It was that dream again. The dream with the beach—the wildly handsome, not-so-nerdy looking Paul running up to me. That goofy over-dramatic bow and the unusually fancy speech Paul gave—it was all near identical as the first experience. Only this time, it felt more realistic—Friederika would chalk it up to being surreal —no, not surreal… uncanny, I would say is more appropriate. When the inferno engulfed the two of us… the fiery sensation of a thousand degrees were melting my flesh—the pain was real.

But unlike before, something else happened; rather than crumble to bone and ashes, Paul horrifically shifted into that haggard pirate guy—the one who killed himself at the entrance of Side Malabo… bulging eyes and that fearsome perked mouth—the man’s physique gradually deforms into a demonic being born of nightmare fuel that defies any description possible in the realms of reality. Its ugly lips of which is the only humane part left, twists and turns with the bellowing of each syllable it produces that which resonates into the great deep void—

“BURN IN HELL, FEDERATION SCUM!”

The utterance turns into a cascade of voices that morph and screech on top of each other—a chorus of indistinguishable languages capable of shattering eardrums. But even if I were to hypothetically cover my ears, it would not stop. The continuous loop of demonic screaming would go on for infinity.

And then pitch darkness envelops me. There are no longer any sandy beaches, or Paul, or the creepy old man, or anything. There was just… nothing. The nothing that encompasses me is entirely pitch black. There is no such thing as turning my head to get my bearing—even the inability to even look around from my eye sockets. Just…nothing. I always heard that our brains tend to play cruel tricks on us in near-death experiences… but this, this is…

Near-death experience… I couldn’t be dead this time, could I? If that were the case, I would be incapable of thought, is that how it is? Maybe… perhaps, I am in a coma? But the idea of being a burden to my family at such a young tender age… to have my parents and Friederika visit me daily, tearfully telling me about their mundane lives, how much they miss me… even Friederika nonchalantly talking about a breakup with her umpteenth boyfriend… various forms of cope. The powerless ability—the inability of the hospital staff to work magic… to help your loved one, and the inability to let me pass on. The very thought is depressing. I would never want to be dead weight to them. The hospital bills required to—

Hmmm? For some reason, I hear vibrant sounds. If I listen closely, the sounds resemble that of a vicious feral rodent. It’s like trying to pet a cute wild animal and it snarls at you like the rabid beast it is. But something about this is different. Usually, the animal in question would run away most likely, and you would never have to hear that dreadful sound ever again.

The snarls are nearly constant; there’s a lapse of silence, and then it starts again for at least a few seconds. It’s almost as if the vile beast refuses to give up its territory. Well… to be fair, it’s not all that uncommon for feral rodents to stand their ground.

…Honesty, it’s getting kind of grating. It is starting to induce a headache. And there’s nothing worse than getting a banging migraine.

Wait a minute, headache-inducing? Come to think of it, I never felt like I, well, felt anything either.

The next thing I know I’m staring at pure whiteness… Heaven? No… it’d be more sunshine and stuff, right? Clouds and angelic beings with harps…

At first, I was seeing cross-eyed. My field of vision is so hazy that I was starting to see double lines of the ti—

Wait a minute, I’m not dead. And this isn’t heaven either. That’s a ceiling. That’s the tiled ceiling of the medical bay! I would know since I was a frequent patient from getting space sickness adapting to life aboard the Yilan. And if we’re on the Yilan, then that probably means we didn’t suffer too much damage. But that aside, I must have been placed in one of the beds since I am snugly secured under one blanket too many. And using my lower body as a makeshift pillow is a certain dark-haired woman who I have the unfortunate luck of spending almost my entire life with. She has one of those snot bubbles you often see in cartoons that inflates and deflates in perfect rhythm with her breathing. Is that drool, too? For the love of…

SNUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—

Well, at least now I know it wasn’t a feral rodent challenging me to a life and death situation.

SNUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH—

Not that I’m the one to wonder why a feral animal would think an unconscious person is threatening it in the first place. It was merely Friederika snoring out the wazoo. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize her utterly obnoxious snoring sooner; I never liked sleeping over at Friederika’s because she and her dad make it completely impossible to get a night’s sleep. I’ll never understand how her mom and her siblings can sleep through that.

And whenever she sleeps over at our place, my dad always gets held back by mom when he gets fed up and tries to throw the still-snoozing Friederika out into middle the cold unforgiving pavement. Did I mention she’s a completely heavy sleeper?

Seriously though, this snoring is giving me a migraine that pounds repeatedly on my temples. “Oi, Kiki…” I give her a gentle shake.

SNUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—

For crying out loud, Friederika…

“Oi, KIKI!” It’s a more violent shake this time—and finally, the snoring is cut short by confused Friederika noises.

“A…wuh… oh!” The snot bubble pops. Friederika’s eyes widen in surprise and her mouth makes an O shape. She lets out an annoying, exaggerated yawn reminiscent of a dying cat, and rubs of her eyes. “Sleeping beauty is finally awake, huh? Maybe You didn’t need my prince charming kiss after all. Mwuahhh~” She leans in, eyes closed and puckered lips, but I only give her a faceful of my palm—and feel the grossest thing ever. Snot, ugh.

“Maybe in the next life, sweetheart—actually, no maybe in about ten thousand years from now after you cultivate the souls of enough boyfriends.”

Friederika looks at me with a bewildered look and a cocked head. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, maybe if you read enough books you might know what that might mean,” I say pushing up the nonexistent glasses that do not reside on my nose, briefly ignoring the fact that I kinda just smudged some of Friederika’s wet snot on myself. Ugh.

We share a few chuckles, but it feels a bit forced this time, not at all like our usual cackles of laughter. Friederika is probably still groggy to get into her usual routine, and me, well…

“So give it to me straight, Kiki… how long was I out for? What even happened?” I pull the blanket off to the side and shift my legs to the sides of the bed. They were numb at first no thanks to Friederika’s fatness, but I can wiggle my toes at least.

“Welllll… ummm…?” Friederika shrugs her shoulders while playfully twiddling with her thumbs. “Well, it was like, a little after 1900 hours, and now it’s kinda… uhhh…0700?”

Putting the dots together that’s about… “Eleven hours?! What?! ” I nearly scream in surprise. And without letting Friederika have a chance a speak, I quickly rollback my undershirt’s right sleeve to confirm the time for myself with the silver watch my father gav—

It’s not there.

“Huh?”

I roll back my left arm’s sleeve; no dice. There is only my milky skin. “My dad’s watch…” I trail off with a cracked voice. Someone must’ve slipped it off when they gathered the dead and injured after that suicide fire ship. I’ll have to keep a mental note of sending a formal complaint to the military police about this when Lucky Alphonse ends—that was a gift from my father, dammit! Unbelievable. I never bought into the belief that medics might steal belongings off the dead or unconscious, at least not until now. So much for comradeship.

“Ah… if you’re looking for your wristwatch, I think Lieutenant Plotte took it for safekeeping?”

Friederika hands me my blue jacket and belt and watches as I put them on in silence. If Pluto has the wristwatch, then that’s not too bad. I’ll just have to pry it from him later. Speaking of our superiors…

Since so much time has passed I imagine the Malabo has long fallen by now. Or perhaps the pirate fleet withdrew?

“Thanks for waiting, Kiki, let’s get going—you mind filling me in on what happened while I was busy having nightmare fuel confronting a demon?”

Friederika looks a bit perturbed and I can’t say I blame her—she doesn’t know the half of it of that bizarre fever dream that I went through. And frankly, it’s better that way, wouldn’t want Friederika to wet her bed now, would I?

“…Are you sure you don’t want to rest a little more? You bumped your head pretty hard when the lieutenant tackled you down. I… was even worried sick that you would never wake up. He was worried sick too, you know. If Paul ever found out what happened to you…”

“Kiki… were you there with me… the whole time?” I rub the back of my head for some confirmation—and sure enough, I feel a small bump sticking out. If I press down even lightly on the bump it resonates sharp pain. That must have been one rough tackle. I wouldn’t blame Friederika for thinking the concussion would be severe, or I guess it was severe when you think about it. Eleven hours is a pretty long time if you ask me.

“Well… yes, but no… I mean… I had to use the restroom and grab some snacks in between the lieutenant dragging me out every so often for some duties, but eventually, he gave up on dragging me away from your bedside and didn’t send anyone to fetch me anymore… just so he can grant my wish—to… remain by your side.” Friederika says in a voice that gets quieter with each word, she rubs her neck rather anxiously with averted eyes.

I… wait, what? For some reason, it doesn’t click for me at first. But after the blood rushes into my cheeks, and the sensation of my chest tightening with embarrassment, it’s just like, oh. When we were younger Paul used to read those gross romance comic books and a lot of the time the protagonists in those are completely oblivious to others like how can you be this dumb and still live? kind of unawareness. And for some reason, it’s like I’m in one of those situations even now.

“Wow, Kiki… if I was a dude, I’d propose marriage right here and now.” I muse with such casualness that it’s hard to believe those words even came out from my mouth.

“Ahh —hahhaaa, right, um… anyway!” Friederika nonchalantly slaps me on the shoulder and tries to cover her glowing red face. We were already out in the hallway standing on the floor conveyors, and thankfully there did not seem to be a person at sight; which seems like a given—I imagine we are still on either general stations or battle stations right now. Nobody can afford to be casually about right now.

“—After that shuttle exploded, the pirate fleet broke out and headed for the Cluster capital, Side… Baltit I think it was called… and then the commodore had to waste time and secure Side Malabo with marine battalions we scrounged together. Um…

“That ended up costing us too much time or so. From what Lieutenant Plotte told me some of Commander Buttermilch’s adjutants were getting real impatient about the whole ordeal. When I was on the way back from the restroom one time, I happened to overhear some of the same general staff voicing their concerns that seizing Side Baltitwill take up even more time, which means…”

I think I’ve heard enough to know where this is going. “Who did they voice their concerns to, do you know?” I inquire while cutting off Friederika, though she doesn’t pay it any mind. If I had to guess, though, either our XO or CO were the ones receiving the complaints.

“I don’t think this will come to much surprise to you, but they talked to Buttermil—”

“Do you know the last time you saw Commander Buttermilch or heard where he might be now?” I cut off Friederika again, this time with a more forceful tone. I can’t risk Buttermilch putting our plan in jeopardy. He told me he’d do whatever he can to influence commodore Chal’s plans. But if that influence is in turn influenced by others… I can’t let everything go to vain —our war games, everything— like this.

“Ummm… hmmm, good question, actually. He should be at the bridge, and if he isn’t there… hmmm, I think he and the XO were heading off to commodore Chal’s— Victoria?!”

That’s it. That’s all I need to know. I jump off the conveyor onto the still surface and sprint at full speed. The surprised Friederika noises grow too faint to be grating my ears anymore. I can’t afford to have Buttermilch be swayed by fools who want to rush things. So what if the operation takes a slow pace? Even if a relief force—even if thatMadame Scarface enters the fray—we need to stay as one, and ensure that OperationLucky Alphonse doesn’t go down in the history books as Unlucky Alphonse!

I don’t care if I get thrown in the brig for insubordination anymore— it won’t matter if we’re all dead!

For fame and glory, my ass… Buttermilch!!! Don’t lose sight now!