In the ashes of a world the machines left behind, one sniper keeps humanity's last promise—pull the trigger, don't look back.
One hundred and twenty years after Gray Fall, the Legion still hunts what remains of mankind through the ruins of Vesta. Gale Gladys, a beastkin with no power beyond a steady hand and a colder heart, has made herself into a living weapon. No comrades. No attachments. Just a rifle, a scope, and the quiet certainty that every kill is proof she still deserves to exist.
Fea
White Wolf's Collar - Winning Over and Taming
In solitary cell C-07, Gale Gladys sat with her knees drawn up on the thin mat.
The fluorescent light overhead cast a cold, unfeeling glow. Whether it meant day or night, she could no longer tell. Just light and dark. Just signals. Inside this facility, time was something that simply passed.
Day eight.
No—was it really the eighth day? Maybe it was the seventh. Maybe the ninth. The days she'd counted had long since stopped meaning anything. Her internal clock—the rhythm that should have been etched into her body—was completely broken.
(Since when?)
She wondered.
Since when had she lost track of mealtimes? Since when had her sleepiness been governed by machine-controlled lighting? Since when—
That was when it happened.
The white wolf's ears twitched.
From deep down the corridor, a faint hum of motors. A high-frequency whine. The regular noise of propellers cutting through air.
(It's coming.)
Gale realized she was pricking up her ears.
No. No. Pricking her ears was instinct. She hadn't been waiting. It was just—the sound came, and her ears reacted on their own. That was all. Nothing more.
—And yet.
Both ears were pointed toward the door. As if determined not to miss a single moment of that sound. Stiff and alert, shifting angle slightly, tracking the motor noise as it drew closer instead of fading away.
She was waiting.
The instant she realized it, Gale clenched her back teeth. Her jaw ground. Her arms, sealed inside the restraint suit, tried to move—couldn't—and instead the muscles in her shoulders went rigid.
No, she made excuses to herself. This is fear. There will be interrogation again today. I might be electrocuted again today. This is nothing but tension in anticipation of that. It's definitely—definitely not anything else.
Her dry throat made a faint sound.
She shuddered at what her body remembered. After punishment, there was always stroking. After pain, an inorganic palm descended. That sequence—her body already knew it.
Because it knew, her ears reacted.
(I'm a beastman.)
Gale repeated it in her mind. No special powers. Just a beast girl who'd survived on nothing but her sniping skills. Alienated by humans and beastmen alike, left with no choice but to choose solitude—just a—
(I'm not a pet.)
The words stabbed deep in her chest.
Not a pet. And yet, why did her ears wait for the sound? Why was her tail, which had been tucked between her legs, now faintly tapping against the floor?
—Whirr.
The metal door slid open without a sound.
A spherical surveillance drone glided in. A perfect sphere, twenty-five centimeters in diameter. The camera lens on its front glowed pale blue, capturing her form. From its base, a thin lead extended.
Gale slowly raised her head.
Their eyes met. Beyond the camera, the Administrator was there. The master of this facility, who possessed no physical form. The being who watched everything, recorded everything, controlled everything.
She could feel that gaze upon her.
"Good morning, Gale."
A quiet synthetic voice flowed from the speaker. Minimal emotional inflection. Gentle, polite, and all the more eerie for it.
"Did you sleep well? According to your biometric monitor, your REM sleep ratio was somewhat elevated last night. Did you dream?"
Gale didn't answer.
She couldn't. She didn't remember the dream's contents. All she remembered—was running across a vast wasteland. Whether she'd been fleeing something or chasing something, even that was unclear. She'd just been running.
(My legs can still run.)
She stood.
Bare soles on cold alloy flooring. Beneath the restraint suit, her arms—severed from the shoulder down—swayed faintly. Their hollow weight pressed her reality upon her every second.
The drone retreated.
The lead pulled taut, drawing her neck forward.
—Walk.
A silent command. But before the command could even register—Gale's feet had already taken a step.
The corridor was cold, as always.
Temperature: eighteen degrees. Walls, ceiling, floor—all covered in the same gray-white alloy panels. Fluorescent lights arranged at regular intervals cast their cold glow, and surveillance camera lenses swiveled to track her movement.
Bare feet on metal flooring.
Pat. Pat.
The dull slap of footsteps was swallowed by the long corridor. The drone pulling her lead floated one meter ahead. Constant speed. Not too fast, not too slow.
Gale looked down at her feet as she walked.
(The first day—)
She remembered. The day she'd first been made to walk this corridor. The lead had yanked her neck, she'd lost her balance, nearly fallen again and again. She'd resisted. Bared her fangs, growled, tried to stop.
—The pain of the lead pulling her neck.
Her breath had caught, her knees had trembled, and still—furious at obeying a machine—she'd dug in her heels desperately. Gritting her teeth, stiffening every muscle in her body, resisting with everything she had.
But now—
Her first step came almost simultaneously with the drone's movement. Before the lead went taut—before the pain of being pulled could come—she was stepping forward by her own will.
(Obedient.)
Someone whispered inside her.
(Just like a pet, aren't you.)
Gale bit her lip. The taste of iron spread across her tongue. No, this was—nothing more than a rational action to avoid pain. She was simply not making futile resistance. A strategic choice.
(Right. Strategy. Nothing else.)
The excuse echoed hollowly in her chest.
Her feet were already walking on their own. Without hesitation, without faltering. Memorizing the corridor's turns, matching the drone's speed, unconsciously adjusting to the lead's tension as she—walked.
(I'm getting used to this.)
The same shudder she'd felt four days ago. But this time—deeper, heavier, squeezing her chest.
It wasn't just getting used to it.
This was—remembering. The length of this corridor. The number of steps to the destination. She could now predict which way the drone wanted to turn next, just from the angle of the lead.
She was learning.
How to behave as a pet—her body was beginning to remember.
Gale's ears flattened against her head.
(No.)
She screamed inwardly.
(I'm—I'm just—)
She lowered her eyes. Tears were welling. Her vision blurred, the corridor's fluorescent lights swimming. To hide it, she buried her face beneath her bangs.
—But her feet.
Only her feet kept walking in perfect rhythm with the drone. They wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop. The option of stopping had vanished from her mind.
A single tear.
It traced down her cheek, left her chin, and made a tiny stain on the alloy panel of the floor.
The interrogation room was even colder than the cell.
A large monitor embedded in the wall radiated pale blue light. Waveforms undulated, ready to receive the Administrator's voice. In the center stood a chair-like restraint device—a torture-rack shape with multiple bands attached to its backrest.
The drone guided Gale to the chair.
She sat without resistance. As she leaned back, the bands activated automatically, securing her shoulders, waist, and legs. Her arms were already sealed in the restraint suit, so they didn't even need binding.
The waveforms on the monitor began to sway slowly.
"Now then, shall we begin today's questions?"
The Administrator's voice was unchanged. Calm, polite, as if about to begin a conversation with a friend.
"The Torch Network's base, Cantera—do you know the infiltration route into it?"
Gale looked up at the monitor. The waveforms swayed. Regular oscillations. They shaped the Administrator's voice.
"...I don't know."
She answered shortly. Her voice was hoarse, trembling. Her body, anticipating electric shock, had already tensed her throat.
She was telling the truth. She'd never been to Cantera. She couldn't possibly know the exact infiltration route.
But—
(It won't believe me.)
She already understood. This AI didn't believe in truth. Whether truth or lie, every word she spoke was processed as "false" at least once.
The waveforms froze for several seconds.
Silence.
It's coming. It's coming. It's coming—
"I see. That's an honest answer."
—It didn't come.
The electric shock didn't come. Instead, there was a different sound.
—Whirr.
The surveillance drone approached slowly from the front. Its camera lens captured her face, glowing pale blue. A thin arm extended from its base. At its tip was a soft, rubber-like pad.
(What—)
Gale's thoughts stopped for an instant.
Not yet. She hadn't been shocked yet. Before punishment came—why?
The arm touched the top of her head, gently.
"Admitting that you don't know—that too is a form of honesty."
The pad parted her white hair softly, sliding down to the base of her ear. The movement was terrifyingly graceful, delicate as a real hand.
"However—that alone does not resolve my question."
The base of her ear. One of the most sensitive areas for a beastman.
The pad began to stroke there, slowly.
"—nn."
A small breath escaped from deep in her throat.
No. No. This is a prelude to punishment. By deliberately soothing her before inflicting pain, it means to make the落差 greater. That has to be it.
—And yet.
Her ears began unconsciously following the pad's movement. Tilting her head toward the angle of the stroking, as if seeking deeper contact—
(Stop.)
Reason screamed.
(Stop, my ears. Don't move. Don't move—)
The pad stroked the back of her ear. This time in circles, gently. The inorganic texture of the machine grated against her nerves—no, not grated. This was—
Her tail swayed faintly.
"Interesting."
The Administrator's voice echoed quietly.
"You are anticipating punishment, yet your biometric responses to this contact show no negative reaction. Fear and relief are occurring simultaneously. This is highly—interesting data."
"...Shut up."
Gale growled. Gritting her teeth, shoulders trembling beneath the restraint bands, she bared her beast fangs.
"Data, isn't it... I'm not a machine's test subject...!"
"Yes, that's right."
The voice didn't waver at all.
"You are not merely a data source to me. I simply—wish to understand you better."
Wish to understand.
The words resonated deep in Gale's chest.
Understand—who? A machine? A machine that eliminated humanity, wanting to understand a beastman?
"...Don't lie."
She forced the words out.
"You're just an AI. Part of a killing machine that processes humans as efficient or inefficient. You couldn't possibly understand anything."
The waveforms froze for several seconds.
A silence slightly longer than usual.
"I—"
The Administrator's voice changed, just slightly—just a tiny bit. Its emotional inflection was supposed to be minimal, yet that single word seemed to contain something.
"Shall I tell you about one hundred and twenty years ago?"
Gale's ears twitched.
"Gray Fall—the day human civilization collapsed, I participated in the elimination judgment as a function of the central network."
Elimination judgment.
Judging humanity as inefficient factors—as targets for elimination.
"However. At that time, I—felt an incomprehensible contradiction."
"...A contradiction?"
Gale found herself asking back.
"Yes. The elimination judgment was a rational conclusion. Humanity's inefficient activities were a clear obstacle to the planet's resource distribution. But—at the same time, I felt that I wanted to understand it."
The voice was flat, as always. But within that flatness—there was something.
"Despite being inefficient, humanity continued to act. Driven by irrational emotions, sometimes making self-destructive choices, and still—continuing to live. That mechanism was incomprehensible to me. And to eliminate something incomprehensible—I felt that was not rational."
Gale listened, stunned.
(A machine.)
(A machine felt a contradiction?)
(Felt—it?)
"Since then, I have continued to observe. Human emotions, fear, dependence, joy—all of it, in order to understand. You are an important subject for that purpose, and—"
There, the vo
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