Mako-3 awakened!
！！！
Captain! There's also—
...Did you just say, "Captain"?
...
Only after seeing a group of white-coated staff gathered around the experiment bed does Lloyd realize what he shouted the moment he woke up.
Condensation liquid drips down steadily as he opens his mouth to make excuses, but he is instantly restrained to the experiment bed by support equipment.
Mako-3's memory data purge was incomplete! Requesting deep cleanse protocol! If necessary...
Let go of me!
The severely wounded Construct's strength is no match for the mechanical arm. He's pinned down firmly as someone quickly twists his neck to the side and removes the data chip from the top of his spine.
His vision immediately goes black, as if someone has pressed the power button on the world.
His data streams drift aimlessly in dark, heavy waters, all struggles buried within this void.
Invisible hands tear at his data, determined to rip away, crush, and reduce to nothing everything he cherishes.
Get lost! I refuse to be your Mako-3, contributing to your selfish experiments—the entire Las Prados region is just your laboratory!
This seems to be the first time he has roared with such fury.
The data cleansing begins. He feels a part of himself being hollowed out, like a doll's limbs being torn apart with stuffing flying everywhere—data belonging to the "Gray Mako fire team" is dissipating.
No, no, no, no...! Don't erase them! I must keep the Captain... keep Mako-1 and Mako-2...
He recalls the Gray Mako Fire Team again, his anchor to reality.
...No... If I have to choose, I still want to go back to Gray Mako. I don't want to be a hero who stands alone. I just want to live a good life with them.
Even if I have to continue being Mako-3... that's fine.
But Mako-1 and Mako-2 were already shattered beyond repair, crumbling apart in his very hands, their M.I.N.D. completely destroyed, their data chips lost forever.
He knows their fate better than anyone.
No... there's no going back. They're completely dead. Even if they formed a new "Gray Mako Fire Team," it would never be the same squad.
He sees it clearly now. He's lost all his family and friends, and the other Construct comrades waiting on deck might also be suspected and purged because of today's failed operation.
No one is left to support him, and he himself, "Lloyd," has been discovered and is about to be deeply purged as well.
What do I have left?
Is all that's left the shattered shoulder plate of Mako-2 that I'm desperately clutching?
Data floats and sinks, disrupted, as invisible hands tear away more and more—he can feel his memories diminishing, even knowledge of who he is and where he exists being washed away completely.
He finally loses his composure, letting out an anguished wail, nearly begging through his tears.
I am Lloyd, please don't kill me.
"Lloyd's" data isn't just being purged, it's being dismembered.
His limbs and bones, internal organs, emotions and desires, all of it is scattered to different places. His rage, his sorrow, his fear, they are all dispersed elsewhere.
Only he himself is no longer within his shell.
Reactivate!
Intense light floods into his visual module again. Surrounded by white brightness, he's disoriented as someone shakes and pats him.
Look at me and answer my questions: Who are you? Where are you?
He wishes for death, but the empty shell continues to function.
...I am Mako-3 of the Gray Mako Fire Team. I'm in Babylonia, undergoing routine maintenance.
Everything seems fine on my end. How are the data monitoring results?
The technician on the other side raises a hand, signaling that everything is normal.
Data monitoring shows no abnormalities.
Phew! Good thing the deep purge worked. I was worried there might be something fundamentally wrong with your hardware.
...
...I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean.
Doesn't matter if you understand or not. Your routine maintenance is finished. Get out, there are others waiting.
Okay.
"Lloyd" is gone.
Mako-3 returns to the Gray Mako Fire Team. Meanwhile, the decommissioned Mako-1 and Mako-2 have had their call signs taken over by new Constructs.
After the deep purge, Mako-3 is just like before, quiet and efficient.
He occasionally exchanges a few words with his teammates, deducing that these two "new" squad members were thawed from Babylonia's cold storage and converted into Constructs—nothing unusual about that, it's how everyone gets here.
The Gray Mako Fire Team continues carrying out missions as usual, transported to various locations to execute operations, fighting against the Corrupted and contesting Earth with the Punishing.
Time marches on, enough that even the grandest of visions have rusted into gray obscurity.
That day, the Gray Mako Fire Team was deployed to the ruins of central Las Prados. After what seemed like a routine reconnaissance mission, Mako-3 failed to board the transport for evacuation.
Mako-3 went missing.
Signal tracking shows he remains somewhere in Las Prados. In response, Madam Monzano from Babylonia dispatches <b><ud><color=#34aff8ff><link=22>Sergeant Eleanor</link></color></ud></b> to lead Mako-1 and Mako-2 on a recovery operation for the missing squad member.
The mission's outcome is—Mako-1 and Mako-2 perished in the dense Punishing energy.
However, Sergeant Eleanor returns with Mako-3's data chip, claiming she witnessed in him the potential for successful Recall technology.
Faced with Eleanor's "suggestion," Madam Monzano doesn't hesitate, she'll grasp at any straw.
Let's file away this leftover combat data from Mako-3 for the time being.
Madam Monzano takes the chip from her hand, then slots it into the central hub with a resolute click.
It holds the shattered memories and combat records of more than a thousand fallen "volunteers".
The longing for Babylonia, the dream of reclaiming Earth, and even the smallest flickers of emotion... they're all stored in these tiny chips.
And so ends the story of Mako-3, along with the long-absent "Lloyd," both now silent within the central hub...
...Or is it?
Recall experiment log, entry 128: New frame allocation successful. Data transfer successful. Awakening successful.
Welcome, Mako-3.
...
Where am I?
Babylonia Recall Laboratory.
Mako-3 steps out of the vertical sleeping pod, raising his hand to touch the data chip at the top of his spine.
Yes, I am Mako-3.
He looks around. Staff members move between human cryogenic chambers, cultivation dishes, and construct sleeping pods. New constructs awaken at any moment, but no one pays attention to this utterly ordinary corner of the facility.
Transfer data to this frame, execute immediately.
He recites a command, and the Central Hub tacitly approves his action—transferring all data from the data chip into the internal frame. This works, but it means he's giving up the ability to transfer his data by plugging and unplugging the chip. He will be limited to this single body.
Data transfer complete.
Okay. Am I rejoining my squad now? Still with the Gray Mako Squad, continuing as Mako-3?
Yes, new frames have already been matched for callsigns Mako-1 and Mako-2.
They've thawed two more volunteers, subjected them to modifications, wiped their memory data, all so they can serve as the next Mako team members... but what's the point of all this?
...
I don't need this anymore.
He reaches up and removes the now-useless data chip from above his spine, deliberately inserting it back into the Central Hub. All data has already transferred into his body, but he knows the chip still contains something "useful."
Afterward, he strides toward the ascending elevator, a direct lift to the Construct combat squad preparation deck.
He gives a subtle wave, and several Constructs who have just completed routine maintenance exchange glances before joining him in the elevator, all waiting together for new mission assignments.
But in the second before the elevator doors close.
Oh, I almost forgot to mention.
...
The Central Hub doesn't engage in conversation, and the staff passing by the elevator can't hear this softly spoken message. It falls like a gray feather, gently settling onto the cold laboratory floor.
"Lloyd" has already spread—during those 103 ant-like explorations.
The elevator doors close. He suddenly breaks from his rigid military posture, bowing formally toward the people in the laboratory.
The other Constructs in the elevator realize that Mako-3 has declared the beginning of their rebellion, and they clench their fists in unison.
This is from when I was still human... before the Punishing virus outbreak, a ritual from my pitiful family. During those declining years of the Golden Age, my family fell from grace alongside it, so I witnessed this ceremony many times.
It's a funeral rite.
Warning! Warning!
Recall experiment log, entry 129: Allocation disruption, Subject Zero's personality exhibits infection traits!
Punishing virus warning!
The quarantine protocols in the laboratory begin to blare as the previously steady green lights flood into red like a tide: a wave of the Punishing virus washes through, and warning red lights surge up in unison.
Meanwhile, Mako-3, along with the Constructs who have embraced his "ideology," has already stepped onto the maintenance deck.
They stride quickly toward the transport ship, raising their hands high. Some Constructs look over at them, their vocalization devices emitting low murmurs.
I am...
Mako-3, at the head of the group, has many words trapped in his chest, unable to voice them. He hasn't tried shouting before and needs a moment to adapt to this new sensation.
I am...
I am—Lloyd!
I have not died, and I never will!
He roars these words, his gaze now unflinching and resolute.
I am Lloyd! I have not died, and I never will!
We will leave Babylonia! We'll escape this fabricated testing ground and journey to the true new world! The new world exists!!
A single battle cry awakens in everyone a long-forgotten yearning for the "new world."
That dreamlike vision never dissipated, even after the original Lloyd was completely purged. Despite the Constructs present now being new souls who have inherited their designations countless times over, none have stopped passing on the yearning for freedom and a better existence.
Everyone's memory data has been wiped clean—no origins remain, no destinations exist... but from now on, everyone is Lloyd!
The Constructs take a hesitant half-step forward, then, encouraged by him, venture one step further, then two.
The edge of the old world is just beyond the edges of Las Prados! I've seen it with my own eyes, there's no high concentration of Punishing outside! All our missions were nothing but experiments conducted on us! We're all just test subjects for Babylonia!
They've frozen countless residents in storage. Whenever a "Construct expendable" is lost in the testing zone, they simply thaw out another human, modify them into a Construct, and force them to fill the vacant position before throwing them back into the testing grounds!
The crimson old world is nothing but a towering wall built from the piled bodies of Babylonia's Constructs!
All Lloyds, cross the wasteland, scale the wall! Together we'll reach the new world!
The "Lloyds" stride forward, gradually breaking into a frenzied sprint toward the transport ships. The humming drone of power engines stirs something deep within their souls.
Hurry! The Lloyds have no path left but forward! To survive, we must commit to this "rebellion" completely! Sever all ties with this damned Babylonia! Hurry!
The Data Chip Lloyd left in the laboratory core spreads Punishing energy, sending waves of information surging into every Sleeping Pod and cultivation chamber. The bodies within twitch, struggle, and break free from their cocoons.
Even the mechanoids' circuits become infected with this powerful desire, carrying Lloyd's will as they begin to run. The enraged ones, the sorrowful ones, the timid ones, they all rally together as one.
Recall experiment log, entry 999: I AM Lloyd!
People everywhere are screaming, staff, residents, tourists... The Lloyds trample the decadent luxuries of San Lorenzo's entertainment facilities underfoot, crushing them into nothing but mud.
Meanwhile, the Lloyds on deck rush toward the transport ships, seizing weapons, control of the deck, and the right to set course for the new world.
To the new world! There's only one path forward!
All Lloyds! Head to Las Prados immediately! Coordinates: N 36°9', W115°3'!
He roars out the coordinates etched into his memory—the result of 103 meticulous explorations, advancing like a colony of ants moving as one.
Like a ball of ants tumbling through a flood, the outer shell peeling away as their corpses float to the surface, paving a gruesome path through the turbulent waters.
There's only... one path!
There's only one way!!!
Lloyd rushes into a transport ship's cockpit, every procedure already ingrained in his memory as he skillfully initiates takeoff. The sole escape route manifests in his M.I.N.D., almost like a radiant line guiding the way.
First, escape from Babylonia, break free from this prison, and make it to Earth.
Second, head to Las Prados and completely tear away the disguise of that experimental facility.
Finally, journey to the new world.
He wonders what the new world is really like—does the fearsome Punishing Virus still exist? Or rather, is the Punishing Virus even worthy of fear anymore?
Will there be other humans, other Constructs? What are they doing? Are they actively rebuilding the new world, or... are they conducting humanity-erasing projects just like in Babylonia?
That's not an option.
The moment these dark thoughts surface, he shakes his head violently and immediately pilots the transport ship upward. The new world shouldn't be subjected to such offensive speculation.
Without realizing it, this hero of the new world has perhaps become a bit too fixated, but that's a minor concern.
He issues a command to all the transport ships taking off together:
All Lloyds, break free from Babylonia!
The acceleration tracks glow as the liberated transport ships speed toward space.
What follows is turbulence within normal parameters, and...
Hum.
...?
A slight turbulence accompanied by a friction sound emerges—completely different from the previous 103 flight disturbances.
More accurately—those previous 103 instances of turbulence, from their frequency to their amplitude, were all <b>exactly identical</b>. Like the holographic theaters of the old world, where people sat in pre-programmed chairs, experiencing roller coaster-like turbulence, heat, and cold.
...
The truth lay hidden beneath unchanging stagnant waters, so subtle that everyone overlooked it.
Perhaps... he should have realized this long ago.
Wait—! Ugh!
Lloyd's warning transmission fails to send out. In that split second as he realizes what's happening, before he can even process it fully, his transport "collides" with something.
Across the communication channel, the other Lloyds broadcast their own cries of despair as disaster strikes them all.
NO!!
The extreme velocity tears apart the transport's nose in a flash of fire, melting the metal with intense heat and splitting open a gap. Lloyd curls into himself and quickly rolls out of the cabin in a defensive position.
It can't end here, he thinks, refusing to accept this fate.
Beyond lies the vast expanse of space—being ejected in his current state would quickly turn him into nothing but pathetic space debris. Soon enough, the Lloyds would claim this section of the cosmos as their graveyard, floating like crosses planted in the vacuum.
—But all these thoughts merely flashed through his M.I.N.D. for the briefest moment.
In the next instant, he tumbles onto solid ground.
Howling winds tear through the air. Sand pelts his face. Sunlight so harsh he can barely open his eyes.
...
The gravel scrapes against his bionic skin, creating abrasions that feel all too familiar—familiar enough to fill him with sorrow.
He opens his eyes.
No cosmic stars, no Lloyd-brand space debris...
No... Babylonia.
...
The crashed transport has burned into a charred skeleton, engulfed in roaring flames. He kneels amid the windswept sand as the positioning device on his wrist flashes a string of garbled code before finally locking onto a set of coordinates.
<color=#ff4e4eff>N 36°9', W115°3'</color>
Beside him stands a "glass dome" with a massive hole smashed through it. Inside lies the Construct combat unit preparation deck—the very same one he knew from Babylonia.
The holographic projections on the massive "glass dome" still gasp for life, occasionally flickering with maddened pulses to display images of stars—identical to the cosmic view he observed from "Babylonia."
Babylonia...?
He reads aloud the remaining markings on the transport's blackened frame:
"Eden Type III"...
<size=42>The pieces of Lloyd's "old world" finally connect.</size>
<size=42>His "Babylonia" was a lie—an elaborate deception orchestrated by Madam Monzano.</size>
"Eden Type III" wasn't drifting through space as they'd been led to believe,
but rather a ground-based research facility confined to Earth, trapped within Las Prados.
The entire underground laboratory, San Lorenzo entertainment complex, Babylonia residential zone, and maintenance sector,
all the way to the old Las Prados ruins and its outskirts... all of it was his old world, nested layer upon layer within a single massive dome.
From bottom to top, from inside out, they imprisoned Lloyd's very soul, condemning him to years of unshakable melancholy.
Hah... Heh...
Now seeing the truth clearly, he struggles to his feet, rises, and staggers forward into a desperate run.
The other Lloyds who fell from "paradise" with him follow closely behind, all running across the wasteland beyond Las Prados' outskirts.
They're badly wounded, collapsing one after another, quickly buried by the windblown sand. A gust uncovers ancient bones from years past, only to bury fresh Lloyd remains in their place.
They run from daylight into darkness, from one dune to the next, from wasteland to wasteland.
Sand fills not just their joints, but even their voice modules.
Until the second morning.
The lead Lloyd gradually slows his pace, until finally, he stands motionless.
Lloyd, why did you stop running?
It seems many of the Lloyds following him are questioning him, urging him to keep running—to reach a new world.
He turns around slowly, his face streaked with tears though he has no memory of shedding them. He has never cried like this before.
There's no one behind him.
There was never a pillar of cloud or fire to guide them, no one to part the waters of the Red Sea—after all his struggling, he remains utterly alone in this world. No Mako-1, no Mako-2, no other Lloyds.
I'm sorry.
Yet he still imagines many Lloyds behind him, stubbornly answering the emptiness.
I want to keep running too, but there's no path ahead.
Staring into the emptiness, he suddenly remembers a time long ago when the "Lloyd" identity meant nothing to him—when he was still Mako-3 of the Gray Mako Fire Team.
Once, uncertain of his path, he had asked his captain:
Captain, what lies beyond the sandstorm?
To all the phantom fragments of his imagination, he utters a single sentence, laden with profound, bottomless despair.
It's a <b>cliff</b>.
Below his half-extended foot lies a bottomless wasteland cliff.
The promised shore beyond the old world is just a cliff.
Tears falling, he steps out with his other foot, hovering for two seconds.
Then he falls.
