Ancient, medieval, modern, and contemporary.
Hands, swords, guns, and chemicals.
The ages of warfare once torn to sinew,
Only to join once mourning anew.
***
Jugram was seldom interested when walking into Rhodes Island's Training Rooms, analyzing every Operator as they trained without noticing him. The area that drew his attention the most was the shooting range, where utilizers of the crossbow and ranged weaponry continued to practice their art—that was until he had reached a certain section. More closed off compared to the rest, but still a public area.
To be precise, he was in the shooting range, hearing the cracking sounds of bullets being fired off from a gun—one he discerned to be a pistol based on its reverberating impact. He was proven right when taking the corner and seeing just who it was, which so happened to be that black-haired Feline yesterday.
Her gaze was trained, focused, a far cry from what he had been exposed to yesterday. What was once a fumbling cat who could barely utter a word without stuttering was a trained mercenary ready to deliver a firearm's ballistic judgement. Just as any Sternritter who were ailed by their own eccentricism—but who could abruptly change their mentality in battle—this girl could do the same.
To an extent.
"Marveling isn't it?" Theresa stood beside him, hands folded neatly over one another. "Precise targets, never once diverging from their aimed path. I take it you see great potential within her?"
Jugram side-eyed her. "As long as she—Jessica—abandons the meekness she is swallowed by," he whispered. "Then perhaps she could qualify as an adept Operator in my eyes." His attention shifted back to the cat.
Her firearm was tilted upward with a mechanical cadence, a blistering motion, a click, and the magazine fell out of its well. Before it had even reached the halfway point, a new loaded salvo was injected into the firearm's grip, readying it for another entourage of heated steel.
She was good.
But not good enough.
"I once heard the usage of firearms requires great skill," Jugram continued speaking in a low voice, hearing more breaching thunder fall out of the gun's maw. "How skilled is this girl?"
"Skill? Well, any Sankta would be able to replicate the same feat she does with relative ease." Theresa looked up, bobbing her head side-to-side rhythmically. "But... she isn't a Sankta. In spite of that, I believe the skill she displays is something astonishing—for someone who wasn't born to wield a firearm as Laterano's chosen would."
"I see." Jugram nodded. "Then there must be more competent options to choose amongst such Sankta." The word Sankta piqued his curiosity like the trigger of Jessica's fired gun. He knew they belonged to Laterano, but he wasn't quite sure what their racial features would be.
"No need to be so harsh," Theresa chided. "She's a tender age."
"The Feline is no less than 18 years-old," he clarified. "Besides, for people of a "tender" age, lacking discipline is a major defining characteristic."
Proving his point, Jessica attempted to flick the safety back on her pistol with the same practiced motion... only to misjudge it. The gun nearly slipped from her grasp. She caught it, barely, ears flattening as she stiffened, horror nearly overcoming her face.
Jugram tilted his head, as if to say: Look.
Theresa covered her mouth with a relenting smile. "Goodness, there it is."
Jessica glanced around frantically, and immediately froze up when seeing that she had an audience with her. There, she met the iron-blooded eyes of Jugram Haschwalth, unwavering as a steel wall. An anvil had been dropped on top of her at that very instance.
Her tail bristled with a jolt and she straightened up.
"...Uhm." Jessica swallowed. "H-hello, Dr. H-Haschwalth!" She remembered him, and the way she and her group had left a bad expression on their first day of meeting.
Jugram remained silent.
Jessica, not knowing what to say, immediately short-circuited. "I—I meant to do that." She screamed internally after—berating herself.
"Did you?" Jugram deftly said.
She nodded far too quickly for her own liking, being amply aware of body language to know she had socially murdered herself with the action.
Theresa nudged him playfully. "Oh, let her have this one."
Jugram closed his eyes, ignoring the ghost. "Then," he said, breathing out through his nose, "do it again."
Jessica froze. "...W-Wait, what?" She had to question when it had become winter inside Rhodes Island.
"If it was intentional, repeat it." Jugram gestured toward the gun.
Jessica turned pale, face bleached.
Theresa giggled. "My, how can you be so cruel?"
Jugram simply crossed his arms, watching as Jessica hesitantly glanced between him, her gun, and the floor. She deliberated whether dropping the weapon again would be more embarrassing than admitting fault to her burnt communication.
"Do you understand now?" Jugram flatly said, blocking his voice from the Feline with a rudimentary application of Reiatsu. "Meekness."
Theresa sighed wistfully. "You'd make a terrifying instructor."
Jugram didn't bother responding to that. Quilge Opie would be leagues more terrifying. The same rumored demon instructor who would work Quincies to their bare bones if they were held under his training camps.
Jessica, meanwhile, was too busy trying to figure out if she could somehow disappear into thin air. "I... I..." she stuttered.
"If you do not desire to repeat the action, then that is fine." He had already seen enough and proved his point to the ethereal body following him. "There—"
"I'll do it again!" Jessica finally relented, yelling. "I can... do it again..." She repeated, the line somewhat altered from its previous one, tears welling up inside her eyes.
Theresa glanced at her with an empathetic expression.
"...If that is so, Operator Jessica." Jugram jerked his head to the targets. "Don't fail this time." Present in the Feline's eyes, the brief glimmer of courage was adequate in swaying him.
"Y-yes sir!" As if on command, Jessica replied with a professional locution, body straightening up as if to raise a soldier.
"Are you still teasing her?" Theresa turned to Jugram, a flash of disapproval coming across her delicate face. "There's no need to become such a bully. What will Amiya think of you?"
"You'll see." Jugram watched as the Feline flicked the safety of the gun off, loading another magazine with quivering hands. It was slow, as the affliction of anxiety and fear had overloaded her senses.
...For now.
A thin thread of Reiatsu extended invisibly—only seen by him and a curious Theresa—toward Jessica. It attached to the Feline, coiling around her soul and provoking its buried contents. It was there the treasure had been reached, glitters of gold shining in the form of the most valued part of human anatomy; talent.
A fusillade of bullets briskly tore the air, emptying the entire magazine in seconds, an action which had left even the now-concentrated Jessica flabbergasted herself. Her mind drew a blank. She blinked, cat-like, lowering her pistol with her mouth agape. A power so abundant, it could bless and enhance those who were ordinary into flourishing prodigies. Nay, geniuses.
Jugram saw Lille Barro, sniper pointed with one hand, not even glancing at the targets with his Godborne eye. In a single nanosecond, all displaced and moving targets had been shot through with near-imperceptible speed—a literal instant in eternity. The Prophet of The Almighty, the Masterpiece Quincy; unrivaled in his prowess with the firearm.
A timer dinged, pulling her attention to it. "N-no way..." Her eyes quivered when staring at it, not knowing what to make of the new results. "A new record...? B-by this much?" The hands holding her firearm almost fell limp, her brain attempting to make sense of how she had been able to accomplish the feat. "A new record higher than every s-single person?!" Her fingers frantically scrolled through all the data results, head frantically glancing at every other recorded one.
It was clear. She was the highest ranking one out of all the public results.
Jugram could be heard clapping, satisfied. "Well done, Operator Jessica." The loud echoes brought him to the Feline's attention once again. "An excellent display of skill, but do not become complacent with where you stand. Complacency, after all, is an insidious predictor for stagnation."
"Uh... I..." Jessica's head geared back and forth between the timer and Jugram, mind becoming a jumbled mess. "T-thank you...?" Whether it was a fluke or not had completely escaped her. She attempted to recall the same feeling which had brought her the drive to obliterate her previous record, but she just... couldn't.
"A dastardly fellow you are," Theresa mused, shaking her head. "So joyously playing with hearts. Tell me, is this a hidden hobby I see?"
"I have no clue what you are talking about." Jugram turned away from her, remembering Ace saying something similar, ready to exit the Training Rooms.
He didn't make it far.
A lazy voice—playful as a fox—resounded. "Well, what do we have here?"
Jugram knew who she was. Operator Franka, and coming from just behind her flank was Operator Liskarm.
"Liskarm, Franka?" Jessica perked up, Feline ears fuzzling. "Did you see—"
Franka answered, "We saw alright!" She waltzed past Jugram as he stepped to the side, the brown-haired Vulpo placing her hands jubilantly on a bashful black-haired Feline. "Since when did you get so good, huh~?"
"A colorful bunch they are." Theresa whisked around Jugram's side, observing them warmly.
Jugram received a glance from Liskarm, two neutral expressions taking recognition of one another. That was all, before the Vouivre arrived to the side of Franka, the woman who was chafing at Jessica.
"It could have been a fluke." Liskarm played Devil's advocate. "There are plenty of variables that could have influenced the results. We won't know unless she does it again."
"Heh, you think so? I think Jessica here had an incentive to perform better, no?" Franka side-eyed Jugram. Blonde locks, beautiful, noble, and a definite prince-charming-esque figure.
"W-wha—?!" Jessica sputtered, but was immediately saved as the Sternritter Grandmaster spoke up for her.
"Incentives are a rather good mediator for success." Jugram off-handedly commented. "But I doubt incentive contributed to her showing beforehand."
"Oh?" Franka's ears fluttered up, mischievously. "How can you be so sure?" She asked, wondering where he would take it.
"Until Operator Jessica comes to a realization of what had led to her vast improvement..." Jugram drew out. "Then she can come to the conclusion herself."
Jessica looked downtrodden. "I... I have no idea."
"My point is made," Jugram said.
"No fun, you're one of those instructors," Franka dramatically joked.
"You have it all wrong." Jugram brushed her off. "I am not an instructor."
Liskarm interjected, "But wouldn't you say you were acting like one not too long ago?"
"By all means, my words were just suggestions." He could feel Theresa sit by a bench, watching the scene with content. "Unless Operator Jessica accomplishes the same feat consecutively, then she hasn't truly grown. Just as you have said, Operator Liskarm."
Liskarm nodded, acknowledged.
Franka bit the inside of her cheek, trying—and failing—to suppress a chuckle. The Vulpo gave another glance at Jessica, who was dying of embarrassment.
"Oh, this is too good," Franka murmured under her breath, barely audible to anyone but Jessica.
Jugram raised an eyebrow. What was so humorous?
Franka leaned closer to Liskarm, whispering with a barely contained grin, "I don't think he gets it."
Liskarm rolled her eyes. "Obviously."
"Still playing with hearts?" Theresa joined in, an entirely new undertone becoming present from what she had seen.
"It's not my place to say. Whatever they gossip about is not to my interest." Jugram would not let his focus waver. He turned back to the Blacksteel Operators. "I believe I should take my leave now. I expect to see you improve, Operator Jessica." He turned back. "Good day." He began making his exit.
Franka let out a serene hum. "Such a demanding man he is. No wonder Jessica's trying so hard."
"F-Franka, please stop—!" Jessica made a strangled sound, ears flattening as her tail curled in notification, only seen in those buried alive.
Jugram gave Franka a glance but said nothing, instead focusing his attention on Jessica. "Effort is the foundation of all progress. Continue refining your skills." He remembered reciting the line to a few Sternritters, most notably, the Bambies.
Liskarm sighed, shaking her head as Franka grinned at Jugram's departure. "Come on, Franka, let's go."
"Alright, alright," the Vulpo relented, releasing Jessica "Wouldn't wanna keep you from refining your skills, right, Jessica~?"
A crying cat could be heard.
***
"It's all just..." Theresa lingered, a ghostly shadow coming over her as she glanced outside. The barren world outside reflected in her eyes, the sun glaring its light in tandem. "So beautiful to see. The joy in people's hearts... the same could not be said for some, unfortunately."
The Balance demanded him to ask her what she had been alluding to, for her message to be decrypted. Even so, Jugram couldn't bring himself to partake in the act. An irritating weakness he felt. "Of course, the same can not be said for everybody."
"Then, it would be a blessing to spread it elsewhere, wouldn't you agree?" She followed him, floating as a ghost would. The Sarkaz seemed to enjoy floating around, despite being... in loose terms, dead.
"In a perfect world. Yes. In this world? No," Jugram glanced at the many labels stuck to Rhodes Island's walls. "Unfortunately."
"It may be an idealistic belief, but everybody needs something to drive them." Theresa followed his gaze, attempting to discern whatever caught his attention. "It's a shame that hate is the most driving factor of them all."
Jugram paused. "What do you believe a world without death would be like?" The question popped up in his mind, giving him a brief pause as he asked the woman.
"A world without death?" She looked thoughtful, a low hum escaping her glossy lips. "Well, I believe many enjoy and value their life because of the looming danger of death. There would be no reason to hate... there would be no reason to fear... and there would be no pain..."
He listened.
"...But would there be a reason to love? To be happy? There would be nothing for them to arise from. Ah... what a prospect you've proposed. I don't think you would be the last, nor the first." Theresa glanced at the blonde-haired man. "What brought you to bring this topic to light?"
"Nothing," he lied.
"Please, be more truthful." Theresa mirthlessly looked at him, a sullen look. "And was there a need to keep your abilities hidden to them?" She referred to the previous three in the Training Rooms
"You've seen how some have behaved with knowledge pertaining to my abilities," Jugram said. "It was not tame. That is also barring those who would wish to sully their hands with them. My life would be far more comfortable should they not come to light."
"It wouldn't be harmful to inform Jessica, would it?"
"It would have." He was firm. "Leaks in information and misconceptions are far more common than you may believe, and gossip walks together hand-in-hand with those two."
"Does this stem from a lack of trust?"
"It stems from certitude, one I am aware of. Operator Jessica would inform her allies one way or another, whether it be from self-pressure or pressure from others." Jugram remembered very well just how many rumors had flown around when a new Sternritter had been introduced to the Wandenreich. "That is cause for a wildfire to form, spreading uncontrollably—outside of my control."
"...So a lack of trust."
Jugram closed his eyes. "If you believe it to be that way, then there's no room for argument. See it as you will." He reopened them, guiding himself through the hallways.
"You need to trust others more."
"If they grant me their trust, then I will Balance it with my own."
"...Mmh." Theresa kept staring at him, wordlessly.
The rest of the walk was in silence.
***
"You know..." Franka's chortles eventually faded away, a half-lid overcoming her optics. "There's something strange about that Dr. Haschwalth. Won't you agree, Liskarm?"
"Can't lie, I do feel the same way." Liskarm shrugged. "Just can't put my finger on it." If she had to be honest, the first time she had seen him had already sent alarm bells ringing in her head. She could have also sworn his eyes looked different at some point.
"Is it because he's aloof?" Jessica asked.
Liskarm replied, "Distant, but at the same time, he overlooked your training, right? Was he curious?"
"I don't really know." Jessica frowned. "He just arrived a-and watched me."
"He's hiding something, that's for sure," Franka chimed in.
"Everybody hides something, Franka," Liskarm said.
"Eh, but how could Jessica do so well while he was watching?" she brought up. "Before you say anything, yeah, I know it could be a fluke."
Liskarm, who had her mouth open, closed it.
"Franka is right," Jessica spoke up, catching their attention. "O-on the first part... I actually felt strange when he was watching me—as if I would do a thousand times better..."
Franka smirked. "Oh? Is it—"
"N-no! Not incentive!" Jessica interrupted. "Not that again..." She placed both hands over her face.
"Alright, alright." The Vulpo sighed. "I'll stop it with the incentive thing." She glanced at Liskarm, who nodded affirmatively. "So... what is this about that strange feeling?"
"Well... it was like a small connection, and I felt like I could do things I wouldn't really... normally be able to do?" Jessica tilted her head, Feline ears twitching as she attempted to recall the feeling.
"...Like someone else was guiding you?" Liskarm said, snapping her fingers as if she had come to a realization. Franka shared the same sentiment, making an "ooh" expression.
Jessica hesitated, lowering her hands from her face. "N-not exactly, I did everything o-on my own, but just better."
Franka let out a thoughtful hum, flicking her tail. "Sounds like an Arts buff."
Jessica blinked.
"You know? The kind Support Casters do for their allies," Franka explained, gesturing with crossed arms. "Sharpening reaction time, enhancing strength, making Arts stronger. All that jazz."
Liskarm placed a hand over her mouth. "If that's the case, if he was using Arts, then I would have felt it. Did it feel like Arts to you, Jessica?"
Jessica's brows furrowed, bobbing her head in denial. "...So then, what was it?"
Franka grinned. "Ooh~ how mysterious."
They racked their brains to understand it, attempting to come to any conclusion.
Franka was the first to speak. "Maybe he's just got a really intense gaze."
Jessica groaned. "Franka—"
"Hey, hey, I'm serious!" The Vulpo chuckled. "Dr. Haschwalth. Tall. Blonde. Gorgeous."
"Not this again..." The Feline sagged her arms. She had almost become desensitized at the point she was at.
Liskarm, shook her head, unconvinced. "Enough with your teasing. It's definitely more than just making Jessica feel some sort of pressure—she doesn't do well under pressure—we've gone through this already."
Jessica agreed, but winced at the unintentional jab. "I... I think so too."
"Well, I've got an idea sparking up in this head." Franka sighed exaggeratedly. "What would you do without me?"
"...And that is?" Liskarm glanced at her.
"Let's see what happens next time, with a test." Franka grinned when receiving their looks. "That's right, we're testing it."
Jessica tensed. "T-test it?" She remembered the stern gaze of Dr. Haschwalth, prompting her cat ears to flatten in the memory.
Liskarm caught on. "You mean, have Jugram watch again and see if Jessica performs the same way?"
Franka gave her a wink. "Exactly. If it happens again, then we know for sure it wasn't a fluke. Who knows, maybe he'll use that mysterious—let's just call it 'performance-enhancing gaze'—again."
"B-but what if it doesn't?" Jessica looked between them, her ears twitching anxiously.
"Then we just move on," Franka said simply. "No harm in checking. All it requires is just asking him, and if he refuses, no harm in that either."
Jessica swallowed, looking down at her hands. She attempted to recall when she had fired her pistol, an overbearing familiarity she had never once felt before. To some degree, she almost felt like a completely different person; the most realized sense of herself.
"...Okay," she murmured. "Next time."
Franka patted her shoulder with a foxy grin. "That's the spirit."
***
Jugram stopped in his steps.
"Is something wrong?" Theresa glanced at him from the side.
"...I don't believe so."
"Your emotions betray you."
"I have other Operators to look over." Jugram brushed her off. "Ones to select. Save it for another time."
***
Night struck.
His room was scarce and barren. That was still the most common factor he had become used to ever since residing in Silbern. Compared to Silbern, his room in Rhodes Island still held the same smooth metallic sheen that reflected its luster, while Silbern—as Silbern was—possessed more materials that would be expected from a dorm room. Wood. White wood. Very, very, white wood.
He sat at his study desk, chair pulled back as he crossed his legs, pen in his right hand as his hand meticulously dashed through a blank piece of paper; and a computer in front of him that he had no use for. Each line was written in the style he was used to back during his duties as the Sternritter Grandmaster, a much more preferred activity than having to follow the structure of... paperwork.
Speaking of paperwork, the entire process had been a hassle—an utter waste of five minutes when he had been beckoned to fill in the pale sheets stationed at his newly-assigned office. For comparison's sake, his office work served not much for his benefit or learning experience after the first seven he had to go through. This one, however, the form he was writing; was much more productive for his goals.
Something of worth.
"What are you writing?" The voice of Theresa flowed to his ears, provoking his sense of response.
"Not of your concern," Jugram replied, pen never halting. "But you are free to look."
"How could it not be my concern?" She walked—floated—to his side, hovering over what he was writing. "I was a former member of..." Theresa stopped when seeing the paper in full "...This form of writing is peculiar." She sounded taken aback, eyes slightly widening.
Jugram did not care how she viewed his writing, and focused more on her previous words. "You were saying before?"
"Hm?" Theresa tilted her head. "Ah, that. Of course, I was a former member of Rhodes Island—Babel, to be more precise."
"Babel?" He stopped mid-writing, pen rolling a millimeter off his thumb and index finger. "Tell me more." The blonde-haired man had read a great assortment of literature back on Earth, and the word Babel was one that he could scrounge from his thousands of years of reading. Boredom needed to be passed over such a long-lasting period, after all.
"Babel, the epithet Rhodes Island had once undertaken. Did you know? The landship itself is also called 'Rhodes Island.' It seems that name has encompassed the organization after Babel's fall," Theresa explained, a speck of sorrow becoming known.
"Babel... Babel..." Jugram repeated. The city that housed the tower meant to breach Heaven. "Surprisingly, or should it be unsurprising to you, the term Babel exists with some significance back in my world."
"Oh?"
His pen dashed across the paper he was writing on once more. "It was a tale passed down to the modern age, albeit obscured and diluted due to time." His handwriting remained immaculate. "Although some familiarity can be drawn to its contemporary counterpart, they are still distinct in content."
"I wouldn't mind hearing its origin and story in full. There's not much to do as a wandering spirit anyway," Theresa sat on a seat at the side of Jugram's desk—placed there due to being out of utility.
Jugram tapped his pen against the paper twice. "Very well."
"The true origins of the Tower of Babel goes as follows: A group of Echt Quincies, bloated with aspirations, had sought to separate themselves from the Lichtreich—from His Majesty—The Almighty." Jugram's tone became indiscernible near the end. "To establish a new country, a new culture, and a new belief. All wholly separated from their previous world."
"Were they dissatisfied with the banner they stood under?" she asked, intrigue growing. "The Lichtreich?"
"Very much so, that was about the reason given by the folktale for their act," he confirmed. "For that, they paid the price. The Almighty smote them when they had established their new home, extirpating all their dreams and aspirations from the world; leaving no survivors."
"..."
"It was a cautionary tale concerning Quincy hubris, meant to bleed into their thoughts. I'm sure you can gouge out the underlying meaning." Jugram paused.
"That the Lichreich is perfection, and all means of separation or distinction from the empire would be hubris itself."
"Correct."
"How cruel..."
"It was written to instill loyalty in the ranks of the Lichtreich, for the express purpose of keeping the nation unified," Jugram further clarified.
Theresa was disquieted, before glancing at him, scrutiny apparent. "Then, what do you think of the story?"
"It's a story," Jugram said.
"...Is that it?"
"Beyond the questionable effectiveness? Yes, it's simply a story."
"This Lichtreich... was it an empire of great proportions?"
"Of course, but even it fell." Jugram breathed in.
"There's more to it than that." Theresa could feel it.
"Well, you'd be correct. It was reconstituted as the Wandenreich, once more ruled by His Majesty."
"Now you've left me wondering so much." Theresa wisped.
Jugam set his pen down, waiting with a side-eye.
"This, 'His Majesty' as you refer to... what he was like?"
"God," he interrupted.
"God?"
"Yes." He did not elaborate any further, picking up his pen.
He continued to write.
***
The next dawn came.
The location was Kal'tsit's office. Jugram had received a message to come to it for discussion pertaining to his "Arts." It seemed she had finally come around to reading it, and had beckoned him to her abode, but he had other plans, one he had prepared from last night. The agreement was simple over digital texts utilizing PRTS, that she would hear what he was to provide before they began their discussion.
Jugram's march thrummed, his gaze was locked, his stance was without fault; a man far beyond the perception of age. Beneath those blue orbs of his, displaying a far different story from his "pure" face, was something Kal'tsit was having a difficult time discerning. Nothing about him matched Rhodes Island, nothing about him matched Babel, and nothing about him matched the Doctor.
Theresa trailed behind, gazing into the office room with nostalgia prevalent. "Kal'tsit hasn't changed much. Brooding over coffee, analyzing everything with no qualms... Might I add, you've left quite an impression on her, Jugram. Both you and the Doctor."
Jugram made sure not to flick his gaze the spirit's way. He knew the Feline known as Kal'tsit would be able to read every reaction like a book, perceptive beyond human means, perhaps on the level of some Shinigamis. She was old, ancient, maybe even older than himself—it was purely instinct that he knew.
"Good evening, Doctor. I assume you have something to voice?" Kal'tsit's hand drifted to her coffee mug, fingers interlocking around it. "If that is the case, you are free to speak away." She took a sip of the coffee. Bitter, most likely black.
Jugram Haschwalth, bearing the moniker of Dr. Haschwalth responded in kind, "Good evening, Dr. Kal'tsit." His gaze surveyed the room, unabiding by any restrictions, analyzing with a near-mechanical twist. "I will make this brief."
A lie.
Kal'tsit finished the shot of coffee, lowering the mug. Her eyes did not narrow, and neither did they twitch, they remained perpetual as she watched the blonde-haired man reach into his white coat. A coat the Doctor never once wore, never once held proprietorship of, and certainly wasn't decorated with when placed inside the Sarcophagus.
Face in full display, it was disturbing for her to see after being exposed to his masked visor for as long as she lived. The anonymity was gone, the one she had grown accustomed to.
His hand eventually reached for what he needed from within the confines of that coat, the object rustling through the furred lining at the collar. It was a file, as equally white as his outfit, and he set it down on the desk. It produced a small flutter, the contents inside purposefully spilling out from the action, peeks of printed—no, self-indulgent hand written text leaking out.
She raised an eyebrow. "What is this?" It was a rhetorical question. She knew Dr. Haschwalth would respond in kind, because he had already promised to do so.
Jugram's hands traveled around his back in a habit of decorum, his gaze turned upwards if he were pondering the words edged at his lips, and steps slowly pacing across. "It's rather simple, so let me first begin with what had possessed me to fill in the contents of that file." Authoritatively, he traversed the room, aiming for the window.
Kal'tsit's fingers gripped her mug tighter, before releasing and setting it down. Brows furrowed like rolling hills, pushing the file aside and taking a glance at the front and foremost paper. She was immediately bombarded with small words. By small, she meant they were the equivalent of 3-to-4 point text on a digital doc, written in the most posh and luxurious cursive she had ever seen.
Pompous.
Unnecessary.
What was the purpose?
Jugram began, "The operation in Chernobog was a success, recovering and exfiltrating myself. The Operators sent in were preferably skilled, being able to follow basic commands, and kept themselves calm in escalating situations. The most notable ones were Dobermann, Ace, and Nearl—tell them they have my good vices."
Kal'tsit didn't speak a word, eyes scanning through the text en masse, taking in everything she could without a single hitch or hiccup. It was efficient.
"In addition, I don't believe it would be a travesty to include myself amongst them, taking lead and commanding them to safety, while also carrying my own portion of the load." Jugram came to a window in Kal'tsit's office, gazing off into the distance—a landscape littered with sundered rocks and marred earth. "There is a reason, after all, why the squadron was able to walk out with zero casualties."
"Scout's squad, then?" Kal'tsit asked, eyes breaking away from the first page.
"Separated from ours, with no method or means of communication, I believe there must have been some folly in the process. They were not even mentioned to me during our journey toward the exfiltration point." Jugram tapped his finger against the back of his palm. "By all means, in my eyes, they never existed, and thus out of my command—out of my responsibility. I don't believe I need to mention what the others have been postulating about my amnesia?"
"You sound just like him." Theresa's voice was softer, almost disappointed. "The one many once knew... the one Kal'tsit loathes."
He thinned his lips, shaking off the feeling given by her words.
"...Continue." Kal'tsit closed her eyes, turned back to the paper, and then reopened them. The contents so far were, in short, a more extended and comprehensive version of what Dr. Haschwalth had been pronouncing.
"Nonetheless—" There is was, the alteration in his tone, the more stern inflection in his voice, clipped and grafted. "—I believe they were..." he chose his words "...lacking."
"Under what pretense?" Kal'tsit lowered the file, finger dragging harshly along its back, eyes closing with patience, as much patience as she was willing to give to the blonde-haired man.
"A single opponent, Talulah of Reunion. That was all it took, a single confounding force to leave them on the brink of annihilation."
"It was an unpredicted variable. An unexpected flaw in the intelligence we had gathered on Reunion. I am willing to take the blame for it," Kal'tsit blankly responded, eyes concentrating more on the paper as she realized what it specifically was.
A request form.
"Keep in mind, Dr. Kal'tsit, it was one variable who they had come to face," Jugram reiterated, side-eyeing Kal'tsit. "Dobermann would have died. Ace would have died. Nearl would have died. Defender would have died. Medic would have died. Guard would have died. Amiya would have died."
"I agree with your sentiment, but you view this all as a game of numbers and logic," Theresa muttered. "They're not pieces on a board, Jugram." For once, her voice was sharpened.
"And so would the rest..." Kal'tsit took in a compact inhalation through her nose, before releasing—unnoticed—she wouldn't let it be noticed. She was steady and composed.
"Indeed, I believe you understand my point" He hummed. "So I have come to the conclusion that despite Rhodes Island not particularly leaning toward the purpose of militarization as they are hiding behind the mask of a pharmaceutical company..."
It was easily deducible, Kal'tsit wasn't surprised.
"That means we cannot amass a force which would designate ourselves as anything but a paramilitary organization. To be precise, this is a matter of quantity. To avert this, we must focus on quality," Jugram deduced. "Here is my proposition. A four-manned group, designated as an elite guard force under my jurisdiction." Jugram placed the hammer down, his words a wooden reverberation. "I will handle their salary with my own, I will provide them with the necessary supplies, with the necessary uniforms, and with the necessary training."
Kal'tsit could feel something curl around her chest, hand gripping the files starting to tighten—a fissuring crease forming.
"And I will hand select the Operators out of my own leisure. This will remedy the problem Rhodes Island has, and I will steer them with precision no different from a surgical blade" Jugram clapped his hands, the concluding statement coalescing with Kal'tsit's glaring eyes reaching the end portion of the written text. "I wish to name them..."
Theresa watched him closely, her expression shifting to a blank one. "You're walking the same path which destroyed him, and you don't even see it, do you?"
Jugram ignored her. He had to.
Then, the Doctor—Sternritter Grandmaster—finished his request:
"...The Schutzstaffel."
The four greatest holy Schrifts shall be rewritten.