Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
<size=50>History doesn't follow a neat, spiraling climb. Its fragile continuity lies well beyond the grasp of ordinary reason.</size>
The Golden Age glimmers like a dangerously addictive sedative, and in the narrow alleys of Las Prados, that dosage runs perilously high.
Put simply, the people here live far too close to the sun—and far too distant from any hope of confession.
Once that spiraling, skybound staircase is severed, those who rose without effort will tumble like Icarus beneath the blazing light.
Once the accident is announced, the disheartened crowd disperses in no time. Everyone realizes the ignition test has failed, but it doesn't alter Las Prados's carefully laid plans.
In the few short years that follow, ill omens arrive in relentless succession.
It all starts when the slot machine spews out a flood of coins, sending the lucky winners scurrying away under the envious stares of everyone else.
What follows is a mishap involving a service robot, eventually resolved when Madam Monzano's people step in with both medical aid and compensation.
Chasing massive returns on a shoestring is a gamble all its own. Yet rumors do nothing to deter these would-be pilgrims—armed with credit chips and burning ambition—from losing themselves in this gilded realm, tumbling headlong into a nightmare.
Golden car door handles, golden crystal chandeliers, a golden trim around the card table—even the servo arm gleams with the same burnished luster.
By the time the sensor flares with that ominous red glow, it's already too late to turn back.
The half-woven spare bamboo basket tumbles to the ground; the masterminds of Project Bokonon can do nothing but pin their hopes on the colony ship sailing through synchronous orbit.
Madam Monzano's private car glides through the vacant streets, where the citizens' abandoned belongings lie scattered.
The storefront facade still stands tall, and yet the bustle of yesterday has vanished without a trace.
While everyone else stranded rushes toward the aerospace port in northern Las Prados, this bulletproof sedan takes a different route altogether.
The car rounds a corner beside a nondescript low-rise building, then slips out of sight through the entrance to an underground garage.
Compared to my last visit, it's like night and day. This place has done a complete 180.
The blond man has clearly been waiting. The moment the lady's elegantly poised foot emerges from the car, he delivers a biting, sarcastic quip.
From the moment they pulled their funding, the business here no longer answers to Kurono.
Besides, Kurono's already feeling the heat, isn't it, Kephart? There's no need to act so childish.
She doesn't dial back the sharpness in her tone—not one bit.
Now... there's no need to be so cutting, Madam. I've come here today because, in truth, I need a favor from you.
So, you want one final look at the spinning chamber... Very well. I'll make it quick.
She produces her snake-patterned revolver and leisurely turns its gleaming gold cylinder between her fingers.
I assumed you'd be far more curious about what's been going on in the world ever since the outbreak.
If that useless intel is all you've got, then there's no point in dragging this out.
It's hardly intel... Society's already unraveling. Tragedies like this are right above our heads, but no one even stops to look up anymore.
The military's Longinus Arsenal strike goes off without a hitch, but they never see it coming—the Punishing Virus is a catastrophe far beyond their control.
The Gestalt core code is compromised, the virus seizes its chance to infiltrate, and it sends a disastrous command through the starship network...
Ram Eden II Colony Ship.
Tell me how the crisis was resolved.
She refuses to play along with anyone's needless theatrics.
I won't lie—the old man nearly had a heart attack. If our evacuation site really had gone up in flames, we'd have been left with no other options...
He shoots a loaded glance at Madam Monzano.
You chose that path yourselves. There's no going back now. Go on.
Naturally, we owe thanks to those starship officers who did what had to be done... A self-destruct? Tsk—talk about a scene straight out of a hero flick.
So, let me guess—your request is for me to evacuate everyone... and pick up their bodies while I'm at it?
Show some respect for the fallen, will you? In any case, the Great Acadia Transfer has suffered a crippling blow.
The Parliament will be casting their votes on the Mass Evacuation Bill any moment now.
In our field, we always keep something up our sleeve. "A sly rabbit keeps three dens"—isn't that what they say about politicians?
Madam Monzano answers only with a dismissive snort.
He's only a lowly councilor. Sure, he can sway a vote or two, but he won't make any real waves.
The fighting has barely begun, but the military's on the verge of wresting control from the World Government. The old man couldn't be more displeased with our pace.
If you want to place the old man's people in those key wartime posts, you'll have to resort to some shady tactics.
If you plan on making that evacuation flight, I suggest you cut to the chase.
She grows impatient—after all, he's strutting around on her turf.
Trillard is running himself ragged evacuating VIPs and supplies, but he still brags he can rescue as many people as he wants. Does he think he's Moses parting the Red Sea or something?
The army's air fleet is basically gone, and he's got almost no transport planes left that can still fly. You might say he's done for, but that sure doesn't stop him from running his mouth.
But someone who's on the verge of drowning will accept any deal—if it means getting a plank to stay afloat.
And you're the one handing Trillard that plank, Monzano.
As the influential owner of this resort town—and a former key figure in Project Bokonon—I doubt you're short on transport options, are you?
Three full squadrons of transport planes, crews included. That's what I want.
The old man will pull the remaining strings elsewhere. Meanwhile, we owe our thanks to the brave soldiers who laid down their lives—because of them, those of us who never stepped onto the battlefield still have most of our firepower.
Besides... if I pull off this job for the old man, it'll clear every doubt they've ever thrown my way.
Okay, lay out your demands. You know me—I've been around for a while, and I always pay upfront.
Countless times, Monzano envisions driving a silver bullet into that forsaken den, then standing atop Kurono's rotting corpse to declare Project Bokonon's ultimate triumph. And now, her foe willingly walks right into her crosshairs.
I can send out four squads. It doesn't matter anyway—these evacuees are nothing but useless rabble, and their survival depends entirely on their own luck.
Oh? How generous. I'm guessing the fine print isn't so forgiving, is it?
That girl.
Why?
The girl goes. She's one of yours, take her with you.
Her voice is cold and measured, as though this city has never known betrayal or conspiracy.
Ha! That's easy enough.
Kephart, you sure talk the most smack around the card table. But when the cards are flipped and the stakes are due, you're always the first to pay up. I've got to say, I respect that.
So let's call an end to Las Prados's shining legacy right here.
Regarding Project Winter... I wish you the best of luck.
If destiny wills it, we'll meet again in the new world.
Monzano swings open the door and slides into the roomy back seat. She practically spits out "New World", biting down on each syllable.
You didn't kill Rosewater, did you?
Though goodbyes have already been said, the visitor still breaks the moment with one last question.
What are you trying to say?
She lowers the window, her eyes glinting with cold malice.
It's nothing. Those who play with vipers tend to end up on the wrong side of their fangs, don't they?
His only response is the screech of tires as the sedan speeds off, vanishing at the top of the ramp.
The blond man remains in the empty underground garage, exhaling smoke rings into the thick, stagnant air.
Las Prados Entertainment
Meanwhile
Emergency lights cast an unsettling glow over the once-opulent hall, twisting its proud sculptures and the ravenous roulette tables into ominous shades of brown.
Yet the two figures at the corner card table seem oblivious to the hall's imminent collapse around them.
The clueless visitors—once oblivious to their own foolishness, howling or cheering at the top of their lungs—have all disappeared. And those mechanical dealers, with their syrupy-sweet but soulless synthesized voices? They've gone silent.
Even so, they savor this fragile sense of calm.
Monzano's likely already dealt with the troublemakers, just as you wanted.
Thank you, sir, for your kindness. This is the last thing I ask of you.
Her slender fingertips slide across the dealer's spot, lifting a playing card with effortless grace.
Stand.
Hmm? Did you manage to collect all your points, sir?
The next card in the deck is a ten. I'm placing an insurance bet.
As you wish, Sir.
She smoothly steps into the role of game master, sliding the cards toward the man across the table.
So... you've made your choice as well.
My aunt flings the city gates wide open. If I don't move forward now, doesn't all the work spent crafting this wooden horse go to waste?
Speaking of the wooden horse... is the gentleman's plan truly what it seems?
Whether humanity makes it through this bitter winter is another crucial factor.
As for me, I place my faith in probability rather than the plan itself. Lilith, I imagine you share that view.
Kurono's project may be overambitious, but they're the first to dare break free from their restraints and explore. Those forbidden experiments have yielded a wealth of invaluable data for me.
Fort Winter?
Yes. But it doesn't end there.
Naturally, Monzano's initiative fell victim to Kurono's early forays. Still, it gave you the perfect ground for weeding out the unfit, didn't it?
No need to talk about those failures. As for what comes next—rest easy, sir.
A barely perceptible flash of anger crosses the Operator's eyes.
I trust your skill at the table. But you should know better than anyone: there are only two types of people in a card game—those who control the flow, and those poor "fish" ripe for the taking, easily replaced once they're bled dry.
Sending her away cuts off your past ties for good. After that, everything hinges on your own actions.
Thank you for the warning, sir. I'll remember it well.
She finishes her sentence, keeping the tension at just the right pitch, then slowly flips her card to reveal its suit.
Blackjack. Looks like this hand belongs to me, Mr. Trout.
I'll honor the deal we made at the start. Go on—what do you want to know?
Wouldn't a direct Trojan Horse strike on the throne secure better odds? Or is it that, sir, you aren't quite as certain of me as I'd hoped?
A faint hint of defiance flickers across the victor's brow, making it clear she's not after the obvious answer.
Kurono dares to push past established limits. Yet for most situations, it still falls to the King to keep everything in balance.
Remember, humans are pawns, too. If we're orchestrating a non-zero-sum game, all we need is to edge out a little more each time.
And really... steering a plague straight to the throne just to pick out the lone survivor—don't you think that's a twisted way to go about it?
The die is cast, and the plane's about to take off.
Even though he's only a guest, he cuts off the questioning with words that practically show Lilith the door.
Hedging your bets on both sides—yes, that's very much your style.
That's the trait I admire most in you. Don't disappoint me.
Willing to take such risks—sir, you really are one exceptional gambler. If things weren't so dire, I'd love nothing more than to go another round with you.
Though she says otherwise, her hand drifts to the Moon Umbrella beside the table, as if she's about to rise and take her leave.
In the grave-like hush of the hall, a sudden noise shatters the stillness—something distinctly inhuman.
We're closed for the night. Can't you tell?
With a deft flick of her wrist, she plays her card—drawing the Ten of Spades from the tabletop, her elegant fingers carving a poised arc through the air.
Grmm...
A mangled shard of metal crashes onto the marble floor, releasing a razor-sharp clang.
As it rolls to a stop, the glowing red sensor at its tip finally dims.
Visual module compromised. Running diagnostics... scanning... scanning—
A piercing synthetic voice arrives half a beat too late, reverberating from the headless automaton's chest for a brief moment before cutting out.
Nice moves.
Seated in his armchair, the man studies the scattered wreckage with keen fascination before offering a slow, deliberate round of applause.
The intruder's just the opening act. A shower of tiny debris rains down from the dome onto the card table.
In the dim light, the walls of the hall begin to quake as if they sense the impending chaos.
What a shame—this is the only casino on Central Avenue with a Bramante-style vaulted ceiling... But disaster doesn't care about aesthetics; it just wrecks everything beautiful.
It doesn't matter though. there'll be recompense waiting for me Babylonia. Word has it the nobles are twisting themselves into knots trying to make room on the transport plane for their gold and silver hoards.
My carry-on luggage is much more modest.
Lilith flourishes the Moon Umbrella, like a conjurer's wand, then dips into a courteous bow toward Trout.
Winter is coming. Please take care, sir, until our next spar.
She strides into the shadows, vanishing at the far end of the corridor.
Trout taps the tabletop, his leather glove making a soft, rhythmic sound against the velvet surface.
This gaming hall is far from ruined, and the match unfolding here won't be their last.
In the corridor, the citizens have lost all semblance of their former dignity. It seems they'll discard even the last of their belongings just to inch closer in the boarding line.
Riot officers from the Las Prados Guard struggle to maintain order, and yet neither guns nor authority can quell the upper class's inherent arrogance.
Damn it! Monzano promised me priority evacuation in person!
He forcefully shoves aside the panicked onlookers, flashing the brilliant diamond on his knuckle right under the guard's nose.
You uniformed thugs only trust cold, hard cash, don't you? Yeah, I know—I get it... d*mn you all...
He spits curses as he yanks open his suitcase, digging through a hidden compartment for whatever he needs.
Meanwhile, a woman carrying the Moon Umbrella slips into the waiting hall with poised, elegant steps. She catches the echo of that crude shouting and lets a disdainful smirk curl at her lips, as if mocking such shameless complaints.
Feast your eyes on this—Lucky 38 Casino's gleaming platinum coin, handed out by Monzano herself!
Go on, take it! Give it a big chomp to check if it's the real deal—let's see if your teeth can handle it!
He presses a palm-sized, silver-gray disc into the guard's hand, the one struggling to keep the crowd at bay.
This moment appears to offer everyone an outlet for their mounting anxiety, prompting them to scramble and show off anything that might secure their right to pass.
I've clinched the 'Outstanding Citizen Award' three years running! Even those bigwigs in the World Parliament bow their heads when they see me!
A special pass issued by Transatlantic United Airlines, granting indefinite clearance across all Community territories...
These are desperate times—your rations must be running low, right? Here, take these emergency meal packs!
Everyone, please—order! Gather your belongings and line up!
A sharp tap from a metal-tipped umbrella pierces the chaotic clamor.
On recognizing the once-renowned socialite, the crowd abandons the guards and converges on this newly arrived figure.
There's no need to panic. Madam Monzano has already laid out the evacuation plan; we had ample time, but if you keep this up... I can't guarantee anything.
For now, the Mojave Desert stands as this city's natural shield, keeping the Corrupted outbreak at bay.
Countless poor people across the globe are spilling blood for a single seat on a transport plane—yet here you are, sheltered by the highest level of security, behaving like you've lost every shred of dignity. Where's that virtue you all pretend to uphold?
She speaks with poised restraint, letting just enough reproach seep through—never too strong, never too weak.
But beneath it all, she feels nothing but disgust. Disaster is a chance for the ambitious to step into the spotlight, but these so-called "elites" choose to scurry like squealing vermin, surrendering to their pitiful urge to survive in the face of a threat that isn't even urgent.
Besides, they once scoffed at the idea of a starship—now they're seconds away from tearing each other apart just to get on board.
Pathetic. Expendables like these are fit only to feed the bacteria in a petri dish.
On a sinking cruise ship, there are gentlemen who lift their violins to play, hypocrites who don't hesitate to overpower women and children—even turning violent. How do you hold on to that final shred of decorum? In the end, the choice is yours.
The crowd soon descends into bickering, but she refuses to spend another ounce of effort on them.
Lilith finishes her words and slips through the narrow gap the guards have cleared, making her way to the far end of the boarding corridor.
The blast doors of the massive spacecraft's observation bay glide apart with barely a whisper.
This model is so cutting-edge, so it's no surprise Kurono is turning to Las Prados for resources.
Where have you been? You've taken ages.
I had some personal matters to attend to. Besides, there are far too many guests at the boarding gate.
As usual, Lilith inclines her head in a slight bow.
No need to fret over them. The seats we've set aside on the transport plane aren't going to be snatched by the Corrupted.
They always act that way. Even if you put them in heaven, they'd grumble it's colder than hell.
Is everyone here prepared to depart?
She's hinting at something beneath the surface, but the extra implication feels unwarranted.
The whole crew has been on standby, waiting for you—care to weigh in?
No offense intended. Let's get moving, shall we?
Madam Monzano powers up the wall's touchscreen console and delivers her final instructions to the cockpit.
A moment passes, and the metallic floor starts to quiver. <color=#ff4e4eff><b>The movement is so faint, it's barely noticeable.</b></color>
Unlike those old-fashioned shuttles that depend on solid-fuel rockets for takeoff, this cold-fusion craft delivers steady thrust while keeping passengers comfortably at ease.
Only the thick layer of clouds sprawling across the floor-to-ceiling window reminds them they're pushing beyond the pull of gravity.
The white haze thins out, giving way to a deep navy. Faint specks of starlight shimmer at the window's edge.
The plane shifts its angle, and the softly curving horizon glides across the cabin window in a slow, steady spin.
A towering steel blossom hangs above the rail, its blade-like petals cutting off part of the sunlight.
That is... the Eden II Colony Ship.
In those violet-gray eyes, the ship's hull shimmers with reflected silver. Beneath that solid exterior lies the pinnacle of humanity's cosmic ambition: a sealed, self-sustaining ecosystem, a robust life-support and industrial network, and a propulsion system powered by Zero-point Energy.
We were meant to sail off with the hopes of civilization to lands no one had ever seen. But now, we've become the final note of the once Golden Age.
According to the latest motion... our colony ship will be christened "Babylonia".
It's a name so fitting, it borders on the ironic.
Long ago, an ancient ruler spared no expense—nor mercy—to raise a garden in midair for Queen Semiramis. And now, humanity has fled beyond Earth's reach, and yet we would still drain our final reserves to appease a planet that no longer responds?
From this point on, she becomes our last beacon on Earth's geostationary orbit. While the World Government and military have their own designs on "reclaiming Earth", our struggle with Kurono... well, we can't afford a single misstep.
Her voice is as measured as the vessel sliding smoothly toward Babylonia Spaceport, sounding more like a parting directive than an outright order.
I see...
Auntie, has your deal with the Councilor been finalized?
She keeps her eyes on the window, seemingly spellbound by the massive starship's elegant yet imposing structure.
All it cost us was a few passengers' priority to evacuate—an insignificant price to pay.
It's only a matter of time before they're granted access to Babylonia. After all, I never forsake an honored guest who has aided Las Prados.
Lilith doesn't dwell on how strange that promise sounds; she's drawn instead to something even more suspicious.
So what you're implying, Aunt... Wait—this doesn't make sense.
In the gleaming, mirror-like window, Lilith notices the flicker of surprise forming on her own face. At times, she's amazed at how effortlessly she can pull off this charade.
None of this makes sense—for instance, why is Aunt alone with only me by her side?
What about her?
Lilith already knows the answer deep down, but she still forces out her carefully shaped question, her voice trembling.
Oh... I'm so sorry, mija. She won't be joining us in Babylonia.
Did I forget to mention? Discord was always an expendable pawn... and the deal's done.
