(Archived) Procession

Content Warning: Depictions of Mental Illness. 

“Fame is a bright flash of light; sudden, loud, and only the blind can appreciate its grandeur.”

Esther York, former pilot of RFI No Place Like Home, in her memoir Toy Soldiers.

Day 228 

“Off-Kilter?” The man clutching a clipboard frowned, displeasure curling along the amicable smile he attempted to maintain. “Really?” 

Sana had experienced the pleasure of meeting her marketing representative just earlier that day, and they took to each other like water to oil. He was a stick of a man, who if given a finer cap and a megaphone, would not look out of place commanding a film set. Here, in his spotless uniform, he displayed the very antithesis of what Sana had expected on a military base. And yet, his voice carried some authority; a troupe of nameless attendants waited on his calls for further pageantry.  

The expression he wore gave Sana a consistent reminder that he detested her suggestions, the most recent included, but he kept the restraint of someone that had once been too open with their thoughts. Sana was unsure how to conduct herself with this bizarre outranking, so she continued to sit in an awkward posture of half-formality. 

“Yes, really,” Sana defended, as a pair of hands behind her sweeped the hair out of her face. “What, is it not good enough?” 

“It’s… a niche charm, let’s say.” 

“We don’t have the luxury of time to pick anything better, Jackson; you’re needed in dressing room three.” Amestine cut in from one side. Sana glanced at the large mirror before her, spotting the Colonel’s figure lean just into view. 

“Oh, of course, but the annual party of utmost national importance is no trouble at all.” The marketeer pinched the bridge of his nose, before sighing. “Fine, but I’m only letting it slide due to the current… situation. And as soon as this whole- thing dies down in a couple of months, I must insist on something with more appeal, Oksana. Perhaps check that list of potential names I gave you?” 

“They weren’t exactly… on brand?” Sana explained with as much politeness as she could manage, the bright lights of the cosmetics mirror beginning to hurt her eyes. “I mean, Zephyr’s Edge? Sun Razor? Fricking- Brightblade? What does that last one even mean?” 

“Bright is to show your enthusiasm that you’re so vibrantly putting on display right now,” Sana grimaced through the paper-thin flattery, “and Blade because of this mysterious sword you can apparently conjure, which I’d like to book a photo session in for, by the way.” 

“Eh, it’s usually more of a club…” 

“Whatever the case, you’d have known all this if you read the notes, like I asked. Make sure you at least skim them, next time.” 

“No promises,” She gave a sickly sweet smile to the mirror. The agent rolled his eyes, before turning on his heels and heading out the door, shaking his head at his clipboard. 

The stylist continued working on her hair, and Sana at once remembered how surreal the entire situation felt. Sana had never had a stylist, a photographer, a makeup artist; her Pa had always cut her hair, Da always took the photos, Ma had bestowed the habit of seldom wearing makeup – it had always been intimate, familial, and deeply personal. So, having a stranger’s fingers run through her strands, nameless faces crowding around her body, and unknown hands fuss over her appearance, all coalesced into a whole novel’s worth of sensation. 

The careful fingers brushed against the left side of her temple, causing her a slight jolt and a quick apology before righting herself in her seat. She couldn’t decide if she loved or hated the entire ordeal. 

“Is that something you had to deal with a lot, Colonel?” Even knowing their distaste for small-talk, Sana tried to ground herself in conversation with the one familiar person present. 

“No, thankfully,” Amestine reported, with a rare instance of perceptible gratitude in their voice. “One of the many benefits of keeping out of the limelight.” They looked smart, as always, but displayed less militaristic attire. They wore pointed dress shoes rather than boots, formal trousers that lacked camouflage, and their ever-immaculate longcoat; adorned with several medals that Sana did not recognise, for service Amestine had never clarified. Calm Before the Storm had a reputation for a reason, she rationalised. 

In comparison, she looked down at her dark blue dress, straps wrapped over her shoulders, and considered she’d perhaps missed some memo on formality. Sana comforted herself with the fact that the blame lay with Jackson; had she been given any choice in the matter her outfit would have been entirely different. Likely still a dress, but blue just wasn’t her colour.  

She looked back up to see Amestine fold their arms, and furrow their brow as they stared into some point in space. After enough time around them, Sana could just about recognise a face of concern when she saw it, though she could not gauge how troubled they were. 

“It’s an option you may still take, Oksana,” they added upon sensing her continued gaze. 

“I… I know. But I feel like I have nothing to gain from hiding myself,” she explained with a soft smile. 

“Many pilots feel the same,” Amestine looked down at their hands, a strange lack of focus from someone so diligent, “and that puts a target on their back.” 

Sana wanted to swivel in her chair and face them directly after such a comment, but with the stylist still jabbing at her hair, she could only glare in the mirror. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oksana, I know you’re not an idiot,” Reo snapped back, making Sana tense in her seat. “Exposure is what kills a Pilot. When a pilot becomes a celebrity, putting their name out to the void, what do you think that gives to every other nation on the planet?” 

“… Information,” Sana dejected. 

“Exactly. We offer Pilots the choice, with their informed consent, to turn them into a recruitment tool. The benefits, I admit, aren’t inconsiderable. But for me, Sulhan, and every mentor in this lineage, we see through the cracks. Once the world stares at you, Oksana, it will never blink again.” 

At last they looked up from their hands, straight to Sana’s eyes for a moment in the mirror. The many harsh, white lights in the room cast shadows upon their face, both obscuring The Colonel’s expression, and magnifying the intensity of their words. 

“So… you’re fostering me to be the next in line, huh?” Sana let out a nervous chuckle, the message still hanging thick in the air. Even the stylist, who had been unphased up until then, moved with a slight stiffness. 

“The offer will only stand until you walk onto that stage, recruit,” Amestine’s voice did not waver an inch. “I ask as your mentor and… as your advocate, to consider it carefully.” 

“I…” Sana gulped before continuing. “I understand.” 

The Colonel nodded in the mirror, a neutral expression returning to their face, the one she had become very accustomed to. Though, their eyes still revealed some peculiarity Sana did not understand. Before she could decipher it, their cap was under their arm, and they started towards the exit. 

The glaring bulbs surrounding the mirror in front of Sana had earned her a headache, and she recalled the same painful glow of the interrogation room; how she sat there, exhausted, isolated, and trapped. She had now faced two spotlights in her life, one seen by few, the other to be seen by all, and Sana held a deep, dark dread of how the world’s gaze would change if those two lenses ever crossed. She plucked at the combed hair, absent of herself as thoughts spiralled and coalesced. Hopefully Reo would rescue us again. 

“Hun,” the stylist broke her from her daze with a motherly tone, “hands off the hair until I’m done, okay?” 

“Ah, sorry, just… distracted,” Sana simplified, instead tapping her fingers against her thigh. Fame had never been her goal in the RFI – it always remained one ambition alone; piloting a Frame – to leap, to run, to soar. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel a responsibility – to tell the world that she had made it, and to show them that she stood shoulder to shoulder with giants. The weight of that responsibility threatened to suffocate her. 

Sana took a deep breath. She couldn’t spiral; spiralling right now would help no one. Instead, she focused on the bouncing strands of hair atop her head, watching as they shimmered in the golden light. 

“Could… Could you put it in a braid, please?”

---

As she reached the end of one the Fredrick Block’s many dilapidated corridors, Sana found herself greeted by a room filled with huddles of figures in smart, well-pressed uniforms. A social chasm formed between her and them in an instant, as the stark contrast between her dark blues and the dull, reddish greys of her military brethren became apparent. Could they even be called that? Her ‘brethren’? Judging by the sideways glances and rigid postures that sparked across the crowd as she appeared, Sana recognised that they wouldn’t see her as such.  

She struggled to focus through the sea of identical longcoats, differentiated only by the tiny gleams of coloured badges attached at the collar that displayed an armed force’s emblem. Sana could not identify most of them. The deep hum of conversation, the clipping of heels on hard flooring, and the shuffling of countless silhouettes all made her dizzy. Searching for any familiar face amongst the horde was made ever more difficult by Sana’s fear to meet anyone’s eyes. 

Thankfully, she caught the distinct rug of Amestine’s hair above the crowd, with the tight and neat curls laid across their head like a beacon of security from the uneasy stares. She marched straight toward this social safety net, not willing to endure so many…people much longer. 

“Oksana!” Sana heard a beckoning voice, and ignored it. Too many people, too much chatter. But the call came again, and she turned with utmost reluctance. Two figures approached, and the crowd parted as Marshal Sulhan and someone nearly as tall strode through, both towering over her as everyone on this blasted base did. 

“Oh, hi- I mean, sir?” Sana blurted, snapping to a stance of attention that felt even more inappropriate when done in a dress. Sulhan came to a stop before her, performing a practised salute that Sana repeated back, before he reached out to shake her hand. 

“Excellent work on being selected, Oksana. Whilst we had a bit of a… rocky patch in the middle, I’m pleased to see you’ve come so far. Your parents must be exceptionally proud.” 

“Um…” Sana tried to start, “Thank you, sir. Marshal Sulhan, sir.” She kept her eyes away from the other woman as her hand was shaken for her. It didn’t take long for the Marshal to notice her staunch avoidance to look at the third face. 

“Ah, how rude of me. Oksana, this is Commodore Lillian Faust.” 

With permission, Sana now glanced at the figure. She stood a few centimetres shorter than Sulhan, with a dress uniform somehow more flawless than any of the others she’d seen tonight, not a single crease in sight. Neat auburn hair framed her calculated face, its dark hue matched only by her painted lips, and the irises of her stern gaze. For whatever reason, she scowled down at Sana with particular contempt and superiority. 

“A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Oksana,” she printed a prepared smile that carried no hint of said pleasure. 

“Do we… know each other?” Sana tendered, certain they did not. 

“In a way, we do. It’s a shame we haven’t been properly introduced before now, actually; the Office of Renewal Artefacts is inundated with work at the moment. But when I heard about your case, I was… greatly invested in seeing how high you’d score.” 

“My case? What are you-” 

“ORA, as you know,” Sulhan interjected, “is responsible for the procurement and study of all Renewal artefacts, including, of course, Frames. Though, I won’t speak on the exact nature of your work, Commodore Faust…” 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, Sulhan. After all, Oksana, you are a part of the family now.” Faust continued, gesturing to Sana’s collar. “I had a hand in recruiting you, in fact.” 

Sana flicked back and forth between the two, hoping her incredulity did not surface on her face. When neither cracked a grin, she could only swallow down her pride and ask the question that hovered in the air. “I thought Colonel Amestine was the one that-” 

“I’m afraid the Colonel doesn’t have that kind of… sway within the RFI. I was the one responsible for your procurement.” 

“Right…” Sana elicited, taking a drink off of a roaming waiter’s tray as they passed and taking a long, necessary sip. 

“Ah,” Sulhan noted on his watch, “I have a backstage meet-and-greet to retreat to. Good luck, Oksana, and speak soon, Lillian.” 

As Sulhan’s grey longcoat sank into the sea of other, equally drab apparel, Sana turned back to the Commodore, at a loss for what new small talk she could muster. “How’s the weather” wouldn’t cut it, she feared. 

“I’m curious, Oksana.” Faust began – thank the gods – holding a half finished drink of her own in her varnished, red talons, “I know you’re from Dulkat, for all intents and purposes.” 

Sana took a breath and a sip. “I am Dulkatian, yes.” She stifled the urge to spit the drink back out. 

“Of course you are,” Faust twisted, “Tell me- how familiar are you with the Solarist’s Codex?” 

“The uh… religious text?” Sana offered in confusion. 

“That’s the one. Cult of Solarism, one of the oldest still-practised cults in the world, originating in the frigid starfields of northern Dulkat.” Faust prattled off, pausing as if she were going to take a sip, but instead holding her glass deathly still. “It has links going back as far as the Renewal, if the current theory is to be believed.” 

“I’m… well,” Sana scoffed, “I didn’t exactly grow up in a religious household, so… I’m about as familiar with it as the next Raelithan.” 

“Hmm… well, I bring it up because there’s a particular passage I think you may enjoy.” 

“…Go on?” Sana extended, baffled by this sudden piety. 

“It’s about the Herald of the Sun.” Faust continued, brushing past her hesitance. “It’s said she used to be human, do you know that? And that one day she became so enamoured by the sun, that she built wax wings to fly up to it, and touch it herself. She soared up and up towards the ball of light as it hung in the sky – as high as it ever would in the far north. Do you know what happened when she got there?” 

Sana gulped down more of the swill. She wanted to look away, but she felt captivated in a way she hated. “Uhm… she went blind?” 

“Nothing.” Faust pronounced. “She found nothing at all in her quest to touch the Sun. No warm embrace, no paradise, no answers; not even a whisper. Instead, all she earned was a kiss from Hellena herself when she fell back down to it, wreathed in flame.” 

It took a moment for Sana to conjure a response. “So… it’s all about hubris?” She shrugged, taking another sip of the drink. Awful – why’d she do it again? 

“Hubris, arrogance; knowing one’s place, perhaps? The Herald was of the earth, and no struggle can overcome one’s origin; she descended from Hellena, and so she descended to Hellena – faster than she could ever fly.” 

As the words translated and churned in her mind, Sana simply cracked a bewildered smile. She recognised that this woman did not like her, and was without a doubt slipping insults between every word, but she couldn’t decipher the cryptic statements, even when hidden behind such a flimsy veneer.   

“…That’s a bit brutal, isn’t it?” Sana resigned inert observations, unable to engage in this strange doublespeak. “There’s nothing necessarily wrong with a little ambition. Plus- one mistake doesn’t make a person, right? Like- giving the death penalty to someone who, I dunno, trespassed somewhere they don’t belong; that wouldn’t exactly fly with most people… on this continent anyway,” She ended with a chuckle, trying to find some humour in an attempt to ease this new tension. 

Faust gave the sickeningly polite smile of someone entertaining the words of an infant. “Indeed, there is bravery in aspiration – you yourself are brave for aspiring to be a pilot – but also conceit. In conceit there is disorder, and in disorder there is destruction. The Herald plummets because she tries to ascend above the laws of the world; by ‘trespassing’ she creates chaos. If she did not fall first, then all would reach for the Sun, and all would burn alongside her. As I’m sure you will agree; even a single mistake warrants judgement when it harms those around you.” 

“I-” Sana froze at this, incapable of rebuttal. A searing wave of guilt coiled in her stomach, and bitter frustration scratched her throat in a way that no beverage could wash down.  

Faust maintained her cold leer, with the same disturbing courtesy. “Mm?” Had she taken a step forward? Why was she closer? Why did Sana feel so suffocated? 

“Y-yes, I agree completely.” Sana chuckled again and looked at the ground, almost bowing to the towering presence. 

“Wonderful.” Faust smiled wider. “I’m glad that we at the RFI have continued to instil such upstanding principles-” 

“Oksana,” Sana blinked, turning to notice a new figure had approached. The Colonel had arrived, and thank the Gods for that. 

“Oh, hi again, Sir,” Sana repeated a practised line, and felt her entire body sigh with relief as she could turn away from the relentless woman. 

“Reo!” A surprisingly soft recognition rang in Faust’s voice. “You’re looking alive and well, I’m glad to see.” 

“Thank you, Lillian,” Amestine brushed off with none of the same familiarity. 

“I was just telling the young Kelenov here about some Solarist texts I find particularly fascinating. I think I taught you of them one time or another,” She finally took a sip from her waiting glass. 

“I’m sure you did, Commodore,” the Colonel nodded, widening the gap, before they turned to Sana. “You best get backstage, we’ll be starting soon.” 

“Uh- yeah, okay. Yessir,” Sana followed with an awkward salute, before breaking away from the crushing pressure. 

Sana counted her blessings as Reo took her place, but still grimaced at how much she stood out. Every other officer or recruit she encountered wore a full uniform dress, and she felt naked in comparison. 

She passed by a few more upper command staff and outside civilian contractors who were too entranced in their own activities to notice her, before finally reaching the stage door, and passing on through. 

It was quieter there. The hustle and bustle beyond still remained, but it was firmly elsewhere, a little bubble of calm established within. Sana saw three other figures milling about, with five hulking metal carcasses hanging just beyond them like meathooks. Spotting the soft purples of Dolly’s dress put her at some ease; she recognised Dolly’s confidence, if nothing else, so could trust that most attention would be on her glamorous regalia instead of Sana’s. 

“Oh, Kelenov, you actually made it,” Dolly grumbled as she examined her reflection in a small hand mirror, not giving Sana the courtesy of a glance. 

“You think I’d miss the chance to get all dolled up? Fat chance,” Sana noticed the tension and chose to poke it. After a second more, Dolly finally looked her way, a small expression of indignance reaching her face, even as she tried to hide it. 

“So you’ve chosen the big stage too, eh?” She hummed, judging Sana’s outfit silently. “I must say, I am surprised; I didn’t take you for the celebrity type.” 

“It’s not really about being popular, for me,” Sana explained with feign politeness. 

“Sure it’s not,” Dolly dismissed. “My surprise is just the same. Thought you’d want to stay as far from the spotlight, like Kat. Or would have to stay out of it, like Marko.” 

Sana glanced at the other two figures, and sure enough, both Marko and Kat lacked the usual uniform, or anything even approaching formal. They wore what amounted to Plugsuits, albeit without the head mounting points and metal alloy panelling, leaving an almost smooth, carbon-fibre under armour effect. 

Marko smiled with a weak wave upon noticing his mention, whilst Kat remained in her own little world. 

[Dolly doesn’t care about being popular either, she just wants the complimentary food,] Marko signed, and realised too late he’d been read when Dolly punched him in the shoulder. He yelped, and Dolly signed something very quick back that only made his smile grow more smug.  

[Did you meet Faust too?] Sana signed up to Marko, tapping out the woman’s name carefully with her fingers. He thought for a second, before shaking his head. 

“Faust?” Dolly poised, having followed the conversation along. 

“Yeah, a Commodore. She was quite… intense?” Sana abbreviated with a rising tone, unsure how else to describe the sheer awkwardness of her encounter. 

“Faust…” Dolly pondered, scanning familiarity in her eyes as she tried to recall the name, “Did she say which division she was with?” 

“Yeah, ORA,” Sana recalled nonchalantly, though her answer only piled more concern onto her two listeners. Marko folded his arms, eyebrows furrowed and looking in no direction in particular, whilst Dolly leaned in, curiosity peaked. 

“Well, no wonder we haven’t heard of her. ORA don’t exactly run around with signup sheets; they’re an exclusive club of the… subversive persuasion.” 

“… Am I just supposed to know that?” Sana shrugged in confusion. 

“Yes and no. We all hear things from behind the Office’s doors, but nothing concrete. Officially they handle discovery, recovery, and auditing of everything to do with Frames,” Dolly counted on her manicured hand, “but it’s pretty obvious that’s not their only concern.” 

Sana nodded, trying to bury the blatant concern she felt rising in her chest. What the hell does ORA want with me? 

She noticed Marko speaking again, only catching the tail of what he signed. […many, many bad things. This ‘Faust’… be wary of her], he expressed with finality, and Sana nodded again. 

“Oh, don’t you worry, I already was,” she verified, as a conversation she wasn’t privy to continued between Marko and Dolly. Sana awkwardly stepped past them, her head stuck in the clouds.  

Her eyes settled on the rank of Frames, held aloft in their fabric cradles several centimetres off the ground. To her right sat three Frames she had only seen in passing, now covered from head to toe in buffed, freshly painted metal and layers of ballistic ceramics. She saw the bird-like design of Dolly’s machine still poking through after months of adaptation, and swallowed down some hard feelings that she had neither the time nor patience to face right then.  

Instead, she focussed on the next Frame along. Even covered in off-white metal plates, accented by a baby blue that she’d reluctantly agreed to a few weeks before, she could recognise her off-balanced, three armed apparatus from a mile off. She had pushed hard for hot pink stripes to match her gaudy prosthetic, but had been shot down for being ‘too eccentric’, whatever the hells that meant. But, when the inevitable opportunity for a repaint would spring upon her, she was determined to push again. If any shade coloured her soul, there was a decent chance it was in the realm of pink. 

She doubted a single shard of the scrap metal she had once bolted onto it remained. It’d come a long, long way from the barn she’d made it in. Haven’t we both? 

She circled round to the further wall, still admiring her newly finished livery, before noticing Kat shrouded in the corner, her eyes burrowing a hole in the ground. 

Kat glanced Sana up and down as she approached, before her gaze darted across the room, masked by a carefully timed adjustment of her glasses that reflected away the dimmer yellow lights. 

“Heya,” Sana greeted, glancing down at herself as she approached, double-checking that she hadn’t damaged her outfit on the way over. 

“H-Hi,” Kat replied in a half-whisper, looking far away. She leant against the wall behind her, holding her arms close and her voice even closer. Sana returned the glance up and down, noticing the more standard greys of the RFI’s formal uniform. 

“Oh, did you escape the hours of readying?” Sana asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall next to her. A small nod returned, and Sana continued. “I don’t get it, really. Hours of work to show the world someone that isn’t entirely me.” She explained. “Most of the time I don’t even wear Chapstick, so this,” she waved up and down her face, then at the rest of her outfit, “feels a bit too much.” 

“Y-you look pretty,” Kat blurted out. “Pretty- pretty great, I-I mean…” 

“Thank you,” Sana smiled after a moment, before looking up and away, letting her braided hair settle across her shoulder. “You look pretty too.” 

Kat scoffed. “N-nah, that’s… I mean, look at me, I’m basically in rags-” 

“So?” Sana played absently with the brush-like tip, the sensation of smooth strands against her fingers unbeatable in its satisfaction. 

“I-I’m not all dressed up. In fact, I-… I couldn’t do what y-you’re doing. Which- i-isn’t to say it’s a bad idea!” She clarified with a powerful stammer, waving her hands in defence, “I-it’s just n-not something I could do. I-I’m n-not so brave.” 

“I dunno…” Sana murmured, folding her one arm across her chest and sending creases up and down the fabric. “The more people I talk to about it, the worse an idea it sounds, showing myself to the world. But, also… I want people to see me, I guess? I don’t want to be some mysterious, faceless pilot. I want people to know that I am the RFI, and the RFI is me. So that,” She gestured at her prosthetic-less stump, then at the rest of her body, “others like me know that they’ll be welcome here too.” 

“That’s… That’s really noble.” Kat commended. 

“Well, it’s important,” Sana smiled. 

“Where’s Lockwright, anyhow?” Dolly called to the room as she folded her arms. When Sana only shrugged, she looked half way between confused and uninterested. “Well, you’re his teammate-” 

The doors opposite to those Sana had entered swung open with a jolt, as a mass of exhausted panting and bolts of red hair stumbled into the backstage area. Gordie swallowed through some of his breaths as Sana approached. 

“Woah, Gords, you okay?” She placed her hand on his back as he pulled his neck free from a black bowtie. 

“Yeah… I’m fine, but…” He took another breath of recovery, “have you seen Morgan? She wasn’t with the other recruits, or out with the civvie crowds.” 

“Not since this morning. She’s probably…” Sana carefully thought on her words, “she’s probably sulking somewhere.” 

“Suns, you don’t get it, she’s gotta be here,” Gordie explained, “I-I want her to be here.” 

“She’ll still be on the base, s-surely?” Kat proposed. 

Marko signed something, and Dolly translated. “Marko says some of the guards might see her, but with so many civvies around, she may have gotten mixed up with ’em.” 

“It’s a big night, after all…” Sana reasoned. 

“If you ask me, Lockwright,” Dolly began her own train of thought, approaching the pair, “she’s probably off sulking somewhere. And let’s be honest, we both know it’s best to leave her be when she’s like this.” 

As Dolly closed in, Sana noticed a small glint in her hands, her fingers tightly wound around a shining object. Recognition sprang out of the ether, as she noticed the silver tint. 

“Where’d you get that?” Sana asked, pointing to her hand. Dolly followed the jab, glancing down at her palm. 

“Oh… I found it, in the courtyard,” she answered with a tone Sana hadn’t heard before. It belonged somewhere around confusion, like even Dolly didn’t know how or why she held the lighter in her hand. 

“It’s Morgan’s…” Sana continued the line of questioning. 

“I know,” Dolly snipped, shaking her off. “Look, the point is, just… Let her be. Enjoy tonight for yourself, not for her, or hell- anyone else.”  

Sana could not help but resonate with Dolly’s words a little, and merely let out a grimaced sigh. 

“Look, Dolls-” Gordie started 

“-Don’t call me that-” 

“This is important to her too. I want to show her that we’ll be okay, and that- she will too! She’s not alone, even if we’re in different squads, different corps, or if we’re halfway across the world from each other. She needs… I need her to be here to see that-” 

“Recruits,” came a voice to the group. Captured by the sound, all present turned their way, as Colonel Amestine entered through the double doors. “Fifteen minutes until you’re on. Time to get plugged in.” 

“Colonel-” 

“Just so you remember the drill, when your Frame’s callsign is read aloud by the Marshal – if you are revealing your pilot identity alongside it – that is when you open up your bonnets. Not a moment before that, or you’ll have the Recruitment corp breathing down you next- 

“Colonel, sir,” Sana pushed through their focus, catching their attention for a moment long enough. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can we get just a little bit of leeway?” 

Amestine stared her up and down, and she knew she’d asked the wrong question. If they were another officer, like A’ola, she’d have earned a reprimand before she’d even finished, but even in their current state Amestine was nothing if not reasonable. 

“Why?” They cut right to the chase. 

“We can’t find Morgan anywhere-” Gordie butted in. 

“Her attendance is not mandatory.” Amestine asserted “Most recruits – former or otherwise – are told to stay out of the way anyways, so more attention can be given to the civilian and armed forces envoys we have so graciously accepted. In fact, right about now, Morgan should be packing for her trip to Bakra with the Technicians Corps-” 

“I- we know, Colonel, but… she’s still on site, and- recruits are welcome, right?” 

“I suppose so, yes. But they’re not exactly a priority, Oksana, and even if I had the authority to postpone, I wouldn’t do it over something so inane. In any case, have either of you buzzed her pager?” 

Sana turned back to Gordie, a squint in her eyes as she glanced at him up and down. He nodded solemnly. “No response, Sir.” 

“Then she’s not coming. I know this turn of events was… unpopular, given that you shared a fireteam with her, but rules are rules and schedules are schedules. And, today, the timeframes didn’t line up – I’m afraid that’s life. It’s time to embark.” 

Amestine turned on their heel, focused elsewhere, giving Sana only a moment to think of a rebuttal. Looking over at her Frames, rattling as a swarm of technicians descended upon them, she grasped one last idea. 

“What if… what if we Frameshifted first, run and find her with a pager ping, and then run back? We’ll be faster when embarked, and we’ll be ready to go the instant we get back” she reasoned with a knock on the new leg plating of her Frame as proof of her point. 

It was hard to annoy the Colonel – Sana had found in their eight months together – but this request pushed her luck the furthest so far. They did not appear angry, as they rarely carried any true emotion on their face, but a short sigh showed the boundaries were being well and truly pushed. They looked down at their watch for ten long seconds, cogs whirring. 

“Get them in.” Reo called to the mechanics performing final checks, before snapping back to Sana with a stone-cold gaze. “You have five minutes before I want you back here. Even a minute late and I’ll throw you both to the wolves myself, understood?” 

“Yes sir,” Sana near-shouted with a salute. 

“Thank you sir,” Gordie added. 

The two locked eyes for a moment and gave each other a firm nod, before rushing to their respective Frames. Both clambered through the parted groups of engineers and keen technicians into their metallic holdings, hurriedly pulling and clipping straps over themselves. Harnesses locked them in place, crumpling the fine clothes anyway. The process that usually felt prolonged and surgical flashed by in a flurry of activity, and Sana had no time to admire the wonderful, polished presentation of her metal body. Is this what it’s like to be on active call? 

Before she knew it, a pair of hands behind Sana spoke. “Three needles.” And a sharp pain shot through her, extending from her neck like a fault line across her form. Earthquakes rattled along her fingers, as her left hand gripped and released and gripped and released over and over, the motion escaping her control. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t feel, she couldn’t breathe – just the mechanical whine of her muscles crying out in torturous song. 

And then she awoke, her eyes wide open. The new cold metal shuddered in her neck before settling. She took a long deep breath, and let go of the painful grip that had engulfed the left half of her body, her hand settling still.  

She had Frameshifted a hundred times by now. Yet, she needed a thousand times more to make it second nature. Only the best of the best, the pinnacle of pilots and their craft, could comfortably say “I’m used to this.”  

We’ve got a long way to go, she reasoned with a smirk meant only for herself. Layers of subsystems wrapped around her like a warm winter’s coat, her metal body taking a moment longer to start up. Her eyes nudged into focus; she flexed her upper arms in a drilled fashion; and as her ears came alive with metallic hum, she heard cries of pain. 

So indulged in her own start-up sequence, her glass optics followed to the source of the noise before she’d decided to look. And as she glanced over, she saw a body of steel and bone that jolted and shuddered in place like a burning spark. Technicians raced around and restrained the spasming limbs to the concrete earth, as Gordie’s rounded Frame convulsed in its cradle. 

“Gordie!” She shouted ahead, her metal voice booming inside and out of her cabin. Still attached at the shoulders herself, she extended both her plated arms upwards, unhooking the fabric handles and toppling forwards onto the very same elongated arms. She glanced both ways, seeing the other three Frames at their own stations, and no technicians coming or going along her predicted path, before springing to life and bounding in two steps before her friend’s machine. 

“Suns, I-I-” Gordie jittered, his arms contorting and writhing in place as another squad of medical personnel arrived posthaste. 

“His Resonance is too low,” Sana barked helplessly, looking him up and down with her glass eyes, “pull him out of there!” 

The technicians were already at work before she finished, grabbing at Gordie’s arms and dragging his body out of the machine. They reached for the long, cranial wire and pulled – Sana couldn’t look away. She watched helplessly as his shuddering body came to a stop, his shallow breathing growing deeper with each breath. 

“Looks like a near seizure, probably high stress,” one of the technicians determined. “He’s stabilising, but it’d be unwise to send him in again for the time being.” 

“Shit, Suns, I’m sorry,” Gordie groaned, unable to hold his head upright. 

“No, no,” Sana refused, “it’s alright, you’re gonna be alright-” 

“Find Morgan,” He managed slowly, her words unable to touch him. “Please find her.” 

Sana peered forth with her glass eyes, jolting between the cabin of the machine and her dishevelled friend. After a second of anxious consideration, she nodded, her metal head synchronising the motion. “Where was she last?” 

“Ping came from… from around the gym…” his last words spun out, his eyes struggling to stay open. 

“Gotcha. Stay put, okay?” Sana attempted a reassuring smile, though it could only reach herself. 

She glanced towards the rest of Arcane, just to confirm their successful embarkment. Dolly displayed her usual perfection, and whilst Marko and Kat seemed to be going through a slight jitter, neither collapsed as Gordie did. 

Good, she eased. Even Dolly didn’t deserve that. Sana gave a final cheeky salute with any humour she could muster. 

“I’ll find her, promise.” 
 

---

Time was a sand. Uncountable and infinite to the human eye, yet still necessarily finite. Just like sand, time was always disappearing, the next trial always approaching, never faltering, as the seconds ground down to leave nothing but dust. And right now, the hourglass before Sana threatened to wither its final grain. 

She flicked her eyes once again to the clock in the corner of her vision – seven minutes – and accelerated further. Her steel legs carried her through the warm evening air of the mountain basin, bounding across to the gym in mere moments, and having to skid to a halt in overcompensation as she landed out front. She turned on her elastic heels, launching up the ten steps in only two strides. 

The building had been designed for Frames through and through – the ceilings were high and the walls were antisocial, its corridors providing enough space to have two Frames walk shoulder to shoulder, or one Frame to jog with an ecstatic pace. Sana glanced through the glass doors of the many rooms, scanning inside for a signal, before rushing off to the next set of doors. On the third to her right she finally had a hit, with her newly installed scanner catching the edge of a figure inside. It couldn’t establish an ID, only that something human lay within. 

“Morgan?” She shouted as she pushed through the double doors, having to duck under the door frame. There might’ve been an entrance for Frames, but Sana neither had the time nor the patience to find it. Her voice quivered with a metallic twang, and as her lighter pace allowed her breath to catch itself. 

Her scanner had rung true; wreathed in the bright luminescence of the gym, a silhouette hunched over onto itself, unfazed by the arrival of Sana’s great machine as it ground to a halt. “Morgan?” she called out again, quieter this time, the waver in her voice made worse by her breathless speech. 

They looked up through a mop of ragged hair, a single bloodshot eye visible between a part in the strands. Sana glanced them up and down, her unblinking glass eyes adjusting focus like a camera lens; something she still hadn’t got used to. 

“Oh, hey Kala,” Morgan confirmed herself, leaning backwards onto a mass of tangled cable behind her. Her face expressed a gaunt, apathetic exhaustion as she stared blankly at the ceiling, her head propped up by the heap of wires – a lifeless doll. 

“Morgan… Mori, what are you doing in here?” Sana turned on her heel, glancing around the otherwise empty gym. 

“Well, I kinda took this,” Morgan explained, reaching back and heaving a large cylinder onto the table behind her, “and, well…now I’m hiding out here.” 

The steel-braced design glowed a soft green and hummed ever so slightly – so quiet that her enhanced senses could just hear it. Sana recognised the artefact immediately; the soft, rhythmic heartbeat of a thinking machine beyond the comprehension of the modern world. 

“Is that… you stole a Core!?” Sana shouted, the noise bouncing off each wall and becoming white. 

“Not stealin’, and not just any old Core, nuh-uh,” Morgan clarified with a smirk, teetering the device back and forth with her hand, “this’n’s mine. My Core.” 

Her voice slurred and sloshed about, like she suffered the mix of a hangover and a stroke. The readouts behind Sana’s glass eyes displayed to her the one hundred different figures it monitored – approximate blood pressure, humidity, average temperature, microelectric impulse from her brain, and more – all of which collapsed together into a simple number; Resonance. 

And Morgan’s was collapsing.  

Sana couldn’t have known where it stood  before she entered, but now it was diving below a five-point-oh – the lowest acceptable safety margin for the score. At her current rate, Morgan’s Resonance would crash to the bottom in only a few minutes, and Sana had no clue what that would mean. 

“Morgan,” she began, forcing the tremble in her voice down as much as she could manage, “Mori, your Resonance is plummeting. You… you need to unplug, like… right now.” 

Morgan scoffed. “I don’t need to do shit, Kala. This is my core. I ‘shifted with it fair and square, I was the best candidate for this one, you hear? I was the Gods damn best, and those bastards squandered it- They squandered me!” 

Her voice rose as she did, before a second later she collapsed back in her seat, a look of utter defeat over her face. “Again. At the final moment again, the world fucked me over. Why did I even let myself be hopeful?” Her apparent mood swung back and forth like a metronome, as she slumped back into the leather of the chair. 

“Morgan, please, I… I know you’re going through a lot right now,” Sana put her left arms up – a reassuring gesture, she hoped – “but you are in danger. Real, terrible danger-” 

Morgan scoffed again, though more hurt than dismissive. She placed her hands between her legs and sighed. “I know, I know I am. I’m spinning and spinning away, taken by the currents.” 

“Morgan.” Sana repeated sternly, regaining a modicum of authority. “You need to unplug. And I’ll… I’ll do it for you if you won’t.” 

“I heard you, Kala, I heard you,” she murmured now, her nonchalant voice so distant and so calm. “But… I can’t.” 

“What?” Sana frowned, before realising just how accusative she sounded. She took a deep breath, and placed down a calmer hand. “Why not?” 

“Because… because… this is my last chance, Kala. Don’t you see?” 

“I-… I don’t, I don’t see a thing. What are you trying to say?” 

“There are sparks everywhere.” She spoke quietly, an unbearable calmness to her voice. “Floating all around. Connecting every point. And when those dots vibrate, the strings ring out this most beautiful song. Buzzin’ and bouncin’, electrifyin’ the air.” 

Morgan hummed a sequence of notes which, though not discordant, were nothing but alien to Sana’s ears. She skimmed her memory for any kind of recognition, but there was nothing. For all she knew, Morgan was creating something entirely new, the naked Core humming in harmony with her cadence. 

“I see it now. Everywhere, I can see it. Or I guess- hear makes more sense.” Morgan mused, a look of wonder swirling within her fogged eyes. “And it’s constant. It’s neverendin’. It’s… all reality, all at once, a hyperreal state in a real body. 

“… Gotta say, it really does send you loopy, that’n,” Morgan chuckled with not a hint of joy, wiping her hand up her face in a dragging motion. 

“Morgan,” Sana trembled with only a wisp of reason on her tongue, “you’ve… you’ve gotta remember the first rule. You need to calm down, or… or…” She knew she would regret saying it, but equally knew Morgan wouldn’t listen otherwise. “Or what happened to Mariana might happen to you.” 

Morgan shot to her feet, the cable leading from her neck whipping against the glossy floor. “Don’t you dare mention her name!” She growled, a deep, guttural ache that emanated from her very core. “I can’t calm down!” she roared, hissing ragged breaths through her teeth, before the breaths turned into soulless, inward laughter – like she was laughing at her own reflection. Then, the laughter rolled into tears.  

Sana could only watch on, helpless. 

“You… You don’t understand. It’s too much, everythin’ is too damn much! It’s so bright and so loud and so bright and so loud and it won’t stop, it just won’t!” The background hum grew louder. 

Sana gulped, lost for a moment as Morgan threw her head into her hands, rocking and jittering her leg against the chair. She took a cautious step forward, like she was trying to lift a kitten off a high ledge. “Morgan, it’s… it’s okay. Frameshifting is- is mentally taxing, you know? And- you’re already not in a good headspace-” 

“Stop talkin’ to me like a fuckin’ shrink!” Morgan shouted back through her hands, breathing wildly into her palms. “You don’t know what it feels like, you don’t know what this is!” 

“I do! I do, I do. I’ve seen it both outside and in, Mori. Today, even – Gordie nearly had a seizure, he’s been so worried sick for you. I know exactly what you’re going through, and you will be okay! you just have to unplug first-” 

“You don’t hear those voices…” Morgan growled like a whisper. 

“I… I do, sometimes. I hear them when… when I need them, I think.” 

“Then you don’t hear them like me,” Morgan spat, her leg bouncing harder against the metal of her seat. “They’re always there. They never shut the hell up. They flash and scream and shatter and shout and they just… will not… stop.” 

Sana took a cautious step closer, the gap now maybe only a few metres. “Mori-” 

“I hear them all, you know,” Morgan quivered, lifting her face from her hands, but keeping them close like a well to catch her tears. “There are thousands, maybe millions of them. So many of them are angry. So, so angry. A burnin’ furnance of fury that I can’t even begin comprehend. So what about that, Kala? You hear that, do ya?” 

Sana couldn’t speak – her heart threatened to escape through her throat. But, with a simple shake of her head, Morgan continued. 

“I do. They never stop… even when I unplug, they’re still there, whispering when I sleep, screaming when I try and drown them out. They’re so bright, and so loud, and so bright, and so loud… 

“Look, I’m sorry, Kala…,” She shifted, wiping her face in repeated, circular movements. “I’m sorry, Oksana. For everything. I really am. But I just… It’s just so bright, and so loud, and so bright, and so loud- you know?” She fell forwards off the chair, collapsing to her knees, clutching her chest like her heart was about to explode. The hum grew even louder. 

Sana’s legs wobbled, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, though she didn’t know in which direction. 

“Please, please tell Gordie, and Dolly, and everyone…” Morgan sobbed, “that I’m so, so sorry, and that it is so bright, and ever so loud.” 

Sana reached out, her mouth filled to the brim with words she wished to cry out, practically ready to call the woman’s name and tell her it was okay, just as Morgan had done for her that night. Not to repay a debt, or settle a score, or pity a rival, but to comfort a friend – her friend – and let her know that she had been heard, that she was okay, that it was all going to be okay. 

Run. 

Sana heard the loudest whisper yet the screech of a harpy in her ear, mirrored by Core’s ascending pulses, now reaching a high-pitched whine. Her neck came alive with spikes of shock, as every cell in her body contorted into a defensive position. Through her darting, panicked vision she caught a glimpse of Morgan’s face. 

She didn’t quite know what she saw. It consisted of a smile, but not a happy one; a furrowed brow, with soft edges that told no anger; and tears that fell only in relief. All the while, her legs moved without her, as her body of steel and bone launched backwards against her command. She reached out forwards, not caring how she’d land. 

Then, for a brief, incomprehensible moment, light crashed against her metal irises, overloading every safety her system had in place. Automatically she and her glass eyes disconnected from each other; her brain saved from the burning white star that had sparked before her. 

And then the shockwave hit. 

Sana’s ears screeched and cut, the winds blasting around and past her as the initial stages of the explosion hit. The metal skin that encompassed her took the brunt of the force, but her head still rolled forwards, slamming into the front wall of her steel box and sending droplets of blood careening across the interior. She held her arms before her, taking the strike as best she could, but the wave was so intense and hot, she could feel the armour creaking from the stress, and the searing sensation of burning run its course up and down the skin on her legs and arms. Before she knew it, her legs gave way, and she crashed backwards, her head whipping back against the cushioned headrest and sending her into a falling daze. 

Moments passed, or maybe it was seconds? Milliseconds? Sana wasn’t sure. She felt her neck crying out in pain, the needles stabbed in there angrily tearing inside their pilot holes. The roar of heat and sound still rang in her ears and through her bones, leaving her unable to tell whether the eruption continued or not. She heaved, unable to speak, as she tried to pick herself back to her feet to no avail. 

Her glass eyes creaked open again, glancing out into the chaos and being greeted with sparks and embers, flowing in strange patterns around her. If her other senses were gone, it would have looked beautiful. 

But when her eyes opened, so did her ears. Outside blared alarms of all sounds. A cacophony of noise drummed her inner ears, shaking her restless heart. She tried to move, flight or fight telling her to bloody run already, but she recognised the daze she’d entered, and could only sit and watch as the fires pounced upon every flammable material. 

Her legs were warm, unpleasantly so. But even that boiling sensation could not get her to move. 

Above, the roof – only half attached to itself – creaked and groaned, the mass of debris before her suffocated anything inside. Through the cracks she saw the moon, illuminated in evening light. 

Then, directly overhead, a chunk began to falter. She tipped her head back as far as it would go to watch her impending doom, and see it fall with her own eyes. 

“Morgan…” She croaked to herself, wanting to say more, but her throat denied her. 

The roof began to split and wane. 

The girders creaked and finally gave way. 

The debris fell straight towards her. 

And she couldn’t move an inch. 

A second before it hit her, no more, a flurry of grey movement shot past her gleaming eyes, as the debris flew halfway across what remained of the room. A steaming fist was all that remained in its place. 

The machine met her eye. 

“Sana!” Gordie shouted through an alloy voice, before yet more of the ceiling and wall began to topple. His enormous forearms shot upwards, as the whole building came crashing down on-top of them. 

---

Edited by Jennifer C.

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