December 20, 2160
Night
That night, snowflakes began to drift down from the sky.
Vera walks through the falling snow and enters the military hospital. She removes her hat, gently brushing away the snowflakes that had settled on its brim.
How is he doing tonight?
He just finished dinner. His appetite remains unchanged. Like always, he spends his days eating, sleeping, and staring out the window after waking up. He hasn't spoken a word.
Oh, still refusing to speak.
His condition has completely stabilized. Technically speaking, we could consider discharging him... Are you going to continue keeping watch over him here?
I haven't found a better place for him yet. Besides, it would be best to have a proper conversation with him before any transfer.
Vera clutches her hat to her chest as she walks straight into the depths of the hospital, finally stopping at the window of the private room where she's been "monitoring" Haynes.
The middle-aged man in the room has recovered quite well, with only the horrific scars covering his body, a coating of melted flesh, bearing witness to what happened to him.
He sits on the bed, gazing into the far distance beyond the window, though there's nothing particularly worth mentioning out there.
Those scars make me uncomfortable every time I see them... Could someone really do something this brutal to themselves? For revenge, or to make a statement... to willingly throw themselves into a fire and end up like this?
Vera silently traces similar burn scars on her own forearm, then turns her gaze toward the doctor.
The thick layer of snow on her shoulders hasn't fully melted yet, and her eyes harbor an icy glint as cold as the snow outside.
If someday I needed to achieve something important enough, and this was the price I had to pay... I could probably do it too.
...No, Vera. You can't.
Don't worry, Gwynneth. I won't end up like him.
For him to end up like this, he must have made many selfish and self-righteous choices along the way. But I'm not that stupid, I definitely wouldn't "sacrifice" myself while also endangering the safety of others.
Besides... I absolutely refuse to sympathize with a criminal suspect.
As if he heard something, the man in the hospital room turns his head toward the door, locking eyes directly with Vera.
...
He looks like he wants to say something.
A flicker of excitement flashes through Vera's eyes, caught by the doctor.
...From what I understand, your mission is simply to stay here and monitor him, isn't it?
I think... it would be better if you didn't interact with him too much?
Looking at Vera, the doctor once again viscerally experiences her unfiltered sharpness.
As rare as a burning snowflake, yet just as likely to meet a calamitous end and melt away, breaking apart.
The doctor suddenly feels anxious, worried that Vera might develop some sort of bond with the suspect.
She reaches out, trying to stop her, but Vera immediately pulls the door handle open.
Vera walks in right before the doctor's eyes, casually hanging her coat on a nearby rack.
...Vera, don't.
Don't worry, I just want to learn more about his situation.
Click.
Vera gently closes the door, not only keeping the doctor outside, but habitually locking it, trapping herself inside with the suspect.
...You're back again.
The man's voice is hoarse, his vocal cords scorched by the fire.
We see each other every day. But this is the first time you've initiated conversation with me. Has something special happened?
Nothing important. I just want an apple. This fruit platter has been sitting here for two days, but I can't peel them, so I can't eat them.
The man points to the fruit platter on the shelf.
You're quite demanding, wanting your fruit peeled and all.
Vera sits by the hospital bed, drawing the military knife she always carries. She slowly peels an apple while humming a tune, just like an ordinary family member looking after a patient.
{226|153|170}~
What song is that?
I made it up. Don't worry about it.
...
I've been wanting to talk with you. You're the one who saved me from the fire, but I never found the right moment to thank you.
You know how it is with burns, they hurt like hell. For two months now, I've just been enduring it here day after day.
The man gestures toward Vera's injured arm—she had rolled up her sleeve to peel the apple, revealing scars that had never been properly treated.
I believe you're someone who understands.
Vera glances up at the man without responding. Her hands move deftly, quickly removing the skin and cutting the apple into equal pieces, which she arranges on the fruit platter.
Help yourself.
I knew it. I can tell you're different from those who casually slaughter like they're butchering animals, even though you work in the same slaughterhouse.
Haha... Just because I cut some fruit for you? Has no one ever done something like this for you before?
No. Those upright-walking creatures out there are either stupid livestock waiting for slaughter or butchers sharpening their knives. No one's willing to do small favors like that.
I didn't expect the "Golden Age" would look so wretched to you.
What about you? The fact that you understand me despite being surrounded by calm seas... You must have had similar experiences, right?
Vera takes a piece of apple from the platter and pops it into her mouth. She chews slowly, considering how to respond to his probing.
She could easily refuse to delve deeper into her own story, but she wants to extract more information—she needs to keep the ball rolling.
As for me...
It might disappoint you, but I'm quite young and my life experiences are rather ordinary, not much different from the common Golden Age life you're familiar with.
Born to ordinary parents, had an ordinary birth, received an ordinary education. When I got a bit older, I chose to enroll where I am now, as you can see.
Was your family good to you?
Very good. They raised me, cared for my health, and provided plenty of guidance with my studies.
Isn't that just a parent's duty?
That's what duty means in broad terms. As for other details... when I was little, they would wake up early to prepare my breakfast, take me to school, and tell me bedtime stories at night.
Did anyone help you comb your hair?
Vera's response falters for a moment—just half a second.
Yes, they even braided it.
Did they stay in touch with your teachers?
Yes, they'd check in about my progress every month.
The man breaks into a wide grin.
You're making this up, aren't you?
Did your family die when you were young? Then you struggled your way to the military academy because it was your best shot at putting food on the table, wasn't it?
...
Vera smiles as well.
Are you trying to take control of this conversation? Pretty confident for someone trapped in a hospital room with me.
Just look at your lies. They're painfully obvious.
Just as a poor person can't imagine the limits of a rich life, your story is riddled with holes—
You've never been loved.
...
See, I was just about to say that. People cut from the same cloth can always spot each other in a crowd.
I have a friend with a story pretty similar to yours. I could tell you about it, if you'd like to hear.
Without waiting for Vera's response, the man begins his tale, gesturing animatedly as he speaks.
This story is indeed far more authentic than Vera's, rich with details that fuel his non-stop monologue for half an hour—nothing more than a familiar tale of childhood bullying, teenage disappointment, and resigned young adulthood... a life filled with perceived injustice and bitter resentment.
...and I just kept enduring all that unfair treatment, suffering the same injustices even as I got older.
Hmm... "I have a friend."
Vera tosses another piece of apple into her mouth, knowing it would brown if she didn't eat it soon.
I was ready to let go of all that... all that prejudice and injustice I'd suffered, because I got into the best laboratory at the time, working under Liston... that golden boy...
But he was as cold and heartless as his research! He modified himself like that, yet still paraded around pretending to be respectable, always chasing publicity stunts for profit. I despised him, yet had no choice but to work under him.
I thought I could tune out this "background noise," but then he came directly to me, dismissed my achievements, questioned my methods, and completely disposed of all my experimental samples...
Vera stops chewing.
Were those illegally obtained corpses? Where did you find them?
I scraped together what little money I had and struggled to find channels to purchase the samples. In the end, he slapped me with serious accusations, confiscated all my samples, and lectured me about how "respecting life is a principle that must never be forgotten."
To evolve, aren't "principles" the very limitations that should be broken through?
...
The man excitedly extends both hands toward Vera, as if seeking her approval, but she sidesteps to avoid his touch.
I once felt fortunate to have found my true love in my work—I viewed those results, those samples as my amour, never expecting that someone like Liston would take everything away from me, time and time again.
They shouldn't have done that. They'll inevitably pay the price.
So I gave them what they deserved... Only Liston... Liston is all that remains...
The man's "story" matches almost perfectly with the information Hilda provided.
Vera silently plays the role of a "listener." In the two months she's been watching him, this is the first time the man has spoken so freely, unexpectedly eager to confess his motives and crimes the moment he opened his mouth.
Why?
...Why?
Why would you confess everything about yourself to me, Haynes?
Oh, I understand your confusion—you're here to monitor me. If I confess my actions, what likely awaits me is arrest or even death...
But compared to whatever might happen to me in the future, I care more about being understood right now. Understood by you.
I crave this sense of approval.
All this just for my approval? I never expected my acknowledgment would be worth such valuable self-incrimination.
Vera's fingertips tap lightly against her thigh as she suddenly notices a slight unease in her chest—this sensation always appears whenever her intuition tells her something is wrong.
She discreetly wipes and retrieves the military knife she had placed on the fruit tray, instinctively scanning the hospital room: ordinary furniture, medical equipment functioning normally, a locked door, and a window cracked slightly open for ventilation...
What's wrong here?
The window... For the past two months, you've been constantly staring outside, barely speaking a word.
What are you looking at?
As she speaks, Vera rises and walks to the window, closing the gap where cold air is flowing in.
A couple of snowflakes drift onto the back of her hand, their iciness heightening her vigilance.
She gazes into the darkness outside, finding nothing particularly noteworthy except for the shining indicator lights lining both sides of the road at night.
It's not any specific direction I'm looking at. I'm watching out for a certain "future."
A certain "future"?
The so-called technological turning point of human civilization's fate—"Zero-point Energy," or... the "Eden Project." You must have heard of it, the name of that grand scheme even children can recite.
What do you think will happen to this world after zero-point energy is ignited? What kind of future... will human civilization move toward?
Will it be a new leap forward, or a leap straight into destruction?
...
You can't see it with eyes like yours, a gaze that can't even perceive yourself... Let me tell you what I see.
The man struggles to get out of the hospital bed. His physical condition is nowhere near ready for walking, yet he insists on performing this ungainly act.
He moves toward the window, drawing closer to Vera.
Your eyes are filled with ambition, exactly like mine once were. That's why I understand you.
But you don't understand yet that humanity will ultimately perish on the road to fulfilling its ambitions.
This is the "future" I've seen... Just as every industrial revolution brought unbearable costs, zero-point energy will inevitably exact a new cost on humanity.
If they don't "evolve" alongside this new revolution, then ordinary humans... those swine will simply stand helplessly, waiting for disaster to descend upon them, like sheep to a slaughter.
Vera's fingertips touch the window as her vision blurs momentarily. She seems to catch a fleeting flash of red light outside.
So... hold onto that ambition of yours. With just a touch of evolution, you can easily wade across that river...
Like replacing this fragile flesh, removing the inferior genes within it, and substituting them with...
Replace them with your experimental specimens? Those monstrosities that are neither human nor beast? Or should I follow your example and throw myself into the flames?
A sense of urgency spikes in Vera's chest, perhaps triggered by the strange red light she glimpsed outside the window moments ago.
Tell me, why doesn't your DNA match "Haynes" dossier? What did you do?
This is merely a small step in evolutionary filtering. You could do it too, if you wanted.
...Our conversation ends here.
The roundabout conversation finally ends as Vera walks toward the door—all signs convince her to report this immediately.
Even without tangible evidence, she can confirm that the disaster at that building originated with this man.
Her instincts tell her this guy needs a higher grade of containment.
She reaches for the hospital room door, preparing to leave.
—Are you sure you want to open that door?
！
The communicator at her waist suddenly buzzes with a highest-priority assembly message from the Academy, triggering alongside the hospital's alarms.
WOOOOOO—
Looking at the brief message on her communicator, Vera can't make out any details. The situation is unknown, yet extremely urgent.
Even students like them who haven't yet graduated must prepare to deploy to the frontlines.
Wait, something's wrong...!
Haynes, sit back down immediately, or I'll enforce restrictive measures against you!
Strange hissing screams echo from the hallway as Vera quickly ducks to the side of the door, watching the man shuffle obediently back to his hospital bed.
Is this your doing?
Of course not. Look at the state I'm in. How could I possibly cause such widespread chaos?
Perhaps this has validated what I said earlier: "Humanity will ultimately perish on the road to fulfilling its ambitions."
...
A nugget of realization explodes in Vera's mind, like the instant of zero-point energy ignition in some distant, unknown place.
A scream of agony echoes through the hallway outside.
Ah!
Gwynneth?!
Vera stops hesitating, drawing her blade, and reaching for the door handle. If battle approaches, she must go there, to the frontline.
But a heavy "thud" sounds from beyond the door. Someone has collapsed at the entrance, desperately pressing against it to prevent Vera from leaving.
Don't come out... Vera, don't come out...!
What the hell is happening out there?! This place is supposed to be near a high-security military base! What kind of attack is this? I need information!!
...Maybe it's the machines... the machines have all gone mad.
Ahh... it hurts so much... it's over for me...
You're hurt? Let go right now! Let me out!
Hurry and escape through the window, stay away from crowded areas... I suspect it's some kind of virus... I can't figure out anything else...
Listen to me one more time... Vera, promise me... don't ever... break yourself... for anything...
You're too—AAAAGGHHH!
Vera presses against the window, staring in horror at the scene outside—she witnesses something unimaginable, exactly as the doctor described: the crazed machines, glowing red, slicing through the doctor's body.
Doctor! Doctor!! Gwynneth!!
Hahahahaha... Look at you! You can't save her!
—! Open it! Open it now!!!
The doctor's corpse no longer blocks the door, but just as Vera is about to burst through, the "crazed machines" from outside slam against it from the other side.
The hospital room door shudders violently, on the verge of giving way.
Vera steps back, her eyes flickering with disbelief.
The window... yes, we'll escape through the window!
Hahahahaha...
You lunatic! Follow me if you don't want to die!
Vera grabs the man by his collar and drags him toward the window, smashing the glass with her elbow.
As the snow and wind rush in, the glowing red machines simultaneously smash through the hospital room door.
Move it!
Vera forcefully lifts the man by his collar, trying to hoist him onto the windowsill, but meets unexpected resistance.
At a time like this, where do you think you can run to!
Hahaha... I'm not running. Turn around and look. Just for a moment.
Vera places one foot on the windowsill and slowly turns her head to look at the scene inside the room.
Vera sees that the man has somehow produced a knife, pointing it at his own throat. It's not her military blade, but what appears to be a fruit knife he had hidden away earlier.
Behind the man stands a horde of frenzied mechanoids—later known as the "Corrupted."
They huddle together, stained with the blood of doctors, eagerly lunging toward the two humans before them.
Vera's eyes widen as she takes in the twisted scene before her.
The man, satisfied with the emotions in Vera's eyes, reveals an equally twisted smile as his throat squeezes out one final laugh—a laugh of profound glee and satisfaction.
You see... this is what human ambition always leads to in the end.
Your sharpness, too, will inevitably be dulled until you reach the tragic end that awaits you.
—STOP!!
Grrr!
Snikt.
Those few seconds stretch into infinity... The blade pierces his burn-scarred neck, a flower of blood blooming from the wound.
Hot blood sprays out, splattering across Vera's cheeks, quickly chilled by the rushing snow and wind.
...
...
Drip. Drop.
Drip. Drop.
2160, the curtain of the apocalypse is violently torn apart, its fragments scattering across the ground before Vera:
Spraying blood, snow and wind rushing through shattered windows, hordes of Corrupted, and the corpse of a man who died in satisfaction by his own hand.
...
No... It shouldn't be... like this...
Something passionate cools with the snow and wind. Perhaps it's the 17-year-old Vera, or the ambition unique to a young girl, or perhaps the glory of an entire era.
Port
Year 2161
Year 2161, Port.
A few scattered seagulls fly low overhead, looking down upon the humans scrambling to prepare below.
This is the last shipment. Once everything's moved out, we'll never return to this port again.
I heard Punishing is spreading this way. This place will probably fall too... What kind of thing is it that the entire world can't stop it from destroying everything?
Tch, this world is garbage anyway. If it's gonna end, then let it end. Whatever happens, happens.
The Port Manager tallies the final assets, roughly striking through items on the screen.
I guess we might be considered lucky. At least someone's willing to pay good money for useless cargo at a time like this—those abandoned embryos... and other samples like that.
Who the hell knows what the new big boss wants these for... Whatever. No matter what, we still need to deliver these goods safely to the designated location as requested.
Who's this big boss you're talking about?
I heard it's Kurono.
That's not surprising. They definitely have money to burn.
Let's drop it. Looks like we can set sail on time. Are you coming aboard?
I'm not leaving. My wife and kids are here. If that damn Punishing really is going to swallow this city, I'd rather stay and die with my family.
...
Oh right, the higher-ups told me someone's supposed to come aboard this morning. Make sure to verify his identity when he arrives. We can't have another arson incident like what happened at headquarters.
What's his name?
Let me see... Someone named "Haynes"? Yes, Haynes. Has he arrived yet?
...That guy? He's right behind you. Been sitting on those stone steps for ages.
The Port Manager turns around in surprise, coming face to face with a middle-aged man.
Seabirds circle overhead as the middle-aged man gives the Port Manager a brief nod before returning his gaze to the departing vessel.
When he first arrived this morning, he was sobbing uncontrollably over the cargo... those samples. Kept saying he'd never abandon his "children"... something about his "beloved"...
I think he might be mentally unstable. Are you sure the higher-ups want him on that ship?
This...
The Port Manager's gaze shifts downward to the middle-aged man's ankle, where a tattoo-like code is visible. The numbers there indeed match the information he received.
It's definitely him... I suppose scientists are all strange in their own way.
Besides, so what if he's crazy? This world's already insane enough, one more madman won't make any difference.
Hey! You! Haynes?
...
The middle-aged man turns his head again.
Get on board! Keep an eye on your precious children!
...Not just my children, but my own continued existence... is in there too. I'll watch over them carefully.
Whatever you say—hurry up and board, we're leaving!
