Prologue / -- : -- / Sweeper

(...This cigarette tastes terrible.)

Squinting his mechanical eyes, he shriveled his lips. Even in the dark, the unlit room appeared as bright as day to him thanks to the light-catching function of his artificial eye. Gazing at the flame of his cigarette, which was particularly brilliant, he quietly exhaled the smoke.

He was a man in the prime of life. Possibly thirty—at least, that’s how old his cyborg body looked. It was a power-type body that had a thick skeletal frame jam-packed with muscle gears over which he was wearing a black rubber suit made of synthetic resins. His name was Vermouth. It wasn’t his real name—just a code name. He was a covert operative who belonged to a certain corporation. A man who had screwed up in his youth and lost both his human body and his upright way of life.

“...”

He exhaled a breath mingled with purple smoke. If Vermouth were to abide by the tenets of being a spy, he wouldn’t be smoking cigarettes during an operation. Not only does a cigarette’s flame stand out in the dark, it leaves behind a scent too. As for any health concerns, in Vermouth’s case, there wouldn’t be an issue.

Ignoring the risks, Vermouth puffed away because that was his jinx. He had silently lit his cigarette, inhaled its smoke deeply, and savored its release. He then ascertained the taste of his cigarette with a body that was crammed full of gears. Vermouth divined his fortune by its flavor. It tasted terrible.

“...Amaretto. I don’t remember waiting here until morning being our job.” Where his eyes which could pierce the darkness fell, there was a silhouette crouching by a steel door.

“Could you not rush things so much, Vermouth-senpai?” Amaretto’s voice was sarcastic. He was a slender young man who was also wearing a black rubber suit. Because of it, the only part of him that was revealed by a nearby light gear’s white glow was his face. Without turning around, he talked as he continued working with countless tools in his hands. “It takes time to make this frigid padlock moan. Premature ejaculators aren’t sexy, you know.”

“This cigarette tastes terrible, Amaretto.” Snorting, Vermouth shook his large body. “When my cigarette tastes bad, more often than not, our feet have already caught fire. If we don’t hurry and finish this, we’ll end up with muzzles shoved up our asses.”

“...I just don’t get it, Vermouth-senpai, what meaning is there in a full-body cyborg like you to smoking cigarettes? It’s not like you can taste the things, am I wrong?”

“Are you an idiot, or am I the idiot for leaving my back to an idiot like you? Cigarettes aren’t savored by the tongue, they’re something you experience with a man’s spirit. That guy’s a virgin geezer who sold his soul to the gods; he’s not a ma—”

—Immediately after, Vermouth, who had abruptly shut up midsentence, drew his gun from his waist faster than the blink of an eye. There was no way one could tell that he had just been bantering from his stone-cold face. His gaze was sharp as he pointed his gun precisely at the ceiling. In that instant, Amaretto placed his back against the wall and drew his gun as well. Amaretto hadn’t sensed anything, however. Vermouth, his senior, had done so, and that was enough of a reason for him to do the same.

There was no room for doubt. The two of them stared vigilantly through the darkness as they readied themselves for a battle that could break out at any moment. And then— Snap. A sound came from a duct near the corner of the ceiling. No sooner had the mesh lid of the duct come off when a woman poked her face out. She was a female cyborg with short, silver hair wearing a black rubber suit, the same as them.

Vermouth let out a sigh as he lowered his gun. Amaretto grabbed hold of the steel door’s padlock and resumed working. By now, the woman had descended onto the floor with movements as slippery as squeezing out fresh cream from a piping bag.

“How was it, Strega?”

“Ain’t good. As expected, the space ’yond this door is isolat’d.” While brushing off dust from her rubber suit, the woman, Strega, answered. “Its walls’re on the level of a nuclear bunker. Even the sonar device couldn’t produce a’proper image of the interior. I tried gettin’ in through the ducts, but even its ventilation system’s separate from the rest of the building. Forget a mouse, evena’ fly wouldn’t be able to get inside.”

“Hmm,” Vermouth nodded.

Strega continued, “They must’ve somethin’ they really want to keep hidden here. This security ain’t somethin’ made on a whim for show. Very least, I can’t see it bein’ just a regular factory. —Well, that’s why we’re here right?”

“Another fishy job huh, god damn it... no wonder my cigarette tastes like shit.”

Their mission was to investigate a certain ammunitions factory. Factories of unknown affiliation with a dummy corporation aren’t rare. When considering the Five Great Corporations’s holdings, these factories are a dime a dozen. However, a factory that easily consumed the power and resources of an entire city was a different matter. Under whose orders was it built? What was being made there? For what purpose? They had to confirm what was inside by any means necessary.

This job wasn’t only for the sake of the interests of their corporate employers. It was necessary for maintaining a robust emergency management and security protocol in line with their everyday duties. Using camouflaged short-distance resonance gears, the three of them conversed through encrypted transmission signals.

“On the surface, it’s a major factory that the military had disposed of through sale... yet when we actually came here, it turned out to be guarded by a PMC with a security system on the level of a central reserve bank. We haven’t been able to grasp even a bit of its background, even after infiltrating this deep. I get that it’s something big, but you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Sending that message, Vermouth lit his second cigarette.

“...Only ones who could’ve made a facility like this are the Five Great Corporations and the military.”

“Yeah, given that it can’t be our family considering they’re the ones who sent us here.”

“The one I’m seein’ the most likely to do somethin’ like this is the Vacherons, but...” Strega muttered suspiciously.

“Do they really have that kind of time right now? They’ve just taken a blow from the Breguet princess and are bleeding out their asses, you know?” Amaretto replied.

“Its’a true then? That crazy rumor that the Breguet princess is actually ’live and been the one exposin’ the dirty secrets of the Vacherons, the military, and Meister Guild to the public?”

“If nothing else, she’s undoubtedly officially dead on record.” Shrugging, Vermouth continued, “They even held a company funeral you know. I was there too, having casually slipped in. It was a touching ceremony with eulogies that got tears out of the president and the first daughter. They couldn’t possibly say, ‘We made a mistake,’ at this point.”

“G’ess that means that they can’t complain if someone up’n kills her a ‘second’ time, then. She’s ain’t long for this world.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Amaretto butted in, “There’s no evidence that Marie Bell Breguet was involved in that terrorist information leak. Well, that’s obvious, since she was already ‘dead’ by then.”

“How’s that related to anythin’?” Strega said, pouting, “Yer makin’ no sense. Circumstantial evidence’s plenty for those in our line of business.”

“Of course, she’s guilty. The problem doesn’t lie there. That she managed to do all that without leaving behind any evidence—that’s what’s important.”

“...Whaddya mean?”

“She pulled off that stunt as a ghost. That by itself suggests that it’s highly likely that she’s still deeply connected to and receiving support from her home—the Breguet Corporation.” Vermouth kindly elaborated for Strega, “If you kill her, that would automatically make you an enemy of the Breguets. Even if they can’t protest publicly—no, in fact, that just makes things all the more dangerous.”

“Made an enemy? Aren’t they the ones askin’ for a fight?”

“That’s not necessarily true. The incident at Kyoto may have been instigated by the Vacherons and the military—but the remaining three corporations, in essence, endorsed them with their silence. As we were unable to stop them, we’re just as guilty.”

“Ya sayin’ that that was all within the realm of retribution? Ev’n if that’s the case, didn’t they go too far?”

“It’s true that such a thing was unprecedented. Because of it, many of the bigwigs involved were forced to step down, yes... but at the same time, that means that the classified information that was revealed was only worth that much.”

“Only that much ya say...?” Strega widened her eyes.

Amaretto explained, “The truly classified information that would destroy those organizations by their roots was not revealed. If it were, society would topple over. What was exposed were only ‘open secrets,’ so to speak.”

“...Isn’t that all they knew?”

“Could be true,” Vermouth said as he exhaled, “But it could be false too. What if they purposefully ended the information leak where they did—in other words, what if that was nothing but a warning?”

Amaretto nodded with a bitter smile, “I wouldn’t want to provoke a princess who raises that kind of hell just from having her butt felt up a little.”

Strega cast a cold gaze onto Amaretto. “It’da be good for the world if ya were stabbed just once.”

“Enough chatter, open it up already.”

“Yes, yes—it’s open now. Thank you for your patience,” Amaretto replied with his natural voice.

Kachong. A heavy sound rang out as the steel door slowly slid open.

“Alright, wake Sambuca up. We’re breaking in.”

After Vermouth wound the spring of the support-type automaton sleeping in the corner of the room to start him up, they advanced into the depths beyond the thick door.

●

And then, they saw something they shouldn’t have.

“—You can’t be serious,” Vermouth gasped with a dry voice, “Wh... What is this? Are they insane...?” Vermouth shook his head, the information his eyes were feeding him was simply too unbelievable. In conclusion, the gigantic vault that they had gone through the trouble to open was empty. The manufacturing area was a large empty space.

Had it already fulfilled its purpose? Countless tools and equipment, including gigantic cranes and ladders that must have been used to make something, looked lonely having been abandoned in what seemed like a hurry. They snuck past that emptied manufacturing area to where, deep in the back, there was what appeared to be a research office lined with bundles of documents and computers. In other words, the information that had been left behind. Reading only a small portion of it was enough to make them shiver.

Amaretto spoke, being the first one to regain his composure, “...If all of this is true, the sacrifices won’t end with just one or two cities.” In the worst case, this Clockwork Planet itself could be— “In any case, let’s make some copies and get out of here, Vermouth-senpai. We can study the information all we want after. What’s more important right now is to bring this information back without a hiccup. Otherwise...” ——It may have simply been that by witnessing such dangerous information Amaretto was able to promptly assess that this case was beyond them, but— Just as Vermouth and Strega, who had come to their senses upon those words, were about to take pictures of the documents, the three cyborgs felt something.

“———?!” It was an illusion of a sensation that shouldn’t have been possible to experience with their bodies that were covered in artificial skin. There was no other way to describe it—they felt goosebumps. In another word, terror froze the bodies of the three veteran spies. They felt a presence. Outside the room, in the thick darkness, “something” was definitely there. It was small, so small, and yet—it had the scent of extraordinary violence. Without uttering a word, the three of them immediately scattered. They looked like they were on the run from something from how desperate they were to hide themselves in the shadows of the room. Without even having agreed on it beforehand, they all drew their Coil Spears instead of their guns.

Coil Spear—a bayonet that is able to vibrate at ultrahigh frequencies. Able to change into a pistol, a shotgun, or a grenade launcher with just a swing of the arm, Coil Spears are the best weapon a single person can carry in terms of both adaptability and firepower. If one mastered its use, a person would be able to fight against both human soldiers and automata. For the three of them who were combat cyborgs, it was an armament—a multifaceted weapons system—that would allow them to challenge just about any enemy, even if that enemy was a heavily-armored automaton. However, being the product of cutting-edge clockwork technology, it couldn’t be manufactured by any entity other than the Five Great Corporations. As such, there was a risk that their affiliations could be readily exposed due to the differences in company technology.

For those whose most important job was to remain undercover, simply having to use it meant that they had failed their mission. Even so, they had decided to use their Coil Spears without a moment’s hesitation. There was only one exceptional case in the mission regulations they operated under that would authorize a Coil Spear’s use. When returning alive without its usage had become hopeless, and furthermore, when there was a significant reason to prioritize survival over death. Being pros, the three of them determined that this situation fit the bill.

No, that’s just an excuse. Vermouth laughed wryly in his mind as he acknowledged his own shaking hands. The fact is, whoever was outside the room, had made them, three combat cyborgs, draw their most powerful weapon—from fear. Vermouth analyzed the situation with his artificial body’s light and sound focusing functions.

...This room is cramped. We’re in a room that lies deep in the facility. There’s only one exit. The owner of the presence is standing still outside the door. She’s—alone. If we throw Sambuca at the enemy to buy time, it should be possible to forcefully break through even in a worst case scenario.

The support-type automaton that accompanied them, Sambuca. At first glance, it looked like an ultralight-armored automaton. The parts it was using—to conceal its affiliation—were civilian goods they had procured from the local area. Notwithstanding, having been modded by the three of them who were Geselles, its performance capabilities were powerful enough to fight against even a military automaton. In his head, Vermouth went through the escape plan that they had put together for this kind of situation before they had stepped into the room. With no need for words nor transmissions, the three exchanged glances and nodded.

Rattle. The door made a small sound as it was opened. Vermouth stuck his head out from the shadows to visually confirm the enemy and execute the plan——however... upon seeing the enemy, his thoughts froze for a moment. The owner of the presence they had sensed standing in front of the opened door. The one who had pierced their hearts with unspeakable terror was—

...A, child—!? It was an automaton. One with the form of a young girl whose coquettish body was just like that of a prized doll. Her dainty arms and legs were covered with an ominous looking gigantic chain of plates that gave the impression of both armor and, strangely enough, restraints. Her hair that fell all the way down to her feet was as deep a red as blood, and an ominous mask covered her young, innocent face. Through her mask—their gazes met. Vermouth felt it. His intuition screamed at him to discard the plan and eliminate the enemy in front of him immediately.

“—Sambuca! Execute Code D3! Stop that thing!!”

Code D3—restrain the current target even if it means self-destruction. To that order, Sambuca rushed forward without a sound. He was a support automaton that ran on silent mechanisms—originally, he hadn’t been designed for direct combat. However, if he grappled the target, he could at least keep her from moving momentarily. Just a second would be enough. If Sambuca could restrain the enemy’s movement, then the other three could turn them both into swiss cheese with the focus fire from their Coil Spears. —However.

The automaton with the form of a little girl. Her cube made up of black solid gears—twisted.

Like a towel being wrung, the cube rippled as it transformed into two cones with a brief sonorous charging sound. That moment, faster than their cyborg sensors could detect that brief hum, Sambuca’s body that had been grappling the masked automaton girl—vanished along with a part of the floor. “—Hah?” One of them let out a dumbfounded voice. The masked girl silently glanced at the faces of the remaining three. Seeing her nonchalant, inorganically cold gaze, Vermouth understood.

—We can’t win. With a shiver, he acknowledged that fact. “—Tch. Break the walls!” He shouted fiercely to the other two without turning around. If there was an enemy that couldn’t be broken through blocking the one and only entrance, then there was no choice but to increase the number of exits.

“I’ll hold’er back! Gimme cover!” Strega booted up her double-speed gear. Emerging from the shadows, she kicked off against the wall and then the ceiling in a flash as she wielded her Coil Spear as a blade. The blade vibrating at ultra-high frequencies was sharp enough to easily cut through standard building materials. If she diced the ceiling, the rubble that would fall could easily be used as cover. Furthermore, they might be able to escape through the opening. In any case, she could buy them time.

Vermouth, who instantly recognized Strega’s intention, pointed his Coil Spear at the automaton girl and prepared to shoot. The shells he chose were armor-piercing, high-carbon steel grenades. With these, he should be able to provide a barrage of cover fire while Amaretto blasted one of the side walls with hi-power explosives. —If a hole opened up, they should be able to escape from there as well. That would have been the plan, if, upon loading the shell into his Coil Spear, Amaretto’s entire upper body hadn’t been vaporized without leaving behind a single strand of dust.

“—!?”

“Yer kiddin’ me...”

The floating cube made of black gears that followed the girl twisted into cones and began to hum once more. This time, it was Strega who exploded into scrap iron mid-air alongside a thunderous roar.

—What the hell is going on—!? Vermouth’s reason screamed. Both Amaretto and Strega were cyborgs with bodies that were armed with the latest technologies without question. So much so, that just like the use of their Coil Spears, dying and leaving behind their bodies was itself a forbidden action. But, that was no cause for concern—both of Vermouth’s allies had been annihilated without a trace. Even if the enemy was a heavily-armored automaton, she shouldn’t have been able to render them so overwhelmingly helpless. However, no matter his protests, the reality of Vermouth’s situation wouldn’t change. And, ironically enough, the presence of this unbelievable monster would explain everything.

The concealed nature of this facility and the gravity of the information they had just witnessed. The security of the premise left to a measly PMC that was all too weak. And then, out of nowhere, this demon...

There was no longer any room for doubt. What was this place? The answer was simple—it was Hell.

There’s no doubt...! The silent operation that rendered their detection capabilities useless. The overwhelming firepower that dominated them to the point of absurdity. The automaton with the form of a young girl that shouldn’t have existed, the enemy that stood before his eyes... this god of death was—— “Tch! You must be one of the Initial-Y Series...!!”

The enemy didn’t respond. Without even taking a stance, the girl focused her mineral gaze onto Vermouth.

—I’m gonna die. Trusting his screaming instincts, Vermouth immediately hit the ground. Above his head, an unknown blast eroded everything in its way as it shot right over him. His left arm, failing to get out of the way in time, was taken by this unperceivable attack. He ignored the screaming signals that reported the damage to his brain.

After adjusting his posture to compensate for the missing weight of his left arm, Vermouth kicked off the floor. He swung his Coil Spear, and the loaded grenades were changed to something else. He fired. An anchor shot out and pierced into the wall, and for an instant, there was a roar of gears turning at high speed. A cloud of dust emerged from the portion of the wall that crumbled from the ultra-high frequency vibrations. Vermouth barely managed to leap into the opening before the second attack from the girl vaporized the space where he had just been.

●

—Think.

Vermouth continued to flee while just barely evading the brunt of the incoming attacks from the god of death that was in pursuit. Every time a blast came, he would try to react as he lost yet another piece of his body. That Vermouth had been able to survive up to this point was thanks to his intuition. He had discarded the information his sensory devices fed him and ignored all tactical theory. If his instinct told him to dodge, he would dodge; if it told him to run, he would run. He had managed to somehow preserve his life for a little over five minutes by doing so. One could call it a miracle. However, that too was about to end.

The room that Vermouth had just dived into was a dead-end with nowhere to hide. Moreover, everything below his right knee had been vaporized by a blast he couldn’t fully escape when he had thrown himself into the room. Vermouth’s honed instinct was useless if he couldn’t run. He had lost his Coil Spear too. The only equipment he had left was a hand grenade that wouldn’t even scratch his enemy with a direct hit.

Contrary to his body that seemed hot enough to catch fire, his reason was thoroughly cold and clear. He silently concluded, that given that things had reached this point, his death was inevitable. To begin with, this life of his had already gone awry ever since he screwed up twenty years ago. Today just so happened to be the day he screwed up again, nothing more. An idiot who should have died twenty years ago would finally kick the bucket. That was all. It was nothing worth fussing over. The problem was...

“Obediently handing my life over to the reaper like this... no matter how I think about it, it grates on my nerves—damn it!” Footsteps sounded. Mixed among the damage reports flooding his brain was the sound of his death slowly approaching. It announced the god of death who had destroyed his two colleagues like they were nothing.

“—Haaaah.” Fetching a cigarette with his hand that was missing fingers, Vermouth gently lit it—such was his job. Neither Amaretto nor Strega were really his friends. In the first place, he didn’t even know their real names. What colors they liked, what kind of music they listened to, their family, friends, and lovers, if any—he knew none of it. He had never asked about their past and frankly, he didn’t care. After all, even without asking, he was sure that they were scum just like him. Vermouth had no reason, whether it be out of duty or friendship, to mourn their deaths.

—However, what they are trying to do... now that he knew, Vermouth felt a long forgotten zeal. It wasn’t due to a sense of justice. It wasn’t that he was moved by a cheap sense of humanism, nor was it that he was attempting to accomplish his job out of a spy’s respect for his profession. It was due to a simple and pure, primitive emotion that came from his gut—

“...Kicking the bucket without being able to even deal one blow to that damn monster...”

“—Really pisses me off...”

That emotion, was the petty pride of the man known as Vermouth.

“Think...!” Vermouth groaned as he exhaled harshly spewing out smoke.

There was no meaning in facing off against that monster. He had neither the skill nor the power to do so. The most he could possibly do to give that monster a hard time would be to get the information he had in his hands outside by any means necessary. So, the problem was—how?

He didn’t hope to return alive, nor did he care about the exposure of his background. Compared to the weight of this information, such things were as important as paper scraps. Before all else. At any cost. He had to tell someone about what had happened here. That was enough for him. “That’s right. I won’t hope for anything else, so...!”

Think. How can I contact the outside world from here?

This manufacturing area is completely isolated from the outside world. We couldn’t even find a single communications room even though we made a sweep through this entire area. There’s no way to contact someone outside through a communication line. If there was a way to contact someone, it would have to be by sending a simple message somewhere with the primitive telegraph device that my body is equipped with. But what point would there be in doing something like that? What kind of crackpot would kindly pick out some sort of meaning from a such random message?

“.........Pft, bwahahahaha!” Vermouth burst out laughing at his own idea.

—Someone like that does exist.

There was just one person he knew that would care about such a meaningless message, someone whose actions no one else could predict. The smartest, biggest fool, on the planet. Vermouth stifled his laughter and tuned the frequency of his telegraph device. As for where he addressed his message— “The only ones who could do something about this insane plot are those equally crazy guys.” If it’s her. If it’s that princess who dealt a mighty blow to the evil in this world, then maybe...! The footsteps stopped. Inevitability was standing right before his eyes. However, Vermouth’s heart was strangely peaceful.

There’s no problem. I’ve done what I could. I can leave the rest to those who come after.

With this, our deaths won’t be in...

“—Hmph.” He became aware of a certain thought that had arisen in the back of his mind unnoticed. It was something that Vermouth hadn’t yearned for or felt in a very long time. That the efforts of someone like him—would be rewarded. It was an innocent desire that he had left behind him somewhere, in a time that he could no longer remember...

“What a mess I am...” Scoffing at his surprising naivety in his final hour, Vermouth cracked a bitter smile. He puffed on the cigarette in his mouth.

I’ve borne the ill will of many people up till now, but I’ve never thought anything of it. I’ve always thought that that’s just the way things are, and that’s why the world’s shit. But, I think I get it now. In this world, there are truly, truly evil scum that can’t be forgiven even if they pay with their lives.

He didn’t come to this conclusion from some sort of fastidious reasoning, nor did he arrive at a juvenile sense of justice. It was something simpler, a hot emotion that boiled up from the bottom of his gut. He just didn’t like this. It pissed him off down to his very core. So, if there was a way to hinder this monster, even just a little...

...What kind of idiot wouldn’t take revenge? If, in return for our lives, we can expose this nauseating scheme, then I say we blow every last bit of it to hell—!

As Vermouth breathed in the ample smoke, for a moment, he mistakenly thought he could taste it, but that shouldn’t have been possible.

“...Ahh,” Vermouth sneered. “How delicious... Hahah... watch and see what happens, you bastards.”

Before he could exhale the smoke, Vermouth’s body was annihilated along with the space it had once occupied.

●

...I’m getting sleepy. The girl thought while her mind was covered in a dense fog. She could faintly tell that she was in a dreamlike state. She knew that she was forgetting something important, but she couldn’t gather her thoughts. Her footing felt soft and somehow unstable, her eyelids were beginning to droop...

“Hmm... A short-wave transmission sent by a telegraph, huh.”

She could hear the voices of human men, though she couldn’t tell who they were. Beyond the fog of her mind were voices that she felt like she had heard somewhere before, but she was unsure...

“I can’t imagine anything important was sent with something like this, but... I can’t help wondering which organization these rats belonged to.”

“She erased them, after all. I don’t think there’s any hope in identifying their bodies.”

“Being unable to hold back is her flaw... but well, the deftness of their infiltration coupled with the professionalism they showed in paying for this information with their lives, those are sort of like dog tags in and of themselves.”

“The Audemars? Or the Breguets? ...In any case, they’re directly affiliated with one of the two, surely.”

“Is the transmission that was sent traceable?”

“I’m already on it. Though, I can’t imagine that they would lead us to their employer...”

...How boring. Quickly losing interest in the men’s conversation, the girl became dejected. She hated complicated discussions. She didn’t like coldhearted schemes or scary stories either.—Crushing, breaking, smashing, jumbling, and cleaning up?— The girl couldn’t understand the fun in such things at all. Could it be, she thought. That these people are huge dummies? Even though there are any number of fun things to do, they’re always talking about the same boring, meaningless trifles.—Singing, dancing, playing, laughing, and cleaning up— Why didn’t they do those things instead? The girl couldn’t understand it one bit. No matter who or what time of day—doing fun things should be permissible.

“AnchoR.” The man called her by name. Upon the girl—AnchoR—raising her gaze, the man smiled, “You did well. That was a magnificent victory. You must have worked hard.”

...Victory? AnchoR tilted her head. In her mind, at least. In reality, she simply continued looking up at the man’s face without batting a single eyelash. As I thought, this person really is just a dummy, isn’t he? Calling mere clean-up a victory—is that why he’s boring? —Or is he like this—because—he’s boring?

“We’ll take care of the rest. You can return to base first and receive maintenance.”

AnchoR nodded silently while being unable to come up with the answers to the two questions whirling inside her head. I suppose it doesn’t matter...

The Fourth of the Initial-Y Series—AnchoR, “the One Who Destroys.” As she turned to make her exit, the eternal, indestructible, and strongest automaton’s consciousness sank into a daze once more.