"Weak, Viola. You're Weak. Flawed." The words were punctuated by a harsh strike.
Red. She had always hated the color red. The offending hand was covered in it.
Blood. Part of Vi recognized that the red was her blood.
And then she snapped.
Vi would never admit it aloud, but she was a closet worrier. She spent her free hours obsessing over details. Studying troop deployments, double checking equipment maintenance. Every minor flaw was an exploit that the enemy would take advantage of. Every exploit was a gamble with a man's life.
Viola never bet unless it was a sure thing.
" You there, Check that armor over again. Something seems off about the servo's on the left leg. If it malfunctions during battle, I'll personally see you flayed and dipped in lemon juice."
The battle armor in question belonged to one Col. Evans of the fifth armored. It wasn't Vi's unit yet here she was the night before battle, checking over their equipment. The mechanic attending the suit flinched at the Elite's tone and scurried to do as instructed. Once she was satisfied that Everything would be done to keep the fifth intact she Vi retired to her own unit.
The evening gloaming turned the sea of red into a deep violet. She liked this color much better. She grasped the edge of the white gauze curtains, looking out at the setting sun.
Behind her in the faint splash of light left by the window was the broken and torn form of a woman. Vi was sure she'd had a face once, she just couldn't recall it.
"Mother..." That's right the woman had been her mother.
That didn't matter now. The mass of broken flesh would never strike her again.
As day faded to night Viola smiled at her reflection in the window glass. Head to toe she was covered in this woman's blood. it made her nightdress cling to her childish form. Yes she liked this shade of red that was so dark it was almost violet.
Most of the battle armor used by the Iron Dragons was a uniform silver gray and black color scheme. There were very few exceptions to this rule, most of them belonging to the elites. Most of them were not flashy or eye-catching, only the mad wanted to be a target after all.
Vi was undoubtedly mad.
The beetle like carapace of her battle armor was a vivid metallic violet, edged in black and silver. It drew the eye like no other in her unit. On the back panel someone had taken the time to lovingly paint two rampant dragons shredding the carcass of a lion between them. One was the Iron Dragon's crest, the other Viola's personal symbol.
She saw to the maintenance of her own gear personally.
It was the night before battle. Tonight she was Vi the Vigilant.
Tomorrow she would be Vi the Violent again.
Red. She had always hated the color red. The offending hand was covered in it.
Blood. Part of Vi recognized that the red was her blood.
And then she snapped.
Vi would never admit it aloud, but she was a closet worrier. She spent her free hours obsessing over details. Studying troop deployments, double checking equipment maintenance. Every minor flaw was an exploit that the enemy would take advantage of. Every exploit was a gamble with a man's life.
Viola never bet unless it was a sure thing.
" You there, Check that armor over again. Something seems off about the servo's on the left leg. If it malfunctions during battle, I'll personally see you flayed and dipped in lemon juice."
The battle armor in question belonged to one Col. Evans of the fifth armored. It wasn't Vi's unit yet here she was the night before battle, checking over their equipment. The mechanic attending the suit flinched at the Elite's tone and scurried to do as instructed. Once she was satisfied that Everything would be done to keep the fifth intact she Vi retired to her own unit.
The evening gloaming turned the sea of red into a deep violet. She liked this color much better. She grasped the edge of the white gauze curtains, looking out at the setting sun.
Behind her in the faint splash of light left by the window was the broken and torn form of a woman. Vi was sure she'd had a face once, she just couldn't recall it.
"Mother..." That's right the woman had been her mother.
That didn't matter now. The mass of broken flesh would never strike her again.
As day faded to night Viola smiled at her reflection in the window glass. Head to toe she was covered in this woman's blood. it made her nightdress cling to her childish form. Yes she liked this shade of red that was so dark it was almost violet.
Most of the battle armor used by the Iron Dragons was a uniform silver gray and black color scheme. There were very few exceptions to this rule, most of them belonging to the elites. Most of them were not flashy or eye-catching, only the mad wanted to be a target after all.
Vi was undoubtedly mad.
The beetle like carapace of her battle armor was a vivid metallic violet, edged in black and silver. It drew the eye like no other in her unit. On the back panel someone had taken the time to lovingly paint two rampant dragons shredding the carcass of a lion between them. One was the Iron Dragon's crest, the other Viola's personal symbol.
She saw to the maintenance of her own gear personally.
It was the night before battle. Tonight she was Vi the Vigilant.
Tomorrow she would be Vi the Violent again.