《Tearlight - A Cyberpunk Mercenary Story》


 Chapter 1: Survivor

    Chapter 1: Survivor


    Her home is just as she had left it ten years ago. With a few key differences, of course.


    In place of flames there is ash and dust.


    In place of booms and screams there is silence.


    In place of harmony there is wistfulness and tragedy.


    In a way, it¡¯s kind of nostalgic for Sykra to walk these roads again, even if they¡¯re broken. If she wills herself to, she could still imagine how it must have felt to be a few feet shorter, with only shoulder-length silver-white hair and carmine eyes still filled with joy.


    The young woman spots something from across the road to her left. An old playground she used to swing by when she was little.


    It seems relatively untouched from the destruction that laid waste to the town, though there is some stray rubble from nearby homes scattered about, some having crashed right into some playground attractions, like the slide and the sandbox.


    Sykra continues walking. This is not what she¡¯s looking for.


    Her walk is monotonous. Ruined home after ruined home, some in disrepair and others a pile of rubble. Car after abandoned car. A long stretch of broken road. It all just blends together in Sykra¡¯s mind as one big tedious relic of destruction.


    But soon, she finds another thing to catch her interest down by the roadside.


    It¡¯s a skeleton wearing a black and white skinsuit, similar to her own.


    She approaches the corpse and rummages through the nearby satchel¡ªpresumably the skeleton¡¯s in their life¡ªand pulls out a small black and blue rectangular device.


    With a tap of her finger, it expands with a sharp whir and reactivates with a faint flicker. Seems like it still has some juice in it after all.


    ¡°Raven Hill,¡± Sykra reads aloud with a faint voice, ¡°Age 27, Codename: Wildfire, C-Rank¡­¡±


    ¡°...Last active 4 years ago.¡±


    ¡®Relatively recent compared to the decade old ruins,¡¯ Sykra remarks to herself.


    The young woman hums as she turns off the device, stowing it away in a satchel of her own, hanging tightly to her hip.


    But just before she gets moving, she rummages through Raven¡¯s satchel one last time.


    And¡­


    ¡®Hmm, not here. Seems like someone stole their Armor Module.¡¯


    With that, Sykra gets up and continues moving forward.


    After a few more minutes of walking, another corpse blocks the road, this time far more interesting than just a skeleton.


    ¡®A Blitz Suit?¡¯


    Right in the middle of the road, leaning on a rusted green car, is a hulking, silver suit of armor, tinted with rust and damaged beyond repair.


    Its sleek and supple yet bulky form is riddled with rips and holes, and its thin visor stretching across the helmet¡¯s face is cracked, seemingly from one big impact.


    She kneels down by the limp suit and puts a hand on the square of its damaged chest and two fingers on the side of its neck.


    Her scarlet eyes widen in surprise as the entire suit flashes white and blue, and the light continues to grow to consume even the girl.


    Sykra screws her eyes shut, the light still penetrating her eyelids.


    But soon, she eases the tension in her eyes as the light gradually fades, and moments later, the tension is gone for good.


    The light hitting her eyelids has gone, and Sykra doesn¡¯t hesitate; her eyes flutter open to a small device the size of her hand in her grasp and¨C


    ¡°Eugh. They stink¡­¡±


    She moves away from the rotten husk now leaning on the car and inspects the device now in her hand.


    ¡®A standard BS Armor Module¡­¡¯


    Silver with blue highlights in the shape of a diamond, cold to the touch but with latent heat within. Familiar, but it¡¯s not her own, and it seems low on power too. Whoever this person was evidently didn¡¯t get to use it for long before getting shut down by bullets and blades.


    Sykra¡¯s eyes drift back up to the mummified corpse.


    A shirt and loose slacks¡­ Not standard attire for a Blitz Suit.


    Odd¡­ But it doesn¡¯t matter to Sykra either way. She could make a thousand conjectures and it wouldn¡¯t amount to anything. It¡¯s not her place to dig into other¡¯s past.


    So once again, she stows away the device in her satchel and walks away, not even bothering to ID the mummified husk. This is still not what she¡¯s looking for.


    Hours after she found that corpse, she is once again put to a halt at the foot of another.


    Her breath hitches as she takes a few steps forward, stopping just a few meters before the shredded picket fence, for going beyond that would mean entering a catacomb of old, burnt memories.


    It¡¯s a corpse that holds a myriad of colorful recollections, now smouldered and decayed. It¡¯s where her memories were born, nurtured, and killed in hellfire¡ªthis corpse was her home, a reminder of the bells of war that first tolled over the nation of Corrin¡­ and when her hometown became target to ravenous decimation.


    Sykra takes an unconscious, delicate step forward.


    Her carmine eyes stare at her long-collapsed home, feeling as though death itself is laid bare to her in those distant remains. She could still smell the faint traces of ash swirling around, and if she tries hard enough, she might still feel the wrathful heat of the flames, and hear the muted cries of her mother to the right of her stock-still body.


    ¡°...¡±


    Sykra could feel her heart beginning to race and her head beginning to ache. Not a good sign. She is becoming herself.


    She unzips her satchel one more time, and instead of taking from the corpse, she will instead be taking from herself.


    ¡®I thought the initial dosage was enough¡­¡¯ Sykra thinks absentmindedly, ¡®But I¡¯m wrong. What I need is more¡¯This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    A small steel jar now sits firmly in her grip, and with her other hand she unclips the lid, and with a flip, the jar is open.


    She tilts the jar into her open palm and shakes out four grey and white pills, which turns into five with another stubborn shake.


    In one smooth movement, she tilts her head along with her palm and downs the drugs in a practiced gulp.


    She will be fine. In a few minutes, she will be as she usually is, like she was still the little girl that once gawked at her burning home.


    A husk.


    It only took a minute for Sykra to feel dazed. Dazed enough for her vision to blur.


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    Dazed enough for her legs to give, knees to the ground and eyes facing the pavement.


    Her bleary mind starts to converge and stir with one another, and reality and dreams become one. A small price to pay for the drug¡¯s wicked sorcery, but worth it in the mind of the girl.


    Imagery of things she knows and once knew flash in her head.


    A house. A fire.


    Her mother. A heart monitor.


    Her father¡¯s statue. His disappearance.


    She didn¡¯t even realize her eyes were shut tight until she found her breathing ragged. That¡¯s when the visions stopped, and she found herself lying on her side in the middle of the road.


    Her eyes are still a bit blurry, and her breathing is still rough and heavy, but she could feel herself coming down from the side-effects¡¯ climax.


    The young woman slowly pushes herself up from her knee and onto her feet.


    She looks around to get a grip of her surroundings, and that¡¯s when she laid eyes on her house, still intact. The white walls, the pale red roof, the windows and the white picket fence, all still there.


    But she knew it was a dream. One that doesn¡¯t belong. So she blinked, and it¡¯s gone, the home in her dreams returning to the truth of ruin that it now is.


    Of course, she doesn¡¯t feel anything about the revelation. No grief. No despair. She just is.


    Right now, she¡¯s more interested in counting how many more pills she could take today.


    She took three before her deployment, and five now¡­ which leaves two more opportunities before things become bad. Heck, maybe she could slip in an extra one or two more pills just before day¡¯s end, as a treat.


    Sykra looks to her left and right before putting her focus back to the rubble.


    Indeed, this is what she¡¯s looking for. A landmark she could use to coordinate her objective.


    The Lwyney Hearts and Souls Hospital should be a sharp right from her home, then a left, and another left, and¡­


    Well, she¡¯ll think about it more from there.


    For now, it¡¯s best she put her energy into walking.


    She departs from her ruined memories and onwards to her objective with not a single sentiment of the past on her mind.


    Not even the love she has for her mother.


    Dusky twilight casts its shadow over the ruined town, painting the roads and remnants with an orange hue and blackening the things that remain hidden between them.


    Leaning over the corner of a darkened alleyway that has yet collapsed inwards, Sykra takes a peek at her objective¡¯s location: Lwyney Hearts and Souls Hospital, her town¡¯s one and only hospital.


    It¡¯s a relatively large looking building, quite wide and tall with what were supposed to be white walls, though the paint seemed to have worn over the decade of its abandonment. To say that it has aged well in comparison to the rest of the ruins around it would be an understatement; in major disrepair it may be, at least it¡¯s not a pile of worthless rubble.


    Which means that it¡¯s worth a lot for people that would like to take shelter¡­ or hide.


    She can¡¯t see anyone peering out of the various shattered windows of the building, so getting intel before engaging is a bust.


    Sykra emits a low hum.


    This is the assigned location. Since the commission she took is public it¡¯s possible that her adversaries have already left with the objective knowing that they might be attacked soon. But¡­


    Sykra opens her satchel and takes out her phone, opening it to a blank map.


    ¡®Nav-Jammer¡¯s still here. And the surrounding locations have already been proactively secured to blockade any attempts at escape. So yes, they should still be here.¡¯


    With her objectives assured location in mind, Sykra feels through her satchel again and pulls out a familiar, diamond shaped device.


    Silver with glowing red highlights, warm to the touch and radiating with power that races even through the young woman¡¯s veins. This is Sykra¡¯s Armor Module.


    ¡®One hour of use. Estimated 20 minutes for mission completion.¡¯


    But Sykra is not in proper position. It¡¯s best she gets close to assure maximum efficiency.


    After all, isn¡¯t that the point of a mercenary?


    Sykra brushes away a few stray locks of hair covering her carmine eyes before sweeping back the flow of her pale mane, and then vanishing into the darkness of the alleyway, moving forward for the sake of the objective.


    Her heart pulses with a steadfast rhythm, and her breath remains steady and concise.


    Even her face gives no way for emotion. No, perhaps it¡¯s less than emotion that she is expressing¡ªlike her visage has become a voracious void, a stark hole in the darkness.


    As she stalks her way to the hospital, her mind has become nothing more than an echo chamber for three simple objectives, repeating the sole reasons she is here in the first place.


    ¡°Kill Liberationists. Retrieve payload. Make money.¡±


    Sykra passes through the fire exit by the back in the case the front entrance is heavily fortified or trapped. Thankfully (and strangely), the fire exit is left completely unguarded. Why aren¡¯t there any signs of guards?


    Despite that, the atmosphere of this place is completely different from the desolation outside; sparks of anticipation arc through each dim hall of the dilapidated hospital that the young woman looks down.


    The blanchette thumbs the center of her Armor Module, primed to unleash its strength like a finger to a trigger.


    But she holds back for now. Best to conserve energy in the case of a long fight.


    Plus, the flash of light in the midst of transformation ought to help her in one way or another.


    ¡®No sign of enemies so far. Maybe they¡¯re cooped up in one of the wards?¡¯


    With that goal in mind, Sykra pulls out a flashlight and starts walking.


    As she walks through the eerily silent facilities, and the smell of stale air and cement dust infiltrates her senses, her suspicion climbs ever higher.


    ¡®They can¡¯t possibly have left, right? Where would they go? Wouldn¡¯t I have been informed of such a case?¡¯


    ¡®Tch, no use for wondering right now. Just scan the hospital, find the Nav-Jammer, and confirm with the clients if I find nothing.¡¯


    Suddenly, Sykra hears something faint to her left.


    A gradual whirring noise echoing in the far distance of a hall before fading as quickly as it came.


    Sykra shines her light down that hall and sees nothing, but she knows that she heard something. Something is here with her, watching her, and she thinks she knows what it is.


    She runs down the ruined hall and takes a right where she believed the noise had faded. Again, the whirring noise appears unseen, coming from her left again.


    She turns left.


    Then right.


    Left again. Following that whirring noise that remains unseen in her light.


    Until finally, the noise stops running from her and waits behind two open double doors.


    The young woman looks above the double doors to find a rectangular steel plate barely holding onto the wall it¡¯s hanging on. It appears to have a name engraved onto it.


    ¡®Medical Ward,¡¯ Sykra reads.


    That thing¡­ That drone has led her here.


    She looks down to her left hand where the Armor Module is still firmly in her grip. Its warmth emanates both power and assurance, and its scarlet light brings much the same.


    As she presses her thumb down on the center of the device, it glows ever brighter.


    ¡®Enemies up ahead. Best I present myself accordingly.¡¯


    Sykra¡¯s thumb pushes down without restraint, and a click resounds from the device.


    As Sykra begins to walk in front of the open doors, a bright red light envelops her entire body.


    Her skinsuit grows warmer and warmer, from the tips of her feet to the skin of her neck as a soft yet overwhelming heat wraps around and devours her body. Gradually, the temperature climbs down to something more mild as the sharp sounds of clicking metal begin by her feet. Click after click, the metallic clicking grows louder as they ascend her body from her soles to her breasts, and even further than that.


    Sykra¡¯s body grows weightier, heavier, more powerful with each step as metal stacks on top of metal.


    Suddenly, she¡¯s a few inches taller, her shoulders grow wider, and her vision has become black as her entire head has become encased in steel.


    Then she is granted sight. A vision that lets her see in front of her, behind her, and from her sides.


    As the blinding light fades, Sykra finally hears two telltale clicks above her; a pair of triangular sonars have popped up on the top of her head, allowing her to emit a wide radar, which also means¡­


    ¡°Good evening, Mercenary Weiss Saber,¡± A robotic female voice clinically reports in her helmet, ¡°All systems online. Suit now ready for combat.¡±


    Now, clad in a Blitz Suit of white and red, she takes one last step forward towards the open doors to reveal to her enemies the power held within her sleek yet robust frame.


    Make them hear the beating heart of a survivor¡­ while their own is snuffed.

 Chapter 2: Blades, Claws, and Trivialities

    Chapter 2: Blades, Claws, and Trivialities


    The medical ward is alight with the dim orange of dusk. It¡¯s a wide and dirty chamber, a shadow of what it once was, smudged top to bottom with the residue of its own ruin.


    In the middle of the room, a fair distance to her is the drone that has led her to this place; white and black with four rotors supporting its small frame. But her eyes quickly snap to the thing behind the drone¡ªor rather, the person, who currently has their back on her.


    They¡¯re a fair bit taller than her, and donning a sleek and slim black suit of armor that Sykra doesn¡¯t recognize, only being identifiable as some sort of non-traditional Blitz Suit when Sykra quickly notices that some of its armor plates along the legs and shoulder blades have visibly shifted apart.


    ¡®The suit¡¯s already in Combat Mode,¡¯ Sykra notes.


    The figure stretches their arm to the side, and the drone hovers towards it like a falcon to their caretaker¡ªbefore landing on the hand instead so its body can be grabbed, and with a flick of the finger, the whirring gradually ceases.


    Slowly, the armored figure sits it down in front of them. Their shoulders lift¡ªand then they sink.


    They shift their foot, slightly lifting their heel as they turn around to finally face the white and red mercenary¡ªtheir cross-shaped visor brimming with amber anticipation.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± they say to Sykra, their androgynous voice carrying a metallic echo, ¡°That isn¡¯t any suit that I know. Is that custom made? I like the two big crimson eyes and the cat ears. Very cute.¡±


    Before giving the chance for Sykra to answer (she wasn¡¯t) the mysterious figure continues. ¡°Well, whatever. You¡¯re too late. The Liberationists have already left this forsaken town with half the payload¡¯s supply on their backs, leaving only me to guard the other half¡­¡± they then point to the small steel crate at the back of the room. It appears to have a sheathed sword leaning on its side.


    They let out a low chuckle before whispering with an audible smile and a sadistic edge, ¡°...And kill the corporate merc that¡¯s after it.¡±


    Sykra remains silent for a few seconds before taking the cue to reply. ¡°...You talk too much. Especially for a Liberationist poser.¡±


    The armored figure¡ªthe mercenary¡ªhuffs with a grin, ¡°What gave it away? Was the speech not zealous enough?¡±


    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t,¡± Sykra replies clinically, ¡°but you¡¯re also not wearing anything that identifies you as a Corrin Liberationist. No coat of arms nor a hint of their red and violet colors. You¡¯re a hired mercenary. Stop pretending.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s fun, isn¡¯t it?¡± the black mercenary replies with glee, ¡°Their virtues and ambitions are quite admirable!¡±


    ¡°Reclaim our home~¡± they mock in a voice, ¡°Our turf. Our battles~ Stop the war. Reestablish order~ Down with the corporations~ And¡­ all that stuff,¡± the mercenary giggle.


    Sykra loudly exhales, ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less. Get out of my way or we both do our given jobs and fight.¡±


    ¡°...And for the record. I¡¯m an independent. I couldn¡¯t care less about the corporate perks.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± the black mercenary replies with genuine surprise in their voice, ¡°Thought every independent shot for the corpos. Heck, even some Nebula affiliates are doing it.¡±


    ¡°I am a Nebula affiliate,¡± Sykra clarifies plainly, ¡°Most pure affiliates, like myself, are independents.¡±


    ¡°Well I don¡¯t see the difference,¡± the mercenary retorts, ¡°Nebula or the warring corpos it doesn¡¯t matter, you¡¯re working with an org that¡¯s after both your allegiance and this fucked country¡¯s resources.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re sounding like a real Liberationist,¡± Sykra remarks.


    ¡°Meh, I¡¯m passionate about this stuff. There¡¯s a reason why I stay a traditional independent merc~¡±


    Suddenly, the telltale trill of high-power thrusters emanate from the black-armored mercenary¡¯s legs and shoulders¡ªand with an explosive bang, they zip from their spot of the room to the back in an instant, with their hand already wrapped around the sheathed sword¡ªan ¨­dachi, Sykra recognizes.


    ¡°Now, we can¡¯t keep our clients waiting¡­¡±


    With a single smooth motion of their arm, the sword¡¯s sharpened black blade reveals itself¡ªwith its razor tip pointed straight at her.


    ¡°You know how impatient they can be¡­ so let¡¯s show them some results!¡±


    ¡°Finally¡­¡± Sykra mutters.


    Through her thoughts alone, she commands her suit one thing: ¡®Engage Combat Mode.¡¯


    Her Blitz Suit responds immediately. Just like her adversary, the plates along her ankles and thighs lift from their positions, as do her shoulder blades.


    Two of her main thrusters along the suit¡¯s spine begin humming, and two more hiding within her large pauldrons closely follow as the sound escalates. The hum rapidly climbs into a high-pitched screech, which is when the thrusters hidden beneath the lifted plates take their cue to join in the choir¡¯s crescendo as their steel goes from a cold grey to white-hot.


    The red highlights strewn around her suit begin glowing brighter as scarlet lightning starts to arc around her forearms.


    ¡°Confirmed: Unit has entered Combat Mode.¡±


    With a cross of her forearms, the plates along both of them begin to split apart and shift away, revealing the black internals wrapped with scarlet plasma. Surging. Condensing¡ª


    And with explosive motion, Sykra whips her arms to her sides as an audible burst of energy heralds Sykra¡¯s true ferocity¡ªExtending from each of her wrists are three long blades of bright red plasma, resembling the claws of a beast and buzzing with the might of a star.


    And now, in the shadow of dusk¡¯s orange light, the two warriors share a staredown.


    The two large ¡°eyes¡± of Sykra¡¯s suit glow a bright scarlet to meet the brilliant amber of the mercenary¡¯s cross-shaped visor, but she wouldn¡¯t care to match their excitement; she could feel just how radiant her adversary¡¯s grin is beneath the mask, while her¡¯s remain an icy thin line.


    Both of them remain in their positions like pieces on a chess board, waiting for a hand to take initiative.


    ¡°What? Not gonna make a move?¡± the mercenary chatters with an edge of impatience.


    Sykra doesn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°Tch, fine then!¡±


    Suddenly, the rapid sound of shifting plates clicks through the whistling of thrusters, whirring into place until a dull clunk cues the mercenary to whip their left arm in Sykra¡¯s direction, revealing a barrel on their wrist¡ªpointed directly at her.


    The black mercenary doesn¡¯t say a word as an explosive pop echoes across the medical ward. And Sykra¡­ Sykra moves.


    She moves so fast that the shot completely misses her and hits the wall, which now bears several large holes.


    Sykra shoots to the mercenary¡¯s flank, overcharging her right arm to lengthen her claws to half her size and pumps in as much energy as possible into her primary thrusters. This farce ends now.


    The sound barrier shatters, and webs of cracks weave their way into the surrounding walls, ceiling, and floor as Sykra tears through the air at mach speed.


    Her arm is stretched to her side like a rubber band rearing to snap as her elongated claws burn the air into a crackling blur.


    She could see it. Her kill. Her prey has barely even managed to turn their head in time to react to her claws eviscerating their neck.


    The band snaps. The claws swipe¡ª


    And a loud clang resounds.


    Sykra¡¯s eyes widen at the sight of her claws being caught within the void-colored blade.


    And this time, it¡¯s her turn to react.


    And she reacts too late.


    The mercenary¡¯s blade becomes a blur as it slides away from the parry, goes beneath Sykra¡¯s claws, and swipes, delivering a powerful slash through her suit¡¯s arm. If she was a second too slow, it would¡¯ve struck her wrists¡­


    Sykra sucks in a breath as her eyes snap back to her enemy¡¯s offhand. Again, too late.


    The wrist-gun fires, the buckshot striking her foot and shredding the armor surrounding it.


    Luckily, she catches herself before she trips, but she is once again caught beneath the mercenary¡¯s pressure as they thrust themselves and their sword towards Sykra¡¯s chest. Sykra reacts quickly, dipping low and to the side, and she¡¯s ready to provide a mean uppercut¡ª


    But then the mercenary twirls, and now she hears the deafening sound of thrusters fast approaching from her right.


    From her position right now, she¡¯ll be too slow! Too slow to¡ª!


    The rocket-powered foot slams against the side of her face, sending her flying, tumbling, and crashing into a medical bed, breaking it.


    She heaves heavily, and she could feel hot lava dripping down her nose. But she¡¯s fine. Sykra¡¯s fine. She could still fight¡ª


    ¡°Agh!¡±


    She¡¯s punched square in the chest, smashing her against the decrepit wall; her back now sliding against its crooked surface, leaving her to sit weightlessly on her butt. She feels vomit piling up against her throat.


    She looks up to see the amber cross spreading across the mercenary¡¯s face, like a twisted grin.


    ¡°Hah, you¡¯re far weaker than I thought~¡± the mercenary softly says as they taunt her with the flat of the blade patting against the side of her helmet.


    The blade moves from her face and into the air. Her head is now the log to the lumberjack¡¯s axe.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make this quick for ya¡­¡±


    The blade falls¡ªand claws rise.


    ¡°What the¡ª?!¡±


    She did it. The blade, now caught between both her arms¡¯ claws, have proven to her that she has yet to meet her match.


    Surprising even her, a small fragment of an emotion sparks within the vast void of her heart.


    ¡®Heh.¡¯


    She will win this. Sykra will win this.


    The young woman releases a heavy breath, its taste stained by the iron filling her mouth and throat. And yet¡­ she looks up to meet her enemy¡¯s gaze, scarlet eyes connecting with the amber cross.


    ¡°You thought¡­¡± she heaves a breath, ¡°that I was meagre prey..?¡±


    The whir of thrusters behind her reaches an extreme, and this time, it¡¯s the black-suited mercenary¡¯s turn to react late.


    ¡°Shit!¡±


    Her entire body rockets forward and crashes against the mercenary, sending them tumbling and turning into the other side of the room, crashing right through the wall, and into a smaller, dimmer room.


    She pins the mercenary up the wall and quickly knees them on the stomach, which gives her enough time to cut a large gash into their suit. And then another. And¡ªThis story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°No you don¡¯t!¡±


    She launches herself backwards, the black blade barely clipping her waist.


    She gets into a stance, claws raised, watching the heaving mercenary look at themselves. They inspect the two large claw-shaped gashes, both still red-hot, cutting through the chest of their slim black armor. One more well-placed slash would expose the softer inner-frame beneath, but beggars can¡¯t be choosers she supposes.


    ¡°You wretch!¡± the mercenary yells at her, winding up their thrusters and¡­ Shit! They shot right past her!


    ¡°Die!¡±


    Sykra¡¯s eyes jolt to the radar on her interface, watching the blinking white dot race towards her¡ªthe bright red center of the map. She zips away in anticipation¡ªturning to confront the enemy¡¯s blade¡ªbut the dot suddenly stops some distance away from the center, and she realizes too late that the blade will not come¡ªbut the buckshot will.


    A gunshot rings aloud¡ªand Sykra barely zips out of the way as the shot misses her chest and strikes her right shoulder instead, blasting off the pauldron and the thruster hidden within.


    Again, the mercenary slips away from her sight to swoop in at another odd angle, and Sykra doesn¡¯t need her radar to anticipate that.


    She darts away, dodging the second buckshot. Then the third¡ªbut then comes a volley of the fourth, fifth and sixth! She dodges once¡ªtwice!¡ª


    But the sixth shot catches her momentum, smashing into her left arm and shredding the protective plates to swiss cheese. She staggers and slips a second too soon¡­


    The mercenary closes in at breakneck speeds, blade raised in a bloodlusted frenzy.


    Sykra prepares to block like she did earlier¡­ but the blade changed its direction last minute, swiftly slashing past her attempted defense and striking her wrist¡ªwhere her claws are generated. Her left arm¡¯s claws sputter feebly in defeat, plasma sparking and arcing before pathetically giving out with a droop.


    ¡®Fuck¡­ Not good¡ª!¡¯


    The blade swoops into a second slash, which clashes with her remaining claws, but then the blade dips low, and so does its wielder¡ª!


    Sykra sucks in a sharp breath as the blade smashes into her side with a meaty crunch, sending her whole world spinning¡ªliterally spinning¡ªinto the air, through the massive hole she created, and back into the medical ward, where she continues to spin and¡ªwith a shift of her momentum¡ªmanage to land back to earth standing on two feet.


    Disorientation aside, she hears the high-pitched whirring of thrusters ahead of her, causing her to look up and see the mercenary lighting up the dark room they¡¯re still in with the blinding white and blue of their thrusters¡¯ propulsion.


    With their blade raised into a stab, the mercenary thrusts into a killing blow, the debris behind them smashing and scattering into bits and dust as the sound barrier is torn to shreds.


    The blade¡¯s point is now milliseconds away from Sykra¡¯s chest.


    And at that moment, Sykra made a choice.


    She pours in a vast amount of energy into her left shoulder thruster, pouring more and more, going further, exceeding limits.


    The blade closes in as warning signs briefly flash into Sykra¡¯s interface.


    Pure energy begins to crack and erupt through her left pauldron before a bright white and red light envelops it entirely.


    Time seems to slow.


    All or nothing.


    BOOM¡ªthe thrust of the mercenary¡¯s blade hits¡ªnot Sykra¡¯s chest, but a massive white and red explosion, blasting the mercenary away and sending Sykra flying to the other side of the room and crashing into the wall.


    Sykra slumps down from the impact, breathing heavily.


    She looks to her left to see that her shoulder has exploded, or at least, that¡¯s what she thinks happened, all she could see now is a constant billowing of smoke.


    But still, she survived and is now a fair distance away from the mercenary¡­ And if memory serves her right, she¡¯s also right next to the steel crate, the payload.


    The mercenary walks back into her view. Their cross-visor is cracked and their chestplate seems to be crumbling.


    Their chest is also visibly heaving from each breath. Each inhale is sharp, and each exhale is shaky. They didn¡¯t seem to have taken that explosion all too well. They seem to be in pain.


    ¡°Hahh¡­ You managed two good hits on me¡­ But look at you, dents to the head and the stomach, a gash to your side, hell both your shoulder thrusters are dead and you¡¯re short on one weapon!¡±


    They take a shaky step forward, their thrusters whirring and their ¨­dachi tight in their grip.


    ¡°...Give up now, or you¡¯ll regret what happens next¡­¡±


    Sykra doesn¡¯t reply. Instead, she pushes down on her knee, powering through the pain and staggering as she forces herself back up. Despite her daze, she takes a few steps forward to stand right by her objective.


    ¡°Not a chance.¡±


    She eyes the crate by her side. Knowing what¡¯s inside¡­ she could use it to her advantage.


    ¡°You¡¯re cornered, dipshit!¡± The mercenary yells from across the room, ¡°What the hell are you gonna do?¡±


    Sykra kicks the crate hard, letting its slide slightly left, its contents rattling like glass.


    ¡°Oi!¡± the mercenary whips their wrist-gun forward, ¡°It¡¯s fragile! Do that again or your head is gone!¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Interesting,¡± Sykra replies clinically, ¡°So you care about the contents in this box?¡±


    The young woman brushes a hand across the top of the crate, ¡°You know what happens if I were to, say, violently tear my claws into the box, right?¡±


    ¡°You know what happens to Tearlight when that happens, right?¡±


    The mercenary takes a heavy stomp forward in response, wrist-gun at the ready.


    ¡°Are you willing to gamble? Gamble if your shot is faster than my claws?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± the mercenary growls, ¡°If your claws so much as even touch a bit of the stuff this hospital and us in it will become a crater!¡±


    Sykra huffs, poising her claws to strike and causing the mercenary to stiffen, ¡°Exactly the point.¡±


    ¡°Are you insane?! Aren¡¯t you a merc? Who¡¯d claim the reward money if both you AND your objective are DEAD?!¡±


    The blanchette tilts her head, ¡°You said it yourself. I¡¯m cornered¡ªbasically at death¡¯s door. So I thought it would be fitting that if I die, you and the objective die with me.¡±


    ¡°WHAT KINDA LOGIC IS THAT?!¡±


    ¡°...The logic of someone who has nothing to lose.¡±


    ¡°ALRIGHT! Fine¡­ Just back away from the box. We can negotiate.¡±


    Sykra shakes her head, ¡°You¡¯re in no position for negotiation. Rather, you¡¯re in the position of the questioned, and I, your interrogator and the Tearlight¡¯s captor.¡±


    Sykra hears the silent grinding of teeth from beneath the mask and breaths of the mercenary.


    ¡°Fine. What do you want?


    She inches her claws closer to the crate, causing her hostage to tense up, ¡°I want you to follow my instructions and feel obligated to answer my questions.¡±


    The mercenary tsks, but says nothing in reply.


    Sykra takes this as compliance.


    ¡°State your identity.¡±


    The mercenary begrudgingly replies, ¡°Oliver. Just Oliver, no last name. Lost that since I was young.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a mercenary. A true independent mercenary with 9 years of experience, with no affiliation nor allegiance to the factions cornering Corrin. I do it for the money.¡±


    Sykra stays silent in response.


    ¡°Next question then. What is your objective and how does that intertwine with the Corrin Liberationists?¡±


    The mercenary¡ªOliver¡ªgrunts, ¡°As I had said, protect the payload while the rest of the Liberationist lot escape the town with half of the payload¡¯s supply on their backs. They¡¯ll come back for the other half in a few days, and then I get paid.¡±


    Again, Sykra stays silent, but a flicker of inspiration passes along her carmine eyes.


    ¡°You know you won¡¯t get paid, right?¡±


    Oliver chuckles, ¡°Heh, nice try, but I know better. Unlike you, I don¡¯t have the tech nor network to ensure a guarantee of payment to the digit. As an independent, you learn how to identify genuine clients over the nasties. The Liberationists are true to their word, I will get paid, just as they had done many times before.¡±


    ¡°Minerva Industries has cornered this place. Every escape route has dozens of soldiers waiting on the other side, each route having their own experienced mercenary to boot. You won¡¯t get paid because they won¡¯t make it.¡±


    The black-armored mercenary scoffs, ¡°I¡¯ve seen their escape route, scrutinized it, and gave them the additional approval that they will make it out unscathed.¡±


    Sykra hums, ¡°Then send me the escape route. I will verify whether Minerva has secured it or not.¡±


    ¡°Not a chance!¡± Oliver shouts, ¡°You¡¯re just gonna pass it along to Minerva, aren¡¯t ya¡ª¡±


    Sykra¡¯s claws scrape along the crate¡¯s roof.


    ¡°OK I GET IT! Fine¡­ I¡¯ll pass it along to you¡­:¡±


    Just then, Sykra receives an external message: an attachment of the town¡¯s whole map and its surrounding neighbors and a thin blue line highlighting an unconventional route. There is a giant glowing X at the end, probably signifying an extraction point or a safe room.


    Sykra lets out a soft ¡°Heh¡±.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funn¡ªAGH!?!¡±


    Oliver is sent flying from Sykra¡¯s sudden shoulder-check, knocking the wind out of them and sending them skidding across the floor, sprawled out in pain.


    ¡°You¡ªAGH FUCK!¡±


    A burst of speed left dust in its wake¡ªalong with fresh blood and a flying limb.


    Oliver sits up in a panicked frenzy before realizing¡ªthey can¡¯t feel their right arm. They look to where their arm should be¡ªa bloodied stump is all that¡¯s left.


    Their eyes slowly gaze up in heart-stopping horror as they follow a trail of blood¡ªmeasuring in inches¡ªbefore stopping just a few feet away.


    Oliver¡¯s bloodied right arm lying limp on its side with the ¨­dachi still locked within its dead grasp.


    The realization hits.


    But just before they could scream, they feel the hard knuckles of a Blitz Suit hit the back of their head¡ªthe arcing plasmic energy racing along the fist making their hair stand on end.


    ¡°At my command, my claws will pierce your head.¡±


    Oliver couldn¡¯t hear the girl though¡ªtheir ears are polluted with the sound of their own panicked breaths and pounding heart.


    ¡°But just before I do, just know that I lied¡­¡±


    Plasma shoots from her wrist¡ªher claws goring and burning through brain matter¡ªbefore coming out the other end only slightly dirtied.


    She deactivates the claws once again, letting the dead mercenary fall limply, their spine curving in so that their head curls up to their stomach.


    ¡°...I do have something to live for. Something to lose¡­¡±


    Sykra checks the escape route that Oliver sent, scanning it briefly before sending it over to Minerva¡¯s officials.


    ¡°And I also lied that you won¡¯t get paid. If it weren¡¯t for you sending that map, they definitely would¡¯ve rewarded you a metric ton of credits.¡±


    Suddenly, a notification resounds on the blanchette¡¯s interface.


    ¡°Alert: Incoming comms.¡±


    Sykra answers with a beep, coming to attention when a deep and gruff sounding voice greets her ears.


    ¡°Operator Weiss Saber, what is this that you sent to us?¡± the gruff voice asks.


    ¡°It¡¯s a mapped escape route, Sir Jirad,¡± Sykra answers, ¡°It¡¯s for the Liberationists, who¡¯ve escaped from the town using this route to deliver half the payload¡¯s supply away from their identified location.¡±


    A small pause fills the call before Sykra hears a grunt from the other end, ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then well done. However, I should remind you that you should disable that Nav-Jammer, otherwise we won¡¯t be able to track the route down effectively.¡±


    Sykra hums compliance, ¡°Noted, Sir.¡±


    ¡°Oh and to double check; you said that the Liberationists who have escaped are carrying half the payload, correct? Then that means¡­ you got the other half?¡±


    Sykra hums again, ¡°Indeed. The payload is secure, at least half of it. Please send an extraction craft for both me and the payload at Lwyney Hearts and Souls Hospital. My mission here is complete.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic work Weiss Saber! I¡¯ll be sure to pay you handsomely once you get back to a Guild Hall!¡±


    Sykra grunts, ¡°Thank you, Sir.¡±


    Her eyes dart to the fresh corpse in front of her before focusing back on the call, ¡°Sorry Sir, but there¡¯s something that must be taken care of first. Thank you again for your generosity.¡±


    ¡°Oh! You¡¯re too kind! The extraction craft will arrive right outside the hospital shortly. Pay attention.¡±


    ¡°Will do, Sir Jirad.¡±


    Sir Jirad chuckles from the other end, ¡°Ahahaha! Do take care, Weiss Saber.¡±


    ¡°...You too, Sir.¡±


    Sykra disconnects from the intercoms and immediately leans over Oliver¡¯s body, which she adjusts to lay on its back.


    As she kneels over the body, she hums as she plants a palm over the shattered chest and puts two fingers against the side of the corpse¡¯s bloodstained neck.


    A bright glow shines to blind Sykra before tapering off to reveal the body of a dark skinned mercenary with fluffy black hair and hazel eyes¡ªwide with terror.


    And in her hands is a black and amber Armor Module, cold to the touch.


    ¡®This¡¯ll fetch a good price.¡¯


    She continues searching the body¡ªbut it yields nothing. After all, Oliver was not a Nebula affiliate, meaning no mercenary ID to cash in on their death.


    Disappointing.


    She pushes back up from the corpse, knowing nothing more can be wrung from it.


    ¡­


    Gods, does her body ache.


    Sykra takes her time to walk over to the payload on account of her body finally feeling the repercussions of the battle.


    Step by step.


    ¡®Tch, that merc really did a number on me¡­ I think some of my ribs are fractured, maybe even broken.¡¯


    But she pushes past that concern and continues walking until she¡¯s finally face-to-face with the steel box just a few inches in front of her. Sykra raises her right arm and lets her claws flow free from their metallic confines, her eyes continuing to measure the box¡¯s proportions as the blades on her wrist pulsate with energy.


    And then, with one sudden and swift sweep of her wrist, the top of the crate is sliced wide open, revealing a strange, blocky, green and grey device mounted on a tripod, with a very long antenna stretching from it.


    ¡®The Nav-Jammer¡­¡¯


    She picks up the device and scrutinizes it for a few seconds, observing its primitive features contrasting its powerful capabilities so as to thwart a corporation¡¯s own navigation channels, before her eyes drift to something far more interesting.


    Within the crate are trays layered upon other trays, and contained within the confines of those trays are dozens of small, tube-like metal containers carrying the most powerful substance in existence.


    ¡®Tearlight¡­¡¯


    She could see its multicolored glory peeking from the small glass window each container is accommodated with.


    Sykra could feel the sheer power emanating even from within those secured cells.


    ¡°...¡±


    She walks over to the crate¡¯s top lying nearby and reseals the payload as best she can.


    Sykra has a reputation to manage, even if small. It would do no good for her to start stealing again when she¡¯s in a position of relative stability.


    ¡®Well, at least I can confirm that the payload is really there.¡¯


    The blanchette takes in a deep breath of the ruined hospital¡¯s air. She notes that the smell has changed. Instead of oppressive staleness, the smell of sweat and blood now stains the once quiet and stagnant atmosphere.


    She leans on the steel box before sliding her back down its cold surface, ultimately sitting down on the floor with the crate as her wall.


    She takes one last glance on Oliver¡¯s corpse a fair distance away, its cold visage still looking up to the sky in abject horror, before musing to herself, ¡®I wonder what they had lived for¡­¡¯


    As the orange light of dusk starts to dim over the ruined town of Lwyney, a warm tune echoes along the dark halls of its one and only hospital.


    The humming of a girl long gone as she awaits her departure.

 Chapter 3: Koiloserine

    Chapter 3: Koiloserine


    Sykra relaxes on her medical bed, paying no heed to the medical jargon being spewed by the two doctors in white close to her bedside. Having nothing to do, she lends her ears to their conversation, noting a woman¡¯s voice first.


    ¡°...expunge the substance out of her system¡ª¡±


    Then, a man¡¯s voice cuts through the woman¡¯s. ¡°The girl is taking those emo-suppressants for a reason, Doctor Sifera. Just leave it be.¡±


    The female doctor¡ªSifera¡ªlets out a sigh, ¡°It¡¯s interfering with the healing catalyst. If we inject the reactant now the recovery process will be slower¡­ and more painful.¡±


    The male doctor scoffs, ¡°Put her under anesthesia then.¡±


    ¡°And the excruciating after-effects once it wears off?¡±


    ¡°...Not our problem.¡±


    Just then, the room shivers, making the doctors gasp in unison as their feet struggle to stay grounded.


    ¡°Ugh, what the hell?¡± The male doctor complains, before their attention is quickly diverted to the corner of the room, where a meagre speaker embedded on the ceiling emits several melodic notes.


    The notes end with an abrupt and harsh cough coming from the other end.


    ¡°Hng, sorry about the shake, everyone,¡± a deep and hardened voice announces from the speaker, ¡°It appears that we have encountered some unexpected turbulence. Expect it for the next half hour. Thank you.¡±


    The PA system deactivates with a flat beep, leaving the room in silence once more.


    ¡°Tch.¡± The male doctor turns back to Doctor Sifera with an annoyed glare, ¡°I have more patients to attend to. This carrier ship has no shortage of ¡®em. Just consider my words and do what¡¯s best.¡±


    And with a quick turn of the heel, the doctor leaves, grumbling about the ship¡¯s quality as he walks out the door and shutting it with a curt thud.


    Sifera stands there in her own quietness before sighing and turning to her patient, still awake in her bed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that you had to hear all that, just tell me what you need for now.¡±


    Sykra shakes her head, ¡°It¡¯s quite alright, Doctor. A glass of water would be nice.¡±


    Sifera gives a polite nod before turning away from Sykra and walking behind the blue curtain hanging by her patient¡¯s bedside. The blanchette assumes that the water station is back there.


    Sykra hears a click and the sound of running water behind the curtain. It sounds clinical yet peaceful.


    A few seconds later, rhythmic footsteps grow louder as Doctor Sifera reappears from the edge of the curtain, returning with a glass of water in her hand.


    ¡°Here,¡± the doctor says, offering the glass to the mercenary.


    Sykra takes the cup and drinks, eventually feeling satisfied and withdrawing her lips from the glass¡¯s rim. She settles it on the nightstand by her side, the glass half-empty.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Sykra tells the doctor, who smiles softly in reply.


    But soon after, her lips drop into a frown.


    ¡°Apologies if you needed anything more, but I have to prepare for your treatment. Please excuse me.¡±


    Doctor Sifera drifts from Sykra¡¯s bedside, but just before she turns the corner of the curtain, she is stopped by her own patient.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    The doctor turns her head to Sykra who, even still, remains expressionless.


    ¡°What is my treatment, Doctor?¡±


    Sifera pinches the curtain by her side and sighs as her eyes become clouded with a glossy quality.


    ¡°I will expunge the emo-suppressants from your body, Miss Weiss Saber,¡± the doctor carefully explains. This isn¡¯t the first time she¡¯s pressing her way on a patient, but it never gets any easier either.


    ¡°And then I will inject the healing reactants into your body, which will trigger the catalyst Doctor Ifra and I have already prepared inside of you.¡±


    Sifera lets out a breath, straightening her back and sharpening her tongue.


    ¡°You may suffer mental whiplash as the effects of the suppressants wear off, but trust me as your doctor I¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Sifera¡¯s eyes widen at Sykra¡¯s blunt retaliation. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t want my medicine to be expunged. Please follow the other doctor¡¯s suggestion.¡±


    Sifera¡¯s voice falters as she tries for a rebuttal, ¡°But¡­ if I do that then¡ª¡± until her attempt is quickly dashed.


    ¡°Doctor, it would be for the better.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please.¡±


    Doctor Sifera hitches her breath. Sykra¡¯s face is as vacant as ever, and yet, to the doctor, her insistence¡ªher pleas¡ªcarry so much emotion. The unspoken feelings of someone who just doesn¡¯t want to go back.


    Sifera is at a crossroads, and she has to make a painful choice.


    ¡°¡­Fine. I¡¯ll¡ª I¡¯ll perform the alternative treatment.¡±


    Sykra gives a short nod to the Good Doctor, ¡°Thank you. And apologies. There are just some things I¡¯d rather not let go of.¡±


    Sifera meets the mercenary¡¯s blank, scarlet eyes with her own conflicted and pitiful gaze, ¡°I just don¡¯t want my patients to undergo such pain.¡±


    Sykra hums, and the doctor¡¯s eyes widen as she realizes that the ends of the blanchette¡¯s lips have curled up.


    The first expression she¡¯s shown to the doctor since her arrival at the medical wing¡­


    ¡®A smile¡­¡¯


    ¡°I¡­ can relate in a way,¡± Sykra pauses, her small smile growing more somber, ¡°There are some people I wouldn¡¯t want to be in pain, too.¡±


    The girl¡¯s eyes glance to the corner of the room for less than a second before shooting back to the Good Doctor¡¯s.


    ¡®She¡¯s hurting,¡¯ Sifera realizes.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Sykra continues, ¡°I¡¯d rather it be my body than my mind giving me trouble.¡±


    Sifera stirs in her patient¡¯s words before sighing. Conflicted and defeated, she lets go of the curtain.


    The Good Doctor walks away from Sykra, her figure now distant and obscured by the medical curtain between them. Soon after, the blanchette hears the sound of the door opening.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just fetch a few more supplies before we proceed with your treatment. Please be patient.¡±


    ¡°Sure, Doctor,¡± Sykra calls in reply, before the sound of the Good Doctor¡¯s footsteps fade into the hallway and the door is shut tight.


    Sykra is now left alone.


    The clock in the room rhythmically ticks away as the young woman waits out the potential of the Good Doctor¡¯s return.


    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.


    ¡­The doctor isn¡¯t coming back for a while.


    Sykra lets out a breath, and her eyes drift to her bedside where the half-empty glass now stands, and beneath it is a drawer¡­ where her jar of emo-suppressants now lie.


    The blanchette is lucky to be a mercenary, in a way. If she didn¡¯t have that career¡ªthose perks, every medical institution would¡¯ve confiscated her drugs¡­ likely for good.


    She lifts herself up from her bed and pulls out the drawer to see her metal jar rolling out. The mercenary gingerly picks it up to put it beside the glass of water.


    Sykra eyes them both in silence.


    ¡°...¡±


    That doctor was quite earnest. She would hate for Sykra to take even more of this stuff.


    Unfortunate then, that the suppressants outweigh her guilt, however small that may be now that the drugs are fading.


    Before the girl knew it, the pills were already in her palm, with the jar hastily set aside by the mattress, some capsules escaping and sprawling out from the still open container.


    Five pills are now in her hand. Add that with the ten she took in total today in addition to the fact that she¡¯s still technically under the previous dosage¡¯s waning effects...


    Sykra stares at the grey and white drugs in her palm, knowing what she¡¯s about to commit.


    ¡®Pain before emptiness. Hah, What a familiar tradeoff¡­¡¯


    With a sudden movement, the young woman throws her head back and shoves the pills down her mouth. She quickly grabs the half-empty glass and downs the rest of its remains, the pills washing down with it.


    ¡°...!¡±


    Sykra starts coughing quick succession, choking on the slight bit of water that got caught in her airpipe. Unfortunately for her, the coughing does nothing to hinder the coming of her sin¡¯s immediate effects.


    Her hand shoots up to her head, grasping it in an iron claw as a powerful wave of dizziness and pain washes through her mind.


    Sykra grits her teeth, forcing her eyes closed as her vision is clogged with memories of the past. But even in complete darkness, they still find their way into her head¡ª!


    ¡°Hahh¡­ Ahhh¡­ This pain¡­¡±


    It¡¯s agony. Mental and physical anguish stirred into a hellish hex on her entire body.


    Her nerves are burning and her brain is spiralling as every emotion, memory, and dream shoots through it.


    The pained blanchette starts to raise her other hand, sparking further pain in her left shoulder, and carefully positions it over her mouth¡ª


    She bites down on it. Hard.


    Her left hand begins to fill with the young woman¡¯s screams, muffling them with her own skin and blood.


    Seconds pass in hellish agony. The girl¡¯s muted screams silenced only by clenched teeth and a bleeding hand.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.


    Until finally, her senses begin to recede, and sweet release beckons the girl¡¯s spirit to let go. If only for a moment.


    Her jaws loosen as her soul reaches out for that moment of peace.


    Until it completely washes over her.


    Sykra¡¯s mind goes blank¡­ She feels her hand becoming faint¡­


    And then she falls¡­ her body slamming back down on the bed like a slab of meat on a chopping block, a metallic creak accompanying her crash


    The young woman takes her time with every heavy breath. Ragged, but controlled.


    Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.


    The immediate effects of the drugs¡ªthe overdose¡ªare starting to lose their grip on her. Good. She¡¯s limp for now, but at the very least her thoughts are back in her hands.


    ¡®I¡¯m alive¡­¡¯ Sykra affirms to herself, ¡®I knew I was overdosing, but maybe taking five was a bit too much. Could¡¯ve taken just two or three¡­¡¯


    But Sykra¡¯s mind eventually drifts from that topic, which leads to her using up all of her strength to tilt her head up¡ªand she tilts it just enough for her eyes to catch a glimpse of her sins.


    The still-open vessel of drugs is still sitting there beside her waist, almost taunting her, mocking her.


    ¡®Those things are long overdue for a replacement¡­ Won¡¯t have to deal with the tolerance and overdose problems for a while once I¡¯m over that hurdle.¡¯


    She continues staring at the open jar, as if it would start talking to her at any moment.


    ¡®...I¡¯m really pushing my luck, but fifteen shouldn¡¯t give me anything too bad. At best, my tolerance will skyrocket. At worst¡­


    The blanchette shakes her head. No matter. In a few more minutes she won¡¯t feel anxiety at all. Just let the pills work their magic and give her a pseudo-lobotomy.


    With that in mind, Sykra takes a deep and heavy breath, feeling the muscles in her arms and back¡­


    And she slowly, achingly, sits back up.


    With that milestone reached, Sykra pushes herself further and clumsily shoves the fallen pills back into their proper place.


    She finds rhythm in her movement as she pops the lid back on and delicately places the metal jar back into the drawer.


    Feeling the remnants of her emotions start to drain, she takes one last look at the jar in the drawer before shutting it with a conclusive thud.


    Sykra reawakens to green flooding her senses. Quite literally, she¡¯s swimming¡ªwell, suspended really¡ªin a fluid green liquid.


    She¡¯s breathing in it too, she notices. She doesn¡¯t have a ventilator or anything of the sort attached to her body, and her breaths create tiny bubbles of air that float to the top of her¡­ vessel. She¡¯s free to swim as she pleases.


    So she swims forward, and hits a transparent surface¡ªit¡¯s glass.


    Through the glass she sees a cramped, blue and grey room shrouded in darkness, with only the light of her¡­ pod, and the light of various other machines surrounding it warding off the room¡¯s dimness.


    Just then, the sound of a door sliding open catches the floating girl¡¯s attention. A ray of light spreads across the room and a long shadow looms over the blanchette¡¯s tank.


    ¡®...Doctor?¡¯


    The lights flip open, showering the chamber in bright light and revealing Doctor Sifera, eyes wide in realization.


    ¡°Ah! You¡¯re awake!¡±


    The Good Doctor rushes over to the nearby computer terminal beside the mercenary¡¯s pod and taps away, looking relieved when she sees something on the screen.


    ¡°Thank heavens everything went alright! Otherwise¡­¡±


    Sifera glances down to her feet before meeting Sykra¡¯s eyes, ¡°But you¡¯re fine now. That¡¯s what matters in the end,¡± she tells the blanchette with a smile.


    ¡°What happened, Doctor? Why am I in a Recovery Pod?¡± Sykra asks, her voice struggling to emulate genuine confusion.


    Sifera frowns, as if her tone triggered several dots in the doctor¡¯s head to connect.


    If the Good Doctor had something to say, she doesn¡¯t say it, instead sighing her arced lips away and replying to the listless girl.


    ¡°Miss Weiss Saber, what¡¯s the last thing you remember?¡±


    While Sykra didn¡¯t expect to be answered with a question, she took it gracefully and answered quickly, ¡°I was drowsy under a strong dose of anesthetics.¡±


    Sifera nods in approval, ¡°Good. How about sensations? What¡¯s the last thing you felt?¡±


    This time it takes longer for Sykra to recall. Assuming the Good Doctor isn¡¯t talking about emotions, she supposes that¡­


    ¡°The feeling of the bed¡¯s soft pillow was probably the last thing I felt,¡± she answers plainly; the doctor once again nodding in response.


    ¡°Good, that means you were thoroughly knocked out during the process.¡±


    Sifera once again sighs as she brings her focus back to the computer terminal. But despite her needed focus, the doctor decides that maybe she could fray her attention a bit. The patient deserves to know, after all.


    ¡°I did as Doctor Ifra suggested and injected the reactants in spite of the substances in your body,¡± the doctor explains with her eyes on the screen.


    ¡°At first, everything seemed alright. That was, until your brain activity began to plummet¡­¡±


    The Good Doctor pauses her work for a second, her eyes closing shut as she takes a deep breath, as if reliving the moment. ¡°I quickly screened for what¡¯s going on, and I found an intense neurological reaction running through your body. with the main catalyst being Koiloserine, your emo-suppressants¡­¡±


    Sifera looks the mercenary dead in the eye, her gaze stern yet glossy, her lips tight yet the silence deafening.


    ¡°What happened, Miss Weiss Saber?¡± The Doctor asks softly, ¡°What happened for you to take not just more, but evidently overdose on those substances?¡±


    Silence settles between the two women, until Sykra finally chooses to break it.


    ¡°It was wearing off,¡± she replies simply.


    Doctor Sifera¡¯s eyes go wide and her mouth hangs agape, the words hanging loose on her tongue yet so clearly spoken. ¡°That¡¯s it!?¡± She probably would¡¯ve yelled, if not for Sykra¡¯s flat response and even flatter reason absolutely stunning her speechless.


    Eventually, Sifera clears her throat¡ªbreaking out of her paralysis¡ªand diverts her focus back to the terminal, only giving one more cursory glance to Sykra amidst the barrage of keyboard clicks.


    Silence consumes the room, save for the doctor¡¯s clicks and clacks, leaving Sykra to vacuously float in her pod in relative quiet.


    Several minutes pass, and finally, through the monotonous clicks of the keyboard, Sifera¡¯s voice slices through, catching Sykra¡¯s attention once again.


    ¡°As much as I would like to say it¡¯s because of my expertise that you¡¯re alive now¡ªto reassure you and myself¡ªthat would be a sugarcoated lie. In truth, it was a nightmare. I had never encountered such a situation, at least not one that¡¯s this fatal. But regardless, I acted fast.¡±


    The doctor¡¯s fingers continue tapping away at the terminal¡¯s keyboard, but she continues talking through it, not letting the silence catch up.


    ¡°My brain went on autopilot, desperately trying to concoct any sort of immediate solution, or at least a reprieve.¡±


    Click. Clack. Click. Clack.


    ¡°Eventually, I found a combination of agents that synergize well with each other, and were effective in dampening the reaction¡¯s effects.¡±


    Sifera pauses from her work for a moment to shake her head in dismay, ¡°But it wasn¡¯t enough¡­¡±


    The Good Doctor resumes typing as she continues to tell her tale. ¡°At that point, I was about fifty percent certain that I was gonna lose a patient for the first time. But I was not ready for that, so I decided to spin a wheel and take a gamble.¡±


    One last click of the keyboard resounds as the doctor lets go from the terminal, a satisfied smile on her face. She approaches Sykra¡¯s chamber and looks up at her floating form as she continues to speak.


    ¡°I took you here to soak your body in Locker¡¯s Fluid. Normally, it¡¯s only used to nurture and heal mild to decently threatening wounds, but it can be a surprisingly effective reactant and catalyst to all sorts of medical agents.¡±


    Sykra gently lowers herself to the doctor¡¯s level, and Sifera smiles in reply.


    ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re in a healing pod. Lucky it worked, right?¡±


    Sykra rigidly nods her head in response. ¡°I see,¡± she replies flatly.


    Doctor Sifera sighs, her smile vanishing and a frown taking its place, ¡°I¡­ suppose it makes sense that you would reply that way.¡±


    Sykra tilts her head, ¡°In what way?¡±


    Sifera coughs into her fist, ¡°Sorry, I have no right to judge a patient¡¯s life decisions. But¡­ I¡¯ll allow myself one question¡ªnot a personal one, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    Catching on to where the Good Doctor is heading, the white-haired mercenary nods her head in acceptance.


    ¡°How¡­¡± Doctor Sifera hesitates, ¡°How does being under the emo-suppressants feel?¡±


    Sifera quickly follows up with a rapid-fire of excuses explanations.


    ¡°I mean! Like I understand if this is a sensitive topic, I mean I¡¯ve already done plenty of research on the effects of similar drugs, but I¡¯ve never gotten the data firsthand, so I was just wondering how¡ª¡±


    Sykra cuts the wound-up doctor off with a raise of her palm, ¡°It¡¯s fine, Doctor. My answer is neither secret nor sensitive, so you don¡¯t have to worry about breaking trust.¡±


    Sifera breathes out a sigh of relief, ¡°Thank you! I can make up for it if you¡¯d¡ª¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary. Treating me with care is enough a thanks I could get. You¡¯re a rare one, Doctor.¡±


    Sifera turns away, a shade of pink lightly dusting over her cheeks, ¡°Thank you. I don¡¯t get compliments often.¡±


    Sykra nods solemnly, ¡°Compliments are worth less than a credit, ironically making them a rare commodity.¡±


    The doctor frowns, ¡°For someone whose emotions are suppressed, you sure do say some depressing stuff.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only stating the facts,¡± Sykra replies, ¡±That¡¯s how I work under the drug¡¯s effects. Like a part of me is removed from my spirit, leaving only instincts and hollow sentiments.¡±


    The mercenary elaborates further, ¡°For example, the normal version of me would care for a loved one, but the drug removes the feelings the sentiment would carry, stripping the relationship and memories I had with that person of their inherent emotional worth. But I do know I love and care for them; I just can¡¯t feel it.¡±


    Even as she expresses interest and intrigue, Sifera¡¯s hum carries a somber note. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ really sad, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Sykra shrugs, ¡°Maybe, but the point is that I¡¯m not feeling sad at all.¡±


    The Good Doctor sighs, and she looks at her patient with helpless acceptance. ¡°I suppose¡­ But that doesn¡¯t mean I approve of it.¡±


    ¡°As a Good Doctor should,¡± Sykra plainly replies.


    ¡°Thanks, I guess¡­¡±


    Sifera pulls out her phone to check something, and then her eyes zip over to the terminal behind her. A look of conclusion glazes her eyes.


    ¡°Alright, according to both the time and the terminal, you should be good to release.¡±


    Sifera walks back to the computer terminal and jots in a few commands, resulting in several low beeps to resound from the pod.


    ¡°Please hold on and relax, Miss Weiss Saber!¡±


    Sykra nods, giving the Good Doctor the go, and Sifera responds by pressing the last button to commence release.


    An alarming beep blares from the chamber, and Sykra feels a powerful suction beneath her feet drag her and the surrounding liquid into the filtration¡¯s gaping maws.


    The feeling of pressurized suction continues as the green Locker¡¯s Fluid quickly drains from the pod, the level having been brought down to the tip of her head.


    And now, to her waist.


    And finally, the liquid has drained to her feet¡­ and soon after, the pod is empty of Locker¡¯s Fluid.


    ¡°The pod will open up in three!¡± Sifera calls.


    ¡°Two! One!¡±


    The chamber depressurizes as the pod¡¯s glass door shifts upward, letting Sykra walk down from the pod on wobbly legs, her bare feet shivering upon touching cold metal.


    Doctor Sifera quickly walks over to support the white-haired girl as she quickly realizes that a second step might be too much to ask for.


    ¡°There you are¡­¡±


    Sifera props the girl up by her shoulder and eyes her reaction.


    She looks as hollow as ever, but something tells the doctor that normally, the blanchette would feel uncomfortable.


    ¡°Sorry¡­ But this is a bit necessary if you want to go places.¡±


    Sykra shakes her head, ¡°It¡¯s fine, Doctor. Just let me go when we get out of the room.¡±


    Sifera nods, and slowly but surely, the two walk in tandem, exiting the room and letting the door behind them slide shut.


    After a quick trip for some flimsy slippers, the doctor and the merc walk side by side through the halls of the medical wing in peaceful quiet, with not much being said between them.


    Save for now, when Sykra finally asked the question.


    ¡°Where exactly are we, Doctor?¡±


    Sifera looks at the blanchette with a look of confusion before realizing what she meant. ¡°Ah, right. The ship¡¯s docked at a Mobile City called Fitron. We¡¯re only here for a restock, but the mercs are free to leave if they choose to.¡±


    Sykra hums, ¡°Fitron¡­ I¡¯ve heard of it. It¡¯s Minerva owned territory, and if I¡¯m correct, it¡¯s also a popular hub for Nebula and its mercs.¡±


    Sifera nods in agreement, ¡°Yeah. Though it¡¯s mostly popular with the rich folk, there¡¯s still a vast variety of mercs roaming the place like it¡¯s their home. Heck, it could even be their home!¡±


    But Sifera¡¯s banter didn¡¯t reach Sykra¡¯s ears, who is instead stuck on three particular words.


    ¡®The rich folk¡­¡¯ Sykra ponders.


    ¡°Hmm. Doctor¡­¡± the blanchette turns to Sifera, who hums in curiosity, ¡°Have you ever heard of the mercenary Earth Angel?¡±


    The doctor perks up at the name, ¡°Earth Angel? Of course I know her! The rising mercenary that came from nowhere and shot to the heavens at lightspeed! The mercenary that took down and decimated a Plasida Corporation military outpost in record time, alone! Gosh I still remember that day¡­ Everyone was slack jawed when they saw the footage!


    Sykra simply nods along to the Good Doctor¡¯s rambling. She heard of that feat, too. Among many others.


    ¡°Everyone knows Earth Angel! The doctor excitedly exclaims, ¡°Especially with those ads of hers plaguing every video as of late¡­¡±


    Sifera¡¯s annoyed grumbling quickly leaves her system as she pops right back from the one-sided bitterness with a cheeky grin. ¡°So why¡¯d you ask? Do you admire her or somethin?¡±


    Sykra seemingly ignores the teasing remark, and simply hums to herself before replying, ¡°No. Nothing of the sort. It¡¯s just¡­¡±


    Sykra doesn¡¯t reply further, her gaze having grown distant after the question.


    After a few seconds of unresponsiveness, Sifera eyes the mercenary with a look of concern. ¡°Um, hey. You don¡¯t need to answer the question if it¡¯s¡ªer, well you can¡¯t feel uncomfortability so¡­ If it¡¯s too private then I won¡¯t press on it.¡±


    When Sykra¡¯s focus returns to her, she blinks several times before looking at the worried doctor, her head tilting at the expression. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that, I just lost myself to some¡­ memories. It¡¯s nothing uncomfortable or private if you¡¯re concerned about that.¡±


    Sifera sighs in relief. Feeling the safety net on her back, the daring doctor decides to push her luck and doubles back on the question.


    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then why¡¯d you bring her up? Nobody just brings up a specific person without a little bit of interest in them.¡±


    Sykra hums, ¡°You¡¯re right about that, Doctor, but it¡¯s not that I¡¯m interested in her.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just interested in¡­ returning a favor to her.¡±

 Chapter 4: Wolves in Clothes Store Clothing

    Chapter 4: Wolves in Clothes Store Clothing


    Fitron.


    A former Mobile Mining Base turned bustling city, which in turn transformed into a massive commercial powerhouse; with its main export going stronger than ever amidst the war for Corrin: mercenaries.


    And almost immediately, Sykra catches on to that kind of vibe when the first thing she sees in the neon lit streets of the city are a trio of mercs drunkenly toying around with a cutting-edge plasma rifle.


    Notably, they only have one plasma rifle. Seems they can¡¯t afford to buy two more.


    She passes by the gaggle of mercs, who seem to be chattering about how they¡¯ll annihilate the shooting range they¡¯re apparently going to, and eventually finds herself at an intersection, where cars fly by amidst the towering lights.


    Sykra looks up, seeing advertisements galore, all lit up in vibrant neon lights which pop in the darkness of night.


    It¡¯s just an intersection. One of many in this lively city. And yet, what was once seen as dull has become an opportunity in the eyes of a corporation.


    Thus, through blinding lights and deafening noise, they convey and entrench the same idea they once introduced to this former mining hub ten years ago, now magnified tenfold into the senses of every passerby:


    ¡°Buy our wares! Play our games! May profits flow from the bottom to the top in a night of endless revelry!¡±


    Truly a far cry from Fitron¡¯s previous purpose.


    Sykra looks over to the other side of the road, where a variety of people are going about their nightlife in peaceful cacophony.


    Mercs partially donning their armor to flex their wealth and experience. Ordinary men and women in suits and ties going about either to drink at a bar or drink at home. Other, younger cliques, wearing more casual wear like hoodies and jeans to, run by in spades, hanging out wherever the wind takes them.


    And then there¡¯s Sykra, wearing her black and white skinsuit as if she were still on a mission. At least she has a long brown coat to cover it up, courtesy of the Good Doctor.


    But still, she stands out, and it¡¯s dangerous to have eyes on her, regardless of the location.


    So the blanchette makes her decision: she will buy new clothes.


    In a relatively populated street, amidst a myriad of strobing lights and fancy shops, there¡¯s only one that managed to catch Sykra¡¯s eye.


    It still had flashing lights overhead¡ªof course, it had to adapt to what works¡ªbut its uniqueness¡ªits draw¡ªis how much of a contrast the atmosphere within the shop is compared to the outside.


    Below the flashing pink and blue lights of the store sign shines a simple light flowing through simple windows. Glowing, warm, yellowish; the ambient radiance pouring over the store like the sun while highlighting its wares sitting by the window, propped up on simple blank mannequins.


    A stark contrast to its neighboring stores, hawking their riches and premiums under prismatic lights and gaudy golden exhibits, which to Sykra, only reinforces the idea of how homogenized all these brands have become.


    At the least, this store that Sykra has come face-to-face with is simple, rustic, and¡­ familiar.


    ¡®Qlova¡¯s Clothes¡­ One of the few local brands that managed to retain its individuality.¡¯


    Sykra looks over to one of the shop¡¯s offerings displayed by the window.


    It¡¯s a pistol.


    ¡®Hmm. I did hear that the brand is pivoting to firearms. Didn¡¯t think it¡¯d actually go through, though.¡¯


    With a mental shrug, Sykra steps in front of the store¡¯s clear doors, which welcomes her with the sound of a classic windchime before shifting open, letting her walk into a quieter, more peaceful world.


    As expected of a clothes store, it¡¯s racked with clothes.


    While Sykra isn¡¯t particularly picky with her choices of clothing, she does have one criteria: Don¡¯t stand out.


    But in a bright and vibrant city like this, the blanchette finds choosing her unassuming attire for the night particularly challenging.


    For one, she can¡¯t be too bland, or she¡¯ll stick out against the flashing lights of the ads. And she can¡¯t be too bright either, or she¡¯ll stand out on those moments where there aren''t any strobing lights.


    She needs to strike a perfect balance¡­ Which leads to another issue: The selection.


    There are hundreds of hoodies, shirts, sweaters, the like, lined up on clotheslines for her to pick and choose from, but none are as minimalist as she would like.


    Sykra reaches the end of her fifth aisle, lifting the fold of a tacky sweater in her hands before dropping it unceremoniously, letting it swing back into the clothesline.


    She sighs, maybe this store just wasn¡¯t as worth it as she thought¡­


    ¡®...Huh?¡¯


    Between stacks of button-up shirts and vests, Sykra finds something¡­ unusual.


    A simple box with the name Enforcer EMM printed on its side¡ªa well known civilian-use pistol¡ªand it¡¯s already torn open.


    Sykra picks up the box¡ªit¡¯s light, practically weightless, and when she taps upon its sides she hears a hollow sound. Someone stole a pistol, but the fact that the store isn¡¯t alerted means that either they somehow masterfully fled the scene with no one the wiser, or¡­ they¡¯re still here¡ª


    She hears a click around the corner, and immediately her hand shoots for the satchel by her side, zipper pinched between her fingers.


    Sykra brings her stance low as she begins to creep her way towards the end of the aisle.


    As she walks, she continues to hear sifting from the aisle beyond. Sifting¡­ and stifled breathing.


    She makes it to the corner and slowly peaks her head over to see¡­ a beautiful, older woman with golden hair and prismatic blue eyes, perusing various hoodies and sweaters.


    The woman notices her, and she flashes a sweet smile her way.


    ¡°Whatcha doin¡¯ over there?¡± She asks the blanchette, her voice smooth and sweet like fine red wine.


    Sykra doesn¡¯t immediately drop her stance, but she does loosen her grip over the satchel zipper a little bit. ¡°I thought I heard something suspicious over the corner. Could that be you?¡±


    Sykra doubts it, and yet, the woman nods. ¡°Ah¡ª Yeah¡­ Accidentally knocked down some stuff and had to put it back; happens to the best of us, y¡¯know?¡±


    ¡°...I see.¡± Sykra drops her stance and approaches the blonde, traces of caution still lingering with each step.


    Upon closer look, the woman looks to be somewhere in her early 30s, but that definitely didn¡¯t stop her from dressing for style.


    It¡¯s a casual fit; a simple white hoodie with the words ¡°Not my problem~¡± emblazoned on the front, and tight-fitting ripped jeans to match its carefree message. Those clothes, paired with the woman¡¯s laxed grin and blaise gaze, all combine to create an aura of nonchalant freedom.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s on your mind?¡± The blonde asks.


    Sykra hums, scanning the blonde in front of her and then turning her head to the left¡ªdown the aisle where a mess has been made. A pile of clothes sit there in a messy hill of fabric, dense and immovable.


    ¡°I thought that you cleaned the mess up, Miss¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Rachel,¡± the blonde answers, ¡°Just call me Rachel, and to answer your question¡ª well, I did plan on cleaning it up¡­ till I realized just how much of a mess I made.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s my other question; how did this happen?¡±


    Rachel scratches the side of her neck sheepishly, ¡°Eheh~ Well¡­ I just had some trouble with the top shelf¡­¡±


    ¡°...You¡¯re taller than me.¡±


    ¡°Not by much!¡±


    Sykra shakes her head, ¡°Well, seems like I was falsely alarmed. I will be off now.¡±


    The blanchette begins walking away from the scene, but the feeling of the blonde¡¯s lingering gaze presses against her back, and just before she turns the corner¡­


    ¡°Wait!¡± Rachel calls, stopping Sykra in her place.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we stick together!¡±


    Sykra looks over her shoulder and tilts her head; the blonde¡¯s eyes briefly flicker to her right before she elaborates.


    ¡°Er¡ª Well¡ª To go through the store quicker! I¡¯m sure four eyes are better than two when it comes to a search, right?¡±


    Sykra considers the blonde¡¯s words. Objectively speaking, it is beneficial to have a companion help her search for the things she can¡¯t, however, there¡¯s still that open box that she found; she couldn¡¯t find it visible on Rachel¡¯s form, but that doesn¡¯t eliminate the possibility that she may be armed.


    But still¡­ the offer is there. It could be a simple exchange; they both get what they desire through each other¡¯s aid and then walk off as strangers do. It¡¯ll only be for a bit, so it surely wouldn¡¯t hurt¡­ right?


    ¡°...Fine,¡± Sykra relents, the next words sitting on her tongue in tangy hesitancy, ¡°I¡­ accept your aid.¡±


    ¡°Awesome!¡± Rachel beams, skipping over to Sykra¡¯s side and taking the lead, with her as the head of this fresh ¡°duo¡±.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, let¡¯s shop and talk! You could be my tail if you like~¡±


    Sykra doesn¡¯t respond, not verbally, anyways; instead she simply takes a small step forward and stops in place, maintaining a decent distance from Rachel¡¯s back.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± the blanchette tells the blonde, whose grin is audible even through her reply,


    And so they walk, but even still, Sykra can¡¯t shake the feeling that something¡¯s¡­ off.


    She looks over her shoulder, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. She gets one last glimpse of the messy aisle, and still it yields nothing more than the result of an accident.


    Perhaps she¡¯s just paranoid¡­ but her instincts never lie; something must be wrong with this store¡ª


    ¡°Hmm? Something up?¡± The blonde calls over, already a distance away from Sykra.


    Sykra didn¡¯t realize that she had stopped in place. She blinks, taking one last sweep of the surroundings behind her, before facing Rachel with a shake of her head. ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡±


    The blonde looks at her strangely before shrugging. ¡°C¡¯mon, let¡¯s go,¡± she calls as she begins moving forward once again. Meanwhile, Sykra continues to tread lightly in absolute vigilance.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    As they left, unknowing to either woman, something beneath the pile of fallen clothing struggled, shaking the mound, before eventually falling silent.


    ¡°So, whatcha lookin¡¯ for?¡± Rachel asks the blanchette as they walk through an aisle of scarves gloves.


    ¡°Something mediocre to cover up my current¡­ outfit.¡±


    ¡°Ah, right.¡± The blonde snorts before looking over her shoulder to scrutinize the white-haired girl. Her expression scrunches a bit.


    ¡°Sheesh, a long brown coat over an S-Tech Skinsuit is definitely a fashion statement¡­ Or a threat, depending on how you look at it.¡±


    Sykra is inclined to agree. The implications of a coat partially concealing a skinsuit tailor-made for combat is quite threatening, and it¡¯s definitely not a pleasing combination to look at. The coat¡¯s thickness and length doesn¡¯t compliment the suit below at all, and its brown coloration clash quite heavily with the contrasting black and whites of the suit, not to mention¡ª


    Wait¡­


    ¡®Did she just mention S-Tech? How did she¡ª¡¯


    Sykra freezes, hands jumping to her satchel when she hears the distinct sound of sharp, sliding metal just an aisle away. It sounded slow, deliberate, hungry.


    ¡°Hey, Fashion Disaster!¡± Rachel calls from the end of the aisle. ¡°What¡¯s got you hung up? C¡¯mon, this way!¡± The blonde beckons, pointing left, away from where she heard that¡­ disturbance.


    ¡®Could she not have heard?¡¯ Sykra glances to her right, her ears sharpened, and yet she hears nothing from the other side.


    She looks towards Rachel, hand to her hip, foot tapping in impatience.


    ¡®...It¡¯s just a few minutes, Sykra. Just find what you need and leave; don¡¯t get paranoid for nothing.¡¯


    The blanchette catches up to the blonde, becoming her tail once more. ¡°Done being weird? If so then let¡¯s get it on!¡±


    The pair continue to walk as if nothing happened, and yet Sykra continues to have the urge to look back, but whenever she does, she finds nothing.


    ¡®Something¡¯s wrong¡ª Something¡¯s wrong with this store, but what?¡¯


    Suddenly, her head is thrown back and her face is enveloped in a soft white fabric; she¡¯s having to peel off the article, and she looks at it in her hands with a blank expression.


    It¡¯s a white sweater with a brown teddy bear embroidered on it. There¡¯s text below the bear, decorated in a multicolored shower of ¡°confetti¡± that reads: ¡°Have a bear-tastic day!¡±


    ¡°Whatcha think?¡± Rachel asks, hands behind her back and a smug smirk on her face.


    ¡°...Not what I¡¯m looking for,¡± Sykra replies, throwing the sweater back into Rachel¡¯s hands, whose eyes are now knit in disappointment, ¡°Ugh, lighten up a little, will you? It was a joke.¡±


    Sykra tilts her head, ¡°What was the joke?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª Ugh, whatever, let¡¯s just go.¡±


    And so the blonde marches to the next aisle¡ª and then she suddenly turns 90 degrees halfway through and walks a completely different direction. ¡°C¡¯mon, I think there¡¯s stuff over here that you might like~¡±


    Before Sykra could reply, the blonde is already chasing after her newfound idea¡ª apparently a couple aisle down to the right.


    Sykra blinks, but follows anyways, looking over her shoulder as she does so¡ª


    ¡­What was that?


    ¡°Rachel,¡± Sykra calls, causing Rachel to pause in her place and look over.


    ¡°What is it?¡± She asks, cocking her head sidewards.


    Sykra looks back down the aisle behind her, seeing it completely deserted, save for a woman with a trolley cart now passing by. ¡°...It¡¯s nothing.¡±


    Rachel stares at the blanchette weirdly, before shrugging and moving onwards.


    Sykra decides to do the same. It was impossible, right? A blank faced man?


    But she couldn¡¯t be hallucinating. Why would she? She didn¡¯t take anything extra or odd, and it¡¯s only now that she feels on edge. So that begs the question: What¡¯s triggering her?


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    Sykra glances up and sees Rachel looking back at her with a concerned expression. ¡°You seem a bit¡­ tense. We could take a break if you want.¡±


    ¡°A break?¡± Sykra asks, and Rachel clarifies without missing a beat.


    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s a free coffee machine close to the counter; we can go over there if you¡¯d like?¡±


    Sykra looks over her shoulder; the lady with the trolley is still there, plucking out clothes from the aisle.


    She doesn¡¯t think she needs a break, but being jumpy won¡¯t help her either, so instead¡­


    ¡°Sure, but I¡¯ll sit out on the coffee. Let me just¡­ feel the air instead.¡±


    Rachel hums in agreement, ¡°Sure, let¡¯s go.¡±


    And so the blonde continues walking¡­ to the opposite direction of the store¡¯s counter.


    ¡°Rachel, the counter¡¯s over that way.¡±


    The blonde turns to her with a grin on her face, ¡°C¡¯mon~ that¡¯s no fun! Think of taking the longer route as¡­ stopping and smelling the roses; I bet you need it, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    ¡°...If you¡¯re just gonna waste my time then I¡¯ll just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait! We could compromise!¡± Rachel shouts just as Sykra was about to turn to the correct direction.


    ¡°Look, just follow me; it¡¯s worth it. We could hit two birds with one stone with this! Finding you some clothing while simultaneously getting to the coffee machine! Just¡ª Please follow my lead.¡±


    Sykra looks to the shorter path, then back to Rachel¡¯s path. She should take the shorter one, but Rachel has a point¡ª if she can knock two birds with one stone then basically half the job is done.


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll take your path.¡±


    Rachel beams and skips forward, swinging her arm in a beckoning motion, ¡°Let¡¯s get it on then! I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t regret it!¡±


    Sykra simply walks over to the excitable blonde¡ª before stopping.


    ¡°Rachel, did you hear that?¡±


    Rachel¡¯s smile drops as she cocks her head, ¡°Hmm? Hear what?¡±


    ¡°...No, it stopped. I thought I heard my steps being mirrored from the other side of the aisle.¡±


    ¡°...Missy, with all due respect, you really do need to chill out a bit.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps so¡­¡±


    The pair continue walking, but Sykra continues to hear the sound of her footsteps doubling¡ªthis time from either side of her¡ªwhile Rachel is none the wiser.


    They did make it to the counter eventually, with some additional load to boot. Sykra now has a new pair of bluish grey jeans draped around her shoulder, while Rachel is holding up two pairs of fluffy sweaters, both different colors.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we get ourselves a basket?¡± Rachel suggests.


    Sykra nods, and they both pick up their respective baskets from near the counter, dropping off their items soon after.


    ¡°Alright! Now that that¡¯s over with¡­¡± Rachel lifts her basket with a slight swing and gestures over to a nearby table displaying a familiar machine, ¡°Let¡¯s go get some coffee!¡±


    Rachel skips ahead, while Rachel simply walks¡ª


    Before freezing. She snaps her head to the right, squinting her eyes, but sees the aisles deserted.


    She swore she could¡¯ve¡ª


    ¡°Oi! Come over here! I¡¯ve got coffee!¡±


    Sykra turns back to Rachel, two cups in her hand and patiently waiting.


    Sykra takes one last glance¡ªseeing the blank faced man again before blinking. He¡¯s gone without a sound.


    She holds a hand over her forehead, ¡®What the hell¡­¡¯


    The blanchette takes a breath before pacing over to Rachel.


    When she gets there, she stares at the two cups in Sykra¡¯s hands and sighs. ¡°I thought I said I didn¡¯t want coffee?¡±


    ¡°You did! These are just for me~¡± Rachel says merrily. She sips from both cups in quick succession, letting out a relieving breath.


    The blanchette shakes her head; she takes another glance down the aisles¡ªnothing.


    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t need coffee?¡± Rachel asks, pressing the other cup against Sykra¡¯s space. ¡°With all due respect, no; I will not take the coffee.¡±


    Rachel lets out a disappointed huff, retracting the cup and taking a sip from it. ¡°Suit yourself¡­ I was hoping a cup would help you out with your weirdness.¡±


    ¡°Weirdness?¡± Sykra repeats, to which Rachel just shrugs, taking another sip.


    ¡°Yeah, weirdness. You¡¯ve been weird since I met you, like a scared cat in a vet; so I was thinking taking a breather before we continue could be good for you, but maybe I was wrong¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough, I get it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ just take a sip.¡±


    Rachel smiles elatedly, ¡°Heh, knew you¡¯d get around to it,¡± and passes the cup over to Sykra.


    The cup is warm to the touch, and the coffee¡¯s steam is pouring over the blanchette¡¯s face, reminding her of a sauna. It also smells¡­ like normal coffee, though slightly sweetened.


    Sykra stares down at the beverage¡¯s dark brown swirl, and she thinks to herself, ¡®Rachel is wrong. I¡¯m not weird; there¡¯s something going on in this store and I don¡¯t know what. But¡­ she¡¯s right that I need to calm down. Right or not, jumping nerves does nobody good.¡¯


    And so, the blanchette hesitantly lifts the rim of the cup to her lips and takes a small sip. It tastes¡­ normal.


    She takes another sip. Then another taste¡­ Again, normal.


    She shakes her head; maybe she should have at least a bit more faith in people. Rachel has shown to be an (ignorant) civilian so far, so why check for poison¡ª


    Clang!


    The sound of slamming steel almost startles the cup out of Sykra¡¯s hands, and the young woman whips around to get a grip of the situation, finding its source.


    The shop¡¯s front has become completely barricaded¡ªsealed by giant metal shutters which conceal the neon-lit streets from the rest of the shop.


    Sykra drops the cup, spilling the coffee to the floor, and dashes for the exit.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    The blanchette has come face-to-face with the shutters and knocks on it¡ªthick, very thick, the sound that echoes from it is so sturdy¡ªunshakable.


    She presses her palms against the steel wall and pushes¡ªimmovable, without a hint of giving.


    Sykra turns either side of her before gripping onto her satchel, zipping clenched between her fingers.


    ¡®I¡¯m locked in here, and there¡¯s only one way out¡­ Fuck if I¡¯m gonna have to make a ruckus then¡­¡¯


    A hand lands on her shoulder, and she whips around to slam her fist into whoever¡ª


    Sykra¡¯s breath hitches as all her momentum is drained from her. Her fist in caught in their hand¡ªin Rachel¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Missy¡­ You¡¯re quite jumpy, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Sykra locks eyes with Rachel, her vacant glare meeting the blonde¡¯s pitying gaze.


    She forces her arm out of Rachel¡¯s rather weak grasp and readies another blow¡ªbefore the blonde leaps back a distance, her prismatic stare not leaving the girl.


    Sykra quickly unzips her satchel, finding her Armor Module in her grip, and¡ª


    ¡°Wait,¡± Rachel commands, her hand outstretched and her gaze becoming a glare. ¡°Don¡¯t do it, you¡¯ll be killed if you do.¡±


    ¡°Says who?¡± Sykra challenges, her grip on the Module only becoming tighter.


    ¡°Them,¡± Rachel motions behind her¡ªan empty store, deserted of all customers besides them.


    ¡°If you do it here and now, they will be given express permission to kill you, as you will be seen as a threat.¡±


    Sykra does not let go of her stance. ¡°What are you not telling me?¡±


    Rachel sighs, exhaustion and a hint of frustration bleeding through her breath, ¡°A lot of things, but you have to trust me if you want to live. They¡¯re not after you, they¡¯re after me. So if you can just follow my lead, then maybe you could get out of this alive, alright?¡±


    Sykra huffs, her alert gaze remaining unbroken on the blonde, ¡°So you did know that there was somebody stalking us?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª Yes, I did. I was lying to you; basically gaslighting you, but please know it was for your own good.¡±


    The blanchette looks at Rachel¡¯s eyes¡ªthey looked dull, but crackling with infuriation, and emerging between both is that shiny quality veiling her marine gaze and dwarfing all other emotions:


    Pleading.


    ¡°Please. I¡¯ve been good to you, so don¡¯t make it so that you die under my watch¡­¡±


    Sykra glances behind her¡ªan iron wall greeting her gaze, then back at Rachel, whose desperation pervades her bated breath, and her friendly appearance becoming just as tattered as her facade.


    Sykra weighs her options and considers Rachel¡¯s words, however laced with lies they may be.


    On one hand, her instincts have gotten her thus far, and are reliable. On the other hand, she has stumbled into a situation she knows nothing about; with lack of information, either choice could be a death sentence.


    She looks up at Rachel again, the woman¡¯s gaze becoming more impatient, frantic, as if she¡¯s expecting something to happen, something bad.


    ¡­She could use this to her advantage; but first, a test.


    Sykra suddenly thrusts her hand deeper into the satchel, making Rachel jump in place, eyes wide and hand shooting forward in instinctual despair.


    Sykra pauses. Seems her suspicions are confirmed, and this scenario is feeling a whole lot more familiar.


    Gripping her Module tight in her hand, she begins the interrogation.


    ¡°Tell me what¡¯s going on, or¡ª¡± Sykra pushes her hand further into the satchel, leaning forward into her stance, like a samurai preparing to draw, ¡°¡ªrisk plasmic evisceration.¡±


    Rachel¡¯s expression snaps to shock¡ªthen to anger, ¡°Now? You want to question me now?! Missy you know we¡¯re in a hell of a lot of trouble and you want to take your time now?!¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s the one begging here? You or me?¡±


    Rachel scoffs, eyes rolling in disbelief at the audacity on display.


    ¡°Fine, you want to know so badly? I¡¯ll give you an answer and only one.¡±


    Rachel shoves a hand down her hoodie¡¯s pocket¡ªSykra reacts, her arm shooting out of the satchel with the Armor Module in her grasp and¡ª


    Rachel does the same, holding in her hand a black and pink Armor Module.


    ¡®Wait¡­ Those colors are¡ª¡¯


    Rachel lets out a breath, and her prismatic marine eyes become piercing to the white-haiered girl. She holds the Module against her chest, and she says, ¡°My name is Rachel, that is the truth, but you may also know me elsewhere from the mercenary world¡ªas the rising star that keeps getting higher¡­¡±


    ¡°I am Earth Angel, and you, Missy, are marked for death from the moment we met.¡±

 Chapter 5: Nebula

    Chapter 5: Nebula


    Earth Angel. She goes by many names.


    Hell on Wings. The Just Destroyer. The Shooting Star.


    She¡¯s elusive; far out of anyone¡¯s reach, and yet Sykra still tried and reached for the speeding comet; all to give back a rightful favor.


    And now, she¡¯s here, right in front of her¡­ declaring her a dead woman.


    Sykra and Rachel remain locked in their staredown, with Rachel heaving in frustration while Sykra appears completely vacuous.


    Eventually, Rachel groans in impatience and shouts, ¡°Oh come off it¡ªNot even gonna respond? We don¡¯t have much time here so make a move!¡±


    Sykra snorts, ¡°What do you expect me to do? I¡¯m right in front of one of the most popular mercenaries in Corrin, and she just told me that I¡¯m marked for death¡ª¡±


    ¡°Now is not the time to become starstruck!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not starstruck¡­ I¡¯m just carefully assessing the situation.¡±


    ¡°No time for that either! Do you want both of us to¡ª!¡±


    Rachel¡¯s eyes go wide when the faint sound of footsteps make themselves known behind her¡ªand they grow closer still.


    ¡°Shit¡­¡± Rachel turns her back on Sykra and swiftly pulls out a gun from her hoodie¡¯s pocket¡ªan Enforcer EMM.


    ¡°Wait¡­ You stole that pistol?¡±


    ¡°Does that really matter?!¡± Rachel snaps before turning back to the encroaching enemy¡ªenemies.


    Multiple men come out of the aisles¡ªclothed in black, donning blank masks of white that entirely conceal their face, holding in one hand a serrated dagger and in the other a silenced pistol.


    They walk in practiced unison, each step taken with purpose as, one by one, they stop and face the girls, until the last man on the left completes the formation¡ªa semi-circle, a cage to entrap cornered prey¡ªdead prey.


    Just like how they walked, they raise their pistols in file, from left to right, pointing them at the blonde woman with near-robotic movement.


    Rachel huffs in indignation, ¡°Surrounded ten to one¡­ Ya¡¯ll know that you need more than that to kill me, right?¡±


    The blank faced men don¡¯t reply to the blonde¡¯s arrogant snark, instead, the one in the middle speaks to her in a hushed, yet blunt and authoritative voice.


    ¡°Nebula mercenary 241014, codename: Earth Angel, you have evaded capture for eight days straight, massacred twenty-three operatives across Fitron, and caused a 3 hour shutdown on Platform III. Come with us now and maybe your sentence will be lightened, especially if you admit to the thievery of two tons of Tearlight.¡±


    Rachel tsks, ¡°As I had said to those Operatives before they tried to kill me, I will not go quietly unless I am absolutely certain I get to meet with Director Nile.¡±


    The Operative shakes his head, ¡°No such acquiescence will come from us, Earth Angel, but if you come with us, then there might be a chance.¡±


    Rachel growls, ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then know that I won¡¯t go down without a fight.¡±


    The Operative hums, ¡°Suit yourself, mercenary.¡±


    A fierce glint flickers in Rachel¡¯s eyes as she grips on her pistol in one hand, and her Module in the other. She feels sorry for that white-haired lass that had to be involved with her, but at the very least she prevented her from becoming a bargaining chip for these psychoes. Best she can do now is¡­


    ¡°Missy!¡± Rachel whips around, ¡°Get out of here now or¡ª!¡±


    ¡°...What?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s long gone, Earth Angel.¡±


    The blonde turns back to the blank-faced men, who somehow seem even more confident despite their inexpression. ¡°Your white-haired companion fled the scene the moment we came. Don¡¯t worry, no harm will come to her¡­ lest you continue to resist.¡±


    Rachel grits her teeth and squeezes the Armor Module harder in her hand. ¡®Well, at the very least she left¡­ which means I don¡¯t have to worry too much about collateral.¡¯


    She presses a thumb against the center of the black and pink device and raises her pistol in the same motion, but just as the action comes to a head, a bright, red light radiates from the far side of the store.


    The Operatives immediately take notice and collectively point their guns towards the source¡ª


    In that same instance, a loud bang deafens the shop and the sound of ripping wood and snapping metal resounds as something rushes towards them at blistering speeds.


    The moment passes in an instant. Only one gun managed to fire at the white blur, before its scarlet blades began passing through each and every Operative as smoothly as a hot blade on butter.


    In the next moment hot viscera sprays into Rachel¡¯s eyes and face, blinding her with red and invading her senses with viscous gore.


    Up her nostrils and along her tongue, all she could sense are the churning insides of what was once a human.


    But then a wave of intense heat hits her, and the feeling of rippling energy soon after; both sensations apparently emanating from one point¡ªthe object of slaughter.


    ¡®Ugh, what the hell¡­¡¯


    Rachel wipes away the blood from her eyes, the red blur of her gaze retreating until finally she could focus on the white and scarlet standing amidst the haze of blood red¡ªgods they¡¯re huge.


    The viscera below the figure¡¯s feet bubbles, and soon, as they turn their head towards the blonde mercenary, it squelches underfoot as the figure shifts to face her.


    Clad in white and lit in red, the figure¡¯s bright scarlet eyes fully match the feeling of being near them¡ªa strong sense of powerlessness alongside blistering heat that makes even Rachel¡¯s eyes squint at the stinging sensation. And those bright, plasmic claws that overshadow all lights present in the room¡ªthey seem so blinding that Rachel had to partially turn away from the figure¡¯s visage.


    Thankfully, as the armor¡¯s plates begin to close up, so does the heat as the scorching thrusters recede back into their resting states. Same goes for the claws losing form and receding back into their emitters.


    Only now, can Rachel fully comprehend the figure standing before her¡ªthe suit looks banged up; dents, scars, completely blown-off shoulders, yikes¡­ Cute cat ears though.


    Of course, its supposed ¡°cute¡± features does not let it off the hook from consequences.


    Rachel knows who¡¯s inside the suit; it¡¯s plain as day, and she¡¯s pissed.


    She walks up to the armored figure, ignoring the stickiness of the blood staining her shoes, and slams her fist into its chest.


    ¡­That hurt. A lot.


    ¡°Are you stupid?!¡± Rachel screams at the suit¡¯s expressionless mask, ¡°Do you have any idea what you did?! Isn¡¯t your livelihood backed by the Nebula Organization? So why the hell did you intervene?!¡±


    The figure doesn¡¯t respond immediately, instead choosing to glare down at the infuriated blonde, until finally replying, ¡°I wanted to keep you alive. I saved your life.¡±


    ¡°You know who I am!¡± Rachel shouts, ¡°I would¡¯ve made it out alive because I¡¯m just that good! So why did you have to put yourself into Nebula¡¯s crosshairs?!¡±


    ¡°...The best cannot survive a checkmate, Earth Angel.¡±


    ¡°My ass!¡± Rachel looks down, her breaths shaky with rage, before looking back up at the figure and looking beyond the artificial lights of their helmet¡¯s eyes¡ªto glare at the white-haired girl within.


    ¡°Take off that suit this instant. We¡¯re leaving and you¡¯re coming with me.¡±


    Rachel walks past the armored blanchette, kicking a bloodied torso aside in the process, and steps behind the counter.


    She grabs onto the backdoor¡¯s knob before freezing; her head snaps to Sykra, who hasn¡¯t moved an inch. ¡°The hell are you standing there for? Move!¡±


    A second of glaring passes, and Sykra complies. A bright red light emits from the blanchette¡¯s form; the sound of collapsing metal and vaporizing matter following, and then stopping as the light begins to recede back into the white and red device in Sykra¡¯s hand. Now, she¡¯s only a girl standing idly amidst bloody carnage.


    Rachel silently gestures towards the door, and Sykra quickly follows suit as she opens it, revealing the store¡¯s inner warehouse.


    Rachel rummages through her pocket and takes out a phone. She stands in place, scrolling through it for a few seconds before taking interest on a certain corner of the warehouse.


    She walks over to the corner and finds it completely covered in boxes. So she begins moving.


    ¡°You. Help me move these boxes aside, we need to get outta here ASAP.¡±


    Sykra silently complies and begins her part of the effort, moving boxes and shifting crates.


    ¡°Earth Angel, can you please explain why you insist I follow you?¡± Sykra asks the busy blonde, who replies in haste.


    ¡°Nebula always finds their enemies; something with or in their Operatives allows them to identify whoever attacked them and how many the offender has killed or injured. If I had to hazard a guess, it¡¯s a similar system to our IDs.¡±


    ¡°Then can you tell me why you¡¯re being hunted by them in the first place? You were never announced to the public as a criminal so¡ª¡±


    ¡°They want to hide it,¡± Rachel snaps, ¡°They know how popular I am amongst the other factions and even to some of the people. If it were announced that I am on their wanted list then there will be strife and unrest following¡­¡±


    Then she stops her movements to glare at the blanchette, who only looks back with dispassionate interest, ¡°The same cannot be said about you. You¡¯re definitely gonna be made public.¡±


    Sykra¡¯s stomach drops at the blonde mercenary¡¯s words. Public. Something perks up in her heart, draining her hands and feet of heat as a slight shiver crawls up her spine. This¡­ dread, amidst her empty memories; it¡¯s acting like a virus, connecting her recollections like a spider and its thread¡ªand filling them, too, with dread.


    Sykra places a palm over her chest and feels her beating heart against her cold hand.


    The suppressants are wearing off faster than she thought¡­


    She shakes her head and lets her hand fall to her side. The blanchette stares at the remaining boxes in front of her, and then she begins to move them, letting the dread at the bottom of her stomach simmer and boil.


    ¡°I know that look in your eye,¡± Rachel drawls as she stacks a box atop another, ¡°I¡¯ve seen it many times before¡­ You¡¯ve got someone to worry about, don¡¯t you?


    Sykra ignores Rachel¡¯s remark, instead asserting her entire focus into moving and stacking more and more boxes.


    Rachel tsks, ¡°Even more of a reason for you not to be involved. Just keep your head low and hope the heat isn¡¯t so high that they¡¯d come after whoever you love, got it?¡±


    ¡°...Got it.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± the blonde ends curtly, but then her tone quickly shifts as she uncovers a part of¡­ something on the floor.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, just a bit more!¡± She lifts and shifts boxes quicker and quicker, until finally revealing what she desires: a small trapdoor.


    Rachel skips over to the door and lifts it open; clouds of dust follow the hatches¡¯ reveal which the blonde swiftly swats away. She gazes down the hatch; there is only a ladder leading down an unending abyss.


    Rachel heaves a breath, ¡°C¡¯mon, follow my lead, Missy.¡±


    Rachel was the first to descend the long ladder, with Sykra above her following suit.


    The descent is relatively quiet, with only the continuous sounds of hands latching onto metal bars accompanying the two mercenaries.


    Eventually though, after a minute of silent nothings, Rachel decides to talk through the rest of the trip.


    ¡°According to an old friend, this hatch is supposed to lead down to one of the old maintenance tunnels,¡± the blonde explains, ¡°Apparently the franchisee decided to keep it in case things go bad. No idea what they mean by that, probably some under the desk shady business.¡±


    Sykra simply hums, having no thoughts on the matter.


    Well, she does have one, but not regarding the passageway.


    ¡°Old friend?¡±


    ¡°Mhm, he¡¯s been helping me navigate through my current¡­ situation. We were supposed to meet at the clothes store until he decided to bail last second, telling me that I¡¯ve been sighted.¡±


    ¡°But then¡ª¡± Rachel groans, ¡°¡ªyou came along; a merc that just so happened to interact with me, making you a potential hostage for Nebula¡¯s lackey¡¯s to use.¡±


    Again, Sykra hums, ¡°Apologies, then. But knowing that¡­ don¡¯t you think it¡¯s fair to tell me why you¡¯re being hunted?¡±


    Rachel grunts as she rolls her eyes, ¡°I suppose that¡¯s fair. Fine, I¡¯ll tell ya once we touch ground¡­ which seems to be right~ here.¡±


    Rachel lets go of the ladder as the sound of her shoes hitting metal ground echoes across the tunnel and up the ladder. Sykra does the same soon after.


    The two stare down a long and dark tunnel, reeking of old metal and dense with stale air.


    ¡°Hmm, got a light?¡± Rachel asks with a hand to her hip. Sykra responds by opening up her satchel and rummaging through it. A moment later, a click resounds, and the entire satchel lights up. Sykra twists her wrist, and a beam shoots up from the satchel as the blanchette takes out her flashlight.


    ¡°Hmm, you¡¯ve got good taste for brands,¡± Rachel compliments.


    Sykra shines her light down the dark hall, frowning at the sheer impenetrability of the abyss before them, ¡°No, I¡¯m just good at finding what¡¯s efficient.¡±


    ¡°Heh, spoken like a true mercenary.¡±


    Rachel steps forward, and Sykra decides to walk in tandem with her, continuously shining the beam down the old maintenance tunnel.


    ¡°Sheesh, this place did not hold up well, huh?¡± Rachel comments as she looks around the steel tunnel.


    Sykra doesn¡¯t reply, instead focusing on hearing the echoes of their own footsteps. ¡°Why was this tunnel abandoned in the first place?¡± She asks the blonde, who only shrugs by her side.


    ¡°No idea, but if I had to hazard a guess, it probably had something to do with the continuous expansion of the city platform, meaning the creation of more efficient tunnels, which in turn made this one obsolete.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying this tunnel is worthless?¡± Sykra prods.


    ¡°Nah, I¡¯ve been told this tunnel leads to a power station; we could gain more access to the rest of the tunnels from there.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    Only a few seconds just walking passes before the quiet between the girls gets interrupted again, ¡°Say, you¡¯re oddly¡­ obedient, to what I¡¯m saying,¡± Rachel observes, ¡±Why is that?¡±


    Sykra glances at Rachel''s direction, but provides no elaboration, instead answering the blonde¡¯s question with her own, ¡°Tell me why you¡¯re wanted first.¡±


    Rachel groans, but after a few seconds of hesitation, complies. ¡°Fine, but it¡¯ll sound like bullshit, believe me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine with that,¡± Sykra insists.


    Rachel shrugs, letting her shoulders sag as she lets out a soft sigh, ¡°Well, I warned you.¡±


    And so, Rachel begins regaling Sykra with her tale.


    It was just another mission¡ªa private one, sure, but still nothing out of the ordinary.


    Rachel was tasked to retrieve a massive shipment of Tearlight from a recently crashed Minerva freight ship by the forests. Luckily for her, the Mercenary City has its course set in that direction.


    She initially raised concerns for the mission, citing that Minerva will find out about Nebula¡¯s plundering, but she got the reassurance that concealment drones and various Operatives will accompany her to aid in her ¡°invisibility¡±.


    So she agreed, and set off for her objective.


    Unfortunately, Liberationists found the crash first¡­ Probably were the ones to shoot it down, too.


    So she had to¡­ dispose of them.


    It was quick, so she told herself. She always does make it quick, but the frozen fear on her foes¡¯ faces often say otherwise.


    Either way, Rachel managed to capture the objective¡ªUntil it started floating away, and vanished out of sight.


    ¡°What the fuck?!?¡± She exclaimed to the night sky, and she flew into the direction of the disappearing cargo.


    She flew like a wasp high on caffeine, zipping round and about endlessly, but¡­ she couldn¡¯t find anything.


    After hours of searching and contacting the nearby Ops and drones for intel, she gave up, and returned to base.


    But when she landed, she was immediately surrounded by guns and blades and she was told that she would be awaiting trial at Nebula¡¯s Central HQ.


    Confused and enraged, Rachel pressed her rising fury to the one in charge, and he told her that she stands accused of stealing the objective she was assigned to retrieve.


    Again, what the fuck?


    It doesn¡¯t make sense. How did they know of the situation before her return? Why was that the immediate conclusion? Why was a trial already arranged for her?


    She¡¯s been set up. Tricked. Framed!


    The scorching heat boils her blood up to her head. It burned, burned, burned!


    And she lets it burn, and flow, and immolate the sinners surrounding her.


    On flaming wings, she burned the airfield to ash and cinders, and shot into the night sky to fall into the shadows below.


    Since then, she watched from the shadows as a phantom lockdown fell on the moving city.


    Despite Fitron being Minerva owned, the truth is that Nebula runs the show, and it really began to show over the past eight days.


    Checkpoints sprang up overnight. Nebula personnel began sweeping the entire city top to bottom. The presence of silent drones lurking along the dark halls and alleyways spiked tenfold. Hell, even Minerva¡¯s forces have joined in the fray and began to scour every corner of the moving metropolis for her too.


    How Nebula managed to convince Minerva to help¡ªthe faction that they were literally stealing from? She couldn¡¯t tell you, and couldn¡¯t care to guess; either way, they¡¯re all after her head.


    At the very least, she¡¯s getting help from an old friend¡­


    ¡°Go on,¡± Sykra prods.


    Rachel tilts her head, ¡°Go on what?¡±


    ¡°About your friend?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Rachel proceeds to not say anything for the next several seconds, until finally, she gives Sykra closure.


    ¡°Nah.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Sykra replies, a bit taken aback.


    ¡°You¡¯re excused,¡± Rachel quips.


    ¡°No¡ªI mean why won¡¯t you talk about your friend?¡±


    Rachel hums, and doesn¡¯t take long to give the blanchette an answer, ¡°Because you¡¯ll meet him anyways. It¡¯s rude to have someone else perform your introduction for you when you¡¯re not even present, no?¡±


    Sykra exhales and tilts her head to the side in thought. ¡°I suppose so,¡± she concedes, albeit reluctantly.


    For the first time since the incident at the store, Rachel grins at her, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it too much; I assure you that he¡¯s my trusted companion for a reason.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Well, I have no choice but to meet him regardless,¡± Sykra sighs resignedly.


    Rachel chuckles, ¡°Right.¡±


    Rachel opens her mouth to speak further, eager to ride the wave of the newfound banter between them, until she is interrupted by a bright flash of light, forcing her arm up to cover her eyes.


    And just as suddenly as the light appeared, it quickly flickers away, down to an abyssal tunnel to their left.


    ¡°A reflection,¡± Sykra mutters.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Rachel pulls down her arm to see what the white-haired girl means, and wow was she not paying attention to her surroundings at all.


    There¡¯s a wall in front of them. A giant, reflective, metal wall. Probably where that blinding light came from¡ªor rather, bounced from.


    Rachel turns her head to her left, where the Missy¡¯s light is shining down; it¡¯s a dark tunnel, similar to the one they went down.


    She looks right this time; again, a similar dark tunnel.


    It appears they¡¯re at a crossroads.


    Which is strange. She recalls that the instructions tell her to move forward and¡ªin italics¡ª¡±never stop¡±.


    ¡°Hang on Missy; I gotta contact my friend before we proceed,¡± Rachel instructs as she pulls out her phone.


    ¡°Mhm, sure,¡± Sykra replies nonchalantly as she walks up to the wall in front of her.


    She plants her back against it and slides down to the floor to sit. It feels cold to the touch.


    The blanchette looks over to the blonde mercenary, who seems to be tapping away at her device trying to reach someone, but judging by her expression, seems to be having some trouble.


    Sykra has a phone too, but she doesn¡¯t have much use for it. She prefers physical visits.


    Out of boredom and a sliver of interest, she pulls out her phone from the satchel¡ªit¡¯s pretty old by today¡¯s standards, but it should suffice to contact just about anyone¡­ But no luck, no matter how many times she tries, she just can¡¯t establish a connection. Signal¡¯s dead.


    In her opinion? Sounds like a pretty bad flaw of the tunnels; maybe the new ones have signal?


    ¡°Ugh!¡± She hears Rachel groan, her frustration echoing across the converging paths along with the stomp of her foot, ¡°No luck, can¡¯t reach him¡­¡±


    Sykra exhales. They no longer have a guide; seems like they¡¯ll have to take a gamble between these two tunnels.


    A hint of frustration bleeds through Sykra¡¯s heart, and she thumps her head against the wall she¡¯s leaning on, the vibrations carrying out a hollow echo.


    ¡­Wait, hollow?


    The blanchette shoots up to her feet, surprising Rachel into a flinch, and she takes a step closer to the wall¡­ and punches it!


    Again, a loud, empty sound resounds upon impact, and she notices that the metal bent a bit to her fist. It still hurt, sure, but not as badly as hitting an actual wall.


    ¡°Rachel,¡± she turns to the blonde, who seems to be quickly catching on, ¡°I think I know what your friend meant.¡±


    The blanchette raises her Module in front of Rachel, and a silent agreement passes between them, with Rachel¡¯s nod being the final confirmation she needs to proceed.


    A bright scarlet light consumes the darkness; the sounds of shifting metal and locking mechanisms are amplified in this claustrophobic space, made even louder when the sounds continue to bounce across walls and halls.


    When the light recedes, Sykra has become the torchlight, her suit glowing brightly enough to keep the darkness far and away.


    Plates shift around her right wrist; plasmic energy arcs across her arms and flow down to her emitters, which begin to spark wildly as more and more energy pours through.


    And then, with a whip of her arm, the plasma surges and explodes from her wrist, congealing into sparkling scarlet claws.


    ¡°Does everything about the suit have to be cat themed?¡± She hears Rachel mutter offhandedly, which she deliberately ignores as she approaches the wall before her.


    Sykra confronts the cold surface in front of her, and then points her claws, pulling back and winding up¡ª


    And then she punches, her claws plunging into the metal ¡°wall¡± as easily as a blade to a piece of paper.


    Sykra hums in confirmation and satisfaction in tandem¡ªand then she begins to carve.


    Up. Over. Down. Up. Over. Down.


    Soon enough, she successfully cuts out the shape of a hole for both her and Rachel to fit through.


    Now for the ultimate test: Pushing the cutout and confirming her suspicions.


    Rachel walks beside her, patting her in the back as she does so, which makes the blanchette freeze up.


    ¡°Good job there, Missy!¡±


    A few seconds pass of the blanchette mimicking a perfectly still statue, until she finally gives the blonde a shaky reply, ¡°Yeah¡­ Thanks.¡±


    Rachel looks at the white-haired mercenary strangely, but eventually shrugs, and backs off a bit. ¡°Now then, let¡¯s push open a hole, shall we?¡±


    Sykra nods, points a finger towards the cutout¡ªand gently pushes it.


    As the cutout falls, it reveals an abundance of shining white lights on the other side that feels so good to relish in. It feels like so long since they¡¯ve seen proper light. And the air feels so fresh, so relaxingly chill and so easy to breathe¡­ and then the cutout crashes onto the ground, a dull clang following.


    Sykra takes a step forward to observe their new surroundings, with Rachel peeking over the hole beside her.


    It¡¯s a huge room illuminated in bright white lights and lined with white tiles above and below, with the walls simply being a dull grey.


    There¡¯s an endless churning sound resonating from the right, which guides the mercenaries¡¯ eyes to a large, glowing structure embedded on the wall.


    Starting from the center and stretching into a circle, the machine takes up most of the wall¡¯s space. While it appears stationary, its insides are clearly spinning.


    ¡°This place¡­¡± Rachel begins, her eyes continuously scanning the chamber left to right, right to left, ¡°This is the power station he talked about.¡±


    The blonde hops down from her place on the ledge and lands on her feet gracefully. She looks up to Sykra and beckons to her with a gesture, ¡°C¡¯mon, it¡¯s safe.¡±


    Sykra nods and leaps down as the older woman did. She comes to Rachel¡¯s side, and with the blonde giving her a knowing nod, they both walk in tandem as they continue to gain their bearings on the locale.


    Sykra approaches the giant generator on the wall, and finds herself in front of a computer terminal. She stares down at it, unsure if she should mess with what it connects to.


    ¡°I suggest you don¡¯t mess with the thing that powers a quarter of the city, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    She whips around at the sound of the unknown voice, claws already swiping down to claim the stalker¡¯s life¡ªbut is ultimately met with air.


    ¡°Woah there! That isn¡¯t any way to treat your friend~¡±


    ¡°Missy?¡± Rachel calls from the other end of the room, ¡°What¡¯s going on over there?!¡±


    ¡°Stay back! Rachel!¡± Sykra growls as she lowers her stance, ¡°There¡¯s an enemy somewhere in this room!¡±


    But before either mercenaries could react¡ªthe enemy makes themselves known in a veil of multicolored pixels, right behind the unsuspecting blonde.


    Emerging from the myriad of colors is a pale-looking young man completely enveloped in a green hoodie that falls from his head and down to his knees.


    He wears a seemingly permanent smirk on his face, and the glint in his emerald eyes spell nothing but trouble¡­ especially when the steps he takes are completely silent as he approaches Rachel from behind.


    Plates along Sykra¡¯s suit split open as her thrusters soar to blistering temperatures¡ªbut she knew she¡¯s too late.


    The green-hooded man grabs at Rachel¡¯s shoulder, raises his arm, and¡ª


    ¡°Yo. Been awhile, Rachel~¡±


    Rachel¡¯s eyes light up at the young man¡¯s words; she skips away from his grasp and twirls to face him with a relieving smile plastered across her face. ¡°Celus! You¡¯re here!¡±


    The older woman jets forward and wraps the young man in a crushing bear hug.


    ¡°Ack¡­ Rachel¡ª You¡¯re choking me¡­¡±


    Rachel skips away from the¡ªhonestly kind of frail¡ªyoung man, with a gleeful grin on her face.


    The elated blonde turns to face Sykra, who¡¯s been locked in place at the sheer confusion happening right in front of her.


    ¡°Missy, meet the old friend I¡¯ve been telling you about: Celus!¡±


    ¡°...Yo,¡± Celus waves, still recovering from the vice grip of a hug.


    Sykra, meanwhile, feels utterly lost.