Chapter I: Nature Versus Nurture

The Guardian of Angel Island

Doomsday Forecast

The halls and walls of steel stretch out far in either direction, and a host of corridors split off from the main. It's easy to get lost down here, even if you had the privilege of being raised within it all. Every official and staff member they pass gives that all too obvious look: 'What in the world are you doing here?'

Of course, they're not looking at him. Rather, their eyes are on the one to his side: Grandmaster of the Legion, formerly Dark, Dimitri Jordann. Only a few years ago the idea of any member of the infamous group, let alone its Grandmaster, waltzing into this place would've been entertained by no one, himself least of all.

But that was a few years ago, and many things are different now compared to back then. These days, Dimitri's presence here isn't cause for a total lockdown of the entire facility, setting off every alarm within and around for kilometers on end, and scrambling all combat personnel to quickly gun down the intruder. Instead, it's a difficult exercise in restraint, a fight against all their instincts and training that says to destroy the Grandmaster right where he stands. Even he isn't completely comfortable with letting Dimitri in, and the fact he's already done so several times before doesn't do much to ease his concerns.

Regardless of his feelings, this is important. It helps to show the reformed nature of the Legion as well as display his cooperation with them. It's just one of many strange choices and decisions he's made these past few years. While guarding the Master Emerald remains his paramount responsibility, circumstances have changed, and a myopic worldview won't do anymore; other problems and issues that concern him need to be addressed and handled as well. Besides, strengthening Angel Island's political stability and aligning the Legion's strength with his own both contribute greatly to the Master Emerald's security, so in a roundabout way it's all connected.

The walk in is always too long and its end never comes soon enough, to not even start on the way back out. Worse is the silence that the two make the trip in. Dimitri already isn't exactly someone to make idle chit-chat with, and he's come to blows with the old echidna more times than either of them would care to admit. Things being different doesn't make the past disappear or the memories forgotten. But that's okay. This isn't about fixing the past.

The universe smiles on them at last as they reach their destination. All the guards standing in front of the entrance give him the same look they always give, asking the same question they always do: 'Are you sure about this?'. They can't say it, questioning a guardian's judgement—especially the last one—isn't a good look, but everyone present can feel the doubt and misgivings which saturate the still air. He's glad that they can't ask, because then that means he'd probably have to answer, and his wouldn't be an inspiring one. "Ask me again in five years…"

A nod is all the response he has to give for the lot of them to move aside and input all the codes and biometric data to open the doors. Each one's make is an alloy whose name and composition escapes him at this moment as they slide up or to the side, out of sight. After a very long time spent waiting for an entrance to open, the way into the chamber ahead is clear. "After you, Guardian."

Is that supposed to be an attempt at humor to ease the tension, or just a genuine courtesy? Both? Dimitri isn't easy to read, being made out of unmoving metal that fails to emote in any form doesn't help; neither does being from a very different environment, both in terms of thought as well as time. Whatever the case, he accepts the offer and walks in first. The air, still and lifeless before, now hums with energy and he can feel the static charge that gathers on his fur. A green hue tints everything around that he can see.

At the center of it all is the Master Emerald which sits atop its shrine, glowing with potent Chaos energy. Though a great deal of instruments and devices adorn and surround the altar along with the Emerald. At its core is the same foundation that the gem has rested on for centuries, if not longer. The horde of scientists, technicians, engineers, and specialists who tend to the Emerald who carry out analysis and ensure that it continues to keep Angel Island afloat thousands of meters in the air fill the room. Computers, databases, robotics sans any artificial intelligence, mechanisms, and more are everywhere, not that he can hope to understand any of it beyond the basics. It's time like this he wishes he had someone like Tails here to help make sense of it all. In all the time he's known him, the fox has never been able to turn down an opportunity to explain something to someone who's willing to listen. And unlike Dimitri, Tails refined that all too important skill of translating complex topics into digestible form without losing what's important, no doubt thanks to all his time with Sonic and the rest. More importantly, he's his friend. But he's gone now, and has been for about two years. Sonic told him such. Didn't tell him why though, but he knew better than to pry.

Dimitri has a firm grasp on most everything in this room without a doubt, he used to run the facility centuries prior, but there's no way in hell that anyone here will let the Grandmaster get an in-depth look into any of this now. Both of them know that. To his relief, Dimitri hasn't voiced a single complaint on that front so far. 'So far' is an important caveat, but when dealing with the Legion, it's one he's fine with. And despite being the one responsible for all this, he's glad the old echidna is still around. He's not the arrogant zealot that Kragok was, nor does possess Lien-Da's tyrannic ruthlessness. Even though she was the one who proposed the idea of reaching out to him in the first place, he doesn't want to imagine having to deal with the woman instead of Dimitri. He has enough problems on his plate as it is, herself being one of them.

The Master Emerald before him is a familiar sight, he's defended the gem his whole life, but the mammoth immobilized within it is still strange to him. Unsettling, too. One of the greatest entities and gravest threats in all of history, stuck inside the very thing that keeps his home in the air. The thought of it all still drives him mad. "Why in the world did Shadow and Tails decide to seal him here of all places?"

It's a rhetorical question, and to himself of all people, but the Grandmaster decides to answer anyway. "A perfekt sturm of faktors, Guardian."

He doesn't turn to face Dimitri, and keeps his eyes on the Emerald and the Ixite inside. "Not every question demands an answer, you know?"

"For some, perhaps..."

"Alright, I'll indulge you. Care to enlighten me on what those factors might've been?"

"To start, stress. The fight against Mogul must've been taxing to a great degree. He's among the best manipulators of the Chaos Force, ever. Even you as Enerjak were not enough."

"No need to remind me…"

"There's no shame, Guardian. If you failed, no other echidna kould ever hope to stand a chance."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You may take it however you like."

"Stress, how does that explain it?"

"Well, unter such pressure, keeping a klear mind bekomes diffikult, und thinking in the long term next to impossible. They may have triumphed in the ende, but I am certain that they held no such assurances of viktory during the affair. Speaking of assurances, the next faktor would be certainty. Mogul's might is great, und a prison of insufficient strength would be of no hindrance to him. The Master Emerald's power, meanwhile, is a known element, to them as much as us. They likely deemed it worthy to go with überkill. Better safe than sorry, isn't that what they say?"

It's strange to hear someone like Dimitri ask such a question. He'd say it isn't befitting, but what falls under that category isn't something he wants to dwell on. "I don't know. Were people not apologizing four centuries ago?"

"People had better manners, as a matter of fakt. They also respekted the antike traditions, und Angeli wasn't something restrikted to just the learned or kurious."

"And I'm sure when you were growing up your folks lamented how the youth acted. Same old, same old. More things change, more they stay the same."

"Gugh!" the Grandmaster grunts as best he can, and he knows that if the over 380-year-old echidna had a body beyond a head, he'd be shaking the metal thing. "I hate that phrase. Fatalistik nonsens that fetishizes futility. So much has changed in my life, und kontinues to change."

"And now you're rambling. Old people really are all the same…"

"As I was saying, the world is a komplex system of millions of faktors und agents running on a timeskale of billions of years. The idea that nothing changes is… it's farcikal!"

The Grandmaster walks over to stand in front of him, and he accepts that the floating capsule that moves about with artificial tentacles is probably never going to be not gross. He must admit, the digital voice is far more impassioned than he would expect, despite the utterly motionless head it comes from. "Guardian, if nothing changed, then you and the Legion would still be fighting the same feud Edmund und I began. But we are not. Things do change. Life bekomes better und better. It must. Or else, why would the first primitive ever bother to grab a stick und make a speer?"

Dimitri clearly holds some very strong feelings regarding this issue, and he can't help but agree with a nod. Despite how hard they try to appear otherwise, it's clear that everyone else in the room is painfully aware of the Grandmaster's presence. It doesn't take much imagination to figure out how they'd all behave if not for himself being present. "Guess you're right. I mean who could've imagined you being let in here after all that's happened? But here we are, and a large part of it is thanks to you and your work. Robotnik's finished, and you got your legionnaires to relax, most of them anyway."

"Do not minimize your own role in things, Guardian. Without you, we would have never had a chance in reaching out to others to fight the Doktor's kontrol."

Another nod and, though it's horrifically awkward, he extends a hand out to the Grandmaster, who reciprocates the gesture as best he can with one of his tentacles. He's hesitant to call it a handshake per se, but it approximates well enough. "Guess the Jordann family is really reconciled after all this time. What'd it take, only four hundred years?"

"Three hundred and forty-eight. Besides, it is not so, much to my dismay."

He groans. The thought of her and the splinters is at the forefront of his thoughts again. "Right. Da, Finny, and over four thousand others on old Blighty, whispering Aurora knows what into their government's ears. How could I forget?"

Dimitri doesn't say anything, and the lifeless nature of his head makes it so he doesn't have a chance of figuring out what's going on in that mind. "Any more factors?"

"Distanz. The Emerald is right here on the island, and that's where the three of them were when they fought."

"Wow, really putting that big brain of yours to use."

"You asked, Guardian." the old echidna says, and the tone of that digital voice makes it clear that there'd be a scowl on that face if he was still capable of doing so. Mogul's motionless body returns to into view as the Grandmaster moves back to his side, and he lets out one more sigh. Another a grim thought now comes to his mind. Did they ever stop?

"Dimitri, I have a question."

"I may have an answer, Guardian."

"Hypothetically, if Mogul were to ever awake and get free, and I'm not here to stop him, what's the worst case scenario?"

"Diffikult to say. Mogul's power is… inkredible. Even in my youth, his exploits were already long past into the realm of mythos, obskured by millennia of erosion and degeneration from the ages. Hardly anyone believed a word of it. I shamefully konfess myself to have been among those. Even now, we still know next to nothing about the Forgotten War. How kan we? Events a mere four thousand ago are largely lost to us, so to expekt anything different for those over twice as old is... well, it's folly. A part of me is still amazed that the Master Emerald is aktually enough to keep him kontained, not to mention the fox und hedgehog defeating him in the first place…"

"Didn't know your cybernetics had an augmentation for gushing."

"It's not gut form to dismiss your enemies, Guardian. Even the most heinous possess at least one quality worth analysing, if not several."

"Even Robotnik?"

"Yes, even the Doktor, especially the Doktor. His brilliance aside, the Überländer possesses remarkable determination, tenacity, und ingenuity. It took Finitevus, the fox, Charles, the other two Überländers, and myself to overkome his fail-safe. Some of the greatest minds the world has ever known, bound together in kommon purpose."

"And of course, you were the greatest among them, right?"

"As a whole, yes. And in my domains of expertise, of kourse. But I admit the others, in their fields of speziality, may surpass me now and again."

"It seems the centuries haven't done much for your humility.

"Returning to the Doktor. Even now with his reich gone, he lurks still, awaiting the opportunity to take it all back."

He can feel all the side-eyes in the room, likely from everyone within. In this matter, he's inclined to side with them. "Sounds like delusion to me."

"Perhaps, but even in the failing of delusion there's the virtue of hope, is there not?"

Dimitri is starting to get on his nerves, and he crosses his arms to communicate his distaste for all this. "I asked for your prognosis, not a philosophy course."

"Und here I thought you'd appreciate my optimism. It reminds me so much of your blue freund after all."

A sigh is all he can muster in terms of body language; even an eye roll is above that response. "He has a name, you know?"

"I'm well aware, Guardian. As for the matter of Mogul's hypothetikal freeing, either the Master Emerald is shattered during the process or he'll steal it for himself. If you're not here, there won't be a single individual who would be kapable of even stalling him for more than a few minutes, at most. Whatever happens, Angel Island will lose the only thing keeping her afloat in the sky. Fortunately, residual energie will remain und keep her airborne for a while, but only for so long. It's been some time since I managed all this, but I hope that these facilities still have the necessary funktions in place to ensure minimal waste of said energie, stretching it out for days or even weeks. They haven't lost that feature, have they? Or worse, forgotten?"

"Very funny."

"I disagree. Once that energie runs out, Angel Island will plummet down to the grund, or ozean more likely. A drop of thousands of meters won't just be fatal to every single thing on the island, the impakt will also be devastating to those below. An extinktion event—nein!—but ruin will fall upon anyone unfortunate enough within a perimeter of hundreds if not thousands of kilometers wide. Tsunamis hundreds of meters high, maybe even over a thousand, if it falls in the wasser or earthquakes und deadly winds if on land, which would be the least kalamitous of the two options aktually. And all this is without even getting into the aftereffekts of untold amounts dust thrown up into the atmosphäre, or the possibility of seismik aktivity setting off vulkanoes, which in itself would bring even greater katastrophe for the entire world!"

Despite, or perhaps because of, the utterly horrific content of the apocalyptic consequences that are being expounded upon, Dimitri's tone and even mannerisms, whatever he has left of them anyhow, are positively excited. The Grandmaster seems to enjoy detailing this situation that'll never happen in all probability, and doing so far too loudly. If everyone in the room wasn't already staring at them, they are now. "Well for your peace of mind, they still indeed have such systems in place."

He moves to salvage the situation by pushing the conversation forward. "What about Mogul? He gets out here, what will he do? And give me the summary, not the full breakdown."

Dimitri looks away from him and to the mammoth, almost admiring the former master of the Ixites. "With him, what wouldn't be possible? I only hope that you and your freunds are better prepared than the last time, or else most the world will very likely be bowing to him in short order."

"Glad to hear the cheery outlook on all fronts, Grandmaster."

"You did ask for the worst kase, Guardian."

"You couldn't have phrased it any better?"

"Not without korrupting the information. Or delving into needless extension, I suppose."

"Extension? That rant on what would happen if the island fell is your idea of brevity?"

"Why yes. I kould go on for hours, if not days, diskussing, debating, and exploring the societal, kulturell, and environmental aftermath of something so katastrophik."

"I'd hate to get bad news from you in the ER..."

"I'm not a physician. Und besides, neither biologie or medizin are within my fields of expertise. Finitevus und Charles are-"

"It's a joke not a dissertation, don't take it so seriously."

The Grandmaster's head, which is all he has, makes a noticeable move which betrays his level of surprise. "Seems like someone should install a levity analyzer in you."

"I'm aware of humor, Guardian."

"Send the memo to Da and the rest, will you?"

"...If only things were that simple. She seems impervious to any reason. It'd be easier to drive an avian to tears than change her mind once it's set."

"Wonder where she got that from..."

"Really? Four generations removed and you wish to lay the blame on my genetiks?"

"I didn't say a thing. Also, I'm pretty sure you turning up and stealing her thunder right as she was getting started didn't do any favors for her opinion on you."

"Are you saying I shouldn't have done so?"

"No. Just that every decision has consequences, even the right ones."

Die Großmeisterin

The Gates of War

These Albans, such a peculiar people. One would think that almost four years spent among them would dull this fact into the realm of the mundane, not meriting a thought. It seems one would be wrong. She hates being wrong.

They may be echidnae like herself, but they are so unlike what she had come accustomed to in her near four decades. So many little differences that pile up and up, until there's a mountain of them. She's stuck in the middle of that mountain. One thing in particular sticks out the slope like a sore thumb, and has been since her arrival to this rainy island: Their manner of speaking.

The echidnae on Angel Island spoke, or rather speak, with a strong clarity and directness. Her interactions with various peoples across the globe, from humans to Mobians to avians and now other echidnae, have led her to understand that this level of frankness, or bluntness as those not so favorable might say, is rare outside of Angel Island—this is one thing they share with the dingoes, much as both they and her might be loath to admit—and the Battle Birds. The echidnae of Albion, on the other hand, seem to have utterly mastered another style of speech, that being the ability to say without saying. She wonders if the words 'euphemism' and 'insinuation' were first dreamt up here eons ago during an overcast morning.

On Angel Island, when you want to make a correction, you say 'This is wrong', or something to that effect. Meanwhile here, they tend to say 'There's room for improvement', and other phrases like that. To say they expect you to read between the lines would be a lie; they'd prefer for the whole conversation to take place there.

She's smart though, very smart, and has been sure to mentally mark and file away all these phrases with diligence. She's even worked out translations to communicate them to her legionnaires. While Angeli is promoted vigorously among her ranks, English remains the universal language, much like it does almost everywhere else in the entire world. Despite this, it seems the echidnae of Angel Island and Albion are divided by a common tongue.

Some of these phrases and their associated, translations are something else. 'We could do that' means 'We could, but we're not'. 'That's a bold proposal' is code for 'Have you gone mad?; 'It's certainly interesting' is similar with its connotation of 'You've lost the plot'. 'Let's hear some other ideas first' carries the unspoken continuation of '-because literally any other one might be better'. There are so many more, but one that aggravates her a great all is 'I'll bear that in mind', whose meaning is still unknown to her other than a vague sense of 'No'.

Whether it speaks to a deliberate forgetting of whatever is in question due to its perceived ridiculousness or studiously remembering it for the same reason is a mystery, and she hates those when they're at her expense. "One day, I'll get the answer out of them…"

There's more differences than just that, of course. The cultures are divergent to a degree greater than she anticipated, and their distinctions show in more ways than how they speak. While one can find beer if they care to, these snobs prefer wine by far; even the lower classes partake in it from what she can tell. By Elayn, vodka is more common than a good lager or ale here! Must be from such close proximity to Mercia, Empire City, and Mousecovy. Cigarettes are what's smoked around rather than cigars if the ministers and officials are anything to go by, and arriving five minutes before a meeting outside of urgent government business apparently means you've come twenty minutes early. She's also certain she'd have killed one of them already if they forced her to comply with the ridiculous bows and cordialities they're obsessed with.

But not all of them are so bad. Some of them, in fact, are welcome ones. Quite welcome. Coffee, to start. It makes sense that Angel Island, being so high up, just isn't the environment for growing the beans, but what a shame that is. Nothing to stop them from setting up some industrial greenhouses after all, is there? Tea is fine, but takes too long and doesn't give the same jolt that coffee does. Besides, coffee simply tastes better. She likes it. The Albans are very orderly too, unable to stop themselves from getting into a line even when no one is there to tell them such, they can't help it, and they actually wait for people to go through a door before doing so themselves; it's a pleasant adjustment to not have some idiot bump into you because they're in a rush. And Albion's proximity to others, not separated vertically from the world by thousands of meters, means that there's an ample array, versatile even, of foods from a host of cuisines. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert, rare as the latter is, can always provide something new if you're willing to experiment with something new.

But all these positive differences pale in comparison to the most important one of all. On Angel Island, the process is what's emphasized above everything else. It doesn't matter what you did if how you did it is deemed wrong. Dimitri learned that the hard way. Even now, thinking about the old fool brings the urge to scowl which she must fight, lest she have to explain to the Albans here, again, that they are not the reason she's making that face. "You'd throw away everything we've spent nearly four centuries working for in half a decade, you brain-dead dummkopf!"

Here in Albion, the process is instead seen almost as a great inconvenience that simply must be reckoned with. What they care about is the result, the outcome, and the associated expenses and benefits. When it comes to affairs they find rather… distasteful, they in fact request her to not tell them about the process, preferring to remain unaware of it. Whether this is out of a desire to remain blameless for anything involved or a genuine discomfort with the details tends to vary from person to person, as well as project to project. Whatever the case, it's liberating to have her work, the progress and advancement of the echidna race, treated like the critical challenge it is, rather than a checklist for some bureaucrats to fill out.

Something else she likes is that there's an air of urgency here. Albion didn't come through the war unscathed, she herself was part of the reason why, and the whole matter has knocked the dust of assumed safety out of the grey hairs of even the stodgiest mossback. The shock of it all has set their eyes wide open to the world around while still maintaining that understanding of echidna superiority, and without the delusion of separation that being afloat gives Angel Island. They may grumble and chafe at her, her legionnaires, her words, her ideas, and her projects, but they concede whenever it really counts. They always bend, so that they may not break.

It's for their own benefit, really. Albion would not have rebuilt as fast as it has, risen to these new heights, nor would it possess the third largest air fleet in the world if not for herself and her Dark Legion. Four thousand great individuals can revive a nation, and she can't help but wonder what a nation of tens of millions of great individuals could achieve. They don't listen to her enough though. Imagine where the echidna people would be now if- "For Gwynne's sake, is he still talking?!"

He is! She's lost track of when he started, and she's not hankering to learn how much time has been wasted letting him prattle on. To think this meeting was supposed to be a quick half-hour affair. "-which surround the data systems aboard the Genesis, as well as those of-"

A raise of her hand manages to shut the khaki-clad echidna up quick enough. "Captain, whatever concerns you and your men may have, they are without a doubt unfounded."

"Minister, with all due respect," he says, to which she smiles. That phrase, 'With all due respect', it can be genuine, or it can be a wonderfully polite way to say 'Go fuck yourself'. She's confident which category it falls into, but lets it slide. If she pounced on every slight or insult, the government, civil service, and high command would be dead twice over, at a minimum. "if the men can't trust the vessels they're on, every single one of them will be swimming with fishes or grinning at the daisy roots come a real battle."

That's one more thing she hates: The abundance of ludicrous terms. "'Grinning at daisy roots'? What idiot came up with that nonsense?"

The only comfort she can find is that whoever it is is likely grinning at the damn roots himself. "There's nothing for you or your men to fear from myself or my Dark Legion. We stand for the advancement of the race, and Albion is the standard-bearer. To undermine her in any way would be against my ideals, and I would never undertake any action in contravention to my principles. The RAS Genesis is a state-of-the-art vessel, and an airship more than worthy of your esteem. And the same goes for every other airship in the Albion Armada."

Her time here has birthed a strange synthesis of both styles of speech. There are things said that aren't spoken, but those implications are plain as day. Though considering where they are, that might not be very clear. The captain seems to get the point though, and grumbles as he leans back in his chair, accepting defeat in silence. An official, the oldest at the table with white facial hair and wrinkles to match, leans forward, taking this pause as his chance to speak up. "Minister, forgive me," he says, which irks her. "Why are they always apologizing..."

"But I wished to discuss the potential of establishing a new facility near Greenlawe. Several councillors, Gala-Na in particular, have expressed desires to see the expansion of our bio-projects, which have so far borne great fruit. The advancements in genetics, microbiology, medicine, biochemistry, cybernetics-"

"The point, Chief Medical Officer?"

"Oh yes, of course, pardon me. As I said, a new bio-facility near Greenlawe is desired, and the Dark Legion's involvement in the affair is considered of paramount importance. We'd also like for a small but permanent detachment of your researchers to be assigned to it once complete. To assist with RTD and other matters of a similar nature."

"I see. I will inform Finitevus of this. I'm certain he'll be eager to expand operations…"

She lets her sentence trail off, not out of uncertainty of how to continue or hesitancy to say what comes next, but because she wants the CMO to finish it. To force him to come to her conclusion and then speak what she wants without her saying a word communicates a degree of authority that she enjoys. In moments like these, she can understand the Alban obsession with unsaid implications, at least somewhat; they often lead to moments like this. "...As the government will be to accommodate you for your assistance. I'm... sure an increased allocation in funding can be arran-"

"Another outreach center as well. I'm keen on ramping up recruitment of the robotocized. Aurora knows they don't have many other avenues ahead in their lives."

It's not a question, nor does she phrase it as a request. They all shuffle in their seats and their eyes shift between each other in silent deliberation before settling on her with an air of uneasiness. In a room this quiet, she can hear their heartbeats, literally. Controllable auditory enhancements are quite handy. The visual ones are superior in quality and utility by far, however. If she had opted for the olfactory ones, she's certain she could smell their sweat too, though she's glad she didn't. Smell always seems to be the least useful and most repulsive of the senses. She has her eyes and ears; sniffing around is for the animals.

This is room is actually rather cramped and she notes the lack of windows. At least the lights above are more orange-yellow than pure white. The shelves and furniture within is old, she can tell, but remarkably clean and well-maintained. These Albans, such a peculiar people. None of them are fond of her or her legionnaires, and both sides understand this. That holds little relevance, of course. Despite their distaste, they all want her here, in the same way that someone in the woods at night wants a fire: Something dangerous and powerful to ward off the darkness and keep those in it at bay, brutes and beasts alike. "I will inform the High Council of this. I am sure they will be… amenable."

She smiles for the first time this whole meeting. "So pleased to hear that." she says. Even better, as if ordained by the stars themselves to free her from this dull affair, a silent sensation flashes in her head, imperceptible to anyone but her. Someone's messaged her. It must be him. Only a select few individuals have a direct line to her, and even fewer are important enough to have it so their messages notify her like so. None of them are off-island right now, save for him of course; he's never on-island to begin with. "Captain, I know we already reached an agreement," she says, much to his clear chagrin. They both know that the two of them have reached nothing of the sort. "but I'd like for you to continue listing off your concerns. Best to get this all out now."

The khaki-clad echidna nods and is as quick to speak as she is to tune him out, though mindful to turn on an internal audio recorder. Even she knows that being unable to recall a single detail if asked to do so would be a bad look, even for her. A thought is all that's required to summon the AR display. The text bubbles hover in the air, visible only to her, and her vision moves to the most recent message which proves her correct: It is from him. 'Urgent matter to discuss.' it reads, and what a delight it is. No mincing of words. Every one in there is there because it must be there. None can be taken away without compromising the integrity of the sentence. Urgent is the only potential candidate she can see, and its absence would result in this message failing to communicate any sense of importance and immediacy.

To think the words is to type them in this world, and she quickly formulates her response: 'Two months without a peep, and this is how you begin? Is that anyway to speak to a lady?'

That will likely make him at least a little uncomfortable. Good. She's no intention to let things be easy or simple for him; unpredictability is often useful in strengthening one's position. Besides, she can't deny that she enjoys conversing with him. 'Was occupied. Hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. You still have one of those, right?'

Another smile comes to her face. Unlike the meeting, this is common when she's talking with him. Something she can't put her finger on makes these exchanges such fun. Perhaps it's simply down to his dependence on her. To hold the power in an exchange is nice after all. 'Why in the world wouldn't I?'

'Perhaps you replaced it. Can see that easily. Don't imagine you getting much use out of it.'

Having to stop a chuckle before it starts while someone considered important is speaking is not ideal. It's the price to pay for this being enjoyable, she supposes. 'That hurts me. You know I love you, of course.'

'Hilarious. Have an update on my status within the MNA.'

It's a wonder who he actually is, or rather what he is. His candor surpasses most of her own legionnaires, and they're among the most confident and assertive of echidnae society on both Albion and Angel Island. In truth, he reminds her a little of the Great Battle Kukku, though nowhere near as aggravating; she doesn't want to crush his skull in after all, not yet anyways. Her response comes quick. 'I'm listening.'

'Have made contact with the Maréchal.'

'Haven't you already? Over 2 years now, no?'

'Not this kind. We met. In person.'

That's interesting, to put it lightly. 'Go on.'

'He's keen on undertaking an offensive. I'm keen on making it a success. That's why I'm talking to you now.'

'To ask for something.'

'Correct. Told him I'd do so. He's more trusting than expected.'

'Is that a mistake?'

In uncharacteristic fashion, he's slow to respond. Every time a delay like that happens, she's not sure what she said to cause it. Eventually, his message comes. 'No. Here to help, and he's keeping me close.'

'Never heard of the old saying?'

'I'm not their enemy. Neither are you. You help me help them. That makes you an ally.'

'Careful who you cozy up to. Where are you now?'

'In his tent.'

'My my, already? Trying to make me jealous? He's nearly 50, you know.'

'Laugh it up.'

'Can't.'

'How terrible.'

'In a meeting. The ones that get you what you want. Or need, rather.'

'Didn't ask, but good to know. Need a favour.'

Clearly he doesn't hail from Mercia, he always speaks of it, of them, as somewhere and something foreign. His use of 'u' in several words, like 'favour', also means he's not from Angel Island and half the Federation is off the table as well, since they don't share the feature. That leaves Westopolis, Empire City, Mazuri, Soleanna, Acorn, and Leonus, which do; Albion too, now that she thinks about it, but she's highly doubtful he's an echidna, and she's equally certain that he's not a human. His recent revelation of meeting with the old fox confirms this in her mind. 'No manners. Didn't your mother teach you any?'

'Never knew her.'

While she's fortunate enough to not share the same experience, her mother did pass away while she was young. 'Have suffered similar. I extend my sympathies.'

'Save the tears. Could make use of something so toxic.'

So caustic. Now, even when she offers a genuine olive branch of sincerity, he's quick to slap it out her hand. It's been a slow journey to coax him out of that impassive shell he formerly resided in, but coaxed him she has. He's still reserved, but at least he'll come out to play. An all-business attitude is something she can appreciate, but with her circumstances and role, someone more approachable is a refreshing change of pace. Shade and Finitevus are the only others that come close, and even those two are tempered by their subordinate status as well as the doctor's aberrant temperament. Never in a million years would she have guessed that the albino echidna is from this place. She respects him a great deal, to go against the grain with such resolution.

Janus is different. And it seems she can mold him to her liking. 'You said you need a favor. I'm listening.'

'A gunship. A good one too. Don't want a repeat of those crap SPAAs you sent. Royalists have been dominating air war thanks to that fuck up.'

'Silence for months, no hello, and now you ask for a modern gunship with profanity and rudeness to boot? Suppose your father wasn't around either, was he?'

'Truly startling display of intelligence. Albion is blest to have someone of such genius.'

'Watch it. Piss me off and you lose your only friend on this island.'

'Friend, is it now? What was it you said? 'Careful who you cozy up to'? Seems like someone should take their own advice.'

'And maybe someone should be less eager to bite the hand that feeds.'

'Feed me more, and I'll consider. This army can never get enough guns, tanks, artillery, and anything else you'll shovel its way.'

This level of directness is rather unusual; must be some important offensive. 'You're a real savage, you know that?'

Once more, he takes longer than normal to reply. 'I do.'

'It's so fun when you play with me. You'll get your gunship. I'll throw in 59 tanks and 23 artillery pieces. Hell, I'll give a wonderful Noël and throw in some food and warm clothes as well. How's that sound?'

Her generosity seems to catch him off guard and he takes almost a whole minute to respond. Easily the longest pause so far. 'Thank you.'

And he doesn't even ask why the oddly specific numbers. Seems even he has the sense to not look a gift steed in the mouth. 'Wait till war's over. Never know what might happen. Usual route?'

'Usual route.'

'Hope you have a pilot good enough to handle her.'

'I'm the pilot, and the best there is.'

That's a pleasant surprise. It's not often when he'll champion himself with such confidence outside his core fields. She wonders if she can knock him down a peg. 'Everyone says they're the best.'

He responds fast enough to make clear his absolute conviction. 'Everyone isn't right though. I am.'

'Do you give joyrides for a fräulein like myself?'

'You using that word means you're too old to classify as one.'

'What's wrong? Don't like older women?'

'I like women who get me my gunship. Au revoir, Bellona.'

'Und auf Wiedersehen, Janus.'