The door clicked shut behind Teddy, leaving Moore's home steeped in silence.
Inside, the air grew still and heavy.
Moore could only stare vacantly at the sorrow's end on his windowsill, rendered speechless.
Moore...
So you knew all along?
As Teddy's account unfolded, Moore finally understood: the visions in his mind were not hallucinations, but memories.
All the color drained from Elean's face, leaving her deathly pale.
...Yes.
Why?
I couldn't accept it... Why did it have to be you? Why did you have to die...
Her voice was a low whisper, yet it thrummed with a fierce refusal to accept fate.
We've managed to live through so many hardships...
The ragged survivors, hardened by great sacrifice, picked their way through the peril-ridden infected zone.
Never mind, maybe don't tell Mika! Just say you passed by me on the ground, and that Gemira and I are still traveling around!
We even held our wedding...
It was a humble wedding, held within the conservation area, yet it overflowed with the most heartfelt blessings from everyone present.
Congratulations, Elean! Happy wedding day!
A bright future was right ahead...
In brief respites from their labor, the conservation area's residents would share their cherished dreams for the future.
Once things become stable, I want to open a bun shop.
You said you'd come back...
Alarm sirens wailed throughout the conservation area, a dissonant chorus to the distant howls of Hetero-Creatures that pierced the air.
You get to safety first. I'll...
But you didn't.
Words failed Moore completely.
But... all of this, this world we're in right now, it's not real...
What's wrong with a world that isn't real?!
She screamed, a raw sound of fury unleashed against the cruelty of fate.
The real world is worthless! Why can't you just leave the truth alone?!
...
Elean rushed forward and threw her arms around Moore, clutching him as if her grip alone could anchor him to her forever.
Please don't go... Will you? Please?
But Moore remained unresponsive. His gaze turned inward and distant as he began to mutter to himself.
...I remember who she is now.
What did you say?
That black dress... that woman lying in a pool of blood.
Ever since hearing the psychologist's words, Moore had been haunted by the memory of a woman in a black dress.
As Moore spoke, a chill seeped through Elean's body.
No...
She was... she was my teammate's fiancee. He was the one... who pushed me away from danger...
Moore's breath hitched, turning rapid and shallow.
When I returned to Babylonia, his fiancee asked me about him... They weren't married yet. The military didn't know about their relationship, so they never sent her a death notice.
I...
He swallowed against the tight knot of emotion in his throat.
I... I made a terrible mistake. I lied to her...
I told her... he was on a long... very long mission. And then...
The day she learned the truth... she was so calm. She even thanked me.
That night, she took her own life.
Stop, Moore... Please, stop!
Moore's frantic breathing evened out. He gave Elean's hand a sudden squeeze, the tension in his brow softening into an expression of sorrowful tenderness.
It was my fault, Elean. I did something unforgivable.
No... no...
Elean knew, with utter certainty, what words were about to leave Moore's lips.
That's why I choose the truth.
He turned to look into Elean's eyes.
I must pursue the truth.
A Conservation Area
Surface
Three months ago
Fresh from a completed mission, Crowe wearily walked into a tavern.
After ordering an alcohol-flavored electrolyte, he glanced at Kaully beside him.
So, what are you gonna do with all that time off?
Five whole days. That's a luxury we never get.
Kaully swirled the sparkling water in her glass.
Sleep until I forget what day it is!
Then, some frame maintenance, maybe just curl up with a few novels.
Really? Not even gonna step outside? See people?
Let someone else have the fun. It's not for me.
And you?
Haven't figured it out yet... Gotta go see Moore first. It's time to send his remains back to Babylonia.
After that... all that's left is a name on a wall.
...
I can't do it. I just can't face it. Lay some flowers there for me, okay?
Crowe didn't push the issue; everyone mourned differently, and Kaully clearly preferred to process her grief alone.
After finishing his electrolyte drink, he stepped out into the night.
The cool air cut through the haze in his head, and for a fleeting instant, Moore was there, standing right beside him.
He wore that same goofy smile, but his fiery eyes pierced through Crowe with the intensity of a physical wound.
Don't look at me like that...
The blood and fire of that day came roaring back, a phantom dance of chaos around him.
Though Crowe's service record marked him as a veteran, death had never felt as intimate as it did then.
A bone-deep chill seized him, and for a fleeting moment, he surrendered to it, almost welcoming the rip of the Hetero-Creature's claws.
But he had lived. Moore had died instead.
In the final second, Moore had shoved him to safety, a life for a life.
His final expression was lost to Crowe, but the memory of his orange-red eyes dimming into nothingness was seared into his mind forever.
Damn it... I even promised I'd have your back...
Crowe remembered the wildflowers Elean had mentioned, the ones that blanketed entire hillsides, the same orange-red as Moore's eyes.
What were they called again?
Right, sorrow's end...
Crowe made his way to a corner of the conservation area where three transport aircraft from Babylonia were parked.
Several soldiers were taking inventory and loading crates into the cabins. A black-haired soldier noticed Crowe and approached.
Didn't expect to see you here. I haven't seen any orders for your return to Babylonia.
Crowe waved his hand, though his gaze lingered on the soldier's black hair for a moment.
I'm not here for a ride.
Need to ship something, then?
I'm here to see Moore for one last time.
The black-haired soldier was momentarily at a loss for words, offering only an awkward smile.
Do you have the cargo number?
The words had barely left his mouth before he began to regret them.
"Cargo number." How ironic. No matter what dreams he had in life, no matter how brightly he once shone, after death, the system simply classified him as inventory with an "SR" prefix.
...
SR-A2-034.
The black-haired soldier silently lowered his head to check his terminal.
Huh?
After double-checking the information, he finally looked up at Crowe.
It's not here. That number doesn't exist in the logistics registry.
That's impossible. That batch of remains hasn't been shipped to Babylonia yet.
You're sure the code is SR-A2-034?
Yes. Moore. From Praying Mantis.
An unbearable silence settled between them, broken only by the soldier checking the registry again and again, while the furrow between Crowe's brows deepened.
I'm sorry... I still can't find it.
Where are all the remains? I need to see for myself!
That's... not really allowed.
It's Moore! You know him!
...
Speechless, the soldier could only raise a hand and point toward one of the transport craft.
They're all in there.
Crowe rushed into the cabin, his movements swift as he navigated the rows of body transport pods.
He bent low, scrutinizing each pod, and meticulously checked every number, name, and pallid face behind the observation windows.
Having paced the cabin three times in a futile search, he was forced to concede that Moore's remains were nowhere to be found.
All the while, the spectral image of "Moore" stood beside him, the man's silhouette seared into his artificial retinas.
Overwhelmed, Crowe stopped in his tracks and pressed his palm over his eyes, desperate to block out the apparition's gaze.
...
Babylonia
Recently
Crowe walked into a secluded archive room. He had been relentlessly investigating the matter ever since Moore's remains disappeared.
This is the place.
Thanks to his lengthy service record and extensive connections, Crowe's investigation had uncovered several leads.
A Babylonia councilor had been regularly embezzling supplies through backdoor operations, and Moore's missing remains appeared to be connected.
Babylonia's supplies for conservation areas are always coming up short.
Makes sense. I'd be more surprised if someone wasn't skimming from the top.
While he couldn't touch the digital archives, Crowe could—with considerable effort—access the physical records of Babylonia.
Only twenty minutes. Can't waste a second.
Inside and outside the archive room, three members of the Purifying Force silently moved into position.
As Crowe flipped through files, taking photos, blades were poised to strike.
With barely a whisper of sound, Issarius of the Purifying Force lunged down from atop the file cabinets.
A standard knife would need only a second to sever Crowe's right arm at the shoulder.
!!!
In the split second before the blow could land, Crowe rolled desperately to the left.
The blade sliced through the space he had just occupied, carving a deep gash into the floor.
Purifying Force on duty! Defector, stand down and surrender!
Hold on!
The other two Purifying Force members moved before Crowe could even react, their blades slicing in from three sides to seal his fate.
His own dagger was a blur, deflecting one strike, then the other, the impact spinning him clear of Issarius' follow-up.
He escaped a fatal wound, but not unscathed; a keen edge slashed through his clothes and carved a five-centimeter line into the synthetic skin of his stomach.
Crowe of Praying Mantis. Give up on your pointless resistance.
I thought that voice sounded familiar. Damn it, Issarius, you're the one they sent?!
...Just doing my duty.
You haven't changed a bit. Still a damn rule-follower!
You've changed. Working for those councilors, lining your pockets... What a shame.
At his words, the truth dawned on Crowe.
The Purifying Force must have been investigating the same councilor; they had clearly mistaken him for one of the councilor's operatives.
(No wonder their first strike wasn't lethal. They want to capture me alive as a witness!)
Is it too late to say this is all a big misunderstanding?
Crowe tightened his grip on his dagger. Even if this was a misunderstanding, he doubted Issarius would let him explain before striking.
The man wasn't just a stubborn rule-follower; he was one hell of a fighter.
Thinking of the councilor he'd been investigating, Crowe muttered a curse.
That ****ing Yan Zhen!
