Aboard the colossal immigration-warship *Proserpina*, a cold war of shadows simmers beneath the hum of luminite reactors. Sion, an elite agent of the Remna Federation's Karna Division, infiltrates the ship's vast underbelly on a solitary mission with less than a 20 percent chance of survival. Trained to feel nothing, own nothing, and belong nowhere but to her mission, she navigates crowded corridors, back-alley information brokers, and hidden maintenance ducts in search of the data that could ti
Steel Chains of Sorrow - Broken Gear
Three hours had passed since the interrogation room session ended.
Lying on the hard bed in her confinement cell, Sion stared up at the ceiling. The sterile walls of Block 6's Nebel Wing. The uniform light of the fluorescent lamps. Only the low hum of the air conditioning continued, unceasing.
Just a short while ago, that woman had been touching her.
The nape of her neck. Behind her ear. The slight hollow just below her collarbone.
Unconsciously, Sion traced her own neck with her fingers.
Her fingertips remembered the sensation of Sylvie's fingers. Cold, slender, eerily long fingers. Every time they touched her, the depths of her body trembled. Was that fear, or was it—
(*Stop it.*)
Sion squeezed her eyes shut.
She pulled her fingers away. She clenched both hands tightly over her chest. The feeling of her nails digging into her palms was barely enough to keep her tethered to reality.
(*I'm an agent of the Karna Division. 0.3 percent selection rate. One of only two hundred operatives.*)
She told herself this.
(*I can endure pain. I've been trained in counter-interrogation techniques.*)
But—
That woman's interrogation wasn't about pain.
It was something else entirely.
Sylvie knew the gaps in Sion's heart, slipped her cold fingers into them, and quietly stirred. As a technique, with precision, and yet occasionally revealing a personal fixation that transcended mere technique.
*"Haven't you always wished for someone to dominate you?"*
The words Sylvie had spoken at the end of their last session repeated in her head.
Sion bit her lip.
No.
That couldn't be.
I've lived for my missions. For the organization. I've fought by my own will. I've never once been dominated.
But—
(*Why, the moment those fingertips touched me, did my heart feel somehow at ease?*)
Sion still didn't know the name of the emotion budding inside her.
She didn't want to know.
The fluorescent light on the ceiling flickered faintly.
How much time had passed?
Abruptly, the door to the confinement cell opened.
Sion sat up.
The person who entered was a short woman with long, silver-gray hair swaying behind her. Sylvie. Behind her, two armed guards. Black and gray combat uniforms. Their faces hidden by helmet visors.
"Good morning, Sion."
Sylvie's voice was, as always, polite, and as always, cold.
She held a data pad in her hand. Her inorganic, pale blue eyes observed Sion intently.
"Starting today, we will increase the frequency of our sessions. Three times a day. Morning, noon, and night. You will spend one hour with me each time."
Sion didn't answer.
She simply stared back into Sylvie's eyes.
"This is not for interrogation. Information, mission details—I no longer care about any of that. I simply want to talk with you more. I want to know more about you."
Sylvie slowly approached Sion.
The guards waited outside the door.
She stopped right in front of Sion and reached out a hand, touching Sion's hair. Black, short, carelessly swept back.
Slender white fingers gently combed through it.
"Beautiful hair. Even without care, it has a curious luster."
Sion didn't move.
Every touch sent a stinging sensation racing down her neck. But she couldn't summon the strength to refuse.
(*Stop it.*)
That's what her mind thought.
But—her body wouldn't move.
Without stopping her hand combing through Sion's hair, Sylvie continued.
"You've been alone all this time, haven't you? Living for your missions, relying on no one, opening your heart to no one. You even erased all your personal records. You feared disappearing without remaining in anyone's memory more than you feared death."
Her fingers touched the thin scar running from Sion's temple to her cheek.
"But I remember you. Your name, your scars, everything you tried to erase yourself."
Sion's throat made a faint sound.
Deep in her chest, something tightened painfully.
(*Stop it.*)
(*Don't say things like that.*)
(*I—I'm fine on my own.*)
Sylvie took Sion's hand.
Her white, slender fingers gently pried open the tightly clenched fist.
In her palm remained the marks she had made with her own nails. Blood was seeping through.
"It must have hurt."
Sylvie gently traced the wounds.
The cool sensation of her fingertips.
Sion clenched her back teeth.
(*It's your fault.*)
(*You're the one who made me like this.*)
But—those words stuck in the back of her throat and wouldn't come out.
Still holding Sion's hand, Sylvie brought her face closer.
Close enough to feel her breath.
"If you say you want to quit, I can make things easier for you at any time. If you say, of your own will, in your own words, that you will entrust yourself to me. No more re-forging, no more interrogation. You would simply need to stay by my side."
Sion's heart gave a violent thump.
(*That's—*)
(*That means abandoning the mission.*)
(*That means betraying the Karna Division.*)
She understood.
She understood, and yet.
(*A part of me doesn't want to let go of this hand.*)
Sion felt a fierce self-loathing towards herself for realizing that fact.
"That concludes today's session. I will come again at noon. Please rest well."
Sylvie released her hand without hesitation.
She turned on her heel and left the confinement cell with the guards.
The door closed.
The lock clicked.
Silence.
Sion stared at her own open palm.
The place where that woman's fingers had been touching just moments ago was still warm.
(*I...*)
She clenched her trembling hand tightly.
(*What am I supposed to do?*)
The noon session ended, and the night session ended too.
Each time, Sylvie did the same thing: combed Sion's hair, held her hand, and whispered gently. She didn't ask about mission details. She didn't try to extract information. She simply, quietly, demanded that Sion offer up her own heart.
That method corroded Sion's heart all the more.
Her strength to refuse was being whittled away, little by little.
The third day.
Sion sat on the bed in her confinement cell.
She had grasped the surveillance cycle. The guard shift changes. The patrol intervals. The security blind spots.
(*I can escape.*)
That was her judgment.
If she exploited the gap during tonight's shift change, she could get out of the confinement cell. She could use the maintenance passage of Block 6 to return to the hidden base, Duct 14-C, in Block 3. There, she had communication equipment and 48 hours' worth of emergency rations.
(*It's now or never.*)
Sion stood up from the bed.
Sensation had returned to her limbs. Her physical strength was sufficient.
She knew how to analyze the door's electronic lock and short-circuit it. The security of the confinement cell wasn't as strict as the interrogation room.
Ten minutes later.
Sion was out in the corridor.
The dimly lit maintenance passage of Block 6. Pipes crawled along the walls, and the sound of leaking steam could be heard here and there. The alarm hadn't sounded yet.
She walked briskly through the passage.
Five hundred meters to the connecting passage leading to Block 3.
She ran.
Her footsteps echoed in the narrow passage.
As she ran, Sion thought.
(*Once I return to Duct 14-C, I'll send an emergency signal to the Karna Division first. Report the situation, request permission to withdraw. The escape pod is Gate Nova in Block 8. It has a range of 48 hours. If no rescue comes, it's over—*)
Thinking that far, she stopped.
She had stopped.
Two hundred meters left to the entrance of the connecting passage.
But—
(*My legs... won't move.*)
Sion stood frozen.
Her body refused to move forward.
Her mind understood. If she got through here, she would be free. She could return to her mission. She could fulfill her duty as an agent of the Karna Division.
And yet.
(*Why?*)
Deep in her chest, a grinding pain throbbed.
(*Why—do I want to go back to that woman?*)
Sion put a hand against the wall.
The cold sensation of metal.
Her breathing became shallow.
(*Am I... dependent on Sylvie?*)
(*On that interrogator, who should be my enemy?*)
She remembered her own palm from three days ago. The hand Sylvie had held. The fingers that had traced her wounds. That cold sensation.
(*Stop it.*)
(*That was interrogation. A psychological attack. Kindness as a technique.*)
(*It's not—it's not real emotion.*)
She understood.
She understood, and yet.
(*But she was the only one who called my name.*)
(*She was the only one who acknowledged my existence.*)
Sion bit her lip.
The taste of blood spread.
(*Go.*)
She commanded herself.
(*Go.*)
She pulled her hand from the wall and took a step forward.
Two steps. Three.
She opened the door to the connecting passage.
Beyond it was Block 3.
The central passage at night was sparsely populated.
The mess hall "Comet" was already closed. The distribution point "Depot 7" had its shutters down too. That was the place where she had been caught due to Korin's tip. Sion passed by it and headed further in.
She stopped in front of the sign for the bar "Stardust."
An establishment with 80 seats. The only place on the ship licensed to produce distilled spirits. A place for information exchange among crew members and lower-ranking soldiers.
And—the proprietor, Marv, was a former mercenary well-versed in the ship's underworld.
Sion had been aware of his existence soon after infiltrating. On the surface, he was just a gruff old man, but he was also a dangerous figure with connections in both the underworld and the legitimate world.
But now, she had no choice but to rely on that danger.
She pushed the door open.
Air thick with the smells of alcohol, sweat, and tobacco clung to her face.
Beyond the counter was a man with roughly combed, graying short hair. A clouded left eye. A large burn scar running from his cheek to his neck. Missing the ring and little fingers on his left hand.
A giant of a man, 185 centimeters tall.
Marv.
The moment he saw Sion, he reached under the counter. Probably gripping a concealed gun.
"...You don't have the face of a customer."
Sion raised both hands.
"I want to buy information."
"Heh. A customer coming in with that look on her face at this hour. Interesting."
Marv narrowed his clouded left eye.
"I know you. You came to this shop once, a few weeks ago. I remembered you as a strangely quiet woman. That face—did you get interrogated by the Nebel Bureau?"
Sion didn't answer.
Marv snorted.
"Well, whatever. What do you want to know?"
"I need information on the emergency escape point 'Gate Nova' in Block 8. Its location and structural schematics. Also, the ship's current navigational data."
Marv stared intently at Sion for a moment.
Then, he placed a bottle of liquor he had taken from under the counter on top.
The amber color of the distilled spirit swayed in the dim light.
"First, drink. We'll talk money after that."
He took out two glasses and poured the liquor.
After a moment's hesitation, Sion accepted the glass.
Marv downed his own glass in one gulp.
"Gate Nova, huh. I know it. The disposal hatch at the rear of Block 8. It's a Karna Division setup, right?"
Sion's shoulders stiffened slightly.
Unconcerned, Marv continued.
"No need to be surprised. I've been living on this ship for nearly 40 years. I figured out long ago that you're a dog of the Remna Federation. Well, I've got no intention of snitching. I don't side with either camp. As long as I can do business, that's all that matters."
He picked up the bottle again.
"I'll give you the schematics. I'll tell you the location. But before that, you tell me. You've caught the eye of that interrogator, Sylvie, haven't you?"
Sion tightened her grip on the glass.
"...What makes you think that?"
"I can tell by looking at your face. The marks of interrogation remain. But it wasn't ordinary interrogation. No marks of violence. And yet, your eyes are shaking badly. Just like—a machine on the verge of breaking."
Marv stared at his own mutilated left hand, lowering his voice.
"Syl
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