Days Union Oneshot Book [DISCONTINUED]

goofy goober

A/N: This is anything but goofy goober hours

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An explosion echoed through the wasteland, its orange cloud of dust and debris blowing in Vichkov's direction. While the other Daybreak cadets turned their backs to the rush of the wind, Vichkov simply clicked his red visor into place and watched the gust rush right into them. After the dust settled and the cadets stopped coughing, Vichkov unhooked another grenade from his pocket and tossed it between his hands like it was a forbidden baseball.

"Who wants to see another!?" he shouted to hear himself over the ringing stuffed into his ears from the explosion. The other cadets turned back and cheered him on, pointing in several directions to suggest where he should throw it next. He wound his arm back to pitch it near a metal container of gasoline.

However, just as he tore off the safety cap and knelt down to throw the grenade, his eye spotted Somon slipping through the doors to the offices.

"Hey! Somon!" he called, haphazardly pelting the grenade to a random spot before running through the Bombing Field to catch up with her. The other cadets watched him ditch them and groaned in disappointment, but the explosion way too close to them ceased their complaints in an instant.

As Somon trudged down the dark halls of the Daybreak offices, she heard the tapping of a shorter cadet's legs rushing up to her. His voice echoed her name multiple times through the claustrophobic halls, the mantra not relenting for a single breath until the cadet slammed into her and fell over.

"Ow..." Vichkov muttered and held his head aching from the impact. He squinted his eyes to look up at Somon, who appeared unmoved by his ramming into her. "Sorry, Somon! Where are you heading?"

"To a meeting with the Defense Marshals. We must discuss something of importance," she explained, turning around and continuing her march to the designated room.

Vichkov shook his head out of its dizzied state and scrambled to his feet as he asked, "Oooh! Can I be there? Anatoliy is gonna be there, isn't he?"

"You are not authorized to attend this meeting, Scout Aleki. Return to your duties," Somon bluntly instructed, not even passing Vichkov a glance.

"Come on, Somon! If it's something important, I wanna know!" he persisted, though he struggled to keep up with Somon's increasing speed.

"It is not your place to know."

The sole of her boot skidded against the hard floor as she turned her heel to glare at him, a deafening squeak silencing any other rebuttals and pleas Vichkov would have conjured up. The ceiling light flickered as an omen of Somon's shortening temper, and he decided it was best for his safety to back off.

"R-Right. Sorry," he murmured, scratching his neck and taking a few steps back. Somon continued to stare, the tilt in her head expressing a sense of doubt in his apology. However, she shrugged her uncertainty off and went through the door, taking the rest of her frustration out on slamming it shut.

He heaved a sigh and slumped against the door, his ear pressed against it to listen in on the muffled murmurs. Just because he could not be in the meeting does not mean he would not leave without information. He was a scout, after all.

Through the door, he could hear a few comprehensible words from the people inside.

"...need to find..."

"...take up that responsibility?"

"...I WOULD MAKE A... KIDDING! ONLY KIDDING!"

"...no time for jokes... leader is necessary..."

"...focus, Aviator."

"I AM FOCUSING!"

Vichkov picked up on Anatoliy's presence rather fast with his bellowing, and Somon's and Lavrova's voices also could be heard when they were scolding him. He pieced together something about a leader, which he attributed to the sudden death of the last Admiral. No wonder the scouts could run like wild chickens when there was no one to issue orders that would keep it together.

"...Aren't you all forgetting who's next in line..?"

The room fell silent, so silent that Vichkov could hear the whir of the fan from behind the door paired with the throbbing of his own heart in his ears. The squeaking of shoes and rustling of jackets tried to fill in the quiet, but no amount of faint noise could mask the fear that had pervaded the room—a fear that would inevitably be realized.

The position of Admiral in a situation such as this was the right of the Senator. With his experience of attending the Admiral's meetings and acting as his second-in-command, any debate of who would hold the rank next was nothing but childish complaining. Yet even with verbal opposition swallowed down or silenced, every Daybreak dreaded the day that Baron became Admiral.

Would the Coalition fall to his tyranny? Or would it crumble to ruins because of his cold neglect? What would become of the long line of experiments such as Somon, whose dedication to the Coalition was only met with his merciless beatings? Would Vichkov and the other scouts find themselves on missions doomed to be their ends from the very moment Baron uttered the orders? All of that devotion and service to the Coalition... only ending in his early demise?

Vichkov slumped against the door and dug his hand underneath his helmet to hold his forehead in his hand. Curse his curiosity and stubbornness; he should have listened to Somon's warnings. Not only did the threat of death loom over him, but so did the moment he would have to accept it.

That's what he was made for, anyway.

The conversation behind the door continued once more, though this time in subdued whispers dampened by despondency.

"...suppose that is what will..."

"...nothing much else we can do."

"DOES HE EVEN WANT..."

"...don't think he'll have any other choice..."

"...is settled...is dismissed. I will inform..."

Vichkov sprang from the door and hurried down the hall before he could hear the last of Lavrova's statement and find himself caught by the higher-ups. He dreaded how the conversation between them and Baron would go, what new laws and orders would follow. A consideration to regurgitate all of the information to his fellow scouts crossed his mind as an option, but with the sickening dread twisting his stomach, Vichkov doubted that the other scouts could act any better.

He trudged back onto the Bombing Field where the other scouts had managed to light a canister of waste on fire with a smoldering cigarette. When they asked where he had been, he shrugged and excused his disappearance on a mini mission for Somon to "get on her good side." If they caught onto the lie, it was a problem for later instead of now. They took the answer and continued to feed the fire with more trash around them, yet Vichkov shoved his hands in his pockets and let the paralysis seize him, gluing his eyes devoid of hope on the roaring fire and keeping them there no matter how badly it seared those hollow shells.

Besides, there was nothing he could do.