Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Grippe.
Republic of San Magnolia
Eighty-Sixth Sector — Northern Front’s Nineteenth Combat Ward.
05:25 Hours, January 12, Year 367 (Republic Calendar)
—
"Handler One to Rak-sasa?... Your patrol will begin in 20 minutes so get ready! You’re wasting my fucking time, you stupid pigs.”
The Handler’s groggy mutter made Elena wonder what even compelled a white pig like him to take on a job like this in the first place. All they ever did was whine, bitch, and occasionally scorn them. Them, being the Eighty-Six.
If it were up to her, she would have cut the Para-RAID’s sync immediately after their cattle keeper had resonated with them. But Processor regulations were absolute in terms of communication, for they were nothing more than cogs in a machine.
Thankfully, her captain’s nonchalant reply brightened the mood a bit.
“And a good morning to you too, Handler One. Preparations are already underway, and we’ll be rolling soon enough.”
“Hmpf, you’d better. Whatever, I hereby transfer command over to the swine known as Rasasa.”
“It’s Rak-sha-sa, Handler One.” Elena could sense a smirk coming from him over the Resonance. A very mocking smirk.
The Handler let out a groan before continuing his berating.
“I don’t care! Just get it done! Handler out!”
The Handler’s consciousness left the Resonance, leaving the Processors to their duty.
20 minutes to sortieing. Twenty minutes to see why he’s been acting up as of late.
Before hearing the exchange between the oppressor and the oppressed, Elena had been scouring the Processor Barracks for her long-time companion, who, for a while now, had been avoiding her like the plague. He hadn’t been engaging in conversation or other social interactions with anyone actually, and would even take his batch of meals to his room to eat alone. His recent behavior was concerning, and Elena couldn't help but worry ever since noticing.
She combed her way through the dilapidated barracks, checking the kitchen, showers, and living room until there was only one place he could possibly be. She walked up to his room and gave the door a polite knock.
“I know you’re in there. Can we talk?” Elena said. There was no answer. Anger began to bubble within her, and she rapped her knuckles on the weathered obstacle harder, only with the same result.
Avoiding me is one thing, but ignoring me straight to my face is crossing way over the line!
Elena kicked in the door with a loud thud, the doorknob flying, only to find the room empty.
That jerk... She cursed as she clutched a fist.
First he was avoiding everyone, and now he was sneaking about. But after receiving orders to sortie, there was only one place all Processors, including him, would be heading for now.
-
The Hangars were bustling with commotion despite the morning’s darkness, as the Processors of the Fourth Defense Unit readied themselves and the Maintenance crew ran through their final checks for each of the Juggernauts on standby. They were scheduled to sortie and relieve the already patrolling units, or what was left of them.
Approaching the rendezvous, Elena’s eyes darted about, looking for the tallest Processor around. Then, a familiar black-coated Juggernaut caught her attention, and reclining against its flank was the boy in question.
Found you.
She hastened her pace, and with a loud bellow, she called for him.
“Jean!”
-
Jean looked over his shoulder and spotted the girl who had long survived alongside him on this battlefield of zero casualties.
Her blazing crimson hair - the color inherited from the Empire’s Imperial race of Pyropes - starkly contrasted against the cold and bleak environment that enveloped them.
The soles of her combat boots crunched against the crisp layer of snow as she came to a halt before him.
“Morning El, did you need something?”
His casual greeting caught Elena off guard, causing a spark of relief to momentarily wash over her anger. She was expecting him to ignore her again and enter the cockpit of his rig before she could speak a word to him, but not this time.
“Uh... Morning...”
Jean saw that she wanted to say more, but turned away.
“If it can wait, then you better start getting ready.”
“H-Hold on a second!”
Elena caught his arm, preventing him from boarding his rig. She didn’t want this conversation to end before it even began, so she bit back the rising anxiety in her chest and said what was on her mind.
“Jean, please don’t act like nothing’s wrong. You’ve been keeping your distance as of late and I...”
I’m worried about you.
She trailed off for a moment, her expression starting to falter.
“Be honest with me… Did… Did I do something to upset you?” She clutched his arm nervously, trying to reassure herself that everything would be fine, but the fear still lingered.
There must be a reason for his behavior, there must be. Is he maybe trying to distance himself from me in case the unthinkable happens?
It had been a while now since Elena made the daring decision to take on the role of a Vanguard – Processors who fought at the front of the Squadron’s formations, who were generally skilled acrobatic fighters – meaning they pulled off most of the reckless stunts in the unit and were the most likely to fall first.
Jean wasn’t too thrilled about her decision to begin with, but he reluctantly accepted it.
There was a long, awkward silence between the two companions.
“El... I...” Jean was the first to break it.
His voice was but a murmur, struggling to find an answer. A subtle yet painful expression fell over his face, but it quickly faded to his usual authoritative demeanor.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, yanking his arm with enough force to pull out of Elena’s grip. “You should get to your rig; we'll be sortieing soon.”
“But-!”
But nothing.
Kicking against the hull to rid his boots of the built-up snow, Jean embarked for his Juggernaut, ignoring Elena’s persistence.
Watching her companion climb atop his rig, Elena bit her lip in frustration. As much as she wanted to, she knew pursuing this any further now wouldn’t benefit either of them.
“You jerk…” she cursed under her breath, her boots crunching on the snow as she stormed off.
A simple answer was all she wanted, to know if he was truly alright, but telling her not to worry infused even more concern in her heart.
An exasperated sigh escaped Elena’s mouth with a billow of steam as she hung her head in despair.
Jean, are you really alright?
As if her plea was heard from the heavens above, Elena’s answer came in the form of the revolting sound of retching.
She stopped in her tracks and turned her gaze back to Jean, who was now leaning headfirst into his rig's cockpit, groaning.
Elena’s eyes widened and she hustled back to him without even thinking.
“Jean, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He threw a thumbs up in her direction in response, but Elena knew better.
-
Hearing her footsteps on the snow grow closer, Jean clumsily hopped into the cockpit of his Juggernaut and lowered the canopy, shutting himself inside his aluminium coffin.
Another wave of nausea hit him, consuming his senses like the darkness of the Processor’s cramped compartment that consumed his body. Holding his head in his hands, he let out an exasperated sigh.
“Why... Damn it, why now?”
He cursed silently, catching a glimpse of the vulgar puddle he spattered across the deck through his fingers. A robust, acidic stench wafted into his nostrils, provoking him to gag.
There’s no way she didn’t notice that now.
Jean fell back against the hard Bakelite seat, closing his eyes to rid the vertigo plaguing him. His assumption was proven right when he felt Elena pounding repeatedly on the aluminium shell, the sound echoing within the dark space. But he had no intention of answering her protests, even with all her efforts.
I’m sorry... but I’m going on this sortie whether you like it or not.
As he grew weary, a memory emerged from the depths of his mind, one he would cast back into the abyss, wishing for it to never return again. But no matter how much he tried, that shaken guilt would never dissipate.
No... Not you... I won’t... I won’t abandon you too...
It was a solemn vow he made to himself long ago, a vow he wouldn’t dare break, not until the day he would reach his final destination.
However, with his mind feeling faint, Jean forgot about one important fact.
The Juggernaut was initially designed to be a fully automated combat Drone. During its experimental phase, an initial opening lever was installed outside its hull for the Republic Engineers to access its inner compartment. Said lever, whether unintentionally or lazily, was left in its flawed design until this very day.
Jean snapped out of his trance as he felt a sudden cool breeze whirl through the cockpit, the interior brightening as the canopy slowly rose above his head.
He was then met with a pair of familiar pearlescent Celena eyes glaring down at him with menacing fury.
Jean's mind raced in panic as he sought for a way to mend the situation, but fatigue had gotten the better of him and he couldn't think of a good excuse.
“El... please listen to me, it’s not what you think.”
“You’re sick.”
She dangled that fact before him, having a clear view of the puddle he made.
“It’s... It’s just a cold. I’m fine... really,” he lied.
But Elena scowled at his attempt to sugar coat his illness, for it was far from a cold.
She parted her lips and...
—
“Alright, system checks are all done. They’re in the green and somewhat bordering yellow, but ready nonetheless.”
The Chief Mechanic disembarked the Juggernaut, brushing her hands in a job-done gesture. She turned her gaze back to analyze the mechanized, headless spider one final time before affirming her work with a brief, satisfied smile.
“Wish we could do more, but only so much can be done with the short supplies on hand.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Damn that lazy white pig.”
If her post had a more diligent Handler, they would always have the right number of components needed to maintain the stationed Juggernauts. But beggars can’t be choosers in the Eighty-Sixth Sector.
“It’s better than nothing Chief. Thank you.”
Beside her came the carefree voice of the boy who would lead these Processors on their next death march. Personal Name: Rakshasa , the appointed captain of the Flail Squadron until another one is needed.
Rakshasa was a Deseria, one of the rarer races found among the Eighty-Six. He had brown skin and black hair, which was dyed with brilliant golden streaks.
His eyes - blue as the butterflies said to have been the souls of the fallen - cast a glance over at the Chief Mechanic, whose face now had a somber look to it.
He landed a bump on her shoulder to cheer her up and carried on in his usual relaxed demeanor.
“We’ll manage,” he assured her. “And if I miraculously survive this trip, I’ll personally cook up a nice warm meal for all your bellies tonight,” he said, throwing a wink her way.
It was a well-known fact that Rakshasa had a natural talent for the kitchen. Just imagining his prepared dish was enough to make everyone’s mouths water, especially compared to the Republic’s plastic explosive rations.
Hearing this put a slight smile back on the Chief Mechanic’s face.
“Guess I’ll be praying for your safe return then huh,” she said, rubbing the back of her head. “You got anything in mind?”
He stretched and loosened his slender physique, resting his hands behind his head.
“If possible, I think I’ll stir up some-”
“LIKE HELL YOU ARE!!!”
Both the Chief Mechanic and Squadron Captain exchanged quizzical expressions as their discussion was interrupted by the thunderous bark of a girl. Turning to the source of the bellow, they witnessed what could only be described as “a red-haired dog trying to pry a corpse from its coffin.”
Two Processors wrestled one another atop a Juggernaut, both locked in a stalemate.
An amused expression played over the Chief Mechanic’s face as she rested her hands upon her hips, watching the scuffle unfold.
“Aren’t those two the newbies?”
Rakshasa let out a nervous chuckle that turned into a note of awkwardness.
“They’re hardly newbies…” he replied.
His gaze fixed on the two Processors causing a racket.
About a week ago, he’d demanded his Handler for reinforcements to fill in the numbers his unit had lost. And when that slothful white pig finally - though still reluctantly - put his request through, he wasn't expecting anything more than a couple of fledglings fresh out of a training facility.
But not them, not these two.
Two of these replacements were, like himself, what the Processors considered battle-hardened heroes - Name Bearers, veterans who survived the Eighty-Sixth Sector far longer than they should have.
In all honesty, it was a surprise he welcomed with open arms, but both were uniquely irritable in their own way.
The Personal Name of the boy struggling from inside the cockpit was Glöckner. He was currently running as the unit's vice-captain and had a bad habit of constantly apologizing for the simplest things.
As for the Celena-Pyrope girl extricating him, her chosen Personal Name was Lady Bug . She oversaw one of the unit’s Vanguard Platoons and had the nerve to tease Rakshasa’s cooking.
As the two continued to watch, Lady Bug caught her opponent's wrist and twisted it into a lock, almost forcing Glöckner out of his cockpit, but he managed to counter it in time and continued his resistance.
“Kinky... Wonder who taught her that move?”
“My bet’s on him, considering how quickly he managed to break free from it.”
Noticing how Lady Bug was having her way with Glöckner made the Flail squadron’s captain wonder if his newly appointed vice-captain had a romantic weak spot for her. As second in command, Glöckner should have easily been able to fend off Lady Bug's insistence, so clearly something was up. A malicious smile spread over his lips as his mind began to scheme.
The Chief Mechanic raised an eyebrow as she gave the Veteran Processor a sidelong glance.
“Welp, better step in Cap, and see what all the fuss is about before that red-headed devil bites his head off.” The Chief Mechanic gave a shrug as she headed off to take a long-needed break.
Rakshasa smiled and shook his head at the Chief Mechanic's jibe before walking over to deal with the scuffle.
-
“I said let go of me, El! That’s an order!”
“You can shove that order right up your-!”
A dry cough caught both Processors’ attentions before this fiasco could escalate further. Their gazes fell on the side of the Juggernaut, where a boy their age stood, hiding his laugh behind closed fist.
They had been utterly oblivious to his presence, and after having gained his subordinates' attention, Rakshasa folded his arms confidently and allowed a fiendish grin to cross his face, canines showing.
“Quite the energetic couple, aren’t ya? Think you’re gonna move on to the main course, or...?” he teased, expecting the duo to blush or panic or something of the sort.
But contrary to the captain’s expectations, Jean suddenly pulled himself over the edge of the cockpit and unleashed a fresh River of Rainbow over the Juggernaut’s fuselage, plain for everyone to see.
Elena quickly held his shoulders, keeping him steady in case he might stumble and fall.
“Fuck...” Jean groaned as Elena gently rubbed his back.
Rakshasa’s expression stiffened for a moment.
“Well that mystery’s solved … Looks like I found our culprit.”
Elena shifted her gaze from her companion back to her captain.
“Culprit?”
The captain’s grin widened.
“Oh, you didn’t know huh? Someone’s been leaving a trail of their innards for a while now, and yours truly has been trying to find the culprit... and well… what do you know?”
Rakshasa splayed his arms demonstratively towards Jean’s second puddle, as if it was the grandest spectacle for everyone to see.
"Sorry..." Jean groaned out an apology, But for Elena, only one question arose.
“Jean... how long?”
As she let that question fall, Jean avoided her gaze and remained silent, his expression contorted with shame in hopes of hiding his pain.
Rakshasa then caught the question Jean left hanging.
“It’s been about four days now since it started.”
Elena’s eyes widened, knowing that Jean had been sortieing here for a whole week, but four days in this ill state. And he clearly wasn’t getting any better either. Elena bit her lip in frustration. She knew something had been wrong from the start. She knew it! Her worries were right on the money and now she was filled with regret for not having done anything sooner.
Elena took a deep breath before she regained her composure and spoke up.
“Captain…”
The captain cocked an eyebrow to Elena’s addressing.
“Please, he isn’t fit to sortie.” To many, it may have seemed like a request, but to Rakshasa, it was a desperate plea from a friend. Her argent eyes staring intensely at him.
They’re that close, huh.
For a moment the captain closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, like a judge about to give the final verdict.
“Can you take over for our deputy here?”
Jean’s eyes widened with fear. “El, no-!”
“I can.”
Her response was immediate, there was no hesitation, only sheer determination in her voice.
The captain then opened his eyes and flicked a smirk at the boy hanging over his rig's side.
“Well then Glöckner, you’re officially relieved of duty. Head back to the barracks and rest up until further notice.”
Jean sprung up with renewed energy in protest. “What?! No! Captain, I refuse to-”
Before he could utter another word, Elena swiftly caught his wrist and locked it in a hold once again to subdue him.
Jean let out a cry as the pain kept him bent over the cockpit’s edge, unable to break free. He realized he'd screwed up. He'd let his guard down and now he was stuck.
“Wait... Just please wait... We can talk this out! I can still-!”
Elena had learned from his previous counter, going full force this time. There was no way he was breaking out this time in his weakened state.
Jean looked over his shoulder, staring at Elena with desperation in his eyes.
“El... Stop... Please don’t do this...”
Name Bearers knew how this game was played. If one couldn’t exert their authority, they had to demonstrate it with their sheer combat prowess, resulting in a one-on-one fight for dominance. Knowing this, Elena took the initiative and overpowered Jean before giving him any chance to retaliate.
“Give it up Jean, it’s not happening.”
Her eyes narrowed on him with a firm resolve that shot down any further resistance.
Officially, his persistence to come along on this sortie was futile. Neither she nor the Squadron’s Captain would have it. They had enough manpower to spare now, and their Handler was slacking again, so fortunately they had the luxury most Squadrons wouldn’t have.
Jean gritted his teeth and conceded his head down on the cold aluminium layer, cursing silently.
Damn it...
—
“Honestly, what the hell were you thinking? Sortieing in this state? Have you completely lost your mind?!”
Elena volunteered to tend to her dear companion until the beginning of the sortie and escorted him back to the Processor’s barracks, berating him all the way. Even so, Jean’s commitment to join the sortie didn’t falter even when bedridden.
“I told you already it’s just a cold, I’m good to go.”
Elena frowned in disbelief at his claim.
“Mhm, tell that to the puddle in your rig,” she threw a thumb in the direction of the hangars before pointing a finger at him. “And you're cleaning that up when you’re ‘good to go’.” Her retort was accompanied by a finger quote gesture.
Elena set down a bucket that she grabbed on her way in beside his bed before returning her attention to him. It was usually there to collect rainwater, but since the raining season had passed it needed a new job anyway.
A familiar illusory heat emitted from their RAID devices as an additional presence entered the resonance.
“Lady Bug?”
The captain, reaching over the Para-RAID resonance, spoke with the composure of a cool-headed veteran, and addressed Elena with her Personal Name. As per Republic Military regulations, Processors were not allowed to address each other by their given names during sorties. This was to avoid the sentimentality of being treated as fellow human beings.
“Its time, get yourself in your coffin.”
Elena pressed her finger against the ear cuff and responded indifferently.
“Roger that, I’m on my way.”
Jean sat back up.
“I’m coming too.”
Jean’s absurd attempt at climbing out of bed was halted by the single press of a finger against his forehead, pushing him back onto the pipe-frame mattress. A bed in name only, but perfectly adequate for a lesser being of his stature in the eyes of the Republic.
“Oh no you don’t. You’re staying in this bed or so help me I’ll shove my boot up somewhere very unpleasant.”
Her voice was stern and insistent, but in the end, he knew it came from a place of caring. Of course, she was worried for him, but she did her best not to show it with everyone eavesdropping over the Resonance.
“Really, El, it’s noth-.”
As expected, she wouldn’t waver, raising her hand in protest to halt his next excuse.
"You’re staying here. You know as well as I do that if you come along you’ll be a burden for the others.”
A burden for me, is what she meant.
But she was right, he wasn’t just endangering himself, but those he would’ve provided covering fire for.
He couldn’t conjure an ounce of the strength he would usually have when healthy, and every motion was nauseating enough to pull his gaze toward the bucket next to the pipework.
As much as her statement was reasonable, it was still frustrating.
The truth was he wanted to go for her sake since this would be the first time in a long while she would sortie without him, and that thought alone was terrifying.
They both served together for the past year now, having entrusted each other with their very lives. He couldn’t rest easy knowing she was fighting on her own. It left him with the feeling that he was abandoning her, which was like a knife digging into one of his deepest scars. “Jean, I‘ll be fine," she assured him, reading the worry on his face. “So please… Rest while you can, and when I get back, I’ll see what I can do to help you.”
And what if you don’t come back?
He left that question unsaid, knowing it would only trouble her more. He had to show her he had faith in her ability to fight and survive on her own.
He let out a deep sigh and finally gave in.
“Okay, just… promise me you’ll be careful out there, alright?”
That was a tall order for any Processor, but she acknowledged his concern with a slight nod.
Pulling his blanket over and tucking him in - like a mother would for their child - Elena left the room, taking one final glance at him before heading off.
Come back safe, he thought, closing his eyes and letting himself go.