Story Reader / Interlude / Valkyrie / Story
They all relied on their own ideals, their experience... and then they just died, leaving me here alone with the pain.
They were all the same.
I joined the Military Academy... studied tactics... all because I wanted to do something... for someone.
But why... What went wrong?
Vera starts pummeling the walls with her fists, letting the pain course through her veins.
It's all the Punishing Virus's fault! Why did this stupid virus have to appear? Why do humans have to be defeated by some dumb virus?
It's not my fault! I didn't do anything wrong. I always try to offer suggestions, but no one ever listens.
I always do my job to the best of my ability, but some things are just impossible!
It's not my fault at all! I'm not Death... I don't want to be Death!
I came to the battlefield to save people!
Vera's M.I.N.D. begins to boil, dizziness overtaking her throbbing head.
...Can't you be quieter, bud? Did you really have to yell all that out like that?
As Vera slumps against the wall, a familiar voice speaks from the detention room next door. It is the Construct who called Vera "Death".
So you heard all of that?
Yeah.
Silence follows. After a few minutes, the Construct speaks again.
I'm sorry... I shouldn't have called you Death.
...
Hey, say something, yeah? It took me a while to speak up. Apologizing takes courage, you know.
Apology accepted.
Is that all?
Tch, you're a weird one. We still have a while left in here. Shall we chat?
I refuse.
People spread rumors because of your aloof attitude. Don't you know?
I don't want to go with the flow. I didn't become a Construct and enter the battlefield to please others.
Same here.
Like you, I didn't end up amounting to anything. The others, too.
So I guess I changed, too. For the worse.
All who chose to become soldiers did so for their own reasons... but they inevitably succumb to the pressure on the battlefields.
Not even Vera remembers what motivated her in the beginning.
All she remembers is fleeing from battlefields... only to be forced to enter the next battlefield, which she will also flee from.
She curls up in the corner, fists balled up in front of her chest, clutching the fabric of her shirt.
What's the point of surviving every battle? My life right now... Can it even be called living?
The world is filled with nothing but despair and pain. What can we even do?
In my next mission... I might as well just... Ow, my chest...
