New chapter ready for you guys a lot sooner than expected! Although, there's a bit of a caveat that came up.

See, when I was writing, I originally intended to write the remainder of the factory trip, but then I found another solid enough area to stop, and I kinda lost the drive to continue past that point in a single chapter.

Plus, I figured that this would help keep the chapter's length just right, seeing as the previous chapter may have been just a bit too long for some. That isn't to say I'll be doing this for all chapters from now on. If I find a good enough stopping point for a chapter, I'll take it, but if I feel like I haven't and it goes on for 15K words or beyond, I'll keep writing.

It's just my luck that this has happened twice in a row so far. But either way, I like what I've written, so it feels like a win for me regardless.

Special thanks and shout out to SwapAUAnon and Quantum01 for Beta Reading this chapter.

Mission 13: An Assassin and a Soldier

Huh, that was weird, Bumblebee mused, having driven in circles around the Blackbell factory Primus knew how many times, You'd think Becky would've seen her mom do the kind of things Yor can do. Can hers just… not, for some reason?

In his encircling of the factory to scan it, he'd found himself keeping an optic on the Forgers via his X-Ray visors. He couldn't hear anything that was being said, but he was able to see them walking around and notice their posture during the interactions they had with the staff, his current vision making everyone look like walking skeletal structures with blue outlines. It certainly looked like they were having a lot of fun. Yor especially seemed to be enjoying herself, though Bee could only base that off how vibrant her body language seemed. That, and the way she had this sort of bounce in her step at points, not to mention how she chucked a gun like a spear from sheer excitement.

Based off the way Becky and her bodyguard reacted that particular moment, he could only come to one conclusion.

Rich humans are total weirdos.

Shaking himself back into the now, he looked to one particular area of the factory that he'd seen when he first started scanning the building: A rather large room housed at the center-most area of the facility, walls stretching to the factory's roof with dozens of people in rows, all of them working on what looked like monitors that formed a semi-circle. Walkways were above them, connecting the room to each floor of the facility as people on them observed what was going on down below. But what was really important was the platform all of this surrounded.

There's my pod, Bumblebee mused, having caught it from every angle, Looks like they've actually managed to half-repair the whole thing. Huh, they even polished and shined it too. Didn't need to do that, but it looks pretty nice. Well, whatever they've restored so far, anyway.

He circled around the factory one last time, seeing Blackbell researchers on one half of the room studying the metal of the pod's reactions to various stimuli from different doses of electricity to intense heat to different forms of electromagnetic radiation. The other half seemed to have metal fragments from the pod itself, all of them working at tables to try and work with the metal and pod's circuitry, seeing how its internals ticked. People walked back and forth between the two sides, likely to inform the other of their findings.

From where he drove, he didn't have any idea how far along they were, but if the turbo boosters (which he actually kinda wished he had) were any indication…

Let's see here… Bumblebee looked up at the roof the building, Given that it's all one giant room that encompasses every floor, a rooftop drop down to get the pod's probably the best idea. But it's heavily reinforced. His scans of the building, coupled with what he'd learned about Earth via radio broadcasts, indicated that the factory was built from the ground up to be capable of withstanding natural disasters like quakes, tornadoes, and hurricanes. From the looks of it, the place was likely also built to withstand a potential bombardment, making it double as a shelter. They went the extra mile to ensure that any employees stuck inside during a disaster (natural or man made) would be safe. These Blackbell people really spare no expense on this kinda stuff, He mused, Pretty weird seeing rich people actually use that money right.

Most of Bumblebee's experience with rich folks was the uptight jerks of Cybertron's upper classes that he used to deliver packages to. Maybe there were some pleasant upper crusts back then, seeing as Mirage had once been a member of the noble house of Decimus before the war. Mirage was nice, if... eccentric, to put it mildly, but he did admit that he was a completely different bot prior to the war's outbreak. While Bee was familiar with the Ambus brothers, who were also nobility, their house was more militaristic, producing a long, proud line of soldiers rather than snooty aristocrats. He wouldn't know, as he never got to meet any of them until the war was well underway, and he doubted he'd get the chance to know what they used to be like.

War changes everyone, for good and for bad, Bumblebee found his thoughts growing bitter the more he dug down that depressing hole. Not wanting to get stuck on that for too long, however, he refocused on finding a way inside, still thinking the rooftop entrance would work best.

I could use by stinger's plasma cutter mode to get through, but it can use a lot of Energon if I'm not careful, And unfortunately, if there's one thing the war hammered into his processor, it's that he was the textbook definition of careless. Hoping to avoid that for a change, he first considered taking some of the Energon he had stored up to give himself a boost, but he didn't like the idea of using it unless necessary, given what he was storing it for. Taking one last scan of the building for perhaps another way in, he noticed something else.

Namely, the building was like a weapons factory and power plant all rolled up into one.

Place has its own power, closed off water supply separate from the city… are all Blackbell factories like this? These people really go that extra mile, don't they? Bumblebee couldn't help but marvel at it, despite having a couple misgivings. On its own, if anything happened to Berlint's power, like a blackout, that meant the facility could keep running and maintaining everything from equipment to on-site medical facilities. But at the same time, because it was disconnected from the city's power, didn't that also make it easier for anything illicit to occur here? After all, not being connected to Berlint meant that if output increased beyond a reasonable level, or if they were making something that required more power than usual, no higher ups would notice since it's off the city's radar. Bulkhead, Springer, and Kup used to tell old Wrecker stories of their vigilante days and how they busted a factory on Velocitron doing just that, overworking its employees to near death, building illegal weaponry for someone, and nobody noticing due to it running on its own independent power supply.

Ugh, probably overthinking it Bee, He shook off that thought. From what he could see via how all the skeletal structures moved about, none of them seemed overworked or abused, and he doubted the Forgers would be friends with the Blackbells if that was the case. A single factory running on its own power wasn't a definitive sign of anything bad, but it did give him an idea to help him get in.

If it ran on its own power and doubled as an energy plant, then he could bring his Energon Converter with him and make a few cubes to get a much-needed boost. From there, use his stingers to cut a hole through the roof, drop down, grab the remains of his pod, and get out while the room's empty. Should be simple enough… hopefully.

Well, at least I have a plan this time, Bee thought as he turned off his visor, stopped circling around the facility, and found a comfortable parking spot relatively close to where the Forgers and Blackbells entered. He was about to shut off his engines and rest when…

"Finally!" The human currently inside him sighed in relief and reached for the door, "Thought that would never end!"

… how the frag did I forget about this guy!? Bumblebee locked his doors right as the man touched the handle, keeping him from going anywhere.

"Hey, what the hell's going on!?" The burly blonde tried his best to pry the door open, but to no avail. Bumblebee realized he must've been too caught up in scanning the building and keeping track of the Forgers to pay this guy any mind. He couldn't let him out now, otherwise he'd probably tell everyone what happened and blow his cover.

Which is kinda ironic since the only reason I started driving with him inside was to keep that cover. After all, there were enough people in the parking lots that an empty car driving around would seem suspicious, but a makeshift valet seeming to be driving was perfectly normal.

"Stupid friggin' piece of rusted crap," The human yelled, "Let me out already!"

Ignoring that, how am I gonna get out of this? Bumblebee choked down the slight flare of anger, reminding himself that he was the one who basically shanghaied the guy. He tried to come up with options, but the only thing he could really think of was to just keep the human locked inside until the Forgers completed their tour, then they'd be on their way and out of his hair. But at the same time, that was just as problematic as letting him out now, for if he waited, the human would tell the Forgers everything that happened, his cover would be blown, and they'd probably panic and chase him away.

…

…

I really didn't think this through, did I?

Just as the human sighed and leaned back, his frustrations lowering, Bumblebee's own towards himself grew like a plasma reactor. He did the only thing he could really do in his current circumstances.

…

… HHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

"WHAT THE FU-"

-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNK!

Bumblebee finally calmed down enough to cease with his horn. He couldn't think of any immediate radio channels to let loose with his frustrations, so the horn had to do. It didn't seem to put his unwitting captive at ease though, as he rubbed his hands against his face and muttered to himself.

"This is why I hate machines."

This is the factory's cafeteria!?

Anya heard Mama's surprised thoughts, and she would've been the same if she wasn't so awed by what she was looking at. They took an elevator ride to the top floor of the building, Becky and Miss Martha leading them to the cafeteria. What they were standing in front of looked like one giant, fancy five star restaurant. It had everything from chandeliers to fancy carpets covering the entire floor to waiters dressed up in expensive suits serving food! It was so much bigger and cooler than what they had at Eden, and the smells from the food were even more amazing!

I… I'm actually at a loss for words… Papa thought as he looked around in surprise, While fine dining is a nice luxury, it doesn't seem like a practical one to have for a weapons factory, especially with how long such meals can take to prepare. I can't tell if the Blackbells want their employees to have the best, or they overindulge in spending too much money simply because they have it.

Anya wasn't sure why spending money on stuff was a bad thing. You got to buy all sorts of cool things with it, and she knew from reading Becky's thoughts that her parents got her everything from battle tanks to private jets. This just meant that the people here got to eat the best food ever.

Well, second best, since nobody's cooking could match Papa's.

"I'll have our best chefs whip us up an amazing dinner! Anything you all want in particular?" Becky asked, Ooookay, not sure what kind of food my darling Loid likes, but I remember from Berlint in Love how Sonia seduced Vincent by cooking such extravagant meals for him! All I gotta do this time is have my chefs… cook… ugh! Suddenly she huffed and turned, petting Wiesel to calm down, Face the facts Becky! Mrs. Forger's practically perfect! You can't compete with her at anything! Bet she'd even make my best chefs look like amateur hour at a fast-food restaurant too.

This is the only thing you'd be better than Mama at, Anya stared blankly at her friend. She knew with complete certainty that Becky, by herself, was a better cook than Mama. Sure, she hadn't actually seen Becky cook anything, but it was impossible to be a worse chef than her mom. If there somehow existed a worse cook, she hadn't met them yet and never wanted to.

Becky calmed down after a few more pets and faced the Forgers, But even if I'm nowhere near her level, maybe I could be some day? She smiled brightly and helped guide them all to a table, menus already out on it, Even if she's my rival, she's also really, really amazing. I want to be just like her! So maybe she'd be willing to teach me how to be the perfect woman? Images appeared in Becky's mind, showing her training under Mama's instruction, learning cooking, cleaning, weaponry, and strength building. And even if I can only ever be half as good, maybe that will be enough for Loid to look my way?

Nope, but it still sounds like fun! Anya smiled as she took her seat between Becky and Bond at the large, circular table. She remembered training with Mama both before school at Eden started and before the big dodge-ball game her class had against that Bill Watkins kid's class. Both times, it was really, really hard, and she could still feel her muscles ache just from thinking about it, but the way Mama smiled and encouraged her made her want to keep going. It helped her get a lot stronger too!

Maybe me and Becky could learn under Mama together? Anya wondered as Martha took her seat next to Becky, with Wiesel sitting on the Blackbell lady's other side. Mama then took her seat, but Papa was the only one who didn't sit down. Looking to him, she saw that he was in spy mode, his face serious when she asked, "Papa?"

"Hmm?" Papa looked her way as everyone looked toward him, "Sorry, but I think I need to use the restroom first." Now would be a good time to get that upper-level ID from the locker room. I'll use the ventilation system in the restroom to get there, change into a disguise, then head to the surveillance camera control room. "It shouldn't take too long like last time." He turned towards Miss Martha and asked, "I'm sure I can find my way, but if it isn't too much trouble, could you point me in the right direction?"

Nodding, Miss Martha pointed to a hallway in the distance and said, "Take the second hallway on the right. It should be two doors left of that."

"Thank you," Papa nodded his head to everyone before looking at Mama, "I'll be back soon, but feel free to start without me. I'd rather not hold anyone up."

Mama shook her head, "It's fine Loid, we can wait," She looked over to Anya and Bond, "Right you two?"

"Nope!"

"Borf!"

Anya and Bond were on the same page. They were hungry now and they weren't gonna wait!

"Uh… sorry Loid," Mama said, Papa chuckling.

"It's fine. Like I said, feel free to start without me," Papa headed off to the hallway to do his super secret spy stuff, leaving them alone with the Blackbells while Becky motioned for a waiter to come close.

"Good afternoon, Lady Blackbell. How may I serve you all today?" The waiter asked, Becky looking over the menu and starting off with ordering something for Wiesel, even asking her dog what he'd like. As she did that though, Anya saw Bond freeze up before looking around in a panic. Knowing what that meant, Anya peered into his mind to get a picture of what he saw.

She saw the Blackbell factory from the outside, the sun having gone down enough that it looked like a late afternoon, kinda like where they were at now. For a few seconds, nothing happened, making Anya wonder just what Bond saw in-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

And then it happened. The entire factory exploded, the sound making her ears ring even though it wasn't real. Something large, shiny, and metallic flew out, but it was moving too fast for her to see what it was. She didn't even have time to think about that as it flew right towards her eye, the suddenness and speed causing her to scream.

"AAAAAA-OOF!" Anya fell out of her chair and onto the floor, Mama and Bond already jumping out of their seats to help her up. She could feel Mama holding her amidst the ringing ears, asking if she was okay. She could hear Becky's voice and Miss Martha's too, both of them asking the same thing. But even with the tears starting to build from hitting the back of her head, she forced them down not a second later. She didn't have time to cry, not with what she'd just witnessed.

The factory's gonna explode! Anya was panicking now, not even knowing where to begin trying to stop it. She didn't even know what was gonna cause it in the first place! Was it a bomb? Was there some kind of equipment that was malfunctioning and about to blow up? Where bad guys attacking the place!? All she knew was that she had to stop it and she had to do it now!

"I-I-I forgot something downstairs!" Anya jumped up and patted Bond's head, causing him to lower himself so she could get on his back. She looked up at everyone's confused expressions and yelled, "I gotta go!"

Anya held on tight to Bond by the sides of his collar, rushing out of the fancy cafeteria on his back for the nearest flight of stairs. She heard her mama, Becky, and Miss Martha call out to her, but she refused to turn back.

Agent Starlight Anya had to save everyone.

"S-Should we go after her?" Madam Blackbell asked as Martha Marriott turned towards Mrs. Forger, who seemed torn between doing so and waiting for her husband. Ultimately, she clapped her hands together and sent them a nervous, if gracious, smile.

"This isn't the first time she's run off like this. I'm sure she'll be fine," She answered, though like any loving mother, she seemed unsure of herself and still wished to follow her daughter, "We'll just wait for her to come back."

Martha nodded before turning to the waiter, "In that case, would you mind giving us some time. We shall await for the rest of the Forger family to return before we begin. Just water for each of us will be enough for now." The waiter nodded, allowing all of them to return to their seats as a lull of silence came about between them, only broken by the noises the other dining employees and wait staff made. Soon enough, glasses of water were provided for each pf them, with Wiesel receiving a bowl. "Thank you, that will be all for now," Martha said to the waiter before looking toward her charge, "Is that alright with you, m'lady?"

"Yeah," Becky nodded, "I don't want to start without Anya or my dar-" She cut herself off, eyes darting towards Mrs. Forger, who smiled so innocently and nodded as she took a sip, before saying, "I mean, without Mr. Forger."

You mustn't commit adultery my lady, Martha thought, having long since lost count of how many times she'd done so for just today alone. She remembered the day her charge came home from Eden Academy, metaphorical (almost literal) hearts in her eyes as she gushed about Anya Forger's father. She talked at length during the ride back to Blackbell manor about how handsome he was in the picture Anya showed her, how they were "fated" to be together, and how she'd one day be his wife and Anya's stepmother.

There were many reasons why Martha wanted to explain to Becky why her fantasy wasn't meant to be: The fact that Mr. Forger was an adult in his late twenties (possibly early thirties) while she was a six-year-old girl, the fact that he was married and clearly devoted to his wife, the fact that Anya clearly loved her mother and didn't want to see her replaced by anyone (least of all her best friend), and the fact that her desires felt like the plot of a Berlint in Love episode than anything based in reality.

Why her parents allow her to watch such age-inappropriate television is beyond me.

But despite the many reasons she had to cease such a childish dream, she felt it was best not to. Lady Blackbell would grow out of them in her own time and in her own way. So long as such fantasies didn't lead to anything genuinely harmful, she saw no need to immediately intervene and put a stop to them. Besides, her charge was just being that cheerful, imagination filled child that she was (despite her clear beliefs that such things made her seem adult-like). If both wars she'd fought in had taught her anything, it's that one would never be a child forever.

Best hold on to that innocence while you can, my lady, Martha smiled at Becky, who took a sip from her glass with as much poise as a six-year-old could manage, The world as a cruel, sickening way of taking such things from us when we least expect it to.

But she wouldn't let it happen to Madam Blackbell, or any child under her protection. Not while she drew breath.

"Hey, M-Mrs. Forger, can I ask a question?" Becky looked up at Yor, face stained crimson as she shyly poked her fingers together. The Forger matriarch set her glass down and raised an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong?"

Becky shook her head, "No, nothing's wrong, it's just…" She gulped before gaining a confident glint in her eyes, "Could you teach me how to do the things that you do!?"

Yor looked at Becky in befuddlement, an expression that Martha shared. She looked between Martha and her charge before asking, "I… come again?"

"It's just… you're the perfect lady: Strong, poise, and dignified in a way I'm nowhere near close to being. I was hoping that ma-maybe you could…" Becky gulped, her nervousness clearly flaring up before swallowing it back down, "I was hoping you could teach me how to be just like you."

"I… I don't know," Mrs. Forger looked away, "I'm honestly not as perfect as you think. If that's what you're hoping to be, maybe you could learn under Miss Marriott? She seems far more perfect than I'll ever be."

"What do you mean? Have you seen the things you did today!? You're in a league of your own! Hell, you're better than perfect!"

"M'lady, there's no need for such vulgarity and volume," Martha gently chastised her charge, a hand to her shoulder to sit her back down. Chairs weren't meant for standing in, after all. Though flattered my Mrs. Forger's compliments, she believed that, whether Yor knew it or not, they just as much didn't apply to her. Turning to Yor, who continued to stare at the carpet covered flooring, Martha had a feeling what this was about, recollecting her earlier suspicions as she asked, "Mrs. Forger, I apologize for prying, but does this, by any chance, have anything to do with your… background, for lack of a better term?"

Now Mrs. Forger looked at her, crimson eyes filled with terror as they stared like she was a vicious predator, "W-What!? What background!? I don't have any backgrounds! I haven't even thought of a good background for my bedroom if that's what you mean!"

Sighing, Martha felt it best to just bite the bullet and answer, "I mean, you're one with quite a bit blood on your hands, aren't you?"

"I-I-I-I-" Mrs. Forger's stammering reached an apex, her entire body shaking so much that Martha almost worried she'd be the cause of an earthquake. She regretted putting her on the spot like this, but she needed to confirm her earlier suspicions.

For a civilian woman, Mrs. Forger had an unusually intricate knowledge of weaponry, combat tactics, military vehicles (specifically how to disable them), as well as protective armor and how best to make up for it's shortcomings. The way she carried herself, at times, felt like it was trying too hard to seem unassuming, like she just wasn't used to it. Her sheer strength reminded her of times she'd witnessed those in desperation use all their might to tear down the doors of armored personnel carriers, something no civilian would be capable of. And though her abysmal showing with firearms put off those initial concerns, they flared back up again after the fact. It was impossible for anyone to be that bad with guns, almost like she was pretending to be that bad just to achieve a greater semblance of normality.

It all adds up too well. I know what you are, Yor Forger.

After all, Martha would recognize a fellow former soldier when she saw one.

Seeing that said ex-soldier was on the verge of a breakdown, she said, "It's quite alright, I understand. We are two of a kind in that regard."

"… w-what?" Yor's shaking ceased, though she didn't immediately calm down.

Becky looked to her, eyes wide as polished dinner plates, before gazing back at Mrs. Forger, "Wait, you mean she's just like you, Martha? She's also a-" She gasped, happiness and awe etching its way onto her face, "That's so amazing! Anya and Loid are so lucky to have you!" Though the joy reached her eyes, she still sighed, "There's really no way I can compete."

Well, at the very least, you're being more mature than the characters of your television series, Martha thought in mild amusement. The jealous rivals from Berlint in Love that Madam Blackbell looked up to and tried to emulate were quite violent when it came to envious feelings. Often, they were too violent, and she said this as someone who went to war twice. Clearing her throat, Martha asked, "M'lady, would you be a dear and allow the grownups time to talk? I'm afraid such subjects aren't suitable for children to take part in." Though I'll try and be vague for your sake. If they come up, there are too many grisly details I often hate revisiting. I'm certain Mrs. Forger hates them too.

Becky stared between them, still awed to a degree, before she nodded and motioned for Wiesel, who'd finished his water, to join in her seat. She likely needed to keep her nerves down, and with what she was learning, Martha couldn't blame her.

"S-She knows about you?" Yor asked, surprised by this for some reason.

"Since I first became the Blackbell family's bodyguard. Though those years are long behind me, with any luck," Martha admitted, her answer shocking Mrs. Forger even more. She wasn't certain as to why, so, raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Is that a problem?"

"N-No! It's just…" Yor went scarily quiet, once more avoiding eye contact as Martha put everything together again.

"Your husband and daughter don't know, do they?"

Martha's question drew a light, almost silent gasp from Becky, who held tighter to Wiesel like he was a pillow. Perhaps, on some level, she felt as though she was watching an episode of her soap operas. Despite Martha's exasperation, given the seriousness of the topic, she was focused on Yor, who gave a reluctant nod and sighed, arms rested on the table as her head followed suit.

"It's true," She said, "They don't know. They can't know."

"Why not?" Becky suddenly spoke up, only to cover her mouth, "S-Sorry! I-I know I shouldn't ask! It's just-"

Yor shook her head, looking up, but remaining on the table, "No, it's fine. But…" She faced Martha, "I'd appreciate if we talked around the… touchier details. Too many ears and…" She turned back to Becky, "It's not a suitable subject for girls your age. Or most people for that matter."

She and I are of one mind then, Martha nodded, folding her hands beneath her chin as she rested her elbows on the table, "If I were to make an assumption, is their ignorance because you worry such knowledge would hurt them?"

This time, a nod, "There are… other reasons, though I think you already know them." She sighed, "Honestly, I'm a bit envious of you."

Martha nodded in kind, understanding the difficulties soldiers faced when they returned from war. Just as often as they found praise for their actions, they just as much found scorn. Sometimes, it was because the people back home blamed them for the continuance of war, something Martha found difficult to blame them for, given the things she'd seen soldiers on both sides do. Other times, it was because a pencil pusher behind a desk deemed them unneeded, and if not that, having failed their country, cutting them loose without any safety net.

After all that blood and horror, clinging to the few silver linings that exist, death almost seems preferable compared to coming home. If it isn't the weight of your actions, it's how everything's changed, Martha's heart went out to Mrs. Forger. It was likely that her desire to keep her background hidden from her family stemmed from not wanting to face rejection, having dealt with such already. Given how she seemed to be trying so hard to appear the average, unassuming civilian woman, Yor Forger likely never truly left the battlefield. Then again, none of them ever did, no matter how hard they tried.

"If I may by so bold and uncouth as to pry, why did you choose such a life in the first place?" Martha asked as Yor went completely silent, curiosity driven by the Forger woman's youth. She was able to tell that Yor had joined rather young, meaning she likely lied about her age to enlist in the second East-West War: The only war she could've fought in. Such a thing, sadly, wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Many died young, and those that lived were filled with regret. Some joined because of pressure, others because of naivety on what war truly was, the promised "glory" a lie that too many fell for. Martha wished to know which one Yor was, if she was willing to answer.

"To protect and provide someone dear to me," Yor finally replied, her tone solemn and her eyes a thousand miles away, "My younger brother and I… we lost our parents because of the war. He was all I had, and I…" She looked down at her right hand, just like Martha often did after her first kill, "I stained my hands, my body, and my soul, all to make sure he'd never have to. So he could live the carefree, happy life that he deserved. That everyone deserves, honestly." Her gaze finally met Martha's, "I took up the fight to protect what little I had left. I couldn't afford to lose him too."

Of all answers, Martha hadn't expected that. A light gasp escaped her lips, eyes going wide at an argument. A memory.

"If I don't fight to protect what little I have left, I'm going to lose it all!"

Those were her words to Henry when he'd argued, extensively, against her joining the Woman's Defense Auxiliary. Back then, she'd felt that there was so little left for her to live for, having lost her ballet dreams, and was desperate to do whatever she could to protect those she cherished most: Her mother, her father, and her then beloved Henry. The death of her childhood dream taught her not to trust that anyone or anything would be there for you forever. Looking at Yor now, she briefly saw a younger her, broken within yet refusing to give. Did she feel the just as Martha once did all those years ago?

Nothing left to live for but the cherished few?

Feeling a sad, if nostalgic, smile grace her lips, Martha said, "That was my reasoning as well."

Yor gasped, as had Madam Blackbell at her side, and asked, "R-Really?"

"Indeed," Martha answered, "Forgive my bias, but I find it a very noble reason to live a life of ignoble deeds. Not everyone can endure the dark side of the world we live in, but to do it for those near and dear to us…" She briefly looked to Becky, whose smile stretched from ear to ear, her thoughts going out to her, the rest of the Blackbells, to the dearly departed Lucia, and her now closest friend, Henry, "I think that's something to be commended."

Now bright red, Yor smiled in shyness and flattery, "Loid said something similar. He said that he admired those who endured such harshness for the sake of others. Even if he doesn't know, and even if I don't think I could ever tell him, I feel like he really understands."

"I believe he does. You're lucky to have met him," Martha said, seeing the love Mrs. Forger had for her husband dancing in her eyes. It was always a delight, to see such love among the younger generations. She would admit to being like her charge in that regard. Although, that delight was marred ever so slightly as Mrs. Forger's smile slowly dipped, the love still there, but confusion and worry eclipsed it. Her own worries inflamed, Martha asked, "Is something troubling you, Mrs. Forger?"

"Please, call me Yor," Yor shook her head and sighed, "And I suppose it… sort of relates to this. It's confusing."

"We'd be willing to lend an ear."

"Uh, I-I don't think I could take it. You need your ears, right?" Yor asked, sincerely confused. Martha, despite her own confusion, couldn't help but chuckle.

"Metaphorically, of course. It means we're willing to listen, if it eases your troubles," Martha turned to her charge, "Right, m'lady?"

"Y-Yeah!" Becky answered as Wiesel barked. She seemed earnest in her desire to both listen to and help Mrs. Forger with her troubles, despite her own envy. It made Martha feel a swell of pride. Her charge didn't know it, but she was beginning to behave like the mature adult she so desperately yearned to be.

"Well, in that case," Yor sighed, "Recently, I can't help but feel… my brother's all grown up now with his diplomatic job, a well-paying salary, and his own roof over his head that he can provide for himself. Everything that I tried to protect doesn't… I'm not needed anymore." She looked down at her hands again, rubbing them together, "But I don't know how not to be what I forced myself to be. I don't know what to do, or how to feel. Life is moving on, everyone's moving on, but here I am, stuck as the mess I've always been."

Martha wasn't quite sure what to say for a moment, remembering how aimless she'd felt after the war, after losing all her brothers and sisters in arms, after losing her chances with Henry to Lucia, after losing everything.

Yet despite that, she'd gained so much as well.

She'd gained a chance to regain her old dream, however briefly, when she gave a ballet performance for a post-war charity event. She'd gained a friendship with Lucia after years of stewing in jealousy. She'd gotten to see her old friend cherish someone else, and even learn to be proud for him and his wife. And perhaps most dear to her, she'd gained a place among the Blackbell family as their servant, their bodyguard, their confidant, and Becky's caretaker. Martha never got to have a family of her own, but the Blackbells were enough for her.

Perhaps Yor doesn't realize that? Martha wondered, looking at the younger woman, who still seemed so lost. Even if the war was long since over, Yor's instincts as an ex-soldier still served her now. Martha knew that even as Becky grew older, she'd always need someone to be there for her, to ensure that she could live a carefree life and never suffer tragedy. It was unrealistic to assume either she or Lady Blackbell's parents would always be there for her, but come Hell or high water, they would try.

Finding the right words, Martha opened her mouth, but before she could speak…

"I think you're needed."

Both Yor and Martha turned to face Becky, Wiesel resting in her lap, as she embarrassingly bit her lip and diverted her gaze at the sudden attention. Yor looked between the two of them and asked, "W-What?"

"I said that I think you're needed," Becky repeated, her eyes unable or unwilling to meet Yor's, "I mean, my parents are grownups, but they need Martha to look after them every now and then. She looks after me too, and I'm happy to have her." She gave Martha a thankful smile, which was returned, "Even if your brother's all grown up, I think he'd still need you."

"I-I don't know. He hasn't needed me in a long time," Yor admitted.

"What about Anya?" Becky asked, causing Yor to gasp, "I remember how she jumped into your arms back at the parent/teacher thing. And you wanted to get some stuff here to help protect her. She seemed really excited about it, so I think she needs you!"

As troubled as I am by the idea of children wearing body armor, I can see the logic in Yor's thinking, Martha admitted. Not something she'd do regarding Lady Blackbell or any child under her protection, but she understood it. Clearing her own throat, she added, "Quite. It's clear as day how much your husband and daughter are happy to have you in their lives, as well as how much you are to be part of theirs. And while I've yet to meet your brother, I can say with certainty that no matter how old he gets, he will always need his sister to help him. It's why we're here: To ensure those we love can enjoy quiet lives. That's what it was for me in the beginning, and it grew to extend to others as well."

"… Yeah," Yor quietly said, "That is why… I chose this life."

Mrs. Forger looked away, this time up to the ceiling, as if trying to see the darkening sky beyond it. As she did, Lady Blackbell muttered, "Yeah… Anya and… and Loid need you… they need you and not…"

Martha looked at her young charge, seeing envy and bitterness spike up in equal measure. The happiness was still there, just barely reaching her eyes, but it was slowly being eclipsed. She had no earthly way of knowing for certain, but it seemed as though Becky was beginning to understand that, in addition with all the other problems in pining for a much older, married man, that it was improper to be a homewrecker. A childish fantasy Martha once desired decades ago was the ability to read minds and better understand those around her, but she grew past such silly notions. In addition to nothing of the sort being possible, a person's mind was their private sanctum and shouldn't be violated so brazenly.

Wanting to ease Madam Blackbell, she reached out and affectionately placed a hand against her head, looking down at her and smiling warmly. It was enough to draw a smile out of her and a light bark out of Wiesel. Perhaps they would need to talk more about this when they returned to the manor, but for now, Becky had been placated.

"You're right," Yor's rising voice drew their attention, "Even if things are changing, I can still help everyone as I am. As I've always been. Not just for my brother, but for my husband, my daughter, our pet, and everyone else in our lives. I wanted to make the world a better, safer place, and I'm still doing that, one little bit at a time." Her smile grew as much as her volume did, a brightness returning to her eyes. Facing them, she said, "Thank you. I think… I think I'll be able to keep going as I am. Maybe someday, I'll be able to have a quiet life of my own when I'm older. You've shown me that it's possible."

"I'm sure you'll find it someday. No matter what anyone says, I believe it to be possible for all of us," Martha smiled back, certain of what Yor meant by that last bit. Someday, she'd be able to put the (hopefully) last war and her war-torn past behind, finding peace for herself just as Martha did.

"I hope so," Yor's happiness suddenly gave way to an adorable mix of awkwardness and nervousness, "Uh, b-by the way, since you both know, could you please not tell anyone? Especially not Loid or Anya?"

"My lips are sealed," Martha answered, It will fall to you to tell them when you're ready.

"I mean, I can keep it hidden…" Becky started, sounding so much like a smug gossip hen that concerned Martha. "But I have a request in exchange," She set Wiesel off her lap and stood tall in her seat, palms against the table, "Please make me your apprentice!" Yor grew startled as she continued, "You're right. You're not perfect, but that just makes you even cooler! There's so much I want to learn from you. Please teach me!"

Yor was silent once again, though only for a few moments as she gave Becky an almost sisterly grin, nodding with fists raised in cheer, "O-Of course! Since my family has a cruise coming up this Friday, we can start somewhere after Eden's midterm break," She turned to Martha with clasped hands, "But only if you approve, of course."

Martha, despite her amusement at the turn of events, couldn't help but sigh, "When my lady puts her mind to something, stopping her is an impossibility. If she wishes to learn under you, so be it." Leveling a stern, dangerous glance at Mrs. Forger, she added, "But in doing so, I'm trusting you with her life, and to ensure that nothing she learns is too dangerous for a girl her age. If anything happens to her…

"You have my word. No harm will come to Becky. I'll protect and care for her just as I do my daughter," Yor gave a slight bow of her head, an equally dangerous look in her eye. It was so unlike that of the looks she'd seen during both wars, yet just as much similar to them. The two were matched in equal measure: Mother lionesses who would fight tooth and claw for their young. Just as quickly as it came, it vanished, and the two returned to smiling at each other, the warmth now matched by respect.

"YES!" Becky cheered, jumping in her seat and drawing attention from the others currently dining before Martha leveled her a look to sit down, lest she fall and hurt herself. Her charge's eyes had an apologetic glint as she did so, "I can't wait to tell Anya that her mom's gonna be teaching me! At least when she gets back. And after Loid gets back too." She looked to where Mr. Forger had walked off and asked, "He's been gone for a while now, huh?"

"Indeed," Martha had been paying attention to that, and it was honestly starting to be a cause for concern. So she asked Mrs. Forger, "Is this… normal, for your husband?"

Mrs. Forger giggled and said, "Yes, it actually is. The last time it happened was on the day we first met Bond. He was in there until the sun began to set."

"Just gonna ignore the bathroom stuff," Becky made a grossed-out face and shook her head, "How did you guys get Bond anyway? He seems like a really nice dog."

"Uh…" Yor's nervousness returned, almost like she was unsure about discussing the events, "Actually, could we start with how you met Wiesel first?"

Becky smiled as Wiesel barked, his own happiness matching hers.

"Well…"

For the record, Bumblebee's loud honk is supposed to be a massive F-Bomb. As for his X-Ray visor, I want you to picture it as akin to Batman's detective vision from the Arkham series. That's what I based it on.

Yes, we have everyone's favorite Transformers Animated reference, and yes, the character in question is EXACTLY who you think he is. More on that front next time when the factory chapters come to a close.

But on the subject, like I said, this chapter ended up having the similar issue of me finding what I felt to be a solid end point from where next chapter could continue. I promise that next chapter will be the last one for the Blackbell factory section.

Though we'll see how well I keep that promise.

But yeah, Martha and Becky now know Yor's secret! Or at least, they think they do. And no, they ain't gonna get corrected anytime soon.

Gave me a good opportunity to delve into Martha's past earlier than it was shown in the manga, and it allowed for her and Yor to make a connection. And Yor got to have some advice given for helping her deal with what she was struggling with throughout the Cruise Arc. Since I'm not gonna be adapting it (like I said, and as shown in this chapter, it'll happen off-screen), I did still want to address Yor's struggles, so here we are with a touching conversation between a former soldier and an assassin with enough Ambiguous Syntax to keep giving everyone the wrong idea.

Though on the subject of the Cruise arc, up until I started writing this chapter, I actually forgot that the events of the Kopi episode (which happened around Mission 11 here), Yor getting her assassin job on the Lorelei, and Anya winning the cruise trip all happened in the exact same day. Thankfully, as far as I read back, nothing I wrote interfered with just adding that detail here, so I had Yor allude to the upcoming cruise trip.

Hope you all enjoyed, and I'll see you all next time for concluding the Blackbell factory portion with Loid's spy work and Anya's personal mission. Hopefully nothing bad will happen.

... Hopefully.