Fate/Barren Lie: A Fate/Zero Quest

Day 15
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A silver dream was lost that day, to the tumultuous barren wasteland of the world. The loss of innocence to the dream of a martyr, and the despair it brought to this world. If only, if only. There's no point in thinking about that, y'know? It's a roll of the dice.
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[X] The man in the black trenchcoat and the martyr
[X] Go clothes shopping with Jack. She needs new clothes, after all.
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A beach. The waves crash upon the shore, the sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves, cutting through the shade. The rock beneath your feet is slippery, moist with dew yet warm, so wonderful to stand on. The sun's in your eyes, bright and blinding, beating back on your bare arms - you can't remember how you got here - where is everyone, where did they go-

"Kerry!"
"C'mon Kerry-"
"Kerry, jump!"

The sound of their playful comments snap you back to reality. Laughing, you peer over the edge of the rock, down into the ocean beneath you. The other kids are already in the water, splashing each other, screaming with mirth as they point up at you, waiting for you to jump in.

You smile back, feel the edges of your lips curl up in an uncontrollable grin; of course they would be there. Why wouldn't they be? You step back, climbing up the side of the rock besides you, hearing the squeals of glee from the other children as they realize your plan. Then, a second of uncertainty, of your palms tingling - before the jump. For a second you're airborne, the wind pulling through your hair back as you cannonball towards the refreshing water-

"Hey, Kerry."

Shirley turns to you as you stand in the moonlit sanctuary, away from the rest of the world, a midnight realm of clockwork fantasy and moonlight nights. The moon's reflection on the tranquil lake shines bright and clear, a pure white glow that illuminates Shirley in an ethereal light as she smiles at you. A single smile, a happy yet melancholy smile of intertwined happenstance and fate, one that draws you in, captivating you. One that speaks of fate's fickleness, to deliver such a treasure to you. How could a smile be so beautiful? You can feel your heart tap out a hypnotic beat, slowing, gently, like the ebb and flow of the ocean tide, as it falls under her spell. And her eyes - her eyes are dark pools of amber that draw you in, keep you suspended, enthralled.

At that moment, you would do anything for her.
Anything.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

...
"Kerry."
You can't remember any of that as you stare at the scene unfolding before you.
As she hides, her once-pristine white sundress soaked in blood, hiding her face - blood, the darkening sky a deep rich red, the chickens covered in it, the harsh tang of copper and salt in the air -
"I-I just wanted to prove Sensei's research-"
Shirley's body spasms, shivering, shaking as she tries to control herself, pulling herself inwards as if to not let her escape, the red glow of her eyes - not amber, no longer amber, but imbibed with the scarlet light of a devil - you shudder as she slams against the cage, like a chained beast.
There's blood on her mouth. In her mouth, lining her gums. A cough turns into a cry, a scream, a caterwauling screech of primal fear, the birds flying away in droves as Shirley fights the newfound hunger. Then it's silent.
"Kill me."
A hollow laugh. A knife tumbles out, miraculously pristine as compared to the blood-soaked ground. Shirley's cross, the cross she always kept around her neck.
"Use that. Please..."

Three.
Two.
One.
Impact.

You turn around, vertigo, suspended in time, out of time- the memories dispersing, as you sink back into your twelve-year-old body, into the deep blue of the ocean. The words mingle, disperse, ring through my head- noise, clashing voices, sounds that leave me as I surface, coughing, the other kids congratulating me -
"That was awesome-"
"So cool-"
"Kerry-"
"Oy, Kerry-"

"Kerry!"
Shirley.
The noise around you dulls out to a low hum, a thump, the blood pumping to your head as you walk towards her. Shirley doesn't say anything as you grab her neck. Her amber eyes stay dark and glassy as you squeeze.
I'm sorry.
She's nothing but a memory. Another life of a hundred, another hundred to be killed. One life for many, right?
I'm sorry.
A few more seconds, and she'll be dead. Gone. This is what she wanted, right?
Right?
I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Shirley. I'm so sorry-
"If you're so sorry, why didn't you do anything about it, Kerry?"

You open your eyes to see your own personal hell. The ashes of destroyed buildings, flicked through the winds as the village is consumed by the raging inferno. Your worn and creased hands tremble, empty themselves. Shirley opens her eyes, a vibrant red, her neck twisted and bruised.
"This is what you brought upon us."
The other children surround you, staring up at your face, their face white and pale with the markings of the undead. The horizon is dark, lit only by a crimson moon that bathes the area with scarlet light.
"You should have just killed me."
Distorted images.
"But you can do something now, right?"
Phantoms of the past.
"Die."
Let the connections wither and fade. Binding and severing.
"Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die-"
Bang.
The Thompson contender spits out lead - once, twice, three times, four, the bodies of the children collapsing like broken puppets.
Reload.
Aim.
Fire. The bodies twitch as you mow them down, their glassy eyes wide open with terror as you stare at them.
Turn to S̶h̶i̶r̶l̶e̶y̶.
Fire.
And the scene shifts again.
The empty concrete echo the footsteps of the man before you. Containers, dead silence, and the cold night air surround you, frozen in time. He makes no moves other than to walk towards you, his red jacket flowing in the wind, his uniform and armor faded and darkened beyond repair, riddled with scratches and dents but still functional in a spartan way.
The Thompson Contender clicks again, coming up empty. No more bullets. You put it down by your side, staring back at the unknown man. The bandages that cover his face slowly unravel, falling to the ground in strips, and-

Before you can see his face, you wake up, blinking softly at the darkened ceiling as the sunlight streams in from the open window.
A dream. Been a while since you've had a dream that vivid, and even longer since you thought of them. You stand up, get dressed, no time to lose. After a moment's hesitation, you pull the curtains closed, sending you back into darkness. Someone else must have opened them while you were asleep.
The wound on your chest tingles painfully.
...
The phone rings just as you finish getting dressed. Once, twice - you look over the number, briefly. 0797-045528.
On the second dial, you pick it up.
The line is quiet. A second later, you end the connection. Nothing more needed to be said.

The number is the all-clear signal from Maiya; looks like she's alive, but out of commission.
With Caster's healing magecraft, estimated time for recovery is... two days. Preparations must be made; the Master of Saber has been identified, must capitalize. Have Caster track down Saber, then proceed.
Explosives seem like the most efficient, followed with Steiger rounds to pick off the survivors. Ask for assistance from local Fujimura family?... negative, though evidence will be planted to provide likely alibi. Chemicals, damaged equipment-

"Master?"
You turn around to see your Servant materialize behind you. Caster's red eyes are darkened with something like... worry? She stares at you, her hands crossed and hidden beneath the pale white sleeves of her dress.
In the darkened hotel room, the only light source is her eyes, red and glowing with a crimson light.
"Why are you here, Caster."
You turn, ignoring her after a second of contemplation. No time to waste; with Maiya back in fighting condition, much more work can be done - must relegate Caster back to Maiya. "I thought I ordered you to heal Maiya?"

"She's getting treated by the nurses right now." Caster ignores your dismissal, pulling open the blinds. A wave of light comes in- "Shouldn't you have some lights on? It would-"
You close the curtains. Return to your guns. Assemble. Disassemble. Reassemble. Ensure that no piece is missing, damaged. Hold it up to your eyes, test it. Scope may need to be replaced soon, but is manageable; you put the gun back down into the bag.
"...okay then." Caster's voice is quieter. Good; she seems to understand that she is needed elsewhere.
Must remember to re-bandage wounds; chest wound is acting up. May interfere with work.

"Can I ask you something, Ki-Master?"
Irrelevant. Unnecessary. The practical answer would be to refuse her question. She has no part in your plans; she would perform better without prior knowledge. Thus, you could more accurately predict her responses.
But if you answer her question, she may be more likely to return to Maiya. Fine. A decision is made.
"Yes?"

She perks up at your response. "Oh, uh... I was just wondering. With the Grail corrupted, what will you-"
"Irrelevant." No more needs to be said. The duffel bag is zipped up, grasped in one hand.
"What?"
"Irrelevant. Rider's words are a lie, meant to distract. No more must be taken into consideration."
"But-"
You ignore her words. If she would continue to believe the words of that man, then so be it. Plans can be changed, and Caster has no place on the battlefield. If nothing else, she could be an acceptable scapegoat or bait for the other Servants. You pick up your Thompson Contender last, preparing to leave-

"Kerry-"
"Kerry."

Click.
In one smooth movement, you pull the Thompson Contender out, an Origin Bullet clanking into the barrel, as you pivot. Turn. The loaded barrel coming to a rest in front of Caster's shocked face.
Reload.
Aim.
Fire.
"Do not call me by that name." You force yourself to keep your voice level. Even. Hard. Keep your eyes cold, detached, as you stare her down. Her red eyes are wide open, shocked, like a doe. Innocent and scared. Of you.
"Are we clear?"
She doesn't say anything, disappearing after a few seconds. The Contender drops down to your side. Good; she should return to Maiya now. Objectively the best outcome; Caster has returned to her work, and has become disillusioned with you. No further interference from her predicted. Yet, you feel tired. Sluggish. Weary.
...must remember to re-inspect chest wounds. Slight irritation and chest pain may precede serious infection.

...
...
Why are you doing this? There's no point, in what you're doing. Kiritsugu Emiya is a robot, a machine, a man who discarded every emotion that he had.
You know this, don't you? You saw him firsthand. Of course he would act like that.
So why...
No. You got a reaction out of him.
He's still human, still has a human core.
And he's going to self-destruct. Soon. He's in denial about the Grail, still fighting the war.
Still in pain.
Without anyone to help him.
...
It's the Servant's job to help the Master, right?

"Sorry, Maiya. But you can wait a while, can't you?"
Without a second thought, without another word, you flip off the balcony with a twirl, landing on your feet. Some passerbys gawk at your blonde hair and red eyes; you ignore them, silently passing through the shopping district like a ghost.
You followed them after Maiya was attacked by Assassin; nobody suspected a thing as you watched from afar, your familiars easily tracking them down. And...
Well, you'll figure the rest out when you get there, right?
...
...

You dream. Not of the room, of the darkness that pulsates beneath you. Not of the core of light, the blessing of the balancer, or of what must be done. Not of the present.
You dream of the past. Of things best left hidden, of scars inflicted upon your Servants.
[X] Delve into Saber's past.
[X] Delve into Assassin's past.