The day was spent conversing,
     exploring mutual ground.
The landscape of a place called trust
     that ne'er a queen was crowned.
It seems no love for Bertholdt,
     this crew would e'er display.
Intent on ending Red Cell
     for their part in Earth's decay.

It strikes me odd, this band of men
     with us in tense alliance.
Furthering each others needs,
     under watch of forced compliance.
Y knows his location,
     and they with force aplenty.
What resistance can a man display,
     against a gang of twenty?

Yolanda brokers promises.
     Our lives are safe, we trust.
I'm in awe of her resilience,
     the girl remains robust.
Not yet have we been left alone,
     for me to find out why.
How she could give up life and love,
     and lead her hope to die.

"We'll fire off a KT bomb,"
     a husky voice orates.
The owner smiles as plan takes hold,
     and through group permeates.
I know it short for something,
     but before my lips can move.
"A kiloton," she says,
     as if to offer them reprove.

The group continues chatting,
     and their plans solidify.
I listen out intently,
     but most words just pass me by.
They're tactical, precise and smart,
     I shudder at the thought:
of just how many lives
     they could have claimed had it they sought.

The sun is setting once again,
     I sit here quite alone.
The irony not lost on me,
     awash in flesh and bone.
The clouds burn red with brimstone's fire,
     the flames lick sky's extents.
The fuel a source of mystery
     that bolsters heav'n's defence.

I wonder what would happen now
     if arcs of green appeared;
if the blackened sky enveloped us
     and brought us what we feared.
Could now we save one from the cage?
     With strength and force and might?
Would they take off and run a mile
     when faced with such a sight?

My dearest sits on throne of thought,
     the adversary gone.
As if it never happened,
     as if she and the gang are one.
Her beauty aches inside my chest
     throws thoughts I've had before.
Questions that I'd like to ask,
     come rapping at my door.

Did God design that perfect face;
     each feature did he paint?
Did he then sculpt the contours
     and subtle curves so quaint?
"Him" I hear, they look at me
     my attention too far strayed.
Quite what they said I have no clue,
     my mind, my heart, betrayed.

"He captured you?" a young man asks,
     I answer with a nod.
His face portrays surprise,
     a look that's echoed by his squad.
Marcus strokes a stubbled face,
     and tugs on groups of hairs.
Singling them out to serve
     a duty he prepares.

"Your memories are lost I hear."
     I nod again by rote.
My own beard bunched beneath my chin
     prickling my throat.
He smiles. "Then let us work as one
     and return what you have lost."
And deep inside I dwell too long
     on lines he must have crossed.

Yet my queen is smiling too,
     she nods to me not once but twice.
Without the need to utter words,
     I assent her hushed advice.
"May God be with us," I announce.
     A fitting prayer to Holy Ghost.
To which our new companions raise
     their flasks in lieu of toast.

"You believe?" their leader asks,
     "After what he did to Earth?"
His face a tad bemused,
     a mix of disbelief and mirth.
"We humans are responsible!
     We betrayed our greatest gift"
"Free will," he asks reservedly
     though oddly neat and swift.

He carries on, "I once believed."
     His faith now disappeared?
"A noble thing, I envy you
     Your strength is to be feared."
"You flatter me," I offer up.
     "Far greater strength I've seen.
An accolade reservèd
     for the one they call the queen"

She turns away but I can see
     the tears in her eyes.
A sight I've grown accustomed to
     and learned to recognise.
The silence lasts a moment,
     until their leader speaks again
and offers an apology
     in front of all his men.

"I'm sorry for my actions,"
     his gaze is aimed and true.
He searches for acceptance
     from the eyes that burn with blue.
She locks his stare and answers him,
     "You did what you thought you must."
The violence a solution
     to reduce revenge's lust.

"And though we have alliances
     I know just what you are."
"A monster," he replies,
     "I'm Retribution's Tsar!"
The tension hangs, so palpable.
     a thick ungodly fog.
Suffocating conversation,
     a master monologue.

The air vibrates with awkwardness
     and silence rushes in.
Befalling mouths so barren,
     as it joins its ticklish twin.
She stands and leaves. "Tomorrow then.
     We'll start our trek at dawn"
And with no choice I follow her,
     my love to whom I fawn.

The starlit sky surrounds our souls
     and gently lifts the haze.
Removing our restrictions
     in the subtlest of ways.
She stares at space as if she spies
     a star on which to hang;
a hook to leave the past behind;
     to mute the bells that rang.

The stillest I have seen her,
     yet her presence I detect.
I feel the thoughts of damaged girl,
     o'er which my soul has wept.
The startling reaction;
     the surrender of her life.
Her psyche sat precariously
     upon decision's knife.

This way, that way, binary,
     yet her oft proclivity,
contrasts her decision,
     and so starkly baffles me.
I take the chance and open mouth,
     the words bereft of ease.
They dance upon my tongue,
     as if to tantalise and tease.

"Why? I ask. Perhaps
     no other words need to be spoken.
Why? A simple question
     to explain her act so broken.
In ragged shame she looks to sky,
     and singles out a star.
She stares at constellations
     that watch over from afar.

"My time, she quips with simple smile.
     "I thought my time was up.
Yet not convinced am I,
     that she could drink from chance's cup.
The moon paints Earth in pale shade,
     the shadows, sullen, lurk.
The broken artist perseveres
     surveying handiwork.

She breathes in deep, exhaling slow.
     The illusion oh so real.
Preparations now complete,
     I await her true reveal.
"I couldn't kill a human being"
     her words seem almost sad.
And then she tells the greater tale
     a tale that drives me mad.

On point of its completion
     his creation grieved him so.
Just what had he constructed?
     Master Devan didn't know.
A crude abomination,
     A halfling, or a freak.
A greater dichotomy,
     a man could ne'er bespeak.

Half of her he'd sworn to save,
     humanity's curator.
The other half despisèd so,
     a phoney simulator.
He struggled with her presence
     and so with her was rarely seen.
Preferring he to ostracise
     the awkward girl machine.

He told her God condemned her,
     for the soul she'd simply lost.
Blaming her for a weakness
     incumbent of her cost.
As such she led a life of shame
     ne'er thinking she had worth.
A human that from grace expelled
     was a traitor to her birth.

Hated by the Reapers
     and by Red Cell too despised.
Two halves of ugly circumstance
     against her unionised.
The night that Bertholdt took me,
     the soldiers that she fought;
mere mechanised delinquents
     that my captor duly brought.

"You have a soul." She raises head,
     our eyes connect and meet.
"Even though you have no memories.
     I stand to weary feet.
"And so do you" I answer back.
     "Your mind is still your own,"
and chip the dark foundations
     of fabrications cornerstone.

I hew that stone for near an hour
     I swing the mighty pick
I counter every argument
     with wit at speed so quick.
Slowly she withdraws from me,
     our conversation ebbs.
A dying fly constricted so,
     in the lies of Devan's webs.

And then I sit defeated
     by a man I've never met.
His legacy so palpable
     yields infinite upset.
One day my love will conquer,
     the seed of hatred sown.
Till then I'll stay beside her,
     aside the girl alone.