#pgr request

You grunted with effort, levering yourself awkwardly from the comforts of your bed. It had been six weeks since the accident. Lucia and Liv continued to refer to it as ‘The Incident’ and adamantly dodged questions from other teams. Anyone talking to them would think you’d died. In fact, you were pretty sure Kamui thought you had.

Three weeks ago, it’d been amusing. You’d even encouraged it. But now, as the second month of your handicap loomed on the horizon, all you felt was angry. You were sick of being sick, tired of being tired. Those who had seen the planet, who’d borne witness to the ruinous beauty of a broken earth, could never be contented to stay. And while you were idling away in the sterile comforts of Babylonia, the Punishing advanced below. 

Frustrated, you shifted in the wheelchair, punching the cushion behind you into submission. The contraption was uncomfortable, no matter how many curses or how much violence you inflicted upon it. Liv liked to say that it was as stubborn as you, but even her gentility couldn’t ease your latest black mood. It was hard to sit still while your comrades fought and bled; hard to watch progress find Constructs in leaps and bounds while it found you in stumbling steps. There was no doubt that you were recovering, but it was slow. Every day a step farther. Every night a little easier. Now, more than ever, you were reminded of your mortal fragility. A brave heart did not equate to a strong mind. And a strong mind did not mean a strong body. 

It’s bad, Asimov had said. A wheelchair for now and well, maybe forever. You’ll have some time. Use it to come to terms.

Somehow, perhaps through sheer stubbornness, you’d managed to avoid that dire fate. You would walk again and one day return to the maws of the Punishing. To be crunched up and spat out again? Such dark thoughts permeated your mind often. You couldn’t help it. You were as much a soldier as anyone, but these last weeks had reminded you of just how hard it was. The hurt and aches, the tears and fractures that had never been given the chance to heal. And in the dead of night, away from prying eyes, the terrible, consuming pain. It was hard to forget the wreck of your body in the aftermath: the limp dangle of your legs in Lee’s arms, the blood that poured out of you like a swollen river, bones and flesh unmade into fragments of dust and meat.

But harder still was watching your Ravens grounded and flightless, as trapped on Babylonia as you. Harder still was noting the prolonged absence of Strike Hawk and the rising tensions between Vera and Lee. Every sympathetic eye in the hallways made you sick. 

That was what had driven you to explore Babylonia. For all that it wasn’t earth, it was something. A home for some, even if it would never be for you. Sighing, you swiped away the holographic puzzle you’d been working on. These wheels aren’t going to turn themselves…

“Maybe I can threaten Asimov again,” you muttered under your breath, hands already reaching for the spokes of your wheels. “Maybe if I commit to being a nuisance…”

“If that’s your plan, you’ll have to do better than pouting over puzzles.”

Lee stepped around the corner, pristine in his palette of black and blue. Your breath caught. He was vivid against the stark corridors, a bold stroke in the emptiness, so painfully beautiful that it hurt not to stare. Every line of him was sharp and calculated, placed just so by an artist’s loving hand. But there was no talent in the world that could capture the pale fire of his eyes. Those haunting, expressive eyes that bared his soul when words could not. 

A blond brow arched. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you muttered grumpily, feeling your mood lift despite yourself. “Go away. I’m contemplating going legless.”

“Then you’d better get to it. Once Asimov hears, you’ll lose more than just your legs.”

You shot him an unholy glare. “Are you here for a reason?”

“Yes,” Lee said, apparently content to leave it at that. He studied your furrowed brow and the purple shadows beneath your eyes. “Have you been sleeping?”

“No. I do nothing but sit around all day. It’s terribly restful.”

“I think that’s the point.”

“No need to rub it in.”

He sighed, “Only you would miss going to war. No wonder Vera likes you.”

“She likes me the way a cat likes a rat,” you countered. “I’m only interesting until she gets hungry. Or bored.” Lee was silent, but you could hear his reproach all the same. “What? Cynicism is healthy, you know.”

“And when did you become a pessimist, Commandant?”

“Since I started throwing a tantrum,” you said primly, meeting his unflinching gaze with solemnity. As you’d hoped, Lee’s lips quirked. It was only the slightest twitch, hardly more than a trick of the light, but your heart fluttered all the same. He was perfect as a Construct, the very pinnacle of human beauty, but when he smiled — when his cheeks dimpled on the left — you could see beyond that inhuman magnificence to the soul beneath: Morian. The boy you’d never truly known, but somehow always had. 

Buoyed by your success, you added, “Though I prefer the term venting.”

Lee was unconvinced. “You mean being unreasonable?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

A soft exhale stirred the air above your head. You imagined the phantom brush of it against your skin. “You’re impossible,” Lee said, moving behind you to grab the handles of your wheelchair. “Watch your hands.” 

Without another word, he slid you forward, gliding through halls of recreational rooms. You craned your neck to peer into one. Swaths of blue light danced on the walls, pierced irregularly by spears of gold and white. Somewhere in the distance, close enough to be a dream, rumbled the soft, lonely call of whale song. 

Aching, you looked away. Babylonia may pretend at heaven, but there was some things that could never be captured. The thunder of waves breaking against your feet. The tug of wind against the anchors of your being. And the clouds, tender and bruised in a sky that stretched forever.

Still, you’d seen more in the past month than you had in all your years of service. Human kindnesses and human virtues; small hopes and big dreams. Love, that singular bastion of hope at the end of the world, gathered so strongly in a single place that you could feel it in the air. Against all odds, humanity had taken this empty husk and given it a soul, one filled with the very best of man. Was it the body or the soul that made a home? Every day you spent here had watered the seeds of doubt: that life could go on, and neither humans nor the Earth truly needed each other. So then what were you fighting for?

Perhaps, you thought as Lee wheeled you around an unfamiliar corner, it’s time to let go.

A frosted glass door appeared before you. Beyond lay a blurry landscape of greens and browns, like those abstract paintings Ayla had once shown you. Babylonia had gardens of course, but they were mostly fake — structures of steel and plastic that imitated life. Waging war left little time for tending plants. It was sensible, economical even, but part of you had always mourned the loss. 

But now... Your breaths were short as Lee swiped his access card.

The red eye blinked blue.

Bright notes of birdsong greeted you, carried on the wings of a warm summer wind. Jasmine and lavender perfumed the air. Above you was the percussive rustle of leaves, thin branches dancing in their places; beneath, vibrant and alive, was a verdant green sea, stretching as far as the eye could see. Pathways meandered into the sunscape like great snakes, arching gracefully through copses of bushes laden with berries like glistening jewels. Trees towered overhead. You recognised the statuesque trunks of oaks and redwood, but also the elegant silhouettes of aspens and birch, and far in the distance, the bowed boughs of weeping willow. “This is…”

Lee wheeled you forward. The door clicked shut, locking you in, away from the aseptic and cold, away from the hungry maw of space into a remembered world. He was quiet as gravel crunched underfoot. For a while, there was only the sound of wonder. Your silent breaths and roaming eyes. The thundering beat of your heart and the awakening song in your soul. Then came the comfort of companionship. His staccato steps and your legato tread. The murmur of young leaves. Birds, singing unseen in notes that dipped and weaved.

You basked in the sensations. Never had you experienced anything like this. Not even on Earth — a tranquility so complete it seemed a dream. Gravel gave way to the hush of soil. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the gurgle of water, falling and falling, splashing into a pool that would not dry. Sunlight kissed your skin and you were surprised at the sting. Ultraviolet light, you realised with a jolt. How much energy does that cost?

“What is this?” you asked quietly, tilting your head to find Lee looking at you. There was an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Is this… is this real?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his lambent gaze full of feelings you couldn’t follow. You watched him as you always did. You had always been able to parse him, to lean on a connection you shared not even with Liv or Lucia, but he had retreated from you. What was it about this garden that pained him so?

“Lee?”

You reached out, fingers soft against his mechanical palm. Though he didn’t look at you, his fingers found their way into the gaps between your own. Hands braided, threaded together as if it was always meant to be. He had never touched you so intimately before, but it didn’t feel strange.

“It’s real,” he said at last, blue eyes fixed on the spread of green before you. “All of this is real. In a few months, it’ll finally be ready.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. “Ready for what?”

His eyes cleared like the sky after rain. In them, you recognised what you’d always known: love. So much love carried by those tired blue eyes. Wherever he had gone, Lee had come back, and he’d come bearing a hidden part of his soul, ready to be shared with you at last. “For humans,” he said. “For the children who have never known this.” He gestured around, encompassing the world with a wave of his hand. “This will remind them. Connect them with their history. They should feel things, while they still can.”

His hands closed around yours. The tips of his fingers dug into your skin, but you didn’t move. His pain was your own; you would bear it with pride.

“How long has this been happening?” you asked. “How long... I mean, how did you even grow these trees?”

“I brought seeds from Earth. Whenever we were sent on a mission, I’d retrieve some. It took years, and it was started way before me, but Hassan wanted—”

“Yeah,” you said gently, turning from him to face the garden once more. “Something for us to leave behind.”

Lee said nothing, but you could feel his conviction in the press of his palm against yours. “I believe in us. In you. One day the war will end. When that time comes, a decade or a thousand years from now, I want people to remember that there was more. That living once meant tranquility and beauty, not just blood. Not just violence.”

You nodded. His words struck a chord within you, his ideas a skeletal echo of your own secret thoughts. Alone in the dark, you had wondered of your legacy. When the fight was won and fabled peace found at last, what would the people think? Would you be a hero who reclaimed the Earth or a villain who had destroyed the very thing it sought to possess? 

“Not just violence,” you echoed. Sometimes it feels like that’s all we are.

Lee knelt by your side. His eyes met your own. “Commandant, I—” 

Something wet plinked against your forehead. You glanced up. The light receded with alarming speed, leaving a trail of pregnant clouds in its wake. Wind whipped through the branches, threatening to rip the very leaves from their homes. Birds scattered to unseen havens. Within moments, the garden was a roiling landscape of adverse weather. Rain poured down in an endless torrent, stirred by vicious gales to tempestuous rage. 

“What’s happening?” You had to yell to be heard above the howling storm. Lee had risen and was moving for the handles of your wheelchair.

“It’s the weather program!” he explained. “It’s supposed to emulate real-world meteorological conditions. Probably needs a little work!” 

You laughed, a full-bellied thing—the first in a long, long time. “You think?”

“I told them to keep it on spring. This… isn’t quite what I had in mind.” Your wheels churned in the soil that had become mud. Lee grunted behind you, but the chair stubbornly refused to move. With a huff of frustration, he gave up and circled around to face you. “Let’s get out of here.”

Leaning in, he dipped one arm beneath your legs and wrapped the other around your back. Your cheeks warmed despite the lashing wind. “Wait, what—”

“Hold on, Commandant.” His breath was warm, his lips so close that they brushed against the shell of your ear. Lee lifted you from the chair like a treasure. You could feel the steady beat of his heart as he cradled you against his chest. Somehow, your arms had found their way around his neck. Water plastered his hair to his forehead and dripped into his eyes, but he didn’t let go. His eyes, when they met yours, were as clear as a summer sky. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I will be,” he said grumpily. “Once we get out of this tempest.”

You chuckled; something about his aggrieved tone was just so Lee that you couldn’t help it. “I like this!” you said above the storm. The rising wind and rain, the biting cold against the warm press of Lee, the hint of him in every blade of grass and velvet petal—you loved all of it. This place was a wild heart in the carefully planned rhythm of Babylonia. A sliver of the Earth captured in a truer way than you had ever known possible. “I love this!”

You whooped like a child, laughing as you opened your mouth to the taste of fresh water on your tongue. Your joy was infectious and soon Lee was laughing too, his soft giggles calling to more of your own. With water sluicing down your faces, with wind-chilled skin and soft-centred hearts, Lee carried you across the mud and slick, his steps confident and sure. You held on as tightly as you could, your fingers making divots into the smooth skin of his neck, his arms. There was a feeling between you with no name. An understanding so deep that it needed no voice. 

You gazed out at the wonder before you. It truly was a miracle. Real trees and real grass. Real flowers that would wither and die and live again. Life and hope, you thought as the doors hissed open. A moment of peace.

They slid shut, sealing the wild beauty of the garden from you once more. You could still feel the rain slicking your skin, running down your face to pool like crystals on the pristine ground.  You looked up at Lee with liquid eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked breathlessly. “Why did you labour alone?”

“Because,” he said. “It’s a gift.”

A gift. But you knew Lee, knew him like you knew your own soul, and you heard all the things he did not say. It was a gift, but it was also a dream. A promise, and a hope. It was all the things that existed in the quiet spaces between heartbeats, unseen and unheard, but known all the same.

And shared, sometimes, in the tender feelings between two soldiers wondering, and silently wishing for more.

“Come on,” Lee said after a moment. “You’ll catch a cold. I’ll come back for the chair later.”

You smiled as his footsteps rang out in the empty corridor. Swaying in his arms with the smell of petrichor still in your veins, you felt something ignite in your chest. It was small and fragile, easily buried amid the chaos of war, but you knew where to find it again. Tucked away behind a frosted glass door, there was a piece of Lee that would always be ready to remind you of what you were fighting for.

Not just violence.

For life. And for hope.

—

“Thanks for that. I owe you one.”

Murray watched happily as Morian cradled his Commandant close. He’d asked the technician to cut the audio, but there was no mistaking the depth of feeling between them. His brother was far too awkward for any declarations of love, but he hoped he’d at least given him a chance, an opportunity to express those feelings he so obviously harboured for his leader. Knowing Morian though, he’d probably squandered it, but well, a man could dream. 

The tech shot Murray a disgruntled glare. “Anything else? I have better things to do than meddle in Construct affairs.”

He sighed in mock sympathy. “More’s the pity. I love meddling in people’s lives.”

“This is why nobody likes you, Murray. Lee’s going to scold me enough as it is.” 

“I had enough of that as a kid. I’ve done my time.” With a casual wave of his hand, he left the scowling technician to his muttered insults and his bribe. Murray walked down the corridors feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Morian—Lee now—had sacrificed his life for Murray. Though he couldn’t quite do the same, he wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t the weak, younger brother that needed protecting anymore. 

R E D   |   c h a s i n g   f i r e  

You lay in his arms, a broken doll weeping red. Blood had soaked through your shirt, inking your skin with tattoos of violence. There was so much of it. So thick it was smothering. So dark it was almost black. Chrome bit his lip and put more pressure on your wound. He couldn’t bear to look at your face, to see the pallor of it and know that death was calling. To know that he was the one who’d failed you. 

“Stay with me, Commandant,” he said, fighting to keep the panic from his voice. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not asleep,” you slurred. Bloodless lips curled into the ghost of a smile. “Just resting my eyes.” Your breaths were rapid and shallow, in time with a hummingbird pulse that grew fainter by the minute.

“Tell me a story,” he said urgently. “The last book you read?”

Your eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. It took you several long beats to answer. “We don’t have to do this, Chrome.” Your fingers closed around his wrist. “I know.”

He bit back the lies that curled on his tongue. He wanted so much to deny, to look away from the unbearable truth, but he couldn’t lie to you. He never could. He reached out to caress your face, thumb brushing over the swell of your cheek. You exhaled softly. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head weakly. “Not your fault.”

“How can you say that? I promised them I’d bring you home. I was supposed to protect you and--”

You pressed a finger to his lips. Chrome could taste the blood on your skin. “Shhh,” you said with some effort. “It’s okay. You’ll be alright.”

“It’s not okay,” he insisted, holding your trembling hand between his own. “None of this is okay.”

“Well… I forgive you anyway.”

Those words shattered something inside him. Like a dam breaking, tears streamed down his face, drawn from some deep well of anguish without end. The pain inside him was a hunger that could not be satisfied, and would not be contained. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t shape the words. Silent screams tore themselves from his throat, taking with them shattered pieces of his inhuman heart. Right then, he wasn’t a Construct; he was just a man with human hurts and human sorrows, mourning the loss of a human life. His grief called forth your own tears. They spilled down your cheeks in a bitter chain. Each staccato breath sent electric pain through your broken body, but you couldn’t stop. There was simply too much. Too much pain, too much regret. Too many things that needed to be said and not enough time to even begin. You could only cry and cry, and hope that Chrome understood. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he begged, head bent against yours. His voice was ragged and raw. “Please stay.”

“I want to,” you breathed against his lips. There were no more tears left in you. No space for grief. Only a dull ache and a growing numbness. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

Chrome could have screamed. He could have ripped the world apart over the injustice of it all. But none of that would save you. He couldn’t kiss you better or change fate or reverse the flow of time. He could only hold you as you slipped from this world, as helpless as sand before the tide. 

“I would do anything to fix this,” he said, cradling your head between his hands. Your eyes were unfocused, the skin around them tight with pain. “I wish…” He blinked away the blurriness in his vision and tried again. “I wish I could have protected you.”

“What a… simple wish,” you rasped. “Lucky it already came true.”

“What?”

You smiled. Or tried to. It was hard to know what your body was doing anymore. “You protected my mind… My soul. That’s enough.” You swallowed thickly. It was getting harder to breathe. “Is it dark already? I’m so cold.”

Chrome gathered you to him gently. His arms around you were tight, but you hardly felt it. “I’m here,” he said in your ear, again and again. “I’ll always be here.”

Your head rolled back to rest on his shoulder. A chill was spreading through your body, as if ice had replaced the blood in your veins. It was uncomfortable, but you welcomed it. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. “Tell me something nice,” you said, letting your eyes drift shut. “A story… With a happy ending.”

A small sob escaped from Chrome. His breath quivered, dancing over your skin in small puffs of warmth. You wanted to wipe the tears from his face, to comfort him and be comforted in turn. But your body was no longer yours. It danced with death now, and you were simply a spectator in the stalls. You were so tired. You’d fought for so long. All you wanted was to sleep. Here, at the end of it all, you set down your burdens and let yourself rest. I’m listening, Chrome, you thought languidly, as the rhythms of your body slowed. 

-----------

Chrome felt like he was breaking apart at the seams, losing the very essence of himself to an uncaring world. All of his fleeting happiness felt so far away, like the remnants of an impossible dream. There was only a brief moment in time that was free of pain, brilliant and blinding like sunlight on waves. A lonely memory of kinder times. 

He returned to the landscape of his childhood, and began.

“Once upon a time, there was a prince who wanted for nothing. He had gold and gems and servants to fulfill his every wish. The world was at his fingertips, but he had no friends. He was lonely.” You gave a tiny hum. Chrome continued. “He searched high and low, but nobody cared for his formality and stiffness. They called him a robot, who didn’t know what it meant to be human. Then one day, he met a beautiful girl. She caught his attention immediately.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “She treated the prince like any other person, without fear or judgement. And so she became his first and dearest friend.” 

You mumbled something, though he couldn’t make out the words. “The two went on many adventures together, defeating great evils across the lands. Dark beasts and corrupt kings and disease. After their journey closed, the prince found that he’d fallen in love with her. He loved her beauty, her bravery, and her intellect. She was everything he wasn’t and more besides. Their marriage was celebrated across the kingdom. Together, they ruled fairly and--” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. “And there was no more suffering in their lands. Everyone was happy, but none more so than the king and queen. The end.”

You were silent. Your tortured breaths had faded to pained little gasps like you were choking on air. Your body twitched in his arms, fighting enemies he couldn’t see. Chrome let out a broken sob. “Go then,” he said. “Go if it hurts. Go. I love you.”

That seemed to be the permission you needed. Your body stilled with a final exhale. You were slack and cold against his chest, a dead weight upon his soul. He struggled against the urge to scream. Chrome buried his face in your neck and breathed you in, lavender on blood mixed with a cloying sweetness. “Come back,” he whispered against your skin. “Please come back to me.”

His heart beat steadily in his breast, a perfectly inhuman thing that never wavered. But he could still feel it break.

He wept like his soul was being ripped apart. 

Grief is red, roses and thorns all at once. Like chasing fire, I reach for the warmth of memory, but there is only the burn of flame. There is no comfort here, only endless paths of pain.

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O R A N G E   |   b u r n i n g   c o a l s 

Hassen sighed. “I understand you’re distressed,” he said. “But I won’t accept your resignation.” He held up a hand before Chrome could object. “People who want to be Constructs are rare. Those who are compatible are even rarer. If you leave, there’s nobody to replace you as leader of Strike Hawk.”

“Kamui or Banji are more than capable,” Chrome countered adamantly. “They’re just as experienced.”

Hassen raised a brow. “Surely I don’t need to tell you experience isn’t the only measure of competence.”

Chrome fell silent. He knew Hassen was right, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. His spirit was shattered. Picking up the broken pieces was a mountain he didn’t know how to climb. “I don’t know how to go on,” he said finally. “It’s too painful.”

“It’s painful now, but it’ll pass,” Hassen said. His breath hitched. “Trust me.”

Chrome didn’t think he could trust anyone ever again. Himself least of all. He nodded mutely. Hassen seemed satisfied with that. He turned to leave before pausing at the door. “You should attend the funeral,” he said after a moment. “It’ll help.”

Chrome felt like he’d been slapped. “No,” he said immediately. “I doubt Gray Raven wants to see the man who killed their Commandant.”

“They’ve had time to process. And grieve. I think they’ll want to see you.”

He said nothing. He could hardly look at the other man. Hassen sighed. “Just think about it.”

The doors hissed shut behind him. 

-----------

He couldn’t go to the funeral. He’d thought about it like Hassen asked, but there would be too much of you there. Too many reminders that you were gone, not even bones left to hold. He didn’t want to hear others talking of your life and glorifying your death. He couldn’t bear to hear of your bravery when all he could see was the fear in your face and the regret in your eyes. He still remembered the tremble in your hands, the way you’d clung to him and wept. Your words rang in his mind. Those words that chased him from day to night, and haunted him in hollow dreams.

I’m scared. I don’t want to die.

Chrome buried his face in his hands. The tears swept over the plains of his soul, trying to ease an unquenchable hellfire. He clenched at the sheets. Tore at his hair. He slammed his fist into the ground until sparks flew from metallic joints. 

But there was nothing that could heal the wound within. 

Grief is orange. Burning coals simmering under the surface, stirred to flame by the gentlest of reminders. It hides and it sleeps, but it never dies.

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Y E L L O W   |   s e t t i n g   s u n

He stumbled, gasping for breath. His entire body hurt. Vital fluid leaked from a dozen places, but Chrome ignored it. Another swing, another slash. Corrupted hands reached for him like the groping hands of death. Something sharp dug into his shoulder. He grunted and swept his scythe in a blazing arc before yanking the blade from his body. His vision glitched. Warning signals flashed. Vital fluid loss. Stabilisation module damaged. Core processing unit under extreme strain. Chrome swept matted hair from his eyes. He didn’t need to be told his body was failing. He could feel it in the heaviness of his limbs, in the flaring pain that accompanied every movement. The world was dark around the edges. 

Is this how you felt, Commandant? Did it hurt like this?

His legs buckled. The ground rose to meet him even as the bright edge of a blade descended on his right. Chrome closed his eyes. 

“CAPTAIN!”

The clash of metal on metal was followed by the thunderous crash of something collapsing. Strong hands picked him up as his teammates slung his arms over their shoulders. “It’s not like you to be so reckless,” Kamui said with real fear. “It’s almost like you want to die.”

“I--” He broke off. Did he want to die? He hadn’t tried to defend himself at all. But he could have. He knew he could have. 

“Not yet,” Banji said quietly from his other side. “We still need you, Captain.”

Chrome hung his head. Shame and regret warred in his fragile heart. He didn’t know how to feel, but one thing was clear:

It wasn’t yet time. He’d have to keep you waiting a little longer. 

Grief is yellow. Soft and gentle, like the afterglow of a setting sun. Even when the flame has gone, it remains. It doesn’t burn anymore, but it haunts me all the same.

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G R E E N   |   j a d e d   e y e s

The days were getting easier. He still felt the loss of you like a missing limb, but your phantom hands no longer suffocated him. Your lips no longer kissed to kill. You’d turned from a vengeful spectre into something softer, a shade that kept him company in the dark. He breathed, it seemed, for the first time in a long time. 

Yet his mind still caught at the smallest things. Lovers kissing in the dark. Two hands twined together. Laughter around the corner. He missed the warmth of your touch, soft and tender in a way only humans could truly be. He yearned for the press of your skin against his, intimate and secret in the lonely nights. He wanted to hear your voice and kiss your lips. More than anything, he wanted you beside him. Loving him as you could, the way he loved you. 

But there was only a shadow by his side, clinging to him with invisible claws. It held your shape and stole your face, but Chrome knew it for the monster that it was. 

“Congratulations,” he said politely, handing a beautifully wrapped present to the bride. “May your love be everlasting.”

The couple beamed at him, radiant in their happiness. Their gratitude was as real as his words were false. 

He turned away.

Grief is green. Envious eyes, jealous heart. I thought I was healing, but perhaps I am healing wrong. Who is the man in the mirror?

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B L U E   |   o c e a n   d e p t h s 

Chrome, you said. Remember to breathe.

I am breathing, he thought, suddenly aware of the rising bubbles all around him. Big and small, wild and free, running towards the light above. Am I breathing?

You laughed. I’m not sure. I can’t tell.

He purposefully took a large gulp. Air flooded into his lungs despite the sunlit ocean around him. He laughed. That’s strange. Have I turned into a fish?

You’re very much not a fish, you confirmed. He couldn’t see you, but your voice was clear. Everywhere and nowhere all at once, like you were the very water itself. 

Where are you? He looked around, but there was only the endless sea. Crystalline waters vast and empty, and so beautifully blue. 

You sounded sad. Not with you, though I wish I was. 

Then come, Chrome said happily. I’ll pick you up. Just like always.

If only you could. But I think I’m a little too far away.

What do you mean?

You didn’t answer. The ocean was growing dark around him, black ink like oil rising from the depths. Smoky tendrils curled around his legs. He shuddered. Trying to kick them off only seemed to create more. He kicked towards the surface, but the sunlight was gone. The waters were ice against his skin, cold and unwelcoming. A black hand closed around his throat. 

Chrome thrashed desperately, but there was no escape. The blackness was complete, like the hand of night had crushed the world in its palm. There was no beginning and no end, no up or down. Only a darkness so deep it consumed all else. Help! Don’t leave! 

I can’t stay, you said. Your voice was already fading. Let me go, Chrome. 

Wait! He inhaled a lungful of grease. Come back! 

But you were gone. 

The sea swallowed him whole. 

-----------

Chrome woke with a start. The room was still grey; his alarm hadn’t gone off yet. He rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the sheets tangled around his feet. There was no black sea after all. Just twisted linen and hopeless dreams.

He rose and got dressed. 

Grief is blue. Endless like the ocean and just as deep. Vaster than the sky and just as curious. Always it finds new shapes to take, and new ways to hurt me.

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I N D I G O   |   s c a r   t i s s u e

He’d taken to wearing your engagement ring on a chain around his neck. Always tucked away so nobody could see. Always there, warm against his artificial heart. He fingered the polished metal. It was a simple band. No diamonds or gold, not that there was any left to be had. But you’d smiled at him all the same, accepting his proposal with a giddy joy that had kindled his own. 

Chrome had secretly recorded the moment, intending to play it at your wedding. That was a shattered dream now, but he couldn’t bring himself to delete the data. He watched the clip again, smiling softly at the happy grin on your face. You peppered his face with kisses, arms and legs wrapped around his body. There was no audio, but he could hear every word.

He flicked the video off. Things like this no longer bothered him. Distance and time had dulled the pain and stitched his wound closed. The knife’s edge of memory was almost a comfort now, barely a scratch when it used to be a stab. Still, though he no longer bled, the scars lingered. And they would never let him forget. They would never let him forgive. 

No amount of time would ever wipe the stain of your blood from his soul. 

Grief is indigo. It’s what emerges at the edge of night, when the heat of day has passed. It’s the scar tissue that remains when the wound has closed. Even when it no longer hurts, I’ll always carry the memory of that pain.

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V I O L E T   |   u n s e e n   s o u l

“If we attack from here, we can catch them in a pincer move,” Chrome said, pointing to the map. “Our chances of success will increase.”

“I agree,” she said, flashing a smile at him. Her hand rested close to his, so close he could feel the heat of her on his skin. “Looks like the majority agree with Chrome.” She nodded. “Great. That’s the plan then. Meeting adjourned.”

Chrome made to leave. “Wait, Captain.”

He turned. She smiled at him, clearing her throat awkwardly as she waited for the others to file out. Someone winked at him as the room emptied. His heart sank. 

“So,” she started when it was just the two of them. “You really took charge of that meeting.”

“Just doing my job,” he said lightly. “Can I help you with something else?”

She hesitated before meeting his eyes. They were large and earnest, so like yours. And yet so very different. His heart squeezed painfully. “I was wondering if you’d like to catch up for lunch sometime?” she asked shyly. Her voice was small and uncertain, so different from the proud Commandant of minutes ago. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking away. “I’m unavailable.”

She deflated immediately. “Really? I thought… I was told that you didn’t have anyone at the moment. Is it just me then?”

“It’s not you. It’s...” He trailed off. There really was no way to say it. “I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Is it… Is it your fiancee? I heard about what happened.”

Chrome said nothing. She studied him and sighed. “It’s been three years since then, hasn’t it? This could be the start of something new.”

He smiled ruefully. “It could,” he admitted, brushing his fingers across her cheek. “But it won’t. I’m sorry.”

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Chrome returned to his room. Your ring gleamed on the table, scuffed and bent after all the battles it’d seen. You’d loved that thing like it wasn’t just a piece of scrap metal. It carried a piece of your soul and would always be beautiful for it. Because it wasn’t just a fragment of you, it was the part of you that had been given to him freely in love and acceptance. And now, it was the only thing left to him. A dead thing that had taken your place in his heart. 

He sighed and sat on the bed. His room was the same as ever. The same four walls, the same white sheets. The same desk and lights and air. Only you had changed, leaving your physical body behind for a ghost that haunted him. But even that was gone now. There was only your ring, and the ash of his memories. 

Chrome thought back to the woman. He couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that was drawn to her, but there was a bigger part of him that couldn’t let you go. The Gray Ravens had gotten a new Commandant two years ago, one they treated with as much respect as they had you. Neither Kamui nor Banji had mentioned your name in years. The world had moved on while you slept. 

If he joined them and looked to the future, if he allowed himself to forget… You really would disappear. Just another grave. Just another statistic. He couldn’t bear that. Even if the world forgot, he wouldn’t. 

So long as he remembered, some piece of you would remain here, with him. 

So long as he remembered, he could pretend that life was still worth living. Because deep down, Chrome knew that while his body still moved and his heart still beat, the pieces of him that made him whole had died with you. 

And you would always be gone. 

Kamui punched the bag again, letting the motion dissipate the anger inside him. There was no real purpose to the activity. He wasn’t a human, after all. He didn’t need to work out. His body was an engine that wouldn’t expire; his muscles would never atrophy. This whole thing was an exercise in futility, but one that he found himself doing with increasing frequency. Every night, he found himself back here. Always the same hopeless conversation with his fists. Always the same burn in his knuckles, and the fiercer burn in his heart. It was easier to do this than to find answers to the questions that haunted him in the dark.

Because the truth was that he didn’t know who he was anymore. Everything about him felt paper-thin, like he could be washed away by the rain. Just ink running into the sea, a temporary stain upon the world that would soon be forgotten. He gave the bag a vicious uppercut. He didn’t want to be forgotten. He didn’t want to be temporary.

He wanted to be real. As real as Camu, with all the terrible things that shaped the human experience. But that was an impossible dream. Because no matter how advanced he was, no matter how convincing, he was a lie. A miraculous, transcendent lie that walked and talked and loved, but still just a pale imitation in the end. Lines of code trying to emulate life. A meaningless collection of ones and zeroes. That’s all he was.

He lacked a human consciousness, a treasure more precious than gold. And without it, all he had were his mechanical body and chemical heart. How could he call himself real when every part of him had been assembled? Were these thoughts even his own?

“Dammit,” he grunted. His foot connected with the cylinder. It went flying, swaying drunkenly in the air. Metal chains rattled their displeasure. Kamui reached out to steady it with a hand, feeling the tremors travel through his fingers. He imagined them careening through his body, through his twisted wires pretending to be veins. Imagined them nesting in his metallic core, trembling ever on, pulsing like a stolen heart. “Dammit.” He leaned heavily against the wall. “Captain. Commandant. How do I deal with this?”

Sweet, cursed silence. Of course. Kamui laughed - a choked, broken sound. The image of you with the Gray Ravens came unbidden to his mind. He saw the way you laughed with them, your eyes alight with joy. The way they seemed to bring out the best in you when he never could. Was it because they possessed something he didn’t? Jealousy flushed through him, gone as quickly as it had come. His shoulders slumped. “I never could compare, huh,” he said softly. “I don’t understand a lot of things, but it seems like this is one thing I do get.”

Sighing, Kamui peeled himself from the wall. His temperature regulation system was kicking in, raising goosebumps across his exposed chest as if in mockery. He shrugged into a shirt and tugged his gloves off. His bare feet were soft against the cold floor. He padded back to his room in the dark, unable to strip his mind of its worries. His anger was long gone, burned to dust, leaving behind only the taste of ash and a deep loneliness that swallowed the world. All this time he’d thought he was trying to catch up to Lee and Watanabe, but he wasn’t even running the same race. He’d never felt more helpless in his life. Even when Koya had died, there had been a choice. A chance. A sliver of hope that had slipped like sand through his open fingers.

Even then, Kamui had chosen to fight, to reach into the abyss in search of the light. He didn’t know how else to exist. But this wasn’t something he could fight. There was no possibility and no hope, only an ugly truth like a dead-end that caged him in. He stepped into the shower, wishing he could wash away the doubts in his mind as easily as the sweat on his body. But the thoughts clung to him, dark and insidious, infecting him like poisoned blood. “Stop,” he whispered to the emptiness. “Stop haunting me like this.”