Was it Worth it?: A Queen's Confrontation and Realization

(De) Realization

Fic in AO3 /works/32240356?view_full_work=true

DIVER ISLAND MILITARY PRISON

SEPTEMBER 19, AC 432, 2200 LOCAL TIME

FOUR WEEKS AFTER THE END OF THE CASCADIAN CONFLICT

The ocean was saturated white in part by the moon's rays. A cluster of islands afar border the now-dead Cascadian capital of Presidia and the Pacific Ocean. Multiple pickets of gunboats circle the island, along with searchlights and lighthouses scattered on and around the island. Not far from the island was the sound of a whirring metal contraption: A helicopter.

An S.60 Nighthawk. On its tail was CASCADIAN NATIONAL GUARD ARMY as well as the Army's emblem: A triple-split triangle with the light blue, green, and white of the Cascadian flag etched on it.

The helo touched a landing pad on the island, filled with helmeted and uniformed prison guards armed with KH-614 battle rifles. Their model was pretty similar to some of the rifles of the Old World – the Pre-Calamity Era – but with slight alterations. Slight enough that only sharp eyes could notice. Their uniform patches had the Cascadian flag in full color on both their shoulders.

When the Nighthawk's door opened, a tattered-looking man with light skin and a flightsuit came out with guns pointed at him, being forced out and all. His shoulders bore the blue, eight-white line-streaked emblem of the now-defunct FP-01 Peacekeeper Squadron "Crimson". At least, his wingmen anyway. The ejection he took did his middle-aged body in pretty good and he felt that he could no longer fly. His hair was slicked but an utter mess.

As he was marched to another regimen of soldiers, one of them had the urge to salute, but resisted, knowing full well what the now-rogue mass-murderer did. Though she was an admitted "fangirl" of the Peacekeepers for their actual peacekeeping work and just generally looking really cool in their expensive, high-end jets, she knew that they've gone really bad with everything they perpetrated – whether they agreed with it or not – in the Cascadian Conflict. Inside herself was a pang of sadness that they've fallen so far from grace – farther and deeper than even the darkest, coldest depths of the eternal oblivion that evil men and women were condemned to by the Dust Mother Herself.

He was then pushed into a special holding cell with even more soldiers awaiting him. He had zero hesitation; this was his very last day breathing and alive, and his execution for charges of treason, mass-murder, and insubordination at the highest level was warranted for him. It was a solitary cell; scantly sufficient comforts, food request buttons, a TV for watching the outside world, the whole (if not much) stock.

The cell was guarded by a heated bar-shaped array of deadly lasers, thank the cordium used to power this centuries-old facility. It was renovated when the feuding factions founded Cascadia and wanted to keep their more...energetic fighters and warriors out of civilization. As soon as the man took his seat, the same soldier from before approached him after being granted permission for a brief visit.

The man grunted before asking, "Hey...what's your age, lady?"

"Hm? Why that?" The soldier, identified as LANNER by her ID tag, asked, slightly twitching from being asked her age. "I never heard about Peacekeepers asking ladies and gents that when on dates."

"Eh, just asking. Give me two digits."

Lanner sighed, "Fine. Twenty-five."

"Me? I'm fifty-five. Old, but not obsolescent," The Peacekeeper revealed, causing Lanner to stagger back at the thought of serving so long.