"Some fight, huh." I say solemnly, hands leaning on the barrel of my rifle as the butt sticks into the snow. It's frighteningly cold, and the surface of my rifle is like ice. Luckily my gloves keep me warm, a luxury that not many people are spared.
"Fight?" My friend, Stocker, tugs softly on my left shoulder. He slowly releases a deep breath, the mist from his maw dissipating into the unforgiving winter wind. "Garland, that's a damn massacre."
From our position beside the road, I can see a dozen battered and beaten humvees, along with an armored truck, chug up a slight incline. The whole road is covered in a thick layer of snow, forcing the vehicles to drive carefully up the slippery slope. They wearily drive towards safety, away from the dying woods and towards the giant portal behind me.
Funny, the place closest to our enemy becoming the safest place around. And that's stretching it.
A soldier in the driver's seat of a Humvee slows down as it passes us, and he rolls down the window. He wears a pair of black sunglasses, and his face is completely unkempt with splashes of dirt and blood stuck to his cheeks. Looks like he hasn't been given a chance to clean up in a while, poor guy.
"Hey!" He yells, his voice deep and demanding. "Up this road is the New Hampshire outpost, right?"
"Yeah!" I reply loudly, shrugging Stocker off my shoulder. "You guys with the 21st?"
He nods. "What's left of it, yeah. We couldn't hold, not for long." His car completely pulls over, coming to a complete stop right next to me and my buddy. "They don't stop for nothin'." He sighed, resting his elbow on the windowsill. A bloodied man in the back of the car stares at me as if I were something to pity. The driver continued. "Private, they don't stop for anyone."
Suddenly I knew what he meant, and I couldn't stop my eyes from jolting out wide in surprise, sorrow and fright.
He waves me off before I can say anything. "We're cowards, private." He glares at my name tag before continuing. "Garland, get yourself out of here. Before we lost comms, Darkstar said something about scorched earth." He looks at Stocker, then back at me. "The hell you guys doing so far down this road anyway?"
I glance at my buddy for a moment for reassurance, then turn back to the driver. He shifts in his seat, revealing his rank to me. He's a first lieutenant.
"Guard duty, sir." I state, nervously adjusting my posture for my senior.
"Guard duty?" He spits. "The hell you gonna do here without a working radio?" He pauses to start up the car again, then places both hands on the wheel. "I'll be talking to your CO about this." He looks at me expectantly. What does he want?
With anger on his tongue, he waves at us. "Get in!"
Both me and Stocker shuffle to follow orders. I open the back door, and both of us squeeze inside next to the wounded man. I sit next to him and tuck my M16 between my legs. Stocker does the same with his rifle.
As the car rolls onto the bumpy road, I get a good look at the man next to me, and it's nothing pretty. A white bandage is wrapped around his forehead, now stained a dark red over where his right eyebrow should be. A shrapnel injury, he's lucky to have survived. And here I thought my busted-up shins were bad. The sight of the man is really nerve wracking, even for a professional soldier like me.
Hell, soldiers are still people- over the past few weeks it seems like I've been one of the first to really understand that. Working with the boys in the rear and helping to treat the wounded made this a common sight to see, even if I wasn't directly fixing anyone up. Seeing all those men reduced to helplessness, it really humbles a person. Any person.
But there's no time left for gentle thoughts like that anymore. It's a constant state of having the "switch flipped", and it's done a number on all of us. Wears a guy down. But it's the sacrifices we make that keeps the others okay. One thing we lose is one more thing preserved- even if I don't see it now. And as the days dragged on- in my lifetime.
The drive went without any talk at all. The Lieutenant was in serious trouble. Not physically, but mentally. I could see it in the aggressive way he moved, the erratic way he handled the wheel. His eyes were peeled, constantly engulfed in nothing but combat. In the past he wouldn't be fit for duty due to a case of PTSD, but now every pair of hands is needed.
As for mine? Today it looks like we're needed in the rear. Not for what my job description entailed, but for breaking down what we worked so hard to build so nothing is left for the enemy.
The humvee parked in a makeshift parking lot in the thick of the woods, seven or so more empty vehicles sat still beside us. The occupants disembarked, minus the wounded man. The Lieutenant was going back for him, but before we left him, he instructed us to find the captain for tasking.
Me and Stocker shuffled past frantic groups of armored soldiers, all working hard to pack gear into vehicles or toss documents into massive bonfires out in the thick of the forest. Even from below the tips of the leafless trees I could see the tall, bellowing smokestacks bloat high into the clear sky.
The captain wasn't hard to miss. Assisting a pair of men in discussing a suitable defense plan, he could be seen donning a standard patrol cap but not wearing his body armor.
Me and Stocker approached him quickly, and stood beside him until he finished speaking.
The duo of soldiers he was talking to briskly left once they were ordered to ambush and delay, and then he turned to me, a certain fire in his eyes. A fire of determination, knowing that what happens here might make or break the entire New England front. Something about that look in his eyes filled me with motivation to fight on.
"Good afternoon sir." I briskly saluted, along with Stocker. The captain immediately returned the salute, and after a moment we put our hands back down.
"Good afternoon to you as well." He greets, leaning his right foot on a tree root. "You don't seem to be busy."
"We're looking for orders." I nod.
"That's mighty convenient." He says. "I'm in need of a pair of hands to get something done for me. It's more of personal than anything, but I think I can spare you guys."
He briefly scans the trees behind us, monitoring the soldiers carrying supplies as if they couldn't be trusted. Each one of them carried a different item, some could be brought along with the retreat, but others had to be destroyed.
"Listen up." He orders, and me and Stocker step in closer. "A buddy of mine, Sergeant Damon, is listed MIA down south when a medevac Blackhawk got downed. It's not that far from here, but it's dangerously close to the brunt of the enemy advance. There's a good chance he might be dead, but I can't stand not knowing for sure. And I'll be damned if I leave him behind, especially after everything he's done for me."
He takes a breath, standing upright. "You guys don't have to go out there, but if you stay I want you both to help with the evacuation." He pauses. "What do you say?"
I'm given a choice here? I look back at Stocker, who gives me a blank look. There's no way I could leave a man behind, even if there's a possibility he's dead. I face the captain again, knowing what to say.
"Of course we'll do it. No man left behind." I affirm confidently.
He smiles faintly, but still glad. "I had a feeling you'd agree." His face gets more serious. "Be quick, none of us are sure when the first Loweean tanks are gonna show up."
My buddy leans in, eager to get a move on. "We'll be done before you know it. What's the location?"
The captain sighs, obviously unsure. "Try bearing 160 for two clicks, if you don't see a trace of them in an hour turn back. Seriously. Don't waste any time past the defenses."
"We'll get it done." Stocker finishes for me, then nudges my shoulder. "Let's get going!"
We hastily trudge away from our commanding officer, knowing that every second counted in the matter of search and rescue. I lead the way, jogging towards a humvee before hopping behind the wheel. Some people shot me some funny looks, but hey, I got orders right from the captain. Complain to him if I'm taking your car!
Stocker slams the door behind him as he squeezes himself into the seat next to me.
"Well?" He prods. "160… should be that way," He points with a thumb. "Towards the south."
I turn the key and the truck roars to life, shattering the relative silence of the forest. It's hum presents a familiar backdrop as I start to pull out and into the unpaved road.
"Hey, double check for me. I really don't want to get lost in the boonies when those Goddesses come to whup our asses."
Stocker smiles, concerned about the same thing. "Just drive."
When we leave the outpost's perimeter, I can't help myself but peer into the rear view mirror. Constantly. The sight of that giant, jet-black portal always freaked me out, especially since it was so tall. Everyone for miles could see our exact position, sorta like those waypoints you get in video games that guide you towards your objective.
Seeing it now from such a distance away makes me nervous. Can we really protect that tall-ass thing with such limited numbers? No, of course not. That's why we were packing up, after all. But the lieutenant mentioned Darkstar, the callsign of the AWACS flying over the Atlantic. They always knew more than we did, and still do, so maybe something more is coming down that we don't know about. It makes sense. We would want to disable that portal, make it unusable for the enemy. But with what?
I slow down around a curve, swiftly looking both ways before taking a left. The snow-covered road is terribly bumpy, but it isn't nearly enough to stop me from keep pushing onwards. My eyebrows furrow inwards, another wave of determination spiraling down my spine. Or maybe it's nervousness- I can't tell anymore.
"Hey! Garland, stop the car!" Stocker shouts, pointing off the road and into the woods to my right.
"What?!" I thrust my foot down hard on the brakes, throwing my body forwards. Luckily I had my seatbelt on, but Stocker had to catch himself before he smashed into the glass.
"Jesus!" He exclaimed as we came to a stop. Once he had adjusted himself back to a sitting position, he pointed out the window again. "Check it out, the helicopter!"
I squint into the trees, the darkness within it making searching a little difficult. But sure enough, the outline of a Blackhawk sits solemnly in the middle of a shallow clearing it made during the crash. It's not on fire or anything, which makes me think it's been here longer than I had thought.
"I see it!" With both hands, I spin the wheel around and around until I can maneuver it beside the snow-covered road. Once I'm confident with the parking job, I flip off the engine and hop outside.
The biting cold blankets my cheeks once again, making me wish for the safety of the humvee. I shrug off my desires as I jog into the woods, Stocker behind me.
The snow is terribly deep, and each step is like sulking through a thick, thick pond of mud. Frigidly cold particles of the endless white finds it's way into my boots and past my socks, nipping at my ankles.
We trudge on past tall pine trees and leafless bushes, past boulders and along the edge of a slight incline. The tough branches of each bush grazes my ACUs and body armor as if they were out to kill. The whole world is terribly unforgiving.
We reach the vehicle's carcass, and the smell of frozen meat fills the air. I almost puke at the putrid stench, but the lack of food in my stomach keeps be from doing so.
"I'm gonna move around, check the other side." My buddy tells me, skirting around to my right.
"I gotcha." I respond without taking my worried eyes off the closed doors of the helicopter.
My weary legs bring me up to those broken doors, and I peer inside through the tiny gap in between them- it looks like they were jammed open a little in the crash.
The silent interior is devoid of all light. It's much too hard to see what's inside, so I place my gun down in the snow in preparation to pull apart the doors.
I assume a steady stance, and insert my fingers between the gap. They barely manage to fit in the crack, but I decide to pull anyways. I grit my teeth, using every fiber of my strength to pull.
Even after ten whole seconds of pulling, the door still refuses to budge. My heart sinks as I step back, panting slowly in a hot sweat.
"Any luck on your end?" A crestfallen Stocker comes up on my from my left, weapon in hand.
He stands next to me, but I keep my eyes on the door. "This door is bolted shut. And by the looks of it, chances of surviving this crash are crazy bad."
"Crazy bad…" He repeats with a sigh.
We stand in silence, knowing that we're going to have to return to base empty-handed. Another dissappointment in an ocean of failures.
A shallow hum fills the winter air- piercing the music of the whistling wind.
It's an artificial hum, a blisteringly painful whirring of engines, a hum of an unknown danger waiting in the trees. Waiting for us. Looking for us.
Both me and Stocker duck down, nearly crawling at foliage-level. My heart pounds against my chest alongside adrenaline surging through my veins.
They're here.
A heavy shadow sweeps over the trees, the figure of a massive hovercraft passing overhead. Along the road, four armored vehicles resembling BTRs slide over the snow.
Their hulking bodies each bear the emblem of Lowee on it's flank. A sparkly, white star with a blue cursive "L" running through it. Even at this distance away from the road I can see it as clear as day.
I slowly and methodically lower myself onto my stomach, keeping my rifle out in front of me and pointed at the road. Stocker crawls over to a tree, using it as concealment against the convoy.
The enemy engines keep roaring up the road as the hovercraft speeds past it, not daring to divert it's course.
But the fourth vehicle slows down as the ground platoon passes our humvee. Nothing good comes out of a firefight with Gamindustrians. Victories come with overwhelming firepower and numbers, both of which were never plentiful enough.
And with mechanized support there's no way me and Stocker are going to get out of this alive, not without an incredible stroke of luck.
The Lowee APC deploys it's cargo, and the squad of enemy soldiers step into the snow. They cautiously approach the humvee, weapons all armed with fingers on each trigger.
The leader orders two out of the seven soldiers to check out the car, and they fall out of formation to examine it.
Slowly but surely the whole enemy squad surrounds our car, and the two sent to investigate peer into the windows, searching for hidden occupants or anything of interest.
Luckily we had nothing inside the humvee of value, and one of the searchers flashes a thumbs up to their superior.
Without checking the woods or taking any precautions that they should've taken, the whole squad turns back to their own transport.
As they all crowd around the entrance to their vehicle, Stocker, on his on volition, stands up, fragmentation grenade in hand.
"Frag out!" He shouts, shocking the Loweean squad. He tosses it hard, and it makes a shallow thwump as it impacts the snow.
And it detonates with a mighty explosion, sending soundwaves through my ears and body parts into the sky, alongside fluffy white chunks of snow.
The turret atop the vehicle bears down on us, and cracks the Earth with an intense salvo of machine-gun fire. Each round chops bark and wood off the trees, sending sharp shrapnel into the air. Stocker jumps down to the right, tucking his face down into the snow.
The heavy gun keeps firing, and we stay pinned. I keep myself from panicking, but I still push my face down into the frosty ground.
What the hell was he thinking?
I hoist up my M16 and take aim at the enemy APC. Luckily for us, most of the enemy had been wiped out with that one grenade. Usually it took a few explosives to kill even one of them, but since they were so close to the vehicle and were all clustered together, maybe the shockwaves were more concentrated among them.
One of them struggles to their feet, helmet off and balaclava torn. It's a girl, and her black body armor is stained in the sickly red blood of her friends.
She stands there in absolute shock as I empty my whole magazine into her upper body. Each pull of my trigger slams into her body as if they were solid punches. After ten more rounds to the head, she slumps back against the vehicle, too dazed to keep standing.
Two more soldiers pick themselves out of the snow, and they seem more primed to kill then that girl. With weapons drawn, they open fire in my general direction.
"A- ah shit!" I cry out, scooting over to my left with my head tucked in the snow. The enemy seemed too panicked to fire straight, and their rounds scatter across the world around me. Bullets slam into the snow, are caught by trees or fling into the Blackhawk's sidings.
"I'm covering, move left!" Stocker orders, kneeling beside his tree. He uses the trunk to stabilize his weapon as he opens fire in the direction of the Loweean combatants.
I shuffle through the snow, crawling rapidly for a fallen log to my left. It's surrounded by the thin branches of a bush, but I push through them and keep my head down.
Right after Stocker shouted, the main gun on the APC fired several high-explosive shots in a furious anger, splashing into the snow before him.
The close proximity of the explosions shear off some skin on his face, burning him and throwing him backwards. He howls in pain, clutching his weapon for dear life.
"Damn it!" I snarl in both anger and fear, pulling one of my magazines out of my chest rig and swapping it with the one in my weapon. Once reloaded, I begin to bring myself to a kneel above the log but stop myself at the last moment.
A sudden realization came through my head, reminding me that I am still sane enough to know that revealing my position again is suicide. But there's this tugging, no, this tremendous yank in my chest pulling me out to Stocker. I can't leave him there! My mind screeches in agony as I squeeze my eyes shut.
But what can I do? Stocker is dying to my right, and I got two contacts closing in on me to finish us off.
The APC is not going to let up, and there really isn't a way to disable it without any heavy ordinance. And we have none…
Is surrender an option?
Hell no! What am I thinking?
The lieutenant told me that they stop for no one. That also goes against everything I've trained for, everything that I live for. Giving up when I've come so far would be shameful. A disgrace to my country. A disgrace to everyone. A disservice to humanity.
Like so many others before me, I knew my time would come, but I never knew how. I have to say, it kinda feels good to be at peace. To know how it's gonna end.
So be it, I thought, staring at Stocker's wriggling body with a certain frenzy of dedication.
With shaky fingers, I pull a grenade out of my chest rig, holding it with both hands.
1624: TRANSCRIPT BEGIN
1624: (DARKSTAR) This is Darkstar to Orion, requesting sitrep on the strike package, over.
1624: (ORION): Orion to Darkstar, the strike package is 2 minutes out, but *garbled radio*
1625: (ORION): Be advised, the strike package is now being redirected 20 miles direct south. JTAC has PID on unprecedented troop concentration, over.
1625: (DARKSTAR): What? No, you can't do that.
1625: (ORION): We cannot miss this opportunity.
1626: (DARKSTAR): No! You must understand that there are *garbled radio*
1626: (ORION): This was understood beforehand.
1626: (DARKSTAR): No, you don't fucking understand! The-
1626: (ORION): A second strike package is enroute to the original target location, ETA 20 minutes. Out.
1627: (DARKSTAR): No! You can't- God dammit I have family down th-
1627: ORION TERMINATES CONNECTION
1627: TRANSCRIPT END
They were expected to get to the objective by 4:30 in the afternoon, but after a handful of holdups and several annoying stragglers Blanc was behind schedule. Far behind schedule, and she hated it.
Because of those annoyances whom she had dealt with personally, most of her armored units were cluttered together, far behind the advance her mechanized units were at. She knew it would be bad to have them get cut off or picked off, but her forces had good communication, and things were starting to move smoothly again. Damn Earth and their stupid roads...
Right now, Blanc, in her HDD form, has to deal with an annoyance that couldn't be dealt with in a number of hate-filled hammer swings. And boy did she want to smash the heads in of these assholes who decided to block up her personal escort.
Four soldiers wearing standard army Multicam stood with their arms in the air at a 3-way road intersection. They stood bloodied, half starved, clothes torn and stripped of all gear. Standing in the middle of the road, she had instructed her soldiers to deal with this sort of situation on their own in any way they wanted, but for some stupid reason, the driver of the lead APC had to stop.
And now Blanc hovered above that lead APC, staring all four of them down.
"L-Lady White Heart, what should we do?" A woman stood in front of the lead vehicle, weapon pulled tightly against her chest. She stood rigidly, like a statue.
Blanc huffed in angst. This wasn't worth her time. Not when she was so close! If she wanted to be the first to finish off NORAD in the east, she had to move fast. Her brilliant pincer movement would be hailed for generations to come, only if she could pull it off! And boy, was she so close to victory.
The Goddess retrieved her weapon from her inventory, letting it hang at her waist lazily.
The men in her sights weren't dazed in the slightest, and looked up meekly. Their fate was decided on it's own, and there was nothing they could've done to change it. Not now, not ever.
A shallow gust of wind swept through the trees behind them, rustling through the bountiful trees. A few birds were awake and alive, singing their songs despite the winter chill. Despite the turmoil around them. As if nothing had changed at all.
"Isn't it obvious?" White Heart scowled. She tightened her grip on the hammer, but still let it hang at her waist.
Hmm. She looked down at her hammer, then looked up at the men.
That one on the far left. His blue eyes, they never left her own. He had shaggy brown hair, a sliver of a beard coming in. Must've been a while since he last shaved. She hated how he stared at her without fear.
She was to strike fear in the hearts of her enemies. Her hammer brought nothing but death, nothing but pain for her enemies and salvation for her allies in a swift swing.
But he wasn't afraid. He stared at her with the eyes of a child, caught doing something wrong and awaiting a stern lecture. Like Rom, or like Ram.
What was his deal?
On the battlefield, her enemies always fought until the death. These opponents, however, wished to cease fighting. But they knew her protocols for dealing with prisoners.
Why did they surrender?
A more reclusive part of her HDD form peeked out, a major part of her human form but never even considered when in conjunction with her Goddess duties.
Did they want to die?
She wanted to know more.
But all other thoughts ended in that moment.
From behind her, far behind her, in the half second it takes for someone to fall in love, a second sun with the brightness of all of nighttime Lowee multiplied by a million glistened into existence behind her.
She turned in midair, bringing her left arm up to shield her eyes from the blinding light.
It kept shining, and then in an instant she heard the godlike rumble.
With the shout of every dying man, woman and child the wind knocked her out of the sky and into the ground.
The ground seemingly cracked and died, the trees too weak to hold had their branches snap off with terrifying cracks.
APCs were swept off the ground, some even pushed several meters by the might of the wind.
Her soldiers cried out in confusion, some letting go of their weapons in the chaos while others fell to their feet to hide.
And then a blast of heat engulfed the world, almost like she were thrown into a preheated oven. Her skin felt like a rock that had baked for hours in the hot summer sun, and the snow on the ground or sitting in trees turned to water. Ice under rocks and in small potholes in the road changed immediately to water, and started to steam.
She felt sick.
She fell to the ground, no longer concerned about anything but keeping her insides in. She clutched her chest, gritting her teeth and retching in pain. The hot mud felt disgusting against her skin, the heat felt so, so bad.
But it wasn't fatal. She knew she would live, she knew that it wasn't enough to kill a Goddess. She knew that the pain would end as it always did.
But her soldiers? Would they make it? Even with the enhancements that came with Kyanite on Earth, this was doubtful. And it scared her.
It gripped her bones with an iron grip. Blanc couldn't take it any longer, glowing herself. It pales in comparison to the blinding light that came from the horizon. Her transformation was quick.
And she felt weak. Helpless. Her fate was out of her control, decided long ago by others far out of her reach. Nothing she could've done would've prevented this.
But what was this?
Was this the end?
And if so, of what?
The moment he saw the light, he knew it was over. Garland felt himself die, he saw himself die.
But then he felt the heat, the rumble and the roar.
And he wasn't dead, he could feel. He could think, he could see that the world around him was changing outside of his control and outside of fathomable human comprehension.
The world around him turned to mud, it turned to a sauna of whatever he never wanted it to be.
And it wasn't the world that they wanted either.
And that was his window, his chance to move. A stroke of luck on an unprecedented scale. He felt like a god.
But then he opened his eyes and knew he was just another man in an ocean of others. He opened his eyes and saw Stocker, who needed him.
PFC Garland rushed off the slimy ground, shrugging off the biting heat. He tucked his arms under Stocker's and pulled. He didn't care if was spotted, he didn't care if he were killed.
In that moment, he had a chance to change fate, to cheat death.
Each step through the dying Earth felt like a hundred, and when he finally stepped onto the road his skin was covered in a thick, terrible layer of sweat. It didn't go away, but rather stuck to his body like a stubborn parasite.
The enemy lied in the ground, completely taken back by the sudden attack to their eyes and skin.
Garland opened the passenger door to the humvee, and heaved Stocker inside. The metal of the vehicle was red hot, but that didn't bother him because he had gloves that burned his fingers like a thermos would.
As Garland threw himself into the driver's seat, every thought he could think was primitive. He couldn't think, not straight at least. He just had to get to safety, to get the hell out of here.
The engine started, and Garland spun the wheel around to the left. The wheels of the humvee dug into the mud, but when he put pressure on the gas the wheels were stuck.
But before he lost hope, the wheels shot out forwards, jutting his body backwards as the car popped out and onto the road.
Garland wrestled with the wheel as he sped towards the base, back the way he came. It seems so unfamiliar now that all the snow had melted, that the world turned dead.
All the trees were leafless, all the ground was mud. All the world was hot, and getting hotter.
It was a nuclear detonation, far from here but still close enough to feel the impact. And the impact was tremendous. It was only a matter of time before the radiation would seep into his skin in deadly amounts.
As Garland sped into the base, his eyes darted around for signs of life.
There was none. Not a single person walked the roads, not a single person crouched by the sandbags or stood with a weapon in hand.
Almost all the equipment was destroyed, and when he looked up he saw the smokestacks still rising ever higher beside the portal.
They had left without him.
…
They left without him!
No… nononono!
Garland stopped the car and threw his hands under his chin. The pressure he felt to do the right thing flooded him, sticking like a boulder in his stomach.
The engine of the car gave him no answers, and he was stuck. Stuck in an abandoned base with radiation creeping up on him alongside a powerful enemy force.
His own radio was fucked up beyond repair, an EMP attack left his electronics fried a few days ago. Calling for help would be useless anyways, everyone must've ran away long ago.
And if the nukes were coming down… oh god…
Was he next?
If they were going to blow this portal, there wouldn't be a way to escape. His car couldn't possibly take him far enough to escape the blast. Survival was impossible.
Nowhere to go. No enemy to fight. Dying at the hands of the country he fought for, now that would be something. He'd be a statistic, wouldn't he?
Unless…
What about the portal?
That could be a way out.
Of course, people were prohibited from entering and under no circumstances could people go through. Something about preserving the advantage, a rule Garland thought was bullshit. But he knew that if he went through he wouldn't ever come back. At least, not for a long, long time.
And if he stayed?
No. I won't die. Not today.
There was nothing left in the base of use, nothing to prepare him for this last-ditch escape. And Garland didn't consider any sort of planning either. All he needed was to survive.
The path to the portal was rocky, and the area around the portal was gated.
He pushed the pedal all the way down, letting the wheels grind against the mud as he shot right through the gate, smashing the hinges off the door.
Fuck it!
He held down the pedal as the massive, black opening swallowed him whole.
"Nepgear," Purple Heart sat on the couch in the Goddess living quarters of the Basilicom. To her left was her sister, sitting crestfallen with Neptune's gentle hand on her leg. "Are you sure Uni didn't tell you where she was going before she left?"
"Goodness…" She shook her head. "Sis, she said nothing. For the last time, no…"
Purple Heart sighed, letting her head droop.
It was getting late in the afternoon, and all sorts of vibrantly beautiful colors shone through the bountiful windows of the Basilicom. They painted the walls in a amber gold, and both Nepgear's and Neptune's hair shone.
Neptune brought up her right hand and brushed away some hair that fell in front of her sister's face.
"I'm really sorry you had to experience this." The older Goddess said solemnly, resting her hand on her sister's head.
"It's not your fault." Nepgear looked away, turning her head over the couch and towards the sunset. In her eyes reflected Planeptune, the tallest skyscrapers, the radio tower, smaller suburban buildings, the parks. It was gold.
"It was mine." She sighed. "It was my fault, I didn't see it coming… why did she have to leave me… no, leave us?"
Purple Heart opened her mouth to say something, but said nothing. Noire told her about the letter- it gave little answers. And after what she did earlier today, there really isn't any going back from that.
The lavender haired candidate tucked her face in her hands.
"Shh…" Neptune came in close, wrapping her arms around her sister. "It's okay, I'm here."
Nepgear sat there for a while as the sun come down ever so slowly. The shadows painted across Planeptune shifted, gradually eating away the gold of the sunset.
When the last rays of the sun tickled only the tip of the Basilicom, the CPU of Planeptune spoke.
"Here," She stood up, careful not to startle her sister. "I'll fetch the music and some snacks. Stay right there, okay?"
Neptune didn't expect a response as she walked for the kitchen. The blue walls greeted her in silence as she reached for the fridge, pulling out two cups of pudding.
After she shut the fridge door she reached for a small tabletop radio, one that Nepgear made for Neptune herself several years ago. It was a little dusty, seeing very little action since the dissolution of the friendship treaty.
It felt right to bring it out again, now that all the nations are on good terms again.
The little box sat in one hand, pudding and two spoons in the other.
Satisfied with her selection, Purple Heart walked back to Nepgear.
She really did care for her sister, even after so much had changed. One of the things that never change no matter what is the bond between friends and family. If anything were to happen to Nepgear- be it her being sad, or her being hurt- Neptune wouldn't allow it. Not even a little.
For Uni to disappear like that... that was selfish. She needed more time? What kind of excuse was that? If anything, Purple Heart needed more time. She was always on the job, directing her soldiers though North and South Carolina, making sure things on the home front were… under control… and managing everything that had to be done around the war.
It was a lot of work, but it was the work that she had to get done.
She felt exhausted. The loss of shares in the recent weeks had been catastrophic for all nations, but it hit Planeptune the hardest. Today's event was the final straw- knocking down Neptune's shares into a dangerous level.
But the first shipment of Kyanite would arrive in a week, and tomorrow the parade would occur. As for the main event for the parade, well, she'll just say that Owen got sick and couldn't attend. In no time this downward trend would quickly rise. She would make sure of it.
Purple Heart gently sat herself down beside Nepgear.
"Here, I brought you some pudding." She slid a cup of the dessert across the couch, spoon atop the lid. "Please have some, I brought it just for you."
Nepgear sighed, looking up at the pudding. She shook her head, refusing the tub.
Disappointed slightly, Neptune picked it up at set it aside on the low table in front of her. But before she opened up her own cup, she placed the radio next to the cup in the table.
With a flick of a switch and a turn of a knob, the rather primitive device came to life. Nepgear peeked up at the sound of her machine in action, and smiled a little.
She spoke softly. "You like it?"
"Yes, I do." Neptune replied with a slow nod.
The younger sister picked it up with both hands, smiling. She was happy that her sister was content with her, and the smile on her lips made Neptune glad in turn.
She fumbled with the device a little, a popular Lowee pop song playing quietly as she did so. But when she flipped the channel, instead of getting Planeptunian music to play, a male voice came on.
Unfamiliar yet intriguing, Nepgear turned up the volume.
"Good afternoon Gamindustri! I'd like to thank you all for tuning in to the first ever broadcast of Radio Free America. I'm here, and you're listening, because some crazy things have happened over on Earth that I'm not sure you know about. I mean, you all have heard of the takeover of Boston. It's everywhere in the news- Lastation forces take major city! Epic clash finally concludes! Victory! Those are all headlines I've seen when walking the streets. Not bad articles, I have to say. Well written, well researched. But there's a lot left out. For instance, did you know that half of all Lastation's air power was destroyed in the first hour of battle? After the exposure to initial American fighters, Black Heart personally withdrew all of her support aircraft for the next two days, leaving her soldiers at the mercy of-"
Neptune twisted the dial, lowering the volume to a dull murmur.
"Nep jr, don't you think we should listen to some real music?"
Nepgear's eyes widened. "No, I'd really like to listen to this, if that's okay with you-"
Apparently it was not okay with Neptune, as she reached an arm out to switch the radio channel. Nepgear said nothing in protest as she turned the volume back up.
"Fighting in the streets continued for many days, with the defenders resisting savagely for as long as they could. When Lowee reinforcements arrived from the northwest, the men of the 21st Combined Arms Brigade began to cut their losses. They started to evacuate the city, starting with the outskirts closest to the fight to the inner city, blowing bridges and demolishing roads just to keep the attackers at bay. Slowly but surely it became a fight for survival rather than keeping the city intact. The news that anyone who tried to surrender got shot on the spot spread like wildfire. There was no escape for the defenders except by sea, but to that end the civilians had to get out first."
"Alright Nepgear, you've had enough." Getting a bit worried now, Neptune reached for the radio.
Who was doing this? She thought angrily, tearing the device out of her sister's arms.
"Hey!" Nepgear half snapped, half pleaded.
"No more listening. It's getting time for you to get some sleep."
"But-" She knew she couldn't fight Neptune's final word. "Sis, you're not my mother or anything, don't treat me like that!"
Neptune just shook her head.
"Goodnight, Nepgear."
In a misshapen rush, Neptune stormed out of the room, heading straight for her meeting room upstairs.
Purple Heart had to think of something. She needed to get rid of that radio broadcast, and fast.
She saw what it was doing.
Humanization.
And it terrified her.