❤️🩹 Session 19 - Good For Them
TW: self-destructive ideation, gore, violence, self-hatred, implied/referenced self harm, mentions of torture, biomechanical horror, implied/referenced SA
I think the one thing that is supposed to make me useful to these people is slipping through my grasp, and with it follows any confidence I may have had in myself since that night in the woods. I used to think myself significant, – I’m our healer, after all, and healers are valuable – but now, I’m really not so sure.
It used to be that I could shut any boy up with an extremely pointed glance. It used to be that I’d attack in an instant to protect my unit. It used to be that I felt like I had a reason to be here, like I had a purpose. It used to be that I took care of these men when they needed it most.
I used to be good at this.
I am a trained medic. I am an initiated Nightingale. Although I had a streak of notable failures, I chocked it up to the environment I was in. We Nightingales are trained in healing magic and gifted with inhuman speed, which are traits that work better in places with high injury rates and large, open spaces. I am, in theory, quick enough to climb up over the edge of a trench, grab a soldier wounded in a charge, and bring him back to safety before either of us can get shot at (this would take place in a matter of milliseconds if it were to occur). I am also, in theory, considered too valuable to be harmed in a place as brutal as this. I figured this meant that, upon coming to the trenches and thus being in the environment I am optimized for, I would be able to do my job much better.
But I was wrong. I could’ve died today, and the only reason I’m still breathing is because of my boys.
Today was spent on a dubious mission, and one I’d rather pretend doesn’t exist outside this journal entry. We were roused early this morning, grumbling and confused, and ushered into the rickety bar not far from our station. No context, no explanation, just a concise order none of us dared to disobey. When we got there, we were packed into a building already filled wall to wall with soldiers – perhaps four or five other units, if I were to hazard a guess – and told to pay attention.
This room held a man roughly my age, with glasses, brown hair, and an infuriatingly smug smile. Colonel Neight, aged 19 to 21, Canadian, nuisance at best and madman at worst. He was watching the crowd when my unit shuffled in, an eerie hush falling over the room while he waited for us to settle.
He had something next to him, hidden under a tarp and emitting a faint glow. Roughly as tall as his shin, perhaps. He very proudly explained to us that this was freshly pioneered technology made by none other than himself, and then unveiled the contraption… which I can really only describe as being a lantern made of flesh. Human flesh, actually. Its creator said so himself.
This contraption is called a Soul Catcher. It catches souls. Colonel Neight created it to harvest the souls of our fallen companions and put them into some kind of biomechanical abomination, which I’ve been unable to get further details about. He then proceeded to hand it to my unit along with a bloodstained map and tell us to go out and use it.
Our mission today was to collect human souls using a machine made of human flesh.
It looks more and more absurd the longer I stare at it on paper.
But we set off, because we are at war, and we had no choice not to.
The walk was, fortunately, uneventful. I tried to stay close to Thomas and converse with him to take my mind off of… well, everything. He doesn’t like it here in the trenches, something I don’t blame him for, but he says he’s trying to make the best of it. He’s got quite a lot of artistic talent, and apparently he’s been sketching some of the things he’s seen so far. Nib, Varnish, the trees, the train conductor, Sergeant Nate, Klaus, Cormac staring into space, and so much more. He seems very private about his sketchbook, but out of the pages he’s let me see I’ve caught glimpses of everything from clocks to hamsters. He’s so precise with his lines, so lifelike in his art. He even told me today that he finally nailed the look of Varnish smiling.
Oh my fucking god I sound like a schoolgirl.
The point I’m making is that he’s very attentive and very creative, and I enjoyed talking to him. He’s a wonderful friend and I care very deeply about him.
Sadly, the second we decided to stop for shelter in the remains of a badly shelled warehouse, all hell broke loose. Before we could even settle in, we were ambushed, heralded by a rifle click. A German officer shot a bullet at Thomas, narrowly missing his head, followed by swearing and another shot. Though unscathed, we jumped into action.
In the fray, Jacco took a hit to the shoulder, and Leon to the thigh. Two German soldiers fell during combat, but I’m relieved to say there were no deaths on our side at any point.
Well, aside from my own. That shot only managed to whizz through my bun, but it was just inches from my skull. If I hadn’t moved, or if that rifle had been aimed better…
The tides turned swiftly in our favor during the fight, especially after someone blew the enemy officer’s head off. Humans are a social species, and we put a great deal of weight on the concept of social hierarchy. Take out the leader, and everything else goes to shambles. With their commander down, we were able to overwhelm and capture the remaining Germans.
I actually captured the first one, pinning him down with most of my body weight. I’m not as strong as the men I’m with (superhuman speed and superhuman strength are not the same thing), so I had to resort to hoping my dagger and mass would do the trick. I was victorious… but not for long. Before I even had time to register what was happening to me, I felt an object lancing through my side.
It didn’t hurt at first because of the adrenaline, but after my captive escaped and I turned around to see my assailant, I put two and two together and realized I’d taken a bayonet to the gut. He pinned me down and aimed to attack again as soon as I looked at him. Then, out of nowhere, Varnish rushed in on all fours and tore him off of me.
I watched as Varnish, with this man clamped in his jaws, shook him around like a dog with a chew toy before tossing him away, alive but badly injured.
After that, the fight ended.
I have since spent the rest of my day healing myself, healing our two new captives after the torture our officer has put them through, and putting together the pieces behind "Oh my God… that's… Flori…” with some help from Klaus.
Our first prisoner, a boy named Flori Scholl, was apparently involved in the UNKK while under the influence of manipulation and propaganda. This morning, before most of us woke up, he was interrogated by Klaus and Vir, and Klaus has relayed to me what the situation is.
Based on the information Klaus gave me, Flori was involved in Project Briar Rose, which involves the capture and abuse of young women for purposes involving the supernatural. Although we don’t completely know what it is this project entails, Klaus says he believes that it’s connected to what happened to Johanness. I am inclined to agree with him. The part that I’m still struggling to process is that these Germans that we captured today knew Flori, and were therefore also involved in the torment inflicted upon people like Johanness. While I don’t believe that all Germans are involved in this, I find it highly disconcerting that almost all of the ones we’ve encountered are. I think Klaus and his unit are the only Germans and Austrians I’ve ever encountered who hold no connection to these crimes. How many members of the UNKK are out there?
I wish I didn’t have to do this. I wish that the bullet hadn’t missed my head. I wish that the bayonet wound would’ve been as fatal as they usually are. I wish I hadn’t been made to use my magic to keep myself going, all because I can’t let my boys know that there’s anything wrong with me. I wish I had the option to just lay down and die.
I stay here because I love them. I love them all so much, even though I am useless to them otherwise. I stay here because for some reason, they still think that they need me. I stay here, and I stay quiet, and I hide my fresh scars under my sleeves because these young men shouldn’t have to worry. My friends shouldn’t have to worry.
Even if my value is slipping, even if I’m the one who keeps needing to be rescued like a damsel in distress, I have to be good for them. For Thomas and Cormac, Varnish and Klaus, Jules and Leon, Mitchell and Terri. I have to be good for them.
My alignment with a unit puts a target on my back, my skills are lacking, I am becoming a burden, but I will be good for them.
