Uncle Sam s Angels

by Verde Olive

...it's true that some of the most terrible things in the world are done by people who think, genuinely think, that they're doing it for the best, especially if there is some higher cause involved. Don't think then, just act. Afterall, you're right. You have to be. Continuing AND inspired by HULUORIGINAL'S WORK, Uncle Sam. Not izuru yumizuru's Infinite Stratos.

1. Uncle Sam Get's His Angels

Guy didn´t finish his story and i see value in it. Why infinite stratos? it´s sadly been a surprising inspiration in a very very loose way of saying it. I´ll accept crits if you bear with my first time in this rodeo.

Also i rather not autocorrect. Don´t look back and all, just posting this might help me consistently update this mess.

Read Uncle Sam to get the first part of the story, think of it as mandatory reading.

Done and done.

/

Credit to HULUORIGINAL for getting someone to write.

Their original story Uncle Sam which was the largest inspiration for writing this, not Izuru Yumizuru's Infinite Stratos, they were first and foremost in this process so they get their name spoken first and foremost.

/ Pre-Script from the Narrative Villain/

Hello there, I'm talking to you, fresh Villainer. Don't expect to see me for quite a few chapters, The pseudonym hasn't put on the mask quite yet.

Wait. It's ugly, look at it it's a damn shame.

/ Letters from the [NARRATIVE VILLAIN] /

All caps when you spell the [VILLAIN'S] name. There we go. Know it like a poet.

I in my past attempt of venturing into this decided that it'd be a terrifically great idea to continue another person's story without recapping their ideas. As you can tell by past me's writing.

A new start for this chapter, a sort of semi-canonizing of what happened in the past to clear up miscommunications behind everything, exciting!

This is not a pure truth to form recapping, you should still read their story Uncle Sam, you'll find it as a nice way to find some unexplained or not yet mentioned details in this story. This will also be intentionally vague just to allow flexibility and unwrite some of the directions I feel would be too hard to play off that Hulu took that I'm not, or the one's I forgot.

BUT. You could still theoretically go through this entire story without reading this, people have, this has been happening before for a long time in fact. I'll update on some plot holes and critiques we've passed in the latest chapter, just to not spoil it but I'll try to be upfront with them.

But early on? It's like it left off just where it ended. A terrible entrance for anyone new in my opinion, which will make my writing seem different once you go onto the further chapters past this one. A rewrite was necessary, I'll try to make it independent but it's a bit of a mess.

Along with the fact that I'm skipping over some of their details intentionally. This is just because I don't have their ideas, or disagree with them.

Expect inconsistencies, from the past to the present. Plot holes so big you don't come out the same person, have fun laughing at them with me.

But first, here's some terms.

IS Unit: It's an exosuit. Have you ever seen prosthetic leg designs for runners? With those long bendable blades curving to the ground capable of crossing terrain easier than feet with large tall strides.

Our hero Ichika Orimura*: Japanese male, hair that is indiscernible between being either black or blue. Visibly muscular, Slightly above average in height but not so much it's noticeable, more reminiscent of a brick enjoying fitting in place. Arguably attractive? Not really. He's very standardized, not average. Just a good standard for what a human looks like. Is special because he has an (XY) Chromosome, definitely nothing else.

IS Academy*: It's a very rich place, any person walking in could notice it by seeing its resources, not its opulence. The look of old money that comes about with many prestigious universities in this modern age with towering spires and brick walls that have been there longer than some of the oldest alumni currently alive is not present. It's very concrete gray with its colors of blue and white. Large blunt buildings are placed everywhere, giving it somewhat of an aura of service without actually directly stating so.

May I mention again, this entire reciting will be vague intentionally. I'm trying to fit their details into mine. They have a different flavor of direction, read Uncle Sam to have fun with a different perspective, along with the not so subtle rework of personalities that will be more apparent in the future.

And may I add. If this is too confusing or convoluted, please ask away. I will rewrite it to clear things up slightly, but i will ask you to read the following chapters to clear it up because this is one of my bigger writing projects and I expect errors.

Now then.

This is 50k words in 11 chapters, and no matter what I do I won't find it interesting enough nor will you.

Let's crack that.

Once upon a time there was a boy forcefully swaddled in a muddled darkness, he found it comfortable once he realized he wasn't alone.

/

Cold knife to the throat and far away from whatever place he was living in this year, but it would've been better to go back then wherever this place was even if the darkness around his eyes told him nothing. The chiding voices outside of his sight, the heartfelt sting of the unviewable dusty air contaminate the slim cut that was playfully carved into him.

Red liquid falling down his face that trickle fell, it was new it was fresh to him this sensation, unenjoyable in how his body was telling him to ignore it.

In this moment of absolute seriousness only one thing could be thought of; slipping too hard and the scrape burning against the wood chips of a playground, he couldn't physically comprehend the joy of this, the pleasure derived from this.

They were laughing at him, they would have more fun and more fun with him, this was entertainment.

Move a fist forward back, move a leg fast into the chest of someone else. Moving the motion of his arms, anything that could shove them back to doing nothing.

Another set of laughter behind him, words he couldn't comprehend but crudely sharpened to pierce his mind.

It wasn't rage, it was the need for them to stop the taunting, that little bit of shock or fear or whatever response that wasn't pathetic mocking pity.

Patient waiting for the right time, the right echoing of footsteps right in front of him, he sprung his rested feet forward, they were tied but not bound on the chair he sat on, he leaned forward and brought out his teeth to bite for more red liquid.

The hard leather material almost broke his teeth, a shriek of disgust and a full fledged fast motion to the side of his head. Teeth feeling cracked from the toughness of the material.

His head banged hard on lukewarm metal, his head was emptied of all thought as the still material rang out.

The rust from the chair he was tied to dug firmly into his leg as he now leaned on whatever thing he hit.

It wasn't noticeable while he was moving, but that is what made it detectable when he wasn't now.

Running around in a circle over and over, going down slides, playing tag.

Being forced to sit down and drink water.

Sparks behind his eyes flew, that hum of excitement, as if he was projecting himself into something stronger.

His heart started pumping.

/

The warehouse was empty but filled with small amounts of incredible volatility.

Gun toting lunatics that thought they could be queen if they peddled killing to their own whims or the highest bidders.

They existed everywhere, especially here in this continent, it was just something that came, how they still carried themselves like they were something special just because they held higher power.

The needle marks on her arms rubbed against her reinforced uniform as if they were piercing through the fabrics that grew heavier each day, but that wouldn't even matter in fact it was so far away from what was currently being thought at the moment.

Those little frequent habits a person never notices.

There was such a temptation to just flip on some shade's right here and now just so the dim light right in front of these monkeys with guns.

Dimmer, as to treat the disease.

A hint of action, a falling kidnapped person. With an ever so ignored emphasis on the kid. It was a bit funny how he got thrown to the side into the thing their "business partners" actually think is important to her right now.

He was the big bounty.

The clang that rangout, hastily regained composure. Respect to the effort, most people just go down swinging.

Well, that would probably be it. A hit to the head for his dumb idea to play hero. Funny too, just watching him tumble down onto the merchandise.

But then that suit breathed. Inhaling, exhaling just from the very oh so delicate and light touch of that boy.

Now this was worth paying attention to.

/

Well then, isn't that a novelty? The shimmer of power, the whirr of life. It's a variable, one intended to be used for the olive branch of outreach. But now it could be whittled into the arrow. Roots digging deeper into the ground, cementing a stronger foundation the longer it remained.

He was like her, like them.

But there was a sudden pressing matter of time and an incoming opposition that could be guessed, the tag that came with this particular price.

Not the makeshift task force in front peddling weapons of decent destruction that would be out of their reach. Her.

/

He was still sideways on the floor, he felt like fizzy sparkling juice. A bottle that freshly opened, the goosebumps rising were the foam.

The whirr of metal, it was very familiar. All too familiar. Barking words and arguments in a language he didn't know.

They stopped talking and even he could tell that the moment of silence, a loud yell and the loudest bang of metal he ever heard came from above probably bending the roof of wherever he was outward.

A few seconds later he could feel the largest fragment of metal carefully set the chair the right way up, along with him. Stability.

The rope he was tied to was carefully yet easily cut off, like pulling the loose strings off of old clothing.

A gentle removal of the darkness in his eyes, and he saw that gigantic metallic machine. It was different than his sister's but not worse, it was the first time he'd seen one up close.

Maybe she really would come to save him.

The lady who talked gave off a calm gait of speaking, but there was urgency in how quickly she wrote and composed her words. But no malicious intent, no happiness with yellows that are too bright. Eagerness was still clear.

He couldn't read the words and she seemed to pick that up.

Hands would've pointed to him, a flat raised palm would've folded inward, then pointed back at herself.

You. Follow. Me?

Iron paws did instead.

He knew he shouldn't, it could get worse but he waited. Just for the sole chance that he'd get another savior, maybe she would keep this promise.

It was his choice.

/

Wo ist ihr bruder auf der Karte?

(Where is her brother on the map.) An entire continent to span and every second of concentration wasted it.

Dochira desu ka?

( Which one is it?) Which one of these points could have him?

A broken house roof fallen inward, and a sudden burst away, when she got her teeth on them she would tear them apart.

Ki o tsukete

(Be careful.) She had to hyperfocus, this point had to have him.

Der Zug ist schon abgefahren.

(The opportunity is gone.) He's gone. It was too fast, this was the nature of these types of deals. He should've been found kinou.

(Yesterday.) 48 hours before a victim was absolutely lost.

All that time was spent finding the most perfect spot one would exchange weapons.

Ein kleines neutrales Territorium mit Konflikten

(A small neutral territory with a small amount of conflict.)

完璧な外国介入ホットスポット

(The perfect foreign intervention hotspot.)

She could do it. Would do it. Here was the most likely place to find it.

(Sie konnte es schaffen. Würde es tunc. Hier war der wahrscheinlichste Ort, um es zu finden.)

The wind that herumgepeitscht her stood still. She found a roof with Stratos sized holes and crashed down.

Where. Is. He.

Nothing but emptiness and pitch black darkness.

彼女は、このようなことは二度と起こらないと約束しました。

(She promised it would never happen again.) But it did.

/

The little man was awake now. The fabrication of the ever so popular Bissulfide was a niche pass time that made her special.

Practically useless right now but it kept her mind off when she realized she'd still need to be all the way there enough to be comprehensible.

Besides, actually explaining all the goodies contact to skin would do to the little man was fun.

It maims you. What's maim mean? Well, what does it mean? She didn't know but she sure as hell told him an answer.

She really wanted to use some good old pocket time dilation. But, not in front of the kid. She had to get used to sobriety for the next few hours.

Lying down she flicked on her shades as she watched the sun rise, letting the ever accustomed patter of a helicopter fly them away to somewhere better.

She had to be a role model after all.

/

Status Check.

One is restfully relaxing, the other isn't saying anything right now, wait no. Guess the teasing from one got into him the concept of people getting hurt, then people hurting for fun and profit.

It took a longer while than she expected.

One really took to him though, well, she did understand his language so that was a given but he just managed to find a way to react to her in just the ways she wanted to get.

Or maybe it was just that he was small.

The message that needed to be said once they landed at a safer base was eagerly told.

This particular quid pro quo interested everyone.

Training. Then deployment into a new life that fitted people like them.

Or going back to the states for special witness protection. Hopefully. The operation already was hush hush, but there was a good chance that his brain would get pickled in a laboratory by those sick fucks in USAMMADA's specially built version of China Lake.

No. A word of this wouldn't be spoken of, this was just a pathway that could happen that she saw, she didn't want to bias his result more than it already was.

Welcome to FOXHOUND.

/

Apply to IS Academy Piloting Program/ Education Launch in 6 steps.
The application process for the international Strata academy requires more preparation than many other learning institutions, but following these 6 steps can help.

Step 1. Confirm Eligibility.

Candidates must meet certain requirements specified by public law in order to be considered for admission to International Strata.

You must:

-Be at least age 13, but not 18 or older, on July 1 of the year you enter International Strata.

-Be a Citizen for your representing country (See Information for Independent Neutral Cadets for exceptions.)

-Not be married

-Not be pregnant

-Not be legally responsible for child support.

-If you are a naturalized citizen, you must provide documentation. (Help will be sent in certain cases.)

-Not old enough yet? Join our mailing list to stay in touch for application.

Step 2. Apply Online.

Start your application by opening an account on our Candidate Portal. The application window opens February 1st of your junior year in high school. To start an application you will need:

Applications are due January 31st of your first year.

Step 3. Take Entrance Exams.

Test scores are required, and applicants may choose either the SRC or the Enmeshed. If you are a first year student, it is to your advantage to take them by the end of your first year.

The written part will not majorly affect admission, it just will show mathematical and linguistic competency in fields of reading, writing, and speaking.

Step 4. Connect with a Field Force.

IS Field Force members are local volunteer admissions representatives of the nearby eligible recruitment office in your area. Field Force members are an invaluable resource when navigating the application process at IS academy. All applications must include an interview. A Field Force representative will contact you to schedule the interview.

Step 5. Get a Medical Examination.

The Department of Defense Medical Examination Review Board (DoDMERB) will provide the location and date of your exam. The DoDMERB website is useful to Track Your Medical Status.

Take your medical exam as soon as possible! It can take several months to get qualified. USMA will send your information to DoDMERB, who will then contact you. If you haven't been scheduled by DoDMERB by the beginning of your second year, contact your regional Admissions Officer.

Medicine prescriptions can and will be supplied without cost or wait time once at the academy. Just contact the nearest pharmaceutical supplier to alert them of arrival along with how your family can benefit from admission.

Step 6. Take the Candidate Fitness Assessment

Qualified Applicants will receive an email directing them to the CFA Testing Instructions. The CFA consists of six events:

-Basketball throw (from a kneeling position)

-Cadence pull-ups or flexed-arm hang

-40-yard shuttle run (for time)

-Modified Sit-ups (number completed in 2 minutes)

-Push-ups (number completed in 2 minutes)

-1-mile run (for time)

These are NOT requirements. These are placement procedures. You should train for and practice the events prior to taking the examination, as they will help with placement programs and educational opportunities on campus. Again, these will not have any instantaneous effects on admittance or attendance to IS Academy.

I have completed the seven steps. Now what?

/

A single duffle bag was in his arms, supplied in it were a random assortment of things. Clothes, boots. A toothbrush that was both flimsy and brittle, it wasn't worn down yet like his last one at his current house.

In front of him there were large buildings all compacted into one small area. The landing spot took a decent amount of space but almost everything was occupied by not yet orange leaves.

Suddenly a whistling of noise appeared as if the air was being cut over and over and over again.

A helicopter, he could tell that at least. But it was more long, more green. It's less like the news helicopters flying over every city he's been to.

It was the only thing that could be found.

The air was cold as if it was constantly throwing a pale of water in his face but the sun was nice and rich, almost stopping the spread of the cold at each still moment that didn't involve motion.

A simple landing and the wind from the slowing rotors slashed new icing licks of coldness.

/

She wasn't going to be his friend. He was small, and shivering in the great outdoor air.

Not malnourished or pale but certainly not hefty, but there was a respect to authority that she could certainly use.

He would be broken and rebuilt into something stronger, then broken. Piece by piece slowly finding exactly what would work better to survive.

Darwinian.

Never a friend now but a compatriot and a mentor.

Let's get to work.

/

The classroom was bare of anything but its necessary components. It was comfortable. Nothing was distracting her, no faded inane colorings that just screamed out failed attempts at growing a bond with a student. Just a chalkboard and desks facing it. 6 others next to her, they were silent as well showing their shared dedication.

Nevermind. That one girl just decided to break the silence as she had been when they first met, they weren't smooth like the rest of them. Will she really have to work with her?

Footsteps and a door nearby. Finally it will start, everything made sense and she was ready to receive further clarity.

Then the door opened, the instructor walked through and a boy with her. Why. This did not make sense, there was no use to his being here, was he supposed to be their support in some capacity?

She immediately asked why this unnecessary object was stationed here when asking for permission to speak. She was instantly reprimanded, she liked that in a nauczycielka.

(Teacher.) Far better than the only other one she had.

What made him different than the other males was that he could pilot a suit. It didn't go in detail but it fit in place now, he was effective to be here.

Training started tomorrow.

Yes, instructor.

/

Training was fucking hell. What would a person enjoy from it other than the struggle that made them bite their lips so hard that they bled.

Any time she brought that little bit of willpower that was left in her, letting it shamble to the surface it was slapped and thrown into mud.

It was going to be difficult but she didn't expect to be spat on at every genuine attempt to succeed, oh how she would've loved this if she was stronger, if she was given what she needed. The running through the trails, the obstacle courses. But no, everything was so utterly hell bent on muzzling her before she could even snapback.

The air was frosted, like it would grow ice on the edge of her shirt and cut her whenever she ran more. And those cuts bleed the only warm thing inside of her.

She thought the day would go better in one of the few rare times of optimism. She woke up into one of the more comfortable beds she's ever been in, surrounded by the new people she would have to get used to. A run, then the course. The final obstacle, going over the wall. She jumped, she ran to jump over it, she clawed her nails into the wall and got splinters all over her hand. Knives upon knives in this cutting frigid. She almost had it, then time was up.

Guess who didn't get breakfast. Guess who was the only one who didn't get breakfast. One of the few guaranteed meals in a day. Then more dragging her feet across the ground and running on the fumes of whatever her stomach had.

By this point her vision was going foggy, along with her cognition. When asked to jump she mimicked it from the only working clarity in her mind.

Mud covered that shard of clear glass when she fell.

Come lunch time and she didn't see plates or trays. Just mounds of food.

Buttery sweet potatoes.

This was another test but that left her mind as soon as it entered her mouth, at a certain point she realized she fell for it and tried to eat as much as she could before it was taken away.

It was faster than she could ever handle.

There was such a want to cry, but first she drank as much water as she could.

The instructor didn't seem to mind that, she knew how to be hungry. Just shoveling as much as she could into her body so she could pretend to be full.

She would survive and she wouldn't beg for food. Brunt the full force.

Every time she turned her head she glared at anyone who even came close to looking at her, try to pity her. She didn't need any, she was here for a reason.

There was nothing that would break her.

Something fell into her bleeding palm, rough whole wheat that had her blood on it.

There was no talking, just quietly trying to avoid detection.

/

The mud hated and smothered, every violent outburst had sharp rocks mixed in the immobile material that kept your boot stuck, sucking it in the more you tried to pull it out. Then you slipped and you could crack your head open, or worse get you out of a haze that kept you from fully processing all the aching in your body.

All the while there were blinding flashes above them that penetrated the eyes even if you decided to close them in an unending barrage of flickering bullets.

The ringing in your ear just making it seem more and more brighter, that haze, the one that worked to make every single thing that challenged you here seem distant and far away as you forced each foot to work and shove through with your arms being held aloft in the air to try to avoid the chest high mud.

As you got used to the disaster kept being interrupted by a flash of hose water, more yelling. You can't stop them.

They kept talking and yelling making sure the damage to your ear made you remember every moment.

But it was something the unwilling would never go through.

You never yelled because you just didn't, not because you didn't want to or couldn't, but because there was no point.

Imagine that.

/

Water splayed on her face, coherent thoughts interrupted by the outside world acting on her, each current shoving the boat in each direction it could to tip them over.

She wasn't an idiot so she could tell this, in a storm they would want her to know that she could go under and never return to the surface. They would all be gathering in this little lifeboat. When struggle comes in people punch out.

Water slapped her in the face with the ferocity of a counterargument, the shifting tides showed exactly why she was wrong with words being large pounding forces of nature freezing them, that little survival instinct at the back of her head? It was telling her this was so very real.

This lifeboat had all that she would be surrounded with annoyances and all. And nothing other than that she was forced to work with the sniveling only pieces of companionship she would have and has had for the longest time.

The boat rode a large wave tilting almost directly upward, and in that moment of her in the front she could tell she was the tallest here, she opened her mouth and decided to act.

The thunder struck when she opened her mouth but it was frozen. Not still, but as if all the freshly laid water hardened in an instant, crippling her to speak as if her lips grew icicles. Or maybe she never said anything at all and that was her excuse.

Then the boat tilted over.

Es tut mir Leid.

(I'm sorry.)

And the cold water won the argument.
Drowning, sinking. Needlessly struggling in a supposed hypothetical manner. Everyone starts clumping to each other in a vain attempt to stay buoyant, the feral one with the idiot. Her with the silent one.

The water threatened to separate them, the nail was yelling instructions but it was going to be too late.

She inhaled the fumes of whatever strength was left in her legs and risked being pulled under to wrap her already water weighted down large arms around everyone to keep them in a group.

They stabilized and swam to the shore to vomit whatever air and groggy sea water they consumed with the remnants of what they ate.

They laughed after. They all laughed, chuckled. Anyway they could release fear.

Physical proof, to a theoretical.

/

Mithridates asked her how the hazing was doing. Her breath stank with synthetic fresh mint trying it's best to cover the smell underneath.

Well, she somehow found enjoyment from her personal struggle, she of all people here would find it fun.

Another check of qualities was requested.

Koalemos was a hammer and chisel with a heavy focus on the hammer, excelling in putting down objectives if given sufficient enough instruction.

The mongrel animal was earning her new last name, ferocious and upfront. A glass cannon that would explode and cover everyone in shards.

And the leader was almost certainly chosen, it was an almost even scale between two recruits that tipped a long while ago.

She wasn't listening. Well, they'll get a drink together later then she might actually put some ideas between her head.

/

Disassemble. It was so comfortable. There was a prewritten and trained procedure on how to destruct and reconfigure this object in his hand. It was so utterly comfortable. If done right you are rewarded with a working object that makes bright noises. If done wrong it's noticeable.

Reassemble. Ticking in the background with numbers going up. Pre-fired shots from his best friend already cleared.

The voice of the instructor, he was cleared.

Done and raised.

Circle, trigger pull. Drilled hole with the clatter of metal casing on the floor.

Turn.

Circle, trigger pull. Drilled hole with the clatter of metal casing on the floor.

Moving picture, move gun to where the target will be not where it is at.

Circle, trigger pull. Drilled hole with the clatter of metal casing on the floor.

Click. Click. Click. Multiple fingers pulling back metal after his own.

She was smiling at him. A simple look at him and a smile that didn't hide worry or even deeper hidden distrust. It was upfront. His best friend rushed through this, not savoring the system that thought for them just hurrying to finish the process.

Looking at the light at the end of the tunnel and thinking of how it would be to touch it, it was so bright it burned his eyes from the struggle.

He'd punch down the pain to look more.

/

Trees and waterfalls, unwalked ground touched his feet meeting human contact for the first time in centuries.

He was away from his new home now, he moved past that idea. Wherever they were he was at home.

The weight of the rucksacks was lifted by good conversation, for him. The others were just wanting to collapse at this point, a weak lift of a compass was brought up with all the strength someone else had left at this point.

A gigantic spire, green groves of fresh ancient rotting branches and leaves. That mountain was behind them instead of infront, shattered glass and a mispointing needle on a compass.

With a groan everyone else collapsed and dug into their food.

More time together, better than anything.

/

Take a sip. Just plain and simple, this is an interlude as others are before and after. There are things out of your control.

Drink the water in the cup filtered or fresh, breathe the free or recycled air in the room. Enjoy the temperature.

You're not alone at this moment. It's like the room is steeped with the presence of another person. The existence of other ways of thinking mixing with yours. Flavors given, dyeing the entire place in the color of companionship.

This is what is wanted. A content life unending with company and contentment. Be it in shared solace.

You can't do anything about everything bad in the world. Just what is in your part of the world.

/

Metal vibrated, not with the power of feeling wind whirling past it. They were all holding strong, the rivets and the plates. This girl next to her was plain. That's a fact. Barely a detail covered her, whenever she talked it was like the world was doing its best to make her the white noise.

She didn't ever do anything but left a mark on the empty space in reality without uttering a word. Was it the posing, the small responses that seemed cleverly thought out. Talk quietly, say much? She tried to do it and was called out.

Maybe it was something like the egghead's ability to say such eloquent intelligent things. She tried that and got her tongue twisted up.

Maybe she should just get that towering position of the big sister. Oh that'd be great. She could bring down the egg.

The instructor was blathering on and on, and she knew she had to listen to her commanding voice and the ability to command respect.

Whisper looked at her without turning her head. She moved her "R" hands to the front of her body, and moved them outward to the side.

(Ready?)

It was so elegant, at least she understood, even if she tried to give up halfway through. But Whisper never let her once she realized she was trying. Insulting her with the inability to understand some of the things she stated.

She responded with a nod and rolled her eyes with a small smile, talk less say more.

It was mimicking one of the coolest people she met.

She didn't have an identity, why couldn't she be an individual like the others?

Then the door started opening.

It was happening. Then she'd be able to do it more whenever she wanted after this. She wanted to jump up and down, but that would bring everyone to look at her.

They all lined up to jump, even if the process would be quick why couldn't she be first.

Everyone dropped one by one into the dark sky.

The enjoyment of the whistling wind. The freefalling, the view away from the instructor. She could spin and turn and do whatever.

But everyone else was looking so stern. She had to do it as well.

Even then. She'd never felt so unchained, only letting gravity take her down like the falling summer sun.

Except she'd be the one flying.

/

She had a jack and coke with her hidden in a water bottle. Guilty pleasure that let her through this. Even through everything this was one of the few necessary things that she actually had to bear through with the trainees.

The rite of passage with real world applications. CBRN was covered extensively and they all anticipated what was going to happen. She experienced it, a whole mental picture could be painted. The capsules were in place and starting to melt.

It was irritating, Mithridates joked about how funny it was to her. The burning sensation in your system making its way every second creeping closer like a barrage of gasoline made of nails piercing each part of your throat. Lit alight. She knew a guy who wore contact lenses into this, the chemicals fused to his eyes.

She issued them an order to break the seals of their masks. They did of course, and in the first 10 seconds they instantly started to waiver, this of course made her infuriated at the idea of how lightly they took her training. Acidic retching to clean up later with gagging to spare. But she took another drink and powered through it.

At exactly a minute in she told them to seal their masks. They of course eagerly did so with the efficiency she instilled in them. Instantly afterwards she made them do jumping jacks and head motions just to ensure the quality of their work. It was perfect except…

Koalemos. He was not doing well. He could withstand the pain but was focusing only on withstanding not making a proper seal. Every synapse of his body wanting to die instantly.

Another drink and then she put her own mask on and went into the room. Firstly she ordered everyone else out. She wanted to get this over with as fast as possible stepping over the puddles of bile pretending not to be stirred by them.

She looked at him on the floor and in one of the few self controlled cases of rushing and mercy she would ever give him asked how many fingers she was holding.

Three. Done directly and clearly through choked breath. Good.

She asked him to tell her a joke. Whatever dry wit he could now to test if he really couldn't do two things at the same time.

The IS academy. A man after her own heartfelt laughter, poetic background.

Thankfully the mask only showed her eyes. It was the only thing that she knew hadn't cracked.

She regained the little composure she lost and told him to get out of there to join the now pained wheezes and laughter coming from the room his squad came from.

Gear checks and decontamination process. They instantly snapped to it.

She did quality work.

/

It would be easier than easier. They all knew what they were doing and how exactly to the exact point they did it.

A pseudo mission. Get the boots wet and be done with it. This entire endeavor would be done and over within an instant.

Her newly appointed rank was deserved. For this mission and for most likely the rest until the end acting as a leader. To lose it or face rejection when the equally qualified and utterly unstoppable candidate asked.

To lose her, and to lose them, just limp and unbreathing in some place after all this. An unceremonial end.

Was not going to happen, because this was something not even a child could fail.

This was not permanent. Why did the instructor add that, did they think she was not qualified to lead this operation? Could she really create that envisioned future in the Instructor's eyes.

This was her squad. Her group. There was no way they would ever be anything else.

Be the flagbearer, not the rallying symbol. What did that mean, why did they place such meaning behind these things? Comprehensibility was something that she never thought of as lacking except these surrounding invisible concepts.

She was lacking her tool kit and subjugating them to her allies was a crutch that would snap with everyone falling.

She understood, instructor.

Idź prosto.

(Go ahead.)

/
Everything she hurt for was about to be rewarded, but not today. Taking names, feeling the thrill of shuddering gunmetal. All replaced in a few seconds.

Fighting against oppressors, those who created people like herself. Just making the physical change she needed to.

The information spoken by the all too smart for herself one was being put aside, all the important bits sifted out from the stream of fancy nonsense she often spoke.

Trust themselves? Of course they did. Why the hell wouldn't they? They grew stronger. Smarter if need be. The egg knew all the definitions of what she was saying but not a single meaning.

She got that position for a reason of course, but they were all there for the very same one.

Fight against oppressors. Change the world. Sink her teeth into objective evils.

Because she had to, or else there was no point in her being born.

/

Shallow breathing. She didn't do the trek on foot, thank science for the invention of the aerial transport vehicle. Was back in base sweet base like in the bad old days.

There he was waiting, the small runt turned, well he was bulkier now. Why was she here? A form of noxious dissipating gas that would disappear in mere hours. Hour if the wind was strong.

She really did have to dumb it down, all the intricacies of how it would not affect any grasslands, any nearby animals, only harming humans due to the chemical compositions of their bodies, something with the contagion of a virus and the poison of lead.

It went through most people's heads pretty easily, a good chunk as well to his but he got the grander amount of the information retention, or at least contained the knowledge without absorbing it.

Was she scared?

An eagle is part of an ecosystem, it is a necessary part that maintains it by existing with its opponents and prey. Letting them grow up in numbers just enough to cut them down, bringing a balance while still being the absolute apex. The pleasure of picking and choosing.

Too metaphorical for her taste, but it kept her going. It would convince someone like him easily, so she pushed the meaning on.

But he kept glancing back and forth between the other people in the program. Why the obsession? Cultural roots in democracy, sure. Sure. That's the answer. But she had such a bank of knowledge on-

He didn't look up to her or move. He was still like a tree with his hair swaying in the wind and said something honest.

Inturn she told him the best piece of advice she's ever gotten for this field.

A fair deal.

/

That man in front of him, he couldn't tell what he was saying especially under the layers and layers of protection he was wearing. What he would be doing was out of question, something objectively bad. Bad for his friends, bad for his country.

He'd seen what the thing in his sweat soaked palms could do and that man had a lot of them. He'd been given it to wander for a longer period of time than possible, and knew what it's capabilities and its intricacies to a key.

They also had them as well. More in fact. This was a sucker punch, not a full assault.

He once went to a concert with his sister. It was a lot similar in a way, they were hidden away from the public there was a dark atmosphere with a few bright lights. The noise pounded into his head as he could feel himself rushing to think.

A click and the safety was off and gone away.

Stillness of an unfired weapon kept in perfect position, they would be leaving here fine and alive.

They were waving their arms in the air. Dancing and singing, cheering and celebrating. The weapons in the background are not in their hands but in the crates. It felt almost unfair, he thought about getting out of the shrubs and joining in the festivities.

What were they watching? He looked into his scope and saw the television.

It was a scrap of metal fighting another scrap of metal. It resolved him away from the tension. These things of entertainment didn't get the grasp of what they were.

They would start firing back eventually at him and his friends.

Recall. A closing of eyes and floating in his mind. He sifted through the day's seconds and found that exact thing that the hero stated.

A countdown by a reliable and anxious leader.

When afraid in your darkest moments.

A nearing end.

Fire. You'll be a lot less scared because you get to fight the dark.

Marked into his mind he smiled and almost laughed, he knew they would win. Closing his beating heart.

A gentle squeeze.

Circle, trigger pull. Metal Casing falling to the floor.
/

A click for entertainment or escapism, whatever the viewer wants with a red line loading the black box filled with pixelated colors.

An annoyance appears.

That woman again.

Please don't skip on this video. My children are dying. Please send money to us, the recent struggle in our homeland has brought us out of our home. I've lost so many people-

Refresh.

Another different accent in a different place.

Skip this video. Skip it. Ignore me. My name is-

The skip function was right around the time the name goes out of her lips.

It was odd. They try to pull the string on your hearts when you feel nothing but annoyance.

Another country. Another repeated face. Another whatever it is you ignore.

Ah, third times the charm.

Ugh. It's an advertisement for a kids toy arcade that's about to run out of business.

Ah, skip.

A voice comes. One you want to hear, title to match.

It's so engrossing watching that man fight for his life, him with his team. New destructive weaponry, new heroic sacrifices. It's so interesting watching it from the comfort of your own screen.

Using your time watching the good fight being fought.

Wait, is that a new music video?

Click.

Please don't skip on this video my children are-

/

She grabbed that pot a bit too tightly, focused on the sizzling of the onions too much.

He was peeling potatoes.

Whirling around, the skin goes off. Pluck the eyes. He could focus on this, the sizzling noise, it was too distracting, it forced his mind away from the white action.

They were all ignoring what had happened to the little sunshine.

That's being a bit too dark. She just took a small amount of shrapnel, that forced her to stay in bed, the smile was forced.

He opened his mouth, this was a white action with white noise, enjoyable action.

Heritage. That's the reason she was making this. Once he smelled the fried oil he already knew he was sent. German's had schnitzel, potatoes, and some other words he couldn't pronounce.

It's not that it was wrong with her enjoying her roots. It's just that he didn't really enjoy his own, craving it more out of some meek form of nostalgia that really was mostly ephemeral.

Magowayashii was necessary.

(It's a slogan. It's sort of like an acronym made out of words for healthy ingredients, he forgot a few words and wasn't interested in remembering them.) He liked the black beans a lot but not much other than that.

The crunchy greasy treats that focused on meats and oils with calories in high numbers, his sister always ate fast hamburgers. She was always on the run doing something away, doing anything with new people.

He was just there eating by himself.

How long has it been since he thought of her?

The girl at the stove was berating him now. Not really, she was just venting stilted frustration, yelling at a nonexistent problem.

He cut himself with the ever dulling knife.

Well it had his blood in it, that's ⅓ of the amount of the necessary hard work right?

He rinsed off the blood on his hands and unmade food and went on cooking.

She taught culture and cuisine he listened and learned, and would do so more and more.

Thanks to his new Uncle Sam he met his family. He loved being with his sisters.

Sunshine would rise back up and joke about this along with them.

/

Struck down, falling back both literally and figuratively.

That look of fear, that buzz that came afterwards.

Just watching metal rip into metal.

Everything changed in what she believed in, and everything would stay the same.

Every last second savored more than the grandest meal she would ever eat.

Drunk every second of power like champagne.

Drunk. Passed out on the street fed by whiskey.

The sunrise falling as she couldn't move anymore, anchored down by the fact she cared for someone.

She left that time. Because she decided anything could be better.

This was better, but she was the one drinking now.

With a finer vintage growing older every day, starting soon.

/

It was a landmark. Movement of color in a void. It drew his attention like a warm hand to a flame of actual heat.

Brown and light gray it stared at him. Collecting his vision.

Folded resting wings, compact instead of bulky. Sleek and barrel shaped. He pushed his hand along the colored metal as if they would have their own different types of temperatures neither hotter than the other, simply different. The effect that arises from simply touching it was as instant as the discovery of its name.

Sparks, a hum of energy of a machine doing what it was designed to do just from his touch connected with him in one of the most personal ways a human could ever experience.

He breathed out. Closed his eyes and the details of that minute were ever present.

Hot breath turning to steam against the temperature, a still figure in that white snowy void peering down at him atop a branch.

So much wisdom and beauty that only he could grasp by etching down the details in his brain.

Not an equal, but a part of him as he was a part of it.

/

Activation. Pilot aptitude for collaboration initializing.

Pilot to Stratos possibility is within acceptable parameters.

Opening bay door for entrance into proper utilization.

Proper pilot position has been met, compacting armaments around the upper body area.

Complete. Compacting armaments in the lower body area.

Complete. Full lock in process has been completed. Pilot is buckled into the proper position.

Materializing Plumicorn specialization, neural conversation.

Fully materialized.

Basic start-up completed. Proper engagement allowed.

Admiration. The pilot is looking at capacities. Emphasizing on sharp flying attachments.

Mental interpretation allows for fragments of weapons to fly individually with slight momentum in a periodic wave.

Two more pilots are conversing, discussing their own specializations. The pilot was simply focusing on her.

She was here watching him rightfully admire her wings, oddly ignoring the conversation to focus on her.

As he should.

/

The coin didn't react to the ongoing conversation, it was in a pocket existing in this current plane of existence nonchalantly. The vibrations of quickly opening and closing lips were of no importance to it, why would it be? It was impartial, in fact it was better that it couldn't see anything.

Then a small amount of shifting and stirring, what would happen now?

The coin, if it had eyes, would have seen a man kneeling surrounded by a few adolescents, existing in this current plane of existence with a decision to make, or more or less 3 different opinions all of them on why his sentience should be removed.

Analytical.

Analytics questioned why they would be here. Some explicit reason barred him from being here.

Brash.

Brash wanted this over with, not uncaring of consequences just easily wanting to get a moral dilemma out of her way. So their opinion was of no use bar an analyst who would not take such a petty reason as good justification.

Smile.

Smile was the closest to almost defending the man's life, saying how his existence might make the world a better place and that his life's removal might just alert the enemies. They were here to make the world a better place after all.

The man's defense was his being a doctor, and someone needing medication. There was supposedly medicine in his bag but there is no one to tell if it actually was real.

It's job was to be done.

A firm grasp and a flip.

The coin's head turned around in the air over and over.

Landing smoothly on the palm. And a flip with a ready response in seconds.

Or it would've been. This entire game was rigged. Heads turned into tails in the quick move of a hand.

Click. Brash already was ahead of everyone.

As punishment for the lie, the coin gleamed in the sun right into the eye of the flipper. Let him remember his choice to ruin it all, not taking the given answer.

/

Love. Books and movies that cover the cheesiest, most poorly written fiction ever written.

Whirling clatter.

Cute beautiful people in a less thought out world. The mainstay being the relationship, oh the relationship.

Love triangles, will they won't they.

Sometimes it was just the one person who was the gimmick, they're dead, spirits, aliens.

Mental disorders, subconscious demons.

The rocking of a foundation after the spin of ammunition focusing too long on the noise.

Rigid, the girl or the guy gets the other in the end after whatever struggle in the middle, no thoughts behind their head of debts or world issues.

Just the unknowing bliss of ignorance.

No flashes back of response.

Why wouldn't you want to live there on the screen, the happiest day of your life being the last few minutes as you get everything you've ever wanted?

Living in cliche at least guaranteed some sort of absolute ending.

The deed was done and they would fly back now.

Time to see what sort of flick she could reel back from the depths of the past.

/

Red curtains, wooden planks on the floor polished and shined. The darkness unveiled to bring the light. The audience by social convention clapped with all they have, rapturous applause saturating the room.

Who is here?

They're here. Hand in hand with everyone else, standing at attention to their connoisseurs of the opera.

Everyone else's anxiety of performance is over, the struggle rewarded by the existence of others admitting their skill.

Except the one.

There was no tension in the gut, no hesitant sweat. The final que is set.

With a simple step she raises her hands to the applause, a smile of satisfaction fully viewed, but unwanted.

The art mattered more than the attention, if it were up to her she'd be practicing for the next act, the next show.

The audience cheered louder than it could to her visible existence, drowning her in that word of response to every great theatrical deed.

Alright, that's great. Really inspired, but it barely says anything.

Hey, don't blame me, it's just spitballing ideas until the game actually starts.

/

Those two were as grim as usual, or it was the one who brought the darkness, the arschgesicht just bounced it back. She wondered how he could handle it, that girl bounced up and down and he always catched. Rants of taking over the world with their gear, it was gear.

(Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutthead.)

Being a one person army gave people a sort of feeling that an army can't be beaten, she was the big example.

Except for the other one, he was the exception that proves the example. He walked around going all out with his entire kit. Seriously, he even altered his jump gear helmet to have these big eyes that looked like an-

Oh she- ugh, now she would walk up to her and flick her on the forehead, if she wasn't so far away so she decided to just idle and rustle her up later, mental note jotted down. She knew exactly what she would do. Just flick her on the head, that'll tick her off.

How much longer would they have to wait here? Oh what she'd do to unshimmer her armor at the cost of that being the most stupid idea possible in this current scenario.

Well, it'd be a peaceful exchange of arms.

The rocking tremor of fire blooming through the speeding fragments of what once was warehouse roof answered her.

She braced herself as she stoodbye for specs and numbers against the- she saw the figure ever more blackened through the smoke, wait-

Oh shit. It's HER.

/

WHY would that Foitrottl ever even think to play vanguard? No wait, oh god she didn't know how to deal with bleeding this bad. Faster, faster, she could try resurfacing whatever knowledge she ignored and use it now when they were safe.

(Complete and utter idiot, why would he ever even think of that?) Everything willed her to go back and support him, but no.

FARTHER, there's a good chance he's trying to take that monster face to face, she needed to get back there, she would've definitely done it if not for the fact that she had to deal with someone else's bleeding.

That thing wasn't alone. She knew he could take a fight, but she tried popping shots at whatever was there and those duplicates. They shimmered and the shots just passed through. It didn't make sense, why even bother using-

She opened her eyes, and her suits eyes and looked as far as she could frying her brain to the most it could handle processing the utter definition of what was infront of her.

It burned so much and for so long after, but they really were safe.

She told her sister to lay down and tried using whatever fragment of memory she had.

Closing her eyes she just remembered the process, what exact motions she did to get the reward of food.

Shaking hands unzipping the trauma kit, just remembering the yelling critiquing of the instructo- EVERYTHING SHE DID WAS WRONG. She couldn't do anything correctly. But she would save her sister.

Bandages, gauze. Disinfectant.

Everything was done on her sister's end to stay alive to this point, she would do likewise keeping her alive.

Gritting teeth, abundant swearing, following silence that was objectively worse.

She never saw her like this, fragile. She always would just make her made for fun, and she liked that about her.

That piercing light straight to his head burned more than anything she ever tried to see.

/

Milliseconds. 50,000 feet in the air and yet stepping off felt longer than the entire fall. Words he knew were of declaration of victory from another accent.

Willing every single ounce of energy in his shield to that one part that was guaranteed to hit, and then, it was like dunking his face in ice cold water and pulling it out with his eyes open the entire time.

He wasn't there anymore.

It was as if he broke the surface tension of a lake and saw the blue ashen darkness to this place.

It was a tree, just like the ones in Alaska but the largest he could ever see, every single branch shifted and readjusted its size and length like waving chains. Except there was only one thing that stood out, her, the branches she stepped on maintained rigidity and form as if direct contact solidified their thoughts.

Amber eyes that glowed as if the luster was not from the sun but from their own source of brightness.

They both knew who she was.

Did he ever even suspect? Probably, but this was a true example. Stay silent and strike when needed, and this was needed.

Her pilot understood this, and as such understood her. And helped them earn their boon.

/

Questions ran through the prodigy's head as she watched her hero clutch that thing with the most passionate hug she has seen out of her teacher. That person that nearly killed her and the other unnecessary person along on this trip. And yet, why her of all people. Coughing her own lifeblood after his failed attempts to kill all three of them. And why does he get this treatment?

This was a first, many firsts. Her first time trying to go on an actual trip with her hero away from the mountain. And, she didn't impress her at all. Then having to interact with this partner instead of just being able to talk with her hero.

Words were spoken, what sort of information was being extracted that would be so heartbreakingly important.

It's him. The mask was ripped off and she saw the face she memorized on the spot on that one moment of admiration.

/

Swing left right, swing left right, harmonic unity that just seemed to change moods, make people unite. Tick tick tick.

Thousands of unsynchronized beats put together in the same vicinity of open air slowly uniting into one tempo.

Swing left right, swing left right, harmonic unity that just seemed to change moods, make people unite. Tick tick tick.

/

She was sitting in the chair for as long as she could, each second just adding a grain of rice on the scale of how long she could wait here before it tipped over and the hour glass shattered. Then the demon would arrive.

Well, the states claimed him as one of their own, that boy should be lucky for it. Although the unluck in the sheer fact she was briefed in the most misguidedly worded explanation of why he was here led her to interpreting the fact that this was supposed to be out of her pay grade.

To her, the diplomat. Power plays were her realm, bread and butter, or whatever other metaphor people used to push the point that she needed to do what she was doing.

She couldn't tell if he was pretending to be asleep or not, then he proved her right in the fact that the only revealing movement was the flicking of his fingers to ensure that the one object worth more value than himself was still there, a silvery etched ring.

He wasn't supposed to be alive. And he wasn't showing any ounce of vividity in the small case he could escape.

She asked him what the arrow was made out of, and he responded with the olive branch.

Flatly he wasn't told he wasn't going home yet most likely while they figured out what to do with him, his sister could tear through every single bureaucrat both figuratively and literally through thinly veiled paperwork. Invasions weren't very much allowed with this type of weaponry, but it was an overstatement over how cautious these people were over them.

He was shifting around in this room, as if the corners of the walls had eyes and ears. They didn't, you had to be paranoid to survive here.

Foxhound. That was a name she really didn't expect to actually resurface, it was almost funny the sheer reverence it was spoken to her with.

He was staying here in the safest place in the world, or most dangerous depending on if the defense's inverted on him.

The responses he gave didn't really matter, he'd follow this regardless. Suddenly his sister came out instantly telling her to leave, she did of course.

She opened the door and just in the smallest gap of air between the door closing and latching into the lock.

What was being spoken in there, reprimands or tears.

/

In and out consciousness, on the med-bay table. The cutman was doing what he could, they all knew he worked magic but this was one of the more worse injuries a member of their squad had taken.

Badly stabilized but stabilized nonetheless, it was a god send she wasn't infected in the grass field they supposedly crash landed in.

He was a physician, he treated these people as adults, they sure acted like it right now, either silently blaming one another or just acting down which was what all patients did at a certain point, like mewling kittens.

Except that loud one. She seemed to be switching between seething self-hatred or absolute depression.

He could tell they were closest to the one that got plucked.

Well. His new patient would probably live, he knew who he was, paciencia y faith.

(Patience and faith.) Time heals all wounds, or let's you forget them enough to ignore them.

/

Sauerbraten.

(Hell if he knew the actual meaning. Sour was the first word?)

He saw his sister get cut open by the person who took him here away from his sisters. His actual biological one.

She wasn't malicious, but oh how nostalgic it was to be transported to this house.

It was memorable in how he hadn't gotten used to it at all, shifting around from place to place.

Months in this old den, he just left this in the same old fridge for two days because hell knows he wouldn't wait for longer than he had to, he wanted to do this cathartic thing.

First off he quieted everything around him and dove into his mind, focusing on the memory filed on that day in that year.

He was being lectured on the proper protocols on how to make this.

Rump roast, onions, vinegar, water, 1 tablespoon salt, 1 tablespoon black pepper, the right amount of sugar (more visualizing, a tablespoon) 7 whole cloves because he didn't like them, but he needed to honor the recipe. Was she fine?

It was cold.

2 Bay leaves. He covered it, refrigerated it, and turned it the entire two days. It was properly done and he managed to find things to do that weren't just idling.

This was the actual movement now.

Patting the meat dry, keeping the marinade. Seasoned with flour, salt and pepper over the beef.

Bring out the same pans, from the same months he stayed here, heat vegetable oil in the exact same location they were at when he was here 6 years ago.

Browned on all sides for 10 minutes.

They got out, he trusted his best friend to keep her alive. Please, he knew she'd abandon him before that happened.

He poured the marinade over and covered the heat to medium-low.

Simmered for 3 hours of waiting, thinking, idling. So he prepared the kartoffelklöße.

(Potato dumplings.) They just shouted the words and he associated them with the intentions.

Alright, alright.

This one.

Boil for 20 minutes a lot of potatoes. Let them cool. More waiting, he just did some jumping jacks, they were elegant.

Melt butter in a skillet over medium heat, add bread cubes, cook and stir until golden. At this point his best friend walked into the kitchen and burnt herself trying to scoop some from the oil, she was then berated by the chief at hand.

She was fine, he saw her take worse. All of them did, there was no way she's gone.

The room didn't let any sort of heat come in outside of the fire from the stovetop.

Peel potatoes, placed in a bowl. Oh yea, mash them. Season them and keep doing it. Add eggs and mash and then add flour until it was all mixed up. But don't do it too much or you'll be hit with a wooden ladle.

And then there was still a couple hours of time left until this was over.

Maybe he shouldn't always cut his hair this short, he could play around with it like his sisters, brading it seemed fun.

He rearranged furniture, the desks and chairs, and stools. why not? She rarely was here anyways, but that mean she might have left some things here. She practically lived in her office here. Just like how he was going to get used to.

He could give himself a manicure, she might have some things left in her room drawer. Her room was just an organized mess with everything scattered about in ways only she could understand. Wait, nail polish? He could paint his nails gray and brown. Cool.

Cool, now he had to wait for these to dry, and he just finished the last nail.

Uh. Laying down on the couch was comfortable, he laid down just looking at the blue and red ceiling.

Moments turned to thoughts.

Why couldn't he have died ?

He just started kicking the pillows around in his best attempt to keep the energy going. Then he just went to the pillow on the floor, laid down on the hardwood and just started screaming into it for a good 30 seconds, his hands still being in the air behind his back to preserve the integrity of the colors.

The screaming, he couldn't put his heart into it once he did it so passionately before.

Oh wait he could use his hands now, the nail polish has probably dried enough at this point. Yep, exactly 30 minutes.

He reorganized the furniture again to the center of the large living room he was already in. Some of the coloring smeared but he knew she wouldn't notice.

It was like one big rectangle with a small entrance which he then just started putting pillows and blankets over top, doing things that would make the big brain of the group say structural integrity.

Just before he entered he turned off the lights. Damn.

He wouldn't ever go back again.

Pushups it is. Gotta keep sharp, fight back the demons. Let the time flow.

Wait-wait. Right he was waiting for a reason. Too distracted. Removing the beef and cutting.

He strained the liquid marinade and let it simmer until thickened, stirring every occasionally he could get.

Adding gingersnap cookies was out of the question because where would he find those inside of a Japanese house? It was a weird step that he was told was objectively necessary.

He already was boiling water in the meanwhile and molded the cold potato glop into little balls with fried bread in the middle.

Then he put them in the water and let them rise, bobbing up and down in the scorching water rising to the surface, then he covered the pot and let it simmer. They looked puffy enough around the 9 minute mark.

He let the dumplings firm up, then he spent the rest of the time crumbling fried greasy bread on top with cut chives.

Then he just slammed it all on the table and neatly served himself a plate of this entire smorgasbord of food.

(Alot? A lot of things?)

He sat down and looked at his bounty radiating steam and aromatic smells.

This is exactly how she would've done it. He'd seen her do it so many times, and explain it many times more.

He decided a drink was in order, so he looked in the fridge again for any drinks.

Sweet. They had apple juice here and sparkling water.

He mixed them together to make apfelschorle.

(It was her favorite drink. Schorle just means juice with sparkling water.)

He looked at the other empty seats at the table and took a drink in the knowledge that she was, is. Hopefully fine.

Please.

The room was blue, light being slitted through the windows coming in cut beams. The sky was blue outside.

He took a bite, it tasted incredibly bearable in the worst way possible. Wake up and be back, struggling together.

Too much to finish all by himself.

The door to the outside burst open at that moment, the little prodigy came in and did some quick reacting to the appearance at the table along with the air that flowed to the entrance.

Familiarity, recognition with wanting. Nostalgia.

She spoke germanly. Germanly. That's word. Yes true. Correct. Speaking english sentence is correct, he did english class.

She questioned and bargained, rightfully so. Just eating in silence seemed like a good deal to him, even this conversation was better than nothing.

Envy, contempt.

Well, it was a temporary armistice.

They managed to talk without glaring or making bitting remarks and snide responses to one another.

And they both agreed they were wasting their time.

Comfortable discomfort, ripped out of their own respective uncomfortable comfort, or wherever that girl came from.

/

Foxhound location, wherever they were right now.

Inquisition. One side brings up the point of the fact that one of their members is in a foreign territory held by someone who was close to them in the past life.

Risks were laid out, could he keep himself muzzled, was this the right course of action to keep him alive? They seemed like they almost wanted him gone.

The leader responded with a simple request to the speaker to kill him themselves. The hesitant reaction and withdrawal of their statement just gave out the truth, they were only raising points, not aiming spears.

Further machinations on influential figures, catalysts to create change in the structure of the world.

Nothing good lasts forever, that's why you ensure it lasts as long as it can when you're at the top.

/

This is an interlude between chapters.

I had one before this but it was just me ranting about the American healthcare system.

Pretend it's something deeply artistic please and thank you very much.

/

It wasn't the fact he had to do schoolwork, it was the fact that the schoolwork was so utterly how does one put it?

Was it mirroring his actual training? Was it diluted?

He was given a uniform. Instead of camo and green it was blue and white and- what was the point, this all just was formal. The different similarities were there. Pencils, papers and a lot of textbooks.

It was wrong to be out of gear in a heavily air conditioned room, as if the removal of chill and heat filled the gaps and wrinkles in his clothing.

The teacher of the class was so green she still needed watering, even had the hair to prove it. (Which begs the question of why did they let people dye their hair here.)

But something told him that she was here for a reason, they all were.

All of her teaching was building foundations then- how does this explanation go?

Hands-on experience against schooling.

Everything was ridiculously modern, with- if he kept complaining he'd be here longer than the entire class.

But it did take time.

A girl walked up to him, she seemed to know him. Her face was smooth clay, the familiarity was there. Wait- wait. It was the sister of that person.

Huh. Guess it made sense why she was here, but there was a sort of emphasis to follow him, not out of friendship but out of just urgency, jumping at an opportunity.

He had to decline her request to tour him around, he would've accepted.

She pretended to be fine but was angry, seething. Why? They haven't seen each other in years. But it was as if he insulted her to the highest degree, they could talk later couldn't they?

The prodigy led him out of the classroom and he walked in silence just listening to her talk of the supposed dangers here.

People, nationalities. It all sifted into his mind, necessary but not important since he never met them, until contact of course.

/

We were all in the hustle and bustle of this place talking. Dissonance of conversations, the food being low quality, the person who just said that being cut off the most delicately thin and expensive cloth. Existence with us is boring, comfortable. Who's dating who, who hates who. Why who hates who is dating the one who hates who just for the sole sake of getting back at the person who hates.

Wait, what is that blonde doing? Oh, she's getting up to walk to the center where the new interesting conversation topic is happening. A guy being able to do something the rest of them can. A bee hive focusing itself into a swarm around an animal daring to appear.

Look at her, the posh princess. Just because she has a large group of people following her dosen't mean she has friends. She was totally compensating in everything, trying too hard, it just makes us want to vomit.

Just because she has long flowing hair and a petite frame doesn't mean she instantly gets to decide she's better than us.

The hourglass probably worries about the falling of sand everyday.

Oh she's reaching out to him? Seriously? Upfront? here? Oh to train, and talk.

The response of our current and only bachelor was of proper manner to react to this. Disinterest.

Look at her, the wounded ego showing immediately. Each insistence to her request getting denied. She must not be used to denial and rejection, oh how much of a shame it is to be her.

The oh so rightful bachelor responded with the right amount of scathing, everytime he looked at her it was as if he was finding another detail to respond with, that's why he took so long.

The pretty princess retreated to patch her wounded ego. Oh, what a shame!

And our star of the show was left with that little prodigy who was also too high and mighty for anyone to actually like her.

/

The owl existed and didn't. Always present yet never near.

The one sole reason for creation, creation for this way.

Non-verbal pressure to see her from people she couldn't care about. There was some sort of practice they wanted to show off, it was another tool he used to fly, it wasn't that.

What was it? She never used words, just a nudge.

Her pilot was just walking along, not looking at what seemed to be existence, just being there doing motions like he always did.

Then the day turned passage of time occurred resulting in darkness in the atmosphere.

He just walked to the very edge of wherever this place was doing whatever he could to avoid eyes; no feather drops available and gliding through.

There was nothing here, no more ears or eyes to spot.

Slowly and steadily she regrew over the long course of summoning, the draining of rentering existence.

Then with a simple step off they flew, to where she had a semblance of an idea, the general idea with none of the details.

The owl measured his heart beat, it was brought to an average pace. There were no spikes even from the simple escape, it was a nice reprieve in passing hours. This was what they were made for.

They flew simply without a worry until they spotted land. She showed him the location of whatever coordinate he put to memory.

With a drop they landed. Ah yes, this.

He used her feathers to dig into the moist soil of the earth, it was infuriating how she was fine with this. It was disgusting with the dirt getting grimey in her grooves but there was the appeal of stretching herself in her actual form.

More and more caking itself onto her until finally he managed to uncover a collection of smaller armaments in a dark green tarp buried just deep enough in the earth.

Why? The armor was useful in fire but not if it ever went against something like her. The guns were useful in a vacuum against others of similar combat capabilities, but this was an entire area filled to the brim with both.

A deactivation of the forced quietude, the biological prey large and small started making their noises. It was a constant to maintain silence, something she enjoyed from the sheer task of generating opposing soundwaves.

Then he stepped out from her opening the exit hatch to step onto the uncovered ground. Rigidity spreads like a disease, like an ever present tick, as if. As if one held their breath forever? She never breathed, but would this be it?

Staring forward to him, he wandered over the pile of dirt crusted weaponry and picked out what would be the smallest out of the whole lot, useless. Maybe he thought about leaving.

The black screen on it was out of battery but she interfaced with the lesser machine nonetheless.

A white light that emitted the right noise.

Her hero curled down on the mud and kept playing it over and over, ignoring the falling precipitation.

He could get a cold.

/

Someone somewhere found an old file. It's a fun topic where they try to laugh at a dark subject.

04 The Line.

The FUTURE OF URBAN LIVING.

A cognitive city stretching across 170 kilometers, from the epic mountains of NEOM across inspirational desert valleys to the beautiful Red Sea. A mirrored architectural masterpiece towering 500 meters above sea level, but a land-saving 200 meters wide. THE LINE redefines the concept of urban development and what cities of the future will look like.

No roads, cars or emissions, it will run on 100% renewable energy and 95% of land will be preserved for nature. People's health and wellbeing will be prioritized over transportation and infrastructure, unlike traditional cities.

Unparalleled Access To Nature.

Our progressive design offers immediate and uninterrupted access to nature within a two-minute walk – through its diverse open spaces, suspended on multiple levels. Equitable access to pristine views of the surrounding natural landscape, mountains and sky – for all – avoiding urban sprawl thanks to a reduced infrastructure footprint.

Clean Air For Everyone

The city will be zero-carbon, due to the elimination of unnecessary infrastructure, cars and roads. It will operate on 100% renewable energy, including the operations of its industries. The integration of nature and open spaces throughout will serve an important role in enhancing air quality.

More Time To Spend With Loved One's.

All daily essentials will be accessible within a five-minute walk and an efficient public transport network will offer a rapid end-to-end journey. Automated services will be powered by artificial intelligence. Amenities in close proximity will mean residents see family and friends often through spontaneous encounters.

Absolute Safety.

The-

Stop.

Alright now that's just in bad taste.
All daily essentials will be accessible within a five-minute walk and an efficient public transport network will offer a rapid end-to-end journey. Automated services will be powered by artificial intelligence. Amenities in close proximity will mean residents see family and friends often through spontaneous encounters

/

The prodigy was waiting for the door to swing.

Laying flat on the bed staring up at the ceiling she was dipped in casual.

The hinge creaks and, the expected response of surprisingly nonexistent expectation.

There was no response from her, it was intentional.

Something filled with things she wouldn't turn her head to look at, she had to keep the image, wherever he got that in the off-hours he was doing whatever in. The question of where he got them would be reserved for later.

No words passed between them.

With a sigh the other person started walking to the bathroom, another creak and the shower turned on.

Well, on to the next step.

She brought out the knives she had along with a simple pistol, she brought out the used ammunition from the mountain, and carefully made sure to place them in semi-scattered places lightly tapping them on the surface then letting go when the shortest distance to the desk she laid them on was touching the metal casing.

Contraband.

A chair and a desk. There was an inspection of the knife she brought with her, letting the point roll around on one of her fingers and letting the hilt be on the palm of her hand.

It was nice looking at her reflection in its cleaned metal, until it reached the strip of leather strapped across her face to her most valuable asset. The only thing that mattered.

Another swing. No turns to gaze at each other.

Now how did this military man work? Last few times it was the same result. No no. Ско́лько сто́ит?

(How much is it?) They acted similarly, that's how she noticed.

They both knew they were better than the other people here, and were less than impressed by the facilities here.

He was probably picked over and researched in a DEVCOM kindergarten made only for course why wouldn't he grow an ego being a one in supposedly two out of the entirety of the human race that could do something the other half has been doing for a good long while.

They must have measured his brain waves and told him he's special, then put him through the gutter just to see what type of reaction they get from someone so bescheuert.

(They have their own head up their ass.) Sandwich short of a picnic. Sharpest tool in the shed. English metaphor.

No wonder her Hero was so mad at the amerikaners.

(Americans.) Her sisters would make fun of her when she made sure to make fun of them for this.

But then now her hero's sole focus was finding out more, more information stripped and less at the base. More time here at this useless place, less at the mountain, even more so now.

She could have it all but balancing all these things just divided them up so that they're all insignificant slices of exactly 15 hours a day.

Vigilance.

A simple tilt of her head at him and a grandiose waving of her hand to the duffle bag beckoning it's contents.

She asked, he told. A simple walk over to the desk and calmly swiped down a zipper and placed a tastefully picked rifle along with a few knives, ammo among other things. Then simply gestured behind him to the barely hidden bulletproof vest under a pile of supplied clothing.

Ah, he wasn't military. These were way too great weapons to be supplied to just someone part of a nation that used military grade as an advertisement. He really did just get slapped with a stratos, and get trained to completion.

There was no way they'd get such a rare unicorn to do active field work when they could study him.

Unless the gaping jaw of the US'S military industrial complex really did need to shove another pilot under its gullet.

Please. It's so simple.

He never didn't fight in self-defense in the entirety of the earlier encounter, and only after her hero managed to stab his comrade, that time-stopped look of horror, that instant sacrifice. She'd do the same.

The weapons. Well, that did confirm her suspicion that there was a secret weapon supplied for the students by the students, how he got to it so fast is beyond her.

It's hush hush, her included. She'd get the better end of the deal. She doesn't say, he doesn't say and she gets him to say the correct things and remind her Hero about what made her great instead of focusing on him.

/

Look at that princess, she got stood up yesterday and wants to reclaim her dignity. Stamped with wax in fine parchment, not really, but we all saw the way she delivered the letter. Not an actual letter, she just told him. Get off our back!

Anyway, after that particular event from whoever was the important person of the day, we went to go to this rock climbing place a few steps in nature. Oh it was so good and pretty and fluffy! Got a bunch of views and hearts, we should stop by and go again. The incentives for any attention like this is so great, seriously free restaurants? I mean- yum? Why not.

Almost fell off, but it's fine because it was kinda fun, not really? But I get to say I did it infront of-

God when will we shut up.

Rock climbing? We also went to the small arcade around here. So horrifying, I barely remember anything that happened like some big trauma. It was so greasy even if there was barely anyone there. The pizzeria did NOT HELP at all, smelled nice though so I got myself a snack but I didn't stick around, all the floating fatties stayed there and I hoped to not catch whatever they-

What do they do in the japanese tea ceremony club? What's the point? Just drinking tea?

Wait-wait right some of us actually DID go to the fight. Right? Then they told the rest of us and then they told the rest of us us us and we added our own STEEEEP!~

God why don't we have more singers on this campus, more people should bust out into song. Not really they'd look stupid trying. But we'd be sooo supportive when they do.

Boxing club was fun. Knocked out a couple few girls who thought they were all that, I'd kick their ass again but they'd cry so much I'd slip on the puddle.

Oh right wait what were we talking about? Right- right. Who's hot and not right now.

Well there's the only utter french hottie we can gawk at. That accent makes him a hottie. Just looking at him you can tell that he's so soft on the inside, there's an entire fandom around him, we know because we are so such a part of it.

Seriously, he's such a tease~

A newspaper isn't bad but they're so stuck up trying to dig up gossip. That's why there are so many of us there.

Not right now would be that princess. Ugh. She's so perfect it makes us want to yell at her, sure she's funny sometimes but other than that it's like being british is her only personality. BORING!

No no she's not all like that. She's got good connections.

Wait oh right, yea. Revoked until we forget it and say the same thing again.

Wait. Right. The fight.

There's this neat spot where no one comes by it's at ########. Wait, no one told us yet? It's a secret? Oh and it made that person such an individual being separated from us.

Uhhhhh. She lost. There. Anyways. Wait, how did she lose?

I dunno, some weird thing, someone did something.

Ugh, that big bitch thinks she all that just because she can swing, maybe we need to do something about it.

Oh really? What's in mind?

Oh god I hate the mumbling jumbling here, it's so bad. It's like you can't go a step without an arms deal worth of looks that could kill.

Oh but the FACE WHEN SHE LOST, oh she was holding back tears all of us watching could tell, but oh my gosh she had to maintain face.

But she lost to the new, he isn't hot, very dry, but we can sustain on him for drama and he's already given a full course.

First he snubs the brit, then he slashes her to the ground. It wasn't even one sided, that assumes there was a choice.

Anyways, whatever. When they go to the cafeteria we're going to tune into the sweet gossip, isn't that right?

Why won't they ever shut up?

Agree to disagree won't we.

/

Antarctica, 2 person operation, her, Quiet and actual quiet.

Quiet had hot cocoa instead of water, she knew she'd share.

Snow dusted on them like powdered sugar on pancakes, fluffy unmelting, unmoving but the particles still in the air.

Hidden, small whispers.

Lying straight down looking at the optics.

Live to work, work to live.

Smuggled cookies and a dip into a thermos that conserved heat a little too well in this environment. A smug universal sign for quiet.

Frankly she was loving the quiet anticipation, the quiet not so much but the thrill and the pounding nonexistent pain of coldness, it helped cool her head.

A frown and a small amount of movement.

Then some swearing as someone burnt their tongue and hand, browning the snow.

A few quick jokes.

The thrill, the unwasted potential, this is her best form. This was the opposite of still water, even the different environment of pure white blank snow that seemed to freeze out everybody else.

It was aesthetical comfortable, like unstepped snow, smooth everywhere on the trees with leaves laden with the cold compact material but not so heavy it falls off the pine needles.

Then the bright light beamed up into the sky.

All was go. The experience ended.

The shudder and kickback of a large rifle, and it was time to leave.

No idea why they came all this way just to miss.

Hopefully the Egghead actually gave a reason this time.

Westward they went.

/

Marinated and smoked. Matured like wine but more fine to dine on.

The weather didn't make it fun. The wood almost grew thorns around this time of the year.

But another firetime cookout, oh this would be her favorite noise.

The oil was already hot and then the ladle dropped the frozen meat into the large pot one by one.

The sizzling instant change of smell, her head was already being filled with the thoughts of delicious grease, the wet and flat skin to bubbly and crispy.

The noise. Oh, it was joyous. It gave her good thoughts, and feelings. Anticipating, she was content to just watch.

This made the harsher schooldays tolerable.

Her mom knew how to pick her up.

/

The auditions would be coming soon. But this came first because it had to be.

This section of the training grounds were empty, save for her and her roomie in that big blue crying bird.

Bloke's gotta eat. But the results of the training spoke louder.

Targets spinning, drifting, skirting. They taunted and insulted you by the sheer fact of their continued existence if you had the gall to miss.

It was a canny job how well she was doing, just look at it.

Once her dads brought her out of their house to watch the spinning seeds from the large trees in front of them, they had this neat little feature where they had this sort of wing on the edge of their seeds so they floated down to the ground.

On that windy day thousands of these things flew down, one by one. That's what it was to her, except her roomie was flowing in the path made by them, not by one, shot to shot.

Clockwork.

It seemed like she was about to finish this target round, a perfect score as usual. Then they'd go get munch.

She was in the highest point in the air now, drifting fluidly before one final target.

Right in front of her, she'd be pointing her barrel down straight at an angle directed exactly toward a perfect headshot. She was probably safe behind the weaker vienna field, and she knew her mate long enough to know that she wouldn't miss.

Alright, the laser is slowly generating in the milliseconds after the trigger pull. Basic self preservation dictates every nerve in her body to run. Difficulty of 6.

A decision is made to trickle in a small amount of willpower to give success, just rigidly standing still, not being stuck in headlights in a moment frozen in time but silently urging the laser to try and hit her.

That's two successes. Along with her archetype she regains the spent willpower.

Oh right, the blue light arced directly at her before being absorbed and displaced by the field like a pin about to pop into the balloon. It dug into the energy before being bounced back.

Then her friend noticed her. She landed down immediately and the training shut off when her battle suit started dematerializing.

Shaking? She was shaking? Perfectionists these days-

Oh, it was serious.

She shouldn't have come, now this would add more pressure to her friend, she knew she hated consultation, especially the most miniscule types. She had to be perfect.

One loss, it was just one.

She shouldn't have come, and when she still decided to do it, she let her see her watch a small failure.

They needed to get some food.

/

Cool, it was tournament season. The head of the American delegate section sent her as a courier, a high class student who definitely did not have anything happening right now.

It was true.

A small red letter, one that was definitely no business to her with a loose seal. So she opened it.

"Win the tournament Owl, It's an order."

-W.D

Oh yea, she was definitely not supposed to see this. So she mentally saved each syllable in her head to make sure it never left her head.

God, she had to do the old right turn labyrinth trick again to get there.

Luckily it led her to seeing the new star attraction of the school, next to the attraction of the people who go to this school.

Wow, they were sooooo attractive. Those two definitely just weren't the only options that were here.

A third person was there, one with these stupid looking twintails. No no, it was just different perspectives on fashion, stop judging people so easily.

She was very verbally yelling how the new star here knew her, and he just gave her a look as if her face was made of smooth clay, with no memorable details present.

That girl stormed off, of course because if you're told to your face that you weren't a memorable entrance to someone's life then, you make sure to make a very memorable exit.

She walked up to the very annoyed looking star, and gave him his "fan letter."

It was such a drastic change, mellow to drive, as if he was ramping up to do anything, like god himself gave him that order.

Oh so this is some sleeper shit.

She walked them to the training ring. The weird fellow 'murican and the frenchie to go train and do whatever people who actually know what is going on behind the scenes do.

/

There was never an agreement made for this. Oh sure she saw the contract, read it back and front to spite some lawyers precious time.

A real fight.

A back and forth argument with weapons, barking at each other to back down.

Did she get the optics? Sure. That's the only thing they care about.

Aerodynamics spinning her around, metal fangs scraping into invisible veils that protected her with less than adequate equipment.

She said it.

Then the drop.

He'd heard the sound before, the inversion of scrap metal made of glass and energy popping like a balloon.

Black sharp machines fell down and then everything he was taught had to be put to real use.

They were like smooth glossy obsidian stalagmites shifting, scattering flechettes, piercing with spears made of what would be their hands.

They didn't fight to live, they fought to create as much damage as possible shifting and rotating creating constant movement to survive as long as they could.

Each time they were damaged too much they did a heroic last charge where they ensured as much damage as possible.

Then it was over. His newfound partners sister came and shattered what remained of the field scraping out whatever metal was left unfractured.

There. That's how it went, check the video logs.

Vas t'emmerder

(Go fuck yourself.) Nothing else. You don't get more violence from him than what's required.

/

It never appeared throughout her persistent efforts, or ever, who would watch her?

The cooling leaking of blood in long streaks like water on a hot pan just steaming out into the world, the hissing into the world.

More effort devoted to the stoppage of built up heat.

Systematic checking of cameras, an institutional effort to keep an eye out for this type of now prevalent activity.

Those eyes that never blinked and never thought.

This was unseen, prevalent and ephemeral.

Investigation turning into a hunt.

/

The Squad and Archetypes.

Ichika/Owl. - Heartful. Cold heart pumping warm blood.

Monika/ Bloodhound- Truculence. Nature and nurture from the starved dogs of war.

York/Chief- Computation. No gods. No kings. No one else is held accountable for your actions, or of others you care for.

Kane/Apostle- Spiritual. Utter hypocrisy with good intentions isn't useless.

Finley/Vulture-Taciturn. Gear that grinds without noise.

Summers/Thirteen- Appetent. Seething eagerness hand in hand with envy.

West(myer)/Rider- Corroded. Too deep in debt not to double down, stay gilded.

Schaefer/Shepherd- Solicitous. Falling apart without a tell on the outside.

Other Operatives in Foxhound.

Angela/Watchdog- Sure. Order to chaos, not happiness to people.

Skunk- Habituated. Being smart doesn't mean you make intelligent decisions, it just means they're more elaborate and thought out.

Chiron-Stoic. Hercules caused numerous tragedies for their teachings. Were they to blame for them?

A few other archetype's. (There are more but I'm getting tired of this.)

Savior-Mindful. Klug. Unrecognizing. Kidzukau

Ludwig-Prodigy. A highly talented child or youth, as if they were born to do this.

Bardo- Ironic. Ah, what a person will do to stick to their ideals. And how they'll delude themselves that they're still following them.

Prévôt- Duplicitous. Fake it until you make it or it makes you as a person.

Don't be expected to memorize them all. There are even more characters, it's just that I need to flesh them out.

Beware the direction of the first few chapters.

My writing process is like one large spanning improv skit, a snowball of gradually coalescing details. The first few chapters are just me getting the ball rolling, a lot of everything is set to change, not that the ideas are inherently going to be ripped away and replaced, just heavily modified.

This was me stepping on the stage. Just figuring out the first joke, then the next that runs off of it and making another that ties back to the first.

And lastly. Probably the most important detail.

* I don't really like the story of Infinite Stratos

I have so many things I dislike about it. But then it'd contaminate the story, it's not like I don't enjoy the tone of abridged series completely insulting the original story, it's just that it'd be me critiquing the story instead of moving past it into something new. Along with the fact I dislike the idea of someone searching up these characters and associating their actions and looks to the words on screen. I just feel it's better to make a good more mature story in spite of it.

This world. I'd hate to call it real, but hopefully it's believable. People cry, eat, and pretend to ignore their problems in whatever way they learned worked best.

Imagine walking into a lush field. A battered ruined rotting flag from a nation on a rusted pole surrounded by pushing daisies. It waves to you with its 8 fingered rag of fabric waving in the wind.

What do you see?

Nice flowers that help heal a forgotten war.

An unreactive landmine.

Or maybe you just lay down on a field.

It really is your choice, but in the end there was a fight, an inexistent tragedy that you will never formulate details around.

All because you decided to choose at all.

Fanfiction.

It's a Funny Thing isn't it?

/ Do/ You/ Mind/ If/ I/ Wild/ Out?/ A-Little? /

Each action and inaction meant lives and meanings.

Each action and inaction meant lives and meanings, this was essential in the protecting of others, everyone here would decide to do what he did.

Nope, rewrite.

A muzzle flash, a slice of air.

No. It was wrong. A gnashing eraser on a paper scrunching it ever more so.

It was going to happen eventually but-

And then York ripped out the paper and threw it into the ground then started scribbling on the fresh paper.

Wasted time.

Everyone was keeping themselves active through operations, or hobbies distracting themselves.

Seconds turning into minutes, snowballs rolling into avalanches.

Ichika explained to her in detail the small things that meant people were sad, he told her and she thanked him. Introverted, they all hid away, the missions made them hide away more. They needed to stick together.

Pencil stabbing the paper like an unexpected knife in the back.

We can't afford to let this keep us down.

Oh sure, that's great. More erasure.

Kane hides, it was obvious to her. The open recitation of scripture spoke against it even if they were muffled, she just doesn't go out to talk but when someone does it for her she flourishes in turn.

That's something he told her, she couldn't tell. These actions made the others feel more secure, more social. This was what made him useful.

Words, this is what words were. Meant for, to make others work together, to work together to instill emotions but he decided to die leaving her to involve others by motive not pleasure.

A string was snapped and now she had to find a new knot to keep everyone in their place, but the leftover twine was still connected. it could've been anyone but it had to be him.

Schaefer.

If York left, she'd take her place and she'd do an acceptable standard. She was always at the cusp of replacing her. Strongest and tallest out of all of them, but she needed to stay alive, if she remained she would ensure that no one else would-

And yet someone still fell, then another would like dominos each one leaving her alone because they followed her instructions.

But no, it was the one person who could tell her the intricacies she couldn't understand, it couldn't have been.

He went fighting, that's what made him part of us, none of us wouldn't do the same if we weren't in his spot.

Good. Good? How would they react? Just what sort of way, this was useless. More erasing ripping the paper more, more wincing.

She doesn't say the right thing, they fight worse. More go, then she makes more decisions with less resources, then less. Then. It'll just be her.

She'd go kicking and screaming. Right?

It was useless. This entire procedure, thinking of writing by herself. Maybe it would be optimal to confess with kane.

Kane. She could deal with Kane, she never told. Just confess to her, and then they could both bounce ideas off each other. Then they could deal with Monika, or Kane could. The others could go through the motions until they made a better idea.

There, this was why she was the leader. This was why she knew she had to have this position.

She crumpled up the piece of paper she had and tossed it in the bin along with the numerous other scrapped ideas. There would be a return to it once she could refine them.

Please, let this work.