[MS] Fortress Briggs

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Karl Jak

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Sabotage!

Co-Commander Research Doctor Swift had spent barely any amount of time settling into Fortress Briggs when he heard the commotion.

Assuming that ‘his fellas’ had already started to butt heads with the ‘Azula loyals’, the young chemist raced down to the mess hall.

“What the gosh darn heck is going on here?” He politely shouted as he gently shoved open the double doors.

“These guys are triggin’ all kind of sensors, Doctor!” It was one of Swift’s solders, a ‘Doctor’ Steve Simmons ‘from Electrical’. In the dead of night, Steve also doubled as the ‘dark eyes and ears’ of Fort Franklin (RIP).

Hands now firmly on his hips, Doctor Swift frowned very madly at the collection of angsty soldiers. “Listen, I don’t take too kindly to treachery, so I’m going to wrangle up some of my electroshock equipment, and anyone whose tags and records even smell off will have to undergo some questions, okie-dokie?”

Before he got a response, a pie crashed into the doctor’s face, and by the time his butt had crashed onto the floor, gunshots had broken out in the mess hall.

“Son of a biscuit!” The blinded chemist bemoaned as he tried to clean his face. “I don’t even like cherry pie!”


“The Wrecking Crew” has suffered 40 casualties.

The garrison at Fortress Brigs has suffered 20 casualties.
“Team Science!” has suffered 10 casualties.
 

Jak

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Morale was low after the brief suicide attempt by the T-800 and even the long lasting marchs often wore on the soldiers who seemed tired of things.

Soldiers marched into Fort Briggs tired and needed a quick break.

What Connor found in Fort Briggs was a big mess. As the feline samurai carried Connor up toward the Fort, he helped the General up as the career soldier found his mouth almost hanging open. Not surprising anymore.

He looked to the soldiers who served for him.

Before he would yell at his men to clean up the fort before Princess Commander Azula came marching in to chew everyone’s asses out, he’d work his own magic to motivate and rally the troops.

He looked for hope and support among his men who were tired. He could see it in their eyes.

Connor frowned as he pushed himself upon a makeshift “stage” which really in Fort Briggs was the mess hall table.

He watched the rest of the soldiers in his company feel compelled to stare in his general direction.

“Men,

I’ve seen the good and bad of war for thirty years. I wore this “Y” shaped scar so that you men never have to bear the same mark as I had to go through.

Through this war, this whole company has seen its fair share of troubles, losses and disheartening, unfair problems. I know each of you signed up for a purpose in this war.

I just want you to know that you are never alone.

Every time you walk, I will walk beside you
Every time you fall, I will pick you up.

My name is General John Connor and I promised when the terminator died, he died fighting! For you, for me, FOR EVERYONE here!” Don’t forget that!

The men roared in support, cheering Connor’s name loudly.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John uses Military Speech- Leadership 7 to rally the troops.
 

Wraith

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Mirage had finished his speech, which for Elliot, was very eloquent. She found herself with “water” in her eyes. As he walked over to her, and before he could say a word, she had thrown her crutch and wrapped her arms around his neck into a hug. She had been reminded of how utterly lost she really was without her memories or any idea of who she really was and that she needed Mirage.

“You okay, Renee?” Mirage asked as she quickly let go and hobbled away on one foot.

Picking up her crutch the Apex Legend handed it to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…thanks, Elliot.”

Wraith quickly thumbed away her ears and took stock of what troops had remained. So few. So few of them left. She clenched her jaw and hobbled over to the shrinking titan.

“Think he can carry me?”

“I dunno. Ask him.” Mirage said.

“Carry me.” She said, prodding the metal machine with her crutch.

“C’mon Renee. Say please at least.”

“Yes. I can carry you.” Coyote spoke, before scooping her up in one of his arms.

With everything done Mirage ordered the remaining troops out and the group left the battlefield.

“Is Coyote getting smaller?”

***​

The rag tag band of brothers spent most of the night making their way back to the fortress. Coyote had shrunk to about ten feet tall. He was still more than capable of carrying the wounded Wraith in one arm. As the group neared the giant constructed building two familiar faces exited from the main gate as the group of soldiers neared the perimeter.

“Ah, the spy is back.” Beatrix said with a slight grin, her red eyes watching Wraith intently.

“Do you know her?” Mirage asked, rubbing the back of his neck noticing Renee was shooting daggers from her eyes at the redhead.

“Yes, I’m back. Tell fire bitch.”

Her response made Beatrix chuckle.

“Spy? What is she talking about Renee?” The Apex Legend asked.

“She’s being a sassy asshole. Don’t mind her.” Jaina said, finally making her way towards the two Apex Legends.

The sorceress approached Wraith as the group came to a stop outside the gate. She tugged at the bandages tied to her leg forcing the void specialist to cry out.

“How long has it been since these were changed?” The blonde asked.

“Too long.” Wraith said through clenched teeth.

Reaching into her bag Jaina removed a syrette. Biting the cap off she gently jabbed it through Wraith’s pant leg before discarding it.

“That should help.” Jaina said with a sincere smile.

“Is this all that made it?” She asked looking at Mirage.

“Yeah…we managed to take the win, but not before taking some losses.” Elliot replied.

“Alright. Let us get them inside and get the injured cared for. I’ll handle Renee’s care.” The blonde sorceress beckoned toward the fortress.

Wraith looked to Mirage, who shrugged. Honestly, she did not care. After all that she had been through, the void specialist found herself hoping that they had fucking chairs.
 

Azula

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“Ma’am,” Stheno peeked in the door to the conference room, “everyone’s on their way.”

“Good,” the fire princess said. “When they arrive, send them in.”

Azula sat with her back to the door, staring into the blue flames she’d conjured in the fireplace. As the sapphire embers swirled before her face, she saw the last gasps of the Miniskirt Armada dancing within them. She’d taken over less than a week ago, and already she found her army stretched thin, utterly fucked by Roy’s betrayal and the soldiers they’d lost with it. They still had a formidable force, and Azula still had an unstoppable spirit -- and that, she knew, would carry them across the finish line. She saw their goal in her mind, and she knew that at this point, there was no other option but to just break straight for it. At this point, the only thing they could do… was make a move.

The grand mahogany doors of the meeting chamber swung open, and the Princess-Commander spun around in her chair. Stheno strolled in first, the various generals and lieutenants of the Miniskirt Armada filing in behind her. Azula’s eyes caught first on the recently-promoted John Connor, patched up as much as he could be from the betrayal of Altanis he’d successfully escaped from just days before. She had to admit -- she’d always thought the man was a little light on the fire, but he’d managed to impress her with the stunt that he pulled. She couldn’t guarantee she would’ve done the same, but he saved the majority of his unit and brought them back to Briggs safely, and that alone proved he was worthy of his promotion to General. Lieutenant Ki tailed him closely, having grown into an important fixture of his unit; the pair slid into seats opposite Azula, conferring privately where they sat.

Mirage and Wraith, who now sported Miniskirt colors, limped in next, freshly wounded from their showdown at one of Gilgamesh’s fortifications. Azula had already heard reports of the ferocity of the pair, and she was happy to see both of them alive -- even if one of them seemed to stand on her last legs. Not far behind them, the trio of Beatrix III, Jaina Proudmoore, and Android XVII -- who had been instrumental to Connor’s unit’s escape from Uxmal -- followed, along with Nico Cinder, who’d been tasked with escorting Gamzee Makara to the briefing.

Sergeant Swift and Pepsiman were the final officers to enter the meeting hall, finding themselves seats near Beatrix and her company. Azula sat and watched them all confer and chitchat, Stheno taking her place near her side, before she finally stood up and everyone went silent.

“Good morning,” she smiled, as genuinely as a psychopath like her could. “Thank you all for returning today. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Sergeant Swift raised a hand. “Pardon me, ma’am,” the blonde piped up. “Where’s the co-commander?”

Azula shuddered a bit at the question. She’d almost allowed herself to forget that, technically, she shared titular authority with the meek, polite doctor who currently busied himself in the lower levels. “He’s working on something,” she leaned forward and placed her hands on the table, “...something that hopefully will turn the tide.”

***

Many levels below the meeting room, Dr. Swift watched as the back door of Fortress Briggs opened and Dewey Duck looked up at him.

“Corporal Duck,” Swift nodded, “good to see you. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Dewey glanced over his shoulder. “Uh, yeah,” he pointed, and Dr. Swift leaned out the door, several soldiers from Team Science converging behind him and the young messenger.

Dark Duck squirmed in the bushes, growling at the sight of Fort Briggs’ back door. She looked altogether mangled from her original form, a shell of the Della Duck that Dewey so fondly had imagined. What could’ve happened to her at the hands of this horrific corporation? How could she be such a far reach from the mother he’d always hoped to find?

“You’re not gonna hurt her,” Dewey muttered, “right?”

Co-Commander Research Doctor Swift placed a hand on the small mallard’s shoulder. “I’m not sure there’s anything left of your mother to hurt, little one,” he said, sadly.

Tears welled up in the duck’s eyes, and he turned quickly, scurrying into the underlevels of Fortress Briggs and disappearing from Swift’s sight. The polite doctor stepped out of the backdoor, his soldiers at his shoulders, and sighed. He really did feel badly for the little guy -- he was just that kind, and empathetic. But he also was a nice enough dude that he wasn’t going to sugarcoat the truth, and the truth about what happened to Della Duck was already ugly, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to cut her open yet.

“Men,” he breathed, “seize her.”

***

“So what’s the plan, boss?”

Azula’s eyes flitted to Mirage, who’d kicked his feet up on the table.

“I mean, yeah we shredded that tower, but I don't think we can do that again,” the Apex Legend mused. “Plus, I don't know if you've noticed but Wraith hasn't been looking so good and any battle might be her last,” he continued. “Is getting us nearly killed on the agenda again?”

“Depends,” Azula shrugged, “do you plan on continuing to be belligerent?”

The table grew quiet, and the fire princess felt the energy shift. She looked around at all of the faces here, clearly non-plussed to have a teenage psychopath sassing them after all they’d been through in the past few days, and if she really thought about it — really — she couldn’t blame them. She met Stheno’s gaze through her blindfold and then turned back to all of them, swallowed a deep, nervous gulp and said words she’d never even considered saying before.

“I’m… sorry.”

The collective shock at the table over that sent everyone even deeper into silence. Azula… apologizing? Mirage’s feet slid off the table and the bamboozler leaned forward. “What’s the damage, boss lady?”

At that, Azula bit her lip. What was the damage? The truth was, well… everything. The Miniskirt territory had, for the most part, remained intact, but their situation was not what it once was. Their numbers had dwindled dramatically thanks in no small part to the defection of the Babylonians. Their most recent — and, in Azula’s mind, final — attempt at playing nice with the Hell Divers had gone decidedly sour. She could tell that although she’d inherited a beast of a time, her soldiers were already wondering if the Princess-Commander truly had the stuff to be up to snuff. If she were being honest… she was wondering that, as well.

No, she scolded herself, quit that. You are Azula, crown princess of the motherfucking Fire Nation. You can handle this. You can still win this.

But she couldn’t pretend there was no damage.

“Are we doomed, ma’am?”

Azula looked up. The sad, war-worn face of John Connor stared at her from the other end of the table. Normally, his robot pal would’ve been behind him, but no more. Azula didn’t feel too awful about the T-800’s demise — after all, of all the soldiers she’d lost, it was the least human, even less so than Pepsiman — but she had to admit that seeing John Connor depressed made even her a little teary. Especially after he’d been such a good officer to her.

“Absolutely not,” she stood up straight. “We are not doomed.”

“Sure seems like you’re doomed,” Wraith shrugged.

“Then why join us?” the ebony-haired android across the table sassed. Seventeen sat up in his chair. “Why not run back to your Hell Divers?”

“Perhaps the bitch thinks we’ll keep her safe,” Beatrix scoffed. “Dead wrong.”

“Beatrix,” Jaina scolded, reaching out a hand and grasping the blood mage tightly on her shoulder. “Stop.”

“Everyone needs to remain calm,” Ki said, standing at his seat. He barely rose over the table, prompting a hearty guffaw from Nico Cinder next to him.

“I gotta say, it’s really fucking neat that we’ve got a car samurai sitting in on these secret meetings,” the teen laughed.

Ki didn’t seem incredibly bothered by the boy’s comment — though he never seemed incredibly bothered by anything — but nevertheless he turned to Cinder and started to speak. The words were lost beneath the sudden, loud shouting of Beatrix III, who’d watched a barely-hanging-on Wraith roll her eyes during that brief exchange and stood up to confront the other woman. Try as she might, Jaina lost her grip on Beatrix’s shoulder, and it looked as though the blood mage might strike when suddenly the entire table burst into blue flame.

Everyone slid back, watching as sapphire fire covered the surface of the ornate wooden conference table. Mirage shielded Wraith, helping her onto her feet and towards a corner, as Azula climbed up onto the burning piece of furniture and stood in the middle of her generals and lieutenants. Hot flames lapped at her ankles; they perhaps would’ve climbed up her dress if it had been made of lesser fabric.

As it were, she stood like the Fire Lord she was amidst the raging blue inferno, looking down at the men, women, and cats below her.

“I expect there will be no more outbursts,” she glared at them, hands folded behind her back. “We are one, not many. We are grateful to the contributions of everyone in this room and the soldiers in their command, including those who may not always have been with us.” She glanced down at Wraith. “I know the power of loyalty,” she nodded, remembering the reports of Gilgamesh’s defection, the word they’d recieved that Mustang had bowed to the pretender, “and I do not take it lightly that you have chosen to stand with us, Renee. Whatever your reason.”

She glanced toward Beatrix. “Nor do I take lightly those who have been loyal since the beginning. I may not have always been your commander, but I have always believed in our burning legion, and I am happy to see every piece of it here that remains here.”

She straightened her back. “And I am rarely happy.”

“It’s true,” John Connor muttered, eliciting a chuckle from the Princess-Commander.

“Now,” Azula continued, “we are not what we once were, it’s true. But we are not out yet. And all of us know, I think, what comes next. What have we been working toward? What’s the endgame, here? Clowns in the north, clowns to the south, clowns to the west. We are surrounded by fools, and it is time we showed them just how foolish they were to challenge us. It is time we marched into battle and proved to the evils that await that they were wrong not to fear us.”

She took a deep breath, smoke from the smoldering table flying into her lungs. “We must make them know that underestimating us was their biggest mistake.”

“It was,” Stheno called from the head of the table, still standing just off to one side of Azula’s chair. “Especially with someone as crazy as you in charge.”

The gorgon smiled at Azula, and the fire princess grinned back. Everyone in the room stood still for a moment as they wondered if the perceived slight was going to shift their leader’s mood on a dime, sending her into one of the blind, furious rages she’d been known for. But it didn’t — instead, she laughed, and Stheno laughed, and the two young women cackled and cackled and cackled for nearly half a minute until finally, someone else chimed in.

“Yeah,” Nico shrugged, “you’re fucking nuts!”

“A truly refreshing psycho!” Pepsiman whirred.

“I knew you were trouble when you walked in!” Sergeant Swift belted.

“Honestly the only reason I didn’t defect sooner,” Wraith shrugged.

“Just fucking weird,” Seventeen nodded.

“Yeah, we all heard about that punchfest,” Mirage piped up.

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Gamzee screeched.

Within moments, every soul in the room had erupted into uproarious laughter, for the most part, and Azula let her own witchy cackle begin to die down. She waved her hands, and the fire dissipated from the table’s surface. The Princess-Commander observed her compatriots, incredibly ragged and some incredibly broken, and sighed. They were the ones who were going to be with her until the end. She wasn’t normally sentimental about such things, but today… well, today, for the first time since Mai and Ty Lee had betrayed her, she appreciated other human beings. And cats. And robots.

It wasn’t a feeling she was totally comfortable with; in fact, it made her cringe excessively. But she knew that at the end of the day, working together with those who had stood beside her, who had been with the legion since the jump, or who had proven their loyalty since, was the way that they could still win this godforsaken game.

“Thank you all for your service before, your service now, and your service in the future,” she said. “With your help, we will continue to cut a path across this island, and we will show those monsters who should really be feared here, on this ridiculous comet. We will show Karl Jak that he made the right decision placing us together, that our Legion is strong, and that we will burn everyone else to the ground. Those abominations will smolder before our might, and the foolish traitors of the Hell Divers and pretenders of Babylonia will be strangled by the wreckage.”

“To the Burning Legion,” Stheno shouted, and the entire room went quiet.

“If I may,” Pepsiman chimed in, “it’s impossible to toast without a refreshing beverage.”

As if by magic, a collection of glasses rose from the table, all filled to the brim with different Pepsi products. Azula squatted down, lifting her rocks glass full of Baja Blast.

“We are a Legion,” she spoke, quieter than before. “May our enemies burn and our friends burn bright.”

The generals and lieutenants lifted their glasses in unison, clinked them against those nearby, and then gulped down the refreshing liquids. As they drank, all went silent once again, until…

“So what’s the plan?!” Nico shouted, slamming his glass on the scorched table.

Azula turned to the punk-rock kid and smirked. “I’m so glad you asked…”

***

Hours later, Azula was back in her private quarters, preparing her things to depart. She knew it might be the last time she’d be in Briggs, so she had to make sure that she gathered what she needed for the trek. When the sun rose the next morning, she would once again be leaving Fortress Briggs on what might be a fool’s errand -- but she would have her generals and lieutenants at her back, and if this was her last stand, it would be a ferocious one.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Ma’am,” Stheno’s voice announced her arrival. “I’ve brought what you asked for.”

“Come here, first,” Azula waved her in. “I’d like to speak to you.”

The mercenary entered and shut the door behind her. Azula turned and looked at her soldier-turned-personal bodyguard. They’d been through quite a bit together in the weeks since the war, and the fire princess didn’t know what to think about that. It had been quite a while since she’d trusted anyone the way she found herself trusting Stheno. Mai and Ty Lee had ruined all of that, and her new acquaintances in the Crossroads had thus far yet to prove so reliable. Hela, of course, was a hag and a snake -- one that, for whatever reason, Azula wanted to impress, but she couldn’t trust the bitch as far as she could throw her. Rominia seemed nice enough, but she was a dog. A tool, and nothing more.

Stheno was a tool, too, but one that somehow, Azula had grown to… like over the course of their time marching through the field? The gorgon and the fire princess had yet to have the opportunity to engage in an actual, honest to God battle, but if their march rang true, they soon would, and it would be one for the ages. Maybe she’d finally get to see the woman take off her blindfold and utilize that so-called special ability of hers’.

“Yes, ma’am?” the mercenary asked, stepping closer in.

“You can call me Azula,” the Princess-Commander relented. “We’re…”

“...friends?” Stheno laughed, as if she could read just how ridiculous Azula thought the idea was. The fire princess didn’t know if the term exactly fit, and she honestly recoiled at the thought of keeping actual friends, but nothing seemed closer, so she shrugged and chuckled along with her bodyguard.

“Something like that,” she acquiesced. “Before we leave, I just wanted to...”

She looked up at Stheno. She was strong, and admirable, and there was something inherently intoxicating about her. She was older than Azula, had seen so much war and pain and suffering, and carried herself with the demeanor of a warrior, and the teenage tyrant… admired her, almost? Yes, she thought, that’s what it is. Admiration.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” the raven-haired girl nodded with a smile. “Congratulations, you’re a lieutenant now.”

Azula couldn’t see Stheno’s eyes, but she was pretty sure the woman blinked in slight surprise before erupting into laughter. “Alright,” she nodded, “thank you… Azula.”

The women reached out and clasped each other by the arm, looking at one another, and then, as if by accident, almost fell into a hug. Neither was big on embracing their contemporaries, on the exterior, and both played like this particular embrace was accidental, but Azula, at least, found herself enjoying it in spite of herself.

“Alright, alright,” the Princess-Commander spoke, bringing herself out of the hug and back to her senses. “Bring him in.”

Stheno nodded, turning and opening the door. She gestured, and the guards outside threw a still heavily injured Strazio Rockwell into the Princess-Commander’s personal chambers.

He fell to the floor, his body still crumbling from the damage Karl UnJak’s assassins had done to him. His breathing was heavy, his body weak, and, Azula hoped, so was his mind -- as it was, she was about to depart this place, perhaps for the final time, so it was only appropriate she made one last effort to offer him a one-way ticket.

“General Rockwell,” Azula smirked. “Perhaps you’ve heard by now that your friend Altanis decided just over a hundred of my soldiers were a better prize than your freedom. To me, that lack of commitment speaks volumes.”

Strazio’s eyes flew up towards the princess. Had he heard? Had he heard that the demoness had left him out to dry, all for a failed capture of Connor and his unit?

“I’m offering you one last lifeline,” she continued. “Generously.

Stheno watched as her Princess Commander knelt before their prisoner, hands bound behind his back by chains.

“Join our Burning Legion,” she said. “It’s your choice. Either way... you’re coming with us.”
 

Gildarts

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A tsunami of change cascaded around the samurai.

The weight of responsibility pulled him in many different directions, so much so he felt like a boat that had gone adrift. From the orders they’d taken, all the way to the way things had panned out. Their army… Was flawed.

A robot, a completely unliving creature, had it within itself to sacrifice itself. There were some living things that would never have the capability, rather acting on the opposite with self preservation. Connor too, had lost his beloved partner plus quite a bit of blood.

The congealed ichor had caked onto Ki’s now sticky pelt and made his fur look like sharpened spikes. Together, they’d made it out. John had safely returned to camp and from their escape, they’d been victorious.

Yet questions continued to nag in the feline’s mind. Why had escape been necessary in the first place? Ki considered the many mishaps as he sat down and grew surrounded by a crowd all under Azula’s command. Still smelling like blood and battle, he wasn’t feeling very celebratory.

The talk was… More brief than he’d expected, however she’d been to the point with her direction. The plan was simple. Ki however, wasn’t certain his heart was in it. After the meeting, his superior Connor had assumedly gone to his quarters. After taking such a beating, Ki certainly didn’t blame him.

The village had been innocent. No one had to die that day. Except, that isn’t what General Atlantis wanted. The fool had double-crossed them. Ki felt a surge of anger rise in him, he’d aligned their meeting under one mutually beneficial pretense. Ki couldn’t help but deliberate what Commander Azula would do with the prisoner now that the deal would never be complete. Of course, the answer to that would remain in how pliable the captive’s resolve would be.

Ki quested for some fresh air, he’d taken a sliver of a nap before the meeting and felt his paws carrying him outside. His eyes passed over a few tents set up with a few dim flames flickering together against the wind and gentle press of night.

He noticed a small group of soldiers huddled around their cooking a meal and dragging cigarettes. It was the witching hour, yet they too were awake just like him. Something had stirred their hearts, kept them from slumber. Be it pain, insomnia, or the trauma of living nightmares.

Ki felt the gentle warmth press against his fur as he revealed himself in the light. The soldier’s turned their heads with regard and nodded, welcoming him to take a seat with them.

“Good evening. What are you all doing up so late? Admiring the beauty of the night?” Ki heard himself asking in a relaxed tone as he approached the group closer.

“Each of us is here for a different reason, that reason’s more or less the same though. I’m Jensen. It’s a pleasure to meet you a little less formally, sir.” His southern drawl added an extra layer of sincerity as he pulled the cigarette from his lips and away from the stubble on his chin. “Not every boss comes around to check on us.”

“Ha, funny.” Someone from the circle piped up.

“I hope you don’t find my visit intruding. I couldn’t sleep much either.” Ki sat down on the seats of lumber, the ruby spackle on his fur glinted in the amber light.

“We welcome the company, don’t think we forgot you were a steady soldier just like us before you got promoted. That there is Mr. Fryer and he’s only here because his bunk is too close to the infirmary. Lotsa screamin’ so he prefers the outdoors and the quiet, as well as friendly faces. Layla to my right, is here because she’s on doctor’s orders to not go back to sleep ‘til her concussion has gone down, we’re keeping her awake by making fun of her hair. Tune’s here because he don’ like the walls in there trappin’ him in.” Jensen continued his introductions around their campfire’s circle. The cowboy brushed his fingers on the brim of his hat and flecks of ash came off, “And I’m here because the fire’s in my nightmares. And ironically, I can’t stop breathin’ in smoke.”

There was a universal, fearful gulp as the ragtag crew looked to the ground. Ki’s eyes fixed on Jensen’s hand, the minute muscles were shaking every time he’d taken a smoke. As though the cowboy was pressing away the pain and trauma each time he took a swig of smoke from his lips.

Ki’s eyes swept from one side of the group to the next. There was an honesty amongst the soldiers who were embracing their pain. That didn’t make them any easier to look at. Beneath everyone’s furrowed brows were glassy eyes, with shadows of trepidation lurking where there was no light. Layla was bundled up tightly in a blanket, despite sweat shimmering on her cheeks.

Mr. Fryer’s eyes fell on Ki, inspecting the cat and keenly staring at his sheathed blade. The sleepless soldier asked, “That blood isn’t your own, is it?”

Ki shook his head slowly. Fryer nodded and began to tell a tale, “You know, I made it out of the temple siege. You’d think they’d realize I didn’t wanna be close to an infirmary after that bloodbath. I was c-covered, absolutely coated with blood. No amount of washing will get it off, it stains you deep. You don’t realize how mortal you are until you face… Whatever those things were. Then, our superiors ask us to get up in arms and do it again? They realize we’re human, right? Humans up against… God knows what. Our brothers have taken bullets, some that whiz just by our own ears. Then, then they expect us to wake up the next day and do it all again? I hate waiting for my own death, but it’s too late to back out now.”

Ki inhaled worriedly and nodded, war was constant violence, constant chaos. Even the strongest would wither over time. Layla spoke next, leaving no time for the cat to speak. She nodded, “It’s completely nuts! I can’t stop hearing a ringing in my ears, even if I wanted to sleep and fall into a coma, there’s this chorus in my head, akin to screams. I don’t know if the sound is an echo of my ear burst from the mortars on the battlefield, or my own mind threatening to implode.”

Tune was rocking back and forth next to her, she patted his back as he began to hum to himself. The brunette soldier with head wraps added, “He always sings the same song. That’s why he’s called Tune. Helps him calm down when he thinks about things he wants to forget.”

The group listened to the crickets hum, filling in the darkness with the gentle chirps of the same pitch. Jensen flicked his cigarette and calmly added in his husky voice.

“We all want to forget.”
 

Strazio Rockwell

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“You know,” Strazio said, struggling between breaths, “You piss me the hell off, and I’d love nothing more than to see you burn to dust along with your stupid fucking army.”

“Very well then,” Azula said, turning her back on him, “Stheno, take hi--”

“I wasn’t done fucking talking,” Strazio growled, taking a sharp breath, “I wanna rip the throat out of every single one of you assholes, but…”

He trailed off. Gamzee Makara.

“But, I could say that for every last motherfucker I’ve met on this island,” Strazio explained, “So, if I had to choose between fighting besides you or Altanis, well, you at least has an idea of how to fight.”

“You’ve made the right choice,” Azula said, turning around with a smile

Strazio fought back a coughing fit, “Hold on, I haven’t made a choice yet.”

“I don’t have time for you to waffle about, fool,” She said.

“And without my fuckin’ help you won’t have much time left,” Strazio spit back, “I wanna talk to that idiot with the horns.”

Azula shared a look with Stheno, “Gamzee?”

“That’s the one,” Strazio said, “Let me talk to him, alone, and you’ll have your answer.”

There was a long silent pause, broken only by Strazio falling into a coughing fit. He couldn’t say why he wanted to talk to Gamzee, hell, he didn’t know himself. But, there was something about the troll that was so very familiar. A veil had been on his head ever since he had come to the Crossroads, and for the first time he finally got to peek out from under the curtain. Gamzee Makara had answers, and this, above all else, Strazio was sure of.

“Very well,” Azula said, “You get ten minutes, Stheno, please go fetch Gamzee.”

---

Gamzee sat across from Strazio, just a smilin’ and whistlin’, happy to be a-fuckin-live.

“Who the fuck are you?” Strazio demanded.
“Maaan, brother, I really gotta say, you seem like your in some kinda harsh way,” Gamzee said, his voice a lilted drawl.

“Don’t play games with me, damnit,” Strazio shouted, his voice growing hoarse and strained, “Tell me what the fuck is going on! Who are you? Why do I remember you? WHERE THE FUCK IS MY MAGICK?!”

The proverbial floodgate broke and Strazio buckled over, clutching his chest. He hacked violently, misting the wooden floor with droplets of blood. A burning sensation filled his chest, like he had drank boiling water.

“Relax Strawso, you and me gonna be just fine,” Gamzee said with the biggest shit-eating grin he could muster, “Reason we know each other is we got the same kinda rotten shit floating around in our thinkpans, you can feel it can’t you? How our brainmeat is just kinda vibin’ together, reaching out and getting all intimate like.”

“Fuck you.”

“To be honest, I don’t remember much either, Strawso,” Gamzee said, “But it’s like we’ve never met before, and at the same time we’re best buddies. Real perplexing kinda notions, ya feel me? Spooky cosmic shit coming in a twisting our fate noodles together.”

Strazio stabilized and took a few slow breaths, “Noodles? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You know! Like we’re too little murder spaghetties in this pasta called life,” Gamzee chuckled, “Or something like that, peas in the cosmic pod, bugs in the motherfuckin’ rugs, that kinda shit, look I even got this mark that reminds me of you!”

Gamzee held out his hand and Strazio’s heart dropped. There it was, the Rite of Magistry, burned into the troll’s hand. Strazio grabbed his hand and pulled it close, studying the mark intensely. The Crossroads had stripped him of every last scrap of magickal knowledge he had, but the Rite of Magistry was unmistakable. Without the Rite, magick was an unobtainable endeavor. A memory surfaced, like some obtuse object in the night. He had branded Gamzee with the Rite, cursing him with the power of magick. When the fuck did that happen? Just as it appeared, so too did the memory vanish, sinking back into the chasm of his subconscious.

“Where… how…” Strazio struggled to find his words.

“Relax, brother, you’re gonna fry your thinkpan working that hard,” Gamzee said, turning his hand over to grab Strazio’s and lift him up.

“Gamzee, seriously,” Strazio said, his throat choking with emotion, “I don’t remember anything, please, give me something, anything, I need to know what happened, I need to know where my magick went.”

Gamzee brought Strazio in tight for the most comforting of hugs, “Haven’t you been listening? I said, you and me are gonna be just fine, Strawso, something tells me we always are. We got that kind of vibe, you and I.”

For the first time since arriving on the island, Strazio relaxed. Something about Gamzee calmed him in a way that nothing else could. Tightly wound coils of muscles relaxed and his heartbeat slowed. In that moment, shared between them, he knew that they were gonna be alright. They had finally reunited, whatever that meant.

Strazio pushed away, “Stop calling me Strawso, damnit.”

“Will do, Strawso.”

Strazio shook his head and smiled. Some things never changed apparently.

“Well, well, well, you two lovebirds seem quite familiar with one another,” Azula said, having entered the room unnoticed, “Your ten minutes are up, your decision General Rockwell?”

“Stop calling me that, I’m not a fuckin’ general anymore and you bringing it up is pissing me off,” Strazio said, “But, I’ll join your little outfit. Though, I hope for all our sakes you're better at warfare than you are at protecting your prisoners.”

Azula smiled, “You’ve made the right decision, Strazio.”
 

Karl Jak

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In the wee hours of the morning, a longbowman, concealed under the darkness of the night sky, crept within range and fired an arrow through Azula's window.

The Crown Princess bolted upright in bed as her eyes shifted to the arrow now imbedded in the door to her personal quarters. Around the shaft of the arrow was what seemed to be a scroll.
 
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