#019 - "The Wild Bunny"
Chapter 2: The Catalyst
A few minutes have passed since Fleet Admiral Sloan requested permission to board. Berrick spent most of that time frantically making tea, before finally sitting down and falling completely silent; his fingers interlocked, pressing against the bridge of his nose with his thumbs in thought. A therian also blasted through the door running at full tilt in order to deliver a plate of cookies. She and Beryl should nearly be here by now.
I’ve dealt with plenty of sciolites in my time as a mercenary. SCI-6ers are known for being pretentious pricks who like to act like they have power; but really most of them are nothing more than disposable yes men for the higher ups.
Real sciolites are different. You always need to be incredibly conscientious of everything you say and do when dealing with them. For most sciolites, usually all you need to do is be direct, honest, polite, and maybe kiss a little ass if they happen to have a bloated ego.
Berrick knows this better than anyone, and yet his anxiety is still permeating the room. Not just him, but Rubrum too. The fact that they’re both radiating tension and anxiety is really putting me on edge. I’ve never actually seen Rubrum this anxious before, and I don’t like it. Frankly I prefer being shot at than dealing with sciolites.
Fleet Admiral is the highest possible rank someone can achieve in the Allied Colonial Navy. Despite their name, Fleet Admirals don’t just command a fleet of ships – They direct entire theatres of war.
There’s only a handful of them in the entire ACN, with each one being granted their own sector of space to oversee and control. With just how big the DRAC is, each sector has enough star systems and citizens in them to make up their own countries. They also oversee and command the Admirals and Rear Admirals beneath them, who then command the fleets. So saying that she’s a figurehead within the military is an understatement. She’s the big boss, and easily the highest ranking person I’ve ever met.
“Fleece – If you don’t want to die, then listen to me very carefully…” He finally says, peering up from his hands.
“W-what?”
“Do not, under any circumstance, mention anything that has to do with how she looks. Don’t even so much as compliment her.” He says in a firm, foreboding tone.
How she looks?
Greta Sloan is probably the most recognizable face within the DRAC military. Her public military track record is staggering – Albeit incredibly whitewashed from what I’ve personally experienced.
No, what she’s most famous for by far is her voice acting and music career outside of her military duties.
Her music always breaks Audity’s top 10 whenever it drops. Despite the fact she never does live concerts, and almost never makes any public appearances for security reasons. But because of that, her autograph is actually worth a fortune to collectors.
She said in an interview once that her true passion is creating things, and has made quite a name for herself within the art world. I don’t get it, but I know sciolites and foamers alike spend tens of millions on her paintings and sculptures whenever they go up for auction.
When the interviewer asked if she thought her duties as Fleet Admiral conflicted with her love for creating, she matter-of-factly responded with: “Do I not create when I annex new land for our people to build upon?”
I’ll admit it. Even knowing what I do about her tactics, and how unfathomably cruel she can be as a tactician, I still have a bit of a love hate relationship when it comes to her music.
Most music nowadays feels so bland and generic that it all just kind of blends together. But hers always stands out from the dry, lifeless music that usually gets pushed to the top. I hate myself for enjoying it, but her music feels like those great indie songs you sometimes find in the back alleys of Audity. Where it really feels like the creator gave a shit when making it.
Well – At least before it inevitably gets taken down for somehow violating the Public Access Saftey and Standards Act.
But her stardom has led to countless fan groups who rabidly foam for her, and even an official ACN sponsored Greta Sloan fanclub. The fact that I’m actually getting to meet her in person is honestly a pretty big deal. Some of those foamers would genuinely kill for an opportunity like this.
Apart from selling bags, clothing, plushies, figures, and other merchandise of her – Her ACN fan club has seen a tremendous amount of success in military recruitment. I guess because they all want the chance to meet her. Hell, I bet quite a few military men on this ship probably came from her ACN fan club.
At this point, she’s so popular that people are getting arrested for selling bootleg merchandise of her. Not to mention all the… “Questionable” fan art there is of her on the net.
So yeah – It’s no wonder why she would get defensive when it comes to guys creeping on her. She has to deal with having a rabid hoard of foaming at the mouth perverts drawing pictures of her doing unspeakable acts on a daily basis. All while trying to be taken serious as a military officer.
But why they would PASS act completely harmless and genuinely great independent music, while simultaneously allowing drawings like that of a fucking Fleet Admiral is beyond me. Frankly the lack of consistency in their takedowns infuriates me to no end. The music they take down isn’t even offensive!! Just some lazy, useless bastards in government attempting to justify their wages while taking the path of least resistance.
Yes, from what I’ve seen of her in interviews, she is honestly pretty attractive. She has that cute, innocent, first-girlfriend type appeal to her. I never got into idols really. But Brick said she has that “Protectable” appeal – Whatever that means.
But I have no interest in pursuing a top ranking sciolite. That just sounds like a recipe for disaster.
“Yeah no problem.” I say with a nod.
Berrick’s brow furrows.
“I’m serious Fleece. Don’t say anything. Don’t even give a reaction. Just pretend not to notice – Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah man, I got it. Don’t worry, I’m not a Greta Sloan foamer.” I say, brushing his worries aside.
Berrick tilts his head.
“Foamer? No I’m telling you this because she-“
Suddenly the door bursts open behind me.
“DAY DAY!!!” A bright, cheery voice rings out.
I turn, and for an instant, my eyes couldn’t help but widen in shock.
I force myself to remain stonefaced, but… I wasn’t prepared for this.
What comes through that door is a girl in a fine olive green uniform and a lengthy officer’s coat. She’s wearing a black rimmed officer’s cap atop her head. Her long bubblegum pink hair flowing gracefully behind her, as the golden cords she’s using to tie up her two side buns sway with every step.
Like all active military service members, her uniform is kept clean and fine-pressed. But unlike normal DRAC military fatigues which are all modestly themed in our national colors of red, green, and gold; her uniform is the most immaculate I’ve ever seen.
The red twin-trimmed sideseams of her pants, sleeves, along with her large flashy red cuffs are all embroidered with textured golden laurel wreath adornments. Since part of the standard ACN regimen states that all military uniforms must be handsewn and maintained by active-service members, some poor bastard probably had to spend weeks on all of that embroidery. I think that’s all genuine gold threading too. Even her black necktie, and polished thigh-high boots are meticulously adorned with golden laurel patterns.
But more importantly – She's half my height, and flat as a board.
…Young.
Too fucking young!!!
Anyway I look at it, there is absolutely no way this is the same woman I saw in all those interviews. While their faces are virtually identical, the Greta Sloan I know looks probably twice this girl’s age.
This girl doesn’t even look like she should be out of school yet – Let alone a fucking Fleet Admiral in the Navy.
“Day Day, you’ve been a very naughty boy I hear.” She says, playfully striding into the room; the elevated heels of her polished black boots thumping against the black marble flooring with every step.
Beryl, along with an entire six man CSO death squad enter behind her. They’re all armed to the teeth, and decked out in black combat armor.
Ah – I’m about to die.
I look over at Berrick, who looks like he just dumped a load in his pants. While Rubrum's eyes have turned piercing and focused.
“Oh!” She says theatrically clapping her hands together, and cutely twirling back around. “Except for Markie – You may all wait downstairs.”
The six man squad exits the room without saying a word, as an absolute behemoth of a man enters behind them – Having to duck underneath the door frame in order to go through.
What. The. Fuck.
Beryl, in a cold sweat and confused on what to do, points between the couch and the door. Berrick jerks his head, and Beryl nods in embarrassment. She frantically scurries out of the room, closing the door carefully behind her.
The man walks up behind me and Rubrum, and stands silently behind the couch.
Unlike the other CSO members, “Markie” isn’t quiet when he walks. You can feel the floor vibrate with every clunky step. He’s built like a mountain, and I genuinely can’t tell where his armor ends, and the man begins.
He has two twin-barrels built into both of his tree-trunk sized arms. One barrel looks to be some kind of liquid or gas cooled belt-fed machine gun. The ammo belt connects to an enormous crate strapped to his back, which feeds the anti-air sized rounds directly into his forearms.
The other barrel has a larger diameter. Which connects to two wraparound drum-mags affixed to his wrists. Either some crazy huge street-sweepers, or some kind of grenade launcher.
He also has what looks like two heavy dewey gun attachments for his arms holstered to each thigh, countless utility pouches, numerous hydraulic lines protruding from all over, and shock pads built into his giant metal hands.
-And that’s just the weapons I can see. He’s probably loaded head to toe underneath all that armor plating.
But what scares me the most is the fact that, unlike the others, “Markie” has five red glowing optical lenses instead of two – Two where his eyes should be, and three on his forehead. Meaning this monster has at least five eyes, which he can use to watch all of us at the same time.
I’ve seen my fair share of milispec cyborgs before. But nothing like this…
Is this what a true full-synetic cyborg looks like…?
I feel like death itself is standing behind me.
I look down and clench my hand as a bead of sweat runs down my forehead. I glance over, and see Rubrum is subtly sitting at the ready. With her shorter sword laid out across her lap, and her thumb lightly pressed against its handguard. Her foot is nonchalantly resting on the edge of the couch for support in case she needs to launch herself across the room.
I’m glad she’s here. If she wasn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d be pissing myself right about now.
I subtly scootch away from her in order to give her enough clearance just in case she needs to draw that sword.
If shit goes south, she’s our only hope. I can barely walk right now, let alone take on this… Thing. He could pop my head open before I even manage to stagger my ass off this couch. Even if I wasn’t injured and pumped full of Neurocane, I wouldn’t stand a chance against him without some serious prepwork and starting distance.
Berrick definitely has a gun in his desk, but Sloan is also armed. That hand cannon she has strapped to her hip is complete overkill. That revolver is big enough to snap her tiny wrist in half. But one shot from any of them, and the rest will come running.
We’re completely outmatched here.
Sloan turns to look at me with half draped eyes, and for a brief moment, gives me a small subtle smile which sends shivers down my spine.
I don’t know what that look she just gave me was, but I definitely don’t want to be here right now.
I begin to rise from the couch.
“S-so hey, Berrick. Since we’re done here, I’m going to go get-“
“-SIT.” Sloan demands in a dramatically different, bold, commanding voice.
“H-huh?”
She twirls to face me, and cutely leans in with her hands lightly pressed together – A big, sunny smile beaming across her face.
“I said would you pretty please take a seat?” She asks in a cutesy, bashful tone.
I look into her eyes, and my legs suddenly begin to tremble.
…It’s the same...
“Well I, Uh-“
Suddenly Markie grabs me by the shoulder, and forces me back onto the couch.
I flop down, sending out shockwaves of pain from my thigh. I nervously glance at Berrick, who just gives me an apologetic look of resignation.
When I looked into Sloan’s eyes just now… It felt like I was right back on that station.
Surrounded by my brother’s bodies, and trembling in fear while I helplessy stared straight into a pair of unhinged, amber eyes.
Her face might be smiling, but those magenta eyes show a different kind of joy.
A cold, sadistic, predatory kind of enjoyment.
Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to get away.
Sloan walks over, and looks down at me with a big bubbly smile.
“So you must be Fido!” She cheerfully exclaims, leaning in uncomfortably close to me with her hands behind her back.
Fido?
“I-It’s Fleece.”
“Hm?” She hums, tilting her head and giving me a big tight-lipped smile.
“F-Fleece. My name. It’s Fleece – Not Fido.”
Her eyebrows raise in surprise, as she puts her fingers to her lips in thought.
She bends down until our faces are right across from each other.
“Mmm… Nope!” She says playfully tapping the tip of my nose. “-It’s Fido.”
“Uh… S-Sure.” I mumble reluctantly.
It could be the literal 5-ton murder machine watching over my every move less than half a meter behind me.
But this girl… She carries a kind of… Pressure with her.
Even without her monsterous bodyguard, this girl is at bare minimum SCI-3, maybe even higher. Regardless how young she looks, she’s still one of the most powerful people in the entire country. A true sciolite among sciolites. When it comes to status, she exists in her own realm. She can do virtually anything she wants, and almost no one can oppose her without some serious backing.
Even Berrick, who managed to make it to SCI-5 needs to kiss her ass.
I have no say here.
She jerks back up, and spins to look at Berrick.
“And where’s my tea Day Day?”
Berrick sighs wearily to himself.
“Already made - But please drop the act. You know I find it disturbing.”
“-Oh...? Whatever could you mean Day Day?” Sloan asks coyly with an innocent smile.
He looks at her with resigned eyes.
“Fleece has already accepted my offer.” He says flatly.
Her forced smile slowly fades from her face, as her gaze ices over.
“…Is that so...?” She says with a hint of anger rising in her voice.
I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I don’t like where this is going.
Sloan cracks her neck in frustration, tosses her hat and coat aside, and walks around to the back of the couch.
Rubrum’s body tenses, as she keeps her eyes pinned on Sloan.
Sloan stops and looks up at Markie, who towers over her like a monolith.
“Hup-hup!” She commands.
Markie bends down, and lifts Sloan up by the waist.
“What are you – HMPH!!?” I grunt, as Markie sets her down on my shoulders.
I can feel my bones creak as she leans into the back of my neck.
She has to have cybernetics. There’s no way a girl this small should weigh this much.
“Hush up Fido – Dogs don’t talk.” She says, lightly smacking my cheek.
What the fuck is happening right now!?
I look over at Rubrum, who has a slight frown on her face, still focusing on Sloan.
Berrick gets up, and brings over a tray of tea and cookies from the bar. He sets it down on the holoplane, and pours tea, cream, and sugar into four fine white, black, and gold cups. He hands one to Sloan, sets Rubrum’s on the holoplane, and hands me mine on a plate of cookies. As he does, he gives me a sympathetic look as if to say: “Hang in there.”
Help me asshole!
“Zambonia’s Finest – Plain for Greta, cream for Fleece, and extra sugar for Rubrum. How’d I do?” He says, grabbing the last cup for himself.
He sits down on the other couch, and kicks his feet up on the holoplane.
“Mmm…” Sloan hums, taking a sip of the warm, greenish amber tea. “Perfect.”
He smiles as he rests his arm on the back of the sofa.
He’s acting as though he’s completely at ease, but I can tell it’s a façade – He’s extremely tense.
Rubrum doesn’t touch her tea. No surprise there – She’s not comfortable with them.
I look down at my tea, as clouds of cream roll around underneath the surface.
“Cookie.” She says, lightly kicking her heels into my side.
“Wha-? Oh – Y-Yeah. Sure.” I say lifting the tray above my head.
She grabs a cookie, dips it into her drink, and eats it contentedly.
“Good boy.” She says, tousling my hair.
I am extremely uncomfortable right now.
After awhile of unbearably akward silence, she finally speaks up.
“You always have the best tea Day. If you have another tin of this blend, send some over to my office. I’ll have my desk take care of the bill.”
Berrick smirks, “Sure, that’s no problem. But even though this tea costs thirty-five hundred a tin – Please just consider it a friendly gift between long-time colleagues.”
This tea costs three and a half thousand dracan??
I look down at the cloudy, milky liquid swirling around in my cup, and hesitantly take a sip.
Nope – Not worth it.
Sloan scoffs.
“Well – Aren’t you the generous one?” She says sardonically. “You must really be desperate to start off this strong. You aren’t even trying to hide it.”
Berrick shrugs and reluctantly nods.
“I won’t try to hide the fact that I really do need your backing on this one.”
Her brow furrows, but she maintains her eloquent composure.
“While I agree: Asking for approval first was definitely the right decision. What you’re proposing is going to end up being a political disaster – On top of the multitude of problems you, and that idiot Hellman have already caused.”
“Hey, all I handled was military affairs. Hellman was in charge of domestic affairs.”
“I’m sure.” She replies sarcastically. “-And I’m actually the Adjudicator’s only janitor, and Markie here is really the crew counselor.”
Berrick just makes an empty, wry smile.
I bite back my urge to defend Berrick. As someone who worked under him, I know he wasn’t responsible.
“So how is the progress on the investigation going?” Berrick asks, changing the subject.
She lightly kicks into my side again, this time without saying anything. She’s not doing it hard enough to actually hurt, but I hate how degrading this is. I reluctantly lift the tray up, and she grabs another cookie – Dipping it into her tea.
“I cannot comment on an ongoing military investigation. Though I’m sure that a bottom feeder like you definitely wouldn’t dare try and sneak around my ship – Sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong…” She says with a flickered glare.
Berrick just forces a chuckle, as Rubrum and I quickly enchange glances.
“Any news on what the bounty is going to be?” He asks, shifting topics again.
“Again – I can’t answer that.” She says with an irritated sigh.
She dips the last of her cookie in her tea, and eats it.
“You know… When Beryl came to me… I could scarcely believe my ears...” She says looking down in her cup with frosty magenta eyes. “The fact that you would still have the gall… The absolute unabashed AUDACITY to ask me for favors after what you did…” She says, anger gradually building in her voice. “Heh – I’m not sure whether or not I should applaud your courage, be in awe by the sheer magnitude of your stupidity, or be so filled with rage that I ought to kill you right here – Right now.”
Rubrum’s expression sharpens, as her posture tightens. She’s no longer trying to hide that she’s sitting at the ready.
Sloan clutches the top of my head with a firm grip.
“I told you a long time ago you fucking little parasite - Not to FUCK ME.” She says with genuine fury roiling in her voice, air hissing through her teeth.
Is… Is she trembling?
“N-Now calm down Greta… You got to understand – I need him to help me get everything off the ground!” Berrick explains, trying quell the escalating atmosphere.
Sloan’s eyes fly open with white-hot boiling blind rage, as she lobs her cup so hard against the wall I can hear the wind break as it narrowly flies past Berrick’s head. It blasts apart, sending bits of porcelain in every direction.
“YOU FUCKED ME DAYLIN – I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCK ME!!!” She screams, yanking out her revolver and pointing it at Berrick.
Within what was probably only a fraction of a second, Rubrum had already drawn her glowing violet blade.
-But Markie is much faster than he looks.
Rubrum was already mid-launch by the time Markie lunged forward. He grabs her by the back of the head with lightning fast speed; smashing it clear through the back frame of the couch with enough force to instantaneously kill any normal person. The whole couch shifts as wood splinters and cracks. But before she can regain her bearings, he grabs her right hand, and pins it down against what remains of her side’s backrest.
She grabs her longer blade with her left hand, and using the ridges built into the sheathe, is able to kick it off, propelling the sheathe across the room.
But just as Rubrum was about to swing her blade around, either cutting Markie’s head clean off, or having her own head popped open like a wet melon – Berrick holds up both his hands.
“STOP!!!” He frantically shouts.
I'm not sure why Markie didn’t just immediately crush her skull. Probably because Rubrum froze in place after being ordered to stand down.
But the few seconds after that felt as though time stood still. At least – Until a six man CSO death squad nearly kicked the doors off their hinges.
The two who kicked the doors in duck out of the way, while the four in back already have their weapons drawn.
Sloan instantly jerks her head around, and shouts at the top of her lungs:
“GET THE FUCK OUT!!!”
In retrospect, watching members of the CSO- Whose reputation for skill, efficiency, and ruthlessness is unmatched; who are feared by criminals and countries alike– Hopelessly fumble with putting a doorknob back on, before awkwardly closing the door behind them just because a little girl yelled at them is the pinnacle of funny.
The guys would have loved it.
But in the moment, it felt like an out of body experience. Like, I was watching everything go down. But I guess because none of the hostility was aimed towards me, it also felt like I was watching a recording or something.
The whole scuffle maybe lasted a whole thirty-seconds. Maybe a little longer if you include the CSO member's fierce battle with the doorknob. But it felt like an eternity.
After they had shut the door, I look up at Sloan’s trembling hand.
That is real muderous intent. Right now she is genuinely debating whether or not to pull that trigger.
Berrick has his hands up, and his eyes pressed shut – Bracing for the end.
I need to do something – Now.
“Umm… Miss Sloan, what–“ I cautiously start to say.
Suddenly her thighs violently clamp around my skull like a vice.
THE PRESSURE – MY HEAD’S GOING TO EXPLODE!!!
She jerks herself over my head, and glares straight into my eyes.
“YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS MA’AM – IS THAT UNDERSTOOD!?”
“Y-Y-Yes Ma’am! I’m sorry Ma’am!!!” I desperately yelp.
She pulls back and relaxes her thighs, angrily chuffing through her nose.
“I didn’t spend twenty-seven years in the military so I could be called ‘Miss Sloan’.”
Twenty-seven years?? How old are you!?!
Berrick peeks out from under his eyelid, and gives me a tense, pleading look. Rubrum is pinned down, and the only way for her to get out of the death grip Markie has on her skull is to try and kill him… I strongly doubt her odds. She’s crazy fast, but her blade still has some distance to travel, and her body is contorted at an akward angle. All Markie needs to do on the other hand is squeeze. Even if she succeeded, we’d never leave this ship alive. Berrick is a millimeter from having his head blasted into meaty chunks. They need me to de-escalate the situation. If either of them tries to speak or move, it could trigger their itchy trigger fingers.
I would rather her lose her shit at me, than watch either of them have their head explode.
I’m not losing anyone else. Not again – I refuse.
“But umm.... Ma’am – W-What exactly did he do?” I ask hesitantly, peering up at her.
Her eyes are cold… Focused. She’s glaring at Berrick as though she’s staring at vermin.
She peers down at me with somewhat softer eyes… But I wouldn’t call them kind.
More like she's had her murderous train of thought interupted in order to address a confused child who’s only getting in the way.
She pauses, her eyes darting between me and Berrick, before finally focusing on me.
“…Berrick wasn’t the only one trying to get you out of that interrogation room.” She states flatly.
“…Huh? What do you mean?” I ask.
She looks at me with the same half draped eyes and subtle smile she did before – Sending a chill across my back.
“I was also trying to do the same.”
I look at her somewhat doubtfully.
“Aren’t you one of the people who put me in there?”
She scoffs, and looks back at Berrick.
“This might come as a surprise to you – But just because the OSI and I both work for the government does not mean we always get along. Frankly I think they are a bunch of useless, self-important jokes who only get in the way of real work. The fact that Central forced us Fleet Admirals to have an OSI branch aboard our ships infuriates me to no end.”
I didn’t realize there was that much tension between the ACN and the OSI. But it makes sense. The ACN is trying to get a job done, while the OSI is trying to micromanage everything they say and do aboard their ships. It’s understandable why the Fleet Admirals would see them as a nuisance.
“S-So you were trying to stick it to them.”
Sloan smirks, “Not exactly – But that certainly is an added bonus.”
She slides off my shoulders, and onto what remains of the backrest behind me, wrapping her legs around my waist and pulling me close. All the while never dropping aim of her gun.
She leans into my ear, as a devious grin streches across her face.
“Really now Fido… Think about it… Didn’t you find it strange that you and your crew repeatedly got commissioned to escort the Adjudicator? Did you honestly believe it was all just a coincidence?”
My expression gradually droops in a dismal realization.
“You…? It was you!?”
She licks her teeth in delight.
“Of course it was me. There are billions of people who would kill for a chance to meet me. So I don’t just let anyone escort my ship. Let alone multiple times. No – I only allow my pup candidates to escort my ship.”
“P-Pup candidates…?” I nervously sputter.
Sloan points to the mechanical monstrosity currently pinning Rubrum down through the back of the couch.
“Markie here was a big fan of mine back in the day. When I first met him, he was flabby and doughy, and just an absolute chatterbox. But I saw the potential in him, and now look at him! My full fledged pet doggie! I’m so proud of him. He’s much better this way. Granted – Markie doesn’t talk much anymore since the procedures. As I said before… Dogs don’t talk.”
Horror washes over me.
I slowly pan over to look at Berrick and Rubrum for confirmation, who both avert their eyes.
Sloan leans into my ear.
“…You’re also a fan of mine, aren’t you Fido?”
Ah.
“N-No I’m-“
“-There’s no reason to lie Fido...” She whispers in a dulcet tone. “You should feel honored. After our first mission together, I was so impressed that I actually took time out of my busy schedule to look into you. When I saw that your school’s physical exams had you listed as a possible, but unconfirmed synetic – I had to find out more. Now I know your friends, your family, your achievements, your failures, your likes, your dislikes, your search history - I know everything…”
I think I just shit my pants.
She grabs my chin as I’m shivering in pure panic, and forcibly turns my head towards her.
Her wild eyes dart around, examining every centimeter of my face.
“Almost every man in uniform on this ship came from my fan club, but they’re all failures. But you…? No… Now that I know for certain that you’re a true full-synetic… You’re perfect...” She says, breathing heavily. A wide, ecstatic smile plastered across her face.
“P-P-Perfect?? I’m o-only a casual fan! I don’t n-need all that!” I sputter.
She leans in right in front of my face.
“That’s fine!! I can work with that... I will be the artist, and you will be the clay from which I sculpt… Only when I remake you how I desire can you truly be mine!” She says in a speedy, manic voice; tightening her legs grip around my waist.
My heart is racing so fast I can’t think.
“Y-You could j-just buy a synetic slave! You don’t need me! Aren’t those CSO guys synetic!?”
She tilts her head and smiles at me.
“They’re borderline, but not fully-synetic. Slaves who are true full-synetics are virtually non-existent. You’re worth more than Rubrum over there. While dracan is of no concern to me – There’s a constant battle amongst companies, researchers, and military branches alike for people like you.” She says, covering my mouth and tapping my nose. “The only reason you haven’t been snatched up yet is because whoever did your government mandated school medical examinations as a child hid your results. I had my suspicions, but had I known for certain you were fully synetic – I would have happily paid your debt off to the HMC. When I finally got confirmation from our medical staff, I also tried to hide your results. But sadly, the OSI caught wind of it…” She says, closing her magenta colored eyes and lamentfully shaking her head.
She looks at me with a subtle grin.
“Besides – Even if I could find a full-synetic slave. Simply buying one would defeat the whole point…”
I give her a frightful look.
“And what is… The point?” I ask, my mouth muffled by her hand.
Her expression brightens as she wraps her hand under my chin, and happily rubs her cheek against my head.
“True ownership of course!” She cheers.
“T-True ownership?!?”
“Mhm!” She hums, “Simply buying someone and dominating them through a CS is empty. Unless you own them in body, heart, and mind – Can you honestly say you truly own them? But… Synetics are different. Full-synetics are such wonderful, beautiful creatures… Unlike other types of slaves, synetics actually are able to give their everything to their masters. By willingly giving their master full autonomy over their body… By allowing them to rebuild the very vessel they reside in however they wish… Is there not a purer form of love, trust, and true-ownership!?” She joyously exclaims.
This woman is deranged.
I’m not a person to her – I’m just a stone to be chiseled. A canvas to be painted.
I’m prey she wants to capture to turn into her grotesque pet.
She turns my head to look at her and Markie.
“Rebuilding Markie here cost me a fortune. But Markie wanted nothing more than to always be at my side, and serve me however he could. He trusted me enough to give me his body. So as his master, of course I spared no expense. Even though less than 20% of Markie’s original body now remains, he can now swap in and out of bodies to serve whatever needs I might have!” She beams proudly.
My lip trembles in fear and revoltion.
“O-Other bodies…?”
“Yes!” She exclaims with a cheery smile. “Markie here has many bodies his biobox can swap into back in my quarters. At night, I like to keep him in his cute little pup body, and let him rest at the foot of my bed.”
“I-Is that s-so…?” I sputter.
Berrick and I exchange fearful glances.
She’s a monster – An absolutely unhinged lunatic. I thought some of the Akasha representatives were sick. But this takes medical malpractice to a whole new level.
“But you…” She says, focusing her gun on Berrick. “You had to ruin everything…”
Berrick’s eyes widen in fear.
“P-Please! Don’t!”
Her gaze grows in intensity.
“WREN!” I spit out, trying to find anything to distract her from Berrick.
She looks at me over my shoulder with a curious expression.
“Wren?”
“Y-Yeah. While I remember all of our missions together – Wren sticks out to me. I’ve always wanted to know why you like to get so close to the planet’s surface. This ship is massive, so it has never made any sense to me."
If Berrick dies, my ability to pay off my debt goes with him. It doesn’t seem like she knows nothing has been signed yet. But if she learns I’m not under contract yet – She will definitely kill him.
Sloan gives me a big sunny grin.
“That makes me happy to hear you remember all of our missions together. But that reminds me…” She says, flicking the side of my head. “Drinking beer during a military operation is highly unprofessional. Also I don’t appreciate you calling my ship cursed.”
“Wait… How do you know about that?”
“Hacking into the optical recording devices on a ship that ancient is not hard. Apart from a few select exceptions, I can monitor anybody I want. Like I said – I know everything.“
“So… Whenever we were on the same missions together-“
“-Yes. I was watching. I would also check in every now and then whenever we were close enough for live footage.”
“Is… Is that right…?”
She casually looks over at Markie.
“Send him a copy of the archive.”
After a few seconds she looks back at me.
“It should be in your inbox.” She softly smiles.
“I… I don’t know how I should feel about that.”
She happily pets the side of my head.
“Be happy! I know how important your friends were to you, so be happy that some of your memories with them have been immortalized!”
A mixed smile slowly stretches across my face.
“Heh-“ I chuckle to myself. “Yeah… I guess that’s true…? Thanks I guess?”
The fact she can monitor anybody without needing any kind of approval process is scary as Hell though. Is that because of her military rank? Or is that because of her SCI status?
She happily rubs her cheek against my head.
“Anything for my little puppy!”
I’m not your pet – Fucking stop.
She leans back and purses her lips in thought.
“But why do I get so close? Well…” She says, a grin streching from ear to ear. “Allow me to answer your question with a question.”
She looks over at Rubrum whose head is currently wedged between the obliterated remains of the backrest; her left hand still holding her sword mid-air.
“Rubrum – Why is it you use a blade instead of a gun? A gun would be far more efficient.”
Rubrum glances between us, as Markie loosens his hold on her a little bit; allowing her to sit up.
She pauses for a bit, staring at Sloan with sharp eyes.
“...Fear.” She answers straightly.
“Fear?” I ask.
“Please explain to Fido here what you mean by that.” She replies as though she were expecting that answer.
Rubrum’s lips tighten in hesitation, as she slightly lowers her sword.
“Let’s say… This ship was being stormed right now… We’re in here issuing orders, and the enemy was trying to reach us. Over comms, you’re hearing people dying, panicking, and you can feel your line of defense falling apart. When you ask how many hostiles there are, and what kind of weaponry they’re using, they’ll all answer: ‘One armed with an Ardon blade.’ Hearing that – What would your first thoughts be?” She asks, looking to me.
“…I would say ‘It must be a monster.’”
She nods.
“It sends their command structure into disarray. Hostiles start abandoning their posts in order to flee – Isolating them and making them easier to pick off. They start disobeying orders, leaving their HQ wide open. After that… It’s all just clean-up.”
Sloan looks down on me, and gives me a disturbingly calm smile.
“Do you understand now, Fido?”
“Yeah… I find it unsettling… But I get it.”
She chuckles, “Why?? We were exterminating vermin – Frankly I thought Wren was hilarious!”
I look up at Sloan in disbelief, who’s smirking apathetically.
“There… There were children in that base…”
Her eye twitches.
“Okay, and? If their dumbass parents were stupid enough to bring them to an at-risk military base, then I say we were doing the genepool a favor.”
I've met some cruel, twisted people in my time as a mercenary. But this woman… She means everything she’s saying.
When I first started on this career path, in my immature 15 year old brain – This was an adventure.
I wanted freedom and I got it.
But now that Ron, Lark, and Brick are all gone… I suddenly see this life in another light. Because they were always there to support me, things never seemed too dark… No matter how bleak our situation got.
But now… I hear this woman speak about how she not only felt nothing snuffing out the lives of dozens of children – But instead views their death as a good thing… I realize just how much darkness I was always surrounded with.
I just couldn’t see it until now.
“Speaking of vermin…” She says, focusing on Berrick.
I slowly reach out, and softly rest my hand against her arm.
“Ma’am… Please – Put the gun down.”
She glances between me and Berrick, and scowls in frustration.
“Tch.” She sounds, clicking her tongue.
She stands up, hops off the couch, and briskly strides over to Berrick.
“Greta, really, I’m truly- *GACK!*”
She yanks him down by his collar, and rams the barrel of her gun in his mouth.
Panic fills Berrick’s eyes.
“To be honest – I like you Daylin. So long as you’re thrown a bone every now and then: You’re predictable, useful, and obedient. But you crossed a line this time. You know I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to betrayal. So… You want to say you’re sorry…? –Suck on it.”
“Huph!?- *KAK!*” He gags, tears streaming down his cheeks.
She leans in, glaring straight into his eyes.
“I said – SUCK. ON. IT.” She firmly commands, cocking back the hammer on her revolver.
“NOWH! PLE- *ULLK!*” He pleads, holding back the urge to vomit.
Berrick’s fear filled eyes meet mine.
Don’t look at me like that… I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.
If humiliating you like this allows her to mentally justify forgiving you – It’s better than dying.
I clamp my eyes shut.
I respect Berrick, so I can’t watch him get humiliated like this. It’s… The least I can do to spare the man his dignity.
But what followed next was 20-minutes of nonstop trauma I won’t soon forget. I might not have been able to see what was happening – But I could hear it.
Berrick was gagging, choking, and gasping for air. While Sloan shrilly laughed and giggled at his expense.
To add insult to injury, Sloan said some pretty degrading things to him throughout the whole ordeal. Praising him like a dog, telling him to do certain… Things.
It felt like the nightmare would never end.
I could feel the couch shaking from Rubrum using every ounce of her willpower to hold back her CS. Which was almost certainly screaming at her to defend him.
After it was all over, she yanked the gun out of his mouth, as he frantically coughed and wheezed.
“I'll forgive you this one time Day; for Fido’s sake. But this was your one-in-a-million: Do not expect to get another.” She says, striding over to me, and sitting back behind me.
When I open my eyes, I can see the aftermath. Berrick’s eyes are bloodshot, and his entire face is flushed red. His cheeks are damp with tears, and his chin, shirt, and bulletproof vest are covered with strings of foamy spit.
He gestures Rubrum to stand down while catching his breath.
She very slowly lowers her left hand, letting go of her longer blade. Markie allows her to gradually move her right hand, and as soon as she let’s go of her other sword, they both mutually back away from each other.
Good, the situation is de-escalating. I think the immediate danger has finally passed.
Suddenly the intercom clicks on overhead, breaking the lessening tension still permeating the room.
「Um, sorry to interupt your meeting Master. Dinner will done soon. Should I bring it to the dining hall or…?」
He wipes off his mouth, and clears his throat. Trying to pretend like nothing just happened.
“Uh – No that’s alright Gina.” He says, coughing between words. “Just send it up to my office.” He calls out.
「Understood.」
The intercom clicks off as Berrick gives a forced, tired smile.
“Sorry about that – Gina is new.”
“Hmm.” She hums in disinterest.
She leans her elbow against my shoulder, resting her cheek against knuckles, as she wraps her hand around my chest.
“What I’m about to say is considered classified at the highest possible level. I am sharing this meager amount of information with you because of our history together, and because I know your greedy little ass wouldn’t give up your advantage to a thirty-billion dracan bounty. But just in case, I’ll say it anyways: If I find this intel leaked somewhere, I’ll have you shot. Understand?” She warns.
Berrick nods resolutely.
Apparently he’s back in her good graces? Or at least, as good as he can be considering what just happened.
“I have contacted the relevant parties, and have been told that: ‘At the present moment, Berrick’s EMP plan should work in theory.’”
What the Hell do they mean by “in theory?” An EMP is an EMP. It was made to disable planetary Scion forces, and later human colonies. To my knowledge, no warship is completely resistant to a weaponized high-altitude electromagnetic pulse except the ship emitting it above atmosphere. Ships might have various surge protections and discharge fail-safes in the event of stray solar flares; but a Military EMP should be potent enough to negate that at least temporarily.
Berrick was right: It’s got to be some kind of prototype ship. And from the fact that it should work in theory “At the present moment” means that the ship must not be finished yet.
Sloan just fed us a lot of classified intel without explicitly saying it. Which is probably why Berrick is grinning right now.
“If your plan works, it will save us a significant amount of trouble.” She adds, “But even if you only use it on a loosely populated world, it’s still going to cause a political shitstorm; on top of everything else that is going on right now.”
Berrick believes they’re headed to Roachdale. But that’s just his hunch based on personal experience dealing with Libertalia. So unless she’s hinting at the fact that she believes they’re going to some backwater world: She either doesn’t know where they’re headed, she’s withholding her intel, or she’s feigning ignorance.
“So if I give you authorization to use the EMP, and you fuck up – That looks bad on me. So if you want my approval, you need to risk something yourself.”
She lightly slides her hands around my jaw and chest, and pulls me close to her.
Her complete lack of physical boundaries scares the shit out of me.
“So this is my offer: I will approve your use of the EMP. But if you fuck up – You will relinquish all of your remaining assets to me, and enlist in the 5th ACN Fleet for no less than 15 years. That, and Fido here will relinquish his Free-Citizen status, and officially become my slave.” She says, looking down at me with a suggestive grin.
…Huh!?!
Berrick looks unsurprised.
“While I am fine with putting everything on the line here. That decision is Fleece's to make.” He explains.
“Yeah I never signed up for that shit!” I exclaim.
She looks down at me a slightly smug smirk.
“Oh that reminds me…” She begins coyly. “Syneticism is often hereditary… And you have a sister – Don’t you…?”
“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!!!” I instinctively snap.
Sloan grabs my hair and yanks my head back, glaring at me with murderous intent.
“And you will not speak to me that way again – Is that uderstood?” She says in an eerily calm and composed manner.
Her eyes are fierce, but her words are flat and direct.
“B-But my sister did n-nothing wrong! She’s not involved in any of this!” I sputter in desperation.
She pushes my head forward, letting go of my hair.
“Do not misunderstand. I am not blackmailing you for your sister’s freedom. As I said before: Dominating someone through their CS is an empty experience. So too is taking their freedom by force. While it’s perfectly within my rights to modify any slave I own as I see fit – Doing so without their willing consent is a hollow experience.” She bluntly explains.
She is oddly principled about this.
“Then what is it you’re getting at?” I ask, looking back at her.
“I looked into Tessa’s medical records, and they’re the same as yours. Right now, I am currently the only thing standing between her and the OSI.”
Ahh… So because they found out I’m synthetic, the OSI is trying to take her too.
“…And you’re protecting her because you’re trying to win me over?”
She grins.
“What a smart pup!” She exclaims, playfully tousling my hair. “But it’s also insurance in case you and that rat over there try to run. I won’t need to do anything to her. I just need to cut my support in protecting her. As for Berrick… Well… He knows what will happen if he runs.”
She’s right. I can’t protect Tess from the goddamn OSI. Not even Berrick could. Not for long anyway. Nobody besides a top ranking sciolite can go against them, and live to tell the tale. Sloan has more than enough pull to keep her safe for the rest of her life.
I hate it, but I can’t lose anyone else, and she knows it. If my family is being targeted because of our cybernetic compatibility, soon I’ll have no one left.
“…Fine.” I mumble. “I will accept your terms – On one condition.”
A triumphant smile stretches across her face.
“And that is?”
My eyes narrow, “Regardless if we pull this off, or I become your slave, you will use every resource at your disposal to ensure all of my family is kept safe, free, and comfortable – Forever.”
She giggles in amusement.
“Deal.”
Regardless if we succeed or fail, Sloan only stands to gain here.
What a ruthless woman.
She turns her attention to Berrick.
“…And as for you Day…” She says, pointing to him. “One day that arrogance and greed of yours is going to catch up with you. The fact I let you live today is nothing short of a miracle. You might think you’re untouchable, but you’ve already spent your one favor with them. If you try and shirk from this agreement, I don’t care how many peons you try and drag down with you: They will not be able to save you from me.” She states plainly.
Who is “them”? And Berrick isn’t the kind of person to use people like that. He always stood by his men in Libertalia, and made sure as many of us got out safely as he could.
He sighs, “I know you’re not a woman to make empty threats. I am well aware of what you’re capable of, and the lengths you are willing to go.”
“Hmph!” She snoots.
She hops off the couch, puts her hat back on, and drapes her long officer’s coat loosely over her shoulders.
“Consider it done then. I will have your enlistment forms ready to fill out by the time you deliver the tea to my desk. I won’t file them unless you screw this up. Afterwards come to my quarters this evening, and bring your ‘kit’ Day – I’m still not done with you yet.” She commands with narrowed eyes. “Now come along Markie!”
Kit? What the Hell is she talking about? I look over at Berrick, and his eyes are filled with tired dread. Rubrum on the otherhand has a small, subtle smirk.
Both of them start heading for the exit when someone knocks on the door.
“Dinner!” A voice calls out, as they stuggle with opening the now totalled doorknob.
Eventually they get it open, and a Bovine therian comes through pushing a cart with silver trays of food.
That must be Gina.
“…I think the doorknob might be broken…” She mumbles to herself.
Like most Bovine therians, Gina is tall, well endowed, and has stubby horns atop her head. She’s wearing an immaculate maid uniform that is far less provocative than the rest of the therian’s uniforms.
Gina looks around the room and as soon as she sees Markie, she gasps in surprise.
“OH! Aren’t you a big one!” She exclaims. “Unfortunately I didn’t make enough for someone your size. But if you wait just a little while, I’ll get something ready.” She explains cheerfully.
She starts getting the silverware ready on the cart.
“Where is the Fleet Admiral? I tried to hurry, but I guess I must have missed her visit...” She says with mild disappointment.
“Um, Gina…” Berrick begins to say.
She looks down at Sloan and gives a warm, hospitable smile.
“Oh my! Well don’t you look cute in that uniform of yours!” She beams. “If I knew we were having junior cadets over, I would have made something more suited to childr-!”
Before Gina could even get the chance to finish – Sloan yanks out her revolver, and fires.
My ears get struck with a deafening sound, as Gina’s ruptured skull slumps against the door. Her limp lifeless corpse slides to the floor, dragging behind a glistening streak of red.
The room falls dead silent as blood pools out into the doorway.
“Wh-WHAT THE FUCK!!!” I screech.
I look over at Berrick. His lips are taught, his brow furrowed, as he’s holding his hand up towards Rubrum.
I look over at her, my ears still ringing, and she’s already standing with her longer blade in hand.
…I’ve never seen Rubrum like this before.
Her lips are curled, her teeth showing, and her eyes filled with pure murder. Her mouth is red with blood. Almost as if she just bit her tongue off. As streams of crimson drip from her bloodshot eyes and nose. I can see veins bulging out from all over, as her skin is rapidly turning flush. She’s growling with blind hatred and immense pain.
Markie stands between her and Sloan, as the CSO once again appear just outside the door.
“…Next time Day…” Sloan nonchalantly says as she slides her hand cannon back into its holster. “Teach your slaves some proper respect.”
Berrick pauses, and gives a small, reluctant nod.
“…I’ll bear that in mind.”
Rubrum jerks her gaze towards him with a grunt of seething vitriol and disbelief.
Sloan steps over Gina’s corpse, and stops just past the door.
“Just tack the therian, the couch, and the door onto the bill for the tea. Happy hunting you two!” She says with a playful wave; seamlessly reverting back into her idol like persona.
After I was absolutely certain they were out of earshot, I finally break the silence.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?!” I yell.
Berrick sighs, gets up, and walks over to his desk – Relighting his cigar. He leans against his desk with a look of pure exhaustion.
Rubrum is still in a frenzy, trying desperately to calm down.
“…That… Was the 5th Fleet Admiral, Greta Sloan.” He says through a plume of smoke.
“Yeah, no shit. But why the Hell does she look like that!? Why would she shoot Gina like that?? And-“
“-WHY WOULD YOU LET THEM WALK?” Rubrum hisses through her bloodied teeth.
Berrick scratches his head.
“And what would you have me do Rubrum? Not even you could take on a six man CSO death squad along with that monster. Even if you could, what then? Once they found out Greta was dead, they would never let us leave the Adjudicator alive.”
Rubrum doesn’t respond. She just hacks out a wad of still-steaming blood onto the floor, and begins sheathing her swords.
Berrick pulls out his PD, and calls out.
“Hey Citrus, you there?”
「Yes Master, I’m here. I’m just finishing up the contract now.」
“Hey, yeah that’s great. But, um…”
「Hm? Is there something else you require Master?」
“Could you… Um… I’m going to need a clean-up team as soon as possible. Gina… She’s, uh… I’m sorry Citrus – She’s dead.” He says, painfully wringing the words from his mouth.
Citrus doesn’t respond. A long, agonizing pause fills the room.
「…I see… Yes…. I’ll send someone down.」
The intercom clicks off. She doesn’t even ask what had happened. Her voice was somber, as if desperately trying to keep it together.
I don’t know Citrus, but I feel for her.
Berrick directs his gaze towards me.
“As for both of your questions: This is why I told you not to mention her appearance.” He says, chewing on his stubby cigar in frustration. “Greta Sloan’s father is a very old, and very powerful man. Who also just so happens to be a major investor in Akasha.”
Rubrum flops down on the couch so close to me, our legs are touching.
“Okay and?”
“Well like most legacy sciolite families, they apply modifications to their children. Such as AgeLock.”
“Normally when sciolites add AgeLock to their kids, it’s usually to make them look like they’re in their late-teens, or maybe their mid-twenties! But that bitch looks younger than my Niece!! How old even is she!?” I ask in bewilderment.
Berrick chuckles wryly, “She is 42.”
“Huh!?!”
That is… Why!? Just… WHY!?
She said she’s been in the military for 27 years. Which means she must have joined as soon as she turned 15.
“Greta has several sisters. All a fair bit older than her. But when they grew up and went their own separate ways, her father, faced with a now empty manor, missed the days when he got to dote on his cute little daughters. So he decided that he would make his next daughter permanently young. That way he could dote on her forever.”
“Wait so he really-? That is so fucked up.”
“Oh I agree – It screwed her up bad. She loses her shit anytime someone calls her a kid, or treats her like a child.”
Calling her father self-centered doesn’t even begin to cover it. That selfish piece of crap made her a prisoner in her own body, and created a monster in the process.
I lean in, “Why didn’t you tell me she had her sights set on me? I could have waited somewhere else during that whole ordeal.”
He scratches his head and groans.
“I mean, can you blame me? I knew she wouldn’t do anything to make you permanently resent her. Had you not been here, she would have killed me.”
“She did a pretty piss poor job of that...” I say looking at poor Gina’s corpse.
Rubrum huffs and crosses her arms.
“I’ve worked with Greta for years now. For as long as I’ve known her, she has always lived by her own kind of code.”
“Code??” I scoff, “She just blew that poor girl’s head off for making a simple mistake!”
Rubrum glances at me, frowning bitterly as she nods in agreement.
Berrick sighs somberly, “I agree, it was way too far. But everything you’ve seen today has been her code at work: Tolerate no treachery, tolerate no disrespect, have slaves willingly grant her autonomy over them, etc. The only time she can ignore her code is when she’s acting as Fleet Admiral. Many foes keen to her true appearance have tried to use it to provoke her into making mistakes. Instead she just makes them pay dearly for it later on.”
“So when she hesitated to kill you…”
“Yes – That was two of her personal rules conflicting with each other, mixed with our long history of working together.”
“I see…” I murmur to myself, “By the way, what’s all this about a ‘kit?’”
“Anyway!” He says slapping his legs and standing up, ignoring my question entirely. “We’re done here for today. You should go to your room and get some rest. You’ve certainly earned it. I’ll have Citrus send over the contract along with Gina’s dinner. I think the least we can do is finish the last meal she prepared.” He says sadly.
I nod wearily, “Yeah, I’m ready for this day to be over.” I say attempting to pull myself up off the couch, as I fall back down on my ass.
Berrick looks at Rubrum, “Could you help him get to his room? Come back to see me when you’re done.”
Rubrum stands up, and effortlessly picks me up into her arms.
“UHHHHHH-” I say, my brain flatlining from the shock of suddenly being held like a princess. “-I’m not sure how I feel about this!”
She just glances down at me with an underlying sadness buried behind her sharp eyes, and I immediately fall silent.
…I guess it doesn’t matter.
I spit on my sleeve, reach up, and wipe the dried tears of blood from her cheeks. She just quietly accepts it, as she softly leans her face into my sleeve.
I get as much as I can off her cheeks and nose, and give her a small reassuring smile.
She doesn’t give much of response back. She just turns to Berrick and says: “If it’s okay with you, I would like to finish Gina’s last meal with Fleece.”
Berrick closes his eyes and waves us off.
“Go ahead. Just come see me when you’re done.”
She nods, and carries me out of the room. Making a small, pained face as she passes Gina's body.
Author's Notes: Finally Episode 19 is finished! And wow, I really overshot the One-Year Anniversary of GMW. This episode was a struggle, but I really like how it turned out. Greta Sloan is a very "intense", but structured character to write. Believe it or not, I had nightmares on three different occasions because of this episode. I definitely feel for Fleece here.
This next episode will be the last in Fleece's mini-arc, before finally returning back to Max. I can’t wait!
