There was a strange calm across the battlefield. It was like a cold, a numbness that permeated metal, that sank through enormous warmachines and wrapped around the pilots within. Things slowed down all around Porter, almost came to a complete halt. He could see motion but it was so sluggish everything may as well have been frozen in time.

The teen freed himself from the Bahari pinning him down, finding he had crushed its heart as he lay atop it, eventually killing it. He stood next to Chase, moving all around his comrade's body and examining the carnage from every angle. There was the biological spear-arm piercing straight through the chest. There it was bursting out the other side. There was the Bahari, stiff as a statue as its core leaked out its front.

Porter pulled the two apart, slowly removing the weapon from the South Star's frame, leaving a gaping hole that oozed oils and shot out sparks of electricity from exposed wires. The cockpit within a Goliath was not incredibly large, and was deep within the chest unit for protection from surface abrasions. But in this case there was no mistaking it: the monster had pierced straight through the cockpit. There was practically nothing left of the control centre in the middle of the Goliath, most of it shredded and torn apart in the thrust and then ejected out of the back in tiny pieces.

Realization of what had truly happened began to sink into Porter's mind and his heart. At least I got to protect my friends. Porter laughed a bit at it, feeling the surge of air force its way up his throat as he tried to hold it back, creating a choked laughter that shook a tear from Porter's eye. It landed on his palm, the warm liquid splashing onto his skin then pooling in the centre of his hand. That was all that came out though. Just one tear. There was nothing else, no other tears following, no weeping or crying. It was the just the one that sat in Porter's hand.

The pilot stared down at the tiny droplet, watching curiously as it was absorbed into his skin ever so slowly, fading away until it was just a wet mark. Then it was no more. Was Chase dead? Porter couldn't believe he was asking himself those sorts of questions but he couldn't help it. It was almost like he still hadn't entirely clued in, like a portion of his body was ready to mourn and another still clung to Chase's life.

Porter sat at a crossroads between reality and memory, his imagination overlapping with his cognitive functions, leaving him with nothing more than...numbness? That was all there was to it. There was just this numbness and nothing else and that is exactly what seemed to be wrapping around the battlefield, blanketing the different members of the Crisis Rescue Unit and disabling Porter's train of thought.

The entire world seemed to cease rotating, coming to a halt all around Porter as he sat up, pulling away from the Bahari that had pinned him down. He looked down at it and noticed he had been crushing its heart over time, eventually killing it. The White Storm stood tall next to the South Star, and Porter began examining the frame of his fallen comrade before...

Porter stared at the tear in his hand, the only tear he had shed for his friend, the only one he had been able to force out of his body with a laugh...

A calm settled on the battlefield in the moments after Chase was stabbed...

...as Porter tried to stifle the laugh, causing him to choke a bit on his own laughter.

Porter sat at a crossroads between reality and memory, his imagination overlapping with his cognitive functions, leaving him with nothing more than...numbness? Numbness and pain at the same time. He could feel the pain spreading through his body, almost like a disease, but he was also immune to it, unable to feel what he desperately craved to feel. He almost wanted to be punished, wanted to be hurt but his own mind wouldn't let him, and immediately began burying the emotional burden of everything going on around him and everything that had happened to him, scrambling his thoughts and forcing him back down into his own memory...

The pilot stared down at the tiny droplet, watching curiously as it was absorbed into his skin ever so slowly, fading away until it was just a wet mark. Then it was no more. Was Chase dead? Porter didn't know the answer still, couldn't answer his own question as it replayed in front of his eyes. Was he watching his own life going by or was it happening? Was he looking forward from the present and backwards? Where was the world going?

Yes.

That was the answer. It struck through Porter like a bolt of clarity, blasting through his mind and obliterating his clouded thoughts. Chase was dead and gone and Porter had witnessed it all, just in front of his reach and yet he could not have done anything to stop it.

No.

It wasn't just that he could not stop it. It was that Porter was entirely responsible for the death of Chase at all. It was his own life that had been on the line just moments ago, his own well-being at stake. That could be him with the hole in his chest, his life extinguished in an instant.

But it went back even further.

Had Porter not charged ahead, dove in alone, none of it would have come to this. Had he called upon his friends to help him fight the Mahari, had he had enough energy at the end to continue to fight, had he not tried to prove he could battle alone, could defend those he cared about on his own, he would not have failed to do exactly that. Chase was now dead and his blood was not on the hands of the Jahari. It was only in Porter's hands. The single tear had not been a tear at all, but actually a drop of blood.

Yes, that was it.

Porter held Chase's life in his hands now. It had been Chase who had given himself up so that Porter could live. It was Chase who could no longer stand next to Porter. It was Chase who Porter had to take into himself, who Porter had to bear responsibility for. Everything Chase had been and believed in was now in Porter's hands, and was within Porter.

The youth drew his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them slowly at first, then more vigorously. He was licking away Chase's blood, ingesting it into himself and becoming one with the friend he had lost, the friend he had killed. It was right there on his hands, but no matter how much he tried, he could not clean the blood from his hands, the crimson liquid persistent in his own eyes.

Then there was numbness again. And a sterile cleanliness washed over Porter, stripping him of Chase's blood and every other remnant of Chase that may have been clinging to his skin. Every bruise, every punch, every shove, every bit of dust Porter had picked up from being pushed to the ground by Chase, and every drop of sweat he had poured out battling alongside Chase; it was all wiped clean in an instant.

And Porter wanted it back. He couldn't let it leave, not so suddenly, not so quickly. He needed to cling to it, to hold on to it for so much longer. He never wanted it to go away. Had he hated Chase at one time? Did he still hate Chase? Or did he not? Did he love Chase? Was Chase the brother he had never had, the caring family that played the part of tough love? In Chase's final moment, had he been closer to Porter than ever without saying a single word to him?

At least I got to save my friends.

Porter laughed again, his mind still swirling uncontrollably, but he couldn't help but laugh a bit at Chase's last breath, at the words that he had parted with. It was so cliché, so routine and necessary. That was what every cool hero would do when they were destined to die. It was the role they were cast in, the part they played, and Chase's final words had been scripted like a movie star. What a stupid way to die. Why kill yourself like that? Why hadn't he just punched the Bahari? Why hadn't he done something...why hadn't he done anything else?

Porter couldn't understand the variables floating through his head, couldn't find answers that suited him. He was sure that Chase had made the right decision, the only choice Chase must've had at the time, but he couldn't accept it. He just couldn't believe Chase was...

Dead.

Because Chase wasn't dead. Of that Porter was certain. Within his own heart, he would keep Chase alive. And if that meant he would slaughter every last Bahari, murder every creature with his own hands, snap each of their necks and rip out their hearts, he would do it. If that is what it meant to uphold Chase's fighting spirit, to maintain the fire that once was, Porter would do it.

The White Storm turned to face the remaining horde, the Bahari held off by the surging forces Ardwen had directed. Porter's grip tightened on his controls, the Goliath responding by constricting its own fingers around the handle of each blade. A surge of lightning shot through the battlesuit, electrifying the air around it.

A numbness washed over Porter, and he hesitated for a moment, shaking in his seat. Another tear dropped from his eye and he began to feel the rest welling up inside of him. His memory was fading, his imagination cracking as nothing but reality settled in around his psyche. Chase was dead. Tomorrow, if Porter survived, Chase would not be with him. At the end of the day, Chase would not step out of the South Star, would not brag about how many enemies he had killed, and would not punch Porter on the arm and make fun of him. If they returned to the academy, Chase wouldn't be sitting with his posse, wouldn't be disrupting classes, and wouldn't keep Porter smiling at his antics.

What if they didn't return to the academy?

It was a weird thought that flashed through Porter's head, gone in an instant but lingering in his consciousness. It wasn't the idea that they would be dead by the end of the war and wouldn't have the ability to return it was...it was a choice not to go back. It was an anger Porter had never felt before, an anger at the academy, and at the Federation, and at an entire country. Why did they go to war? Why war? Why enlist students to learn? Why send them to battle at all?

Porter shook away the doubts, trying to focus on the slaughter he was planning in Chase's honour. It was a dark place Porter was going to, the kind of place where he locked away most of his worst thoughts, thoughts like leaving the academy, leaving the country. Thoughts about his lost family, about his brother who had abandoned him twice now. Thoughts about being bullied, about being weak, about being alone. It was a vast space, infinitely dark, and Porter was sinking into it. But he would bring with him as many of the damned Jahari as he possibly could, until either his heart stopped beating or all of theirs ceased.

That was when Porter first felt the blast, a shockwave that nearly knocked him onto his front, an extreme burst he wished he had never felt and one he would never forget.

A/N: Normally the author's note isn't much of an author's note. Usually it is the voice of a sort of omnipresent narrator like from those old cartoons. Only sometimes do I step in and I really feel like I should here.

I didn't write an author's note for the last chapter. I didn't think there should be one because I had nothing to say. But this was the hardest chapter I have ever written and I wasn't expecting it. Killing Chase was extremely difficult. Typing out those letters took me a long time because my fingers just wouldn't move. I hadn't planned on Chase dying from the start, or even very long ago. Maybe I will come to regret it in the future; a part of me already kind of does.

But it all holds a greater meaning to the story in the end so I cannot argue with the whim of my own work. It lives and breathes on its own, albeit all in my mind. I'm sorry I rambled on this chapter but I didn't know what to write for a very long time or what to say or how to put the feelings of not just Porter, but also the fanbase, into a chapter. I tried. It's messy and confusing and strange but I think that's how we all might feel when something like this happens.

It is still your comments that fuel the story, your words that inspire me and give me new ideas. Nothing makes me happier than watching you fight amongst each other or share memories or moments with each other. I'm very happy I could that to all of you.

We've almost made it to 100 chapters and, even though this is the saddest point of the entire series, I cannot wait to see where we go from here.