"Hey mom. It's me. Your son who promised to write every month as I left and you cried goodbye. It's been about five months since then, and two months since your last letter. I had agreed to write because I thought it'd make you feel better, not because I planned on writing. That was a mistake. Now I'm not sure if you'll even get back to me even after I send this letter. I wonder why I always have to suffer the hard way before ever learning from my mistakes. Is this how the other cadets felt when I burst past them, unable to implement and improvise tactics at speeds they could not possibly comprehend?
"If I had the choice, I would throw all this talent away for some semblance of a normal life. God knows why I got put in this position. A computer would do the same job as me, but not nearly as high maintenance. All they need is air conditioning, power, and they'll happily lap up any inputs and give you answers at record speed. I need to eat, sleep, drink, shit, and require constant attention lest I do something stupid. And more than half the time, when I sit at the holotable, I wonder why I do this. Of course, everyone knows why I need to move little pieces around a grid. But I certainly don't want to do it. I'm sure someone else can do an equal or better job than me. If it were up to me, I'd rather be working some shitty corporate office job from 9 to 5, drink myself black on weekends, and eventually die a grandfather and with a legacy.
"At least I'd be happy then. I certainly don't feel happy here. It took me a while to name the gaping, hollow feeling that had been dragging on me for a long time. I'm lonely. I eat alone, I sleep alone, I talk to myself. I make up scenarios that are anywhere but here.
"Dad drilled into my head since I was young that life was full of doing things you didn't want to do. He said that when I didn't want to do the chores, do my homework, go to school. Even here, where I'm several thousand miles away, his words ring in my head. Well, dad, I've been doing things that I don't want to do for over two decades now. I don't feel nearly as satisfied as anyone else I know. The days I do check social media everyone is smiling at humble and luxurious locations alike, in the company of friends or family or both. Maybe they're faking it. I hope to God they're faking it. Otherwise they're leaps and bounds ahead where I'll ever be.
"I don't really see a way out, either. I'll be here, in the same place, unable to move forward or backwards. While everyone leaves for places unknown, I'll still be here. Stagnant. Maybe that's all I really deserve in my lot in life."
—
It'd been a long time since the commander last cried. When he was younger, he was told not to cry because Santa wouldn't like it. As he got older, he developed the notion that crying was a sign of weakness. These days, crying was an inconvenience. It came with strong emotions that he didn't really feel anymore. Everything came in persistent aches that didn't beget crying.
So it came as a surprise that after the final sniffle and tissue, he felt better. He had felt pathetic while crying. Being brought to tears by the insistence of someone much younger knocked a hole in his pride. It dredged up moments that he'd kept buried for a while; memories which he could not forget. When he had felt weak and powerless. When he was egotistical and an embarrassment. When he was selfish and callous and hurt others blindly.
Unicorn at some point fell asleep, so he carried her to his bed and went to lie on the couch outside. He wondered how many times he'd make another person cry as a result of his own problems. And while he enjoyed the attention of someone who cared greatly, all it meant was that those he befriended signed up for more than a tenuous relationship. It included him and all of his baggage. Something which he selfishly wanted versus something which would be good for others besides him.
He truly was the worst kind of person. Baiting people in, burning bridges, and pushing them away. Over and over again until they were finally fed up with him and let him be by himself. But he could not deny that the night had been cathartic for him. As much as he could rationalize away how bad of an influence he was to others, the fact remained that had Unicorn not approached him on her own free will, he would have had another sleepless night troubled by more thoughts of the unproductive variety.
But for now, he could rest. Even without a soft mattress and a heavy blanket in the winter, sleep found him quickly.
—
A man leaned against the railing on the deck of a boat, feeling the rush of wind brush against his face as the vessel took him to a place unknown. Transfers were not unusual, but transfers with this amount of confidentiality were previously unknown to him. It reminded him of an awful lot of those high-pace television shows.
He took another puff from his cigarette and unfolded some papers from his pocket. More than half of the space was covered with black marker, but there was one unmarked space which held any interest.
"Azur Lane," he muttered aloud, before shoving the papers back into his pocket. Wherever it was, it was far enough to finish a half pack of cigarettes. Nothing else to do on the boat but smoke the things. He wished he had brought a book with him to kill the time.
Eventually the ocean air also bored him and the man turned back into the confines of the boat.
—
The potent smell of bacon and the sound of oil sizzling in a pan nudged at the commander's consciousness until he sat up, feeling as if he overslept for something important.
Belfast was in front of the stove, flipping breakfast over in a frying pan. The commander rubbed his eyes, unsure of what he was seeing. "I thought I asked you to stop making breakfast for me."
Belfast turned over an egg. "You did. This is for the other person here who still eats breakfast."
It took a moment for him to remember who she was talking about.
"In any case," she said, "you've caused many a good deal of worry. Illustrious thought that her young charge had frozen in the cold last night."
"Unicorn didn't say where she was going?"
"She mentioned visiting Z23. Imagine our surprise when Z23 swore up and down that she didn't see her at all."
The commander took this in silently, wondering how it fit in with his own timeline of events.
Belfast turned down the stove and began to plate the food she prepared. "Thankfully, someone had a guess as to where else she might have gone and stayed the night after several hours of searching. Mind waking Unicorn up for breakfast as I get things ready?"
He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, not fully comprehending why Belfast was telling him all this, but robotically trudged over to his room to do as she asked.
At the breakfast table, where the commander was trying his hardest to not fall back asleep, Belfast passed him a plate of scrambled eggs and some strips of bacon. He stared accusingly at the plate, and then at Belfast, then back at the plate as if they had done him an injustice. "I thought I asked for you to not make breakfast."
"You don't eat breakfast?" Unicorn asked, with her own pancakes.
"I, er, no. I don't."
"Illustrious told me that breakfast was important in starting each day. You should eat," she insisted.
"Some people don't need three meals a day," he pushed back. "Besides, I'm not hungry." He felt like a little kid again, and it only felt worse being told so by another child.
"Belfast, tell the commander he should eat breakfast," Unicorn said.
Belfast looked conflicted for a moment, but eventually she acquiesced to the young girl's pleas. "Commander, you should at least make an effort to have breakfast."
He grunted and ingested a forkful of eggs. They tasted bitter and felt dry in his mouth, and it only felt worse when Unicorn made a small cheer when he swallowed.
—
At the holotable again at last. He sat in front of the terminal again, cracking his knuckles, feeling numb. This time, Unicorn was there instead of Amagi and Akagi. She kept looking at the glowing grid with wonder and astonishment.
"Is this what you do during battles?" she asked.
The commander nodded, wringing his hands. He'd grown to detest the seat in front of the terminal and felt ill at ease. His palms were still moist no matter how many times he rubbed them against his pants.
It'd been a long time since he was truly excited to sit in front of the holotable. The novelty of new technology had worn off ever since back at the academy. Every cadet there had their own allotted time on it, but it was up to their discretion whether they wanted to practice solo or invite the entire class. And as the top competition, he was often invited for scrimmages for his colleagues to test their mettle against the best. Perhaps his opponents improved. But all of his extra time on the machine only allowed him to devise and pull apart formations faster than anyone else.
It was called the Matthew effect. "The rich get richer and the poor get poorer." In their own selfish aim of getting better, his colleagues only augmented the colossus. No, that wasn't quite right. Feeding the parasite was more accurate. He fed off the time of others for his own gain. He made out like a bandit, leaving behind hordes of people muttering curses under their breath. And what good did it do him?
The holo table sparked to life, regenerating the default terrain into a more realistic landscape with colored dots.
The commander breathed in. He could just pretend like it was another battle with the AI or one of his old colleagues. The Siren patrols were never smarter than that in the first place, weren't they? Play loosely and recklessly, to see what he could and couldn't get away with. Wasn't that similar to what other people told him to do when public speaking, pretend that everyone were vegetables? Never mind the fact that trick never helped. Just pretend that reality wasn't real, they said.
He never could lie to himself about simple matters like that. The commander exhaled, cleared his mind, and pushed on.
—
People are creatures of habit. There are many inspirational quotes emblazoned on locker rooms and gym walls which say so. Parents command and plead children to do their homework, do their chores, not do drugs — all in hope that their progeny grow up to be well-mannered and self-serving members of society to care for them in the future when their muscles ache and vision fails. Having good habits: good work ethic, healthy relationships, and self-care are all fundamental building blocks for happiness and success.
The commander, too, was built on habits. When he finally calmed down enough for his mind to focus, he defaulted to his usual best. The hours spent on grinding away did not betray him now. As he took the smallest of advantages and made them into the giant leads, he felt familiarity return. It was a simple matter to close it out, and it was over.
Another cheap victory. He'd hoped that he'd feel a rush of strength after winning again, but he did not. It was a win that he'd always expected of himself. How could it feel revolutionary when it was the same kind of outcome for the past several months?
But if nothing else, beating up a faceless enemy like this was more than doable. Even if he didn't take any pleasure from doing so, this was something he could do. Like a chore. So that's what he'd do. No need to improve and test his limits anymore. If time came for any serious challenges, then there was already someone else who was far more qualified to take his place. It was shameful, he knew. But he was sure for people whose lives were on the line, they'd be happier to know that Amagi would be at the helm rather than him.
Yes, he thought. That's exactly what he would do. While he feigned a smile and let Unicorn drag him to the canteen, he let all these convictions settle to the bottom of his mind to seep in. It'd save him a lot of trouble later on.
—
"-,
"When I asked for you to write, this wasn't the letter I wanted to get back. How is a mother supposed to feel after reading these things after not hearing anything for several months? What am I supposed to say, thousands of miles away, that would reassure both you and me?
"Even now, it seems like I hardly know you. Every time you marched home and into your room and locked the door, do you understand the anguish I felt when you wouldn't leave even for dinner? I knocked on your door multiple times, and you'd never answer. Only by resorting to threats did you finally come out, sullen and angry. And you'd never tell me anything. 'Nothing' happened in school, 'nothing' happened at lunch, 'nothing, nothing, nothing.'
"And there's this sinking feeling I have, wondering if you are still that way even now. Are you still putting your burdens on others, pushing others away? Are you still selfishly putting your own feelings above others? Are you still the same person that ignored your mother's pleas to open up?
"Have I failed in my job as a parent? I feel like I tried everything I could. I want to say that it's your fault, but it seems like you still partly blame me and your dad. I don't know. What should I do? Is there anything left you can ask of me that'd help you?
"I'm being hypocritical. I shouldn't be telling you all this, hiding away all I felt when you did the same. That's part of being a parent, I suppose. Even now, while you're living life far away from us, perhaps never to visit again, I can't help but worry and be meddlesome. But I can't deny that I'm tired, either. It frightens me that even after everything, after I put in 120 percent, you'll still look back and think that I didn't do a good job in raising you. But at the same time, I don't think I can continue this anymore. I can't be there forever to comfort you, especially since now you're an adult too. It's about time you learned to fend for yourself. And it's time for me to focus on things besides you.
"You're always welcome back home at any time. It's just that I want to get a letter back with good news in the future. Something that will calm my worried mind. An engagement. A fulfilling job. Even some babble about your favorite book that just came out. I think I deserve at least that, no?
"I'm sorry for leaving things like this. You'll forgive your selfish mother, won't you?"
—
The commander read the letter. Then he read it again. The words didn't seem to make any sense in his brain. The words all had definitions he knew, but the combination of them made absolute nonsense. Despite that, he had a sinking feeling knowing that they didn't mean any good.
On the third attempt, he understood with perfect clarity. He folded up the letter along its creases and slid it back into the envelope it came in, and stacked it in the middle drawer of his desk where he kept his important personal effects. As if it never was opened save for the slit along the top of the envelope. His hands finally began to shake as he closed the drawer shut.
Was this all some sort of cruel joke? Did anybody else find it funny to just stack everything on top of him at the same time and watch him struggle? He already asked that question before.
His life seemed so unnecessarily painful. It all seemed difficult for all these events to come down this way. Why couldn't his enemies be evil and irredeemable? He hated Amagi for taking away the one thing he had going for him, but he couldn't hate Amagi because she showed him so much kindness. He hated his mom for saying those things that cut him down to the bone, but couldn't hate the person who raised him with more effort than he could've asked of anybody. And the Sirens, at this stage, were still a complete joke.
He supposed, the only person he could really blame was himself. Again.
The commander looked at the only other person in the office with him. Unicorn was slouched over A Tale of Two Cities, trying her best to continue on by herself. He guessed that she had already forgotten about the declaration she made last night to listen to everything he had to say. It definitely wasn't fair of him to use that to spill all of the bitterness on his mind to her, but he decided to be selfish. If his mother could spew poison, then he could too.
And if nothing else, it would be a warning for her to keep her distance from him. For what she signed up for when she made a promise like that. So the commander pushed his work to the side, and began to draft another letter.
—
Outside, the sky was clear and bright despite yesterday's dark gloom. Although still chilly, it was still some rare and excellent weather to go outside and catch some sun rays in the pivot between winter and spring. Many took this chance to do so, and began to trickle out of their warm and insulated homes and stretch. Even though the unlimited outdoors were not physically necessary for anybody to live and grow, introverts and extroverts alike felt restless and on edge from being cooped up indoors. Whether it be starting up a spontaneous game of hide and seek, organizing a game of baseball, or taking a long stroll, everyone was simply glad to be out and about.
Bremerton was at said baseball game in the stands, watching Intrepid pitch. Over the din of the crowd that came with the crack of the bat, she felt her pocket buzz. The notifications on her phone made her groan internally. Duty called. Bremerton made a mental note to apologize to Intrepid for not seeing the game through later, and typed out, "I'm free right now. Where do you want to meet?"
—
The commander had asked Bremerton to meet at the same place they once met so long ago, at the tables and benches near her dorms. But instead of meeting in the dead of the night, it was afternoon; where the ambience once had been nothing but the wind and crickets, one could hear the distant roar of the baseball game and the incessant giggles and laughs of the participants in the hide and seek game. As she waited, Bremerton was content to watch one destroyer frantically look about for a spot to hide, and then dive under a table. Unfortunately, it did little to conceal her, and she was found amongst shouts of surprise and squealing.
After the giggles died down, everyone in the game seemed confident that there were none left hidden, and parted together in search for others.
The commander and Unicorn arrived soon after, with Unicorn following a couple paces behind him. She carried a large book, while the commander wore an expression heavy with weariness. Bremerton rose to greet them.
"Heya, Unicorn. Long time no see. How have you been doing?" she asked, crouching down to match her height.
Unicorn looked down and started to study the concrete slab she was standing on.
Bremerton smiled and ruffled Unicorn's hair before standing up to face the commander. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"
"I, ah, it's a personal matter," he mumbled, his scowl giving way to sheepishness. "Unicorn, do you mind if we have a private conversation?"
Unicorn flickered her glance between him and Bremerton but eventually decided that he was in good hands, and went to find a good place in the shade to read, out of earshot.
The remaining duo sat down, and the commander passed a letter to Bremerton after a brief moment.
"What is this?" she asked.
"It's a letter I wrote. To Unicorn, in the heat of the moment. I want you to read it, and tell me if I should give it to her."
Bremerton considered the unsealed envelope in her hands, and his serious expression. "I'm not going to lie, I'm worried about what this letter means. All out of the blue, asking for an ultimatum. It's not a suicide letter, is it?"
"It's nothing… serious. I just need a second opinion. Every bit of me wants to just get this load off my mind. And since Unicorn asked to hear me out, to know what was bothering me, this—" he gestured to the letter in her hands, "—is what it is. All the poison that I could fit on a couple pages until I repeated myself. And I can't seem to decide whether or not I should give her what she wants, or spare her from my own troubles. So I want your opinion." He was unable to meet Bremerton's eyes while talking, instead intently focusing on the lines and swirls in the woodgrains of the picnic table.
She took a moment to think. "Alright. I'll read your letter."
"Okay."
"But I'm not going to tell you whether or not you should give your letter to Unicorn. I'm going to work with whatever you had to say, and try to help you get through it."
The commander was silent.
"Commander?"
He rubbed at his eyes and sighed irritably. "Fine."
Bremerton frowned. "You don't sound 'fine.' Tell me what's happening."
He looked into her face, the first time they'd met, and he didn't attempt to conceal his frustration. "No, everything I could say is better put in that letter. It's fine."
Dumbfounded by his uncharacteristic response, Bremerton could only watch as he got up and walked away. She could only look between the envelope in her hands and Unicorn, who was so engrossed in her book that she didn't notice that he was gone. Bremerton was tempted to get up and stop him, but instead remained seated and began to read. She did not feel terror or horror, but instead a deep settled feeling of unsettlement, and wondered if perhaps she finally bit off more than she could chew.
—
A/N: I must sound like a looped song at this point, but this is another late chapter. I hoped that 2021 would began off a better start, but it seems like that's not the case. It's strange, but 2020 as a whole treated me better than 2021. I won't fill too much of your time with this hooptedoodle, but I'll get to responding to all your reviewers from last chapter as soon as possible. Hopefully by tomorrow. I thank you all for staying with me. I especially appreciate the reviewers who are able to empathize with the main character. I feel that the earlier chapters are unable to convey this effectively, and even now I'm not sure if I am doing a passable job. When I reread, I only get a sense that I'm writing tired tropes, stilted conversations, and uninspired characters. Your reviews give me hope that I'm doing something correctly.
Thanks for staying with me, through thick and thin. I'll try to get another chapter out in one month intervals. Be good to yourselves, and I'll do my best to be good to myself as well.
