Let me out.

My head hurts, as if there's something banging away inside my skull. This is bad, I had managed to stay in control for the past few months, but whenever I'm put in a stressful situation, that thin veneer of security slips away. First it was that impromptu harvest Don carried out in front of my clinic. Now its during the battle with that unknown bulwark pilot. 

LET ME OUT!

The migraine grows exponentially worse as Sheryl rages deep inside my soul. A cancer that had progressed to the terminal stage. I would carve her out of whichever metaphysical space she has made her home in, if only I could access it. Sheryl becoming active has one advantage for me though. It allows me to access her powers, which can come in handy during a pinch. Like now. 

Max will find you Jasvinder. There's nowhere you can run. Nowhere you can hide. And we will make you suffer. 

I ignore Sheryl's angry ranting and concentrate on maintaining the speed of my bulwark. With Sheryl's abilities powering it, I can manage a movement speed of close to grade A, enough to shake off most pursuers. I build up more altitude, soaring high in the sky, as the Citadel begins to shrink, the assorted buildings and skyscrapers resembling an elaborate architect's mock up instead of a living, breathing city. The traffic along the main thorough fairs move sluggishly, the congested arteries of an artificial organism. A few of the buildings begin to light up as the dusk closes in. 

You will be shot down at the wall. There is no escape.

The wall. The massive divinely blessed barrier that separates the Citadel from the concrete desert. Resembling a dam constructed out of gray stone blocks, the wall towers over the buildings that it protects, dwarfed only by the ramparts of the Inner Citadel. Militia troopers man the battlements and fixed defenses that line the fortification, keeping out the horrors that emerge from the desert.

After the fracas at the school, I can no longer hide in the Citadel. I need to flee before the dragnet closes in around me. I had thought that the Militia would focus on Don, but the recent battle places the spotlight squarely on me. There also has been no manhunt for my erstwhile partner after the massacre at the clinic. Don for all his faults is incredibly good at making himself scarce when trouble arrives at the door. I should have known that he would find a way to slip past scrutiny. 

Max is rather ham handed. But he's the kind of person who knows exactly how far to push. Skirting close to the edge, but never falling off. 

That about sums it up. And I'm the one left holding the bag and going on the run. As the walls of the citadel begin to loom closer, the migraine abruptly eases as Sheryl's presence retreats. I feel her power ebbing away and my bulwark reverting to its default capabilities. I mentally reach out and seize the amorphous blob residing in my head, maintaining my link with the ability package. The blob feels slick and oily as it wriggles about frantically, trying to escape from my mind's grip. 

"I'm not dying here, you hear?" I mutter but Sheryl does not bother to respond. A heavy weight settles over my mind, the fatigue from fighting this internal battle. The jets of my bulwark sputter alarmingly for a brief moment before reverting to their augmented output. 

If I get shot down at the wall, then I get shot down. I'd rather that not happen, but I'm resigned to the fact if it does. What really bites me is my failure to save Reina. By now, Don would have retrieved her and set to undoing all my work in suppressing Lisa. Forcing Reina into that devil's bargain, whether she wants it or not. 

And our relationships with the Operatives are devil's bargains, no matter how you look at it. The Operatives offer power beyond the strongest Valkyries, but the price they demand is complete servitude. And eventually, servitude is no longer enough. Their host's personality will be completely shattered as the Operative assumes full control. The girl known as Reina would no longer exist. The girl who should be going to school, then maybe the Academy and after that living out her adult life would be wiped from the face of this world. Leaving behind a devil working towards bringing about a monstrous conspiracy to fruition. 

The worst part is that none of us were offered a choice. Its the Operatives that choose us as their hosts, not the other way around. I would have never agreed to Sheryl taking up residence in my head. And I'm sure if Don could still hold an independent thought of his own, he would agree with me. 

There's a peal of thunder and a lance of lightning streaks across the sky, leaving a jagged scar in its wake just beyond the walls of the Citadel. But the afterimage does not fade. Instead droplets of green fire begin to bleed from the scar, raining down on the concrete desert. Fire from the sky. 

The Tears of Iros. 

A warning klaxon is sounded throughout the Citadel, signalling all active units to ready themselves for sortie. Legend has it that when the Fallen first declared war on humanity, Iros wept at the prospect of all the suffering the conflict would bring. From that day onward, Iros would shed tears whenever the Fallen go on the march, warning her children and giving them time to prepare. All rubbish of course. The Tears of Iros have nothing to do with the goddess herself.

The truth of the matter is -

The truth of the matter -

The truth -

I don't know. Sheryl knows what the truth is, but she has become uncooperative, refusing to share her knowledge with me. I know the legend is wrong, but I don't know why. Trying to get Sheryl to give up that piece of information is like trying to draw blood from a stone. From years worth of precedent, it has been proven that one part of the legend is correct though. The Tears are a sign that the Fallen will be showing up. And if the Tears are raining just outside the Citadel, it means that they intend to attempt at battering down the walls again.

When was the last time I got caught in a rain of Tears?

Yes. It was that day. The day I met him.

.....

"Hurry!" I shout to my unit, "We need to get the refugees to safety before the Fallen hit us!" 

My unit of Auxilia hustles down the cracked disused highway with our bulwarks deployed, escorting a bedraggled procession of dirty men and women collected from the border villages. The Fallen's rampage had put all their homes at risk, and we needed to get them behind our lines before it was too late. The Tears of Iros rain all around us, the green flickering embers a grim harbinger of what we can expect if we don't pick up the pace. There's a sudden tug on my arm and I turn to see the last person I ever wanted to be here. 

Don. 

Don pulls me out from my position in the line and takes us to the side of the procession, where no one can hear us talk. I unwillingly follow him to prevent a scene from starting, but I know what is coming next. 

"Why are we rescuing rapefugees?" Don asks the moment we are out of earshot. 

"We are under orders, Conscript." I respond cuttingly, hiding behind my rank, "I'll ignore this breach of protocol, but never again, understood?"

Don merely tightens his grip on my arm, and I feel his strength even underneath my bulwark's armor. 

"What are our orders, Captain?" Don asks mildly. 

"To protect the refugees." I respond, sweat running down my back. 

"What are our orders, Sheryl?" Don presses. 

"To ... to ... " I stammer incoherently as that blasted woman's voice begins shouting in my head. 

Don leans forward and shakes me gently. Its meant to be reassuring, but I feel nothing but dread at the gesture. 

"To liquidate any and all beast people we come across." Don concludes, "That's what Wu said didn't he?"

"Yes." I nod morosely and the woman in my head chuckles in triumph. 

"Then why are we escorting beast people to safety?" Don asks patiently, "Why did you bring the rest of the unit with us?"

"Because ..." my voice trails off impotently. Because I wanted to stop you from pulling a stunt like this. I realize now that its completely useless. Don is never going to stop. He wants to be a good Operative. 

"Alright. Sheryl, I know you're confused." Don says soothingly, "but we can still salvage this. Are you with me?"

"Yes." my lips move treacherously on their own accord. 

"Good. Now when we get back to the unit, you slow the pace of the march, understand?" Don explains, "Let the Fallen spawn right on top of us."

"But that would mean .." I babble as Sheryl begins to snigger to herself. 

"That would mean you need to take control during a battle." Don nods, "You do that. But make sure to split the procession and let the Fallen cut the beast people off from the rest of the group. I'll handle the rest."

"I can't leave you alone with the beast people." I hiss, grasping at straws, "It would be too suspicious."

"Then leave some conscripts with me as well." Don shrugs, "As I said, I'll handle it. One way or the other. Cool?"

"Fine." I morosely agree. 

"Buck up." Don pats me on the shoulder in a show of camaraderie, "We'll make it together, you and I. And come look for me once the fight is over. I'll make sure to save some flesh bags for you to harvest."

"Thanks." I mutter as Don walks off to the rear of the procession where all the beast people are. With nothing else to do, I begin making my way back to my place in the formation. A ragged young man casts a curious eye at me as I walk past. A sense of irritation builds within me and I dismiss my bulwark's helmet to confront my silent accuser. 

"Like what you see?" I snap. 

"No!" the young man blurts, red faced, "Sorry. I know it can't be easy keeping us all safe."

"Its fine." I sigh, "Don't worry about it. Its just been a difficult day."

The young man now begins to talk more animatedly, and I can see beneath the crust of grime over his face, his features are really quite fine and handsome. 

"Thank you. Really, thank you." the young man beams, "Everyone said that we would be wiped out with our village. Then you came along to get us out of there."

"Don't thank me just yet." I grunt, "Being a refugee is not an easy life. Some days you'll wish that the Fallen had just ended things for you."

"I've got a sister who lives in the Citadel." the young man muses, "So I'll probably be able to avoid the camps, I think."

"Lucky." I smile back, "I haven't managed to get my residency application approved yet. And I'm a soldier."

"I could ask my sister to help out with that. She's got connections." the young man offers, "The name's Thomas by the way."

"Trying to bribe an Auxilia, Thomas?" I ask with mock levity. I'm not stupid. Thomas is trying to suck up to me for that bit of extra safety. But we live in tough times. Trading favors has become the norm. Nothing to see here. Move along. He might be bullshitting me for all I know.

"I'm just grateful Captain." Thomas frowns, but there's an element of playfulness about it, "After all, you're trying your best for us, aren't you?"

Trying my best. But for whom? I turn back and see Don settling in at the end of the line, strolling with a relaxed gait. I feel my expression turn ugly and hurriedly summon my helmet to prevent Thomas from catching on to what is going on. 

"Trying my best. That's what I do." I confirm blandly as the Tears of Iros continue to rain down all around us. 

And as hot tears flow down my cheeks.  

....

Pilot Record

Name: Conscript Don Kuat

Service Branch: Auxilia

Affinity Level: D

Assigned Bulwark: T-25 Skirmisher

STRENGTH - E

STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY - E

DEXTERITY - D

FIRE CONTROL - D

ENERGY RESERVE - E

Armanent: 2 x Auto Pistol

                     Attack Power: E       Base chance to hit: D

                     Rocket Pod

                    Attack Power: D        Base chance to hit: E

Additional Notes:

Conscript Pilot: Capable of piloting a bulwark without penalty. Has no knowledge of advanced piloting techniques. 

Strange: Kuat has a difficult personality, and despite his unexceptional record, has the uncanny ability to survive situations that should be beyond him.