ER15-1 Fantasist
>Bzz—bzz—
Yo, yo, what's up! Current time is ▇▂▅▆, and we're posted up in Babylonia's ▆▃▅▂. As for the weather...
Wait, wait, wait! What's going on?! The good parts got all scrambled up... I fixed this thing like a million times and it's still busted?!
Bro, don't you dare glitch out on me now, you ancient relic! [player name] has been gone on that mission forever, and I'm counting on you to help me set up the dopest surprise for the commandant!
This recording is the welcome home gift I slaved over! You better not mess this up for me—
The ancient machine ignores his complaints entirely, churning out disruptive noise as if to flaunt its venerable age.
Aight, that's it. Time to give you some old-school Golden Age "percussive maintenance"!
THUMP!! THUMP!!
It takes several firm whacks, but the long-neglected antique recorder finally grudgingly whirs to life. The impact, however, disturbs its thick layer of dust, which erupts into a cloud that Kamui inhales without warning.
He doubles over with a couple of forceful coughs, their raw echo resounding starkly against the walls of the empty room.
Whoa! Okay, okay, I get it! Payback? That's cold, man. Real petty.
But, hey, no hard feelings! You're finally working, so we're cool.
To make up for that little stunt, you better be on your A-game and capture my best angles!
'Cause—
He flips open the recorder's lens, hits the start button, and angles the camera until his face fills the frame.
A brilliant, exaggerated smile beams back at him from the electronic screen.
—today's the big day! [player name] is finally coming home!
And this welcome video I'm making has gotta be the ultimate surprise!
As if in answer, the recorder's disruptive noise finally stops.
Yeah, this angle is fire. Let's hold it for a sec—
Man, I look good! Okay, let's get a close-up!
Wait, why's my face not popping? Gotta work on my expressions. Let me...
WHOA?!
Something other than laughter flickers across the electronic screen. Then, with a sharp crack, Kamui's face contorts, seized by sudden pain.
Agh—ow ow ow ow ow—
Is this what happens when you skip frame maintenance? Nobody told me Constructs could get dislocated jaws...
Kamui tenderly rubs his metallic jaw, though it needs no such attention. He remains oblivious to the blinking red light on the recorder.
After massaging his jaw repeatedly, he checks the terminal in his hand.
The message he sent early this morning remains unanswered. He refreshes the screen several times, but the hoped-for notification never appears.
Time passes. When his attention finally returns to the recorder, its screen still running, a series of beeps warns him that the memory is nearly full.
Whoa—wait, it's already almost full?! Dude, this thing is ancient! I barely even filmed anything!
Oh no, oh no, oh no! Gotta skip the middle parts then... Man, that's tragic! You were gonna witness the legendary "Kamui's Killer Dance Moves" and my super emotional "Kamui Sings His Heart Out" sessions!
Aight, fine! We're jumping straight to the finale. Let's roll! Time to track down the whole squad and get their welcome home messages for the commandant!
He mounts the recorder on his hand, determined to document everything.
But something still feels missing. He glances at his terminal again. Just like before, it remains silent, none of the notification sounds he's hoping to hear.
Ugh... still no answer?
Maybe the signal tower's busted again? Should I call Engineering to fix it? Man, surface facilities just can't keep up with Babylonia. This is like the fifth breakdown this month!
Eh, never mind. Everyone's stretched thin these days. They're probably swamped with patrols anyway.
But hey, no sweat! If I can't wait for the signal to come back, then... I'll just go find them myself!
Ayyy—Kamui, rolling out!
Kamui bursts from the cramped storage room, his cheerful voice echoing through the empty hallway. He feels like he's charging into a boundless wilderness, completely free.
On the uncovered display screen, light and shadow flash rapidly as he races through the halls. He's apparently forgotten to flip the camera again; it's still in selfie mode from earlier.
Back in Babylonia, he never could run wild like this. Watch for transporters. Handle equipment with care. But now, none of those rules matter.
When did it begin? Even Kamui can't pinpoint the moment. It was a slow unraveling. Babylonia, shot down by agents again. Humanity, announcing their retreat to the surface, a compromise forged in bitterness.
Order crumbled not from rebellion, but from exhaustion. From constant struggle. Humanity simply has no strength left for preserving old ways.
Kamui decides to find Chrome first. Of all of them, his schedule is the most reliably predictable.
Ever since their retreat to the surface, humanity's combat capacity has been whittled away in endless skirmishes. Chrome is perpetually consumed with organizing guard patrols, his presence demanded in too many places at once.
He's even taken to sleeping in his office now, the pod installed there allowing him to sequester himself for days. Kamui is sure he'll find him still buried inside.
Captain! Hey, Captain—!
Kamui leans against the doorway, calling out while aiming his recorder at the chair inside. Ever oblivious, he doesn't realize the camera still captures only his own grinning face.
Yo, Captain, look at the camera! Just one sec, that's all I need!
Wait, wait, hold up! We're supposed to be recording welcome messages for [player name]! You gotta say something!
It'll only take a minute, c'mon—
Kamui shouts until his voice gives out, the echoes stretching into what feels like eternity. At last, the occupant offers a grudging reply, yet even then, the electronic touchscreen never ceases its steady ping of activity.
Whoa, whoa, stop right there! That's way too official! This is a welcome message, Captain! Ditch the mission briefing vibes!
Now, as you, Chrome, not as "Captain Chrome on Duty," what else have you got? Like...?
But faster and faster the notifications come, a rising tide that slowly submerges his questions, the murmured replies, until nothing remains but the sound of their absence.
...Aight. I get it, you're busy.
I'll round up the others first. Swing by when you're free, Captain! We'll all meet at the base entrance and welcome [player name] together!
This time, Kamui leaves faster than ever before. He doesn't want to leave traces of his gloom here for Chrome to see.
What choice is there? The surface has only grown harsher. Everyone still able to carry weight has long since stopped counting hours.
Time and energy must be devoted to battling hunger, disease, invasion, and death; survival itself has become the most exhausting endeavor.
But it doesn't matter. Kamui knows [player name] will understand the situation. Besides, there are still others around, so it's not a complete disappointment.
The relentless pings of administrative work recede into the distance. His own footsteps and ragged breathing rise to fill the silence. Kamui bursts into a room where quiet prevails.
Wanshi! Wake uuuuup! Rise and shine!!!
I know you're definitely still crashed in your sleep pod! I'm coming in—
Wanshi moved his pod out of Strike Hawk's lounge as well. Back on the surface, he returned to being a doctor, and the work never stops.
He used to sleep anywhere, anytime. But not anymore. Now he needs a private space, a quiet lounge where he can steal precious hours of deep sleep when gaps appear.
No reply comes from within. Wanshi must be under again, lost in one of those rare, coveted slumbers.
Hmph, just as I thought! You sealed yourself in again, didn't you?! How many times is this now?!
Alright then, don't blame me for what happens next! Time to wake you up the loud way!
WAN—SHI—
WAKE—UP—
WHOA?!!
The deafening noise activates a hidden device. With a shuddering crash, a massive metal door plummets downward, sealing the entrance just as Kamui's foot begins to cross the threshold.
Huh?! Wait—HEY! Wanshi!! You hearing me?!
Open up! C'mon, man, open the door!! I lost the key you gave me like two days ago! I can't get in without you!!
WAN—SHI—
Unfortunately, not even the faintest whisper can breach this meticulously engineered barrier. His voice crashes against cold metal and dies, destined to go unanswered.
...Ugh, forget it. That door's no joke. He's not hearing a thing.
But if the system kicked in, that means he's been pushing himself way too hard again. Had to lock himself in just to actually sleep.
Alright, alright! Fine! Since you've been working that hard, I'll let it slide that you forgot our plans!
Lemme just leave you a note on the door...
There! Perfect.
So yeah, Wanshi! Just head to the entrance like Captain! Camu and I'll be waiting for you there!
Oh, and... get some real rest, okay?
Once [player name] comes back, we'll all come visit you together.
And when that happens, I better see a fully charged, wide-awake Wanshi!
"You've been working way too hard. Last time I saw you, you looked like a zombie. It's impossible not to worry about you."
"[player name], me, the whole squad—none of us wanna see you running yourself into the ground like this."
He could say more. So much more. But the metal stands mute between them. The words will wait. For when Wanshi can actually hear them.
Man... rough start. I really thought at least all of us in Strike Hawk would be there together.
Wait, that's not true! What am I even saying? The captain and Wanshi are just running late, that's all! No biggie!
But still, it's kind of a bummer... Camu... you gotta be here! We're the only "partners in crime" left to hold it down!
Please tell me no emergency missions grabbed him today! Camu—Camuuuu—
Kamui dreads thinking about Camu's usual schedule. Down on the surface, Camu's partial immunity to the Punishing Virus makes him more valuable than even Chrome and Wanshi.
Eden lost its light when it fell. Now it navigates shadows, probes darker places. And Camu goes wherever the darkness is.
Every department, every division, treats him as their most precious asset. His availability is assumed, his presence demanded. Finding him has become the exception rather than the rule.
The training room yields nothing. The medical bay stands empty. Even the cafeteria offers no sign. Grasping at his final thread of hope, Kamui makes his way back to the Strike Hawk lounge.
The message stares back at him, left on the same sticky notes Camu always uses. It's so familiar that Kamui can't tell whether this note was written today or weeks ago.
Ugh... everyone's always looking for Camu. Asking around would take forever. And honestly? Most of them have no clue where he is either.
Ah well... I'm used to it. Guess we're throwing Camu a whole new welcome party when he finally gets back!
For now... straight to the entrance! Lemme just check if there's enough memory left...
Huh?
Is that... my eyes? My nose? My mouth? Wait, hold up, does that mean all that footage earlier was...?
NO WAY! I've been recording my own face this whole time?!!!
That icon... Oh, you've gotta be kidding me! I never flipped the camera! It's been in selfie mode the entire time!
Hmph! Whatever! Not stopping me! I've got everyone's reactions burned into my brain anyway! Telling [player name] about them will be just as good!
Okay... memory's barely hanging on, recorder's still kicking... now let me check the time...
WHAAAAT?! Time flew by HOW fast?! [player name] is gonna be back in THREE MINUTES?!!!
If I haul butt right now, I can still make it! Let's GO, Kamui—time to welcome [player name] HOME! WOOOOO—!
He never bothers to switch the recorder from selfie mode. The resulting footage pitches and sways, capturing only fragments of his expressions: a flash of excitement here, a furrow of concern there.
Wait, uh... what was I gonna say first?! Ugh, I knew it. I never needed a script, and surprise, I forgot it anyway! Whatever, I'll just improvise!
Okay, first: ask if [player name] is tired! Hehe, I'm so thoughtful, right?
Then I'll tell [player name] about everything that's happened at the base these days. The commandant's gonna be so into it!
No, wait! "Welcome back" is literally the most important part, so that's gotta come first! I gotta reorder everything again!
But hey, no stress! The ultimate surprise is gonna be "that thing" anyway—
Still talking, Kamui arrives at the main entrance. His eyes snap upward, seeking the top of the doorframe—seeking that gift, that magical thing that brings joy like a spell whispered into existence.
He's ready. Ready to embrace the arrival
—Welcome HOME! [player name]!!
He spreads his arms wide, preparing to welcome the arrival into a warm embrace. His palms turn upward, lifting slightly, a gesture meant both to spare the commandant's travel-worn clothes from further dust, and to receive that enchanted token of happiness.
But both his arms and palms only find emptiness
...Huh? That's weird. No way I got the time wrong. This is the one thing I wouldn't mess up.
Did something happen on the way? Maybe the commandant just got held up...
AND THIS CONFETTI THING?! Of ALL times to break down, it picks NOW?!
No one arrives. No one leaves. Kamui stands alone at the entrance, trapped in a cycle of speculations with no one to confirm or deny any of them.
Should he wait? Should he reach out?
Both options seem equally viable. Both feel equally futile.
...Eh. Whatever. Guess I'll head back. It's getting late anyway.
I'll just wait at [player name]'s sleep pod instead! Now THAT'LL be a real surprise!
With that, he's gone in a flash, not a single glance back. Boisterous as always, Kamui charges toward his destination: the sleep pod waiting in [player name]'s lounge.
Thump!!
Kamui collapses onto the customized bed, its softness swallowing him whole. Tension drains from every fiber of his being. He arches into a luxurious stretch, then inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the room's unmistakably familiar scent.
Hehe... so comfy. I sneak in here so much, this bed's basically my second sleep pod now!
Alright, time to review today's masterpiece—
Kamui curls up with the antique recorder, playing back everything he filmed today. It's mostly just his own face, again and again, and somehow, he still finds it entertaining.
Because this, too, is a form of memory. Through his own emotions, he can still see them—all the faces he never wants to forget.
Look at that! Peak athletic form! Even through all these blurry pixels, you can't hide this level of handsomeness!
Ugh, Captain's office has way too many screens. All those light reflections make my face look weird!
Whoa, that shot of me yelling at Wanshi's door... my mouth is WIDE open. Not a good look. Definitely cutting that part.
Wait... hold up. On the table in our lounge... is that an UGLY photo of me?! Camu totally took that without me noticing and framed it! When he gets back, we're gonna have WORDS.
...Ah, recorder's almost dead. Battery's toast, memory's full. Lemme just... add one last little bit.
He turns onto his side and settles the recorder against the pillow next to him. His gaze meets the lens with quiet sincerity, as though addressing someone so near he can almost feel their presence, almost reach out and brush their cheek.
This part is just between us, okay? No one else gets to see it.
Just you and me.
You've been gone so, so long on that mission. I know it's important. I get it.
But... waiting is hard. It's been so long that... some people started saying you might not come back at all.
Psh! Like I'd ever believe that. I've been waiting this whole time! And then, finally, you sent that message. About coming home.
I've been getting ready for so long... waiting for this day...
...So why'd you break your promise again? Did something happen on the way...?
Yaaaawn... Okay... getting sleepy. Might just... pass out mid-sentence. Fair warning...
Good night...
The yawn overtakes him without warning, so huge it drowns out the recorder's tiny protest. His eyes grow heavy, vision blurring. In the shadowed room, he doesn't see that the recorder has gone dark, its power spent, its silent witness finally stilled.
S'okay... you told me once... if I wait too long, just take a nap... and when I wake up...
When I wake up... you'll be right there.
Mm...
His voice trails off. Sleep takes him.
He waits, expectant, for the dream that will wake him up.
But... what's wrong? He has mimicked everything so carefully: the slow breaths, the stillness, the surrender. Yet it remains mere imitation.
He cannot dream. The dream never came. It never will.
The wind screams outside. A needle of light pierces the room and finds his face.
It stabs at his closed eyes—too bright, too insistent. In this heavy darkness, even such a thin beam demands wakefulness. He opens his eyes.
Light means day. Day means no sleep.
No sleep means no dreams.
And no dreams means waiting, though he knows [player name] will not come back.
Consciousness returns, and with it the familiar impulse to reach for the recordings. But the moment his fingertips meet unyielding metal, he remembers
How many versions has he recorded? Countless. Each is indistinguishable from the last. Why persist in this theater of self-deception?
Same thing, every time. A welcome ceremony. The only difference is that in every previous recording, the camera was focused on Kamui himself.
Those recordings show nothing but empty, abandoned areas and him pretending at reunion, performing a one-man show to an absent audience.
Yo, Captain, look at the camera! Just one sec, that's all I need!
Wanshi! Wake uuuuup! Rise and shine!!!
I know you're definitely still crashed in your sleep pod! I'm coming in—
Please tell me no emergency missions grabbed him today! Camu—Camuuuu—
Memory, in its mercy, shields Kamui from what he cannot accept. It erases deliberately, selectively. And from what fragments remain, he assembles a mosaic of presence, convincing himself that everyone is still here, that the dream remains intact.
...Why is this happening, [player name]? I just wanted to fall asleep and see you when I woke up.
Why didn't you show up...? I can't accept it. I can't accept that you're never coming back.
I don't want to believe it. I don't want to believe you're all gone.
He opens his eyes. The sunlight has found him again, as it always does. This time, he lets it illuminate what he's tried so hard to keep in shadow.
He can't stay in the dark anymore, pretending not to see. The place is dead. He's the only one left.
He has always known.
Humanity's retreat to the surface was only a postponement. The ending simply took longer to reach them.
Chrome ran himself ragged across battle lines until the virus caught up.
Wanshi poured himself out for others until there was nothing left to pour. His frame gave up before anyone could mend it. He sleeps permanently now.
Camu walked into the dark and kept walking. No word returns from where he went.
The file had already marked the commandant deceased. But Kamui held his post anyway, waiting for a ghost.
Yesterday, at the last edge of this empty place, the waiting ended. He found what was left. A human body, broken apart, returned to the earth in pieces.
He can't keep the truth out anymore. There is no one else. No humans passing through. No Constructs pausing to rest. Not a single living thing shares this world with him. Only Kamui remains.
...I'm never gonna see you again, am I, [player name]?
It's okay. I'll see you in my dreams.
So please, let him dream. However it must be done, let sleep claim him quickly.
He's tired of being this dead place's fantasist. Tired of one-sided conversations, pretending they're still alive.
There is only the dark room, the loneliness, the countless good nights whispered to no one but himself.
He misses talking with everyone. "Hello, Kamui." "Nice to see you again, Kamui." "Good night, Kamui."
He reaches into memory, grasping for the echo of everyone's voices as they wished him good night.
...Good night, [player name].
He heard them. The voices he missed so much finally reached him.
So let him sleep now. Let that embrace, as warm as those remembered voices, find its way to him at last.
But wishing changes nothing. The bed liquefies beneath him, becomes a sucking swamp that climbs his body and calcifies into boulders. They press. They sink him. They hold him forever in the dark.
Kamui offers no resistance. He has no wish to rise.
...How? Someone's... calling me?
From that voice, he somehow finds the strength he didn't know he had. He extends his hand through the weight pressing him down and finds another hand waiting. It's reaching for him, pulling him into light.
...[player name]?
Oh... it happened again, didn't it?
Yeah... you're right, [player name].
It's time... to wake up now.
His eyes open upon a world no longer composed of darkness and its poor imitations of light. The familiar Mind Beacon draws him upward toward warmth, toward wholeness, toward himself.
Once again, he climbs the stairway [player name] built, rising from the depths that sought to keep him.
The familiar Babylonia laboratory. The familiar Gray Raven Commandant.
Thank goodness. None of that nightmare was real. Everything, everyone, is still here.
I...
But the nightmare has carved itself into his bones, its shadows still moving beneath his skin. Fear follows him like a patient ghost, and an unshakable coldness refuses to release its hold.
"Was it all just an illusion? Are you even real?"
He reaches out instinctively in desperate need of proof. But your hand is already there, wrapped around his, gentling the almost invisible tremor that betrays his fragile state.
I... I think I saw something this time...
I've recorded the entire process. No need to repeat yourself. There's some improvement in your M.I.N.D. recovery, but still minimal. As for the pseudo-nightmare phenomena caused by M.I.N.D. turbulence, they are consistent with previous occurrences.
And from what we can observe, there's no sign of improvement in either the frequency or severity of these episodes.
...Remember, Kamui. I know this is hard, but you must try to overcome it.
This is an inevitable side effect of the "Corona Gene". If you want to fully master this frame, you have to make it work.
