30. at world's end, the path we walked fractured in two
feat. eli and hemera (and the roster)

---

"Eli, be reasonable. I'm the goddamn moral crusader who dragged you all on this quest in the first place, and to top it all off I have a terminal disease. I can't in good conscience ask it to be anyone else."

"Screw the story conventions!"

they're all taken aback by the fire in your voice.

"Pick someone else. I don't care -- pick anyone else."

"Not happening."

"Who says the word has to be saved, anyway?" you're cracking, a maniacal smile coming to your lips. "I mean-- I'm alive, you're alive, we're all pretty good at hunting monsters, right? We could just. Do this. You can handle the business end of things, I'll do all the disgusting grunt work you don't want to, and-- we're gonna make a real killing at this, y'know--"

"Eli, the answer is no. End of discussion."

"I won't let you."

your hand tightens on the grip of your gun. Don't make me do this, you silently plead--

and your party leader gives his final order.

"Stop him."

---

they've leveled up. they've leveled up too much.

the blizzard is wearing you down, slowly but surely, and you're firing off shot after shot, but that bitch is healing them faster than you can output damage. you dig in deep with all the strength you can muster, but for every clean hit you land, there's one that's blocked by a wall of ice, or knocked off course by a sudden gust of wind.

you can't waste any more time here. you spread your wings, prepare to fly, when something grabs you from behind.

you scream, thrash your wings, but she holds you tight.

"Please," you gasp. "C'mon, work with me, I'm your friend--"

"I'm sorry, Eli."

you feel fangs pierce your neck, a searing pain, and-- nothing.

---

you wake up.

the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the world is at peace. in this moment, you want nothing more than to burn it to the ground.

as you try to get up, you feel bonds around your arms and legs. easy enough to struggle out of. you realize, they never intended to hold you forever. only long enough to guarantee your failure.

your gear is stacked neatly, in a corner of the room. it's almost like they anticipated what you'd do next.

you kick the door open.

none of them meet your eyes as you stride into the room.

"I hate you," you say.

"You killed him. All of you killed him! And so did I. And I will never forgive you for it."

I'll never forgive you.

I'll never forgive You, who are also Me--

how can you possibly forgive the one who failed you in the eleventh hour, who couldn't save the last best thing worth fighting for?

"And you're not even upset about it! Are you?!

"I hate you, and if I never see any of you again -- it will be too FUCKING soon!"

you brandish the gun. alarm ripples through the party, but you point it out the window. there's no point in killing any of them. it won't bring him back--

--and you fire.

one flying leap out, and you fly, and fly, until your wings can't bear the weight anymore.

the tower top is flat and barren. there's no one to hear you as you scream until your lungs give out, and you slump against a metal strut.

why?

why did you leave me?

why wasn't I good enough for you?

why am I never good enough for anyone?

the sun beats down on you, and you fight to meet its hateful gaze. you know it's wrong. of all the wrong you've done in this life, this is small potatoes at best. let it blind you. at least you'll never have to look upon this ugly world again.

the crack widens into a rupture, and you don't hold back anymore. rivulets flow freely down your cheeks.

up in his Heaven, he's probably laughing down at you right now. good. let him laugh at how useless and pathetic you are. it's the least you deserve.

you're curled up on your side. when did this happen? you don't remember.

you tuck a wing over your damp face, and drift off again.

---

it's night when you come to. the stars are you. your first thought is that you're not dead.

you assess. you haven't been beaten, you haven't been mugged while you were out. you take it as a sign.

you're cold and hungry. no friends, no money, but you've still got your wits and your skills and your gear.

it's time to do what you always do best.

so, you live on.

28. I'm not the hero of your story
feat. eli and hemera [heavily au]

---

"Eli! You never told me you had a friend coming from out of town!"

you look up at the man standing next to the woman in white.

"Yo. Welcome to my city. Lemme give you the tour."

the camera pans around shingled roofs and cobblestone streets as you walk him around town. "It's pretty nice, all things considered. I got my own house... Occasional monster raids, but we head into the woods every few days to thin 'em out." you stop just long enough to exchange finger guns with a couple of your friends on the other side of the street. "Just enough risk to be fun, but not so much that anyone dies. Parts make good money, too. I think... you'd approve. No war, no poverty, no one's ever got a reason to fight each other."

"Eli. I hate to break it to you, but-- This isn't real."

"Well, obviously."

he's taken aback, and it miffs you a little. does he really think you're that stupid?

"Dead people can't come back to life. But more than that, I'm liked here, I'm happy here. Course it ain't real. How could it be?"

"So why are you still here?"

"Where else would I be?"

"You're seriously okay with this? Being locked in a tank-- fed a fake paradise to keep you compliant?"

"So what if some mad scientist wants to-- run experiments on me, harvest my gray matter or whatever. I've been through worse. So long as I keep getting what I want here, I got no reason to change anything. And if it stops, well, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"But it's not real!"

"What, you thought I actually cared about your stupid quest to save the real world?"

he's speechless.

"I mean, I don't blame you, Hemera. You like it out there. You got money, respect, people waiting for you to go back. Me? World ain't never given me anything but shit. What reason do I got?"

"You've got me. And-- you've got Erinys."

"Fine. I'll give you Erinys. Deal? Take her and fart off with my blessing. Key's in the ignition. You've never flown an airship before, but you're a smart guy, you could probably figure it out in five minutes."

you grin a sardonic smile. "Say, you should be happy, shouldn't you? 'Least I ain't killing any more people."

"Eli. It's not about what makes me happy. It's about doing what's right."

you look into his eyes. they're the eyes of a man on a mission, a man who's sworn that he's not leaving a man behind.

"Last warning, Hemera. Get out of my dream."

and you both know that in order to save his world, he has to destroy yours.

your feathers bristle, you're reaching for your gun, but-- shit, did he get closer as you were talking? he's too close, he's already made contact, and you dimly hear a woman's scream. you're no slouch when it comes to cqc, but hemera's reach is longer, his fists are harder, and this isn't a fight you're equipped to win. you slam into the ground, a foot meets your stomach as you roll away. you hear the slide of a gun racking back as you pry your knuckles off of the bloodied cobblestones.

when you look up, a white-winged woman is standing between you.

"I don't know why you're doing this, but-- If you must kill someone-- Take me instead."

no. no, no, you can't do this to me--

--you absolute bastard, you knew, you knew this would happen, it's what you wanted, wasn't it--

the shot rings out and pierces her through the heart.

"MOM!"

pain stings your eyes, and you unmake unreality in a blinding flash of light.

---

the glass tank cracks, explodes. wires crackle with electricity as they fall away.

as soon as you come to your senses, you see him standing there. and you draw. behind him, you see the party reaching for their weapons--

"Back off!"

he's staring down the barrel of your gun. unmoving, unflinching.

(and you know, in hindsight, if he had shown even the slightest amount of hesitation, you'd have killed him on the spot.)

"I understand how much you must hate me right now. You want me dead, so be it. Just leave the others alone. They had nothing to do with this."

(how long has it been since your hands have shaken at the prospect of shooting a man?)

"I won't kill you," you say, after a long, painful pause. "It's not what Mom would have wanted."

you slowly lower the gun.

"Now find me some targets."

---

"Can you fix it? Can you send me back to the way it was?"

the scientist sadly shakes his head. he's lost everything, he says. you've ruined everything.

"Then you're useless to me."

you end him through the heart.

---

it's a cold, windy morning on the top deck of Erinys. the stars are out, but you pay no attention to them.

"Couldn't sleep?"

you shrug. "I was thinking.

"What I said to you about my mom? That wasn't strictly true.

"The guy said the fake worlds were made of our memories, right? So why was Mom there? I never had any memories of her-- I never knew her."

the words are coming out in a torrent. "I must have made her out of-- what I subconsciously imagined her to be like? What I wanted her to be like. Why did I do that, Hemera? Why'd I make a mom who--"

and your throat is getting tight.

"I killed her, Hemera. I went and killed my mom all over again."

you curl up, bury your head in your knees and wrap your arms around them. then, when you feel an arm around your shoulders, you let yourself go.

---

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Get some sleep. Long day ahead of us."

"Oh, and Hemera?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever tell anyone about what happened, I'll throw you over the side."

12. dangerous forbidden technique
feat. eli and hemera (and altair and gayle)

---

"C'mon, man. Altair needs a third. It'll be fun!"

"How fun could it be when I can't use my guns and there are rules against killing?"

"Eli, please. I'll owe you."

"Right BS that you can use your guns and I can't, by the way. Stupid magic loophole."

"If it bothers you that much, you don't even have to fight. Me and Altair will carry and all you have to do is scout other rounds for us."

"Fine. Whatever. Not like I had anything better to do that week, anyway."

---

"Guys, I think we got the worst possible draw for the round of eight. It's one-on-ones to total elimination, and their team captain is undefeated. I can't figure out how he's doing it. Maybe if we all wear him down and-- send Eli last..."

"Nah. Put me in, coach. I'll get there for us."

"Eli, you are not allowed to cheat. I'd rather lose if it has to come to that."

"Not gonna break any rules. Promise."

"Just remember, you have a reputation."

you smirk. "That's what I'm counting on."

---

it's time to step into the ring. the ref starts droning on. you're expected to exchange a bow with your opponent. you don't.

as soon as it seems he's distracted, I'll pull my hidden gun and blow his face off. sure, I'm gonna get DQ'ed, but the rest of my team will honestly testify that they had no idea I was gonna do something like this. we'll be down a man, but with our strongest competition out of the way, I'm sure Hemera will have no trouble sweeping--

you reach for your waistband.

he dashes across the stage and punches you in the face. the crowd gasps. the ref's whistle blows. you cough, wipe away a smudge of blood.

"Well? What are you waiting for? DQ him."

your opponent is furious. "Ref, if anyone should be DQed, it's him! Last night, he came up to me and said--"

" 'Just between you and me, I don't respect these stupid rules one bit. So I'd suggest that you be willing to do anything to win. Because I am.' Wasn't that it? Last I checked... weren't anything in the rules against a little friendly trash talk."

"He's right," Gayle pipes up from the stands. "Bribery, blackmail, and threats against outside parties are forbidden, but something so vague..."

"What's it gonna be, ref?" you ask. you tilt your head toward the big screen. "Entire world saw him cheat. You bounce him, crowd's gonna be mad they didn't get the fight they paid to see. But you get to keep the integrity of your precious tournament rules.

"Or, you don't. And me... and everyone else competing here... get to have some fun."

as the referee sorts through the implications of what you said, is frantically radioing the management staff, your opponent follows the line of your eyes. Altair is sitting in the back of the stands, crossbow at low ready.

"Anything, didn't I say?"

it's slowly dawning on your opponent how thoroughly he's been played.

"You son of a--!"

he lunges for you. you easily duck out of the way. a furious referee calls the security team to haul him off.

when they check you for hidden weapons, they find no gun.

"Oh, and ref? Might wanna add mind-reading to the list of things that are against the rules."

---

when you're back at your temporary digs, Hemera grabs your shirt collar and shoves you up against the wall.

"What the hell was that?"

"I said I'd win. I won. I said I wouldn't break a rule. I didn't. I never said anything about playing fair."

"Thanks to you, we are now the most controversial team at the tournament!"

"Good. Let that be motivation for you."

"You'd better not do anything like this again."

you shrug. "It could only have worked once, anyway."

21. this emptiness that can't be filled
feat. eli

---

your neighborhood has a rat problem, and you're constantly hungry.

you're only six years old, and yet your dad has been teaching you how to be a man. step one is to establish dominance. step zero is to learn to identify what it looks like, and who holds it.

enter One-Eyed Tom.

despite his scarred eye, he's consistently the biggest, fattest, and meanest of the local street cats. one day, on a lark, you decide to follow him.

he loses you. he's too fast, too good at squeezing into places you can't.

so you get better.

you learn to run, learn to climb, learn to jump. some days, you almost feel like you could fly.

and one of these days, he leads you to the swarmyard. you watch in fascination at the way he stalks and pounces for the kill.

you imitate. but you're clumsy, your hands are weak. the rats scurry away. they mock you, just outside the edge of your reach.

the next time you return, you don't have claws, but you do have a knife.

( a child-sized thing, but your dad would be damned if you couldn't be arsed to learn how to feed yourself. ain't you wanna be a man, after all? )

the day you take down your first rat, One-Eyed Tom finally takes notice of you.

by this time a year later, it seems he's regarded you as something of a respectable hunting partner. some days you go on rampages through the streets. you always back off until Tom's had his fill, and he gives you the extras. you sell them to the kebab mongers for a respectable price (as is custom in these parts, they don't ask, and you don't tell), and can finally buy yourself some real food to eat.

if Dad ever notices, he never says anything.

---

you're eight years old the day One-Eyed Tom vanishes.

you don't look for him - just as he's never looked for you - but you keep an eye out. a week later, following the stench of blood and rot, you track him down.

he's dug into the crawlspace of an abandoned building. he bristles when you approach, but as you get closer, he recognizes your familiar scent.

he's noticeably thinner than usual as you coax him out.

you see his leg is mangled - it has to be a car, you realize, an anger you didn't know you had rising up inside you - you refuse to believe he'd lose a fight like this to anyone, cat or dog or man. it scrapes along the ground as he walks, and you know he must be in constant pain.

tentatively, you extend a hand.

it's the first time you've ever touched a cat. you didn't expect them to be so soft.

he doesn't protest when you scoop him up in your arms and carry him home.

---

you eat well tonight.

as it turns out, One-Eyed Tom is the first friend you put out of their misery. he won't be the last.

24. we fire our shots between the sound of our heartbeats
feat. altair

---

it's a bright, clear dawn when you fly up to the roof of the temple.

no-one notices as you transform from a seagull into a person.

concealed behind a high spire, you have plenty of time to get into position. you form an ice bolt from the air, slowly wind it into position on your crossbow. adjust the settings on your scope. lay yourself flat on the roof, steady your arm, slow your breathing. line up your eye.

she turns the corner, and walks toward the red dot. young, plump, and pretty. an unfortunate stage of life in which to meet one's end.

closer. closer. exhale, hold, and squeeze the trigger.

in the next second, a bolt sprouts from her neck. she screams.

by the time anyone notices, there's only a spreading pool of blood from the woman collapsed on the ground. through your scope, you can see her lips move, though you can't make out what, if anything, she's saying.

by the time they carry her into the temple, her heart will have stopped.

---

"Margrave Altair."

you coolly regard the messenger at the other end of the communication portal. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Displeasure," the messenger snaps. "Baron Dietzenbruck is furious."

you tilt your head in mock confusion.

"Did you know Clerya Willowbrook was pregnant?"

"Ought I have?"

"The healers managed to save her child. A healthy baby boy. As she had no other family, they're raising him at the temple." it visibly discomfits them when when this information produces no reaction in you. "The Baron wants the job finished. He's demanding an explanation of why you didn't take care of it to begin with."

"A bolt to the belly is more survivable. And I'll thank the Baron not to tell me how to do my job."

the messenger gulps as you continue. "My contract stipulated a quick and quiet kill of Clerya Willowbrook, in a manner untraceable to the client. Delivered as promised." your eyes narrow. "I don't believe an unborn babe was anywhere mentioned."

the messenger nods gravely. "It would be... inconvenient... for the Baron if the babe's parentage were to be discovered."

"How terrible for him."

"Sir... what shall I tell him, then?"

"Kindly deliver my response as follows: 'How much money is this death worth to you?' "

06. my old killer, how have you been?
feat. eli

---

"Whaddaya want."

"Who, me? No, I--I wasn't--"

"Listen, a gal looks at a guy like that, she only wants one of two things. And I ain't the kinda guy you take home to bed."

"Okay, look. It's-- I don't know if I can say it in polite company."

you look around at the bar, a crowd of outlaws, scoundrels, and assorted ne'er-do-wells. "We're in fine company, ain't we?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. It's gonna sound really stupid, but--" still, she leans in, her voice drops to a whisper. "I pride myself on never forgetting a face, okay? And, well, the hair is different, but-- you look exactly like a guy I shot in the head once."

"Second Zun, time about... 1350, right temple?"

"You're kidding me."

you lift the hair from your face to show her the scar.

"...You're not secretly a ghost, are you?"

"If you'd like to find out, I could punch you in the face."

"Thanks, but I'll pass."

she takes a sip of her drink.

"So. You're not, uh, gonna come after me for payback, are you?"

"Depends on what your answer to my next question is."

"Fine. I guess I might have it coming, after all these years."

"Was it personal?"

she's mulling it over. "Did you folks kill a lot of good people in the War? Yes. Were some of them my friends? Absolutely. But you, you specifically? No, it wasn't about you. You people just happened to be the ones in my way that day."

"There's your answer, then."

she nods, sagely. "So. Long as we're trading questions... mind if I ask you another one?"

"Hit me."

"How'd you survive. We confirmed you as dead on my side."

"Oh, same."

"Really?!"

"You know how it is. Fuckin' admins won't even let the body cool before they write you off." ( you sound, perhaps, just a bit bitter. ) "Woke up in the body bag. Spent the next week fightin' for my life. Then the next several months fightin' to be declared alive again."

"Incredible."

"Had a lot of luck. A really good medical team. And my crew does like to remind me I got a thick skull." you rap your knuckles against the old scar again. ( how little they know, the grain of truth behind the barb. )

"Your own crew...!"

you grin. "You're looking at the one and only ace pilot of the Shooting Star."

"No kidding! So. Any of 'em hot?"

"Ah." you hold up a finger. "I believe you're one over on questions."

her lip curls. "Right."

"But, it so happens I am in a good mood today. So I'll offer you a two-for-one deal."

"Intrigue me."

"You been keeping your skills up?"

she sighs. "It's a hard world. War may be long over, but a girl's gotta do what she has to to make ends meet."

"There's a V-arcade over on the station. And my ship doesn't leave for another two days." you finish the last of your drink, signal the bartender for the tab. "Think you can teach me how to make that shot?"

03. beloved of a shadow
feat. eli and hemera

---

you were always told she loved you--

she loved you even before she knew you. she loved you as soon as the idea of you was even formed. when she held you in her arms, looked into your baby-blue eyes, when she kissed you softly--

you didn't have the words to form the idea of love in your memory yet. but she believed, she knew, you understood.

---

"What kind of a guy doesn't even love his own mom?"

you don't know how you can answer that question.

in the weeks that followed your arrival at this twisted no-space, this pocket between worlds, you've done a lot of talking to Hemera. you feel confident in saying that he is also You, the same soul fractured across divergent timelines.

but on this one matter--

you are so very, very unalike.

"Did she... hurt you? Did she leave you?"

"Not by choice."

"...That sucks, man. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? Weren't her fault. Nobody's fault, really. Her body wasn't strong enough, or the doctors weren't skilled enough, or both. I'm over it."

no, you don't love her. you want to - God knows how much you want to. but you can't.

how many stories have you heard, about the selfless warrior, who gave everything for her country, for her family?

and how many of those stories are true?

there are stories about "love at first sight." fiction for teen girls and frustrated middle-aged women. and those stories are bullshit.

how can you possibly love someone you've never met, who you don't know the first thing about?

how can you love someone who's always been presented to you as without flaw, whom you've never seen break down in frustration and struggle, and who could never have the chance to see your own?

any feeling you could have for her isn't worthy of being called "love."

"I don't love anyone," you say simply. "Maybe I'm just not capable of it."

he'll probably call you a fucking edgelord.

good. let him.

even if you could convince yourself you love her--

what's the use in drawing out those feelings for someone who could never love the you as you are back?

---

02. when you aren't given a clean slate, make one
feat. eli

---

it's early in the morning when you touch down in the old mechanic's back lot.

"Yo."

"What can I do ya for?"

"I need a new transponder box."

they look it over. "Seems fine to me. What for?"

"That." you gesture with a thumb out the window.

"That..." they suck in a deep breath. "Is an Imperial Eagle-class assault fighter, if I'm not mistaken."

"Which is why it's in your best interest to make it not a stolen Imperial assault fighter. Otherwise, the logical assumption..."

"Yes, yes, I catch your drift. No one's going to believe me if I say it just landed in there." they're still a little bit in disbelief. "They're going to assume I stole it and hauled it back, or someone else did, and I'm in cahoots with them, letting them use my lot as storage." they grumble to themself, they're already cracking open the back, fiddling with their tools in the guts of the box. it's clear they want to get rid of you as fast as possible.

"Name?"

"Ace Carbonite."

"Ship's name?"

you draw upon a distant memory. "Call her Theseus."

---

"You sure? These wings are beautiful."

"They're a liability. Tell me how much I can get in scrap value for them."

he sighs wistfully. but he's already directing his crew to tear the extremities of the ship apart.

the new boxy construction is ugly as sin. but she flies just as well.

you spend the proceeds loading her up with guns.

---

" 'Best damn pilot in every corner of the galaxy?' Is this a joke?"

"Tell you what. Why don't you put that to the test. Pick a challenger. Any challenger. If I win, you give me that shiny new engine in your showroom for free."

"And if you lose?"

you shrug. "I don't got a lot of money. Guess I just gotta become your slave until I pay off what I owe."

the dealer smirks through yellowed teeth. "Boys!" she barks. two attractive, well-muscled men snap to attention.

"Find Hotrod Red. We got a show to promote."

---

"You know, you've become quite the talk of the town, stranger. Who are you, exactly?"

"No one you need to know."

"No one's ever heard of you before today, 'Ace Carbonite.' And yet, you blow in from out of nowhere, pinpoint park a stolen Imperial vessel in Old Shenk's back lot, and snake a missile up Red's tailpipe using some of the craziest grav-tweaking I've ever seen. This ain't your first rodeo, is it? You ex-Navy? Deserted after the War went south for you?"

you shrug. "You are welcome to look me up in the Imperial records."

"Nah, you don't seem the type. Something off about you. What is it then? You a spy? Black Fedoras? REX-19?"

"If I were, I would be obligated to tell you that was classified, wouldn't I?"

"Fine, man. Keep your secrets. So. Any idea where you'll be heading next?"

you figure, since he's already guessed enough, there's no harm in telling him.

"It's a big galaxy. And a whole lotta people need killin' out there, don't they?"

"I'll show you to the bounty house."

---

"You want me to give up Theseus for this hunk of junk?"

the woman pouts. "She's not a hunk of junk. She's my grandfather's baby."

"She belongs in a museum."

"And at your age? So do you."

you raise an eyebrow at her. you didn't expect her to have such a mouth.

"And yet you're still flying. You're still calling yourself the best. If anyone can make magic with her, it's you."

"What are you gonna offer me? Triple my current intake?"

"I'll do you one better."

you regard her with curiosity.

"I'm offering you a crew."

as it turns out, it's an offer you can't refuse.

17. white sand beneath black hearts
feat. eli and gayle

---

the white sands stretch out before you. personally, you liked it better when they were stained with red--

( but that's a story for another you, another when. )

lying prone on a towel, you idly watch the gulls circle overhead, their screeches overlapping with the carefree laughter of children. young couples intertwine, young singles mingle, and servers weave their way through them, carrying trays of drinks with little umbrellas in them. you make yourself a game of spotting the experienced ones. the sun beats down. you overlap your wings, letting the heat distribute more evenly.

no one is armed here. there's a gun in the back pocket of your khaki-camo board shorts anyway.

a colorful ball bounces harmlessly in your direction. you track its movement anyway.

eventually, the repetitive sound of the waves lulls you to restfulness, and you close your eyes.

---

you're awakened to the sound of clinking ice.

you crack an eye open. a hand places a Hurricane in front of you.

"Gayle. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"You first."

"I brought you a drink." they're sipping from a Sex on the Beach in their other hand, and they grin at you roguishly.

"What's your angle?"

they sigh. "Why do you always assume I have an ulterior motive?"

"You didn't say 'I don't have one.' So."

"Okay, so, there's this hottie I wanna make a move on."

"The bird bit aside, I'm not going to be your wingman."

"That's the beauty of it! You don't have to! All you have to do is start a fight with their boyfriend, make him look like an ass, so I can get them away from him."

you frown. doing so would undoubtedly disrupt the peaceful atmosphere that all of these other people are enjoying.

"Where's the fam, anyway? This seems like more of a Hemera job."

"Altair said it was too hot out to go outside. And Hemera, well. The less said about that one the better." they cross their arms over their pink, flamingo-inspired bikini, and you can see the faintest traces of the Oripathy working its way up their arm. "Won't even consider getting into a proper swimsuit."

you think about it, then banish the mental image almost as soon as it appears, before it can scar you for life.

"You raise a good point."

you take a sip of the Hurricane. it's not bad.

"I'll do it for three."

---

the next morning, they catch you on the roof of the house.

"You never answered my question, you know."

"Maybe I just wanted to enjoy a day off."

"That's the thing, though. You don't enjoy it. You didn't relax. You didn't talk to people or swim or play beach volleyball or anything. And would it kill you to crack a smile? I swear, you gotta learn to play as hard as you work, or..."

you say nothing.

"You are not used to having this much free time, are you?"

admittedly, it is a bit unsettling. but you're not going to admit it to Gayle of all people. "It's a good deal."

"But does it make you happy? Not killing people for a living anymore?"

"What's 'happy' got to do with it?"

"Eli."

"This is optimal."

"If you're not enjoying life, are you even really living?"

"I'm surviving. That's enough."

they let out an exasperated huff. "Looking at what age does to you people, being a short-lived species doesn't seem so bad sometimes."

"Gayle, why are you still here? I answered your question. Go away."

"A guy can't just have a friendly conversation?"

"No."

"Why do you always assume--"

"Everyone has an ulterior motive, Gayle. You just make it more transparent than most."

"And that's your problem."

"What, that I exercise a basic level of caution to protect my own self-interest?"

"No. That you gotta be so uptight about it."

you glare at them.

"I dare you to relax, right here, right now. What's the worst that could happen?"

"A meteor could fall on the house and kill us all."

they roll their eyes at you.

"If you win, I'll buy you a drink."

you roll onto your back, weigh the pros and cons of this bet. you turn it over and over in your mind.

finally, you let your eyes shut and your mind drift to the sky, the sun, and the distant sands beyond.

---

you wake up to a Hurricane on your chest.

your gun, your cell phone, your wallet are all untouched. you head back to your room to finish the drink. when you glance in the mirror, you spot something unusual. there's a moustache painted on your face in lipstick.

when you drain the Hurricane, there's another message awaiting you, written in lipstick on the outside of the glass. it's a bit smudged from your finger, but you can still make it out.

I knew you could do it.
~G

27. free fall isn't free
feat. eli

---

"Wind tunnel time?"

"That's what I said. Teach me to fly."

the officer in charge looks you up and down. "Kid like you? The way the war's going, you'll be long dead before your wings grow out."

"Tell you what. For every hour you give me, I'll owe you my daily vodka ration."

they scoff.

but they let you in.

---

"Nyx, are you crazy? It's just one pass!"

"This is our best chance to hold. If we lose the chokepoint, we'll all be overrun with their superior numbers." you do a rapid count of your remaining ammo. "I can handle it. Get the hell out of here, regroup with the others. If after three minutes you haven't heard from me, call in an airstrike directly on my position."

"Nyx, we're not leaving a man behind--"

"Then don't. Come back for me later."

he hesitates.

"Do it, Hermes!"

"...Just promise me I won't regret this later."

"Yeah. I promise. You happy now?"

you think he may have said something, but the enemy is rallying for a charge, and his words are drowned out in the sound of gunfire.

---

the snow is packed thick with blood, reeking with the smell of bodies.

your machine gun jammed first. then you tossed all your grenades, ran every last rifle magazine empty. there's some shrapnel lodged in your leg, your shoulder bleeding from a graze wound. backing up to the edge, pulling down the zipper of your jacket to shake out your wings in the winter wind, you take potshots with your pistol until it's run dry as well. you throw the pistol to the ground, raise your hands in surrender.

the enemy commissar pushes her way to the front, levels her gun at your face. behind her, a line of troops raise their rifles in unison.

"Any last words?" she snarls.

you glance at your watch. three minutes on the dot.

"See you in hell."

the bullet nicks the edges of your hair as you fling yourself backward, and let yourself drop.

conveniently, your arms are already in skydiver position. you flip yourself belly-down, let your half-formed wings stretch as far as they'll go, and bend your legs as you plummet into the abyss. you can vaguely make out loud, incoherent noise behind you, but all your focus is committed to the approaching ground, and you throw your legs forward at just the right time--

you crash, tumble, and eventually stop.

the sky above glares down at you, red clouds and black rising smoke.

---

the waiting is the worst part.

you're not feeling quite so badass as you were a few hours (minutes?) (days?) ago.

every inch of your body is wracked with pain. you're bloodied, bruised, and you're fairly certain every bone in your body is broken, as is your comms headset. you let out a shuddering breath, and see the puff of your exhalation drift into the sky. the noise and smoke have long faded.

and you're still alive.

you can't move, you can barely think, the temptation to pass out is so powerfully strong--

but you have to stay awake. to remind yourself that you're still alive.

and now what?

you've done everything you can do, except lay there and wait for rescue to arrive before a predator or the elements claim you.

that's a terrible way to go out, isn't it?

you see a condor fly past, one edge of your vision to the other. no doubt more of them are circling. you snarl inwardly. Don't count me out yet, you bastards.

you summon up all your reserves of hatred, of spite, and turn them into a shield against the pain.

you breathe, in and out.

you remind yourself of all those vodka shots you're never getting back.

you suffer through the wait, because you know if you stop suffering, it'll all be over.

and at long last, you hear the rotor of an incoming helicopter, and watch the condors disperse.

---

overlapping voices. a head drifts into your field of view, a hand touches your wrist.

"Pulse is weak. He's freezing--get a blanket--"

you're moved onto a stretcher. every inch is agony.

"--watch the neck--"

"Told you we'd find him. He promised--"

"Hermes, that is the stupidest logic I've ever heard."

"--go with, keep you updated on his condition."

inside the chopper, a paramedic runs a scanner over you.

"Nyx, you absolute madman."

you feel something prick your arm. a soothing, warm feeling starts to travel through your body.

"Rest easy, all right? You're gonna be okay now."

you close your eyes, but manage to choke out a sentence before you drift off.

"Did we get 'em?"

14. party like it's 1924
feat. eli and sylvana

---

"Welcome, welcome! How is your evening going, sir?"

"Honestly? I feel like I just died and came back to life. Again."

"If that's supposed to be a cheesy pick-up line--"

"Oh, no. No. God, no." you may be visibly shuddering. she's far too young for a guy your age, anyway.

"Glad that's cleared up. So, what can I get you?"

"You got a Vodka Red Bull?"

"Sir, this is a speakeasy." there's mirth in the bartender's eyes. "You're a half-century too early for that."

you shrug. "Your finest moonshine, then."

---

"So, I was thinking--"

your glass has been refilled several times.

"How much of a betting mood are you in tonight?"

"Oh?" the bartender bats her eyelashes at you.

"How do you feel about a little bet? Pick any idiot in this place. I'll drink 'em under the table. If I win, my tab's free."

"And if you lose?"

"I guess I owe you double."

"You're on."

"So. Who's my opponent?"

she leans over the countertop seductively, and you can see the flash of a thigh holster through her glitzy outfit.

"Yours truly. Who else?"

---

you're definitely not what you used to be.

what boggles the mind is how this woman is keeping up. she's not petite, by any means - but she's putting away far more than any person of her size and build should reasonably be expected to.

she brings out another bottle. "Refill, sir?"

you fumble for the glass through bloodshot eyes and slam it back. the bartender sips hers delicately, slowly.

when she's finished, she grins at you, cheeks rosy and aglow.

"Refill, sir?"

the next sound you hear is of your head slamming into the table.

---

"Where am I?"

"The break room. We have a fainting couch in here. Matches the decor, don't you think?"

"How'd I get here?"

"I carried you."

you squint at her skeptically through a pounding headache. "You carried me?"

"Are you calling me a liar, sir?"

you frown. after everything you've been through tonight (this morning?), you probably shouldn't be surprised that this woman is built different.

she tells you the bill. it's one digit more than you were prepared to spend.

"So. Um. I don't have that kind of money." a beat. "You think I can pay you back in, uh, other ways?"

"Just to be clear. Not a sleazy pick-up line."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Now, in that case... perhaps you could supply me a drink?"

"I already told you I'm broke, remember?"

she gestures to your wrist, grins, and you can see pointed fangs emerging. of course.

mere moments after her teeth pierce your skin, you black out again.

---

"So, how was it?"

she wrinkles her nose. "I don't know, I thought angel blood would be - sweet? Milk and honey and chocolate? But no, you're mainly bitter notes. Faintly smoky. And it was such a struggle to open up a vein. Not a fan."

"That makes two of us. You could have warned me about the knockout effect, by the way."

"The venom is supposed to make you pleasantly delirious. Compliant. But no, I suspect your stubbornness got in the way."

you sigh. "I still gotta figure out how to pay you back."

she scoffs. "At least you're a man of your word."

your eyes drift to the j-frame on her hip again.

"You called this place a speakeasy?"

"That's right."

"...Need any help dealing with cops?"

---

"And who's that sitting in the corner?"

"A guy who owes me a favor. Someone in here gets rowdy, if he can bounce 'em without causing a scene, I knock a drink off his tab."

"Right on," they say. "Is he single?"

Sylvana rolls her eyes. "Trust me, girl, you can do so much better."

29. never thought it was you I'd be coming home to
feat. eli

---

redemption (noun)
1. the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.
2. the action of regaining something or gaining possession of something in exchange for payment, or clearing a debt.

---

--Eli, it's Audie. We need to talk.
--I know you have a lot of questions. I can't say much over this channel. But you might be in danger.
--I'm sending you the coordinates.
--Please, Eli. I need your help.
--You know I wouldn't do this if I had any other choice.

"What was that distress call?"

"Ignore it."

"Eli, you know I can't do that."

"Cap, I believe I told you when I signed on that I am never setting foot on that planet again."

"Listen, I don't know what happened between you and your friend, but he's asking for your help. I know you've probably got a reason but... unless you can explain to us why--"

you weigh the calculations, and let out a sigh. you can't get them involved. nothing good will come of it.

"Captain... may I request two weeks worth of personal leave all at once?"

---

it's dark in the abandoned parking structure. you hop over a cracked ridge and head upward.

"Audie?"

lights, movement, and you're whipping out your revolver in one hand, shotgun in the other.

figures in helmets and body armor are surrounding you, and you recognize the slight nuances in their uniforms - Command's own secret police. they carry riot shields and high-powered rifles. you count ten, twenty on either side of you, and as you glance up, you see a team of snipers moving into position. which means there's probably another team you don't see.

"Drop your weapons! Hands behind your head!"

you have to admit, they came prepared.

(honestly, if they hadn't, you might have even been insulted.)

your guns clatter to the floor as you interlace your fingers behind you, flatten your wings as a show of goodwill. they force you face down onto the concrete, slap cuffs around your wrists, shackle your ankles, and lock a collar around your neck.

then they pull off you as an electrical current lances through your body, again and again, until the world goes dark.

---

you awaken sitting before a table in a dimly lit room.

three dead people are standing in front of you.

they've all visibly aged, but you can still tell them by their wings. Hermes, black and bronze, like if a raven was majestic as an eagle; Chronos, thin and tapered, a riotous contrast of red and green; and the tallest of them, an infuriating pure-white--

he's speaking. "I'm sorry. Believe me, Eli, it was the only--"

"Save it, Odysseus," you snap, the chains rattling as you strain against them. "And don't you even think to call me by that name."

he's visibly discomfited. "Nyx, I never wanted--"

"To have me kidnapped to a black site? Well, I guess we can't always get what we want."

Odysseus turns to someone behind him. "God damnit, will someone get him out of those things?"

a few moments later, you're rubbing out the soreness in your wrists and ankles.

the collar stays on, however.

"Nyx, we've got a situation. It's Unit 88."

your face betrays no reaction.

"They were assigned to a colony world. There's been... unrest... with the locals. Apparently they went rogue, hooked up with some tribal warlords, there's an insurgency brewing. Now, you're gonna ask why the military isn't taking care of it -- I did also. The reason is they already tried, and they failed. I know how much you hate these guys, I really do. But they need us. We had the same training, the same augments - we're the last, best option nobody wanted to use.

"We've been asked to pretend to support their cause, infiltrate the organization, take 'em all out."

throughout this impromptu mission briefing, you've been regarding him with an expression of intermingled spite and boredom, but then it dawns on you what the price of your freedom is intended to be. you shake your head as vigorously as you can, despite the metal restraint chafing your neck. "No. Screw that noise. I'm not doing their dirty work ever again."

"Nyx, if we don't do this, a whole lot of innocent people are going to die."

"I'm still waiting for the part where I give a shit."

Odysseus sighs. Hermes gives him that look of 'I told you so.'

"They're offering us all full pardons. Treason, desertion - you'll get them all reversed, your name taken off the no-fly list. You'll be able to walk the streets freely again, without having to lie about who you are."

"Not good enough."

"What do you want? Money? Status?"

you close your eyes, and prepare yourself to be wholly unreasonable. "I want what was promised us to begin with."

he's unsure how to respond, waits for you to explain. you stretch out, kick your feet up onto the table. he's hooked. the leverage is with you now.

"Clear our names. Not just us -- all of 86. I want ranks reinstated, survivors' benefits paid out, I want a goddamn memorial at the top of Legacy Spire, you hear me? You give me that, in writing, in triplicate even -- fine. They'll get their lapdog. I'll do what they want."

"Nyx, you know as well as I do that we did a lot of very bad things."

"We followed orders."

"What if High Command doesn't go for it?"

"Then you might as well put a bullet in the back of my head like you should have done 300 years ago."

the officer behind Odysseus whispers something. one by one, they file out, and leave you in the dark. through the thick door, you can hear the faint sounds of arguing.

a few hours and a few bag-on-head hallways later, you're presented with a stack of documents to sign.

---

Two weeks later

there are fancy words carved into the stone, but you ignore them. you're more focused on the list, ten names flanked by ten marble wings.

"Hard to believe it, huh?"

"The machine of empire works fast."

Chronos giggles. "When you talk like that, you sound just like Her...mes."

she directs your attention downward, away from the name at the bottom. "Look. They even brought flowers." Two rows of five bouquets, petals rustling in the light breeze.

you scoff. "Artemis always hated flowers."

"Good thing they aren't here, then? Be rolling in their grave if they knew."

something compels you to lean down and pick up a bouquet.

"Where you going, Nyx? Oh, that's right-- your leave is almost over, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Just gotta make one last stop."

you spread your wings and dive off the top of the tower, and soar over the fields beyond.

because she didn't fall in honorable combat, she doesn't have a place of pride in the tower. but she's here, nonetheless, right where you remember her being.

"It's been a long time, Mom."

your dad is probably here, too, done in by the passage of time if nothing else. but you don't seek him out. you've got nothing to say to him.

---

the machine of empire does work fast. it's hard to find any mention of you at all on the newsnets. but at long last, you come across a passage.

[...] responsibility for this heinous massacre was attributed to Staff Sgt. Audie "Odysseus" MacIntosh [...] his men feared for their lives, believing they would be executed if they did not comply [...]

you scramble for the contract.

behind the page with four signatures on it, you find a wall of fine print. it hurts your eyes and your head to read.

was it there before? was it there when you signed? why can't you remember?

before you realize it, you're already screaming into the comms.

"Audie! Pick up, you rat bastard, this isn't what I was promised!"

you've messed up. the crew is surrounding you, expressing concern about the anguish evident in your voice.

"I'm fine," you say. after all, your leave is over. you are a professional, and you will do your job.

still, you find every opportunity you can to mind the comms. you check them constantly, until the weight of anticipation fades.

the line that sent the distress signal never opens up again.

18. when doubt slags your heart, burn it down until only iron will remains
feat. eli

---

"Sir, we've got a situation."

"What is it?"

"There appears to be a large refugee camp on the grounds of the target site. Collateral damage in the hundreds very likely. Am I to continue with the mission?"

"Nyx, you have your assignment. Eliminate the target."

"Am I authorized to take the shot?"

"You are authorized to use any measures deemed necessary."

"Roger that, sir."

you deploy your missiles. a moment later, the Princess's manor is consumed in a fiery explosion that billows outward.

you swing your plane around, signal the infantry to move in. any fleeing persons of the appropriate size and species will be raked with automatic fire until they can no longer run, just in case among them is the Princess in disguise.

once you've confirmed that your support is no longer necessary, you fly back to base.

you sleep as well as you can on any other night.

---

you're smoking a vape pen, watching the news, when Joker walks in to hand you a beer.

you expected protests - less so for them to be coming from your own side. they're showing vids of the bodies, the weeping and wailing of mourners. there are calls for an end to the War. of course, those will be difficult, now that the Princess has been confirmed dead in the rubble.

You brought this on yourself, you think venomously. You should have known you would be a target once you showed up to those peace talks. If you had just stayed away from these people, none of them would have had to die.

the words of the protestors mean nothing to you. university students, well-spoken intellectuals. how many of them have ever known war?

how many of them have ever known hardship, have ever been in the fork of desperate choices they love to write hypotheticals about?

"Rough week?" Joker says.

"Yeah." you take the beer from his hand.

"Well, don't enjoy your night too much. You're up at 0500 tomorrow."

he turns to leave. "Hey, Joker?" you call after him.

"What is it, Nyx?"

"Are you really okay with me going on these, uh, 'secret missions'?"

he sighs. "I can't say I'm a fan. But it's not in my hands, is it? I don't decide the mission objectives. I just pass them down."

"Mm."

"And try not to get yourself killed out there. It's the least you could do after all the trouble I went to, to bring you onto Air Wing."

you swallow your mouthful of beer. "I'll keep it in mind."

it's going to be a long war. but you'll survive.