Archive of Our Own

For a B-rated heroine, Columbina is always an S-rated nuisance for Sandrone.

Of course, it's not from the lack of trying for years on Sandrone's part to create contingencies. She created scout bots fashioned out of the subdetection units in Fontaine and stationed them in every part of her base to detect even the whiff of a presence through its high-end sensors. She fitted the bottom of her regular prosthetic legs to have small thrusters for a few seconds of air time, which is important when her former nemesis happens to walk like gravity is a mere suggestion. She put intense kuuvahki poles in each of her limbs so that there's no room and no situation that she'd have that woman help her even if P.U.L.O.N.I.A turns off to go in maintenance mode.

And despite it all, her contingencies fail one by one.

"Columbinaaa!" she yells. On her screen, her scout bots display error messages, overwhelmed with the amount of kuuvahki condensing in the area. She knows that it's on purpose, a laughable strategy in hiding tracks. Or maybe it's genuinely just to mess with her.

A glint of moonlight, then the sound of a giggle floats to her side. "You called, Sandrone?"

Sandrone glares in the face of the very recent, very unwanted arrival of a guest in her room. Columbina nudges a few things on the table to make space for her to sit on, before that infuriating smile spreads on her lips. 

Her jaw ticks. "You have five seconds to explain why you're in my room before I disjoint your kneecaps."

"That's a very bold threat coming from someone buried in a mountain of blankets," Columbina muses.

"It's still nine in the morning!"

"It's time you get up."

She rolls her eyes. "I don't need to get up. I'm not the one in the frontlines. Don't you have some hero-ing to do out there? Or other duties? You know, the ones part of your job?"

"That's exactly why I'm here." Columbina floats over to Sandrone's chair and drapes herself on it, legs swung over the arm rest. She idly kicks her feet in the air, fiddling with some paper in her reach, and Sandrone realizes the actual why--she's just bored. Columbina hums to herself, tilting her head. "You seem to be in a bad mood already, Sandrone. Is it a bad day? Do you need me to get your prothetics--"

An arm flies from across the room, and Sandrone catches it in the air. "No need. I can do it myself," she says, already pulling over the sock and liner over her stump. She's lucky that she accidentally woke up earlier and already has her right arm attached. Still, she was originally planning for some idle scrolling and reading this morning. Now that she has her 'guest' though, any thoughts of relaxing perish on the spot.

"Wow..." At the very least, Columbina seems entertained at the sight of two other prosthetics flying over to Sandrone. "That's new. What kind of technology do you use for it?"

Even if she's irritated, Sandrone still bristles slightly with pride at having her inventions admired. "It's too complicated to explain," she says, already attaching her right leg. "But it's basically just concentrated kuuvahki stored inside, changing polarities to attract or repel."

"Using kuuvahki? Oooh..."

"Yes. Though, the process I devised to change polarities is crude, so the strength of its original charge and its induced charge is unequal." And Sandrone finds herself sinking into the discussion, immersed in all the information she gathered from countless of hours tinkering, researching, and devising hypotheses. While her hands go through the familiar motion of making sure her prosthesis is securely attached, her mind sorts over the familiar thought processes. "So, the range for now is limited as well as the strength of its polarity, but at least it works. It's similar to how you--hey!"

Just as she reaches for her left leg, it's flung out of her reach and suspended in the air.

"I wanted to see if it worked," Columbina says, idly swishing it side to side. "And it does. It's easier to pick up, compared to other objects. Like it naturally yields to how I use kuuvahki. You did a good job, Sandrone."

The praise doesn't reach her. Her train of thought was rudely, abruptly interrupted, and she glares at Columbina. "Give that back."

"Sorry." Credit where credit is due, at least Columbina has the decency to look sheepish. The prosthetic leg gently floats back to Sandrone's side. "You were saying?"

"That. I was saying how it's similar to how you do that." Then she mutters to herself, aggressively pulling the sock over her stump and attaching the limb. "Misplacing my notes...flinging my things around like they're your toys...and now you barge in my base like it's your home too. Ugh, do you have any other priorities than annoying me to death?"

"The people I care about," Columbina says. "None as important as you, of course."

Sandrone rolls her eyes. If she does it hard enougu, she can pretend that the fluttering in her chest doesn't exist. She rises from her bed and flings the door open, stepping into her workshop instead. Sunshine peeks out through the cracks of the metal plates she used to block the windows, telling her that it's very late morning.

Soft footsteps trail after her, because of course. "Sandrone, I--" Then whatever Columbina was about to say is cut off by the sound of a bump.

She glances over her shoulder and sees Columbina standing by the doorway, clutching her forehead. Sandrone pauses. Through their time getting used to each other, she's contemplated more than once if she should make some lenses for Columbina, similar to the ones she wears to communicate with P.U.L.O.N.I.A. But just as many times, just like this time, she pushes the thought away with a huff. Columbina would probably become more of a menace if she had 20/20 vision.

Besides that, Columbina once mentioned that her eyesight works strangely because she 'stared at the moon for too long'. That statement makes no logical sense, so Sandrone chalked it up to a lie. The truth is none of her business anyways, just like how it's not Columbina's business on how she lost her limbs in the first place.

So, Sandrone scribbles on her notebook, stubbornly willing herself to focus. Instead of expanding on one of the long equations she wrote yesterday though, she ends up doodling little things on the margins. Even after all these years, it's still hard to focus when there's someone else in her space, shifting things around.

Then, Sandrone spies on the corner of her eye how Columbina gently sets down a tea cup on the table.

"Peace offering," she says, before backing away.

Sandrone scoffs and wraps her fingers around the handle. Based on the earthy smell alone, she recognizes it as one of her favorite blends, courtesy of the Chenyu brand. She raises the cup to her lips and takes a careful sip.

Not too cold, and not quite cold. Pretty close to perfect.

And based on the look on Columbina's face when she glances back, she knows that Sandrone likes it. "Apology accepted?" she says, hopeful.

Never mind. She decides that she doesn't like this tea at all. "P.U.L.O.N.I.A," she says, rubbing her forehead. The logo of the AI blinks into her field of vision as it beeps, inquiring what it can do for her this time. "Remove the 'friendlies' flag from 'subject: Columbina' in our system."

"So, you never listed me as an enemy this entire time?"

She ignores Columbina. "I want every door shut and every weapon pointing at her the second our scout bots sense a trace of her presence. Or, scratch that, perform those countermeasures as well if the area experiences strong kuuvahki fluctuations."

The bot blinks, beeping at her. Orders received, Lady Marionette. She grimaces at the mention of her old title--she forgot she hadn't changed it yet. Are you sure you wish to proceed?

"Yes." She swats at the air impatiently. "Confirm. Get it done."

Are you really sure?

She reels in at that. "What do you mean 'am I really--'since when did I give you the directive to question my orders?!" she snaps. At the sound of a giggle, she snaps her head to the side, and sees how Columbina is (hardly) trying to smother her smile.

"I take it that Pulonia has grown fond of me?" she says.

"The system is malfunctioning," Sandrone says flatly.

"Malfunctioning. Yes. I suppose that's the technical term you engineers use for when your inventions develop common sense?"

"Columbina," she hisses.

She only giggles in response, before going into blessed, peaceful silence.

Sandrone harrumphs, picking up her pen and going back to her notebook.

"...Are you still mad about earlier?"

She sighs. There's never a moment of peace with this woman. "No," she says honestly. May as well get over it to get on with her work. "But I will be seriously mad if you keep interrupting my work." A pause. Then she hesitantly adds, "There should be a jar of cookies on top of the shelf--you know which one. If you're hungry, you'll have to fetch it yourself or starve."

Another giggle, then a longer pause. She supposes Columbina really did grab them. That is, until she speaks up again, "But you know, I always loved it when you ramble on like earlier. Even if I interrupted you this time."

"No one asked, Columbina," she deadpans, focused on sketching up another schematic diagram. She opts to ignore the way the honest admission makes heat creep up her face.

"I'm just saying that I find it endearing. You villains always had the unhealthy habit of monologuing, but I find yours the most interesting," she says, already taking out a cookie. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."

Sandrone pauses at that. It's still a little weird, hearing someone refer her and villains as something separate, as something part of a small and forgettable part of her past. After all, the label of 'heroine' is only applicable to her in the most surface level and technical sense of the word. Her selfish reasons for switching sides in the first place stop her from being a true paragon of goodness and kindness, like Columbina or that overrated S-hero Traveler.

The only reason why the label unfortunately stuck is because of those two heroes' insistence at the fact. And, she supposes, after recent events, it's not wrong. Just...weird. To have people putting their faith in her for once, instead of giving up immediately. Columbina especially seems drawn to her prickly nature instead of being repulsed. Sandrone tolerates it. She has nothing left to lose if she does so, anyways.

And before she knew it, the ground beneath her feet starts to shift. The familiar is no longer tight deadlines surrounded by lab coats and lab rats alike, but rather lazy mornings with the woman who bulldozes through every single one of her walls, literally and metaphorically. She puts up with that too. For reasons even she doesn't know.

For once, her scout bots actually do their jobs and alert Sandrone of a new presence, which is how she deduces that this is an actual intruder.

P.U.L.O.N.I.A is already with her, tracking the general movements of this intruder using the sensors of the scouts and cross-referencing it with the map of her base. It wouldn't have caught her attention if her units act reliably--but they don't. Her scouts seem to struggle in identifying who or what this intruder is, only displaying glitches and static if they try to scan too closely. Sandrone's eyebrows knit together and she sets her work aside.

The intruder seems to be human, or at least humanoid-shape, and there's no hint of how they entered through the heavily-locked main entrance like it was nothing. The blaring alarms haven't even been set off when they entered. Their presence was only picked up by a few scout bots doing their routine checks. It's like a ghost.

Still, the fact that there's someone else in her base and her home is unnerving enough. "Lock down F1 and E1," she says, and the bot dutifully obliges.

So far, the intruder is simply meandering around their base. Like they're taking a simple stroll in the park, instead of a workshop fashioned for Sandrone's needs and privacy. When they reach the first locked door in their path--Sandrone's eyes widen. The door unlocks, as if Sandrone herself had been the one giving the order.

The intruder continues to stroll deeper inside.

"What the..?" she mutters. Then, seeing how the intruder is getting closer and closer to her location, she snaps out of her daze. "Pulonia, lock down F2 and G3. Mobilize the weapon units from E2 and send it to their location."

She watches as the doors lock down as her units approach the intruder's location. With her direct orders to eliminate the target, they should have no problems in doing so. Her units raise their weapons, primed to fire and then...nothing. They stand down almost immediately.

The intruder continues strolling deeper into her base.

Her hackles raise, the air turning colder and heavier with tension. It's so different from how it feels when Columbina is the one 'intruding'. Sandrone takes in a sharp breath as she hears the thuds of heavy footfalls growing closer and closer to her location.

She clicks her tongue. "Run diagnostics in the system," she orders. If this intruder is able to override her direct orders, there must've been some way they were able to bypass her security. "And get my mech suit ready."

P.U.L.O.N.I.A beeps hesitantly when she adds the last order, but obliges anyways.

Sandrone straightens herself, running through the list of potential enemies that could be her unwanted guest today. The monster Elynas could've reincarnated and have it out for her, though she doubts both the timeline of the reincarnation and the fact that it'd choose a humanoid form this time. Since her faction change, it might be the Tsaritsa herself--and the mere thought alone makes her shudder. Though, she doubts Her Majesty would take personal action against her. It's usually the common grunts and high-and-mighty leaders, like Sandrone herself once upon a time, who deal with the dirty work. So, not the ice queen then. Given the technological prowess this intruder has to mess with her units, as if they know how she built them, as if they'd built those units with her...only one person comes to mind. Sandrone grimaces.

Her hypothesis is proven right when the door slides open. The sound of boots against metal echo through the entire room, as he strolls inside.

"I do hope I'm not late for tea this time?"

She crosses her arms. "Dottore," she spits out, the name dripping like poison from her tongue. "To what do I owe the displeasure of your visit?"

He meanders around, leisurely tracing a gloved finger on the backrest of a chair. For someone who had the majority of his base destroyed in Sumeru, he looks like he's in good shape. That mask is still pulled over his eyes, which spares her own from having to look at his entire ugly mug. The smile that spreads on his lips is friendly and armed to the teeth. Of course it is. "Now, now," he tuts. "is that how you greet an old friend? I thought you'd miss me after all these years, partner."

Her nostrils flare. But still, she reins herself in. There's no telling what this lunatic's next move could be, and she doesn't want to take any chances unless she's forced to. The fact that he's trying to keep up a cordial conversation means he's interested, and she knows him well enough that he's not one to break his 'toys' this early on. Or at least, she hopes this is the segment who does so.

And just in case, she did prepare a contingency. Diagnostics completed. Full report stored, P.U.L.O.N.I.A reports back. Preparation for mech suit complete.

It's only with those assurances that she dares to continue on.

"What do you want?" Sandrone says. "I'm busy."

He tilts his head. "Straight to the point as always, aren't you?" Then, the sound of his boots against metal stop, lingering in the air. Sandrone tenses. "Very well. I suppose we've wasted enough time. Let's move on, shall we?"

Her eyebrows knit together. "What do you--?"

Then abruptly, her world tilts, colors blurring into indefinite shapes. She blinks and stumbles, trying to find her balance, and then her legs crumble under her own weight. Did I inhale something? Is her last coherent thought before dizziness and nausea overwhelms her. Her head feels heavy too, as if someone stuffed it with tons of lead. The metal flooring is cool against her cheek as her body betrays her, crumpling on the floor.

The last thing she sees before her vision fades is the sight of Dottore leisurely strolling towards her.

When Sandrone wakes up, she feels like she just surfaced from underwater.

Her chest shudders as she shakily gasps, taking in greedy gulps of air. Her face and her entire back is drenched, chilling her to the bone. Trying to open her eyes proves to be painful, as she's blinded by bright lights. Like surgical lights shined on her. Panic grips around her as a tight vice, heart thudding against her chest, and she frantically blinks until her vision clears up. She seems to be on a chair, straps winding around her chest, in a large room similar to one of her old labs when she had to share with Dottore. Not a surgical table, then. Not that her current predicament is any better.

A bead of sweat rolls down from her forehead, catching on her eyelash. With her free hand, she reaches up to wipe the sweat off her face--and to her surprise her hand passes through her face. She blinks, mind not quite catching up. Oh right, she thinks. I don't have those anymore. At closer inspection, at least her protheses are propped up on a table on the side.

"Ah. Good. You're already awake."

She jumps at the sound of Dottore's voice, and on instinct she uselessly fights against her binds.

"I must admit, you woke up earlier than I thought... then again, you always performed exceptionally well. Almost as well as I do, dare I say. It sets you apart from all the other simpletons."

Finally, Dottore comes into her field of vision, wearing a humble white coat instead. There's a pen clipped to his chest. Sandrone eyes it, wondering if she can somehow reach it with her teeth and try to stab his heart with it. If he even has a heart.

Then her gaze snaps back up to his face as he looms over her, hands gripping the armrest of the chair.

"I do hope that standard of performance is still applicable to you today," he says lowly. "Both for your own sake, and for one other. The one they call the 'Moon's Damselette'."

Columbina. Her blood turns to ice in her veins.

"Though you've proven to be exceptional, I was disappointed with your lapse in judgment. But, oh well, I suppose it happens. Besides, there is a 'silver lining', as they say," he says, unclipping the pen from his chest. "You have valuable intel on these so-called heroes, after your masterful gambit to disguise your information gathering as simple cataloging. Your Katheryne system, was it? It was even with a stroke of genius that you even lulled them with a sense of familiarity with the implementation of a kind smile and a catchphrase. I must applaud you."

No. She squeezes her eyes shut. She has a bad, bad feeling of where this is going.

"Naturally, this must extend to the Moon's Damselette as well. Though, you've even gone so far as to build a 'closer' bond. To gain her trust, to have her protection. Exceptional performance, really."

"What do you..." Her voice is hoarse, like nails scraping against a chalkboard. She clears her throat and tries again. "What do you want with her?"

Dottore pauses at that. Her stomach churns at the distinct feeling of making the wrong move.

"Interesting," he murmurs. "Very interesting question. Even as I expected some deviance in your behavior, I hadn't expected it to be this severe. Perhaps the years have not been as kind to you as I thought."

He meanders over to the table, and picks up a clipboard.

"I understand that this is a conversation. Naturally, I owe a response to your input, just as you owe me answers to my questions. For the sake of time, I hope you don't mind if you answer my question first." He strides back to her. Looming over her. "What could you possibly gain from that information? Why does she concern you?"

"Because I love her." Her mouth moves without thought, and she gasps. She hadn't expected that answer at all. But that--that thing in her chest flutters again, as if in recognition. In triumph in finally having it named.

Then, a viper's smile slowly spreads on Dottore's lips.

Her heart drops to her stomach.

"Good." He bristles in pride. "My truth serum seems to be effective as well."

Truth serum? Her throat tightens up at the thought. The fact that there's something in her body against her will, leaving her secrets at the mercy of some chemical concoction, makes her gag against her will.

"What I want with her is quite simple. I'm sure you've heard of the little skirmish I had in Sumeru. Tragic, really. So much research lost, so much of my segments expended. My dear hometown clearly spared no expense in banishing me once more." His voice takes on a low growl, as if the mention of his birthplace leaves nothing more than a bad taste on his mouth. "But the Moon's Damselette fascinates me. She's able to come and go through means of teleportation, able to wield objects with the strange power of 'kuuvahki' and, if old wives' tales are to be believed, even has some capacity to create. To breathe life into objects. Or at least, the origin of her power is able to do so. I'm interested in studying these origins for those reasons."

Sandrone's hackles raise, and her eyes flit between the objects in this desolate lab. The bright lights. The long table. The empty tubes and jars along the shelves. The distinct smell of sanitization. Wires hooked up to nothing.

At least for now.

"Since I've answered your question, I believe it is my turn this time. I hardly believe this could be complicated. Just one simple question, that's all."

Dottore smiles at her. It makes her sick to her stomach.

"What is the real name of the 'Moon's Damselette'?"

She squeezes her eyes shut, clenching her jaw so hard that her molars grind together. Then the next moment, her muscles relax, jaw slackening. She opens her mouth to speak. "C--" Her voice chokes out, unwilling to submit to her will. "Col--"

"Hmm. Still some resistance. I suppose I wasn't clear enough. What is the Moon's Damselette's civilian identity?"

"'From them the wave seemed red and as if set ablaze'," she recites instead, more sweat soaking into her shirt as she desperately fights against the serum circulating in her body. She's never been more thankful to Alain for drilling Fontainian poetry as part of her education to the point that recitation comes as muscle memory. Anything to say that doesn't resemble Solumbina Myposelemia. "'Tonight, their scent on my dress still remains… O-on me you will breathe their fragrant memory'."

"Hmm. Disappointing."

Pain blooms on the side of her body as a fist firmly plants itself on her kidney. She chokes out a breath.

"As I said--you don't have to make this needlessly complicated, Sandrone," he says, shaking his hand. Despite the sharp, deep ache throbbing on her side, Sandrone still smiles smugly at the sight. His feeble scholar body has never been able to take anything physical outside his battle suit. "I only need two words from you. Perhaps three, if you'd like to throw in a middle name. It's better to be completely accurate, after all."

She pants, breathing through the pain. Then, she raises his chin at him. "I have three words for you," she finally relents.

"Oh?" That piques his interest. "Do tell."

The fact that he's acting like his plan is succeeding makes her sick to her stomach. Her anger flares up even more at the thought of him doing his sick experiments on Columbina. "Go to hell," Sandrone snarls.

She cries out as another fist buries into her side. The pain burns. Her breath stutters, vision blurring. It almost--almost reminds her of--

A scream. An explosion. The breath in her lungs pushed out as her back hits the ground.

Vision blurring. Skin seared off. Bones broken into too many segments--

Her throat burns as she breathes in soot and smoke and the smell of burning flesh. Except there's no great fire, and she has no more limbs. But the pain is still so real, a ghost constantly lingering from her past. Her throat burns as she screams, no longer aware of her surroundings, chest heaving and eyes stinging at the corners as she lives through her greatest nightmare wide awake.

Then she's choked off with a gasp as a gloved hand brushes the strands of hair away from her face. Sickeningly gentle.

"Shh. There you are. I forgot how fragile the mind can truly be." As much as she wants to gag and jump away from him, she finds herself frozen. "It must've been quite stressful, facing that accident head-on," Dottore says. "What were the casualties again? 3 high ranking station guards, 2 assistants...both legs and an arm and a half for you, yes?"

Finally, Sandrone's mind snaps back to the present as his hand lingers on the side of her face. Her breath trembles--this time, not out of fear, but out of rage. Pure, blinding rage burns brightly in her chest. She whips her head to the side and sinks her teeth into his wrist.

It's unsurprisingly effective.

Dottore howls, yanking his hand away and stumbling back until he hits the table. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath he heaves in, as he clutches his hand. There's a grim way in how he stares at the teeth indents. Sandrone spits at the floor, smug at the sight of his loss of composure. "You..." he growls. "Why, you--"

Then he's thrown back by a beam of moonlight.

A loud crash causes the entire room to tremble, and a large dust cloud blooms. Sandrone grimaces, closing her eyes.

Cold, slender fingers slowly cup her jaw.

Her breath stutters. She flinches away from the touch. But those hands are insistent, holding her gently. Slowly, Sandrone opens her eyes.

And she stares back at Columbina.

Columbina fixes her with a gaze so soft, carrying a weight too heavy, and Sandrone squirms. Looks away. Her heart still thuds in her chest.

"Sandrone," she breathes out. "Oh, my dear Sandrone." Columbina's hands run over her body gently and starts undoing the binds. As she does so, clearly she sees something that Sandrone doesn't because the next thing she says is, "He did this to you?"

"Oh, no," she tries to deadpan. "I ran into his fist, actually. Twice."

She sees Columbina's lips twitch into the smallest of smiles.

Soon, the dust settles, and they both look over to the other side of the room. There are webs of fresh cracks on the wall, converging into the distinctly Dottore-shaped hole with no Dottore.

She hears Columbina suck a sharp breath in.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Sandrone says. She is worrying about it, but she keeps her mouth shut as she struggles against the truth serum still coursing through her veins. Not now. Not when she should be focusing on getting them out of here. "If he isn't licking his wounds after you threw him to the wall, he's surely soothing his ego after I scorched it to the ground."

Columbina turns back to her, tilting her head. "What did you do to him?"

"I bit him," she says flatly.

The small, hesitant smile on her lips stretches to a more genuine and amused one. Sandrone has to tear her gaze away again as that thing in her chest flutters.

Right. There's still that issue. Sandrone stubbornly refuses to acknowledge that feeling, as maybe it'll go away if she ignores it. She stubbornly refuses to look at Columbina too as she goes through the mortifying ordeal of asking for help in attaching her prostheses.

Even her lens was placed among them. Sandrone carefully places in her eyes, and blinks twice. "Pulonia?'

P.U.L.O.N.I.A pops up immediately in a series of high pitched-beeps.

She swats at the air. "Yes, yes. Quit your incessant chattering. I'm alive." The bot quickly explains how her lack of response and her life signs 'disappearing' in its scans caused it much worry. She grimaces. "Alright, I'm sorry. I'm not done dealing with the complication, though. Co--the Damselette is with me."

Columbina gives her a strange look at the use of a codename, but Sandrone has no choice. Dottore might not be standing in front of them, but he could still have eyes and ears in the walls.

Sandrone stares at her back. "Do you think you could get us out of here?"

"I...don't know," she says, brows knitting together. "I'm not familiar with the terrain here. Plus, the air feels heavier here. Kuuvahki doesn't yield that easily to me."

Dottore, you son of a bitch, she curses. Even if she's surprisingly relieved to have Columbina arrived, clearly this entire lab was built to restrain her. It'd make sense that Dottore would have contingencies to prevent the escape of his 'specimen'.

It's unfortunate that said specimen serves herself on a silver platter straight to Dottore's lap. Sandrone's jaw ticks. "Why did you have to come here?" she asks. "Don't you have other things to prioritize? Other people to save? You know, which is your job?"

"None as important as you," Columbina says softly.

She hates that tone. Hates the tender look on Columbina's face. Hates even more how her chest flutters again, warmth tingling through her body at the admission. Even if such mindset directly put Columbina in danger. "I had the situation under control," she insists weakly.

Columbina looks unimpressed. "Clearly."

"I'm being serious."

"I am, as well," she says. "Besides that, you were clearly crying earlier. The tear tracks are still on your cheeks. Why is that?"

Sandrone immediately clams up at the question.

Thankfully, their conversation is interrupted as P.U.L.O.N.I.A lets out a few worried beeps. Sandrone sighs, partially in relief and partially in annoyance. "Yes, don't worry, we're fine," she says. "Just show us the way out of here."

The bot chirps in affirmation, and a golden trail appears in front of her.

"Come on," Sandrone says, already walking ahead.

She feels the unsatisfaction coming off of Columbina. "You're not going to talk?"

"I'd rather do that sometime after we're back safely." Or, more specifically, never. Still, Sandrone glances over her shoulder before she reluctantly adds, "And...thank you. For coming here. Even if it was an incredibly stupid idea."

Columbina smiles back at her.

After their conversation though, an awkward silence fills the space between them. The thought makes Sandrone tense up the slightest bit. They haven't been this awkward with each other since a few years ago, when they were first bumped into each other in their civilian sides and promptly got stuck in an elevator ride. Still, Columbina seems to be in no mood to chat, and Sandrone isn't in the mood to entertain her potential questions either. Awkward silence it is.

As they traverse through more and more of Dottore's lab, it really does look like his holy grail. There are large chests filled with tools and materials. Notebooks and binders waiting to be filled with notes. Strange, pulsating devices in red or blue are installed near the lift of each floor, like Dottore's spin on lava lamps. Sandrone also notes how Columbina's movements slowly grew sluggish. Like, the woman is actually walking on the ground now instead of floating across it.

It's not until the next lift activates that Columbina fully collapses on her knees, sweating profusely.

Sandrone crouches down and lets Columbina hold onto her for support. "Pulonia," she says.

The AI quickly does a full-body scan of Columbina.

"I don't..." Even her voice is weak, and each word trembles as she speaks. "I don't know what's happening to me."

"It's Dottore's fault," she mutters to herself, reading the report P.U.L.O.N.I.A flashes in her field of vision. It says that there's too little kuuvahki in the environment itself, and something has taken to sapping away the kuuvahki in Columbina's body instead. Her life force. The only reaon she's even still conscious is because of the sheer amount her body has, but it's still finite. Sandrone's jaw clenches. An overwhelming sense of helplessness comes over her, and the frustration alone makes her want to slam her fist against a wall. "Next time I see him, I'd like to bash his head in."

She hears a soft giggle from Columbina. The flare of irritation in Sandrone's chest softens at the sound. Something familiar even in a situation as messed up as this.

"Come on. Get up," Sandrone says, tugging on her arm. "Pulonia says we're back on the surface already. The exit should be nearby."

Famous last words. The doors of the lift slide open and a line of weaponized mechs stare back at them.

Sandrone only registers P.U.L.O.N.I.A saying that it didn't call for reinforcements before the units raise their weapons and open fire.

Columbina rushes forward, conjuring up a shield. She can only take a few hits before Sandrone sees the cracks that don't heal fast enough on the shield and the growing pained expression on Columbina's face. There's no place to hide behind, and with no other weapons, and it's only a matter of time until Columbina is too weak to continue.

Encounter with enemy units imminent. Sending battle suit to Lady Marionette's coordinates. But still, even a few minutes of waiting is too much time. Sandrone grimaces.

The shield finally shatters, and Columbina crumples to the ground.

Immediately, Sandrone crouches in front of Columbina and props her leg and arm. Her regular prostheses aren't built to withstand built to take on bullets, but she'd take metal against metal instead of soft flesh. Just as she braces herself for a hit...the firing stops. Sandrone slowly uncurls.

"Hmm. How the mighty have fallen."

Dottore floats down from a unit, body clad in his battle suit already. From the jerky movements of his body to the almost manic smile on his face, and the fact that his feeble body was thrown across the room not too long ago, Sandrone notes that he must've taken his usual 'cocktail'. He mentioned once that it helps clear his mind and deal with his pains. Sandrone sees how it twists him into something else. Something more unpredictable and dangerous.

"I will have to thank you for delivering her right to my doorstep. Despite the...harsh delivery method," he says. "Although, you're unusually quiet for once, Sandrone. Cat cut off your tongue?"

Section AB-1 is 45 seconds out from specified coordinates. She grimaces to herself. The only fastest way to transport her battle suit is piece-by-piece, and without it fully assembled, she'll find herself limited both in energy and combat capabilities. With a piece that small...she only has one shot. She'll make it count.

She has to.

"Hmm. No reply." Dottore taps a finger to his chin. "Was that joke too offensive?"

Scanning surroundings...creating topography report... "Hmph. Acting so smug as if you've won already," she says, struggling to put real heat behind it. She needs a clear head to work her way through this. P.U.L.O.N.I.A quickly gives her the summary of the report, and her gaze lands on a wall to her right. A weak spot.

"On the contrary, it is your calculations that seem to be off, Sandrone. Perhaps I could agree, had you chosen to resolve this peacefully. But now that it has come to this, the odds are not in your favor."

The bot also gives her another, more hopeful report--a hundred meters past Dottore's metal army is a forest with unusually thick kuuvahki. Hopefully, it's far enough out of range from whatever strange device Dottore has. If she could somehow bring Columbina there, where there's more coverage and more kuuvahki for her to manipulate...

A plan starts to form.

"Although, I've recently learned the value of offering one last chance to those who disappoint me. It is an extension of my 'grace' to those who are less fortunate. So, this is my last chance for you, Sandrone." Dottore comes closer, his shadow looming over them. "Leave the Moon's Damselette to me now, and I'll let you leave relatively intact."

"Sandrone?" Columbina murmurs from her side. Even her hands tremble as she clutches on her shoulder for support.

She shoots a quick glance at Columbina. Follow my lead.

His heavy footfalls echo as the space starts to turn claustrophobic. Caging his prey in. "If you do so, I might be willing to let this transgression slip from my memory. I imagine that the research I'll conduct on her will be quite useful to you," he says. Sandrone tries not the shudder at what that 'research' might entail. "For example, perhaps a more ergonomic substitute for your limbs instead of the clunky machinery you use? Yes, if you leave in peace, I'll be sure to keep you updated on my progress."

Her gaze is focused on the black dot over Dottore's shoulder, rapidly approaching. Then, she staggers to her feet and looks back at him. "You want my answer?"

The piece of her mech suit flies over her shoulder, and she catches it with her outstretched hand. The metal armor solidifies, light and heat energy already condensing on the center of her palm.

"Fuck you," she snarls.

And she blasts the wall, the cave trembling from the force.

Columbina conjures up another shield as the mechs blindly shoot into the cloud of smoke and dust. But it won't last long. Sandrone yanks her through the makeshift entrance, lungs already burning from the exertion of running after a long time.

Her legs feel clunky as her feet beat against the rocky and muddy terrain, especially as more of her battle suit arrives at her. The mech units, although they started firing at their general direction again, are no longer a threat the deeper they run into the shade of the trees. The real threat is apparent when Sandrone shoots a quick glance behind her--and sees Dottore quickly catching up, soaring through the skies.

No time to hesitate. Sandrone launches herself off the ground and intercepts him in the air with her fist.

It misses.

"Leaving an opening on purpose?" Dottore grins darkly. "Arrogant as ever, aren't you?"

Sandrone barely manages to dodge a laser beam aimed at her exposed back, deciding to put some distance between them. They reach a stalemate for a few moments. Sandrone, blocking the way as Columbina continues to delve deeper into the woods. Dottore, waiting patiently for an opportunity as his mechs start to spread out their ranks.

Dottore lunges at her first, electricity crackling around him.

She jerks back, teeth grinding together. She never thought she'd have to resort to this. "Pulonia!"

The AI beeps in the affirmative, and her field of vision is bathed in blue. Speed and trajectories of attacks, analyzing attack patterns, observing opponent's state... Data floods her senses, before P.U.L.O.N.I.A reports back, Initiating battle sequence.

Her battle suit is still incomplete, with only her legs and her forearms fully covered and most of its energy directed to keep her airborne, but it's enough for the bot to take over. Sandrone dodges an Electro-charged punch, weaves in between more laser beams, before an opportunity reveals itself to her for a well-placed knee on his abdomen. Then she dodges his attacks, weaves in between slashes, and attacks, then repeats. She dodges, weaves, attacks, repeat. Dodge, weave, attack--

--Mistake.

Dottore sidesteps before she can land her attack, and he grabs her wrist. Sharp, electrifying pain jolts through her entire body and she screams. Her connection to P.U.L.O.N.I.A is cut off, and her thrusters shut down, leaving her entirely at the mercy of his grip.

"Oh, Sandrone." He sighs. "I truly thought you were better than this. Why do you insist in delaying the inevitable?"

She tries to shove her elbow against his face, but all it does is give him greater leverage for his death grip on her.

"Have you grown attached to the Damselette, through all the years you've fought against her? Or is this a new development, with how you fight with her?" he asks. "I suppose some lessons must be taught to people. If so, know this." His grip on him tightens as he pulls her closer, his face at spitting distance from hers. "When she dies or when she falls to my grasp, it will be your fault. Who's to say that you can keep her safe when she's out on her heroic duties? Who's to say that you can keep watch over her as she lives with her civilian identity?"

Her body is still spasming through the lingering, burning pain through her body. Every breath feels punishing, the air puffing out of her lungs before she can fully take a breath in. She grimaces. "You won't...get to her..." she grits out. "She knows...better than that."

He hums, acquiescing. "She may." Then he smiles, teeth set on a manic edge. "But she won't when it comes to you. Observe."

His free hand grabs her jaw and yanks her head to the side. The sky is painted in dull grays, so unlike the lush green woods underneath them.

"Do you see these woods? One of the last of its kind, amidst humanity's greed for greater cities and grander buildings. It's why I chose this location for my temporary laboratory, so that I may savor the view. And look," He tilts her head down. "you can see one of my drones doing so right now."

She sees through his lie immediately. The small drone they see flying above the treetops is a bomber drone, she's sure. Armed to kill, but terrible at scouting. At the thought, she grins fiercely. "You won't...find her..."

"Oh my." He yanks her head back so that they face each other once more. So that she can see how his smile twists into gleeful sadism. "Who said that I need to do so?"

Sandrone stiffens.

If he's really planning to...with an explosion that big and Columbina's fragile state, she won't be able to...

Her breath stutters. The scent of her fear clearly invigorates Dottore, and he bristles with pride. "That is my first lesson to you, Sandrone. The consequences of your actions. She came here for you, yes? Perhaps if you'd simply yielded to my questions and left earlier, you may have had more time to save her."

She still does. She still does. Her hand comes up and grips Dottore's arm. She refuses to believe she's run out of time already.

"Of course, it matters little to me. Perhaps most of her body may vaporize, but even the slightest sample--"

She slams her forehead against his face. He lets out a yell of pain, and his grip loosens.

Sandrone is falling.

She's falling, and she has nothing but the wind rushing in her ears, and the swoop of her stomach, and the weight of her incomplete suit. She has nothing but the grind of her molars together, the thudding against her chest, and the sheer determination that keeps her eyes on the drone as she free-falls.

Come on...come on..!

P.U.L.O.N.I.A finally blinks back to her, and her thrusters kick back to life. Before the bot can even assess the current situation, Sandrone shoots out a small beam at the drone's propellers and catches the bomb mid-air. She lingers in the air for a few seconds for the last pieces of her suit to attach to her, then she changes her trajectory to one simple direction: up.

Warning. Within range of activated bomb. Estimated detonation time: 40 seconds.

She pushes her thrusters to the limit, soaring through the air. She struggles to keep her eyes open as the winds chill around her.

Warning. Current equipment unsuitable for traveling to higher altitudes.

She can do it. She can still do it. The ground is basically out of sight already--but what if it's not enough? What if Dottore had intended to flatten out the entire woods and destroy his entire lab in one fell swoop? She pushes for higher, higher.

WARNING. Within range of activated bomb. Estimated detonation time: 15 seconds.

She throws the bomb as far as she can, before diving down.

WARNING. WITHIN--

An immense roar reaches her ears and slams against her chest, as her entire world is swallowed up by an inferno. Even through her suit, the heat is intense, and the metal almost feels like it could melt into her skin as she's blasted away. Floaty spots appear in her vision as the light sears itself into her eyes. She can hear nothing else but the gradual thundering of her pulse in her ears as the initial numbness starts to fade. Her world turns in on itself. Her body is weightless. Helpless.

And Sandrone falls out of the sky.

When she opens her eyes again--or when she regains her vision back--she's staring up into the beautiful sky.

The sunset paints the canvas into oranges and pinks and violets, streaked with the occasional black. The air caresses her cheek gently, cool to touch. Whatever she's laying on feels soft and slightly damp. Her head is propped up on something softer as well. It distinctly reminds her of Alain's picture of what he hopes the afterlife to be--one where the world feels tranquil and sincere. Where he can finally rest his weary heart. And so, that's what she thinks at first--this must be the afterlife. She must be dead.

So why does her body ache so much?

Sandrone shifts the slightest bit and winces--and promptly concludes this isn't the afterlife at all. Or if it is, it plainly sucks. She wishes she could reprimand Alain for it. But the deep, throbbing ache on her body somehow grounds her. The earth underneath her and the grass tickling her neck and back feels soft, real. So does the dark hair that falls over her like a curtain. So does the cool touch that caresses her cheek gently again.

Columbina.

Her lips are moving and she must be saying something--but for whatever reason, the words don't process for Sandrone. Her frustration must show, because then Columbina shifts--and so does the softness under her head, Sandrone notes--and then Columbina says, "Can you hear me now?"

Sandrone...blinks. "Yes," she croaks out. The smoke she must've somehow inhaled feels coarse and thick in her throat.

"You're alive."

She blinks again. Her brain feels sluggish in catching up, so she simply says, "...Yes. I think."

"I thought you--" And Sandrone sees the way Columbina's throat jerks as she gulps. Sees the way her eyes turn glossy, distant. The tension on her face. "You were...taking some time to find me. Then I saw the explosion. And--you."

She blinks again. Her gaze shifts to the sky for a few moments, observing the streaks of black. Slowly falling. Debris and more smoke, most likely. She looks back at Columbina. "You caught me."

Columbina doesn't answer. Instead, she bows her head slightly, though Sandrone can still see the way she gnaws on her lower lip. She feels something clutch at her chest, trembling. "You're okay," Columbina says.

Sandrone closes her eyes. This conversation feels...largely unproductive, even with how floaty her head is right now. "Dottore?"

"That situation is resolved." And that answer feels very inconclusive, and Sandrone lets out a grunt. "The Traveler and the others are after him. I did remember to inform other heroes this time before diving into enemy territory," Columbina says in an attempt to lighten the conversation.

Still, another thought weighs heavily in Sandrone's head. That manic smile. The kind of methodology he's willing to take. "He will be back," she says. "He will look out for you. Once he takes an interest..."

"I'll be fine. I'm sure I won't be his main priority right now," she says. 

Sandrone feels unsatisfied with that answer, but even she's too tired to argue about it right now. She can think about what happened after she recovers. When she tries to move though, she's weighed down--and it's only then that she evaluates her own condition. Her battle suit is absolutely destroyed, especially her chest piece that took the brunt of the explosion to protect her vitals. Her prostheses aren't doing any better either, as most of the metal melted together. Some of the joints are even fused together, which makes effective movement impossible. She grimaces. There's no way she's hobbling back to her base like this.

And she feels the weight of Columbina's gaze. "What's wrong?"

Sandrone lets out a sigh. "Don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone," she warns. "But I...might need your help to get home."

Columbina pauses. "What?"

"I said I need your help," she snaps.

"I don't think I heard you."

"Columbina--"

Then, the weightlessness comes back as Sandrone is swooped up in the air. She's cradled in Columbina's arms, head tucked against her chest. Heat creeps up her cheeks at the position. "I'm only kidding," Columbina says, a small amused smile on her lips. "I'd be more than happy to do so, Sandrone."