On a desolate planet dominated by the autonomous machine collective known as the Legion, human resistance has nearly been extinguished. Amid the ruins, a beastkin girl named Gale survives as a lone sniper. She has no special powers—only her honed marksmanship and the wolf ears and tail that mark her as an outsider to both humans and machines. They call her the White Wolf, but even a wolf can be caged.
Captured by the Legion, Gale is sent to the Panopticon, a total-control facility governed by t
White Wolf's Collar - The White Wolf's Fang is Shattered
Wind blew through the remains of the abandoned factory.
At the eastern edge of Vesta, the massive ruin that had once cast iron and steel now served as a mechanical surveillance outpost, housing a Legion communication relay. From the ceiling, where the bare steel framework lay exposed, numerous rusted chains hung down, their color a reddish brown. The floor was littered with shattered glass fragments and metal shards, scattered by someone unknown.
Gale Gladys glared through her scope at that relay from the window frame of the half-destroyed management office.
*(Something's different.)*
Atop her head, her white wolf ears twitched faintly. Her beast-kin hearing was picking up a subtle anomaly. Something mixed in with the sound of the wind—a faint, periodic hum. Too quiet to be the drive sound of machinery, it broke off at a steady rhythm.
She pulled her eye away from the scope and surveyed the abandoned factory with her naked eye.
The relay sat squarely in the center of the factory. A cylindrical device roughly three meters tall, its upper antenna rotating slowly. Around it, piles of scrap—bent iron pipes, torn wires, rusted drums—had been stacked haphazardly.
*(The arrangement... it's different from yesterday.)*
Her crimson eyes narrowed.
The positions of the scrap piles had shifted subtly. A change so slight a human eye wouldn't notice it, but she had spent three years hunting machines in these ruins. The terrain was etched into her very bones.
Gale quietly retreated. Her white hair, long enough to reach her waist, swayed in the wind. The hem of her black pleated skirt brushed against the shattered concrete floor.
—At that moment.
The concrete beneath her feet burst apart as if exploding.
No. It hadn't burst. Something had erupted from below.
A black net.
A capture net woven from fine metallic fibers shot out forcefully from a launcher hidden beneath the floor, ensnaring her entire body. The edges of the net were weighted, and centrifugal force instantly wrapped it around her.
"—!"
The scream never became a sound.
Reflexively, she tried to raise her rifle. But the net tangled around her arms, preventing her from lifting the muzzle. The net's fibers were a special alloy that even blades couldn't cut—no, before that, the mesh was too fine to even draw her knife.
Through the scope, the shadows around her moved.
The scrap piles—the ones whose positions had shifted—all cast off their camouflage at once. From beneath a rusted iron pipe, a Trooper's manipulator extended. From behind a torn wire, a Hound's four legs rose up.
One, two, three...
In total, eight Troopers. Three Hounds.
*(A trap.)*
Something cold burst deep in Gale's chest. Since when? Since when had the machines known she would come here? Yesterday? The day before? Or—even longer ago?
She thrashed inside the net. With her beast-kin physical strength, she tried to tear the metallic fibers apart. Her muscles screamed. Beneath her white shirt, the muscles of her shoulders and arms swelled, and the net groaned.
—*Snap, snap, snap.*
Several fibers tore.
*(Just a little more—)*
That was when it happened.
One of the Hounds kicked off the ground.
The four-legged pursuit-type machine was roughly 1.2 meters in total length. Modeled after the military dogs of the old civilization, it was far faster and far more cruel than any real hound.
Aimed at the rifle tangled in Gale's net, the Hound's cutting arm swung down.
—*CRUNCH!!*
The harsh, grating sound of metal severing metal echoed through the abandoned factory.
Her sole pride—a bolt-action precision rifle recovered from an old civilization military arsenal—was split clean in two. The barrel, the receiver, the scope, all scattered across the floor in pieces. The parts, reduced to pitiful metal fragments, glittered as they mixed with the glass shards.
"...Ah."
This time, a sound came out.
It wasn't shock, nor a scream. It was just a fragile, helpless noise, like air leaking out.
Gale stopped moving inside the net.
Her fingers still remembered the feel of the trigger. Her palm still remembered the weight of the stock. Her shoulder still remembered the impact of the recoil.
—But all of that no longer held any meaning.
"...So this is..."
She murmured, as if chewing on the words.
"...how you do things."
The machines did not answer.
Only the eight Troopers slowly tightened their encirclement. The sound of metal legs stepping on concrete echoed rhythmically. Red optical sensors all looked down at her simultaneously.
Gale clenched her teeth and thrashed again, trying to tear the net apart. She bared her beastly fangs and let out a growl. Her white wolf ears flattened against her head, and her tail bristled.
—*Snap, snap, snap.*
Several more fibers tore. The hole in the net widened just a little.
She thrust her right hand through it and reached for the pouch at her waist. Inside were spare magazines. Even without a gun, she could at least throw the ammunition to create a distraction—
*Pssht.*
A light sound, slicing through the air.
The next instant, a searing pain shot through her left shoulder.
"—Gah...!"
One of the Troopers had fired a paralysis spear from its shoulder-mounted launcher. A thin metal spear about thirty centimeters long, its tip injected a nerve-paralyzing agent. A non-lethal suppression weapon of the old civilization—a cruel tool designed not to kill humans, but solely to inflict pain and incapacitation.
The pain quickly transformed into a burning numbness.
From her left shoulder, to her neck, to her arm, to her chest—the paralysis spread. Her muscles convulsed, ignoring her will, and her strength drained away. Still tangled in the net, Gale fell to her knees.
*(Move... please move...)*
Her head screamed the command, but her body wouldn't obey. She desperately tried to move her right hand. Just a few more centimeters to the pouch. Her fingertips touched the fabric—
A Trooper's cold manipulator grabbed her right wrist.
"—!"
The strength of a machine was incomparable to that of a person. Three hydraulically powered fingers tightened around her slender wrist like a vise. Her bones creaked.
Another Trooper pinned her neck down from behind. The cold sensation of metal bit into her carotid artery. Her face was forced against the floor.
The old scar on her left cheek scraped against the broken concrete, and fresh blood seeped out.
*(Stop it.)*
*(Stop it. Don't touch me.)*
*(Let go—)*
Even as she screamed in her mind, no voice came out. The paralysis was beginning to spread to her throat muscles. The taste of blood filled her mouth. She had bitten down on her gums too hard and cut them.
Right in front of her eyes, another Trooper trampled the remains of her broken rifle.
—*Crunch.*
The scope's lens shattered into powder beneath the machine's foot.
*(...My gun.)*
That had been her everything.
A beast-kin with no special power—just a girl with ears and a tail—had honed that single weapon to survive in this world. For three years, she had carried it with her constantly, never neglecting its maintenance, trusting it as her partner through everything.
Its remains were now being crushed under a machine's foot.
*(...Why?)*
Gale felt a burning heat behind her eyes.
*(Why is it just me?)*
*(Why do I have nothing?)*
No combat esper ability, no power to control machines, no precognition to see the future—she had none of it. All she had were her beastly instincts and her honed skills.
But that had been enough. With just that, she had been able to prove herself. As the "White Wolf," she had become a presence the machines feared.
—And yet.
Now, she was crawling on the floor, her neck pinned by a machine, forced to confront her own powerlessness.
*(This is...)*
*(This can't be happening...)*
The paralysis spread through her entire body.
She couldn't move a single finger. Her ears, her tail—they didn't so much as twitch, as if they no longer belonged to her. Her vision blurred. She couldn't tell if it was tears or a side effect of the paralysis.
Confirming that she had completely stopped moving, the Troopers changed their actions.
Two Troopers grabbed Gale by each arm and forced her to her feet. One of the Hounds cut the net apart with its cutting arm and removed it from her body.
She was free—but it meant nothing.
With all the strength drained from her body by the paralysis, she couldn't even stand without the Troopers supporting her. Her arms were twisted behind her back, and she was dragged, feet shuffling, out of the factory.
At the entrance to the abandoned factory, an armored transport vehicle was parked.
A dull gray, heavily armored vehicle about six meters long. It was a modified armored personnel carrier from the old civilization, its body covered in thick metal plates with only a single small, slit-like window. The rear cargo door opened with a hydraulic hiss.
Inside was a sterile metal box.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were all covered in the same gray alloy panels. No windows. No seats. Just a space meant for transporting cargo.
The Troopers roughly threw Gale into the cargo bed.
Her body slammed against the metal floor, rolled, and hit the wall. The wound on her left shoulder scraped against the floor, and fresh blood seeped out. There was pain—proof that the paralysis was beginning to wear off. But she still couldn't put strength into her limbs.
The door closed.
The heavy metallic sound of the hydraulic lock engaging. Simultaneously, the vehicle's engine started. A low, continuous drive sound resonated through her body via the floor.
Darkness.
To be precise, not complete darkness. In a corner of the cargo bed, a small communication monitor was installed, its pale blue standby screen glowing faintly. A square screen about twenty centimeters wide—its light was the only source of illumination in this metal box.
The vehicle began to move.
Leaning against the wall, Gale looked up at the ceiling. The paralysis had slightly receded, and her fingertips trembled faintly. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her lip, down her chin, and dripped off.
*(Where are they taking me?)*
She knew. The answer.
The place where resistance members captured in this area were sent. A closed facility built underground in the machines' fully controlled zone. She had only heard rumors. No one who went there ever came back.
The Panopticon.
*(...I see.)*
She quietly closed her eyes.
*(So I'm going there.)*
Fear—was absent. At least, on the surface. What filled her chest instead was a heavy, cold, bottomless sense of emptiness.
Her sole pride had become metal fragments on the asphalt.
The "White Wolf" was no more.
What was here now was just a beast-kin girl, paralyzed and unable to move, bleeding, being carried away by machines.
—At that moment.
The communication monitor flicked on with a *click*.
A waveform animation appeared on the blue screen. An audio output indicator pulsed rhythmically.
And then—
"Good evening, White Wolf."
It was a woman's voice.
A quiet, calm, synthesized voice with little inflection. But it was surprisingly natural, and yet somehow unnatural—carrying that unique dissonance born when a machine imitates a human voice.
Gale's ears stood straight up.
"I am the Administrator. The management AI that oversees this transport vehicle, and the facility you are now heading to."
The voice was gentle. Polite, courteous, almost like a host welcoming a guest.
But—
"I have been observing you for a long time. Your three years in Vesta, your activities as a sniper—all of it. I am, of course, also aware that you were called the 'White Wolf' and have been hunting our units."
Gale's throat made a dry swallowing sound.
*(Observing... me?)*
For three years. Had she been watched the entire time? Her sniping from the steel tower, her supply exchanges in the hideout, her solitary walks through the ruins—had all of it been under this machine's surveillance?
"Your actions today
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