It's Turbin' Time (Library of Ruina Modded/Arknights)

Interlude: Yet Again, Meanwhile…

"…okay, everything's here, I think?" says the Rhodes Island logistics worker- a purple-haired Phidia.

Another one- a pint-sized Zalak, frowns. "I think one of the crates of crossbow parts isn't here."

Her name is Frankie.

The Operator on the other side of the room nods. She smells of smoke, stale meat, and a strange sort of feeling. A not-quite-sadness, not-quite-boredom. An emptiness. It's a fading scent, now.

"I think we might have left it in the other room." she mutters almost inaudibly. "I'll go pick it up."

Before the other two can answer, she has already left the room.

Frankie doesn't really know what, exactly, throws her off here. There's something about this Operator- something she can't quite put her finger on- something that she can't quite pin down. Something that makes her feel uncomfortable, about this strange Sargonian woman, who's been so eager to be useful, who's always helping along, every since Dr. Kal'tsit came back with those new Operators, but still not so eager to actually talk to anyone.

Eh.

She's sure it's nothing, really. Her instincts have been wrong before. Trusting your gut only works to a certain extent.

Operator Smokestack, hm…

Maybe she could ask her out for dinner? When she comes back from her mission in the city?

---

>access Operator Record:Lineage

Accessing information…

Basic Info
[Code Name] Lineage
[Gender] Female
[Experience] >12 years
[Place of birth] Undisclosed
[Date of birth] October 7th
[Race] Sarkaz
[Height] 185 cm
[Infection status] Medical tests have confirmed that no infection is present.

Physical Exam
[Physical Strength] Outstanding
[Mobility] Excellent
[Physical Resilience] Outstanding
[Tactical Acumen] Flawed
[Combat Skill] Excellent
[Originium Arts Assimilation] Exceptional

Lineage's Badge
Operator Lineage has demonstrated extreme, if flawed, combat aptitude. The Field Operations Department has thus passed the following resolution: This operator shall be appointed a Guard Operator during field operations to exercise Musha responsibilities. In witness whereof, This badge is hereby conferred upon the above named.

Profile
Rhodes Island Operator, Lineage, is a mercenary affiliated with the organization known as "Turbulence Office," whose members seem to consist of Operators Smokestack, Danmaku, Nio, Diciassette and Sarasa. Though no records of her existence or confirmation of her mercenary career have been found, her skills speak for themselves.

Clinical Analysis
Imaging tests reveal clear, normal outlines of internal organs, and no abnormal shadows have been detected. Originium granules have not been detected in the circulatory system and there is no sign of infection. At this time, this operator is believed to be uninfected.

[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 0%
Operator Lineage showed no symptoms of Oripathy.

[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.012u/L
Subject is rarely, if ever, exposed to Originium, according to her own testimony, which is extremely peculiar for- is this another one of them again!? And- what's with those blood samples- they're moving on their own!

Please, come on, Dr. Kal'tsit. Can I examine her this time? Please, think of what we could find out! I promise, no harm will come to her!
--J.A., Medic Operator

Request denied.
-- Dr. Kal'tsit

---

"Right." mumbled the Lupo. "Right. You just have to sign here, okay? Then we'll mail the information to an… old friend."

The woman in front of him chuckled.

"Oh, don't worry. It's not the first time I had to make a fake identity. It isn't even the first time I had to fake a passport!" she pauses. "Granted, that passport was just so I could wager it in a game of cards."

A tendril slips out of the Lupo- Capone's coat, reaching out for a bottle of water. He raises an eyebrow.

"Did you win that game?" he asks.

"Kind of. I won, but that was just to get some of the pot so I could buy myself some more rounds. A bunch of faked Nestborn documentation served pretty well. Everyone was cheating too hard for me to actually win, and I just had to stall until everyone was in position anyway."

As he takes another form from a pile, a grin starts to form on Capone's face.

"Oh, you were tryin' to look desperate!"

Wympe laughs. It's a genuine, carefree laugh.

"Yeah, that! They eat it right up! Rich Nestborn on a trip, more and more desperate, ends up wagering their own admission into the Nest! The documents don't even go by that much on the market, but the bastards can't resist crushing someone."

"That's fair. I know a good amount of people who'd end up fallin' for that scheme-"

His hand pauses. The tendril on his left drops a folder of documentation.

"What? Something wrong?"

"There's a smell in the air… someone I remember."

"Trouble?"

"Yeah, she's trouble." he pauses to think. "Not as much as you guys, though."

---

Archive File 1
Operator Lineage allowed an examination.
-- Dr. Kal'tsit

---

The gunman stares blankly at the partially disassembled gun in the table before him. Almost mindlessly, he assembles it again.

No missing parts, thankfully.

The weapon before him hasn't needed much replacement of parts. At least, that's what he would say in public. Anyone else would balk at its sorry state.

"...gh. I'll have to replace it soon." muses Sleepy.

He's not looking forward to it, especially with how expensive guns are, here. It's even more absurd than it was back in the City. He had been stocking up on money for this exact reason. Maybe he could scrounge up to buy another rifle…? Damn it all.

And he's going to have to learn it all over again, too. Arts are such a pain in the ass to figure out. He himself can't do much other than very simple spells- not really worth the trouble.

Hm.

There's someone watching.

He turns around, and sees the person who had been looking at him from the doorway on the other side of the room. They had been tapping their foot impatiently- waiting for him to finish his weapon's maintenance.

He turns one eye at her.

"What?" he asks.

The dark-skinned woman in front of him is wearing a boxing glove. The glove- and the rest of her clothing, for the record- look old and ragged- no. Not old- simply worn down. Ripped up by blades, by movement, by conflict.

It- and the atmosphere around her- does remind him a lot of the cage-match brawlers he's seen, but… wilder. Less hostile and brutal, too. Her one hand that isn't sporting a glove- that hand's glove is held in her hand by the strap- has wraps around it, hiding a few fresh bruises.

Someone who gets in fights, but not too many fights recently, he thinks. Fights for her life have been common in the past, given by the scars and marks he can pinpoint, some of which are nasty, but all of the most recent wounds are light, and there isn't any great quantity of freshly marred tissue, either. So a warrior, but one who hasn't really been in one of the matches for their life they're clearly used to, in at least, say, a month.

Ah.

He knows this one. One of those Acahualla folks, right? Tiacauh. He's met some of them before- in Sargon-, and some of them had the same sort of vibe.

Uh.

Did he just not run into this person before? He's pretty sure Gavial is Sargonian, too… and he and Tuye knew each other beforehand.

That or she's one of the new Operators. These come and go practically every day. Why, he's sure that, when they get to Kazimierz, do what they wanted to do, and leave, they'll come out with at least one new Operator in tow. Maaaybe two.

"What do you want?" he repeats, tightening a screw. Alright, all done.

Wanna fight- that's what she's going to ask, he feels.

"Wanna fight?" she asks.

Dead on.

He looks her up and down. He's about to refuse.

All of a sudden, it is as if time itself has stopped. Something descends from the skies, spouting wings made of light. It is roughly 8 centimeters tall. Sleepy's eyes widen.

A tiny angel, sporting a purple hat and a white cloak, lands on Sleepy's shoulder. His boss' lingering will returns to him, to grant him some words of wisdom in trying times. During times of crisis, if he wasn't feeling particularly lazy or apathetic in the day- which was admittedly a rare occurrence- Sleepy found it helpful to resort to the guidance of someone who rarely, if ever, failed him- his boss, Sieghart.

Unfortunately, Sieghart was usually an entire dimension away, and now he was a considerable distance in the landship away, which was better then usual but still not optimal.

Still, it often pays to think and utilize the helpful phrase- WWGTD..

What Would Sieghart Tell me to Do?

The angel lowers its head, hat gently touching Sleepy's ear. It spouts two phrases, and vanishes into flutters of light.

"Be more social." says the apparition. "It's good for you."

Time resumes. It's not clear as to whether or not it ever stopped in the first place, given by the increasing impatience and confusion of the Tiacauh warrior at Sleepy seemingly staring off into nowhere.

"Okay." says Sleepy. "Right here?"

The warrior- codename Flint- pauses to consider this.

On one hand, she has to issue with brawling right here and now. It really is not an issue for her.

On the other hand, she'd probably get her superiors angry if she trashed this room that was full of really expensive and important stuff. While Flint did not understand or really care much about the concept of currency, she recognized that there were things in this room that people wanted to stay, preferably, in one piece.

"Nah." she says, deciding for the second option in her mind.

Sleepy pauses.

"Okay. Where."

---

Archive File 2
Claws long and sharp. Three strong, padded digits, each of which ended in a long, black talon. A mutated hand wrapped in black tendrils, twisting and twitching. That's what I saw. She made it- in front of me- during her medical examination. And then she turned it back.

And then I looked inside.

I think we might have to change her race in the file- this is not a Vampire Sarkaz.

Listen, I know, they drink blood and everything. But blood isn't everything for them, like it is for her. I could call this an obligate haemivore- an organism capable of surviving entirely off blood and nothing else, while deriving essentially no nutrition from the vast majority of other sources. Her body is overlaid with a circulatory system three times the size of a regular human one- and it moves around. Her coronary artery- or whatever passes for a coronary on her body- she flicked my forehead with it.

I'll need more time to examine this.

---

A man laughs uproariously.

A gun lies discarded on the ground- ammunition spent, knocked out of a hand in a moment of vulnerability. A cutlass is lodged in the wall, the Black Ribbon school of swordsmanship is abandoned in favor of the Max Muscular school of bareknuckled barfighting.

Sleepy spits out blood in the ground- and charges for his opponent. But she is faster- sidestepping out of the way and landing a nasty kick on the ground.

Sleepy is tossed towards the wall, but a vital opportunity has found his way towards him- as he lands right next to his cutlass. He takes it- caresses it for a half-second- and throws it at his foe, like a savage boomerang.

Flint is forced to duck- and Sleepy takes the opportunity to toss himself at her.

The fight continues- the two maul and bite into one another with their fists. Sleepy picks up his gun. He could reload it quicker than the eye can see, but he does not- simply placing it back on the ground, out of the way of the fight. It would go against the spirit of this.

He's not doing this to win.

The fight rages on- until Flint secures victory through a sleeper choke. Accepting his loss, Sleepy drags himself out of the room, panting. He takes the time to recover his weapons, of course, but he feels a bit tired right now.

"...I didn't catch your name." he musters out, before taking the last step.

The woman is already picking up a towel. Some Tiacauh people would have made moves to shake hands and go off to eat together, after a fight like this, but she feels like this isn't the right move right now.

Eh, she's full anyway.

"Code name Flint. Strongest and tallest of my tribe." The Tiacauh Liberi said. "That one was good. Do you wanna spar again later? Bring out your sword next time, you weren't using it."

Sleepy barks out a laugh.

"Code name Danmaku. But name's Sleepy. Sure, I guess." he says, before saying something in a broken, mangled Sargonian dialect. Flint frowns.

"You're pretty bad at this."

"Never bothered learning anything beyond the basic, and I didn't spend much time there. Most of my time was spent hunting, you know." he says. His former opponent nods.

"Eh, fair enough. You're tired now! Go rest! We'll fight again later. And don't bring out those small fists you have! Bring your sword, and your cannon."

"You'd lose pretty quick, if I brought the gun out." he answers. "But well. I remember you guys. No Sargonian warrior has ever backed down from a challenge, right?"

Flint only answers with a grin. Sleepy leaves the room shortly after.

He starts to think.

Well, that's enough socializing for the day. Time to go and take a nap.

---

>access Operator Record: Diciassette

Accessing information…

Basic Info
[Code Name] Diciassette
[Gender] Male
[Experience] >5 years
[Place of birth] Siracusa
[Date of birth] May 19th
[Race] Lupo
[Height] 168 cm
[Infection status] Medical tests have confirmed that no infection is present.

Physical Exam
[Physical Strength] Standard
[Mobility] Normal
[Physical Resilience] Outstanding
[Tactical Acumen] Standard
[Combat Skill] Standard
[Originium Arts Assimilation] Normal

Dicassette Badge
Operator Diciassette has demonstrated enormous resilience and adaptability in the battlefield. The Field Operations Department has thus passed the following resolution: This operator shall be appointed a Guard Operator during field operations to exercise Lord responsibilities. In witness whereof, This badge is hereby conferred upon the above named.

Profile
Rhodes Island Operator, Diciassette, is the latest member of the mercenary group "Turbulence Office." A former leader in a Siracusan criminal organization, Diciassette has joined Rhodes Island after being exiled from Lungmen in an as of yet unknown incident.

Clinical Analysis
Imaging tests reveal clear, normal outlines of internal organs, and no abnormal shadows have been detected. Originium granules have not been detected in the circulatory system and there is no sign of infection. At this time, this operator is believed to be uninfected.

[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 0%
Operator Diciassette showed no symptoms of Oripathy.

[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.12u/L
Subject occasionally handled Originium materials, but made sure to observe proper safety protocols while doing so.

---

The woman with a sailor's hat blinks.

"Capone…"

The Lupo in front of her sighs.

"Look, I don't want to go around gettin' trouble. Your- our bossman can't get me out of this one, you know? She's real trouble." Adjusting her glasses, the ninth member of Turbulence Office- Nio, or Wympe- skims through the papers the two of them gathered.

"Look, you can't just avoid her forever. Didn't she end up ignoring you, back in Lungmen?" she asks, and pauses to consider what she just said. "Why would she go after you now? And it's not like she's going to kill you, anyway!"

Capone sighs.

"I don't think she would, but I just don't trust her to-"

He pauses as a voice echoes

"I can smell you two through the door." says Lappland.

The two turn around, to see a third person come out of a door. The maniacal look in her eyes- her characteristic clothing, her cruel-looking twin swords.

"You've been running around for a while… trying to dodge me, it seems?"

Capone snarls.

"Get- get out."

"Why would I?"

"Gh. If you're not going to be leavin', I'll do it myself." he says, turning to leave.

Lappland smiles.

"Don't you want to know something, Capone?"

The mafioso doesn't answer, simply making moves to turn away. Wympe watches the situation helplessly.

And then, she unveils a letter.

Capone raises an eyebrow. The wax seal on the envelope seems familiar, but he doesn't immediately recognize what it represents.

And then, recognition dawns on him.

"You- why?"

Lappland tilts her head, puzzled. Or at least, she seems to.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?" he asks. "Isn't a postman's job below you?"

She chuckles.

"Well, this is quite an important letter, isn't it? It's for you! Sicilia couldn't have sent any Messenger with it, could she?" she pauses. "I did want to send it through Texas… but she was busy at the time. What a shame."

The other Lupo doesn't move a finger.

"...not going to take it?"

"I left that stuff behind." he says. "I don't care about what Sicilia has to say about me. If anything, I'm surprised she even went through the trouble of writin' a letter. I know the rules, I'm barely anything to her."

But inside his mind, gears turn.

Does Sicilia know?

"Left that behind, uh…" Lappland mutters. She is unusually serious. "You say you know the rules. But… I doubt it. If you knew, you'd know you can't leave."

"...nah." Capone says. "You're wrong."

Lappland tilts her head.

"Hm?"

"You can leave just fine. Once you're dead, right?" he says. "I died once already. So, I've quit, yes. You can start tryin' again if you'd like. I doubt you'll be able to make it stick."

Yes, Capone thinks. He's died once, hasn't he? Head torn off, body eaten by a savage beast. It just didn't last.

Wympe is feeling a bit anxious at the moment- but the conversation doesn't sound like something the two would like interrupted.

Let's just get back already…

Capone takes the letter- and stuffs it in his pocket, without any care.

"Does she know?" he says.

"About what?" Lappland asks, innocently.

The answer is obvious in her tone. Of course. Of course she knows, idiot.

What she leaves out is that Lappland was never meant to be the one to deliver the letter. That she was the one to intercept its courier.

She leaves out much.

Capone takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Lappland is leaving.

They'll see each other again soon, he thinks. Much to his chagrin, they will be seeing each other quite a bit.

Tomorrow is Lord Guard training, after all.

Wympe turns towards him, frowning.

"I've met her for all of five minutes and I already don't like her." she says, before turning to look at the letter. "You don't have to worry about that, you know. We'll keep you safe!"

Capone hesitates, for all of one second.

And then, a shaking smile.

"Yeah."

Trembling.

"I know you will."

But there.

---

"It really is a shame your commander is so closed off, ja?" says the vampire, taking a sip out of a flask. "She could do well with some socializing~"

The other red-eyed, pale-haired woman, one Specter simply shrugs, placing her hands on the landship's railing, looking at the vast expanse of wasteland they currently move through- desolate and unforgiving.

The Bloodfiend, Arabella, looks off into the horizon for a second.

Hm…

"Rhodes Island is rather cozy, I feel. But it…"

Specter turns towards her, madness-stained yes staring directly into the bloodsucker's soul.

"It isn't home, is it?"

Before Arabella can answer, the Abyssal Hunter turns away and walks off, leaving her alone under the fading sunlight.

She shakes the empty flask.

"Ja, ja." she whispers. "It isn't."