2024-02-18 - Ego Death/Rising Sun Blues/Witch of Mithril

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Mental sitrep. George de Sand: Fine. Rain Makimura: Unconscious, but fine. Seolla Schweitzer: Unconscious, also fine. Treating in medical bay, low priority after settling their injuries.

Merida Island was gone. The few obfuscating pings to the outside world returned nothing but the basest levels of acknowledgement from the Shuffle Alliance, but from Mithril…Nothing at all. There were only two pings sent out before drastically changing course, diving deep and moving in stealth. The worst had come to pass.

After such an ordeal, there was no time to rest. Tessa spent the next few hours at the helm with a furrowed brow, calmly enunciating directions and flicking through mental maps of the surrounding ocean. Working the Tuatha de Dannan to stay out of sight, placing her trust in the machine she designed to take her away from the abandoned hellscape of her former home. Keep moving. Keep going. Avoid the gaggle of machinery and units coming in, keep comms silent, and move away.

It was only when the confirmation of being in REA waters that she allowed herself a moment to relax. Political tensions would be spiking regardless; When an entire network of logistics and deployment was being taken out worldwide in one fell swoop…Ah, her head was already throbbing with the implications, the stress, the sheer workload…Keep going. Keep pushing.

Never stop. Ah, that was it. To keep going after everything, to keep one foot in front of the other, the headache throbbing at her skull as she allowed her thoughts to fester, devoting one mental thread to following this sacred, nearly-never taken path.


—


The house at the end of the road. Her house. The house where she was raised until her life turned sideways. Even now, over a decade and some later, it’s still crystal clear in her mind. One story. A spacious yard. A wide backyard. So many memories in her head, in that house with nothing but fond memories. Even as the mental self stood in front of it, to admire its majety as a place of refuge…Yes, the knot in her stomach slowly disappeared. This was for the best, wasn’t it? Forget about the past. Forget about the future. The only time that mattered was now, the eternal tether to a single mistake condemning herself to atonement for the rest of her life.
Her neutral gaze shifted. Wonderment. Confusion. Rationalization. The Captain of the TDD-1 in her own head, shifting the rudders of her sails towards a new direction in life. This was for the best. Merida Island was gone. After so many months, to not hear from Sousuke or Kaname…it’d be best to consider them, for the time being (to deny to reject to not look) to consider them out of the picture.
There’s a matchbox in her hand. The wood of the house reeks with the stench of gasoline splattered about, the empty abode harboring nothing but memories. A practiced, thoughtful motion of pulling a safety match out, striking the phosphorus head along the ignition strip.
And tossing it into the house proper before closing the door.
Let the past burn, and let the future be forgotten.


—


“This is your Captain speaking.” A microphone to broadcast through the submarine. Work was done. Work never ended. Work…Was not a word for this. That’d imply she was going to be paid. “I’d like to update everyone on the situation at hand. As of today, we cannot consider Merida Island a safe harbor. We have confirmed that there has been a wide-scale, worldwide attack on Mithril safehouses, escorts, properties, and headquarters, along with the general destruction of ports and safehouses allocated for Shuffle Alliance use. In effect, the organization formerly known as Mithril has been killed.” There’s a pause, taking a breath before explaining her sources. One after the other, the official confirmation of port after port, harbor after harbor, the abandonment of the island that had been their home for the past years…

“Additionally, we have designated Commander Andrei Sergeivich Kalinin as KIA.” There was no beating around the bush. This was the general toll of war.

Keep going.

“With the current state of affairs and the overall results of the contractual cooperation in mind, I have made the choice to officially remove myself, and Mithril in turn, from the Shuffle Alliance. As the general state of the world continues to deteriorate, we cannot sit around hoping for the winds to blow in our favor again.”

“As we are now, and as we’ve tried before, there is an impossibility of everlasting peace in this world. Ever since the development and deployment of the Wanderwagen nearly a century ago, we have recognized that the world would never be the same. That fact continues to this very day. And yet. The purpose of Mithril at its genesis was to be ‘a force for as much peace as possible’. The ethical debate about ‘force for peace’ is too long and storied to be summarized. The idealistic pacifists in the world call us human garbage for this. The combative warmongers call us foolish idiots. None of you would be here if either of those statements bothered you. That is the nature of violence. There’s no honor or glory in it, no matter how many times you save someone.”

All this was a means to an end.

“With all that said, I will remain on this vessel, one of the ultimate tools of violence created by human hands. I will do whatever it takes to oppose them. Tooth and nail. Flesh and blood. Oil and metal. Every single inch will be fought for, until their backs are against the wall, until the fear is clear in their eyes, until they understand what they have taken from us and what they wish to bring unto the world is something intolerable.”

“Let me abandon all platitudes. This is a personal mission of revenge. I want them to pay for Merida Island. The people they took from me. The headaches they’ve given me. The violence they inflicted upon me. The manhours spent to find out their hands are in every pie there is. It may be difficult, but we do stand a chance.”

There’s an audible sigh through the intercoms, the increasingly common slip of a teenage girl.

“I can’t pay you properly for this, and the danger levels inherent in our operations will skyrocket. We have no outside support other than the tenuous connections relating to our personal lives and the Shuffle Alliance connections that will soon be fraught with animosity. You’re all mercenaries, and none of you have the obligation to stay if this is disagreeable in any form. Helicopters are being prepared on the hangar deck for anyone that wishes to leave. Officers, NCOs, anyone who wishes to leave has my verbal blanket approval for actions related to it. If you don’t want to be a part of this, visit the hangar one hour from now. That is all.”


—


It was unfair of her to stick around in the control room after such a speech. They also need to weigh the words said, the Captain leaving her XO at the helm with the gaze of an inner fire. The question Mardukas was about to ask was left unsaid.

The next hour was spent in her room. Thinking. Mulling. Wait for the hour. How many would go? How many would remain? She made those words, that speech from the heart. Personal. Work and personal life overlapping permanently, one crushing the other completely. Mithril was gone. Mithril, the organization that gave her the means, the right, the reasons to push on…was gone.

“Twenty percent…” Words said out while mumbling to herself, that vacant stare at the ceiling. That was the best case estimate. Thirty percent was pushing it. Twenty percent to manage this crew. Supplies. Fuel. What about food? They’re used to the tours of duty, so we can stretch it a bit, but sooner or later, supplies will have to come to a head. NUNE? Cathedra? There’s no shortage of people on both sides who could afford to use the Toy Box. A true PMC group. Was it possible to stay on the lam like this with Amalgam everywhere, and to not have to resort to compromising morals?

That’s a personal question. Everyone on board is a hired mercenary. Money was power. Allegienaces were few, and who would trust her? She’s only 18. No degree. The high-school graduation ceremonies were a sliver of the past, even if she had managed to remotely complete education.

A knock on the door. Who was it? Ah, it didn’t matter. “Return to the duty room and think it over.” Reject any and all assurances.

…With luck, the ones that stayed would be those with nowhere to go. I can use them. There’s only one person who could do such a thing. There were other people in the world, but to send Behemoths to Merida Island specifically, to be able to guide physical missiles with such accuracy through the general miasma of Minovsky radiation, and nowhere else…

A deep breath. It didn’t work. Another. In. Five seconds. Out. No, it was impossible to relax now. Not like this, not at all. To lie in bed and think. What came next? What was the next step? She was the head now. There’s no one from above. There’s only her, the people below her, the supplies, the logistical routes, the few remaining safe ways of transport…

And underneath it all, a burning desire. Revenge. One of the simplest words in general vernacular. Revenge. Revenge! Ah, now that she could admit such a simple thing, it came so easily, a segmented part of her mind crashing, raging, the emotions spilling out after years of being bottled and partitioned away. Revenge! No more! No more, the burden of duty and reporting to above! No more, the justifications and maneuvering to push here and there! Revenge!

It was him. It all pointed to him. The ‘game’ between brother and sister, one who wanted to nudge the world in a specific way, and one who can’t abhor the methods at play. His fault. His damn fault. Amalgam can’t have done such a thing if one assumes the decentralized aspect of it all. But if the theory holds, that there’s only one person at the top…There’s the plan for the present. With a proper sigh, she could only check the clock on the wall. Not yet. The hour was not past. Not yet.

The mind boils and ferments, another sigh released from a body that was ill-deserving of the fate sloughed upon it.


—


The hour was upon soon upon her. With yet another sigh, she sat up from the bed. A full day after hell on earth. Adjusting her uniform appropriately, tugging at the light wrinkles and checking herself in the mirror. Face the music of the people who’re going to leave, and send them off with respect. No begging. No pleading. Accept their decision for the consequences of your failure.

Down the halls, opening the door to the hangar deck, the still-not-derusted hinge squealing as if to announce the entrance of the witch at the helm. About a hundred members inside the massive deck, her own heart quivering at the sight. So many people. Was this…?

“Is this all of you?”
Mao, sporting a bandaid on her cheek, could only furrow her brow. “All of who?”
“...All of those disembarking.”
“Ah, them? They’re that way.” A jerk of chin towards the transport helicopters, about twenty people gathered around with the meager ornaments and other personal tidbits that could only come from the objective of moving. Joined by a few people in need of better treatment that would cripple them out of action, and the nurses accompanying them.

The count of that group totaled thirty-three. In a submarine that housed over two hundred people…Only thirty-three.

“They got kids, families, loved ones. NUNE’s being a thorn at the best of days, so you can’t blame any of them.” Kurz piped up, watching the commotion with a knowing nod.
“And the rest of you?”
He glanced over. There’s only a shrug. “Look who else is here, Tessa. Ground forces, base personne, maintenance crew working overtime. We’re here because we don’t have anything better to do. Some of them are in their beds, either getting it on or trying to learn what they can to help.”
“...No one else at all? Only thirty-three? If you have any second thoughts at all, you have zero obligation to stay behind.” The minute press. Is this really…?

The commotion of the hangar deck had quieted down, the faces of a triple-digit group all looking at her. Kurz was the first one to pipe up. “You heard her. Anyone doubting themselves now?”

There’s a pause.

One man raised his hand. A private around five months into Mithril. Name and rank and hobbies already know. “Colonel, ma’am! I recorded the live version of the latest Tarabaman stageplay! Can we go on shore for a bit so I can watch it? It won’t take long!”
“Right, right! There’s a limited edition Sheryl Nome release I won recently! I need to go pick it up!”
“I haven’t gotten my new issue of Mechanical Marvels Monthly! How about that!?”
The interspersed answers rang out one after another. Some people wanted to watch a show. Others wanted to hit up a local bar, a restaurant, a message to someone out there, a new thing for their hobbies, a wish to view the sights here and there, and a few just wanted to “Kick Amalgam’s ass directly!”. What united all these responses were the denials of leaving completely.

Sachs, the main mechanic, tossed a soda can over to the recycling bin with a smile. “You heard ‘em. Everyone’s on board with you, and they’re all leeching the oxygen from poor old people like me. Right, barkeep?” A question directed at a corpulent, distinctly obese man.
“I’m not worthless, you overly hairy grease monkey! I was a merc in Africa before you could even stand up and yell Breast Fire! I could step into the shoes of the old USSR dog if I could!”
“No problem with that! Congratulations on the designation, Perth-1!”
The obese man was none other than the (now former) bar manager at Merida Island, a person who’d brought along a few bags of decent supplies…And the photos that lined the wall, including one Captain McAllen.

“No real man would turn tail at this juncture, you hear!? Hard work and guts and all that jazz!”
“That’s right!”
“There’s women here too, you know!” Lieutenant Lemming, chief engineer hand-selected by Tessa, chimed in.
Tessa’s secretary Villain and comm officer Shinohara raised their soda cans in unison. “Hear, hear!”

The clink of those metal cans acted as a signal for the next act.

“...We’ve lost dozens…And I told you all what to expect. I told you all we’re going through hell, and I don’t know where the ending is…” Tessa’s lowered voice echoed in the hangar. All this? They’re all coming together, and losing so little people…Just for…me…?

A voice split through the hesitance. “Honestly, what reckless people you all are.”
“Mardukas?”
“Present company included, of course.” And the tension broke as the notably serious XO cracked a joke, a miracle in the best of circumstances that resulted in a roar of laughter at the sheer audacity. He continued. “Captain, everyone here is honored to serve you. They are here because you are at the helm of this ship, and follow your orders because of what you’ve accomplished while on your tour of duty. It’s true that, at the onset, we were apprehensive about putting an impudent upstart of a girl who knew nothing about how the world worked at the helm. The past three years have dismantled those initial impressions completely.”

Tessa’s mouth opened. No words came out.

“You’ve accomplished great things during your tenure that have impressed people who were in the same field as some of the most heroic and destructive personalities out there. If you tell us to fight, we will fight. What’s more, you were honest with us about why you want us here. If your reasoning was for ‘world peace’ or ‘NUNE’s authoritarianism’ or ‘Cathedra’s profit-mongering’, then I would possibly be the first on the helicopter.”

My pure innocent heart will be dyed
With this deep crimson dawn
Embrace me tightly from behind and you might see
Watch out for the smiling angel, also a demon

Merely for revenge. These people. All these people were joining up, willingly, without hesitation…for revenge and that alone. The words sparked in her head, Marduka’s reasoning and the others worked over. There were practical reasons to destroy Amalgam. There were personal reasons to destroy Amalgam. There were grudges, hatred, loathing, distaste, sheer spite, multiple emotions of negativity and vileness that pointed towards a singular objective: Destroy Amalgam.
There was no grand cause in her speech, no honors that they could carry on to other pastures of war in this world she herself had deemed irredeemably broken on an axis that couldn’t be tugged back after so many years. All the planning, all the eventualities, all the moments working herself up for the past hours after realizing what had to pass…
All those feelings of abandonment and shame at allowing this crew to fall so far had no purchase other than the self-loathing within.

That, in of itself…IS A DAMN STUPID REASON.

“I can’t believe it.” Eventually, the thought in her mind found proper purchase after discarding the humility of formality. “I can’t believe it at all.” A deep breath, looking upwards after a few moments of self-rumination. She can’t cry here. The massive waves of relief that her crew was sticking with her not out of pay, but of who she was. This wasn’t what they wanted to see. Instead, she raised her head out high, the flames of revenge roiling within, gazing at her crew with black-ringed eyes weighed down by stress, by personal guilt, by a singular goal in her life that gave little thought to the world after.

A clear voice echoed out in the room, lungs of a commander put to good use. “Very well. If no one else has decided to leave, then so be it. As I said before, I can’t pay any one of you a single cent. I’ll do what I can to feed you, to house you, but you all signed up for this venture, and all complaints about this will be trashed. Understood?”

“Yeah, I get it.”
“Makes sense to me.”
“Can’t complain about those terms.”
Slovenly replies. No. They wanted to be used for means to an end. They were following me. They are following me.

A deep breath.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU! WHAT WAS THAT!?”

“YES, MA’AM!”

“Excellent!” A nod at that response, the room settling into a strange silence after that affirmation. The slow tick of a second as she stared outwards with a smile. What now? What now. It’s so funny. It’s so absurd. It’s so farcical that they’d do this for me. It’s so…

It began as a stifled chuckle from the pits of her stomach. A held laugh, a halted giggle. No, it couldn’t be repressed. What was so funny? What was so hilarious? The sheer strangeness of the situation sparked the seeds of laughter among the group, one private eventually bursting into laughter. And another. And another. The tension of the past few days seemed to dissipate into dust at this moment, Tessa’s laughter turning from a giggle, to a chuckle, to a cackle, to a full-throated roar of genuine laughter at it all in the middle of that shared moment of camaraderie. Laughter was the best medicine of all, something she wasn’t sure why it applied in this very moment. To feel her body scream with laughter, with joy, with the sensations of being untethered and free and loose and flying.

The ship that she designed.
The crew that she cultivated.
The life that she lived.
The singular goal branded, scarred, carved, scored, stabbed into her mind.

It took her a moment to note the tears in her eyes from such an uproar, the current of lamentation under such glee. Free. Free…! As the climax of her emotions abated, she excused herself away from the hangar, the emotional jar in pure tatters.

“Pff- Aha. Ahahaaaaaaah...” She can’t stop giggling to herself. I’ll hunt them down. I’ll hunt them all down. Calm down. They want a commander, not a girl roiling with emotions. But, but, but! This girl, this self. They trust in me. They put their respect for me, for some reason.They said that because I’m selfish for this, they’ll follow me. I’ll do it. I’ll go all the way. “Ahaha. Really. Really? They trust me that much, after all we’ve been through?” The failures that scar the mind. The way this world is eroding, piece by piece, bit by bit. I know every single last person here. I know the geography of the world, the routes of the sea and the sky. I refuse to lose any more people than I have to. I’ll pin Amalgam against the wall and gut them…

I’ll make them suffer for what they’ve done to me.

The Witch of Mithril refuses to abdicate her position.

“Ah…ahaha…!”

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