37-1 Formless and Soundless
>Clack—
The blinding array of lights flickers on. The silhouette at the table remains perfectly still, stoically awaiting the coming interrogation.
Dominik, you will now provide your testimony regarding the M.I.N.D. technology. The Science Council is here to render a fair judgment on your actions.
The M.I.N.D. is merely a component. A new substrate for human consciousness, built upon a virtual neural array structure.
Did you foresee that this technology would lead to such devastation?
The devastation was not born from the technology, but from human greed.
Then do you acknowledge your leading role in this? Your research institute at F.O.S. College was established without the World Government's sanction.
Would this "World Government" even exist without my support?
Even so, you do not have the authority to supersede the government that represents the will of humanity.
I must remind you that at the early stage of the project, Constructs were merely a byproduct. A vessel for consciousness, a necessary measure after that calamity.
Then, Dominik, can you tell us what the true purpose of the project is?
...
What is the nature of the threat the Constructs pose to humanity?
...
Darkness stains the entirety of the visual field, absolute and without form.
The concept of time dissolves into irrelevance, while the very notion of space feels like a forgotten dream. All is swallowed by a profound and seamless nothingness...
Crack—
A sound like the heart of a glacier fracturing, and a hairline crack of light pierces the blackness at the edge of perception.
Like a blade through taut silk, shards of impossible gold spill through the fresh wound in the void.
The immutable boundaries shatter without a whisper, and a presence stares out from behind the nothing.
▇██▂▊█■█■■■...
An entity that defies conventional perception drifts in the chaos. It's a raw, writhing mass, peering and observing through the rupture.
Within the rupture, indistinct fragments are scattered, each one glittering like a brilliant gem.
It gazes upon the light that is an intruder here, its approximation of a mouth contorting, struggling to shape a sound...
M...
M... mo...
...Mom?
A young child sits on the lawn, a miniature gardening trowel in her hand. Sensing something strange, she looks up toward the sky.
Don't look directly at the sun, Liv. It'll hurt your eyes.
Before the child's eyes can feel any pain, a woman's warm, soft hands gently cover them.
Mm... Okay, Mom.
The sting from the bright sunlight gradually fades. Sensing her curiosity, her mother adjusts her hands, creating small gaps between her fingers.
Whoa...
This new way of seeing the world is fascinating. With childlike excitement, she eagerly peers through the gaps.
In the backyard, everything looks the same as always, yet somehow different through this special perspective.
The garden is filled with greenery, lush shrubs and fragrant flowers in every corner. Calliope stands at the kitchen doorway, smiling as she watches them.
Nearby, the old sheep Bell bleats merrily while chewing on something—the honeysuckle flowers Liv had planted not long ago—
Bell! Don't eat my flowers!
Liv's eyes widen in alarm. She wriggles free from her mother's embrace and rushes toward Bell, rescuing the poor seedling from the sheep's mouth.
Just a few more minutes, okay? It's almost time to eat.
The woman follows with a smile, lovingly ruffling little Liv's hair.
Alright, we should head back now. It's almost time to eat.
Okay, Mom...
Liv purses her lips in concentration as she cradles the rescued seedling. She carefully digs a perfectly sized hole in a shady spot, then patiently replants her precious flower.
Grow up big and strong, okay?
She solemnly pats the soil firm around the seedling's roots.
Bong—
The faint sound of bells chimes from within the house.
Little Miss? Little Miss? It's time to eat...
Through the shrubbery, Calliope's voice calls from the kitchen.
Bong—
The heavy quartz clock strikes with its slightly rusted pendulum.
Oh, it's time to eat already... Sorry, Callie, I'm coming right away—
Bong—
The moment she rises to her feet, a chaotic beam of light pierces the azure sky. In an instant, the world around her is swallowed by a blinding, silent white.
The old sheep's bleating is severed mid-cry. Liv forces her eyes open, only to find that Bell, who had been peacefully grazing on the lawn, has utterly vanished.
...B-Bell?
Bong—
Calliope, who was walking toward her, dissolves into the light, along with the honeysuckle flower at her side.
Callie...?
Bewildered, Liv reaches out, but her hand closes on nothing but empty air.
Bong—
The world dissolves from the distant horizon. Darkness breaches its restraints, racing toward her feet.
Liv...
Her mother stands at the boundary between light and shadow, gazing at her with gentle eyes, a soft halo radiating from her silver hair.
Mom...? Mom... Callie just...
The child stumbles forward, but the rapidly spreading shadows seize her ankles...
Mom? Mom!
Bong—
...!
Liv jolts awake.
Ugh...
Her visual module rapidly auto-adjusts, calibrating to the current environment.
She is sitting alone on a speeding train.
Verdant vines brush against her ankles; soft, warm light fills the car.
...
Fragments of bewilderment flicker in her pupils. Liv presses her lips together, hesitating a long moment before finally turning to the window.
Outside, sunshine bathes a garden where green grass carpets the ground.
...It was just a dream.
Liv whispers softly, seemingly relieved.
Yet her eyes don't clear; instead, they grow even hazier.
As the train pushes forward, new visions materialize outside the other windows.
Countless shards of dreams float outside—a garden, sheep, and... her mother.
Honeysuckle flowers, Bell, a long-haired woman with an indistinct face... The windows act as dream-catching grids, firmly trapping these fragments outside.
Mom...
Muttering, Liv presses her palm against the window, gently caressing the glass. It's unclear if she means to touch the visions or if the gesture is purely unconscious.
Then, like biting into an unripe orange, a wave of bitter-sour discomfort surges from the depths of her M.I.N.D.
The train slices through the intricate layers of clouds, a shard of reality pressing onward through a kaleidoscope of dreams toward its unknown destination.
The last light of a setting sun washes the Gray Raven lounge in a deep, honeyed gold.
...
In the quiet stillness, Liv stirs, her eyelids fluttering open as she emerges from the drowsy depths of a dream.
How did I... fall asleep?
She pats her forehead, her brow furrowing in a wave of self-reproach.
She had barely begun her turn cleaning the lounge when a sudden wave of lethargy pulled her under, leaving her slumped in a chair and powered down.
To dream of my childhood... It's been so long...
Liv strains to recall the fading details, a quiet surprise settling over her.
How long has it been since she last dreamed of those days?
Ever since the battle against the twins and her transfer to the Empyrea frame, countless memories of her past have been lost.
The persistent migraine stands like a gravestone, marking where her memories began to shatter into fragments.
Her face... It's getting harder to picture it.
In her dream, the face of the silver-haired woman had grown indistinct.
All that remains is the memory of her mother's unique fragrance of fresh grass, and the gentle warmth of her voice as she read fairy tales.
Liv leans back in her chair, silently searching through the shards in her M.I.N.D.
The adaptation of her new frame is nearly complete, and the M.I.N.D. migraine has lessened considerably. Is that why these memories have surfaced now...?
Speaking of her new frame, the Science Council has already sent the replacement notification to her terminal. Once the adaptation period is over...
The lounge door slides open with a soft hiss, followed by the familiar rhythm of footsteps in the corridor.
Oh, Commandant's back...
She sets down her cleaning tools and hurries over.
...Oh, yes, I got the notice for the frame switch. The Science Council says the adaptation period for this frame will be about two months...
A mission...? Already?
Soft murmurs of conversation begin to drift from the living area.
And as the sun finally dips below the horizon, a mechanical spider, no bigger than a fingernail, scuttles nimbly into the deepening shadows of a corner.
Bong—
