POV: Cyrus / LOCATION: Galactic Veilstone HQ
All I had to do was plant my memory erasure device on her head. And I hesitated.
I hesitated.
Damn my weak and incomplete heart. The sooner I rid myself of spirit, the sooner I will finally be complete. And once I am perfect, I will no longer need to torture myself with what I should have done.
Too frustrated to concentrate, I leave my desk. There are still documents I must sign, contracts I must review. On top of all that, I have a rat to hunt down. There's not enough hours in a day to get everything done.
Due to my incompetence as a leader, I now have two obstacles in my path: the Champion and the traitor. Her moves I can more or less foresee. If I was in her place, I would've resumed my charming "investigation" into Galactic. All I need is proof of their wrongdoing to act.
Good luck with that, Miss Champion.
However, if he plays her into his hands…
A scream jars me out of my thoughts. Jupiter's voice rings out.
"Uh, Cyrus? You need to come. Now."
Upon my arrival, Saturn dives behind my legs. Mars catches my gaze and instantly hides something under her dress.
The prelude of a headache creeps along the stalks of my eyeballs.
"Careful of the broken glass," Jupiter says. She is holding back a wave of curious Grunts.
Saturn starts. "She's crazy!"
"I'm not!" Mars screeches.
"She threw my computer at me!"
"You threw it on yourself!"
All falls silent upon my raise hand. Mars shifts her weight.
"Saturn said I was a pest," she mumbles.
"And you threw glass at him?"
"It didn't hit!"
I raise my voice slightly. "Why would you do that?"
Fury contorts her face. The dagger would've sliced my throat open if I had failed to evade in time. When Mars swings her knife—and this hasn't changed since back then—she injects her weight into her right leg. With nothing stabilizing her other side, her form is left vulnerable. I act within the three seconds following her recovery, slapping the knife from her grasp and holding her wrists together.
"Let me go, bastard!" she screams.
Mars possess great physical strength. Her kicks land like battering logs against my body.
"I hate you!"
With a brutal elbow jab to my sternum, Mars breaks free and runs off.
Jupiter begins to run to me.
"Makes sure she doesn't harm anyone," I hiss.
"But—"
"Go!"
After Jupiter leaves, I forcibly dispel the crowd of mortified Grunts. They shuffle back to their work stations with whispers and sideways glances.
"Master Cyrus!" Saturn yelps. "You're hurt. Because of me…"
"I wasn't hurt on your behalf," I say. What a ridiculous claim. Why would I suffer for anyone's sake but my own? "Now, explain to me what happened."
What happened wasn't far off from prediction. Mars wanted to play videogames with Saturn (who, as usual, was verrrrry productive on the clock). He refused because she had broken his controller from the last time she lost. So she yanked his computer off its cables and hurled it like an empty cardboard box.
Good news is that Saturn doesn't seem to be hurt. Only visibly shaken.
"Computers can always be replaced," I say.
"How can you be so calm?" he shoots back. "She almost slashed your throat! I felt her kick you! And you just stand there and take her abuse—"
"Enough."
He freezes under my scowl.
"Either you go back to work, or you take the day off. This conversation is over."
Saturn opens his mouth. Closes it. Jerks his head away from me.
"You're going to kill yourself someday," he mutters. And he storms off.
I find Mars up on the rooftop patio. Aside from the Nap Room, this is her favorite place in all of HQ. Her black market business thrives up here, after all.
"Boss!" she chirps, exuberant as ever.
I hand her a plate. "Please drop it."
She gleefully dashes it across the floor, so readily that shards spray into the air. The crash of splintering glass rings in my ears.
"That was so funny!" she says.
"No, it's not. After a plate is broken, can you put it back to the way it was before?"
"Why would I want to cut my hands with broken glass?"
This is going nowhere. "My point being: the trust between you and Saturn is like that plate. Each time it's put back together, the cracks still show. Damage it enough, and it will be beyond fixing. Understand?"
"Totally."
I had set my expectations too high. What a waste of a perfectly good plate.
