By Any Means Necessary
CH. III – Rude Awakening
A/N -Bit of a shorter chapter, was wanting to write more but it felt more natural to end it where I did. Going to probably go back and forth between this and my current FE story. That story is getting a lot of traction, and this was always meant as a personal project. Plus, giving it more time might be for the best. Take care, and as always, reviews are appreciated.
All she saw was white. Was she dead? She could only hope so. Being dead would be a lot better. The light began to burn her eyes. She wished she could blink, the surgical lights above blinding, but she needed to be awake. The calibrations began.
There was screaming. She couldn't tell if they were her own, or the other's...what she did know, however, was pain. The excruciating feeling of torturous modification and reconstruction that was their calibrations.
All that she knew was pain. All that she knew was that she deserved it. All that she knew was that she had failed. All that she knew was...that she wished to die.
Nikola's eyes opened. She sat up in bed, head hurting, before looking around. The room was dark, but, she could see well enough. The room was bare, basic wood furniture was all that occupied the room; the bed she found herself in was spacious, the blankets heavy and warm. Stripping them off, the X-O stood, finding herself not in uniform, but simple civilian wear. The wood floorboards were as cold as ice, and now out of the warm embrace of the blankets, not even the clothes she wore felt enough for the coolness of the night.
There was a pulsating pain at her temple. She bent over in pain, taking deep breaths as she held her head in her hands. Just as swift as its onset, however, the pain dissipated.
Her eyes opened slowly, feelings and thoughts didn't just melt away but seemed to leave her entirely. Even the night's chill didn't seem to bother her anymore, her form becoming rigid and movements near mechanical as her eyes panned the room once more.
Again, nothing of note. But this time, she had direction. She made her way to the bedroom's door, opening it silently. She walked with quiet steps, finding herself in a short hallway. Wooden floors, wooden walls, and once she made her way to the main room, it was clear just where she was, a cabin. Sniffing the air, she could pick up the scent of pine. She was in a forest.
Her instincts kicked in. She could hear something.
Gentle breathing coming from the couch. It sat in the middle of the room, facing the fireplace. She didn't have any weapons on her but, being an experimental soldier, Nikola was more than capable of handling any threat that there was. A slight pang ran through her mind; she blinked it away. She wasn't given any orders to engage in combat.
...order? Yes...what...what were my orders?
Another pulse at her temple. Thoughts were unnecessary, such was drilled into her head. Her thoughts didn't matter, they were a liability. After all, her thoughts are what led her to make mistakes.
Yes, her thoughts were not needed. All that mattered were her orders. And the orders were…
Hold them off here, Nikola. Keep the enemies at bay by any means necessary, Forseti's words echoed.
Hold the fort. Any means necessary.
Only...this wasn't the 'fort', wasn't the Centurion she had been tasked with defending. Nikola clutched at her chest, panic invading as her heart rate sped to a painful degree. She was in trouble, she failed, and Lord Belgar would-
She blinked. The thoughts were gone. She was not dismissed from her post. She must return. She must fulfill her order.
She turned away from the couch, instead spotting the exit. Swiftly and silently, she made her way across the room, passing by the couch with its sleeping occupant and the modestly sized dining table and chairs. Standing before freedom, the sound of the sleeping resident stirring stopped her in her tracks. Hand on the doorknob, she turned. The only light in the room came from silvery moonlight that filtered through the curtains of the window.
Her eyes widened; the face of the sleeping man being illuminated. It was a familiar face.
Hold the fort. Any means necessary
He was there. At the Centurion. She was tasked with stopping him. She was ordered to.
She crept to him, silent and with fluid motions, like a cat ready to pounce. She hadn't any weapons, but with him so open to attack, it would be no problem whatsoever. Her eyes moved from his sleeping face, roaming down to his exposed neck. Her hands reached out, ready to take grasp.
No sooner had her hands closed around his neck did his eyes shoot open. But by then, it was already too late.
His own hands went to his neck, grabbing at her wrists and wrestling to break free, but already the pressure was becoming too much. He tried wriggling, tossing his body about to try and if not throw her off than to at least get her off center. He was looking for any little opening he could find, any way to make enough slack for him to do something.
But his actions were fruitless, the assassin having straddled him and finding firm grip with her legs. She was anchored atop him, in position to choke the life out of him, and for all the squirming he did, he could not shake her loose.
Why are you smiling?
Pain, once more, like a bolt of electricity, struck her. She was smiling? She didn't even know. She was…enjoying this? As she looked down at him struggling, at the way he writhed, she understood. Yes, she was enjoying this.
This is why you failed last time, because you couldn't control yourself.
Her thoughts seemed to taunt her. She knew they were right. Each and every time they failed Lord Belgar, it was because they got ahead of themselves, because they couldn't simply follow orders. Wait…they? Who was they?
Her smile dissipated; she clenched her teeth at the pain she felt. Her head throbbed and all it did was anger her. Her fingers tightened even further, looking to finish him off so that she may return to Lord Belgar as soon as she could.
The enemy clenched his eyes shut beneath her, his struggling beginning to wane. It was almost over.
"…ch…ch…" he choked.
Soon it will all be over…and then, then she could go back to them. Back to the empire, back to Belgar, back to…
"…Chi…a…ra…"
She froze, eyes wide. Chiara? The pain struck with more force than any time before. Her hands went to her head, clutching it tightly as she screamed and writhed, the memories flooding her mind of her fellow X-O seemed to burn. Unnecessary, she was unnecessary, she was a failure, just like you.
Before she knew it, she was on the ground, whether thrown by the enemy or having fallen from her writhing contractions, she didn't know. The pain was too much for the augmented soldier, even worse than being shot at. She didn't even attempt to get to her feet, or even her knees, as she lay curled up in a ball on the floor. Her vision began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edge of her vision.
The enemy loomed above her, heaving as he caught his breath. She was so close but there was nothing she could do now. She failed her mission, failed in eliminating the enemy, and now, it was all over. She would never return home. She clenched her eyes shut, unable to stop the tears that stained her overly pained expression.
Claude looked down at his would-be assassin. She broke down, completely unwinding. Or perhaps it was the opposite. Perhaps she had been wound so tight that she simply just snapped. Rubbing his throat, he heaved a sigh. He knew this was a possibility, warned of it, even. After all, she had been catatonic for weeks now. There was no telling how she would be when she came to.
The only frame of reference for the girl that he had was of their time on the battlefield. She was clearly not of her right mind even then. He knew nothing of her, but, if Riley's assumptions were correct, if she really was modified and experimented on just as the Valkyria under the Empire's rule were, then she was just as much a victim of the Imps as they all were.
Such was the conclusion he had drawn, having had ample time to reflect upon the war he helped to end.
"Chiiiaaaraaaa…." She sobbed, bemoaning the name of her fallen comrade in a broken voice. It was a name Claude had heard often, the soldier haunted by nightmares and calling out in the middle of the night for her friend.
His mind went to the memory of said companion. She marched towards them despite heavy machine gun fire, pained and broken, holding in her hand the switch that would seal her fate.
He shook his head at the thought.
Chiara, an enemy, looked so scared. She was ordered to self-destruct, and her cries at the end would scar Claude. She died, not for a cause she believed in, but by the orders of a regime she was conscripted into. She had not wanted to die.
His hands tightened into fists.
And history almost repeated itself with the platinum blonde. As he had lay on the floor, feeling overcome with heat and fatigue at whatever poison had been injected in him via the arrowhead, he saw her. Saw her face.
The enemy had in her hands the same detonator as her friend. She had the same expression as well. And yet, when the detonator was shot from her hand, her fear became unbound dread. More afraid than dying, the two had been terrified of not following their orders.
Such is what became of them under the Empire's influence.
He knelt down to the crying girl, the same person who had just tried to murder him, and as delicately as he could, he took her into his arms, embracing her. She sobbed uncontrollably, calling out for someone she would never see again. Her wails only died down as she eventually lost consciousness. Her arms devoid of all strength, snaked around her enemy as he held her close.