Nier:Lars

Lars

Character Story

Story 1

I inhale a lungful of battlefield air, rich with a mix of gunsmoke and blood. Our operation was a smashing success, but while my fellow soldiers are content going back to base and celebrating our victory, I’m heading out on a new mission. Because the only time I feel alive now is when I fight. Revenge drove me. It’s all that ever drove me. But then I ended up killing my own father. And on top of that, it turns out the people I called my family were actually my enemies. What a goddamn joke, right? Anybody else laughing here?

When I return to reality, I see piles of corpses everywhere. It’s all my doing, this carnage, but instead of rage or sorrow, I just feel a strange sense of calm. Honestly, killing is the only thing that brings me peace anymore. Suddenly, an explosion shakes the ground—a close one. The sky turns red as flames arc up toward the heavens. As I stare at this crimson sky, my heart begins to race. I set out in search of someone to fight, hoping to calm my jangled nerves.

Story 2

The war has turned in our favor. The enemies we don’t kill we send running into the night… But it still isn’t enough. I find myself picking my way across a viscera-strewn battlefield just in case we missed a straggler. After a bit, I sense someone hiding behind a collapsed house. Battle fever floods my senses. I raise my sword and leap out of hiding, prepared to strike down my terrible foe. But there, crouching on the ground, is a little girl.

I think.
I extend a bloody hand and grab the girl by the arm. She screams. I don’t care. I give her a good yank and start walking. She responds by pinwheeling her other arm and toppling face-down into the mud. That’s when I realize the kid is blind.

Story 3

The girl, still sitting on the ground, grabs my hand and says,

“Oh no, mister! You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”

The question hits me wrong, and I smack her hand away. After that, we wait in a long, uncomfortable silence.

“It’s not my blood,” I say finally, as much to break the silence as anything else. I wipe my hand on my pants to clear off as much gore as I can, then help the kid up. Her hands are so damn
. I’d forgotten hands could be soft. The only thing mine are good for any more is murder; it’s hard to believe her hands and mine are the same thing.

With no other choice, I throw her across my back and start working my way back to base. I can feel the kid’s warmth against me. And there, in the strange silence you always get on a battlefield after a fight… The only thing I can hear is the beating of my own heart.

Story 4

Eventually, we make it to a field hospital. It’s a nice place, actually, with sunlight coming through the windows and wind rustling the trees. The kid seems okay with it, at least. She lies on a bed, her gaze trained on the window to her side.

“Hey, kid,” I ask her.

“What were you doing on the ground back there?”

She pauses for a second, then speaks. She tells me how she’d been neglected by her parents her whole life before they finally abandoned her once the war came home.

When her story is done, she turns her head in my direction and asks:

“What color is the sky right now, mister?” I take a look out the window.

“Blue,” I say.

“A nice, deep blue.”

She closes her eyes—I have no idea why—and begins to try and imagine what
might look like. I don’t know why I feel uneasy here, but I do. Something about being near this kid puts me on edge. My heart is racing again—but in a different way than the discomfort I’ve felt for my entire life. And as I try to identify what this strange feeling is, I picture the color of the sky in the girl’s imagination.

Dark Memories

Story 1

The Redacted Past Part 1
[
]

After he returned from battle

Cheers ring out from the dusty barracks. In a shift from the tense atmosphere on the eve of their operation, the soldiers now laugh easily with each other as they celebrate the great victory they have won.

“Cheers!”

Golden ale flows freely and without formality of rank. The men drain glass after glass, scarcely noticing how much they are spilling in the process. Their unit had secured a miraculous victory, and this party is their reward. But they are drunk on more than ale this night; they took on an impossible mission and came back alive, and this fact alone makes their heads swim and their speech giddy. Men brag of their accomplishments in battle. They brag about the beauty of their wives. Every lip is loosened and free. Apparently some of the soldiers even earned promotions for their valor on the mission.

But inside this bright atmosphere, a single young soldier sits apart from the others with a glum look on his face. He had infiltrated the enemy base alone—against the orders of his direct commander—and slain the enemy captain. Though their victory was due in large part to this deed, his actions were still troubling. No matter how well it had turned out, he had ignored a direct order from a superior; a court-martial would be unsurprising. That he did so because of a personal grudge is perhaps the most troubling fact of all. By all rights, he should have died on that battlefield. But his life was saved by his fellow soldiers—and especially by the quick thinking and bravery of the very captain whose orders he was so quick to disregard.

Regardless, the boy sits alone, not bothering to thank the men around him or share a meal or drink. His mind is still back with the enemy commander. The same man who killed his parents so long ago. After years of chasing him, the boy had finally cornered his target and plunged his weapon into his heart, along with all of his hate. But the fall of the curtain on his revenge was hollow. He felt no exhilaration. No accomplishment. Instead, he was left with the empty bones of a past he could never reclaim. With that gloomy sadness filling the boy’s head, the dying enemy captain spoke to him. He told the boy something that turned everything he’d ever believed on its head. And now, he sits among his celebrating fellows and replays the words over and over again in his mind:

The secret of my birth. My past. My true father.
It is so farfetched as to stretch the bounds of credulity, and yet he is unable to set it aside.

The boy stares blankly into space. The drink in his hand has long since grown warm, but he pays it no mind. Suddenly, a brawny soldier approaches him. Ignoring his troubled state, he plops down beside him with a most inconsiderate thud. This man had always treated the boy harshly—more like an enemy than a fellow soldier in the ranks.

“You here to pick another fight?” asks the boy. He can’t even bother to lift his head for the query, feeling all the more gloomy from the man’s presence.

“Fight? No, boy. I’m damn proud of you.”

The boy is shocked to hear actual praise coming from the man. So shocked that he looks up in spite of himself. There’s a slight hint of envy in the words, as if the man wishes he had the guts to disobey orders and sneak off to kill the enemy. Regardless, the boy finds the compliment embarrassing. Quickly lowering his head to hide the flush on his cheeks, he stands and makes his way to the exit.

“Goin’ for a piss, there?” asks the brawny man. The boy gives a vague response and ducks outside.

Night has fallen on the land. The silence is so perfect—especially when compared to the chaos of the barracks—that it causes his ears to ring. Camaraderie and banter did not come easily to him by nature, but that is not the reason for his discomfort this night. He has so many things to think about. And here, in the dark, his thoughts are free to run rampant. He stands there for a long time, until a sound finally causes him to turn around. An injured soldier is behind him, leaning on a crutch. He looks at the boy and cuts straight to the point:

“So, what were you doing in the enemy camp?”

Story 2

The Redacted Past Part 2
[
]

The night had deepened, the surroundings now fully dark. Faint light streams out from the windows of the barracks. The soldiers inside were still busy drinking and boasting. But here, away from all the sound and bluster, two fellow soldiers face each other in silence. The boy studies his unexpected visitor. He is young, with strong features and a shock of blond hair. But his most noticeable characteristics are his blue eyes, which seem to shine with their own inner light. The boy usually pays no mind to the appearance of others, but even he remembered that distinguishing feature. He is one of the soldiers who received a promotion. Recalling that, the boy’s puzzlement only grows. Gazing upon the soldier before him, he thinks back on the question he was asked.

He asked me what I was doing in the base.

We’re not even particularly close, so why is he starting this conversation with me?

And why did he wait until we were alone to approach me?

“I can’t answer you unless I know why you’re asking.”

The blue-eyed soldier stares back at him.

Then, after a moment, he begins to tell his tale.

“We were part of the operation.”

“My squad arrived at the camp after you killed the commander.”

“The enemy was in total disarray, and we were able to dispatch the stragglers with relative ease.”

“Once that was done, we searched their camp.”

“And guess what I found?”

“A confidential file marked with the crest of
our
army.”

“Naturally, I was curious how this ended up in enemy hands, so I picked it up to take a closer look.”

“But before I could open it, someone attacked me from behind and knocked me unconscious.”

“When I woke up, the file was gone.”

“But here’s the thing: We neutralized the enemy soldiers—every last one of them. So who the hell attacked me?”

The boy starts.

“Are you saying
I
attacked you?”

The other soldier locks his blue eyes on the boy.

“That’s my guess, yeah.”

“I mean, you disobeyed orders, right? Infiltrated the camp and killed the commander all by your lonesome?”

“Even you have to admit that’s suspicious.”

“So I’ll ask you again: What were you doing in the enemy base?”

When the boy finally speaks again, he chooses his words carefully. He tells the blue-eyed soldier how his parents had been killed when he was young. How the killer was the enemy commander. How he became a soldier specifically to find that man and end his life. And how he didn’t care if he would end up court-martialed, because his revenge would be worth any price.

The blue-eyed soldier remains silent. It’s as if he’s trying to discern the truth in the boy’s words.

Silence settles between the two soldiers. In the quiet, the boy thinks about his comrade’s story.

He found one of our confidential files in the enemy base.

But before he could read it, someone attacked him and stole it.

Someone from our army.

Is that file related to what the enemy commander told me?

Does it relate to our country’s past? And does it hold the answers I need?

After a bit, the blue-eyed soldier nods and turns away, apparently satisfied that the boy is innocent.

“Wait!” cries the boy.

The man stops.

“What happened to the file?”

“Well, if my suspicions are correct and it was taken by one of us, it should be in the vault here at the base.”

He then turns back to the boy and adds:

“But don’t go getting any stupid ideas.”

“You already disobeyed orders once, and it won’t go well if you do it again. So just keep your head down, okay?”

He then departs, limping away on his crutch. But his warning falls on deaf ears. For the boy would do anything to know what is in that file.

Story 3

The Redacted Past Part 3
[
]

Why did he tell me that story in the first place?

He clearly thinks we have a traitor in our midst.

He made contact in hopes of finding out who it is, so maybe we can form a partnership and…

The boy lets this thought marinate in his mind for a bit before suddenly rejecting it. If the file
does
contain the secret of his birth, he doesn’t want anyone else knowing about it. He begins to formulate a plan. The blue-eyed soldier is likely correct: If the file was stolen by a traitor, it would be located in the vault.

Their base is a large, sprawling complex with many buildings. There are barracks, a training ground, a reference library… And the vault, which is only accessible to a select group of people. Now in the library, the boy finds himself staring at a set of blueprints for the base. Coated in dust and weathered away to a dim yellow color, they seem ready to fall apart in his hands. But he finds the part he wants, carefully tears it away, and quickly sidles out of the room. It is the route to the vault.

The boy makes his way to the changing room. But not to don a disguise. Instead, he climbs on top of a locker and removes a dusty wire panel covering an exhaust duct. A duct that leads to the vault. He always cursed his small physique, but is now thrilled to have it. Drawing his shoulders tight, he manages to squeeze inside. Holding his flashlight between his cheek and his shoulder, he wriggles his way forward like an inchworm. Every movement brings a new puff of dust or a cobweb brushing against his face. He struggles desperately against the urge to cough. But just as he is about to lose hope……he arrives at his destination. According to the blueprints, the vault is directly below him. With a sigh of relief, he reaches out to the wire panel. But he can’t get it free. Anger suddenly races through him, and he makes a rash decision.

Applying all of his strength to it, he shoves the panel until it breaks apart with a crack loud enough to wake the dead. The boy scans the inside of the vault, certain that he has alerted a guard or triggered some kind of alarm. The only source of light is a dimly illuminated exit sign.

When no one comes to investigate, the boy lets out a sigh of relief. Wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, he lowers himself down. The vault is filled with row after row of metal shelves. Each shelf has a number, with contents organized by date and type, such as confidential documents or artifacts claimed from the enemy. The boy roams through the rows, shining his light here and there. He checks dates on the confiscated items and opens any file that seems like it might be relevant to his interests. Finally, he stumbles across a folder with the word “Confidential” stamped across it.

It also contains the seal of their army. Just like the one from the other soldier’s tale.

The boy takes a deep breath and opens it. The words inside immediately draw his eye:

“INFANT ABDUCTION STRATEGY”

His heart begins to race. With a single trembling finger, he reaches out and slowly turns the page.
It is a complete accounting of his country’s actions. The plan was designed to create powerful soldiers. They researched genes from people across the world, looking for those with the traits they sought. Before long, they had a pool of possible recruits. Once an infant was found from a desired genetic line, they were kidnapped and raised as one of their own citizens. Everything the enemy commander had told him was true. And with each line he reads, the boy’s long-held beliefs collapse. It is a pain unlike anything he has ever felt.

Story 4

The Redacted Past Part 4
[
]

Here, in the darkest part of his nation, the boy has uncovered the harshest of truths.

The file. The vault. His history. The “Infant Abduction Strategy.” The words of his hated enemy.

The words on the page. It was all coming together. His head reels. His chest tightens. He feels like he is about to faint.

But he does not. More precisely, he
will
not. Because he had to avoid the blade of the knife that is racing up behind him. Perhaps it is the boy’s natural instincts that warn him; perhaps the superior genes that were mentioned in the file. Regardless, he twists his head to the side and narrowly avoids having it separated from his shoulders. The weapon is a military-issue combat knife. His attacker is a man in a mask. A thin ribbon of blood oozes down his neck where the knife had brushed it. Though the boy does not understand what is happening, his training takes over and he readies himself for a fight. His attacker had hoped to kill the boy from behind, which meant his plan was already falling apart. Taking advantage of this brief lapse, the boy twists to the side and spins around to face his attacker. He grabs his arm by the elbow and wrist, locking it in place. Then he shoves the man into a nearby wall and tears off his mask.

To reveal… A pair of beautiful blue eyes. The boy is stunned for the briefest of moments. But it is enough. The attacker twists his arm from the boy’s grasp and backs away from him.

“Well, that was damn unlucky,” says the man.

“Or maybe you’re just better than I thought.”

“Also, I thought I told you not to get any stupid ideas.”

It was true: the man had given him a warning. But the boy had ignored it, and now they were facing off once more. This time, there would be no talk. No parley. Instead, only one of them would leave the vault alive. The blue-eyed soldier snarls at the boy. It is a sound of anger, sadness, and indecision.

“Do you think I WANTED to do this!?”

“You think I WANTED to stab a fellow soldier in the back!?”

The blue-eyed man then tells the boy a shocking truth: The chatter at the party about the “blue-eyed guy being promoted” was based on a lie. He had actually been transferred to the national intelligence corps. There, he was ordered to feign injury while eliminating anyone who might threaten state secrets. One of those targets was the boy, who had attracted attention when he ignored orders and entered the enemy camp alone. His superiors ordered him to test the boy by revealing confidential information in order to see where his true loyalties lay.

“Goddammit,” breathes the man when his tale is done.

“GODDAMMIT!”

His emotions take hold, and he lunges at the boy. But the younger soldier calmly dodges the blow and takes a couple of steps back, waiting for an opportunity to deploy the small knife he has hidden on his person.

You came here expecting prey,
thinks the boy.
But in the end, I am the one hunting you.

The man screams and lunges at the boy again, but the attack is sloppy and easily dodged. As his foe lumbers past, the boy pulls his knife from its sheath and draws it across the man’s throat. The blue-eyed man falls to his knees, gasping. He presses his hands against his throat, but the blood simply courses through his fingers. As his heartbeat slows, he leans against a wall and slowly slumps to the floor. The light in his beautiful blue eyes dims. The boy gazes into them quietly.

He does so for a very long time. When he finally comes back to reality, the man is no longer breathing. Sheets of paper from the file are scattered at his feet. He picks up one blood-soaked page and looks it over. It is a list of all the children who had been abducted. The plan had been in place for some time, long enough that many of his superiors and fellow soldiers were likely victims of it. They had been stolen from other countries, incorporated into a new nation, and given fake lives—just as he had been. Unable to collect his chaotic thoughts, he finds himself presented with a cruel truth: By killing a man who was supposed to be on his side, he finds himself with nothing left to trust. Not his country, not his fellow soldiers, and not even himself.

Anger. Sadness. Unease. Fear. Hate.

All these emotions swirl and churn in his heart.

“So then… What should I live for?”

The words that spill from his quivering lips are quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

Recollections of Dusk

Story 1

Children Crossing the Twilight, Part 1
[
]

The summer night swelters. The air is still. A roar of flame climbs over the darkened suburbs and into the starry sky.

The labor camp beyond the barbed wire burns.

An alarm signals an emergency.

“We’re under attack!” cry the guards.

The workers’ footsteps become a frenzied pounding as they seek escape. The sudden fires throw the inside of the building into chaos. A small girl of meager years races down the burning corridor, her wails echoing off the walls.

“Quickly! This way!”

A guard grabs her hand and attempts to pull her away. His plan is to take the sobbing girl away from the fire and outside to safety. But instead, she looks up with frightened eyes and digs her heels in tight. Her response is understandable. For she is a worker at the camp. Her life has been a litany of abuses at the hands of the military, including guards like him. So when he grabs her hand, her fear instinct kicks in, and she is unable to move.

His irritation rising, the guard raises his voice.

“Do as I say, girl! Take advantage of the chaos and get out of—“

His words grind to a halt. The girl stares at the blade that now protrudes from his chest. Someone has stabbed him from behind with a rapier.

“You…”

The guard musters what remains of his hate to turn and face the figure behind him. It is a slim young man with silver hair. In his fading consciousness, the guard recalls a wanted poster he has seen countless times. It showed the image of the young man who now stands before him; of this there is no doubt. The army has been searching for him, for he leads a group of insurgents who attack labor camps such as this. And it is him and his people who caused this chaos.

The bloodied blade slides from the guard’s body. His corpse slips into a puddle of blood on the ground.

“Nnngh…”

The girl trembles to see the tragic sight before her. Her legs are heavy weights. The young man wipes his bloody blade on the fallen guard’s clothes before turning his attention to the girl.

“Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

There is one reason he and his comrades attack the army’s forced-labor camps:

They seek to free children captured by the Infant Abduction Strategy and absorb them into their ranks.

The Infant Abduction Strategy.

It is a secret operation in which this country’s army kidnaps genetically superior children from foreign countries and trains them to be soldiers. Those who prove ill-suited for warfare are instead thrown into labor camps. The young man was abducted as part of this operation. And though he fought for his new country for a short time, he deserted once he learned the truth of his background. Now, he attacks their camps alongside those who are also fueled by a desire for revenge, freeing the laborers before taking them in as companions.

One day, he will find and kill the man responsible for the Infant Abduction Strategy—the man who tore him from his parents and made his life a misery. But in order to accomplish this task, he needs fighters of his own.

A dozen or so of his people wait for him outside the burning camp. The children who had been working there gather around them. As the young man sends the girl over to the others, one of his compatriots—a man with freckles—offers a report:

“He’s still not back.”

He
is one of their fellows who often acts outside of orders.

“Again?”

Unable to hide his irritation, the young man clicks his tongue.

“What’s the plan?” asked the freckled man.

Even if they decide to launch a search, the camp is engulfed in flame. And while they are safe at the moment, enemy reinforcements are surely on the way. But…

“Take the kids and get out of here. I’ll catch up.”

There is no hesitation in the young man’s voice. Once he finishes speaking, he steps back inside the burning camp. Flames billow in every corner. Superheated air burns in his lungs. But the young man with silver hair continues to search for his compatriot—and at last, he finds him.

A boy sits on the ground, his back leaning against the wall. His pitch-black hair—a rare feature in this part of the world—shines brightly in the light of the billowing flames. He has taken a gunshot wound to his leg—but though it has rendered him immobile, it does not appear fatal. The young man sighs in relief before offering a cutting remark:

“Pretty sure this wasn’t where I ordered you to be.”

“I’m not apologizing.”

The black-haired boy is defiant. His gaze drops to the dead soldiers scattered on the ground around him.

“I don’t care about saving kids; I just want to kill as many of these bastards as I can.”

After being taken through the Infant Abduction Strategy, the boy was deemed ill-suited for combat and sent to a labor camp. He now harbors a deep hatred for the soldiers that abused him. As his leader, the young man finds this desire for revenge to be the height of selfishness. But he reprimands the boy no further. Instead, he slings him over his shoulders and silently moves back up the flaming corridor.

Eventually, he manages four words:

“I’m glad you survived.”

They fall from his mouth without warning. The young man understands why his subordinate acts as he does. When he was part of the army, he also made the same mistakes over and over in an attempt to avenge his parents. And every time, it was his captain and squadmates who pulled him from the fire.

The black-haired boy reminds the young man
so
much of his earlier self. And when he thinks of it that way, he finds he cannot abandon him to fate.

Story 2

Children Crossing the Twilight, Part 2
[
]

When he was yet small, the young man’s parents were killed by an enemy army, after which he became a soldier so he might avenge them.

But…

Once his revenge was complete, he was forced to face an empty truth:

Those he believed were his parents were actually not. They were merely a couple attempting to raise a kidnapped child into the perfect soldier.

And…

The person he killed to avenge his parents was his true father.

On that day, he found his resolve. He would seek out and kill the man who devised the Infant Abduction Strategy. The top-secret military operation that had ruined his life. So he gathered people who harbored the same resentment, a group that grew more powerful by the day. They made their headquarters in a corner of a destitute area, acting as a kind of vigilante group in the region.

Violence had once been a staple of life in the area, but since the young man and his group arrived, it had grown safe enough for children to play outdoors.

But…

Today, things are different. A symphony of gunshots and heavy bootheels fills the air. The young man’s compatriots fall in a hail of bullets, their bodies trampled without mercy. Innocent villagers are caught in the crossfire. The group has attacked so many labor camps that the enemy army was finally able to locate their headquarters. As the young man shouts orders in an attempt to repel the siege, the gears in his head continue to turn.

The enemy had marched right into their stronghold without activating any traps or setting off even a single alarm. Even the best-trained soldiers could not accomplish such a feat. It’s as if they knew exactly where to step. Is it possible? Could someone on the inside be providing them intelligence?

As doubt scrambles for purchase in the young man’s heart, he shakes his head. Everyone on his side fights for the same objective; none would ever do such a thing. He shouts another order and draws his sword. As he does, the freckled man rushes to his side.

“I’ll hold them off,” he says. “Take any who can still fight and get out of here.”

The young man opens his mouth, thinking to reject the man’s proposed course of action. But he falters under the man’s straightforward gaze. The freckled man continues:

“We need you to live.”

His eyes bear down on the young man with determination and confidence. He will entrust all that is left to him so he might accomplish their mission: revenge on those who ruined their lives with the Infant Abduction Strategy.

And…

He could not find it in his heart to betray the resolve of his compatriots. That is the answer the young man arrived at.

He takes any who can still move and escapes the burning stronghold. Dawn is still a distant dream. The remaining dozen or so fighters sit together in a remote ruin and speak of what is to come. They have somehow evaded any pursuers along the way. But the army knows the direction in which they took flight, so they cannot escape them for long. And yet, the young man can’t let the responsibility he has been entrusted with go to waste.

“We need to kill the man in charge of the Infant Abduction Strategy before we’re found. Only then will our revenge be complete.”

They know their target is stationed in a domestic military facility. The young man produces a sketched set of facility blueprints they obtained for just this moment, then begins laying our their plan in a hoarse voice. The remaining dozen or so fighters will infiltrate the facility and kill key military personnel. It is a plan most reckless. But if they are going to be tracked down and cornered anyway, fighting is a better option than running. Or at least, that’s how the young man sees it.

“I’m not asking you to come with me,” he continues. “I want as many of you to survive as—“

“I’m going.”

Who interrupts, other than the black-haired boy? The one who acts of his own accord; the one who has caused the young man no end of grief.

“I didn’t stick with you all this time to
survive
,” says the boy. “I did it for revenge.”

When he speaks, the rest nod in determination before raising their voices in support of the plan. And though the young man has nowhere left to turn, he at least has his comrades. Dawn breaks. Faint light flickers in through rural foliage. The silver-haired young man and black-haired boy patrol the area around the ruins in which they hide. Suddenly, the boy comes to a halt, staring up at the vanishing stars. The gruff air he typically carries has faded into the shadows.

“If we fail, we’ll die,” he murmurs.

“Pretty much,” replies the young man.

“But what happens if we succeed?”

The boy levels his gaze on the young man.

“I’ve always wondered that: How am I supposed to live once I have my revenge?”

The young man has no answer. At first, he lived to exact revenge on the foreign soldier who killed his parents, only to learn the man was actually his real father. Since that day, he has lived for revenge on those who kidnapped him as a part of the Infant Abduction Strategy. That thought alone carries him through the endless days of fighting. Now that he thinks about it, vengeance has been his
entire
reason for living. He has forgotten what it is like to live without it.

“We’ll figure it out once it’s over,” says the young man finally. “Until then, we just need to survive.”

The black-haired boy gives a sad smile unlike his typical brusque self.

And…

The young man returns from patrol and falls into his bunk. When he wakes up, he finds the boy gone. All that remains are his belongings. They search his bag and find a single piece of paper. Written on it is the day’s temperature and weather, as well as a description of the townsfolk. The boy’s comrades tilt their head at the nonsensical letter. Why has he left this? But the young man understands.

“It’s a code.”

It is terribly similar to one the military uses, which means they cannot decipher it without a matching decoder. But the question the young man had is now solved. The army had known exactly what to expect when they attacked, and that was most certainly due to…

The young man decides to accept his betrayal.

But…
He remembers how sad the boy’s smile was at dawn. The image is seared into his mind. He will never forget it.

Story 3

Children Crossing the Twilight, Part 3
[
]

The young man wades through waist-deep water along with a dozen or so of his compatriots.

In the dead of night, they are making their way through a sewer. It connects to a canal that surrounds the military facility, and is the optimal path for sneaking in while avoiding detection.

Their destination is the facility’s control room. The man responsible for the Infant Abduction Strategy—the program that took them from their homelands and ruined their lives—should be waiting there. They will kill him, and in doing so have their revenge. That is their plan.

The sewers are silent, save for the occasional ripple of disturbed water. The enemy does not seem to know they are there. But they all know that is likely not the case, and so proceed with the utmost caution. The black-haired boy always acted on his own accord. He left proof he had been working with the enemy before vanishing from the group. But before he did so, they informed him of their plan to infiltrate the facility. Though the young man changed the date, time, and route of the operation, it is likely the black-haired boy told the army enough for them to be on alert. This will doubtless be the most difficult of fights.

At last, they arrive at a ladder leading to the surface. The young man turns to his allies and speaks in a heavy tone. He tells them there is one thing he has to do before killing the person responsible for the Infant Abduction Strategy. He must find the boy who vanished after leaving proof of his betrayal and ask him
why
.

The young man continues:

“If he really was communicating with the enemy, he wouldn’t have left proof for us to find.”

“I saw in his eyes how much he hated our enemy. None of that was false.”

Even now, he trusts the black-haired boy. For he is just as reckless as the young man used to be. The young man knows his request to find the boy is selfish; they don’t even know if he is in the facility at all.

“Anyway, I won’t ask any of you come with me,” concludes the young man as he casts his gaze downward. The rest of his group chuckles.

“We’ve always known how selfish you are, yet we chose to stick by your side. We burn with the same need for revenge as you, yet we also know the boy wouldn’t betray us without some reason.”

These are their words. While the need for revenge may be the warped strand that keeps their group together, they also have a firm bond of trust.

“Thank you,” says the young man.

Together, they climb the ladder and move into the base. The group had steeled themselves for a battle against uncountable enemy soldiers, but security is unnaturally lax.

“They’ll be here any second! Send out the patrols and ready for a counterattack!”

Hearing enemy soldiers yelling orders, the group freezes in place and attempts to get a better idea of what is happening.

But…

“Intruders! Intru—“

The guard’s voice suddenly cuts off of amidst a burst of gunfire. The group has no idea what is happening, which makes the situation all the more dangerous. Yet they have no choice but to take advantage of the chaos and act. They carve a path with blade and bullet, proceeding through the base in search of the black-haired boy. Their destination is the control room, where the young man feels certain he will be found.

His trust in the boy has not wavered; not even when presented with proof of his betrayal. His heart is bound not by logic, but by faith, and it now tells him where to go.

And then…

As the group nears the control room, their eyes widen at the terrible sight before them. Bodies of dead soldiers lie scattered across the quiet hallway. Bullet holes scar the walls around them. The young man has an awful feeling in his gut. His heart pounds in his ears. He takes a moment to calm his breathing, then begins to follow the trail of blood.

Silence hangs heavily around them. Not a single guard stands watch outside the control room—the place where the man responsible for the Infant Abduction Strategy should be. At a wordless signal from the young man, his companions batter down the door.

But…

The room is silent. There is no sign of the enemy leader they are looking for. Instead, there is someone else lying on the floor. His black hair is matted with blood. Breath rattles in his chest as life slowly abandons him. The young man’s eyes widen. As one, the group breaks into a dash and rushes over to the boy.

“H-hey, boss…”

The corner of the boy’s mouth, thick with blood, quirks upward in a half-smile. The young man crouches down and tells him not to speak. As he inspects his wounds, his mind whirls, wondering if there is a way to save him. But his body is riddled with bullets; everyone can see his time is nearly gone. The boy croaks out a hoarse voice, apologizing for his actions before attempting to explain.

The enemy had approached him, offering to put him in contact with his real parents if he turned traitor. But when the army invaded the destitute district and began slaughtering people indiscriminately, he immediately regretted his decision. So he turned his coat again, using his position as their mole to infiltrate the facility and kill the man responsible for the Infant Abduction Strategy. It…did not go well.

As the young man listens to this tale of regret, a thought comes to him: Perhaps they should not forgive the boy for divulging information to the enemy.

But…

Would he have done differently in his place? The young man is not so sure. Can he blame the boy for being led astray because of a desire to find happiness with his family?

“It’s fine,” says the young man. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish the job.”

“Thanks… And maybe one day…”

A melancholy smile spreads across the black-haired boy’s face.

“You can tell me what comes after revenge…”

His words stop. He lies still. The young man watches as his life ends, then quietly gets to his feet. They must keep going. Vengeance will not wait. The boy has killed the guards and plunged the facility into chaos. They cannot waste this opportunity.

Story 4

Children Crossing the Twilight, Part 4
[
]

The black-haired boy infiltrated the military facility as a mole. But after pretending to serve them, he bore his fangs and killed countless guards, causing chaos to descend upon the facility. And though he ultimately perished… His compatriots and allies followed the path he carved and successfully reached the core of the facility.

Now, they continue searching for the man responsible for the Infant Abduction Strategy. An inhumane project wherein the country kidnaps children from neighboring lands to raise as either soldiers or laborers. The boy and his companions are victims of this operation, and their goal is to kill this man and get their revenge.

Dawn approaches. At the gate behind the facility, several shadowy figures mill about in the dark.

“Why aren’t the damned reinforcements here yet!?”

The man who cursed wears a uniform decorated with several medals. He is the person responsible for the Infant Abduction Strategy, and he now runs a nervous hand through his long beard. Unable to hide his irritation in the face of his guards’ failure, he is resorting to chewing out his subordinates.

“The reinforcements will be here in less than ten minutes, sir,” one of his personal retinue tells him. He gestures to a waiting car, inviting the man inside. They will ferry him away to a safe place until the commotion dies down.

But…

Gunshots ring out. Bullets pierce the guards’ heads, sending blood flying. The man realizes what is going on, but by the time he attempts to make his escape, it is far too late. The thin blade of a rapier suddenly pierces his neck from behind, its steel shimmering in the pale light of night. The man feels cold spreading across his body, as well as fear of his upcoming demise.

Suddenly, the voice of a young man whispers low in his ear:

“You have no right to mourn your death; my friends all faced more gruesome ends because of you.”

He then begins to speak of all of the lives he’s seen ruined because of the Infant Abduction Strategy. The children who grew into soldiers, forever ignorant of their pasts. Those children locked in dark, cramped rooms and forced to labor until their last breath. And those who learned of the top-secret operation and met their ends as a result.

As the boy quakes with fury, the man attempts to articulate an apology. But the boy cuts him off.

“Not to me. Apologize to the dead.”

And with that, the man’s light goes out forever. The young man has found his revenge, but in so doing has lost his path home. The rest of his allies had volunteered to hold off the enemy and catch up later, granting the young man a path to vengeance. But none of them have arrived. Instead, all that follows the young man as he flees are reinforcements sent by the military.

Several hours have passed since he escaped the facility. The sky lightens, the sun gradually starting to show its face. Though the young man hid every time he encountered the enemy, he has taken numerous bullets, and his body now nears its end.

He rests on his knees, alone in the shade of a building. The blood that flees his body reddens the ground as it greets the dawn. As the young man sits beneath the rising sun, he feels his consciousness fade.

And yet, he does not mind such an end.

His revenge is complete.

It is all over.

……

…………

………………

“I’m glad you survived.”

There comes a voice from the darkness. It is an old voice, one he heard many times in the past, and one that comes with many memories. It is then he realizes: Though he cannot move and his vision is clouding, he still
lives
.

Off in the distance, he sees a small light. In the light, people wave.

They are…

His parents: the ones who raised him, despite being part of a plot.

His real father: the one he killed with his own hands.

His real mother: the one who brought him into this world.

His squadmates: the ones for whom he caused so much trouble, yet who forgave him all the same.

His compatriots: the ones who believed in him and led him to this point.

It is then that he remembers.

We need you to live.

His allies had risked their lives to ensure his survival. He cannot forget this. They have entrusted so much to his care, and he has somehow survived this long.

And…

Maybe one day, you can tell me what comes after revenge…

He must fulfill his promise to the black-haired boy.

And that

is why

he can’t

die just yet.

But…

……

…………

………………

Earlier this summer, fifteen boys launched a revolt against a military facility. Their objective was to kill the man behind the Infant Abduction Strategy. And while they accomplished their objective, reports claim they paid for it with their lives. The Infant Abduction Strategy was the military’s best-kept secret—its existence unknown to all but a few in power—and they attempted to clean it up in secret.

However, one soldier blew the whistle on the inhumane methods of the operation, and was quickly labeled a hero. As a result, the vice-like grip the military once held over the government is now in decline.

And now…

A lonely young man walks atop an abandoned railroad, flanked on either side by rows of sunflowers. His body is scarred with signs of battle; he had once been so consumed by vengeance that he became a soldier.

He is the one who led the revolt. Reports claim all the children involved in the incident had perished. But he alone had been saved by a hero. He alone survived. He walks along the old railroad. He walks by himself, no blade or pistol at his hip, in search of what comes after revenge.

This is his path.

Summer is coming to an end.

A cool breeze dances among the flowers.
As though gently encouraging him forward.

Hidden Stories

Story 1

Ch. 1: Sweltering Bonds
[
]

I walk along a dilapidated railroad lined by endless fields of sunflowers. High above, an uncaring sun rages against a brilliant blue sky, turning the rows of blossoms into paint-smeared streaks of yellow.

Oh, how I hate it all.

Time is an illusion here. Hunger a constant companion. My steps fall one after the other after the other, until I finally see a tunnel begin to materialize in the heat-shimmer distance. And on the other side of it, a foreign city.

This country used to kidnap children in an effort to improve its gene pool, you see. And while the victims were spirited from countries across the world, the majority came from the city at the other end of this tunnel—the city that is my true home. And that is why I walk through the pain and the smells and the hunger and the heat: in the hope it all somehow leads me to the truth.

A woman stands at the tunnel entrance. She’s maybe in her mid-40s, with a staff in her hand. Her steely eyes stare unblinkingly at the sunflowers, but as I attempt to slip past, she spins around and whips a blade out of the top of her staff. I manage to block it with my own, and we stand there a moment, frozen in time.

“What business does a soldier have in a place like this?” she asks, ire in her voice. “I know that sword you hold. It took the lives of countless numbers of my countrymen.”

In truth, I’d brought the sword with me when I deserted the army, which is why it has a military insignia on the scabbard. To me, it’s just a weapon—but to this woman, it is the sign of her most hated enemy.

“Found it on the ground,” I say casually. Clearly unconvinced by my answer, she makes her move. Our blades begin to ring back and forth in a blur of iron and steel. Her blows are relentless, her strength otherworldly. Any advantage I may have had is long gone, and as I desperately attempt to fend her off, she lands a firm blow on the pit of my stomach, crumpling me to the ground.

The woman looms over me, blocking out that brilliant blue sky. She raises her blade above her head and prepares to claim my life, but before she can act, another voice calls out from inside the tunnel.

“Captain! Enemy approaching!”

An enemy attack? No. Oh, no.

As my attacker lowers her weapon and turns to face this new threat, I manage to tilt my head toward the disturbance. It’s a squadron of soldiers all dressed in the familiar uniform of my old intel corps. Were they here for
me
? Did they really follow me all the way out here?

“Beat them back!” cries the captain. “Do not let them touch the sunflowers!”

On her command, armed villagers pour out of the tunnel and begin battling my old companions. They fight well, these commoners—better than I would have expected. But before I can see more, the pain of my wounds floods through me, turning the sounds of gunfire and screams into the hush of distant rain on a windowpane before fading out altogether.

Story 2

Ch. 2: Sunflower Child
[
]

“You don’t have much of a talent for housework, I see.”

This scolding comes as I sweep the living room, and I turn to see the owner of this house: the same captain who attacked me on the railroad two days prior. She was permitting me to stay in a spare room by way of apology for injuring me—which would have been a kinder gesture had she not also demanded that I clean and run errands to pay for room and board.

“I’m leaving for patrol. Make sure you clean every inch of this place. Got it?”

This border city lives in constant danger of invasion, and the captain leads a militia that helps to keep it safe. She apparently attacked me because she thought I was the enemy—a mistake put to rights the moment she saw my former intel companions arrive and attempt to kill me. Regardless, I’ve had enough of this arrangement; I’m going to leave this house tonight if it’s the last thing I do. But as I whip the broom around and send dust flying through the air, the air is split by a sudden thunder so loud it almost tears my ears from their moorings.

Shaking the cobwebs free, I rush to a nearby window and see a cannon firing a giant ball of water high into the sky. The unusual missile flies through the air and tunnel before bursting apart and showing the fields of sunflowers on either side of the railroad tracks. The droplets glitter as they fall through the blue, and I find myself utterly entranced by the sight.

“We lost so many children,” murmurs the captain behind me.

“So many stolen from us. We planted a sunflower for every one of them.”

As she says this, I realize one of those flowers was planted for me. On the heels of that, I suddenly imagine a man looking at the flowers and thinking of his kidnapped child. He’s a soldier—the same one I killed to take revenge for my family. But in truth, the parents I had cared for and loved so dearly were the same people who kidnapped me from my home all those years ago. And the other man? The one I killed for revenge?

Well, he was my true father.

“So many of us are still waiting for their sunflowers to come home. Even now. Even still.”

The woman’s voice brings me back to reality, but I don’t want to see the shadow I know is clouding her eyes. So instead of replying, I look away—because I don’t have the time or patience to deal with such nonsense.

When midnight arrives, I gather my things and leave the house. My injuries were manageable, and I’d had more than my share of chores—but more importantly, I wanted to learn more about the abductions. After walking for a while, I come to one of the city’s main avenues and spy the captain hurrying along with a lantern in her hand.

My curiosity piqued, I hide in the shadows and follow the bouncing glow of her lamp until we arrive at the other side of the tunnel, where she walks over to a sunflower and begins to whisper to herself. But the night is still, and her hush carries to my position. It’s a name—the same name, said in a rush over and over and over again.

I take a step backward.

Two.

I don’t want to believe what I’m hearing, but my ears do not lie. Because the name the captain is repeating to the uncaring night?

It’s mine.

Story 3

Ch. 3: Sin’s Shadow
[
]

I set the bucket down next to the cannon and attempt to stretch the cricks out of my back. Every morning, this cannon fires water across the sky and over the sunflowers that stand sentinel at the entrance to the city. But all that water doesn’t carry itself, so it’s the job of the town militia to fill the buckets and carry them up and down, up and down, over and over again. And as the newest member of the militia, I’m now achingly familiar with exactly how lousy the job is.

“Thanks for the help, new guy,” says a brawny man as he picks up my bucket. He dumps it into the cannon with a practiced hand, then turns to me and smiles.

“This might get loud.”

An earth-shattering explosion rings out, sending a sphere of water flying towards the edge of the city. As I look down from the platform upon which we’re perched, I see children playing on an abandoned train car; they look up and cheer with delight as the orb soars overhead.

“Captain started this whole cannon business six months ago,” says my burly companion as we wipes sweat from his forehead. “Thought she was nuts at first, but now it’s the highlight of everyone’s day. Go figure.”

“Well, I still think it’s nuts. Haven’t you people ever heard of a hose?”

The other man grins. “This ain’t about being efficient; Captain wants to prove that weapons can be used for more than just killing. Came up with the idea right around the time her husband dies in battle, so maybe that’s where it came from.”

The captain’s husband? He was my real father—and the very man I killed. But I can’t let on to this, so I give a vague mumble in reply and climb down from the observation deck. There’s still plenty of work to be done, after all.

In the afternoon, I head to the market with the captain to purchase items for soldiers who’ve been injured in battle. Once we pick up whatever they need, we’ll bring it to them ourselves. Between hauling water and playing delivery boy, this is easily the most boring militia I’ve ever heard of—and yet, I find myself sticking around.

“I’ve got this one,” I say, taking a package from the captain’s hands.

“I don’t need your help,” she says sternly before breaking out into the smile that I’d started seeing more and more over the past few weeks. “But…I appreciate it.”

Later, we arrive at the soldiers’ homes with the provisions. The captain hands them over and engages with each and every person in conversation. I’ve never been much for idle chit-chat, so I pass the time by loitering in the yard.

After several such visits, we come to a house where she stays inside much longer than usual. From where I stand, it seems to be a conversation between friends; the patter is rapid, and I hear frequent peals of laughter from the pair of them.

After waiting around for what I consider to be a generous period of time, I finally lose my patience and storm into the house to hurry things along. But when my eyes lock onto the other person in the room—a man with a prosthetic leg—the laughter suddenly stops. The joy and color drains from the man’s face as an ominous mood settles over the room.

“YOU!” cries the man. With a speed that belies his injury, he leaps from the couch, tackles me to the floor, and wraps his hand around my throat. “I’ll never forget you! Never! NEVER!”

“Stop it! Get off him!”

The captain wraps her arms around the man and yanks him off me as he continues to protest. I want to tell him to stop—I want to
scream.
But my breath has abandoned me, and all I can do is pray that it returns.

“He’s the one, Captain! He’s the enemy soldier who killed your husband!”

Silence. Deafening. Eternal.

“Is this true?” asks the captain with a trembling voice. I want to respond, but my body is shaking too hard. I’ve never been this scared—not in any battle, not from any man. The silence grows and thickens until it feels like it will smother the life out of the three of us and leave nothing behind but dust.

“Get out of here. Leave. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

I start to stammer something—some pathetic explanation—but she turns to me with blade in hand, just as she did the first day we met. Yet the look in her eyes is much fiercer that it was then; a wild thing that shows a person on the edge of losing everything that might possibly make her human.

“NOW!”

My quivering legs somehow propel me out of the house and through the streets of town. I curse my stupidity as I run, bemoaning how I’d stayed with the captain in some pathetic attempt to repent for how I’d torn her life apart. But here’s the funny thing: I actually thought I could do it. I actually thought I might be able to make amends.

Ah, but that was the wish of a fool.

Story 4

Ch. 4: Midnight Flames
[
]

I urge myself forward.

One more step and my ragged breath echoes in the dark. One more step and my lungs burn pure fire. One more step. One more step. One more step.

“I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

The Captain’s words play in my brain without pause, which is why I’d originally planned to never return to the city after the night I abandoned it three months prior. But then I learned it had fallen into enemy hands, so now I am running back, running with everything I have, all so I might reach a woman who wants nothing more than to never see me again.

I finally reach the city’s rear gates and step through. Taking a deep breath, I look around, my eyes scarcely able to process what they see.

The hardy merchants who kept trading despite short supplies. The disciplined members of the militia. The children who loved to play in the abandoned train cars. All the people who once made the city a living, breathing thing are now charred corpses smoking on the ground. The world is silent and still, save for the occasional gust of wind and the uncaring crackle of flame.

Eventually, I discover the body of the brawny militia member in the rubble of what remains of the cannon. The pungent scent of gunpowder is still strong, even through it was now used to fire water. As I press on, I find only death. A familiar face here, a name on the wind there. But what I cannot seem to find is the body of the Captain—the very reason I came back in the first place.

Could it be? Is it possible?

Instinct quickly bubbles into outright conviction, and I set off at a run for the sunflowers she loved above all things. But when I emerge on the other side of the tunnel, I’m horrified to find the fields ablaze, the flowers transformed into an endless river of fire under the dark night sky. Against their light, I finally see a familiar figure lying on the tracks.

I race to the Captain’s side and take an involuntary step back, aghast. Her body is an ocean of bloody wounds, her breath a rasp. How many had she fought to get here? How many of them did it take to finally lay her low?

“I’m…sorry…”

Her mouth parts slightly as these words escape, and I drop to my knees and cradle her in my arms. She’s cold—
so
cold. How can someone be this cold when everything around us is nothing but fire and madness?

“I just wanted…to see my boy…”

Each of the sunflowers planted here represented a child that was stolen. So the Captain didn’t see them as flowers, but her son. That was why she came at the end of her life.

“I just wanted to see him…”

She repeats the phrase over and over, losing a little more of herself in the process.

“I just wanted to see him…

I just wanted to see him…

I just wanted to see him…”

But he’s here, Mom.

He’s right in front of you.

I wanted to tell her the truth, but I also knew it would make her last moments even more painful. After all, I was the same person who’d killed her husband not six months before. So instead, I hold her hand in mine and say nothing. Eventually it slips from my grasp and settles on the ground. A petal from one of the sunflowers drifts out of the fire and flutters toward us, and by the time it joins her hand on the earth, she is gone.

“I’ll come see you someday.” I whisper. “I swear it.”
But as sparks crackle off the sunflowers and drift away into the gloomy night, it feels like the dawn has never been so far away.

Story 5

Child of Revenge
[
]

Carrier: All right, time for handoff!

Substitute: Boy…revenge…

Carrier: I see. A boy soldier entrapped by feelings of revenge, is it?

Substitute: Violent…fighting…

Carrier: Uncooperative and brutish, you say? Always arguing with someone?

Substitute: But…scared…acts to…

Carrier: Mmm-hmm. He acts to hide his past cowardice. Yes, yes, of course. A tale old as time!

Substitute: …kind…

Carrier: Yet he shows his kind side every now and again.

Substitute: Frees…bugs… Feeds…cats…

Carrier: He even sets lost bugs free and feeds stray cats? Well, doesn’t that just beat the band!

Substitute: Squad…him…

Carrier: And every member of the squad adores him. Goodness, were he not born into an age of war, he might have been but a regular boy.

Substitute: ……up.

Carrier: Come again, chum? Couldn’t quite hear you there.

Substitute: ……up!

Carrier: What!? There’s a part of the boy’s hair that’s always pointing up, you say!?

Story 6

Dear Captain
[
]

Lemme start by saying I wasn’t originally going to reply. But there are weird people out there who respect you and will be annoyed if I don’t, and I can’t deal with them anymore. So here we go.

Sorry my laundry isn’t good enough. I’ll do better.

Sorry for not cooperating in the kitchen. I’ll do better.

Sorry for arguing with the other soldiers. I’ll do better.

Oh, and sorry I don’t conduct myself as a member of the team. I’ll do better.

There. The end. Also, you don’t have to write me any more letters. We’re in the same squad, and you’re not my father. In fact, I’ve been living just fine without parents for a while now, so maybe stop the nagging.

Oh, but I know you saved my ass on our last mission, and I intend to repay that debt. So thanks for that, I guess. This is both the last time you’ll hear me say “thank you” and the last time I’ll ever write you a letter. Bye.

Story 7

Documents Re: The Deserter
[
]

                                 
TOP SECRET                                  

Superior motor functions.

Off-the-chart intelligence.

This child is special, and clearly surpasses the other “sons” we have raised so far. Indeed, we have procured a particularly fine specimen.

Genuine cowardice, an overly-kind disposition—these are minor faults in the grand scheme of things. And yet, weaknesses can often create a sharper bite. One might even say such imperfections are a kind of benefit, in the end.

Even more delightful is how he displayed a willingness to become a soldier of his own accord. As his “parents,” we must express excitement for the day he becomes a hero of our country and changes this world for the better.

Author: ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜

Story 8

A Bloody Page
[
]

REGARDING THE RECENT KIDNAPPINGS

• Our enemy has enacted an operation to kidnap infants from our country.

• Though the kidnappings have ramped up in recent years, this operation was first set in motion 30 years ago.

• Targets are infants from families thought to be of good military stock.

• Children are handed off to fake parents and then “educated” through love.

• Children not considered suitable are reported to be collected by “orphanages.”

• This operation is carried out with utmost secrecy.

=============
[
]

I know our son is being brainwashed by their evil ideals right now. In fact, soon I won’t even be able to call him my son anymore.

My wife seems ready to wait an eternity for his return, but I think that is madness. Accepting someone who has been tainted by the enemy’s ideals—even if it
is
my own son—would spell the downfall of this nation. No, I will not welcome him home. In fact, if I ever see him again, I will cut him down without hesitation or mercy.

Story 9

Torn Page
[
]

The neighboring country abducts out children and raises them as soldiers. They call it “Infant Abduction St██████.”

█ years ago, a boy who fell victim to this plan was taken into custody and ████ed his desire to return to his fa████. At first, we thought he was happy to reunite with real parents, ███ he was already tainted by the enemy’s ideals.

Despite their initial joy, █t was not long before the boy and his parents ████ to hate each other, and ██████████████ ███, their family ceased to be. Murder suicide. The mother set fire to the house, and everything turned to ███.

==================================
[
]

██ short, it’s difficult to undo the brainwashing inflicted on these ████████. ██ I were to reunite with my kidnapped ████ ████████, I would have to strike him down with my own hands—I am his ██████ after all.

But █████ he even realize who I am? Does he even know about

*Please check fragments in the file to view the parts that have been torn or otherwise damaged.

Story 10

The Last Page
[
]

I need to talk about my vacation.

I came home for the first time in a long while and found the house filled with dust and mold. It felt abandoned, and it made me wonder if my wife—who leads the city’s self-defense force—had even come home, or if she just spent all her time patrolling the streets.

I want to keep this city safe.

He might come home one day, after all.

The last time we sat down to dinner together, she told me why she continues to wield her blade. But as a soldier myself, I found her words hard to accept. I mean, how can we even entertain the idea of welcoming home a child who has been brainwashed by the enemy?

But my wife dismissed my concerns and doubled down:

Better a tragic reunion than to never see him again.

With my vacation over, I leave the city, stopped only to plant a seedling along the abandoned tracks that lead into town. I want it to bloom into a sight that shows the way to those returning home—or at least that’s what I told the florist when I bought it. That’s why I chose the most brilliant flower, a seed that would bloom into petals that could be seen from miles away.

I have no idea if knowing the truth will bring our son happiness, but maybe it’s all right for me to have hope. And because of that, I’ve been praying that my wife and son might see each other again one day.

But I’ve prayed enough. It’s time to act.