You don't kill a prisoner of war. That's what it starts to come down to, in her head. The man (and she suddenly realizes she thinks of him that way: a man, a person, not an it, not impersonal), the whatever-he-is, he was a soldier.
An unwilling soldier—an image flashes into her head. The eastern front was forever full of terrible things. Child pilots, brainwashed and unsure, convinced by the Migou that the NEG forces were terrible monsters—
She swallows sharply, focusing herself again. It's—she can't decide. She can't fucking decide, she realizes, and her arms tense against herself. What if—but—well...
It clicks. She's not going to kill a person—a person, she repeats in her head—because she's indecisive. If it wasn't bad enough to make her decide on the other, then there's only one option left.
"Imprisonment," she says, and swallows sharply again. Her throat feels dry and cold.
no subject
An unwilling soldier—an image flashes into her head. The eastern front was forever full of terrible things. Child pilots, brainwashed and unsure, convinced by the Migou that the NEG forces were terrible monsters—
She swallows sharply, focusing herself again. It's—she can't decide. She can't fucking decide, she realizes, and her arms tense against herself. What if—but—well...
It clicks. She's not going to kill a person—a person, she repeats in her head—because she's indecisive. If it wasn't bad enough to make her decide on the other, then there's only one option left.
"Imprisonment," she says, and swallows sharply again. Her throat feels dry and cold.