Spring Upon the Solstice

IX - A Victorious Defeat

{001}

"One."

I gasp for breath; an intense pressure crushes down on my ribcage.

"One, wake up."

It's...Shikijo? What does she want?

"One, ans—!"

"—I'm here!" I shout back, still regaining my bearings. "What is it?"

"You did it."

"What?"

"I said, you did it, dammit!"

"I did...?"

For once, the spite in her voice has faded. I shit you not, had the Harbinger not attacked, she'd busy herself by berating me for disobeying an order. But the one thing she'd never admit to having distorts her words: gratitude. I barely recognize her.

"You did, problem child. We're sending down a new oxygen tank and a repair crew to help you. You should see how badly your Akuma's been messed up," she lets a true laugh slip out. "Don't worry."

I collapse backwards against my headrest. Every bone in my body is vibrating—every blood vessel pounding—and every muscle overworked. I'm genuinely amazed that I didn't pass out from the pain or the effort during that fight. If something mutilated my actual arm and leg, I would've been done for.

"Fuck you, nature," I groan, staring upwards through the murky crimson water. Seawater floods the robot's body from seven or eight damaged areas, but I don't care. The floating carcass of the Second Harbinger dictates my victory with a smashing finality.

"Well, aren't you energetic?"

"I just killed a kaiju. I have a right to be happy!"

"You nearly killed yourself doing that."

"Yeah, but I'm not dead, so therefore I win." I pause to think longer, realizing that other things—more important things—lie at stake. "What did you do with the drones?"

"HQ took care of the hijacking."

"And the inbound convoy?"

"We wiped it out. No evidence left."

My happiness drains away into the seat rest. It's difficult to enjoy victory, because in truth, how much of a victory is it? A few dozen people were killed because of me, because I took a gamble and won. I don't know their names, or their families, or their personal circumstances, but they died following orders from a totalitarian council of assholes sitting around in some dark, damp room. As cold and objective as it seems, I've traded their lives for peace.

For today, World War IV and the second nuclear apocalypse have been cancelled.

"Are you okay?" Shikijo asks.

"This is rare. Compassion, from the Prince of Lust?"

"Quit it with your incessant mocking," she snaps. "As your superior officer, I have an obligation to look out for your well-being, however much I might despise it."

"Don't be a bitch, please."

"How about you start acting your age, first?"

"I was raised as a soldier. You expect manners to be my first tool of trade?"

"I expect you to treat me with more respect than that."

"But weren't you the one who said you hated being my commander? Shouldn't you be trying to actively subvert that authority?"