It was Izzy that had freed Danya.

Of course, it hadn't been intentional, or so he claimed in the debrief immediately following the "incident."

During his research, he discovered extraordinarily high tech nanobots in his samples from Danya that reacted the best to ultraviolet light. Curiosity got the best of him, as always, and he went straight to the source to find out more.

The stationed guards were under the impression that Danya was unconscious again and, after being convinced Izzy had a way to restrain her if she woke up, accompanied him to run tests. While UV light rapidly healed her injuries, her vitals still showed her as unconscious, and Izzy deduced she simply needed more time. So he kept the light on her injuries and waited, killing time by sharing with the guards all his theories on Concordian technology.

Izzy guessed Danya had merely been playing dead and only reacted when he said something she didn't like. It took her a few seconds to break her restraints, knock Izzy and the guards to the ground, and make a run for it.

And now she was in an undisclosed location, possibly near death if she wasn't there already.

"I just wanted to see if my hypothesis was correct," Izzy concluded during the discussion-turned-interrogation. "And guess what? It was!"

As a civilian and key member of the United Nations' research and development division, Izzy received nothing more than a metaphorical slap on the wrist and a simple instruction to "make better choices." In fact, his punishment was closer to a reward as he was placed on house arrest in his lab, and he couldn't even pretend to be remorseful as he scurried from the command building to continue his work.

Akira's fate ended up being worse; even though she was officially deemed free of fault, she still received a lengthy lecture from her CO about letting Izzy out of her sight when "the mission doesn't end until the debrief begins."

By the time she left the command building, the sun was already an hour from the horizon, and the kitchen would probably be in a mad rush to prepare for dinner. But Akira was a VIP diner, and she knew the head cook would never turn away his favorite taste tester.

Besides, she needed a distraction, and she knew from experience rest wasn't an option.

The two-story mess hall was half the size of a football or soccer field, depending on the nationality of the person asked. From the outside, it was nearly indiscernible from the other plain gray buildings. Inside, however, was an expansive kitchen that fed most of the thousands of residents on Base, and it was famous for the constant mouthwatering smell of food surrounding it. In Akira's case, she simply appreciated the scents of nostalgia.

The smell of the night had a distinct spicy kick with a hint of sweetness, and Akira suddenly remembered childhood dinners where she tested how much Japanese curry and rice she could shovel into her mouth before the heat hit her.

Inside, a handful of patrons were scattered around the mess, most likely grabbing a coffee before the dinner rush. While the seating area was calm, the sounds of chattering cooks and clattering pans echoed out from the kitchen. Akira headed towards the epicenter of the ruckus, nodding in greeting to the staff setting up the food counter.

"Boss!" one of them called into the kitchen before Akira even arrived. "You got a visitor!"

The alert was immediately followed by a mad rush of footsteps, and the source appeared less than five seconds later, breathless and beaming.

Chef Raymond Dunn may have been in charge of the meals for the base's entire population, but he never hid that his primary concern was ensuring his only daughter was well-fed. And ever since he voluntarily transferred from cooking for the President to cooking for service members, he's kept up with his goal spectacularly.

"Hey, kiddo!" Ray exclaimed as if seeing Akira was the highlight of his day. "Just in time; the first batch is almost done."

Even though her dad was on the burlier side with muscular arms to match, his dimples that deepened when he smiled made him far from intimidating. His sandy brown hair was several shades lighter than Akira's, and he made a point to keep it neat and short. He enjoyed telling people he would grow it out to make a ponytail once he stopped cooking; that day was nowhere in sight.

As he rounded the food counter, he wiped his hands on his signature accessory: a yellow and white plaid kitchen towel with a deformed pink butterfly stitched in one corner. The towel was relatively new, but the embroidery was not; Akira had painstakingly made it nearly twenty years ago as a gift. When the first towel quickly fell apart from constant use, Ray carefully cut around the design and handsewed it onto a new one, and he's transferred it from towel to towel ever since.

He draped the latest holder of the pink butterfly over his shoulder before wrapping his strong arms around Akira and lifting her a few centimeters into the air with a boisterous laugh. It was probably a ridiculous sight to see a man in his sixties trying to lift an nearly equally sized woman in her twenties, but Akira wouldn't dare tell him so. She simply grinned at his happiness, doing her best to hold back her instinctual cringing when her bruises and worn muscles began to ache.

At last, he set her back on the ground and held her shoulders at arms length to get a good look at her, as if he hadn't seen her less than a week ago.

"My little girl is all grown up!" he said, just as he had done for the past ten years, before his mouth slowly dipped into a frown. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Akira replied a beat too quickly.

Her dad clearly noticed, judging by his raised eyebrows.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, looking her over again as if that would show him the answer. "Did you just get back? I thought you promised: after every mission, medical before meals."

"Dad, I'm fine," Akira said even though her dad's grip on her right shoulder was already beginning to ache. "I'm just tired."

There was no way Akira could tell him the truth, that not only was she part of the "incident" that demolished several buildings, but she had also used a booster in combat. The drug was heavily regulated for a reason, and Akira didn't need her dad to worry about the potentially dangerous side effects.

The next look Ray gave her showed he didn't believe her, but he sighed regardless.

"I'm tempted to hold your dessert hostage until you tell me the truth, but you're a little old for that, aren't you?" he said. "Besides, I know you're tough and you'll make the best decisions."

Akira smiled with a mixture of relief and anxiety.

"What's for dessert anyway?" she asked as she followed him to one of the empty cafeteria tables.

Ray winked with a secretive grin. "You're gonna love it."

And she did. Not only was the dinner of curry and rice a superb replica of her childhood, but the following warmth of the freshly baked apple crumble was the perfect remedy to soothe her aching body. Akira could almost picture the pain lifting from her limbs like steam with every bite she took, and she was actually sad when she neared her last bite. So she didn't complain when her dad rushed to the kitchen to retrieve another slice before Akira could say a word.

Ten minutes later, Akira was full and sated. She was content in listening to her dad ramble about how the latest shipment of ingredients included real chocolate—the first they've seen in over a year—and all of his ideas for it, and she was even entranced enough to let her exhaustion weigh down on her eyelids.

Until one blink of her eyes lasted a little too long, and Akira could see Danya kneeling on the mound of rubble, weighed down by blood and hopelessness.

Akira's eyes snapped wide open and she shifted awkwardly in her seat, subtly straightening her posture.

No matter how much she tried, she couldn't shake the memory of Danya's pained face and the resulting hollowness in her chest. Ever since Danya had emerged from her tomb, she had repeatedly alluded to being betrayed by Verus Rex. Regardless of whether or not that was the whole truth, the experience clearly traumatized her, and Akira hadn't hesitated to hurt her again.

"You sure you're alright, kiddo?" her dad asked.

Only then did Akira realize her feelings were clearly displayed on her face, and she jumped a bit as she struggled to bury them.

"Yeah," she said at first, and when she heard her unconvincing tone with her own ears, she sighed. "Well...something happened."

She glanced at her dad, waiting for his reaction. Thankfully, instead of immediately jumping into overprotective-father mode, Ray simply nodded, wordlessly encouraging her to continue.

"I met someone who was hurt pretty badly in the past," Akira said, turning her gaze back to her empty plate. "Not physically—or maybe that too—but definitely emotionally. And even though I knew that, I still decided to do something that would hurt them again—emotionally, and definitely physically. I guess it was the best outcome I could've hoped for, but I keep thinking that I could've done things differently."

"Hm," Ray said, and he thought silently for a few long seconds. "Well, that was a little vague, but I think I can work with it.

"If I know you as well as I think I do," he continued, "I know you wouldn't hurt anyone without a good reason. I mean, you'd at least have some kind of reason. And I trust that you made the best decision you could, given the circumstances."

"That's kind of the thing," Akira said as she idly scraped the remaining crumbs of her dessert with her fork. "What if there was a better way that I just didn't see? What if I'm not actually cut out for this like everyone thinks I am? And the fact that I'm even second guessing myself isn't a good sign. I mean, mom would never do that."

"And you're not your mom, no matter how much you look like her," Ray said. "But maybe one of my stories can help.

"Before the war, there was one President—and you know I can't name any names—but they wanted a dish to serve a representative from the Philippines. We were having an unusually cold winter at the time, so I figured a warm soup reminiscent of their home country would do the trick. I ended up making this delicious bulalo beef soup, and let me tell you, when I say it was delicious, it was delicious.

"But it wasn't until we were already plating everything when I realized the obvious: most people think soup is boring!" Ray smacked his head lightly for the added effect. "I had completely forgotten that most of these foreign delegates expect these elaborate dishes with teeny-tiny servings in oversized plates when they meet the President of the United States; not soup! I was so mad at myself for not seeing it sooner. But it was too late to change the menu, so we just had to roll with it."

He leaned closer to Akira with an air of drama, and Akira couldn't help but smile slightly at his unnecessary theatrics.

"As it turns out, the representative loved bulalo! In fact, they hadn't had it in ages since they'd been traveling the world for so long. So, in the end, they loved my choice!" With that, he sat back upright with a shrug. "Who would've thought?"

Akira frowned. "So...you're saying this person might actually appreciate me hurting them? Thanks, Dad, but I don't think that's going to happen."

"Oh no, definitely not," he said. "But what I'm saying is that your original choice might be the best choice. And even if it doesn't seem like it now, you still have time to make it work out in the end. Have you tried talking to this mystery person?"

Akira shook her head. "Not yet." She wasn't even sure she would get that chance again.

"You should start with that," Ray said. "Maybe apologize for what you did and ask for forgiveness. Sure, maybe they'll just hate you forever, but at least you tried. And maybe they'll forgive you, and you'll become closer than ever. Who knows? There's only one way to find out, right?"

It was a good place to start, she supposed, assuming that Danya would be able to heal. And if she wasn't alright... Well, Akira would have to deal with her regret later, probably after a series of reports and disciplinary hearings.

Before Akira could thank her dad for his words of wisdom, her phone rang with a light ring and gentle vibration against her arm. Slightly worried to see her CO's name, Akira winced as she glanced at her wristband.

Surprisingly, it was Izzy. After muttering an apology to her dad, to which he waved off, she answered the call skeptically.

"Hello...?"

"Hello, Mother!" Izzy answered with stiff enthusiasm as if he was reading a hostage video script. "It is me, your dearly beloved son!"

Akira looked at her wristband as if it would explain Izzy's relatively weird behavior. But when it gave no such answer, she supposed she just had to get it herself. "What?"

"I said—!"

"No, I heard you," Akira said, forcing her voice to remain calm. Maybe he was actually being held hostage, and she focused on making conversation that wouldn't reveal too many details about who she really was. "I'm just...confused."

Izzy laughed exaggeratedly. "I miss you too, my lovely mother. How are you doing on this lovely evening? Or...whatever time it is wherever you are."

At least that made things easier. Since Izzy didn't play along with her fake conversation, whoever was with him couldn't hear Akira.

"I thought you weren't allowed outside contact. You even suggested it yourself."

"Um...yes, that's great!" Izzy said, clearly not cut out for improvisation. "Truly spectacular. Wonderful. Yes. Good."

Akira suddenly wondered if this was just Izzy being Izzy, and a sudden wave of irritation washed over her at the prospect.

"Look," Akira said. "I hope this isn't another one of your experiments, because I've just about had enough of them to last a lifetime."

"No!" Izzy replied. "Of course not! I just... I wanted to see...how you were doing? Mother? Mom...my?"

So maybe he really was in trouble, and his phone call was intended to get information to her. Akira just had to ask the right questions.

"Are you in danger? Do you need help?"

"No, no, everything's fine!" Izzy said. "Absolutely fine! No, I was just calling...to ask about your friend! Yes, that's it, your very good friend! The angry one, yeah! Have you...heard from her lately?"

Akira felt her heart sink a bit at the reference, but she forced herself to continue.

"You mean Danya? No, why?"

"Well, that's...that's..."

Izzy trailed off, leaving Akira hanging off a cliff. When the line was silent for half a minute, Akira checked her wristband just to make sure the call hadn't dropped; it hadn't.

Suddenly, Izzy sighed. "I can't keep doing this. She's waking up! The angry lady! She should be waking up soon! Get data for me!"

The sound of a rough scuffle abruptly ended the call, leaving Akira to stare blankly at the tabletop and empty dishes. When Izzy's words finally registered a few seconds later, her eyes widened, and she leapt to her feet with renewed spirits.

"Sorry, I have to go," she said, breathless.

"Of course, kiddo," her dad said with a warm smile. "Don't let this ol' man keep you from saving the world. I should get back to the kitchen anyway—dinner's about to start."

"Thanks." But just as Akira turned to leave, an idea hit her. "Actually, could you do me a favor?"

***

To put it nicely, Danya looked like a corpse. In fact, when Akira first walked into the hospital room, she was sure Danya was really dead, and the doctors were under Izzy's instruction to try some unethical experiment to bring her back to life.

Like Danya's previous accommodations, the hospital room was turned eerie by a dim red glow. Izzy's research had proved the nanobots within Danya were powered by light, similar to how their own weapons recharged, and no one was willing to take any chances even after Danya's near-death experience. This time though, Akira could clearly see Danya's hollow face and the long shadows that stretched across it. Her closed eyes were accented by dark circles that stood out vividly against the sickly pale tone her skin had reverted to.

Thankfully, at least her clothes had been changed, with her tattered and filthy rags swapped for a crisp white hospital gown. Beneath them, patches of bandages peered out on her right arm, left shoulder, and neck. Akira tried to ignore that her wrists and ankles were firmly shackled to the bed frame, so she instead focused on the subtle rise and fall of Danya's chest just to remind herself that at least the woman had survived.

Still, Danya's near-death experience at Akira's orders wouldn't make Akira's self-assigned mission any easier; hopefully the woman was still hungry.