Cloner4000: Well... we'll see. :p

Dr. Evil: Not really the dark side of Gallia in particular, just showing that Darcsen hatred is all over Europa, not just exemplified in the Imperials.

skycomv2: Seven sixty-two is referring to the caliber of the ZM MP (I think?). Basically, he's saying that you can go against a tank if you want to, but a rifle won't work very well. :p

Mr Wang 330: Yay, people actually care about my characters! Well, Celes is definitely going to help Isara, and maybe more... (coughthesecondhalfofthisstorygenrecough) but yeah, exploring the other Darcsen haters? It's going to be pure awesome. And it doesn't look like I'll be using those lines – I work in Microsoft word mainly, and so I have to use these asterisks anyways.

DC20: By keeping the canon intact, I mean that the game's perspective (the only canon we really have, as the manga and anime seem to deviate slightly) is still 100% correct, except for what is here (obviously). The ending of the game is still going to be the same... except Isara and Celes are having their own adventure at the same time, unaffecting Squad 7's war, but don't fear – I'll shoot them back in after the epilogue of the game, which should be pretty interesting. :D

If you think that my constant use of "Lieutenant Karst" as opposed to just Karst is stilted, you're absolutely correct. He exudes such authority and circumstance that it is impossible to refer to him without his military title. :p

And so, just what happens after Celes bumps into Squad 7 for the first time? There's writing underneath this for a reason.

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Celes's knifetip drooped slightly as he looked at her. Her face was tall, the cheekbones higher than most. The dark hair that was a primary Darcsen trait curved gracefully down to below her chin, and her expression was calm and serene. For a moment, he gaped, forgetting himself.

Then he noticed her gray pallor, the sheen of cold sweat on her skin, and looked at the rest of what he could see. The medical student's eyes widened in horror as he saw every symptom of a near fatal gunshot wound, and his gaze snapped to her shoulder. He groaned involuntarily at the cut away Darcsen patterned shawl and Gallian uniform around the wounded area, the bandages seeping through with red – whatever treatment she had received must have been ruined by the jostling of the vehicle. Following the blood's path, his senses crashed around him. The wound was so low, so close to the heart! How was she still alive?

And then she coughed, stirring a little. Her eyes flickered open for the slightest moment. They were clouded with pain and confusion, but it was impossible to not see the fire that burned behind them, a will to live beyond any other, determination without bounds. In the mere second that they were open, a blue lance ripped through Celes's soul.

Worse yet, he knew that gaze.

And he froze, finding himself sucked into those orbs, memories of the first operation in Gallia rushing back to meet him.

The Federation front was, for a time, at a stalemate. Tank production had begun in earnest by the western power, and now it was armor that crashed together every day on the battlefield. Massed infantry no longer had a role in this front, and Unit 29-4 was one of the many foot soldier units that found themselves transferred in preparation for the Gallian invasion.

When they began the attack on the town of Bruhl, however, Lieutenant Karst had made one thing very clear.

"I know our orders say to cause as much confusion and morale damage to the enemy as possible," he lectured, pacing back and forth in front of their parade lines. "That is our military's euphemism for 'everything is a target', including civilians." He grimaced. "Especially civilians."

The unit was too disciplined and overawed to make any physical signs of uneasiness, but hard lines began to form on their faces. Intentional civilian attack had never come up on the Federation front, where the enemy had rushed out to meet them in open battle, making sure that any nearby settlements of any kind, whether city or village, were completely evacuated long before the war even began. But this was a push into a territory that had only received the official declaration of war mere hours ago, and there was no way the entire east border of Gallia was evacuated yet.

"You know me, men." The Lieutenant stopped, squaring himself against all of them. "I do not wish to gun down innocents. That is not honorable battle." He adjusted his glasses slightly, expression grim. "We are at war because of ragnite, a resource that makes nations enter the lands of others in greed. We fight because we must protect our own territory – our own people."

"Remember how I told you that behind every man you kill on the battle are a mother and father, a sister and brother, a spouse and children?" They eyed him cautiously, not sure whether they were supposed to respond, but he moved on with his speech. "Imagine if you killed them. You take away all basis of life for a soldier to continue fighting. But contrary to what we may believe, this does not defeat a soldier on the battlefield. This only strengthens him, turning him into a singleminded killing machine. He will fight until he has defeated his enemy. Death will not get in his way."

Their officer sighed, closing his speech. "Therefore, I will not be following our Imperial orders to a word." He smiled slightly, almost wistfully. "We've done this often enough in the past, always to complete our end objective. This time… I order you to not fire upon a single civilian." He nodded, accepting their skepticism that he was disregarding the exact intention of the orders. "We shall not, because if we do, we shall lose this war in the end, when Gallia's homeless fighters make it their goal to kill us all."

With that, he snapped a salute. "Now move out!"

"Sir!"

Celes woke up on the stone road, looking up into the bright blue sky. He blinked. Just how long had he been out?

The answer – not very – came as a pair of Gallian boots flew over his face, landing on the other side of him. A second pair of boots – and a lovely view as these boots belonged to one of their skirted female soldiers – followed, and Celes unconsciously turned onto his side to follow it before mentally slapping himself for being so immature. What he saw brought back images of déjà vu, like it was the Kloden Wildwood all over again.

The same two Gallian militia, a lieutenant and red-scarfed sergeant, were locked in a cautious crouch, weaponless and confused.

Quickly, Celes snapped his view around the square. The armed men who had rushed out now stopped, confused at the sight. A young Darcsen man ran up to the two, ZM MP in hand but not in aggression, held by the stock. He waved his hands in pacification – the tension in the air slowly diffused as weapons were lowered.

It was then that the medical student decided it was best to get up before someone thought he had broken his neck.

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Welkin sighed with small relief as the plainly dressed assailant suddenly tumbled off of the turret out of sight, his single visible eye wide with shock. As soothing as the knowledge of not being at knifepoint was, his mind raced to figure out why such a greeting would be necessary in the first place.

His younger sister Isara cradled in his arms, he stepped out from the hatch and in two careful steps hopped off the side of the tank, focusing on the wounded woman and ground. He heard rather than saw Alicia follow him; with a smile, he admitted that she hadn't been the greatest of drivers, although the basic controls of steering wheel and accelerator were hardly impossible to learn.

The moment he looked up, though, he found himself staring the ends of Imperial rifles.

He froze, as did Alicia next to him. Was this town still under the Empire's control? Had he come here for naught? It didn't take long, though, to realize that the men were Darcsens, and that women and children were beginning to fill the streets to watch the scene. Slowly, he let himself relax. They weren't going to be shot, and last he knew Imperials didn't rub shoulders with Darcsens very often. The operation at Fouzen, where they had burned down an entire concentration camp – with the Darcsens still insde – had taught him that.

Any remaining fear for his life disappeared the moment another young Darcsen ran towards them, obviously not intent on harm. His waving arms proved a signal as the armed townspeople relaxed, but remained watching with interest.

"Charles, spokesman of Lia." Charles offered his free hand, the one not clutching an Imperial firearm, to Welkin. Welkin glanced awkwardly at it, arms full of younger sister. Realizing the awkward situation, and the more pressing matter, Charles moved the hand into an improvised salute of types. "How badly is she hurt?"

Welkin stumbled for words, but Alicia responded for him – faithful Alicia, always backing him up. "She's not in any danger right now…" she was able to say steadily, but when she continued, her voice broke. "…but she's going to die if we don't get a surgeon to operate on her in a day! Please, do you have one?"

The spokesman shook his head. "I'm afraid Lia is too small to have a doctor skilled in surge –"

"Then where can we find one?" Welkin interrupted.

"There isn't one anywhere near here, I'm afraid." Charles paused, confused. "Doesn't your military have its own doctors?"

Angrily, the Gallian lieutenant shook his head. "The regulars are late. We militia have our medics, but no one who can do this."

"Please, sir, there must be someone who can save her!" Alicia was almost begging – groveling.

Charles looked over her shoulder for a moment, distracted by the disguised Imperial who had treated so many of Lia's people. The man stood up again, slung his carbine, and attempted to sheath his knife before realizing he didn't have one. Flustered, he was only able to keep the tip low as he looked left and right, embarrassed at the fall.

The spokesman felt a smile slowly break out on his face. "Right behind you."

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As he busied around the operating table, Celes did his best to hide his face. "It's not as if they'd recognize you, anyways," he muttered to himself.

Every time they had seen each other – this Welkin Gunther in the Kloden Wildwood, this Alicia Melchiott both there and on the Marberry shore – Celes had been wearing his helmet with a full faceshield. There was no way that Welkin could recognize him, especially out of his armor, and the same for Alicia. The only possible distinguishing feature he had would have been his cloth eyeband, and he doubted that either of them would have noticed such a small feature, especially behind the faceshield.

Setting out his set of blades on a fresh sterile field, provided by a small capsule of slow release ragnaid on the tray, he stopped to take another look at the Darcsen girl – Isara, he corrected himself – that was to be his patient.

He had cleansed all of the foreign material – cutting away her clothes and shawl – above the waist, and formed a tent of sterile paper above the sutured wound. As awkward as it might have been under different circumstances, for now it was a matter of life or death, and the Gallians who sat watching nervously in the corner said not a word when he had sliced through the jacket's seams.

They had moved the equipment into the calm basement of Charles's humble cottage as quickly as they could, brusquely introducing themselves but not pausing for anything else. Celes had offered his real name – there had been no reason to lie, after all – but Lieutenant Karst had decided against it. In truth, the Lieutenant had not come out to help at all.

It was probably the smart move. Unlike Celes, the commanding officer had nothing to hide his face when he had talked with Welkin, and the moment the Gallians saw his proudly Imperial features, they would undoubtedly make the connections immediately. No, it was best if he stayed out of this situation for now.

The medical student looked up and around. They had set up in here as opposed to the same operating theater he had used outdoors, as the open surgery needed was much more difficult than any quick and dirty treating of wounds he had been doing before. Ragnaid capsules hung off of the rough planked ceiling, hopefully widening the sterile field into the entire room, as did a set of lamps, lighting the makeshift operating theater as bright they possibly could. It wasn't the best – nowhere near as good as a dedicated hospital – but in these circumstances, it was better than any tent. He found his gaze wandering back to Isara, and gulped. His professional demeanor wavered a bit;she looked almost as if she were just sleeping, and this impression, along with her naked torso, led to thoughts that he quashed immediately. It was hardly the time for such ideas.

He coughed slightly. "I'm going to need absolute concentration, Welkin – Alicia." He bowed slightly to each of them, still doing his best to hide from them, visions of her killing on Marberry still fresh in his head. For a moment, he thought he was almost going to collapse as he saw the beaches once more, the jumbled limbs of the other men in his unit all that remained after the shell from that tank, the other members of his unit twisting in death as Alicia picked them off, but he instead swung his gaze to Isara, who lay so close to death, and felt himself calm in a reflection of her own appearance.

Welkin stood up and looked as though he wanted to do nothing more than protest, but Alicia gently put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. Privately, Celes wondered if the Gallian military had disciplinary measures against that sort of thing – from the meaningful glance that he watched them exchange, it was clear enough that they shared more than a professional relationship. The scarfed girl nodded back, and carefully but firmly walked Welkin out of the basement, closing the door behind him.

Celes sighed with a small amount of relief, and turned back to the operating table. He snatched up a mask, apron, and gloves from the main sterile field, meticulously donning each object from the ragnaid-cleansed tray. There could be no mistakes with this procedure, which was why he wasn't even risking assistants. The job was one of finesse as opposed to speed, anyways. A bullet that close to the heart would be a huge challenge for any doctor – but he planned on success. More than her life rode on his knife, more than the trust of the town, of the Gallian officers, more than even the safety of his unit in the end.

He let his gaze linger back on her face, taking in the peaceful visage. If he didn't act, that expression would become permanent.

"Don't die on me now, Isara," he muttered as he drew the rolling tray slightly closer in preparation. "I still haven't apologized for Bruhl yet."

The sedative syringe slid smoothly into her arm. He had begun.

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I just realized that Celes's eyeband is like Kakashi's from Naruto. Yay for accidental coincidences.

Also, do you smell IsaraxOC?... because I do. I mean, yeah, the second half of the genre gives it all away.

I'm getting the feeling that this chapter's pace is way too fast, but I'm really impatient to get Isara conscious again. She's supposed to be a main character, and I'm almost three chapters in!

And so, our younger Imperial begins the operation of his life! But just what is the Lieutenant busy doing? Find out tomorrow... but only if you leave enough reviews. :3

Oh, wait, the profile!

Keep in mind that this will probably change a bit as the story goes on. This is the profile as of here in the story...

Celestyn Faas Jacelern

Shocktrooper

Potentials:

Darcsen Bond – Being near Darcsens boosts defense.

Ultimate First Aid – Healing of Ragnaid greatly boosted permanently. (NEW)

Humanitarian – Cannot take another action after attacking.

Double Action – Set chance of taking 2 actions consecutively.

Likes: Lieutenant Karst

Now that we're done here, it's up to you to review! If I get four more reviews (from 29) then Lieutenant Karst's own profile will come up. And boy howdy, will it look like a Marty Stu...

But more importantly, reviewing is motivation for me to keep on writing. Otherwise, I've little reason to work for you ungrateful people. See that button down there. CLICK IT. CLICK IT NOW.