"You flinch at bright lights, but not at this?"

My eyes remained trained on Akane's hands as she carefully stitched the gash across my hand in the ship's med bay.

"Bright lights happen suddenly," I replied. "This, I can anticipate."

"'Anticipate,'" she scoffed, sounding unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed. Nonetheless she continued treating me, snipping at the end of a stitch with a pair of scissors.

"And that makes it hurt less?"

I glanced down at the blood smeared across my hand.

"I feel the pain but I simply choose not to experience it."

Akane paused. "Please stop talking."

"...Why?"

"You're starting to sound like an edgy teenager. Are all Noctians like this, or is it just you?"

"...What is 'edgy'?" I frowned. "If you're referring to my combat specialization, I'm a Scout. So I'm quite unfamiliar with blade-related terminology."

For a moment, Akane simply stared at me like an exhausted soldier who had just eaten something they found on the floor.

"It's not about actual edges."

"Then the term is inaccurate."

That statement seemed to agitate her more as she grunted whilst pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's human slang for someone who's overly grim because they think it makes them look cool."

"I am called Grim."

"Yeah, and that's not helping your case." Akane tied off another stitch. "How'd you end up with a name like that anyway?"

I considered her question for a moment, weighing whether or not my answer fell under mission classified information or public common knowledge.

"All I can say is that Noctians don't choose our call signs. Our creators assign them."

"Based on what?"

"The way we first died."

The scissors froze in her hand and for the first time since entering the med bay, Akane looked genuinely unsettled.

"...And being named Grim doesn't concern you?"

"No." I replied bluntly.

She stared at me for a second before returning to her work.

"……化け物かよ?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

The scissors resumed their steady rhythm.

"Right." Her voice was noticeably flatter.

"I mean do you even care about anything besides your mission in general?"

"N—"

My confident answer died in my throat as Myers’ face surfaced in my mind. Oddly enough I didn't remember him as he was during missions, but as the version of him I saw at his end.

Desperate. Frightened. Still hoping.

"...I don't know."

For a brief moment, the med bay felt quieter. Akane seemed pick up on my hesitance but didn't say anything, instead she continued to wrap the final bandage around my hand.

"There. Done."

I flexed my fingers experimentally. My hand's movements were stiff, but functional.

"You seem skilled at stitching wounds. Are you a doctor?"

"No." she snorted. "You learn a lot when you've spent years on the road as a mercenary."

Akane gathered the medical supplies, tossed the used wrappings into a disposal bin, then slung the kit over one shoulder before turning back towards me.

"Don't be stupid enough for boss to beat you around again. I'm busy enough as it is without having to patch you up."

"That outcome was unavoidable."

"Uh-huh. I'm asking you to be considerate."

"...Considerate?"

Without another word, she soon turned toward the exit.

"Wait, so what am I supposed to do now?"

"Go figure that out yourself."

Akane killed the lights on her way out as she shut the door behind her, leaving me alone in the dark.

It was the first time I had been free to do as I pleased. Usually, the only permitted leisure came during sleep cycles lasting roughly three hours. Well, if I was to make use of this time efficiently, mapping out the ship seemed reasonable as a way to familiarize myself with its layout and identify potential defensive weaknesses.

There was nothing particularly noteworthy on the basement floor. The med bay, office, and spectral room appeared to be the only areas of significance, though I had already visited them, so I quickly ascended to the first floor.

A cafeteria sat near the stairwell I had passed earlier, along with a small pantry and what appeared to be a compact kitchen on the left side. After gazing at an open window and seeing nothing but clouds I began to retrace my steps toward the living quarters. This time I noticed a small detail above the six doors lining the corridor, each had a name engraved above it:

"Varrick, Akane, Rohan, Silva, Monte "

The sixth room was the strangest, it was the only one locked, with no name engraved above the door. Curiosity soon got the better of me, I tried to open it, but no matter how much force I used, the door wouldn’t budge.

"Oi mate, wouldn't do that if I were you."

A tan-furred Faun stood behind me, dressed in a silver mechanic’s jumpsuit. His piercing orange eyes studied me closely.

“Look, bruv.”

“Bruv?” I echoed.

“I’m not gonna pry into where you’ve come from,” he said, whilst waving his hand lazily, “but rule number one on this ship is don’t open that door.”

“Why? What’s behind it?”

“No idea. Could be gold, could be the boss’s dodgy little stash of… whatever. Doesn’t matter. Just don’t open it.”

He jerked his chin down the corridor.

“Even Akane got bollocked for sticking her paws where they shouldn’t be and she’s the closest to the boss.”

My eyes shifted towards the now more seemingly ominous door.

"So what’re you doing wandering about like this anyway? You lost or something? You a hostage?"

“What? No. I’m cargo.”

His brows furrowed.

“Cargo? What, is boss mucking about again? Gone and nicked another royal to smuggle? Told him that was a bloody daft idea.”

“A royal? You’ve smuggled a Geoffrian royal before?” I replied in disbelief.

“Yeah! About six months ago we—”

A metal hand clamped over his mouth mid-sentence.

"You stupid fox! You dey talk too much,” Rohan stood behind him his red eyes glowed more vibrant than usual as if to express emotion.

“You dey talk to this Abiku like e be your friend. Iku go come for you if you no stop this careless nonsense.”

The Faun threw the metal hand away from his mouth.

“Whatever, alright? I got it I won’t be a loudmouth.”

Rohan shrugged him off dismissively and continued down the hallway. Out of frustration, the Faun pulled a small biscuit from his pocket and began chewing on it.

“Name’s Silva, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

He held out his grease stained hand toward me.

I stared at the gesture with an uncertain look. It seemed like I was meant to respond somehow, but nothing in my training accounted for this.

After a moment, he slowly retracted his hand into an awkward silence.

Silva took another bite of his biscuit.
“Well… something tells me you’ve never even heard of a handshake before.”

“I am unaware of such gestures.”

“Is it because you’re one of those walking, talking corpses? Like the Noctians?”

“Yes.”

Silva stopped chewing.

“Oh. I was joking… but alright then.”

He scratched the back of his head, looking more uncertain of how to continue the conversation.
“I heard the second ship was carrying some M.T. Didn’t know a Noctian came as collateral. So what’s your situation? Why’re you here?”

“Uh… you said you weren’t going to ask that awhile ago.”

“Did I?” He frowned. “Mm… oh yeah, I did.”

He sniffed dismissively to erase the thought.

“Anyway, won’t keep you. You’re probably gonna go explore the ship anyway. Bit dull around here, if I’m honest.”

He pointed vaguely down the corridor as he spoke.

“Storage is back there. Turn right for the armory, engine room’s further down—”

“I can explore by myself. Thank you.”

I passed Silva and headed towards the white door Rohan had been guarding earlier, which was now left slightly ajar.

Moving further down the hallway, I crossed paths with a middle-aged man. He wore a worn black coat, his oily hair dark and unkempt resembling Varrick’s in some way. His face seemed vaguely familiar though but I couldn't place why. He glanced at me briefly, then continued on without a word.

Following Silva’s advice I soon turned right towards what was apparently the armory which looked less like a room and more of a sealed vault. A numbered keypad sat beside the door which I'm assuming controlled access.

With how unkept this whole airship looked, at least they were competent enough to restrict entry here.

I was already about to leave when the door suddenly opened and a figure stepped out wearing a gas mask and a heavily worn coat.

“H-h-hello… what… need?” the man's grammar broke unevenly.

“I was looking for my knife and gun. Did you retrieve them?”

“N-n-no g-gun. Only knife.” He scratched at his shoulder repeatedly. “Just cleaned. Good quality.”

“Could you show me?”

“N-n-no weapons on the s-ship. S-sorry…”

“I see.”

He shuffled past me, muttering numbers under his breath as he walked away. Judging from his behavior, he appeared mentally impaired in some way, yet he was entrusted with maintaining the armory. Strange.

Before I could proceed further, Rohan appeared ahead of me like a wall blocking the corridor.

“Abiku, come. Varrick call. We eat dinner.”

“Dinner? There is no need. I do not require—”

“We eat now.”

He pushed me back toward the cafeteria.

The rest of the crew was already seated around a long metal table except the quiet man who I passed by briefly in the hallway.