Valiant

[Valiant #43: Phobos]

Log Date: 2/6/12765

Data Sources: Kiwi, Feroce Acceso

Journal Of An Unknown Maskling

8/24/10458

I cannot fathom why we were designed this way.

Made in the image of our god, the clergy say, and I do not doubt them, but I doubt the wisdom of whoever thought that would be a good design choice. Not having bodies of our own… needing a host, a vessel, a living being to take control of and reshape in one’s own image… it is a terrible limitation and a heavy burden. As a gimmick for a hypernatural, it makes sense. Not so much when you apply it to an entire race of beings created in his image.

The Council is pushing ahead with phasing out the Tabula Rasa program. I agree with the direction and the intention, but the implementation is too fast. We haven’t finished stocking the stasis chambers in the Cradle. We owe it to future generations to make sure that preparation is complete, but the Council aren’t looking that far into the future. They see only the political perils of our current moment, and not the existential concerns that plague the long arc of our race’s history.

I’ve been considering making arrangements to allow obscure branches of the program to continue operating in secret, just long enough to finish stocking the Cradle with future Maskbearers. All of it will have to be off the books, but I know there are portions of the government that agree with me. I don’t think it will be hard to make the case to some of the old guard and get their help with making it happen. Keeping it clandestine will be the core challenge; it will require discipline and dedication from those involved. Just thinking about the logistics is giving me a headache.

Hopefully it will not be necessary. I have another meeting with the Council next week, and if I can convince them to slow down the phase-out, or push back the closure deadline for the Tabula Rasa facilities, then the longer timeline should allow us to produce enough Rasa Maskbearers to finish stocking the Cradle. I hope they will see the long-term importance of seeing this project through to its completion for the sake of our descendants, but many of them cannot look past the Colloquium’s demands, one of which is the dismantling of the Tabula Rasa program. The Colloquium will not grant membership to the Maskling Republic until the program is shuttered, and even the current five-year timeline is too long for some of the Councilors. Our nation has sought membership in the Colloquium for centuries; I do not see the harm in waiting a few decades more, but from the way some of the Councilors treat the matter, you would think the nation’s survival depends on it (it does not, as our nine-thousand-year history shows).

I hope they see reason. If they do not, I will have to go around them and make alternative arrangements. While I would prefer not to do that, I will do what I have to in order to secure the future of our species against a day of ruin.

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: Songbird and Kiwi’s Apartment

9:25am SGT

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen you reading this much before.”

I look up from the journal Karasol gave me, to find Songbird shuffling into the kitchen in his pajamas. He looks like he’s still groggy, if the way he rubs his eyes is any indication. Finishing my current mouthful of cereal, I bookmark the page and close the journal, answering once I’ve swallowed. “Something I picked up from the Inkspell. Karasol told me it was the book I needed.”

Songbird snorts at that. “That doesn’t sound sinister at all.” he says, opening the fridge and pulling the milk out.

I grimace. “You’re not wrong. Never thought a library would give me shivers, but that Library wigs me out a little. Did you know they have different floors in there? And each floor has its own theme, all of them pretty weird. There’s a Floor of Secrets, and a Floor of Lost History. I can’t remember the other ones, but there’s at least two or three others.”

“Wish I could be surprised, but nothing about that Library would surprise me at this point.” he says as he pours himself a small glass. “When you’ve gotten the point where you have to feed people to a building to keep it from starving, there’s not much else that’ll come as a surprise.”

“Do you think it’s a good thing that we brought it back here?” I ask between spoonfuls of cereal. “I mean, I know we did it to get Boaris to join up, but do you think it’s worth it if we have to feed someone to the Inkspell every few years?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, and it’s… I don’t know.” he says, putting the milk back in the fridge. “The way Boaris explained it, it sounded like that’s just the price for having a Library nearby that you can access and use. He clearly thinks that exchange is worth it, and… I dunno, maybe it is? Kaiser got his hands on Onslaught’s book, and he and Legaci have been reading through it to get the inside track on CURSE. From what they told me, Onslaught clearly wasn’t a sophisticated sort, but she did know some things about CURSE that are proving useful, and will allow us to hit them where it hurts once we can put together those missions. So maybe? I dunno, I suppose it would need to keep being helpful in order to justify the people-eating it might be doing in a few years or so.” Picking up his milk, he leans back against the counter, motioning to the journal on the table. “What do you think? You got a book from the Library; has it been useful to you?”

“I wouldn’t really say useful.” I say, poking the edge of the leather journal and thinking about how much I should tell him about the conditions under which I received it. “It’s a journal from a Maskling that was alive at least two thousand years ago. Possibly one of my ancestors. Whoever they were, seems like they worked in government or something adjacent to it, because they knew a lot about the politics and government programs of the time. I mean, it’s interesting stuff to know, but I wouldn’t exactly say it’s been useful, at least in any way that I can tell.”

“But interesting enough to keep reading?” he asks, sipping from his milk.

“Yeah, for now. I assume Karasol gave me the book for a reason, and there’s something in here that’ll be important to me.” I say, swirling my spoon around in my bowl to see if there’s any more cereal left in the milk dredges at the bottom. “That’s apparently what he and his Librarians do when they’re not shelving books, or killing people so that the Library can turn them into books. Finding the right book for a person, the book that they need. At least that’s what he said.”

“The book that you need.” Songbird repeats, mulling that over as he leans back against the kitchen counter. “How do they do that, exactly? Know which book you need?”

I shrug. “Beats me. Maybe they’re clairvoyant. Karasol seemed to know stuff about me that only my close friends or family would know. That’s something else to keep in mind if you run into him; he’ll read you like a book.”

Songbird snorts at that. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you.”

I grin. “Couldn’t pass it up.”

He chuckles at that. “Well, maybe I’ll stop by the Inkspell sometime. Didn’t really get a chance to get a good look around last time, what with CURSE busting down the door and breaking up our tea party.”

“They really need to find something better to do with their time, instead of stalking us from planet to planet.” I say, getting up and taking my bowl over to the sink to wash it out. “I mean, I know we’re locked in a cold war with them right now, but would we stop fighting them if they would just leave us alone? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d be good with calling a truce if they would just get off our case.”

Songbird shrugs, folding his arms. “If they left us alone, we would probably leave them alone. But they don’t want to leave us be, so we’re going to keep hitting back until they get the hint and back off. Most of our recent fights with CURSE haven’t exactly been resounding victories, but CURSE hasn’t walked away from those fights in great shape either.”

“It’s just getting old at this point. We got better things to do than deal with their shit, and it’s wasting time and resources we could be spending on other things. Almost wish we could do it the way we used to settle things in school. Tell them to show up at the bike racks after the last bell rings, and we’ll just fight it out until someone drops or gives up.” I say, setting my bowl on the drying rack.

“You? Tired of fighting? Well, I never.” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Didn't think you’d pass up the chance to duke it out with your enemies.”

“I’m just getting tired of this ambush stuff, y’know?” I say as I dry my hands off on the drying towel. “First there was the assassination attempt on the donor conference, and then there was the Prophet ambush on the cruiser, and then there was the attack on the Inkspell. Like… I just want a straight fight, y’know? I’m starting to feel like they keep springing these ambushes on us because they know they can’t beat us in a straight fight, so the only way they can level the playing field is by catching us off guard and trying to outnumber us.”

“They have been doing a lot of ambushes recently, haven’t they.” Songbird reflects, rubbing his chin.

“It’s always ambushes! Nothing but ambushes!” I say indignantly. “Starting with the attacks on the Sanctuaries, to the attack on the Bulwark, the betrayal and ambush at the Cradle, all throughout the past year up until now — it’s always an ambush! It’s like they’re allergic to having a straight fight with us!”

“That is a good point, it always has been an ambush, hasn’t it…” Songbird says thoughtfully, as if he was rewinding the past couple of years in his head.

“It has! And I’m getting tired of it.” I say, folding my arms. “I just wanna give them a good, honest asskicking, instead of getting jumped every time we leave the Bastion. Is that too much to ask for?”

He smiles, finishing his milk and trading spots with me so he can rinse the glass out in the sink. “Such a pain in the ass to get an honorable enemy around here, am I right?”

“It is! A pain in the ass, that is.” I say, blowing out a long sigh. “But that’s enough of my bitching. Bad way to start out the morning, I should really focus on other things. What do you have planned for today?”

“Today’s the big day.” he says as he heads back towards our bedroom, presumably to get dressed. “Now that Boaris is back, we’ve got a certified arcane professional that can oversee trials in the Phobos chamber. First batch of new Agents will be hitting the chamber today, now that we’ve gotten to that point in the magic crash course he’s been teaching.”

“Phobos chamber? What’s that?” I ask, lagging behind him a bit.

“Oh boy. Yeah, I suppose people that weren’t in the Challenger program wouldn’t know about that, would they?” he says, voice muffled from the closet. “The Phobos chamber was a right of passage for all Challengers. The chamber has a Knightmare trapped in it, an entity that shifts and changes to reflect your deepest fears. One of the requirements of completing Challenger training was that you passed through the Phobos chamber while the rest of your training class watched. Everyone you trained with got to see you struggle through your deepest, darkest fears, and you got to see them do the same with theirs. A lot of Challengers considered this the hardest part of the initial training. Chamber days could be long, and kind of traumatizing.”

“Damn.” I say, leaning in the doorway and folding my arms. “And I thought my training as a Mask Knight was brutal. It’s bad enough that you had to face up to something that takes the form of your worst fears, but having to do it with an audience? That’s rough.”

“Yeah. The Phobos chamber ended up filtering out people that weren’t completely committed to the program. Some couldn’t face their fears; and others could, but they couldn’t stand the thought that other people might know their deepest, darkest terrors.” he says, coming out of the closet and pulling a shirt on as he does so. “There were some that dropped out of training once they made it to that point. Occasionally we’d have people that would make it through, but would drop out afterwards. The ones that made it through and stayed on — those were the ones that you knew were cut out for the missions.”

“So what form did the Knightmare take when you went through?” I ask, knowing that I might be poking at a sore spot.

He takes a deep breath at that, looking away, and doesn’t answer immediately. I can see him working through it in his head, deciding whether or not he wants to share, and if he does, how much to reveal. Heading over to the coat pegs on the wall, he grabs his Agent jacket, pulling it on, and only answers once he’s finished putting it on. “It assumed the form of myself. The way I was in middle school. The way I was—” He stops, as if held back, and it seems almost like he has to force himself to get the words out. “Before I became the person I am now. Or rather, the person I was at the time.”

That’s a bit of a riddle, and it takes me a moment to parse it. “You didn’t like what you turned into?” I guess after a moment.

“I suppose so.” he says, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “It looked at me, this younger reflection of myself. Like it was asking what happened to you? Like I didn’t recognize myself in what I’d become and where I ended up. I remember feeling like it was asking me if this was really what I wanted to be when I grew up. And the answer was no, this wasn’t what I wanted to do. Wasn’t what I wanted to become.” He shrugs at that point. “But I was young and stupid and in love with someone that would never reciprocate those feelings, and we do stupid shit when we’re young and in love. So I buried it, and pushed through, and this is what I’ve become now, for better or worse. I can’t change the choices I made in the past, the mistakes I made back then. But I can learn from them as I look to the future.”

“That’s… deeper than I was expecting.” I admit. “I figured it would show you different kinds of things. Phobias and that sort of stuff.”

“Oh, it does that too.” he says, pulling my jacket off the coat pegs. “The Knightmare is a reflection of the person passing through the chamber. Some people have more primal, instinctual fears; others have social or emotional fears. The Knightmare can take any form, whether it’s a creature, object, setting, or scenario. I’ve seen it turn into a swarm of spiders; I’ve seen it turn into a dark forest you can get lost in; I’ve seen it turn into a scenario where you’re abandoned by loved ones; I’ve seen it turn into memories of past traumas and abuse. Whatever your fear is, that is the form it will take.” He offers the jacket out to me. “You wanna tag along today and see it in action?”

I reach out, taking the jacket. “Not really, but I feel like I should, just so I know how it works. Am I going to have to go through the chamber at some point?”

“I think the better question is: do you want to?” he says as I pull the jacket on. “You’re not a new recruit, so I won’t make you go through it if you don’t want to. But it can be a valuable experience, if you’re wanting to learn more about yourself, and face up to your fears.”

“I think I’ll take a pass on that for now, at least until I see how it works.” I say, stepping out of the doorway as he comes back into the living room. “Do people ever get hurt when they run the chamber?”

“No physical damage. It can simulate pain and other sensations, and create the illusion of damage, but the chamber keeps it from actually harming anyone.” he says, making his way to the door. “Psychologically, it can be very difficult. But there’s no physical danger.”

“Cold comfort to the people going through it, I’m sure.” I say, following him out of our apartment. “Actually, now I’m curious — did you guys ever use it for, uh… enhanced interrogation purposes?”

“We are not using it to torture prisoners.”

“I mean, you’re throwing your own recruits in there, right? So it can’t be that bad. If you can put your own staff through that, you can put prisoners through it!”

“I… well… look, that’s not the point.”

“I bet Kaiser’s used it that way before.”

“That argument is not as compelling as you think it is, mostly because Kaiser’s done a lot of things I don’t agree with.”

“I don’t see you denying it, though.”

“How ‘bout this: you wanna put a prisoner through the Phobos chamber, you gotta go through it first. That sound fair to you?”

“Mmmm… lemme think about it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Intercepted Communications

Interstellar text thread routed through the Sunthorn Comms Relay

10:30am SGT

C3G: heeeeeeey handsiome

C3G: didja like the gift i sent u

Kaiser: How did you get this number?

C3G: u didn’t make it easy, that’s 4 sure

C3G: had to take a walk in witchspace 2 find it

C3G: dont u dare change it, u know i will find whatever u change it 2

K: Then dispense with the juvenile behavior and give me a reason not to block this number.

C3G: gatdamn

C3G: and i thought Razor’s ass was clenched tight

C3G: yours has a death grip on that stick that’s up ur butt

K: It is comforting to know that I am not the only one you have been inflicting your company upon. I presume you tested his patience in a similar fashion to the way you are currently testing mine? 

C3G: look here u bish

C3G: i practically gave u a dragine artifact 4 free

C3G: show a little gratitude or i might thing twice about how helpful i wanna b in the future

K: While I appreciate the contribution of such an asset, I am not blind to its provenance, 5402. Your acquisition of the artifact was messy, producing a level of collateral that verged on the sadistic. Your donation is appreciated, but if you expect approbation for the manner in which you acquired the asset, I recommend you seek it elsewhere.

C3G: clean isnt my style, u know that

C3G: bssides, needed 2 ssend a message 2 every1 that still thinks nova was a martyr

C3G: its sickening that people still put up monuments 2 her

K: Have you recently stopped to consider the wisdom of prosecuting a war against someone that has been dead for sixteen and a half years?

C3G: dont get catty w/me, old man

C3G: u know damn well that its about more than just nova

C3G: its about her cult of softheaded groupies that think she was the best thing since sliced bread

C3G: its about destrying that legacy of lies she left behind

C3G: they didnt know nova like we knew her. we knew the truth about what kind of person she was

K: Then perhaps, instead of massacring her fans in a fit of jealous resentment, you might consider dismantling her legacy in the way that matters: exposing her followers to the truth of who she was, instead of killing them for the crime of worshipping an image that they did not know was false. The way you are presently going about your little crusade, old age is more likely to claim the lives of these millions of Nova worshippers than they are to die by your hand.

C3G: oh ho ho, look whos concerned about civilian lives now

C3G: never thought id see the day

K: My concern is not civilian lives; it is wasteful killing. You are no stranger to my philosophy on the disposal of lives, and the massacre you orchestrated on Grayspur was a needlessly violent smokescreen for your heist on the CURSE ship. Violence is not the only means by which an effective agent accomplishes their goals, but you default to it again and again, and nearly always to the detriment of the cause you are fighting for.

C3G: that dragine artifact at Sunthorn says otherwise

K: The end does not always the means justify. I tolerate your antics only because they have yielded more benefit than detriment so far, but do not assume that gives you immunity from the Valiant. If the partisan killing continues, the organization will act in the public interest, regardless of your past contributions. Is that clear?

C3G: damn ur locked in

C3G: hadnt expected u 2 go 2 bat 4 the organization so quickly

K: As with any other employee, I have a vested interest in the success of the organization that employs me. Threats to the organization will be dealt with accordingly, regardless of any prior shared history.

C3G: haha. aight chill out old man, i already told songbird id keep the killing 2 a minimum. poor guy looked older than he was last time i saw him, even tho he hasnt aged a day

C3G: 15 years of being the galaxys punching bag musta done a number on him

K: I have neither the time nor the desire to gossip about 5377’s mental state with you. If you have nothing of substance to discuss, I will be returning to my duties now.

C3G: yeah yeah im sure ur a busy bee. get back 2 work, ill check in when ive got something worth bugging u for

C3G: baaaaaaaiii bitch

Event Log: Kiwi

Sunthorn Bastion: the Phobos Chamber

10:49am SGT

“Alright, we’re green to go. All the failsafe systems have passed their trigger and function tests.” Legaci says, her hologram folding its arms to the side of the interface panel beneath the chamber’s window. “Sensor suite has come back with a perfect score on the testing run. It’s all yours, Boaris.”

Boaris snorts, shuffling over to the console. “You say that like I’m doing something more complicated than checking the readings and pushing a couple buttons every five minutes or so.”

“You’re here for the same reason we’re all here: in case something does go wrong.” Valkyrie says. “On the off chance that something does go haywire, it’s better to have an expert like yourself behind the wheel.”

“Is it really that simple?” I ask Songbird. We’re standing a little further back; the Phobos chamber is separated into two rooms. We’re currently standing in the observation portion, which has no lights aside from what’s coming from the control console. We’re still able to see because the interior of the containment portion is plated with reflective white tile and has its own set of lights, and the brightness within spills through the wide window that stretches almost entirely across the wall separating the two rooms.

“In a standard chamber run, yes.” Songbird answers, keeping his voice low. “You push a button to open the doors; you push a button to close them; you push a button to release the Knightmare. The Knightmare can’t be released until the chamber doors are closed, so pushing the release button won’t do anything if the doors are still open. The chamber overseer keeps an eye on the sensors that monitor the chamber occupant and the Knightmare, and the readings show up on the console there. Once the run is concluded, you hit another button to put the Knightmare back in containment, then open the doors to let the occupant out. In the same way that you can’t let the Knightmare out unless the doors are closed, the doors also will not open until the Knightmare is back in containment. So while it’s not really complicated, there is a certain order in which you have to hit the buttons.”

“How do you know when the run’s over?” I ask. In the chairs behind us, the rookies are shifting uneasily, some of them trying to make small talk to cut the tension. Ridge, Quincy, and Renchiko are among them; Renchiko is sitting in silence, while Ridge and Quincy are trying to carry a conversation that seems like an attempt to distract from the upcoming trial. Jaree and the Titan hangar crew are present, along with Renchiko’s uncle — I can’t remember his name, but he’s standing in the back, near one of the doors.

“The Knightmare will return to its containment unit once you’ve faced up to it, or once it’s done with you.” he says, nodding to the glass cylinder that’s in the center of the containment room, connecting the floor and ceiling. In the center of the cylinder is a jet-black mass; I almost want to say it looks like ferromagnetic fluid, but I’ve seen ferromagnetic fluid before, and it doesn’t behave that way. The ripples across the surface of the sphere aren’t regular, and have no discernible pattern. “Most runs take a few minutes or less. It’s really not very long, but when you’re the one in the chamber, a few minutes can be forever, especially if you have a primal fear.”

“I guess that’s a fear that’s deep and instinctual?” I guess as a clunking noise draws my attention. I turn to see that Henny is laying out thermoses and blankets on a side table against the wall, presumably for the rookies once they exit the chamber.

“Common, animalistic fears, yes.” Songbird confirms. “Fear of the dark, fear of being pursued, fear of fire, fear of drowning, so on and so forth — for some people, their strongest fears are the common ones. For other people, their fears are more unique and targeted, and are sometimes tied to past traumas.”

“Alright, I do believe that should be everything.” Henny says, dusting her hands off on her apron. “We’ve got hot cocoa, blankets for the young’uns, and cool water for those that will prefer that instead. Scotchies on the side if the darlings are needing something to nibble on afterwards.”

“Thanks, Henny. We really appreciate it.” Songbird says. “You’ll probably want to leave before we get properly started. Chamber runs can be tough to sit through — there’s a lot of unpleasant things we’re going to see in the next hour or so.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear, I watch plenty of horror films.” Henny says brightly, waving off Songbird’s suggestion. “I can handle it. Besides, someone needs to be there to hand the poor dears a blanket and a drink once they come out.”

“Trust me, lad, you don’t have to worry about her.” Boaris says without looking up from the console. “The woman likes to watch slasher flicks while folding the laundry. I dunno what’s wrong with her, but she’s no wilting daisy.”

“Apologies for the delay.” There’s a brief flash of light as the door to the chamber spirals open, and we turn to see Kaiser stepping in, tucking his phone back within his waistcoat as the door spirals shut behind him. “I was obligated to humor a conversation with a volatile asset. I presume we have completed our preparations for today’s chamber runs?”

“We’re all ready to begin if you are.” Boaris says, turning to look at Kaiser. “Just say the word.”

“Begin.” Kaiser orders, folding his arms behind his back.

Boaris taps on one of the screens on the console, speaking when a name shows up on the glass. “Dawster Graines. You’re first.” As he hits another button on the console, the doors to the containment room hiss as the hermetic seal breaks, and they slide open. From the chairs behind us, one of the rookies stands up, a broadshouldered human who moves right towards the open doors. Either he’s overconfident, or he’s putting on a brave face for the rest of the rookies — but at the very least, I can’t fault him for hesitation.

“Wooo Doll, you got this!” one of the other rookies calls right before he passes into the containment chamber. Dawster looks over his shoulder and gives a smile, though there’s hints of uneasiness around the corners of his mouth. Stepping into the chamber, the doors close behind him, and he moves towards the cylinder in the center of the room, slowing a little bit as if he’s not sure how close he should get.

It doesn’t really matter, though; at that point Boaris presses another button on the console, and the glass tube starts retracting into the floor. Almost immediately, the black sphere that was contained within it starts distorting, rippling outwards and becoming light and diffuse. In a matter of seconds, it looks like it’s completely evaporated — but then the interior of the chamber starts to change, the walls and ceiling folding back and opening to reveal that Dawster is standing on the porch of a pastoral farmhouse, overlooking the sunset across a golden field of wheat nearly ready for the harvest. It looks like there are forests off in the distance, bordering the fields around the house.

“Whaaaat’s going on?” I say slowly, shifting a couple steps to the side, trying to get a different angle to look into the room and see if the chamber has really disappeared.

“It’s an illusion. The chamber is still there, as are the walls and ceiling.” Songbird explains as Dawster tentatively starts along the porch, looking around. “The Knightmare can replicate environments and locations without flaw. It has no form of its own, so it has no difficulty assuming other forms that mimic a person’s fears.”

“This is supposed to be a fear?” I ask as Dawster tries the front door, finding it locked. While he’s got his back turned to the fields, they suddenly shrink and compress, the distant line of trees rushing up on the house until they are looming over it on all sides, and the golden light fades into dim, gloomy, post-sunset blue. Sensing the change in light, Dawster turns around to find that the house is suddenly situated in a close, claustrophobic forest, instead of open, spacious fields.

“Some nightmares are matters of contrast.” Boaris says from the console. “Fear is heightened when you have been shown what safety feels like.”

“So is he scared of the forest after dark or something?” I ask, watching as fog starts to seep in between the trees, the light further dimming. Dawster tries the front door again, then starts walking around the porch, checking the windows and any other side doors he comes across, unable to get any of them to open.

“Hard to say.” Songbird says as the fog starts to reach the porch’s railing. “It seems like a composite fear, some combination of fear of the dark, the forest, of isolation, of being exposed and vulnerable. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was tied back to an experience that he had when he was young.”

My eyes are drawn to a wave in the fog, along the side of the porch, like something was moving beneath it. Dawster seems to hear something, turning in the direction of the movement, then rams his elbow to one of the windows, in an effort to break it. Despite the fact that he’s a big, strong guy, it only bounces off in spite of multiple attempts, and the sound of creaking floorboards pulls his attention back to one corner of the house. There’s a set of slow thumps, each accompanied by creaking, that signals the presence of something large moving towards that corner. He starts backing toward the opposite corner of the porch — but as soon as he reaches it, something big, dark, furred, and snarling tackles him flat from behind. Windmilling limbs claw and tear at him, with the jagged jaws snapping and jerking back and forth as blood fountains into the air.

I let out a sound of alarm, starting forwards, but Songbird catches my shoulder and holds me back. Behind us, some of the rookies start up out of their chairs, letting out similar noises of consternation; Boaris turns and holds up a hand. “He’s fine. Sit back down.”

“The Knightmare deceives the mind and manipulates the senses.” Kaiser says without looking back at the rookies. “It can create imagery indistinguishable from reality, and fool the senses into perceiving pain and other sensations. But the seal that binds it here prevents it from inflicting physical harm — it cannot hurt you. It can only trick you into thinking that it has done so.”

As if on cue, the scene in the chamber starts to blur and melt away, the scenery turning into strands of black liquid that swirl across the room and coalesce back into a black sphere in the center. The moment it has reformed in the center of the room, Boaris hits a button on the console, and the glass cylinder slides back into place around the Knightmare, sealing it off. In the chamber, Dawster is curled up on the floor, very much intact, and with no sign of injury. After a moment, he opens his eyes and looks around; on finding that the room has returned to its white-paneled stillness, he slowly starts getting to his feet as the doors slide open. Staggering back out into the observation room, he’s greeted by Henny, who throws a heated blanket around his shoulders and gives him a thermos. “There you go, dearie, you did well. You got through it. Let’s sit you down and take a breather, yeah?” she says, leading him back to his seat.

“Continue.” Kaiser orders to Boaris, emotionless and cold as ever.

Boaris nods, tapping one of the screens that has the roster randomizer. “Lilicorinne Anrūt, you are next.”

As an elf in the seats takes a deep breath and stands up, I look to Songbird. “This is a hell of a hazing ritual.”

“It’s not a hazing ritual; it’s a trial.” he replies as the elf steps into the chamber, and the doors close behind her. “It’s a reminder that everyone is scared of something. Everyone has a monster in their closet, and no one is immune to fear, no matter how confident or powerful they are on the outside.”

“Most people know what they’re scared of, though, right?” I say as the glass tube around the Knightmare lowers again.

“A lot of people think they know what they’re scared of.” Songbird says as the Knightmare starts to expand once more. “And most of them find that they don’t know themselves as well as they thought they did.”

I don’t say anything to that, mostly because I’m left wondering if my fears would be what I think they were. And I continue to contemplate that as the chamber runs progress, rookie after rookie. We see fear after fear, and those fears vary wildly; some of them are the expected sorts: a rookie clinging to a slick cable miles above the ground, their sweaty hands struggling to hold on and reach a safe platform just above. Or another rookie struggling in a stretch of what seems to be quickmud — the slimier and more terrifying cousin of quicksand. Every now and then, we see a social fear, such as a rookie being disowned by their family for coming out to them.

There are also fears that seem highly niche, or extreme takes on common phobias. One that stuck with me, even though I had to look away, was a rookie dumped through a greasy trash chute into a trash compactor filled exclusively with used hypodermics and needles. That one triggered a full-on panic attack in the rookie as she staggered through the chamber, sobbing and trying to claw the needles out as she tried to get to the door — only for the walls of the compactor to start compressing on her. Even through the thick glass of the observation window, we could hear her screaming, and the Knightmare didn’t let up until the compactor had completely pressed flat. I wasn’t the only one to look away; many of the rookies had their heads down, some of them covering their ears. Others that struggled to stand still got up and started pacing, giving leg to their agitation. And though there had been occasional murmurs between the rookies at the beginning of the runs, the observation room had just about become silent as more runs were completed.

The end of the run always served as a reminder that the things we were seeing weren’t real; the Knightmare would dissolve the scenario and return to a black ball in the center of the chamber, sealed within the glass tube. But that didn’t seem to make things any better — the level of visual realism that the Knightmare could generate made it seem indistinguishable from the real thing, and only more so to the people that were in the chamber experiencing it, I would imagine. The black ball itself became this ominous presence, an omniscient monolith that was clearly sealed within the glass cylinder for good reasons. It didn’t seem all that sinister at the beginning, but after watching it identify and replicate each rookie’s deepest fear with surgical precision, sometimes cleverly combining multiple fears into a single scenario, you came away with the impression that it was clearly alive, sentient, and possibly had a sadistic streak a mile wide.

Renchiko’s run comes up about halfway through, and when her name is called, she gets up without a word and heads for the doors. There’s something about the way she steps into the chamber — like she clearly isn’t looking forward to it, but she’s determined to get it over with. Songbird shifts a little on his feet, almost like he was nervous; I assumed he’d be more invested in Ridge and Renchiko’s runs, and it seems like I was right.

“Do you know what her fear is going to be?” I quietly ask as the tube around the Knightmare starts to come down.

“I have a pretty good idea.” he answers reluctantly. “She’ll get through it. I know she can. But it probably won’t be easy for her.”

As it’s done with many of the other rookies, the Knightmare unravels and dissipates as soon as the cylinder comes down, creating the illusion of some sort of transition that moves the person into another setting. For Renchiko, this takes the form of the walls sliding down while the floor starts rumbling and moving upwards, as if the entire chamber was a lift or elevator of some sort. There are intervals of darkness as the floor continues rising through the exposed shaft, with light spilling in from somewhere outside of it; in one of those intervals, Renchiko has gone from wearing her uniform to wearing the armored pilot plugsuit I’ve seen her in when she’s doing practice runs in the Shrike. The lift starts to slow down, and the shaft opens up into what appears to be a Titan hangar — not the one we have here in Sunthorn, but another one altogether.

Renchiko steps off the lift, and out onto a scaffolding or a boarding ramp that looks like it’s elevated to shoulder height with a nearby Titan. The colossal mech is painted blue, and looks like it might be in for maintenance; one of the chest plates has been removed to expose the complex of machinery and metal beneath. Voices are echoing up through the hangar, as if there were people talking down below; I can’t quite make out full sentences, but I do hear snatches of “…not ready… not qualified… got the pilot seat because of her mom…” and I can see the way Renchiko’s gloved hand tightens around the railing of the ramp.

Yet the words don’t stop her, and she continues along the boarding ramp, which leads around towards the back of the mech. At the joint where the head unit meets the torso, there’s a hatch, presumably for access to the pilot cockpit within. Crouching down, Renchiko first tries the biometric scanner for the hatch door, and when it rejects her signature, she grabs the emergency lever, grunting as she leans all the weight of her small body onto it, trying to get it to open. The lever eventually clunks down into the open position, the handles flipping out on the sides of the hatch door so she can grab them and haul back on the door. As it swings open, there’s movement within — and Renchiko staggers backwards until she trips and falls on the ramp. Pulling itself out of the hatch is plugsuited pilot, one that I eventually recognize as Ratchet.

But the delay in recognition is due to the fact that she’s covered in strands of blue-green biomass that’s often found on Collective worlds, ships, and structures. Beside me, I can hear Songbird inhale a sharp breath, and see his fingers tighten into fists.

“There’s my liddl’ monkey Wrench.” Ratchet slurs, stepping forward unsteadily as more strands of biomass start to spread from the open hatch behind her. “Always handy in the garage. Knew you’d make it to pilot one day.”

Renchiko’s breathing hitches up into panicked exhalations as she scrambles backwards on the ramp, trying to maintain the distance between her and Ratchet. The creepiness of the scene isn’t helped by the fact that some of the strands of biomass on Ratchet appear to have independent movement, based on how they reach into the air around her as she staggers forward. Renchiko keeps on scrambling backwards until she reaches the corner of the ramp and almost pushes herself off of it; when her hand slips off into empty air, she gasps and grabs onto the railing, using it to pull herself back up. But the moment she’s back on her feet, the railing gives out beneath her hands, leaving her with nothing to brace her weight on. She falls, trying to twist in the other direction as she does so, and only just barely manages to catch hold on the edge of the boarding ramp, hanging over what looks like a hundred-foot drop to the hangar’s floor below.

There’s a clanking as Ratchet falls to her knees on the edge of the ramp, reaching down with a hand squirming with biomass. “Should be more careful, Wrenchy. Told you not to play around the machines.” Her words are slow and still slurred, and part of that seems to be due to the dark blue ooze that’s started to pool in her mouth, dripping over her teeth and descending in thick strands, some of which land on Renchiko’s face. You can see Renchiko’s entire body seize in revulsion, using her free arm to wipe away as much of the ooze as she can in a panic, as if she was afraid it would infect her. When Ratchet’s hand closes around her arm, she freezes dead, locking up like she’s caught at a decision point. But it only lasts for a couple seconds — the moment the wriggling strands of biomass start to crawl along her arm, she lets go of the ramp, allowing herself to fall.

And she falls, and falls, until she hits the hangar floor, and everything turns black.

It only lasts for a few seconds, the darkness being stripped away as it spirals back into the center of the room to form the black sphere once more. As it disappears, Renchiko is revealed to be still lying on the floor, and as the tube slides back up to seal the Knightmare away, she pulls herself up, staggering towards the opening doors with a hand held to her chest. Songbird moves in that direction, and once she’s out of the chamber, she heads straight for him, wrapping her arms around him as he catches her. Her breathing is still elevated, great big harsh gasps that have her shoulders heaving as she buries her face in his chest, and the way she digs her fingers into his jacket, bunched into tightly held fistfuls, shows that her stress is through the roof.

Songbird just puts his arms around her, walking her back from the chamber. “It’s okay, Renchiko. You made it through. I’ve got you.” he says quietly as Henny comes over with a blanket and a thermos.

“Continue.” Kaiser orders tonelessly, just as he has after each run.

Boaris reaches up and hits the roster randomizer again, but there’s something subdued in the way he calls out the next name. I can see it in Valkyrie’s stance as well; Renchiko’s run has the former Challengers rattled. Until now, all of the runs had been depersonalized; some were disturbing or unsettled, but there was always a sort of safe distance to them — it was someone else’s fear. But seeing one of your old coworkers show up in a Knightmare run — that took away the safe distance, made it feel closer, more personal.

Renchiko eventually starts to relax, no longer holding to Songbird as tightly, and a clearing of a throat gets our attention. I turn to see Jaree’s standing near us, with Renchiko’s uncle close by. “We can take that off your hands.” she grunts, vape smoke drifting from her mouth.

Songbird just nods, turning so he can pass Renchiko over to Jaree and her uncle. Jaree’s quick to take Renchiko under her muscled arm, leading her back to her seat with the other hangar staff that haven’t had their turn in the chamber yet. “Hey kid. You did pretty good in there. Prolly did better than most of these miscreants will when they have their turn at it…”

Songbird lets out a quiet sigh as Renchiko sits back down among her peers, but he soon returns his attention to the chamber and the next rookie in it. I follow the suit, though my attention catches on Kaiser, and stays there for a moment. Unlike the other Challengers, he didn’t flinch when he saw the Knightmare’s replication of Ratchet, and I don’t think he’s reacted to any of the runs so far. Nothing seems to shock him; he watches each run with a detached coldness, the nightmares reflected in his spectacles as he soaks up every scene of terror and dread the way a physicist might soak up an equation with an icy, analytical eye. To him, these trials seem to be little more than data to be observed and quietly filed away for later reference.

And with Kaiser in charge, the runs continue at an unyielding pace, with a rookie sent in as soon as the previous one comes out. Often, the only thing he says is that single word: Continue. As if the rookies were livestock to be rotated into the chamber and out of it with assembly-line efficiency, a conveyor belt that sends in impressionable recruits and spits out traumatized rookies on the other side. I’m starting to see why Songbird values his skills, but also dislikes him so much — Kaiser is a brutally efficient operator, unhindered by emotion or empathy.

Somewhere in the trauma train, a name comes up that I recognize, but not as one of the Valiant rookies. It turns out to be one of the Librarians that came over with the Inkspell — Nayoh, the one with the pale skin that had black markings, and hair that’s a faded green color. It’s clear that he’s reluctant to step into the chamber, and by the way he looks at Boaris, it seems like he wants permission to opt out, but Boaris nods his head to the chamber, making it clear that Nayoh’s not going to wriggle out of it.

“Dio!” Henny says disapprovingly once the doors have closed behind Nayoh. “Really? Putting the boy through something like this?”

“It’ll be good for him, Henny.” Boaris says, hitting the button that releases the Knightmare. “He needs to do hard things, even if he doesn’t want to. That’s how we grow and improve.”

I glance at Songbird. “They’re allowed to put anyone in the chamber?” I ask.

He gives a shrug. “I mean… technically there weren’t any rules against it. It’s just that only Challengers were expected to do it back in the day. Wasn’t much reason to put other staff through the experience.”

“So what constitutes, like… a failed run?” I ask as the Knightmare starts to unfurl within the chamber. “Like, there’s been plenty of rookies that come out in shambles… does that count as failing their runs?”

Songbird looks at me. “There are no failed runs. We don’t grade rookies on how well they do in the chamber; this is for the rookies to face up against their worst fears, and then decide for themselves if they want to stick with the job or bow out. The only people that ‘fail’, so to speak, are the ones that refuse to enter the chamber in the first place.”

I try to get my head around that as the Knightmare takes the form of a pool of red liquid that fills the chamber, immersing Nayoh up to his ankles. “So it’s just… seeing if they have the guts to get in there and suffer through it?”

“Pretty much, yes. If you’ve got the guts to get in there and do it, despite knowing how unpleasant it’ll be, then that tells us all we need to know about you.” he confirms, watching as green leaves start to rise of out of the liquid to fold around Nayoh. He seems to realize what’s happening too late, and is unable to scramble away before they close around him. “This one’s interesting; I don’t know what’s going on here…”

I tilt my head to the side as the thick green leaves seal together, the exterior becoming glossy, despite how Nayoh is thrashing and struggling to get out. “Oh! That’s why it’s familiar, he’s one of the, uh, the, the, the fairy people… lepidopterans!”

Songbird glances back at me. “Really? I thought they had wings…”

“Yeah, they do, when they’re adults.” I say, nodding to the chrysalis that’s starting to constrict around Nayoh. “Before that, they’re ‘Pillars, which is short for Caterpillars. They go through metamorphosis sometime in their early twenties. They start out plain for the first two decades of their life and then bam they come out of the chrysalis hot as hell and with a huge spike in magical power. I almost picked one as a Maskbearer a decade ago, but I passed on it because it was a male lepidopteran.”

“I assume the metamorphosis is supposed to be a positive experience?” he asks skeptically, watching as the chrysalis constricts further, to the point where it looks like it’s hardened green latex stretched over the contours of Nayoh’s body. He’s been struggling, and it seems like he’s been trying to get out, but with the way the chrysalis is shrinking, it looks like it’s close to completely paralyzing him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t really know, I never really had any lepi friends and I’ve never been close with one of those communities. Only reason I know so much about them is I considered having one as a Maskbearer, and did some research.” I explain. “They’re a Ranter species, so you mostly see them in the Ranter colonies. But if it’s showing up here, this means it’s one of his fears, right?”

“It does, though I don’t think it’s a fear of the metamorphosis itself.” Songbird murmurs as the chrysalis starts to dry out, withering and calcifying. “I think it’s a fear of something going wrong during the metamorphosis. I assume that lepidopterans are uniquely vulnerable during the chrysalis phase, correct? If it’s anything like actual butterflies, their entire body would turn to goo while it’s reforming, and the chrysalis has to remain stationary until the metamorphosis is complete.”

“Yeah, pretty much. Easiest time to kill them is when they’re in their chrysalis. The chrysalis is pretty durable, but it’s not anything close to indestructible.” I reply without taking my eyes off the scene in front of us. “Maybe he has claustrophobia? It looks like he’s scared of getting trapped in his chrysalis, whenever it does happen.”

“Seems like it.” Songbird says as the withered chrysalis starts flaking apart, revealing dehydrated, mummified remains underneath. The chamber fades into darkness, which is then stripped away, the black ball of the Knightmare swirling back into the center of the room. Nayoh, who is on the floor of the chamber, scrambles back to his feet, rushing for the door with tears in his eyes, and Henny is waiting for him when the doors open.

“There there, dear, you got through it.” she says, wrapping a blanket around him as she herds him away from the chamber. “That must’ve been rough, but you stepped in there, and that was brave.”

He gets shuffled past us, and it looks like Ridge and Quincy are waiting to give him encouragement. Kaiser’s order sounds again — “Continue” — and the next rookie is called up to be sent into the chamber. As the doors slide shut and seal again, I bite my lip, mulling over a thought that’s taken hold in my head and won’t go away.

“Should I go in there?” I eventually ask, when I’ve worked up the courage for it. “I know it’s technically just the rookies and new recruits that we’re sending in there, but…”

Songbird turns his head slightly, those ruby eyes glancing sidelong at me. “You think it should be a requirement for all Agents on the roster?”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “I mean, it’s not like I want to do it, but… seems like it would be more fair that way, yeah? If we’re requiring it for our rookie Agents, we should probably require it for all the other Agents on the roster as well…”

He shifts a little on his feet. “That’s a fair point. I’ll run it by Kaiser and Drill later. We might get pushback from some of the existing Agents, but I agree. The standard should apply across the board.”

“If that’s the case, would you go in again?” I ask.

“No.” Boaris answers unexpectedly. “He’s already been through the chamber once.”

“Yeah, but that was like… twenty years ago, right?” I ask, glancing between Songbird and Boaris. “He’s probably changed in that time, right? Fears will be different?”

“We don’t do second runs with the Phobos chamber. You go in once, and that’s it.” Boaris says. “The Knightmare remembers. The more it gets to know you, the more dangerous it becomes. One run is the hard limit for all personnel — if a creature like this got loose, the amount of damage it could do in a populated area would be considerable.”

“Seems like the Challengers made a habit of keeping dangerous things in the Bastions.” I mutter, folding my arms.

“Yeah, that’s a bit of a bad habit we had…” Songbird concedes, both of us falling silent as we watch the next run. This one looks like it hinges on parasites, and comes with all the discomforting, unsettling imagery you’d expect from a topic like that.

It isn’t long before Ridge’s turn comes up, and he makes his way to the doors with the resigned acceptance of someone about to do something they wish they didn’t have to do. Quincy rocks nervously on his heels as he watches, shifting from side to side as the cylinder around the Knightmare drops again. This time, instead of evaporating outright, the black sphere turns into water, dropping to the ground and spilling across the chamber, spreading to cover the entire floor. Ridge backs up a couple steps as the first lapping waves wash past his boots, and as the water reaches the edge of the room, the center starts to churn and burble like a spring, the level rising as more water starts to feed into the chamber.

“Is he… afraid of water?” I ask, perplexed by this scene.

“It’s not water. People are rarely afraid of water.” Songbird murmurs, unfolding his arms. “If the Knightmare’s taking the form of water, it usually means the person’s afraid of drowning. It’s a simple fear. Straightforward, uncomplicated, easy to manifest.”

Ridge’s hands curl into fists as the water comes to his knees, and rather than wait for the water to rise, he moves towards the center of the chamber, where the water is fountaining up, and stamps around there like he’s trying to find the source and plug it up. It doesn’t work, although it does raise a question for me. “Is is possible to beat the Knightmare? I’m guessing there isn’t, since nobody’s done it?”

“Well, the run isn’t something you ‘win’, and likewise, the Knightmare isn’t something you can ‘beat’.” Songbird says. “He won’t be able to stop the chamber from filling up because that would defeat the purpose of the run, which is facing your fear.”

“So anyone that goes in there, they just have to suffer through it?” I ask as the water starts to rise past Ridge’s waist.

“More or less. It’s about learning what you fear, but also how you handle the fear — how you react to it, and whether you can control your responses to it.” Songbird says, shifting a little as Ridge starts to take deep breaths — only for the Knightmare to react by sending the water level in the chamber surging, filling straight to the ceiling but leaving a little layer of air at the very top. Ridge is caught off guard, and he flails around as he’s submerged, but I notice that his movements are disorganized, and don’t demonstrate a good understanding of movement in water.

“Does he… not know how to swim?” I ask slowly.

“That would explain his fear of drowning, and why the Knightmare’s left a little bit of air at the top of the chamber.” Songbird murmurs, watching Ridge’s feeble attempts to get towards the ceiling, where the air is. “It wants to put survival where he can see it, but can’t reach it.”

“Do we really have to put people through this?” Quincy asks, shifting restlessly from side to side as Ridge struggles to hold the breaths that he took, then lets them out in a burst of bubbles. “I mean, I know there’s a reason for it, but just because the Challengers did it doesn't mean we have to copy everything they did, right?”

“Your concern, expressed this late in the exercise and only during the commencement of your significant other’s turn in the chamber, is noted and duly dismissed, Mr. Quincy.” Kaiser replies without looking away from the chamber. “This is as much a test for you as it is for him; there are many who can endure the most terrible things, but will fold when someone they care about is threatened or in danger. I hope you will bear in mind the welfare of the greater whole over the welfare of an individual, even when that individual has importance to you.”

“Boaris made it through Nayoh’s run, and Songbird made it through Renchiko’s run.” Legaci says from where her hologram has been hanging out at the back of the observation room. “You’ll be able to make it through Ridge’s run.”

That doesn’t seem to reassure Quincy, who keeps on rocking back and forth as Ridge’s struggling grows weaker. He never made it very far in the water-filled chamber, and certainly not within reaching distance of the air at the top. The blueish light in the chamber starts to dim as he drifts back down to the floor of the chamber, and it soon goes entirely black, with the darkness soon being stripped away as it swirls back into its ball in the center of the room. Ridge is left gasping for air on the floor of the chamber, and as the cylinder rises back up to seal the Knightmare in place, Songbird moves towards the doors of the chamber, along with Quincy and Henny.

“You never told me you didn’t know how to swim.” Songbird says, catching Ridge as the doors open and he stumbles out of the chamber. “We need to arrange some lessons for you. See about getting that fixed.”

He turns and passes Ridge along to Quincy and Henny, who wraps a blanket around Ridge. And in that moment, I see a flash of anger on Ridge’s face; in that instant, I know he’s about to do something, and whatever it is, there isn’t enough time to stop him.

What he does is turn around, and put both arms into shoving Songbird into the chamber, then lunges past Quincy and slams a fist down on the button that opens and closes the doors.

“You think it’s so easy, let’s see how you deal with it!” Ridge snaps at him as the doors slide shut and close.

I immediately start forward, and the commotion draws the attention of all the supervising Agents in the room. Legaci’s hologram pushes off the wall where it’d been leaning; Valkyrie starts across the observation room towards Ridge; Boaris is shouting at Ridge, and for the first time since he’s entered the room, Kaiser has pulled his gaze from the window to stare at Ridge with a look that could kill a man on the spot. But Ridge ignores all of it, lunging across the console and pushing Boaris away as he slams another fist down on the button that releases the Knightmare.

“Restrain him.” I hear Kaiser order coldly, and scuffling as Ridge is grabbed off the console and gotten under control. But I’m not paying attention to that; I’ve come to the doors of the chamber, a hand pressed against the glass as I watch Songbird pick himself up. He looks around, sees me, and starts towards the doors — only to stop dead when he hears the tube containing the Knightmare start to lower. His eyes seem to go somewhere distant, and after a moment, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Shit!” I hear Boaris hiss. “Tube’s down, doors are locked. I can’t get him out. Legaci, can you—”

“No.” Kaiser says, lifting a hand. His attention has returned to the window, staring into the chamber once more. “There will be no override. There are over thirty people in here; if the Knightmare escapes into the observation room, it will be an unmitigated disaster. The run must proceed.”

“This’ll be his second run!” Boaris protests, motioning to the chamber.

“I am aware. If there is any damage, it will be restricted to a single individual, not the entire recruiting class.” Kaiser replies. There’s a finality to his tone that makes it clear that the matter isn’t up for discussion.

“What… is it doing?” Quincy asks hesitantly. Within the chamber, the black sphere is rippling and distorting, assuming a human form that corporealizes into a young woman with blue hair, a shorts, a t-shirt, and a birthday-pink hoodie on over all of it — the same hoodie that Songbird wears when he’s not in uniform.

“Wait, is that… is that Blueberry Bubblegum? The popstar?” Legaci says, coming closer to the chamber’s window.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Boaris says, wiping his spectacles before putting them back on and and squinting through them. “It is.”

“That’s his fear? He’s scared of a popstar?” Ridge demands from where Valkyrie’s holding him still, looking just as confused as everyone else. “I get to drown and he gets a popstar?”

“He said he was in the Blueberry Bubblegum band for a while. Never said much about it, though.” I say, noticing Songbird still hasn’t opened his eyes or turned around. “Maybe this is why he wouldn’t talk about it.”

Blueberry Bubblegum tilts her head to one side, her ponytail swaying with the motion as she lets out a four-note hum, something that has Songbird twitching. Exhaling a long breath, he opens his eyes and finally turns around to face the Blueberry Bubblegum, who smiles as soon as he does.

“Long time no see, Feroce.” she says. “Remember me?”

Songbird’s reply is delayed, as if he was considering his response. “Same tricks as last time.”

“If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.” Blueberry Bubblegum replies, tilting her head the other way. “And I remember. You. Don’t. Like. Mirrors.” She flickers; for an instant, she’s a reflection of Songbird. Then a different version of him with red hair and a Challenger uniform. Then a nerdy, teenage version of him with brown hair, and then a version of him in a glimmering, luminous jacket and uniform. All in the space of a second, and then it’s Blueberry Bubblegum again, as if she had never changed. “Especially when they talk back to you.”

“It’s talking to him.” Boaris murmurs, then looks to the side. “Kaiser, it’s speaking to him directly, without pretense.”

“I can see that, Boaris.” Though it’s extremely faint, one can hear the sardonic edge on Kaiser’s reply — one of the few shows of emotion I’ve seen from him.

“If you think that will jar me like it did last time, you’ll be disappointed.” Songbird replies to the Knightmare. “I’ve grown since then.”

“Yes, I can tell.” the Knightmare says, coming off the platform in the center of the room, starting to circle around Songbird. “Over twenty years. Enough time for you to grow out of your old fears and into a whole new set of fears.” She raises a hand, looking over the fingers. “Which has given me a whole new set of forms to play with. That’s important, since your stint in Accounting degraded your fear of pain and death. I imagine many Accountants are like that, after Kaiser gets his hands on them… although I don’t have any examples to compare you against, since they don’t allow second visits. And you’re only in here on a fluke, aren't you?”

“This visit was neither expected nor desired. So if we could just go our respective ways, I would greatly appreciate that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would. No one likes facing their fears. But just because you ended up here on accident doesn’t mean that you’re exempt from what everyone in this chamber must go through.” the Knightmare says, ending on the platform where she began, lacing her fingers together. “You’ve grown up, Feroce, and your fears are much more complex now. But they still exist, and you need to see them. It’s a special occasion, so I’ll speak to you in the language you understand.”

She starts humming with that, that same four-note sequence she used to get his attention the first time. But it doesn’t stop there, and I realize it’s the intro to a proper song as the sounds of other instruments start to seep into the room. The chamber around them starts to morph and swirl away, though the Knightmare retains the image of Blueberry Bubblegum. Around them, the chamber solidifies into a wide hall with people running in one direction, and the distant sound of explosions muffled through the walls. Lifting a hand to Songbird, almost as an invitation, Blueberry’s voice cuts through the noise, soft and clear as glass.

Did you hear us calling?

Our voice, you know so well.

And we know that you’re falling

But this story, you will tell.

With that, she sweeps her hand back in the direction the people are coming from, and the angle in the room shifts so we can see that the people fleeing are Challenger staff. At the end of the hall, the doors have been blasted down, and CURSE operatives are pouring into hall even as fighting continues in the courtyard outside. There are a few Challengers in the hall trying to slow the advance so that the staff have time to get away — and among those fleeing are the Songbird of that time, with red hair, giving cover to Ratchet and the toddler she’s carrying.

A chair clatters over; looking back, I see that Renchiko’s surged to her feet. She’s still got her blanket wrapped around herself, but she staggers forward a few steps upon seeing her mother in the scene. As we watch, Ratchet and the man with her pelt past Blueberry, who reaches out and touches a pair of fingers to the man’s chest, leaving behind a glowing mark. He doesn’t notice it, but Songbird comes forward a few steps, only to see the younger, redheaded version go sprawling on the floor as he’s nailed in the back with a plasma bolt. The man stops and doubles back for the younger Songbird, grabbing him and hauling him upright — but the moment the young Songbird is back on his feet, a plasma bolt nails the other man in the chest, right on the glowing spot that Blueberry marked him with.

“Dad!” Renchiko shouts, staggering forward to the window of the chamber.

The modern Songbird reaches forward, only to find his hand passing through Renchiko’s father as the man goes to his knees. The younger Songbird does his best to pull Renchiko’s father along, but the man pushes him away — he’s not a vampire like Songbird is. A plasma bolt to the chest is death sentence and he knows it. He instead pulls his jacket back a little, showing Songbird a belt of grenades, then points down the hall, where his wife and child and the other staff are fleeing. The moment freezes, though Blueberry still sings, her gaze resting heavy on the modern Songbird.

And these souls you so adore

You’d keep them safe, if only you could.

But they cannot ask for more,

And will not receive it, even if you would.

“Renchiko, it’s not real.” Kori says, coming up to grab Renchiko and pull her back from the window. “It’s a simulation, just like your run was—”

“No.” Valkyrie says, having drifted closer to the window of the chamber. “This is real. This happened. This is the fall of the Citadel; I was there.”

“It’s making him relive his memories.” Boaris says, sounding shocked.

In the chamber, the moment unfreezes, and the younger Songbird, after an agonized moment, turns and follows the arm that Renchiko’s father is pointing. As he staggers away, he catches Ratchet, who had turned back to get to her husband, and keeps pushing her in the direction that he’s been told to go, despite Ratchet’s shouting. Renchiko’s father glances over his shoulder a last time, then activates all the grenades on the belt he’s wearing as the CURSE closes in on his position.

And they must go,

But you must stay.

Yes, they must go,

But you must…

STAY.

We never see the detonation. The memory swirls away to black, leaving only Blueberry and Songbird in the void, and I see him snag one of his ninjato hilts off his belt, igniting it as he starts towards Blueberry. She just smiles and steps backwards, with the darkness resolving into another scene, this one a penthouse with Songbird, and an old man that I recognize as Echo, albeit in his twilight years and more frail than he was when he was a Challenger. It looks like they’re about to leave the apartment, but Blueberry reaches out and touches two fingers to Echo’s chest, where a green dot appears a moment later. The Songbird from the present seems to realize what’s about to happen, and lunges forward, shouting “NO!”, but there’s nothing he can do — if this is a memory, it’ll play out the same way every time.

And sure enough, a hole appears in Echo’s chest, right on the spot that Blueberry marked, left by something moving so fast that the eye can’t track it.

Echo is thrown back on the floor with a spray of blood painting the floor behind him, with the memory Songbird scrambling towards him. And the Songbird from the present can do nothing but watch, taking another few steps towards them with a hand raised, only to curl it into a closed fist when he realizes there’s no changing what happened.

“Fear, of failure.” Kaiser says, speaking into the deathly silence that’s taken hold of the observation room. The way he says it, he sounds like a doctor rendering a diagnosis. “The fear of being unable to protect those you care about. Those that rely on you; who were family to you.”

The music swells with that, sweeping away the scene and again leaving Songbird and Blueberry in the void. With nothing left to focus on, Songbird’s gaze inevitably turns to Blueberry, who isn’t shifted by the intensity of his glare — it only seems to feed her as she holds her arms out to either side, answering in Songbird’s native language: a defiant song.

All these souls that we did take —

Know that they died for your sake.

All their dreams that could not be —

Their lost futures live in thee.

Despite the sword he’s got out, she hasn’t hesitated to approach him, coming right up to him and tapping her fingers to his chest on that last word. Doing so triggers a change in the room; the darkness swirls away again, revealing a battered and damaged Titan cockpit, lying at a slant. Portions of the ceiling have caved into the room; it’s crushed the glass sphere that makes up the empath pilot’s pod, and flattened part of the manual control pilot’s interface and pilot sheaths. Ratchet is trapped in the pilot interface, likely with a crushed leg, while Songbird is beside her in a plugsuit still glistening with impact gel, helping her set up what seems like a self-destruct sequence. The entire time, the cockpit is creaking, shifting back and forth as something outside continues attacking the downed Titan.

“Mum!” Renchiko says, wresting free of Kori to press back against the window, and this time he doesn’t stop her. His arms drop to his sides; he tilts forward a step, then stops, like he wants to come closer but can’t bring himself to do so. Behind Boaris, Valkyrie has raised a hand, covering her mouth as the plugsuited Songbird tries to unbend metal and lift hundreds of pounds of broken equipment to free Ratchet.

“Denial Protocol confirmed. Overcharge in progress.” one of the screens near Ratchet stutters out, the words jittery and slurred.

“Okay good.” Ratchet gasps, grabbing Songbird’s arm. It’s at this point that I can see her pupils are glowing — the same lightning blue I’ve seen in Songbird’s eyes on those few rare occasions. “Take the Spark and get out of here, Feroce.”

The plugsuited Songbird stares at her, then shakes his head, putting his shoulder to one of the fallen beams and trying to shift it. “No. We’re getting you back home.”

Ratchet’s grip on his arm tightens as a humming starts to ramp up within the Titan, like the fusion core was moving into overdrive. “It was an order, not a question. And I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

With that, she yanks on his arm, pulling him towards her, but only so she can slam her palm into his chest. The impact is sharp, and in that moment, you can see the glow in her pupils race down her arm and into his chest as he’s thrown clear across the room and into one of the ejection tubes mounted in the wall. She makes a yanking motion, a last swirl of blue light coming off her hand as the cover of the pod is yanked down over Songbird, locking into place. As Songbird grabs his chest, using his other hand to thump the cover of the ejection pod, Blueberry passes into view, touching two fingers to spot on the only functioning screen Ratchet has left to her.

“Tell Renchiko I love her.” Ratchet says as the glow fades from her eyes, then slams a fist down on the spot that Blueberry marked a moment before.

There’s loud bang and a whump as the pod is launched up into the ejection tube at a blistering speed, presumably fast enough to blast it far away from the downed Titan. The fusion core continues ramping up as the claws of a Leviathan start to tear through into the cockpit, but as with Renchiko’s father, we don’t see what comes next — the scene slowly fades to black, leaving only Blueberry circling Songbird in the void. Still singing to him, and it’s clear by this point that this song is for him — but it’s neither a condescending nor chiding. They are words spoken with a gentle but final authority; a Knightmare singing as though it was the voice of death.

We have met in passing,

So many times before.

Each time we hear your soul sing —

It’s something we can’t ignore.

Though you may hear our voice,

Know that our call, it is not for you.

To pick who lives and dies is not your choice;

This life we take shall yours renew.

Songbird doesn’t seem inclined to sit there and take it. With every recalled memory, he’s grown more and more agitated; I can tell that the reminders of his failures bother him deeply. His composure has been melting since the first memory, and it’s almost completely gone now; sudden, emotional violence is usually my schtick, but it’s his thing today, because he goes for Blueberry with his sword wound up for a slash. Maybe he thinks that attacking her will put an end to all this, but the Knightmare is ready for that, jumping up to step on his swung blade, grab his shoulders, flip over his head, and snatch the other ninjato hilt off his belt as she lands behind him. By the time he’s twisted around in a spinning slash, Blueberry’s got the other starglass blade up to block the blow in a shower of rainbow sparks.

And they must go,

But you must stay.

What we take, we shall not yield —

The price of your life is now revealed.

All these souls you could not save,

In their memory, now be brave.

They remain locked like that, the two blades grinding against each other as Songbird tries force Blueberry yield the stalemate. But she holds it with ease, the locked blades dripping sparks from where they’ve met, until she takes the hilt in both hands and twists it upwards in a slash that cuts through the void around them. The darkness peels back, leaving them on a rooftop among many, against the backdrop of a ringworld’s interior. On that rooftop is the younger Songbird with red hair, with a coilgun pistol in hand and raised; on the rooftop’s edge is Nova in her Dark Star uniform, a hand clutched to her ribcage as she staggers in place.

I can’t help but take a step back from the doors. I recognize this scene; so does everyone else in the room. This is the moment from sixteen years ago; this is the moment that was caught on video and sent to every major news organization; it’s the moment that changed everything for the Challenger program.

This is the Songbird Incident.

And Songbird, seeing the moment he’s been brought back to, drops his sword, and then drops to his knees shortly after it.

And they must go,

But you must stay.

And they must go…

(stay stay stay)

“You shot me.” Nova coughs, looking shocked as she pulls her hand away from her bloodied side. There’s a hole in her side, but it’s splattered with numinous, violet liquid mingled with the blood, and the glowing colors of her Starstruck uniform are flickering, fading to dull colors as it starts to crumble to dust at the edges. “My powers… what did you do…”

“It’s a niquid spike.” the younger Songbird says, sounding almost like he’s choking on the words. “Nullifies magic and other power expressions. We couldn’t— just give me the backup archive, Cherri. Please.”

“You shot me.” she repeats again, and though there’s an element of betrayal in her voice, it’s overshadowed by disbelief and the way she stares at him, as if she never thought he’d do this.

“I didn’t want to.” he blurts out, with an edge of panic on it, like he’s afraid he’s going to get cut off. “We know what you were going to do with it. I can’t let you do that to the others; a lot of them are good people, Cherri! Just— give me back the archive, I’ll let you go, you can leave if you don’t want to be part of the program anymore, just don’t do this to the others—”

“You were ordered to bring her in dead or alive, 5377. Carry out your orders. I am watching.”

The voice cuts through the scene is clearly Kaiser’s, though it’s filtered through a digital layer. I look over to Kaiser, but he hasn’t said anything, and I realize that the voice we’re hearing is the Kaiser of the time, speaking through the younger Songbird’s headset. You can tell by the way the younger Songbird grits his teeth, like he was trying to block out the voice.

“Cherri, just give the archive back. I can’t let you endanger everyone else in the program.” the younger Songbird repeats with a certain desperation. “If you give the archive back, I’ll let you go. You can leave, go into hiding, or do interviews, or write a book or whatever else you want to do to expose the administration’s corruption, I don’t fucking care. But don’t drag the others into this. They’re good people. You know that. And you know what CURSE will do to them if they get their hands on the archive.”

“You are not indispensable, 5377.” Memory Kaiser’s voice is cold, even through the headset, and the threat is clear, even if it’s not directly stated.

By this point, Nova’s magical girl outfit has completely crumbled away, leaving her in a standard Challenger uniform. She lifts her free hand, opening it — and I can see that she has a crystal prism in her palm, the same one that we spent six months fighting CURSE over. After a moment, she turns her hand, letting the archive fall onto the rooftop gravel; and Blueberry, who’s pacing near her, reaches out and taps two fingers to Nova’s heart, leaving behind a a little glowing spot.

“The archive is safe. Take the shot, 5377.”

Younger Songbird grits his teeth. “No.”

“As expected. That’s why I came on this mission. If you won’t finish it, then I will.”

Songbird’s eyes widen. “Wait—”

There is no time for him to react. You can hear the thunderous crack of a railgun; time slows down just enough to see a blur rip past Songbird’s shoulder, traveling down the length of his arm and past the barrel of his handgun. The footage of the Songbird Incident had always been a lower quality and missing its audio, but memories are crystal clear. And here, it’s a railgun spike that rips right through the spot that Blueberry marked on Nova’s chest; an impact that carries enough force to throw her off the roof’s edge.

And the younger Songbird moves; he drops his handgun and sprints forward, pelts across the roof, but he is far too late. It will be seconds before he reaches the roof’s edge,  and Nova’s already tumbled over it. All that’s left is for Blueberry to foreclose on the memory, and that’s what she does, the scene fading to black before opening on a snowladen forest. We find them in a clearing in the center, dominated by the red tree from my memories, with Blueberry crouching in front of Songbird, who’s still on his knees. She tilts her head to one side as she sizes him up, humming out that refrain from earlier.

All these souls that we did take —

Know that they died for your sake.

All their dreams that could not be —

Their lost futures live in thee.

And they must go,

But you shall stay!

And we must go,

But perhaps one day…

(stay)

“He didn’t do it.” Boaris murmurs incredulously as he looks at Kaiser, who still has his arms folded behind his back. “You’re the one that pulled the trigger.”

Kaiser turns his head towards Boaris, blinking slowly, then raises his head and turns a bit more when he realizes everyone in the observation room is staring at him. After a moment of taking it in, he turns back to the window, resuming his posture. “Accounting is a demanding department. We did not have the luxury of disobeying orders, or taking stands on principle. 5377 could not bring himself to perform his duties, so I stepped up to ensure that the mission was completed.”

As simple as that. Cold, factual, not a single grain of remorse.

“Are you kidding me?” I snap. “You killed Nova and then let him take the fall for it! He went through fifteen years of hell because of you; now I get why he hates you so much! I’m surprised he hasn’t killed you yet!”

“Then clearly you do not know him as well as you should, because it does not come as a surprise to me.” Kaiser replies, adjusting his spectacles. “If there is one thing I can count on, it is 5377’s reluctance to take life, even for those that have hurt him again, and again, and again. He cannot bring himself to kill, even when someone represents a threat to everything he knows and cares for. That recalcitrance is his greatest weakness; I knew it then, just as I know it now. His repeated refusal to kill Nova vexed me to no end.” At this point, his cold, violet gaze slides to the side, eyeing me. “Just the same as he now vexes you with his refusal to kill Prophet.”

I start towards him, my rune circles flaring to life. “Oh, you are just the worst—”

“Kiwi. Kiwi, stop.” Valkyrie says, moving around Kaiser to grab my shoulders and hold me back. “I know you’re upset; I get it, but picking fights is not going to help Songbird. Don’t do this in front of the rookies.”

“I gave him every chance to do what needed to be done.” Kaiser says, the snowy scene in the chamber reflected in his spectacles. “All the way up to, and including, the Songbird Incident. But every time, he refused to do what needed to be done. So I did it for him.”

“You kept ordering him to kill someone he loved!” I shout at him, trying to wrestle my way past Valkyrie.

“I did.” Kaiser says, turning his arctic gaze on me. “These are the sacrifices that we are sometimes asked to make. A better galaxy is not built on hope and dreams. It is forged in the blood and sweat of those who have fought for it, and the foundations are stacked with the bodies of those who died to make it a reality. It is ugly work, and if you do not like the way it looks, I recommend you reconsider your line of employ.”

“You’re right, Kaiser. The work’s hard.” A voice breaks the chilly tension in the room; moving through the open door is Jackrabbit, followed by Forecast and Sierra. They stop just inside the door, but Jackrabbit continues across the room towards the console. “It’s bloody and it’s ugly sometimes. We end up stackin’ a lotta bodies. Sometimes our people end up in the pile. But we also help a lot of people. It’s not all misery and sacrifice.” Arriving beside Boaris, she claps a hand on his shoulder. “‘ey there, old chap. Think we can get the kid out of there?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” he grunts, reaching for a set of switches on the console.

“Runs are over for today.” Sierra says, making her way into the room and waving to the rest of the rookies. “Pack it up and clear out. Go get lunch, treat yourselves to something nice.”

“It’s not done with him yet.” Renchiko says; she’s still at the window, hands pressed against the glass, even as the other rookies start to get up and leave. Glancing to the side, I see that the scene in the chamber still hasn’t resolved; stepping back from Valkyrie, I move back around the console to the window beside Renchiko, staring inside. Songbird is still knelt in the snow, staring blankly down at his hands. Blueberry, crouched in front of him, reaches up to take his face with scarlet hands.

“Our hands are stained with the blood of those you could not save.” she whispers, rubbing her crimson thumbs over his cheeks. “Those lives slip through your wet fingers, impossible to grip. Prove their sacrifice herewith, Songbird; it is on you to ensure their lives were not spent in vain.”

With that, the scene begins to dissolve, the Knightmare swirling back into the center of the room and assuming the form of a black sphere once more. Boaris raises the glass tube around it the moment it settles back into that spot, and the doors open a moment later; I scramble into chamber ahead of everyone else, skidding to my knees next to Songbird. He’s limp and unresponsive even when I grab him, but eventually, he reaches up and hooks a hand on my forearm.

“I’m okay.” he mumbles weakly. “I’ll be okay.”

I can’t tell if he’s saying it for me, or if he’s trying to convince himself. But either way, I pull him into my arms and hold him tightly, not needing words to tell him that I’ve got him, and he’s safe now.

Event Log: Lucanthiline

Sunthorn Bastion: Central Operations Room

1:39pm SGT

Sitting in my hoverchair on the edge of the room, quietly nibbling on a cookie, I do my best to keep my head down and stay out of the way as the voices in the room start to peak towards shouting again.

“I know you know what you did, Kaiser!” Valkyrie snarls, jabbing her finger towards the glowing floor. “You are the smartest person in this room outside of Legaci; there is no way you did not know the consequences your silence would have. Do you know how many people, myself included, have spent the last fifteen years thinking that clueless vampire killed Nova? Do you know how many Challengers still think that he ruined everything they believed in and fought for? Do you know how many of our people defected to CURSE because of that?”

“Far be it from me to give you a math lesson at this stage in your life, but that is all it was at the time.” Kaiser replies from where he’s standing near the center of the room, hands neatly tucked into the pockets of his waistcoat, and entirely unmoved by Valkyrie’s fury. “Math. I was the head of Accounting, and therefore vital to the functioning of the Challenger program, while 5377 was not. I saw no reason to set the record straight when the footage was leaked to the media in its adulterated form, as the attention would’ve impaired my ability to carry out my duties. And 5377, despite being a valuable asset, was simply not critical to the functioning of the program at the time.”

Jackrabbit, who’s standing beside Valkyrie, shakes her head. “That’s cold, Kaiser. People ain’t just numbers on a sheet. Songbird may not have been important at the time, but he was a good liddl’ chickadee and you basically threw ‘im in the media meat grinder.”

“My question is, why didn’t you get someone else to kill Nova?” Sierra says, pulling her lollipop out of her mouth. She’s leaning back against the wall beside me, arms folded beneath her Challenger dress jacket. “You knew Songbird was Nova’s puppy. We all knew it. It would’ve been easier to get literally anyone else to kill her when she turned traitor.”

“Oh, I agree. Without question.” Kaiser concurs. “The reason I tasked 5377 to the mission was because I hoped to break his loyalty to her. I had hoped that demonstrating her betrayal and disregard for the safety of her fellow Challengers would finally bring 5377 to his senses. And yet, as you all saw, he still tried to give her an out. He would’ve let her walk free even after what she did. I could not permit that, with the risk she would’ve posed to the program after her defection.”

“And in all that time, you never thought to come clean?” Valkyrie demands. “Even after the program shuttered? I’d understand it, if it kept the Challengers program alive, but it didn’t. You let him take the fall and it didn’t save the program, so what was the point of leaving the record the way it was?”

“Perhaps a better question to ask, is why didn’t Songbird try to set the record straight?” Forecast interjects at this point. He’d been listening silently until now, as has Drill, who’s sitting in one of the hoverchairs with the look of a dwarf who would much rather be drunk right now. “I understand that the program may have gagged him while it was still functioning, but after it collapsed, he would’ve been free to speak out on his behalf. Nothing would’ve been stopping him from doing so, but as far as I’m aware, he has never made an effort to dispel the narrative that formed after the Incident.”

“The boy might seem stupid sometimes, but he isn’t.” Drill grunts. “You’re right; the media office gagged him after the Incident was leaked to the media. Although they phrased it more generously at the time; they told him they would ‘take care of it’, then hung him out to dry. And it took a year or two before the program fully collapsed. By that point the narrative had already solidified in the galactic consciousness. If he tried to set the record straight then, people would assume he was trying to cover his ass since he no longer had the protection of the program, and besides, nobody would take his word over video proof. All he’d be doing is drawing attention to himself, and putting a bigger target on his back — and that’s the opposite of what you trained him to do in Accounting, isn’t it, Kaiser?”

“For better or worse, that is one facet of his training that seems to have stuck, yes.” Kaiser mutters.

“And what also surprised me is that you did not attempt to make the argument that his memories are flawed, Kaiser.” Forecast continues. “I had expected you to contest the accuracy of what we saw in the Phobos chamber, but you seem to be admitting that Songbird’s recollection of the Incident is true and accurate?”

“There is no benefit in denying it, as doing so would generate distrust within the Command structure.” Kaiser answers simply. “5377’s recollection is accurate. He failed in the task he was given, so I took it upon myself to see it through to completion.”

“You say that like you weren’t responsible for something that sent shockwaves through the galaxy!” Valkyrie says incredulously.

Kaiser’s amethyst eyes slide back to Valkyrie without the rest of him moving. “Trust me, 5231, if I had the chance to do it again, I wouldn’t have bothered with 5377, and I would’ve simply killed 5371 the moment I knew she was a threat to the program. But as we are unable to overwrite the past, we must live with the consequences of our actions. I have long since come to terms with the mistakes I made while handling 5371’s treachery.”

“As much as I hate to say it, he’s right.” Drill sighs. “We’re sixteen years down the road; the damage is done. Nobody in here can rewind it. It sucks, what Songbird went through, but we’re looking towards the future now.”

“Seriously? That’s it?” Sierra says. “We’re just gonna tell him ‘sorry about that’ and move on like we didn’t put him through fifteen years of hell?”

“The least we could do is set the record straight.” Legaci says, her hologram shifting uneasily. She’s remained quiet until now, but it’s clear this doesn’t sit well with her. “Like goddamn, the Challengers did him dirty. If I got thrown under the bus like that, I would’ve gone down kicking and screaming and slashing the tires while they were running me over.”

“I would remind you that while we know the truth, having witnessed it in the Phobos chamber, the original recording of the Songbird Incident was stolen, and has never been recovered.” Kaiser points out tersely. “That recording is a prerequisite of Songbird’s exoneration. Without it, there is nothing to refute the adulterated copies that were leaked to the major media organizations. Anything we say that runs contrary to the adulterated footage will not be taken seriously. That is not an opinion; it is a fact.”

“Well, that’s awfully convenient for you, isn't it?” Valkyrie scowls, folding her arms.

Kaiser arches an eyebrow. “Hardly. I much preferred the salary and benefits I had during my tenure in the Challenger program. To say my current compensation pales in comparison to what I had fifteen years ago is an understatement of epic proportions. Editing and leaking footage of the Songbird Incident would’ve been the height of idiocy for someone in my position at the time. If I’d had my way, then the rest of the galaxy wouldn’t even know it had happened.”

“If you’re discontent with your compensation in this role, why haven’t you resigned?” Forecast asks curiously. “You clearly believe your skills are worth more, and are clearly confident that you could secure the pay they deserve.”

“If you must know, I am settling with my current pay package because there is value in being on the side that will write history when all is said and done.” Kaiser replies. “Now, as much as I appreciate this little vent session, there are other matters that require our attention. Would anyone else like to express their moral outrage over 5377’s tragic backstory, or can we move on to other matters?”

“Let’s take a breather.” Drill says, starting to push out of his chair. “Emotions are running high right now, and doin’ business with adrenaline in your system ain’t the smartest thing ever. Let’s take thirty minutes, go for a walk, cool off, get lunch, do whatever will help bring you back down. We’ll meet back here in half an hour and pick up where we left off.”

“Reasonable. I’ll see you all back here in thirty minutes.” Forecast says, nodding and moving to the door. The others do the same by ones and twos, and I jump out of my chair and follow Sierra as she does the same. She doesn’t say anything as we fan out down the halls, each going our own way, and I don’t say anything until the others are out of earshot.

“You knew he didn’t do it, didn't you?” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets. “You knew he didn’t pull the trigger.”

Sierra glances over the shoulder of her jacket, her crimson eye gleaming in the shadow of her Challenger dress cap. “Anyone that’s spent more than five minutes with Songbird knows that he didn’t pull the trigger, Luci.”

“But you never spoke up and said anything?” I ask.

“I never said anything because it would’ve been pointless. Nobody would’ve taken the slutty vampire seriously, and besides, the next thing people would’ve asked me is who did pull the trigger. And I never had an answer for that until today.” she says, maintaining her brisk pace. “Besides, Kaiser had a point. No one is going to take our word over video proof. The only way to prove Songbird’s innocence would be to get our hands on the original rooftop recording, and that’s been missing for sixteen years. If they’re smart, the person that stole it will have destroyed the original so that the only proof left is the edited copies.”

“So that’s it, then?” I say as we step into an elevator, and the doors close as it starts taking us down to the tower’s central lobby. “He’s just going to have to live with that lie for the rest of his life?”

“Life ain’t fair, Luci. Songbird knows that.”

We lapse into silence with that. As the elevator nears the lobby, Sierra digs around in her dress jacket, pulling a key and holding it out to me. It’s the one she uses to lock her supply of designer sacraments; reaching up, I take the key, knowing what it means.

“Do me a favor and give him one of the bottles of the good stuff. You’ve got permission to give him lepi or ‘phoxxo blood. It ain’t gonna fix anything, but maybe it’ll make him feel better.” she says as the doors open and she steps out. “See you back in the COR in half an hour.”

I nod, pocketing the key as she walks away. “Got it. Will do, boss.” As the doors close, I tilt my head back, letting out a long breath.

Days like these, I’m reminded of why I prefer being a side character.