Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
The ominous alarm pulses rhythmically, the only logical element in this chaos.
Bloodstains, glass shards, and metal fragments scream of shattered order.
Put down your weap—
The blade-sharp umbrella tip pierces her chest before the words fully leave her mouth.
This, this is impossible...
Like a mantis trying to stop a chariot. Did you really think replacing your body with metal would let you live a little longer?
Vital fluid splashes across the ground, electrical arcs and sparks leap across the liquid's surface, while the pierced frame lies completely silent.
A word of advice for your boss—next time you upgrade, don't forget to add more protection.
The girl looks up at the camera mounted above the sliding door and offers a faint smile.
The man on the other end of the monitor takes in everything he sees. He knows he has exhausted all his chips in this confrontation.
But he has enough confidence in Veritas, so he firmly presses the access button on the control panel.
The final barrier between assassin and target vanishes.
The head of Project Winter... Mr. Godwin, good day to you.
Madam Monzano sends her regards.
With perfect poise, the girl dips into a curtsy, her umbrella handle serving as an elegant prop.
Such elegant packaging for lethal intent.
Guests are always welcome, but bypassing the quarantine procedure is unacceptable. Everyone must undergo a decontamination shower and scan before entering my office—that's the most basic protocol.
Before them stands an elderly man with a gaunt face, his deep-set green eyes radiating both intensity and madness—a stark contrast to the image of the competent researcher they had seen earlier in the mission briefing.
Years of isolation and obsession have etched irreversible marks upon his features.
Normally, I value rules above all else, but your current situation makes such discussions rather impractical.
My situation? What situation? The situation of a moribund man?
I've been isolated beneath this mountain rock for over a decade without seeing natural light, but I haven't regretted it for a single day. Paving the way for a new era is the highest honor for experimental subjects—and I myself could be among them.
Forgive my frankness, but what exactly have you achieved? Metal cans that completely lack battle potential and can be easily killed by fully enhanced humans wielding Moon Umbrellas?
Like a matador in the final stage of the spectacle, she was in no hurry to deliver the fatal blow to her exhausted target, instead savoring the thrill of toying with her prey's nerves.
Trial and error has always been the necessary path to progress, and I have plenty of time left!
What remarkable achievement has Madam Monzano accomplished now? Does her bank account gain another zero every day, or even every hour? You might as well believe I could create a perfect Construct by tomorrow rather than trust her nonsense!
The dying speak only truth. My aunt was, after all, a researcher who continued her project even after being expelled by Kurono. There's really no need for such vicious slander, is there?
Her project? What project? Recreating cycles of production, consumption, and decomposition over and over in some supersized test tube? And when it's "successful", throw all of humanity inside?
His frayed white bangs tremble with each labored breath.
It's the flying vessel.
...What?!
Thanks to new investors, my aunt is building a colony ship that matches the scale of the Eden II.
...Hmph. Repeating the same mistakes.
The man's shock vanishes in an instant, as if this answer still aligns within his expectations.
Tossing self-contained ecosystems into space is no evolutionary leap. It's just recreating those early capsules that sustained one man for hours before crashing back down.
Merely reaching orbit isn't enough. When we cross that threshold, we must do so as fully actualized humans, striding into the stellar expanse as our natural domain.
Humanity has waited too long for its next chance at evolution. As long as our bodies still need to breathe, eat, and excrete—as long as our limbs cannot withstand the torment of vacuum—we will forever remain infants in The Cradle!
Godwin slams his right fist against the metal tabletop, the overexerted capillaries turning his skin a purplish-red.
Monzano has poured too much of herself into this so-called starship ecology, just as she did with managing the City of Entertainment.
He takes a deep breath, fixing Eleanor with an unwavering stare, then abruptly changes the subject.
People like her always seek balance through management, then enjoy the thrill of playing god. Whether managing parameters in an artificial greenhouse or guests awaiting slaughter in an entertainment venue—it makes no difference to her.
I don't expect visionary understanding from all—but I offer glimpses of the Apocalypse...
Your choice has nothing to do with Monzano. I just want to ask you: When the day comes that our home planet can no longer tolerate the human species, would you also willingly remain a giant infant in The Cradle, abandoned by natural selection and drowning in your own excrement?
Warning, unidentified aircraft entering detection zone, anti-air system offline; Warning, unidentified aircraft entering detection zone, anti-air system offline...
The harsh synthetic voice blares from the terminal's broadcast system, and Eleanor's smile grows more assured.
It seems new guests have arrived.
Godwin, however, displays a rather complicated expression, as if believing his fortress is about to fall under the reinforcing strikes.
Your people as well?
He sweeps back stray hairs, tossing the assassin a disdainful look. The girl changes subjects noncommittally.
Do you still believe Project Winter is the next step in human evolution?
How many more times do I have to say it? I believe in this fact without a shadow of doubt.
For the sake of your devotion... I can give you a temporary chance. Besides, your usefulness hasn't been fully realized yet.
Light, airy applause echoes from the corridor outside the room.
You're right.
With unhurried, measured steps, a dark figure joins the standoff.
We meet again, Eleanor.
Your abilities and vision have certainly improved a lot compared to before.
The assassin didn't seem the least bit surprised by this variable, instead responding gracefully to the praise.
You flatter me, sir. But our business here remains unfinished.
It's all right. You've proven your capability.
Following the thread of her words, he turns his gaze toward the man standing nearby.
Evolution is not a word to be thrown around lightly. I expect those who stand to benefit from it to be fully prepared for what it entails.
You're the...?!
...The person who provided the initial funding for Project Winter. When an investor shows up in person, it's naturally because they have urgent matters to discuss.
However, I seem to have forgotten that Eleanor still has a mission to attend to. Please?
Trout sweeps his right arm in a gesture of invitation toward Eleanor.
My aunt's orders are one thing, but the gaming tables always favor the highest bidder. Having supported Project Bokonon so generously, you deserve precedence, sir.
Godwin's safety seems temporarily secured, though he remains baffled by this charade unfolding before him.
I can guarantee that the next iteration will enhance the frame's protective capabilities! True zero wetware this time!
Without the support of those experimental results from back then, progress is simply impossible at this stage! We need to start somewhere—achieving our expected goals out of thin air is impossible!
Godwin seems to be trying to regain his footing, beginning to defend his achievements.
She has lost her way in her obsession with perfecting the colony ship's ecosystem. You don't want to fall down another rabbit hole you can't climb out of, do you?
Our ancestors left their caves protected by animal hides, only to realize that vicious predators posed a greater threat than the climate. Natural selection has never been one-dimensional.
You mean... Militarization?
His voice deepens as the anger in his green eyes transforms into something even more twisted.
What I mean is it's better to be prepared. Let's consider a scenario: what if Fort Winter faces not just an infiltration assassination, but a large-scale armed conflict? Even if your prototype Construct achieves immortality, how will it respond without sufficient combat capabilities?
No researcher wants to become Archimedes beneath the spear point. I assume you feel the same.
But... but that's impossible! Most of the old armies have already disbanded, and the World Government is even considering transitioning to mercenary forces. War? War with whom? Antarians?
The man still refuses to step out of his ivory tower of thought, unwittingly revealing a dry, scholarly humor.
Military organizations may change their form, but threats come in more than one face.
Sparks from malfunctioning equipment become the only sound in the weighted, long silence.
Now now—no need for gloom! The gentleman said your experiments won't end here.
Pity I can't let you martyr yourself for science. Plus I still need to report back to my aunt, which is such a headache...
Hiding someone who's faked their death in a fortress like this shouldn't be too difficult, right?
Run whatever schemes you like—just keep them clear of my lab.
I'll arrange an experimental accident report, then activate the top-secret bunker facility directly beneath the mountain to continue advancing the plan.
Since you still believe in Project Winter, let me offer some advice: abandon that madwoman Monzano while you still can.
He resigns himself to this arranged fate, yet still feels reluctant about it.
Just a control experiment, nothing more.
After speaking, he lightly brushes metal fragments from his cape, then turns around.
One moment.
The girl extends her sharp fingertip, tracing an arc across Godwin's forehead.
Before the green eyes could even register the movement, Eleanor had already obtained what she needed.
Ugh! You...
How could I consider my mission complete if I returned empty-handed? I should at least give my aunt something to show.
She boastfully pinches a thin strand of human hair between her fingertips, displaying it like a trophy.
So... I've also been making untraceable copies of your database contents from the terminals along my way. Sharing scientific achievements contributes to progress as you've described, doesn't it?
I need to catch my flight back to Las Prados, so I'll have to trouble you to clean up here, Mr. Godwin.
Trout stands at the edge of the landing pad. The wind and snow blur his silhouette, nearly blending him into the white expanse behind.
Eleanor climbs the final step, ascending to the same platform.
Thank you, Mister, for your valuable assistance over these past few years. Information truly is the best token for acquiring power.
Her practiced humility surfaces as she accepts this victory.
Just a few small gifts, the most basic courtesy.
Those with sufficient natural talent can sniff out the correct direction without guidance.
I saw this in you very early on... In fact, I should thank you for the valuable inspiration you provided.
He cast a meaningful glance her way.
So, Project Boknon and Project Winter... they weren't actually control experiments?
Of course not. They're merely two steps on the stairway to evolution. For a human, you've done fairly well.
The road ahead remains long, and this civilization naturally has many conquests to desire... For instance, the ignition experiment for the Zero-point Engine has already been scheduled.
Trout suddenly turns his gaze back toward the mountains, sharing a piece of fresh news with a contemplative air.
Identifying the strong is your talent, and you have the resolve to match it. However, you don't have much time left to choose your chips.
Monzano is the provider of prerequisites—she is the very rule you need to exploit. Only outsiders who don't belong to the card game can become true variables.
Don't make me regret betting on you, Eleanor.
Have fun in your playground. See you next time.
Mr. Trout.
She calls out to Trout as he prepares to enter the rear cabin door.
Overwhelming prosperity illuminates every corner beyond the snowy mountains, as humanity in the Golden Age seems poised to step into a bright tomorrow within reach.
She doesn't believe the nerve-numbing sweetness. She needs to smell danger. She yearns to place her wellbeing—even her life—upon the scale of the game's judgment.
In the bitter cold of the far north, her nerves tingle with an agitation she hasn't felt in ages: the exhilaration of entering the game.
Hmm?
I know you attended the funeral back then...
Continue speaking.
Anson Sterkin, Paul Holderman... Vonnegut, sir.
These are all pen names you've used in your works. Like countless fragments of a broken mirror, people can only glimpse reflections of the "psychiatrist", "writer", and even "serial killer", but they can never piece together your true face.
Getting carried away doesn't seem like your style.
The man issues a warning without betraying any emotion in his voice.
What I mean is, I admire this kind of disguise... and you saw through mine the moment I drew that symbol.
That being the case, complete honesty would certainly benefit our future cooperation.
The incomplete circle and cross—in astrology, they represent the apogee of the lunar orbit. The moon, as a satellite, doesn't rotate on its own, yet at that moment, it can devour the sun, reducing it to a barely surviving crescent.
Card players often prefer to choose a nickname for themselves, like a lucky charm when spoken by others.
Naturally, I don't believe in something like luck... but one should still follow established customs.
The Dark Moon... also known as Lilith.
I like this name.
Let it be.
