Homecoming Day, Gala Hall
June 20th, 2160
F.O.S. Military Command College
Tonight's banquet unfolds beneath the college auditorium's great dome. Two years ago, Cassandra won her budget standoff with the United Government, a hard-fought "victory," and transformed the ceiling into a canopy of stars.
The dome itself is a single sweeping projection screen, fed live data from orbital observatories, painting the real heavens above the gathering.
Tonight, the projection is startlingly vivid. The Milky Way arcs across the full span of the dome, and a careful eye can even trace the four Galilean moons circling Jupiter.
Hahaha, see? This is the starry dome I told you about!
The World Government called it frivolous. "Not in keeping with military facility standards." As if beauty and bunkers can't share a roof! These children have spent years staring at reinforced concrete. One night. One night under the actual heavens, eating something that didn't come from a ration packet. Is that so decadent?
So, remind me, how did I finally win those tasteless people over?
If I recall correctly, ma'am, you threatened Dominik by filing seventeen consecutive formal complaints.
A woman of means does not "file complaints," my dear. That's called standing on principle.
She sweeps her hair behind her. Today she's wound a string of small lights around her knuckles, and they flicker in time with the starry dome above.
So. Eat, drink, dance if your legs still remember how. It's Homecoming Day! The world outside can wait one more evening.
When the music swells, the hall is packed.
Not just with the first graduates but alumni delegates from every year, instructors, researchers, and even the Council's engineers fill the room. White linen covers the long banquet tables. The cutlery gleams softly beneath the star-filled dome, and wisps of steam curl upward from the feast.
But no matter where the conversation flows, eyes keep straying, again and again, to the two seats set at the very center of the hall.
...
Lucia is dressed in the dress uniform gifted by the academy. Clean-cut lines, shoulders set sharp, the small F.O.S. emblem pinned over her heart. She's never been comfortable in formalwear, and her fingers keep drifting unconsciously to her cuffs.
[player name] sits beside her, wearing a matching outfit in a deeper shade. Pinned to [player name]'s chest is a new medal, the unit insignia awarded after the peacekeeping mission that wrapped up just last month.
Joanne leans across the table, hand cupped over her mouth, and whispers:
Lucia, your collar is crooked.
It's not.
It is. It's tilted slightly to the left—
It's the design. I already told you, it's not...
Just then, [player name]'s hand reaches across to set Lucia's collar right.
......
Lucia tilts her head, just slightly, but she doesn't pull away.
Hehe.
...Did you just chuckle?
No! I didn't! I was just clearing my throat!
Ophelia slips through the crowd, a stemmed glass in her hand, and takes the chair next to Joanne. She's wearing her old school skirt today, her hair falling free around her shoulders, a world apart from the perpetually ponytailed, arms-akimbo figure seen in the lab.
Alright, quit staring at those two. You look like a paparazzo trying to get a sneaky shot.
I wasn't taking photos! I was just... looking...
What is there to gawk at? It's not like they just got together today.
But today's different! Today is—
Shh.
Ophelia lifts her glass, using it to shield her mouth as she scans the room, checking that Lucia and [player name] aren't paying attention.
I know. Everything's in place.
So it's confirmed? Both of them are really gonna...?
Oh my god, then doesn't that mean—
Shh. Do you want the whole hall to hear you?
Joanne nods back with desperate enthusiasm, hands clamped tight over her mouth, but her eyes are already smiling, curved into delighted little crescents.
Oh, by the way, Professor Dominik is running the first ignition test tonight. You guys know about it, right?
The Zero-point Reactor? Please. As if I'd trade this for some dusty lab bench.
Experiments can wait. They'll always be there. But meeting with friends... How many more times do you think we get? One less every time.
Adelyde sits tucked away in a corner with a handful of young cadets, who are the students she's mentoring now.
Ophelia makes her way over, wine glass in hand.
Why are you camped out in the corner?
My students are here.
They're cadets, not ducklings. Let them breathe.
Instructors should stay with their students.
You're not an instructor tonight. It's Homecoming Day. Read the invitation, "alumna."
Ophelia settles into the seat beside her and slides another glass across the table.
......
Have a drink.
I can't...
What, one promotion and suddenly you're too distinguished for a drink?
Adelyde's gaze drops to the glass, then lifts to Ophelia.
...Just one.
Adelyde drains the glass in a single tilt. Ophelia's gaze drops, just briefly, to the exoskeleton bracing her right leg.
Does it still hurt?
It doesn't hurt. I notice it when the weather turns. That's all.
..."You notice it." Right.
Because it really isn't serious.
Seven hundred meters, Adelyde. You fell from that height. Define "not serious" for me, please.
Mission objective achieved. All hostages evacuated safely.
......
She takes a long drink and sets the glass down on the table with a heavy thud.
God. You're insufferable. You know that?
You've mentioned that plenty of times.
Don't do it again. Ever. We were all worried about you.
Adelyde doesn't answer.
A-DE-LY-DE.
...I'll be careful.
Ophelia knows exactly what those words mean: I'm not making any promises.
But tonight, she lets it go.
The banquet hums with a good feeling. Tonight, everyone seems to be holding their breath for something; even the stiffest guests carry a looser, lighter air.
Glasses clink and voices rise. Some recount their last two years, others spin old heroic tales for wide-eyed underclassmen, and a few circle half the hall just to touch glasses with a long-lost classmate.
Lucia and [player name] sit side by side at the center of the long table, on the seats reserved for outstanding graduate representatives. Their dress uniforms are immaculate, academy badges glinting beneath the starry dome.
Lucia's plate remains almost untouched. She's been listening to [player name] talk with the people nearby, adding a word here and there, though mostly she just listens.
Beneath the table, her right hand keeps drifting absently toward something tucked inside her uniform's inner pocket.
[player name]'s left hand carries the same restless habit, while neither one notices the other is doing precisely the same thing.
But Joanne notices. She can sense that both of them are waiting for just the right moment.
Hoo...
So she draws a deep breath, tightens her grip on her terminal, and rises from her seat.
Everyone! Sorry for the interruption—!
The noise in the hall slowly quiets.
Just last night, I received word from our lab, and...
Her voice is shaking.
The third-stage analysis of the [Crown] Sefirah is finally completed.
Silence settles over the hall, deep enough that the faint hum of the dome projector fills the air.
After all these years of iteration—of dead ends and recalibrations—we've finally, finally brought the matching threshold down to a feasible range.
So Gestalt ran a worldwide matching scan.
She looks at Lucia and [player name].
Out of all the eligible candidates on this planet, only two have a mind structure perfectly compatible with the [Crown] Sefirah.
It's you two. Lucia, [player name].
The hall erupts. Some gasp, some burst into applause, and a few, who haven't quite caught what's happening, get swept up in the excitement anyway.
Lucia turns to [player name] without a word.
She turns her terminal around. On the screen is a diagram of a gravitational field interference model.
If the [Crown] achieves operational status, it means direct, localized manipulation of the gravitational field. Which, in practical terms, we can fold space.
The implications are enormous. Interstellar travel without relativistic constraints. Proxima Centauri, Sirius... and even places beyond. All within reach. And in more extreme theoretical applications, we could even potentially influence past events to steer history toward a brighter future.
Her voice grows brighter.
When Professor Dominik received that signal from space sixteen years ago, the professor already saw this path ahead. We've spent so many years, so many people pouring their hearts into this...
Today, we're finally here.
Tears gather at the corners of her eyes, yet her smile shines through.
You two. Lucia, [player name].
You might be the first people in human history to really touch the stars.
Applause rises again, louder this time.
Lucia listens to all of it in silence, then lifts her head.
Above her, the Milky Way stretches across the star-filled dome, every pinpoint of light glowing quietly in place. That light has traveled hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of years to arrive here. And now Joanne is telling her that one day, she might reach out and touch its source with her own hands.
She gazes upward for a long moment. [player name] does the same. The two sit side by side, heads tilted back, starlight falling across their faces and settling on the fabric of their dress uniforms.
Then, without turning, Lucia reaches out. Her fingertip brushes the back of [player name]'s hand.
...It's like nothing has changed between us.
The day we enrolled, we stood there looking up at Dawn-III. And now here we are, looking up at the stars.
Lucia turns to face [player name], her gaze steady and resolute, as if she has finally made up her mind.
[player name], there's something I want to tell you.
At almost the exact same moment, [player name] speaks up too.
...
For a beat, they both go still.
...You first.
I said you first.
In the next instant, both of them reach into their inner pockets at the same time, pulling something out and hiding it behind their backs.
...Remember what happened on the moon?
Not that, you fool.
A sea of eyes watches. Overhead, the dome's starlight falls across them both, and their shadows stretch across the table, layered one over the other.
It did not. That was Earth's reflection on my visor.
Lucia's eyes find [player name]. Her lips move, just barely, before she seals them tight.
I told you back then, I'd only say it once.
I lied.
After that, there were so many times I wanted to say it again.
Lying awake at three in the morning in North Africa, I wanted to say it. Checking my gear before a mission, I wanted to say it. And when I saw those sunset photos you sent from the South Pacific... so terribly shot, honestly. But I still wanted to say it.
Because I said "only this once."
So I figured out another way.
Slowly, she draws her hand out from behind her back.
What?
The two stand face to face, each holding a delicate little box. Their expressions shift from shock into something far harder to name—somewhere between laughter and a sigh, mouths opening as if to speak, but no words coming out.
Joanne is already on the verge of tears. Ophelia's face flushes red, her laughter barely contained. And Adelyde's mouth gives the faintest twitch, which, by her standards, is practically a roar of laughter.
[player name]. Will you...
Someone starts clapping. The sound catches, spreading.
All across the hall, mouths open, breath drawn for a cheer—
But the joyful laughter dies in their throats.
Overhead, a deafening crash comes.
The dome of stars splits open at its center. Fractures spider outward in all directions. It's quick as lightning, fine as webbing, wrong as something clawing its way in from the other side.
Spread out!!
CRASH—
The dome's glass shatters into a million pieces, refracting blinding light in every direction, like a blizzard falling upward. The lights flicker, then everything goes dark.
And with the darkness comes something else: an eerie fog, rolling in.
White fog pours down through the fractured dome, flooding through every door, every window, every ventilation shaft.
It has texture and weight. Nothing like smoke or vapor, it slides across skin like cold silk, swelling as it moves, swallowing tables and silverware, devouring every last trace of light on the floor.
Screams, glass splintering—every sound gets caught in the thickening fog, warped, pushed farther and farther away.
What's happening?!
Her hand shoots out blindly, grasping for anyone within reach, and catches the fabric of Ophelia's sleeve.
Move! Joanne! The whole place is coming down!!
Just a second ago, Lucia and [player name] were right there, barely three steps off—ring boxes raised, wearing matching looks of stunned, goofy happiness.
Now the space is empty.
...Lucia?
Lucia!! [player name]!!
Her voice is swallowed whole by the white fog, like it's been thrown into an abyss made of cotton.
They were... they were just right here...
Don't panic! Stay together!
From beyond the hall, more sounds rise as if something is clawing its way up from underground, dragging with it the scream of twisting steel and the piercing shriek of dying electronics.
...Argh!
A sudden burn sears her palm. She looks down and sees her terminal writhe with blood-red symbols, its surface glowing like molten iron. Crimson current crackles outward, eating through her glove and biting into her skin.
She hurls it away without a thought.
AAAAGGHHH!
A scream tears through the air beside Joanne. She turns. A student wearing tactical goggles crumples to the ground, the lenses glowing crimson, searing into her eyes, her nose, melting through skin and bone like liquid corrosion.
Within seconds, her head dissolves into a spreading pool of blood.
!!!
Discard all your electronics!! Now!!
What the hell is this?! Is it an attack?!
No... This is not right...
The auditorium shudders as if its bones have snapped, swaying under the weight of deafening roars. Ophelia seizes Joanne by the hand and pulls her into a frantic run. Joanne stumbles forward with her in a daze.
She glances back at the nightmare unspooling behind them, and a terrible certainty grips her.
It's... it's the Zero-point Reactor!!
Zero-point? What are you talking about?!
BOOM—
Outside the window, across the square, the training mechs are moving. Ranked and orderly just moments ago, now their hulls ripple, armor buckling, tearing, resealing like muscle and membrane. Their limbs fold backward at impossible geometry.
Red current crackles from their joints, raw as torn veins. Cockpit glass bursts outward. The pilot seats lie empty, but the machines stand up anyway.
The moment the reactor connected to the power grid, if something propagated through... if it spread... that would explain the electronics...!
Save it for later! Run now!
Adelyde picks up a broken metal table leg from the floor. She hefts it once, testing the weight, then locks her grip around it.
Her right knee throbs with every step. She doesn't slow.
Drop your smart weapons! Do not touch any electronics!
Form up! Groups of three, whoever's closest to you! Grab anything you can use as a weapon!
Roger!
There's no arsenal in the hallway outside the auditorium, but F.O.S. students don't need one.
Table legs are wrenched loose. Steel tubes are snapped from chair backs. Dinner knives find their way into clenched fists, and ceramic vases are shattered against the floor with only the sharpest shards kept.
In under twenty seconds, every person still standing in the hall is armed.
The downed guard mechs have grenades. Old stock, still viable. One per squad. Do not use them without my command. Understood?
All squads, stay tight! We fall back to Prism Square!
Roger!!
—RAAARGH!!!
Come on, you monsters!!
The first Corrupted crawls out from a side passage and lunges straight for the students, only to be met with six steel pipes smashing down as one.
Three meet it head-on. Two seal the flanks. One watches the rear. It's the standard six-person close-quarters suppression formation, a mandatory first-year course at F.O.S.
This thing won't go down!
You don't need to kill it! Break the joints! Keep it off its feet!
By the time the second wave of Corrupted surges forward, the students have already fallen into a coordinated fighting retreat. The front rank engages. The rear rank observes. Every ten steps, fresh fighters rotate forward, and the wounded are pulled to the center.
Nobody ever trained them for this nightmare. But F.O.S. has trained them for everything.
ROAR!!!
Nngh!!
A giant Corrupted's tail drives clean through Nia's left side, smashing her back against a fallen pillar.
She's hit! Cover her! AAARGHHH—!!
A student lunges with a metal plate held high. The Corrupted pivots, striking sideways. Its pincer lashes out and cleaves through his left leg, clean as a blade through soft butter.
Ngh! Don't worry about me! Just go!!
Kuh... F.O.S... will never...
...leave anyone behind!!
Push together! Aim for the joints!!
—!!!
A jet of scorching steam bursts from the thing's metal joints, hurling two students backward.
The Corrupted raises its claw high, steps forward, and chops down viciously at the fallen student before it.
CLANG. The claw freezes inches from the student's face. The Corrupted snaps its head around; its tail, still speared through Nia and into the stone pillar behind her, is locked in her grip. It cannot advance.
Cough!!
Blood spills from Nia's mouth. Along the length of the tail impaling her, she forces her ruined body forward, inch after agonizing inch, closing the distance to the Corrupted's core.
Nia... first-class cadet of F.O.S., designation 374...!
She pulls a grenade from her belt and bites down on the pin, blood staining her teeth.
For tomorrow—!!
BOOOOOM!
The blast lands in every ear like a stone dropped into dead water, rippling through the chaos.
It reminds everyone still standing on that battlefield what hangs at their hips, and what their bodies are still capable of.
The Corrupted surge forward in waves of steel. One wave recedes, the next crashes in behind it, their metallic shrieks pressing in from all sides.
A second explosion rings out.
<size=40>First-class cadet Haniff, designation 264.</size>
<size=40>The Corrupted takes his right arm. With the last of his strength, he pulls the pin,</size>
<size=40>charges the two nearest Corrupted, and blows them all to pieces.</size>
<size=40>The third. First-class cadet Bieble, designation 197.</size>
<size=40>The fourth. Second-class cadet Sica, designation 367.</size>
<size=40>......</size>
<size=40>One after another, grenade blasts tear through the air, their echoes rolling across the chaos of the battlefield.</size>
<size=40>They use everything F.O.S. taught them, including themselves, to carve out the only path forward for their comrades.</size>
By the time they break through to the first floor, the group has shrunk by a full measure.
One more push through the training wing, and they'll spill out into Prism Square, which means open ground, room to breathe, a chance to break the stranglehold of fighting in corridors.
As the others prepare to move, Joanne drifts to the back of the line. Without a word, she peels away and walks the other way.
Joanne! Where do you think you're going?!
...
Joanne freezes mid-step. A pause. Then, reluctantly, she turns her head.
The [Crown] is still in the lab building. I have to get it out.
Are you insane?! That whole sector is swarmed!
If the [Crown] gets corrupted too, never mind the catastrophe it could cause... Sixteen years. The research, the data, everything everyone fought for... all of it will be gone.
How much sacrifice is poured into it... You grew up in the TEC. You know better than anyone what that means.
I have to get it to Lucia and [player name].
......
Ophelia's lips part. A retort rises, then dies before it reaches the air.
You couldn't even fight your way out of a paper bag. I'm coming with you.
She pulls the bandage taut across her right shoulder, breathes in deep, and heads into the shadows behind them.
Wait.
Adelyde...?
Adelyde holds her ground. Her eyes flick between Joanne and Ophelia, then settle on the lieutenant beside her.
Take everyone to the square. Regroup with the main force there.
...Where are you going?
The [Crown] is still in the lab building.
It'll be too dangerous for just the three of you. We can go with you.
No. You're going to the square.
Adelyde—
We cannot afford to lose the [Crown] or F.O.S. Three is enough for the lab building. But those things out there won't wait. Someone needs to cut a path to the square and cover the wounded along the way.
Her eyes sweep over the injured students at her back, then settle on the lieutenant.
You've been in the field longer than I have these years. Get everyone through this floor. I know you can.
What about you?
We'll go where we need to go. So will you.
The lieutenant falls silent for two seconds, then gives a single nod.
All of you... come back alive.
Yeah, we will.
The lieutenant turns and calls out to the group. The formation draws tight, and they begin their push toward the training area.
Ophelia watches Adelyde approach. A dozen sharp remarks sit ready on her lips. In the end, all that comes out is a click of her tongue.
...Can you even run on that knee?
It won't slow me down.
Tch. Right. Like I'm supposed to believe that.
Joanne raises her head. Her eyes find the two friends in front of her, and her nose prickles with the threat of tears.
Thank—
Save it. We're moving.
The three turn and rush toward the corridor that leads to the lab building.
