Danan pulled the gas mask over his mouth, the final layer over his body armor and endurance suit. A heavy backpack was already slung over his shoulders.

  The assault rifle clanked with grim authority, its weight a familiar promise. Pouches bulged with spare ammunition, beside them a large-caliber magnum revolver, a sword named Heles, and an assortment of grenades. Armored and armed to the teeth, Danan flexed the steel fingers of his mechanical arm, testing the articulated joints. He plugged a connect-cable into its socket, linking the limb to his multifunction goggles.

  "Danan."

  "What is it?"

  "Is my mask on right? And I think the strap on my goggles is loose…"

  "Let me see."

  Danan fiddled with Stella’s goggles, found the faulty clasp, and repaired the damaged part with a practiced hand.

  "Stella."

  "Hm?"

  "You ever been inside the ruins before?"

  "No, but… Hey, I won’t get in your way, Danan! So, you don't have to worry."

  "When did I say not to get in my way? I have no expectations for you. I don't think you're going to achieve anything great on your first trip into the ruins."

  Danan retrieved a pistol from his desk, one so simple a child could pull the trigger. He glanced at Stella as he loaded the empty magazine.

  "The only people who have expectations for a kid on their first job are either fools who truly believe in them, or scum who plan to use them as disposable pawns. If you're thinking about not wanting to hold me back, or trying to stay out of my way, then get that idea out of your head right now. Got it?"

  "But—"

  His finger resting on the trigger, Danan polished the gun's barrel with silicon oil as if adding a final touch. He turned the pistol, offering the dull gleam of its grip to Stella.

  "…What I'm saying is, you have my permission to be a burden."

  "…"

  "This magazine holds fifteen rounds. It'll work on a normal human—someone who isn't a full cyborg or only has a few prosthetic limbs. But against the experimental creatures, bio-weapons, and other killing machines that wander the ruins, it's useless. The truth is, you're not ready for this. A kid with limbs of flesh and blood, who hasn't replaced an arm with a combat-grade cybernetic prosthesis like mine… it’s insane for you to even try."

  No one who delved into the ruins returned whole. A ten-person team might venture in, only to be wiped out by the next day. A lone survivor, having sacrificed an arm and an eye, might return only to go mad and press a muzzle to their own temple. To call it a den of demons would be an understatement; it was a place that deserved the name Hell, a place where preserving your sanity was a greater challenge than merely surviving.

  Those who adapted to this hell were either ghouls masquerading in human skin or fiends who had murdered their own emotions. In an environment where a moment's carelessness invited danger, where a single misjudgment could create a fatal opening, one could not remain human. Unless you possessed the will to see everything but yourself as an enemy—the will to scavenge supplies from the rotting corpses in the corridors if you had to—you would find it impossible to even walk those halls.

  "This isn't a gun to save your life, nor is it a weapon to kill someone else. Stella, when you pull the trigger is up to you. A single gunshot might get you killed. Not pulling the trigger might also get you killed. Every action has a consequence, and knowing the meaning of a choice gives birth to hesitation and doubt. That’s why…"

  When you feel your life is in danger, discard your sentiment and act only for your own survival. Danan’s dark, ink-black eyes met the girl’s, piercing through to the terror that lay within.

  Her hand, reaching for the pistol's grip, froze. The girl swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. A tremor ran through her gloved fingertips.

  The brown grip looked like caked blood. The worn synthetic leather, the cold metal—she had the dizzying sensation that the moment she grasped the gun, it would melt into her, seeping into her body and becoming one with her. Stella took a ragged breath, then another, and gave a small nod. She took the gun from Danan, her finger finding the trigger guard.

  "Have you ever killed anyone?"

  "…No."

  "Ever been covered in someone else's blood?"

  "…No, I haven't."

  "Stella."

  "…"

  "You are not to kill anyone. If a soft-hearted person like you kills someone, kills an innocent, you'll become like me. You won't be able to go back. So… no matter what happens, you will not kill another person. And while we're in the ruins, you will not leave my side. Walk beside me, or just behind me. Understand, Stella?"

  "And you, Danan?"

  "What about me?"

  "Is that… alright with you?"

  "…"

  "If I do nothing, if I just hesitate, you'll be the one to kill someone, won't you? It's normal in the Lower-City, but… still, that's…"

  "It's fine."

  "…Why?"

  "It doesn't matter how many I kill anymore. There’s a saying… kill one man, you’re a murderer. Kill ten, you’re a monster. Kill a hundred, a terrorist. Kill a thousand, you’re a hero. But… once you’ve killed one, there’s no going back. After the first, the second is no different. They're all the same. Stella, do you know how rare you are in the Lower-City? I've never met anyone who's lived this long without killing someone… except for Rils."

  Across the room, Rils, who had been staring at a monitor, let out a cynical laugh. Eve, who had been listening to their conversation from her chair, snorted at his words.

  In the Lower-City, where murder was a daily routine, a place drenched in slaughter and littered with corpses, the value of life was practically zero. It was a beast's path, where you killed to sate your hunger and sought blood to quench your thirst. It was a world where children with bellies swollen like starved ghosts searched for corpses with hollow eyes, where the living were trampled under the heel of cruelty. This was the Lower-City where Danan and the others lived.

  To navigate the hell that existed beneath that city… to walk the ruins, one had to cast aside what little humanity remained and annihilate all emotion. You had to coat your heart in steel and learn the madness of seeing humans as nothing more than flesh-bags filled with blood and bone. Danan, who had seen only the bitter and the sour—no, who had known nothing but hardship—had long cast aside sweetness and mercy. He now etched into his soul the resolve to bear even greater sins, to point the way for Stella, even if it meant becoming a blood-soaked martyr in the process.

  "…"

  The path he would clear for her, the one she would walk under his protection, would be a level road paved with blood and flesh.

  "…"

  Hiding in his shadow, depending on his clumsy, rugged kindness, she could survive without ever knowing true danger.

  "…"

  But that would be her own private path to hell, one where he alone suffered, where he alone shouldered the pain. By clinging to the kindness she glimpsed in his words, by remaining unstained by the stench of gunpowder and blood, she would become exactly the person he wanted her to be. She would become a true evil, ignorant of sin, never having to swallow the bitter pills of life.

  I don't want that. A path where I alone am safe is the wrong path.

  If asked why it was wrong, Stella herself wouldn't know how to answer. But she knew she could not allow the gentle warmth that existed deep within Danan's cold heart to be crushed for her own selfish reasons.

  "Even so," she said.

  "…"

  "When the time comes, I'll pull the trigger by my own will."

  "Stella, you don't have to kill anyone—"

  "Oh, shut up, Danan!"

  Stunned by her sudden shout, Danan stared as Stella glared at him.

  "It's selfish of you to think you're the only one who's suffering, the only one in pain, the only one who's miserable! Maybe you think that's fine, but I don't! I'll decide things for myself, and I'll do things my own way!"

  "…I see."

  "That's right!"

  "Ah…" Danan let out a sound like a groan, but a satisfied smile played on his lips. "The shaking's stopped, hasn't it? Let's go, Stella." He took the mapping data for their objective from Rils.

  "Danan."

  "What is it, Rils?"

  "You've got the mission details memorized, right?"

  "No problem. We're heading out."

  "Alright. Be safe."

  With a heavy clatter of metal, Danan left, Stella following behind him, a look of indignation still on her face. After seeing them off, Rils turned her gaze to Eve.

  "Eve, before we talk business… what do you think of those two?"

  "They're both a pain in the ass. Utterly."

  "My thoughts exactly."

  Rils spun in her chair and shrugged, her fingers tapping on the keyboard to pull up an email.

  "You know a girl named Tephra?" she asked quietly.

  Tephra… Hearing the name from Rils, Eve placed a finger on her chin. "Hmm, can't say I do. No idea," she said with a shrug.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Really?"

  "You doubt me?"

  "I'm not doubting you. Well… it's faster if I just show you this."

  A mouse cursor danced across the monitor screen, bringing an email into view.

  "…This isn't addressed to me. Anyone can see this was sent to you, Rils."

  The email contained a job request: to analyze the users of a data line installed in the Lower-City Commercial District.

  "True, the request was sent to me, but it's a job for you, too."

  "Tell me why."

  "Don't be so hasty, Eve. It won't be too late after you've read the whole email."

  With a faint sigh and the soft click of a mouse, Eve scanned the entire text without touching the keyboard. From its contents, she judged that this was not a job Rils could handle alone.

  "I see."

  "Get it?"

  "For the most part. Rils, do you always take jobs like this?"

  "I take them because I have you, Eve. I can't fight like Danan, and I don't have a weapon like your Silver Wings. Besides, rough stuff was never my specialty."

  Rils took a sip of her black coffee. As Eve shook her head with a dismissive "Is that so," Rils glanced at her, then tapped a key to display a summary of the mission details.

  "First, the reason I asked you about Tephra. It's because she herself claimed to be an acquaintance of Danan's. My work keeps me from spending much time with him, and the person who's been with him the most lately is you, Eve."

  "So you checked to see if I knew her. Right?"

  "Exactly. Your quick grasp of things is a lifesaver. Now, the reason I need you for this job is…"

  "You need personnel skilled in both combat and information analysis. Danan took Stella to the ruins, and he's handling another job simultaneously. It's only natural that the choice would fall to me, since I'm available."

  No need to explain the situation, I see. An expression of mingled exasperation and admiration crossed Rils's face. She displayed a map of the entire Lower-City Commercial District on one monitor and pulled up reference material on another.

  "Seems like I'm doing a lot of explaining today. Is it alright if we just get on with it?"

  "No problem."

  "Thanks, Eve. The request is, as you read, user data analysis for a specific line. It seems simple at first glance, but the location of the server is the problem."

  The document was clicked and enlarged, and a red line extended across the map. The line stretched to a block circled in red, pointing to a tenement building labeled "Buffer Zone."

  "Buffer Zone?"

  "It's a box crammed with information facilities and illegal servers from both the Mid-City and the Lower-City. It’s a sort of informational non-aggression pact zone where they manage servers that would be illegal in the Mid-City, in exchange for providing certain conveniences exclusively to the Commercial District. It's because of this place that the Array of the Dead has influence in the Mid-City's underworld and has been able to build its own unique routes that other organizations lack."

  The two-dimensional map began to gain detail through 3D processing. Hacking into the surveillance cameras scattered throughout the Commercial District, Rils's custom program constructed a three-dimensional model of the area—an impressive feat. But as the scene came into focus, Eve let out a low "Ah…"

  Guarding the entrance and back alley of the tenement building was an army of illegally modified killing machines and shadowy men cloaked in black robes. All of them held well-maintained firearms. Even those without weapons were full or partial cyborgs, their limbs replaced with mechanical prosthetics. The so-called Buffer Zone was a battlefield reeking of death and filled with murderous intent.

  Their role was likely to intercept and eliminate anyone trying to enter the building. Killing machines patrolled the premises 24/7, and members of the Array of the Dead, who had traded their eyelids for mechanical eyes that deemed blinking an unnecessary function, stood guard… The real-time 3D map was a grim tableau, constantly shadowed by an excess of explosives and splattered with the blood and guts of vagrants.

  "The email said there was a 'possibility of combat,' but it looks like we'll definitely be fighting. Rils, about this user data analysis… are we talking about the dark web?"

  "No."

  "Then?"

  "User data for loan sharks. And it's not limited to the Lower-City; it includes the Mid-City as well. Eve, don't take the language of the email at face value. Look beneath the surface… re-translate the character code hidden behind the linguistic program."

  Eve's Silver Wings flared, one stabbing into the PC's connection socket as she began to analyze the program that constructed the email itself.

  Code reconstruction, reinterpretation, re-analysis through different languages… Her seven-colored eyes saw the invisible swarm of programs, her brain comprehending it all through Lumina.

  "…I see."

  The "user data analysis" was just a cover for a server destruction job. The Array of the Dead, sensing the imminent collapse of their affiliated Mid-City mafia, had paid a large sum of credits to buy up their debtors' contracts. Having learned the risks of the loan shark business in the Mid-City, the organization was now taking it over in a different form.

  A copy of the server had already been relocated. The box in the Buffer Zone was merely an insurance policy, slated for disposal as soon as the new location was secure. But insurance was insurance… and Materia, the leader, had decided to destroy it before another organization—the lawless rabble and the fiends from the Crucible of Carnal Desire—could seize it by force.

  Triage, rational judgment, stability-oriented thinking… If a single failure could trigger a chain reaction of negatives, the organization known as the Array of the Dead would mercilessly cut off any option that involved experiencing that failure. Having dedicated mind and body to money, the secretive Array of the Dead writhed in the darkness, despising nothing more than having its secrets exposed.

  "So our job is the dirty work, then," Eve said.

  "Dirty work? What's wrong with that? The pay is good."

  "Oh? Do tell, Rils."

  "It's something we might need in the future."

  "For example?"

  "That's a surprise for after we get it." With a playful wink, Rils downloaded the route to the server storage room onto an old HHPC.

  "An HHPC? You have one too?"

  "It was my father's. It’s a ten-year-old model, though."

  "…I see."

  "Don't give me that somber look. I'm not bothered by it."

  The scratched HHPC, its holo-lens cracked, was a relic bordering on junk, incapable of performing to its original specifications. A liquid crystal monitor had been attached to compensate for the damaged visual information display—a simple, two-toned black-and-green screen that prioritized function over form.

  "Are we heading straight for the building? Or should we prepare first?"

  "First, we meet our collaborator. The sender of the email… that girl, Tephra, is waiting."

  Rils strapped the HHPC to her arm. Her hand, after tapping the monitor, reached for a pair of goggles on the desk. They were different from the multifunction goggles Danan used; Rils's were specialized for information processing, a marvel that both protected her eyes and could connect directly to the HHPC.

  "Well, shall we go? The key… I'll hold onto it. Is that okay?"

  "Please do. I'd probably drop it while moving around."

  "Good point."

  Laughing together, the two left the apartment and made their way toward the neon-drenched Commercial District.

  Deana loaded a magazine into her assault rifle, her full-face helmet wirelessly linked to her HHPC.

  A sweltering heat was trapped inside the helmet, making it difficult to breathe. She pulled off a thick tactical glove and activated the helmet's ventilation system. Various data streams flickered across her visor.

  Toxin levels for the entire Lower-City, the condition of her HHPC-linked assault rifle, her own call sign and unit designation… Her internal accumulated toxin level was below standard; the only abnormal readings were her heart rate and blood pressure. Seeing the warning light flash, Deana took several deep breaths, forcing the readings down into the green zone. She stuffed an adrenaline ampoule into a protective pouch.

  If asked whether she had ever killed anyone, she could honestly say no. Even though she had learned how to handle a gun and pilot an exosuit at the military academy, Deana was a fledgling with only theoretical knowledge. Compared to an experienced soldier, she still had a resistance to killing. She had never seen a real battlefield littered with the blood and flesh of human beings with her own two eyes. Perhaps that was why… her heart was now pounding, expanding and contracting with such violent tension at the thought of the coming extermination mission. She felt a tremor in her fingertips.

  "…"

  She squeezed her palms into tight fists, then slowly opened them.

  "…"

  She swallowed, and a strong bitterness coated her tongue, a tacky residue that was an unwelcome reminder of her dry mouth.

  Fulfill your duty as a soldier. Even if the enemy are Mid-City residents, anyone who engages in illegal acts is scum. In the Lower-City, a human life is worth less than a bullet, no more valuable than a fungus that sprouts overnight. Justice is on our side. The law, our rights, they are all in our hands. Therefore—

  "I am… not in the wrong."

  "Not in the wrong about what, Deana?"

  Her body flinched. Deana, nearly dropping the assault rifle cradled in her arms, looked up at Edes, his face hidden by the same type of full-face helmet.

  "Chief… Don't sneak up on me like that."

  "Checking on the rookies is part of a manager's job, isn't it? What's wrong? Something on your mind?"

  "…This operation, it's an order from Silentium, right?"

  "That's right."

  "Um… is it true that if we kill the enemy, if we kill a lot of them, we get a proportional bonus?"

  "It's true. Fifty thousand credits per head, I think?"

  Edes removed his helmet and stuck a cigarette between his lips. With a grave expression, he spun the flint on his lighter, sending sparks flying. A thin flame flickered to life, and the tip of the cigarette burned cherry red.

  "…Chief."

  "Hm?"

  "How many… have you killed?"

  "More than I can count."

  "…Don't you feel any guilt? Any regret? Anything at all?"

  "I'm long past the point of thinking about things like that."

  Purple smoke drifted through the air, and the thick smell of tobacco filled the armored personnel carrier.

  "Deana."

  "…Yes."

  "Fulfill your duty as a soldier. We, the Peacekeeping Forces, fire our guns to literally keep the peace. It doesn't matter if the person on the other end of the barrel is from the Lower-City or the Mid-City. Our job is to protect the daily lives of others by killing those who would harm their tomorrow. If you have doubts, spit them out now. It'll be too late once we reach the battlefield."

  Edes stroked his unshaven jaw, his eyes distant as he watched the smoke. His profile was a complex mixture—a man reminiscing about the past, yet also a ferocious hound baring its fangs at the approaching scent of battle. Had the iron tang of blood turned him into a warrior, or was this a quality he had always possessed, now brought to the surface by countless battles? It was a part of Edes's past that Deana could not know.

  Would she become like that if she was thrown into the chaos of the battlefield, if she surrendered herself to the pandemonium of combat? Would she, too, develop such a keen sense for the approaching smell of blood and become nothing more than a hunting dog, loyal only to its orders? A chill ran down Deana's spine as she pictured her own not-so-distant future, and she rubbed her arms.

  "…Justice is on our side, right?"

  "Who knows."

  "We're doing the right thing, aren't we? This fight… it truly has meaning, doesn't it? We are—"

  "It's not 'we.' It's your fight, isn't it, Deana?"

  A gasp caught in Deana's throat. The anxiety she had pushed deep down inside her heart now reared its head.

  "We kill people on orders from above. I may have drafted this plan, but if you keep shifting the responsibility onto someone else, you'll eventually kill yourself. You'll pull the trigger without emotion and bleed without feeling pain. It's not the order that kills people, Deana; the soldier kills people."

  "Then, then! We're the ones who will be killing with our own hands! This isn't a virtual simulation or a tactical exercise against a hypothetical enemy! I—"

  "That's why it's your fight."

  Edes flicked the ash from his cigarette. He looked straight at Deana and gave a small nod.

  "Listen. Meaning is something you find for yourself, not something that's forced on you. A person becomes a soldier only when they realize that the hand that kills, the finger that pulls the trigger, the foot that steps in blood—all belong to them. Don't plug your ears to the wails of grief. Don't fear the screams. What you see and hear is reality, and nothing else. Whether you simply kill people, or you find meaning in the killing… that choice belongs to you and you alone."

  Edes gave Deana's shoulder a light pat, then put his helmet back on. "All units, battle stations. Deploy your tactical navigators. Prepare to move out," he commanded into his HHPC.

  Killing another person could never be justified. But the moment one stepped onto the battlefield, that non-ordinary space, such ethics shattered as easily as spun sugar. Emotion died faster than the mind could break, and the abnormal became the new normal, all too easily.

  Perhaps her time for hesitation had long since passed. The visual data on her visor shifted, and her mission notes opened as if ignoring her will. A pale blue, three-dimensional tactical map displayed the number and position of the enemy with impersonal symbols, while weapon information acquired by reconnaissance drones was updated in real time.

  "The enemy consists of one hundred fifty Mid-City mafia. They are equipped with assault rifles and laser weaponry. As for non-human forces…"

  "Chief, can I ask a question?"

  "Wolf-4, we are ten minutes from mission start. Use your call sign."

  "About the call sign…"

  Edes strode over to the soldier who had spoken out of turn. Without a word, he knocked him down, ripped off his helmet, and began to choke him.

  "What is this attitude? Do you not understand that in ten minutes, we'll be trying to kill each other?"

  The soldier's face turned red, and he foamed at the mouth, struggling desperately. But Edes's grip didn't loosen; it tightened, compressing the man's artery.

  "There's no difference between my killing you here and now, and you dying later. Choose. Either fix that smart-ass attitude, or die and become dog shit. Tap my arm once for yes, twice for no."

  The soldier slapped Edes's arm once with all his might. The instant he did, Edes released his neck, turned his back, and continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

  "The number of unmanned weapons is six illegally modified units. No biological weapons. They have hired lawless mercenaries, so if you encounter a full cyborg, do not engage alone. Deal with them in teams of three. Our mission is the annihilation and eradication of the Mid-City mafia. Kill every last one of them. Understood?"

  "Sir, yes, sir!" the soldiers roared in unison. Swept up in the moment, Deana shouted along with them.

  What kind of person is relied upon on the battlefield? It is not a soft-hearted commander, nor one who wastes their soldiers' lives for no reason. Even a charismatic leader will lose their troops if they lack strictness, for soldiers will drown in that kindness.

  Only a person who possesses both ruthlessness and discipline, tempered with a sliver of humanity, is fit to lead soldiers. It was a truth that became clear only when one was in the position of entrusting their life to another. Deana's eyes clouded with this new realization as she fixed a heavy gaze on Edes, who was now operating his HHPC.