Japan, 1940
The skies were ablaze with streaks of fire, as though the heavens themselves were at war. Explosions punctuated the air, shaking the very earth beneath Akari's feet. Japan was facing an unimaginable enemy: a force wielding advanced American technology, flying robots, and weapons that seemed to tear apart the fabric of reality. Yet, in the midst of chaos, Fujinami Akari—a young, steadfast soldier—stood resolute, her heart beating for her homeland.
As the war erupted, the cries of civilians filled the air. Akari's unit had been stationed near a small village, now a target for relentless missile strikes. Her orders were clear: defend and evacuate. But as she scanned the smoke-choked horizon, she saw it—a child, trapped in a crumbling building.
Without hesitation, she bolted toward the structure, her boots pounding against the rubble-strewn ground. "Stay put!" she yelled, her voice swallowed by the roar of incoming rockets.
Inside the building, the child's cries echoed like a haunting melody. As Akari raced through the debris, a sniper's shot rang out. Pain exploded in her right leg, and she crashed to the ground with a guttural cry. Blood seeped through her uniform, staining the once-pristine white bandages around her thigh.
Her breath hitched, but she gritted her teeth, clawing at the ground to push herself upright. "I won't let you die here," she whispered, her voice trembling but determined.
Each step was agony as she limped closer to the boy, who was curled into a ball beneath a collapsed beam.Akari reached him, wrapping her arms around his small frame. But as she lifted him, a glint caught her eye. A black mark on his neck.
Her heart sank. .
The realization hit her like a tidal wave—this child was being hunted.
From above, the deafening roar of a missile filled her ears. She looked up and saw it descending, a fiery harbinger of death. There was no time. Clutching the boy tightly, she whispered, "Close your eyes. It's going to be okay."
The missile struck a truck outside, and the resulting explosion ripped through the building. The force hurled Nana across the room. Her body was shattered—her right arm torn from its socket, her abdomen obliterated. Blood pooled around her as the building collapsed.
When the smoke cleared, soldiers arrived, pulling apart the wreckage. Among the ruins, they found her—a body broken beyond recognition. Only her chest and head remained intact, her heart and brain miraculously clinging to life.
Akari's world was a blur of pain and fading sounds. She could barely make out the cries of soldiers, the wails of the injured, and the distant calls for medics. Her vision blurred as she glimpsed her severed hand lying a few feet away.
Tears welled in her eyes, one slipping free to trace a line down her soot-streaked face. Did I save him? The question lingered in her mind as darkness claimed her.
Her last thought wasn't of the pain, or the war, or even the fear of death. It was of the child's safety, the warmth of his small body against hers, and the hope that her sacrifice meant something.
And then, there was silence.
—-
USA, 2024
The bell rang sharply, signaling the end of history class. The students, a sea of youthful energy, rushed out of the room in a blur of motion. Max, however, lingered behind, his fingers absently tapping the edge of his desk as Mrs. Wendy packed up her things.
"That was the history they told us, well, this is the end for now, class," Mrs. Wendy said, closing the history book with a soft thud. Her voice was warm, but there was an underlying fatigue in her tone, as though she had been telling the same stories for too many years.
Max didn't respond immediately. He was absorbed, his thoughts far away from the bustling noise of the cafeteria. The mention of history had always intrigued him—especially the parts about the war and the unsung heroes. Nana's story had always been a fascination for him, a tragic figure he couldn't quite shake from his mind.
Mrs. Wendy gave him a small smile as she gathered her things. "Max, before you leave, don't forget the homework."
Max blinked, snapping out of his reverie. "Yes, Mrs. Wendy." His words were soft, his gaze distracted.
He stood and made his way down the hall, the thrumming buzz of the school around him. As the noise of the students faded, his steps grew slower. He was headed toward the experimental lab, the one space where he could escape the mundane world of textbooks and lectures.
The door to the lab was sleek, metallic, an advanced security system embedded in the frame. Max stood before it, placing his palm on the scanner. The door slid open with a soft whoosh, granting him entry.
The lab, as always, felt both foreign and familiar to him. It was filled with AI-driven machinery, holographic screens displaying complex neural data, and devices he barely understood. Yet, it was here where Max felt closest to his purpose—to the legacy of the past and the promise of the future.
As he moved deeper into the lab, his thoughts turned to the strange conversation he had overheard earlier that morning—something about "Project 1940" and the "awakening." He had brushed it off at the time, but now the words echoed in his mind.
Suddenly, an old voice broke through his thoughts. "Not there, child. I have a better place for you."
Max looked up. Linda was standing at the entrance, her weathered face offering a faint smile. She motioned for him to follow.
"Better place?" Max muttered, but his curiosity got the better of him.
He followed her through the winding hallways of the lab, each turn revealing new technologies and projects he'd never seen before. Linda led him to a secure, heavily guarded door at the end of the hall.
Linda's expression softened, her eyes distant. "My father was deeply in love with her, although they were from different sides. They made a promise to each other… maybe the world could betray them, but they would never betray one another." She chuckled softly. "It was long ago. I hope my father rests in peace."
Max frowned, trying to make sense of her words. "What happened then?"
Linda sighed, her voice becoming heavy with memory. "1940 was at the very beginning of the war. My father was your age when he was an American soldier. Akari… she was younger than him. But her passion—unbelievable. No one expected her to be defeated by the explosion so soon. They promised to make it to the end. When my father saw that explosion, he ran toward her, hoping to save her. He noticed that she was still alive when he got close to her, and he wanted to continue the rest of his life with her."
Max's breath caught in his throat. "What happened to her?"
Linda's voice faltered slightly. "Apparently, my father brought her to the lab… experimenting with science and technology. She was the first woman we combined with metal as a robot," she said, her tone heavy with the weight of years gone by. "The process took many years, but my father… he thought it had failed. He thought she'd never wake up."
Max blinked, his mind struggling to process the words. "Wait, you're telling me she… she's the one? The one your father experimented on?"
Linda hesitated, her gaze distant. "Yes, but… my father eventually married someone else. After all those years of waiting, he moved on, thinking that girl would never come back. I was a child when I saw the picture of her—he loved her deeply, but after so long… he gave up. I once asked him, 'Papa, who is this girl?' and he never told me."
Linda's expression turned wistful. "After all those years in a coma, my father passed away before she ever woke up. And when she finally did…"
Max felt a wave of unease, but before he could speak, Linda motioned toward the door at the end of the hallway. "Just… keep an open mind."
Max nodded, his curiosity growing.
Linda opened the door, and they stepped into the room. Inside was a young woman, lying on a bed. Her appearance was striking—long, dark hair framed a delicate face, her features almost otherworldly in their beauty. She looked no older than Max himself, perhaps even younger, her peaceful expression betraying the chaotic past that Linda had just described.
The sight was unsettling yet mesmerizing. Machines beeped softly around her, and wires attached to her body hummed with a life of their own. It was a strange mix of human and machine, but it wasn't immediately clear to Max what was happening here. He had no idea that the woman before him was the same soldier, who had once fought in the war so many years ago.
Linda stepped aside, gesturing toward the woman. "You can do the rest. I'll leave you alone with her."
Max's heart raced. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Just… wake her up, Her name is Nana. You know what to do." Linda gave him a small, knowing smile, then exited the room, leaving Max standing in front of the bed.
Max hesitated, staring at the woman in front of him. She was beautiful, and there was something about her that felt oddly familiar, yet he couldn't place it. He took a deep breath and approached the bed, activating the console beside her. The machines surrounding her hummed more loudly as he set the sequence to awaken her.
With a soft click, the woman's eyes fluttered open. Max's breath caught in his throat. The eyes that met his were wide, confused, and, for a moment, lost. There was something strikingly human in her gaze, despite the strange metal parts of her body.
"Are you awake now?" Max asked quietly, though his voice trembled slightly with uncertainty.
The woman blinked slowly, her eyes focusing on him. Then, without moving her lips, a holographic bubble appeared above her head, displaying a simple message: "Where am I?"
Max's heart skipped a beat as he looked at the words. "You're… in a lab. Do you know where you are?"
Another bubble appeared above her head, this time with a word: "Who?"
Max shook his head, unsure of how to respond. Her gaze was intense, yet somehow… innocent. Like a child who had just been thrust into a world they didn't understand. It made his heart ache for her.
He checked the systems on the computer, making sure her neural pathways and body were functioning correctly. The readings seemed normal, but he still had so many questions.
"Who… are you?" Max asked softly, almost to himself.
The woman's eyes darted around as if searching for something. She didn't speak, but another hologram appeared above her, a word forming slowly: "Andy?"
Max's brows furrowed. "Andy? Who's Andy?" he asked, but the woman's face faltered as though she recognized the name.
The word "Andy" hung in the air between them, filled with a sense of loss that Max couldn't quite understand. The young woman's eyes filled with tears, though her lips remained unmoving. The look on her face was one of confusion, desperation, and perhaps, something deeper.
Max stepped closer, unsure of what to do, but instinctively, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm. Her body was cold, mechanical—but her skin still felt soft. She shuddered slightly at the touch.
"Are you… okay?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
In response, the woman's eyes closed tightly, and she seemed to tremble slightly, as if holding back a wave of emotion she didn't know how to express.
Max watched helplessly as she struggled in silence, her tears now visibly falling, though her lips remained sealed. There was a deep sorrow in her eyes—a sorrow Max couldn't comprehend but couldn't ignore.
And just as suddenly, the holographic bubble above her head flickered, and a new word appeared: "Help."
Max's heart raced as he knelt beside her, not fully understanding who this person was—but feeling as though he couldn't turn away.
Max could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on him. He watched the woman, who seemed so fragile yet somehow so strong in her silence, as she stared at him with those wide, unreadable eyes. He wanted to ask more questions, but the room felt heavy with unsaid words, and he wasn't sure where to begin.
Then, he raised his hand absently, as if on instinct. A soft, mechanical hum filled the air, and within seconds, a cup of coffee was gently placed in front of him by the lab's robotic assistant. It seemed like a small gesture, but the precision of it caught Max's attention.
He glanced at the woman lying on the bed, her eyes following the movement of the cup. An idea sparked in his mind, and he shifted his focus from the machine to her. If she was truly something beyond just human—beyond just the combination of man and machine—he wanted to test what she could do, to see what abilities she still had.
"Do you want to hold this cup?" Max asked softly, the words almost tentative as he extended the coffee towards her.
The woman's gaze shifted downward to the cup, but she didn't move. Her eyes remained locked on it for a moment before she finally blinked slowly. A soft, almost imperceptible hum followed as she shifted her gaze back to him.
"I don't have any hands," her voice echoed in his mind through the holographic bubble above her head. The words were simple but carried a depth of sadness, like an admission of something that was both true and impossible to ignore.
Max's chest tightened. The reality of what she was—a living being so altered by technology that she could no longer do the things that once came so naturally—struck him deeply. But there was still a human spark in her. She wasn't a machine. She was… something more.
Max paused for a moment, processing the weight of her words. But then, without thinking, he replied with a small, comforting smile.
"Let me help you hold that," he said, moving closer to her.
He gently reached for her arm, the one that seemed to be made of both flesh and metal. He wasn't sure what to expect when he touched it, but he didn't hesitate. As his hand brushed against her arm, he could feel the contrast between the warmth of her skin and the coldness of the metal beneath. It was a strange sensation, something entirely unfamiliar, but it was still… human.
He adjusted the cup in her hand, guiding her fingers gently into position. Despite the mechanical nature of her limbs, there was a delicate, human grace to her touch. It was as if, somewhere deep inside, her body was still trying to remember how to function the way it once had.
The moment their hands connected, he noticed her eyes flicker with something. A recognition, maybe. A brief flash of understanding. She looked down at the cup in her hand, holding it with surprising steadiness. For a moment, everything else in the room seemed to fade, and it was just the two of them, sharing a quiet understanding.
Max took a step back and watched her, feeling the weight of the moment. "How does it feel?" he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.
The woman, Nana, looked at the cup in her hands, then back at him, her expression unreadable. The holographic bubble appeared once more, this time with a simple message: "Strange."
Max smiled softly, a mix of sadness and hope in his heart. "Yeah… I can imagine."
There was a long pause, as if Nana were processing the reality of what had just happened—the cup she had held, the human touch she had felt, the possibility of something different from the cold and mechanical life she had known for so long.
Max wanted to ask her more, wanted to know if she remembered anything, anything at all about who she had been before. But something about her silence told him it wasn't the right time. There was still so much about her that was unknown.
"I'm here to help," he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty. "You're not alone anymore."
Nana's eyes, though still distant, softened just slightly, as though his words had reached her in a way nothing else had. She didn't speak, but her gaze held his for a long moment, and for a brief second, Max thought he saw something flicker behind her eyes. A memory, a longing, a recognition.
He wasn't sure, but he knew one thing for certain: they had just crossed the first threshold together. And whatever came next, he would be there to help her navigate it.
Max gently adjusted the cup in Nana's hand, trying to steady her shaky grasp. There was something oddly tender about the way she held it, as if, despite everything, she was still trying to find her way back to normalcy. He took a step back, giving her space as she held the cup in her metal fingers.
The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was as if both of them were waiting, letting the weight of the moment sink in. The room hummed with the soft whir of machines, the steady pulse of technology and life blending together.
Finally, Max broke the quiet, his voice breaking through the stillness. "I think you're ready for a change of scenery."
Nana turned to him, her eyes slightly wide as though the suggestion caught her off guard. The holographic bubble above her head blinked once: Change?
Max nodded, stepping toward the door. "Yeah. We're gonna head to the cafeteria. I think some fresh air might do us both some good."
With a gesture, he activated the lab's door, which slid open with a soft whoosh. As they stepped into the hall, Max noticed how the sterile, quiet environment of the lab contrasted sharply with the chaos and energy of the school corridors outside. Students rushed past, some chatting animatedly while others rushed to classes. It felt like the usual hum of high school life—so different from the sterile world of the lab where time had seemed to stand still.
Nana stood hesitantly, her gaze taking in the bustling hallway with a mix of confusion and curiosity. She was seated in a wheelchair, a stark reminder of the accident and the extensive modifications made to her body. Max could see how the chair, with its advanced technology, was an extension of her metal body—sleek, functional, but still unfamiliar to her. The world felt too fast for her, and she seemed small, as though struggling to keep up.
"You okay?" Max asked, watching her closely.
She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the students who passed by, each of them oblivious to the quiet woman sitting in the wheelchair. The students didn't seem to notice her at first, which Max thought was a bit of a blessing. The last thing Nana needed was to be swarmed by questions or stares.
Max took a deep breath, walking a little ahead of her as he gestured to the cafeteria doors. "This way. I'll introduce you to some people."
As they made their way toward the cafeteria, the hall seemed to grow quieter—though that might have been just Max's awareness of Nana's discomfort. Her presence had a certain stillness to it, as if the world around her was moving too fast, and she was struggling to catch up.
When they arrived at the entrance to the cafeteria, Max held the door open for Nana. The sounds of chatter and laughter poured out like a wave, and for the first time since Nana had woken, Max noticed the tension in her shoulders. She paused at the door, scanning the room beyond.
"Don't worry," Max said softly, reassuring her even though he wasn't sure what she was worried about. "They're just normal kids. Some might ask questions, but it'll be okay."
Nana didn't respond, but she took a deep breath and wheeled herself through the door, Max following closely behind.
The cafeteria was filled with the usual energy of school lunch hour—loud conversations, trays clattering, and the hum of a thousand different voices. Max felt a sense of familiarity here, the normalcy of it offering a comfort he didn't know he needed.
A group of students at one of the tables looked up as Max and Nana entered. At first, there was nothing unusual about the scene—a few girls laughing, a couple of guys debating over something trivial. But then, their eyes landed on Nana. There was a brief moment of silence as the room took her in. It wasn't as if she stood out drastically. Her appearance was striking, but not in an obvious way. It was the aura around her—the fact that she seemed so out of place in this world, this time—that made her seem… different.
Max stepped forward, clearing his throat.
Some of the students glanced at him, confused at first, but then they shifted their attention to Nana. One of the girls, a bubbly blonde named Sarah, raised an eyebrow. "Nana? Is she new?"
Max hesitated, watching Nana's expression. She wasn't used to the attention. Her eyes flicked nervously from one face to another, her posture rigid as if she were unsure how to respond.
"She's, uh…" Max trailed off, unsure of how to explain. "She's… just arrived." He paused, feeling the weight of the words on his tongue. How could he explain who she really was? That she wasn't just another new student—she was something far more complex, something no one could possibly understand without the full story.
Nana, sensing Max's unease, took a small step forward in her wheelchair. She didn't say anything, but the students noticed her gaze, her eyes scanning the cafeteria with a curious mix of wonder and confusion.
The room was silent for a moment as everyone watched her, unsure of what to expect. Nana's gaze lingered on the other students, and her lips barely moved, as though she wanted to say something but couldn't.
Max felt a flicker of discomfort at her silence, but he quickly smiled at the students, trying to break the tension. "Don't worry," he said with a light chuckle. "She's just getting used to everything."
The students returned to their lunches, some still watching Nana from time to time, their curiosity piqued. Max stayed close, offering a reassuring presence, but Nana remained quiet, her expression distant as if lost in her own thoughts.
Max gently wheeled Nana over to an empty table at the back of the cafeteria, a quieter spot where they could both sit without feeling too exposed. As they moved, the low murmur of the cafeteria seemed to fade into the background for Nana. The clattering of trays, the laughter, the chatter—all of it felt like distant noise she couldn't quite connect with. She was here, physically, but part of her felt as though she were still somewhere far away, lost in time.
He helped her settle at the table, adjusting the wheelchair slightly to make her more comfortable. There was an awkward pause as they both sat in silence, with Max trying to figure out what to say next. He wasn't used to this—he wasn't used to feeling so unsure of how to help someone, especially not someone who was supposed to be helping him.
"You okay?" he asked after a beat, his voice soft, unsure.
Nana didn't respond, but she gave him a subtle nod, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to move but couldn't quite bring herself to.
Max sighed, his eyes flicking around the cafeteria as he tried to think of something to ease the tension. "You know… I've been told that the first day is always the hardest."
Nana's eyes shifted to his face, her gaze empty for a moment. Her lips pressed together as she looked down at her lap, as though searching for the right words—or perhaps, the courage to speak. But nothing came.
Instead, a few students approached the table, curiosity evident in their eyes. One of the boys, a lanky kid with glasses, smiled awkwardly. "Hey, I'm Ethan. What's your name?" he asked Nana, his voice kind but unsure.
Max glanced at Nana, silently asking if she would answer. But Nana just looked up at Ethan and then back down, her expression unreadable. She didn't speak.
Max felt a brief flash of frustration but quickly masked it with a smile. "She's still getting used to everything," he explained to the group. "She doesn't speak much right now."
The students nodded, though some of them seemed a little disappointed. One of the girls, a quiet brunette named Jess, leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Is she okay? She seems… different. Is she sick?"
Max bit his lip. "No, she's not sick. She's just… adjusting," he said carefully, glancing over at Nana. The last thing he wanted was to make her seem even more out of place than she already did.
The students exchanged unsure glances, but they backed off, respecting the silence between Max and Nana. After they left, Max turned back to Nana, noticing how she seemed to withdraw even further, her eyes distant, as if she was still trapped in another time.
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Max said softly, leaning in slightly. "But you don't have to be alone, either. I'm here, okay?"
Nana's gaze flicked to him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—maybe gratitude, maybe confusion—but before Max could be sure, she looked away again, lost in the bustling world around them.
Max and Nana were just about to dig into their lunch when the scent of freshly cooked food filled the air. The cafeteria had a variety of delicious meals—some students were already digging in, chatting happily about their day. Max placed the tray with their food in front of Nana, the plate of pasta and vegetables looking appetizing.
"Not too bad, huh?" Max said with a half-smile, setting his own tray down. He glanced at Nana, hoping she'd at least give a hint of approval.
Nana looked down at the food, still silent, but Max could tell she was intrigued by it. The way she shifted slightly in her seat, her gaze flicking between the food and Max, made him think she was starting to relax just a little.
Before they could take a bite, the peaceful atmosphere shifted. A group of older students, led by a tall, muscular boy named Chris, strolled into the cafeteria, their loud voices cutting through the chatter. Chris, known for his tendency to pick on others, spotted Max and Nana sitting at the back of the room.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Chris sneered, his eyes scanning Nana from head to toe. His friends snickered behind him. "This the new girl? You're not even going to talk? How boring."
more like a freak show to me," he mocked, his friends laughing along with him.
Max stood up, trying to shield Nana, his fists clenched. "Knock it off, Chris. You're crossing a line."—
Chris wasn't about to back down. He leaned over, shoving Max's shoulder, a smirk still plastered across his face. "Or what? You gonna protect her? Is she your pet project?" He turned back to Nana, who hadn't spoken a word, her face unreadable.