Quote:
Backdated to May 1st.
Of all the ways the operation could have turned out, Faustite had not expected to remain himself. He had planned for three potential outcomes: one in which the operation was a success and he returned to the Negaverse as a human Captain, one in which the operation failed and he became a youma, and one in which he was killed. He tried not to consider the latter two, for he wanted desperately for some manner of success. If he returned as a Captain, then he would have the opportunity to become half-youma again by a more intentional means, which left it the best option.
He would still lose his memories, and no one could predict which ones would vanish. While his boys and his team could inundate him with the stories of experiences they shared together, maybe point to a few scars on his body and suggest their origins to him, there would be no recollection. He would simply have to trust them. And while he wasn't one for skepticism, it opened him up to a measure of gullibility.
He would've had to learn his way around a weapon. Potentially relearn how to function in the Negaverse. And he might've needed to find some way to exist in society.
But none of that needed to come to pass. None of that did come to pass.
Laurelite, Axinite, Jet, and who knew who else gave him the hidden, fourth option in which he lost nothing and gained a rank instead. He supposed that, had they offered it to him, he wouldn't know how to answer; for so long had he been a General that he'd gotten comfortable with the rank and the occasional irritating responsibility or two. He was high enough up in the ranks that he could do as he pleased and seldom answer to others, while being low enough that not too much was expected of him. He could direct his interests where he pleased, run missions, and put up with a team, but the rest of the Negaverse he could write off as someone else's problem.
Now there was an entire branch of the Negaverse that was very much his problem. Now there was paperwork and reports and suspicions and all sorts of information that, irritatingly, became his problem because of his promotion. If the Negaverse had any mercy, they wouldn't subject him to the selfsame job that Axinite carried out; not only was his ex-boss-turned-peer far better and more practiced at desk jockeying than he was, Axinite didn't regularly set the paperwork on fire and he actually seemed to like that sort of thing. Faustite would rather eat his own grate, piece by piece, than be stuck in an office chair sorting digital files for the next month and a half.
So this promotion — this recalibration of expectations — it was going to take time for Faustite to acclimate to it. Time that would be spent during whatever training period they had in mind for him. Maybe he could convince Axinite that they could complement each other if Faustite worked in the field while Axinite worked in the office.
Whatever. That could be sorted out later. For now, he was still himself in all the ways he considered meaningful. As he thought back to experiences recent and not, he found that he remembered the ones he cared to remember — even the ones he would have rather forgotten. He still remembered burning Cybele's feet, as much as he remembered receiving a note from Nectaris or cleaning out the closet with Albite. He remembered both operations that took place in the Scar. He remembered the number of ways he wanted to wreck Encke for being a self-righteous, self-interested, braindead p***k. He still remembered each of the boys he married and had yet to marry.
All of that meant he was alive, he was okay, he could come back from this. And all of that meant there was still more work to do.
