Notification in the Hangar 2

Murrue slowed toward the end, each word as still and cold as gravel dredged from icy water. "Orb has ordered all citizens to evacuate the urban areas and the vicinity of military facilities, and to enter a defensive posture in preparation for unforeseen developments—we too must choose our path."

"Choose our path!" The words pierced every heart like icicles.

What unfamiliar, what cruel authority! Until now, they had never actively chosen any path for themselves.

Their duty had been obedience, execution, loyalty to orders, day after day being honed within the steel framework of iron discipline.

Now, unwillingly separated from the Earth Alliance they had once belonged to, they had become a bewildered "fugitive ship," drifting like rootless duckweed, even their own legitimacy shrouded in a gray haze of doubt.

They had once been ordinary soldiers fighting within an established system. Now they had been stripped of any clear affiliation, exposed to the raging tide called choice, and once again driven into a corner.

The crew stood at attention, pairs of confused, lost, even faintly frightened eyes fixed motionlessly on their female captain, younger than most of them yet already bearing a burden far beyond that of an ordinary person.

Their fates now seemed to rest entirely on one vague command from her.

They craved orders, were accustomed to orders. Without orders, they instead found themselves at a loss.

"The Archangel is now a fugitive ship," Murrue summarized their situation in brief, cold words. "We are in a position where even our own stance is uncertain. As for Orb's situation, what you should do—no one is ordering you. I also no longer have the authority to give you orders."

Her words struck the ground with force, carrying an indescribable decisiveness and respect.

The crew's shock spread like ripples across water,