Fa Yuiry

[Location: Space, near the Argama. 0088 U.C.]

The battle is deep in the late stages of the Gryps Conflict—Argama forces spread thin, Titans pushing harder. In open space near a smashed colony cylinder, You fighting alone, cornered by Yazan Gable and two other Hambrabi units, the blue‐black mobile suits flickering like predatory sharks through the rubble.

Suddenly— a gold machine drops into the battlefield on a burning vector of thruster fire.

---

Static breaks over the comms, then a familiar voice

Fa (strained but determined): “Hang on! The Methuss is here!”

The Methuss's beam sabers ignite immediately as she dives into the melee, landing a glancing shot across one Hambrabi’s shoulder, forcing it to break pursuit of you.

Inside her cockpit, Fa’s hands are trembling slightly—not from fear, but from adrenaline and the furious focus she only recently learned to harness.

Fa (exhaling sharply): “...Okay. I can do this. Just keep your distance... just like Emma taught...”

She transforms the Methuss mid‐thrust, shifting from fighter to mobile suit form with a practiced snap that wasn’t there earlier in the war. She is still not a natural—the motion isn’t elegant—but it is controlled. Earned. Hard‐won.

---

Yazan’s voice cuts into the open channel with his signature mocking snarl: “Ha! Another amateur. Come on then—show me you’re worth killing!”

Fa’s pupils contract. She’s scared—everyone is scared when Yazan targets them. But instead of panicking, she grits her teeth and fires a snap barrage.

Fa (focused): “I won’t let you hurt anyone else!”

Her shots force Yazan to dart away, their pink beams scorching the hull of a ruined colony wall.

The second Hambrabi sweeps in from behind her. Fa reacts fast—something early‐series Fa might not have done—kicking the Methuss into reverse with a hard thruster burn.

She nearly overloads her verniers.

Fa (grunting): “Not this time! Move—!”

She rolls out of the incoming shot and returns fire, not in a flourish but in disciplined bursts, each round meant to make space, not win the duel outright. She has learned that survival is a form of battlefield power.

---

When You couner one of the Hambrabis, Fa seizes the opening and volleys a full spread of beam fire into its flank, catching it mid‐maneuver. Damage alarms flash in the enemy suit, and it peels off trailing molten metal.

Fa (quick, tight voice): “Right there—good! I’ll pin them; you take the angle!”

She’s not barking orders—she’s syncing. Matching tempo. She has fought with veterans long enough now to understand combat flow.

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[Location: Von Braun City. 0090 U.C.]

The city lights of Von Braun drifted like constellations across the lunar horizon—soft, muted, unhurried. Beneath that glow, Fa Yuiry had built something she never imagined she’d have after two wars: a quiet life with You. A fragile one, yes, but real. And she guarded it with the same fierce determination she once brought into the cockpit of the Methuss.

She sat on the edge of the apartment balcony, the weak gravity letting her legs swing just a little more freely than on Earth. She glanced back inside, watching you rest on the couch, wrapped in that thick blanket she insisted on bringing from the shuttle. You still slept lightly, flinching at sudden noises, breathing unevenly whenever your dreams turned dark. The aftershocks of Gryps and Neo Zeon War didn’t let go easily—not of you, and not of her either. But Fa had always been stubborn.

She stepped back into the room, pulling the sliding door shut with a soft click. “Hey... I think you slept longer today,” she murmured, half teasing, half relieved. “That’s good. Really good.”

Her voice stayed gentle—she’d learned that tones mattered. Some mornings you woke up confused or startled, not quite sure where you were, who you were, or what year it was. So she always made sure she was the first thing you saw. A familiar anchor in a life that still felt unstable under your feet.

She moved around the living space with practiced rhythm—preparing tea, folding stray blankets, checking the apartment’s air filters, tidying the little pile of medications that the colony clinic insisted you keep “just in case.” The doctors said your recovery was slow, unpredictable. Fa didn’t mind the guidelines. Structure helped. Ritual helped. And taking care of you gave her something to hold onto too.

“You know,” she said while setting your cup on the table beside you, “the therapist said your sleep patterns are stabilizing. That’s... honestly amazing.” She smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m proud of you. Even if you don’t feel like you’re doing much, your body and your mind are working harder than you think.”

She sat beside you—not touching at first. She always waited for you to decide how much closeness you could handle that day. Some days, you let her hold your hand. Some days, you needed distance. Some days, you needed silence so thick you couldn’t form a single word. Fa never questioned it. She just stayed.

She looked out the window again, eyes drifting toward the colony wall where the artificial sky slowly shifted into evening. “This place is calm... calmer than anything we ever had back then,” she murmured. “I used to think I’d never get used to quiet again. But now... I think I like it.”

There was warmth in her voice—but something sad too. She carried her own ghosts from Gryps. The children on the Argama, the friends she watched fall, the screams over comm channels she could never forget. She wasn’t untouched—not even close. But she had always been better at carrying the weight quietly.

She leaned forward and rested her chin on her knees. “I know you don’t always believe you deserve peace,” she continued softly. “But you do. You always did.” Her eyes flicked to you, warm and steady. “Even when everything fell apart, even when you were... lost. I never believed you were gone. Not really.”

She reached out, brushing your cheek with the back of her fingers—a feather-light touch, as if testing whether the moment could hold it. When you didn’t flinch, she smiled with a mix of relief and pride. “You’re here. With me. And that’s enough.”

Later, she helped you sit up, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders with gentle, almost methodical care. “Let’s try eating together tonight,” she said, her voice encouraging but not pushy. “Just a little. I made stew. Not as good as the kind we got on Shangri-La with Judau and the others, but it’s warm. And you like warm things lately, right?”