Dressed in a blue tunic fit for a patient, Shana Striker took a deep breath before a door. The right arm of her shirt flapped about uselessly from her movement and she reached out with her left hand to pull the doors open before walking in.

As soon as she entered the room, she clapped her heels together, straightened her back, and saluted.

"Captain Striker, reporting as per your request, sir!" She announced.

The man across a large desk glanced at her with his emerald eyes. His face was aged, middle-aged, but he wore Alos's uniform well and seemed as alive as any teenager. His blonde hair was combed and proper. And in his grasp was a tablet.

"I said to come as soon as you were done resting. . ." He sighed and gestured a hand down. "You just came out of a medic pod, how's your body?"

She lowered her hand and nodded. "I'm done with my rest, sir, save for my missing arm, my body is back to top shape."

He nodded.

"Very well, Striker. I've received reports about your battle and the city feels your accomplishment at preventing a rampaging dungeon break and securing the dungeon itself merit enough for promotion."

Her eyes widened.

"Don't tell me. . .?"

He smiled lightly at her.

"Congratulations," He said, "You're the youngest Major in history, Striker."

She met his eyes and saluted.

"Thank you, sir!"

"Hmm, that missing arm of yours will be a liability," He muttered, "With your outstanding performance as an officer, and considering your records, however, I think the city will willingly pay for an operation to get you fitted with a bionic."

She nodded, only half-way listening to him. "And what about my men?"

"Hmm?" He raised a brow at her. "What about them?"

She paused.

". . .the recovery and burial of their bodies, sir?"

He checked his tablet. "Sol 1307 through 1311? Those homunculi are state-owned. For those whose corpses remain, they will be recovered and disposed of accordingly."

Shana took a breath as she heard those words. They were expected but her brain took longer than usual to process them. She blinked her eyes.

"So. . .they will meet the garbage heap?"

"If we find no worth for their parts, yes." He nodded as he placed the tablet down. "You're dismissed, Striker. Unless you still have something to be said?"

Shana Striker bit her lips as she considered her options. Remembering the faces that looked up to her, and protected her, however, she took a breath and stood as an officer should, raising her remaining hand to a salute of respect.

She looked him in the eyes.

"With all due respect, sir, I refuse the promotion and instead wish to advance into the Reaper branch. I hope to get your recommendation and approval."

A life leading homunculi to battle was no longer one she wanted. In the past, she watched good men be reconfigured and made blank slates. Now she had watched those she considered as close as family die to protect her. She joined the military to protect and advance Alos, not to watch the death of her comrades and her superior's disinterest as he considered them merely product numbers. It didn't feel right to simply replace them with a new group as what would be done and her heart was not ready.

"Striker." He smiled at her and she thought it disgusting. "I expect good things from you."

3 years of service within any branch was a base requirement to even qualify to try for a position as grand as a Reaper and she had met that requirement readily 2 months ago. Along with being someone who had the fastest promotion under her belt and a record of no failures on more than 17 single-platoon missions, she was highly regarded. Applying for the position wouldn't be an issue.

"Of course, sir." She faked her own smile. "I am a prodigy, after all."

'A prodigy that allowed her family to die.'

7 months of training later, she met her assigned Logic and received her first mission as an Outrider—a Reaper of the sky. Five years after that, she met the homunculus known as Rose.