No. 44 returned to the office after securing the wounded intruder in his chamber. Through the entrance that the enemies had forcibly breached earlier, he observed an unfolding battle. All kinds of ammunition were being fired, alarms were blaring, explosions could be heard, clouds of steam and black smoke filled the entire firmament, and it only got worse as time passed.
The enemy ships were radiating a crimson light, but it was slowly dimming. The groups they had sent were being eliminated one by one. The crackling of flames was audible, along with a few screams here and there. The adversaries, realizing the odds were no longer in their favor, began a tactical retreat. However, as they scrambled to regroup, a battalion of white aircraft, distinct from the enemy troops, took off in pursuit.
The chase and ensuing engagement held the room in rapt attention. The new player on the battlefield was to be reckoned with. The aircraft maneuvered in the air at an unimaginable pace; cannons and blasters were positioned to its sides, all aimed towards the retreating enemies. The silver metallic shell was radiating a glow; it was gleaming in the light as it took down the foes.
The white aircraft formed a formidable barrier against the retreating enemies. Their maneuvers were synchronized, precise, organized, and coordinated. They moved as though they were a singular organism.
Explosions and bursts of steam punctuated the air as the two forces clashed. Bullets and projectiles filled the sky once more. The exchange of firepower painted the room with vibrant flashes and plumes of smoke.
As No. 44 watched the spectacle unfold, he was abruptly interrupted by a resounding announcement. A cold, commanding voice echoed throughout the ship: "Proceed to your respective chambers. Remain inside until further announcements."
The puppets, who had been diligently attending to their tasks, dropped the papers and began to form a line. The puppets quickly abandoned their duties and marched back into their chambers.
Before getting in line, No. 44 walked around the office and took some blank papers and pens. Thoughts ran through his head as he walked with the other puppets. As I thought, the ship wouldn't be defeated by the enemy. Although there were some losses, I doubt it would be hard to recover. That response was pretty fast, and they did well countering the tactics of the enemies.
It's a pity I couldn't explore the ship. Technically, I could do so right now., but the risks are too high. Chances are, I would encounter something I'd prefer not to meet. As for the dead bodies in the office, I don't think they'd know it was me who did that. Unless they have a monitoring system, then I'd be damned. In any case, I helped in subjecting the enemy, though my contributions are not worth mentioning.
I wonder when I'll truly get to explore... but I guess I don't have to think about that for now. After all, I already have an interesting specimen right here. He thought as he opened the door to his chamber, revealing an unconscious man who was practically bathing in his own blood.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky darkened, its canvas streaked with hues of orange and crimson. Though the smoke and steam still lingered in the air, their presence had diminished. Without clouds of smoke blocking the view, the sky seemed much more clear. Flocks of birds were flying across the setting sun, the trees were swaying, the breeze carried with it leaves, the river was flowing, and the waterfalls were alive with motion.
In the midst of this, the mechanical cogwheels and gears, once dormant, began to stir to life. Their resumption of activity generated a rhythmic symphony of metallic sounds; the familiar hiss coming from the release of steam was back as everything slowly returned to normal.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, mingling with the soft red glow of the machinery's inner workings. No. 44 sat atop a modest bed, his body perched on its edge.
The room itself, though small, was not cramped and rather still had some space to offer. A well-worn brown rug covered the floor; the texture was soft, and it resembled a bear's fur. Opposite the bed, a simple wooden desk and matching chair stood as the room's only furnishings.
The captured man lay sprawled on the room's floor, bathed in the gentle illumination that poured in through the window. His battered body rested in a pool of light. Occasionally, he would twitch and shiver. Perhaps it was the cold, or maybe he was dreaming of home.
Suddenly, his senses jolted to life at the eerie sounds of scraping and scratching. His eyes sprung open, and he regained his consciousness. His thoughts raced back to the moment of the attack; he recalled the blurry scenes and it almost scared him to death. I was right... I was right! These dolls really have souls! They're alive... they're alive! I should have stuck with sadistic Lala. Although she's so abusive, because she's a professional, she would have known how to handle that situation. If it were her—
He heard another scraping sound, and as his gaze shifted, a momentary disorientation gave way to terror as his eyes settled on the source of the disturbance. No. 44 sat on the bed, his wooden body stripped of garments and his mechanical insides laid bare.
The captured man's fear turned to panic, and he attempted to scream, but his voice failed him. As he struggled to make a sound, his eyes locked onto No. 44, who, with a precision that defied explanation, plucked the bullets out of his own body. It was then that the puppet's gaze met the man's, and he temporarily stopped his self-repair.
The man watched as the puppet wore his white garments back on, covering the mechanical pieces inside. Its hands and articulated head began to move, as if it was attempting to convey a message. However, the intruder only had a dumb expression on his face. He was still in pain, evident from the pen that was stuck in his eye, and he didn't seem to be in the right mind to think clearly. In short, he couldn't understand what the puppet was trying to do.
As the puppet continued to express itself through its gestures, the man's confusion deepened. Finally, No. 44 got up from the bed and walked towards the desk. He sat on the chair, and the man could only watch as the puppet wrote down several words on a piece of paper using a pen. Seeing the puppet holding a pen made the man involuntarily look away and tremble.
What does it want to do with me? I... I'm not ready to d-die yet. Mother was right; I shouldn't have become a mercenary; I should have stayed in our village and farmed carrots. If I had, I wouldn't be here.
Soon, the paper landed on the floor in front of him. @#%—%&%&@# @%&# 3@@%143. He couldn't understand a word, but he recognized the language used. Taking the pen that had rolled off the ground, he wrote down a sentence. "I don't understand the Cidae language. I can speak it but I can't write." He only hoped that the puppet would understand his language and, if not, recognize that they do not possess the same tongue.
It didn't take long before the paper came back down to him. This time, he could recognize the words. "Are you willing to partake in a question and answer session with me?"
I-inter-rogation?
He read the next sentence. "For research purposes."
There wasn't much of a choice for him, was there? What would happen if I...chose not to participate? I-I mean, what are the chances of me getting released if I do not? He thought for a few seconds. N-none? Then will I get my freedom if I answer?
He wrote down his thoughts and got a fast answer. "But you are a prisoner, no? Either way, you are doomed. You can choose not to answer, but if you do that, I'd have no choice but to break you open. Otherwise, what other purpose do you serve?"
...H-hic! "Okay, okay, what are your questions, sir? ... They? It?"
Another paper went flying towards him: "First question, what is your opinion on us, 'dolls?' Any idea on how we were made? Because during your peaceful slumber, I was examining my body, and other than simple mechanisms that allow for movement, I don't see anything else that could possibly explain why or how we are able to perform tasks."
"I do not know." The man felt scared to hand this simple answer and thought of a way to explain: "According to the rumors about the Artificer, they say that he is a soul reaper who collects souls and traps these souls inside the bodies of dolls, imprisoning them and forcing them into a slave contract."
"Then let's move on to the next question. What is a soul?"
A soul? How do I explain this? "A soul is the essence of our existence. It carries our memories, emotions, and experiences even as we reincarnate because it is said to be immortal. A soul is spiritual; it cannot be seen, touched, heard, smelled, or felt; it doesn't have a physical form, but it exists."
"Alright, I'll accept that answer. How do these machines take flight? Any insight into their operation?"
Huh, what? "No, I do not. It's simply the work of engineering. I have not received formal education, so forgive me for being unable to answer questions that require academic knowledge."
"Lastly, the vehicle that you used, what is it? I unfortunately couldn't drag it back into my chamber; it was too big and too heavy."
The intruder answered fast, "We call it a wind crusader. It has many models; I don't know much about it; I was only taught how to ride it."
"Thank you for your participation. Now, let's proceed to the interrogation."
After reading the contents of the paper, fear gripped him once more. He cautiously looked up at the puppet, who was standing quietly while observing his actions. He took this chance to observe the room, his gaze landing on the gun on the desk. However, he quickly abandoned the thought of fighting back or running away when a new piece of paper appeared in front of him.
"I would suggest against attempting escape. Your companions have been defeated; once you leave the safety of my chamber, you will likely be caught and be kept in an even worse position. If you think your situation couldn't get worse, I advise you to think again." The next paragraph was even more threatening: "As long as you oblige to answer my following questions, you will not be put into any torture. If you do not, I will have no other choice but to hand you over to my creator, the Artificer. You do not want your soul to be taken and enslaved for eternity, do you?"
The intruder could only nod vigorously. After writing for a few seconds, he passed a piece of paper to the puppet: "Yes, I'm willing to answer your questions to the best of my ability."
"First question: Are there spies on the ship?
Second question: Why was there an attack?
Third question: Do you have any information about the Artificer? If so, write them down.
Fourth question: What is your identity?"
"Yes, I believe there are spies in the ship; I don't know who they are or where they are but we got our information from them. I don't have any authority to know the reasons behind the attack but there are rumors about it; it is said that the Artificer is at odds with our leader. I don't have much information about the Artificer; I've only heard rumors about him. They say he is a real nut job, a control freak, someone with obsessive compulsive disorder, has a mountainous ego, is an evil mastermind, a maniac, a menace, a narcissist, a devil, and a soul reaper. He is the founder of the biggest mercenary group, now even referred to as an 'empire.' In short, he's a big shot. As for my identity, I'm just a simple son of a farmer from the southern countryside, I have no educational background, I joined the Crimsons group for the money they offered and lied about my qualifications."