The night wind howled across the desolate lakeshore, carrying with it a dust storm laced with the stench of sulfur. Though the deadly rotten-egg smell had been diluted at this safe distance, it still clung like an oily film to the back of one's throat, making breathing difficult.
Miguel irritably stabbed his greatsword into the sand and dropped onto a weathered rock beside it. He glared at the lake shrouded in poisonous mist, brow furrowed, his fingers tapping restlessly on his knee.
"So what, we're just gonna sit here and wait like idiots now?" Miguel finally couldn't hold back any longer, his tone filled with frustration. "We know Arran's just across that lake—maybe even being tortured right now—and we're here, doing nothing but freezing our asses off?"
Frank leaned against the windward side of another rock, the same unlit cigarette in his mouth—lighting it in this gas-filled environment would've been suicide, but it didn't stop him from using the ritual for comfort.
"It's not waiting like idiots. It's resting in place," Frank said with half-lidded eyes, gazing at the distant, murky horizon. "Conserving energy and waiting for the right moment is a crucial part of any operation. Veronica's fast on her feet, and with Director Victoria's logistical power, the gear we're waiting for will arrive soon. Until then, keeping our strength is worth more than charging off to die."
He turned his head to glance at Miguel under the dim starlight, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
"Speaking of which... Miguel, my man—since you're supposedly one of those 'special forces guys,' have you ever commanded any ops yourself? You've got that killer vibe—not the kind of guy who just blindly charges in like a grunt."
"Commanded?" Miguel snorted with bitter amusement. "Just listen to the name—'special forces.' My job's more like a suicide squad. The stuff that involves thinking, laying out strategy, sipping coffee in a command vehicle—that's for the top brass. I wouldn't dare steal their job."
He grabbed a handful of sand and clenched it tightly, feeling the grains dig into his palm.
"Besides… I hate war now."
Frank raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt, simply listening.
"For the longest time, I thought war ruined my life. And to be honest, I still think that," Miguel's voice dropped low, as if caught in a muddy memory. "Back then, I foolishly believed war was about vengeance, about proving something. But at least after he—my captain—died, I finally understood. War's nothing but a stupid game where thousands of strangers kill each other in the mud."
He opened his hand. The sand slipped through his fingers, scattered by the wind.
"I'm never becoming a mercenary just to serve someone's selfish agenda. I'll only draw my sword for what I believe is right."
"Hah, well said!" Frank suddenly laughed—not mockingly, but with a weathered kind of admiration. "To be honest, I envy your era… or the place you came from. At least there, people can believe that war isn't something noble."
"Huh?" Miguel looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean? People here actually think war is noble?"
Frank sighed and removed the cigarette from his mouth, twirling it in his fingers. His gaze grew distant, as if peering through the wasteland to a battlefield long past.
"In some parts of this world—or rather, in the minds of remnants from an older era… yes, war was once seen as an honor. But that's wrong."
His voice turned solemn, like a eulogy carved into a tombstone.
"War is the honor of savages, and the shame of the civilized."
He looked at Miguel, his eyes sharp.
"Anyone who's lived through war will know—it's far crueler than imagined. It's not some epic poem or romantic tale from a bard. After anger, I can still laugh. After worry, I can be clear-headed. But…"
Frank pointed to the ground beneath them, then to the darkness beyond.
"Destroyed nations don't come back. Dead people don't rise. And today's friend might be tomorrow's foe, while today's foe could be an ally tomorrow. It's all just a fight over interests, nothing more. In that meat grinder of shifting loyalties, the first thing to get ground up is human nature."
Miguel froze. He stared at the unkempt, seemingly lazy detective in front of him—and suddenly, the man seemed taller and more unfamiliar. There was a weight in Frank's words that no ordinary street-level sleuth could carry.
"Wait…" Miguel couldn't help but ask, "Are you really a detective? Or were you some kind of military expert before? Or maybe—"
"Me?" Frank put the cigarette back in his mouth, returning to his usual lazy posture with a shrug. "Just a middle-aged guy who's seen too many messes and occasionally vents about them."
The wind kept blowing. But between them, the silence now carried a heavier, shared understanding.
Meanwhile, deep underground—
Inside the control core of "Unit 4," the air was warm and still. The only sound came from the constant humming of the massive server racks.
Arran was hunched over a pulled-out console, a thick manual full of doodles and handwritten notes in hand—something he'd dug out of a dusty pile in the lab's corner. Alice stood beside him like an attentive student, eyes fixed on his every move.
"Okay… first, zero the hydraulic valve reading… then cut power to the B3 auxiliary zone… wait for the indicator to turn green… Ah, I see now. That's how it works."
Arran straightened up, wiped sweat from his brow, and exhaled deeply.
"Alice! I—I think I'm ready."
"Really?" Alice's eyes sparkled, hands clasped together. "You're amazing, Arran-sensei! You figured out such a complex procedure so fast!"
"The process itself isn't difficult, just tedious," Arran said, scratching his head awkwardly. "The logic isn't deep—it's mostly safety protocols and physical locks. That said… I still can't unlock your self-maintenance permissions, Alice. It's hardwired into the base layer. Unless I rewrite the core code, it's impossible."
He looked at her apologetically.
"So I'll have to read everything and teach you in this roundabout way—by giving instructions or letting you watch me do it. You can't initiate maintenance yourself, but you can still guide external personnel. Sorry I couldn't solve it completely."
"Oh… no need to apologize." Alice shook her head quickly, her silver-white hair swaying gently. "I'm already so grateful that you're willing to teach me. And… learning together like this feels really special."
Arran blushed slightly and coughed to cover his awkwardness.
"L-let's start with Bay One. It handles the cooling cycle." He pointed to the leftmost cabinet. "A-and stop using honorifics. 'Sensei,' 'sir'—it's weird. Just call me Arran."
"Okay… Arran," Alice nodded sweetly.
They walked to Bay One.
"Gently pull out the glass nutrient tank," Arran instructed.
Alice extended her hand. Though it looked delicate, her synthetic arm moved with precision and control. With a soft sliding sound, a sub-tank filled with pale blue fluid was drawn out.
"Now, based on the status bar, press the corresponding button. The pressure reads 1.2—slightly high—so we need to release pressure." Arran pointed at a row of buttons. "See that yellow one? Hold it for three seconds."
"Oh, I see." Alice pressed the yellow button precisely.
Hiss—
Gas was released, and the pressure dropped back to normal.
"That was easy…" Alice watched the row of green lights illuminate, slightly awed. "No wonder the Doctor never let me see these procedures. I guess he didn't want me to know that my controls were so accessible."
Arran looked at her pensive profile and felt a stirring in his chest. He couldn't help but ask, "To the Doctor… what were you, Alice? An experiment? A tool? Or…"
"I'm not sure." Alice shook her head, eyes a bit distant. "Even my name, Alice… maybe he had mixed feelings about it."
"?" Arran gave her a questioning look.
"You know, Alice is a protagonist in a fairy tale," she said, suddenly turning toward him, her eyes soft as if lost in a dream. "She saw a rabbit wearing a vest, and followed it down a rabbit hole."
"Uh, sorry… I've never heard that one," Arran replied honestly. In his world, fairy tales were a luxury.
"It's an old story," Alice said gently, "Anyway, the hole went very, very deep—as if it reached the earth's core. After a long fall, Alice landed in a strange hall, surrounded by doors—all locked."
As she spoke, she helped check the circuits in Bay Two, following Arran's cues.
"She found a key, but it only opened one small door. Too small, even for her head. Through the crack, she saw a beautiful garden full of flowers and fountains. She placed the key on a table, then found a bottle labeled 'Drink Me.'"
Arran frowned. "Drinking a random bottle by the road? That's suspicious…"
"Ah, anyway—want to try Bay Five yourself?" Arran offered. This next step was simple—a good chance for practice.
"Okay, I think I can do it." Alice walked to Bay Five. "Pull out the glass case… Status bar: three blocks… Since it's odd, that means I press the green button, right?"
"Exactly! You're learning fast."
Alice pressed it; the system responded smoothly. She let out a breath of relief and continued the story:
"Next is Bay Six… Oh, and yes—Alice really drank the bottle."
"And?" Arran asked, now oddly intrigued.
"She shrank. Down to mouse-size."
"Shr-shrank?!" Arran's eyes widened. "That's—"
"It's probably magic," Alice said, unfazed. "But then, when she was small enough to fit through the door, she couldn't reach the key anymore—the table was too tall. Panicked, she found a cake labeled 'Eat Me.' She ate it and grew rapidly—so big her head hit the ceiling. Her neck stretched like a giraffe."
Arran shivered. "This is turning into a horror story. Constant size changes? That defies all biology."
"Horror story?" Alice tilted her head, thinking over the term. "The Doctor said something similar—humans fear the supernatural... So it's true."
"It's less the supernatural, more the fear of the unknown," Arran sighed, glancing at the complex machines. "No one knows what these beyond-common-sense things will give—or take away. Like this 'brain'—it defies ethics, and so people fear it."
"I see." Alice nodded. "That's how Alice in the story felt too. Trapped by her huge body, she cried. So many tears, they flooded the hall. Then she found a fan—and shrank again. She had to swim through her own tears to reach an exit."
"There was a door at the end."
Her voice grew airy, like reciting a prophecy.
"On the door was written—'Enter the World of Miracles.' She opened it and went down a staircase. On the wall beneath an oil lamp was a line: 'Those who enter must abandon all common sense.'"
Arran froze.
"That sounds like it's quoting Dante's Divine Comedy…"
"Divine Comedy?" Alice asked.
"Yeah, an epic about Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise," Arran explained. "The gate to Hell reads: 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.'"
Alice was quiet for a moment, then sighed: "Such a despairing phrase."
"Well, it's Hell, after all." Arran smiled wryly. "To enter Hell, you abandon hope. Makes sense. S-so did Alice cross that door of 'abandoning common sense'?"
"Mhm." Alice turned to look at him. Her heterochromatic eyes shimmered under the lights.
"The Doctor said Alice was an adventurous girl. To her, the world was full of boring rules and dull logic. So giving up common sense wasn't scary—it was thrilling."
She pointed to the underground lab filled with "madness" and "miracles."
"Once Alice crossed the second door, everything opened up. There were talking rabbits, invisible cats, mad tea parties… It was dangerous. Absurd. But it was—Wonderland."