Queen of War
Author's note: PMMM and its characters are intellectual properties of SHAFT, and the cursed author by the name of Urobuchi Gen.
Watching as the ration tins heat up, she knows she's trapped, and this trap, bound to another trap, which led to yet another trap, would just ensnare her until everything dissociates into nothing in the end.
Wake up. That's the first mistake. Transform. Mistake two. Flub her meeting with Madoka because her heart fusses up her script, which should have been all too easy to read out loud from repetition. Mistake three. The list of mistakes keeps going on, and while Grief Seeds physically sustain her, Akemi Homura knew that she was nearing another limit.
Homura made sure to assess herself, her opponents, as well as any other potential actors for their abilities and limits. Magical Girls were meant to be better than humans, physically speaking. Like an enhanced version of the Human species, MGs were more physically resilient, flexible and strong as well as mentally sharp against what would be considered as supernatural opponents, or essentially, Witches.
But that didn't mean Magical Girls were any less human, in spite of timeline after timeline of Sayaka's death throes. If anything, the heightened mental fluctuation, as well as the lack of psychological conditioning on part of MGs led to a few things: Mismatched wishes (not that they should have made their wishes, thought Akemi bitterly, if they didn't want to become her fuel cells.), vulnerability to psychological distress and therefore critical and very often, fatal breakdowns during battle or normal situations, and of course, the nigh-weakness of MGs to fall into anarchy against each other. Mami's flintlock, Sayaka's sabre, or even Homura's own pistol- the untrained, unconditioned mind can only wield so much power before it starts abusing it, and too often, leading to its own demise.
(That's why you don't smuggle guns for rich bored kids or Yakuzas- the slightest disagreement ends in collective bloodshed, and Walpurgisnacht would just become more powerful from all the negativity and deaths. But then again, Homura supposed with a humourless grin, where would she get her arms? She opened the final tin with finesse, and began her dinner yet again alone.)
Akemi Homura knew them all too well; hundreds of time loops left scars, and scars proved experiences. But the scars were beginning to accumulate, and like glass, strong but brittle, her mind can only sustain so many weak points before it shatters, letting Walpurgisnacht reign free upon Earth, and more importantly, failing Madoka, her Madoka of all people. The Madoka that became concerned over her pale thinness. The Madoka whose smile made her heart clench. The Madoka that just can't hold it in her skirt and had to go save the fucking-
Her appetite was bad enough already, and the thought only reinforced that. Only Madoka's kind words could convince her that she needed to eat, and so unwillingly, she began feeding upon surplus JSDF rations. Chicken and vegetables, tuna, rice and radish, all slightly hot and generally tasteless. Everything seemed tasteless nowadays. When is "nowadays", anyway?
Fighting would break her; yet she would break if she chose not to fight. She wished for it, and in the depths of sorrow and pain, her wish for Madoka was often the final trench. Sometimes she would scream in her own apartment, where in silence broken pottery and glass, thrown in anger and frustration would witness how her love stung; sometimes empty glances in the mirror, eyes long dull and emotionless reminded Homura of how close she was constantly at the edge of caving in.
It was irreparable; it was in desperate need of repair. Shooting herself with the Type 89 only ended in a jammed rifle, four empty magazines and exactly 121 wounds all over her body. Shooting every other single Witch out of existence only ends in a destroyed city, contracted or dead Madoka and yet another victorious Walpurgisnacht.
Akemi tried to make plans, to rectify mistake after mistake. The plans always vary, but in the end they're always the same. One month of spacetime continuum offered astronomical amounts of variables, but Homura knew half of them by heart already, and she was convinced, after two specific time loops, that the direction from which a few milligrams of dust motes were blown would not significantly alter the outcome of events.
She had become desperate. Hoping against hope was the last resort, yet in the hopeless scheme of things, it offered hope, however slim its portions were. Her access of weapons was meagre, and countless tactics, from assault to infiltration, between wolfpack and single had failed.
And then, after scaring Madoka further from herself for having executed another cute, slanderous, fluffy and absolutely deplorable-beyond-words Qyuubey, Akemi Homura was taken away in the middle of nibbling down her JSDF type 1 ration in her own apartment.
Homura knew this had to be a Magical Girl job, because scenes do not change so suddenly except for teleportation, and her magic was suppressed by some pressure on her left arm.
Slight dampness and cold. An underground interrogation room, bare concrete, but nicely lighted and fitted judging by the furniture quality, however bland they may be. But Homura cared only for time, and time, her control of time, did not work somehow. In fact, she was capable of nothing except hearing and looking dead forward into a shadow of a figure, at a polarised piece of glass.
"Xiao Han, I think we went over this more than once. She is our guest, and we intend to befriend her." An argument amongst kidnappers? Really? Were it not for her situation, she would have silently enjoyed this palette of black humour.
"Ke shi-"
"I'll handle it from here, but you did your part... acceptably. Get some rest."
Then, the pressure on her left arm released, and she could move freely again-
Backup OTs-21 out, Weaver Stance, left right centre, aim for weak points-
"We only want to talk with you, Miss Akemi." Male voice. Whoever it was had the polarised window on its side, obscuring its position whilst highlighting hers.
Good, and bad. Common commercial-grade Plexiglass was usually meant to stop pistol rounds, but her backup pistol was loaded with Tungsten carbide-core ammunition. No problem about penetration. On the other hand, she was without cover. The table was bolted to the ground, and she could not stop time just to erect it as cover, judging by its thinness.
Not unlike you, really. Why do you think your love would be reciprocated? She knew she was another inch closer to breaking down.
"No one in this entire complex wants to hurt you, Akemi Homura. In fact, we want to help."
V, she called the voice, may plead for all they want, but unless she could somehow leverage this "Hsiao Han" as hostage against V, she found no reason to trust them. Especially when they dashed her entire plan against Walpurgisnacht, and saving Madoka. Violently crashing into her supplying time and therefore, dashing her time-sensitive plan was, anything but helpful.
"You want to defeat Walpurgisnacht and expel Incubators from Mitakihara. We want to assist you towards this cause."
It was a tense minute, and however calm he may talk, Zhang was anything but on the inside. His mission, and of course, his organisation's plans relied on him being able to talk the time-traveler over without creating further, unnecessary antagonism.
"Miss, Akemi, you have every right to doubt us. Every MG who we first approach does that." The barrel went down just an inch or two for a moment, and promptly went back up.
"Who are you? Another Incubator?"
"We are those who defy them, Miss Akemi, and I am one of their agents. As a gesture of sincerity, I will put down my defences, and I hope you may hear what I have to say. " This V, Homura surmised, did not go against his words, for the time being. The lights turned on in full force, and the glass shield was smoothly raised up.
"That means stand down, Xiao Han." An East Asian man, in his thirties walked up to Homura, clad in a matching dark grey suit. Behind him, a young girl dressed in navy blue secretary wear, at most 14, apprehensively turned back into normal clothing- a tracksuit without the least regard for aesthetics, a specialty of Chinese school uniforms so infamous, even Homura had managed to know by gossip.
"My name is Zhang Weiheng."
Silence. There is nothing to believe, only obstacles to overcome-
"To save Madoka, that is your wish. Put your weapon down, and we will achieve the goal," this Zhang agent figure stressed, "equally and together."
This gained a sneer from the weary young woman. "Information asymmetry and logistical reach worked well for Incubators." A not-so-veiled jab at what appeared to be some secret state, or even extraterritorial entity that might be yet another cruel trickster.
"Understandable." Zhang held a neutral expression. "We'll do this another way." One step, aim for the heart-
Homura felt all her training and defences failed again, in what seemed to be already a failed timeline.
Homura found herself again at the meeting room, except she was sitting at the meeting table. Seated, Zhang faced her in a formal posture.
"It was my judgement call to try to approach you personally, but our conflict forced me to fall back on conventional procedure, namely, mental projection. I apologise for failing to present our sincerity in our wish to cooperate equally with you."
Shit, even her consciousness was compromised?
"This is a non-invasive procedure, like watching television", as if she could turn away from it and get back to Mitakihara and finally turn everything right and save Madoka-
"but since this is mandatory information, Miss Akemi, even if you'd prefer to think us as your enemy, I suggest you listen for now." Zhang drank slightly from a steaming gaudy, almost archaic white mug at his right. For once, Akemi found him right.
She was still going to shoot him in his face after this, however.
"I am Agent Zhang Weiheng of the East Asian Administration Security Organisation Department 17." Oh goddamn it, as if MGs weren't enough, geopolitics had to come in.
"We have nothing to do with geopolitics, Miss Akemi. Department 17 shields Magical Girls, or MGs, so to speak, against Incubators, until their potential runs out and can lead normal lives again. To be fair, your apathy to regional politics is quite understandable."
Another sip, though this carried some air of self-assurance. That of the boasting drunk. "Typically, MGs can't live long on their own, and hunting alliances shatter quickly. We provide resources, training and assistance to counter this, and therefore, save as many as possible from Incubators' tyranny upon Humanity."
Being "sat" to a chair in her own mind, Homura found these words to strike her core. Her assessments stood concrete, but too many questions flooded her. Flooding Zhang with questions, on the other hand, made her vulnerable, and she had to project whatever shred of power she still had. The tables may be imbalanced, but hell if she would sit this through.
"Whatever questions you may have, Miss Akemi," he handed her a tablet computer, "answers will be shown here once you think of questions. We understand it seems too good for you, and there's too much to take for now. While we have time, your plan to accomplish your wish does not, so I suggest you read quickly."
So Homura started reading.
If what the document says is to be believed, then a Magical Girl, by the name of Haneda Kaoko from Hokkaido had wished for a group that would help magical girls to fight, win against their curse and live normal lives again. While she disappeared about two years after, her wish had stood the test of time. The combined powers of magic and political convenience meant few questions were asked about Department 17, supposedly one of EAA's joint internal security apparatus in a turbulent world of 2030s. Officially, it was indeed a department belonging to the security wing of EAA, but not important enough for EAA member states to actually scrutinise, which ended up an ideal arrangement for everyone.
Department 17 was divided according to its parameters: MG training, joint support, intelligence, direct intervention, production and regional liaisons. As a hallmark of Haneda's fortunate choice of words when she made her wish, Department 17 will automatically establish background knowledge of every MG when one is detected. Knowing MGs' wishes allowed 17 to help them, and consenting MGs under the governance of 17 were expected to utilise the shadow bureaucracy's resources and training to organise local MGs into a cohesive, mutual-support unit, as well as maintaining essential Department 17 infrastructure in their unit's assigned region.
The fact that Mitakihara did not have a 17 Branch was explained away by its legal status as Japan's Special Administrative Region, as an experiment in East Asian integration. Ironically, EAASO, an umbrella security bureau covering China, the two Koreas, Vietnam, Singapore and Japan, could not directly work in the city owing to legal ratification gaps.
"Playing Gestapo is irrelevant to my goal." She was trapped, bound and most of all, irritated. The only reason why she had not rewound time again was somehow her magic failed to work.
"Irrelevant indeed," quipped Zhang as he motioned her to read on. "because we simply want to finish your plan. Your targets align with ours, and we'll make sure you survive till the day you can retire from being MG."
Screw it. Homura tossed the tablet on the table.
Screw it, screw it, screw it. She might as well treat this as an oddity before everything fucks itself up, and she becomes alone again, rewinding month after month, until…
"Give me the terms and conditions."
By normal standards, Akemi Homura was a self-made genius of subterfuge, reconnaissance and assault: A one-woman commando. In this case, it meant Akemi Homura knew when someone lied, or gave less information than what constituted as assessable and decision-informing truths. After all, she had way too much practice with Incubators.
It also meant, that Akemi Homura couldn't spot this Agent, at least, was bearing ill-intent, despite his earlier actions.
"Our request is simple: Work as our Mitakihara liaison until you're 18. Throughout our deal, you are expected to support and organize local MGs in accordance to our Department's principles. In return, you and consenting MGs in your liaison will receive whatever aid, training and if necessary, intervention you may request from us, so long it is within reason."
Zhang motioned to the tablet once again, "the details are all included in this tablet, and as a fairly experienced field agent, I recommend you read it over before you approve or reject our proposition."
She was still unconvinced. "All MGs I know can either supply for themselves until they die, or they're already dead."
If Zhang was in the least offended, he did not show it. "But you are still vulnerable without Grief Seeds, and Incubators still scourge your city." He sighed. "Read the details, Miss Akemi. But I am willing to say that we have initial solutions against both problems, and you fit snugly into our offensive against Incubators."
Maybe they really struggled to break the MG Cycle. Combat records, neuro-quantum physical advances… "If you have free tickets for unlimited magic, why me? Why take on Walpurgisnacht?" Some details were still missing. "Why not conscript young girls and have them to wish against anyth-"
Maybe Homura exuded that before; but she found out silent anger was a lot more powerful when she was the target.
"We are not Incubators, Akemi Homura. We are not those things."
"For Magical Girls, we fight against them. We war against anything." But Zhang was quick to collect himself. "Read over the details in the tablet. You may sign to agree or reject to our terms," he stood from his chair. "I shall see you shortly to collect the tablet. Charge it full before returning it to us."
And Homura woke up, only to find her rations were still warm, a mere three seconds had passed according to her wall-mounted clock, and that a tablet computer with its charging cable had made its way to her desk, branding documents, terms and words that should not exist in a civilian's domicile.
