86 - Volume 10 - Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

THE SIMPLE DAYS OF TRIAGE BLACK TAG

“—Fido, it’s fine. Tear it off.”

Tapping his hand on the crashed Juggernaut’s bent canopy, Shin spoke as he peered into a gaping hole in the unit’s warped armor. The squad mate sitting inside this unit was already beyond saving.

Having been ordered to remain on standby, Kujo realized her fate as he watched the scene through his Juggernaut’s optical screen. To begin with, when it came to Juggernauts, a Processor would never survive a full-force tackle to the flank from a Grauwolf. Of all defects possible, the Republic’s prided failure of a unit, the Juggernaut, had the cockpit loosely connected to the frame, which made the unit’s torso split in half horizontally when it was directly attacked.

Kujo had seen the terrible, gruesome sight of comrades with their upper half torn off along with their rig’s frame enough times to get used to it.

The old-model Scavenger called Fido used its burner and a crane arm to remove the canopy. Shin leaned over the exposed cockpit. Fido’s large frame hid the contents of the cockpit from view, preventing the other Processors from seeing the inside.

The Legion’s main force was already on the retreat, but some slow self-propelled mines—unsightly humanlike weapons, their bodies loaded with high explosives and directional shrapnel—could still be on the battlefield. Leaving their units after battle would be suicidal.

Shin, however, didn’t even seem to be cautious. He had a 9 mm automatic pistol in his one hand, and he didn’t have it out with the intention of killing himself, either.

He reached his hand to something crumbling inside, touching it. Upon getting up, he didn’t seem to lift his pistol.

Aaah, Kujo thought, closing his eyes. No need to shoot her. She’s already dead.

She was lucky. The nervous and circulatory systems, which were essential for survival, were located in the head and chest. By contrast, wounds to the abdomen didn’t lead to instant death. At worst, an injured person could spend long days in agony, unable to die. So in that regard, she was lucky.

She’d have died either way, so she was lucky enough to go painlessly.

Triage designation: black—someone who was still alive but would soon die. Those who were on the verge of death and didn’t require medical attention. And the Eighty-Six who were cast out into the battlefield were all uniformly part of that category to begin with. They all shared that opinion with regards to death.

Still, she hadn’t been given the privilege of dying while ignorant of the pain of her body being destroyed or her moment of death.

—Somebody, help me.

The memory of that feeble voice, not directed at anyone in particular, reaching his ears through the Sensory Resonance once again surfaced in Kujo’s memories. He wished he could have protected her. The battlefield didn’t even allow him to stay by her side and care for her. His precious comrade, who was like a little sister to him. Who’d fought by his side for years before they were even assigned to the Spearhead squadron.

I’m sorry, Mina. In the end, I couldn’t do anything for you.

Kujo crossed himself, praying for her soul to rest in peace. This was a gesture no one else in the platoon made. The Eighty-Six were continually exposed to inescapable absurdity and suffering, and so they refused to believe in a God who wouldn’t save them. Especially not in this squadron. They had a Reaper on their side, who granted Processors the only true peace of death and saved them from the worst possible conclusion.

He’d take Mina, and Matthew, who was the first member of this squadron to die…and when Kujo dies, him too… He’ll take them to where they belong. Their Reaper, not some imaginary God.

Looking through his optical screen, Kujo could see him. Standing alongside their comrades’ remains, with the four-legged spider that was his mount. And by side, his loyal Scavenger attendant. He stood, true to his moniker, their ominous, beloved…beautiful Reaper.

But that said, spending one’s days thinking of nothing but death would be absurd.

“A hundred thirty-two days till I end my service! Fuckin’ glory to the Spearhead squadron!”

Standing at the back of the hangar like he did every morning, Kujo updated his colorful daily countdown. He walked off, clapping his hands to wipe the chalk from his palms. He had black skin, and hair and eyes of the Meridiana, a rare ethnicity even with the Eighty-Six, who were the ethnic minorities of the Republic. He stood tall, his body solidly built, his hair tied into three tight braids that reached down to his neck.

Enjoying life to the fullest and laughing off the hardships and bitter fates was the best way for a person to resist their persecution.

Entering the barracks’ dining hall, Kujo found breakfast was being prepared. On the other side of the counter, Anju was stirring a large pot with a wooden ladle. Using a frying pan so large that it could be a blunt weapon, Raiden was making enough omelets for several people to eat.

Theo and Kurena were setting utensils on the counter, while Kaie was feeding the cat Daiya had picked up a while back. The other members and maintenance crew were seated at the table and chatting, while Shin sat farthest away, reading a book and keeping his distance from the group as he always did.

Kujo narrowed his eyes as a distant memory came to mind. Back when he was a boy…his mother would busily make breakfast in the kitchen at home, while his siblings would clamor around the table. His dad would be relaxing on the living room sofa, reading a newspaper…

Kujo didn’t put it to words, though. If he was to call Shin the team’s dad and Raiden the team’s mom, he could probably expect a nauseating amount of sugar to be spilled into his coffee. He knew this from experience—Kino actually did it once and ended up gagging on his drink.

Taking off the bandanna holding up her hair, Anju leaned over the counter.

“It’s ready; come get some. Oh, but go wash your hands, Kujo. They’re still covered in chalk.”

“Oh, whoops.”

Leaving behind the clattering sound of everyone rising from their seats (the chairs were wobbly, with some of their legs being a bit higher than the floor), Kujo left the dining hall to wash his hands. When he returned, he found someone had already left him his portion of the meal, to which he said a hearty “Thanks!” and took a seat.

Their meal that morning was some heated-up canned bread, rabbit-meat stew, and vegetable omelets. For dessert, they had berries, oranges, and coffee substitute made from dandelions. All those were procured from the abandoned city nearby, the adjacent forest, or raised behind their barracks.

Of course, they had no way of gathering much else, so it was a bit of a modest meal, but since they were used to the production plant’s horrible…or rather, tasteless synthesized foods, this kind of breakfast was a luxury.

But as Kujo approached the table, he blinked in surprise. There was a vacant seat at the breakfast table. Noticing his gaze, the others looked the same way. The realization spread throughout the dining hall, and everyone noticed at once.

It was Mina’s seat. But she’d died the previous day.

A heavy silence settled over the room. The Processors were used to seeing their comrades die every day, which made them quick to process death. In most cases, they’d spend that day or the night immediately after mourning whoever passed away, and by the next day, they were—at least outwardly—back to normal.

But this battlefield’s version of death was especially commonplace, obvious, and because of that, particularly vicious. Every now and then, something they didn’t expect would remind them of the sheer vastness of that loss.

Normally, they were able to forget and keep on smiling while ignoring this grim reminder of the gruesome future ahead of them.

The melancholic silence settled over the dining hall, which was otherwise dominated by the bright morning sunlight and the fragrant scents of their breakfast. Kujo clenched both his fists.

If you don’t smile, you lose. If you don’t have fun, you’re just missing out.

Giving in to despair would mean surrendering to the white pigs who threw them into this battlefield. It would mean losing to them.

And like hell are we going to lose to them.

“Hey, guys! There’s a full moon in three days. Let’s have a moon viewing!”

Do you know about this, Kujo? They say there’s a rabbit on the moon.

I wish I could see it. I wish I could go all the way to the moon.

Startled by his sudden call and all too absurd suggestion, everyone turned a surprised look in Kujo’s direction. He carried on, undisturbed by their staring.

“Apparently, it’s this festival they celebrate in the continent’s east. Let’s try it! It’s probably a lot like the flower viewing we had earlier. Right, Kaie?!”

Kaie nodded hurriedly, slightly taken aback from having the question directed at her. Her raven-hued ponytail, the color unique to Orienta hair, waved back and forth as she did.

“Ah, yeah, I think so. I mean, I don’t really know all that well, but probably!”

“Then let’s drink some booze and have fun as we watch the moon! Not that we can drink, though!”

All Processors, Kujo included, didn’t drink alcohol. Being drunk meant you couldn’t fight, and not being able to fight would only get them killed in case of a Legion raid. Their dignity wouldn’t allow them to die like that.

“Well, why not?” Raiden smirked, realizing the idea behind Kujo’s suggestion. “We’ve got time to spare, and it’d make for a good change of pace.”

The vice captain voiced his agreement. Kujo snuck a glance at the base’s oldest resident, the head of the maintenance team, who simply gave a forced smile. The rest of their squad mates and maintenance crew didn’t seem to oppose the idea, either.

Which meant the only thing left was the squad captain’s approval. Shin alone didn’t seem to react to Mina’s absence, his eyes still fixed on his book.

“So it’s all right, yeah, Shin?!”

“…”

Shin’s silence could mean consent, denial, or an admittance that he didn’t listen for lack of interest. In most cases, it was the third option. So Kujo said it again.

“Let’s have a moon viewing three days from now, when it’s full! All right?!”

“I heard you. Yeah, why not?”

At this point, no one bothered asking him why he didn’t say anything if he was listening. Snapping the book he was reading shut, Shin turned his eyes toward Kujo. The title on the cover was Second Variety, an old sci-fi novel.

Shin was both a bookworm and a desultory reader, so there was no consistency in what literature he selected. Earlier, he was reading an anthology of anti-war poems written by some female eastern poet. Before that, he was reading a drug-addled dictator’s propaganda book. Raiden, who was his long-running comrade, always criticized Shin for his odd taste in books, and Kujo was inclined to agree.

But Kujo faintly realized why Shin had to act this way, and to that end, he couldn’t resent this young man, who was three years his junior, for his arguably rude conduct.

So long as he was reading and had something to distract him…he could keep his mind away from other things. It lightened the strain on his mind.

“But isn’t that an autumn custom? And we can’t get our hands on any of the things they use during moon viewings.”

“That doesn’t really matter. I just want an excuse to have fun; it’s not like any of us know how to do it.”

Unusually enough, Shin made a slightly unpleasant expression.

“…So that’s why we were sipping cups of water during the flower viewing,” he muttered.

“Oh, right, you had this odd expression on your face back then,” Kaie said dubiously. “Was that really so bad? Pouring water instead of booze?”

They weren’t going to drink, but they at least wanted to get the right atmosphere. So they used a bottle of rare, high-class mineral water and eastern cups they found in a ruined department store.

“…Forget it.” Shin heaved a tired sigh.

Three days later, a storm broke out.

“God dammit…! Stupid moon! Stupid storm…!” Kujo whined, falling facedown on the table.

“C’mon, we can do it next month,” Theo said, sitting opposite him and resting his cheek on his palm. “Besides, don’t get that depressed over it. It was just an idea we came up with on the spot.”

It was hard to tell if Theo was trying to comfort him or twist the knife.

“Barkeep, get me a drink!” Kujo grumbled.

“Sure thing, want me to spill it over your head?”

Seeing Theo reach for a cup of water, Kujo decided to stop fooling around and got up. For how cute he looked, Theo could be pretty quick-tempered and vicious.

Folding his hands behind his head, Kujo leaned his body on the backrest.

“Ah, damn it all. Yeah, I came up with it on the spot, but I really was looking forward to it.”

That made Kujo remember.

Do you know about this, Kujo? They say there’s a rabbit on the moon.

I wish I could see it. I wish I could go all the way to the moon.

Or maybe we can see it from down here, too. The full moon can be pretty bright, so maybe just once?

Mina, when he first met her. With her innocent smile. She never did find the rabbit on the moon. So he’d hoped that he could search for it in her place.

“We all looked forward to it. But either way, today’s just a no-go,” Theo said, throwing his glance toward the hangar. Usually, this time after dinner, the maintenance crew were on their free time, but today, the hangar was still buzzing with the sound of their machinery.

The Juggernauts were fragile and got easily worn down by combat, not to mention there was a constant shortage of spare parts to repair them with. The Republic’s supply of spare parts had come today, and the plane touched down late because the pilot was hungover. This of course meant that maintenance would have to be pushed back, and the crew could only get to work now, after a hurried dinner.

Daiya came back from a coffee break and took a seat next to Theo.

“They said they’re gonna make it before lights out somehow,” he stated.

Kujo exhaled a long breath out his nose. The maintenance crew had their own pride. They were the ones who serviced and kept the Processors’ lifeline, their Juggernauts, in perfect shape. As such, they didn’t let the Processors, who lacked the needed maintenance techniques, so much as touch their rigs as they worked. And yet…

“I wish we could find a way to help them…,” Kujo said.

“Shin already asked them, but they said they don’t need help and looking after brats like us would just distract them. But they also said they’re sorry for how inconvenient this is.”

Frontline bases that only had Eighty-Six—who didn’t count as humans—were only supplied the minimal amount of electricity. And with the maintenance equipment taking up most of the electricity, the barracks hardly got any power to use whenever they worked.

This was why the rest of the Processors, including Daiya, were currently in the dining hall instead of being where they’d usually be at this time of the evening. There wasn’t enough power to turn on the lights in their rooms.

Still, the sight and shrill voices of six girls—twice the usual number—in the dining hall made Kujo smile broadly. Kujo had only attended school for a few years, but this was probably what a night at a school trip felt like. This unusual atmosphere made him feel elated, and everyone just hung back and did whatever they wanted.

Shin returned, assuming his usual seat at the back of the room, and opened a hardcover book. The kitten, which was seemingly scared of the first storm it’d ever experienced, hurriedly jumped over and clung to the chest of his field uniform.

“Whatcha reading?” Kujo asked him.

“The Mist,” Shin replied briefly.

A closed-circle horror story written by a famous novelist. Not unlike how this base was currently isolated, what with the storm, the Legion, and the white pigs’ minefields.

“…Aaah, yeah… But sadly, there’s no mist this time—just a storm…”

A powerful, howling gust of wind washed over the base. It didn’t just shake the windowpanes; it caused the whole barracks to creak. It made Kaie and Kurena jolt, and even Shin had to raise his eyes from the book.

The wind roared for a short while, shaking and rattling the barrack, eventually settling into an ominous, out-of-season wintery whistle. The hard sound of the heavy rain lashing down on the base almost sounded like a firefight.

“…”

At times like these, everyone would look up at the ceiling silently for some reason.

“…Come to think of it, this barracks’ roof isn’t leaky,” Kurena said, recalling how terribly leaky the buildings in other frontline bases were.

“I mean, this is a frontline base on a critical defensive line,” Raiden replied.

“Come on, Raiden, other bases protect important spots, too,” Kujo said with an exaggerated, bitter expression. “Good luck finding a base without a leak, though. Last one I was in, the drainage overflowed, and all the base’s personnel had to get every drop of water out with a bucket relay.”

“Ah…”

Everyone (except Shin, who wasn’t listening) contorted their faces unnaturally. They all had similar experiences in the past.

“But yeah, buckets are our friends! Right? And so are hammers, planks, and nails!”

“I don’t like rain, but snow’s even worse. What was it, two years ago? We got covered in heavy snow.”

“Oh yeah, and Shin ordered Fido to clear the snow as a joke, and it actually went and did it.”

“No, the worst thing is definitely the drafts… The base before this one was freezing, and it was winter, too. We all took turns getting colds and being sick in bed.”

“Oh yeah, bases like that are a real pain. And I was in one base where the hail punched holes through the hangar’s ceiling…”

As the Processors told stories of bases they’d been in and the horrors of the weather there, the light bulb suddenly went out with an odd cracking sound. Everyone fell silent at once as darkness and quiet settled over the dining hall.

“Huh? A power outage?” Theo said, looking up at the light bulb.

“As if. The power cable’s underground; the wind wouldn’t sever it.”

“Hey, you think maybe the Republic got ruined?!”

“…Uh, Kurena, you sound so happy when you say that, but if that happens, we’re doomed, too.”

Daiya replied to Kurena’s remark, but he sounded pretty amused, too. They’d forced them into internment camps when they were little, and days of repeated, monotonous fighting left the Processors craving excitement. And so a storm and a power outage was a big enough event to fire them up, if only for how rare it was.

Everyone began speculating over the cause of the power outage, be it some supernatural phenomenon, a new type of Legion, or an alien attack. But a silent presence stood up, not making any footsteps, and a moment later, the light suddenly flickered back on.

“Oh.”

“Ah.”

A few voices called out in disappointment or relief, and before long, Shin silently walked back into the dining hall.

“The breaker.”

“What, that’s all? Boring.”

But with that final word, the light went out again with a loud buzz.

“…”

Everyone looked up at the extinguished light bulb once more. This time, Shin didn’t move. Suddenly, an information terminal that had been thrown to the corner of the table lit up, and the sound of a neurotic young man spoke out of it, with the words Audio only flickering onto its monitor.

“Handler One to Spearhead squadron. Stop needlessly consuming all the electricity. We can’t perform maintenance on the medical unit.”

It was the voice of their commanding officer from the Republic’s eighty-five Sectors on the other side of the Gran Mur. For how exaggerated his title and how overbearing his attitude were, he was just a cattle keeper. A useless commander in name only.

Kujo frowned. So this was why the breaker flipped. The medical units were machines set up in each base in place of military physicians. It automatically diagnosed injuries and diseases and prescribed appropriate treatment. The white pigs would surely call this a cutting-edge medical system.

That said, the standards of its triage system quite frankly bordered on the insane. It only treated injuries that would allow a Processor to immediately return to the front lines. If treating an injury would leave a Processor unable to move for a time, even if it was a wound one could reasonably recover from given treatment, it would mark them with black tags and leave them to their fates.

The Republic’s values meant they wouldn’t feed a Processor who was useless on the battlefield, and this machine was a blatant representation of that. Needless to say, the Processors all hated this cold, emotionless, and useless device.

Shin sighed and then opened his mouth to speak. The captain was usually the one to handle communications with the Handler.

“Handler One. Due to the delay in supplies this afternoon, service work on our Juggernauts is not yet complete. The medical unit’s maintenance is of low priority. Please postpone it.”

“Like I care. Hurry up. I can’t go home until the maintenance schedule is complete.”

Everyone let out soft sighs. Prioritizing the useless medical unit’s maintenance over the Juggernauts’ upkeep was absurd. And needless to say, they couldn’t care less about this Handler having to put up with overtime.

“I heard that, pigs. Treat your commanding officer with respect.”

Not that they’d pay any respect to an idiot who thought he could get pigs to be polite. Knowing all too well that he was being ignored, the Handler angrily spat out.

“You filthy stains… Bah, no matter. It’s the last time I’ll have to put up with you savage Eighty-Six.”

“Ah,” Shin let out this indifferent exclamation. “Right, you were quitting, weren’t you? I heard you joined the military since you had nowhere else to work. Did you find a new job?”

The Handler fell silent for a moment.

“…Who told you?”

You rambled about it when you were drunk, you moron.

Variants of that thought passed through all the Processors’ minds, but none of them said anything. The Handler’s tone became disgusted.

“Can’t let down my guard for one second around you, huh, Reaper…? You haunted freak.”

Kurena’s expression twisted up in anger, while Theo narrowed his eyes coldly. Shin didn’t seem to mind the comment, though. Eventually, it was the Handler who broke the silence.

“…What, aren’t you filthy, lazy pigs curious about your next Handler?”

“Not really,” Shin replied flatly.

The Handler apparently failed to hear him, because he continued speaking smugly.

“She hasn’t heard about it herself yet, but apparently, it’s some rich chick. A former noble and an elite who skipped grades to graduate from her university early. Well, not that anyone expects a sheltered princess to command people properly. The most she’ll do is shepherd you pigs to some embarrassing death… A fitting end for you Eighty-Six. Serves you right.”

“…”

Watching Shin respond with silence, Kujo thought Shin could only hold his tongue because he honestly didn’t care. Processors didn’t usually trust their Handlers anyway. Whether the Handler was there or not didn’t matter… In fact, they were better off absent. There was less pointless shouting littering up the communication lines. So the Processors truly didn’t care.

Even the very thought that this was a sad, unfortunate fact had been cast by the wayside a long time ago.

Shin ignored the matter of the next Handler and brought the conversation back on track.

“If you’re quitting anyway, why don’t you forget the schedule and go home?”

His voice seemed to radiate an attitude that screamed, Just go away already.

“Don’t be stupid; breaking orders would just be a blow to my rating. I’m already in trouble because one of you got killed for no reason, so if my reputation gets any wo—”

Shin loudly clicked his tongue. This made the Handler jolt.

“A-anyway, this is an order. If work is still ongoing in the hangar, at least turn off the power to the barracks. Understood? Your job is to die in place of Republic citizens, not to fool around in the middle of the night.”

With that said, the Handler cut the connection, as if trying to flee. Everyone, Shin included, heaved a deep sigh.

They hated doing what that idiot said, but the Juggernauts were their lifelines, and they couldn’t put off their maintenance work. And so they turned off the lights to the dining hall.

Instead, they put up chemical lanterns they found in an abandoned base, illuminating the room, which only seemed to make the atmosphere all the livelier. The Processors were bold that way.

And thus, paying no regard to the racket of the maintenance work, the cacophonous din of the heavy rain, and the shrill howling of the wind, they played around. They put together a tower of wooden fragments in the dark, told ghost stories, and took turns taking swigs out of a can of some preserved beverage.

Shin gave up on trying to read in the dark and instead hung out with Raiden, who’d brought out a chess set.

“…A female Handler, huh? That’s rare.”

Raiden suddenly said this as he held up his queen in his hand, spinning it between his fingers as he considered where to move it.

Despite advocating itself as a progressive country of equality, most of its military was—as armies tended to be—predominantly male. On top of that, it was also a sink for the unemployed who couldn’t find work elsewhere. A young woman from a good house, and fresh out of her higher education at that, wouldn’t normally go out of her way to work there.

“And a rich kid, too. Never heard of anyone like that in the army,” said Daiya, and then he gagged on some liquid that was colored so strangely that, even in the dark, it was clear it wasn’t meant for human consumption. He then passed the glass over to Haruto, who was slightly pale, and continued:

“Wonder what she’s like. She must be, like, really pretty! Like a princess!”

His tone was clearly joking, and his friends caught on and replied with a nasty tone.

“Sure she is… A pretty, pretty pig princess.”

“Must have big knockers, too. I mean, she is a fat pig, after all.”

“Obviously. She’s a white pig.”

Theo, who was good at drawing, started scribbling her presumed likeness in his sketchbook. His friends huddled around him and immediately started cracking up. Theo then handed the sketchbook to Kujo, who laughed out loud. A white-pig-girl princess, clad in a frilly dress and with her hair in ringlets, winking suggestively at the viewer.

“Whoa, looks like the type to carry pink roses with her.”

“I mean, she’s probably one of those. The type to end her sentences with kind sir and refer to herself in the royal we or something. For sure.”

“Then she definitely greets people with good day and says prithee when she asks for things… I’d bet even Shin would snap at her in three days tops.”

“Then Theo would lose his temper at her day one.”

“What are you saying, Haruto? The first sentence she says would probably make him flip out.”

“Oh, you never know. Maybe she’s this sickly, secluded girl who’s never held anything heavier than a needle.”

“The kind that would die if exposed to strong rain or hard sunlight, right?”

“Uh, and she became a soldier?”

“Oh, so she’d talk with this timid, mumbling, unconfident voice, huh…? That’s even more annoying.”

“Peace, gentlemen. Keep your cool. She’s probably some ugly old maid no one wants to marry, and they’re forcing this job on her. That’s gotta be what’s going on.”

“Hell no, we’re talking about a goddess here. A goddess! Divinity incarnate sent down to this filthy world to save us pitiful Eighty-Six with her mercy… That’s the kind of Handler we need.”

As his friends continued their guessing game, thinking up theories as to what their next Handler would be like…Kujo narrowed his eyes.

“…Yeah, agreed.”

Even if she’s no goddess. Even if she’s not a benevolent princess.

“I hope she’s a good person.”

If they weren’t allowed to at least dream of this much… If they couldn’t have this small bit of salvation, how could they go on? How could they fight on this battlefield, where the people they wanted to protect most were already gone?

Kujo settled his attention on Shin, who cracked a sarcastic smile as he held the sketchbook with one hand. From a Processor’s perspective, a good-natured Handler was an incompetent one. Actually, if they were just incompetent, that would be a blessing. The kind of “good-natured” people who tried to bring peacetime ethics into the battlefield only created more needless losses. They were worse than useless; they were actively harmful.

The consensus among Processors was that the best kind of Handlers were the idiots who neglected their job and dumped all the work on them. That thought made Kujo frown. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree, but it felt like sometimes you couldn’t be this reductive about things—

Suddenly, the atmosphere about Shin chilled. He raised his head, like a hound that heard howling in the distance, and moved his gaze east—toward the Legion’s territories.

Everyone knew what this meant and watched him with held breath. After a moment, his cold crimson eyes glinted like blades, which made Raiden narrow his own eyes bitterly.

“…Do we sortie?”

“Yeah. These aren’t a number the second squadron can handle.”

Fundamentally speaking, battles during the night were the responsibility of the first ward’s second to fourth defensive units. However, in situations where they issued a request for aid, the first squadron, Spearhead, would have to sortie, as well.

Communications between different squadrons were strictly forbidden, so the Handler had to be the one to give the request. This made night raids, after the Handler went home, especially lethal.

Theo snapped his sketchbook shut and got to his feet. Those who had been under Shin’s command in past squadrons were used to this and reacted quickly.

“I’ll let the maintenance team know. How long do we have?”

“Three hours at best,” Shin replied. “We’ll sortie as soon as we’re ready, even without a request.”

“Understood.”

Theo sprinted out into the darkness, like a cat with keen night vision. Without sparing a glance in his direction, Shin looked around the remaining members. They gazed back at him, all the smiles and chattering gone, their eyes glinting with tension and fighting spirit.

“Everyone, get some sleep while you still can. Depending on how things go, we might end up fighting through the night. Keep in mind we won’t have time to rest once the operation begins.”

“Roger.”

But Shin’s bloodred eyes held neither resolve nor fighting spirit. Only detached serenity. Seeing that made Kujo shiver.

Shin wasn’t afraid. Not of the overwhelming battle with the Legion or the death awaiting everyone—and likely even himself. He simply remained cold and tranquil.

And that strangeness chilled Kujo to his core.

“We can’t make a move until the Juggernauts are ready anyway. We’ll probably take some losses, but focus on sweeping up the Legion… Don’t be naive and think of saving anyone out there.”

“All squadrons. I’m calling in place of your Handler, who is currently absent. Your sector’s fourth squadron has issued a request for assistance. Please offer them support.”

“Understood … Thank you for your request.”

Like Shin predicted, the squadron that had gone out to intercept the Legion had failed to stop the enemy’s advance. The abandoned city ruins that made up the battlefield this time were, indeed, full of dead bodies and Juggernaut wreckage littering the concrete.

The Legion ranks were now being torn apart by the Spearhead squadron, which had launched a surprise attack and hit the enemy from their exposed flanks. All around the city ruins, individual Legion units were being engaged and taken out.

Looking at the Juggernaut with the Personal Mark of a headless skeleton, which led the charge, Kujo narrowed his eyes in momentary fascination.

Undertaker. Shin’s unit.

Shin was strong.

Terrifyingly strong. The Legion’s performance far exceeded the Juggernaut’s in every way, yet with nothing but cultivated skill and intuition, Shin managed to overwhelm them with his unrivaled combat skills.

He took the most dangerous role of all, the vanguard, and Undertaker was optimized for melee combat. But not a single enemy bullet, not one slash ever landed on him as he cut down these nightmarish mechanical monstrosities. The sight of him sprinting through the dark, nighttime battlefield, his unit illuminated by the rain and flickering flames, was that of some terrible mythological monster.

Yes, Shin was strong.

And not just when it came to battle. Even just in terms of his mental prowess, Kujo thought Shin was strong. Shin never smiled, but he never gave in to hardship, either. He never dreamed, but he never yielded to despair, either.

Despite standing closest to death…he never acted as his comrades did. He didn’t rely on bluffing and bravado. When the terror of death bore down on him, he didn’t fake a smile like Kujo did. He always hung on to who he was.

Even if everyone else around him died, Shin would probably keep fighting on alone to the bitter end. And while Kujo didn’t envy him in the slightest for it, he did think it was a terribly lonely way to live.

It wasn’t a person’s way of life, but that of an icy blade. A sword whetted and sharpened to cut absolutely, shattering only after it had completed its objective. With nothing to its name but the one thing it cut down.

It felt so terribly lonely. So if nothing else, Kujo wished Shin could find something, someone, anyone to occupy the hole in his heart. Anyone, really. If only there was someone like that…

But Kujo knew this was just a transient wish, too fragile to even be called a fantasy. They were locked away in a battlefield at the end of the world, and the only new people they could meet were their Handlers. And most of them were good-for-nothings anyway. No one on this battlefield could ever find salvation.

Oh, but that one earlier sounded like she was better than the rest.

Kujo recalled the girl who’d contacted them before the battle started. He curled his lips into a smile as he recalled her voice, which lingered in his ears like the chiming of a silver bell. She was some other squadron’s Handler, who’d called in to request support for a squadron that wasn’t even under her command.

Since they weren’t on her Para-RAID settings, she used the base’s radio. And since all the captains and vice captains were in their strategy meeting, Kujo picked up the call. Their conversation was a short, practical exchange of information, but he could hear the sincere kindness in her words. The clear, gentle timbre of her voice.

If only they had someone like her, maybe…

But then a screeching sound pulled Kujo out of his thoughts.

“What are you doing, Kujo?! You’ll die if you don’t keep moving!” His squad captain, Kaie, scolded him,

“S-sorry, Kaie!”

Kujo quickly turned his head, his optical sensor’s footage skimming over the ground beneath his unit. Burning wreckage. Crushed Juggernaut legs and canopies. And next to them, the hulking frame of a Grauwolf that had seemingly been finished off along with this unit—

And then his audio sensor picked up a faint voice.

“Help me.”

Kujo gasped and turned around. Between the lashing rain and the flickering flames, he could see a silhouette clad in a field uniform extend its hand toward him.

A survivor! I have to help them out!

The memory of Mina’s death flashed in his mind. He didn’t see his close friend’s last moments himself, but fortunately, she’d been lucky enough to get a quick death without needless suffering. But if he left this Processor to their fate, they would surely die. And unlike Mina, whom he couldn’t help…he could save this one!

He reached for his canopy’s opening lever. The Juggernaut didn’t have a manipulator that could grab on to things, so if he wanted to pull this person out of the wreckage, he’d have to do it with his own hands.

Suddenly, for some reason, Shin’s warning before this mission flashed in his mind.

Don’t be naive and think of saving anyone out there.

Shaking his head, he pulled the lever. Compressed air escaped the cockpit, and the canopy popped up, along with the unit’s gun barrel. The intense rain lashed down on his body.

“Hey, are you all right?!” Kujo asked.

And then…

The Handler girl who’d stayed behind in the common office to finish her work raised her head in surprise as the door slammed shut.

“Shit, why another one so soon…?! My rating’s gonna take such a hit…!”

She watched her colleague in dumbfounded amazement as he walked off, muttering in irritation. This was technically a work place, a public space. Such an emotional outburst, to say nothing of his language, was inappropriate.

His slender face struck her as somewhat familiar. It was the same Handler who’d been absent earlier. She found his terminal, flickering with a request for support, and phoned it for him. Apparently, he was drinking despite being on the clock, and calling him back to the office was quite the endeavor.

The information detailing the names of Handlers who managed particular squadrons or wards wasn’t disclosed to the other Handlers, so she didn’t know which squadron he commanded. But based on his reaction…the battle didn’t end favorably.

And yet the first thing he had to say about that was lamenting his rating as a Handler. This was nothing new, of course, but the state of the Republic’s citizens, the fact that they couldn’t regard their fellow human beings like the people they were, made the girl’s expression cloud over.

She thought back to that Processor she’d exchanged a few words with. A Processor of a defensive unit she wasn’t familiar with, in a ward she didn’t know of. He had the voice of a young man who was a bit older than her. His tone came across as slightly sad but otherwise amicable and friendly.

These were the kinds of people the Republic claimed weren’t human? Ridiculous.

With that thought, the girl—the command and control officer for the ninth ward’s third defensive unit, Vladilena Milizé—closed her eyes in prayer for that lost soul, who had surely perished on a distant battlefield in the name of a country that would never grieve them.