Chương 30: Commander

"Monica? How did you even get down here?" Lance asked, smiling, tearing off another scrap of his burnt, shredded coat. The woman turned toward him, masking the anger radiating off her.

"Maliard picked up some interference, and I was the closest one to respond. Although getting here was a workout!" Both of them looked at the hole in the center of the room, unable to gauge how deep it went.

"She actually dug all the way here from the forest? Is she part mole or something?" He couldn't help trying to merge his commander with the image of such a cute creature. Monica's expression went flat, looking at him with a mix of severity and sadness.

"You just thought something mean, didn't you?" Lance hesitated, settling for looking away.

"Well, no... I..." Monica sighed, turning toward Angel, who hadn't moved an inch since she'd appeared.

"It's rude to ignore a question." Monica looked him up and down with a cold, dark expression. Angel let out a long sigh as he met her gaze.

"I was waiting for your little reunion to end. I'm here to erase every trace of the terminal behind you, and Mr Klint is one of those traces." A pool of darkness wrapped around Monica's ankles, though she stayed unfazed. Angel pointed a finger at her, getting ready to snap it. The instant his fingers moved, a volley of dark spears tore through the ground under his target's feet, followed by a burst of gunfire, but Angel looked stunned, almost confused.

The hand he'd just snapped had vanished, along with his entire arm.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." Monica whispered from behind him, holding up the mass of shadow that had been Angel's right arm a moment ago. The mass shot out of Monica's hands, trying to reconnect itself to its owner's shoulder. She tightened her grip, yanking Angel toward her, then drove one of the metal plates on her knuckles straight into his face. The impact rang out with force, sending him flying into the wall.

"That hurt more than expected." Angel was completely covered in slick, shifting shadow that crawled across his skin. His arm was slowly regaining its shape. The part of his face that had taken the hit was reduced to a twisted mass of deep black. A few seconds later, it was back to normal.

"Judging by your age, I'm guessing you're Angel Meris? Am I right?" Monica asked, flicking the drops of shadow off her fingers where they'd gotten stuck.

"Correct. I'm here as an emissary for Changeant. I have no intention of dragging this into a fight with you." He answered, straightening his shirt, despite it being completely torn and filthy. Monica stayed silent, watching him with that same blankness, which was starting to terrify Lance.

"That's Monica?" He murmured, for some reason unable to look away from her, her expression dim and weighted with a frightening sense of authority. The Frequency in the room hadn't changed at all in that moment, but he was the only one able to sense the sheer density of the flow surrounding Monica.

"You think you have a chance against me?" Monica asked, shrugging her shoulders.

"If I actually committed to it, perhaps. But engaging in a duel wasn't part of my orders." The whole room grew heavy, as if coated in that same substance covering Angel.

"I'm afraid I can't bring Lance Klint in for questioning while you're here, but if..." His skull shattered under Monica's kick, spraying black droplets in every direction. She wiped her hand clean, stepping away from Angel's motionless body.

"And I'm afraid I'm done listening to you ramble." She pulled off the metal plate, completely dented from the impact, and started walking toward Lance, smiling this time. Suddenly, a shard shattered against her suit, leaving a mark on the black fabric. Another was buried in the back of her leg. He had to stop a barb with his palm, the same one that had punched through his hand, aimed straight at her face. Angel's headless body got back to its feet, swaying and shaking unsettlingly.

All the shadow swarmed into the severed neck, forming a large sphere where his head should be.

"Definitely an unfortunate inconvenience." A voice, muffled almost beyond recognition, came from the trembling black mass. The body's hand plunged into the sphere, grabbing something. A moment later, the whole mask was ripped away, revealing Angel's face, locked permanently in that gloomy, exhausted expression.

"He... Regenerated?" Lance was stunned." Can a Meta really survive without a head?!" Angel made sure his cranium was properly back in place before snapping his fingers together. The floor beneath him turned dark and soft, like a bog, with no way of telling how deep it went. He slowly began sinking into it, eyes on Monica.

"I hope we meet again soon, perhaps under different instructions." His voice, muffled by the sludge, reached their ears like a discordant echo before fading away entirely. Monica sighed, pulling the needles out of her skin and uniform.

"Lance! You're bleeding a lot!" She exclaimed, immediately running toward the boy, pulling at the remains of his coat from every direction. Lance tried to peel her off, pushing her away with little success. Monica's hands ran along his arm, then down to his sides.

"I'M FINE!" With everything he had, he grabbed her shoulders, shoving her away in a panic. Monica let out a confused yelp as he flung her around like a rag.

"Stop... Please..." She murmured, immediately turning pale before collapsing to the floor, clutching her stomach. Lance snapped back to himself, looking at Monica with confusion as she squirmed on the floor like an eel. Despite her dazed expression and flushed face, Lance felt a wave of guilt and helped her back up. After a moment, her color returned to normal, and she stared straight into his eyes before grabbing his collar and shaking him in turn.

"WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT! I HAVE CHRONIC NAUSEA, YOU KNOW!" Lance tried to apologize or show some remorse, but his superior's violent shaking made it impossible. Monica finally stopped, wiping a few thin tears off her eyelids before letting go of him.

"Sorry..." Lance murmured, a thin trail of drool running down his lip. Monica stroked his hair, the way someone might pet a small animal." Can she change personality at will?" She quickly noticed the distress on the boy's face, unable to meet her eyes, and forced the corners of her lips up into a weak smile.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that. I tend to let that side of me out a bit too much." She let go, stepping away from him, staring at the hole she'd dug.

"I didn't mean to offend you..." Lance clenched his fists, as though regretting that he'd let that impression slip out.

"It's just that you usually carry yourself like a big sister, so it's hard to believe you're actually the Commander." He smiled warmly at her. Despite being covered in ash, oil, and blood, his face managed to convey genuine affection. Monica smiled as she turned away.

"You and Lucas are the only ones who treat me like that..." She crossed her arms behind her back, sighing.

"I never felt like I was meant to be the Commander. I was chosen purely by circumstance, not because I was the smartest or the strongest..." Her posture stiffened as she spoke, as though she'd frozen in place.

"... But everyone needs someone who can be a symbol of security, and I just want to be that... For everyone's sake." One of her hands started twisting at a strand of hair, trembling nervously.

"Bluette was... Better than me in every way. I try to imitate her, but it hurts knowing I'm just a poor copy of the original, so when I fight, all the frustration and resentment over this whole farce surfaces and..." The lock of hair wound around her finger started pulling taut, almost violently, as if she were trying to rip it out.

"Remember what I said? If you don't want to talk, then don't, but..."

"You can drop that act with me." Lance grabbed her finger, stopping her from pulling any further. Monica flinched, keeping her eyes lowered.

"I met Monica Net, not Bluette Oudin or the Commander of NOIR. To me, you're just Monica." He let go as he spoke, trying not to meet her gaze.

"I won't speak badly of someone I never met, who I know matters to all of you, but you don't need to live in her shadow. Maybe even the others would like to see you act differently." He kept walking as he spoke, Monica following behind.

"You might be the Commander, the one carrying the will of every member of the agency, but before any of that, you're Monica. You're more than a title or a performance. You're a person, and you deserve to be treated like one." He stopped retreating, watching her bend down right in front of him." Damn it! I spoke too much again! Is she angry now?!"

"You remembered..." She smiled, lunging at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, swinging around him as he tried to shake her off. Her strength was way beyond anything Lance had expected.

"You and Jeannette are the best thing I could ask for!" Her grip tightened even more, turning Lance's face an unpleasant shade of purple.

"SORRY!" She screamed the moment she realized Lance had stopped breathing right in front of her, releasing him immediately.

"Glad... To hear it..." He managed, between the desperate gulps of air his body was forcing on him. Monica apologized over and over, bowing her head like a machine, before speaking again.

"What happened in here?" Monica's eyes settled on the heap of molten metal and char that the room beyond the golden door had become. The statue lay shattered on the ground, consumed by flame. She looked around, studying the half-melted remains scattered across the cracked floor.

"Maliard and I found a complex under the Institute and decided to look into it. I got down here and ended up fighting some rude guys in red, with gears all over their faces." Lance polished his second pair of glasses, since the previous pair had been reduced to a pile of glass shards.

"Guys with long red jackets, vests, and unsettling dark masks covered in gears?" Monica traced an oval over her own face, as though covering it. He didn't answer, handing her the fragment he'd kept in his pocket, fortunately still intact.

"This is one of the Machinamentum masks! What were they doing here?" Monica murmured, holding the fragment between her hands and examining it carefully.

"Wouldn't it be a good idea to tell me who they are? Considering they shot and electrocuted me!" Lance joked, pointing out the numerous burn marks across the remains of his clothes.

"Right..." Monica answered flatly, after clicking her tongue.

"And there's Monica again..." Lance felt a wave of relief at her cluelessness, chasing away every trace of the anger that had followed her.

"They're a weapons manufacturer that funded Andimica's army during the war, or at least that's the front they put up. In reality, they operate as a research institute studying Metas, to be used as biological weapons, given that the horrors of the conflict caused an exponential rise in the number of positive subjects." Monica slipped into that formal, confidential tone of hers, which clashed badly with her faintly cheerful expression.

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"That's horrible." Lance frowned, imagining what might have happened if he'd been found by them instead of NOIR." Would I have been vivisected, immersed in acid, and other filth?" He shook his head, trying to chase away those smoke-like thoughts.

"Yeah, I know. Fortunately, NOIR and Machinamentum came to a tight non-aggression and confidentiality agreement. After the old chairman passed away, his daughter took over operations. She's a snake, but not cruel enough to break the agreement." She concluded, stretching out her arm with her hand.

"You know the chairwoman?" Lance asked, walking toward the hole.

"Long story. You know what happened at the Council of Saint-Lumiere, right?" Monica shot back, fiddling with her watch before turning to look at him.

"That's where the leaders of the nations involved in the Conflict gathered." He answered fairly quickly, recalling what little he'd managed to study.

"Actually, the mayor of Bayork didn't attend. Instead, Christopher Ruther and Drell Worhol, the father of Machinamentum's current director, worked on the reconstruction." She gazed at the rocky roof.

"After the meeting, Drell died, leaving his daughter alone, without a mother or anyone else around. A lot of people think it was from natural causes, since he wasn't a Meta, but everything about his connections made me seriously doubt that." Monica dug through her past until she landed on the exact moment she'd first met her 'friend'. It was evening, and by some strange twist of fate, Bayork was dark and empty. After the war, the city had been swallowed entirely by darkness.

Construction sites, scaffolding, machinery, and ropes hung off every skeletal building, lit only by the red glow of Taumite. Monica sat on a row of bins in one of the alleys of the outer Boulevards.

"This is so boring! Why did you give me this awful job, Ross?" She sighed, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

"The city is all wobbly now that there is a giant crater!" She kicked a small and insignificant pebble, watching as he disappeared down the road.

"August and Maliard get all the interesting missions! And here I am, babysitting some building." She got down from her perch, kicking away a probably-spoiled can of tuna. The metallic clatter echoed ominously down the alley. She brushed off the black coat Lucas had lent her, then started walking inside. A drop of water landed on her forehead, immediately followed by a second. A downpour swept across the night, washing the trash through the alley.

Monica, disgusted, hurried away from the debris carried by the current, pulling her hood up." Monica, the recent disappearances of high-ranking guards and officers are doing far too much damage to the city's economy. I'd like you to look into it. Here are the coordinates." The image of Ross sipping his coffee while handing her the grayish ID card with the information returned to her, along with a nagging sense of embarrassment.

"Why on earth did I say yes to this?! It's even pouring out!" Stuck between annoyance and boredom, she crouched under a scaffold, keeping her eyes locked on her target: a small apartment building, its windows faintly glowing, painted in a grim shade of gray. Along the side facing the street, the scorch marks and bomb damage from a few years back were still visible.

"Meh, nothing's going to happen to some second-rate gang of criminals." She started to leave, until the violent crash of a window shattering echoed from the building. A man fell in front of her, thrown straight through a wall. In the chaos, amid dust and brick fragments, she caught sight of a black tentacle grabbing the man and dragging him back inside.

"FINALLY SOMETHING INTERESTING!" She smiled, darting through the rain toward the rubble. She dug her nails into the wall with force, climbing up to the window. Monica peeked inside, and all her excitement quickly turned into concern. Inside the room, lit by a faint oval lamp, the beds had been torn apart, and the wrecked chairs lay still alongside the terrified bodies of the criminals. Their black clothes were soaked in blood, their faces covered in cuts.

"The work of a Helspawn? No... The bodies are still intact." She climbed in through the window, sending shards of glass and wood clattering to the floor. She pressed her fingers to one of the corpses' jugulars, sensing a faint warmth beneath the pale skin. The wooden door burst open, losing a few planks and even its knob. A man in his forties stumbled into the room, clutching his mangled, bleeding side. His beard, though dark, carried streaks of deep red. In his hand, he gripped a sawed-off pump-action shotgun.

The tubing on the weapon was smeared with blood, too. His uniform matched the bodies on the floor.

"Help me! That woman's insane!" He shouted between groans of pain, completely ignoring the woman who'd just climbed in through the second-floor window.

"What do the guards say in a spot like this? Don't... Ah! Calm down and don't make any rash moves." Monica tried to approach him until dark vines emerged from the floor, followed by a shadowy female silhouette with long golden hair. The man, in the grip of delirium, fired two shots at the woman. The bullets ricocheted off, shattering against the walls.

"I won't let you run." A ghostly voice whispered. The shadow seized the man's head, dragging him through the floor of the room. Monica reached out a hand, only to meet cold ceramic tile.

"Damn it!" She slammed her foot down hard enough to collapse the entire floor below. Covered in dust and plaster, she ran toward the screams, dodging chairs and corpses. She tore through the door leading to the garden with brute force, sending wood and metal flying in every direction, landing in the cold, wet grass. The man's body lay on the ground, sprawled in a pool of blood. His chest had been punched straight through, right at the center, destroying his sternum.

Lying in the grass, a girl wrapped in a mix of black and white cloth, a torn, worn-out reddish scarf around her neck. She was gasping for breath, staring at her own hands. White, black, and lilac scars carved across her skin all the way up to her neck. Her blue eyes were ringed with a grim violet glow.

"It's not enough... It's not enough... It's not enough." She kept repeating, completely ignoring the figure of Monica standing in front of her. She breathed with difficulty, clawing at the back of her neck so hard she nearly drew blood.

"Can I help you?" Monica asked, fully aware of the situation she'd just walked into.

"A Meta, and in terrible shape too. This can't end well." Ignoring that thought, she held out her hand, immediately pulling it back the moment she noticed the ground beneath her get sliced open by a black mass shaped like a whip. Monica took a step back, keeping her eyes on the shadow that had risen from the ground. Looking closer, she noticed several similarities to the girl lying on the grass, from the shape of her face to her build.

"Are you her ability?" Monica asked, rubbing the rings on her thumbs together, sparking off violet and red electricity onto the grass, fortunately damp enough to keep it from catching fire. A heavy set of black metal plates with golden glints surfaced across her knuckles. At their center sat reddish spikes, crackling with electricity. The figure took a couple of steps forward before lashing out at incredible speed.

Monica grabbed the vine extending from the creature's palm and yanked it toward her with tremendous force.

"Stupid me for even asking." She muttered, lifting the shadow into the air. The cord went taut the moment Monica slammed it downward, but to her great surprise, her opponent had vanished.

"What?" She wondered, confused, blinking repeatedly, still gripping the cable as it slowly dissolved into the ground. Her legs were grabbed from below, dragging her violently across the entire garden, carving deep grooves into the dirt. The shadow resurfaced, gripping her throat and slamming her against the wall. Every muscle in her neck tensed at the touch of the dark hand, though it wasn't enough to wipe the smile off Monica's face.

Her electrified knuckle guard struck her attacker square in the side, sending it flying along with a thick cloud of crimson sparks and discharge.

"You really don't know how to treat a lady!" She cracked her wrist a few times, then started walking toward the shadow, motionless in the scorched ground.

"Using Stoikos would be risky. Better to end this here." The girl in front of her lay on the wet grass, groaning in pain. Her lips had begun to crack, and strange lilac patches were spreading across her pale skin. She started screaming, vomiting clots of blood. Tears streamed freely from her eyes.

"An overload?!" She rushed toward the body, cradling the girl's head in her arms. She was breathing with difficulty, the wounds beginning to spread infection through her flesh. The woman's whole body trembled, as though gripped by violent chills. Monica reached into her pocket, pulling out a small white box marked with a series of Ns and a red cross. She removed the cap, revealing the thin needle at the tip.

She looked at the syringe for a second before turning her attention back to the Meta's dying face cradled in her arms. She shook her head and pressed the needle firmly against the girl's neck, injecting the compound instantly. The woman tried to scream, but her mouth got blocked by Monica's arm. Her teeth dug into the flesh, trying to shield herself from the searing pain tearing through her body.

"Just hold on a little longer..." Monica groaned, careful not to put too much pressure on her arm. After a few minutes, the teeth let go, leaving marks on her skin. The scars had begun to recede, and her breathing returned to a steady rhythm. Her eyes returned to their natural color. Monica let herself sink onto the grass, sighing from exhaustion.

"That was close..." She smiled, meeting the pale, confused face of the girl, disoriented and exhausted.

"Hey... what's your name?" Monica asked, holding her hand to calm her down. Her skin was cold and damp, still trembling. The girl looked at Monica in confusion, lingering on her gentle face, decorated with a smile so kind it almost looked goofy.

"Lexa... Worhol." Monica's expression flashed with shock before settling back into something neutral, almost mechanical.

"And that's how I met Lexa Worhol. More than a friend, let's say she owed me a favor." She finished telling the story, grabbing the edge of the hole with her hands, getting ready to drop down into it.

"So she is a Meta just like us?!" She nodded.

"She was in really bad shape when I found her! Way worse than you, at least..."

"So you were already this kind back then?" Lance smiled, stepping closer to her. Monica quickly looked away, staring into the darkness of the tunnel. She cleared her throat, masking her obvious happiness.

"What was in that room?" She asked, gesturing toward the now-extinguished pile of rubble.

"A massive... Computer? That's what you call them, right?" Lance answered, trying to recall all the specifications Maliard had listed off.

"Really?! Find anything interesting?" He remembered everything he'd seen down there perfectly well. Hidden in his pocket was the last surviving copy of all the data from the terminal, but he couldn't bring himself to mention it.

"Just some old project of the Ruther Institute. Changeant probably wanted to cause some trouble." He lied, against his own will, as though it really were the truth. Monica nodded, gesturing for him to come closer.

"Why the hell did I just lie..." He turned the detail over in his mind, the image of the small chip the computer had spat out fixed in his head. He got pulled out of his doubts by Monica, who grabbed his ankle.

"This'll be fun!" She smiled, dropping into the hole alongside him. Lance's screams faded into the earth as he slid down into the dark.