>>5146245
>‘How’s your hand-to-hand?’

>>5146245
>‘How’s your hand-to-hand?’

>>5146245
>>‘How’s your hand-to-hand?’

>>5146245
>>‘Let me teach you the basics of CQC ...’

>>5146245
>‘Let me teach you the basics of CQC ...’

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>‘How’s your hand-to-hand?’

Belfast's muscles tense. She can feel the power flowing through her right bicep, right shoulder, left thigh and right foot. Her abdomen tightens as she moves, elbows cocking back with the motion ...

Right as Roon's eye go wide.

>'Dorya!' (Uppercut)
>'Use your enemy's inertia against them ...' (Judo; spinning wheel and slam)
>'You're open!' (Jyuuken-fu; open palm strike)
>'Clench.' (Capuerta; crescent moon heel slam)
>Write-In

>>5146309
>>'You're open!' (Jyuuken-fu; open palm strike)

>>5146309
>>'Clench.' (Capuerta; crescent moon heel slam)

>>5146309
>'Clench.' (Capuerta; crescent moon heel slam)

>>5146309
>'Clench.' (Capuerta; crescent moon heel slam)

I'll be continuing tonight. On my phone right now. Hope to see you guys there.

>>5146309
>>'Dorya!' (Uppercut)

Are you guys around? I'm here and will be posting soon [TM]

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>'Clench.' (Capuerta; crescent moon heel slam)

Combat doctrine rarely required one of their kind to ever initiate in something as sequential as a hand-to-hand exchange. Close range melees out on the open water didn’t give much of an opportunity for them to do so as it was practically a rolling rarity that any of their moves could apply on such a practical basis so consistently. Fighting possessed hunks of otherworldly metals roaring and tearing through the surface of a stormy ocean wasn’t really the best place to conduct such applications; when one got close enough, it was generally the better option to blast on through with a barrage over bothering to get into stance. Shipgirls may have the strength of thousands of men at their disposal, but pragmatism dictated one’s ability to see the horizon on another day. Which was why, of course, Roon never saw it coming.

She’d expected a simple blow, of course. One attack to a vital area that she would have to chalk down to a recovery and counter in order to pay back with interest ... but she’d never really studied the methodology of having to truly match another of her kind at such close quarters or in the deployment of such skill. Her elbow raises upward in an orthodox guard, more out of instinct, out of reflex, than it had anything to do with practice. The initial heel drop buckles her knees, the impact equivalent to kissing a fully-loaded freight train. Any other being on this earth or within the depths would have probably been cleaved by the sheer force of the drop, but Roon—as was Belfast—were built to endure ... and punish. The hook of Belfast’s heel drags her down as Roon, now grinning wildly, tries to unlock herself from the strike, only to hiss with frustration as her fingers touch nothing but air ... and the shadow of Belfast’s dress, fluttering with the motion of the now-airborne combatant, parries Roon’s follow-up and her rolling turrets, right before the flipping and slamming armored foot dead onto Roon’s temple, the impact so deafening and destructive that the contact point results in a practical spider-web of cracks and raised tar and pavement blocks, dust flying everywhere with the execution of the Lieutenant’s devastating bow.

Roon grits her teeth as she feels the first real sensation of damage for the day, the breach of her skin forming a dark bruise on the left side of her forehead. Her smile, maddened yet restrained, gives her a visage a quality that looked more appropriate on a mad dog than it does on anything resembling a woman. Her hand shoots out once again, this time finding their target. Her fingers coil around Belfast’s ankle, a grip so strong that it gives the term vice-like pause.

Belfast has seconds.

>Try to kick Roon off
>Call in an assist from Bismarck
>Call in an assist from Formidable
>Write-In

>>5147677
Well I don't know jack shit about close quarters combat, but shouldn't it be possible to use the grip against her? Try to twist to drag her arm so she overextends herself, hopefully providing opening to our buddies to exploit.

>>5147677
>>Call in an assist from Formidable

>>5147677
>Call in an assist from Formidable

>>5147677
>Call in an assist from Formidable

>>5147677
>>Call in an assist from Bismarck

Mech here. Didn't know if people were online last night, so I went straight to bed. Will continue soon and respond as required.

>>5148890
Very cool.

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>Call in an assist from Formidable

Formidable’s prowess on the battlefield could hardly be classified as one centered around delicacy and nuance; after all, when she was charged with sowing chaos among the masses of screeching foes breaching the ocean’s surface, her immediate response would be to have them rendered inactive with extreme prejudice in as small a span as possible ... and that meant strafing runs and carpet bombing the seas in a measure so wide it bloomed over the horizon. Perhaps she was the odd one out among her peers in that selective club of Carrier-types, who’d—as she’d learned in the years of peace that followed—learned to develop restraint in the course of their careers ... but she’d never really had the luxury to properly discover that for herself. A firm swipe of the hand, a mental three-way command for diving manifestations of steel to dart towards their enemies ... she’d found much too much satisfaction, as a soldier, in seeing those titans from the deep groan and melt from a blind-sided tag. Illustrious and Victorious had called her out regarding her lack of subtlety more than once during practice, of course, and she’d had to un-learn the habit somewhat, when Long Island propped up that they were no longer at war and that there were only so many target structures they could erect in a week.

For that, Formidable, is thankful.

Belfast’s distressed glance has her already projecting her commands to her drones, splitting into a cut and arming their more accurate fare to strike at the—at present—downed Roon, who had regained the advantage. Formidable’s interception of a point-blank assault, peppering ground and girl with blasts of kinetic rounds, has Roon turning around and slamming Belfast aside as she braces herself against the second pass of her drones, absently controlled through the subtle motions of her fingers and the projection of her command through her thoughts and into their systems; a true extension of herself rather than mere tools.

Without a Commander, however ...

Five had launched and three return, Belfast rolling out of the way to avoid what was now Roon’s true counter-attack. A thrust of her foot into the ground turns the cracked tar and cement into another explosion of dust and the launching of debris, heaving what seemed to be the whole block upward in a show of brute force. White hot beams and deafening blasts cut off Formidable’s options in an instant, and she finds herself at the brunt of a consequence she wasn’t totally prepared for.

‘Pitiful ...’

She stares down the barrel of a cannon, the heat gathering from the depths of the shaft.

>Try to avoid it
>Brace for the blast
>Attempt to punch the barrel away
>Write-In

>>5148949
>>Attempt to punch the barrel away

bracing may be the option with lovely Formisaur but it feels too passive...

>>5148949
>Attempt to punch the barrel away

>>5148949
>>Attempt to punch the barrel away

>>5148949
>Attempt to punch the barrel away

Running soon [TM]. Maybe in about half an hour? That okay?

>>5149094
>>5149100
>>5149103
>>5149186
Before I post, I would like to, for the umpteenth time in umpteenth years, like to thank my audience for always going with the options that turn up the worst possible outcomes at the worst possible time.

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>Attempt to punch the barrel away

Her blow moves it a bare millimeter. She—

‘How long have you been out of the water?’

It’s a square hit to the liver that she takes, point blank and without any defense whatsoever. A human would have been obliterated, turned into dust at the sheer force that she practically eats in that nano-second, but her kind ... her kind endures as they are meant to. Her top tears away, turning into ashes upon contact with the beam, whatever fluttering scraps disintegrating in the heat that follows that initial blast. Pain ... follows, as well as it can. She’d been built, designed and purposed for this eventuality, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t an absolute bitch to put up with every time it happened. She feels some of her skin peel and her bones—strong enough to withstand the crushing weight of thousands of tonnes—crack and twist from the shot. Breathing—while not quite a necessity as her human superiors and dependents—becomes a premium, that shot tearing through the outermost layers of the automated defensive and recovery mechanism privy to her biological make-up. Her knees, un-set, don’t allow her to get a good stance to take that hit ... and she’s sent hurtling through one of the last standing bricks of civilization within their vicinity, blasting through at walls and pillars before finding herself embedded in the pillar of a parking lot, shaking and discharging almost all liquid known to the biological make-up of humans and Shipgirl.

=][=[WARNING]=][=
Second Pathway //Not Found
Resources //Locked
Reroute //Unavailable
Connection //Key Permissions Unavailable

Limits, however, remained limits ... and Formidable, it would appear, had reached hers.

‘Damn ... it ...’

She was done.

‘Much too reckless,’ Roon scoffs, dusting her cheek off as she turns towards—

She steps twenty feet to the right, then ten to the left, avoiding Bismarck’s opportunistic barrage with a look akin to a disappointing parent, closing the distance within seconds. Bismarck raises an arm to parry Roon’s chop, only to find the sheer force bouncing her attempt off with little effect. Roon’s expression, however, remains the same, piercing through Bismarck’s defenses with a successive thrust and grabbing throat, slamming her into ground with a force to be believed.

With a tremendous show of strength, Roon scrapes at least half a foot of dirt and concrete, with her quarry, using her foe’s back as an impromptu trowel as she blitzes her remaining enemy, blasting her off the ground and slamming against her collarbone in a mirror—and parody—of her own previous attempt.

Belfast isn’t fast enough.

She tastes the dirt of the ground, a bladed heel digging into the flesh of her shoulder.

Bismarck struggles for air, dangling helplessly ...

...

And you—

>Write-In

>>5151731
well shit, any ideas lads?

>>5151731
Struggle

>>5151731
Fight

>>5151731
>struggle
Ate my freaking post.

>>5151731
>attempt to bridge with Bismarck or Belfast
fuck it, against the wall here
do or die like normal to attempt to fix our fuck ups lol

>>5151731
>Reach out for him.

>>5151739
I don't know if this is in reference to one of the girls or yourself
>>5151744
You can feel them, but they're too out of it for you to reach out to them proper
>>5151755
To who?

Current recap:
You're on the scene, but you have a choice of who or what your priorities are. Take the current prompt as a Schrodinger's box of choices in that nothing is really set in stone, but at the same time reality/the plot will realign with how you take it. You can either have seen Formidable get knocked the fuck out of her and rush to her side, try to intervene with Roon or just be still in the middle of running or choose not to be there at all, as long as it makes sense.

>>5151744
>>5151789
>rush over to Formidable and attempt to get her back on her feet no matter what

>>5151793
And thus we establish that your superpower is the ability to not get tired running up a flight of stairs. That's awesome.

>>5151789
>Try to reach and connect with Belfast, Formidable and Bismark.

>>5151797
can i have that power please? my legs are dying when im done with work

>>5151802
they too out of it right now man,

>>5151805
We need to risk it or everyone dies.

>>5151806
i know but man >>5151789
>You can feel them, but they're too out of it for you to reach out to them proper
they are too fucked at the moment for us to pull it off, et Formidable up and we got a chance

>>5151812
No, just fucking forcfully reach for them through. Don't be wishy-washy, think cinematic and forge a desperate 3 way link with 3 SR shipgirls.

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>rush over to Formidable and attempt to get her back on her feet no matter what

You don’t know whether you’d arrived too late or too early or whether it was with mere sentimentality or clandestine purpose that had driven you to step into the mouth of such chaos, but seeing your Instructor launched into the air with a point-blank blast that could have torn a dam apart, you find that such considerations were secondary to more pressing, immediate concerns. And so ... you make the only choice that, for better or worse, makes the most sense to you.

As you always do.

Zipping up over a dozen flights of stairs is no easy feat, but you’re too jumped up on adrenaline to even care of the impossibility of your stamina remaining at a level where you’re merely panting in distress over anything resembling fatigue ... or that you’d rather stupidly rushed into a building that could topple at any moment. Formidable, luckily, wasn’t hard to find. The great big hole in the side of the structure allowed you to make a quick call as to which floor she was on ... but getting her out was a whole different ball game. Pulling her from the webbed pattern that was the concrete support pillar, you briefly marvel at how truly light she was ... but only briefly. Now that you’re properly aware of your surroundings, you know that staying in a building that was missing one of its corners was stupid ... never mind rushing into one like you already had. Hoisting her in your arms, you feel the thick fabric of her dress settling into your abdomen and forearms, helping you ease her into form. A quick check of your passenger has you noticing that she was at least still breathing, if heavily damaged. You see bruises, cuts and splotches of blood all over her, along with a titanic burn mark that appeared to drill just short of bone and organ. It’s a sight that you almost recoil at, resembling a spiral of burnt and cooked flesh that raised unevenly with every short breath that she lets out. Her eyes are half-open and empty, her consciousness unable to maintain itself through what you can only imagine to be the sheer agony of having every bone shattered and part of your skin being half-boiled.

You had to get her out of—

‘What are you ... doing ... here?’

Perhaps you’d underestimated your Instructor’s tenacity in that regard.

‘It isn’t safe, you have to ...’

Formidable struggles to escape the cot of your arms, kicking her legs in an effort, but only succeeds at putting you off-balance for a moment before gritting and hissing in pain, clutching the red and black of her warped and burnt skin, her red eyes screaming in silent agony as she attempts to maintain her usual countenance. You adjust your hold, trying your best to keep her—

‘Belfast ... Bismarck ...’

She grinds her teeth in pain, throwing her head back as she clutches herself.

>Write-In

>>5151826
>Its bad Instructor, but we might be able to turn the tables if we bridge, its our only option now

>>5151826
>Tell her to relax, pull out our wisdom Cube and attempt to bridge.

>>5151842
going for this

>>5151826
>Instructor… Formidable… let’s do it.
>>5151842

Time for za waaaarudo

>>5151842
Supporting this

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>Its bad Instructor, but we might be able to turn the tables if we bridge, its our only option now
>Tell her to relax, pull out our wisdom Cube and attempt to bridge.
>Instructor… Formidable… let’s do it.

‘Just what are you suggesting?’ she grits out, clutching her wound as she glares up at you. ‘There’s ... a difference between bridging in a controlled situation ... and executing it on a whim.’

It’s hard to remain calm, as you are. Somehow, you manage—

‘Haven’t you learned a single thing—’

This is definitely the concerned Instructor in her coming to the fore.

‘—that I’d taught you about bridging protocols? Never mind doing one in such—’

She hisses in pain again, clutching her bare chest. The inertia from the motion—as well as the slant of the structure you are currently within—has you staggering and almost kneeling on your knee, your back almost giving out to the sudden jerk of such an action. You’re almost ready to mouth off everything regarding just how dire the situation had become since you’d been separated, but one glance at Formidable’s fatigue, vulnerable expression has you biting back any rush of curses that would have rightly followed ... for better and for worse. What immediately comes to mind, however, is for you to—

You lose your balance. The tilt of the building, its inability to bear its own weight, had finally exceeded its limits. One knee scrapes against cement of what was once a client waiting room in an office, gravity pulling you back with the realization that you’d been spared much too much fortune for an action that many would have considered suicidal. Your recovery is quick, however, and clutching Formidable close, you try to make a dash for the fire escape, only to double back upon realizing that the narrow doorway you’d passed through mere minutes ago was had been rendered diagonally askew. Kicking off a raised piece of rubble, you hold Formidable tight as you search for another exit, the incline growing more extreme as the building appears to lean ... forward?

The structure had tilted right back.

Clutching Formidable tightly, you make a mad dash for the only opening that you have left in your mind, clumsily shifting your weight from foot to the other to compensate for the morphing extremities of physics all around you. It had been a bad idea on your part, to rush into a building that was about to fall ... but it was probably a worse idea to leap out of its shattered structure some forty feet above the ground.

Smart you are not.

Options, however, were limited.

Perhaps you’d get out of this a mere cripple instead of a corpse.

Dust kicks up, scratching your cheeks and invading your eyes. You can’t see the ground.

‘Leaping without looking? How ... like you ...’

Formidable had stuck your landing.

She throws up a small, exasperated smile, eyes half-lidded and arm shaking.

'Instructor—'

>Write-In

I'm gonna go and lie down. When you guys get to posting, I'll draw up a response.

>>5152116
> Grandma always said Heroes are the ones who go for the longshot even if they themselves think they might miss.

>>5152238
Supporting

>>5152238
Sounds good to.me

> Grandma always said Heroes are the ones who go for the longshot even if they themselves think they might miss.

You’re not sure how long you and Formidable hold your equally-immovable gazes, but she’s out of your arms before a proper resolution, clutching herself as she grits and holds herself, clicking her tongue as she appears to struggle with her stance. Your grandmother’s words—as patched together as they are—don’t seem to echo at all with the Instructor, who chooses to take a step forward back towards the conflict instead of acknowledging your anecdote at all. A flash of light and a screech of power prompts you to turn away for a moment, and a return to attention towards Formidable has you see her summon a configuration of drone units. The muscles of Formidable’s bare back clench and heave, her motions echoed by the lackadaisical and somewhat clumsy float that the drones had taken, bereft of their usual precision and energy ... a true reflection of her current state.

‘Get to a shelter,’ she commands, taking a groggy step forwards, her drones bobbing as she does so.

Fighting at such limited capacity and running on reserves ... you find your frustration with the stubborn Formidable reaching such a point where your rank finds itself thrown into oblivion in favor of personal concern. Grinding your molars and stepping forward yourself, you reach for her bare shoulder in anger ... and immediately pull back as she drops onto all fours, the drones lifelessly falling beside her in unceremonious, dull thuds. Formidable clutches her wound, shivering and coughing out droplets of blood, her long, silver locks sticking to her cheeks and the skin of her shoulders, her knees struggling to return to their once-proud and professional stance. Dark, tired bangs form under her eyes with one glance to her side, prompting you to rush over to help her to her feet. You didn’t require sight to realize that her limits had been broken through moments before ... and what fumes she had been running on the last few moments had all but diminished into mere wisps.

‘We have to get you to a—’

A shiver goes down your spine as you realize you’re not alone.

‘Impressive. You actually managed to save someone.’

Before you can react, you find your skull caught in a grip and your body being hoisted off the ground. The strain on your neck is such that you launch your hands to grip the fore-arm of your attacker, blinded and desperate by the darkness of the palm that engulfs your vision.

‘Even as you are ... you really can’t help yourself from being a complete slave to their whims, can you?’ Roon practically spits out. ‘Another rotten soul in that roiling pile of mistakes ...’

‘Let him go! Roon!’

Something scratches your eye ... and drives right through.

‘Roon!’

>Scream in agony
>Bite your tongue and grind your teeth; endure it
>Write-In

>>5152431
>>Scream in agony

>>5152431
>Scream in agony

>>5152431
>>Bite your tongue and grind your teeth; endure it

>>5152431
>Bite your tongue and grind your teeth; endure it

>>5152431
>Bite your tongue and grind your teeth; endure it

>>5152431
>Scream in agony

There goes the stereoscopic vision.

>>5152431
>Bite your tongue and grind your teeth; endure it
Pain comes later. Those we love come first.

Sorry guys, was at grandparents' for Sunday afternoon another reading of the will, ffs and just got back. We ready to rumble?

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>Bite your tongue and grind your teeth; endure it

You don’t scream. Maybe it was just the sheer shock of the situation that overwhelms you, but you do not scream. The agony of having your eye pierced and that gloved digit roiling around in your eye socket is maddening; for whatever reason, however, you’re able to keep yourself from screaming your ears out, grounding your molars down to the pulp as you hang on for dear life, blood leaking down your cheeks and dripping down your chin in a thick, coppery rivulet. You can feel and almost hear your skull groaning from the enemy’s grip, her fingertips digging into your crown as you barely withstand actually letting out a cry in the name of mercy. Your knees hit the ground as you’re shook like a rag-doll, the chaos of noise and the ringing in your head making you clutch harder with every jostle of her finger in your thumb. Your remaining eye sees only darkness while your neck and spine strain from the sheer force that’s applied.

‘Meat is just meat, after all.’

Your surroundings return through your sensations ... or rather, the rush of wind and the mere blur of what your left eye catches is; your ears ring from a din and you find your nose numb, as if it had been dipped in ice and had a fire lit under its tip. Pain also returns, as you find your back hitting something, your joints scraping against the ground with the sudden stop that your body experiences, bubbling an addition of nausea to the top of the tornado of torment that had introduced itself to your body in the last five minutes of your existence. As you try to find equilibrium, however, you find yourself supported in your efforts, as the excruciation of your state is made somewhat more manageable by being able to properly place your two feet on the ground and hunch over.

Your good eye glances to the left and to the right. Belfast and Bismarck had stand close to you, the former kneeling on the ground and the latter leaning against you as a make-shift prop. Belfast’s shin is twisted just above the ankle, bruises marking the bare left side of her torso and arm, her gear hanging uselessly from her waist. Bismarck fares better than the Lieutenant … but not by much. Bereft of her hat and clutching what looks to be a dislocated arm joint and a missing arsenal along her left side, there isn’t much to take from her state.

Formidable’s new position to the left of Bismarck, anger etched in every wrinkle upon her frustrated countenance, does little to alleviate the dire situation.

You’d never been in a situation where the odds of numbers were so paradoxically unfavorable.

‘It really should be time to close the curtain on this, shouldn’t it?’

Roon smiles.

‘Rejoice … you meet your ends as you have lived: puppets to useless lumps of flesh.’

You reach for your pocket …

‘Goodbye.’

>>5154185
>‘I recite the oath … Guardians of the Blue Horizon …’ (Normal)
>‘Bismarck, Belfast, Formidable, you three … take my power. What little I have … and in return, lend me yours.’ (Anime-Esque)
>‘This is going to hurt, isn’t it?’ (Snarky)
>Write-In

>>5154187
>>‘Bismarck, Belfast, Formidable, you three … take my power. What little I have … and in return, lend me yours.’ (Anime-Esque)

-going for this

>>5154187
>‘I recite the oath … Guardians of the Blue Horizon …’ (Normal)

>>5154187
>‘Bismarck, Belfast, Formidable, you three … take my power. What little I have … and in return, lend me yours.’ (Anime-Esque)

>>5154187
The oath is Kino but on the other hand it probably doesn’t reflect our attitude of mutuality in the bond yet I can’t come up with anything better so

>‘Bismarck, Belfast, Formidable, you three … take my power. What little I have … and in return, lend me yours.’ (Anime-Esque)

>>5154187
>‘I recite the oath … Guardians of the Blue Horizon …’ (Normal)

>>5154187
>>‘Bismarck, Belfast, Formidable, you three … take my power. What little I have … and in return, lend me yours.’ (Anime-Esque)
Trust in the ham and cheese baby

>>5154187
>>‘Bismarck, Belfast, Formidable, you three … take my power. What little I have … and in return, lend me yours.’ (Anime-Esque)

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>‘Bismarck, Belfast, Formidable, you three … take my power. What little I have … and in return, lend me yours.’ (Anime-Esque)

And time stands still.

The colors of the world invert upon themselves, light morphing into darkness and darkness veiling itself within light. The sensations of touch, smell and sound become dull to the experience; instead, a sense of paradoxical weightlessness comes over you, as you feel devoid of any burden in movement and, at the same time, in possession of an inability to properly orientate yourself to your liking. The soreness of having been toyed around with like a doll, however, remains. Stiff joints, loose calves and unsteady ankles all make themselves known to you as you attempt movement … staring down the almost-lackadaisical expression of the enemy shipgirl—a concept that would have been almost unfathomable to you before the last few hours—wondering if all this was just … no, you don’t even know what to believe anymore.

Except the fact that this was no place to die/.

Do you understand what you’re doing?

You do.

You couldn’t even make it past your trials.

This was true.

—and you pull out the Wisdom Cube.

You see Roon’s eyes widen. Her irises narrow … and the world moves again.

The nexus of storms within whirls in a spiral as raw, unfiltered power exudes from the device within your hands, the sheer electricity numbing your bloodied and dirtied fingers as you hold it aloft. The curses of your enemy become known to you with the return of strength and equilibrium to your legs, prompting you to raise yourself from the support of your three companions. Roon’s eyes swirl in rage as she finally realizes her mistake, readying her armaments to strike you down where you stand … but you feel no fear, no hesitation. Desperation, however, pours out of every orifice imaginable upon your person … and the sheer heat of the prompted cube has you gripping it with an intensity that crackles the joints of your fingers. Tendrils of something, ethereal and wild, whip about you as you match Roon’s fury with your grimace of anticipation, your ears ringing in this maelstrom of power.

And in that, you find that barely a second had passed.

Behind you, Belfast, Formidable and Bismarck stand, battered and bruised … but reinvigorated.

No, more than that—

‘Take my power … what little I have … and do with it what you will.’

You hear the whirl of machinery and the loading of cannons.

‘And in return … please lend me yours.’

Three voices echo in your mind.

‘Is this your decision?’

And Roon lets loose.

‘As if I’ll let you complete the Oath!’

The cube cracks in your palm …

>Write-In

>>5154714
>It is my decision come what may, this is the path I have chosen. Now lets take the fight to her you three.

>>5154714
>Yes, and I wouldn't change it if the seas dried up and the stars went cold.

>>5154714
>No… it is *ours*

>>5154736
>>5154714
Support

>>5154736
Supporting

Sorry guys, had to visit a family member at the hospital. I'll try to respond within the next several hours. Back in Nilai now.

>>5154736
supporting

>>5154714
>>Yes, and I wouldn't change it if the seas dried up and the stars went cold.

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A thunderous boom erupts from your chest: not by metaphor, but by the most literal of meanings. The cube shatters in your hands as vicious, violent maelstrom of power consumes you from your heels to the tip of your ears, almost overwhelming. Your body trembles as this hurricane of what you understand to be pure energy seemingly grows with every micro-second that flashes past, tiny shards of concrete and metal lifting into the air, your hand—now vacant of the blue wisdom cube—balling into a fist with the bending of your elbow towards yourself, upright and pointing towards the heavens. The crack of thunder is followed by the clash and bang of steel, almost as deafening and twice as intense. The underside of your fingernails grow hot; you turn your head to see the Captain, the Lieutenant and your Instructor, their bodies still wounded but their states completely reinvigorated, almost spilling over with an excess of strength.

From the brink, they had been returned.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uiyaqnj2FZ4

‘A Commander candidate? No … a Commander?!’

Belfast steps forward, flicking her hair over her shoulder as a sardonic, reserved and somehow … eager expression comes over her features. Cool flames of … something gather around her legs as her cannons, previously reserved in appearance, morph into existence with a more regal, defiant quality. Roon’s eyes go as wide as her grin, her cannons rolling forward to announce their latest volley … only to be knocked off-balance by the eclipse of drones Formidable had launched. No, it would be conservative to say that she’d been knocked off-balance when Formidable had practically leveled everything that was more than forty feet from the tips of your toes, bouncing from rock to rock on her way down. Belfast smirks cruelly, finding her shot. The first strike finds its mark right as Roon buries herself head-first into a large piece of debris, but the demon of war that she was—is—she recovers quickly enough to zig herself away from the second shot, prompting the bloodied Belfast to raise an impressed eyebrow … only be knocked right out of her spot by a white-hot blast that practically hits the bedrock of the island’s structure, dropping another building on top of your now-outmatched foe.

Then she comes for you.

She shoots out of the rubble at supersonic speed, her clothes tattered and her fingers extended … but stops short of a foot from making contact with you.

An elbow jabs into her throat. A knee hits her right in the plexus.

You … are behind Formidable’s force field.

She’s launched away without any fanfare. She isn’t, however, down for the count.

‘How … disgusting …’

Three voices echo in your mind.

Your orders, Commander?

>‘Send her to the next world, Instructor.’
>‘Take her down, Lieutenant.’
>‘Quickly and precisely, Captain.’

>>5162123
>>‘Quickly and precisely, Captain.’

>>5162123
>>‘Quickly and precisely, Captain.

>>5162123
>‘Send her to the next world, Instructor

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>‘Quickly and precisely, Captain.’

‘Quickly and precisely? Forgive me, but I think in this sort of state—’

A tornado of unfiltered power erupts as she adjusts her cap.

‘—I don’t think that’s within my capabilities!’

Roon summons her shields.

Formidable balks. ‘S-Seriously?’

FIRST LIMIT: WARHEIT

And it all … goes dark.

>Maybe you’d jumped the gun on that
>Your eye socket feels itchy
>Get some shut
>Wonder why you feel so numb all over
>Write-In

>>5162169
>>Your eye socket feels itchy

>>5162169
>>Your eye socket feels itchy

>>5162169
>Your eye socket feels itchy

>>5162169
My mistake on the prompt. That third option should read as:

>You feel like shit

If you guys want to re-vote, go ahead.

>>5162169
>Your eye socket feels itchy

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>Your eye socket feels itchy

You find, however, that even lifting your hand is a—

Throat itchy and mouth dry, you awake to a dull, dark ceiling. Every single cell in you aches … and your chest even more so. You try to raise your hand to clutch your abdomen, but find the aching giving way to cramping. Your bones seem to creak as the luxury of movement becomes just that; however, the sensation is so intense that by sheer desperation, you find your palms hitting your chest anyway, pressing hard with every inhalation and exhalation of the cold air of … wherever you were right now. You feel rigid, like a forgotten puppet in the corner of a toy store. Sitting upright and feeling a chill that you’re not quite certain is merely from the atmosphere, you run your stiff digits over your shoulders, hissing in discomfort as you feel—and hear—the groan and twitch of your neck. There’s some thin fabric draped over you … and you find some kind of tube hooked up into your veins and a—

You look underneath the sheets, the dark outline of what was most definitely another set of tubes sticking up your … unmentionables and running down the edge of your bed … sheets? Bed. Everything is dark all around you, but not so much that you can’t make out what was there. You were lying in a bed, draped in a very thin sheet of fabric and covered from the waist down in a blanket of sorts. Around the … immediate area, you’re able to make out your surroundings even further, noticing the texture of what seems to be a set of medical curtains covering you from all sides as well as two chairs at the corner of your bed. You don’t have much space within the partition, what with the array of machines and the holographic projection of your current state humming serenely to your left.

It was a good thing you still had one good eye left.

You flex your fingers, pressing your palm into what you now realize was a bandage draped over where your right eye would have been, seemingly sterile of any and all blood. Piecing everything together, you soon realize that you must have been in a hospital of sorts. More than likely by one of your superiors that you’d—

And it all comes back to you.

You’d been attacked.

The islands had come under assault … by …

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, hissing in pain as you try to gather yourself as well as you’re able to. Your breathing is irregular and shallow, but you can feel that your blood flow, at least, had begun its journey back to normalcy. The cramps in your abdomen, shoulders and upper back, however, were very reluctant to allow you to even step foot on the floor.

And your right eye socket was still itchy.

>Sit in silence
>Use the call assistance button on your bed-side
>Try and get out of bed, pull out the catheter and look for … someone
>Write-In

>>5162277
>>Sit in silence

>>5162277
>Try and determine if we are still connected to Belfast, Formidable and Bismarck.

>>5162277
>Sit in silence

>>5162277
>>Use the call assistance button on your bed-side

>>5162277
>>Sit in silence

the ships... out of danger?
(and obviously the city and the people too...)

>Sit in silence

You’re not comfortable having to pull a tube right out of your … orifices anyway. Sitting in the dark, you try to gather your thoughts as best that you can, wondering just how you’d managed to end up on a—no, no … the how of it wasn’t the question. That you’d survived that encounter at all was a miracle in itself. Roon’s concern for you had been so minute that she’d opened a window for you to turn what would have been a stupid decision … into a stupid decision that remarked upon a favorable outcome. You muse that perhaps she wouldn’t have been so flippant about your arrival if you’d been in—

You pause in your thoughts.

You’d been attacked.

Attacked … by a shipgirl.

The island had come under assault by shipgirls.

Roon had sowed destruction upon arrival, tearing down skyscrapers with an almost-detached sense of amusement. A being that you had once thought to be the aegis to humanity’s continued survival had turned upon what had once been her mission. Processing such an event, such an occurrence … you wonder if it had not just been a nightmare from reading one too many pieces of fiction. The surreality of it all has you gripping the edge of your bed, squeezing the fabric of the mattress with every shot of neurons firing to further contemplate the matter. Nothing about it … made sense at all. You’d never known shipgirls to be cruel or barbarous in practice. In attitude, perhaps, but every single one of them had operated with a sense of duty, purpose … and responsibility, and none standing above their responsibilities to the humanity’s defense.

So, why?

Maybe if you pinched yourself you’d wake up; find yourself in another bed, only this time it’d be back in the barracks and you’d actually overslept for your trial with the Instructor and the Lieutenant, where the worst thing you’d have to look forward to was a rollocking from Instructor Long Island and another march towards the administration office. Running your hands over your face, you wince at the tug of the tube stabbed into your left arm, feeling the needle drag underneath uncomfortably. You must have been out for quite a length if they’d had to stab you with that.

Well, this wasn’t a dream.

You wonder—

‘He’s awake,’ you hear a voice utter from behind the curtains.

It is familiar.

You feel a sense of … comfort washing over you.

Belfast.

‘Lieutenant, please,’ another voice speaks up, this one foreign to you, but also female … and with authority. ‘You have to—’

‘We are allowed,’ comes another voice, interrupting the second one. This one more urgent, a little more irritable and—

Formidable.

The curtains are pulled back, immediately confirming your suspicions of it being a med bay … and revealing the wide-eyed visages of your two superiors.

Your feet hitting the cold floor, you …

>Write-In

>>5162357
>attempt to hug both Formidable and Belfast

>>5162357
this >>5162359

once they come into reach that is.

>Belfast, Formidable, you're alright! Bismarck too, yes?

>>5162359
supporting

>>5162368
>>5162357
Support

>>5162368
supporting

>>5162359
>>5162368

Support, only reasonable response to what just happened.

Mechanic here. Are we alive?

File: Worried Dinosaur.png (850 KB, 840x1200)

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>Belfast, Formidable, you're alright! Bismarck too, yes?

You’re half a syllable away from the end of your query before you find your cheeks mercilessly squished by your suddenly-irritable Instructor. Formidable has no consideration for your muffled protests whatsoever, her palms rolling the flesh of your cheeks as you try your best to not swallow your own tongue, your neck straining to keep up with her rough movements. You feel as though your head is being unscrewed, your shoulders bobbing and rolling with Formidable’s wrists and elbows. The doctor—or nurse or flood administrator, as the scrubs did little to discern between the roles—lets out a half shriek as she attempts to pull Formidable away from your person, but there’s only really so much she can do—and really so much that you can protest through the movement of your own sore muscles—to get the latter to cease in her … man-handling. After what you’re certain is probably the fiftieth forceful shake that she makes with your head, Formidable relinquishes her hold on you, her hands aloft to either side of your head, fingers outstretched and palms facing one another.

‘You’re holding together quite well, all things considered,’ Formidable lets out coolly, staring down her nose with her set of wine red eyes.

You open your mouth to reply—

Or rather, attempt to … as the wagging of your tongue is instantly accompanied by the arrival of an absolutely stinging amount of pain upon your crown, making you dazed and clutching the top of your head in what aching agony.

Formidable had hit you.

Pretty hard, too.

‘You bloody idiot,’ comes the Instructor’s hiss, barely two inches from the top of what you’re certain was a smoking mini-crater on the top of your head. ‘Synchronizing a pillar establishment protocol without a filter … tethering a bridge through direct wisdom cube contact … releasing all control points on an SSR Limit Execution Command while ignoring release parameters … maybe I should just throw you into the abyss myself! You seem to be right adamant on ignoring every single safety protocol in existence! You’re stark raving mad! That’s what you are—an absolute basket case!’

You open your mouth to protest that the circumstances hadn’t exactly been tenable, what with the island coming under fire from walking, sentient—

Only to find yourself in a tight embrace, buried between the neck and chest of your Instructor. A calming sensation, one that is both alien and … comforting, washes over you. It isn’t just Formidable’s embrace that you feel, but—

You’re okay. You’re actually okay. You’re alive. You’re alive

Did she just say that?

No, no … more than just words, they were …

Thank God you’re all right.

They … she …

>Write-In

>>5165414

>Y-you too.

>The Island, the people... are they okay?
>Is the attack over? Who all are we... at war with?

>>5165418
>Sorry for doing something so stupid ma'am, but I had to do something to make sure we all got out alive somehow

>>5165418
>It would have been far worse to have lost you.

>>5165436
>>5165418
Support

>>5165434
Supporting

>It would have been far worse to have lost you.

Formidable pulls back, scowling. Your own eye rolls upward to meet her relieved gaze … right before another stinging sensation—this time from the top of your right ear—makes itself known to you. Nursing your ear, you let out a wince as you realize that you’d made one shift to the right too far, the tugging of the tubes to your nethers prompting you to instantly remember just how banged up you were in the first place. Formidable, immediately sensing this, assists in propping you back up with one swift movement, her arms scooping you as though you weighed little more than a handful of grapes (once again, to the protests of the fair-haired nurse), tugging away at the sheets and pulling them on top of you. She’s joined in her efforts by Belfast, who—

You frown as the odd sensation returns.

Exasperation.

Incredulity.

Relief.

The emotions, the intent … alien as it is, washes over you with Belfast’s approach, a paradoxical sense of familiarity that you know is both new and foreign to your experience, but at the same time, of a strange sort of comfort. Belfast’s fluffing of your pillows, Formidable’s adjustment of your embarrassments and the sheets below your waist … you can’t help but feel a little … well, you don’t know what you quite feel, really. A foreign sensation was really as far as you could truly classify it, but it’s as though … as though …

No, no, you really can’t put a finger on it.

Your mind doesn’t quite race at a mile a moment, but at the same time, you can’t help but feel awash with these feelings that you are very sure are not your own. You … just feel it, like a second—or third—heart racing, a rhythmic breath that’s both yours and not, moving in time one moment and picking itself up the next. There is no real thought that breaks through what you already perceive through your available senses, but at the same time, it would be not quite off the mark to call it a empathy at all. You do not … share in these feelings so much as they reach out and wrap around you on their own. There is a … barrier, yes, a partition that you feel that it goes around, that it penetrates … or … not quite.

Rather than a penetrating mark, you feel as though something has been torn down.

You can’t quite underline whether you mean that in the metaphorical or literal sense, but …

‘Reckless,’ Formidable mumbles, shaking her head as she folds her hand over her waist, standing upright. ‘Positively reckless.’

Her relief is warm, a balm upon your severed spirit.

‘Well, at least he’s got the bone density for it,’ Belfast muses, smirking slightly. She pulls away from the pillows, mimicking Formidable’s amusement.

The Lieutenant’s self-restraint is remarkable.

>Write-In

>>5165509
>Its going to be interesting feeling what both of you, and likely Bismarck, feel.

>>5165509
>Grannie did always say i was hard headed

>>5165546
Supporting

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>Grannie did always say i was hard headed

You let out a small wince as the words trampoline off your tongue. A hand absently clutches your side, the itch of where your right eye had once been becoming a quick secondary to the discomfort emanating from your plexus and below. Belfast’s and Formidable’s eyes shoot up in concern, their hands rising and their feet shuffling to assist, only for the fair-haired nurse—who looked like an amalgamation of your school’s old lunch-lady, the curly-haired traffic officer from your forays into town and the hook-nosed and tight-fisted substitute art teacher—to rush in with what seems to be a squadron of medical attendants. Outside of their call for a doctor, you don’t really find yourself able to follow the swift exchange between the nurses, who excise and deploy medical terminology at a rate so fast you could swear that at least half of them ran underground clubs in their spare time. Belfast and Formidable, who had charged in so brazenly not too long ago, are swept to the back as you’re now practically assaulted by an array of binary answer modules at a pace so rapid that you begin to sound no different from the administration sub-offices’ printer.

They’re so quick that you don’t even notice them quickly tending to your nether regions and telling you to—

‘Oof.’

A small whine escapes you as you feel … free, the nurses giving you a pat on the bare thigh for being such a good sport, your toes tingling and your unmentionables resuming their normal state of function. Even the Instructor and the Lieutenant grimace, observing your bare bottom and raised legs as the nurses continue their work, both without consideration for your own embarrassment and with the efficiency and focus that could have only come with experience. The head nurse even throws a motherly, encouraging smile your way as you’re given the last of the pat downs, the sound of snapping gloves and skidding trainers filling the air with the departure of her crew … and the arrival of a short, lean man in a white coat, his wide mouth barely fitting his face and his beady eyes so far apart that you think you can fit a ruler between them. His hair balding and grey but his skin oddly devoid of wrinkles—and in excess of fat folds despite looking very much undersized—he steps in with an enigmatic presence, clutching a clipboard and with his medical drone—a floating mint green hamburger of a droid—in tow.

‘Well, I have to say, Commander,’ he starts, raising his hand as the head nurse, too, turns to leave, ‘I kind of had my money on you croaking it by the weekend.’

That’s when you see the tags.

Dr. Zen Wu Long

He’s an Azur Lane affiliate.

>‘Are all doctors this lacking in bed-side manner?’
>‘How long was I out?’
>‘The island? What happened?’
>‘Glad to disappoint.’
>Write-In

>>5166479
>>‘How long was I out?’

>>5166479
>‘Glad to disappoint.’

>>5166479
>‘Glad to disappoint.’

>>5166479
>‘Glad to disappoint.’

>Glad to disappoint

You turn a wary eye—literally—towards the doctor, whose drone floats over to you and props up a holographic display, outlining your form with a three-dimensional blue outline splotched with a myriad of red indicators … which you guess to be a read of your health. You’d seen the medical drones before, their engines working in defiance of gravity, trailing their masters a light hum and rotating to their liking as they did so. You’re not quite certain how they worked, however, as the principles of their existence were wrapped up in a jungle of mysticism and techobabble that you weren’t very keen to navigate … but you do know that one of those mechanisms cost as much as a car. Decades prior, there was a fad of the portable, convenient electronically-inclined secretary, but the niche of such a convenience made the maintenance of those additions to the working world more a luxury than a necessity, what with the presence of intelligence networks and ley theory already providing that kick at a much lower cost. These days, they were mostly confined to areas where their budgetary needs didn’t really chew so much as nibbled through an annual budget, mostly within medical, military and intensive site operations.

The doctor smirks lightly at your remark as the patty-shaped device continues to display—what you assume to be—your vitals, his nostrils flaring and the corners of his lip twitching as he does so. A moment of observation later, he walks over to your bedside, fingers tapping away at what you understand to be a virtual key console on the side of the device, prompting a series of beeps and buzzes, before pulling his hand away, his gaze turning down towards your prone form, mixing exasperation and bemusement.

‘From a purely observational perspective, your survival or demise would have reaffirmed or refute existing theories,’ he states nonchalantly, ‘so from where I stand, however you ended up, well, would have been an overall contribution to what we’ve been made aware of in the last decade. Speaking, again, from a purely observational perspective. It’s at least more of a relief to the bureaucracy that we won’t have the trouble to debate the ethics of euthanasia with your next of kin.’

You could have balked.

You’re much too infuriated, too, however. ‘You were going to … kill me?’

Belfast steps forward.

Protest. Denies. Reaffirms.

You almost wince at the feedback.

The doctor chortles in a manner that was much too easy-going for the topic. ‘Commander, I don’t believe that you truly understand the extent of just what you just put yourself through. By all means, you just performed the occupational equivalent of throwing yourself into an open, burning furnace.’

>‘Why are you calling me a Commander?’
>‘You could afford to be a little bit more … delicate about things.’
>‘Not like I had a choice.’
>[Grumble silently]
>Write-In

>>5166650
>‘Why are you calling me a Commander?’

>>5166650
>>‘Not like I had a choice.’

>>5166650
>>‘Not like I had a choice.’

>‘Not like I had a choice.’

‘Then how good that it stands that it was one of such convenience.’

>‘I’d like to see you stare down death without so much as a whimper.’
>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’
>‘I’d hardly call it convenient. Convenience doesn’t come at high cost.’
>[Grumble silently]
>‘Are you here to treat me or share a silo of snide remarks? I warn you. I’ve got tougher skin.’
Write-In

>>5166718
>>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’

>>5166718
>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’

>>5166718
>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’

>>5166718
>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’

We alive?

>>5166718
>>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’
>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’

>>5167094
yes.

>‘For you or for the bounty of knowledge?’

Dr. Zen carves a sardonic smile upon his lips, peering down the bridge of his nose with amusement.

‘Neither, really,’ Zen remarks mysteriously, pulling out a notepad from the pocket his coat, and a pencil from the coil of the spine. Despite it probably meaning nothing, you can’t help but wonder what he had meant by that; the drone floats over your legs, humming lightly as the doctor scribbles away, making sputtering noises that you, personally, believe to be far excessive than needed be.

‘How is he?’ Belfast inquires, stoically and formally, stepping forward with one stiff step.

Concern.

‘He’s as intact physically as we could expect,’ Zen replies, sparing Belfast a quick glance, before finishing his scribbles on the notepad and finally putting it away. ‘No lasting damage as far as those concerns go, but, well … I think you’re probably more privy to the subtleties than I am, at this stage.’

Belfast stiffens, much to your surprise.

‘In any case, there’s probably nothing more for me to do than to run some diagnostics for the records, if the department will allow it. That and some painkillers … and a walking stick if he needs it; maybe some vitamin and iron supplements if he’s not quite feeling up to it, but … of course, that’s just in case. Personally I think that the recent changes he’s been through are going to be beyond whatever I have available to write up for him … well, that and the fact that he’s healthy enough to engage in normal conversation without so much as slur is enough of a vote of confidence for a twenty-four hour discharge application, but that’s just me. He’s in mostly one piece, anyway. That’s good for—’

‘Changes?’ you inquire, frowning.

Belfast and Formidable firmly keep their attentions upon the doc—

Hesitation. Guilt.

You let out a hiss. That one—whatever that was—felt like a guitar tuning itself in your cerebral cortex.

‘Bear with it, Commander,’ the doctor remarks, not looking away from Belfast, his hands in his pockets. ‘You’re going to have to.’

Bear with—

Wait, did he know what you were—

‘It’s called an attuned synchronous feedback link,’ Zen continues nonchalantly. ‘Relax. It’s nothing more than a more annoying version of a bridge. The more you dig yourself into it, the more of a migraine risk you’re giving yourself.’

Embarrassment. Guilt.

‘What do you—’

‘Your superiors will probably have a brief ready for you once you get out, I’ll—’

A beeping noise makes itself known. Zen pulls out a phone from his breast pocket, proceeding to read a comments before letting out a small noise of surprise.

‘Well, duty calls. I’ll have your file up and …'

>‘Wait!’
>Allow him to leave
>Write-In

>>5167240
>‘Wait! Why are you calling me commander?’

>>5167294
No real need to ask that. We current have an ongoing emphatic (seemingly permanant) bridge with 3 SSR Shipgirls. We are currently in command of a Fleet.

>>5167240
>Turn to Belfast and Formidable. "There is no reason for you two to feel guilty. I made my choice and this is the result."

>>5167240

>Thank you, doctor.
>Thank you, girls.

>>5167592
Supporting

>>5167240
>>Allow him to leave

>>5167592
>>5167598
Sorry, you guys, but are you allowing him to go away with that statement (merely thanking them all) or are you intending on following this up with a query?

>>5167789
For myself I’m fine with either. Wouldn’t want to hold up doctor in aftermath of a shopgirl attack though.

>>5167355
Yeah, it's just that we've never have been made an official commander, so I just wanted a clarification of that.

>Thank you, doctor.
>Thank you, girls.

The doctor throws a strange smile over his shoulder, shaking his head before taking his leave, his departure as unceremonious as his arrival. Your words of thanks for Belfast and Formidable, however, do not lead to their departure, as the both of them remain by the curtains of your partition, looks of hesitation falling over you; it appears as though neither of them knew what else to say to you. The … emanation of emotions appears to subside for the time being. Not that you don’t feel it, but compared to the initial onslaught, the collective waft appears to be more … settled; still present, of course, and still noticeable, but definitely less pronounced. If you had to project a comparison, it felt like trying to put being bonked by an apple as the base and having the autumn leaves fall upon you at present. You’re not at all certain just what or how such a sympathetic response system could have—

No.

No, you do.

‘I guess I should be bundling another apology up, huh?’ you comment, smiling guiltily and scratching the fabric of the bandages wrapped around your head. Despite your intentions, it hadn’t really changed that you’d unwittingly dragged them into this … mess, if you could even call it that.

Formidable opens her mouth, a retort ready roll off her lips, but then immediately closes her eyes and lets out a sigh, stepping forward with her hands folded in front of her dress. The hesitancy returns to her throat, the crease in her brow communicating her indecisiveness and the stiffness of her movements keeping you from proceeding further with your own remarks. You didn’t want to, after all, potentially make the situation worse.

If it was really all that bad to begin with.

You’re not quite so sure.

‘I’d be lying if I said wouldn’t enjoy the sight of you groveling for your complete and utter disregard for everything that I’d attempted to drill into that head of yours, cad—Commander,’ she quickly corrects herself, before pausing and puffing her cheeks as she appears to literally chew on the word. ‘However, if you hadn’t made that choice, we … probably wouldn’t be standing here at all.’

You blink, surprised—

‘That doesn’t discount the complete stupidity of your decision to put yourself in such a position in the first place, however.’

You nod rapidly. No, it did not.

Although, it wasn’t as if you had the credentials to make the Dean’s List, anyway.

‘How are you feeling, sir?’

‘I’m—’

>‘Feeling a little sore, actually, which is … kinda weird. Thought I’d have more damage on me.’
>‘What do you mean … “sir”?’
>‘Kinda overwhelmed, to be honest.’
>‘Actually, I’d like to get up to speed. Just what in the world’s happened since I’ve been out?’
>Write-In

>>5169309
>‘Actually, I’d like to get up to speed. Just what in the world’s happened since I’ve been out?’

>>5169309
>Weird... I'm having trouble determining what are my aches and pains and what are yours.

Basically a slightly less thickheaded version of:
>‘Feeling a little sore, actually, which is … kinda weird. Thought I’d have more damage on me.’

>>5169309
>‘Actually, I’d like to get up to speed. Just what in the world’s happened since I’ve been out?’

>>5169313
>>5169317
That's the "let's get on the story rails right away" option, just so you know.

>>5169309
Support >>5169315

>>5169309
>>‘Feeling a little sore, actually, which is … kinda weird. Thought I’d have more damage on me.’

Be running later tonight if you guys will be there.

>‘Feeling a little sore, actually, which is … kinda weird. Thought I’d have more damage on me.’

‘It’s within expected ranges,’ Belfast responds, both curtly and matter-of-factly. ‘Your metabolism, your recovery rate, stamina, tolerance levels … your biochemical response systems will already have begun to attune, adapt and adjust to their new … station. If you could even call it as such.’

‘Station?’

‘You’re a Commander, after all,’ Formidable remarks, both succinct and exasperated. She declares the title so blatantly that it feels as though you’d stepped into another world just hearing it. ‘You could at least assure me that not all my lessons have bounced off that cranium of yours.’

>‘You’re going to have to give me a refresher, sorry.’ (Ignorant)
>‘It’s a pretty length chapter, but … you’re talking about the metamorph phenomena, right? Physical and mental attributes of the human center—the bridge—inadvertently fishing biochemical reaction response matrices, thereby increasing certain thresholds. A phenomena unique to long-term exposure to the bridge of streams without proper … external measures to keep it in check.’ (Nerd)
>Shrug (Dismissive)
>‘There’ll be more time for that later. Mind filling me in on the now, Lieutenant? Instructor?’
>Write-In

>>5170448
>‘It’s a pretty length chapter, but … you’re talking about the metamorph phenomena, right? Physical and mental attributes of the human center—the bridge—inadvertently fishing biochemical reaction response matrices, thereby increasing certain thresholds. A phenomena unique to long-term exposure to the bridge of streams without proper … external measures to keep it in check.’ (Nerd)

Gotta nerd.

>>5170448
>>‘It’s a pretty length chapter, but … you’re talking about the metamorph phenomena, right? Physical and mental attributes of the human center—the bridge—inadvertently fishing biochemical reaction response matrices, thereby increasing certain thresholds. A phenomena unique to long-term exposure to the bridge of streams without proper … external measures to keep it in check.’ (Nerd)

>>5170448
>>‘It’s a pretty length chapter, but … you’re talking about the metamorph phenomena, right? Physical and mental attributes of the human center—the bridge—inadvertently fishing biochemical reaction response matrices, thereby increasing certain thresholds. A phenomena unique to long-term exposure to the bridge of streams without proper … external measures to keep it in check.’ (Nerd)

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>Nerd

Belfast looks away, giggling into a closed fist. Formidable shakes her head in disbelief, the makings of a small, genuine smile shining through the tiny, yet visible, upturns of her mouth. You’re not deterred, however. You didn’t spend those days annoying your bunkmates with your late-night cramming habits to show off the knowledge as though it were just for a single round of trivia.

‘I thought it was only an occurrence that was made through long-term exposure to high-load stream bridging,’ you continue, frowning as well as you could with your one good eye (the bandages were wrapped pretty tightly around that side of your head and the friction was not worth the effort). ‘If we’re talking about exposure, I couldn’t have been connected for more than—’

‘You turned off the limiters and initiated a surge overflow while conscious,’ Formidable interrupts, her expression returning to the stoic yet attentive quality that made her such a fit for the halls of learning and instruction. You almost feel like you’re back in the classroom. ‘However, you also overestimated your own limits in doing so … and while the exact number pertaining to the surge overflow you inadvertently switched is not currently available in print or record, the fact that you were practically spitting blood at the activation and execution of an SSR-Class Offensive Limit is enough of an indicator that you’d overexerted any faculties you’d intended for us. The lack a built-in override program and any keyed safety overrides ended up almost sending your body into shock … or rather, it did. By the time we handed you over for medical aid, your functions were beginning to shut down …’

Formidable closes her eyes, tense but otherwise remaining in control of her flow.

‘However, due to some bloody miracle, it appeared that the overflow … was great enough to kick-start a reversal and acceleration of the bridging process, which, as you know, initiated the shift phenomena. The overwriting of thresholds, biological and chemical matrices and existing metabolisms enabled your body to ultimate hold off shutting down long enough for the doctors to stabilize your condition. All of that being said, however, it was still a mighty close call. There’s only so much that a shift phenomena trigger could hold off … and it’s definitely not an excuse to go looking to see just how much you can take before your card’s drawn.’

‘We were mostly worried about how your … brain would fare,’ Belfast mutters, closing her eyes as she wrinkles her nose. ‘Enduring that sort of feedback … we weren’t really certain if …’

She bites her bottom lip, hesitant to continue.

'We didn't want to hold out that you'd wake up at all,' Formidable informs you, blunt as can be. 'Or rather, we … tried.'

She looks away, almost embarrassed.

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>>5170601
>‘I would have missed you guys, too.’ (Brazen)
>‘Would have been rude to leave a debt of faith behind.’ (Reach out)
>‘Well, then, lucky me.’ (Curt)
>‘So basically right now I can go and jog for like half a day and not get tired, right? That’s awesome.’ (Focus on the shift phenomena)
>‘What’s happened since I’ve been out?’ (Proceed)
>Write-In

>>5170610
>>‘I would have missed you guys, too.’ (Brazen)

>>5170610
>‘Would have been rude to leave a debt of faith behind.’ (Reach out)

>>5170601
>Would have been rude to leave a debt of faith behind.’ (Reach out)

Poor Bisko s probably in a holding cell somewhere. Can we feel her?

>>5170610
>‘Would have been rude to leave a debt of faith behind.’ (Reach out)

>>5170610
>>‘Would have been rude to leave a debt of faith behind.’ (Reach out)

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>‘Would have been rude to leave a debt of faith behind.’ (Reach out)

Belfast’s eyes widen slightly at your words, to which you offer a small smile. It definitely would have been quite the calamity to not repay the faith that the Instructor and Lieutenant had placed in you as a cadet, especially with you lagging behind the more promising Commander candidates like Connor … and Wolfgang. Belfast and Formidable had always been friendly with you, or rather, as friendly as the disparity afforded by the chasm of rank could afford them to be. You’d always been told of the inverted code of ethics and considerations of her line and their alleged lack of typical human behavioral limits outside of the soldiery—evidenced by their continued adherence to standard protocol and their more formal mode of syntax—but Formidable and Belfast (as well as a myriad of other Shipgirls you’d grown acquainted with on-base) had turned that in on itself. Perhaps it was just the expectations of people: Shipgirls, after all, were another existence entirely separate from that of humanity, but that didn’t mean that they were beyond humanity itself, at least in gesture.

That they’d actually put the time aside at all to continue to guide you as both mentor and comrade, well … it just wouldn’t do to leave them high and dry. It was one thing to borrow with the burden of interest, but to expect a forgiveness of debt because of a conscious decision of your own making, well … that was just being plain entitled, was it not?

And playing that against Formidable and Belfast would have definitely been mightily entitled of you.

‘Not sure if there’s much that I can do from here on in,’ you start, feeling your cheek ache slightly along the right side of your face. ‘But if you and the Instructor think that there’s a place I can put this sorry collection of bones to work and give back for what you’ve done for me … well, I guess all I can say is that I’m just about ready to saddle the horse whenever you are.’

Belfast chuckles into a closed fist while Formidable shakes her head, again, her hands on her hips. The amused curve of her mouth, however, communicates her true feelings regarding your previous response well enough.

‘That’s good to hear … because we could definitely use someone breathing for a change.’

You look up, swiftly—and painfully—finding Commander Teague standing by the opening in the partition, his face grim … and covered in white splotches of medical tape. While not wrapped in a cast, he definitely looks like he’s seen better days.

His good eye briefly scans your upright form, following it with a snort of amusement.

‘You know, when Akashi told me that a lot of the cadets look up to me, I didn’t think that they’d take me as a literal example of a career advancement template.’

>>5171357
>‘Sir.’ (Salute)
>‘Actually, sir, I’d have a personal preference for two working eyes instead of one.’ (Dry)
>‘Pain heals; ladies dig a man with scars; valor is permanent.’ (Hoo-RAH)
>‘The situation, sir?’ (Proceed)
>Write-In

>>5171361
>>‘Sir.’ (Salute)

>>5171357
>‘Sir.’ (Salute)
Let's not be too much friendly to him yet, we're not that close.

>>5171361
>’Sir’

Funny how that worked out… well not quite funny but still.

>>5171361
>‘Sir.’ (Salute)

>>5171361
>>‘Sir.’ (Salute)

>>5171361
>>‘Sir.’ (Salute)

>>5171361
>‘Sir.’ (Salute)

>‘Sir.’ (Salute)

Teague waves away your attempt, making quick strides toward you as he appears to drag heavy-looking duffle swings along the floor with his right hand.

‘How’re you feeling?’ he inquires, glancing you over.

>‘Ready and able, sir.’
>‘A little sore, but that’s about it, sir.’
>‘Confused?’
>‘You’d have to ask the doc for a better picture.’
>Write-In

>>5171835
>‘A little sore, but that’s about it, sir.’

>>5171835
>>‘A little sore, but that’s about it, sir.’

>>5171835
>‘A little sore, but that’s about it, sir.’

>>5171835
>>‘A little sore, but that’s about it, sir.’

>‘A little sore, but that’s about it, sir.’

‘Can you walk?’

His tone is urgent, impatient.

>‘Yes, sir.’ (On your feet)
>‘I … don’t know. Think they have some tests for me to see if I’m fit, but can’t say.’ (Hesitant)
>‘Am I needed somewhere?’ (Confused)
>Write-In

>>5171929
>>‘Am I needed somewhere?’ (Confused)

>>5171929
>‘Yes, sir.’ (On your feet)

>>5171929
>>‘Yes, sir.’ (On your feet)

>>5171929
>‘Yes, sir.’ (On your feet)
No rest for the wicked it seems.

>>5171929
>‘Yes, sir.’ (On your feet)

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>‘Yes, sir.’ (On your feet)

You’re not given enough of an opportunity to appreciate your new uniform.

The reveal of your actual location has you almost gasping in disbelief.

‘It’s a little bit overdue, but … welcome to Outpost Martha.’

A buggy rolls past you as you try to take in the sight. You could see six interconnected (seven, if you included the one that you were currently on), platforms, raised above the seas on hexagonal struts in a contrast of green and gray, each of the flats occupied a myriad of personnel, items, vehicles and machinery. One platform, you notice, even had a collection of shipping containers and a large, towering crane. Towers, helipads, stairwells, administrative structures … they were all within view from where you stood, each of them common to every strut that made the greater structure of the outpost. There is nothing else within view for miles, at least from where you stand. Each of the platforms were connected by a bridge, although not all of them appeared to be commonly connected. The facility—the outpost itself—is massive, titanic even; while not quite the total size of Azur Lane’s headquarters, the latter could at least boast being on the very shoulder of a bloody island, but you see at least a mile and some change worth of man-made structure. That wasn’t even counting the small dock down below between the two furthest platforms … or those two platforms on opposite sides of the structure that appeared to have a little extra to them jutting down the side.

The sea breeze tickles your nose. You rotate yourself, trying to make sense of your new surroundings, but aren’t given the opportunity to do that, either, as Tague’s footsteps immediately bring you back to reality and you follow him back inside and through another corridor, shuffling past personnel that are too concentrated on their notepads and PDAs to bother looking up and avoiding your party. Formidable and Belfast follow behind you, their expressions as stoic as soldiers can bear; you go through a wealth of corridors and open-air, metal stairwells, the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea wafting over you as you follow behind the still-silent Tague, who had not said a word since your—

‘I’m sure you’ve got a bunch of things on your mind,’ Tague starts again as you make your way down a flight of metal steps—from which you’re able to spy a set of engineers at work, hanging from their harnesses and peering from ceiling holes, mending the underside of the platform with a set of fabrication tools—and onto a steadier, wider platform with a straight shot to the bridge. ‘Don’t think I’m the best person for you to ask, though. The last two weeks have popped up more questions than answers.’

He pauses for a moment as you continue your journey.

‘But if you really need some answers …’

>‘Not at the moment, sir.’ (Progress)
>'Well ...' (Ask)
>Write-In

>>5173442
>Well... What is the current status of Bismarck?

>>5173442
>>'Well ...' (Ask)
>How many other graduates survived the attack?

>>5173442
>>'Well ...' (Ask)
What's the current status of Bismarck?
How bad is the situation on the isles, how many did we lose?
What other places were hit?
Do we know who stands with and who against us?

Why is it every time I have writer's block, I loop around back to Kojima for references? I don't even like his writing.

>>5173487
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m59UM1iFu-c

>>5173445
Supporting

>>5173450
>>5173442
Support

Sorry, guys, but I have been a little busy with both real life. I should be okay to continue tonight if you guys are around. Wingbride over the weekend.

test

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>What's the current status of Bismarck?
>How bad is the situation on the isles, how many did we lose?
>What other places were hit?
>Do we know who stands with and who against us?

‘One at a time, Commander,’ comes your superior’s reprimand.

You know just where to start.

‘What’s Captain Bismarck’s status?’

‘Captain Bismarck is currently under lockdown,’ Tague reveals, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to regard you. ‘The higher-ups don’t have a proper bead on her loyalties, but she has the Lieutenant and the Instructor vouching for her cooperation alongside witness testimonies regarding her assistance during the attack. That being said, the lack of proper record regarding her presence on the island in the first place still remains as a highly circumstantial exhibition. There’s enough on Bismarck to put her under detainment, but without reassurances of where her’—he scowls slightly, the bags under his eyes wrinkling as he appears to drool the next set of words out—'allegiances lie. There’s not much leaning her in either direction, but as far as her detainment’s going, I can’t blame Azur Lane’s inclination to being safe rather sorry.’

‘She saved lives out there,’ you retort, despite yourself.

‘Which is why she’s under lockdown and not two signatures away from overwriting protocols,’ Tague counters, his tone cool yet rough; it’s almost like listening to gravel being poured down a sieve. ‘Lieutenant Belfast and Instructor Formidable’—he indicates your two companions—‘have been cleared to observe her as temporary … supervisors, if you will. While I don’t think anyone wants to view her as an out-and-out threat, given what she pulled, the fact remains that she was due on the Crimson Axis’ books and that her presence here was not authorized through official channels … not that there’re many left now.’

There’s a dark bit of humor that dangles at the end of that last syllable, but you don’t comment on it.

‘Incidentally, she’s just about half the reason that I’m putting you on your feet at lightspeed,’ he continues, nodding. ‘The faster we can get the legality of her status cleared up, the sooner we can move on. That is … if there aren’t any holes to poke about what the Instructor and the Lieutenant are saying about you.’

You frown, glancing over your shoulder towards the stoic Formidable, then to the focused Belfast.

‘And what did they say about me … sir?’

You’re quite sure that you had a gist of where this conversation was—

‘That you established a bridge with Bismarck; which makes you, by virtue of that bond, that connection … her Commander.’

His response is almost elementary in nature.

>>5197857
>'Uh, yeah ... of course, sir.' (Simple response)
>'What about ...' (Change Topic, Specify)
>'Wait, when did I make THAT leap?' (Incredulous)
>'Right. Right.' (Move on)
>Write-In

>>5197860
>'Right. Right.' (Move on)
Makes sense.

>>5197860
>'Right. Right.' (Move on)

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>'Right. Right.' (Move on)

The rest of the walk between the platforms—and the half a dozen or so stairwells, metal and concrete—is mostly a silent one. Occasionally, several of the auxiliary personnel would slow down their carts or stop what they were doing to spare Formidable and Belfast quizzical or—puzzlingly—tight, reserved gazes before going to work, but there’s not much that distracts you from sound of buzzing metal and matching Commander Tague’s footsteps. Rather than battle-ready, the place looked like it had either finished construction or renovation, what with signs being put back in place and railings being re-installed. It crosses your mind, at least for a moment, to consider if this outpost had come under attack just as Azur Lane HQ had been, but the lack of any discernible damage put that theory to rest.

‘This place was scheduled to be decommissioned around three years ago,’ Tague had said, right as you’d arrived in front of what definitely looked the part of a central administrative office: a great big black building that lacked any of the railings and raised mini-platforms peeking from the surface of the sea below and into the struts. That, and of course, the half-finished signage that read OFFI (followed by a great big yellow strike that denoted unfinished work) on the second landing on what you hope was the last ascending flight.

Maybe you should have excused yourself another few days in the med bay to get your bearings right.

‘Tague.’

Beyond the shoulders of Commander Tague, you find … a person that you’d never seen before.

Square-jawed and towering at six feet and change, while sporting a buzz cut of greying hair and a pair of large ears to go with a flat face, wide nose and beady, rectangular eyes, a man strides forward, wearing a look that bordered on irritation, his footsteps echoing along the otherwise vacant hall. The man is slightly heavy-set, of olive skin and a large forehead, clad in an executive suit and a simple red tie with an Eagle Union pin attached to his right lapel. His voice is not deep, nor high-pitched, but … even. His manner of address towards Tague is one of familiarity, like an exasperated headmaster facing a frequent visitor to his office.

‘Secretary Case,’ Tague returns, holding up a salute.

You follow suit, not wanting to inadvertently prop up bad manners on a first impression. The man—Case—appears to take notice of you as quickly as you do him.

‘Is this the cadet?’

Tague turns to briefly face you. ‘The Commander.’

You’re not sure about that mode of address right now. The scrutiny you feel is almost bone-chilling.

‘Commander,’ the man named Case repeats as Tague steps out of the way. ‘You were there on the day of the attack.’

Bone-chilling.

‘How are you feeling?’

>>5198008
>‘Ready to get back in the saddle, sir.’
>‘Sorry sir, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.’
>‘It’s … still technically Cadet; I didn’t make the first graduation ceremony.’
>‘Like I’m being microwaved and freeze-dried at the same time.’
>‘Confused … sir.’
>Write-In

>>5198010
>>‘Like I’m being microwaved and freeze-dried at the same time.’

>>5198008
>"Eager to catch up and help, sir!"

>>5198008
>‘It’s … still technically Cadet; I didn’t make the first graduation ceremony.’

>>5198010
>‘Like I’m being microwaved and freeze-dried at the same time.’