CHAPTER 2

[Log Entry: No. 3 / Base Camp]

A SMALL BREEZE BLEW PAST MY EAR. I’d barely managed to avoid it. Not the breeze, I mean, but the bullet that made it. I was locked in a frenzied battle. Blade against gun. Attacker versus Gunner. Me and No. 4.

　“Grah!”

　My sword arced back and forth through the air, deflecting a hail of gunfire. The bullets, now cut in half, clattered as they hit the ground. Heh. Too easy. I closed the distance to my enemy in a single leap.

　Like a bunch of random gunfire could ever hope to hit me. Guns only have an advantage at the outset of a battle. Once you’re up close and personal, the advantage swings to a melee fighter. Now I was the fast one.

　“Take this! And this! And this!”

　I wasn’t gonna let him get a hit in on me. Not a single shot.

　“Hrah!”

　I brought my sword down, aiming for No. 4’s right hand. His handgun went flying. He was unarmed. Now I had him. I swung my blade once more, intending to stop it at the last moment, when it was right up against his neck.

　A shock ran through both my arms, and my sword suddenly went spiraling through the air. It was all so fast, I had no idea what had happened.

　Then I saw No. 4’s left hand.

　“Hey!”

　A handgun. A second handgun, different from the one I’d just knocked out of his grip.

　“The hell?! No fair!”

　No. 4 just scoffed at me. On his face was the same stuck-up look he always wore when he pulled this shit. He could’ve at least tried to look proud of his victory. Or, y’know, at least done something to make himself more likeable.

　“Don’t expect to get by like that on the battlefield. You can’t afford to hesitate when you go in for the kill.”

　What a goddamn pain in the ass. Everything about the guy pissed me off.

　“If this were a real fight,” I growled, “you’d have been dead the first time I brought my sword down.”

　I knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it. He was bound to come back with some kind of snide remark.

　But it was the instructor who cut in. “If you really believe you’re capable of it, then do it. Kill him right here during training.”

　After eyeing me for a second, the instructor continued, “Words aren’t going to convince a machine lifeform. Our enemy has no concept of restraint. If you aren’t prepared for that, the only thing that awaits you is defeat.”

　If No. 4 had been the one to say them, the words would’ve grated on me like nothing else. But since the observation was coming from the instructor, any notion of protest I might’ve had died just as fast as I could blurt out, “Yes, sir!”

　I brought my left hand to my chest in salute.

　“As you were,” the instructor ordered.

　I lowered my salute and was struck with the tiniest urge to argue with the instructor. Or maybe not to argue so much as say something that had been on my mind.

　“Sir!” I said. “How long are we going to continue training by ourselves?”

　Here we were, finally on the surface, the whole place crawling with machines, and yet we spent day after day in training. Training, and more training, and even more training after that. And always just me and No. 4. Honestly, it was starting to get a little boring.

　“Well, what else can we do?” No. 4 responded. “Can’t exactly form a platoon with just the two of us.”

　That was No. 4 for you. Always negative. “Nothin’ we can do” was a favorite of his, along with “Never gonna happen.” I was so sick of listening to him shoot things down.

　“The hell are you talkin’ about? There’re all kinds of things a two-unit team could manage. Y’know, like, raids on enemy installations or whatever.”

　“A Gunner and an Attacker, all by themselves? No recon support? The machines’d have us surrounded in seconds. We’d be annihilated. If you ever stopped to think, you could probably figure that out all by yourself. Try using your head for once.”

　“Excuse me?!”

　Dammit all! I wanted to deck him. One good punch square in the jaw.

　“No. 3.”

　At the instructor’s curt warning I relaxed my hands, which had been balled into fists.

　“Work on that temper of yours. And No. 4, watch your words. Quit trying to egg him on.”

　To my mind, the issue still hadn’t been put to bed, but I knew well enough when to call it quits. I lowered my arms and let out a deep breath.

　“That’s better,” the instructor said. Then his tone brightened. “Now, I’ve got some welcome news for you both.”

　News? For us? I wondered what it could be.

　I took a quick glance to my side. No. 4 was staring at the instructor in rapt attention. Good. He was just as in the dark about this as I was.

　The instructor looked back over his shoulder. Apparently, it was a signal. In jogged several other androids―YoRHa units, just like us. There were four in total. It dawned on me who they probably were.

　“These are your new squadmates, assigned as of today. M002 models. In other words, your juniors.”

　My intuition had been right on the mark! I knew that No. 4 and I couldn’t be the only members of the YoRHa Experimental M Squadron. It made no sense. We’d need other members to help with things like recon and rear support. I’d heard somewhere that those other members were gonna arrive soon, and that we’d ultimately form up into a seven-man team.

　“All right! Glad you guys finally made it!” I exclaimed. “Check it out, No. 4. Our very own crew of rookies to train.”

　“Rookies, huh?” No. 4 said. “Don’t give yourself too much credit. We only got here a couple weeks ago.”

　“Jeez! Do you ever quit with the nitpicking? Listen to yourself!”

　I swear, No. 4 could swap his AI for a rock and he’d be better off. The things that came out of his mouth left me speechless.

　Except . . . Wait a minute. There was me, and No. 4, and now the four units that just arrived. Something felt off. It was like the math didn’t add up or something.

　“M002,” the instructor ordered, “sound off for your comrades here.”

　Whatever. It probably didn’t matter. The fact that No. 4 was dumber than a rock didn’t add up, either. I cooled my head and took a better look at the rookies.

　The first one introduced himself. “Scanner No. 21 reporting. Newly assigned to the YoRHa Experimental M Squadron. Proficient in recon and data analysis.”

　Recon! That meant we finally had a scout! He was little and kinda scrawny, but I figured that was par for the course when it came to Scanners. So . . . did that mean the one standing next to him would be running recon, too? The two of them sure looked an awful lot alike.

　The lookalike fumbled with his words. “Uh . . . I’m, um . . . No. 22. Gunner. Newly assigned to the YoRHa Experimental M Squadron.”

　A Gunner? Like No. 4? This shrimp?

　He continued, “My specialty is precision fire, so, um . . .”

　“Whoa, whoa. Are we supposed to believe this bitty little thing can actually fight?” I demanded.

　No. 22 was a full head shorter than No. 4, and his arms were so skinny, it was honestly hard to say whether there was any muscle on them at all. His legs poked out from his shorts like little twigs.

　“Put a lid on it,” No. 4 hissed, “before you embarrass yourself.”

　“You put a lid on it,” I muttered under my breath. The way a frame looked on the outside wasn’t always a good indicator of its basic functionality. I knew that just as well as anyone else. The fact had just . . . slipped my mind for a moment.

　“Next,” the instructor called.

　“No. 6. Newly assigned to the YoRHa Experimental M Squadron. I specialize as an Attacker, but there’s plenty of other stuff I can handle, too.”

　Other stuff he could handle? The hell was that supposed to mean?

　I could tell already that this one was a real piece of work. It was the way he smiled, arrogant as shit. There was more going on with this creep than met the eye. Maybe he had an axe to grind. All I knew was that I wasn’t about to let my guard down as long as he was around.

　The final kid spoke up. “I’m Healer No. 9, newly assigned to the YoRHa Experimental M Squadron. My main responsibilities are mechanical repair and backup of consciousness data.”

　Wait. Backing up consciousness data? What the . . . ? I didn’t remember anyone mentioning a procedure like that anywhere in our training.

　“Backup, huh? Haven’t heard of functionality like that before.” No. 4 was looking as confused as I felt. Good. That meant it wasn’t something I’d just forgotten.

　“That’s correct,” No. 9 confirmed with a nod. Unlike No. 6, this one seemed so honest, I felt like I was seeing straight into his brain every time he opened his mouth.

　“I’m designed to maintain a full copy of each squad member’s consciousness data and memory banks in case of damage or complete destruction.”

　A full copy? Of everything, including our memory banks? What in the world was he talking about? I mean, the words themselves made sense. I understood those. The part I didn’t get was why.

　Our consciousness data, as far as I understood it, referred to every thought we’d ever had, and every piece of information we’d bothered to remember. In a way, it was our entire being, I guess. And this kid was saying he was gonna make a backup of all of that? Was that even possible?

　I didn’t ask it out loud, but my question must have been written all over my face, because No. 9 nodded his head slightly and continued, “In order to facilitate that, my own personal storage capacity is approximately ten times larger than the standard for units in our squad.”

　“Ten times more storage?! Holy . . .”

　That was basically like saying he could store ten full copies of everything inside me!

　No. 9 continued, “That extra capacity is for emergency use only. It’s not available to me during normal functioning.”

　Yeah, yeah. Emergency use and unavailable normally, whatever. The thought of him walking around with storage capacity like that still blew my mind.

　Now that the four rookies were finished, the instructor turned to me and No. 4. “You, too, M001,” he said. “Sound off.”

　I put my thoughts about the backups aside. Let No. 4 ask the boring follow-up questions. I knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself anyway.

　“Attacker No. 3 of the YoRHa Experimental M Squadron. Happy to have you. It’s great to see some new faces around here.”

　Starting today, these little shrimps were our new squadmates. So what if they were scrawny or arrogant or had crazy amounts of storage. I could look past all that. Having some new allies around was a good thing.

　No. 4 gave his introduction next. “Gunner No. 4 of the YoRHa Experimental M Squadron.”

　That was it. A real class act, as usual. You’d think he could bother adding a friendly word or two, but nope, not No. 4. I was still shaking my head when No. 4 turned to face the instructor.

　“Sir. A question, if I may.”

　“What is it?”

　“There appears to be a total of four M002 units here today. I’d understood our team was to be composed of seven members. Counting me and No. 3, that still leaves us one unit short, sir.”

　Right! Yeah! I’d been thinking the same thing. So that was why the numbers didn’t seem to add up!

　“The final unit is running behind on his calibrations. It was decided he’d be assigned at a later date.”

　Huh. So it was the two of us, these four runts, and one mystery unit still to come. And then we’d have seven. Yeah. Now the math made sense.

　“For the time being, you six will be conducting combat simulations.”

　“Understood, sir!” responded No. 4.

　The instructor looked us all over and added, “As you’re no doubt aware, a YoRHa special ops squad composed entirely of female models has already been dispatched from the Bunker to begin actual combat operations.”

　Right. How could I forget? While we were stuck in this endless, boring training routine, the female squad was churning out results. I couldn’t stand the fact that we were already losing to a bunch of girls.

　“We are a newly introduced experimental squadron―a test case, composed entirely of male YoRHa units. Command has high hopes for us. They’re expecting battlefield results superior to anything they’ve seen thus far. I want each of you to remember that M Squadron has been entrusted with breaking this long deadlock and leading humanity to victory. Carve that message deep inside your memory banks.”

　The instructor brought his left hand to his chest.

　“Glory to mankind.”

　I followed his lead, my left hand coming up to my own chest as I echoed the same three words.

[Log Entry: No. 9 / Base Camp]

“Form up!”

　Break time was over. I heard the instructor’s call and stood, patting my clothes to get the dust off. Really, they weren’t very dirty in the first place, as I’d been sitting on top of a boulder. I guess I just went through the motions for peace of mind.

　Here on the surface, if you didn’t pay attention to where you were sitting, you could end up with serious consequences. During the first few days, I managed to get my uniform absolutely covered in mud. Another time, I sat right on an insect, squishing it and creating a huge mess for myself.

　Up on the Bunker, we’d had training areas that simulated surface terrain, with stuff like soil and sand. But they didn’t have any organisms in them. No insects or reptiles. No thickets of tall grass to release clouds of pollen when you brushed by, or vines with prickly thorn-covered fruit on them.

　That was the big difference between orbital life and surface life―whether or not there were living organisms around. It was a fact that had occurred to me long before our descent, but it wasn’t until I set foot down here that it really sank in. The surface was brimming with life. It was bewildering. The sounds, the smells, the presence it all exuded. None of that existed up on the Bunker.

　There were some creatures whose colors and forms I recognized from video footage, but now that I was here, seeing them up close, it was like encountering something else entirely. It seemed the state of “knowing” something wasn’t a simple binary like I’d assumed. Familiarity seemed to be a gradual process, like great piles of information built up over time.

　And that didn’t only apply to the world’s many organisms. It was the same way with the other members of my own squadron. Days had passed since we’d arrived and begun training together, but I still found myself making constant tiny updates to the records I kept on each of them. It seemed that many of my squadmates had other sides to them that I was just beginning to discover. All sorts of unexpected details kept emerging, and I’d set myself to the task of thoroughly understanding each discovery I made. It was like going down a list, adding check marks one by one.

　Take No. 3 for example. I’d once watched as he interacted with the young offspring of a bird. The creature had fallen from its nest, and No. 3 picked it up, placing it back where it belonged. Outwardly, he admonished the creature, saying, “Damn bird. You’re in my way.” But the action suggested that in truth, No. 3 was quite considerate of those around him. Given how loud and abrasive his speech was, I’d always found him a little intimidating. So that particular discovery came as quite a surprise.

　Another example was No. 6. I’d come to realize he had a bit of a mean streak. I suspected he was probably too smart for his own good. Perhaps he felt frustrated by the constraints of the role assigned to him.

　And then there were No. 21 and No. 22. The two of them were . . .

　I’d become so buried in thought that my pace had slowed.

　“No. 9!”

　I looked up. The other units were already formed up in front of the instructor.

　“Huh?!” I blurted. “Oh! B-be right there, sir!”

　Flustered, I ran the remaining distance. I’d really screwed up this time.

　Once I’d drawn near, I bowed my head and added, “Apologies for the delay, sir.”

　I lined up next to No. 6. It was clear I’d need to stay a little more conscious of my own actions.

　“Now that we’re all here,” the instructor said, “I’ve got something for you. As of today, you’re being outfitted with a new piece of equipment.”

　The instructor began handing out devices to us. They appeared to be information terminals, but each sported a different design. I surmised that they were tailored to each of us: a streamlined construction that wouldn’t interfere with our individual combat functions.

　“Support System Model Delta Code 153,” the instructor said.

　Apparently, that was what these things were called. No. 3 scrunched up his face and responded, “Jeez, that’s a mouthful.”

　I thought so, too.

　“You may refer to them as simply ‘Support System unit’ or ‘SSU,’ if you like,” the instructor responded.

　Ah. I’d wondered if there might be an acronym like that. Overly long names didn’t exactly lend themselves well to chatter on the battlefield.

　“Now pay attention. This is how they operate.”

　The instructor called out, “SSU,” then ordered, “Tomorrow’s weather.”

　The units now attached to each of us responded in unison.

　“For the immediate vicinity, partly cloudy in the morning, followed by probable afternoon showers.”

　I had to admit that having answers instantly provided like that was a pretty handy feature, but at the same time, I had to wonder when we’d ever actually use the things. Couldn’t we figure that stuff out for ourselves? I’d barely formed the thought when No. 6 made the same observation.

　“Pretty sure our internal comm system is more than sufficient for simple information queries.”

　“The Support System unit serves as an extension of a YoRHa unit’s capabilities,” the instructor responded. “That includes long-range communications support and real-time tactical advice, as well as the provision of regular maintenance checks.”

　Maintenance checks? On us? Access to regular diagnostics while out on missions could, in a word, revolutionize our battlefield performance. Every spare cycle I had was now focused on the instructor. I didn’t want to miss a single word he said.

　“SSU,” he ordered. “Run a diagnostic for any motor-function viruses in the No. 6 unit.”

　As soon as the instructor’s order was issued, No. 6’s expression changed to one of confusion.

　“Huh?” he said. “What . . . what’s going on?”

　Parts of his body jerked unpredictably. It kind of looked like he was being tickled.

　“Abort diagnostic,” the instructor ordered.

　No. 6 immediately ceased his fidgeting and let out an audible sigh. He turned to the instructor and asked, “All right, what just happened?”

　“I initiated a diagnostic routine designed to identify and remove any physical viruses present in your motor systems.”

　A means of finding and removing physical viruses? Now that was something impressive.

　No. 6 asked, “So does that mean we’ll be able to halt an enemy infection?”

　“The Support System is capable of nullifying physical virus infections localized in any system outside of the brain unit.”

　“So, what about logic viruses? Does that mean it can’t help us against those?”

　“Analysis of feasibility is currently underway. You can probably expect to see support for it in a future update.”

　So it wasn’t possible now, but R&D was busy working on it. Once the Support System was able to help us fight off enemy logic viruses, it would considerably reduce the threat those attacks posed to us.

　“Support System functionality is identical across all units, but the device’s physical construction is tailored specifically to each of you. Spend some time trying yours out so you’re ready to deploy it in the field.

　“That about sums everything up.” The instructor seemed ready to dismiss us, but at the last moment, No. 6 raised his hand.

　“Hold up, sir. Got a question.”

　“What is it?”

　“That diagnostic you initiated. It tickled. Felt kinda good even. Permission to have that run on me again, sir? Maybe we could do it in private this time?”

　I’d learned that this was typical of No. 6. He’d chime in with some odd comment, and I’d have no idea whether he was being sincere or not.

　But the instructor cut the inquiry off with a curt, “Denied.”

　No. 6 didn’t look terribly upset at the response, so I surmised that perhaps this time he’d been making a joke.

　At any rate, this apparently wasn’t the time for idle speculation. The instructor turned his attention back to the rest of us and announced, “We move out in 196 minutes.”

　Move out. The words ushered in a momentary silence across the entire squad. Training was over. We’d be engaging the enemy for real now. It filled me with a strange new sensation; it occurred to me that it must have been what humans described as “tension.”

　I’d had a hunch that this moment wasn’t far away. After all, quite a few days had passed since we’d joined up with the M001 units, and I was beginning to feel like we were running out of training scenarios. We’d practiced for just about any situation I could imagine us getting into.

　“All units, perform a final check of your equipment. Dismissed.”

　The moment the instructor was out of sight, we were all in motion. No. 3, for his part, seemed to remember something he’d wanted to ask about. He turned to No. 6, intense curiosity written all over his face.

　“Are you into guys, too?” he asked.

　“I’m not sure,” No. 6 replied. “To be honest, it never occurred to me to evaluate a partner based on criteria like that. But one thing I am sure about is that anyone as vulgar and brainless as you wouldn’t be my type, No. 3.”

　“That’s No. 3, sir, to you! Show some respect.”

　“Yeah, yeah.”

　I recognized this type of response from No. 6. I felt pretty certain that the next time these two interacted, No. 6 would again fail to address No. 3 with “sir.” Although No. 6’s verbal response seemed to indicate confirmation, when coupled with the expression he wore now, it often actually signaled a negative. I’d figured that out just recently.

　No. 3 seemed to know it, too. He watched as No. 6 turned and walked away, letting out an audible “Hmph.”

　“Let’s go get our gear, No. 3.”

　At No. 4’s invitation, No. 3 fell in step with him, and the two walked off together. I watched the M001 units as they left. They both possessed a certain intensity. It was something I didn’t see when I observed the M002 units, and it wasn’t due merely to the fact that No. 3 and No. 4 were taller.

　As they walked away, I heard No. 3 say, “Hey, No. 4. I’ve been thinkin’. You really oughta roll out as the Attacker instead of being the Gunner. It’s more your speed, y’know?”

　Change to an Attacker? And what did No. 3 mean about it being more No. 4’s speed? No. 4 was supposed to be a Gunner. No. 3 was the one who was an Attacker.

　“I thought we already settled this.”

　When No. 4 responded in this manner, I heard a heavy, drawn-out sigh from No. 3. Honestly, to me, No. 3 didn’t seem like the type to sigh. What did their exchange mean? I waited until they were far enough away and then turned to No. 21.

　“Do you have any idea what they meant by that just now?”

　As a Scanner, No. 21 specialized in information. Perhaps because of that, he always seemed like a font of knowledge on almost any subject. The current situation was no stranger to him, either, and he quickly summed it up for me.

　“No. 4 is designated as a Gunner, which means he’s currently outfitted with firearms. But his original designation was as an Attacker.”

　“You’re saying he used to have the same role as No. 3?”

　“That’s right. He let No. 3 keep the role and switched over to being a Gunner.”

　No. 22 seemed to have a good handle on these kinds of conundrums, too, seeing as he and No. 21 were always together. He added, “But actually, I hear that No. 4 is the better of the two when it comes to handling a sword.”

　I’d opened my mouth to express my surprise, but before I could, No. 3 shouted out from the other side of camp, “I heard that, No. 22!”

　We couldn’t see him anymore, but his voice was so loud and clear, it felt like he was still standing right next to us.

　“You’re gonna pay for that comment!” No. 3 added.

　No. 22’s shoulders jerked upward, and No. 21 slapped his back playfully with one palm. The two of them certainly were close. I almost felt envious. It must have been nice having a twin.

　With our mouths still tightly shut, we carefully observed our surroundings. All was quiet. It seemed to me that there was no way No. 3 could still be listening in on us. Finally, we looked back at one another and let out sighs of relief.

　Somehow the whole episode came across as quite funny. But we didn’t dare laugh out loud, so the three of us sat there, shaking with the effort of stifling the urge to giggle. In the end, however, we were unable to hold back. I wasn’t certain which of us was the first to explode in laughter, but by the time I realized what was happening, all three of us were rolling on the ground, clutching our sides.

　Our bout of laughter eventually subsided, and we sat back up. Suddenly, everything was awkwardly quiet. We found ourselves itching for something to do.

　The instructor had ordered us to re-check our equipment, but there was a reason the three of us were dawdling. In truth, we were all well beyond a re-check at this point. Even before the instructor’s order, we’d all completed re-re-checks. Some of us had already finished a re-re-re-check. We all felt it, deep in our bones, every moment of every waking day: the time for battle was drawing near. Our minds were racing. We couldn’t settle down. And at some point, we found ourselves constantly checking over our equipment, making sure we were ready to go at a moment’s notice.

　“Not long now until our first combat assignment. Are you nervous?” I asked the others.

　I couldn’t help but ask, considering how nervous I was. But No. 21 shook his head.

　“All you have to do at times like these is stay focused and act like usual.”

　No. 21 was the calmest one among us. He always was.

　“You’re so strong,” No. 22 replied. “Honestly, I’m terrified.”

　Of the two of them, I’d always felt like No. 22 had a personality closer to mine.

　Even now that we were down here on the surface, he’d sometimes say out loud the precise things that I was thinking.

　“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” No. 21 said and smiled. However, it didn’t seem to be enough to dispel No. 22’s anxiety.

　“I bet dying in battle is awful. It must be so painful.”

　No. 22 cast his gaze downward.

　“Dying in agony. It sounds terrible. I . . . I don’t want to go through that.”

　I couldn’t say how much agony would accompany death, or how terrible it would be. After all, I hadn’t experienced death yet―none of us had. But suddenly, I felt a wave of remorse wash through me.

　“Sorry,” I told them. “It’s not fair, is it? I’m always going to be on the back lines where it’s safe, while you guys . . .”

　“Huh?! No, that’s not what I meant!”

　No. 22’s expression seemed to say, Oh, shoot. I’ve really done it this time.

　“You back up our data for us,” No. 21 interjected. “That’s a major responsibility! If we didn’t keep you in a safe position, well away from the fray, we’d all be in big trouble.”

　And No. 22 added, “And if you weren’t around, who would fix up our injuries?”

　It was nice of them to say that. The two of them were very kind.

　“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you stay safe. You just concentrate on the fight.”

　“That’s the spirit,” said No. 22 with a decisive nod.

　No. 21 added with a smile, “Of course, don’t expect us to let there be any injuries for you to treat in the first place.

　“After all,” he continued, “I’ll be observing the enemy and putting together the best strategies possible.”

　He turned to look his twin directly in the eyes. “All you need to do is follow my instructions, No. 22, and you’ll be fine. I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”

　No. 22 nodded, looking pleased. This must have been the very definition of “trust.” Since the two were always together, they must have been very special to each other.

　“All right, then. Let’s go take care of that ‘final’ equipment check.”

　“Right. See you around, No. 9.”

　I waved my hand as I told them both, “See you soon.”

　There were 175 minutes left until we moved out. I realized once more that I really was quite nervous. To tell the truth, fighting wasn’t exactly my thing. I tended to get frightened easily, and I wasn’t great at handling weapons. But there had to be other ways I’d be able to contribute. I knew it.

　At the very least, our days spent training on the surface had been a lot more enjoyable than my time in orbit, which, aside from brief interactions, I’d spent almost entirely alone. Perhaps our experience here was a good approximation of the group life humans experienced when attending the facilities they referred to as “schools.”

　It was that new sense of being part of a group that made me want to be helpful. They were my squadmates. They were important to me. And in turn, I’d be able to rely on the M001 units, so much more experienced than the rest of us, and No. 6, with his intelligence and strength, and No. 22, always calm and composed, and No. 21, so kind and thoughtful.

　I wouldn’t be able to say anything nearly as inspiring as No. 21’s vow to keep his twin safe. Nonetheless, I was determined to help out in every way that I could.