The time is 04:10.
Ideally, it should be a time when the temporary sky—the eastern side of the Eternal Sky—begins to lighten gradually. Unfortunately, the sky over the forward base is in the state of a new moon, with not even the stars projected.
From an elevator within the base, a brisk sound, "cheen," echoes, and after a moment, the doors open.
Soldiers clad in black combat uniforms and body armor disembark one after another.
In their hands are not only personal automatic rifles but also squad support machine guns.
"...What's this..."
"...How terrible..."
The group with matching patches on their sleeves distorts their expressions hidden beneath balaclavas.
First and foremost is the strong smell. Despite having just descended from the elevator, a pungent odor hangs in the air.
The scent, a blend of meat, fat, and the burnt rubber of tires, is intense, to say the least. It is mixed with the stench of feces and urine. The smell of ammonia can also be discerned—but if that were the only issue, it might have been bearable.
And then, it is a scene of devastation.
Shortly after descending from the elevator, what unfolds before them is the gruesome sight of two infantry fighting vehicles (IFVs) deployed six hours ago.
They seem to have been destroyed on the street. One has its turret blown off, and the other appears to have flames spreading internally. A charred corpse, exposing its upper body through the hatch, seems to have been incinerated while attempting to escape.
The vehicles are still burning, and everyone lifts their night vision goggles, equipped with thermal imaging, attached to their helmets.
However, they cannot use them here. Directly staring at the flames would render their vision useless. Yet, in an area where something, possibly the heat, lingers, these devices would also be of no use.
As a precaution and to conserve battery power, they decided to refrain from using them.
"...Lieutenant, what about that..."
Before someone can inquire, one of the non-commissioned officers addresses the commanding officer.
Before questioning, the officer directs his gaze to where the non-commissioned officer is looking—and in that moment, the officer's forehead, hidden beneath the balaclava, breaks into a cold sweat.
There's a streetlight.
A figure is hanging from that streetlight.
A thin wire has been looped around the neck, and with a thicker wire connected, the person seems to have been hung. It appears they were alive when hung.
The tongue and eyeballs are protruding, and the corpse, in the combat pants, is displaying a contorted expression of agony. The excrement dripping from the pants is likely a contributing factor to the earlier foul smell.
"Wait... That... Can't be..."
A young soldier points in a trembling voice. He seems to have discovered something, and his tone is filled with excessive shock.
Everyone directs their gaze to where the finger is pointing—and speechless.
It's a severed head.
Impaled on the end of an upright iron pipe—apparently sharpened—is a human head. Just a quick glance reveals it's not less than ten heads.
"Ugh...!!"
Even soldiers who are used to such scenes vomit. Despite not wanting to, they vomit from their mouths, exposed by lifting the balaclavas, the breakfast they had just consumed an hour ago.
No one asks what happened here. Everyone has already figured it out.
Something other than combat happened.
"Survivor found...!"
Suddenly, one of the soldiers reports.
At the location where the running soldier headed—a human, wearing a mixture of miscellaneous and shabby clothing, lies on their back, groaning.
"Ugh... Agh...!!"
"Are you okay!?"
"...Wait... Could it be... aren't they from Heavenly Ascension...?"
This attire—undoubtedly, it doesn't belong to regular army soldiers deployed here. If that's the case, the individual must be a member of Enta Heaven, a terrorist organization.
The soldiers remain on guard, pointing the muzzles of their assault rifles and squad support weapons, but a rushing soldier intervenes.
"Stop! Please, he's still human! Even if he's a terrorist... he's injured!"
"But..."
"Ah, damn it... Medic! Check him!"
The senior sergeant—whose authority in the squad might surpass even the officer—gives instructions. The medic reluctantly rushes over and begins providing care.
"Sergeant..."
"Lieutenant... Save your anger for later. And besides... there's some truth in what he's saying."
The medic who ran over prompts the young soldier to turn the survivor onto his back.
The young soldier nods and, with a call, turns the survivor onto his back. The detailed view of the survivor's face is illuminated by the flames from the burning vehicle.
—Both eyes are crushed, and he's shedding tears of blood.
"What the...!"
"How could someone do this..."
It sends shivers down their spines. Whether he became a prisoner or got injured during combat—although the former seems more likely, a sudden doubt arises.
Why was a prisoner left lying here?
The medic uses medic scissors to cut through the makeshift clothes of the survivor, observing the injuries. At that moment, the eyes peering from beneath the balaclava widen.
"Bomb!—"
.
.
.
.
*BOOM!*
An orange flash erupts from the survivor. The intense flash burns the soldiers' retinas, followed by the shockwave of the explosion, scattering buckshot around.
It's a scattergun for Rapture, with those pellets.
The survivor's body has a vest fitted with high-performance explosive C-5, and pellets extracted from shotgun shells are embedded in it.
The medic, who saw the orange flash and the scattering pellets up close, witnesses it at the last moment.
The survivor's mouth—continuously spitting out a froth of blood. The tongue, which should be there, seems to be cut off halfway.
The shattered bodies of soldiers, torn apart by the scattered buckshot, are rapidly being produced.
"My arm!! Where's my arm!?"
"AAAAAHHHHHHH!?"
The ones in the most pitiable state are those who survived halfway.
The soldier whose arm was blown off frantically searches for his missing arm, and the soldier whose lower body—legs from the hips down—was completely crushed crawls and screams in agony.
—It's no longer about the operation.
The officer, who miraculously escaped with minor injuries, assesses the unit's situation and is about to order a retreat to the Ark when his own field of vision feels like it's tumbling.
*Fwish*
Before he can even raise a question mark, a familiar body collapses into the officer's field of vision. When he realizes it's his own body, his consciousness begins to fade.
"Lieutenant!!"
"You bastards!! Shoot! Shoot!!"
A tall figure suddenly appears, and in a swift motion, the officer's head falls with a slicing sound.
A blood-stained mountain knife gripped in that hand. The soldiers, who realize that the officer's life has been easily taken, aim their guns at the figure.
Gunshots ring out one after another, and bullets rain down, but the figure, crouching low to the ground, continues to run without being grazed.
The swung mountain knife flashes horizontally, severing the soldier's head and tearing through his torso.
One by one, the soldiers are reduced in number. Correspondingly, the gunfire becomes sporadic.
"Monsters...!!"
"Don't say rude things. I am, without a doubt, human."
—That's fucking nonsense!
Facing the soldier who remains, the tall figure, with the muzzle of the automatic rifle without ammunition aimed at him, pulls the trigger several times, expressing lamentations. The blade of the mountain knife swung abruptly, and crushes the fragile head, where the helmet, worn during the explosion, has disappeared somewhere.
---
It's been about five days since then.
For five days, gunfire and explosions echoing through the forward base periodically shook every facility.
In a room in the barracks—Rapi's quarters. It's not spacious by any means, but all the members of the Counters are gathered inside.
Anis is sitting on a chair, scratching her flaxen hair.
Neon is leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor with her face buried in his raised knees.
Marian is—in the bed. Wrapped in a synthetic blanket, she curls up like a fetus. When the explosions and gunfire, echoing like distant thunder, shook the barracks moments ago, she woke up. And even now, she is shaking her body faintly.
"I hate it... I hate it... Commander...!"
Though her eyes are closed, tears have moistened the area around her pillow.
Seeing her in that state, Rapi sits on the edge of the bed, extending her hand to gently stroke Marian's silver hair.
The gunfire has stopped for over an hour now.
Rapi stands up.
"...I'll take breakfast to the Commander."
There's no response from anyone. Only Anis seems to have nodded faintly.
She leaves the room and stops by the barracks' dining hall. There, she grabs a packaged combat ration and heads outside.
—The smell reaches this far.
Looking in the direction of the elevator, in the world enveloped in darkness, the only scene with flames burning is spread out.
With her agile legs, she quickly rushes from the barracks to the elevator.
Where could he be?
The area near the elevator is heavy with the smell of blood, possibly due to the aftermath of the recent battle.
Survivors—seemingly zero.
If there's no one moving, then—Rapi identifies the likely location where he might be and starts running again.
A 50-caliber heavy machine gun is set up on a tripod, and from behind sandbags with stacked gun barrels, one can peek into the makeshift position.
In the chaotic position filled with scattered 50-caliber thick cartridge cases, there lies the figure of Moore.
In these five days, there have been 13 attacks—including the recent one.
No replenishment of ammunition, rations, or other supplies. Moreover, the only fighting force that can resist is Moore.
Almost sleepless and relentless combat has been ongoing.
Rapi has suggested several times that she join the fight, but she's been casually refused. The reason for that—she somehow sensed it.
Rapi lowers her red eyes once, then steps into the position.
At that moment, there is a sound of clashing, as if empty shell casings are being scraped.
"——tch!!"
Raising his head covered with a helmet as if repelled, Moore grabs the mountain knife leaned against the sandbags and leaps towards Lapi before her.
Even in the darkness, his deep brown eyes gleam vividly, giving Rapi the impression of a wild animal. She is pushed down by him into the position of a corpse that has run out of strength.
Straddling her, Moore, with a helmet, raises the mountain knife, ready to strike. Seeing this, Rapi addresses him calmly.
"——Commander."
The gleaming deep brown eyes, tainted with hostility, gradually lose their animosity as Moore captures the unwavering red eyes staring at him without hesitation.
"I'm... ---Rapi."
The mountain knife, slipping down with a clatter, makes a dry sound within the position.
Completely reflecting her figure in his eyes, Moore, who had straddled Rapi, stands up and steps back, then sits down, leaning against the sandbags with his back.
The stubble, thickened with backflow blood, stiffened, and Moore, covering his face stained with dirt and backflow blood with gloved hands, spoke with a trembling voice.
"...I'm sorry..."
"...No."
Lying down, especially approaching right after the battle, she implicitly conveys that she's at fault. However, Moore feels a sense of disgust at the fact that he tried to attack a subordinate he should protect.
Rapi, raising her hips, sits down next to him and takes out a soft pack from the pouch of her body armor.
From it, she takes out a cigarette, places it between her well-shaped lips, and mimics lighting it with a turbo lighter.
She doesn't enjoy smoking. But—she doesn't seem to dislike doing it like this.
"Commander..."
Gently pulling away his hands covering his face, Lapi places the cigarette she took from her lips onto his dry lips.
Hopefully, this will calm him down a bit.
"..."
The expression on Moore's face, gently wafting the purple smoke of the cigarette placed in his mouth, is—not to put it politely—not good. Rapi, who has removed his gloves, grasps his bare right hand.
The condition is red—reaching a dangerous level.
"Commander... It might be the limit already."
"I can still fight."
She never said anything about being unreasonable—she never said that.
She has the conviction that he will fight until the last moment. He's still fighting like this. That's the best evidence.
However—sooner or later, the ammunition for the assault rifle will run out. To save ammunition, they're engaging in hand-to-hand combat, using the machete that one of the members of Heavenly Ascension had.
"...Please consider Marian's feelings too. Just by you fighting like this... she's getting hurt."
"────"
Rapi didn't overlook the movement of his deep brown eyes.
Probably, Moore himself knows the limit more than anyone else.
There is still enough power left to protect Marian, but—even that is limited. It's not unlimited.
"Opinion report, is that alright?"
When Rapi speaks, Moore beside her nods slightly in response.
"Let's evacuate Marian."
"...Where to?"
"...Somewhere. As far away as possible so that she won't be taken."
It's an abstract expression of opinion—but she looks up.
The temporary sky is dyed in darkness. Rapi directs her gaze towards the other side of the Eternal Sky—meaning, towards the surface.
"...To the surface?"
"...Yes."
"...To where on the surface? Sending only Marian to the surface alone is a heartless act. I can't do that."
"...I know. You're that kind of person."
It's the surface where Rapture roams. Even with Marian's physical abilities surpassing those of Nikke, there must be limits. Even if she manages to survive—she would be burdened with an endless, destinationless journey.
He abandons his responsibility as her commander. He releases the command. He—abandons her.
"...That's..."
Moore's meager pride rejects this impossibility.
"...What if you contact Snow White? You spoke to her before, didn't you? You exchanged contact information."
"...Ah..."
Certainly, that's true.
However, she is a Pilgrim, a member of Pioneer. There is no guarantee that she will stay in a place where radio waves can reach.
"...Instead of continuing to fight alone like this, wouldn't it be more reasonable to contact her, betting on a glimmer of hope? Don't you think?"
"...Even after fighting this far, huh?"
"Don't be stubborn."
The gaze of Moore, who lets the purple smoke from the clenched cigarette curl, pierces Rapi. It's a gaze that strongly reflects rejection, but as the leader of the squad and above all—as his subordinate, she can't change her opinion.
Pierced in turn by her gaze with red eyes, Moore, with his deep brown eyes avoiding her gaze, squeezes the cigarette, which burns with a sizzling sound, with his fingers. After a brief silence, his lips move.
"You said... someone died from a stray bullet you fired."
"Yes... Were you asleep?"
"I was awake. Sorry."
"I know."
During the joint operation with the Absolute Squad, Moore was in a set sleep. In the meantime, he mentioned a past story that Rapi told while she was asleep, but it seems he remembered the setting as he expressed a small apology.
However, it's a story that's too late now. She had known for a long time.
"...You probably kill for a stray bullet, but I... intentionally caused casualties to kill people surely like this."
"Yes."
"...You said it was troublesome for human death. Is that... not a mistake?"
Moore asks, avoiding eye contact.
Faced with that question, Rapi—remembering, a kind of self-loathing surges deep in her heart, but she nods and affirms.
"...I... don't... feel... anything."
"...Huh?"
"...I don't feel anything, neither the aversion to killing nor the aversion to the act of injuring humans... It's like the feeling of throwing away the trash in a messy room. Oh no... cleaning up the complete annihilation... makes me somewhat happy."
Rapi can't hide her confusion at his candid feelings. She wonders if it's due to the excitement during combat, but she also considers other possibilities.
"...Probably the first time I've killed a human... Why is that?"
"...That is..."
His deep brown eyes are directed at her, struggling for an answer. From those eyes—devoid of any emotion, Rapi realizes that it's a fact.
"...In your eyes... what do I look like?"
Recalling the words he heard repeatedly in the last five days—monster, beast, bastard.
To that, Rapi couldn't give any answer—handing over the combat ration for breakfast that she brought was the best she could do.
The time is 04:10.
Ideally, it should be a time when the temporary sky—the eastern side of the Eternal Sky—begins to lighten gradually. Unfortunately, the sky over the forward base is in the state of a new moon, with not even the stars projected.
From an elevator within the base, a brisk sound, "cheen," echoes, and after a moment, the doors open.
Soldiers clad in black combat uniforms and body armor disembark one after another.
In their hands are not only personal automatic rifles but also squad support machine guns.
"...What's this..."
"...How terrible..."
The group with matching patches on their sleeves distorts their expressions hidden beneath balaclavas.
First and foremost is the strong smell. Despite having just descended from the elevator, a pungent odor hangs in the air.
The scent, a blend of meat, fat, and the burnt rubber of tires, is intense, to say the least. It is mixed with the stench of feces and urine. The smell of ammonia can also be discerned—but if that were the only issue, it might have been bearable.
And then, it is a scene of devastation.
Shortly after descending from the elevator, what unfolds before them is the gruesome sight of two infantry fighting vehicles (IFVs) deployed six hours ago.
They seem to have been destroyed on the street. One has its turret blown off, and the other appears to have flames spreading internally. A charred corpse, exposing its upper body through the hatch, seems to have been incinerated while attempting to escape.
The vehicles are still burning, and everyone lifts their night vision goggles, equipped with thermal imaging, attached to their helmets.
However, they cannot use them here. Directly staring at the flames would render their vision useless. Yet, in an area where something, possibly the heat, lingers, these devices would also be of no use.
As a precaution and to conserve battery power, they decided to refrain from using them.
"...Lieutenant, what about that..."
Before someone can inquire, one of the non-commissioned officers addresses the commanding officer.
Before questioning, the officer directs his gaze to where the non-commissioned officer is looking—and in that moment, the officer's forehead, hidden beneath the balaclava, breaks into a cold sweat.
There's a streetlight.
A figure is hanging from that streetlight.
A thin wire has been looped around the neck, and with a thicker wire connected, the person seems to have been hung. It appears they were alive when hung.
The tongue and eyeballs are protruding, and the corpse, in the combat pants, is displaying a contorted expression of agony. The excrement dripping from the pants is likely a contributing factor to the earlier foul smell.
"Wait... That... Can't be..."
A young soldier points in a trembling voice. He seems to have discovered something, and his tone is filled with excessive shock.
Everyone directs their gaze to where the finger is pointing—and speechless.
It's a severed head.
Impaled on the end of an upright iron pipe—apparently sharpened—is a human head. Just a quick glance reveals it's not less than ten heads.
"Ugh...!!"
Even soldiers who are used to such scenes vomit. Despite not wanting to, they vomit from their mouths, exposed by lifting the balaclavas, the breakfast they had just consumed an hour ago.
No one asks what happened here. Everyone has already figured it out.
Something other than combat happened.
"Survivor found...!"
Suddenly, one of the soldiers reports.
At the location where the running soldier headed—a human, wearing a mixture of miscellaneous and shabby clothing, lies on their back, groaning.
"Ugh... Agh...!!"
"Are you okay!?"
"...Wait... Could it be... aren't they from Heavenly Ascension...?"
This attire—undoubtedly, it doesn't belong to regular army soldiers deployed here. If that's the case, the individual must be a member of Enta Heaven, a terrorist organization.
The soldiers remain on guard, pointing the muzzles of their assault rifles and squad support weapons, but a rushing soldier intervenes.
"Stop! Please, he's still human! Even if he's a terrorist... he's injured!"
"But..."
"Ah, damn it... Medic! Check him!"
The senior sergeant—whose authority in the squad might surpass even the officer—gives instructions. The medic reluctantly rushes over and begins providing care.
"Sergeant..."
"Lieutenant... Save your anger for later. And besides... there's some truth in what he's saying."
The medic who ran over prompts the young soldier to turn the survivor onto his back.
The young soldier nods and, with a call, turns the survivor onto his back. The detailed view of the survivor's face is illuminated by the flames from the burning vehicle.
—Both eyes are crushed, and he's shedding tears of blood.
"What the...!"
"How could someone do this..."
It sends shivers down their spines. Whether he became a prisoner or got injured during combat—although the former seems more likely, a sudden doubt arises.
Why was a prisoner left lying here?
The medic uses medic scissors to cut through the makeshift clothes of the survivor, observing the injuries. At that moment, the eyes peering from beneath the balaclava widen.
"Bomb!—"
.
.
.
.
*BOOM!*
An orange flash erupts from the survivor. The intense flash burns the soldiers' retinas, followed by the shockwave of the explosion, scattering buckshot around.
It's a scattergun for Rapture, with those pellets.
The survivor's body has a vest fitted with high-performance explosive C-5, and pellets extracted from shotgun shells are embedded in it.
The medic, who saw the orange flash and the scattering pellets up close, witnesses it at the last moment.
The survivor's mouth—continuously spitting out a froth of blood. The tongue, which should be there, seems to be cut off halfway.
The shattered bodies of soldiers, torn apart by the scattered buckshot, are rapidly being produced.
"My arm!! Where's my arm!?"
"AAAAAHHHHHHH!?"
The ones in the most pitiable state are those who survived halfway.
The soldier whose arm was blown off frantically searches for his missing arm, and the soldier whose lower body—legs from the hips down—was completely crushed crawls and screams in agony.
—It's no longer about the operation.
The officer, who miraculously escaped with minor injuries, assesses the unit's situation and is about to order a retreat to the Ark when his own field of vision feels like it's tumbling.
*Fwish*
Before he can even raise a question mark, a familiar body collapses into the officer's field of vision. When he realizes it's his own body, his consciousness begins to fade.
"Lieutenant!!"
"You bastards!! Shoot! Shoot!!"
A tall figure suddenly appears, and in a swift motion, the officer's head falls with a slicing sound.
A blood-stained mountain knife gripped in that hand. The soldiers, who realize that the officer's life has been easily taken, aim their guns at the figure.
Gunshots ring out one after another, and bullets rain down, but the figure, crouching low to the ground, continues to run without being grazed.
The swung mountain knife flashes horizontally, severing the soldier's head and tearing through his torso.
One by one, the soldiers are reduced in number. Correspondingly, the gunfire becomes sporadic.
"Monsters...!!"
"Don't say rude things. I am, without a doubt, human."
—That's fucking nonsense!
Facing the soldier who remains, the tall figure, with the muzzle of the automatic rifle without ammunition aimed at him, pulls the trigger several times, expressing lamentations. The blade of the mountain knife swung abruptly, and crushes the fragile head, where the helmet, worn during the explosion, has disappeared somewhere.
---
It's been about five days since then.
For five days, gunfire and explosions echoing through the forward base periodically shook every facility.
In a room in the barracks—Rapi's quarters. It's not spacious by any means, but all the members of the Counters are gathered inside.
Anis is sitting on a chair, scratching her flaxen hair.
Neon is leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor with her face buried in his raised knees.
Marian is—in the bed. Wrapped in a synthetic blanket, she curls up like a fetus. When the explosions and gunfire, echoing like distant thunder, shook the barracks moments ago, she woke up. And even now, she is shaking her body faintly.
"I hate it... I hate it... Commander...!"
Though her eyes are closed, tears have moistened the area around her pillow.
Seeing her in that state, Rapi sits on the edge of the bed, extending her hand to gently stroke Marian's silver hair.
The gunfire has stopped for over an hour now.
Rapi stands up.
"...I'll take breakfast to the Commander."
There's no response from anyone. Only Anis seems to have nodded faintly.
She leaves the room and stops by the barracks' dining hall. There, she grabs a packaged combat ration and heads outside.
—The smell reaches this far.
Looking in the direction of the elevator, in the world enveloped in darkness, the only scene with flames burning is spread out.
With her agile legs, she quickly rushes from the barracks to the elevator.
Where could he be?
The area near the elevator is heavy with the smell of blood, possibly due to the aftermath of the recent battle.
Survivors—seemingly zero.
If there's no one moving, then—Rapi identifies the likely location where he might be and starts running again.
A 50-caliber heavy machine gun is set up on a tripod, and from behind sandbags with stacked gun barrels, one can peek into the makeshift position.
In the chaotic position filled with scattered 50-caliber thick cartridge cases, there lies the figure of Moore.
In these five days, there have been 13 attacks—including the recent one.
No replenishment of ammunition, rations, or other supplies. Moreover, the only fighting force that can resist is Moore.
Almost sleepless and relentless combat has been ongoing.
Rapi has suggested several times that she join the fight, but she's been casually refused. The reason for that—she somehow sensed it.
Rapi lowers her red eyes once, then steps into the position.
At that moment, there is a sound of clashing, as if empty shell casings are being scraped.
"——tch!!"
Raising his head covered with a helmet as if repelled, Moore grabs the mountain knife leaned against the sandbags and leaps towards Lapi before her.
Even in the darkness, his deep brown eyes gleam vividly, giving Rapi the impression of a wild animal. She is pushed down by him into the position of a corpse that has run out of strength.
Straddling her, Moore, with a helmet, raises the mountain knife, ready to strike. Seeing this, Rapi addresses him calmly.
"——Commander."
The gleaming deep brown eyes, tainted with hostility, gradually lose their animosity as Moore captures the unwavering red eyes staring at him without hesitation.
"I'm... ---Rapi."
The mountain knife, slipping down with a clatter, makes a dry sound within the position.
Completely reflecting her figure in his eyes, Moore, who had straddled Rapi, stands up and steps back, then sits down, leaning against the sandbags with his back.
The stubble, thickened with backflow blood, stiffened, and Moore, covering his face stained with dirt and backflow blood with gloved hands, spoke with a trembling voice.
"...I'm sorry..."
"...No."
Lying down, especially approaching right after the battle, she implicitly conveys that she's at fault. However, Moore feels a sense of disgust at the fact that he tried to attack a subordinate he should protect.
Rapi, raising her hips, sits down next to him and takes out a soft pack from the pouch of her body armor.
From it, she takes out a cigarette, places it between her well-shaped lips, and mimics lighting it with a turbo lighter.
She doesn't enjoy smoking. But—she doesn't seem to dislike doing it like this.
"Commander..."
Gently pulling away his hands covering his face, Lapi places the cigarette she took from her lips onto his dry lips.
Hopefully, this will calm him down a bit.
"..."
The expression on Moore's face, gently wafting the purple smoke of the cigarette placed in his mouth, is—not to put it politely—not good. Rapi, who has removed his gloves, grasps his bare right hand.
The condition is red—reaching a dangerous level.
"Commander... It might be the limit already."
"I can still fight."
She never said anything about being unreasonable—she never said that.
She has the conviction that he will fight until the last moment. He's still fighting like this. That's the best evidence.
However—sooner or later, the ammunition for the assault rifle will run out. To save ammunition, they're engaging in hand-to-hand combat, using the machete that one of the members of Heavenly Ascension had.
"...Please consider Marian's feelings too. Just by you fighting like this... she's getting hurt."
"────"
Rapi didn't overlook the movement of his deep brown eyes.
Probably, Moore himself knows the limit more than anyone else.
There is still enough power left to protect Marian, but—even that is limited. It's not unlimited.
"Opinion report, is that alright?"
When Rapi speaks, Moore beside her nods slightly in response.
"Let's evacuate Marian."
"...Where to?"
"...Somewhere. As far away as possible so that she won't be taken."
It's an abstract expression of opinion—but she looks up.
The temporary sky is dyed in darkness. Rapi directs her gaze towards the other side of the Eternal Sky—meaning, towards the surface.
"...To the surface?"
"...Yes."
"...To where on the surface? Sending only Marian to the surface alone is a heartless act. I can't do that."
"...I know. You're that kind of person."
It's the surface where Rapture roams. Even with Marian's physical abilities surpassing those of Nikke, there must be limits. Even if she manages to survive—she would be burdened with an endless, destinationless journey.
He abandons his responsibility as her commander. He releases the command. He—abandons her.
"...That's..."
Moore's meager pride rejects this impossibility.
"...What if you contact Snow White? You spoke to her before, didn't you? You exchanged contact information."
"...Ah..."
Certainly, that's true.
However, she is a Pilgrim, a member of Pioneer. There is no guarantee that she will stay in a place where radio waves can reach.
"...Instead of continuing to fight alone like this, wouldn't it be more reasonable to contact her, betting on a glimmer of hope? Don't you think?"
"...Even after fighting this far, huh?"
"Don't be stubborn."
The gaze of Moore, who lets the purple smoke from the clenched cigarette curl, pierces Rapi. It's a gaze that strongly reflects rejection, but as the leader of the squad and above all—as his subordinate, she can't change her opinion.
Pierced in turn by her gaze with red eyes, Moore, with his deep brown eyes avoiding her gaze, squeezes the cigarette, which burns with a sizzling sound, with his fingers. After a brief silence, his lips move.
"You said... someone died from a stray bullet you fired."
"Yes... Were you asleep?"
"I was awake. Sorry."
"I know."
During the joint operation with the Absolute Squad, Moore was in a set sleep. In the meantime, he mentioned a past story that Rapi told while she was asleep, but it seems he remembered the setting as he expressed a small apology.
However, it's a story that's too late now. She had known for a long time.
"...You probably kill for a stray bullet, but I... intentionally caused casualties to kill people surely like this."
"Yes."
"...You said it was troublesome for human death. Is that... not a mistake?"
Moore asks, avoiding eye contact.
Faced with that question, Rapi—remembering, a kind of self-loathing surges deep in her heart, but she nods and affirms.
"...I... don't... feel... anything."
"...Huh?"
"...I don't feel anything, neither the aversion to killing nor the aversion to the act of injuring humans... It's like the feeling of throwing away the trash in a messy room. Oh no... cleaning up the complete annihilation... makes me somewhat happy."
Rapi can't hide her confusion at his candid feelings. She wonders if it's due to the excitement during combat, but she also considers other possibilities.
"...Probably the first time I've killed a human... Why is that?"
"...That is..."
His deep brown eyes are directed at her, struggling for an answer. From those eyes—devoid of any emotion, Rapi realizes that it's a fact.
"...In your eyes... what do I look like?"
Recalling the words he heard repeatedly in the last five days—monster, beast, bastard.
To that, Rapi couldn't give any answer—handing over the combat ration for breakfast that she brought was the best she could do.
