Reclaim
25 Feb 2024Meowers
Hello there, it's me and my 'starting a new life' happy fuss, a long and quite upbeat thing you don't hear from me usually, phah. But ow wow wow now there's much stuff to tell! Some of it is serious, some of it is totally goofy, everything is mixed up and all that, and it effectively means that even if the life is new, I'm still the same headcase wack you know. Is that good? Ah, I've no idea. But, yeah, remaining yourself after that kind of journey is something worth mentioning.
So, I made it through the three days of adaptation without leaving my place once, with my curtains closed, alarms muted, comms offline, nobody saw me, even reaching the apartment involved Mion, cargo buggy, a bunch of blankets and nighttime, it was a 'recovery from severe wounds' for the official records and all that blah blah blah. Essentially, the truth. In a way. At first, these new tricks of mine were madly confusing, a lot of new and not quite explainable things that, well, normal humans can't experience. That I couldn't experience before, personally. The doctor was right, it felt like controlling something in your body that you didn't have before, but now you have it and should learn how to use it, with your first attempts being super awkward. Generally it was like being a student again, crunching a month of knowledge-grinding into three days, especially the status and diagnostics, how to switch overlays and what those lines of dots in my vision mean. But I'm learning new things real fast now. Considering that my weird obsessing over stuff, polishing and perfecting it to the limit hasn't gone anywhere. Is that good? Oh, I've no idea. But having insane precision on everything else rocks. Just... Friggin yeah! That full mode is damn cool, couldn't help but test the reaction, sharpness and all that in combat sim games and now even more people absolutely hate me, call me a cheater and think about doing interesting things with my mum.
On the other hand, now I can sneak to the fridge or to the synthmachine at night without turning the lights on and without the risk of bumping into stuff and making noise. When I'm not sleeping alone, you know, phah. Would Mion miss calling me a clumsy oaf? I've no idea but I think I should ask her. Or bump into something purely for the sake of it. Carefully, of course, I'm heavy as heck. So now I can have some of those yummy energy drinks in the middle of the night, not worrying about ruining the sleep pattern, stomach, metabolism and other boring things. Anyway, sleeping like three hours a day and waking up almost instantly is awesome, lots of time to do stuff or to be lazy for a bit longer. Because I'm essentially a lazy kitten and nothing is going to change that. Squeezing myself into the shower cabin is still a funny process and tubs aren't an option anymore, but, well, I'll deal with that later. That our new block-for-two plan is going to see some unexpected edits. At least their ceilings are somewhat acceptable already, I can't stretch my arms up, yet I don't have to keep my head down all the time.
Kitten or not, sometimes I also have to be an adult, serious and responsible person and do things I'm supposed to do. So, the uniform, for doing these things. I wanted to appear in style, like, look at me, I'm alive against all odds and better than ever, I'm new and shiny and unstoppable and I'm ready to kick an enormous amount of arse. To keep that stuff quiet, I asked Mion to measure me and order me a new uniform set, instructing her to ignore the questions about what the bloody heck is that for. We didn't include any personal details like the nameplate and rank in order not to ruin the surprise, phah, they were taken from my old one. I can't say it was unexpected: my first daily briefing had turned into a hell of a show. With almost everyone totally shocked and me announcing that if those arseholes couldn't put me in the grave, now they're screwed so hopelessly that their best option is to start putting bullets through their own heads before I tried any other more interesting way to get rid of them. They fail so miserably that I'm still alive even if I, technically, helped them. They're so doomed that I can't even find a word to precisely describe how terribly doomed they are. And the Thargoids, they'd better get off our lawn and go abduct and probe each other in their basement or I'm going to make cartographers chart a new nebula that's green and reeks roasted bugs. If they have any language of their own, the only words they will have left remaining in a few months will be equivalents of "oh shit" and "we're screwed". And, if they still won't understand, I'd be first to invent an entire new communication method that includes arranging their bodies into a planet-sized middle finger. Thargoids, Azimuth, cultists, terrorists, their face, their arse, I see no difference and there's not a single realm of existence where those sorry wankers aren't fucked.
Yep, the speech itself was short, but featured some quite recognisable hand gestures that I included to make the information more perceivable. Judging by the faces of my pilots, they believed. Even if I had to stand during the rest of the thing because there was no proper chair for me.
Back to less official matters. Of course none of my old stuff could fit me, so, shopping time. Finally got myself that leather jacket, waist-length shortened one, custom measurements, durable thick material, that old school piece of fashion. Searching for real leather and filtering out synth and fake shit was a hell of a quest, I should notice. "This one is only twenty per cent synth," they say, "Just as good!" they say. Morons. Anyway, my waist is awesome and I don't want to hide it. And, since I don't give a single damn about what weather is outside now as long as it isn't instantly lethal, I may as well look cool while not giving a single damn. Also a big pack of custom t-shirts and crop-tops of various colours with funny prints, cute pictures or just plain and nice. Cosy warm hoodies. Some trousers, less loose than what I've been wearing before. My body shape is awesome now, even if it's technically the same, phah, and I don't want to put a bag on it anymore. And also lots of other necessary things like boots, socks, underwear, towels, all that. Now, well... Now I have more stuff to wear than I can put into a single backpack. And my uniform is no longer my everyday casual outfit. That's... Something new. But something I really liked. And maybe subconsciously wanted all the time, who knows. What was stopping me before? Like, it's just a few hours spent on the network ordering things. I don't know. Maybe I didn't see any reason to look better. Maybe something else. It's gone now anyway and good riddance.
Another moment that surprised me, in a good way. Simple walking outside turned out to be a lovely thing to do, actually. Not from A to B to do stuff, head down and press onward, but... Going outside, in my free time, whenever I want. Alone or with Mion when we are free from doing anything serious at the same time frame. Breathing fresh air, looking at what's happening and having small talks with people, once they, um, got used to seeing me around. Getting out of the camp to see what nature looks like. Sitting on the bench outside and talking about stuff, instead of doing the same in the apartment block. Enjoying sunny days, morning dew and freshness, cosy evenings and breeze at nights. Getting totally soaked in the rain, then hiding in the apartment and having a warm shower and tea. Dropping onto the grass and staring at the sky. Having open-air picnics somewhere outside of the camp, in a cosy quiet place. Visiting large cities and stations to get carried away by the rhythm, or to observe calmly from a bench, having a pleasant drink in hand. Attending public events, festivals, concerts, shows and other social things in our system and surroundings. People stare at me and I smile in return. Doing shopping personally instead of ordering stuff remotely or receiving packages via our transports. Even going to the lake nearby to splash around like goofy kids, or relax laying on the sand with eyes closed, or reading or watching something. Still have to learn dancing at parties once again, I don't want to send anyone into the infirmary by accident.
You know, that's odd. Looking back now, I can't remember anything that was actively stopping me. Completely stopping, preventing, not slowing down. I just didn't want to. Couldn't find any meaning in doing all that. Now, meaning or not, I simply like it. Maybe I'm learning to live, better late than never, who knows.
Like, I remember having a little stretch of the same careless funny life in my late teens, a couple of years, and everything feels like I'm that young again, but I don't have to stop from now on, don't have to isolate my true self by doing only what I should, doing only what could grant my physical survival, don't have to defend constantly. And, hey, I like it. That's too obvious, isn't it? And I enjoy... Being like this, naturally following the flow of my thoughts, listening to my mind, what I want to do right now. Not stuffing as many impressions as I can find in an attempt to make up for the lost years, but getting the taste, experiencing it from every angle. I have more than enough time now. Maybe I should get myself a camera one day to take better pictures of things and keep some good memories forever. And to finally learn what it is like, to start noticing something interesting or beautiful around, or to simply enjoy some nice views, rather than being so dry and factual about things I look at all the time. Except for the sky, of course, it has always been fascinating for me. And sister planets. Yeah... Sounds like a good idea. Or... Maybe I also may try to learn drawing again, being inspired by what I see, what I think of, dream of. I tried it many years ago, in my early twenties, perhaps it wasn't the time. Well, it seems like now, once I started to like, truly, sincerely like being myself, instead of seeing myself as a machine, many of those doors have opened, inviting me.
That's such a weird wack to be honest, phah. I saw myself as a machine when I was, like... Old, previous me. Now, I'm more a machine, almost entirely in fact. But I never felt so alive. So human.
Anyway, it's all nice and sweet, but back to business. AXDF gave me two weeks of carte blanche for solo flights, any time I wanted and with shifts being as long as I wanted. Paying daily according to my results, since I was absolutely broke, had to borrow Mion's money and desperately needed to put something into my own pocket. Casual shopping aside, I had to purchase some customised personal equipment and all that stuff because nothing can fit me now. And I can't fit into anything. Starting with the godsdamned pilot seat which I removed from the cockpit and took to our workshop to have it completely disassembled, so that they could make me a proper one and put all the controls back in place. Piloting without a seat isn't something you should really do, you know. Thankfully, my superiors had made it a priority task for the techs, they wanted to see me turning Thargoids into green mush none less than I wanted to start the show. A damn metal throne I'd say, it's no small feat indeed, to create a seating device that could withstand almost four hundred kilos of me and an armour suit, still absent at that point but kept in mind, being pushed in every direction by g-forces. Takes some expert welding and improvised delivery using a truck.
Finally, the Thargoids. Poor little bastards. Earlier, when I was after them, they were doomed. From now on, they belong to the world of pain, suffering and humiliation. It was a surprise even for myself. A good one as well, as you may have guessed. Like, I expected an improvement, considering all the theory and my videogame warm-up, but that was simply mind-blowing. Like, hey, no escaping me now, you chodes, and scream louder 'cuz I like it! I can see their slightest moves, calculate their trajectories, I see how fast they are going and where, and where exactly they will be in a few seconds. I evade their shots and pesky swarms perfectly and hit them where it really hurts, without a miss. Manoeuvring, accuracy and situational awareness have become phenomenal, it felt like beating defenceless dumb poorly scripted training targets that also yell funny. No matter how many of them were around, I knew everything, I could read the sensors instantly, figure out my next actions and perform them flawlessly. I didn't have to go fully-defensive even a single time, I was always on the move, always knowing where I should be to punch them in the face. What to do to keep the pressure on and don't give them a chance. They may have thought there's a natural predator going for them now and I don't mind. Survival of the fittest and all that. Unstoppable force or immovable object? I can be either now. And folks with those distress signals have gotten themselves a good new show to watch, with some ironic mockery comments from the actual performer. Intricately peppered with offensive language and disrespect. Should I start feeling sorry for the bugs? Ah, of course no, you attack defenceless people, you get your arse handed to you, you go rest in pieces, no other options. Video recordings of me blasting them to shreds have quickly become a highlight on debriefings, and, well... I'd blush if I could, phah. Certainly made me lower my head shyly a few times.
On a serious note. I want my pilots to learn, to pursue perfection, I'm not the best pilot in the Universe myself, but if I have any knowledge to share, I'd gladly do so. Yet it's obvious for me now that, theory and tactics aside, they enjoy that unrestricted, brutal, visceral display. With most popular comments going along the lines of "it's very cool", "we want to see more of that", "finally the bugs are getting what they came for" and so on. Okay... What I think now is that they grew tired of witnessing death, destruction, people suffering. Of endless fights again and again, over the same place. Of that poisoning feeling of making no real impact, no matter how hard you try. Of Thargoids beating us in any way they want while we retaliate in the only way we can. They crave to see them being helpless, at last. Uh... Some deep thoughts here.
Other than that, I've been slowly returning to my normal duties, at least what I could do without actually flying together with people. Two weeks of authorised solo flights aside, my superiors need to make sure that I'm recovered enough to be responsible for other pilots during the flight. That's the protocol. And of course it has nothing about pilots kicking even more arse right after coming back from the hospital. I don't argue though, such things must be done properly. So... Analysing the recordings brought by fresh pilots and telling them what they should focus on, preparing rosters and patrol schedules, coordinating people remotely, reviewing training sim results, all that. Some psychology bits as well. Sadly, many people turned to fighting Thargoids after tragic events, it's always a good thing to support them, and it's always good for them to know that their superior officer knows how to listen and what to say, she's not a faceless soulless human-shaped object that just gives them orders.
Anyway, being an officer means you should have an office of sorts, or something like that. At least a little place with a desk and a computer to do all that roster-shuffling, assignment-planning and people-talking stuff properly, not sitting on the hangar floor or drawing flight plans on the sand using a stick. All stuff that I usually have to do when other pilots from the same shift are already free to spend their time on anything funny, bah. And I grinned like a goof once I saw the chair our techs have made for me so that I could use a normal desk while stretching out my legs underneath it. A short and wide indestructible stump made of several normal chair seats bolted to a construction made of thick metal bars welded together, which, I suppose, were truck or even ship hull parts in their previous life. I bet making those custom things has become a sort of fun for them too and they secretly like me even more now. And the pilots. Those who flew with me before and knew the 'old me' were happy to see me again, they had that story about me being gravely wounded and rebuilt in Aegis hospital from pieces, without any further details, all that. Maybe I should create some kind of a crappy made up legend about Aegis Medical pumping so many progenitor cells into my body to fix the damage that it accidentally reactivated the growth blah blah blah in case of more questions. But, well, now I'm quite an interesting phenomenon for newcomers, that's for sure. Encountering some of them for the first time around the camp when I'm free and wearing casual stuff, and then suddenly appearing the next day in the uniform as their flight leader is entertaining indeed. Considering that I'm totally used to cracking wacky jokes from time to time. It has always been 'my' thing. Good for keeping the morale up. And hey, I'm starting to like that on-the-ground work.
But, yeah. I feel that people trust me even more now. Have more faith in me. Listen to my words closer. Glad to fly and fight under my command. I'm proud.
The proper armour suit. It materialised on the fifth day of solo all-out Thargoid-blasting shrapnel-filled extravaganza, the same old-fashioned thick metal thing but accordingly upscaled. Less finicky stuff, more iron, that's my style. Without the med-port since I don't need it anymore, but with improved temps control just in case and enlarged battery packs. Not that I'm worried about my temperatures, haven't seen them leaving the optimal range, but yeah, precautions. Physical endurance isn't the issue, yet deep and frequent breathing after being super active hasn't gone anywhere, I need it to cool down fast. Also, another reason for Mion to call me hot, mwahaha. Folks at the suit workshop were quite baffled, definitely, assuming there was a mistake in the measurements or something like that, and then, once it was completed, asked for a photo of why the heck I needed the mad thing. Why not? Their reply started with a 'holy shit', so I guess that new suit should serve me well. It fits great, it looks great, it performs great and... It feels great. I missed that, honestly. Having lots of casual stuff is cool, but ah damn wearing heavy armour has some aesthetics in it, for sure. I liked how I looked in it, and now it's even more awesome. And, perfect or not, flying, especially fighting, doesn't feel so comfortable when all you have is that airtight underwear of a basic flight suit. Not to mention any other totally safe outdoor activities with very friendly and considerate people around. And when your subordinates are sporting all kinds of protection and you're like almost naked, phah. Also, well, the armour thickness and shield capacity are upscaled too, so now I'm totally cool. Walking in front of my pilots like a boss. With parts of the suit painted violet because why not.
I also needed a weapon and ow damn that was a puzzle of its own. AXDF provided me with a standard-issue pistol, okay, that's a good sidearm, but I wanted a heavy auto-rifle like my old Fed model, a weighty chunk of metal with a bipod, long barrel, insane cooling, large mags, and it also could've been belt-fed. Poor thing didn't survive the explosion and I wanted the same since I grew fond of it and screw those Pioneer Supplies toy pew pew sticks that suck on every level of existence. Okay, that's illegal for anyone outside the Fed military, even for affiliated factions, but screw it too, anyone who's against me having one can eat my socks. The only source I knew was the independent bunch that... Convinced a Fed convoy to unload their goods while I've been doing their fighting. So I found them in my old journals, facepalmed a little about old me being so naïve, and of course the guy who gave me one as a gift was long dead already because hells do those idiots can't live a few months peacefully. And they have no idea about any military-grade guns they allegedly have stored somewhere. Okay, open your damn archives and look who helped you when Feds really nailed you chumps to the wall. Yeah, that's better, send me a courier, I'll even pay you a half up front. Now, customising the thing... Another puzzle. Our techs don't work with personal weapons on that level, other folks at the camp are refugees and they still don't have the essential tooling, so they referred me to another person a few jumps away, a woman in her 60's who's been messing with guns for her entire life. And I knew she was going to hate me. So, off I go, to drop onto a random orbit in that system and talk via voicecomm in order not to waste time. "The original model is fine and I like it, but...", and I swear I knew that she prepared for the worst as soon as I said that 'but'.
First, the stock, I wanted a larger one, and not just long but insanely reinforced, last time I bashed a bastard in the forehead the stock went wobbly and I had to replace the pins. Now I'm able to bash bastards in the head six times harder and I need a proper head bashing device that's also a gun stock. The grip sometimes feels like a broom even with that super soft pad I'd put on it, make it wider, and the same goes for the pad on the forend. No, thanks, no vertical front grips, I'm a simplistic gun enthusiast. Mag release thingy, rotate the knob, mud and shit are getting in between its edge and the mag well and that's eew. Friggin selectors, they're electronic, not physical switches, swap them to the left side, I swear reaching them with my trigger finger sucks a damn lot. The irons, Feds placed the scope above the rear irons and sometimes I can't see shit through that small window, put the damn scope a bit higher. Yep, I use irons from time to time even having a good scope, I'm special. The bipod, magnetic pads and clamps are fine but the whole thing is getting loose over time, make me a good solid bipod, for a heavier barrel. The barrel, make it longer like twenty per cent for a bit more accuracy and punch, and extend the cooling. Reinforce the living heck out of the whole front stuff and make me a bayonet mount because I want to do this shit on the hardcore mode. That's all. So, may I send you the thing? Will collect it then personally. Sorry, that's not all, I'm going to upload my personal signature that looks like a kitten, engrave it somewhere pleeeeeease.
She made a deep sigh with a mix of confusion and desperation and said this insanity is going to end up being heavy as mad heck and almost six feet long and she couldn't imagine where and how it might be used as a personal weapon. Told her not to worry since she will see me anyway and obviously it won't be difficult to figure out. The look of us both grinning like idiots once I received the modified weapon was totally worth it.
(author's note: the rifle model isn't finished yet, since the level of detail and precision I'm putting into it is beyond madness, the frontal part you can see here is what I call 'done' at the moment)
Also, those fancy charging plates. I was about to send the schematics to our techs as a kind of a new personal heating device and told Mion not to worry about my personal specific stuff, also trying to keep my, well, nature in secret, relatively. Like, Mion knows, Mr. Bowman knows, some of my superiors know too, but not every one of them, and that's more than enough. Other folks around may enjoy living in a world of guesses but they aren't going to know the truth. If someone starts to annoy me, I'd just feed them that progenitor cell overdose bullshit saga that sounds nicely believable. Of course she didn't listen. She sneaky style copied the schematics when I was in the shower and I couldn't even figure out why she had that funny smirk all that evening. In a couple of days she knocked on my door holding five of those things in front of her, even painted violet, and one half-sized version to put it on the upper back inside my suit and run it on the batteries. So I shoved those under my bed, her bed, onto the back of my pilot seat and three spare pieces were left, counting the original. Side note: what I call a bed now is a row of mattresses on the floor, since, yeah, you may guess. Do you want to know what kind of wack story she told the techs? It's a new experimental pilot seat upgrade made to prevent haemorrhoids. She's such a sweetheart.
We also spent a few nights on the rooftops gazing at sunsets, stars, sunrises, and... Just talking about stuff, jumping from serious topics to silly lighthearted joking or far-fetched dream-plans and back. How many cats we should have once the war is over. What could be the peaceful role for Marshmallow. Armoured cat carrier and chow transport won. What kind of civilian careers we may have, from starting a bakery business to becoming doctors or scientists. The intermediate part about tinkering with electronics, guns, vehicles and ships was also there, but that was too obvious, we needed something more weird and unexpected. What places of the Galaxy we could visit to take pictures and look at any native life we may find out there. That exobiology thingy has become really popular recently. What kind of a ground vehicle we should buy to fit me inside, actually inside, not in a cargo hold. Even about getting Mion a PilotFed licence one day so that she may own and pilot her ships, not only the Chieftain provided by resistance forces. It felt... Incredible. Immense. Amazing. Like the first time. Or even like never before. I should say, she definitely knows how to discuss heavy matters without falling down into a spiral of worries and unease. Even the ageing thing. It's all looming over us and all that, but why shouldn't we enjoy the good moments when we have them, the future will happen in the future, we must begin preparing for it, stockpiling money, blah blah blah, yet dwelling on these thoughts day by day isn't a good idea. And, well... We're going to meet her parents relatively soon. Maybe in a few weeks. With two pieces of news, on top of your usual family visit moments: she's into women and has always been, and she has quite a weird taste apparently, phah. With me acting as an emotional support as well and hopefully not a living shield.
What are we going to do next, once my life-restart is completed, which will happen real soon I think? Returning to the normal pace, mostly. Keeping the serious matters in mind yet not being obsessed and overthinking, just working towards them, not allowing them to overshadow the moments we like. The moments that people commonly call 'enjoying the being'. Everything looks reachable, we should keep caring for each other and we'll be fine. We want to finish planning and ordering a prefab block fit for two to live together again, my one feels small now even for myself alone, phah. It's good to have a bit more comfort while we still can't retake the old '91 and the town back from the bugs, they're all over the system and surroundings. But we can start working towards those funny dream-plans already, looking where they may bring us. Something good, I'm sure. It has to be. We can keep thinking about a life without that godsdamned war, preparing for it, to meet it properly. We have no idea when it might happen finally, but those little pieces do really feel like the fresh air we need from time to time. Even if we lose and will be forced to evacuate further into uninhabited space. I'm happy that now I can work more when it's needed, doing my own things and then helping others, far beyond the normal limits since it's not a problem for me any longer, therefore earning more. She can always rely on me. And I can always rely on her, no matter how used I am to thinking that I should only rely on myself alone. We trust each other, we deal with problems together, we work towards our goals, both personal and shared, and the more we do that, the less chances remain for something to get between us. Our pictures of that 'imaginary future' complement each other, we don't have to search for compromise options. Though, mostly, we simply want to live, day by day. Yeah, we're both military, but the war can't last forever. Times we live in aren't easy, yet we can make them easier for each other, there's always a way to get through.
So, yeah, these two weeks turned out to be quite productive. And meaningful. And, you know what? They are the happiest, the brightest in my life so far. No matter what lies ahead, I will remember them forever. I tried to 'reset' everything before, a few times... Fruitlessly running from myself, hoping that another environment will fix me. But it wasn't about the environment. And, this time, it is definitely a reset I wanted and I needed. A bit harsh maybe, but with a great reward in the end. With new 'me', better than ever, after a couple years of therapy, leaving everything old, unnecessary and dark behind, taking only what I sincerely like and need, starting almost from scratch. A blank page, now really blank and waiting for me to begin writing, no tears, folds or blots I have to keep in mind constantly. Psychologically, a cornerstone placed to reinforce me, to serve as a starting point for my efforts to leave all the dark stuff behind, in the past. Atomised with the old me. Forgotten and fading, being quickly replaced by the new life I'm building. The new life I like, truly, with my entire soul. That remained the same.
It never felt so good to be alive.
And that's all. The end of a little experimental two-arc thing with a twist into further character development, and I've had my great share of fun and enjoyment writing it.
What might happen next? Honestly, I don't know. I may write something else about her next adventures, later, once my creative battery recharges, I know how to do it without making her new strengths the only thing to talk about, but, in general, I'm glad to put another milestone for my character and her life.
Even if, logically and obviously, making your character so insanely overpowered is controversial, not a good move commonly, I'm simply happy for her. Where's the weak spot, what's the catch, you may ask. There's no catch. No tricks, no lies, no schemes and no plots. She's been selflessly serving humanity even if she didn't trust people in the beginning, and it's a skill yet to learn for her, and people helped her in the time of dire need, not asking her to change anything in her own self. She may struggle to understand why she is still alive and what for, but there are people who can lend her a hand when she loses the trace of light, knowing she's one of those who never ask first. Just like that. A happy moment after the previous dark story. Because I'm the author and I wrote it this way. Maybe to show that the world isn't always a cruel, unforgiving, unfair place that doesn't care about anyone. Mostly to show that there still could be a light in the endless darkness.
Now, she has a chance she couldn't even think about having. A chance I can't even think about having in my own reality. A chance to reclaim a giant slice of life that was previously taken away. I gave her the best possible gift, a gift she truly deserved, and if I can't have it personally, at least I can give it to her, in her world. She may enjoy the happiness now, not build an imitation of it on top of the ruins.
And, as always. Thank you for reading.