Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
In a secluded corner of the massive warship, the interrogation presses on.
The experiment's a no-show? Sounds like other projects have gone too well, so the old man's no longer banking on those rookies.
Indeed. The M.I.N.D. fusion trial is going even better than we'd anticipated...
If we fail to address the human body's inherent limits, even Zero-point Energy won't help us conquer the stars.
Project Bokonon? Testing an artificial ecosystem to improve the colony ship's habitability? Sure, I can bankroll it—I'd be thrilled if this simpler route pans out. But you know what they say: never put all your eggs in one basket.
Keeping your mind intact while altering your body might be the most worthwhile path.
These kids matter more than a whole mercenary division, more than any cold fusion reactor, and even more than a Deep Autumn-class starship. When all is said and done, they may be our only real hope for change.
He still remembers the old man's instructions, but promises mean nothing in the face of changing circumstances.
Transplanting a child's brain into a mechanical shell is an irredeemable sin, yet frantic efforts to transfer and fuse Memory have quickly usurped Rosewater. Expendables may acquiesce, but in the end, humanity cannot silence its conscience.
...We made a promise to the other side—that's why we were willing to dive into this tainted blood in the first place. What now—are we supposed to just let ourselves drown in this sea of blood?
Our test subjects remain invaluable resources. Your service to Kurono won't be so easily erased.
Building on this pool of candidates, the old man has formed the Polard Agency—a branch of Kurono Intelligence operating directly under his authority. And I've been named its director.
An executive mandate from the group's top brass seems to have emboldened her, and she slips out from under the title of "Rosewater's deputy" without hesitation.
Intelligence Agency? My people are little more than Pavlov's dogs—barely able to read and acting only on pure conditioned reflex!
That overwhelming absurdity boils over into fury, and he spits out a venomous comeback.
Isn't that precisely the most essential and precious trait of a special agent? You don't overthink the purpose behind the orders or even wonder if the mission's beyond your ability... You just rely on instinct and do whatever it takes to see it through.
So what about their basic knowledge? The old man plans to chip away at the World Government with a bunch of kids who can't even read the research or pretend to be respectable?!
They're here for one reason—to survive that procedure. If they're fortunate, they'll get a second shot at life. And you know as well as I do that the busiest places in this facility are the incinerator in the basement and the Construct Reclamation Chamber!
He still thinks everything is beyond reason. Accomplishments are the only salve for his conscience, but the comforts he's clung to are on the verge of being stripped from him.
You don't need to worry. Agents come in all forms, and it's unreasonable to think kids can know everything. Soon enough, the Polard Agency will bring in adult recruits, while these children become Section Zero.
Surveillance and Purifying Department.
The woman remains expressionless. For her, this exchange is nothing more than a routine transfer of responsibilities.
...Those little assassins from Kurono.
He surrenders his struggle, as though he's known all along that this was inevitable.
Correct.
She has already provided all the crucial details. Now, she rises from her armchair.
Savor what little time you have left at this orphanage, Director.
Rosewater remains rooted behind his desk like a bronze statue, so lost in thought that he doesn't even register the door clicking shut behind the departing visitor.
He fails to notice the waterproof sheet—its surface marked with an anatomical diagram—fluttering to the floor behind him.
After a long pause, as though roused from a dream, he slides open his desk drawer and withdraws a file.
Inside lies the roster of more than a hundred children under his care—names and details Rosewater has already committed to memory.
Because... he personally "handpicks" more than half of those candidates himself.
Until the takeover officially goes through, I'm still the one in charge.
You're right.
He mutters under his breath, then comes to his own conclusion.
...I understand.
When the child hears the middle-aged man's orders, she just gives a quiet nod in response.
The director, with his gold-rimmed glasses, almost never sets foot in the dorm—it's common knowledge.
Most of the children only catch a glimpse of this mysterious figure on their very first day.
Yet he settles by the loneliest child's bedside, murmuring secrets beyond everyone else's earshot.
Behave yourself. Don't waste this opportunity. Pack your things.
He pats the child's shoulder and rises from the folding chair.
The little girl lowers her head in silence, vanishing behind the wardrobe door.
A minute later, every last one of her belongings is tucked neatly into a single duffel bag.
Alright, let's go.
Once the man departs with the child in tow, a wave of hushed whispers slowly spreads through the room.
...She's been chosen for the operation.
Their self-appointed leader delivers the news without a hint of hesitation, stirring unease among the group.
No way! She's such a nobody—why would anyone single her out...?
Even though the little sidekick speaks up, he still doesn't dare reveal what's really on his mind.
I already know what you're thinking: Eleanor is the star pupil—so why isn't she the one being sent to die instead?
...
She acts like it doesn't bother her at all, even though the girl they're tearing apart with their words is sitting right there in the corner of the same dorm.
So it turns out there's an upside to being defiant, huh? Maybe the grown-ups worry that if they strap her onto the operating table, she'll smash every last vial and jar in sight!
That cocky tease sparked a round of laughter, and the ringleader shot a careful glance toward the far corner of the dorm.
But to Eleanor, snide remarks like those stopped mattering ages ago.
Across the dorm, two girls speak in hushed tones, oblivious to everything else going on.
Could it really be the way they claim?
The blue-haired girl asks in a steady, composed voice.
No, that's not it. The child's already been taken in by someone.
Who took her in? I was under the impression this facility was strictly off-limits.
That day, on my way to file my injury report, I happened to pass by the director's office...
He's on the phone, speaking so quietly that it makes one strain to catch every word.
But Eleanor can't afford to be a sneaky little eavesdropper...
So I'm sitting here on the bench in the hallway, folding up my report and setting it beside my skirt. I'm just a bit lost. Once the director is done with his call, I'll ask him how to find the doctor's office.
That floor remains silent.
She withholds any opinion and simply presents the facts she has.
Exactly! And that's how the conversation just slipped out, letting Eleanor overhear it by accident...
Unfortunately, the director's call is nearly over. It sounds like he's given some sort of assurance, and he wraps up with a confident final remark...
..."I'll be counting on you from here on out, Mr. Trout."
So he ended up being adopted by the person on the other end of that call?
I don't know what this is.
That day, I asked the director about it. He sized me up in surprise before finally telling me the attending doctor was on vacation.
The busiest person at Polard taking a vacation? I specifically went to check that office and found the door tightly locked.
In her eyes, Discord is the best listener. She believes sharing this information isn't risky, since the shifting circumstances will inevitably make their way through the children sooner or later.
Yet this moment truly marks the first time she feels fear. She no longer holds a tight grip on how events will play out.
...It looks like we might not be able to continue the surgery.
At last, she chooses to share her conclusion.
!!
The blue-haired girl doesn't know how to respond; she can't even grasp what any of this truly means.
No take-backs! You're the one who nudged that marble just now!
Didn't you hear the boss? Drop that marble!
The bed near the entrance is once again overtaken by playful commotion, as the rowdy kids seize this rare free moment—shouting and laughing while they start a game of checkers.
It's just that, even if Eleanor and Discord show a bit of interest, they rarely ever join in on games like these.
After all, Eleanor anticipates her opponent's every move and never hesitates to corner them into a checkmate.
Later on, whenever Eleanor wasn't around, the bratty kids who lost at chess would unleash their frustration on Discord.
Let them do as they please... Our remaining days are running out.
I still don't get it... if I'm adopted, does that mean I'll be living with a whole new mom and dad?
I suppose so, Discord. I believe... that's how it is.
Not a single child knows what "surgery" really means.
When the instructor is nowhere to be seen, the caretaker wheels a little cart into the dorm.
Sometimes it's Christmas, sometimes Children's Day. She always gives every child a small slice of cherry-topped cake. Cut off from the world, these kids don't know what the holidays mean, but the overly sweet white frosting beats any cookie or mashed potatoes.
But there are times when the instructor walks straight to a child's bedside and places a small bag of sugar tablets in their hands.
The chosen child tips a handful of bright, candy-like beads into their mouth, then follows the instructor out of the dorm room.
Children like that are never seen again.
...An adoption program?! If you're bent on throwing your life away, just fill out the paperwork. The old man will dispatch his finest assassin to greet you!
The woman slams a stack of files onto the desk. Though she holds herself with a regal calm, her words crackle with an unmistakable threat.
You seem to have overlooked two critical words: "top-secret" adoption program.
The orphanage's secret stays under wraps. It won't jeopardize Project Cthylla's next steps or compromise the Polard Agency in any way.
The man known to the children as "Director" remains composed as he addresses the accusations.
Besides, I've only been sending away candidates with mediocre aptitude. Just the other day, a psychiatrist took a very withdrawn child whose test scores were consistently at the bottom.
So if you think about it differently, I'm actually doing the Polard Agency a favor by filtering out only the finest talents.
He delivers his argument without a single crack.
Are you aware of the reason I'm here today?
The visitor shifts their tone, but it can hardly be considered friendly.
Any further handover matters we need to address?
To the old man, only top-secret intel that needs to be destroyed after reading ever makes it onto paper. It's right there on the table—check it yourself.
She nods toward the pile of documents, prompting Rosewater to flip open the cover page.
...An appointment order?
He braces himself for the worst, but this turn of events still defies all logic.
The individual seated across the desk sneers with frosty contempt.
I still can't fathom why that old man holds you in such high regard. He took out your orphanage, but he's offering you another way forward all the same.
From this day forward, you're an agent of the Polard Agency.
Take it, or...
The woman tilts her head, examining a jewel with a wry sort of interest. The Director knows that beneath its crystal clarity lurks the most lethal cyanide.
I've never once faltered in my loyalty to Kurono. You have no cause for concern.
I accept the assignment.
His cool, professional demeanor returns, shutting out every hint of emotion.
Very well. Your first mission is already in motion.
Looks like this is my chance to atone.
He seizes every inch of the discussion, leaving no room for anyone else.
...Call it whatever you want. Either way, the old man gave the green light for Project Bokonon's operational phase.
Project Cthylla is our first move to secure the future, but we must stay alert to the World Government's every maneuver.
Project Eden is now on the table, but from day one, Kurono doubts the viability of a starship's self-contained ecosystem on such a lengthy voyage.
Project Bokonon grants us a new edge in this battle, and the facility is set to operate at the North American Ecological Science Institute, hundreds of kilometers from here.
What do I have to do?
The newcomer's already laid out the situation—he always cuts straight to the chase.
Adrianna Monzano, the institute's director, needs a massive budget to kick off construction. The old man's pinning his hopes on Project Cthylla, so he's unwilling to cover her entire request.
But out here in the desert, there's a city said to have streets of gold, isn't there? And the real power behind Las Prados just happens to be Monzano's brother, Sinclair, and his wife.
She turns her eyes to the window, as though her gaze could cut through the barren lands around the orphanage and reach that fabled paradise.
You want me to help Monzano secure funding from Las Prados? You're well aware I'm no expert when it comes to handling finances.
He isn't happy about this at all. It's as if the old man handed him this assignment just to watch him stumble.
Oh, don't get ahead of yourself. The file you're holding includes the latest report on the Sinclair couple—why don't you read it first?
Rosewater flips through the stack of printouts again, skimming the details inside.
...While traveling, Fred Sinclair crosses paths with the singer Phyllis Sinclair, who is 31 years younger than him...
...He receives a confirmed diagnosis of infertility... and is looking to adopt a child, no gender preference...
...Fred's sole surviving immediate family member is his younger sister.
He raises his head from the stack of documents, locking eyes with Palangoski's razor-sharp stare.
So... those pet assassins of yours—ready to unleash them?
Even murdering the Sinclair couple won't ensure Monzano takes over their estate.
He snaps the folder shut, dread already creeping into his thoughts.
Naturally, no one gives their fortune to an equal, but the love we hold for our children remains unwavering...
Especially when it's an old, wealthy man with no children who's shooting blanks himself, but still pins all his hopes for offspring on his young bride.
Rosewater pauses, realizing the implication behind Palangoski's words.
Your plan to adopt really is a great idea. It's making things so much easier for everyone.
In the end, what really set her off was that Rosewater went ahead and acted on his own.
When are we starting the operation?
You can go ahead and find someone suitable now. I'll leave you to it.
Rosewater takes a deep breath.
Once the visitor is gone, for the first time ever, he holds back that familiar prayer.
May the Lord watch over us...
Yet, where is his lordship now when children are used as mere instruments?
It's the same office as before, but now the figure seated opposite the desk is much smaller than the new director of this institution.
Have we received the results of the previous injury report yet?
He's only half-present while making small talk, quietly planning how to steer what comes next.
I thought Director said the attending doctor was on vacation?
...Look at me, getting forgetful after coming of age.
Please, don't say that. Director is already worrying himself sick about everyone.
The girl's composed smile reminds Rosewater exactly why he chose her without hesitation.
He doesn't care where this remarkable child picks up her reading and writing skills, nor does he dwell on the reason behind her perfect pitch, and he certainly doesn't bother investigating the dorm rumors that she's a "Checkers Master".
After all, each of these gifts is an invaluable edge for their mission.
You're a bright kid—you've probably noticed that Polard's situation is far from ideal.
We've been hanging on by the skin of our teeth thanks to the hospital deal, but...
He weighs his words, wondering just how carefully he should speak to the girl before him.
Is it because every procedure has run into complications?
...That's one way to put it.
Seeing how composed the girl is, he understands that trying to sugarcoat things would be a waste of time.
Anyway, this place is about to shut its doors for good.
Countless people out there long for a child but never get the chance, hoping to make their family whole. That's where you're headed—a new home with them.
The director offers a cold promise of an impossible future.
Director, you called for me—was there something you wanted to discuss?
You've always made us your top priority, Director. I promise I'll follow your guidance.
She slips on a smile so flawless it's almost unsettling, and Rosewater can't begin to guess what's hidden beneath its surface.
An older gentleman and his wife saw our adoption notice. They've taken quite a liking to you and plan to choose a suitable day to meet.
We've got everything scheduled. They're arriving the day after tomorrow.
He can't quite explain why, but the way they phrase it makes his skin crawl—like they're discussing some stray off the streets.
Yay! Does this mean they'll be my new mom and dad?
But before he can even mention the toughest part of his request, the girl is already bouncing with excitement and letting out a thrilled cheer.
Director, there's no need to worry—I'll make sure to do my very best.
However... I do have one small favor to ask.
The sparkle in her eyes briefly fades, but her courteous smile never wavers.
It's your friend, right?
Don't worry. I've taken care of everything. Her new place is just around the corner from you.
Beneath his glasses, there's a sober intensity—this is the only time he truly speaks from the heart.
No lying, all right?
I promise.
He can't wrap his head around how she glides so smoothly from elegant reserve to playful glee. Maybe she's the perfect person for the job... but for the first time, Rosewater feels a strange, creeping dread.
So, me, Discord, and Director—we'll still get a chance to meet again someday, right?
...
Rosewater doesn't answer.
The corners of the girl's eyes curve into a joyful arc that reminds him of a scythe's sharp edge.
In the large dormitory, most of the beds now lie empty. The luggage and packs left behind look all the more conspicuous against the emptiness.
Rosewater watches the blue-haired girl huddled in the corner, releasing a quiet sigh.
(This is all I can do for you...)
He reflects on this thought as he moves forward.
...Discord.
The girl says nothing.
Discord, it's time for us to leave.
The girl rises slowly—she never defies a command.
...And Eleanor?
You realize we don't get to decide anything here. The adoptive family does.
So... am I being left behind again?
She doesn't lash out or make a scene; instead, she dims like the final flicker of a dying flame.
Eleanor's getting a new home—how great is that?
The moment he speaks, he realizes just how empty his words of comfort sound.
The girl remains silent.
Our destination is practically right next door to Eleanor's new home.
It's my newly opened tailor shop, located in Las Prados—the same town you once called home.
As soon as the man utters that word, the girl freezes in place.
A... tailor... shop?
She enunciates each syllable carefully, as if a long-lost memory is stirring to life.
Who would've thought Director had a trick like that up his sleeve?
Don't worry. Your new life is about to start any moment now.
Taking advantage of the moment, he gently clasps her hand, offering quiet reassurance.
The girl nods softly and quietly starts gathering her belongings, offering no further words.
Las Prados
Three days later
Sleek, meticulously tailored attire complements the subdued décor. The girl's concept of fashion still revolves around cloaks and combat fatigues—until this moment, she's only observed similar styles from the patrons frequenting the entertainment hall.
He guides her up the polished wooden staircase to the second floor, then pushes open a small door off to the side.
Inside is a warm, fully equipped bedroom—a world apart from the dorm's rigid, uniform bunks.
This is your new home.
Night's almost upon us, and you've had a rough trip. Let's call it a day and get some rest, shall we?
Roger.
It's as though the only thing that registers in her mind is being given orders.
No more drills here, and definitely no more orders. Take it easy, Discord.
She ignores it all, heads straight for the bed, and retrieves a set of restraints from her pack.
She lifts her wrist, ready to carry out the move etched into her reflexes—only for the man to snatch that orange-yellow strip away in an instant.
...
There's no need for that anymore. Besides, the training suit's built-in cleaning cycle can't hold a candle to a proper hot shower.
He gestures toward the bathroom door on the other side of the bed.
Thank you, Director, but I really am feeling a bit worn out.
Very well. One last thing—there are going to be quite a few new faces around here soon. This city is crawling with all kinds, and it's far from safe...
He smoothly changes the subject, his voice gentle.
Whatever you do, don't leave without talking to me first.
The second floor has everything you need. Take some time with it if you're interested.
The girl knows exactly what he implies. It's simply a polite way of declaring she's grounded.
Alright then... good night.
Behind him, the heavy wooden door gives off a steady thump.
The girl slips out of her training uniform and settles forward onto the soft bed.
...Where could she be?
Honestly, she finds herself missing Eleanor... Even though she's been cast aside yet again, she can't bring herself to resent the feeling of being needed.
The strange house-arrest decree leaves her unsure of her path in the tailor shop, but she can't quell the deep-seated longing that stirs within.
Before she ever set off on her wanderings, sewing was the skill she excelled at most—and the one she treasured with quiet pride.
Regardless, tonight proves to be the most restful sleep she's had in what feels like ages.
For the first time, there are no restraints binding her wrists to the bedframe, and in her dreams, she is embraced by the warmth of true freedom.
In the dream, the overture of "Tannhauser" rings out with a sharp, resonant clarity.
Palangoski wraps up the lengthy story and, after a soft cough, falls quiet.
...So Rosewater took Discord under his wing, then claimed he was founding a Las Prados intel station to dig his roots into the city?
No wonder the old man tried to have him taken out by someone else—was he really treating the agency's candidates like personal property?
He cuts Palangoski short, spitting his complaints in a venomous growl.
Yes. He believes it's the least he can do to keep things safe. He refuses to let Discord join the Polard Agency's Section Zero.
So much for that "protection"—it doesn't seem to have worked out too well, does it?
After Eleanor finishes her task, Project Bokonon makes steady headway for a while—at least until the old man, pleased with Project Cthylla?'s progress, decides to shut down our funding entirely.
In the aftermath of the assassination attempt, Discord stays close to Monzano, quietly gathering information. But none of them foresee how Punishing will upend every carefully laid scheme.
Convinced she's turned Discord to her cause, Monzano wants her back in Kurono as a double agent.
Naturally, once the Punishing outbreak hits, both Monzano and Eleanor vanish without a trace.
Word has it they managed to pull out safely—I'm inclined to trust that version of events.
Don't worry about that. And thanks for sharing your old tales. We'll dismantle every single screw in Babylonia to inspect them, one by one.
Someone of her stature arrives on this colossal warship, and we don't even give her a proper welcome... We really should have done better.
He once again feigns that heartfelt look—an emotion worn like a mask.
You already know how everything turns out after that.
The former head of the Polard Agency finishes her story. She even feels a hint of relief, having once believed these secrets would follow her to the grave.
Such a stirring sight... People willing to swallow their pride and shoulder the load like our first President? We've got no shortage of those in Kurono!
The man closes the file of records. His face contorts as he forces out a few tears, nearly letting genuine emotion break through.
But Palangoski understands all too well that this is the final judgment.
We'll figure out how to deliver this report to the Parliament. As long as someone is willing to shoulder those unspeakable failures, our progress will never stall.
Let the past remain buried. Once the Parliament sees a statement declaring, "All human experimentation projects have been terminated", they'll surely concur.
Your sacrifice paves the way for the real Project Winter to forge ahead without a hitch.
He produces a time-worn flask, its surface etched with rust, and slams it onto the metal tabletop.
That was once Palangoski's possession.
So, privacy for the lady, then?
...
The man rises and steps out of the room.
She ignores the mockery, voluntarily forfeiting the chance to have the last word.
Last words never cross her mind—they're for heroes, not for someone like her.
She tips her gaze toward the emerald trinket, where a flawless sheen conceals a deadly dose of cyanide.
Palangoski twists the flask's cap open and empties the trinket's contents inside.
She gives the flask a brisk shake, like a bartender preparing a fatal cocktail.
Dignified until the end, she now resolves not to depart in wordless surrender.
...A toast to the old world.
With those words, she raises the jug and drains it in a single, unhesitating gulp.
