Story Reader / Main Story / 26 Cradle Parade / Story
26-1 Cradle Slaughterhouse
>Anyone who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes,
either from coming out of the light or from going into the light,
which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye;
and he who remembers this when he sees anyone whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh;
he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter life, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark,
or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light.
—Plato, "The Republic"
—Excerpt—
April 1st, April Fool's Day. Fate has decided to crack a cruel joke. The Gray Raven Commandant has vanished.
The transport craft back to Babylonia got ambushed. All emergency items got wrecked, and even the parachutes turned out to have massive holes, only spotted once they were open.
Thus, with a mere splash, this "humanity's hero" lauded by all plummeted into a corrupted river.
Search teams have gone into overdrive, scouring the river, and grilling everyone involved, but the person they are after is nowhere in sight.
That is what happened.
Some time after the disappearance incident...
You finally wake up from a prolonged coma, facing the dangerous unknown alone.
Your brain feels like a soggy sponge, your head too heavy to lift. Even your memories are all fuzzy.
Your body is strapped to some old table and chair, devoid of any leeway for movement.
Your comrades and teammates are nowhere in sight. No matter how hard you struggle or shout, there's no response.
It's just you in this sealed medical room, trapped with no way out except for that tightly locked door. The floor and medical gear are all stained with old blood, like silent witnesses to past tragedies.
Then, out of nowhere, the lock clicks open, and a frail figure shuffles in through the door...
You're awake... later than I thought. Are you okay?
He sets down a plate of barely cooked fish, his expression full of concern at you.
Initially, I was going to turn you into a Construct. For us, it's only Constructs that qualify as seeds, fitting into our plans.
But since you kept turning us down, we had to resort to some less-than-gentle tactics to bring you here.
And yet, here you are... still human, after a long coma.
Ever wonder why?
Hmm, seems like you've had an inkling all along.
The Gray Raven Commandant, hailed as humanity's hero, has no affinity to Tantalum-193.
You've held onto this secret, never once denying it when asked. Quite intriguing, isn't it?
I've heard from some of us stationed in Babylonia that Bianca and Liv both felt the pull of their specialized frames, glimpsing the simulation of the future.
In every scenario, your life ends as a human. Didn't they ever suspect anything?
Why don't you tell them? Fear of worrying your companions, or perhaps it was an order?
Lithos lifts his eyes, taking in the human's reactions.
Don't let it get you down too much. Being adaptable is just a last resort. As a commandant, what really matters is your Mind Beacon connection rate and physical shape.
But if you're dead set on marching to the front lines, it's best to keep this adaptability report under wraps.
Frontline commandants are always in the hot seat, and the successful grads usually have that adaptability ace up their sleeves. When the missions aren't make-or-break, those without it get "special treatment."
Like being handed simpler missions or sticking to the cushy rear—Simon had it that way, but you said that was not what you wanted.
This isn't my first time seeing someone tinker with their report, but most folks aren't itching to hit the front lines, flipping pass to fail.
Training a commandant isn't a walk in the park, and getting nabbed pulling this stunt usually ends in a slap on the wrist.
Mull it over carefully, because this is about your future too.
Humans age, get banged up or disabled. Nobody can stay forever young and battle-ready.
These issues don't hinge on your determination or ideals, unless you're gunning to meet your maker on the battlefield.
If you're not up for cooking the books, then maybe it's time to reconsider my pitch to work at Command Central.
Asimov's in on this too, right? And he opted to keep it under wraps for your sake.
Humanity's hero can't flip the switch and become a Construct, meaning you're destined to stand with humans, leaning toward their side in the grand scheme.
The current vibe in Babylonia is that Constructs ought to snag a few human rights. But if word gets out about this chink in your armor, you're bound to lose a chunk of support from the lower-tier Constructs.
Maybe throwing your weight behind someone like Chrome, who's all about seeing both sides, might be a smarter move. Right?
Hmm... But then again, he's gone full-blown Construct, marching to a different beat than you.
Those folks you label as "defectors"... they've been dishing out a lot of dirt to me.
What exactly? Are we talking about Asimov being in the dark about your secrets... or him giving zero cares about Babylonia's political dance, or perhaps both?
Is that so... Well, most of what I know about Babylonia comes from these "defectors," and let me tell you, they're never gonna spin some fairytales.
We've been chewing on how to convert those without adaptability into the M.I.N.D.
To be precise, it's more like getting to a state that's close to the M.I.N.D.
If you've ever seen Constructs switching frames, you've seen the "object" separated from the head and torso. Our "soul" is stored in there—at least, that's my take on it.
Turning into that kind of form but still keeping your self-consciousness intact in a frame similar to your own is a tough task.
For the humanoid hybrid Constructs or those diving into the Ascension-Network for a data feast... it's an even tougher one.
Those who manage to achieve this typically have a more beautiful brain, extremely strong emotions, and profound self-awareness—just what I'm after.
Only those with a M.I.N.D. stable enough can be given birth by Cthylla as a whole.
By now, you must have seen her, or rather, her little cradle.
You used to tag her as the "Hetero-Hive Mother".
She lent a hand in weaving Hetero-Sapiens in the Red Tide and even gave birth to a pair of twins.
In that trial run where the Red Tide mingled with the sea, we proved that the twins could house a Construct's M.I.N.D.
Everything has been set, and volunteers queue up, but only a select few can be fully reborn under her wing.
Right, to become a new breed of human, rising above death's grip.
A monster? No, not at all. You're just rising above death, undergoing a transformation.
It's a shame. If only you could become a Construct, things would be smoother sailing. But it's okay, we've got a Plan B.
He gestures at the IV drip in your hand.
This potion is one of our research results. Needs a jab every day. One last shot, and you'll score adaptability.
No, I'm talking about the adaptability to Hetero-Creatures.
It is good for you, just not what you had in mind. This will allow you to handle Hetero-Creatures.
A human diving headfirst into the Red Tide will only end up shredded and become a shattered puzzle. The scattered pieces will blend with others', making it impossible to tell one from the other.
Mister reckons that would be a waste of your potential.
Once you've got this adaptability, you'll be more "in tune" with Cthylla, more wholly embraced by her.
Right, it's been a few days since you had a decent meal or a dose of nutrients. Fancy a bite?
He scoops up a forkful of finely diced fish liver and extends it.
This was originally meant for Mister, but he won't be coming anytime soon.
Nervous it's laced with poison? No need to fret, I won't do you harm. The only things that can thwart the plan now are you making a grand escape or dying before we seal the deal.
You want to get out of here, right? After all that hunger, shouldn't you have a little fuel to recharge?
Because I love you, Gray Raven Commandant... I—love—you.
Then let's just say it's to keep you ticking until you get that final shot.
Little did you know, I've had my eye on you for a while now. If it weren't for the mission, I might've... done more, genuinely.
However... is the hero adored by many harbors a soul so lonesome that even the affection of an Ascendant gets scrutinized for its authenticity?
It's alright... Feeling lonely is par for the course, even saints get a taste of that solitary life chasing lofty ideals. Don't blame yourself for not being ironclad.
My love confession is genuine. It's because I care for you that this plan must work out.
You have to stay alive till that final shot, only then can your mind keep on trucking. Now, have some food.
Escaping is like a game that kicks your emotions into high gear and amps up your self-awareness. Waiting too long to wake you would mess with your mental stability.
Fish tastes the best when it's fresh.
Lithos twirls the fork in his hand, like an angler teasing a nibble.
After the final shot, you will only have 48 hours left. Even if you make it back to Babylonia, they might not have the tech to save you.
In those 48 hours, you'll feel your flesh withering away, and this drug comes with a strong side effect...
It heightens your sense of pain more than usual... I'm sorry... This is one downside neither Cinderelik nor I can fix.
While I could give you a painkiller, it would mess with the outcome's quality.
Pain's like a tonic that keeps you sharp. During Construct operations, pain helps sync up the M.I.N.D. with the consciousness.
But the agony from decay after that last shot will be off the charts. I'm afraid you might opt for an early exit.
Come on, tuck into these fish. The Sea Fairies worked hard snagging them, so let's not waste food.
Yeah, they're Cthylla's children too. You'll get to know them soon enough. Dig in.
Seems like you're not getting the gravity of your situation.
The sharp fork, with a chunk of fish on it, heads straight for your bound hand, the searing pain stabbing deep.
Even though there's still time before that "final shot" Lithos mentioned, the pain your body's feeling has already reached unbearable levels.
Impressive, you manage to hold back the screams.
He gives his wrist a slight twist, driving the fork deeper into the wound he made.
The pain skyrockets, causing your body to convulse and shiver, nearly toppling onto the rickety table.
It isn't until the view zooms in very close on the stained tabletop that the multitude of tiny dents becomes glaringly obvious.
What exactly went down here? How many people got dealt the same hand?
Sorry... I just hope you grasp the current state of your body. Whatever your next move is, make sure to take good care of yourself.
Oh, right, by way of apology, you can ask one question. I promise I won't lie.
You can choose to doubt it, and keep your mouth shut.
At that, Lithos just lets out a scoff, no further reaction.
Want to confirm it yourself?
But I'll see you as a pervert and lock you up.
Hmm, my bad. To make up for it, you get another question.
To think you'd ask that question...
From where I'm standing, there's absolutely no way you're breaking free alone because this place is ironclad secure.
Unless Babylonia sniffs you out, or some agent decides to lend you a hand.
But even if they wanted to yank you out, getting here would be a tough one. Most people holed up here were relocated from shallower locations before diving down to this depth.
That's your second question already.
He lets out a resigned sigh.
Alright, I'll spill the beans because you're the only one I dragged down here against their will, and I've been feeling guilty about it.
But here's the deal: you have to play two rounds of Q&A with me in return. Don't worry, I won't pry into secrets, and you can keep silent if you want to.
Ever heard of the famous trolley problem?
Picture this... the researchers over in Babylonia, using M.I.N.D. duplication tech, make five Livs, now strapped to the tracks with a train barreling down on them.
You got a stick on the control panel that could switch the tracks, but there lies the real Liv. What will you do?
Pull the stick, and watch the true Liv, who's been your companion through thick and thin, lock eyes with you as the train barrels down on her.
This way, you get five Livs, albeit each with a dash of M.I.N.D. migraine. But more Livs means more lives saved and more of her by your side. Sweet deal, right?
Or... ditch these five copies, leaving the real Liv behind?
So that's your choice.
Because only Alpha can get copied. Lucia's already a copy. Copy a copy, and the quality drops hard. Can't even hold onto self-consciousness.
Alright, onto the next question, still a trolley problem.
Picture this, if the geniuses at Babylonia make five clones of you, all tied up on the tracks, staring down the barrel of an oncoming train.
You got it. And once again, pulling the stick could switch the tracks, with you being the one staring down the train.
The problem is, the Babylonian Parliament's calling the shots on who gets saved.
On one hand, five commandants with top-notch Mind Beacons, one for Gray Raven, leaving four heavy hitters, each capable of turning the tide of battle.
Uhm... don't think you're gonna be happy seeing five copies of yourself, are you? Well, guess this is where accidents and memory loss come in handy.
And then there's the genuine commandant, the one Gray Raven truly cherishes. Considering their attachment to you, they'd undoubtedly prioritize saving the real you.
...Heh, even though Lucia herself is a clone.
Hmm... I don't know. I don't even know...
Are you the very commandant that Gray Raven is leaving no stone unturned trying to find? Or are you one of the five they don't care about at all?
Or maybe... you are the true one, but Gray Raven has located one of the five and halted their pursuit of you?
Alright then. We're deep in the ocean, over 5000 meters below the surface. You can think of this place as a huge submarine.
No more questions allowed.
Even if it's just a bit over 5000, you can't leave on your own, and it would be challenging for Gray Raven to locate this spot.
Despite being down to the last shot, please hold onto hope and keep fighting. You don't want to meet your end here, do you? Our objectives align.
Indeed, I'm aware of the strong, profound bond shared between the Gray Raven squad and its commandant. Witnessing you guys together was a source of envy for many, including myself.
His gaze dims, offering no further arguments.
Are you feeling more composed now? Awakening can sometimes leave one's mind hazy. I'm worried you might harm yourself by attempting an escape.
How about this? Let's play an easy little game to get moving, shall we?
Don't be afraid, easy.
While adopting a soothing tone, he casually picks up a thin thread from the jar nearby.
Just a little game, no challenges or penalties. Let's just unwind a bit.
Lithos wraps the delicate cotton thread around his hands.
When I was a kid, this little game was all the rage, letting our fingers mingle through those twisted cotton strings.
Sitting side by side, lost in that simple pastime, it felt like two people's destinies were somehow woven together.
You see, my hands are just as tied up as yours.
He passes you the tangled cotton thread, the sweet scent of lilies mingling with the sharp tang of blood hitting you as he draws nearer.
That smell, captured by your heightened senses, instantly dredges up haunting memories long buried.
Lilies and blood, a scent etched into the memory of anyone who's attended a soldier's mass funeral.
Lithos pays no heed to your musings, his eyes fixed on the thin thread in his hands as if he could peer through it to a long-gone figure.
When I was little... Father used to call this sort of string game "Cat's Cradle".
Rock-a-bye, kitty, high in the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come kitty, cradle and all.
...
I know what you mean. The ties that bind us may be different, as are our stances. I shouldn't be "looking down" on you, speaking to you in this manner.
But when you, in your self-righteousness, rescue those refugees drowning in despair, assuring them there's still a glimmer of hope, aren't you also positioning yourself above them?
Many have chosen to stay here of their own volition. I never coerced them, nor did I spread our doctrines. They sought us out, drawn here by their own accord.
Those people chose the path of death, fleeing from a world devoid of hope straight into Cthylla's embrace, all to find solace in her cradle.
I'm no different.
And you, Gray Raven Commandant, when you come to the end of your journey, how will you confront a self-stripped bare, facing Cthylla's cradle?
Yeah, I know.
Cat's Cradle is nothing but a lie veiling the harsh reality, a fanciful hope and illusion.
It was the same when Fathers put the rope on me. Project Cthylla isn't any different, and... neither is humanity's hero.
People pine for what's beyond their grasp in life, hoping to discover it in the afterlife or up in the heavens. That's why gods must exist, heroes must exist, and within the Cat's Cradle, there must be a cat and a cradle.
We crave a lie to cling to hope, but every lie will be exposed someday.
Yeah, you're right... Mister is now different from when he introduced me to this book. Many things have veered from their original, ideal form.
He keeps caressing the thin thread in his hand, almost as if he is fashioning a noose around his fingers.
"I" am no different.
Even if "Lithos" keeps spawning new copies to fulfill his mission, the "me" talking to you now will fade away eventually.
What about you, Gray Raven Commandant? When you come face to face with everything, will you also fall from the treetops alongside the Cat's Cradle?
Then, Lithos abruptly halts all movement and glances toward the door.
After a beat, he rises from the table, leaving behind his fork and the plate of fish.
An unexpected guest has slipped in. I should go greet them. Get some rest for now.
