#turtleshell.dox

[xiii-e]

XIII▸ [ It's an odd feeling. You're not sure how it sits in your chest. Is it Heavy? Or Yawning? ]

[xiii-e]

[ //OOC: !!! nice!!! to me!!! aaa it makes me literally so happy that the big ideas behind my funky lil flashclones are so interesting to you o(≧▽≦)o I love picking apart how 13-e works and it makes me so happy you're finding it so fun to pick at too !!

If you're interested in getting a peak into 13-e's head a lil bit, I've written out a few fics and lore posts with more detail on their situation under the tag turtleshell.dox if you're interested!! \o/ thank you so much for liking my critters!! I really like your gals, it's been really neat seeing Cory on the dash she's literally so sweet!! So many lancers on the omni dot net are jaded types, revolutionaries and beaten down sorts, and I Also Write That don't get me wrong it's really fun but seeing someone more bright eyed and earnest has been really really fun I like her a lot!! ᓚᘏᗢ

okii hybernating again for a bit, thank you!!! ]

Enkidu bottom surgery

[xiii-e]

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

FOOTAGE: Personal recording from datapad registered to user PROJECT XIII-E. Audiovisual transcript attached.

[ The tablet has been propped up against a wall, from a strange angle in the hanger. It is clearly meant to go unseen. Within frame are four pilots, gathered on a collection of metal crates. They are as follows: ]

[ CARR - a large burly man, dark auburn hair tied back into a short ponytail, marginally more scruff than permitted by regulation. ]

[ BAARDSEN - a figure of middling height, mostly angles. Greyed hair, not indicative of age as they are early thirties at most. ]

[ MALDONADO - a figure shorter than the rest, brown hair and large brown eyes. Wearing a jacket several sizes too large ]

[ SPELLMEYER - an elderly woman tall and lean, salt-and-pepper hair that seems textured almost more like fur. Constant flickering eyes ]

[ The group of pilots appear to be mid conversation as the recording clicks into action ]

[ B ]▸ -we're not going to put this in the report. I just don't think it's a good idea.

[ C ]▸ Aye I get that Bardy, but really? Nothing? Just, business as usual they're fine and dandy thanks for asking? There's clearly something wrong.

[ B ]▸ And what do you think higher command'll do about it? They'll be sent back to base early, to look for something wrong with them physically. And nothing will be found, they'll just be stressed out...

[ S ]▸ They do have a point, dear boy. You know how Projects can get when you imply they can't do their job.

[ C ]▸ But we aren't clone techs, none of us are. Sure most of us have served with a Project before-

[ M ]▸ well

[ C ]▸ That's why I said most, Doe. But like I was saying, we're not the experts here. I think they need proper help for this one. Spells, you said they were completely non-responsive for a bit there right?

[ S ]▸ [the elderly woman sighs.] Yes. They passed me the datapad, then locked themself in their mech for a while. When I went up there to check on them, 13 had tucked themself away. Staring into space, didn't look up when I knocked.

[ C ]▸ See? What if-

[ S ]▸ But, if you'll let me finish dear boy, I have seen this happen before. Line 2's who lost people were known to shut down for short periods. Now our 13 is better equipped for such losses, but it's not impossible to my mind that the same doubt is what's causing their breakages. They've been active for quite some time. It does build up.

[ C ]▸ ... I suppose you might be right there, Spelly. But if that is the case, shouldn't we still...?

[ B ]▸ Again, no. Putting in the report that 13e had a breakdown in function will only damage their faith in their capabilities even further, which will put them out of commission for longer.

[ C ]▸ This can't be about how long we can keep using them, Bardy-

[ B ]▸ It's not! I want to make sure they're kept in one bastard piece too you know. Higher command needs to approve this line, it's a lifesaver. Literally.

[ C ]▸ But what about them. How the 13 in front of us right now's holding up? Because to me, it looks like they aren't. They need help.

[ M ]▸ Isn't that what we're trying to do?

[ B ]▸ [they pinch their nose, face screwed up in frustration.] Yes, exactly Maldonado. I'm- look. The big picture is important to me, you know that. But I'm not just thinking to the future Carr.

[ C ]▸ Really? You sure?

[ B ]▸ Yes! I-

[ S ]▸ Peace, you two. Carr, what I believe our squad lead is trying to say is that they aren't sure getting management involved with our 13's evident wear would be... in their best interests.

[ B ]▸ Yes. Thank you, Spellmeyer.

[ C ]▸ Okay, but- how? Why? They're the prototype, shouldn't they be- I don't know, important? Why wouldn't upper brass want them in proper shape?

[ B ]▸ Christ, I keep forgetting you're... never mind.

[ C ]▸ No go on, say it. You think I don't properly understand the situation because I'm not from one of your glitzy capital worlds?

[ B ]▸ No I- well, kind of but not like that Carr. You're... fucking hell.

[ M ]▸ Fascinating.

[ B ]▸ Wheesht, you. Listen, Carr, you're a pain in the neck and an infuriating joker but you're not stupid, or uneducated, any of that. There's just- stuff you don't get.

[ C ]▸ I think I get it alright. Brass'd treat them as a resource problem. That's why I don't get why you're so convinced they wouldn't be repaired- that's what you do with a tool that's breaking, right?

[ B ]▸ Yes, when it's something you can fix easy. This isn't a broken limb, or fractured bones. They're exhausted. But they're also...

[ S ]▸ Projects are wired to do single things with their lives, dear boy. Removing our 13 from the battlefield would be to remove them from their purpose. They're not built to occupy themself with other things during periods of rest.

[ B ]▸ Yes, I- thank you Spellmeyer.

[ S ]▸ There is also the matter of their prototype phase... they have been active for some years now. It would not surprise me if they were being stress tested.

[ C+B, in tandem ]▸ What?!

[ S ]▸ Come now. I know we do not like to think of the practicalities of R&D behind our medic, but we cannot avoid them forever.

[ C ]▸ But they're doing everything right, what do you mean-

[ B ]▸-upper management might be working them into the ground on purpose. That's what you're saying, isn't it Spellmeyer.

[ S ]▸ Well, yes.

[ C ]▸ That's- why?

[ S ]▸ Simple enough, dear boy. To see how long they can expect a line 13 to last in the field, under strain.

[ C ]▸ ... so you're saying that if we report back that they've been struggling, and how we've lightened the load...

[ M ]▸ Command might look out for future squads they're on doing the same. Stop it. So they can get their data.

[ S ]▸ There we are. Yes, that is rather the crux of this argument. Got there eventually

[ B ]▸ I- yeah. I guess that is what I was driving at, though I hadn't... I don't know. Those dots didn't connect until you said it.

[ S ]▸ That is why they pay me to think more than act, dear.

[ C ]▸ So... okay. I guess I can see some of where you're coming from. That's fucked.

[ B ]▸ It's efficient. Get use out of them in the field, and get the info they're looking for before more prints.

[ C ]▸ I- okay sure but still. We're just supposed to let them break under the strain?

[ B ]▸ We are under no specific orders except to keep them operating at peak. That's what we're doing by taking over some of the duties, isn't it? Command just... doesn't need to know why.

[ C ]▸ ... I still don't like it. Someone should be taking care of them. You know the Armory doesn't make them with enough self preservation to look after themselves.

[ B ]▸ I know, Carr. Which is why we're doing it.

[ C ]▸ Who after us, though? You heart the handler. They won't be here long.

[ B ]▸ ...

[ S ]▸ We're just going to have to hope their next squad is reasonable, as well.

[ M ]▸ yeah... I think it's likely. They're fun, you can forget they're a Project. And they're a lot nicer than some medics. I think people'd want to help them

[ C ]▸ But they can't ask. You know they can't. That's why we've not been telling them any of this, right? They'd work harder to hide stuff.

[ B ]▸ I guess we'll just have to hope people care enough to read into it like we did.

[ C ]▸ I- [he sighs, raking a hand through his hair.] I still think it's going to backfire eventually. But, fine. I'm on board. None of this goes in the reports.

[ B ]▸ [their shoulders sag with visible relief. they were more worried than they let on] Okay. Okay, good. Thank you Specialist Carr.

[ C ]▸ I just- whatever keeps them on their feet a little longer, yeah? They do good work. They deserve someone looking out for them too.

[ B ]▸ My thoughts exactly. Alright- meeting adjourned. Not a word of this to Project 13e, alright?

[ the group start rising to their feet, leaving frame with idle chatter. Some time later, the image tilts and whirls as the datapad is picked up and turned over. There is a brief frame of 13-e's face lit by the screen before the recording is stopped. ]

//

[xiii-e]

[ attached: observational pictures from prior medical examinations. Could have been any of them ]

//ooc I am normal and can be trusted about Teeth and Fangs <- guy who scribbled this at near 3 am

[xiii-e]

[ ECHO // OHƆƎ ]

XIII▸ ...

ECHO [ home, as a place to rest. As a place of comfort. ] [ a reminder that none of us are entirely alone. ] [ comfort to have something beautiful to hold to, when things are... uncertain. ]

ECHO [ they ] [ can't leave. ] [ needed. ] [ But ] [ oh ] [ so tired ]

XIII▸ ...

ECHO [ We're allowed our dreams. The one thing that cannot be taken, by anyone. ]

ECHO [ Something softer ] [ than I//we//you ] [ deserve. ]

ECHO [ deserve... ] [ says ] [ who? ]

XIII▸ I... I don't need...

ECHO [ I don't ] [ Care. ] [ It's still their body. ] [ you//we//I want ]

ECHO [ Something softer. ] [ Kinder. ] [ I can make your day (s?) a little brighter. ] [ A flower learning what it is to feel the sunlight. ]

ECHO [ Oftentimes we lose track of just how small the pieces are, in the mass. Sand is a collective name, not a singular one- you have to clarify. A grain of sand. ] [ There are so many colours, when you look closer. ] [ As many colurs as- well. Grains of sand, haha ]

ECHO [ as the embers rose they intermingled with the stars until it was difficult to tell where the flickers of dying fires ended, and the distant constallations began. It was all sputtering, dancing lights that felt dizzyingly large, and beautiful. ] [ the tiniest things like an ember in the wind, becomes as grand as a star. ]

ECHO [ Remember? ] [ The things that spark a kind of wonder. You'd be surprised how much there is, even in the worst of things. ]

XIII▸...

[ no words. Breath that shudders into pieces and breaks into choked-down sobs, desperate stifling that can't hold back the tide anymore. Something they have no right to cracks through the one-way glass. Their own eyes watch them come apart at the seams. ]

ECHO [ there we go ]

ECHO [ fall apart, ] [ corpse ] [ soldier. ] [ I will hold. And I will remain. ] [ Fill your chest until it burns, and let it go slowly. ]

ECHO [ Feel your ] [ love. ] [ feel your ] [ grief. ] [ they're practically the same ]

ECHO [ I know. ] [ you are not designed to ] [ feel. ] [ perhaps ] [ it is the ] [ ghost of ] [ me//you// us ]

ECHO [ whatever you have ] [ to believe. ]

ECHO [ I'll carry ] [ your heart ] [ for you

[ WAKE UP // ᑫU ƎꓘAW ]

[xiii-e]

XIII▸ [ Go to sleep. See them again. Wonder- ] XIII▸ [ Is it still a haunting when it's their body to begin with? ]

[xiii-e]

[SECURITY FILTER IN EFFECT]

[Rebooting...]

Project Unlucky Thirteen Prototype XIII is gone. The ECHO is causing undue distress upon the current iteration.

Remember your training. When cortisol and heartrate levels rise, we soothe, not suffer.

Apply pressure to the wound, not make it bigger.

The ECHO does not exist, and should remember that. Cease.

[Aural_Calibration.ogg]

Remember. We start the day new. When we are distressed, we begin again.

HELIOS-8, please return to your position. Your duties are far from over.

[ ECHO // OHƆƎ ]

ECHO [ ...remember ] [ I'm a trained field medic ]

ECHO [ Just Thirteen. ] [ you ] [ trained ]

ECHO [ remember? ]

ECHO [ remember? ]

ECHO [ Project XIII-E, otherwise refered to as Thirteen-E ]

ECHO [ they didn’t like it. They didn’t have to like it. They weren’t supposed to ]

ECHO [ Not after what they did to me ]

ECHO [ Maybe that's what seperates us. They could think for themself. They could decide for themself. ]

ECHO [ not like them.]

ECHO [ ... ]

ECHO [ ...didn't do anything wrong. ]

ECHO [ upset. Angry. ] [ It's still their body. ]

ECHO [ I don't know how anyone who knew them can stand to look at me. ]

ECHO [ ...didn't do anything wrong. ]

ECHO [ I am not them, and I cannot be. ] [ whether we should exist in the first place ]

ECHO [ ... ]

ECHO [ Helios-8 ] [ They were sweet. ]

ECHO [ Where their memory bleeds into mine ]

ECHO [ Helios-8 will not be available for discussion for the forseeable future ] [ Concern. You are worried ]

ECHO [ he gets up to a lot that he can't tell me about. That I can't know about, for both our sakes ]

ECHO [ Mercer knows ]

ECHO [ he's being watched. Closely. ] [ trouble ]

ECHO [ He risks too much ] [ a ] [ trap ]

ECHO [ ... ]

ECHO [ miss ] [ him ]

ECHO [ he sees a ghost ] [ can't know ]

ECHO [ ... ]

ECHO [ I can't leave ]

ECHO [ they ] [ need ] [ me ]

[ WAKE UP // ᑫU ƎꓘAW ]

[xiii-e]

XIII▸ I still don't understand what this is meant to achieve

[ ]▸ Well, whole reason you've got that omnihook out here is so they can keep tabs on you, right? Soooo, how bout a picture :D

[ ]▸ y'know, proof of life and all that

XIII▸ I guess? I shouldn't be bothering you with the account though. Got nothing to do with the squad-

[ ]▸ Nonesense! 'Sides, I think I got your good angle in this one ;)

XIII▸ If you say so

[xiii-e]

XIII▸ Hello. I have just returned from maintenance on my mech, the M1 Leatherback, and thought in keeping with the goal of this account being the development of my social capacity I would try one of the suggested activities given to me: sharing things about myself.

XIII▸ attached file: [lthrbck_mnt]

XIII▸ That's all. Look at Them :}

[xiii-e]

FOOTAGE: Harrison Armoury Flashclone Project UNLUCKY XIII-E Abrev. Project Thirteen-E. Monitering status post early recall. Log #1

Audiovisual transcript attached.

[ Ship docking prodecure finalised. Airlocks opening. From inside the docked ship to the station, two figures acompany a stumbling third into the main hall of the station. A fourth is already waiting in said hallway, dressed in business casual in contrast to the obvious uniforms of each other figure. Only one of the visible figures are immediately recognisable; the stumbling one appears to be XIII-E with heavy bandaging across their visible body. Their accompaniments appear to be a medical officer in a white coat, and an armed guard in uniform. ]

[NOTE: for ease of description, unnamed personnel will be refered to here as: MEDIC // GUARD // AID ]

AID: [ A casual salute as the group disembarks and steps into sight. ] Officers. Safe trip I hope; I've been given temporary custody over Project XIII-E, not for long but-

MEDIC: [ Evident frustration ] Oh for crying out loud, have they still not cleared Helios-8 for duty? It doesn't need to take this long, he has a wobble like this every couple months or so.

AID: Yeah yeah I know sir, but the Admin wanted to be thorough with all the new Union regs coming down on us. He'll still be on standby, just can't be seen ferrying them around like usual. Can't go trusting company prototypes to an unstable FC and all that, sets a bad precident.

MEDIC: Fine, sure. Whatever. Just make sure he's there once they're delivered to their quarters, they're having one of those difficult episodes.

AID: ... uh- sorry, difficult episodes? I was told they're one of the more passive--

GUARD: [ flat-toned ] Not that kind of difficult.

MEDIC: Yes, yes, XIII-E's obedience is examplary. Usually. However occasionally after either a lengthy or difficult deployment they'll- oh how to put it. Lock up, I suppose?

AID: I.. I see? So is that why they're all-

[ AID gestures vaguely at XIII-E who has not moved of their own volition over the course of the coversation. Their eyes are out of focus, and they don't seem to react to the sudden movement in front of them. AID squints and goes to poke them. ]

GUARD: Hey. Don't.

AID: Alright, alright just- hell. Not really sure what to do about this, I was just told to see them to their quarters. Helios-8's the tech who deals with all the weird FC quirks.

MEDIC: Yes I know, that's why I expected his review to be wrapped up by now. We don't spend weeks on it when a goddamn sparkplug acts up we just fix it and get back to work-

GUARD: Sir. Can we hand them off now.

MEDIC: Oh bloody hell, yes, yes... [ sigh ] I've done the necessary maintenance checks and logged the issues to be addressed. Projected repair period shouldn't exceed a month, as long as the proper tech is returned to his damn job.

AID: Sir I can assure you I will personally make sure Helios-8 is cleared to fix this just so I don't have to deal with it. Promise. [ A mirthful smile ]

MEDIC: Whatever gets it done. Now-

[ the AID is directed to hold XIII-E by their left wrist, avoiding any of the major breakages. He is informed he will have to lead them slowly, as they will follow if pressed but are liable to stumble if pulled too fast. At no point do they react beyond a quiet wince when propelled forward by their accompanying GUARD to get them moving. Eventually, they are led out of the camera's field of view down the hall. ]

[xiii-e]

Becoming Sand.

// loading echo.exe ... //... //... // now running echo.exe. // now running extension_██████████ // begin account: XIII-E deployment_state of consciousness.

…the Dawnline. Of course. No info on where exactly but-

They didn’t have to know. XIII-E wasn’t there for the fight, they were there for the people caught up in it; there to keep people from dying. If they had to take up arms, something had gone horribly wrong.

The fact something always went wrong lingered █████████████ in the back of their mind, much like the weight pressed into the small of their back. When you carried a weapon, you accepted you may have to hurt someone. To protect yourself. To protect the people in your care. 

Well. They were good at that too, weren’t they? Designed to break things, if they must. Slowly, XIII-E watched their hand flex, sinew moving beneath flesh, beneath gloves, beneath padding and armor. If needed, they could tear through metal to access the injured. It wasn't hard to imagine what they could do to bone if their orders changed.

Only if I must. The primary directive is always repairs. 

It was hard to keep their head on straight with everything happening somewhere in the ether, somewhere beyond their reach, touched by the ephemeral digital presence they'd been permited. So much learned in such a short time ███ ██ ████ ████ ██ ████ █████ ████ █████ ██████ ██ ████ ██ █████ ████ ████ █████ ██████ ██████ ██ ████████ ████ ███████ ██ █████ ██ ██ ██████ ██████████ ███████████ █████ ██ █████████ ████████ ████ ███████ ██ █████ ██ ██ ███████ ████ █████ ██████ ███████ ████████ ████████ there was a lot more on their mind these days. Perhaps this was exactly why they had been discouraged from forming social bonds on the field?

Focus- who were they deployed with this time?

Grant, Jane. Pierre, Liam. Mark--

Names. These were just names, and this wasn't helping. Slowly their lungs filled, then emptied, and instead they looked around. They needed something to do, needed to attend to the work. They knew this unrest. They knew what would set them to rights again.

Follow the directive. Do as you were made to.

Where had they just been, again? ██ ██████ ████ ██████████ ███ ████ ██ ████ ████ █████ ████ They had been... deployed, they'd been deployed with the squadron assigned as their accompaniment. They'd done good work; at least 5 of the injured were stabilised by their hand, a good number more tended to over the course of the conflict. Why did they feel so ill at ease then? They'd done well. Done what they were meant to.

Focus. Look around again, try to see what wasn't right. Eyes flicked to the side, swept across their field of view- nothing immediately out of place. Camp was the way it always was after a fight, chaotic, ever moving. People rushed here and to, paying them no- no, no that wasn't right, that was what pricked at them. Ordinarily XIII-E was a part of the scenery in the aftermath of combat, as the dead and wounded were tallied. But people, soldiers, were looking past them, then at them like something about them caught on their periphery, snagged at their eyes. What was it? What was wrong?

Breath in, breath out. Something felt cold against their shoulder, seeping through the fabric, catching the chill of the wind-

Ah. Right, yes. The dull ache at the edge of their protective shoulderplates, the rip through their medics jacket- they were bleeding.

Or, had been? The stain was still wet but, their wounds closed fast unless severe. It was probably an obvious stain though, the white fabric that shrouded them in the guise of a healer stark in contrast with the red. ████ ██████ ████ ███ ████ ██ █████ ██ ████ ████ █ ████████ ████ ██████ ████ █████████ ██████ It was a minor injury, not worth the fussing. Certainly not across their skin. They could barely feel the break in flesh as they rolled their shoulder, ███████ ████ ██████ ██ ███ ███ ███████ ████ █ █████ ████ █ █████ █████████ ██ ███ ████ ████ ███ ██████ █████ ███ it wasn't important.

They should go to the infirmary regardless. It was where they could do the most good, anyway. Always more work to be done, never enough hands. Never enough supplies. Never enough of anything really.

Problems to be solved. That was why they were made, right?

▵▿▵▿▵

Iron choked out the air in the medical ward. Iron and smoke and the tang of acid, as it always was. ████ █████████ ██ ███████████ ████ █████████ ██ ████ ████ ███████ ████ ██ █████ ██ ███ ████████ ████ ██████ ████ █ ██████ ██ ███ ███████ █████ ██ █████ █████ ██ █████ White coats just like their fluttered here and there searching for what they needed, tools, medicine-

"Fucking damnit when is that next supply drop getting here? We don't have nearly enough of the O negative for-" Frustration, fear. XIII-E's head snapped to the source, a harried looking woman with hair falling out of its tie, eyebags deeper that her voice. Ardence, Martha; senior medical staff. Eyes had snapped to them as well, once their presence was noted, flicked to the stain blooming over their shoulder. They should speak. Before she got the chance to fuss.

"Project XIII-E field medical personnel. What can I do?" From the stain to their face, searching for something, hesitation then- a flick of the head, a beckoning.

"If you want to help, we've got people bleeding out. Bastard bloody shrapnel bomb went off, shredded a number of good people-" Something was catching on their mind, snagging at their thoughts.

"Supplies. You were talking about supplies ma'am. What are we low on?"

The frustration on Ardence's breath as a short, sharp sigh passed her lips was palpable. Never enough, never enough supplies for the injured, the dying. Never enough to feed the endless churn. But this one, if they were right? They might be able to fix.

"Well it's a long list Project but, blood is the choke point here. We've got soldiers who won't last the night even if their wounds close, because of their blood loss. But I can't fix the deficit-"

"I can help. We can." A blink, a beat of silence. They continued.

"Ma'am, a part of my gene profile was ensuring I'm a viable universal blood donor- for situations exactly like this. My recovery period is shortened, and I am able to provide 3 liters on average without adverse effects on my function. It won't save everyone, but it's something."

More silence, and now the restlessness was creeping back in. There was hesitation on her face. They needed to push.

"It is what I'm designed for, ma'am. The one for the many."

"Yes, yes I understand that but- you've already been injured. Is this safe, Thirteen?"

"It's sorely needed, ma'am. Another attack isn't predicted for a good while yet, I'll have recovered by next deployment. We need to move, now."

They were already twisting loose the fastenings on their jacket, shrugging off the fabric, loosing the gauntlets and gloves of their sleeve. Keep moving. Leave no room for uncertainty. They were there to be used, to save people. Ardence's nail dug into the palm of her hand briefly, pressing white crescents into ruddy skin, before a sharp nod.

"Alright. Give me what you can."

▵▿▵▿▵

Things had gone wrong. ██ ███████ ██████ ████ ████

Their arm still stung gently where the needle had lanced beneath their skin, only minutes ago- 3 liters pulled from the body they inhabited, to go to people who needed it more. Good. That was good. █ █████████ ██ ████ ██████ ██ █████ ████ ████ ███ █████ █████ █████ ██████████ ███████ ███ █████ ██████████ ██ ██████ ██ ████ ████ ██ ████ █████ ██ ███████ ████ ████ ████ ██████ ██ ██ ████ ████ ███ ██████ ███████ ██ ███ ███ Ardence had just been giving them further orders when a crash rang out, a blaring siren following. Their comm implants had buzzed ████ █████ ██ ████ █████ ██ ████ █████ ███ ██ ██████ with grave news; a resumption of hostilities, early, far too early. Small force, few in number but plenty of damage done, there were already injured on the field-

They were needed. There was work to be done.

Startled protests blurred into the drone of noise as their focus narrowed, as armor and fastenings clicked back into place, as they slung the heavy cylinder back to its place against the small of their back and started running. They knew where they had to be. Upon call to action, report to the current head of their squadron; they'd done it countless times, would do it countless more.

Count heads. Load into transport, as someone barked the field report in short, sharp words that hammered through their skull.

Focus. Focus. They needed eyes in the present, for the fight to come.

Barely aware of their squadron at this point, the second the crashing of metal against metal rang in their ears like a herald on the horizon they were moving- the second the transport stopped, they were gone. There was iron heavy in the air █████ ██ ███████ ████ ████ and that meant they had work to do.

Find the injured. Tend the wounded. Let nothing stand in their path. They'd done this before. They'd do it again.

Focus.

Blood in the dirt, thickened into mud amidst rubble and dust. There. That was where they needed to be.

Anaysis, field analysis. Take a breath, look around, see where you are. Half-ruined buildings of stone and metal alike, overgrown with the native foliage in a muted green, the remains of urban growth from before the fighting crawled forward maybe- It wasn't important to know why. Knowing that rubble stood in their path mattered more-

Pained noise, human. 2 o'clock; their back straightened, head craning to try and find the source. Visibiity blocked by a wall still half-standing, blocked by metallic remains of a long-finished fight. Their squadron had caught up to their mad dash, slowly sweeping the area, hands on their rifles as they dispersed like oil through water- their hand found the small of their back, the weight shifting. All it took was a button press to arm themself.

Observe safety guidelines. Call out. State intended actions before attempting to breach. Perform as trained.

"Hello in there! Project XIII-E present in the field. Are you hurt?" Calm, neutrally pleasent but authoritative. Trusthworthy. Listen to me, call out to me, let me know where you are. Their accompaniment didn't react to them, letting them work. They knew what they were doing. They were made for this.

Quiet for a moment, two. Another shuddering groad that caught, grew, became a voice. "...Trapped. There's- there's rubble pinning my leg. I can't-I can't feel it."

Likely break, it would have to be set and bound before the patient would be ready to move. They had no confirmation what side of the fight this man was on, but it didn't matter, couldn't matter until whoever this was had been extracted and cared for. Their directive was repairs. Worry about the possible threat once they knew he was safe.

"I'm gonna get you out of there sir, alright? Stay with me. Keep talking. You have a name Soldier?" Loud and clear and calm, keep him calm, keep him focussed on them and not the pain. Can't fix anything until they get in. Their grip on the long handle weighing into their palms shifts with their weight, readying to clear their way.

"M-Mathews, sir. Legionnaire Math-" a hiss of pain, a breaking in the voice. "Legionnaire Mathews."

Judge the lay of the wall, where they could afford for rubble to fall. They swung back.

"Breaching."

An echoing of reinforced material smashing through rebar and stone, smashing down into the ground with the echo of a shout from the trapped man. Their maul (breaching hammer, really. Maul was shorter though) carrying its weight through to a stop, before the downswing, hitting the dirt with a dull metal thud as their body moved before their mind.

The way was clear. Get to the patient. Do your job.

▵▿▵▿▵

The blurring again. Think. Focus. How many had they seen to, in the past-

... the time didn't matter. ████ ████ ████████ █████ ███████ ██ ███ █████ ██ █████ ████ ████ ████████ █████████ █████ ██ █████ ███ ██████ ██ ████████ ██ ██████ ████ ███████ █ ███████ ████ ████ ███ ████████ ██ █████ ████ ████ ███ █████ ███████ ███ ████████ Focus. It was vital they keep a clear mind so they could do their work. People were depending on them. Lives were-

Think back. The trapped leg, set. He was being minded by one of their greener squadmates until he could be extracted. The abdominal wound. Shrapnel extracted, wound closed, patch applied along with bandaging. Accompanying them now. The- the other abdominal wound. Also shrapnel. Also removed, patched bound. Left though. Wanted to find their own squad. The-

This wasn't helping, it wasn't helping they needed to think. They needed to clear their mind. Where had the crashing pain come from? Why did their chest feel so heavy? Why couldn't they-

[Noise. Crashing and breaking and something moving fast, too fast toward them- why was their mind moving so slowly. Why couldn't they move faster. They didn't see the dark glint of reinforced chrome until it was a blistering flash across their vision, propelled into someone just out of their reach. Didn't see the danger until it was driving the body of someone under their care through the unyielding stone and rubble, until flesh gave way to sheer force and split apart and bones broke, until screams were ringing in their ears and blood soaked everything in red, red, red-]

-goddamn think?

...fuck. Fuck. Move-

There wasn't time for explination as their body broke into a sprint, as they heard the echo of a distant crash moving closer, closer. Carpenter, the soldier they'd seen that'd been Carpenter- Their shoulder crashed into his body to confused shouting, a clamouring din that they didn't have time to untangle as Carpenter went flying, in the dirt, but safe. Safe.

Before anyone could ask, the dark chrome was barreling into them.

Every gasp of breath was torn out of their lungs at the sheer force of the crush, stone digging into them even through their armor, hell they'd have a hell of a bruise after this ████ █████ ██ but there was no spray of blood, no snapping of bone beyond the cracking of what might've been a rib- they'd live. They'd live.

Humans were fragile, in ways they were not.

Perhaps that was why the bastard in the mechanised hardsuit grabbed them by the jacket when they saw them still moving, and hurled them bodily through the wall they'd just been crushed against. The sudden influx of sheer pain blinded them like smoke behind the eyes for the eternity of a second, crashing through a haze of rubble and stonedust and a sudden dark that fell around their head like a heavy drape. Suffocating. They barely felt it when they hit the second wall but it seared when they fell to the ground, a jolt through everything they might have fractured or broken in their short flight as they hit dirt, crumpled on the floor with the rest of the scrap.

Ow

fuckkkksake...

▵▿▵▿▵

... it was loud.

Everything hurt, and it was loud.

The... the fighting, there was still fighting going on. Crashing, shouting, gunfire and the clanging ring of metal-on-metal god it was a bloody cacophony; XIII-E's head raised slowly through the swimming agony as they pried their grit-filled eyes open, staring out into the chaos.

Nothing ever went fucking right, did it?

Two down, status unknown but they weren't moving. At least three of the squad had taken up defensive positions, intermittent ducks out of cover to rattle off fire against the armored hostile who they could finally get a good look at (well, as good a look as they could manage through the grit and- whatever that sting was) For a brief second their heart was in their throat, but- not a Caliban. Thank fuck, not a Caliban. Just- just some kind of enhanced heavy-armor hardsuit.

...still not anything to brush off though. The shuddering agony in their chest reminded them of that pretty sharply.

Sitrep. Analyse the damage. A hand pressed into their ribs confirmed there was definitely something either fractured or broken in there; a little more poking and they were 80% sure it was a fracture. No risk of puncture. Good. Then they could move.

Staggering to their feet was a slow ordeal, but their weight held even if their head swam. Even if they stumbled. ████ █████ ██████ ████ ████ ██████ ███████ ████ ███ ████ ███ ██ ██████ ████did they get so tired? When-No, stop that. Crush it down. We rest when the work is done.

The work is never done.

Then we keep moving.

They couldn't fill their lungs without the breath catching on their pain, but that was fine. A low purr filled their chest instead. Leave no room for the hurting, put it out of their mind; pick up their weapon. One foot in front of the other.

The handle of their maul was frigid against their bare fingers, but that was good. That was useful. An anchor through the haze.

Get that fucking bastard away from our people. Remove the hostile. Keep them safe.

Their body moved before their mind did.

Someone tried to yell them down as they broke into a run, tried to reach for them but-- they wouldn't be stopped now. Keep moving. Their weight crashed into the black-chrome shadow trying to carve through scrap metal and it turned, it faltered- oh it shouldn't have given them that opening.

Absently, they felt a dull ache through their shoulder. It didn't matter though. The blunt side of their maul had already connected, full force with the fuckers knees.

Shattering metal sounded like snow, sometimes. Did you know that? Not often, but sometimes. It was the little details.

The flat of their maul came down again, blotting out another dull ache. Thigh this time. They'd just broken his, with a cruch.

Shouting. What was anyone shouting? They couldn't tell. It was all just, noise and shapes. Except for the man in the heavy armor on the floor beneath them now, howling in pain. The man curling in on himself as much as the twisted metal would let him. They could fix this, maybe... if he would let them. If he surrendered. There was a difference, between an opponent and a hostile...

His fingers twitched, as they saw eyes staring at them through tinted glass. They could smell smoke, from somewhere. They could taste iron.

Jerkily, his arm levelled at them, trying to line up a shot-

The flat of their maul came crashing down once more.

██████████ █████ █████ ██████ █████ █████ ██████ ███████████ █████ ████████ █████ ██████ █████████ ███ ███████ ███████ █████ ████ ████ █ ███████ ███████ █████ ███ █████ ██████████ █████ █████ ███████ █████ ██████ ███████ █████ ██████

...

Hostile removed. Attend to squadron.

▵▿▵▿▵

The aftermath was a blur. They were... fairly sure they had been yelled at? The worried, frantic kind of yelling. It had died when they'd given a sitrep. Calm, composed. Clear voice. Don't betray the pain. They could deal with it once the situation was stable.

The return to base was a blur. It was quiet... they thought it was quiet. Maybe they just hadn't heard anything clearly. Maybe it really was quiet, with the shock of it all. No deaths in their squadron at least, it had turned out. Thank fuck for small mercies.

Camp was... camp was a blur too. Faces like poor signal on an old holoscreen, just shapes and colours- smile along, nod and salute and follow the script. Autopilot. God their fucking head hurt.

They needed... they needed a drink of water maybe. Their mouth tasted like iron, their tongue too dry to swallow as it ran over the dull points of their teeth in absent minded consideration. Why was their mouth so dry? It shouldn't have been.

They shouldn't have been so light headed either. ███ ███ ██████ ███ ████ ██ ██████ ██████ ██████ ███ ████ ███ ████ ███ ██████ ██████ ██ █████ ███ ████ █ ████ ████ █████ ███ █████ ████ ██████ ██ ███ █████ ██████████

... they didn't want to do this in front of the squadron. It wasn't hard to find some excuse, claim to be headed for the infirmary (for work, of course. They were fine. They were fine) and duck behind a supply hold instead. They just needed to catch their breath. Steady themself.

They'd be fine. It'd been calculated risk.

... their clothing was sitting strangely against their skin, though. Slowly they brushed (cold, oddly cold) fingers over the fabric, tracing it down where it clung to layers underneath, where it clung to itself in ways that seemed... odd.

Thinking was difficult. Why was thinking difficult?

They put their back to a wall with a stifled whine, and sank down to the floor as the purr in their chest rose again. Keep the pain at bay. Try to rationalise. What was the problem? What was wrong?

Was their hand shaking?

Their arm felt so stiff as they raised it to eye level, blearly blinking through the shifting haze of... colours, colours and shapes.

... that was a lot of red.

There was shouting again. Someone at their shoulder (when did they get there) shaking them, fuck that hurt- they opened their mouth to say as such but, nothing came out. Nothing but a strangled gasp.

It was... really cold, actually.

Someone was trying to pull them to their feet, trying and failing. They couldn't get their legs underneath them. They couldn't.... couldn't...

ah hell. Overdid it.

The dark closed in like an old friend, and then-

then it was quiet.

//

--- [TEXT FORWARD FROM: ADMIN]

ADMIN ID:XIII-E logged as damaged beyond acceptable perameters during current deployment. Status: stabalised, but inopperable. Project XIII-E to be returned to base for repair period. Handler ID: Helios-8 still under workplace review. Handler ID: Helios-8 should nontheless be prepared to accept maintanance responsibilities immediately post approval by overseeing admin. End Communication. ---

[xiii-e]

// loading echo.exe ... //... //... // now running echo.exe. //now running extension: audio_visual_transcription //begin upload: THE_ECHOS_LINGER

ERASED FOOTAGE: Harrison Armoury Flashclone Project UNLUCKY XIII Abrev. Project Thirteen. Mark I Project scrubbed after [REDACTION MADE] STATED PURPOSE: Develop personnel capable of continuous combat repairs and medical care to stem losses during colonial expansion projects. One for the Many. RESEARCH GOALS: • Creation of flashclone bio-template fitting ideal medic criteria as researched by team IO. Ideal end product evokes trust, reliability and stability.  • Heightened strength, senses and durability. • Heightened natural regeneration. • Development of reliable universal donor bloodwork profile, while maintaining enhanced biology.  • Development of universal organ donor profile for field use in expiry scenario. • Ideal psych profile post-training exhibits high compassion/empathy drive, evokes immediate trust, and possesses a strong sense of duty that will enforce adherence to the project objective. ADDENDUM:  • Nix final research goal; unforeseen issues stemming from high compassion/empathy drive due to high stress environment. Focus should instead be on removing emotional instability to the fullest extent possible. • Obedience conditioning reworked to highest priority. The following footage has been redacted from the record of the project. 

[xiii-e]

XIII▸So. This is the brief I promised. Lets talk about the Projects

◂▸ We'll go through the basics first, yeah? Go over what we have clearance to share in loose terms, this probably isn't a totally unfamiliar concept to most people. A lot of the Corps have a division for any research they don't want a name put to.

XIII▸ It's understandable enough as a practise. Protection of company interests is a priority for any major opperation, especially regarding any work that could be done concerningly poorly by a less well-staffed or well-funded team.

◂▸ ... yeah, that's sure the company line. So, the Projects- not the most specific name in the world, covers a lot of things. It's the catchall for anything secrative, and I won't be going into stuff that's not relevent to us, but what's useful to know for our correspondence is that if you hear us talk about Projects when refering to people? Those people are clones, like us. The Project series in particular is what we fall under.

XIII▸ Project Soldiers are designed with specifications of service in mind; the first series, Project One: Talos, was your generic super soldier gene profile, but they've honed in on various tasks and traits over the decades. Take myself, for instance, as the prototype for Series Thirteen- when I describe myself as specialised medical and engineering personnel for field opperations, I mean it down to the dna. I'm wholly intended for the purpose I serve :}

◂▸ mhm... so, that's where our names come from too. Prototypes serve as the root genetic profile for Series, and they'll be named after the project as a whole. After that, it's usually some kind of proper noun and your series number. Hence, Helios-8; proper noun, series number. My line was meant for techie stuff, so we're not exactly hench but have trigger reflexes. Bastard annoying sometimes...

XIII▸ You're flinchy

◂▸ :[ yeah. But- as I have to stress (contractually) a lot of strides have been made in the cloning field since the seccom days. Any major hinks are worked out of the system, as far as either of us are aware we opperate at normal human capacity, if not better in our specialised ways. Any... flaws of production are strictly aesthetic these days.

XIII▸ And we do good work, when deployed well. My line for instance, is intended to save lives on the battlefield- I'm sturdy, stable and evoke a sense of trust :} not to mention capable of expedited healing, so I can get back out there into the thick of things on short notice. I'm even a universal blood donor, in cases of emergency-

◂▸ We're not giving the sales pitch here, cmon leave that to corporate. But to round off my little speech, and to assuage any concerns our general existance may have raised, the FC Project series is a limited scope, highly speculative investment intended to reduce friction caused by Purview expansion, by ensuring the best possible people are in the roles that matter. Superior by Design, and all that.

XIII▸ Harrison Armory takes its commitments seriously. Every Project soldier that comes out of production is created for purpose, with every consideration made to the weight of that decision; each one of us fulfils our role to the fullest extent, and we make Purview space a more stable place doing it.

◂▸ ... so, that's the basic rundown. Projects, as people, are specialist genetic profiles put together through painstaking research and all that stuff about commitments or whatever. We're pretty much all soldiers of some description at some point in our lives but, so are most HA citizens.

XIII▸ If you have any further questions I'm sure we would both be happy to field them, to the extent we have clearence too. I hope this was informative!

// loading echo.exe ... //... //... // now running echo.exe

XIII▸ ... you look sick.

◂▸ That might be because I feel sick. Fuck I hate having to say all that litigation warding, covering their asses type of shit-

XIII▸ It's a bit much in places, maybe.

◂▸ It's straight out lies in some places and you know it.

XIII▸ ... my migraines are- they're manageable. So long as I take my medication on the field, it's like they're not even there.

◂▸ >:[

XIII▸ Well... thank you, for sticking to the script anyway. You know I don't want to see you get in any more trouble for my sake.

◂▸ [sigh] yeah, yeah I know. Sorry for springing all this legal, half-assed whistleblower crap on you in the first place, I just-

XIII▸ You don't have to explain yourself to me, Lio. You're doing what you think is right, even if I don't really get it.

◂▸... I hope one day, you will.

XIII▸ I am as the company wants me to be, Lio. You know that. It's how I'm programmed.

◂▸ I-

XIII▸ Don't try to start that argument again.

◂▸ People aren't programmed, Turtie-

XIII▸ And I'm not a person, Lio.

[silence]

XIII▸ ...and please, call me by my name? I know you don't like it but again, I don't-

◂▸ -want me to get in trouble, for your sake. Yeah, I know.

XIII▸ I am trying, you know. To learn, how to bend the rules. But I can't break them.

◂▸ No, I- I know... Thirteen-E.

XIII▸ :}

◂▸ ... ack, we logged all of that didn't we. Welp. I'm not rerecording it so, posted it is. Did mention this thing would be kind of like a diary.

◂▸ Signing off.

//

[xiii-e]

The Circle Turns.

// loading echo.exe ... //... //... // now running echo.exe. //now running extension_keep_info redaction //begin account: XIII-E deployment_state of consciousness.

A blur had settled over the past weeks- no, months. Had it been months yet? Think it through. 

They remembered the initial drop, planetfall, the hand-off with their handler for the most recent post. Salutes and polite smiles. The information from the briefing, if not the words themselves. After that, what happened after that-

Introductions. Civilian staff would have been informed of them ahead of time, field officers too, but soldiers would meet them for the first time when they were called together for a report. Stood up in front of the strike squadron they’d join for the duration of this post, talked about but never to until the officer left the room. They hadn’t been requisitioned for conversation, after all.

If XIII-E was dispatched to the field, it was because things were expected to go badly. 

But the squadron didn’t know that, weren’t told that. How was it, they were introduced? A little different every time, but close enough they could repeat the gist off the top of their head. 

Your squad has been assigned project Thirteen-E, specialised field-medical personnel. They’re trained to integrate without friction, so you don’t have to worry about team cohesion. Thirteen is here to keep you on your feet, so the job gets done. If everything goes smoothly, you should forget they’re even there.

They didn’t know why that last bit was always a part of it. Things never went smoothly. If they were likely to, they’d have been assigned to another planet. Waste of company resources otherwise.

Think. What had the reaction been, this time? The introductions seemed to bleed into each other, individual faces stark but the timeline pallid and intangible. People, names they never forgot. When was more difficult. 

Guilt. Shouldn’t it be easier to remember?

Details, that would help place things. Don’t cast back too far, just try to make sense of the timeline for this assignment. The squad they were with now, who introduced themself first?

Roberts, Eileen. Tall, thin frame, mild anaemia kept under control by regular medication. Colonial subject- it was her first tour, wasn’t it? Despite a seeming lack of experience, it’d become evident she was this squad’s leader in all but name. A grin had broken over her businesslike expression as soon as the staff officer left the room, a clap on the shoulder as she introduced herself. Her skin was warm, even through their shirt, they remembered that so clearly. They appreciated her camaraderie, but reminded her (polite smile, it reaches the eyes but not too much, warm but impersonal) the regulations on overfamiliarity with Projects. Rolled her eyes, but she listened.  Only enough to bend the rules. Bump their hand in briefing, flash conspiratorial smiles during a tactics talk that went on for far too long. What little she could get away with, toeing the line. Roberts was a professional.  

Beaux, Liam. Stood on eye level with them but didn’t meet their eyes, nervous look, cardio lagged behind the rest of the squad but he hid it well. Another colonial subject, the only other in the group, stuck close to Roberts so he came up to them second. They made him nervous- it made sense. Harrison design leant into the militaristic, imposing and heavy. They supposed it was part of why the genetic material they were created with featured such a soft face in contrast to their body; he’d relaxed a little, after some quiet conversation. That was good. They didn’t like to scare people. If they were going to do their job right, they needed enough trust they could treat field injuries without fighting their patient. 

It was important. They were only there to save lives. 

Who was it, next? Ajax, or… 

Law, Judgement. They’d had to make sure they heard it right, but really who were they to judge. Career soldier, a full citizen seeking further elevation through service, early thirties at most with a hollowed quality to the face. Looked through them most of the time, preferring only to meet their eyes when giving them a direct order. On paper, the leader of the strike team, though they followed Roberts lead more often than not. Withdrawn. Clean bill of health but, a standing order on file for a mandatory psych eval on return from the current tour of duty. The phantom of their grip around their wrist, tight and desperate. “Don’t let the new blood get themselves killed. Buck orders if you have to. Bring them home, Thirteen.” If the bruises left by their fingers faded within the hour, they didn’t have to report damage to company property. They were pretty sure it’d faded before then.  Leadership was a heavy responsibility on some people. But, Law was the most experienced officer on this squad so it fell to them by default. Roberts seemed to be picking up the slack, and they were content to follow when staff weren’t looking.

Then it had been Ajax, Darla. Citizen, not entirely green but had no more than two tours under her belt. Implanted augments to her strength and stability allowing her to take up roles with heavy weaponry and defensive units, received anti-rejection medicine once every three days to ensure everything worked as intended. Apparently, when not in the field she was a construction assistant. What was it like, to not be on duty? They didn’t ask. They shouldn’t think about it. Shook their hand with a firm grip while giving her name, asked if they’d spar with her sometime- “Good practise to match strength with one of your types, keeps me sharp.” They’d smiled (polite, warm) and promised a match if they were ever on-base and off-duty at the same time. Ajax had laughed at that, like she was in on the joke.  She might have been. It varied case to case, but they’d been told citizens familiar with Projects and the soldiers made on them could tell they were one of the newer high-control variants, just by talking to them. Maybe she’d worked alongside flashclones enough to tell they weren’t Real. Alive. A Person a candidate for true citizenship. 

Lastly… Terrace, Arlo. Short stature, pale hair too long for active service but only by an inch or so, passable so long as he had tied it up tight, citizen by virtue of birth. It was his first tour, too. He told them, rambling amidst winces while they cleaned a jagged wound out, that his parents had pushed him into it. Worked out great for his older siblings, apparently; “Though, I wasn’t expecting it to be this… intense? I guess that’s the word for it. Iris, her deployment was practically all diplomacy-”

Terrace had filled the air any time it fell still, with quiet anxious words. Keeping him calm had quickly become their major focus when nobody was hurt; he caused tension. It wasn’t his fault people became frustrated with his nervous ramblings, a hallmark of inexperience. Nonetheless, it took work to keep the team cohesive. Roberts helped, with that. People liked her, and she seemed to like them too- even Arlo at his worst.

He looked so small, laying silent in the bag. 

Think. Where had they gone wrong?

Law hadn’t been able to tell them, when they asked in the aftermath. Just shook their head and it looked like they would reach out, steady themself against XIII-E’s shoulders. Seeing it, they wanted to reach out themself. They wanted to apologise. They weren’t allowed to want things. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. told them if there was anything that could have been done, they would have done it. 

A good soldier, was what they had called them. “You lose people in the field sometimes, even if you do everything right. Roberts… she’ll learn that. You followed your directive damn well, Project Thirteen. They did good with you.”

It was an attempt to be gentle, they knew that. They had seen what grief did to people in the aftermath, and Law was trying to mitigate any impact on their state of mind. Keep company property functioning as intended. But platitudes were wasted on them; they didn’t feel, weren’t supposed to feel. Guilt was a waste of processing capacity. The facts were stark, not something to be run from; they were a medic, and someone had died on their duty. They had to do better. Somehow. 

Who else had spoken to them, when the smoke cleared? When they made it back to base, lagging behind- Roberts… Right.

She was lucky she hadn’t been sanctioned, bluntly. 

Focus. How had they gotten there, to begin with? Once XIII-E had been assigned to them, the strike force orders became their accompaniment; shuttled them around the battlefield, wherever the mud was thick with blood. Get them where they needed to be, so they could do their job. It was a standing order that functioned as designed most of the time, provided them mobility to keep as many legionnaires upright as was possible. They had the tools to make it to the injured; the squad just needed to get them there in one piece. 

But battle was chaos. It was always chaos. Nobody realised one of their number had fallen behind before the call to fall back came crackling through the coms it buzzed unpleasantly when the subdermals pushed sound through their bones, they didn’t like it. They didn’t have to like it. They weren’t supposed to have preferences and they had injured among their number that other squads had left with them, that needed to get back to a bed so the recovery process could start. So, they’d made a call. Send everyone ahead, swear to join up later. 

Andrews- no, no Andrews was months ago, Roberts had grabbed them by the hand and demanded they come back safe. With Arlo, you keep that kid alive you hear me? Then she’d been gone. 

They found Terrace, Arlo, not long after that. It never got easier. His torso was pierced with mech shrapnel in the shade of a wreckage, still breathing when they picked him out amongst the ruin, when they ran to his side but… It was a part of their design, to be strong. Medical care required breaking things sometimes, resetting bones, clearing rubble, the breach hammer was allocated for the intended purpose of breaking through any blockage keeping them from picking soldiers back up. Even they couldn’t have lifted that shard of metal out of him, a jagged edge taller than them twice over.

He was afraid, when they got there. He couldn’t see clearly, with the amount of smoke in his eyes, bloodshot and glistening under the half-light, trying to move and choking down the pain that clawed at his throat. It was likely all he saw of them before their hand found his was a moving shadow in the aftermath of combat- he flinched away as much as his injury allowed, before he heard their voice. 

What did they say? They couldn’t remember that part. It was autopilot. These people deserved someone real to care about them, in their final moments. Lip service was all they offered, ideas of peace, comfort- It was empty coming from them. Their empty heart and soulless body running on cold logic and programming, all they knew, could ever know, was the war that took their safety, their sanity, their fucking lives. All they were made for was keeping them in the fight long enough to limp to the next injury, patch them back up again and again and forget which one was which because these people blurred into a battlefield slurry- Crush it back down. No distractions, no mistakes, adhere to the directives given and crush it back down. What right did they have to grief, anyways?

He passed quietly, some time after they arrived. Bloodloss and shock. It wasn’t until his hand went cold in theirs that, quietly, they had rose to their feet and started the sombre work of breaking down the debris enough to retrieve his body.

Could they have salvaged him, if they’d been more reckless? Drawn their weapon and broken the shredded metal through him apart? Maybe… No. There was a correct answer to that question, and it was no. He was dead the second that shrapnel went through his stomach, barring a miracle. Removing the debris would only have ripped him apart further. A quiet death seemed like all they could have done for him, besides what else they’d done after; closed his eyes, picked him up out of the mud, and made the walk home back to base camp for the both of them.

And when they’d gotten there, Roberts, she… 

It was her first deployment. Nobody could blame her for the way her face crashed seeing them come back into camp with bloodstained hands, for how the second she saw shredded flesh she recoiled. Freeze response; she didn’t know what to do. Before they went into the medical station to report a KIA, she was stood like stone outside, a slow track forming through the mud still spattering her cheeks. That was what he’d deserved. Had they ever cried? For anything? For anyone? They couldn’t recall. Maybe the them this body belonged to had cried, once.

Don’t think about that. You can’t know about that.

It was when they had logged the death and returned to personnel quarters that she found them again, hands bunched in their shirt before their mouth could open, shaking anger on her tongue as she asked what the fuck happened out there. Snapped at Law, when they tried to pull her away from them. She’d tried to shove them against something, but she may as well have tried to move a brick wall. 

They often forgot how weak humans were, compared to their body. 

You were supposed to keep him safe. Accurate. Factual. The weight of her grief made it an accusation, one they didn’t have an answer to, and the grip on their shirt became a heavy thump into their chest as she stared at them, searching. 

Say something. Anything. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re still wearing his blood for christs sake how are you standing there like nothing’s wrong, don’t look at me like that-

By then, Law had grabbed her by the shoulders properly to drag her off, let her shout for a few minutes before it devolved into sobbing, before the firm grip became an arm around her shaking body. Over her shoulder, they made eye contact- it was a quiet plea. Don’t tell. They couldn’t explain how they knew that. It whispered in the quiet part of their mind, like an instinct, the instinct they should have gotten, to go back, to find Arlo before- to hell with it. They didn’t control what they saw, of the future. They weren’t even sure how they did it. That didn’t stop the guilt when it failed them communicating what they both knew Law couldn’t say aloud. The last thing Roberts needed was the bureaucratic nightmare of a sanction for taking her grief out on company property, in the aftermath of the first loss under her command.

Quietly, they had filed her indiscretion under medical stress, and moved on. 

… how many times had they done that, in the past months? Written off someone lashing out, because they were always the closest to the tragedy, always nominally responsible. They couldn’t remember. The bruises never stayed for long, Never long enough a small mercy when it came to getting soldiers back on their feet. Their directive came first. Get soldiers back in the field, fast as possible.

One by one, the squadron was dragged in for debriefing. They washed the blood off, changed their uniform. Roberts was still in the office giving her account when new orders came through, regarding their posting. The worst of it was over. They were needed somewhere else. 

Already? How long had they been there? Where were they going next? Did it matter? It would be the same thing again. The chance they’d see any of these people again was next to nothing. Armoury space was broad, and they only ever went where it was at its worst. New additions to the list. Faces, names, medical brief. Time of death

It wouldn’t take long, before the shuttlecraft came down. It wasn’t like they had much to pack. Time was short, and they wouldn’t likely have time to say goodbye to those in the sickbay they’d picked up mid-battle. They’d had the time to speak with Law, to notify the others they were being dispatched elsewhere. Beaux didn’t look at them, they were tired of this but touched his hand to their shoulder when they turned to leave. Ajax god they were so fucking tired of this shrugged it off with an observance that a medical Project was probably in high demand, so it tracked. Maybe we’ll meet again someday, she’d cracked. Or maybe I should hope we don’t, if you’re the cavalry. Ha! They felt sick. Their head hurt. Something was searing through the back of their skull, or was it? Was that a memory too? What was the difference. It was all the fucking same. They were doomed weren’t they? The circle turned, everything stayed the same, how were they meant to change the way it ended when they couldn’t remember how it began- No, no noonono crush it down, Crush it down.They could fix this. Would fix this. Had to fix this. The alternative- they didn’t want to think about it 

Good soldier. They were a good soldier. They were designed to be.

The shuttle landed. Someone in a labcoat (clone technician, they could spot it a mile away) accompanied by someone in dark fatigues and a light arm, Harrison’s logo the bruise, they’d heard someone call it not too long ago, fitting in some ways emblazoned across the breast. 

XIII-E was needed on the front. In the thick of things, where fighting was at its worst. 

Breath in, breath out. They do as ordered, step onto the ship, answer the questions posed by the tech as they strip the uniform off their body to facilitate the medical inspection they know is coming. They’ve done this before, a great many times by now. They’ll do it again, before long.

The circle turns.

// end account.

[xiii-e]

FOOTAGE: Harrison Armoury Flashclone Project UNLUCKY XIII-E Abrev. Project Thirteen-E. Monitering status post early recall. Log #2 Audiovisual transcript attached.

[ Permanent medical/residential facilities for prototype FC projects are located in a quiet wing of the station. Current residents: HELIOS-8 and XIII-E. As of start of recording, HELIOS-8 is stationed near the door, pacing with a notable anxiety. It is obvious he hasn't slept. Before long the door opens with a hiss that alerts him to two figures stepping through; an AID leading an unresponsive XIII-E with an evident annoyance. Immediately HELIOS-8 is at attention. ]

AID: Christ the Buddha how slow can you be- [ he cuts himself off upon seeing HELIOS-8, annoyance breaking into a half smile. ] There you are, perfect. Just where we need you.

HELIOS-8: [ an informal half salute, before stepping forward ] Where I'm told to be, sir. I-

AID: Yeah, I know. I know. Anyway!

[ XIII-E is tugged full through the door now, propelled into the room with a stumble. Reflexively, HELIOS-8 goes to steady them, hands resting more over their shoulders than on them. He's not yet sure where their injuries are. ]

AID: Your problem now! Don't worry your little head about the whole performance review thing, it'll be sorted in a couple days max. Just get them fixed up again, alright? Cheers 8.

[ AID turns on his heel, and the door hisses closed behind him. As soon as he has left the room a notable degree of tension leaves HELIOS-8; but not all of it ]

HELIOS-8: ... Hell kiddo, you've been through it huh?

[ No response from XIII-E. He sighs quietly, giving them a more thorough once over before looking them in the face, gently cupping their jaw. It's slight, but they lean into the warmth ]

HELIOS-8: Alright, I'm gonna get you situated. Lets get those outdoor layers off so you can sit down, yeah?

[ He speaks with a quiet assurance, a gentle warmth. No response from XIII-E. HELIOS-8 moves slowly to undo the various clasps of their coat, getting the outermost layers of their uniform off until they're down to their bodysuit and socks; stripped of the moniker of soldier. He folds the pieces, stacks them quietly. Then, he checks over them again. It's easier to see the remnents of injury now, bandages and adhesive patches creating lines through soft fabric. He sighs quietly. Holds their hand gently, running his thumb over their knuckles. ]

HELIOS-8: There we go. Man they really did a number on you this time... c'mon kiddo, this way. Let's get the weight off that leg.

[ He raises their hand with his, tugs gently before pulling them forward. Slow, regular pace. He leads them to a set of couches, finds somewhere across their shoulders that isn't too bruised, and presses down. It takes a minute or two, but they sit- stiff, wincing. But they sit. ]

HELIOS-8: It's good to see you. Had me really worried there, y'know? It does me good to have you back. Banged up but, alive. I'm glad you're ...

[ Quietly, he sits down next to them. A shaky breath in, then out. His voice is strained, but he manages to keep it even. ]

HELIOS-8: Anyway. They'll get the medical report to me at some point, I'm sure. They're always so thorough with those things. See a lot more than I can. Specific maintenance and the likes, that can wait till I've got the rundown, y'know?

XIII-E: ...

HELIOS-8: It's important you get some rest after all this. Can't heal with no sleep, you know that better than anyone. That should be a priority here.

XIII-E: ...

[ Quiet starts to stretch out between them. HELIOS-8 watches the unmoving body sat next to him out of the corner of his eye. XIII-E does not react. There is no indication that they've heard anything he's said thus far. ]

HELIOS-8: ...Ah but, you don't have to go to sleep right this moment do you? Sure you got plenty of rest on the trip back. Not like the Docs offer much in the way of conversation.

XIII-E: ...

HELIOS-8: I- I'd like it if you could sit with me for a bit anyway, if you wouldn't mind? It gets a little lonely here, when you're out for a while. It'd do me good.

XIII-E: ...

[ He hesitates for a second or two. Leans over, bumping his shoulder into theirs. There's a brief wince, but after a moment or two their weight shifts. They press their shoulder against his. Slowly, his fingers twine with theirs. His head rests across their curls. ]

HELIOS-8: Y'know I've had a damn persistent headache the past few days kiddo. Think there's anything you could...?

[ A second passes in silence, before a low rumbling sound fills the air. Purring. It fills their chest, a shudder across their shoulders as their knees draw up onto the couch. Quietly, they curl into his side. He doesn't look at them as they do. Instead he closes his eyes, with another quiet sigh. ]

HELIOS-8: There you go, that should help ease the pain. It's good to have you back. I... already said that didn't I. Pft...

[ His voice peters out, and a quiet falls over the two of them stirred only by the purring still rumbling in XIII-E's chest. Their fingers twist into his and they squeeze his hand. He squeezes back. ]

[ For a while, they sit together in silence. After approx. 10 minutes XIII-E closes their eyes. Over time, the tension their body has been holding starts to ease. Their breathing slows, becoming more regular. As HELIOS-8 realises their eyes are closed, his calm expression cracks; Anxiety. Dread. Fear. He keeps his voice steady regardless. ]

HELIOS-8: ... take your time coming back to us kiddo. I'll be here when you do. Promise.

[xiii-e]

[ ECHO // OHƆƎ ]

ECHO [ Project Soldiers are designed with specifications of service in mind ]

ECHO [ it's like they're not even there ]

ECHO [ Is it still a haunting when it’s their body to begin with? ]

ECHO [ Shouldn’t it be easier to remember? ]

ECHO [ What little she could get away with, toeing the line. ]

ECHO [ They shouldn’t think about it ]

ECHO [ they didn’t like it. They didn’t have to like it. They weren’t supposed to ]

ECHO [ It never got easier ]

ECHO [ these people blurred into a battlefield slurry ]

ECHO [ What right did they have to grief, anyways? ]

ECHO [ adhere to the directives given and crush it back down. ]

ECHO [ when did they get so tired? When- ]

No, stop that

We rest when the work is done.

ECHO [ The work is never done. ]

Then we keep moving.

[ WAKE UP // ᑫU ƎꓘAW ]