"Oh! Well, Aurora's happy," he explains, somewhat surprised. "So I'm happy for her as well." 

"You do know you're storing up problems for later?" Martin says.

"Letting her get that attached to a mortal? Briar may be a cyborg, but that doesn't make her like us." 

"I thought it was other Martin who was supposed to be the buzzkill." 

Honey, who has only a vague inkling of how bad the person who made these people immortal is, asks the following dumb question. "If it'd be an issue, why not...try and make her like you all?"

Martin starts to nod. "Yes, I suppose that would—" 

"No." 

Kit punches a screen. It shatters and sparks against his metal fist, and the room goes silent. 

"No," he repeats, holding Martin's gaze. "We don't do that. Ever. You know that." 

Honey now knows not to propose that in the future!

He also takes a bit of a step back from the screens, and is considering leaving the room if it looks like that his presence is now bothersome.

The movement catches Kit's attention, and he switches focus to glare at Honey, taking a menacing step in his direction.

"You don't know what you just said," he growls, "and that's the only reason I'm not throwing you rrright back where you came from." 

Honey nods wordlessly. There isn't anything he can really add to that.

"Well! If that's all sorted, can we maybe get back to watching?" 

On the screens, the battle seems to be going poorly for the rebels so far, although they're slowly gaining ground as they whittle down Cole's defences. Rebel ships fall by the dozens, but more are swooping in to replace them all the time. 

"Fine."

Quick as a striking snake, Kit's hand shoots out and connects with the back of Martin's neck. There's a click as he flips a switch, 

That done, he flops back into his chair.

Martin freezes for a second or so, like a computer screen glitching, then blinks back into life.

"Sorry," he says with a sigh.

Honey remains silent as he turns his attentions to the screens. He can't really help but wish that he could be there fighting, but at the same time, a big part of himself knows that, even if he probably wouldn't die, he still wouldn't end up being much more useful than all the ones who did. It makes it hard to think it's worth the pain, and ultimately Honey doesn't end up running to go find a way to the surface or trying to convince anyone that it's worth going.

The battle rages on. Casualties mount on both sides, but a steady wave of rebel reinforcements drives the loyalist forces back inch by bloody inch. Eventually, after hours of attrition, the tide of slaughter reaches the palace itself. 

Both sides have been ground down to nearly nothing. A grey-haired rebel woman with an eyepatch—the famous General White—gathers a small band of survivors around her on the palace steps, preparing for a final push. There can't be many more than twenty of them, all told, but their opposition seems equally thin on the ground. Cameras inside the palace show no reinforcements coming to join the guards at the gate. Just miles of empty hallways, with the occasional stairway leading down into darkness.

The Mechanisms are mostly quiet as they watch, although there are occasional comments and noises of delight at particularly dramatic moments. 

Mac sits there methodically dismantling and cleaning at least three different guns before stashing them back about his person. 

Honey...doesn't get as much enjoyment out of this as his hosts. He's still going to watch, he at least wants to see Old Cole get what's coming to him, but he's not cheering for every grisly end that gets played across the screens or anything.

From behind them, there's a yawn and a scuff of bare feet on the metal floor. Bare-legged beneath Kolya's navy coat, Briar leans on the doorway and blinks at the displays. 

"Is this...really happening?"

"Seems like it. The Old King wasn't ready for his defense grid to suddenly have a gaping hole, I guess."

"Heh. Old man Cole's finally gonna get what's coming to him." 

She drifts forwards, leaning against the back of Kolya's chair to watch. 

As the last of the palace guards fall, a small ship drifts into view—a scout craft, lightly armed but capable of long-distance flight. The emblem on its side has been deliberately burned away, leaving only a scorch mark behind. 

It lands a short distance from the palace, and a woman emerges. Her long ash-blonde hair is streaked with white, and she looks to be in her fifties. She hurries to join General White's group, reaching them just as they break down the palace doors.

Something on her left hand is glowing red. 

Briar gasps. "Cinders!" 

The name might be familiar to Honey. Cinders, Rose's bride-to-be, whose wedding Cole interrupted when he stole Rose to become the genetic base of his army. If you believe the tales, she was a princess, before Cole decided to add her world to his empire. Somehow, she and Rose found love, and in the thirty years since their aborted wedding day, Cinders has searched tirelessly for her stolen bride. 

A string of complicated emotions plays across Briar's face, to fast to catch, then her expression hardens into resolve. "I need to get down there."

Honey nods. He’s maybe a little surprised that Cole decided to give Briar any memories of her original version’s life, especially ones as motivating as those of Cinders, but the man is genuinely senseless so it’s not unbelievable. “I’ll go with. May be useful to have an extra body.”

"I'll go as well. Martin can stay with Aurora." 

Kolya's already pressing buttons and flipping switches, changing the ship's flight path to get them on the ground just that little bit faster. 

When they finally touch down on New Constantinople, Aurora settling her massive bulk a short distance from the palace, most of the crew follow Briar out of the hatch and across the rubble of bombed-out Zantine. 

Briar forges a straight path towards the palace doors, blind to the devastation around her. 

Honey enters a deep concentration as they descend, preparing himself for the worst when they land. Focus on the mission. Echoes of his time in captivity reverberate at the edges of his hearing, perhaps illusory or perhaps real, but ultimately irrelevant either way. He is protecting a teammate who has a goal in mind, that is what matters right now.