act28side

At first... he was burning hot... He was mumbling non-stop, eyes wide open, and he was grabbing my sleeve like a lifeline. Like he wanted to tell me something.

So I moved closer, to make out what he was trying to say.

And what was it...?

Dunno, didn't hear. He let go of my sleeve, his eyes still open, pupils all dilated... Pitch-black... like they could suck in everything around him.

Woody...

So why... why... why didn't you come?

The man turns his head, and with a blank stare returns the mercenary's gaze.

The black of his pupils incessantly spreads, circulates, and rotates, as if trying to swallow up everything in the surroundings.

As the mercenary faces the other man's glare, he feels as if a hook has extended from out of nowhere, piercing through his ankle and relentlessly dragging him into that black vortex.

So what do I call you now? Heard you go by a different name.

Anything's fine... I was expecting you sooner, Woody.

After what happened last night, I had so many things on my plate and so many friends to help out.

If you need any help, you can always let me know. Be it cash or manpower.

Thanks, Cliff, but no thanks. Help is only help when it's on time. But coming from you... it's always overdue.

Right. It's always best to get things done in a timely manner.

So what are you doing here?

Can't an old friend start with a 'how do you do'?

...It's not as simple as 'old friends' between us. What made you think we'd be acting like friends when we saw each other again?

Then what would you rather be treated as?

Anything else, really.

No need for sarcasm, Woody. I don't even see the point anymore. We're old now, our hair's gone full white.

This past decade, I've seen my friends getting one health problem after another, and been attending funeral after funeral. Just meeting one that's still alive is hard enough.

You live so far away, and I doubt I'll ever see your obituary in the papers, so I came see you personally.

You shouldn't have bothered. Ain't no place for you at my funeral anyhow.

That's a real shame, Woody. Didn't we make that pact to speak at each other's funerals, all those years ago?

I'm sure plenty of others would be happy for you to speak at theirs, but mine... just forget about it.

I hope you're not thinking I'm a fan of funerals. I only attend them because it's my old buddies in the coffins.

And where do you sit? Among the friends and family?

Rarely. Unless their relatives ask me to, I usually stand back and watch the whole thing from a distance.

Why? Afraid you can't bear their pain?

Pain is a relatively private experience for the other races. My best guess is that we can only deal with it on our own.

Enough playing like we're friends, alright? I'll put it bluntly for you—I buried him on the hillside behind the POW camp. Have you ever visited him?

Unfortunately, no. I haven't found the time.

...You haven't changed a bit.

So why would Woody go looking for him...?

It's my fault... I asked him to.

What?! You?!

I thought... on account of their past friendship, maybe my boss could be more... lenient on everyone here.

How could you be so naive? Jessica... Woody, he...

I...

Forget it. Now that it's come to this, I don't need to hide it from you.

I'm planning to leave this plate and head to the frontier.

You too...?

Yeah, my regulars are all getting sent off one after the other, and only us old folks are left. What's the point in keeping the diner open?

Besides, just look at the holes in my walls, after last night's fighting. I don't have it in me to patch 'em up anymore.

I've invested so many years into this place... and enough is enough.

Sorry... I'm so sorry...

What're <i>you</i> apologizing for, Jessica?

Because I didn't do anything. Nothing at all. I'm sorry, I really am...

Don't blame yourself. You're the last person who should be doing that. You're an outsider, and the plate was on its last legs. Just get back to your friends.

You have your own life to live. No need to work yourself to the bone on our account.

And the check you gave me back then... Take it back.

But... that's the only thing I can do for you...

Take it.

...When do you plan to leave, Helena?

Not too soon, I reckon. Still have to say my proper goodbyes, after all.

Jessica shuts the restaurant door behind her and stands in a daze on the doorstep, the check balled up in her fist.

She suddenly lets loose a kick on a pile of snow by the road, sprinkling flakes of white down onto her head and wetting her hair. Some land on her forehead, cooling her burning heat.

She retrieves a tape recorder from her bag and begins rewinding it, playing back the recording she has heard so many times.

'...But you're just a naive little heiress. What can you even do?'

This thought fills her mind as she walks slowly back towards the giant black landship.

...Anyone hear that?

Save us... Those, those Sarkaz suddenly climbed up the plate...

Many people are dead, and the rest of us are hiding in the basement of City Hall... *bzzt*... *bzzt*...

We tried to contact Londinium's garrisons...

But no one's replied... no one at all...

I don't care who it is, but if you can hear this message, please, help us...

You're our only hope...

*bzzt*... *bzzt*...

Why did I even want to be a mercenary?

I can't save other people's lives, or even their livelihoods.

Where have you been all day, Jessica? We couldn't get in touch.

I went... It's nothing, I just went for a walk.

What happened?

Captain, I... I... really have no idea why we're doing this mission.

Did... you see something?

...I saw our colleagues evicting debt-saddled residents from their homes, and putting them on convoys bound for the frontier.

Huh?

Hey, Teacher's Pet, now's not the time to be staring at your communicator!

Did you even hear what she said?!

I did... and I have news even more absurd than that.

Orders from above: we'll be in charge of security at the bank. We have to stand watch 24/7, and it's up to us to figure out our shift rotation.

What...? Working security for the bank?!

Correct.

Hah...

... This is so... goddamn... ridiculous...

Jessica, you...