A Hopeless Trek to the Cafeteria
The path to the army cafeteria was outdoors, offering an unobstructed view of the wind turbines densely lining Valhalla Disk's high-altitude ridges, their blades spinning steadily in the distance. It was a decent enough sight, so Tiny Bell gave it a brief glance, but she didn't express any particular emotion. Thanks to that, Adolf and Roland exchanged wary looks, sitting on pins and needles in awkward silence. After what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable quiet, they reached the cafeteria entrance, where moving letters spelled out "Igloo." Roland let out a sigh of relief.
Tiny Bell raised one eyebrow. Why the hell would they name it something so mismatched?
"They say back in the day, the air conditioning broke and turned the whole place into a winter wonderland," Adolf said, quickly reading her expression. She scowled in response.
"I didn't ask."
"Haha, sorry."
His utterly shameless attitude drained her energy, so she stormed into the cafeteria ahead of them.
Inside, wheeled robots zipped around busily, delivering food. They watched Tiny Bell head straight to the ordering counter, and Roland spoke first.
"She seems kinda bitchy."
Adolf shrugged. "Doesn't seem like a bad person, though."
"How long have you known her to take her side already? I'm feeling left out here."
Roland grumbled. "She gives me this weird thrill."
Watching his friend chuckle like something was hilarious, Roland's face cooled into a deadpan stare. "There's plenty of weird out there."
Roland had long given up expecting normal answers from the almost otherworldly pure Adolf. He knew about the memory loss, so he was used to his friend's joy coming from slightly offbeat places.
"Adolf, people that prickly are exhausting in the field."
At Roland's advice, Adolf recalled yesterday. Sure, he'd messed up and apologized, but it hadn't been tiring.
"Really? We were on a mission like that yesterday. She seems a bit sensitive."
"Yeah? Nah, that's not sensitive—that's just bitchy."
Roland eyed him suspiciously, half-amused like he was babysitting a curious five-year-old girl. That proxy girl clearly wasn't the nicest type. Especially if she was the type to swing first. Roland's head spun at the thought of her getting close to Adolf. Beaten boyfriend. A documentary he'd seen flashed in his mind, and he clutched his head.
Remembering the room earlier, he asked cautiously, "So... you're really not involved with her or anything?"
"You sound like you wish something happened. Well, something did."
"...Then that's a problem?"
Roland leaned in with a complicated expression.
"Before you showed up, I almost got shot."
Adolf recalled the moment and smiled innocently. "Isn't that kinda funny?"
"No, it's not."
"Really? I thought it was great."
"Lord have mercy, my friend's awakened some weird fetish."
Roland looked horrified at the oddly phrased sentence, so Adolf finally cleared up the misunderstanding, explaining from their first meeting onward.
After hearing the story, Roland still thought Tiny Bell was odd, but parts of it intrigued him.
"Uses a sniper rifle, huh? Sounds cool. Total guy fantasy."
"Yeah, it does look kinda badass."
"But you swing a sword in an age of flying bullets. You're not so bad yourself."
"It's just my dedicated weapon. Nothing special."
It stands out like crazy, though. Roland narrowed his eyes at his friend.
"Proxies have it so good. Who else gets custom weapons made just for them?"
Roland launched into a rant about the management bureau's favoritism, then sighed wistfully. "Wish I'd become a proxy. 'Unfit because of family'? What kinda bullshit is that?"
"Isn't that a good thing? I don't even remember my parents. If that's the price, I feel like I'm losing out."
Adolf spoke in his usual tone, but Roland winced, quickly waving it off and gauging his reaction. Adolf just rubbed his face casually.
"Why stare like that? Something on my face?"
"Nah, nothing."
He really seemed unbothered. Roland made a mental note to be more careful and smoothly changed the subject to "Wanna get a girlfriend?"
By the time their chat wrapped up, the ordering line had cleared.
After ordering, they sat down and spotted Tiny Bell easily—her pitch-black proxy uniform stood out. People approached her cautiously, showing goodwill. Those obsessed with proxies already knew from public info that she was the Red Eye. Some young desk workers at the management bureau had a special fascination with proxies, seeing them as heroes from videos and rumors.
A crowd gathered naturally around her, but she just nodded curtly, looking annoyed. Adolf had gone through the same at first—people approaching with starry eyes like he was a celebrity. Over time, it faded to simple greetings, but the constant attention was still burdensome.
Beyond that, her appearance was strikingly unique: a small, fragile-looking girl in a black proxy uniform drew eyes inevitably. She wove through the crowd, found her seat, and spotted Adolf and Roland.
"Hey, she's looking. Pretend you don't know us."
Roland said hurriedly.
"Haha, come on."
While they whispered, she stared for a moment before approaching. That guy especially. Whatever, won't see him again anyway. She didn't want to see that embarrassed face from yesterday one more time—it just pissed her off. Like granting one last mercy.
She plopped down beside them, shot Adolf a side-eye glare, then turned away. They fell silent for minutes after that. Partly fearing they'd piss off the Red Eye and catch a fist.
After what felt like hours, a robot glided up, unloading food with its mechanical arms. As they started eating, Tiny Bell's plate of grilled baguette pieces sat untouched. Adolf glanced her way and realized she was dozing off, head nodding.
Her small back rose and fell rhythmically. Fell asleep already...?
Tiny Bell's temporary lodging was uncomfortable; she hadn't slept well. Waiting for food, she'd zoned out and passed right out.
"She's asleep, right?"
"Out cold."
Adolf propped his chin with a fond smile; Roland flinched. No way, right? He shook his head, then grinned mischievously.
"Eat her food quick and ditch before she wakes?"
"Haha, Roland... that's too much."
"You're always such a softie."
"It's not soft—it's just wrong."
Adolf gently shook her arm, not wanting that to happen. The response was unexpected.
"Mm? Yeah..."
A soft, drowsy reply. He exchanged shocked looks with Roland, who looked surprised too. Her half-lidded eyes glanced at them. Sunlight from the window sparkled in her silver hair; Adolf stared for a moment.
"Mm..."
Softer than usual, half-asleep mumble. He relaxed—Roland's neck was safe. Still, to be sure, he sparked conversation.
"Let's eat. Dig in."
Roland eyed her baguette and grimaced. "Yeah, that gets even harder when cold. Break a tooth."
Tiny Bell blinked awake, fixing him with an icy stare.
"...Wanna break something for real?"
Roland flinched, met Adolf's eyes, and quietly ate. She chewed slowly, gazing out the window—oddly peaceful. A brief silence fell; Roland leaned close to whisper in Adolf's ear.
"...Only cute when her mouth's shut. Think about it, Adolf."
He was dead set on keeping them apart, but Adolf whispered back worriedly.
"She'll hear. Quiet down. I can't stop her from snapping your neck."
Beep. A short chime from Tiny Bell's wrist terminal. She looked fed up, chomping her baguette as she raised her arm. The message appeared.
Her appetite gone, she dropped the bread and stood mechanically. Without a word, she glanced at them and turned away.
"Leaving already, Captain?"
Adolf said, sounding disappointed. Roland thought, What the hell are you doing? but held his tongue. She stared at Adolf briefly. Why's he acting so buddy-buddy? Frowning again, she vanished without reply.
Tiny Bell trudged through the management bureau's central lobby to Valhalla Disk's strategic planning department. Monitors floated everywhere; the AI assistant calculated mission priorities, risks, and troop numbers automatically.
She reached the counter.
"Welcome, Red Eye. We're well aware of your record from Lumen Guard. Sorry for the sudden request."
The assignment officer was polite, but expectation laced his tone.
"This mission is to root out a survivalist citizen group. Cooperate in capturing the faction hiding on the northern barrier outskirts."
Just passing through before returning, now saddled with a local mission—she felt annoyed. Like an endless cog in a machine. Reading her face, the officer quickly explained.
"The survivalists predate Grand Marshal's 'New Aria' rollout—an anti-machine ideology group. Started as fringe communes, but post-Aria reintroduction, they're spreading anti-military lies. Needs stopping. Especially after the speeches in Lumen Guard—handing out flyers. Sigh, such stubborn folks."
His rapid-fire ended; screens popped up with their activities. He gauged her reaction. Internally frantic—the barrier commander, Major Annet, demanded quick resolution. With a proven proxy on standby, he couldn't miss the chance.
"Can't let a few malcontents stir trouble inside the barrier."
Malcontents. The word lingered. Tiny Bell scowled faintly.
"Major Annet wants this wrapped fast. Compensation will reflect that."
She got his intent and asked quietly, "So, force is authorized?"
"If necessary."
He didn't flinch at "force." She was getting irritated.
"Ah, but no killing—to avoid Nantigar's nightmare repeating."
He added hastily, flashing a bright smile.
"So, accept?"
Not her barrier, so she could refuse. But she nodded curtly.
"Thank you. We'll proceed. Location sent to your terminal."
She turned away. The rally point appeared on her wrist device. Perfect timing anyway. Just that. But "Nantigar" froze her mind—unerasable memories stirred.
...Keep moving, it'll fade. Don't think. Just move.
Pushing memories down, she arrived at the rally point. Various troops gathered: over half mercenaries hired with credit coins, besides regular soldiers. So many mercs showed the commander's sensitivity—above all, not wanting to irk the Grand Marshal. Or give any pretext.
Regulars and mercs didn't mix well. Soldiers had pride, backed by military and proxies. Even among escapees, hierarchies formed subtly.
"That's really a proxy? One poke and she'd snap."
The mercenaries' loud jokes mixed respect, wariness, fear. She hated the laughter. What's so funny? She swept them with contemptuous eyes.