as more streamed by. "That's not normal. Nothing's scheduled right now. Not for two more hours at least..."
Another person—clearly military—shoved past. Andersen reached out, gripping his sleeve.
"Hey! Hey, what's going on?! If it's urgent, we can assist!"
The man looked dazed, breath ragged. "You... you don't know? Shit, I mean, yeah, of course you don't, it just—It just happened."
Liliweiss stepped closer. "What happened?"
"Checkpoint Delta's been breached!" the man blurted. "Anachiro—she's past the last fallback and is engaging with Staging Ground Theta! She's almost here!"
Andersen went stiff.
"Wait. Already? But the ambush wasn't even supposed to engage for another—"
"She tore through them! Rose confirmed it—Lieutenant's down. I don't know how bad, just that he's not responding to orders anymore! And she—Anachiro—she's not even slowing down!"
Liliweiss stared, stunned. "Then the whole line..."
"Gone! If New Goddess can't stop her before she hits the Ark, we're done! That's it! No more fallback! No more options!"
The man looked over his shoulder, then bolted.
"I have to get to Sector Four! I—Good luck!"
Andersen was silent a moment, watching him vanish into the panicked crowd.
Liliweiss didn't wait.
"What do we do?"
"If we go out there, we're directly disobeying standing orders."
"Are you suggesting we don't?" Her voice sharpened. "That we stay put while the Ark falls?"
"No," Andersen muttered, eyes shifting. "No, I'm thinking... if we move fast, use Elevator Line Nine near the logistics, uh, thing, we might hit the surface entrance in time."
"How long?"
"Fifteen minutes. Maybe."
"Then we go," Liliweiss said. "If the lieutenant's plan failed, someone has to make a new one."
She took a step forward—then paused, eyes narrowing.
"...But why did he draw her this close in the first place?"
Andersen frowned. "What?"
Liliweiss's voice lowered, unsettled. "He had dozens of kilometres to work with. Why risk fighting her at the doorstep of the Ark... when I'm here?"
"..."
Could it be—
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Near Staging Ground Theta
Red Hood slowed to a halt, boots skidding on fractured concrete as her eyes swept the devastation. The lieutenant stirred weakly on her back, glancing around without so much as a sigh.
"Failure," he said plainly.
She counted bodies. At least a dozen mass-produced Nikkes, some barely intact. Others still clutched rifles in burned-out hands.
"...Should we hit the next checkpoint?" she asked, more quietly this time, already dreading the answer.
"No." He didn't even pause. "Staging Ground Theta. Full sprint."
Red Hood blinked. "That's past two fallback lines! With you on my back, that kind of velocity's gonna—"
"My spinal cord's made of the shit inside of you. Goddesium through and through. I'll survive the whiplash."
She hesitated. "You're sure?"
"Move."
She exhaled. "Alright, Boss Monkey. Hang on tight."
His grip tightened without a word. She smirked, muttering, "That's the spirit."
He reached up and pinched her cheek.
"Ow—okay, okay!" she yelped, laughing as she twisted her neck to shake him off. "Now that's just uncalled for!"
He muttered something unintelligible—probably an insult.
With a flex of her legs and a blur of motion, she launched forward, a gust of wind exploding behind them. Debris kicked up in spirals as the world around them blurred, the ruins of Delta vanishing in an instant. They rushed past another half-ruined
checkpoint. Dozens of metres disappeared behind them in seconds.
Then—
FWOOOOM!
A blinding beam of white-hot energy crashed into the earth not ten metres ahead.
"Shit!" Red Hood twisted mid-air, flipping back hard. Her boots hit the ground with a crack—absorbing the force—but the momentum jolted the lieutenant hard.
"Ghk—" He coughed, splattering a dark streak of blood across her shoulder.
Red Hood cursed, "Fuck, sorry, sorry—!" She dropped to one knee behind a broken transport truck. "That beam came out of nowhere!"
He wheezed, eyes glassy.
"It's fine..."
"It's not! We need Rapunzel—your organs are gonna start shutting down if we keep this up!"
"She's in the rear," he said, jaw clenched. "I ordered her to stay there. And Anachiro... Cinderella—she's only just arrived. That buys us time. Go. Find Rapunzel. Get back here."
Red Hood winced.
"Hold on like your life depends on it—because it does." She blinked. "Okay, that joke was in bad taste. Sorry."
He groaned through his teeth.
"God, I hate you."
"You'll miss me if you die." She dashed again, angling wide to avoid another beam that ripped a trench through the terrain.
As they closed in on the battlefield, the chaos unfolded like an orchestra of destruction. Acid rain hissed against plates. Gunfire echoed. Anachiro stood like a phantom in white, spraying death from Glass Slippers.
The lieutenant's eyes flicked around. "Rose is down. So's Siren. No bubbles... The others are still up."
"They're getting swarmed—"
"Drop me off. Then go in. Don't bother with a dramatic reintroduction. Stall her."
Red Hood fired off a sniper shot mid-run. The round struck Anachiro's temple and staggered her for half a breath, barely even slowing her.
"Stall for what, boss?! The Ark is right there! We're already too damn close!"
"Just stall."
She gritted her teeth. "You better not be pulling some secret-weapon bullshit..."
Then she spotted the golden hair and massive halo behind the smoke and wreckage.
"Rapunzel!" she shouted.
The soft-spoken nun turned mid-channel, her staff glowing as she tried to stabilize a wounded Nikke. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Red Hood...? You're alive—?"
"Later! Got someone important here!" Red Hood dropped to her knees, sliding beside her.
She let the lieutenant roll off carefully, though he still hit the ground with a strained grunt. "Fix Mr. Grumpy for me, would you?"
Rapunzel's eyes widened. "He—he needs critical intervention!"
"I know!" Red Hood snapped. "I'll be back."
Without waiting, she spun, boots kicking up dirt, and launched herself back toward the fray.
Rapunzel's heels slid on the blood-slick concrete as she crouched beside him, her staff already flickering with pale, angelic light. Her eyes scanned his battered body. It wasn't pretty.
She looked shaken.
"Lieutenant," she gasped, voice trembling. "Can you hear me? Say something—are you—?"
"Still alive," he muttered, blood bubbling up in the back of his throat as he coughed again. "Barely."
Rapunzel's gloved hands hesitated just over his chest.
"Your body... It's like it's been crushed. Internal bleeding, ruptured organs... and—" She pulled her hand back instinctively, as if burned. "This isn't... how?"
He groaned, eyes half-lidded. "Just fix me enough so I can stand. That's all I need."
"No. No, you need critical treatment," she said sharply, shaking her head. "This level of healing—this would take hours. A full hospital unit, at minimum. I can't just—"
"Do it!" he barked, eyes snapping open. "Just heal me enough to walk, Sister."
The title struck her harder than the shout. She paused.
Around them, wounded Mass-Produced Nikkes groaned, waiting. But her hands moved toward him anyway.
"If I can just... if I fix your ribs, you'll stop puncturing your lungs," she muttered, mostly to herself. "But even then, your spine, your—"
"Already synthetic," he muttered. "Thank the Colonel for that."
She pressed her staff's tip just over his chest. A glow began to pulse warmly.
"There's... so much Goddesium inside you," she whispered. "It's in your bloodstream. Circulating like poison. This shouldn't be compatible with a human at all."
"Everyone keeps saying that," he slurred. "Shocker, right? Walking corpse brought back with scrap tech and witch science. Meant to be dead."
She blinked, the glow from her staff dimming for half a second.
"I—didn't know," she said quietly. "You never... acted like..."
He closed his eyes for a moment too long.
"Didn't want to talk about it. But since you're curious..."
She didn't answer, but her brows furrowed.
"First thing Cinderella did," he rasped, "was snap my neck, then ripped through Old Tales in the same breath. I was declared KIA. A month later, Abe and Vos stitched me back together. I'm a walking corpse, Sister."
Rapunzel's hands trembled, the staff's glow intensifying to keep pace with the effort.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
A thunderous explosion cracked somewhere close. Rapunzel flinched, crouching lower over him. Bits of debris clattered off the nearest steel wall.
He didn't react at first.
Though...
"...All my fault," he murmured. "It's all my fucking fault."
"Lieutenant—"
"She was just a kid..." His words blurred together now. "She wanted to be beautiful. And I... I made her into a monster. What a fuckin waste..."
Rapunzel leaned closer, cradling his head lightly with one hand to stabilize him. His breathing slowed...
"I'm such a shit person," he whispered. "From a shithole. There's no beauty in that."
His eyes fluttered once, then closed.
She stayed frozen, her hand still glowing as it pulsed soft healing waves into his chest. The blood flow slowed. His breathing steadied, marginally.
She looked down at his pale, cracked face—his expression softening even in unconsciousness, jaw unclenched, brow no longer furrowed. He looked younger like this.
She bowed her head slightly, voice no more than a murmur.
"...Then rest, just for a little while... Lieutenant ██████ ."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Moments Later, Staging Ground Theta
Another blast shattered the pavement just ahead. Shards of reinforced concrete rained across her back as Snow White hit the ground hard behind a crumbling barrier. Her hands trembled as she adjusted her rifle, breath ragged behind her visor.
Anachiro was screaming again.
The sound made her ears ring. It was like something ancient being torn apart and stitched back together in real time.
Her visor slipped down over her face from the shockwave, partially blinding her. She pushed it back up just in time to see Scarlet go flying, beams of light tearing clean through her right shoulder and thigh. Scarlet rolled once before springing to her knees, growling under her breath.
"Damnable—ghh—witch!!" Scarlet shouted, staggering behind cover.
"Distance!" Dorothy's voice snapped through the comms. "MPNs, pull back to the third line! Give us spacing—do not bunch up!"
Snow White peeked over the rubble just long enough to see two more Mass-Produced Nikkes get mowed down by a wide arc of white energy. The beams from those Glass Slippers were practically carving the terrain itself.
She was shaking. She hated that she was shaking.
And yet—
She stood.
"AAAAAAAAAH!!!!!"
Without even thinking, she sprinted from cover, rifle raised. Her hands moved faster than her thoughts. Bullet after bullet spat from her rifle, aimed directly at the heretic's figure. Anachiro turned slowly, one eye blue, one eye red—both radiating contempt. Her forcefield pulsed into existence, warping the air around her, every round bouncing off like pebbles.
And then the Slippers moved.
Two of them hovered, glinting, angling toward her with unmistakable lethality. She didn't stop. Her legs screamed. Her chest burned. But she didn't stop.
"SNOW WHITE, FALL BACK—!" Dorothy's voice broke through the comms.
A blinding beam exploded outward.
Snow White dove.
Her scream was swallowed by the explosion behind her, the heat searing past her left ear as the beam missed by inches, taking with it the edges of her white hair and half a row of Raptures that had been closing in.
Her boots scraped the cracked ground as she skidded into a low slide under the second beam—and then, with a growl, she launched herself forward—
Through the damn forcefield!
"ALL FOR HUMANITY!"
She screamed triumphantly as she pulled the trigger.
Anachiro's eyes went wide for a moment before the young Nikke's rifle came up point-blank and spat bullets across her face. The kinetic rounds rattled her skull and upper body, staggering her. The forcefield flickered, then collapsed completely, shattering like glass.
Snow White rolled out the other side, gasping, knees buckling, coughing dust and smoke, dropping to one knee.
"Got her... got—"
"Damn good move, Snow!"
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
A quartet of sniper shots rang out in quick succession
Three perfectly timed shots clipped Anachiro in the right arm, shoulder, and leg. She crashed down to the ground with a shriek, rolling hard across the gravel.
Landing with a small crater in the debris, rifle slung over one shoulder, stood a figure in a black cropped jacket, crimson scarf trailing in the wind.
Red Hood.
Her rifle still smoked.
"Tch. Everything's gone to hell since I last saw you lot," she muttered, loud enough for all nearby units to hear. "New commander. Humanity hiding in a hole. And my bullets bounce off anything higher than Husk today. Real encouraging, huh?"
Snow White's heart leapt in her chest. "Red Hood?!"
Red Hood turned, gave her a grin, and flashed a peace sign. "Still breathing, huh, Snow? Good. That little trick with the dodge? Chef's kiss. You've definitely grown."
Snow White, breathing hard, nodded with a few stray tears threatening the corners of her vision.
Red Hood looked around at the other units, Scarlet bracing herself, and Dorothy issuing commands even while limping.
"Well?" Red Hood shouted, racking her rifle and spinning it once. "Are we ending this circus or what?! Let's put her down!"
The words had barely left her lips when Anachiro twitched mid-air.
Then, without warning, her body began to lift, rising above the battleground like a damned angel. Both eyes snapped to the same glaring crimson hue. Her four Glass Slippers glowed white-hot and spun violently around her.
The screech came first, then came the blast wave.
KA-CHOOOM!!
Rays of white-hot energy lanced out in all directions, sweeping horizontally across the battlefield like cruise missiles.
"GET TO COVER!" Dorothy roared, grabbing a nearby MPN by the arm and yanking them behind a charred support pillar.
Red Hood dove into a trench as an energy beam vaporized the space she'd just occupied.
"Since when can the nutjob fly?!" Red Hood barked, scrambling back to her feet. "You knew she had an air phase?!"
"She never deployed it before!" Dorothy shouted back. "She's been grounded this entire time—she saved it!"
"Well, that's just great," Red Hood muttered, raising her rifle and firing off a few shots. They fizzled uselessly against the forcefield. "What is this, a boss battle?!"
Yes, Red Hood, Queasy made Anachiro an Elden Ring boss battle.
Scarlet, panting heavily, slashed a stray Rapture from behind and skidded to Dorothy's side. "'Tis clear—the witch's shield is not infallible! Dear Snow White, prior, had struck a blow through it! If I were not battered, I'd make quick work of her wretched form!"
Red Hood scoffed.
"Then shut up and let's get to work, Shakespeare. You're up!"
Scarlet grinned, blood dripping down her arm. "Injuries be damned. There is glory to be seized!"
The trio exploded from cover in near unison—Red Hood drawing attention first.
"HEY, BITCH!" she yelled, vaulting over rubble and sliding across a crater, popping up with a string of well-aimed shots. "You think THIS is scary?! I've faced better odds drunk and with a concussion! Heck! The time I wore that dress was even more terrifying than this!"
A Glass Slipper spun to face her and fired—
"RUDE!" Red Hood shrieked, ducking and cartwheeling to avoid it. "I was in the middle of ROASTING YOU!"
Across the field, Snow White, breathing heavily, crouched behind a rusted container with two MPNs flanking her.
"Cover me," she ordered, yanking her twin support turrets from her back and quickly deploying them. "I need thirty seconds."
The MPNs nodded. One opened fire with suppressing rounds. The other began reloading.
Snow White's hands shook slightly, but her motions remained methodical. First, the anti-air emplacement. Then, the missile pod. Her turrets came alive with a hum, whirring into calibration.
A thunderous KRACK interrupted her calibration.
The air in front of her shimmered—then exploded.
KA-CHOOOM
The two MPNs were vaporized on impact. Snow White's breath caught in her throat. The dust cloud cleared.
Anachiro hovered before her, unblinking. Her eyes were empty, angry slits, an emotionless sneer on her face. Glass Slippers orbited menacingly.
Snow White froze.
But only for a moment.
"NOW!"
She slapped the controls, turrets firing a simultaneous volley of missiles and tracer rounds into Anachiro's position. Smoke, flame, and steel filled the air, collapsing the crumbling roof above them.
BOOM!
Anachiro raised her arms forward, reinforcing the shield facing the younger nikke.
"Dorothy—now!" Red Hood shouted.
"I'm on it!" Dorothy's voice cut clean through the carnage.
A pink blur erupted from the left flank.
Dorothy dashed into the smoke, both pistols out, her coat fluttering behind her. "Target locked!"
Anachiro's eyes twitched at the familiar rhythm of boots approaching fast. All four Glass Slippers spun toward Dorothy—glowing, pulsing, converging.
They formed into one solid cannon and charged.
Dorothy didn't flinch.
She roared as she launched herself forward, diving into the forcefield with a shoulder-first ram. The beam lost—but snapped off-course as the shield flickered under the stress of her entry. The deathray scorched the sky instead of the soldier.
Inside the shield, Dorothy twisted in midair, aiming at Anachiro's face.
BA-BA-BA-BLAM!
Rounds detonated point-blank, cracking through steel and synthetic flesh.
Anachiro's face recoiled. But it wasn't over.
"Disengage, Dorothy!" Red Hood yelled, sprinting toward a fresh position.
Dorothy didn't get the chance.
TWACK!
Anachiro's arm swung wide—her hand slamming into Dorothy's side with bone-rattling force. The pink-haired Nikke flew like a ragdoll, crashing through a concrete pillar.
Her body rolled lifelessly across the dirt.
Anachiro's head tilted and her voice crackled out.
"... t͟h͡ is̸...
i̶s͠ ... ̵g͝ é t͞ t̨in g̵ ... ͢
i͞ rrit́a̛ t͜i͠ n g̢ ..."
She turned her eyes slowly back toward Snow White.
The younger Nikke stood, grit in her jaw, holding a fresh magazine.
"You'll have to do worse," she whispered.
The ground behind her erupted—
"HYAAAAAH!"
Scarlet exploded from the rubble, leaping high into the air, soaring past Snow White as a second volley of anti-air fire surged upward in cover. Her sword glinted under the pale battle-light.
Scarlet snarled as she flew, "Enough of thine petty shoes! These 'Glass Slippers' do but vex me!"
Anachiro's eyes flickered—her mouth twisted in mild confusion. A low hum rose as she flicked a hand, her Glass Slippers snapping in front of her body, forming a shield. She braced for a head-on slash.
But the blow never came.
Scarlet twisted her body midair and landed on top of one of the floating Glass Slippers. With a cry, she drove her blade down through the construct.
The Glass Slipper shrieked, the frame sparking and squeaking as her blade found its mark.
Anachiro's eyes widened—that same half-second flicker of surprise. Her hand whipped forward to swat the Nikke away, but Scarlet had already leapt clear, flipping through the smoke, landing near the wreckage below.
She coughed once and smirked.
"One down... three to go."
The smirk didn't last.
Anachiro blitzed across the distance in a blur of white light.
"SCARLET!" Red Hood's voice cracked through the air—too late.
THUNK!
Anachiro slammed into Scarlet with a shoulder charge that sent her tumbling backward. The Nikke recovered, raising her sword, only to be struck again and again.
Elbow to ribs.
Fist to thigh.
A sickening crunch followed each impact.
Blood sprayed from Scarlet's mouth as she stumbled.
"She's getting torn apart—!" Snow White muttered, raising her rifle and firing again.
Red Hood let loose a barrage of cover fire, too—but Anachiro's remaining Glass Slippers fired down, kicking up dust and rubble, concealing the battlefield again.
Within the haze, Scarlet staggered back, her motions faltering. She twisted, looking for an opening, a pause—anything.
Nothing.
THUNK!
Anachiro's knee slammed into Scarlet's gut, and her legs buckled.
She hit the ground hard, her weapon clattering away.
The three remaining Glass Slippers slowly orbited above her, their eerie light pooling onto the dirt.
Anachiro raised her hand calmly.
"...̷̜̾I͇̓r̛̩̰̦̎͗r̨̮̲͓͝ͅi͎̹͝t̸͇̲͠
a̪͌̕t̯̠̏̓i̸̠̠̾̕
n̸͍͎͌̚g̘͍̑͠...̠͙͑"
The heretic whispered bitterly while the glow intensified, and all three Slippers converged.
Scarlet shut her eyes.
FWWWOOSH—!!!
A piercing beam from an off-angle slammed into Anachiro's flank before the Slippers could fire, blasting her through the air. She twisted, thrown like a ragdoll, her forcefield barely containing the impact. Her body tumbled through the air before crashing into the side of a derelict concrete column.
Smoke burst around the point of impact.
Two slim figures stepped out of the haze near the source of the beam.
"Gretel is pleased," Hansel said softly. "She thought it would be pretty, even if not as strong as that awful woman's."
Scarlet's body jolted slightly as she tried to get up, only to collapse again.
"Blessed... be the blue spirits..." she breathed out, voice fluttering. "Aim... for the Slippers... Not... unbreakable..."
Her head fell back. She didn't rise again.
Hansel hummed lightly, bracing the Cauldron for a follow-up shot. "We shall finish the monster ourselves, then."
Another KA-CHOOM thundered across as a barrage of glowing rounds struck the edges of Anachiro's forcefield, flaring sparks and shaking loose debris from nearby buildings.
Red Hood dashed in, dropping to one knee beside Scarlet and scooping her up onto her back.
"Thanks for the save, Smurfs," she panted, giving the twins a quick, grateful glance. "No idea who you two are, but you just saved our asses. Can you hold out while I evac Shakespeare?"
The twins nodded in unison. "Hansel and Gretel shall remain. Our enemy must be delayed."
Dorothy's voice cut in from behind, limping back into the field with her dress torn and blood soaking her gloves.
"No. I'll take her."
Red Hood paused.
"You're limping," she said.
"You're still fresh," Dorothy countered, reaching for Scarlet. "And we still need your shots."
Red Hood hesitated—then grinned.
"Alright, Snooty—but don't sprain that dainty back of yours."
Dorothy narrowed her eyes. "You're making jokes?! At a time like—!"
RRRRRAAAAAAGGGHHHHH—!
The earth trembled.
From the ruin of collapsed towers and concrete, Anachiro exploded forth—her figure a blur at the raw energy and hatred she was emitting, limbs cracking at strange angles before correcting midair. Her Glass Slippers hovered protectively in front of her like blades of light, shielding her from the majority of Hansel and Gretel's last barrage.
But they hadn't stopped all of it.
Burns sizzled along her torso, the synthetic skin split open, exposing parts of her Goddesium body. Black and red fluids ran across her face and chest like war paint. Yet, even as they looked, the wounds closed, writhing and sealing with unnatural speed.
Red Hood stared, appalled.
"Oh come on—healing too?! That's not fair!"
Hansel's voice echoed flatly over comms. "The Raptures have modified her further. We do not approve of the demon's deceit. It soils Cinderella's memory."
"We will vaporize it."
With a hiss of energy, the Witch's Cauldron roared, belching another beam of white energy, firing directly at Anachiro.
"Snow White!" Red Hood barked, flipping onto an overturned APC. "Lay down some cover! Paint this freak a target!"
Snow White, already setting her rifle, nodded once.
"Copy. Engaging."
As the railgun lit up, Anachiro vanished from the blast radius—teleporting just ahead of impact.
But Hansel had already moved the barrel again, as if she knew.
BOOM!
A second beam crashed just inches from the heretic's new position, grazing her thigh.
She flickered away again—only to be clipped by a third shot near her ribs.
Glass Slippers spun frantically as Anachiro tried to maintain distance, flickering across the battlefield—but the Cauldron followed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Hansel and Gretel were never the most physically imposing of the Grimm models. Not the strongest. Not the fastest. But in combat, together with that cannon, they made even the impossible seem predictable. The Witch's Cauldron wasn't just powerful... it was smart. Or rather, Hansel was. That precognition only happened during battle. It wasn't luck. It was a sixth sense, guiding each turn of the barrel.
Anachiro hissed, but before she could vanish again—
CRACK!
A new volley struck her from the left—Red Hood, sprinting up a wrecked scaffold, sliding under debris and flipping from a broken girder.
"Don't forget about me!"
Three bangs cracked out—one to the side of Anachiro's head, another to her shoulder, and a third right into her stomach. Sparks exploded from the hits before her forcefield could react.
Using the momentum, Red Hood launched herself off a crumbled guard tower, spinning midair and unloading a trio of carefully aimed shots.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
One of the Glass Slippers shattered.
"Hah! Got one!" Red Hood yelled triumphantly.
"Covering!" Snow White shouted, her turrets roaring to life behind her, blasting smoke and missiles that drowned the battlefield.
Through the fog, Anachiro wobbled, then snapped upright, her expression finally twisting into a snarl.
Her voice crawled through static like broken glass.
"̢T͡ h́é̛
r̢͠ę͘ ̴̴́w̵̷̢
i̢͜l̛͠l͏̡ ̴b̷͜ ȩ .̛͘.̴͜.̶ ̢̛
n̨͘̕ò͢ ̨͘͘ḿ̷̀ ơ r̵e̷ ...̀ p̶͡l̴ a̸ y̴i̡n̸͏g͏.̷̨̀ "
She rose into the sky.
Snow White looked up, eyes widening in horror.
"No..."
Anachiro hovered higher and higher until her silhouette stood against the light of the sky, light bleeding from her like an eclipse. The two remaining Glass Slippers twirled together, spinning faster and faster, a vortex of unstable power swirling between them.
Gretel gasped.
Hansel's eyes widened. "Run."
"Run!" she shouted. "Gretel!"
The Witch's Cauldron flickered and de-materialized as Gretel threw herself away from the impact radius.
Snow White didn't hesitate. She ripped the turrets out of the ground, slinging them back onto her back quickly. Red Hood was at her side in an instant, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her toward the closest cover.
"What the hell is she doing!?" Snow White shouted.
"Nothing good!" Red Hood snapped back.
Far above, Anachiro's body pulsed with light.
The twin Slippers released all their stored energy, unleashing a blinding beam of white light, wide as a street and hot enough to boil the air.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!!
The ground erupted. A shockwave obliterated the battlefield in a ripple of force and fire. Buildings vaporized. Metal melted. All remaining mass-produced Nikkes in the radius were erased in a blinding flash.
A crater bloomed where their line once stood.
The very atmosphere crackled and bent under its weight, and then—
Silence.
Then the tremors began.
Dust surged through the makeshift medical outpost like a tidal wave. The steel supports groaned, and tents flapped violently. The shrieking boom faded to a low, deep ringing.
Inside the medical tent—
"—Ghhhk—!"
The lieutenant's eyes snapped open, pain flaring like a dagger through his ribs. But it wasn't the pain that yanked him back into reality.
It was the light.
He turned his head weakly toward the blast zone. There, between him and annihilation, stood Rapunzel.
Her staff was planted into the floor, both hands gripping the shaft as hard as she could. A soft, holy glow radiated outward, forming a dome-like barrier that shimmered with layered energy.
The edges were cracking.
"Rapunzel!" he coughed, voice ragged. "Are you—?!"
She didn't even look back. "I'm fine! Stay down until it's over—!"
Her voice was steady, but he saw the strain in her shoulders. Her knees quivered slightly. Hair whipped behind her like a silver halo as the white blast raged just meters away.
The lieutenant tried to push himself up, regretting it immediately as pain surged in his chest.
But even through the haze, he could see them.
All around.
Mass-Produced Nikkes, wounded and huddled in clusters under the barrier. Their helmets were off, faces exposed—many dirt-streaked, bloodied, some so out of it that they could barely process what they were seeing. One had no left arm. Another had burn marks crisscrossing her abdomen. Another sat with a shattered leg, mouth agape in silence.
They were all staring.
Not at him.
At the beam. At the raw annihilation outside the dome. If they stepped out, they'd all be vaporized.
Across the tent, a flicker of prismatic light caught his eye. He turned.
Siren, her body curled in on itself, trembled quietly. Her hands clutched her partially-healed thigh. Her irises flickered like fractured glass—rainbow trails, reacting to the destruction outside.
"...Siren?" he asked.
She didn't respond, but he saw her eyes twitch. She was conscious and terrified.
Near her was Scarlet.
Smoke still rose from the destroyed parts of her armour. A hole had been torn straight through one side of her hip, and her shoulder was scorched black where the flesh had sizzled. She wasn't moving—but she was breathing.
Just metres away, Dorothy, her eyes bloodshot and face coated in ash, leaned upright against a piece of collapsed tent scaffold. Her lips were parted slightly, stunned.
Finally—
"...Lieutenant..." came a soft, cracked voice.
He turned again.
Rose.
She was beside him. Closer than he'd realized.
Her body was a mess. Burn holes patterned her legs, and her abdomen still carried the gaping hole where Anachiro had nearly split her in half. Rapunzel's healing had saved her, but only just.
Her mouth opened slightly. "Did... did you see that?"
Their eyes met.
Hers were wide. And frightened.
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Instead, he looked away, down at the floor, at the blood on his palms.
"..."
Not her blood.
His.
And somehow... that made it worse.
Because it was his blood that started this.
His orders. His plan.
His hope that it might be different this time.
But it wasn't a plan, was it?
It was just another way to run.
Every decision, every shortcut, every compromise—he made them.
Every step since the beginning has led to this. He wasn't fighting for redemption. He wasn't pushing for victory. He had been running, dressing it up as leadership, calling it strategy. The truth was simpler. Cowardice wrapped in orders. Fear is buried under responsibility.
And every time the fallout caught up to him, someone else bled for it.
Not just the squad.
Not just the Nikkes.
All of humanity.
He would've let the entire species die just to make sure no one remembered what he did. No one to dig through the wreckage and point at him. No one to say it started here—with him.
If they lost now, he'd bury them all just to hide the truth.
But the thing is—he did want to be remembered. Just not like this.
Not as a war criminal in uniform. Not as the man who tore apart families and left behind burned-out survivors with nothing to their names. Not as the face people would curse as they buried their friends.
He didn’t want the statues torn down. He wanted them built.
He wanted to be mourned like in those magazines, books, those old movies, those television shows from before everything fell apart. Happy families. Clean graves. Someone telling another that he was a good man, that he saved people. That someone like him could be loved.
But that was never going to happen.
The resentment would outlive him. The hatred would burn hotter than any eulogy. They’d remember, alright—just not the way he wanted.
And if they lost now, he’d bury them all just to hide the truth.
And if they won?
Then he'd vanish again, wouldn't he? Slip further into that despair. Disappear into the next excuse. Pretend none of it mattered.
That maybe, in the end, it wasn't really his fault.
But that wasn't allowed.
"..."
You don't get to die yet.
Not until you fix everything.
Notes:
Lots to unpack here besides the combat sequence.
I'm not too good at choreographing multiple characters fighting one being at the same time, so I kind of had to take in and out a few, if you know what I'm saying—but we can chalk this up to the corruption code being much stronger in this timeline due to the Lts... influence... giving Anachiro, despite her state, the ability to take on multiple Goddesses at the same time and come out victorious.
Chapter 38: Vol 5.6: Your Old Mistakes
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
[End of Volume 5]
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Moments Later
The world was quiet... too quiet.
That ringing in her ears must've been the only thing keeping her tethered to the present.
Red Hood's eyes blinked open, the colour palette of her HUD coming back online like a flickering neon sign. For a moment, all she saw was white haze. A hum in her bones. Dust in her lungs.
Then—
"Ah... fuck."
The numbing sensation across her entire right side finally registered. She shifted, instinctively reaching over to push herself up with both hands—
Her torso lurched.
Her right side gave no resistance or feeling.
Her gaze shifted.
Where her right arm should've been—nothing, a mess of cauterized wires, melted plating, and a smoking shoulder joint that twitched, mocking her.
"...Oh. Oh great," she said aloud, as if someone was playing a sick joke. "Awesome. Fantastic. Just what I needed. Day one outta bed and this is how it ends."
With a snort, she kicked at the ground and forced herself up to her feet, staggering slightly. Every joint screamed. Her vision swam in reds and blacks, but she stood.
She looked around.
Her rifle—Wolfsbane—lay half-buried in a pile of shattered stone and sand not far off. She limped toward it, cradling it with her remaining arm. It'd be harder to use now. Way harder. Even her half-joking bravado cracked at the thought of firing the damned thing one-handed.
Still. No one else was going to pick it up.
"Alright..." she muttered to herself, glancing around. "Hansel? Gretel? Snow? Anyone not turned into ash pancakes?"
A harsh wind swept across the wreckage of the battlefield. The entire radius, as far as she could see—maybe 500 meters—was glassed. It looked like someone had dropped a nuke made of sunlight.
Structures? Gone.
The makeshift bunkers? Gone.
Even the Raptures that had distracted her all the way here? Gone.
Just blackened sand, warped metal, and the skeletons of buildings.
Red Hood's throat caught.
Then—
"Guhk—"
She spun.
A faint cough. Someone was choking.
From beneath a dune of ash and sediment, a pale hand reached up—and Snow White emerged, coughing, eyes clenched shut, spitting sand.
She looked like she'd just been buried alive. Her suit was shredded in places, one of her thighs was skewered with a sharp piece of rebar. Dirt and ash streaked her usually pristine hair.
"Snow!" Red Hood stumbled over, cradling Wolfsbane in her good arm. "Jesus, you're alive? That's a frickin' miracle."
Snow White spat again. "Sand tastes like... Like garbage. Why does it taste like garbage...?"
"Because everything around us just got cooked." Red Hood knelt beside her, checking her over. "Piece in your leg, yeah... but you're mostly fine. Good enough to limp."
Snow White's gaze darted to her arm—or lack thereof.
Her mouth parted. "Your—"
"Yeah. I noticed," Red Hood cut her off, giving a lopsided grin. "It's gone. Probably disintegrated halfway into orbit. Good riddance, too. That arm always gave me trouble. Can't hold a rifle with two hands anymore, though—now that's annoying."
Snow White blinked at her. "You're... not panicking."
"I'll panic when we're not standing in the middle of a glass crater, sweetheart."
They both sat there for a moment, the sound of the wind the only company.
Then Red Hood glanced up again. "We gotta find Hansel and Gretel. They were still fighting when that bunker buster beam hit."
Snow White frowned, sitting up stiffly. Her leg spasmed, and she winced. "They were near the Cauldron. They probably got vaporized with everything else..."
She trailed off.
Then her tone dipped. "Red Hood... Anachiro's still out there."
Red Hood froze.
Snow White swallowed. "She lost two Slippers and still did that. What if she'd had all four? What if she hadn't been distracted? That wasn't even her trying. I-I think that was her playing with us."
Red Hood scowled, spitting into the glassed sand.
"She's distracted, yeah," Red said simply. "Split down the middle. I don't know what they did to her, but you saw it too, didn't you? She's not just some brainless Rapture."
Snow White nodded slowly. "...Cinderella."
"Exactly," Red grunted. "Some fragments are still in there, trying to steer the ship. And then you've got whatever corrupted mess is trying to hijack the wheel. That's why she's talking in glitched whatever-the-hell and doesn't finish the job half the time."
"Two people," Snow White murmured. "Fighting inside one body."
"Maybe more," Red muttered. "Either way—"
ZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRAAAAHHH—!!
A beam of energy tore through the air from the centre of the crater.
Both Nikkes dropped instantly to the floor.
"WHAT DO WE DO!?" Snow White shouted.
"What do you think!? We ENGAGE!" Red Hood barked.
The beam vanished and silence followed.
Red Hood gritted her teeth, pushing herself up to a crouch. Wolfsbane was already aimed, her eye twitching with strain.
They inched forward.
And there, in the heart of the crater—
Anachiro hovered just above the ground, her body hunched, arms trembling.
Eyes wild—no, different. They flickered from blood-red to sea-blue and back again.
Her Glass Slippers fired again—one into the sky, another into the dirt, another somewhere into the ruins. There appeared to be no control over... anything that she did.
Screaming.
She clutched her head, writhing in place, beams firing wildly in all directions, weaker and weaker with each burst.
Then—
THUNK!
She collapsed.
Straight down. Crashing to the scorched ground with a heavy thud, kicking up a puff of dust.
The lights on her Glass Slippers faded, and she appeared to close her eyes, drifting off to wherever.
Red Hood lowered her rifle.
She whispered, "...The hell was that?"
Snow White stared.
"I... I don't know..."
ZHHHHMMM—!
A piercing hum lanced outward.
The beam struck clean through Anachiro's core.
It ruptured, a shockwave of smoke and fire bursting outward. The red-eyed imposter twitched.
Her mouth opened as if to speak—
But no sound came.
Her knees buckled.
Her body collapsed like a doll losing its strings.
A faint hiss escaped her lips as the final embers of life flickered out, her crimson irises dimming into dull, dead glass.
Cinderella—the real one—stood, one hand trembling in front of her face, the other extended outward where the Glass Slipper still smoked. Her breathing came ragged and uneven, each inhale hitching with pain, each exhale drenched in disbelief.
Her knees buckled too—but she caught herself, barely, falling to one side, hand planting hard into the reflective ground.
All four Glass Slippers circled her, protective now rather than offensive, their soft hum offering no threat.
That last attack from Anachiro—the other her—had nearly killed them all. It was only because Anachiro had tried to end it all at once, burning through her energy, that Cinderella could finally, finally wrestle back control.
But there was no relief in her expression.
No celebration or triumphant cheer of victory.
Instead, Cinderella brought a shaking hand to her mouth. Her whole body quaked.
She whispered under her breath, a mantra she didn't realize she was repeating—
"I won... I won... I won..."
"Commander... I won..."
Her voice cracked.
She saw it. Again.
She always saw it.
The crimson light behind her imposter's eyes. Her fingers wrapped around his throat. The spasm in his legs as they left the ground.
Her hands pounded against the barrier between them—her prison—her screams were useless.
"You want to kill me? Then do it!"His voice rasped. Bloody foam clung to his lips. "That's an order! Snap my neck, right now. It'd be so easy for you, right?"
"NO!" Cinderella's fists struck the glass. "STOP IT! PLEASE, DON'T GOAD HER!"
But the body didn't stop.
The impostor's grip tightened.
"Prove it to me," he choked.
She gasped as he sucked in what little air he could.
"Prove to me what you all are—"
She could see it so vividly—the veins on his forehead, the way he trembled not with fear, but pure rage and hatred.
"Prove to me that Nikkes are nothing but programming."
Something broke inside her that day. Something sharp.
Her screams turned into shaky sobs, her hands clawing at the inside of her prison.
"I'M NOT!" she wailed. "I'M NOT JUST THAT! I'M NOT—please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just forgive me—I didn't—"
The lieutenant's voice came again, softer now, his chest struggling.
"That you're all just—"
"STOP—"
"—just mindless robots—"
SNAP.
Cinderella gasped.
She saw it again.
He died.
By her hands. Her body...
Even if it wasn't her behind the wheel, it had still been her body.
She looked down at her hands, shaking, with phantom blood that wasn't really there. She fell backward, onto her knees, unable to breathe properly.
The mirror around her rippled, showing the outside world dimly.
Her body must've collapsed outside.
She wasn't dead... not yet. The world hadn't vanished. Not yet.
But Anachiro—her imposter, her parasite, her shadow—was gone.
At least for now.
Cinderella turned her gaze to where Anachiro's broken form had landed—charred and ruined, the core shattered in the same place her own lay. That made sense. They shared the same body. There was no other outcome.
She felt bile rise in her throat.
She gagged but didn't vomit.
Instead, she dropped fully to the floor, glass slippers rotating down into standby mode, like petals closing in the dark.
She brought her head to her knees.
Her voice was barely audible.
"...What do I do now...?"
She didn't know.
She didn't even know if she had control anymore.
How long had it been? Weeks? Months? This timeline was blurred by screams and static.
She should report to Abe. She should... should do something.
But the moment she thought of the lieutenant—
Of his eyes—
That memory—that final second—
She shook her head violently.
"No... no, he hates me. He has to."
She had proved it to him.
That Nikkes were just programming.
That she couldn't stop herself.
That she was exactly what he had thought of them.
"...He died hating me," she whispered.
She gripped her shoulders, curling tighter into herself, knees pulled up, head buried between her arms.
Glass Slippers hovered silently above her.
And the mirror realm remained quiet—until she began to cry.
And she sobbed.
Slow, heavy sobs.
All she had wanted—all—was to reach him.
To help that bitter, angry lieutenant. To be near him, hear him, maybe even... help him shed that deep, tangled ugliness he kept locked in his chest. She thought, after the space elevator mission—after working with her idols—maybe then...
Maybe they'd talk. Maybe he'd see her.
Instead, she had crushed his throat.
Instead, she'd burned bridges, broken bodies, and harmed humanity to the point of near-extinction. Even now, she could feel it like fire under her skin: her squad's injuries, her commander's corpse, the ruins of the surface.
The Ark was in hiding.
Goddess Squad was scattered and wounded.
She clenched her fists tighter. Her eyes burned.
And worse than all of that, he had died hating her.
The final thing he ever said was to prove it.
Prove they were nothing but programming.
And maybe she did.
She looked up, eyes bloodshot, at the mirror.
Beyond it—through it—was her body. Her real body. If she just... reached out...
Her hand trembled slightly.
If she reached through, she could regain control again. Step back into the real world. Face them. All of them.
But—
Would they even accept her anymore?
Would anyone?
Then the voice came.
"—No one will."
Her voice, but not at the same time, echoed.
Cinderella jolted upright.
Her head snapped toward the far edge of the mirror realm, lay Anachiro's corpse lay.
Only—
Its mouth wasn't moving.
But the voice kept coming in a strange, distorted manner. Like an old record player trying to produce sound but failing.
"No one will accept you. You know that. The things you've done—your body is tainted, Cinderella."
Her face contorted in disgust, anger overtaking shock.
"You're dead," she spat. "Stay that way."
She extended her hand. One of her Glass Slippers lit up—
BOOM—!
The beam lanced through the body of the corpse, blasting it onto its back. A searing hole was ripped into its chest.
Still, the voice kept talking.
"You only won because of extraordinary circumstances..."
"I won," she hissed. "This is my body. My mind. You're gone."
"You think you had strength?"The voice cracked and twitched." You think I couldn't take full control because you were strong? No. It was never your will, Cinderella. It was your NIMPH—it was being destroyed..."
Cinderella blinked.
"...What?"
"Your NIMPH."
A soft hum echoed.
"Your precious commander... He bled on you, remember? When you killed him. His blood soaked into your NIMPH. And it carried... something."
"No..." Her voice trembled.
"His hatred, his spite—whatever inside of him—it poisoned me. Little by little."
The world seemed to spin around her. Her breath caught.
"He...?"
"That was your one saving grace. His blood. It ate away at me until I couldn't hold the reins anymore."
"...Stop talking—"
"But you were always just a doll. I would've destroyed the lieutenant properly the first time if I had known. The Queen will be disappointed, but..."
The voice began to glitch again, skipping like a corrupted file.
"...still lives..."
Cinderella's heart stopped.
Her blue eyes widened.
"He still lives. Somehow. Your cockroach of a commander refuses to die."
"No..."
"The Queen is disappointed in us... but there's nothing more I can do. You win this time."
Silence.
The corpse didn't move.
The voice faded like a dying signal.
Cinderella's hand covered her mouth, eyes trembling. Not from fear. But from something deeper.
"...He's alive...?"
She could barely comprehend it. Her emotions cracked again, rushing in all at once.
He hated her, but he was alive.
He wanted her dead—but he didn't die.
And then—
THUD.
THUD.
THUD—
The unsteady sound of boots on scorched terrain echoed through the mirror. Her head snapped toward the sound, toward the mirrored veil that showed the real world beyond.
A figure was making its way down the jagged slope of the glassed crater. Step by laboured step. His breaths were short, each one a visible tremor.
"!!!!"
His uniform was torn, cybernetics glinting faintly under torn synthetic skin. He gripped his side like it hurt to keep standing, but his eyes...
Those eyes hadn't changed.
Behind him, distant voices echoed.
"Hey! Boss!! Get back!"
"Don't go near her!" Snow White added.
More footsteps were approaching.
But he kept walking.
And he was walking toward her.
Cinderella stumbled back from the mirror, a numb weight crashing over her chest.
Was this it?
Was this justice?
Her first victim came to finish the job?
The horrors she created... returning to collect their dues.
It would make sense.
After all, hadn't she already written her own ending?
A cursed creation kills her prince. And in return, he slays the monster in the shell of the girl he once trusted.
Poetic.
She looked to the mirror once more, her reflection trembling.
She took one breath.
Then another.
Then—
She reached out.
Her fingers passed through the glass like smoke. There wasn't any resistance this time.
So she stepped forward.
Her boots clicked faintly, crossing the threshold. She braced herself for pain. For judgment. For a bullet. For anything.
And then—
Light.
Blinding, pure white. It wrapped around her like a shroud.
When it faded—
She lay in the heart of the crater.
The heat from the scorched earth still lingered, but the Glass Slippers at her side had gone dark. No hum. No glow. Just scorched chrome and dying circuitry.
Her chest rose and fell.
Her skin was pale.
And her body couldn't move.
But her eyes were open.
And in the sky above, she could just barely make out a figure.
He was still coming.
Closer now.
The lieutenant—her commander—was clutching his midsection, but his expression remained unreadable. There was no trace of hatred or rage in it...
Something else.
Cinderella coughed blood, touching her lips, but she didn't look away.
Maybe she had just enough strength left for one more thing.
Just one more moment.
One more conversation.
She blinked slowly, tears forming again.
A shadow fell across her face.
As her vision blurred and her nerves went quiet, she prayed not to be forgiven.
Just to be heard.
Please...
Let me have my final words.
To the prince who freed me.
Boots crunched on scorched glass and molten sand. The sound made her turn her head slightly.
He stopped beside her
And in his right hand was the termination pistol.
She exhaled weakly. "Commander..."
His eyes widened slightly at the sound of her voice.
"...Is it over?" she asked softly.
He looked around. The burning crater. The smoking remains of what was once a battlefield. Sand and ash where there used to be steel.
"...Yeah," he said at last, voice strained. "It's over. You... burned yourself out trying to kill everyone."
Her lips trembled. She tried to laugh, but it came out as a gasp. "...Then thank you..."
He took a step closer.
She smiled softly. "You helped me win..."
He stopped.
"...I'm so grateful," she murmured, "to have had you... as my commander."
He stared.
And then, like something out of a dream, he muttered under his breath:
"Your eyes... they're blue."
She nodded slowly. "I won," she said. "Thanks to you... I beat her."
A shudder passed through his chest. He looked away, as if something inside him cracked all over again. His hand on the termination pistol twitched.
"That's nice," he whispered.
Click.
He cocked the weapon.
She didn't even flinch.
"...It's okay," she said quietly, eyes fixed on his face.
His brows furrowed.
"My body... and my beautiful Glass Slippers... they did horrible things," she continued. "So many unforgivable things. To you... to them... to everyone."
Her hand trembled against the scorched ground. "I don't mind if you hate me... if you hate what I became. I just..."
Her voice cracked.
"...You're a beautiful soul. I always thought that. Even if you were angry, even if you hated us..."
She was crying again, softly, without shame. "...Because you cared so much, it hurt. You were burdened with so much ugliness, and I was one of them. I know that."
Her eyes fluttered.
"I just wanted to see you smile at least once..."
His hand trembled at his side. The pistol rose.
He raised it, pointing it directly at her forehead.
She didn't blink or move.
She simply looked at him, calmly, accepting her fate.
"...Thank you," she whispered. "My prince. Thank you for freeing me."
".........."
His expression didn't change at first, but something behind his eyes shifted.
His face turned to stone, trying to lock in whatever emotion trembled beneath the surface.
It had to be done. He knew that. There was no escape from this moment. If she lived, the Ark would hunt her down. The Central Government would demand her execution. He'd be branded a traitor for even hesitating.
This wasn't mercy.
It was a necessity.
But as he looked down at her, those bright blue eyes no longer tainted with corruption, something old and cruel stirred in his memory.
He remembered Orla. The mission two years ago. Melee Squad.
The weight of the pistol then had felt the same. Standing over someone who'd trusted him. Someone he'd used. Someone who'd smiled at him one last time.
He had pulled the trigger.
Back then, it was easy.
They were tools. It was a procedure. Nikkes weren't people. They were weapons—replaceable. Break one, requisition another.
So why did his hand shake now?
Why, now, did the thought of pulling the trigger make his insides twist?
He thought about running.
He always ran. That's what he did best, wasn't it?
He didn't stay and mourn. He ran from the slums with Vos. He ran from Orla. He ran from what he did to Rose and Scarlet...
The only time he didn't run was when Anachiro snapped his neck.
And even that wasn't the end.
He'd always told himself he couldn't do something, that he needed to stop:
"One more mission. One more fight. Then I'll stop. Then I'll rest."
But the truth was uglier. He didn't know how to stop. He didn't know how to own up to what he was. He had no idea how to be anything but what they made him.
A cold, lying coward.
He stared down at Cinderella.
"I'm sorry," he said, hollow. "This has to be done. They'll come for you. They'll keep coming. If I don't do this, they'll call me a traitor, a collaborator. They'll kill us both."
She just closed her eyes and smiled, a single tear tracing down the edge of her face.
"It's okay," she said. "I was never going to make it out. At least... at least you lived. And that's enough."
The barrel lowered by a few millimetres.
She had lived with Anachiro in her head and fought back, inch by inch, for control. Hurt everyone, and yet still smiled at him.
She wasn't running.
Why couldn't he be like that?
Why did he survive these failures, the betrayal, the resurrection, only to crawl back into this pit and repeat the cycle again?
What did a man like him have left to offer?
He raised the gun again.
But not toward her.
With one last breath, he turned the barrel under his chin.
Her eyes opened wide as horror overtook her face.
"Wait—no—Commander—!"
Too late.
BANG!
Year: ????
Time: Afternoon
The soft hum of the city filtered in through the cracked-open window—distant horns, murmuring traffic, the muffled roll of thunder from a storm far off. Inside the Colonel's apartment, everything was... quiet.
The child—barely eleven but unnervingly composed—sat upright at the dinner table, mechanically slicing into his roast chicken. He chewed neatly, politely. No swinging legs. No humming or whining.
His eyes rarely left his plate, and when they did, it was never for long.
Vos leaned back in his chair. He watched the boy for a moment with an unreadable expression before casually snapping his fingers.
"Surprise quiz."
The boy paused his chewing for half a second, then resumed, slowly. He said nothing, but Vos didn't need a prompt. He knew the boy always listened.
"What do you value most in life?"
The knife and fork stilled. A swallow. Then, without even looking up:
"Me."
Vos blinked. "Yourself?"
The boy finally raised his eyes, just enough to meet his caretaker's.
"I'm the only one I can trust. So I value myself above all else."
There was a brief silence.
Vos studied him.
"Above all else," he echoed, his tone unreadable. "More than those magazines you like reading?"
The boy nodded.
"More than that show you keep watching? The one with the girl in the sailor suit?"
"I don't watch Sailor Moon. It simply came up once, and I never watched it again. However, if you're talking about the other shows I watch, then yes," the boy replied flatly, reaching for a glass of water.
"Why?"
The boy took a sip.
"Because no one else is going to do the hard things for me. Or even the small things. If I don't eat, I die. If I get sick, no one's going to patch me up. I've had to fix my broken arm with duct tape before. That kind of thing doesn't go away."
Another pause.
"People say they'll help. But most are just trying to survive, too. So they lie. They give you just enough to get something out of you. Then they disappear. Or sell you."
His voice never raised. Not once. No anger. No sadness.
Vos frowned. "And coming here? Living under my roof?"
The boy stabbed a piece of broccoli, eating it without complaining.
"It's better than starving in the slums," he said. "I can eat here. Sleep. Learn things. You're strange, but you don't ask much from me. Not yet."
Vos gave a short chuckle. "I'm strange?"
"You took one look at me after I attempted to bash Lieutenant Colonel Hale's skull in and decided to take me into your care after I was restrained. That's strange."
The Colonel grinned, but there was unease in his eyes now. He leaned forward, folding his hands.
"What if you find a better situation than this one?" he asked. "Would you run off, just like that?"
"Yes."
There wasn't even a delay.
Vos raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
The boy's expression didn't change. He didn't meet his eyes this time. Instead, he stared down at the plate.
"Because I value myself more than anything. If something's bad for me... I leave. If I think it'll get worse, I'll run."
He paused before going back to eating.
"I don't want to get hurt again."
Notes:
Umm, I need to get my thoughts in order. The intermission and Volume 6 will be released at a later date.
Thoughts?
Chapter 39: Intermission: Better Than This
Notes:
This chapter is specifically used to separate volumes from one another, as well as act as a resting place/bookmark for the readers.
It also serves as a brief Q&A section, where readers can ask questions about the story as it unfolds.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Intermission V - Better Than This (Lieutenant ██████, New Goddess)
Ever since I was a kid, every decision I made was... measured.
If it didn't benefit me—short-term, long-term, didn't matter—I didn't do it.
Emotions? Suppressed.
Attachments? Dead weight.
I knew how to weigh cost versus gain better than anyone else, scraping by in the slums. And I used that. Ruthlessly.
Sometimes, it meant picking the right moment to scavenge.
Sometimes, it meant picking the right idiot to throw under the bus.
There was this one kid—I don't even remember his name—I let him tag along with me. Taught him how to lift canned food from the stalls. I let him get a bit too confident. Next time, once the police came, he got caught.
I didn't.
I never did.
That was the rule. Always have someone more visible, more emotional, more reckless in front of you. Use them. Walk away clean. Survive.
That's what put me above the rest. That's what made me different. While other kids cried over someone getting hauled away or beaten up, I kept walking. While they got caught up in the now, I was already planning the next move.
I knew the world for what it was.
Cold.
And I became the same.
That mindset... It followed me everywhere. When I met Colonel Vos, I didn't see him as a saviour. He wasn't a father figure, or whatever nonsense kids dream about. He was a path to more food, safety, you name it.
I walked through that door because it had four walls and a roof. That's all.
So when he said he'd sponsor me and get me into the military academy, I said yes. I didn't care about the strings. I'd clean toilets with a toothbrush if it meant I didn't go hungry. Lucky for me, he saw something else.
I got placed into the accelerated program at the academy.
It probably scared them a little, how fast I climbed. How little I spoke. How good I was at what they taught. Tactical decision-making, logistics, and planning.
It was easy.
They made it sound complicated, like war was some grand philosophy. It wasn't. It was just resource management with higher stakes. It was the slums, but with prep kids and rich nepo-babies.
Another system to beat, and I was good at systems.
I rose fast because I played the game better than anyone else. I didn't let distractions get in the way. No friendships, no rivalries, no emotions... And it worked. It always worked. That was my proof.
That I didn't need to change.
That this way of thinking—cold, pragmatic, utilitarian—was right.
I was a survivalist. A tactician. A manipulator, if I needed to be, and I didn't feel bad about it. Not once. Because the world doesn't care if you cry. It doesn't care if you're lonely. It only cares if you're standing by the end.
So I didn't change. The world rewarded me for that.
And then... the Raptures came.
And everything I'd built, everything I knew, everything I was certain of—collapsed like a house of cards.
Why?
Why the hell did it all go so wrong?
Why did everything, after all that effort, go so far downhill?
It started with that stupid fucking Melee Squad experimental project.
I've killed before. Ordered it. Directed it. I've watched people get torn apart, and I've even gotten others killed on purpose to meet mission goals.
It was all justified.
So why—why the hell was this any different?
Why couldn't I stomach it?
I was supposed to be better than this. I was built to be better than this. If a mission required my subordinates to die, so be it. That's the job. That's what I was trained to accept.
Nikkes weren't even human anymore. They were weapons. Walking drones shaped like girls with dead eyes and recycled parts. That's what they were. So why did I start feeling sick every time I looked at one?
The mission was clear from the beginning. The higher-ups didn't sugarcoat it when I got the assignment.
Increase the difficulty of every mission subtly and slowly. Stretch them thinner, push their limits, watch who broke and who rose. Eventually, they'd fall one by one. The final survivor—the best one—would be harvested and converted into a Grimms model.
That Grimms model would be my legacy.
All I had to do was keep the test going.
...But I couldn't see it through.
Why?
Why did I do that?
Why did I pull Nia aside that day?
It was a cloudy afternoon. We were set up to patrol one of the more infested sectors and eliminate the Raptures there, and I told the squad to prepare as usual. But I stopped Nia before they all broke off
"Hold back a minute," I said.
She turned, confused at first, but still smiling softly.
"Sir? Is this about my last duel performance? If it's about the jump I made, I promise I cleared the enemy, just didn't land as intended—"
"No," I said flatly. "It's not that."
I tapped on my tablet, accessing the logs. I wasn't supposed to show her this. Hell, I don't even know what the hell I was thinking.
"I just want to test something."
She tilted her head. "Like a sim test? Here? Now?"
I shook my head. "Melee Squad's a sham."
She blinked. "What?"
"It's a data collection program." My voice stayed steady. I don't even know how. "Every mission is designed to increase difficulty. One by one, you're all meant to die. They're testing for who adapts. The final survivor gets converted into a Grimms model."
Her eyes twitched. I remember that.
Then her hand went to her temple. "Wait—what are you..."
I kept talking... I shouldn't have.
"They needed real stress responses. That's why supplies have been in short supply and maintenance has been inconsistent. I'm intentionally depriving you all of these to see how you perform under these new conditions."
"Stop," she said, louder now, voice cracking.
"I just needed the data. You weren't supposed to know."
"Shut up!"
I paused. She was shaking, and her sword hand was trembling.
She looked like she was going to cry.
"This isn't... this isn't a joke, right?" she asked.
I looked her dead in the eyes.
"It's the truth. Though you won't remember. I'm going to shut you down now and wipe your memory. It was a solid session."
She stepped back. Then forward. Then—
THUNK.
Pain shot up my ribs. My lungs refused to work. I'd hit the ground hard.
When I opened my eyes, she was on top of me, sword unsheathed.
"You'll get us all killed! Die!" she shouted.
I don't remember much after that. Just flashes. Sirens. Shouting. Rose and Scarlet bursting in. Blood.
And Nia—
Nia's head tilting. That snap in her eyes. The Mind Switch.
They killed her, Rose and Scarlet, I mean. One of them decapitated her.
The brass called it an "incident." Another case of a Nikke Mind Switching. But I knew the truth. I caused the switch.
Lying there in the med-bay after, patched together, half-numb from drugs and shock, I replayed it.
Her face.
Her tears.
The way she looked at me before she snapped, like I was the one who betrayed everything she believed in.
And I had.
I was her officer. Her supposed leader. Someone she looked up to. Who she followed into battle. Who promised them all they'd live to see the next mission if they followed orders...
But it was all a lie.
She felt betrayed.
She looked betrayed.
Like a person.
They all looked like people. Talked like people. Cried like people.
Emoted like people.
And it horrified me.
Because I wasn't supposed to feel anything.
Not guilt. Not regret. Not fear.
But when Nia looked at me like that—like I was the monster and she was just a girl trying to survive—
It made me want to run.
And I did.
A few months later, I abandoned the project by faking my death.
I knew what I was doing.
Running.
Something so insignificant shouldn't have affected me. Being almost murdered by a Mind Switched Nikke? It shouldn't have been a big deal.
It happens all the time.
But it wasn't just that.
It was the way she turned.
It was because of me.
It was because they weren't tools.
And that realization horrified me.
I didn't want to face it.
I didn't want to face them.
What was I doing?
I stood there, silent, the heat of the crater still simmering against my boots. My shadow stretched long over her collapsed body—Cinderella, lying still, her breathing shallow, Glass Slippers powered down beside her. My cybernetic fingers gripped the termination pistol, locking it into position.
What am I exactly?
The barrel hovered a breath's distance above her forehead.
All I had to do was squeeze.
One pull. That was it.
She wouldn't resist. I could see it in her eyes.
"...I'm so grateful...to have had you... as my commander."
Grateful?
Why?
Why would she be grateful? What did I do to earn that?
I should've pulled the trigger then and there—should've ended it like I was ordered to. Like I deserved to. She was a danger. She'd killed people. Her body had rained hell on entire cities. Even now, she was a liability. Even now, the Ark's brass would hunt her. They'd lock her away, tear her apart, study her like an insect. And for what? So that I could hesitate a few seconds longer?
"...You're a beautiful soul. I always thought that..."
What the hell did she know?
What the fuck did she know?
There's nothing beautiful inside me.
There's just... nothing. A hollow child in a patched-up body. That's all I've ever been. What the hell kind of person thinks this is beautiful?
She didn't understand.
She didn't understand what I'd done. The people I'd used. The lives I'd wrecked. I was the reason Red Shoes corrupted her in the first place. I let that happen. I allowed humanity to fall this far. Because of my silence. Because of my cowardice.
I made my choices and they bled the world dry.
Why couldn't she just hate me?
Just hate me, dammit.
Spit on me. Curse me. Break down into tears and scream. Make me feel like the villain I am. Make it easier. Make it make sense. Don't just look at me like that—like I matter. Like I'm worth understanding.
Please don't ever love me.
I don't even know what understanding is. I don't know what comfort is supposed to feel like. I don't know empathy. I don't know forgiveness. All I know is control, leverage, and pressure points.
All I know is how to stay alive, how to use others, how to get the outcome I need.
I know how to detach. How to forget. How to shove everything into a little black box and leave it there to rot.
But this...
This hurt.
I didn't want to get hurt again.
But it all hurts now.
Her eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. Wide open. Calm. Trusting. She closed them slowly, not even resisting, not even flinching, as I raised the pistol to her forehead.
She accepted it.
And I almost pulled the trigger.
I would've.
I should've.
But then—
If I turned the gun around—
If I turned it on myself, maybe it would all finally stop hurting.
No more Scarlet. No more Rose. No more explaining to them what Melee Squad really was. No more watching what they'll do to Cinderella. No more watching her become a test subject.
No more guilt.
No more betrayal.
No more thinking of humanity spitting on my grave.
Just silence.
Just peace.
I wanted it gone.
I wanted the pain gone.
I wanted to stop feeling altogether.
"..."
I wanted to be more than this.
I wanted something else. Something I never had.
I wanted to know what it meant to be human.
I wanted to laugh like I'd seen in those old shows I'd watch. I wanted a living room, a dinner table, a place to go home to. I wanted kids, a family, loved ones—someone to live with for the rest of my life.
I wanted to belong somewhere without needing to manipulate my way into it.
I wanted to be loved.
I wanted to smile and not feel like I was faking it.
But it was so damn scary.
"...Thank you," she whispered. "My prince. Thank you for freeing me."
And I just stood there, my hand shaking, my brain screaming, my chest tightening with every passing moment.
Why must I be this sick stain on humanity?
Why must I still be here, while better people are gone?
I looked down at her. Her breathing was shallow. Her lips slightly parted. She was ready.
She trusted me. Even now. Especially now.
And that broke me.
I lowered the pistol. Or... I tried to.
My arm twitched.
Then, without thinking, I flipped it around and put the barrel under my chin.
And closed my eyes.
BANG!
But I didn't die.
Something slammed into my side like a truck—hard enough to knock the wind out of me and throw off my aim. The shot fired harmlessly into the sky. I hit the ground hard, my shoulder grinding against scorched ground.
The pistol tumbled a few meters away.
"No..." I muttered. "Please stop..."
Why wouldn't they just let me go?
My ribs screamed in pain, my thoughts blurred. I didn't want to move anymore. I didn't want to breathe. The world should've let me end it. After everything—after all the death, the lies, the betrayals, the shitstorm I engineered and survived—it should've just let me go.
Just one more act of selfishness. One more final choice.
Please, let me have this.
Let the Nikkes hate me. Let them cry. Let them choke on their fake emotions, on their fake affection.
Let them call me a monster. I deserve it. I want that.
I'm so sorry, Rose, I can't—I don't want to talk to you—I can't.
Please... just let me disappear.
Footsteps.
Fast, frantic—boots skidding down the steep sides of the crater.
"STOP HIM!" Red Hood's voice shouted. "SNOW, THE GUN—GET THE DAMN GUN!"
Why are they doing this?
Why care?
You're machines. You're not even—
I reached for the pistol, fingertips brushing the side of the grip. But just as I closed around it, a weight collapsed on top of me. A soft, dainty hand wrapped around my wrist.
"Stop—please," came Cinderella's voice.
Her arms wrapped around mine, dragging the gun away, holding me back. I struggled, fighting to wrench it away. My muscles should've overwhelmed her weakened form easily, but I could feel the fight in her, too. She didn't want to let go.
"It's over," she said, voice trembling. "Please... please stop."
I didn't answer.
I just snarled and drove my elbow backward into her ribcage.
THUNK!
Once.
THUNK!
Twice.
THUNK!
Three times.
She gasped and tumbled back, hands slipping from me.
"LET GO OF ME!" I roared as I scrambled back toward the gun. "Don't fucking touch me, scrap metal!"
Rapunzel's voice echoed from the crater's edge, confused and panicked. "Where is he? Where's the Lieutenant!?"
"HE'S TRYING TO KILL HIMSELF!" Red Hood shouted up. "GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, NOW!"
I heard scrambling above. More voices. More witnesses. More faces.
Rose. Siren. Scarlet—barely standing, clutching her side. Dorothy. All of them staring down into the pit like they'd just walked in on a nightmare.
And it was.
Rose was even preparing to jump down here, the idiot.
Again, I grabbed the gun.
This time, it wasn't Cinderella who stopped me.
Red Hood lunged and locked her only remaining arm around my throat, dragging me backward into a tight, suffocating hold.
"What the hell are you doing!?" she shouted in my ear. "You think this is okay!? You think this is the answer!?"
I struggled and fought her grip. She was too strong. She was clinging to me like her life depended on it.
"You don't know anything!" I snapped, clawing at her arm. "You're just another fuckin' slave! You can't think for yourself! None of you can! Your emotions—they're just programming!"
"Then why do you hurt like this!?" she snarled back, teeth gritted.
"BECAUSE I SHOULDN'T EXIST!" I screamed.
I slammed my heel into the ground, kicking, dragging us both across the crater floor. "You all follow orders! You're fake! All of you are programmed to care! You don't really care! You can't! You'd love me if I told you to, right!? You'd hate me if I ordered it! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT ROBOTS!"
I couldn't breathe or focus. Everything was spinning.
"I was supposed to die!" I wheezed. "Anachiro snapped my neck—I died. That should've been it. Not this—not this endless nightmare—not you all looking at me like I'm worth something! I'M NOT EVEN HUMAN ANYMORE!"
My vision blurred.
"If any of you—if you truly cared about humanity—about the future, you'd let me do it. You'd let me pull the trigger. I'm your biggest threat."
I was fading now. Darkness crept into the corners of my eyes.
"...I'm your liability. This entire situation is my fault..."
Red Hood's grip didn't loosen, but she was crying now, quiet, rough sobs pressed into the back of my shoulder.
"I'm fixing it... I'm making it right..." My voice turned small. "Please... let me do one thing right..."
And then everything went quiet.
My muscles went slack.
The gun slipped from my hand, and I sagged into her arms.
Let go...
Let me go...
You can find someone better than this.
Notes:
I just had to hammer out the intermission in a few moments to really just gut punch you lot before uploading again.
Time for a big ole break!
Any questions for me?
Chapter 40: Vol 6.1: Entrapment
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Hours Later
After the battle with Anachiro, the fallout settled fast. Predictably so.
New Goddess had technically survived, but it came at a price.
Several major injuries affected almost all the Nikkes within the Squad. Dorothy had to be treated for an internal fracture in her Goddesium skeleton while Rose and Scarlet both had to switch to new bodies due to the damage sustained.
Speaking of bodies.
Cinderella—now back in control of her body—had surrendered herself willingly, requesting sedation and transfer to a secure facility still under human control. She hadn't resisted. Not even once. Even when Rapunzel asked if she was sure, the former heretic only nodded, her expression unreadable.
As for the lieutenant... There wasn't much left to say.
After Red Hood stopped his suicide attempt, he hadn't spoken another word. His body was broken. His cybernetics, ruptured organs, neural strain—it all compounded with the psychological collapse that left even Rapunzel at a loss.
His mind... was...
Even with treatment, his brain wouldn't respond to any outside stimuli. Not even to Dorothy's voice. Not even to Snow White's hand on his wrist.
It was like he had vanished from inside himself.
New Goddess was now leaderless.
In the medical ward, with Rapunzel attending to several other injuries, a shimmer of light burst to life in the centre of the room. A hard-light hologram activated, sputtering to clarity. The familiar forms of Commander Andersen and Liliweiss appeared.
Everyone in the room paused—Scarlet even forced herself upright from her cot, groaning slightly as she did.
"We got through," Andersen said quickly, almost breathless. "Sorry, we weren't there sooner. Ark security's been... hell."
Dorothy, standing off to the side, frowned. "Security? Why didn't you override it? Wouldn't it be the situation reported to be an existential threat to humanity?"
Andersen looked visibly tired, even through the flickering display.
"We tried. But once the situation was flagged as 'under control' by High Command, we were intercepted. Ordered to stand down. They claimed your unit had it handled."
"So, what?" Dorothy pressed. "They just didn't care?"
Liliweiss gently cut in. "It's not that. We've been needed elsewhere—final adjustments, stabilization parameters for the Ark's... final calibrations. That's all."
There was a pause before her eyes flicked toward Red Hood. The crimson Nikke was seated cross-legged on the edge of the infirmary platform, rolling her newly attached arm in its socket with a curious wince.
"You're looking good, Red Hood," Liliweiss said with a small smile. "Welcome back."
Red Hood offered a half-hearted smirk, glancing at her new limb.
"Thanks. Gotta say, it moves almost like the original. Not bad, huh?"
Andersen nodded, but Liliweiss's smile turned curious. "And... is it true? That your corruption's gone?"
The room quieted a little at that.
Red Hood scratched the back of her head sheepishly. "Ehh... yeah. Weird, right? One second, I've got porcupine needles stabbing the inside of my brain every time I blink, and then... nothing. Just gone."
Snow White narrowed her eyes slightly, exchanging a glance with Siren, who looked mildly alarmed.
"When did it happen?"
"That's the thing," Red Hood admitted, still scratching her head. "I'm not exactly sure. I ran diagnostics—yeah, yeah, I know, finally—but I think it happened right around the time I joined the fight with Cinderella—er, Anachiro. Somewhere in there, the NIMPH... just blinked out? Erm... deactivated? Something like that."
Andersen's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing behind the glow of the holo-light.
"Wait. You said you ran diagnostics after the battle?"
"Yep. I even rechecked them. NIMPH's uh... Gone. Like it was never there." She paused, then added, "Oh, and—uh—I also carried the lieutenant on my back for a bit before that. While he was bleeding out... if that helps."
Liliweiss's face froze for a split second.
Andersen didn't say anything, but his hand tightened against the edge of his desk, just off-frame in the hologram.
"I see," he murmured after a moment. "That's... interesting. The blood, especially. It could mean—well. Anything. We'll need a full breakdown later. Preferably at a safe lab. Abe's might be ideal. She's familiar with most of your configurations anyway." He gestured vaguely toward Hansel, Gretel, and Siren. "She did build a good portion of you."
The squad nodded slowly. It made sense. If anything could explain what happened—why Red Hood lost her NIMPH—it'd be found in the mind of one of the greatest scientists alive.
Rose, who'd been leaning against the far wall with her arms folded, now stepped forward.
"And what about leadership?"
Dorothy blinked. "What do you mean?"
Rose glanced at the still-unconscious lieutenant, covered in a half-dozen medical drips and bio-skin patches. "With him out, we don't have a commanding officer. There's no one to manage rotations, recon, or asymmetrical warfare."
Andersen tilted his head, eyes landing on Rose for a long, deliberate moment.
"Weren't you Melee Squad's leader?"
"I was."
"Then take up the role. You and Dorothy. At least until he wakes up. Then you guys can decide from there."
Dorothy blinked in surprise but didn't argue, not expecting to be chosen for such a role. Rose gave a short nod, calm and professional, already shifting mentally into the role.
The transmission began to flicker, static crawling across their images.
"Sorry," Liliweiss said quickly. "Power's a bit spotty. We might lose signal."
"If this is our last call for a while," Andersen added, "stay together. We'll try to reach out again. Just hold the line—"
The feed cut out abruptly.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: About 3 Weeks After the Battle with Anachiro
The order came down earlier that morning.
"Protect the Ark."
That was it. No elaboration. No briefings. No strategy.
Just three words slapped onto the latest transmission from Ark Command to New Goddess.
And with their commander still comatose, it fell to the Grimms to figure out what the hell it meant.
Dorothy stood near the central hub of their makeshift command post, her arms folded neatly in front of her as she scanned the surface maps. Her expression was calm, composed, and almost serene. But the slight twitch of her finger against her elbow betrayed the same unease everyone else was feeling.
Rose approached her.
"Did you get anything from the recon team? About the mass-produced Nikkes?"
Dorothy nodded, turning her head slightly but not moving otherwise.
"They'll arrive in about two hours."
"Figures," Rose muttered, already half-turning to leave again.
Before she could get far, Dorothy stopped her with a glance. "You're going to see her again?"
Rose paused in the threshold of the exit, sighing through her nose.
"Yeah. Red Hood's due for another check-in with Abe anyway. "
There was a soft rustle of fabric as Dorothy finally shifted fully toward her.
"Be careful," she said gently, "This hasn't exactly been a quiet three weeks. We've been in more skirmishes than I can count, and the girls are running thin. Every step outside is another risk."
"I'll be fine," Rose said with a tired half-smile. "Not the first time I've done a long walk."
Dorothy's gaze lingered for a moment longer, concern in her eyes beneath that polished veneer. Then she nodded, and Rose stepped out into the blinding mid-afternoon sun.
The air outside was dry and heavy with dust, the distant roar of wind turbines and scattered gunfire echoing like background noise.
Summer was reaching its end—or had already passed, maybe. It was hard to tell anymore.
The climate went to hell a few years ago anyway.
Rose shielded her eyes for a moment, scanning the horizon as she walked. The sky was too bright for the way she felt inside.
She knew this stretch of road. She'd taken it three times now, every week like clockwork. It gave her time to think, to clear her head.
Not that it ever helped.
But then, without warning, his voice returned, cutting through her thoughts like shrapnel.
"If you truly cared about humanity—about the future—you'd let me do it. You'd let me pull the trigger!"
Her hands curled into fists.
"You're fake! All of you are programmed to care! You don't really care! You can't!"
"YOU'RE NOTHING BUT ROBOTS!"
"Shut up," she muttered under her breath, eyes hardening. "Just shut up."
She walked faster.
She hated him.
Hated him for what he did to Melee Squad. For everything. For every lie he told them—about their chances, about survival, about it being a real mission and not some data harvesting experiment.
She'd lost sisters because of him.
But then she remembered the look in his eyes... three weeks ago, in that crater.
The look when he tried to put that gun under his chin—not once, but twice. That look wasn't rage. It wasn't arrogance. It wasn't even the cold steel of a career officer.
It was desperation. A cry for someone to let him go.
She should have stepped in and let him.
She hated him.
She wanted to kill him for what he did to her. What he did to everyone. To Scarlet. To her. To Melee Squad.
...To himself.
But there were still things she couldn't explain. Things that clung to her ribs and made breathing heavy when she tried to pretend they didn't exist.
She clenched her jaw, hand drifting to the side of her head as it throbbed.
"Dammit," she hissed, rubbing her temple.
She didn't want to feel anything for him.
She shouldn't feel anything for him.
But the image of him, eyes wide and trembling as the pistol clattered from his fingers—that haunted her for some reason.
She'd eventually reach the perimeter gate and started the long walk toward Abe's lab. She didn't know if the walk would help. But she needed something. Anything. Just to clear her head.
Maybe Red Hood would be awake by the time she got there.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Abe's New Lab, A Few Hours Later
To her surprise, she was.
Rose entered the facility to find Red Hood sitting cross-legged on a metal crate, happily chewing through a thick protein bar like it was a gourmet meal. The redhead was barefoot, one boot off and dangling from her toe, swinging it back and forth as if there wasn't a damn thing wrong in the world.
Abe, meanwhile, looked like she hadn't slept in... uh, forever. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and a smudged coffee cup was buried under papers on her cluttered desk. Dark rings painted permanent shadows under her eyes.
"Same results," Abe muttered. "Practically identical to last time. And the test before that. And the test before that."
Red Hood blinked, still chewing. "Huh. That good or bad?"
Abe adjusted her glasses with two fingers, straightening up but not bothering to look away from the data feed hovering beside her.
"It means you're a Nikke. You function like a Nikke. You fight like one. Breathe like one—technically speaking. But you don't have a NIMPH anymore."
There was a pause.
Rose, seated on a stool near the exam bed, sat straighter.
"..."
Red Hood blinked again, the last bite of her bar frozen between her fingers. "...Oh. So that wasn't a metaphor."
"Nope," Abe said. "Completely literal. NIMPH's gone. You've still got a core like all Nikkes, but all those expensive-ass nanomechines? Gone."
Red Hood looked at her half-eaten bar, slowly set it down on the workbench, and gave a nervous laugh. "Wow. You sure know how to drop a bomb, Doc. Like handing out nuclear launch codes with ice cream."
Abe didn't know what that metaphor even meant. It was probably a country girl thing.
"I'm tired," Abe said bluntly. "No point sugarcoating. You're the first Nikke on record without a NIMPH. You're a statistical anomaly. But here's the kicker—"
She turned to face both of them fully now, arms crossed over her chest.
"—without the NIMPH, there's nothing stopping you from turning on humanity if you ever wanted to. Nothing. No internal loyalty encoding. No voice in your head screaming 'protect humans'."
The air shifted. Red Hood's easygoing posture deflated. Rose's eyes widened slightly.
"...Cool," Red Hood muttered, wiping sweat from her brow with her sleeve. "Super reassuring. Just gonna... note that down in my little existential crisis journal."
Abe shrugged. "Look, I've been testing you for a month now. If you were gonna start murdering people, you would've by now. Hell, I'd help you if it meant getting rid of my NIMPH—it's like my annoying roommate I had back in university..."
"Ahhh. I don't know city struggles. But it sounds like something you'd wanna do," Red Hood said, recovering slightly, smiling as she picked her snack back up.
Rose finally found her voice. "Wait. Wait. Hold on. If she doesn't have a NIMPH, doesn't that also mean—?"
"Yes," Abe cut in. "She's not practically immortal anymore. No memory backups. If Red Hood dies now, she's dead. No revivals. No do-overs."
The implications landed like a hammer. Red Hood stared at the wrapper in her hands for a long second.
"...Huh."
She didn't sound upset. If anything, she sounded rather accepting. She looked at Rose, then back at Abe.
"Guess I'll just have to make sure the next time I die, it's a good one. Beats whatever the corruption was doing to my head."
Rose stared at her. "How are you so casual about this?"
Red Hood shrugged. "How else am I supposed to be?"
Abe pushed herself away from the counter, her expression unreadable for a second.
"Well. There might be something else. I've been holding onto it because... frankly, I thought it was nothing. But now... maybe not."
Both women looked at her.
"Abe..."
The tired doctor yawned, then pointed a thumb toward the back corridor.
"Come with me. I kept a little secret. Might explain how this whole 'no NIMPH, still alive, no corruption' miracle happened."
Red Hood tossed her bar into a bin, hopping off the crate. "You know, Doc, when you say 'secret,' it either means alien technology or a bullet wound in someone's heart."
"God, you're as loud as the files said you were."
"Hey, that's exactly what the Boss said!"
"He called you loud?" Abe deadpanned.
"Yeah!"
Abe just rolled her eyes and stepped inside, muttering something under her breath about noise pollution as the chamber lights flickered on. Monitors lined the far wall, most dark. A refrigeration unit stood in the corner, beside a steel workstation and a standalone microscope platform.
Rose stepped in cautiously, eyeing the equipment.
"I kept this separate from my regular logs," Abe said, moving toward the microscope. "Didn't want it on the network. Figured there was something... off about it from the start."
Red Hood leaned in over her shoulder, chewing the edge of her thumb. "What is it?"
"Blood sample," Abe replied simply, already pulling a small vial from the refrigerated case. "From you, actually. From when you came in for your first checkup. I kept some of the residue left in your body that was sprayed everywhere.
"Okay. That's... weirdly invasive."
"So's losing a NIMPH mid-battle." She slid the sample under the scope and motioned for Red Hood. "Take a look. Carefully."
Red Hood stepped forward, one eye narrowing into the eyepiece. Her pupils adjusted, blinking rapidly.
"...That's not my blood, is it?"
"No. That's his," Abe corrected. "Yours is barely there, just trace remnants. But that red cluster? That's from him."
Rose stepped up behind them, arms crossed tightly, watching the two.
Abe tapped a few keys and brought up a magnified projection of the blood on the screen next to them. It pulsed faintly, almost alive in a way.
"The composition's unusual—beyond unusual. I ran some tests using NIMPH nanites... and this sample destroyed them. Not deactivated. Obliterated. Like... the blood treats the nanites like foreign pathogens."
Red Hood straightened slowly.
"So... wait... my NIMPH... it didn't fail... it was... killed off?"
Abe nodded once, still staring at the screen.
"And when it went, so did the corruption riding on top of it. That's why your head stopped hurting..."
The realization landed on all three of them like thunder.
Abe stepped back. Her eyes weren't on either of them now—they were staring through something invisible. Her voice fell quiet.
"...That's also... that's why Cinderella came back."
The room went still.
Rose froze, eyes narrowing.
Red Hood leaned away from the microscope like she was trying to physically distance herself from the implications.
Abe blinked as if suddenly waking up from her own explanation.
"I need to call someone," she muttered, stepping away from them, already tapping her communicator. "Stay here. Don't touch anything."
"Wait, what are you—" Red Hood started, half-standing.
"No contact with the lieutenant's blood unless absolutely necessary," Abe said, pointing toward both of them now, stepping backwards toward the exit. "Don't tell anyone what you heard. Not until I know more. Not even the Ark. Understand?"
They both nodded, dumbly.
"Oh—and you," Abe said, jabbing a finger at Red Hood just as the lab door slid shut behind her, "stop eating everything in the damn fridge. You're a glutton."
Then the door sealed, leaving only the hum of refrigeration units and the slow beep of vital monitors behind them.
Red Hood stood, hands on hips.
"Well, that was... dramatic... I don't even think I ate that much..."
Rose didn't respond. Her gaze had wandered to the sample.
The faint blue ring on the base of the microscope shimmered. The slide, still faintly stained, bore a tiny cross-section of blood. His blood. Rose stared at it.
To be free...
She swallowed. Her hand slowly lifted toward the sample, only to stop halfway, trembling, before closing into a fist..
Would she still be her?
Would it even be right?
Free to love or hate, without programming deciding which it was?
Would he... look at me differently if I never had one?
Red Hood nudged her shoulder.
"Yo. You alright?"
"...Yeah. Just thinking."
She clenched her jaw, ripping her eyes away just as her communicator chimed. Dorothy's voice came through.
"Rose? We've got another Rapture cluster moving toward the outer edge of the Ark. If Red Hood's with you, bring her. We need all the hands we can get."
Red Hood, having heard the whole thing from beside her, groaned. "That's like, what, the third wave this week?"
Rose exhaled and pushed off the counter. "More like 4th. Come on. We've got work."
"..."
"...You okay?" Red Hood asked as they stepped toward the door.
"I'm fine."
Abe paced.
The hologram projected the same flickering image of an unanswered call.
This was the fifth time.
Abe pinched the bridge of her nose, growing more irritated.
"Pick up the damn phone..."
She hit the call key again, this time slapping her palm against the table for emphasis.
Still nothing.
"Come on, you snake... pick it up, Vos. Pick it up..."
The Colonel's profile floated on the screen, unresponsive.
It was like he was ghosting her!
Abe let out a short, bitter laugh.
"You knew, didn't you?" she muttered. "You fucking knew."
She backed away from the terminal and grabbed the closest object—a wrench—and nearly threw it across the room before stopping herself. Instead, it dropped with a heavy clang onto her bench.
"I sat there, running full-body diagnostics on Red Hood, trying to find out what the hell caused her NIMPH to disappear like Houdini," she hissed under her breath. "And all this time—it wasn't even technology. It wasn't programming."
She turned back toward the monitors, pointing at the bio-chart with a trembling hand.
"It was him. It was ██████ this whole time. The damn lieutenant and his blood."
A shaky breath followed, then another. Her thoughts were sprinting ahead of her mouth now, and she barely noticed how hard her nails were digging into her palm.
"All of that bullshit—'second chance,' 'looking at him' or whatever the fuck—God, how much of that was cover?" Her voice grew louder, angrier. "You didn't revive him because of some sentimental redemption arc. You brought him back because you knew. You knew something was different about him!"
She slapped her hand against the wall-mounted cabinet hard enough to leave a dent.
"Do you realize what we could've done? I could've synthesized something from a single vial of his blood. A molecular bullet. Gas. Anything. I could've shot Cinderella weeks ago and ended that fight before it spiralled out of control! I could've freed her!"
She clenched her eyes shut.
"...Before so many people got hurt," she whispered.
There was silence for a moment... Just her breathing and the soft flick of the monitors cycling through data points.
"Fucking Vos," she spat.
With a bitter exhale, Abe turned to her chair, sinking into it and planting her boots heavily on the desk.
She reached over and tapped the call again.
Still nothing.
"Snake's either hiding, or worse, somewhere above my clearance level pretending he didn't tamper with the lieutenant's body." She rubbed at the corner of her eye. "Hell, maybe he did both. Fuck! He probably did! He's a damn cyborg already!"
Abe leaned forward, elbows on knees, and ran her hands down her face.
"God, I need that depressed bastard to wake up already. I need answers. I need Vos. I need Cinderella..."
She glanced up at the call screen one last time.
Still unanswered.
She narrowed her eyes, voice dropping to a furious whisper.
"You better not leave this mess to me, Vos. If you're not going to fix it, then I will."
Notes:
Okay, lets do this.
You guys love angst? I love me some angst! Tragic angst, specifically. Like the person you love is losing themselves physically and mentally, but you want to convince yourself you hate them more than you love them, because in the past this loved one did something REALLY bad that got basically all of your closest friends killed... And now you really want to kill them for revenge but this thing in your head is telling you that you canont do that—but then you learn about how to destroy said thing, giving you a way to seek said revenge—However after previously seeing their mental collapse right in front of you to the point of turning their gun on themselves—
Oh, and did I mention that type of angst involves keeping that REALLY bad secret away from your sister, thus setting up even more angst?!
You guys get the idea? That type of angst.
Chapter 41: Vol 6.2: Human Failure
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: About 6 Weeks After the Battle with Anachiro
When the Central Government regained custody of Cinderella, they didn't know what the hell to do with her.
Seriously.
lmfao
Sure, the corruption was gone. Her eyes—brilliant and cerulean—were enough of a sign. Anachiro was gone. She was in control again. And yet... she wasn't the same asset they once considered her. She was a liability now. A relic from a chapter they desperately wanted to seal off and never open again.
Some departments floated suggestions behind closed doors. Dissect her. Strip her to components. Run her through diagnostics until they could figure out why the corruption disappeared—if it had at all. Some wanted to see what type of Rapture technology was put inside her that made her so strong—beyond Abe's initial specs— in the first place.
Others, more pragmatic—or perhaps more exhausted—wanted to move on. There were bigger priorities: the final phases of the Ark's construction, the civilian evacuation, and fixing the power grid.
Cinderella didn't fit anywhere in those plans.
So, in the end, what happened to the strongest Nikke on Earth?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
"..."
Inside a temperature-controlled room on one of the few facilities controlled by humanity, Cinderella floated, her long white hair drifting lazily around her.
The blue of her eyes reflected off into space.
There was no mirror in the cell.
Only a small steel surface near the wall, where she could see a vague outline of her own face.
She often looked away.
They had taken her Glass Slippers, of course. She didn't mind. She might've done the same, had she been in their position. Trust wasn't easy to rebuild—not after everything. She'd heard the voices outside her cell during the early weeks, whispers and mutters from guards, engineers, and staff cycling through the wings.
"Humanity's greatest failure..."
"A traitor in glass..."
"Walking disaster."
"No different than Rapture filth."
She smiled sadly at those.
They weren't wrong.
She had remembered most things Anachiro had done in her body. Remembered the way people screamed when forced to fight her. It wasn't something a simple apology could erase.
There would be no happy ending. Not for her.
And the silence of isolation only made it clearer.
The days stretched endlessly.
She would spend entire hours playing her memories like tapes, hoping one might rewind her heart enough to feel... something comforting. Something warm.
Eventually, it always came back to him.
One memory, in particular, had embedded itself so deeply that she could almost relive it at will.
Cinderella sat cross-legged in front of a tall mirror propped against the wall, her pristine silver hair cascading like silk over her shoulders and down to her hips. Her lieutenant stood behind her, focused expression pinched in a rare display of frustration, as he slowly pulled a comb through her thick strands.
"...Your hair is too long," he muttered, brushing through another lock.
Cinderella gave a small smile, eyelids half-lowered in the reflection.
"It's part of my beauty. Don't you agree?"
The corner of his lip twitched, perhaps in irritation, but he said nothing.
"Or," she continued softly, voice just a hint teasing, "do you perhaps find beauty in shorter hair? I can change it, if you prefer."
He blinked, then exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You'd only regret it the moment I touched scissors. I'm not answering that."
She giggled faintly, eyes meeting his in the mirror. "I suppose you've done this before. Brushing long hair. Have you cared for someone with long hair in the past?"
He didn't respond with words. Instead, he leaned forward slightly and pinched both her cheeks.
"Ack—!" Her composure slipped for half a second as he squished her face like clay. "W-Why—!"
"You're high maintenance," he said flatly, keeping her face pinched.
"I—Commander—mmph—!" she tried to protest, but the lieutenant was already shaking her cheeks left and right like a bored older brother babysitting a cat.
"I'm not brushing it again," he said. "This is the last time."
"You've said that before," she shot back through squished lips.
"And I meant it every time."
He was still pinching her.
She giggled again, unable to stop herself, her voice light and warm and full of the kind of joy that felt stolen from another lifetime. The mirror caught the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his face, even if he turned his head slightly to hide it.
"Do you find these types of requests tedious?" She asked after a moment.
He paused, letting go of her cheeks, brushing his hand off against his coat.
"The request stage's annoying," he muttered, reaching forward again to lift a stubborn lock of her hair, inspecting it like a mechanic checking a cable. "All the talking. The asking. It's always the same phrasing."
She blinked, then smiled. "You're honest. I find that beautiful about you."
He deadpanned at her in the mirror.
"Then you don't know me as well as you think you do."
Still, he continued brushing. Smooth and consistent, down to the ends of her hair. Despite the tone, he was being gentle.
"As long as I do a good job," he added dryly, "you'll stop bothering me for a while. Gives me time to actually get work done."
He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath at her ear. Then, without warning, he pinched her cheek again—just one side this time—causing a brief ticklish flinch.
"I'll make it look good. In your words—'beautiful.' Then I'm going back to my work. If you've got complaints, go bother Abe."
Cinderella blinked, rubbing her slightly sore cheek.
"In that case... would you help with my face too?"
He sighed. Loudly.
"High. Maintenance."
"That's not a no," she said sweetly, eyes twinkling in the mirror.
He grumbled under his breath but reached forward anyway, brushing a stray strand off her forehead with the side of his hand before examining the state of her bangs.
"Beauty, beauty, beauty—I've had to watch so many videos on these things..."
"Hm? Videos? You watched them for me?"
"No, I want to be pretty too—Of course, since I'm dealing with a harsh critic."
"Fufu~"
She had known—deep down—that under the weight of his responsibilities, under that hardened mask, there was still something warm.
Maybe not soft.
But warm, all the same.
In her cell, Cinderella sighed.
She missed that warmth. The warmth in his hands. The warmth in his voice
She wondered if he would ever smile again.
And more selfishly... if he would ever smile at her again.
There were no mirrors here, so she couldn't see what her expression was like, but she knew her lips had curled up at the memory, no matter how painful everything was.
She drifted.
Aimlessly, she floated toward the center of the room like a feather caught in a draft. The sterile light above buzzed faintly. Her eyes trailed along the edge of the ceiling before turning toward the sealed door.
What was going on out there? On the surface? Were the others still fighting? Were they rebuilding?
Was he still—
A jolt shot through her skull.
Her vision was suddenly drenched in blood.
The lieutenant, his face slack with death. Her hand wrapped tightly around his throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
He spat at her with those eyes full of hatred.
"No—!"
Her body recoiled before her thoughts could catch up. She slammed into the nearest wall, hands clamped over her mouth, eyes wild with horror.
It was just another memory.
Another one of those memories.
They came without warning, as if her own mind resented her presence here and resisted peace.
Over and over again, the same scenes.
Again. Again. Again.
Her breath trembled. Her lip quivered.
She hovered for a moment... then slowly drifted down onto the bench that served as her bed. Her knees folded together, her arms wrapped loosely around them.
What was she supposed to do?
Reflect? Reflect on what?
The story was already written.
Her name, etched in history as a traitor. A tool of humanity's extinction. A Nikke twisted into the perfect face of its downfall.
Anachiro was gone. But the stain she left behind wasn't.
Her hands—these hands—held the fate of humanity in their hands. Held the lieutenant as he—
...
She remembered that moment again.
He had the pistol under his chin.
And she—
She'd seen it and reacted on pure instinct, one of her undamaged Glass Slippers slamming into him at the last moment.
The gunshot fired upward into the sky. He crashed to the ground.
If she had been half a second too late...
If he had died by his own hand...
It would've been her fault.
She wept.
Tears ran in long, uneven trails down her cheeks. Her breath shook, as if even her lungs had forgotten what it was like to cry.
She hadn't meant to hurt him again. Not after everything. Not after he—
Not after he saved her.
But that's what hurt the most, wasn't it?
She offered herself to be terminated. She wanted to make things right. That was all. She thought... maybe, if she gave him a clear choice—if she let herself become the final enemy—then maybe his pain would stop.
Instead...
She made it worse.
How cruel.
How unbearably cruel of her to call him her prince.
She had been taught, once, that every story had a beginning, middle, and an end. That the glass slipper always fit. The prince always came. That love and beauty could overcome monsters and curses and evil queens.
But no one tells you what happens after the happily ever after.
No one tells you what it's like when the prince can't smile anymore.
When the slipper's made of blood.
When the fairy tale ends... and the nightmare keeps going.
How cruel of her... to believe she could still belong in the story.
How cruel... to think he could ever hold her again with warmth in his hands.
She curled tighter into herself, fingers trembling against her bare arms.
Fssshhhh—
The door to her cell hissed open.
She blinked at the sudden light pouring in.
Framed in the doorway was Abe, unbothered and carrying what looked like a massive suitcase.
"No time for dramatics," Abe muttered, tossing the case inside. "Get up. Come with me."
Cinderella didn't move. "... Abe?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's me. Let's go."
"...What is happening?"
"Unless you wanna be corrupted again, I suggest you stop brooding and move."
Abe stepped inside and opened a case, revealing her Glass Slippers.
All four of them were fully restored.
"You... repaired them...?"
"I didn't come here to give you compliments," Abe grunted. "Slap 'em on. We've got maybe five minutes before someone notices."
After a few moments of setting up, she stepped out of the cell hesitantly.
"Where are they?" she asked, glancing around. "The Raptures—?"
"—Hold it!"
A security guard spotted them from the corridor junction. His rifle dropped into position.
"She's escaping!" he yelled into his comms. "The prisoner's loose!"
"Shit!" Abe hissed, yanking Cinderella by the wrist. "Move!"
Sirens blared. Red lights spun to life across the corridor.
Cinderella stumbled forward, then gained speed.
"Why are you doing this!? You tricked me!"
"No trick," Abe snapped. "You were just slow."
"But—you'll be marked a traitor! The system—"
"Screw the system!" Abe barked, yanking her again as sealed bulkheads began closing behind them. "It fucked over the lieutenant and locked you up like trash. I'm not going to sit back while they feed one of my daughters to the wolves."
Cinderella hesitated mid-run. "That still doesn't explain—"
"No time!" Abe barked again.
They reached the end of the corridor—one last door.
It was sealed.
Abe dug into her coat, yanked out a small transmitter, and slammed it into the door's control panel.
Click...
BEEP...
BOOOOM!
The charge blew inward, smoke curling out into the hall.
Behind the door was a maintenance shaft leading to outside
"Run!" Abe barked, grabbing her shoulder.
Cinderella trembled. Her mind was still catching up. Everything was too fast.
But then—
Behind them, heavy boots thudded on steel. More guards.
Instinct took over.
She turned, threw her arms around Abe, and kicked off the ground.
The air whined around her as she shot out of the breach. Ash and heat from the explosion coated her arms. She held tight to Abe, flying out of the facility like a comet into the darkening evening sky.
Below them, the central research tower shrank, growing distant with each passing second.
Abe shifted on her back, her voice a bit breathless.
"We'll head to the lab. The one near the old facility. I'll guide you."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: About 6 Weeks After the Battle with Anachiro, Mid/Late Summer
The first thing he saw when his eyes cracked open—
That same goddamn ceiling.
He exhaled.
"...For fucks sake... I really need to stop waking up like this..."
He just wanted to stop waking up at all, but whatever the hell his body was made out of just forces him to keep getting back up...
His throat felt like sandpaper. His ribs buzzed with dull, lingering pain. His right lung still burned slightly with every breath—probably punctured again. Fantastic.
The faint beeping of a heart monitor buzzed somewhere nearby, like an insect.
He shifted slightly, feeling the weight distribution in his body. Something was off.
"..."
His right arm was missing.
Great. Someone took it off while he was out.
He exhaled again, staring blankly at the ceiling. The filtered sunlight outside the infirmary's window told him it was still summer. Warm... probably hot.
He was still on the surface.
They were still fighting.
Still buying time for the evacuation.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Why was he still alive?
Why the hell couldn't he just stay dead this time?
The images—red, white, bright—flickered at the edge of his vision. His hand was holding the termination pistol. That pull of the trigger. Cinderella's Glass Slipper slammed into his side, interrupting him.
He should've been dead.
But he was still here.
...Because of these fucking mindless robots.
He winced and opened his eyes again as he heard soft footsteps approaching.
"...You're awake." A voice muttered out, a bit cautiously.
He turned his head slowly.
Snow White.
She was sneaking in like a child caught doing something she shouldn't. Arms full of something long and metallic. Her eyes locked with his, and she froze for half a second.
"Uh—hi," she managed, voice cracking just a bit.
His eyes trailed to what she was holding.
"...That's my arm," he deadpanned.
Snow White blinked. Then looked down, then back at him, sheepishly.
"Oh. Um. Yeah."
He just raised an eyebrow.
"I—I was just, uh, tinkering with it while you were out. There's not much to do besides destroying Raptures, and I thought maybe... if—when you woke up... you'd want it working better..."
She trailed off.
He stared at her.
She looked like she expected to be chewed out. Maybe yelled at. Something.
"...Give it."
Snow White blinked. "Huh?"
"My arm."
"Oh! Right! Of course." She quickly stepped over, placing it gently on the side of the bed. It seemingly was ready to be reattached.
He took it with his good hand, locking it into place with a hiss of compressed gas and a click. He flexed it a few times. Nothing had changed, and everything was smooth.
"I improved the shock absorbers," Snow White offered, fiddling with the edge of her visor. "And the kinetic storage. You should be able to hit harder without, um... breaking your own shoulder... again."
He didn't say anything and just flexed the fingers once more.
An awkward silence settled between them like dust. Snow White rocked slightly on her heels before beginning to step back, inching toward the exit.
"...You said there's not much to do," he murmured.
She froze. "W-what?"
"Just now. You said there's not much to do. So where are you going?"
"I—I..." She floundered, looking left and right, trying to invent something. "I have... diagnostics? I mean, I think there's a checkup, and Dorothy might be calling me soon—"
"You're a terrible liar."
Snow White winced. "Okay. I... just thought..."
He looked at her flatly, waiting.
Her shoulders slumped. She looked like she hated herself for being so bad at this.
"I... I'm backing away because I thought you might take my sidearm and—" she hesitated, wringing her hands. "Turn it on yourself. Like... last time. Before Red Hood... you know..."
"...Oh."
His head rolled back onto the pillow, eyes drifting toward the ceiling.
Of course, she thought that. Hell, she wasn't wrong.
In his head, a bitter thought boiled to the surface.
Damn it, Red Hood.
He'd been so close. One clean motion—the gun was turned upward, and the perfect shot lined up. There were no tears, or drama or final words. He just wanted silence. He'd finally gotten away from Cinderella's grip, his mind clear and focused on that one final decision—
And then she tackled him.
That loud, American, backwater, country-bumpkin idiot.
She ruined it.
Why couldn't she just let him go?
He closed his eyes briefly.
"...I'd probably try again," he said, voice low. "If I had the energy."
Snow White froze. Then she stepped back again, shoes gently scuffing against the floor. "I... I should go tell Dorothy you're awake—"
"No," he said sharply, cutting her off. He turned his head, eyes locked onto her. "Don't. I don't want the damn attention."
She blinked, caught mid-turn.
"Stay here. Pull up a chair. Sit."
"But I really think it's better if—"
"That's an order," he snapped.
She stiffened. That got her.
He exhaled harshly. "I know what you're all doing. Planning. Canoodling or whatever the hell it is you think I need. Just stay. I don't want whatever sympathy campaign you're cooking up. So sit your ass down, and don't move."
There was hesitation, but eventually the younger Nikke moved. Snow White walked to the nearby stool and dragged it a bit awkwardly next to the bed. She didn't sit right away, hovering around it like she was waiting for a trap to spring.
"I'm not going to tackle you," he muttered. "Not gonna grab your gun. Not gonna do anything stupid. I'm too damn tired. My lungs feel like they've been filled with glass. My back's killing me. Every inch of my body feels like it got run over by a Rapture. You're safe."
That didn't seem to comfort her.
He groaned and rolled his head to the side, the soft beep of the heart rate monitor chiming with his breath.
Snow White finally sat down, fiddling with her clothes.
"...Can I at least get you some painkillers?" she asked, eyes drifting toward the cabinet beside his bed.
He nodded faintly.
She moved quickly and returned with a small pill bottle and a cup of water.
He struggled slightly to sit upright, his spine seemingly twitching from disuse. She helped, gently lifting him under the shoulders and holding the cup to his lips.
He swallowed. The motion made him wince. Breathing afterward felt worse somehow.
Then he collapsed back into the bed, groaning.
"...Thanks, kid..."
She nodded, returning to her seat. The stool gave a faint creak as she sat back down, unconsciously shifting away by a few inches.
The room was quiet again, save for the faint beep of the heart monitor and... his laboured breathing.
"..."
She remembered the first time they met.
She'd been clearing out her cluttered quarters, hands full of stacked metal trays and plastic meal packs, when she rounded a corner too fast and bumped straight into him.
Everything fell.
She dropped so fast to the ground to collect it all, he hadn't even had time to kneel.
She'd been mortified. He'd just blinked.
At least... that's how she remembered it.
It was far too embarrassing, so she purged some of it from her memory.
The second time? It was late at night.
She was stacking up a borderline horrific pile of cafeteria food. He'd appeared out of nowhere just as her hand reached for the last cinnamon bun. Their fingers brushed. She nearly dropped her whole tray.
Ten minutes later, they were at the same table, quietly eating.
Scarlet had mentioned him before. Stern. Maybe too stern. But good. Smart. Respected.
Snow White found herself thinking the same.
More than that... he fascinated her. The cybernetics along his spine, his legs, his arm. The sheer amount of augmentations on his body was astounding. She was a technician. It was impossible not to notice.
She'd never seen someone so heavily modified.
So inhuman... yet still stubbornly human.
Her thoughts snapped back when she heard him rustling against the sheets.
The lieutenant fumbled near his chest, fingers dipping into the folds of his clothes. When his hand emerged, it held a small, slightly bent photograph.
Snow White's breath hitched in her throat.
Her eyes widened.
"Is that—?!"
He glanced at it, then offered it to her.
It was the photo. Their photo. All of them. Goddess Squad. Arms draped around each other like sisters. Scarlet's subtle smile, Rose's larger one. Red Hood, always with the toothy grin. Dorothy, Lilith, Rapunzel... and herself, tucked awkwardly into the corner, getting head-locked by a certain red-haired American.
"I thought I lost this," she whispered, hands trembling as she took it. "After... Red Hood L-left. I—God, I searched everywhere—"
"You dropped it," the lieutenant muttered. "Back when you ran off with half the cafeteria in your arms. I figured... I'd give it back eventually."
She stared at the photo. No new creases. No water damage... There were just some slightly faded edges.
"You really kept it safe..." she murmured.
"I had no right to keep it," he said, sinking further into the pillows. "So I figured if I was going to... I might as well not ruin it."
She didn't say anything for a moment and held the photo in her hands like it was something sacred.
"If I'd pulled the trigger back in that crater," he muttered, "you'd probably have never seen it again. They would've buried me with it."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
"...I can't stand it," he whispered. "Why are you here? Why did you upgrade my arm? What do you get out of it?"
Snow White lowered the photo. His voice was starting to fray.
"I don't have anything left to give," he went on. "Nothing to trade. Nothing to offer. So why are you, a kid, still out here in this hellhole? Why aren't you somewhere safe?"
She couldn't look at him.
His breathing got heavier. Not frantic, just strained. It was like each syllable cost him more of his life.
"I should've taken your sidearm," he rasped. "I should've done it when I had the chance... I had so many just now. But not in front of you. Not with your weapon. That'd be..."
His words trailed off.
The heart monitor beeped steadily as his body finally relaxed. His eyes had shut, lips parted slightly as sleep overtook him.
Snow White sat frozen, staring.
The photo still trembled faintly in her fingers.
Her expression... was complicated.
Quiet? Sad? Unsure?
Who knew?
"..."
And the silence returned once again.
Notes:
I initially wanted him to stay asleep for much longer than just 1.5 chapters; however, after thinking it over, I believe this course of action will yield far better (and heartbreaking) developments on all sides.
I'm joking, by the way.
Chapter 42: Vol 6.3: Search for Your Will
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Hours Later
Rapunzel leaned into the room, peeking inside cautiously.
"Snow White? Did you ever return—"
She froze.
The lieutenant was on his feet, trench coat half-draped across one shoulder as he pulled it into place with his one good arm. He moved stiffly, legs somewhat shakey.
Behind him, Snow White was slumped over the edge of the bed, sleeping quietly, her arms tucked in close, face resting on her folded arms.
Rapunzel's mouth opened. "You're—"
"She didn't report to you or Dorothy because I ordered her not to," he said flatly, not looking back. "Falling asleep wasn't part of the order. That was all her. She must be exhausted."
Rapunzel blinked, stepping inside slowly. "I... I didn't expect you to be up so soon. You shouldn't be moving on your own."
He ignored that, instead adjusting the high collar of his coat. It took effort. His shoulder trembled faintly with the motion.
Still not meeting her gaze, he muttered, "I take it you were the one who healed me?"
She nodded slowly, raising her staff and closing her eyes briefly. "You're still in a lot of pain. Your lungs especially—"
"No shit." He turned his head toward her, eyes tired. "Comatose for a month and a half, was it? Injured to the point where even my unnatural rate of healing can't compensate?"
Rapunzel hesitated, then nodded again.
"Tch." He scoffed under his breath. "Figures. That explains the jelly legs. If I could choose, I'd choose never to wake up if it meant I had to feel these things rub up on my flesh again."
"I wasn't able to maintain frequent healing sessions," she said quickly, eyes lowering. "We've been under near-constant attack. The Raptures haven't given us a moment's peace—"
"Stop." His voice cut through. "Don't apologize, sister. It's unbecoming and annoying."
Rapunzel's expression softened just a bit, though her brows remained knit.
He stepped past her, limping faintly, his feet dragging slightly with each stride. But he didn't fall.
"Wait," Rapunzel said, stepping in front of him gently, hand raised. "Where are you going?"
He paused, tilted his head slightly.
"To find a gun," he muttered sarcastically. "To blow my brains out with. Thanks for asking."
"You... You're not leaving this room if you intend to—"
He sneered. "Relax. I'm not going to do it here."
He brushed past her, his steps heavier now.
"I'm just going to find something to do until someone gives me orders again. God knows I don't have anything worth staying awake for."
Rapunzel opened her mouth, but he kept going.
"Because clearly, if I did want to off myself, every last piece of scrap metal in this place would dive in front of the bullet like they're in some goddamn soap opera."
She flinched slightly, but he wasn't shouting. If anything, his voice sounded hollow. Bitter. Tired beyond reason.
He paused at the infirmary cabinet, grabbing a small white bottle from the top shelf and tucking it into his coat pocket.
His voice dropped a notch.
"I'm not even... human anymore. My bones have metal inside them. My nerves are augmented. My spine hums sometimes when I move it. I don't bleed right. I don't feel right."
Rapunzel stood frozen, her hands hovering in front of her as if unsure whether to stop him or comfort him.
"And yet I'm still here. Stuck here. With all of you."
"..."
"I'm so fuckin' tired," he finished quietly, glancing back once. "So if you need me, I'll be under a tree or something."
He didn't wait for a reply. The door hissed open as he stepped through it, disappearing into the hallway beyond.
That was when Snow White stirred, blinking blearily from where she'd slumped against the bed. Her back cracked audibly as she sat upright, rubbing her eyes and neck. She looked like she had just been knocked out cold.
"...Lieutenant?" she mumbled.
Rapunzel turned back toward her with a warm, tired smile.
"It's alright," she said gently. "You fell asleep. Can you tidy things up here for a bit? I'm going to speak with him."
Snow White blinked again and sat up straighter, her cheeks slightly flushed. "I—right. Sorry."
"No need," Rapunzel murmured with a knowing smile. "You kept him company. That matters more than anything."
The door slid shut behind her.
Outside, the lieutenant walked with slow, uneven steps down the corridor. Rapunzel caught up to him quickly, but didn't rush.
"Lieutenant, mind if I take a few moments?" She asked.
He didn't look at her. "You could've let me go."
"I could have," she agreed, falling into step beside him. "But I thought I might walk with you."
He let out a quiet, tired sigh.
"If you've nothing pressing to do," she continued, "then I'd like to ask you to do something for me."
"Here we go," he muttered under his breath.
"Tell me what's on your mind," she said softly. "You don't have to do it all at once. Or even now. But I offered to listen. That hasn't changed."
He stopped walking. Looked sideways at her.
"You're really persistent."
She smiled faintly. "Only where it counts."
He exhaled through his nose. "Can I decline?"
"You can," she said easily, "but then I'll just start talking."
"About what?"
"Oh, nothing in particular. I'm not talking to you, just... aloud."
He squinted at her sideways. "You fuckin' Nikkes are unbearable to be around."
"Perhaps, but at the moment you're still wounded and rather irritable," she replied, eyes twinkling with disarming calm. "Come now. There's a shaded bench just outside. The wind's nice today. I thought I might sit down and feel it for a bit."
He groaned in agony. "You're dragging me into a monologue. I don't need a sermon, Sister!"
She was already walking.
"..."
"..."
"...For fucks sake. Can't I have stayed in that fuckin' coma forever!? I don't want this shit!"
Despite his words, he followed slowly.
Each step felt like glass grinding in his chest, but it kept his mind from spiralling and kept his hands occupied.
Rapunzel rambled lightly as they reached the exit, warm summer air warming what remained of his skin.
"This morning the comms were going off like crazy," she said, her voice soothing, giving a wandering lilt. "Another wave inbound. I heard Scarlet yelling over the line. She said one of the Raptures looked like it was wearing a hat. I didn't know what to make of that."
The lieutenant gave no comment, but walked alongside her all the same.
Rapunzel lowered herself onto the bench, crossing her legs neatly at the ankles.
He remained standing for a few seconds more before sitting beside her.
She kept talking. About the odd shape of a cloud she saw that morning. About the bread in the cafeteria being unusually fresh. About how one of Dorothy's heels broke, causing her to fall, and recalling helping the pink-haired Nikke back up onto her feet.
The words filled the air like a breeze. Light. Pointless. Kind.
The lieutenant leaned back slightly, his head tilting toward the sky.
Somewhere above the cloudline, a bird cried out, drifting farther than he felt he ever could.
By God, I'm so fucking tired.
His joints ached. His cybernetics stung. And here he was—stuck under the damn shade with a golden-haired nunbot who was staring at him like she could goad him into confessing something just because she was dressed like a goddamn priest.
Whoever programmed her back in the VTC must've been insane.
He tuned back in just in time to hear her sigh contentedly and place her hands primly on her thighs.
"...That was nice," Rapunzel said to the air.
He cracked an eye open and gave her a long, unreadable look.
She blinked and turned toward him with a small gasp. "Ah—were you listening? Sorry, I was just rambling again..."
He shook his head slowly, then squinted. "...Did your outfit change?"
That caught her off guard.
"Oh. You noticed."
She stood and brushed invisible dust from her sleeves. The soft motion made the new ensemble more obvious now that he was paying attention: armoured plates discreetly sewn into the bodice and along her arms. It still kept the white-and-gold priestess motif, and her long braid still hung like a golden rope behind her, but this uniform was meant for war, not sermons.
"With all the recent fighting, I've taken to being on the frontlines more often," she explained. "Snow White and a few of the engineers helped me redesign it. Something more... practical."
"Hmph," he grunted. "Nice."
She smiled at that, genuinely pleased.
Silence returned. She remained seated, humming lightly under her breath. Occasionally, her lips moved in a quiet prayer. Her hands rested in her lap. Her presence was still... there.
The lieutenant closed his eyes again, brow furrowed. The wind ruffled his coat slightly. He didn't move.
A few minutes passed like that.
Then he muttered, "I'm not gonna get rid of you, am I?"
She blinked. "Hm?"
He didn't look at her.
"Until I say something. You're going to keep sitting here. Day after day. Rambling. Breathing the air. Pretending it's all for yourself. Are you going to stay with me forever or something?"
Rapunzel squeaked.
Like a dog's chew toy.
Her face flushed suddenly. "W–When you say it like that... it sounds so—!"
He opened one eye. "...What?"
"N–Nothing." She smoothed her veil and coughed lightly into her hand. "But you may be correct. I won't leave your side. Not for any reason. I could keep talking to myself, of course, or hum quietly, or just sit. But if you think silence will drive me away..."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What about your actual job? Healing? Morale duty? Logistics? I'm pretty sure I ordered you to watch over those before I tried to blow my brains out..."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Details. I could forgo those things for persistence. Or, if you'd prefer, you could whisper something to the breeze—just a comment—and I'll pretend I caught it. Then I can wander off and be productive until the wind tells me you've spoken again."
He groaned, slumping lower in the bench. "God, you're irresponsible."
"Perhaps," she said cheerily.
He was quiet again. The wind rustled through the trees.
"...Fine," he muttered. "If I say one thing. Even if it's about the wind or the dust or some speck on your fuckin' armour. You'll leave me alone for a couple of days, right?"
She nodded. "Absolutely. That holy pact shall be honoured."
"Holy pac—God, fine. Just shut up."
He slouched further and muttered under his breath.
Rapunzel only smiled, folding her hands again.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
"I hate Nikkes."
The words were barely louder than the breeze.
He didn't look at her; in fact, his eyes were pinned to the sky, as if he could find something worth hating up there, too.
"God, I hate you things so much it's unbearable."
Rapunzel didn't flinch.
His voice was tired, acidic, but not shouting. Like bile rising from the pit of a stomach long past empty.
"The whole concept of you—all of you—it's disgusting."
His fists clenched against his knees.
Synthetic women built to smile through orders, through pain, through trauma. Mass-produced metal suits puppeteered by command protocols, forced loyalty, and combat firmware.
It wasn't right. None of it.
He fell silent, breathing shallowly.
Then, with a grunt, he stood up.
It was a slow, awkward rise. His joints protested. His muscles didn't want to cooperate. But he managed. He steadied himself with an exhale and reached into his coat, fishing out the bottle of painkillers he'd pocketed earlier.
Without ceremony, he dropped it onto the bench beside her.
"That counts," he muttered. "So you leave me alone. Two days."
He turned, the hem of his coat swaying with each step as he limped away from the bench.
Rapunzel remained seated, still facing forward, still quiet. Her hands hadn't moved from her lap.
As he neared the edge of the path, she called after him—not loudly, just enough for him to hear.
"I enjoyed our talk!"
He stopped walking for a second.
He didn't turn around. Instead, he clicked his tongue sharply. "Don't lie to yourself."
Then, almost as an afterthought, his voice drifted back to her:
"Isn't that a sin?"
He got lost trying to find a way back. His mind blanked out following Rapunzel. He forgot the route they took.
Every joint ached from disuse, and he hated it, though he still walked.
He stopped only when he caught the shimmer of steel in the sun.
Scarlet knelt beneath an awning, her long blade resting across her lap, the cloth in her hand gliding across it with care. She didn't look up at first—until the air shifted, pressure changing like a heartbeat catching.
Then her eyes flicked upward, and she blinked.
"My word... Lieutenant?"
She stood abruptly, the cloth dropping from her hand, forgotten.
"I had not the faintest notion you had awakened. 'Tis been far too many weeks. What brings thee here, unannounced?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just walking. Heading back to the infirmary now. Think I've had enough sun."
Scarlet tilted her head, then stepped forward with an ease that was far too eager to be subtle. "Permit me to accompany thee. 'Tis no trouble—I merely wish to ensure thou dost not collapse en route. A man of your stature needs no dishonour such as that."
The lieutenant sneered. "I don't need you holding my hand, Scarlet. My legs will correct themselves before I hit the ground, and my spine's more metal than yours. If I fall, the pavement's the one taking damage."
Still, she lingered, falling in step beside him.
"..."
"..."
He stopped abruptly.
"Alright, out with it."
Scarlet blinked. "Out with what?"
He motioned vaguely between them. "This entire thing. First Snow White with her arm upgrades, then Rapunzel breathing down my neck, and now you're here trying to babysit me like I'm made of fucking glass. What—did you all get together in a room and plan this out?"
Scarlet's face tightened.
"You've been under my command for two years," he went on. "You know better than anyone—I'm not made of glass. I was strong as a fully organic being, and now I'm more than 50% Goddesium, for fuck's sake."
Scarlet didn't reply. Her gaze lowered slightly, then shifted to the side, unsure of what to say.
He scoffed. "Right. No answer. Figures."
A new voice cut in.
"There was no plan."
The lieutenant looked over his shoulder to see Rose, Fleetly Fading strapped to her hip, arms folded.
"There've been too many Rapture attacks lately to plan anything beyond surviving the hour."
The lieutenant groaned, turning back. "Oh, great. Now she's here."
Rose stepped forward, her eyes unmoving. "But even without a plan, it's our job to protect you. Whether you like it or not. You're still our commanding officer. And if you think you're unfit—"
"Rose—!" Scarlet interjected, stepping in.
But Rose held up a hand, gaze locked on the lieutenant.
"Then resign."
The word hit like a gunshot.
"If you're so determined to keep pushing everyone away," she said, her tone cracking just slightly, "If you'd rather... s-self-terminate than accept help... Then resign. Do what you want."
Scarlet turned to her sister, wide-eyed. "What...? Rose, what are you saying? You—of all people—you would be overjoyed when we found out he was still alive. Why are you—why are both of you acting like—?"
She looked between them, stepping forward.
"What happened? What is this? What aren't you telling me?"
"Shut the fuck up."
The lieutenant's voice cut through like a blade.
"There's nothing between us. Nothing happened. I don't need a goddamn escort. And I definitely don't need a lecture."
He turned away, boots scraping as he stepped into motion again.
"Thanks for the idea, Rose," he muttered. "Might just put in a resignation... so I can finally blow my fucking brains out without a dozen dolls stopping me."
"Wait—!" Scarlet's voice cracked, but she stopped herself halfway, frozen in place.
The lieutenant didn't.
He disappeared behind the wall, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
Scarlet spun toward the other Nikke.
"What the hell was that?!"
She marched forward, fists balled, glaring at her older sister.
"..."
Rose said nothing.
"Don't give me silence, sister," Scarlet growled. "That entire exchange reeked of something foul. I want the truth."
Still, Rose said nothing. Her arms remained folded, her eyes cast off to the side.
Scarlet's voice rose with mounting desperation.
"We have waded through fire and storm together, you and I. Bled and fought through hordes of Raptures of every breed! We clashed blades with Anachiro herself—saw our comrades fall, and still we stood!"
Her voice cracked briefly, but she pressed on, furious and grieving.
"And through it all... he was there! Even in his absence, his shadow walked with us! His voice spurred us—his presence anchored us!"
She took a step closer.
"You know this! You, who followed him longer than any of us! You, who had been at his side first. You, whose voice he trusted in the most dire situations! Sister, we are all that remains of Melee Squad... and thou wouldst stand here, teeth sealed and eyes turned, when everything around us crumbles?!"
At the mention of Melee Squad, Rose winced. Her jaw tightened, and her folded arms shifted ever so slightly.
Scarlet caught it, like a scent of blood in the air.
"I ask again: what happened between thee and he? What hath driven thy spirit into such quiet grief? Why ask him something so cruel as to abandon us once more?"
Still no answer.
"What broke him, Rose?" Scarlet demanded, voice breaking slightly. "Why did he turn the gun upon himself? Why do I not know?! I would give my sword, my very limbs, to protect what little remains of us if I just knew what pains thee!"
Rose's breath caught, just barely. Her eyes flicked to the ground.
Then, she turned.
"Nothing happened," she said softly, already trying to walk past.
Scarlet's hand shot out, grabbing her arm.
"DO NOT LIE TO ME!"
Rose flinched.
"Thou mayest shield the world, sister, but not from me. I know thee. The lieutenant shall remain tight-lipped 'til his dying breath, but thee—you are my best hope to comprehend this... this poison brewing beneath our feet!"
Rose yanked her arm gently but firmly free.
"There is nothing," she said with brittle resolve. Then softer, "I'm... I'm not in the mood to spar today. Forgive me."
She stepped back, clearly aiming to walk away.
Scarlet stood still a moment, stunned. Then her voice pierced the air again, desperate now.
"Do not deceive me, Rose! If it concerns something before Melee Squad's disbanding, then say it! If it occurred when we reunited with him—then speak it! But do not walk away from me with shadowed eyes and a snake's silence!"
Rose stopped.
Her fingers curled slightly.
Then... she kept walking.
Scarlet stared after her, expression hollowed out, as if something in her chest cracked just a little more.
Her shoulders sagged.
"...If not even my own blood would trust me..." she whispered.
The words floated like a loose thread—soft, but clear enough to be heard by the sister walking away.
Rose's steps faltered for a moment.
She shut her eyes tightly.
Her hands curled into fists.
But she did not turn back.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Moments Later
Soon enough, the lieutenant was passing by dozens of mass-produced Nikkes, with their various rifle stocks and weapons bouncing on their backs and shoulders.
The lieutenant's own footfalls were slower, his coat trailing slightly from each movement. His breath was still a bit ragged, ribs stubbornly reminding him that he wasn't fully healed, but he pressed on. He needed answers.
Two Nikkes saluted as he passed, murmuring under their breath.
"...He's awake."
"...Didn't think he'd..."
"...Back already..."
He ignored them.
Ahead, the doors to the command hub slid open with a hiss.
"—I'm just saying," Red Hood's voice rang out, upbeat but quieter than usual, "not having a NIMPH ain't the worst thing. I still breathe, don't I? Think, talk, crack skulls... I'll manage."
"You're sure?" Dorothy's voice, polished and calm, carried just a hint of concern beneath its surface. "It isn't just for longevity. You know that. Memory integrity, psychological shielding—"
"Dorothy." Red Hood cut her off with a grin. "I'm tougher than I look. You've known me how long?"
That was when the lieutenant stepped in.
"Dorothy. Red Hood."
Both heads turned.
Dorothy straightened immediately. Red Hood blinked, brows shooting up.
"You're—" Dorothy began.
"Yes. I'm alive. Shocking," he said dryly, making his way to the console. "Now move. I'm using this."
"Boss...?" Red Hood stepped to the side, but hovered, uncertain. "Should you really be walking around like—"
"Don't," he warned, voice dangerously low. "I've heard the same speech five times already. 'Oh, he's alive!' 'Oh, we were so worried!' Enough. I'm not dying. I'm not brain-dead. My lungs hurt, but I'm on my feet. That's the end of the update."
He sat heavily at the console, his fingers already moving across the interface with mechanical precision.
Dorothy hesitated. She looked like she wanted to say Welcome back, or maybe We've missed you. But she had decided to say neither.
Red Hood rubbed her neck. "Well, uh... the girls and I've been holding the fort. You know. While you were taking a nap."
He shot a look her way.
"Not getting your subordinates killed unnecessarily is a start."
Red Hood's grin faltered. Dorothy, to her credit, maintained her posture, but her shoulders tensed.
"Consistent results make a leader," he added, punching in a series of commands. "Where are Siren, Hansel, and Gretel?"
Dorothy cleared her throat. "They're out securing the satellite uplink. A few kilometres northwest. We're trying to re-establish a more stable relay with the Ark. The line's been degrading... since you went under."
He nodded slightly, eyes still scanning data feeds. "Makes sense."
"..."
There was a pause before he muttered, "Vacate the post. I'm making a call."
"To who?" Red Hood asked, tilting her head. "You gonna tell some crusty brass you're back? Want us to stick around and keep ya company while you dial them up?"
Dorothy gave her a sharp look. "Red—"
"No," the lieutenant snapped. "No sticking around. No hand-holding. No eyes over my shoulder. I know what you're all doing and I don't want it."
Red Hood blinked, caught off guard.
"If this is just another excuse to babysit me, stop."
His voice rose with each word, fury curling in the syllables.
"I've had enough. I've had Snow White tune up my arm like it's a fucking tea kettle. Rapunzel try to emotionally finesse me like she's still a priest. I've had Scarlet try to escort me when I don't need it. Now you're hovering like a broken weather balloon trying to pretend everything's fine. All of this horsehit has been happening because I so happened to put a barrel in my mouth once. Once!"
His hand slammed the console.
"You think I want your guilt? You think it helps?! Do you want to help?! Then stop treating me like I'm made of glass, you stuck-up, bleeding-heart scrap heaps!"
Red Hood flinched, shrinking back toward the exit.
"I gave an order," he said, quieter now but seething. "You're soldiers. Act like it. I don't want your fucking tea and sympathy. Get out."
"..."
"..."
The silence afterward was suffocating.
Red Hood lowered her gaze. "...Sorry, boss. I didn't mean anything by it."
Dorothy, with a tight expression, gave him a subtle nod—half apology, half acceptance—then turned on her heel and followed Red Hood out.
As the door hissed shut behind them, the room returned to silence, save for the electronic pulse of the console.
He exhaled through his nose, fingers flexing once before continuing the login process.
The military database loaded slowly.
He waited.
Then, with a soft scoff, he pulled up a personnel profile.
COLONEL ADRIEN VOS
Status: Active.
Location: [CLASSIFIED].
He stared at the name for a long moment.
"...Figures."
His fingers hovered over the screen.
The cursor blinked.
For a few seconds, nothing.
Then the screen blinked. Static flickered briefly across the feed before the colonel's face appeared.
Grey hair. Steady eyes. Vos looked like he'd aged another few years since the last time they spoke—though, to be fair, so had he.
Vos blinked. His surprise was subtle but unmistakable.
"Well... Lieutenant," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't expect to see your signal just yet."
The lieutenant exhaled, rubbing at the side of his head, wincing slightly as a nerve flared near the base of his neck.
"Yeah. You and me both." He paused, then flatly: "Can I ask something?"
Vos gestured loosely. "Of course. Though first—how's the body holding up? You look..."
He searched for a diplomatic word.
"...strained."
The lieutenant's eye twitched. His hand dropped to the armrest.
"Had about a dozen pieces of walking junk try to cradle me like I'm a baby lamb," he said, deadpan. "Apparently, putting a gun in your mouth once is grounds for mandatory emotional micromanagement. Real fun."
Vos hummed low in his throat. "Yes, I heard. Red Hood's report was... blunt. I didn't press. Mostly because I've been busy."
"Good," the lieutenant muttered, turning slightly in his seat. "...But busy? Busy with what?"
"Nothing in particular that should concern you, but busy in the sense I've had to limit communications with the outside world."
"What? Are you in the Ark?"
"Mmmm, somewhere around there, but that shouldn't be the point. There is something I need you to do for me."
"...That sounds really suspicious, old man," The lieutenant sneered. "For all you could've known, I was dead. Do you have my vitals pulled up or something? Is this some task you really need me for?"
"Exactly, on both counts."
"That's really invasive, but whatever... If you've got a mission for me, shoot."
"You're needed," he said. "There are a few ongoing ops—delicate ones. The one containing Hansel, Gretel and Little Mermaid has been going on for around 2 days at this point. We need precision. We need someone familiar with edge-of-collapse scenarios."
The lieutenant snorted.
"You mean someone who knows how to fight while everything's going to shit?"
"That's one way to put it."
A second passed.
The lieutenant leaned forward, cracking his knuckles against the desk as he exhaled long through his nose.
"...You're asking me to jump back in the meat grinder."
Vos didn't deny it. "We can delay a few days. But not much more. I'm sorry. I know you just woke up."
The lieutenant gave a short, bitter laugh. "Hell, I was going to resign."
Vos raised an eyebrow. "Were you?"
"Yeah." He rolled his shoulder stiffly. "Thought it'd be a good way to finally pull the trigger without those metal psychos jumping in to stop me again. But, y'know what? Fuck it."
He glanced up at the screen, eyes dull but resolved.
"If you've got something lined up... fine. But don't lie to me. Don't say it's easy or straightforward. If I'm doing this, I want it rough. I want it hard. Hard enough to bury me six feet deep. Not just another coma."
Vos didn't flinch. His gaze lingered, seemingly calculating something.
"...Understood."
The lieutenant leaned back again, dragging a hand down his face.
"...Better than sitting on a bench with the choir girl," he muttered.
"You're talking about Rapunzel?"
Vos seemed to be searching for something offscreen.
"Yeah, she made me look sane, with the whole therapy-confessional horseshit she pulled today."
"Hm... hmm... alright. Uh... I don't know how to put this, but you need to put together what was once Old Tales once again."
"That doesn't seem that hard. Hansel, Gretel and Little Mermaid are still out on their whole communication mission thing—"
"Oh, no. You need Cinderella, too. Which is an issue since... she's broken out of her prison cell."
"...What?"
Chapter 43: Vol 6.4: Bloodpact
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: The Same Day
The door hissed open.
The lieutenant stepped out into the corridor. Ahead, Dorothy and Red Hood turned to face him.
They were talking softly until they noticed him. Red Hood straightened immediately.
"Boss!" she called out, her usual upbeat lilt softened with hesitation. "You're... uh, walking. That's a good sign. Um—need anything?"
Dorothy nodded, her hands neatly clasped in front of her. "If you're preparing to move, I can mobilize some of the Mass Produced squads stationed nearby. We've been rotating patrols across the eastern perimeter. All I need is the word."
They both paused.
There was something in the air...
The man they were looking at—wasn't the same one from minutes ago.
Gone was the bite, the venom, the slow-simmering loathing.
His posture was straighter. His voice, when it came, was soft spoken and calm.
"Relax," he said. "I just have questions."
Dorothy blinked. "...Of course."
"While I was unconscious, were there any major developments relating to Cinderella?"
The name changed the air instantly.
Dorothy stepped forward. "Yes. After your... incident, she surrendered herself."
"To you?"
"No. To the Central Government itself, fully conscious. No signs of corruption. She was placed in containment immediately. As far as I know, she's remained in a surface-held containment facility ever since."
He stared at her. "...You didn't check."
"My clearance within the Central Government isn't—"
"She's gone."
That stopped them both.
"What?" Dorothy's breath caught. Red Hood's head jerked up.
"She was broken out," the lieutenant said, tone sharp now. "A few days ago, from her secure site. Not only that—she had help."
Dorothy stepped back. "The Raptures? No... Anachiro...? Did she come back—"
He cut her off with a look.
"No." His eyes darkened. "Abe."
"..."
Red Hood looked like she'd been slapped.
"Wait—Abe? As in our Abe? Lab coat, glasses, always mumbling weird science stuff Abe?"
He folded his arms, watching her.
"...You're telling me you didn't know."
"I—n-no, I didn't! I've been with her a few times, but—nothing about a jailbreak or anything! I thought she was just doing, y'know—tests—"
"Tests on what?"
Red Hood hesitated and nervously rubbed her arm. She glanced at Dorothy, who looked equally unsure.
"Well... Me."
The lieutenant's eyes narrowed.
"...Explain."
Red Hood bit her lip. "Okay, so. Long story short—I don't have a NIMPH anymore."
The corridor went dead quiet.
"What?"
Red Hood steadied herself. "I'm... I'm NIMPH-less. I've been since before you woke up. Abe ran the scans—hell, Rose was there too."
The lieutenant's eye twitched, trying to process the information.
"I didn't really pay attention at the time," Red Hood muttered, suddenly smaller. "All I caught was that it had something to do with you. Like, apparently your blood? When it got on Cinderella? It started destroying the NIMPH nanomachines inside her. Slowly. Like an infection—but the reverse of one...?"
"..."
He was feeling a sense of weightlessness, for some reason.
"And the same thing happened to me. Bit by bit. The machines just... disappeared. Abe said it was some kind of anti-nanite property your body has. You burned them out, boss. You burned them out of us."
"..."
"Did... did you know that?"
"...No."
He looked away.
For a moment, he didn't say anything.
"..."
"It's irrelevant."
"Wait, what—"
"I said it's not important." His voice cut like a scalpel, more biting this time. "Whatever mutation is in my system doesn't matter right now. If Cinderella is gone, if Abe's gone rogue, then all of this—all of it—can wait."
Dorothy stepped forward, quietly. "What should we do?"
He looked at her.
"How many Mass Produced squads were transferred here while I was under?"
"About a dozen," she said. "With more on the way. We've been using them to plug the gaps while Hansel, Gretel, and Siren are out establishing comms."
The lieutenant nodded slowly.
"Good," he muttered. "Then I need to speak with all three of them. Preferably sooner rather than later—also, can you send in Snow White while you're at it? I need her expertise on something."
Dorothy glanced at their resident redhead, who nodded in response, already going off to fetch the technician.
He turned back toward the command hub.
"Excuse me," he said flatly. "Back to work."
The doors slid shut behind him.
He didn't immediately return to the console. Instead, he stood motionless before it, raising a hand to his temple and tapping it lightly.
Tap
Tap
Once more
Twice more.
Then he let his arm fall with an exhale and shut his eyes.
Just breathe.
The silence inside the room was deafening in its own way, made worse by the flicker of holoscreens and the buzz of the dormant comms.
He leaned forward onto the desk.
His blood.
RH Type X.
A classification so rare it was treated more like an anomaly in every medical database he'd ever combed through.
"..."
It destroyed NIMPH.
He let that echo in his head.
Red Hood had just said it so casually. As if she were discussing the weather. As if saying, "Oh, by the way, your blood kills the one thing that makes Nikkes controllable."
As if that wasn't a goddamn nuclear-grade piece of information.
He slowly opened his eyes.
"..."
He was less than human. That much was sure.
He stared at his fingers, flexing them once.
Once upon a time, that hand had been flesh. Now, it could punch straight through reinforced steel walls.
He exhaled hard through his nose.
He'd thought he understood what his blood was—a rare medical oddity. It slightly enhanced his physical capabilities, but that's all he understood.
Nothing more.
But the deeper into hell the war dragged him, the more the layers of truth peeled away like his fake flesh.
Through Red Shoes's memories, he'd discovered that bonding—actual long-term proximity and trust—with a Nikke enhanced their combat capacity.
He hadn't told anyone that.
Now this. His blood had purged corruption. Not just halted it, not just delayed it. Purged it. Anachiro, that freakshow of a monster, had been undone because his blood got on a Nikke who idolized beauty above all else.
"..."
Cinderella.
He grimaced.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
That wasn't supposed to be possible.
His gaze dropped to the floor, but it wasn't the metal tiles he saw. It was the dull smear of his own blood on Red Hood's shoulder. That was probably the reason why her NIMPH was destroyed, making its way through her system until the blood began systematically destroying those nanomechines.
That was probably the case for Cinderella, too. During her initial transformation, or their brief physical combat with one another, his blood had somehow gotten onto her.
"..."
He leaned against the terminal now, shoulder sagging slightly. A quiet, restrained tremor worked through his limbs, but he wrestled it down before it could take root.
No.
There wouldn't be a breakdown again.
Not here.
He is not weak.
Just...
"...What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" he whispered.
There was no answer.
Just the console's hum and the blinking cursor awaiting his input.
He rubbed his jaw, feeling the groove of the bone. His mouth tasted bitter.
He didn't know what to do.
That was the part that scared him.
The one thing he always had—even when half-dead, even when surrounded—was a plan. Direction.
And yet this?
This wasn't in the playbook. What was he meant to do with this information? If a Nikke became corrupted, should he just slit his wrists and bleed on them so their NIMPH and their corruption get destroyed?
No... Why... Why would he do that?
He barely has enough blood inside him as is. Why would he risk further damaging his already fragile health for a... Nikke...
His health.
His body...
"..."
Was this the reason he was still alive?
"...!"
He blinked.
The thought didn't leave, like an unwanted houseguest.
Was this why they kept dragging him back? Why he hadn't died in that crater? Why they kept fighting so hard to keep him alive—those stubborn, naïve, annoyingly persistent pieces of scrap metal?
Was this why he was Robo Cop'd back into existence by Vos!?
"..."
"...Fuck..."
Later...
Red Hood stepped out first, wordlessly escorting Snow White forward. The lieutenant stood a few paces from the central console, arms folded.
Red Hood gave him a glance. He didn't say anything.
She took the hint, gave Snow White a short wave from the side, and turned on her heel, boots tapping lightly as she disappeared.
Snow White tilted her head. "You called for me?"
"I did," the lieutenant replied, motioning toward the nearby workbench. "It's about Cinderella."
Snow White blinked. Her stance shifted subtly, the light narrowing of her eyes betraying her confusion. "I thought she was still in containment...?"
"Not anymore."
He reached up and released the clamps on his right arm. It detached smoothly with a hiss of pressure. Holding the prosthetic out by the wrist, he handed it to her.
"You remember modifying this, yes?"
Snow took it with both hands gently, her grip instinctively cautious.
"Yeah. I did recoil dampening and joint flexibility adjustments. But I didn't touch the internal systems. I remember there was a microtracker inside the humerus—" Her eyes sharpened. "Wait, is that what this is about?"
"Yes."
"Is it faulty? Is there a signal conflict with external modules? I knew the fibre insulation felt thin when I rerouted the cabling—"
"It's fine," he cut her off. "Don't overthink it. I just need the tracker inside. Extract it intact."
"...Why?"
"Because we're going to use it to track Abe."
Snow White blinked twice. Her lips parted slightly. "Abe? Wait. What?"
"She broke Cinderella out."
"Wait—wait, what?"
He folded his hand (Get it?) behind his back. "Cinderella isn't in containment anymore. Abe broke her out of the facility."
Snow took a step back, still clutching the prosthetic arm, now stiff in her hands. "That—no, that doesn't make any sense. Why would she—?"
"I don't know yet. I want to find out. But Abe implanted that tracker in this arm a while back, way before Cinderella turned into Anachiro. This gives us a lead."
Snow White's face shifted through a spectrum of emotions: shock, uncertainty, the gears in her head grinding against each other as she tried to reconcile the image of the reserved, hyper-focused Abe with someone committing high treason.
"But—" she started, then trailed off. "Okay. No, okay. That's serious."
"It is," he said.
"Then I'll get to work. I'll have to open the casing manually and bypass the shielding. It might take a few minutes."
"Take your time," he said. "We only get one shot."
She nodded once, stepping over to the bench and setting the arm down on the flat surface. Already, she was unclipping a small tool roll from her belt.
As she got to work, the lieutenant turned back toward the main console. His eyes flicked briefly to the status panels lining the upper walls, then to the empty seat near the ops station.
Snow White didn't look up from her task. "...Lieutenant."
He stopped mid-step.
"Do you think this was her plan from the beginning? Abe, I mean."
"I don't know."
"Do you want to know?"
He hesitated for just a moment.
"Of course I do. Any rational person would."
Abe stood hunched over one of the displays, fingers tapping against the edge of the terminal in thought.
Behind her, Cinderella sat quietly on a chair. A steaming bowl of rehydrated MRE soup sat in her hands, untouched. The smell didn't bother her, nor did the temperature of the bowl resting against her palms.
"...What are you looking at?" Cinderella asked softly.
Abe hummed in response, still unmoving.
Cinderella tried again, eyes drifting from her bowl to the woman in the lab coat. "Was this really a good idea...?"
At that, Abe blinked. She tilted her head slightly, glasses catching the reflection of her console.
"It wasn't a good idea. It was the only one I had."
That answer clearly didn't soothe the Nikke. Her hands tightened a little around the bowl. "You didn't have to do this. You didn't have to break me out. I... I was fine staying there, even if it was for observation. Commander could've—"
DING!
Before she could finish, the console pinged. Abe leaned forward and brought up a map overlay, a single red blip now blinking.
"There we go," Abe muttered, pushing her glasses up her nose with a satisfied little click. "It's only a matter of time now."
Cinderella shifted in her seat. "Who?"
"The lieutenant, of course," Abe replied. She didn't look back, eyes still on the screen. "He had someone dig out the tracker I put in his arm. My guess? Snow White. She's careful, and she's good with microtech."
Cinderella's mouth opened, but no words came out for a second. When they did, they came quickly. "Why would you want the commander to come here? You—Abe, you committed treason. You broke me out. Isn't that the whole reason we ran?"
Abe's shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug. "He's not the type to go running to central command with his findings. He'll come himself, though maybe if we are lucky, he'll bring along the rest of the girls. He'll want to know what happened. And when he does..."
She turned around now, folding her arms. Her expression was calm, unhurried, but there was intensity behind it.
"That's when we get our chance."
"...Chance for what?" Cinderella asked, though the slight tremble in her voice suggested she was afraid to know the answer.
"I need his blood."
The words landed hard. Cinderella's eyes widened, her hands gripping the bowl tighter.
"Wh—what?!"
"Oh, come on." Abe rolled her eyes and gestured lazily. "Don't look at me like that. You know why. His blood purged the corruption out of you. Out of Red Hood. It destroyed the NIMPH. Whatever's in his blood, it's rare, reactive, and a miracle for our purposes. It can practically make all of us immune to Corruption."
"Even if that's true... you could've asked him. When he woke up. He wouldn't have said no. You didn't have to do all this. You didn't have to break me out. Put yourself in danger. Put him in danger."
Abe was silent for a second.
"You're not wrong. I could've just asked. But do you really think they'd let me keep a sample if I told them what it could do? I'd be buried under red tape and reassigned to design drone parts within a week. This was the only path where I kept control of the outcome."
She walked slowly over to a cluttered bench and leaned against it, folding her arms. "I can't be bothered with the Central Government right now. They're all focused on retreat and nothing else. I don't have time for it."
"Time for what...?" Cinderella asked cautiously.
"To complete your mission," Abe said plainly. "Destroying the Space Elevator and killing the Rapture Queen."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Central Government Facility Containing Red Shoes, Night
Major Baron Drexler was uneasy.
He was standing in front of the control room's glass, his reflection catching in his eyes as he did so.
Beyond it, behind three inches of translucent plating and fifteen metres of layered containment walls, lay Red Shoes.
She hadn't moved in hours—not since the last dose of sedatives had been administered. Her breathing was shallow.
"Dirty traitor," he muttered.
He wasn't worried about her escaping. Not now. She was too important to be left in anything less than this deep, buried sarcophagus of concrete and steel. Once they finalized her relocation into the Ark, even fewer would have access.
"..."
No.
That wasn't what weighed on his mind.
Drexler's jaw clenched slightly as his eyes flicked to the side monitor. Lines of status reports and movement logs scrolled past.
"Still nothing from Corbin..." he muttered, tapping a few keys.
Captain Elias Corbin. Commander of Crown's Squad.
There had been no communications for over 6 weeks.
Six weeks since the battle with Anachiro near the Ark, and since Cinderella had been detained.
Alva particle density was growing by the week, muddling long-range comms, blinding satellites, and wreaking havoc on the signal interpretation modules inside most Nikkes. It was expected.
But six weeks? Of complete silence?
He leaned closer to the screen, hands now planted firmly on the console. His reflection stared back at him in the glass: dulling blue eyes, greying temples. It seemed like the last few months had aged him a lot.
"Corbin wouldn't go dark without reason."
Crown herself, let alone Corbin, was invaluable—that piece of cloth, the so-called Naked King, held an experimental advantage. Command was divided over its actual power, but Drexler had seen the logs. Naked King, if activated, could vaporize Raptures with its expenditure of thermal energy.
That's its supposed capability, at least.
Supposidly, it could be modified further, but there wasn't enough time for said upgrades to be implemented.
If she was gone... if that tech was lost...
He didn't want to consider it.
Drexler straightened and keyed in the override for secure comms.
"Priority channel alpha," he spoke aloud. "Direct line to Crown and Seed Vault communication nodes. Authentication: Drexler Twenty One. DTO."
The console gave a soft beep as encryption locks fell away.
He pressed a hand against his earpiece, closed his eyes, and spoke into the room.
"Captain Elias Corbin.
Crown.This is Major Baron Drexler.
You are ordered to respond."
Nothing.
"..."
He continued.
"This is not a disciplinary inquiry. I am aware of the Alva particle interference and the deterioration of standard communications.
If you are within range of any relay or amplifier node, this message will be repeating on loop across Central Government frequencies One-Five-One through Two-One-Zero.
Any and all members of Crown Squad:
Sound off. Confirm location. Maintain position until retrieval.If unable to reply, make contact with Lieutenant ██████, Commander of New Goddess. He has been provided the latest frequency path.
Channel is: Seven-Nine-Delta, code prefix 'Vapaus.'Regroup.
Survive."
He stopped. The room was silent again except for the low thrum of cooling systems.
A second passed.
Then ten.
He turned from the console, paced once, and stopped short. His fingers twitched near his sidearm...
Why did he feel like something was...
He shook his head.
Finally, he returned to the microphone.
"I'll put this on repeat," he muttered, voice lower. "Hope you hear it, Corbin."
He flicked the repeat flag.
The screen faded to black, the words looping quietly in the background.
He took one last glance down the corridor at Red Shoes.
Still asleep.
Drexler didn't say another word. He just turned away from the observation deck, coat swaying slightly behind him, and walked out.
The message repeated softly behind him.
"Captain Elias Corbin... Crown... This is Major Baron Drexler... You are ordered to respond..."
"..."
Drexler was now going down the corridor, the edges of his vision catching the blinking of security lights and the occasional nodding-off guard. He didn't blame them. The last six weeks had taken something from all of them—mostly their sleep.
Still no word from Corbin. No ping. No transmission.
No dead man's switch, either.
Nothing.
And that gnawed at him.
Corbin had only just passed his 26th birthday. Too young, and yet, too seasoned already. He and lieutenant ██████ were both part of the final accelerated cadet program taught by Colonel Vos. Four years of compressed instruction, war-gamed simulations, Vos's final experiment. And when they graduated?
The world ended.
They'd barely worn the uniform a month before the sky cracked open and the cities burned.
Now, Vos's finest students were scattered across the collapsing remnants of humanity's final defence. One, an increasingly unstable commander with more cybernetics than soul left. The other, missing, possibly dead. Probably dead.
Drexler paused near the terminal at the far end of the hall, resting one hand on the cold edge of the console.
"If he's gone..." he muttered under his breath, "...that might be kinder than what happened to the lieutenant."
He let out a long, tired exhale. It fogged slightly in the chill of the underground.
Then the floor shook.
It was subtle at first—just a tremble beneath his boots...
"What...?"
RUMBLE~
Then came the rumble.
RUMBLE~
A second tremor.
RUMBLE~
Then a third.
Drexler turned with his eyes narrowing.
BOOM.
A wall of concussive force tore through the sublevel. The ceiling buckled before he could reach for his comms. Light burst into flame, and shadows stretched wildly as structural beams snapped like brittle bones.
An instant later, the containment level collapsed entirely.
An orange-white blossom of fire devoured the lower quadrant of the underground lab.
Pressure doors slammed shut—but it was too late.
Red alert horns screamed. Sirens wailed up through the ventilation shafts. Monitors cracked. Systems sparked.
And in the confusion...
The Mass-Produced Nikkes guarding Red Shoes didn't even get a chance to fire. The first wave of Raptures surged from the breach like a tsunami. Screams erupted, cut short by ripping metal and tearing flesh.
And from the flames... something was moving.
Red Shoes was no longer in her pod.
Sometime Later...
"...Captain Elias Corbin... Crown... This is Major Baron Drexler. You are ordered to respond..."
"...Repeat... You are ordered to respond. If you can hear this—"
"...If you are unable to access command channels... seek Lieutenant ██████... code prefix..."
"...Sound off..."
The console buzzed.
Static.
The message repeated.
Again.
And again.
And again—
Click.
A weak, breathless voice crackled through the line:
"...This is Crown..."
A pause. There was rustling and laboured breathing, but Crown spoke anyway.
"I repeat... This is Crown... Is anyone... there...? C-Commander Corbin is dead... Is... Is anyone there? W-What should I do? Um... Lieutenant... ██████ is who I should contact next, right?"
Notes:
I didn't particularly think too much of the summer event. I think it was fun and a bit horny, like most summer events are, with a few character developments here and there.
That Yan and Pepper picture flashbanged the hell outta me lmfao.
Chapter 44: Vol 6.5: Hope or Despair?
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Unknown Location, Unknown Time
Colonel Adrien Vos, hunched over a swirling vial of deep crimson liquid. His fingers guided a narrow pipette into the neck of a glass casing.
"Come on," he muttered, sweat sliding down his temple despite the frigid room. "One last one. Just one more."
He adjusted a small dial on the device beside him, a soft chime confirming that the molecular crystallizer had reached its final stage. The reddish fluid inside the casing slowly started to thicken.
The door behind him hissed open.
"You done with the last batch?" came a voice from behind him.
Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hale stepped into the lab. He wasn't wearing his usual field gear—just a reinforced coat and his glasses, slightly fogged from the cold.
"We have to move, Vos. We push any longer, and the Raptures are going to bury this place. And if they get their claws on Project V—"
Vos held up a hand, not looking back. "Almost. Just keep your voice down. I'm stabilizing it."
Hale exhaled through his nose and stepped closer, eyes drifting to the black box on the desk. He crouched and hefted it with both hands.
"Start packing," Vos added. "I'll be a more minutes."
Hale moved, but didn't go far. He placed the black box on the nearby bench and lingered, arms folded, watching his old friend with a troubled look.
"What's the plan after this, Vos?" he asked quietly. "You know we're boxed in. The Central Government's not answering, and Drexler and Corbin... they haven't called in for a while."
Vos's shoulders tensed. His eyes didn't leave the stabilizer.
"If Corbin's dead," he muttered, "then Crown's either dead too or lost..."
The last words were like a lead weight in the room.
Vos removed the final casing—now solid, deep red, slightly glowing at its centre—and held it up to the pale light. Without another word, he motioned to Hale.
"Open it."
Hale pressed a biometric panel on the black box. A freezing hiss escaped as the lid cracked open. Inside were ten near-identical red bullets, each nestled in individual slots, frost curling along their metal.
Vos lowered the eleventh into place. It clicked in with a soft chime.
"Eleven," Hale said. "That's more than we ever thought possible."
"We got lucky," Vos replied flatly.
The silence returned, heavier than before. Hale closed the box gently.
The lab responded to a voice command from Vos—his tone robotic now.
"Initialize lab shutdown. Prep for relocation protocol. Dispose of all peripheral logs. Burn organics."
The room's machines began retracting. Lights dimmed. Hydraulic arms disassembled trays and wiped down surfaces.
Hale stepped closer to the box.
"There's still usable organic matter here," he said. "You've used all the blood... but the flesh—his tissues—could still carry what we need."
Vos turned to look at him then, eyes dark.
"I know," he said quietly. "But we're done for now. That material stays with the box."
Hale looked at him, uncertain. "We might not get another chance."
"We won't," Vos agreed, then added, "Which is why we need to make this one count."
He crossed to the crate, wiped frost from the top with his sleeve, and then paused.
"..."
"..."
"Hale... I've been thinking."
Hale raised an eyebrow.
"We don't give it to the Ark."
"..."
Hale blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
Vos turned, facing him fully now.
"We hide Project V. On the surface. Off-grid. Somewhere where the Central Government won't find it. Not yet."
"You've lost it." Hale took a step forward. "The whole point was to bring this to Command. The Ark is the last stronghold, Vos. Having this be—"
"The Lieutenant's vitals came back online."
Vos's words sliced through the room like a bolt-action shot. Flat, quiet, and final.
Hale froze mid-step.
"What?" he breathed.
Vos turned from the sealed black box and finally faced him, the glow of the dying equipment catching on the creases in his face.
"I didn't tell you right away because I was working on this," Vos said. "But he's awake and somewhat stable. And I've already re-established contact."
Hale blinked, trying to process it.
"Why wasn't I told?" he finally snapped. "We've been running this operation together. That boy—he was under my command too."
Vos looked down for a moment, but when he raised his head again, the cold clarity returned.
"Because I needed time to make a decision. I've tasked him with hitting the Space Elevator."
Hale stared.
"The hell are you talking about?" His voice sharpened. "Why now? You're having him assault the Elevator—what, to take out the flow of Raptures? To buy us time? I mean... sure, it's a target. But how does that connect to hiding Project V?"
Vos stepped forward slowly, his coat swaying behind him.
"Do you know what the Central Government will do to him if they get their hands on him?"
Hale didn't answer—but his silence said enough.
Vos continued.
"They'll lock him up. Drain him. Rip him apart, cell by cell, for every drop of blood. You've read the reports—we both have. But it's worse now. The cybernetics that's on him are... Not insulated. And the Goddessium alloy—"
Hale cut in, quietly:
"With his injuries, it would've started contaminating his tissues."
Vos nodded grimly.
"Diluting the compound. Poisoning the base for Vapaus. If he's captured now, what they extract will be unstable—maybe useless. But they'll try anyway. You know they will. No limit to how far they'll go. Which is why we can't let them have it. Not him, not the bullets, not the formula."
Hale's hands curled into fists.
"So your solution is to burn everything?" he snapped. "To wipe out the only scientific breakthrough in decades?"
Vos didn't reply immediately. He just watched Hale, expression unreadable.
"Adrien," Hale said, stepping in again. "I've known you for decades. I know you don't believe this is the right call. You're trying to convince yourself, not me. Delete a decade of work on Vapaus? Erase the only tool that's ever worked against a Heretic? You're smarter than that."
His voice cracked with frustration.
"I get hitting the Space Elevator. I really do. Cut off the flow of hostiles. Buy us time. But this?"
He pointed toward the black box.
"You want to bury humanity's only goddamn chance for survival. Just because you don't trust the suits in the Ark?"
Vos's mouth was tight.
"Both of us don't, Hale."
But Hale was rolling now—years of arguments, friendship, war, everything boiling over.
"We've made it this far because of your work. You want to give up now? You know you're up for Supreme Commander if you wanted it—hell, Command would hand it to you if it meant you shut the fuck up. And I'd support it. You still have pull, Vos. Your students—the ones who are still alive—half of them are in line to become senior officers by next year."
He motioned broadly.
"You don't need to hide anything. You could steer the whole goddamn war effort if you play your cards right. You could control Vapaus."
He stared at Vos, eyes searching.
"So why destroy it?" he said, more quietly now. "Why leave it on the surface?"
And then, the final blow:
"...Is it because of him?"
He didn't have to name the lieutenant.
"That boy you found. The one from the slums. Is this about him?"
"..."
The last of the lab's machines folded into the floor. Lights dimmed to pale standby glows. Vos looked around the lab. His eyes were distant. The long years of service showed all at once.
"If I'm wrong..." he said quietly, almost more to himself than to Hale, "...Then so be it. After all I've put him through... The last thing he should end up as is a test subject."
"...Adrien..." Hale whispered. "What decision are you making here?"
His voice carried a quiet dread, as if he already knew.
Because he did.
The walls of the lab felt tighter now, like they were closing in. Vos's refusal to let go—his sudden reversal, this protective instinct—it wasn't coming from duty.
It was coming from love.
And Hale understood that.
He thought of the Ark. Of his daughters. One is finishing engineering school, the other is in primary school. Safe—for now. If it were them... if one of them were the Lieutenant...
He'd do the same.
Hale exhaled before his friend spoke.
"We're going to destroy it," he said simply. "The research. As much as we can."
Hale's shoulders sagged a little, the words hitting like cold wind.
He turned slightly, eyes falling on the sealed black box—the container of red crystallized bullets. Eleven rounds of Vapaus. All that was left.
"...What about those?" Hale asked, nodding toward the box. "And the tissue samples?"
"We keep it. The bullets, the samples... they'll be the last remnants of everything we've done here."
Hale's brow furrowed. He didn't argue. But he didn't look at peace with it either.
A long moment passed.
Then Vos looked at him again, something sparking faintly behind his tired eyes.
"Earlier... You said you'd support me for Supreme Commander."
Hale nodded slowly.
"I meant it."
Vos gave a dry, brief chuckle. "Even if I get it, it'll only be for a few years. I'm too old for empire-building."
That actually earned a small snort from Hale.
"You're in your early sixties, not a corpse. You're sharper than half the idiots running High Command, and you're still fit enough to go toe-to-toe with half our junior officers. Plus..." He shrugged. "With how fast anti-aging therapies are developing, you might last another 40 years if you stop skipping meals."
Vos smirked, faintly.
"Then I'll spend those years trying to keep the Ark from devouring itself."
Hale looked toward the sealed lab door. The lights around them pulsed gently, heartbeat-like.
"You think the Ark's going to survive that long?" he asked. "You really think we'll retake the surface?"
Vos was quiet.
"If I get command," he said finally, "we'll hold. Twenty years, maybe..."
Then his eyes turned serious again, and he stepped closer to Hale.
"But if I'm going to lead... I'll need help," he said now, right in front of him. "Help me. And I'll make sure the Ark survives long enough for your daughters to see sunlight again."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: New Goddess Base, Morning
The lieutenant stirred beneath the blanket, blinking up at the ceiling. His body still felt weighed down, as though gravity had increased just for him. His joints ached and there was a dull pain in his chest still.
Those painkillers from before had probably worn off hours ago.
How delightful.
His eyes narrowed as he processed the notification glowing from his wrist module. Dorothy had pinged him sometime before dawn. Siren, Hansel, and Gretel had returned.
Their comms mission had succeeded.
Stable Ark connection re-established.
He exhaled slowly, then turned over to get up.
"!!!"
Like a sudden clamp to the chest, it punched the air from his lungs. He collapsed back down against the cot, landing hard on the thin pillow, his breath hissing between clenched teeth.
"...Fuck..."
"..."
He was annoyed.
Gritting his teeth, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright, this time more slowly. Carefully. He heard his spine decompress—like a piston bleeding air—as the auto-corrective feature embedded in his lower back adjusted for balance.
His legs followed, small hisses of pressure escaping at the knees and ankles as they slid into proper alignment. He stood fully, swaying just a little before catching himself.
His right arm twitched reflexively, but there was nothing to worry about
Everything was operational.
He crossed the room, popping open the wall-mounted cabinet and downed two vials of dull green medication—one to dull the pain, one to speed cellular healing. The latter burned slightly going down. The former just tasted like copper.
The uniform came next.
As he raised his arms to thread the sleeves, a bolt of pain snapped through his side—ribs, left side—and he had to pause, hissing again.
The meds hadn't kicked in yet.
He ignored it.
One last adjustment, a tug of the collar. Done.
He stood there in silence for a moment, breathing slowly through his nose.
Then his right hand reached over to his organic left arm, massaging the elbow, then up to the shoulder. The skin on the synthetic side was too good. If not for the minor pressure variance, you'd never notice the difference.
He looked at his hand, flexed, then lowered it.
He interacted with the comms pad on his right wrist and spoke.
"New Goddess, sound off."
A moment passed.
Then the responses came in.
"Rose, standing by."
"Scarlet is at hand, lieutenant."
"Dorothy here."
"Rapunzel—present."
"Snow White. Reporting."
"Red Hood. Ready for anything, boss."
"Aough!"
Thank you, Siren.
"Hansel and Gretel have returned," Hansel chimed in. "Gretel says... she's very tired, but happy to return here."
No voice followed from Gretel, but it didn't matter if Hansel had said something.
The lieutenant exhaled through his nose, giving a small nod to no one in particular.
Still tired.
He spoke again.
"Everyone but Siren, Hansel, Gretel... and Rose—return to duties. Debriefing scheduled later for you four."
Acknowledgements clicked in one by one. A handful of soft "yes, sir"s, and then silence.
He shut off the link, arms dropping back to his sides.
Then—
"Might I inquire, honourable lieutenant," Scarlet's voice broke through the quiet, "why mine own presence hath not been entreated in thy summons?"
He closed his eyes, head tilting back slightly. He was tired, far too tired to spar with her words, but he answered all the same.
"I've got to prepare for the debriefing," he muttered. "But... ask."
A pause on her end, then her tone softened, almost uncertain. "It is plain enough, yet—why was I not needed? Why dost thou exclude me, when others were bid to stand before thee?"
His answer came quickly, almost automatically.
"Because you're not needed for this debriefing. Same as the others. That's it."
There was a stretch of silence. He knew she was still on the channel—he could hear the faint static of the open line. She wanted to push, but didn't.
He sighed through his nose. Against his better judgment, he spoke again.
"After the debriefing... odds are high the four summoned will mobilize for a critical mission on the surface." He straightened slightly, though the movement sent a sting through his ribs. "New Goddess is large compared to most units. Two squad leads. Rose, obviously. And Dorothy."
"..."
"You'll be in charge alongside Dorothy with Rose gone. Standby until further notice. Make sure she's informed. Carry out your regular duties until then."
There was silence again, this one stretching long enough that he wondered if she had disconnected. Then—
"So thou wouldst place me at the helm, with Dorothy at my flank..."
"Yes."
"...What manner of task doth warrant such arrangement, lieutenant? What cause compels such urgency?"
"Simply put..."
"...There's a lot of shit going on."
His cybernetics steadied him where his muscles refused to cooperate, compensating for the weakness still lingering in his body. Without them, he knew he'd already be sprawled out on the deck.
He didn't care that he was on a transport when he should have been flat on a medbed. He didn't care about the shallow pulse in his temples or the burn in his lungs when he breathed too deeply.
He didn't care.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Minutes Ago
Just after the debrief, he had caught Hansel and Gretel muttering to themselves.
The two blue-haired sisters stood a little apart, eyes flicking to him as if checking whether he was close enough to hear.
"Without the implants," Hansel murmured, tilting her head toward her sister, "Commander would be bedridden. Gretel says he should stay out of it. Let us deal with Cinderella and Abe."
The words landed like a gut punch. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep walking toward the ramp, but the irritation prickled under his skin.
Siren was there, though—her hand slipping into his, gentle but firm. She braced herself to help him up the incline, her delicate face marked with worry. She didn't speak, but the small sound she made, a quiet, questioning hum, told him enough of what her thoughts were.
When he was on the deck, he muttered, "Go get Rose. She's got my meds—I need them now."
Siren's eyes softened, but she didn't argue. She nodded, squeezed his hand once, then darted off.
That left him with the sisters. They were already climbing onto the transport when he spoke.
"What's going on?" He looked up at them, his eyes narrowing. "You think I'm too weak to run a mission with you?"
Hansel's expression flickered, cutting to Gretel before answering.
"Hansel and Gretel will not lie to the Commander," Hansel said evenly. "Because the Commander has been good to Hansel and Gretel, we will say what we feel. The Commander is not fit for this mission."
The lieutenant's lips twitched into something between a grimace and a smirk. He tilted his head, waiting.
Hansel went on, her voice almost protective in its bluntness. "Yes, Commander is awake. Yes, Commander is walking. But this is only because of the modifications. Without them, Commander would not be here. Hansel and Gretel will lie to themselves and say the Commander's mind is clear enough to make choices for the mission. But Hansel and Gretel will not rely on the Commander's body. It is still hurt."
There was no malice in her words, only a strange, honest bluntness.
They didn't know how else to show it. They'd heard from the others. That their commander, the man who always carried himself like the strongest man on the planet, had tried to end it all. They didn't know how to face that. No one had taught them how to stand before someone in that kind of pain.
So they did the only thing they knew: speak plainly. Strip away the softness. Say it the way he would want it said.
The lieutenant sighed through his nose, eyes falling shut for a moment. "...At least you're not trying to smother me with pity."
Hansel inclined her head faintly, Gretel following, both of them saying nothing more.
The moment broke when Siren returned, quick on her feet, clutching the small case. She knelt beside him, pressing the meds into his palm. Rose clambered up right after, her arms stacked with supplies.
"That everything?" She asked, voice brisk.
The lieutenant popped a dose into his mouth, swallowing it dry. "That's everything."
He shifted forward, activating the autopilot with a clipped command.
"Strap in."
The transport jolted slightly, pulling him back into the now.
The monotone of the autopilot crackled through the cabin speakers:
"Three kilometres out from the destination."
Soon after, the hatch opened.
Hansel and Gretel disembarked first. Siren followed, eyes flicking curiously between the trees. The lieutenant was last to rise, a sharp breath escaping him as he leaned his arm against the side of the hull.
"You three, move ahead." His voice was firm but carried a slight rasp. He tapped on his wrist. "I'm sending you a location. Not far. Hold there and wait for me."
Hansel gave a curt nod. Gretel mirrored it without a word.
Hansel tilted her head, scanning the eerily quiet terrain. "There is a lack of Raptures here... Think Cinderella cleared them out?"
They vanished into the treeline.
Siren lingered. She hovered close, hand half-raised as if to offer support. But when the lieutenant's gaze snapped to hers coldly, she flinched. Her lips pressed into a tight line before she reluctantly turned away, though not without flicking her wrist. Several bubbles shimmered into existence, drifting over to orbit him like small moons.
His brow furrowed. "And what exactly do you think you're doing?"
She only hummed softly and gave him a quick thumbs-up before jogging after Hansel and Gretel. The bubbles stayed, circling him. He exhaled through his nose. Probably some protection trick. If his cybernetics decided to fail him, maybe they'd cushion the fall.
He stayed there a long moment, catching his breath, head bowed, fingers flexing against cold steel. When he finally looked up, she was there—Rose—standing in the clearing's shadow, as though she'd been waiting for the moment.
He straightened, irritation flashing across his face.
"What are you waiting for? Go on. I'll catch up." He flicked his hand dismissively.
Rose shook her head, a sigh leaving her lips. "You really want me to leave you here? Alone?"
"Rose," his voice hardened, "go."
Instead, she stepped closer. "Why didn't you bring the rest of them? If we're hitting the Space Elevator—if we're going after the main source of Raptures—wouldn't it make sense to put every asset we have into one strike?"
His jaw tensed. For a moment, he didn't answer, then he muttered, "You know me better than anyone. I wasn't about to leave the Ark wide open while we hit a priority target."
"So you split us. Diluted our strength. And you're standing here half-ready to step into a grave."
He snapped a hand up as if to cut her off, his voice edged with irritation. "Enough. I'm too lightheaded for whatever game you're trying to play right now."
She stopped just out of arm's reach.
"Then answer me straight. Why bring me?"
He scoffed, shaking his head. "Use your head, Rose. Why do you think?"
"...Because of your blood. You learned from Red Hood what it can do."
He gave a curt nod.
"And? That's not a valid reason in my eyes, lieutenant."
"And I'm not about to get eaten alive by a Rapture," he said. "I'm not letting myself get captured. If they ever found a way around what my blood does—if they could twist it, use it against NIMPH or somehow make the Corruption Code immune to it—it would gut us. Every operation we run after that would be compromised."
He finally turned his head, meeting her eyes with something uncharacteristic—an almost pleading look.
"So if things go to shit, during the Elevator op or after... you cut me. Let my blood into your system, burn your NIMPH out—and then you kill me. Turn me into mist. Stay with me, even if it means ending me."
Rose froze. Her breath caught, eyes widening just slightly.
He kept going, as if afraid to stop.
"Only you can do it. Only you'd have the conviction. You hate me so much for what I've done. Hate's the only thing that makes shoving that sword through my chest much easier. It'll satisfy all our goals. The key to curing Corruption doesn't get into Rapture's hands. And at the same time, you get to avenge Melee Squad. Its a proper justification rather than simple revenge. Everyone else will accept it."
For a heartbeat, her face twitched. Something in her head screamed, giving her a headache—
Į̸̢͖̙͝ ̸̢̖͉͆͒͐̀̉̓h̷͉͈̪̓̍̎̑̚ḁ̸̡̉͊͋̃͘
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t̸͉̪̽͊̚͠e̴͉͑͌̒̀͠—̸̲̖͍̫̾̒̑́̕͝
H—
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ë̶̯͔ ̸̅͜d̶̥͚̋ö̶̢̗̏n̵̳̟̏͠'̶͋͜t̶̠̉ ̶͎͎͂̓m̵̖͠ā̷̞͝k̸̩̳̾̽ e̴ ̴͈̥̇m̴͍͐e̶̬͗̀ ̸̜̖̒͠d̶̞̱͘͝o̶͔̼͝ ̶̹̭̅į̶̞̍͘t̸͙͝.̷̠͐̀.̵̞̘̈́͛.̶͓́̀
I̵̢̊́ ̶̨͙̣̞͖͆̇́̈́ͅl̴̨̛̘̠̙̖͂̈̂ỏ̶̘͖̳͋̀̍͘v̴̨̩̠̲̰͑̊̄e̸̹̗̻̐͌͝͝ ̸̙̺͕̣͓̀̈́̀̎͝ŷ̴̩̍̾̇͛̑ō̵̡̖̲̮̤̃̅̓̔ǔ̸̳̜͓̀̔̔́.̷͙͔̻̈́.̵̛̲͖̓̋͝.̵̜͉̈̀̿̅͌
Her NIMPH scrambled those strange thoughts, leaving them as only static in her brain.
He straightened, pulling his mask of command back into place. "This isn't a request. It's an order. When the time comes, when I come closest to falling into the hands of the Raptures, destroy your NIMPH and kill me. I will not ask anyone else but you."
He turned, walking off toward the treeline where the others had gone, his stride heavy but deliberate. Over his shoulder, he added:
"Don't fall behind. I'm counting on you."
Chapter 45: Vol 6.6: Hope
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Morning, Abe's Secret Lab
Abe muttered under her breath, scrolling across one of her displays.
"So he really brought them... Siren, Hansel, Gretel..." She allowed herself a thin smile. "That does make things easier. Having Cinderella storm the Elevator alone would've been reckless... even for my masterpiece."
Her voice was clinical, but when she turned her head, her blue eyes locked onto the pale figure lingering near the emergency hatch.
Cinderella froze mid-step. The white-haired Nikke's hand hovered just above the release panel, caught like a child in the middle of sneaking sweets.
Abe sighed and straightened, brushing the dust off her lab coat. "And just what do you think you're doing?"
Cinderella's blue eyes darted left, then right, anywhere but at Abe. Her lips trembled as she stammered, "I... I-I was just..."
"You don't want to meet them?" Abe stepped closer, almost coaxing. "That's what this is, isn't it? By technicalities, Old Tales merged into Goddess Squad. You're part of New Goddess now. Think of this as an inaugural—"
"No." Cinderella's voice cracked as she muttered again, louder this time. "No, no, New Goddess was created to destroy me."
Abe's brow flicked upward, but she didn't interrupt.
Cinderella's chest rose and fell too quickly, words spilling out in a half-stutter, half-confession. "I... I'm the reason they exist. Because I allowed myself to be corrupted, b-because I destroyed humanity's hope. I-I'm the reason they're forced underground in the Ark. I'm..."
Her knees buckled. She stumbled back against the cold steel wall, knuckles white. Her breath came in ragged bursts.
"I'm a monster," she whispered. "Not a Goddess of Victory... not anything. I hurt them. I hurt my friends. I k-killed my commander. And then I hurt them again."
Abe's shoes tapped softly against the floor as she approached. She crouched down in front of the trembling Nikke, her face level with Cinderella's. But still, the girl wouldn't meet her gaze.
"The only reason I'm even here now," Cinderella choked, "is dumb luck. How was I supposed to know that his blood would cure corruption? When he—when he looked at me with hatred and spat—"
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Even now, even if he's alive, rebuilt with metal, that's on me! It's my fault! He is what he is because of me. Why—why did I have to say that—"
She hiccupped, cutting herself off with a sob that sounded almost childlike.
Abe tilted her head. Her voice was quiet, probing. "What did you say to him? Before he turned the gun on himself."
Cinderella's expression twisted, anguish overtaking her delicate features. Her lips moved, barely shaping the words.
"I... I called him my prince," she muttered, almost inaudible. "When he was about to terminate me. I called him the prince who freed me..."
Her voice trailed into silence.
"Why?" she whispered, tears welling. "Why couldn't I just die? I knew... I knew it would only hurt him more. Terminating me would have already brought him pain. But I... I said that. I made it worse. I already killed him once, and then I... I..."
She clutched her head with both hands, trembling.
"I can't bear it again... I can't... why did I do it?"
Abe reached forward, lightly placing her hand on Cinderella's shoulder. The scientist's tone shifted—not warm, not soft, but steady enough to cut through the spiral.
"You said it," Abe murmured, "because it was true."
Cinderella's breath hitched. Slowly, she lowered her hands. Her ocean-blue eyes widened, stunned.
Abe didn't let go. Her grip was firm. "Do you know what I wanted, ever since I was young?" she asked, thought expecting no answer.
"..."
"I wanted to be remembered as the greatest engineer to ever live. And you—" she gave Cinderella's hand the slightest squeeze, "you are the culmination of my labour. My masterpiece. Not a monster."
Cinderella's chest hitched, her throat working as if to force down the sobs pressing to escape.
Without waiting for protest, Abe reached across the table beside them and picked up a small, handheld mirror. She angled it up toward Cinderella's face, forcing her reflection into her line of sight.
"Look," Abe said simply.
Hesitation rippled across Cinderella's features. She flinched, as if afraid of what she might see. But when her gaze finally settled on the mirror, she found not the red-ringed eyes of Anachiro staring back at her—only her own soft, ocean-blue ones.
Her lips quivered. "I..."
"That's you," Abe said firmly. "If you see a monster... then I'll reject this ending myself. I will not allow your story to end like that. If it must end, it will be when you are at your most beautiful. And I will not let you run before then."
Cinderella's breath trembled. Her gaze darted from the mirror to Abe, and then down to the floor.
"...I'm not beautiful anymore," she whispered, voice breaking. "Not with the blood on my hands. Not with a story that failed. A fairy tale with no happy ending... A princess who killed her prince—"
"The prince who wanted you to be free."
Cinderella's eyes widened. Shock cracked through her despair. "...What?"
Abe's gaze softened, but her conviction didn't waver. "Think back. Every memory—good, bad, in-between. Every story you've been part of. Even this one." She tilted the mirror again, forcing Cinderella to meet her own reflection. "Why do you think he keeps going? Why do you think he bore that pain in his heart so deeply that just one push nearly ended his story right then and there?"
Her hand tightened around Cinderella's. "Why?"
Cinderella's throat closed up. She shook her head weakly. "I—I don't—"
"Because," Abe whispered, and her smile this time was tender, "the prince, just like you, is beautiful."
Cinderella gasped softly, eyes trembling as she stared at the mirror. The blue—her blue—looked back at her.
"I have always been watching you," Abe went on. "Every step. Every struggle. Every dream you've reached for, even when the world told you it was impossible. I drank it in. I was entranced by you. Can you even imagine? That someone so incredible was born from my own labour? Your beauty has kept me transfixed at every moment. You've always had an audience in me."
Cinderella's lips trembled. She lowered her gaze, but Abe gently lifted her chin with two fingers, refusing to let her hide.
"And wasn't it the same for you?" Abe pressed softly. "While I was watching you... you were watching him. That prince who loves you all so dearly. Who wanted nothing more than to see you free—to see you all grow into your own people, unshackled by burdens, unchained by implants... even if it meant letting the weight of the world grind him down."
Cinderella's vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, struggling to hold herself together.
"You wanted him to see it too, didn't you?" Abe's tone gentled further. "To realize that he deserves what he gave you—that he deserves to be beautiful. That his story isn't over. That the epilogue is still far, far ahead. And just like you, he deserves a happy ending."
"I..." Cinderella choked on her words, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I just... I couldn't stand by..."
Abe smiled faintly, almost sadly, and placed the mirror directly in Cinderella's hands. Her own fingers guided them up, steadying her.
"Then don't look away. Not this time." Her voice was calm but firm. "Please... look."
Cinderella's breath came in shudders as she raised the mirror again. This time, her reflection didn't waver. She didn't see the red eyes of Anachiro. Only her own. Her ocean-blue eyes, wide and shining.
Anachiro wasn't here.
Anachiro was dead.
Because her prince set her free.
"What is reflecting back at you... What my own eyes see, right now... is a Goddess of Victory."
Abe leaned closer, not giving her space to retreat into self-doubt.
"He didn't hate you. The 'prince' never did. No matter what he said... no matter how much he lashed out before Anachiro snapped his neck—it wasn't you he was spitting venom at." Her tone hardened, protective, almost daring Cinderella to contradict her. "It was Anachiro. He never despised your performance. He despised what he thought you had become... something empty. A robot. And that thought tore him apart."
Cinderella's throat bobbed.
"Because under all that love," Abe pressed on, "what he feared most was that the fairy tales he saw unfolding in front of him—the happy endings you made feel real—were just illusions. That the audience he gave himself over to... was for nothing. That the pain he carried, the drive he drew from it, would guide no one... that it was just pain. All for nothing."
"..."
“When he was about to terminate you… you tried to clear his mind of it. You didn’t resist because you hated him. You didn’t even hate the idea of dying there. You thought—so long as he lived, even if you weren’t there, there was still a chance someone might break through to him. Save the prince from destroying himself. That thought alone was beautiful.”
"..."
“Do you really believe he believed what he said?” Abe asked, watching her carefully. “The words he shouted out—were they reflected in his actions?”
For a moment, Cinderella looked away.
“No. He never did.” She tried to collect herself, wiping her face with the back of her arm. “He said those things because—”
“Because he was scared,” Abe finished.
"!!!"
“Scared,” Abe repeated. “Scared that he was truly invested in being your audience. That he was guiding you to a happy ending, and that meant he was closer than he ever wanted to be.”
Cinderella blinked, the pieces falling together as though Abe had cracked something open.
“He didn’t want to be close,” she whispered, almost to herself, “but he failed. He was one of our most invested.”
“Yes.” Abe’s tone warmed. “Scared because he loved you, all of you. And he needed a reason to tell himself he didn’t. He thought, if he stayed distant, he’d be safe from something like Anachiro emerging. He thought that lie would protect him.”
The white haired Nikke's lips parted as if to protest, but nothing came out.
"But that wasn't you," Abe continued, softer now. "You chased your dreams with everything you had. You wore your confidence like a second skin. You loved your sisters-in-arms, you loved humanity, and you even loved yourself. That's what I saw. That's what everyone saw. The most beautiful person in the world."
Cinderella lowered her hands, tears streaking her face, eyes glistening like shattered glass catching the light.
Abe tilted her head slightly, her tone shifting into a question.
"Tell me... that person I'm describing. What did she want? What was her wish?"
Cinderella's lips parted. For a moment, nothing came out—only a soft, broken sound. Then, slowly, as though clutching the words from the depths of her chest, she answered.
"To protect humanity. To defeat those who'd steal their futures. To... rewrite my story. And give everyone the happy ending they deserve."
Her voice grew firmer as she spoke
Abe smiled. "Then let's start rewriting them now. All of them. From this moment on. And I'll be there every step. Always in the seats, watching you. I'll be your mirror, reflecting every step you take until you become the most beautiful version of yourself."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Before the moment could seal itself, another voice cut in faltly.
"...You really missed your calling, Abe. Should've gone into motivational speaking instead of engineering."
Both women snapped their heads toward the doorway.
The lieutenant leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Beside him stood Hansel, Gretel, and Siren—three previous Old Tales members, who had clearly rushed here, still catching their breath.
How he got there before them was beyond the bounds of reality.
Abe's face flared crimson in an instant.
"Wha—?!" She slapped a hand over her burning cheek, turning away as though the very sight of them might combust her. "Y-you—when—"
Cinderella shot to her feet, nearly tripping over them. "Commander... you guys..."
"Aooh..."
"...."
"..."
The former members of Old Tales almost cautiously stared at their old comrade with a strange look, to which Cinderella held, steadying herself.
"When did you—"
Siren didn't let her finish. With a strangled cry, she dashed forward, Hansel and Gretel right behind. The three of them collided with Cinderella, wrapping her in a crushing embrace. Cinderella let out a sob as her arms instinctively wrapped around them, the four collapsing into a messy heap of relief and tears.
Abe, her blush only deepening, dared a glance at the lieutenant, her hand still glued to her face.
"...How much did you hear?"
He glanced at Rose, who had quietly entered behind them, before shifting his gaze back to Abe.
"Only the last bit. But I can guess it had to do with her self-worth." His tone was maddeningly casual. "Never imagined I'd see the day the stone-faced genius scientist turns bright red over giving a pep talk to her kids."
"Sh-shut up!" Abe snapped, her voice cracking as she pointed at him with a trembling finger. "I—ugh—just—go sit down somewhere, alright?! I have to... I have to grab a few things before we talk!"
She spun on her heel, storming off in a flustered hurry, muttering under her breath.
The lieutenant watched her retreat, then looked to the centre of the room—where Cinderella, Siren, Hansel, and Gretel were tangled together, all laughing and crying in the same breath.
Rose hadn't moved. Her eyes stayed locked on the group, though her lips parted ever so slightly.
"Let's go find a seat," he remarked.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: A Few Minutes Later, Abe's Secret Lab
"Funny thing is, Abe... you and I ended up chasing the same damn target. Both of us want that elevator turned into rubble."
Abe, now composed again, adjusted the lenses over her eyes and gave a small nod. "Seems we did. Sorry about the scavenger hunt earlier. Dragging you here just to find me wasn't exactly elegant."
"Didn't matter. One way or another, I'd have come knocking here eventually. Dismantling my arm to find the tracker just sped things up."
Her lips twitched slightly, then she stepped aside, gesturing to the equipment lined neatly on a tray.
"Then this should be obvious. If we're on the same page about the Elevator, I need something from you first." She picked up a vial, letting the glass catch the overhead light. "Your blood. Enough to put together a batch of what I've been working on."
"What exactly are you planning to cook up with it?"
"Something injectable." Abe's tone was steady, though her gaze flicked toward Cinderella in the corner. "Fast-acting. A compound tied directly to what's unique in you. It'll spread instantly through a Nikke's system and burn the NIMPH out like a wildfire. Hurts, yes, but it's quicker than waiting months for a single drop of your blood to work through naturally."
Cinderella's pale eyes lowered at that.
Abe continued.
"I'll need three or four tubes. That should be enough to cover everyone here if things... go badly."
"So this is just for emergencies. If someone's corrupted?"
"Yes." Abe gave a firm nod. "The last thing anyone here wants is to end up a Heretic. NIMPH has its perks, but the risks...This is the fallback. Nothing more."
The lieutenant turned his gaze onto Cinderella. She stiffened under it for a moment before composing herself
"You don't have one anymore, do you?" His voice was quiet but heavy.
Cinderella's response came softly. "No. Abe ran tests. It's gone. Completely—system and brain."
He hummed at that, then looked back to Abe. "That makes your work trickier. My body can't store blood the way it used to. Not since—"
"Not since you've become more machine than flesh."
Both of them held each other's eyes for a moment, then nodded in unspoken agreement.
"I've already accounted for it," she went on briskly, putting on some gloves. "There's sugar in the back. You'll need it after each draw."
Her gaze snapped toward Hansel and Gretel, who had been inching closer to the stash. "And you two—don't even think about it."
The blue-haired sisters froze mid-step, exchanging guilty looks before retreating. "We weren't touching it," Hansel muttered. Gretel gave a solemn nod.
"Good," Abe said flatly, then turned back to the lieutenant. "I'll take it slow. One tube a day. Three days, and we'll have what we need."
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Didn't exactly tell command where I was headed. They'll be pissed."
"They can be pissed after the Elevator's gone." The blonde muttered. "No one will punish the people who bring that thing down. Not without looking like fools in front of the public."
The lieutenant gave a low hum of agreement. Then, without another word, he rolled up his left sleeve, the pale skin on showcase. He sat on the nearby stool, resting his metal hand on his knee.
"Let's get this over with."
Abe picked up the syringe, but muttered as she cleaned a patch of his arm with alcohol. "Your skin's pale."
"I haven't had proper sunlight in a while, so it's reasonable."
Later, after Abe had finished drawing the single blood tube for the day, he rested.
The lieutenant's arm was still wrapped in gauze. This time, no one dared disturb him.
So, the others gave him silence.
Abe sat nearby, studying the crimson sample with clinical focus, muttering to herself every so often as she worked. The rest gathered a little way off, their conversation hushed at first before slowly picking up.
Hansel's eyes shifted toward Cinderella. Gretel hovered a step behind her sister, silent but watchful, giving the white haired nikke a strange side eye.
"Cinderella's blue eyes..." Hansel started, tilting her head slightly. "They make Hansel uneasy. Gretel feels the same. Before, it was the red ones that were frightening, but now..." Her voice trailed, leaving the weight to settle.
"...I'm sorry," Cinderella whispered. "For hurting everyone. For letting it happen. I just... I want to make things right. If you can forgive me..."
Hansel placed a hand lightly over Gretel's, squeezing once before speaking again.
"Hansel will forgive. Gretel will forgive too, even if her eyes stay uneasy. Because the red-eyed imposter is gone. Destroyed."
Cinderella's lips parted in relief, her eyes watering slightly. She muttered, almost puffing the word out, "...thanks."
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement. Siren was holding up her small notebook, her black hair framing her pale face as she smiled quietly. In neat letters, she'd written:
I'm super happy you're safe and sound :).
"Siren..." Her gaze dropped to Siren's jaw. "Do you really... forgive me?"
Siren lowered the notebook, letting it rest against her chest.
"It's okay," she said softly. "We're friends. We're alive. That's enough."
For a fleeting moment, the warmth of that word—friends—rested on them all. But it couldn't hold. The singular word brought back a memory of their one last remaining member...
The eyes of Old Tales darkened together: Red Shoes
Hansel's voice was colder now.
"Hansel and Gretel want to kill Red Shoes. For what she did to humanity. For what she did to Cinderella. For what she did to us." Gretel's eyes glinted cruelly as Hansel added, "Gretel wants to melt her in acid. Hansel agrees."
Cinderella's gaze dropped, her expression hardening as her blue eyes darkened. "Why me...? Why was I chosen? Out of all of us... why would she betray humanity like that?"
A new voice answered, smooth and kind, breaking through the heaviness.
"Because you were meant to be the strongest."
Everyone turned. Rose stepped forward, her presence calm but commanding, her expression softened into a gentle smile.
Cinderella's eyes widened as she whispered, "...Rose."
The Goddess Squad member inclined her head slightly, a warm, almost teasing glint in her eyes. "That's right."
"I may not be a Grimms model, but I've learned a lot about you all. The Second Generation was built to surpass the first in raw destructive power. And among them, you were the pinnacle. The culmination of that design. It only makes sense Red Shoes would choose you." She gave a small chuckle, not out of mockery but to soften the edges of her words. "If anything, it was because you were too strong."
Cinderella hesitated, digesting the explanation, but her focus kept drifting back to Rose herself. Her face flushed, just slightly, and she fidgeted with her fingers.
"That... makes sense. It really does. But um... sorry, I'm just... a little distracted right now. It's just—" she laughed awkwardly, cheeks pink—"the commander told me not to... fangirl in front of you."
Rose giggled lightly, covering her mouth.
"That sounds exactly like something he'd say... When I was in his squad, he let us get away with a lot, but some things were off limits."
Hansel and Gretel, who had been sitting side by side, chimed in together—well, Hansel did the talking, Gretel simply nodding as if to confirm. Hansel's tone was flat as always, but that only made the words funnier.
"Hansel and Gretel agree. He never let us play pranks on him. And he used the newspaper as a weapon."
Cinderella blinked. "...I do remember that. It was due to 'baffoonery' if I remember correctly."
Gretel lifted her hand and tapped the side of her head with a look of exaggerated solemnity, as though remembering the sting of it.
Rose laughed again, this time more freely. "Oh, yes. That's true. He actually did that. I remember back when..."
Cinderella's eyes widened, then narrowed as a memory sparked. "You two used to prank him all the time. Writing on his face when he fell asleep, pieing him sometimes... You did loads of things like that."
"Correct."
Gretel gave another firm nod.
"And every time," Hansel continued, "he would roll up a newspaper, chase us down, and hit us on the head. Hansel and Gretel remember it well."
Gretel solemnly touched her scalp again, this time as if warding off phantom pain.
There were soft giggles coming from the group, with Rose chuckling a bit more freely alongside Cinderella, who covered her mouth with her dainty hand. Gretel's grave expression only made the whole image worse.
"If I remember, it became a game for you two, correct?" Cinderella asked.
"Yes. It became... a game. How long could Hansel and Gretel last before being caught?"
"That's ridiculous," Rose amusidly remarked.
"It was not ridiculous," Hansel countered without missing a beat. "It was a strategy. Hansel and Gretel made it that way... to garner sympathy from Abe so she would give us more goodies."
"Did it work?"
"No."
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Later In the Night
The lieutenant stirred with a low grunt, his hand instinctively clutching at his chest. Pain forced him upright.
"...damn it."
He pressed his palm harder against the ache and cursed under his breath.
He sat up slowly and reached for the little bottle on the table beside him. A few rattling shakes, two tablets in his hand, then a gulp of lukewarm water followed. The pain didn't vanish, but it dulled enough for him to breathe easier.
When he glanced around, he noticed the rest of the lab was in the lull of sleep—bodies sprawled in bunks, soft snores muffling against pillows... Everyone, that was, except Abe.
She sat at her station, her back hunched forward, glasses catching the glow of the lamp over her microscope. He could see the slight twitch of her fingers as she adjusted a dial. A tube of his blood sat pinned in her rig.
The lieutenant pushed himself to his feet, steadying against the wall for a moment before crossing the room. She noticed him in her periphery, though she didn't lift her eye from the eyepiece.
"You need something?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Just wondering what you're doing. With my blood."
"If I explained it, you wouldn't understand."
The lieutenant gave her a flat look. "You said that last time. Then you explained it anyway. And I understood fine."
Abe huffed and rolled her eyes, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "Go back to bed. You need the rest. I'll take the next tube at midday—after we've eaten. I want the sample when your blood sugar's higher."
He hummed in acknowledgement, but instead of lying down again, he turned and reached for his trench coat hanging on a chair.
"Where are you going?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Not outside, right?"
"Exactly where I'm going," he said, pulling the coat over his shoulders.
"No." She pushed back from her stool, standing now. "There are Raptures out there. If they even catch your scent, if they trace it here—my lab gets exposed."
He waved her off. "We're surrounded by the strongest Nikkes on the planet. Hansel and Gretel swept the perimeter. There's nothing out there. Everything's fine."
"'Fine,'" she repeated, voice tightening. "This is the only place where I can safely analyze your blood. If something happens to you—"
"I want fresh air," he cut in, colder this time, as though his patience had thinned.
"..."
"..."
She eventually sighed, muttering under her breath.
"Hopeless. Fine. You get thirty minutes. After that, I'll drag your ass back inside myself. You're injured, your blood is literally on my slides, and if you collapse from exhaustion, I am not listening to your insomniac complaints."
"You worry too much about me. Focus on yourself. Not me. I don't matter."
That earned him a sharp scoff. She turned back to her workstation, muttering, almost to herself, "God, I hate that part of you. How can you be both the most selfish and the most selfless man I've ever met? It's infuriating."
By the time she was done ranting to herself, he was already at the door and had exited her lab.
He stepped out, drawing in a long breath despite the dull pain in his chest. The stars stretched endlessly overhead. The night was quiet—too quiet, maybe—but he let himself believe in the safety of their sentries.
Not moving far, he lowered himself against the concrete wall just outside the entrance, sliding down until he sat on the ground.
His coat wrapped around him, he leaned back, eyes half-lidded, a sigh of relief escaping.
"...What a beautiful sky to die under..."
When he was still a child... In those times, when despair had clawed too deep, he would a climb the ladder up to the rooftops. Up there, above the filth and shouting, he would stretch out on the shingles and stare upward until the world dissolved.
More than once, sleep had stolen him away there, his stomach empty but his mind dulled into something almost like peace.
When was the last time he'd seen a sky like this?
"..."
The truth was, he couldn't remember. Or maybe the truth was worse—that he had never really allowed himself to rest at all.
What was rest anyway?
A dull ache rolled through his chest, though he ignored it.
He shifted slightly, closing his eyes to the light above, and drew in another breath.
In...
and out...
He hoped this would be his last.
In...
and out...
His shoulders slumped.
In...
and—
Sleep overtook him before the exhale.
His eyelids fluttered.
"..."
Cold.
"...!?!"
His back was pressed into something flat and metallic. His arms and legs were pinned, straps cut tight against his limbs—Leather or steel, he couldn't tell. Panic surged in his chest as his awareness sharpened.
He was strapped to an operating bed.
"Well, well... I thought you'd wake up much later," a voice purred, delighted, almost teasing. "Honestly, I was expecting you to stir only after I was finished."
His eyes went wide. That voice belonged to—
"...Red Shoes..."
"Ohhh—" she sang, drawing out the syllable as if savouring it. "You remember."
A shape leaned into his blurred vision. Delicate but thin lips curled into a delighted smile, eyes shining with amusement. Her hair was slightly longer than he remembered, framing her face in that same bob-like cut.
But the way she looked at him...
Why are her eyes red? Don't tell me—
"It really is me," she whispered sweetly, fingertips brushing along his cheek before he could move away. "I was almost worried you'd forgotten. Four months, wasn't it? Since we last... talked properly."
She tilted her head, lips puckering in mock thought.
"Four months in stasis. Four months in that awful little prison they thought could hold me." Her laugh rang out, high and lilting. "Do you have any idea how dreadfully boring it was? I counted the tiles in the ceiling until I knew them better than my own hands. I replayed our last conversation, over and over. And I thought—"
She leaned closer, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath against his ear, her words a sing-song whisper that made his skin crawl.
"—About all the things I would say to you."
Notes:
He'll be fine, right?
With Cinderella's new resolve, he'll be fine, right?
...
ABE!!!! SEND HELP!
Chapter 46: Vol 6.7 - Despair
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
[End of Volume 6]
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: Night, Abe's Secret Lab
"...Fifteen minutes," Abe muttered under her breath. "Give him another five before I drag his ass back myself."
She flicked her gaze to the sleeping bodies strewn across the lab. She envied them in a way; she really wanted to go to bed right now. The mental exhaustion from being awake for like... a month straight was getting to her—and she just wanted to shut her brain off for like a day or two.
Her envy, however, turned into irritation at the mere thought of that grumpy bastard as she glanced at the door he exited.
"What the hell did he mean by that...?" she whispered, her voice sharp in the still air. He had said, "There's nothing out there. Everything's fine," like he'd just checked the weather.
Abe clicked her tongue. That was the problem. He said it with that half-dead look in his eyes, like he was reassuring her instead of thinking straight.
"You're not invincible, you idiot..."
The thought wouldn't leave her alone.
He was strong—stronger than her, physically—but he was also fragile in a way no Nikke would ever be. His body might've been rebuilt, but that didn't change the fact he was still breakable. A glass cannon.
Her irritation spiked again. She snapped her kit shut, shoved her notes aside, and stood up.
"Fine. Guess I'm babysitting."
The door slid open, and the cool night air swept inside, brushing her face. For a second, she froze, letting the sensation ground her. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out—
"██████! Changed my mind—get your stubborn ass back in here!" Her tone was flippant, the kind of voice she used when she wanted to make it sound like she was in charge, not worried. "I'm not taking chances, you hear me?"
Silence.
Her brows knitted.
"...Okay, not funny."
She stepped out farther.
"You're not gonna win this one. You think staying quiet's gonna help your case?" she barked, scanning the treeline. "I'll find you and drag you back, don't doubt it!"
Still nothing.
Her annoyance gave way to unease. She called his name again, her voice echoing into the emptiness.
The only reply was the rustle of leaves.
Abe sneered, frustration bleeding into nerves.
"Alright, last card. If you've just passed out, I swear—"
Her pupils flickered as the implants in her eyes warmed, shifting into heat-seeking mode.
Immediately, her chest tightened.
No Raptures. None at all. Not within kilometres.
Just like he said.
"...What the hell..." she whispered.
Her gaze darted left, right, sweeping for his signature. She caught the glow of fish in a nearby pond... Animals moving in the brush.
But no human-like heat.
Her stomach dropped.
"No... No, that's not right." She shook her head, muttering to herself now, faster.
"Even if—worst case—even if he collapsed or—" Her voice faltered. "There'd still be heat. There has to be heat."
"..."
Abe's throat went dry. Her mind jumped to the only explanation she didn't want to entertain.
Something had taken him, hadn't it? And in such a quick time, as well.
That quick and stealthy operation could only be...
Her lips twisted, and she spat curses into the night. She didn't stop until something snapped in her mind.
She bolted right back toward the lab.
WHAM!
The door slid shut behind her.
"Wake up. Now. Everyone—up!"
Cinderella stirred first.
"What's happening? Are the Raptures here?" Her voice was steady but tense, her Slippers activating as she said so, floating just inches above the ground.
Rose jolted upright next. Siren followed, while Hansel and Gretel rolled over in near unison, their voices muffled and lazy.
"...Is it morning already?" Gretel murmured.
"...Too early," Hansel mumbled back.
Abe's gaze darted between them, lips pressed tight, before she locked onto Cinderella. "No. It's probably worse than that, I think a Heratic took the lieutenant—"
She never got the chance to explain her reasoning.
"What!?" Rose's voice cracked the room like thunder.
Before anyone could react, she was gone—blazing through the doorway at such velocity the gust ripped papers off desks and sent an empty mug spinning across the floor. The lab's clutter scattered, crashing against walls.
Siren let out a strangled sound, clutching her head. Hansel and Gretel's eyes widened together, the dreamy fog gone in an instant. Even Cinderella froze.
"No time to stand around! I want a search party, now! Whoever—whatever—took him couldn't have gotten far."
Her eyes shot to Cinderella. "You—"
But she didn't need to finish.
Cinderella's feet left the floor, her body already hovering as her Glass Slippers filled with a charge.
"I'll cover the skies," she said coldly, her porcelain face darkening with an uncharacteristic severity.
One by one, the others followed.
And so the search began.
From the dead of night into the grey-blue of dawn, they scoured every ridge, every ruin, every trace of movement.
But there were no signs of the lieutenant.
Rose blurred through the forest like a storm given form. Bark split where her heel dug in, branches whipped past as though the trees themselves recoiled from her speed. Her long, greyish hair streamed out behind her in a suspended arc and yet still, no trace of him.
Her eyes, sharp and fever-bright, combed every shadow between the trees. She barely registered her own fatigue
She had to find him.
She had to.
SKREEEEE—
Her body skidded across the soil, scattering dirt and leaves, until she froze at the edge of a small pond.
"██████!" she shouted.
For once, she didn't use his rank, just his name.
Her chest heaved. She was unanswered.
"Where are you!?" Her voice cracked. "Why—why would you just leave like that!?"
Her fists clenched.
"I'll never forgive you! Never! Was it just to get snatched up by some Rapture? Or—or killed?!"
The cry echoed, and the forest stirred with panic. Her rage alone emptied the clearing.
Rose's body trembled. The sound that left her throat next was half a snarl, half a sob.
"W-wasn't it my job...?" Her voice dropped. "To finish you off? To make sure you never fell into their hands? Wasn't that my responsibility!?"
She shook her head violently, grey strands flying loose around her face.
"No... no, I'll never forgive you. As long as I live—I'll never forgive you!"
Silence rushed in after the animals fled.
Slowly, her gaze drifted downward—into the pond.
Her reflection stared back. Pale hair, clenched jaw, eyes rimmed with fury...
She blinked.
The forest around her was no longer cloaked in black.
It was dawn.
"...I've been running all night."
Her shoulders sagged. The fury, so consuming moments ago, ebbed into a hollow feeling.
Why... why does this always happen?
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, allowing the wind to take hold once more. Was this where it meant to carry her? To this hollow clearing, empty-handed?
She was the Squad Leader of the Melee Squad. A member of the Goddess Squad and the New Goddess... And yet—every path always led back to him.
Him.
That lieutenant. The man who had shaped so much of their fates. Who had brought her and her sister to heights, and then driven them to ruin.
Her hand brushed the water's surface. Ripples scattered her reflection.
And in that broken mirror, memory slipped in. Back to the time before. Back when the wind was gentler, when her heart was unscarred. When she could laugh, tease, and trade words with him.
Back before he murdered almost all of them.
A faint sound cut her off—the subtle rush of air displaced above. Her head jerked up, eyes scanning the sky. A white figure descended, drifting like a feather.
Cinderella landed softly by the pond's edge, her expression rather complex for someone who usually knew what to present to the world.
Rose stiffened, wiping at her face roughly with the back of her hand.
"What is it? Did you find something?"
Cinderella's lips pressed together before she spoke, a small amount of regret in her tone.
"No... I wasn't able to find anyone. I scouted out a seventy-five-kilometre perimeter, and still—nothing." She hesitated, her eyes flickering for a moment. "But... Abe just contacted me. Some people have arrived at the lab. They claim to know where he was taken."
Rose's eyes widened, the despair on her face cracking into urgency. "And you're only telling me this now!? Why wasn't I informed immediately? We should be moving already!"
The white-haired Nikke's expression softened.
"Rose... you were too far out. The Alva particles in the air are scrambling regular communications. It was impossible to reach you."
"How far?"
Cinderella looked away, then back at her, a sad sort of honesty in her tone.
"...Over two hundred kilometres. The only reason I was able to find you at all... was because of the path you left behind."
Rose turned slowly, following Cinderella's gaze. She saw it now—trees bent, split, forced aside by her passage. Long streaks of scorched earth cut through the grass, glowing faintly from residual heat. The trail went on and on, stretching beyond sight.
Her hand drifted to her side, fingers brushing against the hilt of her blade. For a long moment, she said nothing.
After a melancholic moment, she murmured, "I understand..."
She looked back at Cinderella. "Let's go."
Cinderella gave a faint hum of acknowledgement. Her feet lifted from the ground as she blasted upward.
Rose turned her back on the pond, the reflection of her pained eyes breaking apart with her movement. With a sharp exhale, she launched forward.
Year: 2X35, Four Years After the Rapture Invasion Began
Time: ????
He could only stare into the glow of her newly reddened eyes, and for a moment, he forgot how to speak. His body trembled against the straps holding him down, every nerve telling him to resist, but his tongue lay heavy, useless.
The thing before him—the monstrosity in the skin of a Nikke—didn't look at him like prey.
Not like a soldier facing an enemy.
Not like a Heratic...
No.
She looked at him as though he were the only thing in the world worth looking at.
"Ahh..." Red Shoes leaned closer, her lips curving into a blissful smile as her fingers combed through his hair with eerie delicacy. "I missed this. I missed looking at you. These past four months, locked away in that frozen tomb... do you know what I thought about, every single second?"
Her hand lingered against his temple, stroking with a tenderness that felt wrong.
"This. You. Talking to you. Hearing your voice. It was like—like holding my breath forever, just waiting for this moment." A small, giddy laugh escaped her throat, almost girlish but eerie at the same time.
The lieutenant's voice finally broke through his paralysis. "...How? How did you get out? You were in containment. You couldn't have—"
"Shhh." Her finger pressed against his lips. The smile never wavered. "You won't like the answer."
His body tensed under her touch.
"They came for me," she whispered sweetly.
"The Raptures. I didn't have to beg, didn't have to struggle. They knew where I was all along. After all..." She tapped a fingernail gently against his temple as if reminding him of something they shared. "I planted myself deep in the Corruption Code. You think being in stasis would render me useless? Oh no. They just had to follow the trail."
His eyes widened, and she giggled at the reaction, delighted.
"All those years at VTC weren't wasted. I knew the maps, the hidden places. So they checked the facilities I knew about. Then the ones that others I knew might know about... step by step, link by link, until—ta-da! They found me. Isn't that clever?"
Her grin widened as she leaned down so close he could feel her breath. "I learned that from you. Countermeasures. Planning ahead. Thinking of every possibility. You taught me that. Which means it's almost like you're the one who saved me. Isn't it wonderful? You and I—always in sync."
The words hollowed his chest. Horror swelled like bile in his throat. His fault. All of this—her freedom, this shitty world—it all traced back to those conversations, those exchanges he thought harmless.
His stomach twisted.
She caught the shift in his face instantly. Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over the strain of his jaw.
"Ohh... that look," she murmured, eyes half-lidded with bliss. "You're in pain. You think it's your fault. I find that so... cute. The way you endure everything, and still keep yourself so composed. A perfect leader. A perfect being. I love you for that."
He blinked at her, stunned, barely able to breathe. "...What did you just say?"
Her head tilted, short blonde hair swaying with the motion, her crimson eyes locked onto his.
"That I love you. Did you miss it the first thousand times I've said it?" Her smile turned playful. "Dummy."
This was the first time anyone had said something so... intimate to him. Let alone a thousand times. Perhaps he had been selectively forgetting all the times she'd said it while strapped down to this table.
Either way, those words made him sick.
She leaned back slightly, letting her gaze wander over him, her lips curling with feverish admiration.
"You're flawless. Do you realize that? That body of yours—cybernetics spliced right into you. Your right arm, your legs, your spine— so much of your body is Nikke-grade. Anyone else would've gone mad from the integration. But you? You bend it, master it, live with it as though it's natural."
Her nails traced down his shoulder.
"That's... so... cool."
Red Shoes leaned back in her chair, one leg lazily crossing over the other.
"You know," she said, almost offhandedly, "I really do have to apologize. I didn't mean for her to kill you."
Her gaze flicked to the operating table.
Her voice softened, though there was disappointment threading through it.
"Anachiro... She wasn't supposed to do that when she first awakened. She was supposed to protect you. That was the whole point of grafting in my personality data inside of her. It should've anchored her, not—" she snapped her fingers, making a sharp cracking sound, "—forcing her to snap your neck like it was a chocolate bar."
She let the silence sit. Machines hummed around them.
Red Shoes muttered then, mostly to herself, "Next time she comes back... I'll be ready. I won't make it so easy for her to ruin everything again."
The thought lasted only a heartbeat before her face brightened suddenly, her smile returning as if painted on. She clapped her hands together.
"But! Anyway. You must be wondering—what are you doing on an operating table of all things, hmm?"
He didn't answer, or rather, couldn't.
Unbothered, she swayed closer.
"Well, despite you being so wonderfully compatible with Nikke-grade cybernetics, there have been some... hiccups. Nothing I can't fix. Not for you."
His eyes narrowed faintly, and he forced some words out.
"What's wrong with me?"
Red Shoes' expression softened affectionately. She leaned down, placing a single finger just beneath his chin.
"Your blood, darling. It's contaminated with Goddesium." Her smile faded just enough to reveal concern. "Left alone, it will kill you. Fatigue, difficulty breathing, and your immune system literally attacking your own blood. You'll waste away, and I don't want that. I won't allow that."
She drew back, pacing slowly, hands clasped behind her back. Her tone dipped lower, muttering again, words more for herself than him.
"And... I'm not even getting the normal boost I should from talking to you. It's... empty. I know it'll be fine once I purge that poison out of you, give you new parts—better ones, cleaner ones. Cybernetics that won't rot you from the inside. Then..." She looked back at him with a sly, almost girlish pout. "Then, I'll feel whole again."
The lieutenant's eyes widened. He knew those words. Not just from her lips now, but from when he had torn through her memories, the time when he found out one of the abilities of his blood. Talking to him gave her strength.
And now, strapped here, even with his replies stumbling out, she was feeding of of that, growing stronger with every syllable.
Though that thought wasn't relevant to him at the moment, however...
He wasn't just restrained, and she wasn't just out of her facility. There was another question clawing at his mind, one that threatened to crush his composure.
His lips parted.
"...How did you find me?" A pause. His throat bobbed as he forced the next words. "And what did you do... to the others?"
Red Shoes blinked, surprised by the sudden bluntness. Then, with disarming innocence, she shook her head.
"Do? To them?" She almost sounded offended. "Nothing. I didn't want them. I only wanted you."
"Then how—"
Her expression shifted before he could finish, mouth curling into a smile.
"How did I find you?" She giggled, a quiet, almost musical sound that sent a chill crawling up his spine. "I thought you'd have figured it out by now. It's obvious."
He waited, expecting something technical. A traceable frequency, an exploited flaw in Abe's comms. A logical explanation.
But instead, she leaned closer, pressing a hand against his restrained arm, fingers brushing the veins beneath pale skin.
"Because we're connected," she whispered. "I'll always find you. Always."
"That's... not an answer."
"Oh, but it is." Her giggle returned. "Do you know who told Abe to put that tracker in your arm?" Her nails lightly tapped the spot. "Me. I wanted to make sure you were never out of my sight."
He went still.
"See?" she said, almost triumphantly. "And look what happened when you slipped away from me. When I couldn't watch you." She gestured at him with a flourish, her tone souring. "Your blood is contaminated with Goddesium. Your skin is paler than I remember. Your pulse is weak. You're body is degrading."
Her lips curved into something between a smile and a scowl.
"I'm going to fix you."
His breathing quickened, chest rising with each ragged inhale. The monitors beside him flickered, heart rate spiking.
"Oh? Are you nervous?" She tilted her head, resting her cheek against her palm. "You shouldn't be. It won't hurt. Nothing painful."
She stepped closer, as her hand hovered over the controls. Behind her, steel limbs unfolded from the ceiling, mechanical instruments glinting under the lights.
"I'll just take the broken pieces out, clean everything, and put you back together. Better than before." Her smile widened again. "And afterwards, I can show you around. Our work is your work, after all. You deserve to see it."
The machines whirred, angling themselves over him. His chest heaved, restraints biting against his arms as he tried to shift. His eyes darted frantically toward the instruments, then back to her.
Red Shoes moved in close, cupping his face between her hands with surprising gentleness. Her eyes locked onto his, wide and unblinking.
"Trust me," she whispered. "The work we've done together... I can only finish it if I have your trust."
Something sharp pricked his arm. Cold spread quickly through his veins, dragging down his pulse even as the monitor beeped in frantic protest. His eyes fluttered, vision smearing.
Her smile lingered above him, her voice a soft echo before the darkness pulled him under.
"I'm going to fix you... because you're so perfect."
The machines drowned the last of the sound as his world collapsed into sleep.
Red Shoes hummed, a lilting, tuneless melody, as her gloved fingers skimmed across the console. At her touch, the arms of the surgical rig whirred to life. Hydraulic pistons hissed; precision cutters snapped open and shut like eager insects.
The first detachment was gentle. His cybernetic legs shuddered once before they clicked free of his ruined body, the clamps easing them away to a tray that hissed with sterilizing vapour. What remained were the stubs.
Next, the right arm. A final twitch ran through his hand before the machine sheared through the grafting ports, separating steel from sinew. The limb was lowered into place beside the legs, lined up like offerings.
Red Shoes tilted her head, studying the man on the table. Her eyes softened.
"The problem," she murmured, "isn't the limbs. Not really. It's your spine. Your whole body is... turned around."
Her fingers hovered above his exposed back, tracing the ridges of scar tissue around the central implant.
"How they managed to plug something like this into you without turning your brain to soup, I'll never understand. But then..." she smiled faintly, "people said the Nikkes were impossible, too. And yet—here I am."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if confiding to him despite his unconscious state.
"I don't want to kill you. I couldn't. Not you."
The machines worked steadily, carefully skirting the clusters of nerve bundles, obeying her programmed command to make this as painless as possible.
Her humming returned, this time with a skipping rhythm.
"Perhaps... yes. I could weave something new into this implant. Something to cleanse the Goddesium from your blood. Destroy the contamination at its source." She straightened suddenly, her eyes glinting. "Oh, don't I have a blueprint for that already? Hmm~"
WHAM!
A tremor rolled through the floor. The rig jerked slightly, one of the arms pausing mid-motion. Red Shoes blinked, catching herself on the console. Dust shook loose from the overhead wires.
Then came the roar—an explosion outside, so bright it flared through the lab's reinforced windows.
Red Shoes didn't even flinch this time. She chuckled softly, speaking as though to him.
"Raptures are fascinating creatures, aren't they? Even when humanity tries to wipe them out with nuclear fire, they adapt. Gluttony swallows the bomb and spits it right back at its sender. So clever... so insatiable."
WHAM!
The ground shook again.
Another explosion split the air, and the light seared through the glass. The sound was followed by an unnatural silence.
Red Shoes slowly turned her head toward the window, and her smile curled wider. Outside, the Gluttony Rapture burst apart in a rain of grotesque flesh, thousands of steaming, quivering chunks scattering outside the Space Elevator.
"Ah... Perhaps that was a fluke this time. No matter. The Space Elevator will be safe as long as I'm here to protect the Queen."
For a moment, her eyes reflected something like awe. Then it was gone, replaced by delight. She clapped her hands once, lightly, as if congratulating the dead beast.
"I should hurry," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as the machines adjusted their tools again. "The Queen would be quite cross if her home was assaulted a second time. And this time...this time would be worse."
Her gaze returned to the lieutenant. It softened, became almost tender. She leaned close enough that her breath tickled the edge of his ear.
"But it doesn't matter, does it? You're here. With me. They won't hurt you. Not like I won't hurt you." Her lips curled into that wild, entranced smile again. "Isn't that right?"
The machine arms lowered. Multiple needles gleamed under the harsh surgical lights, sliding forward in unison.
They pierced his flesh.
And his body twitched.
Notes:
In my defence, ending the volume this way is far better than having him blow his brains out.
Right?
RIGHT!?
Chapter 47: Intermission: Mindswitch
Notes:
This chapter is specifically used to separate volumes from one another, as well as act as a resting place/bookmark for the readers
It also serves as a brief Q&A section, where readers can ask questions about the story as it unfolds.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Intermission VI - Mindswitch (Scarlet, Dorothy)
It had been a day since the lieutenant departed with Hansel, Gretel, Siren, and Rose to strike at the Space Elevator.
Scarlet had been the one to relay the message to the rest of New Goddess—though none of them received it warmly.
Rapunzel had pressed her lips together, wary that the lieutenant was risking so much so soon after waking. Snow White hadn't disliked the plan outright, but gave no protest beyond a quiet, reluctant nod. Red Hood agreed with her.
And Dorothy—
Scarlet remembered the way the pink-haired Nikke's expression soured the moment she learned that Scarlet had been appointed co-squad leader alongside her.
The memory drew a wry smirk to Scarlet's lips now, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as she muttered under her breath, "To think mine own appointment as leader striketh her in such way... Truly, this jest of fate doth humours me."
A low chuckle followed.
But as quickly as the humour came, it left. Her smirk faded, giving way to her usual serious cast—though now, it carried a shadow.
The command room doors slid open with a mechanical hiss. Scarlet strode in casually.
At the console stood Dorothy, her posture elegant and precise, going over something. The other woman gave a single glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, before she turned back to her work.
Scarlet's lips curved upward again, though this time her words cut like a blade sheathed in velvet.
"What strange hour is this? Methinks thy fair complexion will wither shouldst thou rise so early, Dorothy."
Dorothy's eye twitched, her fingers pausing on the console before resuming with a measured tap. Her voice was light, deceptively smooth for someone so irritated right now.
"My, Scarlet, how thoughtful of you to worry over appearances. Though I daresay, spending too much time around your... brutish manners must be rubbing off on me."
Scarlet's eye twitched in turn. Her hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to the hilt of her sword.
It was, to any outside observer, painfully clear: the lieutenant's decision to make these two squad leaders in his absence had been an error of historic proportions.
Why he believed they would set aside their bickering for the sake of order was a mystery that defied reason itself.
The silence stretched, taut and dangerous. Scarlet's fingers flexed once against the hilt—then she exhaled, loosening her grip.
Her gaze swept Dorothy, from the perfect posture to the haughty poise, and she allowed herself one last jab.
"Peace, I shall not mar mine own dignity further. 'Tis unbecoming to trade words with one who looks unsightly when so ruffled. Please, allow me access to the console. I require but a moment."
Dorothy blinked, her rehearsed retort stalling in her throat. She turned fully now, eyes narrowing not in derision but in genuine curiosity.
"...What is it you need, Scarlet?"
The grey-haired swordswoman stepped inside with an air that was equal parts impatience and authority.
"What do you think?" she shot back, brushing past Dorothy as if she owned the space.
Dorothy blinked as Scarlet leaned over, entering a string of credentials. The system accepted them without so much as a hiccup.
"You—" Dorothy's brows arched, her lips tugging into a small frown. "Of all people? I never thought you'd even bother with something like this."
Scarlet's lips twitched in a half-smile, half-sneer. "And why wouldn't I?"
Dorothy folded her arms. "You and I jab at each other constantly. I've accepted that. But we're still in the same squad, and more than that—we're both leaders. If we don't try to understand each other's intentions, what good are we?"
Scarlet didn't immediately answer. She finished inputting her sequence, the screen adjusting to her personal dashboard. Dorothy leaned slightly, purple eyes narrowing as she noted something.
"...You already had clearance similar to mine. A squad leader's account. For higher-tier operations." Dorothy tilted her head, her tone curious now rather than stern. "And here I thought your appointment was an out-of-the-blue arrangement with no scaffolding behind it."
Scarlet's eyes cut toward her, unimpressed, as if to say, "Are you dumb?"
Scarlet tapped a finger against the console before speaking again.
"Do you remember what squad I was in before becoming a Goddess?"
"...Melee Squad."
Scarlet's expression softened—not much, but enough to notice.
"The lieutenant... he pushed me into leadership roles. Constantly." Her eyes lingered on the login page, as though it pulled memories to the surface. "He and I set this account up. I haven't touched it in many moons until now."
"Wasn't Rose the squad leader?"
"...She was. But the lieutenant thought I'd grow stronger by stepping into leadership. Said I'd grow stronger because of it." A faint flush of pink dusted her pale cheeks, and her next words were more to herself than to Dorothy. "He believed that..."
Dorothy caught it, mentally filing the moment away. This wasn't the Scarlet she was used to—the one who barked insults and swung her blade with casual menace. This was a shard of something almost tender coming from her usually serious comrade.
"You speak of him with weight," Dorothy said honestly. "He must have left quite the mark."
Scarlet's lips curved faintly. "...He did. I wouldn't have it any other way."
"That still doesn't explain why you need this now."
The softness drained from Scarlet's face in an instant, replaced with a brittle scowl.
"I've already said too much." She gave a sharp sigh, irritation crackling in her voice. "And I have no interest in talking about it with you."
Dorothy raised a brow, her tone dipping into wry amusement. "We've been civil for so long, you might as well share. If it troubles you this much, Scarlet—"
"It doesn't trouble me." The swordswoman cut her off, her voice firm, almost too firm.
As if to punctuate the denial, the screen flickered, opening a database Scarlet had clearly navigated to without thinking. A list filled the display—names lined up in neat order.
Melee Squad.
Dorothy's eyes scanned it quickly.
Lieutenant ██████—Deceased
Rose (Squad Leader)—AliveScarlet—Alive
Vera—Deceased
Cora—Deceased
Lise—Deceased
Mara—Deceased
Rina—Deceased
Nia—Deceased
Orla—Deceased
Sera—Deceased
Scarlet stood motionless, mindlessly scrolling through each one of her fallen squadmates' profiles, seeing their faces again, a sense of nostalgia dawning upon her for only the briefest of moments.
"...I should update it," she murmured at last, her voice so soft Dorothy almost missed it.
Scarlet then changed the lieutenant's status.
Lieutenant ██████—Alive
Dorothy's eyes flicked to the screen, her lips parting in surprise. She folded her arms across her chest.
"...I hadn't thought this little registry was so neglected," she said. "And yet—there it is. As far as I know, he's... very much alive."
There was a hint of relief in the air at that.
Scarlet shook her head slowly, a strand of silver hair slipping free across her cheek.
"Neglect, no. 'Twas abandonment. At Melee Squad's twilight, no one knew he yet breathed. No messenger bore such to... Rose or I."
Dorothy's lips pressed thin. She knew enough to leave the subject untouched, though part of her wanted to dig. Melee Squad was... dangerous ground. She might have sparred bitterly with Scarlet in the past, but Dorothy wasn't heartless. She could recognize when a wound still bled beneath armour.
So she stayed silent, watching Scarlet's fingers hover just above the panel.
At last, Dorothy murmured, "Perhaps there was no reason to do so. Or... another reason altogether."
Scarlet's eyes flicked up. She gave a single nod.
"Aye. The United Forces were ever a serpent tuned in secrecy. And the Central Government no less so. There are truths buried deep, truths none are meant to unearth."
"Are you suggesting this is one of them?"
The silence that followed weighed on the room like a fog.
Scarlet said nothing, her jaw working as if the words caught in her throat. Dorothy shifted her weight, uneasy.
Truthfully, Scarlet always made her uneasy. There was something primal in the way the woman carried herself that unnerved her.
Scarlet fought for her strength. Dorothy had been born with hers. Scarlet embraced filth and steel. Dorothy clung to polish and grace.
Scarlet had Rose.
Dorothy had... no one.
They were mirrors distorted in opposite directions, and their clashes—be they barbed words or the rare swing of fists—always carried that bitterness.
When Scarlet finally spoke, it was soft enough that Dorothy nearly missed it.
"Rose and the lieutenant... keep a secret from me."
Dorothy's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"
Scarlet's face twitched, a flash of tension breaking her otherwise composed mask. She shook her head faintly.
"I know not. But I would." Her tone dropped like steel into the room. "I would."
Dorothy studied her a moment longer before Scarlet's gaze hardened, dismissing her without words.
"You should go," Scarlet said, voice firmer now. "I thank thee for lending the console. But leave me to it."
Dorothy's eyes narrowed, irritation flashing across her face. "You said you would only need it for a few moments. What could possibly be uncovered that requires my absence?"
Scarlet turned her head slightly, meeting Dorothy's eyes with that quiet, unyielding strength of hers.
"Go," she said, more firmly. "Inspect the mass-produced nikkes. Wake them. Should a wave of Raptures approach, I will rouse you."
Dorothy's eye twitched, but she caught herself before letting the sharp retort leave her lips. She exhaled slowly through her nose, smoothing her skirt with both hands as though to brush away the moment.
"Very well," she said, her voice like poisoned honey. "Do enjoy your little investigation. Try not to make it too long. We are in a life-or-death situation, after all."
The pink-haired nikke left the swordswoman behind, doors sliding apart and together again, marking her exit.
Tap...
Tap...
Tap...
The Grimms models' footsteps had already faded into silence, but Scarlet's eyes lingered on the metal doors as if expecting them to part again.
She waited...
And waited...
Nothing. Dorothy was gone.
Scarlet exhaled slowly, her shoulders loosening. The firmness in her expression dropped away, revealing the heaviness behind her eyes.
For a moment, she just stood there, simply staring at the screen.
"...Why keep it from me?"
The words came out lower than she intended, half a murmur.
Her hand hovered above the console's surface, fingers curling into a loose fist.
They were all on the same squad. They bled together, fought together. Her sister—her own blood—had walked every step beside her long before either of them became Nikkes. And that lieutenant... Scarlet's eyes softened. The one who had shown her how to be strong beyond the swing of her blade, who had expected more from her when she barely expected anything of herself. Whose approval had lit something deep inside her she hadn't even known was waiting.
And yet... secrets.
"What did I do... to deserve this?" she whispered, pressing her lips.
She tried to reason it out. But her thoughts kept circling.
The tension between her sister and the lieutenant was impossible to ignore—icy at best, hostile at worst. Once, they'd been close. She remembered that much. She remembered the warmth in her sister's smile when his name came up, the way the two of them seemed to carry some unspoken understanding. It was a bond Scarlet could seldom understand, but was happy for.
But now...?
Why?
Scarlet clenched her hand tighter, nails biting faintly into her palm.
What had changed during that lost year, when the lieutenant was thought dead? What had happened the day they finally reunited? She had hoped for relief, for bonds reforged in fire, for strength renewed.
Instead, she saw only walls and fractures in the foundations.
Her gaze dropped back to the console, and her reflection stared back faintly in its glass surface.
Trust.
That was supposed to be the foundation of everything. Trust between her and her sister. Trust in the lieutenant. Trust in their mission, their bond as soldiers, as survivors, as protectors of humanity.
And yet it slipped further away the harder she tried to hold onto it.
Scarlet drew in a steadying breath, straightened her posture, forcing her face back into a disciplined mask. But the glumness didn't fade; it only settled deeper.
"If they won't tell me..." she murmured, "...then I'll find out myself."
Notes:
A somewhat calm volume for once, besides the fact that he's getting experimented on, but is that really a new thing?
Anyway, just some news, or rather an update on the progress of this story. It's going on hiatus for the time being. No urgent reason. I'm not dying or anything, just busy—That's why I pumped out this volume so quickly in its latter half—I just want to get it out of the way for my sanity.
Anyway.
Any questions for me?
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ikan010101 on Chapter 1 Fri 28 Feb 2025 07:49PM UTC
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TenPen on Chapter 1 Fri 28 Feb 2025 11:45PM UTC
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WhyBotherEatingSauce on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Mar 2025 01:04AM UTC
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DLEVorts on Chapter 7 Sun 16 Mar 2025 05:00PM UTC
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DLEVorts on Chapter 7 Sun 16 Mar 2025 09:44PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 16 Mar 2025 09:44PM UTC
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