---

It felt uncomfortable, as if something was moving beneath his eyes. As if the thought was crawling beneath the surface of his mind. As Lucia was telling her own thoughts in the hopes that it would get somewhere, Michael's hand found his way onto his front pocket. His fingers softly glossed through the cross. The words did certainly haunted his echoes. New faces. Nightmares. Fears. How close to that had he been anyway? Perhaps just a meter away...

His eyes turned up at the sky briefly, then to the huge damaged wall of Amone then back to Lucia. Poor sweet Lucia. It again. The tears he so not wanted to see, even though he always said it was a natural thing to let it out. What a dilemma of a human mind. It tightened his heart, as the blood flow seemed to stop within him. He hated to see those tears. He hated to think what would have been of this Asseni girl if it hadn't been for all of this. What could have been of Jean, Isaac and everyone? Would they smile just like Lucia did just moments earlier? He felt it. It was not just her tears.

Was he scared? After seeing everything? And to live in the fear that he was going to die like a dog in the mud, leaving only a hollow in everyone's heart both at home and those he knew at the front.

"I..."

He hesitated, as he looked down onto his jacket. His words went for naught. It was a step away from reality, close but it was shut off right there. Would he want to say that he knew the feeling, then restate what the other philosophical guy had probably told her a million times? Would she want to hear that? She had come to him willingly here, that meant she had looked upon him as a trusted person whom she could had a shoulder to stand on. He couldn't be so simple-minded.

Michael looked over to Lucia's hand as she cupped them on her chest. The frail hands that matched her now fragile self. The hand which he slowly moved his, which was nearly the size of her own, but was rather stiffer and much colder than her soft warmth.

"...I'm scared too..."

His fear was a lot different. The haunting memory of people dying was just a salt to be rubbed, but the looming scythe that kept him awake for nights wasn't them. The letter in his pocket had gone old, but the ink had burned onto his mind. He wanted to go home. He wanted to cuddle by his mother's bedside. He wanted to reverse time to go back to those days where he, ironically, could look forward to a tomorrow. But despite the variation, it was a fear. It came from the same source, the same hellfire that humanity had built itself and drowned themselves upon.

"There is someone waiting for me back home. She has suffered too much just to give me the luxury of existence." Michael said, his eyes locking onto Lucia's. "I fear everyday, every sleepless night. I fear that I would screw up and a bullet would be in my head. That she would then be living the nights alone without me in this world."

And something began to well beneath his vision. Without his conscious awareness.

"We're both scared. But perhaps we won't when we're together."

Anytime. Anywhere...
@LetMeDoStuff

Clearly, what passed for a gesture for a handshake was lost somewhere in translation. Ines retracted her hand, straightening her posture in accord with Jean, looking the young NCO up and down. He’d seen more than his share, she could tell. You couldn’t really squeeze in a bath in the frontlines, sure, but from where Ines was standing, Jean hadn’t so much as seen more water than a bucket of washcloths in well over a month.

“Tch, look at you. This won’t do.”

She slips off her right glove as she approaches Jean, briefly checking for dust or grime on her hand. A pressed swipe against the corner of Jean’s cheek seemed to dust away a stream of crusted dirt, yet her clearly annoyed, teeth-clenched, frowning demeanor gave away there was much more work to do. Another pass came around, this one harder than the last, passing over the same little cheek corner as she rubbed the dirt off.

Her off hand relieves Jean of his embarrassment, yet her right hand kept busy. Not yet content to go, her mouth frowns, clenching teeth slightly, as a slight pinch along Jean’s lower cheek seemed to grind away any midgen of dust left on his face.

“There. You’ve got people looking up to you, Charpentier. Have to look sharp.” Ines instructs, as if it’s in her place to be giving instructions to him.

Not yet done with him, her hands run along the upsides of his jacket, grasping a corner of his cuffs as she straightens it out, finishing the ironing sequence with a few light brushes as nebulae of dust whirl from the fabric.

---

In the deep corner of her coat pocket, her keys snuggled themselves nicely into a corner, determined to snag on the quips and hooks of loose string a worn-out pocket provided. Arm in arm, hand in hand, Ines could barely maneuver around her two grocery bags to dig around her pocket. As it was, each bag felt so full, so heavy, Ines supported each bottom beneath her forearm and bicep for fear either bag might split, and stubborn as she was, setting the two down was no option when the key kissed her fingertips as she fidgeted about in her search.

Each bag of groceries would have been the week’s pay for Ines, given what she made off of her commission. A Darcsen’s commission, at that. One battle jam one week, then an exhibition match the next was a dangerous creed to live by, triply for any league that had so scant of rulings such as this. Two fights a week. Prize money coined in for 100 francs at Low Silver matches to start. Add on 10% of admissions if you won. Another 10% of all bets if you were the champion, too. 3 to 5 francs a ticket, general admission. Crowd usually drew at least 200 people, more for a big exhibition event. Even a small fight - if Ines could pull off a win - made you win almost double the base pay.

That pay was their bread winnings for the week; hers, and her mother’s. Joan Levesque had a job of her own, seamstressing at a textile factory for pittances a day, and it said something that a woman at the age of 16 was making more than her 34 year-old mother. More by the week, even. Definitely more by the month.

”Finally…”

That damnable key slipped into the scissor clutch of her two fingers, removing it from the gnarled inner pocket. A solid CLUNK resounded through the tenement, signalling her apartment door unlocking. Without the dexterous maneuvering necessary to put it back in it's so snug confinement, Ines barged the door open, stepping forth as she leaned into the heavy-set wooden door.

”I’m home.” Ines announced. Joan lurched an arm upwards, her whole body still covered beneath bedsheets strewn about their floor.

“Hi, Ines,” her mother moans in turn, only barely peeking her head out from behind thick blankets, “Back from the market?”

The entire tenement quaked as the door slammed shut, Ines delivering a forceful punt to its bottom quarter. Turning leftwards, Ines would quickly approach their sole stovetop, setting both bags on whatever flat surface was available with a grunt.

”Got everything.”

Out of her other pocket she plucked a larger, slightly yellowed envelope. Distinct jingling of coin against coin ruffled as she revealed the letter, tapping the corner with her finger.

”Here.” Ines declared, tossing the paycheck to her mother as it landed scant millimeters from her head, “It’s the pay from the last fight.” Joan squints, head tilted up while her strewn arm clamped down upon the envelope.

Ines exhaled sharply. As she leaned over in respite from the day, her faint, weary eyes squinted, narrowing from what she saw beside the stove.

Nothing.

When there was clearly supposed to be something - charcoal or firewood at bare minimum - there instead collected dust. Soot and ash from countless previous meals convened apropos a dune in the desert, yet cinder and clinker would not fuel a furnace. And it was not for lack of resources on their behalf that their place beside the stove remained empty, but therein lay the problem.

”Mom.” Ines queried, ”Where’s the firewood?”

“...what?” a groggy voice echoed back. The young woman stepped up with a stomp to shake the floor to rising dust.

”I gave you money last week. Where. Is. The firewood?”

“...”

Joan slowly rose from the confines of her comforter, embracing Ines to her gaze. She stood a few centimeters shorter than her daughter, and bore a gaunt frame to her offspring’s developed body. Yet in those deep, bag-set eyes, Joan could not yet bear to match her child’s eyes.

“I-...”

“Mom. What did you do?”

Joan intensified her breathing, hurrying while Ines dug her heels.

“Mom...what. Did. You do. With. The money?”

“I...spent it.” A squeak replied.

And then all Hell’s gates burst loose into apartment 416, Fontaine Street.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it! You have been fucking gambling!” Ines roared.

“But I-oh, Ines! You have to lose some to win a lot!”

“Don’t talk to me about winning, when I have to win a fight until someone’s teeth are on a dirty floor in some theater basement, just so you can take 200 francs and, and...and just throw it all away!”

“Ines! Don’t talk to me like that! You know I-”

“If it weren’t for me, I don’t know wher-”

“Don’t tell me that, missy! Where would we be without you this time! Is it in a prison camp in Schwarzgrad digging coal? Or still with the merchant navy? Or are we selling crepes to tourists in Versailles Square? You know, I raised you!”

“Aunt Aline raised me! Not you! Every time you tried to raise me, or come see me, or just be a goddamn mom you weren’t there! Instead, you’re at the bar so stammering drunk, you can’t walk! I have to scoop you off the floor! Every. Goddamn. Night! I have to take care of you!”

“Which one of us is supposed to be the fucking mother?!”

---

The woman had her share of keeping up with people, sure. Those people were likely incapable of even supporting themselves, let alone a daughter who’d, against all odds and all sense of logic, try to become a better woman than themself. She had a sense on Jean. Not much of one, but she could see a few things about him. The way he stared off - how he’d turn his head and be whisked away - that man had seen some things. Hell, Ines knew she was guilty of that. For all the good that trying to focus on the present did. What was the point of focusing on the present when the present consists of being thrown into a meat grinder? He’d started learning how to take his mind off of things, at least.

“Have yourself a puff, mate.” Her left hand motions forward, the fuming cig drifting its smoke into the dilapidated metropolis. The call of another drifted her eyes left, heeding for another introduction. Fingers crossed over, she plucks her smoke between Jean’s fingers, his fingers not quite being an ashtray, but filling the role right now.

Another squadmate called to her, this one a lighthead. She seemed a bit tanned, but how she was shaped…“Don’t stare...don’t stare...don’t stare…”

Love may bloom on the battlefield, they say, but practicality was another concern. Ines could oogle all she wanted to whenever they were out of danger, and somewhere far away from a city locked somewhere between the River Acheron and the Gates to Hell, where those neutral were damned and not even the righteous dared proceed. Where one received endless torment through wasps consuming the flesh and worms gorging the blood, there was no time for romance, for lust condemned the sinner to be flayed apart in an eternal tempest.

She shook the thought from her mind, returning focus to the lighthead. An introduction, of course, and agreement with the Corporal. “Not bad advice…”, she thought. Turned to her partner-in-war, Ines nodded calmly in turn, not particularly focused on either Jean nor Diana.

“There isn’t a good time to volunteer in a war.” Ines answered, almost with arrogance, some might say. Stern and unwavering it was, yet with no accusatory tone. It was more as if she were angry with the state of being rather than the faults of the duo before her, so omnidirectional was her ire. Yet, she would remain seriously faced, shaking her head once at the two.

"We'll get through this. Keep your wits about you, and we'll all make it home." she reassured the two, patting Jean on his shoulder.

Another darkhead came up to her, this one blank in his face. Handsome, sure, but notably flat in expression, professional to the point. Hand extended outward, Ines met his hand with her own, almost grasping his wrist, but shaking with whatever composure she could with the awkward grip. Her eyes motioned around his face quickly; her eyes seemed steady, yet widening, like she was sympathetic. Empathetic, almost. Almost as though she knew about Franz. Almost as if she could be there with him, and she'd known what he was about, and why he was always so serious. A face like his...Ines could see that stare on him, the thousand meter stare. He might have been alright, once. But there might be something left of him. Especially if there was an offer for a cigarette on the line.

The most useful skill Ines could was to suppress her inner disgust, and put on a pleasant demeanor whenever she could. If she had wanted to, Ines would be quite the lady to behold, proper of manner, and ladylike, to boot.

"I hope your skill at fighting is better than your taste in smokes." She replied, picking the cigarette from Franz's hand.

"But it's not hard to improve on garbage." Ines tossed the cigarette away, flicking it in a direction she clearly did not care to check. She reaches to her pouch - eyes steady on Franz - and pulls out a Khandar Cig from her case. That, she held between two fingers, and didn't bother waiting for Franz's approval; she put it in his hand firmly and decidedly. Ines was far from a charity case, of course. Not the type to let herself go without receiving some sort of favor for favors. But maybe this was her way of repaying Franz for his polite gesture, to give him a more exquisite treat for trash on the ground. Maybe she went a bit easy on fellow Darcsens. Maybe she was just a big softie, after all.

"This is the good stuff. Have one. You won't touch another cigarette after having one." the Darcsen reassured her compatriot. And for what was the first time, Ines smiled. More like a grin, of course, sly and stretching to one ear, but Franz earned himself a smile from the woman. If nothing else, that was an accomplishment. More than Jean got. Painfully clear that Ines was not the type for flattery - she was going to approach you, not the other way around - and by what had happened, by approaching her, she almost appreciated his guts.

Stepping back from the group, she paced around, head tilted up through the barebone structures of old Amone. Amidst a sepulchral boneyard of lives long gone, Ines ambulated back, and forth, and back again, almost as if she were inspecting the ruins before her.

“This place is a proper hole…Buildings beyond repair, people pushed out from where they have lived for years, and filled with people who would love nothing more than to put us two meters down a ditch…”

Then...she started to laugh. A grin, a maddening cachinnate resounded through the blasted cityscape as she saw the old made new again.

“I love it here! It’s just like home!”

@LetMeDoStuff @CFProxy @Landaus Five-One

Luke wrinkled his nose once the foul smell of death continued to grow stronger as he marched with his squad, getting a closer view of the horrible scene left behind by the Imperials machine guns. He cringed as his eyes scanned the bullet torn bodies and felt a horrible shiver run down his spine as he would meet the unnerving, lifeless gazes of a few of the poor saps unlucky enough to take part in this pointless charge. Just knowing that every one of these corpses once held the same spark of life that he has was enough to drag Luke’s recent declaration of readiness and optimism through the cold mud. Clearing his throat and peeling his eyes from the bodies, Luke decided that there was no time to spend thinking on something he had no part in, or could control. He felt pity for them, but at the same time grateful that he wasn’t lying among the dead. ‘Better them than me,’ he thought grimly to himself.

Once the dark and foreboding clouds from above began to shower the destroyed lands below them Luke could only scoff with a bitter smile before lowering his helmet slightly. “Oh well that’s always a good sign,” he muttered as it began to look like even mother nature was going to give them a hard time. She always seemed to know when to make things worse. With a small sigh Luke began to inspect the ruined lands around them before noticing just how close some of the people in his squad were. He couldn’t help but chuckle and rolled his eyes. “Geez, of course I get put in the one squad filled with sexually frustrated teenagers,” he said to no one particular, simply speaking his mind aloud as he marched with everyone and letting out a small sigh. “I guess it’s better than nothing. At least I didn’t join the Cavalry, saw where that got them,” he muttered before resting his rifle onto his shoulder. “Though those sabers looked pretty cool,” he admitted before looking forward towards the breach.

He couldn’t help but let his mouth hang open for a moment as they grew closer to the massive walls that surrounded the city. He knew the walls were already big enough in the distance, but now standing right below them made him feel so small. This was the first time he’s ever seen anything like this in person and could only gaze in amazement at such an incredible feat of construction. Though there was one thing even more awe inspiring than the massive walls themselves. The breach within the wall. Just thinking of what kind of firepower caused that massive wall to crumble like that was almost exciting, making Luke hope he’d get to see such destructive firepower in action one day. “Damn, imagine seeing that wall crashing down towards you,” he chuckled before letting a grin spread onto his face. “Wonder if any of the Imps are buried under all that,” he wondered, his grin growing just a bit.

Luke was soon torn away from the impressive display of destruction as a new face join the squad. From what he could tell she looked to be a Darcsen. This brought a small frown to his face since most Darcsen he’s met in the past have left Luke with a rather sour taste for the people. Lying, stealing, causing trouble, it's all he's ever seen from them. It's like they're annoying bugs that keep showing up to make trouble. Luke even remembered when a string of break ins came over his home town and how they had ransacked his foster parents shop, breaking more things than stealing them. Luckily they were caught by an angry mob and it was only then revealed to be a small group of criminals that were mostly made up of Darcsens. Luke never did find out what exactly happen to them, but last he saw of them was when they were being dragged out to the edge of town after getting a nasty beating, never to return to cause trouble. They’ve always either caused bad luck or just been a real thorn in his side. He shook off the thought and gave a small sigh, knowing he’d have to get use to it now that they were fighting together. He’d fight and die with them like any other soldier in this war, but he didn’t have to like them.

She looked like a mean one thanks to that glare in her eyes, but Luke didn’t feel intimidated since he’s seen scarier looking people in boot camp. Just remembering the look of death his drill sergeant gave him everyday sent shivers down his spine. With a final shutter from his nightmarish training Luke watched as everyone made their introductions with the new girl now known as Ines and arched a brow as she began to laugh with what seemed to be joy, or eagerness from their surroundings. Luke couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement as he sat down on a pile of rubble and looked to Ines with an arched brow. “Well at least you feel at home, that’s what’s important,” he grinned before resting his rifle onto his leg and let out a small sigh. “Though if you’re homes as much of a shit hole as it is here than it must be a real mess of a place,” he stated with another chuckle as he glanced in another direction, his smile dulling slightly as his tone grew a bit colder. “The perfect place for you’re kind really,” he muttered, not caring if his almost venomous statement was heard by her or anyone else.

@Yam I Am

---

Before Reyna left to go see Michael, she answered Diana's question. "What we make? Just industrial machinery and the parts of it. Dad always loved machinery and progress." A smile creeped on Reyna's face as she remembered her father: a good man and a loving father. A philanthropist that told Reyna to be humble with the less fortunate, for he also started as one of them. It took his entire life to build Hall Industries to the way it is now. Anyone could rise the top through perseverance and hard work, but they did not have to. They needed to rise up enough to achieve their dreams and do what they want in life.

However, that was not what Reyna was thinking when when both Diana and Jean made their comments to her after she teased Jean bashfully when he held her hand. Diana's comment of her looking cute as she blushed and Jean asking why she can't handle a little handhold. Truthfully, both combined comments made her laugh more but embarrassed her more at the same time. She didn't know what to say to either of them, instead dismissing herself to see Michael, who wanted to see the sappers anyway.

Upon reaching Michael, she found out what Michael wanted and was quite happy she answered his call: he was scribbling a map that could possibly be used in the tunnel system the sappers will have to go in eventually. Reyna herself was not artistic, but she could already tell that Michael had the practice of a well-educated individual. Giving her the piece of paper that could become precious, Reyna gave a small smile to the short man "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Upon returning to her part of the group, they continued on to the inside of the city. Jean once again talked to her and tried to tease her again. Though Reyna felt the blush coming to her cheeks and her bashfulness said otherwise, she had to reply to Jean with a small giggle. "J-Jean? Did anyone ever tell you you're a big f-flirt?" She meant this playfully of course, but Reyna nodded to Jean's next comment about the city. "Yeah, it is a shame. It would have been a nice place to visit with mom, dad and my brothers." From what she heard, Amone was quite the beautiful place, somewhere she would have loved to visit when there was no war.

Despite the destruction around her, however, Reyna had a small amount of confidence inside of her as they met up with another soldier, Ines by the looks of it, and started making her way through the breach. Although nearly forgetting about the cavalry charge, she won't ever forget it. Instead, despite her happiness and energy her heart was steeling itself for what was to come as she observed everyone around her. Stay strong, Reyna. No matter what happens...you can do this. A random thought came out of nowhere, however, as her eyes looked at Diana. Now that she looked at the Vastergoth woman, Reyna recalled hearing a small bit from Diana's hushed mutter. Something about an Astra. Although she didn't remember everything that was said, something told her that there was more to Diana than was meeting the eye. However, she also had the feeling that it was personal and not something to pry about.

@LetMeDoStuff@Conscripts@Landaus Five-One

Jean burned a bright red when Reyna referred to him as a flirt. One of the many issues Jean had was socially identifying whether or not he was actually being flirty when he meant to, though for Reyna part of him was glad and embarrassed that she realised his was intentional. He turned away with a shuddering look of emotional rush, breathing to himself. Inhale. Exhale. It was a small process of calming him down as his heart raced from the top of his head to the very bottom of his toes. He'd never bantered or even flirted with a girl to this physical extent before, not even with Kalisa. That in itself was something that made him nervous. It dashed his entire progress of holding confidence in his flirting, but Jean simply insisted on smiling in complete and utter anxiety. Her giggle. Oh how he yearned to hear that again. It was almost...now Jean rarely used the word beforehand, but it was adorable. Jean couldn't help describing it as such. It was pure, vastly comforting and exhilarating to listen to. Every moment she spent giggling away it reminded him of a girl who'd once been there to laugh with him before, however this time there was more of an attraction than a sibling camaraderie. Her antics kept him on his toes and drove his mind away from the disasters of the war, only half an hour earlier, for when they began to get closer and closer to the breach in the City's walls.

As they got closer, Jean's attention was temporarily driven away from the glory of Reyna when Ines started to wipe some of the corroded and dry dirt from his cheeks. Jean froze for a second, feeling a strange motherly complex being thrown upon him whilst she attended to his dirt-ridden face. Part of him looked completely taken back by the lack of hesitation in her action, expressing such strange concern for his appearance. He stared at her face as she concentrated, wiping away the patches until it looked somewhat presentable. Jean was slightly surprised by her action, having realised that this was the first major time someone had gone out of their way to clean him. There were barely any cleaning facilities. Only several stops along the train journey proved effective in watching their bodies and chests, but not their heads and faces. Jean retracted himself from her motherly attendance and flinched slightly, a confused and surprised grin plastered onto his face.

"U-Uhh...Private Ines, why...uhm...you don't need to. Really...i-it's uhm...N-Now don't get the wrong idea or...oh God, why am I always the child..." Jean gave up in his fragile attempts of dismissing her acts, dropping his head and sighing heavily. Soon after, she plonked a small cigarette into his hands, almost ordering her superior to hold the smoke to his mouth and to take it. Without a second thought, Jean quickly flung it away with fear, having been brought up in an environment strict on its laws of tobacco and other recreants, depressives and more. Not to mention, with his isolated childhood, the sight of one being placed between his hand caught him by surprise, also contributing to him throwing it away with such instinct.

Soon after, she retorted to his advice, stating about how there was never a good time to enter war. She was entirely right, and Jean believed this wholeheartedly without a doubt. War was something based around deluded sacrifice. The ages of honourable sacrifice had now long-gone and made way for the new era of horrors, extremities beyond the nature of human civilised conflict as previously practised in the world before then. For a moment, once more, Jean's mood almost completely changed. He looked down, fumbling his hands together and tugging at his own sleeves in a worried fashion. Even with the new uniforms, Jean had the habit of shifting in his clothing whenever he lost himself in deep thought. He began to reminisce of the weeks before, where he was forced to leave the ungrateful safety of the muddy trenches to charge up the violent hill of suffering. The war had descended into chaos within the first battle. Even with Amone, proving to hold more mobility and less statuary combat, he was frightened that the slaughtering would just continue. No longer were they soldiers, but instead Jean everyone, himself included, as underappreciated cattle fed into the grinders of the Imperial War machine. So far, it had taken so much away from him in such a little amount of time. And with that side thought, his face almost became broken, shattering and dropping all sense of happiness as he began to think over the war. It had claimed his sister, the only girl so far that Jean could relate to with dignity. It created a whole in his heart. Then his parents were brutally murdered by riots, Darcsen pursuits in his home city of Liege. It created a whole in his life. There was nothing to go back to. There was never anything other than the barren nether-realms of humanity's mistakes. Jean was a victim, and a victim he would remain. His hands trembled and shook with anxiety as he placed one on his helmet, taking it off despite being out in the field. No tears spewed from his eyes yet, but the almost empty stare of his once confident self began to show. The real Jean was starting to show up once more.

And then, in that moment, he ticked. What caused and spun the sudden tick, one could've asked? Well it came in the form of conversation he heard. A soldier, nearby, by the name of Luke spoke in derogatory tones. During Ines' humorous comment on the landscape, the bigotry the man showed around the Darcsens indicated that these were people of lowly stature, unimportance and justified negligence. Jean suddenly turned, a strange and unseen anger suddenly fuming within his face. He pushed past Ines and moved forward, zeroing in on Luke's laxed comment and body. Without thinking, his hands lunged outwards and tightly grasped around his collar, pushing him backwards until he had a strong grip on the shirt. Jean had never done anything like this before, ever in his life. And as he held onto the collar, Jean stared at his face with a strange anxiety and anger blended together. Finally, he began his inconceivably out of character attempt to speak his mind towards the oppressive nature he presented.

"I'm sorry, Private. I don't know who you think you are, wandering into a squad all high-and-mighty with a bloody superiority race complex on your mind, but this isn't going to fucking stick around, you hear? How about you treat some of us, your newfound allies, with respect before someone grabs their rifle and...and..." Jean froze for a second. His mind took over his instinct once more as he suddenly began to let go of Luke's collar, shuddering with his own hands as he looked back down. Quite visibly, his arms and hands shuddered in the cold and out of regret, anxiety and unfathomable stress. Jean entirely meant what he had to say, but he could've never found the confidence or real sense of aggression to have ever said that by his own will. It triggered the inner defensive mechanisms of an eternity's oppression, launching out as some form of ballistic barrage of words upon the newfound soldier. He looked back at the boy, Luke, with a sensation of fear for what he'd done. How was he so weak, so fragile as to fear his own ability to stand up for himself? How was he so weak that the thoughts of the war were barrelling him down to nothing but vermin? How could he be the soldier everyone kept wanting him to if he couldn't control the emotions that plagued his personality? He began to step back quickly, looking down to his feet as he turned around, trembling his final response. "S-Sorry...that...I...I wasn't...I just couldn't really-...L-Let's just go."

Jean pushed past the majority of the Squad, making his way to the front and avoiding eye contact with anyone who was around him. The stress of the upcoming battle and the trauma of Hill 58 had seriously wounded and spilt the blood of his spiritual containment. He hadn't been able to contain the emotions of his own personal beliefs and irrationally lashed out at Luke. Whilst some could call it rational due to the bigotry present, Jean still found himself on the back-foot, having taken the foreground of the group without uttering another word. With a shuddering hand, he placed his helmet back onto his head and continued the regrettable journey into Amone, making sure everyone was still behind him.

The breach in the wall engulfed them. He couldn't tell how high and wide the diameter of the gaping hole was, all he needed to understand was that it was large enough for them all to fit in. Jean, alongside his squad of Federation and Oceanic soldiers, entered, being one of the many squads to have already set foot within the city as acting reinforcements. As soon as Jean's right foot landed onto the stone paving of the roads, located on the opposite end of the breach, he felt a surge of emotion and imagery flash through his head. He imagined the piercing bullet of a marksmen or machine gunner breaking through his skull and ending it all, then and there. At least by that quick and easy death, Jean would no longer have to fear the life he had been cursed with. During the times of silence, the Francian would constantly get strange illusions of bullets whizzing above his head, just like they had at Hill 58. The feeling of intensity and ferocity always brought unease to his sleeping patterns and made him fear for his own existence every step of the way. The war was a cruel one, one that could end a thousand lives within the space of a single day. He still hadn't said another word to his Squad since his anxiety outburst towards Luke, and had a hard time blocking out any questions or calls to his name. Instead, he did what he thought people expected of him: to act like a soldier.

Not long after they had finally surpassed the breach in the wall, several storied complexes of Francian-styled infrastructure littered and towered above them from every conceivable angle. They were currently in a light shadow, mixed of both the lack of sunlight and downpour of rain from above, filling the streets with endless amounts of puddles and grime. The assembly of squads and platoons beginning to spread out down different streets laid before them. There must've been around three hundred individuals, all soldiers, within the complex they'd arrived in. The space of the interception point was rather open and held a lot of breathing room, despite the overshadowing of the buildings. Some of these towering flats were breached with artillery impact spots littered across them. Others had gaping holes in their walls where explosives and potentially past combat had taken place, making some of them look far more abandoned than the city was presumed to be. At the front of their expedition into Amone, Jean moved forward, seeing a heavily dressed officer stand around, giving orders to many squads. The rain had picked up extremely hard and the sounds of the downpour were quite drowning, sometimes making Jean's ability to think difficult. It was a distraction, and the rain itself was far worse than that of Hill 58's precipitation. At least there wasn't mud for them to sink in this time.

Jean approached the officer, who'd been identified as another Captain. For once, it was a Darcsen Captain. It was strange that this one was willing to go into the City, despite the refusal from command to let Middleton join the siege. Perhaps this wasn't a Captain of any public importance, as far as the civilian war effort was displayed. The two met closely and Jean gave a semi-weak salute to indicate that they were reporting in. The Captain leaned closer and shouted over the heavy rain, ensuring that both him and Jean could understand one another.

"Corporal, what Squad are y'ah with?" The rain had completely soaked the overcoats of everyone's uniform, but at least the chest and legs were relatively dry on the undershirts. Even so, the sound of his shouting took Jean by no surprise. It was irritating to have the elements cut off what you had to say.

"Corporal Robin-Charpentier, Sir. Squad 1, 9th Platoon of the 15th Atlantic Rifles. Under Captain Middleton's command." The Darcsen Captain raised his hand, as if to tell him to hold on for just a minute. Despite the rain, he quickly began to flip through some recently laminated papers, a rare technological advancement for paper management in harsh conditions that was only recently introduced in the coming months of the offensive. On the papers were a list of squads and their assigned objectives, indicating that the well-organised and structured offensive of Amone would at least instruct them of where to go.

"Got y'ah name here. You're on the demolitions duty for the tunnel system, lad?" Jean nodded, the weight of the rain beating down upon his helmet consistently. "Aye, that's a hell of a long way to go, Corporal. Without resistance it could take about four hours to reach there with all your gear, but word has it the Innies are everywhere within this pocket. Can't tell how long it'll take you, but I'll be damn proud if you even get past the first street."

"S-Sir?" In confusion to what he meant, Jean nervously questioned the motives behind his strange wording.

"Amone is a shithole, Son. Unlike anywhere else there's no clear indication where to point your guns. It's not like there's a clear frontline, just endless pockets of either Federation or Imperial resistance dotted all over. Apparently yesterday there was an entire Platoon moving as one down the Eastward streets and were obliterated from all angles, soldiers shooting at them from the houses above and the streets in front and behind them. Amone may have technically been under siege for some time, lad, but the Imperials have mastered it better than everyone."

Jean looked behind himself helplessly at the squad following him. No one, including himself, were exactly a crack team of specialised soldiers bred for war, prepared for this major conflict before anyone else. Those who'd been fighting in wars before the breakout of this great war were mostly dead from the first year, the year where a huge chunk of veteraned soldiers were slaughtered in the wake of new tactics. The rain was beating against them heavily now, forming more puddles to drizzle down the built-in drainage system of Amone. Everything was indeed a shithole, the Captain was not wrong there. To think that they could be attacked from any angle, instead of from a widespread charge or directional artillery cannon made him fearful more. What if...What if Reyna got hurt? What if anyone got hurt, or worse died? Jean wasn't prepared to deal with more death than he already had, but that clearly wasn't going to be the case.

Without warning, another Private emerged from behind the Captain with a crate full of strange contraptions and blunt objects. He clearly and strongly saluted his superior before standing aside, allowing the Captain to explain what was going on. He picked out a large club, lined with spikes and braille-like contours of metal all across it. After inspecting it, two other Privates joined the pack and began to hand out all of the strange, asymmetrical blunt weaponry around them. Everyone got a different kind of weapon, or was at least offered them. Those who didn't want it were strongly persuaded otherwise, though the attempts of persuasion weren't always able to convince the soldiers to take the weapons if they so chose to.

"Sad to say it, but this ain't your usual trench warfare, boys and girls. Our Sappers in the base-camp outside of Amone have been making anything handheld a lethal tool of bludgeoning, stabbing or cutting away at the Imperial opposition. According to the lads who've been in this City for months before we arrived, they're more effective than just having a knife. Plus if you lose your service knife rifles aren't ideal for CQC in most situations, but at least it's enough to get the job done." Even with the good intentions for Squad 1's survival, Jean awed upon the blunt and serrated melee weapons with fear. Had the conflict really devolved into something so medieval and primitive already? When the private approached him, a flat wooden club with no sharp edges was shown before him, blistered with a coil of barbed wire wrapped around its head. Was this seriously built for killing a man? Had this simply been some form of tool for the regular citizen improvised into a bludgeoning tool? It made him feel sick in the stomach, something that hadn't occurred since Hill 58's slaughter. "As for you, Corporal, seeing as you are acting as the IC of Squad 1, you can take this. There's some ammunition in this pouch for it, should be better for the closer engagements."

As it was placed into his hand, Jean felt the lightness and agility surge through him when he gripped the weapon. Far more compact, with a chamber centred clearly in the middle and a cocking hammer engraved with someone else's name, he'd been handed a regular officer's service revolver. Revolvers were always given out to those leading raids, operations and more. They were low in numbers and weren't being fully serviced for all soldiers, only those who held some importance in the command chain. One of the Privates attached the holster to his right hip, whilst also tying up the wire that would go around Jean's wrist in use. Another placed the ammunition pouch onto his webbing, ensuring it wouldn't fall off in the rain either. Fear engulfed the poor and anxious Francian, knowing that they were simply kitting him out with more ways to end more lives. What tragedy had fallen upon Europa to cause this?

Jean broke the barrel down, splitting it from its fixed position to reveal the six-chamber holding cell for the bullet casings. He looked between the Captain and his newfound tool of destruction. Simply, the Captain nodded as if to tell him reloading was the next thing to do. Water droplets carefully circumnavigated his handgun as one by one he began to place the bullets into its chamber. Once all six had entered the revolving house for its shells, he snapped the barrel back into position and slid the gun into his holster, his hand still trembling from the thought of what damage he could do with such a devastating and agile weapon.

The Captain looked at him in the airs, glaring through the dim rain and pittering of precipitation. Jean prepared to conclude the conversation with a salute, but the officer in question had more to talk about in terms of orders. He adjusted his helmet, obviously having swapped out the ceremonial officer's cap for something more practical in the field. He raised his arms and pointed a gloved finger down to their right, showing an assortment of twisted streets darting in and out of rubble. Not many soldiers had yet gone down there.

"Down that street should help with going in the right direction. Won't be easy, Corporal, but as long as you prepare to go from room to room, building to building and street to street, you'll find your way. Squad 7 from 4th Platoon might be down there too. Don't get caught in the open, and don't get yourself trapped. Oh, and watch out for civilians, I know that there is a neutral pocket somewhere along there offering shelter to soldiers of both sides. I personally think it's a trap, but you should focus more on the mission, for it could take a week with the fighting we're facing. Dismissed, Corporal...And good luck." Both of them saluted one another, the rain suddenly being joined by another deafening blast. Around 400 metres to their left, behind the buildings and more, an assortment of small bursts of fragmentation and gunfire could be heard echoing throughout the stormy atmosphere. Another pocket had just received its ultimate demise, on either side. "Now go, before the Imperials catch this rendezvous off guard."

Jean, albeit with extreme caution and anxiety, turned towards Squad 1. They'd all had the chances to accept or deny their makeshift weapons and now the Corporal himself had the additional firearm. In the density of the rain storm, he raised a hand to indicate and synchronise all of those under his command. He held the rifle tightly in the hand he raised and began to start moving, getting ready to move at a steady yet fast pace in order to avoid being caught stagnated in the bloody streets of Amone. Even with his hesitation and anxiety, Jean shouted loud and clear enough for them to hear, keeping a substantial confidence in his tone.

"Squad 1, we're heading out! Keep your gear tightly checked, don't lose focus and be prepared for combat. T-This might be a hard shell to crack, this time." With Lucia following closely behind, Jean led the way first, beginning with a light jog. Every boot-step echoed and splashed the rippling puddles beneath his feet, the thumping of army boots traversing the streets. They'd already covered enough distance to disappear from the rendezvous point they'd arrived within, separating them from the line of sight of their allies. Their rapidity and quick progression was something Jean had been advised to. Stay in one place for too long and you lose your head. Stay in line and-

It was a frightful and horrifying sound. The awfully confusing noise suddenly forced Jean to stop and turn around, rifle raised with instinctive fear for the lives of those around him. Now closer than before, the repeating sound of gunfire spreading and murdering those they'd just been talking to. Echoes of the male and female screams breached the sense of peace that had previously been left behind in the breaching gates of the city. Had they already been routed, the newcomers? Jean started to wave his hands, silently ordering the troops in his squad to move behind him and take up more defensive positions. A strange sound that was reminiscent of a motor engine roared once the machine gun fire ceased to exist. It was beginning to rapidly head towards them, spreading its speed and ferocity quickly. Was it a truck? What was it? Before the mist and street corner could reveal it, a shot quickly shot past Lucia's head and hit the stone beside them. It had come from behind.

Lucia screamed, falling over in panic as Jean turned quickly, seeing Imperial soldiers running towards them. The first shot had lost their element of surprise, but without any time to reflect the streets were now being assaulted from either direction. Jean's heart raced as he raised his Longfield and aimed. The infantry behind were just under a hundred metres away, giving him a rightful line of sight. And so, Jean fired the first shot, grabbing Lucia by the arm pushing her into Michael.

"Get into the fucking buildings! Left of us! Gunners go to the right-side buildings and take Private Gwyn with you as a sapper. Gwyn, set up some small bits of cover, block off the entrances to the rooms behind you and brace for potential room clearances. Gunners, lock down the street. Everyone else, with me to the left! F-Fucking move!" The sound of gunfire began to ring out in quick succession. Bullets skimmed the stone and barely missed those who were still darting for cover. Jean managed to get off another shot, this time seeing his target fall to the ground without any time to react. A few of the Imperial comrades that escorted his kill stopped, running back to pull them into cover, to which Jean, regrettably, fired and hit one of his rescuers again. Whilst his soldiers began to dart into the house, he looked back the other direction to realise the motor was now upon them. He saw it. Lined with armour, thickened with the sheets of metal and carriages started to slowly drive towards them. Atop of them was an emplacement of machine guns, mobile and fully armoured from the bottom and sides. Immediately, upon seeing the Squad, it opened fire. Jean darted for the inside of the tall apartment complex to his left, hoping the soldiers to his right also got there fine. "F-Fucking hell...is...is this it?"

So...in an effort to try not to intrude on Michael and Lucia's heart-to-heart by accident...or Jean's ability to flirt with everyone who breathed...and to make sure he didn't overhear Freya talking like...that, Isaac made some smalltalk with his fellow Gunner. He had elected to coordinate with and trust the girl hefting the rapid-fire weapon, but he hadn't really heard all that much about her. It was also to get both of their minds off of the obvious mess that use to be a town that loomed before them. Seemed fair, and speaking OF fair, Britta was invited to start.

"Any particular reason it has to be me?"

"Because people have been hearing little tidbits about me, already."

"Not altogether that much, and you volunteered those nuggets of info."

"Uhh, ladies first, then?"

"A gentleman proceeds for a lady's honor."

"I'm just a simple farmer, ma'am."

"Me too. Well, farming and milling."

"Livestock, and domesticating wolves."

Their conversation had started out light-hearted and teasing, but now Britta glared at him.

"You're making that up.

"I'm really not. I was delivering the latest batch for use when I was taken. ...I miss them. Not just my family, but my pack of wolves."

Britta remembered, back at the site of Hill 58, the two of them heading for the newly-captured position, Isaac getting a look on his face and muttering 'Memories of home' by way of explanation. Everybody who hadn't volunteered for combat was torn from everything they loved - friends and family, their normal daily life, and all. So, Isaac wasn't kidding at all about the wolves, and...to be honest...you could kind of see it in him. He had the right stare, the quiet attitude that could suddenly grow fierce at a moment's notice, and certainly that desire to look out for others. They'd taught each other things, hadn't they, during the time he raised his pack... Isaac described what it was like, training those wolves. It was dangerous, but he made it sound like a labor of love. He mentioned these things, and about his recruitment, so...

"I joined to relieve my parents of the costs needed to feed and clothe me. We'd been having a bad year. It was the least I could do. I'd always wanted to travel...but I'd hoped it wouldn't have to be like this. I'll handle myself, don't you worry. I just don't like the circumstances of it all."

"I guess my going on about how much I hate recruitment officers doesn't help."

"No, I understand completely. The work that either of our families do is important. It's just the circumstances that change it."

"Thanks, Britta."

"No problem."

There was a pause, then...

"So, were you ever bit-"

"You know the answer to that."

So, in the meantime, Jean was getting along with the newest recruit (and newest Darcsen). Good god, it was true. He was going to slowly pull in every single woman who ever lies on him with his supernatural powers. He might not be aware of them, but Jean Robin Charpentier was fucking magic. Ines was a bit strange, alternatively being friendly and calling Amone a hole...and reminding her of home. Granted, right now, Amone WAS a hole, but it wasn't the town's fault. It was just in the path of devastation, the new battlefield they were gonna have to romp around in. Still, remarks from Ines were a might bit fresher than Luke mouthing off. He took a helluva lot of opportunity to do that, and in his latest...well...he decided he needed to tell off a Darcsen, when his immediate NCO was a Darcsen. This, Isaac mused, was a bad idea even when you consider how much of a nice guy Jean was. His official dressing down of Private Godfrey was NOT kind. In fact, you might say he wasn't so much AS dressed-down as stripped naked by the Corporal's outburst. He dropped an F-Bomb and came pretty close to threatening Luke over this, although he backed off and said that this really wasn't him, the way he does things. Isaac, however, didn't mind following up, so as he stopped by Godfrey.

"Luke, we're not different people in this damn war, so stow the Darcsen hate or any other kind you can think up at the moment. You don't have to like it, but you do have to shut up about it."

They continued on, Isaac looking out for their surroundings like a Gunner should, watching the squad when Britta had eyes on their surroundings. That pretty much worked in shifts. He hated the whole Darcsen thing. It's already been said. Jean could make General and still there'd be people looking down on him. It was tragic. They entered Amone and...what a shame. It was once beautiful. Now...this place could've been immediate havoc for all, but as it happened...their breach was still taking them to Federation soldiers Anything could have happened between orders and their appearance here, but things were - at least, currently - looking up. Well...despite the rain. They met an officer now, and he was one reason why he was glad he'd told off Luke where Jean had stopped. He was a Darcsen, as well, and they didn't need more trouble than they all deserved, at this point. Isaac would've been fine talking with this guy, but Jean was in charge and he could certainly handle things here. Things weren't good. To sum up: The Imperial soldiers could be anywhere, and it was going to take them a while to get where they were going...leaving them ample opportunity to assault them from a large host of locations.

At least with all of us taking this rain in the face, we're gonna end up smelling decent enough.

Couldn't say for sure what it would do for visibility or hearing on either side. Dampen it, most likely. Get it? Alright, it was a bad joke, but it was also true. Detection would be harder on BOTH sides. Oh, and there was another thing: They would be taking on a few new items, at least one each. Extra weapons, because apparently trench knives didn't cut it outside of said trenches. That was a shame. He rather liked his knife. It was well-balanced and keen, plus the knuckles were spiked. Still, they were very insistent, so when it came time for Isaac, he looked at something that he thought was a hatchet, but was called a prybar. Funny, he thought a prybar would be a metal rod with a wedge. Go figure. He shoved that in his belt as Britta pulled a serrated blade out and shoved it into a spare knife holster. Well, I say into. It was a bit long, so it was more like shoving it through. Can't just keep something like that in your belt. It'll cut the thing apart. The captain gave them their directions and told them to move out quickly. He couldn't have the Imperials spotting everyone here and having a feeding frenzy of bullets. Fair understanding, just as they had to understand that going through this half-destroyed town was gonna be like going through a thick forest. Sorry, folks. 'Concrete Jungle', as a term, hasn't been invented yet. Anyway, they were soon getting on their way. They needed to get to those tunnels, hopefully with as little interference as possible.

Oh, what's that? Spoke too soon? God dammit...

There was gunfire! Oh, there was gunfire, alright... It was a machine gun from somewhere, and it was taking purchase of some of the people from the gathering. Well, points to the Captain! He was certainly right about that! Already a better commanding officer than Middleton! Too bad he might be dead now... Both Isaac and Jean immediately signaled everybody to take cover and keep low and away from whoever just fired. There was...some kind of an engine noise coming from that. Well, that clinched it. Someone had taken their machine gun tour on the road. AND, judging from the shot from the other direction, they had coordinated to take them from both sides. Jean opened up, Isaac and Britta followed up, in both directions That would make them think for a bit, those of whom that managed to avoid eating a succession of bullets. After all, it was still a street. It made it hard to avoid things in such confined places. The only problem was that Isaac could've sworn he heard bullets hitting a wall. Damn mist, screwing with their aim... Jean gave out his orders, though, and then they saw that it really WAS A wall!

Good freakin' grief, what the hell is THAT suppose to be?



It was a vehicle, obviously, but one that had had steel welded to it - or it was just made out of it - which would make for a great deal of difficulty in trying to hit whoever was making use of it. You have to appreciate the the fact that they took the time to work on such a thing... Well, for maybe two seconds. Then, it's duck-and-cover time as the thing spat more fire. It wasn't anymore accurate than a machine gun nest was, but then it didn't have to. He was a gunner, so he knew. You just had to open fire enough, and eventually nothing's moving anymore. Well, we can't have that. As a distraction, Isaac fired a quick burst of his machine gun at where he thought people had to see out of. It was nothing but slits in that thing, highly unlikely he'd get a bullet through, but it'd raise noisy hell and spark, so the machine gun operator would stand back a second.

"Alright, everyone who's with me, with me now!"

He'd heard Franz ask Ines to flank the machine, which meant following him, as well. Okay, that meant they would have both Gunners, a Sapper, and a Shocktrooper. Excellent. It wasn't sure WHY that was excellent, but he was working on it, dammit! Isaac got moving into the building on the right, the door being of little consequence in the face of his full-speed self, even if it HAD been locked, which it wasn't. He shouted for everybody to get in and GET DOWN, because no-doubt some gunfire was gonna follow. The one thing that armored thing couldn't do was follow them inside, so it would have to guess where they were if it wanted to harm any of them.

"Alright, now does anybody have anything that can take out a wheel? Because I can't help but notice it needs those to move!"

He was saying this while he and Britta were prepping machine guns to take out anyone on foot that they didn't want to be footing around. Already, he saw someone getting bold. A quick blast and a duck-outta-sight later, that guy was alot less bold. Also dead. After the operator of the machine gun behemoth was done raising hell for shooting said soldier, Isaac cleared his throat.

"Like I was saying, either we have something right this second to slow it down, or we don't and we're covering our people to get them the hell out of this. That last part's mine and Britta's task, by default. Watch our backs and if you've got any nifty plans on handling that steel-plated jackass, lemme know!"

He got back to work, switching back between himself and Britta. By alternating, they wouldn't be sure where the gunfire was gonna come from, at least, wouldn't know where to cast their reprisal. This day was hell, already...

“The lion does not concern himself with the opi-”

SMACK!

A little welcoming gift for Luke on his way up from the rubble pile. Fighting with one’s fists closed was considered using a lethal weapon in the eyes of the Francian authorities, so it was that an entire fighting style was devised around the concept of an open hand. And boy, did it show. The sonorous SMACK resonated throughout the bellowing streets like a warning shot, to say nothing of the blistering red handprint now painfully present on Luke’s face. If only the woman had put more effort in, she would have knocked the poor sod clean into unconsciousness.

Ines glared down at Luke, not casting her full facial view, no, just slighted enough to dare him to gain her full intrigue. In a hostile land full of Imperials who would love nothing more than to bring the Darcsen woman to bleeding submission, she questioned if Luke wanted to be her biggest threat.

“You should know better than to attack someone in their home environment Don’t make me remind you again.” She thought, that inkling almost perfectly transcribed in her revolted bodily posture. Only an idiot could miss so clear an enunciation.

She looked forward to smacking Luke again.

But something was oddly - darkly - correct about Luke’s underhanded comment. What remained of the city of Amone eerily reminded her of the Calais Ports in Ostend’s poorest districts. Pile after pile of rummaged tenements and decrepit factories, barricaded warehouses and soot-brimming derelicts, firetraps patiently awaiting their incendiary ends. People made their homes and livelihoods around a city block with centuries and centuries of cobbled slums built on top of one another. Many structures were still carved from layered cobblestone from a bygone era, testament to their sturdy construction. The streets in many places did not have proper paving, or even cobblestone beneath them. Dirt tracked around the district, disrepaired roads laying to the side as earth and water pools took their place. And everywhere Ines gazed, she saw naught but a mirror of her home. The buildings were worse off, certainly, yet...all carried a faint familiarity that came with poverty, as if they had only been moved ever so slightly South.

Another Darcsen - someone important, by the wear of his clothing and the insignia on his sleeve, busied himself with talking to Jean; What Ines took from this was that it was none of her concern to be worrying about the captain or his crew. Yet when they brought over a crate full of weaponry, that was her cue to follow over. A veritable assortment of savage armaments, beckoning from a more carnal sense of warfare.

“Just like home.” Ines mused internally. If you listened carefully, you almost heard her snicker at the idea.

Bats and hammers, knives and bricks, that is what fed the constant struggles - for control, for reputation, for survival - in Ostend. Firearms were aplenty in the Mad City, of course, yet there was something so satisfyingly intimate about a gang with antiquated arms that garnished their antediluvian attention. The pile of improvised weapons, then, struck an all-too-familiar cord in their display. She was instructed to take one - and Ines would argue no further to such a display of generosity - but to what did she find most suitable for the urban march?

---

Desperation forced the hands of men greater than compulsion to love, to live, to mate. It was the greatest motivator, turning the minds of men into servants of circumstance, no matter what the bounds of rationality told them. The occupants of the alley felt it mutually, for it was desperation that kept them going, and desperation that blurred the boundary between conscience and primal urge, murking the memory to haze.

Two beaten fighters had their kerfuffle in the mist-laden alley, just down to the count. Ines was one of them. Her opposite? He had a knife. A shining, argent beam against the moonlight of the evening, canted in sword grip as its’ curved grip caved just so slightly toward her. He wasn’t letting her go easily. Not without a fight. Not without something to prove. If you couldn’t even mug a Darcsen, you may as well have hung yourself then and there.

Oh, did it seep from her arm, all right. Even through the adrenaline, Ines could feel the gash widen. Almost felt like it went straight through into the bone, almost like she could feel her skin peeling open with every move she took. Her teeth bore down all the while, sonorous kiai while she fought through the pain, trepid as it was. She almost wanted to close her eyes, give in right there, make it go away, yet the truth of the situation beat down on her harder than the iron-laced mist of the evening’s humidity; The only way to beat an ambush was to push back into it.

Another charge, another dash. Another blur, and headed for her. And insight became reflex, instantaneous as she stepped left. Without knowing it, his wrist caught itself keenly in her good hand, stopping him dead mid-charge. She saw him stricken aside, heard the blade hit stone as the sound rung through the alley, yet this was no process. It was pure instinct, hard at work. A splitting tear along her left arm was what she could feel, almost like she felt the dagger rippling through her forearm yet again, and that’s what she immediately processed. Her attacker staggered back, reeling from the strike.

But she had another little trick up her sleeve. Pragmatism was the best tool you could afford, right next to creativity. In her overcoat rested her holster. Before her, a man bleeding, staggering to get his bearings. In her hand, now, her trusted piece.

And what stood before her? The wide-eyed, stupefied gaze of a man, shining deep with desperation as he looked into the barrel of the last gun he would ever see.

---

Even after she got her new steel, she couldn’t help but feel jealous of Jean’s new sidearm. It was an old revolver, but it was a revolver. Something for her holster. Slow to load, sure, but damn they were workhorses. Revolvers were the tools of choice for when times got going, when all bets were off and it was time to prove how many gangsters you could lay out on the street without breaking sweat. Firearms were supposed to be strictly regulated in Francia, but Ines had seen plenty even before she joined the force. For her, she preferred the self-loaders. Faster to shoot, faster to reload. More work to take care of, but they were the epitome of the new century. Her new trench knife found its way into a sheath on her belt, but her eyes always fixated themselves on Jean’s new piece. “What do I have to do to get another pistol…”

Nothing to do about it now, except groan about it in the rainy afternoon of a city torn apart. Nothing to gain from any of it. Sick of it, was what she was. Maybe it was just that she developed an acquired taste for agony after years and years of putting up with it, like how bedridden sickness becomes your life after days of fighting. Maybe there was just something it fulfilled, deep in the dark parts of your mind, tucked away under gilded pretenses of civilization and humanity. Maybe we were all savages waiting for a head to hunt, just another tribe of hunters and scavengers, living in concrete yurts. All just gentiles, waiting for the slightest danger to poke its head out.

Echoes of gunfire meant nothing to her now. It was almost a daily routine, really. Ines knew the dangers, of course, but wasn’t perturbed. She was ready. Ready to expect the worst to come, but with life parallel to hell, it’s just another way to maintain. A few troops, sure, but there was something else off in the distance. A faint rumbling, like the bellowing of an automobile engine. Every car Ines was used to was this clunky gizmo, more of a curio than anything reliable. “Someone has to be crazy to try and drive an automobile through a-”

Just the sight of that metal monster brought her into some fold of reality she never wanted to accept. This wasn’t your average Sunday driver with goons hanging on the side. No, this was a fully mechanized iron ship, fast and ready for combat. Some scientific slaves toiled days away on perfecting this beast of iron, and accepted nothing short of perfection from the laiden war machines of the future.

There was this odd flash of inspiration that only facing sudden, uncertain death could grant you. It was almost like a fantasy of sorts, a protective mechanism. Being whisked away to a realm of flight and fancy-free in the imminence of danger. Almost like a dream, an idealized vision, where nothing yet everything is clear. You can almost think straight, and your senses blur out as you zone into and out of reality. Ines dreamed, but did not think. It was a trance, more like. Instantaneous reaction that overruled any sense of rationality that came to. A dilapidated city was her home, and what the Imperials so easily forgot was the most simple rule of the wild;

The cornered animal is the most dangerous one in the jungle.

There were blurs, some faint flutterings in the background, yes, and for all their attempts, no order nor cry from friend or foe beckoned her focus like the iron beast before them. A simple stand would be a heartbeat away from death, the wrong move, a trip to the grave. But therein lie the advantage, and such close encounters were nothing for a Darcsen. Death always was a heartbeat away - on the fine line between conscience and limbo - for those cursed with dark hair. And that line, no matter how emaciated, provided greater clairvoyance than any tactical advice shoddily crafted by a lightheaded wastrel could ever hope to provide.

Franz called to her first, then Isaac soon after, yet she moved of her own accord, to her own intuition. When they looked upon this woman, they saw someone clearly not of their own sound mind, for she peered forward in unflinching, uncompromising gaze. She did not remark, nor turn her head for any purpose of acknowledgement; human communication would no longer do for her. Her newfound comrades were accessories, at best. Liabilities at worst. They did not control her; suggesting as much is as laughable as saying a sea captain could control the winds. Thoroughly entranced, Ines posed herself, grenade in hand, as she prepared her next move.

Ines was not at war. This was a hunt. Franz, Isaac, Gwyn, Britta? They were simply along for the ride.

@FalloutJack @CFProxy

Diana’s Brutal Reality – Skirmish + New Melee Weapon – Amone City’s Walls (Sept. 9th)

---

Diana couldn’t help but smile when she heard what Reyna said about her family’s industrial business in Vinland. ”Ah that’s pretty neat Reyna. Seems like fathers like doing what they love in terms of my father Gavin enjoys making fresh bread for everyone.” Diana said nicely. She realized this is the first time mentioning her father’s name. It kinda made her a bit worried about that specifically even though their photo is in her pendant necklace. She couldn’t help but wonder how her parents are doing.

What Isaac said in terms of what Captain Grumpus took from them definitely gave her a nod to what he said. ”Captain Grumpus’ is a Prick.” Diana thought to herself with a bit of a face of annoyance at Grumpus. She was the easiest to read person in the squad right now since she was conscripted by the military. It was her overzealousness of patriotism that caused her to be in this war.

In terms of everything, she did see the reaction of Reyna it made her giggle a bit. She couldn’t help but giggle at how she reacted to their teasing her. ”Hehe… that’s really cute. I wonder what my mother would say for doing that? Oh wait… I know. Why did you make a girl blush in your presence or something like that. Since I do that to Anna a lot…” Diana thought deeply in her thoughts not to make sure it would come out. She couldn’t help but feel a bit better for what she did.

Diana looks at Inès with an odd stare of what was that in her hands in terms of the cigarette in her hand. However, Jean did toss it out of his hand to the abyss. She couldn’t help but feel a bit confused at what just happened since she never tasted a cigarette before. ”Uhh, Ms. Levesque what was that?” Diana asked a bit confused. She does know her parents definitely don’t smoke but they don’t yell at people for smoking at least. In terms she was mostly curious than worried about what her parents would think of her smoking.

She felt like as if Ines was staring at her for a second and it made her blush a bit. She feels like this when Anna stares at her, which made her think a bit. ”Wait… why didn’t my parents tell me that Anna was a Darscen? I wouldn’t tell anyone about her being one our family protects them.” Diana thought deeply to herself. Her body language was a bit different but it was still easy to read but it could be constrained for something else. Her blushing increased a bit and nervously smiling towards Ines.

Diana heard what Ines said with an arrogance and nodded to what she had said. ”Yeah… That is definitely true.” Diana said. She reeled a bit in how angry Ines’ looked. In terms of her body language showed that Ines’ was definitely a tough cookie to crack in this war of all things. ”Yeah I would definitely like making it home so I can chat to my parents about a few things. Especially about my parents Bakery’s name since… it’s annoying to me.” Diana said with resolve now. She had a strong tone in her voice similar to how Ines’ spoke before. It was annoying her a bit much with how it doesn’t make any common sense to her, but she knows it’s probably because her parents never told her the reason why.

She couldn’t really help but feel a bit out of the loop in what cigarette’s taste like since Franz and Ines are sharing them. However, she didn’t really know how to ask about that specifically. It made her confused in how one cigarette brand can be garbage and the other can be good. ”Uuhhh what…? This is outright weird…” Diana thought to herself with a bit of a confused look on her face. However, she heard what Ines had said and then hear her laughter and was a bit like what.

Diana heard something a bit too mean, from the new guy Luke and it pissed her off a bit. ”Are you serious…? Luke you are an asshole. You should go back to the hole you came from prick. Oh wait, your mother probably wouldn’t want you back in her womb.” Diana said kinda felt like her mother for a second there. However, she kinda was embarrassed from sounding like her mother for insulting someone with her mother’s line. She did want to smack him on his face with what he said towards Ines, however. It was pretty obvious Ines did smack Luke for what he said.

She did hear what Jean & Isaac said to him afterwards and wasn’t sorry for what she said to him. ”Thanks Isaac, he deserved to be told to shut up. Jean you should have punched him. But I can understand not to...” Diana said with a smile on her face. In her tone of voice when she said those words to Jean was a bit more relaxed and a bit worried about Jean’s health. She knew someone would be giving a good look over on Jean. She couldn’t really help but feel sorry for Jean being the rank he is but he’s doing this for the memory of his sister.

Diana followed Jean further into the city and noticed the beautiful infastructure that looked Francian in nature. She couldn’t help but feel a bit sadden at the turn of events in this city of all things. It was definitely different compared to other infrastructure in the world. She never really went to Francian proper. It took her a few minutes to notice Jean be approached by high ranking officer, which was the same rank as Captain Grumpus. However, he was a Darscen alike Jean and that made her a bit happy. It made her said with what they started speaking about specifically about pockets of Imperials all across the city. ”Oh shit… that sucks. That sounds like a hard task...” Diana thought to herself. She didn’t know exactly what the Imperials were good at. It was pretty obvious she was highly not trained for anything but the basics.

She heard they would be getting new weaponry, a melee weapon specifically. It made her a bit smile since her mother Rebecca before marrying into the Vastergoth family was a Cop. However, her mother did quit the police force since she was forced to retire since she was being a bit stupid in how she did her work. She sighed slightly at the fact her mother was reckless to the extreme, however, it did get lessened by the fact she has a family to take care of now. Therefore, she picked a Metal Baton for specifically the fact her mother used to use a non-metal baton to beat people. It wasn’t pretty obvious by now but she can’t believe her mother is a mother of many talents and can still fight like she’s twenty years old. ”This works… Wait… a God damn minute… Is that the reason why the cops take forever to stop my mother Rebecca’s brawls?” Diana asked out loud to no one in particular. It hit her like a ton of bricks, the realization that her mother used to be in the police force makes some god damn sense. The other thing is that’s why she had eight people that wanted to marry her.

Diana couldn’t help but sigh at the fact of what she just realized about her mother. She’s definitely going to talk to her mother about that. However, she needs to live through these battles to talk to her about it. It didn’t take much until Jean told the Squad to move out and followed behind Lucia and the others. She didn’t lose her focus since Jean did order her to not do that. In back of her head, however, it was mostly about her mother’s talents. ”You give me tons advice, mother but you don’t follow your own advice.. the fuck? I guess it helps we are apart of the biggest hardheaded family ever.” Diana thought to herself with keeping her focus in front of her.

She starts to focus when she heard the shots come in and heard Jean’s orders to get into the buildings as quickly as possible. It definitely made her rush towards where Jean was pointing to go in terms of the building in question that she’ll probably have to enter. In terms of following Jean, since he was the commanding officer of the Squad. It would be stupid to die now since she had to talk to her mother and father specifically about their habits. She couldn’t really help but feel like getting into cover was more important than shooting at the Imperials. It was one of the reasons she joined the war in the first place to kill imperials. She quickly darted into the building to her left with Jean in front of her and asked him an important question. ”What the hell was that? In terms of that vehicle, Jean do you know?” Diana asked, with a slight scared tone to her.

---

She wondered. How could he be so calm and fluent when he said exactly what she felt? And perhaps for him the feeling was worse. She already had nobody else to return to. If she had died, Middleton would be extremely mad, but what else would affect this world other than that. But Michael's different. He had someone. She knew from the time they were on the train that he was a big mama's boy. She was the world to him. The only son in the family, he owed his existence to a woman who risked her entire life just to give him a good one in return. If he had broken the promise, his debt would be catastrophic that the entire generation could not deal with. It wasn't simply just the fear of losing a friend that you spent a couple of months or years together. And it definitely wasn't as simple as her pains. And yet how? He didn't seem to falter at all. He was like that wise old guy next door at her old now-destroyed home at Asseni that Lucia loved to visit and have a cup of tea every Sunday morning, seemed to always cater to people's need and guided them through the dark. How could he both be strong and scared at the same time?

And how could she be that naïve? The moment Michael's hand, small yet a bit callus from the rigorous training a few months before, held onto her own, her frail and equally damaged hand. It was subtle, but she could feel it. A subtle, as light as a breeze, movement in the palm. And that deep violet galaxy that caved into the black hole that seemed to cater an endless number of possibility of how he could collapse and die in this strange foreign land. He was scared. Just like her. He wasn't a saint. He wasn't a seasoned person who has seen it all. Michael was simply, and simply, an innocent soul being dragged into this bonfire that he didn't want to. Maybe he wasn't that innocent; he was pretty highly educated, pretty smart and sophisticated for Lucia's level of comprehension. But in the end, he was that person next to her. And in him was something of her that she hadn't seen it until now. And she never felt so close to home than every time she was with him.

"T-Thank you."

Her tears finally stopped. And in the sour cheek rose a beautiful smile. Her scar was still there. Nothing could ever erase it. And she'd undoubtedly have many nights of terror and torment. But for now, behind her was definitely someone. Someone who Lucia could always come to when the world turned her back on her.

---

That one line of appreciation made his world a little faster to say. The next thing he knew, he was already through the huge breach on the wall of Amone, and he was set on heading for the area where he was going to get his makeshift weapon. It was only until the beating of the precipitation awakened him to the majestic piece of Francian architecture amidst a city desolated by warfare. The many puddles on the floor shot the melancholic and injured tower's remaining beauty it had in its desolation onto any souls who were artistic enough to see the pain. One of those towers caught Michael's eyes: not the tallest among the giants, but the most symbolic. The one with the cross at the top, while the majority of the walls had been eaten away mercilessly.

He wondered if any of his Cruxian believers were present in this city. If they were Imperials, then sorry to say he'd have to do the hard task. If they were neutral, he wished them safe and sound. He prayed that when the time comes, they wouldn't be standing in front of his muzzle.

Shaking his head, he looked away from the light construct of the monuments of tragedy as he approached the area for the makeshift melee weapon. He did think holding a mace sounds better for CQC, but he was already wielding a digging shovel and a wrench, multiple satchel charges for the demolition of the tunnel later on and a couple of other miscellaneous tools. He'd probably not want more weight on his back now. But he could still request something to do with his shovel. Something like a saw like shape on one side to increase the damage. Something in which the sappers accomplished them pretty easily, though with a pretty uneven distance and shape between the saws...something the engineer Michael may have a little problem with. But nevertheless he was ready for combat. Ready to do whatever he had to do to get the brass's job done.

The relatively peaceful short walk had proved short-lived however. All to Michael's surprise as a chill ran down his back, his second battle for his life had begun. And it all began with a deafening sound of gunfire in the silence. Michael's hand trembled for a second as he held his gun firmly, the stock onto the back of his left shoulders. And the wheels of industrialization had begun to roll...

---

---

The roar of the engine shattered the rain. The sound of the wheels clattering on the concrete floor echoed straight into the dreams of the unknowns. The iron-cladded majestic beast, the masterpiece of engineering, rolled coldly down the damp and desolated street of Amone. It was almost as if they were the cavalry soldiers at the beginning. Shiny and royal. But this immense weapon of war, the one thing Michael had always idolized it for its inhuman ability to serve humanity for their geniuses, began to shed the terror of ending a human's life who was unlucky enough to find themselves in the way of its hot barrel.

And ironically enough, for someone who was such an advocate for technology to be one of the first victims of it.

Before Michael fired his shot, Lucia was pushed right into Michael by Jean. The small Asseni girl, yet still bigger than Michael himself, found her way right into Michael's arm, but at the cost that now the sapper found him at the mercy of the dice roll. Or to him God. He managed to fire a bullet the direction of the infantry supporting the car, but it was merely an empty attempt, as one hand aiming was a sure miss unless he gets really lucky.

'Damn it, we're in the open!'

The order to retreat into the building couldn't come at a better time. Michael moved right almost immediately. Only a couple of steps away. But that few steps proved too little too many. Before Lucia could really recover from the push Jean just shoved her over, the guns of the armored car had already open fired. The sapper's hand and the side of his torso immediately covered the young private. It was a great decision, but one which would cost him.

"Ahh!"

The feeling when the blood dislodged from its course. Now he felt it first-hand. One in his arm upper arm, and one went past his shoulder.

But before anything he shoved the poor Asseni again, this time making her stumbling yet safely landed onto the interior of the left buildings. That before he also stumbled over, but instead of going right through the door, he found his two palms on the wall outside of the house.

The danger had yet to pass for now. Another bullet could still end his life. And yet he couldn't see them. Michael's dark violet eyes dulled. The concrete floor and wall seemed to blur. His head ran the possibility. His damaged mind continued to calculate the blood fusing out of his wound. For that few seconds, he was motionless, a fish in the barrel. He couldn't focus. He didn't know what to do next. His mind refused to articulate a thought outside of one.

'Mother...'

---

From the terrifying scream of gunfire, to Jean shoving him into Michael, then him shoving her into the building, she had a pretty rough ride. A groan escaped her lips as she lifted herself up. But thanks to that, Middleton's prized treasure was not disturbed. Michael's push had ensured a quick escape of the dancing bullets. As she was finally on her feet, she watched as her squad mate began to pile in the building. But Michael was still nowhere to be found. Was he still outside? Was he killed by the bullets that he shielded her from?!

Lucia ran for the door. A figure right beside the entrance. It was him! What was he doing?!

"Michael!"

She immediately peaked her hands out, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him in. To this day it was still uncertain how he didn't get shot from that. But he had made it.

"M-Michael. W-What happened?..."

But no answer. He was definitely not dead. But his eyes were getting red. His uninjured hand held firmly and desperately onto the soaked stain of red in his blue. And he was leaning onto a wall nearby.

"Oh God. S-Someone!"

“Here we go,” mumbled Luke as a pissed off Jean began to make his way towards him, anger clear in his eyes from Luke’s comment on Darcsens, a comment he stood by even when he was yanked up by his uniform to meet Jeans gaze. Luke kept his eyes locked with Jeans as he poured his anger onto him and arched a brow when it was mentioned that someone could grab a rifle. Though he didn’t finish his sentence, Luke knew where he was going and couldn't help but smirk in amusement at the idea. Out of all the things that could have killed him by now it would be his big mouth that finally caught him a bullet, from his own squad members no less. Though as the once enraged Corporal let him go he only arched a brow in confusion, especially after he muttered out an apology that only confused him even more. As he left Luke without even throwing a punch he rested his rifle onto his shoulder and sat back down, still a bit confused. “Huh, well that’s a first,” he said, used to at least getting slapped when he pisses people off.

As Jean’s outburst towards him came to an end Luke heard the other Darcsen, his superior sadly, begin to speak and looked towards him as he only grew more confused when lions came into the conversation. His confusion though was cut short as a familiar sting slammed into the side of his face, sending his senses a bit haywire for a second before he looked over to the person responsible for the surprise smack to the face. The Darcsen, Ines, only glared at him from above. He couldn’t see the full extent of her glare, but he caught enough to know she wasn’t toying around. Rubbing his stinging cheek and rotating his jaw Luke rose to his feet and chuckled as he met her eyes with his own glare, keeping his grin. “Cheap shot, Darcsen,” he muttered before he began to follow the squad deeper into the breach.

It seemed like more people had something to say to him, like that Diana woman who only said something about him being an asshole and how he should crawl back up his mother's womb, which was a nice touch. Nothing he hadn’t heard before honestly, though just even thinking of his mother for a second made him feel disgusted towards her, not even wanting to waste of second to think of her. Brushing off the backlash from Diana Luke then heard Isaac speak as he walked up besides him, telling him to stow the hate and shut it. Luke only scoffed and held up a hand in defense. “I wouldn’t exactly call it hate, just the truth. Besides I could have been a lot more colorful with it if I was really in the mood,” he chuckled as he flashed him a grin.

With his fellow teammates just loving him already Luke continued on marching with them through the breach. Once past the breach Luke took in the view of the ruined Amone and felt his breath escape him. “Damn, now that’s a view,” he muttered towards how destructive this war has been. He didn’t have much time though to think on it as they went deeper into the city, taking to the streets while being pelted with rain. “Real miserable place,” he commented as the rain became more heavy, battering them with rain and sending a chill down his spine from the cold waters. ‘Real miserable,’ he thought before they had finally come to a stop, letting Jean talk with someone who looked a bit higher in rank. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but honestly he wasn’t concerned at this point. His attention was directed towards the many improvised weapons being handed to them. He arched a brow, but shrugged as he grabbed hold of a hammer that would belong to an engineer and nodded his head in satisfaction as he liked the feeling of it in his hand. “This looks good enough to crack some skulls,” he chuckled before putting his new weapon away and awaiting the go ahead to move on.

Luckily that didn’t take long as Jean returned with the order to move out and began to lead the way. With a happy smirk Luke fell in line, keeping up with his team as they made their way through the streets. This was it, they were getting closer to it all. Closer to the action, closer to the glory, closer to Luke’s goal of a new life of greatness. Either he falls in this city as just another body, or he’ll finally set his name in history and insure- Luke’s thoughts of greatness and glory was soon cut off as the distant sound of rapid gunfire and screaming quickly gripped his attention. Gripping his rifle tightly Luke quickly followed Jeans silent order by rushing to the side of the streets and fell to one knee, keeping his rifle raised towards the their rear. After what felt like hours to Luke the gunfire had ceases and was replaced by an unnerving rumble of an angry sounding engine growing ever closer. “Well shi-” before he could finish a heart stopping crack filled the street and all he saw from the corner of his eye was one of the girls falling over screaming.

Luke snapped around, his rifle raised and eyes wide in shock as the fighting finally began. “Fuck!” he barked with a mixture of anger and shock before pulling the trigger, sending a round towards the charging Imperials. Sadly his first shot missed and earned a hiss of annoyance as he loaded his next round with slightly shaking hands. Just like that the gunfire rang through the streets and the chaos began. Through all of the gunfire, rain and shouting Luke heard Jeans orders and quickly bolted to the other side of the street where he was, hearing bullets fly over his head and bounce off the ground below him. He practically slammed against the wall and fell to a knee just in time to see the Imps dragging a body to cover before another one of them fell motionless to the hard, cold road. Luke spotted another one attempting to grab the other fallen soldier, but with gritted teeth he raised his rifle and fired his next shot. There was a short yelp of pain before the soldier fell back to cover, leaving his comrade behind in the open.

“Try it again ya damn Imp! Next one’s going between your- FUCK!” shouted in frustrated anger as even more gunfire rapidly flew over his head from behind. He looked over his shoulder and growled even more curses upon seeing the damn armored truck lay into them with machine gun fire. Not feeling so confident in his rifles ability to pierce the tin can he quickly making his way into the building, being one of the first ones in and clearing the left side of the room they entered before taking up a position at the windows. With another round loaded Luke began to return fire and barely hearing someone call out for help. The urge to find that voice help whoever was in trouble was almost maddening, but as another round from the enemy crashed into the frame of his window, sending splinters and remaining shards of glass flying into the side of his face, Luke shouted in rage as he held the side of his face. The stinging pain of splinters and glass tearing at his skin was almost blinding, but he managed to get his senses together and took a deep breath.

Thankfully his eyes remained undamaged, but the right side of his cheek was on fire as a bit of blood ran down his face. Hissing towards the pain Luke gritted his teeth and looked to Jean with a few splinters and cuts riddling his cheek. “What’s the damn plan now!?” he questioned as loaded another round into his rifle, ready to take whatever pain he could offer onto the Imps.

@LetMeDoStuff

At first, there was the settling of panic. Everyone reacted differently. Jean looked towards Franz, who was ready to charge the vehicle himself. He even turned to discuss it with Ines, quickly preparing a smirk to show that the street prowlers were ready to show their teeth. Yet as romanticised as their instincts were, Jean couldn't help but lunge forward, placing a sturdy hand onto both Ines and Franz's shoulders. He knew that to try and charge something so...so unique, would just result in death. These were no simple street brawls or gang wars, this was the globalised conflict between the Federation and the Imperials. Unveiling a strong desire to kill the opposition, or at least slow it down, was admirable to the romantic war poets of the last few years, but Jean was more of a realist. Running forward, grenade in hand, would likely do little to nothing. Ragnite bombs were infused with shrapnel for its main course, and a single or a couple thrown one by one would prove ineffective. This wasn't a battle they could win if they took it at face value and headed forward into the bleak barrages of bullets. Once he had the attention driven, even if it was only partially, away from the car and towards him, Jean opened his mouth and kept his words brief, knowing that time was not of their essence.

"Franz, don't. I need you inside, quickly. Start clearing some rooms, go with Luke and secure us some breathing room." As soon as he unloaded the short and sweet order, he turned back to Ines, shifting his eyes towards the preparing Isaac, Britta and Gwyn, who were about to make the dash to the other side of the street in order to set up a secondary counter-defensive. With his initial order, Jean hadn't fully predicted or anticipated the possibility of Gwyn needing assistance or protection through knocking up the rooms. For that, Jean had to make the rash alterations to his original draft. "Ines, save the grenade. I need you to head with Isaac and protect them from flanks. If you need to, kill any Imperial who enters. Help Gwyn if need be. Move it!"

As Isaac's group, and presumably Ines too, started to dart across to their side of the street, now having him rekindle Isaac's commanding capabilities to lead the smaller fireteam, Jean returned his gaze to those pushing inside the one he had ordered. A few had already began to enter the building, guns raised and cautious of whatever might be inside. Jean had no clue whether or not the building was occupied or not by the Imperial opposition, yet he still had to gamble with the option. Either way, it was better than sitting outside with bullets flying all over. Fizzles and splutters of stone, concrete and puddles of rain splashing in all directions could be heard. The chorus of rifles going off on one side, only to have a machine-gun loaded within an armoured vehicle on the other, caused flashes of fear in Jean's heart. It reminded him of the first fateful day they'd charged up Hill 58, the one where bodies were left laying in the mud by every few feet. Behind the armoured car were more infantry, most likely Imperial sappers or shocktroopers too. The Imperial Sturmtruppens were deployed in vicious numbers all across Amone, having such a vast and insidious ratio compared to that of the Federation Shocktroopers present. Equally, they too began to shoot, some even holding handguns to increase the level of suppression each small-armed fire gave off.

Jean began to usher everyone inside. Part of him knew that to go inside without everyone else heading in first would be unethical of him. Thomas, who'd been holding a position behind a large debris pile nearby, could be seen slugging off a few harsh shots. Nearly every one of them hit, landing directly into the foreheads of chests of those who he targeted. His posture and flexibility was unmatched, twisting and turning in order to keep the momentum and rush of blood high up in his mind. Freya was already joining those inside, being one of the first to head inside to join the room clearing. As the first few went in, Freya fired a shot or two, giving the indication that there were perhaps a few Imperial soldiers attempting to intercept their defensive actions. Jean remained outside, shooting the opposite direction to where Thomas was just to ensure that he was covered each time he fired his own bullet. They needed to cover everyone as they went inside.

"Corporal, get inside!" Jean called to him over the sounds of gunfire raining down upon them. Each beating impact against the stone piles the duo hid behind caused him to jump and cough, making it feel like he was only a centimetre's distance away from meeting the maker he so despised. Thomas turned, frowning to himself as his Longfield jammed for a slight second. Without a word or question, he began to bolt back its ignition and force his hands to unclog the shell that had accidentally trapped and locked the inner workings of his weapon. Once it had been fixed, he confirmed it with another shot towards the Imperials. Jean yelled louder this time; these yells were not out of anger or frustration, but rather worry for those who were yet to be inside. Everyone had already darted inside, Lucia and Michael included, and yet the crazy Oceanic soldier was still blasting away round after round. "Corporal-"

"Calm your fuck'n tits, love. I'm giving us breathing room!" Jean was slightly taken aback by his almost humorous response, trying to make light of a life-threatening situation. He seemed completely calm, as if the feeling of bullets soaring above and past his head was normal. A stray bullet slipped through his iconic Oceanic hooded cape, ripping a small hole through it. Without hesitation, he rose up again and fired yet another round, dropping the closest Imperial who had been charging their position. "Worry about yourself, and let me do my thing."

"Just get inside, everyone else has already moved. With all-" A suppression of machine gun fire from the armoured car pinned his head down, causing Jean to clutch onto his helmet with immense force. Once the suppression laid off for just a second, he grabbed Thomas' veteran-like arm and began to move him inside. "Just get inside, please!"

Finally, the war hero complied and entered the building, just in time to barely miss the several waves of bullet storms. Jean wasn't entirely sure if the gunners he'd sent across had set up their positions and prepared to return fire. During his entrance into the building, being the last one inside, he hadn't heard or noticed their gunfire just yet, making him presume they were still formulating their vantage point. As Jean leapt inside, the rooms began to fill with the stench of the Federation soldiers, still fleeing from the gunfire. Even inside, the sounds of explosive barrels spewing from the tips of Longfield rifles echoed between the hallways. Jean moved forward, looking around as he could see the main room that his group had taken refuge within. Soon enough, he was bombarded with questions.

Diana was first, asking him in a fearful tone about what the vehicle was, where it had come from or why it was there. He was lost for words. Of course he didn't know. There had never been any reports of armoured vehicles being used in combat. Was this simply a war machine used in the urban area of Amone? Surely not, as they would've heard about it during their briefing alongside the remarks of the so-called Green Fox and other marksmen setting up shop inside. Jean presumed that this had to be a new form of weapon only recently deployed in the weeks. When they were still being briefed and leaving for the street they'd entered, the sound of gunfire seemed to blitz through their rendezvous point moments after they'd escaped it. If the weapon was widely used by the Imperials, wouldn't have the Federation prepared for such possibilities, such as making methods of slowing such a brisk and easy punch through their lines? Jean shook his head, unsure of what to make of the situation. He didn't have much time to think, as the Imperials were likely preparing to storm the building. The spreading of corridors and floors made a mini maze-like layout for the Squad to hide within, and so Jean simply looked down and took the brief initiative. Luke demanded for orders, having a rather few nasty glass scratches across his cheeks. Worst of all, so far, was Michael, who in protecting the sweet and innocent Lucia had taken a few hits himself. Jean felt the world go silent as the orchestration of the ensemble of guns, shouts and panics began to overshadow his judgement. He thought. Everything was quiet and slow. Jean took a deep breath, and then finally opened his mouth to speak.

"I...I don't fucking know, Diana. All I bloody know is that we need to focus on the inside now. The car is still outside, but it can't stay out for much longer, I imagine. We still have reinforcements coming in the breach, risking encirclement. As for a plan..." Jean moved Freya, who was aiming her rifle out of the window to take a few shots, towards the centre of the room. Around them were many doors, a few hallways following them which led to even more side rooms. The building was, as he'd thought before, its own small labyrinth. "We'll split up. It's...This is going to be a battle of attrition, whether short or long. Gunners outside will minimise the amount of soldiers that get in, but those who do will have to face us at deadly proximity. Diana, take Lucia and Michael into the furthest back-room and try to dress his wounds. If you still aren't sure, Lucia can help, but make sure to be cautious. Everyone else, find a room, whether you're in a pair or alone, and get ready to make a wave-based holdout. The wounded go in the back room, everyone else needs to draw their attention to the other rooms to kill. Whether you shoot or take them down by hand, I...I can't argue, just do...do what you must." With his voice breaking down at the end, Jean was realising that he was becoming a fully fledged commandeer for the Squad's tactics. It seemed brutal to suggest taking down Imperial human lives with blades, guns and rifles, yet he had to inform them of what the plan was. Jean moved himself towards one of the side rooms, following another corridor, and distinctively ordered the others to pair up or go alone into other rooms in order to buffer the distance between those ready to come inside and the wounded Michael. Jean just hoped to god that the gunners could repel as many of the intruders as possible.

---

On the first day of training, a big hairy drill sergeant with a chest like a bear pins every recruit to the wall and warns them to never enter an unsecured building in the middle of a firefight. He says this in a most insistent manner. Every day, he repeats this maxim until it is burned into every recruit's brain. Nonetheless, that's what Gwyn had been ordered to do, and given the circumstances he wasn't about to stand about and argue.

Lead tore up the cobbles around Gwyn and he had to make an executive decision, fast. Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to. Isaac lead the charge into a nearby building, and it was up to Gwyn to have everyone follow.
"Into the building, let's move! Don't hang about!" He cried, shortly before making a mad dash for the area in question. The ground before him sparked, a deadly dance that didn't take kindly to being interrupted. Gwyn thanked whatever God would listen that he was able to bust through the door before being shot up.

"Alright, sound off. Who's still alive?"

He joked, but now they were, as it was medically know, up shit creek without a paddle. They couldn't take point without that damned armoured car spraying them with lead, and they didn't have the numbers to repel a frontal assault from the Imperials. He could plink away at the enemy numbers with his shitty carbine, but he wasn't going to achieve as much as Britta and Isaac. Right now, he was dead weight.

Diana’s Brutal Reality – The Defense – Amone City’s Walls (Sept. 9th)

---

Diana couldn’t help but look around the building awaiting Jean to answer her question. It took her a bit to notice that Luke had scratches on his face, but how he asks about the plan was rude. She couldn’t help but give him a dirty look, however. In terms of everything, she looked towards Michael and Lucia and was shocked to see that Michael was bleeding by a gunshot. ”Oh god...” Diana said with a worried tone. In terms of everything, she wanted to help him but wanted to wait for orders from Jean.

She heard what Jean had said about not knowing of what the vehicle or car was exactly. ”Wish High Command told us of the enemy’s armaments beforehand...” Diana said with a slight annoyed tone. It was mostly at the fact that Captain Grumpus probably wouldn’t tell anyone about the enemy’s armaments anyway to make sure this squad gets obliterated. She smiled at the fact Jean had a plan at least. She heard specifically what Jean wanted her to do and smiles happily because she wanted to help Michael badly. ”I will definitely do that in terms of trying to dress his wounds with Lucia’s help of course. I will be cautious, Jean.” Diana said. It’s pretty obvious why she said with Lucia’s help since she never had to really dress wounds or was taught that in Conscription training.

Diana walked over to Lucia and Michael with her smile since yeah, they are cute together. ”Lucia let’s go to the furthest back room and help Michael out with his wound.” Diana said, towards Lucia with a calm but nervous tone to her voice. She couldn’t help but feel a bit worried about the fact Jean had said with melee too. She only killed one imperial on the Hill and this kinda made her worried a bit. ”Michael are you there? Let’s go to the back room to get that wound dressed.” Diana said with a gentle tone to her voice. She gently put her hand on Michael’s shoulder to help him move, but she needs Lucia to help as well. In terms of her smile on her face, it was a reassurance to Lucia mostly since she had tears in her eyes at what happened to Michael. She outright dislikes seeing Lucia cry like that.

It was a pretty obvious she had to be cautious since this was an Imperial ambush and it’ll be better to survive. Therefore, she can chat with her mother specifically about what she had learned. She had a very determined look on her face to help Michael and Lucia to stay alive since they are a definite cute couple together. ”I hope the dressing the wound won’t be too hard.” Diana thought to herself. It was going to be a learning experience for her that is. Therefore, she can be better the next time at least.

---

She'd seen this before. That look on his eyes that seemed to crunch into one singularity. His hand clutching his shoulders tightly while red stains completely ruined Michael's pretty look in his uniform. His face was hers. Was him. Was that girl. Was her old classmates. And was every single one she had loved in her life, and now taken away from her like water dripping away from her palm. And why? Why would it have to be someone that she cared about, or had begun to care about. Why couldn't it be the bad guys, or at least those she never met or knew they existed? Why would it have to be them? She was just beginning to know him!

"M-Michael, please don't. Everybody needs you!"

He was a man of technical expertise and insight. The attack on Amone's supply line is crucial and losing a sapper early on could be a difference between victory and defeat, not just in the tunnel, but the entire siege as well. And for someone with the engineering expertise like him, they couldn't afford to. And more, she didn't want to see him die as well. She knew his promise. Even if his mother was someone she had never known aside from her association, she felt just like she was her own. His death could spell her end as well. And she'd had enough of people around her suffering.

But there was reaction! When she grabbed onto his wrist, he seemed to look up. He looked at her, then over to Diana, who had kindly offered to help, albeit under Jean's orders as well. The shock was on its first step to dissipate. He stared at her for long, long to Lucia, before he swallowed heavily and gently nodded to the two, as he was drilled away with Lucia and Diana holding onto his two shoulders.

He was helped onto the back corner of the room, where he was placed leaning against the wall before Lucia ripped the cloth over his two gunshot wounds. His shoulder had taken much lighter injury, as the bullet only grazed through his flesh, whilst his upper arm took the full brunt. She just needs to dress this up for now, and pray that they'd have enough time to properly have first aid for this. But first, they'd need some clean clothing. Lucia immediately scoured through the drawers and bookcases, whatever available in the room. Luckily, there was a wardrobe that contained a small shirt, crumpled at the bottom, presumably left behind in the hasty evacuation. The carelessness proved to be a great merit, as Lucia ripped the shirt into two as she ran back to Michael and Diana.

"T-Tie this around his shoulder!" She said, although it was quite a strange way to phrase it. But Diana would probably get it anyway. After both knew what to do, she immediately went into the dress. Pressing hardly onto the bleeding arm, it felt so painful. Obviously for Michael, she could see it on his face, but for Lucia as well. She was hurting someone, even with the intention of saving them.

"D-Does it hurt?"

He nodded lightly. The half-closed eyes, the shaky lips and the ragged input and output of oxygen. He was scared. Even more than she could imagine him. The fear of dying in this foreign city, and ironically the ones he always wanted to visit in peacetime, had gotten his senses. Just like he had told her.

"Michael. You told me we can be brave when we're together, right? I'm here now. Don't lose yourself."
@Landaus Five-One

For all those wishing that command had made any sort of mention of armored vehicles, you are not alone.

Isaac Black didn't ask much out of life. A fair say in things, the benefit of the doubt, the chance to earn his keep... He wasn't exactly getting much of that right now, and that already pissed him off, but now things were going a little too far. It was only the beginning of their mission into Amone, and already things were being thrown out the door!

"Who the hell would even think of such a thing? Can you see a way out of it?"

"Not from here! Maybe up top?"

Because this wasn't just some car with bits tacked on. This was a machine of war. they built this deliberately for combat purposes, and somehow nobody knew about it, or nobody knew about it enough to spread around the details. During such a moment of shock in the face of this metal monster, Gwyn suddenly spoke up, making sure everyone who was suppose to be here, was here, and also alive. Isaac blinked at that, kind of side-swiped with a bout of cognitive dissonance.

"Umm...I'm here. Living. How are you?"

"Everyone's here that's suppose to be here, Gwyn."

"I'll be honest, I'm a little worried about Jean and the rest. Thought I heard a scream."

"They'll pull through. You know Jean. You know he'll get everyone out of there.'

Yeah, she was right. Jean would- Ah, shit! Both Gunners ducked and Isaac shouted "Down!" as a hail of suppression fire from the troops gathered behind the armored car started opening up on the street. It wasn't specifically aimed their way, but you can't risk a bullet at the wrong time in this situation. He then did a 'Three, two, one, GO!' sign for both him and Britta to suddenly return fire and hopefully catch a whole bunch of them off-guard, preferrably while they were reloading. You want suppression fire? This was a machine gun nest, jackasses! The two of them reloaded quickly, themselves.

"We may need more rooms in a hurry, you two! They're gonna take a hating to us real fast!"

He said that, then raised his head a little-

Dink!

OW! Wait, that was a-

"DOWN AGAIN!!"



The grenade had been lobbed at the window by one of the the surviving Troppen, and it smacked Isaac in the helmet 'cause he'd raised his head, thinking someone was gonna do something just that. As a result, the thing had landed on the sidewalk outside, maybe a couple of feet from their position. The shrapnel wasn't gonna reach them if nobody was looking out the window, but there was some question of concussion, and frankly good sense. Better to know for sure by diving for cover. Question is...was the armored car still paying attention to the street, the main group, or them?

The day began to grow rough as each soldier began to spread across the building. Franz had head one way, and soon after the sounds of gunfire were heard. Shit, they were already in the building. Jean figured that with this the whole Squad were in immense danger from the moment they set foot within Amone. Now they were paying the price, with Michael having taken a hit or three in the shoulder. The war was heating up, melting away the winter chill with every passing second. Outside, the sounds of automatic fire were once again kicking up, though Jean hoped this time it was Isaac's group committing to the firefight. Within that moment, the Darcsen turned to the remainder of his team who'd been situated with him. For a moment, he began to watch as everyone spread out. Diana left with Michael and Lucia to the back room, ideally the safest out of the many available. As much as Diana annoyed him recently, there was a feeling inside that made him worry sickly about whether or not her fate was to be sealed today. With that coming across his mind, the definite fear was something happening to Reyna. At this point, how would Jean cope with the death of someone he was beginning to-

A large bang came from outside in the streets. A ragnite bomb, no doubt. The following pitter-patter of shrapnel scraping across the brick walls of Amone's homesteads began to shudder him on the inside, even causing his body to instinctively spring in place for a moment. Beneath his helmet, all Jean could hear was his heavy breath intoxicating the air with all the anxiety he had weighed down upon him. Quickly, his head rotated in all directions, looking around the larger hallway the group had first taken refuge within. Jean wanted to use the time to distance himself enough that the rest of the team, however he physically couldn't bring himself to move. Whilst everyone was still making their decisions on where to hide, stay or prepare an ambush from within the labyrinth of rooms going off to the side. There were sounds of nearing footsteps just outside of the building, and the rising expression of gunfire began to enrage on continuously, proving to everyone that the battle was far from over. With that in mind, Jean quickly made his way towards a room, alone. He didn't request for anyone to join him and didn't intend on sharing the combat experience with them in that moment. Even alongside that thought, he didn't want to see the loss of humanity in his comrades and friends whilst they were forced to cave out the skulls of the Imperial invaders. Or were they the invaders now? Jean's head bustled with random questions like this for a while longer, before he secured his now lonesome and solitary checkpoint.

Upon entering, he quickly closed the door behind him and rummaged around for a small piece of cover. Once he'd made his way into the room, its purpose began to spring a wild stream of assumptions and mysteries within his mind. A wooden, creaked bed frame sat itself in the corner, its mattress having been long gone. Dirt and grime had stained the walls as the fleshy textures of bloody remained from an execution months before his arrival. Upon the torn flooring were boards of splintered wood, ones that looked barely intact to walk on, yet Jean knew that there was no time to pick and choose another room as if he were a guest on some random gameshow. This was the reality of the war, and the city had its own separate war to deal with that seemed almost completely different from the rest of Europa's inglorious flame. With a sturdy hand, Jean flipped the bed-frame over and began to push it into the door, trying to block it off only slightly. It wasn't in a such a way that would completely barricade the entry point, meaning he could quickly flip it back over if he needed to get out. Besides, it was a crappy wooden frame that looked older than the war itself, rotting away with small wigs and insects gnawing at it. His breath ran short as he shoved it against the door, unfortunately hearing something on the other side. It wasn't a familiar vocal chord either, one that struck him with fourteen tonnes of absolute fear.

"Flush them out, Sturmtruppen! You were lucky to avoid the Gunners outside, now let's use the string of luck to rid this complex of the Federation scum hiding amongst the shadows!" Down the hallway, it sounded like, a small detachment of Imperial shocktroopers had entered the building. Deadly even without numbers, this was their turf to play around with. Those who'd managed to break through the windows to avoid Isaac's gunnery skills had clearly a knack for avenging their fallen comrades. Jean felt exceptionally guilty, knowing that in silence and without hesitation he'd shot a man helping his wounded, fallen brother-in-arms. A small conjoined war chant of male and female Imperial voices rang out outside the room, as heavy boots began to step and pace in different directions. They'd all split up, but Jean could only predict that there were just a few less than the entirety of the Squad he had under his command. Even with a numeracy advantage, Jean knew they were truly on the backfoot. Three were out of action due to attendance of the wounded, whilst some of the others were holding their position across the street with even more waves of bullets spraying around them from all angles. Here, the Imperial Sturmtruppen were in their ideal grounds for tactical superiority. However, Jean had an instinct within him that the members of Squad 1, those who'd been through the hellish close encounters of Hill 58, may be able to impersonate some sort of improvisation and claw their own broken bodies from their hiding spots alive.

Even in the distance, the uneasy sound of doors being kicked open, with Imperial soldiers reporting the status of every room they'd been in so far, began to throw Jean's heart into an unending stress of beats. Kathump-kathump, it would begin to doubt its healthy pace and began to rape the confidence he once held before the fight. Jean was in no position to feel safe anymore. Just for that moment, the sounds of gunfire within the building were limited, so perhaps they hadn't yet found the soldiers of his Squad. Jean hoped for that positive outcome, however there was also the possibility that the melee encounters had sprung out in all directions. Even though their positions were almost easy to triangulate, their shouts and announcements of room after room being clear made Jean's fear rise higher than ever before. They were being hunted, stalked by their predators into the corners of their own urban jungle.

"Fuck...Fuck, no...I..." Jean backed himself into the other end of the room, his spine slanting against the cobwebbed walls with its faded paper texture. With a shuddering hand, he began to slowly raise his rifle up towards the door, knowing that it was inevitable for it to spring open at any given moment. He didn't want to die, not now. Back in Garnia, he wasn't as cautious for his own life, knowing that he'd lost everything to do with a home and family, but now he felt a real connection to certain people. There was the chance to grow, find peace and perhaps even love in the blossoming fields of Europa. Perhaps not in this god-forsaken city of delusional justice, but later, once the guns fell silent. He began to count his blessings and promise himself that once this was all over, the world could have something in store for him. "I'll...I'll visit her resting spot, every day and every month. N-Nothing will bring me from your memory. I'll...I'll bring someone special with me...I'll bring-"

"Shit's jammed, gimme a bomb." A huge thud and shudder almost broke the door as before the words came out, one had clearly tried to kick his way into the room Jean hid within. The request for a bomb would only prove to be much worse, especially for his crude barricade that made little to no physical difference. Once their brief announcement was made, Jean began to raise his rifle once more towards the door, his breath trembling for every second that drew out. His ears fell onto deafness as the anticipation and the waiting, the damned waiting, started to terrify him more than the feeling of death's approaching minions. Sounds of the metallic shell of the bomb clanking against the door made Jean breathe what he thought would be his last breath, before a sudden outburst of smoke and sound burst the door open.

Wooden chips from the door and bed frame shot out in every direction. Some scraped by Jean's cheeks and clothing, tearing away and spilling the smallest amount of blood imaginable. The force of its close proximity explosion caused him to topple onto his back, landing on more splinters in the poorly constructing floorboards. Somehow, the weight of him falling atop of them wasn't enough to snap them and send him hurling down, at least just yet. He shielded his eyes from the smoke that had been left over from its secondary effect. His lungs filled with stress and pain as the heavy influx of hot air ingested itself into his respiratory system. At least it wasn't poisonous, which was a form of air that couldn't possibly have made its way onto the battlefield. A dense cough left his lips, giving away his silence as the first of two Imperial shocktroopers began to walk into the room. Jean, still blinded temporarily by the aftermath of the door's smokescreen, he lifted his rifle and aimed it in the general direction of the dusty figure, listening beneath his fateful coughs.

"Got one in here!" The countdown was finally over, and Jean had to react. He squeezed the trigger harshly and pulled it with enough force to exasperate the first shot. However, there was no cry of pain nor was there a strain of fear following his aggression. It only took a millisecond for Jean to realise that it was a mistake. He'd missed in his panicked shot. The soldier, realising he hadn't been hit, began to move forward towards Jean, through the now clearing smoke left behind by the breaching ragnite grenade. Without hesitation, Jean was forced to reach for his hip, drawing the revolver from its holster. He didn't have the time to wrap around the wrist strap in order to prevent losing it, so instead he simply raised it as quick as he could, holding down the trigger only a second before the blade of the Imperial reached his throat. The catastrophic bellow of the small revolver's barrel left even Jean surprised. Following up from the explosive handheld cannon's outcry, the charging body fell forward, slightly at an angle. The arms and shoulders of the deceased slumped into Jean's right shoulder, causing him to stagger for a second at the realisation that he'd landed a shot directly through his skull, the exit wound behind visible on the rear end of his lower cranium. However, due to the stagger, Jean wasn't prepared for the second and last Imperial to enter the room.

She shouted the name of her fallen comrade in despair, before lunging forward with her own bare hands at Jean. Without the time to cock the hammer back again, her clenched fist struck against Jean's face with great force, throwing him backwards into the wall again. A crack could be heard from where he landed, the wooden framing of their surroundings bending by the force of Jean's plummet rearwards. Pain sharply shot through Jean's jaw when the fist collided with his face, enough so that in shock he let go of the revolver with indecent mannerism. Unlike a usual street brawl between gangs, the female attacking him didn't wait for him to stagger back into a ready position before fairly striking again, instead she followed up a second thrust into his stomach, throwing Jean down onto his left knee. Gagging in pain, the wind was torn from his sails as he took a boot to the side of the head. An powerful, stinging ring began to plant itself into his ear where the boot had landed next to. He was down, but not out. However, in this dazed state of submission, the woman didn't relent on his poor soul and grabbed him by the shirt collar, having him on his back against the cold and moist floor. Whilst preparing another thump to his jaw, she lifted him up, just his neck and chest, from the floor with a tightened grip around his collar again. Jean, in quick reaction, drew the knife from his webbing and lunged it forward, landing a direct hit into her left shoulder. As she yelped out in great pain, Jean used what little strength he had in the moment to kick her off, pushing her to the opposite side of the room.

In her fit of rage, with adrenaline surging through her muscles, she quickly tore the knife out of her shoulder, brandishing it as her own new blade. Her blood trickled from it in thick patches, soaking into her uniform as she lunged forward, shoulder-barging Jean backwards into the only window the room had to offer. As his military pack slammed against it, it cracked and shattered, sending small shards of glass both inside and outside. The crack could be heard echoing down the hallways, where the sounds of every single Imperial now struggling in combat could be heard. Perhaps not all of them were locked in a battle of life and death, however at least the thought brought a split-second concern for the rest of his squad. Those like Franz were likely capable of facing off against an Imperial one-to-one, but the others...he wasn't so sure. Even Jean himself was about to face his own demise in this pressuring standoff.

Jean let out a loud groan as glass peppered his back, a few small specks beginning to inject themselves into his spin from behind. Yet despite this, his groan was soon drowned out by the war-cry of the assaulting Imperial girl, who lunged forward again with the bloody knife still in her hands. With instinct yet again on his side, he threw his arm out to grab that of which held the blade, pushing it in another direction to misdirect her aim. Instead, the sharpness of Jean's previous tool barrelled into the wallpaper, sticking in with such force as to become slightly lodged between a small crack on the other side. The woman's eyes were still furious, but a small glimmer of worry as her chance to cut deep into his skull had been carved out by chance and Jean's reaction. In fury, her hands instead tried to go for his throat once more, proving to be an excellent restraining tactic, but Jean's upper hand was still in action. It was either flight or fight now, and there wasn't even an option for the former. Jean's instincts to survive were at its peak as he jabbed her face with a vicious hand to the nose, toppling her backwards in her own fatigue. Once she landed on her back, Jean pinned her down by the neck with a free hand. It was here that his humanity was officially lost, to which he looked to his left and looked towards the large shard of glass still on the floor. Without thinking, he threw his free hand towards it, wrapping his fingers and palm around its cold and sharp structure.

Unlike a knife, which holds a hilt, the glass had no safe point to hold. As soon as he tightly clasped his grasp around the shard, it cut his skin and spilt his own blood from his left hand. Jean gritted his teeth in pain, but the adrenaline once more acted as his morphine. Once more, his mind went blank as he lifted the glass shard. Fear was suddenly glistening in the girl's eye as she tried to wave a hand in desperation for mercy. Her eyes begged for Jean to stop, but his arms were already in motion. The glass shard shot down, planting is piercing sharpness into her neck. And a second time...and a third. Jean lifted and plunged it time and time again, digging the glass deeper into her throat than the last. Pools of blood squeamishly began to pour onto the floorboards and stained both of their clothing. The blue tints to Jean's undercoat was beginning to turn a crimson, sticky red. Her throat became increasingly less distinct with every stab. Her breath was growing short as the floods of maroon liquid began to fill up her airways, blocking all air from ever reaching her lungs once more. Suffocating on the torturous injections Jean had forced upon her, he continued, having now stabbed her at least fifteen bloody times with the shard of glass, each time cutting into his own hand. Jean let out a large shout of his own, planting it permanently into her neck, letting her lie still.

For a moment, he sat there, in silence himself. What...what had he done? Looking down upon the girl, dressed in Imperial clothing, he noticed a small necklace wrapped around her neck, now covered in the small flickers of blood. Even more worrisome was the exact same necklace also wrapped around the neck of the man he'd shot in the head first. On the metallic gold braille, Jean could see the words that shocked him, making him feel the humanity and justification for her violent uproar: 'Til death do us part, we are bound by love.

Jean's face dropped. Tears began to welt up in his eyes once more as he scrambled off of her body, kicking the corpses away as he pushed his feet forwards, sliding his backside into the corner of the room. Distant sounds of gunfire became more and more quiet on the outside. Perhaps the battle was done, or perhaps he was ignoring the entire thing. Jean's eyes began to flow desperately of tears, blood trickling from his own hands and the throat of his victim still. What...what had he become? And with the searing pain his grasped cut now kicking in, the emotional torture of reliving the images of the girl's final expression before death began to haunt him. And with that, Jean began to cry silently again. He was no soldier. He was no warrior. And now, could he even call himself human?

Luke gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his rifle as Jean gave his orders to secure the building, the stinging pain in his cheek only growing by the second and adding more fuel to his frustrated anger. As Jean finished his orders with the order to kill their enemies however they could Luke only nodded in approval. “Sounds good to me, I’ll use my teeth if I have to!” he spat before looking to Franz as he called for him to move with him. He narrowed his eyes as he was called a swine and quickly moved beside him. “Just don’t get in my way, I’m not about to waste any bullets,” he stated before the two of them engaged their first enemy. It felt like it happened so fast as Franz dispatched the first Imperial that was unlucky enough to be in their path.

Without sparing any time on the collapsed body Luke looked to Franz who just barely avoided a flying bullet from around the corner and smirked in amusement at the look on his face. “So close but just no- hey!” he blurted out just before Franz charged into the room head first with an enraged look in his eyes. “Son of a bitch,” Luke muttered before following in after him just in time to see a larger Imp soldier lung at him with a knife to his throat. Falling into action Luke raised his rifle, took in a deep breath and pulled the trigger. His round flew through the air and tore through the man’s throat, earning him a quick yelp of pain before he collapsed to the floor choking on his own blood while clasping his throat in desperation. Luke’s eyes widen at the sight of his deed, but his mind was quickly torn back to reality as the sound of gunfire from outside snapped him out of it.

Leaving the Imp soldier to bleed out on the floor Luke stepped over him and followed Franz into the next room, rifle at the ready as Franz called out enemies to the left. “I see the fu-GAH!” he yelped as he was yanked down next to Franz behind the flipped table. Just as he was about to complain to his comrade a hail of bullets silenced his mouth and gritted his teeth just as the fire dulled. As Franz returned fire, taking down an Imp on his side, Luke peaked out of his cover to see a decent group of Imps pushing on his side. Not wasting a second he fired a few rounds just as Franz fell back into cover to reload and rolled his eyes as he called them out. “Yeah I see the bastards! KInda hard to miss em!” he shouted back before firing another round towards the four on his side, forcing them to fall back into cover a bit and slowing their advance slightly. As he fired his last round and went to reload he watched as Franz charged out of his cover to take on the Imps on his side. “Yeah no that’s cool, just leave me here!” he called out just as a bullet crashed into the side of his cover, earning a growl of anger from Luke as he loaded a fresh round and popped out of cover. “Four against one is totally fucking fine!” he barked before pulling the trigger, planting his bullet within the chest of an Imp as he tried to advance. With a cry of pain he crumpled to the ground and was officially out of the is fight.

“Okay, three against one is better I guess,” he mused aloud before quickly changing targets and letting another round tear through the air. To his annoyance though his shot missed slightly and the Imps began to return a hail of fire onto him. He ducked back into cover just in time and gave a quick shout of frustration. He was always a great shot in basic, but now that he had to dodge someone else's bullets it wasn’t so easy to land a hit. As he emerged from his cover again he saw one of the Imp rifleman attempt to move to Franz’s side to help on the right and knew that wasn’t an option. With a quick breath he fired his rifle and winced as the soldier let out high pitched cry of pain as Luke’s bullet blew out his right knee cap. He tumbled to the ground and tried to quickly scramble to cover, but with another round to the side of his dome he fell motionlessly to the floor.

“Bastard!” an Imp soldier roared before he rose from his cover to fire frantically at Luke, the thirst for blood clear in his eyes. Luke gritted his teeth as he felt a bullet whizz by his head and quickly set his sights on the man before releasing another round into his shoulder. He gasped in shock before falling to his knees grasping his wounded shoulder. Just as another round was ready to put an end to him Luke’s attention was taken away from the fight and to Franz as he barked orders towards the Imperials to lower their weapons. A flash of annoyance mixed with anger covered Luke's face as his comrade demanded for them to stop and unknowingly lowered his rifle for a moment.

“Eh! Are you stupid!? Just kill them a-” before he could finish an Imp threw a bloodied knife at the bottom of Franz’s feet before charging forward with intent to kill. “Damn it!” he spat in annoyance as he turned his rifle onto the man, though before he could take him down two enraged shouts from his left remind him of his owns threats and snapped his rifle back towards his opponents who were now only a few mere feet away. Franticly Luke fired his rifle and widened his eyes in surprise as he managed to hit his target, making a new hole between a young Imps confused, dull eyes. As the enemies body crashed to the floor his motionless corps rammed into Luke cover, clearing it from the remaining Imp soldier he had failed to finish off. “Bastard!” he cried as he frantically attempted to load another round, but unfortunately his efforts was met with his enemy barreling into him and sending the two crashing to the floor, sending his rifle sliding across the room and out of reach.

Luke’s mind became a bit cloudy as he hit his head against the hard floor, but his senses were brought back as the intense stinging pain from his face was brought back to life by the Imperial soldiers enraged punch. As the pain of his wound only grew worse by the second, small cuts from the glass now widening and the splinters being smashed even deeper into his flesh, Luke let out feral like growl of rage as he Lunged upward and smashed his head against his opponent. It did little but cause even more pain since both of them wore helmets, but within that second as the two met each others gazes nothing else needed to be said. Both wore enraged expressions, their teeth clenched to the point they would surely crack from the pressure and their veins ready to burst from the adrenalin and finally their eyes that could only belong to bloodthirsty, wild animals.

“Die!”

“Die!”

With both demanding for the others death they begin to deliver several savage blows wherever they could land them. To the ribs, gut, jaw, they even began to bite any kind of flesh that was close enough. Though both soldiers were dealing great damage, Luke was still in trouble as the Imperial soldier above him wouldn't let him get up. With an enraged grunt Luke managed to get his leg free and kicked his opponent off of him, sending him falling backwards with a gasp. Not wasting a beat Luke ripped his bayonet from its holster and lunged for the man with a guttural cry of hatred and exhaustion. Imp nearly managed to pull his knife free to defend himself, but froze in shock as cold metal slipped through his flesh and punctured his heart. Luke, now above his enemy, stared down at him panting in exhaustion. The two kept each others gazes as they both knew this was the end, but with whatever strength the nameless Imperial soldier could muster he did something that will forever boggle Luke's mind. He smiled. “W-well, that’s u-unfortunate,” he weakly chuckled before the last bit of light left his eyes. Luke stared at the lifeless body for a few silent seconds, paralyzed in confusion and left over adrenaline.

Now with his victory official Luke tore his bayonet free from the man and took in huge gulps of air. Luke's eyes were finally taken away from his fallen opponent as Franz spoke up about the windows and nodded in agreement before running to the door of the room, snatching up his rifle in the process. Sticking out of the doorway Luke took a deep breath and shouted his report. “Report! Room secured, no casualties! Will be pushing on to clear the remaining rooms!” he shouted before falling to his knee as a bullet from outside crashed into the doorframe above him. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed in anger before quickly making his way to Franz. He almost slammed into the wall next to him before sliding down to the floor with his head hung low. “Shit, we got more rooms to clear don’t we?” he muttered as he took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his short, messy hair. “What a pain,” he complained before looking to Franz as he offered a smoke. He thought for a moment, it sound nice for the moment, but knowing their was more fighting in the nearby rooms he shook his head and scoffed. “I can barely breath now as it is, I’ll choke to death before we even get in the next room,” he chuckled weakly, wincing at a sudden sting of pain in his now bloodier cheek.

Luke let out a small sigh as Franz finally began to speak again and nodded as he flipped over a dead Imp rifleman, digging for ammo. He looked over to the dead shock trooper and spotted a nice little treat on his belt. “Well, well well, looks like this Imp knew about my birthday!” he chuckled as he made his way to the corps. With a smirk of satisfaction he freed a grenade from the Imperial and held back a laugh. “Three days early, but hey I’m not complaining,” he stated before gathering a little more ammo. As he dug within a young Imps pockets for anything else useful he spotted something shiny on his finger. A golden ring with three diamonds rested on the man's wedding finger. With a brief moment of sadness for the man's poor luck Luke pulled the ring from his hand and dropped it into his back pocket. Might as well get something valuable out of all this.

With enough ammo for another breach, a new Imperial grenade and a bit more air in his lungs Luke was ready for the next room. As Franz patted his shoulder and declared ready to move on Luke nodded and fell in behind him. “Lead the way Darcsen,” he stated with a chuckle. Though before they left the room Luke spared the last Imperial he had killed a look and furrowed his brow, an uneasy feeling gripping him as he remembered his final moments. With one final shutter he moved on, ready to put more Imps down.

@CFProxy

Easy come, easy go. Whoever she thought was supposed to have her back went their own ways, the two gunners setting up camp to flush any Imperial sod down nine more levels of Hell. What she had to show for it now was being stuck with some white-haired twink and a knife that’d give her tetanus if she wasn’t careful. Not the greatest lineup, but she’d gotten out of worse with less. Come to think of it, maybe the twink wouldn’t be so bad; Less person means less to hit.

Corporal told her to watch the grenades, but Ines could give a damn. If that armored car wasn’t chasing them into the building, they’d sure as hell make a hole for it. They’d need explosives for that, and explosives always whatever brave soul was commandeered to make the march was the one who’d need covering fire the most. With how Silverhead and Corporal Scarface laid down firestorm after deafening Hellstorm into what was left of the street, if they were smart, they’d be making their way around and through that back way.

That left them with a backroom full of shelves who’d all seen better days. Those shelves were probably about as old as the Levesque family bloodline, and built to outlast it, too. Nothing resounded to a room like an artillery barrage, and to that disastrous cadence, they had a lively jig to tempestuous even the original owner wouldn’t know what was left where, but with how this place was kept, Ines didn’t imagine the last occupant of this place exactly was doing ledgers for the East Edinburg Trading Company.

But, a little maze was just what she needed.

---

“Sshhh…” he went, trying his damnedest to speak the obvious in the heat of the moment.

Every goddamn time, Ines wondered why she kept around a piece of trash like Cedric. Deep down, Cedric would be hopelessly lost if his girlfriend didn’t unfuck every single spider web he casually walked into, and that’s likely why Ines bothered taking pity on him. Didn’t hurt he had the hold of her promised share.

The goon right in the doorway let out his little whistle as he took in the sights and sounds of a worn-down paper factory.

“What a dump, huh?”

Machinery dangled from the wall in every shape and contour, pipes weaving like vines atop the ceiling while they pumped out white frosty powder long after they were decommissioned. Conveyor belts couldn’t even be called them anymore; They were more like strands of fabric bolts thrown loosely over mechanical wheels with holes aplenty. “A dump”, it was, and Berangers weren’t known for their biting insights.

Berangers. Lively little crew, them. Probably had the biggest cut in the black market trade out of everyone in the port side. And they didn’t just have a gang. Fernand Beranger had a private army working in and out of the Ostend seaports. Hell, if everything came crashing down and Fernand decided he wanted to make Ostend into his own private country, the Federation might not even decide it was worth it. Fortunately for the pair, the Berangers were the ones Cedric decided to steal from this time.

Street fighting superstar or not, the Berangers could have gave a fuck about Ines. They made money ten thousand different ways, and a Darcsen screwing up their chance to rig fights was strictly small-time to them. Ines wanted to make sure that remained the same. And then Cedric came into her life with half-baked, barely-explained and even less thought-out plans, and all of that flying under the radar may have been blown wide open.

“When I say so…” Cedric whispered, still hiding underneath an old processing station.

The idea was stupid. Cedric was stupid. Ines was stupid for following him here and agreeing to this whole stupid plan. She was the real idiot for believing in him to begin with.

“Why the fuck did I agree to this...why the fuck am I here...why the fuck am I with this asshole...how did I get here...why is it always me…?”

“...ready…”

Ines knew her place. She was a disenfranchised ring-fighter, not a stickup kid working corners. Mobsters or a crowd of Darcsen hunters, Ines felt her fingers quiver along the trigger. It made her sick. She promised herself she wouldn’t kill anymore. She hated herself for going along with it. Hated why she was here. Hated the man who brought her into this, and hated herself for not saying anything about it.

“...now!”

A single shot could shatter an eardrum with how close everything was, packed together in here. From two desperadoes firing everything they had, inside a trap they weren’t even sure if they were caught in?

Cold as it was outside, Ines’ ears were fine. She hoped the shots drowned out every last scream and every last shout, and hoped it drowned out the guilt of not finding her way out.

---

KRAKAKAKAKAKAKAK

Machine guns sounded off the perfect cover for her shot. She felt the kick of the carbine, the flash of the gun, posed right out the window and into the party. One fell to their knees, clutching something, somewhere. But as he caught his fall down with his only spare hand, Ines ducked back down, realizing she had missed.

She almost sat frozen, ducking behind the concrete barrier. On her back, while her hand ran across the bolt, Ines felt the punching stings from the bullets hitting the wall, each reverb running down her back. Every little hiss of bullet colliding with plate reminded her of how close she came to paralysis, and each little nudge urged her closer and closer to the ground, until the woman came to a crawl, marching on toward the back of the room. As she marched on all fours into whatever crevice the big girl could fit herself into, she had to start weighing her options. Hard to do with a squad about six, maybe seven strong high on her heels. The air around her even seemed like it was going away. No matter how hard the Darcsen pressed her head against the back of a cupboard, she couldn’t suppress how heavily she heaved and huffed, almost like she was giving labor in the middle of a battlefield.

“Focus, Ines. Think...you can do this…” Self-talk for the disparaging soldier, Ines noted, “You know where they’re coming from...one way in...one way to point their guns from the outside...just...wait…”

They were muffled, sure, but the screaming told her what their plans were; Two on the outside providing cover fire, the rest were going down the rabbit hole. If any of them had grenades, they would have lobbed one through the window earlier. That made Ines a bit better, as if she somehow convinced herself having to fight only half a dozen people was somehow better than exchanging fire and grenades through a windowsill.

“...Heinrich, take point. Becker, left flank.”

Ines leaned down, peering through a slight crack in the cupboards cramming to get a better look on the advancing squad. Three so far. Had to be a few more behind them. She could seem them all coming around, funneling right into a hodgepodge Y-intersection made of broken building and old storage wing. The tiny opening just ahead, not even a few meters in front of her, that’s where she saw her move.

Creeping forth, Ines kept a hand alongside the cupboard display. In her right hand, she pulled a grenade from her back belt, pin and fuse still intact. From then on, it was a counting game, peering an eye around the corner.

“One…” They were trudging along. Four people, guns up.

“Two…”

“...”

*Ping!*

“...OH FUCK, GRENADE!”

The whole place shook while everyone scraped on to what they thought was cover. Ines darted behind her, pressing her body up against the cupboard. She drew her rain-rusted trench knife, leaning around the edge-...

*BOOM!*

The Imperial around the corner dove behind the cupboard. Ines helped him, dragging the soldier by the neck while she introduced him to a blade. It came quick and easy, putting a hole in his throat like that. Shouts from the corner of where he died echoed through the maze, signalling Ines’ mad dash from around the corner and into the frenzied array.

And just like that, the royale was on.

“You BITCH!” his comrade screamed at the top of his lungs, “You’re about to DIE subhuman!”

Boy had legs, that was for sure, but with how he held his rifle at his waist, all Ines had to do was get ready. She was still low to the ground, sure, but maybe he hoped to pin her head atop his bayonet like a skull on a pike. He thrusted his rifle forward with his whole body leaning in, and all Ines had to do was push right. Then, his whole form broke. Collapsed. Shattered in an instant. He was flat on his stomach, and made easy pickings.

Had Ines not bothered to catch herself off of the momentum of a falling body, she wouldn’t have had much else besides a loud grunt in a battlefield full of exertions to notice the knife swinging at her. Streaking silver filled the sight over her head, and whether Ines tilted back, or he just made a wild swing, she couldn’t tell in the heat of the moment. But a wide swing left him open, angry enough to grind his teeth to the bone, and that’s when Ines threw her riposte. When it came in contact with his head, she felt her fingernails raking the back of his ear, like she could feel his skin peel with her strike, but her clawed grasp gnarled itself onto the poor bastard’s ear all the same. He winced, thrown to the side while he grunted, but that wasn’t even the worst part of the Imp’s mistake. No, Ines had a lot more punishment in mind for his fuck-up.

She had her thumb right over his eye. His little, half-open, shiny hazel eye. Eclipsing over his tear ducts, she did what came natural to her. She did what was necessary. Ines took her thumb, and dug. Hard.

It wasn’t clear what she perceived first; some sort of sense like she was popping some sick little pustule dug deep in rotted meat, or whether this poor sod was Crying Kara from the agony of losing an eye. The worse it got, the deeper she got, the more it felt like she was digging into the fucker’s brain, and when she got to some sockets where she wasn’t sure what was what, it made her wanna retch and puke. Her hand slid up, clean through the bastard trying to recover the eye he didn’t have, and slid the knife’s edge straight into him.

Ines tumbled forward, still in shock from the impact around her. Without a helmet, she probably would have been finished then and there, and for the time being, it looked like she’d need to do without one. As she turned, the sight of an Imperial, rifle in the air like it was some great war club was her rise and shine for the occasion. From down where about she was, he towered over her, and from upright, he had to have a few centimeters on her, too. But no, he kept himself moving, and Ines tangoed with him. Butt of the rifle just a hairline fracture away from her face, Ines barely rolled out of the way in time. Instinctively, she reached over to the gun, wrapping her rock-steady hand around the grip of the gun, the two’s hands touching, even. One last mistake, she found. And, boy, oh boy, the look on his face while he looked up the barrel of his own gun.

His blank, dumb, face may have been marred by a 7.62 to the head - of which, he kept about half of - but while his eyes twitched, it took the sorry fool a moment to register he’d had his brains blown out. Slowly, his lifeless, fleeting body crumbled down, finding it nice to rest alongside Ines.

BANG!

No rest for the wicked. The shot of the KAR ripped through the maze, but with how close everything wedged themselves together, it was impossible to really tell where it came from from Ines’ beautiful view of the dilapidated storage room ceiling. Sprung back to life, hopping off the support of her left arm, there were two of them, stacked up in formation. One cycled the bolt, but the one behind him stood there, hesitating. They were both aimed at Ines, sure, and what Ines had was about 5 meters, a turned-over table that they used as cover, and a Big Empty of bodies and bricks. She had a second to act, to make a plan that’d save her or kill her.

The only benefit to her plan was that it was so stupid that nobody would have even considered it to be an option. Like a puma out of a mad sprint to dinner, Ines bolted forward into what the Imps conceived could be called cover. And for a bit, it worked. The one behind the pointman broke, doing the right thing and turning around and running like hell. Pointman’s hand racked forward, chambering the round with a smack. Ines kept her head up and charging while she huffed and heaved. Pointman couldn’t help but look down, just making sure his hand was in the right place. No automatic reflex? Just what Ines wanted.

An explosion shook the room as he fired off again, and Ines could feel the bullet swipe clean through her hair. She felt the sonic boom kiss her ear, like the old, abusive boyfriend trying to get his girl back. A mad Darcsen diving through the air with nothing to lose and a death grip on yesteryear. That’s what the Imp had to look forward to while the table flung back, and he flung back with it.

Rubble and rubbish hitting the bastard’s head was nothing compared to the fury a repressed Darcsen had in store him. Ines didn’t even give herself a millisecond before she unleashed her flurry of punches on top of the man, nevermind bothering to question whether the Imp in front of her deserved any mercy. Any question of forbearance was thrown out as soon as he fired the first shot. If Hell had no fury like a woman scorned, Ines was the paragon of femininity. It was two strikes, then three, four, five, six, to the forehead, nose, ears, eyes, ripping, clawing, gutting, hooking, and tearing, right down to his throat. And with each and every rip, he slammed his head, just a tiny bit, into a little brick’s edge, just behind his head. Every little tap, another bore into the back of his head, until it broke the skin, broke the blood barrier, broke the bone. Again and again and again and again, until there was some husk of a face torn apart like a forsaken animal right below her.

And then, there was her. Only one remaining. Couldn’t have been older than 16, 17, out here without a friend in the world left and at the mercy of some subhuman with a crazed look in her eye like she was some sort of slumdog angel-of-death. What they played Ines up to be was what she saw; Some angry Darcsen who didn’t know right from wrong hell-bent on destruction. And for the moment, they were right. Ines wouldn’t know right from wrong if one Imp gave her a million francs and the other killed her mom in cold blood.

Maybe there was supposed to be this odd act of mercy you only saw when the both of you had seen too much. The lighthead looked pretty calm, collected. Almost sorrowful, really. Just with how the two looked at each other, not word dared be exchanged, but deep within their eyes, they could return their glances and go, “Was this how we had to meet?”

Maybe she’ll think of Ines when she’s all alone, or when she’s in that big battlefield up in the sky where the grass is green and things actually made sense. Maybe there was some sort of odd irony behind everything she was doing, like out of a mindless killer she was supposed to give it all up and, like in one of those motion pictures, the two would set aside their hatred and realize they were both cogs in the giant war machine, and they’d hug and kiss and the audience would all swoon and cheer. Maybe Ines was just a giant softie after all.

And maybe, if she asked nicely to go their own ways, Ines would say, “Maybe.”

Ines flicked her head toward the door. No longer pointing her gun at her, she tilted her eyes out way when in the great big hole of Amone. The Imp, almost confused, but thankful through that gaze of frowning horror, turned her back, slowly heading out back to square one. It was almost impossible to make out what her lips made out to say amidst the growls of gunfire and acrimony of armored automobiles, but Ines read lips pretty well.

Ines looked across her maze, her territory. Her vestige and slaughtering grounds, across the wonders she had wrought. And amidst all the carnage, Ines made herself sick.