Desert.

Desert, desert, and more desert.

The maroon sandscape stretched on for miles, reaching into the horizon in all directions. Isolated bluffs and rock formations were the only features that broke the monotony.

A lone vehicle tore across this arid land at high speed. It was a futuristic-looking truck, dull grey in colour, equipped with reinforced bumpers and other sturdy implements. Its massive wheels kicked up the parched sand and created a streak of reddish-brown dust in its wake.

Inside the rear of the truck, two rows of seats lined facing each other in a passenger compartment. A lone figure sat on one side, rocking along to the truck's jerking movements. He was clad from head to toe in combat gear; Black torso armour complemented black combat boots and greaves. His metallic grey helmet obscured his face up to his chin, rendering his expression unreadable. A standard-issue assault rifle was propped up on the seat beside him. His left chest and shoulder was soaked in a dark red liquid, and the left cheek of his mask also had a prominent blood-like smear.

From the distance, a large structure began to loom into view. The massive, man-made object stood out from its surroundings with its near-perfect domed shape and pale white facade. The lone soldier stared vaguely at it through a viewport on the side. Edges, walkways, windows, cannons, and other details could be made out as the transport vehicle got closer.

He had arrived back in Plantation 17, otherwise known as Centaurea.

The soldier stood at attention, rifle in one hand. He had disembarked from the troop carrier and was presently inside one of the many vast hangars of the Plantation facility. Before him was a stern-looking middle-aged man in military uniform, ostensibly superior in rank.

"Do you have it?"

"Yes, sir. Package is secured." The soldier held out a small oblong object. It resembled a memory storage device.

"Excellent work. Papa will be very pleased." The officer took the datastick from his subordinate. What information the device held exactly mattered not to either of them; as far as they were concerned the item was nothing more than a retrieval objective.

He glanced briefly at the empty troop carrier which stood a short distance away.

"How many Klaxosaurs were there this time?" He asked.

"At least six, all Conrad-class. They jumped us while we were awaiting extraction. I took care of the last one before the area was finally deemed clear for evac."

"And what of the casualties?"

This was a rhetorical question as best. Prior missions have rarely ever concluded any differently from this one.

"Eleven KIA." The reply came vacantly. "Aside from me, SL-9772 had also survived the attack. I attempted to stabilize but he succumbed to his injuries before the transport arrived."

That explains the bloodstains on his body, the officer quietly mused. "And what about you?"

"Vitals normal, sir."

The middle-aged man snorted slightly, riffling his handlebar mustache. "Just as always, huh?"

He withdrew a holoscreen projector from his pocket and activated it.

"Among our division, very few personnel have ever survived past their second deployment." He spoke, studying the profile document displayed on his handheld device. "And yet here you are, back from mission number eight with hardly a scratch on you, once again being either the only one, or among the very few, to survive."

The younger man stood motionless, not saying a word.

"State your ID, trooper."

"Sir, TX-8315, sir."

"No, not that one," The officer retorted. He leaned forwards and brought his face close to the soldier's mask, eyes gazing piercingly through the visor to meet his inferior's own.

His voice lowered in a somber growl. "I know exactly what you are. All of Command does, ever since we began to take notice of you after your third assignment. Your tenacity to stay alive and unpredictable demeanor doesn't exactly help you to blend in either."

The soldier remained unflinchingly static.

"You're from Batch #57. The transfers from the Garden."

Still no reaction.

"Rather, I suppose 'washouts' would be a more appropriate term." The officer straightened up and about-faced, walking a few paces away.

"Whatever it is, what I mean to say is that you go by a different set of numbers, or at least you used to."

He turned around again, but this time his stoic expression betrayed something of a begrudging smile. "And you best remember what those numbers are, because fortunately for you you've been garnering a fair bit of attention from all the right people. People who recognize your potential to be more than just a nameless statistic in the death toll. And much as we at Spec Ops value your ability and wish to exploit it further till your deferred but ultimately inevitable demise, a request has come in from a certain Dr. Franxx, accompanied by the blessings of Papa himself."

There was a dramatic emphasis on the last statement. The middle-aged man paused, scrutinizing his subordinate intensely. If TX-8315 possessed any semblance of happy emotion within him, he was doing a very good job of concealing it in mute stillness.

"A special vacancy has been opened up for you, Code yon-zero-ichi."

The trooper balked visibly at last. It was the first in a long time that he heard that name.

The officer could not help but smirk.

"Are you ready for the chance to prove your potential as a Parasite once more?"

"Yes."

Her answer was firm, absolute. It echoed throughout the vacant room, bouncing off its pallid sanitized walls.

The past few weeks have been rough on Naomi. The rogue Klaxosaur attack on Cerasus on the day of its Parasite welcoming ceremony had left her severely but not fatally injured. Since then, she had been spending several listless days in this bleak hospital ward.

Her wounds have had plenty of time to heal during this period. She no longer needed that cursed bandage wrapped around her head, and the bones in her legs had mended well enough so that she could walk properly again, although there was one part of her which she knew would never revert back to its original condition.

No existing form of medication, however, could ever cure the hurt that she felt inside. Every waking minute in here had been mired with misery. The failed synchronization tests, the forlorn expressions of her peers, the self-serving words Hiro had spoken to her, those flashbacks played over and over again in her head, and she felt the same heavy feeling of grief and emptiness that had accompanied each and every one of them. The worst part was knowing that it had nothing to do with her, it was nothing she had any control over. Despite how far she had come, despite all the effort she had put in, she was still going to end up no better than the ones who had disappeared one by one from the orphanage. All because she pulled the short straw and got paired up with the wrong partner.

She did not know where the others had gone, where she would be taken once she had recovered, but she did not care. Her entire life in the Garden and then in Mistilteinn had been devoted to the purpose of fulfilling a sole mission, the only one she had ever known. Now that she was deemed no longer capable of doing so, it was as though her spirit had drifted away together with her life's purpose. Frankly, she would rather have died that day than survived.

Or so she thought.

It was as though Papa himself had somehow observed her anguish from up above and sympathized with her, sending down an angelic herald in the form of a woman wearing the standard black and grey APE uniform. She stood at Naomi's bedside, tablet in hand, delivering news that she never imagined she would hear.

Besides Delphinium, Argentea, Genista, and Chlorophytum, Cerasus actually possessed one more FRANXX. It was configured especially to accommodate Naomi as a pistil, and would have been meant for her and Hiro to pilot. Though it has since been mothballed, another Parasite had recently been singled out as a potential candidate suitable to join Plantation 13. It would seem that Dr. Franxx considers the last FRANXX crucial to his interests, and as such has requested for her to undergo another round of harmonization trials with this new arrival once she was fully recovered.

Naomi underwent a complete U-turn of emotions. Never was she this thankful to be alive. Her deepest desires have been inscrutably brought into reality. It was a miracle, a gift that she would be insane not to accept. Being in Mistilteinn with all her friends and living up to the task she was made up for meant everything to her, even if it would get her killed.

A second chance like this will never appear again for the rest of her life. Nothing must go wrong this time.

She sat upright on her bed, hazel-brown eyes burning with resolve as she stared at the officer.

"Yes. I'll be ready when the time comes." She promised out loud.

There will be no more failure. She will prove her worth, no matter what.

And I won't let anything or anyone, not even my Partner, get in my way, she promised to herself.

A/N: Someone needs to tell whoever manages the series titles on this website that it's FRANXX and not FRANKXX.