Story Reader / Floating Record / ER02 Cinder Burns / Story
And so time goes on, with two years passing by.
By the time the boy has turned 13, the Commoner Carriage has grown so crowded it's unlivable.
Bumblebee has taken in so many newcomers over the years—that even with all the outsourced work ACA has taken up, they still find work in short supply. The competition for work has never been so fierce—while their wages hit rock bottom again and again.
People have grown numb and cruel about all the work-related deaths now—to the point that some of them find it acceptable to poke fun at those who fall ill and are unable to work, labeling them "pretentious".
Those who haven't yet lost their heart have tried all sorts of ways to escape this hellhole. Some have managed to join principled crews through screenings using their skills or power, while still, some pay their way up and secure positions as upper-level guards.
The other guards don't think highly of those who pay their way up—yet there is nothing anyone can do with them, so long as they've got the right kind of "connection".
Other than these "lucky" ones, those who can't stand how crowded the lower level has become have all decided to quit ACA.
Still, there are countless people with nowhere to turn to because they've run out of their resources for Blessing Boxes.
Chop chop and wake up. We're almost there. You don't want 'em dickheads here to wake y'all up.
Assad likes to describe the guards as "dickheads," because he thinks their faces look especially punch-able with their filter masks on.
Same deal. We have 10 batches worth of Blessing Boxes to sell, and each batch has five thousand boxes. We'll be going through 10 places, and we'll call it a day whenever we're done.
Wait, 10 batches, and five thousand boxes each? That's two times the workload we did last time!
That's what the higher-ups said. Would love to help but can't really do anything about it.
And what are we getting in exchange for the boxes?
Medicine, just like last time. Here, I've pasted an exchange price list on the shipping container.
Cut us some slack already. You just can't find people with that much medicine these days—and even if you can, why would they want Blessing Boxes in return anyways?
But we managed to sell all the boxes last time, didn't we? See, you can always find greedy people, and even if they have no medicine to give, they can try asking around to see if people have it, right? C'mon, just zip it and get to work.
Because you're gonna get one of those dickheads coming at you if you don't.
****ing hell. These dickheads you're talking about were nothing but lousy Bumblebees that made their way up buying Blessing Boxes. Those cocky bastards just can't wait to take their revenge now.
But what revenge? They're just here to supervise us, and that'd be the politically correct way to put it.
Hahaha.
With a cold face, Niino gives Weyland a slap.
Ain't funny at all.
Ever since a long time ago, the "dickheads"—which, in fact, are really guards from the upper level—have been patrolling the lower level. They maintain that they do so to ensure "work efficiency", except the guards weren't as mean back then.
The guards would come to check the items sold and recycled—but over the past few years, they'd suppress people who try to complain with violence, leading to conflict on a regular basis. Rachel, however, hasn't done much to remedy the situation.
She'd always say,
We really want to be more discreet going forward since the guys up there know we're up to something. Meeting them head-on won't do us any good.
But you gotta do something about it. People are pissed with a capital P. Do you see that look on those bastards' faces when they come every day? And don't even get me started on how they messed with the rule!
People were supposed to get paid for the amount of work they did, and that's the way things were. But then came 'em "dickheads" with their "paid by assigned quota" rule—and bam, it's either you meet your assigned quota or you go home empty-handed to mama.
And now, we all need to go home empty-handed if there is so much as one of us that fails to meet their quota... And environment-wise, this place pretty much looks like a hellhole now.
It's all as what Assad says—every morning, they'd see a bunch of "dickheads" come down with weapons and pick a few dozen people to work in the Industrial Carriage.
Their compensation—two meals and a food voucher for 12 consecutive hours of work—is meager at best, but given the "safe nature" of the job, people would still kill for it.
Once picked, you'll be heading down to the Industrial Carriage with 50 or so people under the "dickheads'" supervision—where you'll find piles and piles of materials and parts waiting for you.
To speed things up, the workers are each fed a single cup of instant energy soup twice a day for the two meals they're promised—and if they need to take care of their business, there is a squat toilet and rainwater purifier in the corner, literally just two steps away.
The air reeks of excrement with nothing covering the squat toilet. The rainwater purifier, on the other hand, gets hiccups all the time—to the point that the boy has seen people die from consuming water with an overly high level of Punishing Virus.
Nonetheless, people still work non-stop for 12 hours in this car reeking of sweat and excrement—all for that one single food voucher at the end of the grind. More often than not, however, they'd get I.O.U.'s from the Logistics Crew when they try to get food with the vouchers.
If you slack for even just a split second, one of the "dickheads" would start swinging his baton and machine gun at you.
Get this. Y'all will be goin' home empty-handed if you fail to turn in before the Cargo Crew leaves!
The workers direct their anger and hate to whoever becomes a liability to the common good due to exhaustion.
The elders and kids were encouraged to partake in making Blessing Boxes as a way for them to obtain resources—until the aristocrats twist it all around against the workers.
This whole policy is meant to be friendly to all. You need to leave the door open for those in need, right?
This "we're all heroes or we're all zeroes" rule is totally against what you just said, though.
That's what the higher-ups said. Don't hate me. Ain't nothing I can do about it because I'm just doing what I'm told. Appreciate your understandin'.
The upper level is still hirin' guards, though. If the whole situation is grindin' you the wrong way, consider givin' that a shot and make a change. If you just ain't good enough, then you should probably work harder rather than hate on people better than you.
Anything is possible if you put in the hard work! Believe in yourself!
Think of ways to help yourself succeed, because excuses ain't gonna help you get nowhere! C'est la vie, people, but life can't always go your way. You win some and you lose some. Where there is pain there is gain, and roaches in food might just be your most valuable life coaches!
The guards now resort to showering the workers with pep talks when the workers feel anything less than satisfied.
Some have given their all to get on the train and, in the face of the absurdity, they now pin their hate down on the Cargo Crew members who lauded the "Blessing Boxes" to the skies.
Want to go from zero to hero in a single shot? ACA wants you! Hell, why would I want to work my butt off for the screening when I can just luck out and get a ticket?
The workers get hated on when the Cargo Crew members have what little chance they had taken away from them.
You think I had a choice? They told me to either do it or get lost, but where can I go exactly when I have a little brother to take care of?!
A volcano threatening to explode at any moment is what you end up with when you put a whole bunch of exasperated people together.
You really need to look past their anger and try to understand them. Not everyone can control themselves emotionally.
People have directed their hate at many different things, but things haven't changed for the better because these people are under the constraint of all sorts of factors.
You're free to go anywhere you want, folks. Ain't nobody asking you to stay here.
But where can they go when this is their only home? Chaotic and broken as it is, the world has turned too many into souls without a home.
I hate their guts! I've lost count of how many times I went, "Alright, Roger that," and just wanted to rage quit!
See, it always hits me when I start packing that there is nothing I can do other than be a Cargo Crew member. I ain't got no copolymer adaptability and I can't get turned into a Construct. Where the hell can I even go?
Angry, panicky, and anxious as they may be, these people can't do anything about the plight they're caught up in.
They want to know what changes they can bring, and they want to know what weapons they can hold to fight for their cause—except all their attempts, big or small, have all come to no avail.
Barely keeping their heads above water as they are, these people hate the upper level and just about everyone else—but above all, they hate themselves for not being able to do anything to help themselves.
And the boy is no exception—yet Rachel nipped his hate in the bud right before it had a chance to take root.
[—], don't hate them. ACA's hierarchy and all the rules and the Punishing Virus are what's wrong. These people aren't to blame.
Times like this call for unity. We just need to shatter these...
Alright, folks!
...
We're at the end of the tunnel. Let's give Rachel some more time.
Let's put all the Blessing Boxes away into the bigger box!
People fall silent as they make their way out of the small "cage". They take turns wiping their faces with stinking towels and look for clothes they've left strewn around the place.
[—], I got your T-shirt fixed.
Thank you, Hill.
The boy picks up his T-shirt from the lady's hand—which is missing the middle finger and ring finger—and helps her sit back down in her seat.
No, I should thank you instead. We all would have been in trouble if you hadn't helped us make all the boxes before.
Looking at her hands, Hill lets out a sigh. This is what happened to her when she escaped from the Corrupted, and it's because of this mishap that she grew sensitive to blood and conflict.
I'm old and my days are numbered, but I can totally teach you how it's done if you are...
Right when Hill was about to say more, a melody comes out of the car's loudspeakers.
For ****'s sake, there we go again. I think they really are enjoying rubbing it in our faces.
Accompanied by the sound of a piano that's playing a piece based on a famous Golden Age classic that now has lyrics, a woman's voice floods people's complaints.
...Is this Ashlar?
How in the world are we supposed to know? Those lousy aristocrats all sound the same!
...
The lower level gets bombarded with music coming out of the loudspeakers like this every now and then.
That's the aristocrats from the upper level enjoying a party, according to Assad—and, believing that "music brings hope and happiness to people", they've decided to share their performances live with the lower level.
The boy can hardly imagine anyone feeling happy when they hear music like this, because it never fails to irritate the people on the lower level when they hear it.
The upper and lower levels might be connected, and everyone on the train might be listening to the same song at this very moment, but they know just all too well that they'll never be the same.
For crying out loud, it's "Burial" again. What exactly are they trying to do?!
Let's just pretend that one of the aristocrats died.
Let's hope that's indeed the case.
Hey, what took you so long?
Took me some time to fill the higher-ups in on the mission's progress.
Putting down the item list in her hand, Rachel turns around to face the angry crowd.
Folks, let's sing along—because we're about to send 'em aristocrats away on a trip they'll never come back from!
Rachel sings along with the woman on the other side of the loudspeakers—with profanity barely in sync with the music.
Rachel's singing starts the fire in people's hearts, filling the car with joyful vibes as they carry on with work and sing along to the hyped-up symphony.
～This salvation they speak of～Ain't nothing we can ****ing dream of!～Hang with the aristocrats some more～And they'll screw you over forever and more!～
～This place ain't no paradise～For 'em aristocrats are ****ing parasites!～
～If the Cargo Crew ever puts on a strike～They'll all be goin' down whether or not they like!～That's right, folks, that's right.～They'll all be ****ing going' down whether or not they like!～
～This song comes from the bottom of our hearts,～Where anger burns fierce and hot.～We shall live on and on, for tomorrow will bring us the hope we want.～We shall live on and on, for tomorrow will be another day when the sun shines on.～
What are you doing?!
A guard suddenly shows up at the head of the car and swings a punch that lands square in the boy's face.
...Ouch!
Snapping back, the young man realizes that he's still sitting on the medical table in Medzone. On his back, the little boy who just asked him to change wound dressings for him pulls a handful of grey hair off his head.
Hey, my mom told me you need to pull off your grey hair before they grow out of control.
The little boy hands over the handful of hair.
Uhm... thanks?
I'll be more than happy to...
Wait, no! The other hair might look grey, but I can tell you that they just forgot what color they used to be and are not actually grey. Please spare them.
...Huh?
Anyone could tell this is a joke, but he sounds so serious that the boy decides to let go.
Just leave them be. Thank you.
S-sure...
Seeing the younger boy sitting back down, the young man lets out a sigh of relief as he rubs his head, which is still hurting from getting his hair pulled off.
I asked him to come over here to wake you up because you were so out of it during the check-up... Are you okay?
She waves at the man with a smile on her face.
I'm okay.
He turns around to the group of refugees that was just talking about "Blessing Boxes".
Were they part of ACA?
They were, until Asslam joined a highly dangerous rescue mission and got wiped out entirely.
You can see survivors from the train at all the reservation areas, bases, and medzones.
...
By the way, did you finish looking into my M.I.N.D.?
Yes. In a nutshell, someone has tampered with your M.I.N.D.
Someone?
Yes, and that's what caused your M.I.N.D. to deviate before. It's a miracle that your memory data is totally intact after the tampering.
As the young man listens to the technician, that face—that very face he cannot recall—pops up in his mind.
Could it be him?
And I did some simple treatment on you. It wasn't anything amazing, but should help you with getting your memory back nonetheless.
Thank you. Think I recalled a few things just now.
Boy, that worked wonders! Seems like your M.I.N.D. is stable. I'd say you could use some more treatment, though.
And I would have done some more on you if the machines didn't have the hiccups in the morning.
...
Weren't you about to go out to look for someone?
Right. Will be on my way now.
...Please don't leave...
With an imploring look in the eye, a purple-haired girl he's never seen before grabs a corner of his cloak.
With another step forward, he just might knock the girl over.
...Please don't leave...
Huh?
Please don't leave me alone...
But you've got all these people around you here.
Not really understanding what's going through the girl's mind and unsure how else to react, the young man looks around—and sees people sitting everywhere.
...No, that won't do... Because... Because they're gonna...
Looking into the young man's eye, the girl has droplets of tears falling from her eyes.
...Uhm?
As the girl's sob turns into a full-blown cry, she lets go of the man—and that's when he sees all the scars on her arms. She buries her head into her arms, her body trembling uncontrollably all the while.
...
The young man just can't pretend he isn't seeing this.
But what makes her so afraid of these people?
Is it because of something that happened to her? Or is it because she just lost her friends and doesn't want to stay around people she doesn't know?
(But how am I any different from any of those people?)
(But what am I gonna say to Talbot even if I catch up to him now? He's going through the exact same thing.)
The man sighs quietly.
I see... I'll stay, then.
...Really? Thank you so much...
What's your name?
Lithos. My name is Lithos...
Sobbing no more, Lithos says her name quietly.
What about you?
I don't remember my name.
...I see...
Without another word, Lithos looks down, awash in misery while seeing the young man fade away into the crowd.
The unique hustle and bustle at Medical Center 09 just never dies.
A Construct trying to maintain its broken leg is sitting right next to a human glued to his terminal in silence.
A severely injured person lies unconscious in the maintenance chamber, with two Constructs sitting next to it playing poker.
Beyond the hall, a group of people is having a conversation about their experiences.
...The base there is gone. The Constructs guarded the place for three days and nights. They had all the medical equipment and people brought out of the place, but the experiment farm and the greenhouse are goners.
Where is Boss lady?
Got infected and died. She was fighting the Hetero-Creatures alongside the Constructs. Didn't even have time to change into a new protective suit when her old one was damaged...
And her little boyfriend is two years younger than her... He killed himself after everyone was brought out of the place.
...Boy... He didn't have to do that, though... Pretty sure he would have been just fine on his own.
No way he would have. Just how do you think he would have? He would have died no matter where he ended up, and Bossma'am's death was just his last straw.
That's exactly what happened with the headquarters we stayed at. We were just going there to recycle their resources and vegetable seeds for hydroponics, but two of us were dead and one lost an arm on our way.
I didn't really feel a thing seeing all the reports with the fatalities before—until I saw these dead people with my own eyes... Man, the blood and the vital fluid really got at my nose.
What exactly can we even do now? They were all hyped-up about Constructs and saying how well they fight, but there ain't nothing they can do now. Those monsters just keep coming, and there is no end to killing them.
I guess it just has to be like what they always said—we can only put an end to it when we get someone that can control these monsters.
Word. I would totally try kickin' those monsters' asses if I were adaptable. Pretty sure that would be a lot more helpful than staying here.
We're fixing all these buildings that are going to be knocked down again in no time, saving these people that are going to die soon, and killing all these monsters that are just going to keep popping up... What exactly is the point anyways?
We're no robots... Just how exactly can anyone in their right mind keep doing this without breaking down?
...
I got curious and spoke with a Construct on guard duty when I saw him crying behind some trees the other day... and he told me he'd just killed one of his teammates.
Why, though?
Because he'd defected and came back a Corrupted.
Sigh...
...There is nothing we can do about any of these...
If anything, an ordinary person is exactly the type that would fall on the wrong side of justice, since they've got nothing that would help them land on the right side of it.
...
Nah, I still don't think we should count on Ascendants.
You never want to put all your eggs in the same basket, just in case.
This reminds me of this woman called Rachel... She was the Cargo Crew's leader, and people would go to her when they were sick or needed anything. It got to a point when she simply couldn't take care of all of them, though... Still, we thought she was going to lead us all on a revolution in no time.
Except... it just never happened.
Because... you see...
...
She isn't around anymore.
...You mean she's dead?
Yes, and she didn't die because the revolution failed. She died getting double-crossed!
...
That ****ing little bastard did it. His old man was one of the aristocrats, and his mom Julie did some tricks with the numbers on the financial reports and pocketed all the resources. Rachel took in that little bastard despite all that... Guess that's why they say, "No good deed goes unpunished," huh?
...?
God only knows how much stuff that little bastard has pocketed over the years, but I'm pretty damn sure he's learned all his tricks from his mom... And he's even got the nerve to pin it all down on Rachel!
I don't even know what his name is!
I wouldn't bother. He died when they threw him off the train.
I remember hearing Rachel calling him by his name, and I think it was... Noan.
No... an...?
At the mention of the name, pieces of memory pop up into his mind and force their way into where they're supposed to be in his mind.
Noan, I hope you get to grow up and survive the apocalypse... I hope you get to become who you want to be.
Shh, Noan, be good.
Noan, stop looking at them. Let's just finish it.
...
This is the kid that fired the shot just now? Boy, he's got guts.
It's just like what Ashlar's said—this kid would do anything just to save his own little ass.
We're done here. Let's take him and leave.
Noan?! What in God's name have you done?!
He's a traitor! He's the one that should have gotten run over by the train!
The world as he sees it is coming apart.
Seems like you really hated your name, huh?
At the same time, the sounds and voices are growing unbearably chaotic.
People only throw their names away when they want to forget their past. Are you one of these people?
Someone seems to be shouting...
...M.I.N.D... severely...
...I see... I see how it is now...
...Where... is he from... This... is out of the blue...
I forgot my name... because...
...I'm sorry, but...
I hate...
...If it doesn't stop...
...Noan...
Put him... to sleep...!
I trust you.
