keycrash:

never mind, death professor

made this while procrastinating on going to sleep

Sorry we’re a little late with this announcement. We’ve been a bit busy this year, but we just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who participated and extend an extra thank you to our wonderful pinch hitters! You guys are amazing and we really appreciate the extra effort!

However, I’m sad to say that this is the last year we (Mod D and Mod J) will be modding this event. The last 7 years have been awesome, but there’s a lot of work that goes into pulling off this event every year, and it’s time for us to step down.

As for the future of Zecret Santa, don’t worry! We already have a wonderful new mod lined up to take over next year–we’re handing over all the logins so the  tumblr and email will be the same if you need to get in contact.

We are looking for another mod (or two) to co-mod, so if you’re interested please reach out either on Tumblr or via email.

Thank you again, be kind to each other and we hope 2022 treats you well!

All the best!

Mod J & Mod D

To:@miiversian

From:@karin848

Happy holidays! I hope you enjoy this alternate universe where everyone’s alive and well (physically, not mentally) after ZTD! Akane and Junpei stumble upon a little boy without a family and decide to take him in as their own. Here they are celebrating the holidays together!

To: @crossbbones

From:@umbreonyxze​

I’ve really enjoyed your art for a long time especially since you’re one of my favorite ZE artists. I’m really lucky to be able to create art for you this year!

FIC: Heel

To:@windsorgirllove

From:@chessanator​

Well, that certainly managed to expand from what I’d first planned! I hope you find this exploration of the Myrmidons in the world post-Zero-Time-Dilemma as intriguing as it was to write.

AO3

Content warnings for terrorism and suicide bombing and maybe related warnings.

12th December 2028

Today was the day. Myrmidon Trainee Left would take his final test, prove that he’d learned the skills needed to impose Brother’s will on a fallen, degenerate world. His performance would be reviewed by the Lefts that had come before him and then, Brother be willing, he’d be a fully-fledged operative of Free the Soul.

All Left had to do was undertake one single trial mission to prove his competence. So that was why he was in the staging area of the Myrmidon compound, standing against the left-hand wall and waiting for his trial to begin. Every muscle in his body was itching to move, to work off the tension that was building. But Left didn’t. Myrmidons did not pace. Anyone who wore the noble face of Left was too dignified for that.

So instead Left looked over the rest of the room from his vantage point on the side. The fleet of vehicles arrayed in the centre, the rows of armouries across the opposite wall, Left surveyed them all and grounded himself in this location. These were the tools he would need to become familiar with it as he took up the standard as an actual Myrmidon. And he also watched the other Lefts hurrying back and forth as they prepared for their own missions, his comrades against a world too vile to be allowed to exist.

Left’s attentiveness also served him well when he saw his Drill Sergeant entering the staging area through the main doors at the back end. Even as Sergeant Left advanced across the staging ground at a brisk, purposeful pace, Left was able to make himself presentable and stand at attention just as the Sergeant arrived.

“Look lively, Trainee!” Sergeant Left belted out as he came to a halt in front of Left and received his crisp salute. “Today’s the day when we find out what you’re made of. Do you know what you’re made of, Trainee?”

“Sergeant! I am made of the pure soul that will inherit the new world, Sergeant!”

“That’s right, Trainee Left!” Sergeant Left replied. “And I’m not going to be having you tarnish the good name of Left out in the field today.” He paused just a moment, his eyes scanning Left up and down as he let his statement sink in. Then he asked, “Are you scared, Trainee?”

It took about half a second too long for Left to get out his reply. “No, Sergeant!”

The Sergeant snorted his displeasure. “That’s a lie, Trainee, and you know it! I can see you quaking at the knees!” He leaned in, just close enough to let his voice blast into Left’s ear even though he’d barely raised it above a mutter. “Luckily for you, you aren’t the first lily-livered Left clone to pass through my hands. None of them failed their debut missions, even the ones who were even more maggoty specimens of Myrmidons than you are. Do you know why, Trainee?”

There was only one possible answer to that. “No, Sergeant!”

“Because you don’t have my permission to fail! That’s why you’re going to get out there, do your duty, and you’re not going to stop until you’ve made Brother proud. Do you hear me?!”

Left offered a firm and vigorous nod. “Yes, Sergeant!” He was a Left. He’d soon be a Myrmidon. If anyone had the tools to succeed in carrying out Brother’s will, he did. “What’s the mission?” he asked, respectful but increasingly impatient.

“We’re getting to that,” the Sergeant replied. He stepped away from Left and turned around, calling out to a knot of Left clones huddled in conversation near the hub of computer terminals at the back corner of the staging area. “You there, Ops? Get over here and give this Left his first assignment.”

One of the Lefts in the crowd straightened up, murmured parting words to the clones he’d been talking to, then headed over to Left and his Drill Sergeant. Left recognised him as the Chief of Operations for this Free the Soul compound, even though he’d been so far above the trainees in Left’s group as to never interact with them before now. “What’s the situation, Sergeant?” Ops Chief Left asked the Sergeant.

The Sergeant replied brusquely and succinctly. “Got a neophyte here who needs a suitable training mission. I understand you have one ready?”

The Ops chief brushed his golden hair aside with one slick motion, then nodded to the Sergeant. “That’s right. Yes, this mission is well within the capabilities of a new agent.” Turning towards Left, Ops pulled out a brown envelope from his suit and handed it to him. “Looks like you’re heading to the other side of the country, young man. Examine that briefing carefully. You’ll need to accomplish the objectives methodically and to the best possible standards if you’re to get perfect marks on your graduation as a true Myrmidon.”

“Yessir!” Left replied.

He opened the envelope and – after a quick glance at the Sergeant’s and the Chief’s expressions – opened it up. The mission briefing inside gave Left the location of a penthouse apartment in Denver which needed to be blown up at a specific time and day. Left would be provided with the explosives, but the method by which he’d gain entry and plant it would – surely to prove that he’d developed enough of his own initiative – be his to devise.

“What’s the purpose of this mission?” Left asked the Ops Chief. “Where does it fit into our Brother’s vision?”

The Sergeant cut in. “Do you have a need to know, Trainee?! Is there some pressing need you haven’t told the rest of us?” he belted out in his full disciplinarian growl.

But the Chief cut him off. “It’s important for every last one of us to understand the majesty of Brother’s stratagems,” he said. Turning around and gesturing across all the activity and materiel in the staging area with a graceful sweep of his hand, the chief explained, “The apocalypse will soon be upon us. The day when Brother cleanses the world of all the corrupted filth that’s kept humankind from perfection.”

“Amen!” Left and his Sergeant intoned in unison.

“Unfortunately, our enemies in the outside world have recognised our increased activity in the past few months. Degenerate as they are, we have to expect that at least some of them might anticipate our final operation, and move to hinder us. Therefore we need to give them multiple lines of attack to consider, to disguise our ultimate goal.”

“So… this is just a diversion?” Left had hoped to do great deeds in Brother’s name, to advance the cause of Free the Soul as best he could in one brilliant action. His frown drooped as his daydreams of heroism, and of the unanimous acclaim of his fellow Lefts, slipped away.

“Don’t worry, young Left,” the Ops Chief added. “Even if this isn’t part of the primary mission, you’ll still be striking a blow against Brother’s enemies. The penthouse you’ll be targeting is owned by a judge who’s targeted businesses owned by those who’ve been enlightened to the truth of the soul. His mockery of justice has caused him to spit on Brother’s teachings. He doesn’t even deserve the chance to survive into Brother’s new world.”

The Sergeant placed his hand firmly on Left’s right shoulder. “Shall we get this kid kitted up and ready to go then, Ops?” he asked. “Best to get him out on the road before he overthinks this.”

“Not just yet,” Ops interrupted. “We have a taskforce arriving back any moment. We’ll need to keep the staging area clear for them. Hold back until they’re settled and debriefed.”

At that moment a loud but not-particularly harsh warning klaxon sounded throughout the staging area as the blast doors at the front – the only entrance to the compound – began to rise. Once the doors were fully open three sleek black civilian cars drove in at pace, coming to a halt in the space just in front of the vehicle parking lot. Their occupants climbed out: three Left clones and the handful of Free the Soul acolytes who’d served them.

Their leader – a Left in a slick black greatcoat – locked eyes on the Operations Chief almost immediately and began to head over. Just watching him walk – poised, utterly perfect strides – it was clear to Left that this was a highly experienced operative. The ideal human form was a Left, and the ideal Left was this agent. Left felt like he should have recognised which Left this was in an instant. Maybe once he was more experienced, he’d be better at that.

“Report, Agent Left,” the Ops Chief ordered the newly arrived Left.

“Mission successful.” The Agent got into his report. “We recovered the data and ensured our enemy had no further copies of it. Not a single casualty, of course.” He flashed a confident grin. “Had to sacrifice the asset we used, in the end. But that’s a bonus, in my judgement. Nothing connecting her to us.”

“Good work, Agent,” the Chief replied. “Have your acolytes pack away your equipment and vehicles and then head back to quarters. We shouldn’t need your services for another week, but keep yourself prepared. The time is upon us.”

“Righteo,” the Agent replied. “I’m always ready to bring the fury to our enemies, whatever it takes.” With that, he turned to walk away.

Something clicked in Left’s mind. “Wait!” he called after the departing Left. “You’re that Left, aren’t you? The hero? The best of the best. The operative who rescued one of our brothers from captivity by SOIS, and successfully tracked down executed that Free the Soul member who fled after questioning Brother’s teachings.”

The Elite Agent turned back around. “That’s me, alright.”

“I can’t believe I get to meet you! And on this day, as well!”

“This Trainee,” the Sergeant said, “is just about to undertake his first mission, finish off his training. Any tips for him before he goes?”

Left nodded at his Sergeant, then turned back to the Elite, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Yessir, please sir! I’ll take anything you can teach me. Any unique killing method that only elites can manage? Or any super-specialised breaking-and-entering skills; I’ll need that for my mission.”

The Elite chuckled. “You’re an eager one, aren’t you Left?” He nodded to himself a couple of times. “If you want my advice, you shouldn’t focus on the flashy stuff. Hone your basics. Ninety percent of being a Myrmidon is just waiting. Patience, and observation. Train up those and no-one can beat you. That’s why we Myrmidons, who’ve divorced ourselves from temptation and worldly distraction, are the best in the world.”

Chastened, Left glanced away. But then he looked back up and met the other Left’s gaze. “Thank you, sir!” he belted out, probably more forcefully than was necessary.

“Let’s get you ready,” the Sergeant said to Left. He turned to the two others. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Brother be with you,” the Operations Chief said. “We’ll need every good Myrmidon we can get in the new world.”

The Sergeant led Trainee Left to one of the vehicles on the closer side of the parking lot: a rugged and sturdy four-wheel drive. The explosives Left would need were already stored in a hidden compartment under the floor, the map showing his route across the country already stored in the glovebox. Once the blast doors had opened once more Left drove off, heading towards his destiny and Brother’s bright future.

He succeeded in his mission, of course. There was no way a Myrmidon could fail.

—-

31st December 2028

Today was the day. Operations Chief Left would be overseeing the most important event in human history. Brother had entrusted it to him personally, the responsibility of ensuring the safety of D-Com and the underground bunker and preventing anyone from interfering as Brother brought about the end of the old world.

“Status report,” he commanded. Everything had been quiet so far, but as the leader in control of this operation he’d need to stay on top of the incoming information in order to make the right decisions in the moment.

It was the Left on the nearest com-console that replied. “No contacts within the inner three perimeters. Some activity at the fourth line but it looks like civilians only, normal activity. We’re still waiting for reports from the fifth line.” This Left clone had only recently graduated from his status as a Trainee, and been posted to desk work in the Operations Centre to teach him temperance and iron out some of his over-eagerness. He’d taken to it surprisingly well, considering.

“Keep an eye out,” Left replied, “and update me if anything new comes in.”

The Lefts at the various com-consoles nodded and turned back to their screens with renewed attentiveness. Leaning over his podium at the head of the room Left went back to studying the large display that covered the wall opposite, studying the topography of the various defensive lines the Myrmidons had set up around the sacred site. If he was able to anticipate where the threat would come from he’d do Brother proud.

“It’s too quiet,” someone murmured.

Left twisted his head around. That voice had come from a Left leaning against the rear wall. Unlike every other Left in the Ops Centre he wasn’t in the proper sacramental robes of Free the Soul. If any concerted attack from Free the Soul’s enemies did come this Elite Agent would lead his squad in the counterattack, so he needed to be able to blend into the civilian population: he wore the greatcoat he often donned for this sort of mission profile.

“Surely that’s something to be grateful for, Left” the Ops Chief replied to the Elite. “Yet more proof that the will of the world is with us, if anyone here still needed it.”

The Elite Agent shook his head. “You brought me in here for my advice. My insights. Well, that’s what my intuition is telling me.” He paused, scratching his chin. “I wish we had footage from inside. Leaving our Brother in there with those scum…” He put on a mock shudder. “We ought to be in position to defend Him, in case anything goes wrong.”

“We cover the external security only,” Left snapped. “Brother’s direct orders. The honour of what happens today belongs to Him and Him alone.”

“I’m sure Brother’s decision is wise,” the Elite conceded, making the sign of the ‘f’ as he did so. But Left couldn’t help but notice the slight delay before he did so.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. Not that the Chief of Operations was idle: one could never be idle in service of the Truth, and he spent each and every hour evaluating potential threats, considering countermeasures, and organising the rest of the Myrmidons so they’d be ready to defend Brother with their lives. But since no threats materialised, it seemed that the only event that would take place this night was the holy transformation of the world that would take place inside the underground bunker.

That didn’t change until an hour after dawn, when the recently-graduated Trainee stood up from his com-console and turned to salute Left. “Sir! Report from the fifth perimeter, sir! Possible Crash Keys activity, coming from the south-east.”

“Details, Left,” the Chief commanded.

The Trainee turned back to his screen, tapping away at his keyboard. When he raised his head again his expression was concerned but sure. “Our observers at the fourth perimeter got a better view, sir. It’s a small convoy: only three vehicles. But it’s definitely Crash Keys. We recognised some of their operatives onboard. And they’re definitely heading towards the Holy Site, ETA ninety minutes.” The main display screen opposite updated to show the path of the incursion.

The Myrmidons would need to respond. Left instinctively glanced over towards the Elite again, but… No. There weren’t enough enemies to justify committing the elite squad of Lefts; in any case, it could be a diversion.

“Sergeant!” Left called out towards the group of armed and kitted up Lefts that stood near the door through to the staging area. “Take a squad of acolytes and shadow these Crash Keys interlopers. Engage when they reach the third perimeter. Observation only, until then.”

“Yes, sir!” The Sergeant opened the door and began efficiently calling orders through to the other side. If this was the only threat to Brother’s plan then the Myrmidons would have it well in hand.

But then another interruption came. “Sir! There’s activity by D-Com!” shouted the Left who was manning the com-console.

By D-Com? No enemy should have gotten that close to the Holy Site.

“It’s the Mars Mission test subjects,” Trainee Left continued. “They’re lying on the ground outside. And that’s… That’s Brother! Brother’s outside, too!”

It was about the right time for Brother’s grand design to conclude. Was it complete, then? Was the cleansing of the world now inevitable? Even if it was, Left still had a job to do. “Ready your squad, Agent,” he said to the Left still leaning against the wall behind him. “Be ready to bodyguard our Brother. With enemies this close to Him we can’t take a single risk.”

“About time,” the Elite Agent replied. He stretched out his arms and his thighs. “I was looking forward to cracking some of our enemy’s heads, but if this is what I’ve gotta do for Free the Soul…”

Left turned his attention back to the Trainee’s computer screen. On it he could see Brother speaking to the subjects, though without sound he couldn’t know what was being said. It looked like none of the subjects were a threat to Brother – they were all still dazed from the anaesthetic that had been used on them, but he would be far more comfortable once he had loyal Myrmidons by his side to protect Him.

Especially since some instinct was pricking him, warning that something was amiss. He peered intently at the image of his Brother on the screen, trying to work out what was triggering that instinct. Was that… all nine of the test subjects, there? Weren’t six of them supposed to have been sacrificed to bring about the uncorrupted world?

Then, while Left’s attention was focused entirely on his Brother, the lights in the Operations Centre flickered.

“Sir…” the Left at the com-console said hesitantly, “the computers are doing something… strange. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He paused, fiddling with one of the controls. “Is this something we should expect, sir? Part of Brother’s plan for today?”

“No,” the Chief replied. At least, Brother hadn’t informed him if it was part of today’s plan. “Contact our computer technicians and get them to –”

And then everything in the Ops Centre – computers, main display screen, lights, everything – went out.

Operations Chief Left reacted instinctively. “Has anyone got eyes on Brother?!” he bellowed. The radios were still working, thank Brother, but with all the cameras down they were going to have to rely on human eyes to gather information about what was going on outside. Perfect human eyes, it was true – no eyes could be better than those that belonged to the Lefts – but unenhanced nonetheless.

Through Left’s earpiece, one of the Lefts at the innermost and final perimeter responded. “No! He’s vanished! We have eyes on the test subjects outside D-Com, but Brother’s disappeared! Just vanished!” There was silence, and heavy breathing, for a few seconds. Then the earpiece squawked again. “What’s going on in there?!”

Left didn’t know. “Get these computers back up and running!” he ordered. “There has to be some to get around what’s happening.”

The Sergeant was the first to react, “Get those servers opened up!” he ordered, leading two of his acolytes over to the back of the short wall that held all the com-consoles. Under his direction the acolytes pulled open the panels on the other side, and then the Sergeant peered in at the servers contained inside. “Brother damnit!” he exclaimed. “What forsaken soul-closed cur put that there?!”

“Details, Sergeant,” the chief demanded.

The Sergeant peered in more closely, then explained. “Some infernal device attached to the cables. There’s no way that’s supposed to be there. If we just get it off…”

“Hold it!” It was the Elite Agent who’d interrupted. He rushed over, almost barging the Sergeant out of the way. “It could be booby trapped. No: of course it’s booby trapped.” He took out a small flashlight and trained it into the server cabinet. “I’ve seen this before…” he murmured. “No. I’ve used this before.”

Left frowned. “Can you disarm it?”

The Elite scowled. “Of course I can.”

“Then get to work. We need everything up and running as soon as possible. Brother needs it. All of Free the Soul needs it.”

With that, Left could just stand at his command podium, waiting. It was out of his hands, now. He’d just have to put his faith in Brother that the Agent could remove the device.

And, after an agonising minute, he did. The lights started to flicker back on.

“Nasty little device, that,” the Elite Agent said as he pulled the guts of that device out of the servers. “Would have corrupted everything on all our computers permanently, if I hadn’t known what I was doing. But they should be up any moment now, thanks to me.”

It took a bit longer than just a moment, but one by one the com-consoles around the Operational Centre turned on. Multiple Lefts – including the recent Trainee – breathed sighs of relief as they regained the ability to do their duty. And then, finally, the main display screen returned, still showing the map of the area around the Holy Site and the footage of the D-Com test subjects. Though, another information window had appeared on the main display, one that hadn’t been there before.

It read, ‘Time to Self-Destruct: 7:58.’

The Sergeant scowled bitterly. “When did that come on? Which one of you mangy idiots turned on the self-destruct?”

“No. It wasn’t any of us,” Chief Left said. “It must have been part of the same sabotage caused by that device. We couldn’t see that it’d been turned on because the computers were down.”

“What do we do?!” the recent Trainee cried out.

It was Left’s decision to make. He was the one in command. He was the one this operation had been entrusted to. And with less than ten minutes to go, there was only one way he could reasonably choose.

“We evacuate…” he murmured. Then he said it louder. “We evacuate!”

“No!” The Trainee’s eyes were wide with desperation and anguish. “What about the Day of Truth? Are we just abandoning it?”

The Sergeant cut him off with a sharp clip round the back of the head. “Are you questioning direct orders now, kid?!”

The Operations Chief continued. “We don’t know what sort of attack will follow up this setback. Each Left who survives is one more who can seek out our Brother. Who can come to our Brother’s aid when we find Him. Who can get to the bottom of what defeated us today.” He gestured over towards the doors through to the staging area. “Open all the blast doors. Then abandon posts. Four to a vehicle! I don’t want to see any driving off half-full. Bring the acolytes with you if you can, but don’t put any Myrmidon’s life at risk to do so.”

“Where do we go once we’re out?” the Sergeant asked.

“Scatter,” was Left’s answer. “They’ll be hunting us. The degenerate world outside can’t abide having pure souls like us among them. So we scatter, evade them, and try to regroup later.”

A chorus of ‘Yessir’s came from around the Operations Centre. Left could trust that his orders had been understood, and that they would be obeyed to the best of the Myrmidons’ abilities. As the various Lefts scrambled into action, the Chief of Operations allowed one more murmur to escape his lips.

“May Brother be with you.”

—-

1st January 2029

Today was the day. Today was the day when everything went wrong for Free the Soul. And so Left, most skilled of all the Myrmidons and an Elite among all of Brother’s Elite Agents, would get to use all of his talents holding together what was left.

In the evacuation from the Free the Soul compound Left had stuck close to the Chief of Operations: his talents would be put to best use by those with more information about the bigger picture. They’d ended up in an off-road vehicle with the Trainee Myrmidon left had seen preparing for his graduation mission three weeks before, and his Drill Sergeant. They were heading east straight across the desert, not having seen any of the other cars full of Myrmidons since the compound had gone up in a ball of unhallowed flame. The Trainee at the wheel, handling the driving, allowing the three more experienced members of their reduced group to put their heads together and devise a plan for this unexpected situation.

“We need to find somewhere to regroup,” the Ops Chief said. “That has to be our first priority. If we can get a stable place to act from, we can –”

Long term planning might be the Ops Chief’s area of expertise. But evading enemies out in the field was Left’s. He interrupted. “First off,” he said, turning to address the Trainee in the driver’s seat, “turn south here. A full ninety degrees.”

“Y-Yessir!” the Trainee replied. It took a while for him to get his bearings – Left wouldn’t have been impressed with driving skills like that if he’d first seen them in any ordinary mission – but then the car began to turn, skidding slightly but controllably on the dunes.

“Huh?” the Sergeant gasped from the seat in front of the Elite. “Don’t we need to get as far away from our compound as possible?”

Left scoffed. “If we flee from the compound at top speed in a straight line it’ll be obvious to any of our enemies where to look for us. And when they spot this vehicle it’ll be obvious that it’s us. An unpredictable path will let us outwit them.”

“I presume you have a route already planned, Left,” the Chief said. He paused, considering. “Very well. Engage your plan. Where will we be once we’ve slipped any pursuers we might have picked up?”

“There’s a safehouse my squad used on a previous mission,” Left explained. “That’s where we’ll hole up as we make our plans. The safehouse has food stocked up, a cache of weapons and equipment, clothing to replace all of your robes. All I need to do is reactivate one of my previous cover identities and we’ll have access to all of that.” He paused; a thought had shot through his mind. “On that note, names.”

“Names?” the Trainee asked. “What do you mean?”

Left sighed. “We don’t know how long we’ll be out there, among people who reject Free the Soul. Among people who hate Brother, and hate the name of ‘Left’. All four of us will need cover identities if we’re going to interact with those people. I’ll be able to forge papers once we reach the safehouse, but it’s more important that you get used to acting as those identities. If you call me ‘Left’ in public instead of using my cover identity’s name – Elliot Adams – you’re going to bring a whole load of problems down on our heads.”

The Trainee’s eye twitched. “We’re… going to have to pretend to be apostates?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Of course we are,” Left replied. Brother damn it, novices were annoying when they had to be led everywhere by the hand. “Come on. You’re a big strong Myrmidon now. This isn’t going to stop you, is it? Start thinking about a name for your cover identity. You’d better have come up with one by the time I get back to you.”

The Drill Sergeant picked a name for his cover first – Stephen Raynor – and Left murmured it a few times under his breath to make sure he could say it naturally when the time came. It took a bit longer for the Chief of Operations – they had to go back and forth a bit to find a name that sounded right, the Ops Chief not having been out in the field for such a prolonged – but they eventually settled on calling him Charlie O’Brien. Finally, Left turned back to the Trainee.

“Come up with a name yet, kid?” he said. “Oh, and turn north-east here. Keep an eye out on the freeway as we approach so no-one sees us joining the road.”

The Trainee spun the steering wheel around slowly. Left would hardly be an Elite if he couldn’t tell from the Trainee’s body language that he was doing it slowly to try and stall.

“Come on, kid. Pick a name for yourself, or I’m just gonna end up sticking you with ‘Trevor’, or something like that.”

The Trainee craned his neck around to meet the Elite’s gaze. “My name…” he murmured, “is Left.”

The Elite snorted. “Trevor it is, then. You’d best get used to it. It’s gonna be a long time before we’re around enough true believers in Free the Soul to use our real names in public.” He paused, chuckling to himself. “And if you think using a different name is bad, you won’t like the other thing we’ve got waiting for us at the safehouse.”

“What’s that?” the Sergeant – soon to be called Stephen – asked with such brusqueness it was almost like a bark. “What else do we need to do?”

“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The rest of their flight from the Free the Soul compound went uneventfully. They joined the freeway without being seen, at which point they were indistinguishable from any other vehicle that had been on the road to any but the most observant of viewers. The convoluted route they took through the road network, including three moments when Elite Agent Left instructed the driver to double straight back on themselves, should have thrown off or exposed any tail they’d picked up. Left was pretty confident that they hadn’t been followed. When they arrived in the suburbs around Denver it was just as night was beginning to fall and the streets they were driving down began to grow dark.

Which was a good thing. It wouldn’t have done them any good if anyone had seen the other three Lefts before they had a chance to change out of their robes.

Left gave the driver directions to the safehouse, a large suburban house on the bend of a winding residential street. After a thorough look both ways down the street to make sure none of the occupants of the other nearby houses were looking out their window, Left bundled the other three Lefts out of the car and through the front door into the house. Now free from any possibility of prying eyes, Left breathed a sigh of relief.

He turned around to face the others, then gestured around the clean, well-furnished rooms they’d entered into. “This is where we’ll be living for the next few months. Make yourself at home!”

Left took them on a tour through the safehouse, starting with the wide-plan lounge, the dining room, and the well-stocked kitchen on the ground floor. Next up were the rooms on the upper floor, which had all been converted to bedrooms so that the safehouse could house as many Free the Soul agents as necessary.

As they passed through those bedrooms, observing the smooth mattresses and soft quilts on each one, the Trainee spoke up. “Is this really the sort of decadence apostates live in?” he asked. With a slight, disdainful shake of his head, he added, “No wonder their souls end up so wretched.”

“Remember your training, Left,” the Sergeant interrupted. “You’ve got to learn to steel yourself against all this, if you’re going to be an agent for Free the Soul.”

The Ops Chief turned to Left, peering intently at him. “I presume there’s a reason why our hideout is furnished so unnecessarily extravagant?”

Left had the answer to that particular question ready in an instant, of course. “Our safehouse needs to blend in among all the other houses on this street. We can’t take any risk of being discovered by our enemies.” Since they’d just finished touring the upper floor, it was the perfect time to change the subject. “Let me show you the weapons and tools we have stashed here, next.”

Since those were the sorts of items that would instantly, one-hundred-percent certainly, expose the Myrmidons to anyone who saw them, the weapons and other equipment were stored in the basement, the path down being concealed behind a false panel in the kitchen. After showing each of his comrades the trick to removing the panel – and emphasised the importance of putting it back in place correctly – Left led them down and turned on the lights.

The Sergeant gazed around the weapon racks on the walls – the collections of combat knives, various handguns, small machine guns, even a couple of assault rifles and a bandolier of grenades – with admiration. “You weren’t lying when you said this would be a good place to launch our counterattack from.”

Left let out a hearty laugh. “Now, would I ever lie to any of my brothers?” Then his expression grew serious. “Now, there’s one more thing we need to do before we settle in.”

“What is that?” the Ops Chief asked. His forehead furrowed, puzzled. “Wait… this is what you were talking about back in the car, I presume.”

“Exactly right!”

Leaving that there, Left headed deeper into the basement in search of what he needed. He headed straight past the weapons, of course, and also past the cabinets that were next along the walls and contained electronic warfare equipment, rappelling gear, field medical kits, and other equipment that the Myrmidons who used this safehouse would need to be successful in their sacred mission.

Finally Left reached what he was looking for right at the back end of the basement: a small bag next to the wardrobe which contained whichever clothes, uniforms and disguises wouldn’t be suitable for storing upstairs. From inside that bag Left drew four tubes full of gooey, viscous liquid. He checked the labels, then presented them to the others with a flourish. “Ta-dah!”

“Is… Is that what I think it is?” the Ops Chief asked.

“Yes, that’s hair dye, alright,” the Sergeant replied.

The Trainee gasped, almost shivering in place. “Hair dye?! We’re gonna have to get our hair dyed? But… But the perfect form of Left? It’s blond! We’re supposed to be blond.”

Left shook his head gently. “Look. If four identical men arrive at this house, it’ll be obvious to everyone around us. Especially if our enemies have taken advantage of our vulnerability to propagandise against us. So, we’re going to have to change our appearances. Get our hair cut, change its style and, yeah, get it dyed. You think you can do that, kid?”

The Trainee – looking so young and inexperienced even though, objectively, he had an identical appearance to all the other Myrmidons – took several deep breaths in and out. “This is for our Brother, right?” he asked. “So we can regroup. So we can rescue Him from our enemies?”

“That’s right, Left,” Left said softly.

Trainee Left nodded firmly, straightened his posture, and met Elite Agent Left’s gaze head on. “Then I can do it. Dye my hair.”

“With an attitude like that you’ll go far, kid,” Left replied.

And the Trainee would have to go far. They all would. They might have survived the disaster that had befell the Myrmidons and the Day of Truth, but they had a long way to go if they were going to rebuild.

If they were going to bring Free the Soul to its eventual victory.

—-

25th March 2029

Today was a day like any other. For three months now, Sergeant Left – he was going by Stephen, now, but he’d kept his real identity at the core of his being. He’d have to, if he was going to provide a good example to his oh-so-recent Trainee – had been waiting for the news that would let the four Myrmidons in the safehouse get back into action.

That news seemed no more likely to arrive that day than it had any day previously. Ops had been hard at work, trying to establish channels to any other cells of Myrmidons that had survived. But there hadn’t been any reply yet. Had there really been no other survivors? Had every other Myrmidon been captured; or worse, killed? The Sergeant would have guessed that their vehicle would have been most favoured in its chances of escaping, with the Elite’s guidance allowing them to evade pursuit. But every other vehicle had failed? What was the point of him training up Myrmidons for so long if his training helped them succeed in the crucial moment?

And then there was the question of Brother. How had He disappeared from the Myrmidons’ watchful sight, at the moment when it had been most important for them to be ready to defend Him? Brother could perform miracles; the Sergeant knew that. But that miracle seemed to work at cross-purposes to anything Brother could hope to accomplish; it only made the Myrmidons’ life and mission harder.

In the meantime, all the Sergeant could do was stay ready, and keep the others ready as well. Which was why he was out in the backyard of the safehouse, engaged in a sparring match so he could keep the Trainee’s hand-to-hand skills honed. They’d put on protective padding that they wouldn’t have in proper Myrmidon training. Between that and their changed appearances – they’d both cut the long golden locks of a Left down to a crew-cut and dyed what was left, black for the Sergeant and brown for the Trainee, and the Sergeant had allowed a beard to grow in as well – they wouldn’t have looked to observers like anything more than a pair of average martial-arts enthusiasts.

Particularly skilled enthusiasts, of course: Left’s Myrmidon pride wouldn’t let him settle for less, plus the training wouldn’t have any benefit if they weren’t going all out. And it quickly showed that Left was comfortably more skilled than his Trainee, when he got control of one of the Trainee’s arms with a well-time grapple, swept his leg out to kick away his ankle, then threw the Trainee onto the grass.

As the Sergeant held out a hand to help the Trainee back up, he sighed. “You’re better than this, Trevor.” Left changed the name for the benefit of any of their neighbours who might overhear. “If you take risks like that in a real fight you’re going to get hurt, you idiot.”

‘Trevor’ glowered back at him sullenly. “You’d have put me in the ground even if I hadn’t done that. Let’s face it, you’re better than me. I’m not going to beat you in a sparring session unless I take somerisks.”

“You aren’t pretending you picked up that bullshit from me, are you?!” the Sergeant barked, giving the other Left a quick clip around the head.

The Trainee quickly replied. “No, Ser… Stephen!” He was still a bit out of step, keeping to their cover identities. Something else they’d have to work on.

His point made, the Sergeant softened his tone for the rest. “Nothing like that matters in a real fight. A superior opponent will just take advantage of a mistake like that even harder. That’s even more of a reason to do the right thing, every time. Remember what I taught you.” The Sergeant couldn’t say aloud what he usually would have: that as clones of Left they were unsurpassed in physical potential, and would therefore inevitably win any fight as long as they didn’t make any errors their opponent could exploit. It didn’t matter. He’d hammered it in enough during drill that it should have been as instinctive to the Trainee as breathing. “Let’s do this again,” he said once the Trainee was steady on his feet once more.

Before they could start, though, a voice drifted over the fence that divided their backyard from the next garden over. “Stephen, Trevor, at it again boys?” the Myrmidons’ next-door neighbour, an older, grey-haired, wiry-thin lady named Sophie, asked as she came to peer over the fence, her eyes only just making it over the top of the wooden panels.

The Trainee shrugged as he turned to address her. “Got to stay in shape, right?” he said. “The way the world’s coming to.” He’d been overly withdrawn the first few times they’d interacted with their neighbours, but since then he’d gotten used to putting the façade of ‘Trevor’ over his Myrmidon core.

“Oh you are right, you are right,” Sophie replied, her voice sing-songily light. “If anything were to happen around here, I’m glad we’ve got some big strong men like you around to take care of it.”

“I’m sure nothing’s going to happen, Sophie,” Left replied. Of course nothing was going to happen. The Elite Myrmidon had picked this neighbourhood for his hideout precisely because it was so safe from anything that would disturb or expose them.

“Well if you’re sure, dear,” Sophie replied. Then she perked up. “Stay there, boys. I’ve got something for you,” she exclaimed, before disappearing back behind her fence. When she reappeared she’d come round to the Lefts’ side of the fence, into their backyard, carrying a small serving tray with four glasses sitting on top. “Freshly-squeezed orange juice, just for you. Come on! You’ve got to be thirsty after all that rough-and-tumble.”

The Trainee shook his head, almost wildly. “N-No, we couldn’t.” A quick inquisitive glance the Sergeant’s way made the double meaning in that clear.

The Sergeant cut the Trainee off by stepping forward and lifting the closest glass of juice from the tray. “Drink up, lad,” he said. “Gotta rehydrate. Even we can’t keep going forever without that.” Once the Trainee had taken a glass as well and started to slurp it down, Left turned back to Sophie and nodded. “Thanks very much.”

“Take some for your housemates, as well,” Sophie said, gesturing at the other two glasses on the tray. “It’s an old family recipe, you know. The times my poor old mother would show me how to get the amount of sugar just right to make it come out right…” Once Left had taken hold of the other two glasses she tucked the serving tray under her arm, sighing as she did. “You know… I never see Elliot or Charlie around much. Are they okay? Not settling in?”

Left quickly shook his head. “Work’s keeping them busy.”

That was a completely lie, naturally. The four of them were supported, monetarily, from untraceable accounts that had been set up long ago and filled with money by forethinking Free the Soul adherents; it wasn’t like they needed employment. Nor was it in any way right for a good Left to offer his labour in service to those who controlled the degenerate world that Free the Soul needed to change. But it bolstered the cover identities they were using, and gave the Elite Agent a good explanation for the time he’d left the house vacant between when he’d first used it and when the four of them had arrived, to claim that they were working from home. Since the area they’d claimed to be employed in was informational security, the Elite had been confident that they could pretend to describe it with no-one they were speaking to being able to or even wanting to follow the details. Case in point…

“A bit of an emergency came up at work,” Left continued. “Elliot’s been up all night tracing the incursions to see if they got anything, but…” He finished off with a calm, resigned shrug.

At that moment the back door to the house opened up and Ops stepped out, a dour expression on his face. Unlike Left and his Trainee he’d kept the blond hair of a Left rather than dying it, but with it cut much shorter than any Myrmidon would usually wear it he looked more than different enough that there was no danger. “There’s news from…” Ops started off, before flicking a quick look Sophie’s way, “… work. You’d better hear it.”

Sophie just nodded softly. “You boys get on it. Don’t let an old lady like me hold you up.” She raised her voice to call into the house – “Enjoy the OJ!” – before disappearing back into her own garden.

After making sure Sophie really had left, the Sergeant turned to meet the Chief of Operations’ gaze, his expression stern and serious. “What news? Are we ready to go back into battle?”

Ops shook his head. “But you should come and see what we’ve found.”

He led the Trainee and the Sergeant back into the house – the Sergeant made sure the back door was closed and very firmly locked behind them – and up to the main bedroom, where the Elite was hunched over the computer they’d set up there. The Elite brushed the long, ginger-dyed fringe out of his eyes as he peered at the screen, scowled at what he saw, then turned to look up at the other Myrmidons as they entered.

“Can’t disagree with your analysis, Chief,” the Elite said to them morosely. “Looks exactly like what you said it was. Have you explained it to them, yet?”

“No,” Ops replied. “But it won’t take long.” He turned to face Left and his Trainee, his hands clasped together gravely. “First things first, it looks like we can be certain that our Brother failed in His anointed task to remake the world.”

The Trainee gasped. “No! He couldn’t! It’s not possible!”

The Chief cut him off with a brusque wave of his hand. “I’m sorry. But it’s true. Only I and a few other high-ranked Myrmidons were informed of how exactly Brother would accomplish it. But if it had worked, we would have seen signs of it by now. Nothing about this corrupt world has changed. So the mission was a failure.”

The Sergeant sighed. He’d known, inside, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Hadn’t wanted to compromise his faith in Brother. “I’m guessing that’s not the only reason why you’ve brought us here, sir,” he said.

“As you know, I’ve been trying to reunite us with any other cells of Myrmidons that escaped the disaster at the Holy Site. What I’ve found has been… disturbing. Some, even many, of them survived, and established bases from which to carry out Free the Soul’s mission. But by the time I was able to identify them one of our many enemies had done the same and wiped them out. That was true for each and every cell I tried to contact.”

“Someone’s been killing our brothers?!” the Trainee exclaimed. “We have to avenge them!”

The Elite chuckled. “Now I’d love to do that, too. But maybe you should learn everything we’ve got before you march all four of us into the meat-grinder in a Brother-forsaken wild goose chase.”

The Chief continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “Last week, I was able to make contact with a group of our brothers that had been sheltered by one of Free the Soul’s most devout adherents. We had just managed to confirm that our identities were true; that neither of us were impostors hoping to infiltrate and finish Free the Soul off. And then, yesterday, they too fell silent.”

“The same enemy got them.” The Sergeant didn’t need to make that a question.

“True. But this time we were able to find out who they were. Since we knew when they had been attacked, I was able to track down surveillance footage from just beforehand.” Ops gestured at the computer screen and said to the Elite, “Show them, Left.”

The Elite slid the chair he was sitting at to the side and turned the computer their way. On the screen, in grainy but unmistakable footage, was a slender, cocky-looking man with white hair, giving orders to people just off screen with a vigorous arm gesture. The Sergeant recognised the man instantly, righteous hatred swelling inside him.

Only the Trainee hadn’t had that reaction to the image. Though he did know this was someone to hate, all he said was, “Who is that?”

“You wouldn’t have been briefed on all of Free the Soul’s enemies until you were going out in the field more regularly,” Left explained. “That’s Aoi Kurashiki. He’s the brother of the leader of Crash Keys, and their most dangerous operative.”

The Trainee’s eyes widened. “Crash Keys! They attacked the Holy Site, just before it all happened.”

“That’s right,” the Chief said with an encouraging nod. “And, once I knew what to look for, it was clear that they were behind the deaths of all our other brothers as well. There was only one conclusion I could reach. One thing that could explain both the disaster that befell us on what should have been our day of glory, then the systematic hunting down of everyone else who escaped.”

“That’s gotta mean…” The Trainee fell silent, his brow furrowed. Then he gasped, a sharp, strangled rush of air. He’d worked out what the truth had to be. Why the four of them had ended up in this situation.

“… There’s a traitor. Someone betrayed us to Crash Keys.”

—-

2nd August 2029

The days were passing by, faster and faster. Chief of Operations Left had kept his cell of Myrmidons together as best he could, and their shared faith in Brother was a glue stronger than any mere camaraderie. Still, the months without anything for them to do – surrounded by the outside world and all its temptations and corruptions, the lingering threat of being betrayed to a Crash Keys death squad hanging over them – could only be wearing them down. With no guidance from Brother to lead the way there wasn’t much more they could do.

In the weeks following their realisation of a traitor within the Myrmidons the four Lefts had started working in shifts, keeping someone up and awake at all times to watch out for the attack, whenever it came. But it never had; between the increasing fatigue and the increasingly strained excuses they’d made to the neighbours for the strange pattern of activity, the constant vigil had proven to be unworkable.

So they’d gone back to living their ordinary undercover lives.

Maybe there was some other approach they could take to defending themselves against Crash Keys. If Left could work out who the traitor was, how they’d infiltrated the Myrmidons and sabotaged them on the Day of Truth, what secrets they’d communicated to Crash Keys, then maybe he’d be able to anticipate their next move. Or even lead his Myrmidons out and attack them first.

So the Ops Chief was down in the hidden basement below the safehouse, at one of the workbenches that they had set up there. The device that had been used to bring down the compound’s servers – the Elite Agent had brought it with them in their flight, after he’s disarmed it – lay open on the worksurface, its wires and innards exposed. The Elite had said that he’d recognised that type of device when he’d first found it, and now that Left was looking inside it the device certainly bore all the hallmarks of Myrmidon construction. Yet more evidence that the person who planted it was a traitor to the Myrmidons, no matter how much it twisted Left’s guts to think that.

Even the acolytes at the compound had been chosen for their utmost loyalty to Brother and were individually vetted by Brother Himself; none of them should have been traitors. And Left clones weren’t supposed to be even capable of betraying Brother.

And there was also the question of how the device had been attached to the servers in the first place. Had the traitor sneaked into the Operations Centre before the Day of Truth to plant it? No. The Ops Centre had been constantly manned, especially in the days as Brother prepared the holy site for the end of the world. And the servers had been located right in the middle of the room, where any of those Myrmidons could have witnessed and prevented it. The only way the sabotage device could have been planted was if every single one of those Lefts had been traitors, or if all of them had been struck blind at the same time but hadn’t realised that had been done to them.

And yet, the sabotage device had been found there, attached to the servers.

Left’s thoughts were distracted when he heard the panel entrance to the basement being shifted aside. After the firm click as the panel was slid back into place, footsteps descended the stairs towards Left. The Trainee emerged from that passageway into the basement chamber, a weary look in his eyes that turned to a flash of surprise when he saw the Chief sat there.

“Sir!” the Trainee exclaimed. “You’re down here as well?”

Left nodded. “I was just re-examining this device. If I just…” He trailed off. His subordinate had no need to know this. “What are you planning on doing down here?” Left asked instead.

“I need to purify my soul,” the Trainee replied.

A usual enough request. “Carry on, then,” the Chief said.

The Trainee headed over to the far end of the basement and laid out the implements used for Free the Soul rituals in a rough ring on the floor, before reaching into the wardrobe down there for the Free the Soul robes they’d stored there. When he’d donned his robes and knelt down in the centre of that ring he began the purification, closing his eyes, making the sign of the ‘f’ and chanting a prayer under his breath. When the chant was finished, just before moving onto the next part of the ritual, the Trainee opened his eyes again and looked up at Left. For a moment his lips quivered, but then he shut his eyes again and reached out for the mortification cables.

The Chief pushed the remains of the sabotage device away from his across the workbench and turned in his seat to face the Trainee head on. “You can speak up, Left, if you feel the need. Your spiritual health is important, to all of us here. Please, speak your mind.”

The other Left breathed in and out, several times, deeply, before replying. Eventually he said, “You must think I’m weak. Too weak to be a real Left. I’m needing to do this nearly once a week, now.”

Left sighed. “Do you think the rest of us aren’t purifying ourselves, also? Living for so long surrounded by this fallen world is something that threatens to taint all our souls. Never mind having to live here without His guidance. The methods He provided are a salve to us all, and it’s no weakness to rely on them.”

“But…” The Trainee shook his head forcefully. “Aren’t we supposed to be the new race of humankind? Those with strong enough wills to avoid the sins of other, lesser humans? If my willpower isn’t strong enough, if I’m not good enough, then…”

As the Trainee trailed off, the Ops Chief nodded gently. “Let me tell you something about willpower, Left,” he said. “You’re right that strength of will is a virtue. The crowning virtue, for those of us who follow Brother and act in His name. And it does you credit to want to strengthen yours. What I’m about to tell you is something you can only really come to understand from experience.”

The Trainee looked up, his eyes open and filled with hope. “What is it, sir?”

“Willpower isn’t some sort of finite resource you use up. Or some sort of quality a human can either possess or fail to possess. It’s a choice. Willpower is a choice. The choice to do the right thing, every single day of your life. You choose to keep up with your exercises and sparring, to keep your body strong. And you choose to act with kindness and generosity towards your brothers, and do good by your Brother. Those bonds of loyalty, renewed with every choice to maintain them, are what keep us together.”

“Yes, sir?” the Trainee said, nodding hesitantly.

“And look at us.” The Chief gestured around, taking in all of the basement and also the safehouse up above. “Where the rest of humankind was content to let the world fall to greed and ruin, we in Free the Soul made the choice to kill all those that cover the world in filth, to restore and rebuild it. And even when our most direct path to that was taken from us, we persevered. You made that choice, just as much as any of us, and you should be proud of yourself for that.”

“I guess so… But if that’s true, why is my soul feeling so weak? Why do I feel like my willpower is wasting away, compared to the rest of you?”

Left stood up from his workbench and strode over to the back end of the basement. He knelt down on the floor there, in front of the Trainee. “That feeling in your soul, your urge to purify it, isn’t a lack of willpower. It’s your recognition of what willpower requires. Your soul is calling out for the tools it needs to make the right choices, and you’re answering it diligently. You’re a Left, Left. You should trust your instincts.”

The Trainee pondered that for a moment, his posture relaxing. But he still reached out for the mortification cable, and his hand was still visibly shaky and hesitant as he did so. Left could tell that he still wasn’t in the right state of mind for the purification of his soul to take the most effect.

“I’m sure you didn’t come down here to discuss abstract theology with me,” the Chief added, softly. “Tell me, what’s really causing this?” A pause; the Chief took stock of how the Trainee reacted to that. “That’s an order, if it has to be.”

“Yessir.” The Trainee nodded firmly. He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then spoke. “We’ve been living among people ignorant of Free the Soul, right? For months, now. And we’re even having to interact with them, to maintain our covers.”

“That is a very trying situation for your soul, indeed,” Left said.

The Trainee continued, “I know these people are supposed to be degenerate, fallen, their souls filled with sin and greed. That’s what Brother taught us. It must be true. But when we’re talking to them, when I’m pretending to be ‘Trevor’, I just can’t see that. Take that woman, Sophie, next door. If her soul is as degenerate and sinful and wretched as she has to be, wouldn’t it be easier to see than this?”

Left nodded a few times. He took the moment to collect his thoughts. “Do you really believe that it’s a sin to sympathise with human beings who are not yet members of Free the Soul?”

“But we’re supposed to stay separate!” the Trainee gasped, slapping his palms against his knees. “We’re supposed to stay above them. That’s how we keep free from being contaminated by their sin, isn’t it?”

“That’s true, for most human beings,” the Chief explained, “but there are several people out there, many even, with the virtues to evade the corruption that engulfs the rest of the world. Where do you think our acolytes come from? They hardly grow on trees. They’re just ordinary humans with enough virtue to recognise the truth of our Brother’s words.” He reached out and laid his hand on the Trainee’s shoulder. “It’s no sin to associate with those with such virtue, whose souls are yearning to be free, even if they don’t yet know the words or the truths Brother taught us.”

The Trainee’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, sir!” he exclaimed. After a short pause, he asked, “Should we try to recruit her? Bring her into the fold so that her soul can be free?”

Left furrowed his brow, making a show of thinking about it. But when he replied, his answer was what it had to be. “No. If we were still at full strength, perhaps. But as vulnerable as we are right now we can’t afford to take the risk.” It wouldn’t do for the rookie to be getting idea into his head that would compromise the mission of the rest of them. Once he’d said his piece he stood up, stepping away from the ritual ring. “Finish off your purification, Left. When your soul is fully free once more, think over what I’ve told you with a clear mind. You’ll see things differently.”

And with that Left turned away. He headed up the stairs back to the safehouse, the Trainee’s grunts of muted pain receding behind him.

When the Ops Chief arrived back in the safehouse kitchen, he found the Elite Agent and the Sergeant standing around the counter there, discussing something intently to the point where they were completely ignoring their lunch. After fastidiously locking the false panel back into place over the entrance to the basement, the Chief went over to join them.

“What’s the news?” he asked them, a sharp staccato command. “Have we received word from Brother?”

The Elite shook his head. “Closer to home, I’m afraid, boss,” he said. He then turned to the Sergeant. “Give him the details, Stephen.”

‘Stephen’? The Chief’s eyes narrowed.

“Our neighbour,” the Sergeant said with a sigh, “has invited us over to a ‘barbeque’ next week. We…” He glanced out the kitchen window, his eyes pensive. “… need to decide how to deal with it. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m not sure what the best course of action is.”

“Surely we should reject it. It is in our best interests to minimise our engagement with those around us.”

“Hold up, Chief,” the Elite interrupted. “That ain’t such a good idea. If we act too standoffish all of a sudden we’re going to blow our cover to smithereens, just as surely as if we paraded down the street wearing our robes and singing Brother’s praises. We need to be cautious, but that’s no reason to make a snap rejection without thinking it over.”

“And, also…” The Sergeant glanced away contritely. “As far as I can tell, I already accepted the invitation. I apologise, sir. I had to make a decision when she asked. As far as I could tell, Brother’s will was telling me to accept.”

Left grimaced deep inside, but nodded openly. He wouldn’t have made it far as Operations Chief of the Myrmidons if he couldn’t manage subordinates having flexibility and using their own judgement in the field. “Very well. We’ll meet tomorrow at 8:30am to brief on what we should expect. I hope you’ve made the right choice, Sergeant.”

Even without an enemy directly in front of the Myrmidons under his command, directly threatening them, there was still plenty of unwelcome surprises and decisions to be made. Left would keep his squad of Myrmidons together as best he could.

—-

16th November 2029

Today was…

The four Lefts had attended several other events and invitations after that first one. Always with some trepidation – the worry of blowing their cover loomed constantly, and they were ever-wary of the impact on their souls from immersing themselves in the outside world – but each time passed without consequence. Bit by bit they were getting more accustomed, knowing exactly what to say and do to navigate the thin thread between their obligations and their cover identities. Even the Trainee was perking up, gradually recovering from the malaise that had weighed down his soul over the previous months.

And today, one more little interaction with the neighbours had wrapped up without incident. The meal they’d eaten over at Sophie’s house had been hearty and filling, without any of the unnecessary luxury and overindulgence that would sap the strength of their souls. Al

Fic: Justifications

To:@1petalrose

From:@bookworm-2692

I used the following prompt: Yes hello I’m going to be very easy to please. I’m a huge sucker for morally questionable Akane. I’d love anything where she’s acting as Zero during either 999 or VLR. You can really go nuts with it. Rather than acting as Zero during the games, I focused on her moral quandary between the two games.

This fic ended up being a character study of Akane and her motivations going into VLR, and was also my way of answering the question of how Akane knew to capture those four so Sigma could do the game and thus come back and tell her about it.

Thanks so much for the prompt! It was fun really digging in to who Akane is as a character, and her experiences with the morphogenetic fields, and how that can skew her morals to be the Akane we all know and love. I hope you’re having a wonderful end-of-2021, and hopefully 2022 is kinder to us all!

AO3 Link

Summary: 

After escaping the second Nonary Game, Akane has two days to enjoy being alive, before she receives a vision from the Morphogenetic Fields urging her to make the preparations for the Nonary Game: Ambidex Edition. With extremely limited information, Akane faces the moral dilemma of creating a better timeline, or leaving people alone to live their lives.

A character study of Akane Kurashiki: November 2027 - December 2028

One night. Just a single night of peace and revelling in the joy of being alive, before she receives another years-long mission.

Akane had been weak when Aoi dragged her from the incinerator, tossed Ace in the boot of the car, and helped her into the front passenger seat of their other car. They had done all they could, and now all they could do was wait and see if Jumpy managed to connect to the fields and save her life. Aoi had just sat in the driver’s side, breathing heavily, eyes closed, hands on the steering wheel. He had placed the keys in the ignition, but not turned them yet, waiting, waiting, waiting. Eventually, after what felt like an age, Akane felt enough strength return to her limbs for her to place her hand on Aoi’s knee. He opened his eyes and glanced at her, face softening in relief at her smile, at the colour returning to her cheeks. Another deep breath, and he finally turned the keys in the ignition, released the handbrake, changed gears, and started driving off through the desert.

Over the course of the day, they drove. Akane could literally feel the moment Jumpy solved the puzzle and told her younger self. The heat from phantom flames dissipated, and she felt a cool breeze wash over her. She smiled, and took a cooling drink from a bottle of water to soothe her throat and wash away the taste of ashes.

Aoi didn’t dare stop driving. He had packed several bottles of water, as well as food in the car, so they ate and drank as he drove. Akane began talking more, her voice getting stronger, her hands becoming more animated as she spoke, as she recovered from burning to death, as her body began to realise it had never burnt at all.

It was late when Aoi finally pulled over to stop for the night, far from any and all civilisation. They leant back the seats as far as possible, and rugged up in the blankets Aoi had stowed in the car. Aoi woke up every few hours to restart the car and turn the heater on. It was a clear night, and in the desert in winter meant that it was freezing. Akane slept soundly through the night, worn out and still recovering from the game last night and early that morning.

After a quick breakfast on the morning of the third of November, their day passed in much the same way as the previous one, the two driving as far and as fast as possible. By lunch time, Akane was strong enough to take over some of the driving and let Aoi take a break.

That evening, as she is brushing her teeth in the bathroom of the small, roadside motel, after her first shower in days, Akane feels the first stirrings of the morphogenetic fields again. She pauses, curious. Her reflection in the mirror changes, grows older, and she is now staring at a version of herself that is a few years older. Then, her reflection opens her mouth and begins to speak.

“Congratulations on surviving, Kanny. Unfortunately, our task is not over. You have successfully created a timeline to save a life – now we must begin the task of creating a timeline to save many lives. There are four people you will need for this timeline – well, I am told more than four are required, but there are only four you need to worry about at this point. The rest will become clearer later.”

“What sort of timeline do I need to create?” Akane can’t help but ask.

“You don’t need to know that yet, either,” Akane’s reflection responds. “Two of the four you require will have the answers you need, and will be able to explain more once you find them. It wouldn’t make as much sense if I tried explaining now, and I need to make sure I give you the important information while the connection is open – you will learn the rest later.”

“Who do I need then?” Akane asks. “Which two or four people?”

“The two with the information on the timeline are named Sigma Klim and Phi Hasse, the youngest one. You cannot seek them out too early – they do not have knowledge of the timelines yet. You will need to use Sorporil-β, and after they awaken they will be able to answer your questions. Fetch them on Christmas Day next year.

“The other two you will need to fetch three days earlier. They are Alice Khaled and Clover Field—”

“Clover?” Akane interrupts her reflection, shocked.

Her reflection gentles her expression, and smiles at her. “Yes. She is the Clover you know.”

“What about Light? Do I need him as well?” Again, Akane thinks, but doesn’t say.

Akane’s reflection shakes her head. “No, he isn’t needed this time. Only Clover and the other three. You will also need to acquire Treatment Pods capable of cryogenic freezing to store Clover and Alice Khaled once you use the Soporil-β.”

“How… how long will they need to be stored?”

“That is information Sigma Klim and the youngest Phi Hasse can explain to you. It is not important yet.”

Three days minimum, then. Light would be beside himself if his sister was kidnapped for three days again. Akane closes her eyes and tries to shove that thought out of her brain. She looks back at her reflection. “What else do I need to know?”

Nine years ago, after they and the other children had been rescued from the lifeboat, after they had been questioned by authorities, after Aoi and Akane were finally alone, Akane told her brother everything. Not all at once, but slowly, and hesitantly. She told him about feeling herself burning to death, about hearing Jumpy’s voice telling her the answers and saving her life. Cautiously, hesitantly, she wondered aloud if the morphogenetic fields Hongou had mentioned could traverse through time. How she knew it was Jumpy, but it wasn’t her Jumpy, that he sounded different, older, but she knew it was him. How she had also seen Light again, but older as well. How she had seen his eighteen-year-old sister, but still had no idea what nine-year-old Clover looked like. Hongou. The detective. A woman who looked similar to Nona. Hongou’s three partners who had helped him torture them. Her brother. Herself. Nine years older, doing the Nonary Game again. Somehow, somehow. Somehow ensuring that Jumpy saved her life, the reason she is even here now to tell Aoi everything.

Nine years ago, Aoi held Akane as she first mentioned the heat of the flames, the smell of burning flesh, and then the pain, pain, pain that drowned out every other sense in her too-small, too-young body. He gripped her tighter as she continued her tale of horror, and by the end he had a hard glint in his eyes. Yes, they would do this. Of course he would follow any action to save the life of his sister, to ensure the world where she became nothing but ashes in a room, ashes staining his hands, ashes under his fingernails, never becomes reality, never becomes this world.

Nine years ago, Akane felt the love for her brother blossom as he declared revenge against Hongou, and vowed to do anything to ensure the running of the second Nonary Game in nine years’ time, all to ensure Akane’s heart continues to beat, that she continues to exist.

Now, Akane hesitates again.

Aoi was so happy yesterday that she was alive. He had declared relief that those nine years were over, that they could finally just. Live. Breathe. Go to a local café and order hot drinks, and exist, not worrying about the future. She doesn’t want to ruin this for him. Doesn’t want to mention the new timeline she needs to create, now that they’ve finally created this one. They succeeded, they have their timeline, they are safe.

Nine years ago, Akane had witnessed first hand the entire timeline she needed to create. She knew the stakes. She knew what she was to gain or lose if the timeline succeeded or failed. She had experienced both timelines first hand, and if she closes her eyes she can still smell her own flesh burning.

Akane gets up from where she is sitting, walks to the bathroom, turns on the tap, and lets cool water flow over her hands. She cups them together, and splashes water on her face. The cool water grounds her, reminds her that she is in the timeline where she can touch water, where her skin isn’t burning and where a splash of water is never far away. Slowly, slowly, the smell of cooked flesh dies in her nostrils, replaced by the soothing sound of running water, and the comfortable cold. She is alive. She is alive. She is alive.

Nine years ago, it was all so easy. She knew her path, knew the end goal, knew what must be done to save her own life. The journey to save her own life was made all the more sweeter knowing she would also get revenge on the four who had caused her harm, who threw a child into an incinerator with no remorse. When Akane had first witnessed Kubota, Nijisaki, and Musashidou’s corpses through Jumpy’s eyes, she had been frightened. Horrified. These were dead bodies, dead people, people she had seen alive earlier in Jumpy’s vision, and also in her own time. They were the first dead human bodies she had seen. The rabbits from five months prior were her first dead bodies ever, and their internal organs spilling out looked remarkably similar to Kubota and Nijisaki in the future. After the conclusion of the game, having experienced death herself at their hands, and such a painful death at that, Akane had looked forward to causing their deaths, taking her revenge on the four of them. They deserved to suffer for what they had done to her.

Akane hadn’t known what Hongou’s fate would be, hadn’t seen it through Jumpy’s eyes. Part of her, now, was disappointed that he would not die like the others, but she would have to be satisfied with a lifetime in jail, with his crimes known and justice served. She still wishes she could have strangled his neck, but for now she would leave it be. She could always kill him later in his cell if she so chose.

Nine years ago, it had been so easy to follow her morphic vision in order to create the better timeline. Now though? Now it is far less clear cut. The vision through the fields of her older self was far less detailed. She does not know what timeline she is supposed to create. She does not know what will be gained from creating the timeline, and what will be lost from failing to create it. She knows almost nothing of what will be involved in creating it.

She knows that this Sigma Klim and Phi Hasse will have more information on the timeline. She so wants to find them, to ask what they know, to find out if it will be worth capturing Clover again and breaking Light’s heart to create the new timeline. But her older self had explicitly said that she should not, could not, would not, find them, and get her answers before a specific date. Her older self had also explicitly said that she had to capture Clover, and this Alice Khaled, three days prior.

Akane will not receive the answers she so desired, the information she wants in order to make an informed decision, until after she commits to the path.

Akane will have to take a leap of faith to trust her older self and the morphogenetic field, to trust that the new timeline will be worth it, will be worth capturing Clover and three strangers, before finding out anything about the new timeline.

Akane sinks to her knees, her head in her hands.

She doesn’t know what to do.

Akane wanders around, lost in her conundrum. To trust in the morphogenetic fields again, when it was only due to trusting them so completely nine years ago that she is alive today. Or to ignore it, and not capture Clover (and the three strangers), not tear Light’s heart out and stomp all over it. Akane doesn’t even know if she should tell Aoi this time. She knows he went along with it last time to save her life, but that he hated it. He hated following a plan from a higher power, hated feeling like he didn’t get a choice, hated that he had to play a role, do what Akane had seen, or else lose his sister forever.

But he had done it. He had done it, because he loved Akane. Because Akane’s life was worth killing three monsters, jailing the fourth, and traumatising five innocent people. Akane wasn’t sure if he’d think it worth it this time. Capturing four people, without knowing why, without knowing what future they were ensuring, wouldn’t sit right with Aoi. She knows he would ask why she had to do this, they just got through nine years, why was she beginning another task that would take at least a year, without knowing the benefit?

So when Aoi notices Akane’s quiet pondering, and asks what is wrong, she places a smile on her face, laughs, and lies through her teeth. She tells him nothing is wrong, and that it feels so good to be alive, and that she has never felt more at peace.

Akane begins researching the four names the morphogenetic fields gave her. This doesn’t mean she will definitely go through with this – it’s just good to be prepared. Just in case. Maybe seeing them will give her guidance on whether to go through with this or not. Or so she tells herself.

She looks for Clover Field first, and goes to the house she kidnapped Clover and her brother from less than two short months ago. She spies on the house, but only sees their mother. Akane returns several times over the course of a week, to see what changes. She cannot stake out the house like she wishes to, as Aoi cannot know what she is doing. She gets less and less sleep over the course of the week, living a double life between normal Akane for Aoi, and the spy looking for Clover.

Aoi notices her getting more and more tired. Of course he does. He’s been looking after her health and safety for most of their lives now. That doesn’t stop just because she is almost twenty-two, and didn’t get incinerated. Aoi drags her to a café he found, orders a hot chocolate for her, and a long black for himself, and tries to help her relax.

Soft music is playing around the corner, out of sight. Akane is tired, so tired. She doesn’t realise she’s drifting off, lulled by the gentle plucks of the strings, until she feels Aoi place his jacket over her shoulders. Bleary eyed, she looks at him questioningly.

“It’s relaxing, isn’t it?”

Akane blinks once.

“The music,” Aoi explains. “I never realised he played, but it’s soothing. I like to come here and just listen. I know he can’t see, but I’m afraid he’ll know I’m here anyway, so I always sit at this table so the counter is between us, so he uhh extra can’t see us?” Aoi laughs awkwardly at that, and continues on when Akane still doesn’t speak. “Anyway, it relaxes me. You seemed so tired, I thought the music would help.”

“Who’s playing?”

Aoi’s soft smile falls, becoming sad and wistful. “Light. Light Field.”

“Light’s here?” Akane is suddenly alert. Maybe, she can follow Light home, and find some clues regarding Clover that way.

Aoi mistakes the expression on her face, and begins consoling her. “Don’t worry, Akane. He can’t see us. He doesn’t know we’re here. We’re safe. It’s okay.”

Akane doesn’t respond, and slowly, quietly, she gets out of her seat and starts walking towards the music. She ignores Aoi’s hissed “Akane, wait!” and walks around the counter. She feels like her heart is in her throat as she sees the harpist playing. He’s sitting down, harp in front of him, nimble fingers deftly, expertly, plucking at the strings. She looks at his face, his closed eyes, his ash blond hair, and his smile lighting up his face in genuine happiness.

It’s him. It’s actually him. It’s Light.

She found him.

After half a minute of staring at Light, watching the music he created with his hands, Akane is startled by some movement in the corner. Pink hair. Clover Field. Her mark.

Akane turns around to look at Aoi, and sees him frantically gesturing at her to back away, presumably before the sighted Field sibling sees them. She turns back for a final glance at Clover, and then backs away and joins Aoi at their table again.

After having found Clover, Akane begins looking into the three strangers. Alice Khaled. Sigma Klim. Phi Hasse, but specifically the youngest one. She still does not know if she will go through with what her older morphic self told her to do, but it’s good to keep her options open. Just in case.

She first finds Sigma Klim. He’s twenty-one years old, attending college in California, and has an extensive social media presence. He has a girlfriend, but no family nearby. It seems he moved interstate for college, so that… would make it easier. It would definitely be easier to capture him with no nearby family connections, and only a girlfriend. Not that she was planning on capturing him of course. She was just… noticing facts.

Akane continues watching Klim, confused. He just… seems like a regular college boy. Partying, reaching deadlines by the skin of his teeth, forgetting his supplies when attending class. How can he be the one to provide her with information about the timeline she needs to create? He, frankly, seems like an idiot. What did that say about her older self, that she trusts this… this guy? Does she become an idiot herself in the future, that she trusts the entire timeline with this – oh god is he doing a keg stand? Akane places her head in her hands and lets out a frustrated yell.

Maybe Phi Hasse will be the brains of the duo, and be able to explain everything to her. She does not want to rely on Klim.

The worst part about the instructions to find the “youngest” Phi Hasse is the implicit need to find multiple individuals with the same name. She hopes the youngest isn’t an infant or a child – she really does not want to have to rely on Klim.

Oh god. What if Hasse is just as much of an idiot as Klim?

If they are, Akane will write off her older self as crazy, and not go through with this timeline nonsense. She’s sorry, but she cannot create a timeline and save… whatever it is, if she only has two idiots by her side.

Luckily, Akane soon finds several scientific articles authored by a “Hasse, P.” over the course of half a century from the 1940s to the 1990s. Out of curiosity, Akane reads a few. Each one she reads is written intelligently, and of fascinating concepts, and even mentions various timelines. Akane breathes a huge sigh of relief. At least Hasse is intelligent, and not an idiot.

If this is the correct Hasse. The articles from the 1940s were written eighty years ago, so it is likely that that one is dead by now. The last articles were written thirty years ago, presumably by a younger Phi Hasse. These articles still tell the tale of an intelligent Hasse, so Akane hopes this is the Hasse in question.

She eventually tracks Hasse down to a house in California. She sees an old woman who looks to be about seventy years old, who could easily be the Hasse who wrote the later intelligent-sounding articles. She worries though, about someone this old being key to saving a timeline.

Looking around, Akane sees many photos on the wall of a child, and later a young woman, both with and without Hasse. Akane gets a feeling, almost a morphic nudge, that the young ginger woman is also named Phi, and indeed the person she is looking for.

Akane spends a week watching the elder Hasse at home, trying to work out how to find the younger Hasse, when the problem is solved for her. A car drives up to the house and a young woman exits. Akane’s breath catches when she spots the short, white hair. Aoi. She still has not told him of her morphic vision, and she doesn’t think she can. He would not approve but… but Akane thinks she will have to go through with it. She trusts the morphogenetic fields, trusts her older self. It’s what saved her life six months ago, nine years ago.

She can’t think of her brother now, has to focus on the woman in front of her. Her hair is not the ginger from the photographs inside, but the face is the same. She opens the boot of her car and pulls out several pieces of luggage – oh. It’s May. The woman is returning home from college for the summer break. The door opens, and the elder Hasse steps out to help her… daughter? granddaughter? with her luggage. Akane hears her whisper “Phi”, before wrapping her in a hug.

Akane nods at the confirmation that this is the Phi Hasse she’s looking for. She’s nineteen, young, but Akane doesn’t think about that. She looks at Hasse and thinks three down, one to go. She doesn’t think about how the elder Hasse will feel after the younger is captured. She doesn’t think about how happy Light looked playing his harp for Clover. She doesn’t think about how carefree and happy Klim was. Akane looks at Hasse, and instead starts to consider how she will acquire three Treatment Pods capable of cryogenic freezing. She closes off the part of herself that understands how important family is, the part of herself that misses being able to tell Aoi anything, and continues planning for December.

Akane has procured the three Treatment Pods, but has still not managed to find a sign of Alice Khaled at all. She curses her future self for not being more specific, as she continues tailing the other three. She found the apartment that Klim stayed in over summer break – turns out he didn’t bother going back her his parents like Hasse did – and managed to follow Hasse back to her college. She sees them living full lives, learns the names of their friends and professors. She learns that they are both studying science – Klim is majoring in engineering, whereas Hasse buries herself in physics courses.

Coincidentally, both Klim and Hasse are attending the same college, but Akane doesn’t think they’ve ever met. Of course, there are tens of thousands of students, and Hasse is a sophomore to Klim’s senior, but it does make it easier for Akane to watch both of them.

Right now, Akane is tailing Clover. She has gained a job since Akane first discovered Light playing the harp at the café, but she hasn’t been able to find much information about it. Aoi still regularly visits the café just to be near to Light, even if he will never reveal himself to him. Akane occasionally joins him, but less and less as time has gone on with no sign of Khaled. She doesn’t want to sit around when she could be searching for her final missing piece. She doesn’t want to watch the love in her brother’s eyes as they listen to the music. She doesn’t want to imagine Light’s grief when she steals Clover. She doesn’t want to imagine how Aoi’s heart will break in the face of Light’s grief.

No. It is better to stay focused on her mission.

Akane follows Clover to her job. She has odd, inconsistent hours, and Akane has not been able to work out where she is employed or what she does. She seems to have a lot of free time on her hands as well, socialising with all sorts of friends in all sorts of locations. Akane cannot work out when Clover has time to do her job, but she is certainly being paid well enough to not be doing… something. Akane is frustrated by how little she’s managed to find on Clover and her new employment.

It seems she is in luck today. She follows Clover into a side entrance of an important government building, on a day Clover is wearing slacks and a suit jacket, with her pink hair tied into a ponytail – completely unlike many of the provocative outfits Akane has seen Clover wear when socialising and getting drunk with friends and decidedly not working. She follows Clover down a couple hallways and into a meeting room. Akane almost stops short in the doorway, in the open, when she sees who else is in the room.

She manages to duck behind some furniture before she is caught, and has to hold her hands against her mouth to stop any shocked sounds emerging, but she cannot believe it. Clover is not the only person she recognises – she can also see Light. And Nona. And Ren and Yuuki. And Nobu and Hideyoshi and Claire – and all of their siblings, too. All of the children kidnapped for the first Nonary Game almost ten years ago, all except Akane and her brother.

Akane feels a pang at that realisation. She had bonded with those children – at least, the half that were on the Gigantic with her. After they had been rescued, they had been separated, and she hadn’t seen any of them since. At least, not until she and Aoi had kidnapped Clover and Light last year. And now, here they were. All sixteen other children – no, not children. Adults. Claire was the youngest, at eighteen, but even she was an adult now. They all – they all had grown up. Akane feels her eyes prickle. She… she wasn’t asked to join them. She brings her hands up to her eyes, wipes away tears that she does not want to shed. She refuses to cry.

She sobs anyway.

Is this what she’s sacrificing? A chance at reuniting with the only people who would have a chance at understanding what she went through, how her life changed. She stands hidden in the corner, watching them laugh and talk and hug and simply… casually touch one another. It would be so easy to step out, to say hello.

But no. She cannot. She needs to focus on her task, on creating this unknown timeline. She knows where Clover, Klim, and Hasse are. She has obtained the treatment pods. The end of the year is just a few short months away. All she needs now is –

“Alice!”

“Clover. You’re late,” a woman admonishes. Akane looks around, and realises this is the only person in the room who she doesn’t know. Akane hadn’t noticed her, distracted as she was by her surprise at seeing the other participants of the first Nonary Game.

“Sorry, Alice,” Clover says, but doesn’t provide an excuse for her apparent tardiness. The woman sighs, as though she didn’t expect anything else.

Akane takes a closer look at this Alice woman. She remembers the final name she’s looking for – Alice Khaled – and wonders if it’s just a coincidence that they share a name, or… if this is who she is looking for. She’s Egyptian, like the surname Khaled, and wearing a smart suit like the espers in the room. Akane takes a sharp intake of breath – she knows for certain that sixteen of the seventeen other people in the room have connections to the morphogenetic fields, so does that mean Alice also has a connection?

Akane closes her eyes, and reaches out with her mind and connects to the field again. She sees minds of varying strengths – wow, Claire and her sister are shining so bright, definitely the strongest connections in the room. Above Alice, she sees no specific connection to the field, other than the one all human beings share. Disappointing. Looking at Alice, though, and the knowledge crystallises in her mind, clear as day. This is Khaled. This is who she needs to find, the fourth and final piece of the puzzle.

Fuck.

Akane hides herself away in her bedroom, and locks the door so Aoi will not interrupt her. She needs space, she needs time to think. It is now November. It has been a year since Junpei had harnessed the power of the morphogenetic fields, and sent her twelve year old self a detailed vision of the future, saving her life. Saving her from a painful death. Saving her from the incinerator.

This reality, this timeline had only come about because she followed the implicit instructions in that vision perfectly. She saw a potential future, and spent nine years working towards it to ensure it became a certainty.

A year ago, Akane had received another vision of the future through the morphogenetic fields. But this one was far less detailed – in fact, she had received no information about what the timeline involves, and how it differs from what will happen if she does nothing. Ten years ago it had been clear. Ten years ago, she knew she had to create the second Nonary Game and become Zero, or else burn to death in the incinerator. Now, all she knows is that she has to capture Clover and Khaled using Soporil-β on the twenty-second of December, and put them to sleep in the Treatment Pods, and that she has to gas Klim and Hasse with Soporil-β three days later, and only then will they be able to tell her the information she needs.

Akane dislikes not knowing. She doesn’t like that she does not know the stakes of the timelines. She has to make the decision to follow through or not based on extremely limited information, and faith. She has found all four people she was tasked to find, and has obtained the Treatment Pods. There is no further delaying the decision.

She knows that kidnapping Clover will tear Light apart. She had been kidnapped twice before, and Akane remembers the timeline where Light discovered that Hongou had killed Clover. She was afraid of how he would react this time, especially since it would be minimum three days before she would be released. She tries not to think about how using cryogenic freezing makes it likely that Clover would be in her custody for far longer than a mere three days.

She has seen Hasse and her… mother? grandmother? guardian? The elder Hasse, anyway. She can see how they absolutely love each other, and was sure that the elder Hasse will not be pleased when the younger Hasse is swept up in Akane’s mission to save the timeline. She had not been instructed to cryogenically freeze Hasse, so she can fool herself into imagining that the elder Hasse will not learn anything about this.

As long as Akane is fooling herself, she will go and tell Aoi everything and assume he will unquestionably help her.

Klim lives interstate from his family while he attended college. That distance will help – if she’s lucky, the family will never find out anything happened to him. He does have that girlfriend who might raise a fuss but… Akane can probably take care of that.

After all, what does a destroyed social life matter in the face of what she did last year during the Nonary Game?

Especially to someone as annoying as Klim.

Khaled… Akane still doesn’t know much about her. She knows that she works with Clover, and the other espers that Cradle Pharmaceuticals kidnapped ten years ago, but she still hasn’t worked out what that job is. Something government-y. And why would the government need to employ sixteen espers? There is no way that it is a coincidence all sixteen of them are working for the government together. Khaled is a private enough individual that Akane has not managed to follow her home, discover where she lives, or anything about her family.

That distance should make the decision easier to make, since she doesn’t know who she will be upsetting by capturing Khaled for several days but… the not knowing rankles her. She knows so little about this timeline, that one more unknown is almost the final straw.

Akane knows what decision Aoi would make. He wouldn’t go through with it. He would look at the four people, at their full lives, and think it is best to leave them alone. He would think about how much he’d hate Akane to disappear from him, and wouldn’t wish that on anyone else. Aoi would point out that she doesn’t know the point of the timeline – that he had agreed last time to save her life, but that without a clear incentive this time, that there was no reason to.

But.

Aoi hadn’t burned in the incinerator. He had never felt the flames lick up his skin, turn his clothes to dust, boil the fluid in her body until he could feel no more. He didn’t know how frightening that felt to experience. And the morphogenetic fields had shown Akane a way out of that agony, a cool blissful escape. She had trusted in the fields then, ten years ago, and survived. She felt as though she had to trust in the fields again, that she can’t betray her gift of life by ignoring her future self.

Her future self had a reason to warn her. Her future self knew what the timeline involved, what is so dangerous that she needs to knock these people out and build a better timeline. Her future self knew what would happen if she didn’t do this, and had judged that it was safer to do this. She shouldn’t doubt her future self, or the morphogentic fields.

Trusting the fields to ensure the best timeline is what led Akane here today, breathing.

Akane knows, deep inside herself, that she will always trust the fields. She owes her life to the fields, so the least she can do is to help them create the timeline they feel is best.

It doesn’t matter that these four people have full lives that Akane will rip them from. Ten years ago, Akane was ripped from her life. She needs to ensure that it was worth it, that all that pain and suffering was worth it.

Akane closes her eyes. Breathes in deeply, breathes out slowly. She will do it. She will create the better timeline to ensure a better world. She will kidnap Clover and Khaled.

No turning back now.