As I walked out of the Containment Hub, the familiar scent of metal and oil clung to the air, a constant reminder of the world we lived in. The hub was a place of confinement in more ways than one, not just for the Abyssal Creatures' remains but for the workers as well, trapping them in a cycle of labor and survival. The door closed behind me with a heavy clang, the sound echoing off the walls and lingering in the narrow alleyway like an ominous presence.
Haruto and Edward were already on their way to the dormitory, their conversation fading into the background as they moved further ahead. I could hear the faintest traces of their laughter, the kind that came after a long day's work, a relief that marked the end of their shift. Their footsteps slowed as they reached the intersection, their figures outlined against the pale evening light. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the base, the kind that blurred the lines between day and night, between safety and the unknown that lurked just beyond the walls.
The paved road stretched out before me, lined with workers finishing their shifts. Their faces, etched with lines of exhaustion, told stories of relentless labor and unspoken fears. Many of them carried the same tired expression, a weariness that came from more than just physical fatigue. It was the weariness of knowing that each day was a fight to survive, and that no matter how much they worked, the Abyssal threat never truly abated.
Some of the workers barely noticed me as I passed by, their focus on getting home, their minds likely on the simple pleasures that awaited them— a hot meal, a warm bed. Others glanced my way with fleeting curiosity, their gazes lingering on my uniform for just a moment before they turned away. I didn't blame them for their indifference; I was just another face in a sea of many, another cog in the machine that kept the base running. Yet, even in their routine, there was a subtle tension, a wariness that came from living on the edge of disaster.
As I continued down the road, the sound of my footsteps mingled with the ambient noise of the base. The hum of machinery, the distant clatter of tools, the occasional murmur of voices—all of it formed a backdrop to the life here, a reminder of the never-ending struggle against the Abyssal Creatures. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and grime, mixed with the faint tang of disinfectant, the remnants of the day's work lingering in the atmosphere.
Ahead, a group of Voidwalkers emerged from the shadows, their presence immediately commanding attention. They moved with a purpose, their steps silent yet deliberate, as if they were gliding rather than walking. Their armor gleamed under the fading light, an intricate design of interlocking plates and dark metal that seemed more organic than mechanical. It was armor not crafted by human hands but by something far more advanced, something that knew the intricacies of combat at a level beyond human comprehension.
The Voidwalkers' helmets, sleek and faceless, reflected the world around them like dark mirrors. There were no visible eyes, no expressions to read, just an impassive surface that gave nothing away. They carried weapons that seemed too heavy for any normal human to wield, yet they handled them with ease, the weight almost an extension of their bodies. The weapons themselves were as alien as the armor—blades that shimmered with an otherworldly energy, and guns that emitted a low, almost inaudible hum, a sound that vibrated deep within the chest.
To the workers around us, the Voidwalkers might as well have been legends, myths brought to life. They moved through the crowd like ghosts, their presence acknowledged by the way people instinctively made space for them, heads bowing slightly in a gesture of respect or perhaps fear. It wasn't just the armor or the weapons that set them apart; it was the air of detachment, the sense that they were operating on a different plane of existence. Their movements were precise, economical, and devoid of unnecessary action, as if every step was calculated for maximum efficiency.
As I watched them pass, I couldn't help but notice the expressions—or rather, the lack of expressions—behind the armor. The workers might have seen them as untouchable, almost divine in their purpose, but I saw something else. The way they moved, the way they held themselves, there was a heaviness to it, a burden that went beyond the physical. It was as if they carried the weight of countless battles, battles that had stripped away pieces of their humanity, leaving behind hollow shells.
Their eyes, visible only when the helmets tilted at certain angles, were the most telling. Those eyes weren't filled with pride or arrogance, but something far more complex. They were eyes that had seen too much, eyes that had witnessed horrors beyond comprehension, and yet they continued to march forward, driven by a duty that seemed to consume them. The void in their gaze was not just a lack of connection to others, but a void left by something lost, something they could never reclaim.
As I rounded the corner, I recognized one of the Voidwalkers at the tail end of the group. He was the one who had caught me sneaking into the supply room yesterday. Our eyes met briefly, and for a split second, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He passed by without a word, his gaze fixed ahead, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Whether he remembered me or not was impossible to tell, and in that moment, I realized just how little it mattered. To him, I was nothing more than a fleeting memory, one of many faces he had encountered and would soon forget.
Continuing on my path, the base's administration building loomed ahead, its structure imposing and cold, a fortress within a fortress. The walls were reinforced with metal plates that gleamed under the setting sun, designed to withstand even the most ferocious of attacks. This was a place built not just to manage the daily operations of the base but to serve as a last line of defense should the unthinkable happen. The building exuded a sense of authority and permanence, a stark reminder of the ever-present threat that loomed just beyond the base's walls.
I entered the building, the air inside cooler and tinged with the faint smell of polished metal and old paper. The interior was a maze of corridors and offices, each one bustling with activity, despite the late hour. Workers moved through the halls with determined strides, their faces focused, their tasks clear. The administration building was the nerve center of the base, where decisions were made, orders were issued, and lives were managed with the cold efficiency of a military machine.
After asking a passing worker for directions, I made my way to the second floor. The hallway leading to Shiori's office was quieter, the noise from below muted to a low hum. The door to her office was a heavy, dark wood, standing in stark contrast to the metal and concrete that dominated the rest of the building. I stood before it for a moment, collecting my thoughts before knocking three times.
The door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, revealing a room that was both meticulously organized and lived-in. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books and files, everything in its place, yet there was a sense of controlled chaos to it. The desk in the center was piled high with papers, documents that seemed to flow over the edges, barely contained by the confines of the surface. Despite the clutter, there was a method to it, a system known only to Shiori.
She sat behind the desk, her head bent over a stack of papers, a pen moving swiftly across the page. The soft scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the room. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click, the noise barely registering in the otherwise silent office.
"I'm here, ma'am," I announced, standing at attention.
Shiori didn't look up immediately. She finished the sentence she was writing before placing the pen down and glancing at me with sharp, assessing eyes. "Good," she said curtly, her tone conveying that this was more than just a routine meeting.
As I stood there, I couldn't help but notice the subtle details about the room and Shiori herself. The office, though tidy, had an air of relentless efficiency. There were no personal items, no pictures or decorations that spoke of a life outside the base. Everything here served a purpose, every item a tool for getting the job done. Even Shiori's appearance reflected this; her uniform was immaculate, her hair pulled back tightly, revealing a face that was both stern and focused.
"Is there something you need from me?" I asked, my voice calm, mirroring the detachment I had seen in the Voidwalkers outside.
She didn't respond immediately, instead stacking the papers she had been working on with deliberate care. When she finally met my gaze, her eyes were intense, searching for something beneath the surface. "Yes," she began, her tone measured, as if weighing each word carefully. "There's something I'm really curious about."
The way she said it put me on alert. This wasn't just a casual inquiry; there was something more behind her words. Something that hinted at a deeper suspicion.
"I did a little digging into your background. I hope you don't mind," she continued, her voice polite, but with an edge that suggested she was testing me, probing for a reaction.
I met her gaze evenly, recognizing the underlying threat in her words. Shiori wasn't one to beat around the bush, and whatever she had found, it was clear she wanted answers. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the tension growing as she leaned back slightly in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
'She's telling me to spill it out,' I thought, recognizing the underlying threat.
"No, I don't mind," I replied calmly. "Please, continue."
She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure you have some idea about what I've found, so I'll be straight to the point. Who are you really?"
I remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate.
"I checked the list of recent service crew members, and your name wasn't on it." She tossed a thick book onto the table—a registry of new arrivals. It lay open, pages filled with names, but mine was absent.
"I—" I began, but she cut me off.
"Don't spout nonsense. The moment you lie to me will be the moment you're finished here," she warned, her voice full of authority.
I met her gaze, unwavering. "I was sent here by the government."
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion deepening. "Oh?" she said, touching her chin thoughtfully. I noticed the necklace around her neck, a simple piece that didn't match her otherwise stern appearance. It had been there the first time I met her, a detail that now seemed oddly out of place.
"I admire your courage, lying straight to my face," she said with a grin that didn't reach her eyes. The atmosphere grew heavier, the tension thickening around us. "This is your last chance. Tell me the truth."
I could tell she was ready to tear apart any excuse I gave. If I didn't convince her now, my time here would be over.
"Can I borrow a pen and some paper?" I asked.
She snorted but handed them over. I wrote something down quickly and passed the note back to her.
Her eyes widened as she read it, her pupils dilating in shock. She tried to hide her reaction, but it was clear that the message had hit home.
"How… How do you know this?" she stammered, her composure slipping. "No, why would someone like you…" She seemed at a loss for words, mumbling incoherent questions.
"No, maybe you're one of… If so, you shouldn't have exposed yourself like this," she muttered, her tone frantic.
I opened my mouth to explain, but before I could speak, a loud alarm blared through the base, cutting through the tense silence like a knife.
"What!? A rift opened again!?" Shiori exclaimed, jumping out of her seat and rushing to the window.
I followed her, looking out at the scene below. People were running in panic, their faces twisted in fear and horror as they fled from the direction of the large gates. My gaze followed theirs, and I saw it—a rift, a terrifying tear in reality itself. It was a swirling mass of light and darkness, a void that seemed to slice through the very fabric of space. It pulsed with a dreadful energy, exuding an aura of destruction and chaos that sent shivers down my spine.
The sight of the rift was enough to instill dread in even the most hardened soldiers. Its sheer presence was a reminder of the thin line we walked between safety and annihilation, and as I watched, the base around us was plunged into a state of chaos