#tertia

RM-SN 03 or "Tertia Rennault" (birth name [REDACTED]) was born in the shadow of the Union government, a fascistic organization desperately holding to control over the whole of Earth. As a child, she lost her family in a skirmish between the Union forces and Resistance fighters. One of many war orphans, Tertia had the misfortune of being picked up by a lead scientist at Rennault Materiels for their "Synthetic Next" Program, which sought to replicate the "Next", a new generation of humanity with psychic abilites and a natural aptitude for technology and mechsuit combat. Through chemical modification, psychological manipulation, and intensive training, Tertia became a Synthetic Next; the perfect weapon for the Resistance. Her combat capabilities exceeded measurable limits in both simulations and live-fire scenarios, and her personality and control methods make her a pliable tool in spite of her emotional instability. Finally, she's ready to be deployed and in doing so, be forced to confront a real world outside the coldness of a lab and the comfort of her cockpit.

Tertia's personality is typically flat. She speaks in a monotone voice, and her lack of socialization makes it highly difficult for her to understand typical social cues or their appropriate responses. She is too much a weapon; seeking the comfort of simple orders and rebuking the crushing weight of genuine care, as though to lower her walls and treat herself as more than a tool might destroy her. She struggles and panics when confronted with normal, everyday life, as though food besides ration bars, a bed other than a cramped cot, and activities other than simulated combat were alien and unnecessary. Secretly, so secretly even she doesn't know, she craves such things, and envies people who have been able to live normal lives. Machines are her best company, particularly her companion "Carci", who she talks to often, and, sometimes, in the quietest of nights, embraces to try and quell the weight of her repressed sorrow. In mechsuit combat—within what she sees as her true self—is where she comes alive. There she is competitive, prideful, fiery; like a beast unchained. She knows she's the best with all her heart, and she wants the opportunity to prove it, no matter who or what gets in her way.

Also, much love and credit to Warhound, Zeta Gundam, Four Murasame, and my GM for helping inspire and influence her design!

(Also bonus actual ref)

His insides froze. This was exactly why he couldn’t be allowed to be too comfortable. It was his very first day with his new masters, who had extended so much mercy towards him, and he had already failed, before he even had the chance to attempt being useful. He could barely breathe at the thought of what punishment such blatant misbehaviour would incur, a misbehaviour that never would have occurred under his old master, who knew to keep him in line. Tears pushed into his eyes at the realization. He always had believed he could be good if his master went a little easier on him, and now that it had happened, he couldn’t.

The fact that the other slaves had not woken him, left him behind to earn a punishment he couldn’t even imagine with how little he knew this new place, barely added to the pain piercing through his chest. He was not used to having companions, anyway.

There was nothing he could do but crawl out of bed - oh, he would not earn its continued use, perhaps they would just resell him right away for the useless thing he was - and dress with trembling hands; his body still hurt as he moved, but that never mattered. His old, tattered clothes had been taken away, and he slipped out of the new nightshirt he had been granted into a new set of work clothes, and he had repaid all these mercies with nothing but disobedience.

He didn’t know what to do or where to go once he was done. He didn’t know the house, or what work would be expected of him; he had received no orders, but that was no excuse for being idle.

He remembered where the kitchen was, and surely there was some work to do there. Trembling in every limb, he left the slaves’ quarters, half-expecting one of his new masters to catch him and deliver the punishment he dreaded.

It was inevitable, of course. He deserved it, and he shouldn’t even try to delay it; it would make nothing better.

He reached the dining room he had been so generously fed in the night before, and sure enough, one of the masters - the daughter, Tertia - was sitting at the table, and put her book down as he entered; no doubt she had been waiting for him.

He fell to his knees. He wanted to apologize with every fiber of his being, wanted to beg for mercy, but had he been given permission to speak? His old master didn’t care much, he enjoyed hearing his fruitless pleas, but everything was different here, and he so needed to learn what the rules were, if only anyone would help him.

The young mistress looked alarmed. »Hey, Tern!«

»I’m sorry, Mistress,« he blurted out, his tears escaping him. »I - it won’t happen again, I am so sorry, I will be useful, I’m sorry-«

»Tern! Here, sit.« She rushed over to him and he shrank back, but she only gently touched his arm and directed him to a chair. »What happened?«

What happened? What did she want to hear - what was the meaning of this? His old master had been merciless, but he had never played this sort of mind games, and for the briefest moment, he wished for it back. »I - I overslept,« he whispered, the shame of it not quite drowned out by the fear of what it would lead to. »It won’t ever happen again, I, I’m sorry-«

»No, no, it’s alright.« The mistress sat down next to him. He couldn’t look at her, only staring down at the teardrops falling uselessly into his lap. »No, listen, we figured we’d let you sleep in - you were exhausted, and you’re injured. It’s alright, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry this wasn’t - made clear, it was kind of a spontaneous decision.«

He slowly looked up, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. He had been allowed to sleep in? That wasn’t - that wasn’t how anything worked. He was a slave, he was supposed to work, not laze away the day in a comfortable bed, and the certainty of bad things happening when he didn’t was anchored deeply in his soul. And injured? A few whipmarks and bruises had never been an excuse.

It didn’t make any sense.

The mistress smiled at him. »It’s really okay. Let’s get some breakfast into you and then I’ll show you around, alright? I can’t ride anyway, so.«

Right, she had been injured for his sake, that was the only reason she could be bothered with him at all. He wished she’d simply show him a task to do, so he could prove he was useful, at least a little, even if it had never been good enough. He didn’t want to lose this, even if he didn’t deserve it, he didn’t want to be sold again to another uncertain future.

He almost missed the part about breakfast until she pulled a bowl of porridge from across the table in front of him. There was fruit in it - a foreign fruit of this land so far from anything he was familiar with - as if the taste was of any matter.

He was still hungry. He felt he shouldn’t be, he had gotten to eat so well only last night, but he was. And despite everything the mistress had said and done, his mind found it impossible to believe this was for him.

»Go on, eat.« She didn’t even sound impatient, although she certainly could have. She sounded gentle, and he ate.

The porridge had cooled, it must have stood here for a while while he was in bed for far too long, but that was no detriment, not when the climate was so wonderfully warm. He was so used to being cold every day; even just believing he deserved the weather here was difficult. The porridge was filling and the fruit sweet and tasty. It was far too good to believe.

He realized the mistress was waiting for him to finish, even as she went back to her book, and he hurried to finish his meal. He found himself calming down somewhat as he ate. His fear was not gone - it never was - but he understood the latest wave had been over nothing, his masters had decided for him he should sleep in, and the others had, of course, respected that decision.

Now all that was left was to prove his usefulness.