Liberi Reader

Her mechanical arms begin moving. The motions are not particularly large, just enough for those who approach to see that she is doing something.

Then, all the soldiers' communicators begin emitting a piercing wail.

A few moments later, an officer storms towards the Rhodes Island team.

The strangely dressed figure goes straight towards a procession at the end of the queue, disrupting the adjacent lines.

Countless confused gazes fall upon the same place.

The soldier says nothing, staring at Raidian as though trying to put pressure on her.

But Raidian detects unusual tremors in his electrical signals.

She smiles.

At another entrance a short distance away, armed soldiers are shoving a diminutive Infected, shouting loudly.

The Infected does not seem intimidated. Taking a few steps back, the figure remains straight-backed.

Around the Infected are civilians from the working class, some of whom seem to be miners, while others seem to be construction workers...

Their stance is clearly protective.

The soldier takes a look at the express passage. A few people are standing there, all looking in his direction.

He looks away from the officer standing there and back at the girl, this time with a questioning gaze.

The youth pulls open the cloth on the cart and shows Amiya the contents.

Amiya looks at the youth curiously, and meets the gaze straight-on.

By the time the calm youth looks up, the Cautus has already turned around to her own companions. What's lingered is but a distant silhouette.

The line begins to move again.

At the very least, the descriptions about housing were not exaggerated.

An empty carton of cystymilk on the floor, pots and pans lying around the place, plants that are still green, the greying carpet on the wooden floor...

All signs that someone had lived here recently.

The diminutive leader of the group walks forward, thinking about how to get the soldier off their tails. Suddenly, the bedroom door is thrown open, almost hitting the youth, who only avoids it by instinctively leaping back.

A figure emerges from inside, swinging a chair at the intruder.

'To what lengths will I go to go back, back to that ship?'

The impassive woman silently eliminates possibilities from her mind. A lone deserter matters little to the Fourth Army; at best, she is a bargaining chip, or a tiny favor.

The question is, do they care about what the Fourth Army does? The First Army does not necessarily have to intervene in this war, as the history of Ursus has demonstrated time and again.

The new weapon is merely a symbol, a deterrence. Evgeny undoubtedly has designs on it. The Generalik... the Generalik is a massive weakness, but how to use it?

The fugitive evades the searchlights expertly as she ponders how to continue to remain undetected while causing just the right amount of chaos...

And how to go home.

The foundation structure separates the underground residential layer into several zones. Shouting can be heard coming from behind a half-closed metal door, warm light seeping from the cracks.

The duo tangling by the door are oblivious to the eyes gazing upon them.

The establishment is unsurprisingly filled to the brim.

Soldier and craftsman, farmer and teacher—whatever they were during the day, they are all just drunkards now.

They pack themselves in this noisy space, gulping down the same cheap liquor, and drag themselves back to their quarters before they pass out.

There are countless corners in Zelgrad like this one, as there were in the Fourth Army's base.

No one looks up at her. There are no waiters, only a sleepy owner, barrels piled up by the wall in the narrow passage, and drinking games that do not require any props.

Sirka slips through between the wooden tables to the far end of the pub, where she finds the disguised figure that has fully blended in with the crowd.

The woman lifts the edge of her jacket, revealing a nameplate with the Fourth Army's serial etched upon it.

She keeps her eyes firmly fixed upon him, making sure not to miss the slightest change in expression.

Otherwise, the Fourth Army would already have taken action, Sirka thinks as she follows the man's lead in stopping.

He points to the pub behind him.

In the blink of an eye, the man feels as though he has been separated from the space beneath his feet. The sounds of the rowdy drinkers grow distant, and the sound of water dripping from the pipes disappears.

A wall of air separates him and the Kuranta. He tries to speak but can not hear himself, nor can he tell what words his counterpart's mouth is making.

The sensation of suffocation fills his brain. He frantically grabs at his throat, unsure if what he is going through is real.

The silver blade cuts his throat before he even sees it.

Then, the same knife impales his chest, and finally his axilla.

Swift and clean.

The man twitches in his own blood, but nobody can hear him.

Sirka digs through his bloody pockets, removing everything she found, disguising it simply as a robbery-murder.

The Imperial Guard leads Hellagur through the arguing crowd, who fail to notice their presence.

Hellagur listens quietly, as his expression gradually grows more bemused.