Another explosion shocked my airframe, some proximity detonation.

More cannon gunfire pierced its

metal protection, shattering its integrity.
Right now, I was flying an ACG-01 Chimera, modified to have a couple seats. My WSO, my
President – Robin Kuo – was in the back, slumped and unable to do a thing.
This was it. I was on my own, up against an insane bastard who just had to do it – it – as in, ruin
everything at the peak of victory.
I struggled to get my plane stable with my joystick, but found that some of the implements fell off. It
remained that way for a short time – ten seconds? – yet it felt like a damned eternity.
Just as I got it back under control, however, the radio crackled.
"Why, Crown?"
My heart stirred back at me, at the man who just mere minutes ago seemingly took away everything
from me in a flash of orange: Crimson 1, flying that souped-up "PW-Mk.I". I couldn't get a grasp at
what kinda plane it was until some time. Guess Galaxy wasn't really dead and still giving me data? Or
perhaps he was shot down but somehow landed? You know what, that doesn't matter. I was filled with
hatred and rage against that crimson bastard to question things.
"Why, why, why? Why do you keep flying like this?"
I was confused; was he speaking of how my flying style is, or…
Oh shit…
"Why get up? Why do you keep fighting, Crown? Where's the point?"
A pause ensued. I felt my face contract and go into cogs mode, my hand wanting to leave my bare
joystick but refusing to, fearing an instant explosion. What the hell could Crimson be talking about?
This whole damned war?
I had my answer a few seconds later and I didn't like it.
"Do you even believe in something, merc trash?"
Huh? Why ask this? It was crystal clear as dust-
"For more than just living through this day?"
For a split second, I felt as if my weight went to zero. Suddenly, there didn't seem like a purpose for
doing this anymore. I just wanted to let myself crash.
"What is it about again, merc? Can you even think or know? Have a brain?"
This… This wasn't how it was supposed to be, damn it. I hated, hated this murderer with a passion,
and I was supposed to get my vengeance and go home. But I never thought about one thing:
What the hell would happen to me after this was over?
Do I get a long-ass vacation? Live anonymously and everything? Open up some insignificant beach
bar? Hell, I wasn't even sure what became of my friends. Prez couldn't be dead. Nobody's ever died of
G-LOC before.
Hell, was there even a place for me to go and return to? I was a wanted woman, and those bounty
hunters months ago came after me with such unrelenting ability. They weren't kidding; I'd get run
down and blasted into particles.
"Is it independence? A chance to find your true self?" Crimson questioned me, this time with an even
more intense tone.
"Perhaps finding peace? Or, is it just about the one thing people like you selfishly chase: Money?"
I had no answer. Independence? Well, it was pretty much for nothing now. The capital was dead, a lot
of the land was dead, and millions have died. For what, just so the Federation's foothold was assured
at the cost of millions of bones and burned corpses? Money? Yeah, not sure I'd be walking off of this
happy with myself if everyone I care about was dead.
At least, that was what I felt right now.
"All of them, meaningless constructs, Crown. Look around you, if you want a hint."
I then gripped my stick and observed the burning ground down below me. Much of downtown by that
point was in ruins, with the rest of the city to follow. Damn it… Is this what we wanted? A country of
smog, fire, and dust?
"Your friends are dead, your nation is gone, and you have no future and a bounty on your head. You
are nothing. Nothing. Just a disgrace and a failure to your countrym-"
I screamed in an instant. I didn't want to accept it…
"No!"
"en, to your fellow mercs, and to your backseat ladyfriend.
"You are but a worm in the face of the megatsunami of the Federation. You fight for monetary gain,
and drive my country into bringing yours to ruins."
"No, no, no…it's…it's your fault! Yours! I didn't drop any bombs, you-" By then, I was desperate,
trying not to let this fucker guilt me into giving up.
"You lack what it takes to see the bigger picture or even win this war. You contribute to separatism
and disunity, as well as that stupid concept they call "sovereignty". We were your guardians, your
feeders, and your caretakers, and what did we get? Rebellion, resistance, and destruction. Is this what
you want, merc? What I even want? Do you think I was this cackling villain approving of the
atrocities that my side committed?!" Damn, he was basically frothing with rage by then. Must've been
at himself and his side.
"I should've, again, ended you at Yellowstone when I had the chance! I could've stopped this war
from escalating to this point. This is, entirely, your-"
"Shut up!" Get the hell out, this is just denial-
"Fault! Our fault! My fault! Your side's stupid nationalism that is so blinded to everything happening
out there! And my own commanders! All of it for what, the deaths of our squadrons?!" He then took a
deep breath, having enough of this dumb argument.
I wasn't responsible. And yet, there's some part of me that felt guilty for driving the people – mine –
into this ruin. For all I and Crimson knew, Sicario was dead, Cascadia was dead, and I and Prez were
the only ones left standing.
My heart clenched and tears demanded pooling in my eyes. No, there has to be some chance they
ejected outta there. If worst came to worst, then…
No longer.
No longer would Dip talk about books.
No longer would Galaxy call out to missile alerts and Fox brevities.
No longer would Mick boast and goad people into taking potshots at her.
No longer would Gunsel and Circus want their backs to be covered.
No longer would Kaiser rally people and boost morale like he's the next war hero.
It was all too much, too much for me to take and accept that I'd rather die than be cursed to cruise this
rotten earth alone.
I was split. Part of me just said I had to accept it, and part of me held out hope that they somehow,
against all odds, survived. But just then…
"You should be able to look at it now, you Queen of Nothing, hell, even accept it. Face the final,
awful truth:
I awaited that painful answer. Deep breaths, girl, deep breaths…
"You can't win. There's no point fighting anymore. And even if you get through this, what, then? Let
me hint you: Eternal death…would be a kinder final paycheck than this.
"Again, look around you. You have no cause left to keep fighting for. Your friends are gone.
Whatever hopes and dreams you have are in ruins. You just fight for personal gain like I do now,
while I – up to this point – fought for peace and unity. Had you never existed, had we resisted that big
red button, this stupid apocalypse would never have to happen." He calmed down now, resigned to the
truth.
"So why? Why, Crown, why, why do you persist?! Is it the empty song of vengeance?! A dead
contractor of a pointless contract?!"
The questions rang in my head for a while. He was right. There was nothing left for me but revenge.
And even then, would I feel fulfilled? I had a contract to complete, but what would become of me,
then? I didn't even know if Peter and Evelyn were still breathing. Nevertheless, he had a point:
We fought too hard and lost too much for this stupid, stupid war to be worth it.
Life was better before this atrocity.
But worst of all, my life…was gone, ripped away from me by this stupid war, and everything and
everyone I had was, quite possibly, finally gone, ripped away from me by this monster, this
psychopath, this…so-called "Peacekeeper" who might as well be a butterfly of vengeance now.
Yet, at my core, a most primal instinct and desire to survive still persisted. Won over my mind.
It was at that point where I gripped hard the control stick and gave Crimson the answer. He was
unsuspecting and waited a verbal answer right above me, and lifting my plane up, I unleashed my last
load of heavy gunpod rounds into his airframe.
I then settled and kept on going, launching one of my last missiles (I packed several dozen since this
was our last flight) into him. Though the PW was super duper nimble, it was just not swift enough and
took a direct hit to the center.
A big explosion was generated. This was my opportunity to calmly deliver my answer:
"Because it's my choice."
Settling to my palms and taking a long-ass sigh, I went silent.
For several minutes, the sound of cordium thunder and burning skyscrapers pounded my head.
I then thought of everyone that was lost – millions upon millions of innocent people who would have
found themselves without a home to go back to.
My plane was heavily damaged from the fight. I then made a rough landing at one of the cliffs,
unseated and unbuckled myself, and then did so with Prez.
Finding a rock to rest on, I wept. Cried and cried and cried. For what felt like two eternities. I wished
my friends were here to mourn with me, but now, I was practically defeated. Alone. With my mind
essentially blank.
It was all over. No matter the small pockets of soldiers that I noticed, no matter the confirmation of
my friends' survival an hour (or was it half of that? Fifteen minutes? Didn't care much) via comms, no
matter Prez being carried on a stretcher to a field hospital, we had lost. The Federation had lost.
Sicario has lost the contract (in a way), and would itself be dissolved and absorbed into some "foreign
legion" or some shit like that not long after.
And what of the Federation's own citizens, enraged by the atrocities their superiors did? What of their
lives that they still own?
Didn't matter to me anymore. The Federation's fall is just a matter of time by now, and the gigantic
void left behind would enable powers greater than it to fight it out and carry out the dirty business of
war.
We were left to our own devices; that beach bar was indeed opened, partly as a promise fulfillment
from Creole, and partly to cope with the wringer we were put through. At times, though, we'd be at
VA centers, therapy clinics, the works struggling to accept the losses we suffered.
Cascadia was reduced to a handful of towns and forests and mountains and dramatically shrunk; it
was basically another Periphery nation. So many lives lost and Dust Mother knows how many will be
in the future because people on both sides couldn't stop using any means necessary for their own
gains.
As for the Cascadian Conflict itself?
Nobody fucking won.
Just Crimson. He won. He's destroyed everything. Out of spite and with nothing left to lose, he
accomplished it.
I have failed my duties, my country, and worse, I have failed my friends.
I am a Queen…of Nothing.