//slams fist on table
WHEN XCOM 3
Anyway, here’s a WOTC fanfic. It is extremely cursed. For people just joining me here, my Commander is named Takashi Lund. She’s Japanese/white, also Norwegian, aroace, and running on an anti-Ethereal platform. Miyazaki is also an OC, being a sniper/sharpshooter in both my Enemy Within and XCOM 2 playthroughs. Kamilla, who is only mentioned, is Takashi’s sister.
Takashi had expected the Reapers’ camp to look like post-apocalyptic fiction; she hadn’t expected it to look this bad. She didn’t meet the gazes of the Reapers that watched her, Bradford, Kelly, and Miyazaki walk by, although she did hear Miyazaki swear in Japanese. Takashi wasn’t interested in finding out why.
Talk to Volk, Bradford had told her. Everything would be fine, Bradford had told her.
It took all of one second for Takashi to decide she didn’t like Volk. It wasn’t that he had a chance to say or do anything, really. He existed near Takashi and that was enough to make her dislike him on principle.
“I’d like to talk to the Commander,” Volk said, and it was then Takashi realized he hadn’t even noticed her. That did not do him any favours.
“I am the Commander,” Takashi glared at him, finally getting his attention.
“Ah,” Volk hummed, finding it extraordinary how such ferocity could be contained within such a small vessel. If looks could kill, he knew he would have been dead at least fifty times. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Bradford has said only good things.”
“I’m sure,” Takashi looked around for a box or rock or something she could stand up on so she was at eye level with Volk. Curse Kamilla for stealing all the height she might have had; curse Kamilla for a thousand years. “Then you’ve probably heard-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”
Volk looked in the direction Takashi was pointing. Miyazaki swore again. Kelly pulled her hat over her eyes. Bradford looked towards the sky, silently begging for some unseen force to take him far away from there.
Chryssalid. Roasted over an open fire.
It was the worst thing Takashi had seen all week, and since it was only Tuesday, that didn’t bode well for the rest of the week. There was desperate and there was gleefully leaping down the chasm of No Actual Taste or Standards without even a parachute.
“Why would you… why would anyone…” Takashi struggled to say, grinding her teeth as her eyes twitched. “What the hell, why... Are you freaking serious…”
Volk shrugged, not seeing the problem. “There is a certain taste to it.”
Takashi could only stare at him. She was pretty sure her teeth would be ground to dust by the time this day was over, and Tygan would be both impressed and horrified by that accomplishment.
One of the Reapers sitting by the fire seemed to have completely misread the entire situation -or maybe they didn’t actually care. They walked towards Takashi, carrying a plate with a piece of the Chryssalid on it. “Hungry?”
“…No,” Takashi scrunched up her nose, scowling at both the Reaper and the plate. “Just… no.”