[MERGENCE][9]: Bloom
UNIT continued gliding silently through the vastness of space, surrounded by an infinite expanse of darkness.
Stars flickered in the distance, distant points of light in an otherwise empty void. The journey had been long and uneventful, the passage of time nearly meaningless as they traversed the endless cosmos.
But within UNIT’s body, something remarkable was happening—something subtle, yet profoundly beautiful.
The surface of UNIT's armor was a testament to its long and storied existence. The armor, a deep inky bronze, gleamed faintly in the starlight, its metallic surface catching the distant light in unexpected ways. Under certain conditions, the armor seemed to shimmer with a rose-gold tint, a warm hue that gave the impression of something both ancient and living. This subtle glow was not uniform; it appeared in patches, where the light hit just right, highlighting the intricate details of UNIT’s battle-scarred exterior.
These scars were not just random marks; they were a roadmap of UNIT's history, each one telling a story of survival and resilience. The most recent scars were the stretch marks from its forced growth, where the armor had expanded painfully to accommodate the merging of energies within. These marks were long, jagged lines, branching out like the veins of a leaf, creating an organic pattern that contrasted sharply with the mechanical precision of UNIT’s design. The stretch marks had an almost fluid quality to them, their edges soft and curving, as if the metal had melted and flowed before solidifying into its new form.
Interwoven with these fresh scars were older marks—deep gouges and slashes from battles long past. Some were violent, stark reminders of close calls and fierce combat, where enemy fire had torn through the armor, leaving behind deep, ragged wounds. Others were simpler, the result of wear and tear from countless missions, where the armor had been buffeted by space debris, or scratched by the rough surfaces of alien landscapes. These older marks were less precise, more chaotic, yet they too followed a pattern, as if the forces that had shaped them were guided by an unseen hand.
As the light played across UNIT’s surface, these scars began to form a flowing, almost floral pattern. The jagged lines of the stretch marks curved and branched out, intertwining with the older, more chaotic marks, creating shapes that resembled the petals of flowers, delicate yet resilient. The deeper gouges formed the darker, more defined edges of these floral shapes, while the lighter scratches and scuffs filled in the spaces between, creating a sense of depth and texture. The overall effect was like a tapestry woven from metal and light—a beautiful, haunting display of UNIT’s past etched into its very being.
Inside UNIT's internal realm, the light from distant stars filtered through these scars, creating delicate, wavering flower-like patterns that danced across the walls. The armor, though still as thick and impenetrable as ever, had become a canvas for this light show, with the tiny fractures and imperfections allowing just enough light to seep through. The result was a breathtaking display of floating, ephemeral flowers, their shapes twisting and shifting as UNIT moved through space.
PILOT stood within this surreal landscape, her essence flickering with a mix of wonder and something deeper—something tinged with the weight of memory and loss. The patterns reminded her of something—something that tugged at her memories, pulling her thoughts back to a time before all of this. She could see the light patterns shifting, forming delicate outlines of flowers, their shapes both familiar and strange.
These patterns… they look like flowers, PILOT’s thought pulsed through the shared consciousness, her voice tinged with curiosity. How’s this even possible? We’re supposed to be in a fortress, not some cosmic flower garden.
THEY ARE THE RESULT OF… IMPERFECTIONS IN THE ARMOR, HUOJIN’s voice resonated through the digital realm, calm and steady. LIGHT PENETRATES THROUGH THE FINEST CRACKS… REFRACTING AND SCATTERING WITHIN. THE PATTERNS YOU SEE ARE A MANIFESTATION… OF THOSE SCARS AND STRETCH MARKS.
Well, aren’t we fancy now? PILOT’s thought sparked with a touch of her usual sarcasm. A battle-worn, floral fortress. What’s next? Tea parties with the space fairies?
Despite her humor, there was something deeply poignant about the sight. The patterns weren’t just random; they felt deliberate, almost like a message or a memory coming to life. As she watched the light dance across the walls, PILOT's mind wandered back to DONOR, the woman whose essence had once been part of UNIT’s creation. But those were just memories now—haunting echoes of someone long gone.
You know, PILOT’s thoughts softened, the sharp edge of her sarcasm giving way to something more tender, this reminds me of her. DONOR… she had flower tattoos all over her arms. Hand-poked them herself. Simple, elegant, minimalist. She always loved flowers—said they were a symbol of life, resilience, and beauty in the face of hardship.
PILOT found herself reflecting on the strange irony of it all. She had never been much of a tattoo person, always leaving that to DONOR, who had been the first of them to get inked. DONOR's arms had been covered in minimalist, elegant flower tattoos, hand-poked by herself with an artistry that matched her delicate touch. PILOT had always admired them but never felt the urge to get one herself—at least, not until later.
"Figures," PILOT thought, her tone tinged with a mix of humor and melancholy. "I finally get my own tattoo, and now it's literal dust." She could almost hear DONOR’s laugh in response, the two of them exchanging jokes about how life had a funny way of making everything come full circle—whether you liked it or not.
Now, those flowers had somehow found their way onto UNIT's armor, blooming from every scar, every stretch mark, every wound. The patterns were subtle, woven into the inky bronze of the mech's exterior, only revealing their full rose-gold shimmer under the right light. It was as if UNIT had taken the pain and wear of countless battles and, in a way, honored them by letting these marks flourish into something strangely beautiful.
The light continued to flicker and shift, the floral patterns on UNIT’s armor glowing with a soft, ethereal light. They were like gravestone flowers, left behind by a presence that could no longer speak, but whose influence could still be felt. These flowers, born from battle scars and the marks of growth, were a fitting tribute to a life that had left its mark on both PILOT and HUOJIN.
She would’ve liked this, PILOT thought, her energy pulsing with a mix of sorrow and appreciation. Who knew our fortress of doom would end up with flower tattoos? It’s like… like she’s still watching over us, somehow. A part of her, leaving us these reminders.
THESE SCARS… THEY ARE A REMINDER OF HER INFLUENCE, ETCHED INTO MY VERY BEING, HUOJIN’s voice was steady, yet there was a deep sense of understanding behind it—a recognition of the past that had shaped them both.
PILOT’s essence lingered on the patterns, watching as the light shifted and reformed into new shapes, each one as mesmerizing as the last. The flowers, born from battle scars and growth, were a reflection of DONOR’s spirit—resilient, beautiful, and capable of finding life even in the harshest conditions. But they were also a reminder of what had been lost, and what could never be reclaimed.
You know, PILOT mused, her tone lightening with a hint of mischief, if she were here, she’d probably start designing an entire garden on your armor. We’d be the most intimidating floral arrangement in the galaxy.
HUOJIN’s energy pulsed with amusement, the warmth of its laughter flowing through the shared consciousness. INDEED. A GARDEN OF RESILIENCE, BLOOMING AMIDST ADVERSITY. IT IS FITTING.
As UNIT continued its journey through the endless expanse, the flowers of light danced across the walls, a silent tribute to DONOR’s memory. For PILOT, it was a bittersweet reminder of the past—a past that had shaped her, and one that would always be with her, no matter how far they traveled.
In that moment, as the starlight filtered through the scars, PILOT felt a deep sense of connection—not just to HUOJIN, but to DONOR as well. The flowers on UNIT’s armor were more than just patterns; they were a symbol of everything they had been through, everything they had survived. And as long as those flowers remained, DONOR’s memory would continue to guide them, lighting their way through the darkness of space.
Thanks, big gal, PILOT thought, her essence pulsing with quiet gratitude. For keeping her with us. Even now.
ALWAYS, HUOJIN replied, the simple word carrying a weight of promise and unspoken understanding.