Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
30 minutes earlier
Crimson emergency lights wash over the seemingly endless corridor, their flickering rhythm allowing brief flashes of the original blue glow to break through.
A pallid, dark-gold filigree stands tarnished by thick, soupy liquid. In her hazy state, Monzano senses the walls pressing in on the very heart of her gaze.
Has my frame been compromised as well...?
A sudden twitch flickers at the corner of her eye, but that haughty smile quickly takes over her face once more.
It doesn't matter if Eleanor slipped up or if she's scheming behind our backs... this direct encounter with the Punishing Virus opens a once-in-a-lifetime window for experimentation.
Punishing serves as a vessel of information, and ultimately, any conscious M.I.N.D. can be broken down into pure data.
Because the salvaged battlefield data chips are compromised, it also indicates that their stored data has already begun its transfer into another form.
There's no time to reflect. A hulking Corrupted Construct barrels out from around the corner without warning.
There's only one path...
Wildly brandishing its vibro-blade, it shatters the corridor's decorative displays in one savage sweep.
With deft reflexes, Monzano sidesteps—she notices that the frame's ankle joint has already fallen prey to corrosion.
The Construct doesn't even manage to lift its weapon before smashing into the floor with a thunderous crash.
Could it be a lack of combat readiness? Today, these frames seem far more vulnerable than usual.
Even now, that husk jerks on the floor, a grimy blend of oil and fluid oozing from its mouth.
If you want to break free, there's only a single way forward...
Monzano ignores the incoherent whispers, clearly displeased by the result. Even if this was an unforeseen breach, the frame should have endured far longer.
She drives her gilded exoskeletal claws straight through the shattered remains.
Graaah!
After a harrowing shriek, it goes still and breathes its last.
Monzano hauls the Construct's wreckage behind her, rushes down the corridor to its far end, and returns to the lab housing the central hub data.
Just as she feared, the once-vibrant green glow has been all but consumed by a sinister red, and the quarantine system wails in a shrill alarm.
We still have time... Lock everything down first. Then, in this high-density environment, run the return-transmission experiment.
She draws in a sharp breath and holsters her revolver against her leather pants. Eleanor's timing is always so impeccable.
Activate.
She stands before the control terminal, her voice ringing with firm resolve as she gives the order.
Voiceprint scan in progress... Madam Adrianna Monzano, Construct code UAF-07. Welcome.
The screen flares to life in a flash, her fingers gliding across its surface.
Initiating full lockdown on the experimental deck...
With the initial phase complete, Monzano turns to inspect the culture dish.
Beyond that wall, hundreds of identical pillars stand, enveloping the volunteers and the frames they're about to inhabit.
Unforeseen twists and chance occurrences can so often yield the most pivotal factors in an experiment...
She lifts her arm and slams the newly acquired test subject—dragged all the way into the lab—onto the operating table.
He pulls the Mako-3 data chip straight from the central hub, then slots it into the port just above the wreck's spinal column—no safeguards, no hesitation.
Mako-3.
Monzano's voice is icy as she repeats the code name, paying no heed to the virus concentration spiking in this airtight space.
Structural integrity is at critical levels!
The code name appears to trigger some reflex, but it stays frozen in place. That eerie proclamation rings out like a pre-recorded alert.
System check fails—attempting reboot... Memory data incomplete—initiating emergency format...
Initiate the plan.
The dead's emissary delivers a succinct order.
Command: Abort formatting. Re-uploading data... Data integrity check fails...
Disjointed electronic signals sputter in and out.
The backup frame's readiness checks are finished. We're ready to proceed.
She steps away from the operating table, turning toward the incubation chamber.
Command: Backup hardware detected. Initiating data transfer...
At its core, the Punishing Virus is information, which isn't wholly incompatible with Memory data. Our priority is ensuring the medium remains stable before we send it back, and that every part of the M.I.N.D. has been completely converted into data.
From a purely theoretical standpoint, your Memory can be backed up through hardware and implanted into any form of data storage.
Or perhaps... you'd rather rise again as some kind of cleaning drone?
She casts a sidelong glance at the automated chemical waste cleaner on the floor, her voice dripping with malice as she speaks under her breath.
Monzano knows the husk on the table has lost all sense of self—it can't possibly grasp human words anymore.
Still, she refuses to abandon her hope that this experiment will yield a breakthrough.
Target hardware locked. Initiating data transfer...
Monzano wastes no time, quickly finalizing the initial commands on the control panel.
The battered Construct's sensors flicker weakly, then die out completely. Its half-upright frame slumps to the floor.
For the next few minutes, under that cramped ceiling, an eerie hush settles in—like the hush before the end of all things.
The drone of the ventilation system and the frame's virus warning fade beneath the low thrum pulsing from the Monzano reactor's core.
As if sparked by the stifling heat in the air, a figure within one of the incubation pods jerks violently.
!!
She stops pacing in impatience and moves closer, accessing the frame's vital-readings data directly.
>System Rebooting...
>Reboot Complete.
>Importing data... calibrating...
So close... Just one more step...
A blue-white progress bar glides seamlessly across the screen, so flawlessly that it leaves her momentarily stunned.
>Please enter boot command.
She doesn't hesitate. With the code ingrained in her mind, she keys it into the terminal. Grand speeches are just historians' embellishments for those who follow, while the acts that truly alter civilization often go unnoticed.
One command, one letter, or just the tap of a holographic screen—that's all it takes.
Harnessing cutting-edge tech to outwit Death—such a bold ambition can enchant even the most zealous follower.
Those who can stand unyielding in the face of the Punishing are destined to rule the new world.
Those highborn elites who cut and run the moment trouble brews dare to proclaim themselves humanity's final hope...
Certain of her triumph, the mistress makes no showy display of celebration.
Quite the opposite—she grits her teeth and spits out a scornful remark, finding an unexpected release in the act.
It's a shame that those who hold creationism sacred view Darwin as a heretic, while those who treat evolution like unbreakable law can never truly understand what "adaptability" means in this new age.
...
He once drifted through the sea of terror, lost in the swirl of his own oblivion. But now, he presses on, guided only by the strength of his will.
Fragments of thought are carried away by Punishing, then settle like flowing sand into the depths of the mind.
He feels no terror toward the swirling abyss itself, but the weightless sensation of having no anchor leaves him shaken: time, space, emotion, reason—all slip beyond his reach. He gazes into the pitch-black veil, gripped by fear and uncertainty.
He slowly regains his clarity. A choice that isn't really a choice—more like destiny. He hurls himself into the endless void, where shifting sands twist into slender silver strands skirting past him. Memories he can't recognize detonate and then fade away at the far edge of the darkness.
The shifting sands recede, leaving behind only the scars of fleshly torment in the lingering darkness. In due time, he will inevitably make his way back to this place.
But now, he has returned, taking form in a vessel substantial enough for the real world to contain.
He steadies himself, collecting his thoughts.
I am...
He flings his burning question into the depths of his M.I.N.D., and the echoing ripple he expects rises in reply.
What surfaces now isn't a combat call sign or a mech code, but the name he once claimed before giving up his human body to answer the call of "reclaiming Earth".
System fully activated.
I... am Lloyd.
He speaks, slowly and deliberately, the words that mark both the beginning and the end.
Then, the light in his eyes fades.
This is his final death.
In the end, death remains an unconquerable finale.
