Mcmolly

Amygdala Circuit

Besca wouldn’t have minded spending the rest of the day like that, ignoring the Aerie, and Casoban, and Eusero. She had a million reasons to despise her job, but it was hard to forget—now especially—that without it, she wouldn’t have…this. These girls. She’d be relegated to analytics, or likely fired, and Dahlia and Quinn would have been at the mercy of whoever the Board thought would be able to twist them the best.

When she was eventually replaced, she hoped they’d remember to hold on to each other like this. Like she wouldn’t be able to.

“Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “Right, yeah, uh—yeah. Just a statement for now, interviews’ll come over the next few days. RNN just wants a word from you both, one on each of their sister stations, so Deelie, you’ll sit over there and Quinn you’ll be right here. I’ll boot up the video call and you’ll both just…well, just tell’em everything’s good. You handled the singularities and you’re glad you got to it before anyone got hurt. PR would like for you to emphasize how Runa stands by its allies no matter the political climate, since they’ll be airing it in Casoban most likely too. Actually they had a script for you but I, uh, tripped and lost it in the trashcan. So you both say whatever you feel like saying, and when you’re done, you just thank them for their time and you close the call, alright?”

With that, Dahlia went across the room to a seat and a screen, covering herself in a jacket first and doing her best to appear as composed as the public was used to seeing her. On Quinn’s end, the screen came on as Besca stepped away.

On the other side, a man in a suit with slicked-back hair sat at a wide desk with an equally-well-dressed woman beside him. Scrolling across a bar on the bottom of the screen was text describing the events—the multiple singularities, the zero civilian casualties.

“Oh!” the man said, surprise clear on his face, albeit briefly. “We’re—okay this is RNN: Now back with you, and we’re joined live by RISC pilot Loughvein, and I’m told on our primary channel, RNN, they’ve just been joined by pilot St. Senn.

“Miss Loughvein! We’re all so glad to see you in one piece, thank you so much for taking the time to speak with us. As the footage rolls in, we’re beginning to see just how much bigger this attack was than anticipated. This isn’t your first encounter with these troublingly fast emergences, we’d just like to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

Moriya Mio

Lo-Fi beats to relax and resist the desires for violence to

_______________________________________________ // INFO P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S Full Name – Moriya Mio Age - 20 Gender - Female Occupation – Blacksmith’s Apprentice - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Tempered “That’s the problem, you know. You think you’re the fire, but you’re the metal.” If it weren’t for her size, you might never know Mio was there. She speaks softly and maintains a serene demeanor, and it is by every measure an effort. She has encased herself in an armor of patience, and has not raised her voice in anger since she was still little. Her mind is filled with a myriad of calming mantras, meditative techniques, and sermons on tranquility. Quenched steel might lose its heat, but cold metal can still cut—she can’t afford to be complacent. Imperfect Alloy “You don’t smile right, girl. If a wolf shows you its teeth, it’s not happy—it’s gonna bite you.” The urges and impulses that plagued her as a child never went away. She knew better than to believe they could be buried, and though she tried her best to quell them, they’re still there, baked into her every moment whether she realizes it or not. Though often well-composed, one can still see that the fire in the forge doesn’t leave her when she walks away. It’s still there in her eyes, in her gait, in the bridled way she handles the curtness of others. Against her wishes, the world seems bent on trying to pry violence out of her, but even if it’s a fight she can never win, she’s determined to do her best not to lose. Sweated Steel “Sometimes I think you wake up to remind the sun it’s got a job to do.” Mio considers herself exceptionally hard-working, not out of arrogance but necessity. Each morning she’s up before dawn, fed and exercised and headed to the forge while the moon’s still watching. When an order comes in she gets to work immediately, heading a project herself, or assisting either Tetsu or Tsubasa as needed. In downtime she cleans, she organizes, she runs errands entirely unrelated to the forge. Anything to keep busy. Anything to keep the mind off itself. Idle hands tempt maligned action. // SKILLSET S K I L L S E T Blacksmith's Apprentice Mio knows her way around a forge. Be it structural components, tools, or, sometimes, little knick-knacks just for fun, Tetsu’s shop can do it all. She’s nowhere near as skilled as her master, and as a craftsman she’s fairly sure Tsubasa is the more skillful apprentice, but Mio is no novice anymore, and she excels at repairs in particular. Body of Work A decade of hard work and diligent exercise has made Mio almost as strong as the metals she works with. If there’s heavy lifting to be done, whether it’s around the shop or out on the town, she’s your girl. As well, her years by the forge have granted her a slight resilience to heat, and if you get too close to her you might swear she took some of its warmth with her. Independent The soft-ostracization Mio faces from both the village and her own family forced her to learn self-reliance at a young age. As a result, she’s incredibly responsible, able to take care of herself, cook, clean, and manage both a home and the forge without much trouble. It’s done nothing for her nonexistent social skills, but it does make her a dependable handywoman.

Physical Description Mio is imposing, and it stresses her out. She’s taller than most people in the village, even those older than she is, and practically a decade of working with heavy metals has given her a physique of hard muscle and the stamina of a field ox. Wherever she goes, Mio casts a long and intimidating shadow that most people would rather scurry out of than look up at. If they did though, they wouldn’t find much comfort. Mio isn’t an angry looking person, but being around her, you’re likely to be struck by a disconcerting anxiety. She tries to keep on a warm smile, and on another face, her eyes might be considered safe and comforting. On her though, people swear they see something in them. They hold firelight too long and too easy, and their brightness makes it hard to tell whether she’s happy, or about to do something…bad. Her hair is a soft sunset color, and goes down to her back. She dresses lightly for the hours spent around roaring fires and scalding metals. There are a fair few burn scars up and down her arms, and across her sides, from the early mistakes all apprentices make, but she makes no effort to hide them. Character Conceptualization When Mio was six years old, she smashed a frog’s leg with a rock. She remembers it vividly, and the gut-wrenching horror that rooted in her as it hopped oblongly away even more so. She remembers running to her parents, screaming and crying that the trees were going to eat her for being evil. Of course, when they found out what she’d done, they did their best to comfort her; then, when she’d finally calmed down, they scolded her gently, and brought her out to pray forgiveness for what she’d done. Kneeling there with her head pressed to the dirt, Mio had never felt so scared. Ultimately, it seemed the kami decided to spare her the agony of eternal damnation, or exile, and she went back to being a normal child. When she was ten it happened again. Sitting on a bench behind her family’s home, a small bird perched itself on her hand. It wasn’t the first time; Mio had a penchant for stillness that most wildlife found amicable, and she often found herself subject to the company of birds, and squirrels, and wild cats. It was pleasant, usually, and there was warmth in being trusted by something so small, so soft. So fragile. It didn’t move when she slowly closed her hand around it, but when she squeezed it fought back. It shrieked, it thrashed, it pecked at her hand with its sharp little beak and drew blood, but Mio didn’t let go. She just squeezed, until her mom found her and wrenched the poor thing out of her grasp. This time there was no comforting. Her parents demanded answers that she didn’t have; she knew it was wrong, she felt terrible, and she didn’t know why she did it. They looked at her like a stranger, they treated her like a yokai in the shape of their daughter. Animals didn’t come to her anymore after that. She felt an eerie discomfort whenever she drew too close to the forest, and soon that anxiousness began to follow her everywhere. The villagers seemed to sense it; there was a wariness about them when she was in their presence, even when she was still little. People stopped talking to her, stopped visiting her house. They averted their eyes like they could see something in her own that upset them. Before long, her company was scarce. Just about the only person who would actually speak to her was the local blacksmith, Tetsu, and he was more disliked than she was. Her parents didn’t care that she spent so much time around a delinquent; it got her out of the house, away from them. Whether the man was taking pity on her, or just wanted an extra pair of hands to dump his work into, at ten Mio began to work as Tetsu’s apprentice. The work helped. Smithing gave her a focus, a channel for the feelings she had but didn’t understand. She turned her impulses to the forge, and the crucible, and gave what remained to the flames. She started to smile again, even if she didn’t often have anyone to share it with. As time went on, Mio grew taller than her mother, then her father, and eventually you’d have been hard-pressed to find an adult in Heisana who could stand at-eyes with her. Combined with her muscled build and the unnerving air she’s been unable to shake even into young adulthood, her regard in the village did not improve, despite her best efforts. In some ways she began to adopt Tetsu’s ill reputation, though she attended few parties and never touched alcohol. But she doesn’t mind. In ten years, she hasn’t hurt a single breathing thing, intentionally or otherwise. The urges have become a part of her, and each day they pass from head, to heart, to hand, to hammer and finally to metal. Rarely thanked for her work, never welcomed as warmly as the forge, as long as she can keep her peace, Mio is content to be who she is. It’s better than what she could be. Other Information Mio has only learned a couple of signs to help out around the forge. Reinforce to make handling white-hot metals less dangerous, and Mend for when a project just needs a little touching up.

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

Mama-Mio that'sa a spicy'a blacksmith

Lo-Fi beats to relax and resist the desires for violence to

_______________________________________________ // INFO P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S Full Name – Moriya Mio Age - 20 Gender - Female Occupation – Blacksmith’s Apprentice - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Tempered “That’s the problem, you know. You think you’re the fire, but you’re the metal.” If it weren’t for her size, you might never know Mio was there. She speaks softly and maintains a serene demeanor, and it is by every measure an effort. She has encased herself in an armor of patience, and has not raised her voice in anger since she was still little. Her mind is filled with a myriad of calming mantras, meditative techniques, and sermons on tranquility. Quenched steel might lose its heat, but cold metal can still cut—she can’t afford to be complacent. Imperfect Alloy “You don’t smile right, girl. If a wolf shows you its teeth, it’s not happy—it’s gonna bite you.” The urges and impulses that plagued her as a child never went away. She knew better than to believe they could be buried, and though she tried her best to quell them, they’re still there, baked into her every moment whether she realizes it or not. Though often well-composed, one can still see that the fire in the forge doesn’t leave her when she walks away. It’s still there in her eyes, in her gait, in the bridled way she handles the curtness of others. Against her wishes, the world seems bent on trying to pry violence out of her, but even if it’s a fight she can never win, she’s determined to do her best not to lose. Sweated Steel “Sometimes I think you wake up to remind the sun it’s got a job to do.” Mio considers herself exceptionally hard-working, not out of arrogance but necessity. Each morning she’s up before dawn, fed and exercised and headed to the forge while the moon’s still watching. When an order comes in she gets to work immediately, heading a project herself, or assisting either Tetsu or Tsubasa as needed. In downtime she cleans, she organizes, she runs errands entirely unrelated to the forge. Anything to keep busy. Anything to keep the mind off itself. Idle hands tempt maligned action. // SKILLSET S K I L L S E T Blacksmith's Apprentice Mio knows her way around a forge. Be it structural components, tools, or, sometimes, little knick-knacks just for fun, Tetsu’s shop can do it all. She’s nowhere near as skilled as her master, and as a craftsman she’s fairly sure Tsubasa is the more skillful apprentice, but Mio is no novice anymore, and she excels at repairs in particular. Body of Work A decade of hard work and diligent exercise has made Mio almost as strong as the metals she works with. If there’s heavy lifting to be done, whether it’s around the shop or out on the town, she’s your girl. As well, her years by the forge have granted her a slight resilience to heat, and if you get too close to her you might swear she took some of its warmth with her. Independent The soft-ostracization Mio faces from both the village and her own family forced her to learn self-reliance at a young age. As a result, she’s incredibly responsible, able to take care of herself, cook, clean, and manage both a home and the forge without much trouble. It’s done nothing for her nonexistent social skills, but it does make her a dependable handywoman.

Physical Description Mio is imposing, and it stresses her out. She’s taller than most people in the village, even those older than she is, and practically a decade of working with heavy metals has given her a physique of hard muscle and the stamina of a field ox. Wherever she goes, Mio casts a long and intimidating shadow that most people would rather scurry out of than look up at. If they did though, they wouldn’t find much comfort. Mio isn’t an angry looking person, but being around her, you’re likely to be struck by a disconcerting anxiety. She tries to keep on a warm smile, and on another face, her eyes might be considered safe and comforting. On her though, people swear they see something in them. They hold firelight too long and too easy, and their brightness makes it hard to tell whether she’s happy, or about to do something…bad. Her hair is a soft sunset color, and goes down to her back. She dresses lightly for the hours spent around roaring fires and scalding metals. There are a fair few burn scars up and down her arms, and across her sides, from the early mistakes all apprentices make, but she makes no effort to hide them. Character Conceptualization When Mio was six years old, she smashed a frog’s leg with a rock. She remembers it vividly, and the gut-wrenching horror that rooted in her as it hopped oblongly away even more so. She remembers running to her parents, screaming and crying that the trees were going to eat her for being evil. Of course, when they found out what she’d done, they did their best to comfort her; then, when she’d finally calmed down, they scolded her gently, and brought her out to pray forgiveness for what she’d done. Kneeling there with her head pressed to the dirt, Mio had never felt so scared. Ultimately, it seemed the kami decided to spare her the agony of eternal damnation, or exile, and she went back to being a normal child. When she was ten it happened again. Sitting on a bench behind her family’s home, a small bird perched itself on her hand. It wasn’t the first time; Mio had a penchant for stillness that most wildlife found amicable, and she often found herself subject to the company of birds, and squirrels, and wild cats. It was pleasant, usually, and there was warmth in being trusted by something so small, so soft. So fragile. It didn’t move when she slowly closed her hand around it, but when she squeezed it fought back. It shrieked, it thrashed, it pecked at her hand with its sharp little beak and drew blood, but Mio didn’t let go. She just squeezed, until her mom found her and wrenched the poor thing out of her grasp. This time there was no comforting. Her parents demanded answers that she didn’t have; she knew it was wrong, she felt terrible, and she didn’t know why she did it. They looked at her like a stranger, they treated her like a yokai in the shape of their daughter. Animals didn’t come to her anymore after that. She felt an eerie discomfort whenever she drew too close to the forest, and soon that anxiousness began to follow her everywhere. The villagers seemed to sense it; there was a wariness about them when she was in their presence, even when she was still little. People stopped talking to her, stopped visiting her house. They averted their eyes like they could see something in her own that upset them. Before long, her company was scarce. Just about the only person who would actually speak to her was the local blacksmith, Tetsu, and he was more disliked than she was. Her parents didn’t care that she spent so much time around a delinquent; it got her out of the house, away from them. Whether the man was taking pity on her, or just wanted an extra pair of hands to dump his work into, at ten Mio began to work as Tetsu’s apprentice. The work helped. Smithing gave her a focus, a channel for the feelings she had but didn’t understand. She turned her impulses to the forge, and the crucible, and gave what remained to the flames. She started to smile again, even if she didn’t often have anyone to share it with. As time went on, Mio grew taller than her mother, then her father, and eventually you’d have been hard-pressed to find an adult in Heisana who could stand at-eyes with her. Combined with her muscled build and the unnerving air she’s been unable to shake even into young adulthood, her regard in the village did not improve, despite her best efforts. In some ways she began to adopt Tetsu’s ill reputation, though she attended few parties and never touched alcohol. But she doesn’t mind. In ten years, she hasn’t hurt a single breathing thing, intentionally or otherwise. The urges have become a part of her, and each day they pass from head, to heart, to hand, to hammer and finally to metal. Rarely thanked for her work, never welcomed as warmly as the forge, as long as she can keep her peace, Mio is content to be who she is. It’s better than what she could be. Other Information Mio has only learned a couple of signs to help out around the forge. Reinforce to make handling white-hot metals less dangerous, and Mend for when a project just needs a little touching up.

Mol's CS Thing

_______________________________________________ // INFO P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S Full Name – Moriya Mio Age - 20 Gender - Female Occupation – Blacksmith’s Apprentice - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Tempered “That’s the problem, you know. You think you’re the fire, but you’re the metal.” If it weren’t for her size, you might never know Mio was there. She speaks softly and maintains a serene demeanor, and it is by every measure an effort. She has encased herself in an armor of patience, and has not raised her voice in anger since she was still little. Her mind is filled with a myriad of calming mantras, meditative techniques, and sermons on tranquility. Quenched steel might lose its heat, but cold metal can still cut—she can’t afford to be complacent. Imperfect Alloy “You don’t smile right, girl. If a wolf shows you its teeth, it’s not happy—it’s gonna bite you.” The urges and impulses that plagued her as a child never went away. She knew better than to believe they could be buried, and though she tried her best to quell them, they’re still there, baked into her every moment whether she realizes it or not. Though often well-composed, one can still see that the fire in the forge doesn’t leave her when she walks away. It’s still there in her eyes, in her gait, in the bridled way she handles the curtness of others. Against her wishes, the world seems bent on trying to pry violence out of her, but even if it’s a fight she can never win, she’s determined to do her best not to lose. Sweated Steel “Sometimes I think you wake up to remind the sun it’s got a job to do.” Mio considers herself exceptionally hard-working, not out of arrogance but necessity. Each morning she’s up before dawn, fed and exercised and headed to the forge while the moon’s still watching. When an order comes in she gets to work immediately, heading a project herself, or assisting either Tetsu or Tsubasa as needed. In downtime she cleans, she organizes, she runs errands entirely unrelated to the forge. Anything to keep busy. Anything to keep the mind off itself. Idle hands tempt maligned action. // SKILLSET S K I L L S E T Blacksmith's Apprentice Mio knows her way around a forge. Be it structural components, tools, or, sometimes, little knick-knacks just for fun, Tetsu’s shop can do it all. She’s nowhere near as skilled as her master, and as a craftsman she’s fairly sure Tsubasa is the more skillful apprentice, but Mio is no novice anymore, and she excels at repairs in particular. Body of Work A decade of hard work and diligent exercise has made Mio almost as strong as the metals she works with. If there’s heavy lifting to be done, whether it’s around the shop or out on the town, she’s your girl. As well, her years by the forge have granted her a slight resilience to heat, and if you get too close to her you might swear she took some of its warmth with her. Independent The soft-ostracization Mio faces from both the village and her own family forced her to learn self-reliance at a young age. As a result, she’s incredibly responsible, able to take care of herself, cook, clean, and manage both a home and the forge without much trouble. It’s done nothing for her nonexistent social skills, but it does make her a dependable handywoman.

Physical Description Mio is imposing, and it stresses her out. She’s taller than most people in the village, even those older than she is, and practically a decade of working with heavy metals has given her a physique of hard muscle and the stamina of a field ox. Wherever she goes, Mio casts a long and intimidating shadow that most people would rather scurry out of than look up at. If they did though, they wouldn’t find much comfort. Mio isn’t an angry looking person, but being around her, you’re likely to be struck by a disconcerting anxiety. She tries to keep on a warm smile, and on another face, her eyes might be considered safe and comforting. On her though, people swear they see something in them. They hold firelight too long and too easy, and their brightness makes it hard to tell whether she’s happy, or about to do something…bad. Her hair is a soft sunset color, and goes down to her back. She dresses lightly for the hours spent around roaring fires and scalding metals. There are a fair few burn scars up and down her arms, and across her sides, from the early mistakes all apprentices make, but she makes no effort to hide them. Character Conceptualization When Mio was six years old, she smashed a frog’s leg with a rock. She remembers it vividly, and the gut-wrenching horror that rooted in her as it hopped oblongly away even more so. She remembers running to her parents, screaming and crying that the trees were going to eat her for being evil. Of course, when they found out what she’d done, they did their best to comfort her; then, when she’d finally calmed down, they scolded her gently, and brought her out to pray forgiveness for what she’d done. Kneeling there with her head pressed to the dirt, Mio had never felt so scared. Ultimately, it seemed the kami decided to spare her the agony of eternal damnation, or exile, and she went back to being a normal child. When she was ten it happened again. Sitting on a bench behind her family’s home, a small bird perched itself on her hand. It wasn’t the first time; Mio had a penchant for stillness that most wildlife found amicable, and she often found herself subject to the company of birds, and squirrels, and wild cats. It was pleasant, usually, and there was warmth in being trusted by something so small, so soft. So fragile. It didn’t move when she slowly closed her hand around it, but when she squeezed it fought back. It shrieked, it thrashed, it pecked at her hand with its sharp little beak and drew blood, but Mio didn’t let go. She just squeezed, until her mom found her and wrenched the poor thing out of her grasp. This time there was no comforting. Her parents demanded answers that she didn’t have; she knew it was wrong, she felt terrible, and she didn’t know why she did it. They looked at her like a stranger, they treated her like a yokai in the shape of their daughter. Animals didn’t come to her anymore after that. She felt an eerie discomfort whenever she drew too close to the forest, and soon that anxiousness began to follow her everywhere. The villagers seemed to sense it; there was a wariness about them when she was in their presence, even when she was still little. People stopped talking to her, stopped visiting her house. They averted their eyes like they could see something in her own that upset them. Before long, her company was scarce. Just about the only person who would actually speak to her was the local blacksmith, Tetsu, and he was more disliked than she was. Her parents didn’t care that she spent so much time around a delinquent; it got her out of the house, away from them. Whether the man was taking pity on her, or just wanted an extra pair of hands to dump his work into, at ten Mio began to work as Tetsu’s apprentice. The work helped. Smithing gave her a focus, a channel for the feelings she had but didn’t understand. She turned her impulses to the forge, and the crucible, and gave what remained to the flames. She started to smile again, even if she didn’t often have anyone to share it with. As time went on, Mio grew taller than her mother, then her father, and eventually you’d have been hard-pressed to find an adult in Heisana who could stand at-eyes with her. Combined with her muscled build and the unnerving air she’s been unable to shake even into young adulthood, her regard in the village did not improve, despite her best efforts. In some ways she began to adopt Tetsu’s ill reputation, though she attended few parties and never touched alcohol. But she doesn’t mind. In ten years, she hasn’t hurt a single breathing thing, intentionally or otherwise. The urges have become a part of her, and each day they pass from head, to heart, to hand, to hammer and finally to metal. Never thanked for her work, never welcomed as warmly as the forge, as long as she can keep her peace, Mio is content to be who she is. It’s better than what she could be. Other Information Mio has only learned a couple of signs to help out around the forge. Reinforce to make handling white-hot metals less of a danger, and Mend for when a project just needs a little touching up.

Amygdala Circuit

“I can confirm that, after the first singularity opened, there was an uncharacteristically brief warning before the subsequent ones opened. We conferred with monitors from both Eusero and Casoban, who observed similar, sudden spikes in activity. While we work on a more comprehensive analysis, I can at least tell you that, as of now, there is no discernable pattern, or rising trend in the rapidity of singularity formations. All data indicates that these incidents are anomalous, and while the RISC will certainly be taking measures to account for them, we do not expect our day-to-day operations, as they relate to the public, to change.

“As for the incident itself, I’ve been informed that pilots Dahlia St. Senn and Quinnlash Loughvein have returned alive and well. Dragon sustained moderate damage, but will be operational in a matter of hours. Ablaze, to my knowledge, is still ready for emergency deployment. Drone footage near Gontiard went dark for approximately seven minutes when the second singularity opened, however satellite recordings confirm that CSC unit Chateau was indeed destroyed in the attack. Damage reports for Saviors in the ESC are at the time unavailable, but all units reportedly returned to their station shortly after the last singularity closed.

“Despite the sudden and dire nature of this attack, I am overjoyed to announce that there were no casualties reported among civilians. No Modir breached the lines of defense, even in the singularities closest to high-population zones. Environmental damages, however, are considerable, and as per the Illun Accords, Runa will be assisting in recovery as Casoban has done for us in the past.

“Today, more than almost any time in history, we proved why these corps are important. Three nations came together to defend humanity from an ancient, existential threat. For a while this afternoon, we were not Runa, or Casoban, or Eusero. We were Illun.

“In a few hours, members of our analytics team will be planet-side to expand on some of the details I—”

The door to the bridge opened, and Besca managed to cut the video feed before she gasped. Quinn and Dahlia walked into the room, which was empty save for herself, and the instant the door shut behind them, she sprinted. An arm went around each of them and pulled them in tight.

“Oh god, oh my god,” she murmured. “You’re both okay.”

Dahlia winced, and Besca recoiled immediately. “Shoot, hun, I’m so sorry. We lost visual on you for a bit when Chateau went down. How bad is it?”

“Not bad. Follen fixed me up.”

She tried not to let that visibly upset her. Instead she kissed Dahlia on the head, then turned to Quinn. She cupped the girl’s face in her hands, looking her over, pleased to see that she was not somehow walking while dead. It struck her that she didn’t really know what to say. That she was afraid? That was likely obvious. Relieved? Probably even more so. Quinn had come back. She’d faced down horrible, unbelievable odds and come back. Again.

“I…” she muttered, sighing as a smile spread over her face. “I am so proud of you, hun.”

Amygdala Circuit

“Alright, now, open. Don’t blink.”

Follen leaned in close and shined a light in Quinn’s eye. He had her look up, down, side to side, tugged down on her cheek to look beneath the lids. When that was done, he gently shifted her eyepatch away.

“You might hear some noise in your head for a moment.”

With a surgeon’s grace, he brought a thin, metal prodder up and probed into the empty socket. His unoccupied hand held onto hers; she would know that if she felt scared, all she had to do was squeeze his hand and they would take a moment. But he moved fast today, perhaps it was the adrenaline. Sure enough there was a thin, scraping sound that radiated into her ears from behind, uncomfortable but not painful, followed by the tapping of metal upon metal.

“There we go,” he said, and sat upright before moving the patch back over her eye. He smiled reassuringly. “No signs of growth, not in your eye, not anywhere. You, Ms. Loughvein, are quite resilient.”

Follen got up from his stool and went to the little desk that all of the ward rooms had. He’d taken the opportunity to sneak them into medical through the pilot’s elevator—though it had taken some patience and one or two distractions in the commons. Funnily enough, this was the same room Roaki had been settled in.

While he scribbled notes onto a chart, Dahlia swooped back to Quinn’s side. She’d calmed down considerably, and that frantic fear of loss had eased back into her more general closeness. She smiled, rolled her shoulder with a playful wince.

“Lucky you, huh?”

“Still, best to take it easy for a couple days anyway. Give Ablaze a wide berth until it’s all healed up and the modium is cleaned. No marathon sim sessions, either—though I’m told that goes more for you, Ms. Senn. Otherwise, you two are perfectly healthy.” He flipped the chart closed, but didn’t move for the door just yet. “Now, I don’t know what the schedule is going to be. I assume at some point today you’ll be expected to go make a statement, shake some hands, etcetera. I’d imagine that’s where Besca’s being dragged to right now. Whether you’d like to go get that out of the way, or get yourselves a little rest first, is up to you.”

Amygdala Circuit

Dahlia cursed the fact that she didn’t really have two arms to work with just then, but she wasn’t about to let a little pain stop her from holding Quinn as close as was physically possible. Her good arm wrapped around her pulled her in so tight she felt the pad on her back straining, and her undershirt grew wet on the shoulder. She didn’t care.

“I couldn’t—they wouldn’t—all they told me was you were still fighting! Then I saw it on the TV, there were so many! I’m sorry I’m so sorry, we had another one open near us, I couldn’t get up here in time to help.” She pulled back, hand clasped on Quinn’s cheek. Her eyes flashed, scanned her over for wounds, anything bleeding, anything serious. “God I thought you were gonna die. They said six came out I thought…I thought Eain might…”

She still saw that Modir in her dreams. Saw it stalking towards Quinn, and all she could do was lie there helpless and broken. She’d tried so hard, put in so much time since then, and it hadn’t mattered at all. Quinn had been alone, and vulnerable, and…

And she’d lived anyway.

Dahlia looked at her again, really looked at her. Tear-streaked, dirty, exhausted, and yes, beaten hard by the enemy but undeniably alive. Victorious. Her sister had stood against deathly odds most pilots would never have walked away from. It struck her with sudden, incredible shame that she might have, in some way, been thinking of her as weak.

Who could have been more wrong?

Dahlia pulled her in again, breathing her lungs empty. “Love you so much,” she wheezed. “You were always coming back. Always.”

Amygdala Circuit

Dahlia vomited, again. The first time had been from the nausea, typical following protracted bouts in the cockpit. This time it was the pain, while Follen sat behind her with a beam-scalpel, excising a brand-new growth in her shoulder.

“Steady, Deelie. Almost done.”

He’d said that three minutes ago, but somehow she still believed him. He had that way about him. At least no one could see her like this—sat on the floor over a steel pan, shirt hiked over her shoulders, filthy with her own blood, sweat and sick. Or rather, at least no one unwelcome. They sat behind the massive cubby of Dragon’s holding, and the hangar crew always did a good job of keeping the looky-loos and the amateur videographers out.

A hollow clinking as a chunk of black metal fell into the pan. “There we go,” he said soothingly, though the pain didn’t stop. “That’s the most of it out, just cleaning up the edges, then we’ll get you sealed.”

“Where…” she gagged, swallowed down hot bile.”Where’s Quinn?”

“Exactly where she was five minutes ago. And the five before that.”

“There could be more…”

“There’s no more. And if there are, I’m told the Euseran Savior is waiting for her to leave first.”

He’d meant it as reassurance, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Altruism from a Euseran pilot? They’d already proven otherwise just today, when the ESC didn’t move an inch to help until RISC did. Even then, they only showed up to the singularities that seemed at the time to be the least problematic, save for whatever had happened at Quinn’s.

Now her sister was alone down there with one of them. It was almost enough to make her puke. Again. God, at the very least she wouldn’t have to see her like this.

Follen set his scalpel aside, and someone came round to carry off the pan and the modium chunk. She felt the needle prick of another numbing shot, hardly a register after being carved like a turkey. A cold, thick fluid filled the cavity in her shoulder, and it sent a shiver all the way down to her bones. Then an adhesive pad was laid over the wound, a long-term stopper to give the concoction time to rebuild the flesh and muscle.

“There, all ready for the cameras,” Follen said, standing up behind her and peeling the gloves off his hands. Her blood was all over his shirt, his pants, his arms, but he didn’t seem the least bit bothered. Fallout of being a surgeon, she supposed—it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen worse, often. “You know the drill. Few days’ rest, then minimal motion for a week until the scar fades.”

She wiped her lips, spit stomach acid into the pan and nodded. “Thanks.”

He bowed his head, then left her there. No one else came by; they knew by now to give her space. There’d be time enough for congratulations and interviews later, when she wasn’t in burning pain. When her sister was home.

---

Once again, Quinn was not alone in the dark. The cold and pulsing walls of the cockpit shifted around her as the lift brought Ablaze up through the atmosphere, and molded into the shadows was the shape of herself.

She smiled. That sense of elation, that overwhelming pride. How much was alien, and how much was simply her own, bolstered. “So perfect,” her words blurred into the air, into her ears. “We did it. They come to take and we take from them. They think we’re weak. But we’re not. We’re real! We’re real, and no one can say we’re not.

“We’re monsters’ monsters.”

Childish giggling filled the cramped space, lingering even after she retreated into Quinn’s mind. Eventually the lift stopped, followed by the familiar, muted sound of the Aerie’s seal shutting.

Light rushed her as she pushed the hatch open. Light, and the absolute thunder of cheering. The crew were scattered all around the hangar, clapping, hollering, trying to glimpse her as the scaffold platforms pushed up against Ablaze’s form.

Modious blood seeped from its wounds, flooding into the multiple drains at its feet. On the platform, a dozen or so people waited, all wearing the same orange hazard suits she’d seen before. One of them waved both her arms in uncontrollable glee, and through the tinted faceguard Quinn would still be able to tell it was Tillie.

As she stepped onto solid ground once again, another voice pierced the applause.

“Quinn!”

Down below, standing at the center of the hangar was Dahlia. She looked…rough. Smeared with blood and grim, arm in a sling, hair a mess, but the way she smiled it might as well have been the happiest day of her life. She waved with her good arm, screaming again.

“Quinn!”

Amygdala Circuit

FOUR! came the echo.

And then after it, silence. Another heart beat in tandem with Quinn’s, another set of muscles not her own suddenly relaxed. She could feel someone draped over her like a blanket, exhausted, but as euphorically pleased as she was with what they had done. Together.

“God—” Besca’s voice choked over the comms. “I’m…yeah you are, hun. You are. Just—”

A triumphant holler from Firebrand interrupted her, and even that was drowned out by the bestial howl the Savior unleased with her. A brief jolt of fight or flight struck Quinn from within, and then the cockpit lurched, suddenly and with enough force to knock her onto the ground. Laying there, she could feel Ablaze being raised off its feet, into the air, and hear something squeezing it.

“Atta girl!” the woman cheered in her ear. “Bring her in!”

Was…

Was Firebrand hugging her?

Moments later the cockpit jostled again as, presumably, she was set back down. There was an awkward silence, before the woman piped up again.

“Oh, shit—did you disconnect already? Hey, my bad, you alright in there? Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes, head gets away from me. You totally killed it out there though—not that I’m surprised! You’re Quinnlash, right? Quinnlash Loughvein? I’m a big fan of the way you blow shit up and don’t murder people.”

More rustling, and even without being able to see, Quinn could likely tell what was going on—Firebrand was shaking Ablaze’s hand.

“It's an absolute pleasure to meet you. I'm Axan Dane.”

Amygdala Circuit

THREE! A scream in chorus with her own, furious, agonized and ecstatic.

Firebrand swerved, blazing sword cleaving through the axe-wielder’s torso, and then spearing through its head when it fell in pieces to the ground. “Nice shot! Let's go, that's what I like to see!” she roared over the comms—so loud, so energetic, like this wasn’t a fight for their lives.

The singularity weakened rapidly, collapsing on itself as Firebrand spun and sprinted back towards Ablaze. The spearman broke off, charging to meet her, and the woman’s laughter rang in Quinn’s ears. Their clash was brief. Firebrand twirled her blade, batting the spear aside and, raising her weapon high above her head, slammed it down and cleaved the monster in two.

The bladed Modir, however, kept its focus entirely on Quinn, claws outstretched, undeterred by her unbound power. It snarled, leaping at her with claws soaked in both of their blood, and dug them into her sides. But this was not the burly opponent from before, and though there was sharp and certain pain shocking through her, it would be nowhere near enough to topple Ablaze now.