[IC] Amygdala Circuit

[Mcmolly]

Besca’s head slumped down between her shoulders, and she nodded slowly. “That’s what I was afraid of,” she said. “‘Cause I have absolutely no idea what this means.”

With a tap she killed the screen, a few more saw the files resealed. The only eyes that needed to be on this now were hers and the research team—and even they’d need to be kept in the dark on most of this mess. There wasn’t much to keep from them, but what secrets there were, were necessary.

She stood back upright, cleared her throat. “Focusing on what we do know—this is gonna break soon. Helburke probably already knows that’s Dammerung, and it won’t be long before some history buff gets a stable frame from whatever footage survived, and figures it out as well. That’s all…fine. Like I said, Saviors have been reclaimed before, and there’s no reason for anyone to assume that’s not what’s going on here. The only people in the world who know that thing spoke to you are us, and Follen, and for now I think we need to keep it that way.”

“But…” Dahlia muttered, face pinched in thought. “We can’t just do nothing. He’s—its—hunting her.”

“And it’s not gonna get her—not unprepared. Quinn, hun, for the time being you’re staying on the Aerie. If you go planetside it’s gonna be in Ablaze, alright? Hey,” she came over to Quinn, placed her hands on her shoulders. “I watched you take on a pilot and a Modir on your first fight. You’re…” Push through it, she thought. She needs confidence, not regret. “You’re good, alright? You are. The next time this thing shows its face, you’re gonna make it wish it hadn’t.”

It twisted something inside of her to compliment Quinn’s piloting abilities. The whole idea was still revolting, and she loathed the idea that Quinn might begin to believe this was what she wanted for her.

Besca hugged her, pulled Dahlia in as well, and then broke away. “Okay, she said, heading for the exit. “I’m gonna go lie to the Board. Starting now, I want you two to prioritize sims in your training. Dammerung might be a Modir now but it still fights like a Savior. Deelie, she’s in your hands.”

“Y-yeah,” Dahlia said, managing only a small wave as Besca left them in the room. She sat down at the table, face still a mangle of confusion and worry, and squeezed Quinn’s hand. “You…you okay?”

[Lemons]

"No. I—I don't think I am."

The world felt very small, and very far away. She was being chased, hunted, by an Aridean prince. On some level, she knew it wasn't really Eain. Like Besca said, it was just...an echo of him, a Savior that had gone back to the other side where it came from and come back again. She knew it. On every level that mattered she knew it. It wasn't Eain anymore. It just couldn't be, as a simple fact.

But still...

Then why could it talk?

She didn't get it. And it made her want to think of it as a person. The Modir spoke with his voice. It fought like a Savior. It fought with his sword—

Quinn's heart nearly stopped.

What was it that Dahlia had said at lunch before the duel? Before she discovered that she was being hunted? That it was all her fault?

The weapons are supposed to be—

"Deelie," She spoke with a new urgency in her voice, and both she and her voice were shaking as she put her hand down gently on top of the table, wishing that she could bring up the image again, just to make absolute sure. But it wouldn't have changed anything, because she...she was sure. She would never, could never, forget that sword. The way the fuller had gleamed like fire as it hung above her head, and the crash as it slammed down—

She was hyperventilating now, and she closed her eye, steadying herself on the table and doing her best to stay in the present moment. "Deelie, our weapons are supposed to be us, right? Not—" She cut herself off again, wishing that she wasn't about to ask the question that was dancing on the tip of her tongue. It felt important. Very important. Important and scary, because it meant something was wrong, something was really wrong. A familiar dread was welling up from deep within her too. The other her was...was really afraid. And that just made it worse. "But if the weapons are supposed to belong to us and not the Modir, then..."

"Then how can it have Eain's sword?"

[Mcmolly]

Dahlia’s face went pale, Quinn could feel her hand beginning to clam up. Her mouth opened but when no words came out, it shut again. She shook her head. “I…” her voice dribbled from her lips, muted and unformed.

Why did it have Eain’s sword?

“Maybe…” her mind raced—no, more scrambled—for an answer. There ought to have been one, she figured. Centuries of history and research had gone into studying the Modir, so surely, surely this had happened before. There had to be precedence, and she just wasn’t well-read enough to know it off-hand.

Get it together, she thought, harshly. You’re going to scare her if you don’t get. It. Together.

Dahlia took a breath. “Wherever…wherever the weapons come from, you know, when we pull them, or when we send them away—we don’t really know where that is. And the Modir do have weapons. Could…could be that they just…waited ‘til Eain was dead. It’s a good sword, isn’t it? Could be they waited. Or…” She let go of Quinn’s hand, but got up to stand beside her instead. “Maybe it just…thinks it’s Eain, still. There’s probably studies on reclaimed Modir, but…well, you know what it feels like in there—with the Circuit. How could anyone really know what happens after? If we get absorbed, well…part of us has to still be there then, right? So, yeah, it…maybe it thinks it’s him. Or it’s fooling the weapon. Or…”

She sighed, suddenly and inexplicably frustrated with herself. “I don’t know. But you know what, Quinn? I don’t care.” She looked down at her, eyes hard and reassuring. “Swordsman, Dammerung, Eain—I don’t care who or what it is. It can’t have you. You’re my sister, and I made you a promise. So it can’t have you, and that’s just the way it is. Besca’s right; it better think twice about showing its face again, cause if it does, we’re gonna mulch it like the monster it is. Together.”

[Lemons]

Quinn looked up at her sister, at her silver eyes that were so flinty and jagged, but so warm too. Deelie was right, as usual. It didn't matter. It wanted to take Quinn away, away from her family and away from her home, and just the thought sent a thrill of fear racing up and down her spine in wave at once freezing cold and burning hot.

It didn't matter. And every one of the reasons Dahlia gave made sense. But still, the thought stuck in her mind like a burr, and wouldn't be shaken loose so easily.

She reached her still-trembling hand out, clutching onto Dahlia's again as she sat down with a thump. She squeezed her eye shut tight and dropped her head into the remaining hand, resting the elbow on her knee. Deelie's hand had warmed up again. The clamminess was gone and her voice was sure. She would keep her promise. She always kept her promises.

God, so much had happened today. Too much. She'd visited Roaki. She'd had a nightmare at lunch. She'd had good dreams with Safie. She'd gone down to the interview. She'd messed the interview up. Now this. It was all just...so overwhelming. She was tired. So tired. And in the sudden silence, the sudden stillness, the past few months finally managed to catch up, and blew over her like a hurricane.

I just want to sit here, I don't feel so good. I think I might be sick.

Her breathing grew heavy and ragged.

DON'T LEAVE ME!

Tears suddenly poured from her eye as her heavy breaths turned to shuddering sobs.

Did I...did I do good?

One after another the images came and the words and thoughts chased after them, cramming themselves into her head so hard she felt like it would burst. She squeezed Dahlia's hand tighter, tight enough to hurt, and leaned into her as she cried.

Her first phase.
Realizing that they had lied to her.
Her family.
How hard it had been to hit Deelie the first few days.
The grueling training.
The dreams.
Pulling the cannnon.
The duel.
Roaki.
The swordsman—Eain—Dammerung—

The staticky thoughts finally trailed off, and she was back in the briefing room again. Her tears were still running fast down her face. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been running towards the future so fast the past—even the present—hadn't been able to catch up. But sitting here with Dahlia and Besca, looking at the thing that had nearly killed Roaki, her sister, and her—

It was all just...too much.

And so she kept crying.

At some point Dahlia must have sat, because her head was lying on her lap. But it was all such a blur it was hard to understand what was going on.

She cried for a long time.

[Mcmolly]

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[Mcmolly]

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[Mcmolly]

The elevator opened one floor early, the doors parted for Aldous Follen.

Besca sighed.

“Good morning, Commander,” he greeted, stepping in beside her. It was only the two of them, and this lift was quite a ways from medical. He’d come all the way across to find her here, and she half expected him to hit the emergency stop once the doors closed again. Instead he said nothing, only smiled blankly ahead. Somehow she still felt as though they’d been speaking for hours.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What do you want, Follen?”

He feigned offense, poorly—couldn’t even hide the grin. “I can’t check up on my friend?”

“Checking up on your friend.”

“My friend,” he insisted. “Who is very clearly struggling to bear the weight of her honorary diplomatic duties.”

Besca sighed again, as involuntarily as the first. “You heard.”

“Saw, more like. Every news channel in Illun is abuzz about it. Casobani dignitaries flying into Eusero; I think even high school newspapers can tell what’s going on there. The imminent erosion of Runa’s union with Casoban, laid at the feet of RISC’s amateur commander, and her uncontrollable pilot.”

“They did not call her ‘uncontrollable’.”

“They will. Even our own people. Once Casoban falls in with Eusero, they’re going to blame Quinnlash’s actions at the duel—and you for allowing them.”

The elevator dinged and opened again. Besca walked briskly like she didn’t want to be followed, and Follen followed. “So what, then? Come to offer some grand solution?”

“I already did that, if I recall, you and yours just haven’t been able to deliver. No, I’m here because your theatrics with the Tormont girl are beginning to interfere with my department.”

“What, you didn’t consider getting manhandled as interference?” she scoffed.

“I considered it a part of those theatrics, but now things are moving backstage," he said. "The Board may not want to squeeze you right now, but they’ve certainly made their displeasure known to me. Our supplies are low, some of our men are sick and being prescribed band-aids. This morning I received an email giving me reason to believe medical’s payroll could be held until this situation is handled.”

“They can’t—”

“They could, and any public backlash they might face would be forgotten the moment you crack and they get to parade an enemy pilot to her execution. My guess is they’ll give her to Casoban, force us to work together against the inevitable retaliations from Helburke. Doubt it’ll work, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thank you for your suggestions.”

“I’m not making suggestions, he said, stopping. She paused begrudgingly. “I’m telling you to do your job.”

Besca couldn’t help the bristle that made her fists clench; she had to fight the urge not to grab him by the collar and show him what real interference looked like. But she took a deep breath instead, lips curling into a sneer. “That sounded awful close to frustration, Aldous. If you’re not careful you might accidentally feel something.”

Of course then he grinned again, which was enough to remind her how impossible that really was. “Good luck, Commander,” he said, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Part of her missed being colleagues—it didn’t look so bad when she yelled at him then. These days she did all her screaming on the inside.

---

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She found Deelie in the sims. The monitors were off, but the readings came through normal at a glance. There was only one supervisor on shift, and, without anything to watch or any need for direction on the comms, there wasn’t much for them to do. So, when Besca came through the doors, they hastily took their feet of the desk, and wiped the drool from their mouth.

“Commander!” they started, but Besca waved them at ease.

“How long’s she been in there?”

“Uh, well,” they checked the terminal, blinking the sleep from their eyes. “She was in before my shift.”

Besca balked. “Since last night?”

“Since…uh…yesterday afternoon.”

She’d sent Deelie a text reminding her to get something to eat before she came back to the dorms. Now she knew why she’d never gotten a reply. “Cut the sim.”

“But,” the supervisor started, but a sharp glance told them Besca’s generosity was waning. “Yes ma’am.”

She made her way out to the row of pods as one opened, and Deelie sat up. The girl seemed a bit bewildered, but mainly she just looked exhausted. When she saw Besca, a little life returned to her and she waved happily.

“Heya,” she said blearily. “Where’s Quinn?”

“Asleep, because it’s six.”

“In the…?”

“Morning, Deelie.” She helped the girl out, and held her steady while she shook the feeling back into her legs. “Seriously, you had two slices of toast yesterday, and this is the third day this week you haven’t slept.”

“Mmh. Gotta.”

“No, you gotta go back to the dorms, lie down, and sleep. I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

Deelie looked at her, the haze clearing in her eyes just long enough for Besca to see how anxious they were. “Have to be ready,” she said.

“You have to be functional. The sims will still be here in twelve hours—which is when you’re allowed back in. Go.”

“‘Kay. Sorry.”

“Not mad at you, hun,” she said, running a hand through Deelie’s fraying hair. “Just…worried.”

Deelie nodded mechanically. The hours were starting to catch up to her. “Me too, she said, and walked away.

---

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In her waking moments, as the warmth of her dream sloughed away, Quinn would feel a sharp chill pass over her. It slunk in through her cracked-open door, and moved across her bed as though she had no sheets at all. It touched her to the bone, not cruelly, but intently, as if to say: ‘Alright, time to get up.’

Distantly, she might have heard something she could easily have mistaken for hoofbeats. A shadow passed by her room, large and antlered, and then it was gone—or perhaps it hadn’t been there at all.

Her door opened wide, and standing there was not some ghostly beast, but the silhouetted form of her sister. Dahlia wobbled at the threshold, but eventually found her bearings and made her way in, step by shaky step until she nearly tripped into Quinn’s bed. This wasn’t the first time Dahlia had come to sleep here, and in fact, since they’d found out about Dammerung, it seemed she spent more nights here than in her own room. It was like she’d grown afraid to leave Quinn alone; then again, she had also been holing herself up in sims most days.

“G’night…” she mumbled, absently patting Quinn on the head. Moments later she was fast asleep.

Dahlia’s day had ended, but Quinn’s week had just begun.

[Lemons]

Quinn could still hear Safie's voice faintly in her head—trust me, Quinn, you're gonna do great things!—when her door was pushed open, and Dahlia nearly lurched in before coming to settle in next to Quinn and near-instantly passing into dreamland. For a few moments, Quinn was tempted to just lie there. To snuggle in with her sister, forget the rest of the world, fall asleep right next to Dahlia, and go back to the lake with Safie, where it was safe and cozy. But then the chill passed over her again—more insistently this time—and she acknowledged it was past time for her to get up. Shimmying gently out from under the covers, she picked her way to the foot of the bed and crawled over it, careful not to disturb Dahlia. The more rest she got the better.

She'd been pushing herself like mad for the past week, barely eating, hardly sleeping, and when she did it was in Quinn's room most of the time. It didn't take a genius to figure out why her sister was doing this, and that knowledge filled Quinn once again with a deep, cloying guilt. Just another one to add on to the pile.

Once she'd managed to extricate herself without waking her, Quinn walked quietly through the open doorway and gently closed it behind her, leaving it a few inches ajar, as was habit. She still hadn't gotten used to the commons being quiet when she awoke. Usually it was filled with the sound of Deelie cooking, and probably humming as she did. But she'd been spending so much time in the sim pods Quinn rarely even saw her anymore unless she crawled into Quinn's bed before or just after she woke, as with today. A sharp pang of loneliness bit her in the side. She missed her sister. She should be making more of an effort to get her out of the sims, or to make her food in the morning the same way she always had for Quinn. She still couldn't cook very well, but even just toast and jam and some fruit would be better than what she'd done so far, which was nothing.

Selfish girl.

Some minutes later, a silent breakfast of buttered toast and poorly-cooked eggs passed by as she forced herself to eat instead of just picking at them. A quick glance at the clock on the wall showed her that it was a quarter past six, and she suppressed a groan. She should be grateful that she'd managed to catch Dahlia awake, not lament the early hour.

Taking a few minutes to shower and roughly double that time if not longer amount to dry and braid her hair, she crept back into her room to pick out clothing for the day, donning it stealthily before taking the jacket that Besca had given her from the hook on her door and tossing it on to complete the look.

So then, she thought as she threw the door to the commons open and stepped out into the hall, what was the first thing she needed to do today?

She needed to have her eval with Docter Follen at some point in the next week, but maybe not today. Or if today, later, when she went to visit Roaki as usual.

She would've liked to spar for a bit, but Dahlia was obviously indisposed, and she didn't know how confident she felt sparring against members of security, or how comfortable they'd feel about sparring with a teenage girl, even if she was a pilot.

She needed to...yeah, that was probably the first order of business.

For the past few days, she'd been making nearly compulsive checks on Ablaze every day, just to make sure it was always ready just in case she needed to drop right away. She didn't know what she expected to find; it had always looked just the same, and it probably always would, but still, the hangar called her name. At the very least, she'd started to learn more about hangar staff. It couldn't hurt to say hi to them when she was there.

So, mind made up, she started off towards the elevator. No need to put on her pilot gear today, at least.

[Mcmolly]

The ride down was quick, quiet. Rarely was her presence in the hangar a good omen, but then, perhaps the recent days of her new habit were enough to help her forget that. Perhaps they weren’t. As the doors opened, she was given the chance to find out; Ablaze had been moved, and when Quinn exited the lift’s hallway, passing by the pilots’ locker room, she found her Savior standing directly across from her on the other side of the hangar.

From here it looked fine, which was to say, it looked like a monster. An array of braces, like shackles, helped keep it upright, and even, even with the light in its singular eye out, the beast radiated malice. Every person that passed below, every vehicle beeping by its feet, it regarded them all with the same hungry, flayed rictus. To see it in such stark light was an equally stark reminder that these things were not dead, only subdued.

Subdued, and angry.

Less malevolent were the smiles and waves she received on her way over. The crew’s numbers had been greatly reduced from the incident at Hovvi, and the river of applicants had been dammed until Quinn’s duel against Roaki. Only in the past week was the Aerie really beginning to restore its personnel, and even then there weren’t many in the hangar to begin with.

She saw familiar faces; this shift was small, and most of the people moving through the hangar weren’t technicians. Those present seemed glad to see her, and throughout the tumultuous weeks that had not changed. True, there were some among the security staff, and in administration whose opinions of the girl were more mixed than they once were, but here, in the hangar, Quinn was still the rookie hero, out to change Illun for the better.

As she drew closer to Ablaze, Quinn would notice something…odd. A figure was crouched by its foot, lab coat bunched up into a puddle. They were scraping the steel carapace of the Savior’s organic greaves with some kind of tool, and collecting the shavings onto the plate of another device. It beeped, sharp and loud, overshadowed only by the person’s own bubbly giggling. Eventually they noticed Quinn approaching, and as though they’d been shocked, they jumped to their feet so abruptly, they nearly fumbled the—presumably expensive—equipment onto the ground.

“Quinn! Quinnlash!”

In a mad dash, they made their way over, and Quinn could see that it was a young woman. Tall, even hunched, and lanky, with her hair pulled back into a messy tail that still left strands hanging over her face. Wide eyes behind wider, round glasses stared down at Quinn with frankly alarming intensity, though it was somewhat disarmed by the enthusiastic smile.

“Quinnl—uhm! Ms. Loughvein! P-pilot Loughvein! Hi! Wow, you—oh!” Awkwardly shifting the equipment against her chest with one hand, she struck the other out. “Hello! I’m Tillie Tomm, I’m, uhm! I’m the new intern! W-well, I mean, sorry, I’m a new intern, not the new—nevermind. Sorry! Wow, gosh. Look at you! I’m actually talking to you!”

[Lemons]

The hangar had become a...strange place for Quinn in recent days. Until very recently, it had been a place of abject fear and pain for her. Her disastrous phase test, the traumatic drawing of her weapon, the horror of what had happened in Casoban; if she was in the hangar, it usually meant that things were going terribly wrong, and it was her job to make sure they went back right.

But the recent visits had slackened that off a bit. She'd started talking to the staff more, getting to know them on a deeper level than "the ones that manage my Savior." So when she walked through the open door into the cavernous interior of the hangar, she took a deep, calming breath.

...Before she was poleaxed by Ablaze standing and staring at her.e

A shudder ran up and down her spine, and a thrill of fear jabbed claws into her mind. It had been two months and change since Hovvi. Long enough, however long it exactly was, that the sharper edges of the memories were starting to wear themselves down a little. But no matter how often she saw Ablaze, a part of her was still lying on that street crying as Jubilee stood headless above the wreckage of a town she'd never known. She took long, deep breaths, bringing herself forward in time again and doing her best to calm herself down as she began the long walk across the hangar to her Savior.

It looked okay. Nothing was wrong with it, as far as she could tell. The searing eye was dead, staring unseeing out. At her, it almost felt like, and breathed away another shiver as she remembered the last time it had looked at her. The yellow metal plate was fine; all the scratches it had accrued had been buffed out and it looked like it had just been recolored.

It was as she was approaching—wondering whether or not Ablaze was equipped with a lift platform at the moment for her to look at the cockpit—that she noticed the figure crouching by the Savior. She walked over, curious what was going on, what this person was doing, when they—she—turned and nearly sprinted over. Quinn's eye went wide in something like alarm as she started spouting words like a broken spigot. A new hangar intern named Tillie, and, uh...from the way she was talking, she was probably...a fan? Though she was aware they were out there, Quinn had never actually interacted with any of her fans as yet.

It looked like that was about to change, as she stood there and suddenly realized she had no idea what to say. She stood there for a few more seconds, feeling like an absolute idiot as she tried to put together words of some kind. Somehow this person managed to be intimidating without any attempts to do so. Her throat had gone dry.

"I...um, can...can I call you Tillie?"

She paused for a moment as she collected herself, and a smile—pale and wan, but probably more genuine than anything Tillie had ever seen out of her—came to her face. "And, uh, just...Quinn is fine. If you want." She stole a curious glance at what Tillie was carrying, whatever device was now holding some shavings of her Savior and beeping aggressively. It set her teeth on edge. What if it meant there really was something wrong with Ablaze? A distant part of her knew that was absurd, but it still dug into her. "So, um," she motioned to the plate, hating how unsure she sounded, "is there something wrong with my—"

My Savior. It still felt wrong to say out loud.

"—with Ablaze?"

[Mcmolly]

Tillie’s eyes magnified behind her glasses, making her look somehow more excited than she already was. “Really? I can? Okay, uhm! Quinn!” she giggled again, high and staccato in a way that drew passing eyes.

Her hand remained extended until Quinn drew attention to the equipment she carried. With another jolt, and a sharp, Oh!, she fiddled with the plated machine until it finally stopped beeping. A thin screen displayed a green light and no other information. The shavings she’d taken from Ablaze’s foot were sealed inside an inner chamber with a transparent lid.

As with all things removed from Saviors, they had begun to break down into the bubbling, black ichor of liquid modium. While normally being so close to it would have been extremely dangerous, Tillie’s nonchalance suggested that the sample must have been safely contained.

“Wrong?” she asked, though as she studied the display and the sample it sounded more like she was asking herself as well. “Mmmmnope! Nope it looks good so far! I was just—well, the section heads noticed you were coming in a lot, thought maybe you found something wrong yourself. They ran a full diagnostic on it, didn’t find anything, but well, you’re a pilot! You spend more time in that thing than anyone so, if you’re checking it so much, then it must be important! That’s what I told them, anyway.

“I sorta study modiology. I mean, sorry, uhm! I do study modiology. So I sorta-volunteered-sorta-got-assigned to monitor Ablaze! You can think of me like…your assistant technician!” the idea got another, softer chitter out of her, but it was quickly snuffed. “O-or! You know, I don’t have to be! I can totally stay out of your way, only draw samples when you’re not around—it’s no problem! Whatever’s better for you, Miss—uhm! Quinn!”

Tillie tried to salute, but she had to hunch low to keep from dropping the equipment again. Her smile turned nervous, expectant. She seemed ready to be yelled at, but something told Quinn that even that wouldn’t deter the woman.

[Lemons]

Ah. So that's what Tillie was doing here. Volunteered-slash-assigned to be Quinn's technician. Not a bad idea, and the more she thought about it, the more she warmed up to it. Though she could do without the container of ichor in front of her, it was hard to understand Ablaze sometimes, and a modiologist would be a big help, she hoped.

...Not to mention, Quinn was starting to get lonely. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to when Deelie and Besca were busy.

"No, no no, don't worry about it." She tried her best to make her tremulous smile warmer as best she could, to be met with...debatable success. "I'm not...upset with you or anything." She sucked in a long, deep breath as she kept up calming herself down. "And I don't really think there's anything wrong. I'm just...stressed, is all, so I just want to make sure everything is okay. Being a pilot is..." she hesitated. "Well, it's nerve-wracking a lot. So I'm, um, sorry if I sound mad or anything."

A moment passed and she pitched her head slightly downward. "'Course, I might not be the best to talk about it. I'm still new at this." Another delay. She picked her words carefully, a little like she was talking to Roaki. There was an instinctive understanding in her that whatever she said was going to be picked apart and dissected to its finest pieces by Tillie just the same way. "What I'm trying to say is—" her smile grew warmer, but also somehow sadder as well. "—I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm tired. I'm glad you're here."

A sudden idea popped into her brain, followed by a soft "oh!" as she peered between the Savior's massive legs to spot the platform that was indeed there. She cleared her throat, feeling intensely self-conscious as she awkwardly waved towards it. "I was about to go check the cockpit to make sure everything is okay." Pause, and she started slowly walking towards around the side of the Savior to the lift while she spoke over her shoulder, "You can come if you want."

[Mcmolly]

Quinn received an ecstatic shriek in reply, devolving into another giggling fit “See the cockpit? Really? I’ve literally dreamed of it!” Tillie said, near breathlessly. “Yes, yes! Uhm! Please yes!”

She stepped out of the way and followed along behind, practically hopping. She deposited the equipment on a table near the Savior’s ankle braces, and the two of them proceeded through Ablaze’s legs, to the lift situated along its spine. The ride up gave them a scenic view of the mottled back, and not much else, but Tillie looked very nearly as fascinated as Quinn had on her ride down to Mona’s.

“They tell you about how big they are, and, you know, you see them on TV all the time, but this…wow. Uhm! I never got to go to any of the singularities growing up. Dad never liked them, didn’t trust it. Duels too. Couple years ago I thought I’d never get to see one up close like this, let alone work on them. It must be so cool, huh?”

Eventually they reached the top, where the neck-brace was extended into a wide, flat platform that spanned Ablaze’s shoulders. There were more tables up here, tool cabinets and tables cluttered with equipment that looked like it might be meant for reading as much as mining. Tillie scurried over to a little console and swiped her nametag over its sensor.

“I-I saw your fight in Casoban!” she said over her shoulder. “You really surprised everyone, even me! Uhm! I mean, not that I didn’t think you wouldn’t—well, maybe I didn’t, a little. But I was rooting for you! Ever since they first started talking about you. Actually, it’s kinda why I signed up.”

As Quinn approached the back of Ablaze’s skull, she felt that chill again. It had been coming to her more often, and unfailingly each time she’d come to check on the Savior. The cockpit would be frigid, she’d know, but it was almost as if that cold darkness was reaching out to meet her.

Tillie sidled up beside her again, hands clasped together. “Are you sure this is okay? I mean—I don’t want to assume or anything. I know some pilots are really particular about this stuff. Should I close my eyes? Turn around?”

[Lemons]

As they rode the elevator up, Tillie kept talking. About never having seen how big they were. Quinn had mostly gotten used to it at this point, but yeah...they were pretty huge.

A tiny thorn of sadness buried itself into Quinn's heart the same way it always did when people talked about their parents, but she ignored it as best she could and kept listening to this excitable new person in her life, occasionally throwing in a comment. "I don't know if it's really cool, but it's nice to be able to make a difference." She smiled an awkward smile; the smile of someone who hasn't smiled a lot, and is still trying to get used to the sensation.

As they finally reached the top—dear lord, the trip up always took forever—she slowly took the standard trio of long, deep breaths to offset the anxiety that always started bubbling inside her gut when she got up here, and the hangar floor that dropped a hundred feet away. It wasn't exactly a point of view she was unused to, but being outside of the Savior made it feel much more keenly dangerous. One more long, shuddering breath as Tillie walked over to a little console, and her mouth kept moving.

"I-I saw your fight in Casoban! You really surprised everyone, even me! Uhm! I mean, not that I didn’t think you wouldn’t—well, maybe I didn’t, a little. But I was rooting for you! Ever since they first started talking about you. Actually, it’s kinda why I signed up."

Quinn couldn't help it; a laugh burst from her, nervous and trembling and frayed around the edges. "Don't worry," she said when the laughter abated, "I didn't think I was going to win either."

She would've kept talking, but the chill rolled over her body again and she tensed up. It felt a little like when Quinnlash was giving her feelings, but there was something deeper and more alien to it. Something totally devoid of any semblance of humanity. She shivered.

Actually, on that note...

She turned to where Tillie stood next to her and shook her head. "No, it's fine, really." A moment went by that felt much longer than it really was.

"But, um...you've never seen inside a cockpit before, right?" At least she had a lab coat on. "It's really, really cold, I'm more used to it and even I can't stay in without my suit on for more than a few minutes." One last deep breath. "And...there's no walls or roof." She fished her phone from her pocket. "Or lights."

Then, as ready as she was ever going to be, she turned her phone flashlight on, pulled open the skullport, winced at the absolutely frigid air, and dove into the darkness.

By the time she even made it the few steps to the chair, she was already shivering. The air was filled with the scent of lemon and vanilla from the two small tablets taped to each side of the chair, and she was grateful for them; it made it a little less painful to breathe.

She checked the surface of the chair first, running her fingers along the padded grooves form-fit to her body and the suit plugs, and trying to ignore the brain of the Modir softly pulsing around her, coated with a glistening shell of ice. Nothing was wrong with the chair; all the plugs looked right, nothing was out of place. She was shivering hard enough to nearly drop her phone now as she knelt down to check the stem of the chair, where it had attached to the floor. Where Roaki's had broken off and—

She sucked in a calming breath, though the effect was lessened by the fact that the cold was like a knife to her throat.

"Welcome to my cockpit, Tillie."

[Mcmolly]

With the dark there came an odd and familiar enveloping sensation, like arms around her, briefly, before it slipped off of her like a blanket. Even then it didn’t feel entirely gone. Along with Tillie, Quinn could feel another presence there, separate from them, and from the unplacable pressure exuded from the pulsing walls. And, as always, it brought with it a certain comfort.

Tillie walked with all the sure-footedness of a newborn faun, immediately folding in on herself to stave off the cold. Of course, even in the cockpit’s frigid heart, she didn’t seem the least bit deflated. As Quinn checked the seat, she made her way to the soft edges. They held no brace, but there were, driven into the flesh, the dim, blinking lights of a measuring array. Tiny nodes set up all around, aimed inward towards the seat. Tillie guessed it was another way of monitoring the Circuit’s regenerative progress.

Tentatively she reached out, probed the brain matter with a single finger. Soft, damp but not wet, though she felt a slight suction the instant her skin made contact with it and she jerked back. A cold-addled giggle broke the dark and quiet.

“T-t-t-this i-is-s…s-so cool!” she said through chattering teeth, punctuated with a squeal. She came over to join Quinn at the seat, marveling in the narrow but piercing light of the phone. “A-a-and y-you just….s-sit here! I-in this! I-in the c-c-cold! Uhm! The suits m-must be s-s-so warm!”

She ran a hand down the chair, careful not to touch the inputs, though she did lean in close to examine them. “I n-n-never tho-o-ought about how yo-you’re p-plugged into this. I-is it c-c-comfort-t-table? D-d-do you get…l-like…uhm! C-c-cramps?”

[Lemons]

Everything seemed okay with Ablaze. Obviously. What would've gone wrong, really? And Tillie was clearly enjoying herself. But...Quinn was started to get twitchy, and even the comforting company of Quinnlash within her head wasn't enough to stem the growing tide.

She'd gotten much better about being in enclosed spaces, partially because of her Savior. But she certainly wasn't good about them, and the oppressive sentient pressure of the Modir brain enclosing them—something that Tillie simply couldn't understand—certainly didn't help matters any. So when she spoke next, there was a tension in her voice that hadn't been there before. A tight, nervous tone, a bit like how she'd spoken when she'd first had her composure broken on Mona's interview. She tapped a fingertip on the big input, the one that went into the base of her skull.

"The, uh, the pilot suit has gaps in it so I can still plug in." Doing her best to clamp down on the steadily rising fear, she half-turned, flicked her braid aside, and lifted the light briefly to the few sockets visible on her neck above the jacket collar before she brought the light back down and continued, "but um...I n-never really thought about comfort. I b-barely f-feel it since the s-suit is thick and heated and I connect r-right-t-t after, and you don't feel anything once you're in." She clutched at her narrow frame, trying in vain to warm up some as the cold started to get to her more. Her breaths began to heave more, and the staccato gunshots of her chattering teeth were only halfway because of the cold.

"I'm sorry," she muttered quietly, gripping her upper arms in a very familiar way, "I-I'm g-gonna wait o-outside."

She handed Tillie her phone for the flashlight, then fled the cockpit, breathing deeply as she emerged again onto the broad platform and moving away some so the cold could slacken off a bit. After a moment's consideration, she pinged a message to Besca and Dahlia (for when they stopped being busy and asleep, respectively): I have a new technician. She's nice. You should meet her.

[Mcmolly]

The cold did fade, quickly, and with it the pressure. The presence was slowest to go, and even then it didn’t leave her completely. Quinn’s messages went out, and, expectedly, she received no response from Dahlia. Besca did reply a handful of moments later though.

- great hun ! gla d u r making friends :o) -

Inside the cockpit, Tillie stood with Quinn’s phone light, torn. Obviously the appropriate thing to do would be to leave immediately. This wasn’t just like being in someone else’s room, this was a Savior. People like her weren’t meant to even see inside the cockpits, to say nothing of being left inside unattended. To dally would have been wholly unprofessional, and if Quinn decided she’d waited too long, or if one of her superiors happened to check the feed, she could be very justifiably fired.

But…when else would she get a chance like this?

She could be quick.

Using the phone as a guide, Tillie approached the seat and carefully, very carefully, hopped up onto it. The cushions were surprisingly soft, but still utterly frigid. As she leaned back against them, the chill shocked her, pushed through her back all the through her chest, her legs, her face. She rested her head against the frame, and felt the barest tickle of the plug’s input against her neck, a focal point of cold almost like a needle. Of course, she had no housing for it, and the last thing she wanted to do was bleed all over Quinn’s cockpit.

She lay there, shivering, but inwardly as settled as she might be lying in her own bed. She felt her face split for a smile, her cheeks burning, the corners of her lips cracking. A horribly embarrassing giggle escaped her, and she was thankful there was no one around to hear it.

For a few, transcendent moments, she wasn’t Tillie Tomm, Modiologist. And she didn’t quite feel like Tillie Tomm, Hero Pilot, either. Just then, she was Tillie Tomm, Turning Ten, and it was the happiest she’d been in a long, long time.

When she emerged from the Savior’s skull, she was quaking like a leaf, her face was beet-red, except for her lips which were graying. She rubbed her arms and cheeks furiously, and squeezed her hair, which crackled like ice. Her glasses were frozen over, and she rubbed those clear too. If she was at all uncomfortable, she showed no sign of it. All Quinn saw was a wide, goofy grin, and the giggling that came with it.

“T-t-t-that was a-am-mazing! Thank you s-so much, I-I’ve d-dreamed about that forever!” She held out Quinn’s phone, unscathed save for a bit of frosting over the screen. “U-uhm! B-b-but I d-definitely get wuh-wh-why you guys wear h-heated suits!”

[Lemons]

Quinn reclaimed her phone, pulling her shirt out from underneath the jacket and rubbing the chill away from the screen before flicking the light off and sliding it back into her pants pocket. She looked at Tilly with a shaky smile. The memory of the pressure on her head always messed her up a little bit whenever she got out of Ablaze. Another thing she was starting to get used to more as she spent more time in the hangar, but definitely unpleasant. She made a mental note to ask Dahlia if she felt something similar when she was in Dragon. If she ever caught her awake, at least, which was becoming increasingly harder to do as she pushed herself harder and harder.

"Uh huh," she replied, the tension still prevalent in her voice. "It's like being wrapped up in a—in a warm—a warm blanket." As her eye flicked to the skullport, she couldn't help but remember the last time she'd left it outside of the hangar—running—blazing heat, dry, cracked earth, the smell of ichor everywhere—Dragon lying in a pool of its own black blood as Blötklau dissolved with Roaki trapped and screaming on the hill above her—dizzy—desperate—screaming———

Her hands went to her arms again, digging in harder this time, and she trembled in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. A moment, and her eye—held wide now—went downcast. She shivered, and sat herself down on the metal floor, closing her eye tight. The tension was started to leak out of her voice, to be replaced with a sense of weariness that often came with the Savior, and an entirely different kind of stress: obvious fear. Instead of chattering with cold, it stuttered and halted in a way that she'd become very familiar with over the past few months.

"I'm—I'm sorry, could..." She swallowed heavily, running her hands down her face to wipe off the sudden cold sweat, "could you—could you c-close the skullport for me?"

[Mcmolly]

Tillie continued to rub her arms, her hands, her face. It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed how cold it had been inside, but now back in the warmth it seemed so reluctant to leave her. Perhaps that was just another effect of the cockpit; she’d never read anything concerning it, but, there was a certain unnatural aspect to the Modir that made it hard to call any study ‘definitive’. Who was to say, really?

Looking to Quinn, it seemed she was still stricken as well, shivering, teeth clattering. She’d broken out into a cold sweat though, which was odd, but again, by what metric? Certainly cold sweats weren’t unheard of among pilots who were often dealing with modium growths in their own bodies. Still, as close as modiology could run with medicine, Tillie wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t her place to say.

So, instead she got excited. “Can I?” she squeaked, voice suddenly and thoroughly thawed. “I mean! Uhm! Of course I can!”

With a bounce in her step, Tillie scurried back to Ablaze and took hold of the opened port. Her stomach fluttered to look into the darkness one more time, but then the chill reached out for her again, and she closed the door. It sealed with a sharp hiss, and black-against-black, the seams all but vanished to the naked eye.

Instantly she was warmer, the whole of the air was too. Coming back to Quinn, she stood with her hands triumphantly on her hips. “Phew! Savior secure! How’d it look in there? I mean, did you see anything you want checked out?”

[Lemons]

The skullport vanished, and Quinn immediately felt better.

That's not to say she felt good. Not in any way whatsoever. But with the immediate reminder gone, she found herself able to—with the support of the long table that ran alongside her—haul herself to her feet and give Tillie a genuine, if weak, smile again. "N-no, nothing. It all looks fine."

That's right, Quinn. It's fine. It's all fine. Stop worrying about it. Hangar staff would obviously catch any fluctuations or problems right as soon as they happened. There was no reason for her to come here like this, go through the torment of opening the port, diving into the cold, lonely, enclosed dark, and endure the Modir pressing in all around here, all alone.

Thank god for Tillie. Without her there, Quinn would've just had a breakdown, she just knew it. She swallowed heavily, wiping the remnants of the sweat off again. It wasn't usually this bad. She opened her mouth to thank her for being there so she didn't completely fall apart—

Before she stopped.

Did she really want to make Tillie feel responsible for her? To layer her with Quinn's problems when she had nothing to do with them and no obligation to help with them?

No.

Deelie was pushing herself to hell and back because she was afraid for Quinn. Besca was working nonstop—she was surprised she'd even gotten a response from her—day in and day out because of what Quinn had done. The population of the Aerie was still a fraction of what it used to be, it seemed like, because Quinn just had to be at Hovvi. So everyone else had more work.

She didn't want to be a burden on Tillie too.

So instead, she kept that lame smile pasted to her face as inside, she screamed.

"I'm...glad you enjoyed it. I'll tell head of hangar security that you can come up here any time you want." After all the trouble and pain she'd caused, making her new technician happy was the least she could do.