Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Silver Wolf begins to suspect something is up, it’s right after the personification of a trash panda uses the power of the universe’s most dangerous entity to blow up a giant lizard, then gets knocked out by an old man with a cane. Never let it be said that a career of stellaron hunting isn’t entertaining, at the very least.

            Silver Wolf watches through the space station’s security cameras as the crew of the Astral Express pick themselves up after the battle against the Antimatter Legion’s Doomsday Beast. She’s nowhere near the station herself, of course – after implanting the stellaron into the host (as well as a quick stop to plant the seeds for her future acquisition of a certain aether cartridge), she’s wasted absolutely no time in withdrawing from the battlefield. She’s reclining in the back of the small, nondescript starship that’s been their ride to and from the space station. With Kafka at the wheel, Silver Wolf is filling her time by observing Elio’s latest investment.

            The host – Stelle, she seems to be calling herself? – is totally out of it after that conk on the head. The Astral Express crew gathers around her prone form, but it’s the tall red-haired one, Himeko, who finally takes action. She bends down and scoops Stelle up off the floor with surprising ease, tenderly cradling the unconscious girl in her arms. Stelle’s head is tucked gently into the crook of Himeko’s neck, and the older woman’s jacket is slightly draped over her body like a blanket. The slumbering stellaron host is then carefully carried onboard the Astral Express, where Silver Wolf loses sight of her. The whole sequence seems rather… motherly.

            And as soon as Silver Wolf has that thought, she feels a sudden ache in her heart.

            Well then.

            The rest of the crew are filing onto the train, but the security footage is swiftly forgotten in favor of something much more important: the fact that Silver Wolf does not have mommy issues. Nope. Definitely not. No chance.

            Mommy issues are for sad kids whose mothers beat them or abandoned them or something very dramatic and sad like that. And none of that has ever happened to Silver Wolf, has it? She had a mother, back on Punklorde. Her mother never hit her – in fact, it wasn’t often she touched Silver Wolf at all. And she didn’t abandon Silver Wolf – she was a constant presence, always off to the side, working on whatever new project had caught her attention. She was a good parent, never coddling Silver Wolf unnecessarily, giving her the space she needed to toughen up and grow into her own person. It was thanks to her that Silver Wolf became the fearsome hacker that she is. And when Silver Wolf’s ambitions grew beyond Punklorde, her mother didn’t cry or blubber or try to convince her to stay. The two of them exchanged a simple goodbye like adults, before parting and never looking back.

            Which is why, despite whatever strange emotional reaction Silver Wolf had to the way Himeko pulled Stelle close to her chest, Silver Wolf does not have mommy issues. She had a perfectly fine childhood, so there’s no reason she would have any such hang-ups. Any suggestion otherwise is, quite frankly, ridiculous. Silver Wolf is a master hacker with high scores in hundreds of online games, as well as the game called “life”. She’s pretty smart. She’d know if she had mommy issues.

. . .

            The feeling doesn’t pop up again until Silver Wolf is on Jarilo-VI, freezing her butt off for the purpose of spying on a woman who looks like she could be her older sister.

            She isn’t, though. But the two of them are linked.

            Silver Wolf first saw Bronya Rand’s face over a year ago, back when she first joined the Stellaron Hunters. She’d been toying with the idea of using her patented aether editing on her own body at the time, a delicate and risky process. Elio, not wanting to risk losing his latest recruit, saw fit to provide her with a few templates for her to model herself on to reduce the danger. The models were all people Elio had seen in his scripts – warriors, rulers, scholars, geniuses, and more – and Silver Wolf selected Bronya from the list. The new Supreme Guardian of Belobog may not even know she exists, but Silver Wolf owes Bronya quite a lot, in an indirect way. It’s thanks to her that Silver Wolf finally has a body that matches her true self.

            Silver Wolf technically isn’t here for Bronya specifically – she’s just here to scope out Belobog now that the Astral Express crew has left, in order to confirm that everything has gone according to Elio’s script. It has, of course, as it always does, which is why this side quest is a total waste of Silver Wolf’s time and talents. So it’s perfectly understandable that, while she’s perched on top of a ramshackle Underworld building uncomfortably far from any heat sources, her attention drifts to Bronya Rand.

            Now that she can see her in person, it’s apparent there are quite a lot of differences between them. Some are on purpose – Silver Wolf is quite a bit shorter, having always hated her old form’s height and gangly limbs. But there’s more subtle things, too. Bronya just carries herself in a different way, a proud, ramrod-straight march that tells Silver Wolf she’s never had to squeeze into a laundry chute to avoid a squad of IPC mercenaries. Even in the squalor of the Underworld, walking hand-in-hand with a dark-haired Wildfire warrior who was once her enemy, she has an aura about her that is unflappable.

            Silver Wolf hates her instantly.

            Bronya and Seele (was that what her name was?) quickly arrive at their destination – the clinic of local doctor Natasha Harrower. Natasha is already outside waiting for them. There’s an exchange of words that Silver Wolf can’t make out from so high up, before Natasha breaks into a warm smile that Silver Wolf can practically feel the energy of. Then Natasha pulls Bronya into a full-body hug, and when Seele scoffs a little, she pulls her in too.

            Silver Wolf unconsciously wraps her arms around herself. She tells herself it’s to ward off the cold DOT.

            She’s done her research – she knows this isn’t a first meeting, but a reunion between an orphan and a caretaker who had to say goodbye years ago, without either knowing why. It’s an emotional moment, which is probably why Silver Wolf’s heart feels like it’s being dragged down by iron weights. She’s just getting caught up in the emotion, that’s all.

            She eventually pulls her attention away from the trio and scampers off across the rooftops to the extraction point. All her thoughts are filled with stupid Bronya with her stupid mother figure and her stupid girlfriend and her stupid city of people that idolize her and her stupid mother figure. Silver Wolf doesn’t need any of that. If she ever feels down, she’ll just hang out with her A.I. friends that she created, or 100% another game, or bankrupt another trillionaire. That always makes her feels better.

            She’s fine. She’s absolutely fine, and this pain in her chest is nothing to be concerned with.

. . .

            One trip to Herta Space Station and 76 banned IPC accounts later, and the feeling reappears at the absolute worst time. Specifically, it reappears right when she’s smack-dab in the middle of infiltrating Pier Point to get her accounts back, and gets a status update from Elio confirming that Kafka has been captured onboard the Xianzhou Luofu.

            Intellectually, Silver Wolf knows that Kafka is incredibly capable, she has Blade there with her too, and Elio has foreseen the Luofu mission completed without incident. Also, Kafka is pretty annoying sometimes, so why does she even care? But she still can’t help but ponder what if scenarios where something goes wrong, and her senior Hunter is executed by a bunch of trigger-happy Cloud Knights, or killed by Sanctus Medicus disciples, or any other number of charming possibilities. It certainly doesn’t help that Silver Wolf has been hands-off for most of this script. If something does go wrong, there’s not a whole lot she can do from so far away. But still, it’s irrational to worry. Kafka’s got this.

            Unfortunately, Silver Wolf’s brain doesn’t seem to want to get with the program. Her mind is filled with images of the older woman in all sorts of peril, and her heart feels like it’s about to claw its way out of her chest, and it distracts her enough that what should have been a clean on-site hack gets noticed by some low-level intern who siccs security on her. They’re no match for her, of course, but there are a lot of them and they have big guns, so she elects to retreat to the nearest air vent to continue shredding firewalls in peace.

            She has to reposition fairly frequently to avoid anyone finding her again, so she gets her A.I. team to run some pre-made programs to break down the IPC’s cybersecurity while she occupies herself with crawling around the dusty vents. She can only imagine what her mother would say if she knew about this. She’d probably have a little chuckle at Silver Wolf’s rookie mistake, then tell her to clean the dirt off her outfit before getting anywhere near the carpet.

            A little ding! from her weapon interrupts her train of thought. The firewalls are down. She stops crawling to open of a holographic screen and quickly sift through the list of banned accounts. It doesn’t take long to locate the ones that belong to her, and from there it’s a simple matter to unban them and then stash the admin permissions for them in her own private server. This way, the only way for the IPC to re-ban her would be to physically destroy the account servers, which she highly doubts they’re going to be willing to do. Mission objective complete, it’s time for exfil.

            All it takes is generating some false positives on the motion detectors to distract security long enough to Silver Wolf to exit the building. Even so, she still doesn’t relax even as she stows away on an inter-planetary passenger transport and leaves Pier Point in the distance. The first time she allows herself to take a deep breath is when, curled up in the cargo hold amongst piles of suitcases, she gets a call from Kafka.

            She doesn’t even hesitate before answering, and the woman’s smirking face appears on a screen in front of her. “Hey, Wolfie~” she drawls lazily.

            “Kafka,” Silver Wolf responds. “What’s up?”

            “Well, I seem to have some free time now that Blade has sprung me, so I figured I’d check in and see how your mission at Pier Point is going.”

            Silver Wolf considers her options. She could lie and cover up her mistake, but Kafka would probably see right through her, and that would end up being even more embarrassing, wouldn’t it? “It didn’t go as smoothly as I wanted. I messed up a QTE and some NPC spotted me, so I ended up having to do a combat run instead of stealth,” she admits. “Still a walk in the park, though.”

            Anyone else would be unable to parse Silver Wolf’s speech, but Kafka just nods along. “As expected from our Wolfie. You’re the best of the best, after all.”

            Silver Wolf feels a little tingle in her cheeks at that. “Well, at least someone around here recognizes my talents,” she says.

            Kafka giggles at that. “Well, you have been on a roll lately. How about once we meet back up, I buy you a battle pass for one of your games? Consider it a reward for doing such a good job.”

            That makes Silver Wolf’s face flush like nobody’s business, and all she can do is hope that the limited light in the cargo hold is enough to hide it from Kafka. “W-well… I guess I’ll see you once you’re done on the Luofu?”

            “That’s right,” Kafka says. “Just got a few more things to finish up here, then we’re home free.”

            “Um, Kafka?” Silver Wolf starts, and all at once there are two different parts of her brain arguing over whether this is a terrible idea. Too bad her mouth is already moving. “I-I’m glad you got out alright.”

            “And I’m glad you’re alright too,” Kafka responds warmly. “See you soon, Wolfie.”

            The screen flickers out, and Silver Wolf leans her head back against a suitcase behind her, because by the Aeons that was mortifying. These strange feelings seem to be happening more and more often, and now they’re compromising her focus. There must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for this, and Silver Wolf is going to find it if it’s the last thing she does.

            In the meantime, she closes her eyes and looks forward to seeing Kafka again, completely secure in the knowledge that she absolutely, positively does not have mommy issues.

            Not even a chance.

Chapter Text

In theory, the Stellaron Hunters are a disciplined group of warriors, acting in perfect sync and united by their loyalty to their ultimate goal. They’re known throughout the universe for their ruthlessness and effectiveness, constantly staying on mission and always accomplishing their objectives without fail.

            In practice, however, Silver Wolf is a super cool rebel loner who does what she wants. So if what she wants to do is teach the chosen one who will decide the fate of the universe how to not suck at video games, then that’s just what she’s going to do.

            “No, that’s not a good character to use. Electro only works against Cryo if you follow it up with physical attacks. You’ll want a good Pyro DPS, don’t you have any of those?”

            “Mmm, let me see,” Stelle’s smooth voice comes through Silver Wolf’s headphones.

            With her game-mate searching through her character roster, Silver Wolf takes the opportunity to stretch a little and shake the tingles out of her legs. She’s in what she calls her ‘gamer lair’ (and what Kafka teases is her ‘bachelorette pad’), seated in her cushioned chair and facing her six monitors. The lights are off, but the blue, purple, and pink LEDs affixed to the wall provide more than enough illumination to see whatever she’s doing – which, currently, is waiting for Stelle to finish her character selection so they can go and fight one of the most annoying bosses in the game. Stelle needs its drops for a character she’s just pulled, and she’s been having trouble, so who better to teach her than the best gamer in the universe? “Stelle, are you ready?”

            Silver Wolf hears some rustling on the other end of the voice call – probably the blankets in Stelle’s room on board the Astral Express. Then Stelle answers, “Okay, will this setup work?”

            Silver Wolf scans Stelle’s character selection. She’s picked a shielder and a decent pyro DPS. Neither of them are meta, but they’ll do. “Yep, that works. Let’s do this.”

            Both her and Stelle’s characters dash into the boss arena, instantly triggering aggro. The battle is glorious, but short-lived. Even though Silver Wolf is playing on one of her alt accounts, her characters are still leveled enough that it only takes around a minute for the boss to go down. Still, it’s enough time for Stelle to get a handle on the boss’s mechanics, and Silver Wolf is fairly confident that her student can handle the fight on her own now.

            “Wow,” Stelle remarks as she collects the dead boss’s drops. “You made that look easy.”

            “Of course I did,” Silver Wolf says. “I’ve been playing this game since launch. You don’t get to my level of skill overnight.”

            Stelle chuckles. “Fair enough. I guess I’ve got a long way to go.”

            Silver Wolf feels a little twinge of – is that guilt? – in her chest, so she says, “You’re good at this, you’ll get there. Just gotta be patient, y’know?”

            “Right,” Stelle responds. “Thanks, mom.”

            “You’re wel—” is all Silver Wolf can get out before the weight of Stelle’s words hit her with the force of an Aurumaton Gatekeeper. Did Stelle just call her ‘mom’? Is she Stelle’s mother? Does Stelle see her that way? Does she owe child support? She can’t afford child support, she just emptied one of her bank accounts on a new gacha game! She can’t handle this! She’s too young to be a mother! She may not know exactly how old she is, because her own mother never really kept track of that sort of thing, but she’s probably around her early 20s, and that’s too young to be a mother! Besides, she’s not mature enough to raise a child, right? She spends money on gachas, for Aeons’ sakes!

            If Stelle can hear the steam coming out of Silver Wolf’s ears, she doesn’t remark upon it. “…Silver Wolf?” she murmurs. “You still there?”

            “Ah—yep, yeah, I’m still here,” Silver Wolf stammers.

            “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable there,” Stelle says. “It just… kinda slipped out.”

            “R-right.” A pause. “…Who’s the father?”

            “Umm… Kafka, I think?”

            Silver Wolf fidgets in her seat. “Right, stupid question.”

            Another pause. Stelle clears her throat. “So, um… were you there? When Kafka put the Stellaron in me?”

            “Yeah. You didn’t notice me?”

            “Not that much. Kafka was kind of hogging my attention, no offense.”

            “Ugh, that sounds like her,” Silver Wolf groans. “She’s always butting in and making everything about her. I can’t go a single day of gaming without her barging into my room and trying to make me go to a restaurant with her, or get to sleep early, or something like that. She’s all ‘Ohhh~ Wolfie, you’ve been in front of that screen all day. Don’t you want to come outside with me for a while?’ and stuff. It’s so annoying.”

            “…”

            “…Stelle?” Silver Wolf asks hesitantly.

            “She calls you ‘Wolfie’?”

            Silver Wolf’s cheeks start burning at record speed. “That’s the part you focus on?”

            “It’s adorable.”

            “It’s infuriating.”

            Stelle giggles. “It’s always nice to have a nickname.”

            “Most of your friends call you ‘trash panda’.”

            “And I wear that title with pride.”

            Silver Wolf puts and crosses her arms. “Whatever. Anyways, why do I get the parental role? Don’t you have what’s-her-face for that?”

            “Himeko,” Stelle corrects her. “And… it’s kind of hard to explain. She’s important to me, but…” she pauses, taking a breath. “You two are important to me too, in a different way. I literally wouldn’t be here without you. But at the same time, I don’t really know anything about you. Which really sucks, honestly? And I get that I have this whole destiny, and you guys aren’t supposed to be interfering where you’re not supposed to…”

            “Because Elio would kill us,” Silver Wolf finishes.

            “Who’s Elio?”

            Crap. “Uhh… forget I said that.”

            “Okay!” Stelle says cheerfully. “So anyways… I don’t really think ‘mom’ or ‘dad’ are really the right words, honestly? For you guys or for Himeko. There’s just this nebulous feeling of… I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

            Silver Wolf is a little uncomfortable with how familar that feeling sounds, but voicing that to Stelle would make her even more uncomfortable, so instead she just says, “Huh. Guess I’ll take your word for it.”

            “Alright,” Stelle begins, cracking her knuckles. Silver Wolf hears it loud and clear over her headphones. It’s the second-worst sound she’s ever heard, topped only by the next thing Stelle says: “So let’s get back to you and Kafka.”

            Silver Wolf wishes she was a computer, just so she’d have cooling fans for these exact situations. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’re coworkers.”

            “Do you have a nickname for her too?”

            “Her contact name on my phone is ‘The Woman’, if that counts.”

            “Lame. So is she more of a mother, or a mommy?”

            “You’re gross. I’m hanging up now.”

            “You can silence me, but you can’t silence the tru—” blip! The call ends.

            Silver Wolf sighs, turns off the game, and leans back in her chair. Why is every call she takes these days this mortifying? And now she’s got this same familiar feeling in her chest again. This day can’t possibly get any worse.

            Except it definitely can, because then Silver Wolf hears Kafka’s voice right over her shoulder murmuring, “Well, that was rude. She was just trying to make conversation.”

            Silver Wolf would leap off her chair, but legs have sort of fallen asleep, so she settles for jolting a little and sputtering, “K-Kafka? How long have you been there?”

            The woman in question raises herself to her full height and chuckles. “That would be telling, Wolfie.”

            Yeah, Silver Wolf definitely needs those cooling fans. “Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

            “Says the super hacker.”

            Silver Wolf really wants to come up with a witty retort to that, but her mind is currently blank, so she settles for gritting her teeth and saying, “Is there an actual reason you’re here, other than to make fun of me?”

            “As delightful as it is to push your buttons, yes, I have a reason,” Kafka smirks. “Blade is outside eating his lunch, and Elio has just informed me that his sandwich is about to get stolen by a cycrane. Apparently he’s going to go on quite the entertaining chase to get his lunch back, and if we don’t hurry, we’re going to miss it.”

            That does sound hilarious. Silver Wolf quickly massages her legs to wake them up, then hops out of her chair. “Alright, lead the way.”

. . .

            A few minutes later, when they’re reclining in aether-generated lounge chairs watching Blade scale a stack of shipping containers to chase after a cycrane holding a sandwich, Silver Wolf turns to Kafka and says, “So I think Stelle, like… misses us, or something.”

            Kafka raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

            “Don’t know. Guess you made a pretty strong first impression?”

            “Well, that is my specialty,” Kafka boasts.

            “I’m aware,” Silver Wolf snarks. “But what I’m thinking is, we should probably go check in on her. We can’t have our Aeon-killer getting, like… mommy issues or something.”

            “Hm. I suppose you are the expert in that area.”

            “Huh? Why?”

            “Nothing,” Kafka waves her off. “Continue.”

            “So maybe, if we can negotiate some kind of temporary cease-fire, we can go to the Astral Express so she can see us in person?”

            “As solid as your plans usually are, Wolfie, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Kafka answers. “I don’t think their navigator likes me very much, for one thing. She’ll probably nuke me from orbit if I even get close.”

            Silver Wolf shrugs. “She wants what’s best for Stelle, so we can probably convince her to let us on if she can supervise us. And once we’re on the Express, they won’t dare pick a fight, right? They won’t want to damage the train.”

            “Okay, but I don’t think Elio’s script involves us checking in on the Stellaron host like a kid at summer camp.”

            “Counterpoint: Elio probably already knows I’ve come up with this, and he hasn’t done anything.”

            Kafka laughs a little at that. “You’re a little too bright for your own good, Wolfie,” she sighs, then stands up. “Alright, I’m convinced. What next?”

            Silver Wolf gives her best gremlin grin. “Leave that to me.”

. . .

            So Silver Wolf talks to Stelle, and Stelle talks to Himeko, and Himeko makes contact with Kafka and tells her she’s not letting any Stellaron Hunters anywhere near her train again, on pain of death. But then Silver Wolf uses her secret weapon (puppydog eyes) on Himeko, and soon enough they’ve planned a meetup in an abandoned sector of Cloudford. They’ve got an hour to speak with Stelle, and if they don’t leave after that, Himeko has General Jing Yuan on speed-dial.

            When Silver Wolf warps herself and Kafka in, the Astral Express Crew are already there, milling about the small area. Silver Wolf recognizes the bubbly ice girl, March 7^th, as well as the old cane guy, Welt Yang. Besides them, there’s Stelle, who’s fiddling with her gloves nervously, and Himeko, who’s…

            Silver Wolf has to do a double take, because while Himeko is wearing her usual white dress, she’s foregone her usual coat in favor of… well, it’s a t-shirt. A horribly oversized, ill-fitting t-shirt, with the words ‘NOT THE STEPMOM, BUT THE MOM WHO STEPPED UP’ printed on the front. Silver Wolf has to physically restrain herself from making a smart remark, because Himeko is already glaring at them, and getting immediately fried from orbit would be the lamest game over of all time.

            Instead, she keeps her gaze directed towards Stelle, who’s noticed their arrival. The scruffy-looking girl immediately looks at Kafka (which is absolutely fine, Silver Wolf tells herself) and takes a few steps forward. “Um. Hey… Kafka,” Stelle mumbles, an awkward smile on her face.

            “Stelle,” Kafka says softly. “…How have you been?”

            “Good,” Stelle nods. “I mean… yeah. It’s been good. You weren’t kidding when you said I’d find companions, so… that’s nice.”

            “That’s… good to hear,” Kafka responds.

            There’s a pause, and in the silence, Silver Wolf makes eye contact with March 7^th. It’s just for the briefest moment, not even a full second, but it’s long enough for them both to cringe in painful solidarity.

            “…How are you?” Stelle offers to get the conversation started again.

            “I’m well,” Kafka says. “I wish I could provide more details, but… I don’t think this crowd would appreciate that.”

            “I understand,” Stelle murmurs. “Sorry, it’s just… I have so many questions, I’m not sure where to start.”

            “It’s alright.” Kafka steps forwards and puts her hands on Stelle’s shoulders. “Just take it one thing at a time.” A pause, and then: “Would it help if I asked you a question first?”

            Stelle bites her lip. “Um, yeah. Okay.”

            “Okay, so…” Kafka begins, then gestures toward Himeko and grins her widest grin. “…Would you mind telling me what she’s wearing?”

            The mood instantly changes. March 7^th freezes like the ice she generates, trying to hold back a giggle. Welt puts his head in his hands. Himeko somehow narrows her eyes even more. And Silver Wolf is hit with the realization that she might just be the most mature person here right now, which is a) really saying something, and b) not a feeling she likes at all.

            Himeko puts her hands on her hips and turns her full attention to Kafka. “Here I thought you could be reasonable for a full hour, for Stelle’s sake,” she fumes. “Looks like even that was too much for you.”

            “Darling, you misunderstand,” Kafka drawls, releasing Stelle. “I’m not poking fun, I promise! I’m being one hundred per cent sincere when I tell you that shirt is, quite possibly, the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. I love it.”

            “Be serious,” Himeko fires back.

            “I am, it’s incredible! Whose idea was it?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Well, I know you’re too stuffy and uptight to come up with it yourself, so who was it? This seems like March’s style…”

            “Don’t you bring March into this, you conniving, manipulative, underhanded criminal!”

            “You flatter me, darling, but you’re moving awfully fast. At least take me out to dinner first.”

            “You—”

            As Himeko begins another tirade towards a smug Kafka, Silver Wolf shifts her focus to March 7^th, who’s strolled up next to Stelle. “Is it bad of me to say ‘I told you so’?” the pinked-haired girl whispers to her junior.

            Stelle lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “In this case, I think that’s acceptable,” she murmurs back.

            March nods. “Wanna call this a wash and get out of here?”

            “Not yet.” Stelle locks eyes with Silver Wolf, then motions to the side, away from the increasingly heated discussion.

            Silver Wolf follows her lead, and the two distance themselves to get some relative privacy. Stelle tugs out a couple of boxes to use as chairs.

            “Thanks,” Silver Wolf says, as she takes her seat. “And, uh… for the record, I didn’t plan this. If I did, I’d be doing a lot of gloating right now.”

            Stelle sits as well. “Right, I figured as much.”

            A pause. Then Silver Wolf clears her throat. “Okay, but whose idea was the shirt? I’m actually curious.”

            Stelle sighs. “It was Pom-Pom’s. They found out we were doing this, they wanted to help, and none of us had the heart to say no.”

            Silver Wolf scoffs. “You’re all wusses.”

            “Hey, come on! We couldn’t just break their heart like that!” Stelle half-heartedly protests.

            “Yes, you could,” Silver Wolf shrugs, smirking. “Punt that thing out of an airlock. Eliminate all weakness.”

            Stelle snorts. “Aeons, Wolf, that’s terrible!” she laughs, despite herself.

            “Hey, if it worked for James Bond…”

            “You know, I think you might be a terrible mother,” Stelle giggles, wiping a tear from her eye.

            “Well, it’s the same lesson my mother taught me, so,” Silver Wolf says.

            Stelle lets out a deep exhale. “Wow, that’s… kind of sad.”

            “Eh,” Silver Wolf waves her off. “I turned out fine, didn’t I?”

            Stelle purses her lips. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

            The duo turn back to Himeko and Kafka. They’re up in each other’s faces now, Kafka desperately trying hide how much she’s enjoying this, and Himeko looking like she wants to vaporize Kafka with her mind alone. March is sort of awkwardly standing off to the side, and Welt seems to want to sink into the floor.

            “Well, this didn’t go how you wanted it to,” Silver Wolf pipes up. “Uh… sorry, I guess.”

            “It’s alright,” Stelle says. “I’m probably learning more about her right now than I would have from a conversation.”

            “That’s probably true,” Silver Wolf admits. “Trying to raise her social link is like having tea with the Antimatter Legion. I would know.”

            “I don’t know about that. You’re a lot closer with her than me.”

            “Pfft.”

            “No, really! The way you talk about her… I’m kind of jealous.”

            That doesn’t sound right. “You’re kidding, right?” Silver wolf asks sincerely. “I can see you being jealous of my hacking skills, or my massive collection of game trophies, or one of my many other incredible traits, but this?”

            “She praises you,” Stelle says simply. “She takes you out for meals. She makes sure you get a good night’s sleep. All I got was one speech before she went out for cigarettes.”

            Silver Wolf brings her knees up to her chest. “You’re getting the wrong idea,” she mumbles. “We’re not that close.” Because at the end of the day, the two of them are coworkers, and the mission always comes first. Anything else is just window dressing. “Besides, you have them,” she continues, gesturing towards March, Welt, and Himeko.

            “Yeah,” Stelle almost whispers, a small smile on her face. “I do.”

            Now would be the time for Silver Wolf to exit the conversation with a game-related quip and a pair of finger guns, leaving with her composure and dignity intact. Instead, for reasons that are beyond her, she asks, “What’s it like to be… y’know, cared for like that? To be part of a family?”

            Stelle thinks about that for a second. Then she says, “On one of my first nights on the Express, I had a nightmare. I don’t remember much of it now, but it was bad enough that it woke me up in the middle of the night, and I was shaking so bad I couldn’t get back to sleep. And March and I weren’t dating yet, so I couldn’t just wake her up. I ended up exploring the train, just to pass the time until morning.

            “After about a half hour I ran into Himeko. Apparently some issue with the train had come up that couldn’t wait until morning, so she was tinkering away with the systems until she spotted me. And she knew right away that something was wrong. I was trying my best to hide it, but she just saw right through me. It was pretty humbling, if I’m being honest. Right away, she put down her tools, came up to me, and asked how I was doing.

            “I don’t think I was speaking very coherently. I remember doing a lot of blubbering. But she must have gotten the gist, because she just wrapped her arms around me. She held me until I was ready to face the world again.”

            Silver Wolf intertwines her fingers in her lap. “And… how did it feel?”

            “Absolutely incredible,” Stelle breathes. “I just felt so… warm, and safe, like there was a shield cocooned around me that nothing bad could get through.”

            “That sounds nice,” Silver Wolf observes.

            “Yeah,” Stelle nods, “It is.”

            “I’m glad,” Silver Wolf says, and she means it.

. . .

            Miraculously, Kafka manages to avoid being murdered by Himeko for the full hour, despite her personality frequently getting in the way. She even manages to get in a few short words with Stelle right before they have to leave, so at least the trip hasn’t been a total waste. As tempting as it is, however, Silver Wolf doesn’t listen in on their conversation. It’s that dang guilt again – between this and the mysterious ache in her chest, it’s a miracle she gets any work done these days.

            The only thing for sure is that Stelle leaves looking satisfied, so that means mission accomplished. Safety of the universe secured, go team.

            Silver Wolf wastes no time in warping herself and Kafka back to base. And as soon as they arrive, she heads to her computer to erase all traces of their call logs with the Astral Express, just in case Himeko gets any funny ideas about tracing them back to the source.

            But she hasn’t even opened her shredder program before Kafka lays a hand on her shoulder. “What’s the rush, Wolfie?”

            Silver Wolf sighs. “I want to get this stuff cleaned up ASAP. After today, I’m not sure you have any survival instincts at all, but I want to make sure we don’t get zerg-rushed by Cloud Knights as soon as we step outside the ship.”

            “Mmm. But don’t you have a bot to take care of that sort of thing for you?”

            “Maybe, but I know better than to rely on auto-battle. With something this important, I want to do it myself.”

            “Let me rephrase, then,” Kafka says pointedly, hooking her arm around Silver Wolf’s shoulders and guiding her away from the computer. “You have a bot to take care of that for you. Let’s go out.”

            Silver Wolf scoffs. “And why would I ever do that?”

            “Because a little birdie told me that the tech shop in Central Starskiff Haven just got a new shipment of computer parts. Maybe we can find you something to upgrade your setup? My treat.”

            “Hmph. You’re doing all these nice things for me recently… what’s your angle?”

            Kafka sighs. “What makes you think I have an angle?”

            “You’re you.”

            “Well, you’re right about that,” Kafka admits, almost sadly. “I am me, quintessentially and consistently. And you, dear Wolfie, can always rely on that.” She taps Silver Wolf on the nose, then says, “But enough chat. Let’s go get you your reward for doing such a good job planning that meeting.”

            Silver Wolf considers this for a moment. Is she really going to let go of her dignity so blatantly?

            …Yes, yes she is. “I’ll prep the holo-disguises,” she decides.

            “Good girl,” Kafka responds, then ruffles Silver Wolf’s hair a bit before taking her leave.

            Silver Wolf wants to call after her, but her mind is currently turning to mush and oozing out of her ears. Her face, she knows, is bright red right now, rivaling the color of Kafka’s hair. Her shoes feel like they’re magnetized to the floor, preventing her feet from moving. All in all, she’s become entirely useless, and continues to be useless for several seconds until she finally gets her faculties about her.

            Well.

            This is certainly an issue.

Chapter Text

There are a lot of upsides to being a Stellaron Hunter. You get to see the universe, explore different cultures, and live outside the mold that most people are forced into, all while being secure in the knowledge that your actions are guided by destiny itself.

However, there are also a few downsides.

            “I’m reading four—no, six—ten signatures on our tail! Hold on, Wolfie, this is about to get bumpy.”

            Like that. There’s an example.

            Because in order to even get into the Stellaron Hunters, you need to have a rap sheet longer than a Xianzhou ship. And once you’re in, that rap sheet grows exponentially, what with all the killing and looting that comes with the job description. That means a lot of enemies after your head. And even though the absence of this event in Elio’s script means it’s likely going to turn out fine, that doesn’t help calm Silver Wolf’s nerves when a volley of laser fire slams into their ship’s starboard side.

            The impact throws her to the floor, and her vision spins for a moment before the artificial grav recalibrates. Then she’s back on her feet, scrambling towards the flickering and sparking console that controls the small ship’s warp drive.

            “How’s it going back there?” Kafka calls back from the pilot seat, right as she pushes the ship into a steep dive to evade a volley of missiles.

            “Not good,” Silver Wolf answers back. “The warp jump navigator is fried.”

            “Meaning?”

            “There’s no ‘escape battle’ option.”

            “Splendid,” Kafka sighs, as the ship shakes from another impact. Sparks jump from the pilot console. “I don’t suppose I can request one of your patented miracles right now, Wolfie?”

            “You’re asking me? We must be in trouble,” Silver Wolf snarks. Despite her tone, though, she’s currently wracking her brain for any possible solution. The ship they’re on is purposefully low-profile, and as such doesn’t have the firepower necessary to drive off their pursuers. She can’t fix the navigator with her current tools, but they’ve got to escape somehow, so she needs a bypass. Think, Silver Wolf, think. The warp drive itself is fine, but there’s no way to activate it without coordinates. What planet’s galactic coordinates does she know off the top of her head?

            There’s no time to waste, so she types in the first set of numbers that come to mind and hits ‘enter’. The warp drive charges up, and Silver Wolf has a few seconds to pray to whatever Aeons are listening that this doesn’t come back to bite her.

            And just as another volley of missiles from an enemy fighter soars towards their location, the Stellaron Hunters’ ship accelerates off into the blackness of space.

. . .

            Silver Wolf honestly never thought she’d set foot on Punklorde again. She’s aware that seems like an odd thing – after all, wouldn’t she feel right at home on a planet of gamers, hackers, and tech enthusiasts? Even failing that, wouldn’t she want to visit the place she once called home?

            But anyone who assumes that is someone who fundamentally misunderstands Silver Wolf as a person. For most inhabitants of Punklorde, this planet is all they’ll ever get to experience – it’s their whole game world. Interstellar travel is expensive, after all. A small percentage might consider Punklorde their base game, with the rest of the universe available as post-game content or DLCs after they’re accomplished their primary goals.

            Silver Wolf, however, isn’t like either of these groups. She’s a member of the tiny group for whom Punklorde was simply… a tutorial mission. A first dungeon. A beginner town. And you don’t go back to a beginner town, do you? Silver Wolf doesn’t mean this with any malice, mind you. It’s just that there’s simply nothing left for her on Punklorde.

            That doesn’t stop her and Kafka’s tiny ship crashing performing a partially controlled descent into one of Punklorde’s many junkyards. There’s the sound of screeching metal and a nerve-wracking crunch, and Silver Wolf’s vision goes black.

. . .

            When Silver Wolf wakes up, Kafka is standing over her, dabbing at her forehead with a rag. The cloth comes away with specks of red on it. Silver Wolf’s vocal cords are taking their sweet time booting up again, but she manages a tired groan that lets Kafka know she’s awake.

            It seems to work, because Kafka looks her in the eyes and says, “Ah, the wolf is awake. How are you feeling?”

            “Like my skull got shook up like a snow globe,” Silver Wolf grumbles.

            “I’m not surprised. That was quite the hit on the head you took.”

            “I’ll be fine. I’m a fast healer,” Silver Wolf says. Then she immediately contradicts her own point by attempting to stand up, then losing her balance and nearly falling. Kafka’s supporting arm around her shoulders is the only reason she doesn’t go for another tumble.

            “Mm-hmm. It looks like you’re doing just fine,” Kafka jabs.

            “Shut up.”

            Silver Wolf takes the opportunity to survey the surrounding area. The two of them are surrounded by – and standing on – piles of busted computer parts, gadgets, and the occasional chunk of building. The sky is grey and hazy, making the whole area seem drained of saturation.

There are places like this all over Punklorde. Whenever some big-shot programmer dies, gets deposed, or just becomes bored of their latest project, their left-behind creations usually devolve into these piles of burnt-out tech that no one else wants to touch. The expansion of these junkyard zones is slow, but after thousands of years of accumulation, places like these have grown to be miles across, and there are thousands of them on Punklorde. When Silver Wolf left, the junkyards covered around one-sixth of the planet’s surface. She wonders how much that’s increased since then.

            Their ship is behind them, mercifully not as damaged as she initially feared. The exterior is battered, but serviceable. It’s the warp drive she’s worried about – the navigator was already fried, and that, frantic, impromptu jump can’t have helped. And the parts to repair that sort of thing aren’t exactly the sort of thing she’s going to find lying around in this junkheap. A fetch quest it is, then.

            “Alright. Any idea where we are?” Silver Wolf groans.

            “Well…” Kafka begins, lifting up Silver Wolf’s right arm and tapping her gauntlet, “…I unlocked your geopositioner while you were asleep. Looks like we’re near some place called ‘Rainbow City’.”

            Silver Wolf nods. “I’m familiar. How’s the inside of the ship? Anything else beside the warp drive busted?”

            “Nothing we can’t do without. Do you think you could fix the drive, Wolfie?”

            “Not with what I have here. But the city should have what I need, so we should get moving. It’s gonna be a long walk.” There’s nothing more that needs to be said – they’re both professionals – so Silver Wolf sets out in the direction of Rainbow City.

            Or she would, except her dizziness starts up again and she suddenly has trouble walking in a straight line. Kafka chuckles behind her. “Need some help, Wolfie?”

            Silver Wolf sighs and looks at her shoes, the world spinning around her. “Yes.”

            So Kafka puts an arm around her to guide her movements, and together they begin their trek over the piles of discarded tech.

. . .

            About a half hour into their trek, Silver Wolf pipes up. “So, this might be a stupid question, but… who were those guys after us?”

            “…”

            “You don’t know either, huh?”

            “I admit, it’s a little difficult to keep track of everyone who wants us dead.”

            “Have we made anyone extra mad lately?”

            “Nothing comes to mind.”

            “Great.”

            “Don’t worry, Wolfie~” Kafka purrs, tapping Silver Wolf on the shoulder. “If they come after us again, I’ll teach them a lesson they’ll never forget. It doesn’t matter who they are.”

            “You’d better. Now take a step back, I’m about to throw up.”

. . .

            Several hours of walking (and a few bouts of nausea) later, and they finally reach the outskirts of Rainbow City. It’s mostly a lot of dull grey and black buildings, each around two or three stories. The really impressive stuff will be farther into the city center. Pedestrians are sparse, with only a few people strolling around, occasionally shooting them odd looks. It’s a fair assumption that at least some of them recognize Silver Wolf, which could be a pain down the line. She’d considered wearing a holo-disguise, but any hacker worth their salt would just find that even more suspicious.

            “So…” Kafka hums, “…can’t help but notice that this place doesn’t really scream ‘rainbow’.”

            Kafka is – annoyingly – correct. A lot of Punklordian cities only really look good at night, when the neon lights turn on and the real business gets done. There’s a reason that Silver Wolf was basically nocturnal from the ages of three to nineteen. In the current midday sun, this place is just a boring city, like any other.

            Silver Wolf looks up at Kafka to give a response, but the older woman seems to be occupied with something else. She’s gazing off into the distance, and small grin on her face. “Well, would you look at that. Isn’t that like your aether editing, Wolfie?”

            Silver Wolf follows her gaze to one of the skyscrapers far off in the city center, which seems to be restructuring itself in real time. It’s difficult to see from this distance, but the tower’s outer panels are rearranging and reconfiguring into an entirely new shape. “Yeah, it’s a similar idea,” she says. “Just on a bigger scale. There was some sort of initiative a couple hundred years back… “The Realization Project”, I think it was. Basically, the whole planet’s surface was converted into programmable reality data, designed to be sculpted and reformed on a whim.”

            “Now, that’s interesting,” Kafka murmurs, tapping her chin with the hand that isn’t supporting Silver Wolf. “So, you could build anything?”

            “As long as you’re a good enough hacker. And I’m the best,” Silver Wolf brags.

            “Good enough to build a new drive navigator?”

            Silver Wolf shrugs. “I could do that, easy. But it’s not like that would get us anywhere. The code only holds together as long as we’re on Punklorde. And I don’t think you’d enjoy warping uncontrollably to every possible location in the universe until our atoms come untethered from each other.”

            Kafka hisses through her teeth. “That doesn’t sound enjoyable, no. Is there any technology around here that isn’t going to fall apart on us?”

            Silver Wolf scoffs. “Of course. It’s just going to be a pain in the aaaaauuuuuhhh…” she groans, clutching at her scalp. That landing might have scrambled her up a bit, come to think of it.

            Kafka looks at her with something that, if Silver Wolf didn’t know any better, almost resembles care. “Alright, Wolfie, I think you need to take a rest before that brilliant brain of yours is beyond repair. Do you have any safe houses around here?”

            She doesn’t, of course. She never thought she’d be back here, so all of her old hideouts are probably long gone by now, claimed by the latest hotshot architect or one of the many gangs roaming the underground. She should have known that returning was a horrible plan. But what’s done is done, so she plugs in a familiar digital signature into her geopositioner and watches as the device’s screen lights up. An arrow points in the direction where an identical signature is coming from. In the absence of a fixed address, it’s the best way to find a certain person’s help. “That way,” she weakly mumbles.

            Fortunately, it’s not too far a walk. Unfortunately, Silver Wolf is so woozy that Kafka literally has to keep her pointed in a straight line as they go. After a few near misses with lampposts, and one head-on collision with a dumpster that Silver Wolf makes Kafka swear never to tell a soul about, they make it to their destination.

            The building itself is nothing special, by Punklordian standards. Now that they’re getting farther into the city, the building style are starting to become more unique and varied, created by hackers of greater skill and influence than those closer to the outskirts. Their destination, for instance, is a singular silver tower stretching up into the sky, with various rooms and attachments sticking out of the sides at seemingly random points.

            Kafka raises an eyebrow. “I must say, this doesn’t really seem like your style, Wolfie.”

            “Cuz it’s not,” Silver Wolf answers, gesturing with her gauntlet to make one of her A.I. unlock the door. “It’s my mother’s.”

. . .

            To Kafka’s credit, she manages to not badger Silver Wolf with requests to elaborate on that last sentence. Which is good, because Silver Wolf really needs to focus at the moment while she hacks and disables the many, many hidden booby traps throughout the halls. Seventeen laser fields, eight automated murder drones, two poison gas canisters, and a trapdoor leading to spikes below are all quickly, if sloppily, taken offline. This place is even more of a minefield than she remembers. Clearly, now that there’s no longer a curious child underfoot, her mother has stopped holding back in the installation of her home security.

            She can hear a voice coming from the next floor up, so Silver Wolf pulls herself up the stairs (with Kafka following close behind) and through the nearest door. The room she enters is long, rectangular, and lined with windows overlooking the city skyline. The floor is plush carpet, and there’s a rectangular wooden table surrounded by chairs. Most of the seats are empty, but the one nearest them has a woman on it with her back to them. She’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. When Silver Wolf last saw her, her mid-back hair was still more purple than grey, but now the tide has decidedly turned. The woman doesn’t seem to have noticed their entrance.

            Silver Wolf clears her throat.

            The woman turns around in her chair. There are crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes, and she’s wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses. Besides that, she looks exactly the same as the day Silver Wolf left. The woman looks at her and Kafka, narrows her eyes, and says cautiously, “…Boy? Is that you?”

            “It’s ‘girl’ now, actually,” Silver Wolf corrects her.

            The woman blinks a couple times, considering that. Then she turns back to the table, muttering, “Huh.”

            Silver Wolf speaks up again, trying to draw her mother’s fickle attention. “So, um… this is my… colleague, Kafka. Kafka, this is my mother, GleamingAethon.”

            Kafka steps forward, with a confident swagger that Silver Wolf has seen her use a million times on a million different targets. “It’s a pleasure and a privilege to meet you, dear. I can see now where Wolfie got her charming good looks from,” she drawls.

            Aethon kinda half-turns back towards them, one side of her mouth curling up into a smirk. “Well, that’s awfully nice of you to say, but I’m afraid I’m in the middle of something right now. Go make yourselves comfortable or something.”

            “Aethon, we need help,” Silver Wolf pleads. “Our ship is damaged, we need to find someone selling non-constructed tech—”

            “I believe I’ve already explained that I’m busy, girl.”

            “But—"

            “I’m on a call, you’re embarrassing me,” Aethon says firmly. Indeed, Silver Wolf can see the blue tint on her glasses that indicates she’s in a holographic meeting. From her perspective, the other chairs at the table are likely filled with projections of other people.

            Silver Wolf deflates. “So we’ll just comes back later, then?”

            Kafka taps Silver Wolf on the arm, motioning her back out the door. As the pair leave, they overhear Aethon turning back to her meeting and saying, “Alright, where were we…”

            The door shuts, and her mother’s voice becomes muffled.

            Kafka chuckles. “So, is this the part where I get to see little Wolfie’s childhood bedroom?”

            Silver Wolf scoffs. “Even if it still exists somewhere in here, there’s not much to see. Everything important there I either sold or took with me when I left.”

            “Damn. And here I was so excited,” Kafka pouts.

            “…To tease me about it?”

            “Perhaps.”

            Silver Wolf sighs, then pulls herself up another short flight of stairs to what appears to be a guest room. There’s a small bed, a wooden dresser, and a desk with a basic computer monitor on it. Aside from that, there’s not much else worth mentioning. Silver Wolf sits herself down on the bed. “Kafka, you know that I respect you a lot, right? You’re… someone important to me.”

            Kafka smiles softly. “Oh. Well, thank you, Wolfie—”

            “So trust me when I say that if you seduce my mom, I’ll aether edit your organs out of existence.”

            “Ah,” Kafka says, poorly hiding a giggle. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. She’s really not my type, and I suspect the feeling is mutual.” Then she gazes off into the middle distance for a second, tapping her chin. “Is there a reason why you call her by her first name to her face?”

            Silver Wolf folds her hands in her lap and idly kicks her legs. “She prefers it that way. She’s never liked me calling her ‘mom’ or anything like that. When I was little, I didn’t really get it, but in hindsight, it was to teach me to avoid potentially dangerous attachments and stuff. My mom’s smart like that.”

            “I have to say, I don’t think that’s a normal thing for a mother to do.”

            “Right, like you’re the expert on happy family relationships?” Silver Wolf shoots back.

            She knows she’s touched on something when Kafka’s face falls for just a moment. She almost apologizes right then and there, but then Kafka’s back to normal in an instant, and she quickly changes the subject. “I think you should get some rest, Wolfie. Your head could use some time to deal up, don’t you think?”

            Silver Wolf’s vision has been getting progressively blurrier over the past fer minutes, but still. “Not a chance. Every minute we’re on this planet, we’re vulnerable—”

            “And we’ll be in even bigger trouble if our resident genius hacker isn’t at her best.”

            Silver Wolf ignores the growing heat in her cheeks and crosses her arms over her chest. She can tells Kafka isn’t going to back down, so she sighs and mumbles, “Fine.”

            “Thank you for cooperating,” Kafka says.

. . .

            Silver Wolf isn’t quite sure when she falls asleep, but when she wakes up, the evening sun is touching the horizon, and Kafka has disappeared. Her head feels a bit better, at least. She pulls herself into a sitting position, groaning all the while, and that’s when she notices the note taped to the computer monitor:

                       Went out to see about getting us a new navigator, be back soon! Msg me when you wake up, so I know you’re not dead.

-Kafka             

            The audacity.

            Silver Wolf knows Kafka’s more than capable of blending into any society in seconds, but Kafka’s also never spent any real length of time on Punklorde. She was there for just enough time to recruit Silver Wolf a few years ago, and then there’s their current excursion, and that’s it. Kafka doesn’t know how things work out there, and if she runs into a genuinely talented hacker, even her impressive array of skills won’t be enough against such an opponent.

            So her first thought is worry for Kafka’s safety. Her second thought is frustration that she’s now alone in the house with her mother, who’s never really been the most enthusiastic conversationalist with her. Which isn’t really a bad thing, it’s just kind of annoying. Kafka’s much better at listening to her rants.

            To be completely honest, just laying in bed and waiting for Kafka to come back doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. But on the other hand, she’s bored. So she forces herself onto her feet, pulls on her discarded jacket and gauntlet, texts a quick ‘not dead, afaik’ to Kafka, and heads downstairs.

            On the ground floor is what seems to be the combined kitchen/dining room. It’s much more extravagant than the guest room – all the appliances are the latest models, and the windows display artificial projections of a beachside from some tourist planet. Aethon is seated at the table, nursing a mug of coffee and tapping away at a tablet.

            Silver Wolf quietly slides into the chair opposite her. A couple minutes pass without either of them saying anything. Finally Silver Wolf wonders, “So… are you going to ask me what I’ve been up to?”

            “Depends. Have you done anything notable or interesting?” Aethon responds, still focused on her tablet.

            “Well… I joined a group.”

            “Mm-hmm.”

            “Been to a bunch of different planets.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Fought the Genius Society a couple times.”

            Aethon looks up at Silver Wolf. “Oh?”

            Jackpot. Silver Wolf leans back in her chair and sticks her hands in her pockets. “Yep. Faced off against Screwllum and Herta at the same time. Stole Stoneblade’s aether cartridge right from under their noses.”

            Aethon raises an eyebrow. “They can’t just have let you get away with it.”

            “Oh, they tried to pay me back,” Silver Wolf brags. “Herta got a bunch of my game accounts suspended. But all it took was a quick trip to Pier Point to fix that.”

            Now Aethon’s put down her coffee, and the tablet is forgotten. “You’re making an enemy of the IPC?”

            “More like ‘already made’,” Silver Wolf shrugs. “I’m kind of on their most wanted list.”

            Aethon scoffs. “Near the bottom, I’m sure.”

            “I don’t think a 5 billion credit bounty means I’m ‘near the bottom’. And that’s just with the IPC. I’ve lost count of how many major jobs I’ve pulled, really.”

            “Hmm,” Aethon says. “That is interesting.” She returns to her tablet.

            Silver Wolf wracks her brain for the conversation tips she’d looked up a few months ago. “So… what have you been doing?”

            “My latest project is an upgrade to aether editing,” Aethon explains, still staring at her tablet. “I’m looking for a way to make stable alterations to normal, non-code-based matter. The end goal is to safely alter human beings.”

            “…And what’ll you do once you crack it?”

            Aethon grins. “I’ll sell it. You know that architect, Cerberus?”

            “Thought that guy was a tool,” Silver Wolf murmurs.

            “He is. But he’s got money. And as soon as I’ve cracked the secret to life editing, he’s going to pay me enough credits to make me one of the richest people on the planet.”

            Silver Wolf frowns. “Whatever happened to creating for the sake of creating?”

            Aethon sighs and shakes her head. “Punklorde’s changed, girl. The big programmers and architects control most of the territory nowadays. You get in good with one of them, ride it up to the top, then peace out before their empire comes crashing down. That’s how you make the real money.” She looks at Silver Wolf. “It’s probably a good thing that you left. You’ve never been smart enough to make alliances like that. You’re very… straightforward.”

            Silver Wolf blinks. Her brain feels like it’s lagging, with the way she’s failing to come up with a response to that. She feels frozen in her seat, and the mysterious ache in her chest, her old friend, decides to make an appearance.

            The worst part is, this isn’t even an unusual feeling – just one she hasn’t felt in some time, and one she thought she’d moved past. Silver Wolf has always struggled with this state of helplessness that her mother can trigger with just a few small words. Aethon just has a way of making her feel so… stupid. So while this would normally be the point when Silver Wolf retorts with some snarky remark, now she can’t think of anything.

            Fortunately, she doesn’t have to. There’s a knock on the door, and it’s enough to break the spell. She shoots to her feet and cries, “That’s probably Kafka! I’ll get it.”

            Silver Wolf practically sprints to the door and flings it open. Sure enough, Kafka slinks inside and says, “I’m back, Wolfie. You miss me?”

            Instead of answering that question, Silver Wolf shuts the door and glares at Kafka. “Why are you limping?”

            “I’m… not,” Kafka answers, while unconvincingly trying to put even weight on both her feet. She winces at the effort.

            Silver Wolf studies Kafka’s appearance. “…Is that a blood stain on your coat?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

            “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood,” Kafka waves her off.

            “Kafka, what did you do?” Silver Wolf groans, head in her hands. “You’re supposed to be the one with common sense…”

            “What I did was set up a deal with some underground junk traders to get us a new navigator. We’re supposed to meet them for the exchange in a few hours, if my interpretation of their gamer-speak was accurate,” Kafka states matter-of-factly. “…Aaand then I got into a little scrap with a few gangsters on my way back, no big deal.”

            No big deal? Silver Wolf is pretty sure she’s about to have a stroke. Doesn’t Kafka know how precarious their situation is? Deep breaths, though. Deep breaths. “…Do you happen to know who these guys were?”

            “I think they were from something called the ‘Slag Gang’,” Kafka explains, stroking her chin. “That’s all I was able to get before they started screaming.”

            Silver Wolf sighs. “Oh. Yeah, I know those guys. There’s a lot of them, and they don’t like me.”

            “Ah. Well, that explains a lot.”

            “Explains… what?”

            Kafka puts her hands behind her back, looking like she just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. “…Well, they seemed to have known you were back in town,” she says cautiously. “When I came across them, they were saying some… unflattering things about you.”

            Silver Wolf raises an eyebrow. “Elaborate.”

            “It was mostly innocuous at first. They were talking about how you ‘probably wouldn’t be worth that much XP’, which I presume was an insult.” For the first time Silver Wolf can recall, Kafka won’t meet her gaze. “But then, a few of them started going on about what they would… do to you if they managed to catch you. And, well… a lot of it was very vulgar, and quite explicit, and to be honest I don’t feel like repeating it.”

            “…Oh. So, then you killed them?”

            “With extreme prejudice, yes.”

            “Anyone else see you?”

            “A little whisper was enough to ‘convince’ passers-by not to notice anything.”

            Silver Wolf nods. “Okay. Well… thanks, I guess. For doing that for me.”

            “You’re very welcome, Wolfie,” Kafka drawls.

            “And… I’m sorry for being a jerk earlier. I’m just… kind of on edge, being back here,” Silver Wolf says, stuffing her hands in her pockets and looking away.

            Kafka chuckles. “Not a problem, dear.”

            Silver Wolf barely notices her mother exit the room to go upstairs, tapping away at her tablet all the while.

. . .

            A few hours later, Silver Wolf is back out on the streets of Punklorde. She’s on her own this time, which Kafka wasn’t a fan of, but her head is healing up fine, and she really wants to get this done herself. Plus, she got to use Kafka’s whole ‘you need to rest up’ move against her, which was fun. She’s like Mega Man, if Mega Man was a human and a girl and a criminal.

            The sun has well and truly set, which means that Rainbow City has come alive. This is the Punklorde she grew up in – multicolored billboards and holograms line the surface of every building, bathing the myriad denizens of the city in a spectrum of light. There are a lot more people out at this hour, and a lot more dangerous people. Silver Wolf can count at least 15 illegal personal cybernetics in her direct vision alone, any one of which would result in a 10-year prison sentence on any other planet. Not that there aren’t laws on Punklorde, of course, but these days they basically only get enforced if you happen to get on the bad side of someone important. That was true when Silver Wolf left, and she has no doubt it’s true now.

            It doesn’t take too long to get to her destination, thankfully. Even more thankfully, the transaction goes smoothly. She meets the seller, BlueGoose74, around the back of a run-down restaurant. He’s brought some of his own guys, and Silver Wolf tenses for a minute, anxious about getting into an unnecessary fight (even though she’d totally win). But Kafka’s talent for reading people’s intentions comes through again, because when Silver Wolf hands over the credits, Goose hands over the tiny box of circuitry needed to get their ship moving again, and they part like professionals. Nothing to worry about.

            Right up until she’s halfway back to her mother’s place, and someone pulls a bag over her head and starts dragging her away.

            She struggles, of course, but the guy who’s grabbed her is a whole lot bigger and stronger than her. She tries to activate her gauntlet, but a second pair of hands latches onto her arm before she can. Another pair grabs her other arm, and she’s left uselessly flailing her legs as she’s dragged farther back.

            Fortunately, Silver Wolf has friends of her own – an A.I. named Friend, specifically. A little blip from her gauntlet informs her that Friend has registered her distress, just like it’s designed to. Less than a second later, the gauntlet extends its laser blade, and one of the beings holding her screams as it slices through their body. The hands on her loosen for just a moment, enough time for Silver Wolf to scramble out of their hold and pull the bag off her head.

            Her three assailants aren’t from the Slag Gang, which is surprising. Instead, they’re clothed in jagged-looking suits of glassy reflective armor, and extending similar-looking blades from their forearms. Their blank faceplates stare at her emotionlessly. These are members of The Cremators, who Silver Wolf dimly recalls don’t like the Stellaron Hunters all that much. If she remembers correctly, her, Kafka, and Blade recently stole a massive tray of stored memories slated for destruction. It appears that The Cremators are the ones who shot them down, and are clearly now here to finish the job.

            Silver Wolf barely has time to finish that thought before they’re upon her. One of them takes a swipe at her, but a quick bit of aether editing disintegrates their blade before it even reaches her. And while the attacker is still off-balance, she charges up her gauntlet’s cannon and blasts them point-blank in the neck, where the armor is weaker. They fall.

            The other two come at her at the same time, so she dodges and weaves away from their strikes until she can find an opening. That opening comes when one of the assailants, the one Friend sliced earlier, groans and clutches the wound on their side after swinging a little too wildly. Silver Wolf drops into a leg sweep and sends the injured one to the ground, then rolls out of the way of a charge from the other one. As they realize they’ve missed and try to stop their momentum, Silver Wolf plugs in some random coordinates into her gauntlet and blasts them in the back, teleporting them elsewhere.

            As the last attacker picks themselves up, Silver Wolf whirls around, activating her blade mid-movement and slashing it across their chest. They collapse in pain.

            Silver Wolf takes a moment to catch her breath. A few people in the street have filmed the brief fight. The others don’t seem to care. She checks the pouch on her belt, and the navigator is still there, undamaged. Thank the Aeons.

            Then she breaks into a sprint towards her mother’s house, abandoning all subtlety in favor of getting to the next quest marker as quickly as possible. After all, if The Cremators know where she and Kafka are, it’s only a matter of time before they decide to send something a little worse than three soldiers. She zig-zags through back streets and alleyways, anything to shave even a few seconds off her ETA.

            She’s a few blocks away from her destination, with a line of sight to the house, when an explosion goes off on the top floor, and she has to shield her eyes. Once she plinks the spots out of her vision, she can see that the blast has created a hole in the side of the building. A Cremation ship hovers over it, deploying soldiers inside.

            Silver Wolf picks up her speed, powering through the burning in her lungs. “KAFKA!” she cries.

. . .

            When Kafka picks herself up after the explosion and sees Cremation soldiers dropping through the hole in the ceiling, she doesn’t hesitate. With her left hand, she draws a submachine gun from subspace and opens fire, pelting the attackers with lightning-infused bullets. With her right hand, she grabs a grenade, pulls out the pin with her teeth, and throws it into the middle of the group of soldiers. It explodes, flash-frying a few and throwing the others to the ground.

            Kafka draws her katana and rushes into the fray. By the time she sinks the blade into the gaps in a third soldier’s armor, she’s solidly in her zone. She’s constantly on them, never giving them a single second to recuperate or recalibrate. She carves grooves into their glass chestplates and arm guards to keep them off balance, and the moment’s there’s an opening, she drives her sword into the flesh underneath without mercy. Because this is what a killer does, and Kafka, at the end of the day, is a killer.

            The Cremation ship, just as shiny and reflective as its owners, opens fire on her, and she’s forced to duck out of the way as the shots demolish the wall behind her. Once the barrage stops, she grabs one of the remaining soldiers and stuffs a grenade behind their chestplate. “Hold this for me, please,” she hums, then tosses them into the still-open ramp of the Cremation ship.

            As predicted, the panicked soldier runs up into the cockpit to get help with removing the grenade. So when the bomb goes off, the blast takes out the pilot and sends the ship plummeting to the ground.

            Kafka is finishing up stabbing any soldier that looks like they might still be breathing when Aethon walks in, looking rather irritated. “What’s going on?” she asks.

            “Nothing too exciting,” Kafka answers. “We should probably withdraw to a more defensible position, though. This will likely only be the first wave.”

            “They blew up my house,” Aethon groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

            “It would appear so,” Kafka says, glancing at the hole in the ceiling.

            “Dammit, they promised they wouldn’t do that!”

            It takes a fraction of a second for Kafka to connect the dots. It takes only slightly longer for her to draw her gun again and point it at Aethon. Unfortunately, it takes just long enough that Aethon has drawn a laser pistol of her own, and pointed it at her.

            “You sold us out,”Kafka snarls.

            “Five billion credits for each of you from the IPC alone… and that was before I opened the bidding,” Aethon shrugs. “Who’d say no to that?”

            “You’re a terrible mother, you know that?”

            “And you need to learn a little respect.”

            Before Kafka can react, a small pillar shoots out from the floor and hits her gun, forcing it from her hand. The next moment, Aethon opens fire, and Kafka ducks behind an upended table. But all it takes is a hand gesture from Aethon for the floor to open up and swallow the table, leaving Kafka without cover. Aethon opens fire again, so Kafka dodges left, then right, then slams into a newly materialized wall. The sides of the room start to close in.

            “You know, I really should have just done this myself,” Aethon brags, glowing blue code flashing on the lenses of her glasses. The material of the house reshapes itself in response. She quickly cycles the pistol’s power cell, refreshing its ammo. “It’s not like you’re a match for me.”

            But Kafka uses the opening to tug another grenade off her belt and toss it at Aethon’s feet. Aethon kicks it backwards and out the window, but that’s alright – it was just a distraction for Kafka to grab her katana from a Cremation corpse and slice Aethon’s pistol in two. She promptly kicks the older woman in the chest and sends her to the ground. Then her blade is at Aethon’s throat.

            Aethon chuckles. “So you’re going to kill me?”

            “Why shouldn’t I?”

            “Do you honestly think the girl will ever forgive you if you do?” Aethon answers, grinning.

            And for the first time in a long while, Kafka hesitates. It’s just for a moment, but it’s enough time for Aethon to clench her fists and bring a section of the roof down on Kafka’s back, sending her reeling. Then Aethon generates a flight of stairs underneath her feet, raising her up above Kafka’s head.

            Kafka throws her sword at Aethon, but a ceiling panel flips down to block it. Then two sections of the floor, one on either side of her, raise up and press themselves together, catching Kafka between them and trying to crush the life out of her. She tries to push back against them, to no avail. She’s trapped.

            Aethon leans against the stairwell railing and looks down at Kafka with barely disguised amusement. “I guess this is where I ask if you have any last words?” she says.

            Kafka smirks. “Did you know that ‘GleamingAethon’ is an example of tautology? Those two words mean the same thing—” Kafka’s words are cut off as the walls press tighter, and it starts to become difficult to breathe.

            Aethon sighs. “I suppose it’s only natural my daughter got mixed up with the likes of you. You both think you’re so much smarter than you really are.”

            Suddenly, a blast of pixelated light pierces through the stairwell underneath Aethon. The generated structure crumbles into a pile of code, and Aethon tumbles to the floor. A second later, another pair of blasts hit the walls holding Kafka, then they crumble as well. Kafka falls to her knees and catches her breath.

            And through the doorway strolls a very angry-looking Silver Wolf.

. . .

            “Get away from her, you bitch,” Silver Wolf spits at Aethon.

            There’s a part of her that regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips. It’s the same part of her that wants to step back and analyze the situation, that wants to believe there’s a good reason why Aethon is trying to kill Kafka, that wants to go to her mother’s side with full confidence that she’s doing the right thing.

            But that side of her is drowned out by sheer adrenaline, the very same that carried her all the way here despite her lungs feeling like they’re on fire, and the same that grows all the more fierce when she sees Kafka injured on the floor. All of the frustration of the past twenty years, the stress of the past day, and the aching worry of the past few minutes are hijacking her brain, turning her into a single-minded engine of fury. And surprisingly, she doesn’t mind.

            Aethon, for her part, merely sighs and dusts herself off. “Wait your turn, girl. I swear, all these years and you’re still barging in and interrupting my work…”

            Silver Wolf doesn’t let her finish before she charges her gauntlet and releases a blast at her chest. It’s blocked at the last second by another section of the house’s code. Another string of commands flashes across Aethon’s glasses, and the floor crumbles beneath Silver Wolf’s feet. She leaps backwards onto solid ground with barely a moment to spare.

            Aethon’s control over the house’s code is going to be a problem. Fortunately, it’s a problem that can be solved. All it takes is a few taps on her gauntlet to activate her A.I. companions. Demon Lord and Whitecollar are sent to hijack Aethon’s admin control, while Friend and Servant stay on guard for Aethon’s inevitable counterattack.

            In the meantime, Silver Wolf is still fighting for her life. Aethon is summoning pillars from the ceiling and floor and tossing furniture around with ease, and it takes all of Silver Wolf’s learned-on-the-job evasion skills to avoid a broken bone or twenty. She manages to dash past a cave-in, then has to reverse direction to avoid the walls smashing her flat. All the while, she keeps half an eye on Kafka, who, unbeknownst to Aethon, has started to pick herself up.

            As soon as the chime from her gauntlet informs her that Aethon’s security has been compromised, Silver Wolf goes on the offensive. The wall behind her glows purple for a moment, then reshapes into a dozen razor-sharp swords that launch themselves at Aethon. Her mother blocks them by raising a section of the floor, then runs a few commands to bring them back under her control. “Clever girl,” she huffs, a little out of breath. “But you aren’t the first one to try that trick on me.”

            “No, I’ll just be the last,” Silver Wolf hisses.

            “Always so difficult,” Aethon sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You were the one who didn’t want me to sell life editing, weren’t you? You and your colleague’s bounties are the alternative. The least you could do is cooperate for me.”

            “Get fragged,” Silver Wolf says, generating a few spinning saw blades in a circle around Aethon and pulling them all inwards.

            Aethon raises herself up on a pillar to dodge them. “I was hoping we could have an intelligent conversation, but as usual, you don’t seem to want to go that route.”

            “You’re a traitor!”

            “And you’re a child,” Aethon sneers, lowering the pillar and standing before Silver Wolf. “You’ve never understood the real world.”

            “I understand enough,” Silver Wolf shoots back, charging up her gauntlet for a blast. “Nowadays, I’m the best hacker in the universe.”

            “Well, that clearly isn’t true. Otherwise, you would’ve noticed that I cracked your systems ten seconds ago.”

            And right on cue, the power on Silver Wolf’s gauntlet flickers and dies. She hits it a few times, to no avail. “Huh.”

            Aethon grabs Silver Wolf’s face and slams her against a wall. “I was hoping to see how much you’ve improved since you left, but once again, you disappoint.”

            This is probably only the fifth time that Aethon has ever touched Silver Wolf, and the first time she’s done it in violence. It’s not a pleasant feeling. “Ow…”

            Aethon pushes harder against her. “And here I was actually getting excited for this.”

            “Ack.”

            “Honestly. It’s like you didn’t even try.”

            Silver Wolf cackles, still held in place. “Ah. That’s cuz I didn’t.”

            All of a sudden, all the shifting code around them grinds to a halt, and the room loses its coloration. Aethon whips her head around to see what’s happened. “What…?”

            “An invention of mine. I call it ‘Kamikazee Kode’,” Silver Wolf says, smirking. “I had my A.I. helpers set it up. As soon as you breached my systems, you activated a virus that shut down all your tech too.”

            “So, we’re on even footing now?”

            “Heh. Not exactly,” Silver Wolf says, then unclips her knife from her leg and draws the blade across Aethon’s forearm. Her mother howls in pain and stumbles back, releasing her. “Kafka?” Silver Wolf calls.

            “On it,” Kafka answers, wrapping her glowing pink puppet strings around Aethon’s neck and slamming her to the floor. She grunts from the exertion and her injuries, but her form is flawless.

            Silver Wolf brushes herself off and walks to stand over Aethon, who is prone, coughing and groaning. “A 2v1? That’s hardly balanced…” her mother complains.

            “Tough,” Silver Wolf sneers.

            “And considering you sent a whole squad of fighters against us, I don’t believe you’re one to talk,” Kafka adds. Then she asks, “Wolfie, what do you want to do with her?”

            “Hmm…”

            Aethon chuckles emptily. “Come on, girl. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you? I’m your mother…” she says, as a smile stretches across her face.

            Silver Wolf’s already decided that vacating the premises and escaping further attacks from The Cremators is a more pressing issue than any revenge against her mother, but Aethon doesn’t need to know that. “Quiet. I’m thinking,” she snaps.

            Then there’s a blur as Aethon scrambles to her feet, a piece of rubble in her hand.

            Silver Wolf doesn’t know why her mother even tries it. Maybe she’s convinced that Silver Wolf will order Kafka to kill her, and sees no other way out. Maybe she’s just that obsessed with collecting their bounties. No matter the cause, the result is the same: Silver Wolf spots the attack and, on instinct, stabs her knife at the source of the threat.

            The blade makes contact square in the middle of Aethon’s chest and sinks into the flesh. The older woman freezes in place, then lets out a quiet cough. She lowers her arm and lets the rubble slip from her fingers.

            For Silver Wolf, the weight of the moment doesn’t hit her until she releases the hilt of the knife and lets Aethon collapse to the floor.

            Kafka’s eyes are wide as she watches Aethon fall. She seems at a loss for words.

            Below them, Aethon’s breathing is hoarse. “Damn… you…” she manages to choke out.

            One of Silver Wolf’s hands is shaking, so she grabs her wrist to steady it and tries to calm her breathing. “You know, for what it’s worth?” she begins, her voice unsteady. “I cracked life editing years ago. That’s how I look like this now.”

            Aethon blinks. “Y-you’re… kidding.”

            Silver Wolf shakes her head and bites back a sob. “You sold your daughter and your soul for second place.”

            Aethon lets out a wet cough and looks up at the ceiling. “…Dammit.”

            Then the light fades from her eyes, and slowly but surely, her breathing stops.

            Game over.

            Silver Wolf isn’t sure how long she stands there, unable to tear her gaze away from the body, her knife sticking out of its chest. It’s long enough that cracks start to appear in the walls around her. In its master’s absence, the house is beginning to devolve into a mess of used code.

            Silver Wolf startles when she feels Kafka’s hand on her shoulder.

            “We should go, Wolfie,” Kafka says softly.

            “Right,” Silver Wolf nods. “I… I should get my knife.”

            Kafka shakes her head. “I’ll handle that.”

            She does, and then Silver Wolf lets Kafka guide her down the stairwell back to the ground floor as the building crumbles around them. Each room collapses behind them, its structure no longer able to hold itself up. After they’re out, the entire house is nothing more than a pile of junk, just like the one they’d crashed their ship into.

            Silver Wolf reboots her gauntlet and plots a course back to the ship. She doesn’t look back.

. . .

            Silver Wolf doesn’t talk for the next long while. She doesn’t say a word as she installs the new navigator and boots up the ship, she doesn’t pipe up during the long trip through the void of space, and there isn’t even a hint of acknowledgement when she and Kafka return to HQ and link back up with the other Stellaron Hunters.

            As soon as humanly possible, she shuts herself away in her quarters, pulls on her coziest hoodie, and boots up one of her games. She gets a few co-op offers, but turns them all down. After she’s done spending her energy for the day, she starts aimlessly running around the game world killing whatever crosses her path. She’s using her best characters, too, so it’s not like she has to try all that hard. At a certain point, she just switches her brain off and lets her collection of heavily armed anime girls wreak havoc.

            Eventually her door slides open, letting both a stream of light and Kafka into her room. The first disappears shortly after the door shuts again; the second will likely be more difficult to get rid of. “What do you want?” Silver Wolf snaps.

            “What makes you think I want something?”

            “You always want something.”

            Kafka strolls up to her gaming chair and studies the game on her monitors for a few seconds. Then she turns to Silver Wolf and asks, “Stand up for a moment?”

            “Why?” Silver Wolf mumbles, not looking away from her game.

            “Just do it, dear.”

            Silver Wolf groans her best angsty groan and lifts herself out of her seat. Kafka promptly sits herself down in the chair instead, then grabs Silver Wolf’s hips and pulls her down into her lap. Then she wraps her arms around Silver Wolf’s waist and leans her chin on her shoulder.

            It’s very warm, and cozy, and it’s making Silver Wolf feel some things that she definitely isn’t ready to confront yet. Nevertheless, she ignores the blush creeping up her cheeks and heroically perseveres in playing her game.

            They stay like that for a few minutes, until Kafka clears her throat and says, “Alright, I’m going to be completely honest. I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

            “The wise and mighty Kafka is admitting weakness? I must be dreaming,” Silver Wolf scoffs.

            Kafka chuckles at that. “Oh, I’m still wise and mighty in most other areas. It’s just that… well, understanding feelings comes a little difficult when most of the emotional spectrum is off-limits for me.” She sighs. “All I know is that I… dislike seeing you like this.”

            “In my room?”

            “In pain.”

            Oh.

            …Silver Wolf pauses her game. “Thought you were just trying to tease me.”

            “I was, at first. I suppose I still am, to a degree,” Kafka says. “Your adorable reactions to affection are still a reward, just… in a different way, now.”

            Huh.

            “I suppose what I’m trying to get across here it that I’m likely to make mistakes in this sort of thing,” Kafka explains. “But… if you ever need me for anything like that, you can tell me. I’ll do what I'm able.”

            Silver Wolf nods. “…This is good.”

            “Hm?”

            “You holding me. This is good enough for now,” Silver Wolf murmurs, leaning back into Kafka’s embrace.

            Kafka squeezes her a little tighter in response, and it’s heavenly. “That’s good.”

            Eventually, Silver Wolf puts her hands on the keyboard again and resumes playing. The two of them sit there in silence, the tranquility only broken by the occasional sound effect or key press.

            Over time, the ache in Silver Wolf’s chest dissipates. It’s replaced with this sensation of… fullness, like a jagged hole in her heart has just been filled in like a pothole. Evidence of the original damage is still visible, but it's been smoothed over by something newer, something different.

            …It’s a nice feeling. She hopes it’ll stick around.

Chapter Text

It’s thanks to a large and lengthy list of events that Kafka strolls into March 7^th’s room on the Astral Express.

            First, there was the issue of getting in contact with March in the first place. After all, the Astral Express tends to move around quite a bit, making establishing a reliable method of communication quite difficult. Of course, Kafka could just have gotten March’s phone number, which would solve that problem quite nicely – except that would have required asking Wolfie to do a little digital digging, and the adorable little hacker can’t know what Kafka is up to this time. She eventually settled for following March and Stelle on one of their dates in Belobog, distracting Stelle with some particularly enticing trash cans while Kafka surreptitiously slipped the contact for a secure line into March’s pocket.

            The next step was gaining March’s trust, at least somewhat. The girl was rather suspicious of Kafka due to their previous interactions. Kafka is a little disappointed that one of the legendary Nameless has taken nearly getting blown up by a grenade so personally, but oh well. Making things worse, the jury-rigged line Kafka has set up could only handle short blocks of text, which made holding a conversation difficult. Nevertheless, Kafka pushed her “20 charisma skills” (as Wolfie would put it) to their limits, and eventually got the girl to agree to a face-to-face meeting, just the two of them.

            Finally, there’s the issue of the meeting itself. Nobody else can know about it, which is a little tricky when you consider that both Kafka and March are going behind their teammates’ backs for this. Wolfie was curious about why Kafka didn’t want to be disturbed for the next couple of hours, and apparently Himeko thought it was odd that March wanted to stay on the Express for once, but besides that, everything seems to be going smoothly as Kafka steps into March’s room.

            She isn’t really there, granted – it’s a hologram, the same one that Kafka used to make her grand appearance on the Express last time. But for these purposes, it’ll do.

            March is already there, standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of her. Her brow is already furrowed. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she says, almost accusingly.

            Instead of answering, Kafka takes a quick glance around the room. It’s a nice place. You can tell a lot about someone by the state of their living space. There are plenty of cutesy and colorful decorations around, although under Kafka’s keen eye, it’s obvious that each is from a wildly different planet. Still, none of them look out of place, the décor eclectic yet cohesive. This is something that has been thought through.

            Even more interesting, however, is the wall to March’s right. There are three screens affixed to it, and they’re all turned off. There are a few other bits of memorabilia taped to the wall around them, but Kafka can just barely see the slight discoloration of the wallpaper that implies that there used to be more. This little section of reminiscence has been purged of most of its sensitive material prior to Kafka’s arrival.

            All in all, this room tells Kafka two things: despite the veneer she presents, March 7^th is a reasonably bright girl. And she doesn’t trust Kafka for even a second.

            She’s right not to.

            Kafka glides over to the office chair in front of March’s desk and takes a seat. At the same time, on her end of the connection, she smoothly pulls one of her own chairs under her. The end result is that it seems like she’s really there in the room with March – it’s a nice little trick she’s practiced to perfection. “Straight to the point, are we? An admirable attitude,” Kafka drawls, “but not a particularly fun one. Shouldn’t we start things off with some small talk?”

            March frowns. “No.”

            “Alright, fair enough. I suppose you want me out of here as soon as possible,” Kafka says. She’s already thought of what she’s going to say next, but she makes a big show of stroking her chin for a few moments and acting like she’s thinking. “March 7^th, would you describe yourself as… emotionally intelligent?”

            March tilts her head a tad and raises an eyebrow. “…Why do you ask?”

            “I’m having an issue involving feelings, and so I was hoping for some advice,” Kafka explains.

            “And you came to me?” March asks incredulously. “I think Himeko would be a better option, or Mr. Yang. They’re a lot better at being thoughtful than me.”

            “The thought had crossed my mind,” Kafka says. “But, well… I get the distinct feeling that Himeko doesn’t really want to see me. The last time we parted, she said that if I ever tried to contact her again, she would, and I quote, ‘Rip open my █████ with a █████, then cut my ██ off, reach down my ██ and crush my ███, then ████ me with a ████ ███, █████…’”

            “…Wow.”

            “…And then ‘Cut off my ███ and nail it to the wall of the Astral Express’,” Kafka finishes gleefully. “So no, as fun as all that sounds, it really would ruin my schedule for this week. And as for your Mr. Yang, I suspect all I would get from him is old-fashioned parenting advice, which is not the area I need assistance with.”

            “So… what do you need help with?” March asks, looking confused.

            “It’s about Wolfie—or, well, Silver Wolf,” Kafka says.

            “The infamous hacker who has broken into our home several times?”

            “That’s the one,” Kafka proudly confirms. “She’s been going through some… I suppose I’d call it turmoil recently, and I’m unsure how to fix it.”

            “Okay,” March murmurs. “Well… do you know what’s causing it?”

            “I have a few suspects,” Kafka answers. “She didn’t manage to get one of the new characters in one of her games recently… she’s had to perform some emergency maintenance on our base’s systems… and she hasn’t been sent on any missions in a while, so she’s likely getting antsy at this point.”

            “Alright,” March says, nodding along.

            “Also, she killed her mother not that long ago. That’s a big one.”

            March’s eyes look like they’re going to pop right out of her head. “Uh… yeah! I’d say so!”

            “Okay, so it’s not just me…” Kafka murmurs to herself.

            “I… um…” March sputters. “How… Silver Wolf killed her own mother?”

            “Well, she tried to kill us first, so I’d say it was justified,” Kafka says. “The problem is, Wolfie’s been awfully quiet since the whole thing happened. She normally bounces back pretty quickly, and I thought her mood was improving for a while, but now she’s just getting worse again.” She sighs. “I’ve been doing research on how to comfort people – I even bought a book on it, for crying out loud – but nothing seems to be working.”

            “Okay, that’s… really sad, and I feel really sorry for Silver Wolf, but I still don’t get why you asked for me,” March responds.

            “Well, you’re very… earnest,” Kafka decides to say, after sorting through several less flattering words. “Whenever I try to help Wolfie, it feels disingenuous, like I’m just going through the motions. Not to mention that you have plenty of personal experience with Stelle.”

            March shrugs. “I mean, I guess, but they’re two different people.”

            Kafka chuckles. “You’d be surprised. They’re more similar than you might think.”

            “Okay, but… you want me to, what… teach you to be more earnest?” March asks.

            “Essentially, yes,” Kafka answers.

            March takes a seat on her bed and scratches the back of her neck awkwardly. “Um… I really don’t know how to do that? I don’t really think that much before I talk to people, I just kinda follow my instincts most of the time.”

            Kafka is, to be perfectly honest, more than a little irked that this literal amnesiac has somehow developed better people skills than her by complete accident. She keeps a straight face, though. “Alright, well… what goes through your mind when you want to help Stelle with something?”

            March shrugs. “Mostly, I just try to figure out whether she needs my help at all. She’s… really quiet a lot of the time.”

            “Sounds familiar,” Kafka remarks.

            “I can kinda watch out for the tells, though,” March continues. “Like… oh! Have you heard of that one really popular game, uh… something Impact?”

            “Oh, Wolfie plays that one too,” Kafka says. “It’s very entertaining to watch.”

            “Well… sometimes when Stelle’s feeling down, she’ll play that game. But she won’t actually play play it, she’ll just run around in circles or something like that,” March explains. “It’s sort of like she just wants something to keep her busy, which I totally get. Sometimes, when I’m really bored, or if I’m just having a bad day, I’ll sort my photo collection just because it’s something to do.”

            “Interesting,” Kafka notes.

            March freezes. “Um… hey, don’t you think about using any of this against us!” she exclaims.

            Kafka puts her hands up nonthreateningly. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t,” she assures March. After all, if Elio wanted the Express crew dead, Kafka would have done it years ago. “So, when Stelle is having a bad day, what’s your strategy for dealing with it?”

            “Um… kisses and cuddles usually work for me, but I dunno if that’s what you’re going for,” March muses. “If she hasn’t drunk anything for a while, I’ll grab her some juice or something from the fridge. Or, if it’s really bad, I’ll pretend that I’m the one feeling crummy, so that way she’ll drop what she’s doing and try to comfort me. Then I can usually get her to take a nap with me, and she always feels better after that. Works like a charm,” she giggles.

            Kafka smiles a little at that. “Does she snore too?”

            “What do you mean by that?” March asks.

            “Wolfie snores in her sleep a lot,” Kafka elaborates. “It’s this cute little noise that she makes, and she refuses to admit she does it, even though I’ve caught her in the act multiple times. I was just wondering if that’s another thing Stelle inherited from her.”

            “No, Stelle doesn’t snore. She does kick a lot in her sleep, though,” March grins. “Sometimes I think about putting up a shield between us so that I don’t end up with bruises on my thighs!”

            Kafka chuckles. “I can’t say for sure if Wolfie does that, I’m not in the business of watching non-targets sleep. I doubt she’d be causing any bruises even if she did, though.”

            “Ugh, I get that,” March groans. “HRT totally destroyed my leg muscle. I managed to mostly keep my arms in shape, because I use my bow so often, but running is sooo tiring now.”

            “I just don’t think Wolfie exercises at all,” Kafka says. “And when you take her diet into account, I’m honestly surprised that she hasn’t had a heart attack years ago.”

            “I know, right?” March cries. “I have seen Stelle eat literal trash off the side of the road, scarf down so much food she throws up, and survive on only energy drinks for three days, and she still has the best abs I’ve ever seen. Meanwhile, all it takes is an extra slice of cake with dinner for me to be feeling bloated for a week. So unfair.” She pauses, and then her cheeks flush. “I mean, I’m not totally complaining. I like Stelle’s abs.”

            Well, Kafka’s certainly learning more about March, that’s for sure. “Wolfie has done the ‘survive off energy drinks’ thing quite a bit,” she says. “I keep having to pull her out of her room to get her to eat actual food. I’ve taken her out to eat at all of the best restaurants in seven galaxes, and her diet is still eighty percent soda. I’m beginning to think I’m fighting for a lost cause here.”

            “How can you afford to go to all those—” March pauses. “Oh, right. All the looting. Never mind.”

            “It pays the bills and then some,” Kafka shrugs. “Don’t worry, Wolfie and I only take money from bad people… mostly.”

            “Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me,” March deadpans. “So… do you and her go on missions together a lot?”

            “Not always, but frequently enough, when the situation calls for it,” Kafka says. “I enjoy working with her in particular. She’s very smart. Not that I don’t enjoy Blade or Sam’s company, but it’s nice to not be the only strategist in the field sometimes.”

            “Huh, that’s… almost kinda nice of you,” March observes.

            “I am, on occasion, capable of mimicking the behaviors of a decent person,” Kafka says honestly.

            March looks mildly uncomfortable at that. A misstep. And things were going so well. “Okay, well… maybe that’s the issue, then?” March murmurs.

            Or perhaps this is still salvageable. “How so?”

            “Maybe, because you don’t think you’re a good person, that’s why all your attempts to comfort Silver Wolf feel hollow to you?” March says. Then she shrugs. “I dunno.”

            Kafka shakes her head. “I doubt it’s as simple as that,” she replies, making extra sure to keep her voice steady. “You’re aware I don’t feel emotions the same way you do, right? I’m simply incapable of empathizing with what Silver Wolf is going through. The problem is deeper than simple self-perception.”

            “I… don’t think that’s right,” March says. “When we were talking about Silver Wolf’s bad habits, you weren’t criticizing her for them. You were smiling.”

            Oh. “I… suppose I was.”

            “If you really were cold-hearted, you’d just see all that stuff as making her less efficient,” March continues. “But you don’t. You try to help her improve on her flaws, but you also accept who she is with them.”

            “What’s your point here?” Kafka asks cautiously.

            “Just because you can’t empathize with her doesn’t mean you can’t be kind, dummy,” March giggles. “You just haven’t had a lot of practice at it.”

            That… feels like it should be wrong, but Kafka can’t come up with a compelling reason why. Any further thoughts, however, are interrupted by the timer on her watch making a beep! noise. Kafka covers it with her hand with a quiet hiss. That’s her cue to leave, but she somehow got sucked into a conversation, and now she’s wasted this opportunity. “I need to go,” she says, standing up.

            March springs to her feet as well. “Wait, don’t go yet!” she pleads. “What sort of things are you doing already?”

            “Um…” Kafka wracks her brain. “Buying her things, complimenting her sometimes, sitting with her while she plays games… I think she let me hug her once.”

            “Okay, all of that is good, especially the last one,” March says hurriedly, tapping her chin. “Maybe let her rant to you about her interests, that might cheer her up. Ooh! And make sure she knows she can rely on you and talk to you about stuff, because she might not know that.”

            “Hm.” Kafka smirks. “It seems you’re more intelligent than I gave you credit for.”

            March puts her hands on her hips and leans back. “Yeah, I can pretty wise sometimes—oop!” she cries, as she apparently forgets there isn’t anything behind her to lean on and instead tumbles onto her bed.

            Kafka deactivates the hologram, winking out of existence with a chuckle.

. . .

            Not long after, Kafka opens Silver Wolf’s door a crack and peers inside.

            To her delight and mild surprise, the pint-sized hacker is out of bed, properly dressed, and fiddling with some code on her gauntlet. Good.

            It’s a funny thing – now that she works for Elio, having all her missions planned out down to the second ahead of time, moments like these where she has no idea what will happen next are all the more exhilarating. She steps inside.

            “How’s your meeting on the Astral Express go?” Silver Wolf says instantly, putting away her work.

            Kafka purses her lips. “I… wasn’t aware you knew about that.”

            “You tried to have a secret online meeting under the nose of the universe’s greatest hacker. I’m honestly a little insulted,” Silver Wolf snarks, the barest trace trace of a smile in the corner of her mouth.

            Kafka takes a few more steps in, until she’s standing in front of Silver Wolf. “Should I assume you heard everything that was said?” she asks, silently praying for an answer in the negative.

            Silver Wolf shrugs. “Ehh. Not really any of my business. I’m on there often enough myself, so I’d be kind of a hypocrite to question why you were.”

            “I appreciate the understanding,” Kafka says honestly. “What are you working on?”

            “Just optimizing my Kamikazee Kode,” Silver Wolf answers. “I… noticed it wasn’t running fast enough last time I used it.”

            So she’s thinking about the fight with her mother again. “Is this an urgent project?”

            “Not really, I guess.”

            “Then can I have a hug?”

            Silver Wolf blinks a couple of times. “…Why?”

            “Because I’d like one,” Kafka says simply. “If that’s alright with you?”

            Silver Wolf’s cheeks are tinged with a bit of pink. “Um… okay. That’s fine.” She stiffly sticks her arms out in front of her, then walks forward far enough to where she can wrap them around Kafka’s midsection.

            Kafka stretches her (significantly longer) arms out and around Silver Wolf’s body, pulling the smaller girl in closer. She resists the urge to playfully tug at Silver Wolf’s ponytail. From what her studies have told her, that would probably ruin the moment.

            “So, um… is this what you wanted?” Silver Wolf asks, her voice slightly muffled from her face being pushed into Kafka’s shoulder.

            “More or less,” Kafka answers. A pause. “…Hey, Wolfie?”

            “Mmm-hmm?”

            “I just… thought I should inform you that I’m going to be sticking around. I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Right,” Silver Wolf says, nodding a little. “Because you need Elio’s help to feel fear.”

            “No, that’s the reason I joined,” Kafka corrects her. “But it’s not the sole reason I’m staying.” There’s a longer pause after that, and Kafka is considering that maybe she was a little too vague, but then Silver Wolf squeezes her tighter. She can just barely feel the tears dripping from Silver Wolf’s eyes onto her shoulder. “Wolfie…” she begins.

            “Shut up. I’m fine.” A couple more tears fall. “You see nothing.”

            “It’s okay if you want to cry, you know.”

            “Well, that doesn’t matter, because I’m not crying,” Silver Wolf sniffles.

            “Whatever you say,” Kafka chuckles.

            “Good. Glad you understand,” Silver Wolf mumbles, pressing her face into Kafka even harder. Then, quieter: “…Thank you.”

            Kafka brings a hand up to gently stroke the back of Silver Wolf’s head. “Anytime, Wolfie.”

            Yeah. This feels good.