Six Months in the Abyss
After the fierce battle, several transport ships and recon drones arrived at the now-quiet sea city to recover their respective Nexus units. Scarab's machine was relatively intact, though the pilot had lost his mind. Anon's was wrecked, but the pilot was unharmed. And then...
"......"
Hermann fell silent upon seeing Rabe, secured by the rescue team. It was a miracle she was even alive. The generator had melted down, on the verge of a massive explosion, but the weakened boosters had caused it to sink instead, averting total disaster. Still, that was just the difference between explosion and drowning. Fortunately, the sea city was Nest's forward outpost, so the waiting personnel rushed in and prevented the worst. But...
Hermann began to wonder. Was this truly the worst? The cables forming her central nervous system had been ripped out entirely, and the internals were charred. Her brain was cooked, and her organs were as damaged as when she'd first arrived at Nest—no part intact.
"Ugh..."
Even if she recovered from that state, some part of her body would surely be crippled forever. She was a girl who burned everything for some inexplicable obsession even he couldn't understand. As he'd told Sonya, he was an outsider. No words of his would reach her.
"The mission... success."
He forced a calm facade. They'd achieved their goal, yet Hermann felt more powerless than ever.
Hermann wasn't the only one writhing in powerlessness. Scarab regained consciousness shortly after being recovered to the transport ship and thrashed about, grinding his teeth.
"This isn't it! This can't be...!!"
Again. He'd lost again. And in the most humiliating way imaginable. His machine unscathed, foaming at the mouth and passing out alone—what defeat could be more pathetic? In that final moment, even in his dazed state, he'd known the battle was over because his Nexus was still functional. He'd also noticed Rabe's machine go silent.
So it was natural he'd thought: 'Could I kill her now?'
Pouring firepower into a disabled machine for the kill shot. If it was just about winning, it would've been the perfect opportunity. Recalling how he'd trembled, gripping the controls, Scarab screamed.
"There's no way I'd settle for that shit!!!"
Winning by any means, slaughtering a helpless opponent—that held no meaning. He hadn't climbed back into a Nexus for such a cheap victory. What Scarab truly wanted... he finally understood clearly.
Not just victory, but a true clash of skill. Perhaps an outdated gambler's pride.
"A dying bastard... no interest... fair and square... properly..."
He had to get stronger. Much stronger. Rabe had neutralized him in an instant, barely glancing his way as if he weren't worth her time. He could still see her chatting idly with that rookie they'd been hired with. She'd undervalued him even more than the newbie.
And Scarab, having seen the rookie's moves, dimly accepted that fact in his heart.
"I'll remember this shitty treatment. Next time, I'll make sure...!!"
But confirmation from cold reality stung more than any fabrication. Trapped in the stifling cockpit, Scarab chewed on his helplessness and vowed revenge. Someday, he'd force Rabe to her knees. He'd pay back the karma of losing both arms twice over.
Anon. Or rather, once Rabe, and before that, another name entirely. His callsign ANON was just short for anonymous—like any generic internet handle.
His past name now a blur, he stared at his trembling pinky finger.
"Pushing to your absolute limit wrecked you like this. Your nervous system overloaded. Might be a lifelong disability."
Sonya loomed over him, delivering her verdict.
"Naturals like you—congenital adapters—sync high with machines, but it can backfire. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I thought... that was the only way to shake her off."
Sonya paused, then pressed.
"Not some bullshit excuse?"
"Blindly running would've let her exploit the gap. I'd have gone down faster."
Sonya didn't pry further at the boy's calm explanation. He had no talent for lies. Probably the truth. As she tried to accept that, he continued.
"And maybe... I thought it was a kind of courtesy."
"Courtesy?"
"She came at me full throttle... so I figured I should meet her with the same."
"What does that even...?"
"It just felt like the right thing."
Incomprehensible. Even more than his prior explanation. Had he wagered his life just to dance to her tune?
Reading the silent question in Sonya's expression, the boy replied.
"Anyway, I'm alive. That's good enough."
"You little shit, that's not the point."
No use lecturing further—he wouldn't get it. Not as dense as their last opponent, but still off in the head somewhere. Sighing, Sonya leaned down to fit an auxiliary device on his shaking pinky.
Then the boy murmured.
"Wonder if she's okay."
"...Who? That callsign thief?"
Worrying about the enemy now? His blank expression revealed nothing, as always. A real mystery, this kid she'd picked up. Sonya swallowed her thoughts.
"Why worry about her? She kept fighting in that state— even if she survived, normal life’s off the table."
"I see..."
"Forget piloting; survival’s the issue. You won’t see her again. ...Why care?"
The boy clammed up. Assuming no answer forthcoming, Sonya gripped his hand, meticulously attaching the device. As she straightened, he finally spoke.
"Just felt sorry for her."
"Sorry? For that lunatic? Why?"
"Those moves... only someone with nothing important in life could pull them off. No attachment to living... it was kinda pitiful."
He paused.
"And here I am, full of regrets."
"To me, you seem beyond regrets—barely any immediate desires. What do you want for dinner?"
"Whatever you want, Sonya."
"See? That's what I mean. Worry about what's in front of you first."
"Huh. Yeah."
He scratched his head— with the augmented hand, startling at the alien feel and pulling it away. Sonya chuckled, turning.
"Mission's done, solid results. Special dinner tonight. Look forward to it."
"Yay..."
The boy stood and followed her.
My consciousness wandered restlessly. Flashing, flipping, contracting, expanding, surging up then crashing down. I'd surface only to sink into the depths again. Time lost meaning as I hovered in limbo, drifting through delirium.
I saw absurd, contextless hallucinations, groaned in hellish agony. Suddenly soaked in inexplicable joy, laughing wildly; then numb in unexplained void.
The first time I fully realized I was awake, everything was pitch black. I'd barely registered it as a darkened hospital room before blacking out again.
Next, my whole body slick with clammy sweat. Too hot... sticky. Wanted to rip it all off. Squirming under what felt like sheets triggered agony everywhere, and I passed out.
Next, under harsh surgical lights. Next, the sound of scalpel slicing flesh before forced sleep. In the ensuing haze, only black and red.
Thus I wandered an endless abyss. How long would these stifling visions repeat? As human sensations faded...
The eons ended. I faced the world again. Body like ash ready to crumble, frail to the bone. Barely rolling my blurry eyes to scan dimly, a voice echoed—directionless, from everywhere.
-"It's been six months, Rabe."
Probably Hermann's voice.