story_melnte_1_1

Thursday

Please, take a seat, Melanite. Make yourself comfortable. I believe this is the first time you've proactively come to me for a session?

...Yes.

Relax. We're just here to chat. Is there anything in particular that you want to talk about?

I'm been having... dreams.

What kind of dreams?

I don't remember the details. All I remember is that I had a dream... and the lingering feelings pressing down on my chest.

No memories of the dream itself... lingering feelings... When did this start?

About a week ago. The sensation is getting stronger and lasting longer, sometimes even all day...

Are they nightmares?

No.

The only nightmare I ever have is of that night. Of watching the rioters approach my father, but somehow I just can't pull the trigger like he taught me to.

I would wake up sweating, my heart hammering against my chest. But since I know it's not real, I can quickly calm myself down.

But these recent dreams... it's different. It's hard to describe, but it feels like having a piece of cotton-padded lead in my arms; soft, but heavy.

Heavy... so heavy, and the feeling lasts for so long... It's hard for me to concentrate.

Do you have any medication I could take for it?

Medication may not be the answer. I suspect your dreams involve faded memories, maybe something from your childhood you've forgotten. Do you think you'd be comfortable talking about your parents?

Sure.

I thought you would be more... reticent.

No, not at all.

My father used to work for Blacksteel. He had a medium, stocky build, was missing an arm, and had a little moustache.

My mother was a housewife who worked part-time doing laundry before Dad retired, then the two of them ran the shop together. She was a little taller than my father, lanky. That's all.

What about yourself?

Me? I was a kid. I did kid things.

Can you talk about yourself in more detail?

Melanite looks up at the yellowish light on the ceiling.

...More detail?

Yes.

I went to school, helped out at home and around the shop, and played with the neighbors' kids. That's about it.

Any unforgettable memories? Sights, experiences, that sort of thing.

Nothing worth mentioning.

Well, I'd like to hear them anyway, even if it doesn't seem relevant. Anything that comes to mind.

Melanite looks around at the room's furnishings.

The light back home was yellow, just like this one. The flooring wasn't so nice, and would creak every now and then.

The table was really high... or maybe I was just too small at the time.

What about yourself? What did you do or think back then?

Me?

Oh, I had a scar on my knee that faded away at some point. The staircase at home must've been pretty high for me to fall.

The light, the floor, the table, the stairs... Oh, and... the chairs.

The chairs were...

Melanite...

I don't quite remember, but I think they were made of wood—

That's enough, Melanite.

Uh.

You're just stating facts without context or emotion. Like you're talking about somebody else.

Those are just my impressions from back then.

Only facts, with no details or emotions, not even your own place in the scene... It must be hard for you.

No, not at all.

How so?

I want to forget what happened that night... but it all comes back so vividly whenever I have one of those nightmares.

If I forget what happened before all that, then at least I can be indifferent. At least I can...

I'd feel less bad about losing something I don't care about.

The life I have now has nothing to do with what happened back then. Whatever I feel or don't feel about it, it won't affect me at all.

Melanite...

Sorry that I kept talking about things unrelated to the dreams. I guess if you don't have any pills I can take, I'll try to adjust on my own.

No, it could be related. Maybe resolving your issues with your childhood memories will also help with—

Sorry for worrying you. I should be going.

Melanite turns around, avoiding Honeyberry's concerned gaze, and walks out of the room.

She meant to go straight back to her dorm, but took a wrong turn out of anxiety and ended up in an unfamiliar corner.

Seeing an empty hallway, she instinctively puts her hand on her railgun's trigger, before realizing it and moving her hand away.

This is Rhodes Island. Rhodes Island.

Even if you've never been here before, there's nothing you can't deal with... Everything here is safe. Really.

Nothing in your past has anything to do with you, Operator.

No one here will hurt you. You're well compensated and receive proper treatment, as long as you can deliver sufficient fire support in battle.

It's alright, it's alright...

Melanite takes a few deep breaths.

Talking to herself, taking deep breaths... How much these techniques help is debatable, but they can't hurt.

The anxiety that had climbed up her calves recedes back to her ankles.

It's okay, it's okay... Just act normal, business as usual.

It has nothing to do with you. Detach yourself. It'll all get better.

Friday

Your regular checkup is complete, Operator Melanite. It'll be a while before the report is ready, though.

Okay.

Is something bothering you?

How... How did you...

Er... 'how did I' what?

I-I mean, how did you know something's bothering me? Did something come up in the checkup?

No, I just thought you looked really pale.

...I guess I didn't sleep well last night. Had a dream.

Alright, the report's ready. Let me see...

Hmm... Oripathy symptoms are stable, but there are various changes in other areas.

Looks like it's true that you've been sleeping poorly. Nightmares?

...No, just ordinary dreams, really. I even had a chat with Honeyberry about them yesterday. I'm perfectly fine, and ready to work.

Work? What does work have to do with any of this?

Here, have some chocolate. It'll help you settle down.

Melanite takes the unwrapped chocolate, looking deep in thought. She takes a bite, and a bitter-sweet taste fills her mouth.

...Will my condition affect my next field mission?

Well, it's a little concerning. If you haven't gotten better by then, I would recommend a period of rest.

Rest...?

No, I'll be fine by then.

Well, I'm glad you're confident, at least.

I'm heading to lunch. Care to join me?

Er, thanks, but not today.

...I need to get better.

How did I used to do it?

I used to keep myself busy enough that my mind didn't have time to wander.

It'll get better.

Saturday

Instructor Dobermann.

Today's Saturday. Are you sure you don't want to take a day off?

No need.

I'd welcome that kind of motivation if this were the problem children of A6, but you're the type to keep pressuring yourself without accepting anybody's help.

Plus, the results from your checkup yesterday weren't too good.

I even had a little conversation with Honeyberry about you. I can't say I fully understand, but it's clear that you've been bothered by your dreams lately.

You knew?!

Keeping track of your condition is part of my job as instructor.

I'm fine, Instructor. Really.

Did you have another dream last night?

Take the day off.

Please, training is the best way for me to relieve stress.

Are you sure?

I'm sure.

Missed.

Missed.

Missed!

This isn't working at all...

I've done this so many times before, but I've never missed like this...

The more I try to aim, the more my hand shakes. What's going on? How do I fulfill my duties like this?

Time's up!

I'm sorry... I let everyone down.

It's solo training. Who exactly are you letting down?

Come on, have some warm milk.

What I mean is... I'll only be a burden on missions if this keeps up.

You don't need to worry about that.

You mean... operators in poor condition won't even be sent on missions?

To put it bluntly, yes. Field missions can be dangerous.

And an operator in bad form can't be trusted with them?

Huh?

Sorry, but I need to go. Thanks for the milk.

Melanite? Melanite!

Sunday

As she opens her eyes, she feels the familiar sensation of the dream filling her chest for a fleeting moment.

If she takes a moment to savor it, the soft yet heavy feeling seems almost poignant.

It is not the bloody pain of having your arm cut off.

It is the sorrow of remembering, long after the injury has healed, that you once used your hands to cover a friend's eyes one afternoon, long ago.

Now, however, Melanite does not have the luxury of analyzing the subtle and difficult-to-describe emotions.

All she knows is that her dreams have disrupted every aspect of her life, made her anxious, given others cause for concern and made them give her special treatment... Left unchecked, they would eventually make her a worthless invalid.

Rhodes Island may be kind, but how long would they tolerate an invalid?

Huh?

Why would you think like that, Melanite? That's not how his works!

Is it not?

My relatives supported me because we're connected by blood.

They greeted me warmly because my grades were good.

My previous employer paid me because I could test weapons that others couldn't.

Rhodes Island employs me and gives me treatment because I can provide fire support with this railgun...

I know it's disrespectful to compare you to them, but who would help a worthless invalid?

...Your parents.

They loved you unconditionally, didn't they? Otherwise, why would you be so upset about losing them?

Just stop right there, Honeyberry, please. All I want is a quiet and peaceful life. I don't need unconditional love. It's enough that I can earn a living with my own two hands.

You can't allow... No, you can't pretend that the memories of the past are but a distant shadow, just because you feel sad when you remember them.

Maybe your subconscious defensive mechanisms are detaching you from your past emotions without you even realizing it. But that doesn't mean they've gone away.

They're just tucked away in a corner, hidden from your consciousness. But you can't remain detached and run away forever.

If you're worried about these dreams ruining your life, then running away will only make it worse.

But... what can I do? I can't go on like this.

Rhodes Island doesn't fire people just because they have mental health issues. You can trust me on that.

Maybe people need a reason to love someone, but you certainly don't need one to show kindness.

Just spend the rest of the day doing whatever you want, okay?

I'll get you something to drink. There are books here, if you want to read.

'The warm air rising from the cup melted the white frost on the window. The subtle, tender scent calmed my mind...'

'Firewood cracked in the fireplace opposite the armchair, seemingly causing the air in the room to rise and expand, like soft bread...'

No... I can't even read a book.

Melanite brings the cup of warm cystymilk towards her mouth.

Before it touches her lips, the poignant sensation in her chest suddenly grows sharply.

(The smell of cystymilk? I had a little bit when I was with Instructor Dobermann, too...)

(No, it's not just cystymilk... there's something else.)

(But why would I feel like there's something else? Have I smelled something recently?)

(Maybe... there's something near my room?)

Honeyberry, I... I need to step out for a bit.

Sure. I'll be here all day. Come back anytime you want.

(Here it is, my room... There's a faint smell... but it's not coming from inside. It's from over there...)

(Here it is. Just one floor from my room.)

(The smell's coming from that unremarkable door in the corner. I can probably find out what's going on by going inside.)

(But what if...)

What if whatever's inside makes you feel like a fool?

You and I, we worked so hard to forget those painful memories... Unconsciously, you shoved all those colors, smells, and emotions onto me and detached yourself.

Just so you could feel better, so you wouldn't think back to happier times when you're alone, so you could clench your teeth and keep going.

Go back, Melanite. There's nothing to see here. You don't know, but I do, and it's absurdly simple.

Emotions, memories, they're nothing more than burdens to you.

But I'm already at my limit.

Don't believe those people. Did you really think you would get better? They're just doing the job they're paid for, whispering sweet lies into your ear. What do they care what happens to you afterwards?

Then what do you want me to do?

Go back.

I need to... I need to know what I'm dreaming about.

What if what's inside doesn't have anything to do with your dreams, or your past, or your life?

You said you knew!

Do you really want to let all our efforts over all these years go to waste?

Are you really going in?

Melanite pulls the door open.

The voice like her own no longer speaks, instead merging into the smell coming from the room.

...Instructor Dur-nar?

Melanite?!

Dur-nar is holding a hot drink in her hands.

This smell...

What are you doing here? Did Medical send you?

No... I just smelled something like a drink.

Whew, you gave me a fright there.

So what is it?

A kind of powdered drink mix with milk. Real nutritious. It used to be carried in grocery stores all across Columbia about a decade ago, but you can hardly find it all these days. Took a lot of effort to get my hands on this.

But you can have some if you want. I haven't touch this cup yet.

Melanite takes the cup with a blank look on her face, feeling the warmth in her hands and trying to pinpoint the deep sorrow that the sweet scent has stirred within her heart.

The memories float to the surface, but years of evasion have made their surface cold and smooth.

She tries to reach towards the source of the sorrow that seems so incongruous with the sweetness, yet it lingers just out of reach.

She takes a sip of the light brown liquid in the cup.

As her tongue senses the sweetness, those memories dissolve in water, with the sweet scent of chocolate and cystymilk emanating from the surface.

In the reflection, she sees herself holding a warm drink in her hand.

In the cup, she finds the time that she lost, and is found in turn by the time she once thought discarded.

She hears an unfamiliar yet familiar voice from the cup.

Look at this, Breonna.

This drink powder is selling like crazy. This was the last box, and people kept asking me to sell it, but... this one's for my little girl, and it's not for sale.

What's the matter? You're just holding the cup.

That's because the cystymilk's still too hot for her. Isn't that right, Breonna?

Yeah, it's too hot!

I'm waiting for it to cool down!

Two faint silhouettes with the scent of chocolate and cystymilk emerge from the vapor.

You always liked Daddy's guns, right Breonna? C'mon, let's head out of town and—

She's eight, you dumb oaf!

Look, I've only got the one hand, and it's holding the gun. It's not even loaded, not a single etched bullet.

Fine, fine, but at least let her finish her drink.

Then, places that had long been reduced to mere words in Melanite's memory.

I thought you didn't bring any etched ammo, Daddy.

Just because your Daddy only has one arm doesn't mean he can't hide something when he puts his mind to it.

Here, I'll hold your hand. Focus on the feel of casting...

Whoa, you're a natural! Took me half a month to fire my first shot.

But you still need practice. Shooting a gun isn't easy, and without practice, you might not be able to pull it off when it counts.

Finally, all the haziness begins to clear up.

The carefree childhood she must have had emerges from the teacup with shades of brown and white, along with the Breonna from before she became Melanite.

I thought that powdered drink would keep selling, but I guess it was just a fad. Now it's all just sitting in the storeroom.

We can't cut the price any further, but it's taking up so much space.

*Sigh*...

I-I like it! I'll drink it every day!

Breonna?

Her father was more than just a stocky man with one arm and a moustache. He could be impulsive, but he loved his little girl dearly, partly out of guilt for not being there for her as an infant.

Her mother was more than just a lanky housewife. Everything in the household revolved around her firm voice and deft hands. She was strict with her daughter, but just as loving.

As for Breonna... She grew from a young child filled with questions about everything when her father first came home, to a girl only a little shorter than her father.

At some point she stopped getting taller, but she thought those days would continue forever.

That's the last of the drink... Have you been drinking even more when we're not looking? That's a lot of calories to work off, you know.

But thanks to you, we managed to turn our losses around and keep this little grocery store going. You're our lucky star.

We'll always love you, no matter what. And we'll always be together.

Goodnight, Breonna. Dream a dream of chocolate.

Goodnight, Breonna. Dream a dream of chocolate.

With that, her father went downstairs. And after that bloody night, she locked all that sweetness away in a forgotten corner of her memories, whether consciously or unconsciously.

What she lost was so precious that she had wished she never had it.

Until now.

Melanite? Are you ok? Are you... crying?

(Fights back sobbing)

I-It's okay, Instructor, I just... I remembered what I had forgotten...

Monday

(Blows nose) I feel so happy for you, Melanite.

By the way, I was asked to deliver something to you.

To me?

Melanite takes out a little cardboard box.

The assorted dried berries from Rim Billiton that Instructor Dur-nar promised you.

Oh? Have you started working for Dur-nar's Snack Network?

Yup.

To remember even more lost flavors, and recall more lost memories...

To bring back the time I lost.