Valkyr
Lancer
Content Warning: This story contains depictions of psychological trauma, emotional abuse, implied sexual threat, and coercion. Reader discretion is advised.
July, 2006 - City 8
Tomoe sat stiffly in the chair, eyes locked on the figure across from her. They were motionless, like her. Silent, like her. Emotionless, like her. But where her stillness was born of survival—a skill sharpened by years of suffering and tightly-held fear—theirs was different. It was discipline. Control. A mask that required no effort.She studied them briefly. Their demeanor, the regulated rise and fall of their respirator, the cold gleam of their visor. Theirs was not stillness forged by trauma. It was stillness by design.
"Answer the question," the figure said. The vocoder masked their voice, with only the faintest suggestion of humanity allowed to peer through. They sounded European. Maybe? Tomoe couldn't actually tell—she was just guessing.
The question: Has there ever been a time where you have felt completely powerless?
Tomoe breathed in.
She closed her eyes and remembered.
October, 1995 - Tokyo
"Nee-san, we're going to be late," Hana nagged, not out of impatience, but out of worry."Eh? Why are you being such a wimp? They're not going to notice if we're five minutes late. Just blame it on the train," Tomoe brushed off her sister's reminder.
The pair of them had taken a detour on the way to their assignment, just to stop by a sweet shop. Tomoe had been saving up what little she could. A few coins here, a slipped note there. Enough to get something sweet—something normal. Something to make Hana smile.
They entered the shop and began to browse.
"Wow. It's like heaven in here!" Hana exclaimed, the worry vanishing from her face as she spun slowly, eyes wide with excitement.
"Yeah, and you get to pick out what we buy," Tomoe laughed, reaching down to ruffle her sister's hair.
Hana giggled and rushed toward the aisles, clutching her backpack straps as she moved.
Tomoe watched her, just for a second, and felt something rare: peace. A tiny fragment of the world before everything went dark. She made her way to the counter and waited for her sister to come back with whatever candy she chose. Her fingers tapped anxiously against the chipped wooden surface. She wasn’t used to being in places like this—so bright, so clean, so alive. It felt fake somehow, like a dream too good to last. A single moment of normalcy stretched thin over everything they'd endured.
The cashier, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes but a kind smile, glanced up from restocking a jar of lollipops. She looked between the siblings, studying them not with suspicion, but with a strange sort of warmth that made Tomoe's shoulders tense.
"Your little sister?" she asked casually.
Tomoe flinched slightly at being addressed. She wasn’t used to strangers speaking to her, let alone kindly.
"Uh. Y-yeah," Tomoe replied, forcing her voice to stay steady.
The woman nodded, her smile softening even more. "She's a sweet one. Special day?"
Tomoe hesitated. She didn’t know how to answer.
"Yeah," she said after a moment, her eyes flicking toward Hana, who was crouched in front of a shelf full of chocolate. "I suppose you could say that."
"It's good to treat them when you can," the woman said, watching Hana with a distant smile. "They grow up faster than you'd think."
Tomoe nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak. She rarely heard kindness that wasn't followed by obligation. The woman returned to tidying, humming softly to herself as Tomoe stood in the quiet, unfamiliar calm.
Then Hana rushed up to the counter, arms full of brightly colored wrappers. "Look, look! I couldn’t decide, so I just grabbed the ones that looked the best!"
Tomoe blinked. "That’s... a lot, Hana."
Hana's grin faded slightly as she looked down at the pile. "Too much?"
Tomoe pulled out the crumpled notes and coins from her pocket, quickly counting them under her breath. Her chest tightened. It wasn’t enough.
"I… I think we have to put some back," she muttered, reaching for a few of the bars.
Before she could remove anything, the cashier gently placed a hand on the pile.
"Hold on," she said with a soft smile. "Why don’t you pay what you can, and we’ll call it even."
Tomoe froze. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
"You sure?" she managed, her voice quieter than intended.
The woman nodded. "I know that look. Just let her have a good day."
Tomoe nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in her throat. She handed over the coins and bills and watched as the woman bagged the candy carefully, handing it to Hana with a wink.
"Thank you," Tomoe whispered.
The woman just smiled and turned away, humming once more.
Outside, the sun was dropping behind the cityscape, and the streetlights buzzed in flickers as the girls made their way down the cracked pavement. Hana skipped ahead, one hand deep in the bag, the other already unwrapping something chocolate-covered.
"You're gonna make yourself sick if you eat it all at once," Tomoe warned, though her tone lacked conviction.
"No I won't! My stomach's stronger than yours, nee-san," Hana said, grinning with chocolate already on her cheek.
Tomoe rolled her eyes, taking a wrapped sweet from the bag Hana offered. "Just don’t eat the cola gum again. That stuff made your mouth blue for a week."
Hana giggled, cheeks full. "But it tasted so good!"
They walked side by side, trading candy and laughter as they went. Their boots scuffed against loose gravel, voices quiet but bright. They talked about dumb movies they'd overheard people gossiping about. Wondered aloud what it would be like to go to an actual school. Argued over whether cats or dogs were smarter.
Tomoe even forgot to check the time.
For just a few blocks, they were normal. Just two sisters being silly, unguarded, free.
As they approached their destination, the mood began to shift. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Hana’s steps grew slower, her earlier energy draining as unease crept in. She glanced up at Tomoe but didn’t speak. Tomoe could feel the change too—like walking into a storm.
Soon they were stood at the top of a narrow stairwell that led into the basement of a rough-looking building. The concrete steps were stained, the walls tagged with half-faded warnings and territory markers. A flickering light above the door buzzed overhead like a dying insect. Tomoe turned to her sister, gently wiped the chocolate from her cheek and mouth with her thumb, and told her quietly, firmly, to keep silent.
The pair descended the stairs, every step a heavier echo. The building's interior was dimly lit, walls damp with moisture and age. It smelled faintly of mold, cigarettes, and something harder to name. A bitter taste curled at the back of Tomoe’s throat. Familiar. Dread.
They edged forward, hearts pounding, and knocked on a dented metal door at the far end of the corridor. Hana’s fingers clutched her sleeves. Tomoe balled her fists to stop them from trembling.
A heavyset man in a stretched black suit opened the door and squinted at them.
"Eh? What are you two? Delivery girls?" he asked, voice greasy with disinterest.
Tomoe nodded, taking her backpack off and holding it in front of her like a peace offering.
The man looked Hana over, then gestured at her bag. His eyes lingered uncomfortably.
"Okay. Come in and don't touch anything," he said, stepping aside.
The room beyond was cluttered and oppressive. Cigarette smoke hung in a low haze. Men in suits crowded around tables and chairs, playing cards, watching static-covered TV, murmuring in hushed tones. But when they noticed the girls, the chatter faded.
A skinny man on a couch stood up. His suit was wrinkled, his moustache patchy and unkempt. He sneered as he approached.
"What time do you call this?" he asked, venom curling each syllable.
"We're sorry. The train was—" Tomoe began, trying to sound composed.
"Don't give me that shit. The train was on time," he snapped, slicing her off. He gestured harshly for her to hand over the bag.
Tomoe obeyed silently, offering it forward.
"Good puppy," the man mocked.
Tomoe winced. Her ears burned, but she said nothing. Resistance wasn’t an option.
The man tossed the bag to a table where several men sat mid-poker game. Cards were dropped. One man stood out—Caucasian, blue-eyed, clean-shaven, with slick black hair and a sharper, more expensive look. He reached into the bag, pulled out a pistol, checked the magazine, and racked the slide. Calm. Practiced. Efficient. He tucked it into his waistband, then looked up—straight at the girls.
Tomoe froze. Her thoughts blurred. The bags had guns this entire time.
Hana stood motionless beside her, candy bag still in one hand, face pale.
"And you. Bag," the skinny man said, stepping toward Hana.
She handed it over carefully, her movements stiff. The man stopped short, eyeing the smudge of chocolate still left on her chin. He reached out, cupping her face.
"Ooohh, look at that. Little puppies went and got themselves treats," he mocked with a cruel grin.
"We stole some from a machine," Tomoe said quickly, trying to pull the attention away.
The man snapped his head toward her, grip tightening on Hana’s face. Hana whimpered, eyes filling with fear.
"So this is why you are late?" he growled.
"We're sorry. It won't happen again," Tomoe said, her voice low, urgent. Pleading without pleading.
The man sneered and finally tossed the second bag toward the poker table. Several of the men began to unzip it, drawing out more weapons.
Then a voice called out—in English.
"Hey, leave the girls alone. We got a job to do."
It came from the well-dressed foreigner. American accent. Cool and even.
The skinny man turned, still holding Hana.
"Tell this dog if he wants to speak to me he'll speak Japanese!" he barked in sharp, accented Japanese.
The foreigner raised an eyebrow, then calmly replied in clumsy but clear Japanese.
"Let the girls go. Now."
The skinny man stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a huff of disgust, he released Hana and stepped away, heading toward the weapons pile.
He muttered curses under his breath, shoulders tense.
Tomoe reached out, pulled Hana behind her, and didn’t let go.
Tomoe and Hana stood silently against the wall as the men continued talking strategy. The foreigner spoke in low, clipped tones to the others, pointing at the whiteboard covered in scribbled plans. They checked maps, confirmed names, and repeated locations. Then, one by one, they all stood and began to check their weapons—sliding magazines into pistols, chambering rounds, tucking them into their belts.
The skinny man looked back at the girls before following the others out. "Get comfortable," he said with a crooked grin. "We'll be back soon. Try not to break anything."
The heavy door slammed shut behind them. The lock clicked.
Tomoe exhaled, long and slow.
Only three men remained.
One leaned back on the couch, staring at the girls with an expression that made Tomoe's skin crawl. Another leaned against the far wall, twirling a knife between his fingers. The third, lounging in a chair near the TV, muted the static and gave a slow, oily smile.
"So," the one with the knife said. "We got the room to ourselves for a bit."
"Shouldn't leave such pretty things lying around," the man by the TV said, laughing low in his throat.
Hana pressed into Tomoe's side.
"We’re just here to deliver," Tomoe said quietly.
"Yeah? Well, maybe you delivered more than just packages," the one on the couch leered. He stood and took a slow step forward.
Tomoe moved in front of Hana, her fists clenched, throat dry.
"Come on now, don’t be like that," the man chuckled. "We're just having some fun. Don’t you like fun?"
The man with the knife flicked it open. The metallic sound cut through the room like a blade of its own.
Tomoe didn't move. Her eyes were wide, but her face was unreadable.
The man closest to her stepped within arm's reach, reaching out to touch her hair.
"You got a name, sweetheart?"
She didn't answer.
He grabbed a strand of her hair.
"I said—"
Tomoe slapped his hand away.
He paused. Blinked. Then laughed, loud and sharp.
"Feisty. Gonna be a good hour after all."
The knife twirler chuckled. Hana started shaking.
Tomoe put a hand behind her, squeezing Hana's wrist.
"It'll be okay..." Tomoe whispered to Hana, voice low and tight with barely restrained fear.
She blinked slowly, steadying herself. Then Tomoe opened her eyes and looked at the figure seated across from her, the present snapping back into focus.
Has there ever been a time where you have felt completely powerless?
"Yes," she said firmly, her voice now sharp with clarity.
The figure tilted their head, the black visor catching the dim light of the room.
"How far would you go to make sure that never happens again?" the voice asked, cold and deliberate.
Tomoe stared into the void of that visor, unflinching.
"All the fucking way."