The Republic was all but crushed in the wake of the Large-Scale Offensive. Those who survived, only did because they had banded together, hiding from the Legion as the Legion overran the Eighty-Five districts, or by virtue of perhaps being cosmically lucky, in the sense that they survived past all the odds that dictated that they shouldn't have otherwise.
The Witch, who survived the opening of the Large-Scale Offensive, was separated from LFRITH, and wandered the Legion-held territory on her own, until coming across the remnants of VALKYRIE squadron.
They would continue south, before turning west. First coming across the ruined base of SPEARHEAD Squadron — the First Ward's first defensive Squadron. There were no Juggernauts remaining at the base, and while deciding to spend the night at the barracks there, the Witch would find Pharact — a Processor who had been presumed dead, but had walked without his Juggernaut, all the way back to his base, only to find it abandoned in the wake of the Large-Scale Offensive. There, he would tell the story of Specter, a Processor who had fought in the Southern Theater around the same time the Witch's sister would have. A processor who survived every fight she encountered, until her own Special Reconnaissance Mission
Pharact, would opt to stay behind at Spearhead's base, in case anyone else came through, so he could direct them along the same path the Witch and her Familiars took.
The Witch and her unit of Processors, would come across a field of strawberries, and there find the ruins of a Squadron that had been all but wiped out. There was a single survivor among "DAWN" Squadron — who refused to join the Witch on her journey towards the Gran Mur, and instead demanded to be left alone, not once wavering.
On the final day of their journey westward, they encounter the Gran Mur, and cross the rubicon into the war zone that has become the Eighty-Five administrative Districts. The first town they encounter, is devoid of bodies, dead or alive.
They come across, in the war-torn ruins of the Forty-Third District, a battle between Legion and some unknown forces.
Those forces, led by Vladilena Milizé, also known as Bloody Regina, a Captain of the San Magnolia Armed Forces, fight in skirmishes around the Forty-Third district, having been driven South by the advance of the Legion. Her strategy, using the Processors she commands, is to cut off the supply lines of the Legion as much as possible.
The Witch and her Familiars, would stay with Bloody Regina for three weeks, before eventually being summoned for a special mission deep into Legion territory, using intel about where the Ultra-Long Range Legion-type, the Morpho, is hidden.
There, in that field of lycoris flowers — they would witness a battle between an unknown unit from the Federal Republic of Giad's armed forces, and the Morpho. That unknown soldier, would strike the final blow, using support from the Processors in Lena's squadron, and the long-range artillery around the Gran Mur.
This would be the first time in a decade, someone from the Republic of San Magnolia was able to make contact with someone from another nation — even if that nation had been formed from the ruins of the old Empire that had unleashed the Legion onto the world.
And to that unknown, faceless soldier — Bloody Regina would make a declaration;
"…I will never run from this war!"
The Witch, and all the survivors under Bloody Regina would be liberated from Legion controlled territory, and an expeditionary force into the Eighty-Sixth sector would be formed, liberating those surviving Processors who hadn't yet made it, or didn't bother going into the walls of the Republic.
For Processors like the Witch, who had for the first time in a decade finally been freed from the shackles of war, and oppression — they would be welcomed into the arms of the Federacy.

A new name
A new life
Finally awakened
Witch of the Eighty-Sixth

December 9, SY 2149

"And what's your name, miss?"
The Federacy's officials were polite enough, they didn't treat the Eighty-Six like cattle, and were simply trying to do their best to help the newly liberated Eighty-Six. But, that didn't mean that all was going well for the Eighty-Six either. There were ten-thousand Processors that were being documented for the first time in a decade, their names, the names of their family, their very existences, all suddenly existing on paper for the first time in ten years. It wasn't as if the Eighty-Six were simply waiting for their saviors to come, if anything quite the opposite, never once expecting anyone at all to come for them, to rescue them — that their deaths would well and truly be on the battlefield, never to be formally recorded. But now? They would be — if they were to die, people would know their names, they would be given graves. There would be no doubt about that much at least, something that hadn't been afforded for the millions of Eighty-Six who had died in the last decade.
"Miss?" The lady sitting across the table from The Witch asked, a look of genuine concern across her face — if the Witch were to guess, she was probably about the age her mother had been when they had been relocated to the concentration camps in the Eighty-Sixth sector. And there was almost no doubt in her mind that the fact that she was wearing a Federacy military uniform, meant that she had volunteered for this exact task — to intake and document the surviving Eighty-Six. That's what this converted hangar, at this base was for. It was far enough from the frontlines as to not worry about a Legion attack, but close enough that it meant that the Eighty-Six didn't have to be transported far from the ruins of the Republic to the Federacy.
The Witch looked at her with a confused look on her face, as if she wasn't sure how to answer the question that just had been asked. Her name? When was the last time that she had been asked such a thing — anyone who knew her, knew that she simply went by her moniker, or her callsign. That she didn't remember her name from before the Eighty-Sixth sector.
"I—" The Witch started to say. But stopped herself, unsure of how to even begin to explain that she didn't remember as something as simple as her own name. That the mere idea of having a name all to herself that wasn't something derogatory in its foundation was foreign to her.
"Are you one of the ones who doesn't have a name?" The lady in the Federacy military uniform asked. The Witch looked even more confused by this. "We were told by some of the surviving Republic military that there were some of you that didn't have names, so it'd be hard to document you." The Lady explained, a small, compassionate smile on her face. "I don't know whether or not you want a name, but we need one for you…" The Witch simply sat in her chair, her fists balled up against her legs as she tried to process what was being said. She looked down at her lap, the way her fists were balled up against it, as if subconsciously preparing for a fight that would not come. Not here. No, she was safe now.
"Everyone just calls me 'The Witch'." She responds after a moment's hesitation. "They have for as long as I can remember…"
"That's… Spooky… But, that's not much of a name… Tell me about yourself? Maybe we can come up with a name that way?"
"I'm… The commander for LFRITH. Or what's left of it, at least… After the Morpho attack, I was alone for a while, then I found the Famili—… VALKYRIE Squadron, and they followed me into the walls, where we found Captain Milizé… I was a trusted Processor, who worked closely with the other elite squadrons as a reserve unit, since I was by myself until I found VALKYRIE. And during the… Morpho Elimination Operation — isn't that what its called? I was one of a few messengers between squads at night, when we would rest and then Captain Milizé would issue orders between the different, split up squadrons."
"Hm… Dusk and dawn…? And a messenger of sorts, huh?" The Lady taps her pen against her chin. "Reminds me of one of the old deities… From before the Stellar Calendar… Mercury, was it? Although that sounds more like a man's name…"
"No, I like it. If it suits me, that is." The Witch almost looked sheepish at this statement, like she didn't mean to come across as enthusiastically as she had.
"I think it does, Miss Mercury…" She writes something down on the paper in front of her — likely the shape of her name, but the Witch can't read it upside down. And then she taps something into the tablet next to her. "Now, lets see, we don't need to have a first name for you, and you're not young enough to be filtered into an adoptive family to get a name that way…"
"How do you know that?" The Witch asks, tilting her head.
"Remember the blood draw we did when you got here yesterday?" The Witch nods. "We can do genetic testing and also compare some known things about you, which isn't much, but things like what year of your 'term' you were on — to figure out how old you are... Unfortunately without any records of your birthday, we won't know when your birthday is, but we can guess how old you are. And according to all that, you're about eighteen."
"Oh… I see…" She did the math quickly and as best she could in her head — that meant that she was about eight when she and her family had been shipped to the concentration camps, how old was her sister? Her mother?
"So, Mercury, with all that said, there's just one thing that I need you to do before we can get you all settled in Sankt Jeder…" The Lady says, tapping something into her tablet, and then spinning it around so that its readable to the Witch. "I just need you to sign, saying that you accept the citizenship of the Federacy of Giad, all the rights and responsibilities that such a thing entails."
"Like I won't break the law?"
The Lady nods at this.
"What will happen if I don't sign it?"
"We'll see if one of the neighboring countries will accept you, and if you accept their conditions and terms."
"And what if I don't even then?"
"Hopefully it doesn't come to that, Miss Mercury." The Lady offers her the pen that she holds, to sign the paper. And the Witch looks at it for a long moment, before accepting it. Once she does, the Lady points to a line on the bottom of the tablet to sign.
"Wh-what do I write?" The Witch asked, genuinely unsure of what to do next.
"Your new name… However you'd like to write it." The Lady gave a polite smile.
The Witch held the pen, almost shakily. Before she put the pen to the paper, and doing her best to sign the name "Mercury" on it, almost unsure of how the shape of the name on her tongue, translates into the spelling of it, but after a shaky moment, she finished — handing the pen back to the Lady.
"Well then, Miss Mercury, with that — welcome to the Federal Republic of Giad."

December 24, SY 2149

The apartment was fine — it was pre-furnished, and had all the amenities she needed, and then some. It was near enough to her counselor's office that she could walk, and with weekly appointments — she often spent a fair amount of time walking between the counselor's office and her own apartment, and stopping occasionally at the stores and shops along that route, finding something new to look at or window shop for. It took a few days of walking the same route, to realize that she could take different paths, and still end up in the same location, and that's when she began to explore the city of Sankt Jeder — the capital of the Federal Republic of Giad — little by little.
She'd normally have her weekly meeting with her counselor this week, but when she arrived at the office — she'd found a posted note: "closed for the Eve and Day of the Holy Birth". She blinked at the note. Not sure of what to make of it, before turning around and looking both ways down the street — finding that plenty of other stores and businesses were open. She sighed at this, before picking a direction, and starting to walk. She walked, absentmindedly — looking in store windows as she did at the various things that were on display. Clothes and art, the insides of café's that were still open in spite of the holiday being tomorrow. Places that were selling toys for younger children. Shops that were quiet during the winter season such as the bicycle store. A music shoppe had a pianist playing in the window — the tones of the piano they played ringing clearly over a speaker that was attached to the outside of the store. She stopped and watched for a while — the way that the pianist, a Adularia man, the way his fingers danced across the keys, and she wondered how long it took him to learn the songs that he played, what the name of the songs were.
She continued along after a moment or two, paying only acute attention to the other people on the street — young couples that were enjoying the Eve of the Holy Birth together — families that were going from store to store, looking at what it was that was on sale — cars on the street with cut-down trees on their roofs, no doubt to be put up in houses and apartments in celebration for the holiday.
She wondered if she should go out and get her own decorations for the holiday.
She continued walking, her breath freezing in the air in front of her as she did. Stopping only at a handful more stores, before eventually one storefront caught her eye more than the rest. The sign above the door, swaying gently in the wind that blew along the street, read "Trinket Emporium". The window itself is bland, no markings or items for sale that were sitting in view for people to window shop for. Something about the quiet nature of the store drew her in, and just from having gazed past her reflection in the window, she can see that the walls are lined in shelves with various items that she can't quite discern the nature or purpose of from just a cursory glance.
She decided, then, to enter the store — for reasons that she would struggle to articulate even if she wanted to.
"Welcome in!" Said an elderly gentleman, who looked up from a book that he was holding, to catch her glance — and then turned back down to the book that he held. She gives a small smile to him as he turned his gaze back down to his book — and the bell above the door gave a soft chime as she closed it behind her. Part of her mind makes note of the fact that this man would've been branded an Eighty-Six in the Republic.
She looked around at the inside of the store. At the countertop that runs along the perimeter of the store, and at the workbench-like tables that are in rows along the middle of the store, cluttered with tools and cutting pads that she recognized from the hobby shop that she visited a week ago. The whole store smells of fresh-cut lumber, and then faintly of sawdust. In the back of the store, at the counter, a young couple stands talking between one another about something that's on display on the shelf behind the counter. She doesn't look for very long at them, her eyes, instead, drawn in all sorts of directions by the various trinkets and doodads that are scattered across the shelves.
"Wh-what is this place?" She asked, still looking around at all the things that there are to see here. The man sets down the book he's reading.
"It's a… Well… I guess we're a kind of workshop of sorts. People can come in, make whatever they'd like with the tools and supplies, and sell it here if they'd like." The old man says, looking around at the shelves.
"What kinds of things do people make?" She realizes how silly the question must sound as soon as it's left her mouth.
The old man, instead of commenting on how silly her question is, smiles and stands up from his seat behind the counter, turning around to reach up to a shelf behind him. Gingerly picking up something that shimmers in between his fingers as he turns back around. "We have a regular, who brings in cleaned up and polished shards of glass, and turns them into jewelry…" He reached his hand out to her, who accepts the earrings just as gingerly. She looks at them curiously. "A few kids bring in the model kits of the latest Feldreß that the military makes." The Witch turned over the polished glass, inlaid with some kind of multicolored, sparkling material. She held it up to the lamp next to the register, watching how the colors seemed more vibrant this way. "You really like that, huh?" The old man smiles at this.
She looked up from gazing at the earring, her face a mixture of amazement and wonder at the item she holds. "Someone… Made this?" She asked, in complete bewilderment at the notion.
The old man smiles and nods; "Mhm, he comes in every couple of weeks to put them together, although he does the actual glassmaking at his house, since he needs special tools and a mask so that he doesn't inhale the glass."
She handed back the earrings, and the old man places them back on the shelf. "That's really pretty… It'd be neat to meet him… The person who made that, that is."
"Well, I believe he's taking the holiday to himself and his family, but he told me he'd be back in again the day after, because he's got some pieces he'd like to put together before the new-years celebrations." The old man says, sitting back down in his chair behind the counter. "If you come after lunch in a couple of days, he should be swingin by to work for a bit then."
The Witch nodded, "Is it alright if I look around?"
The old man gives a gesture towards the rest of the store, "Let me know if something catches your eye again!" He said, and she gives a small smile, walking along the counter as she does — giving her attention to each individual item, the shape of it, the perceived purpose of it that she can glean from just looking at it. There are items that look like tiny clocks with bracelet bands, earrings and other pieces of jewelry. Little things that look more like toys than they do anything else. Among them, are built models of Vánagandr of the Federacy's military. Her eyes linger on one of the models for a bit longer than she means to, and her body tenses up when she realizes.
There are tiny, folded birds made out of colorful paper — something that she recognizes from one of the habits of one of the girls from her first squadron; a habit that she did when she was anxious.
She smiles faintly at the memory, before the memory of that girl's death came to mind.
An image of a canopy cracked in two, and the girl's legs severed by a shell from a Löwe's 120mm main armament. She had screamed and screamed in pain before Mercury had killed her — she was one of the first that Mercury had to euthanize, and it made her both sad and she almost started to tremble with that sadness as the memory passed.
There were paintings propped up against the wall, behind the counter. And a few that were hanging in precarious places between the shelves or atop them. Colors that she hadn't seen used in paintings before, only in the oil puddles that would drip from Aerial's legs as she trudged back to LFRITH's base with a groaning control system and whining engine.
She turned away from the counter, and saw that she was all but alone in the store. The old man had picked up his book again, and was reading; but the couple had left at some point while she herself was looking. She hadn't even heard the bell over the door — the sign of them having left. She made it to the far-side of the store, seeing what there was to see of the trinkets, before turning to the workbenches, and looking over the tools, the workspaces. The way that the wood of the workbenches were cut in strange unpatterned ways, like many people had made their mark in this place over time, all making the same, or similar mistakes — connecting them beyond time, through simple sharing of this space. She ran her hand over the surface, feeling the grooves of the wood, the pockmarks on its surface, and wondered what kinds of tools made the marks in the surface of the wood.
"Is it quiet because of the holiday?" Mercury asked.
"Yeah, it is… I don't mind it though. I'm mostly staying open today in case someone needs a last minute gift." The old man responded.
"I see… Do you want me to leave?"
The old man looked up from his book and smiled; "Not at all miss, please look around for as long as you'd like."
"I just don't want to be a bother is all…" Mercury said with her voice more timid than she means.
"You're not a bother, promise… You're not from Sankt Jeder, are you?" The old man asked, using the proper name for the capital, rather than just calling it 'the city' the same way that she had been for the past couple of weeks.
"N-no, I'm not." Mercury responded.
"Hmm, well, I promise us city folk don't bite… Are you a student?"
"Kind of… I have classes I have to take after the 'winter break'."
"Well, if you're looking for a place to be, where I can promise you won't be a bother to anyone at all — there's always the city library. Good place to study… But I also don't mind if you're here, promise." The old man explained. "But of course, if you're antsy, feel free to come back whenever… I won't be open tomorrow or the day after, but I will after that."
"O-okay."
"I promise you're not a bother miss, for what it's worth."

December 27, SY 2149

She had come the day after the Celebration of the Holy Birth — and spent most of the day in short, but meaningful conversation with the Old Man, who she learned was named Marcus, and who had a couple granddaughters, who he said were "about her age". She had brought along coffee for herself and the Old Man — it felt polite enough to do that much at least, for offering to make the connection between people for her.
"What about you, Miss? What's your name?" They sat both by the register, Marcus on his chair, and the Witch on a stool she had moved from one of the workbenches.
"I—" She started, barely remembering how to form the words of the name that she had chosen when she arrived in the Federacy. She took a sip from her drink, the steam and smell filling her nose as she did. "My name's… Mercury."
"Mercury, huh? That a nickname?"
"N-no… I picked it myself." Marcus raised his eyes for a moment at this, before taking a sip of his coffee himself.
"It's a nice name, at least. Very unique... Reminds me of the old gods I used to read about in my childhood." The Witch makes a look at this — and Marcus laughs, heartily. "Yes, Miss Mercury, I can still remember my childhood, I'm not that old."
"I-I'm sorry." She murmurs, barely audibly, looking down at her coffee.
He laughs again, "It's alright Miss Mercury — it's the privilege of the old to make light of their state. It wouldn't be right otherwise."
"O-oh." She says, looking around at the empty store. "W-when do you think he'll be here?"
"Who, Damien?" Marcus asks, glancing at a wristwatch on his left wrist. He sighs, "Who knows, he is probably on his way now though."
The two talk for a bit longer — Marcus telling more stories than the Witch does. She doesn't have very many stories to tell, and based on the looks that Marcus gives whenever she doesn't seem to realize that she should tell a story of her own, the Witch wonders what Marcus thinks about her. If he knows somehow that she's one of the Eighty-Six, just based on how she talks — or if he suspects simply that she's a girl with a troubled past in a new city.
They talk about Sankt Jeder, how its changed in the time since Marcus was a younger man, how he's lived here his whole life — and seen the fall of the Empire of Giad in his time. How there's something that has truly changed in the world that has allowed for the Empire to fall, and the crimes of the Republic to come to light. The Witch says very little about the Republic, and even less when Marcus brings up his thoughts about the Eighty-Six, about how they're poor souls who he's glad that the Federacy were able to help save before they were completely wiped out in the wake of the Large Scale Offensive. He wondered, out loud, how many the Federacy was really able to save, and what they're doing now that they're free for the first time in a decade.
Mercury says nothing, but sips her coffee.
"The other day, miss Mercury, you said you weren't from around here. Where are you from?"
"I-I don't really remember… K-Kind of everywhere and nowhere." Mercury stammers over her half-lie. It's true enough that she doesn't remember her hometown in the Republic, and that she didn't really consider the bases that she had lived in during her conscription as home either — but that didn't mean that she is from the Federacy either, but that isn't what Marcus had asked.
"Did you used to live near the frontlines?" Mercury nodded — that was true enough. "Ah, I'm sorry to hear that… The war has taken a lot from us. But, if anything, its a good thing that you're still alive. This nation needs young people like you to look after it."
"Wh-what about you?" Mercury asked, not entirely following or understanding what is being said.
Marcus chuckles; "Old men like me, we've already had our time. Had our nation, and for all intents and purposes, we lost that nation a decade ago… Not that I would've been any use in defending the Empire anyways… And not to say that I agreed with the old guard's line of thinking. But just that at least, I had my time to shine, and I missed out. But you still have yours. The Federacy is new, and it needs young people like you, who have seen what this short-sighted war has wrought on this nation and its neighbors — and to not repeat the same mistakes."
Mercury is silent at this.
Marcus chuckles again, "But that's enough from an old sophist. It looks like Damien is here." He motions at the door, where a man carrying something under his arm has just turned to open the door — the bell above the door chimes, and a burst of cold air rushes in from outside.
"Ho, Marcus." The man said, in a pleasant voice, shutting the door behind him.
"Ho, Damien. Got someone who's interested in your work here." Marcus said, motioning at Mercury.
"Oh? What's your name, miss…?" He extended his free hand to shake hers.
"Mercury." The Witch responded, and took his hand to shake his.
"Neat name." Damien commented, moving to set the bag under his arm down on one of the nearby workbenches. "What can I do for you, Mercury?"
"Oh, I just wanted to meet you, is all… Y-you made those glass earrings, right?" She pointed at the shelf above Marcus.
"Yeah! I did. I use a special kind of glass that hardens after its exposed to a sealing solution, until then its an amorphous blob.. I have to break the glass and melt it down at my place, since it releases superfine dust which can cut up your lungs and throat if you breath it in. So I don't do it here." Damien beams, explaining how he makes the glass pieces.
"That's neat… I had no idea there was a glass like that." Mercury says, looking at the bag on the workbench. "Are those the… the 'blobs'?"
"Yup! It's a kind of polymer-esqe thing. I'm not really into the science behind it, but." Damien unzips the bag, and reaches into it, pulling out a vial, inside something shimmers and refracts the light, before changing shape as he moves it, and refracting it a different way. "It's safe on its own, but its nice to have each bit that I'm going to work on in its own container, so they don't all congeal together." He hands the vial to Mercury, who takes it, and holds it up to the light, looking at the way that it doesn't quite move like a liquid, but when she adjusts the vial, it seems to stiffen, and then flow more naturally when she holds the vial still. "It's a curious thing, isn't it?"
Mercury nods before handing the vial back to Damien. "So you can put in the little color shards when it's like this?"
"Yup!" Damien pulls something else from his bag, a rectangle with a transparent top, and with compartments on the inside, each with a little bag, containing like-colored shards of what the Witch assumed would be glass. "You can put in these shards of glass if you're gentle, and then when you seal the glass in the shape you want, it stays put." Damien smiles, "Want to give it a try?"
"C-can I?"
"Sure! I didn't expect to teach anyone today, but I'm happy to, I like to think its a lot of fun… Suppose I wouldn't have been doing this for so long if I didn't think it was fun in some way." Damien says, clearing a spot on the nearby workbench, and Mercury moves her stool from nearby the counter next to Marcus, to where Damien is unpacking his bag. Taking out other containers of glass shards, what look like molds, and then more vials of the glass-like substance. "Wanna give it a shot?"
"S-sure!" Mercury said, perhaps more excited than she means to.

January 15, SY 2150

It was snowing. It wasn't unheard of for it to snow during this time of year — it snowed plenty enough in the Eastern Theater during her five years there. But not once had she ever realized that it was snowing and that there was no need to worry about fighting in that snow. No, for once she didn't have to leave the apartment if she didn't want to. She could just stay indoors, and watch the snowfall if she wanted. But she didn't want to just stay indoors. She pulled on a hoodie, and slipped a leather jacket that she'd purchased, and pulled on boots that she had purchased that reminded her of her own boots from the Eighty-Sixth sector, except wearing these boots — her feet didn't nearly wear through the sole, and give her blisters and callouses that had only begun to heal. She appreciated the new boots, she appreciated that she was able to just go out and buy them, rather than hope for 'new' ones to show up in the resupply plane from the White Pigs.
She didn't know why the Eighty-Six were given a form of 'allowance' from the government. Maybe it had to do with a decade of oppression and murder of the Colorata — and so they assumed that the Eighty-Six probably didn't want to go to work before they had a taste of the freedom they had been denied in growing up and living under the oppression of the Eighty-Sixth sector.
The leather of her jacket kept the wind out, and the hoodie beneath kept her warm as she walked down the street, away from her apartment. She didn't have a particular destination in mind, but knew from habit and from the turns that she was taking that she was headed towards Marcus' Trinket Emporium. Right down sixth avenue, follow it for a few blocks, cross in front of the city park — make a left across sixth avenue, and walk down the street a ways until she passed the music shoppe. It was a simple routine. She wasn't entirely sure what was in the city past the Emporium. She hadn't ever explored that much further, even though she might have if she had been given the time. But as she came up on the Emporium, she noticed that the lights didn't seem to be on. And standing in front of the door to the emporium — a handwritten sign was taped to the glass.
"Closed for the day, not feeling well."
She read the sign once, twice and then a third time — not being sure what to make of it. People passed her by on the street, as she stood there, looking at the sign with her hands in her jacket's pockets.
There were steps to her left, from the direction that she hadn't ever explored in, and then the steps stopped just short of where she was.
"Ho, Merucry."
"Hello." Mercury turned to find the familiar face of Damien.
"Closed for the day, huh?" Damien asked.
"Yeah, seems so…" Mercury said, looking back at the inside of the store.
"Marcus is an older guy, its easier for him to get sick during the winter… C'mon, I know a tea shop nearby, if you want to chat?"
"…Sure." Mercury said, turning to face Damien again, and then walking by his side as they walked down the street, in the direction that Mercury had never been in.
"Had the day off or something?" Damien asked.
"S-sorry?"
"From your studies? Marcus told me that you're a student."
"O-oh. Yeah… Something like that." Mercury said, and didn't see Damien's flash of an expression at the statement. "What about you?"
"I typically have this day of the week off from work, so I can afford to stop by during the day." He hit the signal as he stopped in front of one of the crosswalks, with a closed hand. "Thought I'd stop by, but oh well. Not the end of the world." He said as the signal lit up, and both he and Mercury walked across the street. "My car's just up ahead, I'm gonna drop my bag off… How about you, do you drive?"
"N-no. I just live a few streets away."
"Nice, it's a good part of town, can't imagine the rent's cheap though."
Mercury is silent at this, not knowing what to say in response.
Damien stops in front of a beige car that's parked on the side of the street. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key fob, which he uses to open the trunk, and then slips his bag off his shoulders, and down into the trunk of the car.
"I never see you have stuff to build, do you just hang around the shop?"
Mercury nods, "Yeah… I don't really know what to make."
Damien closes the trunk. "When I first started coming to the shop, I was a bit like you. Took me a while to find something I wanted to make, so there were all sorts of things that I did make. Models, mostly. But I tried painting, watchmaking, some other stuff like that. Eventually settled on jewelry making… I ended up proposing to my husband with a ring that I made." He said, starting his walk with Mercury back down the street, towards the tea shop.
"Y-you're married?" Mercury asks.
"Yup!" Damien says beaming as he pulls his hand out of the gloves that he wears, and showed Mercury the wooden ring on his left hand. "We got married a few years ago now."
"Oh… I had no idea."
"I don't talk about it much unless it comes up… Never been one for flaunting my status. But those who notice, notice, and those who don't, don't." Damien smiles as he tucks his hand into the glove again, motioning for them to turn left, around a corner. "But Anton, my partner, he's always a bit more showy. So I made him a ring to match."
"That's… Sweet." Mercury says, struggling to find the right words to say.
"I like to think so." Damien slows down in front of a storefront, and Mercury does too. She looks up at the sign above the door, and can't read the characters painted on it. "Here it is!"
"… Are you sure?"
"Yup. It's run by an Orienta couple, who're friends of me and my husband." Damien says, and reaches for the door, opening it. Mercury steps inside, nodding her thanks.
Immediately, her nose is filled with fragrant scents of all different kinds. So many that its hard for her to really identify one from the other — but they're all pleasant. The shop is quiet, unlike the street outside with the passing cars on the road and the chatter of pedestrians on the sidewalk. There was a soft chiming sound resonating through the shop. Damien shut the door behind the pair, and continued walking into the store. Mercury followed. As they moved further into the store, voices began to register in Mercury's ears. Before they entered onto a floor that had several tables, only a couple of which were occupied by people. Damien led Mercury to a table in the corner, and slipped his coat from his shoulders. She did the same as she sat down. Before long, a young Orienta girl, one that Mercury would've guessed was around her own age, came up to them.
"Ho, Damien. Your usual?"
"Ho, Xiang. How's the old man? And yes please." Damien asked, sitting down.
"He got home from treatment yesterday. Taking the day to rest. Just me today, mum's out shopping. How're you? Holiday with Anton was good, I take it?" Xiang responded, her sentences short, but not rude.
"Always is. How about yours?"
"Was just fine, thank you. And for you, miss, what kind of tea?" Xiang turns to Mercury.
Mercury blinks, not having even having the slightest clue to where to start with ordering. She looks at Damien for a moment, who simply smiles and then speaks up for her. "How about something light, floral maybe? Just something to get her acquainted with what you've got here, Xiang."
"Sure, I'll be right back." Xiang says, before she steps away.
"Xiang is…?" Mercury asks as Xiang moves from earshot.
"The daughter of the people who own the store. She's a student too." Damien explained, glancing around the shop..
"I see."
"But yeah, this is the tea shop. It's a nice cozy little place, I sometimes bring Marcus tea from here as a 'thanks for letting me use your space.'" Damien explains, turning to look at Mercury. "Not much of a tea drinker, I take it?"
The Witch shrugs. "We never really had tea. So it's not like I got much of a chance to drink it…"
"I heard from Marcus that you used to live near the Frontlines? I can't imagine what that's like." Damien said, sighing as he does. "I had a few friends from growing up here in the city who went into the military, and somehow they've not been deployed to the front lines yet… But they're all supply personnel, not like the Vánagandr pilots. So they're mostly in the rear."
"It must be nice…" Mercury says, not realizing what she's said until after she's said it, and Damien gives a confused look. "N-Not needing to worry about them as much, I mean."
"Oh, yeah, I suppose it is… But you sound like you might've known someone who was on the front lines too — not to pry or anything." Damien commented.
"No no… It's kinda true… I know some people who did." Mercury responded. Not being sure how to even approach the subject of being an Eighty-Six, much less bringing it up now of all times. "A close friend of mine… I haven't heard from him in a while, though." The Witch says, and it's true enough. She did know people who were on the front lines. Many of whom she fought besides, and many of whom she ended up being the one who saw them in their final moments. "But it's… Wartime, so they don't always have time to write me back."
"Yeah, that's true enough."
After a moment of silence, Xiang comes back, carrying two saucers with teacups on them. They are almost delicate looking things, made of real porcelain, and as she approached Mercury and Damien's table, the scent of the teas that were on each saucer washed over Mercury. Xiang set each saucer down in front of the respective person, and then bowed as she moved away towards another table.
Mercury picks up the teacup by its handle, and takes a tentative sip, realizing the flavor of it instantly — blueberries. LFRITH had found blueberries when exploring the city outside their base one day, on a high-rise building's rooftop, overflowing from the side of the building, and draped across the floor of that rooftop. They had picked as many as they could, not daring to get too close to the edge of the roof.
"You like it?" Damien asked, setting down his own cup.
Mercury nodded, and took another sip, being careful as to not burn her tongue as she did.
"If I had to guess, Xiang made you a… Blueberry tea. Something really flavorful." Damien smiled as Mercury nodded, verifying his thoughts. "Xiang has a knack for figuring out what people will really like, and it more often than not is that particular tea."
"Its very good…" Mercury murmured.
"I'm glad! This shop's a place I like bringing people to, especially if they've never really had much tea before. Because its an entirely different experience than anything else." Damien said. "But hey, that's not what I wanted to talk about with you."
Mercury looked up from her teacup at this, with a quizzical expression on her face.
"Anton and I are moving soon, out from our apartment and into a proper house just outside the city. And that means for moving, I need to get rid of some of my excess jewelry making stuff. I was considering giving it over to Marcus, but if you'd be interested, I'd be happy to just give it all to you, if you want. The only stuff I won't just give over are like, my glass-cutting tools, because they're pretty expensive. But the rest? Like the excess polymer, the molds, and a lot of the glass fragments? I'd be happy if they went to you." Damien said.
"But why me?" Mercury asked, "I've only ever made the one thing with them…"
"Because I believe that if you had the tools readily available, you would make more. There's a glint in your eyes, Mercury, when you were making that necklace, and I think that if you have the time and the materials on hand, you'd probably be making things with that polymer non-stop."
Truth be told, Mercury thought the same way. That it would be nice to have the materials on hand, to not have to wait for Damien to show up in order to possibly make something with what she'd learned. The idea of having things like that just simply there, waiting to be used, rather than her having to wait for them, was something that made her excited to think about. On the other hand, as well, she was aware that this would be some of the first non-clothing things she owned. She hadn't purchased any of the books she had been reading, instead borrowing them from the library for as long as it took to read through them, then returning them that same day. Needless to say, her living space was barren of anything that wasn't already in the pre-furnished apartment she had been given by the Federacy's government.
"Can… I think about it?" Mercury asked.
"Sure! It's not like I need to hand this stuff off today, but sometime in the next week would be nice." Damien said, taking a sip from his tea.
"When are you going to be back at the shop?"
"Probably on Tuesday, around the same time? Do you want my number instead?"
"…Number?" Mercury asked, tilting her head slightly.
Damien grinned, "Yeah, my phone number. So you can reach me instead of having to wait, if you make up your mind."
"Oh, sure." Mercury said, pulling out her phone from her jacket's pocket. Somehow having remembered to bring it with her today.
It took some explaining from Damien to find the contacts menu, and then typing in his number took a little bit longer. But with only a little effort, she had managed to put his number in correctly.
"Yeah, just shoot me a message or give me a call when you make up your mind, and I'll be happy to bring the stuff by your place!"
Mercury smiled as she set her phone down again, "Thank you."

January 22, SY 2150

Mercury had accepted Damien's offer. And had sent him a message when she had woken up, having decided that she did want the polymers, molds and glass shards. She had every intention of going out and getting a cutting pad from a nearby hobby shop, and some tools as well.
She had spent the morning waiting, unsure when Damien would actually show up after she'd sent him the address of her apartment. But figured he'd come anyways. She read, she tidied up her stack of books from the library, read some more, and it was nearly noon before she realized that she needed to eat something. She made herself what was called a 'bagel', and then some coffee substitute, before she heard the knock at her door. She had excitedly set down her book on the table next to the arm chair in her living space, and then practically darted to the door, not bothering to check the peephole.
Her face dropped when she opened the door, and saw the steel-colored uniform of the Federacy Military, something she hadn't seen since she had been processed after being 'liberated'. She had to look up at the man who wore the uniform, in order to see his face.
"Mister Guel!" She practically shouted, recognizing him almost instantly.
"Hey there, L'il Witch." He grinned.
A few thoughts raced across Mercury's mind. The first being 'where the hell have you been?'. She didn't voice that one. Another two were, in sequence, 'what are you doing here?' and 'why are you wearing that uniform?'
What came out instead was; "Why are you here?"
Guel's face made an expression that she couldn't quite read. "I uh—, came to see how you were doing since the Federacy picked you up. I hadn't heard from you."
"I had no idea you were even alive!" Mercury exclaims, ushering him into the apartment, rather than forcing him to stand outside of it.
"Well, it took us longer than we would've liked to get to the Gran Mur… Got held up between two Legion formations." Guel explained as he entered the apartment, looking around as he did. "But how about you? I had no idea how you could've survived that railgun strike."
The Witch shrugged as she closed the door. "Got lucky I guess… But who else survived?"
Guel doesn't smile, "Ür, Monarch, Tomcat. That's it."
"Fallen Crow?"
"We found his Juggernaut, and torched it." Guel said, with all the severity of the meaning behind his words.
"…I see."
"But hey, that's not what I came here to talk to you about." Guel said, sighing. "I was just expedited through the Special Officer Academy. Apparently there's a process for us Eighty-Six to funnel us into a special unit. They call it the 'Strike Package'... And you'll never guess who's leading it."
"Eighty-Six?" The Witch asked.
"Not just any Eighty-Six. The goddamned Reaper."
"No way."
"Yeah, he apparently got picked up by Federacy soldiers, and was brought back here... Even still, he's not what I came to talk about either." Guel said, crossing his arms, as if expecting a reaction from her as he talked. "Heard you've been out and about for a month. Have you figured out what you want to do?"
"'What I want to do'?" The Witch repeated.
"Yeah, like what you want to do with your life, now that we're done being drones."
The Witch wanted to bite her lip. She hadn't given it any thought. She hadn't been told to. "I don't know." She said, bluntly, after a moment had passed.
"Listen, I know it's probably not what you want to do, but the Military's always there if you run out of options… Just don't go picking it first, yeah?"
"Mister Guel, I don't know what I want for myself." Mercury said, bitterly. "Everything in my life has been chosen for me. How I lived, who I got to see, when and where I fought… Not once has anyone asked me 'hey, what do you want to do?', because not once did anyone think of me as human. Just a Witch. Something to solve the problems that someone else had! I don't know what I want because I've never been deemed 'alive' enough to deserve it!" Her fists balled up at her sides. "I don't know what I want to do with my life. I've not had it for long enough!"
"Then… Don't pick yet. You've got your housing all taken care of, you've got a stipend for living. You can do whatever the hell you want—"
"But even still!" The Witch shouted, cutting off Guel's statement. "Why do I miss it?!"
Guel gave a compassionate smile in the silence that followed, part of The Witch expected him to shout back at her, but he didn't. "Because it gave you purpose, community, a sense of belonging, despite what the White Pigs did to us... Same as me, same as everyone else who signed up for this batshit Strike Package."
Her shoulders shook with emotion. The feeling of guilt that despite all these good things that she was simply given — that she would willing choose to walk back into hell if it meant having that purpose given back to her. If it meant having a clear mission every day.
Guel adjusted his uniform jacket, and took something out from the breast pocket, and reached it across the space, to where Mercury stood.
"Wh-what?" Mercury said, wiping the corners of her eyes with her arms, looking at the envelope that Guel holds.
"It's a copy of the paperwork that they made me sign, when I agreed to sign up for the Special Officer's Academy. It's modified for us Eighty-Six. But if you decide that's where you want to go with your life — then I'm not gonna be the one to stop you." Guel said. "It's already signed and dated by the General of the Army, the Chief of Staff, and the Strike Package's Commander. All you'd need to do is get in contact with whoever it is manages your case with the military."
"Miss Vierka."
"Yeah. But think about it first. I don't want you to feel like I'm giving you an out. Just a choice."

Commencing Transmission
MESSAGE BEGINS
April 17 — Solar Year 2150
1452 ZULU
Operational Clock of Sender: ERROR, CAPACITY OVERFLOW. SENDING UNIT HAS EXCEEDED PROGRAMMED LIFESPAN OF 50,000 HOURS. MESSAGE MAY BE MALICIOUS
STDIN —
STDIN — SIG_IGNORE
MESSAGE CONTINES
NO FACE to Wide Area Network 1: Operational Security should be heightened to maximum levels. Likelihood of enemy attack raises DEFCON to 2. Await further instructions.
NO FACE to HERMES ONE: Continue production operations. Await and report target confirmation of presence of both BÁLEYGR and MINERVA in operational area.
NO FACE to WHITE BRIDE: Continue in standby mode. Engage enemy targets after confirmation of presence of both BÁLEYGR and GALDRAKONA in operational area.
No further instructions at this time.
END OF MESSAGE