In this universe, ‘Eternity’ does not exist.
This is the Truth. An absolute unchanging basic principle.
This is not a topic of another notion.
If there is a beginning, there is an end; this is hailed as the truth, and also a massive realistic line.
It is the same as us being born for no reason, us dying in such worthless manners.
This ever-changing universe will be burned to nothingness, it is just a matter of when.
While the universe is expanding faster than light, the massive energy is being depleted at an unimaginable rate.
This is called the end of the ‘thermal death’.
Unlike what the term implies, a universe that cease to expand may end up being at absolute zero.
Of course, this is merely one of the models of eschatology we have imagined.
Humans have foolishly depleted time, intelligence, talent, and given the countless number of gears that form this universe—the laws of physics, we can deduce that such an end may come.
We will meet our demise; it is only a matter of time.
Humans, the universe, everything that exists will meet the same ending.
This is a natural causation effect based on thermal physics, one without need for proof.
–However, perhaps we cannot consider it this way.
If the Truth is that Eternity does not exist,
It will be impossible for the Truth itself to be Eternal.
This is probably what ‘he’ thought.
And then, he had this thought,
“In that case, why don’t we fix it?”
–The world permits paradoxes.
This entire scenario was simply a case of antinomy, an illogical subjective coherency.
Even after picking up on the latest hypotheses, Science is a teaching that constantly updates itself with new terms—it was simply a certain type of religion, but that was fully an issue of another dimension.
This thing called the universe—is actually so illogical after all.
This was what it seemed to ‘him’, at least.
That this universe is still in ebauche, so Physics itself was a crippled theme.
If he were to do something to the extraordinarily massive base movement,
And if he were to change its movement completely, what sort of distortion would there be?
For example, if he were to change a single gear.
If that were to occur without creating paradoxes in Euclid’s geometry, the current universe would operate on completely different laws and continue running without a hitch.
There were many people in history who thought of such things.
However, there was only one person who had the ridiculous talent of turning this into reality.
His name was ‘Y’.
A mysterious talent who, through the use of gears, recreated the Earth that had suffered ‘thermal death’ and died.
The best clock technician in all of humanity, who created the ‘Clockwork Planet’.
–With such a ridiculous theory, ‘he’ established the greatest, monumental accomplishment ever since the beginning of time.
It was so unrealistic it could be a legend amongst the mythology.
However, the current reality could not be denied. Earth, supposedly dead, is now living on gears.
Tick tock, tick tock—the clock hands continued to turn.
A thousand years passed after that–
(…The tobacco stinks.)
‘He’ curled his lips as he narrowed his mechanical eyes.
The room was devoid of light, and it was pitch dark, yet he could see the tobacco flame as clear as day due to the light condensing function in his prosthetic eye, and silently exhales some smoke.
It was a strong man in his prime.
To be precise, he was a cyborg of that age. The thick frame was covered with muscle gears all over it, and a tight-fitting black rubber suit was wrapped around his power-type body.
His name was Vermouth.
That was not his real name—but a codename. He was an agent for a certain company.
However, due to a blunder during his youth, he lost his original body and normal life.
“…”
The sigh was mixed with with a purple haze.
Theoretically, he should not be smoking in the midst of a battle.
The tobacco flame was easy to spot, and would leave a stench behind. As for health issues…this was not the problem.
Even so, Vermouth continued to smoke. This was his superstition.
The flame burned silently, and he inhaled some smoke before exhaling it out again.
The scent of smoke certainly filled his body, buried in the midst of gears.
Using that scent, Vermouth could determine his own luck.
That—was not a good scent.
He asked,
“…Amaretto. Is my memory mistaken? Our job entails us staying here until the next morning, right?”
Through the darkness, he stared at a corner.
The shadow crouched at the thick steel door responded,
“Can you please not pressure me like that? Senior Vermouth?”
That person answered sarcastically.
Like Vermouth, he too was dressed in a black rubber suit to blend with the darkness, his pale face the only thing showing. He was a young, lanky man.
Without looking back, he continued to work on multiple tools with his hands, and said,
“It’ll take time to get this unreactive gear lock to ring. Will be bad if you ejaculate too early.”
“The tobacco smiles disgustingly shitty, Amaretto.”
Vermouth snorted as he shook his massive frame.
“We got to hurry up with our work and put out the fires under our feet. If we don’t hurry with this, we’ll have guns pointed at our butts here.”
“…I’ve been thinking, Senior Vermouth Is there a special reason for you to be smoking when you have been converted completely into a cyborg? You can’t taste anything, right?”
“I don’t know whether you’re an idiot, or I’m an idiot for trusting an idiot like you to watch my back? The smoke is not to be felt by the tongue, but by a man’s soul.”
“It only that Galliano can maintain his tar-filled artificial lungs and be touched by that, huh?”
“That guy’s just an old virgin who sold his soul to god. He’s not a man–”
–Immediately afterwards.
Vermouth suddenly kept quiet, and in an instance, drew his gun from his waist.
His icy face showed no signs of tomfoolery. With a sharp glare, he pointed the gun at the ceiling.
At the same time, Amaretto too turned his back to the wall and readied his gun. He did not sense anything, but his senior, Vermouth had responded as such—this was ample reason to react, and there was no doubt about it.
Both of them pried their eyes amidst the darkness, being on their guard, ready to respond whenever ready.
And so, with a snap,
A slight rattling could be heard from the duct in a corner of the ceiling.
The duct cover was moved aside, and a woman showed her face.
Dressed in a tight-fitting black rubber suit, just like the duo, was a silver short-haired female cyborg.
Vermouth sighed, and lowered his gun.
Amaretto returned to the door again and began to work. At that moment, the woman landed on the floor quietly in a fluid motion, akin to fresh cream being squeezed out.
“What now, Strega?”
“No can do. This door is located in an independent place after all.”
She—Strega, dusted her clothes as she answered.
“The barrier is like an air-raid shelter there. I can’t check out the inside through sonar. I entered the ducts too, even the other systems like the air-conditioning, but a mosquito can’t even get inside, let alone a rat.”
As Vermouth nodded, Strega continued on,
“It looks like they got something they really want to hide, not just a security function that is for show or made out of insanity. I can’t even fathom this place being a simple warehouse. Well, that’s why we’re here, right?”
“Another suspicious looking job? Shit…no wonder the smoke’s so bad.”
Their mission was to investigate a certain factor
It was not rare for an unknown factory to be listed under a dummy factor.
The 5 Great Enterprises had the power to govern over the fates of any other enterprise.
But it would be a different case altogether if they were consuming one-tenth of the city’s power, and other resources like fresh water.
Who exactly was giving the instructions?
What were they actually creating?
What was the objective, exactly?
They had to ascertain what was right, and what was not. This was not to pursue the benefits for their own company. It was a necessity for crisis control and safety assurance, part of their daily duties.
However—
The trio quietly conversed using the disguised close-ranged ‘resonating gears’.
“The outside is the backbone company working under the ‘military’, but from how it looks, this place place looks like it’s tightly guarded like a Central Bank when it only needs a Private Military Company to manage it. We can’t even grasp the background even after sneaking all the way in. It’s not easy, but there has to be a limit.”
Vermouth communicated as he lit a second cigarette.
“…The only ones able to set up such a facility in secret are either the 5 Great Enterprises or the ‘military’.”
“Yeah, but we’ll scratch our own company from the list since they did send us here. It is strange—”
While Strega muttered skeptically to herself, Amaretto answered,
“Those energetic guys are involved too? Didn’t they just get their butts stabbed by that Breguet Princess to the point of bleeding?”
“Seriously? Thanks to the fact that the supposedly dead Princess is still alive, it basically caused a fire on every armory, from the Vachrons to the ‘Guild’, heads were flying.”
“To the public, she’s undoubtedly dead, at least.”
Vermouth shrugged, and continued,
“The corporate funeral was already held. I sneaked into that event casually, and the speeches from the president and eldest daughter was so touching it induced tears. There’s no way anyone can change that story now.”
“In other words, nobody can complain for being killed by someone else now? That’s quite a long one.”
“That’s not it.”
Amaretto interrupted,
“There was no proof of Marie Bell Breguet’s involvement in that terrorist information leak. If she had died before it actually happened, there’s no way there’ll be proof that she had participated in it.”
“That has nothing to do with it, right?”
Strega snapped back sharply.
“It’s weird—with that, that means we have enough proof right? For our industry’s standards.”
“There’s no doubt that she’s really guilty, but that’s not the question here. She managed to complete such an operation without leaving any traces behind–that’s an important factor here.”
“…What do you mean?”
“If she’s able to commit such a major incident in secrecy, it probably means that she’s still in deep contact with her own family—the Breguet Corporation, and there’s a high chance of them supporting her in the background.”
Amaretto patiently explained,
“If we kill her now, it means we’ll automatically be enemies against the Breguets. Even if they can’t openly protest—actually, that’s an unnecessary risk.”
“Whether they do oppose us or not, they’re the ones who will cause the commotion, right?”
“We can’t necessarily say that. For example, the main culprits behind that Kyoto incident are the Vachrons and the ‘military’, but the other companies have given consent through silence. If they never tried to stop it, that means they’re equally guilty.”
“Even if that includes revenge? Isn’t that way overboard?”
“It certainly is an unprecedented incident, and thanks to that, we got the main conspirators heads flying—but on the other hand, it means that’s not even the deepest secret.”
“So all that for such…?”
As Strega widened her eyes, Amaretto continued,
“The real ‘classified information’ that can topple the organization has yet to be revealed. Once everything is clear, society will be overturned. The only thing told to us is that it is something of an ‘open secret’.”
“…Maybe it’s just that they don’t know, right?”
“Probably.”
Vermouth let out a sigh,
“But maybe that’s not it. This sort of terrorist information leak will be unreal if it happens to this extent. I guess we can assume that it was only a warning.”
Amaretto nodded with a bitter grain,
“I don’t want to be the enemy of a Princess who’s becoming hysteric after getting her butt rubbed lightly.”
“Are you changing your target of sarcasm for the sake of the world?”
Strega shot an icy stare at Amaretto.
“Shut up and open that thing up already!”
“Okay okay—it’s done now. Kept you waiting.”
Amaretto answered with his real voice.
And with a thud, a heavy sound echoed, the steel door slowly sliding to the sides.
“Alright, we got Sambuca activated. Get in!”
Vermouth and gang spun the support-type automata that was sleeping in a corner of the room, activating it, and entered through the thick heavy doors.
●
And then,
They found something they had never seen before.
“—Impossible.”
Vermouth let out a hoarse voice, his breathing frantic.
“Is-is such a thing, possible…?”
He could not believe the information displayed in his eyes, and shook his head,
—To summarize.
The giant safe they spent lots of effort to open was ’empty’.
Is the mission over? The giant space, used as a workplace, was empty. The numerous manufacturing equipment, giant cranes, ladders were left behind in a tidy, lonely state.
Vermouth and his gang proceeded into this emptied work place.
There was also a research lab and a room with lots of papers and terminals deep inside the area.
…Over there was the remaining data .
They felt a chill from the glimpse they had,
“…If all these are facts, this isn’t a problem that can be settled by sacrificing one or two cities.”
If this went badly.
The thing called the ‘Clockwork Planet’ will—
“Anyway, senior Vermouth, let’s copy the data and get out of here. We can investigate the details later. It’ll be bad now if we can’t get this intel back…”
Amaretto, having calmed down quickly, said so.
Having made contact with such dangerous information they themselves could not deal with, they had to make such a simple decision as quickly as possible—
Vermouth and Strega recovered thanks to these words, but just when they were about to take photos of the data—
—At that instance.
“!?”
The trio had been converted to cyborgs.
But they felt an unbelievable aberration in their bodies that were covered by artificial skin.
It was an intangible—skin tingling, animal-like, instinctive feeling.
That was ‘fear’.
The trio, highly professional agents, felt their bodies freeze.
—It was worrying.
There definitely was ‘something’ outside the room, inside the thick darkness.
It was small, extremely small—yet it had an unexpected scent of violence.
The trio quickly dispersed without a word. They went deep into the room, seemingly wanting to escape.
Without any discussion beforehand, they chose not to draw their guns, but to use their Coil Spears instead.
The Coil Spear.
It is a blade that vibrates at a rapid rate, and could be converted into a small firearm, even a shotgun and a grenade launcher; it was the strongest human portable weapon when considering both practicality and firepower. If a normal person were to use it proficiently, he would be able to match a military automata.
Also, for the cyborg trio, this was a weapon they could use to fight back even if the enemy was a heavy arms automata.
But it, being a product of the latest clockwork technology, could not be created by anyone other than the 5 Great Enterprises. However, since it did contain unique characteristics of each company’s technology, there was the risk of them revealing their affiliation easily.
Their job was to infiltrate; using it would represent a failure in their mission.
However,
They immediately made the decision to use it.
—There was no hope of surviving without using it. There was also a reason to survive at all costs, rather than to die like that.
As professionals, the trio made the decision based on the current situation and previous incidents.
(—No, it’s just an excuse now, right?)
Vermouth grimaced in his heart, and found his hand trembling.
Who exactly would be outside the room?
The cyborg trio optimized for combat—was forced to draw their strongest weapon out of ‘fear’.
(…The room sure is small.)
Vermouth activated the laser, sonar functions in his mechanized body as he analyzed the situation.
It was a secluded room. There was only one exit. The source of their worry was standing outside the door, not surrounding them.
(If we’re going to use Sambuca to fight the enemy and gain us some time, there’s a chance we can escape, even if it’s the worst case scenario of having to break through.)
Sambuca, the support-type automata that was supporting Vermouth’s group.
It was a lightweight automata with the appearance of a human male. Its parts comprise on local civilian products that could disguise their affiliation once it is abandoned. After some modifications from the Gazell Vermouth and his group, its functions were competent against a military automata.
…He had already thought of an escape plan from the moment he stepped into the room.
There was no need for word nor communication. The trio exchanged glances, and nodded.
Creak—
The door opened softly.
Vermouth, having deemed his planed course of action upon seeing the enemy’s silhouette, appeared from his hiding spot.
But his thoughts ceased once he spotted the ‘enemy’.
Standing in front of the ajar door was the thing they were concerned by.
The one that brought about undoubted fear upon them was a little—
(…Kid—?)
It was an automata.
A little girl model with an alluring body one would like to pet as a doll.
She had neither armor nor restraining tools on her slender limbs; she was in a massive, devastating armor.
Her long hair extended to her feet, the color bloody. Her cute, adolescent face had a savage mask over it.
Through that mask, their stares met.
That was what he felt.
“—Sanbuca!”
Vermouth shouted.
His instincts were screaming at him to scrap the plan and eliminate it immediately.
“Plan D3. Stop that thing!!”
Plan D3—a command to restrain the target with the primary goal of self-destruction.
Sambuca got to action quickly and quietly.
This support-type automata was equipped with a silencer function, and was not used for direct combat in the first place.
But it could still embrace the enemy and stop it temporarily in the first place.
If there was a way to stop the enemy’s movements for just an instance, Vermouth’s group would focu s their Coil Spears fire on Sambuca, perforating it—
—However.
The girl automata raised her right arm.
Appearing above it was a black solid gear cube floating in the air.
It was spinning.
It continued to twist and spin, becoming two cylindrical items, a heavy reloading sound echoing.
At that moment, before their senses could detect this brief sound.
Sambuca’s mechanical frame that was grabbing the masked girl—vanished along with the floor.
“—Huh?”
It was unknown who let out such a sound.
But the masked girl wordlessly glanced at the trio.
No matter whether Vermouth was willing to accept it, he understood as he was exposed to such a nonchalant, icy stare.
—They had no chances of winning.
He accepted this fact with apprehension.
“Tch, destroy the wall!”
He growled without looking back.
With such a powerful enemy present, and if they cannot escape from the only escape possible, they could only increase the number of exits.
“I’ll hold her off! Cover me!”
Strega activated her double gear.
She immediately leapt out from her hiding spot, kicked the walls and ceiling, and swung blade-form Coil Spear.
This hi-vibration blade could easily slice any ordinary material apart. If she was to use it on the falling falling objects above the girl’s head, she would be able to form some cover, and there would be a chance for them to escape.
—No matter what the mean was, they could buy some time.
Having understood her intent, Vermouth aimed his Coil Spear at the girl.
The chosen bullet type was one that could even pierce through sturdy steel.
While he launched a screen of fire, Amaretto would fire the most potent grenade at the wall to the side as according to the plan.
—If they could create a hole, they probably would be able to escape from this place.
This was supposed to happen.
After loading the grenade, Amaretto’s upper body vanished without a trace, not even leaving any dust behind.
“…!?”
“What the—”
The black solid gear cube was floating in the air, right beside the girl.
It again spun, letting out a loading sound.
This time, Strega was crushed to scraps along with the noise in the air.
(—Wh-what’s going on here—!?)
His sanity was screaming.
Both Amaretto and Strega had the latest technology of combat prosthetic embedded.
Like the use of the Coil Spear, leaving dead bodies behind—was supposedly a forbidden act itself.
But before such worries became necessary, they vanished without leaving any traces behind.
Even if the opponent was a heavily-armed automata, there was no way they should be so overwhelmed to the point of being unable to fight back.
The fact laid in front of them—unable to be changed.
And the ironic thing was that everything was explained here.
The secrecy of this facility, and the importance of the information here.
Compared to these, the PMC-like defenses seemed overly weak.
And with this monster here—there was no reason to doubt.
What is this place? The answer was simple.
—The ‘Hell Cauldron’.
(There’s no doubt about it.)
It had stealth functions that negated his senses.
It had overwhelming firepower that suppressed them stupidly.
It was a girl model automata that should not exist.
That enemy, the god of death, standing in front of them—
“The Initial-Y series…!!?”
The enemy did not respond.
The girl stared at Vermouth with a stoic, impassive stare, not getting into any position.
—I’ll get killed.
“—Ugh!”
Vermouth believed in the instinctive reaction within his head, and got down.
An unknown impact flew by from above, erasing everything.
Due to the invisible attack, his left arm, unable to dodge in the nick of time, was taken away.
Vermouth ignored the damage report ringing in him like a siren, recalibrate the balance caused by the loss of mass on both sides, and leapt from the ground.
He then swung the Coil Spear, changing its shot type from a grenade launcher.
And then, he fired,
An anchor suddenly went flying; at that instance, the crisp sounds of the spinning, high velocity gears rang.
Due to the massive shockwave, the wall broke apart in the form of dust.
Vermouth leapt through the hole, right around the same time the girl’s second impact erased the space he occupied.
●
—Think.
Vermouth continued to run for his life, barely managing to dodge the attacks from the approaching death god.
He thought he was going to continuing losing parts of his body.
Up till this point, Vermouth was only able to live thanks to his instincts.
He abandoned the information his sensors had told him, and completely ignored any strategic theory.
He instinctively felt the moments he should dodge, and the moments he should run away.
No matter how he did so, he managed to keep his own life during these 5 brief minutes.
This could be considered a miracle.
But…it was the end of the line
In the end, Vermouth flew into an alley with no way to escape. On top of that, he lost the area below his right knee the moment he leapt away to escape from the attacks.
He could no longer rely on his instincts to escape.
He also dropped his Coil Spear, and the only armament left was a grenade that would not cause any damage to the enemy even if it was a direct hit.
He was extremely calm, unlike the machinery in him that was practically aflame.
He calmly deduced this.
That till this point—his death was unavoidable.
For that, it did not matter to him.
He should have lost his life and human heart 20 years ago.
That he merely lost it on this day again.
What was supposed to be an instantaneous death ended up with him being all weary.
—The problem however was,
“It’s frustrating that I have to die…just like this no matter I think about it—shit!”
Footsteps could be heard .
Amidst the damage reports echoing in his mind, he could hear the sound of death slowly approaching.
It was the breath of the death god who wrecked his two comrades like a joke.
“—Haa.”
Using his hand that was lacking a finger, Vermouth took out a cigarette and lit it.
—This is the kind of job they do.
Neither Amaretto nor Strega were considered friends to him.
If he had to be honest, he did not know their real names, their favorite colors, their favorite choice of music, their families, friends, whether they were attached, or anything else. He never head of their pasts, and he really did not have any interest in that either.
For they were simply no different from him, trash-like people.
Vermouth had neither reason nor friendship to mourn over their deaths,
—However,
They all wanted to do something.
Having known this now, Vermouth realized the ‘passion’ he had forgotten for a long time.
It was not a sense of justice.
It was not a cheap bond of humanism, nor was it a professional conscience of a professional agent.
“…If I can’t even fight back once against that monster.”
It was merely a matter of ‘feelings’ that was part of his nature—
“—That’s disgusting! Damn it!”
It was the little pride the man called Vermouth had.
“Think…!”
He muttered as he exhaled some smoke.
There was no point in fighting against that thing at all; he had neither the technology nor combat abiity.
To him, all he could do was to inflict pain through any method possible. For that, that would mean—using any possible mean to transfer this information he had outside.
The problem was the method.
He had no hopes of surviving. He did not care about revealing his identity.
No matter what he had to let go of.
No matter what he had to eliminate.
As long as he transferred what happened in this place out, it was enough for him.
“I don’t care about anything else now! That’s why!”
Think.
How do I make contact from here to the outside?
This industrial zone was completely isolated from the outside. He had been circling around, but found nary a comms room. He could not contact the outside.
What he could do…was to use the original electronic installation imbued in this body and send a mail to a certain place.
“—”
But what…would be the significance of that?
Which ridiculous psycho would realize the meaning behind an anonymous mail.
Even Vermouth’s own boss would…no, wait.
“……Ku, kuhahaha!”
Vermouth laughed at the thing he thought of.
…There certainly was such an existence.
Someone who would show interest in such an meaningless mail, someone whose actions were unpredictable, the one person he knew of with the most foolish mind in the world.
He endured his laugh as much as possible, adjusting his telecommunication frequency
The address was—
“Only the weirdos can deal with the weirdos.”
—If it was her.
That Princess who was willing to fight the evils of the world…!
The footsteps stopped.
The unavoidable death was standing right in front of his eyes.
However, Vermouth had an inexplicable sense of solace in his heart.
No problems here. I already did what I can do. I’ll just leave the rest.
Because our deaths are—
“—Humph.”
He suddenly noticed the thoughts that surfaced within him.
It was not the thing Vermouth had been seeking for a long time, and neither was it some sort of thought.
It was an immature wish that he set aside unknowingly.
“This isn’t logical, right…”
He sneered at himself for noticing how childish he was at this point.
With a wry smile, he took a deep breath of smoke.
Having made contact with the malice of many, he had no thoughts about it.
He always thought the world and everything belonging to it were shitty.
However—of course, he could understand at this point.
In this world—there was really some damning things that could not be forgiven even after dying.
It was not because of some troublesome philosophy, and neither was it some youthful ideals or sense of justice.
It was simply the burning passion surging deep within his heart.
Just an invisible thing.
A raging spirit.
And so, if there was a way to deal with that thing.
…Where are the idiots who would do something about this?
We revealed this disgusting conspiracy with our lives as exchange.
If anything and everything can be destroyed here—!
He inhaled a large amount of smoke, and scented upon a smell he should not be sensing.
…Ah, Vermouth smirked.
“It’s good now—haha…serves you right, you bastards!”
Before he exhaled the smoke he took in, Vermouth’s body vanished along with the space.
●
…I feel so sleepy.
The girl thought while he mind was still hazy.
At this point, she vaguely understood that she was in a dreamy state. It seemed she had forgotten about something important, but she could not think about it clearly. It seemed the floor below her feet could was wobbly, and she was lazy to open her eyes.
“Hm…he sent a mail through the telecommunication installation, huh?”
An unknown human male voice could be heard.
That voice came from beyond the mist, but it was vague as to whether it came from there in the first place.
“I don’t think they’ll send some really important stuff there…but whose rats are those?”
“She erased them complete, so I don’t think we can pint their identities down.”
“Guess this is the disadvantage of dealing with things too well…looking at the infiltration methods and level of professionalism in wanting to send the information just as he died, I guess we can guess the identity.”
“The Odemas? The Breguets? Who do they belong to…?”
“Can you track down that mail just now?”
“We’re doing so, but I don’t think he’s sending it to his master—”
…Boring.
The girl felt despondent after hearing the uninteresting talk the men had.
She hated things she could not understand. She did not like cold, terrifying things either.
—Destroy, devastate, crush, blend, finish?
What kind of enjoyment is there to be had doing such things? The girl could not understand at all.
Perhaps, the girl thought.
These humans are just idiots who have no common sense. There’s so many interesting things to do out there, but their conversations are really boring, hard to understand, and they’re doing the same thing over and over again.
—Singing, dancing, playing, laughing, tidying.
There’re so many more interesting things to do than that, why aren’t they doing so? The girl could not understand. It seemed to be a failed riddle, for there was no answer to be seen.
No matter when, no matter who it was—she would be allowed to do anything she wanted.
“—AnchoR.”
The man called her name.
He lifted the face of the girl, AnchoR, and said with a beam.
“Good work. That was some amazing battle result.”
…Battle result?
AnchoR tilted her head. In fact, she did not bat an eyelid as she merely looked up at the man’s face.
Is this person just a stupid man after all?
He only thinks of cleaning up as some sort of battle result; there is no rhythm, nothing to latch onto. It doesn’t look like he has any talent for writing songs.
—Is it because of this that it’s so boring?
—Or is it that it’s so boring because of this?
“I’ll handle the rest here; head for for maintenance first.”
AnchoR could not answer the vortex of questions that surfaced, and nodded wordlessly.
—It’s fine either way.
This is the ‘eternal’, ‘indestructible’, ‘strongest’ automata.
The 4th unit of the Initial Y-series—the ‘Trishula’ AnchoR.
The girl turned and walked away, her consciousness again falling into a light sleep.
In this universe, ‘Eternity’ does not exist.
This is the Truth. An absolute unchanging basic principle.
This is not a topic of another notion.
If there is a beginning, there is an end; this is hailed as the truth, and also a massive realistic line.
It is the same as us being born for no reason, us dying in such worthless manners.
This ever-changing universe will be burned to nothingness, it is just a matter of when.
While the universe is expanding faster than light, the massive energy is being depleted at an unimaginable rate.
This is called the end of the ‘thermal death’.
Unlike what the term implies, a universe that cease to expand may end up being at absolute zero.
Of course, this is merely one of the models of eschatology we have imagined.
Humans have foolishly depleted time, intelligence, talent, and given the countless number of gears that form this universe—the laws of physics, we can deduce that such an end may come.
We will meet our demise; it is only a matter of time.
Humans, the universe, everything that exists will meet the same ending.
This is a natural causation effect based on thermal physics, one without need for proof.
–However, perhaps we cannot consider it this way.
If the Truth is that Eternity does not exist,
It will be impossible for the Truth itself to be Eternal.
This is probably what ‘he’ thought.
And then, he had this thought,
“In that case, why don’t we fix it?”
–The world permits paradoxes.
This entire scenario was simply a case of antinomy, an illogical subjective coherency.
Even after picking up on the latest hypotheses, Science is a teaching that constantly updates itself with new terms—it was simply a certain type of religion, but that was fully an issue of another dimension.
This thing called the universe—is actually so illogical after all.
This was what it seemed to ‘him’, at least.
That this universe is still in ebauche, so Physics itself was a crippled theme.
If he were to do something to the extraordinarily massive base movement,
And if he were to change its movement completely, what sort of distortion would there be?
For example, if he were to change a single gear.
If that were to occur without creating paradoxes in Euclid’s geometry, the current universe would operate on completely different laws and continue running without a hitch.
There were many people in history who thought of such things.
However, there was only one person who had the ridiculous talent of turning this into reality.
His name was ‘Y’.
A mysterious talent who, through the use of gears, recreated the Earth that had suffered ‘thermal death’ and died.
The best clock technician in all of humanity, who created the ‘Clockwork Planet’.
–With such a ridiculous theory, ‘he’ established the greatest, monumental accomplishment ever since the beginning of time.
It was so unrealistic it could be a legend amongst the mythology.
However, the current reality could not be denied. Earth, supposedly dead, is now living on gears.
Tick tock, tick tock—the clock hands continued to turn.
A thousand years passed after that–
(…The tobacco stinks.)
‘He’ curled his lips as he narrowed his mechanical eyes.
The room was devoid of light, and it was pitch dark, yet he could see the tobacco flame as clear as day due to the light condensing function in his prosthetic eye, and silently exhales some smoke.
It was a strong man in his prime.
To be precise, he was a cyborg of that age. The thick frame was covered with muscle gears all over it, and a tight-fitting black rubber suit was wrapped around his power-type body.
His name was Vermouth.
That was not his real name—but a codename. He was an agent for a certain company.
However, due to a blunder during his youth, he lost his original body and normal life.
“…”
The sigh was mixed with with a purple haze.
Theoretically, he should not be smoking in the midst of a battle.
The tobacco flame was easy to spot, and would leave a stench behind. As for health issues…this was not the problem.
Even so, Vermouth continued to smoke. This was his superstition.
The flame burned silently, and he inhaled some smoke before exhaling it out again.
The scent of smoke certainly filled his body, buried in the midst of gears.
Using that scent, Vermouth could determine his own luck.
That—was not a good scent.
He asked,
“…Amaretto. Is my memory mistaken? Our job entails us staying here until the next morning, right?”
Through the darkness, he stared at a corner.
The shadow crouched at the thick steel door responded,
“Can you please not pressure me like that? Senior Vermouth?”
That person answered sarcastically.
Like Vermouth, he too was dressed in a black rubber suit to blend with the darkness, his pale face the only thing showing. He was a young, lanky man.
Without looking back, he continued to work on multiple tools with his hands, and said,
“It’ll take time to get this unreactive gear lock to ring. Will be bad if you ejaculate too early.”
“The tobacco smiles disgustingly shitty, Amaretto.”
Vermouth snorted as he shook his massive frame.
“We got to hurry up with our work and put out the fires under our feet. If we don’t hurry with this, we’ll have guns pointed at our butts here.”
“…I’ve been thinking, Senior Vermouth Is there a special reason for you to be smoking when you have been converted completely into a cyborg? You can’t taste anything, right?”
“I don’t know whether you’re an idiot, or I’m an idiot for trusting an idiot like you to watch my back? The smoke is not to be felt by the tongue, but by a man’s soul.”
“It only that Galliano can maintain his tar-filled artificial lungs and be touched by that, huh?”
“That guy’s just an old virgin who sold his soul to god. He’s not a man–”
–Immediately afterwards.
Vermouth suddenly kept quiet, and in an instance, drew his gun from his waist.
His icy face showed no signs of tomfoolery. With a sharp glare, he pointed the gun at the ceiling.
At the same time, Amaretto too turned his back to the wall and readied his gun. He did not sense anything, but his senior, Vermouth had responded as such—this was ample reason to react, and there was no doubt about it.
Both of them pried their eyes amidst the darkness, being on their guard, ready to respond whenever ready.
And so, with a snap,
A slight rattling could be heard from the duct in a corner of the ceiling.
The duct cover was moved aside, and a woman showed her face.
Dressed in a tight-fitting black rubber suit, just like the duo, was a silver short-haired female cyborg.
Vermouth sighed, and lowered his gun.
Amaretto returned to the door again and began to work. At that moment, the woman landed on the floor quietly in a fluid motion, akin to fresh cream being squeezed out.
“What now, Strega?”
“No can do. This door is located in an independent place after all.”
She—Strega, dusted her clothes as she answered.
“The barrier is like an air-raid shelter there. I can’t check out the inside through sonar. I entered the ducts too, even the other systems like the air-conditioning, but a mosquito can’t even get inside, let alone a rat.”
As Vermouth nodded, Strega continued on,
“It looks like they got something they really want to hide, not just a security function that is for show or made out of insanity. I can’t even fathom this place being a simple warehouse. Well, that’s why we’re here, right?”
“Another suspicious looking job? Shit…no wonder the smoke’s so bad.”
Their mission was to investigate a certain factor
It was not rare for an unknown factory to be listed under a dummy factor.
The 5 Great Enterprises had the power to govern over the fates of any other enterprise.
But it would be a different case altogether if they were consuming one-tenth of the city’s power, and other resources like fresh water.
Who exactly was giving the instructions?
What were they actually creating?
What was the objective, exactly?
They had to ascertain what was right, and what was not. This was not to pursue the benefits for their own company. It was a necessity for crisis control and safety assurance, part of their daily duties.
However—
The trio quietly conversed using the disguised close-ranged ‘resonating gears’.
“The outside is the backbone company working under the ‘military’, but from how it looks, this place place looks like it’s tightly guarded like a Central Bank when it only needs a Private Military Company to manage it. We can’t even grasp the background even after sneaking all the way in. It’s not easy, but there has to be a limit.”
Vermouth communicated as he lit a second cigarette.
“…The only ones able to set up such a facility in secret are either the 5 Great Enterprises or the ‘military’.”
“Yeah, but we’ll scratch our own company from the list since they did send us here. It is strange—”
While Strega muttered skeptically to herself, Amaretto answered,
“Those energetic guys are involved too? Didn’t they just get their butts stabbed by that Breguet Princess to the point of bleeding?”
“Seriously? Thanks to the fact that the supposedly dead Princess is still alive, it basically caused a fire on every armory, from the Vachrons to the ‘Guild’, heads were flying.”
“To the public, she’s undoubtedly dead, at least.”
Vermouth shrugged, and continued,
“The corporate funeral was already held. I sneaked into that event casually, and the speeches from the president and eldest daughter was so touching it induced tears. There’s no way anyone can change that story now.”
“In other words, nobody can complain for being killed by someone else now? That’s quite a long one.”
“That’s not it.”
Amaretto interrupted,
“There was no proof of Marie Bell Breguet’s involvement in that terrorist information leak. If she had died before it actually happened, there’s no way there’ll be proof that she had participated in it.”
“That has nothing to do with it, right?”
Strega snapped back sharply.
“It’s weird—with that, that means we have enough proof right? For our industry’s standards.”
“There’s no doubt that she’s really guilty, but that’s not the question here. She managed to complete such an operation without leaving any traces behind–that’s an important factor here.”
“…What do you mean?”
“If she’s able to commit such a major incident in secrecy, it probably means that she’s still in deep contact with her own family—the Breguet Corporation, and there’s a high chance of them supporting her in the background.”
Amaretto patiently explained,
“If we kill her now, it means we’ll automatically be enemies against the Breguets. Even if they can’t openly protest—actually, that’s an unnecessary risk.”
“Whether they do oppose us or not, they’re the ones who will cause the commotion, right?”
“We can’t necessarily say that. For example, the main culprits behind that Kyoto incident are the Vachrons and the ‘military’, but the other companies have given consent through silence. If they never tried to stop it, that means they’re equally guilty.”
“Even if that includes revenge? Isn’t that way overboard?”
“It certainly is an unprecedented incident, and thanks to that, we got the main conspirators heads flying—but on the other hand, it means that’s not even the deepest secret.”
“So all that for such…?”
As Strega widened her eyes, Amaretto continued,
“The real ‘classified information’ that can topple the organization has yet to be revealed. Once everything is clear, society will be overturned. The only thing told to us is that it is something of an ‘open secret’.”
“…Maybe it’s just that they don’t know, right?”
“Probably.”
Vermouth let out a sigh,
“But maybe that’s not it. This sort of terrorist information leak will be unreal if it happens to this extent. I guess we can assume that it was only a warning.”
Amaretto nodded with a bitter grain,
“I don’t want to be the enemy of a Princess who’s becoming hysteric after getting her butt rubbed lightly.”
“Are you changing your target of sarcasm for the sake of the world?”
Strega shot an icy stare at Amaretto.
“Shut up and open that thing up already!”
“Okay okay—it’s done now. Kept you waiting.”
Amaretto answered with his real voice.
And with a thud, a heavy sound echoed, the steel door slowly sliding to the sides.
“Alright, we got Sambuca activated. Get in!”
Vermouth and gang spun the support-type automata that was sleeping in a corner of the room, activating it, and entered through the thick heavy doors.
●
And then,
They found something they had never seen before.
“—Impossible.”
Vermouth let out a hoarse voice, his breathing frantic.
“Is-is such a thing, possible…?”
He could not believe the information displayed in his eyes, and shook his head,
—To summarize.
The giant safe they spent lots of effort to open was ’empty’.
Is the mission over? The giant space, used as a workplace, was empty. The numerous manufacturing equipment, giant cranes, ladders were left behind in a tidy, lonely state.
Vermouth and his gang proceeded into this emptied work place.
There was also a research lab and a room with lots of papers and terminals deep inside the area.
…Over there was the remaining data .
They felt a chill from the glimpse they had,
“…If all these are facts, this isn’t a problem that can be settled by sacrificing one or two cities.”
If this went badly.
The thing called the ‘Clockwork Planet’ will—
“Anyway, senior Vermouth, let’s copy the data and get out of here. We can investigate the details later. It’ll be bad now if we can’t get this intel back…”
Amaretto, having calmed down quickly, said so.
Having made contact with such dangerous information they themselves could not deal with, they had to make such a simple decision as quickly as possible—
Vermouth and Strega recovered thanks to these words, but just when they were about to take photos of the data—
—At that instance.
“!?”
The trio had been converted to cyborgs.
But they felt an unbelievable aberration in their bodies that were covered by artificial skin.
It was an intangible—skin tingling, animal-like, instinctive feeling.
That was ‘fear’.
The trio, highly professional agents, felt their bodies freeze.
—It was worrying.
There definitely was ‘something’ outside the room, inside the thick darkness.
It was small, extremely small—yet it had an unexpected scent of violence.
The trio quickly dispersed without a word. They went deep into the room, seemingly wanting to escape.
Without any discussion beforehand, they chose not to draw their guns, but to use their Coil Spears instead.
The Coil Spear.
It is a blade that vibrates at a rapid rate, and could be converted into a small firearm, even a shotgun and a grenade launcher; it was the strongest human portable weapon when considering both practicality and firepower. If a normal person were to use it proficiently, he would be able to match a military automata.
Also, for the cyborg trio, this was a weapon they could use to fight back even if the enemy was a heavy arms automata.
But it, being a product of the latest clockwork technology, could not be created by anyone other than the 5 Great Enterprises. However, since it did contain unique characteristics of each company’s technology, there was the risk of them revealing their affiliation easily.
Their job was to infiltrate; using it would represent a failure in their mission.
However,
They immediately made the decision to use it.
—There was no hope of surviving without using it. There was also a reason to survive at all costs, rather than to die like that.
As professionals, the trio made the decision based on the current situation and previous incidents.
(—No, it’s just an excuse now, right?)
Vermouth grimaced in his heart, and found his hand trembling.
Who exactly would be outside the room?
The cyborg trio optimized for combat—was forced to draw their strongest weapon out of ‘fear’.
(…The room sure is small.)
Vermouth activated the laser, sonar functions in his mechanized body as he analyzed the situation.
It was a secluded room. There was only one exit. The source of their worry was standing outside the door, not surrounding them.
(If we’re going to use Sambuca to fight the enemy and gain us some time, there’s a chance we can escape, even if it’s the worst case scenario of having to break through.)
Sambuca, the support-type automata that was supporting Vermouth’s group.
It was a lightweight automata with the appearance of a human male. Its parts comprise on local civilian products that could disguise their affiliation once it is abandoned. After some modifications from the Gazell Vermouth and his group, its functions were competent against a military automata.
…He had already thought of an escape plan from the moment he stepped into the room.
There was no need for word nor communication. The trio exchanged glances, and nodded.
Creak—
The door opened softly.
Vermouth, having deemed his planed course of action upon seeing the enemy’s silhouette, appeared from his hiding spot.
But his thoughts ceased once he spotted the ‘enemy’.
Standing in front of the ajar door was the thing they were concerned by.
The one that brought about undoubted fear upon them was a little—
(…Kid—?)
It was an automata.
A little girl model with an alluring body one would like to pet as a doll.
She had neither armor nor restraining tools on her slender limbs; she was in a massive, devastating armor.
Her long hair extended to her feet, the color bloody. Her cute, adolescent face had a savage mask over it.
Through that mask, their stares met.
That was what he felt.
“—Sanbuca!”
Vermouth shouted.
His instincts were screaming at him to scrap the plan and eliminate it immediately.
“Plan D3. Stop that thing!!”
Plan D3—a command to restrain the target with the primary goal of self-destruction.
Sambuca got to action quickly and quietly.
This support-type automata was equipped with a silencer function, and was not used for direct combat in the first place.
But it could still embrace the enemy and stop it temporarily in the first place.
If there was a way to stop the enemy’s movements for just an instance, Vermouth’s group would focu s their Coil Spears fire on Sambuca, perforating it—
—However.
The girl automata raised her right arm.
Appearing above it was a black solid gear cube floating in the air.
It was spinning.
It continued to twist and spin, becoming two cylindrical items, a heavy reloading sound echoing.
At that moment, before their senses could detect this brief sound.
Sambuca’s mechanical frame that was grabbing the masked girl—vanished along with the floor.
“—Huh?”
It was unknown who let out such a sound.
But the masked girl wordlessly glanced at the trio.
No matter whether Vermouth was willing to accept it, he understood as he was exposed to such a nonchalant, icy stare.
—They had no chances of winning.
He accepted this fact with apprehension.
“Tch, destroy the wall!”
He growled without looking back.
With such a powerful enemy present, and if they cannot escape from the only escape possible, they could only increase the number of exits.
“I’ll hold her off! Cover me!”
Strega activated her double gear.
She immediately leapt out from her hiding spot, kicked the walls and ceiling, and swung blade-form Coil Spear.
This hi-vibration blade could easily slice any ordinary material apart. If she was to use it on the falling falling objects above the girl’s head, she would be able to form some cover, and there would be a chance for them to escape.
—No matter what the mean was, they could buy some time.
Having understood her intent, Vermouth aimed his Coil Spear at the girl.
The chosen bullet type was one that could even pierce through sturdy steel.
While he launched a screen of fire, Amaretto would fire the most potent grenade at the wall to the side as according to the plan.
—If they could create a hole, they probably would be able to escape from this place.
This was supposed to happen.
After loading the grenade, Amaretto’s upper body vanished without a trace, not even leaving any dust behind.
“…!?”
“What the—”
The black solid gear cube was floating in the air, right beside the girl.
It again spun, letting out a loading sound.
This time, Strega was crushed to scraps along with the noise in the air.
(—Wh-what’s going on here—!?)
His sanity was screaming.
Both Amaretto and Strega had the latest technology of combat prosthetic embedded.
Like the use of the Coil Spear, leaving dead bodies behind—was supposedly a forbidden act itself.
But before such worries became necessary, they vanished without leaving any traces behind.
Even if the opponent was a heavily-armed automata, there was no way they should be so overwhelmed to the point of being unable to fight back.
The fact laid in front of them—unable to be changed.
And the ironic thing was that everything was explained here.
The secrecy of this facility, and the importance of the information here.
Compared to these, the PMC-like defenses seemed overly weak.
And with this monster here—there was no reason to doubt.
What is this place? The answer was simple.
—The ‘Hell Cauldron’.
(There’s no doubt about it.)
It had stealth functions that negated his senses.
It had overwhelming firepower that suppressed them stupidly.
It was a girl model automata that should not exist.
That enemy, the god of death, standing in front of them—
“The Initial-Y series…!!?”
The enemy did not respond.
The girl stared at Vermouth with a stoic, impassive stare, not getting into any position.
—I’ll get killed.
“—Ugh!”
Vermouth believed in the instinctive reaction within his head, and got down.
An unknown impact flew by from above, erasing everything.
Due to the invisible attack, his left arm, unable to dodge in the nick of time, was taken away.
Vermouth ignored the damage report ringing in him like a siren, recalibrate the balance caused by the loss of mass on both sides, and leapt from the ground.
He then swung the Coil Spear, changing its shot type from a grenade launcher.
And then, he fired,
An anchor suddenly went flying; at that instance, the crisp sounds of the spinning, high velocity gears rang.
Due to the massive shockwave, the wall broke apart in the form of dust.
Vermouth leapt through the hole, right around the same time the girl’s second impact erased the space he occupied.
●
—Think.
Vermouth continued to run for his life, barely managing to dodge the attacks from the approaching death god.
He thought he was going to continuing losing parts of his body.
Up till this point, Vermouth was only able to live thanks to his instincts.
He abandoned the information his sensors had told him, and completely ignored any strategic theory.
He instinctively felt the moments he should dodge, and the moments he should run away.
No matter how he did so, he managed to keep his own life during these 5 brief minutes.
This could be considered a miracle.
But…it was the end of the line
In the end, Vermouth flew into an alley with no way to escape. On top of that, he lost the area below his right knee the moment he leapt away to escape from the attacks.
He could no longer rely on his instincts to escape.
He also dropped his Coil Spear, and the only armament left was a grenade that would not cause any damage to the enemy even if it was a direct hit.
He was extremely calm, unlike the machinery in him that was practically aflame.
He calmly deduced this.
That till this point—his death was unavoidable.
For that, it did not matter to him.
He should have lost his life and human heart 20 years ago.
That he merely lost it on this day again.
What was supposed to be an instantaneous death ended up with him being all weary.
—The problem however was,
“It’s frustrating that I have to die…just like this no matter I think about it—shit!”
Footsteps could be heard .
Amidst the damage reports echoing in his mind, he could hear the sound of death slowly approaching.
It was the breath of the death god who wrecked his two comrades like a joke.
“—Haa.”
Using his hand that was lacking a finger, Vermouth took out a cigarette and lit it.
—This is the kind of job they do.
Neither Amaretto nor Strega were considered friends to him.
If he had to be honest, he did not know their real names, their favorite colors, their favorite choice of music, their families, friends, whether they were attached, or anything else. He never head of their pasts, and he really did not have any interest in that either.
For they were simply no different from him, trash-like people.
Vermouth had neither reason nor friendship to mourn over their deaths,
—However,
They all wanted to do something.
Having known this now, Vermouth realized the ‘passion’ he had forgotten for a long time.
It was not a sense of justice.
It was not a cheap bond of humanism, nor was it a professional conscience of a professional agent.
“…If I can’t even fight back once against that monster.”
It was merely a matter of ‘feelings’ that was part of his nature—
“—That’s disgusting! Damn it!”
It was the little pride the man called Vermouth had.
“Think…!”
He muttered as he exhaled some smoke.
There was no point in fighting against that thing at all; he had neither the technology nor combat abiity.
To him, all he could do was to inflict pain through any method possible. For that, that would mean—using any possible mean to transfer this information he had outside.
The problem was the method.
He had no hopes of surviving. He did not care about revealing his identity.
No matter what he had to let go of.
No matter what he had to eliminate.
As long as he transferred what happened in this place out, it was enough for him.
“I don’t care about anything else now! That’s why!”
Think.
How do I make contact from here to the outside?
This industrial zone was completely isolated from the outside. He had been circling around, but found nary a comms room. He could not contact the outside.
What he could do…was to use the original electronic installation imbued in this body and send a mail to a certain place.
“—”
But what…would be the significance of that?
Which ridiculous psycho would realize the meaning behind an anonymous mail.
Even Vermouth’s own boss would…no, wait.
“……Ku, kuhahaha!”
Vermouth laughed at the thing he thought of.
…There certainly was such an existence.
Someone who would show interest in such an meaningless mail, someone whose actions were unpredictable, the one person he knew of with the most foolish mind in the world.
He endured his laugh as much as possible, adjusting his telecommunication frequency
The address was—
“Only the weirdos can deal with the weirdos.”
—If it was her.
That Princess who was willing to fight the evils of the world…!
The footsteps stopped.
The unavoidable death was standing right in front of his eyes.
However, Vermouth had an inexplicable sense of solace in his heart.
No problems here. I already did what I can do. I’ll just leave the rest.
Because our deaths are—
“—Humph.”
He suddenly noticed the thoughts that surfaced within him.
It was not the thing Vermouth had been seeking for a long time, and neither was it some sort of thought.
It was an immature wish that he set aside unknowingly.
“This isn’t logical, right…”
He sneered at himself for noticing how childish he was at this point.
With a wry smile, he took a deep breath of smoke.
Having made contact with the malice of many, he had no thoughts about it.
He always thought the world and everything belonging to it were shitty.
However—of course, he could understand at this point.
In this world—there was really some damning things that could not be forgiven even after dying.
It was not because of some troublesome philosophy, and neither was it some youthful ideals or sense of justice.
It was simply the burning passion surging deep within his heart.
Just an invisible thing.
A raging spirit.
And so, if there was a way to deal with that thing.
…Where are the idiots who would do something about this?
We revealed this disgusting conspiracy with our lives as exchange.
If anything and everything can be destroyed here—!
He inhaled a large amount of smoke, and scented upon a smell he should not be sensing.
…Ah, Vermouth smirked.
“It’s good now—haha…serves you right, you bastards!”
Before he exhaled the smoke he took in, Vermouth’s body vanished along with the space.
●
…I feel so sleepy.
The girl thought while he mind was still hazy.
At this point, she vaguely understood that she was in a dreamy state. It seemed she had forgotten about something important, but she could not think about it clearly. It seemed the floor below her feet could was wobbly, and she was lazy to open her eyes.
“Hm…he sent a mail through the telecommunication installation, huh?”
An unknown human male voice could be heard.
That voice came from beyond the mist, but it was vague as to whether it came from there in the first place.
“I don’t think they’ll send some really important stuff there…but whose rats are those?”
“She erased them complete, so I don’t think we can pint their identities down.”
“Guess this is the disadvantage of dealing with things too well…looking at the infiltration methods and level of professionalism in wanting to send the information just as he died, I guess we can guess the identity.”
“The Odemas? The Breguets? Who do they belong to…?”
“Can you track down that mail just now?”
“We’re doing so, but I don’t think he’s sending it to his master—”
…Boring.
The girl felt despondent after hearing the uninteresting talk the men had.
She hated things she could not understand. She did not like cold, terrifying things either.
—Destroy, devastate, crush, blend, finish?
What kind of enjoyment is there to be had doing such things? The girl could not understand at all.
Perhaps, the girl thought.
These humans are just idiots who have no common sense. There’s so many interesting things to do out there, but their conversations are really boring, hard to understand, and they’re doing the same thing over and over again.
—Singing, dancing, playing, laughing, tidying.
There’re so many more interesting things to do than that, why aren’t they doing so? The girl could not understand. It seemed to be a failed riddle, for there was no answer to be seen.
No matter when, no matter who it was—she would be allowed to do anything she wanted.
“—AnchoR.”
The man called her name.
He lifted the face of the girl, AnchoR, and said with a beam.
“Good work. That was some amazing battle result.”
…Battle result?
AnchoR tilted her head. In fact, she did not bat an eyelid as she merely looked up at the man’s face.
Is this person just a stupid man after all?
He only thinks of cleaning up as some sort of battle result; there is no rhythm, nothing to latch onto. It doesn’t look like he has any talent for writing songs.
—Is it because of this that it’s so boring?
—Or is it that it’s so boring because of this?
“I’ll handle the rest here; head for for maintenance first.”
AnchoR could not answer the vortex of questions that surfaced, and nodded wordlessly.
—It’s fine either way.
This is the ‘eternal’, ‘indestructible’, ‘strongest’ automata.
The 4th unit of the Initial Y-series—the ‘Trishula’ AnchoR.
The girl turned and walked away, her consciousness again falling into a light sleep.
