Curiosity
The Lumen Guard Central Administration had long transcended its role as a mere military command center, functioning more like the capital overseeing the entire barrier city. Each department housed hundreds of staff and operatives, processing meticulous reports and official documents. Meetings cycled every two months—repetitive formalities and bureaucratic language that made the "strategy session" label feel hollow. Tasks were assigned systematically, but the drive to actively reclaim territory beyond the barriers had faded with time. This stemmed from one overwhelming figure who prioritized "stabilization" above all.
Mikhail Chernenko. The Grand Marshal, hailed as the mightiest among the proxies. Seated at the front podium in a chair that resembled an opulent yet austere throne was, naturally, Grand Marshal Mikhail Chernenko himself. His physique was massive and sturdy beyond his years, his features rugged, yet his neatly groomed golden hair and beard, the proxy uniform clinging perfectly to his frame, topped with a black overcoat—all evoked the overwhelming presence of a golden lion. He dominated the entire hall like an ideal emperor.
Jack entered the conference room silently and took his assigned seat.
"Lumen Guard barrier commander, Brigadier General Jack William. You're early."
"I'm late compared to you, Your Excellency. My apologies."
Mikhail gazed steadily at Jack, his expression unchanging. "You always wrap your words so neatly. Even as a fellow soldier, I can't help but admire it."
"I don't know where to put myself."
On the surface, they treated each other with respect, but the air between them was icy. Mikhail slowly manipulated the hologram on the table. City layouts of Lumen Guard, proxy activity reports, stress indices, behavioral pattern graphs—all laid bare like a transparent dissection of a single human.
"That child you favor so much. The Red Eye—doesn't she need reining in?"
Jack narrowed his eyes. This was it. When had it started? The Grand Marshal's noticeable fixation on Bell. Was it because he'd voiced dissatisfaction with the military leadership? It felt too abnormal for such a simple reason.
"You show an awful lot of interest in a mere child."
"I thought you'd take good care of her, but her mental evaluations are consistently poor. It makes me uneasy."
"Ha— what could possibly make the mightiest proxy, the Grand Marshal himself, uneasy?"
"Who knows. Even this power can't block everything."
Jack was dumbfounded. Coming from someone with unequivocally overwhelming might, it sounded almost feeble. Lately, the Grand Marshal seemed unpredictable, his power feeling more like a threat in Jack's eyes.
"You've unified the military, earned respect from all. What couldn't you do?"
"More than you'd think. Like how you can't even soothe one child."
As Mikhail smiled amiably, Jack shot him a glare instead of replying. Those golden eyes gleamed brilliantly, as if piercing everything.
"William, I only worry about the barriers' dangers."
Though reluctant, Jack gathered his composure and responded. "Do you see proxies as something to control, Your Excellency? That includes you and me."
"Oh, indeed. The White Wolf. And I, the Strong Sword, as well."
Mikhail's voice was low and cold. He chuckled a few times before adding casually, "This old man just wants to end this endless war before he weakens further."
Old man? Jack could only see it as a joke from someone who hadn't lost his intimidating aura. Not a single wrinkle in his uniform, posture impeccably straight. Mikhail remained the soldier among soldiers.
"Try to control them, and they'll slip your grasp even more."
The Grand Marshal pondered briefly before blurting, "...You know nothing."
Their gazes locked head-on. As the tension threatened to erupt, proxies beside the Grand Marshal stepped forward in warning. Red armbands. The Grand Marshal's personal guard. Eligos Caliela, her icy glare peeking through golden locks, and another proxy with dark brown skin and a beastly bulk exuding menace. Fitting for the highest authority, but to Jack, it evoked Nazi Germany—almost comical.
No sooner had the Grand Marshal and Jack's private exchange ended than the doors opened again, and military leaders from each barrier city entered sequentially and took their seats. Barrier 2: Valhalla Disk; Barrier 3: Omotenashi; Barrier 4: Rain Code; Barrier 5: Fraction-6; Barrier 6: Nantigar. The meeting proceeded with familiar efficiency.
Agenda items were reported briskly: logistics and supplies, defensive line maintenance, food production status, proxy operation results. Mikhail Chernenko tapped the armrest with his fingertips before slowly speaking.
"Valhalla Disk."
His low, resonant voice pressed down on the hall.
"Swift handling. However, deploying mercenaries was excessive, some say."
Barrier 2's representative, Major General Annet—a woman in her fifties—bowed expressionlessly. No warmth or loyalty in the gesture.
"It resolved the issue, so that's fortunate. With the citizens' trust comes responsibility."
The Grand Marshal smiled mildly. "Manage collaborations with civilian groups more closely henceforth."
"Understood."
Annet replied curtly, coolly avoiding friction. The broken neck of a mercenary was an unexpected wrinkle, but handled swiftly.
Mikhail leaned back, shifting his gaze. "Especially Proxy Tiny Bell. Reports say she nearly crippled the mercenary?"
A heavy chill laced his mocking tone. Jack gripped the armrest tightly. Before Jack's glare could land, Mikhail continued swiftly.
"If it happens again, that's a major problem in itself."
As if anticipating, Annet composed herself. "Details are being compiled. Full report incoming shortly."
"Good. I can't keep accepting apologies."
He smiled, but it felt like potent pressure. They'd all felt it in war: Mikhail's tactical genius, political acumen, captivating rhetoric. As a 0th Generation proxy—the first proxy—his overwhelming might.
Annet blanked her expression and averted her eyes.
"Misfiring weapons breed unease. For barrier commanders here... even I can't withstand blind guns or blades."
The hall stiffened. In the heavy silence, Mikhail's gaze swept the room again.
"Now's the time to maintain peace. Stir trouble, and prepare yourselves."
With that, he glanced at Jack, lips curling slightly—like a message meant for him. Jack artfully ignored it. Still, the Grand Marshal's occasional fixation puzzled him.
As the meeting ended and Jack moved to leave, a familiar voice hit his back.
"Jack, never thought I'd see you playing daddy. Gripping that armrest—obvious as day."
Without turning, he replied, "Director Innocent Remar. You still see me as that green squad kid from decades ago."
Rain Code's Barrier 4 director, Innocent Remar. Old comrades from the same unit. Time had etched wrinkles, but his eyes still shone.
"Sick of sharing the same pot. You've got nine lives."
Jack smiled and turned. They walked out side by side naturally.
"Thanks. Truly."
Quiet smiles exchanged, they headed to a reception room behind the conference hall. As steam rose from small teacups, Remar spoke.
"You've gotten quieter."
Jack lifted his cup with a wry smile. "Age and overthinking, I suppose."
"Overthinking? You acted like a doting dad in front of the Grand Marshal."
"Quiet."
Remar chuckled heartily, sipped his tea, and continued. "Honestly, I don't think the situation's all bad. Civilization's back, inter-barrier travel's stable, military's not frontlining."
Jack nodded silently.
"Painfully passive. Makes me wonder if he's still the same Grand Marshal."
Remar smiled quietly in agreement. "Yeah. He fought for humanity, no holds barred."
Recalling years ago, Jack murmured low, staring into space. "And now he's letting Aria back inside the barriers, curling up within. Has he finally aged?"
Remar set down his cup calmly. "Posterity will judge. We just maintain today's order. Assume it has noble cause."
"Noble..."
In his memory, Mikhail Chernenko was exceptional. The first proxy, a rallying force, bearing power's weight responsibly. But when had it changed? Jack frowned slightly. Forming a personal guard, operating independently—Intelligence Analysis Department got no shares on their moves. The hero had morphed into a schemer in the shadows.
Jack chuckled dryly and stood. "Heroes can't stay noble forever."
His gaze flicked to the particle net on the wall, gleaming like a surveillance camera.
"Even this chat might worry the Grand Marshal if he saw."
Remar rose too. "Heh, he acts like he knows everything."
"Indeed."
Jack recalled Mikhail's unwavering golden eyes. A curious man—advancing with unshakeable conviction.
Adolf Mandel boarded a transport helicopter bound for Lumen Guard from Valhalla Disk's helipad. As the massive rotors accelerated skyward, he removed his noise-canceling helmet and gazed quietly out the window.
Beyond the barriers: ruins humanity abandoned. Vines and rusted rebar devoured collapsed skyscrapers grotesquely. Pre-war metropolises teeming with millions. Now, silence, Dists, and civilization's wreckage.
"...What was it like out there, really."
Adolf murmured to himself. An unanswerable question. Gliding over the desolation, he closed his eyes. Soon, the chopper began descending, Lumen Guard filling his view. He straightened instinctively, eyes opening.
It felt like another world. Gleaming white metal towers, militarily precise facilities, drones gliding silently. Perfectly controlled.
At the center loomed a massive dome: Lumen Guard Central Administration. Fiber-optic lines radiated outward, systematically linking bases, labs, recon units.
"...This isn't a city—it's a fortress."
Adolf inhaled deeply. Nothing like Valhalla Disk's peaceful barriers. He knew why they called this the central hub: military, science, order, control fused into a strategic stronghold. Lumen Guard blended past and present seamlessly, proving the tales true.
Like a tourist, he gawked until reaching the Strategy Planning Department. Inside, after lingering on the sights, he checked the assignment room and blinked at his training partner's name.
"Captain Tiny Bell."
Excitement laced his mutter. Familiar yet distant. He recalled their brief past encounter—and Roland's tease: "Think you'll see her smile? Maybe tickle her."
Her blank face surfaced. Way too high difficulty.
Adolf resolved to curb expectations, brace for flying fists. Official schedule started tomorrow; afternoon was free. He shed his proxy uniform and slipped out quietly.
Impeccably maintained streets. Zoned residences, automated guides, drone perches—all precisely calculated. In a quiet alley, he found a modest eatery. Faded sign, but cozy interior.
"First time? From outside?"
The middle-aged owner greeted warmly. That obvious? Adolf smiled sheepishly.
"Yeah, just arrived."
"Knew it. Only familiar faces here. Strangers stand out. Lumen Guard treating you okay?"
"Feels like a fortress. The tech too."
The owner chuckled, setting utensils. "Most goods generated in-city. Vertical farms for food. Machine-like, but comfy once accustomed."
Adolf nodded. "Last barrier built, reflecting all prior shortcomings."
Indeed. More self-sufficient than Valhalla Disk. Adolf realized Lumen Guard wasn't just an arsenal—it was home.
Guess I gotta give my best.
After touring till late evening, back at the administration, he accessed the info net for past proxy training data and slept.
Next morning, Adolf headed to Combat Response. To chat with Bell pre-trainees. A bit tense. Hesitating at the door, he entered.
"-Identity confirmed. Combat Response access granted."
How to greet? Worry she'd scowl? But the office was empty. Unused meeting panel, weapon terminals, training docs—eerie, desolate.
Padding through the silence, he spotted a desk. Nameplate: 'Captain Tiny Bell.' Papers strewn messily atop. Some crumpled small by hand, one half-folded open.
[Training Schedule Draft]
The handwriting was neat but effortful. She does prepare, huh. He smiled faintly. Novel experience, pure joy without unease. His assumptions off? Intriguing.
Proxies really are few. No other nameplates. She managed this vast space alone—efficient, yet lonely. He knew they were elite few, but this isolated?
Surveying, he murmured, "Like a prison."
More questions bloomed in the quiet. Time spare, he lingered. Besides manuals, a worn small diary. Untouched, but cover corner doodles caught his eye: faint "You got this!" smudged, erased by hand.
Tiny traces sparked thoughts from one just starting to know her.
Display case corner memos: [Solo Response Training / Forward Long-Range Response Sim / Mixed Combat Gear Reactivity Eval].
[Solo Response Training / Forward Long-Range Response Sim / Mixed Combat Gear Reactivity Eval]
"How much of this has she handled alone..."
He realized he'd delved deep into her traces. Not just cold and curt? What's her real self? A curiosity beyond reason.
What am I doing? Silly, embarrassing. As he pondered the feeling, he shook his head and exited.
First, Strategy Planning for directions. Assignment and guidance hub. He hated getting lost like Bell might.