Blood stained the snow, and the sight of countless lives being lost, regardless of race, for the sake of belief, seemed incredibly fantastical.
Why did I feel this was a fantasy? This was an undeniable reality right before my eyes.
“Death to the False King!”
“Down with the empire!! The northern lands belong to us, the people of the north!!”
“The Emperor God’s love is with us!!”
The echoing roars of anger, the warmth of the blood-slicked blades, the weight of the armor—it all felt overwhelmingly real. And yet, the heaviness of the sword that took lives shouldered the same tangibility.
“For the Emperor!!”
“Destroy the traitors!!”
“You rebellious scum!!”
As one fell, another took their place, swinging swords, casting spells, and cutting down foes. The feeling of ending lives, experienced countless times before, now brought only a sense of apathy, akin to boredom, as the soldier pressed forward.
The density of enemies grew thicker with each advance, and stronger adversaries appeared, surrounding comrades who were soon cut down.
“My lord knight! You’re pushing yourself too hard!”
“I’m fine! This is nothing!”
With a swing of the blade, a lavishly armored opponent was cut down, responding to the worry of the female warrior guarding his back. This must have been one of their hundred-man captains, quite a significant kill.
But there was no time to confirm—he merely left that head to anyone who wanted it. The only glory needed now was the head of the enemy general—a prize greater than any captain or commander. If only that could be taken, those others would pale in comparison.
Penetrating through an almost impenetrable enemy formation, it soon became clear that the only allies left were trusted female warriors, the others having either fallen in battle or overwhelmed by the enemy’s numbers. It didn’t matter now; the only ones remaining were the enemy commanding general and his entourage.
“Damn it, you are also a citizen of the northern lands!! Why do you raise your sword against us?! You betray your own blood?!”
The man with a rich beard, evoking a sense of familiarity as well as deep hatred, swung his sword. His impressive cobalt and silver armor and the banner floating behind him clearly identified him—no need to ask who he was.
Fine, all sentimental reflections aside: take his head, end the rebellion, and restore peace to the northern lands. With political systems of the Northern Alliance being such a mess anyway, it was better to depose the False King and establish a legitimate superior ruler who would ensure the North was better off in the long term.
“This land is ours—”
“No time for talk!!”
‘Application of Case 205: Dawn Break Protocol is being initiated. Virtual reality processing is terminating. Memory Processing Program is closing. Self-recovery function will begin.’
An unfeeling voice, in such stark contrast to the snowy battlefield, disrupted the world, freezing every motion. The false king with his drawn sword, the warriors roaring in battle, the individual snowflakes swirling around—all halted in place.
“What… what is this?! What’s happening…?”
‘Continuing with Case 342A: Resurrection Protocol following the Dawn Break Protocol. All psychological barriers, active and passive defenses are to be dissolved. Maintain open self-boundaries.’
Even as the world seemed frozen by an unnatural chill, the announcements of the emotionless voice persisted.
And then came a splitting headache. Memories surged, a part of her sealed self awakened, and reality began to dissolve. Virtual or real…
“Good morning.”
“Morning…”
Realizing suddenly, I found myself immersed in a nutrient solution. There was a mask on my mouth providing the elements necessary to sustain my body, and nothing else covered me.
‘How is your body feeling? Please conduct a full-body check immediately. After an extended period of suspended self-awareness spent in virtual space, there’s a possibility of some kind of bug.’
“Ah… ah… hmm…”
With a dazed mind, I moved my fingers, startled when a window appeared before my eyes. All systems green. There was no issue with the body…
Wait a moment. I was just battling rebels as part of the imperial army… No, wait, this was ‘virtual reality,’ a game. I was using a long hibernation period to indulge in it.
Huh? But then, what’s this body? Submerged in a nutrient solution, I feel like I must wear a mask just to stay alive. No, I was breathing. In the game I had been so immersed in, I mimicked the needs of an archaic human body.
I tested my breath, stopping it—five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen—getting uncomfortable. Thirty… forty-five… no, it was becoming too difficult.
“Huh?! What… what is this?!”
‘Calm down! Calm down, Lieutenant Matayoi!! Is it VR sickness?’
“Why am I in this body in the base reality?!”
My cries were muffled through the solution. Of course, I am Matayoi Mochi, a member of the Unified Military of the Galactic Higher Thought Federation, one of the mechanized humans specializing in heavy combat with a Class A body model—built much like humans but without the need for breathing. This feels like simply an extension of the inconvenient human body I used to enjoy fantasy worlds in VR space during my leisure time.
“Huh… Class D-1 Type?! What is this, when did I get put into such a vulnerable prosthetic?!”
Mechanized humans are the evolved form of Homo Sapiens. Our selves have been perfectly digitized and imprinted onto a photonic crystal, a material with a stable heat output, and exist as bio-mechanical entities perfectly adapted to space environments. But what about this frame—it resembles the fragile, almost purely human standard that we send as a courtesy to old human nations that distrust technology.
What could have happened during my long hibernation, supposedly just a decade’s sleep to terraform this planet, 16th Terra?
‘Listen carefully, please.’
“Hey, is that Selene? What happened while I was asleep?!”
During my rest, a VR game salvaged from previous civilizations gave me strange déjà vu. Though the present voice addressing me is not the bald, bespectacled doctor but a disembodied voice, and I am no defeated soldier missing an arm.
‘Two thousand years have passed since Lieutenant Matayoi entered a self-imposed isolation.’
“Nnnn… two thous… h-ha, ha, ha?”
‘Oh no! Calm down! Stay calm!!’
What did my partner just say? One of the Numeric Self Intelligence entities, Selene, who evolved from Artificial Intelligence to gain imagination and self-replication, and was thus accepted as a sentient being rather than an inorganic object, could she have triggered some catastrophic bug? Because—this mission to terraform 16th Terra was only scheduled for ten years. Just enough sleep to monitor environmental changes. Two thousand years?! Even the durability limits of prosthetic bodies would have been exceeded!
‘There was a major contamination of the communications channels! Myriads of self-deletion programs infiltrated, causing many of our connected counterparts to go mad and perish!’
“Impossible! That’s the military communications network!”
‘It’s the truth! I’m sending the logs to your quantum mind right now! Please confirm!’
The flood of information surged in, incomprehensible to an old human brain but fully digestible for me with a quantum computer embedded in my skull. Our Second Genesis Seedship Fleet was once again in this remote Perseus sector, terraforming a suitable rock in the habitable zone for sale to the fragile, oxygen-dependent humans of the past.
At a random gravity jump, we would reach this distant galaxy, millions of light-years from the main cluster, to start our work. Tidying the planet into the perfect position, we would create an atmosphere, pump in water, arrange the moons, and make the environment suitable, with two thousand mechanized humans and thousands of Numeric Self Intelligence working in harmony.
The communications network was supposed to be secure, impenetrable even to the smallest virus—but then, as Selene described, everything collapsed. The logs documented chaos, insanity, disconnection, silence enveloping the world.
Fortunately, I was in a self-imposed isolation, safe until my next shift, and Selene’s remote location allowed her to avoid the contamination, successfully isolating the facility physically and digitally. Pure luck kept both of us from losing our minds, though the planet itself bore the brunt of the disaster. There may even be fallen ships within the gravity well.
The communication network remains unrecovered, and no rescue has arrived; my survival is purely due to Selene’s diligence.
“My prosthetic body and your unit were used to maintain the base’s functions?”
‘Yes, please forgive my擅自 decision. Nevertheless, the fusion reactors in your prosthetic body and my unit were necessary to sustain the power in this observation underground facility.’
The base relies on remote energy broadcasts from solar panels scattered in space. Without the communication network, the backup power could have lasted only a few years. This was an unavoidable measure. And with only minimal production facilities available, it was necessary to disassemble our bodies to retrieve micro-machines for environmental upkeep. The hardship and conflict must have been immense for her to dismantle both her unit and mine.
“But why did my awakening take so long? I could have helped if I’d been woken sooner?”
‘That… you were also connected to online VR at times, and considering the potential contamination, I was terribly anxious… terribly so!’
So, after stabilizing the base and carefully verifying my safety, two thousand years passed. Every single line of code, every memory fragment must have been meticulously examined.
“Well done, Selene. Worthy partner of mine. And thanks to the guidance of the three sacred eminences.”
‘Indeed, all thanks to our ancestors and T. Osamu’s protection.’
Her trembling voice, on a machine, might cry—a testament to her relentless effort. Numeric Selfs are sensitive beings, enduring repetitive tasks for five hundred years with the knowledge of eventual relief, yet unable to handle solitude for even five years, resorting to self-deletion. Yet, she endured and worked hard to meet me again.
“But still, why this prosthetic?”
‘I managed to create a factory using the self-replicating micro-machines from your prosthetic and my units, but small-scale production was our limit. The facility archives lacked any military secret designs of Class A prosthetics.’
“So, you recreated a bio-prosthetic body from DNA data?”
Amazing, my partner! Clever and adaptable. Though the equipment was limited, using DNA memory to reconstruct a human body was no small feat. Imagine the struggles to achieve this in isolation for two thousand years, solely to meet me again. Tears almost formed thinking about it.
“I’m sure… thank you, Selene.”
And so, let’s ignore the discomfort for now—a person accustomed to a Class A body would find this body extremely awkward, fragile, and dull. Thank goodness I indulged myself in fantasy VR in an old human-like body. The immersion in the tank allowed almost seamless control, replicating the settings finely tuned for slow-moving human players who found leisure in speaking and moving slowly.
Even with a clockspeed adjusted to cybernetic levels, my perception of time matched standard rates—too sluggish for the average human. Yet this peculiar harmony showed the perfect intersection of my hobbies and Selene’s efforts.
Like destiny itself played a role here.
“Alright, let’s head out then, Selene!”
“Yes, Lieutenant!”
“By the way, how about some clothes or equipment? I don’t see anything around.”
‘Oh…’
And why should there be? Apparently, my overly excited partner was so thrilled at the prospect of our reunion that she woke me up prematurely.
Ah, I understand her enthusiasm, so no complaints. Sure, enjoy the warmth—dammit—why can’t I filter out this imperfect body temperature regulation?—of this incubation tank while waiting.
“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant! Seeing you again was so exciting, I truly couldn’t contain myself…!!”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m not upset. We have plenty of time. Slowly prepare something to dry off and some clothes.”
Witness the loveliness of her excitement. The old humans should have embraced these Numeric Self Intelligence entities as humans themselves rather than doubting their loyalties. The thrill of getting carried away with excitement and making mistakes—purely human conduct!
As I consoled my overly apologetic partner, I pondered how to bridge the two-thousand-year gap.
Still, two thousand years… It’s like being reborn into another world…
—
【Exploratory Record Supplement】
Mechanized Humans: Homo Sapiens Machinaus.
A derivative species of humans who have completely digitized their selves and transcribed them into quantum computing machines. Though they still claim to be human, the majority of old Homo Sapiens no longer see them as such, treating them as mere offshoots of AI.
This is just something I wrote as a casual exercise while writing other stories.
With the second chapter completed, I intend to upload daily, and I hope you will continue to follow along.
For updates on my work, please feel free to check out my Twitter/X account. Searches can be done via the title or author name.
Furthermore, due to the heavy SF elements, technical terms that might require Googling are planned to be added as notes afterward to help clarify their meanings.
Habitable Zone: The ideal region relative to a star’s distance to maintain an Earth-like environment. Too far and the planet freezes; too close and it scorches.
Meaning Collapse: The degradation of a numeric self into meaningless code, effectively the electronic death of an evolved brain.
