CHAPTER 3

[Log Entry: No. 6 / Wetlands Zone]

AN EXPLOSION RUMBLED IN THE DISTANCE. Then another. And another. Over and over at regular intervals. Most annoying sound in the world. Could’ve been bombs or landmines, but whatever they were, there was about one metric fuckton too many of the things, and none of them were doing a damn bit of good. We were long gone from whatever location was being targeted.

　I swatted an insect stupid enough to fly up close to my face. I loathed the wetlands. You could never find solid footing, it was a pain and a half trying to find any cover, and the air was always thick with the mingled stench of mud and moss. I was so done with this whole damn region.

　Somehow, I’d managed to find a small depression overgrown with a thicket of low trees. I’d huddled inside to wait out the machines. That had been . . . about eight hours ago.

　“Graaah! Dammit all!”

　No. 3 came barreling into the hiding spot with a racket obnoxious enough to rival the explosions. As usual, the way he spoke was crude. Everything about him betrayed his lack of control. Yet another thing I was done with. I would’ve told him off, but I knew it’d only make the situation worse. This was No. 3 we were talking about, the hotheaded dimwit extraordinaire.

　So I kept silent and rewound the bandage on my left arm. It wasn’t looking good. The enemy had sliced right through sleeve and skin. I was just glad it wasn’t my right arm. Although, at this point, it probably didn’t matter. Either side would’ve hurt just the same.

　“No good,” No. 3 grumbled. “The whole northwest gorge is lousy with ’em. Even got some types I’ve never seen before walkin’ around up there.”

　He made a noise of disgust and kicked off his boots. He tipped one upside down, and a shower of gravel fell out. Ugh. Couldn’t he at least try to show some class? A moment later, the scent of blood hit my nostrils. Hmph. Apparently he’d had it pretty rough out there. Not that it was any surprise.

　I couldn’t restrain myself from muttering, “I told you. Waste of time.”

　He’d run off however many hours ago, hollering like a crazed ape about how he’d find a weak point in the enemy line, some place where the machines weren’t so numerous and we could break through. Honestly, I tried to stop him. I gave it a decent shot anyway. Not like it was worth investing a lot of effort. It was already painfully obvious that No. 3 didn’t listen to reason, not even when things had clearly gone to shit.

　“We’ve been stuck here for eight hours,” I added. “Trust me, the enemy’ll pinpoint our location soon enough.”

　The whole area had to be crawling with machines, all circling in on our position. The sheer volume of gunfire and explosions was proof enough of that. And still, this moron couldn’t shut up about how he thought the chaos coming from the northwest didn’t sound as bad. Great job, detective. You’ve discovered the phenomenon known as statistical aberration. Either that, or you’re deluding yourself.

　“No Scanner. No Healer. What, you think our situation’s gonna magically improve?” I asked.

　At some point, I’d realized that No. 21 was gone. No. 22 as well. They were probably dead. The only others left alive would be No. 9, stationed about as far as you could get from our front line, and No. 4, who had been assigned to keep the Healer safe.

　“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do then?!” No. 3 demanded.

　Ugh. Couldn’t he just shut up already? He didn’t have to shout. We were right next to each other. And the question he’d asked was so utterly meaningless it didn’t even warrant asking. There was only one answer.

　“We keep quiet and wait for help. Either it arrives, or we die.”

　“Say what?”

　He was starting to look unsettled. Was I going have to spell it out for him? Again? We all knew how this was supposed to go down.

　“Why are you so upset? No. 9 will take care of everything once it’s over.”

　No. 21 and No. 22 had done their jobs well. And it wasn’t like I’d been screwing around, either. Even No. 3, for all his incurable idiocy, carried out his duties reasonably well. We’d all done our part. Now it was No. 9’s turn to do his. That’s how it went. Division of labor.

　“I already told you, I don’t wanna! I ain’t havin’ nothin’ to do with that!”

　Yup. This again. It wasn’t a question of whether we wanted to or not. Why couldn’t he get that fact through his thick skull?

　“Suit yourself. Makes no difference to me.”

　I was wasting my breath. It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. Unlike No. 3, I had the ability to learn from past experience. Still, I never could’ve predicted what happened next. I was about to witness a whole new level of stupid.

　“Support System!” he shouted in his obnoxious voice. “Send out a distress signal on all standard communication channels! Full strength! Keep it blaring!”

　“The hell are you doing?! You’re gonna draw the machines right to us!”

　A full-strength, sustained signal? He might as well throw out a welcome mat and invite the enemy to come on over. What would possess him to try something like that?

　“Hey!” I hissed. “Remember all those machines scouring the area? We’re surrounded! Have you still not figured that out?”

　“So we lure them to us, look for a weak point in their formation, then charge and break through.”

　“And how are we going to get clear of them without a Scanner?”

　“Simple. Intuition.”

　Had I heard him correctly? Intuition? That was his plan?!

　“I knew your brain unit was barely functional, but I had no idea it was about to fail completely.”

　I sighed and got to my feet. He was a lost cause. Just my luck that it had to be me and the pinnacle of idiocy together at the end. The sheer absurdity of the situation made me want to laugh.

　“Well, at least I’m doin’ something!” he shouted. “We got better odds tryin’ to break through than we do sittin’ on our asses until we’re out of options!”

　He was still talking as if we had any chance of living through this. Why didn’t he get it? It was statistically impossible to pull off the kind of stunt he was proposing.

　“No. 3,” I began quietly, “I’m not going to say this again. Cut the transmission.”

　I drew my blade, and not just for show. But the dimwit still didn’t back down.

　“How many times have I told you?” he growled, drawing his own sword.

　Right. I’d figured this was how it would go.

　“That’s ‘No. 3, sir’ to you!” he shouted as his blade whistled through the air.

　The arc was wide. Sloppy. Did he really think he could connect like that? I could’ve dodged one of his downward slashes with my eyes closed.

　I sidestepped, then brought my own blade slicing in. There was no way someone as slow-footed as No. 3 was going to evade my attack. But he did manage to parry. Hmph. So he was ready to take the blows he couldn’t evade. He’d managed some logical thought after all. Or maybe it was just gut reaction.

　He swung again, but I easily avoided the attack.

　“You gonna dance around all day?!” he demanded.

　“Why wouldn’t I? Parrying is for chumps who don’t know how to get out of the way. The kinda thing you’d do! Hrah!”

　Hmph. He managed to block again. Turned out his excessively long sword had some benefits after all: the thick, wide blade was doubling as a shield. If my own blade kept slamming into that thing, it’d chip away into nothing. I needed to wrap up this fight quick.

　I switched from slashes to thrusts. Swift and strong, the sword-point driving head-on. He could parry these all he liked. It’d only serve to throw him off-balance, leaving him more and more exposed with each successive strike. Pretty effective strategy, really. The kind of thing an idiot could never hope to come up with.

　 “Glad we two Attackers finally got to find out who was stronger,” I sneered.

　I drew my arm back for a final strike.

　“Die!” I thrust my sword straight into No. 3’s undefended gut, only to see a grin spread across his lips. Huh? Why was he smiling?

　“You’re mine now.”

　I felt a hand clamp down onto my right arm, holding it firmly in place. I was unable to withdraw my blade. I couldn’t believe it. Had he taken the hit on purpose, just so he could pin me down? Could he get any stupider?

　“Let go!” I shouted.

　My upper arm was locked in an iron grip. I could only move my wrist, so I did, dragging the sword back and forth and ripping up No. 3’s insides. The pain should have been agonizing, but No. 3 didn’t make any move to release me.

　“I said let go!”

　What the hell was this? My opponent was No. 3. Stupidity incarnate. How had he managed to immobilize me?

　“Graaaaah!”

　More of his crude bellowing . . . Wait. This noise was coming from my own mouth. No. 3 had plunged his sword deep into my shoulder, and I’d let out an earsplitting scream.

　I heard his voice. It seemed somehow distant. “Oops. Missed.”

　Shit. He must have been aiming for the left half of my chest. I gave my body a sudden twist. Ow, ow, ow, ow! Damn moron! What did he think he was trying to do? I had to get away, and fast.

　It wasn’t clear how long we went on like that, but at some point, I realized my right arm was free again. No. 3 was lying faceup on the ground, the gaping hole in his stomach now large enough to fit my fist through. Exposed beneath the shredded skin was his mangled abdominal unit. How had he been able to bear that kind of damage and keep going? I wished he’d just die already.

　“This is why I didn’t want . . . to be paired . . . with such an . . . imbecile . . .”

　Pretty soon, I’d lost the strength to stand, too. I wanted to pull out the sword lodged in my chest, but my arms couldn’t summon the strength to do so. I slumped to my knees in a disgraceful display. Disgust filled me as I realized I might pitch forward, planting my face in the mud. I’d be covered in filth.

　If I’d known this was how it was going to play out, I’d have simply stabbed him dead from behind. Would’ve been easy. No. 3 was always leaving his back wide open.

　“Yeah. Next time . . . that’s exactly how I’ll . . .”

　The rumbling of the explosions faded to nothing, along with the stench of mud and moss.

[Log Entry: No. 22 / Deep-Sea Base]

“What did I do that for?”

　No. 6 gave a pained smile. Just moments ago, he’d stumbled over the remains of a dead machine, causing him to pitch forward and slam into No. 21. The accident had saved No. 21’s life.

　“Not exactly like me to . . . take the hit for somebody else, y’know?”

　The Attacker appeared to shrug, but the gesture looked rather odd thanks to his missing shoulder. A sudden burst of enemy fire had ripped through his right arm, shearing the entire limb from his body and sending it tumbling across the ground. It now lay a short distance away, riddled with holes like a beehive, its hand still clutching No. 6’s sword.

　“Just hurry up and move!” No. 4 yelled. “We’re almost at the server room!”

　No. 6 was leaning against one wall, probably using it to support his weight. But instead of continuing down the corridor, he slumped, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the ground with his legs splayed in front. The rest of us were too busy dealing with the enemy reinforcements still pressing in on our position. We couldn’t afford to offer a shoulder to hoist him back to his feet or even drag him down the corridor.

　“Go! Leave this to me!” No. 4 barked.

　“Are you sure?” I protested. “The enemy’ll . . .”

　I knew he was right, though. No matter how many rounds I fired, the enemy’s numbers never seemed to thin. If anything, it felt like the opposite: for each one I shot down, more inexplicably appeared. The deep-sea base wasn’t even that large to begin with. Where had all these machines been hiding?

　We’d been tasked with neutralizing the enemy’s undersea server. This single server provided orders for all the enemy’s forces in the vicinity; if we managed to take it out, the machines themselves would cease to function.

　The plan called for No. 21 to hack the server. I was to ensure his safety throughout the mission. No. 4 and No. 6 would provide operational support; they’d hold off enemy forces and secure us an exit route. No. 3 was away from the fray this time, taking care of guard duty for No. 9.

　Usually, No. 21 and I were among the first deaths in any given mission. That was how it had been last time in the Desert Zone, and the time before that in the Wetlands Zone. But this time, it was imperative to mission success that we not check out before our objective was complete.

　“No. 22! I’m serious! Get going!”

　“Y-yes, sir!”

　I took a glimpse over my shoulder at No. 21. He was fine. No injuries whatsoever.

　“Sorry to put this all on your shoulders, No. 4.”

　I mumbled my embarrassed apology, and then No. 21 and I took off, dashing down the corridor. If No. 21 was damaged, the op would be a failure. Seeing him to the server room unharmed was my top priority. Nothing else mattered.

　I hit a switch on the wall as we ran by. There was a grinding sound, and a bulkhead door slowly sealed off the portion of corridor we’d left behind. The whole base was filled with similar dividers. It was a means to prevent flooding―a ready way to block off any given corridor or section in case of a breach. Our squad had tried closing a few of the bulkhead doors on the way in; we thought they might help cut off pursuing machines, but the strategy brought limited success. This was, after all, their own base.

　Still, it was worth a shot. We had to press onward. We had a mission to carry out. As we left the bulkhead door behind, we heard a great roar from the other side. No. 4 had probably attempted to blow the corridor apart, along with any machines bearing down on him. It was a last-ditch measure, but as the squad’s other Gunner, I was painfully aware of how low we were running on ammo.

　I blocked it from my mind and put everything I had into the final sprint. We didn’t stop until the entrance to the server room was just ahead.

　When the door was in sight, No. 21 approached slowly and whispered, “Careful. Enemy units inside.”

　“How many?”

　It was a pointless question, one I’d asked on reflex. We stood at the threshold of the enemy’s heart. For such a critical location to be unguarded was unthinkable, and given the intensity of the enemy’s jamming signal here on the facility’s deepest level, No. 21 wouldn’t be able to run scans to determine the number or positioning of enemy units. He had visual confirmation of at least one enemy inside. That was all the detail we had.

　“Think we can manage a forced entry?”

　“Yeah. Let’s go for it.”

　His response was positive, but I knew that wasn’t a reflection of our chance of success. It was because we didn’t have any other options―we’d have to rush straight in and hope for the best. I was the only one left to handle whatever we encountered inside. Success rested entirely on my shoulders.

　“Here we go!”

　On my signal, we dove through the door in tandem. I centered my sights on the nearest enemy and let loose. No need to conserve ammo at this point. If it meant getting No. 21 access to the server, I might as well burn through it all.

　We kept low, steadily making our way across the room. I was point shooting anything that moved, my gun blazing nonstop. When I’d somehow managed to finish all the enemy units off, I ran back to secure the door, then fired a round into its control panel. That’d buy us some time, at least until the machines broke the door down.

　“Shit . . . ” I heard No. 21 mutter.

　“How’s it look?” I asked. “Can you hack it?”

　It took everything I had to keep my voice from faltering. I couldn’t let No. 21 find out. He needed to concentrate.

　He shook his head. “There’re too many defensive layers. It’d take forever.”

　Apparently, a hack was out of the question. Physically destroying the server was our only option.

　“But don’t worry,” he said. “We’ve got enough juice to blow a system of this size right out of the water.”

　He pulled out a box of explosives and gave it a light tap.

　“Good. Countdown timer’s still intact. We’ll be long gone before the fireworks start.”

　“But we don’t have an escape route,” I protested. “There’s no way No. 4 and No. 6 are still alive.”

　“Not a problem. A site like this usually has some kind of emergency access hatch. And it just so happens that this room is no exception.”

　No. 21 pointed toward one corner of the ceiling. At first glance I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until I focused hard that I saw the faint square outline.

　“If they’ve got a hatch, that means they’ve got another way to get in,” I said. “If you crawl through there, you’ll come head-to-head with their reinforcements.”

　“But once the server’s dead, the machines stop moving. We’ll be fine.”

　Then No. 21 added, “Of course, I guess that depends on how far along we are when we run into ’em.”

　I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good . . . You’ve thought this through.”

　We’d succeed in destroying the server, and No. 21 would get safely away.

　“I’ll set the bomb,” I told him. “You climb up and start crawling.”

　“What are you talking about? We’ll set it and leave together.”

　“No. That’s, uh . . . not the way this is gonna go.”

　I carefully lifted the hand that I’d kept pressed hard against my side. No. 21’s eyes went wide.

　“One of their shots must’ve grazed me.”

　In truth, I knew the enemy had hit me dead-on, though I still hadn’t ascertained exactly what was injured and to what extent. I was too afraid to look at the wound. That’s how much of a coward I was.

　“It’ll be fine,” I told him. “Just go. I can take care of this place all by myself.”

　There was another issue, which was that after clearing out the server room, I didn’t have a single bullet left. So there wasn’t much point in my running with him. A Gunner without ammunition was as good as no Gunner at all.

　“I don’t want to slow you down,” I said.

　“Don’t say that! How could you say something so stupid?!” No. 21 raged.

　He threw his arms around me.

　“No,” I told him. “Please. Don’t do this . . .”

　You need to hurry and get out of here, is what I wanted to say, but my lips wouldn’t form the words. It felt so warm with him beside me. I didn’t want to lose that comfort. I didn’t want to be parted from him.

　“There’s no way I’m leaving you behind!”

　“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If I wasn’t here―”

　“Stop. Don’t say that,” he repeated. This time, it sounded almost gentle.

　“What if it had been me?” he asked. “Would you have escaped alone if I was the one injured?”

　No. Not in a million years. There was no way I’d be able to leave No. 21 behind and flee on my own.

　And that’s when I understood why. We’d always been together. Ever since the moment we stepped off the production line.

　“I guess those were pretty stupid things to say . . .”

　“Yup. And that’s why you gotta listen to me. Just do what I tell you.”

　“Yeah. You’re right.”

　I buried my face in his shoulder and whispered, “Thank you.” It was strange. Now that I knew he’d stay with me, my pain seemed to fade into the background.

　“Are you cold?” he asked.

　“A little. But I’m all right. Everything feels still somehow, almost like when it’s snowing.”

　“That’s because we’re 2,800 meters under the sea.”

　“And it’s quiet, too,” I added. “Like that day on the Bunker, when we looked out at Earth.”

　No. 21 took my hand and placed it against his cheek. I felt a bloom of warmth under my palm, and I understood that my vitals were fading. My failing auditory processes must have been the reason everything seemed so quiet. My deteriorating vision brought to mind the blackness of space.

　Huh?

　I heard a new noise. A kind of . . . sniffling.

　No. 21? Was he weeping?

　“Hey. It’s all right, No. 21. I’m . . . I’m not afraid.”

　I’d always been a coward, but in that moment, I didn’t feel the slightest bit of fear.

　“You know why?” I said. “Because I have you here with me.”

　So please, don’t cry. It’ll be all right. I can’t see anymore, and I can’t hear. But I know you’re still right beside me.

　And there’s nothing . . . nothing in the world that could make me happier . . .

[Log Entry: No. 9 / Deep-Sea Base]

Once we detected a thermal reaction at the estimated location of the server room, No. 3 and I proceeded to make our way inside the enemy’s deep-sea base. Or, more precisely, we made our way inside what was left of the base.

　By that point, the facilities were little more than deep-sea ruins. Areas not flooded with seawater were the exception, and now that the server was down, the resident machines had ceased to function―all of them, whether they were busted up or not. The fact that we were able to navigate the ruins in safety was thanks to No. 21 and No. 22. It seemed they’d laid down their lives to set the bomb and ensure its detonation.

　In the corridor on the bottommost level, the first thing we came across was No. 6’s lifeless body. Next, we found and recovered his black box, suspended in safe mode.

　I set his self-repair routine to maximum speed and began assessing his injuries. Once I was done with that, the next step would be to . . .

　It occurred to me that I’d grown quite accustomed to this process. It was a painful realization.

　The right half of No. 6’s frame was shattered and torn. Too bad it hadn’t been his left side. His suffering would have been shorter. As it was, I had no doubt that he’d sat in agony for quite some time before the end finally came. His left hand was balled into a fist, fingernails lodged deep in his palm.

　We continued down the corridor to find No. 4―or what I assumed to be No. 4. It was hard to tell, considering what little remained. What portion we did find was damaged far worse than No. 6. He seemed to have been caught in an explosion he’d triggered at close range―likely a last-resort measure taken to impede enemy movements and aid No. 21 and No. 22’s safe passage to the server room.

　I knew how hard they’d all fought. Initially, their comm systems were functioning, and I’d listened to the reports streaming in from the Support System units. The details were so graphic, I’d wanted to press my hands over my ears to block out the words. But eventually the enemy’s jamming signal grew strong enough to drown out our equipment, and I’d been left to wonder how the rest of the mission played out.

　It was always me alone, living on through mission after mission from the safety of the back lines.

　“You doin’ okay?”

　“Oh. Yes.” I turned to No. 3 to answer. “Sorry about that. I just spaced out for a moment.”

　No. 3 hadn’t said much over the course of the operation, either. From the moment the forward units took off, he’d stood next to me in silence, his brow furrowed and ears trained on the choppy transmissions coming in from the SSUs. Assigned to keep me safe, he’d lived through this mission. But in countless previous operations, No. 3 had experienced . . . demise, just like the rest of our squadmates.

　The YoRHa Experimental M Squadron, newly established and living up to the implications of its name, was being dispatched on all manner of combat missions so that Command could get an overall sense of our aptitudes. We fought against all sorts of machines―some were flying, some were giant, some were the enemy’s latest models, and others came in endless legions. Perhaps precisely because of our experimental nature, the places to which we were dispatched inevitably featured some powerful foe never before encountered by androids. Thus, annihilation of all squad members dispatched to forward positions was the standard outcome in almost every operation we carried out.

　I understood that we underwent these trials for the benefit of humanity. Despite our losses, our infiltration of the deep-sea base had been an operational success. We’d destroyed the server, paralyzing all enemies in the vicinity.

　But it didn’t change the fact that not a single one of our units down here had been able to make it back out.

　After picking our way along a debris-filled corridor, No. 3 and I paused in front of a door that looked like it had seen better days.

　“I think the server room should be just inside here,” I said.

　Or rather, that should have been the case, according to the blueprints provided by my SSU, but the door remained stubbornly closed. Unless we found a way to open it, I’d be unable to visually confirm the destruction of the server. To be honest, I was impressed that the door was still there at all, and that the immediate surroundings hadn’t flooded. The facility seemed quite solidly built, which made sense, I supposed, considering the fact that it was the enemy’s command center for the entire region.

　“Damn thing won’t open,” No. 3 grumbled.

　Maybe it had been locked from inside. Or maybe the door’s control panel had been destroyed. Either way, it was likely a measure taken by No. 21 and No. 22 to keep the machines out. That’s how desperate the situation must have been; the last two members of the squad had no other choice but to seal themselves inside with the bomb.

　“Stand back, No. 9. I’ll take care of it.”

　“Understood, sir.”

　“Already told you. You can quit with the ‘sir’ business. Call me ‘No. 3.’”

　Was it my imagination, or did No. 3’s tone of voice seem a little more subdued than usual?

　After some straining, he managed to pry the door open and declared, “There.”

　Acrid smoke billowed out from the gaping doorway. I stepped inside to find the server room still uncomfortably warm from the earlier explosion. The ceiling had caved in, and the floor was so littered with unidentifiable shards of metal that I found it difficult to make my way forward. I saw tangles of pipes and cables spilling out from holes in the walls, all half-melted and fused into clumps.

　It took quite some time to find the two of them among the wreckage. I finally spotted them on the far side of the room, huddled in a corner, their curled-up figures having long since ceased to function. No. 21’s back was charred a cruel black. He seemed to have draped his body over No. 22 in a futile, final protective act. He must have felt determined to keep his twin alive, right up to the bitter end. I remembered the words I’d heard him say to No. 22 time and time again. I swear I’ll keep you safe.

　No. 3 muttered, “Aw, hell,” then fell silent once more.

　Hell. There really wasn’t a more accurate way to describe what we were seeing.

　We recovered the two bodies from the server room and laid them faceup in the corridor. I began a more thorough assessment of their condition. While the most notable damage to No. 21 was his completely charred back, No. 22 had endured severe damage to his abdominal unit. Another wound indicated that a bullet had passed clean through his left shoulder, and there were countless nicks and scrapes across his frame where bullets must have grazed it. Clearly, No. 22 had done everything he could to shield his twin from damage until they made it to the server room.

　How had No. 21 felt, watching his twin’s life drain away? What thoughts had gone through his mind as he set the explosive device?

　From the outset, I’d thought the operation absurd. We had no data whatsoever regarding enemy numbers or types inside the base, and we hadn’t even been certain if our comm systems would function at all once inside. Sending a small squad of four to a place like this seemed irresponsible at best.

　You’re so strong. Honestly, I’m terrified.

　No. 22’s words suddenly flashed back into my mind. He’d said that just before we first rolled out. No. 21 had smiled and responded, There’s nothing to be afraid of. I remembered his kind gaze as he delivered those words of comfort.

　At the time, I don’t think any of us really understood. Neither No. 21, nor I, nor even No. 22 in all his terror truly knew what it meant to die.

　Only I still didn’t know, even now.

　I alone continued to live on, ignorant of something that my squadmates had come to know quite well. I was unable to do anything but watch. I was one of them, and yet I was not; they were united in a new circle, one which I would never be allowed to enter. And I would continue to stand by myself, apart from my squadmates. To do so was my job.

[Log Entry: No. 21 / Base Camp]

I was feeling, maybe for the first time ever, a sense of panic. It was like being burned by a flame from the inside, or pricked by hundreds of tiny thorns pressed against my skin. Yes. I was definitely panicking. If things continued to play out this way, I wouldn’t be able to guarantee No. 22’s safety.

　Even worse, I’d already failed to protect him, time and time again.

　You’re so strong. Honestly, I’m terrified.

　I’d sworn to keep him safe back then. I told him he’d never have to feel scared. Yet here I was, failing to keep my promise.

　The battlefield was an endless stream of surprises. My recon could be as accurate and detailed as possible, but I’d still never be able to cover all the variables. Enemies far exceeding my best predictions would routinely show up and unleash devastating assaults. It didn’t take long for me to learn that the unexpected is par for the course in war.

　In fact, my recon and intel were usually close to perfect right up until the fighting began. The problem was that everything came undone as soon as the first enemy appeared or the first shot was fired. Then I’d be back to square one, running recon and gathering data from scratch. I was determined to maintain a perfect picture of the situation, so I dedicated every spare cycle of my AI to make sure it happened. We needed that data. If I could have it ready one second or even one microsecond faster, all the better.

　If I failed to keep up, defeat awaited us. But the machines’ tactics got more sophisticated by the day. At first, they’d just relied on their greater numbers as a means to overcome us. Soon, they were making use of the terrain or inclement weather to launch surprise attacks.

　The damn things were learning. They were evolving.

　Of course, so were we. We learned, and we evolved. Each battle we fought meant an inevitable boost to our skills. Pretty soon, though, it was obvious that increased skill alone wasn’t going to cut it. We needed something more. That’s where I came in. Taking a combat disadvantage and turning it to our favor, or turning a tiny weakness into something we could exploit―those were the duties of the Scanner.

　I needed data. I craved it. Anything, no matter how trivial. Info about the composition and layout of the terrain, or of typical weather patterns at our next insertion point. I’d never be able to finalize intel on enemy types, numbers, and formations until we were in the thick of it, but information about the battlefield itself was something I could amass and analyze beforehand.

　Survey data collected from the surface. Survey data collected from orbit. New data. Old data. Any data. I took it all and crammed it into my memory banks.

　In the real world, there was no such thing as absolute certainty. Facilitatory conditions could nudge probability exponentially closer to 100% or 0%, but you could never say for certain that something would or wouldn’t happen. So no matter how dire the situation was, our chances of success were never actually nil. It was my job was to pull us as far away from zero as I could possibly manage.

　If the enemies were so great in number, packed so tight you couldn’t see the spaces to maneuver between them, where could you find the aberration that might lead to victory in that situation? In the topography? The weather?

　I needed more. Something new. I’d already run simulations like this for every battle we’d been through.

　“Hey, do you have a sec?” At some point, No. 22 must have wandered near.

　I cut him off. “Sorry. Can it wait until later?”

　I had only so much time until the next operation.

　“Oh, right. You’re working. Sorry. I always bother you like that.”

　It was an overstatement, of course. He wasn’t always bothering me. Not by any stretch of the imagination. No. 22 generally knew quite thoroughly what tasks I’d be working on and when. The problem was that my tasks had begun to consume more and more time. With each new sortie, my pool of past data to reference grew larger, and so I had more to work through.

　That was when it hit me.

　Things to reference. Past battles. Of course.

　What if I went back further? I could analyze engagements between androids and machines in past wars. Not on a scale of decades or even centuries. I could go back thousands of years. I could take into account every surviving record of every battle that had ever taken place in the geographic location in question. Machine lifeforms learned and evolved through every encounter they had with any group of androids. I could do the same: with comprehensive knowledge of all past engagements, I might find a useful trend or consistent pattern in the enemy’s behavior―some key that could turn the tide in our favor. At the very least, I could look for some tiny way to shore up our strategy in time for the next op. It would make our mission that much easier.

　My next task, then, was figuring out where combat records like that might be stored. The main server was a good bet, but since data like that likely wasn’t accessed often, it’d probably be a real pain to dig up. Still, it was worth a try.

　I’d alert the instructor and file an immediate request with Command for access to―

　No. If I went through the usual request process, I’d never have the data in time.

　“This is a case of act now, report later.”

　I decided to give myself permission to dive in. This was exactly what they meant when they talked about unauthorized access, but it wouldn’t be a problem so long as I didn’t get caught. In fact, even if Command did figure out what I’d done, I felt certain they wouldn’t say a word if it meant the operation went well. Right now, the only thing that mattered was time, and I couldn’t afford to waste any more of it.

　The main server turned out to be surprisingly easy to hack. Sure, there were a few heavy security measures in place, but compared to the hell I’d been through hacking the machines’ servers, it was like pushing my way through a wall made of paper. I made a mental note: sometime when we all had a bit of breathing room, it might be worthwhile to file a report suggesting we reinforce server security.

　Once I was in, I began to look around. As expected, the top levels didn’t house the combat records I was after. I dove deeper, pushing my way through additional server defenses.

　How had this idea not occurred to me earlier? I cursed my own shortsightedness. Or maybe this was how it had to be. Maybe it was because we’d suffered so many defeats that the thought first emerged. Wasn’t there a human saying to that effect? “Desperation breeds innovation,” or something like that? If so, it shed new light on Command’s approach with our squadron; they never granted permission to abort an op or withdraw, no matter how hopeless the situation became. Maybe it wasn’t as absurd a stance as I’d assumed.

　As I made my way deeper into the server, I encountered a sudden increase in security. The barriers weren’t just blocking the way anymore; they were actively attacking me. It made sense, I guess. This deep, there was bound to be all kinds of highly classified data tucked away.

　Still, no server was about to make a fool out of a cutting-edge Scanner model. I deftly deflected the attacks and continued my search.

　“Hm? What’s this?”

　The files I was after were still nowhere to be found. But I’d stumbled across something else.

　“What the . . . ?” I murmured.

　Once I started reading what I’d found, I couldn’t stop.