Disgustingly Clear Skies
The weather today was disgustingly clear. I stared blankly up at the sky, thin as frayed threads, and thought so. Once again I had been wandering the streets with my mind empty. The empty part mattered. Walking had become little more than habit now. Stepping outside and drifting like this made up the bulk of my daily routine. Nothing special at all.
“Huu.” I drew in a deep breath. The city air was, of course, nothing but stale. I rubbed my ankle after it had twisted on a loose chunk of pavement. It’s so damn soft it makes me want to puke, seriously. The sigh that followed came out in heavy gusts.
Once, I had hated this frail, useless body so much that I tried every stupid thing—exercise, strict diets, the works. Now even that resentment had worn down into resignation. I simply lived as I lived. Whether it produced results or not. I grumbled to myself. Still, it wasn’t entirely bad. I had spent nearly half my life inside the ear-splitting roar of gunfire and exploding shells; this kind of quiet peace felt fresh.
The rumble of cars racing down the roads, the wail of air ambulances slicing across the sky—those sounds were part of the peace. They were a different texture of noise from the artillery of the battlefield. Rumors said the city was expanding like a living thing, devouring everything without discrimination. Unregistered populations swelled by the tens of millions each year, spawning ghost stories. But for now, it was peaceful. Nothing like the war when people were literally ground into paste. Compared to the Reconstruction War where billions died, this was paradise.
Yeah.
“Haa.”
Yet there was one problem: I could not settle into daily life. Just that. It might seem trivial, but it was the number-one culprit in carving away a person’s mind. A compulsive sense of duty kept sabotaging my rest. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, only a vague, heavy obligation that refused to leave. Pure junk data.
At the very least, I moved my body out of habit to try and dissolve that unpleasant duty. That was how the walking habit started. Of course, it never quite relieved the frustration the way I hoped. Something… something bigger was needed. One solid strike to smash the discontent. Preferably something fierce.
Useless thoughts. I shook my head. Anyway, after walking for a long while, loud advertisements finally made me lift my gaze. I stood at a crowded crosswalk thick with people. Wandering aimlessly had carried me into the heart of the downtown shopping district.
My eyes drifted to the clothing store right beside me. In the street-facing window, outfits arranged according to dress codes were on display—tuxedos with biometric security, dresses designed to enhance the body’s lines. And reflected on the glass was my own figure.
“…”
My dazed mind snapped back to reality. In the glass stood a small girl who did not even reach 150 centimeters. Compared to my former sturdy build, she was noticeably tiny. Her skin was darkly tanned yet still carried an undertone of white that refused to be hidden. Ugly, deep scars marred various places across her body, and a long one cut across her left eye. Platinum hair, pale in contrast to the sun-browned skin, was tied back in a single bundle and twisted up. The clothes were baggy like something street hippies would wear, stripping away any trace of girlishness. Though faint traces of training remained in the form of lean muscle on her delicate frame, she hardly looked strong enough to use it. Overall, an unbalanced girl.
And though I had barely acknowledged it while walking, I could no longer ignore it now even if I wanted to. That was me. A body so cursed with weakness and softness that the only remnant of a soldier’s bearing was the scars. “……”
I chewed on the reality in a daze. Then, letting out a groan-like “Aah,” I drew in a breath that came dangerously close to a scream.
“Aah!”
I staggered and collapsed onto a nearby bench with a heavy thud. Even though I had just thrown a pathetic tantrum in the middle of the street, no one paid me any attention. Everyone was simply hurrying along their own paths.
I rested my chin on the bench and stared vacantly at the sky. I had needlessly dragged myself back to reality. It would have been better for both body and mind to stay lost in the past. Thinking about useless things like this…
What a pathetic life.
How had it come to this? The only thing I had ever learned in my entire life was how to fight, yet here I was, forcibly stitching myself into the ill-fitting clothes of peace and pretending to be a half-witted little girl. Right after I ended up in this body I couldn’t even adapt; I kept stumbling, falling, and collapsing after just a few steps. I had grown used to it, sure. But what was the point of getting used to it? It held no meaning. None.
With a body like this, I could never fight again. I was just an idiot who consumed food for nothing. An unemployed, worthless piece of trash. My only purpose had been as a soldier, yet I couldn’t even fight. My skin would be riddled with holes from a single bullet—what kind of Hound was that? I couldn’t even call myself an enhanced human anywhere. Did a soldier of that corporation really need to stand on tiptoe just to open the refrigerator? It was a waste of the entire Hound designation.
Besides, it was embarrassing. Having to answer questions about whether I had such twisted tastes was awkward enough. I ruffled my hair roughly, unable to endure the shame. The moment I became aware again, anxiety surged up, the feeling that I had become useless. The skills I had spent my whole life honing had been rendered completely worthless just because my body was swapped out. Self-loathing bubbled up in thick waves.
“Haa.”
Then, suddenly, I changed my expression completely and lowered my head. I looked down at the legs exposed beneath my short pants.
It’s fine.
I had seen these legs countless times. It was about time I got used to them. Years had passed. The war had ended long ago. There was nothing good about being the only one still chained to the past. I wondered how the other Hounds were living. I tried to picture it, but nothing pleasant came to mind. The ones who survived were probably in similar situations to mine. All of them were likely trapped inside these weak, soft bodies, wasting their days away. Yeah, living off the meager support money that barely lasted a month.
I slapped my knees and stood up. As if the panic attack had never happened, I began walking the streets again. The air was stale and offered no pleasure in breathing, but what did it matter? I wasn’t walking to enjoy sensations like that. I simply had to move my body. Only then could I burn away all this unpleasant energy. I was gently soothing a body that ached from being unable to fight.
I spat out a clump of phlegm that wasn’t even there out of habit, then stamped my loose sneakers firmly against the ground. A cigarette butt brushed against my fingers in my pocket, but I had no desire to smoke it yet. That was a tool reserved for the absolute last moment—when I was mentally cornered and could no longer control my rage. Using it while I was still sane would only make my body reject the toxins; I would end up coughing pathetically and wasting a perfectly good butt.
I emptied my head again. Then, following another habit, I glanced at the adapter still embedded in my arm—the mark that I had once been a Hound. The standardized ports drilled into my wrist and forearm still felt familiar. I could almost smell the gunpowder at the tip of my nose.
Meaningless.
It was all just obsession. I was simply longing uselessly for a past I could never return to. I comforted myself with that thought and kept walking through the deep shadows cast by the skyscraper canyons.
“…?”
It happened when I reached a four-way intersection. Across the crosswalk, I saw a familiar face. A young man with vivid blond hair cut short and spiky like a hedgehog. Liam.
What is he doing here?
He had once been a comrade. In other words, Liam had also been a corporate soldier. Unlike me, however, he had specialized in equipment and machinery rather than combat. A mechanic, I think. Hounds had their entire bodies—brains excluded—replaced with cybernetics and implants, so people like him were essential. We were closer to machines than living beings.
And among them, Liam had been my personal mechanic.
Now he seemed to be a civilian; he wore plain clothes. He stood at the edge of the street with the weary expression of someone who had seen it all, a cigarette clamped between his lips as he took heavy drags.
Should I at least say hello?
I tapped my foot pointlessly against the ground. Flexing my toes nervously somehow calmed my mind a little.
I wonder how he’ll react after so long.
I tried to imagine Liam’s face. There was a lot to say. Fine. Talking to him a bit can’t hurt. I ended my hesitation. There was no need for complicated worries. The moment the light changed, I walked straight toward him.
Looks like he isn’t planning to cross.
Even after the signal changed, Liam remained at the curb, still smoking. He seemed lost in thought. Perhaps that was why he didn’t notice me until I stood right beside him. I stared up at him openly.
Liam was easily twice my height. Back then I had been a full head taller, looking down at him.
“…?”
He sensed my movement and lowered his gaze slightly. The moment he recognized me, he flinched hard enough to drop his cigarette butt.
“S-Senior!”
“Yeah.”
It seemed uncomfortable for him to look down at me. He fidgeted restlessly. Or perhaps it was guilt. Liam avoided my eyes for a long time, glancing everywhere else, before finally opening his mouth.
“It has been a long time, ma’am.”
What should I say? My lips moved, but no words came out. There were so many things I wanted to ask, so many things I wanted to accuse him of. Why did you betray us? Why did you have to side with the corporation instead of us? Those clichéd, obvious questions. Before anger or confusion, only a dull haze filled my mind. Strangely, my heart refused to burn the way I thought it should.
I don’t think I can talk like this while sober.
I slowly looked around. A tavern caught my eye. Would alcohol make it better? Of course it would. This time, I would drink enough to get drunk.
“S-Senior?”
I glanced toward the tavern. From my expression, he seemed to understand my intention. Without a word, Liam followed behind me as I headed for the bar.