Like a tide that never ebbs, the crimson Chaos Contamination presses against the force field shielding the base. Sometimes it thickens, congealing like old blood; sometimes it thins to a pale red haze. But it never recedes.
In the distant sky, the rift of the Fog yawns wider with each passing moment.
That day, Helga summons Lucia to the medical station.
On the operating table, she has laid out a row of instruments in precise formation.
We'll go over broken conduits today. Debride first, align the ends, then wrap with repair filament at this angle.
She runs through the demonstration before Lucia can respond.
Got it?
...Yeah.
Your turn.
Lucia replicates the steps from memory. Some of her wrapping is slightly off, but she gets it right overall.
Next, repair fluid injection. Locate the junction first. One finger joint up from the break. Angle the needle in shallow. Keep the flow steady with a single smooth press.
She demonstrates again.
Got it?
Yeah.
Now you.
Lucia picks up the practice needle, trying to align it. Her hand shakes when she inserts it...
You got the position right. Practice more on your own when you have time. Next—
That's enough, Helga.
From the bed beside them comes a thin voice. It's Julian, just out of another M.I.N.D. boilover.
She's just a kid.
So?
So quit drilling her like she's a recruit.
I'm teaching her how to keep people alive. You have a problem with that?
...
Silence settles over him. The eyes he'd labored to keep open drift closed once more.
Whatever. Doesn't matter anyway. There's no hope left.
Helga's hands pause over the instruments upon his flippant words.
What did you say?
I said there's no hope.
Staring at the ceiling, he lets out a sigh.
You know how thick that fog is. They said visibility's nothing past five meters.
Those things throw themselves at the barrier every single day. And every day, our people go out there and come back half-dead. For what? The barrier just keeps shrinking anyway.
Me? I've got it easy. I sit here, at base, relaying signals. Only thing I'm supposed to do. And I can't even do that right!
Quit your whining. You're the only functioning comms station we have left.
Which is exactly why you're back here. Too much data throughput, and your M.I.N.D. boiled over. Again.
Well, long as you're still here, you'll just patch me up again, right?
Helga offers no response. Julian, unfazed by whether anyone cares, just carries on talking.
Yesterday, I botched the relay. The warning came in ten seconds late... No. 9 didn't make it back.
Day before that, same thing. Relay range collapsed on the west flank. Couldn't reach them in time. The enemies broke through and hurt Chris and Nemo again. They'd just healed a few days back.
The words come out flat, but his fingers betray him, scraping at the bed's edge.
Why'd they give me this ability when they modified me? I can see the signals, but the moment my M.I.N.D. boils over, I can't transmit... My head's been really killing me.
I'm just a busted relay station. That's all I am.
Helga approaches and leans down, her gaze settling on him.
You finished?
...Yeah. I'm finished.
Then shut up and rest.
She returns to the operating table and picks up where she left off with Lucia.
Her voice fills the medical station once more, as calm and precise as her medical equipment, stripped of anything unnecessary.
On the bed, Julian shuts his eyes.
But his fingers won't stop. They keep scratching at the bed's edge in a restless rhythm, as if typing on keys no one else can see.
Julian.
Hm?
Your M.I.N.D. requires a minimum of two hours of complete rest for every twelve hours of sustained relay operation. That's not a suggestion.
I'm out of your medication. You keep pushing past that threshold, and one day I won't be able to pull you back.
Fine. No more relaying. If they want to throw their lives away out there, that's on them. Not my problem.
...You'd better mean that.
A few days later.
The team set out early that day. Chris, Nemo, Helga, and two other members.
Having inspected each person's equipment in turn, Helga looks back again toward the medical station, where a small figure peeks out from the doorway.
Helga makes her way over and kneels down in front of the little one, meeting her at eye level.
You remember everything I taught you?
Yes.
Don't mix up the steps.
I won't.
Ever efficient, Helga hesitates for once. She is about to stand when she feels a light, tentative pull at the edge of her coat.
Helga... There's still a lot I don't know...
...?
So you have to come back to teach me. I'll wait for all of you.
Helga reaches out with her left hand, a wound still split open, and rests it gently on Lucia's head.
...Stay here and keep yourself safe.
Helga gives no explanation, no reason for leaving, no destination. She rises, turns, and walks away.
Lucia remains rooted in place, watching Helga's shape blur and vanish into the white fog.
Night has settled by the time they return. The first footstep reaches Lucia's ears, and she's already out the medical station's door.
Nemo leads the way, Chris slumped over his shoulder. Chris' right leg is severed at the knee, his full weight sagging against Nemo.
Behind them, two more stagger in, one holding the other upright, vital fluid bleeding out from both.
There is no fifth person.
Lucia stands in the doorway. She counts, then she counts again.
Where's Helga?
The team falls silent.
Nemo puts Chris on the bed, then reaches into his pocket and sets something on the operating table.
It's a medical module, standard issue for Support and Amplifier Constructs. Lucia recognizes it instantly. It was Helga's.
...What happened?
The force field protecting the base... It got breached.
Before anyone could seal it, they poured through. Those things from the fog.
We had to hold the breach and take out everything that made it inside before the repair's done.
Helga didn't stop. Not once. Working on anyone she could reach. Her leg was already broken...
His voice is thick with exhaustion, each word coming slower than the last.
Ran through every supply she had. When that wasn't enough... she started taking parts from herself.
In the end... she took that off too.
He looks at the medical module on the operating table.
She said... save it for the others.
The adults say nothing, caught between the grief of losing their comrade and the child standing before them.
Lucia crosses to the operating table and takes up the module. It's small, light, marked by a residue of dark vital fluid.
She cleans it with care and places it into the empty storage slot. That done, she gathers the remaining medical supplies and walks to Chris' bedside.
I'll help treat your wounds.
Her voice remains calm, as though she's buried all her grief deep within.
That's how Helga was. Helga never cried. Helga never made mistakes. Helga treated every wound with machine-like precision, steady and unmoved.
So Lucia cannot cry. Lucia cannot make mistakes.
She follows the procedures Helga taught her, step by step: debride the wound, align the breaks, wrap with repair filament.
She is nearly done repairing Chris' abdomen when something catches her eye. Inside the wound, nearly invisible to the naked eye, sit tiny dark red crystals.
She thinks her eyes are playing tricks on her. When she looks again, they seem to have vanished.
Nemo's injuries are lighter than Chris', but the fracture in his chest has reopened. The fourth time now.
When she injects him with repair fluid, Nemo's fingers curl.
Noticing that, Lucia passes him a piece of cloth without a word, and Nemo takes it just as silently, clutching it in his hand.
When the last wound is dressed, Lucia stands in the center of the medical station and surveys the room.
Chris lies on the bed, his right leg joint damaged. Of the other two, one has a shattered shoulder, the other a force field cracked a third of the way through.
They came back. But part of them stayed there forever.
...It was Julian.
He says it to the ceiling, voice rough and sudden.
Fog was too thick out there. Couldn't see a damn thing. If Julian hadn't been relaying coordinates, we wouldn't have even known which way to go.
Signal kept cutting out on the way back, though. Where is he? Guy's gotta be completely spent by now.
When Leora pushes the door open, Julian is still there, seated at the terminal as he always does.
Before those unblinking eyes, waves of intricate data still flicker endlessly across the screen.
But his body can no longer move.
An unfinished message waits on the terminal, typed as though his M.I.N.D. was collapsing mid-sentence:
The document in the top left corner is filled with numbers and symbols.
...
Until one day, Nemo comes to her, something held in his hands.
It's a scrap of colored wire insulation and a thin metal sheet bent into a curve.
...Lucia, your birthday's the day after tomorrow.
I made you a hat.
He lifts the crooked little object for her to see. Red and blue insulation wraps around the metal in rough, alternating bands. Amid the gloom of this world, the birthday hat claims its own vivid colors.
...You're calling that a hat?
A birthday hat.
Looks like a wire hoop with regrets.
Nemo doesn't respond. He just keeps wrapping the metal with insulation.
Didn't know you knew how to make stuff like that.
My father... he used to make them for my birthdays. Back before we cut ties.
......
Well, my gift can't be worse than yours anyway.
He pulls a knife from his waist and hands it to Lucia.
It's a kodachi with a blade too short for standard issue, retrieved from the very bottom of the weapon rack. Lightweight gear, meant for smaller frames.
To Lucia, though, it's as heavy as an odachi. Her small body sinks beneath its weight the instant she closes her hands around it.
It's yours.
Thank you...
Her birthday's not for two more days. You're giving it to her now?
Does it matter?
His voice stays light and casual, but his right hand never leaves his pocket.
Gifts are better given early. You wait too long, and you might not get another chance.
While the two of them talk, Lucia's hand is already moving toward the blade.
In those cartoons she and Luna used to watch, every superhero swung a blade like it weighed nothing, as easy as flicking a pencil...
Haaargh!
The blade is heavier than Lucia expects. She barely lifts it with both hands, the handle too thick for her small grip. Her fingers fumble, searching for a position they can't find.
Whoa...
Hey, kid, that's not how you hold a blade.
With a look that says "what am I going to do with you," Chris lowers himself to her level and repositions her hands on the grip.
Grip it firm.
Lucia obeys, but her hands still can't find their place. The blade droops, heavy and uncooperative, tipping toward the floor no matter how hard she tries to hold it steady.
...Take your time.
You haven't found your reason for holding a blade yet. That's why the blade won't listen to you.
But for a kid, you're doing better than alright.
He stands, brushing off his knees with a grin.
The day after tomorrow, we'll celebrate your birthday together.
When Leora steps out of the laboratory, she finds the three of them—two grown-ups and one little child—happily gesturing away at each other. A hint of a smile slips into her weary face.
That's right. We're all celebrating Lucia's birthday together.
The three adults turn to Lucia in unison. She clutches the kodachi with both hands and answers with a firm nod of her own.
Okay!
Chris spends the day talking Lucia's ear off, from "when I was your age" all the way to every middle-aged man's favorite tale: "Back in the day, Dominik and I..."
Only when he catches little Lucia's starry-eyed wonder, and the deadpan stares of Nemo and Leora, does he finally turn away, satisfied. Back in his quarters, he closes the door, something he rarely does, and leans back against the wall.
Dark red lines have crept from his wrist all the way up his forearm.
A searing pain... then a subtle, tingling numbness. He gasps for breath, and at last, a hoarse laugh scrapes out of him.
Looks pretty cool, doesn't it?
On the morning of Lucia's birthday, Chris sets out. He tells them the cleanup area is small. He'll be back soon, he says.
Wait for me, kid. I'll be right back.
Lucia remains at the doorway, still clutching the kodachi, watching as his silhouette fades into the white fog... She stands there, unmoving, until Leora calls her name several times before she finally hears.
Because on his way out, Chris glanced back at her.
He never looked back before.
Beyond the force field, Chris walks alone through the ruins.
He told a lie. The cleanup area was never small; he's gone far, deliberately, pushing into zones he'd normally avoid.
He's not going back.
First wave, three monsters. With practiced ease, he raises his left hand and fires twice.
Second wave, five. One of them is a mutant, its body armored in plates of crimson crystal.
ROAR!!!
Come on!
He charges head-on, his knife aimed for a crevice in the crystal shell, then a searing bolt of pain tears through his right hand. It spasms. The blade veers off target.
The mutant's claws tear through his chest plate. Teeth gritted, he drives the knife home with his left.
Last one...!
The final enemy collapses. Chris slumps against the wall, each breath a wet, labored rasp. Vital fluid seeps from the gash in his chest plate.
He glances down at his right hand. Those dark red veins have crept past the elbow now.
I can still... fight...
—!!!
Third wave, seven monsters. Two of them are mutants.
...Tsk!!
The fifth one does it. His left leg joint fails, and he goes down hard.
He's on his knees, too injured to dodge the sixth when it comes. The claws rip across his left shoulder, opening a huge, ragged wound.
Cough!
Bright red vital fluid spills from his mouth as he crumples onto the rubble.
When he lifts his head again, the seventh monster walks toward him over the debris. Crunch, crunch... a pendulum ticking toward death.
Suddenly, its shape begins to shift.
His vision fades at the edges, and the twisted silhouette warps into something else entirely—the monster that took his wife and daughter.
He'd never seen that abominable creature with his own eyes, had no idea what it truly looked like. But in the grip of countless nightmares, his mind gave it a shape.
Now that thing stares back at him.
Heh...
He grips the dagger tight and hurls himself at the shadow, stumbling forward on broken joints.
The moment his blade sinks in, a claw drives through his abdomen and out the other side.
His face contorts with rage as he roars and buries the dagger deeper, watching until the light fades from the creature's eyes.
He lifts his head with agonizing effort, spits a mouthful of bloody froth, and stares up at an ashen sky.
The sky didn't always look this bleak...
...Gotta... go home...
It was June, and the sky was a clean, cloudless blue. He stood at the door with a heavy pack slung across his shoulder.
Chris, wait.
A woman in an apron rushed out after him, carrying with her the warm, sweet scent of something just pulled from the oven at home.
The cinnamon rolls are still warm. I put double frosting on them, just the way you like. Take them with you, something warm for the road. And there's mushroom soup, too. I packed it in the thermos...
He turned, a little impatient, so the woman behind him couldn't reach the zipper of his backpack.
Nah, I can't take them. Pack's stuffed with tactical gear.
She didn't complain. She simply set down the steaming food with some hesitation, then moved in front of him to smooth out his rumpled clothes.
He evaded his wife's gentle gaze, turning his face aside to stare into the distance, toward the place he was going.
...After all these years, just when you were about to retire... I thought you'd finally be home with our girl. And now you're leaving again...
Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she still wore that tender smile.
I heard it's really far away. Five hundred miles from home.
The vanguard team needs me.
He believed he was doing something great.
They need Constructs, people who can handle things... Someone like me should be out there being a hero, not stuck in a little home for the rest of my life.
He waved it off with a carefree gesture, looking for all the world like a great hero.
A little figure came pattering out of the room.
Daddy, my birthday's coming soon... Please don't go, okay?
Daddy's gotta go because there are thousands of little girls just like you who deserve a happy birthday too.
Nothing but grand, lofty words.
He bent down, meaning to scrub his stubble against his daughter's cheek the way he always used to, but she ducked away and hid fuming behind his wife.
He grinned at the sight.
Relax, alright? This "Chaos Contamination" thing? Nothing but a little ruckus.
Hey, kiddo, you really like that kodachi, right? When I get home, it's all yours. You can use it to protect Mom and our home. How's that sound?
He gave his daughter's head a rough, affectionate tousle.
Alright, I'm heading out.
His wife's gentle smile, his child's adoring eyes, the smoke wafting in the kitchen, the sweet scent wafting from the oven...
The door swung shut, sealing away those precious memories he'd once dismissed so carelessly.
Then the Chaos Contamination hit, and that door stayed closed forever.
He never made it back for his daughter's birthday.
...Go home.
Over the debris hangs a sky no longer azure, bleached to a dull, ashen gray.
His hands find nothing to hold. He can only fall... Cheek scraping the grit, he crawls across the ground like an infant.
His awareness dims, but a single image holds fast—
Lucia at the base entrance, that crooked little hat perched on her head, watching and waiting for his return.
I said... I'd come back.
His voice rasps dryly in his throat as every trace of his humanity bleeds away, little by little.
This time... I'm not breaking my word.
...Something's outside.
Heavy footsteps sound from outside, as if someone is dragging themselves forward with their last bit of strength.
The door shudders open. Chris drops, collapsing to his knees at the threshold before anyone can reach him.
His armor has been ripped away in great, jagged sections. His left arm hangs at a sickening angle, nearly detached from the shoulder. Vital fluid seeps from wounds riddling his body. His force field has failed completely; only shattered fragments remain, still clinging to his broken frame.
Lu... cia...
Chris!
Leora yanks back the child trying to rush forward.
She sees the dark crimson veins threading up Chris' arm, all the way to his shoulder.
Chaos Contamination.
Chris knows it too. Through the tremors wracking his broken frame, he forces himself to go still.
Don't... come closer.
He remains kneeling at the door, his breathing rapid and ragged.
Happy... birthday... Lucia.
I made it back... this time.
With the final fraying thread of his sanity, he lets out a roar in a voice no longer human.
Nemo, help me... one last time!!
—!
Let me die... as a human...
Nemo grits his teeth and, with agonizing effort, draws the blade from his waist. In the next instant—
Chris' broad figure surges toward him in a blur.
Crunch. His blade plunges deep into Chris' chest, a sensation he knows all too well.
Nemo looks down at his face, at the last trace of consciousness draining away, until nothing human stares back.
He has seen this before. In the courtyard where he grew up, on an ordinary evening at dusk.
His father stood before him then, the light in his eyes guttering out.
That day, he had to...
No...
Why does he always end up on this same path?
Nemo's arm trembles. No matter how he tries, he cannot pull the blade free.
Grrngh... Aaahh!!
Chris' body seizes again. The dark red veins have spread across half his face, creeping toward his eyes.
But just before they claim him completely, Chris goes motionless.
His gaze lifts, drifting beyond Nemo, and settles on something in the distance.
...Chris!
Lucia clutches the kodachi in her small hands.
She grips it with effort, using the hold Chris taught her. The blade is trembling slightly in her hands, but she stands there nonetheless, placing herself in front of Leora.
A child of seven, holding a blade longer than her forearm, standing between everyone and what Chris has become.
Chris looks at her, and across his face, which has nearly lost all trace of humanity, a fleeting human expression surfaces.
His lips tremble. Then, impossibly, they curve into a faint smile.
Finally...
At the center of his vision crouches the monster that slaughtered his wife and daughter.
In countless nightmares, he's watched them die at its claws, and he was always one step too late...
Today, someone has lifted that long-overdue blade in his place.
You've found what you want to protect... kiddo.
He smiles with quiet relief, watching that monstrous form fade until there's nothing left.
His feet begin to move again. Five hundred miles, four hundred miles... On and on he walks, back toward the starting point of his journey.
Everything seems to return to how it was at the beginning: sweet steam still curling from the oven, the fireplace aglow, his wife's gentle voice, the noisy chatter of his daughter.
...I'm back.
He collapses, arms still locked in an embrace.
Nemo's pupils tremble. Before his eyes, his father's face, the faces of one broken patient after another, and Chris' face... they swim together, overlapping, then drifting apart.
He seems to see it again: that setting sun, the sky tumbling once more into endless night. And he is powerless. His fate has never been anything else.
Time stretches, heavy and soundless. Then, at last, a small hand comes to rest on the back of his.
...Nemo.
For some reason, she seems to be desperately holding back her grief, her eyes and nose red. The crooked little ["crown"] she wore has tumbled off somewhere.
She gently crouches down and closes Chris' pain-filled eyes.
Seeing that her hat has fallen onto the ground, she stoops, picks it up, and sets it back on her head.
Then, on her tiptoes, she reaches up and tenderly wipes Leora's tears away.
...Leora, don't—
She means to say, "Don't cry."
But her mouth opens, and the word never comes. A world's worth of sorrow crashes down upon that small chest.
Chris' death brings no comfort to anyone. That mirage of happiness existed only in his own eyes, in the very last moment of his life.
And when that flickering candle is snuffed out, all it leaves the living is a damp, bone-cold, and unending night.
Outside the window, the fog grows ever thicker.
