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Chapter Text

In the year 2087, humanity discovered FTL (faster-than-light travel) via rapid transmission between distant locations by using a form of quantum entanglement combined with dark matter reactors.

This discovery exploded the commercial spacefaring ventures, and within decades multiple solar systems, planets, and new spacial phenomena were discovered. As asteroid mining became mainstream, rare minerals prompted a new age of technological development that exploded humanity's progress exponentially. Newly discovered planets were quickly terraformed, colonized, industrialized and beautified. The new wave of entrepreneurs and innovators, combined with the excitement of exploration, sparked revolutions in every industry. 

The medical industry, in particular, had produced cutting-edge bionic limbs and organs, advanced stem-cell regeneration methods, limb cloning & recycling conduits, and nano-bots capable of eliminating nearly every ailment known to man. Mankind was nearing its zenith in reaching a true utopia under a united galactic government.

Then came The Terror. A mind-boggling, behemothic alien creature the size of the moon entered the Terra solar system at FTL speeds and immediately assailed Earth with millions of its monstrous offspring. These car-sized creatures ripped through the atmosphere and slammed into the surface, wreaking havoc and slaughtering humans wherever they trampled. This cataclysmic event was met with global outrage and fury. Military counterattacks, long-range bombardment, and close-range combat led to the deaths of billions of humans, on top of the already overwhelming casualty rate of innocent civilians.

The Terror was eventually brought down by a heroic band of starship fighters strapped with nuclear warheads, and its offspring were tracked down and killed. However, the losses it caused and the widespread destruction it left created a mass paranoia amongst humanity. Military expenditure and innovation skyrocketed, which caused regression in most other industries' advancements. Logistics were heavily disrupted as Earth was the central planet of commerce amongst the galaxy, which led to many colonies and governments being forced to revert to heavily outdated technology and autocratic policies. Governments became stagnant and corrupt as the fear of hostile alien life drove regressive politics and mass consumerism.

And on January 24th of 2263, a transport freighter by the name of Tulpar, working its last human shift for Pony Express, fatefully collided with a stray asteroid...

One year later...

"Captain, Orion speaking. The Tulpar flight path stops here."

Captain Hawkes reached across the multitude of control panels around him and toggled a switch that brought up holographic cartography of the transport freighter's flight path. It was true. After 10 long months of travel, they'd arrived at their destination.

"Pull up the far-range scanners and find that damn ship." The Captain radioed in over his headset. "When we finish this rescue mission, we're getting a fat paycheck and medals galore. So scour that freighter from top to bottom and ensure no man or woman is left behind."

Captain Hawkes switched comms to EVA and Medical channels to issue further orders.

"EVA Team, make sure you're in gear with plasmas loaded, your time to shine is coming up. Triage team, I want you following the EVA Team if the oxygen in the freighter passes scrutiny."

"Roger that, Cap, over."

"Copy Captain, over."

He switched off those channels and pulled up imaging of outer space from the hundreds of cameras installed on the exterior of the massive military vessel. Nothing aside from distant stars could be seen in any direction. It was fortunate that the far-range scanners could reach up to 2 Astronomical Units away. The Captain turned to his co-pilot, Sammy; a stocky yet athletic-seeming young man with bright, optimistic eyes and a charisma that swayed the whole crew and landed him at the third-highest authority on the vessel in under 2 years.

"Sammy."

"Hey-ho."

"Take over piloting. I intend to board the freighter and assuage the crew."

Sammy's eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Captain, you sure that's a wise move?"

Another reason why the Captain had taken on Sammy was because he was intensely straightforward. Whereas other crew rarely dared to question Hawkes' decisions and assessments due to his decades of military service, Sammy had no such fear. That brash honesty had come in handy in the past, and it would continue to do so in the future.

"Yes. This I am confident in. And I'll tell you why." Hawkes addressed him, reaching into his coat pocket and removing a cigar box. He took one out and lit it up on the spot, blowing the smoke to the side.

"How long have you been chainsmoking cigars, Captain?"

"Since before your balls dropped, kid. And I haven't been chainsmoking, wise ass; I'm enjoying the privilege of my position."

"Excessive enjoyment."

"Anyways-" He continued, flicking the lighter shut. "...around a decade ago, we did a rescue mission similar to this one- a stranded commercial freighter in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. We docked and I sent in the EVA Team, only to find out minutes later that half of them had been stabbed, shot and beaten severely by the crew. Turns out the crew was full of exotics who didn't speak English, and the EVA leader using the translator was a brash prick. Couple of his words got mistranslated into some very unsavory terms, and next thing you know, a battle breaks out."

"Damn... did anyone die?" Sammy asked curiously. Captain Hawkes seemed particularly offended at the question and flicked Sammy's forehead with his index finger and thumb.

"Nobody died because I acted quickly. That's Rule Number One, if you ever take command. Rule Number Two, is to never show favor to any subordinate or equal in times of crisis. That EVA leader I told you about- he was a good friend of mine, over 3 years. After that mission, I canned him. You can't have people that senseless and irresponsible onboard a vessel; they can be the sole unravelers of your entire ship. I've seen it happen too many times, on too many journeys with too many cruisers."

Sammy nodded his head solemnly, acknowledging the Captain's grim background. Captain Hawkes was a near-legend within the Canaris Armed Forces, and a war hero to the citizen populace. His astounding feats at the Battle of Yamilcar and the Siege of Korres were widespread tales, and his list of accomplishments were so vast that even the most ill-informed citizens of Canaris heard regaling tales of his bravery, cunning, and heroism in their day to day.

To be in his ranks and, no less, his Third Mate, was an honor that Sammy latched onto with intense fanaticism. Captain Hawkes was even more magnetic in person- despite his decades of battle experience, he was eloquent in his way of speaking, mixed with occasional layman phrases and speech. It was incredibly endearing no matter if a person were the lowest criminal or the most elite of socialites.

Yet in this moment, when Hawkes spoke that last sentence, his eyes grew foggy and distant. His speech staggered and broke into a brittle narrative, as if he were revisiting haunting memories in his mind.

"I've seen the crew of a medical cruiser slaughtered port and bow across the ship. They'd hacked each other into gore. The surveillance records revealed a young woman had been stoking distrust after their food storage had broken out into flames. She'd deluded herself into believing there was an enemy spy onboard, romanced the Captain to get a hold of his keys to the cockpit- where she locked herself in when the killing started. Turned out, she was taking smoke breaks in the storage silo, near the pallets of gauze and disinfectant. One carelessly thrown cigarette was all it took. And she was fuckin' ignorant to it."

Sammy saw as his eyes filled with a subtle but brimming rage, as if he were reliving the experience and seeing the perpetrator right in front of his eyes. A nasty grin erupted across his face.

"She was a lucky little cunt. The last alive, and kicked the bucket right as we docked with their ship. Found her locked inside those same Captain's quarters, wrists slit, and in the middle of pigging out on cigars and emergency rations. And as a final 'fuck-you' to the people who had survived the slaughter, she turned on the ship's disinfectant sprayers and left it on. Everyone else on the ship suffocated to death."

He averted his eyes, shaking his head with a cynical sneer on his face.

"Rachel Gillaby. The lowly sack of shit that doomed an entire crew for no good reason, and the Captain who put his personal pleasure ahead of foresight. Hopes, dreams, ambitions, the desire to survive- all snuffed out in despair, because of one petty bitch and a worthless captain to boot."

Hawkes slowly leaned towards Sammy, eyes burning with fire and brimstone, his facial muscles stretched in vitriol. In a passing moment, Sammy could plainly see the faint bags under Hawkes' eyes; gray hairs peeking out within his scalp that weren't easily seen.

"You read the same report I did." Hawkes rasped, toggling a few buttons to turn off the ship's primary engines. "The Tulpar's autopilot was overridden, sent on a direct collision with the asteroid. Only the Captain is capable of that. And that means we likely have another Rachel on this ship. So I'm going to board that ship with my own two legs, and I'm gonna find that bastard, and I'm going to make sure he suffers the worst imaginable fate a human being can conceive."

"Are we allowed to punish civilians during a rescue mission, Captain?"

Hawkes chuckled slyly, opening a side drawer and tapping Sammy on the head with it.

"You haven't read up on Canaris Spacetime Intragalactic Law, have you?"

"N-No, sir. Sorry, sir."

"I'll simplify. The Discretion Clause under Article Seven permits 'interrogations, up to and no further past the point of severe injury, for suspected traitors, mutineers and corsairs, as long as medical aid is provided hereafter.' As long as they are breathing, coherent and given medical care, we can de facto torture them."

"Captain... is that ethical?"

"I base my ethics on the magnitude of the crime and their truthfulness." Hawkes retorted, finishing his cigar. "I'm sure you would treat a suspect of rape who's lying to your face much differently than an accomplice to petty theft who spills their guts out. Then again, I'm one man. I know how bad this law can be for victims of cruel Captains. But with what our nation is dealing with right now, changing a law like this is probably not at the top of the list. And I sure as shit am gonna use it to my advantage for however long it lasts."

Sammy nodded, this time more fervently, an expression of grim determination on his face.

"I see. Thank you for being so transparent with me. Good luck, sir."

The Captain exhaled, patting Sammy on the shoulder as he stood up.

"Don't scratch this beauty even slightly when we dock. It needs to look pristine for the photo ops when we return home."

Sammy smiled, nodding one last time, as Captain Hawkes briskly made his way down to the EVA Team.

"Praise God!" Sammy shouted out, and the Captain stopped in his tracks for a moment. He smiled, and this time it was one of youthful relief.

"Praise God." He mumbled, almost hesitantly. For the last 40 years of his life, he'd been a cynical, grim atheist who considered the universe a cold, dark place that was entirely uncaring of life and its inherent suffering. Less than 3 months ago, he had carried a deep hatred and loathing for religion, what he had believed to be a disgusting false hope to the fearful and dying. Less than 3 months ago, he was on the verge of retiring, finding his agrarian district, and blowing his brains out. It had been nothing but despair, rage, and agony. For decades, on end.

Now... now he felt... reborn.

(Music: "Ratnik", by Avery Alexander)

"Captain, freighter sighted. Proceeding to point."

"Good, I'm turning off comms for a sec to speak with EVA."

"Copy, over."

Hawkes switched off the radio receiver, looking across the room at the EVA Team gathered in front of him. Outfitted in Roxcorp EVA suits. Plasma cutters in one hand, Hyletta handguns in the other. Hawkes had Central Command to thank for these cutting-edge weapons; they'd approved his recent request for up-to-date weaponry and artillery. This ship was outfitted and his crew rearmed; the Argonaut II was now one of the most powerful military ships in the nation, and arguably within the Lower Quadrant.

Hawkes couldn't be more proud as its longtime Captain.

"EVA Team, last check."

"Ready." "Ready, Cap." "Ready, sir."

"Ready, Captain Hawkes!" "Ready!" "Ready."

Hawkes nodded, looking to the Triage Team. Outfitted in Janil Company space suits, carrying medical bags and cauterizers; even they carried holsters with handguns. Captain Hawkes was taking no chances after that incident he'd told Sammy about.

No more of his crew's blood would be on his hands.

"Form up!" Hawkes barked, and the teams stacked into two column in front of the depressurization chamber. Hawkes flipped on his radio and switched to Drone Control.

"Elise, what are the unmanned drones seeing?"

"The freighter suffered catastrophic damages at the front where the cockpit lies. There's sealing foam covering most of the front, and there are dozens of holes over the exterior and nearly to the back of the ship that's filled with sealing foam. I've sighted two docking entrances, only the starboard side is unaffected."

"We'll be docking starboard, then. Any signs of forced entry or looting?"

"Negative, Captain. We're in seriously remote deepspace, so I wouldn't expect it."

"Catastrophes come when you least expect it. Comb it over one more time with the drones then report back."

"Copy, Captain."

Hawkes switched to the Command room, where Sammy was steering the ship.

"Prep us for docking, Sammy."

"Roger that, over."

Hawkes kept his radio on to wait for an ETA on docking, taking one final examination of the two teams in front of him. If there were signs of forced entry into the freighter, the Argonaut II's military garrison would be deployed first. In this case, however, Hawkes' primary goal was getting emergency aid and rescue to these poor souls. A year stuck in a crashed and floating freighter in the middle of nowhere was no doubt terrifying, and Hawkes didn't want them to feel a second more of that- especially if there was a traitorous captain onboard adding to the despair. He didn't want to consider the other possibility- that they were already dead. Even if it could be reversed, it was another obstacle to achieving the divine justice they deserved, that was given to mankind only 3 months prior.

"Elise here, drones found no external forced entry into the ship. You are greenlit."

"Copy, Elise, over."

"Sammy here, we will be docking, ETA 3 minutes."

Captain Hawkes tightened his gloves, unslinging the automatic energy rifle over his shoulders and into his hands, cranking the bolt intensity up a notch. If there was even one mutineer onboard, he wasn't taking chances.

"2 minutes to go."

Hawkes noted the air was filled with nervousness. No matter the experience, no matter the repetition; nobody was truly and fully prepared to enter an unknown stranded ship unfazed. Any number of things could lie on the other side.

"30 seconds left."

It was up to Hawkes to make sure this mission ended in complete victory.

"We are docking in 3... 2... 1..."

Rumble.

The ship quaked in momentary reverberation as its docking anchors latched onto the port of entry into the ship. The light to the airlock pulsed green as it confirmed docking was successful.

"Get moving!" He barked, and the EVA leader opened the airlock, walking in with the teams and Captain Hawkes. The airlock closed shut behind them. The depressurization chamber hissed loudly as pressure equalized between the Argonaut II and the Tulpar. Hawkes latched his helmet onto his spacesuit, readying his rifle.

The doors to the Tulpar, however, did not open. This was somewhat unexpected by Hawkes; dark matter reactors were infinite power sources, which meant that the Tulpar's reactors weren't maintained and shut down as a security measure to prevent over-stimulation and premature particle collision. That didn't bode well, and Hawkes was beginning to feel a sinking ache in his chest as he gave the next order.

"EVA, do your thing."

His EVA leader, Wally, shuffled forward alongside two others and began searing into the dense metal with their plasma cutters. The process took only a few minutes, and after finishing, Hawkes kicked in the cut-up doors. Chunks of metal crumbled to the ground, and Hawkes prepared for a large wave of suction if the inside of the ship was depressurized. To his surprise, it never came. The ship was pressurized, but out of power, which meant that the auxiliary batteries were still working.

Hawkes walked aboard with his crew, rifle raised as they scanned each part and parcel of the ship's interior.

"What the hell..." He muttered, seeing a host of destruction, dereliction, and blood scattered across the floor of the ship. On edge, Hawkes made his way towards the cafeteria- this was commonly where survivors tended to gather on stranded ships due inherently to its social atmosphere.

On top of the unease, Hawkes was also angered as he made his way through the tight corridors of busted pipes, broken machinery and leaking silos. Having been a captain for over 30 years now, Hawkes could tell by look and instinct alone what state a ship was in.

This one was nearing the verge of self-implosion. He quickly went for his radio.

"Search Teams, we won't have time for salvaging ops. This ship is in a bad state, and I don't trust the next hour. Find the survivors and any bodies, and evac A-S-A-P."

"Yes, sir!" "Roger, Captain!"

Satisfied, Hawkes continued down the winding corridors, and noticed a change in scenery as he rounded a corner-

"What the fuck?!"

(Music: "Temporary Suicide", by Kevin Penkin)

Hawkes felt nauseous as he moved in to clear the room, seeing a horrific display of insanity and gore in front of him. Three mummified dead bodies were sat the cafeteria table, frozen in place like a picture in time. Holding back his horror, Hawkes walked up to the table and inspected the plates in front of them.

"This is fucking sick." He mumbled, coming to the quick realization that there were sliced portions of leg meat adorned on the plates like cutlets. Without wasting a beat, Hawkes activated his radio.

"Hawkes here, get to the cafeteria. 3 confirmed dead. Get 'em to the Argonaut II and clean them up for the Revivifi- Revifiv- Rev- FUCK, The Rev-iv-if-ic-ation Ritual!"

"Copy, over."

Hawkes stared morbidly at the corpses of these three. A young woman, a young man, and a middle-aged man. What a horrible outcome. Momentarily, he inspected each of the corpses, attempting to figure out how they had died. His conclusion was sickening, and only left more questions than answers.

The middle-aged man, whose name tag read 'Swansea', had been shot in the chest and head. Hawkes knew only the Captain had access to a firearm on a freighter like this. 

The young woman, whose name tag read 'Anya', had overdosed on painkillers, every orifice on her face leaking blood. 

The young man, whose name tag read 'Daisuke', was axed in the face; Hawkes had glimpsed the bloody weapon sitting next to a makeshift bed as he had entered the room.

Sickening. Atrocious. Horror.

Hawkes had seen plenty of terrible, gruesome, and outright barbaric events in his life. But this was certainly up there. He could feel the despair in the environment, the utter hopelessness of this crude vessel. Just by looking around, Hawkes could glimpse the dystopian feel, the uncaring corporatist metal and sinew that only amplified their morbid horror at the developing situation.

This was a terrible death. And morbidly, that gave Hawkes hope. The more terrible the death- the more likely a revivification could occur. What a sick way of thinking, but it was the inevitable changing of the times. He got back on his radio.

"Elise, I need answers for what happened here. Rip open that surveillance station and get a drone to download the records, all the way back to a year ago, if possible."

"Shouldn't be a problem, Pony Express has shit vessel designs but they love to keep records of their employees."

Half the EVA Team and the entire Triage team clambered into the room, cleaning up the bodies and loading them into transparent body bags, before hauling them down the corridors to the Argonaut II.

"Hawkes, Wally here. We found the Cryo room, there's a confirmed KIA inside, gunshot wound to the head."

"Copy, Wally. I'm heading over."

It took a minute to get there, and all along the corridors Hawkes was getting more and more uneasy. They were gambling with their lives, for every second they remained on this freighter. It was in an obvious state of breaking down and he wanted to be nowhere near when it eventually imploded.

He arrived at the Cryo Pod room, only to find Wally using a plasma cutter to sear through. 

"Hey, Captain. The door lost power, so we're cutting in."

"Take it away."

Another searing finished, another door kicked in. The team made their way inside, and Hawkes walked up to the cryo pod.

"Holy shit."

Sitting inside the cryo pod was a frozen amputee, wrapped in bandages and covered in seared flesh. A single eye stared out from the cryo pod's window, its eyelid missing completely.

BWOOOM! BWOOOM! BWOOOOM!

The atmosphere changed from unease to alarm as the ship's emergency sirens went off suddenly.

"Warning. Equilibrium disruption in DMRC-3. Dark Matter implosion imminent. Evacuate via the departure pods. Evacuate via the departure pods-"

"Get him out NOW!" Hawkes ordered. "Throw the corpse over your shoulder and haul ass!"

The EVA Team scrambled to open the cryo pod's chamber. It hissed and opened upward, and the EVA Team loaded the amputee onto a stretcher and sprinted for the exit. Wally picked up the dead body and threw it over his shoulder, making exit the same way.

The remaining group onboard the ship ran with terror pumping through their veins. A Dark Matter implosion was an extremely rare event, and often resulted because of low-quality engineering of the safety mechanisms that deactivated reactors when they became unstable.

In essence, this event was very in-character for Pony Express- that shitty low-tier transportation company. Events like this were so uniquely rare that any company, corporation, agency or interest group whose name was on a ship that suffered a Dark Matter implosion event could kiss their companies, livelihoods, and lives goodbye. Regulations on Dark Matter reactors and maintenance, across every nation, were the most strict and scrutinized for this very reason.

"Elise, make sure you record that ship's activity on the far-range scanners when we're out of blast range. I want EVIDENCE!"

"Copy."

The last of the teams shuffled hurriedly into the airlock, watching as the door closed behind them. They practically stampeded into the Argonaut II as soon as its airlock hatch lifted up, and Hawkes fumbled for his radio.

"Sammy, disengage the port and get us the hell out of here!"

"Got it!"

A high-pitched whirling sound emitted through the room as the airlock clamps let go of the Tulpar airlock and retracted. The entire ship began to rumble as primary engines roared to life, accelerating the ship away from the Tulpar at increasing speeds.

"Sammy, we need to be a hundred million miles away before that thing detonates, charge up the FTL and HIT IT!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Hawkes felt existential chills run down his spine. He'd only heard this sound once before in his entire life. It was the sound of microparticles of dark matter getting ready to collide.

It would be annihilation of everything within a 93 million mile radius. This was why Dark Matter reactors were only authorized for private sector companies in exceptional circumstances, and why most non-military vessels used alternative forms of interstellar travel; such immensely powerful were so destructive if the failsafes didn't work, that the emergency contingency plans in place for reactors erupting near planets and stars all involved some form of total death for any crew onboard the ship. The firstmost plan enacted was to use Quantum Positioning technology to 'warp' the unstable ship to an empty area of the galaxy; The second was to obliterate the entire ship and destroy the reactors before particle collision. 

This ship didn't have a Quantum Positioning Relay, so the next plan was to EXFIL IMMEDIATELY!

"Sammy here, FTL drivers are spooling, ready for takeoff in 5... 4... 3..."

Hawkes pulled up an external camera from the back of the ship to check on the state of the Tulpar. His face paled as he witnessed the ship begin to fold in on itself like cardboard, as two giant orbs of pure light spun around each other with intensifying rapidity. The vibration emitting from the dark matter could be felt to the bone, and the entire ship was reverberating nonstop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!" Hawkes began to panic wildly, seeing the orbs nearing detonation.

"2... 1... Launching!"

BWWWWWWWWWWW-IP!

And just like that, they had entered FTL travel. The reverberation came to a sudden stop, and the crew surrounding Hawkes breathed a sigh of relief. Hawkes, meanwhile, was shaking violently with nothing but after-thought panic on his mind. He and Elise were likely the only ones who knew how close they had been to complete obliteration.

Taking several gulps to bring himself back to reality, Hawkes turned off his wrist holopad and stood up on shaky legs, attracting the room's attention.

"WELL DONE!"

The room erupted into raucous applause and cheers, with some people crying in relief. The mission was done, and nobody had died. That was a victory in his and everyone else's books.

"Where's the amputee?"

"Over here, sir!"

Hawkes walked over to the amputee, who was just beginning to come to his senses from the cryo-freeze aftereffects. His eye slowly moved around groggily, then slowly, gradually...

Clarity.

"Hggghhkkk.... Hgggkk! HGGGGKKK!!!! HGGGGGKKKK-AAAAAAA!!!!"

The amputee looked around in wild, frenetic shock and jolted his seared limbs in a frenzy. The agony, the pain, the terror, the despair, the memories- they all came flooding back into his mind.

Almost immediately, the triage team moved in to restrain and treat the slowly bleeding leg stump that had clearly suffered amputation. Hawkes immediately connected, in his mind, the severed leg limb to the scene he had witnessed at the cafeteria.

"What the fuck is going on here... Kai, get him some anesthetics and haul him to the Operating Room!"

"Yes, sir!"

As they carried him away, Hawkes' eyes, tired but observant, scanned over the corpse of the fourth dead crew member. He flipped him over to read his name tag:

Jimmy

"We'll find out what happened." Hawkes muttered with a grimace across his face. "We'll find out who's responsible. And we'll right wrongs. But more than anything..."

He leaned down to inspect the corpse, picking it up roughly by the chin and turning his head to the side to observe.

Gunshot wound to the head. Self-inflicted. A suicide.

Guilt.

"...We're going to get justice for the victims."

(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

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(Portrait of Captain Hawkes)

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Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, did you just tell me that we have to wait TWO DAYS to download all the records?!"

Captain Hawkes was outraged after Elise broke the bad news, and groaned in frustration, flailing his hands around while cussing under his breath. It was well-known amongst the crew that, while Hawkes was calm under fire, he had a quick-tempered response to bad news quite often, outside of life-threatening situations.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you know I already told you that we needed to put in the request to CentCom for updated operating systems and hardware."

In-person, Elise's vague French accent could be heard more concisely. Even hundreds of years later, there were still communities and families that retained accents and lingo which survived over the centuries. As fascinating as the phenomena was, Hawkes instead used it as an outlet for his anger to parody her quite mockingly.

"Oui oui, I 'ave alhready tuld yuu dat we need ze croissants- OW!"

Highly offended, Elise delivered a sharp kick to his shin, causing him to crumble to the ground, gripping it in minor agony. He sucked in through his teeth to cope with the pain, and it was quite an amusing sight to Elise.

"As I said, you had the chance to update our OS when you sent in that request. I put the damn letter right on your desk the day you were planning to submit it."

Hawkes sighed as he staggered back up onto his feet.

"It's not that simple, Baguette Queen- OWWW, FUCK!"

Another sharp kick, this time to the other shin. Hawkes was rendered utterly incapacitated and groaned on the floor in regret.

"How is it not simple?!" Elise decried him. "Seems quite simple to me! 'Dear CuntCom, please update our Operating Systems so we don't get our shit hacked by enemy drones and have all our airlocks opened remotely.' See? Only one sentence."

Hawkes got up again and dusted himself off, huffing tiredly.

"It's not simple because I can't ask for every possible upgrade that they can offer. All of Canaris' dockyards are too busy building military carriers for an excursion into the Kalis Sector, and it takes time and rare resources to rearm and upgrade this vessel. The only reason I got that request approved was because a dockyard happened to free up space after finishing an Artemis-class battle cruiser."

"We don't need a dockyard to update the goddamn OS!"

Hawkes' demeanor switched up for a moment, and his eyes intensified with an unsettling energy.

"Elise. You know better than to say that word."

Elise was about to rebuttal, but reality set in quickly. She quieted down. 

"...Sorry. It's only been 2 months. I'm not used to it yet."

"I wouldn't be chastising you if the consequences weren't so real."

Elise nodded, gulping nervously. Hawkes took the cigar box out of his coat pocket, opened it up, and handed one to Elise. She took it gingerly, along with his offered lighter. He clapped the box back shut, stuffed it in his pocket, and began to exit the Drone Control center.

"Don't you need your-"

"Lighter? I got another, don't worry 'bout it."

The door shut behind him, and Elise grinned, lighting the cigar up.

"Such an asshole, heh."

She coughed profusely from the inhalation of the cigar; it'd been a while since she'd smoked one of these.

"Fuck me, this is powerful."

Hawkes made his way through the spacious corridors of the Argonaut II, greeting jubilant subordinates as he passed them by. After consoling one of the younger EVA team members who was terrified of the event they just went through, he flipped his radio to Medical.

"Faulkner, how's that bastard looking?"

"Curly is nearly recovered. We had to amputate his limbs and recycle them through the cloning conduit to produce fresh limbs, but we managed to get them affixed back on. The burnt flesh was a hassle, it was seared down to the bone. I feel terrible for this poor fellow, that must have been agonizing. Luckily, we managed to graft the flesh off and had the microbots layer on the muscle, sinew and skin. His right eye was incinerated, so we replaced it with a carbon copy. He had no hands nor feet, but we pulled up his government records and cloned some hands and feet that were estimated based off those files. The internal organs, vocal chords, hair follicles, and skull are still undergoing reformation, but this fellow is stable for now, and we should have him fixed up within four hours or so."

"Sounds good, Faulkner. Keep me updated."

"Of course. I'll be getting back to it."

Hawkes turned off his radio receiver and stood for a moment, tapping his heel in thought. He couldn't watch the recordings anytime soon, and Curly was still undergoing surgery so he couldn't be interrogated yet.

There were the bodies...

He turned his radio back on and changed the channel to Divinity.

"Jazz, you there?"

"Da."

"Jazz, stop speaking a dead language."

"Shut up. What do you want?"

"Are preparations for the Revivification ready?"

"Five hours. The disciples still have to perform the Rite of Solace, the Holy Eucharist, the Incense Ceremony, and-"

"Okay, okay, I got it. Damn it."

"Did you just curse over the phone into a holy place?"

"What are you talking about? Cursing over the phone doesn't count! I'm not even in the room!"

"Your curse echoed all throughout the Divine Chamber. Every disciple heard you, they are very disappointed in their Captain right now."

"Uh huh. Alright, well, we're going to be bringing Curly in to observe, so work around that however you need to."

"Da."

"I don't know what that means."

"Sounds like a 'you' problem."

Hawkes shook his head as he turned off his radio once more. He thought of anything else that might need doing, but soon realized he had some free time at the moment. For a mere minute, he thought deeply about what people who died horrible deaths might want first if they were revived.

If it were him, plenty of alcohol and a king's feast would be great. Maybe a nice view of outer space to pair with it. 

On the radio turns, again. Hawkes was beginning to wonder if he had a compulsion disorder. He turned the station to Engineering.

"Ali, this is Hawkes."

"Hawkes! What's up homie! The crew's celebrating in the terrarium! Come on down from the bridge, man!"

"I'm not at the bridge. Did the crew celebrating get on switch-shift?"

"Of course, I'm a party animal, not an idiot, Hawkes."

"I fail to discern the difference."

"Man, get down here and take a shot before I come up there and kick your ass!"

"Uh huh. Are they on switch-shift or not?"

"Such a party pooper. Yeah, I made sure they switch out with the reserve garrison every hour."

"Ali, if they're drunk and operating the ship, we're gonna get Tulpar'ed. Take them off switch-shift and let the reserve garrison run the ship for the night."

"You're such an asshole."

"Oh, one last thing."

"Yeah, Cap?"

"Delay those celebrations for a bit longer. I want the Resurrected to be included. Sober up and prepare a big feast, mixed drinks, and liquor. Lots of liquor."

"..."

"Ali? You there?"

"I take back what I said."

"What?"

"About you being an asshole."

"Cool story, didn't ask."

"I un-take it back."

Off the radio went. Hawkes continued to think of what else the crew might want once they came back. Judging from the gruesome murder scene he'd witnessed, it would likely be much better to initially separate them so they could adjust to the environment without any potential mental triggers.

What else... what else... Hawkes thought in deep contemplation.

"Hey, Hawkes!"

"Shut up Oliver, I'm thinking, for fuck's sake!"

"...Damn, okay... at least you remembered my name!"

An idea suddenly sprung into Hawkes' head.

"Remember..." He muttered. "Oh, that's it! I'll get in contact with their families. They need to know now. It would be criminal to delay the news."

He was about to sprint for the Comms Center, but stopped in his tracks early. Was this premature? The Ritual hadn't even been performed yet. If he went to the families and told them of their recovery, but one of them didn't resurrect, it would break their hearts a second time over.

No. Better to stay the news and wait to see what resulted from the Ritual.

There was nothing else Hawkes could think to do for those who'd be coming back. He decided to head to the bridge, and review the files on each of the crew members. This way, he could get a better read on who might be the culprit behind the Tulpar's crash.

"Captain. The patient is fully reformed. He is still unconscious but the anesthetics will wear off in a few minutes. We've seated him in the Interrogation chamber, cuffed to the table."

"Copy. I'm heading there now."

Hawkes threw the files he was reading to the ground and practically bolted for the transport tube. His curiosity about the Tulpar's demise had been eating away at him for the last few hours, and he was ready to rough this bastard up to get the confession. How dare this piece of shit sacrifice his crew for whatever selfish motives he had!

This was Captain Hawkes' first ever Resurrection Ritual onboard the Argonaut II. He'd had the Divinity Chamber installed only days after the Era of Divinity began, and he was euphoric.

He, and every other human to exist, had been given a purpose on that day. The power to resurrect those who were unjustly wronged, and those who were guilty of the crimes, was nothing other than a message from God, and the Divine that looked over Heaven and Earth. If you had told Hawkes he would be a devout believer in God three months ago, he would have spit in your face and left laughing contemptibly.

But there was no clearer message than this. The ability to bring back the dead. It changed human society forever. And Hawkes had been at the very inception of this Holy Renewal. There wasn't a single word on Earth that could possibly describe how utterly enlightening it was to know- to know... that God existed, and had given humanity the opportunity to build a true utopia.

Hawkes had spent his entire life killing people. Now he was going to spend it saving lives, for the grace and the glory of God Almighty.

| AND HE WOULD PUNISH THE SINNERS FOR THEIR DISGUSTING GREED OF SELF! |

He cranked the radio on with a pressing rage pulsating through him. 

Bastard. Scum. Wretch. Traitor. Mutineer.

I'm going to make him suffer for those he hurt the most.

He switched the channel to Garrison.

"Caz."

"Captain."

"Get 2 soldiers, yourself and 2nd Lieutenant Ramirez to Interrogation."

"Roger."

Radio off. Hawkes tapped his foot impatiently, growing angrier at the slow pace of the transport tube.

"Come on. Come on. COME ON!"

Ding.

Hawkes stormed out of the tube and marched towards the Interrogation Chamber, flanked on the left by two garrison officers, and Caz and Ramirez on his right. Hawkes came up to the door and swiped his keycard.

Psssssssssssssssh.

The door slid open, revealing a fully-reformed Curly, slumped in the chair with his hands cuffed to the edge of the table. Hawkes thought first about slamming the table to wake him up, but quickly realized that startling awake someone who'd been through absolute hell was probably not the wisest idea. Even if he utterly loathed him, he needed information first and foremost.

Instead, Hawkes quietly scooted the opposing seat out, sat down, and scooched in quietly. He gently laid his arms across the table, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for Curly to wake.

...

...

...

"Caz, uncuff him."

Caz titled his head in confusion as Hawkes gave him the order.

"Sorry, Captain?"

"Uncuff him. The last thing he remembers is being a burnt, amputated husk for eight months. I'd rather he not damage himself again with the cuffs once he comes to. We need him coherent and well-adjusted to gather information."

"And if he attacks us?"

Hawkes turned to face Caz for a moment, saying nothing. He merely stared at him for a moment, his eyes conveying a very clear message:

Do as ordered.

Caz nodded, moving to uncuff the blonde man. As mercurial as the Captain was, everyone onboard followed his orders. He didn't make it for three decades as a decorated war hero because of insubordination. Everyone knew it, no one needed to speak it.

Caz gently removed the cuffs from the man's hands and clipped them onto his utility belt, standing back in formation.

And then they waited.

...

...

...

"Urgh...."

Hawkes noticed Curly begin to stir awake, barely cogent. His eyelids fluttered excessively, as if trying to function for the first time in a long time. Slowly, groggily, Curly raised his head and stared around the room with hazy irises. He seemed as if he were drugged, even though the anesthetics had already worn off.

"Hgh.... Wh... Hhh..."

"Curly." Hawkes spoke with arms crossed. "Curly, you hearing me?"

Curly still seemed out of it. His eyes were entirely unfocused, as if he was in shell-shock. Hawkes took a moment to deliberate, then leaned across the table and slapped Curly across the face, much to the shock of the Garrison behind him.

"Captain?!"

"Quiet."

Curly jolted backwards, his eyes clearing up and an audible yelp emitting from his throat. It was then that his eyes scanned the room once more, and widened in further alarm. He began to shake violently, and looked to his hands first.

"What... what... wh... What...?"

His shaking continued, and his eyes darted in every direction imaginable.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

He suddenly collapsed to the ground, screaming and clawing at his skin in pure agony. The officers moved to restrain him, with Ramirez looking fearfully at Hawkes, whose face carried a loathsome grimace.

"Captain, what's happening?!"

"Phantom pains. The brain needs time to comprehend changes, and going from a charred husk to a fully-reformed body is something the brain doesn't yet understand. So it's projecting what it last remembered onto his mind."

"GHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Ramirez was utterly disturbed and placed on the verge of tears from seeing this man writhe in such pain; the guttural screams from his newly-made throat only magnified the impossible depths of agony he could convey. No human being could withstand this kind of projected agony unfazed.

Within minutes, the screaming died down to a loud sobbing, and minutes after that it died down to a heaving whimpering. The ordeal was so horrifying to watch that everyone in the room except Hawkes had to stand outside until he'd stopped.

Hawkes kneeled next to the shivering Curly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Based on his personal observations, Hawkes had plenty of reason to believe Curly to be the culprit. However, matching that up with Curly's government records, there were some glaring issues.

Curly was, by all accounts, an exceptional captain. He had spotless decades-long employment with Pony Express, had nothing except positive recommendations and reviews from employees, employers, acquaintances and business partners. His mental evaluations were green flags across the board.

So where was the motive? Why would he crash a ship, doom his crew, and ruin his retirement prospects and life? Something wasn't adding up.

"Hhhh.... Hhhh...."

"Let's get you up, Curly." Hawkes said, hoisting Curly by the armpits and back onto the chair. Curly sat, eyes puffy and swollen from incessant crying, drooling from his mouth, and completely spaced out. Hawkes sat across from him, interlacing his fingers and thinking of what to say next.

...

...

...

"Am I dead?"

Hawkes didn't expect the question, but answered gracefully.

"No. You were reformed."

"...Wha?"

"Reformed. You backwater- ahem. Reformation is a process that Canaris invented. It involves the aggregate repair, cloning, and transplanting of your body back to what we could last find on your government records. We essentially used a full-body picture from your archives to reconstruct you. Since the Terror, we haven't been able to export this procedure to other systems, but we are the original creators, so we are naturally the masters at it. That's probably why you've never heard of it. Our system, in particular, is cut off in terms of trade with the other nations except for communications, because we are the furthest system from Terra. And.. to be frank, we're not going to share information about our technology until we get the patent. And we can't get the patent because all the fucking bureaucrats were on Terra, so-... anyways, that's the explanation for your body. I know it's probably morbid to experience, but the good news is it's free of cost for you!"

Curly's eyes glanced over his body, raising shaky hands to stare at them. He seemed transfixed on himself, as if admiring a long-lost physical yearning.

"...Is this real?"

"Yeah, real as shit and sex."

Curly chuckled loudly at the old phrase popularized by freighter captains. He seemed shocked to hear himself laugh- and did it again. And again. And again. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed until he couldn't and coughed. With each passing moment, Hawkes felt a sense of guilt and sorrow intensify. He was beginning to doubt Curly was the one responsible for this catastrophe.

"Curly-"

"Do you mind if I sing?"

"...Heh?"

"There was a song... I'd heard when I was little. It stuck with me. My whole life."

And suddenly, Curly began to sing the lyrics from a song Hawkes wasn't aware of.

"That's life! That's what all the people say! You're riding high in April, shot down in May! But I know Iiiiii'm gonna chaaaaange that tuuuune! When I'm back on top, back on top in June! I said That's Life!"

Hawkes sighed and sat back in his chair, listening to Curly sing his heart out. He couldn't imagine what it was like to regain your body after so long, but he could certainly expect this to be a natural response- gratitude to the universe.

And so, he sat back, and listened to him for minutes on end, letting the man belt out every verse he could think of. No matter what he thought of Curly,

He wasn't one to ruin a person's celebration of life.

Curly had finally finished enjoying his renewed body, and sat down to stare intensely at Hawkes. 

"Are... you done?" Hawkes asked tentatively.

"I still don't believe this is real. I'm terrified I'm going to wake up from this dream, back on that medical bed. I don't want that. I really don't want that. Please."

Hawkes sighed again as he raised his hands to assuage Curly.

"Well, I know what grounds me when I'm feeling down." Hawkes said with a slick smile, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out another cigar-

"Shit." He muttered, realizing this was his second to last cigar. He only had three cigar boxes left in his quarters. That would mean he'd need to limit his cigar use to... once a day...

Hawkes withheld the urge to cry. Everyone was making sacrifices, here. Especially him.

"Do you... want... a... cigar...?" Hawkes said quite reluctantly through grit teeth, offering it to Curly. 

Curly stared at the cigar for a long moment, before eventually taking it into his hands, rolling it around in his fingers.

"I can't even remember the taste." He mumbled. Tears streamed down his face, and he began to sob silently. "What is happening? How am I alive? How? Why? Why...? I don't deserve this... I don't deserve it... I don't..."

His sobbing turned to wailing, and by this point Hawkes could tell he was grieving. He stayed silent, but it was somewhat awkward to try and comfort someone who 1. he suspected was the culprit, and 2. was going to find out soon that his crewmates would likely return. Now that hindsight was 20/20, Hawkes realized that breaking this news was going to cause a lot more trauma.

Oh, well!

"Alright, alright, you got your tears out?" Hawkes said rather brutishly. "Now, Curly, we did a courtesy for you by using resources to bring you back. It's a costly and rigorous procedure, and we need the favor returned- Oh, for f-"

Hawkes stopped speaking as Curly got up from his chair, shuffled over to him, and kneeled on the floor, bowing his head to the ground as he sobbed.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. You freed me from hell. You freed me. You saved me. You saved me from that suffering. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't... I just wanted to die. Thank you. I can't find the words to thank you."

"Now now, let's save the thanks for after interrogation. Let's just skip to the chase, Curly. Who crashed the Tulpar?"

(Music: "i sacrifice", by Ayparia)

Curly's shaking came to a sudden stop, and Hawkes felt his danger instincts go off. He quickly backed out of his chair and unholstered his handgun, readying himself. Curly raised his head from the ground, and-

Woah.

In Curly's eyes was the bloodcurdling visage of a tortured man given life anew; his memories cursed him with a bottomless rage that scoured his body like electricity. His breath quickened, his arms bulging with veins, throat clogged with unrequited fury, ears ringing with savage vengeance, fingers digging blood out of his palms.

A vengeful spirit manifested.

"W-H-E-R-E I-S H-EEEEEEEEEEEEEE?!"

Curly roared the demand throughout the Interrogation Room, and immediately the other officers stormed in to restrain him. In a shocking display of adrenaline, Curly managed to shove an officer clean across the table, threw another against the back wall, and tackled Ramirez through the doorway out into the hall before he was tased and handcuffed by Caz. The other officers groaned as they got up from the floor, and were promptly scolded by Caz, who'd placed a dazed Curly in Ramirez's custody.

Hawkes, during the whole ordeal, was utterly frustrated. He only had 30 minutes left before the Revivification started, and he needed Curly coherent, sane and cooperative enough to answer his questions. If he suspected Curly could be taken off the culprit list, he would bring him to the Chamber to see his crewmates brought back. Hawkes wanted to reduce the mental burden of guilt from as many innocent people as possible.

"Curly..." Hawkes leaned down to place his hand gently on Curly's shoulder, even as he thrashed around in relentless apoplexy. "Curly, who crashed the ship? Was it you?"

"J-I-M-M-Y!!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?! YOU WORTHLESS FUCKING SCUM, INHUMAN PSYCHOPATH! I WILL TEAR YOUR FUCKING GUTS OUT OF YOUR STOMACH AND EAT IT!!!! JIMMMYYYYY!!!!!!"

"Welp, that answered my question." Hawkes concluded. "Caz, hit him with the Kyloxoprofil."

"Captain, it's called Isodihidroxine."

"Iso-kylo-tomato-tomato-potato, can you fucking DOSE HIM PLEASE?"

Caz injected the anesthetic into Curly's neck, and his rantings quickly died down into unconsciousness. Hawkes rubbed his neck, cracking it a few times, then cracked his knuckles against his palms. Now everything was coming together.

Hawkes' current hypothesis, missing information: Jimmy crashed the ship. His mental evaluations based on government records were subpar and sparse. The motive is unknown. Considering that Curly had recommended Jimmy for the freighter, it was likely they were long-time friends. This would explain why Jimmy had access to the cockpit- Curly had mistakenly trusted him with the duty for some reason, and Jimmy ultimately overrode the autopilot and tanked the ship.

The only major question that remained was why? Was Jimmy so mentally unwell that he wanted to die? Or was he covering something up? Who shot Swansea, and why so late into the time of being stranded? What caused Anya to overdose, after months of desperate survival? Did Daisuke get axed as a mercy-kill, or to make sure he didn't speak about something he saw?

Questions, questions, questions. The only thing Hawkes could be sure of was who to attempt to resurrect first.

"The Revivification Ritual is ready, Captain."

Hawkes sneered, radioing in.

"Start with Swansea."

(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

-

-

-

-

-

(Curly - Post Revival)

-

Chapter Text

(Music: "Gjeilo: Sanctus (London)", by Tenebrae)

The entire crew was gathered in the Divinity Chamber. It had to be rather spacious to account for the 500-something odd crewmates, but it was entirely necessary for the Ritual. Every crewmate was kneeling in a full circle around a raised altar, where the body of Swansea, clothed in white robes, was gently laid upon the platform. 

Disciples walked slowly up and down the small bridges that connected the platform to the outer ring, ritualistically spreading incense across the room. A large retinue of the crew was surprisingly skilled at singing, and were chosen as the choir for this Ritual. They sang in Latin, having fanatically practiced the verses for the last 10 months.

Every crewmate was donned in clergy robewear- pure white silk robes draped over the body like white doves. Even Hawkes was not exempt from this dress code- nor Curly, who was staring uncomprehending at the Ritual taking place.

"Wuh the fuck is happening..." Curly muttered under his breath, completely disconnected from the atmosphere. Hawkes leaned over and lightly smacked the back of his head.

"Don't swear while we're in the Divinity Chamber. Clasp your hands together and pray for the revival of Swansea."

"...Wha...revival...? What..."

Hawkes groaned in frustration, trying to focus on prayer.

"Do I need to explain this for a fourth time?" Hawkes muttered in irritation. "Two months ago, the Era of Divinity began when a boy in Janma City was resurrected after his mother prayed over his body for hours on end. This event was recorded on city cameras, which led to people across the galaxy attempting to replicate it. It became a widespread phenomena, so the various nations sent out their scientists to study it. After several days, we discovered that revivification (as they called it) was an achievable outcome for most deaths that occur in the world, barring natural causes."

"However, revivification was, at the time we discovered it, a fairly, let's say, spotty chance of occurring more than once in the same year. That is, until we began incorporating more (generic) religious practices into our attempts of revivif- revifivi- re... I hate this word so much. Basically, the chance of resurrection is far greater the more religious rites, passages and practices we incorporate into the Ritual, as it has been termed. And it just so happens that we have the most historical records on this 'Christianity' one. Do you get it now? Haven't I made it simple?"

Curly could only stare unwittingly at me, then back at the Ritual site.

"What... who is that? What are they doing?"

Hawkes signed in resignation. Maybe it was better to stick to one word answers.

"It's Swansea."

"Swansea... that's... that's him?"

"Yeah."

"...."

He fell silent, but Hawkes could see tears emerge in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Swansea. I'm so fucking sorry!"

"I told you not to- ah, whatever..."

There were certain rules to be adhered to in the Divinity Chamber; but Hawkes couldn't find it in himself to chastise this broken man. This was a depressing sight, overall.

Staring back at the Ritual site, Hawkes still couldn't comprehend how this had come into reality. He was eternally grateful that this had become reality for him, but he couldn't wrap his head around it. Was God partial to any religion? Did He revive people who prayed in other religious formats at greater or lesser varying rates? Religion, as a whole, had largely died out during the 2170s after the Terror's incursion, but Christianity was one of the many religions that still possessed historical records of its origins. People had flocked to it after the Era of Divinity began.

It was so surreal...

The choir quieted for a moment, as the Arch Cardinal Jezarit (Jazz) stepped unto the platform, carrying a communion wafer and cup of wine. He began a short speech.

"We are gathered here, this day, to celebrate the return of life to a good man, husband, father and devoted laborer of engineering. Swansea Harold was an enigmatic figure who'd come from a rough upbringing and a rougher young adulthood. He turned his life around at the age of 28 to marry a beautiful wife who would go on to bear two children of his own. He was employed with Pony Express and spent a good portion of his adulthood working diligently in his role as the Chief Engineer of the Tulpar. He died a terrible death within the Tulpar, shot twice and desecrated."

The Arch Cardinal placed the wafer in Swansea's mouth, then poured a sizable amount of wine over the wafer, watching it cascade under the parted lips and down his throat. Jezarit then placed the goblet aside and knelt on his knees, clasping his hands together in prayer.

"Lord God Almighty, we humbly ask that this suffering soul be brought back from the Limbo Between Worlds, that his wondrous spirit be returned to his body and made anew, so that he may rejoice the love and mercy that The Lord shows us with his divine power."

He raised his hands as high as he could into the air, and chanted once.

"Lord God Almighty, only say the word and our souls shall be healed!"

"Lord God Almighty, only say the word and our souls shall be healed!"

The crew chanted in tandem with the preacher, and Curly looked around in utter disbelief; a cracked mind which couldn't make sense of anything.

"Lord God Almighty, ruler of Heaven and Earth, Father of Christ and man, King of Kings! O Lord, we pray for the resurrection of our brother in Christ, Our Lord, so that he may be cleansed of sin and made whole!"

"Amen!"

"Lord God Almighty, let us bear witness to the resurrection of our brother in Christ, Our Lord, Amen!"

"AMEN!"

Hawkes continued to chant with his eyes closed, but he wasn't sure if there was supposed to be a feeling of divinity coursing through him or not. He'd never done this before, so he had no idea of what expectation to have. As surreal as this was, the one thing he wanted to do was bring these people back.

"Please, God..." Hawkes pled under his breath. "I pray for his return."

Seeing Hawkes pray so fervently along with everyone else, Curly was sure he'd lost his sanity. What was going on? They were praying for Swansea's resurrection? This must be a cult, he thought. Surely, I have been abducted by a cult.

And yet, when he peered at the altar, seeing Swansea's body laid out over the altar, Curly couldn't help but break down sobbing. He knew he was responsible for what happened. He knew. It hurt too much for him to not know.

He wanted to turn back time. He wanted to redeem himself for his sheer stupidity and ignorance. That he could be so blind to the demon he called his 'friend'. That he turned a blind eye to Anya's rape. That he doomed his crew because of one bad choice.

"Please... please... let me see them again... just one last time... just for one more minute... Please, God, let me see them..." Curly sobbed, clenching his fists in total frustration at himself.

---------------------!

Without skipping a beat, an otherworldly feeling coursed through every human in that room. Their eyes shot open, and they bore witness to the most ethereal event they'd ever seen in their lives.

Swansea's body began to rapidly reconstruct itself, as if time were rapidly reversing in a small halo around his body. His gunshot wounds dissipated; mummified skin turned to smooth, pink flesh; bereft eyes laden with moisture and clarity; bruises and welts evaporating entirely.

A man was being reborn, right before everyone's eyes.

And just as quickly as it had come about...

It left.

...

...

...

Swansea shot up from the altar, gazing around frantically.

"What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Swansea was beside himself, cursing and screaming in terror as he fell off the altar, stumbled onto his feet and tried running away from the procession.

"WHERE AM I? WHAT? WHAT?! WHAT?!"

Hawkes was beyond words. He could hardly describe the feeling of seeing someone long-dead suddenly jump back to life. Holy shit. Holy shit.

God was real. God was... real. Resurrection was real. He had just witnessed a dead man come back to LIFE!

But whatever complex emotions Hawkes was feeling in that moment, was absolute dust compared to the mental shock Curly was going through.

He had just watched Swansea get up and start moving around. He had just watched someone he'd seen die, get up. He had... failed to comprehend what his lying eyes were showing him.

He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He couldn't hear. He couldn't breathe. He was in abject horror that, if even for a half-second, he tried any of those things, he would lose the illusion of seeing Swansea alive again.

"This is just... amazing." Hawkes muttered with incredulity, beginning to tear up. "Curly, I told y- What the hell? Stop that, Curly, you idiot!"

Curly's face had turned blue from holding his breath for so long, so Hawkes punched him in the gut to bring him back to reality. Curly gasped for air, a bit of sanity restored from the pain.

"I..." Curly whispered, inconsolable by every measure. "I...."

"Alright, don't lose your shit again, bud." Hawkes said, tapping him on the shoulder. I need to go question Swansea for a minute, so start praying again, because Daisuke's up next."

"H-Huh...?"

Hawkes, who was completely tone-deaf to social environments, left a mentally-shattered Curly kneeling by himself, forced to try and comprehend the series of events that had just occurred.

"GET YOUR FUCKIN' HANDS OFF ME, SHITHEADS! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!"

"Swansea! I know you're a bit addled right now, but I- GRK!"

Swansea had wrestled out of the officers' hold on him and delivered a solid right hook to Hawkes' face, sending him careening to the floor. Swansea attempted to book it for the nearest exit but was promptly tackled and restrained by nearby officers. He continued to curse out his captors and shout incessantly in confusion and shock.

Hawkes got up from the floor, groaning in pain. 

"That son of a bitch has a mean swing on him." Hawkes said in admiration. "Get him to Interrogation ASAP!"

Swansea was roughly sat down in the chair and his hands were cuffed to the table. He resisted heavily against it at first, but over time his fury died down, and he was left glaring at Hawkes from across the table.

"Thanks for being so cooperative with us today, Mister Swansea!"

"EAT ME, FUCKNUGGET!" Swansea shouted back in a fit of desperation and madness.

"Uh huh. So, you're probably wondering how you got here-"

"Where the fuck am I? Where's Daisuke? Where's Anya?! Where's Curly?!?!"

His eyes suddenly glazed over, and an even more powerful rage possessed him.

"WHERE'S JIMMY?! WHERE'S THAT SELFISH PIECE OF SMEARED SHIT?!"

"Jimmy seems to be a popular guy amongst your crew. Would you like to know what is going on, or would you rather keep throwing fits?"

Swansea, though addled by so many different emotions and experiences at the moment, heard clearly the words of Hawkes. Grumbling threats and curses, he sat down begrudgingly at the table.

"Thank you. So. You've been resurrected."

"What the fuck are you rambling about?"

"Let me finish, okay? I'll give you a short synopsis."

Swansea stayed silent, electing instead to glare daggers at Hawkes.

"So," Hawkes started. "I'll just stick to chronology. Your ship crashed a year ago, on January 24th. Luckily for you and the crew of Tulpar, "Last Human-Manned Freighter for Pony Express Stranded in Remote Deepspace" was a very compelling headline. Your story gained intragalactic fame, and eventually our home nation, Canaris, who was the most closely-located to the crash site, volunteered to send out a vessel to retrieve the freighter and its crew. Eight months into the travel, we had deduced that the chances of your crew surviving after so long, what with the dwindling resources you had, that you would starve to death before we reached you."

Hawkes raised his hands sheepishly.

"Being as frank as possible, we were about to ditch you lot and head back home. Then..."

Hawkes did finger guns at Swansea, making the 'pew-pew' sounds as he did so. Swansea was entirely unamused.

"...In comes the Era of Divinity. To make a long story short, humanity discovered resurrection, and found out not only the existence of souls, but of God as well. We've been given the opportunity to bring back people who were wronged in life, back to life. The same goes for the guilty. The exact parameters would take a long time to explain, so that's the short-form summary."

Hawkes politely placed his hands on the table, signaling he was finished talking. Swansea stared at him for quite a while, and Hawkes was beginning to wonder if his brain was functioning.

"That's your explanation?" Swansea mumbled derisively.

"Yep. That's the history." Hawkes replied, almost sardonically. He was well aware it was a bizarre concept to wrap one's mind around, so he didn't necessarily want to be mean-spirited to someone who had gone through so much-

"You're a fuckin' idiot." Swansea replied in contempt.

"I beg your pardon?" Hawkes inquired as he leaned in performatively.

"I said you're a goddamn fuckin' idiot."

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain, please."

Swansea cupped one hand over his face, staring at the metal table in between his fingers.

"What the fuck? Was all that just a fuckin' nightmare? Was I hallucinating? I don't understand anything. It had to be an acid trip. Or a nightmare. Yeah. That's it."

"Don't try to overthink there, buddy." Hawkes replied mischievously.

"Shut the fuck up." Swansea replied, still holding that contempt in his voice. "You're not gonna indoctrinate me into your shitty cult based off a bad acid trip."

"From the looks of you, it seems like you need some discipline in your life, Swansea."

"That's rich, coming from the most pompous-looking prick I've ever glimpsed in my life. Do the fancy pauldrons make your dick feel bigger?"

"The only measurement contest you'd win would be waist size."

"You wanna talk athleticism, yet I clocked you earlier. I guess all that fitness doesn't increase your reaction time, does it?"

Hawkes cracked a grin. He liked this guy.

"Well..." He said, getting up from his chair and scooting it in most gracefully. "I suppose I don't have to convince you. I'll just head over to the Divinity Chamber to see Daisuke return-"

"DAISUKE?!" Swansea shouted in alarm. Hawkes turned his head, revealing a smirk.

"If you can tone down the cursing and sarcasm, accompany me to the Divinity Chamber. You'll get all the proof you need. But you'll have to pray with everything you have."

As Swansea entered the Divinity Chamber with Hawkes, he immediately spotted Curly, and didn't comprehend it; he was so used to seeing Curly as a charred amputee, the sight of Curly simply did not compute in his head.

Curly, on the other hand, could only whimper and shiver in discomfort as he watched a living, breathing Swansea walk past him. His mind was still recovering from the agony of his former state, and now he had to grapple with the reality of resurrection.

It would take him a while to begin recovering mentally.

"So?" Swansea posed a question to Hawkes. "What the fuck were you talking about-"

"Please stop cursing when you enter this room."

Swansea was initially annoyed by Hawkes' rigid demand, but his cunning and curious nature diverted his response to a question.

"Why?"

Hawkes turned his head, his eyes searching Swansea's own.

"Because," Hawkes stated. "I'm gonna be quite plain with you. Cursing and sinning in a Holy Sanctuary can, quite literally, result in misfortune."

"Wh... What does that mean?"

"It means exactly as its said. If you want some personal examples, when were first constructing this chamber, one of our construction workers was smoking a cigarette and cursing like a sailor near some scaffolding. One of the support beams collapsed, and an activated plasma cutter fell down and cleaved through his lower arm. Five days after that, a maintenance engineer was boinking a female from Medical in this chamber, and within minutes an electrical wire snapped and electrocuted the f-... mess... out of them. Wasn't fatal, but they lost feeling in their -get this- sanitary areas, hehehahaha!"

Swansea did not share the same giddiness that Hawkes did, and instead stared at him like he was demented.

"You're fu-... you're sick in the head."

Hawkes sighed. "Give me a break, man. The last two months have changed my whole world. Same for everyone else. Anyways..."

He pointed to the altar, where Daisuke in blue robes was being laid upon. The crew was taking a quick break off their knees due to the aching, but the disciples continued their incense ceremony.

"Daisuke is up next for resurrection. Would you like to-"

"Daisuke... Daisuke! DAISUKE!!!"

Swansea was about to rush toward the altar, but Hawkes rigorously grabbed his shoulder and threw him to the ground. Swansea tumbled, getting back up on his feet in a rage.

"DO YOU WANT YOUR ASS WHOOPED?!"

"Listen!" Hawkes urged him. "You don't believe me and my supposed horsesh-...crap story about resurrection? All I'm asking is that you wait just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, Swansea. That's literally all I'm asking. Kneel, pray for Daisuke's resurrection, and just keep praying. Okay?"

Swansea seemed as if he were on the edge of throwing another punch at Hawkes' face. The veins in his neck and forehead were bulging in rage.

"I swear, on everything I am..." Swansea muttered maliciously. "If you're playing me for a fool... I'm going to murder you, right here and now."

"Well, I mean, there is a small chance that-.... alright, fine."

Swansea knelt in grumbling fury, though Hawkes noticed that he tried to avoid cursing as much as possible. He himself seemed almost as uncomprehending of the situation as much as Curly; who was still sitting in the corner of the room, staring at the floor without moving a muscle.

Swansea stared with a great depression and shell-shock at the body of Daisuke; as if horrified at himself. Hawkes became curious. Was Swansea the one who killed Daisuke? Based on Swansea's reaction to the name, Hawkes had to assume that Swansea genuinely cared about him.

So it WAS a mercy kill, Hawkes thought to himself. This made sense in hindsight; he'd observed the multiple lacerations to Daisuke's body, indicative of electricity burns and gashes caused by punctures. It was likely he was dying a slow death and Swansea didn't want to see him suffer like that.

For a moment, Hawkes felt a mound of guilt. The more Hawkes unraveled this story, the more tragic it revealed itself to be. These people went to such lengths for each other, feel such guilt and love and yearning for safety, for one another.

All... ruined... by... one... fucking... R-A-C-H-E-L.

He twisted his radio on with a fury lit in his stomach. There was no doubt in his mind now, who the culprit was. He just wanted to make sure the dots were connected.

"Caz."

"Yeah?"

"Keep Jimmy's corpse in confinement for now. We'll be resurrecting him separately. If he revives, drag him out of the Divinity Chamber straight to interrogation. Blindfold and gag him. Ensure he is chained up more than the Gauss Citadel."

"Roger that."

Hawkes switched the radio off, and continued praying. He glanced to his right to see Swansea silently sobbing, hunched over in misery and regret.

"Please, Daisuke... If this ridiculous idea is even remotely true... then come back, and live a full life... just come back.... please... I'll do anything..."

"Lord God Almighty," Jezarit preached relentlessly. "Daisuke Juarez was a young man who came from a loving and wealthy family, who loved him but wanted him to find ambition. He spent much of his young life partying, making friends, and most importantly discovering himself."

Hawkes silently observed Swansea as he himself prayed fervently. The happiness he'd seen from Curly, however brief; the desperation he'd seen from Swansea, it filled Hawkes with a sense of obligation.

He had to give solace to these people, by any means.

"Daisuke was aimless when his parents sent him for an internship on the Tulpar. He spent much of his tenure under Swansea, the Chief Engineer, who guided him with a rough but intense affection, finding his youthful energy and charisma to be endearing and hopeful!"

Uh, how does Jazz know all this? Hawkes thought in utter confusion. Maybe divine knowledge? He couldn't doubt anything at this point.

"Lord God Almighty," Jezarit grieved with great sorrow and brevity, tears cascading down his eyes. "Daisuke tried to be of help to the crew, even when he was misled by a snake in the grass! He made a fatal mistake and suffered as grievously as those around him. He died to his mentor, who wanted to spare him the further suffering their circumstance provided in endless supply! O Lord, Almighty God, he has died a most tragic death, his soul restless for the yolk of life!"

"Please, Daisuke... you didn't deserve to die there... you didn't need to suffer like that... come back... come back to us... come back..." Swansea muttered, believing with everything he had in this bizarre ritual.

"Please, O Lord, Almighty Father!" The preacher cried out in desperation, falling to his knees and sobbing in unrelenting sorrow. "Please, bring us this lost soul once more, so that he may enjoy the fruits of life as it was intended! Let him bask in the beauty of this universe once more, so that he may depart from it many years from now, content and lived in joyous experience!"

"Please, God, bring Daisuke back to me..."

---------------------!

There it was again. A divine energy- indescribably, inexplicable, yet undeniable in every sense of the word. It flowed through the room, timeless, undetectable yet felt completely, and swirled around the body of Daisuke. 

It began once more. The lacerations, the bruises, the gashes, the infections, broken cartilage, bone, sinew, and brain matter- all restored as if nothing had touched the young man.

And then- it was gone.

...

...

...

"AAAAAHHH!!! AAAAHHH-!!!!"

Daisuke flailed around wildly while gripping his face, and fell face-flat on the hard ground below. He groaned loudly as his nose bled from the impact. He steadied himself on the altar and slowly stood on his two feet.

"What... Huh?"

He wiped his own face, seeing blood in his palm. Confusion was the first thought, followed by alarm at his surroundings, and finally abject shock as he felt a massive weight tackle him over the altar, crashing to the ground.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!" He shouted in panic.

"DAIIIIISSSSUKKKKEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Swansea wailed uncontrollably as he bear-hugged Daisuke, who was still utterly in shock at his surroundings.

"Am I dead? I'm dead, right?!"

His frantic questions were drowned out by the unrelenting wails of relief and pure happiness emitting from Swansea's cries. The crew who were kneeling in prayer momentarily stood up and cheered raucously at the joyful reunion between the two.

Hawkes smiled, a warm feeling of hope surging through him like wildfire. This is exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to bring people back, to unite them through time and space- to give them the happy ending the universe never gave them.

He would do it, no matter what. He would help bring humanity to the utopia they so deserve. No more suffering. No more monsters. No more cruelty. No more sadness. No more tragedy.

From now on, his goal was to save every life that could be saved.

And he would start by making this crew whole once again.

Minus 1 little shit-eating cunt.

(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

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(Swansea - After Revival)

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Chapter Text

Hawkes stared at Swansea and Daisuke as they sat across from him, right outside of the Divinity Chamber. Anya's revivification was being prepared, and the crew was getting exhausted from kneeling for so long so they were taking a short break.

It felt more than a bit awkward staring at the two of them. Swansea had not once taken his eyes off Daisuke, who was eyeing the environment with a budding curiosity and a substantial terror ever-present in his eyes. Hawkes had to suppose that the last thing he saw before today was an axe to the face, so the ever-present terror was kind of a given.

Hawkes cleared his throat, trying to break the ice.

"So-"

"Daisuke, please listen to me." Swansea whispered, almost broken. "There's nothing in the world I can say to make what I did right. There's nothing I can do to make it right. If you don't forgive me, it's okay. But I wanted you to hear me for just a minute."

Daisuke's eyes, while still filled with budding insanity and that gripping terror, focused momentarily on Swansea.

"Y...Yes?"

Swansea broke down in tears as he spoke to Daisuke. He could barely hold it together before, but now he was just letting go of his composure.

"Kid, I don't know how we got here. I'm so fucking scared this is just a wonderful dream. I'm so scared to look away from you, because I can't bear to look back and not see you, right here, next to me. I'm terrified, and I don't know why. I can't make sense of anything, right now, and I don't think I will be able to for a long time."

He placed one shaky hand on Daisuke's shoulder, which seemed to center Daisuke back to the real world a bit more.

"But if there's one thing I can see, it's that you and me... we're alive. We're out of that hellscape. Those feelings, that despair, the clawing of death, the ache of knowing we were gonna die in that piece of shit in the middle of nowhere... It's gone now. And now all I wanna do is spend every waking moment of my life with you, with Curly, with Anya. I wanna take this second chance, if that's what it is, and I wanna experience life with you all. I want to introduce you to my family. I want to bring you over for Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas morning. I want to take you to the aquarium, go for a walk, head to a concert or a baseball game."

Swansea looked him square in the eyes, the light of a flaming, fiery hope ignited within him permanently.

"Just stand by me, kid. I can't lose you again. I'm not losing you again. And we're not taking a fuckin' shitty job at that piece of shit company ever again!" He laughed in between streaming tears. "You hear me, bud? We're going to live again!"

That terror in Daisuke's eyes seemed to die down, bit by bit, as he began to comprehend Swansea's words and gradually depart from the hellish memories of the past.

"Yeah... yeah." Daisuke muttered. It had barely been any time since Daisuke was resurrected, the same for Swansea. Hawkes knew they needed a lot of time to recover, but now was barely the time. They only had one more resurrection left before he could give them recovery time.

Jimmy's resurrection didn't need love. It just needed a lot of yearning for revenge.

"Anya's revififi- ya know what, I'm never saying that fuckin' word ever again. Anya's gonna be revived soon, I'd like for you two to be present so her chances of returning are greater."

Both Swansea and Daisuke snapped their heads towards Hawkes as if he'd announced they'd won the lottery. Without saying a word, they scrambled into the Divinity Chamber, re-donning their tunics and kneeling on the floor as if they'd been devout their whole lives.

Again, failing to notice the quivering Curly in the corner. Hawkes had noticed he'd remained unmoving in the corner ever since Swansea's revival. He wasn't sure how to help him deal with the trauma, and so decided to leave him to his own devices for a while. Out of all the crew, Curly had undoubtedly suffered the most. To go from a crippled burnt chicken nugget to a fully restored human being, then to add the revival of his closest friends who he felt he'd betrayed, with the cherry on top being the hellish memories he'd suffered on the Tulpar...

Yeah, Hawkes felt the need to leave him alone until at least Anya was brought back. At this point, Hawkes didn't have any sense of anxiety about these resurrections. He was beginning to see the formula, and it was a deep relief to know that there was a solid rate of resurrection for the dead.

There was still plenty he hadn't told the Tulpar crew, but he was planning to wait until they'd all come back and could celebrate in the terrarium before taking questions about the new age.

"Only one more to go..." Hawkes muttered tiredly. He would certainly be looking forward to the liquor at the terrarium after this exhausting ordeal.

4 hours ago...

"So, you called me here?" Hawkes inquired as he approached the surgery table. Head Surgeon Faulkner looked up at him with a face mask and goggles.

"Yes, Captain." He replied, unfurling the cover from Anya, who was stripped of clothing for an autopsy of the body. "We've found an... issue with this corpse."

Captain Hawkes shrugged indifferently.

"Speak it." He said. Faulkner, almost in embarrassment, gestured to Anya's genitalia, where a streak of old, matted blood was stained on her thighs and lower abdomen.

"Even though she overdosed on painkillers, she was leaking blood from her womb. After inspection of the inner passage and outer area of the genitalia, we discovered bruising indicative of..."

He hesitated to speak the next words. Hawkes, who was normally very observant and calculated, lost his sense of intellect regarding females. Frequently. In every area of life.

"Well? Indicative of what?" Hawkes asked, getting irritated with the lack of response.

Faulkner knew about the Captain's vices when it came to sexual offenses. Hawke's mother had been repeatedly raped and abused by his father. His best friend in military college was violated by a prominent naval officer in their department. His young love had been captured by pirates and trafficked for months before he located her- dead in a cell. His life was a constant deluge of tragedies, horrors and soul-withering experiences.

In short, Hawkes would lose his shit if Faulkner spoke the next words- and Faulkner certainly did not want to be in the crossfire when Hawkes detonated.

So, instead of owning up to what was gonna happen and accepting the potential backlash from his Captain, Faulkner did the most pragmatic thing he could.

He delegated the responsibility onto his assistant.

"Jeremiah, would you mind delivering the assessment to the Captain? I have to attend to the restroom momentarily."

"Of course, Doctor Faulkner!"

You poor, poor child, Faulkner thought in deep guilt as he scurried out of the autopsy lab.

"So then," Hawkes insisted. "What the hell happened, Jeremiah?"

"Oh, right," Jeremiah began, framing his next sentence obliviously. "She was raped and forcibly impregnated!"

"What were you thinking when you said that, Jeremy?"

Jeremiah stared at the grassy floor of the terrarium, wondering where he went wrong. His friend, Roble, a new security officer on the ship, was snickering at Jeremiah's recent tomfoolery. Jeremiah certainly didn't feel this 'shenanigans' vibe that Roble was playing on. His face was welted in multiple areas, and his ribcage was slightly bruised from the repeated punches delivered, courtesy of Captain Hawkes.

"How was I supposed to know about his rape PTSD?!"

"That's a fucked up way of putting it." Roble guffawed. "And he'd give you a second round of beatings if he heard you shout that. But I'm confused. Your boss didn't tell you about it?"

"No!" Jeremiah huffed in frustration. He felt betrayed by his boss, and a bit of resentment toward the Captain. "What the hell was I set up for? What did I do, huh? I just... carry the fuckin' tools and type up the reports! And I get my ASS beat for it!"

Roble sighed in empathy, leaning back against the wall as he contemplated.

"You know I'm your senior, right?"

"You sure you're not the Captain? Captain Obvious?" 

"When I was as new as you, Jeremiah," Roble began. "I was working as a General Intern, delegated to clean and maintain the garrison's weaponry. I learned a lot about rifling, my boss was super chill, and we after a hard day's work, we'd go to the terrarium with the other crewmates and drink until we were dog-sick. It was fun as hell, and every day was a blast compared to the industrial hellscape I'd come from."

Jeremiah, by this point, was listening intently to the story. He wasn't so crass as to ignore his friend when he was talking about something important to him.

"One day, I'm cleaning a Gauss twin-barrel in the hangar bay, and I make a casual joke about a celebrity girl back home who got exposed for getting taken advantage of by an executive to get a top actress role. I didn't think anything of it when I cracked the joke. Next thing I knew, I felt the back of my head smacked by an empty oil canister. Looked up to see Captain Hawkes raging at me like I came after his family."

Roble took a swig out of the beer he'd set aside.

"I'd been spending all my time at the armory my first weeks, smoking dope and chatting it up with the other crewmates assigned there. Even found a girlfriend with benefits -to this day, heh-. But after I got smacked around, I was angry at the Captain and couldn't focus on my work, so I took a break to walk around the ship. And..."

He huffed in disbelief, as if revisiting the memory for the first time.

"In the first hours I walked around, I saw Caz and Wally get in a brawl because Caz spoke condescendingly of child soldiers; Wally was a former child soldier. Two months later, I went to the cafeteria and saw Elise threatening Lon with a fork because Lon had a strong argument against abortion; Elise had been a sex slave under a warlord for 5 years and was forced to conceive children. Three months after that, I passed by the fitness area and saw Ben casually one-handing a 160 pound bench weight over Jazz's neck, after Jazz had tried to persuade Ben that all fates were predetermined; Ben's only child had died from cancer at the age of 8."

Jeremiah contemplated Roble's words, thinking about the implications of what he said. Roble turned to him to speak directly- but not before taking another swig of his beer.

"I've been on this vessel for 2 years. You've been here for half that time. And in the last two months, I've seen more violence between the crew than in the last 2 years combined. And I've come to realize something: People are fragile, especially now that they have proof of spirituality, of some kind, whatever it may be. Humans are externally strong, but they can crumple very easily on the inside if it's the right person saying the wrong things to them. Our Captain is an accomplished, decorated, tried-and-true war veteran with decades of experience behind him. At the same time, he is an eccentric, bizarre, short-tempered, socially-volatile maniac who beats on people who even mention sexual assault or rape. Time and time again, he's saved our lives, made calls that saved our lives, and helped us back on our feet when we were down. He's obviously a bit psychotic (or a lot), but I can't point you to a more reliable and trustworthy person to follow."

Roble scooted in, laying his hand on Jeremiah's shoulder to reassure him.

"We just discovered that resurrection is possible. Maybe to you and me, that's a reality we can cope with easily because we just started out in this world and we have time and normal responsibilities, so adjusting to it isn't as harsh. But to a 40 year old like Hawkes? With all the things he saw? All the terrible shit he had to live with, every day and night? All the responsibilities and duties he has now, to his crew, to the crew he just saved? Do you think he's able to wrap his head around this and not lose his shit sometimes?"

"Wait," Jeremiah interrupted. "Hawkes is 40? What? I thought he was 50."

"Nope," Roble responded- followed by another swig o' the beer. "He's 40 years old."

"How the hell does he have three decades of battle experience if he's 40? That would make him ten years old."

Roble said nothing, just stared at Jeremiah.

"Are you serious?" Jeremiah muttered. Roble nodded his head.

"Ayup. Hawkes was a child prodigy, and 30 years ago that was grounds for immediate conscription. He worked as a junior tactician first, but after he figured out the enemy fleet was planning a retreat followed by ambush, he was promoted to admiral at the age of ten and a half years old. So technically, twenty-nine and a half years of admiralty experience."

"How? Literally how?"

Roble shrugged. "When I say child prodigy, I mean child prodigy. He ended the Siege of Korres at the age of seventeen."

"No, I mean how the hell was this legal, or allowed?! Our military was just cool with having ten year old admirals?"

"Eleven."

"You know what I mean, jackass!"

Roble raised his hands in the air, as if deflecting accountability.

"What do you want me to say, Jeremy? I just told you about child soldiers. Our nation was fighting half a dozen wars less than 30 years ago. They probably were losing admirals left and right and needed to fill those replacements quickly. Ever heard of 'scraping the barrel'?"

Jeremiah sat back and exhaled in disbelief.

"This is a lot to take in."

"Yeah, now try being the Captain and dealing with ten times that stress."

"I get the point."

The two sat in silence for a bit, quietly enjoying the calm atmosphere.

...

...

...

...

...

"You know," Roble said. "I can't imagine what he felt when that first guy came back to life. I could hear him putting on a front with his sarcasm and brashness, but I could tell he was hurting inside."

"Hurting?"

"Yeah. Hurting. It's a double-edged sword, man. You helped bring back someone whose life was snuffed out in a bad way, but it reminds you of all the people you never got the chance to resurrected. Reminds you of the people you killed, the people you couldn't help. It's... maddening, I bet."

"Yeah..." Jeremiah mumbled. This conversation had given him more insight on the crew than he'd expected. "So, what? Do I just take the beatings as I go?"

"Jeremy, if the cost of being on this ship, being able to smoke dope, drink beer, make friends, have a purpose, find love, get freaky, help others, and give the dead a second chance is getting smacked around every so often, that's a cost I'll bear every single time." Roble said firmly. "You can feel free to go back to the indentured servitude on agrarian planets or industrial planets, or maybe you'll get lucky and find a job as a menial servant on a luxury colony. But for me, this is the best it gets. And I'll die on here if I have to."

"You do realize other worlds exist than agrarian, industrial and luxury colonies?"

"I'm making a point, wise guy. This is a great place to be. No doubt dangerous, no doubt risky, but nonetheless a place I feel like I belong."

Jeremiah nodded slightly. He couldn't deny that feeling. Being on this ship, seeing all the vibrant people, experiencing the Divinity Chamber and the connection to God... it was just indescribably marvelous. It was a fact that every human across the galaxy, without exception, had felt the connection on the day of the Second Resurrection.

Yet it was an odd, inextricable feeling. There was a noticeable discomfort to that feeling; as if an imbalance in the universe had caused this event to occur. Jeremiah had his theories; that the Great Terror and its consequences had created a downward regression to humanity's progress, and needed to be corrected; or that the cynicism and grim outlook of humans galaxy-wide was cause for God to provide solace through this event.

Whatever the answer, Jeremiah knew that, ultimately, humanity was entering an era unlike any it had ever encountered before. And if there was one place he wanted to be for that kind of awakening, it was on this massive, powerful, friend-filled military vessel.

As for Anya...

Jeremiah thought back on the events an hour prior...

"She was raped and forcibly impregnated!"

The eagerness to which Jeremiah had said that to Hawkes, no matter how unintended it was-

CRACK!

Jeremiah fell over a tray of surgical tubes, left in terror as Hawkes hulked over him, expressing pure abject rage.

"WHO?!"

CRACK!

"I-I don't know, Captain!!"

"W-H-O?!?!"

"I-I DON'T KNOW, CAPTAIN!! Bu-But, the good news is, the fetus died from the painkillers, so there's no need to worry about pregnancy-!"

CRA-A-A-ACK!

Hawkes, in a blind rage, slammed his fist into Jeremiah's ribcage, causing him to flip multiple times across the room. After a few seconds, Hawkes returned to coherency. Immediately, his thoughts went to-

"JIMMY... That... that motherfucker..."

Hawkes stormed out of the room-

I'M GONNA RIP HIS LIMBS OFF AND BEAT HIM TO DEATH. I'LL GOUGE HIS EYES OUT AND SHOVE HIS TESTICLES IN THEIR PLACE. I'LL HANG HIM OVER A VAT OF BOILING OIL AND DIP HIM SLOWLY-

Calm down.

Hawkes stopped in his tracks, realizing he could hardly breathe. He recentered himself, placing his hands on his knees. He felt nauseous. He felt wrathful. He wanted to kill that scum of the earth as soon as he could.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. Not when he almost had him back to life. He needed to bring him back, so he could take his time with him. So he could delegate the suffering that was most needed for this... this... ill-bred shitheel.

And above everything else, he wanted the Tulpar crew to get their due justice.

He resumed his walking, this time at a brisk and fuming pace. Kill. Kill.

Ki-

-ll. Kill. Kill. Kill-

"Captain."

"Huh?" Hawkes responded in a haze. Ramirez was trying to get his attention.

"It's almost prepared."

"Oh... right... right."

Hawkes absentmindedly shuffled up beside Swansea, who glanced back at Curly and probed Hawkes with a question.

"Who's that guy curled up in the corner back there?"

"Oh, uh... that's Curly."

"....What?"

"That's Curly. We reformed his body."

Swansea was speechless for a moment, looking between Hawkes and Curly in the corner. Moments passed, and still he was left silent and unable to render words. Meanwhile, Jezarit came forward, placing the communion wafer in Anya's mouth and gently pouring the wine down the wafer's surface, allowing it to cascade down her esophagus.

"O Lord Almighty," Jezarit began, gesturing around the room as the hundreds of crewmates fervently prayed in silence. "Anya Musume was an aspiring young medical professional, hailing from a humble family that wanted the best for her. She spent much of her youth studying diligently, and most of her young adulthood working diligently on her licensing!"

"Wha..." Swansea muttered, looking back at Curly as if his eyes deceived him. He rubbed them. Curly was still there, motionless in the corner. "What..."

He stood up in a daze, stumbling over to Curly and towering over his huddled figure.

"You're the cause of all this.. you... you... demon. Curly. How could you? Why? Why did you doom us to be stuck under that flailing psychopath?!"

Curly was in a perpetual state of shock, simply unable to process his surroundings. Enraged by his lack of response, Swansea grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the wall.

"WHYYYYYYYYY, CURLLYYYYYYYY?!!!!"

Hawkes tried to separate the two, but was promptly thrown back by Swansea in his outrage.

"I want the answer outta YOUR fuckin' mouth, CURLY!" Swansea demanded, slamming Curly against the wall once more. "YOU DOOMED US!! WHAT WAS THE REASON FOR IT?!?!"

"Jimmy."

Swansea turned to glare murderously at Hawkes.

"What did you say?"

"It wasn't Curly that crashed the ship. It was Jimmy. Put some thought into it and you'll figure out that this makes more sense than your long-beloved Captain deciding to take a nosedive for no reason."

Swansea's face was swamped with uncertainty and doubt, eventually clouding over with blind rage. He turned back to Curly, this time gripping his hand around his throat and tightening it.

"So not only did you defend a rapist, you gave that same worthless thug the keys to the ship?"

Swansea leaned in, sneering with a mountain of contempt and loathing behind his every syllable.

"You aren't my Captain any longer."

Swansea tossed him to the ground with disregard, as Curly coughed, choked, and sobbed silently. Hawkes wanted to pity him, but after hearing that he had defended Jimmy...

"Ugh." Hawkes groaned in loathing. What a messy situation. A perfect demonstration of how the world wasn't just black and white. He leaned down and grabbed Curly's hand, pulling him up onto his feet. He was slightly disappointed when Curly's knees buckled and he crashed to the floor, unmoving and drained of energy.

"Well, sh- dang."

Hawkes couldn't help but fall in love with this crew. Not romantically, obviously- but in a familial sense. He had just brought them back to the land of the living. He had given them a second chance to live out their life to its fullest, to renew their relationships with their crew and others, and to have a new outlook on the beauty of life.

He, a shitty decorated mass-murderer, had saved these people. Saved them. 

Could anyone find words to describe what that feels like?

What that feels... like?

He couldn't give up. Not on any of them. Only one needed the punishment that was deserving from all of this unnecessary suffering. Of course. A living Rachel. A Rachel he could exact justice upon.

A J-i-m-m-y.

Captain Hawkes silently cackled to himself, enjoying the depths of his own niche humor, much to the disturbance of Caz and Ramirez standing right behind him. They, of course, said nothing- it wasn't their place to request the Captain take a mental evaluation.

Nonetheless, Captain Hawkes was resolved. He still didn't have every part of this story, only the major elements. He needed to unravel the whole story, to understand the motivations and how this catastrophe ever got started. And it all traced back to Jimmy.

"Ceremony's beginning, sir."

"Set reminder for 6 hours."

"...I'm not an AI, sir."

The preacher walked forth to the body of Anya, proclaiming the eulogy further. I noticed, however, that he seemed to be off in his tempo and speech; as if he had just lost the script for his performative ritual.

"Anya was... a friend, a confidant, an advisor and a mentor. She... was bold, strong-willed, a mediator amongst her peers. She did not give ground when challenge met her in the field! When the perilous journey of the Tulpar took place, she was the first to... take charge! Her peers respected and revered her, as the vital medical officer that rose to the occasion. She did not cow to threats, nor lose her nerve when tough times arrived-"

Whoosh.

Hawkes felt Curly's presence storm past him, and sorely wished he had popcorn on hand. 

The preacher, Jezarit, was unaware of Curly up until the moment his eyes perceived a fist-

WHAM!

The preacher stumbled and fell to the floor, holding his nose and wincing in pain. He glared upwards only to be met with shuddering indignance spewing from every pore of Curly's body.

"You will not SIT HERE and desecrate the memory of Anya, you fucking bastard! Don't you dare LIE about her so boldly!"

Curly shuffled up to Anya's lifeless corpse, sobbing without making a sound as he traced his hands along her arms, face and hair.

"Look at her. Look at her, you idiots." He sobbed inconsolably. "I have my eyes back. I have my hands, my feet, my skin and normalcy. But all I can think about is how much I let down the woman I loved most in the world- the crew who looked up to me. All I can think about is how I was so disgusting, so cruel to give even a thought towards protecting that unspeakable monster... And I couldn't even see what was right in front of me, the treasure of my whole world..."

Curly collapsed to his knees, crying over Anya's body. His wails echoed throughout the massive chamber, leaving the air solemn and grim. Nobody wanted to interrupt such grieving; it was inhuman to even consider it.

"She was timid. She was anxious. She didn't like confrontation. She was lively, but nerdy and inquisitive. She failed her medical exams eight times and got a job on my freighter because it was the only place she could practice medicine. She loved reading about psychology. She was an expert on the safety manual. She wanted to visit Terra one day to see her ancestral homeland. And she relied on me. What did I do for her...?"

He cried. And cried. It was all he could do. He knew who was responsible for their torment, but he was the cause of it all. He was the one who brought that psycho onto the freighter; he was the one who ignored Anya's cries for help, the one who handed those fucking keys to Jimmy.

At every point where he had the opportunity to turn away from disaster, he failed completely.

For God's sake... he had to watch Anya commit suicide right in front of him.

"Anya, please. By God, please. Forgive me. Forgive me. I can never apologize enough. There is nothing in the universe I could give to free myself of what I did. There's no punishment worse than this feeling of regret and guilt. I don't want to exist. I can't bear this p-a-a-a-i-n. I can't let it end like this. The universe can't be this cruel..."

His eyes stung; he was utterly exhausted, but nothing except the drowning waves of regret and all-consuming guilt was there to accompany him. He felt alone in the world. He felt rejected by the universe. He felt rejected by... by...

In a sheer act of desperation, Curly lowered his head to the floor, bowing himself so low that he had practically meshed with the floor. His tears pooled around his forehead, dampening his hair and clouding his vision with particles of acute sorrow.

"Please, God. Let her live again. You may have whatever you want of me. You may take whatever you want. If I can see her again, I will never be so foolish and blind for the rest of my life. I will value her. I will love her. I will cherish her. And I will die for her. She will be my everything. My crew, and my Anya.

-------------------!

(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

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(Daisuke - After Revival)

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Chapter Text

"What... wait- what??"

Hawkes was utterly dumb-founded. His theory on how the resurrections were conducted was thrown at the wall. He had initially believed that a large gathering of humans were needed to lay the foundation for the ritual, followed by the utilization of religious practices, and ignited by someone with a strong connection to the person, using the activation word, "God".

But the ceremony was disrupted. The crewmates had stopped praying to watch the spectacle. The damn preacher was punched in the face! And yet, all it took was Curly to bring her back?!

Captain Hawkes was put on edge; all the scientific data about Revivification that he'd combed through had correlated a necessity for ritual and practices, of a large gathering of humans in prayer, and for a preacher who would deliver a life synopsis of the target body.

But all it took here... was someone close to the person... and he supposed... enough yearning and conviction?

It was time to go back to the drawing board. Was this divine event connected to a particular faith, or was it independent of organized religion? Was it a separate, distinct ethereal deity of some kind, or maybe a phenomenon that broke the barrier between the material and otherworldly planes of existence?

What a marvelous, yet terrifying mystery.

Hawkes noticed that Curly, Swansea and Daisuke were still head-bashing the ground in prayer, failing to notice that Anya was already raising herself up from the table and gazing around groggily. He decided to give them a nudge.

"Hey, Anya!"

Anya turned her head towards Hawkes' voice in confusion.

"H-Huh? Who is that?"

Immediately, Curly, Swansea and Daisuke raised their heads in disbelief. Curly was the first to react.

"GHK!!"

Anya was tackled off the altar, both her and Curly tumbling down the steps to the floor below. She groaned in slight pain, the action of being tackled evoking greater coherency in her mind. She began to panic as she looked around, shouting in distress.

"Wh-Where am I? Who are you people?! What-!"

"ANYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Anya was silenced into total shock as Curly's wailing voice pierced her ears. Robotically, she craned her head down to see who was smothering her, only to spot that long-ago familiar golden hair and bristly beard.

"No way... No.. way..." She sputtered, her eyes immediately reddening with tears. She closed her eyes, unable to stop the flow of tears down her cheeks. "I can't breathe... I think I'm gonna die... I can't breathe!"

"ANYA!"

"Anyaaaaa!"

She felt herself dogpiled by a weeping Swansea and grieving Daisuke, which only added to her stress and bewilderment.

"I don't understand what-! Did we die...?"

"There's my cue," Hawkes interrupted in his usual abrasive manner. "Yes, you died, but you were resurrected. Praise God!"

"Wh-Wha-What???"

"Ignore that idiot, Anya." Swansea blubbered with a tear-stricken face. "We're alive. That's all that matters. We escape that prison. We escaped..."

It was then that Anya's memories came flooding back into her mind; momentarily stopped by the shock of her current situation, but now invading her psyche like a metaphysical virus.

What abhorrent memories-

Anya immediately doubled over and vomited onto the floor; she felt as if her organs were failing, and her mind was plunging into the dark abyss. She swayed in and out of consciousness, and every orifice on her face felt like it was burning hot. Curly was beside himself, panicking wildly over the incident. 

"Before you go apeshit!" Hawkes lectured Curly. "This isn't irregular. She's experiencing phantom pains from her previous death. It's happened with every crew member except- well, Swansea apparently, but that's unimportant. Give her a few minutes to work past them, and she'll be just fine soon enough."

Curly was left cradling an incapacitated Anya, but he couldn't have seemed happier in that moment. His teardrops fell onto her face and neck, unending yet changing from grief to relief. He briefly looked back up at Hawkes, a newfound awe and veneration sparkling in his eyes.

"Are you sure... we haven't died?"

"No- I mean, yes, I'm sure, I just- I-I just told you that, like, a minute ago or something."

"This isn't some sick dream to give us false hope?"

"Nope. Though it sure feels like it, don't it?"

Curly was silent as he coddled Anya in contemplation. 

"Is there a catch?"

"You know what the catch is? The catch is, get out of my Divinity Chamber and go make amends with your crewmates in the terrarium. I got in enough prayer today to consecrate the whole ship."

"I-I can't move, she's... she's still shaking."

Hawkes sighed as he watched Curly cradle her as if she were his heart. It gave him deep heartache. He, too, was incredibly lonely. But it gave him solace to know that he had done something phenomenal today. 

He found a long-lost freighter and recovered its crew and captain.

He reformed a crippled amputee back to his original state.

He solved the mystery behind the freighter's crash, and isolated the culprit.

He managed to achieve the resurrection of every single innocent crewmate and reunite them with one another.

In other words...

It was time to indulge excessively for a celebration. But first thing was first-

He needed to get them in a room together. It was time to get them acquainted with the new world, before any merrymaking could take place.

The Interrogation room was too tight of a fit for all five of them plus Caz and Ramirez, so Hawkes decided to relocate them to his private quarters. The four of them sat across from him with wildly different dispositions.

Curly was sitting the furthest from the group, his chair nearly rivaling the wall. He was constantly glancing over at the crew, especially Anya, but seemed to be in unbearable shame to even approach them. Hawkes couldn't be bothered to interpret the rollercoaster he'd just been through, so he let him stew in his head for a bit.

Swansea was glaring with complete disdain at Curly, his neck veins visibly bulging as if he were barely restraining himself from getting into a deadly brawl with his former Captain. When he glanced to Daisuke, his expression softened considerably, relief flooding his face. Glancing over Hawkes, he held a great skepticism in his eyes, but also a newfound respect and admiration. After all, the outlandish claims Hawkes had made about revival had, in fact, come true before his very eyes.

Anya was slumped back in the chair, giving the wooden desk in front of her the thousand-yard stare. Since she'd only recently been resurrected, the disillusion with reality and disconnect from her environment was expected, as it was with everyone else.

Daisuke was-

"Mister Daisuke, can you please sit down?"

Daisuke was dancing passionately in Captain Hawkes'  lounge room, bopping it to vinyl records from the ancient 1950s. Hawkes rubbed the bridge of his nose in a very slight irritation mixed with affection; the kid gave him the feeling of wanting to bop him upside the head, then give him a big hug afterwards.

"Alright, well-" Hawkes started, clearing his throat. "We'll start without Daisuke for now. So, let's lay the groundwork- oh, okay."

Swansea had gotten up from his chair and joined Daisuke in dancing. He also felt it was his right to pilfer Hawkes' whiskey bottle and pour himself and Daisuke a round of shots. 

"Heh!" Hawkes chuckled, in surprise to himself, as he watched these once-doomed crewmates act in such a carefree manner. He wasn't angry. His rank, nor protocol, nor anything else really mattered right now. This was the first time he'd seen someone come back to the living. To life.

He couldn't get it out of his head. Was it madness, or a stressful enlightenment? He couldn't say. What was the point of the last 3 decades? Were they all to be raptured soon? Hawkes had combed through every interpretation of the Bible, the Qu'ran, the Torah that he could get his hands on since that fateful day. He had been burning inside for more knowledge, more understanding of the universe around him. He wanted to make sense of this. He had to.

All three of the cited scriptures had made mention of or perceived the possibility of resurrection. However, the Bible was the closest, in terms of this divine event, that matched closest with what was occurring.

He recalled Matthews 27:50, which proclaimed that the bodies of saints had risen from the dead, and that the Roman soldiers among them had proclaimed it the work of the Son of God.

However, there was another glaring issue. Where was he? Where was the Son? Why was it humans being granted the gift of revival? Was the Son of God embodied in all of us?

"I'm glad I became an admiral instead of a priest." He joked cynically to himself. Perhaps this wasn't an organized religion, or adhered to any of them. Perhaps it was a separate, but still equal faith. A creator. Whichever way it went, there was an irrefutable fact that he needed to embrace, and one he needed to get across to every one of these returned lives.

That they were living in an era unlike any other in human history. If he didn't get that point across well enough, he'd risk them losing their minds to delusion, or fanaticism, or any other number of mental ailments to try and cope with this new reality.

He had to convince them that, no matter how divine events came about, this was still reality. It was still life, with all its ups and downs. They needed to come to grips with that distinction, as soon as possible. Having to be a war veteran dealing with this was difficult enough, the magnitude was likely way worse for crew of Tulpar.

Hawkes decided he'd take them on one by one, so that way there'd be less interruptions. He started with Curly, who was quietly sobbing in the corner.

"Curly."

Curly's tired eyes glanced up to meet Hawkes'.

"It's hard to empathize with you, being honest. I can't relate to dying once and living twice. But I can relate to a human being. And I know you're grappling with some crazy fuckin' shit in that mind of yours. I get it. But before you can console yourself, you need to make amends with your crew."

Curly latched out and gripped him by his collar, staring him down with the cold, brutal eyes of a man who died while living.

"You have a lot of opinions about people you just met."

Hawkes put his hands up in a gesture of peace.

"Believe me, the last thing I want to do is play therapist. But would you say you're mentally well right now? Any of you?"

Curly glanced between Anya, Swansea and Daisuke. Begrudgingly, he grumbled a few curses before letting go of Hawkes' collar. Hawkes dusted himself down and straightened his uniform before speaking again.

"I'll stop being condescending. Let's talk."

Curly released a shaky exhale, straightening his back and leveling his eyes with Hawkes.

"Talk, then."

"Be honest with me, Curly. You love your crew."

Curly grit his teeth, an expression of constant pain and guilt shadowing his face like a veil. He couldn't bring himself to answer out of sheer shame.

"If you don't, just say so."

"Of course I love them!"

Curly's voice echoed across the quarters, drawing the attention of Swansea and Daisuke, and the gaze of a still-addled Anya. He quickly ducked back into his seat, ashamed to feel their gazes on him.

"So if you love them, then confront them about what you did, and anything they did to you. Did you get a second chance at life to be scared of those you traveled with for years?"

Curly gazed at Hawkes, a deep regret and longing on his face. He drew a deep breath, and stood up from his chair, walking over shakily to Swansea and Daisuke. Hawkes watched as Curly stood in front of them, receiving a grimace from Swansea, and skepticism from Daisuke.

"..."

Curly felt his words stuck in his throat. Having to see Swansea and Daisuke again, having to see Anya again, after the horror they had suffered...

Crack!

Curly staggered to the side as Swansea punched him across the cheek. He regained his footing and stood up straight, to see a broiling Swansea stepping up in his face.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

"A fuckin' apology ain't worth shit, Curly. You fucked us. We died because you couldn't see the ocean of red flags on your fuckin' friend!"

Crack.

Swansea careened backwards as Curly duffed him across the face, boiling with stress and fury.

"YOU THINK I WASN'T HAUNTED BY THOSE THOUGHTS FOR THE EIGHT FUCKING MONTHS I WAS WRITHING IN AGONY?! I WANTED TO DIE SO MANY TIMES!!! I WANTED TO DIEEE! I CAN STILL FEEL THE MEMORY OF MY SKIN BURNING HOT EVERY SECOND, THE UNBEARABLE ITCHES ALL OVER MY BODY, THE DRYNESS OF MY SCORCHED THROAT! EIGHT FUCKING MONTHS!!! NOTHING- NOTHING HURT MORE THAN KNOWING I DOOMED YOU ALL!!"

Him and Swansea got into a brawl, cursing at each other with the rage of boiling stars.

"You brought it on yourself, you son of a BITCH! Your carelessness KILLED US, YOU SELFISH BASTARD!"

"I'LL DIP YOU IN A BOILING POT OF OIL, YOU FAT FUCK, AND WE'LL SEE IF YOU KEEP SPEWING HORSESHIT!"

"Stop! Stop, please!" Daisuke cried out, trying to separate them. At such a random time, Hawkes glimpsed the tears streaming down Daisuke's face. Caz and Ramirez were about to move in to intercept the brawl, but Hawkes waved them away.

He studied the situation pragmatically, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Group therapy really is effective, huh?" He commented in an aggravating manner. "Alright, well, if I delay the celebration any longer my crew is gonna mutiny. So let's get moving to the terrarium and move ourselves away from these negative thoughts, eh?"

Curly suddenly released Swansea's shirt and stormed over to Hawkes, whispering in his ear.

"Tell me where Jimmy is."

"Curly, let's have some fun and enjoy your second life first. We'll have plenty of time to-"

"I'm not delaying this, Hawkes." Curly hissed, brimming with murderous intent. "Bring me to him. Now."

"Are you not satisfied, Curly?"

Curly looked around the room, clearly trying to spot something sharp to stick in Hawkes' throat.

"Don't sidestep my demand, bastard."

"I'm not sidestepping you, Curly. Was being reformed, reunited with your lost loved ones and getting a nice, safe environment not good enough? Do you have to quench your revenge right now, at this moment? You can't enjoy what you have in front of you for a while before we get to the retribution?"

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"It sure looks like it."

Curly was silent, and for a moment Hawkes was preparing to dodge an incoming punch. However, Curly turned his eyes away and leaned down next to Anya, utterly entranced.

"Anya. Anya, do you want to come?"

"Wh... what?"

"We're going to have some food and drink. Do you want to come with?"

"O-Oh... Uh... yeah... yeah, ok..."

Curly nodded silently, helping Anya onto her feet and supporting her arm over his shoulder as they proceeded out the door, accompanied by Caz and Ramirez to lead them. Swansea and Daisuke were left in the room. Swansea was silently fuming, and Daisuke was... dancing again. Could anything get this kid's spirit down?

"You guys doing okay?" Hawkes asked them genuinely. Swansea looked up from his brooding, then spaced out again.

"Yeah." He responded half-heartedly. "Just... thinking."

"I couldn't be doing any better than right now!!" Daisuke shouted, whooping and hollering. "I'm alive! I'm alive, man!!"

Swansea gave a tired smile, seeing Daisuke more upbeat than he'd ever been before.

"I gotta agree with the kid. I'm feeling awesome."

Hawkes smiled at them.

"Well, before I let you two go to the terrarium, I'd like to make sure we're on the same eye level."

Swansea waited for him to continue talking, and for once Daisuke was listening to the conversation.

"I wanna know your thoughts on Curly."

Swansea grimaced again, Daisuke rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I... don't know why he crashed the ship, I guess." Daisuke admitted. There was more than a hint of resentment in that statement; if not outright hostility.

"Swansea, why wouldn't you tell him?" Hawkes inquired. Swansea huffed loathsomely.

"Does it change the outcome? That bastard gave the keys to a psycho, he may as well have crashed the ship himself."

"Wait, wh-what?" Daisuke stuttered. "What are you talking about??"

"Jimmy was the one who crashed the ship, Daisuke." Hawkes stated. "Curly apparently trusted him to divert the meteor. He ended up turning off the autopilot and letting the ship crash."

Daisuke's face paled, looking between Swansea and Hawkes.

"So... Curly wasn't the one who screwed us?"

"HE WAS THE ONE WHO SCREWED US, DAISUKE!!" Swansea exploded, his face turning cherry-red. "THAT STUPID, CARELESS, APATHETIC BASTARD WAS THE CAUSE OF EVERY MISERY WE'VE SUFFERED! Did you know, Daisuke, that Anya was raped by Jimmy, as well, and Curly didn't do JACK SHIT to deal with it?!"

Daisuke clutched his head in distress; Hawkes could tell he was trying to avoid the past by keeping an upbeat attitude, and it was sorrowful to realize.

"Wh-What?? What the hell, dude?"

Hawkes stepped up and towered over Swansea, utterly displeased.

"Does it please you to make light of her?""

Swansea spit on the ground, returning the glare.

"The truth is a bitch. Don't act like you know Anya better than me."

Hawkes sneered in pure loathing, but ultimately backed off. Swansea was right; Hawkes had little area to butt into this drama.

"Well, regardless of all that," Hawkes continued. "Cut him some slack."

"I'm not cutting him shit."

"Then why don't you try empathizing for a moment?"

Swansea narrowed his eyes.

"Empathize with what?"

"He found out his friend had set the ship on a crash course. Judging from the burns, he went to the cockpit to try and correct the error. He was partially successful, when you look at the angle of the damage we first sighted when we pulled up on the Tulpar. He then suffered burns all the way down to the bone, lost every one of his hands and feet, lost one of his eyes, his hair, his lips, and lost the ability to swallow food and water on his own."

"Now he is sitting on a stranded ship with no way out, knowing he had trusted the wrong person to steer the ship, and is forced to witness as each of his beloved crewmates is slowly picked off by a psychopath he once considered his best friend. He watched Anya overdose on painkillers right in front of him without being able to say or do anything. He had his leg sawed off by that same psychotic friend. He was force-fed his own flesh repeatedly. And to top it all off, he was placed in cryo and watched his former best friend commit suicide."

"With all that was just said, you can't find a single thing to empathize with...?"

Swansea was silent, an expression of stubborn refusal on his face. Daisuke seemed utterly depressed after hearing what Hawkes had recounted as if he had revisited the memories in every word said.

"Fine, then, Swansea. Don't empathize. But at the very least, don't antagonize him. He may be an idiot and a terrible decision-maker, but he's human. Even I can tell he's suffering every second now as much as he was in that horribly burnt state. So cut him some slack, let him enjoy some time in peace, and do the same for yourself and Daisuke. Mmk? You're on my ship, revived in my chamber, so you're under my house rules."

Swansea exhaled deeply through his nose, and nodded in reluctant understanding.

"Being lectured by a superior was surprisingly helpful in steadying me." Swansea conceded. He turned to Daisuke, who glanced back at him. "Come on, kid. Let's go see what they got at this 'terrarium' or whatever the hell."

"Plenty of food and booze, so enjoy yourselves!" Hawkes proclaimed as they exited the quarters. "Uuugghhh...."

Hawkes slumped over his desk, insanely exhausted by the ordeal. Finally, they were all back. And most of them were somewhat sane again. Mission... Accomplished?

Although he really didn't get the chance to answer their questions about the last year's events. That kinda sucked. He supposed it would have to be at the terrarium where he could catch them up to speed.

His radio buzzed.

"Captain, Annie here. You comin' for the celebration?"

Hawkes clicked his radio on, hesitating for a moment to speak.

I should interrogate Jimmy.

Then he smiled.

No... that could wait. He was exhausted. It was time to have cut loose and have some fun.

"Hell yeah. Get me a hoppy IPA, I need to punish these taste buds."

(Art below is credited to @rabstergabster on Twitter/X)

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(Anya, Post-Revival)

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Chapter Text

"CHEERS TO THE ARGONAUT II, THE GREATEST SHIP AND GREATEST CREW IN THE LOWER QUADRANT!"

"HUZAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"

Clink-clink! Clink!

(Music: "Mirrors", by Caravan Palace)

Glasses and bottles were tapped together- celebrations had begun; every crew member on the Argonaut II (aside from the poor reserve garrison, who was placed once again on ship overwatch; they would get their celebration tomorrow) was gathered in the massive terrarium, a large entertainment metroplex with aesthetic elements from Terra, nestled comfortably near the back of the military vessel. Danny, Hawkes' second mate, stood at the top of a large terrace, raising his beer over the hundreds of crew members, their own drinks raised in tandem.

As the proclamation of victory was made, everyone downed their glasses, cheering afterwards and patting each other on the back, engaging in lively conversations and recounting stories of the recent experience in rescuing the Tulpar crew.

Meanwhile, in the Captain's Suite near the top of the terrarium, Curly and the others were (relatively) enjoying a first-class experience with a window view over the whole terrarium. Waiters and waitresses (members of the crew who were offered bonus pay for doing this job) filed into the room, taking the orders of the crew and tidying up the suite with military-grade efficiency- that was to say, with mediocre effort.

But the crew of Tulpar didn't seem to mind; their thoughts were entirely hinged on finding things to regain their sanity; trying to return to normalcy.

Daisuke and Swansea ogled the menu in their hands, gushing over the wide variety of meals.

"Wow! They even have Dungeness crab legs!" Daisuke exclaimed.

"How the hell did they even preserve that for space travel??" Swansea muttered in confusion. "It better not be rotten."

"Oh, of cooouuurse!" Hawkes remarked dramatically, palming his face theatrically whilst seated on a luxury three-seat couch- still in uniform and sipping a glass of Woodford whiskey casually. "We were planning to have you order so that... we could place expired crab in front of you. This whole thing we got goin' on? A sham. You found me out."

"Alright, lay off the sarcasm, buddy." Swansea groaned. As Daisuke was eyeing the menu, one of the waitresses approached him.

"Have you decided what you'd like to drink?"

"Eh, I'm not sure right n-!... yet."

Daisuke's voice faltered momentarily as he admired the waitress questioning him. A stunning caucasian, young; blonde, with a cute button nose and wholesome smile to bring the sculptured face together. Her body was toned and athletic, which was expected from her role as a military police NCO (Non-Commissioned Officer).

"Wow..." Daisuke muttered with incredulity. Hawkes smirked arrogantly.

Yes, he thought mischievously. Find some young love, Daisuke.

Hawkes had, in fact, set this up intentionally. He'd chosen the most handsome and beautiful crewmates he could find on the ship for this specific job. He wasn't sure which way Daisuke swung (they didn't state sexuality preference in government records), but he wanted to provide ample options in both categories. Sure, the crewmates found it somewhat odd when he questioned them on their sexuality, but it was worth the odd looks and rumors whispered behind his back. He intentionally didn't reveal to them what his plans were.

If Daisuke found interest in one of them, all the better. If not, so be it. But the opportunity would be there. That wasn't to say that Hawkes would ever force one of his subordinates to enter a romance with Daisuke- only that they would be set up to interact with Daisuke as much as humanly possible if he found an interest in them. Surely, to Hawkes, that was minimally harmful.

Curly and Anya clearly had each other- at least, it was hard to tell, because Curly had been coddling Anya while she zoned out to another world since her return. The only thing that bothered Hawkes was the question of whether or not Anya had a romantic relationship with Curly prior to the crash.

Swansea was a married man, and Hawkes wasn't one to encourage infidelity. No, this little display was solely for Daisuke; to find a person he could cherish, who could impart him from his trauma over time. On every one of their faces, he could see the effects of death and revival; unstable eyes, overwhelming emotional swings and surges. Remorse. Guilt. Rage. Shock. Fear. Insanity. Gratitude. Overwhelming gratitude.

He wanted, dearly, to free them of death's stench, and of their past lives. Those weren't lives worth remembering, and he was going to find every possible distraction, purpose and good time he could to assist in their recovery.

It was a new era. He was going to be a new person.

Hawkes remembered when he initially ran this idea by Elise:

"Are you fuckin' psychotic? That is the most creepy and manipulative shit I've ever heard."

"Oh, okay, okay. Alright. But bringing people back from the dead is no issue to you, huh?"

"The two aren't even remotely comparable."

"Shut up, froggie."

Smack!

Naturally, just to spite her, he went ahead with the plan anyways.

"Sir?"

"O-Oh, uh!" Daisuke stumbled, as the drop-dead gorgeous blonde asked him again. "I-I uh, I need some time to, to think on it, if that's cool?"

"Sure!" She said with a smile. "Let me know when you're ready."

"U-Um!" Daisuke spoke up, and she turned around in response.

"Yes?"

"I-I was... was wondering..."

Yes, Captain Hawkes thought eagerly. Go on! 

"I was wondering if... if..."

YES, Captain Hawkes thought with euphoric expectation. ASK HER OUT!! SHE'S ONLY FOUR YEARS OLDER THAN YOU! THAT'S AN ACCEPTABLE AGE GAP!

"If... the Dungeness crab legs came with a dipping option?"

SMACK! "OWWWAH!"

Daisuke's head reeled back after Hawkes took the round ice cube out of his whiskey glass and chucked it at his head. Swansea looked over at Hawkes with a raised eyebrow, then shortly resumed his menu perusing.

"Been a minute since I had wine. Maybe I'll try out this one." Swansea muttered, a giddy smile riding across his face.

"What was that?!" Daisuke whined, looking accusingly at Hawkes.

"A lesson to learn from, hopefully."

"Heheheh!"

Daisuke and Hawkes both turned their heads in surprise as the blonde waitress giggled raucously. Daisuke's face lit up, and Hawkes smiled seeing him get so excited.

"W-What's your name, if I can ask? I'm Daisuke!"

The blonde waitress smiled at him, flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

"I'm Annalise. You can call me Anna if you want."

"I don't mind Annalise!"

Annalise seemed surprised by his forwardness, but gave him a wholesome and genuine smile. From Daisuke's facial expression, Hawkes could tell he was absolutely melting inside right now.

"Alright then, Daisuke. I'll be nearby if you need anything."

Daisuke nodded emphatically as she walked off, admiring her as long as he could.

Mission Accomplished, Captain Hawkes thought in pure jubilance. Who's creepy and manipulative now, Elise? Stupid Frenchie! Still, I'm not sure if she likes him back. I should let it progress naturally. I can do that... by assigning her to the patrol routes next to his bedroom! GENIUS!

"Hey, Hawkes." Swansea asked, pointing at the menu. "I was thinking of getting the Cabernet Sauvignon but it looks pricey. You think I should go with the Pinot Noir instead?"

Captain Hawkes stared at the menu for a minute, then at Swansea, then back at the menu, then back at Swansea.

"..."

Swansea furrowed his eyebrows as Hawkes remained silent.

"Did you lose your tongue when I wasn't looking?"

"Swansea, this is already bought and paid for by the government. I am the government."

"O-Oh.... Oh, right. Shit, yeah, sorry, I, uh... I wasn't thinking, heh."

Swansea's answer was very un-Swansea-like. Hawkes studied his body language, noticed he was staring into the void, and concluded that he was feeling out of place and revisiting trauma. He was seemingly reverting to his previous outlook of life to cope with the new. These symptoms from the resurrection were fascinating, yet worrying. The last thing Hawkes wanted was long-term or permanent side-effects or mental issues for his people; it's why he spent so much time and energy trying to figure out how to get them adjusted to the world again. It just happened to be the unfortunate reality that no matter how comfortable things were made for them, the haunting trauma of their past lives was still looming over them all the time, and it would inevitably take a while before they could even act and function normally.

"What, you think I want the 3 dollars in your wallet to pay for all this?" Hawkes jokingly said, trying to take Swansea's mind off the past. Swansea snapped out of his trance and snickered.

"Don't underestimate me, bud. There's an extra dollar in there for tipping."

Hawkes laughed out loud; Swansea's humor was right up his alley. Swansea even seemed proud to have made Hawkes laugh, and rubbed the back of his head while chuckling. A small epiphany suddenly hit Hawkes as he looked around the suite, studying each of the crew's behaviors and actions.

Despite decades of harrowing escapes, life-threatening encounters, stressful decisions and unavoidable atrocities, he'd found himself completely tolerant and comfortable with de facto babysitting these four. Why? It felt like that connection he'd thought about in the Divinity Chamber. Playing a hand in their revival, being in a position to spoil them rotten, and knowing the kind of horrible ordeals they suffered.

He wanted to see them recover, and thrive. He was infinitely curious to see how those given a second life would treat the world, and every second around these four was fascinating. But more than that, he desired to be by their side. He felt an active need to provide a path for their revitalization. He was obligated.

He'd spent a whole year trying to track them down and rescue them. He witnessed the horrorshow they were forced to live through for eight months. He had played out the story in his head multiple times, trying to fit the pieces together while he waited for the recorded footage to finish downloading.

He was utterly invested in these four. He wasn't sure what to call them, as a group. He supposed it didn't matter much.

"Alright, well, keep perusing and let one of the waiters know when you're ready." Hawkes stated, getting up from the couch to go visit Curly and Anya across the room, who were sitting on another lounge couch closer to the window. Anya was absentmindedly gazing out the window, still possessing that thousand-yard stare. Meanwhile, Curly was bringing the menu in front of her and going down the list, his eyes quivering as if he was barely holding it together.

That didn't look healthy. Hawkes casually made his way over to sit on the couch with them.

"Look, Anya! They got cheesecake, your favorite! I forgot what kind of flavor you like, but I'm sure we can order multiple and you can try each one out!"

Anya's eyes wandered from the window to Curly, as if she were drugged. Curly gently laid his hands on her cheeks and peered desperately into her eyes.

"Anya, you there? You okay? You know we're safe now, right? We're doing okay. Just look at me, okay?"

Hawkes was discomforted and depressed, seeing Curly try and comfort Anya. He himself wasn't sure why she was still in this state; it'd been over an hour and she seemed no better than after first being revived. What could he do to get her grounded to reality?

"Curly." Hawkes whispered. Curly turned from Anya with a look of sheer annoyance and indignance, then suddenly noticed it was Hawkes and lessened his expression.

"Hey."

"Hey. You want some help getting her centered?"

Curly gulped, looking between Anya and him, then eventually nodded fervently.

"It's killing me, seeing her like this." Curly muttered hoarsely. "I just want her to enjoy herself. I just want..."

"I getcha, I getcha." Hawkes said assuredly, leaning over to try and get Anya's attention. "Hey, Anya?"

Anya's eyes drifted from the menu to Hawkes' face, with no discernible change in those shell-shocked eyes of hers.

"Hey, nice to meet ya, Anya. I didn't get to introduce myself earlier. I'm Hawkes, captain of this ship. Just letting you know, you can do whatever you want, mmk? Eat, drink, sleep, fuck-"

Curly's cheeks reddened in embarrassment and irritation at the last word.

"-basically, just enjoy yourself, Anya. Chat with Curly! He didn't get his body fully Reformed for nothing."

Anya's disposition didn't change in the slightest. She seemed unable to speak or hear anything, and just nodded absentmindedly in response to his sentences. Hawkes sighed.

"Why hasn't this... this effect worn off yet?" Curly demanded of Hawkes, who simply shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

"I'm not a psychiatrist, but I suspect that there were some really strong emotions at play before she died. I'd say, even, that dying from an overdose and coming back to life is likely something that would trigger this kind of reaction. Whereas everyone else died a physical death, she was in a, dare I say, fucked-up mental state because of the painkillers. So it might be difficult for her to separate her past memories from the current, or it could be a dozen other reasons."

Curly gazed back over at Anya, who returned the stare.

"...Curly?"

Curly gasped in shock as she said her first word since the Divinity Chamber.

"Y-Yes, Anya! Yes, it's me!"

Anya stared at him again, as if trying to overcome the fog in her mind to remember him.

"Curly... Curly..."

"Yes! Yes, Anya. I'm right here for you. I'm right here."

Curly gently grabbed Anya's shoulders and laid her head down on his lap, quietly caressing and comforting her. She began to break down crying as she laid her head in his lap, bringing her hands up to wipe her tears.

"Curly...? Curly...?? How...? You're... okay? How...? How... did you... How?"

"They fixed me, Anya. By God, they fixed me. You don't know how amazing it feels, to have my body back. I want to tell you every single wondrous feeling I've had for the last few hours. I want to hear your voice. I want to see your lips move. I want to see that lively girl I first met years ago."

Anya shuddered violently, her eyes unfocused and filled with fear.

"Is this real? Are we still trapped in hell? Are we still there?"

"No. No, we're not. Anya, don't think on the past. You're here, you're fine, and I'm here. I'm fine."

Hawkes looked on in sympathy at Curly and Anya. He had scheduled the whole crew to have the entire day off, partially to get the Tulpar crew used to socializing and being around other people again. He often found that people suffering from past trauma could better adjust to normalcy if they weren't around others or items that triggered thoughts of the past.

And right now, the room had four human triggers constantly glancing at each other.

"Alright, enough of this!" Hawkes declared, finding the nearest table and dragging it into the middle of the suite. He swaggered over to the bar counter, went around it and swiped a bottle of Vodka from the display shelf. He reached under the counter and took five shot glasses with him. Then, he swaggered on back over to the table, uncorked the vodka, laid out the glasses and poured with pinpoint accuracy. 

"Come on, you lousy fucks! Gather round the table and let's take a shot! Barkeep, change the song!"

The barkeep, who was Roble, nodded and tuned the overhead speakers to a different song.

(Music: "About You", by Caravan Palace)

Hawkes bopped his head forward emphatically, with a shit-eating grin sat comfortably on his face.

"That's more like it!"

"Oh, it's the same band." Roble muttered aloud. "Let me find another-"

Instantaneously, Hawkes had appeared in front of Roble, who jumped back in shock and yelped. It was moments like this that Hawkes' staggering 7-foot demeanor became terrifying in an instant.

"Jesus!"

"Don't change the song. Caravan Palace is my shit."

"Yeah, but it's ancient. Why do you like oldie songs so much?"

"Because the garbage they produce nowadays is garbage."

"They'd probably said that back then about oldie songs."

"And they'd have been wrong. Pour a glass of Cab for Swansea, if you please. Then get off bar duty and start talkin' to him and Daisuke. They need to talk to other people. Also, get Jeremiah up here and let him indulge."

Roble nodded, then processed the last sentence and returned his eyes to Hawkes as he moved back to the table, where Swansea and Daisuke were gathered. Roble half-smiled in admiration.

"This guy..." He muttered.

"Alriiiight," Hawkes announced, approaching the round table once more and grabbing his shot glass. "Let's get to- ugh."

Hawkes noted only Daisuke and Swansea had deigned to stand at the table; Curly was still consoling Anya on the couch.

"Curly, Anya! Get yer asses over here, we're taking shots!"

Curly glared at him, but started gently moving Anya's head off his lap.

"I don't think Anya should be drinking right n-."

Curly suddenly fell back on the couch as Anya propelled herself off of him to stand up on quivering legs, dragging herself like a zombie over to the table and seizing a shot glass as if it were a lifebuoy amid a raging storm at sea. Despite her success in not spilling the glass, the force at which she slammed against the table sent the other unfortunate shot glasses careening onto the floor, shattering into several pieces.

Swansea, Daisuke, and Curly were utterly shocked, while Hawkes wore a shit-eating grin watching the whole event. He couldn't help but be utterly entertained; his mind was breaking down the behaviors and actions of these four every single second. He admired the human psychology more than most other things in the universe; the complex emotions that formed as a result of causes and effects, being able to trace the path of someone's thinking that resulted in the actions they took.

It was fascinating. Why did Anya, who was characteristically 'meek' suddenly taking brash and bold actions? Was this going to be a personality shift after death changed her? Or was it a temporary or sporadic change that would die out over time to the old personality?

Intriguing. Utterly intriguing. He was also unbothered by the spillage because he had retained his shot glass in his hand the whole time. This was the type of 2-steps-ahead thinking that made him Captain, obviously.

Hawkes pointed at Roble as Curly awkwardly joined the round table next to a fatigued-looking Anya, eyeing her with concern.

"Roble, it seems we had a minor inconvenience, please supply us with 3 more shot glasses."

Roble nodded emphatically, reaching behind the counter to resupply. Swansea snapped out of the shock and looked around the suite, noticing that the other employees had completely ignored the incident and continued their jobs, one of them even moving around the table to clean up the shattered glass without a hint of a gaze or glance.

"They're like drones." Swansea muttered, and Hawkes nodded, eyeing his employees to see if any of them would dare return the stare.

"They were told to ignore any 'mishaps' that might occur," Hawkes explained. "I had expected more bad blood and violence, so I didn't want you to feel ostracized by your surroundings if any of you needed to vent some frustrations. I'm shocked, though; you guys are a pretty solid group!"

Curly, Swansea, Daisuke and even Anya turned their heads to gaze at Hawkes; first uncomprehending, then gratitude and admiration arose in their eyes.

"You're a really nice dude." Daisuke commented. Swansea, ever the pessimist, had his own remarks.

"Seems a bit controlling."

Hawkes nodded in understanding.

"It can seem that way, since you just got here. But believe me when I say, the path of respect and duty travels both ways. The only reason I have this suite right now is because they built it out of my sight without my request for 2 months."

Swansea looked absolutely skeptical at the last statement, and Hawkes chuckled.

"I bet it sounds unrealistic. But it's the culmination of thirty years of experience. I do not brag, nor do I wish to. But I will be direct and honest with you."

He waved a hand across the terrarium, the suite, and practically everything else in sight as he spoke.

"All of this did not exist when I was first commissioned for this ship. It was a piece of shit that could barely travel 50 AUs without breaking down. Minus the room extensions to the vessel and its weaponry, everything onboard this ship has been constructed, maintained and repaired by its crew. Its supplies, the hierarchy, the chain of command, the social integrity and comfortability, the individual needs and passions of each crewmate; all of it was cultivated and maintained by the crew that have come and left service on this ship."

"But they couldn't have done that without a Captain who leads them well." Swansea remarked, his eyes narrowing at Curly; an intentional jab at him. Curly glared in return, but eventually averted his gaze in utter shame. Hawkes noted the obvious interaction and frowned.

"As I said. The relationship goes both ways. A crew needs to be aware of their captain in every regard. They should not be afraid to question bad orders or point out flaws in plans or directives. A Captain cannot run a ship by himself, he requires a crew that will listen to him in dire situations and who will go against him when they feel it is in the greater interest of the ship and its crew."

As he finished the dissertation, Hawkes glanced around at everyone's faces, measuring their mood. He was most relieved to see Anya's eyes gaining a bit of their lustre back, and she was beginning to engage in occasional small talk with Curly, who was himself shrouded in a deep depression and clawing desperation which Hawkes couldn't explain. Swansea was just as immersed in conversation with Daisuke, who seemed the most giddy and jubilant out of the four.

Hawkes admired the four of them. Standing here now, he realized just how surreal it was. He was about to take a shot with four formerly dead people.

What a world he was living in. He raised his glass in the air.

"The Argonaut II was successful in its mission. We retrieved the crew of the Tulpar, brought them back to life, and are now heading home to your families!"

Everyone at the table perked up at his last sentence, with Swansea practically sputtering in response.

"O-Oh my God, I didn't even think about- how's my family??"

"They're just fine, Swansea, just a little stress and terror at the thought of you dead, but they won't have to worry about that now! Anyways, we can contact your family tomorr-"

"NO! I need to see them now! I can't just-"

"Swansea." Hawkes said more harshly, bringing one hand up to gesture at him. "You just came back to life. It hasn't even been a day. We already sent a message to each of your families informing them that you were alive and well. I even told them you'd be calling tomorrow to spill your guts out about the whole thing. So just... enjoy. Today."

Swansea seemed as if he were about to protest, but relented with grumbles. Hawkes wasn't sure at this point if he was a master negotiator or an insidious manipulator, but he was glad to smooth over that point. He raised his glass once more.

"To new friends and better journeys!"

"To new friends and better journeys!"

Only Swansea and Daisuke were boisterous in their declarations. Curly half-heartedly contributed, and Anya just examined her shot glass with dead eyes. Hawkes sighed.

"Bottoms up."

Everyone took a shot, except for Anya and Hawkes. She shivered as she peered at the drink, reliving terrible memories of the past. Curly knew exactly what she was recalling, and his rage nearly boiled over into blind fury. He needed to find that motherfucker and kill him.

"Anya."

Anya responded to Hawkes with an empty look. She was disrupted from her senselessness as Hawkes waggled his shot glass in her face.

"Watch."

He slowly brought it back to his mouth and tipped it into his mouth. He swallowed, let out an exhale, and feigned an expression of disgust.

"Holy hell, I still hate Vodka." He muttered, just loud enough for Anya to hear. Her eyes seemed to clear up somewhat, and she looked down at her shot glass with hesitation. She took a short breath, and brought it up to her mouth.

The stench of hard vodka. It was somehow far more calming to her than a sweet, tangy smell would have been.

She downed the shot.

"Eugh!" She exclaimed. The suite filled with the laughter of Hawkes, Daisuke, Swansea and Curly- one of deep relief and affection. 

"I wasn't joking about it!" Hawkes teased Anya, smiling in a most friendly manner. Curly gazed at Hawkes, watching him interact with his former crew. It was somehow infuriating, yet deeply admirable at the same time. This Captain was a natural in so many things. Socializing, command ability, leadership, no doubt combat- and all Curly could feel was envy, regret, resentment, and guilt.

Why did he think he was deserving to be around these three ever again? He'd ruined their lives completely. If this bizarre second life hadn't been given to them miraculously, their last thoughts, emotions and experiences would have been stuck inside that derelict hellscape. His own blindness, naivete and complacency led to that outcome.

Even as Anya stood right beside him, all he could see was the memory of blood leaking down her face, bulging eyes, and paled skin. Right in front of him. She'd come to Curly for help when Jimmy violated her- and instead, he tried to reason with that piece of shit.

No more. He was beyond foolish to believe there was good in everyone, that he, Curly, could help them improve above their station. His blind faith in his former friend led to the deaths of his entire crew. 

Never. Again.

Hawkes went over to the bar and poured himself another shot, then brought the bottle over and refilled the empty glasses of the crew. He quietly noted the expression of bottomless fury erupting on Curly's face. Hawkes had an inkling of what Curly was thinking. A good captain betrayed by his best friend, cursing his naivete with every breath. As much as Hawkes detested the fact that Curly overlooked Anya's rape for his best friend, he was intelligent enough to know that a person was a summation of many things, not just one experience.

What he did was impossibly stupid, morally egregious, and deeply disappointing considering his record. But he wasn't the one who orchestrated the crash, nor the one who committed the rape, nor the one whose terror and actions led to the death of the crew.

The criminal was already found. But the penitence would be done by the victims. This criminal did not deserve redemption; if any inkling of that were to be found, it would be after a long journey of suffering, misery, self-reflection and punishment.

He raised his glass once more; to him, a proclamation of intent.

"Victory!"

Danny (2nd Mate) and Jeremiah leaned against the railing of the overhang open lounge. Jeremiah had to admire the architectural and engineering capabilities that were needed for such a design. He'd been on his fair share of spaceships, but none of them were even close to the magnitude of quality that this vessel embodied.

"Look at 'em up there." Danny remarked ruefully, pointing at the Captain's Suite while chugging the champagne in his glass. "Gettin' chummy, enjoying the finest liquor and food, partying with the Captain-"

"You're not..." Jeremiah interrupted. "...You're not seriously implying that... the people who caught the worst cabin fever in recent history are sleazing the Captain, right?"

Danny craned his head inquisitively towards Jeremiah.

"You're awfully mouthy for a first-year, huh?"

Jeremiah started sweating nervously. The Captain's beating was already more than enough for the day, he didn't want to add the beating by the 2nd Mate to his record as well. Danny noticed Jeremiah quaking in fear and laughed uproariously, lightly slapping Jeremiah's back.

"Relax, Jeremy. Despite what it may look like, we aren't actively spending our time getting into brawls and beating on subordinates."

Are you sure about that? Jeremiah thought skeptically.

"In any society, on any vessel, you get to know the social norms of your environment," Danny said, turning back to look up at the Captain's Suite. "Adaptability. Not just physical changes, but social changes. Living planet-side is a lot different than living on a space vessel. Where society is spread out and numerous on planets, your society on this ship is 500-something odd people. All of us, interacting frequently, means we exchange certain behaviors, quirks, and ideas."

Danny gazed around the crowd, scanning faces and observing conversations.

"But being on a ship is a double-edged sword. While we become more bonded, we also take trauma far worse. Mental breakdowns, bad interactions, animosity- each interaction cascades across every crewmate. When you have to interact with someone as frequently as you do on a vessel, every socialization is amplified."

He turned to face Jeremiah directly, and his eyes were charged with unwavering grit.

"That's why you can't afford to have miscreants and evildoers on the ship. You have to weed them out as soon as possible. Mistakes and bad blood can be forgiven and renewed, but an individual with a bad mindset and worse intentions is the scourge of any and every vessel that suffers them."

"How can one person do so much damage on vessels that have hundreds of people?" Jeremiah asked.

"It's self-evident. Ships were designed to be for a purpose, to be operated by people trying to achieve that purpose. Most ships were not designed to prevent self-sabotage, they only rely on a structured hierarchy, protocols, and social norms to enforce order and harmony onboard. Here's a number of ways you can kill everyone on board as one person: Damage the gas lines, fuck up the oxygen generator, start a big fire and suffocate everyone, steer the ship into an asteroid, sabotage the engines and strand the crew. You get the point."

"Fucking hell," Jeremiah muttered, now terrified of being onboard the vessel after hearing the different ways it could be sabotaged. "How does anyone manage that kind of stress when they're responsible for the whole ship?"

"By being tough, brutal, and acutely aware." Danny stated. Jeremiah looked up at the Captain's suite. 

"The Captain did beat me up... but he seems like a really nice guy overall. Look how far he's going to help these innocent people."

Danny snickered.

"His personality changed completely in the last two months, and you didn't see him for the last ten months because he stayed exclusively in the bridge like a recluse. That resurrection shit flipped his philosophy on its head, and now he's acting like a completely different person half the time. Hey..."

He turned his head.

"Which planet do you hail from?"

Jeremiah seemed to hesitate to answer; he knew the response to this every time.

"Noria."

"Well, you know what I was going to say about that."

Jeremiah sighed and Danny grinned.

"I know."

"If you know, then why are you acting shocked about a simple beat-down? Have you ever been off-planet before this vessel? Nevermind, I know the answer. And I assume you know what I'm gonna say next."

Jeremiah nodded in resignation.

"Well, I'm gonna say it anyway." Danny lectured him. "The vast majority of planets are not Noria. They do not have luxury resources available to the common people. They do not always have cutting-edge technology. They do not have sound government structures and efficient agencies. They do not have social harmony and progressive policies. Most planets are hellholes. Most ships have hellish conditions, or hellish superiors, or hellish crewmates or hellish expectations. You lucked out getting on this ship."

Jeremiah nodded reluctantly, conceding the point.

"Anyways, I'm done lecturing you."

"I do have one question," Jeremiah asked him. "What was the Captain like before the Day of Rapture?"

Danny eyed him suspiciously, wondering whether or not divulge the information. It was common knowledge among the older and senior crewmates, but amongst the new and young, it was withheld intentionally. Regaling stories about the Captain's past was a detriment to morale, in this case. However, Danny decided to make an exception for Jeremiah; he didn't peg him as the type to openly go around and spew these stories to others.

"You will keep this to yourself, and only yourself," Danny ordered him. Jeremiah nodded plentifully. Danny hesitated one more time, before speaking in a low tone.

"Arrogant. Brutally efficient. Cold and calculating. Nihilistic. Careless with his own life, but not others. Abrasive in conversation. Spiteful. He was the poster child for merciless military captains, and he acted like one too."

"When we were on pirate-hunting missions, it was military tradition to collect small trophies from the bodies, along with the photographs, as a sign of the accomplishment. Hawkes took this to another level. Every chance he had, he chopped up their bodies into segmented pieces, then would run a cord through the middle of each limb and string them together loosely to resemble a segmented human body. He'd take the vile creations and tie them to the outside of the ship, where the bodies would freeze over and stick to the ship's outer hull. Every time we ran into pirates, the first thing they saw on the front of our ship was the strung-up, mutilated bodies of other pirates."

By the end of that sentence, Jeremiah was utterly horrified, yet infinitely curious to hear more. His perception had undoubtedly changed of the captain, but the recounting by Danny was morbidly fascinating.

"What else?" Jeremiah asked eagerly, and Danny curved his upper lip in discomfort, yet continued.

"Well... he used to track his kill count by making notches on his arms, legs, chest and face. After the Day of Rapture, though, he immediately went to Faulkner to have the notches removed."

The two of them fell silent for a moment.

"...Anything else?" Jeremiah asked tentatively. Danny huffed in slight irritation.

"You seem awfully entertained by this." He accused him, and Jeremiah raised his palms up as a sign of deflection.

"Is getting to know more about the Captain a crime?" He asked sarcastically. Danny sighed.

"Fine. I'll give you one detailed enough that it'll sate your endless curiosity. The Captain, without exception, tortured every confirmed mutineer, pirate and human trafficker he captured. It only began after he coaxed the information out of them with his silver tongue. It was purely for his own pleasure."

"I remember the first time I was present for one of his 'interrogations', done well after the information was attained and confirmed. The man in his custody was a mutineer who'd killed a woman and violated her corpse, started a fire in the engine room to distract from the discovery, and stranded the ship. The mutineer then incited a riot against the captain and got him killed, then appointed himself captain and sent out a distress signal. We found the ship two months later, and when Hawkes found out the captain was killed, he confined the mutineer and did his investigation. Found the woman, found the fingerprints & DNA on the damaged engine, interrogated the other surviving crewmates, and salvaged camera footage that showed the mutineer sabotaging the engine and inciting the riot."

Danny shuddered slightly as he recalled the next part of the story.

"Hawkes dragged him into that room and wasted no time. He used pliers to tear his teeth out, then stabbed them back into his gums and had Faulkner reconnect the ligaments, only to tear them out again. He castrated his balls, cauterized them back on, then repeated. He would poke his eyes out, watch him fumble around, then randomly and occasionally slam his baton against one of the mutineer's limbs; he kept doing this until the bones were broken, then he would mend them back together, only to repeat the process."

"When the mutineer begged him to stop, he had him strapped to an operating table and meticulously cut his fingers into thin slices, working his way up to the palm and then up the arm, all the way to the shoulder. Then he would Reform the entire arm and start with the other side. When he grew bored of that, Hawkes suspended him, face up, over an open furnace, watching as the mutineer was slowly roasted alive. When it neared the point of unconsciousness and death, Hawkes took him down, sprawled him over the floor, waited until the mutineer stopped screaming, then had buckets of salt and vinegar poured over his back."

"Then we finally got to our home planet. Hawkes had the mutineer fully restored, and brought him to the courts for adjudication and trial. By the time he'd gotten to court, the mutineer was mentally broken, unable to speak a word out loud. He was convicted and executed a month later."

Jeremiah's expression was utterly despondent. What he had just heard was an absolute horror story. He looked back up towards the Captain's Suite, seeing faintly a look of pleasure and contentment on Hawkes' face.

"And this... this only happened to the worst people, right?" Jeremiah uttered, almost in terror. Danny exhaled from his nose in amusement, nodding.

"Obviously. I wouldn't serve under a Captain who is cruel to the innocent and his subordinates."

"But you'll serve a Captain who takes pleasure from torturing criminals?"

Danny shrugged, which worried Jeremiah even more.

"I'll be frank. What I've seen him do has terrified me, completely. His creativity and charisma scare me more than anything, because he's extremely intelligent and cunning. He catches things nobody else is even giving thought to. His ability to sniff out what a person is thinking is unparalled among anyone else on this ship. I'm only grateful that he has a moral code for who he distinguishes between innocent and evil, and it happens to line up with most of humanity. The only downside is that he has an endless hatred and cruelty of those he sees as 'evil'. And that is, in of itself, borderline evil to me. At the end of the day, he's stooping to the level of his captives and the only differentiation is who receives the cruelty."

"But," Jeremiah interjected. "I don't necessarily see it as 'wrong' if he's confirmed that his captives are evil. They did awful things, they should suffer."

Danny shook his head, personally disagreeing with the argument.

"It is not the retribution that is morally wrong. It is the torture, to me. The way he took pleasure in hearing their screams, seeing them writhe around, watching them suffer in complete agony... I'm telling you, there's something fucked up about it that just isn't right."

"I don't understand your argument," Jeremiah confessed. "The people he's torturing have caused the suffering, misery and deaths of others. That torture is justified. They aren't deserving of quick and painless deaths, nor does the justice system do the real punishment. Putting them in prison is justice, but to me it is not retribution. Retribution is paying back the suffering those people caused a hundredfold. Retribution is hurting them so badly that they reflect on their actions and feel remorse and guilt. I would much rather they suffer greatly and reflect on their actions, than go to prison and adjust to normalcy behind bars."

Danny huffed in satisfaction, impressed with Jeremiah's intellect and diction.

"Well, let's just agree to disagree, then." Danny said.

"Still," Jeremiah conceded. "I can imagine it's not easy working for a captain who you know takes pleasure in torture."

Danny swilled the drink in his hand, peering at the half-full contents.

"It's far more preferable to my previous bosses."

Jeremiah was somewhat alarmed to hear that.

"You had bosses who were worse than a serial torturer?"

Danny chuckled before speaking again.

"Before Captain Hawkes, I worked for a guy named Gerry, on the Hemshaw freighter. He would throw his weight around constantly, giving ridiculous orders to his crew, flirting with the female crewmates during evaluations, threatening guys with termination if they didn't pay kickbacks from their checks to him. He was gutter trash that saw his crew as tools to advance his own success and pleasures."

"Before him, I worked for a woman named Hendra on a giant commercial freighter. She would backstab her own co-workers constantly, snitch on them to upper management, scheme against her superiors to claim their place, and verbally abused her subordinates constantly. A dishonest weasel of a human being."

"And before her, I worked for a young guy, Geriah, on an asteroid mining vessel. He was nice, but was the worst decision-maker I'd ever seen. He constantly made calls that nearly killed crewmates, failed to learn from his losses, didn't take advice from his second and third mate, and delegated tasks to people who weren't suited to the job. He ended up getting us pinned between two asteroids because he didn't listen to his navigator about potential collision courses and wanted to take the shortest route through. We nearly died of starvation when our distress signal reached a military cruiser who rescued us. He was pathetic, bullish and incompetent without any redeeming leadership qualities."

Danny took a breath before continuing.

"These people may seem like lukewarm puddle water compared to Hawkes. The difference is, Hawkes cares for his crew. He treats us like his family. He is observant about our successes and mistakes in equal measure, and does nothing except help us however he can. He was like that before the Day of Rapture, for all the years I can recount being with him. He took care of us, and for that we repaid him however we could. And I will take a Captain who loves us over those other pithy sacks of waste every damn day of the week."

Silence fell between Danny and Jeremiah as the latter processed the information he just took in.

"Wow," Jeremiah muttered. "It sounds like every other spaceship is just full of assholes."

Danny laughed in response, taking a long swig from his glass.

"Sure seems like it. In reality, it's just a gamble with whatever ship you're on. Our lives outside of the Argonaut are pretty dystopian- that is, if you don't come from a luxury world." He teased Jeremiah, who grinned in embarrassment and humility.

"Alright, you made your point." Jeremiah replied, taking several drinks from his beer. "Still, I didn't realize the Captain had such a... history. You weren't kidding about the personality switch, if what you say is true."

Danny sighed, a mixture of relief and concern.

"Yeah... I do like this Hawkes much better than the one 2 months ago, I'll admit. But it also worries me. He's smart, and well-aware of his past. So him turning into a near-saint trying to help these people seems more like a coping mechanism to handle this new reality. Hell, I'm worried, too. I did a lot of bad shit, no matter the reasons, and I'm afraid of how I'll be judged when I die. Now that everyone knows there's a higher power, it's hitting us all differently. Most of the crew has lightened up a ton in the last two months, so clearly most people have a favorable outlook of the afterlife and their judgement."

Danny eyed the distant Captain once more.

"But the Captain... his actions far outweigh all of the crew combined. He was an efficient commander for thirty years, and that means the amount of bodies he's stacked could rival a small country. And he's aware of that. So yeah... I think this is him trying to desperately change his image, and to repent for what he's done."

Jeremiah nodded slowly, leaning against the railing alongside Danny. The two of them shared a view of the Captain as he moved about the suite, animated and charismatic by body language alone.

"Hey," Jeremiah asked randomly. "Why is the Captain so freakishly tall? I've never seen someone with his perfect body proportions at that height. All the ones I've seen in photographs and videos are usually thin, save for a few exceptions of humans throughout history."

Danny waved his hand dismissively.

"Around five years ago, he got body augmentations from a group of insanely high-end surgeons after he rescued them from a burning medical vessel. Naturally, he didn't give the details, but the result was self-evident."

"Woah. How tall was he before?"

"5 foot 6 inches."

Jeremiah didn't dare laugh, or it would be his head. Danny peered over and grinned wryly.

"Smart man. As for why, he had made it clear in private talks that he absolutely detested being towered over by enemies and rivals during parleys and negotiations. It drove him mad, to the point that after negotiations were finished, he would head to the bridge and bite his arms in fury until they bled."

Jeremiah was disturbed.

"I wouldn't be remiss in saying that seems... insecure?" Jeremiah spoke as tentatively as possible.

"No, you would not be remiss. But that's a flaw I can get behind. A much more tolerable flaw than narcissism, powertripping, untrustworthiness, incompetence and so on."

Jeremiah nodded, this time feeling more resolved than before. There was something intrinsic about learning the history of a person or place that made one feel more connected to it.

"Alright, enough chattering on about the past," Danny stated firmly, pointing at Jeremiah. "Let's find some liquor and play some beer pong."

"You play beer pong with liquor?!" Jeremiah exclaimed in abject horror. Danny sneered.

"Man the fuck up, Jeremy."

Chapter Text

(Music: "Supersonics", by Caravan Palace)

"Whut floor ehm I oonnn???"

5 shots each and a few hours later, and the Tulpar crew plus Hawkes were shit-faced drunk. Before he reached the point of no return, Hawkes instructed the room staff to loosen up their uniforms and join in the merrymaking. In his severely drunken state, he had mistakenly gone up to Annalise and quietly directed her to sit next to Daisuke, being painfully obvious in his implication without realizing it.

Whereas any other woman would have simply ignored the drunken Captain and continued their merrymaking, Annalise was a die-hard loyalist- and additionally, very dense. The Captain's failure to hide his agenda completely passed over Anna's head, and instead, she simply interpreted the order as an assignment to socialize with the resurrected to help them adjust to the land of the living again.

Enthusiastically, she sat down next to Daisuke, who yelped in a high pitch as he noticed her presence, gaining temporary sobriety.

"Hey, Daisuke!"

"H-Hey there, A-Annalise!"

Meanwhile, Jeremiah entered the room with a somewhat drunk Roble, the two of them instantly noticing the chaotic atmosphere. Many of the crewmates employed as waitstaff were engaged in all kinds of mischief and party games. A few of them were playing beer pong on the bar counter, some others were playing cards, two were playing chess (where the hell did they get a chessboard?), and the rest were sloppily dancing to the music pumping from the overhead speakers.

"I need some liquor in my system, stat!" Jeremiah immediately commented, and Roble smirked, leading him with a stumbling gait over to the bar counter to grab a bottle. At the same time, Swansea was drunkenly reading medical flashcards to an even more intoxicated Anya, quizzing her as Daisuke, Curly and Hawkes cheered Anya on from the sidelines.

"Okey. Nexx queshtion," Swansea muttered almost incomprehensibly, pulling the next flash card up to read. "Dehfine thuh ad-dreen-uhl cor-tecks (Define the adrenal cortex)."

Anya swayed back and forth, seemingly thinking on the question, before spitting out an answer like a robot.

"Outeerrrr... Outerrr sex-shin uhf tha adreeenal gland. It sec-kreets cor-ti-sahl, all-dough-ster-own, andddd-uhhhh, ssseeexxx hor-mones(Outer section of the adrenal gland. It secretes cortisol, aldosterone, and sex hormones)."

"Currrr-eckt!" Swansea announced boisterously, as Hawkes, Daisuke and Curly clapped wildly.

"Shee's on a rollll!!!" Daisuke slurred.

"Amay-zinggg!" Curly exclaimed with weary but spirited eyes, his mind still haunted and on the verge of breaking despite the severe lack of sobriety.

"Sum-one ghet her a troph-eee." Hawkes complimented, a bit shocked that his words were slurring when he wasn't concentrated on speaking. Anya smiled obliviously, waving at her supporters as if she'd just been elected to office.

"Nexcht question!!" Swansea incoherently interjected. "Wheeh-ch part of thaa ver-teh-bruhl cah-naal will shooow sec-un-dehr-eee currr-ves, with cahn-cah-vit-eee back-werrds (Which part of the vertebral canal will show secondary curves, with concavity backwards?)"

Anya swayed back and forth once more, thinking on the question while fighting the urge to drop on her side and fall asleep.

"Thaa ser-vick-uhl an' lum-barrr reej-juhns (The cervical and lumbar regions). Tha curvess dev-ehl-uhp af-tur birth, and-uhhh are ass-osh-ee-ay-ted with thaa-uuhhh bah-dee's adaptation toooo up-right pause-shter and bye-ped-uhl lo-coh-moh-shun (The curves develop after birth, and are associated with the body's adaptation to upright posture and bipedal locomotion)."

"Currect, ag-ayn!" Swansea proclaimed loudly with overwhelming drunk stupor, pumping his fist in the air like he'd just watched his betting horse cross the finish line first. Again, the clapping from the peanut gallery erupted, humbly inviting thanks and salutations from Anya, who at this point was standing up and bowing several times over, offering thanks and beaming with pride.

How did she fail the medical exam eight times? Hawkes wondered in semi-coherent thought.

"Hey, Anya!" 

Anya turned to Hawkes' voice, stumbling and placing her hands on her hips with acute confidence. Hawkes thought his heart would burst from how the sight overwhelmed his orbitofrontal cortex with adorable-ness.

"Do you know which medical schools you applied to? Just one of them, out of curiosity?"

Anya seemed a bit depressed by the question, but perked up again and started thinking on it.

"I ree-mem-burrr furrrstt app-lye-ing 'tah Hill-ee-uh's Sckhoool of Med-issh-innn, bbuut-"

Hilia's School of Medicine, perfect. A name is all I needed.

"Thanks, Anya!" Hawkes interjected as friendly as possible. "Sorry to interrupt your quick quizzing!" He joked, trying to distract from the question he just asked. Anya waved at him nonchalantly, smiling wholesomely.

"Nnnnooooo prob-lemmm!"

I'm gonna burn that fuckin' school and every other one that rejected her to the ground, Hawkes thought in casual malice. Firing squad the heads of departments, flay the decision-makers alive, and boil the school president in a vat of oil. Nice and efficient.

A thought entered his head, thinking back to Anya's adorable pose. Out of concern, Hawkes looked to Curly, worried that-

"Curly!" He muttered under his breath in alarm, seeing Curly had flopped back on the couch with a violent shiver- a rigid grin wrought across his face as he silently quivered.

Fuck, Hawkes thought in rising concern. He might have an actual heart attack.

That was no hyperbole, either- Hawkes had thought about the intricate problems with this whole 'reviving people from the dead' thing. When a person died, their emotions were pushed to their extremes, beyond anything they've ever felt in their life. Imagine dying with those otherworldly heights of emotions, then waking back up in the same life?

Without a doubt, from what Hawkes had observed, those death's door emotions came slamming back into their minds, wreaking havoc across their body, and decimating practically every complex component that summarized their existence. Everything from simple topics, to merely glancing at other returned friends or loved ones, to just thinking about the trauma, was enough to cause meltdowns, breakdowns, mental snaps, insanity, and a whole other troupe of issues.

So, in conclusion, Curly seeing his once-dead (alleged) lover exude such adorable energy sent his receptors into shock, which cascaded across the rest of his brain and body, amplified by the heightened emotions from death and subsequent resurrection. What a fucking headache to deal with.

It was times like these that Hawkes was always grateful for the invention of the Reformation Procedure- he could fix any issue they had. However, he had reservations about just 'curing' everything about them.

Physically, he had no issue restoring them to perfection. But when it came to mental issues, there were certain moral misgivings he had with it. No matter if it were an illness or an ailment, those were unfortunately part of who a person is or was. The primary fear that Hawkes had with removing those was if he removed such a key component to someone's life; they could potentially lose their sanity entirely by being pushed over the edge, not knowing who they were or being unable to comprehend reality without those key parts of them.

Perhaps, as time went on and they healed from their past, there could be a gradual reduction and eventual dissipation entirely. But right now, doing that was far too risky. Right now, they needed treatment.

Hawkes almost snickered out loud at himself. As often as he had used it to practice terror and evil on the wicked, he had discontinued it for torture ever since the Day of Erudition (A really stupid name, in his opinion), and had focused his full efforts on healing and improving people's lives.

It was the only path he was allowed because it was the path he had been gifted by the greatest. He was not going to squander this. Everything, every fiber of his being was dedicated to helping the innocent and punishing the guilty.

The only difference was, helping the innocent would be far more of an ordeal.

As everyone began to glance over to Curly to see what happened, Hawkes quickly diverted the conversation back to Anya.

"WhUt's thE nExT qUeSsstchun, ShwaaansSEAA?" Hawkes proclaimed giddily with a facade of being more drunk than he was, dancing with his upper torso while poking the air in rhythm with the song. Thankfully, everyone's attention returned back to Swansea, who didn't skip a beat in reading off the next question. Hawkes took the opportunity to silently sneak over to Curly to check on him.

"Hey. Hey. Curly, you good? Curly?" He whispered as he came up to inspect the blonde idiot. He was relieved to see Curly had stopped shivering, suddenly raising his head with wandering drunk-eyes and surveying the suite with regaining clarity.

"Y-Yeah... Wh-What happened?"

"You fell in love again. Anyways, can you keep an eye on Anya and drink some water? I gotta hit the men's room."

Curly jabbed a thumbs up and Hawkes quickly departed, heading towards the restroom door. He felt a surge of gratitude and affection for his crew as he didn't have to duck his head when going through it; they had taken a lot of time and care for this suite. And it wasn't for nothing.

He had saved their lives more times than the amount of years they'd lived. Not collectively, obviously, but individually. He wasn't sure why he had to clarify that in his thinking.

He entered the restroom and immediately went to a stall to relieve himself. He had drank a ton, after all. It wasn't dignified, but tis was the nature of any living being. Dignity was a facade made up by humans to seem above the station they were given in life; as vulgar, awkward, bumbling creatures whose only saving graces against the natural order were cunning, intellect, and a horrifying imagination for creativity.

Oh, and sweating, of course. They would still be monkeys if not for sweat evolution. Wow, what a pair of words to put together.

(Music: "Aftermath", by Caravan Palace)

"Ah, shit." Hawkes cursed silently, trying to finish his prolonged relief. "Song change, I need to get back out there and vibe right now."

He quickly re-did his belt and pants, sprint-walk-stumbling towards the sink to cleanse his sinful hands, and stormed through the door. 

Seeing the faces of Curly, Anya, Swansea and Daisuke turn to face him, their eyes lighting up with affection and excitement, seeing their bodies relax and re-energized, seeing nothing except respect, admiration and hope resonate from them...

Hawkes was born in a dingy lower-class fiefdom on Canaris. His father was a metalworker, his mother a seamstress. Both were employed by the Canaris Global Federation as they were waging wars against pirates, rival nations and private mercenary groups. His father was cruel, but after being conscripted his cruelty found an outlet. He had eventually brought this home, inflicting it on the family for years.

Hawkes' mother died at his father's hands. And his father died at his hands. His brother had joined a gang to find alternative income and ended up dead from a drive-by. Hawkes moved off-world, finding nothing except contempt and abuse in the holdings of cruisers, freighters and carriers. Even as he was promoted, his young age garnered disrespect and loathing from his subordinates and superiors, along with his impoverished background.

He had to find respect through overwhelming, frightening violence. It was the norm for military vessels at the time, and he caught on quick. Ten years more, ten years before he finally gained some respect from his peers.

Ten years after that, he gained admiration from his crew and military.

Ten years once more, and he gained their trust- the whole damn kingdom.

But at no point in time, did he see affection in their eyes. At no point did he see love. Familial love.

And that was exactly what he witnessed in the eyes of those four only a few meters away. Love.

He had never seen this from his mother nor father, nor brother. He had long known he was the product of rape, that the mother hated the child and the father loathed him for being the burden that ended his nomadic lifestyle; that Hawkes' brother was a mutual conception thanks to his mother's Stockholm Syndrome, a brother who hated him for causing his parents such grief and rage for no apparent reason, one they did not disclose to him.

Such injustice. Such hypocrisy. Such ignorant evil.

And yet when he looked at these four, those thoughts that terrified and enraged him would fade away as if it were the morning mist of a rising sun.

Love. Love, love, love.

Loooove.

What a wonderful word, he thought to himself. It was the most fitting, most perfect word he could conceive to describe how he felt about them. Love.

It was settled. He had no family until today. These people- these beautiful souls- they were his family now. They were kin to him. A divine gift.

Thank. God.

"hEy hAwKeS!!" Daisuke mumbled near-incoherently, waving over-dramatically as Hawkes exited the bathroom. Hawkes smiled genuinely, waving back at him- more sober and euphoric than ever before. Minus the sober part.

"Hey Daisuke!" He replied with a beaming smile. He wanted to go and sit with them so badly. But he needed to take care of some minor issues first. He turned on his shoulder radio, speaking to a few people before he went back to his comfort.

"Hawkes here, you hear me, Ali?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Start the renovations on their rooms early tomorrow."

"Fuck... Hawkes, dude, we're gonna be hung over as hell."

"I'm sorry, did hangover cures become obsolete when I wasn't looking? Here's some tips, crack an egg over a beer and chug it."

"That was only one tip, Cap-"

Click. He switched to the next channel.

"Jazz."

"Jazz here, what's up?"

"Suite. Now."

Before Jazz could respond, Hawkes switched the radio to the next channel. He was pissed at Jazz; solely over his bullshit speech about Anya during the Ritual. He had his reservations on what happened, but he wanted a damn good explanation from Jazz on why he would lie during a revival procession.

"Lily. Hawkes here." He whispered as loud as he could over the music and noise.

"Here, beautiful."

"I told you to stop the flirting. I need you to have some agents keep an eye on the four we resurrected, 24/7."

"Done. When are you free tomorrow?"

"Never... maybe." 

Click.

Hawkes exhaled, trying to fight off the urge to fall over and find slumber. He wasn't going to waste a second of this precious time. Two more. He changed the channel.

"Annie, you there? It's Hawkes."

"Fuck you want? I'm partying."

Hawkes half-grinned , having always enjoyed the crude behavior and language of the Chief Medical Officer. It reminded him of his home district.

"I'm not asking you to stop. Tomorrow (write this down, you forgetful ditz) I'd like you to perform a mental evaluation of the Tulpar crew, I'll be present."

"Why do you always make wishes that can't be granted? I shouldn't have to reiterate why evaluations are isolated between the CMO and the patient."

"I'm the Captain. My wishes are always granted."

Hawkes had come off more strongly than he intended, but the message seemed more than sufficient.

"Very well, Admiral."

Hawkes laughed, then sneered at the crass rebuttal. Hawkes was an admiral, a commander of several ships in a fleet, but for this rescue mission he had been temporarily bumped down to the rank of Captain since he was only commandeering one ship. Apparently, the reasoning for this had been, "If an admiral dies during a non-combat operation, it is far worse of a hit to public morale than a captain dying."

What the fuck? Shockingly, Hawkes was somewhat understanding of the reasoning, no matter how cold-blooded it was. Seeing 'Admiral Dead During Rescue Operation' in the headlines was not good for morale, and since Canaris was still fighting two wars with other nations, that morale was key to winning the whole conflict.

He turned off the radio, knowing he was better than to respond spitefully to Annie's provocations-

Click.

"Hope the love life is progressing well, Annie."

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY YOU SON OF A BITC-"

Click.

It was just too satisfying.

Last one. He switched to the Divinity Channel, this time hearing Jazz's shaky voice.

"S-So, uh, Captain Hawkes, we're all good right?"

"Get that sack of shit ready for resurrection, then dose him until he's in a coma for twenty-four hours. I don't want to hear his name spoken by anyone. After he's back, tie him down and shove him into Interrogation. Then you can come up and hang out in the Captain's Suite."

Jazz exhaled through the radio in relief, seemingly glad he wasn't getting reamed out.

"Yes, sir."

Click. He was still getting reamed out.

Hawkes purged his mind of the last few seconds, trying to clear his mind rapidly before any form of rage could onset. He practically skipped over to the four of them-

...

To his family.

(Music: "Tension", by Avery Alexander)

"Miss Lilia, Mr. Frank is on the line."

"Patch him over."

Lilia, Chief of Espionage for the Argonaut II, was swiveling in her chair to handle the deluge of different assignments, tasks and issues that assailed her every minute. Being a workaholic, she absolutely loved this role, giving her overactive mind a constant stimulation that itched that scratch she'd been looking for her whole life.

"Lilia here. Any sign of trouble afar?"

"Hey. Yeah, there's a renegade armada with no sigil readings. They're on a different course, though, and they've got some serious manpower and weaponry. We should let them cruise by."

Lilia chuckled in slight amusement. Had this been three months ago, her report to Hawkes would have resulted in an inevitable fight. That stubborn bastard possessed a hate for pirates she'd never seen in anyone else, her whole life. Everytime they won the fight, having disabled the engines, blown up the bridge and obliterating the enemy armaments, they would board these pirate ships.

There would always be captives onboard- always. No pirate could survive long in the outer reaches of space without a penchant for raiding weaker ships and getting involved in the slave market. The first time she had seen him free those captives and grant them comfort and reprieve, she had been a cold skeptic- believing it to be nothing more than a political stunt to make himself look better.

The second time, she wondered.

The fiftieth time, she knew. She knew.

In this hellish society, with these pig-fucker leaders and autocrats and elitists and useful idiots... there was a real-life hero. Tainted as he may have been, he was a hero to her. She'd served as a spy, an informant, a double agent and an undercover detective for over twenty years. At the ripe old age of 35, she was a master in her craft. But for 20 of those years, she felt soulless. Empty. Aimless, no matter the accolades or talents she gained and exhibited. In her role, she'd seen the absolute worst that humanity had to offer, and no further statements could fully detail nor explain that kind of depravity- what it did to the human mind.

But on one fateful day, she was given a contract to spy on Admiral Hawkes, of the 8th Canaris Fleet.

Lilia pressed the button to speak over the radio.

"We'll let them cruise by, then."

"Should we warp now to avoid confrontation?"

"No. It takes a while to spool our FTL drivers, and the energy it gives off while it warms up is detectable within several millions of miles. We're sure to get found and shot at if we do it."

"Copy that."

Lilia switched her radio to General, secretly hoping Hawkes would call her to request something. She had been obsessed with him for the last ten years. After being promoted to Chief of Espionage, she was granted access to every surveillance device onboard. With this overwhelming power, she naturally spent several waking moments watching, listening and understanding the Captain's words and actions.

The more she listened, the more she saw- the more she felt connected to him, empathized with him. She'd spent her whole life studying others, seeing the worst and best sides of them all. Those 'worse' sides were far more plentiful than the best.

But with Hawkes... he was, without a doubt, a hero. She'd spent so much time trying to know him, brute-hacking and scouring through his locked-away government records, studying his every movement, interpreting his actions and words in with multiple ledgers of those movements.

Over the years, she'd accumulated a handful of subordinates in her position, those who knew of her obsession and were still loyal after years of dutiful service. These people were trusted with her most secretive of tasks; infiltrating gatherings, eavesdropping on private conversations, jotting down the movements and behaviors of troublesome crewmates.

Most of the head of crew were at the end-result of veterancy; more than a decade for most of them. Their direct subordinates were loyal, efficient and reliable. Their minds were clear of trouble, their morale unwavering.

But Lilia was the reason for this. She had weeded out the cancerous tumors that had boarded this vessel. Whether by imprisonment in the brig, severe punishments for atonement, or outright execution for foiled plots- she had been the maintainer of this ship's safety and order; through surveillance, a proactive mindset, and a network of trustworthy spies who were willing to die before giving up her name. Her role and theirs were known only by the Heads of Departments- and the true identities of her informants were only known by her.

A perfect system, that she had devised for optimum security and full accountability. A system she had created and wanted so badly to put in place. And Hawkes -God! That fucking beautiful man!- had given her the greenlight to implement it however she pleased.

This was her paying him back, for everything he'd done for her. She'd seen every interaction of him on the ship. Every single one for fifteen years. There wasn't a single moment where he doubted his crew, or talked shit behind their backs; there wasn't a single instance or occurrence where he acted out of hubris or cowardice or self-interest. For fifteen fucking years! He was an unwavering force of nature, to her. And a force for good.

She was aware of what he did to criminals in the Interrogation Room. She was aware of his flaws, his insecurities, his imperfections, his moments of self-doubt and depression. She knew his history, for the last fifteen years and everything she could find in records or from witness accounts since his birth, as much as she possibly could. She just wanted to understand what made him tick- especially from how he was raised... how could he form such a heroic mindset and stick by it? With such intellect, how did he not grow slothful, or lazy, or contemptuous of the world and lose all hope? How did he find the determination to reach a goal known to no one but himself?

When his whole personality and mindset switched in the last two months, Lilia was only driven into a frenzy of curiosity. More questions, less answers. The discovery of resurrection. The discovery of an afterlife- of a creator, of a universe that was designed...

Her mind raced. And raced. And raced. It was all so interesting. She just needed time to sort it all out. And throughout this time, she had only Hawkes to thank. For centering her mind, centering her world, around a beacon of hope and steadfast leader in these changing times.

She was eternally grateful for having ever met him. She would protect him at all costs. And she would continue to do so, to guard the man she venerated as the most heroic person she'd ever met.

"Lilia, I've got the prints for that armada."

"Give 'em here, Ozzy."

The First Agent, Ozzy, handed the documents over to Lilia, who scanned them with pinpoint focus.

"Send copies of these to the Heads of Departments."

"Roger. By the by, are you still watching the Suite Cam?"

"Please exit this room with haste."

"Why don't you just ask him out?"

"LEAVE- THE- ROOM- PLEASE."

Ozzy snickered plentifully as Lilia, frustrated, returned to her work.

Bzzt.

"Lily, Hawkes here."

OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OHMYGOSH-

Lilia recomposed herself, answering the radio with giddy excitement.

"Hey, beautiful." She flirted over the radio. Despite being a master spy with decades of experience, she had absolutely no understanding of social conventions nor romance in the slightest. She had spent most of her teenage and adult life watching other people interact, which meant she had no opportunity to accumulate this experience herself.

"I told you to stop the flirting. I need you to have some agents keep an eye on the four we resurrected, 24/7."

"Done. When are you free tomorrow?"

She pitched the question with earnest, even if she knew the answer every single time.

"Never."

She barely smiled, shaking her head in disappointment. She was hurt every time he said it, but she would never want to impose-

"...Maybe."

"AAAAAHAAHAHAAHHAHAHHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!"

As the radio clicked off, Lilia squealed in absolute euphoria, punching the air to release the pent-up energy that had been brewing inside her. Ozzy came back around the corner, relaying more news.

"The CMO says she wants to-"

"TELL THAT BITCH TO FUCK OFF AND D- Ahem. Ahem. Mmm."

Lilia quickly recomposed herself, trying to ignore the deluge of eyes glancing towards her in slight concern. Her host of subordinates expected those kinds of outbursts from Hawkes, but not their usually calm and collected Chief. 

...

Then, the room collectively reconsidered their thoughts and summarily, unanimously concluded that this was, in fact, in line with their Chief of Espionage's past behavior, and continued their work diligently.

(Music: "Lady, Hear Me Tonight", by Modjo)

The Captain's Suite was once more abuzz, as the alcohol wore off somewhat and left most of the room in a state of perfect non-sobriety. A Modern-Era song was jamming on the overhead speakers, and the first one to jump up and start dancing was none other than Daisuke, equipped with a pair of sunglasses Hawkes had gifted him from his bedroom drawer.

Swansea cheered him on, while Curly and Anya were talking privately to one another, serious expressions on their faces. That damnable look of terror hadn't dissipated from behind their eyes. Hawkes badly wanted to intrude on their conversation to know what they were discussing, but he knew that was going to turn them away. He decided to let them be for a few minutes- but not for too long. He had a ping pong match set up next.

"Hawkes."

Hawkes turned his head to Swansea, who was leaning against the couch, beaming with pride at Daisuke as he danced.

"Thank you."

Hawkes needed no other words to understand the depths of Swansea's gratitude- it was tenfold the gratitude he had received from people whose lives he had snatched from death. It exhumed from every pore of Swansea, echoing sentiments of deep, deep thankfulness that stretched beyond what words could possibly describe.

Hawkes smiled at him, feeling a stirring of emotion he hadn't felt in decades.

"I am not sure how you perceive me, Swansea," Captain Hawkes conceded with genuine remorse. "And whatever you may learn of me in the future, I hope you'll... still see someone worth being around."

He was surprised when Swansea scooted over, placing his hand firmly on Hawkes' shoulder (having to stretch his arm to the max limit) and looking Hawkes dead in the eyes.

"We all have skeletons in our closet. You gave us something that could only happen in a dream. I couldn't give less of a single fuck what people have to say, or what your past was like. You saved the people who were- are my world. My entire world. As far as I'm concerned, I'm indebted to you for the rest of my life and beyond."

Hawkes felt light stabs of pain in his eyes, fearing the onset of tears. It would not do for a Captain to cry in front of anyone, much less those he'd just brought back from the dead. It did not inspire confidence in others to see their highest authority lose his composure.

"Th...Thank you, Swansea." Hawkes said with a breaking voice, turning his head away to conceal the tears running down his cheeks. "You deserve the world, and I will g....give it to you no matter what."

Hawkes quickly stood up from the couch, covering his face with his hand and disguising it as a coughing fit, returning to the restroom once more.

How undignified! Hawkes raged at himself. The Captain of the ship, frequenting the stalls like some sort of blitzed bozo! This would be the last time he entered this cursed restroom... unless he genuinely needed to relieve himself, of course. He wasn't stupid. 

Hawkes opened the stall with the most leg room, sitting on the top of the toilet seat and pondering. The tears continued to stream down his cheeks, but it was easier to let it happen when no eyes were concentrated on him.

"What to do next?" He muttered confusedly, trying to piece together the next plan of action. He had given them comfort, provided them food and booze, given them the warmth and coziness of a social, fun atmosphere... what was next? What was... what was next?

Perhaps... perhaps after this, they could pass out here and wait until their room renovations were done. There were still two months left for the return trip; the rescue mission only took a year because the flight path was so spotty and indecipherable most of the time; yet another failing of that shit-bred fuck-wad useless detritus of a pithy company, Pony Express. 

"I'm gonna- heheh! I'm gonna fucking eviscerate them in court. I'm gonna destroy their companies and find their names and home addresses. I'm gonna take over as their transport to the prison systems and torture them the entire trip- Ghhh!"

He smacked himself in the head a multitude of times, utterly enraged at his mental block- he was thinking of so many ways to help the Tulpar crew recover, he could barely conceive plans for the next day without thinking of everything involving them.

Why? Why was it so hard to help people? Why was it so complex? This wasn't a one-and-done issue like blowing up a pirate vessel, or capturing an integral enemy's team of scientists, or even hosting negotiations for a cruiser full of hostages. This was a day-to-day struggle of constantly maintaining and ensuring one's mental and physical states were okey dokey.

He wanted them to be okey dokey. FUCK! He wanted them to be okey dokey! Just to-

Knock, knock.

"Captain, can I use this stall? The other one's clogged with toilet paper."

"FU-"

Hawkes had been prepared to launch a barrage of verbal replies tinged with animosity, but decided against it. He sighed and covered his face with his hands. What was he thinking? Couldn't he just get his thoughts together?

"So... is that a no, then?"

"Name, rank and ID number, please."

That sentence alone sent whoever was behind the door scurrying out of the bathroom. Hawkes snickered, getting up and dusting himself off again.

"Fuckin' belligerents." He muttered, exiting the bathroom just in time to see Anya and Curly scuffling out of the Suite quietly. With concern, he quickly moved over to where Swansea was, sipping from a glass of wine while watching Daisuke, still dancing, and tapping his feet to the rhythm of the song.

"Hey hey, Swansea."

"Wazzaaaap, Hawkes." Swansea greeted him casually. "You havin' a good time?"

Hawkes nodded with a forced smile. His anxiety was gnawing at him over Curly and Anya's recent actions.

"I saw those two early scurrying off, are they going to do some dirty business?" Hawkes questioned mischieviously with a sly grin, putting on a clear facade to extract information. Swansea laughed and shook his head.

"No, no. They just said they were gonna have a private talk for a bit. I'm a bit thankful, cuz they were bringing down my energy for a while..."

"Uh huh!" Hawkes said dismissively as he immediately stood up and practically floated across the room to an empty corner, turning on his radio.

"Lilia, come in."

"Where do you think we should go? I was thinking we could try out Hephalia's Garden once we get back to Canaris!"

"Wh..What? Sure, whatever. Listen, I need you to-"

"REALLY???"

Hawkes was overwhelmed by the energy pouring out of the radio, and almost regretted whatever he had just agreed to. Still, his primary concern was Curly and Anya- he could deal with these other issues later on.

"Yes, really. I need you focused. Please get your spies to follow Curly and Anya, and whatever room they enter, route the wiretaps and hidden cameras to my headset and holopad."

"You got it, Hawkes."

Hawkes shivered slightly as the milky voice poured over the radio, before it turned off from the other end. Now that he had a few seconds to think, he realized he might just have agreed to a date with Lilia.

Oh, well. Whether or not it worked out, he knew there'd be no efficiency issue with the ship. Lilia was reliable by every standard, regardless of whatever emotions she had brewing inside her.

Having resolved the remainder of the issues, Hawkes sat down, tired, on the couch alongside Swansea, admiring the endurance and ability to dance that Daisuke possessed.

"Swansea, what do you think of me?" Hawkes muttered. Swansea looked over at him, then back at Daisuke, pondering.

...

"I think you're an amazing human being. Brought us back, spoiled us, gave us relief from the endless nightmare. I still have a hundred thousand questions about what the fuck is going on. I still don't fully trust this situation. I still partially think this is some twisted, long-form dream that I'm gonna wake up from and realize I'm still stuck on that piece of shit freighter."

Swansea exhaled, as if glad to voice his thoughts.

"But, for once in my fuckin' life, I actually feel... hope. I feel like I have a chance to breathe, like my chest isn't always tightened, choking and crushing me from the inside over time. I feel like I'd won the lottery. I had so many fuckin' wishes when I died... I had regrets like you wouldn't believe. Daisuke... his... past life... was un-fuckin-fair. I hated it beyond what words could do justice. I hated it."

He turned to Hawkes, with tired but ever-grateful eyes shining anew.

"But you... you managed to fix everything I wanted. You... fuck, you're like an actual savior. How the hell else could I describe you? I'm not going to brown-nose. But you did the impossible. And before my very eyes, is all the proof I need."

His eyes switched back to Daisuke, his face softened into new and youthful vigor.

"So what do I think of you... I think you can do no wrong, at this point. As long as you aren't some psycho bastard getting a kick out of seeing us happy again-"

Hawkes laughed, once again glad to see Swansea had similar thoughts to his.

"-Then as far as I'm concerned, you're someone whose corner I want to be in."

Hawkes bowed his head in deep appreciation, deeper than any he'd felt in his entire life.

"The feeling is mutual, Swansea. I will dedicate my life to protecting you, Anya, Curly and Daisuke."

Swansea chuckled somewhat awkwardly.

"Well, I didn't say you had to be our bodyguards the whole time, heh. But we appreciate it. You're a good soul, and I'm constantly grateful that you gave us this. All of this."

Hawkes nodded respectfully, his mind invaded totally by an urge to see this band of crewmates perpetually happy.

"Thank you, Swansea... I hope you don't mind. I need to tend to a radio call-"

Swansea waved him off gently, smiling. "Do what you gotta do. No need to coddle us."

Actually, that is precisely my job, Hawkes thought worriedly, tuning in to the radio that was buzzing alert notifications from Lilia.

"Lily, did you do it?"

"Yeah. Patch in to listen, whenever."

Chapter Text

(Music: "Sour", by GALXARA)

Anya and Curly entered the lower floor of the terrarium, sifting through the crowds of partygoers- Curly's hand gently wrapped around Anya, who was following him with reminiscing ponderance and unmitigated thinking. The several speakers lined throughout the massive metroplex were booming a serious banger that was loud enough, yet not overwhelming to the ears like planetary clubs were; a surprisingly soothing auditory experience.

It was no understatement to say that Anya believed herself to be in some sort of hallucination- the concept of resurrection, seeing Curly in his original state, grappling with the last few hours of events... all of this had completely whiffed past her mind. Dying from painkillers was a major blow to her comprehension capabilities, and the lunatic events she was being bombarded with were no help to her mental recovery.

Curly, meanwhile, was nearing the point that Anya was currently in; a myriad of horrors, emotions, trauma, and memories ravaging his mindset and sanity. Yet he was able to stay focused, trying to find an isolated place where he and Anya could have some time alone- even if they didn't talk at all. Every step he took through the crowds of crewmates was another head-pounding, heart-stopping second of a sea of emotions sweeping around inside him like a maelstrom.

He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere isolated, with Anya.

"Heyo."

Curly exhaled in frustration as he heard someone call out to him, and turned to see-

J-I-M-M-Y-?-?-!-!

No... no, it was someone else, someone who looked eerily like that fucking monster. His face, hair, stubble and eyebags were almost identical, save for a short goatee and wary, calm eyes that were the exact opposite of Jimmy's.

"W-What is it?" Curly muttered in slight irritation. The Jimmy replica looked between himself and a younger, South Asian male with short-black hair and an intense gaze. 

"Just... wanted to meet ya. I'm Danny, and this is Ali."

He gestured to Ali, who raised a hand in greeting somewhat awkwardly. Curly looked between the two of them, waiting for some further reply.

"Okay?"

"I actually wanted to say," Ali prompted the conversation. "I can understand if you guys feel overwhelmed by all these people. I told Hawkes he shouldn't have shoved the recently Resurr-... ahem, Returned, into a giant metroplex full of people at the start."

Curly nor Anya were particularly disturbed about the surrounding crowds. If anything, it was far more soothing in contrast to the eerie, remote atmosphere of the Tulpar they'd spent years in.

"So, with that said," Ali continued. "If you need some space and privacy, head for the aesthetic observatory that's connected to the terrarium, it's a few stairs up and then take a right."

Curly was surprised that he had attained exactly what he needed from this man. He nodded gratefully.

"Thank you, Ali. We'll be off now."

With heavy eyes and a heavier mind, Curly gently pulled Anya further along, drifting through the masses to get to the terrarium. Danny and Ali watched them head off, silently forming their own opinions.

"I didn't know those two were a thing." Ali remarked, and Danny scratched his head.

"I sure didn't expect it, though it almost seems like a common trope. Captain and the medic? Yeah, this whole scenario could be a rom-com or drama show, for sure."

"A rom-com?" Ali questioned him. Danny narrowed his eyes in response.

"What, do you have some vendetta against funny romances? That's my favorite genre, sorry to tell you."

"Uh, no, it's more like what screams rom-com about a brutally killed/maimed couple that came back to life with massive PTSD?"

Danny shot him a look of confidence.

"Really? That doesn't sound like a hilarious romantic plot?"

"Maybe if you're deranged."

Curly had finally found the 'aesthetic observatory' after climbing a set of stairs with directions and opening a set of double doors on the 3rd level above the terrarium. It was a large, windowed view of the cosmos in a hemispheric, 360 direction. Chairs, couches and TVs were set up around the area, along with a few speakers for music. Curly morosely walked past a few sets of chairs, before setting on a couch with a view of the Staski Nebula; an ever-swirling, purple-tinged cluster of space dust, energy and stars scattered across its open and messy canvas.

Curly took a seat, finally releasing Anya's hand and exhaling with force. The mental toil foisted upon him was exhausting to his physical state, and he was sweating in no time. Anya's sanity and awareness had gradually recovered, primarily thanks to the copious drinking that released her mind from a mound of stress that spawned upon resurrection. She gazed around at her environment, trying to put the pieces together in her brain to slowly comprehend her surroundings.

Curly relaxed back on the couch, staring at the stars. He didn't want to immediately try and talk to Anya; he wanted to leave the both of them to silence for a while, to adjust and relax in this cozy and empty observatory. His eyes felt ever-tired, yet they would not shut and grant him sleep- as if his mind were holding him hostage, forcing him to confront all the horrible trauma he'd endured on that ship. He could barely think without revisiting the haunting memories; barely speak without reminiscing on his formerly-charred state; could barely breathe without remembering how torturous this simple action was only a day ago.

With little drive and overwhelming exhaustion, he simply slouched back and stared at the innumerable stars, nebulae and dark space spread across the observatory's wide range.

(Music: "Dream Sweet in Sea Major", by Miracle Musical)

Curly's thoughts were emptied. He found staring at the stars to be an indescribably beautiful experience; he'd never gotten the chance for, months on end, to gaze out over the cosmos as he did here. It reminded him that life wasn't just cold, hard hell every moment of his life- even though it had overwhelmingly felt like it for as long as he could remember; the damage to his psyche had practically erased most memories of his past before the Tulpar's crash.

One thing he knew; there was nothing to go back to on his home planet. He'd become a freighter captain because the last of his family had died in the Thyrrian civil war twenty years ago. He'd escaped hell, and came back to nothing; and yet, he'd never felt more free in his entire life than now.

His guilt over the... what he did to his crew was overwhelming to the point of tainting his vision with infrequent memories of the horror he'd experienced. Yet simultaneously, his mind was akin to an open cage, a bird freed from the most cruel fate imaginable, renewed and reformed- reborn with a second chance he nor humanity ever thought possible.

He felt awash with the highest euphoria a human could conceive.

His body was fully reformed; his crew returned to life. Yet no matter how many miraculous or fortunate events he came across, it did barely anything to erase the past from his mind. Every second he had to fight off the memory of searing agony across his entire body; every second he was forced to re-center himself in this reality, to not suck himself back into the unthinkable terror of before.

Just by the end of this day, he felt as if he'd fought through an entire war to reach this mode of relaxation and rapturous ecstasy.

"Curly...?"

Curly could barely bring himself to respond out of fatigue and anesthetic-like bliss, but he made an extremely strenuous effort to do so out of a bottomless love for her; a love he had only felt at the crux of her death and the renewal of her life. A love he was conflicted with, wondering if he was even deserving of this at all.

"Y...e...s?"

"...We had... flings... before. I know neither of us... thought of it as... anything serious. It shouldn't be... something I think about... this much. But..."

Curly felt compelled with monumental effort to raise himself from the couch, recomposing to look Anya in the eye when she spoke.

"Y...Yes, Anya?" He muttered with shivering hands and quivering lips, averting his eyes. It took everything in his mind and body to not crumple to the ground and sob inconsolably as he glimpsed the depth of her desolate eyes for even a second.

His heart nearly broke into a million pieces as he glimpsed her face again. Her eyes were sunken, filled with sadness, and anger, and disillusion. Her demeanor was slumped; she had given up on life, and was forced back into it without any warning. And without even needing to see it, he could tell her brain was in shambles, trying to pick its pieces back up and fit them together again. With every second she came to comprehend her new reality, the more she seemed to unravel at her core, forced to remake herself from scratch.

He couldn't bear to see her like this. His wish to bring her back almost seemed like a curse, the more he noticed her mental struggles. She managed to speak once more, after painstakingly composing her thoughts.

"...I'm really scared, Curly. I-I know I'm.. more safe than ever... but I can't stop feeling... terrified from head to toe. I want comfort, I want familiarity."

She slowly slid her hand across the couch, crossing her fingers over his hand. Tears gently streamed down her face as she muttered fearfully.

"I missed you so much, Curly. I was so afraid after the... the crash. I wanted to break down sobbing every time I entered Medical and saw you, crying softly in pain. But... but... why... why did you crash the ship?? Why did you-"

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump

Curly could barely hear Anya over the sound of blood pumping in his ears. Before he even realized it, a raging storm had wracked him with a cold, shivering fury filled with desires to murder Jimmy as violently as he could conceive.

"I didn't crash the ship."

Anya recoiled at his answer, skepticism playing around in her pupils.

"..."

Her silence was damning, and only poured gasoline on a massive bonfire of emotional turmoil.

"I handed the keys to him, and he crashed it."

Curly could barely get the words out, his throat choking on the apoplexy building up in his stomach. Anya's eyes averted to the ground, as if in deep thought. Curly could barely start to see her as his eyesight grew hazy with irrepressible malevolence.

"...I believe you."

Curly couldn't stomach Anya's comforting words, and stood up from the couch, grabbing a leg of the coffee table in front of them and hurling it across the room with hulkish strength and a hideous roar of pinpoint aggression.

WH-OOOOOSH-WH-OOOSH!

The coffee table spun like a disc, barreling with great velocity toward the wall.

CRACK-SLAM!

The coffee table dismantled on contact, leaving a considerably large dent in the wall and debris of wood, glass, and nails below it. The unnatural strength behind the throw was extremely obvious, shocking both Curly and Anya. Curly stared down at his hands, momentarily knocked out of his bloodlust as he tried to comprehend this newfound strength. He had only felt a moderate amount of strain in one-handing the coffee table.

What the f...fuck? He pondered incredulously, recalling what might have led to this-

Was it that fucking doctor? Did he... did he do something to me?

"C-Curly, that was... insane."

"Y-Yeah..." Curly muttered, a resurgence of bloodlust and sadistic malice washing anew over his thought process. He could torture Jimmy like this. He could rip his limbs off and let him taste a moment of what Curly suffered. He caused him so much SUFFERING. He'd spent months thinking about everything, especially what he could and couldn't feel. The burns were so bad on his outer layer he couldn't feel any part of his skin; but beneath it, in the lower layers, in the muscle and sinew and tissue and bone, he could feel those burns. And they were awful. It was horrendous. Even now, recalling it, just recalling it- He could AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA still feel a drop of its terrible embrace.

| J-I-M-M-Y-Y-Y-Y. |

"Imma fucking kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him. I'm gonna fuckin- Hah! Hah!" Curly muttered manically to himself, trying to release the pent-up rage and unsettling malice plaguing his mind. Anya stood up from the couch and walked over to him, cupping his hands.

"Curly."

Curly's frenzy somewhat realigned to lucidity, his lost eyes settling back on Anya's face.

"Curly... would you like to... to... go on a date?"

His mind immediately froze as Anya awkwardly posed the question to him- such a wholesome request didn't factor in immediately with his spiraling worldview, and only a few seconds later did he work out the words in his brain. His eyes immediately sparked with a fiery passion, his body filling with adrenaline and serotonin rapidly.

"Y-You... Anya...re.... real..ly?"

"Yes. Yes, I mean it. I... feel safe and comfortable around you, Curly. If I have to live... I want to live next to your side. When I was... when I was dying in Medical, I wanted to be next to you. I've.. I've come back. And I can't... I can't lose this feeling of... of comfort and security around you since."

Even though it was just a simple date, the conversation sounded more like a marriage proposal, and Curly's reaction was somewhat similar to receiving such news. He began to laugh in utter relief, wiping the tears from his reddened eyes and embracing Anya as gently as he would a mouse.

"Can we... walk around this place?" Curly whispered softly in her ear. "We'll... be here for a while, I bet. I... want to look around while... while it's nice and peaceful, and quiet." He pressed his face into her hair, exhaling and inhaling softly as he savored her familiar scent. Her strands of silky black hair ran across his face and cheeks, softly grasping at his skin. 

Love. Love. Love.

Anya nodded softly, nuzzling her face against his cheek. That familiar feeling of stubble scratching her face was more soothing than any therapy she could have received. Safety. That was the most prominent feeling in her. All those months on the Tulpar, she was in constant terror, fearing her safety and life around the co-captain. It was like a mouse trapped in a cage with a dormant snake, constantly terrorized and panicking, exhausted and unsettled, unfocused and non-confrontational.

She had been in utter despair for such a long time, she had hardly known any other emotions. After she'd returned on this ship, seeing Curly in his original state... nothing in any lexicon in the entire world would have been sufficient to describe what she'd felt. Absolute joy, peace, and transcendence. A deep, ineffable feeling- a state that touches the soul, the mind and body in its fullest expression of happiness.

An intense and inescapable expression of love that exuded from every fiber of her being, for Curly and the world around her. A sense of radiance, of profound bliss which had, slowly, over time, pushed back against the mind-rending dread and seared trauma of the past.

All those months in despair, on that ship, she had spent desperately trying to escape that fate. Trying to escape the sorrow and grief of seeing Curly in that state, the terror of the co-captain taking charge, the dread of knowing they were stranded in remote deepspace, destined to die.

Even in her final moments, locking the medical bay door and downing dozens of pills, she had been desperately, like a rat in a tightening cage, desperately trying to escape that reality.

And this was that escape. She had reached it. The reality she wanted. How could she not be the happiest person in the universe?

The closest possible word, to describe would have been...

NIRVANA.

"Yes, Curly. Let's walk."

Elsewhere, three garrison officers were sitting in a security booth at the center of the ship, passing the time with infrequent chatter and momentary amusements. An ancient iPhone was connected to a set of 2150s-era speakers, blasting (Not A Beanie', by bbno$) throughout the large interior they were stationed in. Although they were given a loose directive to 'not drink or drugs' (that's exactly how it was printed on the directive), the three garrison officers had snuck multiple packs of beer from the terrarium for casual sipping. Most of the garrison officers stationed around the ship during the ceremony had done the same; even though they would have all day tomorrow to do the same thing in the terrarium.

"I'm never letting you choose the music again, Franz." sneered Corporal Wagner, the most senior among the three. "The duty of the aux-haver is to sense the music choice of the group and pick the compromise. This is the opposite of that, you greedy sumbitch."

Private Franz was half-ignoring him as he bopped his head rhythmically to the beat, trying to take a sip of his beer but spilling more than a few drops on his uniform because it was hard to drink while bobbing his head to the music.

"Listen, it's not my fault you have horrendous taste in music." Franz retorted rather casually. "The compromise is an average of all three tastes, and it just so happens that your music choice created an imbalance in that average because it's ass, and so we ended up with this."

"That is the most incoherent, nonsensical bullshit argument I've heard in the last two weeks from you. Yancy, tell him!" 

Wagner pointed at Specialist Yancy, who was chilling utterly in the chair- primarily because he'd just taken a couple of shrooms and was now in supreme bliss. Yancy shrugged as indifferently as Switzerland being asked to join World War II.

"I'm vibin'." He replied simply. Wagner's head dipped in disappointment.

"You unreliable sloth. Anyways, I'm picking the next one, since I clearly can't trust either of you to do it."

"Hey!" Franz pushed back. "That's not how the bet went! You lost, so it's lowest to highest seniority. Yancy gets to go next!"

Wagner cringed, then sighed.

"Ah, whatever... Alright, song's over, change it."

"Okay, damn!" Franz said with great offense. "What are you, a professional hater?"

Franz handed the iPhone to Yancy, who sloppily scrolled through the app and chose a song. ('Castle of Glass', by Linkin Park) starts ramping up over the speakers, paralleled by the audible groans of both Franz and Wagner.

"I can't possibly comprehend how an indie lover like you survived the centuries." Wagner snarked at him.

"Yeah, this shit ass." Franz voiced quite belligerently.

"First, this isn't indie, dumbshit, it's hard rock. Second, you are a whole ass, Franz. Your entire body... is one big pair of fuckin' cheeks." Yancy fired back with slurred words.

"I get cheeks, unlike you, Doofus Supreme." Franz replied.

"You're cheeks at 'Carrier Assault 2', that's for sure."

"That's an unfair analysis."

"How? Literally how? You placed 482nd out of the entire ship last tournament, broski."

"That was last tournament, bud. What was that, 4 months ago? I've been obliterating every challenger I got since then."

"Hehe, sure buddy. Whatever helps ya sleep at night."

"Tell ya what, when you've come out of your medicinal coma, you can challenge me and I'll soundly beat your ass from stern to bow."

"Challenge accepted, bitchboy."

"Alright, song's over," Wagner chirped in, snatching the iPhone from Yancy's hands and plugging in his choice. A few seconds later, ('Stuck In The Middle With You', by Stealers Wheel) projected from the speakers. Wagner sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief, and to the audible frustration of Franz and Yancy.

"This guy must have been cryo'ed from the year 2000 and never moved on from their music." Franz casually threw out scathingly.

"Hearing this has managed to increase my sobriety somehow, horrifically," Yancy groaned, much to the contemptuous chuckling of Wagner.

"This song perfectly encapsulates how I feel right now. Clown to the left, joker to the right, here I am, stuck with you retards until the celebration tomorrow."

"Oh, speaking of that," Franz interjected. "I heard from a maintenance friend of mine that a few of the Returned left the Captain's Suite and are wandering around the ship. You think we'll see them?"

"I... kinda hope so, not gonna lie." Yancy muttered. "I'd really like to ask some questions, and see how they talk and behave after coming back from the dead."

"If we do see them," Wagner commented, glancing between the two of them. "You best remember the recent directive."

The two of them nodded sincerely. After the revivals had been completed, Captain Hawkes had sent out a directive to every crewmate on board to prohibit themselves from speaking to the Returned while using any words implicating death or their past. His explanation had been detailed as such:

"The Returned are an anomaly both mentally and physically, as of now, which means all talks of death, mentioning the Tulpar, probing into their past, or otherwise using words that could cause a mental trigger are strictly prohibited. If you cannot reliably follow this directive, refrain from speaking to them at all or being within earshot of the Returned."

As much as they liked to joke around and do dumb shit, the garrison officers were wholly dedicated and loyal to their Captain. No matter their rank or years of service for the Argonaut, respect and loyalty was ingrained in every single crewmate, either by their seniors or by their own experiences with the Captain. It was a self-cultivating environment of order and discipline.

"Well, that aside," Franz dismissed the issue. "Have either of you stacked any bodies in the last month?"

"What kind of 'bodies' are we talking about here?" Yancy questioned him.

"So that's a 'no' from you, then." Franz replied dismissively.

"No, you stupid bitch, I want clarification."

"Clarify these nuts on your chin."

"You asked this last month, Franz," Wagner remarked. "Stop asking us about our sex life, you desperate whore."

Franz shrugged dramatically.

"Well, what? You wanna talk about the weather? Oh damn, it really looks nice outside! All that lack of oxygen and freezing environment sure makes for a perky day!"

"Unfunny, 0/10, not enough testosterone."

"Keep talking, I'll fold you like a FUCKIN' OMELET, BOY!"

(Music: "Achilles, Come Down", by Gang of Youths)

Curly and Anya walked slowly, gently, through the corridors of the ship, hands clasped firmly with a life-bonded affection. It was quiet, much unlike the creaky and boisterous interior of the Tulpar; all the machinery and inner workings of this ship hummed so quietly it could have been interpreted as complete silence.

They exchanged starry gazes.

Their gazes were locked; hands entwined like century-old vines. For every word they didn't speak, a thousand more were conveyed through their eyes.

Curly and Anya were both reveling in an otherworldly euphoria as they moved through the ship like gentle phantoms, admiring the sleek design and futuristic architecture. At times, they would nudge shoulders, stop, and hug each other for an indeterminate amount of time, basking in each other's pure-hearted joy and fluffy intimacy.

Curly released from the hug, softly grabbing the underside of Anya's hand and running his fingers along hers, her palm, her veins and wrist, her forearm and shoulder, admiring her as if she were the most perfect sculpture in the universe.

Anya was completely receptive to his every action; she felt as if their souls had grown close to one another, as if there were a piece of him with her, and a piece of hers with him. A shared spirituality that transcended the mortal feelings she held her whole life.

You are real, Curly thought in waves of continual relief as he traced her body, feeling contact with her skin and the blood rushing beneath it. You are more real than the world itself.

Curly moved his hands up to her face, gently palming her rosy cheeks and rubbing the outer cartilage of her ears. He felt magnetized towards her. Wondrous. Marvelous. Unspeakably miraculous.

His eyes grew closer to hers, closer... closer... until his pupils were only an inch from hers. An infinite yearning, curiosity, exuberance, exaltation, love.

Love, love, love~!

Anya felt compelled to raise her right hand, using her thumb to trace his lip, rubbing against the angel-white teeth concealed behind his gums. How could every part of a person be so beautiful, so enrapturing, so enthralling?

There they stood, admiring each other endlessly, perceiving one another as the most magnificent of paintings, the most arresting of gazes, the zeniths of perfection. 

"Curly..." "Anya..."

The perfect word was on their minds, the perfect word to say to one another. And yet, their mouths couldn't move. Their tongues wouldn't budge. Their bodies shivered with unknowing hesitation.

Say it. Say it, Curly willed himself. The deathly guilt of his past, what his actions and inactions did to her and the crew, muzzled him with untold regret and self-hatred.

Speak the word, Anya coaxed herself desperately. SPEAK IT NOW! 

The terror of possibility haunted her. The possibility that, as soon as she said it, this mirage of heaven would disappear, and she would be back in that unspeakable, horrible ship, seeing a maimed Curly writhing on the medical bed. She couldn't bear to exist if that was even a remote possibility.

To them, this was the most nerve-wracking, hair-raising, anxiety-inducing moment of their entire lives, for wholly separate reasons. 

To anyone else who happened to be watching -like the three security guards at the booth gawking from only a few meters away- this was an extremely socially awkward and disturbing sight to bear witness to. All three of their faces were contorted in bewilderment, concern and embarrassment. The initial shock of seeing this bizarre sight had disrupted their minds so rapidly they hardly had time to reasonably conclude these were the Returned mentioned earlier.

Rather rudely, Franz called out to them, unable to stand the awkwardness.

"Hey, uh, you guys? The, uh, private rooms are down the corridor, to the left."

The abruptness from Franz had momentarily knocked Curly and Anya out of their entranced states, craning their eyes towards the three officers. For a brief moment, Curly's mind had removed the all-encompassing guilt.

And for that very brief moment, Curly felt nothing from holding him back. He turned his mountainous gaze on Anya, her widened eyes returning the same.

| "Anya, I Love you!" |

Anya reacted with visible, animated shock, as if the words had reverberated throughout her bones and bounced around in her head. Propelled by his forward declaration, she grabbed his arms and clutched them as if he would fall through the world.

| "GRANT, I LOVE YOU!" |

Anya screamed the declaration of love, pulling him forward and pressing her lips against his.

A kiss. A kiss across lives, across time, across oceans of despair and astronomical units of terror. 

A kiss... just for Curly. For the man she loved more than life. 

A kiss... just for Anya. For the woman he loved more than existence.

Every second was alight with fire, blood, smoke, mud, explosions, fireworks, laughter, applause, nebulae, singing. Their worlds felt noisy, chaotic, dazzling, comforting, tranquil, colorful, magnificent.

Angels unfurled their wings to caress the many folds of their souls, soothing the experiences that tainted them, providing the bedrock of recovery that would purify their hearts, and lead them to the greatest future conceivable. The stars cried out their names, envious of the burning passion they radiated from their cores.

Not a single moment passed that faded in elation. The world became bright, its surroundings hopeful, its imposition welcoming. Their bodies felt light, their minds unburdened. It felt real. It was real. This love was more real than anything the universe could offer them. It was all they wanted. It was all they needed. Nothing. Else. Mattered.

What a dangerous thing it was, to Love.

...

...

...

The three officers, meanwhile, had slowly and silently gotten up out of their chairs and creeped towards the terrarium; this was a fantastic excuse to use the directive as a reason to leave their post; vestigial as it was on a ship this secure.

'But Captain, you said if we couldn't reliably follow the directive, we should refrain from speaking to them!'

The three of them cackled mischievously, heading to their barracks to change; it was common knowledge (even if it was forbidden by the Captain) among garrison officers that most of the seniority and leadership didn't care if garrison officers left their posts as long as they were not gunnery, bridge or engineering posts- the primary functions of a ship that needed to have oversight 24/7.

In other words, those poor bastards were forced to sit there while most other garrison officers snuck out from their posts to join in on the party. Franz felt a tad bit bad for them, but ultimately that empathy was dashed away in a second- he'd worked those positions before, and didn't recall any of the other garrison officers giving a shit.

Well fuck 'em, he thought to himself. I'm off-duty tomorrow, I'm doin' a fuckin keg stand tonight! YIPPEEE!!

(Music: "MILLION DOLLAR BABY", by Tommy Richman)

"I got a, uhhhh... uh... what game are we playing again?" Daisuke inquired drunk off his ass, holding the cards in his hands with confusion. He was promptly pelted by yet another round ice ball by an equally intoxicated Hawkes, who was starting to look slightly irritated. Daisuke fell back against the lounge couch as if he'd just been shot.

"This is the fifth time, Daishhhuke. POKER! WE'RE PLAYING POKER!"

Swansea burped boisterously, on the same level of non-sobriety as the two sitting to either side. He eyed his cards with deep concentration, focused on winning the game.

"I shuppose you cocks can't be bothered to shhhut up. Plaayyy your cards already, DAISUKE!"

Daisuke, sorting through all two of his cards furiously, promptly seemed as if his brain lit up.

"Oh! Oh! I have aaaaaa, uh, a Jack and a Queen!"

Hawkes facepalmed, being the dealer for this game. There was a noticeable red handprint across his face as he removed his fingers, and Swansea burst out laughing as he saw it.

"Daisuke," Hawkes said calmly, trying to conceal his frustration as sobriety crept back into his mind. "You don't reveal your cards to us until the river is finished. The river of cards here," He pointed to the three cards parallel to one another on the table. "These cards are paired with your cards if they are a winning hand. You can have all kinds of hands, like a straight, a pair, a royal flush, a four of a kind... I explained this about three times in the last hour... please..."

Daisuke stared at him, trying his best to comprehend what he'd just heard.

"...There's a river on the ship? Like a Lazy River?!"

Hawkes wanted to gouge his eyes out and pelt them at Daisuke with the force of a baseball pitcher. He steadied himself, exchanging Daisuke's cards with a new set and returning to his seat. Daisuke inspected his cards with the utmost scrutiny.

"...A six and a King."

"FUCK THIS GAME!" Hawkes shouted in outrage, upending the table and storming over to Roble. "GET ME MORE ICE BALLS, NOW!"

"NoOoOoOoOoOo!!!" Daisuke cried out, covering his head as he ran for cover behind the toppled table. Ice balls pelted the front of the table in a rapid-fire fury as Hawkes launched them one after another from the bucket Roble was holding. Swansea sighed, reaching for his wine glass on the end table to his right.

"You clowns can't even keep your attention for a simple game of poker."

"Heyyy, that's not true!" Daisuke slurred. "I tried my beesssst!"

"You have the attention span of a coked-up squirrel!" Hawkes accused him, grabbing another ice ball and throwing it just as Daisuke ducked back below cover. Swansea got up from the chair, moving towards the window that overlooked the terrarium and its attendees.

"Compared to that piece of shit, this place is... phenomenal." Swansea reminisced, softly swirling the wine in his cup as he referenced the Tulpar. "Shit, everything on here is just... appealing."

Hawkes tossed the ice ball he was holding back in the bucket and walked over to Swansea, staring at his subordinates below.

"It takes humans to know humans." Hawkes replied. "We aren't some cold, corporatist agency or a vicious, gloomy military federation. Our homeworld was built on solidarity and trust in our neighbors, our acquaintances, and our countrymen and women. We never forgot those principles, no matter what hardships we faced. After venturing across half the galaxy, I can safely conclude that we're likely the only nation with such luck. It's just a big, despotic hellscape everywhere else, with varying degrees of prosperity and oppression."

Swansea chuckled wryly.

"You ain't wrong. Feels like I don't belong here- or more like, this whole situation feels like it doesn't belong in this universe. It's just... it's out of place from what I've known my whole life."

"I agree with you more than you can conceive." Hawkes assured him. "But I've learned to embrace it."

This time, he turned his whole body to face Swansea, who returned the gesture.

"There's a great change approaching humanity," Hawkes prefaced, his face wrought with grim and grit. "We may yet see utopias pop up all over the galaxy, as our ancestors intended and strived for. It's only a matter of time and action."

Swansea could barely describe the bond he felt to this giant of a man; it had been mercurial at first, but in a single day he'd gone from a feared captor to one of his closest friends. The primary reason behind that lied with the Captain himself; he practically gushed affection and friendliness towards him and the other Tulpar crew, as if he'd known them his whole life. It was hard to hold skepticism against someone who was so honest, brash, open, generous and reliable.

"I had a few questions, Hawkes." He changed the conversation. "A lot, actually. Your homeworld, how Curly looks brand new, what's happened across the galaxy since we... yeah. A lot of questions."

Hawkes stopped pelting the overturned table Daisuke was hiding behind to look at Swansea with an indifferent expression.

"Fire away." He replied. 

(Music: "Hell's Comin' With Me", by Poor Man's Poison)

Hawkes sat at the bar of his suite alone, swirling a glass of straight vodka in his hand. He stared at the swirling contents, pondering on the conversation he'd just had with Swansea and Daisuke, both of whom were fast asleep on the various lounge furniture.

Both of them had asked more than a wealth of questions; about Canaris, about resurrection, the events of the last year, the state of their families- too many to recount in his head right now.

"You want us to start cleaning up, Captain?" Roble, the ever-reliable bartender, asked him, despite the fact that all the others had left to bed. Hawkes shook his head, downing the last of his vodka and placing it on the counter, tapping for a refill. Roble obliged.

"Not tonight. I want to wake up and be comforted by the sight of this messy place. I want to remember all the shit we did when I clean up."

Roble smiled, dutifully cleaning out a shot glass in his hands with a white rag.

"I'm sure this is probably the best day of their life. They got to see their crewmates again, got to party and drink- I dunno what those other two were doing, but it seemed like Swansea and Daisuke had a shitton of fun."

Hawkes nodded, satisfied with the day's work. There was a mound of stress he'd felt the entire time of causing or allowing some fuck-up to occur, but it went as smoothly as he planned-

"Still, I can't believe how much trauma they were carrying. I really can't conceive how one bastard can cause all of that."

||||||||||||||JJJJJJJJJJJJIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY||||||||||||||||||

"THAT'S IT!" Hawkes bellowed from the bottom of his lungs, gulping the entire glass and hurling it with monstrous might at the bulletproof window overlooking the terrarium.

CRACK-SMASH!

Roble was filled with a subtle horror as the rocketing glass slammed into the window, turning into particles and tiny shards of glass, leaving a sizeable crack in the thick-paned window.

This motherfucker can toss bullets?! He thought in utter fear.

I-AM-GONNA-HURT-HIM, Hawkes raged in his mind. I-M F-U-C-K-I-N-G D-O-N-E W-A-I-T-I-N-G.

He reached over the counter and snatched Roble's baton from his belt, with zero resistance from the officer in question. Hawkes then stormed away, grabbing the overturned table in front of him and dashing it to pieces across the room, kicking the hallway door completely off its hinges.

He could barely see his surroundings over the blood-red visage that tainted his vision. What unspeakable fire and fury. What great inordinate malice overtook his mind.

He thumbed his radio, nearly breaking the knob.

"Jazz here, is that you Captain-"

"GET THAT SCUMFUCK REVIVED AND DRAG HIS SORRY ASS TO INTERROGATION."

"Y-YES, SIR!"

Click.

His storming presence through the corridors was frightening to the unfortunate passerby who had to dodge around him or risk getting bashed aside. He was simply unable to contain the ineffable rage pouring from every pore in his skin. He needed to act. NOW.

Anger. WRATH. FURY! RAAAAAAAAAAGE!

CRACK! CRACK-CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Hawkes wailed the robust baton against the interior walls and ceiling, creating sizeable dents and cracks on every surface within his vicinity, terrifying onlookers and soldiers alike as he made a beeline for the Interrogation Room.

HE'S FUCKED. HE'S SO FUCKED. Hawkes' mind repeated fanatically. HE'S GONNA SUFFER LIKE JUDAS. HELL WILL BE HIS EXISTENCE. DEATH WILL BE HIS MERCY! PAIN WILL BE HIS COMPANY!

"Captain Hawkes-"

"WHAAAAT?!"

His shoulder radio temporarily went quiet as the receiver recoiled from the monstrous reply, then spoke again.

"C-Captain Hawkes, it's Wally. I have something to show you, it was from the ship, but you s-seemed so busy I wasn't sure when to-"

"Head to interrogation, Wally. Let me see it there."

Chapter Text

Noise.

Irritating noise. Egregious noise.

Unbearable noise. Unbearable noise.

Louder. And louder. It grew.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't fucking stand it.

He wanted silence. Silence from it all. It was intolerable. Utterly intolerable.

Please. Pleeeassse. Just some silence, just some FUCKING SILENCE would be it!

Louder, louder, LOUDER, LOUDER!

STOP! FUCKING STOOOOOOOP! LEAVE ME! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A-a-a-a-a-a_AA_A_A_AA-aA_-_A_A-A_!!!!!!

"-AAAAAAAAAAAH-! Huh! Huh?!  Huh! Huh! Huh... Huh..."

A white-tiled floor. Shadows. His own feet and hands. Pants. That shitty fucking Pony Express uniform.

"Hey there, Jimmy. You awake?"

Whose voice was that, Jimmy thought frantically. Still, the concern in that voice somewhat reassured him instinctively. He lowered his guard, trying to comprehend the state of his reality; why he was alive.

"Y-Yeah," He responded shakily. "I'm awake."

His gaze rose, and-

WHAM!

Jimmy felt the air completely leave his body as a massive fist slammed into his gut, unpleasantly forcing him to full consciousness as he rolled over the tiled floor and slammed against the back of the room. He coughed and heaved, utterly dazed and terrified on awakening.

"GOOD! I'VE BEEN WAITING!"

As he regained his breathe and recovered from the punch, Jimmy felt overwhelming terror at the raw malice and pleasure behind the voice. He tried to look up again, frightened by what his eyes glimpsed.

A seven-foot-tall male, adorned with a black & gold naval uniform glittering with medals, accolades and badges of honor. A half-cape frittered down his right arm, reaching his waist. A decorated sword holster was attached to his left hip, a gun holster attached to his right. A vantablack beret sat aloft his head, contrasting the surrounding bright environment to such a degree that it looked as if a void were resting above him. The behemoth was heavily scarred on every visible part of his skin, each one telling its own story of violence and conflict.

But the most terrifying aspect was his face. Decades of war, combat, strife, survival, death and destruction were wreathed over his features as if it were a living, gruesome painting. Eyes filled with wrathful condemnation and feral pleasure; a wide smile disguising an earnest malice.

Jimmy's instincts kicked into survival mode. He immediately looked around for a nearby weapon to defend himself, when suddenly the behemoth reached behind him and unsheathed a massive combat knife, throwing it to the floor in front of Jimmy.

Clink-clink-clink!

"Take your best shot." The behemoth challenged Jimmy with a wolfish grin. Jimmy was incredibly discouraged by the bold action, but wasn't going to throw away this opportunity. He reached down and snatched the knife from the floor, keeping his eyes on the behemoth the entire time.

If he tried hard enough, even if his opponent was intimidating, he could possibly slice one of his arteries and last long enough for him to bleed out. Still, before he resorted to this random fight for his life...

"Wh-What is happening??" He questioned the behemoth. "I-I thought I died! Why am I alive again? Who the fuck are you, and why are you-"

"Shut up." The behemoth barked at him. "You get no answers until you fight."

Jimmy sweat anxiously, tightening his grip on the knife.

Fuck it! He thought to psyche himself up. Fuck it! Fuck it! FUCK IT! FUCK IT!

The behemoth grinned in savage delight, raising an arm to beckon him further.

"BRING IT."

| | | (Music: "Piscina", by Ugovhb) | | |

With engulfing desperation, he screamed at the top of his lungs and charged the behemoth with all the adrenaline and fury he could muster. In response, the behemoth simply sidestepped the incoming stab attack and clotheslined Jimmy with his arm.

SMACK!

Jimmy was floored onto his back, knocked out of his senses. His watering eyes could barely make out the cackling behemoth, who walked over to the other side of the room and turned to face him.

"Try again."

Hearing the taunt drove Jimmy into a blind rage. In a frenzy, he grabbed ahold of the combat knife until his knuckles turned white, and charged the behemoth, this time waiting until he was in range to start slicing at him with striking attacks before retreating out of range, repeating this process.

His confidence wavered rapidly as he watched the towering captain gracefully tilt, turn, duck and dodge every slice and stab as if he had foresight. Jimmy tried to feint an attack, bringing his arm up to fake an overhead attack before quickly retracting his arm to try an underhanded stab.

"Clever."

Jimmy was shocked as the behemoth's hand moved with lightning-speed to grab his wrist, stopping the stab inches from his chest. He then felt himself lifted off his feet and-

CRACK! SLAM!

WHOOMPF!

Jimmy was helplessly ragdolled around the room by his wrist, slamming and smacking against the floor and surrounding walls, bruising and battering his face, body, and legs unrelentingly, before finally being tossed to the other side of the room in a twitching, pain-filled state.

"You're a clever man, and a fighter at heart. Why did you commit those atrocities? You could have had a promising career in the military." The behemoth's voice echoed through the room. "Instead, you indulged in the worst parts of your humanity, you craven cunt. You consciously did this, knowing it was a mortal sin you committed."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Jimmy screamed, utterly enraged at the clear display of humiliation. "I'm gonna fucking dice you up!"

The behemoth stared at him, his mouth held in a semi-permanent sneer.

"Make good on it, pig."

"Gladly." Jimmy hissed, grabbing a nearby chair and flinging it at the behemoth, who raised his arm to block the incoming projectile. At the same time, Jimmy sprinted up and delivered an overhead slice. He was shocked when the knife connected with cloth, cutting through the Captain's uniform and gashing his arm, slicing through a few layers of flesh. Jimmy felt shivers of terror course through his body when the Captain chuckled lightly, surveying the wound as if it were a momentary novelty.

"Woe is me." The Captain uttered with superior sarcasm. "You need to move in closer when you strike."

He shifted his weight forward, forcing Jimmy off-lean and staggering backward, then headbutted his face to send him crashing to the ground. Jimmy instinctively rolled backward, covering his nose as blood streamed from his nostrils. He growled, training his eyes on the behemoth.

"What's your name?" Jimmy rasped, shakily regaining his footing. The Captain's eyes darted around with unnatural quickness, unsettling the already-shaken narcissist.

"Hawkes." The Captain eventually responded, with a cold and loathsome tone.

"What a fancy name." Jimmy mocked, "I bet you've never taken that silver spoon outta your ass, bitch."

"So you're an idiot, as well as a control freak. What a lovely combination."

Jimmy bit his lip so furiously it bled with equal intensity. He wanted to eviscerate this giant cunt from head to toe. He was going to do it.

Clack-clack-clacacacacaccackkkk.

Jimmy was somewhat surprised as he saw Hawkes throw a baton towards him, clattering on the floor.

"Assumed you would want more than one weapon," Hawkes replied with a trollish smirk. "Since you seem a bit inept."

DEAD. MEAT.

(Music: "CLIQUE CLIQUE BANG", by Pranav.wav)

Jimmy gripped the baton in his other hand, standing up and baring his teeth at Hawkes like a cornered animal. His palms, face, and entire body were sweating in instinctive fear and anticipation. Seeing the proclaimed Captain of this vessel so casually hand over both his melee weapons, leaving only his holstered sword, was undoubtedly unnerving; and judging off the way he had just fought, it wasn't an exaggeration to say that his close combat capabilities were overwhelming.

Jimmy needed to find his weaknesses and stab at them, find the exploits and expose them. No matter how strong or quick the opponent, there were always arteries, veins, and essential organs that could end a life if they were stabbed or sliced.

He dashed forward, feinting a full swing at Hawkes' legs. Hawkes' lack of movement unsteadied Jimmy, though he followed through on his plan and pulled back his weapons, swinging them in the opposite direction. Hawkes stepped forward and let his torso and thigh take the brunt of the damage from the handle of the weapons, palming Jimmy's face and shoving him tumbling backward into the wall again.

Jimmy was undeterred, slashing his weapons upward in retaliation, shocked with glee as he noticed the baton beat back Hawkes' approaching fist. His knife slipped past his defense, barely missing the artery in his armpit, which would have been a fatal hit. Jimmy felt a shiver of abject horror run through his spine as he came face to face with Hawkes, only inches away, grinning at him the entire time.

"You want death?" Jimmy hissed at him.

"I hope this hurts."

It was an obvious taunt, but the implications of how Hawkes knew that were far more egregious and nauseating.  

It was the note he left on the Tulpar's cockpit. Right on top of the control panel. How... HOW DID THAT EVEN GET RECOVERED?!

Jimmy's narcissism was an unrelenting instigator, outraged by the discovery of that singular note, daunted by the fact it had survived such a crash when Curly had turned out maimed and limbless; what kind of comedic, cruel twist of fate was it, that the single note he'd left had survived the crash yet mutilated Curly...

Such mockery. Jimmy could not stand to see his past, his friend, insulted by this fucking nobody. This was a threat to his existence.

"DIE!!" He screamed, launching the baton at Hawkes and sprinting forward to plunge the knife into his gut.

CLANG!

The baton was deflected by Hawkes' arm, followed by an immediate blow to Jimmy's face, sending him flying across the room, knife knocked out of his hands. He did not give up. Reaching for the baton, he charged forward again and jabbed the edge of the baton towards Hawkes, watching him dodge the jab and swung rightwards, managing to smack Hawkes in the ribs. Jimmy was deterred as Hawkes didn't so much as emit an audible grunt, instead wrapping his arm around the baton and jerking backward, pulling Jimmy off-kilter yet again.

CRACK!

Jimmy's face was headbutted by the top of Hawkes' head, sending him careening backwards as he shouted and cursed in pain, instinctively clutching at his nose, which was bleeding like a fountain at this stage.

KILL HIM! Jimmy thought to himself, feeding the ever-growing pit of rage that was swallowing his mind. He snatched the knife from the floor, dual wielding once more, and slowly moved forward, studying Hawkes' movements, waiting for a chance to strike out then dart out of range. Hawkes noticed this shift in behavior and smirked in amusement.

"Progress at last. I'll oblige."

Hawkes then reached for his sword, unsheathing it from the holster and leveling it at a now-frightened Jimmy. The sword was over seven feet long, akin to a greatsword; straight, blackened steel with a gold-etched fuller, a two-hand grip wielded with one massive hand as if it were a rapier. Hawkes noticed Jimmy back up instinctively and sneered derisively.

"I won't kill you, unfortunately." He replied coldly. "I want to see the extent of your grit. So fight me."

Jimmy psyched himself up, trying to overcome the great fear of taking on an armed, experienced opponent. He ran forward, bringing his baton up as if he were going to swing, and instead launching it spinning towards Hawkes' face. Hawkes batted away the flying baton like a fly, catching Jimmy's knife point and parrying it to the side with his sword. Jimmy, who was thrown off-balance, planted his left food backward and delivered a strong kick to Hawkes' midriff, causing Hawkes to stumble backward for a mere second; one that Jimmy took ample opportunity from.

He sliced at Hawkes' arms, leaving several light and moderate lacerations up and down his forearms. Hawkes grinned, waiting until Jimmy sliced at him once more. As the blade came flying upwards at his chin, Hawkes used the flat end of his blade and smacked Jimmy's wrist, knocking the knife out of his hands and clattering to the floor, while Jimmy yelped in pain and clutched at his wrist.

"Careless!" Hawkes chided him wrathfully.

Smack! Smack-smack! SMACK!

Hawkes continued using the flat end of the blade to smack at Jimmy's arms, legs and face, leaving Jimmy shouting and crying out in pain as the blade's flat surface slammed painfully against his skin, leaving red welts and bruises all along his body.

Trying to escape the beating, Jimmy dodged backward, stumbling to the ground and regaining his footing as he scurried to pick up the combat knife and baton from the ground yet again. He turned around, exhausted, in serious pain and mentally traumatized on top of what he was already dealing with. The only thing that fueled his continual retries against this near-unbeatable monster was his overwhelming egoism; the need to feel in control of the situation, no matter where, when, or how.

This was the opposite of that feeling, and he couldn't bear to stand it for a second longer.

His mind simply refused to back down in the face of overwhelming adversity, no matter the obstacle.

"BLEED AND DIE!" Jimmy roared at him, tightly gripping his weapons with renewed determination; even if it were only a few bruises and lacerations, Jimmy had still successfully managed to get some hits on Hawkes. All he needed was one lucky swipe at an artery or one lucky stab at a vital organ, and he would win.

Once more, he charged forth, waiting until Hawkes was in range to swing his weapons. The baton had the longer reach of the two, and so Jimmy used it to try and bat away Hawkes' sword, swatting at his blade as it returned again and again, keeping leveled at his face the entire time. It completely enraged Jimmy that Hawkes wasn't so much as even trying to stab or slice at him, merely keeping the sword leveled and taunting him with the fencer pose.

No matter he swatted at the sword, however, it would continue to reset to its original position, unwavering and tireless. Jimmy thought of what else to do, looking around the room for anything to use against Hawkes. He spotted a bottle of hand sanitizer and rushed for it, uncapping the sanitizer. As Hawkes watched him in amusement, Jimmy turned around and dashed the open bottle's contents in Hawkes' direction, watching with glee as the flammable liquid spilled all over Hawkes. Hawkes looked down, then back up at Jimmy in slight dismay.

"...Okay?"

Jimmy quickly and suddenly realized he had no way to light up the flammable liquid. He smacked himself in the head, cursing his shortsightedness; he had been so wrapped up in executing the last-second plan that he'd completely overlooked the crucial factor that would have even made this possible.

The two of them were left awkwardly staring at each other for a few moments, Hawkes thoroughly un-amused by now being drenched in hand sanitizer. In that moment, Jimmy had a moment of clarity and decided to take advantage of it.

"Why are you attacking me??" Jimmy asked desperately of Hawkes. "Why... How the hell did I come back to life? Or... or... is this some kind of hell? Is this punishment??"

Hawkes eyed him curiously, trying to stifle his immediate desire to break every bone in Jimmy's body.

"So you are aware of what you did. The crimes you sank to." Hawkes accused Jimmy, who fired back defensively.

"SO FUCKIN' WHAT?! Haven't I paid enough?? I took responsibility in the end, didn't I?!?!"

"WHAT RESPONSIBILITY?!" Hawkes screamed at him, losing composure over the sheer cowardice of the human scum in front of him. "YOU KILLED YOUR WHOLE FUCKING CREW, RAPED ONE OF THEM, MAIMED THE CAPTAIN BEYOND RECOGNITION, AND SHOT ANOTHER TO DEATH! WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY, AT ANY POINT IN TIME???"

Jimmy screamed in guttural rage as a response, his mind refusing to reflect on those memories which were no less horrid to him than any of the others. He leveled his knife, rushing forward and swiping wildly. Hawkes sheathed his sword in half a second, losing his cool and charging at Jimmy.

SHICK!

SLAM!

The knife plunged into Hawkes' side, and Jimmy was promptly tackled with the force of a brown bear, his world turned upside down as he slammed into the ground, knocked into a haze once the seven-foot behemoth floored him.

(Music: "All In My Head [Saint Punk Remix]", by grandson)

"I've been thinking of how I should reintroduce you to the world," Hawkes uttered, noxious fumes of pure, unfettered loathing pouring from his maw as he clutched Jimmy's collar; mixed with the great stench of alcohol, which only terrified Jimmy further- the last thing any rational human wanted was to be interrogated by an angry drunk. 

"And considering your track record, I thought it should be as violent as it was in your final moments."

Hawkes cocked back his cannon of an arm, readying a punch; Jimmy instinctively covered his face with his arms and cried out.

"DON'T-"

CRACK!

Hawkes' fist smashed into the tiling next to Jimmy's head, sending spindling webs of cracks through the floor and imparting the desired effect of demonstrating his ogreish might upon Jimmy; whose face was already paling stark white from the terror-inducing act. Hawkes leaned in to snarl and hiss at the terrified mess.

"I know what you are. Narcissist, top to bottom, inside and out. Control is your drive, your passion. Do you feel in control here? Knowing I can decapitate you with one hand? Will you admit that you are a piece of shit, who couldn't keep control of even his own life?"

Smack!

Overwhelmed with indignance and feral rage, Jimmy slammed his forehead against Hawkes' face, sending him stumbling backward a few steps. Jimmy wasted no time, clutching at the dropped baton nearby and jabbing at Hawkes' ribs, shocked with overwhelming pleasure as it successfully connected and caused Hawkes to momentarily stagger, clutching at his chest in pain. 

YES!! YESS!!!!!

Jimmy, filled with murderous intent and abject malice, raised the baton over his head, swinging with all his might down onto the back of Hawkes' head.

Whoosh.

Jimmy's face contorted in sheer confusion as Hawkes simply sidestepped the swing, leaving Jimmy to awkwardly stumble forward as the force of the swing left him off-kilter.

"You're so easy to deceive."

"GH-K!"

Hawkes slammed his open hand onto Jimmy's throat, digging his fingers into his esophagus and raising his writhing body up into the air, a look of dreadful contempt written across his face.

"The worst part of this story," He uttered with scorn. "Is that you violated one of your own crewmates. I couldn't care for whatever reasoning you may have, as I'll soon find out from the video footage. That's... fucking... wrong."

Scathingly, he brought Jimmy's reddening face up to his own, staring him down with bating bloodlust.

"I've seen your type at every level of society on Canaris and plenty of other worlds. Galas, slums, palaces, back alleys, political offices, criminal underbellies. Murders, robberies, hit jobs, mass orgies, military coups, betrayals, revenge... everything under the sun and more. I've had to put myself in the shoes of all kinds of people, to solve crimes or find weaknesses, or help someone on a path to redemption."

He tossed Jimmy to the ground like a trash bag, watching in glee as he slammed against the floor and coughed like a cancer patient, groaning in pain when he wasn't gasping for air. Hawkes leaned down for a heart-to-heart as Jimmy struggled to regain consciousness.

"Even if I hate most crimes, I can see from certain points of view, and I actively try to figure out why people do what they do. 'Hate the sin, not the sinner', and shit like that. Some crimes, however, like random killing sprees or manipulating people into killing themselves; selling women and children into sexual slavery, engaging in the forced organ donor market. Those are uniquely evil. And in my opinion, those are instances where I would hate both. Both must be punished horribly."

He stood up, imposing himself over Jimmy's quivering body to make it apparent that he was at Hawkes' total mercy. Hawkes gripped the knife in his side and yanked it out clean, reaching into his back satchel and pulling out an auto-mend patch, slapping it on the wound and gritting his teeth in slight pain as it stitched and cauterized the wound with nanites.

"I've seen the worst. The worst. And there's one crime, one injustice I hate more than most. I want you to understand how much of a piece of shit you are. You consciously, knowingly, used force to violate someone who was traveling in remote deepspace with you for years. You impregnated her without a fucking care. And from what I've reasoned, to avoid consequences when the ship returned to port, you crashed the fucking ship when your Captain trusted you as his 2nd in command. And you pinned the blame on HIM?!"

Jimmy screamed in terror as Hawkes gripped his leg and immediately swung him towards the other side of the room. He cried out in exacerbated suffering as his body struck the wall with force, tumbling onto the floor in a battered mess and coughing up blood. His internal organs were strained by the continual impacts against the walls and floors.

(Music: "FEAR ME", by Lykia)

He couldn't even get a second to cope with the pain, as Hawkes appeared over him near-instantaneously, towering with an irate expression, like a boot about to squash an insect.

"Fuck taking responsibility. You had eight months to do that. All you can get now is a taste of the consequences."

SLAM-SLAM-CRACK-SLAM-CRACK-SMACK-SMASH!

Hawkes wielded Jimmy like a ragdoll, sweeping his body around the interrogation room with little care for his injuries, taking sadistic pleasure in seeing Jimmy's body break, over and over again, across the surfaces he crashed against. Hawkes swung slowly enough that it wouldn't sever Jimmy's leg nor turn him into bloody gore from the force of the swing.

SMASH-CRACK-SLAM-CRACK!

Bones fractured- flesh bruised and swelled up- limbs were strained, dislocated, turned purple and black from the repeated brutality. Jimmy's cries and screams of pain and agony continued, then faded into grunts and guttural moans of terror, and finally a silent, hurting whimper.

Hawkes tossed him to the floor, watching as Jimmy twitched and curled up painfully. The sight of such a horrible display disturbed Hawkes somewhat- it had been months since he last tortured and brutalized someone, and the desensitized mental aspect had deteriorated slightly.

NOT--- ENOUGH----

But the RAGE was far more compelling than any sympathy to be had.

Hawkes stormed up to Jimmy's quivering body, plucking an injector from his coat pocket and stabbing it into Jimmy's thigh. Nanobots were injected into his body, moving throughout to fix, repair and suture any wounds they could find. Within minutes, Jimmy's body had been purged of the several cuts, gashes, bruises, fractures and other injuries that had plagued him only minutes ago.

With regained consciousness, Jimmy's eyes refocused on Hawkes, renewed with abject horror and clawing terror in his mind. This was torture.

He attempted to sprint for the door, screaming bloody murder, only to feel the back of his collar pulled backward, causing him to stumble. In a desperate fit to defend himself, Jimmy rotated on his heel, bringing his fist up to deliver a haymaker-

CRACK!

-Only to be met with a fist approaching his chest, slamming into it and sending him careening across the room, once more crashing into the wall and crying out from the impact. He shakily got up to his feet, and the most terrifying sight approached him rapidly- Hawkes, fist raised and head ducked, preparing himself for a fistfight. By this point, Jimmy had lost his stomach for pain, and tried to sprint for the door, only to feel a set of knuckles crack his cheek and send him spinning towards the floor. 

He caught himself on one foot, wheeling himself back around to throw another punch- and again feeling another battering ram punch, this time to his stomach, he gagged and heaved in an attempt to puke, gripping his stomach in discomfort and pain. 

The punches did not stop.

SMACK! SMACK! CRACK! SMACK!

Blow, after blow, after blow- to the body, the face, the head, the legs and arms; nothing was left unaffected after the barrage of furious punches. By the end of it, Jimmy simply crumpled to the ground, left in nearly the exact same state as before the injector.

(Music: "Arsonist's Lullabye", by Hozier)

Hawkes dusted off his bloodied gloves with satisfaction, peering down with contempt at the utterly devastated near-corpse of Jimmy. Unresponsive yet alive. Barely. Heaving a great sigh, Hawkes took a seat on the floor, a few feet away from Jimmy, and simply peered at him. Thinking.

...

...

...

The longer he thought, the more he reminisced. His past actions, his past behavior, his past morals and value systems. He reminisced on his upbringing, his youth and development, his accolades and downfalls, his best and worst moments.

And the whole time, he had gazed intensely at the broken body of Jimmy, trying to make comparisons where he could. He revisited the most dreadful memories of his past; the ones that he'd locked away in the last 2 months to avoid dealing with the moral implications and suicide-inducing guilt that came with such memories.

Hawkes had given orders to his crew, to blow up a civilian cargo freighter because a terrorist cell had infiltrated it and rigged the ship with explosives, planning to launch it into a nearby orbital citadel. Boarding had been impossible due to electrified airlocks. All 208 civilian workers on the ship were obliterated.

Hawkes had ended the Siege of Korres by baiting the attackers away with their captive families held hostage. When they called his bluff, he had them executed on the spot to outrage the attackers into lifting the siege and chasing him.

During a land war, while cornered during the Battle of Yamilcar, Hawkes directed a civilian refugee contingency that was following them to proceed down a different road to get in contact with humanitarian agents. It was a diversion; they'd been sent straight towards the marching enemy, to cover up for Hawkes and his battalion to retreat towards friendly territory and avoid annihilation. All the refugees were mistaken for undercover soldiers, shot on sight.

As recently as a year ago, Hawkes had ordered some of his crew to sneak into the houses of a dozen reporters, who had threatened to leak video and audio evidence of Hawkes torturing suspected terrorists and mutineers past the point of the law. He had their throats slit in the dead of night and departed for another planet the next morning.

More, and more, and more of those memories resurfaced horribly, painfully. Hundreds, upon hundreds, upon thousands of deaths. All on him. He had given in to moral bankruptcy, and now it was too late to repent. If he could not repent, then at the very least... he could save others from his own fate, if there was any shred of it in them; in even scum like Jimmy.

He gazed down at the broken, shivering, quietly sobbing body of Jimmy, comparing his own past crimes with the sniveling bastard lying at his feet. Was this hypocritical of him? Should he not be tortured and maimed and shamed for his past? What gave him the belief that his actions against others were righteous or deserving? Who was he to determine the objective morality of the universe?

There were no objective moral standards he could point to as justification. It was that simple. He could decide the fate of this cretin however he wanted, and the universe would continue on as it always did.

...

...

...

He couldn't decide his fate right now. What had he brought him back to life for, if not to punish him over time, if not to achieve some end-goal here? Would there be self-reflection by this narcissist shit? It would be quite easy to 'cure' him; i.e. having Doctor Faulkner work tirelessly on brain surgery to eliminate the causes of this narcissism. But that didn't feel right- not in the slightest. Not because he deemed it morally wrong to do so, but because this scum would not be using those mental ailments as an excuse for his behavior.

Hawkes had dealt with narcissists plenty of times, as said before. He had encountered plenty who had not tainted themselves with the unforgivable crime of rape or pedophilia. No matter the illness, free will exists. Choices were made by the individual. And the active, consistent-minded choice to violate one of his own crew, someone as precious and lively as Anya; to betray a captain as kind-hearted and optimistic as Curly-

Stop. Stop. Stop thinking.

If he continued to ponder on this subject, he would find himself rending Jimmy's limbs from his torso in a maddened frenzy. 

"CAZ! RAMIREZ!"

The two officers opened the Interrogation room and moved in, somewhat horrified by the sight of a broken and maimed Jimmy splayed across the floor, twitching infrequently from the overwhelming pain his body was wracked with. They looked up at Hawkes, covered in blood and completely unphased.

"Get him to Medical. Get him healed up. Then drag this fucking CUNT! to the brig."

The two of them nodded solemnly, taking Jimmy by his arms and dragging him out of interrogation, leaving a noticeable blood trail from his leaking wounds. Hawkes stomped over to the sink, washing his gloves of the filthy crimson blood that stained them, wiping away the streaks of gore across his face and uniform as best he could.

His gaze eventually found itself at the mirror; back at himself. 

The eyes of a mass murderer. A cold-blooded killer. A glorified death maker, widower, and orphan producer. An enlightened despot with a reformed mentality. A king on his own vessel, able to play and toy with the lives of all those on board as he pleased.

He rubbed his face, remembering the deluge of notches he'd marked on his body as his kill count. No matter if they were gone now, the memory was always there.

A devil. He had been a devil. And there was no guarantee he would not be that devil again.

The only thing he could do right now, for the best of the Tulpar crew... was keep his demons on a leash.

Chapter Text

Serious trigger warning for this chapter. This is your only warning.

Day 132

"Haxel, get the tunes going. I'm not surveying to awkward silence."

(Music: "Finesse", by Michael Prince)

Tyler, captain of the Numia, bobbed his head and did a little jig as the song booted up over the cockpit's interior speaker, filling the cozy cabin with jazz and trumpets.

"Fuck yeah. Alright, pull up the main feed."

Haxel, the co-captain of the Numia, a small mercenary scouting vessel, flicked a few buttons and used the touch screen to pull up the camera feed onto the big screen in front of them. Immediately, a close-up of a buzzing research station popped up. The resolution was so crisp (as was necessary for a scouting vessel) that even the little humans moving around the station's exterior and interior could be profiled by the naked eye. The wondrous technology of the future was a sight to behold- literally.

"Ok-ayyy," Tyler affirmed, pulling out a long set of notes and moving to the very bottom, beginning to pen down his observations. "Haxel, can you ask Cortia to confirm there's no approaching vessels in our proximity again?"

"Yes, Captain." Haxel obliged, thumbing his radio and switching to the Navigator's channel. "Cortia, Captain wants a second GL on Bogeys."

"Bogos binted?"

"I have literally no idea what that means. Are you one of those nerds that uses century-old shit phrases that only a niche amount of people would laugh at? That is the third time you've said that over the radio. I'm gonna take your radio and force you to communicate with Morse code if you keep goofing."

"I would take the time and energy to type that in Morse code, cuz then you'd have to stare at it and know you caused it. You're greenlit- again."

"Cortia- fuck's sake, SPEAK IN CODE!"

"I keep TELLING you, this is an ENCRYPTED CHANNEL! ENCRYPTED~! Do you understand what the word 'encrypted' means??"

"Cortia... again, once again... if someone hacks through the encryption, they will hear our very detailed conversation because we didn't SPEAK! IN! CODE!"

"Sure, yeah, and last time you failed to cite a SINGLE incident in the last TWO FUCKIN' YEARS of this ship's history where we suffered a radio breach!"

"Oh my- Cortia I don't have time for this, I need the GL for the Captain!"

"Are you... are you deaf?"

"Haxel, I can hear the radio," Tyler remarked in slight confusion, still jotting down notes. "I already heard her, keep arguing."

Haxel sighed as Cortia cackled nefariously over the radio.

"You stupid dum-dum caveman idiot!"

"That's too many insults- GET OFF COMMS!"

Haxel huffed as he switched off the radio, leaning against the central console while Tyler chuckled in amusement.

"She's so fuckin' hot." Tyler suddenly randomly commented, and Haxel chuckled humorlessly.

"More like irritating as hell," Haxel replied, and Tyler grinned while reviewing his notes.

"Gotta look past the personality. Even with the baggy uniform on, she's busty."

"Uh huh." Haxel was increasingly growing uncomfortable. If there was one fatal flaw in the captain, it was his extreme and obvious lust that he just couldn't help but share with him during some private moments in the cockpit. It was incredibly offensive to Haxel, as he viewed the crew with nothing but respect and admiration for the 4 years he'd worked on there with them. Tyler, who had only been here a year and was switched out for the previous captain (who'd resigned), was pretty good at his job. But the things he said sometimes were... atrocious.

It was the most unfortunate reality that many of the male sex, even in the future eras, were weak-willed, prone to lust, and more than ready to throw away their dignity at the mere sight of a desirable woman. However, what had reduced over time was the societal perception of how male perpetrators against women were viewed. This was thanks to a set of punitive laws passed by the Galactic Association of Planets & Colonies (GAPC) which cracked down heavily on sexual crimes against men and women, in response to overwhelming outrage over a news story detailing the rape and murder of 27-year-old Idra Stauncy at the hands of 32-year-old Stamson Gillesby; a crime that happened right in the middle of a busy street avenue—ignored entirely by male and female, adult, children, and senior passersby alike.

In honor of the atrocity, the set of codes were called the Idra Edicts, and created a wave of crackdowns and public backlash against those who were convicted in a court of law. This led to many people getting falsely accused, but such was the nature of any new movement.

Haxel shook his head. Some things were just unpleasant in life. He could only hope that Tyler would drop this disgusting habit of his before he found his career in the toilet.

"Alright," Haxel said, getting up from the chair and dusting himself off. "I'm gonna go check on the others for a minute. Let me know if you need help."

"Yeah, yeah." Tyler said dismissively, continuing his note-recording. "Tell Alina I need the maintenance report for the topside turret."

"Roger that."

Haxel got up from the chair and left the cockpit, exhaling in slight relief to be rid of that uncomfortable topic. 

He headed first for the medical station to bother his buddy, Derek, who'd recently gotten into a relationship with Cortia. He was a bit surprised to walk in and find him praying, with a rosary and cross in his hands, in front of a portrait of Bennett Ramirez. A child, and the first person ever recorded to have returned from the dead. He was, naturally, made into a saint and adopted into the Christian faith as one.

It was extremely surreal to Haxel, who had been a normal Christian long before this whole event unfolded. The Day of Second Resurrection had unsettled him more than anything else; having known the scripture from the Bible... several missing events were supposed to coincide with the day of rapture as it occurred, in this reality.

This was far more disturbing as a concept manifested because the only indicator it was connected to a higher force was through the inclusion of named god(s) and goddess(es) in any conceivable religion. Haxel had seen resurrections under Catholic, Christian, Islamic, Hindu deities; even ancient religions like the Roman and Greek Pantheons, Norse Mythology, Sumerian religion...

Shockingly, Buddhist and Confucian rituals didn't work. After giving it some thought, Haxel realized there were no gods to reference or pray to in those religions. By this, there was one confirmation he could concretely make.

Whatever forces or deity were involved with this was watching and interacting with them. Observing.

Haxel could feel his breath quickening, his chest tightening; everytime he remotely approached this topic, it felt as if the walls, ceiling and floors were closing in on him; trapping him in a suffocating box. He could tell, as a fact, as an axiom of the fabric of reality and the universe and everything beyond that existed- that God existed, the creator of all things. 

But there were other, lesser forces at work. It could be sensed as easily as gravity could be observed, grass could be touched, sights could be seen and hunger could be felt. This intrusion from the incomprehensible realities beyond the material plane was akin to the opening of Pandora's Box, with only one overwhelming and positive insight being the confirmation of God's existence. 

Even if Haxel's eyes were gouged out, ears cut off, nose removed, tongue torn out, and every nerve in his body stopped working; he would still be able to sense the omnipresence of those higher forces.

That, is the kind of change that humanity had been instilled with permanently. An inextricable and foreboding knowledge of other, more infinitely powerful forces at work; ones they could not conceive nor know the intentions of.

T-e-r-r-i-f-y-i-n-g.

"H-Hey Derek!"

Derek turned his head from the praying, a smile widening across his olive-skinned face.

"Wassup, buddy!"

He gently set down the rosary and cross in front of the portrait, standing up and moving to pat him on the back. The two of them exchanged a few jokes and updates, with Haxel taking a seat on the medical bed while Derek sat in the rolling chair.

"So," Haxel inquired. "How's Cortia treatin' ya?"

Derek lit up like a light bulb; clearly engulfed in the early stages of infatuation as relationships tended to go in the beginning.

"You ever fell in love, Hax?"

"No."

"Tragic."

"Unnecessary remark."

Derek rubbed his chin in deep contemplation as if trying to put the proper words together.

"Being in love is like adding color to life. Like before, it feels like black and white. And when you fall in love, and that love is returned, it feels like every little thing you do, say, speak, hear, or feel is heightened and amplified a hundred times over. It's like paradise no matter where you are or what you're doing."

Haxel was silent, thinking on the words, before returning his gaze to Derek with tired but hopeful eyes.

"That sounds nice."

Derek nodded, studying Haxel's behavior and thinking for a long minute.

"You know," He started. "Have you tried talking to Alina more? I can tell you've had a thing for her since the Ohrra Mission."

Haxel groaned, rubbing his forehead as he recalled that stressful journey from over 3 years ago, when he was still wet behind the ears to the Numia. Captain Adoris, the recently retired captain of the Numia, was ordered to join in on a siege against the Ohrra Citadel, a Separatist-owned massive mobile space fortress that had cut off a huge interstellar highway for commerce between Terra and the other GAPC planets.

During the days-long battle between hundreds of thousands of fighters, carriers, frigates and the legendary Death Knellers, the Numia was tasked with scouting enemy movements and reporting them to the primary fleets. The lives of all those onboard had been nearly obliterated over 23,498 times (the amount of shots fired at them that missed and would have been fatal on hit).

After that battle, the crew were hilariously traumatized to the point that the Numia was decommissioned for two months so the crew could receive therapy and counseling. Additionally, Haxel had found Alina, the gunner, particularly attractive as she had not only saved their lives tens of thousands of times, but shot with such accuracy that the optic tracker put her hit percentage at fourty-two percent. For reference, the accuracy percentage of spaceship gunners was set at around ten percent. Across the entire galaxy of humans.

So yeah, to Haxel, that was inevitably and unavoidably hot as fuck. It just so happened to strike that 'holy shit that makes my serotonin shoot up' nerve and stuck to it every time he saw her.

He shook his head once more, trying to clear the impure thoughts from his head. He had just finished mentally lecturing Tyler for his crass comments, he didn't want to be a hypocrite by indulging his own vices.

"Yeah, maybe some day." Haxel eventually responded to Derek with a hollow tone. Derek frowned in disappointment.

"Come on, man. What's there to fear? Even if you get turned down, you don't interact with her that much and your contracts end in a year. Or... she accepts and you now have a girlfriend and a fat paycheck when y'all get dropped off at Rains."

Haxel was obviously enticed by the prospect, but still didn't feel comfortable speaking on this topic right now. 

"Anyways," He diverted the topic. "Do you have a copy of the evals for the crew?"

Derek stood up and walked over to his filing cabinet, pulling out a stack of papers and handing them to Haxel.

"Interviewing fifteen people every three days is just arbitrary. Can't we do it weekly? This is a waste of paperwork."

Haxel shrugged in resignation.

"It's company policy. I'm not gonna let the small fuck-ups screw us over when we're only a year from release."

"I get it..." Derek said with a sigh of dismay. "Anyways, can you ask Old Rogers to get Tyler the ship diagnostics? He refuses to speak to him since the New Year's party."

Haxel sighed- again, nodding his head.

"Let me know how it goes with Cortia," He remarked to Derek before exiting the medical bay, grinning as he saw the dramatic salute he gave. He then made his way to the gunnery station to speak with Alina. He passed by a few other stations, greeting each of the crew mates as he walked along.

He found himself at the very center of the ship, in a large room that housed both her bunk & workstation as well as the omnidirectional turret chamber she used to shoot the guns on the top and bottom of the Numia. Tapping his ID card on the door, he watched the light turn green and the entrance slide into hidden reserves.

He saw Alina absent-mindedly repairing a damaged S-20 upgrade module, which provided a faster swivel speed for her turrets. He couldn't help but admire her as she worked, looking over her features.

A light beige and smooth complexion to her skin, dazzling purple eyes caused by ocular albinism, light blonde silky hair, a button nose and thin lips; wearing a grey military uniform with red lining and a grey beret to match. Her black-gloved hands wielded a screwdriver and soldering tool, positioned over the exposed circuitry of the module as she went to work diligently.

Haxel waited until she finished the work, afraid of disrupting the process and causing further malfunction. It took a few minutes, but eventually she put down the tools and wiped her forehead; turning to the right and suddenly yelping in surprise as she spotted Haxel.

"You scared the shit outta me!"

"Uhhh, my bad."

Alina seemed a bit reserved and uncomfortable at first, but eventually cracked an uneasy smile as she comprehended it was Haxel.

"How's it going, Co-captain?" She teased him, using his title instead of his name. Haxel huffed air out of his nose and smirked.

"It's going pretty good, Audie Murphy."

"That would be an understatement, Mister Haxel- He had 241 confirmed kills, I had about ten times that amount!" She openly bragged, clearly still riding the highs of that long-winded battle 3 years later. Haxel shook his head.

"Too bad it only counts hits and not confirmed kills." Haxel prodded her, to great effect. A forehead vein emerged as she grew visibly angry.

"That's a bullshit excuse! Just because this piece of shit can't detect KIAs doesn't mean they didn't happen!"

"Did ya count them?"

"I did."

"How many?"

"Roughly ten times Audie Murphy. 2,387."

"You're now technically a mass murderer."

"It's not murder if it's in war. Also we're literally paid to scout people out so our clients can kill them? Isn't that aiding and abetting?"

"You a lawyer now?"

"By your logic, I'll have to make my case in court soon enough, so I might as well be."

The two of them laughed heartily at the goofy interaction; three years of camaraderie and crazy ordeals led to a close bond amongst the crew that had stuck around for those four years. As the silence came forth, Haxel noticed Alina seeming as if she wanted to say something, but was hesitant to.

"What's wrong?" Haxel was naturally inclined to ask. Her eyes dodged between his face to the ground, her stance diminishing from confidence to nervousness. 

"I, uh... wanted to talk to you about... something."

"Ask away. Don't care what it's about, I'm not sayin' shit to no one."

The eagerness of Haxel's promise and earnest in his eyes propelled Alina to speak with more certainty.

"The, uh... captain... has been... saying some really lewd stuff to me. He's been... flirting, and grazing my... areas with his hands. He asked me for... sex... a few times in the last few weeks... I don't really feel safe when he's around, but I haven't told anyone else... I don't want to cause any..."

The more she spoke, the harder it felt to hear her statements. There was an anger he'd never felt in his life, boiling up from his stomach and beckoning for his throat. What terrible anger. It slowly died down as he began to think rationally, trying to figure out what to do.

This was a bad situation. He didn't think the Captain was that bold and shameless, to harass one of his crewmates like this. Haxel should've seen the signs in his increased fantasizing, but he'd been ignoring it since it was his last year and he didn't want to stir up trouble.

"I...I'll talk to that degenerate when I get back to the cockpit." Haxel assured her. "I'll make sure he quits his bullshit when we're only a year away from a finished contract. Alright? Just avoid interacting with him right now."

Alina seemed unsure of his confidence, but nodded nonetheless, and Haxel nodded back before departing from the gunnery station. He'd forgotten to get the maintenance report, but that was at the back of his mind. He needed to give his two cents to Tyler.

Day 135

Fuck, Haxel thought in irritation. Sitting in the cockpit alongside Tyler, he felt a deep guilt over his hesitation to confront the captain for 3 days now. He'd never gone up against a superior authority before, especially on a spaceship where the incident in question would shame the superior immensely for being discovered and likely create tons of internal strife that could fuck up the contract for everyone, or cause conflict and interpersonal issues to manifest when they were on missions.

"Hax, take these transcripts and print them. They'll need to be sent to the admiral's fleet tomorrow."

Haxel nodded, gulping reluctantly as he took the notes and strolled over to the printer in the corner of the room to make copies. He continually glanced back at Tyler while performing this task, trying to gather up the courage to broach him about it.

"Fuck, I'm gettin' riled up." Tyler muttered to himself, adjusting the front of his pants and standing up. "Hold the fort down, Hax. I'm taking a... smoke break."

"Uh huh..." Haxel muttered in displeasure, watching as Tyler jumped out of the seat and headed out the door. Haxel sat in the cockpit, reminiscing on the past and struggling to decide on how to proceed with the confrontation.

"Urgh," He muttered with clear frustration. "I can't think when I'm sitting down."

Ensuring the ship was still on maintained autopilot, Haxel got up from his seat and proceeded to the engineering bay to see Old Rogers, the Head Engineer. He had remembered he needed to get the ship diagnostics for the upcoming monthly report on the ship and its crew.

It only took a minute to weave through the ship's interior to reach Engineering; it was placed next to the gunnery station and was centralized in the middle of the ship to make repairs and emergency fixes within equal distance.

The sound of old jazz ("Sweet Ginger Green", by Pearce-Pickering Barrelhouse Jazz Band) pumped through the door, muffled yet audible to Haxel. He carded the door and walked in as it hissed open, revealing Old Rogers banging away at a dented metal sheet, looking up momentarily as Haxel entered the medium-sized workshop filled with gadgets, tools and small machinery.

"Aye, how's it go, Haxel?"

"Goin' good, Rogers. Just came for the ship diagnostics."

Rogers set aside the hammer and sheet, getting up and proceeding to his filing cabinet to remove the paperwork.

"Ya know," He spoke, his Scottish accent pervading every word. "That wee prick at the front has been downright fookin' ungentlemanly since his li'l fiasco at the fookin' New Year's Party."

Haxel threw his hands up in defeat.

"Trust me, I get it. Half the crew likes him, the other half hates him. We only have a year left in our contract, though. Let's just try not to fuck up our paycheck before payday?"

Rogers exhaled indignantly from his mouth, rubbing his greying beard in rumination.

"Aye, ye got a point... alright, if I must tolerate that creep for a bit longer, so be it."

"He's a vulgar creep for sure, right now, but... I'm hoping he can mature out of his... phase. It's unbecoming for a nascent captain like him to throw aside his dignity and horndog in public. I'm sure he'll get over that juvenile behavior soon- maybe when he's seen some actual combat."

Rogers groaned and continued battering at the dented metal with his hammer while he spoke.

"Optimism's great when yer runnin' a fookin' lemonade stand, but when yer stuck with ferteen other flesh-bags on a small shep and venturin' into enemy territ'ry, I'd rather my leaders 'ave cunnin' and wit instead of hopes and shet."

It was damn near impossible to understand half the sentence this old Black Scot just uttered, and so Haxel just sheepishly agreed to the incoherent sentence.

"...Y...Yes...?"

Rogers shook his head, setting his hammer down for a second to take a swig from a half-empty beer bottle set on the table, before resuming his work.

"Listen, lad. I'm glad yer seein' the glass half-full in the others. But ya need to conceive the 'ard truth that some people are just walkin' hazards. Et's only a year left in our contract, so I'm not gonna make a fuss abou' this. But if et were the start of 5 long years? I'd be workin' with the crew to get 'em fookin' ousted. That kinda behavior only elevates on spaceships. Fookin' walkin' red flag, that guy es. Seen et once, seen et a million fookin' times. No self-control, and ya get that."

Haxel sighed, nodding- reaffirmed to speak harshly with Tyler once he got back to the cockpit. He didn't want to start viewing the captain as just pure evil- far from it, as half the crew did like the captain for his good instincts, solid performance and reliability, and excellence behind the wheel under pressure. Haxel needed to speak with some of those that liked him, like Naomi and Barris, and come to a more rounded conclusion. This was one opinion from one man, even if Haxel tended to agree with him.

If it was necessary, Haxel wouldn't take long to hold a vote to brig Tyler and take over as captain himself. But that was only worst case scenario- and naturally, it would be a gamble whether or not the crew voted in his favor; as he could very well be the one who ends up in the brig and a jeopardized payout.

"By the way, lad, if ya don' know what I'm wafflin' abou' jus' say et ou' loud."

"I don't know what you just said."

"Yer a right arse. Hahaha!"

"Right. Well, I'll let you get back to your work, I need to get the monthly report ready."

"Aye, best of luck, lad." 

Haxel strolled out of the Engineering Bay, suddenly feeling the onset of a desire to relieve himself. He took a shortcut to the nearest bathroom, located adjacent to the cockpit. Unlike the other bathrooms, it had a really nice black-tiled floor, decorative wallpaper and posh toilets. This meant that most of the other crewmates would go out of their way to head to that bathroom for its improved atmosphere and aesthetic.

He barely comprehended the muted grunts and whimpering as he pushed open the bathroom door-

(Music: "Cataleptic", by Elephant Music)

What the fuck. What the fuck! What the fuck.

Haxel had walked in on Tyler, thrusting his fingers into a horrified and vulnerable Alina and pleasuring himself, clearly taking her against her will as her eyes shed tears of shame and fear, face contorted in complete dread and humiliation; body frozen like a deer in the headlights.

Tyler immediately noticed Haxel and stumbled backward, quickly pulling up his underwear and pants, doggedly trying to explain himself upon deaf ears. Barely comprehending of the circumstance, Haxel gazed slackjawed at Tyler, seeing the writhing desperation and pulsing alarm written across his face as he rambled on. Haxel's eyes drifted towards Alina, bearing witness to her shivering, delicate, bruised body as she straddled the sink as if stabbed in the stomach; a gentle flower trampled and torn of its dignity.

Rage.

"W-We were just chatting casually and sh-she asked me for it! I-I was just coming in here to get m...."

Was this filth still talking? Why was his mouth still moving? Why were his lungs still drawing air?

Haxel could barely think, barely breathe, barely see, hear, smell, taste, feel.

It felt as if a dying star were growing in his chest, setting his body and mind alight with blind apoplexy. He only spent a few more seconds trying to restrain his emotions; to no avail.

He could only recall still images. 

He launched toward Tyler, arms outreached.

His hands clasped the collar and they both fell. 

Haxel's fists pummeled into his face.

Unrelenting.

Nonstop.

Blood. Blood. Gore. Blood. Gore. Blood.

"S-STOOOOOOOOOOOOHPP!!!"

Crack. Crack. "GHK!" Crack. Crack. "Gh...rck...." Crack.

The blood flowed. Screaming. Sobbing. Whimpering. Pain. Chaos. Scribbles. Incomprehensible.

HE TORE INTO HIS FACE WITH ALL HIS MIGHT.

Flesh, muscle, veins, sinew, nerves, bone, marrow.

Eyes, nose, teeth, skin, ears, jaw, sockets, skull, b-r-a-i-n-

His hands hurt. They ached. How many times had he struck? He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't speak.

Hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit,

Until-

Haxel came to his senses.

...

...

...

(Music: "Animal Horror", by Kevin Penkin)

Tyler's face was mush, bone fragments, and pummeled organs. Blood was splattered across the floor, the walls, the stalls, the sinks, the ceiling- Haxel's torso, face, fists were caked in blood and gore. It was a complete and abject horror spectacle.

"I....I...."

Wh...What did I do? Haxel questioned himself; overwhelming dread and rapid distress heightened his feelings of anxiety, grief and terror. In the next few seconds, panic set in, and he began to hyperventilate, clutching at his throat and chest, feeling as if he were going to suffocate and his heart would burst at any moment. What did I do? What did I do?? What the fuck did I just do? What did I do?! What the hell- What- What- What did I do?!?!

His gaze happened to frantically wander around, and glanced across the face of Alina, who was left in a state of catatonic shock and slumped to her knees. Seeing her, even in this moment that felt like the rapid ending of his life, was enough for him to engage in extreme denialism and steady his sanity temporarily.

"It's going to be fine..." Haxel muttered incessantly. "It's going to be fine. It's gonna be fine. It'll be fine. Fine. Fine. Fine."

In a complete stupor, he stumbled up from the body of Tyler, slipping in the pools of blood around the body, focusing purely on Alina. He crawled over to her, weakly pulling her pants back up around her waist and re-buttoning. He slowly brought her torso forward and gently pulled back down her sweater, then the undone jacket around her chest, re-buttoning and zipping it up.

"It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine."

He finished re-doing her outfit, then in a trance went up to the sink and washed his hands, morbidly feeling chunks of dried blood crack apart and pour into the sink, turning it into a crimson fountain.

"It'll be fine. Fuckin... Yeah. Fuck! It'll be fine. Fine. Fine. Fine."

He cupped his hands, pouring water onto his stained uniform, managing to wash off some of the caked layers of blood but failing to scrub it out completely. He washed his face, his arms, his neck and hair.

Clean. Clean. Pure. Untainted.

He was sopping wet, rid of most the blood he'd wrought upon himself. All that remained was a massive dark splotch that caked the vast majority of his uniform's upper torso.

"It'll.. be fine."

Without sparing a single glance at Tyler's body, he stumbled over to Alina and helped her up onto her feet, directing her towards the door as they both meekly exited the bathroom. Their footsteps echoed harshly through the corridor, as if announcing their presence right after the crime had been committed.

Haxel eventually reached the gunnery station, shakily flagging Alina's card to the scanner and escorting her in. He sat her down across from him, and the two of them simply stared at each other for what felt like the longest while. Just gazing.

Wondering. Comprehending. Fearing. Feeling. 

"I...I..." Haxel broke the silence with the weakest of tones. "I'm gonna... take responsibility.... just... go... go back to... to gunnery... and... and relax or... yeah... yeah, relax..."

His mind was shattered. His reality was permanently changed. Not only had he committed treason by murdering the onboard captain, he had committed a mortal sin. 

His life was effectively, over.

With emptied eyes, he stood up and gently took Alina's hand, guilted deeply by the look of half-permanent horror, shock and terror wreaking her features. He led her to the gunnery station, silent and soulless through every passed corridor.

They reached the gunnery station, and Haxel led her in, sitting her down in the chair and staring at her one last time.

"I'm... s... sorry... you had to... see that. I'm sorry... you had to... experience that. I'll be... going now."

Robotically, he turned around and walked towards the cockpit, disconnected from reality by a considerable margin. He walked over to his seat on the right, and simply stared at the camera feed on the screen, vapidly observing the station.

Observing. 

A few hours passed, and the Navigations Officer, Cortia, entered the cockpit with a bit of frustration. She noticed Haxel uselessly staring at the camera feed and immediately went to chastise him.

"Hax! Where the fuck is Tyler?! I've been radioing in for coordinate updates since eight o'clock!"

She was immensely disconcerted when Haxel's eyes drifted aimlessly from the screen to her face, and she became even more unsettled as she saw the look of overwhelming trauma smeared across his face and wreathed over his body like a curse. Then she noticed the mounds of dried blood stained across his uniform, and a cold, horrifying chill ran over her mind and spine.

"Wh-What... What happened?!"

"I, uh... Tyler, uh... I found... I saw him... uh... r-...he was, uh... forcing himself... on someone. In the... the... bathroom..."

Cortia was only more frightened and somewhat uncomprehending of that stilted explanation, and Haxel suddenly got up, dragging his feet and exiting the cockpit.

"Wh-Where... are you... going..." Cortia muttered, still not comprehending the horror in her mind and instead choosing to follow him nevertheless as they proceeded through the corridor. She couldn't be fully sure it was blood on his uniform, because they were already dark by default. It could have... very well been an oil spillage. Or something like that. It had to be.

They eventually stood in front of the bathroom, and Haxel opened the door absentmindedly, revealing-

"Oh- Oh! Oh, my god! Oh! No, no!"

Cortia bore witness to the most horrifying sight she'd ever seen in her life; the dismantled face of Tyler, splayed awkwardly across the floor; blood and gore splashed like a crimson wave across the floor and back wall of the bathroom. 

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

She screamed in unfettered terror and immediately bolted, leaving Haxel to leave the bathroom door open without a care in the world, shuffling back to the cockpit to accomplish some task unknowable to him.

His mind was frayed. His reality was brutally changed for good. He couldn't bear the horrors being heaped upon him in droves.

He just wanted... some quiet.

Chapter Text

Onboard the Numia, an hour after Cortia had seen the dead body of Tyler and ran screaming to report it to the rest of the crew, Haxel was restrained and locked up in the brig, while the rest of the crew gathered outside his barred cell, and argued over the recent killing.

(Music: "Disinformation", by Avery Alexander)

"How is this even a fucking discussion?!" Shouted an outraged Barris, head of all two military police onboard; his trainee, Chloe, was loyal and dedicated to him, sticking by his side with trust in her senior and superior officer.

"Yeah, this is ridiculous!" She piped up. "He's a murderer. He killed his Captain, the leader of this whole damn vessel, and he won't even confess as to why!"

"No fookin' way!" Rogers interjected harshly, stabbing his finger at Barris and Chloe. "Neither o' you shites 'ave seen the degeneracy that fookin' Captain was gettin' up to at the front o' the ship! And don' forget about the New Year's horseshite, hittin' the fookin' backboard with a waitress when he was s'posed to give his bloody speech!"

"Being promiscuous isn't cause for fucking MURDER!" Naomi, the Systems Officer, shouted from the sidelines. "Did any of you even see what happened in there?! He BUTCHERED the Captain's face into mush!"

Several of the crew covered their mouths to beat back the waves of nausea; all of them had glimpsed the dead body, several of them having vomited at the sight of it. Several of the crew in the brig glanced over at Haxel, who was sitting in the barred cell, drained entirely of the will to live.

"Look," Derek tried to reason with the group. "There's definitely a reason as to why this happened. We've all known Haxel for at least a year now- and many of us have known him for multiple. He's consistent; loyal; obeys authority without question. Hell, he's been a stickler for the rules since he was first commissioned on the ship! What kind of sense does it make that he'd turncoat and go full psycho for no reason, against his direct superior?"

"Enough with the emotional arguments!" Chimed in Aisha, an Engineering intern with a college diploma who was serving under Rogers. Because of her free-thinking nature and the lack of rigidity in Engineering, she was independent-minded and had drawn her own conclusions on this Haxel-Tyler debate. "The fact of the matter is, Haxel killed our captain. We don't have any witnesses to the crime, and the only person who witnessed the dead body and spoke to Haxel was Cortia- and she's in no state to talk right now."

Aisha jabbed her finger accusingly at Haxel, pressed against the wall listlessly.

"For all we know, we have a madman onboard. We need to have a discussion and vote on what to do with him. Once we finish this mission -and it's an easy mission- we can head back to our Command Center and revive Tyler."

"Yer talkin' far too much for yer rank, Aisha." Rogers beared down on her. "We can 'ave that debate on Haxel, but do NOT fookin' revive that piece o' shite!"

"You're insanely confident on your assumption, Rogers." Barris pointed out. "But you haven't provided what crimes he committed, nor evidence for them. Are we just supposed to take your word for it?"

"You know exactly what crime has been circulating around the ship, Barris."

"An unsubstantiated allegation, nonetheless."

Rogers narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth and preparing a scathing reply- until the crew's Chef & Boatswain, Dalya, clapped her hands once; loud enough to reverberate through the brig and gather everyone's attention.

"Let's be civil about this." She spoke calmly and orderly; as if this chaos and strife hardly bothered her. "We should address a few things. I wanted to organize a proper forum of discussion so we didn't devolve into a civil war- I could see dissent brewing from a mile away. Firstly, our three garrison officers here have no stance on this so far, the same as I."

She gracefully waved her hand across the three; Jackson, Stacey and Franklin, all of whom waved awkwardly.

"I spoke to them before we all gathered in this brig, to ask them their thoughts on what had occurred and the... rumors spreading amongst the crew. They are all undecided on the course of action to take. It's clear that most of you have come to your own conclusions, but some problems are still at hand. Primarily, Cortia was the only witness who spoke to Haxel and saw the body, based on what our CCTV shows us."

"Wait, doesn't CCTV have audio??" Asked Chloe. "Or isn't there CCTV in the bathroom to show what happened?"

"No, and no." Naomi replied tersely. "Firstly, wiretapping laws, and secondly, recording people in the bathroom is insanely illegal and unethical."

Chloe groaned in frustration. Dalya continued her hypothesis.

"Another thing is," She stated. "Alina has been held up in the gunnery station this entire time. Hasn't come out for the meeting and ignored all our notifications to her holopad. Derek went in to speak to her, and it wasn't good news. She had to be involved. I want to get information from both of them, the only issue is... Derek administered some assessments, and it seems all three of them have some... profound PTSD."

Her eyes focused on Derek, prompting him to explain his assessment. He turned nervously to the others.

"All three of them were unresponsive, emotionally and cognitively. I've prodded them lightly with a number of questions, and received no answers. Due to this, I've... had to diagnose them with Acute Stress Disorder, which is the early... precursor to PTSD."

"Why..." Franklin spoke up hesitantly, put on edge by this unseen development. "What happened to them?"

Derek, with a weary and deeply saddened face, shrugged in resignation.

"It's probably the... murder itself. Seeing trauma of that magnitude can overwhelm the brain and cause dissociation as a defense mechanism. There could have been other things going on, but that's the only definitive causation we have right now."

"Are any of them physically injured?" Stacey asked tentatively.

"No, I ruled that out as a cause for the catatonic state. The only injuries were the... abrasions..."

Derek covered his mouth with his shoulder, trying to fight back the nausea. Going over a case like this, knowing the perpetrator was his long-time friend... what an awful predicament.

"The... abrasions on... Haxel's hands."

The room was dead silent for a long moment; reminded once again that a gruesome murder had taken place, and none of them had the facts as to why.

Then suddenly, a voice pitched up from the very back of the crowd; a hulking, pot-bellied older man with a deep and scratchy Italian accent.

"This seems pretty sketchy," said Sal, the quartermaster of the ship. "Co-captain kills his captain with his bare hands. A crime of passion. Bein' a vet on this rig for 4 years, I can tell you that Haxel's been the most down-to-earth and reliable out of the whole crew. The Ohrres Mission; the Battle of Gilar, that narrow escape from the Helgan Armada only six months ago."

His eyes slid across the crew slowly, measuring their faces. Being the Quartermaster, he naturally was granted the third-highest authority on the ship when the captain and co-captain were incapacitated. He could easily play the authority card and order Haxel's release, but the last thing he wanted to do was alienate the crew. Sal had a bit of an idea of what went down in the bathroom, and it most certainly involved Alina in some form.

And if his theory turned out to be true, he would be all for keeping Tyler dead and promoting Haxel to Captain. But the first thing needed was evidence.

"My point is," He began to finish. "Everyone here has seen how reliable and disciplined he was. The atrocity of the crime shouldn't prevent us from investigating the cause and what led to this. We already have a basis to rely on- that Haxel would not kill randomly, especially like... this."

"So what?" Naomi demanded. "Just because he has a good track record, we can rule out this being a murder? Whatever happened, we don't know anything about it, and I'm not going to exonerate a potential murderer!"

The crew was silent once more, unanimously unsure of how to proceed on this matter.

"I guess the only thing we can do right now," Barris conceded. "Is wait until Cortia or Alina come to."

"That makes sense." Chloe said, parroting her superior.

The others nodded solemnly, comfortable with that outcome.

Be-beep!

Naomi was slightly frightened as her holopad beeped, steadying her nerves and tapping on it to bring up the notification. Her face quickly paled white as she looked at the contents of the holopad's projection.

(Music: "Danger Close", by Sarah Schachner)

"One fuckin' disaster after another!"

The outburst worried the crew, and she quickly elaborated.

"LRS is detecting- oh FUCK! The Armada's zeroed our location, we need to FTL out of here now! Wait..."

She frantically scoured the contents of the holopad as the crew became frantic from the news and quickly filtered out of the brig to head to their stations, while a few strategists stayed behind to plan their next moves.

"This didn't appear on the sensors before. What the hell?! We might be in luck! A Canaris Battle Cruiser is only a few AU away, but it's using Stealth-Tek to hide its presence! We can port to their location and request aid, but we need to do it in five minutes, before it re-pings!" Naomi exclaimed desperately, looking with frantic eyes at the assembled crew.

"A single cruiser??" Barris questioned her in disbelief. "How the hell is a single cruiser going to fight back against an armada of pirates?!"

"It's not an overwhelming favor to either party!" Aisha pointed out. "Canaris battleships are the most feared throughout the galaxy. If it's a cruiser, those alone can take on entire fleets of whatever stolen ships the pirates are using!"

"An armada, though?" Rogers muttered. "And what of Haxel?"

"We don't have time to deliberate for long!" Naomi barked. "We can handle Haxel later- make a decision NOW!"

The remaining crew looked to one another, nodding their heads in unanimous decision. 

"Let's go seek rescue!" Derek shouted.

"Agreed." "Yes. "Sounds good."

With the affirmations made, the crew immediately dashed for their stations, with Sal heading for the cockpit to take command of the wheel. He was incredibly nervous; while he'd had sufficient pilot training for scenarios like this, he was nowhere near the skill level of evasion whilst in combat, or making calculated moves in harrowing dangerous situations.

He badly wanted to let Haxel take the reins, but he knew he wasn't in any mental state to do that, nor would the crew approve, by any measure, his ability to pilot a ship when he'd just murdered the captain brutally.

"This situation fucking sucks!" He cursed under his breath as he handled the console.

He quickly boosted up the FTL drivers, pulling up a screen that flashed dozens of warning notifications about the imminent armada heading their way. His mind flared with stress and he went to work, flicking knobs and switches whilst radioing the other crewmates for updates, safety checks and approval checks.

"FTL is good to go!" Naomi reported from over the radio. 

"Got it, starting up now!"

He practically slammed the FTL handle forward, almost losing his wits and composure as the armada's time of arrival narrowed down to minutes. Once the Numia reached this Canaris cruiser, they would only have around two-dozen minutes to communicate the situation, request aid and find a good substitute for the piloting role in preparation for the upcoming battle.

The faint dread of death was pervasive in every crewmate; they could sense a life-threatening situation when it approached them. And like rats in a cage, they fought with clawing desperation to find a way out of it; even if it meant entangling others to help.

BWWWWWW-IP!

The Numia made its warp-jump, traveling tens of millions of miles in mere minutes, and Sal fell back into the chair in temporary relief, huffing breathlessly as the mere task of escaping was heavy enough of a burden on the mind. He thumbed his radio to get in contact with Derek.

"Derek, I'm gonna need you to get Alina coherent and sane enough to man that gun!"

"What?! Sal, the murder only happened an HOUR ago! You can't expect me to-"

"IT'S LIFE OR DEATH, DEREK! The reserve garrison are dust compared to her shooting! Get that broad on the gun or you can be sure our chances of survival drop considerably in the next twenty minutes!"

He turned off the radio, concentrating on formulating a more complex plan in his mind. He knew that this cruiser, and whomever was piloting it, would not appreciate the white elephant gift the Numia was about to bring them; which means he'd need to beg for mercy and aid.

Beg for mercy and potentially get obliterated by an angry Canaris cruiser, or definitively die or (worse) get enslaved by a pirate armada. Great options.

He looked at the FTL data readings. Five minutes until arrival.

Five minutes to think up a plan that saved everyone onboard.

Chapter Text

Four hours before...

Curly and Anya gleefully entered the suite, seeing Daisuke and Swansea passed out and immediately tackling them out of pure, earth-shattering euphoria as they shouted out in drunken terror.

"AAAAAAAAAAAA- oh it's you guys!" Daisuke exclaimed in pleasant surprise.

"GET THUH FUKK OFF ME!!!" Swansea shouted in great complaint.

The four of them mingled for a little bit, until Anya and Curly realized that Daisuke and Swansea were just so insanely drunk that normal conversation was nearly impossible. Idly glancing around, Anya was taken by surprise to see a stack of small medical injectors, sat upon a little glass stand next to the bar. Curiously, she walked up to it, seeing a note taped to the ledge of the stand and reading it more closely:

"Inject in case of extreme non-sobriety"

Anya laughed audibly as she read the message, then picked up one of the injectors and inspected the label. It was a concentrated dose of acetic acid, its label contents promising to be an advanced variant capable of detoxing the patient rapidly without risk of anemia or overdose possibility.

What a marvel of engineering! Anya thought in wonder. Her passion for the medical profession was the sole reason she had tried so hard to become a nurse practitioner. She wanted to help people with technology thought impossible, medicine thought magical, and compassion thought angelic.

A PASSION REIGNITED!

"SWANSEA!" 

Swansea bolted up from his near-unconscious state, snapping to attention as Anya shouted.

"Y-YeeeesSss?? OW FUCK!"

He flinched as Anya bolted over and jabbed the injector into his arm, observing him as he cursed and stared at her in confusion and slight fear.

"Duh fukk dihd yoo jus' do 'ta me?!"

"A detoxifier, give it a minute!"

Even if he didn't know what the fuck Anya just said to him, her adorable disposition was enough to assuage his fears that he hadn't been poisoned, and he slumped back in the lounge couch, grumbling to himself and falling back asleep. Anya moved over to Daisuke with another injector and turned him around.

"OoOoOoOohhh hey Anya! OWAH!"

Injected. Daisuke leaped backward, preparing for battle.

"SoOoOo! Thuh daaay uhrrives where weeee finuhlly FIGHT!" He declared confidently as he took a combat-ready position, then immediately lost his footing and tumbled to the floor in a contorted mess, falling asleep. Curly looked over at Anya from where he was standing and lifted an eyebrow.

"You're... not gonna dose me next, right?"

"No, these things make people sober quickly."

"Oh... okay. I don't really want that, I mean, the whole point of drinking is... you know... to stay drunk."

"Yeah, no, it wasn't- it's not for us, it's for them. They- they're already drunk, ya see? We're gonna- I mean... I kind of wanted to drink with them...?"

Curly's face widened into a large, mischievous smile.

"You really are diabolical, huh?"

"Don't call me diabolical! You make me sound like a cartoon villain!"

"I mean, let's be honest, it's pretty diabolical to reset a person's intoxication and force them to do it again."

He laughed and ran around the lounge as Anya chased him with the injector.

"I think you're pretty drunk right now, maybe you need a shot too!"

"NO, THAT'S A TAINTED SYRINGE, I DON'T WANT HPV!"

Around twenty minutes later, Daisuke and Swansea woke up groggily from their slumbers, somewhat shocked to find that their inebriation had worn off completely; and Swansea immediately groaned while Daisuke got up and started air-boxing.

"What did you do to us?!" Swansea complained in minor outrage, suddenly falling silent as a glass of wine came into his view, held by a grinning Anya.

"Getting you ready for round two!"

Swansea groaned again, but nonetheless took the glass and smirked uneasily.

"Well you certainly took the initiative, huh?" Swansea remarked, sipping the glass and sighing in relief; high-end wine. Anya sat back on the couch next to Curly, who was swishing the glass with his mind on a dozen thoughts. Daisuke was bopping it to the music, the kid that seemingly never ran out of energy since he'd come back.

"Hell yeah, I did!" Anya exclaimed, practically exuding happiness from her pores. "I need to brush up on my medical terminology again! I'm going to pass the medical exam this time around!!"

"HELL YEAH, YOU WILL!" Swansea barked, shocked by the excitement he'd felt, and much to Anya's pleasant surprise. Perhaps it was because he'd never seen Anya this outgoing and confident- no, it was definitely that. He instinctively wanted to see her growth and be a part of it.

"What he said!" Daisuke shouted while pumping his fist. "I'll read the cards this time!"

Anya nodded dutifully as Curly went off to pour himself another glass; he had been consuming it like water the last few minutes.

Swansea's eyes glanced across Curly, a surge of resentment, outrage and indignation riding on his mind with every second he was in view. Every time Swansea took a look at this son of a bitch, he was forced to relive the horrorshow that led up to this point. He couldn't stop thinking about Curly's sheer ignorance and stupidity in the two most harrowing decisions made; trying to reason with a mentally fucked rapist, then handing the KEYS TO THE SHIP over to that same psychopath!

INCOMPREHENSIBLY FUCKING STUPID!

It didn't matter much to Swansea upon finding out Curly had never crashed the ship. He had allowed those events to happen. For the foreseeable future, that was unforgivable.

Curly came back to the couch and sat with a groan, his eyes suddenly glancing upward and noticing the burning expression of outrage flaring across Swansea's face. Curly's features depressed considerably, and he turned softly to Anya as she was speaking to Daisuke.

"Be right back."

"Okay, Curly."

Curly placed his glass on the table and stood up stiffly from the couch, eyes jutted downwards in terrible shame, as he moved around the suite towards the gentleman's room. Swansea's rage was nearly extinguished by the turn of events, and sank back onto the couch, sighing in regret.

"What the fuck..." He mumbled, feeling somewhat resentful towards the universe. It was a true gift to... be alive again. It was incomprehensibly, indescribably beautiful, virtuous, and undeniably divine. But the drawbacks were apparent from the very beginning.

It was painful. All the emotions carried between every crewmate, the gruesome fates they shared on that cursed freighter. Too much baggage, trauma, drama, and emotions were shared over the whole ordeal. They knew they were going to die alone, in the middle of nowhere in space. The feelings behind that realization could never be adequately described, no matter how many sagas or epic tales it purported to need.

Ultimately... it left their minds nearly shattered when this came to be. And even now, these distractions and feelings of euphoria and gratitude were constantly battling with what Swansea could best describe as 'the event horizon of madness and insanity'.

He wanted them all to heal, recover, and thrive. He yearned for that. And because of this saint that rescued them, there was actually a fighting chance of that possibility coming true.

The one thing Swansea needed to do right now, no matter what feelings he held for any of the crew, especially Curly... was let it pass as water under the bridge. And just... enjoy the day, as Hawkes had put it.

He smiled, and got up from the lounge couch to approach the men's restroom; he wanted to make just a few amends with his former captain.

(Music: "Stalk", by cvstawayy)

"Okay," Daisuke started, pulling the flashcards out of a small cabinet filled with flashcards based on different topics. "Let's see here..."

Anya sat across from him, getting comfortable and lightly laying her hands on her lap as she eagerly awaited the next question. Daisuke peered at the flashcard.

"Alrighty... ahem... In the 2020s era, what was the zeitgeist of global politics on Terra?"

"...Uh, what?"

"Oh, sorry, I'll read it again-"

"Daisuke, I think you have the wrong cards."

Confused, Daisuke looked over the cards again, and a barely flickering light in his brain clicked on. 

"Ohhh! My bad, my bad Anya!"

He sorted the flashcards into the tiny cabinet file, taking out a separate stack and reading from them. Anya felt a faint dread as she recalled the last time she asked him to play chess- and the end result of that match felt eerily similar to the predicted outcome of this questionnaire.

"What is the atomic number of Oxygen?"

"Daisuke... the files are labeled."

Daisuke's eyebrows raised in genuine surprise and he, once again, re-sorted the flashcards and pulled out new ones.

"If a = 24 inches, and is congruous with the height of the triangle, what is-"

"Daisuke, just get the flashcards under the 'Medical' tab!"

Daisuke, seemingly disappointed in himself, once more re-sorted the flashcards, pulling out new ones and looking through them with extreme scrutiny.

"..."

He studied just a bit longer, trying to be absolutely sure these were the correct flashcards. Anya was getting more anxious and eager to answer the medical questions, pursing her lips and tightening her hands into fists with growing anticipation.

"...'Narcissism' is a psychological trait closely associated with-"

"DAISUKE, ARE YOU TROLLING ME?!"

Daisuke fell backward in his chair, hitting the ground and rolling like an armadillo until he hit the carpeted half-steps behind him. He got up and groaned in frustration.

"Whaaat??" He questioned defensively. "Psychology is a part of medicine! Mental health, right??"

"ARE YOU DRUNK?"

(Music: "8080", by Priroda)

"Worthless fucking scum DOGSHIT CUNT!"

The volatile and crass verbiage was uttered maliciously by Hawkes, storming down the corridors of his ship, accompanied by a small cohort of garrison officers. He suddenly became aware of their presence and turned around to glare at them.

"Why... are... you... following... me?"

The garrison officers, despite wearing face-covering helmets, were visibly intimidated by the grizzled veteran behemoth staring them down. Most of them were rotated with other military ships yearly, and so new recruits didn't see much of the Captain outside of combat or interior disputes; and when they did see him, it was subtly terrifying.

"J-Just awaiting further orders, sir!"

"Where is your superior officer?"

The Captain's voice was brimming with rage and malice, and none of the garrison officers wanted to be on the receiving end of whatever savagery Captain Hawkes was looking to practice right now. Instead of responding to the question and potentially angering him further, they simply bowed their heads and scurried away in a hurry. Hawkes exhaled, trying to calm his mind before the rage consumed his psyche. He hated losing composure in front of his subordinates. Unfortunately, the one thing he was terrible at was regulating and handling his emotions.

Thanks to bullshit trauma from the past. Hawkes was infuriated by the sheer weakness of the human psyche. Combat, adversity and strife toughened warriors; yet it could break them in the same fold. Seeing a person shot through the head and thinking little of it, yet simultaneously despairing over the disappointment on a loved one's face. What a sick and twisted mindset humans had.

And yet, he was the gold-star example of this paradoxical existence.

His fists tightened in the furtherance of anger that continued to pierce his mind. He badly wanted to return to his Suite and mingle with his family some more, but he needed to handle some small matters first.

Oh, there was one now!

Jezarit had immediately come into view, exiting the Divinity Chamber whilst sighing in relief. That didn't last long at all, as his eyes suddenly swept upwards and noticed with pure horror that the Captain was glaring him down from a few meters away.

The gap was closed within a second, and Jazz flinched and stumbled backward as Hawkes nearly teleported a few inches in front of him with unnatural quickness.

"I didn't get an answer for that shit you pulled during Anya's revif- revifci- revi- I'M GONNA BEAT THE FUCKING SHIT OUT OF YOU!!!!!"

He shouted in pure rage and grabbed Jazz's collar, raising him up from the floor and shaking him fervently while Jazz screamed in terror and prayed in Russian.

"Bozhe, pomogi mne! Etot zver' menya razorvet na chasti!"

"I TOLD YOU TO STOP SPEAKING A DEAD FUCKIN' LANGUAGE!"

Hawkes growled in discontent, feeling no desire to rough up the impostor priest. He threw him down, straightening his own uniform and continuing to glare.

"If you don't know what the fuck to say, then DON'T! SAY IT!"

"Captain, for fuck's sake! It's literally my first time doing all this!"

"NO! EXCUSES!"

Hawkes stormed off, leaving a frenetically billowing cape in his wake. He headed toward the Medical wing to yell at-... to speak to the Chief Medical Officer. As he stormed his way there, he found it increasingly difficult to fight off the waves of blind rancor that would occasionally wrack his body. This was a sporadic and uniquely scarce feeling that only surfaced a handful of times in his life.

A fury, a rage, a wrath that pushed him toward overwhelming violence and destruction. It was a disease that had first surfaced when he'd seen his father kill his mother. It was a feeling he wanted to close off from the world; a feeling that was just as likely to hurt the people he loved as it was to bring terror on his enemies.

He was angered because his conviction to bring retribution upon the wicked was put into question by his past. Every time he'd struck at Jimmy, he saw a shard, a fragment of himself cowering and fighting back with desperation. A version of him void of compassion, self-obsessed, and deluded beyond reality.

Hawkes' end goal, through all this, was happiness and peace. He believed that the ends justified the means. He had to, because that was the summation of nearly his entire life's work.

And the goal had been discovered only two months ago.

Stood in front of the doors into the Medical wing, he pushed through them with as much restraint as he could muster, ignoring the scores of people inside the Medical wing who bowed their heads and placed their fists against their hearts as a sign of formality and loyalty. His eyes spotted Annie, the CMO, reading through a stack of reports in her office while her assistant helped her sort the reports into their respective file cabinets.

He barged into her office, much to her and her assistant's fright.

"Annie."

"FUCKING HELL, HAWKES!"

"Head to the Suite. We'll do their mental evals there."

The CMO cupped one hand around her forehead, groaning loudly and audibly, while her assistant eyed Hawkes up and down, somewhat filled with dread at his hulking physique. Hawkes noticed her assessing him and grinned malevolently, scaring her into averting her gaze. Annie noticed this ridiculous non-verbal exchange and remarked with annoyance.

"Stop being such a prick. My assistant is coming to observe, she needs to learn how to-"

"Don't care. Let's go."

As Captain Hawkes stormed off, Annie's assistant shakily whispered in her ear.

"Why is he so mean?"

Annie shook her head, a bit nervous herself. At the ripe old age of 27, she had spent nearly half her life (including young teenage years) serving onboard this ship, and had witnessed these near-manic episodes the Captain went through a handful of times. They were his version of mental breakdowns, and were observantly much more efficient and safe for the overall ship's well-being as opposed to going insane, entering a catatonic state, or outright going on a blind rampage and harming or killing crewmates, as she'd seen on plenty of other ships from plenty of lesser captains.

This was, summarily, a hyper-aggressive venting taking place over multiple hours or days. The general unofficial policy amongst the crew was to avoid him like the plague when he was like this. That was the trade-off for serving under the greatest Captain (in her belief) to ever sail the stars.

It really was awesome, in hindsight now, that Annie and her assistant would be stuck in a suite interviewing mental cases while a short-tempered nuclear bomb sat on the sidelines and watched her every move.

"When I'm doing the evals," Annie instructed her assistant, Dula. "You should take notes and keep that yapper shut. 'Why' should be self-explanatory."

Dula nodded fervently, moving to grab her notepad and pen as Annie got up from her desk and went to her file cabinet, taking out a small stack of mental evaluation forms.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the door to the Captain's Suite, noticing the two garrison officers stationed outside with rifles. They noticed the CMO coming up and saluted before moving aside to let them in.

"Anya, just take the knife, it's not that big and it'll serve as a useful self-defense weapon."

"No! That is a massive knife! I couldn't hold that with two hands if I tried!"

"You can definitely hold it with two hands, it's basically a short machete."

Fuck is this idiot doing? Annie thought in annoyance, rounding the corner to find Hawkes actively persuading Anya to take his two-foot-long combat knife as they sat on lounge chairs; the rest of the clown show was playing cards and other board games. The Suite was shockingly tidied-up and orderly, even after Hawkes and his precious crew had clearly indulged in the drink. 

Annie shook her head as her assistant, Dula, marveled at the beautiful interior of the Suite and ogled the rumored 'resurrected' crew of the Tulpar. It was the first time in her life seeing dead men and women walk in the land of the living, and as a medical (wannabe) practitioner, this phenomenon had utterly fascinated her.

Her first instinct was to dart over to one of the crew and immediately begin interviewing them with every question she could conceive, but that was a wishful thought- Hawkes would undoubtedly grab her brittle body and launch her through the wall-to-wall window view of the terrarium. Dula noticed Hawkes' demeanor had also changed entirely; from brimming rage to quaint warmth- such a rapid transformation that she could hardly equate this peaceful ox with the bullish monster she'd met only a few minutes ago.

Hawkes' eyes glanced over and noticed Annie and her assistant, waving them over with an indifferent expression. They hurried over to him as he continued to strongly persuade Anya to take his combat knife- from Annie's assessment, it was far too cumbersome for someone with Anya's stature to wield. It was quite clear that Hawkes still had quite a bit of alcohol left in his system and had let his guard down entirely- something Annie had never seen him do her entire life onboard this ship.

This whole resurrection shit, to her, was so jarring to her orderly, coherent, decisive and calculating mind. She had come to terms with the grim truth of her existence long ago, having grappled with a mountain of existential crises, depression, anxiety, agony, and despair over the many years she'd spent as a medical officer- seeing the things she did. Then came the Day of Erudition horseshit, and there went her entire outlook on reality. Out the airlock, into deepspace!

Oh well. She was the CMO- not one to bitch her problems until everyone else had bitched theirs.

Hawkes temporarily snapped from his entranced state of trying to persuade Anya with the determination of a car salesman and glanced upward to see Annie and her assistant standing in the doorway tentatively. He grinned as a sick prank fomented in his mind, but ultimately dispelled it from his thoughts. He didn't want to look mean-spirited in front of his family.

His still-drunken gaze veered towards the barkeep, Roble, and softly barked an order.

"PUT MELANIE ON."

Roble shook his head anxiously, changing the track on the console managing the sound systems. By Roble's perception for the last few minutes, Hawkes had been a two-faced menace the moment he entered the Suite. His demeanor was bright, positive and accommodating while he spoke and interacted with the Tulpar crew, overflowing with profound glee and delight.

The moment he turned to Roble or one of the other tenants in the suite, PROFOUND RAGE.

Roble knew it wasn't favoritism that caused this behavior- hell, he wished it was. It was clear the Captain was in the middle of one of those...

Erm... what did Annie call it again? Roble thought to himself. It was really memorable and catchy... how the hell did I forget it so easily?!

"Noticed the Manic Panic?" Annie joked as she approached the bar, tapping the counter as a request for a shot glass.

"Oh- damn it, that was on the tip of my tongue!" Roble complained, bringing two shot glasses up and over the counter as Dula approached the counter behind Annie nervously. She'd never drank liquor before in her life, but the recent events as of the last three or so months was enough to push her toward the consideration.

"Are you sure we should be drinking before a mental evaluation, chief?" Dula hesitantly asked Annie, who peered back at Dula as if she had lost her mind.

"When the fuck did I ask you for advice?"

"Looking drippy as ever." Roble commented as he glanced over Annie's outfit, cleaning a glass in his hands as he surveyed her clothing.

 A striking fusion of Norwellian (current era) aesthetics and modern (2000s era), edgy streetwear, perfectly suited for Annie, a trailblazer in making bold statements. The dark navy-blue high-neck sleeveless crop top features subtle cut-outs on the shoulders, balancing elegance with an edgy twist. Its sleek, fitted design emphasized clean lines and a minimalist yet powerful silhouette.

Layered loosely over her shoulders was a crisp white coat with oversized proportions, adding a structured and utilitarian vibe. It featured a unique patch detail on the arm and technical-style text accents, lending a futuristic, tech-inspired feel to the look. The coat was worn open, allowing it to flow effortlessly and showcase the rest of the outfit. The high-waisted black trousers were a standout piece, convened with structured tailoring and striking details like harness-inspired straps and mesh paneling at the thighs. These elements enhanced the overall industrial-chic aesthetic and added texture and depth to the ensemble. The wide-leg cut gave the pants a modern, relaxed fit while maintaining a sense of sophistication.

The outfit was grounded by chunky, futuristic shoes that blended sleek performance features with stark-white and gray, utilitarian design. The muted tones and thick soles provided a contemporary edge, complementing the rest of the look without overpowering it. The orange-tinted visor glasses were a show-stealer, exuding a high-tech, sci-fi feel that tied the entire outfit together. A sleek white headpiece, integrated with metallic accents and ear attachments, reinforced the futuristic theme, suggesting a blend of fashion and technology.

(Art created by Siwoo Kim)

"Roble, can you pour the fuckin' whiskey please?!"

"I really wish I'd pursued fashion design in college."

"POUR THE WHISKEY!"

Roble poured the whiskey and hurriedly changed the song as Hawkes' gaze rose to him again, filled with shocked outrage that the song had not yet switched.

(Music: "Brand New Key", by Melanie)

"Oh, man." Swansea muttered as he played poker with Curly, Daisuke and Jeremiah. "This reminds me of home. Fuck..."

"We'll be there soon." Curly said with tired and distant eyes. "Let's enjoy what we have now."

"No shit, sherlock." Swansea retorted, switching his gaze to Daisuke and watching him peer at his cards with nervous scrutiny. "It's a card game, not a quantum mechanics equation, Daisuke!"

"Y-Yeah, I know that!" Daisuke defended himself, sorting even more vociferously through all two of his cards. "I just have a hard time wrapping my mind around this... concept."

"...Concept? It's hard to wrap your mind around... poker. Daisuke, I love you, but I think you need to re-attend grade school if something like this is too difficult to handle."

"It's not difficult, damn it! Haven't you ever been confused about a game or topic you got introduced to for the first time?"

"Yes, Daisuke, and it didn't take me five business days to learn the RULES!"

"Why are there a bunch of face up cards on the table?" Jeremiah questioned earnestly, causing Swansea's jaw to drop to the floor (metaphorically).

"WE JUST WENT OVER THE RULES! ARE YOU BOTH RETARDED?!"

Jeremiah and Daisuke recoiled from the verbal backlash, then consolidated together and discussed their cards.

"We're gonna lose this game if we don't work together!" Daisuke impressed upon Jeremiah, who shook his head with a grim expression.

"I have an ace and a king, what about you?" Jeremiah queried Daisuke, who showed his own cards- Two queens. Jeremiah nodded solemnly.

"We'll need to combine our cards and see if it can overcome the cards on the table." Jeremiah said with supreme confidence, pointing at the poker river of cards face-up on the table. "If I recall correctly, we need high value cards to overcome the river."

"Alright, sounds good!" Daisuke exclaimed with a clenched fist.

Swansea stared at the both of them, utterly dumbfounded at how they even came to this random conclusion.

"Birds of a feather." He muttered in bewilderment, trying to dispel the miasma of stupidity radiating from these two hooligans. He looked to Curly, who was the only one of the group to be playing the game correctly.

"I think we found a second Daisuke." Swansea commented to him with dread in his voice. Curly looked at him with an expression of genuine horror.

"That would be lethal for our brains." He stated without a shred of a doubt. 

"You're telling me." Swansea muttered in resignation.

Meanwhile, Daisuke and Jeremiah, who could clearly hear the two of them shit-talking, looked to each other with annoyance.

"They have some audacity, don't they?" Jeremiah queried. "Treating us like fools!"

"Yeah!" Daisuke said in support, pumping his fist in the air. "We can't let them win this game! Let's beat them and prove who the real fools are!"

"Hell yeah!" Jeremiah exclaimed in agreement, dapping Daisuke up and reviewing his cards once more in earnest determination; unknowing that their geese were already cooked.

During all these separate shenanigans, Hawkes stumbled up to Annie and spoke briefly to her.

"Let's do the mental evals in a few minutes."

Annie shook her head tiredly, downing the first shot and glancing over to see Dula holding the full shot glass and eyeing it tentatively.

"Down it, pussy!"

Dula's head recoiled back from the command, then ultimately tipped the glass into her mouth, coughing and gagging as it coursed down her throat. Both Annie and Roble chuckled mischievously as they watched her struggle for composure.

"I can't believe she downed the whole glass!"

"It's a true gift to be able to down Everclear like that." Annie remarked, much to Dula's abject horror.

"THAT WAS EVERCLEAR?!"

"Don't worry, it's only 98% proof."

"I'M GONNA DIEEE!!!"

"Drama queen."

Chapter Text

A reader told me I should make a Discord specifically for this novel, so here it is if you're interested:

https://discord.gg/8FhUKtJB8G

Enjoy the chapter.

(Music: "Devil Wears A Suit And Tie", by Colter Wall)

"MMMMFFF!! MMFF! MMMMFFFFF!!!!"

Jimmy was blinded, gagged and bound by his hands, being dragged roughly by a host of garrison officers towards the brig. He was terrified, but considerably less so than when he'd been trapped in that room with the devil himself.

His mind didn't receive the luxury of having time to comprehend his situation, especially after being beaten nearly to the point of death multiple times. In fact, he couldn't surface any thoughts in his mind at all right now; it was too busy enjoying the flood of relief that came with being removed from such a dangerous and uncontrollable, nightmarish situation; removed from the overwhelming agony inflicted on him physically and mentally.

Rather than try and formulate a thought in his deep exhaustion, he chose instead to listen in to the conversations he could hear from around him; gathering any information he could to give him an advantage, however necessary.

"Shouldn't we have bound him by his feet, too, like Hawkes said?"

"We can do that at the brig. Where the fuck's he gonna run?"

"Yeah, fair enough."

...

...

"It's been a while since I saw him that feral."

"He's... been like that before?"

"Oh, you're an FNG."

Jimmy was silent and attentive as the garrison officers holding his arms spoke casually.

"An FNG?"

"Don't tell me this is your first year in Garrison."

"It is."

The officer holding Jimmy's right arm sighed exhaustedly, whilst the officer holding his left audibly protested to the gesture.

"Why are you sighing? I'm not an idiot, Corporal. Served four years at Edhin District with the Organized Crime Unit."

"Four years catching pig-ignorant hooligans on-world. You've never stepped off-world for a voyage before in your life."

There was a momentary silence.

"How the hell would you know that, Gavin?"

A name, Jimmy noted.

There was another momentary silence, before the officer on his left side replied: "Sorry."

What the hell was that about? Jimmy wondered half-consciously; it was still incredibly difficult to form coherent thoughts and follow conversations, but an all-encompassing hunger for superiority wracked him from the beginning of his existence. It compelled him with an unnatural force, to assert his will and dominance where possible, when possible, through any  means necessary.

Being at the bottom of the totem pole now, he needed to get a leg up however he could.

The conversation between the officers continued, with the officer on his right speaking first- this one was clearly the superior and veteran in this conversation, and the one chiding the younger, inexperienced officer on his left side.

"I know that because I've seen cannon fodder like you a dozen-hundred times over on a dozen different vessels. This ship does not take on more fresh fucks than grizzled bastards of war, but it seems recent events are... causing normalcy to vent out the airlock."

Jimmy could tell the superior officer, Gavin, was trying to keep his words as generalized as possible with awareness that he, the captive, could be listening in; which he was. 

"Alright, we're here." Gavin remarked, and Jimmy heard the sound of a door sliding across frame, being led into a new room with a different, lower temperature and a lack of air conditioning.

Woah...

Jimmy felt as if an invisible, gaseous-like force had wafted over his body and sent goosebumps rising in waves across his skin. Whatever room they had entered felt familiar, even though he never recalled being in any other room than the one he'd woken up in.

"Why are we going through the Divinity Chamber?" The officer on the left asked nervously. "We shouldn't be-"

"Watner, SHUT UP!" Gavin barked in a low yet authoritative tone. "It's the only path we have right now to brig, the renovations were last-minute and they didn't build an auxiliary hallway. Keep it going."

Why did he hush him? Jimmy wondered in frantic thought, his mind beginning to clear from the waves of guilt, terror, agony, humiliation and rage that had kept his mental faculties held hostage. This is my last chance to do something! This room might help me, somehow!

(Music: "Call Ticketron", by Run The Jewels)

In a desperate act of cunning, Jimmy intentionally stumbled and fell to his knees, feigning a serious cough and sobbing (genuinely) to the confusion of the officers escorting him.

"Get the fuck up!" Gavin ordered.

"Gavin, you can't sw-!"

"Watner, cuff him!"

Jimmy couldn't see anything, as he was still blindfolded, but he could read people from tone, voice inflection, and all forms of non-verbal auditory clues that gave away their mindsets and intentions. For some reason, Gavin had clearly tried to cut Watner off from finishing his sentence. Why? What was he going to say?

You can't... can't what? Can't sw... 

CAN'T SWEAR.

"FUCK!" Jimmy shouted at the top of his lungs, alarming the host of officers behind him. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUUUUUUUUUUUCK! SHIT, CUNT, BITCH-!"

CRACK!

Jimmy cried out in pain as something rubbery and solid slammed across his cheek, sending him careening to the floor and his blindfold made uneven, allowing Jimmy's right eye to get a glimpse of the room they were in and his situation.

It was a massive chamber, with soothing-gray colored walls, ceiling and flooring made entirely out of a metal Jimmy wasn't familiar with. He barely had time to note more than that-

"GAG HIM, NOW!" Gavin barked at the officers, and Jimmy heard scrambling behind him, officers intent on pinning him down. Feeling in control for the first time again, Jimmy cackled and stumbled onto his feet, sprinting from the clumsy officers bogged down by protective gear and equipment.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, BITCH FUCK ALL OF YOU STUPID SHITS! I'LL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU SAD CUNTS AND BURN THE REMAINS OF WHAT'S LEFT OVER! HEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Jimmy was momentarily maddened by the burst of freedom and energy he felt shooting throughout every nerve in his body. His cunning had actually worked! His plans had succeeded at something, for once in his life!

He had no fucking clue why cursing was forbidden in this place, but it was the only plan he had going for him right now, considering how insane it was that he was even alive right now. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was moving on his toes.

As he was cursing with emphasis on every syllable, almost as a celebration of his newfound freedom from the tyranny of his predicament, the officers were unholstering their electric bolas, winding them up to throw at Jimmy as he pranced around the Divinity Chamber in ecstatic glee. Gavin looked to a terrified Watner with an expression of rage and deep regret.

"GET HIM, GAG HIM. EVERY SECOND IS A RISK."

Watner nodded, stricken with panic and fear the same as Gavin. Both of them were partially responsible for this shitshow because of their own oversights, and it was only now that the implications of the Divinity Chamber and its consequences were made so apparent. 

Without wasting another second, the two of them sprinted with the rest of the garrison officers, activating their electrified bolas and slinging them as accurately as they could at the ever-dodging and ducking Jimmy, who had manage to shake off the entirely of his blindfold by this point to observe his situation.

The layout of the chamber seemed religious in its theme, though made almost fully generalized and vague as if to accommodate some broad idea of 'religion'. In the middle of the chamber was a raised altar adorned with candles, sigils and-

"Shit!" Jimmy muttered in brief panic as one of the bolas passed inches from his body, visible electric currents running through its metal fiber and wire. He noticed the other officers began to wind up their bolas and started zig-zagging as much as he could, cursing all the while.

His luck eventually ran out as one of the officers circled around and tackled him from behind, taking him by surprise; pinning him to the ground and clocking him across the face more than a few times in outrage over this whole ordeal.

"STOP, KAWAL!" Gavin shouted, running over as quickly as he could; any actions taken in this sanctified room were potential igniters for all-out catastrophe. As Corporal in charge, it naturally fell upon him. "PUT HIM IN CUFFS AND GAG HIM!"

As Kawal's punches stopped briefly, Jimmy took advantage and bit the underside of Kawal's right hand, causing Kawal to shout in pain and start punching at Jimmy's face, to the further protest of Gavin as him and the other officers closed the gap across the chamber.

Jimmy's eyes glanced over the arriving troupe of officers; he scowled with blood-soaked teeth and crimson splattered across his bruised and welted face. He made a scathing declaration even while Kawal's fists battered his face repeatedly in derision, frenzied in his search for some escape from this inescapable hell he'd been forced back into.

"PLEASE, PLEEAAASEE!!! GOD, GIVE ME FREEDOM!"

-!

BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-Vmmmmm....

Everyone in the Divinity Chamber came to a frozen halt as the familiar buzzing hum crackled across the ship, then died down. The officers turned to one another, their faces paled white in staunch terror.

The FTL Drivers had revved up on their own; immediately discernible by any other ships within 3 Astronomical Units. Gavin looked with unfettered revulsion and fury at Jimmy.

"DRAG HIM TO THE BRIG AND BEAT HIM UNTIL HE'S UNCONSCIOUS." Gavin sneered with bared teeth, watching as Kawal shoved an oily rag into Jimmy's mouth and dragged him by his binds toward the brig. Watner looked to Gavin like they'd both just committed a homicide.

"Wh...What do we do... sir?"

Gavin gazed with a defeated expression at the streaks and stains of blood matted across the ground where Jimmy was beaten, feeling a sense of saturated dread resting over his flesh.

"I'll... report to the Captain. You make sure that scum gets to the brig without fail."

(Music: "I Might Float", by Syd Matters)

10 minutes ago...

"Alright, thanks for taking the time to do this mental evaluation, Anya."

Annie, Dula, Anya and Hawkes had gone into a separate break room to perform the first mental evaluation. Anya shifted uncomfortably in the fluffy chair Hawkes had insisted she sit in for this evaluation. Now that she had a relatively quiet atmosphere devoid of noise and familiar faces, she had time to reflect and think about the sordid mess causing pandemonium in her mind palace. 

Annie was sitting in a chair across from her, whilst Dula was sitting diagonally to Annie, taking notes. Hawkes was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eyes piercing into Annie as she conducted the evaluation. 

Soothing indie music buzzed serenely through the small speaker Annie had brought into the break room, seated on the coffee table dividing Annie from Anya. Hawkes raised an eyebrow as he eyed the speaker.

"Is the music necessary?" Hawkes muttered in bemusement.

"It is. So," Annie started, looking over her mental evaluation sheet for a second. "This won't take too long. I've heard you did this, before, so I'm sure this will be a breeze."

She flashed a brief smile at Anya, whose features were unchanging in their physical presentation of immense anguish and unsettled grief. She, like every other former crewmate of the Tulpar, was broken, exhausted. Tired on an existential level. Annie cleared her throat awkwardly and looked down at her notepad before speaking again.

"So, this will be a simple mental health evaluation. I'll just ask you a few preliminary questions to get an understanding of where you're at mentally, then we can go into symptoms, side effects and other potential issues if they exist. You're in a judgement-free environment, so make sure to answer honestly and-"

"How... did you get that bruise?" Anya muttered, noticing the purple discoloration across Annie's cheek. She smiled awkwardly, trying to brush past the subject.

"I'm sure there's a lot going on in that mind of yours, and I certainly can't imagine what it feels like. But everyone on this ship wants the best for you, and we want to know as much as possible to help you all adjust to your... life again."

She took a breath to speak again.

"I've been made aware-"

"Well aware." Hawkes hissed at her, much to Annie's chagrin; a few minutes before the evaluation was set up, Annie had gotten into a volatile argument with Hawkes about retrieving the traces of embryotic tissue from Anya's womb to potentially revive the fetus that had perished inside. Being a lifelong doctor and overly compassionate soul, she had the strong and stubborn notion that all human life was worth saving from demise, no matter what laws or ethos dictated. The recent Day of Erudition only solidified this belief with titanium concrete, and pushed her to adopt a savior complex as she could now save patients, even from the clutches of death.

The interaction between her and Hawkes was brief.

"Captain, it's worth trying."

"I'm going to hit you if you keep talking about this , Annes."

"I can't believe you would throw away the possibility of saving another life, no matter how it was produced, because it came from terrible circumstances! How is that justifiable?!"

"You are asking to bring back the dead fetus in Anya's womb. Do you even know what would happen? Would it appear, half-baked, on the altar, or would you create the eye-gouging possibility that it resumes her pregnancy? Are you going to traumatize that beautiful soul beyond repair? Do you have any FUCKING empathy for your fellow man?"

"Don't give me that SHIT, Hawkes! Like it or not, everyone deserves a chance to live! We were given divine mandate to bring back those who were wronged, and that includes the child! We won't know until we try- GHK!"

Hawkes' hand shot around her throat, clutching firmly yet just barely easing off her esophagus to avoid choking. Annie was frightened, but stood her ground defiantly as Hawkes flared his blazing, malevolent eyes downward, scowling with restrained vitriol.

"How such compassion can produce such hideous ideas." He muttered. "I've seen bright minds like you orchestrate genocides, slaughter thousands with labels alone, produce weapons of mass destruction, and heap misfortune upon prosperity."

Annie grit her teeth in outrage that he would compare her beliefs to such atrocities. But before she could speak-

"One of them stands in front of you, right now."

He released his hold of her throat, backing up and gazing at her with hollow, tortured eyes. Her rage and indignation dissipated near-instantly. She knew exactly what he meant- his track record.

Civilians, families, soldiers, innocents, children, evildoers. Slaughtered, butchered, exploded, shot, stabbed. A three-decade-long resume of a child prodigy twisted into the most efficient mass murdering admiral in nearly the entire galaxy. She'd gone to the shadowy cabinet meetings he had with high-end government officials, celebrities, business magnates and military leaders, and listened in on the conversations as his confidant and aide.

Before his height transfiguration, the two of them had gotten into constant fistfights, quarrels and violent arguments over their disagreements on practically every decision that could be made. When such decisions held hundreds, if not thousands of lives in the balance, it was inevitable that the magnitude of these choices would reflect in the arguments between them.

"I am not disqualifying your compassion, Annes. But don't ever float an idea like that by me again. If the... infant was not brought back by the original resurrection, then that is how it shall remain."

Annie was not satisfied with that conclusion in the slightest, but she understood the reasoning and decided it might be better to push on this a bit later in the year. She nodded at the Captain and turned on her heel to head into the break room-

"Woah- HRK!"

She slipped on a small puddle and smacked the side of her head against a nearby table. Hawkes' first reaction was to laugh inappropriately, before asking if she was okay. She herself was sincerely bemused at his overall reaction and punched him square in the kneecap.

"So..." Annie began the evaluation, pushing the embarrassing memory out of her head. "Anya, I wanted to confirm if you were aware or not that you are... currently living your second life. Well, if you had wrapped your mind around that, at least."

Anya nodded vacuously, blinking infrequently and spacing out frequently. Now that she had the silence to consolidate her thoughts, it was difficult for her to speak when her thoughts had to be rearranged from their very foundations first. Annie looked to Hawkes, who shrugged, and turned back to Anya.

"I'll, uh, take that as a yes for right now. Have you felt any discomforts during your stay on this ship? Anything that has made you unhappy at any point in time."

"..."

"It's okay to take your time."

"...N-No. Hawkes has... been very nice."

Annie smiled and nodded, scanning the questionnaire again.

"How have you felt about seeing your fellow crewmates again? Are there mixed feelings, or a swelling of emotion?"

"..."

This time, Anya was once more silent, seemingly wrapped up too much in her own mind to focus on the questions. Hawkes sighed as Annie glanced back at him.

"We'll suspend this for now," He lamented with great relief; it hurt him to watch Anya squirm and agonize in her mind while being pelted with mental evaluation questions. He'd initially thought the idea to be perfect for gauging the mental state of the four crewmates, but upon reflection it was foolish and churlish; none of them were even nearing the state to answer a set of questions coherently. "Let's just go back to the Suite and-"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-

The FTL drivers rumbled the ship with intense vibrations, then suddenly died out. Annie's face paled stark-white; Dula looked around in confusion and slight fear; Anya screamed and covered her head, startled and frightened by the sudden occurrence.

BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! BWOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Hawkes' face contorted in confusion, then twisted into repressed fury and deep frustration as the alarms rang out through the ship's interior and in the break room, blaring red lights wafting cones of crimson distress around the room.

"What the hell is going on?!" Dula muttered. Hawkes' expression grew more and more malevolent, knowing that someone had fucked up here. He immediately thumbed his radio and changed the channel to Bridge.

"You better have the greatest fucking excuse in all of recorded human history, Sammy."

"C-Captain, we didn't activate the FTL drivers! They just started on their own! We also have an incoming vessel that detected our signal and is arriving within a few minutes, they're sending out distress signals!"

"Receive them."

"Captain... the Armada is following them."

"Are you fucking-"

He had to turn off his radio, sprinting into the nearby janitor's closet, and screamed every bronchiole of his lungs into the empty space in front of him. One shitshow after another. The inside of his mind, at that moment, was the equivalent of a madhouse filled to the brim with Tourette's-ridden psychopaths.

After going on a historic tantrum and obliterating the interior of the janitor's closet with physical force, he stormed out, ordering Annie and Dula to take Anya back to the Suite and provide a guard retinue of twenty-four garrison officers to keep watch over the suite. They rushed out in a panic, gently taking Anya along as she was the most alarmed by the emergency sirens.

It was then that his radio blared through a panicked and horrified voice- that of Gavin, the Corporal who was escorting Jimmy to the brig.

"Captain... Jimmy... escaped his gag and bindings... we were... passing through the Divinity Chamber... he... he caused this, sir..."

Hawkes stared at his radio, unsure of how he was going to maintain sanity in the next 5 seconds. He tried to calm himself-

"KILL HIM. KILL. HIM."

"W-With pleasure, Captain!"

The radio clicked off, and Hawkes was beginning to see nothing but a red haze overcome his vision. Focusing on concentrating his breaths, he sat down on the chair Anya had just been sitting him, steadying his mind as much as he could.

Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage-

He loved Anya. He loved Curly. He loved Swansea. He loved Daisuke. His family. His hope. His center. His base. He had them. He had a reason to maintain himself. A reason to contain this ineffable, poisonous, venomous ANIMOSITY.

He stood up firmly, storming towards the brig; utterly and unspeakably hateful towards himself. Hawkes had, for a short amount of time, interpreted the pig-ugly atrocities of Jimmy's actions to mirror his own; as if that were some pithy excuse to not kill him- as if there was any path of redemption he deserved. Well, now the decision was more clear than the air itself. The dilemma was solved. The decision was made.

JIMMY NEEDED TO DIE, AT HIS HANDS. NOW.

As he barreled through the hallways in growing eagerness to commit a most violent act, his radio buzzed with notifications from the Bridge.

"Captain, Sammy here. Do you want to engage in negotiations with the incoming distress vessel?"

"YOU HANDLE IT, OR I WILL ORDER THEIR ANNIHILATION ON SIGHT."

"...You got it, Cap. What about the incoming armada?"

Hawkes roared at the walls, infuriated time and time again by the dilemmas approaching him all at once, ever-recurring and always insufferably disruptive. He nearly crushed his radio into bits as he grabbed it to respond with soul-withering spite and loathing.

"I'LL HEAD UP TO THE BRIDGE, YOU CUNT. PREPARE THE FUCKING COMMUNICATIONS!"

2 minutes later, the distress vessel warped into sight of the Argonaut II, completely dwarfed by its immense and epic structure like an ant to an elephant. Sammy, the 3rd Mate of the Argonaut II, heard the sound of ringing from the tele-receiver, and pressed the button to receive a call from the other vessel.

"This is acting Captain of the Numia, Sal Luciano, requesting aid and refuge from an enemy armada!"

"Numia, you have some serious gall to request aid when you dragged the threat we were hiding from straight into our path! You are infinitely lucky our Captain is not in the bridge at this moment, or you'd be quarks and atoms by now!"

"There aren't enough words in the English dictionary to emphasize how sorry we are to do this, but we were not going to sit around and wait to die. Please, PLEASE, we are requesting at the very least REFUGE!"

Sammy pressed his lips against his teeth and deliberated with more than a myriad of pressure on his shoulders. It was too late to turn them away and make a run for it- the Armada was going to arrive in less than five minutes. The very least he could do was get information on their enemy -as much as possible- before combat started.

"We will grant you temporary refuge, in exchange you will share ALL the information you have on this Armada!"

Sammy heard what sounded like cries of relief from the other side of the radio, before Sal's voice came over it once again.

"Thank you- THANK YOU! While we pull up to your port side, I will share what I know about the enemy!"

(Music: "Raid", by Evan Royalty)

Hawkes glared murderously out the observational window of the bridge, seeing the massive fleet of thirty-something-odd spaceships parked in front of the Argonaut II, buzzing with activity as they prepared for a confrontation. 

"The SCR, huh?" Sammy muttered, gazing at the Armada. He'd heard about this small fry who'd gotten big; the terror of the Canaris commerce lanes, ambushing guarded freighters and stealing their military vessels after a skirmish. Their leadership was clearly more daring and organized than most other pirates traveling the system. They had apparently been chasing the Numia after being caught during a surveillance mission and had remained relentless in their pursuit ever since.

Having warped here only a minute ago, the Armada had suddenly buzzed the bridge for communication and parley. Hawkes slammed the button to receive the message, and a proud, arrogant, and naive voice boomed over the speakers.

"OFFICERS OF THE ARGONAUT II! WE ARE THE SEPARATIST COALITION OF REVOLUTIONARIES. THIS IS A SIMPLE DEMAND. WE HAVE YOU OUTNUMBERED AND OUTGUNNED. SURRENDER YOUR VESSEL PEACEFULLY AND WE WILL TRANSPORT YOUR CREW TO THE NEAREST NEUTRAL OUTPOST AND ALLOW YOU TO KEEP YOUR LIVES!"

Sammy raised an eyebrow at the bold and direct statement from the enemy. He glanced up at Hawkes to crack a joke, only to pale in the face and recede into the chair when he caught a glimpse of Hawkes' outlined, reddened face. Without hesitation, Hawkes slammed the button once more, sending his voice over to the pirate armada with a single, fury-concentrated word.

"DIE."

Chapter Text

Serious gore warning. Extremely macabre and gruesome details are included in this chapter.

Hawkes switched his rapturous gaze to Sammy, bellowing the order outright.

"FIRE ON THEM!"

Sammy grimaced and nodded, pulling up his radio and conveying the order to every crewmate manning and operating the ship's cannons and weaponry. His nerves shivered with anticipation, but not fear; after three years of infrequent skirmishes with enemy ships, this was excitement rolling over his skin in droves.

He loved seeing ships EXPLODE!

"MESSAGE TO HEADS OF DEPARTMENTS: CODE DOGFIGHT!"

(Music: "I Am The Lightning", by Des Rocs)

(Immersion Sounds: "Space Battle", by Ambience Lab)

Five hundred and thirty-five cannons, mortars, autocannons, laser artillery and dozens of other types of armaments permeated from their interior storage, grrrinding metal against grrrinding metal as their stations emerged from the hundreds of port holes across the top and bottom sides of the mile-long vessel. Their alloyed stations rotated on their axis, pointing at the pirate armada like a sun-blotting wave of black-barreled eyes. A reversed magnetic force-field (RMF) hummed to life, slowly crawling to surround the ship -from bottom to top- in an invisible globe of physical protection.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRA-A-A-A-ACK! THWIP! THWIP! KRA-A-A-ACK! V-WOOOOOOOM! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BOOOOOOM-BOOM-BOOM!  B-WOOOOOOOOOOM! D-HKHKHKHKHKHKHKHK! BWOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRACK-AKAKAKAKAKAK! DW-WOOOOOOOOSH!  VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BZZZZZ-BWOMMM!!! D-ACKAKAKAKAKAK! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! SZW-VSHHHHHHHHHH!!!  BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRA-A-A-A-ACK! THWIP! THWIP! KRA-A-A-ACK! V-WOOOOOOOM! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BOOOOOOM-BOOM-BOOM! B-WOOOOOOOOOOM! D-HKHKHKHKHKHKHKHK! BWOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRACK-AKAKAKAKAKAK! DW-WOOOOOOOOSH!  VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BZZZZZ-BWOMMM!!! D-ACKAKAKAKAKAK! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! SZW-VSHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The ear-shattering sounds of hundreds of armaments firing off were swallowed into the vacuum of deepspace, muffled like a distant choir organ playing ferociously into the daunting void of an endless night. The SCR Armada was peppered by an unstoppable stream of missiles, torpedoes, shells, kinetic projectiles and laser shots, smashing into the fleet's bulk and instantly crippling a few into smoldering half-wrecks while leaving several other vessels limping and severely damaged.  Debris scattered and flew in every direction with terminal velocity, millions of fragments bouncing off the Argonaut's magnetic field and several other chunks slamming into the other pirate ships and deflecting off their hulls; an unlucky few piercing through and causing untold havoc in the ship interiors.

It was a powerful first punch; the en masse barrage required a long time to charge up, and it wouldn't be advantageous to use any further into the battle. The guns would be far too focused on firing at will, against boarders, scouts, drones, and primary fire from the ships themselves.

Good ol' fashioned interstellar warfare.

The radio buzzed alight with the sound of fury, terror, and outrage from the SCR Armada, their fleet moving around the Argonaut II to encircle and attempt a massive siege.

"TYRANT COWARD! PETTY DESPOT! DOOMING THE LIVES OF HUNDREDS OF OURS AND YOUR OWN-!"

CRACK!

Hawkes smashed the receiver into pieces, irritated to no end by the inane gibbering of soon-dead men; dead men that reputedly treated Canaris citizens like monsters. His seething gaze switched to Danny, who was sitting in the third console seat managing orders over the non-gunnery crew.

"DANNY!"

"Y-YES, CAPTAIN!"

"Give the crew a 10-minute warning we're using the Funnels, then shutter the hallways. They're going to try and board. Get Clémence to the bridge, she'll be giving orders from here!"

Danny nodded frantically, clutching his radio to relay the orders, but pausing for a second to ask a secondary question with quickness.

"Captain, what about the vessel that flagged us for aid-?"

"ARE YOU FUCKIN- THEY HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO DOCK OUR SHIP OR THEY ARE ATOMS! GET THAT CROISSANT-FUCKING FRENCHIE TO THE BRIDGE!"

"Caz, Elise to the bridge ASAP!"

Sammy realized he'd said the wrong French name and felt a tsunami of pure horror wash over him, not daring to turn around and bear witness to the Captain's expression-

"THE OTHER FROG, YOU F-U-C-K-I-N-G DEADBRAIN!!"

"C-CAZ, I MEANT CHEVY, CHEVY TO THE BRIDGE!"

"On it!"

Sammy closed the line of communication, navigating the large array of buttons, dials, levers, and switches whilst directing orders to the dozens of other mariners onboard the bridge, all of whom scurried around to handle the deluge of control panels and communication channels spread across the horizontal layout. Hawkes had plenty of commands of his own to issue, walking to a remote part of the bridgehead and radioing the Head of Triage, Kai. There was nothing he could do to restrain the aching violence leaking through his voice.

"KAI! GET TO FUCKIN' WORK!"

"Yes, Cap!"

Click. Medical channel. Kill.

"Annie, keep the surgeons on standby, but don't leave that fucking Suite! WATCH MY FAMILY!"

"Alright."

Click. Espionage. Kill him. KILL HIM-

"Lily, track any breaches and have garrison-"

"I know what to do, Hawkes. Go see to your loved ones for a bit."

Hawkes was thrown entirely off-guard by the heartfelt and esoteric comment by Lily. He felt the overwhelming rage leave his body for a brief moment; he felt something resembling a strong affection for the woman over the radio. He was feeble, and impulsive to his emotions at times.

"Thank you, Lily."

He said this wistfully, even as the distant angered artillery of thirty-odd ships turned towards the Argonaut II with murderous intent. Facing down such magnificent peril hardly compared to the ordeals of caring for and seeing after his family.

This was more of... a chore.

"Good luck, my love." Lilia cooed over the radio.

"Slow your roll, chief, I don't do romance on duty."

He heard the crackling wholesome laughter from Lilia over the radio, unconsciously bearing a half-smile across his face before he near-instantly remembered what had subjugated his psyche with such immense RAGE-

"I'll be in the Suite soon. I need to do something first."

He turned off his radio, unable to contain his ire any longer. He practically sprinted out of the bridge, to the backdrop of a large-scale explosive conflict in the vacuum of deep space. His hands were sweating with the anticipation of pulling the skin off Jimmy's body AS VIOLENTLY AS POSSIBLE.

"You fucking piece of SHIT!" 

CRACK!

Jimmy groaned in pain as Kuwal slammed the end of his baton into the back of his leg, causing him to limp while Kuwal roughly shoved and prodded him toward the brig, cursing him out as soon as they exited the Divinity Chamber.

"If you don't want to be flayed to the fucking bone by the Captain, keep your fucking mouth shut and comply like the dog you are. I could break every bone in your body and it'd only take a minute to get you back on your feet. Give me a reason, you worthless cunt."

Jimmy bared his teeth, wanting to headbutt the officer and make a run for it. He knew it'd be a complete beatdown, and so he bided his time for the right moment to come. Alarms blared deafeningly across the ship's interior, personnel sprinting every which way toward tasks unbeknownst to Jimmy. Kuwal's grip on his cuffed wrists grew tighter with every second, his body oozing concern and anxiety.

"Unscrupulous rat." Kuwal cursed Jimmy out, slamming his batton into his cheek. Jimmy was outraged both by the repeated assault and not knowing what the first word meant due to his poor upbringing. "Keep it moving!"

Jimmy's eyes scanned his surroundings with profound insanity. Guilt, guilt, guilt. How could he find a way out of here? Guilt. Guilt. There was something he coGuiltuld do, but he couldn't let himself be shoved in a cell or it'd be over. Maybe an escape pod, or stowing himself away on some remote part of the ship until they reached a port.

The sound of metal grinding echoed loudly through the hallway's interior; armaments preparing to fire, dread firing across the faces of Kuwal and Jimmy for different reasons. With increased haste, Kuwal practically dragged Jimmy through the hallway.

What was Jimmy doing? Causing wanton trouble with his second chance? What the hell? They'd put him in this situation. This was... yeah, this was his only path out of hell.

He was terrified. A rat, in a cage, filled with cats. After the beating he'd taken from the leader of the ship, he didn't trust anyone. He was on his own, and he'd need to find his own solution, FUCK everyone else!

If Jimmy was alive... did that mean... Curly was... that the others were...!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!

Kuwal and Jimmy were thrown several feet down the hallway with explosive force as a stray artillery shell passed through the magnetic field before it fully activated, just so happening to smash into the hull a few meters from the two; the wall opened violently inward, the briefest sight of a shell peeking its malevolent tip through the nip of the broken wall before exploding, widening the puncture-

WHOOOOOOOOOOSH!

The breach sucked air into deep space and depressurized the hallway rapidly, pulling the two toward the hole in a half second; a half second later, reinforced plating shuffled over one another and sealed the breach, causing Jimmy and Kuwal to fall onto their asses on the floor painfully.

(Music: "Let Me Live / Let Me Die", by Des Rocs)

MY CHANCE.

Without waiting another second, Jimmy hopped awkwardly up onto his feet and made a full-on sprint down the hallway, chased wrathfully by Kuwal as the cat-and-mouse pursuit carried on amidst the formal chaos across the rest of the ship. Soldiers in armored uniforms dashed around with rifles and materials, shooting curious concerned glances at Jimmy as sprinted past them; only the officers assigned to escort him to the brig had been briefed on his illicit status, and all of them were far too busy preparing for the onslaught to focus on this sole delinquent.

"Sometimes I feel more autistic than artistic, ya know what I mean? Hey, who the fuck is that guy out of uniform?" A soldier remarked to another in casual conversation as Jimmy sprinted by, which further confounded Jimmy's sense of reality.

Jimmy himself was wracked with throes of insanity and liberation, nausea and deep relief, anxiety and jubilation. Had seconds passed? Minutes? He could hardly tell- only able to keep running, keeping his head down and fleeing from enemies all around him.

Guilt. Guilt. Terror. Guilt. Terror. Horror. Resentment. Anger. Rage.

BWOOOOM! BWOOOOOOOM! BWOOOOOOOOM!

"ATTENTION ARGONAUTS, ENEMY BOARDING IS IMMINENT! REPEAT, ENEMY BOARDING IS IMMINENT! SEEK SHELTER AND READY WEAPONS!"

Jimmy was terrified by the announcement blaring through the overhead speakers echoing across the massive cruiser, his sentiment mirrored by the crewmates sprinting for shelter in other parts of the ship. He wanted to follow them but knew he'd get identified if he sought shelter with them, and had to risk running down the lone corridor leading to another section of the ship.

BZZZZ-KRCH!

Jimmy shouted in terror as electricity surged through the several parts of the midsection he was in, throwing sparks and loose wires from the flooring, walls, and nearby fixtures. Another announcement blared through the speakers:

"ATTENTION, ATTENTION! EMP PULSE WAVES INBOUND FOR SECTOR E-4! SEEK SHELTER IN NON-ELECTRICAL AREAS IMMEDIATELY!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!?! AAAAAAA!!!!!" Jimmy screamed for his life, having no choice except to stumble-spring his way through the rapidly erupting hallway of flailing wiring and jagged metal. He cried out in pain as he staggered past jagged blades cutting at his skin and loose wiring striking out at random, dashing excruciating burns and jolts across his flesh. 

Daisuke had to crawl through this?! Jimmy thought subconsciously, unrealizing of why his guilt and regret had tripled in half a second during the painful ordeal he was stumbling through in despairing agony.

His mind, filled with panic, found an extra surge of energy to dash unmitigated through the dilapidating corridor, eventually escaping it entirely and finding himself in a small break room with several windows facing outwards, revealing-

"What the...?!" He blubbered in terror, his view of outer space covered by a mind-boggling array of spaceships, support vessels, drone automatons, boarding assault pods, and mid-battle artillery exploding in the horrific void of all-encompassing darkness. A complete serenade of chaotic diaspora; played out like a chaotic symphony!

"Fucking- FUCK!" Jimmy raged, sprinting from the window view. He needed solace from the stress; refuge from terror. Even after death, his horror remained a pitching indignant drunkard banging at his door, refusing to leave.  Was there redemption for him? Was there solace for the unforgiven? SURELY NOT.

Jimmy ran through the next corridor, eager to find an exit and appearing suddenly before a deluge of combat between Argonauts and bands of pirates, engaged in close-quarters combat out of pure adrenaline; unrealizing they could pull their firearms in half a second to end the fight. Axes, makeshift spears, pipes and clubs were in play between the cohorts of angered fanatics, fighting desperately for supremacy over the vessel; ever-ignorant of the massacre they jubilantly orchestrated.

Terrified, he turned away from that corridor and ran down an empty one, trying to find some place to hunker down until the invasion had ended. He had no idea who would win; but he instinctively bet his money on the psycho Captain taking the victory.

Jimmy just hoped this vessel wouldn't explode in the pitch-darkness of voidspace; he had just come back to life!

He was becoming fatigued, finding it ever-increasingly difficult to maintain such quickness and speed to run as far as he could. He rounded a corner, only to delve into a hysterical panic as a swarm of pirates were slowly flooding the hallway from a boarding pod that had drilled into the interior for entry. They spotted him and raised alarms, and he quickly raised his hands in terrible fear that he would be shot if he didn't just show intent to surrender. He had nowhere else to go; this was his only option.

He felt a great solace as the pirates looked between one another, unsure of why a random civilian was on the Argonaut in the iconic Pony Express uniform; they raised their guns and issued demands to him.

"GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND, HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK NOW!"

"You got it! I am not an employee on this vessel- they're trying to kill me!"

This was likely the one time he could be completely honest with strangers; as these people were here to kill the enemy ship, being an opp would create an opportunity to forge a mutual alliance. Three of the pirates roughly grabbed him and searched him for weapons, satisfied at finding none as the others moved forward to secure the adjacent corridors, their movements half-illuminated by the blaring red emergency sirens and warm-tinted corridor lighting. One of the pirates walked up to Jimmy who could only make out his stocky and towering six-foot appearance, wearing a uniform and silver-tinted protective armor over his torso and down his legs, along with a helmet with a dark-blue visor and small antenna peeking up from its right side. There were no marker identifiers on the uniform, apart from the insignia of two uninspiring red crescents stacked on top of one another, imprinted on the left sleeve of his uniform.

"Identify yourself, NOW!" He barked at Jimmy, who wasted no time complying with the process; hoping that he didn't get his brains blasted out the back of his head at the end of this.

"Jimmy Zare!"

The pirate glared at him for a short moment, trying to decipher any deception at play, before rattling off a short introduction.

"I have little time, so listen up! I'm Commander Rex, we are the Separatist Coalition of Revolutionaries. We are actively recruiting more members! You will be escorted onto the boarding pod and returned to our fleet for investigation. If what you say is true, you'll have the option to take a place on our ship or receive an escort to the nearest neutral outpost, paid for in labor. Now get moving onto the boarding-!"

"GAAAAAAAH-GHK!"

The SCR fighters suddenly turned their heads in shock as the sound of someone screaming in agony and falling silent echoed from the other end of the very long hallway, opposite of where Jimmy was standing.  

SQUELCH!

The SCR fighters shouted in terror as the mutilated body of an SCR soldier briefly passed visibly from the leftmost hallway, suddenly exploding into shredded organs and a mush of flesh, muscle, skin, bone, blood and brain matter against the alloy wall. Cries of horror uttered throughout the hallway as a terrifying presence was felt just around the corner.

(Music: "Kill Everyone", by Mick Gordon)

The long corridor, filled with dozens of SCR soldiers, suddenly froze in momentary terror as Captain Hawkes rounded the far end of the other side of the hallway, his scouring gaze locking onto Jimmy like an orbital cannon. His demeanor bristled loudly, almost deafening in its mere imposition upon the unfortunate opponents lined up like bowling pins in the blaring hallway. Loudly, Thunderously, Ear-splitting, SONOROUS.

Then a brief, deadly silence. The five seconds every armed SCR fighter had to take their shot at Hawkes was in vain. Transhuman Dread filled their skin, bones, and minds with tonic immobility, similar to seeing a raging polar bear or rabid moose, knowing you were completely fucked- a defense mechanism that rendered them temporarily paralyzed. Hoping that the apex predator would prefer a livelier game and move on.

They weren't facing an animal that acted on instinct.

Jimmy could only stumble backward in offended, outraged, panicked and frightened abject terror as Hawkes closed the gap between him and the nearest gunman, clutching his head with both hands and- CRHCKGSH! -crushing it inward like a watermelon, sending brain matter, bone fragments, skin, and spurts of blood in every direction like a horror movie. In a literal second, Hawkes gripped the corpse's arm and swung him with such force that the arm ripped from the body as it catapulted like deadly grapeshot through the air, slamming into several of the hallway combatants; bones broke, flesh bruised, spleens ruptured, lungs collapsed. 

2 seconds passed- screams erupted from the dozens of injured and mutilated soldiers scattered across the hallway in a morbid, grotesque, macabre display of superhuman dominance and deadliness. Hawkes had already reached the next soldier, noticing a brave few near the midriff of the corridor raising their guns to fire, and decided to brutalize his next victim to shock them into inaction; long enough for him to get his hands on enough of them to sate his bloodlust and shoot a lucky few in the head.

His hands bolted toward that nearest soldier and begun dismantling him limb by limb, ear by eye, jaw by nose, skin to bone, prompting the feverish, horrified screaming of several of the unfortunate souls forced to bear witness to the terrifying spectacle, and it was the breaking point for most of those watching- leaving them to flee in undulating sobbing and ever-gripping horror. Those who'd raised their guns were quivering in marvelous terror, firing their shots at Hawkes in frenetic and panicked desperation.

As the first of them were raising their rifles to fire, Hawkes slammed his fist through the dying, mutilated victim he'd dismembered, sifting past his organs until he felt bone, promptly grabbing ahold tightly of his spine with one hand while clutching his neck with the other, charging malevolently at the shooters while bullets perforated the body, some of them lodging into the armor, flesh or bone, while a few of the bullets carved through the body and slammed into Hawkes' torso; slowed by the dying SCR soldier enough that most of the gunshot wounds were nominal; and a small handful of those bullets had broken his ribs, pierced some essential organ unknown to Hawkes, and grazed a large portion of his neck. 2 seconds had passed again.

No matter. He had reached the shooters, who by this point were screaming for their lives and running with everyone else; including Jimmy, who was frozen in terror as he estimated his chances of reaching the boarding pod before Hawkes closed the gap, and decided his chances were zero if he tried it. Unable to surface a thought, Jimmy scrambled to get up from the ground, forced to witness as Hawkes used the meat shield and slammed it into one of the shooters, breaking several bones in their body as they were pinned against the wall, before Hawkes ripped his hand out of the now-dead soldier's stomach and launched him, by the arm, toward the other two shooters, sending them careening to the ground as the body slammed into them as a duo.

It had only been four seconds more, but Jimmy had finally managed to scramble in sobbing, unrelenting terror to his feet. He bore witness as Hawkes slammed his fingers through the first gunman's eye sockets and mouth, tearing the front of his face off and taunting the other two horrified shooters by holding the mutilated face in front of his own like a hell-born demon.

I need to get out of here, Jimmy thought in pure, adrenaline-crazed panic. I need to get the fuck out of here right now. I need to-

4 seconds more had passed. He ducked instinctively, further horrified as he watched a disembodied arm fling over his head by mere inches, exploding against the far corridor wall behind him in a mesh of gore. It had been three seconds since he'd ducked and looked back over, and now Hawkes was on top of the second and third shooters, rapidly dismembering and disemboweling the second one and tossing parts at Jimmy with manic enjoyment, watching him dodge and duck the projectiles like a twisted, sickening game. The hallway was filled with only the consistent sound of the sirens going off, and the warm lighting had died out, leaving only the hazard lights to illuminate the corridor.

Another 8 seconds had passed. Jimmy suddenly came to another realization as he looked around the hallway, noticing that there were far more bodies than he had witnessed die; the killing had taken place so quickly he could hardly keep track in the midst of his absolute dread. Even before Jimmy could frame the thought to begin running away, he witnessed Hawkes pull out his holstered pistol and blast a group of SCR soldiers that had rounded the corridor where he'd come from; nailing every single one of them in the head before they could even comprehend his presence in the four seconds it took them to round the corner and attempt to fire upon the threat. He then looked back to Jimmy, staring at him for a very long three , before smashing in the face of the third last remaining soldier in the hallway like a gorilla, raising and bringing his cannon-sized arms down on the head of the soldier and caving it in until he was unrecognizable mush.

5 seconds more. It had only taken this monster thirty-five seconds to massacre a hallway full of armed gunmen. Hawkes suddenly gazed upward like a hungry beast, maddened eyes staring through Jimmy like piercing lasers.

"THIS WILL BE THE LAST THING YOU SEE."

Jimmy stumbled backward again, feeling as if his heart would burst out of his chest in pure fear as he realized why Hawkes had spared him for so long.

Hawkes, without showing a hint of fatigue, began to stand up on his feet-

I AM OUT! Jimmy screamed in his mind; snapping out of the dreadful state and bolting from the ground, having never felt himself run this fast before in his entire life. 

He shrieked in unfettered distress as he noticed Hawkes sprint towards him at full speed, traveling at over 50 miles per hour; closing the gap and drawing only a few feet away from Jimmy until-

CRASH!

Shutters closed in sections all around the hallway, separating Hawkes from Jimmy; of whom the latter immediately took the opportunity to look around rapidly for another way out, as the corridors were increasingly shuttering metal doors in rapid order.

He couldn't keep running through hallways anymore, he needed to find-

A SOLUTION!

He noticed a large vent with its cover placed to the side, along with a few nuts and bolts and a screwdriver; it was clear that someone was planning to do an inspection or repairs when the other ship attacked.

This was Jimmy's chance. He crawled desperately into the ventilation duct, squirming on hands and knees as he made his way through, finding himself traveling up, down, left and right in a maze, all while stressing out majorly over the sounds of carnage and chaos on the exterior and interior of the ship. He could only hope that he found a safe room or place, or managed to get recruited into this SCR bullshit -anything, really!- as long as it kept him alive and relatively safe.

Crawling over one particular vent cover, he heard the sounds of nervous conversation faintly below him. In pure curiosity, he stopped to try and listen, placing most of his weight on the foot that was pressing against the vent cover-

Whoosh!

"AAAAAHHHH!!!"

He cried out in surprise as the cover caved under the pressure, sending him careening and crashing down on a table. He groaned in pain and discomfort as his back ached from the impact of slamming into a wooden table. His gaze was hazy for a moment as the wind was knocked out of him, but gradually vision was restored, and-

...

...

...

Staring at him were Anya, Curly, Swansea, and Daisuke. Uncomprehending. Shocked. Slackjawed. In the same state as Jimmy was, peering at them from the broken table they were seated at.

A few, silent seconds passed.

...

...

...

All five brains clicked at once.

(Music: "Tip Toe Thru' the Tulips with Me", by Tiny Tim)

"Curly-!" Jimmy tried to call out, feeling an absolute swelling of inexplicable joy in his chest and mind as he witnessed Curly standing before him-!

CRACK!

Jimmy was immediately cracked across the face by an unstoppably apoplectic Curly, manically silent as he crawled over Jimmy's body and began wailing away at his face with an expression of deathly rage wrought over every visible part of his body; Anya fell back out of her chair and screamed bloody murder, crawling away and gripping her head as she curled into a fetal position, unable to cope with the trauma dumped right in front of her; Daisuke simply stared catatonically at the scene, watching in a trance as Curly beat Jimmy to death like he had dissociated entirely from the rapidly-deteriorating situation.

Swansea-

"Hold him. HOLD HIM!"

His voice reeked of sadistic merriment, as he raised a chair over his head and slammed it painfully onto Jimmy's right leg, causing him to screech in agony as he felt bones fracture, trying to fight off Curly, who landed a hit straight to his right eye and causing blood vessels to burst inside his socket, flooding half of Jimmy's vision with crimson red while several of his teeth were dislocated or knocked into the back of his throat by Curly's unrepenting punches. He tried to throw fists back at Curly, managing to land a few hits and staggering Curly; Swansea noticed this and threw the chair aside, gripping his hand around a baton laid against the wall and, in a frenzy, swatted at Jimmy's flailing arms, hands and fingers, bruising, fracturing and breaking several parts of his arms as the monstrous strength came down on him with no mercy.

Unable to stand the agony of seeing his former crew attack him so readily and mercilessly, Jimmy's mind flared with indignant rage, slamming his head into Curly's, causing him to leer backward and allowing Jimmy to shove him off, taking a hard punch to the cheekbone from Swansea and staggering, before using a charging Swansea's momentum to shove him over a nearby coffee table and booking it for the exit. Panting, half-mutilated and sobbing uncontrollably, Jimmy slammed through the door, unlocking it to swing outward, much to the shock of the guards on standby. They watched in confusion and stupor as Jimmy bolted away from the Suite, only to see Curly and Swansea following him with the persistence of devil dogs and worked to restrain them and bring their screaming bodies back into the Suite for protection, unconcerned with whomever they were chasing.

I'm tired. I'm so tired. I just want to sleep. I don't want to feel anything right now. I'm tired.

Jimmy limped through the blaring hallway, the shutters having raised several minutes ago; he noticed the sound of war and chaos was gradually fading; and he had no doubt in his mind that the Argonaut had won. He had a sinking feeling in his chest that his life was over; as soon as he was located, he would be just as violently slaughtered as all those poor soldiers in the hallway.

I should just kill myself... Jimmy muttered to himself, trying to persuade himself to take that route once more. And yet, he found it so much more difficult than last time. He couldn't deny the divine nature of returning from the dead. He had an intrinsic feeling in him, that he couldn't throw away this life as he did the last one; but already, he had brought about calamity in his second life. Out of self-preservation, he doomed countless numbers of people. 

He couldn't bear to think anymore. He was so tired. So exhausted. Weary. Wanting so badly to do nothing other than close his eyes and give in to rest...

Slump.

And there he fell, near-dead from exhaustion and the injuries he'd sustained. His limp body blended into the background of the grim corridor, blood leaking across the floor and splayed across the walls. Minutes passed. Blood loss was slowly beginning to take Jimmy.

It was then that Doctor Faulkner peeked outside from the shuttered protection of his locked-down office, glimpsing at the dying fugitive outside with curious thought. The Doctor seemed in deep thought and deliberation on what he should do.

He opened the shutter and peeked outside, looking for anyone happening to run down the hallway and finding it silent. He tentatively walked outside, staring at the dying body for a second, then picking him up by his arms and dragging him inside the medical office.

Chapter Text

10 minutes before the Argonaut and SCR Armada engage in battle...

(Music: "Oh No!!!", by grandson)

(Ambience: "Nostromo Alarm Sound", under Chris Brinzo)

"Christ, Sal, are we fuckin dead or not, goddamnit?!"

"If you keep committing blasphemy, Naomi, we definitely won't be, fuckin' idiot! SHUT UP AND LET ME CONCENTRATE- FUCK, THESE FUCKING ALARMS!"

The crew of the Numia was desperate to find refuge on the Argonaut, and Sal had just received communications from the vessel himself, receiving instructions on docking; to which he had to hold himself back from sobbing in relief. The first of the SCR Armada was already arriving to either negotiate or make battle with the Argonaut, and he did not want to be in open space if the rest of the Armada came and a fight surfaced.

His irritation with the frittering, frantic questions and nonsensical doom-and-gloom predictions from the crew, along with the IRRITATING repetition of the ear-drilling alarm (alerting of nearby hostiles) had reached its penultimate state, and for a brief moment of clarity he started to empathize with just how painfully stressful this position was in times like these; times of strife. He wanted badly to sympathize with Haxel, but it clashed with his blatant and monstrous killing of the Captain without revealing the reason behind it- one he could only guess upon at the moment.

His mind wanted to wander, to think more on the crime-

No! Now was not the time for that. He looked frenetically about the console as the entire crew were standing with frantic death-fearing desperation around him barring Alina and Cortia (who were still in catatonic states), including Haxel who was under restraint by Barris and Chloe; most all of them were constantly harping on Sal for answers- the response from the Argonaut would determine whether or not they would be obliterated in the deathly blackness of infinite darkness; unable to be revived as no one would bother to retrieve their scattered pieces.

This was a genuine fear of death; a permanent death in which they could not be resurrected.

"Argonaut, Numia is docking portside, acknowledge!"

"Acknowledged, Numia... The Captain has relayed, somewhat crudely, that you have five minutes to dock or you will be considered an enemy vessel along with the SCR. I'm sure you understand why he said that. Acknowledge, or may God help your souls."

Sal almost dissociated entirely from existence, filled with such an ineffable fear that he was wasting precious seconds quivering in absolute terror. FIVE FUCKING MINUTES?! 

"A-Acknowledged! DON'T KILL US!" Sal spluttered into the radio, viscerally feeling the sense of a literal arsenal of guns pointed at his head, realizing he had absolutely no time to waste, tossing the receiver aside without care and immediately swiveling the chair and barking at Barris and Chloe as the rest of the crew was immediately put into a mass panic by the last words of Sal over the receiver.

"UNCUFF HAXEL AND LET HIM STEER US TO DOCK!"

Barris and Chloe were immediately outraged and indignant at his order, about to protest, when Sal completely lost it- THEY HAD ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING TIME TO SQUABBLE!

"YOU FUCKING IDIOTS! WE HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO DOCK OR WE'RE DEAD! AN EXPERT PILOT TAKES THREE MINUTES TO DOCK, AND WE'VE LOST 30 SECONDS ALREADY! I CANNOT PILOT THIS FUCKIN' CANNOLI IN THAT TIME FRAME!!"

The faces of most all those present paled in stark-white terror, greatly unsettled by the uncharacteristic panic oozing from his voice; Sal was calm-headed even under fire, but this was sure as fuck an entirely different scenario- he was not confident at all in piloting as well as, if not better than Haxel or Tyler; the entire crew's lives were dependent on him! Sal felt a boiling mixture of abject horror and tar-black rage, to see that Barris and Chloe were incredibly startled and terrified, but still seemed hesitant to release Haxel. 

"RELEASE! HIM!" Sal begged him vehemently, tears streaming down his eyes as he realized just how close they were to total death because of the sheer fucking ignorance of this crew- not grasping the tenets of piloting, not knowing just how valuable a small-vessel pilot was for situations like this. "Or we're all going to fucking die, guar-an-teed!"

Barris turned even further pale-white, and caved in after another preciously-lost few seconds, working the cuffs and releasing Haxel's hands, which fell limp to his sides as his eyes seemed far-off. Sal was going to steer the ship to dock (near-guaranteed death) if he couldn't get Haxel to, but he wanted to try. Haxel was a natural at piloting- the Numia's best bet at surviving this monumental shitshow.

Smack!

Haxel was alight with shock and surprise running through his brain as Sal raised his palm and smacked the ever-living shit out of him. Haxel returned his gaze with momentary awareness, glaring indignantly and irately at Sal; and immediately noticing the pure, unadulterated terror emanating from the fat Italian's eyes.

"HAXEL, PLEASE DOCK THE ARGONAUT IN UNDER FIVE MINUTES, OR WE DIE! NO ONE BUT YOU CAN DO IT! SAVE US FROM DEATH!"

Sal hadn't even thought of what to say; he just blurted it out instinctively, a raw and unfiltered cry for help. Haxel's demeanor immediately transformed in a second; his shoulders set upright, his eyes re-focused, his stance confident and decisive once more; his mind momentarily cleared of guilt, doubt and utter despair. He immediately ordered Sal with unwavering authority:

"Get in the co-pilot seat."

Fuck his own life; the crew needed him.

(Music: "Are You Gonna Be My Girl", by Jet)

AND THIS WOULD IMPRESS THE SHIT OUT OF ALINA!!!

Haxel shoved the chair in his direction, sitting down as it rotated towards the console, immediately assessing the long-imbued controls and layout before him- the equivalent of a 747 Boeing pilot console by Modern Era standards. He flipped a few switches, pressed a dozen buttons, and set the layout to the appropriate framework before immediately shoving the propulsion to its max setting, rocketing towards the Argonaut with such speed that it seemed as if he were going to collide with the eye-blotting military cruiser.

"HE'S GONNA FUCKING KILL US! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" 

"WHY DID YOU LET THE MADMAN IN THE CAPTAIN'S SEAT, YOU FAT BASTARD?!" 

The protests were plentiful, in outrage and utter horror, but Sal quickly intervened, whipping out his baton and slamming the cabin floor to create a piercing ringing sound that forced everyone to flinch; clearing the panic for only a second.

"I TRUST HAXEL WITH MY LIFE WHEN IT COMES TO PILOTING!" Sal declared righteously; there was literally no time for eloquent and long-winded discussion-

BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP!  BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP!  BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP!  BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP! BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP!

BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP!  BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP!  BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP!  BWWWWWWWWWWWWW-WIP! 

-And that was exactly why. Within a few seconds, dozens of battleships, fighters, auxiliary vessels, frigates, destroyers, and carriers bearing the markings of the SCR warped into the millions of miles-long battlespace, immediately moving to confront the Argonaut in a line, and sighting in the Numia with scouting drones. Haxel glanced back ferociously at the shell-shocked crew packed inside his cockpit.

Everyone inside had seen the same thing. A double-whammy, wombo-combo, stuck-between-a-rock-and-hard-place-scenario that had completely FUBAR'ed their minds. 

The rest of the SCR Armada was here. The Argonaut II was reputedly brutal, uncompromising, and hyper-aggressive when it came to pirates and separatists. The battle was likely to happen in under three minutes as soon as guns were sighted and powered up, was Haxel's prediction.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CABIN, AND KEEP THIS SHIP STANDING!" Haxel roared with bulging veins and reddened sclera- the responsibility of their lives had shifted onto him now- his nearly broken mind was desperately trying to piece itself back together in a rapid fervor to keep his beloved crewmates alive and safe.

A unanimous consent was reached amongst the crew, and in a few seconds they hurriedly rushed to their stations with a familiar feeling of unsettling comfort; combat mode had switched on in their brains as a result of veterancy and military drilling; the end result being to ultimately place trust in every single crewmate of the ship when shit hit the fan- because death was the only presentable alternative to a rejection of the former.

As the crew evacuated the cabin with nothing except a screaming yearning to stay alive, they had forgotten the catatonic Alina and Cortia, who had been gently brought into the room minutes ago. Sal noticed this and exhaled in terrific frustration, entirely unwanting to try and bring these two back to reality. Haxel noticed Sal getting distracted by some sight behind them, and briefly glanced behind him to see Alina and Cortia, sitting on the floor in disillusion, mentally overwhelmed and completely shell-shocked by the events only a few hours ago.

On the sight of it, Haxel wanted to scream in bottomless despair and slam his head against the nearest object until his head caved in, but he had to repress the feeling with indomitable spirit and desire to save his crew from certain death. All he could do was rely on the singular doctrine instilled in soldiers throughout all of human history- the ingrained mindset, the martial-instilled discipline which pushed even the most traumatized and mentally-shattered infantry to reach the common goal of prevailing victory.

"ALINA! CORTIA! STAND AT ATTENTION, NOW! "

Almost as if under a spell, the two of them rocketed to their feet and stood at full attention, bodies taut and arms straightened at an angle to deliver a crisp salute.

"PROCEED TO YOUR STATIONS, INCOMING TARGETS BEARING DOWN ON US!"

Even with thousand-yard stares, the two of them nodded swiftly, disciplined and composed even in the face of deadly combat, releasing their stands to attention and rushing to their stations with experienced efficiency. Sal, despite knowing the logic behind Haxel's action, was still reeling in shock from the powerful authority Haxel was emitting at this moment- he'd only ever seen him as a 2nd hand to Tyler and a charismatic guy during peacetime.

"I can't believe they chose this annoying-ass alarm sound for a military scouting ship!" Sal complained loudly whilst working the console. "It's like they want us killed by frustration!"

Haxel swiftly reached into the compartment beneath the console, taking out the manual override key (DNA-coded to only him and Tyler), and shoved it into the appropriate slot, pulling up the alarm submenu and turning it off. The ship was filled once more with a serene silence and white noise, but what horrified Sal more was that HAXEL HAD DONE THAT WHILE ROCKETING AT FULL-ON SPEED TOWARDS THE ARGONAUT- TAKING HIS EYES OFF THE COURSE TO TURN OFF AN ALARM?!?!

"HAAAXEEEELLL!!!" Sal screamed at him, much to Haxel's irritation and unfolding rancor.

"WHAAAAAT?!?!"

"DID YOU REALLY JUST TEXT AND FUCKING DRIVE?!"

"GET OFF MY ASS, WE'RE NOT CLOSE ENOUGH YET!"

"YOU ARE PUSHING MY LIMIT OF TRUSTING YOU BEHIND THIS WHEEL, MOTHAFUCKA!" Sal shouted with Italian ardor, only backing down because he immediately sensed the heavy tinge of proficient veterancy lying beneath the cusp of Haxel's intense exclamations.

The ship's AI system, a feminine-sounding Australian accent, belted out a sudden notification in a calm, clipped tone:

"Four hostiles targeting the Numia, Captain. 

- Bearing 202.5 degrees, Mark-1, low, range 800 meters: single fighter, closing fast.

- Bearing 180 degrees, Mark -2, high, range 900 meters: single fighter, vectoring above Numia for diving strafe.

- Bearing 135 degrees, Mark 0, level, range 1200 meters: two bombers, vectoring to flank, likely targeting for disabling strikes.

- Bearing 170 degrees, Mark 0, level, range 2300 meters: one capital ship, targeting Numia for long-range bombardment. Crikey!"

Sal couldn't even surface words to his tongue; this was an "imminent death" scenario-

"Tell Gunnery to lock guns on bombers, then fighters in order of threat level!"

Again, Sal was stunned into silence; he wasn't even able to deliberate before Haxel had taken action, and it was then that Sal suddenly felt a great heap of inadequacy and incompetency in the face of true leadership. That didn't matter a bit right now, though. He was just infinitely happy to know that his bet on Haxel might be saving them all from complete annihilation.

"Yes, Captain. Warning: capital ship is charging heavy plasma array. ETA to fire: 40 seconds. Evasive maneuvers recommended."

Sal noticed Haxel's face break and contort into pure despair at hearing the newly-transferred title, before reforming into grim and grit determination.

"Notify crew evasion is underway!" Haxel barked at the AI.

"Notifying crew. Bombers designated as Targets Bravo-1 and -2; Fighters designated as Targets Fox-1 and -2."

(Music: "Wayne", by Des Rocs)

Sal was in sheer awe of the quick-reaction timing Haxel had to such despairing and stressful events assailing him in so quick a manner. Being the quartermaster, Sal had never even considered becoming the captain in an emergency scenario because of how reliable Tyler was, and since he'd never been at the front of the ship, Sal had never see Haxel in action before. This entire ordeal they were undergoing was shedding a light Sal had never seen of Haxel; not of just reliability or reasoning, but of sheer heroism, decisiveness and unstoppable determination in the fact of absolute destruction.

Facing down death so many times, and remaining unyielding... only now did Sal see what the culmination of that journey was, right in front of his very eyes. 

What he'd witnessed here today would be burned into his mind for the rest of his-

"HOLD ON!" Haxel screamed, banking the Numia hard to the right.

"W-What?! WOOOOOAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

Without warning, the entirety of the craft veered with a deafening groan of alloy and support beams, swerving in a spiraling rightward motion like a tiny gnat in the vastly tremendous open battlefield currently staging between dozens of massive space cruisers.

VVVVVWHHHHHOOOOOOM. VVVVWHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOM. VVWWWWWWHHHHHOOOOOOM.

Sal's face shed a waterfall of sweat in pure panic as he watched three massive bolts of plasma whizz past overhead, underhead, and to their right as Haxel effortlessly swerved the rig in expertly dodged motions; Sal was able to hear the sheer energy emitting from their essence even in the deafness of deepspace for a half-second as the bolts barely sheared through the Numia and launched ever-further into the void past their front window.

Haxel jolted the craft again, this time pitching it steeply upwards to do a barrel roll, right as the overhead sensors in the cabin flashed four red dots bearing down on them from the left and right; the bombers and the fighters, attempting a total flank on either side of the Numia. 

As the barrel roll was performed, Haxel took one hand off the steering, straining his other with considerable might to continue the maneuver as he scrambled for the receiver with his free hand, thumbing the button and screaming into the radio.

"ALINA, KILL THOSE FUCKERS!"

"Aye, Haxel."

The voice that came over the receiver was simultaneously broken yet utterly filled with intensity, one which couldn't be discerned by voice alone in its origin. Haxel nodded and threw the radio aside, continuing to focus on the long-winded barrel roll as the fighters and bombers beared down on them from the left and right.

BSSSHHHH!! BSSHHHH!!!! BSSHHHH!!!!

Only a few seconds later, Sal could hear the onboard Numia cannons firing away, sending faint yet booming reverberations through the ship's interior as Alina went to work against the designated targets. The barrel roll had finished, and Sal just now realized that the maneuver had placed the Numia below the enemy fighters and bombers, allowing them to-

BSSSHHHH!! BSSHHHH!!!! BSSHHHH!!!!

-perforate the underbellies of these bastards with ease and elevated accuracy. Sal actually found himself cheering loudly and raucously as he watched Alina's topside turret blast away at the four targets, tearing through one of them and exploding it while clipping another's engine and taking it out of action. The AI hummed to life again, delivering an updated report:

"Fox-1 is neutralized, Bravo-2 is out of action. Re-calculating... Fox-2 and Bravo-1 are coordinating a flank, Fox-2 is bearing overhead, Bravo-1 is pitching below the Numia."

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" Sal screamed in pure, elated excitement. "ALINA IS A FUCKING BEAST!!!"

Sal heard Haxel quietly smirk aloud, looking over and seeing him silently smiling in enjoyment; an extremely odd response given the chaotic and death-nearing situation he was being presented with. Sal was so distracted by the beastly accuracy of Alina that he had entirely forgotten-

"WAIT, HOW MUCH TIME DO WE HAVE LEFT?!" Sal blubbered in shivering terror.

"It's going to be a tight window, but we'll have just enough time if we can get rid of these last two fuckers on our ass."

Haxel's gaze switched between the closely approaching docking port of the Argonaut and the sensor pings indicating the approximate locations of the enemy targets. He seemed to deliberate for a few seconds, then raised his eyes to re-focus on the docking port once more. He grabbed the cord of the receiver, pulling up the oval-shaped radio and thumbing the button to speak to Alina.

"Big ask, Alina. I'll be moving nonstop, I need you to disable or take out the last two on our tail during evasion."

He placed his message, waiting for a response; Sal was far more panicked and counting the milliseconds for a response, because by this point he had no idea when the Argonaut would start pointing its artillery at the Numia.

The response came.

"On your mark."

Haxel nodded, grimacing as he readied his hands on the steering wheel. He waited until the fighter and bomber were nearly aligned above and below the Numia, preparing to bombard the scouting ship.

Closer...

Closer...

Closer-

"MARK!"

BSSSHHHH!! BSSHHHH!!!! BSSHHHH!!!!

Right in that second, as Alina fired the cannons at the enemy, Haxel yanked the steering as far to the right as he could, causing the ship to groan loudly once more as its mechanisms were forced to veer as far in the direction as the pilot was seeking, arcing away from the fighter and bomber right as they fired their barrages, clipping one another with friendly fire. The fighter dipped downward rapidly as its positioning system suffered a momentary failure, and-

BSSSHHHH!! BSSHHHH!!!! BSSHHHH!!!!

CCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The hulls of the Numia and the fighter grinded deafeningly against one another, shearing off components, devices, coating, and swathes of metal and support structure as they briefly collided, leaving the fighter completely incapacitated and the Numia partially damaged. Haxel immediately corrected the course, steering left, right, up, and downwards to avoid not only the disabling shots of the remaining bomber, but the capital ship still firing long-range plasma bolts at the Numia with renewed vengeance.

SZZZZT!

One of the bolts deeply grazed the underside of the ship, tearing through the bottom side turret and several vital ship components, rendering a screaming cacophony of alarms to sound throughout the ship.

"Warning: Gyroscopic Stabilizer suffered minor damage, operational capability: 84%. Steering and maneuver actions impacted."

"Warning: Power subsystem suffered severe damage, operational capability: 54%, redirecting power to primary energy systems."

"Warning: Communications array suffered catastrophic damage, operational capability: 11%, local radio comms still operable."

"FUCK, FUCK!" Sal shouted in panic, feeling the graze of death pass through his body like a malevolently welcoming force of nature. HE DIDN'T WANT TO DIE, NOT HERE, NOT NOW!!!

"Calm down, you fuck!" Haxel chided him, veering the Numia in a cylindrical spiral motion, like a bullet exiting a barrel, heading straight for the port of the Argonaut. "If Alina does her job, we only have one hurdle left!"

For Sal, being in the back of a ship was far different from being at the very front and witnessing the entire spectacle of near-death occurrences take place. How many more of the crew were just so blissfully unaware of how close they were coming to obliteration during battles like this?!

He had a newfound appreciation for both blissful ignorance and the new Captain of the ship, Haxel. If they survived this monumental shitshow, Sal would defend Haxel with his own life. This kind of tenacity went far beyond simple danger and peril- this was downright Mission Impossible-levels of bullshit catastrophe and skin-of-your-teeth escapes. In less than 3 minutes, Sal had felt an overflowing amalgamation of mixed emotions, highs & lows, and unexplored epiphanies that rocked his world for the short time he could comprehend each approaching one.

When the fighters and bombers approached the left and right flanks, Sal thought he was going to die.

When the remaining two surrounded the Numia from above and below, Sal thought he was going to die.

When the plasma bolt scraped the underside of the vessel, Sal thought he was going to die shortly afterward.

Yet each and every time he was overwhelmed by death, Haxel responded with simple, undeterred action.

THIS WAS A FUCKING CAPTAIN RIGHT HERE!

The docking port was only a few hundred meters away now, and Sal was feeling a rapidly developing sense of hope and jubilation at the thought of actually surviving this ordeal.

Bssshhhh. Bsssshhhh. Bssshhh.

Torpedoes flew past the Numia, clearly aimed at it with increasing accuracy-

BBBBBMMMMMMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!

Both Sal and Haxel felt their ears momentarily ring as a deafening explosion rang dominantly through the Numia. It was the most dreadful sound any crewmate could hear; the sound of a hit that would rapidly crumble the ship's hull integrity and cause a total explosion.

Sal was seconds away from a heart attack, and yet still Haxel seized the steering, placing all of his trust and hope on Alina being able to nail the bomber that was imminently on their tail and keen to blow them up.

BSSSHHHH!! BSSHHHH!!!! BSSHHHH!!!!

Haxel waited eagerly for the AI to confirm the bomber's destruction, to no avail. He began to visibly sweat; It was in these precious seconds that a gunner had to shine; or it was over as quickly as the blink of an eye-

BSSSHHHH!! BSSHHHH!!!! BSSHHHH!!!!

"Bravo-1 is neutralized."

"YEEEEEEEEEESSS!!!! FUCK YES!" Haxel screamed, gripping his hands around the steering console until his knuckles whitened in fury and excitement. "HERE WE FUCKIN' GO!"

Wrenching the steering with all his might, he threw the Numia into a swinging arc, trying to align the docking port of the Numia with the Argonaut.

"SAL, DOCKING, WE MAY DAMAGE IT!" Haxel shouted, and Sal affirmed, paging the Argonaut and pulling up the receiver on his side.

"ARGONAUT, WE MAY DAMAGE DOCKING PORT ON ENTRY, ACKNOWLEDGE??"

A painful silence as Haxel rapidly came upon the docking port, practically having to reorient the ship until the ports aligned. He was not going to come in slow; which meant it was very likely they would slam into the port, initiate the emergency locks, and have to clamber onboard in less than a minute.

Then, a response:

"Acknowledged, the Captain is unavailable, I'll be making the decision. You'll be paying for damages."

"SURE, FUCK, THAT'S FINE!" Sal agreed desperately, totally at the mercy of this behemothic vessel.

"You have one minute thirty seconds left to dock."

"Fuck. NO! Can't you give us some leeway?!"

"You can find out if I give leeway in 1 minute 30 seconds."

The cold and brutal tone over the radio was chilling, and Sal was entirely, dreadfully aware of the animosity and where it came from. He slapped the receiver back onto the console and gripped the chair's armrests in prepared bone-chilling anticipation as Haxel brought the port of the Numia rapidly launching towards the Argonaut's docking port.

"Align... align... align...!" Haxel muttered in utter concentration, watching as the meters closed rapidly in distance between the two ships.

A hundred meters...

Fifty meters...

Twenty five meters...

Fifteen meters...!

TEN METERS!

FIVE METERS-!

CCCRCCCKKKKZZHZHHHHHMMMMMMVVVVVVVVVVVVVVSSSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The docking ports collided; catching each other before cracking under the overwhelming pressure of tonnes of metal bearing down on the winches, breaking apart and activating the emergency latches that launched tiny metal tethers into the approaching ship and pulling its weight in with hundreds of microfiber cables, winches, and pulley systems, before insulating the bridged corridor between the ships with foam and metal sheeting that folded over one another to form a carapace that allowed safe passage.

Haxel and Sal were nearly concussed at the front of the ship, jerked entirely out of their chairs and thrown around the cabin as it crashed unceremoniously into the port.

"Guh..." Haxel groaned, barely coherent. "Guh... guh-et the creeeeew in duhh... duhhh the -hhh- Argonuhhhttt..."

He placed his hand to his head and felt a wet patch of blood cover his palm, groaning further in pain and incoherency as he tried to stand up, watching Sal stumble out of the room and bark orders at the crew outside. He nearly lost consciousness and fell to his knees, jolted back to reality by the painful crash of metal against bone. He cried out in pain, crawling his way through the ship and toward the docking port as his senses were slowly beginning to come back to him.

His vision was blurring; he could barely make out his surroundings, and yet he could feel the familiar hands of his crewmates hauling him with quickening desperation through the docking port, and finally felt like he could relax for just a bit...

Unconsciousness quickly followed...

"He's a fucking hero..." Sal muttered in utter bewilderment as the crew of the Numia hauled Haxel's unconscious body through the docking port, waiting until the Argonaut's door opened so they could flood inside and seek shelter. "That guy is a fucking hero."

"Okay, we get it!" Barris exclaimed in panic. "Let's get the fuck on board and keep our heads low until this shitstorm blows past!"

The crew wasted no time in herding onto the Argonaut as its port doors hissed open, immediately confronted by two dozen rifles pointed at their faces by Argonaut garrison soldiers.

"HANDS! LEMME SEE HANDS!"

"GET ON THE GROUND, HANDS UP!"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING MOVE! DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING MOVE!!!!"

The Numia crew was befuddled and simultaneously terrified by the contradictory commands, shortly before one of the soldiers shouted the others down and issued their own commands.

"Raise your hands in the air, stand still, and don't move while we conduct a quick search!"

The garrison soldiers quickly patted down the Numia crew, removing the weapons they had and escorting them to a nearby human-sized funnel that led downwards into a slope of pitch-black darkness. Immediately, Franklin, one of Numia's garrison officers, cried out in fear as they were herded toward the funnel.

"N-No! I'm claustrophobic! Please!"

Without breaking a beat, the leading soldier, a maimed and dead-eyed Lieutenant with a grimace on his face, said:

"You can stay up here and die, then."

Franklin paled as the sentence was uttered, and ultimately resolved himself to dive into the funnel, screaming in terror as he slid into the darkness. The rest of the crew hesitantly followed, seeing no other avenue to safety at the moment.

One by one, each of them slid down, and were promptly greeted by wide chambers filled to the brim with dozens of garrison soldiers, buzzing around the bunkers with weapons at the ready. Sal looked around in complete surprise, shocked to see this kind of complex layout and planning for situations like the one the Argonaut was facing right now. He felt a tug at his uniform from behind and turned around, somewhat intimidated to see a Bridge Officer with a small host of garrison officers at his side, glowering at Sal with a loathsome expression.

"Name." He demanded coldly.

"S-Sal. Salieri Luciano, Quartermaster of the Numia and Acting Captain."

"Good. We're having a short chat."

Chapter Text

(Music: "Yankee and the Brave (ep. 4)", by Run The Jewels)

Sal immediately found himself in the Officer's Quarters of the Funnels, which had been described to him by a First Officer walking parallel to him in meticulous detail while they hauled him roughly into the bunker's interior. 

"The Funnels were designed around five years ago by the Captain and our Head Engineer, Ali, after suffering heavy casualties from a recent boarding attempt. They are slanted tunnels that lead to bunkers buried within the ship to preserve the crew and allow officers to move quickly throughout the ship without the risk of running into enemy boarders unexpectantly. They primarily serve as an ambush tool for garrison officers."

Why the hell is he telling me all this?? Sal thought incredulously to himself.

He was forced into a cold metal seat and sat across from the sneering decorated First Officer, 2nd in authority to the Captain of the ship. He was wearing all-black in an armored uniform, adorned with an officer's cap and a half-cape billowing down his right arm. A sword and heavy-seeming pistol were clipped to the left and right of his belt, along with a sheathed military knife diagonally aligned in the middle of his uniform.

"You really fucked us, you piece of shit."

"I-I know- I know- I'm unbelievably sorry-!"

The First Officer stood up, stormed around the table and gripped Sal's throat with both hands, choking him malevolently with indignant rage scribbled across his features.

"You. Fucked. Us. BASTARD! Every man and woman that dies during this little shitstorm you brought to our doorstep will be you and your crew's burden. And we will charge you with Voluntary Manslaughter for every single death that does not come back from the Revifi-...."

...

For a brief, solitary moment, Danny felt the visceral rage that Hawkes often experienced with using the curs-ed word. He vowed to reforge a new name for this stupid fucking process in hopes that his sentences would never again be disrupted by such an absurd and ridiculous term. He decided to take out his frustrations on Sal's face through precisely delivered punches, knowing this wasn't nearly enough punishment for the crime of endangering the Argonauts so brazenly.

"I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, PLEASE STOP!"

Danny stopped the assault and threw Sal back into the chair, re-seating himself with a new power dynamic in the room and glaring him down with utter contempt. He wasn't sure why Hawkes even allowed these sons of bitches to live- he would have personally obliterated them with the 800mm cannons and given them a permanent death for the sheer audacity to force this confrontation unto his crew. If authority didn't make examples of the wrongdoers, no matter how sympathetic, there was no force behind the rule of law and ethics- and worse, bad actors would see it as an opportunity to exploit their 'kindness' in allowing these bastards to live.

Yes. That was the excuse he was gonna use if this somehow reached court.

"You're so fuckin' lucky the Captain is occupied." Danny stated coldly. "Let's go through some basic questions. Why were you being chased by a whole fuckin' armada to begin with?"

The cussing was a symptom rubbed off on him from spending a lot of time around Hawkes. Sal brought his hands up in a "hear me out" gesture.

"It was just a basic surveillance mission. We... we were working a contract for Romulus Enterprises because, because they'd been gettin' their lanes raided for a few months. We got ambushed by those bastards while we were watching the lanes and they've been houndin' us ever since!"

"And you figured you'd just shove them onto us and run?"

Sal blubbered in terror, trying desperately to not say something that would get him and his crew executed.

"W-We didn't run, we're here aren't we?! I-I couldn't just let my crew get blown up or taken hostage by those psychos!!"

Danny leaned back in his seat in contempt, hardly feeling charitable about this situation.

"Like I said. You fucked us over. What happens to you and your crew is... dare I say it? Your responsibility. I'm quite sure you wouldn't be so receptive if we caught you in deepspace and trailed along a bunch of cultist fighters to throw you in the crossfire."

"I know... I get it... sir. The last thing I wanted to do was bring this problem to your doorstep-"

"So why did you?"

"H...Huh?"

Danny leaned forward slowly and meticulously, placing his hands on his thighs and gazing at Sal with wide, malevolent eyes; teeth bared in a violent grimace.

"If that was the last thing you wanted, then getting annihilated by your own issues should have been above it. And yet, here you are."

Sal was utterly terrified, beginning to think that he was just pulled in here to get the shit beat out of him and dressed down for his choices. He felt a monsoon of relief as Danny leaned back and sighed in disgust.

"I don't have any more time for you or your crew. We're going to get boarded very soon and I need to make sure my Captain and crew don't die. You Numia bastards can cower in these Funnels until the battle is over; at which point you'll be brought back to Canaris for several reasons."

Sal was in fear of what Danny was implying, but this was their only option if they wanted to live. Ashamed but relieved to be alive, Sal bowed his head humbly and nodded.

"As long as my crew stays alive."

Danny felt a tinge of remorse after hearing that line; it wasn't as if he couldn't relate to this man's predicament. There was likely a chance Danny would have done the same thing in this situation- but entertaining hypotheticals was futile. He had his own crew to oversee and ensure the safety of.

"Well, whatever. You're all here now, so hunker down in the Funnels and stay out of our officers' way as they do their work."

Sal slammed his head to the table in insanely deep gratitude; knowing this mercy was exceptional for their circumstances.

"Thank you, thank you! Thank you, sir! We owe our lives to the Argonaut, and we'll repay this debt however needed in the future!"

"Uh-huh. Get the fuck out of my sight."

Sal nodded once more frantically before exiting the room hurriedly, escorted by two garrison soldiers on his way out. Danny gestured the rest of the garrison out of the room, waiting until he was the only one remaining inside, then pulled up his holopad to speak with Lilia.

"Lilia. Danny here."

"What?"

Danny smirked at Lilia's terse tone. Everyone that knew of Lily's existence on the ship was equally aware of her cultish love for Hawkes- the only person she showed any sort of affection or intimacy with.

"I'll need your updates on boarders so I can send soldiers through the Funnels to those areas."

"Thanks for telling me how to do my job."

Danny sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. And, uh, keep a special eye on the Tulpar crew-"

"Thanks for telling me how to do my job."

Danny rubbed the bridge of his nose in slight irritation.

"Can you, uh, shut up please?"

"Can you, uh, do your job, please?"

"The fuck do you think I'm- keep an eye on the Tulpar crew and make sure Jimmy doesn't pull any more fuck shit!"

"Thanks for telling me how to do my-"

"You are a female Hawkes."

Normally that would be an insult to most of the crew, but he managed to instinctively say it to the one person who would giggle in glee over the radio.

"Really? You think so??"

"You are irredeemable."

Click.

He turned the radio to the Garrison channel to speak with Caz.

"Caz, Danny here."

"Yes, sir?"

"Is everyone in the Funnels?"

"Engineering, Medical and Research are still being evacuated, and a few of them decided to just hunker down in their offices."

"Wh... I'm sorry, did... did that suddenly become an option they were allowed to take?!"

"I mean... they're non-combatants and the offices are more reinforced than the Funnels."

Danny sighed in frustration, knowing he was going to have a long and volatile talk with the jackasses who elected to act of their own accord- pay was gonna get docked for a lot of people. And if they got kidnapped? Oh, well!

"Fuck it. If they die, we're putting their dumb asses on the Wall of Shame."

"W..Wall of Shame? Is... that a thing, sir?... Am I... on the wall perchance?"

"I'LL FUCKING COMMISSION IT AFTER THIS!" He shouted into the radio, huffing in frustration as he changed the channel to Engineering.

"Ali, Danny here! Have you built those turrets yet, so we can potentially use them for the next battle??"

"No, we're still programming the detection software and constructing the disabler circuitry. It'll probably be ready for use by the time we head back to Canaris."

Danny nodded in satisfaction. Currently, the Argonaut was forced to have its garrison officers run out of the Funnels to combat boarders, but Danny had run an idea by Ali to commission two dozen automated turrets with detection software that would differentiate crewmates from boarders and stowaways, then shoot them with a disabler for easy execution or capture.

It was too bad he didn't have the idea much earlier- or they likely wouldn't even need to risk officers running through the Funnels at all.

"Alright, is your team in the funnels?"

"Oh yeah... um... about that..."

"Are you fucking... serious? Don't tell me you are HIDING OUT IN THE ENGINEERING BAY?!"

"Listen, man, this project isn't gonna finish itself! My interest was piqued!"

"You are literally risking getting shot or captured for a FEW HOURS TO TINKER WITH TRINKETS! PUT YOUR BRAIN BACK IN YOUR SKULL, ALI!"

"Hey, fuck you, man! YOU commissioned this project, I'm ensuring it's getting DONE!"

"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Ya know what? I don't give a shit. I'll fucking die in here with all my little 'trinkets' and you can die in there with your sausage party, fuckboy."

As Ali clicked the radio off, Danny felt an overwhelming urge to leave the Funnels, tromp over to Engineering, tear the reinforced doors open and throttle the Arab bastard until he turned blue in the face. When the Captain was someone as legendary and renowned as Hawkes Fenris, Danny's position as First Officer was basically a joke to most of the department heads and led to him not being taken seriously with certain orders or directives, especially in certain times and places.

This was one of those times and places.

Repressing his dark urges, Danny turned to the final channel -Medical- before he'd start coordinating the troops through the bunkers.

"Kai, Danny here, is Triage ready and on standby?"

"Yes, sir. Alpha and Bravo teams are positioned at the bow of the ship, Charlie and Delta teams are in the stern."

"O-Okay. We're using phonetics for names now?"

"Wh-What's the problem? I just didn't... think that 'Team-1' and 'Team-2' and stuff was really that exciting to say."

"Um... okay. Whatever. As long as it doesn't get confusing. And keep in mind that Clémence is using those designations, too."

He turned off the radio, suddenly exhausted after having to speak to so many eccentrics. Sirens suddenly rang out through the bunkers, with a calm, clipped AI voice blaring through the speakers.

"ATTENTION ARGONAUTS, ENEMY BOARDING IS IMMINENT! REPEAT, ENEMY BOARDING IS IMMINENT! SEEK SHELTER AND READY WEAPONS!"

Danny exhaled a breath of lethal intent; the time for close combat was nearing.

(Music: "Legend Has It", by Run The Jewels)

"H-Hey, watch it!"

"Stop shoving me, buddy."

The crew of the Numia was roughly escorted into the multi-layered bunkers of the Funnels by angry and contemptuous garrison officers; many of them had been briefed by the First Officer, purely out of spite against the Numia crew, about why the armada had arrived at their doorstep. Those officers then spread the briefing to the others, and soon enough the Numia crew was the most unpopular batch of people in the bunker, receiving dozens of glares and sneers from Argonauts holed up in the Funnel bunkers.

"Well... this doesn't feel like a safe space." Stacey, one of the three garrison officers for the Numia, mumbled uncomfortably.

"I mean... can you blame them?" Jackson, another of the officers, muttered in resignation. "We did them so dirty- I think we need to find another room or these people are going to jump us."

The crew nodded in silent affirmation of that suggestion and wandered through the spacious bunker, trying to find somewhere that didn't have so many pissed-off crewmates. They eventually came upon another bunker room with only a few crewmates in it, playing some sort of card game to pass the time. Hesitantly, the Numia crew walked in and found a corner to rest in, tentatively eyeing the four Argonauts playing a card game of blackjack a few feet away and receiving the same wary stares from the Argonauts.

The two groups decided to stick to themselves for now, all of them deeply unsettled that a massive battle was ensuing over the next few minutes if not hours.

"Who are those guys?" One of the Argonauts, a 24-year-old fair-skinned Sous Chef named Emile, posed a question to the group quietly and with a cautious tone, still wearing the Argonaut chef's uniform, dyed entirely in sea blue and gold lining. "Stowaways? War criminals?"

"Amazing guesses." Said Elliott, another of the Argonauts; a tall, pale-skinned mid-30s blind researcher with unkempt black hair and useless green eyes, wearing a dark coat with a sleek blue vest and business pants. "The Second Officer informed me that it's a military scouting crew seeking refuge."

"Don't forget the key detail," interjected Marcel; an older-looking, early-30s Supply Technician with scars running across the sides of his mouth, seared into his pale-brown skin. "That they brought this shitstorm down onto us, the fuckers."

"So, war criminals." Emile huffed angrily.

Emile huffed in outrage whilst the last and fourth Argonaut, a young and ditzy-looking Japanese Supply Technician of average height with ocean-blue eyes and wavy hair to match, wearing a baggy version of the Argonaut Technician Uniform with personal accessories littered across her outfit.

"The gall! Why would they do that to us?"

"Probably because they'd be fuckin' dead if they didn't," Elliott stated with a self-humoring smirk. "Can't say I blame 'em, but they aren't getting any sympathy from me."

"Same." Marcel stated coldly, his oak-brown eyes narrowing in resentment. "Heaping pirate scum on an uninvolved party is about the worst thing you can do. I'm shocked they weren't obliterated by the Captain on the spot- I guess the Day of Erudition did a big number on him."

Emile shrugged, somewhat uncaring of the recent development, even if they did harbor a strong dislike of this 'Numia' crew for bringing this mess to their doorstep. "Whatever the case may be... I got 21. HA! I WIN, YOU JACKASSES!"

Elliott and Marcel cursed and raised their arms in frustration as their day's pay disappeared into Emile's pockets, who was cackling like a cartoon villain. Wataru, who had bet nothing on the game thanks to her frugal nature, simply chewed on a Pocky stick and severely judged both Elliot and Marcel for their decision to gamble an entire day's pay on one round of Blackjack.

"Do you think we're going to survive?" She posed the question almost wistfully, much to the alarm of her three nearby crewmates as the morbid question reached their ears. The four of them had only known each other for a day, after all of them met during the social event in the terrarium, and thus weren't fully aware of one another's quirks, personalities, and backgrounds.

"Can you go back to being a farm animal?" Elliott crudely joked, receiving an affirming silent grin from Marcel; both of them were used to verbal rough-housing thanks to the casually brutal atmosphere aboard the Argonaut in most areas of the ship. Wataru was especially resistant, as she worked under the Quartermaster, who was reputedly vicious with words and cursed enough to shame a sailor; and thus she laughed genuinely at the verbal prod.

Emile, the more empathetic type and one who worked in a much more polite area of the ship, shot a withering glare at Elliott, only to receive a cynical chuckle from the tortured intellectual.

"Probably," Marcel responded to Wataru's question, flicking his cards into the pile. "I've only been here for a few years, but considering the excitement and aggression radiating from the garrison officers whose jobs it is to run into bullets, I'd say our chances are decent. Hell, we're gonna hear them screaming and chanting their battle mantras from several rooms away in a few seconds here, I bet. They do that shit every time."

Meanwhile, a few bunker rooms away, Captain Clémence and Lieutenant Caz were organizing the squads of officers for dispatching to the locations across the ship where breaches would occur. The Garrison Captain's feminine yet rough-sounding voice boomed across the room with an inherent and brutal authority garnered by decades of lethal and dutiful service. The haphazard cluster of scars ingrained across her face and arms was further evidence of such lived experiences. Speaking to the squads of each team in the frantic atmosphere, she used designations based on the postmodern-era United Nations phonetic alphabet, which was largely preferred by Captain Hawkes for the sole reason that the 'updated' Intragalactic phonetic alphabet was a disgusting, over-complicated jumble of shoehorned new terms that only wrought confusion during high-intensity situations.

This was entirely thanks to the Terror, as was practically every other issue humanity faced at this present time. Having almost reached the galactic utopia humanity was aiming for, only to be toppled by an eldritch alien horror at their intragalactic nexus, Terra, was so insanely damaging to every conceivable industry, field, sector, and advancement that regression to outdated means was simply, axiomatically inevitable.

"Teams Alpha, Bravo and Charlie will be working under Caz! Teams Delta, Echo and Foxtrot will be under Ramirez! Teams Golf, Hotel, India, Juliett and Kilo will be under my watch! Caz, you'll have overwatch of the back portion of the ship; Ramirez will take the front portion, and I'll be taking the midsection!"

(Music: "Natural Born Thriller", by Des Rocs)

Caz and Ramirez nodded, checking over their equipment and reviewing their rifles for issues, whilst the squads of officers scurried around to sort themselves into formations behind Caz, Ramirez and Clémence, awaiting deployment.

"Clémence," Orion, the Navigator, came over her radio with urgency. "You have two minutes until the first boarding pods breach. Three headed for Research, two are headed for brig and two more are zeroing on the cafeteria."

The Garrison Captain nodded, thumbing the responder.

"Exactly what I was waiting to hear. We'll be on the move in 1 minute 30."

"Copy, out."

Clémence turned back to the gathered formations, who were all armored, armed and anticipating serious action.

"Officers, we got ship sections getting kinetic ETA 2 minutes! Do one last check on your shit before we dive into Hell's Maw!"

"HOOH!" The officers responded unanimously with a precise and brief guttural shout. The exhilaration and eagerness spread like a permeating fog through the room as the officers grew closer to the conflict at hand. Clémence began a short rallying speech to incite the soldiers into a battle frenzy. 

"SOLDIERS OF THE ARGONAUT! WE OF CANARIS ARE DEATH MAKERS, BONE BREAKERS, FOE SLAYERS! OUR CITIZENS ARE WORTH TENFOLD THE ENEMY'S, OUR SOLDIERS WORTH A HUNDREDFOLD THEIR BEST WARRIORS! OUR WEAPONS WEAVE WOE, OUR MOUTHS PREACH WAR, OUR MINDS EAT FEAR! TO LIVE IS TO DIE, TO DIE IS TO LIVE!"

"ASHES TO ASHES, DUST TO DUST!" The scores of garrison officers screamed in robotic unison, completing the Canaris Battle Hymn. Clémence began a short briefing to make her subordinates aware of the upcoming skirmishes.

"TODAY, OUR ENEMY OUTNUMBERS US, BUT WE OUT-GUN AND OUT-SKILL THEM BY LEAGUES! I EXPECT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU BASTARDS TO BRING BACK A TROPHY, OR YOU'LL BE PLAYING CADDY TO THE REAL WARRIORS UNTIL OUR RETURN HOME!"

The soldiers cheered and cried out in a violent, raucous frenzy, their bloodlust having tipped its pique.

"30 SECONDS UNTIL GO-TIME!" Clémence shouted, directing the teams to their designated areas. "KILL THEM ALL!!"

"KILL THEM ALL!!"

"Oh man," An officer next to Caz commented quite wholeheartedly. "When this is over, I can't wait to go home and propose to my sweetheart!"

Caz craned his head in sheer contempt and disbelief at the unfortunate officer, who was visibly intimidated as Caz stormed up to him with a hulking stature, glaring him down with an emphasized sneer.

"Can you do me a favor, Private?"

"Y-Yes, sir?"

"Stop setting red flags, you shuttlecock kumquat."

"Yes, sir."

Their brief conversation was shut down by the final shout emanating from Clémence's throat, ringing through the bunker with clarity and cemented authority.

"READY, SET, ACTION!"

The Argonaut was assailed by dozens upon dozens of boarding pods burrowing through the ship's thick alloy exterior, drilling through components, wiring, metal and complex circuitry, before their beaked ends peeked through the interior into the ship, widening in four directions to open entry for the boarders inside.

SCR fighters, wearing mismatched military outfits and armor, and carrying weaponry from every era since the 1940s; being a roving band of Separatists, they did not have the resources nor manpower to mass-manufacture uniform clothing, equipment and weaponry, which meant pillaging the belongings of captured vessels was the only option for now. Even their homeworld was barely sustaining itself, and surely wouldn't be able to handle the mass production of what they needed.

The militiamen and women flooded into the hallways, clearing corners rapidly with their rifles; and immediately surfacing shock and unease on their faces as a distinct lack of crewmates and garrison officers were seen in ghost-empty hallways.

"Where the fuck did they go??"

"Are they hiding? The fearsome Argonauts are hiding from us?"

The soldiers began to chuckle amongst each other, believing themselves to have actually intimidated the Argonauts into cowardice. The atmosphere relaxed just a little bit as some of the fighters set their guns down by their stock, eyeing the advanced interior of the Argonaut with envy.

"This place is fuckin' fancy, eh?"

"Mass murderers get the nicest kicks."

"Lucky them."

As the clearing of the corridors continued, the fighters went from increasing confidence to increasing uneasiness; everywhere they were searching, it was empty of life. All the while, the faintest sound of whispers emanated from inside the halls, their directions unable to be pinpointed. It was creeping out the SCR fighters the longer they spent in the Argonaut.

"Osprey Actual to Mongoose-1, requesting sitrep, over."

The team leader of Squad Mongoose, Pandan Felicoro, brought up his radio to respond, eyeing his surroundings with increasing caution.

"Mongoose-1, over. No sign of hostiles or non-coms (non-combatants). I'm getting a bad read on this, over."

"Mongoose-1, proceed with haste, our capital ships are getting hammered by heavy ordnance from the Argonaut. New priority from CENTCOM: Disable the gunnery stations and destroy the internal communications array. Acknowledge, over."

"Mongoose-1, acknowledged. Requesting exfil after mission OBJ achieved, over."

"Mongoose-1, exfil request approved, proceed with haste, out!"

Pandan shuddered as the Martial Commander, the voice over the radio, spoke with increasing desperation. He was one among many in the armada who protested against a head-on confrontation with the Argonaut, but the Admiral of the fleet and the Captains of each ship had agreed to the confrontation, and Pandan knew exactly why; after a string of successful battles and looting sprees, their egos were through the roof, and it clouded their tactical and strategic judgment.

It wasn't as if Pandan completely doubted they could take on the Argonaut; with the force size they had now, this was basically only a minor uphill battle based on the information they had. The Argonaut was severely damaged in the first ten minutes of the battle when its shields were still raising, and with every second that passed, there were hundreds of projectiles slamming into its RMF that would eventually disable the shield and allow for a full-on pummeling of the Argonaut with shelling and artillery from over thirty (remaining) capital ships.

"....raaaaaahhh....!!!"

"The fuck?" Pandan muttered, hearing something faint and hardly coherent emitting from the hallways once more. He ordered his men to stay on guard, readying his rifle with rapidly-heightened caution. His bayonet was the first thing he'd need to rely on, rather than the bullets in his rifle.

In this era of humanity, due to the exploding of funding into military technology, armor was refined, reformed and remade to such a degree by thousands of innovators that even standard armor pieces in this day and age were capable of deflecting normal ballistic projectiles while also negating the force behind the projectile. Composite material, manmade fibers with strands microscopically twisted until an absolutely durable mesh was formed on the atomic level, mixed with specialized polymer material made readily available by asteroid mining.

The culmination of this research was topped by Julia Farmer, a once-in-a-century ballistics genius that had a major hand in creating the 'Achilles Series', a set of armor commissioned en masse by major nations spanning the galaxy's width.

The consequence was that this standardized high-end 'Achilles' armor became capable of deflecting dozens, if not hundreds of bullets before it cracked under the pressure. If the armor came from a more advanced world, it was likely capable of deflecting heavier caliber projectiles with the same rate of deflection. However, the trade-off was that armor rigidity was far too dense to plate over all the flexible joints of a human being. The neck, shoulder joints, elbows, knees- all requiring a different material of armor more susceptible to perforation.

This resulted in the degradation of ranged weaponry use between infantry and an increased interest in melee combat, as it became increasingly harder to kill opponents with accuracy over close combat where an enemy could be bested, and a knife shoved through their exposed armor, similar to knights in the Middle Ages. This resulted in a shifting refocus on a galactic scale that re-balanced ranged and close combat to be of roughly equal measure.

But in Pandan's opinion, melee was still far superior. He took another look at his rifle. Powered by an internal electrical system inside the rifle, a searing red-colored laser the size of dental floss ran across the entirety of the bayonet's blade, acting as a constant chainsaw for anything the blade tried to stab through. This would allow cutting through armor materials outside of the Achilles Series, and was another standardized addition to the average soldier's arsenal.

So many innovations, so many advancements... all of it stagnated by one global catastrophe.

(Music: "Nobody Speak", by Run The Jewels)

"What the- FUCK?!"

Almost instantly after Pandan's internal deliberation, several wall inlays throughout the corridors folded inwards and opened up passageways from which swarms of garrison officers flooded out whilst screaming bloody murder, catching the SCR fighters completely off-guard and blasting several of their numbers in the face before the rest snapped out of their shock and fired back with severely-reduced morale. Those fighters who'd been blasted in the helmet were groggy from the force of the bullets, staggering back onto their feet to re-engage in the fight.

The hallways rang deafeningly with the sounds of bullets and laser projectiles flying in every direction imaginable, chaos and pandemonium dominating the close-combat situations unfolding immediately across the ship's interior. Soldiers traded blows at point-blank range, engaged in bayonet fights, and some devolved into volatile wrestling matches amidst the mayhem spreading from stern to bow.

Pandan ducked, dodged and weaved like never before, unable to coordinate his troops as the grand free-for-all was too pervasive to issue any orders. With no alternative course of action, Pandan resorted to simply fighting for his life, engaging with Argonauts one after another in an unpredictable and deadly brawl.

Coming upon two Argonauts, he sliced his bayonet through the air in a horizontal direction, trying to drive them back and out of range for melee. One of them fired point-blank at his chest armor- the bullet immediately ricocheted off and slammed into a nearby light fixture, shattering the glass and raining it down over the nearest combatants.

Pandan, unfazed by the shot, dashed forward and stabbed his bayonet at the first Argonaut's throat, watching as the Argonaut pulled his head back to avoid the stab and slammed the side of his rifle against Pandan's rifle to knock away the incoming blade. The second Argonaut took the chance to surge forward, raising the butt stock of his rifle to smack Pandan in the head. Pandan ducked the rifle stock, bringing his head up in between the arms of the Argonaut and slamming his helmet into the underside of the Argonaut's jaw. 

The Argonaut reeled back, dazed by the uppercut headbutt, and the first Argonaut jutted his bayonet towards Pandan's arm, managing to slice across the polymer chainmail connected between the Achilles armor parts and grazing his tendon. Pandan just managed to pull back, huffing heavily as he realized just how badly out-maneuvered he was. A two on one was rarely feasible between experienced opponents-

"BASTARDS!"

Pandan was flooded with relief as two of his subordinates dashed forward, clashing with the Argonauts, and Pandan took this chance to get a quick survey of the skirmishes all around him within eyesight.

"ARGONAUTS, WATCH YOUR FIRE!"

"THEY'RE ROUTING!"

Pandan became dreadfully aware of the turn of battle, soon realizing his fighters were buckling against the veteran Argonauts, even despite outnumbering them 5:1; primarily due to the cohesion and discipline of the Argonauts' garrison officers, who were making clean work of the SCR with coordinated attacks and exploitation of the chaotic atmosphere.

I fucking knew I was right! Pandan cursed in his mind, wanting to wring the neck of the Admiral and all those Captains that had greenlit the assault on the Argonaut. Still, the battle wasn't won yet, and Pandan was determined to make them hurt even if this turned out to be a crushing defeat for the SCR.

"MEN!" Pandan ordered over local comms, reaching the squads assigned under him. "PULL BACK AND FORM UP ON ME!"

He retreated down the corridors as SCR soldiers broke out of interspersed conflicts across the section they were in, and formed up on Pandan, who was gunning it for the Gunnery Station. If he could get those guns disabled, it'd be far easier for the Armada to break down the shield and begin bombardment.

Using a layout of the Argonaut from its last repair (a spy had managed to procure the mapped layout of the Argonaut for the SCR), he followed the path to the gunnery station, lighting up with cruel delight as he came upon a reinforced room with the label 'Ordnance Station 01' above the room. Pandan had a thermite charge placed on the door, standing back with the others and letting it sear through the thick frame for him to kick the door into pieces.

He walked in to see a gunner swiveling on a rotating spherical platform, firing at SCR assets outside the ship with an exterior cannon connected to the console.

BANG! BANG-BANG!

The gunner fell back dead in her seat, riddled with bullets from Pandan's rifle, whilst he unstrapped a timed explosive from his hip belt and placed it on the gunnery station, setting it for one minute.

"Let's go!" He urged the others, running out of the room to proceed to the next gunnery station. If it wasn't for this ambush conducted by the Argonauts, Pandan could have easily hit every gunnery station and exfiled in little time. Unfortunately, for now, he would just have to take down as many as possible before the battle was called or Argonaut soldiers overwhelmed the opposition.

GSHCRK!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

GSSSHHHHCRRRKKK!!!

"YOU'RE ON MY FUCKING SHIP, SCUM!"

Filled with nauseous dread at the sound of limbs ripping and agonizing wailing, Pandan felt a need to round the corner and investigate-

Before him, a seven-foot-tall goliath dressed in the garbs of a Ship Captain was coated in blood and splotches of gore, tearing the limbs off of a screaming SCR soldier whilst verbally abusing his rapidly dying mind.

"Wh-..." Pandan was thrown into rapid silence, feeling the same way as if a bear were mauling another person right in front of him.

(Music: "RUPTURA", by ARXMANE)

"S-Sergeant...!" One of his subordinates muttered with a quivering tone. "I-Is that Captain...Hawkes-?!"

"No, no, no fucking way!" Pandan began to panic in muted whispers. "Wh-Why isn't he- why isn't he on the bridge?!"

Pandan knew only of Captain Hawkes' reputation as a fearsome and genius admiral, not of the Captain's comfort and familiarity with melee combat, and nobody would have expected it outside the Argonauts; admirals and captains were the first to be targeted if sighted on a ship, as they were key leading figures whose deaths could turn the tide of a battle very quickly.

This meant the vast majority of them never even dared to show their faces near an active gunfight, out of both fear and pragmatic concern for the crew's morale and cohesion. And especially in massive siege battles like this, where boarding was all but inevitable, it was practically guaranteed the ship's onboard Captain, First Officer and Second Officer would be held under guard on the bridge or a sub-compartment protective bunker.

All of that reasoning crumpled from Pandan's mind as Captain Hawkes' gaze suddenly switched from the dying, mutilated soldier in his hands to Pandan's eyes, throwing Pandan into an immediate state of all-encompassing terror. In the distance, a squad of SCR soldiers turned the corner and raised their weapons to fire at Hawkes-

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!

-only for all four of them to crumple dead to the ground, shot clean through their helmets by a Heavy Magnum revolver in Hawkes' left hand in less than three seconds.

"R-U-N-!" Pandan chirped with a knot in his throat, sprinting at his fullest strength as he heard the sound of the Captain's footsteps booming through the half-lit corridors like distant cannons.

Fuck the mission! Pandan cried out in his head. FUCK THE MISSION! WE'RE OUT! HE CAN WIELD A FUCKING HEAVY MAGNUM WITH ONE HAND AND PERFECT ACCURACY?!

This was too much for him- not only had they taken massive casualties from the Argonaut's concentrated mass-volley to nearly every ship in the fleet, but upon boarding they had immediately been ambushed from foldable wall panels and subsequently witnessed the Captain of this nightmare dismantling one of their allies like a feral beast then execute four others with a hand cannon like it was no issue. That fucking spy's information was FAULTY!

If they didn't retreat now, it would be total annihilation, a prediction Pandan could guarantee with all his years of service. He pulled up his radio to speak to the Martial Commander as he continued his full sprint down the hallway, hooking a sudden right in hopes of throwing off the madman Captain.

"OSPREY ACTUAL, OSPREY, THIS IS MONGOOSE-1, WE'VE TAKEN HEAVY CASUALTIES, SITUATION IS FUBAR, WE'LL DIE TO OUR LAST MAN IF WE DON'T EXFIL ASAP, OVER!"

"Say again, Mongoose-1, there's interference over the comms array-"

"WE NEED AN EXFIL, NOW! HEAVY CASUALTIES, OVER!"

"Mongoose-1, you are clear for exfil, ETA ten minutes until Armada egress begins, over and out!"

Pandan had no time to celebrate survival, as it was not yet guaranteed. The dynamic of this battle was thrown into chaos by the Argonaut's unprecedented ambush, but it could have been salvaged. After the arrival of the Captain in melee, though, and as a terrifying force of nature-

That was a checkmate for morale.

"Die."

Paling in stark-white horror, Pandan instinctively ducked, feeling a massive arm swing mere inches above his head, rolling away and glancing up to see Hawkes' hand having grabbed one of his subordinates and plucking his head off the body like a corked bottle, sending spurts of blood across the room.

Left in wordless horror, Pandan stumbled onto his feet again and scrambled for the exit, ducking once again out of pure instinct and finding it to have saved his life as pieces of his dead battle brother cascaded through the air and exploded into mush against the nearby wall, barely missing his head and upper torso by inches. Suffering a growing and red-hot rage in his heart, Pandan screamed in futile fury and turned around briefly to unload his rifle on the partially exposed Hawkes, only to witness in utter despair as Hawkes swerved half the shots as if he had precognition, allowing the rest to ping off of his immutable armor.

Hawkes closed the gap between them in a few seconds, and Pandan was only saved by his other subordinate, charging at Hawkes with the bayonet held up; Pandan used this opportunity to try and coordinate with the subordinate, raising his rifle to-

CRCK!

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

Pandan's other subordinate screamed in pain as his arm was wrenched -skin, muscle and bone- entirely from his body, thrown on the ground like an unamusing playtoy by the demonic beast in front of him. The SCR soldier crumpled to his knees in a sobbing and hysterical fit as Hawkes focused his sights on Pandan, sprinting past the mutilated soldier, uncaring whatsoever.

With only a second to act, Pandan scrambled onto the open boarding pod behind him, slamming the 'Return' button in a frenzy as Hawkes' monstrous figure bolted toward him with superhuman speed.

SCHP!

SSSSHSHHSSSSHHHHSSHHH!!!!

The boarding pod's four-clover doors closed in a half-second on Hawkes' rapidly approaching form, before the boarding pod engaged its thrusters and shot out of the permeated hole with an autopilot back towards its mothership. The force of the thrusters sent Pandan tumbling across the boarding pod, slamming his head, arms, torso and legs against the walls and floor of the pod, having failed to anchor himself down to a seat in his sheer panic.

His body landed limply across the seating and floor of the boarding pod. Bruised, bleeding, and half-conscious. In the eerie silence of the pod's interior, Pandan felt an immediate swelling of immense guilt and regret. He didn't have any time to look around and escort others to the boarding pods, but he could still relay the order over the radio. He had to.

Weakly, he brought his arm up to his radio, thumbing the responder and speaking as strongly and loudly as he could into the receiver.

"S...SEPARATISTS... EXFIL... THAT'S AN... ORDER... MONGOOSE-1... OVER AND OUT..."

Gulping in large breaths of air, he realized just how exhausted he was from the prolonged fighting in the corridors, and it only served to layer the despair on top of one another like a deluxe supreme shit sandwich.

We lost, Pandan thought with frittering consciousness. We lost because our fucking Captains and Admiral are idiots. Fucking ambitious, stupid motherfucking idiots.

He sat silent for a while, contemplating all that he experienced on the Argonaut, thinking back to where he went wrong, what he could have done differently- and ultimately realizing that he was but one cog amongst dozens of team leaders and squads, all of them either still on the Argonaut trying to take it down, retreating back to the capital ships, or dying to the enemy.

With unconsciousness embracing his mind, his last thoughts went out to those battle brothers and sisters of his who were still on the Argonaut... hoping they would get out in time, and escape from that demon and his legions of the damned.

Chapter Text

1 hour before the end of the SCR's assault against the Argonaut...

"We'll get you fixed, oh dear... we'll get you fixed as much as possible."

Doctor Faulkner was intensely working at restoring a dying Jimmy splayed across his operating table, kept unconscious from the anesthetics the doctor had placed in his IV. The continual bombardment of the Argonaut had rendered several of his Surgery Bay's capabilities damaged, including the Cloning Conduit that produced new limbs and organs.

It didn't take long to repair all of Jimmy's physical injuries; including the mutilation of his fingers and eye, he was only left with surgery on his brain, completely intent on fixing every illnesses plaguing this man.

Unlike Hawkes, Faulkner was similar to Annie, in that he had sworn the Hippocratic Oath and was only revitalized in his beliefs to help others by the Day of Erudition. If God had personally given them a mandate to live, then why would he, a mere doctor, defy this divine mandate?

He knew how much Hawkes wanted to paint the room with this man's blood, but Faulkner was heavily set on redemption, finding a path which even this walking garbage could achieve. There was no place for Jimmy on the Argonaut, but if his unconscious body was left for the SCR to pick up, there was a very good chance he would be pressed into their service and could do some good in his own way.

Pirates? The Separatists? No, Faulkner didn't tell anyone on board, but he'd interacted with them outside the Argonaut many times in his younger years—except they weren't called the SCR, instead known decades ago as the Hannou Armed Forces. Hailing from the planet of Hannou, their homeworld suffered a global civil war over supply shortages and mass hysteria during the era when the Terror and its innumerable spawn were wreaking havoc across humanity's many colonies.

It was the usual 'planet falls into disarray' type of story that afflicted several worlds across the galaxy. Supply cut-off from Terra created shortages in several industries reliant on intragalactic trade, which led to a scarcity of products, which then cascaded into internal strife and wealth concentration, then into civil war, populist warlords, the deaths of hundreds of millions, and eventually a weak reunification of law and order under a now-depleted homeworld. From what Faulkner last heard, Hannou was now a third-world, barely sustaining itself on subsistence agriculture, forestry, animal husbandry, mining, and fishing; a level of living that predated even the ancient 1900s industrial era. 

And yet, for its gruesome and bloody history, the people of Hannou had never lost the traits inherent in the populace before its fall- compassionate, zealous, forthright and honorable. The only difference from those decades ago and now was...

The Hannou wanted to commit genocide against Canaris- primarily because Canaris was responsible for fueling the civil strife during that period of Hannou's lifespan, getting rich off the arms trade, espionage, and lending out mercenary groups to all sides of the conflict. That kind of interference was not forgotten, and it was the breaking point that led to the reunification of Hannou under a one-world government again- united in their murderous desire to seek revenge against Canaris for its historical atrocities.

Faulkner possessed this same hatred for the Canaris leadership responsible for that and several other exploitative practices, but his loyalty to his homeworld outpaced that loathing for the higher echelons of Canaris society. Additionally, with all the time served on the Argonaut and under Hawkes' oversight, he'd become acutely aware that Captain Hawkes had largely prevented and deterred more of that kind of exploitation as he got older and more ingrained into the elitist levels of Canaris.

A hero he was, to Faulkner. But a hero whose sense of morality Faulkner didn't agree with. Not after resurrection became possible, especially.

"Once you are patched up," Faulkner spoke to the unconscious body of Jimmy, as if airing out his thoughts. "I'll send you on your way, with little doubt you'll be taken by the Hannou. You will see their history, and know that they, too, are mired with terrible fortune and a sickening past."

He began the brain surgery, making use of medical devices and surgery tools to crack open the cranium as he continued his terse speech.

"A second chance. Doesn't that sound appealing? God gave you this chance, sir. You've done terrible, terrible things, and I expect this is your only and last chance to make up for it. Help the Hannou- help them recover, help them heal, no matter how small of a contribution you make. You will not be plagued by schizophrenia, nor narcissism, nor the other half-dozen issues in your mind since birth. Which means you will have no more excuses for your choices."

Several minutes passed as the surgery was ongoing, until Faulkner ran into a problem.

"Oh, dear... I'll have barely enough material left to remedy your last illnesses. Blast it!"

Not only that, but Faulkner was running out of time. It was looking like the only illness he would be unable to cure with time and material was Jimmy's reduced gray areas that resulted in narcissism. He sighed, looking down at the still-unconscious Jimmy, his face serenely peaceful despite the heavy bags under his eyes.

"You'll have to make do, sir. All you have left is your narcissism. Overcome it! "

Faulkner finished the brain surgery up, restoring skin, sinew, muscle, and bone before removing the IV from Jimmy's arm and hauling him onto his back, groaning as the weight of Jimmy bore down on him. Straining, he dragged Jimmy over to the medical door, opening it and keycarding the reinforced plating so it would slide into its interior hinges, allowing Faulkner to drag Jimmy out into the hallway and lay him down, looking around the hallways for any sign of the Hannou-

BSSSSSSSSSSSCH-KRRRRRRRRCH!

"LORD ALMIGHTY!" Faulkner screamed in terror as a breaching pod slammed through the hallway corridor a few meters south, sending a deafening roar through the hallways and a brief moment of depressurization. Not wanting to get kidnapped himself, Faulkner scrambled back into the office and closed the reinforced plating, looking through the one-way tinted window as SCR fighters cleared the hallways, arriving upon Jimmy's body and dragging him out of view, likely to be abducted and transferred back to the Armada. Faulkner slumped below the window, huffing in fatigue.

"May the Lord have mercy on your soul." He muttered. "And may you make the right choices this time around, Jimmy."

Thirty minutes after defeat against the Argonaut...

The SCR Armada, or what was left of it, was forced to limp back home in humiliating defeat, having FTL jumped away from the Argonaut after the surviving boarding pods had returned to their capital ships. As the boarding pod reinitiated with the capital ship of Aurora, piloted by Captain Dino 'Don' Morettison, an eccentric and charismatic Italian who undoubtedly raging across the entire ship right now.

The pod opened its four-fold doors, allowing Pandan to limp out to a massive hangar bay filled with dying and injured SCR fighters being dragged to the Medical Wing, whilst other crewmates were scurrying about trying to repair the severe damages to the capital ship. Pandan groaned in pain and misery as he stumbled his way to a remote area, finding a janitorial closet and closing the door behind him before pulling up his shoulder radio to speak to the onboard ship's Communications Director.

"Quinn, redirect me to that useless fucking informant."

"On it."

Pandan waited a few seconds while the channel was redirected to an encrypted channel reserved for spies and informants.

"What is it?"

"Your 'spy' was fucking useless, you piece of shit. Said absolutely nothing about FOLDING WALL PANELS!"

"Our asset does not hide information from us. It is insanely likely they were not aware of this development on the Argonaut. Do not blame us for your shortcomings in strategy and tact, simply because you fail to act on your feet."

"FUCK. YOU!" Pandan cursed out the radio. "I'm speaking to the ship's Captain about this, BASTARD! I don't give a shit how long you've been 'reliable' to him, you FUCKED us completely!"

"You waste my time."

The radio clicked off, and Pandan tore the radio from his uniform and hurled it at the wall, watching in frustrated satisfaction as it burst into a hundred pieces scattering across the floor.

"FUCK YOU, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!" He shouted in futile fury at the broken radio. "FUCK! FUUUUCK!"

Pandan groaned and shouted in utter frustration, infinitely in rage over how overwhelmingly they lost the battle. Utterly defeated, he fell against the back wall and slid down in complete misery, sobbing as he recounted the battle brothers and sisters that had boarded with him into that nightmare.

Why? He thought. Why did we ever think it was feasible to attack that tyrannical behemoth? What were these fucking idiots thinking? I was right to protest. We lost so many, no doubt resurrected and imprisoned on their way to Canaris to be executed.

His head was placed in his hands, shaking quietly in disgrace. Maybe the bastard was right. Maybe he was just a bad leader, a bad strategist- a bad improviser.

"We captured someone? Who??"

"Some fuck from Pony Express of all places! What the hell was an employee from that shithole doing on the Argonaut?"

Pandan raised his head from his palms, interest piqued as he listened in on the conversation outside the closet.

"Where are they taking him?"

"Holding, apparently, next to all the Canary trash. They're gonna vet him and see if he's Canarisian, or loyal to the Argonaut."

Pandan's eyes narrowed, then lowered in malevolent but calculated, silent, sadistic eagerness, getting up from the floor and throwing the closet door open, smacking the face of one of the unfortunate grunts standing outside.

"OW! You motherf- oh-! Sir!"

The grunt's irritation quickly changed to discipline and humility as Lieutenant Pandan's face emerged from the closet with a violent grimace, speaking coldly to the grunt with a sincere, long-term plan in mind.

"Bring me to him."

(Music: "Hex - Krushfunk version", by kxttn

In the Terrarium, both garrison officers and crewmates were arm in arm, dancing and celebrating at the second major victory in their campaign; saving the Tulpar crew, and now having fended off an entire Armada of pirates with no (permanent) casualties! 

VICTORY!

"BOW! BOW! BOW! BOW! BOW! BOW!"

A string of Argonauts were in a horizontal line standing next to one another, arms around each other's shoulders, kicking their feet up like a loony version of the Can-Can as they shouted the bestial chant from the song's barely discernible lyrics. Onlookers cheered and engaged in their own unique dances- Sergeants breakdancing, Privates doing the Carlton, Lieutenants and heads of departments moving their hands, arms, legs, and hips in jubilant, victorious fashion.

The bar staff had abandoned their duties hours ago, leaving the liquor and beer to be pilfered by heavily drunken crewmates, who were absolutely gurgling the abrasive substance like it was Dragonbreath Mouthwash on a stranded freighter. Some of the crewmates, who had been merrymaking long before the rest of the crew gathered in the terrarium, occasionally ran off to the restrooms to vomit their guts out, before taking a medical injector filled with ascetic acid to reset their intoxication and doing the whole thing over again.

Danny, who was a teetotaler on alcohol and drugs, was absolutely floored by the deviant, junkie behavior of the crewmates using this method to keep the party going endlessly.

"Are you fucks trying to revive an eldritch pleasure god?!" He shouted in outrage at the giggling, fleeing, and sobrietized crewmates leaving the bathroom for further merrymaking. The joke he made was quite esoteric in nature, referencing a grimdark sci-fi franchise he had become a fan of after uncovering an archive of them on a captured transport vessel carrying relics, and he was quietly hoping someone else would have knowledge of this fascinating genre he'd uncovered.

Then he realized that no, in fact, no one would have knowledge of a fucking relic from ancient times and the contents inside it. Danny nodded to himself, determined to share the manuscripts he found from the collection with others on the ship who shared the same love for gritty sci-fi.

"BLURRRGGHHH!!!"

"The fuck?" Danny muttered, hearing the sound of someone vomiting in the stalls and groaning in pain. It was, in fact, Emile with a low tolerance for alcohol, emptying the contents of their stomach into the pristine inside of the toilet bowl, whilst Marcel held Emile's hair back to prevent contamination.

"Was fifteen shots necessary?"

"Y-Yes... BLURGGGHHH!!!!"

"I don't know if the Captain would have made that decision."

"S-Shut up... Grk!... he probably drinks... Grk... like a fish-! BLAAARGGHHH!!!"

Danny silently laughed at the unfortunate crewmate's predicament, whoever they were. Even if sobering medical injectors were prevalent today, a person's constitution did not change even if the intoxication was removed. Nausea from alcohol is caused because it irritates the lining of the stomach.

Somehow, knowing this little fact and being able to use it at a time like this only made the crewmate's misfortune even more hilarious to him, and he bellowed out raucous laughter as he exited the restroom with imperial swagger.

"Who the fuck was that??" Marcel muttered confusedly. "What a madman."

"Fukkin... asshole, that guy... BLUURGGG-"

Meanwhile, the crew of the Numia were permitted to attend the terrarium party and took the opportunity to suck in alcohol like there was no tomorrow- after the stress they'd endured, how close their lives came to an abrupt end, a party was exactly what they were looking for. Only a few stayed behind to head to the Medical Bay, where Annie was assessing Argonauts for mental trauma. Alina, Cortia and Haxel had been escorted by Derek and Sal (carried exhaustively for the most part) to where Annie was assessing a shockingly short line of Argonauts. They came upon her in the Bay, tiredly asking a retinue of questions to each Argonaut, and as Derek listened in, it went from genuine, to half-hearted, to straight-up bullshit answers.

"So, Mr. Lanskey, have you felt a surge of strong emotions since your return?"

"Yes... it feels like I'm going to explode from the inside, but it's also... amazing. I mean, it is euphoric. Honestly, I think you should try it out and see-"

"Uh, no, I'm good. Next! Hello Ms. Sandy. Have you noticed any mental or physical symptoms or issues after your revival?"

"Mm... no, not really."

"...Uh, okay. You seem surprisingly calm for having just returned from the dead."

"I mean, everyone handles death differently, right?"

"...The quote goes "everyone handles grief differently", but sure, I guess you have a point. But... I mean, really? No symptoms at all?"

"Nope."

"....Okay. Has there been a noticeable change in your worldviews or-"

"No, I'm tellin' ya- look, can I just go to the Terrarium?? I lost a bet and now I have to do a keg stand!"

"Uh...okay. I guess if there's nothing wrong with you... sure. What bet did you lose?"

"Dying during the pirate skirmish."

As the Argonaut officer stood up from the chair and pumped her fists in the air as she headed out the door, Annie could only stare confusedly at the exiting Argonaut, wondering if this whole crew was deranged beyond sanity.

"...Okay, then. Mr... Ramshack. How have you-"

"You know, I'm kinda pissed, because I got shot in the head by a heavy caliber round, so I didn't really get to see my death coming, you know? And, I'm pissed because, well, I was kinda interested in seeing what it'd feel like, but instead I'm just fighting in the corridors, and suddenly I wind up on the altar."

Annie stared with wide eyes and an unmoving expression at the demented man in front of her.

"So, I just had like, one request if you'd oblige. Can you shoot me in the chest and let me bleed out before you revive me again? Cuz this time around, I wanna-"

"NEXT!"

The Argonaut was saddened and dragged his feet out of the room. Sal and Derek came up next in line, with Alina and Cortia's traumatized bodies in tow, whilst Haxel walked almost as if he were in a daze.

Oh thank God, normal people, Annie was about to say. That sentiment didn't hold when Sal approached her and dumped Alina's body on the ground in fatigue, much to Annie's shock and concern.

"The fuck-! DON'T JUST DUMP HER ON THE GROUND LIKE THAT!"

"Fuckin... what? What do you want from... me! She's fuckin... heavy!" Sal protested, heaving gasps of air from both lack of fitness and exhaustion from hauling a limp body for hundreds of feet in distance.

Derek slowly lowered Cortia to the ground, letting her body flop across the hard-tiled floor like a dead fish out of water. He was heartbroken at the state of his fiance, but at the same time there was something... morbidly humorous about seeing one's fiance splayed out over a white-tiled floor like a vegetable.

"Heh." Annie chuckled under her breath, though still heard by Derek, who was hypocritically outraged.

"You're laughing at my fiance!" He chided her, receiving a 'I-don't-give-a-fuck' shoulder shrug from Annie, who stared him down in subtle contempt and loathing.

"And you brought a pirate armada shitstorm to our doorstep."

Derek had literally nothing to counter that with. Annie sighed and turned to look at Cortia, Alina and Haxel.

"How am I going to assess catatonic patients?" She asked them, much to their confusion.

"I-I don't fuckin' know!" Derek exclaimed, increasingly distressed at the state of his loved one.

"That's what we brought them to you for, Doc!" Sal accused Annie, who raised her palms up in a peace-making gesture.

"Fine, fine. Let me take a look."

Whilst Annie was doing boring medical shit with inconsequential persons, Wataru and Elliot were in another part of the ship- scavenging for dropped trinkets and other items from the recent battle. Whilst the bodies had been cleaned up, the myriad of blood, gore, dents, and left-behind items remained, as the near-entirety of the crew almost immediately surged for the terrarium to celebrate their victory. Discipline was an on-off switch on this ship, and it depended entirely on the orders and mood of the Captain, which was absolutely batshit insane in retrospect, but seemed completely sane and reasonable to the crew of the Argonaut, who had practically and collectively relied on their Captain's instinct and leadership for thirty whole years (both literally and through folklore and social reinforcement).

Wataru, who was usually a more naive and innocent soul, was only roped into the scheme by Elliot because he convinced her there would be unique and reliquary keychains and artifacts on some of the SCR fighters' weaponry and in their pack bags, gaslighting her into believing that these third-world militiamen were just as stylish as the Matlo Brigade.

"This place looks like the aftermath of a horror movie," Wataru mumbled nervously, unsettled greatly by the blood and gore spread amongst the halls like a painting gone awry. Elliot was deep in search of advanced weaponry, as he was working on a blueprint for a potential Dark Matter rifle capable of piercing even Achilles Series armor. With that kind of weaponry only available to the Argonauts, every close-combat battle would be won before the boarding even began. 

He felt a moment of deep gratitude for the Captain of this ship, who authorized its creation when Elliot pitched it to him. This wasn't legal AT ALL by any standard of any nation in the entire galaxy; but Hawkes had only authorized it because he intended to show the ruling class in Canaris these inventions, to get a permit, law and patent to use them in future battles.

He recalled this very short conversation about the questions of legality that Elliot had for Hawkes...

"I won't get killed for building this, right?"

"You'll get killed if you don't build it, is that good enough incentive?"

Elliot knew the Captain was joking, but with his seven-foot demeanor, scar-scattered body, and constantly-searing eyes, it was very difficult to take a dark joke from Hawkes lightly.

"I simply can't believe you can create such a weapon." Hawkes said coldly. "It took fifty-five, once-in-a-century geniuses to create the blueprints for the first Dark Matter Reactor and Quantum Positioning Relay. You... expect me to believe you can follow that precedent and craft a portable weapon with that kind of power? If it gets broken, does it create a 100 million mile explosion radius?"

"No, I think I can take it down to just 20 million miles."

Hawkes stared him dead in the eyes, and Elliot cracked a grin.

"I'm joking. Yes, I can find a way to neutralize the possibility of collision entirely."

"Right. Well, when we get back to Canaris, you can get a trip to the Tylahar Research Station 200 million miles away and do your research there."

Elliot looked back fondly on the memory, a big enjoyer of Hawkes' conversations more than most others on the ship.

"You said there'd be keychains, but I'm not seeing any." Wataru complained, much to Elliot's annoyance.

"Well, search harder, then!"

(Music: "BAILE DE LA VICTORIA", by IAMTRA$H)

The crew of the Argonaut and Numia were still enjoying their time in the terrarium, which had gotten even more chaotic, trashed and filled with unconscious bodies lying around the longer the solar night went on. The dancing had become sloppy yet still remained full of passion, even more so in the revived.

Sammy, the Second Officer watching from an elevated floor above the terrarium, was utterly bewildered at how quickly the revived officers got over the trauma and returned to normalcy- completely different from how the Tulpar Crew's revival went. Perhaps it was because they were so used to violence and death that it didn't change their worldview much to return? Did they see any kind of afterlife when they died, or was it just immediate return to life from the point of death to the point of resurrection?

He was infinitely curious at the still-unveiling questions and answers about this phenomenon, but not as curious as he was about the conversation going on in the Captain's Suite- where Hawkes was desperately trying to keep the Tulpar Crew from going insane.

"Hhhh! Hhh! Hhhh!"

Anya was sat in a corner of the room, irises dilated and eyes widened in clear catatonic shock, breathing heavily as if reliving some horrid experiences continually in her head. Curly and Swansea had been restrained by their hands and feet, as they would not stop rabidly and ferociously trying to leave the Suite to track down and kill Jimmy- which they made plentifully clear by the raucuous shouting and screaming tearing out of their throats like verbalized murder.

Daisuke was left staring out the window of the terrarium blankly, his eyes seemingly staring past the hundreds of crewmates on the bottom floor partying.

Hawkes was absolutely miserable. But more than that, seeing how Jimmy had unraveled all of their mental growth in one fell swoop-

CRACK!

He growled gutturally as he felt the radio he was trying to thumb crush under his hand, and scattered the pieces across the floor as he stormed over to an extremely discomforted Caz. 

Please don't kill me, He thought in pure horror, seeing the look of broiling, silent RAGE lining every fiber of Captain Hawkes' body. He had never seen a silent, angry Hawkes in his entire tenure on this ship. Please don't kill me, Please don't kill me-

"RADIO." Hawkes spoke deafeningly at him, and Caz frantically unclipped the radio from his shoulder holster and offered it to the Captain with quivering hands.

"H-Here you g-go, sir-!"

The Captain snatched it out of his hands and thumbed the radio, trying not to crush yet another one with uncontrolled rage.

"LILY."

"Y-Yes, Captain!"

"WHERE. IS. HE."

"Our cameras captured him in the Medical Wing, he was last seen lying on the ground before getting abducted by the SCR-"

CRACK!

Another radio turned into dust, and an even angrier Hawkes was left with a blank mind that only yearned to slaughter millions of lives to sate this all-encompassing tidal wave of Apoplexy.

Looking back at the Tulpar Crew, seeing how broken they were in the moment, Hawkes suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion rush over him. After all the time he'd spent coaxing them to move past the trauma, it was back to square one.

"I...I... can't do this shit right now."

He was tired- even with his superhuman strength, intellect and endurance, he was still human. 

Turning to Caz with a bone-tired demeanor, he issued an order weakly.

"Get them... to the medical wing. Assessments, then to their rooms."

Caz nodded firmly, ordering the other garrison officers on standby to gently escort the four shattered souls to the Medical Wing. Captain Hawkes sighed deeply, dragging his feet to his quarters. On the way there, he was supplemented with another radio by a passing officer, who told him there was a message from Elise.

"Captain Hawkes."

"What is it, cheese-eating surrender monkey?"

"Where are you? I'm gonna beat your ass."

"What do you WANT!"

"The recorded logs for the Tulpar have finished. If you'd like to review them I've sent it to your holopad."

Hawkes sighed, thumbing the radio to respond.

"Thanks, Elise."

"Mhm, no problem Bigfoot."

Hawkes chuckled dryly, turning off the radio and heading to his quarters. He had practically figured out most of the history behind the Tulpar and what happened with the crew on it, but reviewing the logs would give him some more insight into how he could potentially bring the Tulpar Crew back from their mental degradation.

As he walked through the halls, he was considering whether or not to chase the SCR Armada and finish them off so he could kill Jimmy once and for all, and to prevent them from regrowing in strength again.

But... that didn't seem like the right path. Even if his BLACK RAGE was yearning for that choice, he knew the most optimal decision was to head back to Canaris with the Tulpar Crew and finish the mission they were on. And Hawkes had absolutely no desire to risk the lives of his family once again for petty revenge.

Before heading to his quarters, he made a quick detour to Curly's room, dreading to see what state he was in. As he opened the door-

"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY."

"I-I can't, Curly-"

Curly was wrathfully confronting the garrison officer standing near the door inside the spacious room Curly was placed in. His face was stretched and contorted in unnatural and withering fury, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that blood was seen visibly running down his fingers and palms. It was a miracle he hadn't fought the officer yet.

Hawkes smoothly entered the room and greeted Curly to calm the tension.

"Hey, Curly."

Curly's face veered towards Hawkes, and seemed to dissipate from the rage for a moment.

"Wh- Hawkes. Hawkes, where is he? Let's kill him, I'll help you. Swansea will help you. Just put us in a room together for 10 minutes, please."

And here came an ultimatum. If he told Curly that Jimmy escaped, it was very likely Curly would hardly be able to recover from this wrath. The alternative...

Was to lie. Lie, for the first time, to his family. The thought of it sickened him to his stomach; he had no issue manipulating foes, rivals, and enemies for his own gain; lying to his family, the ones he loved, was something else entirely.

He couldn't deliberate long, as Curly was getting more and more restless the longer Hawkes stood there. Hawkes silently grit his teeth, despairing over the decision he was about to make.

"Jimmy was shot and killed by the pirates." Hawkes said. "Their boarding pod was exploded by one of our cannons, and his body was sucked out into the void. That's a permanent death."

Curly seemed shocked and highly unsatisfied by that answer, but his rage seemed to die down somewhat, his gaze beaming pure wrath at the ground.

"Lucky little fuck." Curly muttered furiously. "Lucky little... fucking cunt."

Curly suddenly seemed exhausted, crumpling into a sitting position and drawing several heavy breaths.

"...Fuck it. Bastard got what he deserved. No point wasting more thoughts on that scum."

Hawkes nodded emphatically, deeply hoping down that the pirates would torture and kill him so that there was no chance of any encounter with him again.

"I'll tell Swansea the same."

Curly nodded tiredly, and Hawkes left the room with a lump in his throat, waiting for the door to close before he silently cried to himself in the hallway. Lying to family felt terrible to him, as if he'd driven a knife into their back.

As some garrison officers were rounding the corner, he quickly wiped his eyes and saluted them before heading to Swansea's room to break the news.

Hawkes sat in his quarters, having done what he needed to do for the day and winding down for the solar night; the lights dimmed to reflect the night-time.

He scrolled through the footage inside the Tulpar, reviewing dozens of clips all at once and analyzing them within seconds. At the same time, he scrolled through news channels and media sources about Canaris to keep updated on any breaking news or developing events since he'd been gone. Luckily, it seemed rather tame for the last 10 months he'd been searching, aside from one article that caught his attention.

"'Crew of five disappear from voyager spacecraft after returning from the Hoila Nebula exploration, docks with space station and reveals no passengers onboard'. The fuck kind of horror story is this?"

Sighing, he swiped the article away on his massive, 2D projected interface, continuing to review the footage.

Two months before return to Canaris... he would be doing all in his effort to restore the Tulpar's crew mental states once more. It'd be harrowing, but nothing would stop him from saving them in their entirety.

Only two months.

Chapter Text

(Music: "Contrition", by Ben Matthews)

Awaking almost instantly, Jimmy's eyes scanned the dimly-lit, isolated cell he was in, immediately spotting another prisoner across from him- a dingy, dirt-covered, injured and frail woman with long-flowing hair and hazy aquatic eyes staring aimlessly into the void.

"Wh...What happened...?" Jimmy muttered, feeling aching phantom pains all over his body as he uprighted himself and took stock of his surroundings. "Cell to cell, prison to prison, place to place... fucking... fuck."

Jimmy slumped against the back wall, seeing his arms and legs chained in pairs. Being the second time held captive, he didn't feel the same level of alarm as he did when he was in the room with that seven-foot psycho. Still, this was an extremely discomforting scenario and he didn't know what his fate would be. The last thing he remembered was falling to his knees and blacking out.

Looking around, he was deeply relieved to see that this wasn't the Argonaut II- the walls were dingy, and the outside of the cell had a much more rustic look than the sleek design of the Argonaut II. A lone guardsman was patrolling the cell block, occasionally glancing into the cells to check on the prisoners and their state.

"H-Hey! HEY!" Jimmy called out loudly, trying to get the guard's attention. "I-Is this the SCR? If I'm on one of their ships, I wanted you to know that they were going to recruit me into-!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, INMATE!" The guard yelled harshly at him, slamming his baton against the cell bars and startling Jimmy, before continuing his patrol. Jimmy growled, feeling indignation towards the prick, but ultimately his mind wandered instead to the woman in front of him.

Even in the dingy state she was in, Jimmy could tell she was incredibly beautiful, having a sculpted face, button nose, thin lips, and a slender (if emaciated) figure. Jimmy was somewhat smitten, but he was far more focused on finding his way out of this cell.

"H-Hey, you." He whispered to her. She didn't respond, and he tried again. "H-Hey, what's your name? I'm... Jimmy."

He was becoming more dismayed when she didn't respond again, then suddenly-

"Wh-What the fuck?!"

Jimmy felt incredibly discomforted when the woman simply opened her legs, revealing bruised and swollen genitalia indicative of sexual assault. Jimmy looked back up at her in shock and confusion.

"Wh-What are you doing? S-Stop that."

Still, when she kept her legs open, Jimmy suddenly felt a sprout of arousal run through his system. Her beauty was alluring, and he was starting to get urges...

"Be the animal you are, scum."

"AAAAHHHH!!! AAAHHHH- H-Huh?!" Jimmy screamed, hearing the sound of Captain Hawkes and scrambling around the cell in terror, before realizing that he had just hallucinated the words. The fright from Jimmy startled the woman, who looked over in curiosity at his movement. Jimmy's breath was ragged, his heart beating a million miles an hour.

Anya.

"Oh, God!" Jimmy began to sob, bending over and crying into the ground as a thousand biting daggers of introspection slammed through him like a stake to his heart. "Oh, God! What am I thinking? What the fuck was I thinking?! What is wrong with me?! I get it. I get it... okay?? FUCK! I fucking get iiiit! I'm... I'm sorry... I'm so fuckin, sorry I didn't even... didn't even think about her... I can't... oh god, I can't believe I treated her so fucking terribly...! Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry... I... Why did you bring me back? To suffer? To repent? I... I just need to know why I'm here... please... please God... please, God, help me... I can't bear this..."

The woman gazed, still with deadened eyes, at Jimmy as he sobbed into the ground inconsolably for several minutes, before eventually falling silent out of exhaustion and pure depression.

"...Al..ani..."

Jimmy suddenly raised his fatigued, tear-stricken and reddened face, bringing his teary-eyed face up to the woman in with glossy attentiveness in his eyes.

"H-Huh? What was that?"

"...Alani..."

"Y-Your name is Alani?" Jimmy asked, wiping the tears from his face and crawling closer to her eagerly, desperate for attention and validation from this stunning tragic heroine. "That's your name, r-right?"

The woman silently and weakly nodded, and Jimmy's face lit up.

"O-Okay, cool! Th-Thank you!"

He sat down across from her, thinking of what else to say. He was desperate to bond with someone who wasn't actively trying to kill or torture him- and he'd never got that opportunity since his rebirth. The longer he stared at her, the more he felt extreme and overflowing guilt about his past actions, and a rapidly-growing attachment and intimacy to her.

"S-So, Alani, how... did you get here?"

Alani simply stared to the side, seemingly disinterested in much conversation. However, Jimmy wasn't easily dismayed and continued speaking.

"I...I was on a big ship... and I... I came back from the dead. They wanted to... torture me. I managed to escape, and now... I'm here."

Alani seemed to listen vaguely, before responding quietly herself, with a hollow and defeated voice.

"I... was kidnapped... from a luxury vessel... they threw me in here... they let other prisoners... and guards... do what they wanted with me."

Jimmy's eyes widened in horror and shock at the revelation, realizing now why she looked so humiliated and hopelessly shell-shocked.

"What... the fuck!" Jimmy seethed, gritting his teeth in utter rage. "Those fucking animals!"

He said, hypocritically.

Alani didn't respond to his sympathy, only continuing to stare at the floor.

"Please..." She mumbled, almost too quietly for Jimmy to hear. "Please... kill me."

"Wh...What? No. No! There's no need for that- you're not going to die here, Alani."

"If you... ever meet my husband... tell him... I died fighting. Please... don't tell him what they did to me. Please. I beg you. Please, don't tell him at all. Please. Please."

Jimmy was stressed out beyond his wits, and equally furious; it was one shit situation to another. Still, he at least had the benefit of anonymity, which meant no one would be coming after him anytime soon.

As Jimmy's mental state finally felt a (relative) sense of calmness, he immediately began to notice changes to his perception. Whilst he still felt self-important and superior to others, the hallucinations and his major disconnected sense of reality at all times... they had disappeared. They were... gone. 

"What..." Jimmy muttered, palming his head to see if he could feel any scars. Had someone given him brain surgery?? How could this be??

"Holy... holy shit." Jimmy mumbled, completely amazed and in awe that such core illnesses that had been present in him throughout his life were now gone entirely, leaving only his narcissism. He stood up and jumped for joy, celebrating giddily that he was free of most of the lifelong ailments he'd been stuck with. Simultaneously, he was literally unraveling himself at his core, reforming several of his fundamental worldviews of life as these ailments had been removed, and so was incredibly vulnerable to intimacy, trust and naivete that was almost child-like.

However, his celebrations quickly died down as his eyes returned to Alani, immediately feeling a bout of embarrassment and depression as he realized how incredibly rude it was to celebrate in front of this dead-eyed victim. He kneeled down and spoke to her confidently, renewed with vigor and eagerness.

"Alani. I'm going... I'm going to find a way to free you. I'll-"

"Inmate!"

Jimmy was startled by a superior officer walking through the cell block, approaching his cell with stoic rapidity and an even-timed pace. Jimmy quickly crawled back and sat against the wall, trying not to appear suspicious. The officer walked up to his cell, looking at some documents that Jimmy had no way of discerning, before speaking once more.

"Name."

"J-Jimmy."

"Full name!"

"J-Jimmy... Holt!" He sputtered, quickly coming up with a fake last name just incase they decided to run his name through a database. He had plenty of warrants for his arrest on his home planet. The officer looked down at the documents, scribbling some notes, then spoke again.

"Jimmy Holt. A guardsman claimed earlier that you were going to be conscripted into the SCR by one of our members. What was his name?"

Jimmy quickly struggled to recall the name he'd been given, desperate to get out of this cell so he could finally have autonomy.

"It was... It was... Rex! Commander Rex, I believe!"

The officer narrowed his eyes at him, looked down at his documents, and sighed.

"Well... that checks out. Alright, here's what's gonna happen. We're going to uncuff you and bring you to interrogation for some questioning. If you pass with flying colors, we will offer you a variety of roles to serve on the Aurora, under Captain Dino Moretti. You will be required to undergo training for whichever role you choose, and eventually have the opportunity to move up the ranks as time passes. We are currently heading back to our homeworld of Hannou, and there you will begin your citizenship process or be offered a ride to a neutral outpost to return to your homeworld, if that is what you desire."

Jimmy nodded emphatically.

"I understand."

The officer narrowed his eyes.

"Good."

He closed the binder full of documents and ordered the guardsman standing nearby to open the cell door. Jimmy was brought out, uncuffed, and then escorted to interrogation. As this occurred, he looked behind him to gaze at Alani, feeling a sense of dread at leaving her alone to potentially suffer again. Desperate for answers, he initiated a casual conversation with the officer next to him.

"Who, uh, who was that woman in there?"

The officer glanced behind him to see what Jimmy was talking about, and glared as he recognized the prisoner.

"Eugh. A fucking Canarisian. Scum of the earth. We kidnapped her and several others whilst they were traveling on the Galios, a luxury vessel that was heading back to Canaris from a very high-end Splendor Station. After lots of interrogation and some uncovered documents on her, we found out she was daughter to one of the wealthiest military contractors in Canaris."

A sick and malicious grin erupted across his face as he recalled the next part, showcasing that generational vitriol spewing from his mouth.

"That piece of shit and her legacy had a hand in our civil war, many years ago. So we decided to repay her lineage by letting prisoners fuck her to death. She's been there for about 2 months now, and I expect she'll die in there like the vermin she is."

What the f-u-c-k?! Jimmy thought in pure terror and rage. What the fuck is WRONG with these people!? How can you carry such bottomless hatred in your hearts to inflict that kind of fucking suffering on another human being so cruelly?!

He thought, hypocritically.

Jimmy was outright horrified and indignantly wrathful after hearing the story, wanting badly to pull the officer's gun from his holster and blast his head open. But his conniving mind decided to wait to see if there was a better option to protect Alani, and so hid his malice under a guise of understanding.

"I see."

No matter what he had to do, he would have to protect Alani from further abuse. The thought of her suffering even more at the hands of these... psychos... it was unbearable to him.

He'd save her, eventually. No matter what. He... had to.

"So... Mr. Holt."

The interrogator, Pandan, looked Jimmy up and down, trying to size him up and figure him out. Why the fuck was a random Pony Express employee on the Argonaut II?

"Can you tell me how you got on the Argonaut?"

Jimmy nodded morosely. Considering how much these people hated Canaris and the Argonaut, he felt he could be honest again, as long as he excluded what happened on the Tulpar.

"I was... brought back to life."

Pandan leaned back in thought, satisfied to know now how this oddity came to be.

"I see. And yet, from what I heard from our fellas, Captain Hawkes was... quite deadset on a rampage to tear you apart. Is there some elaboration you can provide for that?"

Jimmy didn't expect the question, but he was a quick thinker on his feet and soon came up with a clever response, mixing bits of truth with bits of snake-tongued lies.

"I was a... a fugitive in my homeworld. It's far, far away from Canaris, which is probably why you can't find any records on me. I had... accidentally killed a Canaris citizen after he threatened my family with murder if I didn't spy on my homeworld for his people. They... killed my family, and I had to flee off-world to escape the assassins they sent to finish me off. I hopped from ship to ship, trying to find a career to start. I wanted to... forget what happened. Next thing I know, I get... shot in the head by a Canaris assassin that had tracked me down. I find myself waking up, reborn, in a white interrogation room and Captain Hawkes standing over me. It seemed like... he'd found out what I'd done and wanted to torture me for it."

Despite his several stumbles and moments of hesitation to craft the plot, and it generally being a subpar story, Pandan seemed unusually absorbed and sympathetic to him; his usual observation skills and ability to sniff out bullshit was blinded completely by the abject, generational rage he and every other Hannou carried for Canaris.

"That makes sense," Pandan asserted, grabbing Jimmy's hand sympathetically. "You won't have to worry about them any longer. We're heading back to Hannou, and there you can choose to live out your life or sign up for our Armadas."

Jimmy nodded, and the thought of Alani came to mind. Surely, since Jimmy wasn't from Hannou, Pandan could understand why he would express sympathy for her situation.

"Pandan..."

"Yes?"

"That... Alani girl in the cells. I... I felt nauseous seeing her like that. Can't you guys... move her to a lone cell so she doesn't... suffer so much?"

Pandan smiled wholesomely, patting his hand reassuringly.

"I applaud and commend your compassion, but it's wasted on those Canary pondscum. They are all complicit in genocide, arms trading, instigating chaos on our homeworld and being responsible for the deaths of millions of our kin. Every single one of them are parasites on the galaxy that deserve to die screaming. Pay them no mind, and soon enough you'll have a whole planet of honest, compassionate, and grateful Hannou to lend a hand to, with that bottomless kindness of yours!"

Jimmy silently grit his teeth and smiled. These Hannou became really stupid and oblivious when Canaris was the topic or mentioned in conversation. This could be used to Jimmy's advantage later on.

"I understand."

You fucking scum, he thought.

"So," Pandan concluded. "You've passed interrogation with flying colors. You're right that there's no documents on you, but considering the situation you were in, I'm sure we can make an exception. That just leaves us with consideration of what role you're going to take on the ship."

He brought up a small, makeshift pamphlet, opening it to reveal several illustrations with detailed descriptions below them.

"So the most common one is Infantry- those are the people at the frontlines, who board the vessels we attack to pillage, raid and take hostage our rivals and enemies. If they aren't Canarisian, we drop them off at a neutral outpost and send them on their way, and keep any valuables found on the ship, then dismantle the ship for parts back home or include it as a warship of our fleets if it has weapon capabilities. The next one is a Medical Officer, kind of self-explanatory, basically first aid, doctors, nurses, etcetera. After that is a Supply Technician, people who handle our cargo, work under the quartermaster, and ensure we are logistically sound. The next one is Prison Patrolman, which is also self-explanatory-"

Wait! Jimmy thought, a grand idea brewing in his mind.

"That one sounds good." Jimmy said casually, trying not to reveal his excitement. Pandan looked up at him with a curious glance.

"I, uh, didn't finish. There's more options, you know. Some I think you might like better than being a jail guard."

"Well," Jimmy said. "I like a job where I can... feel in control. You know what I mean? And I don't mind moving up the chain eventually, it's just, this, uh... job really spoke to me for some reason."

Pandan eventually nodded, conceding the point.

"Well, alright then. I'll send the paperwork through to CENTCOM and we'll get you onboarded. You can ask for an occupation change one month into your tenure."

Pandan stood up from the table, offering a handshake, which Jimmy took gladly.

Yes, Jimmy thought cleverly. This is perfect. Now, I can stop Alani from being abused permanently. Perfect. Perfect! PERFECT!

Jimmy, although still mentally traumatized from the last 48 hours and well-endowed with a myriad of mental issues, was beginning to feel like he was discovering his reason for returning from the dead.

Thank you God, he thought, wanting to break down sobbing at the infinite kindness of a loving deity. Thank you so... much! I will redeem myself through these righteous actions, to make up for my terrible past. I will use this second chance to do good, now that I know there is real, true justice in this world!

No matter how evil a person was, what atrocities or crimes or sins they committed, would often give deference to a higher power in their worst moments, sparing those who thought themselves to be god- and in this era, nobody was thinking that for long. Interpretation of the Day of Erudition was, ultimately, left to each and their own.

(Music: "Life is Beautiful", by PPF | Deadly Premonition)

2 days had passed since his onboarding, and Jimmy was greatly enjoying his role as a prison guard. Dressed in dark-gray and red (the colors of Hannou), wearing a uniform with a belt, officer's cap and a baton and handgun at his sides, along with handcuffs, electric bolas, and an advanced taser that shot rubber electrical pellets capable of electrocuting and incapacitating people. Holstered on the back of his belt was a combat knife for dangerous close combat encounters.

He walked by one of the cells, noticing that two prisoners were arguing over a scrap of food, and began to fight. He banged his baton on the bars and yelled at them.

"HEEEEY! ENOUGH, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS! What is it this time, Filmore, Olma??"

The two of them turned to Jimmy and immediately began arguing, and Jimmy sighed while rubbing the bridge of his nose. This felt wonderful. He was an arbiter and got to know the names of most of the prisoners onboard during these past few days. But most of all, he had control over these prisoners; he could beat them, verbally abuse them, withhold food- as long as he had a half-decent reason for his division officer, he could get away with practically everything except murder. He didn't even need a reason for Canarisians, as he often saw a few of the other Patrolmen beat the living shit out of those Canarisians locked in holding. Jimmy had noted there was a ton of corruption and lax authority on this ship, which mostly functioned off of bribes and ambition to seek higher positions; but he wasn't fully clued in on the complex inner workings and social dynamics of the ship.

Thus, he had to be very selective with who he interacted with and how he treated them. However, considering the absolute mental journey he just went through, he usually went out of his way to be compassionate towards the prisoners, especially the Canarisians, who had suffered the brunt of the torment at the hands of their captors. Even if he despised the Argonaut and Captain Hawkes with every fiber of his being, he did not collectively blame Canaris as a whole for the actions of their military.

He was revolutionary in his thinking, of course- wanting, self-righteously, to be an icon of virtue after receiving his second chance; not realizing his sense of 'virtue' was far too twisted from the objective standard.

"Alright, alright-! LISTEN!" He shouted over them, watching as the two musty older men fell silent. "I'll see if I can get you two extra portions, alright? Just simmer down and split the bread like civilized folk."

"Uh huh." Olma muttered.

"Alright... fine." Filmore mumbled. "Thanks, Jimmy."

Jimmy nodded, feeling a massive swell of pride as he received validation for his efforts from the two of them, walking away with a fuzzy positive feeling in his chest as his ego was stroked. 

Holy shit, he thought euphorically to himself. I can't believe I didn't think to be good earlier in my life! This is so... fulfilling!

He began to whistle positively as he patrolled the cell block, inspecting the cells, until he noticed something in the distance.

"Get the fuck in there."

Another jail patrolman had unlocked one of the nearby cells, dragging out a pudgy, dirty older man and bringing him in front of Alani's cell, opening the door and throwing the male prisoner in there, then re-locking it.

"Consider yourself lucky." The patrolman muttered in sadistic malice, a sick grin on his face as he walked away. Jimmy felt his blood rush with rage as he realized what the guardsman was doing. 

The pudgy older man looked around the cell, readjusting his mind before his eyes settled on Alani. He was still for a moment, before a look of lustful debauchery overcame his features and he began to crawl over hungrily towards Alani, intent on acting on his sexual urges like a base animal.

Click-krrck!

Jimmy immediately opened the cell, much to the male prisoner's fright, and began to wail on him with the baton, releasing all of his energy on the boorish fellow as he saw a version of himself inside that man. 

HATE! HATE! HATE! HATE! HATE!

Ever since he met Alani, he had such self-hatred and loathing for his past, what he did to Anya finally tearing his mind open and providing him with the introspection to understand his failings, that this was a perfect outlet to feel as if he was doing the right thing, redeeming his past by inflicting overwhelming violence on the wannabe rapist.

"You. Fucking. Piece. Of. SHIT!" Jimmy roared at the sobbing, pleading man, continuing to bash the shit out of him with the baton until he was lying on the floor in a fetal position, crying and whimpering. Jimmy grabbed the collar of his dirty uniform, dragged him out of the cell, and threw him the cell with Filmore and Olma, closing the door shut as they gazed at him curiously.

"If you beat the absolute shit out of him once a day, I'll double your daily meals and you'll get breakfast from the cafeteria every morning."

Filmore and Olma's eyes shot up in excitement at the prospect of eating good, and immediately switched their gazes to the pudgy man on the floor. It took no longer than 2 seconds for them to descend upon the already-beaten prisoner, having no loyalties to this nobody over better food and living conditions. The other prisoners had noticed the overwhelming brutality, but were used to this brutal power dynamic for days, weeks and months now. Filmore and Olma punched and stomped the bruised and bloodied man on the floor as Jimmy beamed with unimaginable pride, walking by Alani's cell and passing a glance as if it were not a big deal, trying to be nonchalant about it-

Alani was gazing at him with wide eyes, fixated with glossy fascination on him. 

Jimmy, thrown completely off his rhythm, cleared his throat and looked around awkwardly, retreating away with insecurity. He headed for the Patrolman locker room, clearing his throat several times and reddening in the cheeks as he took off his cap and loosened his uniform, heading roughly through the door and rummaging through his locker for a blunt he'd acquired from a dealer in Medical.

His heart was racing. He didn't like to feel this affection, for some reason; not in a power dynamic like this. Why did it... feel.. wrong? It didn't feel like control... It he couldn't control it, he didn't want it... and these feelings were fucking uncontrollable!

(Music: "The Pace", by ford.)

He took the lighter from his locker and lit the joint, inhaling deeply and breathing out in relief, enjoying the few moments he had of silence...

"Pass it."

"H-Huh?! Oh... it's you."

"Yeah, right, pass it, please."

Jimmy handed the joint to his 2-day long acquaintance, Rothman Montrose, a native from the world of Romeia, which Rothman hadn't shed any more light on other than "don't wanna talk about it".

Rothman was a six-foot-two, caucasian, German-Scot 35-year-old with a relaxed but calculating gaze, a buff and muscular demeanor, a constant slight smirk on his face at all times like an imp plotting the next clever thing to say, and shrapnel scars spanning across the left side of his face. He wore the Patrolman outfit with less formality and more looseness. Even with that in mind, Rothman had been surprisingly receptive to Jimmy's way of governing the jail cells- he, too, was a sympathizer of Alani's circumstance, but had feared acting out of line incase a superior noticed his compassion for what they considered to be absolute scum of the earth.

Now, he had another mental case to project his cowardly hope onto, who was far more willing than him to put his neck on the line. He didn't know any of this consciously, but it nonetheless led to his gravitation toward hanging around Jimmy.

Rothman took a long drag from the joint, coughing a few times at the expense of Jimmy's snickering.

"Can't believe you're still a newbie with smoking."

"I have asthma, unfortunately. Not all of us were born with fine-tuned organs to punish consistently."

"Mhm. Did you get the sandwiches?"

Rothman reached into his satchel, pulling out two BLT triangular sandwiches from the cafeteria, and the two of them began to scarf it down plentifully.

"Fuuuck." Rothman muttered in utter delight. "Munchies and food are gifts to mankind."

Jimmy ate silently, unable to enjoy food as he once did before. To him, for now, it was just a necessity to keep energy maintained in his body. He had an entire laundry list of things to do, and a righteous mandate to fulfill them.

"Yeah." He said, his mind wandering to Alani. Was she okay? Did the other prisoners take note? Was it safe for now? Rothman could see his mind wander and prompted him with a question.

"Thinking about Alani again?" He asked, much to Jimmy's shock (even though this was the second time he'd predicted his thought process- in the 2 days Jimmy had been here).

"How the hell-"

"I was starting to think your entire personality only came into existence after meeting her."

Jimmy looked to the ground in humiliation and slight irritation at being teased so brutally, but with the introspection he had of the past, what he'd already been through... this was actually becoming enjoyable and bearable- being around people who weren't trying to kill him was a gift he had taken sorely for granted. Being that he was far too terrified to discuss his past with anyone, the only thing that brought him relief and ease to speak about was Alani and his current job.

"Yeah, well," Jimmy improvised. "It's... yeah."

Rothman stared at him with a straight face.

"Very informative." He joked dryly, before cracking a smile and lightly punching Jimmy's arm. "Chill out, man. I can probably imagine being kidnapped and impressed into service wasn't the greatest experience, but from the way you've been cheery this whole time, I assumed you are just riding life on a wave."

Jimmy was shocked by the charisma oozing from Rothman and felt himself genuinely laugh aloud at the last sentence.

Huh? What is this feeling?

"It does feel like that, sometimes." Jimmy replied casually.

Was I always this laid-back? Where's the stress? Where's the angst? What... what happened to me...?

Even a change for good in people could be seen as their world being turned on its head, or even a negative. Jimmy, for all his life, had been used to antisocial behavior, a need to control others, an inherent desire to fulfill the massive swell of self-importance he woke up with everyday primarily due to his inability to distinguish reality from fantasy; his swelled ego made him unbearable to talk to and be around. This new worldview, which was both beaten into him until he nearly died three times in a row, along with having most of his ailments cured- this worldview that he was suddenly coming to realize he was embracing with desperate solace... was incredibly uncomfortable, disconcerting, and downright terrifying at times.

Being... open to teases and jokes about him? Reciprocating conversation without bashing or belittling the other constantly? Finding an actual purpose to his life?

The only part he was comfortable with fully was the last. Having a purpose, no less a divine one (he interpreted it to be such) did wonders for one's psyche and mental state. But it also made him an emotional mess trying to quietly sort out his feelings- the same as the rest of the crew, differentiated no more by his sins than the despair of a terrible death.

Whilst Jimmy certainly did feel an overwhelming urge at times to quip harshly at Rothman, or to make himself seem bigger, or even to just downright insult some part of his being... everytime he thought of such, his mind flashed back to that white interrogation room... the most frightening sight of his entire life.

"PIG-UGLY BASTARD."

"DEGENERATE SCUM."

And Hawkes' booming words echoed and bounced around in Jimmy's skull.

He was urged, by the very small, regretful, ever-sorrowful and ever-guilt-ridden part of the back of his mind, that he'd felt the entire time on the Tulpar. That little part had grown to nearly occupy half his mind, and it wasted no time nor seconds ensuring that Jimmy felt like the biggest piece of shit in the galaxy, perpetually and endlessly.

If I can just redeem myself, Jimmy thought achingly. If I can just do good with this chance, if I can do great deeds that are ten, no, a hundred times the size of my crimes... then... then one day this voice will grow small again, and I can find some... some peace of mind.

Rothman stared curiously at Jimmy, who was clearly going through a mental circus after hitting the joint for so long. He was like a lost child forced into a grown man's body, but at the same time Jimmy was surprisingly really clever, witty and decently charming when he wasn't belittling, degrading, or outright abusing prisoners.

Not that Rothman necessarily disagreed with how Jimmy governed the cells. Hailing from an Monarchist Autocracy, Rothman had seen all forms of suffering, oppression, and sinful acts that shamed his existence as a human being. One thing he didn't tell Jimmy, was that he was high nobility (not royalty) from this same autocracy -The Montrose Dynasty- and had fled the planet to seek adventure away from the beautified, oppressive hellscape of his homeworld.

Being learned, educated and equipped with a wealth of knowledge and high-end skills, he had found Jimmy, the exact opposite of him, to be quite endearing in his naivete, insanely righteous sense of justice, and on-his-feet cleverness that became apparent from day one.

"So," Rothman started, heading onto a different topic. "You seem like a half-smart fella." He leaned in to mutter his next sentence. "What do you think of the ship?"

"You seem like a full fart smella, what do you think I'm thinking?"

Rothman chuckled immaturely at Jimmy's quip, then quickly dropped the amusement from his face. "So. What do you think?"

Jimmy resurfaced from his thoughts, knowing exactly what Rothman was trying to hint at. The 'Aurora', as it was dubbed, was not only corrupt and lax on authority, but as confirmed by Jimmy's suspicions, functioned very similarly to a criminal underworld. Based on what Rothman had told him about the other two ships -The Nasimata and the Pomstad- this was the least-disciplined, most pirate-like ship out of the whole fleet of capital ships. It was primarily due to the history of the Captain, who had started out as an interstellar corsair for most of his life, and only recently joined the Hannou/SCR as one of their leading forces (primarily given a capital ship because of all the wealth and supplies the Captain had brought with him as a gift).

With such incompetence and low-brow people onboard, Jimmy and Rothman had decided, on this day, to conspire on how they could take advantage of this lax structure to move themselves up the chain of power. It was entirely out of character for Jimmy to place his trust in somebody he only met two days ago, but so was everything else about his life right now.

He shouldn't have even been alive to think of conspiring in the first place. Rapid adjustments required rapid adaptability.

And so, when Jimmy and Rothman were off-duty, they would head into the break room adjacent to Alani's cell and began taking notes, drawing charts, maps, diagrams (mostly Rothman teaching Jimmy his mechanisms for research, info-gathering and documentation). Every 5 minutes or when he heard the sound of jingling keys, Jimmy would leave the room to check outside and ensure nobody had been moved into Alani's cell before re-entering the room to continue the plotting.

"So, whenever you are trying to move up the ranks of any organization, the first and foremost thing you need is to network with others. Find out who the big pieces are, the little pieces- who's useful, who's trustworthy, who can be an ally and who is going to be a constant enemy."

Rothman pointed to a number of departments, explaining his thoughts to Jimmy.

"I've been here for roughly 3 months. There are a few departments full of people who are both pliable and disgruntled with the current leadership- especially after this recent battle. The Medical department, who is usually constantly overinundated with injured and dying people thanks to our Captain's strikingly terrible strategies; the Engineering department, who hasn't got any of their requests approved in the last 3 years; the Supply Bay, which is a disorganized mess because Captain Moretti fired the quartermaster and gave himself the title (so he could order cigars and cognac without needing to go through a middleman); and, of course..."

His finger maliciously tapped on the Barracks part of the ship.

"...The 'militia' themselves. Them fighters fucking hate the Captain since he's such a shit leader outside of basic raids on weaker vessels, but they have no leadership among them who would dare to try and usurp the Captain, primarily because they fear backlash from the rest of the crew and potentially other ships in the fleet."

"Okay... so are they our key supporters?" Jimmy asked, having heard the term used once on his homeworld during high school and thinking himself smart for using it. Rothman nodded.

"Yes, but you can't turn the whole ship to your side with just the key supporters. This ship doesn't just have Hannou on it- there's people from Vilraks, Mineos, Onami, Calicaos, Salosia... the list goes on. When you have this many people from so many different planets and systems, you need to do a lot more than just get a few departments on your side."

Rothman leaned in, speaking quietly so as not to allow any potential eavesdroppers to hear him. What they were doing could be considered treason if this plot ever got out.

"You need to start making friends without revealing our intentions. Same goes for me. When we get back to Hannou, and when you see just how third-world the infrastructure and ruling class and practically everything else is, you will see just how pliable it is to take control."

Jimmy was absolutely absorbed with Rothman's every word, appealing to his sensibilities of seeking that control he so desperately craved. Being fed all of these dreams of ambitions to rise up was psyching him up for his job and future prospects. He was taking mental notes from Rothman, considering him both a friend and mentor as the days passed by leisurely and stress-free.

The plan was becoming more fleshed out over the week, and Jimmy's interactions with Alani were becoming more and more intimate. By the fourth day, Jimmy was happily greeting Alani and receiving warmer responses from her.

"Hey, Alani!" 

"Hey, Jimmy."

Not only was she looking healthier from receiving enough food to sustain herself, she was refitted with fresh clothes and (in secret) brought into the break room at night to have a chance to clean herself in the showers. As Jimmy came walking up to her cell, he gently slid in the cafeteria meal from the small slit opening, watching as Alani took it and chowed down on it with gratitude.

"Thank you, Jimmy."

Jimmy beamed in absolute pride and affection.

"Of course!"

As Jimmy walked away whistling, long down the corridor he suddenly heard the sound of keys jingling, and turned around to see another Patrolman entering Alani's cell, a look of abject outrage scrawled across his face.

"What the fuck?!" He sputtered in rage as he noticed the clean garments and healthier look of Alani, who immediately cowered into the corner in terror as the guard approached to beat her with the baton. "Who THE FUCK IS CARING FOR YOU, YOU SLAGGIN' WHORE BITCH!"

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

Alani cried out in pain and terror as the patrolman wailed at her with the baton, cursing her out for merely existing, bruising her arms, back and legs with welts and cuts. Jimmy had never seen generational hatred so viscerally before. And he never wanted to see it again.

(Music: "Apologize", by grandson)

"Hey, Einer, can you take my shift for the evening?"

"Huh?" The patrolman muttered, turning around to see Jimmy casually asking him-

"I'll be busy fucking your mother, cunt."

CRACK!

Einer stumbled sideways, his head cracked across the side by Jimmy swinging the baton with full force at his skull; causing Einer to then careen towards the cell bars and crack the other side of his head against those, before ragdolling to the floor unconscious and bleeding heavily from his bruised cranium. Almost every prisoner within the vicinity of the sight was slack-jawed as Jimmy raised his baton with both hands and began caving in Einer's head, the inmates silent in awe and horror at seeing this sudden and violent conflict between jailers.

By the end of it, Einer's face was caved into his skull, blood splattered across Alani, Jimmy, and the entirety of the cell; finished just in time for Rothman to round the corner and drop the supplies he'd gathered to the floor in utter bewilderment.

"Wh...What the... What..."

He looked up in a daze at Jimmy, seeing a bloodthirsty, devilish creature reveling in the action he just took like it were a coronation ceremony purely for him.

"WHAT THE F- what the FUCK did you just do, DUMBASS?!" Rothman first shouted, then whispered aggressively as he came sprinting up to the cell where Jimmy and the corpse was, along with Alani shivering quietly on the floor. "We're so fucked now! We're FUCKED!"

"No, no," Jimmy said, almost too calmly and almost as if a revelation had come upon him. "No, it'll be fine, I just realized we were the only two assigned to patrol today. And there's no cameras since this is a pirate's brig."

"YOU JUST NOW REALIZED THAT YOU HAD A COVER?! DO YOU EVER ACT WITH A PLAN IN FUCKING MIND?! IT'S YOUR FOURTH DAY!"

Jimmy seemed to ignore Rothman's panicked voice, thinking deviously about another great idea that came to his volatile and maniacal state of mind.

"The Warden..." He muttered. The division officer of the Prison Patrolsmen was the Warden, and in this case the position was filled by an absolute drunkard who never experienced a sober day in his adult life. "Oh, I have an idea brewing..."

Rothman looked around, still in a panic, trying to figure out what to do about the dead body on the floor. Jimmy noticed his panicking and waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about him. We'll just find some prisoner and use him to scapegoat," He said, ensuring to quiet his voice so the other prisoners didn't hear him talking about them like pawns. Rothman, though incredibly disturbed by the sudden murder and the fear of being caught, decided to just latch onto Jimmy's reasoning and re-centered his breath. There was something that could be salvaged here- his vast intellect paired with scholarly knowledge was dissecting the situation bit by bit, realizing that this could be a potential power play in their favor.

"You're fucking crazy, dude," Rothman expressed exhaustively- even if he was alight with fervor right now as he saw prospects unraveling before him as Jimmy continued to speak. It took Rothman years to fulfill the little ambitions he had back then- and here was this absolute lunatic trying to speedrun the process in four days. Four.... fucking... days! 

HOW EXHILARATING! This was EXACTLY what Rothman sought to take hold of on his homeworld, yet never able to reach! ACTION! DECISIVENESS! POWER!

"Fuck it!" Rothman yell-whispered, his skin flaring with excitement and exhilaration. "What's the plan??"

"The Warden is a drunkard," Jimmy spoke with projected clarity, his eyes seeming to warp between insanity and the seeming clairvoyance of an insanely confident individual way out of his depth. "He's the one who assigns us. Nobody else in our small division likes him, he treats his staff like shit and hasn't paid me or anyone else (I suspect) since I was onboarded. We'll need to get the rest of the Patrolsmen onboard, then we can take the Warden out quietly in the break room and disguise his death as a prison break gone wrong. Then we take power."

"What the fuck are you rambling about?!" Rothman muttered, although his mind was working out the feasibility of Jimmy's makeshift plan. "I haven't seen any of the Patrolmen today, but it's not guaranteed that all eight of them hate the Warden enough to stage a coup against him! And how the fuck are you going to 'take power'?"

Jimmy, in a trance, tapped his palm as if conveying some kind of symbolic gesture, which completely went over Rothman's head and only unsettled him further.

"I read through the Aurora Patrolman Codex, and there was a code in there that went something along the lines of... lemme remember... 'chapter number article number whatever, shall enumerate the choosing of the new division officer through majority vote by the subordinate ranks in their totality', or something like that-"

"Okay, that's great- I realize now that WE NEED TO GET THIS BODY INTO HIDING!"

The two of them rapidly began to drag the cumbersome corpse of Einer out of the cell and into the break room, stuffing him into one of the tall unoccupied lockers and placing three locks on it. Wasting no time, Rothman immediately found the mop and bucket, rapidly cleaning up the trail of blood that was (thankfully) very short thanks to Alani's cell being adjacent to the room, as well as the inside of the cell and (almost comically) mopping Alani aggressively to clean the blood off her uniform and skin, to which she whimpered in utter humiliation.

Rushing back to the break room, he found Jimmy on his issued holo pad, messaging the other patrolmen off-duty.

"YOU'RE DOING THAT RIGHT NOW?!"

"We have to!" Jimmy shouted back. "The longer we wait, the greater chance someone will leak the incident happening here, we only have so much time to leak our version of the story first!"

"Fuck! FUCK!" Rothman cursed, stressing out incredibly. "Okay, okay, so how do you plan on convincing the others to murder their boss and voting you in with a majority favor??"

Jimmy craned his head around with a wolfish grin and gleaming eyes that saw opportunity far beyond whatever Rothman was conceiving right now.

"How many of the Patrolmen are Hannou?"

"Uh, uh, It's Rynlowe and Miari. Why? What are you planning??"

After roughly a dozen minutes, six patrolmen had entered the breakroom after receiving Jimmy's message about an 'important meeting'. Considering there wasn't much else to do on the ship in their downtime other than drink, gamble and fuck, this was something to entertain them for the hour. Jimmy and Rothman invited them to be seated at the table, and they did so warily, knowing the cutthroat atmosphere on this ship and ensuring that one foot was kept at the ready to pounce away and fight if it came to it.

Jimmy eyed them all with a slight quiver, feeling a small chink in his titanium armor of total conviction and hiding it as he spoke.

"I only brought you six here today because I wanted to discuss a few developments. First thing is, you two."

He looked to Gryn and Salmire, who slightly leered backward as he spoke to them.

"I saw you both off-duty, walking down the corridor. You saw what I did, right?"

The both of them paled in the face, looking between each other than back at Jimmy, almost surfacing hostility in their eyes. Jimmy quickly raised his hands in a peacemaking gesture.

"I want your help."

The both of them seemed confused, waiting for Jimmy to speak further, while the rest of the group seemed utterly perplexed by what Jimmy was talking about.

"Gryn, what's he talking about?" said Lox, a younger female romantically partnered with Gryn, while Norm, a muscular younger male with a scar across his face gazed skeptically at Jimmy. Tanyr and Pleiades, the last two of the group, were silently whispering to each other as the silence fomented for a moment. Jimmy took this time to make his claim- and hoping he was right.

"You're both from Canaris, I assume?"

Gryn and Salmire were taken entirely aback by Jimmy's words, as if he had seen right through their identities. The rest of the Patrolmen started talking aloud in confusion and aggression, but Jimmy wasn't finished trying to get his point across.

"You all know Einer. I saw him wailing on Alani with a baton a bit earlier this evening."

The patrolmen exchanged glances of guilt and regret, but ultimately seemed too cowardly to confront the matter directly.

"It's... just a part of the system, Jimmy," Tanyr said depressingly. "You know how Hannou feels about them. We're powerless to do much about it, as egregious as it is."

"And also, what the hell are these claims you're making against Gryn and Salmire?" Pleiades muttered, though he was more interested in hearing what the two of them had caught Jimmy in the middle of.

"Einer's dead." Rothman interjected harshly, his sentence immediately startled the six of them, then evoked shouting and (surprisingly minor) outrage from the crew.

"H-Huh?"

"The hell are you talking about?!"

"Is this some kind of shitty prank??"

"No," Rothman said sternly, pointing at the locker with three combination locks latched onto it. "He's stuffed in that corner, over there."

The patrolmen morbidly glanced over at the locker, starting to notice the small blood splotches around its edges and leakage from the underside. Before they could break into a panic, Jimmy stood up and said his piece.

"I've had enough of this shit. Haven't any of you? You two are Canaris -and don't try to deny it- and that's why you walked away without saying anything when I killed him."

The patrolmen, mystified by Jimmy's supremely confident righteous declaration despite literally talking about murdering one of their own, leaned in as he did to deliver the impact remark.

"Because he was evil."

The small band of six looked between each other, uncertainty and doubt in their eyes. To Rothman, it was an absolute miracle that they didn't outright shove him to the ground and arrest him at the start. He looked to Jimmy with a profoundly new outlook, wondering how and where the hell he had attained this people-reading ability that bordered on clairvoyance.

If I can convince Swansea, of all people, to drink the shadiest-looking smoothie in human history, Jimmy thought pridefully to himself. Then I can convince anyone of anything.

"Have any of you noticed who wasn't invited?"

The crew looked around and quickly realized who was absent, their faces suddenly scrunching in deep thought and conniving plotting.

"Mhm. Hannou. So, what we know for fact right now: Two of us are hidden Canaris who likely lied about their past to avoid the fate of those imprisoned. The rest of you are clearly not okay with the way that prisoners, especially Canarisians, are treated on this ship. And most of all, you see just how dingy and weak the laws and authorities are on this ship. A former pirate ship. And we have the opportunity to change the power dynamic in this department and start... earning what we deserve."

He wasn't even fully sure if what he said was entirely true in all parts of it- but the sheer confidence in which he spoke was reframing the conversation. With that whole paragraph said, the Patrolmen's eyes craned up to him, and Jimmy felt a euphoric delight erupt inside him as he realized his intuition was correct-

These people were all conniving little cutthroats, who'd been looking for wealth, power and glory all their lives. What other brand of human would join these spacefaring, wannabe-rebel buccaneers? They were criminals, thieves, robbers, brigands, murderers and delinquents.

The perfect kind of people for Jimmy to appeal to.

"We're on a ship full of Hannou," Jimmy continued. "I don't know how many, but we can get the stats on that, easy. We're going to be heading back to their homeworld, no matter what, but we don't need to let anyone know about this little 'incident' that's going to happen, so that we can -reassert- ourselves in a comfortable position by the time we get back. And it doesn't need to just stop here, either- you've all been here for weeks, if not months or years, and I'm sure you saw in the first week, the same as I did... how easy it is to carve our path upward if we do it together."

As much as he said aloud, more was said non-verbally in the silence that followed thereafter. The Patrolmen looked between one another, eyes narrowing and scheming, weighing and calculating their chances with this loudmouth newbie leading the charge.

To them, this was a morbid, but exhilarating breath of fresh air. Everyone in this room had come from faraway planets and found themselves on this ship through one predicament or another, and the dismal state of hierarchy and discipline on the Aurora meant there was no loyalty, to anyone that didn't form their own mutual alliances. To Jimmy, it felt likely that many more on the ship were of the same mindset- and could be turned to allies with the prospect of re-forging their own brand of leadership and control.

"And..." Jimmy muttered deviously. "He hasn't paid any of you in the last two weeks, has he?"

That inflamed the gathered crew. Deliberations didn't take much longer.

Unanimously, after a few minutes, they craned their eyes towards Jimmy, settling back in their chairs casually- Approval.

"Well, then." Jimmy rasped in delight. "Now that we're all on the same page. Let's talk about my idea for what a reformed Patrolman's department would look like."

(Music: "Twisted", by MISSIO)

Barnos Galgos, the Warden of the Aurora and division officer of the Patrolmen, was doing a routine check of all the cells and their occupants before the solar night began. Swaying from side to side, with a bottle in one hand and a baton in the other, he drunkenly swooned through the corridors, yelling at the occasional inmate to quiet down and banging on the cells of Canarisians out of spite and long-standing hatred.

"Fuckin' indigents." He mumbled, taking another swig of his half-empty Cognac before coming upon Alani's cell. He peered down at her, seeing her shaking in silence, and grinned salaciously, fumbling for his cell keys to open the door-

"Warden, sir!"

"Wh-huh?!"

Barnos turned, startled by the loud announcement from Jimmy, who was in full uniform and saluting the officer with an indiscernible grin. 

"The fuhk do yoo want, skunk?"

"A few of the Patrolmen have concerns about the smell in the break room, it's a bit odorous and we're not sure how to remove it."

"Wuh thuh fuhk are yoo evuhn talkin' 'bout??" Barnos questioned with slurred awareness. "Showw mee!"

"Gladly." Jimmy said, his inflection lowering as he turned around and led Barnos into the break room, opening the door to a dark interior. Only after Barnos stumbled well into the pitch-black break room did he think;

Oh, this feels like a setup.

WHAM!

Barnos was immediately whacked over the head by someone he couldn't see, falling to the ground and slamming his head against the hard-tiled floor, groaning in pain as he looked up to see-

"Wh-What the FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK-!"

Schick! Schick! Schick! 

"GGAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"

Schick! Schick! Schick! 

"GHHHKKKK!!!!!

Schick! Schick! 

"Ghk! Ghhhk! Ghhhk!"

Blades, repeatedly stabbing in and out of his blubbery torso, through his legs, his arms and shoulders; over and over and over again. Blood pooled across him like a spewing fountain as the eight Patrolmen assailed the drunken fool and stabbed him with their standard-issue combat knives, glee riding morbidly across their faces.

Divinity, holiness, sanctity, afterlife, judgment; everyone interpreted faith and spirituality much differently, especially after the Day of Erudition. Some viewed it as heaven and earth combining into one material plane of existence; others considered it a second chance for humanity to return its morality to the fold of its numerous societies across the galaxy.

And the dregs of the underworld, like those in this room, viewed it as an opportunity to act like unhinged vigilantes, believing undoubtedly and stubbornly that they were morally justified in their behaviors.

As Barnos began to rapidly bleed out despite still being stabbed out of sadistic delight by the Patrolmen surrounding him, his hazy gaze managed to catch a glimpse of two bloodied bodies a few feet away from him; oozing the crimson life the same as he. He could make out their faces just barely-

Rynlowe and Miari- perforated with dozens of stab wounds, dried trails of tears running down the sides of their dead, paled faces.

And with that last sight, Barnos fell unconscious, dying of blood loss soon thereafter.

8 hours later...

Pandan stared down morbidly at the sight before him. In one of the larger cells, there was what appeared to be a bloody fight between five prisoners and four Patrolmen- Rynlowe, Miara, Einer... and Barnos. Pandan leaned down to inspect the corpses for an investigation- there wasn't an onboard investigator (they were a former pirate ship), and he was the only one in authority who had a degree in Criminology from his homeworld.

Stab wounds, through the torsos, arms, legs, necks... He gagged at the sight of it. Looking to the prisoners, he noticed all five had suffered blunt force trauma to the heads, arms, legs and torsos, likely dying from contusions and head or organ trauma.

He stood up and postulated on the scene before him. It looked like Barnos and his cronies had entered the cell for some apparent reason, which led to the gathered prisoners attacking the guards in a conspiracy to seize their weapons. They managed to get their knives and stab them several times, then eventually died to their trauma from the batons. Einer seemed to have had his baton stolen from him and used against his face, which sickened Pandan to his stomach- even if he strongly disliked Einer for past grudges he wasn't getting into.

Pandan was unsettled by the sight; not because he wasn't used to gory scenes before, but because this had happened in the brig. The last thing he wanted was the rest of the prisoners getting ideas and trying to start a riot. And above all, he was saddened to see his fellow Hannou dead and mutilated so cruelly like this.

He looked at the Patrolmen, noting that Jimmy was standing at the front of the small group with his cap held at his chest in solemn respect, his faced mired with a grimace, as if he were thinking on the occasion in contemplation. Pandan nodded in slight appreciation of Jimmy- showing deference and respect to the dead, especially the Hannou, was honorable and considered tradition amongst their people. He walked up to him, confirming the report.

"So only you happened to see the fight go down?" Pandan asked, as Jimmy nodded firmly.

"Me and Einer were assigned to patrol for the day and night shift. I was on my usual route, and I heard a lot of commotion from Cell Block F. I radio'ed in backup from the other Patrolmen and headed toward the sound- and I found those... bastards killing Barnos, Rynlowe, Miara and Einer, working together. Me and the ones that arrived earliest on scene beat back the psychopaths with batons until they stopped moving."

Jimmy shuddered and covered his eyes, clearly seemingly stressed out about the whole incident. "On my first fuckin' week...!"

Pandan laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry to burden you with this, Jimmy. I know it's been a fucked up week. I get it. But... you guys need to choose a new division officer."

Feigning outrage, Jimmy gazed up at Pandan and grit his teeth.

"I can't fuckin' mourn my boss for a second?!"

Pandan apologized to him, trying to calm him down.

"I'm sorry! I'm not trying to stress you out. But we need a hierarchy here right now. Between you and me..."

Pandan leaned in to whisper in Jimmy's ear.

"The Captain got his shit reamed out by the Admiral for being late on the flanking maneuver against the Argonaut. So now he's binge-drinking and eating and moping while we have an overwhelmed medical bay and engineering bay, prison riots swelling, and an abundance of pilfered riches we have to haul back to Hannou before another military fleet catches us with our ass hanging out."

Jimmy nodded intently, genuinely taking in this information for his own later use.

"I see." Jimmy said with a grim face. "Alright... fine. How do we choose a new officer?"

I already fucking know, you stupid prick, Jimmy thought smugly as Pandan informed him.

"The Patrolmen Codex lays out the majority vote process. Just read through it and pick whoever you guys think is best. Personally...?"

Pandan turned his head to glance at the Patrolmen behind him, before leaning in to whisper.

"I think you'd be a pretty good division officer."

Jimmy smiled sweetly, hiding a carapace of shark teeth underneath his innocent framework.

"You're too kind, Pandan. But I'm far too new, I don't think they'll pick me."

"Hey, you never know. And, uh, just call me Panda, man."

"Sure! You can call me Jim-Jam, then."

"I think I'll just stick with 'Jimmy'."

As Pandan walked off, Jimmy could hardly fight off the urge to grin madly in rapturous ecstacy. The power play was successful. He turned around, seeing the grins of all seven of the remaining Patrolmen- all of them now locked into a pact of silence and cooperation going forward.

"Looks like we're good going forward." Jimmy said with a smug grin.

Sure, as long as you keep relying on your moral crutch, Rothman thought contemptibly, referencing Alani who Jimmy was clearly hinging his confidence on 'saving', which was obvious when Jimmy kept spending the fucking last 3 days checking up on her incessantly and rambling about 'delivering her' from this 'oppressive landscape' of 'absolute evil'.

He sized up Jimmy the same as he did the first time he'd met him; seeing him with a far different outlook now than when he'd first seen those calculating, conniving brown eyes of his. Now, Jimmy seemed reinforced by some fanatical devotion to what he perceived as 'virtue'. Rothman didn't necessarily disagree with Jimmy's current idea of this virtue.

He was the one, after all, to find out which prisoners had violated Alani through interrogation and dragged them into the break room to beat them to death, in the dead of night for this scapegoat photo op. As Jimmy and the other Patrolmen congratulated and patted each other on the back like diabolical criminals, Rothman felt a hint of fear as Jimmy's gaze crossed his; filled with gratitude and eagerness to keep climbing the blood-soaked power hierarchy.

Rothman was hesitant to feel the same. He had escaped hell, only to see kin in this man's eyes- a man with depravity and cruelty that sowed into his mind as deeply as the kindness and righteousness he was trying to exemplify.

Whatever the outcome would be, Rothman was simply interested to see where this path would go. Perhaps it would bring him the power he yearned for. No matter what,

It was the adventure he was seeking.

Chapter Text

If you've gotten this far into the saga, you aren't getting any more content warnings. Read at your own risk, and enjoy.

(Music: "Solenzara", by Enrico Macias)

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Captain Hawkes held the bloodied and bruised face of one of the superior officers of the SCR, revived, captured and held in the interrogation room for a 'formal' questioning period. It had been two months, and tomorrow was the day they arrived at Canaris. Soothing latin music played over the speakers whilst the dozens of tied-up captured militiamen and women cried and sobbed as they watched their allies get beaten to a pulp by the towering monster making an example of them.

Hawkes had spent much of his leisure time for those 2 months BEATING. THE FUCKING. SHIIIIT! out of the available 160-something-odd SCR hostages he'd taken since the grand skirmish.

"Pleeeese....Stooop...."

"You're still talking? Lemme fix that."

CRAAAACK!

The final punch rocked the man's head and sent him careening to the ground, bloodied and unconscious. Captain Hawkes sighed in satisfaction, straightening his uniform and wiping the blood off his calloused knuckles, untying the derelict from the chair and tossing his broken body back into the pile of quivering hostages.

"Any volunteers?"

The SCR hostages made themselves smaller, none of them wanting to be a part of the satisfaction of Hawkes' violent enjoyment. They didn't even dare to make eye contact- his eyes were spewing hellfire and endless wrath, his seven-foot mass quivering with anticipation to exact his overwhelming violence onto whichever unfortunate soul captured his attention.

"C-Captain??"

Hawkes turned his steely gaze towards Ramirez, who was nervously standing by the doorway, peering into the blood-splattered room filled with hundreds of new and dried blood splotches scattered over the pristine-white room, looking more like a gory horror house than an investigation room. The interrogation chamber had been widened specifically for Hawkes to indulge in this daily 'venting session', as he called it.

"What?"

Caz had entered the phase of becoming actively fearful of Hawkes whenever he'd entered the same room as him in the last two months. The constant rage driving Hawkes' psyche up the wall would not have persisted this long over a grudge against Jimmy, not with this kind of intensity over such a lengthy period of time.

"C-Captain, Miss E-Elise, a-and Miss... L... wish to sp-speak with you in the Drone C-Control room, sir."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

Caz nodded shakily and exited the room with haste, as Hawkes turned back to the assembled hostage gallery in front of him and contemplated the last two months.

The Tulpar crew had made decent mental progress on the overall since the incident of coming face-to-face with Jimmy. All of them were recovering in different ways, but it was more concerning than the first time.

Curly, first and foremost, had spent the last two months training relentlessly in every combat drill, technique, regime, and martial art available on the Argonaut; and when he wasn't training, he was challenging random Argonauts to single hand-to-hand combat, from stern to bow of the ship. In the first days, he was getting whooped quite frequently; but as it neared the end of two months, Argonauts were starting to avoid making eye contact or walking the same routes as Curly; his record had shot up rapidly after 2 weeks, then a month, and by this trip's end he had challenged and beaten over half the entire ship of crewmates. He had made the most progress, as the challenging and getting his ass beat and then beating asses had vented a lot of his rage over the two months, and by the end of it, he was in a rather healthy, if not occasionally aggressive state of mind, though his worry for Anya was still extremely deep-seated.

Daisuke was the second-best recovery. He had been quite catatonic in the first two days after the grand skirmish, but after walking through a corridor one day and saving Annalise from a collapsing support beam, he's found some solace in hanging around her more often, and Hawkes would frequently find him in the terrarium celebrating and partying with other Argonauts, quickly becoming popular amongst the crew with his personality and innocent charm. There were times throughout the months where Daisuke would stop, still as a statue, and stared into the void for varying amounts of time- but that was relatively mild compared to other trauma victims.

Swansea had sworn off alcohol for the two months, citing that it reminded him of the Tulpar, but then went through a midlife crisis as he tried to find several busybody jobs to do onboard. He had first tried Systems Engineering, but quickly realized he did not enjoy having to work alongside a dozen other engineers when he'd spent so many decades handling problems on his own. He then transitioned into working the Dark Matter reactors, but realized he didn't have nearly enough knowledge on the vast inner workings of such awe-inspiring complex devices and quickly lost interest- the ones on the Tulpar were self-repairing and self-maintained. This continued for a while, hopping from similar job to similar job, until he ended up just trying out random jobs onboard and finding no satisfaction with those, either. It wasn't long before he dipped back into the alcohol and ended up hanging around Daisuke for the last 2 weeks of the trip, seemingly relatively content with being around Daisuke again, but frustrated with himself for failing at so many jobs onboard.

Anya... was the worst in recovery. She had been catatonic for over four days since the skirmish, almost died of malnutrition twice, and frequently screamed in terror when someone entered the same room as her unannounced. Three weeks after the skirmish, First Officer Danny (who looked very similar to Jimmy) walked into Anya's room to give her a message from CMO Annie (requesting Anya's medical tenure as a nurse for the remainder of the trip). It went about as well as expected, and the bloody murder screams emanating from her room reached Curly's ears. A few minutes later, there was a deadly brawl occurring between Curly and Danny, with a number of Argonauts trying to separate them whilst a bigger proportion of crewmates were cheering on the brawl. At this point, a day before arrival at Canaris, Anya was doing far better in a very surprising way, no longer catatonic or frightful of everyone she came across. She still had long moments where she held the thousand-yard stare at a corner of the room or some unfortunate Argonaut passing by, and times when she would randomly suffer a revisiting of memory and either break down sobbing or hallucinate overdosing...

No, that was objectively the worst recovery by far.

Hawkes was withering on the inside from the engulfing rage that had taken a serious toll on his psyche these past months. His eyes quivered constantly, bags and bags developing underneath his daunting gaze, pale and yellowish skin from excessive alcoholism and from resting for long periods of time in his quarters to review Tulpar footage.

It was a self-destructive and futile routine he had entered, one out of a rare few times in his life when he had lost his composure like this. For the last two months, Hawkes couldn't have given less of a shit about Jimmy having escaped- Hawkes was agonizingly livid at what Jimmy had MENTALLY INFLICTED ON HIS F-A-M-I-L-Y-!

Ah, Hawkes thought with an acute, contained, and concentrated rage. Ah, I am just... so... angry. I have to calm down. I can't lose my shit the day before arrival! I cannot be an animal. I cannot be an animal. I cannot be-

"P...Please... let us rot in the cells, sir... just... let us be, please..."

Someone just had to speak.

(Music: "Eye For An Eye", by Mac Quayle)

Hawkes' gaze craned the edges of the room like a violence-seeking lighthouse, eventually landing upon the individual foolish enough to speak in this little white-red hell specially tailor-made for them. Criminals, rapists, murderers, pirates, robbers, thieves. Satan's little helpers, all in one blender together.

Hawkes stormed towards the individual who'd spoken out, stepping on the legs, arms, faces, and torsos of those in his way and breaking bones, cartilage, muscle, and sinew. Agonizing cries of pain filled the enlarged interior as Hawkes reached the slovenly hostage and palmed his face, dragging him over the crushed and broken bodies of his comrades to the center of the room and dropping him in the middle, before looking back at the crying and quivering masses of hostages with ethereal, feral, unrequited apoplexy.

"I learned about you Hannou long, long ago. Some of you may be Hannou, some of you may not. I knew what Canaris had done to your homeworld, how they exploited your power struggle for their own gain. I wasn't spending all my time slaughtering pirates and fending off enemy incursions."

Several faces within the crowd of captured hostages suddenly glared with generational hatred and malice, identifying who hailed from that accursed planet. Hawkes grinned from ear to ear as he found his next victims so quickly.

CRACK-CRK-CRK! "AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

Hawkes broke the man's arm in three places, leaving it looking like a postmodern art piece, to the abject horror of the hostage audience forced to witness the gruesome spectacle, all whilst Hawkes gave them a history lesson in the form of a morbid lecture.

"I helped you sorry cunts out when I shouldn't have, stuck my nose in places I shouldn't have been, pulled strings that cost me the lives of crew, friends and occasionally loved ones. Got Canaris fingers out of your homeworld, let you rebuild and renew. All behind the scenes, out of the pure fucking goodness of my heart."

Hawkes tossed the broken man back into the crowd of injured and broken bodies, locating another Hannou and dragging her screaming and kicking,  her tied legs and arms flailing frantically, into the middle of the room, this time his eyes filled with bottomless loathing and contempt.

"And how do you repay me? How do you repay me, when I did the damnedest courtesy of notifying your world leaders, your captains and admirals, your business magnates and agricultural barons, that I, -ME!- I had eliminated the corrupt touch of Canaris' highest echelons upon your planet?"

He didn't move a muscle, which only served to terrify the hostages further as moments passed without a hint of movement. Then he spoke:

"You spit in my face. You kidnap our citizens, kill our children and families, rape and violate our daughters and wives and mothers and sons and brothers. You sell and beat and abuse and traffic our people like cattle. You call for our genocide?!  THAT IS HOW YOU REPAY ME ?"

And right as he reached the end of that sentence, he reached down and-

KSSSSCHHHHHHCCCKK!!!!

-Tore the female Hannou's leg completely off her body, leaving trails of gore and fathoms of blood spewing across the floor like leaking faucets. The Hannou female couldn't even approach a scream, in such shock from the pain she simply passed out almost instantly. Hawkes walked over to the left side of the room, where an array of medical items and torture devices were laid out precisely, picking the industrial cauterizer and hauling it over to the female, slamming the searing-hot surface against the mutilated stump of her waist and bringing her back to agonizing reality with blood-curdling screams that reverberated through the interior, traumatizing the SCR hostages into complete and total quivering silence.

"YOU WANT TO TREAT ME LIKE AN ANIMAL?" Hawkes raged at them like a rancorous bear cursed with human intellect and speech. "YOU WANT TO TREAT MY PEOPLE LIKE ANIMALS? YOU ARE LOCKED IN WITH ONE, RIGHT! NOW!"

Hawkes threw the cauterizer at the opposite end of the room with such force that the cauterizer broke through the first layer of alloy and impaled itself into the punctured metal, and by this point a number of hostages had fainted either from the pain or the sheer terror of being scared perpetually by Hawkes' unmitigated aggression and terror-inducing displays of body horror.

Hawkes sighed, feeling some twisted, malicious form of satisfaction in this blood-making for the day. He straightened his uniform, wiping blood and gore from his jacket, boots, face, and legs, then promptly exited the room without another word- leaving the SCR hostages in that gore-filled chamber to continually re-traumatize themselves.

"Make sure those scum are fixed and cleaned up by the time they're getting paraded to the Citadel," Hawkes muttered menacingly in the ear of Garrison Captain Clémence, who was slightly shivering as she nodded in compliance. She was a war-steeled veteran, but the glimpse of what she saw in that room... was a visage of Hell. The visceral morbidity of it reminded her of the history lesson she'd received on Hawkes' father while she was in CAF Military Academy, reviewing his past accolades and service. Just the thought of it sickened her to the stomach, not wanting to revisit those memories again. She hurried off to execute the Captain's orders whilst he headed in the other direction.

Hawkes briskly made his way to Elise's Drone Control center, curious to hear what news she had to break. As he passed by other Argonauts and crewmates, the reactions to him were much different since the skirmish- his psyche-riding aggression made him particularly fearsome and unhinged at times, which resulted in more crewmates becoming discomforted rather than charmed through interactions with him. He had his days where the rage had died down and he was able to enjoy himself amongst the crew, but they were few and far between during the return trip.

He eventually entered the Drone Control room, only to find both Elise and Lilia eyeing him with saddened and despairing eyes.

"What the fuck is it now?" Hawkes uttered dejectedly. Elise simply walked up silently to him and handed over a piece of holopad footage, which he reviewed promptly.

Doctor Faulkner was working studiously with Jeremiah in the Medical Wing on synthesizing new limbs, organs and regrowth hormones that would be inserted into auto-injectors used to rapidly stabilize and heal patients with nano-bots.

"Doctor," Jeremiah asked suddenly. "Why did you feed me to the beast those two months ago when you asked me to deliver Anya's medical report?"

Faulkner snickered slightly, much to Jeremiah's outrage.

"HEYYY!! SO YOU KNEW YOU WERE FUCKING ME OVER?!"

Faulkner gestured to himself in a very 'woe is me' way.

"Look at how old and frail I am, Jeremy. Do you think I could handle those beatings?"

"You know, you could have just told me to deliver the news in a softer fuckin' convention?"

Shhhhck.

The doors to the Medical Wing opened, and Hawkes stepped through the frame with an indifferent face and eyes that bled loathing. Jeremiah was the only one to see the hatred behind those eyes, as Faulkner turned around-

SNAP!

Hawkes gripped Faulkner's head and snapped it in a 180-direction, breaking his neck and sending him crumpling to the floor, before reaching into his own uniform and pulling out a holopad tape that he threw carelessly onto Faulkner's dead body, before walking out stiffly. Jeremiah was uncomprehending of what he'd just seen, looking between Hawkes walking out the door and the now-dead body of his boss and mentor.

"Wha... wha..."

"Get him to the Divinity Chamber," Hawkes spoke with choked rage and utter loathing. "Revived, in the brig. Charged with treason. You'll be serving under Annie for the day."

And with that, he exited the Medical Wing, leaving Jeremiah to stare distantly at Faulkner's dead body and the holopad tape lying over his labcoat.

(Art below is credited to @lil_shrew on instagram)

1 day later...

The Argonaut had finally reached the homeworld of Canaris. As soon as the mile-long vessel entered orbit, it immediately came into view of hundreds of warships, space stations, orbital defense fortifications, commerce & vessel traffic, asteroid mining freighters, and thousands of other oddities that occupied the heavily trafficked space around the world of Canaris; a planet that was eerily similar to earth, with a singular sun which it revolved around 374 days of the solar year. Even from orbit, the eye-boggling, immense & vast, behemothic structures on the planet could easily be seen from space. Everyone onboard the Argonaut, Tulpar, Numia, and all those in between scrambled to the window view to catch a glimpse of the magnificently spectacular sight- a mere glimpse into what humanity had been approaching before the Terror wrought such destruction across the galaxy.

The Argonaut began descent towards the planet, slowly lowering itself to catch the atmospheric gravity as it descended into a greater and greater pull of gravity, activating its reverse thrusters to rapidly slow descent unto Canaris. Sammy and Danny were at the helm, effortlessly steering the vessel towards the hundreds of miles-sprawling cityscape that was the capital of Canaris' homeworld-

Aurelia.

The view of the cityscape they were descending upon was falling out of view as Argonaut began to slow descent and dock with the ridiculously-sized landing pad crafted specifically for the Argonaut alone. The ship began to hum deafeningly as its engines died down and the magnetic propulsions coupled with reverse thrusters to slow its gentle descent until its thousands of industrial-sized landing gears made contact with the ground, eventually settling until the gales of dust and wind were blown in every direction for miles as it finally rested upon the earth below.

Sammy and Danny wiped their brows, satisfied with the landing procedure, and evacuating the bridge to meet up in the terrarium, where Hawkes would be giving a short briefing to everyone on the Argonaut. Hundreds gathered there, as Captain Hawkes stood over the top of them all with a grim look of preparation. The crowds buzzed with anticipation for a few minutes, before Hawkes silenced them with a single audible clap of his hands, then spoke with a booming voice.

"We've returned to Canaris. The plan-"

"YEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

The entire terrarium erupted into applause, cheering, and celebration, and Hawkes simply waited until it died down to continue.

"The plan is, we're going to spend a month here in rest, as I have a lot of busybody work with Canaris and its many administrative offices and shit like that. All of you are expected to be on your absolute best behavior. Your paychecks have been wired to you for this month's salary, so go and enjoy yourselves however you please-"

"YEAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"

The crowds of hundreds broke out into raucous cheering once more-

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

The celebration quickly came to a silent halt as Hawkes chastised the crowd in irritation. He cleared his throat and returned to his briefing.

"Some of you are up for renewal, so make your choice whether or not you will renew your contract or end your tenure with the Argonaut. Myself, the Tulpar crew and my top-ranking heads of departments will be leading the procession through the hordes of photographers, citizens and shit that's gonna inevitably happen when we exit the ship. The rest of you schmucks will be waiting until we head into Fortress Phoenix to receive commendations from the Atriarchs. Dismissed, prepare for landing."

(Music "Royalty", by Egzod)

The Argonaut was an eye-baffling sight to behold; a space vessel the size of the Mirabile Decus, mile-sized in length and a quarter-mile in width, shadowed dozens of housing, industrial, and commercial blocks, blotting out the sun as it descended and landed with the grace of a cosmic swan upon the airstrip designated for its arrival. Small dust storms were kicked up just by the reverse thrusters alone, coupled with the magnetic propellants that crushed and packed the thousands of yards of ground densely as it attempted to perform a safe landing.

The Argonaut had landed. As the dust storms settled, hundreds of thousands of Canarisians came swarming from every city block, alleyway, and building corner in sight, surrounding the magnificent vessel on all sides, held back by massive erected gates and thousands of military police officers on standby.

The bottom midsection of the ship opened up, allowing drone-controlled pods to fly towards the massive red carpet laid out from the Argonaut ship all the way to Fortress Phoenix, a distant picturesque multi-layered fortress structured similarly to a behemothic ant colony. Hawkes, Anya, Curly, Swansea, Daisuke, and the heads of departments were the first to exit the Argonaut, their pods gently touching down in front of the yards-wide crimson carpet sprawled out so elegantly before their feet.

The groups stepped down onto the carpet, walking slowly along the path laid out as hordes of Canarisians, dressed in hundreds of varieties of outfits, clothing, garbs, and fashion accessories, cheered and cried out in happiness for the Tulpar Crew.

"ANYA, WE LOVE YOU!" "HOLY SHIT, IT'S THEM! THEY'RE ALIVE!" "WELCOME BACK!"

"SWANSEA, TAKE A PICTURE WITH ME!" "YOOOO!!!" "YOU'RE AMAZING, CURLY!"

"DAISUKE, SIGN MY TITS!!" "DAISUKE, I LOVE YOOOUUUUU!!!!" "FUCK YEAH, ONLY CANARIS CAN PULL THIS SHIT OFF, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

The praise, screams of adoration, and overall jubilancy in the air was overwhelming to the Tulpar crew, who took it in rather good grace and simply continued walking along the path, some of them turning red in the face out of embarrassment whilst others bathed in the praise entirely- basically just Daisuke. Military police officers pushed back the adoring fans, yelling at them to stay behind the lines.

Hawkes' pitch-black pod opened up, revealing his seven-foot demeanor as he exited and stepped outside the spherical transport vehicle and started stretching; the tightly compact pod was giving his back a hard time-

"OH MY FUCK, CAPTAIN HAAAAWWWWKKKKEESSSS!!!!"

"Ah, fuck off-"

The attention that had fastened onto the Tulpar crew was quickly wrenched away as the droves of hundreds of thousands immediately sighted Captain Hawkes' undeniable demeanor and flooded the line of military police, trying to push aggressively past them to get to Hawkes and only barely being held back by multiple beatings and scathing orders to disperse and desist. 

"Nah, I don't have time for this shit." Hawkes muttered as he quickly pushed past the flocking masses fanatically rabid and desperate to glimpse and touch a part of his clothing or skin.

"HAWKES, HAVE MY BABIES!!!!" "HERO OF CANARIS!" "SAVIOR! THE SAVIOR RETURNS!!"

"ADMIRAL HAWKES, YOU ARE THE GREATEST MILITARY LEADER OF ALL TIME!" 

"DREADMONGER OF KORRES!!" "TERROR OF YAMILCAR!" "MY FATHER OWES YOU HIS LIFE!"

"OUR FAMILY HOLDS YOU IN ETERNAL GRATITUDE!" "I LOVE YOUUU, HAWKES!"

Captain Hawkes groaned a plentiful amount of times as hundreds of hands grasped at his clothing and flesh, treating him as a living messiah as he quickly hurried down the carpet to the Tulpar Crew- then quickly realizing he would bring these rabid animals with him if he didn't placate them for a bit first.

Groaning even more loudly, he stopped and placed a fake smile on his face, walking over to the crowds of Canarisians and shaking their hands, letting them feel his clothing and skin, grasp and grab his outfit and hands. The masses went absolutely batshit insane, several of them immediately fainting in pure ecstasy whilst hundreds of others immediately ceased their frenzy and simply bowed down to kneel before Hawkes, and this cascaded across the waves of humans that knelt as one- a gesture Hawkes had not before seen with these borderline-fanatics.

"Yo, CAN YOU FUCKING STOP?!" Hawkes shouted in a booming voice across the flatlands filled with Canarisians. In response, they got up and immediately cheered with raucous applause.

"THAT'S OUR HAWKES!" "FUCK YEAH!" "SIGN MY-"

"Alright, alright, I'm actually tired of this now." Hawkes yelled in quickly-depleting patience, a very, very small part of himself soaking in the praise after 12 months of going stir-crazy in the Argonaut. He stormed away from the processions, being followed rapturously by the monsoon-like crowds as droves of officers continued desperately to hold them back whilst Hawkes caught up with his family.

"Alright, I'm back." He said aloud, trying to prompt a conversation with Curly. "So, are you ready to see what Phoenix looks like? The interior is something else-"

"Yeah, yeah," Curly halted him. "I'm just... getting irritated with the noise."

Hawkes nodded desperately, trying to placate Curly's frustration, immediately turning on his heel and glaring viscerally at the scores of Canarisians around them. The gaze was unavoidable and trained across the aisles of jubilant cheer-mongers. Over a few minutes, tens of thousands fell to silence, moving like a wave backward through the flittering crowds until silence was the dominant sound in the air. Curly looked back at Hawkes with an expression of confusion and shock, before shaking his head in resignation and trudging forward.

"So I did join a cult..." He muttered as he paired up with Anya, who was silently admiring the cityscape peeking out over the complexes and multi-story buildings covering up her sight. Hawkes could tell she was aching to catch a long glimpse of the teaser that lied over the horizon, but they'd first need to meet with the Atriarchs.

"Curly, Anya, Daisuke, Swansea."

The four of them turned to him, clearly able to distinguish his voice when the literal crowds of hundreds of thousands of people had fallen silent like a hive mind. It would have made sense had they understood the culture of Canaris; mandatory service until the age of twenty-one, highly-disciplined and communal people, in the presence of a living legend that inhabited the households he was mentioned in- with such information made aware, it would not confuse and confound the Tulpar crew as it did now, making Hawkes look like some kind of majorly-successful cult leader.

"Once we finish meeting with the Atriarchs, I'll show you the sights, if you guys are good with that?"

Despite their prevalent and varied states of mind, all of them nodded in humble agreement.

"What the fuck is an Atriarch?" Swansea muttered in disinterest.

"Your call." Curly said simply, his baggy and perpetually-tired eyes revealing a lot more than his words did.

Daisuke and Anya were the only ones to not respond; Daisuke simply responding with a smile and a nod, and Anya nodding vaguely and staring back at the burgeoning cityscape over the hill in piqued interest.

Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Don't think about him.

Hawkes smiled at them, gesturing for them to continue moving forward, and they did so at a brisk pace. He wanted to unholster his handgun and blow his fucking brains out more than he'd ever wanted to in his entire life.

The Tulpar Crew and Captain Hawkes were escorted into the grand and magnificently vast chamber where hundreds of aides, consorts, assistants, scholars, warriors, explorers, confidants and dozens of varieties of other socialites chittered and gossiped to one another like buzzing mosquitoes as the group entered the expansive open room, which was so immense in size that it dwarfed a modern-day football stadium by at least twice the size. Towering stark-white columns lined the entrance by both sides, leading a natural procession to the grand steps of a multi-layered and sea-blue, gold-laden throne and partial bunker, symbolic of Canaris' past as a Fortress World. Two silver-gilded thrones with lofty cushions sat at the center of the raised platform, with two equally decorated individuals sitting atop each one with the authority of owning the entire planet.

"Kneel," Hawkes told the crew of the Tulpar firmly, all of whom looked at him for a moment before complying with the order. Hawkes himself knelt on his left knee, humbling himself before the duo rulers of Canaris. It physically hurt him to speak authoritatively to his family, but before the rulers of Canaris, obedience was absolute. His gaze brought him back to the magnificent throne platform before him, observing the rulers sitting atop them.

On the right was a fair-skinned young female of insanely ethereal beauty, with long brunette hair, adorned in the most fabulous and eye-dazzling jewelry, smooth and supple skin coated by ritualistic liquid gold drawn across her face, arms, legs and torso like a moving, breathing sculpture. A golden wreath sat atop her brunette head, complementing the immaculately maintained and silky-smooth strands of hair that fell down her shoulders and interlaced with her sea-blue and golden flowing, frilled outfit seamlessly. Genetically modified golden irises gazed lovingly at Hawkes, calculating-plotting-predicting eyes that witnessed a thousand schemes a day and yearned for more as a challenge. Her dress seemed evanescent yet in perpetual permanence, shimmering with materials painstakingly crafted, meshed, woven, and beautified specifically and purely for her to wear. She was barefoot, needing no reason to wear footwear when the entire planet was hers to walk. Fanatics and citizens would lay bricks and mortar before her very path, even into the most perilous regions of Canaris, if she merely uttered the desire to do so.

On the left was an olive-skinned, drop-dead handsome young male with short brown hair, bearing a terrible crown of thorns and heavy-caliber bullets, with several strands of blood-tipped shells dangling from the ends of his sadistic crown. His athletic demeanor was emphasized by the slim military clothing he wore, a vantablack uniform, heavy boots, gloves and an arsenal of weaponry holstered all over his clothing, resulting in the male appearing like a floating head against the equally vantablack throne he sat on. His dark-brown irises, which seemed almost black in any setting except stark-white lighting, sized Hawkes up and down, assessing him and eventually signaling silent approval behind the depth of his tidal, all-commanding gaze. He was the manifestation of Authority, and every word he spoke was heard and never ignored in the presence of those who could hear it. His word was law, war, and death if he so ordered, and he held as much loyalty and command over the hundreds of billions of Canarisians on and off-world as he did the countless fleets and armies that dominated Canaris and its ruling galactic sector.

Lily's prettier, Hawkes thought dismissively, making temporary eye contact with the Matriarch, who continued to eye him suggestively.

Captain Hawkes had been living for three present generations of Atriarchs; the Contyra, first generation; the Sanctima, second generation; and the third and current generation, the Populani. Atriarchs, once chosen from Canaris' best warriors, male and female, were then put forth before a popular election, then a Congressional and Military Hearing that lasted one month, followed by a Trial of Combat against a superior foe, and then coronation. Atriarchs, once in their positions, served a lifelong tenure until death, preferably during a war campaign. Should one Atriarch die, another would be chosen in their stead to rule alongside the senior-most.

These current Atriarchs, who had been ruling for ten years now, were lucky to be born during the era where innovation skyrocketed in Canaris when other nations were stagnating. Thanks to Canaris' already booming medical industries, the Atriarchs were granted dozens of remedies, tonics, and serums capable of slowing and stopping their aging.

Telomere-stabilizing agents, senolytic compounds, DNA repair enhancers, epigenetic reprogramming molecules, mitochondrial enhancement agents, cellular rejuvenation compounds... millions upon millions of the brightest minds of Canaris, all working to preserve their most popular Atriarchs in Canaris history, since the first Founder, Evander Canaris, had settled the earth-like planet in its first days.

"SILENCE!"

The massive chamber fell silent, looking to the dark-skinned, opulent female spokesman for the Atriarchs as she recited a prepared scripture from the parchment she held in her polished hands.

"ON THIS DAY, OF DECEMBER 29th, 2263, THE GRAND ATRIARCHS, RULERS AND CONSULS OF THE SOVEREIGN WORLD-NATION OF CANARIS, VICTORS OF THE CANARIS-KORRES WAR, DESTROYERS OF THE YAMILCAR HORDES, SAVIORS OF THE JARILA COLONIES, ARE HEREFORTH AWARDING COMMENDATIONS UPON THE CREW OF THE ARGONAUT, AND THE CREW OF THE TULPAR! ALL SHALL SILENCE THEMSELVES TILL THE CEREMONY ADJOURNS!"

(Music: "Te Quise Amar", by Jurrivh)

With that, the spokesman rolled up her parchment and stepped to the side, allowing the Matriarch to speak. Gracefully, elegantly, with swan-like poise, she stood up and spoke with a magnetic and auditory voice that rang out through the massive hall effortlessly. As she spoke, her voice carried a sense of absolute weight to it, intense and refined in its thundering delivery. Every one of her words, actions, behaviors and even the smallest of movements were recorded, transcripted, and silently photographed by hundreds of onlookers and professionals, believing themselves to be documenting the current-era Caesar and Cleopatra.

Even whilst one listened to the cultured, cultivated and polished words of the star-striking Matriarch, it felt as if a sonorous melody were accompanying her fulfilling and impactful syllables, dashing thoughts and stilling movement just by her mere imposition and way of speaking.

"Crew of the Argonaut, Crew of the Tulpar, I and the Patriarch are graced by your presence. I am Matriarch Ileiya Castira Saranoveia, Noble Consul of the beautiful world-nation of Canaris. We of Canaris were the first to respond to your call for help from abroad in the furthest reaches of deepspace. After 12 long months of searching, we are more than relieved to hear that all of you have returned, safe and sound."

The crowds of hundreds cheered and applauded, deafening the grand hall momentarily before returning to silence. Captain Hawkes was deeply appreciative the Matriarch had not mentioned Jimmy, as he had specifically sent a detailed report to Fortress Phoenix about the conclusion of his investigation and specifically requested that only Curly, Anya, Swansea and Daisuke be mentioned.

"As the Consul of Canaris, I invite you to a banquet this evening to commemorate your glorious return, as well as to reunite with your families that have yearned so dearly for your health and well-being."

Swansea perked up sharply at the mention of his family, and was about to stand up-

"DON'T YOU DARE MOVE A MUSCLE." 

Swansea froze in place as Hawkes' malevolent whisper reached his ear, and quickly settled himself back into a kneeling position. The Matriarch noticed the little dispute and giggled to herself, immediately driving several adult males and females in the side galleries into a hormonal frenzy and requiring a brisk escort out of the grand hall from a host of military police.

"Rise, valiant souls."

Reluctantly and slowly, the crew of the Tulpar and Captain Hawkes stood up to face the Atriarchs, with Hawkes taking the longest to stand up. Having been born and raised on Canaris, it was ingrained in his genetics to bear the absolute and ultimate respect to the Atriarchs- the ruling Consuls, male and female, whom governed with absolute authority and checked only by the Canaris Planetary Congress and the Committee of the Canaris Armed Forces. Hawkes could have easily gone through the five thousand pages of Canaris history that led to the establishment of this military tradition, hierarchy and organization of civil and martial government- but his mind was far too focused on how he would get the Tulpar Crew socially functional enough that they wouldn't embarrass themselves at the banquet.

"For your courageous acts and bravery in the face of danger and peril, we of Canaris would love to award the four of you with the Sigil of Avidity, our highest possible commendation for non-military personnel."

The crowd broke out into raucous applause, feeling collectively as if they were witnessing history before their very eyes. The Tulpar crew looked between one another in slight confusion and dismay as they wondered how to respond to the commendation, and simply sufficed by bowing their heads deeply in gratitude.

Good enough, Hawkes thought to himself.

The Matriarch smiled, prompting a thousand more photographs from the crying masses, and gently rested herself back into her crescent throne.

(Music: "Bramble", by Martin Wave)

"CANARII!"

The Patriarch immediately stood up, bellowing an ear-shearing command to the most elite Guard Corp of Canaris- the unrelenting Canarii, legions of the most well-armored, well-armed and well-disciplined warriors on the face of the planet barring one other branch of the Canaris Armed Forces. With decades of military experience, incessant and nonstop training and studying, imbued with genetic modifications that enhanced their physical and mental attributes, they were a mere quarter away shy from the superhuman Magna Caedes.

Strapped in Achilles Series armor capable of deflecting hundreds of heavy-caliber projectiles and were layered with a 2-inch thick polished copper coating capable of diffusing high-energy laser rounds; the armor was made lightweight by Canaris' top engineers and metallurgists for quick movement and ease of mobility and agility; plated, reinforced, meshed and measured against their bodies to fit so perfectly it may as well have been their second skin. The onyx-black armored outfits they were adorned with complemented their rhombus-shaped helmets that completely covered their faces, showing only a pristine chrome-dark surface shining malevolently. In their grips were two-handed cannons affixed with bayonets, designed similarly to the modern-era XM7 assault rifle, but instead fitted with a 40×46mm barrel capable of shooting bullets the size of hand grenades, and equipped with an underbarrel explosive grenade launcher for clearing groups of enemies. Attached to their spines, the back of their legs, the undersides of their feet and their helmets was a highly-refined and flexible exoskeleton capable of increasing the mobility, carry capacity, and physical attributes of the Canarii by several folds.

In short, they were the advance force sent in to take small countries within weeks. The Patriarch stood up with precise, calculated movements, projecting himself as a continually moving work of art as he uttered his commendation to the hundreds in the chamber and the billions listening through mass communication in a variety of different media outlets.

"For your incredibly brave and valorous determination in finding and rescuing the Tulpar crew from certain demise, and on the return trip, fending off the Separatist Coalition of Revolutionaries and their daunting armadas, and through a third deed, saving every Argonaut from the clutches of True Death, you are to be awarded the Heart of Canaris, for you have stolen it and our populace from our very grasp. Further, your previous title of 'Marquis' has been elevated to our highest rank of nobility, barring the Royal Meritocracy- you are now Duke Hawkes of Ilstania, Rovila, and Partaine, Lord-Protector of these districts to which you pledge your ever-lasting duty."

All at once, the legions-strong of Canarii assembled on either side of the massive procession raised their rifles in the air, then slammed the butts of the rifles into the ground firmly, saluting with their right hands in respect of the highest military commendation and of Captain Hawkes. The masses clambered, applauded and cheered deafeningly as the Patriarch left his throne and walked slowly down the steps, gently taking the bulky heart-shaped, gem-encrusted medal from a bowing Canarii, gracefully stepping over to Captain Hawkes and wreathing it over his head.

A few hours ago, I snapped the neck of my top surgeon, Hawkes thought loathingly of himself. Now I'm receiving my homeworld's fucking heart. I feel nauseous.

"Rise, Guardian of Canaris."

Hawkes stood up on his feet, trying to not tower over the considerably shorter 6'1 Patriarch. The Patriarch noticed and chuckled, garnering fainting from the masses and even more photographs.

"Fret not, Hawkes. You have done us an immaculate service. Now is your time to seek reward and relief."

Captain Hawkes bowed his head respectfully, quietly thanking the Patriarch before beckoning the Tulpar Crew to the sidelines and away from the Grand Procession.

"That's a big-ass medal." Swansea remarked as he bore witness to the sizeable antique hanging around Hawkes' neck. He immediately groaned as he took off the medal and wrapped it around his shoulder.

"It was gonna break my fuckin' neck if I didn't take it off sooner. Now, let me show you guys my homeworld in greater detail."

As Hawkes and the Tulpar crew exited out of the grand chamber, dozens of high nobility Canaris socialites chattered amongst themselves- plotting, scheming, planning and predicting the next turn of events of days, weeks, months and years to come. Their sycophants, assistant, clerks, scholars, spies and high-end ruffians communicated with them through headsets, by encrypted holo-pads, through passed notes, complex hand signals, or in-person by ear.

Scheming, scheming, scheming. In such a massive, highly-advanced Kardashev Tier 1 Civilization like Canaris, 150 billion strong, such scheming was beyond inevitable bordering on being intertwined with human progress. The vast majority of these high-echelon, super-wealthy elites were fanatically devoted to Captain Hawkes for his dedicated and undying loyalty and service to Canaris, which had allowed them to flourish and prosper for as long as they had. Even those skeptical of whether or not Hawkes would pull a Julius Caesar and attempt to seize planetary power for himself were dashed from their minds after his jaw-dropping defense against the Danze Imperium, managing to fend off entire swathes of capital ships, fleets and fighters with unforeseen tactics and strategies made in split-seconds where it took the Danze admirals minutes and hours to deliberate upon the same decisions- ultimately saving Canaris from a planetary war that would have cost billions of lives.

"Yelayna, why have you not offered your womb to Lord Hawkes?" whispered Erestasia, friend of Marquess Yelayna and fellow business aristocrat; whose noble family dealt in semiconductors, particle research, and rare minerals from asteroid mining operations in the local system. Marquess Yelayna, whose family was one of the most renowned and prominent noble families in Canaris, chuckled shyly and eyed Hawkes' retreating frame with lust and curiosity.

"The time will be soon, Erestasia," she muttered salaciously. "There are many contenders, and I intend to stifle every one of them. We have all of one month to move our pieces."

As the cliques of nobility gossiped and chittered amongst themselves, a long stand-out passed between them, his eyes floating around the vast chamber before settling and fixating on Hawkes, the same as a thousand other affixed gazes around him.

There you are, Captain Hawkes, the outsider diplomat thought jubilantly. Let us meet soon. I greatly look forward to it.

"Fucking finally..." Hawkes uttered exhaustedly. He despised being in such a praise-filled, sycophant-flattering, dick-sucking environment! Especially now that he had a family of whom he could spend this month enjoying the culture of Canaris, everything else had been wiped from his brain in terms of priority.

Family. Family. Family.

"That was... I don't even know what the fuck to say." Swansea spluttered, completely blind-sided by the otherworldly, Dune-esque display of fanaticism and high-echelon mingling that had just transpired. "I'm pretty sure my net worth just skyrocketed after being in there for a few minutes."

"Bunch of fuckin' blowhards," Curly muttered bitterly, receiving flashbacks to when Jimmy had brown-nosed him in the first months of the voyage for having gotten him the job on the Tulpar.

"They gotta have the sickest parties in the world- literally." Daisuke joked, which prompted Swansea to chuckle in kind.

"You might have a point there, Sunshine. When are we gettin' the cocaine and high-rise penthouses, Hawkes?"

"We're getting there, cool your jets." Hawkes replied with a smirk. "First thing's first, we have to attend a banquet with the Atriarchs."

Swansea groaned tiredly.

"They're all over your dick today, aren't they?"

"I fear you may be right more literally than you think."

"Wha- huh?"

Hawkes and the crew proceeded towards the large transport Helixad awaiting them at the edge of a large open-ended platform; a formidable, armored, and tri-bladed propelled aircraft that used magnetic propulsion to move effortlessly through the air without needing to depend entirely on the aerodynamics of the climate, wind and weather; a breakthrough only made possible by a misandrist society of extremely-wealthy female sky nomads that treated men like cattle. As much as Hawkes wanted to eradicate their society for its primitive treatment of the other sex and exploitation of young men for selective breeding rituals, Canaris relied far too heavily on the innovation of magnetic propulsion to consider going to war with the founders of such a cornerstone of Canaris civilization and its progress.

Hawkes wanted to be a good guy, especially once the Era of Divinity graced his existence. But he was loyal to Canaris above all, and a pragmatist at heart, barring only the love and loyalty he held for his family. Some things... just needed to be overlooked for the betterment of his own billions of citizens.

In the same way Curly overlooked Jimmy's r-

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Hawkes screamed suddenly into the air, frightening everyone around him. His blood-fury died down quickly and he realized just how unsettling he seemed, quickly clearing his throat and straightening his composure, apologizing profusely to the Tulpar crew as they continued toward the Helixad. Next to the sizeable vehicle was a six-foot-one male bearing a peculiar and starkly-contrasted appearance to the opulent and grand colors of Canaris that decorated the cityscape so plentifully.

The individual was a dark-skinned Draenorian, and the first noticeable thing was that he was levitating a few millimeters above the ground; a clever little parlay trick in which the Draenor used reverse-magnetic propulsion devices strapped to the inside of their flowing clothing to simulate 'levitation'. Hawkes had seen it firsthand decades ago, when he was around fifteen years old, and even then it was, at best, amusing to him. It sure had its effect on negotiations with other civilizations, though, and instilled a deity-like effect on the slave males they kept and bred on their homeworld.

The Draenorian's face was supple yet beguiling, long strands of silky yet wild hair unfurling from his scalp, a single yet thick red line running down the front-right hair strands of his face, transforming into crimson at the tips like a coldly brimming fire. Full lips were disrupted by a long scar that ran down the left side of his face, from the star-shaped scar above his eyes all the way down to the bottom of his chin, as well as a thick scar that ran across the bridge of his nose from the right to the left cheekbone.

His garments were grand in their crimson-black design; a billowing outfit with three folds of satin fabric curling down from their waist and covering their feet, rising just millimeters above the ground like a phantasmal spirit in visceral form, overshadowed from the waist to the shins by a blade-like droop of onyx-shaded and pearl-white outlined frontal cloth. Cashmere threads ran along the gilded-black sleeves of his garb, only interrupted by snow-colored extended garments draped from his forearms, nearly reaching the floor in their length. A dark-purple-red cloth furnished his torso and was tied into a white-laced cloth belt that secured the whole design in place.

As Hawkes approached with the crew behind him, the Draenorian bowed deeply, hiding a wide smile on their face with the gesture, before returning to his original posture with a straight face.

"Good evening, Captain Hawkes-"

"It's not even twelve, yet."

"-Good afternoon, Captain Hawkes. I am Yusei Ren Keitaro, hailing from the sovereign planet of Draenor as a diplomat. I have heard much of your exploits, Captain Hawkes..."

The Draenor blushed very slightly, and Captain Hawkes sighed inwardly. He forced a fake smile that seemed genuine due to his decades of socialization, and bowed his head, offering a handshake to Yusei.

"A pleasure to meet you, Yusei of Draenor."

Anything for Canaris, he thought with grim and unwavering loyalty.

Yusei seemed shocked by the gesture, accepting his handshake and beaming with pride.

"The pleasure is mine, Captain! Please, allow me to join you for the journey to the banquet, I have been ordered by my Matriarch-"

Captain Hawkes shot a look of indignation at Yusei, who quickly corrected his speech. Using the title of one of the two Atriarchs on Canaris to reference the ruler of another nation was exceedingly disrespectful, and Yusei had only slipped up because of his fixation on meeting the living legend, whose name was known even at the furthest reaches of the Lower Quadrant of the Milky Way.

"-Monarch, to speak with the blessed Atriarchs regarding negotiations for Qazzar Colony."

Hawkes sighed outwardly, gesturing for Yusei to board the Helixad, to which he gladly did so.

"I feel like I'm in a movie," Swansea grumbled as Daisuke hopped up and down excitedly at the idea of riding one of the coolest-looking things he'd ever seen in his life.

"THIS IS SO SIIIICK!!!" Daisuke shouted in pure euphoria, whooping and hollering in pure joy, whilst Anya and Curly held each other's arms as they boarded the Helixad, silently admiring the impressive yet stylistic design of the vehicle.

"Everyone strapped in?" The pilot asked, receiving confirmation from everyone boarded. "Hold on and enjoy the view."

The Helixad used initial thrusters to propel itself off the ground, then activated the magnetic propulsors to maintain a static 'floating' state in the air, allowing the jet thrusters to handle velocity and acceleration. The Helixad took off, zooming over the clusters of non-euclidean architecture, revealing a sight that dazzled the souls of all those onboard the Helixad; even those that had seen it a thousand times over.

(Music: "Myself & I", by TheFatRat)

A jaw-dropping, eye-scrying, far-as-the-eye-could-see sprawling planetary ultraplex was beyond simple magnificence and sublime majesty, beyond what words could adequately describe of the ten-hundred-billion-flickering landscape of lights and lives that buzzed with endless busybodying.

The entire planet was layers upon layers of terraformed and structurally sound mega-landscapes, divided into regions based on their function and fit. On the highest layers of the mammothian mega-structures were agricultural farmlands, valleys, mountains, tundras, deserts, marshes, oceans, lakes and forestry that spanned for hundreds and thousands of miles across the tops of the cityscapes layered below them. Those same cityscapes that were granted a canopy-like view of outer space were primarily residential and commercial districts, allowing households to gain a pure and unhindered view of the cosmos above, whilst artificial screens spanning across the bottoms of the immense platforms showcased a 1:1 view of the night sky where such sights could not be seen within the deep interiors covered underneath the layers of natural land.

Skyscrapers, industrial zones, commercial districts and residential metroplexes scoured the landscapes on the base level of Canaris, alight with billions of colorful, slow-changing lights that aesthetically were timed to match with the time of day. Bridges, metro ways, high-speed railways, widened streets and civilian pathways were filled to the brim with the bustling activity of Canaris citizens and advanced vehicles and machinery, animating the already-resplendent sight of what seemed to be the closest humanity neared to a utopian society.

Deep below the epidermal layers of Canaris, the under-layers of crust were being excavated constantly to make way for newly-powered nuclear and Soft Dark Matter reactors, intent on delivering power to every iota of the planet's civilization, eager to edge ever closer to that perfection which all progressing planets yearned to reach. 

Even whilst the palatial aesthetic seemed acutely fitting, there were hundreds of construction projects that could be visibly seen all throughout the multi-layered civilization; drones, automatons and human laborers fastening, welding, hammering and refining the projects with optimal efficiency and speediness.

"This... this is..." Anya muttered in pure awe and splendor. "This is amazing!" She cried out, surfacing tears as the sight before her felt like something she would have seen in her greatest dreams. Curly held her arm tightly, smiling wholesomely in response to Anya's jubilant reception to the beauteous sight.

"This is fuckin'... my god, this is beautiful," Swansea muttered, appreciating the sight more deeply than he'd ever expected. "Hawkes... can we... can my family... live..."

"Yep. All of you and your families are free to live here, in the best possible conditions we can provide. For the rest of your generations to come."

Swansea turned to him, eyes teary, and began to sob quietly, turning away from Daisuke so as not to let him see his mentor in such a pathetic state.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M ALIVE TO SEE THIS!!" Daisuke cried out, beginning to approach heart-attack levels of excitement and elation. "And my family's here to see all this?! Oh man, I got so much to tell them, this is gonna be... MMMMMMM- HAHAHA!!!!!!!""

Yusei smiled as he saw the interactions of the Tulpar Crew. Whilst he could barely stand the sight of Curly, Swansea and Daisuke as a result of his conditioned upbringing, he could appreciate their human reactions and the terrible suffering they'd been through. And above all...

He got to finally meet and accompany Hawkes. What... an... honor!

Even on his homeworld of Draenor, Captain Hawkes was a widely-renowned and highly-respected military commander, who had come to the defense of Draenor more than once in his thirty years of service. His virtuous spirit, unkillable nature, and wrathful disposition ticked all the right boxes for the man-hating populace of Draenor, making him the oddest of oddities among their celebrities.

Yusei himself hated the culture of Draenor, seeing it as primitive and backward compared to the technology and progress they had been able to achieve as a civilization, albeit on the backs of slaving males used for manual labor. He had been the sole exception amongst his flock, as he had been formerly female and chose to accustom himself to the male appearance and disposition as a matter of personal spirituality, which incidentally helped him immensely when it came to negotiations with other nations. Many sovereign planets held prejudices against female Draenorian diplomats- which was quite self-explanatory in its reasoning alone.

"Captain Hawkes," He spoke once more, garnering the grim look of Hawkes. "Perhaps I could be seated by your Lordship to discuss matters with you and the Atriarchs regarding the colony?"

I'd prefer you fuck off and die somewhere out of sight, Hawkes wanted to hiss at the Draenorian, utterly despising yet also confounded at how a male was serving in an ambassador position from a planet of Amazonian psychos. "Sure." He said with grit teeth, receiving a wider smile of jubilation from Yusei.

"I am honored, Captain Hawkes, and thank you duplicitously for your generosity!"

Duplicit- what? This smells of revifiviacoation, Hawkes thought incomprehensibly and irritably.

SNAP!

"HUUUH- WHAAAAWAA?!"

Doctor Faulkner awoke horribly, the last thing he recalled being the snap of his own spinal cord and an immediate blackout. In a hazy sweat, he looked around at his surroundings, and immediately realized what had happened. 

"Oh, dear..."

He was in deep-blue soothing room, which was essentially a glorified detention facility. As Canaris was the closest to a 'utopia' as a sovereign planet could be, the levels of incarcerations based on the crime were separated to very refined degrees, rehabilitation and redemption being a very prevailing theme on Canaris.

They were also big believers in overwhelming punishment and violence, too. That would explain why two mutilated Hannou prisoners were screaming bloody murder; a male with a severely fractured arm, and a female with a horrific tear from her waist where her left leg was supposed to be. Both of them slathered across the opposite side of the room like disposable trash.

Almost immediately after taking in his surroundings, Faulkner noticed another change that become apparent; he looked down to find that his limbs were no longer the frail, aged muscles and bone he'd become so used to; but instead firm, supple and young flesh and sinew, the result of genetic modification and advanced surgical implantations.

"Ah, I knew this day would come..." Faulkner said, unreceptive of the screaming and agony only a few feet away from him, instead admiring the sculptured body he'd been gifted.

Szzzch!

Faulkner flinched in trauma as the doors hissed open and Captain Hawkes stepped through, peering curiously at Faulkner as he went to sit across from him, also ignoring the screaming from the mutilated Hannou across from their seating.

"Faulkner."

"Captain."

Hawkes cackled humorously as Faulkner greeted him with little fear and trepidation. This was the Faulkner he'd been missing for so many years.

"So," Faulkner said simply, looking over his new musculature with pride and giddiness. "Is this a punishment or a gift?"

"Definitely a punishment, you dumb bastard," Hawkes chastised him. "I expected Annie to pull some shit like this, but you? Death Kneller? Really?"

Faulkner sighed as he walked over and casually snapped the neck of both the Hannou writhing on their seats, before walking back over and seating himself next to Hawkes again.

"Captain, you know more than anyone else how much the Day of Erudition changed us."

"Didn't change my loyalties."

Faulkner grimaced as Hawkes prodded maliciously at him for what he'd did regarding Jimmy.

"My loyalties didn't change, Captain-"

"Then why the fuck would you defy my order?"

Faulkner sighed, looking back to the ground in disappointment.

"I took the Hippocratic Oath long, long ago, Hawkes," Faulkner said, shedding the formalities. "Forgot about it for decades. The moment that random kid came back to life, when I saw that footage... everything changed. Everything in my reality was upset. I felt like I'd been wandering the entirely wrong path my whole life."

"And your solution was to repair and rehabilitate a rapist murdering son of a bitch with the soul of a coward and the mind of a devil?"

Faulkner craned his gaze to Hawkes, revealing a level of contempt that Hawkes wasn't aware of.

"Captain Hawkes... do you really think rape is worse than murder? Do you think murder is worse than pedophilia, or robbery worse than assault? Is there a differentiation that lessens the magnitude of these crimes, or makes them more impactful?"

Hawkes was silent, waiting for Faulkner to finish his point.

"You have, and take no offense here, sir, a very biased perspective of justice, Captain. It is not as if I am blindly proposing that the act of rape is any worse or any better than murder, or pedophilia, or genocide or any of the other atrocities that humans are capable of."

Faulkner leaned in, focusing his eyes on Hawkes' to center the conversation without aversion.

"I believe in the good in people. I believe that most, most, people are capable of redemption, Captain. I have to believe it. Because one hundred years from now, I am going to be judged by those who are clean of blood and pure of soul, who know nothing of what it means to kill and fight and suffer and bleed and cry to secure their own independence. I am going to be judged by mindless comforted loft-softies that know nothing of war and death. And if I am going to tell them I differ from the scum like Jimmy, what reasoning shall I use for that? What justifications can I use now to say I am fathoms different from someone like Jimmy? Is it my zeal? My intellect? My choice of crimes to punish, or my oath to heal those injured and weary that arrive at my feet?"

Hawkes was silent, this time trying to surface an adequate response.

"What, Hawkes? 'I didn't rape anyone, so I'm a good person!'... I KILLED people, Hawkes. I murdered families in droves, be it artillery or bombardment or a dozen other cruel and twisted methods. And you want me to look down on Jimmy? You want me to pretend I am on some other superior moral high ground, because I wasn't crass and pathetic enough to debase myself onto a woman against her will? I took lives. Lives that will never come back, even after the Day of Erudition. Tortured people at your behest and my own. Slaughtered indiscriminately under a dozen banners and sigils. Who are we kidding? I am scum of the earth, the same as Jimmy, just with the balls to accomplish my sins on a grander scale."

He didn't dare say, 'and so are you', as that would have inevitably resulted in his neck getting snapped a second time around. Hawkes stared him in the eyes, trying to decipher the complex diaspora of thoughts and emotions swirling in Faulkner, before shaking his head in resignation.

"Whatever your fuckin' reasons are, I could give less of a shit. You disobeyed an order, and one that has foisted hatred and terror on my family. Count your lucky fuckin' stars I don't feed you to the desert and let your bones inhabit the soil deep beneath. You will be going through a Trial to earn your way back onto my ship."

Faulkner nodded simply, knowing this was inevitably after he betrayed the Captain's orders.

"Holosseum?" He asked frankly, and Hawkes nodded indifferently.

"Holosseum."

Faulkner gazed around the room he was in, soaking in his new reality as he realized his career was now on the line. Not his life, of course, as he would be revived afterward and given the opportunity to continue his studies elsewhere in Canaris or abroad; that is, if Hawkes was generous enough to grant him that after betraying him so openly.

BUT THAT WAS NOT SUFFICIENT! HE WANTED TO STUDY AND SERVE ON THE ARGONAUT, UNDER CAPTAIN HAWKES! ANYTHING ELSE WAS BULLSHIT, INSUFFICIENT FAILURE!

Faulkner turned a defiant and malevolent gaze unto Hawkes, slamming a veiny fist against his chest in allegiance.

"Send me your worst!"

Hawkes grinned ecstatically, gladdened to see the fire of determination flare up in his long-time friend once more. He stood up, staring down Faulkner as he returned the stare with equal intensity, before smirking in satisfaction.

"Prove it to me. I expect to see you standing alone in that arena by the time I finish this banquet."

(Ambience: "Hauntingly Beautiful Violin Music", by Nocturnal Soundscapes)

And thus the banquet arrived. By that time, Hawkes had to fend off four dozen requests for a private meeting in an impossibly expensive suite, twenty-two hundred solicitations for sex (both public and private) from every class of citizen, two thousand requests from antique collectors for several parts of his outfit (all told to fuck off), fourty messages sent by drone requesting full-body pictures (drones destroyed, messages burnt), and at least fifty people brave enough to elude past the lines of military police just to tackle Hawkes and lick, kiss or rub whatever part of him they could get their hands on before the military police dragged them off and beat the living shit out of them.

How wonderful it was to live in a 150 billion-strong nation as a celebrity. Truly. Amazing.

All of that, on top of the fact he was slowly realizing he'd just sent his close friend to potentially be torn apart in the Holosseum, and had brutally snapped his neck hours ago. In a fit of terror and extreme self-guilt, Hawkes pulled up his radio to speak to Lilia.

"Lily, Lily you there?"

"Always."

"Do what you need to do, get Faulkner's Trial rigged in his favor."

"That's quite unethical and insanely illegal- I'll get on it."

"Thanks."

He quickly turned off the radio, looking around like a criminal who was afraid someone caught them in the act, relieved that no one seemed to be listening in on him.

"Sir, the banquet is beginning soon."

"Set reminder for 12 hours."

"...I can tolerate the sarcasm if the jokes are original, sir."

"Yeah, well fuck off."

Hawkes shoved past the guard and proceeded into the dressing room, where the four Tulpar crew were being outfitted in the most regal and stylistic outfits imaginable- as the designers were threatened with various forms of mutilation if they didn't put their absolute all into it.

Curly looked down at his futuristic sleek design of a suit with a raised mantle and billowing half-cape that tapered around the arms on both sides, complemented by a scarf woven in between the coat edges. Gems were adorned across the half-cape and down the comfortable-fitting slack pants and soft-wear-laced shoes he wore. Daisuke and Swansea wore much of the same, with variations to their capes, upper torso, and footwear.

Curly was gifted a single-edged sword with a thick laser band running down the edge of the sword's blade, and a gun barrel poking out from where the blade tip would have been. A trigger jutted out the topside of the sword's hilt, much to Curly's confusion as he figured out the mechanisms. Hawkes offered to show him its use, taking the sword and twisting the hilt in a 180-degree direction, rotating the trigger until it was locked in place on the bottom of the hilt like a makeshift firearm. A gunsword. Curly stared at the mechanical wonder and admired it with awe sparkling in his eyes.

Swansea was gifted a Canaris DexTool from the Matriarch, an innovative engineering tool capable of using liquid nanobots to morph the shape of the tool with an advanced user HUD attached to the side of the head for ease of use. Swansea also received a-

"Holy shit, what the hell is this thing?!" He exclaimed as the device in his right hand hummed to life from its rectangular box form, opening up and revealing a handheld, pistol-like tool with a rotating front blade, featuring multiple alignment lasers and side-lights on the front for precise cutting, and a design that suggested its primary use was for mining operations; it's compact, lightweight frame was colored sea-blue and gold (the colors of Canaris, over-obsessed bastards) and could be operated with one hand, with a distinctive look that included a cylindrical body and a prominent rotating cutting mechanism at the front.

"This thing rotates?" Swansea muttered, exploring the tool while pointing it downward and away from the others as he configured the tool. "It can shoot vertically and horizontally. Fuck, this would have been incredibly useful in my early career! But why the hell are they giving it to me now?"

Hawkes, the only one with enough historical niche knowledge to understand the impossible humor of the Atriarchs, wanted badly to commit treason and storm into the Gala to throttle the Patriarch by his neck. Not only was it an insanely powerful gift given to Swansea, but it was quite literally a pet project designed purely as a niche joke between the Patriarch and Hawkes.

He watched with utter resignation in his bones as more servants wheeled out an outfit for Swansea, who was growing more shocked by the second.

"Damn, I'm feeling spoiled," Swansea muttered with a giddy grin; reliving the ancient days when he'd received presents on Christmas Day.

The servants dropped the suit stand, allowing Swansea to admire it. The suit stood tall and imposing, a masterpiece of utilitarian design. Its silhouette was sleek but bulky in the right places, with a distinct industrial aesthetic. The suit's materials seemed to be a composite of dark metallic alloys and reinforced polymers, creating a matte, slightly textured finish. The helmet was oval-shaped with a series of parallel, glowing blue slits across the front, serving as the visor. The outer shell was angular, with ventilation grooves and reinforced plates that provided durability against hard impacts. A collar-like assembly at the base connected it seamlessly to the chest piece, housing the intricate mechanism that allowed the helmet to retract and expand.

The chest piece was heavily armored, with segmented plates arranged to maximize mobility without sacrificing protection. The front panel featured a series of small, recessed ports and conduits, hinting at the suit's integrated life-support systems within. Along the spine, a vitals-measuring meter was embedded in a recessed groove, with a glassy surface segmented by outlined, even portions. The tubing around the spine connected to the internal systems, visible as thin lines of coiled, metallic fibers. The arms were slightly bulkier than the rest of the suit, outfitted with reinforced elbow pads and an array of articulated plating that mimicked human musculature. The forearms featured modular attachment points for tools and weapons. Small recessed panels on the wrists hinted at the suit's HUD projection system, capable of projecting holograms for communication or inventory management. The legs were similarly robust, designed for both mobility and protection in hazardous environments. Reinforced knee pads and flexible joints allowed the wearer to move freely even under the weight of the suit. The boots were heavy-looking and equipped with magnetic soles for stability in zero gravity. Each boot featured grooved treads, designed for optimal grip on various surfaces, from metal grating to rocky terrain.

Hawkes palmed his face in utter embarrassment. The Atriarchs, with their genetically-enhanced intellects, were capable of handling tens of thousands of different thoughts and plans a day; and it also made them extremely hyper-attentive, which left them constantly scouring archives, media, data from ancient eras past, dated manuscripts... whatever could sate their constant third for knowledge. Five years ago, the Patriarch, in his intense scouring, found a very niche videogame to his intense liking from the ancient 2000s era and once joked to Hawkes that he was going to build the iconic suit and weapon from that game and gift it to Hawkes as the most 'inside joke' of all time. Hawkes was bemused and disinterested by the brief conversation, thinking it to be nothing more than the ramblings of an over-intelligent nutcase.

He had vastly underestimated the Patriarch's patience and dedication to the bit. The vast intellect that was supplanted into them also debased them in a major way, making their desires for particular wants far more amplified than the average human; which meant the interactions that would take place in the Gala coming up was going to be more than unpleasant for Hawkes.

As for Daisuke, he was gifted...

"Wh...What is this, Hawkes?"

"Ahem... ahem... that's... that's a... a bong."

Daisuke looked at Hawkes with dismay.

"A... bong?"

"Y...Yes. The Patriarch thinks he's quite funny. He has a sick, twisted sense of humor."

"And... what is this?"

"..."

"Hawkes?"

"...That's... a lighter."

"Is that from the Patriarch too?"

"No... no... that's... from the Matriarch- Look I'll just send them back and get you some gifts of my-"

"THIS IS SO SWEET!" Daisuke exclaimed, admiring the contraband in his hands as if it were diamonds. "I got these from the rulers of a whole planet!"

Hawkes stared with a slack jaw at Daisuke as he celebrated the gifts in his hands, jumping up and down in youthful glee and exuberance.

I guess they nailed him on sight alone, Hawkes thought depressingly, wondering when Daisuke's character (or maybe brain) development would kick into action. Then again, Hawkes didn't expect progression from college graduates with rich parents too often in the first months. Although he did save Annalise's life that one time, so perhaps there was a path to be had for him... at the very least, Hawkes did want Daisuke to enjoy his youth, so he wasn't particularly pushy on him finding a purpose right at this moment.

Still, Hawkes planned on getting Daisuke some kind of novelties he could use for whichever role he chose to fill in the future.

Anya, on the other hand, wore a more feminine version of a soft combat suit. Velvety black-and-white patterned fabric adorned her sleeves, torso, and legs, wearing ceremonial silver-gilded shoulder pauldrons as homage to traditional Canaris military history. A silver laurel was placed on her head as a personal gift from the Matriarch, and a self-reloading revolver was gifted to her by the Patriarch.

Lots of guns, huh? Hawkes thought curiously. The Patriarch and I are of the same mind. I like that.

"The rest of your gifts will be awaiting you back in your apartment suite." Hawkes whispered in Anya's ear as she admired the laurel and revolver she'd been given. Hearing the news of more gifts made her blush, and she bowed her head to Hawkes in respect.

"Thank you for all your kindness, Hawkes."

Hawkes nodded with a genuine smile, glad to see his family was soaking in the atmosphere and forgetting about their trauma, for however long it lasted.

The four of them looked over their outfits with admiration and a bright disposition; it was the first time in all their lives they felt cherished by the gifts and outfits given to them. Hawkes, of course, had separate gifts prepared for the four of them once they were done with this stupid fucking banquet.

Hawkes did not feel so cherished- he knew exactly what kind of debauchery, unhinged decadence, gossiping, brown-nosing, scheming, etcetera etcetera bullshit that was going to go down during this two hour slog of a 'banquet'. And with Lilia in his hidden earpiece, he was especially not going to look forward to-

"The Atriarchs await your arrivals, honored ones."

The Atriarchs couldn't wait five more fuckin' minutes? Hawkes thought in irritation, huffing silently to himself and straightening his uniform as he led his family -at this point, they were still not aware he considered them such- and escorted them into the Gala Hall, opening up to an opulent and vast rectangular chamber with multiple different side rooms that led to different luxury functions of the exquisite ballroom. Hundreds of tables were arranged to the sides of the elongated hall, allowing for any potential dancing to take place in the center of the room, as was tradition since the first aristocrats of humanity came together and celebrated being richer than everyone else.

Hawkes immediately took advantage of the buzzing hundreds of wealthy and connected elitists to guide his family to the balcony canopy to enjoy a nice and quiet evening-

"Hawkes, Hawkes, I beckon you forth!"

FUUUUUUCK!

Hawkes craned a rigid head towards the Matriarch, who was calling out excitedly to him like a young girl trying to seize the attention of her crush. Hawkes had a brief moment of clarity, realizing if he just jumped off the balcony and snapped his neck mid-air, there would be at least a few hours of peace and silence he could have before they forcefully brought him back to life.

Then Hawkes realized that resurrection probably instantly brought someone's cognition back the moment they died to the moment they revived, and he was immediately depressed that even in death, he could not escape this series of hellish scenarios foisted upon him.

Resigning to his fate, he turned on his heel and beckoned the Tulpar crew to follow behind him, moving past the magnates and venture capitalists, the top doctors and lawyers, the prominent politicians and well-renowned researchers; all of them clearing the way for Hawkes in deep respect and admiration- to him, feeling more like he was being escorted to the guillotine. He arrived at the raised platform of the Atriarchs, both of whom stared at him with wanting eyes.

You fucking deviants, Hawkes thought disparagingly. This is what happens when you don't wage campaigns after a year. You get complacent and horny, you jackasses!

"Come and be seated at our table, Lord Hawkes, along with the honorable crew of the Tulpar."

Captain Hawkes bowed respectfully and reluctantly seated himself three seats away from the Matriarch, who simply stared at him with a piercing and alluring gaze.

"Much too far to converse, Lord Hawkes. Closer."

Gritting his teeth, Hawkes moved one chair over.

"Closer."

Hawkes moved one more chair over.

"Closer."

Hawkes rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyeing the seat between him and the Queen of Debauchery, moving slowly and tentatively into the far right edge of the seat to keep a considerable distance-

Yank.

Hawkes groaned inwardly as the Matriarch pulled his arm towards her, forcing him to sit evenly in the chair and rubbing elbows with her. He felt a deep guilt as he remembered the deal he'd made with Lilia months ago. A date; a date he'd promised to her, that he didn't forget. 

AND THESE HORNY CONSULS WERE RUINING HIS DAY!

It was only made worse by the fact that their voices were genetically altered to project clarity, authority and volume to crowds of billions of people, which meant that even trying to whisper in vast chambers like this was still audible from corner to corner of the halls, and sounded like soft shouting into the ears of those nearest to one of the Atriarchs.

"Lord Hawkes," The Matriarch whispered, which again sounded like soft shouting. "The Patriarch and I have discussed this at length-"

"Oh, wonderful."

"-Along with our most trusted advisors and confidants-"

"Even better."

"-And we have decided that you should bear your seed in my womb, so that we may birth a true warrior king who may continue the lineage of Consuls."

Hawkes' eyes flittered to the left to peer at the Matriarch, the rest of his body unmoving by even an atom.

"...Mmm..."

He hardly wanted to peer to his right, but-

Oh, dear god.

The faces of the Tulpar crew were in utter shock, with Swansea covering his mouth to laugh, Curly raising an eyebrow, Anya covering her mouth in shock and embarrassment, and Daisuke giving Hawkes two thumbs up.

I'm gonna pelt you with the nearest projectile when we are out of this room, Daisuke, Hawkes thought irately as he realized he had to answer this question in the next few seconds.

"...M...Maybe?"

Whilst the Tulpar crew's eyes collectively bulged out of their skulls at his answer, the Atriarchs merely laughed and giggled like schoolchildren, confounding Hawkes more than he had been before.

"Oh, you are so charming, Lord Hawkes," The Patriarch flirted with him. "The Hellenic and Romans of yore would have made you a king, no doubt."

And it seems you took great inspiration from their pederastic pedagogy, you deviant sex fiend! Hawkes thought with increasing irritation.

"I daresay irresistible at times," The Matriarch cooed in Hawkes' ear, sending shivers down his spine. It was not okay to him for his lieges, whom he and the collective of Canaris pledged undying loyalty towards, to so openly and casually signal their desire to fuck him!

Hawkes rubbed his temple, feeling as if his brain were about to explode into a million pieces. He desperately thought of a way out of this situation; it was quite clear why he didn't want to engage in sexual encounters with anyone, really; especially someone who was in a position of higher authority than him.

He was somewhat loathsome of these young consuls, though also somewhat thankful; before them were two older Consuls that warmongered unrelentingly and created strife for the homeworld- before them were stubborn old fools that stuck to traditional ideals that stagnated Canaris technological advancement.

At least these new Consuls, no matter how off-putting and vulgar they were, listened to Hawkes' advice and held him in deep respect and gratitude, and welcomed innovation and progress in reasonable strides. If the trade-off for this was uncomfortable reunions, it was a price worth paying.

"My lieges..." Hawkes began, picking his words as carefully as a bomb defuser plucked wires on a makeshift explosive. "...If I recall... Atriarchs are elected after-"

"Yes, yes, worry not about the laws," The Matriarch muttered dismissively. "We'll have those insipid edicts changed overnight. Just come to my chambers tonight, the Patriarch and I have three dozen of the most masterful consorts and the substances to enhance it. Come. Come later this night, hero of Canaris. I must taste you myself."

"I... would really... like... to spend time... with... my... family," Hawes muttered through grit teeth, trying desperately to fight off the alluring pheromones the Atriarchs were emitting from their pores; another design meant for optimal negotiation and diplomacy, instead being used to arouse Hawkes as much as possible by these nefarious young minds.

As soon as the word 'family' left his lips, the Atriarchs pulled back in surprise and confusion, inspecting Hawkes as if he had hit his head.

"A family, you say?" The Matriarch muttered softly, her eyes immediately veering toward the four seated next to him.

"We are your family, Hawkes." The Patriarch implored him, much to Hawkes' amusement.

"If that was the case, what you tried earlier was attempted incest." Hawkes quipped, to which the Patriarch laughed heartily, his voice booming across the Gala. Nobody dared to stare at the Atriarchs no matter what they did; not only were those who were around the Atriarchs often accustomed to the volume, they were disciplined and taught to not invite awkwardness to the atmosphere by staring or gawking at whatever actions they happened to get up to.

"Very well, then, Lord Hawkes." The Matriarch spoke softly. "Enjoy this banquet with us, then you may find solace with them in the month you are here."

Hawkes bowed his head deeply in respect, ultimately grateful for the insight and compassion of the ruling Atriarchs-

"But you're returning to our chambers tonight." The Patriarch demanded.

"Eh... I'm good."

"Do you have another on your mind?" The Matriarch cooed, gazing into his eyes to see if she could pry out his secrets. "Why else would you turn down our tempting offers?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you two even read my records." Hawkes muttered, this time in minor resentment- desperately trying to change the topic. The Atriarchs pulled backward in dismay, but were undeterred, attempting to persuade him with every trick in their lexicon.

"We do know, Lord Hawkes," The Patriarch murmured.

"We want you to heal," The Matriarch whispered.

"You've conquered planets, districts, stations and nations for Canaris." The Patriarch acclaimed.

"You've saved, rekindled, repaired and renewed our lands, our people, our economy and our military might." The Matriarch softly pronounced.

"Billions, upon, billions, upon billions of lives are owed to you, Lord Hawkes. Let us repay you, serve you, and rekindle your love for life. We are at our peak. Stay for longer than a mere month. Stay, stay for as long as you wish. Let us know more, see more about you, our legend and protector. Experience all that Canaris has become since your long departures away. Stay. Stay."

Hawkes shook his head plentifully, realizing he was sweating from the influence they were exerting upon him. He growled and glared at them, growing tired of their incessant claims for his autonomy.

"I am uncomfortable!"

The Atriarchs gasped softly, pulling back with more severe embarrassment and shame than before. No matter how intelligent they were, self-restraint and empathy were learned aptitudes; and it was incredibly hard for these staggeringly beautiful, charismatic, and immensely influential individuals to hone those traits when billions wanted nothing more than to simply waft in their presence every day.

The Patriarch immediately cleared his throat and stood up to exit the Gala, heading into a separate room. The Matriarch simply lowered her head awkwardly and picked at her food, glancing at Hawkes with approaching shame and guilt.

"We...  apologize."

Her voice had fallen so low that without realizing it, she'd spoken at a normal whisper, and Hawkes immediately received feelings of remorse for being so disrespectful-

No, No! You idiot! Hawkes chastised himself. They were pressing themselves onto you, that is... that is NOT okay! Fuck... That's...

Hawkes lowered the cap on his head to nearly cover his wettening eyes, standing up slowly from the table and gently tapping the seats of the Tulpar crew, who all understood the silent gesture (as they had been listening curiously to the whole conversation) and promptly followed him out of the Gala.

"You turned that down?!" Daisuke whispered outrageously in Hawkes' ear, who immediately turned and gazed at him with horror.

"T-The fuck?"

"I gotta agree with the teeny bopper," Swansea whispered in his other ear. "For once, ya shoulda given in to ya downstairs longnose."

"Get-GET OUT OF MY EARS!"

(Music: "bossa uh", by potsu)

Night approached, and Hawkes was left sitting in a private park along with Anya, Curly, Swansea and Daisuke, all of whom were partaking in their own activities. Wataru, Marcel, and Emile were also present, enjoying a serene picnic as they collectively conversed and gazed out over the grand landscape of eye-jarring multi-layered civilization and fauna that swept before their very gazes in every direction.

Sitting next to Hawkes was Elliot, ever-engulfed in his blueprints and note-taken research, which somewhat infuriated Hawkes as he was trying to empty his mind, and this busybody hobo next to him was ruining his zen with constant scribbling and silent muttering to himself.

"Elliot... can you... do that... another fucking TIME?" Hawkes muttered through clenched teeth at the passionate scientist, who looked back to see Hawkes glaring at him and immediately frantically rolled up his blueprints and documents.

"N-No problem, Cap! Just was workin' on those Dark Matter blueprints, is all..." 

Hawkes sighed and muttered to himself, trying to clear his head of the eventful day he had. He was thankful to have a month off from campaigning, but it also meant that starting tomorrow at the ass-crack of dawn, he was going to receive thousands upon thousands upon thousands of messages, requests, invitations and beyond from all kinds of people in Canaris. 

Celebrity galas. Business transactions. Independent contractors. Fan clubs, fanatics, school assemblies, university graduations,  new building openings, ceremonies, rooftop raves...

Too. Much. Shit.

Meanwhile, on the blue-and-gold-checkered picnic blanket, Marcel, Wataru and Emile were casually enjoying the sights and scrounging down on the sweets, treats and meals provided to them by the government of Canaris; incredibly grateful to Elliot for securing them some spots in this park at Hawkes' allowance.

As they gazed over the beauteous sight and shared regaling tales of their pasts, Emile was feeling a swell of mixed emotions. Whilst they'd joined up with the Argonaut purely because of the heroic tales heard since grade school, Emile was both off-put and inspired by the world of Canaris that was his homeworld. The technological advancement was unlike anything they'd ever seen before, blowing their homeworld's technological pace completely out of the water.

Conversely, the fanaticism, militarism, disciplined masses and a variety of other factors they'd taken into account on the planet propelled Emile to feel that there was more to be done than simply serving on the Argonaut...

"Guys," Emile began to speak, prompting the heads of Marcel and Wataru to turn to Emile in curiosity. "I'm thinking of joining the CLRRD."

"The wuh?" Marcel muttered.

"What he said," Wataru remarked.

"Canaris' rescue division, I don't remember the full name, but after the Argonaut rescued the Tulpar, they formed a whole division while we were on our way back here."

Marcel and Wataru nodded in understanding, then Marcel furrowed his eyebrows.

"Wait, so are you... leaving the Argonaut?"

Emile was saddened at the thought, clearly mired by the split decisions. Wataru looked between Marcel and Emile, ultimately sighing in resignation.

"Do what your heart desires," Wataru said, laying her hand on Emile's shoulder. "As long as we stay in contact, that's all that matters."

Emile nodded solemnly, trying to hold back tears and hugging both Wataru and Marcel.

"I appreciate you guys," Emile said with intermittent voice cracks. "I'll keep in touch. Let me know when your service dates come to an end so we can meet up for real."

"You better visit us from time to time," Marcel quipped. "Or we're putting a bounty on your head."

Emile laughed and nodded.

"How the hell am I going to visit you when you're on a military vessel?"

"Sup, guys."

The three of them turned their heads to see Elliot walking down the hill casually, small clumps of dirt and grass stuck to his face and outfit.

"Uh, what happened to you?" Emile muttered in concern. 

"Hawkes was getting tired of my rambling about particle acceleration theories, so he told me to touch some grass and grabbed my face and threw me tumbling down the hill."

Marcel, Emile and Wataru all guffawed at his explanation, much to his annoyance, immediately diving onto the picnic blanket and snarfing down all the sweets and treats from the basket; which immediately outraged the whole group.

"THOSE WERE MY POCKY'S, BASTARD!" Wataru shouted at him, stomping him out as Emile and Marcel tried to yank back their snacks from the greedy researcher.

Down the path from the rest of the interspersed group, Anya and Curly were walking silently along the trail, admiring the beauteous landscape around them. Ponds, mini-waterfalls, and little rivers, all interlaced seamlessly with tree overhangs, rock formations, clumps of flowers, and fauna like birds, butterflies, and squirrels moving around the park with liveliness; even the sound of cicadas flittered in and out of earshot during the calming walk.

"We should move here... right?" Anya muttered, and Curly deliberated on her question. After what Swansea had asked earlier in the day to Hawkes, it was becoming a very real possibility to Curly that he would move here. Compared to his homeworld? To Anya's, or Swansea's, or even Daisuke's lofty luxury planet?

This seemed undoubtedly like the best option. There weren't any other reasons he could surface in his head to not put roots down on this planet. It was almost frustrating, as Curly had spent so many decades in service of the freighter either to retire with a cushy fund or to plump his resume for another career working for a different company.

Now... now all of that seemed so aggressively irrelevant to him. Everything he wanted was standing right next to him. He just needed to secure her safety and future. And the safest place, without a doubt, was right in this homeworld, surrounded by his friends, crewmates, and loved one.

"Are you... excited to see your family tomorrow?" Curly asked Anya tentatively, to which her eyes glanced downward in subtle gloom.

"I guess..."

Curly was concerned about that reaction but wasn't sure if he wanted to pressure her further about the matter.

It's tomorrow, anyways, he thought to himself. May as well enjoy tonight.

Hawkes laid back against the tree, having grown tired of Elliot's hyper-attentive conversations and dismissing him to go hang out with his butt-buddies down the hill. Looking up at the cosmos, he pondered the state of events. He had just finished this prodigious rescue mission, there were no active war campaigns he was designated to, and the ruling Atriarchs of Canaris had basically begged him to stay on the homeworld for some 'rest and relaxation'.

"I wasn't programmed to rest, you dimwits, I was born and bred to wage war." Hawkes muttered, trying to stave off the discomforting atmosphere of serenity and tranquility this damnable planet was trying to heap unto him every second. It was uncanny; being away from his ship for so long. He'd spent four solid years in space, and could hardly recall what it was like on-planet for the short times he was on Canaris. 

Whose eyes were those? Hawkes thought in deep preponderance, as the vague memory from decades ago resurfaced in his mind. He recalled such elusive, illustrious and alluring eyes decades ago, from an unnameable beauty he had stumbled like a drunkard into one misty fall morning; crossing the quickest of glimpses; unable to remember anything more than those swirling orbs of stygian intensity.

"Hawkes."

Lilia's voice came over his should radio, and he thumbed it to respond.

"Hey, Lily."

"I want that date."

Hawkes sighed tiredly, wiping his face before responding over the radio once more.

"Alright... when?"

"Now."

Hawkes grumbled and muttered as he pulled on the collar of the newly-fitted suit he was wearing; a formal, gala-like uniform for dances and serenades. Except Hawkes wouldn't be attending any galas tonight; only the bedroom of Lilia, who had requested a private dance with him in her chambers.

If she asks for sex, tell her you are a virgin, Hawkes reminded himself sternly. Wait, does that turn them on or off?

Nervously, he straightened his suit and quietly knocked on the front door of the lodging, looking out over the ocean view her cottage had, following the edge of the immense waves until he could see the end of the miles-long platform, dipping off into the sub-layers below.

Click.

Hawkes turned back swiftly as Lilia's beaming face peeked through the door, beckoning with a gentle wave for him to enter. Awkwardly, Hawkes lowered his head to enter the doorway, trudging into the quaint house and admiring the modern yet playful aesthetic. Medieval fantasy, sci-fi and steampunk artwork and portraiture adorned the many walls of the lodging, along with decorative ornaments and fabrics that aggregated into a comfortably decorative atmosphere.

"Would you like some tea? Or maybe a glass of whiskey? Or, or maybe a-"

"Some wine will be fine, Lily, if you want to enjoy some, as well," Hawkes replied with a smile, and Lilia flashed him a toothy smile before scurrying off into her kitchen to prepare some glasses. Hawkes leaned back on the couch, a bit discomforted as he realized how massive his wingspan was- able to nearly reach both sides of the couch with his arms. He folded himself in a bit and decided to sit amicably by the corner of the couch, reducing his monkey-like lanky look.

Lilia came out with a wine bottle and two glasses, only now prompting Hawkes to notice the immaculate outfit she was wearing.

Oh, wow!

It was the first uniform she'd worn when she'd been conscripted onto the Argonaut; a black and white colored ripple vest layered over a dark blue turtle-neck, wearing slightly-baggy pants with folds resting over her glossy black-laced low-heel hiking boots. Her silky-onyx hair was held back by a clip, allowing her slightly aged yet still-gorgeous face and obsidian eyes to shine brightly at Hawkes. On the first day of the job, Hawkes dismissively told her she could wear whatever felt comfortable 'as long as the job was done'.

I don't deserve this, Hawkes thought miserably. Why are you giving me this, God? Why are you granting me this kindness...? What if Faulkner's... right... what if I am the same brand of trash as Jimmy...

Somehow, wearing that outfit now, decades later in front of him, he couldn't help but feel-

Moved.

Entranced.

A-r-o-u-s-e-d.

BEWITCHED.

"Hawkes?"

"Wh- sorry, what was that? What?"

Lilia blushed as he suddenly gazed intensely at her- not realizing he was snapping out of some kind of eldritch trance that had taken hold of his mind for a moment.

"I was asking if you wanted to talk about everything that's happened recently."

"O-Oh, right, sorry." Hawkes stuttered, clearing his throat and taking a heavy sip from his wine glass, clearing the deviant thoughts from his head. "Sure, of course."

The two of them sat at the couch as the nearby fireplace warmed up the chilly lodging, speaking for a few minutes on barebones topics. Despite serving on a ship for a very long time, the two had actually rarely interacted (primarily due to Hawkes' constant campaigning before the Era of Divinity), and so meeting in-person like this for so long was jarring.

"So..." Hawkes started. "Do you... enjoy service on the ship?"

He really wished he could have framed that question more naturally. Why was he losing his social fluency at a time like this? Why was it getting stuffy in the room so suddenly? The fireplace had just been turned on.

Lilia nodded emphatically, taking a light sip from her glass to mirror Hawkes.

"I couldn't imagine myself anywhere else." She remarked lovingly. "I've never had-"

"Could we dance?"

Lilia staggered back unto the couch as if a shockwave had rolled over her skin, with how forward the request had been from Hawkes.

Love. Love. Love.

Oh, Lilia thought wistfully, euphorically. He's not yet in love. He's infatuated. Perhaps I have been, too, all this time. We have time to find out.

"Of course, Hawkes." She whispered gently, offering her hand unto his. He rubbed her palm, her fingers, her bones, and her cartilage.

How smooth, he thought, departing himself from the stress of a thousand burdensome thoughts, standing up from the couch and guiding her gently over to an open space, looking around for a music player, when Elise suddenly took two of her espionage earphones (fitted around the inside of the ear, untraceable through most metal detectors), and placed one in Hawkes' ear, and the other in hers, then pulled up the holo-pad on her wrist and pressed a few buttons.

Hawkes laughed aloud, growing ever more attracted to this clever fox that had been in his ear for the last fifteen years of his life.

"Seems no one can escape oldies, huh?"

"The music nowadays is garbage."

"I bet they said that back then, too."

(Music: "Golden Hour", by JVKE)

The two of them danced in a simple serenade, a one-two-step pace from side to side, hands clasped with extended arms, staring into each other's eyes to decipher the other's soul. Their feet carried them across the room, occasionally bumping into furniture or staggering at certain points in time; yet nevertheless recovering, determined to glide across the modest lodging in a loving competition of exertion and passion.

"My campaigning could come to an end, soon," Hawkes spoke softly into Lilia's ear. "I will be in need of a wife for the lands I will be governing."

Lilia was flushed with affection and obsession, trying to temper the feeling of her body exploding into love-soaked pieces. "Are you... are you sure you wish to compromise your most secure asset like that? There will be so many eyes on-"

"Oh my gosh, Lilia!" Hawkes exclaimed light-heartedly with a deep-gutted laugh, shocking Lilia and sending her into a laughing fit as well. "Do you think I care at all about that??"

He brought one thumb up to rub the undersides of her sunken eyes; years of exhaustion and restlessness blackened the ridges and aged her more than she should have looked. Seeing it now, realizing it so viscerally, the guilt flooded his mind and body like a flash tsunami; he lost all composure and fell to his knees, sobbing-sobbing-sobbing. Alarmed, Lilia knelt next to him, wrapping her arms around him and silently cradling him.

"I... I... what have I done... Faulkner was right... I am no better than him..."

"Don't you dare say that, Hawkes," Lilia choked her words out, trying to fight back tears as she empathized deeply with him; knowing exactly who Hawkes was referring to. "That's not even fair. Don't think about that. Just... dance with me, will you?"

Hawkes stood up once more, clearing his head, wiping his tears and re-engaging in the slow dance with Lilia.

Ah. Now he was remembering.

A foggy, frost-biting morning. Stationed on the half-frozen planet of Soslau, heading to the market for groceries. Passing the stalls, the lights and the canals, he remembered. Past the houses stacked like dominoes next to one another, a hamlet within a village within a town. Passersby, stingy merchants, roving wanderers, frolicking families-

There she was. Seeming from another era entirely. Skin like white sand, flowing-yet-bunched charcoal hair that seemed as animated as her piercing, sable eyes. Rosy cheeks, full yet humble lips pulled into the slightest of smirks, as if fully knowing of her own ethereal beauty. An adorable button nose, complemented by perky round ears, complemented by perfectly uniform eyebrows expressing curiosity in the sight before her.

In that moment, the world seemed to slow like an approach to the event horizon of a black hole. Slow, slow, slow...

Until time was almost still. Hawkes could recall the snowflakes hanging in the air like puppets on strings; the stillness of capes and clothes billowing in the harrowing wind.

There she was.

"It was you." Hawkes uttered with wide eyes, staring at Lilia with an entirely new outlook.

"H-Huh?" Lilia muttered. "What do you mean?"

"You-you were the one I saw in Soslau. The angel in black."

Lilia blushed at the randomly poetic compliment, trying to recall what he was talking about and almost instantly clicking in her head, staring back up at Hawkes with an even stronger surge of love and affection.

"It took you that long to realize?" She said with a hearty laugh. Hawkes huffed, trying to chuckle in between the tears sprawling down his cheeks.

"Why am I so oblivious?" He choked his words out. "Ha. Haha. I can't... I can't believe I didn't see you this whole time."

"Don't say that, my love." 

The two of them serenaded through the night, physically welcoming one another in warmth and comfort; finding solace in the tranquility of a crackling fireplace, cackling cicadas, milky moonlight, and the soft embrace of a loving human being.

(^ Above credited to friend & professional artist, @rabstergabster on twitter)

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(Music: "Oscar Mike", by Avery Alexander)

| Key #: 571 283 0918 |

| Uploading... |

| Complete |

| SYSTEM BOOT INITIATED |

| Checking core biocomponents... |

| Neural Interface: ONLINE |

| Optical Augments: ACTIVE (Thermal Overlay: [READY] Night Vision: [READY]) |

| Muscular Enhancements: SYNCHRONIZED |

| Endocrine Modulator: STANDBY (Adrenaline Surge: DISABLED) |

| Checking sensory receivers... |

| EM Sensors: [ACTIVE] | Ultrasonic: [ACTIVE] | Infrared: [ACTIVE] | Motion Sensor: [ACTIVE] |

| Operating System: AETHER V.7.3 |

| Memory Partitioning: 100% initialized |

| Total capacity: 9.2 PB (petabytes) |

| Active memory: 0.9 TB |

| Archived segments: 87% |

"Urgh!"

MU-Z3, known more commonly by her alias, 'Muse', was walking inconspicuously through the remote parks of the Upper Layers of Canaris, clothed as much as possible to hide the bio-mechanical aspects of her body; which included practically every portion of her body. Her vividly-pink irises glowed and dimmed as they scanned the environment around her, frequently turning her head to the side as citizens passed by, to cover the sensory receiver dots aligned on her face, inter-meshed panels of flesh and metal seamlessly integrated yet clearly outlined at the very sides of her face.

 "...Mrow..."

Hearing the sound of a dying kitten, Muse stopped on the pathway and craned her eyes to the left, confirming the sight of a beige-striped kitten shivering in the grass, injured from a gash in its side and bleeding rapidly.

| Caloric Intake (Last 24H): 1,820 kcal | Requirement: 56,800 kcal/day |

|Proteins: 92g |

|Carbohydrates: 240g |

| Fats: 55g |

| Hydration Levels: 68% (Below Optimal) |

| RECOMMENDATION: Consume biomass <5 feet away |

"F...Fuck off... I'm not eating a cat, you psychotic fuck..." She mumbled, stumbling her way over to the dying kitten and raising one hand over its injury.

| Species: Felis catus (Domestic Cat) |

| Approximate Age: 2 years |

| Weight: 1.2 kg |

| Heart Rate: 144 BPM (Elevated: Stress/Pain Response) |

| Respiratory Rate: 36 BPM (Shallow) |

| Blood Loss: Estimated 230mL (Moderate) |

"Damn it... Damn it! Stay with me, you feline bastard!"

| Flush the wound thoroughly |

Muse opened the capsule in her right forearm, taking out a cotton swab created from an atomic synthesizer inside her paneling, then brought the swab up to her mouth. 

|  Selecting saline solution |

The saliva glands within her mouth swapped into rubbing alcohol dispensers, collecting it in her mouth before spitting it onto the cotton swab. The kitten whimpered as the cool liquid touched its skin. A gentle coo escaped her lips as she tried to calm the quivering baby kitten. Her hand moved as if separate from her mind, exact and concise.

| Apply pressure to the wound site; Utilize hemostatic gauze |

Keeping the swab pressured agains the wound, Muse reached into her left arm panel, pulling out a roll of swab generated the same way as the swab. She pressed the gauze firmly against the gash, and the bleeding slowed, a thin line of red pulsing weaker with each beat of the kitten's heart. The system confirmed: 'Hemostasis achieved.' 

| Administer topical antimicrobial; Monitor for allergic response |

The palm of her right hand opened up to reveal a sprayer, which hissed softly as it coated the wound. The system's overlay circulating through her brain tracked the distribution, ensuring no patch was missed. A warning flashed briefly—'Elevated cortisol detected in subject. Administering calming pheromones.'

| Close wound using adhesive strips or sutures; Bandage securely |

Producing more of the necessary medical implements from her forearms, her fingers moved deftly, the adhesive strips aligning with near-surgical precision. Each motion was guided by micro-adjustments the system suggested, ensuring minimal strain on the healing tissue.

By the end of the process, she was done, having saved the life of this kitten, who was fast asleep after a micro-dose of morphine.

"Hopefully your parents will come get you, little buddy." Muse said with relief, getting up onto her feet and continuing on her way-

| !!! EM Sensors triggered !!! |

Muse froze in her tracks, her kaleidoscopic eyes darting around in a quickened fervor to pinpoint the threat's location.

There.

Her head snapped towards Elimont Park, which was cut off from civilian use by the Canaris government for the night. Honing in her eyesight, she peered to see if she could locate the threat, scanning her eyes through the foliage and cacophony of animal sounds pervading her ears.

THERE!

Accelerating at several miles per second, an enemy cyborg was full steam ahead towards some unknown target, darting between cover with supernatural speed and agility, its augmentations hidden by its clothing and intentionally human-camouflaged flesh.

"Whatever your devious goals are, they're not happening HERE!"

Muse lowered herself to the ground, gathering force and intensity in her legs as she readied herself to leap several meters in the air.

BWOOSH!

Propelling herself from the ground, she launched herself from the cracked pavement and soared through the air, locking her eyes on the enemy cyborg rapidly closing in on-

Is that Captain Hawkes?! Muse wondered, seeing the renowned legend casually walking outside with a woman at his side, chatting and laughing as if completely oblivious to the situation.

Quickening her pace, Muse anticipated her landing and immediately launched herself once more from the second landing, this time feeling a minor fracture in her right leg. Traveling such large distances with her second-rate augmentations was a gamble, and she was taking higher risks the more she bounded from spot to spot.

Only one more leap, and she would be able to close the gap between her and the enemy.

 Crack!

As she landed and leaped once more, her right leg shattered, leaving her with a robotically mutilated foot incapable of jumping again.

That's all I needed! Muse thought raucously, finding herself zeroing in on the cyborg as he reached only a few meters from the Captain-

CRASH-CRACK-SLAAAAM!!!!!

Just as the enemy cyborg leapt from the shadows to pounce on the Captain, Muse's body rocketed into the cyborg like a meteorite, sending the both of them tumbling and cascading across the greenery as parts of their bodies smashed into each other and came off in bits and pieces, littering the wake of their turbulent crash.

"Wh..." Hawkes spluttered. "Wha..."

Muse stumbled up onto her feet, half-broken and crippled, breathing heavily and centering her eyes on the enemy cyborg, a taller and bulkier man who was confused and outraged at the sight of another cyborg having interrupted his attempted assassination.

"FUCKING BITCH!" He screamed at her. "NOW MY CONTRACT IS FUCKED!!!"

Muse gasped for several more breaths, realizing just how much it took out of her to make those leaping bounds, before summoning a giant gust of breath and letting out an adrenaline-filled scream of exhilaration.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

The enemy cyborg leered back in sheer perplexity, giving Muse a few seconds to re-calibrate her systems and begin sprinting toward her opponent to finish the job.

(Music: "Renegade", by Raja Kumari)

The enemy cyborg raised his arm, unfolding it backward until a heavy-caliber cannon barrel pointed at Muse.

BWOM! BWOM! BWOM!

Muse weaved, dodged and drifted as bullets the size of baseballs hurled by her and slammed into the ground around her, sending large clumps of dirt flying in every direction and lighting the landscape alight with scones of brimming flame and smoke. As Muse closed the gap, the enemy cyborg backflipped and unveiled a mini-gun from its thigh, the cylinder rotating in rapidity to begin firing a spatter of bullets at its target.

BRRRRRRRRR-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R!!!

Muse hopped backward, taking a few bullets to the already-mutilated left leg, and grabbing her kneecap to pop it open like a break-action shotgun. The enemy cyborg dashed forward and slammed his forehead into her shin, sending shockwaves of pain through her leg. She momentarily froze in agony, then reoriented herself and brought her other leg up over her head, delivering a powerful guillotine kick downward onto his neck.

CRACK!

The enemy cyborg felt the weight of her bionic leg come crashing down onto his clavicle, fracturing bone and sending him careening into the ground. Without wasting time, he pulled himself from the dirt, retreating a few dozen paces and reassessing the situation with groans of pain.

"You are something else, bastard." The cyborg cursed Muse out. "Die by my hands!"

The cyborg tore his chest open, reaching in and grabbing a near-instantly produced flame grenade, chucking it at Muse, and rushing forward to engage in close-quarters combat. Muse crossed her arms in front of her as the flame grenade detonated, throwing blazing fire in every direction and catching across her forearms and lower torso.

She wanted to scream her lungs out but redirected her pain with a well-aimed punch at the incoming cyborg, who immediately weaved the jab and reared his face forward for a headbutt. Muse weaved her head to avoid the incoming attack, then brought her leg up and slammed her kneecap into the side of his, staggering him and allowing her to deliver a crushing right hook. He narrowly sifted his head to the left, the punch grazing his chin, and rocketed an open-palm attack toward her jaw with his left hand.

She narrowly tilted her head backward to avoid the knock-out slam, allowing the cyborg to push her off-balance. She tumbled down the hill she'd been perched on, pursued rapidly by the cyborg, who slid on the recently watered grassy knolls with ease, deploying hand cannons from his transmuting arms to take out his tumbling and vulnerable opponent.

Muse took the opportunity to slam one hand into the wet soil, anchoring her to the steep incline and-

"AH, SHIT-!"

-allowing the cyborg to trip over her body and tumble chaotically down the slope- slamming into an iron fence separating walkway from fauna. Muse released her hand from the soil, using the wetness of the grass to her advantage and gathering momentum as she rocketed ever-more speedily towards the recovering cyborg.

SLAM!

With full force, she shoulder-bashed the cyborg right as he was standing up, bashing him completely through the iron fence and sending him careening several times over land and walkway, leaving cracks and indentations in his tumbling wake. Muse wasted no time, cripple-sprinting toward him with a limp from the foot she had now entirely lost halfway through the battle, her right hand breaking up into hundreds of tiny spindles that retracted into her skin, allowing a heavy-caliber rifle to protrude its intimidating black eye for lethal use.

BWOM! BWOM!

Muse reacted in half a second, weaving two massive bullets aimed for her head and chest, allowing them to pass by and slam into the landscape behind her; not particularly worried about collateral.

| Mist obstruction | Thermal Overlay: [ACTIVE] |

Muse sighted in the enemy cyborg, seeing his red-heated signature through the dense smoke caused by his explosive impact against the landscape. Acting quickly, she raised her right arm, locking in her target-

BWOM!

CRACK!

Muse felt her left arm shatter and tear apart into millions of pieces, scattering across the grass and walkways with blood, gears, circuitry and water. Before she could lose herself to the agony of having her arm ripped from her body entirely, she pointed her right arm at the enemy cyborg and fired.

BA-A-ANG!

CRCK-K-K!

The blast echoed like a .50 caliber rifle, deafening all those within earsight momentarily and slamming with absolute force into the enemy cyborg, blasting a hole through its midriff and sending shockwaves that were powerful enough to blast the remainder of his limbs off his body.

I did it... Muse thought half-conscious, her mind beginning to shut down from the pain, and with no energy left in her body, she collapsed to the walkway in guttural silence...

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| Key #: 571 283 0918 |

| Uploading... |

| Complete |

| SYSTEM BOOT INITIATED |

| Checking core biocomponents... |

| Neural Interface: ONL#$*%&9INE |

| Optical Augments: ACTIVE (Thermal Overlay: [ERROR] Night Vision: [ERROR]) |

| Muscular Enhancements: SYNCHRONIZED, !WARNING! DAMAGE TO [LEFT LEG, RIGHT LEG, LEFT ARM] MUSCULATURE, SEEK REPAIR |

| Checking sensory receivers... |

| EM Sensors: [ACTIVE] | Ultrasonic: [ACTIVE] | Infrared: [ERROR] | Motion Sensor: [ACTIVE] |

| Operating System: AETHER V.7.3 |

| Memory Partitioning: 100% initialized |

| Total capacity: 9.2 PB (petabytes) |

| Active memory: 0.9 TB |

| Archived segments: 85% |

Muse coughed blood onto the side of the ground, immediately realizing she was surrounded by a crowd of people as blinding lights crossed her eyes and surveyed her limp body. Weakly, she tried to reassert herself up, and the crowd pulled back in shock and worried exclamations.

"It's one fuckin' thing after another."

A rough, gravelly and authoritative voice entered her ears, and immediately a hulking figure entered her vision, kneeling down to inspect Muse with curiosity and a subtle gratitude in his eyes.

"Are you cogent?"

"Y...Yes..."

"Good. I have the courtesy to not interrogate the shit out of you right here, so we're going to get you hauled into an Augmentation Facility and have you fixed up, alright? You get me?"

"Y-Yes..."

"Alright... Alright, good... fucking hell, what the fuck is going on today?! Fuck... Alright, look, borg, or whatever your name is... what's your name?"

"...M....Mu...se..."

"Moose? Alright, Moose, we're gonna-"

"N..O!....M...M-U-S-E...!"

Hawkes cringed with every part of his face as he realized how much of a dick he looked like for getting a dying cyborg woman's name wrong in what was potentially her final moments.

"Eh... my bad, Muse... I recognize what you did today -try not to die just yet- and I wanted to say that... well, thank you, for saving my life. I owe you, well, not my life necessarily, but most certainly my lifelong gratitude. We'll get you the best augmentations and food we have!"

As Muse flittered in and out of consciousness, she reflected briefly on the past events of her life since the age of twelve.

Hardly anything. Nothing, much, except experimentation, tests, surgeries, forced augmentations, diagnostics, physical tests, cognitive tests, pattern recognition games...

Only after breaking free from AETHER a year ago did she begin to taste what true freedom felt like. Since then, she'd been starving, low on energy and mentally exhausted from the constant travel, ostracization on other worlds, constantly looking over her shoulder for bounty hunters eager to drag her back to that hellish facility.

No more. She would be seeking refuge under the greatest protection possible- Canaris' living legend himself.

"I am... at your... service, Captain... Hawkes."

Hawkes stared with incomprehensible bafflement and stupor at Muse, before belting out the loudest laughter he'd ever surfaced from the bottom of his lungs since finding out about how the Campaign of Soslau ended.

"WELL, YOU'RE FUCKIN' HIRED!"

Chapter Text

(Music: "Stuck in the Middle With You", by Stealers Wheel)

"YES! YEEEES! THANK GOD, I'm FREE! FREE! HHHAAAAAAHHHAAAA!!!! "

Hawkes wrenched upward from the bed, laughing raucously and triumphantly, only having seconds more to feel the evanescent euphoria of a beautiful dream that was quickly leaving his sight; and soon enough, with a terrible and wracking depression, he realized he was still here; lodging in the Harulian Palace; designed for rest and relaxation specifically for Canaris military soldiers returning from long tours and campaigns. The Palace had been cleared out for Hawkes, the Tulpar crew, and the Numia crew at his behest, allotting the soldiers that were previously staying there with a month's pay and a blank check for nights out around the city as compensation. At the far end of his bedroom, next to the door, was a female servant quivering in both fear and extreme excitement as she got to meet the Icon of Canaris himself, wearing only his boxers-

"C-Captain, sir, the... Magna Victoria will be hosted tonight."

Hawkes nodded tiredly and dipped his head, consolidating on his thoughts for a few moments.

How many useless fucking celebrations do these complacent dick-snatchers want to hold? Hawkes thought exhaustively to himself, despite having had a proper rest for the first time in a long while.

 As his sight moved back up to assess his situation, he noticed the female palace servant was still standing there, and...

...

"What are you doing."

"Wh-What do you mean, C-Captain..."

Hawkes stared with deadened eyes as the servant rubbed the upper part of her thigh, gazing intensely at him and-

"Did the Atriarchs send you to assassinate the last of my self-respect, cum-brain? Are you an agent of destruction hell-bent on my dignity's demise?"

"P-Pardon me, s-sir-? Also, Happy New Year!"

"It's December 30th, you dimwit!"

"Feels like it's already the 31st-!"

"GET. OUT, DEVIANT!!!"

The servant squealed in terror and subtle glee as a pillow was launched at her head with near-lethal intent, ducking just in time to avoid the fluffy projectile smashing into the wall behind her, exploding into a haphazard floating mess of feathers. The servant quickly exited the room with a giggle as Hawkes groaned and fell back into the bed, wanting to enjoy the rainy, foggy morning in slow stride, knowing he was going to be assailed by all kinds of shenanigans from dawn till dusk.

Another day, another thousand-million bullshit idiots to deal with! Hawkes thought miserably to himself, trying his best to drag himself out of bed and get changed into the appropriate attire.

"I'm surrounded by sycophants and libido-crazed lunatics!" Hawkes huffed, trying to take a breath.

It was the next morning-

"Good day, Captain Hawkes!"

"JESUS-! You scared the SHIT out of me! ONE after ANOTHER!!!"

Yusei, the diplomat from Draenor, had caught Hawkes entirely off-guard, receiving a short lambasting for creeping into his room.

"Why. WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?!"

The diplomat bowed deeply, still levitating inches above the floor, to the subtle infuriation of Hawkes.

"It is a bright and beautiful day, Captain-"

"It's raining outside, numbskull."

"-and I wanted to accompany you on your travels! As we didn't get to speak about the Colony with the Atriarchs yesterday, they promised that they and you-"

"Why Meeeee-"

"-Would be free to chat in the Hanging Gardens."

Captain Hawkes stared despondently, then with irritation at the diplomat, who smiled back wholesomely and with a tinge of obsession behind a beguiling gaze, with black eyeliner on the lower lids of his eyes reflecting the unsettling look he carried.

"Nah."

"Sorry, Captain?"

Hawkes got up, uncaring if he was being ogled by the diplomat as he began to dress himself.

"I said no. I have to speak with the Numia crew about some dumb incident they had onboard their vessel before docking with us, I have to attend my f- the Tulpar crew's reunion with their families, I have to plan a date with L- a friend of mine, I need to check up on Muse's transfiguration process, and above all I need to get a smartass ready for transport to a research station!"

"Of course, Captain! The Atriarchs planned for the evening, anyways, as they anticipated you had a few things to handle first."

"I'm flattered. And disgusted that you are receiving the privilege of serving as their messenger, foreigner."

Hawkes finished getting dressed and promptly attached his belt, holsters and other assortments of weaponry hidden throughout his outfit. He didn't really care much if the diplomat saw it; Hawkes always switched around the type of weaponry and where it was placed in his outfit each day. With that finished, he promptly marched out the door, heading for the suite in which the Numia crew was set up.

It was the next morning, the morning after the most eventful night where Hawkes nearly had to wrestle with a bionic assassin- cyborgs, they called them. Half-human, half-machine abominations that crossed far beyond the line of mere augmentation, and into the realm of assimilating with technology for impossible power. There was a particularly pesky organization, the AETHER Group; elite of the elite, top-of-the-line researchers and innovators who were fed up with 'morality' and 'laws' and all that bullshit, deciding to enter the criminal underworld to accomplish their ghastly endeavors and twisted ambitions.

Perhaps this 'Muse' would be of assistance to rid the galaxy of these demonic madmen.

As he walked through the expansive hallways of the adorned and decorated palace, Yusei floated by his side, already prepared to brief him on the plans for negotiations regarding the Qazzar Colony; something which Hawkes could not give an iota of a shit about at the current moment, but was forced to mentally digest for the mere fact that-

Canaris ALWAYS had the upper hand in negotiations. Accepting a deal, no matter how minor, that put them at a disadvantage was swiftly met by someone getting beaten, violently injured or killed depending on the magnitude of the deal, usually the foolish Canari that accepted such a deal was attacked by another Canari witnessing the degradation of their nation's pride before their very eyes. There were historical roots behind this extreme social norm, but not such history worth recounting in Hawkes' mind right now.

"So," Yusei began. "The Qazzar Colony, as you know, has an abundant supply of Cobalt, which we use in our magnets. Our nation would like to initiate a long-term trade agreement with Canaris; our starting offer is approximately twenty-five thousand tonnes of raw cobalt per month, in exchange for one hundred billion Yenar. We are also offering fourty-seven trillion Yenar for the complete purchase of the deed to the Cobalt Mine-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Marco Polo," Hawkes interjected harshly. "Did you... actually just ask me to lease out Canaris land to a foreigner... no less a nation that treats my sex like animals? And you offer me the lowest possible amounts in both deals. Our Denarii are worth 157 times your over-printed money, you fucking neanderthal. How long have you been a diplomat?"

"A few years, Captain." Yusei replied brightly; with any other negotiation, Yusei likely would have taken great offense at the blatant insults and contempt being thrown at him. But with Hawkes, Yusei had read up on his tales and legendary accomplishments, finding transcripts of his conversations with others, recordings, videos, in-person recounts...

He couldn't get enough of this man. And so practically everything Hawkes launched at him short of death simply bounced off Yusei's psyche.

"And how many times have you been to Canaris on your 'official' duties?"

Yusei seemed hesitant to answer, his eyes glancing around in slight nervousness.

"Well... this is my first time. The diplomat before me was beaten nearly to death on arrival."

"Sounds justified. Do you think you've met that threshold?"

Ahh!! Yusei thought rapturously to himself. He's even more animated in person! This is so ecstatic! AAAAAHHHH!!!!

Hawkes was visibly affronted as Yusei started sweating and panting intensely, his eyes laser-focused on the seven-foot Captain. Hawkes groaned in disgust and continued walking down the hallway, utterly confounded at the Sodom and Gomorrah civilization he had returned to.

"You're asking for a face imprint into the nearest wall," Hawkes growled threateningly as Yusei continued to follow behind him like a corporeal ghost. "Canaris has become too complacent. Too much success, too little hardship- it's no wonder they exchanged their brains for their cocks."

"If you kill me, they'll just send another diplomat, Captain!"

"Yes, mosquitoes never take a day off."

Hawkes eventually burst through the doors into the suite of the Numia crew, who were moping around silently without speaking to each other, clearly stressing out, until Hawkes made his presence loudly known- to which all of them nearly had a heart attack and staggered away in momentary fright. At the back of the room, zip-tied to the post of one of the beds, was an older light-skinned six-foot male with a despairing look on his face, bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep. Opposite from him on the other side of the room, sitting unmoving in a chair, was a woman with a gunnery uniform on and an unfocused stare that seemed to drift every few moments into oblivion.

"C-Captain Hawkes!"

"LORD HAVE MERCY!"

"H-Holy-!"

Hawkes scanned the crewmates with skepticism and a large amount of resentment. In fact-

CRACK!

The crew of the Numia were shocked into terror as Hawkes cleared a meter within a second and lightly clocked the nearest crewmate closest to his grasp; which happened to be Sal, once again serving as the physical bulwark for brutality against the crew. He staggered and fell to his knees, groaning in pain yet somehow sensing that the punch was restrained to a heavy degree.

"What the hell!" Aisha exclaimed. "Randomly assaulting us, what the fuck is your-!"

SMACK! "OWAAAA!!!!"

Aisha fell back in pure fright, having been backhanded heavily by the fuming Captain and scrambling backward on her hands and feet as he knelt to stare her down with fury and hellfire brimming in his restrained, stoic gaze.

"You risked the lives of my family. You directly caused them to slip back into mental spirals, after all -ALL- I'd done to help them, you- you motherFUCKER. You risked the lives of my crew, foisted your problem on me-! How have you not fucked me over?! The fact I have to say this out loud is offensive to my very nature- when I should just be demonstrating how grateful you should be  even to  breathe air  at this very moment ."

Aisha shuddered and covered her head, but Hawkes was disinterested in her, standing up and glaring around the room at the crew, seeing the averted gazes and guilty expression.

"You can thank Second Officer Sammy for the fact that all of you are alive, at this very moment. Tell me of this 'murder' onboard while I have the time."

(Music: "Case Files", by Avery Alexander)

Hawkes sat down on the lounge couch, listening to the synopsis of the story from Sal and asking a few questions during the extensive explanation. Hawkes looked to Cortia, who was the first of the three traumatized crewmates to recover fully from the events of 2 months ago, still carrying tired and semi-traumatized eyes that stared around the room idly as the interrogation went on.

"So she was the only known witness aside from Haxel?"

Sal nodded morosely.

"Only one we know of."

Hawkes' eyes narrowed to peer at Alina, sleeping restfully against the chair she was sitting in.

"And what of Alina?" Hawkes asked curiously. "Why was she in a state of shock when this whole event went down?"

The crew looked between one another, unsure of how to respond.

"We have no clue," Sal admitted with an unsure tone, and Hawkes rubbed his chin in deep thought. The co-captain had murdered the captain in the bathroom, there was one confirmed witness, and a traumatized gunner of the crew. Derek and Cortia, who had spoken to Haxel a few hours before the murder, said there was nothing off about Haxel's demeanor or mental state.

His eyes wandered to Alina again, trying to figure out what her role in this was. She must have been a witness to the scene, to have suffered the catatonic state she did as was reported about her in the same day.

"And no security cameras caught movement around the bathroom before or after?" Hawkes asked, then quickly realized what the answer would be.

"We didn't have time or think to retrieve the video logs." Sal said in resignation. "The Armada was right on our ass, and as soon as we docked with the Argonaut we hurried aboard. The Numia was shot to pieces during the skirmish."

Hawkes sighed, knowing he was partially responsible for the Numia's rapid boarding procedure; realizing that his blind rage had caused this current conundrum he was facing.

"Damn it." Hawkes muttered. "So... this 'murderer' piloted the aircraft and got you guys boarded, is that correct?"

Sal nodded with a grim expression.

"Well, based on my experience, this smells of retaliation or a crime of passion."

Hawkes pointed at Haxel, who was tied up by the bedpost. "You got a dedicated, loyal, no-nonsense, Catholic co-captain who up and went to commit a mortal sin out of the blue. You have two traumatized women, one of whom says she witnessed Hawkes escorting her to the bathroom and presenting the body, and another who wasn't confirmed to be there but has all the tendencies of a homicide witness. I'm very sure that Miss Alina over there is the final piece to this puzzle."

Hawkes stood up, straightening his uniform, much to the confusion of the crew.

"W-What are you doing?"

"Well," Hawkes stated simply as he took a look at his holopad to check the time. "If we can't get any more information out of the conscious and coherent ones here, we'll just have to wait until Miss Alina is back to her senses and able to discuss the whole thing."

"Y-Yes, but she's been like this for two months!"

Hawkes glanced over at Alina one more time, seeing that she was teetering between reality and denial.

"Then I'll check back tomorrow and see if we can extract some answers out of her. But right now, I don't have the time to spend coddling your gunman back to sanity."

With that, Hawkes turned on his heel and began to leave the room, saying as a last remark:

"Take the day and enjoy my homeworld. Take Alina with you, and at least give Haxel some amusements so he doesn't sit in the room bored all day."

Hawkes left the room, immediately flanked by Yusei, who was irritably curious about the recent interaction Hawkes just had.

"Ooh, so a murder was afoot!" Yusei said excitedly. "Who was it? The Captain? The Medic? The Butler??"

"I need you to either cut your tongue out or imitate the sensation of silence."

Hawkes finally came upon the Robotics Lab set up in the Palace for Muse's repair and reconfiguration. As he rounded the corner, he saw Muse's many bionic parts opened up, panels revealing complex circuitry, machinery, and microfibers being tinkered with by a large team of roboticists and engineers like a vehicle being taken apart and rebuilt.

Muse noticed Hawkes' presence and looked up, nodding her head in acknowledgment of his presence.

"Good day, Captain Hawkes."

"Sup."

Muse used her eyes to gesture down at her body.

"I am deeply pleased and grateful for augmenting my body to a higher grade of alloy and efficiency. I requested to stay conscious for the procedure, if that was amenable."

"Sure," Hawkes said dismissively. "Surprised you don't need anesthesia."

"The augmentations do not carry nociceptors, and so the procedure is painless for me. This doesn't account for the human anatomy still present within me."

"I'm sure the tinkerers will work around it." Hawkes said. "When can I expect you fully operational as my bodyguard?"

"A rough approximation of six hours, Captain."

Captain Hawkes nodded.

"I'll be attending the Magna Victoria by that time. I'll have a transport pod bring you over when you're finished."

Muse nodded deftly, and Hawkes turned on his heel to continue-

BONK! "OW, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Hawkes glanced back to see one of Muse's arms had swung backward on its own, clocking an engineer straight in the face, sending him careening rearward into materials and tools, received with laughter and guffawing from his fellow engineers. Hawkes smiled slightly and shook his head, leaving the Robotics Lab to see his family with great haste. He wanted some quality time for all the horseshit he had to put up with; and by this point in his life, his family was the only thing that brought him comfort and happiness.

He tapped into his shoulder radio.

"Are they in position?"

"Yes, Captain."

Hawkes was about to proceed to the Tulpar crew's lodging, then noticed the damned diplomat was still hovering nearby.

"We'll next meet with the Atriarchs this evening," Hawkes said dismissively, much to the diplomat's disappointment.

"Are you certain you don't want an accompanying-"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Hey, hey!"

"Hey..." "Hey, Hawkes."

"Wassup homieeee!!!!" 

The Tulpar crew received the entering Captain with a warm but dissonant welcome as he entered their room, having to duck his head under the doorframe as he walked in. The crew was leisurely lying around, reading, looking through holo-pad news; Curly was training nonstop, wailing away on a punching bag in the corner of the room while Anya watched him listlessly.

Hawkes sighed, still deeply discomforted over Anya's slow recovery and Curly's underlying rage. How badly he wished it was as easy to fix humans as it was to kill them. He'd read up as much as humanly possible on human psychology, how to mend broken minds, handling traumatic recovery...

It didn't help a ton. When a civilization like Canaris had practically piqued out in terms of medical advancement, 'the cure' became the reigning norm over 'the treatment'. The most common solution was just:

Take them to a surgeon and get the mental ailments removed.

Hawkes had been so used to that answer. When the galaxy became dreadful and dreary after the Terror's reign, so did thinking; so did innovation, ambitions, desires- everything that made humans human.

When the Lower Quadrant was fragmented, so too was humanity's spirit. Such a gentle, yet persevering force with very long recovery times as a collective will. But it tore Hawkes's heart apart, to see this terrible state of mind among his family; and every time he was around them in solitude, he could peek a glimpse of the mind-withering, soul-rending, heart-rotting situation they had found themselves in, on the Tulpar. He knew that merely 'fixing' their brains was just not the correct answer; it didn't feel right to just 'fix' their mental states with pure medicine. 

They needed to heal together. They needed solace, and time, and tranquility, and time once more...

They needed to stay away from-

KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILLLKIKLK OIKLL!!!_!!DEAAAATH !!!DEATH DEA!!!TH JI!!!AMIYK K!!!A:EGIA-!!

There he stood- right in front of Hawkes.

Taunting him. S-m-i-l-i-n-g.

SCHRK!

Hawkes reached forward, clenching his fingers like steel jaws around Jimmy's neck, crushing his esophagus and feeling the slow rrrriiiippppp of flesh from flesh, muscle from muscle, sinew from sinew, BONE FROM BONE-

DEAAAA-A-A_A-A_A_A_A_ATTTHHH!!!!!

"HUH!!! HUH?! HUH?! HUH??? HUH?... HUH...."

The entire room was staring at him with utter bewilderment and a tinge of fear at Hawkes. Sweat drops traced his face, eyes dilated and quivering in frenzied madness. Quickly taking stock of the situation, Hawkes feigned a heavy cough and turned away from them, fervently wiping the sweat from his face and blinking several times to clear his hazy vision, before turning back with a confident stoicism.

"Right, apologies. Jet lag has me a bit nauseous still."

"That's... still a thing?" Swansea muttered, somewhat unbelieving of Hawkes' apparent coverup. Hawkes himself was terrified of what he'd been acting like when he lost his mind for that mere moment.

You fucking weakling! Hawkes berated himself ferociously. Now is not the time to lose your SHIT!

"So," Hawkes began speaking, glossing over Swansea's words and his own unsettled psyche. "Come with me, if you will."

(Music: "Blomstertid", by Martin Wave)

Hawkes slowly led them out of their room, walking them down the long hallway of the Palace's upper floor; their boots and shoes clicking across the pristine gray-marbled flooring, echoing through the soothingly-decorated and war trophy-adorned surroundings. Unknowing of where they headed, the Tulpar crew simply followed Captain Hawkes, owing their second lives, absolute trust and bottomless gratitude to him. After two months, grappling with the insanity of bearing reality once more- they realized just how deep of a deed he'd done for them.

It was beyond rescuing- beyond saving- Hawkes had delivered them from death. Through an otherworldly touch, this random war veteran, at the top of his game, went one year out of his way to save them. And once resurrection had become a possibility, he constructed an entire chamber, studied up on the effectiveness rates, and went through troublesome effort to not only bring them back, but care for and prioritize their safety and well-being.

For two whole months, the Tulpar crew had more than enough time to realize and deeply, deeply, deeply appreciate all that had been done for them.

Four nobodies, stranded out in the horrific depths of deepspace, doomed to an unknowable and unretrievable death... and yet, they had returned.

The doors to the outside of the Palace swung open. The light was blinding, as the star which this planet orbited was shining brightly over the tiered surfaces, foisting itself unto the eyes of the Tulpar crew as they stepped outside-

"Oh... Oh, my God... Oh, my God... Daisuke..."

"SWANSEA! SWANSEAAA! SWANSEAAAA!!!" "DA-HA-HAAAADDDDYYYY!!!!!" "DADDDYYYY!!!!"

"Oh my Gooood, Oh fucking thaaaaank Goooodd!!!! Anyaaaaaaa....!!!!!"

A wealthy-looking male and female couple bolted for Daisuke, tackling him with a bear hug and sobbing their eyes out with uncontrollable relief. An older woman with a son and daughter ran for Swansea, smacking into him with the same intensity and force, nearly toppling him over. An old man and woman ran for Anya, wrapping her in their arms and crying inconsolably from their weathered, weary faces.

"I'm... I love you guys..." Daisuke sobbed into his parents' arms. "I missed you so much... Don't ever leave me again, please..."

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Swansea uttered with choked breaths into his wife and children's embrace. "You are the world to me... I'm so sorry I ever left you!"

Anya simply stared, almost unreceptively, as her parents hugged and sobbed into her clothing, falling to their knees and losing their composure entirely. Hawkes panicked as he watched her try and comprehend the reality she was in, and was about to step in to give her a nudge-

"Uuuuhhhhhh.... Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh...."

She crumpled to her knees, tears flooding from her eyes like an open dam, her eyebrows furrowing in agony, frustration and cathartic relief. The loving touch of family; the beautiful, magnificient view before her; the safety and security of her environment; the mere understanding that someone out there had come to save their little lies from hell and oblivion.

And in one swift movement, Anya turned the opposite direction, facing Hawkes and bowin her head until it touched the ground, pressing into it as deeply as she could.

"Thank. You. So much." She expressed with the utmost gratitude Hawkes had ever seen, her breaths exhaling with such force that she had to suck in breaths of air after uttering the statement of gratitude. Hawkes was moved, covering his mouth and trying to stave off the urge to shed tears of painful relief. All of the other families lowered themselves to the ground, placing their hands and heads on the ground with utter humility.

"Thank you." "Thank you, sir." "I owe you an eternal debt." 

"We will never forget your compassion." "Whatever you ask, we'll do."

"Nothing can repay what you've done for us, Captain Hawkes."

Captain Hawkes was growing more guilt-ridden the longer they sat there, singing his praises for saving their family members from peril. He understood it completely, but he was more focused on-

Ahhhh, fuuuuck.

Curly was staring at him; his eyes devoid of light and purpose. Hawkes had been far too stressed last night to think of specific scenarios like this, and felt absolute guilt ride further up his psyche as he realized Curly was experiencing immense loneliness and despair at the sight of all these other people reuniting with their families.

There was no one here to comfort him; and all this reminded him of, no doubt, was what he did.

"Curly." Hawkes muttered, walking up to him and issuing a top-tier distraction. "I need your captain expertise for an... expert opinion, please."

Curly turned to him, eyes widened in gratitude as he found a distraction from the biting loneliness.

"Of course!"

Hawkes brought Curly to the room of the Numia, where he delegated him to assist in investigating the murder case. "I'll be back in 2 hours, I just have to speak with the Atriarchs, then once I've returned, I'd like to hear your summary report."

Curly nodded, unrealizing totally that Hawkes was just comforting him with a temporary purpose while Hawkes handled matters elsewhere; it wasn't as if Hawkes was trying to mock Curly, but he simply couldn't think of any other tasks Curly would be suited for completing.

I could offer him a position as Third Officer onboard the Argonaut, Hawkes thought to himself. But would he even want to glimpse a spaceship again after what he went through? Would any of them?

Hawkes shook his head, dismissing the pondering; he didn't have time to deliberate deeply as he did on the Argonaut. Today was a very busy day, and so would tomorrow be, as well.

"There he goes."

"The real Caesar walks among us with greater captivation from Canaris than that of our own Atriarchs-"

"Are you mad, Sarelius? Quiet yourself!"

Small groups of Canaris' district leaders, aristocrats, tycoons, and old money figures stood at the fringes of the lower floors of Fortress Phoenix, enjoying what was essentially the pre-game for the Magna Victoria tonight. Liquor, substances, social mingling, and private (and public) pleasure was abundant for the pre-game, as practically everyone from the upper crust was excited for the Magna Victoria; not only were there eye-dazzling, mind-baffling entertainment setups, networking opportunities abound, and some of the greatest cuisines and most rarely-made narcotics in the galaxy, but more than anything else-

It was a time when Canaris flexed its massive biceps in the face of other nations. Supremacy was the greatest high a Canarisian could receive.

Many of these groups gathered on the lower floors were the minority of the elite hierarchy which bore a large resentment and fear against Hawkes, primarily because they weren't blind to the fanaticism that had been driven into their populace for so many years by this messianic figure of national heroism for Canaris. Not only had he stolen the heart of the populace, but the rulers had made clear their desires to establish a family-reigning Atriarchy that would continually ensure progress and devotion to Captain Hawkes in their plans to make him near-immortal.

The idea of a family monarchy endlessly and perpetually giving an immortal legendary warmonger the greenlight to expand Canaris' interests was... horrifying, to most of these detractors, and simply unacceptable to all of them.

Seems the borg didn't get the job done, thought Sarelius bitterly, having colluded with the Danze Imperium to infiltrate a high-end assassin through Canaris' pristine security details with such painstaking risk. It infuriated him to no end he couldn't rid this world of the psychopathic, cultish populist war hero. It mattered not if he was martyred- he would no longer be able to threaten Canaris with potential subversion of the government and its industry leaders. I'll need to find mutineers in his crew, people who could get me his daily routine...

Sifting through the archives in his mind, he recalled the hundreds of Argonauts that returned this recent voyage, recalling their hacked government records with genetically modified memory storage augmentations integrated seamlessly inside his head.

Rauley.... former felon... pressed into service... fuck, pronounced loyalist...

Dimitri... petty thief... Canaris, that's a no-go...

Jezarit... former SDK agent... weapons specialist... nothing of note.

Faulkner... head surgeon... long-time friend of H- FUUUCK!

Perhaps higher education... more pliable, more morally righteous....

Elliot... particle & dark matter researcher... blind?? Fucking useless...

Dula... graduated Rislin University... some medical degree... nope. Nothing.

Emile... hails from Olima... college degree... high scores on marksmanship tests... oh, anti-establishment protester, and a fervent bad actor against government agencies... Bingo.

"What time is the Magna Victoria, again?" An aristocrat whispered to another, who pulled out the formal invitation and read from it.

"...Nine o'clock p.m."

"Thank you."

Not only was this massive celebratory event held after major campaign victories or unrivaled goal accomplishment, but it was also a time when diplomats, rulers, warlords, and even rival nation leaders all conglomerated at the Epoch Villae, tens of miles of sprawling estate across fields of rolling hills, valleys, mountains, and vast lakes, all terraformed specifically and precisely for foreigners to see the bestial, raw manufacturing power and cohesion amongst the Canaris populace.

When diplomats and rulers of other nations came to mingle in the Epoch Villae, there was never a lack of housing capacity; they would see miles and miles of the most beautifully terraformed scenery they'd ever born witness to, and they would know that this immense feat by the Canaris was a demonstration of what an enemy of Canaris could expect in the magnitude of war.

Sarelius grinned maliciously. All those diplomats, rulers and rival nations' emissaries would be the perfect opportunity to scheme, plot and plan the next actions of this small coalition of detractors against Hawkes and these tyrannical Atriarchs.

"I'm back, you whimpering cunts."

The SCR prisoners screamed bloody murder through their gags, trying desperately to scoot and stumble away as Hawkes walked chortling maliciously into the room.

"Had to take a good 20 minutes for you lot, before I go and see the most horny bastards on this planet."

The unlucky prisoners for today had been moved into a foam-padded room devoid of decoration, furniture and practically everything except dim lighting and Hawkes' imposing, daunting presence. After two months of constant exposure to the macabre displays of overwhelming and gruesome violence demonstrated by Hawkes onto their comrades, friends and battle buddies, their minds had taken more than enough. The prisoners, bound by hands and feet, scooted forward pathetically and slammed their heads to the ground; clearly implying a begging request for mercy.

"Mmmmffff.... Mmmmfff!" "Mfmfffffmmm!!! Mmmmfff!"

"Mmmmmfff... mmmmfffmmmm..." "MMMMMFFFF MMMMFFFF MMMFFFF!!!"

Hawkes, who had only seen defiance to submission from these Hannou for the last two months, was thrown completely off his rhythm as they came forward and presented themselves like worms clawing at the floor.

"What... you fucking DEGENERATES!" He shouted wrathfully at them. "YOU THINK PLEADING WITH PUPPY EYES MAKES UP FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAINST CANARIS?!"

Seething behind his teeth, Hawkes scanned his eyes across the faces of the five prisoners, chosen completely at random by lottery. Petty thief, deserter, drug trafficker, arsonist, rapist.

Hawkes scrummaged through his head for twisted ideas he could implement, as simply beating and mutilating them had grown monotonous. Malevolence surfaced across his face as a particularly Roman idea had snuck into his mind.

"Fine," Hawkes hissed at them, walking up to their scrambling figures and tearing out their gags one by one, leaving them to gasp for air and collect their breaths, turning dreading-horrified gazes upon Hawkes as he walked back to his original position and simply sat down.

"I'd like to go through your stories-" Hawkes began to speak, until being loudly interrupted by the agonized, desperate cries of those before him, bobbing and weaving frantically as they tried futilely to plead their cases to him.

"SILENCE!"

The prisoners fell mute as Hawkes' booming voice echoed through the room, their attention laser-focused collectively on Hawkes' next words. His loathsome eyes sized them up and surveyed their states of mind with idle curiosity, already knowing the full extent of what their government records from their homeworlds had revealed. If there was one thing that Hawkes found useful about GAPC, it was the unification of a galactic criminal database accessible by any planet with a stringent communicative connection to Nova Terra's immense and thousands-strong communication arrays. Even the Terror was incapable of completely wiping out these arrays during its incursion on the Sol System.

And oh how lucky it was for Hawkes that this criminal database was so well-kept; often with dictatorships and dystopian societies, the first thing that autocracies stayed on top of was cataloguing their dissidents.

"So," Hawkes said, rather playfully, an extremely unsettling switch-up from his ferocious demeanor only minutes ago. "I want to hear brief stories from all of you, about your backgrounds. I already know them, but maybe there's some parts your criminal records happened to miss. You first." He said, pointing at the blonde, light-skinned female petty thief, who returned a wide-eyed stare as if she were being asked to put a revolver to her head with one bullet in the chamber.

"U-Uh..." She stuttered, rapidly losing her composure in the harrowing situation; with such a panicked state of mind, it was extremely difficult for any of these prisoners to be cogent when their months-long tormentor was casually sitting in the room, playing games with their mental states. "I-I-I....I-"

"Enough." Hawkes sighed, and the petty thief turned pale white and quivered with such intensity that she vomited onto the floor in front of her. Hawkes sighed, looking between the faces of pure fear and acceptances of a terrible fate.

(Music: "An Iniquitous Inclination", by Ben Matthews)

"Alright," He stated simply. "I'll make all of you a promise, right here, right now. I will not be laying a finger on any of you, today."

The prisoners looked between one another, skeptical of Hawkes' words and quietly suspecting a violent death at the end of this charade.

"I'm not kidding. Should I break my word, let it be known that I will chop off my left hand in front of your very eyes. If you still don't believe me, I'll prove it to you for the duration of this little campfire chat we have."

The prisoners were still quivering, yet unusually reassured by Hawkes' words- they had no basis on which to predicate a history of lying by Hawkes; and they had no choice but to take his word for it. On a planet that worshipped him, they quite literally had no choice but to believe him.

Resolved in assuaging their skepticism (despite having not approached it slightly), Hawkes once again gestured to the petty thief, who seemed to hesitate for a long moment before surfacing shivering words in her mouth.

"I... I was young. Came from Elitania. Rich world-"

"Mm, yeah." Hawkes interrupted with a menacing undertone, revealing his impatience for extraneous details as he reached into his inner uniform pocket and took out a cigar box and antique silver lighter, flipping it open to remove a cigar and clasping it shut as his wrathful eyes scanned the five of them like caged statistics and probabilities. The petty thief mumbled in fear to herself, before continuing her short narrative.

"M-My family was poor. When we moved to Hannou, w-we were subsistence farmers, growing just enough to feed ourselves. I...I grew sick of it and joined the fleets to gain some... fortune." she mumbled the last part very quietly.

Hawkes nodded empathetically, flipping open the lighter and running the flame around the edge of the cigar, seeming far more focused on the effort of lighting his temporary anesthetic than the details of the thief's story.

"Nothing wrong with that." Hawkes remarked bemusedly, which only served to unsettle the petty thief; it vaguely felt like another game was being played here.

"Y-Yeah... we pillaged a few vessels, kept everyone onboard alive, and sent them on their way."

The petty thief said the last part as if to garner some understanding and further sympathy from Hawkes, ultimately despairing as she noticed his face didn't change one iota of an expression.

"Mhm." He verbalized through closed lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke at the ground in front of the shivering prisoners.

"S-So..." The petty thief continued. "I've been doing this for... two years now. But... I never killed anyone from Canaris!"

Hawkes peered into her eyes, trying to decipher any form of a lie in her words. He was slightly surprised to infer that she was not, in fact, lying. In fact, even her demeanor didn't give away any hidden malice. She was, like every other Hannou, ingrained from birth to hate Canaris to their guts- but that alone was not a crime that Hawkes considered worthy of punishment.

"Very well." Hawkes said simply, looking to the next in line; a male, dark-skinned deserter from the Jomoli Armed Forces. His eyes immediately averted from Hawkes, filled with the same initial terror and aversion as the others.

"I... I served with the JAF for five years. Fled my homeworld to move to Hannou during the civil war, with my wife and son. Joined the SCR for the same reasons as Frylia." He said with little fear and stuttering in his voice; his veterancy reflecting through his tough words.

Hawkes nodded, his eyes next settling on the older male, olive-skinned drug trafficker.

"Was born on Hannou. Started drug dealing at ten to cover rent, groceries, gas. Joined the SCR when I was old enough to fight."

"That it?" Hawkes asked.

"Yep."

Hawkes nodded, looking to the fair-skinned female arsonist, fourth in line. Her eyes were unsettling, as if she had a goal entirely separate from what a human conscience would naturally desire.

"I'm gonna skip you," Hawkes said indifferently, much to the disappointment of the arsonist.

"You." Hawkes seethed, staring at the last in line with a shifting expression of rage and sadistic glee. "Tell me your little backstory."

The light-skinned male Hannou he had spoken to was terrified by Hawkes's change in inflection and tone when his gaze centered on him.

"I...I was born-"

"I don't give a fuck, if you repeat some irrelevant shit again, you die."

The male Hannou turned ghost-pale white, scooting away with instinctive fright at the bare-faced threat. And yet, his logical side rationalized that he had to answer the question to the liking of this unhinged monster in front of him, or he was dead.

"I-I, wh-what do you want t-to know-"

"Your crime. Tell me your crime."

The male Hannou's life flashed before his eyes. 

He was fucking lying, The male Hannou thought in utter despair and agony. He was never going to let us live. He's gonna torture us, again, and again, and-

"Answer, or I'll tear your friends here from limb to limb in front of you."

Mind buzzing with alarm. He looked to his battle buddies with utter despair and horror, receiving the same from their panicked, life-pleading eyes-

"O-OKAY, FINE, FINE! FUCK!"

Hawkes laid back onto his elbows, puffing the cigar as he waited intently for the Hannou to begin speaking. 

"Jeremy, was it?"

"....Y-Yes-"

"Can I call you Jimmy for short?"

Jeremy's gaze frittered from left to right, too frightened to meet the eyes of his compatriots or the absolute devil residing casually in front of him. 

"S-Sure, f-fuck, just-"

"Stage is yours."

Jeremy panted heavily, feeling as if a world of anxiety and death-spiraling terror was closing down on him from all sides. Am I gonna die? Is he gonna kill me? Jeremy thought in panic to himself.

"I-I.... A C-C...Can...Canari... was... captured... on a... l-luxury... ve-vessel..."

"Alani Hyletta, I recall." Hawkes hissed between gnashing teeth, sending beads of sweat cascading down Jeremy's face.

"Y-Yes-!"

"What'd you do to her?"

Jeremy's mouth quivered, fearing that the next thing he said would lead to his death- and yet, generational, passed-down, reliquary HATRED fueled him with an urge to leave a defiant, dying message with his last breath.

"I FUCKED THAT CANARI BITCH UNTIL SHE WAS DEAD IN THE EYEEESS!"

His gaze passed over his compatriots, seeing a sadistic and rebellious satisfaction rise up inside them; bringing his recalcitrant eyes upon-

I'm dead-!

For a split-second, Jeremy glimpsed a phantom hallucination of Hawkes, eyes bulging in frenzied vexation, snatching at Jeremy's face and tearing his features off like a Christmas present-

"STOP! STOP!!!" Jeremy screamed, falling onto his back and crawling away with instincts screaming to run. Hawkes eyed him with contemptuous regard, eventually standing up and straightening his suit, throwing the cigar box and lighter on the floor whilst continuing to smoke his own.

"Alright, I'm satisfied," Hawkes said simply, straightening his beret. "I'll offer you guys a deal."

Five faces turned towards him with glaring yet curious eyes.

"You four-" He said, pointing at everyone except Jeremy. "If you beat Jimmy to death, I'll pardon you all and allow you a safe return to Hannou."

The four of them stared at Hawkes with gaping jaws and wide eyes, except Jeremy, who was quickly descending into panic and scooting further away from Hawkes.

"F-Fuck off!" Jeremy spluttered, looking to his crewmates for reassurance, and feeling a sense of dread crawl up his spine as he watched them consider the deal.

"There's no fucking way we can trust you." The deserter stated defiantly. Hawkes simply grinned impishly and began walking out of the room.

"I haven't laid a finger on you this whole time, have I? Fulfill my request, and you will see your families and homeworld again. Even if you're skeptical... you might as well bank on the chance. Otherwise, I'll just throw you all into the Holosseum and let physical prowess decide."

As Hawkes leisurely strolled out of the room, the four other Hannou turned their grim eyes on Jeremy, who was shrinking into the corner of the room in utter despair- the last thing Hawkes glimpsed before the cell door closed behind him.

(Music: "Movin' Right Along", by Alkaline Trio)

"So how did you get our families all the way from our homeworlds to here?" Daisuke asked Hawkes excitedly, who was driving a Hovera (a generic term for hovering vehicles, Hawkes didn't care to remember the brand) through the wide streets of Canaris with Swansea, Daisuke and Anya sitting inside; Curly was still working on the investigation with the Numia murder. Hawkes smirked, explaining the strenuous process to Daisuke.

"We have something called 'High-Velocity Travel Cruisers', which are capable of traveling at four times the speed of a normal cruiser due to its reduced mass and heavy use of Dark Matter Reactors. It took all 12 months of our voyage to the Tulpar for our navigators on Canaris to map a path to all of your homeworlds. Fucking annoying and lots of manual work (especially since I had to provide viable navigation route reports every other day), but we got it done. And now that we have those cosmic routes mapped out, we can establish commercial routes with those homeworlds- which we plan to do once we've acquired the patents for our unique innovations."

Daisuke nodded in wonder, not particularly comprehending half the words said but understanding the gist of the explanation. 

"This whole world is something else..." Daisuke wondered aloud, looking out the passenger window and glimpsing the sight of the fantastical mega-architecture that encapsulated so much of Canaris' society. How is it possible for the city to blend so well with farmland? Daisuke pondered in marvel.

Swansea, meanwhile, was sipping from a Moscow Mule in the back passenger's seat next to Daisuke, raising an eyebrow as he noticed Daisuke taking a vested interest in the words of Hawkes, lightly slapping the back of Daisuke's head.

"Might need to start quizzing you on Systems Analysis again, Sunshine," Swansea remarked gruffly. "Channel that passion into something you can put on your resume."

Daisuke chuckled nervously, not particularly recalling positive memories about the esoteric question-grilling he'd done with Swansea in the first months onboard the Tulpar-

KRSCHK-!

Daisuke felt as if his mind had temporarily imploded, and fell into a momentary catatonic state, his eyes listlessly staring into oblivion, jaw hanging agape- noticed by no one in the vehicle.

Riding in the front seat next to Hawkes was Anya, bopping it out to the song that was playing over the radio. Hawkes groaned inwardly- the song had repeated 5 times now and no one in the car, especially Anya, seemed intent on changing the station.

This hurts me more than it hurts you, Hawkes thought despairingly to himself as he released his right hand from the wheel to change the station-

(Music: "Cupid", by FIFTY FIFTY)

Oh, Christ have mercy, Hawkes despaired even further to himself. Is this Anya FM Radio?!

"OOHHH!!!!" Anya squealed, pumping her fists in the air as the song blasted out of the radio with unfathomable girlboss energy. "Crank that VOLUME U-U-U-P!"

Hawkes, with a tortured face trying to facade a wholesome grin, reached for the dial and turned it up by one decibel. Anya narrowed her eyes and pouted at Hawkes, lightly slapping his hand off the dial and cranking that shit to the max-

"I'M FEELIN LONELY-!"

"CHRIST, MY EARS!" Swansea cried out, falling out of his seat onto the floor whilst Daisuke was snapped out of his catatonic trance by the song's pop beat; he immediately began dancing in place, losing himself to the vibe of the moment.

"Oh, thank goodness..." Hawkes muttered, pulling the Hovera up to the drive-through of Donerini's Pizzeria- a generations-old pizza joint that started as a humanitarian organization (Donner Enterprises) after the Terror came to an end, a front created by the Donerini Family in Soslau both as a way of feeding the war-stricken populace and laundering an insane amount of money under the guise of 'Humanitarian Aid'. Now, it was an intergalactic restaurant chain with roots all the way back to Nova Terra's Ancient Italy.

All of this immense history, just for Hawkes to find that the receiver for orders was-

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! Hawkes raged in the broiling sea of his thoughts as he came upon the speaker and found it was... AI.

"Good evening [customer_title], would you like to place your order?"

Oh, nice, and it wasn't even programmed fully.

Hawkes stared with utter loathing at the speaker, wondering if he had the political and social pull to just exit the Hovera, break the speaker off its hinges, and hurl it through the windows of the pizzeria before heading to another restaurant. He decided against it, only because his family was present and he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of them. With grit teeth and restrained vitriol, he looked to the others and queried them for their orders.

"Do you guys need a second to read the- hold on I have to turn this down," Hawkes muttered, dialing down the volume of the song playing over the speakers on repeat before speaking again. "Do you guys need a second to read the menu?"

"Just get me whatever," Swansea said with a salivating tone. "I just need to taste pizza again. Fuck, it's been too long... PIZZA!"

"Okay, I get it!" Hawkes huffed, switching his gaze to Daisuke.

"What about you, Einstein? Cheese, Pepperoni, Risilica?"

"Risi- what?" Anya muttered, confused by the last word Hawkes had said.

"A fruit that we genetically modified and synthesized, which my ancestors found growing across this planet, hundreds of years ago. It's bioluminescent, the size of a tomato, kinda tastes tangy, like umami, slightly spicy—like, uh... like a mix of cherry tomato, jalapeño, and aged Parmesan cheese."

"That is disgustingly specific," Swansea remarked in slight bewilderment. "If I had your mind I don't think I'd ever want for money. Probably just become a food critic or something."

"Of course," Hawkes quipped with a slight smirk, prompting Swansea's head to snap-turn to him with narrowing eyes.

"The fuck you say, you lanky orangutan?"

"Alright, I'm just gonna order whatever," Hawkes said with a sigh, turning to speak his order into the receiver.

"Get me a-!" Anya was about to speak, but suddenly piped down and seemed to shrink slightly into her seat. Hawkes immediately noticed the change in mood and scoured his mind archives to piece together the possible next word she was going to say and the implications behind it.

Get me a- water- milk- shot of liquor- smoothie- milkshake-

Milkshake- Why Milkshake?

Logs, logs, logs, went through all of them two months ago-

She also hesitated to drink that first shot, two months and one day ago- aversion to receiving drinks- 

It always went back to him. Scum Supreme.

Hawkes remembered acutely now. Log recording #6781, 08:03:27 timestamp... 

Jimmy had spiked a milkshake and given it to Anya.

Pray you die before I ever find you, Hawkes thought in unfettered rage, quickly descending into a death-hate spiral as the AI speaker continued to prompt him to order. Or I will never let you conceive a painless existence.

"Good evening [customer_title], would you like to place your-"

"YEEEESS, SHUT. UP!"

Hawkes let out an exhale of relief as he vented onto the unfortunate AI speaker.

"I'd like to order," Hawkes continued. "Two medium cheese pizzas, two pepperoni pizzas, and one pepperoni with bell peppers. For drinks, I'd like two bottles of water, a medium Kode, and-"

He glanced quickly at Anya.

"-A strawberry milkshake."

Anya shot a glance of surprise and gratitude to Hawkes, who pretended like he didn't notice the gaze and was slightly melting inside.

"And what will you drink with that?"

Hawkes's mind blanked as the AI asked him for his drink. Everyone in the Hovera immediately locked in on Hawkes' face.

"..."

'Humiliated' was an understatement for the feeling Hawkes was experiencing right now.

"...For my drink, I want two bottles of water, a medium Kode, and a STRAW-BERRY milkshake."

Hawkes gazed intently and quite murderously at the AI speaker as it computed his words.

...

...

...

"And your drink?"

"OH MY FUUUCKING-!"

HONK! HONK! HONK!

Anya, Swansea and Daisuke burst out into silent guffawing as Hawkes smacked the wheel of the Hovera, inadvertently honking the vehicle as he raged at the machine.

"I WANT TWO BOTTLES OF WATER, A MEDIUM KODE, AND A STRAWBERRY MILKSHAKE!!!"

Hawkes exhaled heavy breaths as he yelled his soul at the AI speaker, having never found himself so elevated to blinding rage so quickly by such a menial little device. He seared his gaze through the terminal as he awaited the confirmation from the AI speaker to move forward to the window.

...

...

...

"And your drink-?"

VROOOOM-

Hawkes floored the petal, rearing the Hovera around the corner and pulling up to the second window like he was preparing a drive-by against the restaurant. The frightened worker inside pulled back in initial fright, then growing excitement as he realized it was the legendary Captain Hawkes ordering from-!

"WwwAAAAHH!!"

The worker felt himself pulled by the collar by Hawkes' lanky arm reaching in like a ravaging monster, pulling the worker's face through the window and into the vehicle, Hawkes' eyes centered on the road as he spoke out of the side of his mouth.

"If that bitch-ass artificial disintelligence isn't replaced by a human worker the next time I come through..."

"N-No problem, Captain Hawkes!" The worker stuttered, more honored to be man-handled by the iconic legend than frightened for his personal safety. "I'll make sure the manager hears it first-thing tomorrow!"

Hawkes nodded with a 'I-fuckin'-hope-so' crass smile, releasing the worker's collar and digging through his heavy-duty coin pouch to hand the worker a fistful of Denarii.

"Keep the change, thanks for understanding."

The worker nodded emphatically, pocketing the change and taking out a pencil and notepad.

"So!" He said positively. "What did you want to order?"

I might have to murder you, Hawkes thought.

Hawkes trampled his way up the many steps to the Aulma Balcony, a massive raised and reinforced deck that hung over large swathes of cityscape and-

Oh brother, Hawkes moaned in his mind. I can't bother trying to detail all this bullshit in my head all the time. Why is everything Canaris builds so damn immense? Why is stupid shit like balconies getting named after Canari heroes? This seems so disgraceful.

He reached the top step of the curling stairway, finding himself before a large resort- a pool spanning across several meters of open space, lounge chairs laid out around it- without further detail, it resembled a beachside resort and looked rather uniquely jarring when compared with the vastly differentiating landscapes in the near and furthest distances.

"Ah, there you are, Hawkes!"

Hawkes groaned slightly as he saw the entire balcony barren of life except for a hilarious amount of Canarii warriors, distant circling Helixads, and counter-snipers posted on every rooftop that was viewable. Even with this kind of protection, it was ridiculously bold of an Atriarch to present themselves so openly in public; no matter how many people worshipped them. all it took was one person with the right weapon at the right time and place. And, to top off the entire display of intrepid fearlessness...

Both of them were completely without garments. Hawkes sighed as he realized he was staring at the naked figures of his dual rulers. Shockingly, this wasn't out-of-place for Canaris principles.

Bravery, zeal, passion, defiance in the face of death- a civilization that started out as a planet entirely intended to be a cosmic fortress and last bastion against the Terror's expansion northward. These were the principles it not only chose, but had to adopt as a matter of life or death. The first settlers of the planet were the most unhinged, aggressive, war-seeking, death-dealing merchants of intragalactic war. It was intended, precisely for the reasoning that most of the brilliant minds of humanity had come to, at a time when the Terror was wreaking galactic havoc and mankind's extinction seemed to rear its monstrous head over the horizon:

If all of us are gonna die, the last thing you bug xeno cunts will see is a knife driven into your membranes by the most animal humans among us.

After the Terror was defeated, the mindset of Canari settlers did not die down in the slightest; generations, upon generations, upon generations of children, drilled into their minds that the xeno threat was right around the corner- that nothing, absolutely nothing, was more imperative than the defense and preservation of Canaris: the last bastion of humanity. This adage slowly faded away as time passed, eventually being replaced by ultranationalism and celebration of mastery over war and combat. Space Sparta, someone from a more uncultured and regressive age might have said.

The culmination of this vast and Herculean history behind the genesis and cultivation of Canaris... resulted in this. Naked-horny-plotting-sovereigns.

Perhaps resurrection was made corporeal to entertain God endlessly with humanity's constant shamelessness and ignorance.

As for their motives to bearing skin so dauntlessly; Canari were very non-verbal when it came to lust and attracting others they liked or wished to romance. Shedding clothing in the presence of another, by Canaris culture, (usually in a private setting) was a form of declaration of love or intent to fornicate. Above all, it was the closest form of trust one warrior could show another; to bare skin with no armor, exposed to any sort of implement or weapon.

And yet somehow, this ancient Canaris tradition was being perverted by these utter lunatics.

"Why do you dither so far?" The Patriarch called out to Hawkes, raising a graceful hand and moving his fingers like seamless waves, as if attuning with the wind. "Come hither."

"Thanks for the welcome party, Rattlerod," Hawkes replied sharply, walking over with confidence and seating himself next to the Matriarch, facing away from the both of them out of respect for his superiors and embarrassment at the fact his superiors were showering their posteriors.

"Ha! Rattlerod- a play on words for Shakespeare! HA!" The Patriarch chortled like a grade-schooler. Hawkes was less than amused, turning his attention to the Matriarch. Both of them were roughly in their late twenties, which meant they were possibly the most 'in their prime' drop-dead gorgeous individuals on the entire planet, with all the vast and immense resources they had at their fingertips. And yet again, it drove Hawkes ever-more away from them in terms of sexual enticement; as twisted as it was, he probably would have been more enticed if they carried themselves as immaculately as they looked.

"Alright, woman-" Hawkes said, casually committing treason to the Matriarch by addressing her with such disrespect. "This better not be a drawn-out persuasion attempt to-"

"Many apologies, Hawkes, but-"

"Yeah, I thought as much."

The Matriarch bowed her head deeply in apology, her halo-esque golden laurel nearly blinding Hawkes with the radiance that permeated from its polished exterior.

"It is a matter of stability, and security for the long-term prosperity of Canaris."

Hawkes leaned back, forced to entertain the idea since this ludicrous prospect would apparently secure the future of Canaris.

"Alright, sure, how is me... fertilizing... your womb going to save Canaris?"

Even if he considered them sexual deviants, it would be absolutely unfathomable to his very nature to treat the Atriarchs too casually. Cursing, being or acting informal for long periods of time, disrespecting or disobeying orders; lots of nuanced formalities taught through military drilling and a lifetime of patriotic devotion. The Matriarch suddenly intensified her gaze, as if foreseeing the future decades ahead.

"I have spoken with five million analysts to estimate our potential supply and demand issues, logistical upsets, political quakes, economic downturn, climate disasters, megastructure instabilities, rival and enemy factions, as much as I could factor in."

The Matriarch's eyes were constantly wandering, always curious and latching onto the next micro-second of curiosity when she wasn't forming vastly unfathomable plans across dozens of industries or hundreds of war campaigns.

"The majority consensus has arrived at the simple issue of change in governance. Our rule may last us sixty, eighty, perhaps a hundred and twenty years from now; but we still lack the elixir for immortality. Even with Resurrection, it only brings you back to your original age at the time of death."

Maybe that is for the better, Hawkes thought in deep relief to himself. 

"At the very least, we wish to ensure there is a legacy of kind-hearted, noble, zealous and intelligent warrior kings that can lead Canaris on the right path, rather than let the masses potentially elect in stagnant, weak, indecisive populists. There are far too many lives riding on the future leaders of this country- which is why I implore you so steadfastly to provide me the bedrock to which we may begin proliferating a family."

Hawkes knew precisely why the Matriarch was asking him instead of simply mating with her cooperative ruler; this Patriarch was barren, infertile. The next best option was the 'icon of Canaris' himself.

Even if Hawkes had the absolute power, influence and fame of a planetary king, his ultimate goal was not to attain power or see his name etched in history- even before the Era of Divinity, it had never been his ultimate objective. He had seen, wielded, and bore witness to power beyond human imagination, and received no pleasure from it aside from the twisted, sadistic yet short-lived pleasure he gained from torturing and killing those he deemed evil beyond a reasonable doubt. The idea of an immortal empire of military leaders living in eternal conquest, even to a dedicated Canari like Hawkes, was not comforting by any measure- not after the discovery of what could be an afterlife. In fact, in hindsight, an immortal empire seemed antithetical to what life was intended for.

And Hawkes had no interest in backing down from his deep-rooted desire for repentance and redemption.

"No." Hawkes said simply, ending the conversation before the Matriarch could even ask the question. The Matriarch was noticeably disappointed, and somehow insanely offended at the same time.

"I have made myself the most presentable and flattering image of womanhood, and still you would turn me down?"

Hawkes raised his hands in utter defeat.

"Wh- I- It's not like I don't- look, I already have a woman in my life right now!"

The Matriarch seemed visibly taken aback by Hawkes' words; for a long moment, malice slithered through the Matriarch's eyes, but died down subtly to a masterful facade of understanding and sympathy. 

"This is no issue," The Matriarch said confidently, albeit in a more muted tone. "Feel free to enjoy the Magna Victoria tonight."

Hawkes stood up from the lounge chair, formally and respectfully bowing his head to his waist, straightening himself back up and walking off. The Atriarchs watched him walk on, each of them carrying enough schemes in their heads to explode the heads of a thousand philosophers.

"We have time," The Matriarch muttered, having to strain herself visibly to do so at a low volume. "I look forward to seeing your first attendance at a Magna Victoria."

Chapter Text

Check out the very end of Chapters 1 - 5 again. Some amazing portraits were added. Enjoy the story.

(Music: "April", by Caravan Palace)

Night arrived. The Magna Victoria was soon to begin. 

The moonlight illuminated the sprawling landscape, hueing it in shadowy indigo and silver, the distant and innumerable stars beyond casting a celestial shimmer over the terrain. At the heart of this stage stood the Epocha Villae, a gargantuan, behemothic estate whose silhouette dominated the horizon, a masterwork of epic architecture that seemed virtually carved from the dreams of another era. Its towering spires and sweeping arches glowed faintly under the moonlight, its alabaster surfaces reflecting an ethereal luminescence that hinted at immortal beauty and planet-encompassing power. Encircling the villa were miles upon miles of meticulously curated greenery—rolling meadows that seemed to ripple like waves under the night breeze, dense and lively forests whispering ancient secrets, and cascading, winding rivers that sparkled like liquid silver, threading their way through sculpted valleys and terraformed earth. Beyond the natural beauty, distant mountain ranges loomed, their craggy peaks dusted with snow that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Yet, this idyllic setting contrasted starkly with the distant mega-platforms visible on the horizon, colossal structures towering into the sky like modern-day Babels. Each platform was a world unto itself, housing billions of citizens stacked layer upon layer over each other. The topmost platforms sparkled with neon lights from luxury residential zones and extravagant commercial districts, the middle layers bustling with industrial might and densely-packed infrastructure—mega-factories producing the lifeblood running underneath the futuristic world of Canaris. From a distance, these platforms seemed harmonious, a symphony of human ingenuity and futuristic aesthetic; yet the closer one imagined them, the more their labyrinthine chaos seemed inevitable.

The Epocha Villae itself was humming with imperial opulence and passionate socializing. Its sprawling grounds hosted tens of thousands of the most high-profile figures of Canaris, and visitors from abroad in the immense colonized areas of the galaxy. Emissaries wrapped in silken robes adorned with sigils of ancient and thriving houses mingled with warlords clad in polished Achilles armor adorned with trophies of conquest. Presidents and diplomats in sharply tailored suits and dresses exchanged measured pleasantries, their smiles hiding malicious and endless pursuit of personal and grand ambitions. Their entourages swirled around them like hummingbirds, each member a carefully chosen piece in the greatest games of power—advisors with unreadable expressions, bodyguards scanning the crowd like predators, and aides whispering urgent updates or offering flutes of golden, fizzing champagne. Conversations were a tapestry of languages, accents, and dialects, interpreted and translated by Universal Language Translators (ULTs) attached to the underside of every individual's jaw with small speakers leading up to the insides of their ears. Beneath the laughter and clinking glasses lurked countless agendas—alliances being forged in shadows, betrayals being plotted under the guise of camaraderie, and fortunes changing hands with a single whispered promise.

The villa's grandeur was shaded, almost suffocated, by its daunting and vast security measures; It stood as a fortress as much as it mirrored a palace. Soldiers, clad in matte-black combat gear bristling with advanced weaponry, manned checkpoints fortified with massive iron walls and hand-held scanners for identification of those entering the estate. Their eyes were cold, their gazes unyielding, assessing everyone who passed as if they were the next receiver of a bullet. Helixads hovered silently in the night sky like predatory birds, thermal imaging cameras surveying scrupulously across the miles of grounds. Gun emplacements, concealed in artfully crafted outbuildings, bristled with automated tracking movements and eerie precision, prepared to unleash devastating firepower at a moment's notice. The air was ripe with tension, the weight of recent events pressing down on the villa like an unseen typhoon.

The heightened security measures were no act of paranoia; they were a necessity. Only a few days ago, Captain Hawkes—the Icon of Canaris—had narrowly survived an assassination attempt. The memory of it lingered in every tightened patrol route, every additional layer of reinforced steel, and every wary glance shared between patrol guards. The villa was no longer merely a stage for the elite to play their games of power—it had manifested into a symbol of Canaris' change in direction; from decadence and relaxing innovation to menacing and subtle preparation for another war campaign- especially since the populace was in an uproar over the attempted assassination by the Danze Imperium.

It had been roughly a year and a half ago since the last Magna Victoria was held, when Admiral Oslo Barca fought alongside the Atriarchs during the war campaign against the Danzian Offensive of 2282; barely repelling the daunting onslaught from their historical nemesis. With Canaris set on finishing the Cosmic Highway lane connecting FTL waypoints directly to Nova Terra, allowing mainstream, safe travel between the two planets, there were naturally many planets and nations who wanted to take advantage of the unholy amount of power and wealth Canaris was set to receive in the coming weeks.

(Ambience: "Baroque Noble Party", by Michael Ghelfi Studios)

Hawkes had Curly, Anya, Swansea and Daisuke dressed to the absolute nines, but kept the outfits humble enough that they would not attract unwanted attention from any unsavory or too prominent of individuals from amongst the crowd of tens of thousands of the highest echelons and foreign emissaries that would be attending tonight. Their families, as well, were invited to attend and mingle with people who were eager to secure their generations with insurmountable wealth and prosperity.

"Just enjoy yourselves, alright?" Hawkes briefed quickly as he worked between the four of them with the haste and preparation of a frittering parent, ensuring their suits (and Anya's dress, especially) were perfectly aligned, pristine, and free of imperfections. Before a galaxy-grand display of Canaris' massive ego was placed on a magnificent showcase, Hawkes wanted his family to look absolutely marvelous, yet muted with humility in the same breath. His painstaking demands to Canaris' greatest tailors had paid off.

Ah, you all look so magnificent, he wondered subconsciously as the rest of his brain puttered with the profiles of those attending the Magna Victoria. Ahhhhhhhh....... you are just more b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l to me than the entire, utter, whore-filled whole of this shit-fucking-rock. I could never extend the form of my regret, that the stars did not align us all on the same planet, in the same childhood together. I would have loved to have been your playmate.

King Belfrin of Amitash; Monarch Ulyssa of Biralya; President Weiss of Olima; the list of disgustingly powerful rulers soon to enter Canaris airspace was staggeringly worrisome, but it was an opportunity to ensure there were no lurking threats or slippery bastards looking to take advantage of the situation that Canaris was set to enter itself into- that being the finished construction of the Cosmic Highway linking Canaris to Nova Terra. It was only fitting, then, that Hawkes was feeling a swell of ethereal pride in himself and affection for the Tulpar crew. His obsessive infatuation with these four was tied, symbolically and literally, to the rebirth of his own life. Unknowingly, he had surrendered his past thirty years of raw, human, cold-blooded experience in exchange for this yearning, budding hope for a paradisiacal future with these four, whose situation seemed almost tailor-made to appeal to him and his past life, specifically.

Divine intervention. He just could not get that word out of his head. God decided to intervene now? After all the billions, upon billions, upons billions of souls that died screaming over centuries? Did this contravene free will? Or was this a show of love, that when humanity reached its furthest depths, they could still depend on their loving Creator to provide them solace?

It was not as if Hawkes did not feel a mountain of animosity and resentment; he'd carried this rage, over the course of his entire life- from the very moment he gained sentience, to this very moment he stood before those he considered his only family, living or dead.

Family. Family. Family-

"I wanted to ask you all a... a question, if you will, after the end of this little event," Hawkes said with quivering lips and unfocused eyes; suddenly growing insecure and sheepish as he realized how utterly foolish he'd been to familiarize them as if he'd known them their entire lives, without even seeking out how they felt.

Why? Why was it so hard to ask?  Oh.

Thirty years of nothing except ordering others around, mutilating, maiming, torturing, killing enemies, manipulating and lying and scheming day after day, after day. Now that he was trying to recall memories of times like this-

There were none. There were absolutely... none. A mound of stress and onsetting internal terror ravaged his body for a horrific few moments; a spiritual crisis that his life was going to be filled with nothing except a long history of atrocities and hate before he died the same way he came into this world; that he would only be lauded and idolized by strangers and deviants as the mass-murderer he was, instead of... instead of... loved by a close group of people. A family.

Curly immediately noticed that Hawkes had frozen on the spot, knelt on one leg to equalize their heights; his skin was visibly perspiring sweat, and his expression was one that Curly knew all too well-

Existential panic. Curly had experienced the same on the Tulpar; so did Swansea, so did Anya and Daisuke. They had seen this face mirrored in everyone else' when that decommission letter was read out by Curly.

Hawkes was a most intimidating figure even after the 2 months the crew had spent with him- and with all the mental and spiritual horrors that were assailing the four of them every single day -especially that blinking glimpse of beyond- they hadn't formed concrete opinions or relationships with Hawkes, even if they were endlessly grateful to him for his immeasurable deed of returning them to life- a concept they had yet to fully wrap their heads around.

But even then, being saved by a person didn't equate to a fully fleshed-out relationship. What this was, was the culmination of several chaotic factors, meshed together and incessantly spewing out emotional, spiritual, and mental pandemonium, cascading constantly against one another in an endless domino effect. None of them really knew how they felt about the other in this five-person friendship; outside of those like Swansea, Curly, and Anya, whose minds had cemented their past life yearnings for those they were closest to. But that didn't mean any of them didn't want to get to know their savior and patron far more; it was simply a matter of emotional distancing, rapidly unfolding events, and the myriad of other cluster-fuck situations that kept developing.

Curly placed one hand on Hawkes' shoulder, gently, for once feeling a bit free of the lurking, long-standing guilt that reared its ugly head at him every morning he awoke in this second life.

"Hey, bud," Curly murmured, tired eyes filled with unending gratitude and passionate goodwill. "None of us have talked much or, spent much time with you. And you're invested in us. We see that. Do what you need to do tonight, we'll enjoy ourselves. Then, I don't know, we can... go on vacation somewhere across this platformer world, heh."

Hawkes laughed as he perceived the joke, then immediately came back to his senses and understood he was losing his composure- reasserting himself and his features almost instantly and smiling gracefully at Curly; much to Curly and Anya's bewilderment. 

"Thank you. I-"

"As long as there's a beach there!" Daisuke interjected. "I haven't seen a beach in so long!"

"And..." Anya spoke up softly. "You said something about... moving here? Our homeworld is... we do not live great there."

"Ditto, Anya," Swansea remarked. "I've spent more than enough of my career trying to make ends meet for my family- I want a piece of this little paradise you got going here!"

Hawkes looked between them all with a sense of rising jubilation.

"Of- Of COURSE!" He proclaimed a little too loudly, filling the room with the deafening boom of his voice. "Whatever you wish, where you want- I'll make it happen!"

The faces of the four filled with excitement and giddiness at the prospect of living lavishly with their families on this planet that was fathoms more advanced and luxurious than the various rocks they all hailed from.

"Deal's SEALED, then!" Swansea cheered, smacking Daisuke on the back roughly. "Drinks and feasting, posthaste, Sunshine!"

As Swansea and Daisuke walked off to join in the mingling around the estate, Curly and Anya were gazing intensely at Hawkes, who was growing somewhat discomforted as they seemed to size him up and down.

"Wh-What is it? Heh, is my beret fucked up?"

"Are you alright?" Curly suddenly asked him, to which Hawkes spluttered for an answer, completely caught off-guard by the sudden concern on their faces.

"W- Yes, of cour- I- we're supposed to be enjoying tonight, guys!"

"Hawkes," Anya said with furrowing eyebrows. "We've been through this for eight months. We know what 'hurt' looks like."

Hawkes struggled to keep the facade on his face, and in his self-antagonizing conflict of the past versus the future, his mind careened with frustrated rage-

"I will meet with you both on the balcony in a little bit."

Curly and Anya were visibly frightened by the shift in tone from Hawkes, looking at each other with growing worry-

What the FUCK do you think you're doing?! Hawkes raged desperately and indignantly at himself.

"I..." Hawkes replied weakly, crackling voice. "I'm sorry, that was..."

Utterly ashamed of his behavior, Hawkes tipped his beret respectfully and marched away, humiliated at the messy interaction. I must be a child, still! How have I forgotten the basic art of conversation?!

"Oh, that dog is so cute!" "What pristine fur!" "And he's so soft!"

Emile was beaming with joy as dozens of attendees walked up and admired the noxiously innocent brown-black patterned German Shepherd happily soaking in the attention. Trailing behind was Marcel, Wataru, and Elliot- the last of whom was spending his final night in Canaris before heading off to the Tylahar Research Citadel to continue his work on Dark Matter weaponry (under the highest form of security and scrutiny, as Hawkes did NOT want any of this information to leak out).

"What's his name?" One of the attendees inquired.

"Hercules!" Emile proclaimed proudly, placing hands on hips and striking a heroic pose next to the obliviously gleeful Hercules; to the immediate applause of the onlookers.

"A strong name!" One of them commented, noticing that the Shepherd was subtly eyeing the group in front of him with trained, unwavering onyx eyes that gleamed with veterancy. "And a Combat Support Animal, too, if I'm right?"

Emile smiled and nodded plentifully.

"Unfortunately, he didn't pass the final test of the Combat Trials, so he didn't get to become a bomb dog. But he makes for the best Combat Support dog I could ask for, and I think I'm much happier he's not sniffing out explosives!"

The onlookers chittered with laughter, entertained by the minor spectacle in front of them.

"Ah, Emile Meuniers!"

Emile turned their head to see a magnificently-garbed and tall older male with hazel eyes, gray hair and a circle beard elegantly making his way over to the group with a small entourage of bodyguards, scribes, advisors, and caddies. He came up to Emile, offering a hand to shake with a gentle smile lining his face as if it were wholly natural.

"Sarelius Ampertania, in your stead. It is a pleasure to meet you. I see you have brought your friends as well-"

Sarelius' gaze scanned the three individuals behind Emile, profiling each of them according to the records he had stored in his mind, before quickly turning his attention back to a blushing and grinning Emile.

"Same to you, Mister Ampertania-!"

"Oh, please! Call me Sarelius!"

Emile bowed a combed and refined head of hair respectfully.

"Of course, Sarelius. I was excited to hear about your role in the Canaris Rescue Dispatch program, and even more so when you told me you had a spot available!"

Sarelius raised his glass in celebration, showcasing another keen smile.

"Why, of course, Emile. Having suffered a near-catastrophe with my own family being stranded, years ago, I felt it was a calling to me after news of the Tulpar's crash became mainstream."

And it's a great program to get charity tax rebates, Sarelius thought mischievously.

"So, Emile," Sarelius continued sleekly. "We can discuss your role onboard this program later in the evening. Tell me of your experiences aboard the Argonaut!"

Wataru and Elliot, meanwhile, had ventured around the lively halls of the massive estate, taking in the rich atmosphere of superior luxury and overwhelming decadence.

"I don't think I'll ever be in a place this fancy for the rest of my life," Wataru remarked, eyeing the jaw-dropping fashion of those passing by and the ethereal design of the high-end villa.

"I can hear the money," Elliot replied. "Let's find the tables with food on them; we'll get to taste cuisine worth more than our lives."

As they passed through the crowds, an older man with a slightly pudgy belly, aviators and slicked-back gray hair bumped into them, to which both parties apologized.

"Hey," The older man said. "Would you happen to know where I can find the Captain Hawkes? I heard he'd be at this banquet and I wanted to pitch a fantastic opportunity to him!"

"Oh, uh" Elliot was about to give directions, then regained his sense of self-awareness in realizing that he was, in fact, blind since birth. "Uh, Wataru here can help you with that!"

"Oh, yes," Wataru stumbled to answer. "I, uh, I believe Captain Hawkes was back that way, if I recall correctly."

"Thank you!" 

As the older man suddenly walked by, Wataru's head immediately began comprehending the individual she just saw; and almost instantly swiveled her head in a break-neck fashion.

"H-H-Hoooollyyy-!!!!" She began to quake in awash awe. "Th-THAT'S THAT FAMOUS GUY!!!"

"What?" Elliot asked; again, blind. "Fuch are yuh talkin' bout?"

Wataru was desperately trying to communicate her growing exhilaration. "THAT WAS THE FAMOUS DIRECTOR-"

Hawkes watched as his family mingled with their families and the various individuals that approached them, lauding them for their bravery in surviving such a terrible situation while simultaneously being offered several different books, TV shows, and movie deals by the hour. To prevent them from being overwhelmed by this, Hawkes assigned twenty plainclothes officers to keep people from crowding them, either redirecting attendees, engaging in forward conversation, or occasionally having to order onlookers to give the Tulpar crew space to breathe and enjoy the atmosphere. For right now, Hawkes just wanted to head to the balcony and enjoy a few moments of-

"Captain Hawkes!"

Weary and exhausted from the constant irritation of new encounters, Hawkes simply craned his head to peer at-!

"Oh. Wow. Erikad Moerno." Hawkes commented, speaking to the galaxy-famous movie director that had called out to him; an older man who had started scriptwriting first, then made his way into directing and producing films. His media was insanely novel, switching between gut-wrenching comedies and universally-compelling dramas, to heart-rending tragedies and grim, gruesome renditions of historical events. Hawkes' remark left a wide smile on Erikad's face, as he shuffled his hands in a physical tic.

"Captain Hawkes, I am honored you know of me!"

Hawkes tipped his beret in respect.

"I have. I watched your rendition of 'Pogmon's Exodus'. I believe you portrayed the Cull of Yalnir very... realistically. Even for me, it was gruesome to watch."

Erikad nodded plentifully, honored deeply and utterly excited that one of the most terrifying and awe-inspiring figures in the galaxy was praising his work.

"W-Well, I am humbled beyond words, Captain Hawkes! And on that note, I wanted to run an idea by you."

Hawkes nodded, waiting for the director to speak his piece.

"In regards to the Tulpar stranding and rescue, I was looking to create a cinematic film on the Tulpar's crash and stranding, and eventual rescue by the Argonaut. While I'd heard from the news broadcast that the Tulpar had been annihilated-"

"Yes, I deeply look forward to seeing those scum at Pony Express dead by the end of judicial sentencing," Hawkes commented abruptly and maliciously, face contorted in animated and momentary violence, made complacent and calm by Erikad's verbal and frantic agreement; the aggressive, authoritative and radiant reputation of this legendary commander was not diminished in the slightest when Erikad met him.

Oh, by the stars! Erikad thought woefully to himself, filled with a giddiness only a creator of things could ever possibly empathize with. How I would give half the galaxy to have you play a role in one of my films!

Not that he expected such an honor to present itself; without a doubt in his mind, Hawkes had a hundred-thousand-million things to do that took priority over Moerno's little pet projects. Yet still, Erikad was blazing with imagination and thoughts of audience-gripping characters that would embody the soul of this living icon standing before him, glowing with the dueling auras of a cold-blooded murderer and a living saint- for his people, at least.

"Much agreed. So, I don't want to waste any more of your time tonight, Captain- you have done me a great service already in tolerating my presence. What do you think?"

Hawkes rubbed his chin for a moment to deliberate. He really liked this guy's personality. Whereas half this room either loved him blindly or was scared shitless, and the other half was scheming against him or planning to use him to further their own gains- this fine fellow was doing Hawkes the service of actually engaging in normal conversation.

"I'll greenlight it if I ask those four and they agree to it. And I don't believe you are wasting my time- if anything, I think you should accompany me for a few hours if your time permits it."

The director beamed with absolute pride and joy at Hawkes' reply, pressing his left hand to his chest and bowing deeply.

"I would be honored to stay by your side for however long you wish! I hope you don't mind if I occasionally rant about story ideas, of course."

Hawkes laughed genuinely, growing to appreciate this movie director more by the minute. "I would say the same of myself in other matters."

"D-Director Moerno!!!"

Hawkes and Erikad turned their heads to see Wataru and Elliot sprinting over, occasionally bumping into passing attendees before pulling up with sweaty demeanors. Wataru recomposed herself, beaming with a wide smile and radiating with excitement.

"O-Oh, and Captain Hawkes, good day to both of you!"

"It's night-time." Captain Hawkes said with a slight grin; he never missed the opportunity to beat this horse deader. He also appreciated that Wataru and Elliot were one of the few non-military combatants onboard the Argonaut II who treated him like a human being and not the raging, blood-lusting monster he ever-presently was.

"A-Ah, of course! I-I just wanted to speak to Director Moerno, i-if that was okay!"

Hawkes nodded his head.

"I'm not gonna be the one stopping you from talking to anyone here- except, you know. But you get it."

Wataru nodded fervently, turning to Moerno with giddy excitement. Moerno tipped his head in respect and deference to the young and positively-shining woman before him- he lived to see the excitement and affection that emanated from the faces of fans.

"Director Moerno! What you did with 'Last Chance', adopting the popular fiction into a screenplay, was absolutely magnificent! Their personalities were so fleshed out, and their dialogue- uuuuggghhh, it was AM-AZ-ING!"

"Well thank you... apologies, madam, I didn't get your-"

"Wataru! Wataru Fuwafu, sir!"

The fuck? Hawkes wondered. I didn't know that was her last name. Who carried that family name, a fuckin' Japanese cat cafe owner?

Moerno bowed his head again, his joy compounded by the fact that this fan actually knew what they were talking about and mirrored the excitement to come with it.

"I love to hear that. Please, tell me more!" He said, and Hawkes could see by this point he was clearly gouging the poor girl for more praise about his film.

You ego-feeding bastard, Hawkes thought with a smile he couldn't hide on his face. He noticed Elliot idling nearby, listening to the conversation casually as his broken pear-green eyes stared pointlessly into the distance. Hawkes moved past Wataru and Moerno for a second, wanting to speak with Elliot before he departed for Tylahar Station tomorrow.

"Elliot."

Elliot's head tilted in acknowledgment of Hawkes' presence, keeping the rest of his body intentionally still to (what Hawkes inferred) seem like some kind of action movie protagonist.

Woah, we got a badass here, Hawkes amused in his head. "Alright, Lawrence of Somalia, I need to clear some things by you before you bugger off from Canaris."

"Alright."

"Don't be a smartass, because I'm gonna say some things that sound insanely cliche."

"Alright."

"...I'm serious."

"I said alright!"

Hawkes looked around, leaning in and covering his mouth with his hand as he spoke.

"...Then let's go over it one last time, so I don't find you chopped up in the back of a dumpster by a bad actor. You'll rendezvous with Rudy, he'll take you to the transport pod, which will take you up to the Paralus for the send-off. Don't mind their culture, they like to vote a lot and hold elections, just focus on your research; you won't have to worry about anyone on that ship leaking any information you happen to be working on, they were chosen by me personally. When you get to Tylahar Station, you will dock at Port E-9, and meet with a woman who will refer to herself as 'Vexahelion'. She will escort you to a set of rooming quarters located right below the bridge of the station."

"I see... couldn't have all this been sent in an email?"

Hawkes stared at Elliot with dead eyes. Having the gall to pull this shit while also citing an archaic form of communication layered over an even more archaic joke (terms that only someone as knowledgeable as Hawkes could know about 200-year-old history) was something that simultaneously impressed Hawkes and enticed him to smack the back of Elliot's head so hard his defunct optic orbs would pop out the front of his head.

"Do you not want your vision fixed, Elliot?" Hawkes asked, suddenly realizing that he was mentally bullying someone who was willfully choosing blindness on a planet that could fix practically everything about a human being. Elliot smiled and tipped his head in appreciation.

"I like the gesture, Captain. But I am simply too used to this lifestyle of mine to ditch it for a new perception of reality, when reality isn't even reality anymore."

"That's rather poetic. Keep your blindness, then."

"That's a harsh way to put it."

"Personally, I wouldn't take that." Said Marcel, popping up in the midst of the conversation.

"Personally, I'm glad I was blind at birth and not scarred like the Joker from The Dark Knight."

"How would you know that if you're blind, farseer?"

"Because I have references."

"The only references you have are footnotes and Holopedia links."

"I don't wanna see you fucknuts for at least two hours," Hawkes said dismissively with disgust, jutting a finger at both of them and about to exit the room when he realized he was ditching Moerna after asking him to accompany his side for the next few hours; right as he had thoughts of checking on Curly and Anya.

"Aw, FUCK!"

(Music: "Did Somebody Say Hip Opera", by Latto & Christina Aguilera)

"Oh. My. God." Swansea salivated as he reviewed the hundreds of arrays of otherworldly dishes spread across a fine arrangement of banquet tables, along with Daisuke dancing in rhythm to the myriad of song choices playing over the speakers in the grand chamber they were idling in. There were plenty of animated characters equally enjoying the music, whilst others stood together in groups and chattered casually as their eyes gazed over Swansea and Daisuke, no doubt whispering about the Tulpar's rescue and the galaxy-wide fame it had gained from its inception.

"Fajitas, Ciabatta, Tiramisu, Roast Duck, Carbonara- OhhhH!!!!! THEY GOT GYOZAAAAA!!!!" Daisuke went completely ballistic as he reviewed the mouth-watering selection of dishes. Swansea's face contorted with shock and bafflement at the sudden barrage of culinary knowledge Daisuke just displayed.

"Were you hiding this information behind a fortress of ignorance?"

Daisuke tilted his head in curiosity, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"What information?"

Swansea huffed, looking around the room like he expected someone else to huff along in outrage with him. He was somewhat miffed that Hawkes wasn't magically standing nearby to pelt Daisuke with another ice ball- he had quietly enjoyed that little mischievous interaction.

"This food knowledge, genius." Swansea chastised him. "Sure didn't talk about that at all on the... during your tenure under me."

Daisuke shrugged, a hint of deep-seated trauma resurfacing in his eyes.

"I... There wasn't really much to eat on that ship, so I didn't think to bring it up."

Swansea gripped the table to his left, trying to channel his rage into something that wasn't living and breathing. How badly he wanted to kill that scum-fuck Jimmy. Every single day he'd woken up since the skirmish with the SCR, he relished in the physical and mental memory of slamming hard objects against that ratty cunt's limbs.

If it wasn't for that selfish piece of dogshit, Daisuke would have likely been back home, having finished his internship and eating luxury dishes with his well-off family. Instead, this poor bastard had to suffer a world of trauma and terror for eight long months, before dying in a brutal and awful way.

The only possible upside to this shit-swirling maelstrom we suffered is that we're getting royal treatment for the rest of our lives, Swansea thought in a twisted optimistic manner. All of that pain and terror and horror and misery... it wasn't for nothing, after all.

"Well, don't reminisce on that bullshit!" Swansea lectured Daisuke, smacking him on the back and pushing him towards the banquet table. "Start chomping down! Which first?"

Daisuke eyed the arrangements, eventually settling on the Gyoza he mentioned earlier. As he was about to reach for it-

"Oh!" He exclaimed sadly as an unwary passerby took the plate from the table and started picking off the gyoza to eat-

"Good lord!" The passerby cried out as a gold-inlaid female cyborg snatched the plate from him, her augmented eyes scanning his demeanor from top to bottom.

"Sir Ipius, the Captain has directed me to permit the Tulpar crew to enjoy this banquet. Please proceed to another room of the estate to facilitate your wants."

Sir Ipius, a foreign diplomat from the nation of Olima, seemed offended at the action of his plate being ripped from his hands and the forward implication he would need to find another room entirely to wine and dine.

"This is downright disrespectful!" Sir Ipius fumed. "While I understand the Captain wishes to spoil them, I do not believe that warrants such a rude response or flighty ushering of my presence to another room!"

Muse set the plate down and seemed about to respond, when her eyes focused on something behind Sir Ipius and widened, her demeanor suddenly changing.

"I understand your concerns, Sir Ipius. The East Wing has a variety of dishes that will be to your liking, but I would strongly urge you to comply with-"

"Enough! I will not be lectured by a half-human!"

Muse was entirely uncaring for the insult (she'd been called far worse), as there was a more worrying matter imminently at hand.

"This is a banquet, for God's sake!" Sir Ipius continued fuming at Muse. "It's not as if there won't be a hundred new plates on the table by the time I'm finished with one! I would request that you inform the Captain that-"

"I am sorry, you will have to tell him yourself."

Sir Ipius seemed to falter in his words as Muse uttered the sentence. "W-What? What do you mean?"

"Hm."

Ipius immediately turned pale-white as he heard the loathsome, booming grunt of the unmistakeable individual standing only a few feet behind him. He turned around, immediately surfacing a nervous smile as the seven-foot renowned walking terror, flanked by Erikad Moerna and two randoms, glowered at the Olimai diplomat.

"No, go on, Sir Ipius. I was intrigued by your righteous declarations."