Nier:F66x
F66x
Character Story
Story 1
I think back on the past. On memories of the boy who will never come home. And on the happy family in the photo. My
embraces me. His warmth is the only constant in my life, and as he holds me, my chilly heart slowly melts.
I think.
A deafening rumble suddenly reverberates throughout the base, along with a siren. The announcement that follows tells us what we never wanted to hear: Flowers have invaded the base itself for the very first time. Cradling the photo, my husband and I dash for the exit. It would be folly to fight the Flowers unarmed, so we decide to evacuate instead.
Story 2
The base is already a stage of tragedy. Our fellow prisoners, unable to fight the sudden army of Flowers, have been decimated. Among the bodies, we hear a voice calling for help. But we know that stopping means death. So we run…and don’t look back. As we do, we offer a silent apology.
We run for our lives, but the Flowers are everywhere. Eventually, they corner us and launch their assault.
I think—but the expected pain never comes. Instead, my husband leaps in front of me and takes the attack in my place. Somehow, he is still alive—but he will not survive another strike. He screams at me to run, but instead, I grip the photo and step forward.
Story 3
Just as the Flower’s next attack is about to land, armed prisoners appear with our commander and cut it down. The defense operation has been put in motion—and somehow, the two of us are still alive. My husband’s wounds look painful, but he just chuckles and says he’s proud to have such badges of honor. I’m relieved to see he’s in good enough shape to joke. The two of us retreat with the commander. My husband’s wounds are deep and he is taken to the infirmary for surgery. I pray fervently that he will make a full recovery. I hand the photo to my husband as a good-luck charm.
My husband clutches it to his chest as they wheel him away.
Story 4
My heart grows cold. How much time has passed since he went in? He’d been joking around, so surely he’s going to be okay.
I feel like the uncertainty will crush me under its weight.
Finally, my husband emerges from the infirmary. Seeing him safe, I let out a small gasp of relief. However, he has no memory of the recent past…and the photo has also disappeared. The memory loss is due to shock, and only temporary—but no one can explain where the photo went. My husband, as if sensing my unease, wraps me up in another tight embrace. As I feel his warmth, my concerns melt away once more.
Dark Memories
Story 1
Hope’s Barren Flower Part 1
[
]
When she was yet human
“This is a tale of the recent past.”
“A tale of a time when she was still human.”
“A tale of how Flowers were born into the world…”
“You’re going to grow up big and strong.” A woman murmurs these words to the organic matter growing inside the incubator. She operates the console with a practiced hand. Holographic panels float in the air before her, displaying detailed information on the status of the matter in the incubator. The data is diverse, covering everything from humidity and temperature to the concentration of oxygen, elemental makeup of the soil, and even thermal conductivity. Each number is one piece of a delicate dance; if one fails, the others will follow. It is difficult work, but the woman feels pride at her success thus far. Once, thousands of years in the past, Earth contained what was known as “nature.” Uncountable plants and animals flourished in ecosystems across the mountains and oceans—and they did so alongside humans. But due to human expansion and ecological pollution—as well as disasters and climate change wrought by nature itself—the ecology was weakened, and life began to sputter out. Now, the nature that once sparked plants and animals across the entire planet has been entirely lost.
The woman works in a genetic research facility. It was built with the newest and best technology available, and serves as a gathering place and laboratory for the world’s most prominent scholars and researchers. The woman, a leader in the field of genetic engineering, now concentrates all her efforts on the process of regenerating extinct plants and animals.
“You seem extra happy today,” she says to her latest experiment.
“So why don’t we give this a go?”
She flips switches and presses buttons on the console. Moments later, there is a beep and liquid sprays into the incubator. That liquid is a custom-made growth accelerant that interacts directly with DNA. The moment it lands on the organic matter, a white flower springs out of the soil.
“Yes!” cries the woman.
She permits herself a single fist pump. In truth, she wants to leap up and go dancing through the lab, but the fact she is under constant surveillance takes much of the fun out of such spontaneous celebrations. Not to mention her embarrassing incident of long ago…
“Brought another one back, did you?”
The speaker is a large, muscular man in a lab coat. Though his physique is more appropriate for a soldier, he is actually a talented scientist in his own right.
“Honey!” says the woman.
“I thought you were sleeping. But yes, come here and take a look at this.”
She and the man have been married for five years. They met in this very facility.
“It’s pretty,” murmurs the man as he bends down to get a better look at the incubator.
“What’s it called?”
“I don’t know. But according to the literature, they say finding one will grant your greatest wish.”
Though the woman would be embarrassed to admit as much, this story is the reason she chose to bring the flower back. For she has a wish she desires above all else: A wish to see the world filled with green once more. As she stares at the flower growing in the rich soil, she whispers her wish, hoping that it might hear. This world knows nothing but heartache and loss, and she wants to give it something good. It’s the reason she studied genetic engineering in the first place. And though it has been a journey of fits and starts, her plans are finally bearing fruit.
Suddenly, her thoughts are interrupted by the strident howl of an alarm, followed by a red light in the incubator. The two look inside and see the flower rapidly shriveling.
“No,” says the woman.
“No! Why is this happening!?”
She frantically rechecks the information on the panels. The numbers that represent the flower’s nutrients are all swiftly decreasing.
“Hang on. I’m going to raise the values.”
She pumps additional nutrients into the incubator—twice the normal amount. Liquid gushes out, adjusting the concentration of oxygen and the nutrients within the soil. But the flower continues to fade, its petals falling noiselessly onto the dirt below. Her husband looks at some of the numbers and furrows his brow.
“Strange. This flower is using far more energy than normal.”
It’s a calm observation, one made from the experience of seeing countless flora wither away in his own experiments. But the woman is in no mood to hear it.
I can’t let it die,
she thinks.
Not now. If it dies, my wish dies with it.
She doubles down and focuses on the console. More liquid enters the incubator’s glowing red interior.
“Come on,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Come
on
.”
“I’m not giving up on you now!”
Finally, the dripping flower begins to grow again, its fallen petals regenerating before their eyes…. But it does not stop. A moment later, the Flower smashes out of the incubator, sending tendrils and roots coiling across the floor. It almost seems to be searching for something. And it shows no signs of stopping.
Story 2
Hope’s Barren Flower Part 2
[
]
A siren begins to wail. The couple presses against a far wall, trying to escape the thing they have unleashed. The Flower continues to grow. Soon, the roots have covered the entire floor.
The walls are gone. The celling is gone. Nearly the entire room is buried in plant matter. Suddenly, several of their fellow researchers force the door open and run into the lab.
“You guys all right?” one of them asks, breathless.
“We’re fine,” says the husband.
“Just used a heavy hand with the growth accelerant, is all.”
The husband explains the situation because his wife is sitting on the floor, too stunned to speak.
Their fellow scientists express relief to know the couple is safe.
“I’m sorry,” whispers the woman.
“God, I’m so sorry.”
Her husband helps her to her feet and embraces her.
“It’s all right. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”
His warmth melts away the tension in her heart.
“Hey, did you guys see this? It’s really interesting…” One of their coworkers is tapping the side of the Flower’s stem. Others soon gather around to make their own observations, intrigued by the situation. The stem is far tougher than that of the original plant. And its mass has clearly increased. But it didn’t do so through multiplying cells—rather, it has simply increased in size.
“Hang on. What’s this?”
One scientist is staring at the petals.
“Guys, look. I think there’s something in here.”
“Wait, it could be dangerous,” says the woman.
“No, it’s okay. I’m just going to…”
“W-wait… My arm! It’s got my arm!”
The man’s voice begins to grow panicked. He’s clearly not joking. Suddenly, he lets out a horrifying wail. The other researchers attempt to pry the petals open, but they are hard as stone and won’t so much as budge.
“Help me!” screams the man.
“Oh god, SOMEONE HELP ME!”
The Flower begins to pull the man inside. His coworkers desperately try to free him, but they might as well be pulling a mountain.
“H-help… Heeelp meeeeee…”
The man is gone. From inside the now swollen corolla comes the sounds of something straining and cracking. Then it flies open and sprays blood across the entire room. A hunk of flesh—the remains of their coworker—flies out and tumbles across the floor. As they watch, horrified, a new Flower springs up from the meat. The germinated Flower grows just as rapidly as its kin, causing the meat to shrink at the same time.
“My god…” says the woman.
“It’s absorbing the nutrients.”
With the meat depleted, the Flower begins to squirm and writhe across the floor in search of a new source of food.
“Run!” someone yells.
“Get the hell out of here!”
The researchers dash away as one.
The screams continue. The Flowers pursue the survivors, slithering over the floor like snakes with petals for heads. Each time one of the petals consumes a victim, a new Flower sprouts from the remains. Their numbers grow. And grow. And
grow
.
“Here! Hide in here!”
The husband pulls the woman into a small closet in the corner of the research division.
They force their ragged breaths to slow as they try to remain quiet. Outside, the sounds of slithering and screams are everywhere.
“What have I done?”
This was my experiment. My flower. And now it’s eating people.
Was it a dangerous plant that should never have been revived?
Was it the fault of the growth accelerant I formulated?
Before she can wonder more, her husband pulls her close.
“Right now, we just need to survive.”
His embrace drives the fear and doubt from her mind. Her shivering slowly comes to a stop.
But the sounds outside continue without pause, and they know they do not have long. Suddenly, her husband lets her go and reaches for the door.
“Hang on, honey. I’ll be right back.”
Before she can say anything, he bolts from the closet, seals the door behind him, and runs down the hall while making as much noise as he possibly can. It’s clear he’s trying to lure them away.
No, please… Please don’t leave me here alone…
Story 3
Hope’s Barren Flower Part 3
[
]
Time passes—she has no idea how much. Eventually, the slithers and screams die off, leaving the facility enrobed in an unnatural silence. She attempts to leave the closet, but the door is locked. The woman feels her body growing cold, perhaps due to fear and guilt. All she can do is wait and pray for her husband to return. Ironically, they had met in this very closet.
Her arms had been piled with equipment that day, and she was unable to work the knob. Suddenly, her gallant knight swooped in and opened the door for her.
“Maybe leave a few things behind next time, ya dope,” he’d said with a chuckle. Oh, she had been mad. More than mad—
furious
. But as he continued to assist her from time to time, she found herself becoming attracted to him. She had a tendency to get lost in her research, sometimes even forgetting to sleep and eat, but he was always there to support her.
Suddenly, a faint voice snaps her back to reality.
“…There? Is anyone there?” The woman leaps to her feet and starts pounding on the door.
“Here!” she cries. “I’m in here!” Footsteps pound into place outside the closet. She hears radio calls, breathing, muttered commands.
“We’re going to cut through the door. Stand back.”
A glowing red dot appears in the center of the door, sending up smoke. Soon, the high-temperature cutter begins slicing a hole in the steel. When it is halfway done, she peeks through the opening and beholds a horrible sight. The walls, floors, and ceiling of the facility have had furrows gouged into them by the snaking movements of the Flowers. And within each furrow is tightly packed meat that oozes fresh blood. Bodies that weren’t absorbed had been ground into paste by the sheer bulk of the Flowers. The woman can’t even tell who they used to be. But when the smell hits her, she turns aside and vomits.
“You all right, ma’am?”
The voice comes from a soldier looking at her through the hole in the door. He’s covered head-to-toe in thick black armor and holds an imposing beam rifle in his hand. He looks to be ready for war. The woman nods, wipes her mouth with a shaking hand, and crawls out through the hole.
The smell is worse out here.
Much
worse. And it brings everything rushing back: The screams of pain. The snapping of bones. The delight of the Flowers as they ate. She can hear and see it all over again. She turns to the side and vomits once more, but all that comes out is a stream of yellow bile. Her body has nothing left to give.
“W-were there any others survivors?” asks the woman, hoping against hope for a miracle. The soldiers just shake their heads. The hues of despair grow darker. But she cannot stay here. Not when he might be alive. Not when he might need her help.
“I’m coming with you,” she says. “I need to find my husband.”
“Oh, and I know every inch of this facility, so I can guide you wherever you need to go.”
After a brief conference, the solders bring her along. Eventually, they arrive at the most heavily damaged area. This is Research Block 21—the location of the woman’s lab. It’s as if someone redecorated the room to look like a version of Hell. Everything, from the floors to the ceiling, is painted red: Blood from the birth of a Flower. How many of her coworkers had been consumed? How many had she
killed
? The guilt chills her to the bone.
Suddenly, a deep bellow rumbles out. Something is coming their way. Something massive.
“In positions, now!”
The soldiers raise rifles to shoulders as the enemy approaches. It’s a Flower—one far bigger than any they’ve seen before. It is the most horrible sight imaginable. The petals are imprinted with the faces of victims. Not one face or two—but
dozens
. But the military captain pays this no mind.
“All units…fire.” The world dissolves into a hail of gunfire. The Flower begins to scream.
My god… It sounds human. Could it really have evolved human traits so quickly?
Above the crackle and roar of the firefight, the woman hears a most familiar voice. And when she looks at the Flower again, she sees the face of her love.
“Stop! Don’t shoot him!”
She rushes for a nearby soldier, but he pays her no mind. Her pleas go unheard. Her actions are meaningless. Her husband is gone. Knowing this, she breaks down into sobs.
This is my fault. It’s all my fault.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
When the fighting stops, the Flower lies unmoving on the ground. The woman cradles her dead husband and continues to apologize. She does so until her voice finally fails her.
Story 4
Hope’s Barren Flower Part 4
[
]
Months go by. They thought they’d dispatched the Flowers that day…. But they were wrong. Another Flower had been found. Then another. And another. The Flowers sow seeds soon after they are born. It is all anyone can talk about anymore. The news is nothing but death figures and horrible stories. And those who manage to escape often find they have no home to return to. The Flowers evolve. They adapt. They increase their reproductive rates, perfect their strategy, and soon are the greatest disaster the world has ever known.
“…No. No! NO!”
Enraged, the woman smashes her hand against the console. Her cheeks are hollow; her eyes darkened pits. She can’t remember the last time she slept. Currently, she is working in a small laboratory constructed by another organization. Their only goal is to find a way to stop the Flowers. As the sole survivor from the research facility, leadership of this fight had fallen on her shoulders. She was locked away and tasked with analyzing Flower carcasses in order to find a chemical solution that could kill them. For a time, it looked like their quest would be successful—but the Flowers quickly evolved a resistance to the solution. Each time they created a new chemical, the Flowers adapted to counter it.
Now, she stands before a Flower in a massive incubator. On its petals she sees the faces of her coworkers and husband. Her mind has whirled with thoughts since that day. Were they things she should not wish for? Did they go against nature? Was all of this technology too powerful for humans? She has thought about putting herself out of her misery. But when she thinks of what her husband went through, she finds herself driven by the need for redemption. But this, too, is coming to an end. It has been five days since her liaison with the outside world stopped arriving. Perhaps he decided the research was fruitless and walked away. Perhaps a Flower killed him. Her food supplies are gone, yet she feel strangely at ease. She wonders idly if her senses are beginning to break down. From a distance, she hears the approaching footsteps of the reaper.
“Honey…”
Her husband floats in the incubator, fully merged with the Flower. If she was just doing this to die a failure in the end, it would have been better to become part of the petals with him.
But I know you wouldn’t give up.
She stands up once more, fighting off the despair in her heart.
And then…an idea. She fiddles with the console, a faint smile on her face. Perhaps it is folly—or perhaps it is the only way they will ever be able to kill the Flowers.
Days pass. The liaison never arrives. The woman is skin and bones, barely able to move. She stands before the incubator with an inscrutable expression and stares at the thing inside. There, floating in the tank, is a couple. She had combined the genes of people and Flowers to create clones of herself and her husband. With a shaking hand, she operates the console. The liquid in the incubator drains away, and the couple awakens.
“Your name is F66x.”
“Your name is 063y.”
“Together, you will eliminate the Flowers from this world.”
The couple nods silently. No matter how many times they might be stricken with despair… No matter how many times they meet a cruel end… They will be reborn again, and throw themselves into battle with the hated Flowers anew. That is how they will achieve victory—and how the woman will gain her redemption. And so, she gives her cloned self its first order: “Kill me.”
The clone nods silently and wraps its hands around her neck. As fingers tighten, consciousness slips away. Yet the woman wears an expression of utter peace.
Decades pass. The Flowers can infinitely reproduce. The clones can infinitely reproduce. Their war rages on to this day. And in the midst of this neverending battle, nature begins to take root within the empty cities.
Recollections of Dusk
Story 1
Story 2
Story 3
Story 4
Hidden Stories
Story 1
Ch. 1: Change (My) Life
[
]
The only sounds in the empty room are a metronomic beeping and the quiet breathing of my husband. He is bound to the bed, his entire body wired to a machine that controls his body temperature, heart rate, and all other life functions. Next to him, a young officer speaks softly to me.
“He acquired confidential information again, Commander. This is his eight instance of unauthorized access to such intelligence.”
As she speaks, details of my husband’s previous infractions appear on a nearby wall screen. I’m not surprised; it’s always been like this. Whenever he sees a chance, he breaks into some area deep within the base and steals classified data about the Flowers.
“I’m sorry Commander, but I can’t cover for him anymore.”
Commander.
The word stings my ears. I hate being called by that title around my husband, even though he’s not awake to hear it.
It wasn’t always like this. But one day, the Flowers attacked our world and everything changed. Humanity is yet to find a key to victory; if anything, we fade a little more each time the sun rises on a new day. We’ve lost so many now: soldiers, prisoners, and yes, even commanders. The Flowers have taken them all. But the lack of people in leadership positions is our most pressing concern, so the people in charge attempted to solve it with a most novel solution:
They promoted the prisoners.
Prisoners like me.
The job of commander is to manage and control the rest of the prisoners. So when news of my own promotion came, I knew instantly that I would have to send my own husband off into the jaws of death. I couldn’t bear to share that with him, so I attempted to keep it a secret and live my life just as I always had—until the day he broke into the base and first stole confidential information.
We have rules for people who do such things. The punishment is very swift—and very final. But instead of putting him to death, I used privileges of command to keep him alive. I ordered the classified information deleted from his memories, and we returned to our normal lives. I thought I could somehow keep this up—that I could keep lying to everyone about what I was now. And I might have done it, except that my husband stole classified information again.
And again.
And
again.
The irony is almost too much to bear: The reason he risked death to find some path to victory against the Flowers was because he wanted to protect
me.
But now, once again, it is my turn to protect him.
“Prepare for memory deletion.” I say to the officer. When she doesn’t move, I slowly turn my head to look at her. “That is a direct order.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I cannot comply.”
Her quiet voice rattles in my ears. “What did you say?”
“Your husband should have been eliminated after his first transgression, but you used your authority to delete his memories and protect him. I’ve stood by as you did so again and again, but I can abide it no longer.”
She goes on to tell me that my actions are not as secret as I thought—other commanders are aware of what I have been doing, and they are displeased to say the least. If it does not stop, they will deem me unfit for command and dispose of me in the way all useless prisoners are dealt with.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper. “I didn’t ask for any of it.”
And it’s true. I didn’t. I didn’t care for the power of command, or the honor, or the ceremonial trappings. The only thing I cared about was protecting the man I love.
“You have to stop this,” says the officer. “We have plans in motions, great plans that may finally turn the tide of this war and give you the revenge you seek. Would you really throw all of that away?”
She takes my hand and places it gently atop the machine. “If you turn this off, his vitals will cease to function. He’ll just… go to sleep. Quickly. Peacefully. But we’re running out of time, Commander, and we need you to make a decision.”
Her quiet voice is a faint echo in the empty room.
Story 2
Ch. 2: Change (Your) Love
[
]
The leisurely beeping that disturbs the quiet of the living room tells me the water is boiling. I get up from my chair and head to the kitchen, where I take out an assortment of snacks and prepare my tea.
Treatment like this was nigh unthinkable when I was a low-ranking soldier—or to be more blunt, a prisoner with a slightly more palatable title. But now I own a first-class apartment with a guest room—don’t know when I’ll be using that—and a constant supply of luxuries like sweets and tea.
Yes, my life certainly became enriched when I took on the position of a superior officer. But every day I wake up and ask myself what the point is to having such wealth. What even is the point?
I glanced over at the framed photograph in the center of the living room, the one showing a smiling image of my husband. He was my rock. My light. The person I loved more than anything.
And the person I killed.
Pressured by command, I made the decision to turn off my husband’s life support, abandoning what was most precious to me for the benefit of the base. As a result, my subordinates found renewed confidence in me, and my superiors praised my loyalty. But this brings me right back around to the same question I always ask: What’s the point? What is the goddamn point?
I briefly considered following my husband into the afterlife, but couldn’t do it. The shrewd watch of my commanders played a part in that decision, but ultimately, I couldn’t abandon my plan to end the Flowers once and for all.
Blowing steam across my mug, I press a few buttons on a small screen on the kitchen counter and pull up footage from a surveillance camera. Children’s voices come through, as well as the shrill bark of an overseer.
“Get in line, all of you!”
“Kay!”
There are countless prisoners exhausted by this never-ending war with the Flowers—and our recent rise in deserters is proof. But I’ve come up with a plan to give even the lowest soldier a reason to fight. Want to hear it? It’s a doozy.
See, I proposed we implant prisoners with memories of having children, then supply them with
actual
children to protect. I figured I’d face an uphill battle—or be laughed out of the room entirely—but to my shock, command not only approved the plan, they supplied the children that I needed to make it work. The little moppets now live in a care center in the base, giving the prisoners who are their “parents” a reason to keep fighting in the outside world.
The irony just
kills
me.
My own son was killed by the Flowers, is the thing—and the animosity born from that memory is what kept me alive all this time. The pain of the loss is a set of teeth on my heart as fresh as the day it happened, so the fact I’m using that same pain to help my former companions rush headlong into death is…
Well it’s monstrous.
Monstrous.
But now that I’ve chosen this path, there’s no turning back. I have to destroy the Flowers and have my revenge, because—
“I’m hooome! What’s my snack?”
A small figure rushes into the living room, and I shake myself free from my reverie as I turn to him. “You have something to do before snack time, yes?”
His face lights up as he rushes to the most prominent place in the living room: the memorial for my husband. The boy takes the photograph and holds it reverently in both of his tiny hands.
“I’m home, Dad!”
God, his eyes remind me
so
much of him…
Story 3
Ch. 3: Change (His) Life
[
]
In my position as a senior officer, I’ve led countless projects to completion—not just the one that keeps soldiers from deserting. We’ve also mapped Flower dens around the planet, performed research into their ecology, and developed a host of new weapons. Though we’ve yet to exterminate the enemy, humanity has stepped back from the brink, and is now in the process of putting itself together again.
“Sorry we took so long, Mom.”
I turn to find my son walking into the officer’s lounge. He’s grown over the years, and is now more a man than the little boy I remembered.
“Thank you for taking the time to be here,” I say.
A woman steps out from behind my son, her wide eyes boring deep into my own.
“Uh, so, Mom? This is my girlfriend. I think I…mentioned her?”
His bashful introduction causes me to chuckle.
“Hello, ma’am,” she says. “My name is ———, and I work in the research division.”
The introduction is sweet, but unnecessary; I already know everything there is to know about her. Her name, age, job, time of birth—every moment of her life is at my fingertips. Yet I manage to put on an expression of ignorance and listen to the rest of her introduction.
“I’m pleased to have met you today,” I say when she’s done. Our chat is short, but pleasant enough, and I’m happy to see how tactfully she handles her time in the spotlight. But then, at the moment when my son is
supposed
to ease us out of the awkward silence that follows introductions, he blurts out:
“You two are kind of similar.”
“Similar?” asks his girlfriend. “You mean me and your mother?”
“Yeah. Like, I dunno. The vibes you give off.”
My mouth twists wryly at that. “Saying your girlfriend reminds you of your mother is the worst possible thing you could say, Son. If she never speaks to you again, I’ll fully support her decision.”
An awkward expression crosses my son’s face, which causes his girlfriend to burst out laughing. The tension eased at last, they give brief farewells and leave the lounge. As I watch them go, a small sigh rises in my heart. A moment later, my commander arrives and places a hot drink before me.
“Thank you,” I murmur quietly. The tea is just warm enough not to burn. She knows exactly what I like—no surprise, seeing as we’ve been mostly inseparable ever since I rose up to the position of senior officer. Perhaps that’s why she feels comfortable enough to look me in the eye and say:
“How does it feel to have your husband introduce his girlfriend to you?”
Ah, she’s always like this. She seems cold and emotionless most of the time, but in truth, she finds nothing more delightful than pushing people’s buttons.
“He is my
son
now.”
Here’s the thing: Once I learned that management possessed the technology to create clones, I used my husband’s stored genetic data to make one, then took him out of the incubator while he was still a baby. This was only done to protect him; if he were to mature there and have my husband’s old memories implanted, he’d only make the same mistake of accessing top-secret data all over again.
“And what about
her
? Does she meet expectations?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Why not? She has a stellar reputation, and seems extremely well-tempered.”
“It’s not a question of character. Her performance is simply too average.”
This is true. The girl has shown no aptitude for science, and seems content to remain a lowly, anonymous researcher. She’s nothing like me, which means she is no proper match for
him
.
I lean back and close my eyes. Bringing up an image of her smiling face, I mentally scrawl a red X across it.
Story 4
Ch. 4: Changeling
[
]
Something rocks me, stirring me from sleep. When I open my eyes, I’m greeted by a bright, false sun and the familiar sight of my commander’s face.
“He’s crying. Should you attend to him?”
She jerks her chin toward a small crib, where I hear a baby’s disgruntled mumbling.
“Oh, yes. Thank you. Goodness, my hearing has gotten worse as I’ve grown older; I used to leap out of bed at the slightest sound when my son was a baby!”
I lift the baby into my arms and look into his eyes. “You were sleeping so soundly, little one. What do you need? A diaper change? Milk?”
As I rock the little guy in my arms to calm him down, a smile cracks across my commander’s face. It isn’t a warm, fond smile, but a cold and pitying one.
“He looks so much like you.”
“You think so?” I reply quietly, pretending not to hear the thorns in her speech.
“But I suppose he would. The father is your husb…Apologies. Your
son
. And the mother is your clone too.”
She’s correct. Around the time I created my husband’s clone, I made a dozen clones of myself. I altered some so they didn’t look exactly like me, then removed them from the incubators and gave them to prisoners who could serve as suitable parents.
“I’m surprised it went so well. Was every girl your son dated your clone?”
All my clones had been raised in varying environments, which means they show their uniqueness in different ways. Some are excellent workers with brilliant talent. Some are average. Some dropouts.
“His mother is quiet and seems average at a glance, but she has an analytical mind.”
Those who are quiet and tend to have subdued emotions are often more colorful with those they’re comfortable with.
“She’s family-oriented,” my commander says, her tone as flat as if she’s reading from a document. “Your son’s wife is almost exactly like you, from her skill set to her personality—and to a rather shocking degree.”
I’d spent decades carefully putting this project into motion just for this moment. I sent my clones to my son so they would meet, made sure they dated, then encouraged them to have children.
“Do you think me odd?”
I ask suddenly.
My commander nods. “I do. However, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
My son has been taken from me. My husband is lost. But now, at long last, I finally have it all back. This child was born from a clone of my husband and my own clone. it is my—
our
—true son.
I look down and realize the grumpy, crying baby has finally begun to snore softly in my arms.
Story 5
Story 6
The Chatty Woman
[
]
Ugh, I hate getting assigned to expeditions. Prep takes forever, and we’re all pretty much guaranteed to die anyway. I don’t get why we have to lug all this crap around, and…
Wait, F66x is with us this time? Oh that’s even worse! Okay, so listen. She’s got, like, a wall around her, you know? We were in the same unit last time, and she never said a word more than she absolutely needed to—I mean, not a word! It was impossible to get to know her. I mean, does the chick even smile?
…Huh? I should ask her about her husband? The hell does that mean? …Uh-huh. …Uh-huh. …Wait, so she’s head over heels for him and gets all chatty whenever he comes up?
Heh. That’s adorable, actually.
Story 7
A Mother’s Journal
[
]
Growing Up
He walks on his own now. But he always stumbles backwards. I guess his head is too big.
He can’t produce actual words, but from how he babbles I can only assume he’s trying to talk to me. He knows how to gesture hello and goodbye, and he’s starting to understand what I’m saying.
He’s getting bigger and has more lung capacity, so now his nighttime crying fits are more like screaming fits. And that means I’m always running on low sleep…
I still don’t know what I’m doing raising this kid, and there are plenty of days where I hate everything because I’m so busy. But when I see how the shape of his eyes looks exactly like
his
, I feel my energy rush back to me.
I never, ever in my wildest dreams imagined that something so precious could exist on this planet.
Story 8
Data on Promotion Standards
[
]
Re: Standards for Individuals Suited for Promotion to Officer and Command Positions
Basic capabilities should be higher than average, as well as a logical decision-making ability. Ask yourself, could this individual sacrifice one to permit ten to live?
However, taking historic data into consideration, we cannot claim that judgments made out of rationality alone are always correct. Actual records shows that superior officers who place too much value on efficiency and push for perfection in battle and experiments are often the subjects of mutiny among soldiers (i.e. prisoners), and sometimes perish as a result.
She is the only one we can think of who prioritizes rationality, yet can also keep dissent from the lowest ranks to a minimum. Though merciful, she is driven by revenge, and we are confident she is willing to sacrifice others to achieve that end.
We do believe there is a chance her husband—another prisoner—may warp her judgment. However, we are planning to deal with that matter separately. If this goes well, we are confident she will prove to be the perfect superior officer.
Story 9
Soldiers and Caretakers
[
]
Hello! Here are the parts I mentioned, the one you need to repair that toy.
Hmm? Oh, you’re very welcome! The fight was easy—didn’t take much extra work at all to pick these up! Still, you sure are getting a lot more children over at the center, huh? How many caretakers do you have now?
Fifteen including you? Whoa, that’s a
lot
! I guess that all happened since that ex-prisoner became an officer, huh? I mean, what with the prisoners and their kids all staying in the same base now. Still, I suppose they’re all grateful, ‘cause the morale of the parents has shot through the roof! I thought those Flowers were gonna crush us, but now we’re actually holding ‘em off. Just goes to show how people get stronger when they’ve got something they love to fight for.
Wish I had something like that for myself, honestly, ‘cause I’ve got no interest in dying for a good long time. Still, I dunno about having kids. I mean, they’re cute and all, but we’re nowhere near close to routing the Flowers, and that makes me nervous.
Oh, hey! I know! Why don’t I work to protect YOU!? I mean, you take care of the kids, so someone should return the favor! How about it? Sounds like a sweet deal, yeah?