And here's the FIFTIETH chapter of Common Motives!

I'm not exactly sure why I'm so celebratory of this...it just feels like a huge accomplishment, as I've never really managed to commit to a story for such a long time before.

Without further ado, enjoy!


Chapter 50: Initiate

Breathing hard and fast, Sydney leaned – fell back against the wood of the railing that surrounded the side of the ship, bringing up a hand to wipe off the layer of sweat that had managed to gather and condensate on her forehead.

It was much, much harder than she realized, operating such a massive ship with her own force alone, without Samantha's superior strength or Jewel's speed and dexterity. Of course, it was not an entirely new experience to her, as before she had obtained the loyalty of either of them, she had sailed the Grand Fife by herself as a sixteen – year old girl lacking in strength and experience.

However, it had come much easier to her back then – ever since, the levers and pulleys that raised the anchor had rusted and tarnished so that it required five times the original amount of effort in order to operate it, and the rigging and ropes that Jewel climbed with such ease were much looser and worn than Sydney had remembered.

Like everything else, ships weathered – this was merely a confirmation – and putting Quintus at risk was absolutely out of the question.

Therefore, Sydney took it upon herself to perform the work that would usually be done by her and her two crewmates, and it was difficult to prevent herself from regretting that she had locked them up below decks.

Perhaps I needed them after –

NO. You stop right there.

Oh, look at yourself, you're about to faint at this point.

Look how far you've come. Look at how strong you've grown, now that their weights have been –

They're your friends.

Enough. Enough. I cut them off. I broke ties. They are of no use to me anymore.

They're –

They've served their purpose.

And in this conclusive thought, the privateer seemed to find peace, as it was a sort of compromise between the torn halves of her conscience, ending the reminiscent thoughts of them harshly while, at the same time, acknowledging their actions in her favor, even though both Samantha and Jewel had been completely unaware of what they were actually contributing to.

"Commander, the docking has gone quite successfully."

"Huh?" Sydney started, her eyes snapping open, the exhaustion miraculously leaving her body in that instant, allowing her to stand and balance as she looked out over the docks that she had just guided her ship into.

These were the docks that would lead to the Ancient Lizard Ruins, and the maze of tunnels that lay buried within, likely crawling with clockwork soldiers, as the security would have been increased, she figured, after the disappearance of their former Captain, Optimus Caerulus.

Just thinking about the terminated officer was like a dagger to the privateer's chest, and she gasped out loud, as if the piercing penetration of the metaphorical blade was tangible to her.

"Have you been injured?"

Cautiously approaching the slumped form of his Commander, Quintus reached out a single hand towards her still form, seemingly unnoticed –

Until, as if she had been a deadly cobra waiting to strike, the privateer snatched up his hand and pulled it to her chest, yanking the rest of his frame towards herself as she did so.

"We're so close…and I'm so nervous…can you feel it, Quintus?"

And yes, he realized, he could feel it.

The rhythmic thudding underneath his palm and fingers, faster and stronger than he had ever heard it before, and if he listened closely enough, it was audible to his fine -tuned hearing mechanisms.

It was natural for her to be nervous at a time like this, he concluded, for it was what she had been working towards, consciously or subconsciously, for countless months. Every one of her sleepless nights, the periods in which she screeched with the ecstasy of discovery or wailed with grief and frustration, the furious scribbling on any scrap of paper that she could find, the madman – mumbles that often could be heard coming from her more often than not.

All of it had led up to this.

In an effort to alleviate some of the stress from his Commander's mind (as such a high level of it was detrimental to a human's function and thought process, he had learned), Quintus moved over to the other side of the deck before dropping the gangplanks between the ship and the dock, securing the edges to the ships with rope. The ship did not sway much, as Sydney had already dropped the anchor and (with much difficulty) scaled the rigging to lower the sails, but one could never be too cautious about such a ship, the clockwork figured.

"Commander – will the current state of the ship suffice?"

Sydney did not reply.

Instead, she merely pushed off from where she had been leaning on the railing of the ship, bending down and retrieving her poleaxe, which she had placed on the boards of the deck while she single – handedly docked her massive ship, before striding forwards and brushing Quintus aside as she descended down the gangplank and onto the dock, turning to await the clockwork himself once she had delivered herself from ship to shore.

"Aren't you coming, Quintus…?"

"Of – of course, Commander…" Quintus stuttered, quickly rushing to catch up to her side, "However, there is still the matter of the ship…will it not be seen, given its size and color?"

"It doesn't matter."

What?

"Commander, I do believe that if you wish to sail this ship in the future, it is in your best interest to hide – "

"Then we won't be needing it anymore."

This statement seemed to shock the clockwork more than the privateer herself, which he considered rather odd.

After all, Captains were rumored to have strange attachments to their ships – almost as if the ship was an extension of them, an extension allowing them both physical and mental freedom. It was why Captains would often refuse to change ships, even to exchange their current vessel for one of much greater agility and ability, it was why the Captains would often go down with their ships in combat.

As a clockwork, Quintus had never understood this notion fully, so he had decided to let it be, accepting it as a part of the mindset that all Captains of any mortal species seemed to share.

Does it not hurt, Commander?

Do you not feel a sense of loss, simply disowning your vessel as such?

"Come, Quintus, there is little time."

The musketeer had to speed up his pace in order to keep up with his Commander, who was all but running towards the tunnels, poleaxe in hand and no signs of tiring present in her eyes, despite her physical state.

After all, it had been two days since she had last eaten – and if Quintus remembered correctly, humans relied on external sources of sustenance to fuel them, meaning that after an amount of time of this length, one would be in a state of the most dreadful fatigue, if not pain.

"Little time for…what, if I may ask, Commander?"

The privateer did not respond, however, and only kept at her pace with? even more fervor than ever before.

"You…you'll see…"

See what?

"It's finally…moving…"

Deciding not to question Sydney any further for fear of pushing her into a state of even greater instability, the clockwork fell silent, instead choosing to match the pace of his steps with hers as she continued onwards, through the dense forests of the island and the shallow (although massive) pool of water that had flooded the area surrounding the ruins, their ankles becoming submerged in the water with every step.

Quintus kept his eyes trained on the pyramid – like structure in front of them, his processor ceasing to logically function for a few seconds as the recollections came flooding back to him like a tidal wave.

He remembered marching in these ruins, in those tunnels, with the low ceilings and dank air, with the condensation that would turn almost heavy in the morning and frigid during the evening. He remembered patrolling in the strange lighting, he remembered how he had forgotten what the outside light had looked like.

He remembered Optimus Caerulus.

Caerulus, the strangely small – built captain who had been transported to the ruins a few weeks after the soldiers themselves, as he had been the first test subject of several physical modifications that the Armada had planned to place into effect on every soldier assembled for patrolling in the tunnels from then on out.

The low ceilings had proven to be a challenge, as the only light sources approved for use in the tunnels (for fear of igniting undetected fumes) were of poor strength and presented several problems, as the six – foot height of each and every Armada clockwork did not allow them to clearly see the stone ground that they would march over.

Bishop, who was in charge of determining edits to the Armada frames, had decided that an appropriate solution would be to, during construction, reduce the height of every soldier who was to patrol the tunnels by three inches and their weight by five pounds, and as a result, every clockwork assembled afterwards, with Optimus Caerulus being one of them, had been made to stand at five – feet – eight – inches, and to weigh no more than forty – five pounds.

Quintus had thought of this as odd, as he was certain that every other clockwork in his patrol had, when he had taken in the sight of the Captain upon his arrival.

But now, he reminded himself, but now, it did not matter, it did not matter at all, for this submergence in his memory did not change the fact that Optimus Caerulus had been ended, terminated, and would forever lay sprawled out over the bloodstained floor of his Commander's cabin.

"Quintus!" Sydney hissed sharply then, bringing up a hand to stop him from moving forwards any further, and the clockwork halted abruptly, the gears of his optical mechanisms silently whirring as his vision focused on his Commander's head as he attempted to follow her gaze.

They had stopped at a corner, he noticed, and she had now pressed herself up against the wall, her grip on her weapon white – knuckled as she peered around the corner, only to immediately jerk her head back, the color drained from her face.

Her eyes were now hardened with a determination that the clockwork had never seen before, and now, just now, for a flashing second, Quintus did not see the purple half – circles underneath her eyes, he did not see the red veins that seemed to snake their way over the whites of her eyes, he did not see the fatigue or the weariness that she often brought on herself.

Instead, he only saw what looked to be a frightening drive, the impossibly controlled rage of an angry bull waiting for that exact second to charge.

"Listen to me…" The privateer's voice was barely even a whisper, and, wary of the several Armada patrols that were likely located in such an area of the tunnels, Quintus leaned his face closer to hers so that she would not be so required to project her speech.

"Around this corner, there are two clockworks – marines, I think, musketeer's footsteps aren't nearly that loud…"

And he was aware of it now, the metallic, rhythmic tapping of what was most certainly, just like she had estimated, two Armada marines.

"You are correct, Commander." His confirmation, however, was merely brushed aside by Sydney.

"On my count, I'm going to charge at them and try and take one of them out. They'll be distracted and probably shocked, but once they react, I'll only be able to hold them off for a couple of minutes, given that there's two of them and one of me…"

Quintus did not speak his reactionary thoughts out loud to her, as he knew by now that she would not heed a word of it, but he was frightened for his Commander, he was feeling the fear that she was not.

This involves heavy risk, Commander.

"Once they've been distracted, I need you to shoot them. Do you understand?"

Commander, I beg you to reconsider, he wanted to say, yet the only thing that he could –

"Affirmative."

"All right, then…on three, I suppose."

You do not have your crew to cover for your physical fallbacks, not this time, not now.

"One…"

They outnumber you, Commander!

"Two…"

Finally realizing and accepting that his thoughts, although they were out of pure concern for his Commander, were a hindrance, Quintus steeled himself and curled his fingers tighter around his rifle.

"Three."

And with a short, yet brazen yell, Sydney flung herself out from behind the corner and launched her body at the two clockwork marines, her muscles tensing and flexing as she swung the heavy blade of her poleaxe back over her shoulder before delivering a harsh blow to the torso of the closest marine, causing the soldier to topple onto the ground.

However, he did not remain there for long – the marine was on his feet less than a second later, and he now had his halberd up, shield raised in front of him as he and the privateer began an exchange of blows, with Sydney narrowly dodging the whizzing blade every time. The second had also now noticed the fight, and, seeing that his comrade was at risk of termination, was starting to move up behind Sydney, axe raised over his head, preparing to deliver the one chop that would end –

"NO!"

Jumping out from behind the corner in a similar fashion that Sydney had, feet planted firmly to the stone floor, Quintus took aim at the second marine and fired once, watching as the charge flew from the barrel of his rifle and into the marine's torso, causing him to seize up as the electricity surged through the entirety of his frame, the halberd slipping from his grasp and clattering onto the ground.

And it was then that Quintus realized that he had not waited for Sydney's cue.

Part of him was angry, angry at his own lack of discipline and his own failure in adhering to his Commander's orders. When they were distracted, she had said – and he had panicked, not knowing how to define a relative term.

Yet, a majority of him was grateful – had it not been for his instantaneous actions, his Commander would currently be sprawled on the floor, much like the Captain Optimus Caerulus, instead of up and fighting.

Sprawled, on the ground, with a tear in her hat, a crack in her skull, and a pool of blood –

Quintus felt his knees nearly give out from the paralyzing fear that this inspired and he forced his legs to carry him forwards until he reached the remaining marine, who was locked in a seemingly never-ending spar with the privateer.

He would swing, she would dodge, she would right herself again and deliver a swing of her own, only to be blocked by the massive shield.

Like clockwork, like clockwork, just like she wanted.

She seemed to mirror previous attacks, actions, and techniques that had been displayed by the marines earlier, and, acting as a mirror to this marine at this very moment, Sydney had locked herself in a stalemate.

Or so it seemed, Quintus thought, and he could feel a chill sweep over his entire frame.

She would tire, he knew, and the musketeer took aim, his shaking body miraculously stilling as he aimed the barrel directly at the marine's head, at his central processor, waiting, and waiting –

He could not rush this.

Even if the offset was only a millimeter, any mistake could possibly wound or end the grey – eyed woman altogether. It was a frustrating complication – every time it seemed that the musketeer had a clear shot at the marine, his Commander's head would somehow end up within the blast radius as well, and it would then take all of his willpower to not drop the rifle right then and there out of fear that he would mistakenly squeeze the trigger.

Although his Commander fought like a clockwork, it did not change the fact that she was, in fact, human, and therefore tired after strenuous activity such as this.

He could already see it – the layer of sweat glistening on her pale – skinned face as she fought against her burning muscles and her body's endless demand for oxygen, and he knew he had to act fast, act quickly, else she –

It cannot be.

BANG!

The charge flew from Quintus' rifle before he was able to register his actions, but it was no matter – the next sequence of events seemed to go quite fortunately, and the high - voltage orb of electricity catapulted directly into the marine's head, traces of it flying just past his Commander's ear, singing a few locks of her black hair as the now – terminated frame of the marine hit the floor with a resonating thud.

"Have you been injured, Commander?"

Sydney looked herself over, the most damage done to her body being a shallow (but large) scratch across her arm.

"It's not important."

This, of course, would cause the clockwork to silently rattle off a list of protests, but the privateer seemed to care not as she knelt down to the floor, eagerly turning over the fallen form of the marine so that his back was facing towards her.

"This…this is important, Quintus…I'm not going to mess up, you see."

He did see.

It would be another attempt at what she had almost succeeded at doing with Optimus Caerulus – only this time, he assumed from both her actions and her words, she would take care to take extra precautions.

As he watched, Sydney unwound a length of rope from around her waist and secured the marine's wrists together, tying the knot as tight as she possibly could without actually breaking the flesh – like metal that acted as an exterior shell for the Armada clockworks.

"It'll go faster this time," Sydney stated, her voice taking on a matter – of – factly tone, "I've figured it all out."

She paused here, unsheathing the dagger that was strapped to her thigh and pushing up the sleeves of her coat and shirt on her left arm.

"I used such a small amount last time…three drops, I think – it really was nothing – that's why it took so long for him to…ah, shift."

The blade of the dagger was now pressed to her skin, and her eyes held no fear – she was going about her actions as if she were merely updating the ship's log, it just came so naturally.

And it only made sense, as she had repeated these actions so, so many times before –

Sydney pressed the blade into her skin, slicing through her flesh and creating a long, shallow wound across the side of her forearm, shallow enough so that it would not cause any permanent muscle damage but deep enough to let blood seep out of it. She repeated this incision on the back of the marine's arm before hovering her own arm just inches above the clockwork's, letting a steady stream of droplets fall from her own wound into his and hovering in this position for several minutes.

There would be no mistakes this time, she was sure of that.

Sydney had timed this entire process carefully, as to not allow the loss of too much of her own blood, and after exactly five minutes, she quickly retrieved a handful of wrapped up gauze from her coat pocket and tore it into two separate strips; one to bandage up the clockwork's wound, as to prevent a repeat of what had happened with Caerulus – it pained her to think about it – and another for her the cut in her own arm.

It repeated in her head like a mantra, like a chant – it will work, it will work, it will work.

She desperately wished to believe it.

The math had been done correctly, she was sure – three droplets in the case of Optimus Caerulus, and it had taken perhaps half an hour for the effect to start settling in.

Surely, she thought, she hoped, she prayed, fifty times, a hundred times that amount would speed the process.

So there she waited – she paced, she ranted, at one point, she had roughly grabbed Quintus, who had been standing watch, by the shoulders and shaken him until he was barely able to stand, all the while muttering madly to herself that it would work.

Yet, there was only silence.

For ten minutes, fifteen minutes, seventeen minutes – there was only silence.

And then, after exactly seventeen minutes and thirteen seconds – she had counted – Sydney heard a click.

It was a single click at first, but more of them came – the time between the noises growing shorter, with the volume of the clicking increasing at the same rate, and Sydney had blanched completely, her face as white as a sheet as she stood a careful three feet away from the Armada marine, one of her hands reaching out towards the unmoving figure, wanting to touch, wanting to see, but afraid –

There was a single snap, and the Armada Marine's head lifted slightly.

The privateer's bloodshot eyes flew wide, her pupils dilating rapidly in shock.

"Have…you…did it…work?!"

As if to further dispel her doubt of her own success, the Armada marine then maneuvered himself (with slight difficulty, as his hands were still bound) so that he was in a kneeling position before raising himself up to stand upright, balance fully regained.

"Militus Septimus."

"Oh…my…I've done it….look! Quintus! I've done it!"

"For the glory of the Armada, Commander."

However, the marine's voice was soon lost, for within seconds, the air became filled with the privateer's wild shrieks, her cries of euphoric joy, her laughs, her sobs, for this, she thought, this is what glory feels like.

"I've done it! I'VE DONE IT!"

The power surged through her, and she felt it, she felt every inch of it, she did not let a single ounce slip by as she drank it all in, greedily, hungrily, as she had been starved of it for so, so long.

"Nothing can stop me anymore…nothing! NOTHING! NOTHING IN THE WHOLE…THE WHOLE SPIRAL!"

At long last.

"Oh, BEHOLD!"


And now, here comes the part of the story that I have been waiting to write since the very beginning...!

Anyways, a big thank you to anyone who reads, and be sure to leave a REVIEW! I value all inputs on my story, as it helps me get a general idea of how my work is being taken :)

Until the next chapter,

- Severina