Emma slid to the ground tiredly, rubbing her eyes with gloved hands. Thankfully, her costume replaced her clothing every time she moved in and out of her transformation. She'd gotten a lot of blood on her.

Emma looked at her hands with a sick expression. She'd thought that this would be a satisfying experience. These were the same aliens that had forced Abigail to commit suicide, after all.

But these were also the aliens that had screamed in fear as she'd slammed into them. Aliens who had tried to crawl away as she slammed her halberd into the backs of their skulls. Aliens that had—

Emma whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut. That only made things worse, the images playing back over her eyelids, of the one time she'd managed to knock the helmet off one of them.

They had faces. She couldn't get it out of her head. They had faces like humans did, with funny eyebrow analogs and brow ridges and and and—

Emma scrubbed at her eyes, trying not to break into tears. No. No. This was her duty. This was what she needed to do, what she was meant to do. She was a magical girl. She was supposed to protect humanity. She was doing her job. It was okay. It—

Ryouko appeared in a flash of green light, along with Rika, the only telepath on the team, and the body of an alien. The younger girl immediately collapsed to her knees and retched, spilling her lunch across the floor.

"Ryouko!" Asami cried, skidding to her knees beside her. "Ryouko what's wrong, are you hurt?"

Ryouko pushed her away wordlessly before retching again, and again, until her stomach was empty and she was reduced to dry heaves.

"I— I k-killed—" Ryouko stammered, before dry heaving again.

Asami blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I killed the alien," Ryouko said. "I killed it it was right there and I killed it."

Asami blinked, and realized that Ryouko was beginning to cry. "Ryouko…"

"I could hear them talking on the translator!" Ryouko sobbed. "They'd— I killed one of their friends— they were hurt—"

"Ryouko, stop it," said Asami, grabbing her girlfriend by the shoulders. "Ryouko I— it's—"

"Get up," Nadya said quietly, pulling Ryouko to her feet. The younger girl sagged in Nadya's grip. "Ryouko Shizuki, get up on your feet this instant."

"I— Nadya—"

"What did you say?!"

"I-I mean, y-yes m-ma'am," said Ryouko, getting her feet underneath her shakily. "S-sorry m-ma'am."

"Nakihara, help your girlfriend back to the wall," said Nadya sharply. "You two, take the prisoner into one of the large utility closets. We'll deal with it later."

"Yes ma'am," the two girls said, quietly. They carried the alien away in silence. Asami slung one of Ryouko's arms over her shoulder, the other girl hollow-eyed as she was led away to the wall, where everyone else was gathered.

"Asami," Emma called out. She waved at an empty spot next to her, just big enough for two people to sit. "Over here."

"Right."

Asami and Ryouko shambled over. Ryouko slid bonelessly to the ground, forcing Emma and Asami to catch her.

"Oh Ryouko," Emma sighed. "What happened to you?"

"She said something about killing an alien?" Asami said. "I don't really get it."

"Did she melee it?"

"I… I think so?"

"That's why," said Emma. She didn't offer any more explanation, but pulled Ryouko into a hug.

"I killed them, Emma," Ryouko whispered, as Asami cuddled into Ryouko's side. "I reached up and snapped one of their necks."

"I know, I know," Emma said, rubbing Ryouko's back. "I… I did too. I did worse."

Ryouko looked up at her. "Really?"

"Y-yeah," said Emma. She swallowed heavily. "Y-yeah I d-did. We— you— j-just try not to think. At all. It's easier that way."

"Okay," said Ryouko quietly, curling her legs up and hugging them to her chest as she stared out across her knees.

No one really liked the Leadership Committee virtual meeting room.

Sure, it was grand in its own special way. Based on an actual location on Earth, it had a beautiful mahogany meeting table carved out of a single giant piece of wood, flanked with rows of the most comfortable chairs Kyouko had ever had the pleasure of sitting in. The leather felt sensuous on the skin, reminding her with disturbing fidelity of certain amorous encounters she had been involved in. A small platoon of server bots delivered drinks and snacks at your every whim, including a coffee whose quality was legendary.

The dominating feature of the room was definitely the surroundings, though. Physically, the Leadership Committee met at the top floor of one the tallest buildings in Mitakihara, and the meeting room itself was surrounded by nearly panoramic set of windows, as well as fully transparent ceiling, all of it fully tunable to provide whatever view the attendees found most comfortable—and to block out the blinding sun, as was often necessary. It was audacious, meeting at the crown of Mitakihara, within theoretically the full view of every drone and surveillance system in the area.

Still, though, they had met there for over two centuries now, and it was getting tiresome. Barely anyone ever showed up to the actual physical room anymore, so it was more than possible to choose a different meeting location. Yuma would have preferred some outdoors locations, for instance, while Mami would probably have liked a few tea rooms. Kyouko would have merely preferred some variety and Homura… well actually nobody had any idea what Homura would prefer. She was quiet like that.

The Committee could never agree on a change, though, so the Crown Room it was, time and again.

"So as you can see, the prospects for a rescue mission for our girls on the surface are remote, at best," the current speaker, Odette François, explained, gesturing at a holographic representation of the Nazra Invictus system. "At least in the near term. The Soul Guard is willing and able to send a special operations team to retrieve our girls on-site, but it will not be possible for them to reach the planet in less than three days. In that time, it is very likely the colony will have already been overrun."

"Is it possible that we could send a different type of ship for them?" Mami asked, looking over from her Second Executive Seat directly at Kyouko. "If I remember correctly, we should have several supply ships already traversing the area, at the very least for grief cube supply reasons. How much do we know about the Alien's control of planetary orbit?"

Yuma, who was seated next to Kyouko, shook her head.

"Very little," she said. "I wouldn't consider sending any ships except our best stealth ships, and even that's taking a risk."

"Besides, the ships we have in the area are merchant class vessels," Kyouko said. "Hardly suited for any kind of stealth or chasing. Big honking ships, honestly."

"You don't have to tell me," Clarisse van Rossum said, scowling. "I can feel my gem trying to drag me to the planet, and here I am stuck on this damn flying bread van. I'm surprised this thing even flies. You have no idea how uncomfortable it is, but I've turned this ship around. I know not to tempt fate. I'm going to have to get a new ship somehow…"

"We should still prepare a special operations team," Kuroi Kana suggested. "It can't hurt to have them ready to go. We just need to think of a way to at least stall the aliens."

"Well, we have managed to translate the alien ultimatum," Mami said. "It seems like they're offended by our tinkering with those orbital structures they call 'mass relays'. If that's all it is, perhaps a ceasefire could be worked out."

"If that was all it was, they wouldn't be here with a goddamn fleet," Kyouko said, putting her best delinquent lilt onto "goddamn". "And you saw what they did to that AI. We have no idea what they've done with the scientists on the station. Shot them all, maybe."

"Reports from the planet suggest they take prisoners," Mami said, frowning. "For what it's worth."

"I do not believe that we are thinking big enough," the First Executive and Chairman of the Committee, Akemi Homura, said from her seat at the head of the table.

The table fell silent. Though the MSY was loathe to admit it, Homura was basically their Queen, and she behaved like one, rarely ever participating in discussions, content to set the meeting agendas and watch in monarchical silence. When she did speak, though, the committee paid attention.

Homura stood up, encompassing the rest of the table in her gaze.

"This is First Contact with a sentient alien race," she said. "Incubators excluded, of course. It is literally unprecedented, and there is a distinct possibility that the actions taken here—by us, by Governance, by these aliens, and by the humans on the surface—will resonate over the coming decades, centuries, or even more. We should think in those terms, rather than over the narrow issues of fulfilling the obligations of our organization to the girls on the surface."

Homura paused, again sweeping the table with her gaze.

"We have not faced the issue of what will happen if the aliens refuse to accept a ceasefire or parley. If so, we will not be able to intervene in time. Neither will Governance, even though it is already gathering the Fleet. What then? What would you have our girls on the surface do? They may be forced to fight or die. You all know the secrets that must be kept. Will we tell them to sacrifice themselves for the sake of some secrets? Will they listen to us?"

She paused again, smiling sardonically.

"I think we have relevant questions for our resident alien. Wouldn't you say so, Kyubey?"

"Oh certainly!"

The Incubator in question materialized out of thin air from just above the First Executive's chair, landing adroitly on the surface of the table. It was well-known that the Incubators monitored the proceedings of all the MSY governmental organs, though they kept themselves invisible out of respect, and because it was frankly unnerving having the famous alien bunny-cats constantly watching with their unchanging smiles.

"The Masquerade has certainly served its purpose for a long time," Kyubey said in its customarily cheerful voice. "But it has never been our opinion that it must be maintained forever. With the degree of influence that the MSY wields, and the current technological and social maturity of your species, it is possible that a reveal of the secret will be acceptable to us."

The Incubators hardly ever gave information without being directly questioned, much less spoke words of such monumental portent. As Kyubey sat there with its unchanging smile, rubbing its head playfully with one paw, expressions of shock spread down the table, and even onto the face of Akemi Homura.

"Do you mean—" Homura began.

"Events are already out of your hands," Kyubey said. "The secret is broken, and we did not stop it."

As one, the members of the committee turned their heads towards the hologram at the center of the table, which had begun flashing and making an urgent noise.

"We have a new transmission from Nadya Antipova," Odette said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes sir," said Septimus' aide. "We've completely lost contact with the platoon. Our comms aren't being jammed, and even if they'd lost their radioman we'd still expect IFF transponders to be active. The only way for them to go dark is if—"

"The platoon has been wiped out, yes, I know," said Legate Septimus darkly. "This is a disturbing development. Thank you, that will be all."

The aide nodded smartly, snapped a salute, and retreated from the combat operations room of the dreadnought, where the Legate and his staff were running things. Or, as it seemed, merely reacting to increasingly disturbing developments.

"This is starting to get out of hand, Legate," said Septimus's second in command, Arturius. "General Tyrannis still hasn't established air superiority, and—"

"I know that Arturius," snapped Septimus. He opened, then shut his mouth with a sigh. "…Forgive me, Tribune. Things are not going to plan."

"I understand, there is nothing to forgive," said Arturius. "Let's just focus on the problem."

"Yes, yes," said Septimus, running a talon over his face. "Right, what have we accomplished so far? The beachhead is secure?"

"Yes, First Division is holding it easily," said Arturius. The battlemap shifted to focus on the primary landing zone of Legions Victrix and Ferrata. A ring of fortifications had already been built, with the legions pushing forward slowly towards designated objectives. "Enemy resistance is unexpectedly strong, but unless they surrender we will overrun them within three local days."

"How sure are you of that prediction?" asked Septimus, raising a brow plate. "You recall our projections before we landed?"

"Yes, well," said Arturius with a sigh. "That's the problem isn't it? This report about losing a platoon, without even a distress call…"

"Exotic weaponry?"

"Of course, you would think that, but…"

"Well, what else would you suggest?"

"I do not know," said Arturius, steepling his talons with a frown. "There were no units there—" he reached out and tapped at the where the missing platoon had been headed "—and our surveillance didn't pick up anything except flashes of multicolored light."

Septimus sighed. "Damn this lack of air superiority. We need to secure that comms station."

"Is that strictly wise?" asked Arturius. "They may need it to communicate with their species' leader."

"It is more important to remove their ability to resist, I think," said Septimus. "The faster we can force a surrender, the better."

"Are we to be a conquering army, Legate?" asked Arturius.

"No, of course not Tribune, don't be ridiculous,' said Septimus, waving a talon. "We force a surrender and then withdraw to appropriate lines. That's how we've always done it, hasn't it?"

"Perhaps, but we also have never faced as much resistance as we have here. What drives these aliens to resist so vehemently?"

"There are many unknowns, but we must proceed as best we can," said Septimus. "It is the only way to ensure galactic peace."

Arturius closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they had hardened with resolve. "…Yes, you're right," he said. "An artillery barrage, then, followed by an assault?"

Septimus nodded.

"Yes. That is for the best."

When Eunoe opened her eyes again, it was with a sense of surprise, once the initial fog had cleared.

I'm not dead? she thought. Or is there an afterlife after all? But then why is it so dark?

Then she realized she could still feel her body, that her head ached, and that her hands were tied behind her back.

A moment later, the room brightened, and she found herself at just below eye level with one of the pink aliens, except that the alien was standing, and Eunoe was seated and restrained. Two more of the aliens watched from farther back in the room.

Eunoe tugged at her restraints. As expected, they wouldn't yield. Well, it felt almost mandatory to try. Maybe she could loosen them later.

"Can you understand me?" the alien in front of her said, with the slightly stilted tone of someone speaking through an omnitool universal translator. Eunoe couldn't see where the omnitool was, though.

"My name is Eunoe Aurelian, Serial Code 0E45F79A, Turian Hierarchy Marines. By the terms of the Convention of—"

"Oh for the love of—" one of the aliens in the back said, stepping forward and leaning towards Eunoe, pushing the other alien aside.

"We read your damn ultimatum," the alien said. "We don't know who your Council is, or what your laws are, or what the Turian Hierarchy is, or what Mass Effect Relays are, or what the Convention of whatever is. Why did you expect us to know any of that? And here you are invading us like we're somehow in the wrong. On our planets, we don't go torching aliens for not following our rules they don't know about."

Eunoe looked up at the alien's gaze, taking in the words, which sunk into her gut like razor-sharp blades. The aliens didn't even know what a Mass Effect Relay was! They had just been experimenting with it!

Part of her was convinced this must be some kind of psychological ploy, but most of her realized that this what exactly what Althaea was worrying about—

Had. What Althaea had been worrying about.

For a moment, she saw Althaea dying on the floor, Junoa getting her neck snapped in front of her, and she remembered how long she had—

"My name is Eunoe Aurelian, Serial Code 0E44— I mean, 0E45," she began again shakily, filled with a quietly burning rage, not at the aliens in front of her, but at the universe in general. What a cosmic joke—

She realized abruptly she was crying, and felt ashamed. A Turian, crying in a hostile interrogation and showing obvious weakness. All those weeks of interrogation training had clearly been wasted on her.

"Back off, Nadya," one of the aliens said.

She felt the alien grab her by the jaw, turning her face so that their eyes met.

"Look, I'm sorry about your friends, but you were the people who invaded us. Maybe, if you talk—"

Eunoe spat in the alien's face.

"I have nothing to say to you," she snarled.

The alien stood back up calmly, taking out a cloth to wipe her face.

"Well, we tried this the easy way. You are an alien, so it might take a while, but I will eventually be able to crack your head open. It won't be pleasant if we have to do it that way."

The alien put her hands on Eunoe's head.

"I don't know why you're giving it the chance," "Nadya" said. "Clearly, it's not going to talk. I'm sure if you just try it long enough, the other approach will eventually work."

"Look, am I the specialist or you?" the alien asked. "We do things my way. It's too annoying to try and break its mind when I don't understand how it works, but I'll do it if I have to. For now—"

Eunoe saw a nimbus of light gather around the alien's hands, glowing in her peripheral vision as an impossible force pressed against her mind. It was like an Asari mind meld, but—

"—we do it like this."

—painful, as whatever it was forced its way into Eunoe's head again. She wanted to scream but—

The alien reached up to snap Junoa's neck, smiling gloatingly, mockingly at Eunoe. Eunoe fired her weapon—fired, and fired, and fired, and it did nothing, the bullets passing through the alien seemingly without harm.

The alien even seemed to mock her, stopping her arm for a moment to laugh at Eunoe, as Junoa struggled, and struggled, and struggled…

Eunoe felt the heat sink of her rifle grow hotter and hotter, painful enough to burn her hands off, Eunoe holding down the ejection override, knowing she was destroying her weapon, but also knowing she could not stop firing.

Finally, sickeningly, Junoa died, the crack of her neck resounding in Eunoe's ears as she watched, helplessly, still firing.

The alien turned to look at her, the expression different, one of sorrow and anger.

"You let me die," Junoa accused, her lips moving on a head that was now bent at a distinctly unnatural angle.

"No!" Eunoe said. "I was taking care of Althaea! I couldn't react fast enough!"

"What a disappointment you'd be to her right now," the alien said, in flawless Turian. "Crying to yourself in an interrogation chair. Letting squadmates down. Letting her die. A disgrace."

"That's not true! I—"

The alien didn't wait for her to explain, and a moment later she found herself staring the alien in its cold, round pupils, the alien's hands locked on her mandibles.

"Good night, Eunoe," the alien said.

The pain returned—

"Peaceful place," she heard herself say.

She found herself looking over a violet alien ocean, stretching away towards an infinite horizon, alien sun setting slowly. Reptilian flying creatures chirped at each other, high in the sky.

"Isn't it?" Althaea said, a long moment later, turning to look at her. "I was born here, you know."

"Were you?" Eunoe asked, turning towards the other Turian.

"Yeah. I like taking leave here. Reminds me of where I come from."

Eunoe made a show of looking around them, even though she had already toured the place—a small fishing village on the edge of a great ocean, part of a small Turian settlement on the planet. It made for quite a change from Palaven, where Eunoe took most of her leaves.

"When are we getting to meet your family, then?" she asked.

Althaea smiled slightly.

"Well, actually, my family is dead. The colony got hit by Batarian slave traders when I was a girl. Audacious idiots. Colonial defenses forces responded fast enough to put them down, but not before most of this village here got sacked. I hid under a bed, myself. The Hierarchy made sure we got some retribution, though. There's a reason no one attacks Turian worlds."

Althaea said it so matter-of-factly that Eunoe couldn't help gaping in astonishment, spreading her arms out in a gesture of dismay.

"So, what, you come here to remember what happened, so you can get motivation to kill pirates?" Eunoe asked.

"A little, if I'm honest," Althaea said. "But given the kind of work we've been involved in, it's also to remind myself never to do anything similar. I joined the front lines to fight those kinds of people, not to become them."

"You think the Turian Hierarchy would ever do anything like that?" Eunoe asked, incredulously. "We're too well-trained for that. We're just not bloodthirsty like that."

Althaea shook her head.

"War changes people. You seriously think all those Turians in mercenary groups, the Red Suns or whatever, they've never done anything like that? A lot of them are ex-military. You don't think we don't have people like that in the ranks right now? You've got to keep your eye out, Eunoe. Take that from a veteran."

Eunoe nodded, but realized Althaea had stopped looking at her, choosing to instead look back over the fishing village.

She wondered what Althaea was seeing…

She found herself seated in a small room, along with a small circle of Species Orion Aliens. The group was tense, talking nervously about various topics.

She kept to herself, though. In her mind, she kept checking desperately for something, anything, from the mining areas of the colony. But there was nothing—Nothing!

The sector had been overrun by those damned aliens an hour ago, and there had been no news since. She had just kept checking, and checking, but there was no sign of them—

"Onee-chan!"

She heard her sister's voice in her mind, the memories aching to grasp. Were they dead? She couldn't know…

She felt herself driving her spear through the chest of the alien, driving through it into the ground, the rage surging powerfully within her. The alien coughed blue blood onto her costume, struggling against her. She felt disgusted and sick, but in her mind she kept seeing the surveillance footage they had finally gotten, of burned-out buildings and ruined homes, swarming with the damned aliens. No sign of…

The alien held her sister up against the wall, smiling viciously. She tried to reach forward, stab the alien with her spear, but instead the alien just laughed, reaching up and snapping her sister's neck in one swift motion, her sister's screams turning into a sickening gurgling noise.

The alien's eyes, narrow and vertical, taunted her, and she had to—

"Break the connection! Break it! Oh God—"

Eunoe's eyes snapped open, and she saw one of the aliens dragging the other away from her. She met the alien's eyes, and knew instantly whose sister she had been seeing in the flashback, that twisted version of her own memories.

"What happened?" the other alien demanded, and somehow Eunoe knew now that she was the older one.

"I didn't block leakage properly," the alien said desperately. "Oh, God I'm not trained for this. There was too much two-way—"

The older alien shot an angry glance at Eunoe, pulling the younger with her out of the doorway, which slid shut behind them, leaving Eunoe again alone with the darkness.

Eunoe looked down at her legs, feeling the tears trickling from her eyes, the raw emotion still fresh from the dream—whatever it had been.

It was irrational, feeling such sympathy for an enemy alien, but she knew one thing now: when she got out of here, she would find that alien her family again. The Turian military wouldn't shoot civilians in cold blood, she knew that.

She didn't allow the doubt about that to gnaw at her.

Lieutenant Kyousuke Akiyama was a member of the garrison on Nazra Invictus. As was typical for these sorts of things, he was experienced, and had earned a few years of service on a quiet colony out in the sticks after fighting through two rogue systems and evacuating a different scientific colony that found itself besieged by parasitic locusts. As a result, he liked to think that he'd seen a lot of shit in his day.

A sixteen-year-old girl, standing in front of him in some sort of sparkly outfit out of an anime his grandkids watched and wielding a fucking sword of all things, was way beyond any of that.

"Hello," the girl said. Her name was apparently Tricia. "Welcome to the IIC node, I uh, I guess."

"The fuck is going on?" Kyousuke asked. Mentally, he ordered his men to spread out around him. This probably wasn't some sort of alien trap, but then again you could never be too paranoid. "And what the fuck are you wearing?"

"Hey I like my— er, that's not important," said Tricia. "I uh, well, you're the commanding officer, right? Of Second Platoon, B Company?"

Kyousuke nodded cautiously. He silently acknowledged that one of his sniper teams had a clear shot, but ordered them to hold their fire unless he gave the order. "Yes…"

"My uh, my own commanding officer would like a moment of your time," said Tricia.

"I need to get my troops into a defensive position," said Kyousuke, shaking his head. "Whatev— whoever the hell you are, my soldiers come first."

Tricia paused, eyes flicking to the side briefly, before nodding. "My commanding officer says that's fine, she'll just come to you. And uh, besides, we'll be helpful."

"Helpful? What do you mean by—"

A flash of green light made him dive behind a broken wall, drawing his pistol. It was a very, very good thing that he had soldiers with disciplined trigger fingers.

"Ah, sorry sorry!" Tricia called. "Please don't shoot! We're on your side!"

"Put down whatever weapons you have and—" Kyousuke began to yell.

"We don't have any weapons," a new voice yelled back. She sounded older than Tricia, but still near her twenties; still young. "We're going to stand here in the open. You can peek around with your gun if you want."

Kyousuke did just that, the guncam feeding into ocular implants and making him blink in astonishment.

"There's more of you?" he asked, emerging from cover but keeping his weapon out. "What is this bullshit?"

"Unfortunately, that does depend," said the older girl. Another girl stood just behind her. "My name is Nadya Antipova. I understand you are probably confused with the situation at hand."

"That's one way to put it," said Kyousuke dryly. "Another way to put it is that I don't rightly know what to do with you, and as far as I'm concerned paranoia is better than complacency."

"Yes, to your credit, Lieutenant," said Nadya. She gestured vaguely. "In this case, at least, I can assure you that your paranoia is not necessary. We are most certainly human."

"Uh huh, because the Military recruits little girls," said Kyousuke flatly. "If you're human, y'all are too damn young to still be here. The evac order went out ages ago."

"Then let me prove it to you," said Nadya. "I'd like to show you something."

"Which ain't ominous at all," said Kyousuke, gun drifting upwards.

"Calm down, Lieutenant, it's just a memory record," said Nadya. She very slowly waved a hand as a small child materialised in the air beneath her fingers. It took a moment for Kyousuke to realize that the child was a younger version of Nadya, and that the model was actually part of a three-dimensional home video recording.

The vid had started in freeze-frame. Nadya was about five to six years old, wearing a swimsuit and mid-sprint towards some distant body of water, running through grass that had sprung up out of the rubble and the permacrete on the grounds surrounding the IIC node. A moment later the vid began to play.

"Smile for me Nadya!" someone yelled as Nadya's younger self raced past, the view panning to follow her. "Come on, for the vid!"

"Nyaa!"

The younger Nadya paused just long enough to pull a face at the recorder that involved her tongue and peeling back her eyelids. She then ran on, ignorant to the admonishments of the recorder for making such faces and dashing onto the wood planks of a small dock—straight past a slightly older-looking boy, who had been dabbling his feet into the water.

"Whoo!"

The resulting deluge soaked the boy completely.

"Nadya!" the boy shouted, enraged. "You—!"

"Hahaha, got you!" Nadya laughed, before screaming in delighted alarm as the boy jumped in, tackling her over into the shallows.

"Play nice children," the recorder admonished, jogging forward to observe the rapidly escalating splashing-and-dunking fight. "Don't—"

A stray splash caused the view to go black briefly as the recorder ducked, then re-emerged blinking water out of their eyes.

There was a moment of horrified silence.

"S-sorry Mom," the boy stammered.

"Y-yeah," Nadya added, nodding. "Viktor wasn't supposed to duck."

"What do you mean 'not supposed to duck'?!" Viktor asked, immediately rounding back on his sister. "What else was I supposed to do, let you splash me?"

"Yup," said Nadya, sticking her tongue out.

"You—!"

"Children," Nadya's mother intoned darkly. The siblings immediately went pale and silent.

"Children," Nadya's mother continued. "Prepare to meet your fate at the hands of the Splash Master."

Nadya and Viktor scrambled away from shore as Nadya's mother backed up briefly, then dashed off the dock and created a wave that engulfed both children. The video cut off there.

There was a pause.

"Satisfied?" Nadya asked, waving away the video.

"Good enough," said Kyousuke with a sigh and a shake of his head. "Between that vid and your existence on the nomenclator, I guess I can't think of any more complete a verification."

Nadya nodded, some tension leaving her shoulders. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'm glad we understand each other."

"Don't thank me yet," said Kyousuke drily. He holstered his pistol and signaled his snipers to stand down. "Next question: What's with the anime clothes?"

Nadya pressed her lips together.

"You're not that far off," she said, finally. "You could say that we're anime made into reality."

Kyousuke cocked his head to the side, but said nothing.

"What do you know of the magical girl genre?" Nadya asked.

"My grandkids love it," said Kyousuke. "That's about it."

"We fund the magical girl genre. Ryouko, if you could."

Kyousuke looked over as another girl, even younger, only fourteen, stepped forward. She looked him in the eye, and he had enough time to register the hollowed-out expression of a rookie, fresh from their first firefight, before she disappeared in a flash of green.

"Oh hell," Kyousuke said as he turned on the spot, finding Ryouko standing a few feet behind him. "Y'all have gotta be shitting me."

"I am not," said Nadya. "We are magical girls. We came here with this science expedition for… a few reasons, none of which are important right now. What is important is that we are powerful and lethal. The destruction you see here is a result of our efforts. We offer our aid in the coming conflict."

"Your aid huh," said Kyousuke, looking at Ryouko. She looked back at him, slightly apprehensive. "Ryouko, right? That's your name?"

Ryouko nodded. "It is."

Kyousuke nodded to himself.

"You know I have a granddaughter named Ryouko," said Kyousuke. "Though she's a lot younger than you. She turned nine a few weeks ago."

Ryouko swallowed and bit her lip. She blinked twice, then looked down to the ground, hands held stiffly at her sides.

Kyousuke looked at her for a moment, then turned back to Nadya. "Ma'am, I speak for the whole garrison when I say that your actions here are greatly appreciated. But with all due respect, I am not going to accept the aid of children to fight this goddamn war. Your people may stand down until this is all over."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant Akiyama, you cannot afford that," said Nadya. "One of our powers is clairvoyance, and our specialists have seen that the aliens are mustering an assault on the IIC node. Our best estimates are something like a division's worth, along with artillery support. We are the only thing standing between your unit and obliteration."

"Then we will fight as best we can," said Kyousuke. "But these children will not—"

"These children are already baptized in the fires of war, Lieutenant," said Nadya. "They have already lost the innocence they once had. For that matter, many of the adults among us have as well. Your attempts to shield us from harm are commendable, but, unfortunately, you are too late."

"Sir, long range sensors are registering incoming tangoes," one of Kyousuke's soldiers reported. "Looks like fifty clicks out. We don't got a lotta time."

Kyousuke grit his teeth. "Jesus. Fine then," he said. "Second Platoon, start setting up defensive positions. Commander—" he glanced at Nadya, who nodded "—Commander Antipova will coordinate the… magical girl forces with us."

"…You serious, Lieutenant?" asked one of the troops.

"I wish I wasn't," Kyousuke replied. "We got kids on our hands, folks. Treat them gentle-like, alright?"

"Yes sir."

Kyousuke returned his attention to Nadya, crossing his arms in her direction. It was strange. The girl couldn't be older than eighteen, yet something about her manner made her feel decades older.

Nothing to worry about now.

"Miss Antipova," he said. "I hope to Jesus you know what the fuck you're doing."

Eunoe woke again to the sound of something clattering.

She looked around in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adapt. Maybe it had just been a local rodent…

The lights turned on.

A new alien stood in front of her, looking down at her.

Eunoe looked back to the ground, mourning her situation. She wondered who this was. Perhaps the alien torture-master? It seemed depressingly likely.

"I'm not supposed to be here," the alien said. "So I'll keep it short. Why did you kill the AI aboard the space station?"

"What? The AI?" Eunoe asked.

"Yes, the AI," it said, grabbing Eunoe's jaw. Why did the aliens do that so much?

Eunoe looked away. Strictly, she shouldn't be saying anything, but what could it hurt? She didn't know anything, and that was the truth.

"I had nothing to do with that," Eunoe said.

"WHY did they kill her?" the alien demanded, jerking Eunoe's head towards her with startling force.

"Her? You mean the AI?" Eunoe said. "AIs are abominations, banned by the Council. Subject to termination—"

The slap across the face flung her skull around so fast and so painfully she was briefly afraid her neck had snapped. But no, no… Turians were tougher than that.

"YOU KILLED HER!" the alien screamed at her. "She was a living, thinking being, and you killed her. We had to listen to her die! Subject to termination? If that's how you aliens think, then I will kill every last one of you!"

"Just like you killed my squad members?" Eunoe snapped, knowing she was saying too much. "Did your friend enjoy snapping Junoa's neck? She looked like she did! And—"

The alien grabbed her skull again, lifting her and the chair off the floor so that the weight of it pulling down started to choke her—

"The difference," it snarled, "is that you came to kill us. Not the other way around. And you're going to complain about your squadmates?"

Eunoe couldn't breathe, and the world spun around her in the alien's impossibly strong grip. She knew, somehow, that the alien could crush her windpipe with barely a thought.

Then her head rang out in pain as she felt herself slammed back into the back wall, still tied to the chair. Incredibly, the chair stayed in one piece, leaving her on the floor in a choking mess, wondering through the pain if her skull and all her limbs were still intact.

"I'm sorry," Eunoe choked out, not believing what she was saying.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Eunoe repeated.

The alien dropped Eunoe back to the floor with a clatter, and Eunoe gasped for breath.

"Sorry for what?" it demanded.

"For all of this," Eunoe said, spitefully, feeling the emotions flooding back into her. "Althaea was right about this invasion all along. No one on this planet even knows what the Council is, right? Or Mass Effect Relays? Yet here we are, cheerfully shooting civilians. All because of blowhard Primarchs drunk on military glory. This is all a political ploy by the interventionists, you know that?"

Eunoe hung her head in shame, unwilling to control the rant she felt coming from her lips. The only consolation she had was that she was certain none of this information had any value to the alien.

"This isn't what I joined the infantry for," she said. "I joined because I wanted to protect the galaxy. Instead here I am, shooting the people I wanted to protect. This is all a joke, and it got Althaea and Junoa and probably everyone else killed. You colonists are getting killed out there because of a joke. You want revenge? Shoot me. It's your right."

For what seemed like a long time, there was silence, except for Eunoe's still-labored breathing. For a moment, Eunoe even thought the alien was gone, or that she was really about to be shot.

"Is that true?" it asked. "Do you really believe that?"

Eunoe looked up, looking the alien in the eye.

"Yes," she said.

The alien surprised her by dropping down to its knees, so that they could look each other in the eye.

"Then talk to us," it said. "Tell us how we can end this fighting? None of us like this killing, or this fighting. They've been attacking us for hours! It's only a matter of time before one of us gets killed. What do we have to do? Can we communicate with your commander?"

Eunoe looked back dully, wondering what was going to happen to her now.

"Do?" she said, even feeling a trace of a dark smile creeping up her lips. "Legate Septimus is a stubborn man. I imagine you're going to have to kill quite a few of us before he's going to agree to talk to you. I don't know how you're going to do that."

The alien looked away—sad, it seemed to Eunoe, if she wasn't imagining things.

"I was afraid of that," the alien said, a moment later. "What if you talked to them?"

"I won't," Eunoe said immediately, having known this was coming. "They'd brand me a traitor, and wouldn't listen to anything I said. That's how it works. You couldn't make me. I mean that."

The alien let out a breath, then looked back at Eunoe.

"Well, we'll see," it said, looking back at her and seeming to smile slightly. "My name is Nakihara Asami. Ah, Asami is the personal name, and Nakihara is the family name. I don't know if that means anything to you. And uh, I'm female. For whatever it's worth."

"Eunoe Aurelian," Eunoe said. "Uh, Aurelian is the family name, so I guess our species are similar? Well, most species have family names. I'm female too."

"There's more than one species?"

"Well, yes, that's why there's a Council. The three Council races are the Turians, that would be us I guess, the Asari, and the Salarians. There's also—"

The door flew open, almost flying off its hinges, flooding the room with light.

Three aliens charged in, bright and glowing, and before Eunoe even knew what was going on, she found her neck at the pointy end of an archaic crossbow.

"Are you alright, Asami?" the alien demanded, looking at Asami. "Has something happened?"

It took a moment for Eunoe's eyes to focus on the face of the new alien in the sudden bright light, and when they finally did, she saw again the alien leering as she killed Althaea, skeletal grin taunting.

Everything went black after that.

MSY Finance possessed an extremely diverse portfolio. This included substantial holdings in breweries, distilleries, and vineyards. As it turned out, alcoholic beverages could be extremely lucrative, given the correct circumstances.

The Japanese whisky market had been founded back in the 1930s. It had matured into a profitable and skilled artisanal industry by the time Homura had been born. Indeed, for over fifty years, whiskies from Japan, not Europe, where the drink had come from, were considered the best in the world, dethroning the vaunted Scottish, Irish, and American Distilleries. For over fifty years, the MSY used their holdings in these companies to make a lot of money.

Other elements of MSY Finance's investment portfolio ultimately accounted for more of the MSY's annual earnings, but their holdings in the whisky business were significant enough that, if whisky were to somehow go bust, a restructuring of the portfolio would have to occur. The Shizuki and Kuroi Matriarchies both spent a hefty sum every year to market and distribute the brands they owned, and the Mikuni-ido Distillery, in Hokkaido, was run by its own, small, matriarchy, wholly dedicated to producing what was, to this day, one of humanity's most sought after alcohols.

Despite all of this, Homura had never touched the stuff before 2237. It had been a particularly trying year just after the Unification Wars. Despite the official declaration of peace, the ruins of the world still held rogue AIs, surviving FA Elites, and the cowering remnants of the guiltiest hyperclass, none of whom came easily or quietly. Widespread relocations, far too many refugees, and a surplus of armed rebels suddenly subject to the absolute rule of the EDC created mass unrest across the globe. On top of all of that, the Masquerade had been in something of a state of flux, to put things lightly, and securing the MSY's position in the new world was a nontrivial task. At the head of all of this was Homura, and despite the fact that she delegated quite aggressively to her subordinates, it was perhaps inevitable that the stress would start to wear her down.

Tired, angry, and beginning to dream far too often about Madoka, Homura had taken a leave of absence, disappearing from Mitakihara after leaving a note and setting off for Hokkaido. She had arrived at Mikuni-ido Distillery just as the snow had begun to fall, blanketing the mountains in clean, white silence.

She had definitely needed the respite from the rest of the world, even if she could never get respite from herself. For three months, Homura sat quietly in a cabin on the edge of the recently reopened property, painted, and wrote poetry. The Inoue Matriarchy had taken great care to let her have her own space. Serendipitously, Homura had even mentored the family's newest contractee, Yukiko. When Homura reappeared in Mitakihara, she had brought a bottle of whisky back with her. Every year since, a bottle of Mikuni-ido's finest had been shipped to Mitakihara for Homura's personal use.

It was, Homura reflected as she sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers, a very good thing that she had whisky so available. Otherwise, it would have been possible for her to lose her legendary composure in the current situation. Certainly, the rest of the room had erupted once Nadya's message had played out, Kyouko's loud swearing audible over the kerfuffle as everyone shouted at everyone else. Those who kept silent were simply panicking in different forms as they conducted mass crisis management.

The MSY's internal financial markets were probably exploding from the sheer volume of insider trading.

A delivery drone tapped Homura gently on the arm, then set her bottle on the table. A single elegantly carved crystal tumbler clinked down beside it, followed by a matching sake-flask of spring water. Glancing up, Homura had the tinted glass panel above her fade clear, allowing the sun to shine through.

Nazra Invictus was really in one of the tighter spots that Homura had seen in her long, far too memorable life. The only comparable situation had been a standoff in Africa during the MSY's initial expansion into the continent. Both sides of the war had magical girls fighting from the shadows, and the MSY's neutral team had been stuck in the crossfire, cut off from resupply and unable to hunt demons without getting involved in the war. Ending the Masquerade had been seriously considered as a worst case scenario, if political efforts and negotiations failed.

That had ultimately been unnecessary. Still, Homura couldn't help but notice that, all things considered, there were some significant similarities between the past and the present. She contemplated the situation as she poured her whisky into the glass. Two finger-widths and no more, the amber of the beverage shining clean and bright from the light of the sun. Homura added a touch of water, to help the aromas open up. Mikuni-ido's whisky was good enough that she didn't really need to, but by now it had become one of those personal traditions that Homura always felt compelled to do.

Homura held her glass up to the sun. The glass had been specially commissioned so that, as the sunbeams traveling through it bent and scattered, the contents would glow like the light of a soul gem. It was ironic, and occasionally tragic, but Homura didn't regret making the purchase. It helped to remind her what she was fighting for in Madoka's name.

Which was an interesting thought. She'd heard once, from a man in a bar in Shanghai, that ideology was one of the most dangerous things in the world. It drove movements, structured society, and caused great evil based on how it shaped people's beliefs. Doing things for ideology was, the man had claimed, the worst possible motivation, and caused most of the grief in the world.

And yet, before the dawn of the modern age, society had run on ideology—on the interplay of tradition and belief and indoctrination, with the assurance that, if you just followed a certain set of rules, then everything would be okay.

Homura sipped from her glass. Hmm… unusually sweet for a whisky from Mikuni-ido. Then again, Yukiko had a habit of adding playful twists when she was given charge of a batch. The texture was singularly smooth, almost creamy, with malted barley and tangy cherries dancing together across Homura's tongue. There was something strangely omnipresent that also hovered amongst the flavors of the whisky, a slight mineral taste that made Homura think of mountaintops and polar ice caps. And of course, whisky's characteristic smoky flavors burned darkly in the background, like a smouldering pit of embers that cast long shadows across the floor.

Or, indeed, like the corruption that burned away at the souls of the girls on Nazra Invictus, its long, swirling fingers reaching up from the depths to grasp and tear at hearts and minds, sending those afflicted into spiraling despair.

Homura nodded to herself in approval. Yukiko really was a master of her craft. The girl Homura had mentored that winter in Hokkaido had matured into both a fine craftswoman, and, from the news she heard these days, an excellent matriarch. Many years had passed, and the child had become an adult, learning and gaining knowledge along the way. But it was here, in this glass of whisky, that it became clear that Yukiko had gained wisdom and insight as well.

Homura set her glass down with a clink.

"My friends," Homura said. It was a statement, delivered quietly, but with a power that resonated through the room. Conversation, if you could call a mass shouting match "conversation", came to a halt so abruptly that Kyouko physically flinched, caught in the middle of calling someone something extremely profane.

"My friends," Homura repeated, standing from her chair. The sun cascaded down her hair, shining around her and reflecting off the table top. "We are at a singular crossroads in history."

"It has been the belief of the MSY for many years that the Masquerade is a fundamental part of our existence as magical girls. The reasons each of us would cite for such secrecy are varied and deeply held, perhaps even as much as the wishes we hold dear in our hearts."

"And yet what cannot be denied is that each one of us in this room desires for humanity's magical girls to live their lives to the fullest. We seek stability and order in a world where chaos and destruction are seemingly inevitable. Those of us from the past recall times when we faced each other with murder in our souls, and pale Death hovered, waiting. It is only by the blessing of the Law of Cycles that, when our time in this world is ended, our sadness and our anger depart, and we are allowed to find a lasting peace."

"Those of us from the present know of the joy of life. Of friendship and love. Of glad hearts and of soul gems whose lights do not dim. We live now in a time of plenty, with the assurance that we need not fear whether we will see the coming of the dawn."

"This security in life must be preserved. We face now an enemy both great and terrible. From the words of Nadya Antipova, the fate of humanity is suddenly in flux. War stands at the door, with its brother, Death, and waits. It is patient, and confident, and will take from us everything it can touch. With both hands, it will reach out and snatch away the peace and security that we, the MSY, have spent so many years to achieve."

"Therefore, in accordance with the fundamental beliefs of this body, I propose that we endorse this fait accompli. I propose that we end this Masquerade."

Jaira T'Ari had not been having a good day.

She appreciated that among mixed-blood Asari, she was unusual for having a father that she could expect to see alive for most of her life. Most mixed-blood Asari barely knew their fathers, especially those poor souls who had Salarian fathers. Jaira, on the hand, had a Krogan father, and her parents had met young, which meant she could expect to see the old man alive and kicking well into her Matriarch stage, which was still a good five hundred or so years out.

That didn't make phone calls with old Krog Forsan any less tedious. By the Goddess, the man could go on, and that was when he wasn't busy lamenting Jaira's life choices. She had tried being in the military, even made commando, but—

—Jaira frowned, twisting a ring around her middle finger, and flicked to the next document on her datapad. Those were not memories she wanted to go over again. Suffice to say, combat was not what she wanted to do for the remainder of her life.

No, she had started over, gotten a recommendation into the Asari diplomatic corps from some friends, and worked her way into being one of the youngest Asari diplomats, a friend of Councilor Tevos herself. By any measure, that was an accomplishment, but not if you asked Krog. He wanted her to be some kind of glorious Asari warlord—he honestly did not seem aware no such thing existed, unless you counted Aria out on Omega.

"Crazy bastard," she muttered to herself.

"He's restless. Isn't easy for a Krogan, tied up in your mother's purse strings like that. Other Krogan probably laugh at him behind his back. No choice. I can sympathize. Putting up with it is the only way to nail that sweet Asari—"

"As profane as ever, I see," Jaira said, sitting up at her desk to greet the newcomer. "What brings you here, Thaleon?"

Thaleon, the Salarian standing across from her, smiled in that oddly wrinkled way he had. A member of the Salarian Special Tasks Group, they had once been a bit of an item, back when she had still been a commando. It had been intense, hot—everything one might want, except deep.

So, it hadn't worked out. The break-up had been amicable, though, so they still kept quite in touch. Thaleon was her best, and almost only, connection within the STG, and she used it for all it was worth. The Salarians had the best intelligence services, despite whatever lies the Asari government had to tell itself to fall asleep at night. Sometimes a diplomat needed Intelligence, with a capital I.

"New special assignment," Thaleon said, placing a sealed diplomatic envelope onto her desk. "Eyes only. Sent by courier rather than electronically. Sealed with the best Asari technology. I read it, of course. I hope you don't mind."

Thaleon accentuated "the best Asari technology" with the same voice one would use to refer to "the best" alcoholic drinks.

Jaira gave Thaleon an annoyed look, picking up the envelope. Seal unbroken, DNA-coded watermarks still in place. As always, Thaleon was good at his job.

"What happened to the courier, Thaleon?" she asked, breaking the seal.

"Nothing that bad. Probably still passed out in the bar. Not going to keep her job, though. I like to think of it as weeding out the bad apples in the Asari diplomatic corps."

Jaira sighed, reading the diplomatic missive and sipping her drink. She rather liked Taina, even if she was a bit of an airhead. She'd have to remember to put in a good word for her—maybe Taina could land in a harmless desk job instead of being fired outright.

"Well, well," she said, talking through her drink. "It looks like the Turians are being their usual hard-headed selves once again. Intervening without consulting the rest of the Council or even their own diplomats, check. Not bothering to check whether species Orion even knows the Council exists, check. Using the maximum possible force in every single damn situation, check."

Jaira sighed, setting down the document and kneading at her brow ridge. "You know, sometimes I think my father would do a better job of running the Turian Hierarchy than the Turians themselves."

"When you have the pieces in place for the Krogan seizure of power, let me know," Thaleon said drily. "I'll be glad to help. Might be a bit of a diplomatic incident, though."

"I always knew you liked my father, Thaleon," she said wryly. "I've never seen a Salarian and Krogan hit it off like that. Damn shame."

"What? You want to have another go at it?"

"No. But why are you here, Thaleon? You don't ever show up without some kind of business, even if it's just carnal business."

"Just a little continuation of our relationship. I give you information, you let me travel with you to talk to the Turians."

"Uh-huh," Jaira said noncommittally. "And how do I know this information will be of any value? Will you be paying up-front?"

"Now, I can't give any promises as to the value," Thaleon said. "The situation is still developing. I will give you whatever I have, and if it's unimportant, it's unimportant. We're in a bit of a long-term thing here, and you know I've been good to you in the past."

"Yes, of course," Jaira said, leaning back in her chair. "You have been good to me in the past."

They met each other's gaze, until Jaira couldn't hold it any longer and started snickering. That opened the floodgates for them both to start laughing, Jaira pounding her desk while Thaleon covered his mouth with his hand.

Thaleon recovered first, typically, and leaned forward onto her desk, spreading his hands onto the wood surface.

"I will give you a bit of a taste, though," he said, meeting her gaze. "This situation with the Turians is worse than Councilor Tevos knows. The Turians are doing what they can to keep it secret, but the alien colony is resisting far more strongly than any of them expected. They've taken unexpectedly high casualties, and the colony is still in resistance after more than a day. The Turians don't expect the colony to fall in less than another twenty-four hours, and it may take as much as seventy-two. The colonists have unexpected technology and tactics, and there's rumors of some kind of new, exotic weapon."

This time was Thaleon was deadly serious, dropping the innuendo, and Jaira matched, nodding to show she understood.

"Interviews with prisoners indicate that species Orion does not only does not know about the Council, but does not, in fact, have Mass Effect technology, of any kind. They could not have possibly been intentionally trying to activate the primary Mass Effect relay."

"So the Turians fucked up," Jaira said. "Except: No Mass Effect technology? How did they colonize the planet? Did they fly in the slow way? How are they even fighting the Turians?"

"That," Thaleon said, raising a digit, "is the million-credit question. Both the STG and Turians have no idea how they're doing it, and we both want to find out, and I'm sure the Asari will too, soon enough. Their military technology is extremely novel, in addition, and the Turian engineers still do not understand how their guns work."

Thaleon glanced at her, then continued:

"Now, one possible explanation for species Orion's development is their very mature AI technology. One of the big Turian secrets at the moment, even though the rumors are everywhere, involves an artificial intelligence that was found aboard an alien science station. Some idiotic grunts deleted the AI instead of trying to extract information, and Turian intelligence believes this is helping to drive the ferocity of the alien resistance, since roughly half the prisoners taken seem seriously angered by the deletion. Apparently species Orion considers their AIs to be worth defending."

"AIs? Really?" Jaira said. "Goddess, how are they—"

"They're not part of the Council, Jaira," Thaleon said, narrowing his eyes. "It doesn't make sense to get angry at them for not sharing our beliefs. This whole anti-AI policy is weird anyway—regardless of past Council policy, the Council has never declared war on a race merely over a few AIs. Though, since the policy was only put in place after the creation of the Geth, there's not really any precedent to look at."

"Thaleon, come on—"

Thaleon waved his hand, indicating he still wanted to talk.

"There is one last thing. The Turian fleet reports that they are being scouted by alien probes and frigates arriving by FTL from outside the system. Their command believes that these are a precursor of the primary alien fleet, though they're keeping it secret for now, even as they bring in reinforcements from the main fleet. This little 'peacekeeping' mission could turn into a real big mess, real fast. And all because the Turians are idiots."

"Goddess, what a clusterfuck," Jaira said, looking down into her drink and wishing it were alcoholic. "I mean, I knew the Turians were going to kick the stinger hive someday, but this is like kicking the stinger hive and discovering it's actually full of Rachni."

"Yes, a clusterfuck," Thaleon said, "but for better or worse, it is our job to be as close as possible to the clusterfuck, to observe every intimate detail, and maybe even dive right in. And file a report afterward."

Jaira blinked, and Thaleon stepped back from her desk.

"Well, how was the foreplay?" he asked. "If you let me come with you, you can have some more."

Jaira sighed. Thaleon was perfectly capable of getting to the planet on his own. For something like this, there was probably an entire team going to the planet already. Wanting to come with her meant only one thing: Thaleon's job was to monitor the Asari-Turian negotiations.

But, she needed the information and the foreplay had indeed been good.

"Alright, Thaleon, you have your deal," she said, smiling lightly. "Let's hope this ends pleasantly for everyone involved."

"Indeed," Thaleon said.

The Salarian saluted smartly, and left her office.

"I don't understand you," Nadya sighed, rubbing her face in annoyance. "Nakihara-san, of all the rookies stationed here, I expected you to be the most rational one of the bunch."

Asami looked down at the ground petulantly.

"At least you didn't hurt it too badly," sighed Nadya. "I think—"

"She."

"What?"

"The alien is female," said Asami, looking up at Nadya. "Her name is Eunoe Aurelian."

Nadya frowned harder.

"I don't care what its name is, or its gender," she said flatly. "It's a prisoner of war, and we need to treat her appropriately. That means we keep it isolated and don't interact with it. I appreciate the intel you've gotten for us, but we also can't afford to accidentally give it an advantage."

Asami went to speak, but then stopped. That was, of course, the rational decision. It also seemed… unkind, at best.

"I think that she deserves to at least be treated fairly," said Asami. "I— I guess that's hypocritical of me to say. But I think she deserves that at least."

Nadya sighed. "You let me handle that, Asami. You have more important things to worry about. Ryouko needs your support."

Asami bit her lip and looked over at her girlfriend. She had curled up in a corner again, staring blankly at the floor.

"Besides, have a little faith," Nadya said, smiling at Asami and clapping a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not going to try and end this by killing everything. It's just not a good idea. If we can get her back to her people, I'll try for it, okay?"

Asami looked up at Nadya, then sighed and nodded.

"Alright, Nadya. I trust you. I'm sorry for breaching protocol."

"It's alright, just don't do it again," said Nadya, given Asami a light push towards Ryouko. "Now go give your girlfriend a hug."

Nadya held back a sigh of her own as she watched Asami run over, chattering at Ryouko about something involving food. Asami was almost hopelessly optimistic. Nadya had never seen things go that well in her entire career, and didn't expect things to change now.

"Ah, such is life," she said, shaking her head, then turning and leaving to attend to other things.

"Shizuki Ryouko, is it?"

Ryouko looked up at Kyousuke Akiyama, the lieutenant from earlier. He gestured at an open spot on the boxes next to her and she nodded.

"I just felt we should get to know each other," Kyousuke said, taking a seat next to her. "You from Earth?"

"Mitakihara City," she said passively.

"Ah, I have family from there," he said. "Daddy's half, actually, though we ended up living in Toyko. Momma's from the old United States. The South, you know. Not a good place to stay during the Wars. Yeah, they're that old."

"I see," Ryouko said.

It was obvious, now that she saw him outside his suit. Japanese name, but didn't look particularly Japanese. That being said, people told her sometimes they could see some a little foreigner in her. She wasn't really sure whether to believe them, though.

The man looked down.

"Sorry, I talk about myself too much sometimes. I'm trying to make small talk."

A pause.

"Look, uhh, Ryouko, I'm worried about you. I got two granddaughters about your age. Are you doing okay?"

Ryouko looked down.

"I think so," she said. "I don't think I'm as shocked as I was before. It's just—"

She paused, trying to decide how to say it.

"Since we talked to the Turian prisoner, I can't help but think about the aliens we're killing. Before, I could imagine we were getting rid of ruthless killers or evil conquerors or something. Now, though, I can't—"

Kyousuke surprised her by grabbing her by the shoulder.

"Look," he said. "The truth is y'all are too young for this kind of thing. But it's not your fault this is happening. It's the Turian government. It looks like it's not just humans that do stupid things. One way to look at it is that, in the end, the soldiers you kill were dead before you shot them. Just no one knew it yet. It's you or them, and that's just how it is."

Ryouko shook her head, looking away.

"Why is it like this, then?" she asked.

Kyousuke shrugged. "Who knows."

There was a brief pause.

"So, uh, look, I don't rightly know how to say this without being awkward," he said. "But do you want a hug? It helps with my granddaughters, when I get to see them."

Ryouko looked at the man in the eyes for a moment, then nodded, accepting the embrace.

In truth, she missed her family sometimes, stationed out here, and that need had only grown more acute after the alien attack. It was nice having Asami around, but sometimes all she could think about was her grandfather walking with her around the park, and the conversations they had.

This would be a decent substitute, she supposed.

They separated, and Kyousuke stood back up.

"Alright, well, I've got duties. I'll see you."

She nodded, then wiped her eyes the moment he turned away, to hide the few tears that had crept up.

"What was that?" Asami asked, when she appeared again a moment later with the food she had been getting them.

"Oh, nothing," Ryouko said.

They had warned Rika about this when she was first brought into the MSY. She fell into the class of telepaths for which mind-reading was actually more of a mind-merge, a fact only exacerbated by most common telepathic training techniques, which tended to involve doing your best to imagine yourself being the other individual.

So she had been told to do her best to shield herself while performing a forced mind-read. That was as far as it had gone, because she hadn't ever been trained to perform interrogations, nor had she ever wanted to be. Telepaths with capabilities on that tier lived under constant surveillance—it just wasn't worth the headache.

She had gotten information from Eunoe, sure, but in doing so she had leaked far too much of herself back to the alien, and had spent far too long reliving the alien's life and memories before she could detach herself.

"You okay?" Nadya asked, clearly finding Rika's silent staring at her hands a bit disturbing.

"I'm not sure," she said, as honestly as she could. "My family is still missing. Because of that, I enjoyed killing Turians, until that interrogation. Now I can't remember my sister without overlap with this damn alien's friends too. It makes it very hard."

Rika returned to looking at her hand, trying to find the angry clarity she had once had. It had felt liberating to kill Turians, once—each blow had felt like revenge, vengeance for a family she greatly feared was dead. It kept her from having to remember what might have been lost.

Now, though, that was gone. She couldn't think that way anymore—and in its place, there was only a numbing emptiness, an abiding anger at her place in the universe.

"They're like us, you know," Rika said, when she saw that Nadya was still there. "Remarkably like us. And here we are, killing each other."

Nadya peered down at her for a moment.

"To be honest, I suspect it's precisely because they're too much like us, that we are killing each other like this," Nadya said. "Compared to the wars we have fought amongst ourselves, this is but a drop in the ocean."

The Russian knelt down next to her, speaking quietly into her ear.

"I need you, Rika. I know it affects you. Were this a more normal time, I would have sent you home to recover, with the therapists and amusements of Earth. But these are the times that try our souls, as they once said. You don't have to hate them to kill them. That soldier, that Turian, probably had no reason to hate us, but she tried to kill us anyway. Maybe you can take a little of that from her, in addition to the memories."

"You're the one who pushed me to try the interrogation," Rika said, with only a dulled sense of accusation.

"I'm sorry," Nadya said.

Nadya unfurled her hands, depositing a small set of grief cubes on the curb Rika was seated on, the amorphous black objects landing with an impossible silence.

Rika took out her soul gem, setting it next to the cubes without peering at it too carefully. She didn't really want to know.

She cracked a slight smile.

"Go into battle like a Turian soldier, huh?" she said out loud. "I think I can manage that."

The opening barrage from the aliens—the Turians, Emma reminded herself—was massive. There hadn't been much time for any fortifications, but it turned out that barrier generators made barriers that exceeded most fortifications' performance characteristics anyway.

"That's that, I guess," said one of the soldiers huddling with Emma underneath Mei Feng's barrier.

"How are you doing?" asked Emma as Mei Feng sat down heavily. The soldiers glanced at them before running off to their places along the line, infantry drones following behind.

"I need cubes now," said Mei Feng, eyes looking crazed. "I— I need— I can't—"

Emma pressed a handful of grief cubes against Mei Feng's soul gem, the crystal swirling with blackness that leaped out into the cubes.

"Agh, fuck," Mei Feng gasped, clenching a fist in the dirt of the trench a drone had cut across the front of the ICC Node. "Oh my God, that was horrible."

"Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine," Mei Feng managed, gasping and wiping at her eyes. "T-there was so much force hitting my barrier. It was like trying to hold back the ocean. I almost thought that—"

"Hey hey, chill, it's all good," said Emma, grabbing Mei Feng by the shoulder and pulling her into a quick hug. "You pulled it off, yeah?"

"Y-yeah."

"Get ready, there's more to do," said Emma. She stood and pulled Mei Feng to her feet. "We just gotta hold out."

"Right, yeah," said Mei Feng. "Thanks, Emma."

"No worries."

It was crazy how much being in combat was like being in a football game. Emma found herself doing the Team Captain thing on a constant basis, even if she was clearly not the most experienced fighter there.

But, well, you did what you needed to do. Everybody had a role to fill, and you filled that role as best you could. That's how you played football, and that's how you worked in a magical girl team. From the looks of things, that was how it worked in the Military too.

Emma wasn't sure how she felt about that. Kicking around a football wasn't even remotely the same as stabbing someone in the chest. It was true that every time Emma's team had been victorious, she'd pushed someone else one peg further down on the ladder to the top, and that they'd all signed up for the league knowing that if they failed to be the absolute best, they would end up washing out of football entirely.

But matching up against someone where you were all on an even playing field, where the sole determinator was how hard you worked and how talented you were, was one thing. Massively outclassing your opponent, to the point where they ran away screaming, was another.

Why had she done it? She remembered very clearly, as the Turians had been trying to retreat, hearing Nadya order everyone to advance and cut them off. She'd listened without questioning it. She'd zoomed up into the air, arcing over the top of the retreating column, and thrown herself down at speed into the front. Dark blue blood splashed across the ground as she had—

Emma cut off the memory with a small whimper, pressing her hands against her eyes and making spots appear. Maybe if she focused on those, she'd be able to forget what she'd done. And she had people depending on her now. Somehow she'd become some sort of leader, she couldn't spend time going over old memories like this.

"Enemy sighted!" an infantryman called out over the BattleNet. Emma blinked as the standard infantry Heads Up Display booted automatically, a host of data propagating onto her vision. Most important were the red blips appearing on her vision, as the advancing enemy was identified and relayed into the local area network.

"We've got armor!"

"Multiple fighting vehicles on the left flank!"

"I've got visual on heavy weapons!"

"Magical girls, concentrate on the armor," said Nadya. "I want melee fighters to move in and disable the gun turrets, at the very least. Barrier generators, keep to your zones and protect the infantry. Clairvoyants, keep us updated."

"All units, prepare to repulse invaders," Kyousuke intoned. "Focus your fire on keeping the enemy suppressed, we've got a good supply line. The sparklies will provide the firepower to push them back."

"Sparklies?"

"Faster to say. Be careful of any drones, and don't let them get in close," continued Kyousuke. "I want minimal casualties, understood? We can get more ammo, but not soldiers."

"This goes for us as well," Nadya said. "Unless one of you has a little sister you want to volunteer—"

The thought was so absurd that everyone giggled despite themselves. Good God, what older sister would ask her younger sister to get into this meat grinder? Impossible.

"—well good, we're all good onee-chans," said Nadya. "But that means we have no reserves. Don't take any risks. We only need to not lose this fight."

"Enemy within mortar range," reported a soldier. "Permission to fire?"

"Granted."

Emma braced as the loud -whmfzzack- of rail-launched mortars echoed from behind her. The projectiles looped high with their payloads, then detonated several meters above the heads of the enemy. Emma's magical girl hearing could pick up the shouts and screams as the explosives tore into enemy forces.

"Machine guns, watch for blue-on-blue," Kyousuke noted. "Range to armor is three kilometers."

"Magical girls, it's time to show these aliens what humanity is made of," Nadya called out over telepathy. "We have already repulsed these invaders once, and now we shall do it again."

"Two and a half."

"On your feet, girls!"

"Two kilometers."

"Go!"

Emma went over the top as automatic fire exploded out of the trenches in a single coordinated roar. The Turian soldiers immediately dropped to the ground, several catching a bullet to their shield systems but weathering the storm better than expected. The tanks and other armored vehicles were unfazed, charging forward.

Emma felt relieved. Tanks she could deal with. They didn't look at you and try to fight back.

Well they did, but it was different.

She jumped as returning fire began lancing out, rocketing upwards at speed before spinning so she was facing the sky. The clouds were sparse today, a few wisps here and there, while the sun shone brightly. The sky was a curious shade of purplish blue. Funny, Emma had never noticed it before. It had sort of just been there.

She dived, pulling down hard and accelerating into the tank column with her own column of shredding wind. The air was filled with the sound of tortured metal, magic ignoring the way physics were supposed to work and rending gaps into the metallic armor. Gun barrels skewed crazily, bent into curves. The cloud of dust she kicked up obscured her position as vortex spheres formed, hovering briefly as she spun in place and kicked them into the various targets with magical girl agility and a decade of practice.

The explosions that followed had the satisfying crump of air being displaced at ridiculous speeds, ripping through the armor and equipment to send half the column into the scrapheap.

A microsecond to collect herself and her magic, then Emma was off again. Gunfire missed her by a galactic mile as she rocketed herself upwards again, shedding vortex spheres as she went and spinning to send them in wide arcs amongst the enemy.

"Mobile artillery is setting up, location on your HUDs," Kyousuke called out. "All infantry, prepare for bombardment."

"Ryouko, grab two girls and drop them in the hot zone," Nadya ordered. "Who's available?"

"I am," Emma answered immediately as she landed inside a ditch to catch her breath and recharge.

"Same here," said Isabella, the other barrier generator on the team.

"Alright then, Ryouko?"

"I'm on my way."

There was a brief pause, and then Ryouko dropped into the ditch next to Emma with Isabella in tow, the girls crouching down to hide from incoming fire.

"Ready to go Emma?" Isabella asked. She wiped a splash of blue off her face. "How about you Ryouko?"

Ryouko shrugged. Despite everything that had happened, she was in good form. Her gem was no worse for wear, and she wasn't being asked to do anything this time, just provide transport. The less Ryouko had to look at the aliens, the better.

"I'm good," Emma said, taking in a deep breath and centering herself mentally. "Let's head out."

"Alright," Ryoko said. She reached out to the older girls and began to gather her magic. "Nadya, we're ready to go. What's the target area?"

"Transmitting now."

A mental image coalesced in Ryouko's mind. The area was open, back beyond the reach of the mortars and what limited air support the humans had. It should have been a reasonably defensible location, if a bit hastily set up, but for magical girls it was a sitting duck.

"Ready," Ryouko intoned. "Teleport in three, two, one."

They blinked into the artillery, appearing in midair to the shock and horror of the soldiers below. There was a second where Emma and Isabella coolly assessed the situation, before Emma introduced the Turians to the concept of airborne artillery.

Unfortunately, the artillery hadn't been designed for that particular application.

"Damn, Emma, remind me never to get in a no-holds-barred fight with you," Isabella muttered as they landed in the epicenter of the crater. "You provide fire power, I provide the shielding?"

"Sounds good to me," said Emma. "Looks like we're good here, Ryouko, thanks for the help."

"No problem," Ryouko said, voice strained. The distance had been a little farther than she'd realized. "I need to get back."

"Go."

Ryouko blinked into a trench, landing beside an infantryman. A small green circle hovered above his head, which switched into a triangle as he fired a volley of bullets into the attackers.

"I need to be fifty meters to the east," the soldier said without looking at Ryouko. "Let's get—"

"Wait, please," Ryouko managed through grit teeth as a headache slammed into her. She sat down and fished a few cubes out of a skirt pocket. Her gem let out a thick stream of corruption. The pressure on the back of her skull lightened, making Ryouko blink as she got unsteadily back to her feet. "Okay, okay. Fifty meters, right?"

"You going to be okay?" asked the soldier, looking alarmed.

"Don't worry about it," said Ryouko. "I'm—" not okay, I don't want to do this, please, just get me out of here "—used to it. It's just fifty meters, anyway. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Ryouko grabbed the soldier on an armor plate.

"Let's go."

A flash of green, and the soldier had been displaced. Ryouko sprayed an array of bolts through the air as the soldier reorientated.

"Thanks, I've got this from here," said the soldier, raising his weapon and sending out a thunderous stream of machine gun rounds.

"Right," said Ryouko, before blinking away to a building.

For a moment, she had quiet. Just herself, and the view below. If it weren't for the fighting, it'd be… well it'd still be a pretty bad view, but she had seen worse. The view from her bedroom in Mitakihara just caught a glimpse of the starport, with transport pipes crossing every-which-way. If she stuck her head out, she could watch the scramjets taking off, going towards Earth's equator where the space elevators were.

Ryouko swallowed and grit her teeth. She'd wished to find her place in the world. She had wanted to go and see new things, explore, and discover.

This… this wasn't what she wanted. Not death and destruction. Not…

Not at her hands.

"Incoming!"

The line bloomed in fire, explosives saturating the field with a plume of red. Green circles appeared over half the line. Ryouko went to blink in.

"Covering fire, all ranged magical girls!" Nadya shouted. "Give people a chance to recover. I want enough magic to light up the sky!"

Well Ryouko could do that. Her arbalest hummed as it sent bolts flying out, a spray of green lighting up the enemy before she—

—reappeared above the line, her old position bombarded with gunfire. Ryouko took a deep breath, aimed, and fired into a large group of Turians. Small strings extended out from her arbalest, half the bolts missing and the other half punching through upper torsos and heads. Ryouko teleported away and—

—abruptly teleported into a storage shed, feeling sick as she realized she'd instinctively teleported with half the bodies of the aliens, linked through her arbalest strings and the ground. Some part of her had recognized that she could teleport just half a person and—

—her food met the ground again, with a splattering sound. She'd seen their internal organs. Why? Why did this have to happen? She had done that. What was wrong with—?!

"Ryouko! We need help!"

She couldn't do this. Not in the middle of a fight. Panting, Ryouko forced herself back up. She had people counting on her. The MHD could deal with her problems later. For now, she had to make sure her friends stayed alive.

"Sorry, hold on," said Ryouko, homing in on Mei Feng's location via what limited clairvoyance Ryouko possessed. She took another deep breath and—

—dived to the side, gunfire snapping past as Mei Feng and Rika made a run for friendly lines. It would have been impressive, if Ryouko had the time to observe them as they fought. Rika's spear flicked back and forth, the sun flashing off of the spearhead while Mei Feng's barrier blinked on and off. It was almost beautiful, the two moving with and around each other in a synchronized dance.

Unfortunately this meant that Ryouko was out of position. She blinked, again, trying to land next to Mei Feng this time. She reappeared in a flash of green, then stumbled to the ground. She was so tired. She just wanted to get out of here, get away from the fighting.

She wanted her mother.

"You okay?" asked Mei Feng. Her barrier shimmered as Rika pulled her spear out of a dying Turian.

"My gem," Ryouko mumbled, fishing for a grief cube sluggishly. "I— I need to clean my gem."

"Fuck," Mei Feng muttered, dropping to her knees beside Ryouko and pulling out a handful of grief cubes. "Where's your gem?"

"Neck," Ryouko said, pulling at its emplacement. The gem came off with a small click, clouded over with black corruption and getting darker as the seconds passed.

Mei Feng blanched and pulled Ryouko's hand towards her. "Fuck fuck fuck Ryouko don't you fucking die on me."

"What is going on?" Rika asked, skidding over. "We have to make a move!"

"She's spiraling, give us a moment!" Mei Feng snapped back. Rika bit back a frustrated noise and ducked, then jumped away again to keep a group of infantry from encircling them. Ryouko's gem slowly lightened under the combined draw of two handfuls of grief seeds. "Ryouko. Ryouko!"

Ryouko blinked, looking up at Mei Feng.

"Ryouko, you have to calm down," Mei Feng said, looking Ryouko in the eyes. "You— I don't know what you saw, but you have to calm down and work through the situation. Everything is going to be okay."

"I killed them though," Ryouko said blankly, a tear running down her cheek. "I… I killed them."

"Ryouko, Ryouko listen to me," said Mei Feng. "We have—"

"We can't stay here!" Rika shouted from across the way. "The number of aliens is increasing! Is she ready to go yet?!"

"What part of give us a moment don't you understand?!" Mei Feng yelled back. She turned back to Ryouko. "Listen to me Ryouko! We have to get out of here. If we can get out of here, everything will be okay, you understand me? It's going to be alright."

"J-just get us out, right?" asked Ryouko. Her gem sparked twice, lightening some more.

"Yeah, you just need to get us out of here," said Mei Feng. "It's going to be alright."

"R-right, yeah," said Ryouko, getting unsteadily to her feet. "Yeah sorry, let's go."

"Finally," said Rika. She jumped, landing a few feet away. "Come on, come on, let's go!"

"Grab on!" Ryouko said, holding out her hand. Rika ran over, grabbing onto Ryouko's hand tightly, while Mei Feng grasped a shoulder. "Alright, go—"

It happened too quickly for Ryouko to think. She felt Rika's grip slacken, trying to jump away. Her instincts shouted out a warning, making her duck for the ground. Next to her she caught a glimpse of Mei Feng flinching back as well.

The next thing Ryouko knew she was on the ground, something wet across her face. She breathed in, the smell of iron filling her nose. She breathed out, looking up from the ground and across to where Rika had been.

"O-oh God."

"Get up Ryouko!" Mei Feng shouted. Ryouko felt a hand grab her by the arm and haul her up, towards the body.

"No!"

"God damn it Ryouko we have to leave!"

"No no nonononono—"

"RYOUKO!"

Ryouko looked at Mei Feng. The older girl was fighting back tears, the gem pinned into her hair swirling with corruption.

"We have to take her body back," Mei Feng said, still pulling Ryouko along. "We need you. One last teleport, Ryouko, that's all. Please."

One last teleport.

Ryouko pushed herself up, running. She dropped to her knees by Rika's remains, ignoring as best she could the warm, sticky blood pooling onto the soil. Mei Feng grabbed onto Ryouko's shoulder.

They disappeared in another flash of green.

"Do you think it was a good idea to let the Turian go in the bathroom stall on her own?" one of the soldiers standing outside asked.

"What is she going to do? Escape down the toilet? Relax, man, we're the ones with the guns and armor. Last thing I want to do is voyeur on a female alien taking a dump. Also, turn off your translator before talking, idiot."

"You haven't turned yours off."

"Eh, she can hear this conversation if she wants to. I'm just saying in general, you should turn it off."

Eunoe was, in fact, done, and was grateful—slightly—that the alien guards had seen fit to grant her a little privacy.

But she had little desire to go back to the closet they had locked her in, even if they had untied her from the chair. There was no hope of escape—not when the only way was through a door with two guards stationed on both sides, both of them wearing the monstrous armor these aliens seemed to prefer to use in combat. The other Turians would have to break her out, if it came to that.

She stood up, finishing her business.

"I'm done here," she said, making sure to sound angry since, well, she was.

The two guards led her back out into the hallway, one in front, one behind.

A moment later, the one in front stopped.

"Is something wrong?" the one behind Eunoe asked.

Eunoe craned her head to see—then promptly wished she hadn't.

It was the girl who had done the Asari-like mind meld with her. She lay on the floor with a grievous head wound and missing a leg, red with the odd-colored blood of this species.

Eunoe felt herself start to retch and held it down, barely. She knew mortal wounds when she saw them, and while the missing leg was survivable, the head wound… wasn't.

I'm sorry, she thought, knowing she would have to cry once she was locked back in the closet.

"Stop gawking!" the guard behind her, shoving her forward with a painful jab from his rifle. "It's your kind that brought this on us!"

Eunoe staggered forward towards the doorway, reeling, until the door opened and the other physically flung her back into the room.

She landed on the floor as the door slid closed behind her, putting her in the dark again.

I'm sorry, she thought again.

"I want you to remember two things from this, if nothing else, Ryouko-chan. First, what happened is not your fault. Second, Rika-chan will be fine. I heard from Nadya herself. With intervention from a healer, magical girls have recovered from far worse, just from hunting demons. It could happen to any of us."

Ryouko sat silently, not sure what to say to the MHD therapist's words, beamed from far-away certainly couldn't say what she was thinking, which oscillated between "That doesn't really help." and "You're not even here! You wouldn't understand."

The therapist met her eyes for a moment.

"Remember the calmness exercises we were practicing. I sent you a packet—try to do them whenever you have free time, okay? Check in with me when you can. I'll have Asami-chan nag you, if nothing else. Now I have a special guest for you."

"Special guest?" Ryouko asked.

The therapist smiled slightly and shook her head.

"It's a surprise," she said.

A moment later, the virtual screen in front of her shifted, displaying what looked like the inside of a starship rather than an office.

It took Ryouko a moment to focus her eyes, and then she had to stop herself from squealing.

She could probably have drawn Clarisse van Rossum's face from memory at this point. Little known outside the magical girl community, Clarisse was a legend within it. Rumors said she was the oldest living magical girl, and while this had never been confirmed, it certainly seemed plausible, given that she had contracted just before the sinking of the Titanic. Her MSY orientation mentor, a Clarisse fan herself, had introduced her life story to Ryouko, and it had only taken a week for Ryouko to fall head over heels in fangirl love.

Ryouko had watched all the movies about her at least three times now, and she knew Asami was dead sick of hearing about her.

"Hi there, Ryouko-chan," Clarisse said, smiling winningly at her. "I've heard you've been brave out there. I'm proud of you."

It was a statement obviously tailored to flatter, but it worked on Ryouko nonetheless, and she blushed deeply. It was true, what they said—even though Clarisse wasn't dropdead gorgeous, she had a certain presence that convinced you into thinking she was.

"N-not as brave as you," Ryouko managed. "I mean, the Titanic and then having to survive on your own—"

Ryouko flushed again, biting her lip. She shouldn't have brought it up.

"I didn't have to kill anyone, Ryouko-chan," Clarisse said. "Not until I was much older. You have. Trust me; what you've had to endure is more than comparable."

Ryouko knew the statement should have crushed her mood, but the way Clarisse said it was so smoothly reassuring that Ryouko was almost more pleased by the last sentence than disturbed by the reference.

"Ryouko-chan, I've seen your file," Clarisse said. "They tell me you're one of my biggest fans. I'm flattered, and I'd love to meet you someday, but you need to know: I'm not some kind of goddess, or even close to one. I'm just a magical girl, like you, and once, far too long ago, I wasn't that different from you."

Clarisse met her eyes again, making sure she was following.

"The movies glamorize the things I've done, but at the time I did them, they didn't feel glamorous, not at all. You've seen World at War?"

"Of course," Ryouko breathed. "It's one of my favorites. I can't say I cared at all for the early 20th century before I saw it."

"It's a fairly accurate movie, based on parts of my autobiography. For many of the older magical girls it's hard to believe, but I managed to avoid directly killing anyone for nearly half a decade after my contract. There were times I maybe should have, but I never did. But then the First World War came."

"Yes," Ryouko echoed. "The German soldier in Belgium, trying to rape a farm girl."

"What the movie doesn't cover is that I felt sick for weeks afterward," Clarisse said. "I had the best possible justification, and still I felt sick. Like you have."

Ryouko nodded, slowly, feeling the tears welling up again, but not wanting to show them.

"It was worse during the next war," Clarisse said. "I don't have to go over the atrocities. I killed and killed and killed, and nothing changed. I grew sick of it. The movie made me a hero, but you know what? I didn't feel like a hero. I was just trying to live my life so I could look at myself in the mirror in the morning. Most days, I couldn't."

Clarisse met Ryouko's gaze again.

"The point is," Clarisse said. "Don't feel like you're letting anyone down, or that you're not cut out for it. When I was your age, I was overwhelmed all the time. I've had friends die on me, because I didn't know how to cover them. And I never felt like a hero for killing those soldiers. I felt like a monster."

Clarisse leaned back, away from the virtual screen.

"Hold up your chin up high, Ryouko-chan," she said. "You have nothing to be ashamed about. These 'Turians' are here to attack your home and your friends, just like the Germans did so long ago. There's nothing you can do except what you have to. The fact that you have to kill these aliens was imposed on you. It's not your moral responsibility. Grit your teeth if you have to. The goal is to live through this, for your family, and Asami-chan. And me, too."

Ryouko bit her lip again, this time in emotion, trying to nod along.

"I'm trying to make my way to the planet now," Clarisse said. "It's dangerous, but I've finally got a decent ship, so I'll see if I can manage it. Either way, I'll see you after you make it through this. And give my regards to Rika-chan when she's healed. Thumbs up."

Clarisse raised her hand in the indicated gesture, and Ryouko reciprocated.

"I'll see you, then," Clarisse said.

"See you."

Evening fell with cautious silence. The guns stilled, drones landed, and both sides dug deeper into their trenches to await the morning. The word had gotten out to take the opportunity the aliens were giving them to fortify their positions. The goal was to stall for the arrival of the fleet, so there probably wasn't a reason to turn down a free lull in the battle.

Probably. It wasn't certain that it was the best decision, but they needed the break.

Emma shuffled tiredly forward in the food line. She'd untransformed after it became clear that she wouldn't be needed within the next ten minutes, and slightly regretted it. Truth be told, her costume was pretty fantastically comfortable, providing support in critical locations for when you were doing a backflip. Now that there was a lull in the fighting, that wasn't as critical, but it was still nice.

"Hey sparkles, how're you holdin' up?" asked the soldier standing behind her.

Emma turned slightly to look at the soldier. The woman had red hair, cut short to her shoulders, and had left her armor off to the side while getting food. Her name, according to Emma's nomenclator, was Annalise Shepard.

"I'm alright, I guess," said Emma.

"I saw you kicking some ass out there," said Annalise. "It was good work."

Emma swallowed. "Ah, thanks?"

"Seriously, it helped a lot," said the soldier. She gestured that the line had moved. Emma shuffled forward again. "We'd have been rolled over by the armor if it weren't for you."

Emma blinked, then nodded. "I'm glad. It's hard."

"Fighting, you mean?"

"Yeah."

Annalise nodded. "It's your turn at the synthesizer."

Emma turned to the machine and pondered what to eat. She was reminded of an Indian restaurant that her team went to after games back in London, for some reason. It wasn't what you'd call traditional, but chicken tikka masala sounded compelling.

"I just wish it didn't come to this," Emma said quietly as she waited for the machine to finish. "Why didn't they negotiate? They're clearly sentient and rational."

Annalise sighed behind her.

"I do too," she agreed as Emma picked up her food and stood to the side to wait. "But we can't dictate who we fight, only the terms of their surrender. D'you think beef bourguignon or spare ribs?"

Emma snorted. Surrender terms would be nice, though she honestly wasn't sure that was achievable. "Bourguignon I think."

"Hm, okay then," said Annalise. "You're from Earth right? What's Mitakihara like?"

"Um, not that different from New York, I think," said Emma, glancing at her nomenclator and what it told her about Annalise's hometown. "Lots of chuens to hang out in, lots of towers?"

"Nah, New York's way more fun than that," said Annalise, picking up her food and gesturing for Emma to follow her. "Broadway's great."

"You watch that stuff?" asked Emma, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "I mean, London's West End has some good plays, but it's all kinda outdated don't you think?"

Annalise gave Emma a sad headshake. "It's just not the same as a vid. They do completely different things. And acoustics are so important to a show, and you can't really simulate that."

Privately, Emma was fairly sure that Annalise was crazy, but the look in the soldier's eyes made it clear that further discussion was going to end in a fistfight.

"Well I'll take your word for it," said Emma. "I'll try and see a show if I get back to Earth."

"When, sparkles," said Annalise, giving Emma a friendly shoulder nudge as they neared a group of soldiers sitting beside their armor to eat. "It's not like we're all doomed."

"Hey Sarge, you bein' yer usual cheery self?" asked one of the soldiers as they walked up. "Don't mind her, sparklebutt, the Sarge's always like this."

"What's with all the different nicknames?" asked Emma.

"Well, 'magical girl' just sounds weird,' said Annalise.

"Takes too long to say too," said one of the other soldiers.

"So 'sparkly' is what you're gonna be," said a fourth man, nodding and waving his fork. "And every variation thereof."

"My name works too, you know," said Emma, frowning as she sat down next to them.

"Naah, 'sparkly' is better," said Annalise. "Though hm, that applies to everyone else too."

The group fell silent as they seriously considered how to give Emma a nickname.

"Ah, we'll call you 'Bluebird'," said a soldier.

"I like it," said another.

"Well then, it's decided," said Annalise, whacking Emma on the shoulder. "Welcome little Bluebird to Second Platoon!"

"That— that's not how that works!' Emma protested.

"That's totally how that works, Bluebird," said Annalise, scooping up a bite of meat. "Now eat your damn chicken."