The six of us stood before the memorial outside the remains of Kadingir to say our last goodbyes. We had avoided the funerals of our comrades in fear of being arrested by the FIS. After all, they had been working with Ryoko Sakurai, who turned out to have been our enemy all along. With the FIS newly installed in the country, we have no idea if they'll take action against us or not. However, no one would question our presence if we mixed in with the many mourners paying their respects at the Kadingir Memorial.
The lady with navy blue hair spoke up first, "I think it's time we leave."
"Ms Tomosato, we'll follow you to the ends of the Earth if need be," I replied on behalf of the four men with us.
Mr Fujitaka, the man with olive brown hair, agreed with me, "We can't trust anyone else anymore, we can only trust ourselves."
"I understand your sentiments, but doing so would draw unwanted attention from the FIS," she answered, choking on her words. "My last order is for the five of you to go into hiding. Starting today, I am no longer the Acting Commander of Section Two. Section Two has fallen. The FIS are not to be trusted."
The five of us saluted, "Yes, Madam."
Acting Commander Aoi Tomosato's final command was a statement that hammered in the harsh reality. It is not the first time Section Two's operations have ended in failure. One must suffer setbacks before one can know the true glory of success. But this was the first time Section Two had suffered such a crippling defeat, and this loss was the nail in the coffin.
I overheard the details as Ms Tomosato and Mr Fujitaka were discussing them. The Kazanari Institute had cut us loose. Not even the Defense Minister could cover for us this time. It seemed as if the higher ups were consumed in their blame game and stacking it all on the deceased former Commander of Section Two. A cold choice, but I had learned years ago that the world isn't as warm and fuzzy as people think it.
It felt wrong to me as I poured over the daily paper while in hiding. Watching the public pin the blame on the man I looked up to so much, I was disgusted. They said it was that man's responsibility, that he was a poor judge of character for picking incompetent staff who couldn't protect them from the Kadingir Incident. I had seen this all too often. I had experienced this myself all too many times. Knowing full well what his job entails, my master always told us to leave everything to him, and to just focus on what we can do.
A fellow with prematurely grey hair breaks the silence, "I reckon I did a pretty good job covering our tracks. No one should find it odd if we resurface in the city doing some other jobs. I wouldn't recommend doing anything too closely related to the FIS though," — he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, his voice also becoming hoarse as he continued — "That being said, I'm leaving the country. After all that's happened, I want to go be with my family."
The rest of us nodded at him as he left, his shrunken silhouette bobbing into the distance. Swallowed by his grief, he never looked back.
We had lost so many on that day. My master, Ryoko, Mr Ogawa, Itaba, and Terashima were only a fraction of the deceased. After the tower fell, hundreds of bloodied shrouds could be seen outside of ground zero, and hundreds more lay in the streets of the city after the moon fragment fell.
I couldn't save any of them.
"I think I'll head back up north. I've had enough of the city," said another former member of Section Two.
A third man bid us farewell after that, leaving only Ms Tomosato, Mr Fujitaka, and I at the memorial.
I can't forget how much Section Two has done for me; especially the two officers beside me, Ryoko, and my master. They welcomed me with open arms, not as some relic-fused weapon, but as a person. I was a coworker to them. Their kindness will stay with me forever.
Ms Tomosato spoke out after a long pause, "I'll go back to the precinct and join the force again."
"But—" protested Mr Fujitaka, only to be cut off.
"I know what you want to say, but someone has to do it. What if someone digs up something they shouldn't have? The secret of the three Symphogear Adaptors needs to be taken to the grave. So, where are you going to go, Fujitaka?"
The man's figure was a far cry from what he had been the day I met him. He was one of the newer members of Section Two at the time, but now he's one of the last. Giving a hollow smile, Fujitaka answers bleakly, "I guess I'll go do manual labour. I don't think I can ever forget what happened— I don't think I should."
His answer was clear. He wanted to work himself to the bone to cope with this nightmare. The young man hobbled away, seeming to age with every step he took. Ms Tomosato reached out towards him, calling out his name, "Sakuya..."
But just like the other members of Section Two, he didn't look back. Raising a hand in acknowledgement, he responded, "Goodbye, Aoi."
Ms Tomosato and I looked off at his silhouette until it shrank to the size of a pea, before vanishing. Swallowing her grief, the last Commander of Section Two turned to me, and posed a similar question as she did to Mr Fujitaka, "Hibiki, what will you do now?"
My answer had been decided on a long time ago.
"I just want to go home."
Dr Adolf walks down the hall towards the women's dormitories. Known to be a rather serious individual by the other staff, no one questions his presence. In the minds of Adolf's coworkers, the serious doctor is simply unable to hold any sort of relationship. As such, the man with the perpetual scowl could only be in this section of headquarters for work related matters. Of course, many of these staff members would pass out in shock to find that their assumption had been wrong.
The scientist stops in front of Room A1015 and rings the doorbell. After a long pause, the door slides open with a mechanical hiss. The name plate clearly reads "Serena Cadenzavna Eve," but the girl on the other side of the doorway completely shattered Dr Adolf's mental image of the young Symphogear adaptor.
There is something about her outfit that bugs Adolf. The palette of pastel colors reminded him of an eccentric scientist he had met several times in America. With the image of that jovial researcher burned into his mind, he couldn't help but think that the outfit should never, in any circumstance, be worn by a girl about the height of four foot ten. Especially if said petite girl looks to be a child.
"I'm going to be blunt here, and say that I don't think that outfit suits someone your age."
Serena raises an eyebrow, "Apparently, I'm heading into my twenties."
"I'm not sure they care about that when you look thirteen."
"Don't sweat the small details," the small girl replies, brushing off Adolf's protests. "More importantly, has that girl left yet?"
"It would break her little heart to hear you call her 'that girl.' Yes, I believe so. She should have left with her companion a while ago. Why do you ask?" the doctor answers.
The petite Symphogear adaptor pulls out her phone and shows it to Adolf. "You don't suppose it's too late to take my number off of the directory?"
Twenty-five missed calls.
The blond scientist stifles a laugh, "I don't think it would help if you did."
"Ah, just in time. You two get to be the last customers for the day. Welcome to Flower. Take a seat wherever you'd like," greets the Owner, leaning over the countertop with her eyes fixed to the television.
The only two guests at Flower today are a man wearing shades and at least four layers of clothes, and a young girl in pastel. Taking a seat at one of the small booths, the guests strike up conversation.
"I don't remember these booths being here," mutters Serena, "It feels like I haven't been here in ages."
Adolf, her chaperone, asks her in response, "Serena, are you sure you're remembering correctly?"
"I don't know. It feels like I remember something, but not quite. I just know that these booths weren't here before."
Serena massages her forehead with one hand. She exhales through pursed lips, irritated by the state of her memories. The echoes left behind by scrambled images tell her that the seat she sits on is definitely something new, even if the duct taped vinyl is definitely nearing its fortieth year of service.
"Erm, I'll order for you, I guess," says the blond scientist, who beckons the Owner to take their order.
The brunette pays them no mind as she scans the restaurant, her eyes landing on the television. In this quiet restaurant the programme on screen can be heard clearly, even with the low volume. It's a strangely nostalgic tune to Serena's ears, even though she definitely had never heard of this song, or seen the two idols singing it before. She racks her mind for where the sense of familiarity came from, and like a puzzle coming together, some words float to the top of her mind.
"Doctor, that's Zwei Wing on television, isn't?"
Her lunchmate squints at the television and nods, "Yes, that's a recording of one of their earlier concerts."
"Strangely, knowing who they are makes me feel a hollow sadness."
"Ah, yes. They died young, those two."
Serena nods. The two looked to be in their early teens, like she was when she fought the Nephilim the first time. Certainly, this must be where the ache in her heart comes from. This connection she feels between herself and the two idols is the connection between people who died young. The only difference was Serena herself had been able to return to life.
Bearing a hospitable smile, the Owner arrives with their lunches, and the two guests dig in.
After a long minute, Adolf puts down his utensils and breaks the silence, "How do you know about Zwei Wing when you were frozen long before they became a thing?"
"Perhaps I looked them up once or twice in my spare time," Serena replies with a shrug. Evidently, the thirteen-year-old had no idea either. "Don't sweat the small details. Overthinking stuff takes away from the dining experience."
The Owner's cooking prowess lives up to its reputation and soon the two customers are left slowly enjoying the rest of their lunch break with their drinks. Both wish to order seconds, but alas, their lunch break nears its end.
Noticing the Owner is once again fixed to the television screen, Adolf clears his throat, "Serena, let's keep what I'm about to say off the records. Regarding the two Symphogear adaptors from an alternate universe, they never told me the coordinates of the rift, but I believe I may have managed to pinpoint it."
The Airgetlam wielder freezes.
"No, Doctor. I know exactly what you're thinking, but we're going to get chewed out by Nasta— We're going to get chewed out by Ma'am for this."
"Hear me out," Adolf says, pleading his case, "You're mistaken. I'm not asking you to cross over to an alternate world. The decision to send you through the rift isn't mine to make. What I wanted to ask is how do you think the Director would react to the news of an alternate world?"
The conversation takes a break with both parties not quite sure if they are on the same side as the other. On one hand, the recent findings need to be reported to the Director. On the other hand, neither person knows how the iron woman at the top of the Japanese branch would react to the news.
Nastassja Sergeyevna Tolstaya's greatest regret in life is not being able to protect the receptor children. The Director holds every employee in her command to high standards and views them all as closer to friends than underlings. To withhold information regarding the sudden appearance of someone so closely related to the Director is betrayal of her trust, no matter how sensitive the subject of such news.
Looking Adolf in the eyes, Serena gives her response, "From what these memories tell me, Nastassja treated Maria Cadenzavna Eve and I like she treats the staff in headquarters. She expects only the best from us, and is willing to push us however hard she needs to. At the same time, she wouldn't hesitate to risk everything she has to stand up for us. If you want to hide information from Nastassja— If you want to hide information from Ma'am, I suggest you reconsider your decision."
"No, I would never think about going behind her back!" he says, amending his statements, "I simply think that the best course of action is to grant those two girls an audience with the Director. They will be able to explain their situation better than I can."
To his own admission, Adolf's knowledge on the other world is incomplete. The two outsiders refused to tell him more than they needed to, and instead requested to meet the Director. They do not trust Adolf enough to tell him everything, but perhaps if it is the Director herself, then things would be different.
"They're basically aliens, Doctor. We can't put the Director in danger. I object. If it's information on the other world that you want, I am more than willing to go there myself."
"I can't let my patient do something this risky, especially in a state like yours. Just this morning, you told me that your memories are still scrambled."
Finally having evolved into a tense argument, the conversation begins to break down. Having not noticed yet, the Owner still remains fixed to the television screen, watching Zwei Wing perform their sixth song of the concert.
"I'm more than stable enough to take the mission!"
"No you're not! There is a reason why we need to hook you up to the Direct Feedback every so often! As much as I hate to say it, you're still incomplete in the end! I cannot in good conscience send you out on a mission as risky as crossing into a different world! What if you start dissociating and lose it there? How will you get back? Who will get you back in one piece?"
"You said it yourself that the backlash is severely diminished from before!" Serena protests, standing up from her seat. Keeping her voice just outside of the realm of shouting, she continues protesting, "I'm fine! I can make it back for sure, and I'll show you!"
Adolf locks eyes with the brunette, and bites back, "What is your name?"
"I'm Sa— I'm... Serena. Serena... Cadenzavna Eve," she replies. With every word, the realization that Adolf is right sinks deeper. Her name. Definitely, the first name to come to Serena's mind when she was asked for one had been someone else's.
"This is what I mean! You had to think for that one!" says the scientist, nailing the coffin on the girl's objections.
The two sink back into their seats. Long seconds of silence fall over the restaurant. Without any other noise the concert audio from the television is now audible, but it is still quiet enough that the lyrics still seem to be mangled gibberish.
The blond man buries his head in his hands, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, revealing just enough of his face to tell that he has sunken eyes. In a softer voice, he continues, "I don't want to lose another friend. I can't let that happen again."
I have never seen a more sorry looking wreck of a person. The scarecrow sitting on the couch across from me is Akira Tachibana, Hibiki's father. Chris and I neither knew his name nor how he looked until now. Strangely enough, even after hearing about all the horrible things our version of him did, part of me can't seem to continue attacking him, even if this world's Akira is very much the same.
The spineless wretch's dusty brown hair looks dry and brittle. His tracksuit looks like it had seen better days. Most notably, Akira's left foot is supported by a simple brace as he hobbles around the house.
Overall, he fits the media stereotype of a man down on his luck. I wouldn't be surprised if he had some alcohol stashed away. Even if I can't bring myself to continue grilling the man, I don't feel the slightest bit sorry for him.
"I told you, I lost my entire family during the Kadingir Incident. Asking me again won't change that. If you have nothing else to say, please leave," the scrawny man bites back. We have been interrogating him for the past half hour and finally, the smallest cracks begin to show.
The dirty bastard is hiding something from us. I know it. He's the reason Hibiki had to be put through hell. There is no way he would come back all of a sudden and start living in his old home. I've heard horrible things about the Akira Tachibana from my world. He left Hibiki without a father to lean on. He was a violent drunk. Hell, the Commander is a better father figure for Hibiki than Akira will ever be. The one from my world is a disgusting man, and I have no idea why his family would ever take him back. I don't think the man in front of me can be much different from his counterpart.
"You lost your family four years ago when you ran out on them," I snap.
Chris stares daggers at me, but I don't care. Someone like Akira can never understand. Having lost everyone we had, Serena and I only had each other. Whether it was on the streets or in the White Orphanage, we always stood together. Anything we owned was not mine, not hers, but ours. Any hardships we faced were our hardships, and we faced them together. An irresponsible man who cast aside his loved ones could never understand what family is.
"Do you think I never wanted to go back?" Akira scowls. I always imagined him as a weak person. To see someone like him stand up and fight back is a shock. "Do you think I never wanted to return to living a happy family life?"
A dark wood table catches my eye. It is a simple ancestor shrine nestled in the far corner of the room. I have never met Hibiki's family before, so I don't know what they look like. However, I know one thing for certain. Hibiki isn't among the faces that stare back at me.
No matter how much Akira dislikes Hibiki, this is going too far.
Rising from my seat, I attack him again. Chris tries to stop me to no avail. "You wanted to, but you never did go back, did you?"
The frail man stands up, meeting me at eye level. Clearly enunciating each word so there could be no mistake, he says, "Get out."
"You never came back because your problems were still here! Because Hibiki's accident brought trouble home, you walked out on your family! Someone like you could never—"
"Maria, shut up!" barks Chris, cutting me off.
Like a complaint about the racket in the living room, a feral roar echoes from the kitchen. Instantly, the anger I feel towards Akira subsides, quickly being replaced by overwhelming guilt. I can never forget that voice. It is the same tortured scream as the one I heard that day above the ocean. The wrathful howl that came from the very demon I had helped create.
Shuffling into the living room, as if her legs are bound with iron chains, Miku Kohinata hisses, "Ssss...Sssympho...gearrr!"
The star athlete had lost much of the physique she trained every day for. Her disheveled black hair pokes out from underneath her purple hoodie. From under the curtain of stringy hair, soulless blue eyes stare back. This husk of a person can barely be recognized as the same kindly girl I knew.
Chris pales, "Miku?"
If I recall correctly, Miku had been the first friend Chris made after regaining her freedom, and the two have remained close ever since. To see the person who helped her transition back to society now reduced to this sorry state must be heartbreaking. I know that in this world, neither I nor my deceased counterpart had a hand in doing this to Miku. Even so, I can't help but feel the need to apologize to Chris.
Once again, it should have been plain as day to me that this world's people did not live happy lives. But even after having seen what happened to Kirika and Shirabe, I still held on to the shred of hope that everyone else would be alright.
Miku raises a sickly yellowish hand towards Chris and I. Though her frail arm trembles, the girl's menacing aura conveys her feelings loud and clear. This is not a hand reaching for help. This is a hand reaching to wring our necks.
