✍️ Monthly writing prompt [DECEMBER]

"Hear it?" Renne said while motioning to the windows, prompting Grengal to warily turn his gaze to the frost covered glass. Arching his brows, he strained his ears to listen. Hear what? At first, only the sound of what appeared to be harsh wind. However the longer he listened, the louder it became, and the less it sounded like wind. More like something else. Something that shook him to the core.

"W-what... is that?" The crack in his voice made Renne sport a scornful smirk as she a hand on the hilt of the blade that was at her side. 

"Hear that? She repeated with more energy. "That is the heartbeat- the will, of the millions of people that make up this beautiful country. A soulless, self serving being like you will never be able to snub that out!" The woards of the Fenrir princess made Grengal recoil backwards from where he stood, copious amounts of sweat now streaming down his face, and for the first time since this ordeal began, Renne could see the one emotion in his eyes that she had wanted to witness from him.

Fear.

This was the man who led six hundred soldiers onto a defenseless city, one that had already been rebuilding itself since the Great Storm, and took it hostage for over five years. This was the man she wanted to see punished more than any other, for the atrocities he had commited. Forcing children into camps, working the men to death, and taking women from their homes. This was one person that no one on any side of this war wanted anything to do with. Renne was glad to be the one to witness this.

"N-no! You aren't anything but a scared little girl, hopelessly cobbling together the trash and filth of society to oppose us!" Grengal screamed while reaching for the axe that was resting against the shelf behind him. Hearing those words, Renne's expression hardened and she displayed an rare emotion, a side few ever saw. Hate.

"Is that so?" She growled with venom laced in her tone, taking several threatening steps towards the politician who was scrambling to grab a weapon. Though the closer she got, the more incoherent the man's ramblings became, until-"

"Stay away!" He shrieked, taking hold of the axe and swinging it towards the princess, who gracefully ducked and darted towards him. With
 one swift stroke, she severed Grengal's weapon hand and caused it to fly through the air while the politician screamed in agony, dropping axe and falling to his knees. 

"That was for the children of Cerulis." Were her first words as she raised her sword again, making Grangel scramble backwards as far as he could go, hitting his back against the shelf with an audible thud. With wide eyes, he could only watch as Renne swung again, taking the man's other hand off. "That was for the men and women you so callously used until you threw them out." 

"P-please... stop." Grangel pleaded with tear filled eyes as the noble continued, but his words were drowned by the increasing volume of the roar that sounded outside the windows. As Renne raised her sword one more time, she opened her mouth and breathed out.

"This is the will of the so-called 'trash and filth' you detest." Her words barely reached the wailing politician, who had already discarded his pride and dignity to beg for his life. Despite his loudest efforts, there was no change in Renne's expression. Even as she swung one more time and cut the man right down the middle, silencing his shrieks, only after his body slumped back did she breath out and drop to her own knees. Releasing her tight grip on her weapon, she let it clatter harmlessly on the floor as she put both hands to her chest.

"It's over... it's over." She repeated this to herself several times, feeling a few tears of joy slide down her face as she sat there. She felt so many things right then and there. Joy, that the vile monster had finally been slain. Exhaustion, for the countless days of fighting that led up to this moment. So caught up in her emotions, she failed to hear the clattering of footsteps that echoed up the spire stairwell until two figures appeared into the room, one of them spotting her on the ground and immediately dropped to her side.

"Renne?" The noble turned to see her companion and friend, Riy, whose familiar face only made more tears leak as she smiled with relief at him, feeling the last bit of adrenaline leave her body as she greeted him this way.

"It's finally over. He's gone." Was all she said before allowing herself to collapse into the boy's chest, knowing that he was there to catch her in his arms. Nearby, General Walter stood with crossed arms and a soft grin on his face as he too watched the scene unfold with relief. The two Wolflians resting on the ground, and the man responsible for half a decade's worth of misery right there on the cold hard floor. Slain. It hadn't been officially announced to the public, but Walter could hear the fighting outside had already died down, and he too breathed a content sigh.

"Well done."

"Can you hear it?"

“Did you hear it?”

          Those phrases are what made for the rumor that has been spreading around Sevmash Shipyard for over a week during late autumn 2015. Not only among the mortal human employees but also within the circle of warfare androids who stay in this place for various reasons. Sporadically, there will echo a strange, heavy sound of some kind of metallic material having unimaginably difficulty to move. It usually occurs just very brief period, sometime less than a second and totally at random throughout day.

          Investigation ordered by the executive board has been carried out; they took no chance to risk any danger by not awaring of what’s happening in the territory of this industrial complex which closely tied to the Russian Army. Still, they came up fruitless. Nothing out of ordinary was detected. And yet, the repeat of the sound goes on...pushing a pressure the androids can feel on their shoulders. With their highly enhanced sensory, they are expected to be more effective than mere humans.

          At first, the humans were suspecting illegal or criminal activity committed by their own kind; someone might be trying to steal something they were supposed to keep their hands off. The sound was the result from them having complication with transporting whatever valuable they had their eyes on, which the majority of those in this shipyard are military and mechanical equipment that weigh far more than a single person could handle. 

          However, the naval androids are very much skeptical.

          They know the physical capability of their ‘weak’ human companions. Consider how short each time the burst of sound lasts, it’s almost impossible to be human’s activity. 

          Humans’ reactions and movement, even for a reflex in case of life-threatening situation, couldn’t be that quick.

          No, they don’t suspect certain type of paranormal activity. Being a pure creation of science, they most of the time refuse to pay attention to such absurdity. On the other hand, actually...the target of their suspicion is their own kind. But who? By approval from the managerial division, the human looking AIs organize a rotation of night watchmen to assist human counterpart securing their common area.

        For tonight, it’s a turn of Marshal Ustinov. The gentle Atlant moans as his companion for the night tosses him a solid dark jacket to exchange his typical foggy white kosovorotka. Such interaction through voice summons a chide from two permanent residents of the shipyard, TK-17 and TK-20, who meet up with him prior the routine.

          “C’mon, Stasik. Night watch means you’re supposed to blend in with the environment. Not standing out like a ghost!” The ‘shark’ with fiery personality barks. Severstal gives an agreeing nod while using a softer stance to approach his colleague, “For now, give me your uniform shirt. Too bad this night is clear. If we are in a night when fog prevails then I don’t doubt your kosovorotka can be of advantage…”

          “...Thanks for reminding me why I hate this white kosovorotka, Seva. Ughhhh….” The shorter surface ship android swaps to put on a jacket these siblings pair occasionally wear, realizing how difference their sizes are from one’s another. “Just...wow. I’m aware my height is 7 centimeters shorter than you guys but feeling how much room there is in this jacket...man, I’m such a shrimp compared to you.”

          “Shrimp with sixteen anti-ship missiles...you have to be a shrimp from hell, my friend.” In an attempt to make a joke, somehow it seems Arkhangelsk’s remark falls flat of achieving that. Through the darkness where even their enhanced vision can’t see farther than five meters without night vision mode on, the fifth shark can see Stasik gives him a weak smile. His own younger brother simply makes a scratch head gesture in response. “By the way! Let’s head out!! Make sure you don’t let anything at all go through. If you do I’ll punch the light out of you, Seva!”

           Just as that burst from angry shark concludes, they hear IT. The sound...that curiously rusty, metallic-y movement of something. It’s just a short wave then stops. Standing at the wharf close to the ‘western gate’ of the shipyard where the artificial canal connecting Sevmash to the White Sea located, to which the ‘addition’ who isn’t supposed to be patrolling offers to help guarding, the three androids look at each other.

          Irritated, the large submarine android with reddish blond hair huffs, “It better not be any one of us androids doing ridiculous shit in hiding because of embarrassment or whatever. Man if it turns out to be one of the tugboats…”

          Defeated and hopeless by his brother’s hot-temper, the youngest of project 941 merely shakes his head. “I know this is too heavy of a burden I’m asking you, Stasik. But please, don’t let Miha murder someone - android or human alike.

          “I know...try to restrain yourself, Miha. I understand I’m practically a stranger here, but I don’t think Ms. Beleshkina will be pleased if somehow you draw the police’s attention by turning this place to a crime scene.” If that persuasion didn’t come from the second Atlant but Severstal, TK-17 might have punched the light haired shark instantly for using the name of his beloved ‘Mother’ as a condition. True to the unusual nature of the ‘Akula’ stock, he concedes to the reasoning by his Ukrainian-born friend. Given up on the urge to win, the fierce android whose temperament is rather hellish despite having ‘angel’ name motions for his companion to begin their patrol. Taking the cue, accompanies by silence Severstal steps toward the appointed area he will take responsibility of.

          All of them hope that they can solve this mystery without ruckus.

I remember running. My heart racing, breath heavy. Losing my footing. Falling. 

I woke up with a panging headache, rubbing the sleep from my eyes groggily. It was still dark, and my throat felt hot and irritated. I exhale deeply, as if doing so would release the tension in my chest, and would suddenly make everything okay. It didn’t. 

I pulled myself up- I was a bit sore, and my ankle hurt, but it was manageable. I mumbled a thoughtless swear, and wiped the sweat from my bare shoulders. I was on a run-down mattress on the ground, a somewhat damp towel on my forehead and ankle. I put them aside, looking around. The air was cool and pleasant, but the air was tainted, as if thick clouds of dust were clogging my breath. 

I saw a slight shift in the corner of my eyes, and noticed Chelsey, sitting on the sill of the open window, legs dangling out. The moon’s dull light left most of him obscured, but I could tell he seemed rather calm, as opposed to the tenseness I’d become so used to. We looked to be at a countryside, with a few stray trees and overgrown fields being most of the view. He noticed me, glancing shortly in my direction, and I got up, cracking my neck. 

My first urge was to use the restroom- but, seeing Chelsey there, in such an odd state of peace, I figure as soon as I headed out we’d be back on our way for the rest of the day. I approached him and, as he made room for me beside him, carefully hang my legs outside the window as well. I looked down, legs dangling beside his- the ground seemed further from my legs than I had expected, and I looked away, afraid to make myself sick. 

Chelsey was silent, but his lips were slightly parted- I suddenly become aware of the taste of morning in my mouth. My hands felt dry. I looked towards him, then away, turning my face towards the half-moon illuminating the sky, stars speckling the atmosphere like freckles. I returned my eyes to his face. The stars seemed to reflect perfectly in his eyes. 

I wanted to say something. I felt like I should say something. But I was silent, just watching him, his eyes analyzing the stars as if they were his future. In some way, I suppose they were. 

If he hadn’t said anything then, I think I’d’ve spent the rest of my life watching him, blankly, a deer in headlights, except the headlights were his face and I was a dumbfounded romantic. “You alright, Neo?” The words lacked their normal sarcastic undertone, and he looked towards me now, tilting his head. His hair was down in a tangled mess, and I realize this is the first time he hasn’t had it tied up in front of me. 

I looked down, then back up, fixing my eyes on the moon.

I needed to say something. My voice was weak, dry, I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. I was at a loss for words and I didn’t know what he wanted, what I wanted, what I needed to do. He was still looking at me, blankly, worried. My heart was beating faster now. Louder. The pounding in my head grew rythmic, dull. My heart beat faster, and suddenly I was afraid he knew, that he heard my heart beating. I said the only thing I knew to, abruptly and incongruently. \

“Can you hear it?”

I did a mental facepalm, and he tilted his head once more. “I don’t hear anything.”

I got up with a sigh, hiding the warmth in my face. Since when was he like this? And since when did I feel so nervous around him? I left the room, silent, feeling his eyes tear a hole in my back. 

This is stupid. I’m stupid. I can’t believe myself. 

But there was no way to take it back, and now was the start of a new day.

          Each year when new conscript sailors arrive at the Pacific Fleet’s HQ in Vladivostok, they receive a series of warnings and instructions as how they should blend in with the usual happenings and expectations around the fleet. Normally, these new faces to some degree often aware of the existence of warship androids deployed for the missions to protect the country and national interest. It’s a general knowledge to anyone who spends any period of time being servicemen in the army. Not just the Pacific Fleet, all other four fleets as well possess various numbers of naval androids in service…

          ...What they don’t know though - is the ‘special case’ that only materializes in this easternmost fleet alone.

          They have been warned that being conscripts means that they have no business trying to order the androids around. Even for the fact that androids are usually instructed to yield to humans, this isn’t the privilege covered by the fact that conscripts are human. If anything, sometimes androids instead have the authority to order these conscript around, being more senior in ranks and know ‘the work’ thoroughly.

          So for conscripts...if somehow they come across two androids quarrel, especially if both of them are in the white officer uniform and one of them has reddish blond hair, that’s it. They are ordered to stay away as far as they can, for trying to intervene will only result in them being ‘collateral damage’ of this usual fighting.

          And they adhere to that instruction dutifully, which explains why the human passersby of the ongoing scene strictly divert their attention to anything else but what is exactly happening at the rows of locker.

          There standing two androids of the same project - 1155 Fregat. Their main duty isn’t to defeat fellow surface ship, yet at this moment that may very well be the objective inside Shaposhnikov’s inorganic brain, judging from the death glare he’s giving his supposed sibling. Less than three meters apart, another figure in the white officer uniform, additionally wearing a tiring expression is the lone project 1155 android originated from Saint Petersburg. Admiral Tributs, widely known as ‘Vovka’ among the other androids, casts a side way glance to the inanimate piece of metal - the likely collateral damage victim. Without the cap on to hide his expression unlike ‘Boryushka’, he mumbles with disheartening tone of voice, “Well? What are you going to accuse me of making your life miserable again?”

          He already knows the answer clearly; each time he coincidentally runs into this hardheaded younger brother of his, Shaposhnikov always gets ridiculously upset. The four surviving Fregat androids are assigned the same row of lockers and the ‘big brother of Kaliningrad linage’ wants his gone.

          Maximum grumpiness can be detected through voice of the android who usually spotted with a hat on, “All of the time...just why do you have to come pick whatever you want the same time as I do?”

          See? Anything he does just bound to make Boryushka angry. The Fregat android whose birthdate puts him three years older directs his eyes down to the floor, looking straight may infuriate the already annoyed android of the same project further.

          “If so, how about...next time you radio me when you’re here and that the poor me will know to stay away until you’re done? I’m not a psychic, I can’t detect you without equipping radar and indoor even.”

           Of the number around a half dozen men who move about along the corridor, a few of them shaken with a start when out of nowhere there is a loud bang of two metallic objects slamming into each other. The right palm of android with pennant number 543 now lay on top of the meter-height row of lockers, being forcefully slammed on the thinner metal surface just a second ago. Tributs looks around, as if to make sure that the mortal human personnel know what is up and offers a quick apologetic look. Once his gray eyes settle on his ’opponent’ once more, Shaposhnikov’s expression is showing that he’s ready to escalate this pointlessly mild situation into full blown civil war of the 1155 class...again.

          At this second, the reddish blond haired android's intensity looks nearly identical to a Siberian tiger about to pounce on its prey.

          “Don’t think so highly of yourself! You never deserve that much of my time!!” ...Yet, he ‘kindly’ wastes quite an amount of time confronting him like this.

          The owner of pennant number 564 slightly twitches the corner of his mouth. Stemming from a mere fact that he was ‘born’ in a different shipyard, Shaposhnikov always comes up with the most unreasonable things to alienate him even after over a quarter century. Again, he spares a brief scan at the lockers; just how much this pitiful, defenseless metal will have to endure Boryushka’s rage today? Perhaps it’s weird from human’s point of view that he feels sympathy toward lifeless object. But being constructed from pieces of metallic parts, the very same type of element that these lockers are made of, ‘Vovka’ can’t help except feeling a strange need to protect the piece of furniture. More abuse from his supposed younger brother and the fleet probably need to spend an unnecessary fund replacing it...again.

          “Hey, Boryushka. Whatever drives you mad, at least don’t take it out on the lockers, will you?” He’s trying to act more like the oldest brother everyone except the one confronting him expects him to, though it’s really straining Tributs’ system to let all the taunting slip past.

          What reaction in response to that statement is a banging smash as another heavy slap lands on the helpless object for another time. “This stupid locker certainly has something to do with it! I want your---”

          Abruptly, that shouting rant unexpectedly stops the moment there is a soft ‘clack’ escaping the solid door of the locker. Shaposhnikov moves his attention to his ‘victim’, seemingly intrigued by a certain thing. Removing his hand from the locker top part reveals a dent from his aggressive doing to the once smooth surface. “Can you hear that?”

          Just like that, he simply shrugs away his fury completely. However, Tributs’ focus is more on the well-being of the locker than whatever curious sound that just made its presence. Hence he just continues to scold Shaposhnikov for his selfishly destructive habit, “There! The locker is dent! Again, you and your---”

          His preaching is instantly halted by a roar from the ‘Kaliningrad tiger’, “Shut up! I asked you a question! If you don’t intend to answer then don’t bother me!!”

          A low, irritating growl escapes from Tributs as he obediently, somewhat, allows the Fregat with reddish blond hair shifts his concentration to the locker. Staring intensely, those dagger gray eyes swiftly search for the location where that suspicious sound originated before settling at the prime suspect - Panteleyev’s locker. A new sound emerges, as the ‘big brother’ of the Pacific Fregats selects metallic keys from his collection. ‘Vovka’ by now is painted with a surprise expression on his face, “Don’t tell me that...when did you even..?”

          “None of your business.” He brushes off his rival’s concern with a short, decisive phrase. Soon the metal door gives in to the command from the key and unveils exactly what Shaposhnikov suspects it to be hiding.

          A stash of their youngest brother’s unhealthy addiction, just exactly what this strict ‘Marshal’ always looks out for to get rid. Bravo. Apparently, that ‘clacking’ sound caused by a paper box of snack falling off from the rows they were neatly arranged into.

          In disbelief, the android who until a half minute ago was the main target in Shaposhnikov’s eyes looks on as his cap-wearing counterpart entirely ignores him as if he doesn’t exist, channeling all attention to the hidden treasure of the youngest Fregat buried in his own locker. From where he stands, the Leningrad-born Fregat can see various junk food packages being taken out - Glico Collon, Koala’s March, Japanese cup ramen, rice crackers, and several boxes of Pocky…

          One would believe this is a locker belongs to an elementary school child than a warfare android.

          “Alright, that’s it.” With Shaposhnikov announces the conclusion of his ‘raid’, Tributs leans down to look at the inner side of his little brother's personal locker one more time. All the edible contents are gone. He straightens his body and gives a doubtful look to his ‘partner’ in the campaign to persuade Yurka to quit his unhealthy eating habit.

          “Don’t you think you go too far? Yurka…”

          “MY own brother, my responsibility. I decide what is best for my brother, an outsider like you just stay off.” In an absolute authoritarian style, the oldest surviving Kaliningrad-born Fregat barks at his nemesis before departing the scene. This turn of event undoubtedly floors the reddish brown haired Fregat, who notices that Shaposhnikov didn’t even bother covering the evidence of his ‘unlawful’ raid, leaving the locker door wide open.

          “What in the...what am I supposed to do here?” Now alone, Tributs grumbles to the situation. He doesn’t have the key to secure his youngest brother’s locker, and contacting him to come to his locker to acknowledge what happens will likely upset his beloved Yurka. A certain consequence he can predict though, is that their Yurka is definitely going to throw tantrum at this.

           “And you always get mad at me for ‘stealing’ Yurka, but you yourself keep doing this. Why do you even wonder how on earth Yurka likes me better than you?”

Lucien sat on the piano bench next to Nico, watching his fingers fly across the glossy keys as he played snippets of  his own rendition of Franz Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz No. 1. He gazed with awe as Nico plays the piece with ease, adding his own dynamics into it with his unique style. His body shook as he played notes that hit the keys hard, his arms flailed off to his sides at the keys near the ends, but his fingers danced across the keys as if they were waltzing themselves. He hit one last chord, letting the sound linger through the air as he kept his hands still on the keys. With a puff of air he lets go of the keys, leaving his hands in the air for a few seconds before dropping them on his sides. He turned his head towards Lucien with a grin.

“That was amazing Nico!” Lucien exclaimed, clapping. “You know, I think you should hold a concert someday. I’m sure people would love it!”

Nico sighed, smiling. “Ahh, that would be fun,” he started, “but I doubt people would like how I play.”

“Why do you say so? I like how you play!” Lucien responded, looking at Nico with a curious look in his eyes.

“Well,” Nico said, shrugging, “For one, I’m sure you’ve noticed but, I don’t really like to follow the scores to a T. I play the notes, yes, but I don’t follow the little allegros and pianos and fortes, all the such. I play it how I want it to sound, how the piece really feels to me, ya know?” He looked down at the keys, still wearing his faint smile, as his strokes one of the keys in front of him. 

“Well, maybe people wouldn’t notice if you changed it up, just a little bit?”

“Oh, people will notice, Lucien,” Nico said, turning to look at him. “Those ears, they’ve been trained to hear the pieces played out exactly as it says. One misstep and they’ll consider that a disgrace.” Nico tilts his head up, letting out a whoosh of air. “The classical music world is really brutal, haha.”

Lucien puts his hand to his chin, becoming deep in thought. “How about… maybe you could create your own pieces and perform those?”

“Oh...oh! That sounds fun! But… would people be interested in original works like mine?”

“I’m sure there will be!” Lucien replies, smiling. “You’ve already… got yourself a fan right here...I- I’m sure you’ll get a lot more. People are interested in many different things, there’s bound to be some interested in a unique talent like yours.”

Nico reached out to ruffle Lucien’s hair as he gazed at him tenderly. “Aww, you’re too sweet, ya know?!” Lucien tried to dodge it but he was no match for Nico’s huge hand as it messed up his neatly placed hair.

Nico stopped suddenly, coming up with an idea, which shown on his face as his eyes widened slightly. “Maybe,” he said with a cheeky grin, “if you sing when I play, there’ll be a lot of interest!”

“H-huh!?” Lucien gaped. “Me? Sing? What-”

“Yes! It’ll be great, believe me! We’ve done a couple of those before, you can make up some random lyrics or something to my pieces. We’ll polish them up and perform them. It’ll be a hit!” Nico wrapped his arm around Lucien’s shoulders, tugging him towards himself as he got more excited about his idea.

“Picture it now,” Nico said, raising his other arm in front of them in a slow, sweeping motion, “You and me, on a large stage, performing in front of a full house. We’ll have about… five or six pieces, or whatever amount we’ll need. It’ll be deathly quiet, they’ll never know what to expect! Or rather, they’re gonna expect… the same old, same old pieces they’re been hearing for years and years. Then BAM, one chord in and they’ll be blown away! And one you open your mouth, they’ll be hooked!

“Ahh! Their breaths will be hitched in their throats! They’ll be confused, so very confused, but they’ll love it. I know they will! Once we’re done, there’s gonna be a few seconds of silence. Our masterpieces will sink into their skulls. Oh, imagine it; Can you hear it now, Lucien?! One by one they’ll start to applaud, and they’ll stand up and clap, clap, clap for us! Us! Oh this is great!”

Lucien couldn't help but laugh in amusement. “You’ve definitely got so confident all of a sudden.”

“It’s all thanks to you, I must say,” Nico said, hugging Lucien tighter, “Five minutes ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of playing regular pieces in front of anyone else, but now! I believe the two of us would make a very great team.”

Nico lets go of Lucien’s shoulders and stretches his arms upwards, doing simple hand motions to loosen up his wrists and fingers. He presses the palms of his hands together, letting out an audible breath of air through his nose. He hovers his hands above the keys and plays a couple of warm up chords. He smiles at Lucien with a gleam of inspiration in his eyes.

“Well, are you ready to make beautiful music with me?”

                   Today it's unusually crowded in my office. On an ordinary day, I'm usually left alone to handle the paperwork and other tasks which require my attention as the flagship of Northern Fleet. However, I gladly welcome this atmosphere for a change. It has been planned for a couple of months ahead and I'm only happy to cooperate with Stasik's plan. After all, he understands the details best...

                   In recent years, some other fleets had welcomed new members; the Steregushchiy corvettes in the Baltic Fleet, the Buyan corvettes in the Caspian Flotilla. For us in the northernmost fleet, our first reinforcement of surface ship will be arriving soon...

                   And the occasion incites a tsunami of excitement among our older fleet members, Stasik himself includes. Of course as the flagship, I'm delighted to welcome more colleague...or...

                   ...to be correct, someone with valuable experiences from the past, something that has become rarer and rarer this day.

                   The crackling static noise of radio communication breaks the relatively silent state in my office. The ‘crew’ perk up as Stasik presses the button to check in with Chilo, whom we placed outside high up the building roof for the little 'recon' task, despite his usual job being fighter jet. "Oh hey, he's here, Stasik! I can't believe what I see here...Vseva is running to his older brother like a little boy running after seeing his father arrives to pick him up from nursery!"

                   Bless our Su-33 for his vivid description of the scene before him. Voronezh is laughing so hard Tula needs stop his typical minute long laughter with a smack on shoulder. A couple of others chuckling quietly, again includes Stasik himself. Chilo’s energetic voice comes to the rescue, reporting the happening outside where we can’t observe on our own.

                   “He...that’s Voronezh cracking up again? Well, tell him to finish it before anything! Hmm...from what I can see here, this Kulakov guy seems to be super serious. I don’t think he’ll like it if Voronezh laughs in his presence, but you guys who arrived here before 1990 should know that well? Unless this seriousness is a change that occured from his modernization…”

                   “Nope, you’re not wrong, Chilo. He’s always been serious and reserved, as far as I can remember since 1986.” My secretary who also doubled as substitute older brother figure assures our spy.

                   Behind my mentor who is the sole another cruiser besides myself, the trio of Sevmash-born submarines - Tula, Kareliya and Voronezh are eager to have fun with the ‘preparation’ we’ve secretly set. I watch them chatting with envy; they know something that I don’t about this Fregat who is the second oldest of the entire project. It seemed that we had been within sight of each other but I wasn’t aware of him back then when I left Saint Petersburg in 1998.

                   What interests me the most, is the fact that he used to serve alongside my eldest brother Kirov.

                   “Is Tula there?” Comes the inquiry that seems completely random from the radio. When our fleet’s very own ‘White Atlant’ confirms his presence, the sole member of our fleet who can fly faster than the sound gives a warning. “I don’t know whether Vseva’s older brother is going to mention something about Kareliya’s face. Best be safe...I still recall how he almost pounded half of our fleet to death last year!”

                   With a groan, the youngest Delfin who caught the chance to meet Kulakov during his initial deployment in late 80’s mumbles something about how Sidor is holding a grudge against him. I find myself nod in agreement with the statement originated from another building down the street toward the waterfront.

                   “Please restaint yourself, Kareliya. I understand this topic frustrates you but please do not take aggressive response on Kulakov, if he may innocently inquire about it.” To which the SSBN with light brown hair readily obeys, “Yes, Boss. I’ll refrain from it. I promise.”

                   “Aiya, Aiya----” True to his Far East origin which surrounded by East Asian countries, our Su-33’s signature exclamation always catches us off guard. Just by how unfamiliar it sounds to our ears alone is enough to successfully catch our attention. “Vseva is having a hard time stalling his older brother. I guess he’s the no-nonsense, right to the point type? Anyway, He’s heading straight to the HQ building--- get ready! It doesn’t look like you guys will have much time before he barges in. I’ll give two or three minutes for him to rid the armaments and equipment then he should be right at Petya’s office door. Well, guess my task ends here, I’ll get back down the second he gets into the building and out of my sight...go for it, guys!”

                   What a pity. I ponder to myself...I’m sure Severomorsk...or Vseva as we have been calling him for years, would want to spend more time reconnecting with an older brother he hasn’t seen for almost two decades. Especially...now that this ‘Vice-Admiral Kulakov’ has become the eldest brother of class, which is inevitably as Udaloy had passed on a few years earlier.

                   As Chilo disconnects the communication, there is a bit of commotion in the space between the door and in front of my wooden desk. I lean forward and watch them arranging their positions in amusement. Kosek is thrusted to the closest distance from the door, being that he’s rather small he won’t stand out too much. Then Stasik and Voronezh cramp behind him, trying to conceal their 181 centimeters tall bodies as much as Kosek’s tiny 165 centimeters height can ‘hide’ them. The other side which will be obscured from the vision when the door opens, the two Delfin brothers are getting ready according to the plan. They plan to stand a just farther from the door then surprise their old comrade right on the first step he lays into my office.

                   Only a little over a minute, we hear the approaching footsteps. Accompanying the sound under responsibility of gravity, we also hear our younger Fregat colleague who tries desperately to buy more time for us. Their advance halts, a few exchanges of words are heard. I compose myself, he is supposed to see me the first thing when he steps into this room. I must not let the clue out...although I almost feel guilty for the unexpected turn of event he’s going to encounter so soon…

                   A couple of knocks on the door materialize, “Apologies for my disturbance, sir. Vice-Admiral Kulakov, could I have the permission to enter, sir?”

                   “Yes, you may enter,” my voice shows no irregularity, or if there is, I suspect Kulakov wouldn’t know the difference. Or so I hope...here goes nothing.

                   The glimpse I catch of his face as the door moves away from blocking his presence...immediately there is a question inside me just how much his stern appearance resembles that of my brother Kirov? I never saw Kirov, only learning of him from what Stasik and other older androids who served in the same period my eldest brother was the flagship of this fleet told me.

                   I’ve let my guard down, I stare at him more intensely than I’m supposed to be doing. With him knowing Kirov personally for years...will he...take my ‘inappropriate’ reaction as the sign of being unbecoming for a member of the same ‘Orlan’ project as Kirov?

                   “Greetings, sir. Please excuse my intrusion...mt name is Vice-admiral Kulakov. I’ve been moder-”

                   Pop! Pop! Pop! POP!!

                   Rapid salvo of party poppers ruins it all - both for Kulakov’s chance to make first impression and my inner reflection. I apply pressure on my facial structure not to shift my facial expression as Kulakov looks in bewilderment against the countless flying tiny sparkling particles with the ‘welcome crew’ surround him and yell, “Welcome back, Nikasha!!”

                   Behind our ‘guest of honor’, I can see Severomorsk peaks past the door frame - possibly crossing fingers whether his older brother will get angry at him for luring him into this ‘trap’. However, the first one who actually turns target Kulakov deems responsible for the entire scheme...well, I can’t say he gets the wrong person. He seems to know Stasik well enough to head straight to him.

                   “Just WHAT do you think you’re doing here, Stasik! This is such shameful, utterly disrespectful thing to do in our flagship’s presence!”

                   “Relax, Nikasha...this is not the Soviet era anymore. We’re no longer that  formal…” To assist my surrogate older brother convince the older Fregat, I raise up and softly emphasize Stasik’s point, “Vice-admiral Kulakov, please be at ease. This plan to surprise you went through my permission, therefore, I’m partially taking the blame if you find the actions inappropriate, sir.”

                   My humble response floors him. He certainly never expects to be addressed with ‘sir’ by a flagship, but to me, he deserves a respect for being a veteran fleet member. As the second oldest warship presented, my secretary is certainly at ease renewing his casual interactions toward Kulakov as if their near twenty years of not seeing each other didn’t actually happen. He laughs and gives the more serious Fregat a wide smile, “See? I told you! But fine, if you still want to chew me, I’ll let you do that to your heart’s content later.”

                   The stranger whom I’m not as familiar with as everyone else in my office spares him a slight intimidating glance. “I’ll get you for this, just wait…” he chides quietly before turning his attention me once again.

                   “Severomorsk, please come in.” I invite the younger Fregat to join us. When Vseva is standing next to his brother, I continue with the formality for a short period, “Again, I must apologize for the commotion that interrupted your introduction. As the flagship, I’m delighted to welcome you back to this fleet. I’m sure your experience with be a valuable asset to us. Please kindly give us guidance, as many of us are still young, being commissioned only less than twenty years with no experience of frequent missions..”

                   “Not at all, sir. I may be commissioned since the early 80’s but the 19 years I spent being inactive shouldn’t be put into consideration. In comparison, I’m certain many of the younger androids are more deserved to be considered veterans than myself…” He looks genuinely uncomfortable...and I’m quite at lost of a method to handle this type of attitude, especially coming from someone I have yet to understand and older than me.

                   “Permission to speak, sir,” our trustworthy Ka-27 android who started serving in the Navy around the same year as Kulakov steps up, drawing attention from the returnee to himself. A wave of relief washes over my system - Kosek must know Kulakov very well, having intensely cooperated for ASW missions during the height of the Cold War.

                   “Nikasha, it’s great to see you again. I won’t blame you for this sense of being inferior from being away since 1991 - it’s nothing wrong on your part. But you’re wrong to think younger kids will deem you ‘useless’. You have been modernized thoroughly and now your combat capability is up par with younger androids. Do you think those younger androids don’t care about you? You’re dead wrong there, comrade. The kids are looking forward to meet you - you only see our bunch of old faces here because the young guys think it’s rude to throw surprise at you when they’re practically strangers to you. Hold your head high, Nikasha. Your status within our fleet nowadays isn’t as insignificant as you think it is.”

                   God bless Kosek for his way with words, Kulakov is visibly less tense after hearing the explanation...even just a bit. My head gives a small nod in approval. He hasn’t yet realized his own significant...and I can’t blame him for that. After all, the small celebration part is just a really tiny bit of the surprise we have in store for him. And he will understand why none of the younger androids would dare disregarding him...soon.

feat. Yuros and Skye

As soon as he stepped into the familiar back alley bar, Yuros felt the last of his tension leave his shoulders as they dropped by his sides. He exhaled through his nose as he felt the bass reverberate through his body. He made his way to his favorite spot on the bar table in the back, and smiled as he locked eyes with his favorite “bartender”.

Skye made her way over to Yuros, cocktail shaker in hand. Her lips were curled up in her usual smirk-smile hybrid, her eye makeup made her lashes seem longer and her blue eyes more sultry. As Yuros sat down on the stool, she leaned over on the table and rested her arms upon it. 

“Well well,” she said, an amused tone in her voice, “look who finally showed up.” 

Yuros grinned. “Sorry I'm late princess, the boys at work held me back.”

Skye rolled her eyes playfully at the affectionate term. “Why, they didn’t wanna let you go?”

“Heh, sort of. My team and I just wrapped up our latest case, you’ll see it on the news tonight. It’s a happy ending for all so we had some spare time on our hands, y’know?”

A woman from the other end of the table called over at Skye wondering where her drink was, so Skye went to her and poured the contents of the cocktail shaker into a fancy glass, then added the necessary extras to decorate it. She handed over the drink to her and turned away towards the row of alcohols. She poured a couple of them into the shaker and closed it before going back to Yuros. “That sounds great,” she replied, continuing their conversation. “I’m taking it that you’ll be free tomorrow, then?”

“Ah, I dunno. Hopefully,” he chuckled, “either that or I can go in later. I’m just glad I’m able to get drunk tonight.”

“Don’t get too drunk, Mister Detective,” she teased, wagging her finger a couple times at him.

“That’s not what you should say to a customer at a bar like this, darlin’” He teased back, stretching his arm out to show off the crowd behind him.

Skye shook her head, still wearing her smile as she grabbed a new glass near her. She put ice in it and set it in front of Yuros, and opened the shaker. A brightly colored liquid fell into the glass in a swirling motion, maneuvering itself through the ice cubes. Skye added a matching paper umbrella to the glass and pushed it towards him.

“For you, on me.”

Yuros took the glass and stared at the drink, then downed half of it. “It’s sweet,” he started,”but- ahh I felt that!” he finished as he felt a spice in the back of his throat. “It’s really good, wow.”

“Came up with it myself, I knew you’d like it. Think of it as a celebratory drink from me, since you seem to have some time tonight, to enjoy yourself…” She winked at him as she finished her sentence, letting it trail off and disappear within the chatter in the room.

 Yuros picked up on her hidden meaning and laughed. “If you’re that thirsty, why don’t you drink that bottle behind you,” he joked, and Skye playfully hit his arm.

“I’m not in the mood for alcohol tonight,” she replied, “I rather have a little… somethin’ else, I’m sure you know.”

He reached out to her and caught a lock of her hair between his fingers, not taking his eyes off hers. “Behave for me, and who knows- maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The wheels of the train went round and round.

She awoke and the dream slid away...

The wheels of the train went...

Julias eyes widened and she looked around. She was sitting in a train compartment – two large benches, upholstered in red, faced each-other with a tiny table inbetween, and a group of pre-teen children in identical dark gray schoolrobes were in the process of stirring awake.

How the bloody hell had she gotten there from her hospital bed?!

Okay. Okay.

Act natural, she told herself. Don't freak out. You've got a gap in your memory, or perhaps you're dreaming. In either way, you don't know where you are so don't cause suspicion until you've reviewed your situation.

Julia did a quick mental check. Two working hands, which was good. No binder, which would've been bad if there had been anything to hide. She appeared to be the same age as the other kids – maybe ten or eleven, wearing identical schoolrobes. Glance at her reflection in the window revealed shoulder-length blonde hair and features which, although juvenile, didn't EXACTLY register as those she'd had at that age, more like results of guesswork from someone who'd never seen a childhood photo of her...and outside, on the other side of the glass the steeping hills of highlands rolled by in evening light.

As the girls gaze traveled back to her fellow travelers Julia noticed that they were also glancing around in an alarmed manner whilst trying their best not to show how confused they were. And then it clicked in place - a familiar eyecolor here, a birthmark there. These weren't some random children she was stuck with.

The only one whom she instantly recognized was the kid sitting on the opposite bench. A stocky pale youth, with gray hair and strong cheekbones, his tie askew, expression as fed up and sour as if he'd been forced to chew on lemons all day. They regarded one-another for a moment, before the girl dared inquire: „...Samson?“

The boy rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm: „No, I'm Alice,“ and pointed at his gray hair. None had hair quite like Daniel Samson Clarke did.

There was a collective sigh of relief as the others let down their guards, having received the needed confirmation that, against all expectations, they were still among their own.

„Henry?“ came a shaky question, from a small sickly-looking brown-haired girl, staring at her in disbelief

„Melodie?“ she guessed back

„No, it's...it's me, Margaret, actually,“ she just kept staring „Henry, are you a...girl?“

„Ugh, yeah. I couldn't guess why,“ Julia replied, blushing, and showed off a pair of tiny outstretched hands „Look though! I have two arms again!“ She declared victoriously, as if apparent gender change was not a big deal compared to having a healthy body once more. She let her gaze wander to the compartments next occupant

„Hamm- ughm, General?“ she guessed, purely by process of elimination for the youth appeared nothing like her old boss had. For starters, the General Montgomery Hammond she knew didn't have a round face nor ears that looked like they might've flapped off of their own accord if startled. Nor would The General have been tightly clasping what looked like some sort of a conductors' baton.

„Correct, Newman,“ he replied in a high-pitched childs' voice, using Julias' assumed name „Does anyone in here know what is going on?“ Julia and Margaret looked at one another, both equally uncertain, before Julia made an attempt to deliver his observations:

„Well, sir...we woke up as children, but – as is evident from me – not in bodies identical to what we would really have looked like at that age. It's not time travel, but someones' educated guess at what we should look like in our given roles, like back when we were sent to Wyderia, which suggests the same perpetrators. The interior of the train seems mostly contemporary and I'd say that the landscape is distinctly Scottish, so this could still be our own world or a copy of it. Since clothes appear to be schoolrobes I would assume that we are heading for a field trip somewhere.“

„Or to a boarding school of some sort.“

„Or that, yes.“

„Music school perhaps...?“ muttered Margaret, having pulled out a thin „conductors baton“ of her own. Julia checked her belt at that, and found that she had one as well. They all did, each ones' unique with varying designs and lengths.

„We...need to find the others.“

„Sit tight, they're on their way,“ called a blonde kid who MUST have been Samuel (for no-one else could blend into the background this seamlessly), to the surprise of everyone who hadn't noticed him in the compartment, peering out into the corridor by pressing his face against the door.

The door was slid open by the leader of a second group of kids and Julia could recognize him instantly as Robert Clarke. Roberts' resemblance to his son had become striking with the elimination of their age gap. Same short nose, same hairline and cheekbones that were no longer covered up by age-induced wrinkles and obesity. In fact there was little that connected Mr. Clarke to the elderly gentleman that Julia had always known him as. If anything he looked like how she would've imagined Beckett to have appeared as a youth, apart from a pair of smart-looking spectacles perched atop his nose and a pale complexion hinting at days spent reading indoors.

He was accompanied by four more children, whom Julia identified by process of elimination as Alice, James, Melodie and Raymond Maxwell, the latter whom started laughing uncontrollably upon noticing Julias' long hair and skirt.

„Oh, good, everyone is here,“ said the little Mr. Clarke joyfully, making a point of ignoring Maxwells outburst. The newcomers pressed themselves into the already tight compartment, with Alice sliding the door closed for privacy. „It looks like there's a lot of questions to be answered. In order to figure out who's behind our...sudden relocation...I would first have to ask you all what's the last thing you remember before waking up here."

"There's no need for that, since it's obvious that you or your wife are behind this once again," The General said, giving the Mr. Clarke a stern look „So, what are we here for?“

Mr. Clarke sighed, not bothering to deny it, and pulled out a slim little book from under his schoolrobes (Why wasn't Julia surprised - he'd "spawned" with guidance books during their time in Wyderia as well) and opened it in the middle, showing off a peculiar sketch. A triangle, within which lay a circle, both cut in half by a straight line „A trio of powerful artefacts...“

Julia frowned and tilted herself to read the words on the cover.

The Tales of Beedle The Bard

[3.05.2018 9:08:48] Cliodna: Find someone to GM that setting for me. :D

[3.05.2018 9:09:15] GM: next stop in timetravel - potter school

[3.05.2018 9:10:11] Cliodna: "Julia Wright...Gryffindor!.......................Henry Newman Slytherin."

[3.05.2018 9:10:12] Cliodna: "Have fun explaining that one to people."

[3.05.2018 9:10:19] GM: lololol

[3.05.2018 9:10:48] GM: ive never been more tempted to add this to the game

[3.05.2018 9:11:04] Cliodna: Seriously? XD

[3.05.2018 9:11:07] GM: yup

[3.05.2018 9:11:30] GM: for lols and fun

[3.05.2018 9:11:32] Cliodna: "Alice Evans Hufflepuff."

[3.05.2018 9:11:36] GM: totes

[3.05.2018 9:11:40] GM: she would hate me forever

[3.05.2018 9:16:54] GM: then again sorting hat choices might give too much on npcs

[3.05.2018 9:17:22] Cliodna: Just everyone. Hammond, Margaret, me, Clarke. All being little 11-year olds snots first time in Hogwarts.

[5.05.2018 14:59:08] Cliodna: And Samson would be in Gryffindor and still an asshole. XD

[5.05.2018 14:59:14] Cliodna: I can just imagine him going about like

[5.05.2018 15:01:05] Cliodna: 

"Daniel Samson Clarke, put out that cigarette!“

"Feck off, I do what I want."

"10 points from Gryffindor!"

"Shove your points up your-."

"50 points from Gryffindor!!!"

[5.05.2018 15:01:09] Cliodna: Just not giving a shit. XD

[5.05.2018 15:01:53] Cliodna: Ooh Margaret could be an actual werewolf again. :P

[5.05.2018 15:02:09] Cliodna: Though she doesn't have a sufficiently meaningful name.

[5.05.2018 15:02:25] GM: :D :D :D

[5.05.2018 15:08:41] Cliodna: Tbh Samson's the only one who'd fit the setting name-wise.

[5.05.2018 15:10:30] Cliodna: Margaret and the like would have to be renamed to, idk, Ulfedin Mac Tíre or something

[5.05.2018 15:11:48] GM: you really want that au dont you