Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Footnotes
The coffee shop hummed quietly, the low hiss of steam from the espresso machine mingling with the occasional murmur of conversation. Commander John Smith sat in his usual corner, the mug of coffee in front of him untouched. His gaze wandered lazily to the window, where floodlights illuminated the stark edges of the outpost against the artificial night sky.
“Mind if I join?” Liter’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.
He glanced up to see her standing there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. Small as she was, she carried an air of authority that made people instinctively step aside. Without waiting for an answer, she slid into the chair across from him, setting her mug down with a quiet clink.
“Rough day?” John asked, his lips quirking into an easy smirk.
“Same as always,” Liter replied, sighing as she leaned back in her chair. “Spent the whole day explaining to rookies why you can’t just slap a generator anywhere and expect it to work. Apparently, basic structural knowledge is optional these days.”
John chuckled. “Sounds like job security.”
“Job security I didn’t ask for,” Liter muttered, blowing on her tea. “What about you? Heard you had a little fun out there today.”
“Fun’s one way to put it,” John said, shrugging. “Rapi might call it reckless. I prefer the term.. efficient”
“Efficient,” Liter said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what you’d call it?”
“Yeah,” John confirmed with a faint grin. “If it works, it works.”
“For now,” Liter countered, her tone sharpening. “But you can’t keep relying on things just working out. What happens if one day they don’t? What happens if you get yourself killed being reckless?”
John leaned back, folding his arms. “Then I’m dead. Problem solved.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And the people you leave behind? What happens to them?”
“They move on,” John replied casually. “People usually do.”
Liter let out a frustrated sigh, setting her mug down harder than she intended. “You can’t seriously believe that.”
“Why not?” John asked, his tone still light. “The future’s not guaranteed. Worrying about it seems like a waste of energy when you might not even get there.”
“It's not worrying, John,” Liter said, her voice firm. “That’s laying the groundwork. If you don’t think about what you leave behind, it’s not just your story that disappears—it’s the example you set for others.”
John tilted his head, intrigued. “An example, huh? You think people are looking to me for that?”
“Whether you want them to or not, they are,” Liter said. “You lead people. They watch you, they learn from you. What you do—how you live, how you fight—leaves a mark on them, whether you care about it or not.”
John’s smirk faded slightly, his expression turning thoughtful. “Sounds like you’ve got a story to go with that.”
“I do,” Liter said quietly. She picked up her tea, staring into the swirling liquid. “My old commander, Josh Humett. He saved my life. He saved a lot of lives. But he was reckless. Lived in the moment, thought doing the right thing in the here and now was enough. And then he was gone.”
John didn’t interrupt, sensing the weight of her words.
“The Central Government didn’t care about what he did,” she continued. “They looked at his record, decided there was nothing worth remembering, and let his name fade into a footnote. Worse, they spread lies—said he embezzled, harassed Nikkes. I was the only one left who knew the truth, and no one listened.”
“That doesn’t change what he did,” John said quietly. “The people he saved. That’s what matters.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t change that,” Liter agreed. “But it does change what came after. If people don’t know his story, they don’t learn from it. They don’t know what it means to stand for something, to do what’s right, even if it costs you. That’s the legacy he should’ve left, but he didn’t.”
John’s gaze drifted to his mug, his fingers tapping against the side. “You’re saying the legacy isn’t for me—it’s for the ones still here.”
“Exactly,” Liter said, leaning forward. “You might not care about being remembered, but what you do echoes in the people who survive you. The example you set doesn’t just end with you—it carries on, for better or worse.”
For a moment, John was silent. He ran a hand through his hair, then looked back at her with a faint smile. “You make a good point.”
Liter blinked, caught off guard by the concession. “Wait, really?”
“Don’t get used to it,” John said, smirking again. “I still don’t care if people remember my name, but I get what you’re saying. If how I live now helps someone down the line, I’ll take that.”
“It’s a start,” Liter said, smiling faintly. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
She stood, picking up her tea. “Just don’t make a habit of leaving too soon, alright? Whether you like it or not, people are watching.”
John watched her walk away, her small frame weaving through the bustling shop. He leaned back in his chair, his smirk fading into something softer.
“Legacy,” he murmured to himself, picking up his mug.
He took a sip of his coffee. It was cold, but somehow, he didn’t mind.