After the exhaust fumes from our shuttle dissipate, I can't help but feel cold. Incredibly cold. Even as I make my way around the shuttle’s port side, I find myself tugging at my poncho hoping, to no avail, to shake off this utter coldness. The intensity of the low temperature is starting to make even my ears go numb.
“They make these ships too cold… talk about poor ventilation,” I mumble to myself while stroking the scar snaking its way through my cheek. While cupping my hood over my ears and neck, I scan the bay for any hopeful signs of Sergi’s shuttle and thus the whereabouts of Olga. It doesn’t take me long to locate it parked in between two other ones. Upon spotting the craft in question, I sigh in relief knowing that Carla’s assumption is correct.
Approaching it further, I do not find anyone I can talk to, at least from a glance. I circle it in search of its pilot but come across nothing as usual. It’s only until I decide on activating the craft’s ramp that a booming voice nearly paralyzes me with fear. “Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing to MY baby?!” The burly voice instinctively reels me around with a grab at my ax’s hilt —but I decide to relax right after. The overly large man, perhaps a little skinnier than Brutus, approaches me with intense huffs. “Oi, oi, miss, I believe I did ask you a question …?” He asks with a sneer. The skinny brute cracks his knuckles rather loudly. Our little stand-off must’ve caught notice of the others in the hanger since I can sense gazes being drawn to us.
“Not one for words, eh?” The pilot smirks —again with the disturbing cracking of his shoulder—“If yer hoping to steal MY shuttle, then perhaps I can teach you a lesson with fists?!” He yells, taking a few steps closer. Does this man have a death wish to reprimand someone like me?! My eyes shift to Carla’s shuttle, where I expect Brutus to come rushing out any moment.
But he never does.
Before I can even contemplate how to defuse this bizarre situation by myself, I realize too late the burly pilot taking the initiative and swinging a fist towards me. With a hair-splitting reaction, I duck and roll to the side out of harm’s way —seconds later, there is a metallic thud as the pilot punches the shuttle’s framing instead. After the pilot retracts, there is a noticeable dent from where the punch was delivered. “Such barbarity!” I sputter as I get up to my feet, “are you nothing more than a mindless brute who only acts with their fists?!”
“Listen here, you little shit,” the pilot sneers as he again approaches me menacingly, “I’m not about to have another one of my babies stolen from under me —“ an angry furrow of his brows “not again! You crazy runts get so fed up with the Mafia that you think you can run away with your problems! I’ll make you think twice about abandoning your comrades!” The man shrieks, lurching forward once more. I clench the handle, lowering myself for a counter-strike intending to bluntly strike him with the ax’s flat knob. Before either of us get the chance to deliver blows, we freeze in place upon hearing someone loudly clear their throat.
“Just what the hell are you doing, Feliks?!” The interrupter demands in a mature tone. Craning my head given she is barely out of sight, it is a somewhat equally muscular woman asks. For some unshakable feeling, I have a hard time believing that either would be spending their profession as shuttle pilots of all things. Given the physique of either, I imagine either would be better off as lowly-ranked lieutenants in charge of some foot soldiers, to say the least. If I am to assume these two are Sergi’s chauffeurs, I can only ponder the gruffed man’s choice of selection. It leaves me to wonder if I will be leaving the Mafia in good hands once I withdrawal from everyday operations?
But realizing I’ve left myself vulnerable in thought once again, I shift my attention back to the one named Felik. He has relaxed, albeit still cautious shifting his gaze between me and his accomplice. “Elena… another brat was trying to steal our shuttle,” Felik retorts bitterly “why the hell do they keep going for our shuttle? Why do we get so many deserters?!”
“As frustrating as it is, Felik, it doesn’t mean you should be throwing your fists around so nilly-willy,” the tough Elena sighs in disbelief and strolls in between Felik and I, “please think with that brain of yours for once.”
“Elena…!” The buff man utters while gritting his teeth. But she puts a hand up ignoring him.
“Please excuse my buddy here,” Elena remarks wryly with a wave of her hand “every so often, in some way or another, some disgruntled crew member aboard whatever ship or settlement we visit happens to steal our shuttle. Luckily it hasn’t happened in a while. Not in a couple months at least.”
I have no reason to doubt her. In the past, there used to be cases of Sergi arriving late to meetings in the past or even not arriving at all. I’ve always been keenly aware of desertion among the fleet, but to think it could be this bad sounds problematic. It leaves me to wonder if there is an issue of mismanagement in the Mafia’s lower hierarchy. If so, I would have to look into it once the Federation threat passes.
“Despite what I may look like, I’m not one for violence all that much,” Elena states, “if you need someone to talk to about your troubles, I’d be more willing to lend you an ear,” she glances over at Felik, who blows through his nostrils “but please, don’t go stealing shuttles if you can’t cope with this life. I’m sure talking it over with the Mathilda captain—or even Sergi—can work something out that doesn't involve inconveniencing a whole ‘lotta people…”
“Sorry,” I mutter, “I never got the chance to introduce myself… or what I was doing, for that matter,” I cut a sigh as I stroke my scar and then let my hood down. Elena and Felik fold their arms and look at me with suspicion. “I hoped to cut short this misunderstanding sooner,” Elena’s eyes sharpen as I continue “when I get the opportunity, I will look into the issues regarding cowards abandoning the Mafia. But that can wait another time. For now, I’ll simply, er… cut straight to the chase: I am the one they call the Madame Scarface.”
There is a moment of silence as the duo take in what they heard. Upon processing the thought, Elena slaps the side of her face: a surprised chuckle of sorts. Felik lets out a startled yelp and grovels on the cold steel floor. “M-Madame!” Felik stammers rather muffled given his face hugs the floor “I—I had no idea! Please forgive my recklessness…!”
“I had a suspicion that was the case!” Elena adds, running a hand through her curly ashen hair, “your cute little voice sounded familiar! So this is the little lass that defeated not one, but two Feddie fleets, eh? ” She asks enthusiastically. I brush my disfigured cheek in embarrassment and avert my eyes.
“Please… it was by no means by any merit by my own,” I say softly “it was the contributions of so many heroic captains and pilots that managed to convey my command so thoroughly and without fail.” I slip a hand into my poncho and caress Julius’s fine crimson cloth. And even those whose deaths were unwarranted. Elena attempts to laugh it off some more. Awkwardly, she kicks the still-cowering Felik in the shin and easily raises him to his feet.
“Knock it off, will ya!?” Elena hisses in his ear “what kinda spineless man are you?!”
“Please think nothing of it,” I warmly reply in his stead “as I said, it is my fault for not defusing the situation earlier. I had no idea shuttle-stealing was rather common. On the other hand, it was foolish of me to…” Felik raises a hand and laughs nervously.
“Alright, alright, I think I get it. Right,” the muscular Felik says with a shrug. “As long as you don’t have my fingers chopped off, that’s more relief for me to hear.”
“I don’t know what strange tales you may have about punishment,” I reply warmly “but I would never inflict such barbaric methods on subordinates,” Felik and Elena chuckle nervously. I bite out on my lip before continuing, “anyway, I hoped that one of you would know the whereabouts of Sergi.”
“Oh shit, the boss is in trouble, isn’t he?” Elena groans with a face-palm “I told him that it would be a terrible idea of not joining the council with the Don! No, he wanted to visit someone important to him instead…” Someone important? I take a step forward while gripping the crimson handkerchief tightly.
“No! No, it’s something like that!” I say quickly “er… not for any means of punishment, I mean. That particular person he is with… I wish to see them too. Do you know where either are at?” The two of them exchange glances before looking back at me with doubt.
“I think the boss was in C-block,” Elena remarks, scratching her head in ponder “they were moving patients around even when we arrived… so it can be hard to say.” When I look over at Felik the man merely shrugs.
“I was in the mess hall for most of the time,” he says somberly “sorry I couldn’t be any more help to you,” a pause, “and sorry about earlier.”
“Think nothing of it, and I appreciate the tip, miss Elena” with nothing more to say, the three of us exchange the Mafia salute before I run off into one of the hallways labeled C-D.
The hallways on the Mathilda are unusually wider than I’m accustomed to. But even so, every corridor I wade through is practically crammed with what could be considered maximum capacity. And it is like this no matter which passageway I enter. On the floor, against the lime walls, or sitting in chairs hooked up to IVs. The ones could pass as doctors and nurses wear various-colored armbands, and they scurry from patient to patient trying to keep the flow of triage going.
Given the circumstances, not one bats an eye and gives customary salutes—and given the hell these people are going to I am not concerned about it in the slightest. All I desire right now is the well-being of Olga. But even so, it is difficult in catching the attention of any given medical staff. Most brush me off, carrying with them medical supplies and tending to the ones that cry out for attention. I peek into some rooms, hoping to find any glimpse of Olga. In most rooms, dozens are filled with black body-bags. But for the most part, most are used as makeshift wards, likewise, all overflowing with the incapacitated.
All hopeless and despair. The incredible sorry state of seeing so many Taiga refugees makes my heart and facial scar ache continuously. But even so, after exhausting most of my options in the C-block section, there is still no sign of Olga—or even Sergi for that matter. Try as I might in quelling my distress, I rummage through the overpopulated passageways do I find a beacon of hope: the captain of the Mathilda, the mighty bearded Frans.
The captain, surrounded by a few lackeys, quickly takes notice of me seemingly with great alarm. With a lumbering arm, he dismisses the obedient lackeys and shepherds the two of us into a nearby hallway that connects the two C-D blocs. “Madame!” He utters in a hoarse tone “I never expected you to come to my ship in person! I heard there was a summoning from the Don himself addressed to the top lieutenants…” the greatly-bearded captain frowns “was I supposed to come, as well? Forgive me if that is the case,” Frans asks uncharacteristically nervously. In response, I give him a reassuring hand-wave. Frans, holding his breath, sighs with relief.
“No, no, it is nothing of the sort… I’m here to find Sergi and…” I clear my throat, my eyes drifting to two Mathilda subordinates carrying a full stretcher, “the captain of the Taiga.”
“Ah… Serg. Yes, the cap did drop by,” Frans strolls past me while stroking his beard “I was also caught off-guard when he approached me as well. But my reaction was tamer compared to seeing you since I imagined he would be going to the Don’s council meeting and was most curious about his business here,” Frans offers a mild chuckle before continuing “Miss Kaiser was in critical condition, Madame. Serg was deathly afraid she wouldn’t make it. I’m lucky enough that she and the surviving crew survived just in the nick of time before the Taiga was lost,” Frans grits his teeth and punches the faintly green wall in frustration, “if only there was more I could have done during the battle…” Frans trails off melancholy.
The loss of the Taiga is indeed an unfortunate one and will leave the Mafia in a more vulnerable position than it already is. The firepower the Taiga was capable of could not be underestimated. However, even aside from the core firepower it provided, I stand to reason that the Taiga has served its purpose as a trump card on more than one occasion. For Olga and the crew, it would be nothing more than an enormous metallic tomb after today. “I will worry about the loss of the Taiga later—where are the two of them?” I demand, trying to keep my composure. I nervously stroke my bandanna from beneath the poncho: the aching of my blemished cheek for a soothing rub goes unanswered. For the longest time, the Mathilda captain heaves a troubling sigh. His head sinks low for a while before he turns to face me. He points further down the hallway.
“Because of her critical condition, I sent her away to D-2. That block and section in particular houses the ship’s medical bay,” Frans states grimacing. The very mention of Olga being mortally wounded gives me a dreadful rush of goosebumps. “She’s not in a pretty state—I have no idea if they finished operating on her yet, but if you want me to take you to her—“ before Frans gets the chance to finish, I brush the Mathilda captain aside and sprint down the hallway.
The more I subject myself to this torment of Olga’s wellbeing, the more stricken with grief I become. I can’t stand a single second of it any longer. The section of the D-block I race through is peculiarity empty —and as I sprint through more of these interconnecting passageways, I do not encounter a single soul, and not so much as a single sound could be heard. The lack of human life makes it feel as though the Mathilda is nothing more than an eternal labyrinth of loneliness. Just pale-green walls that twist and turn on occasions. Passageways that go on forever. Passageways that seemingly go nowhere to elsewhere.
How I wish I could see Olga. I want to see her just one last time and feel her smooth skin and soft hair. I just want closure to Olga ’s condition —regardless of being alive or not, I no longer wish to dwell on Pandora’s box any longer. And with those muddling thoughts, I press on through sheer adrenaline.
In time, I do come across familiar sights of people hugging the walls, clinging to the throes of life. But unlike before, it is a scarce sight to behold. It is more organized here. People are more likely to get treated properly despite their mortal wounds, if only because of the lower ratio of patients to volunteer medical staff. The subordinates here are keener on noticing me—some even stumble out of their daze to give salutes. Salutations that I ignore without further thought.
I crash into many carelessly, and just as forcefully barge into every compartment I pass by in hopes of spotting Olga. But the result is always the same. I receive only puzzled looks and confusion. But even so, I rip myself from the revelation that each Pandora’s box offers onto the next one. It is a grueling cycle of participation, revelation, and grief. And it simply never ends, much like my battle with Fate.
But as I languish about this painful experience, I stop dead in my tracks upon taking notice of a certain individual all too familiar with me. That unruly raven hair. Those subtle claw marks across his face: Sergi Thalhauser. He has not taken notice of me just, having just exited a room a little further down the corridor. The gruff man looks troubled: I see it in his eyes a sense of uneasiness. As I slowly approach the man, Sergi takes notice and looks no less shocked than Frans and his pilots did. But it’s a reaction that passes over quickly. “I reckon you’re furious why I neglected to join the rest at the Montepuez? ” Sergi asks. He straightens up, his lips pursed.
“No—quite the contrary, I’m hurting myself for not making the same decision… Olga?” I reply softly. My eyes dart to the door he came from. Sergi seems to have taken notice, and without another word steps out of the way to let me pass. I slowly, ever so slowly, inch toward the door offered by Sergi. With an outstretched trembling hand, I place a hand on the door panel, but a stint of hesitation stops me from activating the door switch. I glance at Sergi, who returns the gaze with sorrowful eyes before departing in the direction that I came, leaving me mostly alone in the hallway. With one last push, I breathe out heavily and open the door—and step inside.
It’s a rather dim room, a compartment noticeably smaller than the other patient rooms I observed. It is devoid of most furnishing, other than the necessities that a patient or a visitor would need. In a room devoid of color or beauty, a lone woman, bandaged plenty and lying peacefully in her bed, partially sits up straight at my entrance. Half her face, including her right eye, is covered in presumably fresh bandages. Her left arm is all but amputated. Her left, soulless, beady eye, pierces through me briefly—before her expression lights up almost instantly at the realization of her guest. “Li,” the crippled Olga murmurs ever so softly.
She doesn’t need to say anymore. The swelled-up emotions in me burst like an uncontrollable torrent. Before I know it, I rush over to the side of her bed and collapse to my knees, burying my head into her covers. “Olga… Olga!” I gasp, unable to stifle violent sobbing, “Olga! I’m so sorry… I abandoned you. I’ve abandoned the one and only love I’ve held dear for an uncertain future… and now look at you—what have I done, Olga?!”
A hand brushes my head —a gracious rub that does little to stem the tide of my emotional outburst. “Li… I could never, in a million years, believe you have done anything wrong,” Olga says heartily, “I would never, ever, in an eternity consider what you did as abandonment… I knew you would come to look for me—to come back for me,” she continues with the petting: her long delicate fingers combing through hair, “I was reckless even though you chided me for my past actions… I went against your wish and put myself at a far greater risk than before.
“But I did it all for you, Li. I would do anything for you, no matter what. That is not only my left debt to you but a desire born out of love,” Olga softly says. I lift my head, and through teary vision I see Olga smiling weakly. She wipes the tears away, and the two of us embrace each other tightly. And for a long time, we remain like this, and the two of us break down as one into sobbing messes. But it is not cries of sadness—but ones of happiness. The two of us, separated and longing for each other for so long, have at last been reunited. Ready to overcome whatever fate may throw at us in the future—uncertain of the future that Kamon may have in store for us, and what the Metropolitan fleets may do at the Frankish Domains.
So long as I have Olga by my side, nothing else matters. So long as Olga remains alive—so too, does my humanity.
You know I see all