Night fell upon the Parisian fields like the bodies had days prior to the onslaught of Gears. The cool night seemed to smooth itself over, not smother or explode upon, but a very slight migration onto the foot high grass; however breaking the civility were the two militia trucks and rows of small tents, housing both A.A.'s and Seikishidan soldiers. The medical stations sat in an open-air tent, the sides open to the night, a total of five soldiers lying on the beds, recovering. A few soldiers bustled about, but most were in their tents, four to a tent, no light but the pale moon as their solace, casting an eerie silver over the scene.
The commanding sergeant had his own tent, which was situated between the A.A.'s and the Seikishidan, to make sure no foolery would happen, though some still got through, for those stealth enough to evade the nightly patrols, and some of the patrols letting the soldiers pass, feeling their plight, or out of friendship. The A.A.'s, while professional, welcomed the Seikishidan, but didn't encourage them either; it was an odd mix. They both had been separated from the opposite gender in their work and training, and that they were always on knife point, ready to die, so why not live life to the fullest while you can?
Their tents were made of a plastic sheeting, rain repellant, though not terribly strong, just enough for a tent. The militia truck housed a chest full underneath some of the seats, and they pulled them out, each militia truck having fifty folded up tents (four to a tent, two hundred soldiers to a truck, seeing a pattern in how the planning goes for these sorts of things?), for a full roster of soldiers. The A.A.'s also had them, as part of their packs which they carried with them, including medicines, syringes, scalpels, and whatever else a battlefield medic would need, opposite the small and useless sword.
A low rustling in the grass awoke Darton, lying among the five wounded under the open-air tent. He looked around groggily, the anesthetic wearing off and his body out of its euphoric floating state and coming back down to reality. He preferred reality, being in control of his body, but it also let the pain come, which he didn't like, so he was in a tight space, but reality suited him more. Lifting his head slightly, he looked around, arcing his eyes to the best extent of which he could. The lunar ensemble of light playing itself in hues of blue and white, depending on the object and its direction to the full moon, only served to further make him more anxious. He could hear nothing now, but he knew he heard something, a low rustle. He knew Seikishidan procedure for things like this, there should be a few guards walking perimeter, looking out for enemies, but he couldn't hear any of them.
A slow panic worked itself through his body, the rustle coming back. His head jumped up, searching, then it was gone. Get up, you're not staying here to find out, get up. Yell for the Seikishidan, do something. No, not the Holy Order, I'm dead, they shouldn't have any more evidence to me besides that, do it yourself, get out of here and move. He painfully moved his legs, heavy as cinder blocks, though it was a welcome improvement from when he was on Floor F, from what he could recall. Swinging his legs off of the edge, he put his right palm on the side of the elevated medic bed, two metallic legs on bottom extended upward so it sat at hip-level of a normal person, so they could work. He looked at his right arm, where the blade had been lodged down to his bone. They had put in anti-bacterial bio-degradable tissue inside, cleansed it out, then stitched it up. The tissue would make sure the muscle grew back into place, and his arm didn't sag down, and when the body was well enough to start building the muscle, the blood would slowly eat the tissue away, all while the wound was shut. His left arm had been popped back in, so it was no longer dislocated, but his arm was in a sling, the shattered collarbone showing numerous skin taps where needles had been. Alright, here goes, push off and stand, easy, just stand... He prepared his body and mind for what would take more energy than he had and would pull pain on him, maybe too much as to the point of collapsing.
One...two...threHe was about ready to push off of the bed, to stand on his own feet, but was pulled backward. His back smashed into the bed, his feet hanging off, his left shoulder rocketing pain through his nerves and synaptic relays, a stifled gasp jumping from his clenched teeth. He opened his mouth to scream out in pain, where another hand covered that. His eyes jumped around, he couldn't see anything underneath the cover of the tent, there was no light in the shade, the silver outside didn't show an attacker, but he now knew why; it was behind him. He struggled, his right hand jumping back and forth, trying to remove the hands from him, grunting without able being to talk. He tried lifting his right arm above his head to fend himself off, but the pain was too great from the puncture, and his left was useless. He was as good as dead.
"Quit fighting, jeez." he heard a voice console him. Suddenly, he stopped being so violent, calming a little, knowing it wasn't a Gear. Whew, not a Gear, but waitwhat the fuck? "I come to see how you're doing and this is how you repay me." the voice said again, a tinge of femininity in it. An A.A. She slowly removed her hand from over his mouth, her other hand from his right shoulder where she pulled him back. Then, she leaned over him, looking into his eyes. Through the darkness, he could discern her slightly, a bit of the moonlight rebounding off of the dew-forming grass to show skews of her face.
"Who the hell are you?" he said in a vicious whisper.
"You don't remember?" she said sweetly, tilting her head in a very perplexed way, but an act, and Darton knew. "Ha, like I would expect you to remember from all the shit you been through. Name's Bianca, and I'm the one who found your sorry ass, so show some sympathy."
"Found me?" he said, unaware of what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes, sighing slightly, her tone an annoyed whisper.
"Yes, found you. Floor A, on top of a heap of crap, looks like you fell a few stories, and you had taken some serious hits. Not to mention you owe me a drink." The final sentence came as a mild shock to Darton, her nice and delicate exterior not fazing him, her obnoxious and self-centered views coming out.
"Owe you a drink? Wait up, A.A., where" he said condescendingly.
"Bianca." she responded with dutiful seriousness.
"Fine, Bianca…where am I?"
"Top of the Seikishidan H.Q., clean-up crew. Kiske already left here, you should have been alive to see it, he was real battered, but still, he was Ky Kiske…wow." Darton sneered at the name slightly to her eyes replaying the scene in her own head.
"Yeah, yeah..." he responded, not letting on he knew Ky, but neither wanting to hear much more about him. "Why did you come here? Middle of the damn night? I don't know any A.A.'s who do night service to already-treated patients."
"Well, you don't remember anything, do you? I'm not an A.A." she said, presumptuously, bits of arrogance in her words. "I'm an actress, a bit of a thespian. I follow the A.A.'s and Seikishidan around, salvage what I can, go back home, sell it, and leave again. It's a nice job, get to see the limited world." she said, looking off day-dreamingly, a fake act of attention and humor, which failed to pierce Darton. His stern glance only deflated her ego. Sighing, she continued. "Fine, fine, I got your weapon...sword...thing. I was going to sell it, and I told you I was going back to Neo-Troy, you seemed excited, or something or another when I found you. You were a real mess, you don't remember anything about it…" she said, trailing off, then snapping back to her point. "Basically, wanna go?" she said, simply.
"...What about a knife? Did you find a knife?" he shot back instantly. She was taken aback, then thought.
"No...no knife, sorry. Anyway, what's your deal with Neo-Troy?"
"...I was going to go there once I retired, live out my days, you know? Seems even when I can't remember, I still am thinking about shit like that." She smiled slightly, finding they had a common interest.
"Alright, I can take you, but you're going to have to leave behind the Seikishidan."
"...Wait, why are you doing this?" She looked at him questioningly before he continued. "So, you're not an A.A., alright, but you did find me, and get me help. Now, you come and ask me to come with you to Neo-Troy, what the hell is going on? You ask a soldier to leave his army, to go with you, someone I do not know, and you not to me either, but you asked?"
"Fine, stay here." he said, standing and walking away.
"No, wait." he said feebly. She turned, looking back. He couldn't see her from his lying position, but knew she stopped. "Yeah...I want to go." She walked back over and leaned over him, her face about a foot and a half over his. Her semi-long hair, down to the bottom of her neck fell on top of his face barely, the tips grazing along his features as a slight wind blew past.
"So, you do want to go. Good. Think you can make it for a few miles?" she asked.
"...Why?"
"Because I got a friend waiting a few miles from here to pick me up before we head back to the big T." He nodded, and then she walked around, helping him to stand. As he set his feet on the ground and stood up, his knees buckled slightly, his right arm around her, her supporting him.
"Alright, you're an A.A. copycat, so, you should still have some anesthetic or something." She nodded, understanding what he meant. He was a bit gruff and forwarding, but she expected that.
"The shots only work for one area; the pills do the whole thing, though not as powerful as the shot. I say the pills."
"Yeah...pills." After downing about five of them with mixed contention of the awful taste as they want down dry, he started to walk stumbling, Bianca by his side to help him. They slowly treaded forward, each step cautious to not warn the Seikishidan or real A.A.'s. They got about fifty or so feet from the encampment, before they heard another set of foot-steps. Quint leaned over, whispering erratically.
"It's a sentry, they post around the area, shit, duck." He tried falling, but his arm was around her back, for support, and she wouldn't let him go down. "The hell are you doing! They'll find us!"
"Shuddap, Darton." The footsteps got a body, then a face, as the soldier approached the two standing still. Goddamn girl, she doesn't know what she's doing, we're gonna caught, her exposed; me...turned back to service or whatever. I don't wanna spend anymore time here than I need, not to mention what'll happen after the little stunt I pulled on Kiske before I...No, don't think about it, things are a bit different now. You got a place to go now, no need for that.
The soldier approached slowly, his sword at side in a sheath, patting against his leg at each step. He walked lazily over to the two of them, stopping short at about five feet.
"Who's your friend?" he said to Bianca questioningly, his hands at his hips.
"Guy wants to go to Troy also, so I couldn't resist." Darton looked back and forth at them, unsure of what was going on.
"Well, you're lucky she's helping you out, pal. She can be a real bitch." he said with a chuckle to Darton. The girl feigned surprise, then smiled slightly.
"I got some good stuff out here, tell my employer next time the Seikishidan get a call like this, I'll cut you in the profit. See ya, Jake."
"Next time, Bianca." he said, smiling, then continuing his walk around the perimeter, watching for Gears.
"...You know each other!" he said in a ferocious whisper. She looked over at him, rolling her eyes.
"Of course, you think I could get this sort of job done without someone on the inside? Me and Jake grew up in T, he's a friend. Anyway, we gonna get out of here or stand here jabbering? My friend won't wait around for too long."
The morning sun filtered in through the unwashed and old glass window of the officer's lounge. Ky slept in their for the night, the sergeant who lead the base resigning himself to a normal soldier's dorm. There was still empty space in the dorms, though hardly. He awoke at the crack of dawn, dreams of unease making his night not as good as his first night of real sleep after his ordeal should have been. Standing up, he slowly put on the suit he wore the night earlier. It still had a slight smell of the alcohol from the night previous, just being in the bar giving his uniform a slight scent of whiskey. It'd be gone by the time they reached Geneva, but it still put him at unease, especially since he was the commander.
You were stupid for doing that last night. What were you thinking? Trying to prove you can drink in front of soldiers. You are just a boy, don't act like you're not. You may be sixteen, but you're the leader, you don't have to try and be someone you're not. After his mind raced over that incident, he shifted to Sol. Why was he here? Did he have any reason? Seems I can't go one day without someone to piss me off, and it's always in some position where I cannot do anything about it, but I have to keep my reserve and cool; I am the commander.
He slowly slid on the pants, thinking still. Then, over an undershirt, the suit top. He put his arms up to get through the sleeves, wincing slightly at the cut on his back, and a throbbing pain on his chest, a red imprint of Sol's fist on his ribcage. The white pants were perfectly pressed and wrinkle free, long enough so that the edges covered over his boots, but didn't furl over themselves. The top came down to a few inches past his hip, onto the femur with each of the two flaps at the bottom, the white buttons stopping below his belt, and the two edges of the suit spinning out and down, like an old tuck in shirt, except this was like a suit top, removing the three-piece suit to a two-piece suit. The arms were cuffed at the wrist, all white still, a small collar at top with a turtle neck layer underneath that was a mock up, a fabric turtle neck that started at an inch below the collar, giving the impression of another shirt under it. They couldn't afford to have those extra pieces, but they also wanted to still look nice, so these U.N. required suits and priorities to looking nice when addressing them annoyed Ky.
He stepped out into the brisk morning, rubbing his hand through his hair slightly, the wheat colored bangs falling back in front of his azure eyes, reflecting the cloudless sky. A fading full moon sat at the horizon, the opposite one showing a rising sun, like competing rivals, one edge of the sky a purple hue of midnight, the other bursting with oranges and pinks, elaborating the life to day, and death to night in the sky above, an eternal duel of the fates, stars marking battles and those dead for eternity in the story more read than even the Bible, the skies and earth itself. His first step out was hesitant, dirt and something else under his foot. Stepping back, he saw a cigarette butt lying lifeless. Sol put that there intentionally... He took another step forward, something jabbing his chest, not the pain, but something actually poking. Mentally kicking himself, he reached into the suit top, and pulled out the small golden necklace he had found in the Head Quarters, looking at it again, sparkling a bit from the dawn above. The chain was thin, and the cross was a small, a solid-gold trinket on the chain, only about an inch long, but it gave him something, a special sense of security and feeling of something gone by. He brought it up on his neck a little further, making sure it was free of the confines under his suit, then let it rest on top of his uniform, the gold contrasting the pure whiteness of the U.N. required attire. The Fuuraiken was in a pure white holster at his side, looped underneath to a rung on the pants, covered over by the top, and only the sword being seen, the small decoratory frills on the sheath more elegant than standard sheaths, which were hardened cloth, a leather-like substitute.
I need to go find the chapel before I leave...get something off my chest. He took a hesitant step outside, looking about. The morning was very young, no soldiers buzzing except for the few walking perimeter and on the lookout towers, none of them aware of Ky's recent intrusion into the morning, a man among such things in the sky and around him. He took a guess, and started walking, searching for the chapel, knowing the base had one. One of the fundamental staples of the Seikishidan is its base in Roman-Catholicism, every base has to have a chapel. Where is it... After a bit of searching, as well as asking a tired, yet excited lieutenant who was coming down from his post to go to the rest room, Ky was standing in front of the chapel. It was a small building, only about twenty feet across, forty feet deep, small for a chapel on a base of 1500. But, he couldn't expect every soldier on the base to go to church every Sunday.
The two large wooden double doors looked menacing in their twelve-foot-high towering stances, but Ky, simply placing his hand on one of them, moved it with plenty of ease, the hinges well oiled and strong enough to let the heavy doors move like they were made of cotton. Stepping inside, the door creaking shut to its counter part behind, a cool blast of air seemed to envelope him. When he opened the door, no air hit him, but when he stepped in, it seemed to lift him up, and there were no cooling systems inside, and if there was a draft, it would have exited from the pressure difference in opening the door... Don't think about it, do what you're here to do. He walked through the center aisle, between two distinct rows of seats, a bible in a small holding box on the back of every seat, each row seating about one hundred, maximum, and even that would be pushing the limits. A reverend of the church, old in his years, hair white and missing, his face wrinkled to the point his eyes were almost covered over, slept in a chair to the side of the central pew, an old rocking chair that looked like an heirloom. He slept silently and deeply, his head off to one side, the spots on his skin, dotting his entire face, exposed more so by his head being turned. Ky smiled a bit at the old man, it was a good thing to see those dedicated to God and those who had lived so long in these times.
Walking up the three small steps that separated the reverend's elevated position over the crowd, Ky walked behind the pew, standing in front of a painted effigy of his savior. The timeless image of Christ in rags and shambles, his head to one side, imploringly, yet determined looking, both hands pegged to the wooden cross. The model was a mock up, painted years ago, the paint rubbing off in places, showing the blank white color underneath the mold. Rows of candles lined the model, wrapping around the base and behind, looping a few layers, spreading out, the small candles, contained in a small glass cup of itself, new wax poured to each cup everyday to keep the eerie small flames burning, the light giving the bottom of Jesus' face a bit of a tectonic gaze, a seriousness unintended. A bit of stained glass lined the walls above the model, the colored panes showing a discombobulated picture, pieces of the glass destroyed in prior years, covered up with sheets of filler, or entirely new pieces of glass uncolored, the image unable to be deciphered as to what it was from the destruction it had sustained in previous years, but its simplistic act of being there in the chapel gave it meaning and reason to be there. The invading light, in hues of random color, shone down onto the shallowly lighted Jesus, around Kiske too, who stood in the partial shadow of the towering statue.
Ky knelt down in front of the image of God, praising the Holy Trinity, his arm doing the motion while his head lowered and eyes shut, slowly making his prayer.
"To you, O Lord, I ask forgiveness for the deeds I have done. No one man could be told the things I have done and said, no minister, no reverend, no pope, only You. So, I come to you in desperation, Lord." he said, eyes closed. Looking up, eyes now open, he looked at Christ for a minute, taking in every bit of his fading features, the decades old statue showing signs of its age with peeling paint and dust sitting on the ridges of the statue's face. "How you must have endured, I do not know..." he whispered, expecting the statue to spring to life, look down at Ky, and tell him all of the answers he needed to know, everything in the world. Instead, the imploring gaze on the painted eyes stared forward even more. Maybe that was the answer, just simplistically looking at him, unable to say anything, but just to do it, live it, do what you could.
"God, I have questions for you. I know it might be blaspheming, but I think it is in just cause..." he sighed, breathing in deeply after, then continued, in a low whisper. "Why?" he simply coughed out. "Why me? Why did the Gears have to be created? Why do the innocents have to die and people like me have to fight to protect them? Could there be a time when no humans had to suffer, where there would be no heroes or fighters for humanity, because humanity was safe, completely shielded from harm from everything? You might say it isn't in our nature, but...damnit, I don't see the point!", his tone rising, elevating in tone and intensity with each word.
"Why do people have to die? In front of me? Their lives ripped from them by your grasp, because of a Gear? Is being killed by a Gear your 'ultimate plan'? Are those killed by Gears even justifiable deaths, and thus you would have their soul, meaning that you knew of Gears, knew how they were to die, and let it happen. I can't understand why you would do that, Lord. I cannot, I will not. I fight for You,I fight for humanity, that salvation wasted now, when put up to contrast about what happens."
"Why God, why. I live now, only 16, yet I have killed and survived my fair share, through what I should and should not have, yet other people die for me, saving my life. Does my life mean more than any other? Why is that? I'm not Jesus, I'm not your incarnation, I'm just a man, a boy..." he said, starting to break down upon himself, eyes watering. "I am not the one for these tasks! For this...war and salvation of humanity! How could you choose me? There are hundreds upon thousands of people fit for leading the world to victory, those who know battle, can live through it all, and look back victoriously. I...cannot. I see death, I see those dead, and wonder how, how could it happen, how could I let it happen, how could You let it happen."
"And, those dead...you can't bring them back, they're dead, and even You, God, will not change that. What about...what about the dead, the ones who will die, died in times past...what about people like Darton?" he said, his emotions flaring now through highs and lows of sadness and despair to anger, tears falling off of his cheeks now in both reverence and compassion. "He wasn't destined to die, he had not lived a life worthy of dying, yet he thought he did, and then he killed himself. I couldn't hold on, I tried so hard, yet I couldn't, he still died. He's dead, after all of that, surviving so long, fighting hard. He was rude, arrogant, and completely defamed You, but how does that make him different than thousands of others? Yet, through what he did, I saw him for a good person, for someone who deserved to live. He deserved to live, after all of it, he had earned it, even amongst the innocents who did nothing wrong to die, he should have lived. But, there were places where Youcome in, and change all of that, divine intervention crap. Well, it is crap, all this. The death, the constant flood of fighting in the name of God, I don't understand it, how could You let it? How? Why?" he said, putting his arm down to the ground to stabilize him from falling over from his kneeling position. And silently, he cried, tears falling down his face, staining the carpet below him. It had been tread years before, years prior, and would be in the future, his tears nothing but another memento in its history. He sat there, thinking, unable to talk, all of the death, fear, and suffering over whelming him that he had to shove into a dark closet and hide for the past few days. He couldn't take it, he broke. And, he knew God would be the ultimate witness, the closest he had to any sort of family that was always there, so found solace in that.
He slowly stood, wiping his eyes, taking in a deep breath to stabilize jumpy breathing. Looking back up at Christ, the stone cold gaze of simplicity piercing Ky, he nodded slightly, understanding. It's not the way that things happen, it's not who has to die and who has to live, it's what we must do while we're here, what we have to do before our time comes... He stepped backward, looking upon the illuminated Christ once more, then turned, walking down each step slowly, each step monumental in having to store himself back in the confines of his own mind, putting his feelings under wraps, making sure what he saw and witnessed stayed in the realm of a certain serious set of emotions that couldn't be altered or changed, but had to, or he would break, and he would die, he would be cut down, left unprepared, he would be dead. By the end of the three steps, he was completely sealed, back to his normal self, taking one deep breath to make sure, wiping his eyes again. He needed to be in his presentable shape before anyone saw, he had to make sure that he was Ky Kiske, the commander, not the boy. Standing in front of the double doors, he closed his eyes, thinking again, then pushed both open with both hands and walked out, the creak as he exited waking the old reverend, who snapped his head to life, looking around as the doors settled back to being in their previously straight position.
"Odd..." he murmured to himself, looking around again, then going back to sleep.
Ky walked around the complex, coming to the officer's lounge he slept in last night, reaching for the door knob when he was surprised by a voice to his left.
"Punctual, Mr. Kiske." he heard a voice say. Turning to his left, he saw Gestahl walking up. "I was coming to wake you. We must be going very soon to make Geneva before nightfall. It's about six hours from here to there, so we'll make it just past noon, if we're lucky. It seems we're going to have to be taking the MT, too." He said matter-of-factly, neither condescending, but neither boisterous either, just flat.
"And what about the extra soldiers left at Paris?" Ky asked.
"One of the two MTs left will make two trips. And, since each truck had about 180 soldiers each, there was extra room for our A.A.'s. We'll still be making two trips, but I think it is best if we move the A.A.'s out first."
"Fine, as long as no man is left behind." Ky said affirmingly, his mind racing back to Darton, then shaking it out of his mind. He walked past Gestahl to the front of the base, where the MT was still parked. Jaygus was standing by, in an equally white uniform, but not nearly as impressive as Ky's, which was perfectly ironed and as white as the pure clouds, Jaygus' clean, but showing signs of age in the forms of a few stains and a more dull white, but he seemed not to notice.
"We're going to have fun in Geneva, sir." Jaygus said smiling, his words dripping with sarcasm, climbing into the back of the truck, Kiske following. Gestahl stepped in also, two soldiers from the outside shutting the double doors, and Gestahl walking past them as they took seats, him going to the front, where the two drivers were ready and waiting. He also bypassed four soldiers, two privates and two lieutenants, the same ones from before.
"Hello, sir" one said to Ky as he sat down, distracting him.
"Oh, you all again." he said, somewhat derogatorily, but he had not meant to. The soldier was surprised, Ky's morning attire and not being fully awake yet, played a factor in his un-excited attitude. The soldier shut up, turning back to the rest, feeling insulted, but he couldn't do anything; he was a subordinate to a commander. They were sitting about twenty seats down, so about fifty feet down, all talking amongst themselves, the same box from before in front of all of them, two on each side, playing cards in the middle. Ky then remembered the three of hearts, he had forgot that it was in his boot. Reaching down, it was still there. He didn't know why, but he patted it, and left it there, sort of like a memento or a protector.
The MT slowly inched forward, jumping as it moved, the massive weight thrown forward. It slowly gained more speed every second, squealing and yelling with agony like a dying monster as it hurtled itself forward. Ky fell a bit in his seat, then settled back, the slow acceleration, a massive hum echoing through and about from the engine. He could hear the wheels screeching as they were man-handled into turning, making course for Geneva. After a long, slow turn, all the while going forward slowly, the emitting sounds echoes of a Gear's own unholy screams, the MT started to roll forward, going towards its destination. It slowly accelerated faster, finally hitting its top speed around 55 miles per hour, a violent vibration being sent down the length of the truck from the wheels and engine, Kiske's boots shaking around his feet. Gestahl stood firm in the doorway adjoining the two compartments, watching the drivers and the world ahead as it trampled underneath the massive MT.
"What's that, sir?" Jaygus said, his hand lazily pointing at his chest. Ky looked down, seeing the gold cross. Jaygus knew what it was, but that wasn't directly his question. "I've never seen you wear it before."
"Oh..." Ky said, toying with it in his barren fingers. He felt a little scared, not being in his tried-and-true Seikishidan uniform. His hands felt liberated, no gauntlet or gloves to tie them down and secure them, but he also felt a bit barren and naked without the layers of cloth and the other nuances of his uniform he had grown attached to, feeling a motherly embrace in them. Now that he was in different attire, he could tell how much differently he felt when not in them. But, the feel of a nice suit wasn't exactly bad either. "I got it back on Paris on Floor F, when we were searching for items. I came across it."
"So you took it?" he said hesitantly. Ky looked up at him, not liking how Jaygus said those words. Yes, I took it. The person who owned it is probably dead, but I know it wasn't right to take it, but there's something...some reason why I must have it.
"It reminds me of something." he said delicately, looking down at the cross again, shining slightly against the small lights fixed on the ceiling of the MT in a line, a luminescent strip, cut apart by the sections of the truck, where bolts and clips connected the pieces, the lights ended and started. They were luminescent; a gas inside shot through with electricity, a by-product of the magic engine, and the dull light gave it a bit of an unnatural glare.
"Of what, if I am not rude to ask, sir?" Ky looked back up at Jaygus suddenly, deciding whether or not to tell him. Should I or shouldn't I tell him? It's deep, and he's only a soldier. No...he's more than a soldier, he's a friend, he's shown that many times over since I was instituted as the commander...but still, I know he has a shady past, with the Krieg and all, and I don't ask him about that. Ky looked around, side to side, the soldiers playing cards ahead, and both sitting near the double doors in the back. He sighed, taking in a deep breath, thinking.
"It was a long time ago, I had a necklace like this. I..." Ky sat, silent for a second. Tell him the truth, or don't. Choose. "I lost it. I had it ever since I can remember, and when I lost it, I was devastated. Seeing this one made me remember it, and I took it. It reminds me of the past, I couldn't leave it." he said, imploring eyes finding solace in Jaygus' pleasant and understanding demeanor. You're such a liar, Kiske. You know you didn't lose it, you know the truth. And, you didn't tell him why you had it, what it meant to you, all of that. A liar. Shut up. "Hey, it's early in the morning, and we got a long ride ahead of us. Try and get some rest, I will too." Ky said. "In plus, I know I am not quite recovered yet from Paris, and I bet you aren't either." he said with a friendly smile.
"Indeed, sir. Let's get some rest." Jaygus replied, slowly slipping down lower into the chair, leaning his head against his shoulder, trying to rest. Ky took his initiative, and leaned his head backward, resting the top of his head against the vibrating wall of the truck. Liar...
Zeronova's Notes:
If you read the original DG, you might remember a scene when Ky was young. That's the scene here in his past, though I tweaked it, adding in the necklace. For those unaware of the scene, well, you'll learn about it in due time. I like how the characterization is coming. You might say that Arc II is boring, but I like to think that I can put a lot more drama into it. Arc I was totally action, Arc II is drama, and Arc III will be the conclusion, wrapping up everything. I found myself bored with Arc II in the old DG, so this time I am doing my best to give it a lot more life and interesting things. Bianca is proving to be much more fun to write, and an interesting character, as last time, she was flat and useless, a throw in. There will be action in Arc II, but it's later one (for the readers of the original DG, it has to do with a certain other city, already hinted at early in the story). Written July 29th.
Oh yeah, this is the 100k chapter (well, it isn't exactly since I have had some 5k and 5k-chapters, so it didn't exactly all even out), but it is still fairly close, and twenty chapters at roughly 5k equals 100k, get it? Anyway, this is a great landmark to hit. Look, I'm closing in on the original DG. 100,000 words...that's a lot, that's a ton. That is 165 pages of standard margin in Times New Roman point 12 (yes, I figured it in Word). Anyway, up to this point, the story had a base, a real foothold from the first, and from here I venture into unknown territory. Not anymore a remake, but this is now a real story, becoming a real adventure itself to FFN, not a remake of an old one. Thanks to all of my reviewers (Nik Hasta, PWMA, The Hybrid are the main fans, but let's not forget KR2 or Lone Wolf Neo for their very big parts, just kidding, don't kill me, and a side note to TWH for the long review). And, a special thanks to Samuraiter, who has been a good friend in my writing endeavors, as well as a good person to bounce ideas off of, and get ideas from (Tibet's gonna rock, thanks for letting me use Jaygus, and the whole I1/DG series thing). I don't intend on my parents or family seeing this story, but if they do, thanks to them too for letting me be an insomniac, of which times they knew nothing of what I was doing, yet trusted me (I wasn't looking at porn...that much, and my late night ESPN NFL 2k5 rantings at the screen for intercepting me too often). So, one-hundred thousand, that's a big number. The way I see it, this story is going to go over 200k at my current pace, but that's only an estimate, it might just hit 200k. But, I'm happy with how much I have done this far, and how much will come in the future, so thank you, and stay tuned.