Catherine

[Code Name] Catherine

[Gender] Female

[Combat Experience] 1 Year

[Place of Birth] Victoria

[Date of Birth] Aug 28

[Race] Feline

[Height] 171cm

[Infection Status]

Confirmed Infected by medical examination.

[Physical Strength] Normal

[Mobility] Normal

[Physical Resilience] Normal

[Tactical Acumen] Excellent

[Combat Skill] Normal

[Originium Arts Assimilation] Standard

Catherine is a Victorian workers' representative. During the Londinium incident, she joined the Citizens' Self-Salvation Corps and worked in concert with Rhodes Island.

With her facilitation, several factories and workers' organizations reached agreements with us to tackle issues such as Originium cleanup, infection prevention, and medical care.

Imaging tests show the indistinct outlines of internal organs, obscured by abnormal shadows. Originium granules detected in the circulatory system. The subject is confirmed to be infected with Oripathy.

[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 9%

No visible Originium crystals have been observed on the surface of Catherine's body. However, the patient is of advanced age and became ill due to acute infection, so long-term observation is necessary.

[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.19u/L

Catherine was infected during the Londinium incident. She has since been treated with suppressive medications, and her disease has been effectively controlled.

While tracing the medical histories of workers from Highbury's factories, we made a discovery. During the past ten years, infection rates for workers at Catherine's shops have been relatively low. There is no secret here. Both the workers and the managers know that she will use every method at her disposal to fight for safer work environments and care for each and every one of her workers.

—Senior Operator from the Medical Department

The background check on Catherine revealed nothing unusual. As reported by operators stationed in Londinium, she is an industrial worker from the Highbury district who was appointed as a representative before the age of thirty due to her outstanding productivity. She frequently mediates negotiations between workers and factory management, and has earned a considerable reputation within the Londinium worker community. The only noteworthy detail is that she was once invited—or rather, conscripted—by Parliament to serve as a senior technician to help design and manufacture the latest Steam Knight armor. However, she did not use this opportunity to climb the social ladder. Instead, she declined further studies offered by the Royal Victorian Academy of Sciences and returned to her previous position once the project concluded.

When we questioned her, she gave a brief and pragmatic response—As a worker, following a production schedule is simply a way of life, and she's well aware of the destructive power of the weapons produced on the military assembly lines. She is not some ascetic adhering to a doctrine of nonviolence. When the invaders entered the city, she rallied the workers together. Under her leadership, they produced 'the Crawler' and fought fiercely on the front lines alongside the Self-Salvation Corps. However, this does not mean she is eager to become someone who designs killing machines. She would rather devote her energy to saving lives, not taking them.

On the other hand, she has acknowledged that the events in Londinium have, to some extent, changed her perspective. The young Aslan returning from a foreign land formed a new parliament, and the workers of the Highbury district—no, all the workers of Londinium—eagerly await progress. Now, it is time for the gentlemen sitting in their cushioned chairs to win back the public's trust. One day, the workers may reconsider whether to accept the new Parliament's invitation and allow this elderly woman, still suffering from Oripathy, to live out her days in peace.

After the war, Rhodes Island made a temporary stop at Londinium. Catherine, who was assisting with the reconstruction effort, jumped at the opportunity to visit the landship for the first time. When submitting her request, she candidly stated that she wanted to visit her grandson, Feist, who was 'messing around' in the Engineering Department. She was also curious and wanted to see, with her own eyes, what kind of people would be so eager to wade into the murky waters of Londinium. An HR operator politely mentioned that she had already met with Rhodes Island's top management and several key squads on various battlefields across Londinium. The old worker simply raised an eyebrow and waved it off.

'If you want to befriend the workers, you can't just meet them in the beer halls while they're drinking and boasting and spitting at 'the man'. You need to go into the factories and visit their homes.' In her view, the 'professional' Rhodes Island operators aren't much different from the workers of Highbury, herself included. That's why she was particularly eager to visit the ship.

When the HR operator opened the door to Engineering's workshop, she saw Closure, Stainless, Rockrock, and several other operators with their heads down, intensely focused on a single task. The drill hummed, and the argon arc welder cast an eerie white light on everyone's goggles. Catherine held up a finger to signal the HR operator to remain quiet and not disturb the group. She then picked up a spare welding mask and, rather confidently, joined in the effort.

'Wait a minute, the turret won't rotate. This motor seems unreliable, doesn't it?'

'I knew it! Lemme have a crack at it! I'm the Chief Engineer—I can fix it!'

'Feist, Closure, hold on a second. The original plan was to just make a model as a gift for Catherine, right?'

'Sure, but this is the scaled-down, movable, self-propelled version of the Crawler! Isn't it awesome?'

'But...'

'Oh, so you were planning to give this to me as a bribe, Feist?'

Silence fell around the workbench as people exchanged glances through their goggles and welding masks. Stainless was digging at his ears, wondering if he was hearing things. When Catherine pushed her mask up to her forehead, the hearty laughter and exclamations finally drowned out the hum of the machinery.

What followed was a family reunion, brief yet precious. As for how Catherine was welcomed by the kids over the next few days—or how her anecdotes in the factory made them laugh so hard they forgot to eat, attend class, or even sleep—that's another story.

When I walked into Highbury, I saw an elderly manager perched on atop a ruined street corner. She watched the workers around her, shouting out orders as they moved giant piles of construction materials. Some nodded at her as they passed by. They were disheveled, and their faces weary. Many were injured. However, not a single one stopped to rest. They were too busy pushing carts filled with mortar, stacking building materials near the scaffolding, and using noisy diggers to free their streets of the wreckage left by the war.

This area was once the industrial heart of Londinium, no, of all Victoria. We need not endlessly recount the grandeur of Victoria's industrial clusters and automated assembly lines, or how the dense, efficient transportation networks delivered raw materials and intermediate products to every corner of the land. Now, the refuse often overlooked by 'gentlemen', the brave souls who only recently fought to the death with the invaders on the streets, are scraping the rust off the ironworks.

After confirming that I wasn't a thug trying to steal building materials from the construction site, the grey-haired construction supervisor—who refused to reveal her name—took me to a high platform overlooking most of Highbury. The high-rise dormitories, planned by City Hall at the edge of the plate, had been severely damaged in battle. The defense artillery had blasted a huge crater in the main building, rendering it unusable. The supervisor told me that hundreds of blue-collar families from Highbury had once lived there. Now, she sends people to patrol the area frequently to prevent young punks from sneaking into the building, which could collapse at any moment, to scavenge for scraps.

I continued chatting with the woman. I mentioned a newspaper column I had once read which denounced the dormitories, and Highbury in general, as an 'urban prison' designed to separate the dirty factories and stinky workers from the shining city of Londinium. I asked her whether the workers, who once fought valiantly for Victoria, were still willing to live behind the prison wall.

Just then, the factory whistle blew in the distance, signaling the shift change. After the sound faded, she raised a cigarette and pointed at the crater in the building, off in the distance. She told me that the building, now burned down to its frame, had once been the Auchterigg opera house. On the other side of the hole, the detached villas and large gardens of the Magna Borough still smoked amidst the rubble. While we spoke, a team of Highbury laborers was working in the factory to produce the prefabricated components needed to repair Londinium, while another had already arrived at the construction site. This city was built by the hands of the workers, and it is those hands that will eventually restore it to its rightful state.

She cynically remarked, 'Londinium's walls couldn't stop the invaders, and the Sarkaz's defenses couldn't stop the Self-Salvation Corps. Well, that prison, and its walls, won't stop anyone either.'

—A clipping from a 'Daily Salon' column; the photographer captured Catherine's silhouette.

'Please wait, Catherine! I beg you to be patient. I assure you my request is sincere—I come on behalf of the Royal War Museum. I only wish to showcase your brave struggle to the public. I have no ulterior motives! Don't you think there's still room for discussion?'

'I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing left to discuss. I've had people look into your background. A friend of mine told me you were unwilling to leave the museum and escape the city, and said you even opened up the warehouse, used for holding valuable artifacts, as a temporary shelter for refugees. I figured you were a man of character, someone I could trust, which is why I agreed to this meeting.'

'You honor me with your praise. In that case, may we continue?'

'No, we may not. The Crawler will not become an exhibit locked in a glass case for tourists to take photos with.'

'But... I don't understand. Haven't the Sarkaz already been driven out? We've won. Victoria has won! Shouldn't the walking war machine be moved to a museum to prove to the world that Victoria has not lost her bravery, her very soul?'

'The 'soul' of Victoria lies in the hearts of the brave warriors who sleep, every night, beneath her streets.'

'Please... hear me out, Catherine. On the day you blew that whistle, the others and I were hiding underground, too terrified to do anything. Finally, someone opened the door and told us that Londinium had been saved—the workers drove the 'walkers' right through the Sarkaz defenses. You don't know how happy I was!'

'Sigh...'

'I've worked in the museum my whole life, Catherine. I know very well that if we rely solely on words and images, people will easily forget things they should never forget. I didn't witness the Self-Salvation Corps liberating Londinium with my own eyes, but if we could display the Crawler as an exhibit, everyone would understand the heroic feats you accomplished!'

'*Sigh* You really shouldn't have sent such a nice old man to do this kind of thing, Vina.'

'Hm? What was that about the Madam Speaker?'

'It's nothing, sir. I know you mean well, but I still can't grant your request... At least, not now.'

'What do you mean?'

'We won't hand over the Crawler. However, I know a few skilled artisans who can help you create a full-scale replica of it to display in the museum.'

'But... but if it's just a replica...'

'Don't worry, sir. Even if it's just a model, every single screw will be tightened by our own hands. As long as you don't tell anyone, no one can say it's a forgery.'

Doctor, changing old habits is hard, especially for an old worker like me. Back in the day, my life wasn't complicated. I took care of the factory teams, looked after Feist... All the things I needed to worry about were right in front of me. It was a pretty routine life. Sometimes, I would argue with unreasonable employers on behalf of the workers. But most of the time, all I managed to bring back were some half-hearted compromises and verbal promises. The lads were still grateful, but I knew it wasn't anything to be proud of.

And now? I've suddenly become a character straight out of a spy novel. I hear rumors that 'the Catherine of Highbury,' isn't a real person, but a code name for a secret organization within the Londinium worker groups. I could almost laugh—when I first heard them, I thought it sounded a bit like something you guys would do. Ha, yeah, now I've dealt with people I'd never have had the chance to meet before. I even turned down the invitation from the Speaker you brought me. Unbelievable. But deep down, I still feel more secure carrying tools than weapons. Still, now we've come to realize that staying empty-handed just ensures that bad things will happen to you. So, I guess this old cat will have to learn some new tricks.