Darling in the Franxx: The Only Titanfall

Carry On Soldier

Light streamed into the window, casting its rays across the messy and occupied room. On the bed, two figures, one male and one female, lay in deep sleep. The male was at the peak of his performance, the ideal specimen in some regards. His bangs lay limp across his forehead, dark circles under his eyes slowly receding as the light gently touched them. His chest rose and fell slowly, steadily, moving the girl who lay atop him. As his chest rose and fell, she did too. One of his arms was wrapped around her protectively, the other behind his head. The girl was curled into a ball, her pink hair enveloping her. She was half dressed, her vest gone but her stockings still on.

Around the room, various chunks of armor lay, a breastplate here, an upper back rig there. The broken helmet visor was haphazardly leaning on the nightstand. The sound of birds calling to one another filled the air as the window opened on its own accord, the smells of food and nature floated in, and the crisp scent of grass mingled with the refined taste of fresh food. The girl stirred as these scents reached her nose, opening her eyes to see the scene before her. The broken helmet visor was direct across from her, in her line of sight. It was cracked, damaged, and still sparking internally.

A change was coming.

She arched her back in a stretch and pushed herself up from the chest of her darling, his arm fell to his side, and he did not stir. She swung her feet to the side of the bed and got out, standing up and stretching further. Her back popped a few times and her body felt relieved to be straightened out. While she enjoyed sleeping like that, the aches in her body said otherwise. She quickly dressed, donning her new uniform and checking herself out in the full-length mirror. Her uniform was tailored to her perfectly, the scheme chosen by her Darling to compliment each pistil and stamen. Her uniform was simple, but she was proud to wear it.

She exited the room, she walked down the stairs to the dining room where everyone else awaited her.

Meanwhile, her Darling. The man known as Wyatt Mercia lay dormant, twitching every so often. Visions of battles past and warnings of the future pounded their way through his head, disrupting the peace that had settled there. He awoke with a start, sweating bullets. He blinked, once to clear the visions, two to make sure he was awake, and three to clear the sleep from his eyes. His eyes, a beautiful shade of emerald green, glanced around the room, never settling. His heartbeat slowed slightly as his brain registered his environment. He sighed and got out of bed, the sheet and blanket falling to the floor.

His body was mostly made of muscle, and what wasn't was enhanced bone. He was no normal pilot. He was a Mercian Pilot, having undergone augments to make him harder to kill and capable of taking ridiculous forces without dying. While the process was painful, the payoffs were worth it.

The scars on his back and the few on his face told a different story. Most were accumulated by shrapnel, and one through torture. But one, the longest on his back was the one he would wear with pride. He had saved his twin from death by receiving that one. That Kraber would have pierced her straight through, he took the blow for her and wouldn't have it any other way.

Donning his new uniform, one similar to that of a Stamen but with a different pattern on the chest, one showing his rank. He grabbed his holster and adapted it to be carried under his shoulder before putting it on. Finally, he grabbed his Wingman and flicked the safety on, before placing it in its holster.

Now ready for the day, he opened the door and walked away, the door creaking shut after he left. The room was still once more, the helmet flickered internally on the floor, systems still running diagnostics on a blood spatter that had fallen on its sensor, relaying that information to Gage and Dr. Franxx.

The cracked visor, a symbol of change when it was initially added, lay broken. It wasn't destroyed but damaged beyond conceivable repair. In the current moment at least. Now, a new age was coming for Mercia, no more could he be a Pilot, now he must be a commander and a stamen. The loss of everything he had ever known, his family, and his life had changed him. What he had now was what he clung to, his partner, his friends, and even a new life not too far from his own. The Devotion that he had pulled off a dead IMC Specialist sat in its case, unloaded as it had been for the past two weeks.