The dark blue paper bag I have pressed to my lips resembles the likes of a raisin. The next moment, with a single long huff the likes of the crumbled-textured bag expands to the size of an inflated balloon. And with another suck of air, the ball reverts to a papery raisin. For maybe the last thirty minutes or so, this is the only thing that keeps me preoccupied; the only thing that has been somewhat calming me down.

I failed.

I did what I could, but I couldn’t get us to safety. My rather risky plan to deceive the Scarface and their fleet were successful… even though I have to waste a few ships in the process. Mazzareli found it an acceptable loss—it's better the pirates' overcommit to destroying them since that means the pirates wouldn't be able to bolster their capabilities with them.

But… something about it just couldn’t sit right with me. The tactic didn’t see any losses… but we essentially threw away a lot of taxpayer money and the hard work of dozens of Frankish and Metropolitan ship constructors. Regardless… we saved lives. With that thought, I take another intense huff from the bag and subsequent inhale.

My plan was executed better than I expected—even more so as we broke through the whole pirate force. I never expected the rearguard to also be as successful. What’s more, even though we managed to safely protect the commodore’s fleet retreat as it retreated to the Bordeaux region, the Yilan- led detachment was unable to link up with the rest of the fleet. I failed to factor in that we burned through our fuel reserves at the worst possible moment. And that’s not even factoring in the fact that we got encircled. And that collectively, our reserves of missiles were depleted. It would be a complete understatement to say we are sitting ducks.

The bag inflates and withers more frequently, and the resulting lightheadedness leaves me ever so dizzy. My chest aches with pain. I sit curled up against the wall, knees to chest. While I sit here various personnel pass by, with none paying any particular attention to me, some are laden with swaying ammo belts or lugging around bipods for turret emplacements. Some platoon-sized groups, all wearing lightly armored torso armor, march from the bridge with carbines slung around their backs. Occasionally, there are teams of marines clad in armored plating holding recoilless rifles or halberds.

Everyone has been on edge, and rightfully so. It’s only been an hour or so since we faced encirclement, and with encirclement comes the possibility of boarding parties. The horror stories I have heard during my time at the academy seem all too real now—even if we don’t get boarded, there is the possibility we will be obliterated.

The Scarface takes no prisoners. If it was any other pirate force, they would merely take your stores and let you go, most likely. But this is no merely pirate force; this is the Scarface. To get yourself encircled by them is tantamount to assured death.

I continue to breathe in and out of the paper bag. The bag shifts from the shape of a circular balloon to a crumbled raisin, and so on.

Aside from the Yilan’s marines, the majority of us—including me—have small caliber pistols as our means of self-defense. I lower my bag briefly and glance over at my right to my still-holstered gun, which I have taken off from my belt earlier. Its cover is still on, and I haven’t touched the safety.

Years ago, when I went on a trip to Indo-China with my father and the Trachenbergs, I went out hunting with my father one day and killed a deer. It was the first and last time I have ever taken another being’s life. And although I felt nothing from it at the time, thinking back on it now, I can’t help but feel a little guilty. That deer lived its life to the fullest, probably, and was abruptly snuffed out by a naive young girl who wanted to bond with her father. It didn’t get killed because I was hungry. It didn’t get killed because I was threatened. I killed it for no reason. I killed an animal that had no means to defend itself from me. I literally killed it for the sake of it—and maybe not even that.

‘Victoria… how did it feel—to take another living thing’s life?’ The words of father to an innocent Victoria echo in the back of my mind. I tighten my grip on the paper bag, ‘there will come a day when you will have to take the life of another human in the military.’

The grip on the paper bag tightens so hard that I end up digging into my palm. I glance over at the abandoned pistol. Perhaps my dad’s words were correct. Perhaps any moment now, I will have to point this pistol at another human being and pull the trigger. To take another’s life who had grown up and matured only to be killed by a single, tiny bullet. And if I don’t, then they will do much the same to me—they have the means to defend themselves, and the two of us face equally grave danger.

If I think hard enough, I can still picture the poor deer’s frozen eyes as my dad and I secured it to haul it to our vehicle. Why did this happen? How could I have prevented this? Why was I one to be killed? I can imagine the poor deer thinking about such things.

All those corpses I saw earlier—the likes of that dead girl from before. People who died in ship to ship combat… do they experience such thoughts before they die? They do not even get to see what killed them—one moment they are alive, and the next they are choked by oxygen deprivation or killed by a nuclear warhead thrown at them thousands of kilometers away. Compared to that…

“Victoria?”

I look up to Friederika standing over me. She holds in either hand cups where steam rises from either “sorry… is now a bad thing for you?” She asks trying to smile, but it’s clear she’s been worried sick about me. I would be too if my best friend suddenly broke down in a panic and ran off in the middle of combat maneuvers.

“No… you didn’t, you came at a good time, actually…” I pull the heavy holstered pistol towards me so Friederika has space to sit. She first leans down and hands me the hot cup, and peering inside the steamy green liquid seems to be tea if I have to guess.

“I figured you might want something to calm you down, so I got us some herbal stuff,” Friederika says quietly, but with reassurance “I hope it’s not too hot.”

I shake my head, “it’s just the right temperature, I can drink it just fine without burning my tongue off,” and with that, we drink in silence for the next couple of moments as platoons of marines march past us in either direction of the hallway.

“Prince was worried about you, you know—and so was Mazzareli, and when Margot found out she was worried sick, too…” Friederika says with a lowered voice, her eyes peering into her cup. She gently rubs a part of it with her index fingers and thumbs, “I… was worried sick, too, you know.” I nod my head with gentle grunts, and my gaze falls back to my pistol again.

“Say… Kiki,” Friederika looks at me curiously, “—have you ever… do you think…” I cup my fingers around the cup more, unsure of how to proceed with this “—do you remember back when we went hunting in Indo-China a couple of years ago?” Friederika gives me a gentle nod, her eyebrows slightly tilted in a frown “back then, you asked me if something happened between me and my dad, and… I didn’t want to ask you something that was kinda sensitive at the time…”

Friederika looks mildly confused now, “what exactly are you getting at, huh?”

“When my dad and I were carrying the deer we hunted back to camp, he asked me if…” I pause, instinctively reaching down to stroke the crumbled bag, and cleared my throat before continuing “he asked me how it felt to take the life of a living thing, and at the time… I didn’t know how to respond. I felt happy that I managed to make my father proud, but… I didn’t factor in the animal’s feelings, and…” I reach out for my holstered pistol and flipping open the leather covering I caress its cold grip, “at the time, I wanted to ask you if you ever hunted an animal before, and how you might’ve… experienced that kind of thing,” I pull my hand back to rub my brow “oh… blimey, this is kinda embarrassing to ask now for some reason,” I finish apologetically, glancing over at Friederika.

She takes a similar position to me, with her legs bent and to her chest. She had finished her cup of tea and had subtly given it a little squeeze while I talked. She continued to gently rub the crushed container with her fingers.

“…I can see how that can be a little unsettling to ask, and even now, gosh…” Friederika says trailing off, she draws out her pistol from her hip and slightly extends it out pointing at the ground. The safely on it is still on, and I imagine it isn’t loaded with a magazine.

“During the family trip, I don’t think the thought ever really crossed my mind… but it did occur to me when we were doing field training at Lepanto,” Friederika clears her throat and her thumb caresses the side of the pistol grip as she continues “—when we were doing actual combat training… I remember thinking to myself; ‘if these were real bullets, there’s no way I could pull the trigger and kill another being’,” the dark-haired sub-lieutenant scoffs, “that’s probably why I was tagged so easily early on…

“I froze up when the shooting started. It was fun and games then, of course… but I had a sense of fear that I could’ve very well died if it was real, and now that we’re here…” Friederika pauses for a moment to holster her pistol “the possibility was very real, and it’s still scary…” she gives me the glimmer of a smile, and pulls me closer to her by the shoulder “but I figured, to bloody hell with the pirates if I still have you!”

“Was?” I ask in surprise “aren’t we still at risk of getting taken over by boarding parties?”

Friederika lets out a sigh, “right before I left the bridge, I think they were getting a transmission from the pirate fleet, the Castleford, or whatever it’s called…”

“The Castelforte,” I correct wryly “did you manage to hear what it was about?” Friederika only shakes her head.

“No… I think I was already out of earshot when we opened channels… well, on my way here from the mess hall I overheard some staff passing by that the pirates were offering a ceasefire.” I rest my head against the wall and look upward; a ceasefire? There’s no way I heard that correctly.

“What makes you think it’s a ceasefire? If they wanted a ceasefire, then why are all these marines marching around armed to the teeth?”

Friederika shrugs, “maybe we don’t trust them, could you trust a pirate—the Scarface guy of all people, to uphold something like that? It could be they’re aiming to get us to lower our guard… or something.”

“Well, if that were the case, I don’t think it’s working in the slightest if we’re so on-edge…” I slowly get to my feet and offer Friederika a hand “c’mon, let’s get to the bridge and find out what’s going on. Knowing you, you might’ve misheard something again.”

Friederika scoffs at my jab but helps herself up with my support.

---

We weren’t too far from the bridge—I had only ventured a few corridors away from it during my episode earlier. We hear an announcement over the speakers confirming what Friederika had overheard; the pirate fleet under the Scarface has offered a ceasefire. Orders coming down from Mazzareli issued a stand-down to all personnel in the meantime.

“I wonder what the stand-down order entails?” I ask offhandedly as we enter the main bridge room. Friederika only shrugs her shoulders in wonder.

We both scan the room in search of the XO—now, rather, assuming the position of CO—but to no avail. There is, however, Prince and Casavant. When Friederika and I wave and get closer to them we give proper salutes.

“Are you in a better condition now, Ensign Happ-Schwarzenberger?” Prince asks not averting his eyes from the tablet he holds “do let me know if you need to take a rest in the medical bay.”

“Thank you for the offer, Prin—” for a split second Prince eyeballs me before looking back at his tablet “…Lieutenant, I… think I’m okay now, I’m just a little shaken is all. Um…” Prince looks up at me and then to Casavant “we um… I heard from Kik—Sub-Lieutenant Trachenberg that the pirates opened a channel with us earlier?”

Prince hands the tablet over to Casavant, who excuses himself from us and heads off to another portion of the bridge. As I watch him off, I notice the window shutters were still sealed tight, and the camera monitors showed dozens of pirate ships drifting around in staggered lines that circulate our force menacingly. Even without the prospect of boarding parties, the Scarface could’ve had us all cut down without remorse.

“Happ?”

I snap back to attention, “ah, oh! Sorry… I was just…” I stammer, but Prince pays it no attention.

“Yes, that is correct. Lieutenant-Commander Mazzareli weighed his options and announced to the rest of the fleet that we will accept the conditions of the ceasefire. The pirate captain has suggested an audience with Mazzareli. So they should be here momentarily if they aren’t already.”

“Er… by the pirate captain, do you mean…?” Friederika pipes in with a cautious question. Prince only nods and turns to face the monitors.

“I mean none other than the Madame Scarface, of course,” those words sent a shiver down my spine. The Scarface? Coming here directly? If I didn’t know any better this could be a trap, “rest assured—it is highly unlikely they will bring any escorts. The person we spoke to insisted that their captain will come alone. She does not want to cause any misunderstandings on her part, or so it seems.”

“Wait,” I frown “if that’s the case…” Friederika and I look at each other in confusion “wasn’t there an order just earlier telling everyone to stand down? Why were there squads of armed marines stomping around? I can’t imagine that’ll leave a good impression on the Madame…”

Prince slaps the side of his head and cuts loose an exasperated sigh, “I told those marine commanders beforehand that there should be no need to give a cold welcoming… they shared the sentiment that Mazzareli and I were too trusting of the pirates, but they should’ve still told their men to stand down regardless… if they haven’t, it’s a good chance that we could all be dead by now in retaliation.”

Friederika gives me a nudge, and I’m reminded that I don’t see Mazzareli anywhere. “Well… that aside, you said the Scarface should be here by now, right?” Prince nods “does that mean Mazz—Lieutenant-Commander Mazzareli already met up with her?”

“That is most likely the case,” Prince replied.

“Um… where are they now? Would you happen to know?” I ask. Prince turns back to face us, and peers st me in particular—but his gaze falls to the holstered pistol st my hip.

“Naturally, he left for the shuttle bay… but aside from that, I do have not the slightest idea. They might still be there, or they might’ve gone somewhere else… did you need something from him?”

“Ah, no… nothing in particular… if you don’t need anything from me, Prince, I’ll… um, be in my room.” Prince slaps the side of his head again in an angry sigh but doesn’t protest like our usual routine.

And with that, Friederika and I excuse ourselves from the bridge room.

---

Friederika and I spent the time in silence on the way to my room. It isn’t until we reach my front door does Friederika break the silence. “Say… Vicky, are you really feeling alright?” she tugs the sleeve of my arm “if you want, I can leave you alone for a while… I can always drop by later when you’re feeling better.”

“…You can stay with me if you want,” I reply “but don’t blame me if you become MIA in my room.” Friederika cracks a mild smile. As I reach for the doorknob, I am interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Friederika and I turn around simultaneously to face several concerned sailors.

“Erm… do you need something from me?” I ask after the servicemen give us salutes.

“Ensign Victoria Happ-Shortenburger, I take it?” The older-looking sailor with a neatly trimmed mustache asks. I give a nod in acknowledgment, trying to refrain from being irritated. “The XO requested you come to the CO’s office as soon as you can.”

“Eh, me? For what purpose…?” I ask while glancing at Friederika.

“The XO didn’t give us any details,” the younger-looking orange-haired sailor says nonchalantly. I can’t help but wonder how that feels rather uncharacteristic of Mazzareli.

“I wonder if he finished his meeting with the Scarface? In any case…” I turn to Friederika “did you want to tag along?” But she waves her hand.

“I think I’ll wait until after your summon ends, I’ll stay in your room until you get back… serious stuff isn’t my thing!” With that Friederika helps herself into my dumpster of a cabin. She must really have a death warrant to go in there unintended but at least I’m not the one to sign it… wait, isn’t this technically accessory to murder?

The sailors and I give the usual salutes, and then I begin heading for Buttermilch’s former lodgings.

---

I do not see most people along the way. Not marines, or any stray officers. I wonder if most folk are still at the shuttle bay?

My thoughts are cut short when I nearly bump into someone.

“Ah! Forgive me, I was…” I stammer, but looking up I realize it’s Mazzareli. He looks at me with stern eyes, tight-lipped, “…Mazzareli? I thought you were in Buttermilch's office…”

“That was the case, Ensign Happ-Schwarzenberger,” is his reply “but I decided to return to the bridge after finishing my business with the pirate commander.”

“I heard from some servicemen you wanted me for something, sir?” I ask, and Mazzareli turns to face the way he was coming from.

“Actually, I didn’t need you specifically—the Madame Scarface requested… rather, wished to speak to the junior officer by the name of Hap-Scwtazenburger, and although I was confused by what she meant at first…” he turns back to face me “I realized she meant you.”

My legs freeze up, and my balled fists tighten before I even know it. A lump forms in my throat, and it is nigh impossible to clear it, “I-I… s—she wants to see me?” I stammer over the words. I don’t know if I should feel flattered or baffled! “What could she possibly want with someone like… wait,” I pause, rubbing the side of my garrison cap, “—why… how does she even know who I am?”

Mazzareli crosses his arms, and perches his brow, “your guess is as good as mine… it is likely they have intercepted our communication systems, and heard you at some point. But it’s not important now…” he gestures down the hallway “she may still be in his office—Buttermilch’s cabin. I told her you may or may not come, so there’s no telling if she got impatient and left for her shuttle already.” With one last sigh, he turns back to face me, “but before you go, hand me your weapon.”

“Huh?” The word slips through carelessly.

“I have faith you won’t do anything rash that could cause a crisis to arise. I understand that you had a breakdown earlier—if you so much had another one, I wouldn’t want to risk the pirate fleet rescinding the ceasefire and massacring us.”

“Ah… right,” I utter as I slip off the holster and carefully hand it over to him. The lieutenant-commander receives the holstered pistol and sidesteps out of the way.

“Don’t let her wait too long, Victoria,” and with that, I excuse myself from the presence of the lieutenant-commander.

---

I stand before the familiar sight of the pasty-white steel door. It feels like it has been forever since I was last here. The nervousness of trying to convince Buttermilch about the fate of Operation Lucky Alphonse— and the resolve I needed to look like a strong and capable person. And just like that time, Friederika isn’t here to give me the support I need… and I need her now more than ever.

What could this Scarface possibly want with me…? The thought continues to puzzle me even as I extend a fist towards the door to knock.

But I can’t bring myself to do it. This is the Scarface we’re talking about. The ruthless mass-murderer who strikes fear into Federation naval officers everywhere. Mazzareli did tell her that I may not come, after all…

My chest tightens up to the point where I wish I still had the bag with me—my heart beats with such intensity that I find myself continuously short of breath. My outstretched hand rescinds to clench my chest.

Maybe I shouldn’t do this after all. I should just head back. What business do I have with some ruthless killer? Why would I want to meet the one who has outright murdered Buttermilch? A bloodthirsty lunatic who is responsible for all those sailors who will never return home to loving family and friends?

A step back. And another. My fist trembles as it clenches my chest even tighter. I can’t do this. It wouldn’t be right. I turn to leave for my room—

And then freeze in my tracks. With my back to the door, I hear the whoosh of the pasty-white steel door as it slides open. All the while, my heart skips several beats.

With enough courage, I clear my throat and look at the doorway. And for a split second—an eternal second—my heart stops pulsating.

A woman no taller than me, with flowing, raven black hair that contrasts with my own. A pair of red-hued eyes—much like my own—locks eyes with me; her dark thin eyebrows raised in mild surprise. She wears a woolly-textured cloak, a lighter shade of brown, tan even. An oversized belt divides her red-and-black shirting and dark gray leggings. Around her neck are two golden disk necklaces.

But her most defining feature is one that sends a cold spell down my spine; a disfiguring scar snakes it’s way from her left cheek, through the bridge of her nose, and finally stopping at her right eyebrow. In contrast to her milky-white skin, the tissue is darker-toned… a scar that must be well past maturity.

“The… Ma… … Mada…” I utter nearly paralyzed from shock. Not once do either of us break any eye contact.

The raven-haired woman recovers quicker than I do. She straightens herself, dusts her hands on her cloak, and clears her throat with a gentle ‘ahem’.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you… Miss Happ.”