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ArabicArknights: It Can't Possibly Be My Fault... Right? — Chapter 24
Chapter 24: You Will Never Be Hurt Again
“Hey, boss. We’ve locked onto the target you assigned.”
Exusiai’s voice crackled through the encrypted comms, bright and entirely unbothered by the grim circumstances. True to the reputation of a professional courier outfit like Penguin Logistics, they had swiftly picked up the fragmented trail and pinpointed the elusive Reunion Movement squad.
Amiya immediately adjusted her headset, switching frequencies to the Lungmen Guard Department. “Officer Ch’en, our two special operatives have confirmed the target’s trajectory. They are currently tailing them from a safe distance. I’ve forwarded the specific coordinates to your terminal. We can follow their guidance.”
“Received,” Ch’en’s voice snapped back, crisp and devoid of hesitation.
Miles away, hidden beneath the jagged earth of an abandoned mining facility, the Reunion unit that had abducted Misha established their temporary camp. The air inside the cavern was thick with the scent of rust and damp soil, illuminated only by the faint, sickly glow of portable lanterns and the occasional flare of Originium crystals embedded in the rock walls.
A militant wearing the battered insignia of a squad leader approached the corner where Misha sat huddled. He stopped a respectful distance away.
“You must be Misha,” he greeted, his tone surprisingly gentle beneath the harsh acoustic dampening of his mask. “I’ve heard Skullshatterer talk about you for a long time. It’s good to finally meet you.”
Though his features remained hidden behind scorched canvas and metal, the sheer weariness dragging at his syllables betrayed his age. This was a man ground down by years of hardship.
Misha stared at the dirt floor, her mind still fractured by the chaos of the past few hours. She didn’t understand violent insurgencies. She didn’t understand the Reunion Movement. The only thing anchoring her shattered focus was the imposing, masked figure standing guard near the cavern entrance.
“You…” Misha finally looked up, her voice trembling. “Are you also Infected?”
“Yes,” the man replied, gesturing vaguely to the armed militants resting in the shadows. “Everyone here is Infected.”
“…Why did you join this… Reunion Movement?” she asked, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.
“Why?” The man tilted his head, leaning against a rusted support beam. “Probably because my wife, my daughter… they all died at the hands of the people of Chernobog. I have nowhere else to go.”
He let out a dry, hollow laugh that scraped against the cavern walls. Misha didn’t find it funny. It sounded like a death rattle.
“Infected over there were treated worse than livestock,” he continued, the amusement vanishing from his voice. “So I joined Reunion. Because our leader, Talulah, promised she would lead the Infected down a path of freedom and resistance. That’s all there is to it.”
He spoke with a terrifyingly casual acceptance of the violence. Misha wanted to ask why that justified destroying the entirety of Chernobog. She wanted to ask why they had to slaughter so many innocent people who had nothing to do with the oppression. But as she looked around the dark cavern, taking in the scarred, exhausted faces of the militants, the words caught in her throat.
The squad leader noticed her hesitation. He read the unspoken accusation in her wide, frightened eyes.
“The blood of the Infected on their hands is countless,” he muttered, his posture stiffening. “There… are no innocents in that city. This revenge is too light. Far too light.”
He pushed off the beam, taking a step closer. “Misha, have you ever thought about it? They fear us simply because we are Infected. Because of that fear, people lose everything overnight. We are deceived, humiliated, persecuted! Just because these small black crystals grow on our skin, they slaughter us like diseased cattle!”
His voice rose into a ragged shout, echoing off the stone. The raw fanaticism bleeding through his grief made Misha flinch, shrinking back against the cold rock wall in sheer terror.
Realizing what he was doing, the man stopped. He took a deep, shuddering breath and lowered his head. “…Sorry. I got a bit carried away. Forget it.”
He turned away, but Misha knew she would never forget the hollow desperation in his eyes.
“Ivan, come help with the wounded.”
The deep, synthesized voice of Skullshatterer cut through the heavy atmosphere. The squad leader waved a hand in acknowledgment. “Coming!”
As Ivan jogged off toward the makeshift medical corner, Skullshatterer slowly closed the distance to Misha. He had listened to the entire exchange in silence. He hadn’t intervened because Misha needed to understand the reality of the world she had been thrust into. She needed to see the scars that drove their cause.
“We’re temporarily stationed here,” Skullshatterer said, his heavy boots crunching against the loose gravel. “When the time is right, we’ll return to Chernobog.”
Misha wasn’t entirely sure if he was talking to her or just thinking aloud. She simply stared up at the towering figure wrapped in tactical armor. Beneath the distortion of his mask, the cadence of his voice tugged at a deeply buried memory.
“…Alex?” she whispered, the name slipping out like a fragile prayer.
Skullshatterer froze. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, before he finally spoke.
“I’ve abandoned that name… sister.” He looked down at her, his posture rigid. “Just call me Skullshatterer now.”
“Skullshatterer… why?” Misha asked, her confusion twisting into a desperate plea for understanding.
“…You’ll know soon enough.” He dismissed the question, clearly unwilling to peel back those particular scabs just yet. He shifted his stance, changing the subject. “After everyone learned you had ended up in Lungmen, many volunteered to cross the border to rescue you.”
“…Who?”
“Our fellow Infected. We’ve taken in many of our kind hiding within Lungmen’s slums.”
“…But you’re hurting others,” Misha argued, her voice cracking. “I… I don’t want this. I don’t understand why Infected have to fight each other…”
“An eye for an eye. It’s only right,” Skullshatterer interrupted, his tone hardening into absolute conviction. “The Ursus have a saying. Treat family with the warmth of spring, but towards enemies, one should be as ruthless as winter.”
He stopped abruptly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“What’s wrong?” Misha asked, sensing the sudden shift in his demeanor.
“…Do you know?” Skullshatterer murmured, staring at the cavern wall as if looking right through it. “No, you don’t. Back then, when the patrol came to arrest me, I was dragged out the front door. Mom grabbed my hand. Just like you saw.”
Misha’s breath hitched. Her pupils contracted as the suppressed nightmare violently clawed its way back to the surface. “No… I…”
“You saw it,” Skullshatterer pressed, his voice dropping into a dangerous, grief-stricken register. “They beat Mom with their batons, but she wouldn’t let go. Her blood stained the snow in our front yard. If… if the Reunion Movement… if the Infected could have acted sooner…” He took a shaky breath. “Then we wouldn’t have had to suffer so much!”
“I… I… I didn’t dare…” Misha buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as a violent sob tore through her chest. Whether she was terrified of the imposing militant standing over her, or crushed by the paralyzing guilt of her own inaction that day, she couldn’t tell. Her voice dissolved into choked, broken gasps.
Skullshatterer stared down at her trembling form. The hardened commander vanished, leaving only a broken brother.
“Misha… are you afraid of me?”
“I… I’m not… I just…” She couldn’t form a coherent sentence through the tears.
Skullshatterer dropped to one knee. The heavy armor clanked against the stone as he reached out, wrapping his arms around her fragile frame in a tight, desperate embrace.
“It’s okay, Misha,” he whispered, resting his masked chin against the top of her head. “I don’t blame you. After all, back then… who had the courage to fight back? It’s okay. Everything will be fine now.”
The solid warmth of his armor, the familiar scent of ozone and dust, slowly grounded her. Misha’s violent sobbing gradually subsided into quiet hiccups against his chest plate.
“Misha… you don’t have to believe us,” Skullshatterer continued, his voice infinitely gentle. “And even if you choose to believe, you don’t have to join us. But you are Infected. The Reunion Movement will fight to the bitter end for the freedom of all Infected.”
Misha pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes. “Al… Skullshatterer. But you destroyed Chernobog. So many innocent people died in the Catastrophe… they…”
“Enough, Misha. You’re tired.” He cut her off, refusing to entertain the concept of innocence within those city walls. In his eyes, the entirety of Chernobog was guilty. They had watched coldly as the Infected were dragged into the streets. They had cheered as the Infected died.
A heavy silence settled over the cavern, broken only by the distant dripping of water.
“I met Rhodes Island,” Misha said quietly, staring at her hands. “They… are good people.”
“Rhodes Island…” Skullshatterer repeated the name, tasting the syllables. He recalled the recent skirmish in the slums. A battle that had initially seemed like a guaranteed slaughter, only to be completely derailed by the tactical intervention of a single person. Because of that individual’s bizarre, calculated interference, neither Reunion nor Rhodes Island had suffered heavy casualties.
“Perhaps,” Skullshatterer conceded. “Reunion has leaders like that too. They told me that outside our movement, there are indeed others fighting for the Infected…”
He stood back up, his towering shadow falling over her once more. “But that’s no reason for us to lay down our weapons. We can’t rely on the mercy of others. The Infected have always only been able to rely on themselves.”
“…I see,” Misha murmured. Even though he rejected her perspective, he hadn’t lashed out. Slowly, the terrifying militant before her was aligning with the gentle older brother she remembered.
“All this time… you’ve had a very hard life, haven’t you?” she asked, looking up at his scarred mask.
“Everyone has suffered,” Skullshatterer replied, his gaze drifting toward the cavern exit. “But now, at least everyone holds onto hope. Talulah will lead the Infected to tear down this cruelty. I will dedicate everything I have to that cause.”
His voice rang with absolute, unwavering devotion.
“…Skullshatterer.” Misha wanted to beg him to stop. She wanted to tell him not to sacrifice his life for a war of vengeance. He was the only family she had left.
But Skullshatterer misinterpreted her hesitation. He thought she still doubted her own safety. He reached out, resting a heavy, armored hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he promised, his voice echoing with tragic certainty. “The Reunion Movement will protect our own. And I will protect you. With me here, you will never be hurt again.”