Immediately, a sudden response. Noises…strange synthetic sounds of things…expanding, modulating, detaching. A cyanic light flashed on, yet downfacing; the hexagon began to vibrate and…shake, almost, and not due to any real particular reason…besides a certain…sudden excited impatience.

Finally, the sounds of a sharp unlocking snap bounced in the air around…as that certain something abruptly popped right out from its special storage compartment, no longer sleeping, floating…hovering in place. Its central cyanic light-eye…stared into her own.

The foreigner lowered her face-covering, such a warm and genuine…affectionate smile…entered her face, even if she did not notice…she was smiling such a solemn warmful smile.

« Salvé, míe Bí… Fuit satés tempor, no? » she greeted with warmth in voice.

For the first time in…too long of a short insignificant time…her bagged cyanic eyes were staring at her other half; her other piece; her…partner, her friend.

Angular and geometric, refined yet bland and utilitarian, with a large glowing cyanic ‘eye’ lens in its center and front—its ‘face’, essentially. It was a sentinel, a rather peculiar one at that—a peculiar sentinel to match a peculiar trooper. It was her personal sentinel.

Old and ancient, as much of a relic as she herself was, its original purpose, its original designation, have long been lost to time’s decay. She could not even remember how she had even ended up with this thing; so much of her memories…of her long-long life…had aged and rotted away; so much had been overridden…to make room for new.

Yet seemingly the earliest of the memories she still had…this sentinel was always in each and every one of them, whom she simply referred to as ‘B’—or hereby to be simply dubbed thus, ‘Bee’.

Compared to standard Remnant sentinels, Bee was not as slim, and was not as ‘sharp’ or ‘pointed’ in the front frame surrounding its lens-eye, being perhaps a bit more…chunky, and more ‘rounded’ at its front edges; likewise, it was somewhat larger than typical, but still sizable enough to be carried on her back—which she could not…presently do, obviously, being without…Bee’s attachment-carrier.

This sentinel and her arcanity, oddly enough, were interconnected: as important of a piece as her rapier conduit.

Bee floated in place, its cyanic eye-light looking at her, staring, before abruptly becoming so very…energetic. It began to zoot around, thrilled in absolute.

Since this sentinel’s communication capabilities had been…fundamentally and irreparably damaged…countless ancients ago, it usually made a wide array of affective and expressive noises—hereby to be summarized and condensed as ‘bweeps’ and ‘beep-boops’, which Bee was certainly doing a plenty.

« Ôch de corsad… » the foreigner’s breaths murmured; of course…just as she expected.

Having underestimated the space constraints, Bee proceeded to promptly bonk into the wall…despite the fact she had left the door wide open for it to zoot right through.

« Calmá! Calmá! Plaçet me quoc te videre’terù, míe amice » she implored and said; it was good to see Bee too, but they really needed to calm down.

Bee shook itself off, beep-booping with delighted bweeps; it promptly…settled down, and hovering back in place, staring at her as she stared back.

« I know, it has been…some time: more than one-and-a-half standard years; a lot has…evented » she began to state.

Bee ‘nodded’…as much as a floating shape of a thing could even…nod, bweep-booping in reply; it could tell…quite the happenings must have happened in its absence, just from the way she appeared.

The foreigner was as attuned to her sentinel as much as it was attuned to her; despite no words being spoken, she understood…largely, what Bee was communicating—there were patterns in its tones and pitches. Though, sometimes, she still had to rely on a mediator for effective communication…but she did not care.

« I look…slightly weird, I know…but, anyway, uhm…that…derelict Blue-Coat sergeant—the one we were with—they are…M.I.S, most likely P.I.D, so it is only me… J’apoloģias agho, est ení némî fabula longa, sed I am exmovents, and I could use your eye, çeù semper » she stated.

Bee acknowledged in a more…serious bweeping beep-boop.

The foreigner raised her face-covering, nudging her head, indicating follow, as she promptly left this armory of a storage space. She held the door open as Bee followed suit, before…closing it shut.

However, as soon as Bee exited into the living space, its cyanic eye flashed in sudden attention, hovering straight to that…primitive artillery shell implanted into the floor, scanning and analyzing immediately.

« Síc, noșco et also probabilidre contaminatù’st…sed ĵustë ignore it and sequé » she stated, standing near.

Bee…however…only shifted its stare straight to her, its glowing light-eye only becoming more attentive and…scanny. It promptly began to proddingly analyze the foreigner herself and everything else in the field around… or rather scanning something far more…esoteric permeating all around with active intensity.

Bee’s cyanic light flashed again…brightening, changing more to an…alarmed shade of color.

{W-RN-NG: C-L-MI-T-OUS C-NC-N-TR-TION} Bee’s garbled and glitched synthetic voice shouted in alert.

Oh, why, hello there cutie

It appears you have noticed me

{N-TCE: AC-T-V-TY S-R-GE} Bee alerted more.

The foreigner sighed; « Síc, síc, conșcjo ben’satés, míe Bí, ita modo ignores pro núc » she replied; oh she was well aware enough. « Now come on, tempor non est nobés » she stated with a wave before making way, entering the bedroom.

Bee…acknowledging…followed along.

The foreigner headed straight for the broken window; opening the curtains, her exposed ignited eyes…peaked out and around. It was still morning’s twilight, not many denizens were out and about; she still had…somewhat of an opportune window.

She quickly turned to Bee…who was hovering right behind, awaiting.

« Oké, audí: Synch mead communicatriçe and with ancillary terminal; volate up and dim sensory-lights; follow, overwatch, and monitor… ignore denizen highlights, be attentive to relevants and prior unknown contacts… Remain in high-troposphere, retreat to stratosphere if relevant contacts are detected, mesosphere if necessary; do not engage without direct mandates…unless you think I am compromised, » thus she instructed.

« Sițuațion securitați noștra…est mețima çeù príor, ergo total communication darkness besides with me, » she added; « Haud necesse est mî ad explanandù, na șcjas quid façhithéon est ».

It was unnecessary to explain in detail; ultimately, her sentinel knew what to do.

Bee ‘nodded’ in acknowledgement, beep-booping in positive affirmation. Without delay, Bee zooted out through window, into the sky up high…with…rather the speed. It quickly became a mere floating light in the sky…one that dimmed into greater obscurity…until no longer noticeable to all but her.

Even though the two were not connected with each other the same she ways with her…other…more esoteric sentinels and automatons, Bee still knew her and her expectations…more than she herself could even begin to understand. Bee’s memories, unlike hers, had not eroded nearly as much as she.

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The foreigner sighed; with Bee once again being active, now, without any doubt, she was prepared. She now had even greater capabilities with her terminal device.

Though…thinking of sentinels, she had those other three survivors…which had been left hibernating in that cavern…more than one-and-a-half years prior—their decision, not hers.

No… Bee was…more than enough, she did not want to stretch it…

Though…Bee being…alone without even a basic escort…

If she lost Bee…she would lose…so much more than just a sentinel…

No…she trusted her sentinel. Bee was the parent sentinel and could take its own…discretion with the other three if needed. Bee will be fine.

Yet…doubts persisted…

She shook her head, her mind springing back.

She closed the curtains, backing away. She evaluated around, her mind…refocusing on her next tasks at hand.

Hmm…right, first redon her smart-cloak, then half-mask, and then…lockdown her hexagon…then done.

She approached her bed, that place where she had so…gently tossed her smart-cloak and mask. She…reequipt her smart-cloak–a process not as simple as it seemed, but…at least such would remain rather attached. Everything she had on her…fit almost neatly within the confines of her smart-cloak’s obscurity, hardly any protrusions at all…not even from her backpack and portable storage, for the most part.

She then shifted her attention to that…half-mask, laying gently where it was, before picking it up.

She stared at the butterfly masquerade now in hand…blank and devoid of color, that mask which had been given to her by her former associate. She had been told to paint it one day…and make it her own, a new face to wear in this alien place. Although she still…doubted that she would ever do that, now that she was staring at it…she was starting to…picture and visualize…

Hmm…maybe a violet stripe which went down…from the forehead to the right-eye socket? And a cyan one…that… hmm…

Now was not the time for this.

She turned around and was about to don the mask as she made way to leave…but before she completed such a task, her ignited eyes…caught glimpse…of that same mirror. She looked at it, staring.

Hmm…she approached the mirror, evaluating herself once again. Her cyanic eyes and the sigil engraved…glimmered in their faint ignited state, reflecting from the mirror’s touch as with all light. Perpetually bagged and tired, and exposed for all to see.

Hmm…“… ‘best to start separating’…thus was said?” she suddenly murmured in recall.

She looked at the butterfly half-mask in hand; she had only ever worn this when masquerading as a denizen. She looked at herself in the mirror again; yet right now, she looked…completely different, alien to her prior ‘commoner lady’ denizen appearance.

Hmm…she cogitated, recent memories springing to mind, realizations taking hold.

Despite having so brazenly charged into the hellfire that night more than a month ago, no denizen…seemed to have recognized her since then. Right, in fact, even during then, there was that…adventurer, that mage… who could not recognize her in the moment despite having seen her before…all because she was maskless, ignited eyes exposed.

Ironically, indeed, it seemed exposing her entire face in full…concealed her identity, since she was a person of masks…her face usually hidden. The only consistent detail was her skin, hair, and…right, also that ring; she was wearing…or had been wearing that…still.

All details to which hardly any seemed to have attended, thus…unable to really connect together, let alone…remember.

She looked into the mirror and lowered her face-covering, donning the half-mask: suddenly, she was one. Then she took off the mask, raising her face-covering and her hood: suddenly, now she was another.

Admittedly, the differences were not immediate to her—even her own face tended to be…foggy conceptually when without a mask. But ordinary human facial processing was extremely sensitive, being even prone to seeing faces where none existed. Obscure some of it in different ways…and identification, the ability to process it, would break down.

Indeed, she repeated, lowering her hood and facemask, donning her half-mask, only to take it off, raising her hood and facemask.

It was as if she had…two different faces, two different…selves, two different…impressions, yet…not two separate, just…different…“… ‘aspects’…hmm…” she mumbled.

These ‘Ravens’ of the Bureau, right…they wore masks to hide themselves, to hide their real face. But to her and those like her, masks were their faces…largely, at least.

Considering that…these Ravens seemed to…be ones to don disguises and different identities…in order to spy or stalk or whatever, no doubt the foreigner herself might have to do the same. And…she only had one mask to don for such a role. Thus, it was perhaps best to separate this mask from this ‘form’, so to speak.

The Bureau already knew about her eyes and such, anyway. The denizens that she had so…brazenly exposed them to, likewise, had not seemed to have cared as much as she had…anticipated, only thinking that she was some kind of ‘servant’ to a ‘god’ or whatever—which was, in a way, still blending in, provided that such existed.

She lowered her hood but kept the facemask, donning the masquerade again, before raising her hood, evaluating.

Admittedly, this felt…so much more comfortable and complete… yet…also alien, for this was not her true mask. In a way, it did not belong…on her face in this ‘form’…despite seeming as though…it did.

She sighed and lowered her hood, taking the half-mask off. She felt…extremely strange…and uncomfortable being maskless, but…she could always just find a different mask…to go along with this…‘form’ of hers, even if it felt…there was only one true mask which behooved her Remnant self.

But fine. She will experiment. Loosening her cloak, she took off her backpack and opened it...gently placing her half-mask…into the free-space that was left, before closing it and putting it back on while her cloak was still on—an awkward process, but doable.

She will be maskless, she decided, besides the face-covering, of course; half of her face remained concealed, just the other half.

This decision having been made, she left the bedroom and reentered the large storage room. Finally, it was time to…lockdown that hexagon, which she promptly did without any hesitation.

The hexagon whimpered, almost, as she closed it down…the override being reset as a new override key flashed; she quickly memorized it, she hoped, but due to being presently connected, her terminal device also stored it too…she hoped.

She stood up and backed away from the hexagon, eyes…scanning around… Hmm…she noticed, right…plopped on the ground…that dresswear she had been wearing prior…and which had been provided by…that Raven. Hmm…she might as well return it, then…being no longer needed; thus, she picked it up, carrying it on shoulder.

Yet, as she did so…she noticed…gently falling from it and onto the ground…something shiny.

Oh…right, that ring, the one she had purchased at the beginning of this year. So accustomed she had become to its presence, she forgot it had even been on her finger; she did not even…remember taking it off, to be frank… Such must have happened…a few hours ago while she was…preparing, obviously.

She stared… An interesting trinket, admittedly, but…she still had no comprehendible feelings and frameworks regarding it. It was just…metals molded into shape: a pointless trinket with no utility.

But this was the ring her former associate…apparently had wanted, yet never obtained.

Hmm…and, likewise, if there was no point in wearing it, then there was no point in not wearing it; she had spent the coin, after all. Thus, she hunched down and picked it up, brushing it clean, and… placed it into a free pouch…for now—better to be donned…along with that mask.

She double-triple-quadruple checked her figure just to be sure…she had…absolutely everything on her.

Yep. She had…what she needed to have. Albeit would that she had the time to configure her grapple-hook which she was unable to get to; alas, she would…have to do without, for now.

She looked at the mannequin…which wore Gunslinger’s appearance. She felt strange…deep down within, persistent uncertainty…lingering. She was diverging greatly…from what her former associate had said was for the better.

There were reasons why…she was told to abandon her gear, to abandon her ping, and to…play this game of pretend. It had worked for her former associate; it was why she had survived for so long.

Yet the foreigner…was not her former associate, nor was she a regular, a Blue-Coat. She was a Violet-Coat; they turned these games into their own…turning the hunters into the hunted; they dragged things out into a mutual nightmare…or at least, such was how she had survived…all those times before.

And…she was not…forsaking everything that deserter had taught her, had done for her; she was…synthesizing it, adapting it…into something…more her own.

She took one last…glance at that painting, seeing her former associate…and the smile donned upon the painted figure. She really did not know what to feel, what to think; such was still so blurry and…detached. Yet she respected her former associate, that deserter, even if she was a Blue-Coat…

« Revenifo hîc, soldate » the foreigner said to the painting, before she reached for the oil-lamp; its light already withering, she finally dimmed it off…and exited.

Shutting the door to that large storage space one last time, she finally locked it with that special key…before returning the key and the oil-lamp…back to their respectful places. Returning to the living space, she picked up the revolving-rifle, wearing its strap over her shoulder while she held the dresswear on the other.

She approached the door, that exit to the world beyond, yet took one…last look at this…apartment.

Strange… Why did she feel so strange? She truly…did not know, yet she remained paused, taking it all in…

« Verë…jo ģe nunqua devenituros eșom... » Truly…she was never going to get used to this.

And to think…this had all begun…just because she needed to pay…that ever-accursed...rent—a concept…for which she could not have had ever possibly predicted that she would have ever cared.

Finally, without delay, the foreigner opened the front door and stepped out into the hall. Shutting it…she took out the key and locked it.

After double-triple checking that it was, in fact, locked, she began to promptly make way to exit the building, departing out into the ashen city beyond… to depart out into the world beyond…for a time unknown.

Perhaps now you are, maybe

Starting to change

Or better realize

Who you might have always been

Though every hard step forward

Inevitably brings two hard steps backward