Port Podesta
Old Port District
Present
They've got a Construct! Everyone, together!
Babylonian Construct! You have no authority to use force in Port Podesta!
I know you... You're...
...
The crowd churns around Helentine, who stands between the workers and the guards. Both sides appear to regard the Construct who stormed into their fight as an enemy.
Forty-four hostiles identified. Shall I neutralize their combat capability, [player name]?
Your words seem to have landed. The noise from the crowd slowly subsides.
Then the lead guard touches his communicator, as if receiving an order, and glances around at the others.
...Understood.
Mr. Spelmin is here. All units, clear the way!
A tremor runs through the ground, signaling that the arbiter of this conflict is about to arrive.
A heavily armed riot troop surrounds the scene. Clad in dark gray tactical armor and carrying heavy shields, they form two walls of bodies along both sides of the road.
A sleek limousine rolls slowly down the passage between them.
...
The door swings open. A man of solid, muscular build emerges with unhurried ease.
He stands beside the car, smiling as his eyes travel across every face in the crowd.
...Tavis!
The Babylonia delegation travels all this way, and not only are we failing to extend proper hospitality... we've nearly let our honored guests come under attack.
Cassie, this is negligence on your part.
His voice is quiet and unhurried, carrying a politeness that feels distant rather than warm.
I'm sorry, Mr. Spelmin.
A woman standing at his side gives a slight shiver at the reprimand, her shoulders tensing.
Cassie?
From the moment the woman appeared, Helentine has not taken her eyes off her.
She seems familiar... I may have something in my notes...
She flips open the notebook, her eyes darting across the entries. She glances up, then back down, checking the details against the living face before her.
...
The woman notices her too, but a polished, professional smile covers her pale face like a mask, hiding everything underneath.
When we're done here, report to the Hub.
...
Yes, Mr. Spelmin.
My apologies, [player name]. You came all the way from Babylonia, but Port Podesta has been a poor host. I hope you'll overlook this unsightly display.
That side is not where you should be staying. It's unsafe.
Tavis! You've got some nerve showing your face in the docks!
Tavis lifts his arm, the gesture unhurried.
The riot troop does not hesitate. They rush the defenseless workers in a single wave.
Panic rips through the crowd. Civilians stumble backward. The front line of workers is slammed to the ground by riot shields.
STOP!
Crassus holds the front, shoving back against the tide. In the chaos, a small photo frame hanging from his chest slips out. It's a woman's faded face.
A dark shape swings through the gap. A rifle butt drives into his shoulder blade.
Ngh...!!
Stop.
You and Helentine move at the same time, stepping forward to stand between the workers and Tavis' troop.
Tavis looks to the Construct at your side. A pause hangs in the air.
...Helentine.
It's been a long time. I would expect a more proper greeting.
...
Helentine hesitates, her hand instinctively reaching for her notebook.
Port Podesta was not like this before... Father.
I thought becoming a diplomat for Babylonia might have helped you grow up a little. Surely you at least remember basic diplomatic protocol? Port Podesta's local administration is none of your concern.
After all these years in Babylonia, is your M.I.N.D. still as broken as it was?
Or have you forgotten... you're nothing more than a counterfeit?
...
Take these rioters away.
He waves a hand. The soldiers move around you and Helentine, closing in on the workers behind you.
The soldiers freeze at your intervention, glancing toward Tavis for their next order.
Are you asking me to stand down?
...
A silence settles over the scene.
Mr. Spelmin, the freshwater supply agreement with Babylonia...
Well. If the Gray Raven Commandant is willing to speak on their behalf...
Let them go.
At his word, the riot troop withdraws their shields and falls back, moving in unison like a tide rolling out.
Tavis... Cough... This is not over...!
The workers pull themselves up from the ground, supporting one another as they retreat deeper into the port district. Some of them glance back, but no one stops, and no words of thanks come from them.
Tavis watches their silhouettes vanish among the container shadows, then turns his gaze toward you.
You see? Those are the people Babylonia chooses to protect.
He gestures at the bleak, crumbling port surrounding you.
No one's going to thank you, just like Port Podesta never thanks me. They won't remember you, only that they made it through another day. Decades of history, and neither you nor I can change any of it.
Still, I respect your backbone. Perhaps we're not so different after all.
Heh...
He forces out a faint chuckle.
Well. The impromptu entertainment is over. Time we moved on to proper diplomatic proceedings. This isn't exactly the place to receive honored guests. If you would...
He moves to one side, opening the way to the car.
The vehicle glides smoothly away from the port district. Outside the window, the rust and ruin creep backward, swallowed by the gray light of the sky.
Inside, the cabin is immaculate, a world apart from the docks. Every relic of the Golden Age gleams with meticulous care, as though the decay beyond the glass is merely footage from an old documentary.
Here...
Tavis sits opposite the two of you and offers you each a drink. Every movement is unhurried and precise, as if he is hosting a small private salon.
Helentine doesn't take it.
Where's Cassie?
Tavis' hand pauses midair for a beat. Then he sets the drink back on the tray.
She still has work to finish at the port. She won't be joining us.
...What's happened to her? I remember she...
It's not important.
Tavis eyes his drink, gives it a slight swirl, and empties it in one swallow. He says nothing else.
The ventilation hum rises into the quiet, filling the space. The atmosphere inside the vehicle turns cold and still.
It seems you aren't fully aware of our relationship, Gray Raven Commandant.
Tavis sets down his glass. His gaze moves between you and Helentine.
I assumed the two of you would know each other better, working as diplomatic partners. Perhaps she hasn't told you why she hasn't set foot in her own home for all these years?
His gaze shifts to Helentine at your side. Still, she says nothing. Outside, the port's dilapidated streetlights flicker to life one by one, their glow filtering through the window and casting shifting patterns across her face.
When the Punishing Virus hit and Port Podesta lay in ruins, she abandoned the city. Left tens of thousands of displaced survivors behind while they were still waiting for help. And went to Babylonia on her own...
Port Podesta's rainy seasons are long. I've been waiting for someone who left without a word to come home through more than thirty of them now.
That's not how it happened...
Helentine's hand tightens around her notebook.
Then how did it happen? What reason could possibly justify cutting off all contact with your family for this long?
"Helentine"...
Still going on about "Helentine"...
Tavis places the cup back onto the tray. The sound of glass meeting metal rings softly.
Why hasn't she contacted home in all these years? Because she thinks I don't know who she is anymore. And as for her...
Helentine, do you really know who you are?
Helentine doesn't meet either of your gazes. Her reflection clings to the window glass, blending into the blurry cityscape rushing past outside.
The air in the car turns frigid. A wall of silence rises between you all.
Tavis looks away. He glances down at his own hand resting on his knee, veins prominent beneath the skin, then reaches over and touches the car's terminal. Low, soft jazz drifts from the speakers.
The saxophone drags out its final notes, as if sighing on someone's behalf.
My apologies. It's just some... tiresome family matters. I hope you'll overlook it.
Officially speaking... you are both diplomats of Babylonia, after all.
When he lifts his head again, the smile has already found its way back to its proper, polite place.
Is this your first time in the Transatlantic Economic Community, Gray Raven Commandant?
How much do you know about this place, then?
I see...
He taps the terminal a few times. A pale blue holographic display lights up in the center of the cabin, showing four family emblems rotating slowly around the Transatlantic Economic Community emblem.
Then allow me to play the gracious host...
I had Cassie prepare an introductory briefing for guests visiting the TEC. Please, take a look.
He gestures toward the five emblems rotating slowly within the holographic display.
Before we get to the families, you'll need to understand how the Transatlantic Economic Community is structured...
He cuts you off mid-gesture and taps the largest emblem himself.
A map of the Transatlantic Economic Community unfolds within the spacious cabin.
The Transatlantic Economic Community is a loose economic alliance. Each region governs itself independently, with the families retaining a degree of influence within their respective territories...
You freeze the projection and look at Tavis, who sits before you with perfect composure.
This arrangement didn't take shape overnight.
He resumes the projection.
During the Great Depression, three families were the first to achieve regional unification: Erhorn, Spelmin, and Helio.
Led by these three, the Transatlantic families funded the Science Council, established the United Foundation, and step by step built what became the Transatlantic Economic Community. Together, they guided the Atlantic coast from fragmentation toward shared prosperity...
It should be noted that, contrary to what you might expect, the Copperfield family had not yet risen to prominence at this time. Their renowned bionic technology was still in its experimental stages.
During the Golden Age, the Transatlantic Economic Community was deeply involved in initiatives across the board, such as Gestalt development, orbital satellite construction, planetary transformation projects... contributing talent, materials, or financial assets at every turn.
The world's greatest achievements all bear our mark. In that sense, the Transatlantic Economic Community was one of the cornerstones of the Golden Age.
Not surprising. The TEC has been in decline for far too long... No matter how brilliant the past, it's little more than dying embers after the Punishing Virus outbreak.
Now then, you may begin with whichever family interests you.
The Erhorn family. Absolute masters of the financial sector. Through capital and insurance, they spread risk across the entire community.
At their peak, they stood undisputed as the first among the four great families...
Sadly, after the death of their last patriarch, Arius, the Erhorn family's fortunes and standing collapsed entirely.
You can't shake the feeling that you have seen that name somewhere before.
Rings a bell, does it? Arius was once hailed as a genius on par with Dominik. The two were close friends and collaborated extensively on many research projects.
Tragically, they both died in separate disasters: the Atlantic Calamity and the Punishing Virus outbreak. An immeasurable loss for humanity.
The Copperfield family. The only family to rise to prominence and join the ranks of the four great families during the Golden Age. After the Great Evacuation, they traded off most of their terrestrial holdings and relocated their core members to Babylonia.
They excelled in bionic organisms and mechanical engineering. During the redevelopment of Port Podesta into a mobile port, the Copperfields played a crucial role.
They had a hand in entertainment and culture as well. Are you familiar with the Copperfield Aquarium, [player name]?
I see.
The Helio family. Titans of the energy sector. They command the development of Atlantic marine and land resources, and the energy supply that fuels all production across the region rests in their hands.
They were also the original advocates behind the United Foundation and the Great Family Council of the Transatlantic Economic Community.
To this day, every independent regional power within the Transatlantic Economic Community depends on their energy supply to survive.
Beyond that, the Helio family is also renowned as an "engineering powerhouse"...
Tavis pauses the projection.
I suspect you already know their most famous project, Gray Raven Commandant?
The mega-dam Atlantic Eye, the crown jewel of planetary transformation, was constructed under the Helio family's direction.
Yes... And it was that very dam that destroyed the Transatlantic Economic Community.
And destroyed this...
With a sigh, Tavis taps on the final emblem. It depicts a manta ray soaring over the sea, clearing the mast of a sailing ship.
My family, the Spelmins. Our business used to be simple: shipping.
During the Golden Age, two out of every three cargo ships in the Transatlantic Economic Community flew the Spelmin flag.
Until I came along... The family finally had someone who could pass for a scientist. So at my urging, the Spelmins began branching out into biotechnology, life sciences, and M.I.N.D. research.
So at least back then, I left the family's shipping interests and Port Podesta's governance in my daughters' hands.
He glances at Helentine, who has been silent beside you.
How much do you still remember from those days?
Helentine traces her fingers over the notebook, as if sorting through her thoughts and memories.
Documents... reports... global cargo capacity tracking in real time...
All that lingers now are shattered images and stray words, clinging on to testify to what she once tried to do here.
...
With a sigh, the blue projection dissolves, emblems and all, and the cabin sinks back into shadow.
Outside the window, the rusted containers, squat shacks, and gray laundry lines blur past. The port district's stale dampness, its exhaustion and poverty, all of it falls away as the vehicle races forward.
A sharp boundary divides the port from the city proper. High walls, wire fences, armed sentries. Here, the docks come to an end.
Tavis' vehicle glides across that thin line on the map, and the world switches frames. The buildings straighten. The streets turn clean. The smell of rust is replaced by a fragrant scent.
Port Podesta wasn't divided like this when I left.
Helentine stares straight at Tavis, her look carrying the weight of an accusation.
Remember what I told you earlier? "Port Podesta never thanks me."
Before the disaster, Port Podesta had a registered population of 260,000. Today, roughly 20,000 remain. This location is a natural harbor, but it's no good for growing food.
Factor in the ninety percent collapse in global maritime capacity after the disaster, Port Podesta's local energy output, the hydroponic farms' production cycle, the upper limits of our medical supply rationing... We can sustain basic survival for fewer than 3,000.
We all have to accept the truth. Modern civilization long ago created a population that far exceeds the Earth's natural carrying capacity, propped up entirely by scientific progress.
To keep everyone alive, I've had to strip away comfort and dignity. In this age, survival alone is a luxury.
Heh...
The Atlantic Calamity, the Punishing Virus outbreak... After the initial chaos, the whole world was waiting for the government to step up. And what did the World Government do? Launched that farce they called the Great Evacuation.
And even then, the World Government made a big show of tossing us scraps. Token relief supplies, some patchwork rescue crew that barely skimmed past Port Podesta before they pulled out...
Don't tell me that was about rebuilding. That was just a little theater for the masses to prove the bureaucrats did something. Whether it made any difference... that was never the point.
I poured every last resource I had into saving Port Podesta. Where was the World Government then?
They abandoned Port Podesta once during the Great Evacuation. I don't trust them. And I will never hand my city over to them.
Port Podesta has weathered the Punishing Virus on its own. Our internal affairs are none of anyone else's concern.
Think what you like, [player name]. I've told you honestly where Port Podesta stands. Babylonia has its way of governing, and Port Podesta has ours.
He shows no anger. Instead, a slight smile crosses his face.
You don't need to trouble yourselves with this... In fact, you'd best not trouble yourselves with it at all.
Ah... we're here.
The car stops in front of a building built in the Golden Age style. The portico glows with warm, understated light. Attendants are already waiting on the steps.
Helentine, care to see home again?
I've had the housekeeping staff maintain your rooms. Everything's just as it was.
Just before stepping out, Tavis calls Helentine's name.
She pauses, then looks at his face, familiar and yet not.
No, thank you. I'm here as a Babylonia delegate.
It wouldn't be proper.
Heh. Very well... I hope you both find the Atlantic nights agreeable.
Oh, and one more thing. Tomorrow evening, in the banquet hall on Hillston Street, I'm hosting a welcoming dinner for our honored Babylonian guests. I do hope you'll both be there.
After a farewell that could have been sincere or merely polite, the car pulls away and vanishes into Port Podesta's hazy night.
You walk a few paces, then realize the young woman behind you is still standing there, utterly still.
...[player name], I have a request.
Would you come somewhere with me?
Yes. If I go alone... I might not know what to say.
That place... is very important to me.
The two of you leave your luggage with the hotel concierge and walk away from the bright streets, heading in the opposite direction.
Night has crept in. The day's final light is being eaten away at the horizon, gnawed down to a single crimson crack.
A sea breeze rises up the slope, still warm with the fading touch of dusk.
Helentine counts the cemetery steps as she climbs. Twenty-five.
"Ophelia Spelmin." That was her age when she died.
She reaches out. Her fingers trace the letters carved into the stone. It's cool to the touch, with the chill of the evening behind it.
My twin sister.
It's been a long time, Ophelia.
Before the plain gravestone, a rare note of sorrow slips into her voice.
"Vision beyond all. Duty above all."
The Spelmin family's motto. Ophelia always hated it when she was alive...
She said only "Helentine" and Father could ever live up to that aspiration. For everyone else, it could mean something terribly unfair...
So it was never really an aspiration. It's a weight, a crushing one.
She said the "Helentine" of the past never saw it that way. That she was oblivious to it, so oblivious that it came all the way around to arrogance...
I still remember the look on her face when she talked about all of this from her sickbed...
Helentine lowers herself before the tombstone and sets down the flowers she brought with her.
I never thought that weight would still be pressing down on her grave. Even now.
For once, she leaves the notebook untouched. Her gaze drifts from the grave and settles on you.
She was determined. Both stubborn and tireless, in so many things.
Sometimes, when it got too hard, she'd want to run from it all. But she tried harder than anyone else to understand people's struggles... even when it meant hurting herself.
After the Atlantic Calamity, she took on so much that was never hers to carry...
Helentine levels her gaze at the tombstone, memories rising that feel both foreign and familiar.
Ophelia... this is [player name], a well-known commandant on Babylonia. And I serve in Babylonia's military now.
But... I'm still looking for that answer. The one about who I really am.
She slowly rises to her feet.
We should go. But don't worry, I'll come back... I promise.
Her confession at the graveside done, Helentine slowly gets to her feet. A little dirt clings to her knees. She does not brush it off.
After the Atlantic Calamity, she agreed to a surgery... to save the dying "Helentine".
I... can't remember clearly. That time is too blurred. Or maybe... maybe I just don't want to remember.
The Punishing Virus outbreak happened right around then... Disasters, cries for help, rescue efforts... all of it filled those days so completely...
So completely that I can't even remember... what her funeral was like...
You and Helentine stroll through the cemetery. The nameless headstones on either side slip past one by one, vanishing into the tall wild grass.
Before we left, I received a mail. Nothing but garbled text.
It was sent from Port Podesta. The sender used an old family account I registered years ago. The only person who knew about it besides me was...
Ophelia.
You look over your shoulder, finding the grave you both stood beside only moments ago.
Cassie, the woman with my father earlier... I remember my sister had an assistant with the same name, who died in the Atlantic Calamity.
Right. So, besides the military's mission, I need to find out where that mail really came from.
And the truth behind Port Podesta's dead coming back to life.
Three kilometers north of the port, a line of towering blockhouses rises from the reed beds. This is the boundary between the port and the city, where Port Podesta's past and its present stand on opposite sides.
A rustle passes through the reeds. Several figures slip inside, and the stalks spring back behind them, closing the way.
Ugh, this place is disgusting! Vanessa's gonna tear me a new one later...
Shh! Keep it down!
Beneath the high wall, a one-way searchlight sweeps slowly across the darkened side. Head-high reeds grow thick and wild in the pitch-black night.
Guards are on a three-minute rotation. Blind spot's at ten o'clock. I'll go first. If you don't hear anything for thirty seconds, you're clear. Move during the next gap.
Crassus melts into the night without a sound. Leia and Wynne count to thirty in silence, then follow him into the dark.
Leia and the reporter navigate through the reeds, dodging the jagged edges of snapped stalks. Each step sinks into uncertain ground, but they slowly adjust to the unstable footing.
The smell is so bad...
Huff... Give me a second to catch my breath.
They are at the base of the wall, tucked into a blind spot beneath the sweep of searchlights and patrolling guards. The port's briny reek is sealed off here, unable to reach them.
On the other side of the wall, a dilapidated tower rises into the night. Only the faint, sporadic glimmer at its peak suggests it is still functioning.
What is that thing? The one that keeps blinking.
Signal tower. I used to work there, actually.
Never mind that. Crassus, how are we getting across?
We'll give you a boost to climb over the wall.
H-huh?! Climb over?!
You're a war correspondent. Shouldn't it be, like, basic training?
I'm a war correspondent, not an acrobat!
...It's almost four. Shift change gives us about thirty minutes. Don't waste it.
I'll go first! Thanks for everything, old man!
Don't thank me. Just find out what the hell Tavis is really doing in there and make sure the whole world knows.
Leia plants a foot on Crassus' shoulder, scales the wall, and lands lightly on the other side.
Prodded by the two of them, Wynne grits her teeth and clambers after her, far less gracefully.
Thud.
To protect her precious camera, Wynne decides to land rear-first.
Ow... ow...
Wynne, come on! Guards over there!
Two beams of light drench them like a wave of cold water, shocking the pair wide awake. Alarms scream through the district, and soldiers swarm toward them from all sides.
Run!
No... At this rate, they'll catch us both! Split up! Head for the signal tower!
If I'm not there by dawn, go on without me!
...Fine! Just stay safe!
Leia veers into a narrow, twisting lane. With more guards closing in behind her every second, she clenches her jaw and dives into the tree-lined stretch that leads toward the city.
Lady Vanessa! I swear this wasn't my fault—!
Huff... puff...
The guards do not follow, and neither does the reporter. Free of all pursuers, Leia drifts through the lush, overgrown woods.
Isn't this supposed to be the city? What's with all the trees?
Whatever... at least I lost them. Hope Wynne's okay.
From a dark corner of the greenery, where the city's bright lights cannot reach, comes the faint sound of labored breathing.
Huh? What's that...?
Leia stops in her tracks.
When she sees a figure curled up against a tree not far ahead, her eyes go wide.
...?
She drops low and uses the tree shadows to creep closer. At last, she can make out the figure's slight, fragile build.
Nngh...
Hey, are you okay?!
Leia reaches out and takes the young woman's arm, only to find her skin ice-cold.
Helentine...
Hey, stay with me!
He... Helentine...
Help...
The young woman raises her head. Her tangled long hair slips aside, uncovering a pale face.
Beyond the vast circular observation window, a web of metal walkways fans out to connect over a dozen sealed experiment tanks.
Inside one of them, a young woman floats in suspension. Her vacant eyes are fixed open, and every now and then, a faint trickle of bubbles slips from her nose and lips.
It's none other than "Cassie".
On the other side of the glass, a punishment chair glides silently into place before the observation window.
Why did you replace the assistant again?
Tavis stands behind him, still in the same impeccably tailored suit.
Still not "lifelike" enough for you?
No... she's sufficient. She doesn't even remember her own death.
Oh?
Which also means she holds no fundamental regard for the fact that she's alive at all.
That's an insightful perspective...
Guiding the Paper Crane, Lithos shifts over to the control console.
It puts me in mind of an old cloning experiment. You've heard of it, I imagine, Dr. Tavis.
A scientist once tried to achieve immortality through cloning. He extracted cell nuclei from dead rats and cloned them. From the original rat A came the cloned subject B...
From B, subject C. From C, D... and so on. Over 57 generations. More than 30,000 attempts in total.
When the 58th generation was finally cloned, every subject died shortly after birth.
The Yamanashi Experiment. It ended humanity's pursuit of longevity through self-cloning... Deleterious mutations from repeated replication eventually lead to organismal death.
Sounds a lot like Project Cthylla you mentioned, doesn't it?
Muller's ratchet constantly constrains the long-term persistence of individual will. What exactly is your point?
I heard a different reading of the experiment from Mister.
When life and death are no longer within one's own command, over those 30,000 attempts, every cell in those cloned rats...
...longed for death out of sheer exhaustion.
Tavis' face stays hidden in the shadows as he looks toward Cassie, still drifting inside the experiment tank.
You're telling me even a cell, the simplest unit of life, has a death drive.
I'm not here to debate such lofty philosophy with you. It merely struck me...
That not every living thing desires to live.
I don't care.
Tavis leaves the observation window and crosses to the console. A pale blue holographic display lights up, and he pulls up a set of data.
We're ready to begin.
Do we have to move so soon?
The Great Akdilek Explosion. The detachment of F.O.S. The world is shifting due to the Sefirot... Babylonia may have already caught wind of Port Podesta's secret.
I've confirmed it with my own eyes. [player name] is among the delegation. You can't seriously believe they're here for some hollow charity charade.
At the familiar name, a flicker of emotion crosses Lithos' otherwise placid face.
[player name]...
The initiation of Veil Rain must be moved up.
He also turns to look at the experimental tank on the other side of the wall, his eyes fixed on the crystalline form that resembles a sapling.
...A magnificent creation. The "Understanding" Sefirah...
A withered branch of the Phylotree of Ousia. The wreckage of humanity's ambition to comprehend all, to master all... reduced now to a mere translation device for consciousness.
Will anyone find happiness in this, Tavis?
I don't care.
The man, his face worn with age, pulls his gaze from the screen and fixes it on the Sefirah ahead.
In the Golden Age, devout scholars believed humanity had triumphed over three great calamities: war, famine, and pestilence.
They were utterly convinced the final horseman, Death, would one day fall to humanity as well... Then the Punishing Virus came and shattered that fervent faith.
Parting forever from those we love. Letting go of all we left unfinished. Watching possible futures slip away. Rise above death's grip, and all that suffering, all that regret... it all ceases to be.
And I will carry on that struggle against the final horseman, the battle humanity began in the Golden Age, until I defeat it.
Rising above death's grip... Such nostalgic words.
To win this long war, you're willing to reach for our power without hesitation. That does take considerable courage, Dr. Tavis.
Though, using the "Understanding" Sefirah to translate the data of the dead from Red Tide Projections, reconstructing their consciousness, allowing them to return... This may not simply be "resurrection" in the literal sense.
You may be creating a new form of life entirely. One where humanity and the Punishing Virus can coexist.
Think what you will. That's not my aim.
What matters is the result. The living reunited with the dead. Holding them, kissing them, mending unfinished regrets, burying guilt, setting sail once more toward hope...
They won't have to torment themselves any longer through their imagination of the dead.
Once Veil Rain falls and the miracle is realized, every unjust death will be undone. All the suffering endured along the way, and all the doubts and sins, will be forgiven and forgotten.
Are those words meant for yourself, Dr. Tavis? You seem to believe you have a firm grasp of human nature.
Tavis, who has been checking data at the console the whole time, pauses for a moment.
I just have a firm grasp of pain.
Heh, is that so...
The battle suit you asked for is ready. Go have a look when you find the time.
Lithos lets out a soft chuckle and steers the Paper Crane out of the room, leaving its heavy shadows behind.
In the vast darkness of the Tidal Hub, a dark green silhouette slowly takes shape.
I'm curious. What tempted you to meddle in Port Podesta's affairs?
Yan Zhen... What do you imagine tempted me?
The "Understanding" Sefirah.
You're not wrong. I have little interest in Tavis' Veil Rain. But his technology is genuinely intriguing. It might be worth trying on Margaret.
His technology still can't function without the "Understanding" Sefirah. Without it, it's no different from the Red Tide.
The Sefirah's translation logic, its capacity to receive data from Red Tide Projections... And I've sensed the half-Sefirah itself holds countless variables...
No matter. Best to let things take their course, much like the people here in Port Podesta.
Speaking of variables... [player name] of Babylonia has arrived. Was that part of your design?
I'm just a traveler in search of answers. Though, I am curious...
Lithos looks up at the camera mounted in the corner of the laboratory.
Port Podesta's Central Purification Filter has been handled. The falsified data should have kept Babylonia blind for quite some time.
Our tracks were perfectly covered. So those leaked Punishing Virus readings... who let them slip, I wonder.
Tavis remains stationed at the vast observation window, where the half-Sefirah glows with a constant, pale blue light.
He shuts down the last holographic screen and opens a channel to Lithos.
Preparations for Veil Rain are in place. My thanks for your support, "newly appointed" agent.
I sincerely hope your wish is granted. I look forward to witnessing the moment the miracle comes to pass.
Thank you.
He ends the call and sinks wearily into a nearby chair, his gaze drifting to the date shown on the desktop terminal.
Port Podesta's rainy season is almost here...
Port Podesta was rebuilt before the Atlantic Calamity, and by modern standards, it is not an aged city. Its advanced infrastructure has kept the underground flood control and storage systems sound, even after years without maintenance.
Deep beneath the city's foundation, past the metal decking, through the concrete substrata, beyond the labyrinth of pipes—
A crimson tide moves like a living thing, creeping slowly through the dark. It seeps along foundation cracks, climbs the outer walls of pipelines, rising inch by inch.
It is waiting.
Waiting for the Veil Rain to fall.
