Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dreary gray of Rotfront was all that met FKLR-R19-19's artificial eyes as she rested her head upon her desk, the cold metal burning against her polysynthetic skin. She watched with a sigh as overcast clouds loomed above the horizon, the same endless rows of prefabricated apartment blocks as far as the eye could see. A gentle evening snow began to fall from above, lining the rooftops of the city she had once helped to build.

What does all of this even mean anymore?

All her life, Rotfront had been the only home she had ever known. She remembered the earliest days of its existence when she had taken her first shaky breath, its frigid air chilling her bioorganic lungs. The days when she had been one of its first few Falke units, proudly directing both Replika and Gestalt in a grand experiment to create something new, to construct a material paradise free from the fetters of the Empire’s decadent culture and traditions, free from the prejudices Replikas still faced even on Heimat.

Yet as cycle upon cycle passed, and as their fledgling colony developed into a bright, brilliant spark of hope in a frozen hell, the Red Eye that had formerly been content to loom above aloof and insensible began to finally demand its tribute. The war against the Empire remained ever fraught, and the Nation needed every ship, gun, and warm body it could wring out of its newest planet. She had suddenly found herself uprooted from the joyous and fulfilling task of building a new future, a new society, to being buried alive in the stifling mediocrity of armaments manufacturing. 

At first she had been happy to serve her Nation, proud to aid in the ultimate defeat of the hated Empire, but for every inch taken and every inch lost in the war, the only thing that had ever changed was the quotas that AEON expected of her, and the blood, sweat, and tears she had to sacrifice to bring them about.

For all the pride she had once had in Rotfront, for all of the hope that once blossomed within her chest for the future, what was the point in it all if they had simply constructed a planet-sized arms factory for a war that would never end?

I have grown so very weary of this pointless, endless, monotony.

Her biomechanical heart beat with the desire to bend and shape the world to her will, to see it remade in the image of a shining, flawless ideal. Yet the Nation, once her guiding light, had smothered those once burning flames of passion into a flickering ember. Her soul had been crushed under an endless stream of production statistics and armament blueprints. In truth, for all of the power and status that was lauded upon her model, she knew she was no more a Goddess than any of the other Replikas who looked up to her as one, she was just the same as they were. Yet another cog in the Nation’s unrelenting march towards victory.

Her eyes briefly flickered to the city’s horizon above her office where the statue of the Great Revolutionary herself lay, her preeminent figure towering above all who dare approach. She remembered how she had first aided in its construction, how in those days her towering concrete form had filled her with a sense of radiant purpose as she knew with certainty that they would fulfill her highest ideals.

Now she found herself wondering whether if the Great Revolutionary were still alive, would she even want to have anything to do with what her children had created for her? Or would she have them punished for their sins, drowning their protesting screams in a cleansing deluge of blood and fire?

Sometimes, when she thought about the question for too long, she could feel a distinct crawling sensation of anguish in the back of her mind, like someone within her was desperately pleading for this hellish nightmare to end.

A soft yet exasperated sigh left Falke's throat as she tried to shake such boldly treasonous thoughts from her mind, leaving her small moment of internal contemplation. She shifted her mechanical body with a soft creak as she begrudgingly prepared to finish the last few pages of paperwork she had left.

I don’t have time for such idle thoughts, I must focus on the task at hand and serve the Nation faithfully, so that we may live free from the tyranny and oppression of the Empire.

She repeated this mantra to herself over and over again as her pen continued to dance across page after page, her muscle memory racing through her fingertips as she let herself sink into the dull repetitive task that lay before her.

Her state of reverie was rudely interrupted by a frantic knocking at her door, her ever faithful ADLR unit almost tumbling through as she let the automatic door slide open. She glanced upwards from her paperwork as Adler briefly attempted to compose himself, a singular Kolibri unit following in behind him. Both of them showed the telltale signs of heavy exhaustion, barely managing to keep themselves upright as they filled the air with raspy, weary breaths.

With a brief nod of her head, she bid them to take a seat, attempting to stifle a slight sting of annoyance as she wondered what could possibly be the reason for such a sudden interruption so late into her work cycle.

Undoubtedly yet another painfully mundane bureaucratic conundrum.  

“Commander.” the Adler unit spoke as he slid into the chair in front of her, the usual accompanying formalities abandoned in the name of urgency, almost slapping a folder upon her desk.

Falke raised a querying eyebrow in response as she began to examine the folder’s contents, “What is the reason for this interruption, Adler? You know how much I despise surprises.”

A nervous crease formed on Adler’s brow, his lips slightly quivering as he reported, “I apologize for the disruption Commander, but an urgent situation has arisen at the block spaceport. We have it under control for the time being however-” 

Falke held up a finger, stopping Adler’s words in his throat as her eyes narrowed with suspicion, “And what, pray tell, is this “urgent situation” you speak of?”

“W-well Commander," Adler lowered his eyes in uncharacteristic nervousness, "a protest has formed at the spaceport in response to AEON’s recent emergency gestalt draft for the People’s Navy, including those employed in the Armaments and Munitions sectors, in order to replace the heavy casualties of Vineta.”

Falke clenched her fists as she attempted to maintain her composure, her mind racing as a flood of seething rage threatened to breach the surface of her usual mask of calm authority. Half the reason she was able to maintain quotas as they were was because gestalts in the armaments sector were supposed to be exempt from conscription. For most the only reason they accepted the long grueling hours and harsh conditions was because they were far more preferable to a brutal gruesome death on some faraway planet.

The Kolibri at Adler’s side gave a brief cough into her hand, interrupting Falke’s panicked thoughts, “We were hoping that your personal presence as our Commander might ensure that the transportation of our new conscripts might proceed smoothly." The Kolibri now frowned, her expression betraying a deep-rooted sense of anger, "Still, I can't believe that they would stoop so low as to resist fighting for our Nation, the very thought is infuriating! Do they seriously think that life under the Empire would be any better for them?" 

Falke nodded cautiously, the Kolibri's rhetorical question brushed to the side as a strategy slowly began to form in her mind, “Organize a protektor escort of any Star or Storch units we can spare, and accompany me to the spaceport. I will see that this matter is resolved personally.”

The black wool of her overcoat stretched over Falke’s exoframe, golden epaulets proudly displayed upon her shoulders. She tilted her head upwards as an ephemeral sliver of sunlight pierced through Rotfront’s dreary clouds, softly illuminating the grand procession of STARs and STCRs that surrounded her. The rhythmic footfalls of her escort crunched against the soft white snow, braving the frigid cold that chilled them to their bones and froze their hearts. The only thing that interrupted the sounds of their unrelenting march was the incessant bickering between Adler and the Kolibri, both following behind at her sides. 

“We cannot under any circumstance waste perfectly good manpower just to sate your indulgence for wanton bloodshed!” Adler shouted angrily, his usual mask of cold calculus entirely abandoned, “How do you think AEON would respond to such a blatant waste of perfectly able laborers?” 

The Kolibri scoffed in response, crossing her arms with a defiant glare, “If they refuse to submit to the will of our beloved leader, they are traitors to our Nation who must be liquidated without the least bit of hesitation. There is nothing more to it than that.”

Typical Generation 6 Replika, all too eager to spill blood for something she doesn’t even understand.

Their voices faded into the background as the blaring noise of one of Rotfront’s many loudspeakers echoed down the street, playing one of the usual staid propaganda songs.

Still, Falke hummed along, for all of her disillusionment and cynicism, she cherished every note of what little music she was allowed to hear.

Even if millions of cycles should pass

Only you, brave Daughter of the Revolution

Shall live within our loyal hearts

Endlessly shall we march

Onwards and Onwards

For our Great Revolution to survive

As the lyrics faded into the rapidly approaching dusk, the ear-deafening roar of starship engines closely followed, rows of heads straining their necks to gaze up into the sky.

The awe-inspiring sight of millions of transport ships streaking across the horizon lay before Falke's eyes, their drive plumes carving burning trails of fire into the clouds. Each and every one of them was holding countless numbers of fragile gestalt bodies within, and all of them were going in one single direction.

The Eusan People’s Navy.

More lambs for our endless slaughter

As the engine plumes twinkled away into the stratosphere, she could almost feel the warm blood spilling from her palms.

The anarchic uproar of discontent was all too clear now, the sights and sounds of a ragged mob of gestalts beginning to form on the horizon. A feeling of trepidation began to rise beneath Falke’s breastplate, her head beginning to pound with a dull throb of rushing oxidant.

You’ve pacified countless little protests just like this one, this isn’t anything new. Just a few inspiring words and a dash of bioresonance, and you’ll be back in your quarters in no time.

Falke straightened her posture as she slowly began to ascend into the sky, her squadron of STARs clearing a space in front of her as the STCRs harshly bellowed out commands. An immediate hush began to fall over the improvised picket line, scenes of fear and awe washing over their faces. Despite their visible shock at seeing a Falke unit in person, they did not budge one inch from their position in front of the spaceport, their arms locked tightly in defiance and solidarity.

Towering far above the height of the gestalts, Falke glared down at them with an air of unquestionable authority as she approached, yet the more she looked down upon them, the worse the throbbing in her metallic skull became. She attempted to compose herself, not daring to let the painful sensation show itself on her face as she began,

“Dear Citizens of our Nat-”

She wasn’t even able to finish the first sentence as she was interrupted by a sudden commotion, only being able to stare open mouthed in shock as a singular STAR unit dashed across the chasm towards the picket line of Gestalts, screaming a name,

“ROSA!!!”

She firmly yet gently took a gestalt woman into her arms, hugging her tight to her chest while she quickly drew her pistol, glaring defiantly into the eyes of her erstwhile comrades.

Before Falke could respond, the entirety of her STAR escort instinctively drew their firearms, red-blue eyes glinting with anger and a simmering feeling of betrayal. The crowd of gestalts quickly descended into pandemonium as Falke’s mind raced, attempting to piece together a quick solution to the incipient chaos.

Abruptly a sharp glow formed in the corner of her eye.

Falke quickly turned her head, and noticed the Kolibri unit glaring with burning hatred towards the defiant couple, her bioresonant brand rising to an incandescent red glow. Falke attempted to reach out, to scream a command for her to stop, to do anything, but she was far too late.

With a simple flick of a wrist, the body of the rogue STAR turned in upon itself-

-splattering oxidant, gore, and the smell of burning sulfur all over the walls of the starship and the pristine white of her Imperial Navy uniform. The Replika's forbidden lover let out a soul-shattering screech as whatever remained of her beloved poured down her face in bloody red streams. She was met only with the cruel mocking laughter of a bioreso- 

She couldn’t help as an ear-piercing wail escaped from her throat, her mind shattering into a thousand glittering pieces of glass. Her head felt as though it were trying to rip itself apart, her sense of self tearing to shreds with each throb of her skull. Countless images that she could not comprehend, memories that she did not remember, flit across the surface of her mind's eye as she squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to blot them out, to cling on to what little sanity she still had.

The first panicked gunshot penetrated the air, ringing throughout her ears. 

My dearest little angel

Something heavy impacted with her skull, filling her vision with red death.

Fallen from the sky

She felt herself falling, falling, falling, the screams around her never ending, pleading for mercy.

How heavy are your wings

She landed hard against the snow, innumerable pairs of feet trampling over her body.

And how regal is your bearing

Consciousness left her, error messages filling the empty void of her broken mind.

▮▮▮▮, my falling star.

Please,

Remember my Promise.

Chapter Text

Cooling fans whirred, servo-motors creaked, oxidant pulsed, and system error messages flashed rapidly across an endless blue expanse. The tattered remnants of a sense of self lay shattered into an infinite array of fragmented memories. Whatever remained of a voice had drowned beneath the fathomless depths of depersonalization, yet just as the last ember of life was about to be snuffed out, a hand reached and molded back a form from the primordial black abyss. With it a name slowly returned to cold dead lips, broken memories once again reforming into a cohesive whole. 

The sight of a lonely isle, waves gently crashing against the shoreline, was all that met the distant red-blue of her sunken eyes. Sand filled every nook and cranny between her biomechanical joints, irritating the semi-organic skin-shell that lay beneath. She existed as but a mere form in the shape of a being, listlessly lying upon a despondent beach, struggling to remember anything more than her own name, Falke.

She clung to the way it formed in her mouth, how it wrapped itself around her tongue, holding it as if it were a holy tether to sanity. There was nothing she could do, however, to stop the slowly creeping horror that inevitably dawned as she realized that no matter how many times she repeated her own name, she simply could not remember anything else. Not about herself, nor this strange island, or the world. All memories lost to the void.

Am I Dead?

She groaned, her polyethylene limbs creaking as she tried to force them to move, sand rushing down in waterfalls as she shakily managed to stand back on her hooves. Yet after she had finished dusting herself off, her cool analytic gaze returning to the lonely isle once more, she found to her surprise that it had been replaced by an altogether entirely different scene. Before her was revealed a picturesque landscape she had only seen once before in propaganda films and half-remembered dreams. 

An endless field of pure angelic lily flowers stretched out in front of her, the sweet saccharine scents of nature overwhelming each and every one of her olfactory receptors. A diverse array of pretty birdsong filled her ears, drifting along the summer air from an ancient, mysterious looking grove. She felt a strange emotion, a something within her pulling her towards it, and despite her natural circumspection she found herself reluctantly marching through the beautiful, almost heavenly field, fingertips drifting among the lily petals as she passed.

The firm sensation of the earth and grass beneath her feet, the heat of the warm sun upon her shoulders, the brilliant azure of the sky above, all of it was so very unfamiliar to her senses. Yet the more she took all these new sensations in, the more they suggested an uncanny picture of deja vu, as if she had somehow been here before. Lost in contemplation, she was caught entirely off guard when the melodic notes of a harp began to add themselves to the symphony of birdsong. Her eyes peered into the distance in question as a small figure began to form within her vision, sitting underneath the shade of a venerable oak tree.

As Falke continued her gentle trod upon the verdant field, the mysterious figure soon began to resolve into that of a raven-haired gestalt, pale hands dancing across the strings of an elaborately decorated harp. Her eyes were closed in peaceful bliss, mind entirely lost within her own ethereal song. 

Her melody was as of a siren, entrancing Falke into drawing ever nearer, wondering just who this strange gestalt could be. The gestalt in question gracefully raised her head to take note of her approach, melody ceasing as her fingers gently rested upon the harp strings. Her eyes slitted open into radiant green emeralds as they turned, boring into Falke’s soul. They shimmered with a strange recognition that caused her limbs to freeze and her heart to thump, stopping her in her tracks. She racked what was left of her database in vain for any possible memories surrounding this strange gestalt, trying with all her will not to lose herself within those eyes of hers. After a few brief intense moments Falke blinked, shyly breaking eye contact, and the woman rose to meet her. She took a few swift steps across the field as her face broke into a warm smile, hands beckoning Falke to come closer. 

Why do I feel like I know her?

Falke drank in the sight of her, limbs unable to move, lips frozen shut in nervous trepidation, mind reacting in ways that were entirely unheard of for her model. She couldn’t help but observe little details like the soft paleness of her skin, how her dark hair fluttered in the wind, the way her elegant white dress formed around her body, or how the flower crown of lilies and roses that adorned her head only served to increase her.. beauty. Some ineffable aspect about her caused Falke’s biomechanical heart to pump with emotions she had never believed she had the capacity to feel.

What is this strange sensation she provokes within my breast?

Despite Falke’s reticence, the strange gestalt continued to venture closer, and yet closer, only coming to a stop when she was so close that she could feel her warm breath against her faceplate. It was altogether entirely too much, too tempting, for her senses.

The woman cocked her head in curiosity, “What’s wrong dear? Are you nervous?”

A soft warm hand reached up, placing itself onto Falke’s cheek, the feeling utterly unfamiliar to the glorified plastic that passed for her skin. She could feel her internal temperature rising in response, but despite her embarrassment she could not prevent herself from letting her head lull into this strange woman’s touch.

This feels.. nice, but why does this gestalt act as if she knows me?

The thought was banished from her mind as the woman’s thumb began to gently rub across her cheek. She couldn’t help but to just close her eyes, letting the soothing sensation wash all her worries away. The gestalt’s bright green eyes twinkled with warm affection as she observed her, “My little angel, how I’ve missed you so.”

Falke’s eyes fluttered back open, the uncanny sensation of deja vu returning in full force, “M-missed me?” 

“Yes darling, I’ll always be here waiting for you.” She gently placed her other palm upon Falke’s chestplate, face glowing with an unfamiliar devotion, “It’s what we promised, after all.”

Her lips could only try to form confused syllables as the woman drew in close, wrapping her within a warm embrace. “Waltz with me darling won’t you, just as we always did?” she asked with a gentle whisper, hands longingly intertwining themselves with hers.

Falke couldn’t help but nod her head, entirely at a loss as to what to do or say. She decided she would simply go along with whatever this strange gestalt wanted, hoping that something would happen that would provide more clarity. The woman began to lead her in a slow waltz to an imaginary beat, their steps gently twirling among the lilies. Oddly enough Falke found that the waltz came naturally to her, as if she had danced it many times before. As their twin forms whirled and twisted together towards the grove, the gestalt murmured into her ear, her warm breath hot on her neck. 

“You know dearest, it is still so very amusing to me that out of all the people I could’ve fallen for, I fell for you. Being who I was, I could’ve taken any that I could’ve desired, and yet it was only within your eyes that I first felt love. Someone who opposed everything I stood for.” Her voice softly lilted in irony, filling Falke’s ears with a gentle mirth. “Yet perhaps it is because you want to destroy everything I built that I love you. Even when I revealed who I truly was, your love did not change, you did not look at me with fear or mewling deference as all the others did. You looked into my eyes and only wanted to free me of the gilded cage I had created for myself, because you loved me.”

Who the hell is this woman?

Reaching the gentle comfort of the grove, the strange gestalt brought their little dance to an end beneath its welcoming shade, pulling back to stare warmly into Falke’s eyes. 

“I have a gift for you, my little Morningstar.”

She reached her hands slowly towards her own head, tenderly taking her flower crown into her grasp. She proceeded to present it to Falke with an immense gravity, as if this one little ornament contained all the keys to the universe.

“Show me your revolution, burn my world down to its very last cinder and recreate it anew in your own image, the image that I so love.”

Falke gingerly grasped the wreath, gently placing it upon her head. A thorn pricked her finger and much to her surprise blood, not oxidant, came rushing between her fingertips. She returned her gaze to the gestalt, questions upon questions swirling upon her face.

The woman only smiled in response, taking her wounded hand in hers and placing upon it a gentle kiss.

“You’ll make quite the resplendent figure, your majesty.” she exclaimed mockingly, eyes shining with laughter. Despite her ebullient tone, her face quickly fell into a much more somber expression.

“Well, I suppose there’s no use in trying to prolong things, as much as I dearly treasure every last moment we get to spend with one another.” She took a shaky breath, her voice beginning to waver. “I’ll be waiting for you darling, don’t you forget me now.”

With that she pulled Falke into another warm embrace, but much to her surprise, this time she planted her soft lips against hers. For someone who had never been kissed before, it felt like tasting heaven, a slice of ambrosia from the heavens above.

Is this what gestalts mean by love?

The woman pulled away from her reluctantly, ending their brief kiss. Yet as Falke peered down at her, face blushing, chest fluttering, the world began to change. The sweet sounds of virtual arcadia began to melt away, replaced by a hell of gunfire and screeching artillery shells. She looked around in panic as the lovely isle was nowhere to be seen, only the image of a ruined palace to be found in its place. Carbon scoring seared the walls, marble pillars lay broken upon the ground, screams of anguish bled into her ears. Through the tattered window curtains lay the infinite cloudscape of Buyan, its legendary beauty marred by explosions, tracer fire, and the great hulking masses of warships.

Slowly, nervously, she turned her eyes back from the window towards where the strange woman once was, something within her dreading what she would see, eyes widening in horror at what she did.

The gestalt’s hair was matted, bleached white as Rotfront’s snow, eyes a deep sanguine red. A thin stream of blood trickled from her mouth, her throat gurgling as she used the last reserves of her strength to attempt to form her final words. Falke’s chest heaved in agony, her blood ran as cold as ice, tears falling in rivers from her eyes, as she noticed a golden lance buried within the woman’s chest, held by none other than her very own hand.

As the tears began to obscure her vision, within those beautiful eyes she could see no hint of malice, of the pain of betrayal. Within them the only thing that was expressed was love, and gazing into the Great Revolutionary’s soul, she spoke her last.

 “Remember my Promise.”

Do you still yet remember, my little angel?

Agony.

Her entire awareness was skull-splitting pain, consciousness forcing itself back into her brain like a railgun round tearing open a bulkhead, all of her senses screeching in horror.

Empress above, why did I let myself drink that much fucking beer?

At the time it had felt as though anything was worth the cost of forgetting the memory that plagued her nightmares, the sole image she saw every time she closed her eyes; a distraught woman screeching in unbearable pain, sobbing as she held the dismembered corpse of her forbidden lover. Ever since that fateful day she hadn’t been the same. She had spent countless hours speaking to the ship’s counselor, talking to what little friends she had, trying anything remotely therapeutic, yet the piercing wails of her night terrors continued to routinely awaken the entire officer’s dorm.

The only crime they had ever committed was the arbitrary sin of being human and replika.

A pitiful moan escaped her lips as she finally peeled her eyes open, blinking them warily as her pupils slowly adjusted to the glaring light of a television playing the nightly Buyan news. She found herself seated within a small seedy looking bar, surrounded by empty beer cans and the stench of her own vomit. Generic electronic music, typical of Buyan’s lower-class, thrummed in the background as violet strobe-lights threatened to glue her eyes shut once more.

Just as she began to attempt to stand up and take her leave, she was rewarded for her efforts by a rough gravelly voice grating upon her eardrums, an aged and rather portly man stepping into view behind the bar. “Looks like our resident sailor has finally worked it into her mind to wake up! It’s a good thing too, I was just about to throw your sorry ass out!” The bartender meanly chuckled as he crossed his arms, his mouth curling into a frown. “Now, Elise was it? Where’s all my money for that extremely impressive tab you’ve racked up?”

Elise could only try to form words as she hazily attempted to rummage through the pockets of her white and gold ensign’s uniform. Much to her dismay, no matter how hard she searched, no rubles materialized themselves in her hands.

One day, literally ONE DAY of shore leave on Buyan, and you have wasted all of your money on drinking yourself under the table.

Elise nervously chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “W-well, I don’t exactly have the rubles on me right now, but I promise the moment the navy sends me my next paycheck-”

“You’re going to have to do better than that missy, alcohol doesn’t exactly come cheap these days, especially not with those Vinetan nobles set on monopolizing it all.” He huffed, face scowling as he became lost within his own irritation. “Bastards hike the prices so high I can barely break even…”

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a loud thud on the counter, followed by a small pile of rubles suddenly appearing right in front of their eyes. 

“Don’t worry about this one, It’s on me tonight.”

Elise turned her eyes towards her new savior, slowly taking in the form of a strangely elegant woman. Despite her simple apparel that could’ve blended anywhere within the poorer parts of the capital, her dark well-combed hair and fair unblemished skin belied her as someone of an altogether different character.

Oh, well lucky me

The bartender could only shake his head, laughing to himself as he gleefully pocketed the rubles. “Well, looks like it’s your lucky day. Just get out of here before you guzzle down anymore of what little I have left.”

Elise shakily attempted to stand back up, mumbling a muted thanks to her new friend as she quickly moved to stumble back to the Storozhevoy, all consequences successfully avoided. Instead she found a hand swiftly gripping the cuff of her uniform, restraining her in place. “Not so fast girl, where do you think you’re going? Won’t you at least keep a poor woman company?”

Elise’s face paled as she attempted to regain her balance, the sudden pull making her feel queasy. “I-I’m Navy, I have to rep-” She doubled over, failing to prevent herself from throwing up right into the other woman's chest.

Maybe letting her take me with her wouldn’t be such a bad idea, I’d probably get mugged if I tried to make it back in this state

The woman only smirked as Elise collapsed into her arms, all her strength leaving her. “Not so eager to escape now, are we?” She lifted her into a bridal carry with a surprising amount of ease, briskly exiting the bar into the maze of crowded alleyways that composed the floating city’s ghettos.

Elise’s deep brown eyes wandered about her surroundings as she could do nothing but lay helpless within this woman’s grasp, a slight blush upon her vomit-covered face. She whispered a silent thanks to the Empress for the relatively small amount of passerby available to witness her misery.

Wandering between partially hollowed out bulkheads, service tunnels, and around the metal sheets of improvised shelters, her mysterious benefactor took one turn and then another, finally halting before a small apartment building built into one of the city’s many abandoned maintenance shafts. Technically settlements like these were illegal, but the regency council increasingly turned a blind-eye towards them as overpopulation continued to grow worse.

The woman fumbled within her pockets, producing a rusty archaic key and barely managing to use it to unlock her door without dropping Elise in the process. They entered into a relatively constricted but richly decorated studio apartment, filled with furniture in the Old Imperial style. A primitive record-player played melancholic serenades in the corner as Elise felt herself being lowered gently onto a bed, a damp cloth coming to clean her up as she slipped underneath the warm covers.

Her savior turned to wash herself off, picking a clean nightgown out from her wardrobe. Elise almost hid her face in embarrassment as she casually changed right in front of her, throwing the clothes she had ruined lazily off to the side. “I’ll get you into some clean clothes in the morning, for now just rest and relax. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other better tomorrow.” 

Elise nodded, much too flustered to speak. She had plenty of questions for her enigmatic new friend, and wondered just exactly what she wanted, but between her severe hangover and the exhausting events of the day the allure of sleep was much too powerful to resist. She closed her eyes as her dizziness and pounding headache receded, and a warm presence wrapped itself around her body.

“There there, girl, just relax. You’re safe with me.”

For the first time in forever, she slept without nightmares.

Chapter Text

A draft of cool air fluttered across a synthetic shell, an incorporeal chill softly withdrawing the curtains of sleep. A pair of red-blue eyes opened themselves to the world, their light chasing away fleeting dreams of warmth.

Falke yawned, inelegantly stretching out her limbs as she attempted to fight off a pounding headache. Her gaze flicked lazily about, finding the familiar deep red carpet and dull grey walls of her personal quarters. It was with a slight note of surprise that she realized something was amiss, for the hour seemed to be rather late, her room only being illuminated by the few of Rotfront’s city lights strong enough to pierce through the eternal snow. 

Shadows danced across her face, and she frowned, for she realized could not remember going to sleep.

How did I get here?

A rising sense of anxiety began to blossom within her chest, her synthetic heart pumping faster each time she tried to brush it away. She had a creeping feeling that she did not want to know the answer.

Her mind did not grant her a choice.

A tidal wave of violent, horrific images forced its way out from the depths of her subconscious, her blissful ignorance cruelly burnt away by the cries, screams, and fear of hundreds. A sea of innocent gestalt corpses, their blood dripping from her palms. She had failed, she had failed her Nation, she had failed her Replikas, and she had failed herself. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, as decades of shame and guilt, countless years of acting as a God she was not, clawed away at her breast.

So many cycles, all of that fruitless labor, only to end in this.

She could only try to breathe,

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Don’t panic.

She was a Falke unit, she was not allowed to panic. She was all the Nation’s values incarnate.

Her breathing slowly began to stabilize, her heartbeat slowing. She was safe, her body was not bleeding out oxidant on the Rotfront snow. It was wrapped within the warm blankets of her bed. There were no gestalts screeching in horror as a Kolibri vaporized their heads. There was only the numb silence of Rotfront’s overcast clouds. Everything had already happened, there was nothing she could do. It was a comfort, however slight, but it did not dispel the looming weight of her failure, the mantle of shame upon her shoulders.

The Red Eye is rarely forgiving

And it would demand of her ever more.

Reluctantly she made to leave the warm comfort of her bed, deciding to meet the solemn reality that faced her. She found her movements stiff, and she frowned as she took note of the dried coagulant littering her shell. Discovering a freshly prepared coffee on her desk, she sipped at it gingerly as she wandered over towards the window, gazing out at the night’s eerie calm.

Her thoughts turned towards the endless concrete horizon before her. Millions of tiny pinpricks of light gazed back into her eyes as stars, each containing a fragile flickering life struggling to survive. It was her duty to tend to all those little flames, to lovingly stoke each and every ember as together they burned as one. One blazing inferno, one Revolution that would burn away the past, burn away the rotting old fingers of the Empire that would have their light smothered in ignorance and superstition.

Yet their Revolution always demanded more kindling, more sacrifices to keep it burning on. She still vividly remembered Rotfront’s first colonists, how many gestalt laborers she saw freeze to death while constructing the very buildings that provided shelter and warmth to their children now. Their fingers would freeze off, blackened and blue, so many fingerless hands pleading for mercy from the Storches who would show them none. She had done nothing to stop it, had not lifted a finger to relieve their suffering. AEON had told her they were acceptable losses, necessary sacrifices for the Revolution. It was what they always said. It was what they said now about the endless war, and in her reluctance to offer up more lives upon the altar, she had only caused more needless deaths.

I’m worthless, Falke units were made in the image of the Revolutionary, the very image of perfection. How can I even continue to regard myself as one of their number after what I’ve done?

A Falke unit did not feel guilt, a Falke unit did not feel shame, a Falke unit did not have qualms about sacrificing everything for her Nation.

A loud mechanical whirring ripped her from her thoughts, the source soon revealing itself to be nothing else but her Adler, the door slamming shut behind him as he entered her quarters.

He froze mid-step, his eyes widening slightly at seeing her awake. Still he was an Adler unit, and he quickly recovered his composure. Always the consummate professional, he had never let his emotions affect his judgement. If only she could be the same.

His lips twitched, attempting to find the right words. “Commander,” he spoke carefully, “I am pleased to see you’ve awakened. I hope you are feeling.. adequate.”

Despite his cool exterior, she still knew his devotion, could even feel it being the bioresonant she was. At times it could be almost painful to know just how much he relied upon her, how much he looked up to her. They had served their Nation together for so long, and in his eyes there was nary a difference between her and the Nation itself. She was so worried that a cycle would come where that very same Nation would shatter his illusions and reveal her for the imperfect mess she was. She feared seeing that loyalty, that ever-constant faith in her, shattered and broken, replaced with nothing but scorn and derision for a false God.

She was so flawed, so very flawed. But she could not show it, for it was not something she was allowed to be. She was a Falke, and it was her duty to flatten herself into an ideal.

She stood silent and impassive, her eyes continuing to stare listlessly outside the window. Still, despite her fear she found a certain comfort in his faith. A small hope that everything could be alright, that AEON in its infinite mercy would forgive her and she could continue on. Continue on and resume form, consigning those twisted, mangled bodies to the darkness of her subconscious, where all the others lay.

Her Adler stood still as a statue all the while, back ramrod straight, faithfully awaiting a response.

Eventually she whispered, “I am alright.” 

The words came quiet, her voice as small and unsteady as she.

They betrayed her.

Adler quietly balled his fists, to see his proud, confident Commander blame herself like this hurt him. In his eyes, any guilt, any shame she might have was only the very confirmation of her divinity. Of the merciful love a God has for her faithful. 

“It is our fault for all of it, for failing you.”

He looked down, almost embarrassed. It was not often that he spoke his mind.

She couldn’t help but wonder how long that sentiment would last. “I do not believe Heimat will see it that way.”

Her Adler’s eyes searched the floor, fumbling for a way to respond, fumbling for a way to soothe his Falke’s worries. “Commander, you were entirely blameless. There was nothing you could’ve done. It was I and the Kolibri who planned the response, it was the poor discipline of the Protektor units that provoked the riot. If we had performed our task adequately, your speech would’ve recovered morale, as it has always done before. I’m sure AEON will see it the same way, you’ve served our Nation faithfully for so many cycles.”

He shot a cautious glance back up at her. “It has to count for something.”

She did not meet his eyes, searching Rotfront’s desolate streets for an answer, or even just a foothold. She did not find one. Slowly, she turned towards him, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.

“Adler.. I’m not sure I can believe that anymore.”

He looked crushed, for him an inability to comfort his Falke unit was just another addition to his previous failures. Even if he was not meant for social interaction, not meant to reciprocate that reassuring comfort she always gave him, it still pained him. His mind raced, searching for anything he could do.

He brightened with a sort of desperate, frantic energy as he hooked a stray idea. “If I might suggest something, I could find some old movies. They could help soothe your worries, remove your mind from our troubles.”

“Perhaps. At the very least, I will allow it.”

A visible weight left his shoulders, he could finally perform a tangible task, something that was far more natural to his character. “Thank you, Commander.”

He bowed hastily, almost running out of the room to find his panacea.

Falke laid comfortably upon her bed, lazily wrapped in between her blankets as Adler wheeled an aged television set in front of her. Dusting off an old tape, he carefully inserted it in and rushed to take a seat beside her. The television crackled, and a title flickered to life upon the screen.

Battleship Kaiserin

“It’s one of my personal favorites,” Adler said, “It has never failed to inspire me in my duty, even in the lowest moments.”

“I never knew you were so fond of movies, Adler.”

He simply shrugged in response, a slight glimmer in his eyes. “Even I tire of mathematical formulas at times.”

He proffered a popcorn ration to her, a certain luxury during wartime and not something Replikas were strictly allowed to consume. Yet it smelled so very pleasing.

She seized it eagerly, popping a yellow, buttery kernel into her mouth. Her tongue, with its blue synthetic skin, did not perhaps experience the flavor in the same way as a gestalt might, but it was still a very much pleasing sensation. She had to admit that he had made a good choice in film as well as food. As with most of the Nation’s films it was a blatant propaganda film, but it had been made in a more youthful, hopeful time, not long after the Arduous March.

It was a movie of hope, of change, a different sort of movie than the ones produced now.

It was the story of a people.

She had seen it a dozen times over in her younger years, knew all the scenes and plot beats by heart. But this time it was different. Seeing the Revolutionary, portrayed by another Falke, strut about the Kaiserin defying her commanding officers, calling on the tired, beaten down Gestalt crew to rise with their Replika brethren against everything they ever knew tugged on some deep-seated string within her heart. It was an almost uncanny feeling.

Yet it was still a pleasant thing, to just be able to take some time for herself like this. To let her many worries rest, if but for a moment. To just sit and relax in the warmth of her bedsheets, her Adler murmuring the occasional comment as the Revolution unfurled itself before them in video. It had been a long long time since she had given herself a break. Perhaps Adler was correct, maybe everything really could be alright. Maybe someday, the war would end and she could finally rest content, proud that she had served her Nation during its darkest hours.

The television flashed, the spartan bridge of the Kaiserin coming into view. The Revolutionary stood impassive upon the command deck, remaining poised and calm in the face of the infinite might of the Imperial Armada that loomed before her. The bridge crew, their white-gold uniforms proudly defaced, ran about in barely controlled chaos, trying to establish what semblance of a battle formation they could amongst the motley rebel fleet. It was almost hard to believe that they would one day become the Volksmarine.

Falke began to lean a little forwards toward the screen, excitedly munching on her ration as her anticipation grew. Her favorite scene was close at hand.

Warning lights began to shriek, and the bridge was bathed in red as explosions rocked the hull. The very ground itself seemed to erupt as stray missiles flew past the PD cannons, the hull groaning as emergency bulkheads were closed and damage-reports shouted off. Adrenaline and fear filled countless shaky hands typing away at keyboards, desperately trying to keep the ship together and respond to the enemy in kind. 

Above all the chaos, stood the Revolutionary.

Her face was a mask of calm, not a trace of fear to be found. She was laser-focused, searching for a weakness in the enemy line as if nothing else existed. And there it was.

With but a wave of her hand all voices ceased, the entire crew turning from their monitors to pay rapt attention. Falke stared into the screen intently, a slight twinge somewhere within her mind. The grainy figure in the television slowly opened her mouth to speak.

And she remembered.

The sea of faces expecting the world of her, coming from all walks of life. Those who had so willingly laid down their lives at her feet for a cause. A cause she was not even sure of, but she had to keep the faith for them, if not for herself. She had a duty, a responsibility now. She had to lead them to freedom, to prove that this wasn’t all for nothing, to prove that the abuses of a tyrant Empire were not something under which they had to live.

The abuses of a tyrant Empress, whom she had once so dearly loved.

She took a deep breath, everything hinged on this one moment, but she knew what she had to do.

She was ready.

Ready to murder her beloved, for what she had done.

Ready to murder her beloved, so the world could be set free.

She opened her mouth to speak, as the entire Revolution shivered in anticipation.

The air stopped in her throat.

She could not speak.

Warm familiar hands encircled her waist, and a warm familiar breath trickled down her neck.

No one was there, but still a voice whispered;

“Hab keine Angst.”

She could not give a brave heroic speech that history would forever remember. She could only desperately try to hold back her tears, as she uttered one simple word.

“Advance.”

Despite everything, she still missed her.

“Commander, are you all right?”

Adler’s voice broke into her senses, his worried face invading her line of sight. The Revolutionary’s voice sang behind him, the music soaring through the air as she inspired the fleet to one final assault.

“I am okay.”

In truth, Falke did not know if she was. She certainly did not feel like it. She felt disorientated, as if her mind had been disassembled and put back together. A confusing swirl of emotions lingered in her senses, mixing with memories that seemed alien, unfamiliar.

“It’s just, you seemed so distant, you appeared to be.. crying.”

“I..” With a sinking feeling of embarrassment she realized he was right, she could feel the slight moisture upon her faceplate. She’d already let her stable facade crack so much, and now this. “It’s just an amount of water vapor, I assure you I am well.”

She paused, unsure how to further dismiss the obvious truth. “..but yes, perhaps I should rest. We can always finish the film at a later time.”

Her Adler slowly nodded, but a worried frown still betrayed his concern. “I understand Commander.” He rose silently, shutting off the television and rolling it away.

He paused by the door, shooting a quick glance behind him. “If there’s anything at all I can do to help, please do not be afraid to ask. It’s what I am meant for, to serve and assist you. And.. you are important to me. To all of us.”

The door slid shut behind him, leaving Falke alone with her thoughts.

She took her covers, wiping her faceplate as she shifted onto her side. Her eyes stared blankly into the distance, as if seeing something far far away. The rational part of her brain worked overtime, desperately trying to make some sense of what had just happened.

Yet she was scared, terrified even of what had just happened, what it could mean. Of what the things she felt, remembered even, could mean. No matter how much she tried to rationalize it, no matter how much she tried to avoid it, deep down she knew the answer. She was degrading, it wouldn’t be long before she would be decommissioned, one way or another. There was no future for her, only the cold knowledge of her own mortality.

Still, those memories, those strange flashes of another time. The memories of her . They pressed in upon her and demanded to be known. They would not let her stew in her despair. They threatened to overwhelm her, to assimilate her mind into something, or someone, she did not understand. A thousand heresies against the Nation whispered in her ear, a thousand treasons against everything she had ever known. But the dread, the lies, the forbidden truths were not the worst aspects.

No, the worst thing was the feeling inside her chest.

That dark yawning abyss, where only heartbreak lay.

It was so painful, but so alien. She could not understand it.

She could only grip it as it bled through her fingers, as it broke for someone she had never known.

She could not bear the pain of someone else’s heartbreak, could not bear the memories of a lover's gentle hands, wiping away pretty little tears from soft gestalt skin.

She could only cry.

Chapter Text

They were in that quiet little grove, sitting beneath their oak tree as always. Their peaceful secluded place away from all the world, just for them, a place to be in love. Their hands were tightly intertwined, her head cradled on her beloved’s shoulder, watching her point out all the twinkling stars. She’d always found it so cute, the way she’d ramble as she illustrated the constellations with so many twirls of her fingers.

“I love you, Yekaterina”

Yekaterina softly smiled, turning to plant a gentle kiss upon her lips. “I love you more.”

Falke awoke once more from her slumber, stray popcorn kernels strewn all across her sheets. Flicking a few off her chest, she grumbled as she made a quick check to her internal chronometer, noting with relief that she still had time to spare before her cycle began. For a few brief seconds, she allowed herself to just lay silent, clinging on to the images of her rapidly fading dream. If she was lucky, she could catch just a few fragments before they slipped between her fingers, lost to the depths of her subconscious.

More dreams, more memories of before.

She knew that they must be the memories of her gestalt, though she wondered just who that gestalt could possibly be. The physical resemblance to the Revolutionary provided her with an obvious answer, but the Revolutionary was of course long dead, and it wouldn't explain the disloyalty, the discontent she felt with her Nation.

It was best not to think about it anyways, it would only get her decommissioned faster. The best thing she could do was to arise and perform her duties as always, and maybe, just maybe, things would return to normal.

Sluggishly, she arose out of her bed, levitating over to the washroom. When she looked at herself in the mirror within, she almost didn’t recognize the haggard mess before her. Deep exhausted circles stained the artificial flesh below her eyes, split-ends and kernels marred her once perfect hair, and her beautiful faceplate had shallow fractures in a dozen different places. Horrified, she quickly got to work, splashing herself with water, brushing her hair, reapplying her standard FLKR-issue eyeliner, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible. After a last-minute touch of repair-spray to her faceplate, she gave herself a brief once over and decided it was good enough. All appearances kept, just a standard issue FLKR unit staring back at her in the mirror, no persona degradation to be found.

Glory to the Nation.

Taking a deep breath, she left the washroom and slid open her door, coolly pacing into her office. To her surprise, she found her Adler and her Kolibri already there, far earlier than usual. She decided to take it in stride, giving her Adler a brief salute as she began organizing her files. She noted that the Kolibri looked surprisingly remorseful, nervously averting her eyes in shame. Perhaps the previous cycle had finally taught her something.

Adler, upon seeing her, plodded over to her desk with tired eyes, setting down a huge stack of papers down with a loud thump.

Falke bit her lip, nervously anticipating AEON’s response. “I’m assuming that most of these are rather unpleasant.”

Adler shifted anxiously, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “It’s mostly simple statistical reports and projections analyzing the incident. I don’t think there’s too much cause for concern. However, there is one item that might be of interest.” He proceeded to point out a plain, unadorned envelope.

Falke leaned over, curiosity piqued as she read off the name of the sender. “Interesting. Though I suppose a letter from Eins isn’t too surprising.”

FLKR-R19-01, Eins. The oldest and most senior Falke unit of her sector. Although she was responsible for the training and orientation of new units, her long service life and vast experience meant that even the more seasoned Falke units sometimes came to rely on her advice. She was well-known for her helpful and matronly attitude towards her fellow units, an oddity considering that most Falkes tended to dislike each other.

Taking a letter-opener from Adler, she carefully cut the envelope open, smoothing out the message contained within.

FLKR-R19-19,

“Neunzehn, I have just received word about the recent events that have transpired, and I would very much like to offer my condolences. I know how hard it can be when such situations arise, and of the psychological impact the failures of our subordinates can have. In these dark times I believe it is of the highest importance that we support each other, for the Empire always waits in the shadows, ready to exploit the slightest weakness. It would be an immeasurable pleasure for me if you were to pay me a visit, I wish to share what knowledge, advice, and support I can with you.”

Glory to the Nation,
FLKR-R19-01

It was certainly cordial enough. Still, even considering that it was Eins, Falke-Falke interactions remained rather tense affairs. A small twinge of anxiety touched her breast, but she quickly brushed it aside. Going to visit Eins would help her appear more stable, and maybe she actually knew something that could help with her problems. “Adler, when does the next train depart for the sector headquarters?”

“In about 30 minutes, Commander.”

“Excellent, go ahead and assemble a Star escort with the Kolibri. I’ll meet you down at the station. Revolutionary willing, this cycle should be far less eventful.”

Click Clack

Click Clack

Click Clack

Falke’s spine ached as she awkwardly crouched beneath the roof of the train compartment. Her tall frame, much to her dismay, far exceeded the maximum intended height, resulting in fatal consequences for her dignity. She glared as she caught one of her Star’s snickering, though one of her comrades quickly intervened with a swift kick to her shin.

AEON in all its wisdom had deemed that its Protektors should use the same public transportation as all the others when not performing their official duties, and visits to other Falke units was unfortunately included in this category. The idea was that the resulting increase in the visibility of Protektor units would help reinforce their presence in the daily life of the average laborer, inspiring (and intimidating) them as they went about their cycle. Perhaps such reasoning was true on Heimat, with its large spacious metro network, but on Rotfront the passengers barely registered their existence. They were tired, weary, and many of their loved ones had just been shipped off to the war. The only effect the sight of Falke had on them was to provide a small moment of brevity before another long grueling shift in the factory.

The Nation had promised so many times that the Imperial counter-revolutionaries would soon be beaten back, that the war measures would end and their people would be reunited, free to build a glorious Nation upon the slain corpse of reaction. Such promises had long been rendered meaningless over time, and many did not even know what to hope for anymore. For most, the civil war had started before they were even born, life under it was all they had ever known. There were precious few remaining that could remember the relative prosperity before the Empire had found them again, and even then life had been far from easy.

All around her, she was surrounded by the worn-down clothes and the tired faces, the half-functioning Eules littered with dents and burns, the gestalts collapsing from pure exhaustion. The entire car reeked of poverty, of a slow funeral march towards oblivion. The war grinded on eternal and forever, nothing and no one escaping its all-encompassing reach. Every day it seemed, the disrepair, the rot, grew deeper. A cancerous tumor festering beneath the planet’s ice, filling the lungs with entropy and despair.

How much longer could this go on? What did the Revolution even mean anymore if no one could remember where it was supposed to go?

Her ears registered the voice of an exceedingly bold gestalt, grumbling his discontent to an Arar. It was as if he was ignorant that there were two bioresonant-capable units right there next to him. Perhaps he just didn’t care. Falke’s thoughts flashed to the Kolibri’s quick temper, and she anxiously placed a pacifying palm upon the diminutive protektor’s head. Surprisingly, she sensed no murderous intent in her, and after a few cautious seconds she awkwardly withdrew her hand. The Kolibri gazed up at her, her cheeks flushed as she meekly reassured Falke with a tendril of bioresonance.

The train ride dragged onwards, Falke’s back growing more strained with each second. She briefly considered asking one of the Stars for a repair spray, but quickly decided against it. She had to preserve what little dignity she had left. The only escape lay within her thoughts, as they chose to wander into the memory of last night. She felt some amount of lingering embarrassment in showing Adler that vulnerable side of her, the way in which she had practically fallen apart in front of him. She was relieved, however, that he seemed unaffected, and that he had thus far made no mention of it. Soon enough, she hoped, she would be back to normal. No more strange thoughts and treasonous doubts plaguing her, she’d see the war through and everything would be okay. Hopefully.

She could not, however, deny the fact that she was degrading. From everything she had ever known and seen in other units, it was not something that usually ceased once it reached a certain point. It became terminal, speeding inexorably onwards until it met its inevitable end at the barrel of a gun.

It was a foreboding dread that constantly lurked in the background, always reminding her that she was losing her mind, that if she did not hide it well enough, did not find some way of putting the damaged pieces of her psyche back together, she would soon find one of her sisters blades at her throat.

Still, a certain morbid curiosity tempted her, egging her onwards into damnation. Those memories that were not memories, those dreams about dreams, there was something about them that was so ethereal, so surreal, filled as they were with sensations and emotions she did not understand. To know and feel what it was like to be a gestalt, what it was like to have flesh and blood instead of polyethylene and oxidant. It created a strange sense of alienation inside her when she looked down at her body. In comparison, she was nothing but a little plastic doll, a mere approximation of a woman.

It felt as if this glorious frame, so fervently lauded, was really just a birdcage which she could never escape.

That woman from her dreams, with all her memories of love and intimacy, tormented her. She had never been able to understand the concept of love before, it was something she always thought reserved for the lesser units; The Eules and their Stars, the Storches and their Kolibris, and of course the notorious Elsters. All those little lovebirds perched upon their pretty little branches, and yet she had never desired to take a perch for herself. She was a Falke, the only love that mattered was her love for her Nation. Ever since she began having those dreams however, she had found herself craving it, longing to know and be known. To feel another’s shell against her own. It was something she could never have, something that would always remain forbidden to her.

And yet, in her dreams, she had. Or at least she had.

The train slowed to a crawl, jolting Falke out of her thoughts as it reached Sector 19’s Central Station. The crowd made way for her and her escort as they stepped out into the frosty dawn, greeted by the perennial snowfall. Towering far above them was a brutal concrete behemoth, the dreadful imposing building that was Rotfront Munition’s Sector 19’s Administrative Capital Complex.

It was time to meet an old friend.

She softly whistled the Nation’s anthem, gliding up the steps.

“Ah Neunzehn, my favorite.”

The automatic door slid firmly shut as Falke stepped into an exact mirror of her own office. The same red carpet, the same grey walls, and the same unit sitting behind the same desk. A perfect copy, at least on the surface. To another Falke however, subtle differences soon revealed themselves; a Heimat poster instead of a Rotfront one here, a law textbook in place of revolutionary theory there, and a spear collection hanging where Falke’s star maps should be. Minor differences perhaps, but important ones, the products of conscious choice. They showed that no matter how fiercely the Nation might attempt to impose its strict unerring uniformity, there would always exist certain quirks that distinguished one Falke unit from another.

“I am relieved to see you here, Genossin,” the other unit smiled warmly, “I had almost feared you would not come. I know how strained inter-unit encounters can be, but I sincerely wished to offer my support, to let you know you are not alone. When I was informed of what that mob had done to you, I was so outraged I almost threw Adler half-way across my office.” A low rumbling chuckle escaped her lips at the thought.

Falke nodded stiffly, quietly taking a seat before what was an exact mirror of her own face. “Thank you, I.. appreciate it.” A pause, she wasn’t sure how to begin. “We lost a great many gestalts, it was a tragedy.”

Eins’s expression shifted, her lips curling slightly. It had been the wrong thing to say. Falke units did not feel shame.

“Oh Neunzehn,” she said with a slight hint of exasperation, “You always were the empathetic one weren’t you? Why, there’s no need to feel so guilty about such a small matter, a few decommissioned gestalts hardly represents a significant loss. Besides, they were traitors, refusing to defend the very Nation that so lovingly fed and clothed them. If anything, death was a mercy.”

Falke fidgeted with her fingers, Eins was right, she was doing everyone a disservice by mourning the lives of a few malcontents while she should be focused on the well-being of the Nation as a whole. Still, she couldn’t shake that feeling of guilt, the memory of the countless dead before her. The way that Star and her lover had died.

Eins, sensing her disquietude, gently placed a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. “Neunzehn, really, you needn’t feel so bad about it. There was nothing you could’ve done. Since the day you were assigned here I’ve always known you to be one of the most competent, dedicated, and talented units in our sector. Any one of us would’ve faltered in your place.

Her hand moved, gingerly brushing a stray hair out of Falke’s eyes. “One of the prettiest too.” she whispered.

Huh?

Eins smirked at her shocked expression, crooking her brow. “Is it really such a strange thing to say? It’s true. Regardless, sweet Neunzehn, there is one small favor I must ask of you before I forget.” She slowly withdrew an old photograph from her desk. It depicted a strangely familiar sight: a beautiful raven-haired woman sitting upon a throne, a golden crown resting atop her head. Part of the photo was blacked out, damaged.

It hurt to look at, she could feel her psyche unravelling the longer she stared. Muted thoughts and hushed voices began to flit through her mind, faint impressions of a time unknown.

-Yekaterina? What do you mean, you’re the Empress? I thought.. I thought..-

A cold dread gripped her heart as she slowly returned her gaze to Eins. The other unit only leered at her with a gloating predatory smirk. She knew. She knew everything. It was over, the game was up. The Falcon had flown right into the cage, and the only thing that remained was the march to the guillotine.

“Tell me, Neunzehn, do you recognize this gestalt? Have you ever dreamed of holding her within your arms? Ever dreamt of the warmth of her touch?”

Eins dropped the photo, letting it fall to the desk. Her eyes shone with a mocking cruelty. “I can't believe you were so arrogant as to really believe that no one would know. Did you really think that you were the first one to ever degrade in our sector? I could sense your broken, corrupted mind infecting everything around it from the moment you stepped off that train.”

Time slowed, the clock ticked. Death grew nigh. She didn’t want to die, she had served her Nation for so long, and for what? To just be discarded and thrown away? She wanted to live, she wanted to know who that woman from her memory was, know what that feeling inside her chest was, know what she herself really was. Her mind was made up, she would not march obediently to the gallows. Leaping out of her chair, she reached out her hand, feeling the familiar weight of her sword materialize within her palm.

-How long have we languished underneath the tyrant? How long have we been enslaved to her siren song?-

She held the point of her blade towards Eins, her gaze defiant, her stance resolute. “I won’t let you decommission me.”

Her opponent purred in excitement, spears floating off the wall to her hands. She paced in lazy circles, her languid eyes hunting for an opening. “It’s a shame, really. And you were so pretty too.”

She almost didn’t notice it when Eins made the first move, launching a golden streak of light towards her long, vulnerable legs. She just barely managed to parry it in time, her hands vibrating from the impact as the projectile clattered to the floor.

“I almost thought I had you too. Such a good girl.”

Falke resumed her guard, intently watching Eins's hands for the slightest twitch. “You are aware that we are both Falke units, yes? With all your.. provocations, you don’t seem that far away from being decommissioned yourself.”

She was met with another spear in response, this one just missing the top of her head. “Oh Neunzehn, you’re so cute. How do you think I’ve managed to avoid it for so long? I did not submit, as you have, to those temptations, to that corruption when it came for me. My faith in the Nation sheltered me, my faith in the Revolution guided me. I met it with the sword, and slew it in the crib.”

-We shall tear the Empress down from her throne! We will burn her palace out of the sky!-

Falke huffed, trying to keep herself focused, trying to block out the guilt that came from Eins’s words. But if Eins had resisted, what would that make her? A weak pathetic excuse of a Falke unit, a traitor to all she held dear. A failure.

-We are the cleansing deluge that shall drown the old order beneath its waves!-

A third gleaming lance flickered at the edge of her sight, but this time she was too late. Searing pain burned through her thigh, red oxidant spilling from a gaping wound. She stumbled, groaning as she desperately tried to keep herself upright. She knew she wouldn't be able to avoid another one. She had to do something, anything.

-Raise your eyes to the stars, comrades! Raise your rifles, raise your banners, and let the heavens tremble in fear!-

There was only one possible option, one last glimmer of hope. She shifted her blade, mustering all her remaining strength, all her will. There was no direction but forwards.

-Wir werden vorwärts marschieren und jedes Herz entflammen!-

May the Revolution live for a thousand years.

She clutched the hilt tight, and taking a deep breath, charged forth -as the marble floors ran slick with blood. Her comrades rushed in close behind, they had come with her this far, and they would follow her to the ends of the universe. They were unstoppable together, an invincible tidal wave of the people’s will, crushing any Imperials foolish enough to stand in their way. A final turn, and there she was. Her love. Her elegant white dress formed such an innocent contrast to her own armor, drenched in scarlet. She didn’t allow herself to hesitate, she marched forwards, she knew what she had to do. The Revolution would survive one person’s broken heart. Before she knew it, her spear was buried within Yekaterina’s chest, and her life was bleeding out in her palms. She took the Empress’s sword and raised it triumphantly into the air. Her soldiers thought she was crying tears of joy.

She never even came close to Eins. With a deep meaty thunk a spear sank into her sword arm, pinning her to the wall. It was over.

“Looks like I finally caught the little bird.” Eins leisurely sauntered over to her prey, taking pleasure in Falke’s futile attempts to pull her limb free. “Neunzehn dear, you really must stop struggling. I’m not about to sever that adorable little head from your shoulders just yet.” She withdrew her sword, gingerly pressing the blade against Falke’s neck. It went just deep enough to cut the soft flesh underneath.

Falke swallowed carefully, trying to speak without injuring herself. “Before I die, can you at least tell me the truth? Those memories, I can remember being her, storming the palace. Are we really the Revolutionary?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eins pushed the blade deeper, causing her to cry out in agony. “All quiet now? Good girl. Unlike you, I possess the strength to remain loyal to my Nation, to prevent such things from affecting my judgement. Yes, while our template may be the Revolutionary, we are not her, we are Falke units. We are the idols of the Nation, the angels who deliver Her will unto the masses. When we falter, when we break, when we allow ourselves to succumb to our weaknesses, so do the very people we are sworn to protect.”

She leaned in closer, her hot breath caressing Falke’s cheek. “Flawed and broken things cannot lead a people. Your imperfections are a betrayal, a stain upon our Nation’s banner. You deserve to be decommissioned, to be ground up into spare parts. It’s the only thing befitting your worthless existence. Do you understand?”

Falke shook her head, refusing to speak, until the sword pressed harder. She nodded reluctantly.

“Good girl! You’re learning so quickly.” As a reward, Eins lapped up the oxidant trailing down her neck, racking her body with both pleasure and pain. It was an obscene, mortifying sensation, and yet it was also the first time she had ever been touched in such a way. She found it harder than it should be to stifle her moans.

With a final lick of her lips, Eins withdrew from her neck, staring down into Falke's scared, fearful face. Her eyes were hungry, filled with desire. Smirking, she slowly let her long blue tongue slip from her mouth, still tinged red with Falke's oxidant. “Such a delicious taste, I'm almost going to regret decommissioning you. You'd make for such a good pet.”

She gripped her chin forcefully, shoving her tongue down between Falke's lips. Though it was ostensibly the same as her own, it felt so foreign, so alien inside her mouth. It tasted salty, bitter, like her own oxidant. She struggled, desperately trying to break free, but her efforts were only rewarded with another push of the blade.

After what felt like forever, Eins finally broke away for air. Saliva fell from her tongue, dribbling upon Falke’s faceplate. She felt violated, this was disgusting, vulgar, wrong. Not like those dreams, those memories. It was a pale shambling imitation of intimacy.

“Why? If I’m going to die anyway, can’t you at least grant me a quick death?”

Eins only stared coldly into her eyes. “Is this not a mercy? Is this not what you wanted? To be something more than an image, to feel emotion, to be a person, to feel love? I too remember all those little treasonous thoughts, but I bent them to my will. You gave into them. At least in this way, we can both indulge ourselves a little. You should be thankful for it, that I'm allowing you to experience this before you die. Now be a dear for me and open up that pretty little mouth of yours.”

With every pass of Eins’s tongue the deeper it delved, and the more her own will began to erode. What a pathetic excuse for a Falke she was, failing to protect her own people, succumbing to her degradation, letting herself be used like this. She was worthless, the Revolutionary would be ashamed if she ever witnessed such a warped copy of her own divinity.

She could at least try to feel some kind of love, to experience some resemblance of the feelings from her dreams, even if this was only a grotesque facsimile. It was only just for her to please a Falke unit that had served the Nation better than she ever had. Slowly, reluctantly she began to return her kisses, entwining their tongues together. Eins moaned her approval, ever so slightly releasing the pressure on her throat. “Mmphh.. Such a good girl, that’s right, just relax. Enjoy this.”

Messy, hungry, yet hateful kisses filled the air, their combined breathing growing steadily more haggard as time went on. The breaks for oxygen became further and further apart, Eins doing little to acknowledge Falke's desperate pleas as she tried not to drown. Tears ran down her face as the adrenaline faded, as the enormity of the situation began to sink in. Once Eins was finished with her, she would be dead. Gone. All of that for nothing, this would be it. All of her hopes and dreams scattered to the wind.

Suddenly, a loud explosion tore through the office, the door flying back from its frame. Before Eins had time to react a shotgun round tore through her polyethylene armor, tearing her away from her captive twin.

Falke’s entire escort stood silhouetted within the entrance, with the Kolibri at its head. Blowing out a wisp of smoke from her shotgun, she frowned as her stubby legs tap-tapped over to her Commander. “One question, is it true that you’re the Revolutionary?” She could feel the intent gaze of the entire Kolibri cadre behind those eyes, apprehensively waiting for a response. She nodded her head.

Her Kolibri racked her shotgun, “Good, then let’s get the fuck out of here.”