Upon arriving at the entrance, we are stopped by what seems to be the compound’s security. There are two of them with name tags, ROWLEY and MCCARTHY. “No visitor at this time…” the one named Rowley states laconically “much less from you damned Mafia cronies,” Brutus lets out a baffled scoff and crosses his arms. He takes a step forward: as does Rowley.

“How dare you?” Brutus says with a near sneer, “do you have any idea who you’re addressing?!” He nearly butts heads with Rowley, and I reach out to tug on his shirt. Brutus relents, blowing air in Rowley’s face, and takes steps back.

“Sorry, we don’t mean trouble,” I say caressing my nose bridge, both McCarthy and Rowley glare at me intensely, “but it is rather important for me. And I reassure you I won’t be long… one of my… cronies… is hospitalized here,” McCarthy’s eyes flicker for a brief moment as if connecting the dots, “I will not disturb the personnel and we will soon be on our way.”

“Right,” Rowley remarks “right, that’s what they all say. And then they start butting heads with the staff, and then who gets their garnished for a job well done?” Rowley rubs his temple and grunts, “no, I’m not risking it anymore. I can’t afford to get docked for the littlest, mundane things anymore. Why the hell do you think I’m out here in the slums? I get one thing slide, and then another, and then they shift me further away from the city…”

“Say, Rowley,” McCarthy interrupts.

“—And it’s all been going downhill ever since you goddamn freaks took over!” Rowley continues, his voice slightly rising, “your heads are so far up your asses that you don’t stop to think about all the goddamn bullshit you’ve done to us…”

“Rowley!” McCarthy hisses, slapping him on the shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly: genuine fear.

“No! You can fuck off,” Rowley continues, “I’ve just about had it. You can come back tomorrow, can’t you? Honestly, I hope I never have to even lay eyes on any of you again.”

“Goddammit, man!” McCarthy utters, tightly grabbing Rowley by the arm, “do you have any idea whose tree you’re barking up?!” McCarthy sternly points at me: his hand trembling, “that’s the Madame Scarface!” All eyes fall on Rowley, who continues to have a reddening face. But like a flick of the switch, Rowley’s muscles relax. Then his fuming-redness slowly drains to pearly white. He opens his mouth to speak—but nothing comes out. Rowley’s pupils bounce between the three of us and he clears his throat—his Adam’s apple bobbles with each nervous swallow. Rowley attempts to stutter some syllables to no avail, and the only thing he is capable of uttering to McCarthy is a huh?!.

With a heavy exhale, I hold my head up with my left hand while caressing my scarred cheek. Likewise, Olga and Brutus must’ve been holding their breaths since they cut loose nervous sighs as well.

“Look,” McCarthy states, his gaze to the floor, “if you want to visit—then go ahead… just please don’t cause any trouble,” McCarthy throws a quick look up at us “…and if you think you can… reel in your guys. Please. Rowley’s a bit out of line, but I gotta agree with what he said… and please,” McCarthy shoots another peek “please… please don’t punish Rowley too much. We’re both just bottling up our anger a fair bit… please…” McCarthy trails off with a very slight bow.

When I glance at Brutus and Olga, neither say anything and only give their response with nods. I step forward and put a hand on the paralyzed Rowley’s shoulder. It does little to produce any reaction out of him: he merely remains disturbed at the revelation. “I will overlook this mistreatment,” I say, softly, stroking his arm, “rest assured, I understand that there is a lot of friction between our regime and the people we govern. Furthermore, I will pass it down to have my men refrain from intimating civilians,” I look over at McCarthy before continuing “I was going to have my confidants remain here while I’m inside for my visit… but to avoid any commotion, I will have them wait inside the compound,” I smile, the pain notwithstanding, “they’re not like the usual… goons, so to speak. I can expect them to be on their best behavior.”

“Yeah…” McCarthy utters, “yeah… that’s… I think that’s fine, yeah,” McCarthy grabs Rowley and pulls him aside, then gestures for us to enter.

“Madame…” Brutus mutters after we make our way in, breaking the group’s silence. But he only breathes heavily and says nothing more.

“I’ll leave you two in good faith to, for lack of a better word, stand there and stand pretty,” I say, warmly, trying to locate who may be one of the chief doctors on-site, “I don’t want any further distrust with the community than we do now. I will have Simon reprimand the offenders and rein in his men later. Until then… please make yourselves busy until I’m done,” I leave the duo to their devices and approach an older-looking doctor. He has been examining his tablet but we meet eyes when I get close. A name tag hangs on his coat, with a fittingly grizzled photograph: CURE. A small scoff escapes my lips, and I can’t help but smile. A fitting name as any for such a profession, I suppose.

Doctor Cure doesn’t say anything at first, but he does tuck the tablet under his right arm. Cure looks past me at the compound’s entrance, and only cuts loose a sigh.

“I know what you may be thinking, doctor Cure,” I say, softly, “the shuttle pilot… do you know where he is residing? I wish to visit him—it will be only for a moment. My associates and I will leave the compound and respect the no-visitor rule,” when I finish, Cure scratches his goatee before our eyes meet again. He points at the faded lime-green steel hut behind him.

“He’ll be at the far-end,” Cure says in a gruff, monotonous tone, “in more ways than one,” with that grim note, doctor Cure shuffles away. After taking a deep breath, I enter the steel hut and am greeted by numerous curtain dividers. Passing by, I witness many who are in appalling states: many remain in comas or otherwise crippled in some way. Occasionally, at each patient, nurses are doing what they can to assist their patients. One of them attempts feeding a patient with little success.

Eventually, I come to the divider containing who I perceive as the Baltit pilot, tucked under a heavy blanket: more than the usual amount of medical devices linked to his bed and body. From what I can tell, he has fresh bandaging that keeps him mummified—only his face is partially wrapped, and he has an oxygen mask hooked up to a large, bulky machine residing by his bedside.

Looking around, there doesn’t seem to be anyone who would bother me about the visit. Thus, I carefully draw up a chair and get as close to the pilot as possible. At first, the pilot does not take notice of my presence: his eyes remain closed. But he must’ve sensed my presence since his head jerks to the side and his eyes open. His pupils dart around—and upon looking at me, the pilot seems to let out a long sigh. I open my mouth to speak but to my surprise, the man is the first to speak.

“Madame… Chou?” He utters, “an angel has visited me at last…” without another word, the pilot struggles to wiggle out an arm from beneath the covering—

“Please, don’t push yourself too hard,” I say in a hurriedly hushed tone “it is not worth straining yourself for my sake,” when I finish, the Baltit pilot tries his best to invoke a strained chuckle. With his arm now free, the pilot grasps at the air before I reach out to it and bring his hand to my chest. I cup my hand over his as he grips my shirting.

“This, is nothing,” the pilot gasps with each pronunciation, “compared, to the pain… I endured for Che’s sake… for the Mafia’s sake… for your sake,” I shake my head, rubbing his tensed-up hand.

“You won’t have to suffer anymore…” I trail off, realizing I haven’t asked for the pilot’s name yet. I peer closer to the pilot and stroke what strands of hair he has left. “Your name… what is your name?” I ask, warmly, as I stroke his clenched hand. The pilot remains quiet, but through the misty oxygen mask I can make out a grin of sorts. His eyes water, if only a little.

“I never thought, in my entire life, I would be asked by an angel for my name… and by the Madame Scarface, no-less,” the pilot continues, his voice strained. His chest rises and falls in smaller patterns. “Max,” he states, “Maximilian, Boyle,” through the clouded oxygen mask, I can faintly make out Maximilian grinning some more. His watery eyes lock with mine.

“Maximilian, Boyle…,” I repeat slowly, then again while pressing his hand onto my chest, “it’s a beautiful name, Max,” I say, a lone tear races down his cheek.

“It pales, in comparison to you, madame Li,” Maximilian gasps, “my god, you’re breath-taking. A beautiful angel if there ever was one, I am unworthy of such a visit.”

“Nonsense, Maximilian,” I say, squeezing his trembling hand, “I am forever indebted to your courage. It is the very least I could’ve done… to meet with the one who has set everything in motion. The most I can do is pay my recognition for your invulnerable deeds. Without you…” I lean in closer “without your determination and sacrifice, perhaps we would not be here today, experiencing this very moment. Maximilian… if there is anything, anything you could possibly want, I would not hesitate in rewarding you in whatever way I can. Rather that be now, or once you recover, I will do it.”

For the longest time, Maximilian remains silent as he pensively gazes at the ceiling. But it’s not long before the pilot breaks out of it and locks eyes with me again. “Madame Li…” the pilot starts, “have we won? Has what I have done been meaningful… if it meant helping you preserve the Mafia?” The question takes me back. Those gentle, emerald eyes of his, for a brief moment, makes me question if what I have done, has, indeed, achieved much. And yet, I never break off my gaze with Maximilian. Bracing the pain I give Maximilian a warm smile while stroking his cheek.

“Yes…” I clear my throat, feeling Maximilian clench my shirt intently, “yes, your sacrifice was not in vain, Maximilian. I have done everything in my power to ensure the Mafia will strive for years to come. Everything that I’ve done—everything that we ve done, was not in vain. Far from it …” I give a nod, squeezing and stroking his hand before continuing, “you can rest easy, Maximilian.”

It’s not a lie. I have to tell myself that over and over again. It's not a lie.

Maximilian is once again silent for the longest time. His breathing seems to become more limited: his chest no longer raises as it has before. “That is, all good,” Maximilian utters, as tears race down his face, “to be visited by not one, but two, legendary figures of the Mafia. And to play my part, of the stage are honors in of itself. There’s nothing more I could achieve in my life…” Maximilian struggles to clear his throat, “and now… and now, to be seen off by a gorgeous angel… there is nothing more I could want out of this life, miss Li… thank you…” Maximilian trails off, his voice is too soft to make out the rest.

“Maximilian?” I ask, leaning closer over the man, “Max?” but there remains no reply. Concern turns to worry as I realize his hand is limp and heavy. His eyes, once very pretty and full of love, are now clouded and diluted: lifeless. Though in his final moments his eyes remain fixated on me, it’s as though they now look elsewhere upon greater vistas. It’s that slight grin and hollow eyes that are reminiscent of mama in her last moments all those years ago. And although I cannot afford to shed a tear, my heart aches heavily for my sake—my scar tissue burns, too, reacting strongly as I bury my head in my hand.

For all my miracles, all it produces is sorrow and death. My whole life produces nothing but death for others. It is as inescapable as it is familiar.

I reach over and caress Maximilian’s cheek again. Wiping away the tears that remain. Then, mustering the courage, I slowly and softly kiss Maximilian on the forehead, and after caressing his forehead one last time, slide my palm down and close his empty eyes. “Rest easily, Maximilian Boyle,” I stammer, unable to control my quaking voice any longer. I hunch over, burying my face into his bedding and soaking the warm blanket with tears.

And in the next moment, there is weight on my shoulder. I look up, with blurry vision, at doctor Cure with Brutus and Olga behind him. Brutus looks away, his eyes shut and biting on his upper lip. Olga clasps her mouth and keeps her eyes averted. “I am sorry,” doctor Cure mutters, his drowsy eyes on Maximilian, “we did what we could for the lad,” Cure strokes his chin and lets out a grievous sigh, “but I feel you did more than what I—or any of my assistants—could do. And comfort him in his final moments,” Cure finishes. The doctor then steps away to examine the various medical machinery.

Olga kneels next to me and cups her icy, prosthetic hand over mine. She looks at Maximilian, briefly, the sorrowfulness in her eyes, “I’m sure he was happy until the very end to have you by his side, Li,” the blonde says, softly, “maybe even grateful. Grateful that someone like you would go out of their way to care for him… in this sorry state,” Olga squeezes my hand—then our fingers interlock, “…I know it’s what I would’ve wanted if I was in his place—and I was,” Olga finishes.

“Does the young man have any family,” the doctor asks, his gaze still on the various monitors and checking the straps on Maximilian, “or next of kin to inform of his passing? To send the body to…” I think about it, but nothing comes to mind. If there is anyone who would know, it would likely be Che. But I doubt it is something that he may know firsthand. How frustrating it is that I cannot even properly relay the information to the Boyle clan—if they are even in Toscana, to begin with. There may not even be a living Boyle left, or perhaps they live in another part of the galaxy. Either way, it would be difficult to approach a relative and inform them of his passing—there’s no telling he has had any positive relation with people in his past, pre-pirate life.

“As shameful as it is to admit,” I say, reaching into my poncho to lay the crimson bandanna in my hands, “I have very little knowledge about Boyle’s past affairs regarding his family,” I glance at Olga and Brutus before continuing, “I ask that you store the body for us until further notice. I—or the gentleman Simon will have the body transported down to Lübeck for proper burial.”

“Not here, Madame?” Brutus asks, rather surprised. Olga is puzzled, too.

“I think it will be more meaningful to have a cemetery for the fallen at Lübeck, rather than here,” I answer, continuing to stroke and toil the bandanna, “when Jung left the mafia, he settled on the planet—not here, I feel it is only right that he and the rest of the fallen are laid to rest there—together,” I wrap the decorated handkerchief up and slide it into my poncho before getting up, “I also believe a burial ground will be at far less risk of vandalism. The people here still resent us—and that kind of enmity will linger for a very long time,” I say, a little more quiet this time. I glance over at the doctor, who removes the patient’s oxygen mask and sets it aside. Cure is stoic—but there is a sense of regret in his eyes. The futility of being helpless saving a precious life.

“Regrettable, indeed,” doctor Cure says casually. The doctor then procures a cloth from his lab coat and carefully sets it over Maximilian’s face. “I’ll have one of my assistants arrange the body for later. And for the time being…?” Cure asks, his gaze remains fixated on the Baltit pilot’s covered face.

There is silence among us, and Cure glances at me before continuing, “if you wish to pay your respects to Mr. Boyle for a little longer, I will hold off on moving the body until then,” doctor Cure says solemnly. I throw a brief look at Olga and Brutus before I respond. “I don’t think…” I stammer, resting my hand on the bed’s cold steel frame, “I don’t think it is something that Maximilian would want… to have me stay here and anguish over his demise forever. That is not a way to honor his sacrifice. I want to have him laid properly—as with all the others. It is only through that that I can honor his sacrifice—and everyone else as well.”

I want to step away, but I can’t bring myself to do it. The hesitation remains strong. Is it regret over not being able to pay respects to Julius, who was not fortunate enough to have anybody in his final moments? Reaching inside for his bandanna, I let out a sigh of frustration. Not just Julius, but the countless dozens who never had the chance of comfort in their final moments. Emmanuel, Jung, the soldiers at Malabo and Baltit, the many who have perished at Rouen… where were I when they uttered their dying breath?

I lift the cloth from Maximilian’s face, moving it away to caress his cheek. “Please…” I mutter, grimacing a paralyzing smile, “Maximilian… I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do, but please… rest easy, Maximilian… knowing that everything we’ve done was not in vain,” I finish with a shaking voice.

I clear the lump in my throat and step away from both Max’s bed and doctor Cure. I proceed with walking past my subordinates but stop without turning to face the doctor and the others. With a loud clearing of my voice, I begin to address them, “mister Simon… I’ll fill him in on what has occurred, and I believe he’ll handle the rest when it’s time. And doctor…” I turn to face the trio, my gaze fixated on doctor Cure, with a deep bow, I continue “for what it’s worth, thank you for everything,” when I assume my posture, Cure only offers a weak smile and nods.

And with that, Olga, me, and Brutus head outside. And to my surprise, I find Simon waiting for us against the hut’s wall, arms crossed, with one hand resting on his chin. Rather than his usual sharp gaze, his eyes are half-open and he stares off into the distance. “Master Simon…” Olga mutters, stroking her prosthetic arm. Simon releases a heavy sigh and pushes himself away from the hut. With his hands shoved in his pockets, the sly sage walks towards the horizon, his chin raised.

After the spell of silence lingers for a while, Simon finally speaks, “the boy’s gone, huh?” Simon remarks, reaching for his cap and taking it off, holding it to his head. “That boy was a trooper to hold out for as long as he did,” Simon continues, his gaze still fixated on the massive crater, “it’s a miracle you were with him to the very end, Li…” Simon says, before clearing his throat. “Not many could have that privilege, you know,” he says. Without another word, I join him by the side. “That damn Che…” Simon says under his breath, “if only he knew what the pain he caused… would he have gone through with it still?”

“Desperate times have desperate measures, Simon,” I remark, lightly tugging on his cloak, “if either of us were in his position, what could either of us have done?” Simon doesn’t respond and lowers his head. I place a hand on my chest and grasp my shirting before continuing, “I’m no better than Che. I’ve made decisions that resulted in the deaths of so many talented people. Jung, Emmanuel… and so many others have died because of my indecisiveness. Che’s actions pale in comparison to mine.”

“Li… I think that’s enough,” Simon says, wrapping his arm around me, “I think I understand… sorry, I got a little ahead of myself. There are times where I lose myself, too,” Simon says, cutting loose a heavy utterance, “I will talk to that doctor—Cure, was it? What an odd name for a man in this profession—and arrange for a proper burial of Maximilian as well as the other recovered bodies your fleet may have,” a slight pause, then he speaks in a lower voice, “if there happen to be any bodies left, anyway. As it would have it…” Simon steps away from me and walks towards his car, hands stuffed in pockets, “I was intending on heading to Lübeck to…,” Simon stops in his tracks to look back at me, “…settle some business with Miss Lee… I feel I owe a bit of an apology to her, and Jean—”

“Regarding Jean…” I cut him off, and he responds with a frown. It occurs to me that Simon is likely not aware of Jean’s attack on me back on the Montepuez. “Jean… um, it might not be a good idea to visit her right about now. She has likely already made it to Jung’s estate and informed Miss Frau of her husband’s passing,” I caress my disfigured cheek and blow air through my nostrils, “and in which case, I believe she will come off as hostile towards you.”

“I understand she may hold you responsible for Jung’s death, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Simon remarks. After taking the moment to inform him of Jean’s retaliation aboard the Montepuez, Simon turns his back to me, shaking his head all the while. “That is indeed rather unfortunate. Miss Jean was very endearing of Jung… normally, I would keep my distance until she calms down. But I owe it to Miss Frau to deliver an earnest apology. It’s the most I can do to be there for her when she delivers her baby—if she hasn’t already…” Simon then turns to face me again, “and what about you, Li? What do you plan to do now? Return to your manor? You can join me if you wish… though I don’t know if Jean would appreciate that. ”

I glance at Olga and Brutus, who has caught up to us. What shall I do indeed? Though the battles are over, I still have unfinished business. And yet, I feel if I move around now, it could mean rising suspicions with Kamon. Staying at the manor would be the ‘safest’ decision I can make, so to speak. I stroke my blemished cheek before breathing in heavily and exhaling through my nose.

“I will head out to pay a visit to those still at Baltit,” I state, to a collective shock, “and to get any available information on Federation movement and activities in the Frankish Domain… only then, can I be at real ease—at least until the two fleets possibly link. But until then—“

“I’m sure you already deliberated on it,” Simon says, eyeing Brutus and Olga, “but if Kamon so much suspects you have other plans in mind at Valspon… she may get the wrong idea that you have a, er… backup plan for a coup there,” he shoots a gaze at Brutus and Olga before leaning towards me, “can you trust the two of them? Rather, are they aware of the consequence?”

“I’m aware of the risks, and so are they, Simon,” I respond with a tingling grin, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m sure Kamon will raise a few eyebrows with me departing so soon… and I’m sure with you leaving for Lübeck as well, it will leave us in an uneasy position once we return. But so long as we don’t act too suspicious, Kamon won’t do a thing.”

“Well,” Simon wrinkles his forehead and straightens his back, “well…”

“If you worry so much, you’ll develop more wrinkles, Simon. And I don’t think you look good with a wrinkly face when you’re so young,” I remark, warmly. Simon steps back, with a scoffing shrug, and looks past me at Olga.

“Alright, well… just take care, Li,” Simon says with a smile, “and that goes for you two as well, since I take it you’ll be joining her. I doubt anything will happen at Baltit… but there might be hostile forces there and at Malabo, so please be careful.”

“Like a cautious pops…” Brutus muses from behind me. Simon, with fluster, glares at him, “sorry! It was in jest, in jest.”

“Once I return,” Simon says, fixating his gaze on me, “I imagine Zhui will likely hold a banquet in celebration of our victory… so I doubt Kamon will want to raise any trouble anyway,” Simon inhales deeply and exhales just as heavily, “the trouble we have to go through, eh?”

“Maybe Brutey is right, you are being a little cautious for your own good, p—” I bite down on my lip to Simon’s disbelief, and I only grimace a smile instead, “In any case, we’ll keep in touch, Simon. Rest assured, nothing will happen,” I finish. Simon simply shrugs and gives the three of us a nod. And with that, we part ways: Simon heads for his car, for the Lübeck settlement, and I depart with Olga and Brutus for Side Baltit.