Evan, that's enough! Evan!
Ngh... Argh!
Evan, snap out of it!
Aargh!
Whoa—
First, the sound of something slipping from his hands. Then, Evan's startled cry, and finally, the man's sigh of resignation.
Evan, are you okay?
My arms... I can't lift them…
Wait! The signal... what about the signal?!
Evan first notices his arms are sore and stiff, then quickly remembers the recent chaos.
His group had used New Sophiasburgh's city gates as bait, successfully boarding the ship and rescuing several Constructs on a critical mission.
Then, at the designated location, they scrambled desperately with their equipment. But as they arrived, a grim discovery: several devices were damaged in the earlier battle.
What do we do now?!
Any of you Babylonians know how to fix this?!
We're combat models... though it looks like only the mounts are broken.
So we can just use them as they are?
No, we can't. These comm units are too sensitive... Is anyone here around two meters tall?
Everyone exchanged glances with one another.
Then let's stack up! Someone give me a shoulder ride!
Evan raised his hand eagerly, and the other children followed suit.
It all worked out. We just received word: the frontline operation succeeded. You held out longer than expected, kid.
Don't call me kid! It's Evan!
Hey, Babylonian, what's happening up there?
A man standing nearby cuts in, pointing up at the sky.
Following the Constructs' gaze, Evan looks up and beholds the brightest sky he has ever seen. A green aurora spreads across the clouds like crushed gems scattered between the layers.
Rosetta?
Evan isn't sure why he called her name. But as he watches the aurora, he can almost see them—every face, every fighter on that distant battlefield.
Almost without thought, he takes a step forward, pulled by a sudden, urgent need to know how they are faring.
Kid, come back! No running around!
An Ursa?
Wait... Who are you with, Ursa? Don't recognize you.
Came with the support fleet. I'm a bionic from another port.
My boss knows your situation. Sent me with a team to keep you secure, and to pass on a message:
Thank you for your efforts. You are all brave warriors!
—Sniff.
Whoa, why the tears all of a sudden?
It's just...
The Ursa pats the crying man's back with a resigned sigh, then instructs the personnel to gather the wounded. Nearby, others pick up rifles and begin to move away from the rescue ships.
Hey, where are you all going?
Those brats blew up our Sophiasburgh.
As they say this, they glance at Evan.
So we're going to get another one back.
So they go, turning toward the old Sophiasburgh and not looking back. The Ursa just sighs—a sound of pure resignation—before planting a heavy hand on top of Evan's head.
Ow! What's that for?!
You! Get two boats to follow them, and make sure they don't get themselves killed!
