Your name is not Edward Dempsey, but that's what you prefer to call yourself.
Tired, a little dazed, and feeling downright naked without your Mystic Code around your torso, you fumble at the harness that keeps you strapped into the seat. It's useful, sure, you bet it kept you in through whatever turbulence you flew through as you headed to god-knows-where in the ass end of nowhere in some Siberian wasteland, but right now it's stifling. There's a little irony in that, considering what you usually wear, but hell, there's a
difference between a tool that's kept you alive for nearly ten years in your job and some uncomfortable polyester wannabe bondage gear. It's about as hard to get off as bondage gear is too, and you curse under your breath as chilly fingers fumble the clasp for the third time.
Secrecy is one thing, but they could at least spring for some kind of proper heating in their planes, right?
Kzzzzrt.
The sound of the intercom makes you look up and around, though there's still no one near you. Given that people were walking, there's at least two in the cockpit, but they haven't seen fit to actually come talk to you, which suits you fine. There's any number of reasons, after all. Maybe they're professionals who don't fraternize with the people they transport. Maybe they're mundanes just hypontised into doing their job, no way in hell any magus worth the title would know how to fly one of these.
Maybe they knew what you are, and they're just scared. It'd make sense, considering they disarmed you while you were unconscious, without telling you beforehand.
Part of you resents that, honestly. Treated like a rabid dog, isolated and muzzled, even when you try to
help. Somehow, you doubt that the little lords and ladies that signed up for this as a fun experience to show off to their superiors were knocked out and brought here as the sole occupant of a plane that could easily hold a dozen. But that's how it goes, isn't it? At the end of the day, you might be
necessary, but you're certainly not equal.
That's the hand you're dealt as an Enforcer. You've been dealing with it nine years now, so this is just another little drop adding to that mountain inside. Almost nothing, easy to ignore. But still, for a moment, it stings.
"Touchdown in three minutes. Once you arrive, you'll be escorted to meet the director, then placed in a simulator to examine your capability as a Master. If you pass, you'll officially be brought on as staff. If you fail, your memory will be wiped and you'll be returned to London. Please remain seated until instructed otherwise."
Well, that's fair. Animusphere wanted the best of the best to act as humanity's safeguards, so screwing up at the final hurdle is just as much of a reason to get kicked out as screwing up at the first. You're not seriously worried about it, but the warning is appreciated. No, the tension you feel at the back of your neck is something different, something about what they said. Something that would make anyone with your experience pause and have second thoughts.
Master.
Animusphere's plan to protect humanity from threats involved
summoning Servants.
The theory was sound. It had been years since the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki City that had proven it was possible, and given that the Chaldea Security Organization had been the Animusphere's passion project for nearly two decades at this point, it made sense that they would be able to crack it. Whatever they were using as a Grail worried you, but not nearly as much as the Servants that could be summoned. Heroes and legends that were larger than life, certainly, but the darker side of humanity was recorded just as often as its shining stars. The Old Men of the Mountain, merciless killers that slipped in and out of fortifications like smoke. Monsters in truth like the Gorgon and the Minotaur, or monsters in human skin, like Gilles de Rais or Jack the Ripper.
Summoning Servants was a gamble, and you know that better than most, you all do. Enforcers were sent after bounties and Sealing Designees, sure, but dealing with the knockoffs that appeared after Fuyuki is another part of your job now. You've all seen what Servants can do, good and bad.
Glasgow.
Engelberg.
New Orleans.
With a sigh and a shiver, you shake your head. If they've figured out how to summon Servants and Chaldea's still standing, there's probably nothing to worry about. And hell, now that you're there, maybe you'll be able to advise them as soon as they're summoned, get the Masters to Command them to slit their throat if they end up with someone like Gilles. This isn't putting out a wildfire that's threatening to burn down entire cities, it's a controlled situation wherein all variables are accounted for, all possibilities have been examined and countermeasures developed. It'll be safe.
You can almost believe it, when you put it like that.
Again, you fumble with the clasp. You'd almost think the stupid thing is frozen over, but with a growl and a little bit more force than you really should have needed, you finally manage to get the stupid thing undone, rolling your arms to loosen them up and reaching to massage your shoulder, trying in vain to work away the knotted muscles you know you're going to be dealing with for the next few days. You're halfway through rationalizing why it won't be too awful to be spending your first days in your new employment more tense and stressed than usual when the sudden impact rocks the plane to the side and flings you at the opposite row of seats.
Years of developing your instincts and reactions wins out over momentary panic, and an unnatural serenity falls over your thoughts. Self-hypnosis, practice, whatever it was, you're focused to the point that everything seems to move in slow motion. Breathe in,
twist body, curl up to avoid damaging anything important, feel within for the circuits and the power and the strength, the key slides into the lock. Breathe out,
turn the key, hear the lock give way, see the chains tighten, feel it as they snap and your soul burns and your circuits flare.
When you hit the other side of the plane, you do so with your enchanted coat blunting most of the force, and your Reinforced body handling the rest. Whatever hit you was
loud, and you can barely hear through the ringing. With a hiss, you stretch the Reinforcement to your ears, your hearing growing sharper, unfortunately along with the ringing. Can't stay like this for long or you'll get sick, but you
know the intercom is on, you need to hear...
"...een hit, I repeat, we've been hit! Unknown surface-to-air weapon, our right engine is gone! We're going down, prepare for emergency landing, I repeat..!"
You see a vision of the plane crashing into a mountain at hundreds of kilometers an hour, metal crumpling against the stone, your body
popping as you're crushed on all sides. No, not happening,
definitely not happening. A quick glance shows you the closest door, sealed to keep the cabin pressurized, but there's a release lever on the inside. With a grimace as the force of your unplanned descent makes you feel like your insides are trying to rip their way out of your back, you slowly begin to climb towards the door, your fingers easily punching through the upholstery of the seats and finding purchase in the metal beneath them.
One pull at a time, you crawl closer and closer, acutely aware that you've only got seconds before you crash. Again, you curse that they took your Code, but you can explode at someone about that once you survive this. Another pull, another few inches, and damn if it doesn't feel like the stupid thing is pulling away from you as you move. It's all in your head, you know nothing is
really warping reality to mess with you, but that doesn't help. One last pull, your heart jumping up into your throat, before finally...finally...
Yes!
You can see the mountains approaching, maybe a few hundred meters, and you know it's now or never. At this speed, if you waited a few more seconds, you'd be crushed. The pilots are doing their best to control it but they can't, not really, not with one wing practically
gone. It's a miracle that you haven't ended up in some horrible diving spin, that would have made it all but impossible to do what you're about to do.
Given that what you're about to do is still
stupid, you're not totally sure if that'd have been so terrible.
With a grunt and a pull that makes the metal squeal and bend beneath your grip, you all but rip the lever into the "open" position and let the rushing wind do the rest. It flings the door open and the sudden suction pulls you out, sending you flying into the air. Your lungs feel like they're about to explode and your stomach feels like it wants nothing more than to come out your mouth, but this isn't the worst situation you've ever been in, is it? No, you're an Enforcer. You've tangled with death so often you've made a
career out of it. This is just a fall, and you've always been really good at falling.
"Gaoth!"
Your circuits burn in your soul as you summon the winds yourself, practiced motions drawing it up and around you, catching your coat and lifting you up like a parachute. Even with control over where the winds blow, it's not perfect, but it doesn't need to be. As long as you can slow down enough to go from "squished pancake" to "a few broken bones" on impact, you'll be fine. Survival comes first, comfort later. Once you make it to Chaldea, you can get medical treatment, right after you find Animusphere and
throw her out the nearest goddamned window-
The air is knocked out of you on impact, and for a few moments, all you can see is whiteness, all you can feel is pain. Once you get your vision back and realise that the whiteness has gone from being due to sensory overload to being due to the snowstorm, you force yourself to your feet, start checking for injuries. Miraculously, you haven't
broken anything. Everything feels tender and sore and you're probably going to be one big bruise tomorrow, but for now you can move. A Reinforced glance to your left shows what you
think is some kind of metal structure, and conveniently, you've landed on a relatively flat patch of mountain. Now you can start wondering about who the hell attacked-
"Help! Someone, help!"
You're moving before you realise you're moving. Incredibly, impossibly, one of the pilots survived. The plane crashed near enough to you, you made it out at close enough to the last second that it makes your stomach drop uncomfortably for a moment, but the pilots shouldn't have been so lucky. In the moment of cold, rational survival, that was something you'd accepted, but now that they're there...
The plane is a mess when you get there. Barely intact, small fires spreading as machinery and fuel spark together, but in this snowstorm it'll be a frozen-over wreck in no time. The first pilot is nowhere to be seen, but the splattering of blood underneath the crumpled cockpit makes it obvious what happened. You shove down the pang of regret like it's bile rising to the surface, and move over to the one crying for help. He's young, military buzzcut, darker skin than you'd think from the slight English accent. Whatever god looking after him let him survive, but you can already see the mangled leg trapped in the crumpled cockpit, see how every slight movement to try escape causes fresh tears to bead at the corner of his eyes.
Just normal military, probably hypnotised into this, and now one of them was dead and the other maimed, sure to die if he didn't get help. Just two normal people, used by magi because they were
disposable.
Part of you knows you're being unfair, that they couldn't have planned for this, but you don't care. You need that rush of emotion, the
passion to give you strength. You grab his arm tight with your right hand and grab the metal of the wreckage with your left, ignoring his babbled words, and
heave.
With preparation, you probably could have done it far more easily. You've shattered concrete without meaning to at your best, and your skill with Reinforcement and runes means that physically speaking, you're damn tough when you need to be. But this was a quick and dirty job, no chance to fine tune, and so it takes three tries to push the squealing metal up enough to free the young man's leg. You ignore the cry of pain as he moves, and as soon as you've pulled him free, you set him down and look at his leg, speaking as you do, trying to distract him.
"Hey, hey, you'll be okay. What's your name? I'm here, I'll get you out of here, just tell me your name, come on..."
"S-Shankar, i-it's Shankar, I...m-my leg, what's wrong, I-I can't m-move..."
It's lost, you can already tell. Amputating it here would be impossible, you can't pull off something like that, but you don't have the skill to heal it. At best, you might be able to block out the pain for a little bit, but does he have that long? He got lucky by surviving the impact, almost unbelievably lucky, but...
You hear yelling.
You're not quite sure what language it is, maybe something Slavic, but they're close. The wreck of the plane is still alight, and it's practically a beacon in the middle of the snowstorm. Whoever attacked you is coming, and you'd be willing to bet they want to finish the job. How the hell did they cross the mountains so quickly? Two groups, maybe, or some kind of displacement magecraft? Something isn't right, but you don't have time for that now.
You look down at Shankar, his eyes squeezed shut as if he could shut out the pain just like that.
You're in the middle of a snowstorm, you don't have your Mystic Code, and Chaldea is at least a kilometer or two away, even across the flat plateau you've found yourself on. You've only got a few minutes before your unknown assailants find you.
[ ] Hypnotise Shankar into unconsciousness so he can't give you away, and wait for them to approach. It's hard to tell exactly how far away they are, but you'd guess you have about five, maybe six minutes. If you hide yourself in the snow well enough, you might be able to ambush them and take them out before they can react. You don't know how many of them there are, but you're willing to gamble on it. Shankar will have to hold on until you can get help...if he
can hold on that long, buried in snow and bleeding out.
[ ] Tug Shankar onto your back and carry him. It'll slow you down, but whoever attacked you might assume that you've all been crushed in the wreck, and the snowstorm will quickly cover up any tracks you might lead. If you patch up his leg as you walk and dull his pain, he should survive until you reach Chaldea and get real help. If they manage to find you anyway, you'll be stuck at a disadvantage, but this way you're not trading his life for yours, at least.
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Q/N: As predicted, not enough sleep and far too much stress, but here's the second chapter. The information post will be updated with part of Ed's character sheet before too long, but for now, enjoy your first real foray into the plot of Fate/Ethereal Order, which has no deviation from Grand Order whatsoever.
