Residential District
Babylonia
Babylonia, Residential District.
Nikola wakes with an unsettling premonition that lingers all morning.
[player name] is already aboard the transport returning from conservation area 368, the mission report sent to Nikola's terminal.
Melinoe...
In other words, they purposefully send Kolm Lebrant onto Babylonia.
But... why?
Driven by the needle-sharp premonition of danger, Nikola quickens his pace, hurrying toward Kolm Lebrant's location.
On his way to Hassen's office, Yan Zhen is lost in thought.
His mind drifts through the ghosts of the Third Dark Room: the hundreds of volunteers, the long hours beside Moineau's sterile chamber, a mosaic of faded memories.
Yet, it always sharpens to a single, searing point: the day Hassen returned to announce the World Government was pulling its funding.
The numbness, the shock, the pleas, the despair...
The entire emotional cataclysm has blurred into a dull ache.
All that remains vivid is Hassen's regretful apology and the sight of his retreating back.
Hassen was a messenger, truly. First, he delivered hope; then, he delivered despair.
Years later, Yan Zhen found his way to Babylonia. His expertise earned him a place within the very machine that had abandoned him.
It even placed him across the table from Hassen professionally, but not once did the man mention the Third Dark Room.
The past recedes as the present reasserts itself: Hassen's office door now stands before him.
It slides open with a soft hiss. Without touching the controls, Yan Zhen guides his wheelchair forward, the machine gliding silently on the path of his thought.
Hello, Dr. Yan Zhen.
Just as he did forty years ago, Hassen calls him "Doctor." The title is a fossil, a relic from a world that no longer exists.
"Councilor" will suffice, Mr. President.
Hassen gives a smile.
I thought "Doctor" would be more symbolic.
Symbolic... Hah.
The nearby coffee machine sputters to life. Yan Zhen accepts a cup and takes a slow, deliberate sip.
Hmm... The same beans as before?
Though the acidity is much sharper now.
These are not the best of times.
Yan Zhen remains noncommittal.
For certain people in Babylonia, I imagine life continues unchanged.
...Is that what you believe?
I've done a great deal of thinking over the years... What happened then cannot be laid solely at Trillard's feet, or yours.
The Parliament is a tapestry of conflicting interests. Progress was always an uphill battle.
Kurono, Earth loyalists like you and Nikola, the voyagers, the emerging space generation, those upstarts from F.O.S., not to mention the shortsighted opportunists...
It was impossible... just impossible...
I imagine your position was not an easy one, either...
We always find a way through hardship.
Hah, ever the optimist, aren't you?
Hassen opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut short.
But at what cost, Hassen?
...
Yan Zhen's gaze looks straight through Hassen, fixed on a distant, invisible point.
His voice is a blend of weary acceptance and the faint, sharp edge of an old resentment.
Why did it have to be you who came to the Third Dark Room to tell me the project was canceled?
And yet... you were the one who first offered me that hope...
...Hassen, is this broken world the future you envisioned when you abandoned the one I was fighting for?
Tell me...
Yan Zhen produces a standard-issue handgun from his coat. He raises the dark barrel toward Hassen, his own eyes just as hollow.
...
Are you sure this is the path you want to take?
I have one more question.
Back then... was Project Connection's emblem a tree?
What gives you that impression?
Gasp...
A bitter smile touches Yan Zhen's lips.
Then allow me a prophecy.
...Hmm?
You will become the sinner—and I, the jester who cheers you on.
You once said anyone could become the President of the World Government. Then we shall see if that's true.
A sound comes from outside the door, but it no longer matters.
The windmill of fate has begun its turn.
Meanwhile, Elysium.
Does it really have to come to this...
Bang!
Amid the swirling shards in the sky, a thousand roses shimmered in the light.
I've been thinking for a long time... Why do you have to erase my memories? Why go to such extremes to play these games...?
Moineau. What are you... what are you people really plotting against Babylonia?
Meanwhile, Babylonia, Residential District.
...What do you mean Kolm Lebrant is dead?
How many times did I tell you to keep an eye on him?!
Meanwhile, Surface.
F.O.S... What is that place?
Oh, it's Babylonia. A wonderful place that is.
...
...Then let's bring F.O.S. down.
Says "Aisling".
In the summer of 2155, Hassen and Yan Zhen shook hands beneath the emblem of the World Government.
They were idealists then, proclaiming that they were to build a world for all.
Now, years later, a bullet fires from the gun in Yan Zhen's right hand.
It cuts through the night breeze over Kowloong Central University's running track,
pierces the memory of his wedding with Claire,
rushes through Moineau's sterile chamber...
And shoots through Hassen's body.
Four Constructs burst through the doorway.
His puppets' assassination attempt failed. They've tracked him down here. The direct attempt on Hassen's life is also ruined...
...But none of that matters anymore.
It's time for that hypocritical banner in the sky to fall. Forgive me for this... but I regret nothing.
Farewell, Hassen.
He turns the gun on himself and pulls the trigger again, the bullet tearing through his own heart.
A sound comes from outside ■■, but it no longer matters.
The windmill of fate has begun its turn.
