It had been an exhausting month, that much was for sure.

Following the infiltration of New Anchorage by forces unknown and a siege that came at the cost of several deaths and internal damage to essential facilities, Commander Michael Graham wasn’t sure what to think. He had done like the people of Smith’s Rest asked of him when they recruited him several months prior—he had reorganized the defense forces, financed several repairs and upgrades, arranged a recruitment drive for capable pilots, and brought on staff that worked with their allocated budget as well as held no real loyalties to the corporations who may have seen New Anchorage as a threat. But after doing that and preparing the pilots to start working in the field he never would’ve suspected the destructive onslaught that came from what appeared to be nowhere. It nearly drove him into a fit of madness; a reaction that while understandable still had shaken things up on base after he personally interrogated every single pilot, soldier, engineer, and scientist. The most frustrating thing about such ruthless questioning was the fact that every single person checked out and at the end of it Graham just felt like a complete asshole who had only achieved making his pilots think he was unreasonable and delusional.

A thought that he couldn’t blame them for in the slightest. Though it wouldn’t be the last time they’d be put under a magnifying glass. This was all the more obvious when Celina Jackspar appeared in Graham’s office the week after the attack. She was just like a ravenous vulture; ready to pick the meat off the bones of the wounded... or at least that is how Graham percieved it. Celina offered a solution to reaffirming the people’s confidence in Graham’s leadership—New Anchorage was going to hold a Press Conference and the chief staff were invited; including the NC pilots.

Whilst Graham wished he had a choice in the matter he knew that the idea was sensible from a business perspective. However, if Graham could have he would’ve stayed at the operations headquarters and ordered his pilots to ignore Celina’s request for their appearance at the to-be conference. He knew as soon as Celina came into his office how it was going to go down. Once his background checks were over with and the repairs were done they were to do as she recommended. She branded it as a way to make the raid on the base seem like a minor inconvenience — a open-invite press conference so to speak.

The location for this event?

The founding site of Smith’s Rest.

If Graham had a sense of humor he would’ve laughed at how clichéd and blasé it was to host the chief minister’s big conference at such a location. He wasn’t a bleeding heart or attached to a name of a fading colony named after a waster who left the Burrow of Calgary to stake out his own claim a millennia ago. Though he could easily see why retrofitting the old building that was the centerpiece of the settlement into a city hall and conference center was a good move for Celina. It was certainly a step up from the pre-war library she had pretty much lived for her entire life. But to go to this kind of extent? It was just so overblown and self-congratulatory to him.

The date?

Today.

Michael Graham let out a heavy sigh as he exited the transport, his chief staff, pilots, and personal retinue in tow. With his hands buried in his pockets he looked at the building in front of him and gave a brief comment to the men and women behind him.

“Keep your wits about you. We’re about to enter a den of vipers. Let’s get to it.”

In the back, Graham could hear Joshua Ray remark to his fellow pilots about the situation; Graham didn’t need to reply but mentally he was smirking from the remark. “I prefer a den of wolves, personally. Wolves are a lot less... I don’t know — virulent?”

Wouldn’t be politics if you couldn’t get poisoned.

Once he entered the building, he was unsurprisingly met with the presence of the woman who organized all of it: Chief Minister Celina Jackspar.

Of course.

“Ah, Commander Graham. You’re early, that’s good.”

He nodded. “Yes. How long until you want to begin?”

“Whenever you and the pilots are ready, of course.”

Graham’s reply ended with a smile—harmless and polite enough yet he knew it; he had seen a thousand of smirks, grins, and smiles like it before during his time with Denver-Vegas and he knew it well. It was a expression that was fake and ultimately a front for the truth. He had become accustomed to it being Celina’s favored weapon.

As he nodded he took the next few minutes to acquaint himself with the functions of the conference—a canteen, trade vendor, and other features littered the conference hall before leading to an open platform with two rows of desks with names written on it with a podium and microphone at center stage. Graham let out a light breath of disapproval as he swiped a drink from the canteen to the back before deciding to meet up with Alvarez in the back near the platform and their assigned seats.

Celebratory grandstanding, political intrigue, militarized politeness, snake-like maneuvering, arrogant posturing. It was all something Graham had seen before and his time away from Denver-Vegas had not changed his opinion on it. Whilst he didn’t believe in the concept of morals, it was this anfractuous behavior that made him sometimes question that belief. It was the work of executive arrogance. However, Celina Jackspar had been elected as the chief minister of New Anchorage by her peers and fellows, so it wasn’t exactly that absurd that it led to this. Regardless of that fact, Graham would’ve preferred not to have a front row seat to the newly appointed minister making games with his pilots and possibly opening them up to a public interrogation in the guise of a press conference and banquet.

All ego and leash holding—just like Vegas.

Graham crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall behind him as his right hand held a metallic container with a blue-green colored liquid that was alcoholic in origin. The forty-three year old military combatant had never been one for alcoholic concoctions but for an occasion like this he was happy to oblige.

His eyes moved from person-to-person; the pilots, some of his essential staff, his personal retinue, and denizens of New Anchorage who held comfortable positions in the settlement. Based on the dossiers he read and the people he had met in his first week he recognized a few noteworthy individuals that were invited to this little party of Celina’s—all of them with the biggest shit-eating grin curled on their lips like they had gotten the best payout in their lives. Graham had a lot of experience with reading people, though he admitted he was always more soldier than administrator, and these were the sort of looks people who were promised profitable insurance policies gave; it was that combined with Graham’s experience in DV territories that made him believe Celina had played every card she had in her deck.

Graham rose the container of alcoholic liquid to his lips, taking a slow but steady drink as his eyes stayed on the audience.

The executives back home would be impressed that a waster organized and played the game as well as this.

That thought aside, Graham felt like an idle compliment is all they would’ve given and the nature of it would be backhanded. He knew the corporate types, they believed that the best weapon wasn’t neural combatants but ratherlanguage and influence. If their success and Celina’s rise to power were anything to go by, Graham really couldn’t contest the belief.

“Alvarez, do make sure that Minister Jackspar knows that the facility is secure and we may begin this conference of hers when she is ready to and the pilots have taken their seats with the rest of us.”

The dark-haired administrator nodded, “Of course, Commander.”

He had a feeling not one of the pilots knew what they were about to be subject to. Despite some of his opinions about the less qualified pilots, he hoped they had their wits about them tonight; they were going to need it.

Atoms be damned, I hope they can handle this.


Once the pilots took their seats, Graham could feel it. Something was coming.

As Celina tapped the microphone on the podium he could see it—the entire audience jerking their heads and moving their feet towards the stage like trained lab rats. He took a light breath, though he contained himself — he couldn’t give off the composure of an incapable. His eyes moved to Celina, as the woman began her speech.

“Welcome. We’ve a lot to address tonight, but we’re going to begin things a bit unorthodox—” She said, before gesturing behind the podium and towards the pilots who had taken their seats at the long table reserved for them that was positioned parallel to that of the table that Graham himself had been placed at alongside his chief staff barring Rebecca Marek who took his responsibilities back at operational headquarters in his absence. Graham took another drink of the alcoholic liquid in front of him. It was times like this that he was reminded of his previous employment; a sentiment that he did not look at favorably. “—Our pilots, the dutiful men and women, and even children, who have and will risk their lives to protect this settlement, and see it into a prosperous future. They have so graciously joined me this evening, and so I think it’s only fair that the people they defend her from them. The floor is now open.”

One of the pilots inched forward and Celina asked the first question of the night.

“How did you become a pilot?”

As far as parties went this was probably the worst possible one Kathryn Dradht could imagine; in fact, per her perspective it was the definition of boring and lacking anything of interest — even with the vendors and canteen taken into consideration. Nonetheless, it was part of her job and she knew it was something she had to deal with. With that in mind, the orange-haired girl took a light sigh as she stood up from her seat, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her hooded jacket, as she made for the podium as Celina motioned for the pilots to take some initiative and begin the whole public interview.

That’s what this is, right? An interview?

In the last half-decade of working around North America she had done a long list of applications for independents and even corporate sponsors but she had never dealt with a kind of gig like New Anchorage. As strange as the contract and her situation currently was she had a very good reason to not just flip her shit and tell Commander Graham and the new Minister-Mayor-Leader person to fuck off. The thought had crossed her mind a few times and this whole interview was just another annoyance that she felt wasn’t important. It wasn’t like it was her fault that New Anchorage got attacked by a task force from out of nowhere. She may had been a freelancer, but she wasn’t a traitor.

As she moved her tongue in-between her teeth she thought about the question that had been asked from the woman in charge as soon as Ryn reached the podium. It wasn’t a large question to answer or a pointless one for an interview and even with Ryn’s level of knowledge she knew that much—but there was a lot of ways to tell people her story in a brief answer. There was an amount of things that per her perspective wasn’t information they needed to know. There were things that she had never told anyone before, after all. Even people who were what she considered friends were in the dark about Ryn’s “origin story”. The most she had ever told people before this interview was that her mother died and she took over. She wasn’t sure what New Anchorage’s “dossier file” had on her, but it couldn’t have been much considering the mundanity of who she was before she was a pilot and what led up to it. It was a story people in her neck of the woods had heard a thousand times before.

“I became a pilot ‘cuz someone died that wasn’t supposed to.” She admitted, the memory coming back to her for a moment.


When the moment had passed, she clenched the podium. “But yeah, isn’t like anybody forced me to do it. I wanted it, so I took it even with all of the risks.”

The crowd muttered among themselves. the same to see her standing on stage, ready to answer questions as a pilot, seemed to surprise them. Ryn wasn’t surprised they were shocked about her presence and abillity to take initiative considering how she had been treated by “adults” for the entirety of her career as a neural combatant. It was a tick of hers, as some of her comrades had learned when she confronted one of them for having an issue that New Anchorage was hiring children the day of her arrival at the military base. In her mind, it wasn’t special she was a kid and she didn’t need anyone to “parent” her—she was the equal of any of the other pilots and was intent to prove it; and if it made people think she was a little bitch or a reckless hire that was their problem.

It didn’t take long for one of the members of the crowd to raise their hand and speaking the first question not uttered by Celina herself. It was a question Ryn had been asked many times before, though it did not make it any the less frustrating to hear again. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.” Ryn remarked nonchalantly, as she stood front and center albeit in her slouched casual approach. “I think it’ll be five years in a few months.”

Ryn moved her tongue against her uppermost canines, as she sported a look of someone who was unimpressed by the comments. It made her upset that they were doing the same old song and dance that she had heard before but then again she expected them to. With the two of the people who actually paid her looking over her actions in answering the questions of a bunch of idiots who couldn’t even defend themselves she actually, in a fit of surprise appeared to remain largely civil of what she was hearing.

There were a few emotional whispers in the crowd that weren’t out of Ryn’s earshot—concerns about her as a child, how terrible it was that she was “alone”, and how “brave” she was. At least the thought that she was a brave child was better than the other descriptors that had been used to define her in the past. She remembered all of the labels, insults, and remarks. They didn’t hurt her; they weren’t sharp enough to pierce her armor.

“Where are your parents?”

Of course they want to know my parents, because I'm a 'kid'. Assholes.

“Not in the picture.”

It was a bit blunt, but it wasn’t wrong — her mother had died at the hands of another neural combatant several years ago and she had never known her father. As such the concept of a male role model in her life was something she never had and did not really think about too much. The emotions still triggered from the earlier questions still persisted in her mind and had Ryn been more sensitive of a person they probably would have made the armor she fashioned crack. She was too stubborn to show people that they was feeling upset.

“How long do you expect to stay on as a pilot here?”

The question of her staying as a pilot in New Anchorage was a smart one and one that Ryn hadn’t really thought about too hard beyond her original intentions of signing on. If the credits were good and the people weren’t intolerable she could see herself making this a new home for her, or at least for a time. Her feelings in her gut aside, there were times she missed Blackstone Harbor and the violent waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Whilst she had told herself she would never go back to her hometown she had never particularly vowed to never find a new home.

“As long as I need to be here or I guess as long as you guys want me here, right?”

Another question from the crowd, this time from a woman. “What does it feel like knowing that you've killed people at such a young age?”

For her entire life she had killed out of necessity but even before that she had never been told that it was irregular; her mother was a pilot of a literal war machine and she lived in a small independent settlement in the Atlantic Territories that had to deal with dangerous wildlife, mutants, pirates, raiders, slavers, rival settlements, and all sorts of problems. It came with the territory.

“What do you mean?” She asked, curious about specifics. “Like do you mean the act of or in general? In or out of suit?”

The woman took a step back—not immediately having an answer. However, the man next to her didn’t hesitate to inquire. “You’ve killed out of your NC?”

“Yep.” She nodded, “Sometimes people think they can beat up and rob you because you’re a kid, so sometimes you have to draw a knife into their throat and kill them before they kill you. Dog eat dog world and all.”

Silence, a terribly awkward silence.

Guess that was too real for ‘em, huh?

“Thank you, Miss Drahdt, that will be all. Next.”

Ryn nodded in recognition as she walked away from the podium and returned to her seat, not thinking much about how the public “received” her interview. Removing her hands from her jacket she grabbed the cup of water she had left at the table and downed it; her brows narrowing as she realized there was nothing alcoholic in arms reach and let out a light sigh. The emotions she had buried weren’t supposed to come back after a stupid question — they weren’t supposed to come back ever. She reached into the bag she had placed in front of her and retrieved a dried piece of jerky before splitting it between her teeth.

How long was all of this going to take before she could just head off to the canteen for a flask or two?

The tension in Percy's chest kept him silent up to the point he sat down, and he rested his head in one of his hands. He was physically exhausted, but he was so mentally worked up over this. He'd never gone to an event as seemingly important as this, and he was driving himself up a wall with nonsensical and anxiety-ridden thoughts that he could barely comprehend. The fact he'd been having problems sleeping, both from his own anxieties and his daughter's, didn't make it any easier to stay rational and calm. On top of his daughter waking up at least twice a night and having to be soothed back to sleep, he was having severe insomnia. He'd want to sleep, but he just couldn't. His brain was flooded with disturbing images and uncomfortable thoughts, and he was physically restless. He ended up using any breaks in between the scheduled routine to try and sleep, but he always woke up at the exact same amount of exhaustion.

When he felt Graham's eyes on him, he glanced up momentarily, and then involuntarily yawned. He covered his mouth, cursing under his breath before he focused on the crowd.

There sure are a lot of people here.

Percy grimaced slightly at the thought, resting his head again and gently rubbing his temples - he could feel a headache coming on due to lack of sleep. He shuts his eyes tight in an attempt to make the head pain go away.

“Welcome," came Celina Jackspar's voice. Percy looked up and gave as much attention to her as he was able to with the dull headache. It was only polite to do so. "We’ve a lot to address tonight, but we’re going to begin things a bit unorthodox—”

Unorthodox? That doesn't sound good.

The pilot was barely able to keep his face from revealing both the tension and the pain he was feeling. Barely. Percy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he actually takes them off, using his shirt to clean them - damn smears.

“—Our pilots, the dutiful men and women, and even children who have and will risk their lives to protect this settlement-" As he put his glasses back on, the pilot frowned at the mention of children. Even if it was true there were children that will risk their lives, it shouldn't be that way. Just another nagging little thing that makes him wonder why he continues to stay. "-and see it into a prosperous future. They have so graciously joined me this evening, and so I think it’s only fair that the people they defend hear from them. The floor is now open.”

Wait, what?

Percy looked to his fellow pilots in disbelief, and then had to do a bit of a double-take when he saw that Ryn was going up first. He very nearly tried to grab her before he realized he was about to punch the person beside him right in the face - Percy quickly retracted his hand and hid his mouth behind his fist, completely unable to hide the concern in his eyes. On the plus side, he was wide awake now. Even if he personally found Ryn to be a bad influence on Ana, he didn't want her to get eaten alive by people asking her questions.

"How did you become a pilot?

“I became a pilot ‘cuz someone died that wasn’t supposed to."

Someone died that wasn't supposed to? He frowned just slightly once again, keeping his face covered by his fist. Percy yawned once again, not because this was boring him, but because he couldn't help it. Even if he felt completely alert now, his body was still very much sleep depraved. Despite the fact he did want to pay attention, he ended up zoning out before being drawn back into it via another interesting question.

“Where are your parents?”

“Not in the picture,” Ryn states bluntly.

That explains a lot.

Percy felt pity for the girl, even if she would be so pissed that he does. Either her parents are dead, or they're neglectful. Both cases are horrible for a child to deal with, and his personal unknowing distaste for her faded immediately. He felt a little bit like a prick for disliking her. She couldn't help her situation. She was a lost and helpless child, even if she didn't admit it. It broke his heart.

“What does it feel like knowing that you've killed people at such a young age?”

Seriously?

“What do you mean? Like, do you mean the act of, or in general? In or out of suit?”

“You’ve killed out of your NC?”

With a nod, Ryn replied, “Yep. Sometimes people think they can beat up and rob you because you’re a kid, so sometimes you have to draw a knife into their throat and kill them before they kill you. Dog eat dog world and all.”

Percy's mouth was now agape and his heart had skipped at least two beats. Definitely never mind Ryn being helpless, good God... The pilot rubs his throat, swallowing nervously. Hopefully he never has to deal with that side of Ryn.



“Thank you, Miss Drahdt, that will be all. Next.”

As Ryn took her seat once again, Celina looked to Percy as if to say That means you, Moore. Once again, Percy's heart skipped a beat. He looked down the table, then back at the Elect before he finally got the hint. He stood up and walked to the podium. He barely had a moment to get mentally comfortable before Celina spoke,

"How did you become a pilot, Moore?"

A rush of anxiety hit Percy like a high-speed tram, right in the chest. Public speaking has always been a difficult thing for him, and it's exponentially worse due to just how many eyes are on him. He can't help but fidget nervously with his ring, trying not to puke on the spot. He swallows down the tension as much as he can, but when he goes to speak, he blanks. He cannot get his words out. Hell, he can't even remember the question. You can practically hear the pleas for help just from his facial expression as he continues to attempt words, but getting out nothing.

"Mr. Moore, you seem nervous," Celina observed, "Please, relax. Your daughter is here, I believe," she pointed directly to the table Ana Moore, and by default, Zach Young, were sitting at without having to search. "Perhaps you'd like her to join you on stage?"

"No!" Percy blurt out - there's his voice. Shaky, nervous, everything you didn't want your voice to be while you spoke publicly. "No, no, hahaha, no, please- That's not necessary at all, I-I- Thank you, but, uh, n-no!" He cleared his throat again, looking to where Celina pointed. Ana was beaming, standing up on the chair, and giving her father a big thumbs up. Percy smiled just for a moment, his confidence boosted enough to be able to even speak.

"I, uh.. I blanked, Ms. Jackspar, I apologize," Percy kept his voice a bit low so the shakiness both from hacking and his nerves was less noticeable. "Could you repeat the question, please?"

"How did you become a pilot?"

He blanked. He understood every word, comprehended every word, and it stuck in his head more than it previously had, but he still blanked. He looked over the crowd eyeing him expectantly, taking note of a few people that seemed to be suspicious of him due to his silence. Speak, damn it, speak!

"Uh-uhm, well," Percy fidgeted with the rings on his hand, glancing down momentarily at the two silver bands as he twisted them around his fingers. His jaw tensed, his heart was racing, his face was redder than a tomato could ever dream of being - he just looked all kinds of uncomfortable up there. "I, uh.. I did it because.." He looked over the eyes of the crowd once again, making eye contact with Ana. Ana, of course, was still trying to cheer him on in such a way that wouldn't make a spectacle of herself. "Her."

A momentary confused silence from the audience. Percy nodded a bit, satisfied with his own answer before realizing that what he said sounded absolutely nonsensical to everyone else. "I mean, uh, I-I did it- It was for my daughter. Uh, d-don't get me wrong, I love New Anchorage too, but, I- Ana is my first priority."

It didn't take even a moment before another question popped up. "Are you loyal to New Anchorage, sir?"

"Of course," Percy stated with a little shrug, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just said that your daughter is your first priority?"

Percy's heart skipped a beat. How is that a bad thing? This guy's tone is implying that she shouldn't be. He spoke a bit softer, "She.. She is my first pri-"

The man didn't allow Percy to finish, "If it came to a choice between New Anchorage and your daughter, who would you chose?"

The pilot's eyes widened as he realized he got verbally trapped. He stuttered incoherently for a moment before he was able to form a sentence, "That i-is an excellent question, b-but I'll, uh, I-"

"Mr. Moore will make the correct choice if and when the time comes," Celina said calmly, the mere authority of her voice calming the room to order. "Next question." Didn't take long.

"How hard is it raising Ana?"

"Uhm.. It depends, honestly," Percy said softly, "Most of the time it's.. I mean, it's as hard as you'd imagine it is, but it's rewarding. Um, o-of course I have days where it's.. painful, for both her and myself, because she's been through a lot. I do my best to make sure she feels safe and secure, though." Percy looks at his daughter again, who's smiling at him. He smiles back, "Based on the fact she's comfortable enough to be out here today, I think I did ok, at the very least."

"But is it difficult?"

"..Well, I mean, yes, it's difficult," Percy replies, "But I love her too much to quit trying. She's the reason I'm fighting so hard."

Silence. Tense silence. Percy fidgets again with his ring - did he say something wrong? Why does the quiet feel like it's.. off, somehow? It feels like an hour but was, in reality, only a few moments before the pilot set the microphone back on the stand. He stepped back to breathe in his hands and rub them together without it being picked up on the microphone. After his nagging at Zach over the phone to make sure Ana was dressed warm, he didn't put on any gloves himself. He puts his hands in his pockets after stepping back up to the microphone.

"Do you have help with Ana? Like.. I dunno, the guy sitting with her?"

Percy glances, thinking for whatever reason that maybe it was someone other than Zach sitting with her, based purely on the tone of that woman's voice. "Oh, yes. That's, uh.. That's Zach, and he's a, uh.. A friend. Family friend."

"Do you really trust him with her? He's kinda..."

Murmurings of agreement. Percy squints a little bit - sure, Zach looks intimidating, but he loves Ana to bits. Not as much as Percy loves her, but.. It's a pretty intensely familial love.

"He'd never do anything to hurt her," Percy responds, "Ever. He'd ring the neck of anyone that dared to try, too. Seriously, I mean.. I wouldn't f- Uh, mess. I wouldn't mess with him. He's built like a brick house! He'd crush me. I mean, you see me, right? I'm not exactly the strongest guy up here."

A couple of people actually laugh. Whether it was at or with is a little hard to tell. Percy hoped it was with, not at. Obviously.

"Anyway, I mean.. I trust Zach with her, a hundred percent. Barely trust anyone else with her. I mean.. he and I disagree on.. a lot, to be honest. But.. We, we agree that Ana is an amazing little girl, and she'll grow up to be even more amazing. We're doing our best to raise her to be the best she can be, even will all the obstacles in our way.. and all the disagreements."

That barely had time to sink in before the next question was asked.

"Have you killed anyone?"

What?

"Uh.. Pardon?"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

What the fuck-?

"No," Percy replied firmly, "I haven't. The only times I ever killed anything was when I hunted. Hell, even that was kinda.. Eugh, sometimes. And, uh, hey, guy, kinda poor timi-"

"Bullshit-" someone else piped up, "if the kid's had to kill people, then you have too!"

"Except no, I haven't," Percy responds. He checked his tone before continuing, "I mean, I've been in a few fights, obviously, but I've never killed anyone. The worst I've ever done to a person is pull a gun and threaten them with it - I-I didn't shoot them, though. Never. I.. I don't think I'd be able to do that."

"What about in the NC? Have you-"

"-Haven't killed anyone."

"Alright, that's a lie! How do you manage to NOT kill anyone in a giant war machine!?"

Percy stops, trying to grasp all this. It's not easy to, though. One second he was talking about family and now literally murder? What in the hell? "No," Percy said again, "I, I haven't killed anyone. What reason do I have to kill anyone? I.." Percy actually scoffs. "No. Never. And I don't plan on it. What right do I have to.. to take another person's life? They have thoughts, and.. feelings, dreams and families, why would I-"

"Noble, Mr. Moore," Celina interjected, "Very noble, and your daughter, I'm sure, is as proud of you as we all are."

A meager volley of almost confused applause shuffled across the crowd, except for Ana, who clapped the loudest. However, Celina was not finished. She calmed the applause with no more than a look, then continued.

"Many people see pilots as simple batteries, machines themselves. You're a reminder, Mr. Moore, that we all come from similar shores, with similar burdens. A notable pilot, yes, but also a single parent. You once had a wife here too, did you not?" She paused, making solid eye contact with the red-headed pilot. "I'm sorry if the memory is raw, but I'm sure she too would be proud of what you've done not only for all of us, but for your family as well."

"I.. I would hope so," Percy's voice was soft again. He could feel some anxiety coming back. On top of having the mood shift back and forth, he despised it when his wife was brought up. Despised it. Even after 6 years, the death of Laura was something he had yet to truly come to terms with.

A new life burst through the crowd - sympathy and empathy were very powerful emotions, after all. Murmurs, questions muffled over each other, and then multiple people suddenly eyeing his daughter in surprise and concern. Percy instinctively went to grab everyone's attention to keep their eyes off his daughter, but Celina beat him to the punch. She tapped the microphone and order was restored. "Let's keep this civil and organized," Ms. Jackspar said, "One at a time, please."

Even with that said, it didn't take even a second before a question was asked.

"How long were you married?"

Even if he wasn't entirely comfortable answering, he did anyway. "Uh, i-it was a little after Ana was born, actually. Figure we might as well - not that we didn't love each other, we did, I just, I mean..." He trailed off, not sure how he could try to explain it better. There was an awkward silence for a solid five seconds before another question finally got asked.

"Did Ana know her mother?"

"Uh.. Sadly, no," Percy said, messing with the microphone a bit, "Ana was too young to have any.. particularly vivid memories of Laura. I.. I wish that Laura did get to watch her grow up. I, uh.. I'm sure that they'd get along very well. I mean, Ana is basically a little clone of her! Ana's intelligent, resilient, stubborn - good lord, is Ana stubborn. It took me for-ev-er to get her to wear shoes when she was a baby. She absolutely refused... until I found light-up shoes that fit her. She wore those, but never any other ones. It was adorable." Percy unintentionally paused, thinking of what else to say.

The pilot messed with the microphone a bit before he got an idea of what to say next. "Anyway, I mean.. I wish that they could've had a relationship. I still wish Laura was here, even after so long. I.. Ana needs her mom, and, and I need her to have her mom. There's things that Laura could've taught her that I'm just not able to. I mean.. I, I'm sure that Laura would be proud of how I've raised her, what I've taught her, but.. I.. I dunno. Sometimes it feels like it's not enough. It feels like I'm not enough."

"How did Laura die?"

"...Pardon?"

"How did your wife die?"

Percy froze. They're not seriously asking that. Seriously? It's not that hard to figure out what in the hell happened - it's simple math. Why the hell would they ask that? He looks at Zach and Ana, who look exceptionally nervous and morbidly curious, respectively. Percy grits his teeth, fumbling with the rings on his finger.

"How did-"

"I heard you the first time," Percy snapped, "Stop."

He hasn't even told Ana yet, why the fuck would he tell some nobody? What the hell does this person care? Is this just some shit to get him to break down in front of everyone? If that's the case.. it's.. working. Sort of. He's getting pissed.

"Then answer the question, Percy."

"You can't make me," The pilot knew that defense was childish, but he didn't know how else to respond - he was getting worked up and logic was being thrown out the window, bit by bit. How long was this bullshit supposed to last again? "I'm not answering you."

The asker went to speak once again, but Celina tapped the microphone, "Mr. Moore has no obligations to answer questions that he doesn't feel comfortable with. Next question."

"Are you worried about Ana dying?"

Percy's heart stopped for a beat. Jesus fucking Christ, what is with these people?! "Why would you even make me think about something like that?!" He wasn't able to control the volume of his voice then.

"Well, are you worried about it?"

"Of course!" Percy snapped, "Of course! YES, I'm worried about that- I-I'm worried about it EVERY. DAMN. DAY! Why the FUCK-"

"-Mr. Moore-"

"-Why WOULDN'T the idea of my daughter DYING scare me?! Yes, she's in the safest place in New Anchorage, but-"

"-Mr. Moore-"

"-Don't Mr. Moore me, bitch!" Percy screamed, whipping his head around to Celina. Wild-eyed and looking like he could tear Celina into shreds for just that moment. At the same time he made eye contact with her, though, he realized his error. He immediately covered his mouth, eyes wide, not with anger, but horror. Percy's face flushed tomato red and he stuttered almost incomprehensibly. "I.. I'm.. I'm so-so-so-sor- sorry, I-Really, Oh God, G-God, I-I'm so sorry, I didn't- Oh.. God.. I.."

Silence. Absolutely horrifying silence. Every second felt like a year, and his heart was racing. Percy was jacked up on adrenaline and he could barely focus. He smoothed his hair back at least three times and his jaw was tense. Why is he still up there? He was just barely able to comprehend what was even going on. Someone was talking to him but he couldn't hone in on the words. He's losing it. Lost it, even. He could tell. He's either losing it or has lost it. The room's getting smaller, feels like everything's fading in and out. He's breathing entirely too quickly. He wasn't sure if he was about to scream, cry, or attack-

"Mr. Moore," Celina said, a bit harshly. Percy jumped and looked at Celina. Celina then spoke with the same professionalism she had the entire time - maybe even a hint of concern? Maybe he was imagining it. He was imagining it. He had to have been imagining it - he's losing it, of course he is.

"Thank you for answering what you were able to."

Percy nodded just slightly, walking off the stage, trying to locate a way out. Away from the crowd. Away from all the eyes on him. He was shaking and everyone was entirely too close. Invasive. Just like this damn interview. Invasive, draining. Vipers.

Alan pulled at his collar watching the others talk and give their little speeches. This was hell. Putting them on display for all of these civilians-what did they expect? Graham’s words seemed to echo around in his ears—his warning on repeat; almost becoming obsessive in Alan’s mind. Den of vipers. Venom. Danger. There was nothing more dangerous than foolish scared people, and the new Minister seemed to wield her weapon with excellence. Alan had no idea if these civilians were here on order or by choice; but either way he realized that Ryn and Percy were not the two best people to go first.

And you are? The voice seemed to sink in like a cold knife in his back. He was a waster and he and Ryn have seen how the public treated them for years now. Usually they left some of the larger guns with guns at their backs. Other times led to blood on their hands.

Cold metal iron. Calluses on the hand. Blood. The shape of the skull caving. Rapid smashes. Alan was 17. The man had been drunk, belligerent, horny. Pulled a knife on him, placed it to his throat in a seedy back alley bathroom somewhere south of Chicago. A pipe had given way; Alan had swept his leg and came upon him like a wild animal, only stopping when the man’s body had been reduced to a twitching bloody mess on the floor.

Ryn stepped away from the microphone and the crowd seemed awkward in their applause. Next came Percy. They’d spoken momentarily in the canteen. Hell, they’d interacted a few times outside of training. Alan had called him Percival once; which just made the man confused. Of course he didn’t read Tennyson; no one did anymore. He bit his lip as the man’s speech broke apart; unraveled and left the man a broken mess at the end.

He glanced to Celina as she called for the crowd to come to a sense of calm; to return to order. Order was something the woman seemed to wield like a very blunt hammer; and so far it had made things quite awkward between the people and the pilots.

What can you do? All they’ll see from you is a waster. A thief. A vagabond. A liar.

Alan stood up. He shifted his collar around, trying to ignore the tiny beads of sweat that emerged, either from the discomfort of the uniform he was forced to wear, or from the nerves that were slowly beating his heart like a war drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. How did that nursery rhyme go? The boys in the burrow go thump thump thump on the door? Thump thump thump, jumping up up up on their beds. Running thump thump thump down the halls? Banging thump thump thump on the doors? And when the lights go out and they’re left all along their bodies go thump thump thump in the ground?

Alan gasped. He needed air. He needed water. He needed to be anywhere but here. He’d stood up, and was making a slow, methodical pace towards the microphone. Every second felt like ten years, twenty years, growing with each step until it took a painful century to cross to the very front of the microphone. He made an audible gasp for air before he closed his eyes. Home. Warm beds. Fresh baked bread from Pip’s grandmother. Aunt Rosemary’s mushroom tea on a cold autumn day. Mother’s voice. Father’s large, calloused hands. Alan’s hands stopped shaking.

"My name is Alan Fouren."

Everyone is looking at you.

"I pilot The Wild Wolf."

Alan’s gaze focused away from staring at any one person; and attempted to keep his gaze above the heads of the crowd. No need to stare at any one person, no need to focus. Just answer the questions and sit down. The danger of Celina echoed in his head again. No; he couldn’t simply answer questions flippantly. She was watching and the people were watching. He was under a microscope, flayed out and ready to be examined by the masses. He had to make this work; at least until he found the Gold NC.

The first question came, and there was wariness to it. "Where are you from?"

They’re afraid of you. They don’t want a waster here. What will they think about home? Alan closed his eyes. All dead. Fire, gunpowder, blood. Debris everywhere. "It's a little town called Dead Springs-about a quarter of the size of New Anchorage here. Small enough that everyone knew each other."

Their faces flash in his mind. Uncle Bill’s body, torn to shreds. Alan could never find the legs. Just a torso split apart by thermal weaponry. He’d probably died from the impact. Cora the local nursemaid; her body hunched over the burned bodies of the local children. Daisy, who’d kissed him before the ramshackle scrap barn: her body spread across the local town hall.

“It’s a tight knit little community.”

"It sounds nice. Why did you leave?"

"Small town meant that everyone had to pull their weight. Me and three other boys from the area all tested positive to receive the NC implant. Working as caravan guards, extra backup on raids, small-time jobs. It helped keep food on the table."

"So you're planning to go back, then?" another asked.

Alan sighed. "If I could, I'd be back home as soon as my tour ended." These were normal folks; that's who he had to win over. "I heard about your recent raider attack; some time before some of these pilots and I arrived. I was relieved to find the settlement in good condition, and-" he turned a glance at Percy’s empty chair, before facing going back to looking out at everyone again. "I am truly sorry for everyone you lost in your attack."

Forgive me mother. He’d never even seen their bodies. His home had collapsed on top of them in the attack. Their home was their grave marker. And here he was, about to dig them up and parade them around for fucking sympathy. The deep pit inside of Alan twisted, as if his shame had contracted a dark sickness growing inside of him.

"Dead Springs didn't have the same kind of defenses you have here at New Anchorage. Raiders attacked fast while my team was on leave. By the time we returned and tried to fight back it was too late. We lost everything."

He turned back to face the crowd, placing on a mask of something that seemed...brave? Faux confidence. A guise to try and seduce these people. "I swear to every person here in this crowd: I will never let another attack like that happen again on my watch."

Celina let her grin out, if a bit, in tandem with the crowd. "We're glad to have your loyalty, Mister Fouren. Many people are hesitant to trust those who live their lives in the roughest places of our world. Consider yourself as setting a precedent, we'll all have interested eyes on you. Next question."

He felt as if he’s sprung a trap. Here he was, a wild animal pinned under Celina’s words; a sharp vice now. He wanted to run; any animal would simply tear away at its leg to escape a trap. It would be simple, leap off the stage, make a break for the hangar, climb into the Wolf…

"Do you have any family? A wife or child?" The question broke Alan’s fantasy and brought him crashing down, a fantastic meteoric crash back into reality and where he was. Here. Now. Answering these fucking questions.

”I uh…look-” Alan seemed to rub his eyes in contemplation of exactly how to answer this question. “I’m still quite young. But-and this is my own personal belief, because I’ve met many pilots who had families and a happy family life-but I would feel that the amount of danger a NC Pilot undergoes, alongside the fact that a pilot tends to be away for long stretches of time would cause unnecessary strain and pain in a relationship. It’s simply easier to focus on work than to really….think about those kinds of things.”

Alan looked downward and scratched his head. He’d never even had a long lasting relationship with anyone since becoming a pilot. Many people simply looked at him and treated him like he was diseased.

Another man stepped up. "Would you call New Anchorage your home?"

Celina must look like the cat that caught the canary.

Home. "That's...a tough question. Pilots like me, we don't get the chance to settle down much. We're expected to follow jobs. A lot of people like to characterize us as thieves, lowlives and vagabonds."

Get to the point. She's got a knife to your back. Any inch, she wants any inch to dig deeper.

"If you guys will have me, I'd be honored to call New Anchorage my home."

He could feel Ryn's glare on the back of his head. She of all people knew the truth. He wasn't a man with a home. He wasn't a man of ideals. He was exactly what he called himself. He knew what he told them was a half-truth. He never expected any of these people to accept him for what he was; and part of him, deep down didn’t want their acceptance. Ultimately there was one reason for him being so far north; so far from easy pay and safety. That NC. Once he found them; once he finally settled up with that pilot; there wouldn’t be any need for anyone to call him a liar or a drifted any more.

Settle up.

Tentatively, that answer seemed to satisfy the crowd. There was applause in any case, begun by Celina herself no less. "I'd have'im for a drink," said one. "Bet he hunts well, growin' up in a waste," said another. "Well he's gotta survive, first."

"Yeah I've seen pictures--" "--looks like a heap of junk--" "--on earth it even moves, let alone fights."

"Do you think you're capable for the job?" arose a question at last. "These attacks have been brutal and organized, have you ever been up against enemies like that and won? Could you really protect us?"

"I became a pilot when I turned sixteen."Alan scratched his nose, trying to tie the words as eloquently as the great writers and orators he grew up reading had done.

"Since then I've been involved in countless sorties. And while I lack the experience some of our more veteran pilots have, I can say this: when pilots work as a team, they can be unstoppable. I know it seems scary, and I know it is easy to look at pilots with fear for the work we have to do." He motioned to the pilots behind him. "We come from different places, Different backgrounds, different walks of life. But we all came here to serve you, New Anchorage. From trained military to self-taught survival skills, we have decades of experience between all of us." He gave a grin, "I don't simply believe, I know we will be the ones to keep New Anchorage safe. I'm proud to serve with all of my fellow pilots."

Broken vets. Green fools. Foreign military. Ryn. What a fucking team.

"We will make you all proud of us."

Something had changed in the air. Perhaps it was the sudden shift in the style of his response, or perhaps what he was saying was simply a step past where the people were willing to trust a waster. Either way, it would become clear that Alan's inspirational speech was not hitting its mark, at least not with the audience. Celina, though, was still grinning.

"Thank you for those...rousing words, Mister Fouren. I believe that will be all, unless there are any other questions." The crowd shifted, but stayed silent. Celina straightened. "Then, next."

"Pierce!"

As Zach kept his eyes on the fiery head of hair as he weaved through the crowd. He had told Ana to stay right there as he went after Percy - she was of course hesitant, but he promised it wouldn't be long. He hoped it wouldn't be long. Ana could handle being by herself, sure, but Zach didn't want to leave her surrounded by those people - not out of his own distrust, but they did kinda talk about Ana dying. Not exactly what he wanted to do, but if Percy's really freaking out, Ana doesn't need to see that. At all. He knows what it's like to watch your parent absolutely lose their shit - you panic, end up feeling powerless and like it's somehow your fault, even if there's no reason to think it is.

Zach caught sight of the red-head darting into the canteen, then sitting down.

At least he's not drinking.

Zach made his way to the canteen, shutting the door and going to sit with him until he got a better look at Percy. The redhead was taking quick, shallow breaths, staring dead into the table top, and was shaking. Wide-eyed, horrified, like he was looking at a dead body. Glasses off, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. Even if Zach hated Percy, you end up feeling some kind of sympathy for people you've been around for years. And this? This was an awful sight. Percy hasn't been this bad in years.

"Pierce?"

"Bits and pieces."

Zach carefully sat down, not sure what he could say. He figured silence would be the best option, though. It was for Ana, so it probably was for Percy too.

"Bits and pieces," Percy said, "An eye here, a finger there. Blood painting the concrete red. Can't stop thinking about it."

"You only saw pictures, though." Zach didn't see the real thing either, of course. He too only saw the pictures taken for documentation of yet another attack.

"Doesn't matter. I.. Ana- Zach, w-what if Ana-"

"She's not going to die like Laura did, Percy."

"How are you so sure? What if she did? They're so similar-"

"We'd cope, Percy." What else could Zach say? While he was sure that she wouldn't die like Laura, he couldn't say for sure she wouldn't DIE. "We'd keep going. We kept going after Laura-"

"Ana is my daughter," Percy retorted "How the fuck would I keep going after HER death? The fuck would be keeping me from blowing my goddamn brains out finally?"

"Cause I don't wanna clean that shit up, maybe?" Zach said, daring to inject humor. "I mean, oof-"

"Seriously?"

Son of a bitch.

"Seriously?" Percy looked at Zach like he was the most idiotic person on the planet, with the added bonus of looking psychotic. "I shouldn't just go ahead and shoot myself in the head because you're grossed out by the thought of cleaning my brain matter off the wall? Fuck you."

"I was joking, I'm sor-"

"-Because suicide is totally something to joke about, right?"

Zach rolled his eyes, beginning with exasperation in his voice, "No, Percy-"

"ARE YOU FUCKING ME RIGHT NOW?" Percy shouted.

God damn it.

"I'm just SOO fucking OVER-DRAMATIC, right? I'm just the fucking WORST, aren't I? I'm just- I'm-I'm just a WORTHLESS FUCK, aren't I? I-I DESERVE THIS SOMEHOW, RIGHT? I DESERVE to live in fear for my daughter's safety every day-"

"You're the one that said to put her on base with you,"

"BECAUSE THE LAST TIME SHE WAS WITH YOU," a finger right in Zach's face, which actually made him jerk back a little bit. "SHE WAS ALMOST KIDNAPPED AND TAKEN TO FUCK KNOWS WHERE!"

"Percy, am I yelling at you?"

"Are you yelling- YOU ARE KIDDING ME-" Percy let out a wordless shout, slamming his hands on the table. "SHOVE YOUR FUCKING CIVILITY RIGHT UP YOUR ASS!" The redhead made a rather crude gesture just to accentuate his point. "SHOVE IT SO FAR UP THERE IT COMES OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN EARS, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Zach sighed. "Lower your voice and calm down."

"THEN STOP TALKING DOWN TO ME LIKE I'M A CHILD!"

"Quit acting like a child."

Percy got that wild look in his eye - the one that he got on stage, where he looked like he was about to murder someone in front of a group of people. He then pulled at his own hair and screamed again, turning around and taking a few steps away from Zach. "God DAMMIT, ZACH! NOT EVERYONE CAN HAVE THEIR LIFE PUT TOGETHER LIKE YOU, ALRIGHT?!" Percy turned back to him, tears streaking down his face, "I'M A FUCK UP. I'M A DISASTER, YOU'RE MORE CAPABLE AND STRONGER AND YOU'RE BETTER IN EV-ER-Y GODDAMNED WAY-"

"Percy, you're gonna make yourself hoarse. Lower your voice."

"YOU JUST-" Percy paused, sniffling. He took a moment to attempt composure before speaking again, "You... You don't get it, Zach. You just don't. I.. I should just be dead."

"And then you leave Ana alone - that's smart."

"She has you," Percy responds, "She has you, the stable, sensible, calm-all-the-time and not-overprotective uncle Zach who's able to actually talk to her about how the goddamn world works."

"She needs her father, Pierce. Her actual father."

"Why?" Percy said, "Why? What good am I really doing her? I.. I like to think I'm doing alright, but god damn it-"

"Pierce, I woulda given anything for my own dad to be in my life," Zach said, "She's lucky to have you. She could have NO parents. You, being here? It.. It's good for her. You know how much I love her, but it doesn't compare to unconditional paternal love. Where I give her the.. the common sense, you give her the emotional outlet she needs. You're better at the whole.. comforting.. thing."

"...I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Well good. Buck up and get over yourself, then."

"Aaannd you ruined it," Percy said, putting his glasses back on, finally. "You fuckin' prick."

"Birdbeak."

"Jackass."

After a quick shared laugh, the two sat there in silence. Percy tried to regain composure, and Zach was taking a moment to breath and calm himself as well - Percy losing his shit was always at least a little off-putting and distressing. They both take a deep breath at the same time, looking at each other.

"Are you really not worried about Ana dying?"

"I am worried about it, Percy," Zach said, "I just.. I know she won't die like Laura did. She's not a mechanic, for one. She's eight. She has to be at least fourteen to even start."

"She's not-"

"I wasn't suggesting we put her in the engineering guild, dipshit." Zach glared at him for a moment - what the hell would make Percy think that was what he wanted for her? "No way would I let her do that."

"Where is she, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"Where's Ana?" Percy's voice was a little more urgent.

"Oh, she's, uh, she's at the table-"

"By herself?!"

Zach groaned, covering his entire face. In a highly exhausted tone, he said, "Percy, she's fine."

"How the hell do you kn- Fuck you! Zach, I swear to God..!" Percy got up, immediately leaving the canteen. Zach could hear Percy cursing him out under his breath before he left. Zach didn't hesitate to follow him out.


"Hi Daddy. Hi Zach." Ana said with a small smile.

"What'd I tell you, Pierce? She's fine," Zach said, ruffling her hair a bit. "Hey kiddo." He then sat down.

Percy sat down with them, earning a look of confusion from Ana. "Weren't you sitting up there, at that table, with Madi and Vera and Stein and stuff?"

"I'd rather sit here with you, Ana, Percy said, making himself good and comfortable in his new seat, "My part's done, anyway."

"You sure that's allowed?"

"Zach, I could breathe and Graham would hound on me. I don't care if I'm not allowed. I can't win with him, why bother trying?"

"Sure."

Harrison Kane wasn’t particularly well-versed in press conferences but he knew that this smelled rotten from the start, he didn’t need Commander Graham’s warning. After working the independent circuit and being a corporate pawn Kane had acquired a certain level of wisdom regarding the politics of being a neural combatant. He had seen it before in settlement leaders, corporate executives, raider retinues, and independent ministers—every single one of them were posturing and planning. But what was the plan here? To give the public an honest look at the people who were defending them after a brutal attack? It might’ve been cynical to distrust a person he had never met before but for Kane it was his instinct.

An instinct that strengthened as the crowd went silent after Kathryn Dradht told the truth, Percy Moore fled from the stage, and Madison Cole broke down in front of him. It was a vicious spectacle in his eyes and it made his stomach turn in apprehension. In silent contemplation he took a drink of the liquid from his flask, the golden brown liquid running down his throat as he didn’t even shoot a glance towards the podium. He didn’t need to see the expressions on anyone’s face — he knew enough from the uttered gasps and murmurs. The newly elected minister’s voice appeared sympathetic as Madison began to stammer and doubt herself in front of an entire audience; a reaction that made him ball his left hand into a fist underneath the table.

Typical. Don’t act like you care, you damned fink.

The thought aside, he knew very well it was his time to be “interviewed” despite thinking it was a categorically terrible idea. He took a light sigh as he placed his flask in its slot on his utility belt before he straightened the collar of his jacket before moving forward to the podium as Madison returned to her seat. In his mind, the sooner he dealt with this the quicker it was done.

“Harrison Kane. I fly the Liberator.”

Kane stood at the podium, calm yet equally aloof — he wasn’t about to pretend to be a soldier in front of the people of New Anchorage. They deserved the truth and as a person there was little that he even wanted to withhold at this point in his career. He had done enough lying in the last few years of his life and on top of that he had made a promise to someone that he would never lie to save face again. If people asked him a question, he was going to tell them the truth even if the consequences didn’t suit him. That said, Kane knew this public interview was going to throw many questions his way and the public at large weren’t going to like the truth. He had Ryn’s back-and-forth a few minutes ago to prove that much.

His eyes moved to a woman who perched her hand—the first of his interrogators. “Who did you fly for before you came to New Anchorage?”

His brows narrowed — he was expecting a question like where he was from or something equally as simple but it seemed they wanted to jump right to the larger questions. He had no intention to hide things from his new employers but the person in charge had already read his dossier and put him through a physical and psychological exam. But this wasn’t his employer; these were people who might’ve not even known how to read and just wanted assurance. Every instinct told him to be vague rather than spell everything out.

“I worked independently for most of my life — it wasn’t until a few years ago that I was forced into the employment of the Fairbanks Corporation.”

The red-haired man could feel a chill climb up his spine as he mentioned his time with Fairbanks, a chill that was accompanied by a terrible anger in his stomach and memories he was trying to run away from. He could hear the echoes from his past as a reminder of what the consequences for trusting people in power were. His hand moved into his longcoat for the pack of pre-war cigarettes he kept for moments of anxiety and dread.

“Forced?”

He moved a single cigarette to his lips followed by a lighter—it wasn’t worth asking if it was okay for him to do so. As he exhaled a small amount of smoke, he nodded. “That’s right. You might not know this out here in the tundra, but the corporations operate in many different ways and one of those ways is finding a way for you to work for them. For me, I had a family—a wife, a daughter. To the corporations they were incentive and once they had them they had me. That’s when I started to do missions for them, off the record.”

He took another hit from the piece of lit tobacco—he could still hear his daughter’s screams when they slit his wife’s throat in front of both of them. Another hand rose from the audience, this time from a man in the crowd who appeared a little younger than him.

“How long did you work for Fairbanks? What kind of work did you do off the record?”

I killed innocent people.

It didn’t take a genius to follow the trail to where it ended, but Kane didn’t think less of any of the people for asking for elaboration. They were curious and concerned — albeit naively so. He had promised to never forget about what happened and why it happened, even if doing so caused him to suffer through vivid nightmares. But was this man’s curiosity good enough reason to share the brutality of what he had lived through? The brutality of what his family didn’t?

“Do you really want to know? I ask because it’s not a pretty picture. They killed my wife because I refused an order, broke my daughter’s fingers because I was working “under performance”, and beat me until I was compliant. I’ve killed people who didn’t deserve it, all because they had me on a leash. The atrocities I was forced to do are not ones I will do ever again; I’d sooner refuse a command and face consequence then have that on my conscience.”

There were gasps and murmurs after he replied as he did—he expected it. They needed assurance.

“As far as I know, I’m still here. Fighting for the liberty of everyone who deserves it. There are enough ghosts that follow me. My time at Fairbanks was not my choice, but I refuse to lie to any of you on what I did. I tell you this because you need to understand who you hired in full transparency.”

“New Anchorage appreciates your honesty, Mister Kane. Next?”

The atmosphere in the conference hall had noticeably changed and after several back-and-forth conversations between Stein’s comrades and the audience she had come to one conclusion and one conclusion alone; this was nothing like Seattle’s press conferences. This wasn’t a line of questions given to the pilots by the corporate press. This was more akin to something she had read once as a child where the function was more of a banquet, where the main character was held up to give speeches and inspire the royal court; a sentiment that did not amuse her in the slightest. But this was not an optional affair and their commander had warned them about the dangers of the occasion in advance thus she knew to expect the worse. She understood it more clearly now that she saw some of the interviews take place and as gasps escaped the jaws of the ignorant and irrelevant.

A light sigh exited Stein’s lips as she prepared to stand up and move to the podium once Tahlia had finished and Celina had given the motion that it was her turn to address the crowd.

This is a waste of my time.

As she stood up, she continued to think about the situation in general as she had little more to do outside ignore everything, which in her experience would be the action of a coward or a fool; and she of course was neither. The concept of engaging the audience and talking to them as a show of confidence reminded her of something she had said to Alan Fouren during a discussion preceding the acceptance of the new pilots a few months ago—a fact that still represented her opinion on the matter.

It isn’t my job to inspire people, it is my job to meet expectations.

To Stein it was her responsibility to fly, not have pointless discourse with the locals. Not that her perspective mattered when those who paid for her services told her to do something. Stein was good at following orders and felt no apprehension on committing herself to doing them.

“Stein. I pilot the Little Dragon.”

Despite his eighteen years of experience living in fringe settlements and piloting his mech, Harrison Kane wasn’t quite sure what he had just witnessed.

Smith’s Rest was a settlement comprised of good people – people who had been weathered by the rough environment of the wild frontier. He didn’t blame them for being scared and wanting answers. He was pretty sure that following the attack that Graham was adamant about making sure nothing like the attack happened ever again, so much so that he was willing to lose countless hours of sleep to ensure that fact. But that didn’t justify putting each pilot through a grueling public interrogation. Especially considering it was these very pilots who pressed their backs against the walls against forces that intended to execute them in the darkness of the night. The reactions that the pilots had to the public’s questions were on full display for all to see; it didn’t take much effort to see the issues of his fellow pilots underneath their answers and expressions. He just hoped the public saw something different than he did and that this conference was not as much of a disaster as he thought it was.

It was a disaster he was glad to be done with. During the break Graham had told the rest of the pilots to move over to the canteen to relax until the conference was over. It was an order Kane was more than willing to accept given his current mood and surprising appetite. He knew that the conference’s canteen would likely have a menu larger than his usual field rations and mess hall standards, and he was more than happy to spend a few credits on a half-decent scotch and grilled sandwich. Once he arrived at the canteen he sat down near the bar at one of the open tables before waving over a waitress. It took him a few minutes to properly look over the menu, though he knew full well that he was going to order a scotch and grilled sandwich.

He smiled warmly, “Scotch, cold. Grilled vegetable sandwich, as is. Thank you.”

As the waitress walked away he slid a pack of non-synthetic cigarettes on the table followed by a old flip lighter, deciding to take a quick smoke to take the edge off. A nasty habit, but one that persisted for him. As he moved a cigarette to his lips and lit it he noticed the other pilots had entered the canteen as he had. If his fellow comrades wanted to sit next to him he would welcome the idea, but he didn’t think it was worth much waving them over; especially when they likely wanted to take the edge off. A lot of them needed to steam after how poorly some of the interviews went. He was sure of that.

It was to his surprise that the first pilot to take a seat at his table was in fact the most temperamental one – Kathryn Dradht.

“Yo. They got anything good?”

Kane smirked as he removed the cigarette from his mouth, the smoke exhaling from his nose. The first conversation between the orange-haired pilot and himself being about the quality of food. It was funny, especially in spite of their circumstances.

“Don’t know. Just ordered mine. Guess we’ll find out.”

"Alright, alright," Percy said, hands up in defeat, "You get Ana home - well, uh, home home - and make sure she gets to bed tonight, and I'll stay and keep my murderous intent in check." The red-head grinned just briefly. “You win. As always.”

"Damn skippy," Zach replied, not seeming alarmed by Percy's admittance to being positively mental - tone is everything, after all, "As long as you don't come into contact with a knife, I'm pretty sure you'll be fine. And if not, then I hope your ass is ready for prison.

"Do you mean that literally or figuratively? Cause in both cases.. Man, I am not prepared. At all."

An almost obnoxiously loud laugh from the other man, "Keep that up tonight and you'll be fine, Percy."

"I could really be ready to commit murder, and you're totally ok with that?"

"I know you're joking - you'll be alright. See ya'round, Pierce."

He watched as Zach and Ana went ahead and left to get back home - it wasn't too far, if Percy had his mental map of Smith's Rest correctly drawn. Either way, he knew Ana was in safe hands and, with a bit of guilt in his chest, he had some time to himself.. Surrounded by people. From what Percy could see, most everyone was lingering in the conference hall - there were some heading to the canteen, though. Key word: some.

And that's where I'll be.

Sigh.

Even if the ruckus and commotion of the canteen wasn't exactly what Percy wanted or even needed, it was still so much better than being in that damn conference hall - the aura of that room was all sorts of fucked up, tense, and he could tell that people were staring.. Or maybe that's just paranoia. In any case, between the hall and canteen, he’d rather be in the canteen. It was a bit of a smaller space, so there were less people, and everyone seemed more concerned with eating or drinking than focusing on the pilot that just insulted the Elect. Thank God.

Percy sat down where there was a free stool, not taking too much notice of who was around him - if he did, he'd probably notice Harrison, Vera, and Ryn a few seats down the counter. The red-head pushed his glasses up to his face so he could actually see, then, when the bartender came around to him, he put in a simple request.

"Fuck me up," Percy said - it sounded like a joke, but he totally, utterly meant it.

A snort from the bartender, "Christ, man - rough night? The hell happ- Oh, wait, wait, you're the guy that just-"

"Please just give me a drink." Percy said.

"Fair enough," the bartender's voice dropped to a mumble, "I'd wanna forget putting myself on Jackspar's hit list too."

"What-?"

Instead of an answer, Percy got a shot glass full of whiskey. "Hardest thing I've got right now," the bartender says, The pilot just nods, whatever mention of 'hit list' getting pushed out of his mind - was more than likely just a joke - as he downed the shot like a lifetime alcoholic. He didn't even really taste anything but fire and maybe the slightest tinge of vanilla to offset the burning of alcohol in his throat, but he's had plenty of alcohol to know that it doesn't matter what you mask the taste with. It's rotten - well, fermented foodstuff.. which is still fucking rotten. It's going to taste weird.

Before the bartender could pour another shot, Percy just asked for the whole bottle.

"That's 60 creds."

Percy nods, "Just.. Just put it on my tab."

An eyeroll from the bartender, but he simply nods as well. Percy then takes a swig straight from the bottle. Then another. Three. Four. Five.. Seven? Fuckin' whoops, I guess. It really didn't matter how much was in his system, it was positively bliss not having to deal with all the anxious thoughts ricocheting all in his skull like they usually did, and he felt oh so physically relaxed. The chatter of the people around him also helped to numb himself to his own thoughts. He could just focus on what was happening immediately, right now. Not the future. Not the past - especially not the past. He couldn't feel eyes on the back of his neck, or hear insults where there were none. Nothing could bring him down in this moment-

Well, except the bottle being empty.

Motherfucker, I'm empty. Percy tried to get any last drops of liquid bliss out of the bottle, but to no avail. As soon as the bartender got close, Percy spoke, "'Ey. Gimme 'nother bottle."

"Ho-kay," the bartender said, looking a bit incredulously at the redhead for a moment, "You sure you're good? You look shit-faced, man."

"Pff, yeah," the pilot replied, "I'm good. So good. Better than good, honestly. Thishit's great."

When Percy was handed the pre-opened bottle, he had not a care in the world for what the bartender was saying - something about "After that, you're definitely done," or some other stupid nagging crap. Percy took a healthy - or, rather, unhealthy - drink from the bottle, accidentally slammed the bottle down - stopping momentarily in the process - and then moved seats to be right next to Harrison. Fuck it, why not get frisky?

Wait. No, not.. Frisky isn't the word, but.. Fuck it. Who gives a shit? Not me~!

"You're.." Percy took a moment to squint, then adjust his glasses.. then just take them off completely. They're not helping for shit. "Aren't you.. Haarr.. Harurur.. Rah. Shit. Is it.. Har-e.. Hurise.. _{Whaddafug is your}- Harry? Is it- Oh, yeah, Harry. Ok. I got it. I gotchu. Yep.. So how the fuck isshu?" Percy let that hang in the air for a moment before he realized he misspoke. With a little laugh, he corrects himself, "Are. I.. I mean are. How are you?"

Kane would’ve responded to the other girl, but the sudden appearance of Percy had gathered his undivided attention.

“Not hammered.” Kane quipped in response, a chuckle leaving his lips as the inebriated NC pilot sat down at the table.

Kane still felt alien to the ‘old guard’ of New Anchorage and his interactions with Percy were fairly limited before today as far as he could remember, not for the lack of interest but rather the lack of time for it – between the training regimen Graham put them through, surviving the sudden attack weeks ago, and the vetting that happened afterward there wasn’t really much energy to get to know the people that were to be his comrades in arms. But hopefully the conference was going to be the end of it, or at least the end of it for a few months. It had been a long time since Kane had been part of a coordinated team and after what they had been through since he joined this outfit he was pretty sure he was going to need to get coordinated if he was to survive at all. That started with scenes like this.

“Not that I blame you. That was ground zero out there.”

A scoff occurred from the orange-haired girl to his left who had sat at the table with him first. “It’s no big deal. Worse fish to fry out in the wilds.”

Percy couldn't keep himself from snorting, sort of waving Kane away as he spoke, "Psh, nah - I mean, yeah, shit sucked ass, but, man.. Man I'm.. I am not fucked up. Do I look fucked up?"

Percy's cheeks, nose, and even the tips of his ears were flushed red; he was having to squint to see; he had a partial grin on his face; he was having to lean into the counter to not fall backwards off the stool. He looked completely fine, if completely fine meant positively wrecked. Percy lets a moment pass before he huffs in an exaggerated way - he wasn't even really sure why he was lying about it.

"Yeeeaah, ok I'm fucked up," he admits, like it was a secret, "Buuut, if I'm gonna be fucked up might as well do it where the alcohol is, amirite!? Actually, yeah, y'know what- Barkeep!"

"Sir, I've already said-"

"C'moonn," Percy interrupted with a whine, "Don't be a dickhead - two bottles isn'uff to get totally hammered! Man, if I was half as drunk as you people think so, I'd be down to my socks.. And I would be-"

"Jesus, ok," the bartender says, merely sliding the bottle that Percy had abandoned back to him - not that Percy really realized that, "Shaddup. We don't need to hear.. whatever you were gonna say."

Alan was not exactly happy with how the entire event went. To say that he was sullen was an understatement; he’d been one of the first of the pilots to go into the bar and find himself a quiet seat away from the others. He didn’t have the patience to deal with Ryn’s barbs right now anyway. His main goal was to just relax and try to get the event out of his mind. It wasn’t that this was the first time it’d been like this. Hell, this was the only way it ever was.

His place had always been around the rust, the dirt and the trash; he was born in it and it seemed that he'd be living the waster til his little flame was snuffed out like all the rest. After all, that's what wasters like Alan were meant for. Chaff to be ground up by the violence and death in the wastes. They weren't soldiers, they weren't guards and they sure as hell weren't heroes. They were just pilots for hire, living and dying by the highest bidder.

He wasn't a soldier like Stein. He wasn't an idealistic fool like Percy. He was just trash. No hard feelings, you're just waster trash.

It was the largest town he’d been to since he left the south, and he was hoping that this would be his chance to make something of himself. Enough time hunting and searching for Gold. Maybe this would be his chance to rest, and rethink his life. Big Crater was one of the largest non-megacities on the divide, and that meant work, contracts and a need for a good pilot. And while the Wolf didn’t seem to be an impressive NC, Alan’s skills made up for the lack of shine.

He was running sorties within a week; and there he’d made enough camaraderie with some of the other pilots to sit down at the bar and drink. Half-hearted smiles, jokes and ribs made him feel that maybe somewhere underneath the skin, there was still a person underneath.

“So, where’re you originally from?” A man who couldn’t have been older than 25 finally said, sitting down next to Alan. The speaker was Greg Dorsey, one of the pilot’s he’d met. Greg was a tall man with broad shoulders, bright eyes and a toothy grin, but beyond that he also made the pilots feel like they had a place in town.

“Atlanta, just outside the city.”

“Oooh, country boy eh?”

“Scrapper.”

“Hell, it fits your mech, Al.” The man laughed, slapping Alan on the back.

They ran sorties for a month before Alan woke up with a start. Several armed guards stood around his bunk, eyeing him. “Check his belongings.” They muttered, as they tore through Alan’s pack.

His heartbeat pounded in his chest as he wildly looked at the men, wondering exactly who, what, why it all these people were. Why?

“Here, in his footlocker!” Alan was snatched upward from his bed, and he felt the cold iron of the metal club dig into his stomach.

Waster trash. Fucking thief. Goddamn rat.

Alan was stripped naked, thrown into a cold cell beaten and bruised. All for what? They said they’d found some ration cards hidden away in his footlocker.

He could try and say he was innocent. But it didn’t matter what he knew. No, in the end they found the cards in his locker, so he was a thief. He was an outsider, so he was a thief. He was a waster, so he was the goddamn thief.

He was locked up for two months, and had to fight tooth and nail after being released to get his belongings and the Wolf back into his care. Contracts dried up. He was shunned everywhere. Dirty, thieving waster. When he finally had enough and packed his gear, Greg Dorsey came to see him.

No hard feelings.

I needed to hide the cards somewhere.

Just a little money on the side.

Every word built the wall higher and higher around Alan. Ultimately, no one in the wastes had friends. In the end, it was always about what someone could get for themselves. It was about profit, money, power, sex, violence…

In the wastes there is no family. No friends. No kindness or rest.

“Alan,”

The soft voice of the woman shook Alan. He’d been sitting there, staring off into space, sipping at his beer for a while now lost in the thoughts and memories of places like this; places he’d sat in and drank and talked and smiled countless times before. Times where people had smiled and patted him on the shoulder and stabbed him in the back.

“Is this spot taken?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Make yourself comfortable.”
“How are you doing? After the questions, I mean.”

”To be honest Miss Eli, I just wish there was a hole I could crawl in and die after that roast.” He sighed and drank again from his beer. “It’s not like it’s a new thing. No one threw any bottles at me, no one screamed waster trash. I mean, as far as public hangings go, it was a pretty calm one.

"So this sort of thing is common for you."

"Doing big grandiose speeches for the regular folk isn't common, no. But being accused of being a thief, a murderer or a vagrant is par for the course of what I've seen from both the Atlantic to the Pacific. Turns out people aren't too fond of mercenaries piloting big, nuclear powered death machines." He shook his head, trying to half-heartedly smile at Eli, but even that looked pathetic.

Eli seemed to settle with that for a moment, sipping away at the glass of water, but her eyes stayed on him. Eventually she replied, slow. "Perhaps when those mercenaries were, not so long ago, beating down their doors, the caution can be understandable."

"I understand the fear. Hell, I know how horrible raiders can be first hand." He closed his eyes after that. "It's just hard to feel like a human being when you're just expecting to be run out when someone misplaces their jewelry."

"We aren't a small settlement concerned with petty theft. As long as you don't point your weapons at these people, you're doing no harm." Then she paused, another drink, clearly thinking her words over. "For what it's worth, your loyalty specifically is not a primary concern. There are other pilots here who will shoulder a heavier burden earning New Anchorage's trust, I imagine you'll find the place warm sooner than you think."

"That's...oddly sweet coming from you, Miss Eli," Alan said, placing his now empty beer down. "I'll say this on trust though: I want to trust the people i'll be going into battle with. Even if it's just trusting them to watch my back and to not let me get killed out there. I may seem like a sadsack, but I've got a lot to do before I kick the bucket."

The girl seemed to preen at the praise in her own, stony way. She mirrored him somewhat, draining a good remainder of her water and setting it down in tandem. "We all have our duty. If Graham is the commander everyone thinks he is, I should hope none of us...'kick the bucket' before we've seen it through. As for the matter of trust,"

She looked back to the bar, to the other pilots present. Her eyes flittered over Harrison Kane, then faster past the clearly-lost Percy, Ryn, and hung just a moment longer on the young Russian girl, before she returned to her drink. Her voice lost its formal edge, briefly. "It would be nice for the pilots to trust each other, yes. Maybe even necessary."

"If we're going to be here for the long haul defending this place, we're going to have to learn to." He looked over to the group as well, and sighed at Percy's antics. "We don't have to like each other. We're not family. But trust-that's good enough for me."

"Were you friends with your old team?"

"We were like..." Alan's face contorted as if he was in serious pain for a moment. And to be honest; he was. His chest tightened as he croaked out the last words. "brothers." They fought together. Lived together. Grew up together. They all died together, leaving him behind.

Eli was quiet for a moment, as if she understood how shaking the memories were to him. She sounded formal again, perhaps because she didn't know how to properly proceed, perhaps because she felt it was the most respectful way to do so, it was unclear. "I am a firm believer in the idea that we choose our family, Alan. The bonds are no doubt stronger, but the loss must be just as much. I can understand the fear of that loss, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He said, biting his lip slightly. The sudden pain from the flesh helped take his mind off the past. "Living in the past doesn't help anyone. Myself or them. Just gotta keep focused on the present now."

"And the future," she nodded, bent on steering the conversation in a different direction. "When I was young this place was little more than a sprawling junkyard. Just another settlement of wasters the world didn't need to care about. Somewhere we got lucky, sure, but it's not about luck anymore. Us, the pilots, we aren't just a shield for New Anchorage, we're its legs now, and its progress depends as much on us as it does anyone sitting in an office. Maybe even more."

"Well, i'll do my part to support New Anchorage, both in protecting and helping it grow. I'm not gonna watch another town get eaten up by raiders or the corporations." Alan tried to smile at Eli. "Nothin's gonna drag me away from my job here." He lied.

And she seemed to believe him, though it would have been evidently too much to expect a smile in return. "It is comforting to hear that. Not just for me, but the people you're protecting will appreciate it as well. Perhaps you should give yourself more credit, with your attitude, you'll be welcome in these streets like anyone else."

"Let's hope so then. I'm always happy to have a change of pace when it comes to folks being nice to me."