Everyone, all of them

the desire to avoid reality, to escape duty, pulls me toward the terminal...

Oxanun was overcrowded. Even after sending humans en masse to the Audar continent, it still felt this full.

Wounded, exhausted soldiers were preparing for evacuation and resistance.

Occasionally, civilian specialists appeared—doctors, engineers. They were temporarily assigned to the front-line command, each performing tasks within their expertise.

Unusual was the chef from Oxanun’s high-end restaurant leading the field kitchen operations.

When 3552 reached Oxanun’s checkpoint, the line of soldiers saluted in unison.

Diamond Frame!

fighting for curaf! Supplies are ready!

The soldiers stood poised, waiting for Crewk’s arrival—immediately swarming the young recruits with water, rations, and blankets.

The reckless battlefield photographer who’d stayed behind in Oxanun snapped flash after flash, seizing the moment. They’d mold this into a story of heroism, no doubt.

“Sergeant Io, glad you’re safe. I didn’t expect you to die, but—”

Parting through the throng of excited soldiers emerged Hartie Goodman, fully armed.

His brown-shaven head radiated dominance as he thrust a fist forward.

Io met Hartie’s fist with his own.

“Hartie, how’s Oxanun’s defense?”

“Reconstruction’s been ongoing nonstop since the last attack, but it’s not complete.”

Oxanun Defense Mechanism’s operational rate is about seventy percent.

Still… incredible state of affairs. You’d be in an emergency med capsule right now if it weren’t for you.

Hartie studies Io from head to toe, expression unreadable.

You could’ve made things easier if you’d helped out.

I have my own mission. But I… would’ve preferred to fight alongside you.

I heard about it—your command of the child soldier unit, pulling off a flawless evacuation under the princess’s strategy.

A commendable operation. Long live Sitalskia. Long live the Karaaf Front Army.

Words that leave no reply. Hartie is a frontline command unit directly under headquarters—shouldn’t know about Io and Yuriis’s backchannel dealings.

Ah… right.

Major Yuriis… ah—no, I don’t particularly want to meet her, but she says there’s something to discuss regarding the defense plan.

Can be handled in text. More pressing—children who’ve fallen behind.

I don’t know about the boarding plan—but it won’t be ignored. You can rest easy.

You're fine—almost everyone boarding the last ship are your “fans.” They’ll handle it however they want.

You're not getting in?

Ah, well then.

Hartie spoke without pretense, a faint smile lingering—face of a person who had accepted their circumstances, made their peace.

The supply officer knows me. I’ve already arranged your equipment.

Your pick. Visit the assembly point at Oxanun Main Port.

Hmm, unlimited choice then?

For you, for us—so we can hold firm until the end.

Even an offer to supply Salmatia’s assault armor had been made.

—Yet mastery requires specialized training, they say.

No holding back, then.

Scanning the perimeter. Spectators and dozens of soldiers press toward Sergeant Io, unable to contain their eagerness, but Hartie’s subordinates block them with mechanical precision.

Crucially, the crew is already in disarray. Io can’t help but smirk.

This bloody retreat may be our final act.

No matter how advanced the weaponry becomes… in the end, it’s still us infantry who decide the outcome.

That’s right, Sergeant Io.

That’s likely, Hartie Sergeant.

A powered carrier approaches from afar—evacuation for the critically wounded. Seems their target is Io himself.

No time left before the lizard assault begins. As anticipated, there won’t be enough time to safely evacuate the final convoy.

This might be our last supply run.

——

The man in the bed next to the medical one was a large man with a thick jaw and broad chest.

He had a dark brown buzzcut and a stubble beard, and as soon as he saw Io being carried in, he raised a hand with a cheerful gesture.

"Yo, Io! Being brought in here means you’re probably still human, huh?"

"...? That voice..."

"Wait, is this the first time you’ve seen my face?"

"Our personal data’s classified, you know. No photo ops, okay?"

"You’re Boomer."

He’d always worn an armored suit emblazoned with a grenade emblem, so his face was unknown.

I’d thought he was big, but even without the armor, he was still massive.

Boomer, strapped to a trauma bed, receiving medication, was strangely hyperactive.

Doctors in deep navy antimicrobial suits moved through the perimeter, checking Boomer’s vital data.

“Boomer, how did the delayed operation go?”

Io asked, lying on the bed.

“Chaos. The Weedrun’s operational pace exceeded our projections.

They’ve prepared thoroughly. That’s why we’re in this state.”

“Failed?”

“The objective was achieved. But the cost was high.”

Boomer tried to sit up, but one of the doctors forcibly laid him back down.

“Don’t get up. Don’t make our work any harder.”

“Nngh… ah—! I-I’m seriously injured, you know!”

A pained, goat-like whimper escaped him, echoing from some wound.

——One underground passage, two collection points, three strongholds blown to pieces. They danced like fireballs, screaming as they burned to death.

That’d be a significant victory, if true.

You think I’d lie?

Listen, my record in infiltration and sabotage beats even the Reaper’s.

Did Sinclair’s selection training pay off?

Honestly? Not really. The only thing that stuck from that training was how to butcher wild animals.

Your fans would be disappointed to hear that.

They continue talking, undeterred, even as they receive treatment.

The medics attending Io adjust their equipment, tilting their heads. They don’t understand. Confusion shows plainly on their faces.

……Mr. Io. Your body is… already in the process of complete healing.

What’s going on? I can see the nanomachines are having a major effect, but this rate of recovery is clearly abnormal.

Monitored caloric expenditure and protein transference—um, well, frankly, it’s impossible to explain.

—You’re saying you’re fit to fight again?

—No, no, that’s not the issue...

Are you saying this is what a pre-truce enhanced soldier was like? If we can unlock the mystery of your body, humanity could—

—Stop. There are other things that need doing now.

—But it’s such a waste.

The elderly physician trembles with excitement.

Frowning at Boomer, he raises a middle finger.

—If you’re thinking of running experiments on me, reconsider.

Every soldier in Oxanun will become your enemy.

I’ll start by splitting your ass open into two holes.

—...I understand. I’ll fulfill my duty as a physician.

The tone was cheerful, but the eyes were terrifying.

Io snorted and pushed himself up from the bed.

"Yo"

Boomer called out, staring at the ceiling.

"Wasn't sure whether I should tell you or not."

"What?"

"Go see the Reaper. Sorry to interrupt your work."

"Is there a problem with him?"

"Got blown away by a shower bug.

…We’re always ready for this. Injuries to allies, even death.

But right now, he’s… hurting more than usual."

——

Designated area for treated critical cases.

The Saber Tiger, bound to the bed, writhed in pain.

She shivered with fever, drenched in sweat, twisting her body while muttering fragments of words at intervals.

The multiple tubes connected to her for medication looked agonizing.

"…Reaper"

Standing beside the bed, calling out.

Iō faltered. No reason came to mind. Perhaps because the woman, who showed no sign of dying even after being killed, now lay unconscious, her body ravaged beyond recognition.

The Reaper had no right arm.

Damn it, still, still...

Wipe the sweat from her forehead, where she labors under pain—clean cloth placed nearby. Excessive perspiration.

Status of this unit?

Critical condition, but not fatal.

The physician who has guided this far responds.

He fulfilled his duty and departed hurriedly, his movements precise and mechanical.

Reaper

Next, wipe the cheek. A woman still beautiful despite her wound.

Io’s hand was seized by the Reaper’s left hand. An abnormal grip strength, unthinkable for a wounded individual. She parted her eyes slightly.

I… O…

Awake already? Don’t push it. Rest easy.

Ah, I’m…

Loosen her hands, adjust her posture.

Right arm missing from the elbow down. Still breathing hard—again.

The pain should have been suppressed by analgesics. This agony, though. Better to remain unconscious.

Wouldn’t it be easier to never wake up? Her mind remains taut.

“Don’t want to die…”

An unexpected statement.

“…You stayed calm when bitten by an infected. Don’t let fear take you now.

You’re not supposed to die.”

“Not yet. I can’t… I still… still…”

“Reaper, you’re okay.”

Burns, gunshot wounds, lacerations from shrapnel.

Medics prioritized life-threatening injuries only. The rest were left to heal on their own. No choice.

Others still needed treatment—endless numbers.

“Ah—gugh!”

Reaper arches backward. A sharp gasp at the unbearable pain.

If I die like this, no one—no one will remember us…

That’s… that’s how it has to be…

Erased. Forgotten by everyone. Just that…

Reaper closed her eyes. Her left hand wandered as if searching for something.

Io instinctively took her hand. A forceful grip returned.

Not the grasp of one nearing death.

Io, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be forgotten.

No one’s left. No one at all.

I have to… avenge them… it’s unbearable…

A heat surged deep within Io’s body. A sudden wave of emotion. Like an explosion about to burst. Painfully sharp.

No matter how strong she pretends to be, is this her true self?

Forgotten. Only forgotten. The words she once spoke.

How did she feel when she said them—her home turned into a monster’s city?

Resignation… or something else?

If I die… you’ll have… no one else to rely on but you

I said don’t die. Your right arm can be fixed. Install a combat prosthetic, smash Weedran’s skull with a steel fist

Whether that joke reached him or not

Reaper relaxed his entire body and closed his eyes

Sara… Sara Heimz… Youros

…Sara? Your name?

Remember me… even when I’m gone… don’t forget me…

I won’t forget

Sara lost consciousness. Io felt a heat building deep in his gut and walked away.

—

How was he?

Boomer was half-restrained, encased in a bulky cast

The doctors probably wanted to shut his mouth too, but they’ve been merciful enough to let that slide

—Weak, but if he can talk like that, it’s not a problem.

—Not sure. Took multiple explosions and shrapnel at point-blank range. Looks energetic now, but can collapse suddenly. Happens all the time.

—You make it sound like nothing. Like a comrade’s death.

—Not that I’m fine with it. …But we’re Sinclair.

—That’s right.

Boomer fell silent. A faint, satisfied smile lingered on his face.

Some people laugh like that, I thought.

The bravado laugh. The resignation laugh. The one who’s lost their mind and can’t stop.

The Karaaf Front Army, cornered as they are, has all kinds of laughter. But no one else carries it off with Boomer’s calm.

—When Reaper dies, I’ll kill those lizards for him and for the others.

—Io. You’ll join me then, won’t you?

Doctor won’t die… well, fine. True enough. Still, if that happens, work will increase.

I have to fulfill her last request.

Last request? ……Something troublesome?

Don’t take on someone else’s burden. You’re not a kid anymore, Reaper.

You’re better than I thought, Boomer.

Kuk, Io laughs. Boomer looks awkward.

Reaper told me her name.

…Right. Just so you know, don’t leak it.

Seven of Sinclair’s unit were killed before. Not those lizards. Human hands. During leave.

Don’t know what they were thinking. But some people want us dead too.

Yeah, I promise.

Boomer stares at Io.

Then he lets his body go slack and closes his eyes. Probably tired from talking. Boomer’s a serious injury case, after all.

Still haven’t told you that, huh?

What’re you talking about?

Gaeliston Ozley, twenty-eight.

Body fat percentage nine point six percent. No need for dieting.

Boomer reaches out with eyes still closed.

The incident in Corwell. Still remember it? Io smiles faintly and takes his hand.

What’d you eat to get so big?

Wanna know? You’ll regret it.

— The flesh of Weedrands.

Seriously? Io frowns involuntarily.

Boomer bursts into laughter.

—

“Over here, Sergeant Io.”

Following Hartie, they walk through the main port of Oxanun.

Waves slam. Smell of salt and toxic smog. The breath of the crowd gathering there.

Boarding is underway at top speed. As Io walks past the endless line of soldiers, their tattered, exhausted forms all salute him.

This path was the right choice. Look—no one will forget your gratitude.

…Maybe so.

—For my comrades.

A voice echoes deep in his mind.

Hartie spoke, skeptical.

"Civilians? Still here?"

At the end of his gaze stood a woman holding a child.

Her clothes were soiled, frayed, carrying nothing but a meager bundle. As if she had just fled moments ago.

A last-minute boarding passenger. She screamed at Io as he passed, face twisted with desperation.

"Mr. Io! Thank you! You saved my father!"

A nod. Keep moving. He doesn’t know who she means.

But if she says she was saved, then it’s enough. Worth the wreckage.

—For the civilians.

Ah, yes.

"A happy ending for that lady… Almost at the collection point."

"Specifically?"

Two minutes won’t pass.

Hartie strides forward. Upright posture. Unshakable presence. Reliable.

A voice calls from the deck of the departing ship.

An officer with a lieutenant’s insignia.

“Hartie, why are you here!

Alra Redi is already setting sail!”

“I’ve decided to stay!”

“You idiot! This isn’t a joke! How do you expect to explain this to Karina?!”

“Does it look like a joke? I mean it! I’m entrusting her to you!

… I’ve started wanting one medal, at least!”

“… Damn it, you fool! When you come back alive, I’ll kill you myself!”

The transport ship, Alra Redi, begins to move. The next vessel, waiting offshore, glides into a corner of the main port as planned by command headquarters.

The crew wore grim expressions. If they fell behind, someone would die.

——For those who halt in their tracks

"…See you later, brother."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Don’t worry. I have no regrets.

…Everyone carries their own burdens. Everyone."

Io stared at Hartie’s back. He did not attempt to frame his actions with words.

——For those who continue the fight

The place they were led to was small for a collection point.

Yet the variety of weapons gathered was extensive. Equipment of all kinds packed tightly side by side.

"Pick whatever you like. No need to hold back.

Everything here was provided for you."

Even a skeleton container for transporting combat armor had been prepared.

Inside, fixed in place, is the latest assault armor used by the Sarmatian heavy cavalry.

A faint glow pulses across the visor—idle, but ready.

—If you can handle it, it’ll be useful. But you haven’t undergone the required training.

—Better not try it cold.

Ioa picks up a single Raven.

—Too many reasons to fight now.

—Hm?

—Since the Freezer woke me up and brought me here, I haven’t been bored. We’re past the point of no return.

—Yeah, that’s right. You need a reason to fight.

You can’t just do this for orders.

Especially not for someone like you, who keeps fighting. Just duty won’t cut it. I know that.

—For the lieutenant, and the children.

—For Sera, and Gaeiston.

—For promises, and revenge.

A mild headache pulses behind the eyes. Irritated by the voice echoing in the skull, yet still in agreement with it.

Whether it's a game or not, play or not—none of that mattered.

Aware that something is wrong, yet no sense of dissonance with the current situation. No taboo.

Something is manipulating my mind. Yet I cannot disengage.

I'm a romantic. Maybe I'm just drunk.

Self-delusion? Could that sustain a fight?

...Even if that were true, what you've done remains.

The ache, like nostalgia, felt in the forty-fourth observation world—the one Goblet speaks of.

A strange sense of camaraderie toward the people who live there. Duty.

My reason should be furious—overwhelmed by the emotions this goddamn avatar carries—but it isn't.

Yet I am he. He is me. It settles without resistance.

— Hold your ground, Hartie.

— Ready when you are, Io.

Last dance. Let’s enjoy it, Io-200.