Story Reader / Floating Record / ER11 Begin Anew / Story

All of the stories in Punishing: Gray Raven, for your reading pleasure. Will contain all the stories that can be found in the archive in-game, together with all affection stories.
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ER11-16 "Brother"

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Machines, Horst hates machines the most.

Pallid bed sheets, cold fluorescent lights, the acrid smell of disinfectant... along with the constant mechanical beeping of monitoring equipment and the irritating creaking of rehabilitation devices.

All of this constitutes the entirety of Horst Schmidt's memories for the past two years.

At first, he writes in his diary about the day's events, his feelings, and his wishes for tomorrow. However, after just a few months, this practice loses all meaning.

Because every day, he can only write down one sentence—"Today: medication, injections, rehabilitation exercises."

The only thing he can look forward to is the weekly visiting hours, those moments when his parents appear in his hospital room—even if they can only stay with him for a short while.

But today's visiting hours are almost over, and their familiar figures have yet to appear.

Could something have delayed them on the way...? Horst wonders groggily, his mind clouded by the side effects of his medication.

...

In his drowsy state, he seems to hear his parents' voices—fragmented and interrupted, mingled with the doctor's voice. From their tone, it sounds like they are arguing about something.

Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt, your son's condition has shown significant improvement after treatment. Given more time, complete recovery is entirely possible.

This child has been so brave all this time. To give up now... it would be such a terrible waste!

Hmph, nearly three years of treatment, so much money spent, and he still can't even get out of bed.

My efforts were wasted on him. He's a disgrace to our family!

Even if he's discharged, who knows what lasting effects he'll have? Am I supposed to take care of him for the rest of my life?

If that happens, just imagine how people would mock our family. We'd be better off pretending we never had a son!

Once we've spent the last of our money, don't ask us for anything else—whether he's cured or not.

Horst

...

No, Dad, Mom, don't give up on me... I want to live...

He wants to cry out, but no sound escapes his parched throat. Fear washes over his foggy mind.

In the darkness, what appear to be the silhouettes of his father and mother materialize before his eyes. He tries to reach out and touch them, but their figures remain forever beyond his grasp.

He can't decipher the expressions on his parents' faces. Is it weariness? Indifference? Or... disgust?

Sigh. Poor kid.

The doctor's voice reaches him faintly as Horst slips back into unconsciousness.

After that conversation between his parents and the doctor, Horst has never received another visit from them.

Horst, your parents have been very busy lately and haven't had time to visit. But they're very concerned about you. You just focus on getting better, all right?

All right. Thank you, Doctor. Please tell my father and mother... I miss them so much.

Horst doesn't expose this clumsy yet well-intentioned lie. Instead, he retrieves the diary he hasn't touched for a long time.

<size=42>"Today: Took medicine, got injections, worked hard in rehab, asked doctor for extra exercises."</size>

<size=42>"Today: Halved pain meds, stepped up rehab exercises, challenged myself to be independent in daily tasks."</size>

<size=42>"Today: In pain, but chose to refuse painkillers. Requested removal of the support braces."</size>

<size=42>...</size>

<size=42>"Today, completed discharge procedures."</size>

Horst stands at the hospital entrance, tugging at his coat that refuses to fit properly no matter how he adjusts it.

He stands at the hospital entrance from early morning until noon before finally catching sight of his father coming to pick him up.

Through the curtain of rain, the car winds along the mountain road. Inside, nothing breaks the awkward silence except for the faint hum of the engine.

A three-year gap exists in Horst's memories of living with his father. Though he sits once more in the familiar car seat, an unshakable sense of unease lingers.

Dad...

Hm?

I-I just wanted to say that from now on, I'll work harder than before. I won't disappoint you again...

Don't just talk the talk, Horst. Follow through on your words with actions.

Make yourself presentable. When we get home, I'll introduce you to your younger brother.

Younger brother?

His father doesn't respond, continuing to focus his gaze on the road ahead.

My efforts were wasted on him. He's a disgrace to our family!

If that happens, just imagine how people would mock our family. We'd be better off pretending we never had a son!

That's just reality, Horst. You'll understand.

Horst, don't upset your father. You need to be sensible.

Right, that's wonderful, Dad!

The car drives into the family courtyard. This is Horst's first time setting foot here in three years. His mother walks out upon hearing their arrival, then gestures for a child behind her to come forward.

Welcome home, brother.

His "little brother" is not some cute, rosy-cheeked baby. Upon seeing a figure identical to himself, Horst's gaze freezes—

Come here, Horst. This is your brother, Dennis.

I finally get to meet you, brother! I'm so happy. I've been so eager to see you.

Same height, same features—he stands before Horst like a reflection in a mirror, wearing a dutiful smile and opening his arms for a hug.

He notices a QR code on the other's neck, along with a glaring line of small text—"Leibowitz Limited. Household Android MTHD-III Model."

...T-this is... an android?!

Dennis maintains his friendly, proper smile, while that face, all too identical to his own, utterly repulses Horst.

Why... why would you do something like this?!

How can he look identical to me? This is revolting!

Horst, you need to learn to control your emotions. You're grown up now—you can't keep being willful like you were as a child.

Perhaps you should learn some of Dennis's good sense and politeness.

I don't want this piece of scrap metal as my brother! It's just a monster that looks like me!

You... you... why would you do this to me?!

That's enough, Horst! Is this how you speak to your parents?

Go to the storage room and cool off. When you've realized your mistake, come back and properly apologize to us.

His father shoves him into the storage room as if he were picking up a baby chick. As the door closes, Horst can still hear the voice of that damned android.

Mom, Dad, please don't be angry. Horst might just not be feeling well. I promise I'll be his best friend.

Dad, I've already made you coffee. Mom, I've tidied up my room as well. I'll go continue my piano practice for today now.

What a good boy you are,?Dennis.

Horst is so hungry—he hasn't had any lunch or dinner. The aroma of food and coffee wafts in from outside, along with the sound of piano music.

Eventually, all those sounds fade away. It's bedtime now, but Horst remains locked in the dark, cold storage room.

Horst feels like an unwanted stranger in his own home. There's no place for him anymore.

Why? Why does that metal head with its worthless chip get praised for being "well-behaved and polite" just for spouting a few pre-programmed lines? Does he deserve it? Is he even human? He...

Horst spends the entire night consumed by rage, but when he's finally released from the storage room the next morning, his hunger overpowers his anger.

What should you say now, Horst?

I-I'm sorry, Mom... Dad. I know I was wrong... I shouldn't have treated Dennis like that.

Meanwhile, that disgusting android stands next to Horst's parents, still wearing its perfect smile.

It's okay, Horst.

Hmm, I suppose that's barely acceptable. Clean yourself up properly—your face is filthy. I can hardly stand to look at you.

I'll go wash up now... Dennis, I'll come find you later, and then we can play a new game together.

Okay.

Standing on the rooftop, Horst carefully peeks down to gauge the height. This should be high enough, he thinks. With his parents away from home, it's the perfect time to "play a game."

Hey, Dennis, the game starts now. Jump down from here.

But what kind of game is this? Why should I jump down? I might get hurt.

No, it won't hurt. Just jump onto that tree over there. Let's play a game—you be the criminal, and I'll be the police officer. You jump down, and then I'll catch you.

Got it? Then hurry up and jump! What are you waiting for?

Okay.

The android leaps forward, jumping toward the tree in the courtyard. The still-growing branches clearly cannot withstand the impact of an android falling from such a height.

A loud crack followed by the thud of a heavy object hitting the ground echoes through the air. Horst walks to the scene, satisfied to see the android lying on the ground with twisted limbs.

Hmph, stupid tin can. Not so smug now, are you?

If Mom and Dad ask what happened, tell them you fell by accident. Got it?

Under...stood... Ho...rst...

What Horst doesn't realize is that his parents have returned home early and witnessed the entire scene.

Explain yourself! Why would you do such a thing?! Were you trying to kill him?!

How did you turn out like this? I never should have given birth to a child like you!

You're grounded, Horst. I don't want to see you for the next week.

Dennis, are you alright?

Come with us to the company dinner tonight instead of staying home alone.

I'm fine, Dad. I've already run my self-repair program. Everything's working properly now.

A company dinner? That's wonderful! Can I play the piano there? I practiced some new pieces yesterday.

Of course you can. Oh, and when you introduce yourself tonight, tell everyone your name is "Horst." Be a good boy and remember that, alright?

I'll remember, Dad.

Horst stands there watching them chat happily together, feeling like nothing more than a piece of furniture in this home.

That android has stolen his parents' love, his position in the family, and now even his name.

What brother?! This isn't a person!! This is just a dis—gus—ting MA—CHINE!!!

You shut your mouth! You're no son of ours.

His parents' eyes have never looked so unfamiliar. This place is no longer his home.

Fine then! Let this worthless heap of metal be your son instead!

Hey, tinhead, go ahead and make your "mom and dad" proud. When they're dying, you'd better stay right by their side!

Horst screams these words until his voice breaks, then bolts out the door without looking back.

Many years later, Horst realized that those words had, in some sense, sounded the death knell for Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt.

Later that day, as the Punishing Virus strikes, the android with the surname "Schmidt" carries out the final instruction it received from its young master.

On a street filled with haywire mechanoids and blood, Horst once again sees Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt—or what remains of their broken bodies.

Their dear son "Horst" is by their side, continuously calling out "Mom and Dad."

All the while, he is methodically tearing the bodies of the two humans in evening wear into pieces.

When they die, I'll stay right by their side.

Mom and Dad... are finally dead now.

Horst turns to face the real Horst, red eyes glowing intensely as they lock onto him, his neck emitting creaking mechanical grinding sounds.

The mechanical grinding continues to echo—the sound of the Clown's factory manufacturing Corrupted.

The memory abruptly ends. Horst deeply despises mechanoids, and yet ironically, this hatred grants him unmatched insight into their internal structures—like how to best dismantle and exploit them.

Leibowitz, of course, recognizes his talent in this area and recruits him as a senior manager.

Are you done yet?

There seems to be some issues with the factory's detonation program...

After "Gwynplaine" was blasted by Jetavie's shot, he started heading back to the factory on instinct.

The factory's existence is direct evidence that Horst deliberately manufactured Corrupted to attack company-owned cities.

To prevent others from detecting "Gwynplaine's" movements, Horst must destroy this factory ahead of schedule.

Is. It. Done. Yet?

He asks, enunciating each word separately, as the grinding gears amplify the anxiety churning within him.

All set. I'm ready, but we need to synchronize the detonation with Jack and Paul's teams.

Tell those two to hurry up.

004802 to 004803 and 004801, requesting synchronized status reports on your control stations.

No response. Horst's brow twitches with unease.

He glances back over his shoulder—gone. Of the guards he brought with him, not a single one remains.

His hair stands on end.

Sir, maybe we should detonate them now—AAGH—

The subordinate's body vanishes into the darkness.

Hahahahaha...

So fun... so much fun...

I want more... I want more "dance partners"... Hahaha!

Dance! Dance!

In the dim light, the clown's surroundings come into view—"dance partners" sprawled everywhere, with rivers of dark red blood flowing into the darkness.

The "clown" changes direction, staggering unsteadily toward Horst.

Gwynplaine

Dance! Dance with me!

NINTH DIRECTIVE—CONSCIOUSNESS SUPPRESSION COMMAND: EXECUTE

TENTH DIRECTIVE—EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN COMMAND: EXECUTE

COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED COMMAND REJECTED

The "clown" draws closer, ...his body spinning frantically like the high-speed saw whirling in his hand.

Hahahahaha...

Nnngh—!!!

Spin—round—and—round—with—me—

Amidst the ruins of the Machine Factory, the "clown" continues his waltz.

He holds Horst's hand and spins round and round at the center of the factory, as if it were the stage for a gruesome waltz. They slide across a floor slick with blood and strewn with corpses.

However, his "dance partner" can no longer follow his steps.

Because the lifeless, shattered remains of Horst are unable to witness this scene—

The clown clutches Horst's cold, rigid arm, continuing his frenzied dance.

Until the day when this Machine Factory and this city are completely forgotten by humanity.