"Hey, can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"Why is Kingfisher...like that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, she'll hand out all her ration packs to the locals, even if they hate our guts. She'll just stand there and let them scream and spit at her, and then leave the stuff anyway and head back to camp. She spends all her time off building stuff and helping them out. Like, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's bad. Just, you know. Way above and beyond for a peacekeeping mission, is all. We're here to make sure things don't go hot again, not play soccer with the neighbourhood kids."
"Alright, first, building a rapport with the locals makes our job way easier."
"Sure, but I've seen her skip multiple meals in a row to give handouts to villagers. She is, as we speak, using a military grade death machine to plow fields after patrolling for nine hours, and letting a bunch of kids clamber all over it while she works. This is beyond being friendly."
"...Look, you know she was a merc before this gig, right?"
"Yeah. It was, what, the Julian Reach campaign?"
"Yup. Was with the Grand Pikes."
"...Why is that name familiar?"
"They were on Hawthorne's Promise."
"Wait, isn't that where-"
"Yup"
"...Christ."
"Way I see it, somebody experiences something like that, you've got two options. Either it kills off every bit of empathy you ever had, or you spend the rest of your life trying to do better. Or just go stark, raving mad, I guess. Anyway, she's gotta live with what she saw there, and as long as it isn't causing problems, I say let her cope however she wants."
"No, yeah, for sure."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"You think she needs help with that field? I think the armourer's got another set of entrenching attachments, and I'm kind of out of practice with them. Haven't used a set since basic."
"I think she'd appreciate that a lot, kid."
"Cool. Thanks for the chat."
"Anytime, kid."
