We aren’t even human anymore

A sparsely furnished room. Cream-colored walls, dark brown curtains.

A bed occupying most of the space, a small round table. A simple lamp atop the dressing table.

Goblet warned from across the room.

— Alert. Unusual data flow detected in adjacent chamber. Non-commercial communication device.

(Snake Eye, activate)

— Understood. Activating Snake Eye.

Io glares at the heat source rising through the wall. Hand to ear, repeatedly adjusting something.

— Audio surveillance equipment confirmed. Specialized communication device confirmed.

(An audio surveillance device?)

— This room contains a listening device disabled by Natalie Vicker.

Assuming it’s audio surveillance, they likely chose to bypass it.

Troublesome. It can’t just be a stalker.

Leaving it like this will lead Natalie Vicker to an unfavorable end.

Not exactly a joyous event. Io picked up the crumpled paper and pen, scribbling violently.

(—Goblet, surveillance cameras or similar?—)

—Cannot confirm—

(—Playing a scene. Don’t want Natalie Vicker to die.—)

—That’s what I expected—

Io let out a dry laugh, then adopted a cold tone.

Been playing action shooters lately, but TRPGs are second nature. The trick is to forget embarrassment and fully embody the role.

Deep breath. Perfect. Fully immersed in this heavy world, me.

“Natasha, stay quiet for a while.”

—What is it? What are you trying to say?—

—You can’t do anything.—

—That’s not true…!—

Io shoved the paper into Natalie’s face.

—You’re being eavesdropped on. Act oblivious.—

She looked flustered. Shaking her head, desperately trying to clear her mind.

—If you keep nosing around like this, you’ll be killed.

—…That’s…um…

—Don’t think anymore. I’ll think for you.

—Think…?

Io wrote further.

—I have no intention of abandoning the kids.

Natalie’s face cracked open. She grabbed her own pen.

—Is there a way?

—If you help me, we can do it.

—What should I do?

—Stay low for a while. Cut off contact with anyone beyond the bare minimum of necessary allies.

Io seized Natalie’s cheek, peering into her eyes.

—I don’t want you to die. Stay out of this. Promise.

—…I…understand…Promise…

—Go to sleep now. You look terrible.

—Contact only when needed. Important exchanges won’t happen on terminals. Logs getting intercepted would be a problem.

Natalie nodded slightly. Unusually obedient.

“Io… um…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Final note. She added just one sentence: thank you.

Io crumpled the paper, shoved it into his pocket, and stood from the bed.

Before opening the door, he glanced back at Natalie.

When their eyes met, she nodded once. Satisfied, Io left the room.

(Hello, Game Master.)

…………Blue Goblet does not comprehend the meaning of your statement.

(Is she someone of value to you?)

Having escaped to Oxanun, Goblet no longer needed Natalie or her partner, Dreas.

The blue goddess occasionally spoke harshly. Her judgment rested solely on balancing benefit against cost.

(How unexpected—offering advice to save Natalie, of her own accord.)

Agent Io, to maintain your condition at optimal levels.

Or to prevent you from clashing with the human species before it happens—

—(Hmph. Maybe you're right. Wouldn't stay silent if a friend was killed.)

Watch your back.

Io shifted awareness behind, in accordance with the Goblet's words.

Footsteps approach. Wide strides. Fast pace.

The primary heat source from the adjacent room, as confirmed moments ago.

Oops, this is... Sergeant Io!

What fortune—meeting the hero of Karaf right here like this.

Io turns at the voice, too blatant in its pretense of coincidence.

A journalist, average build and height, stood there—just like the kind drawn in a textbook illustration. A drab moss-green jacket, sturdy fieldwork trousers designed for durability.

A camera dangles from the neck, a pen and notepad peeking from the shoulder pocket.

Vime Amurta, Lieutenant Colonel — the data overlay read. Age: thirty-eight.

Sergeant Io narrowed his brows. He didn’t know where this was headed, but roleplay, negotiation, even pacing — all had their rules.

"Colonel, you’ve heard the story, right?"

Vime’s expression faltered. As if he didn’t understand. A decent actor.

"Ah… sorry. Maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else?

I’ve never met Sergeant Io before, and I’m not even —"

"Vime. Natalie Vicker is my friend."

This time, Vime froze.

"Heart rate elevated. He’s wary of you."

Of course he is.

"She’s no longer involved with military complications. You should be satisfied with that."

……I don’t know what this is about, but I’ll listen just to hear it out.

I’m good at killing lizards. That doesn’t mean I’m bad at killing humans.

If a friend of mine suffers unjust, unreasonable harm, it doesn’t matter if they’re a soldier or a civilian. Age. Rank. None of it matters.

I’ll chase them to the end of the world. I’ll put a stop to their pathetic, filthy existence.

……You think you’re threatening me?

Vime Lieutenant, or whatever you call yourself, decides evasion is pointless and shifts expression entirely.

Deadpan. Sharp gaze. A look that assesses Io while keeping watch.

We can reach compromise if we calculate the risk.

……We don’t want to be enemies of the heroes of the war against Weedran. But it’s not something we can decide easily.

I want to talk with you deeply, using different methods. Here, anyone could be listening.

What’s there to discuss? Are you really that bothered that I know your name?

Harsh.

Vime strained to listen. Alert to the surroundings.

A surprise attack. Or preparation for civilians.

I’ve compromised. I made one troublesome journalist promise to stay silent.

Now it’s up to you… or you all… to accept the risk of keeping her alive.

…Fine. But we’ll continue monitoring. No complaints?

Hmph.

Io turned his back.

A cheerful voice came from behind.

Sergeant! I’d love to interview you next time!

This time, let’s make it friendlier! Haha!

Truly impressive acting.

Agent Io, attacking them is not advised.

They are vital to maintaining military strength.

(That’s right. …Well, don’t say that now. Nothing immediate is going to happen anyway.

And if we need to silence them, we’ll just kill more lizards for you—more contribution to your cause.

Net gain, no complaints. Me or them—what’s it gonna be?»

『You, Agent Io.』

Goblet answered without pause.

On her scale, Io’s presence weighs heavily. At least for now.

(You get cruel sometimes. Makes me think.)

『I’ve said it before.』

Leaving the hotel where Natalie is staying.

Oxanun’s streets still belched black smoke as always.

『I love the human species.』

The goddess’s love has always been heavy—set in mythic times.

Io made a soft, muffled sound.

『What next?』

『We’re going to collect.』

——

Log out for a break. Four hours later.

Night in Oxanun. Io moves toward the military port, fully armed.

Recent free missions have brought Io close to facial pass level. Even formal ID verification at Little Lady no longer prompts guards to question her purpose.

"Probably just another lizard hunt," they think. And that’s not wrong.

Contacting someone with a debt was surprisingly easy.

It’s also the moment you realize you can’t enjoy this game without Blue Goblet.

Access Reaper’s terminal. Simulate communication failure. Erase logs.

Good. I’m counting on you.

Rotors sound. Multiple units.

A number of Condors lifting off in the distance. Skull emblem visible.

Io to Reaper.

……? Foolish… Sergeant, this code isn’t for joint operations.

Who told you that?

Long time no see—quite the greeting.

Could it be Boomer? That idiot…

Stop. Misunderstanding. He’s occasionally annoyingly friendly, but not stupid enough to leak classified data.

A window projects, but no image appears.

The voice is that of someone who shared life and death just moments ago. Though she did abandon Io.

He was going to exploit that guilt.

But, Sergeant, contacting me like this—what’s the reason?

You owe me something, don’t you?

A brief silence. Something heavy registers.

In that moment, Io keeps moving.

Emergency? Where are you now?

Right beside you.

Cutting through the flurry of soldiers rushing about, the helipad is just ahead.

A Condor on the verge of taking flight. From within, a soldier in deep green armor peers out.

—Get in, Sergeant.

――

The Reaper was apparently on a solo mission, conveniently.

No other team members are visible inside the Condor. The pilot pays no attention to Ioh's conversation.

Ioa spoke concisely.

—Indeed. How thoroughly has the data been verified?

Not finished yet. But that’s not how it’ll play out.

Goblet is an excellent navigator. Continuing to gather intelligence on the juvenile infantry unit.

Sergeant—chances are, there won’t be seats for the boy soldiers on the return vessel.

I know that already.

—Listen. This hasn’t been public yet, but there’s a major shift in the lizard forces’ deployment structure.

Omen of the great offensive. The Charger estimates no more than two weeks of leeway.

Huh. That’s quite the event then.

Still plenty of civilians wanting to reach Audar Continent from Oxanun.

Whether we can get them out or not is a delicate matter.

There’s a real reason behind “no seats available.”

Even a child is a military dependent. Reaper speaks without mercy. Who among civilians and them deserves to die.

A chill runs down the spine. An odd discomfort. Why are the palms hot?

Hm. Iou grunts. Takes a deep breath, shakes off the strange sensation.

For now, Reaper’s sermon is irrelevant.

Need to secure return seats for the brats. Method... what?

But the mouth moves on its own.

“Reaper, know who volunteers as a boy soldier?”

“...What are you getting at?”

“Someone with no family, no place to belong.”

There aren’t many kind souls in wartime who’d feed a boy soldier just for the sake of it, even with a truce in between.

They had no choice but the military. Children meant to be protected, still too young by all standards.

Thunder cracked. Outside. Thick clouds stretched across the sky. Rain was coming.

“Higher-ups made a calm assessment.

No matter how unjustly they treat them, there’ll be no complaints.

No family to grieve when the child soldiers die. They’re orphans.

No protests. No one takes them seriously. They’re orphans.

No one mourns. No one loses anything. They’re orphans!”

“Hey, hey, Sergeant.”

Wait—wait—what’s this? Sensory link is glitching.

Shaking. Avatar controls are unstable.

“Say it again, Reaper!

Who should die? One word, and it’s settled—immediately forgotten by everyone.”

“We’re not even human anymore!”

Am I exhausted? My mouth won’t stop. Was I ever much of an actor?

‘Agent Io, vital signs abnormal’

‘(I know that. Fix it.)’

‘Secrete control. Relax your body.’

‘(I’ve been trying to do that since a moment ago.)’

My body won’t let go.

—Fine. Enjoy the drama for now.

Accidents come with underground warfare.

Say it with resolve and the cold splash of reality snaps clarity back into focus.

‘Got it, Sergeant. I get it—so stop yelling…

You know, don’t you? I’ve got no family left. My home became a monster’s city.

Even if I die, I’ll be treated like this.’

‘…Sorry.’

‘…I see the enhanced soldiers as my kin.’

The Reaper’s helmet visor retracts.

She rubs her brow, exhales a long breath.

……“To fulfill one’s duty,” huh. Saw your interview footage.

Masterful speech.

—Go to hell, Reaper.

—I’ll cooperate. Can offer some solutions.

This’ll be big. Let’s run it by Charger.

Still not enough. …Not expecting much, but just asking.

Any contacts in politics?

Io shrugs, regaining his usual tone.

—I owe a favor to Camille Courange.

The Reaper nods, taps the cockpit door, calls to the pilot.

Mission abort.

What? What?

Mission abort. Change course.

Celebrate. Today’s a service overtime.