Fragile (Slow Updates)

Chapter 18: New Reality

He shot Bellona a smirk. "Guess that means I'm worth something to the enemy."

His voice was laced with dry humor, but there was truth to it.

"Now, if you don't mind," Sous-lieutenant Vogel exhaled, rubbing his temple, "I'd like the room."

The two Kansens exchanged a look before reluctantly stepping outside alongside Harris and the three special forces operatives, giving him space

Finally alone with temporary peace and quiet.

His boats carried him to his office chair. With a dull thump, he dropped into his chair, his rifle resting across the desk. For a long moment, he simply stared.

Sous-lieutenant took a moment to examine his surroundings to see if anything was out of place while he was gone yet everything remained the same. The same stack of papers. The same four walls. The same bullshit waiting outside that door.

The same... everything. Everything he tried so hard to escape from, to better himself from this environment, to be worth something finally.

And yet, here he was.

Leaning back, he tilted his head up, staring blankly at the ceiling. His breathing slowed—deep, controlled, deliberate. His hands ran down his face before returning back to a normal sitting position.

He pulled out his phone, opening Juustagram, being greeted with a flurry of notifications. The flood continued to pour in as mentions, tags in faction and base group chat, direct messages. All of them are loud. Clamoring for answers.

He clicked on his old profile picture—a younger version of himself in his Commander's attire.

A tired sigh escaped as he lit cigarette number three while eyeing the old photos.

'Should probably update my profile.' Sous-lieutenant Vogel stared at the photos, watching the slow unraveling of a man he barely recognized. They started with a constant smile, eyes bright with purpose—a sense of belonging. But with each passing image, that light faded, replaced by something colder, heavier. The smile thinned, then disappeared entirely, leaving behind a face etched with exhaustion, a gaze filled with quiet disdain for everything and everyone.

He looked rather dashing in a naval blue dress uniform with neatly combed hair, polished black dress shoes and medals appointed by Azur Lane. 'Not bad but I do prefer my dress uniform and kepi a little more.'

His finger clicking on a chat box divided into a general group chat, faction group chats and personal messages. Eyes rolling at the backlog and heartfelt texts wishing him well and speedy recovery.

He opened Columbia's personal message as it was the most recent and someone he could feel connected to without judgement.

'Hey, big guy, are you good? I was passing by and saw you looked to be in a daze.'

'Thousand yard stare and all. Your brow furrowed, eyes were distant. If you want to relax, feel free to come over. We can watch Netflix or game. Whatever you fancy.'

Fingers typing away in the general chat that was mainly used for coordinating events with the individual faction group chats being more active. He typed his answer for why he didn't have a left leg. 'Lost it, simple as that. IED hit the VAB I was riding in.' This was followed by the footage of the ambush and photos of the aftermath. The following photos were either clear or blurred out.

His VAB rolled over on its back in a creator. Wrecked vehicles, blood soaked ground, shell casings scattered like fallen leaves. IFAKs torn open, medical items expanded.

Two Tiger attack helicopters, two Mirage 2000s and the crowd pleasure for ground sport two A-10s fucking shit up.

MEDIVAC arriving, rotor wash kicking up sand.