The Badlands stretched endlessly before them, a desolate wasteland of cracked earth and skeletal trees, shrouded in an eerie silence. As Captain Ryuto led his men deeper into its heart, a heavy sadness clung to his features, his eyes distant and haunted. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances but kept their questions to themselves. In war, emotions were a luxury they couldn't afford.
Archer lagged behind, his mind a tangled mess. I think I have amnesia, he thought, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and frustration. Why am I in a nineteen-year-old's body? Why am I working for some government agency? The weight of his confusion pressed against his chest, each step through the Badlands feeling like a step further from the truth.
"You still have that look," Celine said, her voice soft with concern as she fell into step beside him. Her sharp eyes searched his face, worry etched into her furrowed brow.
"Oh, hi… lady," Archer mumbled, jolted from his spiraling thoughts. His voice carried a nervous edge, his gaze darting away from hers.
"Lady?" Celine's tone was half-amused, half-exasperated, but her puzzlement deepened. "Is that what you're calling me now?"
"Sorry," Archer said, rubbing his temples as if he could coax his memories back. "My memory's foggy—like, really foggy. I don't remember anything." His hands cupped his face, his voice trembling with the weight of his disorientation.
Celine's expression softened, though her eyes brimmed with unease. "I don't know what's wrong with you, Archer. I'm Celine—Celine Cecelia. You're acting like a complete stranger. What happened to you?" Her voice wavered, a mix of frustration and fear for her friend.
Archer's throat tightened, panic rising like a tide. "To be honest, you feel like a stranger. The last thing I remember, I was five years old, playing football with my friends. Chris, a classmate, kicked the ball over a fence, and it rolled into an alley across the street. I went to get it, and… there was this guy in the shadows. I couldn't see his face, but he said something—I can't recall what. Then he stood, reached out his right hand, and… everything went blank." His voice cracked, his eyes wide with terror as a sudden memory hit him. "My dad! What's he going to do? I'm so late for curfew—he'll kill me!" His face crumpled, his expression raw and childlike, as if he'd just witnessed unspeakable horror.
Celine's breath caught, her heart aching at the sight of Archer's fear. "Archer…" she said softly, her voice thick with sympathy. She reached out, hesitating before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this together. Just… stay quiet today. After this mission, we'll figure out what's happening to you. I promise."
"Thanks, Celine," Archer whispered, a flicker of relief easing the tension in his chest, though dread still gnawed at him. What's happening to me?
As nightfall approached, the Badlands grew darker, the air thick with an oppressive chill. The men, weary from the march, pleaded with Captain Ryuto to rest where they stood and resume at dawn. But Ryuto's face hardened, his voice firm yet tinged with an unspoken urgency. "No. There's a better place to camp ahead. Be patient."
They reached the heart of the Badlands, where Ryuto abruptly ordered them to drop their weapons. Confusion rippled through the group, but his authority was unquestionable. One by one, they let their rifles clatter to the ground, their trust in their captain outweighing their unease.
Soon, a massive building loomed before them, its silhouette stark against the twilight sky. Ryuto directed them to take shelter inside. As they entered, the men froze. The structure was vast and empty, a hollow shell resembling an abandoned warehouse. The air inside was stale, and the faint echo of their footsteps was the only sound—until new footsteps approached, sharp and deliberate.
Ryuto turned to face his men, his expression heavy with grief. "My men," he began, his voice hoarse and trembling, "I've lied to you long enough. This isn't a mission to destroy the virus's creators. This is a mission to liquidate the infected."
A stunned silence gripped the room. The men's faces paled, their minds racing. Liquidate the infected? The thought echoed in their heads, universal and chilling. But we have no weapons.
Celine stepped forward, her voice sharp with confusion. "Where are the infected, Captain?"
Ryuto's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't you see? We are the infected."
A collective gasp swept through the group. One soldier, his voice trembling with disbelief, shouted, "I don't feel infected! This has to be a mistake!"
Ryuto's face crumpled, his shoulders sagging under an unbearable weight. "A few days ago, headquarters received a call from the government. They'd developed a tool to detect the virus. They sent us a device to test the station. The next day, we got the results: some of us—you, my men—are infected. They ordered your liquidation. I couldn't bear to let you die alone, so I requested to join you. We're here to be purged."
He looked skyward, his voice breaking as he spoke not to his men, nor to the unseen executioners, but to the heavens. "Aiko… I hope you'll forgive me for meeting you so soon. I just got too impatient." A faint smile touched his lips, a bittersweet surrender to his fate.
From the shadows, a firing squad emerged, their faces cold and resolute. Without warning, they opened fire. Bullets tore through the air, a merciless storm. One struck Ryuto through the forehead, and he crumpled, his final thoughts flooded with memories of his wife, Aiko. Maybe I always wanted this, he thought, peace washing over him as he fell. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to die.
The gunfire ceased, the warehouse silent save for the faint groans of the fallen. Bodies littered the floor, blood pooling beneath them. Yet one figure remained standing.
"Celine? Kaito? Everyone?" Archer's voice broke, raw with panic and confusion as he stumbled among the bodies. His heart pounded, his mind reeling. Why am I still alive?
The firing squad stared, dumbfounded, as Archer stood unscathed. They raised their weapons again, firing desperately, but something impossible happened. The bullets froze midair, suspended as if caught in an invisible net. Archer's eyes widened, his breath hitching in terror and awe.
"They're gone… and I feel nothing," he whispered, his voice rising to a scream. "I hate this! I hate it!" His hands clenched into fists, his body trembling with a torrent of frustration and grief he couldn't name.
The squad, paralyzed with fear, turned to flee, whispering of spirits and curses. But at the warehouse door, a man in a long coat blocked their path. "Where do you think you're going?" His voice was calm, almost amused, but carried a lethal edge. In a flash, a blade moved, and the squad collapsed, their bodies sliced clean in half. Their final thoughts were a fleeting question: Was it him?
"Hayate," the coated man said, turning to a figure beside him, "you should've left one alive for intel. Oh well—next time." his tone light despite the carnage.
Hayate shrugged, sliding his katana back into its saya. "Got carried away. My bad."
The coated man approached Archer, who was slumped on the ground, his face pale and eyes wide with shock. Extending his right hand, he said, "Boy, what happened here?"
Archer's breath caught, a flood of memories crashing through him—the shadowed figure in the alley, the outstretched hand. His heart raced, fear and recognition intertwining. It's him.
"Don't worry," the man continued, his voice smooth and reassuring. "I already know what happened. They tried to kill you, just like they've been doing to millions of innocents. How would you like to join us, leave this corrupt organization, and end this war?"
Archer stared at the man, his mind a whirlwind of fear, grief, and a strange, burgeoning hope. This moment wasn't just a turning point in his life—it was a pivot in the fate of the world.