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“Enemy on the side looks just about cleaned up – hang on, I’m getting some kind of movement?”
“On the left, on the left, they’re getting around!”
A slight prick, not unlike a bee’s sting. That is all it takes, and he already feels himself tumbling to the ground.
The assassin moves in for another stab, but doesn’t get a chance to – the next thing the falling tactician sees is the assassin clutching her head, poisoned blades clattering to the floor as she is forced down by some kind of Arts.
An empathic overload.
Amiya.
“Enemy cleared, but the Doctor is down – say again, the Doctor is down, requesting immediate medivac!”
Just as he blacks out, he can hear a vague, buzzing noise…
And just like that, the scenery melts down, giving way to a view of his office. An alarm clock on the side buzzes in unison with the repeated pings of his computer – multiple warnings from PRTS that he is about to miss some inconsequential scheduled meet-ups.
The Doctor groans as he reaches out to silence the alarm, massaging his still-aching arm.
Right. There is still the daily grind to deal with.
…or is there?
He is not really feeling up to it right now – after sorting his whole schedule one more time, and deleting anything he deems inconsequential, he sighs.
Nope. Still dreading it.
But the schedule is not getting smaller than this. These last ones are too important.
He knows that.
But that doesn’t make the doing any less difficult.
“a deed is only glorious when it is done.” A voice chimes in his head, reminding him – the voice of some old lynx.
Once upon a time, the Doctor didn’t feel things.
Not that he couldn’t – he simply wouldn’t allow himself to.
His peers of the time, Kal’tsit and Theresa, may have voiced displeasure at some points, but never pushed the issue.
The three of them had a tacit understanding, after all – it was necessary.
It was not to say that they didn’t believe in such human things as hope.
Quite the contrary – the mentality that “the game is never truly over until the King dies” can be cold, true, but at the same time, it can also be a hopeful one, one that asserts that as long as the barest of essentials survive, there is still some chance of victory.
The Doctor, as if made for this, gradually and naturally fell into this role.
A sacrifice of its own – forfeiting mortal pleasure so that others may have hope.
Of course, the Doctor was not a perfect machine – occasional bouts of his humanity would still shine through, at some points. Once upon a time, an elite operator known as Scout stopped an assassination attempt on him, but the Doctor judged the man, and found no fault in his heart – and pushed for clemency.
But in the end, that is how things went – his old legacy was that of a sword.
The Sarcophagus changed him, body and soul, yet at the same time, it did not.
He was healthier, yet emptier without his memories.
He had forgotten how to wear the trappings of a stoic machine, yet in the end, he was still the same force of good, out to smite injustice.
He was the tower looming over the battlefield, a distant yet tangible looming thing whose very presence weighed over every moment.
That is how he saw things – and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel some kind of pride.
How pitiful it is, then, that he couldn’t be there in person for the final act.
As Irene, Lumen, Mizuki, and some others depart for what might be the final mission in ending the seaborn threat, armed with all the tactical data he compiled for them, and the openings he orchestrated, he can’t help but feel left out. Abandoned.
He was there when Kazdel’s warring spirit was quelled with Manfred’s final defeat, the last vestige of a regime that never should have been.
He was there when the thing that once called itself the Duke of Kaschey was banished from the spirit of Ursus and the world forever.
Of course, some support crews offered to help set up communications between the landship and the mission site, but it’s not quite the same.
He feels guilty, even – the logistical complications it adds to the operation are significant. But everyone disagrees – it’s no trouble, really – they should be thanking him for fighting through his illness and still trying to be there for them!
…so they say. A nagging feeling in the back of his head tells him that they pity him, who can hardly leave his bed for more than an hour without feeling exhausted.
In the late hours of the night, Amiya finds herself wandering the landship.
Diplomatic relations and support with the locals are at an all-time high.
The meetings were somewhat exhausting, with the language barrier, the many quirks of a foreign culture…almost like a dance through a minefield.
But really, it wasn’t too much trouble in the end.
That being said, the way that they were all getting antsy from the lack of clear immediate goals – it made her think.
Her thoughts are put on hold as she hears the distant sound of keyboard keys being hammered, and repeated pinging noises.
So she tries to approach one of the patient rooms very carefully, silently, and is treated to the sight of a familiar figure typing away at a computer by the side of his bed.
The Doctor never could stay idle for long – even after being moved to this care unit, he tried to have his tactical computer moved with him so he may continue working. The medical staff were reluctant – rest should be the priority after all, but he wouldn’t stand for it.
She sighs – the cruelty of this world in that only the dead shall ever truly know rest. Were it up to her, she would also have him resting, but some part of her is also aware that the Doctor would not accept it.
So the two reached a compromise – when the final mission ends, the Doctor will rest.
But that being said…something doesn’t feel right.
A miasma of bitterness permeates the room, mixing with anger to make a most noxious concoction.
“Query: vital sign data.”
“Query: inventory check.”
“Query: positional data.”
“Query: chat logs”
“Doctor…” a certain cautus’ voice starts.
The Doctor looks up from his terminal, and squints in the direction of the door.
Amiya – young, yet undeniably wise beyond her years. Yet still young in the end.
“….what?” the Doctor asks slowly – demanding an explanation for this interruption.
Amiya flinches – the tone takes her back to a less pleasant time, yet she presses on.
As best as she can, anyway – under his glare, she stumbles and fumbles with her words.
“…how are you, recently?” she says, trying for a safer route.
“What do you think?” he deflects, expertly.
Click, clack, clack – a few more button presses.
Silence as Amiya mulls over what to say next.
“…a healthy adult should have around 7 hours of sleep a day.” Amiya tries, gently prodding.
“Yeah? I must have slept a grand total of 15 hours today, then, passing in and out the way I did. Ha.”
“7 hours of good quality sleep, Doctor – those fits don’t count.”
“And whose fault is it that I am like this, huh?” the Doctor replies, venom dripping with every word.
A soft gasp from the girl, she puts a hand over her heart, as if she was actually, physically attacked.
Some part of the Doctor relishes it. So he continues.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Tell me, Amiya – if you were just a little bit faster, a little bit stronger, what would have happened, back then, huh?”
“I...only did what I could…”
“Well, if you weren’t there, I could probably have taken someone else along with me. Someone better. But you wanted to come with, so I let you.”
Her throat tightens, and in the light reflecting off her face, the Doctor can see the beginning of tears.
Delicious – but this is already starting to get tiring.
Time to finish this.
“It’s because of you, Amiya, that I’m like this. It’s because of you that people like Ace are gone. Why, I bet if you were simply never born-”
The Doctor doesn’t have a chance to finish – Amiya turns and stumbles out of the room, the automatic door closing behind her, but unable to block the sound of her soft sobbing.
“Tch. Good riddance. Now where was I-“ he tries to look at the screen again, only to have a serious coughing fit.
But just when he composes himself, the Doctor’s video feed blacks out – a system prompt simply reads out “session closed”.
“Priestess! Explain!” he yells in his scratchy voice.
“Following considerations to your vital signs, you are temporarily relieved of tactician duties. The squad is currently well-supplied, with morale at an all-time high, and an exceedingly comprehensive tactical guide to follow, courtesy of your efforts. Said tactical directives already accounted for 100 percent of all challenges that the team has encountered thus far, and are very likely to account for 100 percent of all challenges faced in the near future. Warning: with the current state of your mental health, any further input from you at this juncture is likely to have adverse rather than beneficial effects on the mission. Rest assured that, should the need arise, connection privileges may be restored.”
The Doctor’s hands curl into fists.
“And who told you that you could do that?” the Doctor asks slowly, in a low voice. Calm, not in the way that implies a lack of a storm, but rather in the way that means one is right in its eye.
“Error: request denied – insufficient clearance-”
The Doctor’s hand slams the table. The tactical computer’s screen flickers.
“Who the Hell has more clearance than me, huh!? Who could have ordered you to do that? Warfarin, who is still unable to access something like my medical records? Closure, who keeps getting logged out of the system every time she tries to look you up? Kal’tsit, who disappeared without a trace some months ago, presumably never to return?”
A long pause.
“…Error: insufficient clearance.” The machine finally replies – the Doctor can almost imagine hesitation in the machine’s voice, an ever-so-subtle lowering of volume and speed.
Almost imagine her face.
His blood boils.
“…fuck you, Priestess. Maybe if you were better at collecting and collating intelligence, that whole battle months ago could have been handled a lot more cleanly. Maybe if you could actually do your job, I wouldn’t be in this situation in this first place! First at Chernobog, then here again! Some bond we’re supposed to have, huh – and where has it gotten me!?” the Doctor seethes.
The machine does not reply. No sound about except for the rumble of the landship’s machinery, and his own pumping blood.
With a grunt of exertion, the Doctor shoves the table back from the bed, sending it sliding across the floor and bumping into the wall.
Cathartic, but also quite tiring. The Doctor, winded by the effort, can’t help but collapse in his bed.
The Doctor is alone with his thoughts.
As nice as it was to get all that off his chest, he can’t help but feel the weight of everything he just said replace the lead in his heart.
The young leader of Rhodes Island tries not to let what the Doctor said affect her.
Did it hurt?
Yes.
But he didn’t mean it.
She feels it – senses it, even.
The Doctor is in pain.
Pain changes and compels people.
She can’t fault him for that. No matter how much he tried to hide it – he was still only human, in the end.
But…it still hurts.
It hurts not just to have him yell at her like that.
It hurts to see him like this.
The next few days are a blur.
A monotonous haze.
Wake up, eat his meals, and then sit around the room doing anything from watching surveillance footage around Rhodes Island to watching and reading whatever is available on the local city’s network.
He can do anything he wants, really.
Except for working.
Yes, the moment that he tries to write reports, or establish a connection to the squad, he will be shut down.
As a way to placate him, perhaps, PRTS, his jailor, allows him to view the occasional progress report sent by Lumen.
So far so good, as PRTS predicted.
In this time of idleness, the Doctor comes to soak in regret.
For a fleeting moment of catharsis, he pushed away everyone.
“What are you complaining about? You’ve done this all the time.” He hears his own voice speak into his mind. And it’s true – he did keep almost everyone at a safe distance. For their own safety, for his own safety, for the safety of the Rhodes Island mission.
But he can’t do this anymore.
“What changed?’
What changed? He’s tired.
It is on another late night when Amiya finds herself by the hospice again.
A moment that she had tried to brace herself for.
Mustering the will to go back here was hard.
But it’ll be fine – both of them will feel better for this. Right?
Besides – this is the perfect opportunity for it. There might not be a better chance.
So she steps in through the door, surprised to see the Doctor still up on his computer, watching…some children’s cartoons?
“Oh. Hey Amiya.” The Doctor’s feeble voice greets.
No anger between them – too tired for such things, and a tacit understanding to not feel too hard about it.
The Doctor pats a spot on his bed, inviting Amiya to sit.
So she does.
The two sit in silence as the show plays out, up to its ending with blaring fanfare, promising another quite-humorous episode to come in the future.
Not like the two can be genuinely entertained by this, considering the circumstances.
There is an understanding here as well – this show is really just here to fill the silence, nothing more.
But surely, the two aren’t here just to sit in silence, right?
To Amiya’s surprise, it is the Doctor who breaks the silence.
“Amiya.”
“Doctor…?”
“I…I’m sorry.” The Doctor swallows.
“I know. It’s okay.”
The Doctor takes one of her hands in both of his.
Rubbing, pressing, feeling it, as if seeking to memorize it, one might think. Or feeling for warmth.
“I...don’t think I’m going to get any better.”
Amiya grows cold at that, but remains silent so the Doctor may continue.
“PRTS has gone over the data many times – the toxin used was not one that exists in any of our databases. Or any other cities in the surrounding area. Our medicine is good, but it’s not perfect-“ the Doctor coughs.
”The medical department managed to slow it down. But the data has been consistent – all vital signs – trending downward. Amiya…”
“It’s okay to be scared of death, Doc-“
“No, it’s not just that, Amiya. If anything…I feel cheated, actually!”
“Doctor?”
“Imagine this: being told to make the world a better place. But then, here’s the catch – you don’t get to be part of that world that you make. That’s what I feel right now. Granted, it’s probably what everyone else who fights was feeling when they died, but still – experiencing it for myself, Amiya – it’s…different. It really feels more personal this way.”
The Doctor is shaking. Angry again, yes – but rather than lashing out at her this time, this anger is directed at the world itself.
“I don’t know, Amiya. I suppose I’m sad for myself, as selfish as that is. All the things I wanted to do, to see after all this, gone with the wind now. I suppose it is true that I was genuine, back when I said that I found fulfillment in watching others have peace – but I also had this…this feeling, that in the far future, I’d be able to retire in peace too, relax, taste the fruit of my labor and all that. Why? Perhaps I thought a retirement like that is…some sort of confirmation, that all my deeds are successful. Perhaps I genuinely needed peace, myself. Maybe I wanted both. Maybe I just wanted to enjoy everyone’s wonderful company, huh, how about that?”
He sighs, finishing his rant.
Amiya fails to find the words to respond – see, the problem with geniuses like him? It’s that whatever you try to tell them, they probably already knew that. So she goes with the next best thing.
“I’ll still be here, Doctor.” She says resolutely, firmly grasping the Doctor’s hands.
“Yeah…yeah, I know.” The Doctor replies.
A promise made.
“Doctor – the squad from Aegir has returned. Mission successful, with no casualties.” PRTS announces, almost cheerfully.
It’s finally over.
Fireworks boom in the distance as loud electronic music plays and reverberates through the landship.
For a long time, Rhodes Island’s work had been thankless. Sometimes that was the reality of injustice, sometimes subtlety and discretion was simply too important.
But this time – some recognition felt deserved.
The world is saved from the greatest threat it has ever known!
A victory, on a level that will likely never be seen again for a long time to come!
Let the drinks flow, the music blare, the good times roll!
This was indeed something to celebrate, everyone agreed.
The Doctor looks himself in the mirror – all dressed up for an appearance at the party. Not that it was a particularly formal setting, everyone would just come in whatever they felt comfortable with.
This is his victory – this would not have been possible without him. All data confirms this, all of Rhodes Island affirms this.
Yet…he hesitates, to step out the door.
“Doctor? Is something wrong?” Amiya asks. Right – she was in this room too, having offered to help the Doctor prepare.
“Amiya, is it…is it really okay for me to come?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“Wouldn’t it put a damper on everyone’s mood, seeing me like this? Sickly as I am?”
“Doctor…if I have learned anything from our operators, it’s that not showing up would be worse. Doctor, when was the last time you’ve been outside your room? Think about it – you probably wouldn’t have known, but everyone was concerned, actually, always asking about where you were, how you were doing…”
“…”
“Please, just…let yourself have this, Doctor – you know you don’t want your last moment assembling with everyone to be that mission briefing weeks ago, you know you want to be happy.”
The Doctor concedes.
Seeing everyone’s happy faces, and all the accolades that Rhodes Island won from its previous ordeals – it feels good.
As the Doctor looks around himself, he can’t help but begin to feel…satisfaction.
It’s almost theatrical, really, straight out of some play, he thinks, as he looks at some pictures – of enemies defeated, of allies now walking separate paths.
“As the remnants of the treacherous old world fade away, he too must recede. A fragment of the old world himself, his penchant for waging war effectively is one that should never become necessary in the glorious new world. If the old were to constantly hold the young’s hand close, how then, would the young ever come to grow, and find their own path?” He silently narrates to himself.
Poetic.
What’s next for Rhodes Island?
The past few days after the party have been winding down in activity – inventory checks, talk of mostly pharmaceutical work. Actual pharmaceutical work – the need for combat and security missions all around has, for the time being at least, decreased.
He sees the Medical department toiling away in the laboratories, trying to make the next breakthrough.
He sees Manufacturing working to produce medical equipment.
He sees their armed wings, lying idle in the barracks.
Whatever the future holds for Rhodes Island – they will be eager to face it, to grasp it, and make it their own.
And that is good, the Doctor thinks, as he concludes the walk back to his room.
Entering, he pulls up a chair, and sits at his desk, contemplating on what to do next.
Is there anything to do?
No…nothing anymore.
It’s really over.
To the next generation, he trusts the future.
Time to rest. So he slouches, adjusting to a more comfortable position, and feels himself drift away.
He wakes up.
Warm, golden light filters through the pristine white curtains of the window nearby.
Neck hurts a little bit – slumping in a chair the way he did was bound not to be comfortable.
But that doesn’t bother him so much – nothing does, anymore, in fact. He stretches with a yawn, feeling quite good today.
Someone knocks at the door.
“Doctor~?” a familiar voice asks.
He stands at once, light on his feet.
“Yes?”
“the food’s just about ready – come, everyone is waiting for you.”
“Oh, crap - coming!” he replies, fixing his coat and hair in the mirror by the nightstand. Looking at the electric kettle beside it, he can’t help but feel like he’s left something behind.
He realizes. He remembers.
A brief moment of sadness – but it passes quickly enough. Nothing he can do about that, there is now only this happy present.
Besides – they’ll be fine. They’re strong – stronger than they know.
He believes.
He believes in those who once believed in him.
He opens the door.
Friends long parted,
Food and music aplenty,
A rustic view of a calm countryside, with clear skies over a modestly sized village and a promise of a tomorrow without Catastrophe.
All these things greet him.
The familiar white-haired cautus at the door greets him.
“Welcome home, Doctor.”