Calling the current situation a political nightmare, was, well, putting things lightly. One pretty much above his pay grade, admittedly. But he knew more than a fair share of people were looking to put someone's head on a pike for this.

Not that he blamed them. The Philippine government in exile was certainly going to have what evacuation records they had very closely by, well, everyone. It wouldn't inherently surprise him if the Philippine people didn't want them back, either. Something had to have gone wrong. He was already running a headcount, a mess in its own right, but it was raising more questions than it answered. They were already at over ten million people accounted for. It is miraculous that they found that many at all, seeing as Abyssal's had controlled the Philippines since near the start of the war.

The aviation battleship wasn't the first Abyssal in charge, either. The Philippine Island Demon, as she was known, had proven to be a considerable thorn in Japan's side. It had taken a combination of Yamato, Musashi, Nagato, and several other ships to beat down, and even then, it'd managed to escape with its life. Nobody had seen it since, despite the fact it sent several ships back to the repair baths. Painting a picture of what happened afterward wasn't too difficult, due to her lack of appearance thus far. Either sank in route, or its fleet turned against it.

Was the former demon doing the same? Or was this just simply due to new management?

It was certainly a cruel mercy if nothing else. He was requesting evacuation records as well, what little of them probably existed. Hopefully, he could get some numbers on how many managed to make it out. But this many being alive? It raised questions. Ones that would likely see calls for a new offensive, an event that could prove disastrous if they overextended.

Of course, if this one aviation battleship had managed to keep this many prisoners alive? Why? What was its goal? Did it even have one? Or was this simply a case of deciding the cruelest thing was to make people suffer, rather than just outright kill them?

And if that was its thought process, how many other Abyssal's were out there in the ocean, doing the same thing? That thought made his blood boil, though he had to keep his anger in check. Many shipgirls were beyond furious. South Dakota especially, though from what he understood, she was doing her best to keep it from the currently repairing ship, which she was also focused on.

Then again, it seemed as if so many balls had been dropped on this front. The fact that the American ships didn't break off to hunt down random fleeing Abyssal's after the camps had come to their attention was a miracle he could only thank Iowa for. But the fact there were numerous prison camps spread throughout the island? He had a hunch, which was why he requested information about the camps built by Japan during the Second World War. Still, he had whatever recon planes and even drones scouring the rest of the islands at this very moment.

He was not going to let things get worse. Not on his watch.

They'd even had to break into their food reserves, simply to get all the freed prisoners the necessities they needed. Thankfully, the relief fleet would be carrying even more food, alongside medical supplies and resources for construction. From there, the Vestal had new marching orders, in the meantime. Mostly acting as a transport itself, ferrying more supplies while being supported by a new fleet squadron. Georgia would remain, but most of the other shipgirls needed to return to Sasebo and Yokosuka.

Which was more than understandable. Sasebo was certainly going to need it, as they would providing considerable support to the reconstruction effort until further bases could be set up. Though he was unsure how many shipgirls could be spared for such a task. He knew the Navy was trying to put new steel hulls in the water. Ones built specifically to fight Abyssal's, freeing up resources from other theaters.

Those were still a long time coming. New, more precise, and quite frankly, closer range weapons were what was needed, not missiles. Quite frankly, more than a few of the designs he'd seen required technology that didn't exist. Yet.

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It was just a checkup. Only a checkup. Nothing more. Nothing less.

That's what I kept telling myself.

So why did it feel like I swallowed an entire flight of butterflies?

I just didn't know. There was no reason I should be this nervous right now. My fingers strained, desperate to dance against the inside of my palm. How bad of an example was I setting right now? Probably something horrendous and awful.

I breathed, trying to calm my beating heart as it thundered inside my ribs.

This wasn't working. I wasn't calming down. My body felt as if each atom was vibrating on its own. I needed a release valve. Tap my fingers, tap my feet.

Well, probably not tap my feet. My eyes skirted away from the dent that had begun to form a few minutes prior. If I tapped my foot anymore, I might just end up punching a hole through the floor. Which would certainly be quite bad. And I didn't need to deal with that on my mind, on top of everything else.

Finally, the door swung open, as a girl with dark hair and eyes I could almost describe as red. Just a little taller than me, so slightly less short, I thought grimly. Still, her outfit wasn't what I expected. It was more suited for a mechanic or an engineer, over a doctor or medic.

Oh. Okay. That makes sense. Great. Not only is my body being dumb, but my brain is also being dumb, too. Good teamwork, guys. Really pulling through for me in my time of need.

She seemed familiar, though. Like, really familiar. That, I've seen you before, I should be able to remember exactly who you are, sort of familiar. But I hadn't seen her before in my life. Right? Whoever she was, she probably didn't and wouldn't appear in Kancolle, due to the game's greater focus on the Japanese navy. And in Azur Lane, light carriers ended up taking over repair ship's healing roll, so I certainly didn't know her from there, either. Vestal was the only United States repair ship present, after all.

So why did she look so familiar? I wanted to get to the bottom of this, but I wasn't getting anywhere quickly.

"Sorry for the wait. I had a meeting with Admiral Richardson about some important details once we arrive back at Sasebo," the repair ship rubbed the back of her head somewhat awkwardly. Sasebo? One of the largest naval bases in Japan, run jointly with the United States Navy? That Sasebo? That's where we were going?

That, well, made sense. It was partially run by the United States, after all. They would be in the best position to pick up my initial distress signal and respond. And it would explain the split in ship's I'd met so far. Two Japanese battleships and two American ones. A joint task force was a good sign, though I had a hard time imagining all the bad blood that built up during the war was entirely gone.

"Shouldn't something like that wait until after Isabella's appointment?" Iowa did raise a good point. This Admiral Richardson? Was he in charge of Sasebo? Over this entire operation? I'd have to probably get him a letter, regardless. I would imagine he was involved in Luzon and I getting rescued, if she was in touch with him.

"I'll inform him next time he contacts me. You know just as well as I do that he's been under no small amount of stress and pressure as of late," the repair ship shook her head. "Honestly, he'll probably be back in touch in an hour or two. Three tops."

Iowa frowned, but simply nodded. Under a lot of pressure? Stress? Neither of those things sounded good. An operation like this would naturally lead to those two being in abundance. But this couldn't be the only cause, right? I mean, figuring out how I got there was probably a logistical nightmare by itself. Especially in the context of having a light cruiser show up in the middle of nowhere.

Safe to say, I'd be answering quite a few questions when I finally got to Sasebo, then. That? That was kind of scary. I didn't want to lie, but there was no way in hell I was mentioning anything about my previous life right now. Nobody would believe me, and my sanity was probably already something the Admiralty would want to look into as is. That would just get me sent on a one-way trip to the loony bin.

"Regardless," she turned towards me. "It's good to see that you're finally up and about. You certainly look a lot better."

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember any of that," I frowned. Maybe that's why she looked familiar? Some sort of unconscious deja vu situation? A brief look flashed across her face.

"Don't be. You were quite out of it. Honestly, it is probably best if you didn't remember," well, if that wasn't ominous. How bad of a state was I in if that's the medical professional's opinion on things?

She was probably right. I didn't want to know.

Though why do I have the sinking suspicion that I embarrassed myself in front of her?

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Vulcan almost frowned. Almost, being the operative term. Isabella's heart rate was a bit on the fast side, with her leg vibrating at nearly a constant pace. Vulcan was pleased in her choice to Luzon accompany Isabella. That way she didn't have to deal with Isabella tapping her fingers, too.

Was this a habit picked up to expend energy, or was it simply due to Isabella being anxious? Or was it both? The latter was certainly likely. Isabella certainly seemed incredibly nervous, possibly going into territory Vulcan would call jumpy, at lack of a better word. Not that she would blame Isabella. Vulcan had expected worse, even after the whole incident with Kongo and Hiei not ending in gunfire.

Frankly, Vulcan knew she was nowhere near qualified enough for this. Thankfully, Luzon, despite her having her own issues that Vulcan was even less qualified to sort out, was proving to be a distraction of sorts. Mutual therapy, maybe? Certainly, something to look into and keep in mind.

But aside from psychological issues that weren't visible yet, Isabella had recovered quite well. Her hull and internal machinery were in good shape, with extensive damage and even neglect being completely repaired. Even her scraped six-inch gun was good as new. Even her human body had been repaired. Outside of her aforementioned elevated heart rate and a slight case of malnutrition, Isabella had nearly fully recovered. There was just one problem.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The scars.

Bright red and angry, they covered much of her upper arms, and finding an unblemished portion of her torso was a difficult task. As she expected, most of them avoided being placed just above internal organs, the most notable being above Isabella's heart and lungs. Very much like the last time Vulcan had seen what had once been stabs and cuts.

While there were certainly shipgirls with scars, Scharnhorst having one on each eye, while Iowa had one, likely due to an explosion in her number-2 turret, for example. Those scars didn't heal in the repair bath, either, but they also appeared to be much older. Far less red and fresh than the ones on Isabella.

However, even comparing cases like that was problematic. Vulcan hadn't heard about scars appearing on a ship, where there were originally none, after a stay in the repair bath before. Repair bath's healed damage and were quite good at it. There were some expectations, but Isabella's wounds had been too recent to qualify for those expectations.

That was concerning. It was certainly beyond Vulcan's ability to explain. Maybe mental effects manifesting in a physical manner? If that was the case, and that was big if, then she should probably be thankful it was manifesting like this, rather than on Isabella's hull. A shipgirl's hull was a representation of their soul, more or less. It sustains permanent damage, well.

That would be considerably bad. A worst-case scenario. Vulcan wasn't quite sure what it would mean, either, to be honest. But she knew it could only mean bad things. At the very minimum, it would mean long-lasting, possibly even lifelong damage that would be difficult, if not impossible, to recover from. At worst?

Vulcan didn't want to even consider the implications brought about by such wounds.

At least these, if her guess was correct, would properly heal as well. Though, without a doubt, it would take a considerable amount of time for Isabella's scars to mend. This only increased the need for therapy in Vulcan's eyes.

"You can put your shirt back on now," Isabella shifted slightly at Vulcan's words, clearly uncomfortable about her current state, and it took a scant few moments for Isabella to throw the borrowed shirt back over her head.

Despite her nerves, Isabella had been quite well behaved. Luzon likely helped in a few more ways than one, but given some of the cruisers, Vulcan had dealt with in the past. The difference between Isabella before and after might as well be night and day, though delirium from pain explained that.

Maybe the reference was nothing more than coincidently mad rambling after all. Vulcan partially doubted it. After all, it was simply far too specific to likely be anything else, even if coincidence was the most logical explanation. But Vulcan was not a big fan of putting much stock in happenstance. It had a tendency for one to simply ignore the difficult questions.

Questions Vulcan would very much like to ask? Certainly. However, whatever questions she had could wait until after Isabella had gone through her debriefing. Vulcan wasn't entirely sure how well that would go. It certainly wouldn't surprise her if they had to back off at certain points.

Though Vulcan had no idea on whether it was entirely due to trauma. Her impression of Isabella had changed drastically. At first, Vulcan had expected Isabella to be much more like her sister, Seattle. Very much a social butterfly, fluttering from one group of people to another. Instead, what she found was someone who was much more reserved. Quiet, maybe?

Vulcan wasn't quite sure how to put it. Isabella didn't seem to inherently dislike human interaction, though Vulcan had concerns the light cruiser might come off that way. Instead of basking in the glow of a social spotlight, as Seattle did, Isabella didn't appear to like the spotlight being on her. Even together with Luzon, they both seemed very quiet. More of enjoyment of one's company in silence?

Was it possible to send word to Seattle to maybe dial it back a bit without Vulcan tipping too much of what's happening? Vulcan wasn't entirely sure. Frankly, on the telling Seattle front, Admiral Richardson was completely on his own. Her only hope was that he didn't wait until the last minute. As to how either of them would react? Seattle would certainly be overjoyed. Isabella? On that front, Vulcan was far less certain.

Having a sibling certainly would be a net positive, at the end of the day. How well would Isabella take Seattle's excitement, though? Isabella was still skittish, and while hopefully, that would fade, Seattle was not exactly subtle. It could lead to the two getting off on the wrong foot. Which was probably the last thing either of the two wanted or needed.

Still, quiet was probably the best word. Isabella generally spoke only when spoken to. She remained silent during Vulcan's brief conversation with Iowa and only engaged once Vulcan's attention had turned to Isabella. Though, it wasn't like Isabella hadn't been paying attention to what was being said. Far from it.

Which brought about Vulcan's last concern. Memory loss. While Vulcan wasn't exactly in a great position to be able to determine how much Isabella had lost. She seemed to have no recollection of their initial meeting, though that isn't any surprise. Given what Isabella had gone through it might be for the best that she didn't remember anything of the events.

That didn't change that memory loss could be a sign for more serious concerns. Brain damage being first and foremost, made even more complicated by the fact repair baths, despite their best efforts, had always been finicky when it came to fixing brain damage. What was caused by battle? Generally fine. However, concussions and similar injuries had to mend the human way. Or simply put, the long, boring way.

It was almost embarrassing how long it'd taken them to realize that. And even long for shipgirls to start acting on that information. Just another thing to keep an eye on, Vulcan supposed. She'd much rather be aware that there might be an unforeseen injury and have some clue as to what it was than any other alternative. But outside of memory loss, Isabella wasn't displaying much else in the way of symptoms, which was a good sign.

"Well, you seem to have completely healed, physically speaking. Some malnutrition, though it shouldn't be anything a return to proper diet won't fix," Vulcan looked up at the cruiser, as Luzon slipped off her lap. "And while it certainly isn't my place, and I don't doubt that the Admiralty will probably sign off on it anyway, but I would consider getting a therapist."

Wait. Vulcan suppressed a frown. She'd forgotten for a moment that Isabella was an unbuilt ship. She likely didn't have any idea what a therapist even was. This was not going to be a conversation Vulcan was going to like having, then. Explaining such a concept would take quite a while.

"I was, thinking about that," Isabella frowned slightly, feet seeming to shift. "For myself, and for Luzon."

Vulcan raised an eyebrow. That was interesting. Most interesting indeed. Not to mention perplexing. Isabella knew what a therapist was? And was considering? Without prompting or orders? The former was strange and certainly would be worth looking into, but the latter? Outright miraculous. Vulcan had heard more than enough horror stories about getting shipgirls into therapy, much less getting them there willingly.

"Do you have any recommendations?" On that front, Vulcan did have a few people she knew about. Sadly, the closest one in the states was the therapist at Pearl Harbor. Which was still several time zones away, and even if they weren't, finding a gap in their schedule could be difficult. They were at Pearl Harbor for good reason.

"None in Japan, unfortunately," Vulcan frowned. "I'll ask about on that front for you if you'd like."

"Thank you," Isabella's lips twitch upward slightly. Vulcan couldn't quite tell if Isabella was attempting to smile or not. "That would be greatly appreciated."

"You're welcome," Vulcan nodded, as Luzon tugged on Isabella's arm as if to draw her attention. Luzon was her own bag of worms, but Vulcan had heard from Iowa about Isabella's plan.

Leaving Isabella without supervision in the kitchen sounded like a bad idea in Vulcan's mind, but they did need to solve Luzon's food problem. And it wasn't like Isabella's cooking could be any worse than Hiei's.

"Yes, I'll make sure you get something to eat," Isabella's face was a bit more full when she looked at Luzon. Isabella wasn't quite smiling, but there seemed to be some warmth in her eyes, at least.

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Iowa, thank her soul, managed to lead us to the mess hall, Luzon's stomach gurgling all the while. Any slower and I expected Luzon would try to take a bite out of the wall. However, with a chance to get some real food, I certainly had no intention of going back to metal munching.

But Luzon certainly needed something to eat and had been shooting down just about everything they tried to give her. And while I could cook, I wasn't some type of chief or anything. Most of the cooks were probably better than me, anyway, so I'd have to be creative.

Good news was that I'd managed to find the pasta noodles. Bad news? No lasagna, so my original plan was out. But basic noodles themselves? They were in abundance. If that was the case, then. Yes, yes, good, they had plenty of burger meat. Eggs, a common item in most recipes.

Then I think it was, Parmesan? And mozzarella? Both. It certainly wasn't cheddar or American cheese. Of course, if there was pasta, there had to be pasta sauce. It was, here? Oh, there it is. I'm missing something. Cottage cheese? That would have to be in the fridge. There was simply no other place for it.

Okay, set the pot to boil, and start mixing the other ingredients. Was it thirty minutes in the oven? Forty? No, it was thirty. Definitely thirty.

"Can I help?" Luzon looked up at me. I grinned, ruffling her hair before picking her up and placing her lightly on the island counter, opposite the stove.

"Sure," I grinned slightly, but it felt a bit off. No matter, I had other things to worry about. "If you could let me know when that starts making steam and noise, that would be wonderful."

"Okay!" Luzon nodded, staring at the pot of water as if to make it boil faster. I chuckled to myself. Is this really how my mother felt when I helped her in the kitchen?

It felt. Warm.