Don't you want to forget?

CW: This story contains depictions of violence, including descriptions of war, blood, and physical harm. It also explores themes of war trauma, guilt, and emotional distress.

Killing was never easy. Maybe that didn't mean much, in the long run, but he still somehow felt a little better knowing the hesitation that trickled into the dark creases of his brain when the time came to pull the trigger was proof that he was still capable of some form of emotions, some kind of compassion that he had long since tried to leave behind. Not that anybody other than him would cherish those brief moments when he's curled up by the roaring plasma fire at yet another makeshift camp, beady black eyes and eternal screams of pain and terror filling his mind no matter how much Kippion juice he guzzled down his scaly throat. Yet when his finger shook over the trigger, and the begging in a language he knew by heart filled his hearing sensors, the thing that held him and his comrades up repeated in the minds of thousands of soldiers across the planet.

For the Queen.

Wus'ang gripped the loose rocks of the tunnel with his lower hands, and gently brushed the glittering weeds covering the entrance to the side, careful to avoid the razor sharp edges of the purple leaves.

It had been a slow rotation. Their suppliers had arrived late and negotiations had had to be made with a group of Deep Dwellers for a vial of rose cells, which is kind of hard to do when you're trying to reason with a bunch of doomsday hoarders. News of the outside world hadn't been greatest either. Pir'on, their main supplier had been reluctant to share the death of an Ichori rebellion leader, who'd been publicly executed after being caught during the Battle of North District five rotations before. According to the smuggler, the Ichori had been barely conscious and covered in glistening yellow blood as Opri'on guards dragged him onto a makeshift stage made of Ichorian wood to slaughter him. Wus'tang had politely left the room when Pir'on pulled up the footage, though the leader's screams were still clearly audible behind the cave walls.

He sighed as hit face met the fresh air, the dusty smell that followed him through the Sanctuary being replaced by the various scents of untouched vegetation. While the plethora of plants were pretty, they unfortunately didn't hold any properties of use on their own.

Pushing the cover back into place, Wus'tang rose to his feet and closed his eyes. There were times the narrow tunnels and crowded caves were just too claustrophobic, added greatly by his large size. Not that he wasn't grateful! It was just a bit stuffy is all, and escaping to the open air to take a breather was a quick and easy solution, which thankfully had never been questioned by the Sanctuary's other inhabitants.

Opening his eyes, Wus'tang began walking down the fairly unused path, humming a song he'd heard a few weeks ago by Ilian. It sounded much less natural coming from him. He dragged his upper claws over a large black fern hanging over his head, huffing when a large yellow speckled beetle the size of his palm poked its head out. The thing seemed to tilt its plated head before hopping down onto his outstretched wrist.

"Hello," he said carefully in Ichorian, the primarily used language in the Sanctuary, "Find anything interesting?" the beetle stared up at him, its mandibles clicking together. It looked to be rocking back and forth, like an Opri'on kit when offered their favorite candy.

Its eyes shone a deep grey, and he found his reflection staring back at him in the beady pools.

They looked so much like Ichori eyes.

The shifting of foliage caught his attention. He slowly looked up.

A Rara Avis, a creature with four leathery wings, a large black beak for a head and a pair of arms protruding from its feathery chest, swooped from above, fingers snatching the beetle before disappearing back into the knotted branches overhead.

Wus'tang stared.

The beetle's guts and blood were splattered across his rocky skin, a sickeningly yellow color. Yellow like Ichori blood. Yellow like the blood of his past victims.

Oh great skies.

It was seeping into the cracks, staining his pale blue skin for all to see. He'd never be able to clean it out, everyone would see, they'd find out, they'd hate him, they'd kill him his room would be cleaned out his things would be burned he'd be the story parents tell their kids to scare them Ilian would replace him and he'd deserve it but dammit he got attached and-

"Wus'tang?"

He whirled around. Qiki, their one and only Mechanica, an eyeless, tall and metallic species with translucent heads and gear-like structures where their brains should be, was standing in the middle of the path, head tilted intenly close that gave the impression of staring.

Reality came back like a particularly harsh slap in the face. Hastily, he wiped his hands on his pants and chuckled awkwardly.

"H-hi Qiki, uh, what're you doing here?" his voice felt wrong shaping the words in Ichorian. He didn't deserve to.

Qiki's gears spun, and like always Wus'tang's hearing sensors twitched at the lack of sound where there is expected to be.

The Mechanica's spikes twitched in the direction of the Sanctuary, "Scout's found something. They asked me to find you."

Wus'tang nodded thoughtfully, before joining Qiki back down the path. He wished he could wash his hands.

Ducking their heads, the two made their way through the twisting tunnels, Qiki with mechanical confidence and Wus'tang following closely behind, though much more hesitant.

They turned a sharp corner and squeezed through a small entrance, which opened into a room covered head to toe in stalagmites and stalactites. Loose rocks littered the uneven floor, and sitting in the middle of all of it was a large figure with a bag covering its head and it's two sets of arms tightly tied together.

Suddenly, Wus'tang felt very nauseous.

Sitting in front of him, surrounded by the Sanctuary's council, was an Opri'on soldier. He debated impaling himself on a stalagmite.

"Wus'tang, there you are!" Ilian was bounding over, his digitigrade legs making easy work of crossing the tripping hazard that was the floor, "Muri and his squad caught this Opri'on bastard, no offense, snoopin' around the underbrush, like, barely one hundred yards away! Isn't that crazy? Feliz called the council to participate in the interrogation, isn't that excitin'? It's been foreveeeeer since something interesting happened."

Wus'tang shakily tried to muster up a smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. His stomach rolled. He needed to get out of here.

Ilian continued, "I was weavin' a new curtain for Ishla since hers broke last cycle right, which you know I love, but oh ancient sands this is a whole new level of-"

"Mmmmmm!"

Silence washed over the room, and Wus'tang wondered what would happen if he threw up at his feet then and there.

Feliz, a tall Ichori with a husky voice and burning eyes stepped forward, signaling with his hand for the rest of them to stay back. Ilian was practically vibrating beside him. Qiki leaned against the wall, almost appearing bored.

Feliz curled his large claws into the bag covering the soldier's head and pulled it violently away, backing away and meeting the disoriented eyes of their biggest enemy. Wus'tang didn't know it was possible to feel even more sick. Despite the long year he'd spent in the Sanctuary, away from the creatures who waged war on innocents, he unfortunately couldn't just forget, and that fact had never made itself known more than it was right now.

Ca'd, a lieutenant in his past squad, the one that had left him for dead, was sitting tied up, staring at the people he'd made his family, a vengeful promise shining in his eyes.

He must have been shaking, or making a strange expression, because when he looked down Ilian was rubbing gentle circles into the back of his hand.

"Are you the only one?" Feliz's face was blank as he stared down at his prisoner.

Ca'd glowered, pointing his eyes down defiantly.

Feliz shot his arm out, clutching tightly to Ca'd's chin, forcefulling tilting his head up and leaning in close.

"Are you the only one?"

Ca'd spat in his face.

Wus'tang doesn't remember moving, but next thing he knows he pushing Feliz out of the way and swinging his upper arm at the bastards face.

The feelings of his fist connecting was both satisfying and horrifying simultaneously, the ache of his knuckles dull in comparison to the ache Ilian's loud gasp causes. Had he upset him?

"Wus'tang!" Feliz grabbed him by the arm hard enough to bruise and yanked him but, his gazing hard with fury. Ca'd's head was pressed against the ground, white blood dribbling from his mouth.

Great skies, had he done that?

Everyone looked between the two Opri'ons, waiting in tense silence for something, though Wus'tang wasn't sure what.

Then, Ca'd menacingly lifted his head, staring straight at him. His eyes widened, and when he spoke, it felt like the world had ended.

"Wus'tang?"

The pronunciation was different, and it was spoken in Opri, but Wus'tang felt as everyone's heads snapped towards him. He wanted to scream, to pass it off as Ca'd just repeating what Feliz had said, but no one could deny the absolute shock coating the soldier's voice. The recognition.

"Wus'tang, you're alive," Ca'd's expression was something indescribable, something horrifying and yet so familiar it made him want to curl up in a dark corner and die.

A small voice sounded beside him, "You know him?" Ilian's face was so utterly confused and it was terrible.

"Of course he fucking does he's part of the Queen's Retribution!" Ca'd voice was thick with venom, directed at who was irrelevant.

"W-what?" Ilian's voice broke, and Wus'tang wanted to gather him into his arms and whisper reassurances, but the unmistakable sound of weapons being unsheathed made his limbs lock up. Oh skies oh skies oh skies he was gonna die they were gonna kill him oh Ilian I'm so sorry sorry sorry sorry-

Whispering crowded all around him, Ilian was backing away, Feliz looked horrified, and Ca'd-

Ca'd was smiling.

Smiling.

That used to be him.

That was him.

Oh skies.

No.

His chest burned as he pushed past everyone, sounds rumbling in his bile-filled throat that were way too similar to sobs. He could have been stabbed and wouldn't have noticed, his adrenaline-addled mind making everything hazy, blurry, and numb. And oh skies how amazing the idea of numbness was right then. And as Ilian screamed and Ca'd laughed and Wus'tang's mind raced and broke, the Sanctuary's long sought peace devolved into the chaos the Opri'ons had spent the whole war waiting to fester.

Great skies he didn't want to die.