Chapter Text
The sound of gunfire. A distinctive sound that normally sends chills down one's spine. The sudden burst of a round that sends a ripple through the air, penetrating it's way into the target in a literal and figurative manner. The sound would burrow it's way into the ears of those unfortunate enough to hear it, and, if they are even less fortunate, physical pain would follow, digging it's way into whatever it can find in it's destructive path. If the designated, or accidental target's life comes to an end, it could be considered a blessing. They would not have to live with the memory of gunfire bouncing around in their skull, or remember the pain it would cause. In a single moment, they would just cease to exist. Granted, the last thing they'd hear is gunfire, but it would not matter, for their brain wouldn't have enough time to process such events. Or so people say.
If the target is cursed enough to not die, then would come what a soldier of the 47th ‘Rebellion’ Company was feeling right now. A pain in her abdomen, perhaps her chest too. A blurry vision, combined with the usual sounds of gunfire, but today, something else was on the menu. Something she rarely heard, however, when she did, it would haunt her for days, if not weeks. The sickening sound of screams. The volume of the bullets fired from all directions seemed so distant, so insignificant, so quiet and shy when screams of both civilian and military personel were among the opera of sounds that surrounded her, as if lulling her to sleep. She groaned in pain but made no attempt to get up, instead letting chaos reign victorious and bask in it's presence. Her surroundings were red and orange due to all the fire, lighting up the normally quiet and peaceful night sky of Etheria with such intensity that she wondered if the Admiral could see the signs of conflict from the sea. She stared at the stars, as if yearning to die, to be put out of her misery.
It was a stupid childhood thing of hers to look at the stars at night and talk to them. Ask them how they were, what they were doing, or if they saw anything beautiful in space. Occasionally ask them for favours, but never for herself. Only for those she cared about. She always wanted others to be happy, to be safe. To have a life of peace and merriment, not one of terror, sadness, anxiety, fear or anger. It is why she joined the army in the first place, to have a chance at being part of something bigger than herself and make that wish come true, no matter the cost, even if that said cost was her very own life…it never really had much value for her either way.
A figure came by. It hovered over her like a guardian angel, shouting something that could only have been her name. Adora. It seemed alien to the girl…no, the woman. The times of innocence were long gone for the blonde, instead replaced by traumatizing experiences, especially after she joined the Liberation Front. The person towering over her placed their hand on her shoulders. Adora realised she was asked a question. She weakly looked at the person and opened her mouth to reply. As if the Universe demanded her silence, a deafening sound shut her up, debris flying up in the air. When dirt caked the woman and her saviour, she was grabbed by the shoulder straps of her vest. She groaned in pain as the pressure on her body reminded her of her injuries. She looked around and her memory came flooding back.
Operation Blacklight.
Horde Prime.
The ambush.
Adora looked around, this time with intention, her senses straightening a tad, to get her bearings straight. Civilian and army vehicles now smoldering piles of scrap, houses either completely leveled or decorated in so much bullet holes that in a certain state of mind, one would think the walls were made of Swiss cheese. The ground was now a figurative cart collecting as much corpses as possible, ranging from man to woman, and even children. It's enough to make a grown adult cry and bile to rise up in their throat, ready to escape any second. To make matters even worse, the majority of these said corpses had weapons around them, including the children. In school she has heard stories of the Hitler Youth from world war two, and it sent chills down all the way to her core. She believed that such a horrifying event would never happen again, that humanity learned it's lesson from such a devastating war. It appears the Universe has a sick sense of humour.
She gazed around, scanning each individual with robot-like precision, taking in every detail of their face even in the state she is now. Imagining the lies they were told about the cause they were fighting for. Being manipulated into a cold, killing machine for the sake of nothing but the personal gain of one, twisted man. How their lives were stripped away by them, the Liberation Front, in less than a second, a blink of an eye, and a movement of their trigger finger. She wondered how their lives would have turned around, had they intervened sooner, or tried to negotiate harder with the madman the Horde called their leader.
Adora imagined these people, not as armed civilians, but as regular, everyday citizens, going on with their days, going to work, picking up groceries, all the things people normally do. It was a strange thing, one Adora could never actually describe with words. The surreality of the way things go in life sometimes, how fucked up they can become.
She turned her head a bit, looking at a girl next to an APC, bathing in her own pool of blood, a blood-soaked M9 Beretta next to her. She remembered how it was her that shot the poor girl. As if the scenario couldn't have been worse, not only was she forced to kill a girl who was definitely not even a teenager, she couldn't even prevent the death of one of her comrades who got shot in the neck by the twisted girl. She was scrawny looking, thin as bones, presumably from the lack of rations they recieved and sported a long, wild brown hair that was now partially wet from the blood. Her cute, girlish looking clothes were damp from the rain cascading down onto her lifeless body, her white, worn-out sneakers became a canvas of red and brown. Freckles dotted her face, sharp nose and jaw now touching the concrete below. Her eyes, drained off color and drowned with blood stared at Adora, as if asking, Why?
She reminded her of someone. Someone she…
She blinked.
She had so many questions. What has happened? Were they winning? Is Prime dead? Was any of this real? Has she died and went to Hell, where she was forced to relive her death again and again as a punishment for the people she had wronged? To rot for severing the life-strings of so many people, as if she had the right to bear the title of grim reaper? She couldn't tell. She did however notice one particular person among the crowd of now lost souls. The telltale sign of their leader, Captain Mara, whose signature brown ponytail was now barely visible due to it being camouflaged with the dirt beneath it.
Her army attire that stood out in the crowd of soldiers despite it being almost identical to everyone else's. How she would carry herself despite the losses they have suffered throughout the years. How she would confront each and every member of the company, shining as their beacon of hope in the darkest of times.
Now she laid dead, the distance between them only increasing with the passage of time. The Corporal remembered how she was administering aid to her Captain behind a hastily erected sandbag wall prior to when she too was shot. Their last, short lived conversation replaying in her mind.
“I'm sorry…” Whispered Adora in a raspy, dried out voice. She had failed, again.
It is said that a person's life flashes in front of them at the moment of their death. There were a few members of the company who believed that this was your body's way of reliving every important moment of your life, subconsciously telling you that it is time to go. To relive what made you happy, what made you the person you were your whole life, what you've become, for one last time, before the eternal slumber. For her, those particular collection of memories weren't exactly the greatest, but she didn't mind. She'd rather remember all of it instead of just the good. Life with only the good bits is just an illusion, mixing it with the bad bits is what gives it value, what makes it worth it all. She smiled as she thought of Finn. Always so positive, so jubilant, despite everything. Him, alongside Sergeant Jake and Bow were the ones that always forced you to smile, regardless of how hard you tried not to. She could only hope they were okay.
She was somewhat aware of her surroundings, but chose to zone out a while ago. It took too much effort to make sense of what was happening. She was moved into a building of some sorts with the ceiling all but gone, giving her a breathtaking image of the tall walls of the structure getting narrower as it increased in height, it's highest point leaving the moon and some of the stars free for her to stare as it was the point that crumbled as an artillery shell hit it, judging by the width of missing chunk of infrastructure. The view was obscured by the figure who dragged her away, clutching the sides of her head with their hands. She recognised the person. Sergeant Hordak. His face was a mess, dirt smudged on his cheeks and some of his black hair in his face. “Stay with me Graiskul!" Shouted the man, grabbing the medic's supplies and attending to the woman's wounds.
Adora thought of how she discovered her family name. If only the circumstances were different, she actually would have been happy, in a way. She always wished to know who she was, why her parents abandoned her, if that was the truth, anyway. It would have given her closure. Instead, she was left with nothing of her past, aside from an old dusty file from a war long since forgotten. Nothing to remind her of who she truly was. Perhaps it was so that Adora would realise…she was nothing. Nothing but a tool of power, a weapon, ready to be discarded and replaced like everybody else she could not save.
Because she was weak.
Because she was stupid.
Because she was naive.
Because she was not enough.
Everything is her fault. If only she had never existed, everything would be better. Everything would be perfect. These self-destructive words and thoughts have plagued the woman ever since she left for the front, but of course it wasn't the only reason. There was simply so much more to it than that, always has been. But it mattered little anymore. Adora always wanted to believe in destiny, that the Universe had a grand plan just for her. It was selfish indeed, but the sole reason she yearned for it was so that she wouldn't feel so lost. So that she'd have something to believe in. So she wouldn't give up. But by now she knew that this, was Adora Graiskul's destiny. Not to be some sort of chosen one who would change the lives of millions, if not the entire planet for the better, to ensure humanity would evolve, to stick together and solve all the problems of the world through unity, but to die in a meaningless war, for nothing. She observed Hordak's face, his normally cold, melancholic face now filled with fear and worry. She pitied the man. He worries so much for someone that doesn't matter.
Her body feels numb. She barely feels the pain Hordak causes as he tries to mend the wounds, his hands already stained in blood. A shout was heard again. She saw two more figures approach her. One was a brown man, one of her best friends, Brian Bowman, a terrified expression adorning his usually cheerful face. He was panicking. The other figure barked something the blonde could not decipher, and Bow raised his weapon, standing guard. She looked over to the other person already helping Hordak. It was Viktor Volkov. He was a peculiar man. As melancholic as Hordak, yet sometimes just as jittery as Bow or Finn.
Adora decided to stare at the moon again. The last time she has spoken to the stars was the night before she was sent to war. Before her heart broke to pieces. Before she became a monster. Before the voices.
It was now that her eternal spark of hope, of positivity, has finally been extinguished. Her entire life was consisted of her fighting the ever so stubborn negative thoughts that seemed to drag her down the harder she tried to drown them. Everything she believed in her entire life, her beliefs, her morals, her dreams of the future, has been thoroughly destroyed as realization hit her harder than any bullet ever could.
She was going to die. The thought didn't bother her in the slightest bit. Her life held no significance either way. The only reason she was distraught was because she felt like there was simply still so much she could have done in her life. Not for herself, but for others. To spread joy and merriment. To inspire. To be there for others, to help them through their tough times, to elevate them so they could achieve their potential in life. The ability to make people happy, for them to have a life she long ago wanted to have was what drove the blonde to wake up in the morning.
The moon's glow seemed to grow just for Adora. Her pessimistic side told her it was time to go. And yet, her stupid, childish side told her that there was one more thing she could perhaps do. That although she would die, it appears the Universe was listening, just this once. That every choice she has made has led her to this moment. That everything that has transpired was so that Adora could make that one wish come true. Pessimism and Hope fought in her mind, spanning for what felt like ages. Shouts and gunfire began assaulting her eardrums once more, this time, far closer.
With tears in her eyes and already down the sides of her face, she looked at the stars and swallowed, forming her last coherent thoughts as nothing more but weak words of plea. A litany was on her mind, but she doubted satan would wait for the soldier to finish it, so her brain instead summerised her thoughts for her in a rather corny, yet somehow just sufficient way to explain what she wanted from the Universe.
“Just…let everyone else be happy…”
A huge explosion shook the place as the walls around her crumbled. The night sky and it's inhabitants disappeared and were replaced by the walls, collapsing all around her. She closed her eyes, ready to meet the hooded figure that was death itself, extending it's bony hand for her.
Before that though, she imagined the only thing that kept her together all this time. Before and after the heartbreak. No matter how much she wanted to make others happy, there was one person in particular that she wanted to feel joy more than anything. To hear her squeaky laugh, her crooked smile that showed her feline canines, her tail swishing around in excitement, or the cherry on of the cake, the thing she would kill for in any way, was to hear that gentle rumble, that soft purr from her whenever Adora gave her physical affection.
Her sweet poison.
“Just…let my Catra be happy…”
And with that, the noises stopped.