Hello again! I hope everyone is enjoying 2018 so far!

RECAP:
- The rebels have returned to the resistance. Feliks, Tori, Gilbert and Roderich are now their prisoners. Kari has reunited with Lukas, and Matthew and Elizabeta are also aware of his and Emilia's presence.
- The remaining pirates and bounty hunters are planning to get to Nyma to save their friends. First, however, they must go to Rela to find a contact of Roderich's to help them. Arthur is highly wanted there, but has a contact who may help him enter the planet
- Lovino and Feliciano have started to get to know their neighbour Vash a bit more.

NAMES:
Aelia Gabras: Byzantine Empire
Jamael Laroussi: Algeria
Octavia Papadopoulos: Ancient Greece
Ehsan Karimi: Iran
Mohammed Hassan: Egypt
Zev Batbayaryn: Mongolia

It was hard to come up with a name for Mongolia, as many Mongolian people don't really have surnames. So I just adapted a first name to make it a surname. To any Mongolians out there, I hope that's okay!

Szwicza District,
Bibesti, Rela
3rd Marrch

Getting to know Vash was a little bit like getting to know a 'no-go' area. You had to quickly learn what was acceptable to do and say. Should you make a mistake, you risked paying for it in a big way. Lovino was careful enough that he and Feliciano never discovered what should happen if they did make a mistake. Vash was a perennially calm person; he was controlled and never even raised his voice. But there was a danger around him which Lovino could almost see. It lingered in the shadows in his green eyes, and in the poised, fluid way he moved. It spoke volumes through the bags under his eyes, the weapons he carried concealed on his body – which Lovino was only aware of because of his telekinesis – and was visible with every loud noise from the street below their apartment block that had the blonde's fingers itching to grab a weapon and silence the noise. Perhaps most notably, it was present in the bloodstains which he couldn't quite remove from some of his clothes.

When he had first seen Vash wearing a white shirt with a small, reddish-brown stain on the hem, Lovino had simply paused and commented that, should he want to remove bloodstains properly, soap and cold water did the trick. The next time he saw that same shirt on his neighbour's body, the stains had vanished. Even Feliciano, who didn't possess Lovino's same skill at reading people, had guessed that Vash wasn't a person to be pushed, pressed or rubbed the wrong way. An afternoon spent asking around in Szwicza's darker, more dangerous corners was all that Lovino had needed to verify that Vash hadn't been completely honest with them. 'Information broker and arms dealer'. That was what he had told them he did for a living.

For the most part, it was correct. He certainly did do those things. But they weren't the brunt of his operations. It had taken a fair amount of pressing, and a good hour or so, to get the answer. He remembered the shifty, almost frightened look that the man telling him had had on his face at the mention of Vash. No information broker or arms dealer would attract so much fear from one person. Perhaps if he was involved in a wider crime syndicate or mob, but Lovino had already determined that Vash wasn't. It had taken every ounce of sweet-talking that Lovino had in him to dig up the answer.

It wasn't surprising, but far from ideal. Try as he might to convince them otherwise, Vash Zwingli was an assassin. A skilled one, too, if the rumours were to be believed. It tied up all of the loose ends which Vash had been trailing, in Lovino's mind. Of course, there was still a plethora of information that he didn't have and would probably need to continue successfully being acquainted with Vash Zwingli, but for now, he had what he wanted.

Lovino wouldn't, and couldn't, have even begun to assume what endgame Vash had in mind for him and Feliciano. There was a chance, certainly, that he was some sort of lonely soul who wanted a friend, but Lovino doubted it. If Vash was anything like him (and he suspected they had a great deal in common), he would rather have remained alone than gone to virtual strangers for companionship. So, their mere friendship was out of the question.

Had he not already established himself as an assassin that left almost no trace, Lovino may have guessed that he wanted some accomplice or friend to help with any disposal of evidence. But before he had met him and gone digging around for information, Lovino never would have suspected he was any sort of hardened killer. Besides, he hadn't told them he was an assassin anyway. Judging from that, he wouldn't exactly go around asking for assistance (not that Lovino would necessarily deny him should he ask for it – there were few things Lovino wouldn't do nowadays). So, definitely not for any help in his profession.

There…were times if Lovino questioned whether or not he had been cautious enough in hiding their appearances. Their hair was the dead giveaway, and was concealed, yes, but other aspects of Lovino and Feliciano's appearances still pointed towards Syhvvanian heritage. Their skin was a rich olive tone – common to Syhvva, and seen in a majority of it's inhabitants. Thankfully, their cover story of being Jhobrasian tied up this loose end; Jhobrasians had browned skin just like they did. No, really, the most damning part of their appearances, as they currently stood, were their eyes.

Of all the inhabitants of the Free Courts, Syhvvanian people stood out the most. Feliciano's eyes were a bright, distinct golden colour, like that of saffron, or dirty gold. Lovino's were even more incriminating, with their rich, intense amber shade. Vash had already shown an immense interest in them after he'd saved him from Sadik, as he remembered all too well. He knew that the blonde was intelligent. It might only be so long before he connected the dots, if he hadn't done so already.

Now that he was actually acquainted with Vash, Lovino seemed to run into him everywhere. In the lobby, in town when he was buying food, at the markets on the weekend…everywhere. It seemed unbelievable that he hadn't got to know the assassin earlier. Either Lovino wasn't as observant of the people around him as he thought he was…or there was something else at play here.

Lovino tended to trust his intuition a lot. It had never really let him down before, so he had faith in his own ability to judge a situation correctly. He knew that there were several reasons why these consistent encounters could potentially be happening. Vash wasn't someone he'd ever recalled seeing at the markets, or in stores around Szwicza before. Now that he knew his face, Lovino could recall instances in which he'd seen him in gun and weaponry stores, but never really anywhere else. So, the fact that he was showing up in these places that Lovino frequented, well, there was really no doubt about it.

Vash was following him. Lovino didn't know why, or for how long he had been doing it, but he knew it was happening. And he was almost burning with curiosity over why. He was so caught up in the idea that he was having trouble sleeping. Knowing that you have an assassin as a stalker didn't really help much either. He hadn't told Feliciano about it; his brother hadn't learned to hide his emotions yet, and his naivete was sometimes an invaluable tool. It was better for him to not know.

At least, that was what Lovino told himself when guilt gripped him. Despite knowing each other's deepest secrets, despite growing up together and taking on the galaxy, despite the trust that existed between them, Lovino seemed doomed to continue lying to his brother.

Resistance Headquarters,
Draak-Zafi Forra, Nyma,
4th Marrch

It had been what? A week? Maybe a little less, since they had arrived here. Feliks was already sick of it. Their cell was not so empty as it had been before; the rebels had given them each a surprisingly comfortable but rather flat mattress to sleep on, and some clean clothes. Their others, which they'd been wearing for almost two weeks, were washed and, unsurprisingly, not returned to them. Feliks supposed he couldn't really complain. It had been a little awkward the first few days, working out how to live in such close quarters with Roderich, Gilbert and Tori, but once they had figured out basic protocol for certain things (like politely turning away when Tori was changing, etc), it had become more comfortable. They had, in fact, been checked on by a lovely medic named Kabeeta after Matthew had left them in their cell. Roderich had been cleared with only a concussion, and Feliks had been given painkillers for the healing wounds in his stomach. She had checked on them to get updates on how they were feeling twice since then, and Feliks couldn't even get mad at her like he could with the other rebels; she was too nice to them.

As time passed, Feliks found himself having difficulty even being truly angry at the rebels. They gave them three square meals a day, fresh water frequently, clean clothes and treated them with basic decency. Feliks had been detained many times before, but this was by far his most pleasant experience. Really, the rebels didn't have any use for them other than as a money-making scheme. They didn't need information from them, and they didn't want revenge for anything, so they were being left alone. A part of Feliks had feared that they may torment them nonetheless, but nothing of the sort happened. There was an armed guard keeping watch, but whoever it was, they almost never spoke, except to ask if they needed water, or food, or anything else. It…wasn't good, but it certainly wasn't bad either.

It got almost ridiculously hot during the day. Obviously, being inside, they were spared most of the heat, but it still radiated through the walls, and by the time the sun finally started to set, they felt more like they were inside a sauna than in a cell. Judging by the hot gusts of air that traversed the hallway outside sometimes, they had it pretty good. Feliks doubted that many of the buildings around here had air conditioning. The view outside the prison had been hard to see, because the sunlight was causing such a bright glare on the ground, but when the sun started to sink below the horizon, it was easier to tell what sort of area they were in.

Through the distant openings, they could see scorched earth typical of a desert (which they had expected), tents, some groups of people walking by, and parts of the ground. Not much else was visible. They could at least tell, though, that what they had tripped over on their way in were, in fact, tree roots. It had shocked Feliks. Each of the roots looked about as thick as a ventilation pipe – like the type seen in large warehouses – which he assumed was a good indicator as to the size of the tree. They must be dozens of metres tall.

Being locked up was starting to bring back memories for him. It had been years since the first time he'd been put behind bars. He still remembered it well; he'd stolen some food for himself, since his own family couldn't really afford it – and when they could, he got very little anyway – and he'd been caught by a passer-by and arrested. He'd only been about 10 at the time. He'd been let off, thankfully – something in Pyndaph's criminal code which stated that stealing food for survival was not an indictable offense – but he had paid the price anyway. He'd suffered an inch-deep gash in his right shoulder, courtesy of Melek, which had been severe enough to scar; he still had the mark today.

Since that first time, he had been in and out of detention centres dozens of times. His crimes ranged from stealing to vandalism to even assault occasioning bodily harm. His criminal record followed him from Pyndaph to Reycass, which he moved to aged only 14, after his Aunt Sera was hospitalised there. In Krios, his reputation as a public nuisance and delinquent had only increased, with some law enforcers knowing him by name before he had even been on Reycass for a year.

It had been his last stint in prison, at the ripe age of 15, when his life had finally started looking up. After being released, having served about 7 months for stabbing a predatory jackass who'd taken to stalking him, he had traversed down through the Krios District, and immediately began to pickpocket any and all unwary patrons of the area. Matthias, then only 18, had been the only one to notice Feliks' hands passing through his pockets. Instead of calling for the police, he'd asked the blonde to join him for lunch.

The rest was history, as they had gradually become friends, and started to make a name for themselves in the bounty hunting industry. Gilbert and Louise joined them, having already been frequent work partners of Matthias, as did an initially reluctant Alfred. Francis, fresh out of the mixing pot that South-Eastern Xexei had become, joined them not long after. Antonio approached them rather than the other way around, and had been happily added to their ranks. Berwald had decided to join a life of crime more out of necessity than desire, and had been their most recent addition before Ivan joined them as well over a year ago. They may have been a large group, but their cohesion and teamwork had quickly helped them bond. Feliks was grateful to have all of them as friends. Even if he and Gilbert fought constantly, and Ivan was nothing short of a total creep. Even if Francis' rants about pirates got on his nerves and Berwald barely spoke to him. They were his friends.

If they didn't come to help them, Feliks swore that he would break himself out and kill them all. Hell, they even had a notoriously wealthy pirate with them who could pay for the bounty that the Resistance had decided on for them. Apparently, it had initially been around 30,000 marks for each of them, amounting to a pretty sum of 120,000 marks in total. If rumours were to be believed, it was the bargaining on the behalf of Alfred's freaky doppelganger (and likely brother) Matthew which had helped lower their going rate. Now, their friends would only be busting out 25,000 for each of them. Not much of a difference, but it would save them a good 20,000 marks.

He turned his head to the side. The four of them were all sitting on the floor of the cell, not really having much else to do. Of the four of them, Tori seemed to be taking their imprisonment the worst. She'd lived her whole life free. Yes, it might have been on Aralos, but it was still freedom. She had never had to be confined before, save for maybe when she left Daerna, and for the first few days, it had really gotten to her. She had calmed down a lot since then, and was tolerating their conditions, albeit unhappily, but it was far better than the first few days had been. She had done so much yelling, frowning, near-crying and pacing that Feliks had almost tried to give himself a concussion like Roderich. He had tried to be sympathetic, but she had just turned her impressive lungs on him, and he'd quickly aborted that course of action.

He had no idea if their friends would come for them, and he had no idea if the rebels would even release them if they did. Matthew, who had come back to speak with them about it, and had seemed uncomfortable when they'd started asking too many questions about their bail, and getting released. It was clear that there was some sort of disagreement going on between the high-ranking officers in the Resistance, and their subordinate soldiers who had captured them in the first place.

He could only hope that the half-decent rebels they'd met like Matthew managed to push through.

If murder was legal, Matthew swore he would have committed it already. Killing someone on the battlefield wasn't the same; that he'd done in plenty. No, he was talking about pulling a gun from his belt and shooting someone in the face because they were annoying him.

Unfortunately for him, the person who was currently being so difficult was Vice-General Octavia Papadopoulos, which made his thoughts of bloody murder more than a little mutinous in nature. Before he'd been promoted to the position of Captain, he hadn't understood Yao's seemingly endless quarrels with her and Vice-Generals Laroussi, Gabras and Karimi. The Yanishman had constantly been frustrated with them, and muttered fairly unflattering things under his breath frequently. Matthew, as an outsider in that regard, had thought that they didn't seem so bad.

Now, however, had Yao proposed they kill them all, Matthew would have happily volunteered.

He understood, of course, that Octavia Papadopoulos was of Daernic heritage. He understood that she likely knew many people whose lives had been ruined or freedom stolen by pirates and bounty hunters. That didn't mean that what she was proposing to do with their current captives was in any way acceptable.

"It would teach them a lesson!" she declared, eyes narrowed. Of those who were currently present, Matthew could see several distinct groups. They were present in every discussion, debate and meeting the resistance had. In a sense, though every rebel had the same goal; fuck the Union up as much as physically possible; they held different loyalties.

First, there were those who nodded and murmured in agreement with everything that Papadopoulos said. They were the ones she had won over long before this conversation had even started, the ones who voted in her favour in all decisions, and made Yao's job so much harder. They were the ones who, like her, disliked that Yao led their movement. They were, like Vice-General Papadopoulos, completely idiotic, self-serving bastards. Of course, Papadopoulos was invested and loyal to the Resistance, but she was always trying to further her own agenda within it. This group of people were the ones helping her do such a thing. Sadly, for people like Matthew, who held faith with Yao, their numbers were slowly but surely increasing.

Secondly, there were those who stood in the neutral ground. Those who were devoted purely to their cause, and refrained from taking sides between their leader and any potential challengers. These rebels voted with their own morals, ideas and goals in mind, and currently, were the only thing stopping Papadopoulos from overpowering Yao's influence.

Thirdly, there were rebels like Matthew, who sided with Yao's viewpoint on the war, and liked to take a more rational, and less passionate route. As Yao often said, "Acting out in passion or anger destroys our sense of control and calm." Papadopoulos had a severe agenda against anything that was remotely reminiscent of the Union, whereas Yao, having previously lived under it's influence, could understand the multi-layered and complex organisation and industry that it was. There was a clear distinction between the two. Yao took the time to understand their enemy, and so could formulate plans and ideas that not only deconstructed plans they were carrying out now, but also those that they were planning to carry out in the future. Papadopoulos acted out in passion, and didn't think plans through. She approved any mission which would be detrimental to the Union, failing to consider the potential loss of life which it could result in.

Matthew hated the Union too, of course he did, but it wasn't some black and white battle they were fighting. There were good people in the resistance, and good ones in the Union, just as there were bad people both among the Union and the rebels themselves. Papadopoulos had never liked Yao, not from the second he'd arrived, according to the man himself. But with a spy among their ranks, a dangerous secret to keep and distrust everywhere, Matthew could see that they were reaching a tipping point.

He had to stifle a groan as he saw the dark-haired figure who had just entered their command tent. Major Zev Batbayaryn was a good speaker, and was always, without fail, on Octavia's side. He seemed to be almost as desperate for a promotion and change of rank as Papadopoulos was, and if the Vice-General ended up getting her way, he would likely receive one. Matthew had never been fond of him. He was from the Kyrs System, just like Yao, but because he was from Nocza, which had stood against the Union until the day they were annexed, he wasn't treated with the same, blatant racism and disrespect as Yao. He was Papadopoulos' favourite subordinate, something which he knew, and made sure everyone else knew. The fact that he was here, obviously to support her views, was as disquieting as ever.

Especially considering what her views were. Matthew was no angel, and didn't consider himself innocent or pure by any standards, but what she was suggesting was just evil.

As it stood, the decision which had been made concerning their captives was that a bail be set for them, and their friends given the opportunity to pay to free them, with no consequences. They were to be treated humanely until their friends made a move to retrieve them. It was a good conclusion, which left both parties happy. The pirates had their friends back, and the rebels would be a good 100,000 marks richer. However, as it was a proposition made by Yao, Papadopoulos felt the need to call a debate over the issue, which was why they were all here now.

It was Papadopoulos' opinion that, in order to discourage Kirkland's band of pirates and their bounty hunter friends from interacting with the resistance again, they should torture their captives in order to get more money out of the criminals, and then kill them regardless.

It was beyond horrifying. Even from the standpoint of a total newcomer to the situation, the idea sounded vicious and twisted. Having spent time with the four they'd captured, fought alongside them…well, Matthew just didn't have it in him to do such a thing, or even let it happen. His conscience wouldn't allow him to. Sure, he wasn't all buddy-buddy with any of them, but after going so far on Galee to save their lives, Matthew knew he would never be able to contribute to then ending them. Papadopoulos' idea was based off the savage rage that filled her from a fellow Daernic rebel being kidnapped and imprisoned. It didn't matter that Elizabeta hadn't really been harmed by the pirates, and that Matthew and the others had freed her anyway. Octavia was too far gone in her investment in this whole situation. Honestly, Matthew thought it was ridiculous. She hadn't even seen their prisoners, yet she was willing to condemn them to death. This, in Matthew's mind, was why Yao had been elected leader of the Resistance when Arshad Teymouri died, not her. Looking around the room, Matthew felt his stomach sinking. Octavia seemed to have gathered as many of her allies here as possible. Thankfully, debates weren't always settled by numbers alone, and rather by who made the safer and more sensible point, and had the best speakers on their side. Even if there was only one, there was always a supporter of Yao's present.

In this case, it was General Mohammed Hassan, who was probably the closest to a second-in-command that Yao had. He didn't agree with Yao all the time, but he agreed with Octavia Papadopoulos far, far less. Now was not an anomaly.

Octavia had just wrapped up her reasoning, assisted by Major Batbayaryn. She turned to Hassan, who was watching her with interest.

"I feel confident in saying that I am making the correct move here." she said, expression smug. Hassan blinked.

"No. But I thank you for your input nonetheless." He stood, ignoring the shocked, vilified expression on Octavia's face and faced the rest of those assembled. Matthew had to try hard to suppress his smile. Hassan was as blunt as ever. That, at least, had not changed in his month-long absence. He drew himself from his thoughts as the General continued to speak.

"I will say this only once. The decision we made before still stands. I understand the opinions behind each viewpoint, but I must stress, we are not murderers. The day that we submit to the more morbid and depraved urges which seize us, that is the day that we become no better than the Union. This debate is concluded." With his simple but strong words, he turned and walked from the tent. Murmuring, some disgruntled, some not, filled the command tent as the rest of the assembly began to vacate the room. Papadopoulos swept out, frustration and annoyance etched deep into the lines of her face. Nodding a little in frustration, Matthew turned to leave, only to just miss colliding with Zev Batbayaryn.

Matthew blinked. He wasn't entirely certain when the Major had ended up on this side of the room, and he frowned when they made eye contact.

"Captain Williams-Jones," Batbayaryn said, nodding to him. He hesitated a moment before nodding back.

"Major Batbayaryn." The Noczan man waved a hand.

"Just Zev is fine," he said, "all of these titles and ranks can get tiring, can't they?" Matthew had to lock up the muscles in his forehead to stop himself from raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, yes, I suppose," he said falteringly, "I should be getting to the prison block, to check on our captives, though." Zev took his arm as he moved to walk past him.

"They aren't running off anywhere," he said coolly, "and it is rude to ignore your superiors, is it not?" Matthew bristled internally, but forced his face to remain a mask of calm, smiled, and nodded.

"You make a good point. I apologise." Batbayaryn shrugged.

"I will not take up too much of your time, Captain. I understand that you are one of General Yao's favoured subordinates. I suppose that would result in a deal of work for you, yes?" Matthew simply nodded. Batbayaryn bit his lip, looked around and ducked his head towards Matthew a little.

"This movement is becoming divided, as I'm sure you've noticed," he said, eyes sorrowful and face strained, "The differences between General Yao and his potential competitors are becoming more pronounced every day. I may align more with Vice-General Papadopoulos' ideals, but I am still loyal to the General and this cause." He sighed. "I don't want to see this resistance fail and be crushed, as it almost was before Yao took over. Arshad Teymouri was a fine leader, any fool can recognise that, but the divides between him and his most trusted fellows created division and dissent." Matthew nodded, looking at Zev with more interest now.

"I recall." He murmured, "I arrived at the Resistance during his time as leader. His associates always were arguing with him and contradicting him." Zev nodded.

"I know that your views are in line with General Yao's, and mine are more so with Vice-General Papadopoulos, but I hope that we can still respect each other on a basic level." Matthew nodded.

"Of course," he said, and meant it. No matter their differences, Matthew could still deeply respect Major Batbayaryn. He was an excellent warrior and strategist, and deserved the recognition he had received. The Major smiled, looking a little more relaxed.

"Division will be what drives this resistance apart," he murmured, "I don't think even Octavia or Yao realise how divided they are." He broke off and shook his head. "Sorry, I just…I worry. There are rumours going around right now and, I just don't want another repeat of Apollomina."

Matthew had to agree there. Their last base had been on Apollomina, but it had been discovered by the Union. He still remembered the scene of carnage. He'd only been about 13 at the time, and the event had viciously torn any remnants of innocence from him. Not long after they'd made a deal with the Coysash people and resettled here, he'd marched up to Laarni Orante, one of the fiercest fighters in the rebellion, and demanded that she teach him to fight.

"Me neither," he said quietly, "but how are we supposed to stop this detachment from happening?"

Zev smiled sadly, and shrugged.

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it?"

Nyma was beautiful at night. That, Yao would never try to deny. The sun had finally sunk completely beneath the horizon, though vibrant strokes of red and purple still danced across the sky. He'd spent some time watching it from just inside his tent, before he pulled the flaps shut to stop anyone from seeing inside. This time, while the last of the sun's rays followed their source across to the other side of the planet, but before any nightly duties were impending, it was the only time he really had to himself. About an hour or so before he stopped by the mess hall to collect food to eat on the go, and went on to check up on other missions that were ongoing. Then it would be to the command tents to help guide solo operatives while everyone else slept, checking the security measures they had in place, as he did every fortnight, and to perform other duties.

If he was lucky, he would get maybe three hours of sleep before being woken once more at dawn to continue. His duty was extensive, and its scale was often unknown to his many subordinates. The leader of the resistance was essential. He had to be there. He had to be the constant who was on hand for advice or help at all times. To vanish and take care of himself felt selfish, especially given the immense responsibility which these people had trusted him with six years ago. Even the Vice-Generals who so disliked his leadership came to him for help at all hours. And he had to be there, even for them (which never ceased to surprise him, as he was younger than most of them were, not that they knew that).

But this hour, this one hour, he had to himself. The moment he tied the flaps of his tent shut, he was in his own domain. Here, he sagged with relief, before removing his high-necked jacket and pulling off his gloves.

In the company of others, he tended to put their comfort above his own. He knew what reactions his body garnered from others. Exposing his hands was out of the question, and had been since the day he was rescued. But people had also taken note of how he wore clothes which completely covered his arms, chest, neck, feet and legs as well. Really, the only part of his body which other rebels had seen was his head. His time on the Arbiter had left more than just his hands horrifically disfigured. His arms were strewn with scars, burns and small patches of discoloured skin where toxic substances had been injected into his body. His chest had similar markings. His back was twisted and uneven from the marks which his torturer's favoured whip had left on him.

At the base of his throat were savage, twisting scars which left most who saw them wondering how he could still speak. They did not have the surgical precision of the others. These were jagged, and stretched cruelly along his neck and upper collarbones, as if something had torn his skin open from the inside out. His feet lacked nails, as his hands did, and bore the scars of patch-marking (that is, the process of marking the skin into sections before flaying is performed, to ease the process).

And his hands, of course, remained almost as horrible to see as the day they'd first been skinned. They were a dark, vile red-brown in colour. The bones were visible sharply – yellow-white lines cutting through the darker, toughened muscle. Ragged, dark pits existed where his fingernails should have been, and his veins were clear to see. Kabeeta had worked for weeks to rearrange how they lay across his hand, and sewn them into the garish, toughened muscle. The same, she had carefully done for his tendons (also visible). The gloves, he wore for two reasons; the first was to be considerate of others, who definitely would not want to look upon such nauseating things. The second was for protection. Kabeeta had done her work well, but he didn't want to push his luck: he was lucky that he was still able to use his hands at all.

He approached the shallow stone basin that sat on top of his dresser-drawer, and began to carefully wash his hands in the water within. After being safely concealed inside his gloves all day, it felt good to have the cool water on them. It wasn't as though he didn't get hot, wearing his full uniform; quite the contrary, he always did. But bearing with the immense heat was preferable to the pitying looks, sickened glances and questions which would follow him otherwise. He dried his hands, mind lingering on the week's events.

He and Vice-General Papadopoulos had always been at odds with one another, but the arrival of the captives which Matthew and the others had obtained on their mission had upset the balance even more than usual. Matthew had told him what Major Batbayaryn had said to him. He agreed with the Major. This situation was quickly becoming mutinous, and they couldn't allow the Union to take advantage of any of their weaknesses. They already had a spy within their ranks.

Yao had dedicated a decade of his life to the resistance, and for six of those years, he had been its leader. He just hoped that he wasn't its last.

Onboard the ISS Marauder,
In Orbit, The Falloweil System,
4th Marrch

They weren't far from Rela. Arthur knew that much. With every minute that passed, his anxiety about the whole mission grew and grew. He had no idea if he would even help him. There was every possibility that security would be called and he would finally be brought to justice for his many crimes. Perhaps he'd get a reduced sentence, out of pity. He hated the idea. he wasn't weak, never had been, and never would be, but everyone who really knew him saw him as such.

A glimmering light in the distance caught his eye. It was stationary, so definitely not a ship, but it was too large to be a star. Curious, he drew up the system's map on the ship's console. The Falloweil Solar System only had six planets. His eyes skimmed across the text and he hummed in interest. It was Syhvva. Unsurprising.

Syhvva, Daerna, Fynkn, Rela, Markiriit and Ellmin. The only planets in the whole system. The first three were the most famous of the lot, of course, being the infamous Free Courts. Markiriit flew under the radar pretty frequently, so not much notice was ever paid to it. Ellmin was Natalya's home planet, and her half-brother Ivan's too. Maybe, if they lived long enough, he'd give them the chance to take a visit. He knew that they had an older sister who still lived there.

He became aware of the fact that he was digging his nails into his own palms. He exhaled slowly, uncurling his fists slowly and wiping the blood on his hands on his dark pants, uncaring of smears. His head throbbed, and he felt dizzy, even just standing still. Damn it, he needed this mission to be over soon. He needed to get Roderich back as quickly as possible so he could get back to Reycass. He only had a few weeks' worth of his supply left…

He rubbed the insides of his elbows, which were stinging as they always did when he thought about it. Telling himself to just ignore the issue never helped. It had been part of his life for almost five years now. It was a part of him, as much as his green eyes or his resting bitch face. His musings were interrupted by the low swishing noise of the door opening. He turned, surprised when he saw Francis. The blonde hesitated, looking like he very much so wanted to walk right out the door again. He seemed to decide that not even Arthur's presence was worth ignoring whatever he had come here for, and continued moving forward.

Stargazing was apparently what he had walked all the way from his quarters to do. Francis stopped near the glass panels, staring out intently. He too, frowned at the bright smudge on the horizon which had captured Arthur's attention.

"What is that?" he asked quietly, nearly giving Arthur a heart attack. Of all the things he had expected from Francis, a simple, inoffensive question was not one of them. It reminded him of what things had been like back when they first met. He shoved down the wall of sorrow which rose up inside him at the thought, and croaked out a response.

"Syhvva, according to the console." Francis drew away from the window a little, nodding. He could feel the bounty-hunter's gaze on him, but Arthur kept his eyes firmly forward. "You're worried." Francis muttered.

"What makes you think that?" he asked tersely. Even though he couldn't see him, he could tell that the other was raising an eyebrow. He felt warm hands on his left arm, uncurling his hand, which had managed to tighten into a fist again. More blood was flowing from the small, crescent-shaped cuts in his hand. He snatched his hand away, scowling.

"Do you think that your contact in Loszok will help get you through the checkpoints?" Francis inquired. Arthur shrugged.

"Well, this ship won't get recognised like the Mutiny would, so we'll pass the preliminary security checks. It's only when we get to the facial checkpoints that I'm concerned about." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "On Rela, they have employees match the entrant's face to those of wanted criminals. If my contact doesn't help, I'll get thrown straight into a holding cell before being sent to the Galactic Criminal Court." He winced. "Not somewhere I want to go."

Francis nodded "Now that is a sentiment of yours I agree with." There was a moment of silence, before Francis checked their course map. He folded his arms. "We should arrive tomorrow." He said. "As useless and vile as you are, we can't afford to have you tripping the rest of us up at the checkpoints because you're exhausted and rambling."

He knew what Francis was urging him to do, though it was veiled through an insult or two. It seemed that Alfred wasn't the only one who thought he was some pitiful insomniac. Arthur rolled his eyes, but complied, turning his back on the ever-growing golden blur that was a planet locked in chains.

If I'm not careful, he thought, Syhvva won't be the only thing in this system under Union control.