On The Hapsburg, I have a wall near the boarding ramp which is particularly special. Most of the walls on the Hovercraft are bare, devoid of trappings- the rare exception being the occasional crew quarters. For example, my own crew quarters has its walls decorated with souvenirs from my travels- a sign from the actual city of Graz given to me by my dearest Alice, a tattered and preserved United Nations flag found in the Tunnels of The Real buried in dust and slag, and a replica of The Katana forged for me by a Freeborn craftsman who fled Zion to live in the promise of the utopia I work towards.
This particular wall, however, serves a different purpose than simple nostalgia. The wall features plaques dedicated to the dearly departed members of my crew. They say a good military commander is the one who ensures all of his or her troops returns home at the end of the day. Perhaps the existence of this wall on my vessel is proof of my lack of ability as an officer. Then again, many claim Morpheus was the greatest leader of Humanity to have ever lived, yet not one member of his crew survived. Not even himself. The Oracle might hint at his still being alive and Neonates might spread their rumours but... I saw his body. I saw Ghost's revulsion, the mourning Zionites, and the cheering fools who so easily forgot his merits and dwelled only on his failures. The man was dead.
And so were the names on the plaques of this wall. Darktrooper- deceased. DarkenedLies- deceased. Two of my own had died, and one by my own hand. Both each an incomparable weight upon my conscience. And even more unbearable, at times, was a third plaque on the wall- one for a missing Operative who had spent much time serving alongside the crew. Gallic. A Merovingian spy placed within Zion which my crew rescued when his cover was about to be blown. Ah, what adventues we had had...
But they came to an end. Gallic was not interested in salvation or redemption, like the rest of us. And so he went on to work with The Devil's Advocates, drawn to a lust for one interpretation of the word 'power'. But his lust was left unfulfilled and he soon became disillusioned with Awakening. He vanished, seeking re-insertion, I suspected. Poor Gallic...
A stirring at the bottom of the loading ramp extending from the stationary Hovercraft draws my attention and interrupts my brooding stare at the plaques. At the bottom of the ramp stands Schlafsucher and Stickocide, two of my crew members salvaging spare parts from some wrecks left by The War, pushing a hover-bed used for carrying heavy loads. There are some contraptions littering the sides, like kinetic fusion reactors from the lifeless husks of some Sentinels. But the form in the center of the hover-bed belongs to a Human.
I rush down the ramp. "Where'd you find him?"
"Not far from the site of the slag pile we were inspecting." Schlafsucher replies.
Curious, I ask "Someone from The War?" A stranded Zionite woud have surely made contact with their own in the past two years since the establishment of The Truce, surely.
"No." Stickocide replies, grimly. "It's Gallic. He's dead."
((Hopefully this isn't too badly butchered for writing at 3am, heh.))