Part 194: Who Are You?

Well.

For now, tonight is free time, so.

Then, then, I'll take you up on that and relax a bit.

In situations like this, you know—

There's nothing better than filling your mind with games.

With that in mind, first things first—let's try the self-powered generator again.

This time, I wasn't as anxious, so I could calmly flip through the instructions.

Drag the generator onto the balcony, carefully pour in gasoline, disable the safety lock, then pull the starter knob sharply.

Connect the TV and gaming console to the generator, which starts up with a steady, rhythmic thumping sound, and put on the headphones.

What I prefer are games that are unnecessarily difficult—what are commonly known as "masochistic games."

Games where you die, die, die, die, and keep dying—maybe a hundred times—before finally inching forward.

Now that I think about it, when exactly did I start preferring this kind of thing?

I remember clearly that at some point, I suddenly stopped being satisfied with easy, low-difficulty games. I remember starting to enjoy games that demand a razor-thin margin of victory.

Funny enough, my real-life approach to living is quite conservative.

Having confirmed that the game had loaded properly, I quickly began loading my data and resumed from where I left off...

"——Ah..."

My finger froze on the controller.

I had definitely selected my own saved game.

The character I was controlling was my own creation—a white-haired middle-aged magic swordsman.

Yet the stage that loaded was an entirely unfamiliar space.

Honestly, it's obviously a save point right before the final boss.

So I rubbed my forehead for a moment.

...I saw a terrible spoiler

It seems that, before I lost my memory, I had already progressed quite far in my adventure.

No way. Seriously?

This is... um...

More demotivating than any hardship or formidable opponent... this kind of development.

The character I was controlling had somehow gotten ridiculously strengthened without me even noticing.

The magic swordsman I knew had only just managed to equip a steel longsword. Yet now, he's wielding what looks like the strongest sword in the world—one that could probably slay a million dragons.

"Ugh..."

I got robbed.

My own character. Stolen by another version of myself.

I didn’t feel like playing anymore, so I turned off the game console.

“Haaah…”

Sighing, I flipped through some manga lying beside my pillow.

Then, bored out of my mind.

That’s when I noticed singing and cheering coming from somewhere nearby.

Leaning forward, I saw a small crowd gathered around.

The intersection nearby was lit up like it was part of a festival.

“A live performance, in a world like this…?”

I wasn't drawn to it by song, but...

It looked like families with children were out walking around.

Well, I suppose this is just another kind of experience.

Tourism in the world after "the end."

▼

When we stepped out of the apartment building, the road was illuminated like midday—brighter, far brighter, almost excessively so, even compared to before "the end."

It was as if the people around here genuinely believed that darkness itself was a physical threat.

Relieved to see a girl around my age heading in that direction, I walked steadily toward the noisy area.

I had called that place a "barrier" during the day, but now that I was closer, I realized it wasn't anything so gentle.

Rather, it was more like a fortress made of steel—quite literally.

I'm sorry if the comparison is clumsy, but it looked as though only the bridge of a battleship had been detached and bolted right into the middle of the road.

Around the fortress, a crowd of about a hundred people had gathered, bouncing up and down in rhythm with the music.

Everyone was looking up at the four performers singing on the steel fortress's rooftop.

Their faces were unfamiliar—perhaps a band formed after the "End."

"――――――――♪ ――――――――――♪ ――! ――! ――!!"

The song is a shouty, incomprehensible mix of English and Japanese that sounds to me like "Sushi! Sushi! O-sushi! Delicious time!"

Around them stood adults lined up, armed with firearms.

The adults all seem to be pointing their guns outside the barricade, occasionally pulling the trigger.

What the heck is this?

Muttering to myself, the elderly man in the wheelchair next to me suddenly spoke up in a "all humans are brothers" kind of way.

"Whatcha, young lady? Newcomer, are ya?"

"……Yeah. Something like that."

"Ah, that's what they're callin' 'em, you know."

"Calling... what?"

"Come on. Those walking corpses, of course."

"Huh?"

I've heard the story.

That thing called "zombies," right? That's what it is.

"They're drawn to light and sound, apparently. That flashy performance was meant to eliminate any 'zombies' outside the barricades, even just a little."

"Really?"

Since I'd seen that severed head earlier today, I don't feel like I can't believe it at all.

Still, it's a bit hard to believe, though.

"Why go through the trouble of singing, though?"

"It seems they've kept habits from when they were still alive. Apparently, cheerful melodies tend to draw them in."

"I see... that makes sense."

At that moment, the man stationed on either side of the stage pulled the trigger repeatedly.

"Look, another one's gone—departed."

Then the old man chanted, "Namu, Namu."

I followed along, muttering "Nam-u, Nam-u" as well.

A fortress, gunfire, and rock 'n' roll.

It felt like a surreal dream.

...No, of course I didn't mean it was wonderful—quite the opposite, actually.

I meant it felt completely out of place.

For a moment, the old man and I sat in silence, both staring straight ahead at the performance.

Just as I was thinking it was about time to head home,

"Miss."

"—Yes?"

"Sorry to ask, but could you push my wheelchair down to the shopping district? That's where my current place of residence is."

I glanced briefly at his missing right arm and leg,

"It's fine."

"Sorry about that... I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier. I'm Ota Hajime."

"Huh?"

"What about you, miss?"

"I'm..."

I hesitated, at a loss for words.

Then, I answered.

"I'm... not sure who I am anymore."