After the Sky Broke

Blood spills. Pain flows from steel piercing flesh. Once this was done gently. It was controlled. The acrid scent of medical sanitization. But that was the past. The past was better, for all of it's well dressed cruelty.

Now things were worse for all their naked malice. The screams of the pits made them easy to find, but they had the guns to defend them. It was necessary. The old rites could no longer be followed. The choosing of the Valkyrie. The signing of the Contract. No, now it was chance. The Heads come from the Gathering and are repurposed. Those who can come out of the process with their minds intact, they are pressed onto the fields.

If not, they man the front and walk the Walls. They cannot do much more than that. It is not needed of them. We keep the old ways that we can, the traditions that can be anyways. The Paths. Clad in armor to turn back blades, wielding the arms of the old ways. You'd think many would flock to us.

But they know what we must fight. The threat had come from beyond, and the war fought to keep them from destroying us had only brought both races to the brink. In some stories, this would mean the end. They would reconcile and draw back from the edge of death in order to try and overcome it together, or withdraw and give each other a weary peace.

The truth is much more predictable and much less wholesome. The Threat receded into the seas. From within, they bide and wait our their production times before attacking with the tides. Always in the dark of the night. Always with the shattered moon above them. If humanity itself had not shattered like our night guardian, we may have been able to face them.

But as with any war, there were those on either side. Apologists. Secessionists. Cowards. When the Threat severed our link to the heavens, too many took it as a chance to capitalize on any given petty wrong they had. Our factories crashed down into the dirt, they scrambled to dismantle as much as they could. To steal from us. And then instead of helping as invaders from the heavens reduced cities to ash, they snubbed us.

All the worse for them, though. The Threat didn't care who had perverted their technology. Only that a planet needed to be consumed for it's folly. Scorched earth and ruined buildings. It would be a lie to say anyone came out of this on top. That is the scale of our shared ruin.

For generations we have held back. For generations we have slaughtered what comes from the water. And for generations we have rebuilt. The War is not yet over. We will take what we need to keep humanity safe. Even if they struggle and rage against us every step of the way.

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They're monsters just the same as the things in the sea. She presses a hand against the wound on her arm, and hissed at the burning pain. Beneath her, it shudders in death, body convulsing from the knife buried in it's throat. The wedge of metal gleams in the firelight, and her father claps a hand to her shoulder. "Good job, Lia." He raises his voice, the fire of battle still filling his belly. "Sentries forward! One dead, there will be three more!" That was the rule they had learned. Always groups of four. When one warrior was as strong as ten, it could be afforded.

Lia kneels to draw her knife out, wiping blood and fat off on the edge of it's army as well as she can. Her eyes trace the weapon it used, black steel that roared fire and death. Her hand strays for it, before the sound makes her jump. A moment of fear, something she hates herself for, before she tries to assess the damage. The thump of a body as her father falls to his knees, hard. Panic eats the fear and her body runs cold as his scream rips from his lungs, and she scrambles forwards to try and press her hands against his chest.

Red flows out, life leaving his body that her hands, worn by battle, can't stem the flow of. His broad chest heaves as he curls instinctively against the wound, breath shakily leaving his body. More of the explosions but she's inured herself to the sound of them for now. Nothing else matters against the horror of reality before her. The other warriors of her tribe surge forwards, trying to defend against the attack they couldn't see. But beyond the bursts of fire and sound, their foes remained hidden. This was what they loved. The confusion of battle.

People fall back, but Lia can't find herself able to drag away from her father's body. He grasps her arm, blood flowing from his mouth as he tries to mumble something. She can see the fear in his eyes. It comes for them all, in time. But she couldn't tell exactly what he was afraid for, himself or her. Biting her lip hard, she raises, and he releases her. A single mouthed word. She turns to flee, before stopping short with here eyes wide. Two of them stood there, clad in steel and the colors of night. It would be impossible to see them in the dark, which is what they wanted. Lia lashes out to try and strike one, but he was faster than the last by more than double. The back of his weapon slams into her wounded arm, throwing her off balance.

She staggers and trips on a root, the very earth that they tended to as a tribe betraying her now in this moment of dire circumstances. The other moves forwards, holding a detached wedge in his hands. But not for her. No, for her father, still on the ground and gasping out his last moments. The... thing opens as the warrior kneels and clamps it over her father's head. What had been the gasps of a dying man turn into screams. Pain, horror, absolute terror. She surges to her feet to try and fight them off, but the wedge-headed warrior simply throws her back down violently. Then he stamps on her shoulder, metal shod boots making her cry out in pain once more. Lia's father lashes madly in his pain, before finally falling still and silent. The wedge head looks up, grunts, and then reaches to their fallen comrade.

In the distance, she can hear more explosions of sound and fire. The cacophony of violence and shouts. The fallen warrior's head is pulled from his body, and she cannot look away. She feels sick. Nothing remains under the helmet. Were they all like that? No face, no jaw. Nothing remains even of eyes. Just ruined meat and some shriveled thing. The wedge headed monster bangs on the helmet a few times to dislodge blood and meat, before turning to her. New strength rises in her body as Lia understands suddenly their intention. She beats on the leg holding her prone. She tries to wriggle free, to lash out and flee, but she's held still as the wedge is opened and brought to her, gore still dripping from within.

They're monsters, just the same as the things in the sea. They raid small villages like hers and drag anyone they could back to their citadel of ruin. As the metal clamps down around her head, she feels steel begin to invade her flesh. Even as a proud warrior of her tribe, Lia screams like her father. Darkness meets her. And then, her life begins again.

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The weakly pulsing light of unit three goes out finally, and two and one both know it's his own fault. He took point too early. The fucking fool. Even if they were using pig iron and fire, his armor had weak points, and his integration was low. The longer they stayed in the field, fighting and training, the better the Remnants bonded with them. Still, it didn't matter much. They didn't have time to filter applicants anymore. And three's death had gotten two decent looking recruits. All in all, the squad leaves a man down, but five recruits up. Some food, a wooden cart, and a cattle to pull the cart. That was a decent enough haul. Anything that ended with positive numbers in the end was better than the alternative. Two was used to driving cattle, from his time before the Forging, so he was able to guide to the entrance of the Factory with little error. One and Four both looked over the captures, specifically the two undergoing Forging.

The man would be useful, but it was hard to tell if the Remnant would be able to fill the hole in his chest. The woman, who knows. Probably likely to settle at least on level one of Forging. One lights the proper torches to have themselves cleared at the gate, and the heavy steel doors are crashed closed and barred behind them. Sometimes villages would try and track them back. Recently they had begun to enter alliances to try and defend each other. It would be impressive, if not for the fact that they were defending themselves against the only saviors they could trust in. Savage minds fear strength, though. And the Threat had plenty of that.

The three who had been captured are lead to the Pits, cowering against their bonds but being drug along regardless. There would be no sympathy for them in there. There had been none for the rest of them. Medical take both of the captures undergoing Forging, while One, Two, and Four return to the armory. It was time for the ritual of renaming. It was part of the Path, after all. Once a squad returns from battle, they return their designations to retrieve their names. The one that is left is consigned to stone in memorium. Another name scratched into the brick. They would drink in his honor, even if he had been an idiot. All who fought the Threat were to be respected. It was not an undertaking that could be done with a snap of the fingers.

Armor is removed, the heavy backpacks linked to their weapons are returned to be upkept, and the now renamed group touched fists and withdrew them to signify the squad was disbanded. Another note of importance. They might be assigned to any squad for the next mission, to carry the bonds of the old would invite disaster. In this way, another mission was completed and the Knifeheads would have a leg up for the next fight against The Threat. Hopefully. Even though hope was in short supply these days. As desperate as the struggle was, there was still time for them to eat and rest now. For many, the best part of the day.

On the wall, those who failed the Forging stand stock still, not moving in the wind, clutching spears and looking out into the rising sun. The Tide would be in a week.

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It had been two days since their village had been raided. The pain had stopped, but only because Lia had become numb to the feeling of it. She could not see, nor smell, nor hear. The only thing left to her was touch, and nothing about what the monsters were doing was gentle. From what she could feel, she was on rough stone. It was cold and the surface hurt, but it kept her mind sharp from the feelings of whatever was digging around in the meat of her skull. Once, she brought her hands up to feel at the edge of the thing they had clamped over her head, but her skin and the metal had seemingly melded into one mass.

The next day, she felt someone's presence in the room along with her. Whoever it was approached her, and she lashed out to try and strike them, to keep them from doing anything else to her. But her fists meet metal cladding, and only new pain rewards her valor. The presence touches her, moving her head, and then light returns to her world. It was too much all at once and Lia recoils, trying to close her eyes, but sight still remains and the world swims as her brain tries to understand the input it was receiving. There was too much all at once. How could she see before and behind her at the same time? Why was everything so sharp? Without thinking, Lia tries to scream. No noise made it from the helmet, and the captor who had thrust her back into the world of seeing too much once more left, content to leave her to her new world of suffering.

There was too much information. As she reeled from the sensory overload, her vision stubbornly refused to leave, making her head swim in confusion. Too much sight, too much by far. The room was stone, with a moss growing on the damp surface. Without knowing the name of it, something told Lia the name of it. She knew the name of the moss, if it could be used to dye cloth or clot wounds, how to harvest it, if it could be eaten or if it was something to apply to the surface of a weapon. But she should know none of it. She feels the meat of her skull host to the feeling of something squirming inside of it. The thought leads to confusion. The confusion leads to a separate branch of vision in her sight, a square showing confines of meat with metal worming through. She could feel the contents of her stomach rise in her throat as meaning filters through to her thoughts.

It was changing her. The helmet was actually pushing metal into her brain and it was feeding her information. Lia never expected the wedge heads had this kind of magic available to them. But she knew also it wasn't magic, and they weren't called wedge heads. They had never spoken, never traded, never let anyone know more about them then the fear they put out. Once, long ago tribes and they had tried to communicate. But wars broke out. Anger over hoarded relics of the lost age. Refusal to cooperate with what were viewed to be horrible tithes. She shouldn't know any of this. The feeling of her stomach rebelling against everything overwhelms her ability to keep it down, and Lia tries to vomit. But there was no space for the helmet to let her. Shaking panic as her body betrays itself over and over again besets Lia, who almost falls apart under the strain.

But the knowledge visits her again. It was not there to damage her. The feeling of bile in her throat fades. The vision of meat with metal speared through it leaves her. Her vision narrows down to something that makes sense for a human. It was still too wide, too sharp. But she needed to learn how to expand it. Why? To fight the Threat. Classification Alpha Ultimate. A world ending classification of lifeform that slept beneath the seas, procreating and modifying extant lifeforms to their own needs. The knowledge that she shouldn't know, the foreign pulse of words in her mind. Remnant Technology, carried forwards by the surviving operating Knifeheads in lack of any better representatives of Open Hand Industries. Letters on ruins flash in her memories, old runes with meaning now applied to them. The blasted remains of a city with storefronts stocked with O.H.I. goods, or selling their services.

But none of that meant anything anymore. None of their domination of the economical world. None of the scientific prowess they had scalped from the Thread, information that had been declassified five years into the war by enemy intelligence operations. All of what lay in the past was pointless as the knowledge turns to the Threat itself. Sight within her sight once more shows first conflict, the light raking across the sky, the blooming fire of life being snuffed out from an orbital lance launched from the Threat's fleet. The ground quaking as the Space Elevator crashes down after being severed. Lia's heart pounds in her chest as the vision switches to that of a battle, and her brain tries to rationalize the fact that she's laying on her back and not, in fact, moving through the city as part of a kill squad.

Rounding the corner of a desert village, she sees first hand as one of the Threat's battle drones wraps barbed tentacles around unarmed civilians and rips them apart. It was familiar, the kind of terror they struck then was what the Knifeheads always relied on. But you can't fight terror troops with terror troops. It was a war that they had poorly prepped for. Too much worry of the kind of fight they might expect from their fellow men, not enough for what would happen if the ones who made their technology in the first place would come to reclaim it.

In the end, mankind relied on what it always did. Overwhelming weapons of destruction. A cache of nuclear warheads slaved together and delivered into the Threat's capital ships. Lia's mind, already struggling to understand the scale of everything being presented to her, now bear witness to the sight of gigatons of force ripping apart spaceships from the inside. Chained explosions and collisions rain metal  down to earth's surface. Metal and survivors. The destruction was as bad as the enemy's attacks themselves, but in the end it was deemed to be the only way.

Lia lay on the ground for a long time, her mind blank and she thought nothing. All this had been their fault in the first place. So, why now did they act like they were the only faction who had the answer? They had so clearly failed in this. And for once, no new information flooded into her mind. The silence felt damning. There was something more important though to consider than even that. Her father. At the thought of him, Lia's vision once again widens, with several visible pulses of light in the too wide field of view. Unbidden, she knew these were other active Knifeheads in the area. Which was her father was impossible to tell though. For the first time since she had been thrown in here, Lia tries to raise herself up from the ground.

Her head was so heavy. Moving hurt in new, strange ways. Knowledge struck her mind again as her arms gave out. The Remnant technology replacing her skull weighed four times as much as her old skull mass. Her neck could not support the weight as damaged as it was. At the moment, all possible internal fabricators were working on necessary framework modifications to properly interface. After that her neck would be reinforced to allow for movement. Estimated time until completion: 46 hours. Errors flashes in her vision, the Remnant trying to warn her of unacceptable blood chemistry and a lack of proper caloric intake. And as if on cue, the door to her cell swings open again. She can hear the metal hinges screaming in protest. Boots thud against the ground as one of the green marks indicating another Knifehead approaches and kneels next to her. "Looking already? That's a pretty good timeline for the Forging. You might be ready by the Tide."

Water lapping at the beaches. Metal and flesh married squirms out of the depths, and the Threat rears it's head once more. Did they really expect her to fight for them against something that was at best equally monstrous to them? The one who spoke reaches down, and forces a needle into her arm. She was too tired to even flinch away from it, taking the slight pinch with an internal grunt. Then, a bag is held up to let gravity take the liquid into her veins. With no explanation Lia knew what the contents were. It would feed her without eating, and keep her from falling victim to minor infections that came with the integration process. "Don't worry. You'll understand everything soon, as long as you listen."

Strength finds her, and she reaches out to the figure. Her father. She needed to know. The gleaming replacement of the visitor's skull shifts to the side slightly. "You're gonna need that strength if you expect to survive. Sleep if you can. If not, learn. Every bit you bring into battle is that much more of a chance you'll walk out alive." Cryptic. And who was to say still that she would join them on the battlefield? They were still the ones at fault. She was nothing more than their captive right now though, unable to move with this thing that might as well be a collar fixed to her skull.

With no way to move, though, there was nothing for her to do but what had been suggested. Lia lay still, and Lia 'spoke' to the Remnant in her mind. And the more she spoke to it, the more she learned of the war that she had been thrust into.

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It was a nameless village on the waterside. No one member believed in the old tales warning not to do it. After all, if they could capture the sea, they could trade and spread like no other. Even if some mysterious ghosts had attacked them like they wanted people to believe, well. Ghosts weren't real. There were too many other things they had to worry about, terrestrial worries. And for those, they had the guns to protect themselves. Scrap pipe and scavenged gunpowder, handloads that were measured with surprising accuracy for people like them. In a month, with the promise of a free house for those who built it and contributed to the village, they had made plenty of progress. There was even a shipyard in the works, and fishing had started early into the village's life.

And for that month, they ate much and prided themselves greatly. Soon, soon they would be the kings of this place. And in that drunken self-sureness, they held a grand festival to celebrate the village's growth. A bonfire in the center square, plenty of food and plenty of alcohol. Dancers, music, raucous laughter and cheers. Everyone in town celebrated as if it had been the birth of their firstborn.

The first few screams were taken for jubilation at first. It was only their intensity and length that cued people in to the fact that it might be more. The true sign was when a mangled corpse crashed into the bonfire in the center of the square, scattering flaming logs and coals in every direction as the first reactions of fear began to race through the attendants.

Wood had been a simple choice when making the buildings of the Village. After all, it was cheap and plentiful, and there was little work required to make it suitable for use. Flaming logs scatter against the unfinished sides of buildings and flame starts to grow between the two, but that was the least of the villager's worries at the moment. Someone tried to get the corpse from the fire, but it was no use. No one could live with their head that poorly attached to their neck. The thudding step cuts through the sound of screams, and two groups quickly form from the villagers.

Those who flee and live, and those who try to stand against the foe. Makeshift firearms brought forward, they fire into the darkness, scoring lucky hits only to see the sparks of spalling from lead against harder metal. The thud happens again, closer and closer it stalks. On two legs it strides, metal and pistons that hiss out sprays of aerosolized water. Atop, one of the threat sits, it's flesh fused with the metal form, forsaking any hope of life after war. This creature had consigned itself to kill. Reaching forwards with barbed tentacles, it pierces another villager, and the defenders start to think better of their attempt to protect this land. Then the sound of more stomping footsteps, like a foretelling of the end of their world. More and more emerge from the sea, crashing through buildings and tearing the world they had built apart.

Lia gasps as the memory clears from her mind, it wasn't her own of course. The Remnant had captured it from another Knifehead's mind. One of the shamed villagers who had started the doomed affair. He was one of the few who joined willingly after seeing what the Threat could do. What it meant. She mulled over the vision and the proposed stature of the Threat, still finding it difficult to swallow the pill of trusting the monsters who had done this to her.

It had been another two days, and she could feel the Remnant changing her neck. Supporting structures of metal created alongside either end of her spine. Artificial connecting musculature that nestles deep into her trapezius, something she had no name for before the Remnant had supplied it. If nothing else, her new knowledge was... interesting. There had been no need to know it, and there still wasn't in truth. But knowing the reason behind the changes did make them easier to swallow, in a way.

She could also now lift herself from the ground. A boon she never had considered. Not since she had been a baby could she not move under her own power, and her warrior pride was not happy with it. Every time the Medic, as the Remnant had informed her he was called, came to give her that liquid food, she bristled a little more and more. He also refused to answer any of her questions, possibly because she could not articulate them still. Speech beyond hard thought to the new voice inside of her head was impossible for her. The Remnant let Lia know, again, that the needed internal architecture for that would be completed after the needed changes to her neck for movement. It was simply a lower priority.

That did nothing to ease her worries of her father though. Lia had still gotten no sign or information of him. And after the wound he had received, he was much worse off than her. Could these monsters care for such damage? Would they even care to? Or would he be cast aside and the Remnant given to him taken for someone else? There was no answer. It didn't help in the slightest. But there was nothing for her to do about it at the moment. Steel bars remained steel bars, and she could not destroy them with her bare hands, or the stone surrounding them. Simple exercise returned to her life, nervous motions to help calm her mind and keep her body in shape for the battles to come. Be them with these monsters, or against them.

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The bark of the rifle in Lia's hands was unexpected and she nearly dropped it. Tide was soon, and her Forging had been quick enough that she was selected to move to the lines. She refused, of course, until she had received information of her father. A simple request, a simple answer. She was brought to his side, staring down at his still warm body as the Forging worked on keeping his life flowing. The hole in his chest from the attack was plugged by a plate of metal grown from the Remnant now tied to him. But doing that had considerably slowed his Forging, and it would take him far longer to complete the steps she had taken so easily. That was fine. She could have wept to see him alive still, even with his head replaced with that thing. Then again, hers was too.

A woman of her word, as she always had been, Lia agreed to help with the Tide that the Knifeheads were all carrying so much fear over. That was all they needed to arm her. The Remnant told her about the weapon in her hands. A proprietary design that fired custom tooled cartridges created from the miniature lathe in her backpack's rig. The ammo feed that linked into the magazine well could be removed to make movement easier but the weapon would only hold one round until reconnected. None of those things made sense, of course. But as long as Lia pulled the trigger in the direction of her enemies it wouldn't matter. Shouldering the rifle, she fires again. With the Remnant on her head, the sound was much less bad. The feeling on her shoulder though, that was probably just as bad. Her vision shifts as she focuses on one of the others on the range, a man standing and sending a stream of rounds down to his own target.

The Remnant cites him as the current Redeye, something of a council of leaders amongst the Knifeheads. They were selected based on amount and quality of service. But from what she could see, he was just good at killing. Another stream of rounds strikes the target. She returns her attention to her own rifle and nurses out another single bullet. The sound of the firing range remains deafening to normal ears for hours.

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Adjusting to the ability to see in night was a task. It was more than just seeing as she had before, Lia could truly See. She shrugs off the Remnant's explanation of amplified light, trying to focus instead on the color her vision had become. No, there was no way to make it 'normal', and any kind of extra light would make her eyes, or at least the sensation of them that she had, burn. The Remnant keeps the three markers of her allies in her extended field of view, something she was glad she had been practicing on expanding now. The Remnant told her it was two hundred and seventy degrees, but that information meant nothing to her. What she DID know was she could almost see entirely behind herself, and she was able to move that way at almost full speed now. The Medic tells her that was impressive, but she didn't care what he thought, really. What she did care about was the fact that this was reality. There was so much you could chalk up to hallucinations caused by drugs or mysticism, but now she was standing outside, weapon in hand, armor on her body, advancing through the darkness.

This site had been marked as a spawning pool. It was supposed to be low priority during this time, because the full grown Threat would already be out, moving to go attack enemies and create more sorrow in the world. Other squads had been detached for that. Markers 1 and 4 were ahead of her by only a few spans, but 2 had taken far scouting. None of them spoke much during the foot travel, even with her ability to do so now. It was, she took it, part of the truth of being on a mission. The Path, as they called it. Battle was time where comrades could fall. Emotions rarely did anything good. She cradles her rifle a bit tighter and she moves on, and remembers her own lack of name at the moment. She was Three. No more, no less. Did that make it easier for them when they raided villages like hers? The separation of name and self?

Now was not the time to think about that. Two marks that he arrived at location, and was overwatching the enemy. The rest of the squad approaches his position, and Li- Three looks down into the amplified light that was fed to her mind. Below, a mess of craggy rocks in the shallows of the water hosts a collection of what look to be machines. Some kind of partial dome covers the densest of the cluster, where she could make out eggs amongst the rocks. This was the youngest form of the Threat, now that they had climatized to our environment. She shoulders her rifle, before One wards her off. Pointing down, One drops a rock, only to have it bounce off air instead of clattering to the stone and sea as it should have.

Of course it was protected in some way. The Remnant informs her that the Threat made extensive use of hardlight fields to generate protective barriers, though since the end of the war they couldn't create mobile ones. As always, the only thing that she understood was she couldn't kill them from here. Two finishes fastening a series of harness lines to nearby trees, and passes them ropes to use. Three hadn't made much use of her climbing skills since being captured, but the Remnant told her much of what she needed to know. Looping the rope through a connection point on her armor, she turns almost on autopilot and starts to slide down the cliff face in tandem with the rest of her squad.

On the way down, One breaks down the plan. She and Three would keep watch while Four sets up a charge. Two would handle destruction of the Threat's spawn while there was a gap in the defensive field. Simple, until One indicates that Three would be posted in the water for the operation. She didn't like it. Of course she didn't like it. There was so much she hadn't had time to practice ever since her Forging with the Remnant, most of Swimming. But she was told it made sense after all. There was less of a chance of the Threat coming from the sea to approach this nest. So even with her inexperience, it was the safer option. Mollified, Three accepts this with an apology. Time in her tribe's hunting squad had taught her to respect the leader, even if you needed to question them.

Respect didn't make up for the fact that she was now standing waist deep in the water. It was cold, and the Remnant did not help with her ability to see under the water. Rifle held at the ready, Three continually scanned, not entirely certain what she was searching for. Four keeps a running count of time till task completion, and Three found herself paying more attention to the ticking numbers than the task at hand. For a time, it was all fine. As Four's task hit zero, Two moves forwards. And then Three feels something brush her leg under the water. Looking sharply down, she lets out the mental equivalent to a shout before discharging several rounds into the water. The thing beneath the waves wraps around her leg and she feels herself lose the ability to stand as force drags her deeper to the sea.

Panic flares, an unsuppressed human fear of being beneath the waves at night. More bursts of fire from her rifle. Distantly she's aware of the squad closing ranks and setting up a defensive line, and even though she feels betrayed as they don't lance the area with more fire, the truth is they can't without hitting her. Leaving her rifle to the mercy of it's sling for a moment, Three draws her blade from it's vest, kept from her time with the tribe, and begins stabbing at the grasping tendril. Tense moments of work with the blade see her accidentally draw her own blood several times, mixing it with that of the thing from beneath the waves, but eventually it frees her from her grasp. The Remnant informs her of the inherent danger of her proximity to the squad. Turning, Three flexes her new muscles as she starts dragging herself back up from the sea's depths frantically, while an internal counter runs to let her know how long she can remain under the water safely with the oxygen she has. Two, approaching her rapidly, enters her sight picture with rifle up, though he drops it as the foe remains out of visual range.

Much more welcome than the sight of a man menacing with a gun though was the fact that he had brought a rope with him, linked to the other two on the shore behind them. After a quick hookup, the squad works with no less feeling of franticness, dragging and swimming with equal measure. When she surfaces once more Three finds the squad moved away from the nest by a fair margin, with a gentle beeping easily heard even at this distance. She also can see the shape of something emerging from the water near it. Two lifts a small cylinder and presses it down, before an instant and frankly amazing explosion engulfs the shielded interior of the nest. More, the gap that had been opened for their attack was pointed towards the Threat, and the funneled fire and fury of Two's attack had only one way to really go, into the thing. Shrapnel from ruined machinery, stone, and the Threat's own spawn pepper the creature and send it shrieking back beneath the waves.

Three lets out a whoop of joy, as do the rest of her squad. A mission complete with no casualties was welcome amongst their ranks. And more, a dead enemy. A feast tonight, for those who had succeeded, and those who had fallen in equal measure. Three did not even mind her soaking clothes on the return journey.

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The Armory was brought up in celebration as the night ended. Lia reclaimed her name and felt the adulation of her peers as she did so. Her squad broke, and she felt herself riding a high as they retired to the mess hall. Cooked meats and drinks in equal measure decorated the tables, and for once she could understand the feeling of these warriors. No, though, the feeling of betrayal deep-set in her soul argued against it. They had forced this upon her. They had stolen her from her people. Even with that moment of fear she had felt beneath the waves, even with that snippet of some past battle she had seen, it didn't make things right. Nothing would change that they had stolen her.

And so, conflicted, Lia sits at a table to stare down at the food before her. A portion of her helm slides open, allowing her now to consume solid food instead of it being fed into her as a liquid. It even still felt like chewing, a lie she kept as she banishes the attempted explanation of the Remnant sharing her mind. There was no need to complicate the truth that was food. It tasted as if it were the best cooked meat she had ever consumed in her life, and Lia savors the feeling of satisfaction that comes with it. A simple pleasure in life, restored to her. Even if with that thought she feels another pang of BADFEELING, her father remained wounded and without the ability to enjoy the same meal as her.

Even with no ability to outwardly display emotion, someone settles next to Lia and claps a hand to her shoulder. "You did well out there, I'm told. Excellent work for someone so early into the Forging." Lia struggles against the tension in her body from her emotions, and straightens her neck while dropping her shoulders. Casualness. "And you are?" The man pauses for a moment, before the sound of a chuckle. "Ah, my markings washed away, apologies." He drops a hand to his belt, uncapping a small container to retrieve some red marking paste, which he uses to draw upon the flat plane of his helmet. The image of a closed eye in red. Lia recognized him then from the firing range. "Redeye, then."

He moves some beef from his plate into his own 'mouth', a strange process for her to see from the outside, before shrugging. "They keep calling me that, but I keep having to go out on missions like everyone else." A small laugh from him there, before he elbows her. "No rest for old men, though. As long as the Forging keeps me up, I guess I'll be doing the same old shit." Lia cocks her head at that. "Does it stop for some?" "After a point, the Forging has done all that it can. After that, it will keep you alive, but the surrounding flesh is probably so weak that it can't do much. Only thing to do then is retire." "Wh-" No, sorry. Not like, actually retire. Have you ever seen the Founder? No, shit I guess you haven't yet this early. Do you want to?"

Lia's head swam for the first time in a week. The Founder? Her Remnant helpfully supplied information, citing him as the one who took over control of the Knifeheads after the cracking of the enemy capital ships, and the subsequent destruction of much of the civilization below them. The Founder is the one responsible for keeping the order together and functioning through turbulent times, and is the oldest member of the order by far. Not only that, he's possibly the oldest living person. Meeting him would be... interesting to say the very least.

Something Redeye must have been able to see running through her head somehow. He nods, before downing the rest of his meat in one messy 'mouthful', juices dripping down the hard lines of his helmet. "Finish up then, he's not busy now."

It took much of her self control to tell him not to speak with his mouth full from habit.

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The Founder's Station was a large circular room, with too much free space. On a dais in the center of the room was a glass cylinder, inside of which floated the Founder. Or at least, his remains. Shriveled flesh around mechanical augmentations, which were clearly supposed to be inside of the body in some places. He still wore armor inside of the fluid he floated in, a different make than what they were issued now. It kept the angled plates of metal, but lacked the chainmaille for some kind of thick cloth instead. He looked barely alive, which if what Redeye had said was true, made sense. The council member brazenly approaches however, rapping his knuckles against the glass surface and speaking up. "Oi! Old man! You got some company!"

Lia almost panics for a moment despite herself. Not at the fact that attention was being brought to her, but that he was disturbing someone who by all facts appeared to be the progenitor of this order. Such disrespect in her home would have had grave consequences, and as lights collect along the surface of the Founder's helmet, Lia finds herself slapping Redeye's shoulder. "Idiot!" A word that immediately gets a reaction from inside of the glass cylinder. It was hard to understand at first, before Redeye joins in and she realizes it's purpose.

A laugh.

"Don't worry kid. The old man here likes meeting new people who aren't asking him stupid shit." Redeye shifts his gaze over to the shriveled shape inside of the glass, and Lia wonders if he was doing that out of habit, or to make it easier for her to see who he was addressing. "Old Man, have any good dreams recently?" The lights along the surface of the Founder's helmet shift, and flicker before displaying an image of a woman in a state of undress. Redeye barks out a surprised laugh, before trying to cover it. "Shit Old Man, we have a lady here! Fuck this is why we can't have anything good, soon as I try to introduce you to someone casually you get all perverted."

Lia is silent for a few moments as the two seem to chastise each other back and forth, before she laughs herself. It was so entirely contrary to her past. To see a revered elder interacting with a brash warrior