The Jeager Project

CH. 08: 8S's Story/Pilgrimage

HE SAW A DREAM. A dream he didn't want to see. Rather lucid and unpleasant...his memories of reality. After 8S was forcefully removed from battle, the flight unit had landed in the city ruins. Because the black-box response had previously rid the area of infected JeaGer squadron troopers and Machines alike, it had the least amount of enemy signals and was probably deemed to be the safest. "Search for 3R's black-box signal!" That was the first thing he had ordered after he landed. 3R's plan had been to be a decoy and let 8S escape. But 3R should have attempted an escape once 8S's flight unit had gone out of sight—if she hadn't been shot down. "Report: 3R's black-box signal detected." "Where? Give me the location data!" But Pod did not display the map data. "Warning: Significant vibrations detected. Underground support seems unstable. Possibility of a large-scale earthquake." "So what?" replied an irritated 8S. "Where's the location data?!" "Recommendation: Immediate evacuation." "There's no way I would evacuate!" The location data appeared. The commercial ruins. Good. It was close. 8S ran. He crossed the shallows, dove through weeds, and stumbled across rubble. Just as Pod had forewarned, the ground was trembling. He couldn't care less, and kept running. He crossed a rope bridge draped across a deep canyon. 3R was right up ahead. "There! 3R!" It was her familiar ID signal and silhouette from the back. But she was not alone. She was with someone else. "3R, are you..." His feet froze. There was something protruding from 3R's back. Something red and pointed... "Ah," 3R said as she looked back, impaled by a sword. "No...3R...no..." 3R's body collapsed to the side. A3 held a blood-soaked sword. 3R lay motionless on the ground. He couldn't detect her signal. "No!" She had killed 3R. That old JeaGer model. A3. His throat trembled uncontrollably. He was going to kill her. The rope bridge was swinging. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill— The feeling of falling. He lost sight of A3. His body was slammed down. It became pitch-dark.

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His dream abruptly ended, and the darkness cleared. Inside his bright field of vision was a red blob. "Oh, it looks like he woke up, Devola." The red blob split in two. Two redheads. If he remembered correctly, there were some androids with red hair. "Good morning. You slept well, 8S." "You know, sweetie, you've been out for two weeks." This voice. He remembered—Devola and Popola. The twin androids who did odd jobs at the resistance camp. They aren't wearing casts today, 8S thought absentmindedly. These two were constantly wounded, and plastered themselves with casts and bandages all the time. "Be grateful that I found you, okay?" teased Devola. 3R had told him earlier that Devola's scanner had helped her enormously when searching for 8S when he had been abducted by Adam. 3R... He almost relapsed into the nightmare. That was a dream. A bad dream. 8S stood up. "Where's 3R?" Popola averted her gaze without a word. Devola's jaunty expression disappeared, turning grim. "You should know, shouldn't you?" This place was not a part of the dream. It was the resistance camp, in reality. "Her black-box signal is...gone." "I see." It wasn't a dream. A3 had killed 3R. Since the Bunker was gone, neither a spare chassis nor personal data backup was obtainable. A body to return to, and memories to return...were all gone. Was this death? He couldn't tell. He couldn't think clearly. His mind lagged as the scene in front of him and his memories diverged. Words were the only thing that skimmed along his consciousness. The truth was so surreal, it felt like he was seeing through someone else's eyes. Pod popped into his field of vision. "Devola and Popola-type androids are rare models specialized for treatment and maintenance. Prediction that with the absence of the Bunker, without their help 8S's repair would have proved difficult." He couldn't understand anything he was told. "Recommendation: Gratitude." Ah, yes, that was true. "Thanks." Really? Was he thanking them? He didn't know. Nothing mattered, and he felt dejected. "There were a lot of our type in the past," Devola said, handing 8S his goggles. Perhaps everything looked different because his goggles were off. "Apparently, we were in charge of managing a large system." It was no use. Putting on the goggles made no difference. Even the familiar resistance camp looked washed-out.