Epilogue: The Revolver's Shadow and Hermes' Summons
The girl was spinning a revolver on the back of her hand. Judging by the indirect muscle response signals, it was quite a heavy weapon for her to handle.
Click.
She gripped the barrel, broke it open to check the cylinder, and there were five rounds loaded. A standard cylinder held six, but one chamber was empty—she'd already used a bullet. Had she filled it completely intending to fire just one shot? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment thing?
It was a single-action revolver, so old it belonged in a museum.
The girl twirled it this way and that, then—knowing full well the danger—pointed the muzzle at herself. Was she chasing a thrill, or just peering down the barrel to check the rounds inside? She brought it right up to her eye.
Even as she did that, it stayed silent, unmoving.
But suddenly, the girl gripped the revolver like she'd seen that man do and pressed it to her temple.
!! RABE!!
Only then did it shout. The girl's reaction was minimal. But the signals showed she was startled. No outward response, but tiny muscles contracting reflexively were detected.
…Handling a firearm like that is dangerous.
"I know," Rabe said, placing the revolver firmly on the table beside her. Then she wheeled her chair out of the living quarters in the mobile hangar.
Heading unconsciously to the gangway's central control panel in the middle. Tapping randomly with no purpose, designing a Nexus…
The machine intelligence embedded in the girl's head watched with sad eyes.
If it had any.
Inside, it was filled with fog… endless gray mist. No sense of direction, senses dulled and blocked so it wouldn't react. Alone, adrift on a foggy sea.
What should it do for her?
[…….]
The machine intelligence knew the answer. There was nothing special it could do.
The girl was the girl, the program was the program. No matter how many times it tried…
Bedtime, Rabe. Time to readminister medication.
"I know."
So it knew the only thing it could do was stay with her until the end.
A. Saber was dead, and the experimental zone around the Anatolian Peninsula had been incinerated.
But before dying, he'd leaked plenty of info outward, so it was only a matter of time before the veiled project's true nature was exposed.
About a month later, one anti-corporate faction, Hail Mary, led a coalition of groups in issuing a joint statement.
It popped up huge on the internet homepage the moment I logged in, so I checked it out right away. Chapter 2 ends, and this epilogue-style story plays out, but seeing it as live footage hits different.
In the game, it was just the narrator reciting lines, but here some general-looking old guy was yelling passionately.
I rested my chin on my hand, watching bored.
A string of anti-corporate faction names gets rattled off. But these guys, who never had the resources to strike back at corps before—could they really mobilize like this out of nowhere?
As if.
The only reason they could was because corps were backing them too.
Not every corp joins the Survival Project. And its goal? Developing a superweapon that could reshape the world order.
If that gets built, every rival corp not in on the project goes bankrupt.
So now that the project's outline is leaking, stirring up outrage over its ethics, those rivals are openly funding anti-corp groups to oppose it.
Should've just invited other outside corps to join the project—none of this would've happened.
But I know how pie-in-the-sky "let's all prosper together" is.
Still, pathetic they couldn't even manage basic politicking to prevent this.
Anyway.
Galante at the center… Seia Alliance, Pangea Corporation…
On the surface, corps vs. anti-corps. In reality, corps vs. corps.
Not total puppets, though. Just aligned interests. In the end, no lofty ideals—just cold, hard pragmatism.
Anyway… Chapter 2's wrapping up, huh.
Doesn't mean the world…
Of course, the world changes big-time.
But my world? Not much.
Still, felt like clearing a hurdle—body going all limp.
"……."
I recalled the player's path so far.
Up to Chapter 2, no massive divergences by route yet.
But in this world, what choices is the guy making?
Remember Don Quixote…
The third route. Not great for the world.
Raiding industrial complexes, brutally suppressing Huntland protests… And if you stick to the route consistently, maybe severing every energy line to an anti-corp stronghold city, massacring the populace.
Sure, situations lead there, and corps commission it, but.
This route shoves the world's ugly underbelly in your face constantly.
What does the player think seeing all that?
I could guess, but it's not my place.
Player's choice. No point meddling if I don't like the route.
And it's not like I hate it.
The world burning? Kinda… a base thrill to it.
Doing bad shit and still grinning—that hot, inexpressible rush.
Anyway, I'm not the player.
With that one statement sparking chaos, accusations flying every which way… I scanned it all coldly, then flopped back down.
Body felt heavy. Between chapters now, right on the cusp of world-shaking events.
In this interlude, what do I do…?
The empty space left hanging… Just drowsy.
Blink, blink.
Drifting off into shallow sleep. Dozing slow like this always leads to sleep paralysis.
Heart racing, breath shallow.
In that faint REM haze, chaotic dreams hit.
Dreams out of control. Nightmarish images piling up.
Scary, chest caving in, but…
That's just how the world is. The world is terrifying.
…Rabe.
Woke up. Rinne called in the dream.
Straddling dream-reality border, awareness snapped back quick.
Whole body soaked in cold sweat.
Dream fading. Left with a gross, heavy mood.
No real. Just… that.
What's up?
Request received from Hermes Network.
I sat up, narrowing my eyes.
From where?
Hermes Network.
Mercenary broker corp. Rare neutral player—serves anti-corps or corps alike, long as they pay.
And since the player's a merc, big presence in the game system.
Hermes Network sending a request…
Only in the final chapter, late-game. And just once, in the third route's finale.
I crossed my arms, pondering.
In game terms, it carried weight, but…
Still just a corp at heart.
Might be overthinking from game bias.
I wheeled my shaky chair to the Nexus. Thud! Climbed in, opened the Hermes Network mail.
That was how the Hermes Network commission began.