CHAPTER XIV (part I)

The main encampment was in chaos even before the first shells fell from the skies. The criminal undesirables forming up the various bandit groups were collectively less than trustworthy or trusting individuals, and as such, it was not unexpected that their encampments reflected that. The three most powerful groups settled down near each other in their distinctly separate campsites. The less prolific groups had set down their own tents further away.

It was these less prolific bandit groups in the outermost encampments that the assault group encountered first. While these bandits might have been caught off guard by the synchronized and pre-planned strikes from multiple directions, the same couldn't be said of the innermost groups.

Dust based weaponry is not known for its quietness, a well-known fact reflected in the price of the capital cities' real estate nearest to the walls and the defensive weaponry based there. It was something that gunpowder weaponry did not improve on, and from the moment the strike began, the sounds of gunfire carried far and wide in the cold air of the early morning.

Even with the undetected approach and swift eradication of the outermost groups, there was no hope for the rest of the bandit groups to be caught off guard. Another issue was that as bandit groups grew in size and infamy, they became more experienced, and, unlike smaller groups, they were used to reacting quickly in the event of an ambush or Grimm attack. Because of that, by the time the assault teams reorganized for a continued push, the bandits were already standing at ready behind the wooden spikes forming the rudimentary defence perimeter of the camps. What the bandits did not expect in the slightest was the artillery strike.

For the first time in Remnant history, a new approach to combat appeared as the shrapnel from the raining shells tore bandits, tents, and equipment to pieces mercilessly. Unlike in close-quarters combat favoured by the Huntsmen, often sent against the roaming bandit groups, the tightly packed numbers offered no advantage and no amount of Aura could protect one from a close explosion of seven kilograms of hexal. Even with a quick reaction afforded by an active Aura, giving a chance to scatter and hide in what little cover there could be, the first salvo reaped a heavy toll on the bandits, significantly reducing their numbers even before the vanguard assault teams drew within range.

When the bombardment finally stopped, what remained was a pitiful scattering of dazed, disoriented, and injured survivors who couldn't hope to form an organized response against the troops now marching from the treeline with their weapons raised, firing on the go. As if to add a final insult to the injury dealt by the artillery firing from kilometres away, to make sure the bandits stood absolutely no chance, yet another previously unseen weapon emerged from the treeline. Crushing tree trunks into wooden splinters underneath their tracks, the first two prototype tanks on Remnant moved in to support the infantry.

With the treeline finally opening up in front of them, Dalit set his eyes on the ruins of the bandit encampment through the direct vision ports of his commander's cupola. A smile creeping up on his face, he checked the position of the troopers next to his tank through the side-mounted sight. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the camp as the tank trundled along at a walking man's pace, "Gunner, target, 12 o'clock, the group by the palisade, HE."

"Target, 12 o'clock, loading HE" Maria, sitting down in front of him in the gunner's seat, repeated. Behind a separating mesh next to him, the machinery of the autoloader sprung into life, feeding a selected round into the hundred-millimetre cannon. With a tremendous roar that reverberated through the thick hull plating, the gun sent the round flying towards the target. The fates of the four bandits hiding behind and firing over the remains of a palisade were cut short in a single fiery explosion. Dalit didn't linger on his handiwork and scanned the wrecked encampment for further targets. With the tank slowly trudging forward, the three-man crew systematically eliminated the groups of bandits one by one. Each time the bandits started forming groups, his crew or the second tank cut them down mercilessly.

Dalit was directing fire on a group of bandits, taking potshots at the attacking infantry from behind a ruined watchtower when a round impacted the turret armour with tremendous force. Clutching his ears in pain as a dull ringing echoed through the interior, the disoriented Dalit shook his head. A hand pressed to his temple, he looked around as he collected his wits. As the realization of the situation dawned on him, he immediately pressed his face to the vision ports of his cupola. Moments later, a whizzing bright streak flew directly overhead, just shy of his cupola. Looking in the direction the round came from, Dalit's eyes widened as he spotted a group of bandits scurrying around a large canon placed on top of a flatbed truck, the whole contraption still partially hidden by branches piled on top.

"Maria!" he barked, and when no response came back, he glanced down at the gunner's seat. The fox-tailed faunus was clutching her right ear with a streak of blood pouring between her fingers. Cursing, Dalit reached out next to him and fumbled with his backup control stick.

Flipping on the override switch, he janked the stick sideways. With a grunt of servos, the turret swung around to the left quickly, catching Dalit momentarily off guard and causing him to hit his forehead against the scope. Cursing hotly, he pressed against the headrest and, with a slight toggle of the adjustment wheel to the right, aimed directly at the flatbed. Seeing one of the bandits slam a fresh round into the breech, Dalit thumbed the electric trigger reflexively, completely neglecting to adjust the elevation of the gun.

The tank rocked back as the gun thundered. Dalit's vision became obscured by smoke as he shut his eyes, bracing for another impact. The breech slammed back next to him and spewed out an empty casing. The autoloading mechanism loaded another pre-selected round and with the loud clank of the closing breech, everything went silent, with the exception of the muted rumbling of the engine in the background.

Gulping, Dalit took a deep breath. The air mixed with fumes in his lungs. Daring to take a look, he swept his sweaty hair back and braced against the headrest, looking through the sight. Sighing in relief, he watched the overturned flatbed burn. Judging by the fresh crater, he guessed that the round fell just short of the target but still close enough to flip the truck and set off the Dust in the ammunition. Slumping back in his seat, Dalit stared at the top hatch in exhaustion as a wave of hysterical laughter came over him with the withdrawal of adrenaline.

He didn't know how long, but after what might have been ages or just seconds, he recognized the voice of the driver calling him. "Dalit!" Fenix cried inside his headphones. Wincing, Dalit hit the toggle on a second try, "I'm here. Status?"

"Dazed but still here," came the reply. Nodding to himself, Dalit looked out through the periscopes. The fighting seemed to be calming down. "What's the situation?" he asked. "They're rolling over," Fenix replied with a tone that implied he was shrugging down below in the hull. Seeing the armour plate carrying troopers steadily move forward without opposition, Dalit let his shoulders sag. It didn't seem like they needed the help of his crew and he knew that he couldn't fire without endangering them as well. "Alright, hold position then," he ordered, slumping back down in his seat. "Got it," Fenix replied, and toggled off his microphone with an audible click.

Leaning forward, Dalit placed a hand on Maria's shoulder and asked, "Are you all right?" The gunner gave him a thumbs up and brushed away her light brown hair, exposing the already healing cut on her scalp. "I'm fine, just a small cut from something that got loose in the hit," she said, motioning to the boxes of electronics that rested on the inner side of the hull. Squeezing her shoulder for good measure, Dalit nodded, "I'll mention it to the engineers." He leaned back, deciding to look out through the rotating panoramic sight for any potential targets giving their men trouble.

With nothing else to do, Dalit could only swivel the periscope from side to side, watching as their forces continued pushing through the settlement without opposition. As such, it caught him off guard when a dull thud echoed from above him, then another one, and another one. At first, he thought there was yet another canon somewhere, but then he noticed familiar pants behind his vision port. Reaching up, he unlatched the lock and, pushing the hatch open, stuck his head out carefully. Immediately, he came face-to-face with the grizzled face of the trooper, his protective chest plate covered in scratches and indents. "Sergeant," he received a nod in return.

"We have a problem; a truck escaped," the sergeant said, motioning to the edge of the forest near the burning flatbed. Squinting, Dalit noticed a pair of tracks in the soft forest ground. "What do you want from me?" he asked the sergeant, who shrugged. "We can't let it get away, but we can't catch it on foot," the sergeant said as he jerked his thumb towards a squad that was standing next to the tank.

Looking down at the squad and the forest road, Dalit scowled, nodding to the engine deck. "Get on and hold on tight," he said, dipping back inside. Toggling the intercom, Dalit tapped Maria's back, "Fenix, wake up."

"I'm awake," came the instant reply, as Maria craned her neck to look at Dalit. "We have a truck to catch. Road on your 10'o'clock. Get ready to move out," he ordered.

"Got it," Fenix replied, and Dalit felt the ruble of the engine shift into a higher pitch in the background. Dalit turned to face Maria with the intercom off. "I may need the gun. You good?" he had to half-yell to be heard over the loud noise. Maria nodded, giving him a thumbs-up, turning back to her controls.

Dalit stuck his bead back out, seeing the squad already on top of the engine deck, holding tight onto the handlebars on the engine deck and rear of the turret. Bracing halfway out of the hatch, Dalit reached up to his neck and toggled the intercom, "Move out." He swayed as the tank lurched forward, tracks digging into the ground as the behemoth machine pivoted on the spot and rumbled onto the forest path. Troopers stepped out of the way and cheered them on as they passed them by.

Reaching the road, they slowed down as one of the tracks stopped, turning the machine in the right direction. With a plume of smoke spewing out of the exhaust, the tank started slowly accelerating along the narrow forest path, following the mud tracks in the ground. Occasionally having to avoid low-hanging branches, Dalit found himself holding onto the hatch tighter and tighter with white knuckles as the tank sped up, the trees next to the path growing progressively thinner.

"There!" the sergeant yelled, pointing forward with his submachine gun while at the same time holding onto the handle next to the commander's cupola with a similar white-knuckled grip. Some distance in front of them, a tarp-covered lorry was struggling to run away along the road ahead. "See it," Dalit replied, opening his mouth to order Maria to open fire when he heard a loud crunching sound. He had barely enough time to mutter, 'frak' before the whole tank suddenly and violently swerved to the right. Dalit grunted in pain as he hit his ribs on the side of the hatch, similar pained cries echoing over the intercom and from the engine deck behind him.

Within moments, the multi-ton behemoth came to a stop, turning nearly one-eighty degrees in less than a dozen meters. The heavy turret swayed to the side with the momentum before the servos arrested its motion in a groan of tortured steel. Holding his hurting ribs, Dalit glanced after the disappearing truck, then looked back from where they came. A deep gash was left behind, a lost track half-buried in the soft soil along with torn off roadwheels and a drive sprocket rammed inside a splintered tree stump. Slumping against the hatch, Dalit breathed out a simple, painful, "Frak."

Dodging back, I narrowly avoided a horizontal slash as it passed a hair's width away from my chest. Then another step back, barely managing to parry a follow-up strike. I tried to roll with the energy of the strike to strike back, but I reacted too late to the feint. The flat of the short blade hit me on my side just below my ribs.

Clenching my teeth, I had to backpedal to put some distance between us. I tried to suppress the pain by holding my sword one-handed in front of me, my hand pressing against the hurting muscle. I didn't need to. Amaranth stayed in her portion of the combat circle, barely winded despite my brow failing to keep the sweat out of my eyes.

"Channel your aura," she simply said. A downward motion of her hand accompanied the suggestion. Grimacing, I tried to do as she suggested. Imagining a flow of energy down from my head to the hurting part of my body, instinctively closing my eyes. Moments later, they snapped open as I reacted on some deep instinct, barely interposing the sword between myself and an incoming strike. "Better, but you still closed your eyes," Amar commented, as she withdrew faster than I could try to counterattack. I simply grunted in reply, there was no spare energy to do otherwise. My side hurt noticeably less, however.

Breathing heavily, I tried to consider my options. As was usual, I was dying a death of a thousand cuts while the best I had accomplished was a mere glancing hit. Not even on her body, just slightly slashing at her loose sleeves with the tip of my blade before she promptly took offense against my poor defenceless spine. There were far too many bruises on my body from these training lessons. Ever since I told the team about my origins, Amaranth had taken it upon herself to make sure I was fully caught up on proper aura manipulation.

I still did not.

Alright, screw this. Despite my best attempts, I was getting nowhere. She was simply too fast and agile for me. I couldn't simply keep up with her. Time to change tactics. Lazily swinging the sword in a circle, using the momentum to shift my grip. Taking hold of the sword with both hands, I widened my stance slightly, going lower and moving the blade into high guard. Taking note of the shift in my stance, Amaranth tilted her head sideways, eyeing me, and smirked.

Fuck.

Amaranth sprung into motion without warning.

She opened with a wide sweeping strike aimed at my torso. I parried, failing to catch her short sword in a blade lock. Effortlessly, she weaved out of the way of my pommel strike. My sword was too far away to bring it to parry in time. I moved to deflect the incoming strike with my forearm. There was a fleeting fraction of a delay before the blade glanced off my vambrace. I tried to bring my sword down on her from the opposite direction, but the next thing I know, my legs are swept from underneath me and I fall. Hitting the ground hard, my breathing was knocked out of my lungs and I gasped for air.

The tip of my own sword hung above my neck.

"I yield," I wheezed.

The sword was gone, and I waved away the offered hand, deciding instead to enjoy the floor for a minute.

Note to self: Do not try to overpower her in a sword fight. Ever. Also, find a way to counter the new weights in her skirt.

I was dying. Or it sure as hell felt like that. Lying on the floor, I was so exhausted that even thinking hurt. But I had to force myself to do it, thinking about how this situation came to be. I made a mistake when I told Amaranth not to hold back. What was usually a friendly spar turned into hell. From a certain point of view. She was simply too fast, and despite my best efforts to defend myself, heaven forbid I actually go on the offensive, my body was sore all over. There were going to be bruises. There wasn't a part of my body the front at least she hadn't hit with the flat of her blade.

"How do you do it?"

Opening my eyes, I had no idea were closed, I turned my head towards where the sound of her voice was coming from. I was far too exhausted to even lift it from the ground where I was desperately lapping for breath. As such, my eloquent reply was the direct result of my state, "Huh?"

She, of course, looked just slightly winded. Not once had any of our spars made her break a sweat. Sitting on the bench with a bottle of some drink in hand, one would be excused for thinking she hadn't moved a muscle over the last hour. She looked at me, her amber eyes piercing, "You're alone, far away from home with an impossible task." Well, thank you for reminding me. I fought an urge to roll my eyes. It would take too much of my precious energy. "How do you deal with that weight," she asked a hint of desperation in her voice. Well, that could help explain her merciless assault. She was venting something.

Slowly, I took a series of deep breaths to calm my racing heart. A few more exercises like this and I had a sneaking suspicion it might just hand in its resignation. I sat upright, mustering the last of my strength to at least maintain an image of seriousness. "Look, Amar," I said slowly, my sluggish brain racing to formulate a coherent reply. "I don't know what's troubling you lately." She opened her mouth to say something, but I stopped her with a pointed look and said, "It's up to you if you want to share it or not."

Taking another deep breath, I looked away. She was pushing me to think about something I was doing my best to avoid. "I... try not to think about it." She lifted an eyebrow, caught off guard. Whatever she was expecting me to answer, this wasn't it, "That's it?" Grimacing, I shook my head from side to side, "yes and no." She leaned forward and I knew at that moment I wouldn't be able to avoid it.

"I miss my home, dearly," I admitted with a sad smile," and I would love more than anything to just let go of my new responsibilities." She nodded, swallowing. I could see the tempting thought had occurred to her as well, more than once. "However," I continued, "if I do that, I wouldn't be able to do anything but think about how much I miss my home and want to go back." That earned me a saddened look, "How do you keep going then?"

I pursed my lips, my tongue brushing against the back of my teeth as I forced my mind back under control. "I focus on what task I need to do right now, then the task after that, and so on," I didn't need livid memories of what I'd lost.

With a grunt, I pried myself from the floor and staggered over to the bench. I told her honestly, "Some people prefer to talk about their worries; I was never that kind of person." Looking at her disappointed expression, I sighed, "But I'm here if you need to talk."

Amaranth smiled sadly and looked away, clearly thinking about the offer. I took the opportunity to grab my own bottle and replace some of the liquids that the river of sweat drained from me. Without turning back, she made her decision, "I want to let go, you have no idea how much, but I can't." She looked down and flexed her hands, "It won't let me."

I closed my eyes and sighed. So much for hoping I wouldn't have to be part of this, "What's going on, Am?" I waited as a moment of silence took hold. "You never asked," she said, a weak smile on her face, "and I was glad for that."

It was my turn to feel uncomfortable with the situation, which confused me because I couldn't pin down the reason why. "If you don't want to talk about it," I tried to offer, but she cut me off with a shake of her head. "No, you have a right to know," she said again, brushing her hair away from her face.

Trying to look unconcerned, I shrugged, "Your choice." She glanced at me and gave me a tired smile. "You saw my grandfather, in my memories," she stated and despite knowing that she wasn't asking, I nodded unnecessarily. "I did."

She turned to look at me, her eyes piercing me. "What do you know about him?" I shifted nervously. "Not much, honestly," I admitted, with a slight shrug. With a sigh, I told her everything I did know. "He seems to have been a notable military leader on the opposing side of Atlas during the war."

Confirming my assumptions with a nod, she corrected my term, "Great War." I winced slightly at the name, unable to prevent it. It caught her eye and she looked askew, "Something wrong with that?" Forcing a reassuring smile, I handwaved it away, "Irrelevant for now, I'll explain later." I didn't think this was the best place and mood for me to explain my hesitation in approximating the Remnant's latest armed skirmish with the tragedy of the First World War. She didn't look convinced but let it slide, moving on, "Well, you're right."

She looked away again, fidgeting with her hands. "He was the leader of the queen's royal guard, Mesedi," she explained as I listened in silence. Although I might not have pried, I was deeply intrigued nonetheless. "He led the armed opposition against the invasions into Vacuo, including Vale's," she sighed, "although many have forgotten about that one."

That was news to me. At no point in my studies of Remnant's history did I come across the mention of that. Vale was usually depicted as a victim of the Atlas/Mistrali 'axis of evil' and a champion of individual freedoms. While it was easy to see there was significantly more to it, the details like this were impossible to see. Curbing my fascination with this fresh tidbit of historical knowledge, I gave Amaranth a reassuring expression when she glanced over her shoulder.

"In the new world after the war, there was no longer a place for someone like him…" she continued, lapsing into silence as she visibly struggled with the emotional weight. Slowly, with a measure of trepidation, I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. She glanced at it but didn't object and some of the tension in her seemed to evaporate.

"It pained him to leave, but he moved to Menagerie..." she turned to look me in the eye and said, "along with my grandmother." I gestured for her to continue, knowing she was heading somewhere. For the life of me, I couldn't piece the puzzle together. "Although both of them left their former lives behind, Menagerie didn't have a lot of prominent figures at the time," she continued her explanation before lapsing into silence for a moment. I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and she placed her hand on mine as she clearly gathered the strength to say the next part, "So, when the former Queen of Vacuo showed up, you can imagine the outcome."

I found it odd, why did she mention the queen. Grandfather was the leader of the royal guard. Did the move of his family have anything to do with the former queen's moving there as well. My eyes widened as realization dawned, "You mean..."

She smiled with a bittersweet expression, "Yes..."

"My royal etiquette is a bit rusty. Should I bow?" I did a slight curtsy to break the tense atmosphere. Or at least something as close to it as my aching body would allow without getting off the bench or moving too much. But it earned me a small laugh, which made it worth it.

"I'm not a princess," she stated a little too forcefully, "and the Vacuan monarchy was not hereditary, but electoral." She could have fooled me with her bearing and peculiar choice of wardrobe, which actually made a significant amount of sense in retrospect. I gave her a supportive smile, trying to look understanding, and said, "I guess your lineage still carries weight, however."

Her shoulders sagged, and she looked away but did not shake my hand off. "Yes," she admitted, sighing.I squeezed reassuringly, and she gripped my hand tightly. "What brought this on?" She sighed, with her head hung low, "Last week when we arrived, after you left to deal with whatever it was you did, I went to stretch a bit." She tightened her grip on my hand as if for support, it was starting to feel painful. "I ran into a mistrali faunus, and he recognized me…"

Realizing where the story was going, I interrupted her and finished it. "And so he expected you to hold sway and be able to help him somehow," with the newly revealed pieces of the puzzle, it was easy to connect the dots. She looked at me, caught off guard, then smiled sadly, "He did." Everything was starting to make significantly more sense to me now that she talked about matters I avoided prodding into. "But you don't have it and it's eating you," I took an educated guess. She nodded silently, whispering, "I called mom, but she's got her hands full already."

I felt an empathetic wave of pity wash over me as I looked into her dejected expression. "When you snapped at me…," I couldn't help but ask but I didn't even have to wait for an answer as the hurt and sorry look she gave me was more than telling. Unable to stop myself, I acted on gut instinct. Shifting a bit closer I pulled her into a tight embrace. She tensed and for a moment I feared I'd overstepped my bounds, but then she relaxed with a sign and rested against me.

Whispering softly, I ran my hand along her upper arms in a calming gesture, "I talked with an acquaintance and she managed to get us a ride." She looked sideways up at my face, her brow furrowed. "Ride where?" she asked, with a tinge of confusion in her voice. "To the menagerie and back," I explained, and she immediately opened her mouth to reject the proposition.

"Don't." She closed it, waiting. "Think about it. Don't answer me now, the ship leaves next Friday and we'd have to leave in three days either way."

Taking a deep breath, she looked at me and said, "I will." I simply smiled as we lapsed into silence again, neither really having anything to say as she rested her head against me and closed her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, and I gave her a reassuring grin, earning a chuckle in response.

I gave her time to collect her thoughts, staying out of a measure of support, but eventually, the silence was a bit too much. And I was starting to wonder if she hadn't fallen asleep. Deciding to break the ice, I asked the question that had been bothering me for a while. "Amar, I was wondering?" I asked. She lifted her head and looked me in the eye with a raised eyebrow. "You have very sensitive hearing, right?" Her head tilted sideways slightly as she nodded, perplexed by the question, "Yes?" With her brow furrowed, it was clear she wasn't sure why I was asking about it. Much less why I was asking about it now of all times.

The question had been on my mind for some time, but I've never felt like the time was right. "The earrings," she looked away, a hand reflexively touching one of the rings in question, "doesn't the clinking mess up with your hearing?" After all, it was two pieces of metal within striking distance of each other. "What?" she said, surprised, replying sheepishly as she looked away, "No..." before I could ask again. The hug was broken, and it was clear that I succeeded in making her think about something else.

"Well..." I looked her in the eye, an unspoken question hanging between us. She still looked off-balance, but she shook her head with a genuine, if a little weak, looking smile. "I'm going to grab a shower," she paused as I caught her eye, "if you need me, I'll be at the foundry trying to put together my catastrophe of a weapon." That earned me another chuckle.

By now, the layout of the foundry had been deeply ingrained in my brain, and I didn't have to think twice about navigating through it. In the beginning, I wouldn't have expected that something so relatively simple as rebuilding a weapon and modifying the armour would pose such a challenge. Especially with all of the seemingly bottomless wellspring of knowledge inside my mind.

Unfortunately, as it turned out once more, having a blueprint of something does not automatically give one practical knowledge on how to build a said item. The ancient philosophers would have had a field day with me. After all, there was never a more apt example of the difference between knowledge and wisdom. I had one, but the other was all too often lacking.

A case in point. I sighed as I looked down at the disassembled gas assembly on the table in front of me. Izmash made it look so easy. Scowling, I lifted the offending counterbalance. That was the crux of my issue when it came to the weapon. Armour was a wholly different beast entirely, and I wasn't looking forward to solving that particular can of worms. For a time, the armour was a secondary concern. For now, I could make do with the current set. What I couldn't make do with was effectively relying on my sidearm and sword as my primary offence. Hence the pressing need for a new weapon. If only it were so easy.

Because I am the moron that I am, merely rebuilding the remarkably smooth running ZK-420S wouldn't be enough. I had decided to improve on it and design a weapon more fitting for the unique combat style I needed in order to both keep my hide in one piece and be an effective member of Team Kaleidoscope. In retrospect, I should have left it at the second prototype. That one at least worked, in so far being able to fire two whole magazines without a problem, thanks to the reinforced return spring. But that would be too easy, and I simply couldn't do that.

Instead, I had a brilliant idea, which caused me all of these complications. Well, two ideas, actually. Firstly, I had decided to stick a recoil counterbalance inside the gun and, secondly, make it shoot 12 gauge as well as 8mm. It's not a completely outlandish idea. In a world where subguns could turn into polearms, why couldn't the gun simply switch ammunition. The slight hiccup with that was that mechashift technology was about as understandable to me as was an Ork technology bound by physics. As it turned out, there was a significantly higher probability of me learning to fly by flapping my arms than of me producing a working mechashift firearm.

Which left one of the ideas in the scrapyard of forgotten history where the entire cursed mechashift technology belonged as far as I was concerned. The same, however, did not apply to the counterbalance system, primarily because I knew it could be done. Even without Terra's influence, I could remember seeing and hearing explanations of the working principle of AK-107. Why then, was it so hard for me to replicate that.

Closely examining the burst gas tube, I sighed as I sat down to once more try and redesign the gas port. Unlike the nice fully automatic demonstration from Izmash, my frankengun struggled to put more than a single round in the general vicinity of the practice targets. Hitting said targets was completely out of the question, at least with ammunition, because I was fairly certain that at least once the gas port cap had gone flying on a ballistic trajectory which had taken it remarkably close to the target I had been aiming at. Reducing the gas port and strengthening the gas tube yet more, I went about feeding the miraculous do-it-all machine yet another appropriately sized block of steel.

It wouldn't be farfetched to say that I was far too close to understanding the AdMech and their affinity towards machines. Because even after a whole week of staring at it, the process still mesmerized me. With the safety hard-light screen in place, I watched in fascination as the multi-function tool sprung to life, carving my components from the lump of metal. Should anyone ask, I fully blame the captivating way the hard-light tools were chipping away at the steel block and my mental fatigue for being completely oblivious to my surroundings. At least until Selene gave me a minor heart attack.

"Hey, what are you up to?" she nonchalantly asked, just over my shoulder. With a startled jerk, I spun on my heel to face her, instinctively taking a step back to avoid an imaginary strike. My unconsciousness was faster in recognizing her and stopped the motion halfway through, far ahead of my conscious mind. Which only resulted in me stumbling and falling onto the floor. Or at least I would have if not for the machine, which was standing right in the direction I fell. As such, it only growled angrily when I hit the hard-light screen.

"Wha... Selene!" I snarled angrily, the rapid thundering of my heart pounding in my ears. Resting against the machine, I closed my eyes and took a few calming breaths. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I scowled at Selene, who in turn just looked back at me with a confused look. I knew the academy was slowly killing me. I was sure of it.

Looking at me with confusion, Selene tilted her head sideways, "Are you alright?" Nodding, I paused between breaths long enough to answer, "Just give me a minute." I smiled to assure her everything was alright and gestured to ask what she wanted. Giving me a moment to catch my breath, she peeked over my shoulder at the half-formed component emerging from the block of steel and then turned towards the table where she started examining the arrayed parts of the puzzle that was meant to be my new gun.

"Am mentioned that you had some trouble with the gun," she explained, looking at me with a silent question. Nodding, I took a few steps closer to her and the table as she gingerly picked up the working portion of the gun. Sadly, it was little more than the trigger assembly and empty body of the gun, along with the sights, about the only thing that actually seemed to work. Turning it over in her hands, Selene gave me a smile and said, "I had nothing to do, so I decided to see if you'd need a hand with it."

Nodding in gratitude, I smiled, the weight slowly lifting from my shoulders. "I would be glad, thank you." Having recovered enough that I was reasonably certain my heart wouldn't suddenly burst apart, I picked up the few disassembled parts still in one piece and gestured for Selene to hand me the rifle. She watched as I quickly assembled the weapon, even using the cracked gas tube from the first prototype as a stand-in.

Handing the weapon back to Selene, I watched as she gave it a thorough examination. "Interesting," she murmured as she tried working the bolt a few times and aimed down the rudimentary sights. "I can see where you're trying to go with this," she stated her final verdict as she gave it back to me. "A sort of heavier replacement for the rifle you lost?"

"Yes," I nodded pleasantly surprised. I did reuse a lot of design elements from my previous battle rifle when redesigning the second variant of this hybrid. The first version, which actually seemed to work, was a much closer copy of FG-42. "Unfortunately, I might have bitten off more than I seem to be able to chew," I had to admit. Sadly, I was no brilliant gunsmith like Koucký whose rifle I had been using previously. Waiting nervously, I could do nothing but watch as Selene silently thought about the design for an agonizingly long time. Flipping through the 3D representation of the components on the computer.

"Well," she eventually broke the silence after what felt like an age to me. She looked up from the bolt carrier design on the screen in front of her. "I have a few ideas that might be of help to you," she admitted, but I could hear a tinge of hesitation in her voice. "But?" I prompted her eagerly, causing her to chuckle. She shrugged her shoulders, "I've not worked with ballistics since finishing my Saggita." She turned the screen towards me, gesturing towards the design as she flipped through the files with the components, "Normally I would have asked dad for help with a project like this."

Nodding in understanding, I sighed, resigned to another fruitless session of trying to find a reason why the weapon was spontaneously falling apart. "Thanks either way," I started saying, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand. "Don't misunderstand me," she corrected, "you've already done almost all of the work." That caught me off guard because it certainly didn't seem that way from where I was looking at the mistake of a weapon. Some of my misgivings must have shown on my face because Selene laughed earnestly.

"It just needs a bit of polishing," she stated with a cheeky grin as she sat down in front of the computer. Looking over her shoulder, I could see her creating a duplicate copy of the file and tweaking a handful of small minutae on the component. "Thank you, I don't know what I would do without you," I breathed out in relief. "No worries," she paused, looked at me and the corner of her mouth was visibly twitching in amusement, "you could always use it as a very stylish club." Both of us burst out laughing, partly at the ridiculousness of the suggestion and partly because it wouldn't be by far the most absurd weapon wielded by a student at the academy.

"Alright," she said, with a tinge of amusement still in her voice, "just to be on the safe side, lead me through what each part is supposed to do." Leaning over her shoulder, I did my best to do that along with the spare components in hand. Piece by piece, we've gone through the entire weapon. Selene was thorough and paid attention to even the smallest of bolts. She didn't really need my narrative as she had correctly judged what each bit was supposed to do and soon a new set of instructions were queued for the magical machine. At this point, it was more about my unwillingness to learn the proper name than my inability to do so.

"Well, no matter how it goes, thank you, Sel," I smiled with gratitude, causing her to blush slightly as she waved the thanks away with her tail. "It was nothing and we still have to actually test it out," she argued while examining one of my rounds with interest. Looking at her fiddling with it carefully, I eventually decided to chime in. "Would you like a look inside?" I asked. By chance, she was holding one of the basic full metal jacket rounds and not a specialized incendiary or explosive round. She jerked back immediately, dropping it, "What!? 'NO!'

I did not expect that in the slightest and raised my hands placatingly. "Easy!" I said, "it's just a piece of metal and gunpowder." For a moment, she looked at me with half-terrified eyes before eventually laughing, "I... I'm sorry." She picked the round again, fiddling with it. Selene explained with a fond look, "It's just that my dad always used to tell me stories of how badly poor handling of Dust ammunition could go when I was little." She threw me a knowing grin and said, "That's why Sagitta does not use ammo."

"Don't the capacitors pose dangers of their own?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. Rolling her eyes, she sighed, but agreed, "They do, in a way. Dad helped me to make sure they weren't as dangerous as faulty Dust rounds. " Pursing her lips she handed the round to me expectantly. Taking it and a pair of pliers, I moved to the table, sweeping the cluttered pieces aside. "You take after him I take it then," I probed gently as I tried pulling the bullet free from the casing

Selene chuckled as she stood up and watched over my shoulder. "A bit," she smirked, "mom is not exactly a technically minded person." With a final tug, I managed to pry the bullet free. "She's not?" I asked, placing the bullet on the table and emptying the cartridge next to it. Taking a step back I gestured for Selene to take a look. She didn't move and instead watched me with a funny look. "Used to drive her crazy with our talks, and she forbade us both from discussing engineering at dinner," she recalled with a smirk as we both shared a laugh. Tilting her head sideways, she looked me in the eye and said, "I was waiting for you to ask, you know."

I couldn't say anything but scratch the back of my head nervously. "Yeah," I said, sighing."You know, most people like to get to know their partners as soon as possible," she poked me with her index finger. I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop myself from smiling. "Honestly, I was avoiding it," I admitted, "It's clear with Boreas and Amaranth that the past is a sensitive issue." Her smile faltered a bit as she looked away, breathing out a simple, "Yeah." Sitting down, she tentatively poked the disassembled bullet a few times with her finger before taking a closer look.

"So I kind of assumed the same about you, sorry?" I apologized truthfully. For a moment she looked taken aback but then nodded in understanding. "Not in the slightest," she shrugged, seeming a bit distracted. "So…?" I probed after a moment of silence, earning a sigh in turn as she looked up from the design to glance at me.

"Like I said, not much to tell," she replied after a moment, leaning back against the table as we waited for the magical machine to spit out the newly adjusted components. Taking a deep breath, she shrugged, "I was born in Atlas. Life was good. Dad was an engineer at MTI mom was a nurse," she glanced sideways, "Then we moved to Menagerie. Mom opened up a doctor's office in Kao Kuana and Dad stayed home with me." After finishing, Selene gave me a grin that felt almost natural and said, "Like I said, nothing dramatic or sappy." I wasn't particularly convinced by her last statement, but I got a distinct feeling that it wouldn't be a good idea to push further.

Deciding to let the matter drop, we instead talked idly for some time while waiting for the machine to finish. With Selene's technical know-how, it proved remarkably easy to get the weapon to not explode with the first shot, and before I knew it, it was possible to dump the entire magazine without all of it exploding apart.

Taking advantage of Selene's willingness to help and spare time, I roped her into helping me with my other project as well. Unlike with the weapon, it didn't go as smoothly, but by the time Selene had to go, I had a more or less functioning set of servos. A good foundation, all things considered. Even better, before we parted ways, she promised to pass the design along to her father, who, in her own words, was intimately familiar with the particular engineering.

Deciding to move on not too long after, I left the foundry pleased with the progress. Beyond my expectations, I was leaving with a functioning replacement for my lost rifle. It didn't have the ability to accept 12 gauge as I had hoped, but the recoil counterbalance was working wonders and I was happy. On top of that, after my talk with Selene and her promise to ask her dad for help, my hopes for the new armour were looking up nicely.

With all of that over, there was still some time left before dinner, which was once more left in my care, so I decided to catch up on my reading. With the sudden end of our mission, I still had a lot of unread books to catch up on. There was nothing to do but hope that a book titled 'Vale, how does it work?' wouldn't cause me as much headache as had the book on Dust done so.

The rest of the day had gone smoothly, and before I knew it, dinner was over and our little group was settling down for yet another movie night. From the moment I told them the truth, they were more than eager to learn as much about Earth as possible, and thankfully enough, the storage on my phone was filled to the brim with all kinds of movies and documentaries to watch.

So while I was taking care of the dishes, Selene and Boreas were preparing snacks and drinks for yet another movie marathon. On the other hand, Amaranth on the other hand clearly had nothing better to do but be cheeky and bugger me. It wasn't even like she would have to wait long to find out what the movie was going to be. Leaning against the corner wall in the kitchen, Amaranth flicked an errant strand of flaming hair out of her face suggestively. "Please~," she pleaded with a hopeful expression on her face, and I'd swear she somehow made the loose white dress look tighter.

"No," I replied, through clenched teeth. Damn woman, with her dastardly womanly charms. I could hear the shuffling as she pressed on, "Pretty please~." I didn't want to admit to her the success he had had with her little theatre. And it was only a few more minutes' wait either way. I looked down at the remaining dishes in the sink, then smirked as I found the perfect response to Amaranth's teasing. "Amar?" I asked, turning to face her.

"Yes?" she perked up, and I aimed the spray bottle at her with narrowed eyes. She paused momentarily, confused. "I have a spray bottle, and I'm not afraid to use it," I warned her, fighting to keep the smirk off my face. Amaranth's eyes flickered between my face and the bottle before a corner of her mouth twitched.

Suddenly, she hissed, jumping a few steps back from me, hugging herself. "You wouldn't!" she exclaimed, with amusement in her voice. "I would!" I replied, lifting the harmless bottle filled with a mixture of soap and water like a weapon. Hissing almost like a cat, she flicked her hair back and turned to march off with barely contained laughter. Chuckling to myself, I called after her as she was leaving. "Amar?" For a moment, I managed to contain the laughter. She paused and turned back with a raised eyebrow. "You good?" I asked in a serious tone. She sighed and, after a second, nodded with a smile before leaving.

That night, the story told was one of my favourites and, in my opinion, one that would be good for providing some thoughts to think about to some of my teammates.

"This story happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…"

AN: End of part I. Hope you enjoyed it.

As before, not fully happy with how the chapter turned out, conversations especially but there's not much I'd improve by sitting on it like a hen any longer. I feel like it doesn't require a Sherlock to be able to tell what's going to be a payoff of at least one of the two setups in this half-chapter. Not that the other plotline is particularly hard to figure out either.

In other news, we've officially crossed the 100k line making this the longest fic I've written up to date! Yay.

As always, don't forget to leave a comment and feedback.