Prologue

It was a world of muddied consciousness. Possibilities drifted into being and vanished. Lines blurred between times, places, self, and other.

A wide-eyed girl with coke-bottle glasses pleaded with him, sobbing, I don’t want to die without knowing anything. She had C4 bricks strapped to her chest—an arrangement he knew; sixteen cords in a detonator circuit. He cut one, and the bomb went off. It tore the sweet girl to pieces. Her head hit the ground meters away.

Fade to black.

Inside a cramped cockpit, information flowed by on multiple screens. Output increasing. All vetronics active. Control unit. Diagnostic unit. Passive perception unit. Tactical data unit. Fire control unit. Main balancer. All active. CCU link is—The generator’s cooling unit let out a low hum. He tightened his grip on the trembling sticks and confirmed the trigger locations; checklist complete. The enemy was on his doorstep.

Fade to black.

A girl with a strong-willed gaze paused in the middle of cutting his hair. Her face moved close to his, and she whispered, with hesitance, Hey, want to kiss? He had no reason to refuse. But as he tried to oblige, she put the razor to his throat. You think I’d kiss a killer like you? How stupid are you? Her eyes were full of scorn. Her hand moved. The blade sliced through his skin, his windpipe, his artery. He gurgled uselessly, unable to even scream her name.

Fade to black.

He was in a passenger plane, crashed on a world of ice. It’s cold. Cold. Cold. The warmth had passed out of his beloved mother. She was holding him in the dark, forever motionless now. All he had left was the memory of her final whispered words, “Live. Fight.” No help was coming. The ice broke. The crashed plane sank into the freezing ocean, with him still inside. He’d never feel anything again. But maybe that was the best... the kindest result possible.

Fade to black.

A clear sky. A courtyard somewhere. He was surrounded by windows, surrounded by people. While he stood there, alone, an unfamiliar girl appeared. Her eyes were turned down. She was crying. Idiot, she whispered, then began to walk away. The people jeered and mocked him. And then...

Blinding light.

A brightness tore into his retinas, and gradually, orderly consciousness returned. With the same process one might use to address a wounded and confused soldier, he asked himself:

Where am I?

Under a bed. There’s light streaming in from the window onto my closed eyelids. I’m in a cheap lodging, a motel in the city of Namsac, in a corner of Southeast Asia.

Who am I?

Sagara Sousuke. Kashim. Soski Segal. Sergeant. Uruz-7. And many other names I’ve been called.

What time is it?

Morning. Seven o’clock or so. One month since I left Tokyo. I was walking for hours last night and exhaustion finally caught up with me. I must have slept six hours.

How did I get here?

Through a network of connecting flights, and a few land routes as well. Using forged tickets. I have connections in the region, so it wasn’t especially difficult.

Why am I here?

That one’s obvious. I’m pursuing the enemy.