In hindsight, maybe agreeing to the captain's idea of limited tour, even as limited as it is, was not as good an idea as I thought it would be.

"No wait, don't touch that!"

The usual passengers of Highwind were people who lived their most of their lives out in what I call "vicious emu-ridden outback from hell." Many had never even been to the city of Vale, as I've overheard many a conversation between passengers talking about what Vale could be like.

I've also been hearing other things during my time aboard. Things like rumours about her, questions on why nobody's heard about me and my very memorable armaments, speculations on what I've been doing out in the middle of the ocean and one very paranoid dude trying and failing to convince others of me supposedly being a pirate spy, with the mannjuu as my crew waiting for the right moment to take all their stuff. I shared that last one with Highwind and they got a good laugh out of it.

"I'm sorry, but going inside the turret is prohibited."

And in the case of towns being out in the middle of the wilds, the largest piece of artillery most of anyone had seen is either an old field gun still in use from the great war, or one of those heavy weapons some huntsmen toted about. Those who lived in ports would see bigger ones of course, the biggest being from naval destroyers stopping by on patrol. But seeing now my sixteen-inch main guns in broad daylight up close? There was no questioning the sheer difference in power, and the current group of passengers and crewmen gawking at my number-one turret clearly understood it.

"...and thanks to such a system I can individually fire each of the three barrels in each turret! Pretty neat, right?" I finished a little description of how one of my main guns work as I stand under the middle gun. I think I lost most of them in the technical aspects but I can see some, those being Highwind's sailors and some that maybe mechanically inclined taking notes and nodding along. One of them raised his hand.

"Yes? You with the white scarf." I pointed at him and asked.

"Can you explain the advantages of such a weapons system, being so different to the ones used in all of the existing gun turrets in use on Vale's walls?" Ooh, a smart one.

"Well you see, the most important advantage is that having the guns operate independently of one another allowed each gun to operate at its own pace without holding up the others." I explained, rapping my knuckles on the heavy steel above me. "In turrets built where the guns are mounted together, the guns can only fire as fast as the slowest gun crew so until loading was finished on all the guns, the barrels could not elevate. Having the guns operating independently allows the crew of each gun to fire at their own pace, increasing the sustained rate of fire for that turret."

"So basically you can shoot faster with that kind of system." One of the teenagers spoke out from the front and many others, probably those still lost, immediately made noises of understanding.

"I understand now, thank you miss Iowa." White scarf guy nodded at me and wrote down some more in his notepad.

"You're welcome! Any other question?" I looked around, seeing a few more hands raised up. I took a few seconds to choose then picked a lady near the left. "Lady with the yellow hat, ask away!"

"Oh, yes um, where was this ship built and when? Because shouldn't something like this ship been all over the news all the time?"

Ooh, tough question. Oh yeah, nobody besides those in the know or Highwind's crew knows about the shipgirl thing yet. Sure there's some rumour but the senior crewmen and officers were always quick and smart in dismissing those rumours or even exaggerating it to ridiculousl levels. The current most popular story for my hull was that I found an old warship abandoned somewhere and somehow refurbished it. I took some inspiration from that to make up my own "origin story."

"Well you see, I'm not really so sure myself but it had something to do with my semblance." I began, adopting a contemplative pose. "Years ago, during my training to be a huntress..."

Basically, I made up a story of a younger me getting lost near the coast while being chased by grimm. I regaled my audience with a tale of me finding an abandoned battleship hull misding most of its guns run aground amongst the rocks at the base of a cliff, and younger me finding it a good place to hide. My heightened emotions spurred by the dire situation I found myself in awakened my semblance, which then somehow absorbed the old warship I was hiding in.

"The next thing I knew I was standing there atop the roaring waves, my rigging formed around me with one main turret pointed towards the small horde waiting on the beach." I said as my story wound down, seeing my audience looking very engrossed in my tale. "Knowledge I've never learned before had me quickly firing at them with a few obsolete guns and one old triple turret, and you all know how that went."

Yep, I pulled the semblance card. I remember enough, from browsing the wikis and watching the show, how random semblances are, and how even some can reach high levels of bullshit OP. Take Neo and Emerald's illusion abilities, or the Schnee's inherited glyphs. I'm sure there's others out there even more wild and powerful out there so I was sure my story won't be so hard to believe.

"And how and where did you get new weapons and the umm... shells?" A kid spoke up next to yellow hat lady. Little guy must be her son.

"The mannjuus here are very generous and helpful. Couldn't have asked for friends and a better work force." I answered. I technically didn't lie to him, and the way I did it will hopefully think I'm not just going to disclose where I got the artillery. A little suspicion towards me is better than them thinking I'm crazy if I tell them I'm a ship spirit. Besides, I don't think Remnant is anyway ready for shipgirls to appear anytime soon.

"Right, I think thats twenty minutes up!" I cheerily spoke with a clap of my hands, exactly as my internal ship clock tells me. "On with the tour then?"


The day has wound down now, which is great because talking to so many people at once is exhausting. Once again I have my inherited memories and personality merge from Iowa to thank, much of my show of confidence that kept me going all originating from the battleship spirit.

But my work is not finished yet, because I still have supplies to requisition and a checkup of myself to organise and get done. So as soon as the last tour group walked down the gangplank I quickly invited in an eager work group of mannjuus and Highwind accompanied by Cpt. Bernie, her crew of engineers led by chief Takeyo.

Chirp chirp chirp! (So it's mark-eight and five-inch shells you need. I'm sure we some in the stores. How many did you say you expended again?)

"Just three armor piercing mark-eights, and... one hundred forty-four high-explosive five inch shells." I replied to the foreman, gesturing at the two examples of the aforementioned shells on a pushcart I summoned next to me. Me and the foreman are having this talk on my stern deck, which is much closer to my more important systems like the engines, steering and propulsion. This saves time for the work crews to get to where they're most needed to check on them as I asked, see if there's anything wrong anywhere. "What about the twent mills for the phalanxes? Do you have any in stock or...?"

Chirp chirp, chirp? (We have plenty of twenty mills still in stock, but what's a phalanx?)

The little guy(or girl?)'s reply had me sucking air through my teeth with a wince. Unfortunately the foreman confirmed one of my fears with his answer, them being unable to supply me with ammunition for any weapon system used in the decadeds after the two world wars.

"Yeah Iowa, what's a phalanx?" Highwind is once again sitting next to me on her wheelchair, looking over the table covered in several schematics of myself which is surrounded by other mannjuus and her engineers who are busy pouring over it. A few of the younger ones looked more awed than they should be though, almost enough to make a girl blush!

"Its full name is Phalanx CWIS, the latter meaning close-in weapon system. Think of it as a heavy minigun with a radar guidance system welded on top of it." I explained, pointing at the two bright white oblong weaponswe can see from here. "It's one of the weapons I used on the grimm days ago. Can shoot three thousand twenty millimeter rounds' of pain in a minute!"

"Whaat, no way!" Came her disbelieving reply as she pouted at me.

"Yes way." I nodded resolutely. "All the better to intercept missiles, bombs, fighters and the occasional small watercraft. Shreds grimm like nothing else, too."

"And you have four of them." Cpt. Bernie piped up on the other side of Highwind, impressed. "A small horde would be nothing against you. But you've encountered a problem with regards to replenishing the ammo you lost."

"Yeah, and I'm thinking about maybe remounting some of the AA batteries I lost during my last refit because of it." I'll be carrying several tons more of ammunition for them if I do, but it'll be better than running out of the 20x102mm phalanx rounds in the middle of a fight. The deadly wall of flak I could make with those guns though...

Chirp chirp chirp. (Miss Iowa, if you're ok with leaving some sample rounds for us we can maybe reverse engineer them and produce them!) Said the mannjuu foreman, holding up a sign. It then paused to tap its chin, or the spot under it's beak, then flipped it's sign around to show more writing on it. Somehow. (At least, as much as we can make right now.)

"Your people have an industry, foreman?" Takeyo asked curiously, looking to the manjuu from across the table. The foreman shook it's flipper in a so-so manner.

Chirp, chirp chirp. Chirp. (We do, just not in good condition at the moment. So don't expect mass production.)

"I see... a shame then." The engineer nust shook his head at the response and rubbed his short beard. "I've worked alongside your work crew for some days now. The efficiency and speed of your people astounds me. That your industry is in shambles is saddening."

"I haven't ask earlier," After a moment of quite discussion, Cpt. Bernie tentatively began. "thinking it a sensitive topic. It regards your lacking industry, so is it alright if I ask how this naval base, your home, has come to such ruin?"

The mannjuus visibly sagged at his question, like bright yellow balloons deflating from a minor puncture. Highwind took initiative and brought the nearest sad mannjuu into a hug to try and help as I frowned at the sight. Her crew grew worried at the sight and the captain looking apologetic.

But he asked the question that's been plaguing my mind for some time now. I haven't tried to ask yet in the days we've been here, and with this display no one amongst Highwind's crew thought to ask yet. Greater focus placed on repairing the damages to my fellow ship spirit's hull overshadowed any need to look closer at the mannjuus' situation, even I was often swept up in it despite not really playing a big role in fixing her up.

Now with Highwind almost ready to be back out to sea, people have started to relax. And with the lowering of urgency and relaxed schedules gave plenty of people more time and spare energy to wonder about this place. The average civilian might chalk up all the damage to the passage of time and not look further but anyone who's ever fired a gun, especially a naval gun or any artillery piece, will notice the impact craters and smashed fortifications and start connecting the dots.

What happened to this place? Obviously an attack, but what kind? How long ago did it happen, and who did it? The most reliable way to answer those questions is to ask the residents, the mannjuu. Now as I pat a mannjuu worker near me on the head, I wondered how to get the story out of them while cheering them up. They were pretty excited to see me, what with the signs and the crowds. Surely I could do something?


On a throne of shattered rock and twisted steel sat the wounded, pale body of a young girl. Her right forearm down was missing, ending in a wound of flesh and melted steel. Parts of her body had rusted in an impossible manner, and from rents and savage wounds dried blood and oil had long since bled out and covered most of her body.

But still the body clings on to a facsimile of life. Only dormant, waiting. The overmind barely pays any attention to it these past cycles, always more busy elsewhere. But all that is needed for even a smidgen of consciousness to reassert control is one alert...


A.N. - I will be going to another country and staying there for 3 weeks, starting next week. I will try to update, but with the recent increase in college work and the hassle of wrestling my stuff into a suitcase... yeah, I will try.

Anyway, here you guys go.