Arnel woke up on the couch, feeling as if he was reborn. Perhaps, the way a man is pardoned at the moment right before the guillotine drops is also a form of rebirth — in this same way, Arnel felt as if he received a second life. His ghost would not be warped and distorted by the burden and sin of carrying hundreds of thousands of deaths on his conscience. He was absolved.

However, he was not entirely sinless.

His clothes still smelled of gunshot residue. Every time he noticed it, he could taste blood in his mouth. It wasn’t him that pulled the trigger, it was Nineteen. Or so he would like to believe. Who was Nineteen? He was not the spirit of a deceased person that possessed Arnel’s body; Nineteen was the memory, knowledge, and battle instinct of a person who fought through the Consolidation War and lost countless comrades.

Arnel, he realized then — although the realization began from the moment he met Nineteen on the imaginary island — had been putting Nineteen’s knowledge to use from the moment he woke up from his coma. His advanced close-quarters combat abilities, possibly even the death line, and his knowledge of tactics and strategy had, in all likelihood, been something he was borrowing from the memory of someone dead for decades.

Remember us, Code, Nineteen told him. That is how they live on.

Leviathan’s warning, then, about the price of freedom sometimes being death, and at other times, the ability to die itself now came as a mind-numbing shock. Is this what it meant to obtain freedom? Nineteen was a Code, Arnel was sure of this now, and the price he paid for this was the ability to truly die. To live forever and to fight on behalf of AGMI and whoever else will come to take the Code’s place once the physical body fails.

In truth, Arnel did not think that was a terrible price to pay.

Arnel left that room behind, which smelled of cleaning chemicals and fresh paint — as if it was prepared just for this occasion. The door leading to the apartment did not have an automated recognition system and, surprisingly, other than the electronic security system, it also had a dead-bolt lock. It required a real key! Arnel had only once seen a lock like this, and it was in a museum.

Luckily, it didn’t require a key to open from the inside.

The corridors were empty and also smelled fresh and clean.

He was becoming more and more aware of the assistance his artificial eye was giving him — even then, he knew that this building had no occupants. Not even they were listed as occupants. In fact, the building had been slated for “revision” three years ago. Supposedly, all utilities to it had been cut, but the lights were on and the elevators worked. Arnel even noticed several maintenance drones — tiny, mechanical scarabs that could barely fit in his palm.

Once on the roof, Arnel leaned over the railings and looked down below. He didn’t recognize this part of the Arcology — if he was still in the same one. If this was Prometheus-7, then Arnel had never been to this part before. There were quite a few places in the Arcology that Arnel had never seen.

But Arnel knew exactly where he was. His eye told him. These were the so-called slums. Low-habitability and high-density sectors. One would be hard-pressed to find a drone here unless it was near the central access shaft where the drones carried supplies and materials to the manufacturing plants and the bio and fusion reactors.

He had no idea how long he stayed on the roof, in a state of blissful mindlessness, but eventually, he heard footsteps behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Thomas approaching.

“Hey, bud,” he said, tone low and wary. “So this is where you were.”

Habitually, Arnel glanced at the information above the man’s head. It was still the same. Failsafe, huh. But there was something else, more pressing, that Arnel wanted to know.

“You knew about Icarus four?” Arnel asked.

Thomas nodded. “We did. Yeah.” He paused for a moment, stopping next to Arnel. “Theta warned us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arnel asked. “You knew who their target was.”

“It was too late to do anything, Arnel,” Thomas said, using his name this time, rather than bud. Perhaps he knew that after this conversation, whatever illusion there was of friendship would disappear, like the darkness of simulated night once the lights turn on in a few hours. “We tried calling them, to warn them — I even reached out to some contacts, but… it was too late.”

“That is unacceptable!” Arnel replied, raising his voice. Even though he didn’t intend to yell, it came out that way. “Her parents are dead!”

“What do you want me to do?” Thomas asked, eyebrows sinking and knitting together. “Grow wings and fly? Theta warned us so that we can protect you. We didn’t know how, or why, or from what, but the bottom line is, her parents were already beyond help!”

Arnel stared at Thomas, his jaw slack. He blinked; his lips moved, but no coherent sound came out.

“Whoever planned this was one step ahead of Theta. Bell told you already, even Deucalion tried to intervene, but they were ready,” Thomas explained. “This wasn’t Epsilon’s doing.”

Arnel shut his mouth and swallowed. “Who then?”

“Not who,” Thomas said. “What.”

Arnel raised an eyebrow. “What, then?”

Thomas shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said. “It’s probably better that way, too.”

“You said they report directly to Epsilon. How can Epsilon not be involved?”

The soldier nodded. “I did say that. Special Division Zero.” Thomas put both elbows on the railing and leaned forward. “They were all wiped out last month. I just learned. Killed in action, to the last man.”

“… Killed in action?” Arnel asked.

“This world is full of monsters, bud,” Thomas said. “Even saying their names can kill you. That’s not a joke. You would drop like a fly. This world is made of secrets and monsters.”

Arnel tilted his head. “What monsters? Goblins? Orcs?”

Thomas smirked. “I wish it was that easy. No, Arnel. Old world weapons. The kind of which make Machine Arsenals look like toys. Why do you think Artemis exists? Right now, somewhere in the Frontier, a Machine Arsenal is either putting a slug through something unspeakable or is being salvaged for parts by something unspeakable.”

“I don’t believe you,” Arnel said. “How come nobody knows about this? Someone would've noticed!”

Thomas laughed. “Because they are not fighting us,” Thomas said. “They don’t even see us. We are nothing to them. They are fighting the AGMI. Have you ever seen a picture of the north pole?”

“No?” Arnel said. "What's that have to do with anything?"

“You know why? Because that is where the Orbital Invasion Force landed. It is crawling with automated weapons.”

Arnel narrowed his eyes.

“Have you seen satellite images of South America and Antarctica?”

Arnel did not answer.

“SAAF territory. South Atlantic Assault Force. Or South America Assault Force — take your pick. No one knows anymore which one it is. Russia and Siberia?”

“Stop,” Arnel said.

Thomas turned towards Arnel. “You have that look in your eyes. You believe me now. You are terrified — and you should be. Terrified and disappointed. Angry even. A kid like you, living in an Arcology — a citizen — doesn’t have to know about the world. You will live here and you will die here of old age. That is how it is for most people. There is nothing out there — it’s just an irradiated wasteland. That part is true. It is irradiated.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Arnel asked.

“Because I think one of those weapons wants you dead. Why? I have no idea,” Thomas said.

“But they are weapons — machines. How can they have agents to assassinate someone? Those people that came after Jennifer were… people!”

Thomas scoffed. “Yeah, they were. And people are the easiest to manipulate. We are not like them. We can’t see the future or unravel plots before they even begin. There are at least a hundred ways for an AGMI to manipulate someone into wanting to kill someone else.”

“AGMI?” Arnel asked. His eyes widened. “The Lost?”

Thomas nodded. “Bingo.” Then, Thomas sighed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Frankly, I am scared myself. It wasn’t always this bad, until recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember my pizza story?”

Arnel nodded.

“It’s true. Except for the part about the tank. I made that up. A drone smashed into us — didn’t even see us or care. Drove right through the truck and flipped us over, end over end. Took another platoon days to come and get us.” Thomas smirked. “At least we weren’t hungry.”

Arnel chuckled, but it was a sour kind of happiness.

“That is how it was. The weapons — they just salvaged old-world equipment from the frontier and built bases. We’d walk into those bases, plant explosives right under their noses and they didn’t even care. Usually, we’d just call artillery on them and play chicken with danger-close.”

“Now it’s different?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. They’re maneuvering. They’re taking action. I can’t tell you why I know it is different, but I know it is. It feels like war is coming again. All out war.”

Arnel took a deep breath and then sighed. He slid against the railings until he was firmly sat on the ground.

“Yeah, that’s about how I took it as well when they offered me the job,” Thomas said. “It’s the disappointment that hurts the most. On one hand, you feel stupid for being so blind, and on the other hand, you are angry because you’ve been lied to.”

Arnel glanced at Thomas. “Someone, somewhere, wanted to kill Jennifer’s parents, and found the people to do it — failsafes.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Right?” Arnel asked.

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

“I want to know who it is,” Arnel said. “Can you help?”

Thomas narrowed his eyes slightly. After a moment, he nodded. “I can.”

Arnel stared at Thomas. “Are you?” Arnel asked.

Thomas chewed on his lower lip. “What do you plan on doing if you do find them?”

“They tried to kill my best friend and killed her parents. What do you think I am going to do?”

___

Thomas walked into the room and sat down next to Isobell who was illuminated by the neon lights of a dozen monitors.

“You found him?” Isobell asked.

Thomas nodded and sighed. “Yeah…”

“You look like he chewed you out something fierce,” Isobell said.

Thomas rubbed his eyelids.

Isobell glanced at Thomas. “Yeah. I am glad I won rock-paper-scissors. The way you look, I reckon I’d be crying if I had to go have the talk.”

“It’s not that,” Thomas said. “I really don’t understand that kid.”

“What’s up?”

“I told him about the state of the world. The frontier and the Lost. Told him everything.”

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Isobell glared at Thomas. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“He didn’t even care,” Thomas said.

“He didn’t believe you?” Isobell asked, with a hint of relief in her tone.

“He did, I think,” Thomas said. “He even reacted. For five seconds — and then he asked me if we could find the person who was behind the Icarus four sabotage.”

Isobell blinked several times. “I take it back. I wouldn’t have cried. I probably would’ve kicked his ass.”

“Why? He’s right,” Thomas said.

“Right? Right in hell. All he has to do is shut up and let us spoil him,” Isobell said.

Thomas sighed again, and leaned his head over the backrest, staring at the ceiling. “There’s a fox living in our hen-house, Bell. We can’t let it live. We have to do something before Arn does.”

Isobell chewed on her lower lip and nodded. “Will you help him find the person?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas said. “I might.”

“What!? There really is something wrong with you!” Isobell shook her head.

Thomas shook his head. “It’s not me. It’s him. He killed a man — not even that long ago — and it’s like it’s not even his first time. It doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t cry. I mean — he had good cause. It was him or that piece of shit. But still…”

Isobell narrowed her eyes.

“I can’t explain, Bell. But I know it’s not an act. He isn’t acting tough. I don’t even know if he is tough.” Thomas shook his head. “It’s something else.”

Isobell nodded, her lips curving into a frown. "Did you at least tell him about his condition?"

Thomas shook his head again.

“I don’t like this, Thomas,” Isobell said, standing up from her chair. “He’s just an innocent kid. He doesn't deserve this.”

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “That’s it.”

“What?”

“There’s no naïveté or innocence in his eyes anymore. Just cold-blooded determination.”