In front of a shop along the Orbital Corridor, roses radiate crimson joy, their brilliant hue matching the female Construct standing beside them.
Just as you're about to frame the shot, you realize she's nowhere to be found.
Poor little child, are you lost? Need me to broadcast a missing person announcement?
Vera's voice comes from behind. With arms crossed, she stands beneath the canopy of a nearby restaurant's patio.
Are you done setting up your shot? Then hurry up and finish your task, so we can be done with it.
Holding the camera, you turn sideways and blink a few times in response.
What, stared at me too long and got dry eyes?
Seeing that Vera has no intention of moving, you walk over to the same canopy and gesture with your camera.
I don't want to waste my precious time on some assignment from the World Government Association of Art.
Do me a favor and finish your "mission" as soon as possible.
I don't mind snapping a souvenir while taking an enemy's head. Projecting that at a post-battle meeting would surely make those useless bureaucrats piss themselves.
But I don't have time to spare for such touristy photo events. I'm busy.
You dare pry into my schedule? How amusing. I'll let it slide this time, but only because it's you.
Fine, if you're so determined to dig for answers.
I don't take pictures for trivial matters, nor do I have a habit of printing them as souvenirs.
You attended the military academy. Surely you're aware of the military's security protocols.
It's even stricter at Kurono. If it weren't for the fact that a frame's appearance is linked to the M.I.N.D. stability, Kurono would have all their Constructs coated to be unrecognizable.
Vera wears an indifferent expression, her fingers twirling a strand of her hair. Even in the shadows where artificial sunlight cannot reach, her red hair still blazes like a flame in the gloom.
Whatever. I couldn't care less about it anyway.
Images are always distorted and temporary. A photo's significance is confined to that single moment—its only purpose is to record something that's already gone.
Vera reaches out. Her slightly cold fingertips trace from between your brows, down the bridge of your nose, over your lips, before coming to rest at the most vulnerable part of your neck—where beneath the skin, your carotid artery pulses with the rhythm of life.
Keeping traces of beautiful moments...
There are many ways to leave traces behind, my little Commandant. It doesn't always require flowers and rainbows.
Vera leans forward. The breath simulated by her Construct body feels incredibly real as it falls upon the hollow of your neck.
For example... wounds.
How about I leave some of those traces you want so badly on you?
Vera turns around, fixing you with an intense stare for a moment before bursting into cheerful laughter.
Where did you pick up that smooth talk? From some Golden Age salesman?
Never mind. Hand me that camera.
Her hand moves faster than the echo of her words. In the blink of an eye, the precious camera is in her grasp. Its body now obscures the female Construct's stunning face, leaving only the dark lens pointed straight at you.
What? Is my little Commandant upset that there aren't any flowers or rainbows to make it more beautiful?
Her eyes peek out from behind the camera, narrowing with delight. She flips open the rotating screen and wraps her other arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to fit into the narrow frame.
The shutter clicked so quickly you wonder if the camera even had time to focus properly. Vera is already examining the photo, her hand still in the same position, radiating warmth against your waist.
Hmm... lens distortion. I told you images can be deceiving. Ha, you actually look even more ridiculous in this photo than in person.
Are you questioning the precision of my visual modules? How bold.
Then I can only feel sorry for your taste.
Vera doesn't respond immediately. Her gaze remains fixed on the display with an intensity that could pierce through the LCD screen. Then suddenly, she smiles, and her fingers swiftly tap out a few commands.
Hmm... I suppose it does have its merits.
With exceptional dynamic vision, you barely make out her commands—she's transferring the photo to another terminal while deleting the local data.
Since it can't meet the "mission" requirements, it's just defective data. Can't let such sensitive intel leak out. After all, operational security is the first lesson we learned as soldiers.
Let's move on. The mission continues. I'm very much looking forward to what "beautiful traces" you'll leave behind, little Commandant.
