steadfast tin soldier
----------------------------
It took a lot to make Ky Kyske miss the Crusades. For at least the first four years, he wouldn’t have thought it possible. For at least the first year, his muscles couldn’t even remember how to relax, and there was a certain position during practice, a certain angle of the Furaiken he would catch himself holding, because once, on the field he’d looked past that angle, past the softly glowing blade, and saw... something horrible.
The specific memory was mostly gone, replaced by a vague likeness of what he must have seen, had probably seen more often than not, all over the world. A hail of body parts and blood, hills of corpses collecting new bodies at every turn. Showers of dirt and the screaming of men and Gears alike, until he couldn’t tell one from the other.
So he’d been fairly certain, that nothing could ever make him miss it. The simplicity of war could hold no charm, when it was a simplicity of loss and pain and the scent of blood that would follow him like a shadow for months after a major battle.
Ky didn’t smell blood now, didn’t smell much of anything, the spices in the rice bowl he held trying their best to set his brains on fire, and very nearly succeeding. Still, he was tired and hungry and adept enough with the chopsticks to shovel the blazing meal down in a remarkably impolite manner, though thankfully there was no one around to see.
//I wish Sol were here.//
He’d caught himself half-thinking it for quite a while now, but this was the first time it had snuck all the way out, patiently waiting until he was preoccupied with his blazing food to stop it. Ky still scowled at the sentiment, as the leader of the Seikishidan he could not have the luxury of any other counsel but his own.
Even in the dark times.
//... and even if he’s never done anything to cross you, besides being arrogant and rude and foolhardy and all but daring you to stick him on the end of your blade.//
Sol was a man who raised suspicions – and even more than that, now that Ky finally realized just who he’d been looking at for so long - but the Holy Knight was nothing if not a measured man, and always careful where he placed the blame.
//Following the rules, when you don’t control the rules, silly knight. And the greatest threat to mankind called herself ‘Justice’.//
Ky swallowed the last of the noodles and quickly hoisted himself off his perch, unable to stop the thoughts or the frustration or the growing anger, and adamantly determined not to let himself sink to the level of picking fights, no matter how good it might feel.
Sol’s laughter in his memory, balancing on the edge of mockery but never really cruel. Ky had not ever considered himself a particularly funny man, but whenever he imagined the conversations between them, Sol was always laughing. Amusement flickering in eyes that should have revealed his true nature long ago. No other creature in the world had eyes that color, or that bright.
Ky stepped around the side of the building, blinking a little as the slight shadows of dusk were quickly banished by the thousands of lanterns and bare bulbs and all sorts of fixtures strung along the street, hanging from posts and strung across wires and pounded awkwardly into the mortar between bricks in the wall.
It was very busy on the streets, and this not even the start of what the nightlife would bring. Ky usually didn’t go out after dark, keeping to earlier hours as a force of habit.
Sol had called him a nun for that, before walking out the door into midnight with a smile and a swagger, as Ky tried very hard not to throw something at the back of his head. It had taken him a long time to realize what he’d thought was a taunt had more likely been an invitation.
The city street had the same vaguely patchwork, run-down look as many places in the world, those hardest hit and those converted into raw resources for the war effort. Signs that the worst times had not been so very long ago, but that things were improving, cracks and holes filled, painted over and covered with banners for the latest festivals, the newest industries. In a way, Ky preferred it to the highly-polished, anonymous halls in richer places in the world, those with the capital to simply bulldoze over and build anew. It seemed more truthful, less dangerous to live amongst reminders of the past, than to pretend it had never happened.
He used to chide himself, for thinking that way of his superiors.
Ky used more of his battle skills than he really had to, keeping himself from bumping into anyone on the street. Navigating the growing crowds around the restaurant’s stools and booths, to the growing mass of people at the front counter. He still wasn’t comfortable in crowds, too much like the press of bodies in the midst of a battle, so much heat and a thousand competing smells. It had taken him longer than he thought it would, just to be comfortable walking about in a world where he didn’t have to worry about being cut down every few seconds, realizing he didn’t have to watch every body that passed for signs of a potential threat.
Gears could look human right up until the moment they were tearing a soldier apart. One of the first things every soldier learned - no threat was worse than the one that came in the shape of the familiar.
//Were they ever going to tell you, or just come after you in the night? How many do you think they planned to bring, to take down the leader of the Holy Knights?//
Ky distracted himself again, politely trying to find the line for the counter, and finally just allowing himself to be pushed along into a vague sort of queue. Quietly listening to the conversations of those around him – how much was the beer at one place versus another, who was having the best party down by the water, and who had thrown who’s entire wardrobe out into the muddy street over a reported one-night fling?
... and he thought his problems were difficult.
“So? It was good, wasn’t it? The best you’ve ever had, right?”
The waitress popped into view with the same sudden violence as when she’d accused him of burning down her restaurant, and then tried to kick his head off. Jam Kuradoberi, and he hadn’t been at all surprised at how quickly she’d been able to rebuild, and perhaps even increase her clientele. Ky made sure his smile was big and bright, remembering how hard she could punch.
“Yes, yes, it was wonderful. A little spicy, but I’d like to buy another bowl, please.”
Jam frowned slightly, trying to decide if she would take it as an insult or not. The bowl was ripped from his fingers so quickly, he hardly saw her move. She filled it with the quick ease of an expert, never once taking her eyes from him. A normal enough gaze, but there was something in its intensity that reminded him of a cat. Playful, aloof, and prone to misunderstanding – perhaps an unexpected quarrel had not been such an unusual way to meet her.
“It’s supposed to be spicy. It’s the only way you’ll get the full range of flavors.” She set the bowl down on the counter and leaned in, so violently it seemed she was preparing to head butt him, fixing him with a piercing gaze.
“Do I know you?”
“I was the officer assigned to your arson case.” Ky hated lying, but he’d also been punished unfairly once already, when she’d attacked him the first time, thinking he was the culprit.
//Not that you can really blame-// He cut that thought off entirely.
Jam studied him for another moment, not quite convinced of his story, but a sudden clattering of pots and pans from the kitchen behind her was more than enough of a distraction. She disappeared immediately, the sound of metal clattering against tile and stone immediately dwarfed by her shrieking, curses that made Ky want to blush even when he didn’t know the language very well. He quickly picked up his bowl and put down the proper coin, sliding around to the side of the building, moving back the way he’d come.
The air was sweeter back here, a few little branches crunching under his feet as he let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, haze from the street mixing with the light from the moon. Peace was not something he’d grown accustomed to, and nights like this always made him wonder, what his life would have become had there been no Crusade to fight.
Yet another point for Sol to pick at him for, that he hadn’t gone off immediately after the war to be a farmer or an artist or a lazy noble. God knew he’d had the popularity and the presence to be a politician, had he wanted, though if there were a place his morals were even less suited for...
Sol had teased then, but there had been understanding in his eyes, perhaps even the faintest glimmer of longing for that sort of simple, stupid life. Fate and chance had claimed Sol’s life much earlier on – even more than he’d imagined - but Ky felt no less bound to his duty. The war, the battle was the only place for him. He couldn’t even imagine passing on his sword to someone, the way he’d been given the Furaiken. Ky fully expected to die with it in his hand. If he was that lucky.
//The Seikishidan were never really disbanded, the fight didn’t end. Not for him, and not for you.//
Not that he wanted to be, that he’d been stupid enough to imagine a wife, friends, a family. As if recent events hadn’t proven what he’d known all along – that losing his edge would be lethal, at any time. No matter what the veil of peace over the world, Ky knew it was stretched impossibly thin, breaking and tearing at will, perhaps even if they hadn’t...
//They don’t know that you know. Not yet.//
The Postwar Administration Bureau. It sounded so... innocuous, normal bordering on the inane. The sort of place that anyone else in the world would think he would have lined up to join – and maybe he would have, if they’d asked.
Very few things in the world truly frightened him, and Ky had distanced himself from what he could. Abandoning close friendships, so that he wasn’t forced to bury friends. Keeping himself distant because it was what was expected in a commander anyway, and so no one would dare think he was doing it for any other reason.
//Sol did.//
Sol Badguy was the only person who had ever called him a coward. To his face. Ky had nearly had the privilege of removing his right arm for it.
//Was he toying with you, even then? Playing, like a cat bats at a piece of string? You’re strong, but if he really /is/...//
Had the Commander suspected Sol’s origin?
//Could you even imagine there was a possibility he didn’t?//
Now that was a thought, his commander and Sol Badguy /both/ laughing at him. And he’d been so furious, to think Sol had cut and run with the Fuenken, to spend hours fuming like an idiot while all the while...
If ever there were a problem in his life not linked to the Gears, Ky would kneel in a thousand churches to give thanks for the miracle. So many unexpected discoveries, so much he’d never expected to find out. He wasn’t even sure if Sol knew that he knew, or what would come of it if he found out.
//Where are you? Do you know? Do you know what they’ve done to me?//
Ky himself never should have known. If the waitress hadn’t attacked him so unexpectedly, if he hadn’t been curious as to /why,/ enough to read her full report. To have the time and the strange intuition to come down here looking for clues, and discover that no one had come to reclaim...
//They don’t know that you know. But they will.//
He could fight against the Gears, that was simple enough. Brutal and painful, but it could be done. Ky knew he was not Sol, though. The real difference between them one of bravery, not strength - and he could not fight against the whole world.
Commander Undersn had warned him of this, long ago, well before he’d known he would be the man’s successor. Questioned his motives, listened to his talk of justice and law, and was one of the few not to dismiss him as a naive fool, a childish idiot who would grow into more pliable views.
“It’s not the Gears that will kill you, boy. It’s going to be your heart that does you in.”
Ky hadn’t really understood then, because he hadn’t realized the old man wasn’t exaggerating. Standing up simply for what he believed in, for what he knew to be good and true meant eventually fighting an army that would put the Gears to shame. A battle he could not win.
His hand trembled, and Ky had to prop his arm against his leg or risk losing the entire bowl as his stomach bottomed out. Bowing his head to his knee, he tried to fumble the chopsticks back into the bowl so he could press his face into his free hand. Focus on breathing, on listening to the crickets around him, and the muffled sounds of the city from the other side of the building.
Praying, always praying for the strength to see the challenge through. Looking inside himself for that tiny spark of purity, of goodness placed there by a higher hand. It wasn’t scripturally sound, exactly, but Ky had seen far too much in the Crusades, to believe in a God beyond a breath of life on the water. A source of strength for those in times of great need, a place of beginnings and endings – but all the words, every deed in between would have to be his own.
It took a long moment, before he could open his eyes again, and he was halfway through the second bowl before he could even glance down, to finally take a second good look at what he’d been sitting on. It still wasn’t easy, but he didn’t think a thing like this would ever be easy.
The body was dressed in the uniform – his uniform – the colors of the Combat Special Division. A cheap copy of the Furaiken lay splintered in the grass beside it. All the damage Jam Kuradoberi had done was below where he sat - twisted, mangled metal where the waist and legs ought to have been. Above, though, it still looked like it must have when it had been originally produced.
//How many? How many others, just like this one?//
The metal ‘skin’ was the faintest green, tiny rivets holding all the plates in place, with a grotesque mop of hair added on top for no real reason that he could see. If anything, it made the machine look less human. The slot of a mouth, the tiny clockwork key jutting from its right temple. It should have been a joke.
It should have been funny.
Ky couldn’t help feeling a little vertigo, looking down into the yellow slats that stood for eyes, now so dark he could barely make out the color. The faceless, lifeless /thing/ they’d decided to replace him with.
//Is this how they see me? A wind-up toy? An empty shell? Was this why Sol...//
Laughter, when he thought of Sol he always thought of laughter, but now he could not see the amusement in it, or the teasing, but something terrible and knowing. Laughter from a man who had also worn another face, and knew what it was to change into something no longer recognizable.
Ky Kyske perched on the corpse of the metal shell that had not yet replaced him in the world, eating the spiciest meal he’d ever had to wince around, and could only feel the chill. As if he’d been hollowed out, as empty as the broken doll beneath him.