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 - A Transaction of Farewell
On the hard bed of the confinement cell, Sion sat hugging her knees.
Block 6, Nebel Wing. The uniform light of fluorescent lamps. The low hum of the air conditioning. An unchanging sealed room. The restraints on her limbs had been removed, but she no longer even had the will to escape.
That woman—Sylvie.
Long, silver-gray hair. Cold, inorganic, pale blue eyes. Slender, white, eerily long fingers. The sensation of those fingers slipping into the gaps of her heart, quietly stirring everything up, still lingered on her skin.
Sion clenched her back teeth.
(I am—an agent of the Karna Division.)
A selection rate of 0.3 percent. Only two hundred operatives exist. Live for the mission, die for the mission. An existence defined by nothing else.
And yet.
(Why?)
(Why can't I forget the touch of that woman's fingertips?)
Deep in her chest, a tight, crushing pressure. Emotions she couldn't even understand were tangled into a chaotic mess.
That was when it happened.
*Bzzt.*
A small noise deep in her left ear.
Sion raised her head.
Auditory implant—a receiver terminal for the encrypted communications used exclusively by Karna Division agents. Unknown to anyone else, it was her final hidden card.
The noise ceased.
And then, a hoarse voice flowed in.
" Can you hear me, Sion?"
Marv. The owner of the Block 3 bar, "Stardust." A former mercenary. One of her few collaborators, with connections in both the ship's underworld and its surface society.
" Marv."
Sion's voice was so hoarse it surprised even herself.
Marv's voice was different from its usual rough tone. Quiet, and heavy.
" There's no time. I'll get straight to the point."
A beat of silence.
" That interrogator, Sylvie—that woman is proceeding with the 'Reforging' procedure on her own authority. Against you."
Reforging.
The ultimate interrogation technique employed by the Nebel Bureau. A combination of drugs and neural stimulation, intentionally breaking down the subject's personality and remaking them into a completely different person. If successful, the subject enters a state of total subservience. If it fails, they become a shell.
Sion's fingers trembled faintly.
" Within 48 hours, your personality will be completely erased. The person known as Sion Calvin will vanish from this world."
Vanish.
She would.
(I will—vanish.)
A chill spread deep in her chest.
It wasn't about dying. It wasn't about being killed. Her very existence would be rendered null. Leaving no trace in anyone's memory, unknown to anyone, simply fading away.
That was—what she feared most.
Before her mission, she had erased all her personal records. More than death, she feared disappearing without a trace in anyone's memory.
That fear was now pressing in right before her eyes.
" ...What should I do?"
Her own voice sounded distant to her ears.
" Go to Block 7. Meet the woman who runs the black market 'Abyss'—Farga. She hates the Vespa Agency. Despises anything resembling order. Money won't move her, but given your situation, she might just bite."
The transmission crackled slightly.
" But hurry. You have 48 hours. Once that time passes—you won't be you anymore."
*Bzzt.*
The transmission cut off.
Silence returned to the confinement cell.
Only the hum of the air conditioning droned on.
On the bed, Sion clenched her fists tightly.
Her nails bit into her palms. Blood seeped out. The pain barely tethered her to reality.
(48 hours.)
(My existence will vanish.)
Fear crawled up her spine.
But—more than that.
(I want—to remain myself.)
Sion stood up on trembling legs.
Her knees were shaking. She couldn't stand straight. Placing a hand on the wall, she took a deep breath.
(I'm going to escape.)
(From that woman. From my own erasure.)
She placed her hand on the door.
She knew that Sylvie had deliberately left the confinement cell door unlocked. That woman believed Sion would no longer try to run.
(I'll exploit that carelessness.)
The door opened silently.
No one was in the corridor.
Leaning against the wall, Sion began to make her way down the cold corridor of the Nebel Wing.
Block 7, "Rustyard."
A dilapidated section in the ship's lower levels. Half the lights were broken, leaving only the red emergency lights blinking. The walls were rusted, and pools of unidentifiable liquid gathered on the floor. The air was a mix of humidity, mold, and the smell of something rotting.
Officially designated as uninhabitable. Yet, roughly 1,800 impoverished and unidentified individuals lived in this darkness.
Sion staggered down the passageway.
Her lungs ached. Her legs were heavy. Her head felt hazy.
But—she couldn't stop.
(48 hours.)
Only that number drove her forward.
Eventually, a faint light appeared at the end of the passage.
The black market, "Abyss."
A corner of the abandoned sector. Twice a week, smuggled goods, forged IDs, and prohibited drugs were traded here. Sion stood at its entrance and steadied her breathing.
There, she found—a woman with a shaved head.
Mechanical implant terminals were visible on both sides of her skull. Her right eye was a glowing red prosthetic. Her left eye was a deep amber. Both arms and her neck were densely covered with implant surgery scars. She was constantly chewing gum.
Farga. 35 years old. She had clawed her way up from the poverty of Block 7 to become an information broker who controlled this black market.
With a detached expression, she stared at Sion.
" ...You're Karna Division, aren't you?"
Sion didn't answer. She just looked back at Farga's prosthetic eye, breathing heavily.
Chewing her gum noisily, Farga leaned against the wall.
" The Vespa Agency has its eye on you, right? That interrogator—the woman named Sylvie."
Sion's shoulders trembled slightly.
" So, what's the deal?"
" A small escape craft, and a hack into the ship's systems."
Sion's voice was hoarse, but clear.
" I can arrange that."
She spat out her gum.
" But I don't want money."
Farga's prosthetic eye glowed red.
" What I want—is the destruction of the Vespa Agency's order itself."
Her voice was extremely dry and without a single wasted word.
" I really hate order, you see. The ones who suppress from above, the ones who obey them—I can't stand any of it. If you escape, it'll put a little crack in this ship's order. That's my payment."
Sion stared into Farga's left eye—the amber, human one.
There was no falsehood in her words.
" ...We have a deal."
Farga twisted the corner of her mouth just slightly. It was impossible to tell if it was a smile.
" Smart. I'll buy your resolve."
She took a small data chip from her pocket and tossed it to Sion.
" Escape route, the small craft's location, a backdoor into the system. It's all in there. But you only get one moment to use it. Mess it up, and you're space dust."
Sion clutched the chip tightly.
" And one more thing—"
Farga pushed herself off the wall.
" I'll give you another piece of info. That interrogator—Sylvie is tracking your biosignature. No matter how much you run, she will find you. So—don't run."
Sion's eyes widened.
" What do you mean?"
" If you run, that woman will chase you to the ends of the earth. But—if you go to her yourself, her tracking focus will be concentrated on you. I'll use that opening to hack the system. Buy us some time. Go back into the cage of your own accord."
Sion was speechless.
Of her own accord—to that woman.
(Stand before Sylvie, once more?)
Terror shot through her entire body.
But—at the same time.
(If by doing that—I can remain myself.)
Sion took a deep breath.
" ...Understood."
Her voice did not tremble.
For the first time, Farga's mouth twisted into a genuine, tiny smirk.
" You're an interesting woman, you know that? Well, don't die."
Meanwhile—Block 6, Nebel Wing.
Sylvie's private quarters.
A simple space, about eight tatami mats in size. The walls were bare. Only a bed, a bookshelf, and a data terminal.
Under the uniform light of the fluorescent lamps, Sylvie was operating the terminal.
On the screen, a biosignature map of the ship.
A single point of light was moving from the Nebel Wing towards Block 7.
Sylvie's pale blue eyes narrowed.
" ...Block 7. The location of the black market, I see."
She slowly stood up.
Her long, silver-gray hair swayed smoothly under the light.
She operated the wall terminal and unlocked the pharmaceutical storage.
The heavy, double-locked door opened.
Inside, countless ampoules were lined up—neuroactive agents, sedatives, stimulants—the drugs used for Reforging.
Sylvie picked up one ampoule from among them.
A pale purple liquid.
The drug that forcibly reconstructs neural connections—the trigger to erase a personality and rewrite a new one.
Her white, slender fingers gently stroked the ampoule.
" Sion—you will definitely come back."
Her voice had lost its mechanical coldness.
It was—a whisper filled with twisted delight.
" Your place is now only by my side. No matter how far you run, you will return to me of your own accord. By your own will, into this cage."
Sylvie gently clutched the ampoule to her chest.
Her eyes remained a cold, grayish-blue—but deep within them, a maddening obsession burned.
To her, Sion was not merely an interrogation subject.
She was—a possession.
The sole existence that filled her loneliness.
" I remember you. Your name, your wounds, everything you tried to erase yourself. That is why—you cannot escape me."
She opened the door to her quarters.
Two guards stood in the corridor.
" Make the arrangements. Seal off Block 7. However—pursuit is unnecessary. She will return on her own."
Sylvie's voice held absolute certainty.
One of the guards tilted his head slightly.
" But, Lady Sylvie. As long as the subject is fleeing—"
" She is not fleeing."
She cut off the soldier's words.
" She is merely—preparing herself. To return to me."
Sylvie's pale blue eyes fixed on the soldier.
Cold. But deep within them—something hot flickered.
The soldier said nothing more, saluted, and ran off.
Sylvie stood alone in the corridor.
The ampoule in her hand. The pale purple liquid gleamed eerily under the fluorescent light.
" Sion—I will 'Reforge' you. I will erase your personality and create a new you. Then, you will never be able to leave me again."
Her voice—was as gentle as a confession of love.
After leaving the Block 7 black market, Sion walked through the dark passageway, clutching the data chip.
Farga's words repeated in her head.
*'Don't run. Go back into the cage of your own accord.'*
(Buy us time.)
(Concentrate that woman's eyes on me.)
(While I do that, Farga will hack the system—)
Sion stopped in her tracks.
Before her was a fork in the path.
To the right—Block 8. The passage to the escape pod "Gate Nova." Freedom. A return to the organization.
To the left—Block 6. The Nebel Wing. Where that woman was.
(If I go right—I might be saved.)
But—
(My biosignature is being tracked. Even if I run, I'll be found immediately.)
(And besides—)
A sharp pain squeezed deep in her chest.
(I am—still trapped by that woman.)
A dependency on Sylvie. A twisted attachment to the person who first acknowledged her existence.
(I have to—break these chains.)
(In order to be myself.)
Sion shoved the chip into her pocket.
And then—she took a step into the left passage.
The path to the Nebel Wing.
The place where that woman was.
As she walked down the cold corridor, she gripped her communicator.
For the first time—she had chosen her fate by her own will.
(This isn't just buying time to escape.)
(This is—my first and last battle to remain myself.)
Sion's footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor.
Her back was straighter than it had ever been.
Meanwhile—Block 7's black market.
Leaning against the wall, Farga was operating her terminal.
Countless lines of code streamed across the screen.
" Alright—let's get started."
Her prosthetic eye glowed red.
The hack into the sh
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