— And now, let's turn to the latest news from the frontlines. Invading the territory of the 17th district of military operations, Imperial drones "Legion" suffered catastrophic losses due to interception by the forces of the Republic of San Magnolia — autonomous combat drones "Juggernauts" — and were forced to retreat. Our losses remain minimal, with no casualties reported...

The capital of the Republic of San Magnolia — the city bearing the name Liberte-et-Egalite*, was located in the first district. Throughout the nine years since the war began, the main street of the capital remained surprisingly tranquil and beautiful.

The snow-white facades of luxurious stone buildings were adorned with sculptures. Green trees and antique street lamps made of black cast iron created a picturesque contrast with the springtime blue sky, filled with sunlight. Loud laughter of schoolchildren and enamored couples echoed from the corner cafes. The naturally silver hair of the visitors sparkled in the sun.

Above the blue roof of the city hall proudly waved the portraits of Magnolia, the Holy patroness of the revolution, and the five-colored flag of the Republic. The colors symbolized the five virtues: freedom, equality, humanism, justice, and nobility. Every detail of the city was meticulously planned, and in the center lay a wide and straight main street paved with cobblestones.

A little boy with moon-colored eyes walked hand in hand with his parents, laughing cheerfully.

"Well, it's time to gather and leave."

Lena smiled at the passing family with a child and looked back at the holographic screen of the street television. Her eyes, silver-white in color, took on a serious expression.

She wore the Republican officer's uniform in Berlin azure*, with a stand-up collar. At 16, Lena's snow-white, delicately beautiful face was so graceful it seemed made of glass, while her refined manners betrayed noble origins. Her loose hair, resembling white-silver satin, and eyes of the same color, hidden beneath long lashes, indicated her descent from former aristocrats, one of the subgroups of the white race, Alba*, known as Selena. The Albas had lived in the territory of the Republic long before its establishment.

— Our advanced combat technologies allow us to defend the borders of the Republic using highly efficient drones, which are under the control of talented curators. The benefit and humanity of such an approach are beyond doubt. The day when the remnants of the former empire of evil fall before the just order of the Republic is near. The Legion, in its last two years, will be defeated before its technology is completely disabled. Republic of San Magnolia — banzai! In the glory of the five-colored flag!

The Alabaster-haired girl with silver-white eyes concluded her speech with a triumphant smile. Lena's face immediately darkened.

From the very beginning of the war, the news reports on the situation at the front were so optimistic that they denied the real state of affairs, which most of the citizens were unaware of. In less than half a month since the start of Imperial military operations, they managed to capture more than half of the Republic's lands, and even now, nine years later, the front line had not been pushed back.

Moreover...

Lena turned and looked at the sun-drenched street, as if it had just come out of a painting.

The girl announcer. The enamored couples and schoolchildren in the café. Crowds of passersby. The parents with the child walking by, and even Lena herself.

The Republic of San Magnolia, being the world's first state with modern democracy, actively encouraged the influx of immigrants and thus expanded its dominion. Initially populated only by the Albas, now it was home to many other races: the dark as night Aquilas, the sunny-golden Auratas, the red and expressive Rubers, the calm and blue-eyed Caeruleus*. All the colorful races (collectively known as Colorata) lived in the Republic on equal terms.

Yet now, among those strolling along the main street, and indeed among all the residents of the capital and the 85 districts of the Republic, there were none without the silver eyes and hair of the white Alba race.

That's right. There were no colored races, just as there were none who could be officially recognized as soldiers or fallen on the battlefield.

And yet.

— ...That doesn't mean there were no casualties.

Lena headed to the military headquarters — a magnificent building dating back to the late Imperial era, located on the grounds of the Blanc-Nage* castle, which served as a courthouse during the Empire. This castle, as well as the fortress fortifications of Gran-Mur*, built around all the administrative districts, became the deployment site for Republican troops.

Beyond Gran-Mur, from the walls of the fortress fortifications all the way to the front line, which was more than 100 kilometers away, there were no soldiers. Only Juggernauts fought on the battlefield, controlled from the headquarters. Over 100,000 drones guarded the defensive line, where autonomous surface-to-surface missiles, as well as anti-tank and anti-personnel minefields, were located. The enemy had never managed to break through this line, and accordingly, all the troops stationed in Gran-Mur had never participated in combat. All the duties of the personnel in the fortress boiled down to logistics, operation preparation, and other paperwork, so essentially, among the Republican military, there were no fighters as such.

The unmistakable smell of alcohol wafted from the passing officers. Lena frowned, thinking they were probably watching a sports match again, taking advantage of the big screen at the command post. She couldn't help but cast a disapproving glance at the passersby, which was met with scornful smirks.

"Look, it's the doll-loving princess watching us."

"Oh, how terrifying. It's the one who always locks herself in her room, keeping an eye on those valuable drones."

Lena turned sharply.

"You..."

"Good morning, Lena."

A voice came from the side... Turning, Lena saw that it was her former classmate Annette.

Annette, also 16, held the rank of captain and worked in the research department. They had known each other since middle school, where they had skipped several grades together by taking exams externally. Lena considered her her only friend.

"...Hey, Annette. You're up too early, usually you sleep in."

"I'm back. From the night shift... And don't think I was hanging out with those idiots, I had work to do. There was a problem that only the brilliant Henriette Penrose, the technology work captain, could solve."

Annette yawned — wide, like a cat. Characteristic of Selena, her white-silver hair was cropped short, and her large, almond-shaped eyes of the same color were slightly upturned at the corners.

Glancing at the group, who had already moved away, emitting the smell of alcohol — they had exchanged greetings by then — Annette shrugged and gave her friend an expressive look, clearly indicating that educating fools was a waste of time.

Lena blushed.

"Yeah, by the way, there was an intrusion signal on your information terminal. I could have taken control..."

"You can't. I'm sorry. Thanks, Annette."

"It's nothing. I've never been interested in piloting drones anyway."

Lena turned back, lost in thought, then shook her head and headed to the control post.

Her workspace was a small room, half of which was occupied by a console made of some inorganic material. Inside the room, semi-darkness and cold prevailed. The gray floor and walls dimly flickered in the weak light of the main holographic screen, which was in standby mode.

Sitting in the chair, Lena stretched her legs, lifted her long hair, and put on the raid device—a graceful silver ring resembling a choker. Finished with her preparations, she sternly looked at the screen.

The front line was far from Gran Mur, and now this tiny room became the only battlefield in the territory of all 85 districts of the Republic.

"Initiating authentication procedure. Major Vladilena Mirize. Eastern Front, Ninth District of Military Operations, Third Defensive Squadron, Curator."

The authentication program checked fingerprints, voice, iris pattern, and activated the control system.

Several holographic screens appeared before her eyes, and data from various observation devices on the front line flickered. Then a digital map appeared on the main screen, with units of both Republic and Legion combat equipment marked by dots.

70 blue dots represented Juggernauts. In Lena's third squadron, there were 24 units, with 23 each in the second and fourth. The Legion's red dots were countless.

"Activation of the Parareid perception synchronization system. Synchronization object—Pleiades central processor."

The blue crystalline substance located at the back of the raid device warmed slightly. However, this warmth was merely a phantom sensation, induced by the activation of the nervous system under the influence of the Parareid.

Excited crystals initiate the process of information retrieval. They form a virtual nervous system that activates functions of different areas of the brain—some of these areas have been actively used throughout human evolution, while others have remained hidden deep within unused brain regions since time immemorial.

Lena's individual consciousness and subconscious retreat even deeper. The Parareid paves a "path" through the collective unconscious or the "universal subconscious level," which unites all humans and is inaccessible without special devices. This "path" connects Lena's consciousness with the consciousness of the main combat machine of the third squadron, with the call sign "Pleiades."

Now Lena can perceive what Pleiades perceives.

"Synchronization complete. Curator One—Pleiades. Glad to be working with you again."

Lena tried to speak as politely as possible. After a while, she received a response from the "voice" of a young man, roughly one or two years older than her.

"Pleiades—to Curator One. Synchronization is normal."

There was a hint of sarcasm in the "voice." Lena was alone, so it was indeed the voice of the processor, and no one else's. The Parareid allowed her to hear it as if they were conversing face to face.

The voice.

The Juggernauts were hastily constructed during the war, and they lacked voice dialogue functions. Nor did they possess high cognitive abilities that could be compared to "emotions" or "consciousness."

The Parareid is a system that charts a course through the sea of collective unconsciousness of humanity.

On the defense line, tasked with protecting the Republic from enemy armored vehicles, there is an anti-personnel minefield.

Somewhere out there, on the front line, amid the drones engaged in fierce battles with "zero casualties," lies the truth.

"You try to maintain politeness even in communication with subhumans 'eighty-six,' don't you, Alba?"

Eighty-six.

This is about pigs in human form who lived in the territories now occupied by the Legion, outside the 85 districts—the last bastion of paradise for the Republic.

This derogatory nickname applies to all colored races living on the front line and in concentration camps beyond the walls of Gran-Mur. All Republic citizens know from birth that representatives of these races are lower beings, unworthy of the title of human.

†

358th year of the Republican era. 2139 AD in star calendar. 9 years ago.

The Giade Empire, occupying the northern part of the continent and being the eastern neighbor of the Republic, declares war on all neighboring countries. The invasion is carried out by autonomous combat drones called "Legion"—the world's first use of such machines in warfare.

Regular Republic forces were completely destroyed in about half a month, after which the militaristic Giade transitioned into an irreversible offensive.

While the military gathered the remaining forces and made desperate attempts to slow the advance and buy time, the Republic government made two decisions. Firstly, the complete evacuation of the population to the territory of the 85 administrative districts. Secondly, Presidential Decree No. 6609. Law on special measures to maintain public order in wartime.

All colored races residing in the country were declared enemies of the Republic and collaborators of the Empire. They were deprived of citizenship and sent to concentration camps beyond the 85 districts, where they were under constant surveillance.

Of course, this law directly contradicted the Republic's main pride—its Constitution—and the spirit of the five-colored flag. It implied open discrimination based on racial grounds: Alba race members born in the Empire were not subjected to persecution, while all colored races, regardless of birthplace, were sent to camps.

Undoubtedly, there were protests among the Colorata, but they were suppressed by the government with the help of the military.

There were dissenters among the Alba as well, but the majority of whites agreed with the law. The 85 districts couldn't accommodate the entire population of the Republic, people lacked food, housing, and jobs.

It was easier for Republic residents to accept the lie that it was Colorata spies who caused the defeat than to face the problem and admit that all the blame lay with their own government.

In addition, under the conditions of complete blockade by the Legion, the country needed a scapegoat.

Soon, eugenic ideology spread throughout the Republic, justifying what was happening. The Alba race was recognized as the highest race, creating the most advanced and humane form of governance—modern democracy—while all Colorata were associated with the barbaric and cruel imperial form of governance and became the lowest race. The new ideology proclaimed that all colored people were wild and stupid subhumans, halted in their development, pigs in human form.

Thus, all Colorata were sent to camps, to war, or to the construction of Gran-Mur. Funds for maintaining camps, military operations, and construction were allocated from confiscated Colorata money. Republic citizens managed to avoid conscription, heavy labor, and tax increases, and therefore fervently supported their humane government.

The discriminatory ideology of the Alba, which turned Colorata into non-humans, "eighty-six," took a new turn two years later when instead of living soldiers (of course, all of them were "eighty-six"), drones began to be sent into battle.

Even with all the Republic's technology, it was unable to create a combat-ready unmanned machine.

The very thought that the superior Alba race failed to recreate a mechanism invented in the barbaric Empire was unacceptable.

Since the "eighty-six" were not considered human, machines controlled by them could be considered unmanned.

The Autonomous Combat Drone (ACD) "Juggernaut" produced by the Republic.

This advanced and humane weapon system reduced the number of human casualties to zero, causing excitement among the population when introduced into service.

Pilots, recruited from the "eighty-six," were called "processors" and included in the equipment of the machines. Unmanned vehicles with people on board.

367th year of the Republican era.

On the battlefield, where there are no casualties, soldiers continue to fight—disposable material that will never appear on the list of the deceased. Gathering their courage, they continue their journey to death.

†

Having confirmed that the Legion's red dots were retreating to the east, Lena felt a little relieved.

Although the losses of the third squadron amounted to only seven machines, bitterness overwhelmed her. Seven Juggernauts with processors inside were destroyed by the explosion. There were no survivors.

"Juggernaut." Some pretentious developer-intellectual borrowed this name from an ancient deity of foreign mythology.

They say that when crowds of people gathered in one place to pray for help, Juggernaut ran them all over with his chariot.

"Curator One — Pleiades. Confirming the enemy's retreat," Lena reported to the processor, or rather, the pilot from the "eighty-six" who agreed to a five-year military service in exchange for restoring citizenship for himself and his family.

Para-raid became a truly revolutionary means of communication, allowing the perception of sounds and voices of each other through the synchronization of auditory perception. This communication technology displaced radio communication, which too often suffered from interference and depended on range, weather, and terrain.

In theory, para-raid allowed the synchronization of all five senses, but in practice, only hearing was mostly used. This was because in the case of visual synchronization, the information load on users was excessive. The minimal amount of information that hearing allowed to receive was sufficient for a correct assessment of the situation. By sensations, communication through auditory synchronization was little different from telephone or radio communication, but there were much fewer interferences.

However, the reason why curators preferred to limit themselves to auditory synchronization clearly lay not only in this.

Much better not to see many things. Enemies advancing straight toward you. The horror of your allies, machines exploding one after another. The color of blood and intestines spilling out of your torn body.

"Duties of protection are being taken over by the fourth squadron. Third squadron, return to base."

"Understood. Thank you for watching over the piggies in the telescope today. Excellent work, Curator One."

Pleiades replied sarcastically, as always, and Lena lowered her eyes.

She understood that it was time to accept that she was hated—after all, she was an Alba, one of the oppressors. And the fact that her duties as a curator included observing the "eighty-six" was also true...

"Thank you for your work, Pleiades. I express gratitude to all the fighters... both the survivors and the seven deceased... I am truly sorry."

...

A cold, knife-edge silence hung in the air. Although the para-raid synchronized only hearing, it established a connection through the consciousness of two people—allowing emotions to be read from each other with roughly the same accuracy as in a personal conversation.

"...Well, thank you, thank you very much for your warm words, Curator One."

In Pleiades' words, there was no longer the usual anger or hatred towards the Alba—there was cold contempt and disgust in them. Lena fell silent in shock.

†

Sometimes Lena felt that the morning news with its constant "catastrophic enemy losses," "minor losses to the Republic," "absence of human casualties," "humane and advanced technologies," and "approaching defeat of enemy forces" were actually the same recording broadcast day after day. The logo of the state television company depicted a sword and broken chains—the attributes of Magnolia, the Holy patroness of the revolution. They symbolized the overthrow of power and the end of oppression.

"...Next, the government announced a gradual reduction in military spending due to the end of the war in 2 years. The first step in this direction was the abolition of the 18th district of military operations, located in the southern part of the front. All troops stationed there were disbanded..."

"Looks like the 18th district fell," Lena thought and sighed quietly.

This was not the kind of news that could simply be hidden. Moreover, losing part of the territory, they were not only not trying to reclaim it, but even reducing military spending.

The funds seized from the "eighty-six" have already been spent, and the government cannot ignore the voices of citizens demanding a reduction in colossal military spending, which are hitting their well-being and state provision. And yet...

The woman sitting opposite Lena, with perfectly painted red lips, dressed in a vintage dress, softly spoke:

"What's wrong, Lena? Don't make that sour face, eat instead."

It was her mother.

They were having breakfast in the cafeteria, and dishes were laid out on the table—most of the food was artificially grown in factories.

The Republic had lost more than half of its territory, and in the remaining 85 districts, forced to accommodate about 80% of the entire population (excluding the "eighty-six"), there was not enough land for growing food. When the Legion invaded neighboring states adjacent to the Empire, they blocked all means of communication, and each country found itself in isolation. Now the Republic not only couldn't engage in external trade or negotiations—no one even knew if other countries existed at all. Taking a sip of black tea, the taste of which had nothing to do with the almost forgotten taste of real tea, Lena began to cut into the wheat-protein steak, mimicking the appearance and taste of real meat.

In addition to the tea, there was a compote made from real raspberries on the table—now, when there was not enough space in the Republic even for a garden, let alone a flower pot, this compote became an incomparable treasure.

Mother smiled.

"Lena, it's time for you to quit your service, find a young man from a worthy family, and get married."

Lena felt like sighing. The news doesn't change day by day, and the same can be said about her mother.

Worthy family. Social status. Lineage. Blue blood.

Her mother's silk dress matched very well with this stylish and wealthy house, built back in the days when the Mirize family was considered aristocratic, but as soon as you stepped outside, it began to seem old-fashioned and uncomfortable, trailing on the ground.

As if it still lived in a long-forgotten happy era.

As if it had forever remained in a little happy dream, detached from the real world.

"All this 'eighty-six' and 'Legion'—these are unworthy pursuits for a young lady from the noble Mirize family. Even though your late father was also in the military. After all, the war is coming to an end."

"The war is coming to an end," while the battle with the Legion is in full swing. Ever since the dispatch of people to the front ceased, citizens of the Republic stopped perceiving this war as something real, happening beyond the news broadcasts.

"Defending our country is a proud duty of every citizen of the Republic, Mother. Besides, they are not 'eighty-six.' They are citizens just like us."

The graceful narrow face of Lena's mother suddenly contorted.

"These dirty colored citizens? They're just livestock working for food. I can't believe the government allows these beasts to return to our lands!"

Those from the "eighty-six" who were called to the front, as well as members of their families, were granted the right to restore their citizenship. They couldn't settle in the territory of the 85 districts—where harsh discrimination prevailed—and therefore entry there was closed for the safety of the Colorata themselves. However, over the 9 years since the start of the war, many of the "eighty-six" surely had managed to return to their homes.

Citizenship could be considered a quite adequate reward for the self-sacrifice shown by these people, but those they serve don't see it that way, and the classic example of this perspective is sitting right across from Lena, shaking her head in dismay.

"It's disgusting, simply disgusting. Just think, ten years ago these subhumans were roaming Liberte-et-Egalite like they owned the place! And now they're being called back. How can one violate the principles of equality and freedom guaranteed by the Republic like this!"

"...I think the principles of equality and freedom are only violated by your words, Mother."

"How could you possibly mean that?"

This time, seeing the astonishment on her mother's face, Lena couldn't hold back and sighed.

She doesn't understand. She truly doesn't understand.

And she's not alone. Even now, citizens of the Republic continue to take pride in their order and ideals of freedom, equality, humanity, justice, and nobility, reflected in the five colors of the national flag. Considering the despotic monarchy that once existed in the Republic a mistake, people learned to despise tyranny and inequality, to fight against exploitation and genocide.

Yet, they couldn't comprehend that the same thing was happening in the Republic now.

Any attempts to point this out are met with objections and even pity for the dissenters.

"You just don't understand the difference between a pig and a human."

Lena bit her lip, touched by the pale pink lipstick.

Words—a convenient tool.

With just one word, you can easily change the essence of anything. By swapping one label for another, you can turn a person into a pig.

Mother clearly became flustered and frowned, but a second later, she smiled as if she understood something.

"You're just trying to emulate your father, he was always kind to those animals too."

"It's not about that..."

Lena deeply respected her father, who opposed concentration camps for the "eighty-six" and demanded their abolition until the very end. But it wasn't just about wanting to be like him.

That memory still haunted her.

The silhouette of a four-legged spider emerging amidst tongues of flame.

The sign of a headless knight's skeleton drawn on the cladding.

An outstretched hand of help. A figure painted in bright red and coal-black from birth.

They all. They all were born and raised in this country. They all are citizens of the Republic.

Mother's voice sharply interrupted this thought.

"But still, Lena. One must treat the livestock accordingly. These dumb barbarians will never understand the culture and ideals of humans. The only right solution is to put them in cages and watch over them."

Lena silently finished her breakfast, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and stood up.

"I must go, Mother."

"Leading another division?.."

The office of the division commander with oppressive wallpaper in dark-red and dim-gold stripes. On the antique desk lay an order from the brigade commander Karstal, and Lena blinked, unable to tear her silver-white eyes away from it.

To be honest, changing curators during troop reorganization is routine. During heavy frontline battles, troops often come under enemy fire, and their support becomes impossible. Consolidation, reorganization, dissolution, and the creation of new units happen almost every day.

Lena hadn't experienced this yet, but losing control of an entire unit as a curator wasn't uncommon either.

The Legion was powerful. All the technological might and all the human resources that such an advanced military superpower as the Giade Empire could afford went into its development. These unmanned machines possessed exceptional combat power, superior maneuverability, unprecedented autonomy in decision-making for their time, and knew no fatigue, hesitation, or fear. They weren't even afraid of damage, as somewhere deep in imperial territories, there operated a fully autonomous complex for the production and repair of the Legion. As soon as one enemy wave was shattered, on the horizon, like a dark cloud, a huge army gathered again.

Contrary to the prevailing opinion among citizens, the Juggernauts, technically inferior to the Legion, were never limited to minor losses. Every attack severely thinned the ranks of Republican troops, and all they could do was hold the front line, constantly replacing the fallen.

However, in the squadron commanded by Lena, there were no serious losses.

Karstal's scarred face softened. His beard gave a modest nobility to his entire appearance. He was tall and broad-shouldered.

"It's not about your unit being reorganized or merged with another. Actually, one of the squadron's curators has retired, and we need to urgently find a replacement."

"Is it about a defensive unit in one of the key points on the front?"

In other words, a unit that couldn't be left inactive for the time it takes to choose a new curator.

"Ah. The Eastern Front, the first district of military operations, the first defensive squadron, better known as the 'Spearhead.' It consists of veterans from the Eastern Group of Forces... sort of like an elite unit."

Lena raised an eyebrow skeptically.

The first district of military operations was the most important defensive position on the entire front, constantly subjected to the most ferocious attacks from the Legion. The active first squadron stationed there was a unique unit that conducted military operations on its own. The responsibility lying on it was incomparable to that of the second, third, and fourth squadrons—they typically only guarded defensive positions at night, provided military support, and only took on attacks if the first squadron was incapacitated.

"I don't think this job is suitable for a newly minted major like myself..."

Karstal forced a smile.

"And this comes from our talent from the '91 batch, the first person to be promoted to major at such a young age? Your excessive modesty is starting to annoy me, Lena."

"My apologies, Jerome. Sir."

Lena bowed, but it wasn't a gesture of subservience towards her superior—Karstal always addressed her by name.

He was her father's friend and one of the few who managed to survive after the regular Republican forces were destroyed nine years ago. Lena remembered him from her childhood, when he used to come to their house, and they would play together. Karstal started looking after her after her father's death—he helped organize the funeral.

"To be honest, there... aren't any other candidates for the position of curator of the 'Spearhead.'"

"No candidates for an elite unit? I thought that commanding such troops was an unmatched honor for any member of the Republican Army."

Lena knew well that among the curators, many didn't directly fulfill their duties and just watched TV or played video games, occasionally leaving their command posts. In the most neglected cases, curators didn't manage their units or provide them with any information—they simply observed what was happening, like in a movie theater, and enjoyed the deaths, meanwhile placing bets on whose squadron would last the longest. There were very, very few who actually commanded. But despite all this...

"Uh, rumors circulate about this unit..." Karstal suddenly hesitated. "The commander of this squadron, callsign 'Gravedigger.' In general, there have been complaints about him."

Gravedigger. What a strange name.

"Curators who worked with him called him the 'God of Death.' They fear him... He breaks his curators."

"What?" Lena blurted out involuntarily.

It's easy to imagine the other way around. But for the processor to break the curator?

How?

"Maybe it's just scary tales?"

"Do you think I have nothing better to do than to waste my working time recounting silly gossip? ...The facts say that there are a huge number of resignation requests or requests to change the controlled unit from curators who have ever commanded Gravedigger's team. Some ask for reassignment after the first military operation, others resign and decide to end their lives for unspecified reasons."

"...End their lives?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it? They say that even after resigning, they continue to be haunted by some 'ghostly voices.'"

...

Now that definitely sounded like a simple horror story.

Karstal tilted his head in concern, trying to understand what Lena's silence meant.

"Lena, if you don't want to, just say so. If you want to stay with your current unit, that's fine. As I've said, the 'Spearhead' consists of veterans. As far as I know, their curators prefer to turn off the parade during battle, so we can simply leave the field command to the unit commander and limit ourselves to observation..."

Lena immediately pressed her lips together.

"I'll take it. I agree to become the curator of the 'Spearhead' and take full command. I'll do everything I can."

Defending her country was the proud duty of every citizen of the Republic. There was nothing more important than leading the vanguard of the forces, and refusing such an assignment would be unacceptable.

Karstal squinted.

"Just think about it. This girl really..."

"A minimum command is quite enough. Act only as necessary... Limit your communication with processors as much as possible."

"The duty of a curator is to know their subordinates. So, naturally, I'll communicate with them. As long as they don't mind."

"Indeed..."

Karstal displayed a soft but sad smile, then sighed heavily. Taking a stack of papers from the desk drawer, he began to flip through them, trying to appear as casual as possible.

"And since you're here, I want to say one more thing. Stop writing about casualties in your reports, it's very unwise. Officially, there isn't a single person on the front, and I can't accept a document that includes a non-existent point... Besides, there are no longer people who care about such protests."

"Still, I can't just stay silent. There's no reason for the Coloradan concentration camps to continue existing."

The Giade Empire. A great power that created such powerful weapons as the Legion and quickly captured an entire continent. It's unknown why, but four years ago, it ceased to exist.

For that many years, since the Empire's broadcasts completely disappeared from the airwaves—before, the Republic occasionally managed to intercept them, using breaks in the powerful interference generated by the "Sunrise" generator—it was clear that the Empire was no more.

According to the official version, the "Eighty-Six" lived in reservations because they were "imperial degenerates." With the disappearance of the Empire, such a measure ceased to be justified.

Despite this, the Republic, having tasted the flavor of discrimination, didn't want to stop. Yielding to the illusion of their own superiority, the Albas imagined themselves victors and continued their tyranny. They fully immersed themselves in hedonism—not to overcome the depression under the blockade of the imperial troops or to overcome the fear of defeat, but to deceive everyone.

—"To cover up mistakes is the same as approving them. Such behavior is inexcusable in itself..."

—"Lena."

Hearing how gently Karstal pronounced her name, Lena fell silent.

—"You're pushing the bar a bit too far in your demands. Both towards others and towards yourself. The ideal you're striving for remains an ideal precisely because it cannot be achieved."

—"...Really?"

Karstal's silver-white eyes looked at her with familiar warmth and bitterness.

—"You really remind me of Vaclav... So, Major Vladilena Mirize is now performing the duties of the curator of the first defensive squadron of the first district of military operations. Good luck."

—"Thank you."

—"...And you agreed? Well, Lena, you really give it your all!"

Reassignment entails many changes, and one of them is the reconfiguration of the raid device.

Annet was the head of the development team, so she dealt with everything related to the reconfiguration and synchronization of consciousness. Yielding to her persuasion regarding the additional medical examination, Lena now changed into her military uniform.

They talked through the partition of toughened glass, separating the viewing area from the observation post. Lena carefully hung the non-woven robe, given to her for examination, on a hanger and buttoned up her blouse.

The research department was located in a former mansion, the facade of which preserved the elegance of the imperial architecture of the middle period, while its interior was done in a slightly tasteless futuristic style—however, a slight tastelessness was characteristic of all such interiors, saturated with lifeless metal and glass surfaces. Moving images of tropical fish and corals were projected onto the partition of one-way glass.

—"All this is just fiction, Annet. Excuses for not doing their job."

Smiling, Lena started fastening the garters to her stockings. She diligently underwent all periodic examinations related to raid work, but her friend still found reasons to worry.

—"That rumor about one guy committing suicide is true."

Annet sat behind the partition with a holographic image and entered new data into the raid device. Taking a sip of coffee from her mug—or rather, some strong, muddy water resembling it—she added:

—"Although I don't believe the old man's tales about ghosts. The guy just blew his brains out with a shotgun."

Putting on her skirt, jacket, and collar, Lena turned around and threw the falling hair over her shoulders with both hands.

—"...Really?"

—"I was tasked with investigating the case to see if it could be some raid malfunction. That would be a perfectly logical explanation for resigning from service or for suicide."

—"And?"

Annet shrugged indistinctly.

—"Well..."

—"What do you mean 'well'?"

—"Since the guy is already dead, there's no way to conduct an investigation or find out the details of his death. The raid device is in order, and that's it. I tried to dig deeper. Like you said, 'the Gravedigger'? So, I contacted the transportation department, asking them to bring this processor here. But those idiots just replied, 'we have no room for pigs.'"

Annet folded her arms across her chest, leaned back in her chair, and snorted angrily. She had a peculiar tomboyish beauty and often mimicked men in her behavior.

—"And even when they brought him, we tried everything, but still didn't find out anything. Absolutely nothing!"

Lena frowned. Of course, these furious self-accusations were artificial, but it was still unpleasant to listen to them.

—"So, that processor was interrogated..."

—"Not by me, by a guy from the military police. I did receive a report later, but it was purely formal. The processor stated that it knew nothing, end of report. I don't know if he told the truth or not."

The corners of Annet's lips lifted in a sarcastic smirk.

—"When they told him that the curator had died, he only replied: 'Is that so?' In such a calm and innocent tone. Well, he's still 'Eighty-Six.' They tell him that his commander died, and that's his reaction."

— ...

Lena fell silent, and Annette stopped smiling.

"Listen. Maybe you should consider joining us in the research department?"

Lena blinked, her face puzzled. Annette's cat-like almond eyes with white irises looked unexpectedly serious.

"The army is no longer just a means to fight unemployment. And compared to other departments, where only idiots from the higher districts suffer from idleness, ours is still quite decent."

The Republic's territory was a rectangle, with the first district located in the center. The higher the district number, the lower the level of housing conditions, medical care, literacy, and the higher the unemployment rate.

"In two years, there won't be any more Legion, and then what? In peacetime, former soldiers are of no use to anyone."

Lena smiled ironically.

The Legion will completely stop in two years.

This fact was discovered by studying several captured enemy machines. The current version of their central data processing system has a limit of 50,000 hours, or approximately 6 years. Apparently, this is some kind of insurance in case the machines go out of control.

The Empire fell four years ago, and in another two years, the Legion's central data processing system will collapse. Currently, the number of observed enemy machines on the front is gradually decreasing. Those that haven't received the latest update are already starting to malfunction.

"Thank you. But the war isn't over yet."

"That doesn't mean you have to take it on!"

Annette persisted. After finishing inputting data, she waved her hand to turn off the holographic screen, leaned forward, and spoke out with clear annoyance in her voice:

"Whether he lied or not, you're going to work with a processor who has no concept of decency! ...Besides, I'm not even sure about the para-raid anymore, I don't know how safe it is."

Lena widened her eyes.

"...Absolute safety of the para-raid has been confirmed..."

Apparently, she said something wrong. Annette's face took on a guilty expression, and she lowered her voice:

"And what, Lena. Have you forgotten where we live? Officially, yes, everything is fine, but only for now."

The Republic, having proclaimed its own superiority, did not tolerate any doubts about the flawlessness of its technologies. Even if there were slip-ups, no one ever acknowledged them. This applied to both the para-raid and the juggernauts.

"We studied people with so-called... super abilities, tracked which area of the brain they use, and found that activating this area allows the use of the para-raid. That's all I know... But even that's already..."

She lightly tapped the raid device with her hand. Blue crystalline substance and an elegant silver body. Code streamed from the information terminal to the crystals—data inside the device was being rewritten.

"Thanks to the fact that these 'people with abilities' could synchronize with their parents, siblings, and other relatives, we managed to create devices that aggregate information in the pseudogenes of second cousins and more distant relatives, that's all. Why this allows synchronization, I still don't fully understand to this day," she said.

"But didn't your father used to be involved in this research?" Lena asked.

"It was a joint research effort. The basic theory, or rather hypothesis, was put forward by a whole group of scientists, and my father was responsible for preparing the experimental conditions and conducting repeat trials of the subjects," Annette replied.

"Then couldn't we get in touch with his colleagues and find out..." Lena suggested.

Annette gave her a frosty look. "Impossible... They were the 'Eighty-Six'."

Since the 'Eighty-Six' were not considered people, they were assigned numbers when relocated to camps, and their names were never recorded anywhere. Finding out where the scientists were kept was already impossible.

"In modern raid devices, there are safeguards in place, so nothing like that will happen, but if you, for example, try to synchronize your vision with multiple objects simultaneously, your brain will melt from overload. And if you spend too much time in synchronization, you'll lose your personality. Excessive nervous activity will lead to the concept of 'returning' losing its meaning for you... You know what happened to my father," Annette explained.

Lena fell silent, recalling the tragic fate of Annette's father, Dr. Joseph von Penrose, who lost his mind and died during an experiment immediately after completing work on the para-raid.

"The level of nervous system activation set on his raid device exceeded all allowable limits. Apparently, he plunged to the depths of the collective unconscious, down to the level of basic concepts like 'where', 'I' (as a human individual), and 'whole'," she continued.

"I can't say if there are any side effects of using the para-raid constantly... I mean, if they manifest in the 'Eighty-Six', it won't matter much since they don't have long anyway, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to you," Annette said sincerely, sensing Lena's concerns.

"That's... arrogant," Lena muttered, although she understood that Annette was genuinely worried about her.

Annette waved her hand casually, indicating she was tired of such discussions.

"Yeah, yeah, you're quite a piece of work yourself," she retorted.

For a moment, an awkward silence hung on both sides of the glass partition.

Suddenly, Annette smiled.

"By the way, Lena, how about some chiffon sponge cake? It's fresh. Made with real eggs."

"What?" Lena perked up immediately, her ears pricking at the mention of food, much like a cat sensing a meal. Annette suppressed a smile.

Lena, like any other girl, had an inexplicable passion for sweets, and chiffon sponge cake, made from egg whites, could be considered a delicacy—especially now, when there was a shortage of land for poultry farming in the Republic. Such a treat could only be available to members of former aristocratic families like the Penroses, who had enough space on their estate for raising chicks.

And yet.

"Mm... I hope it doesn't smell like cheese, even though it's not in the ingredients, and it doesn't look like it's about to emit smoke... and, in terms of shape, it doesn't resemble that... frog."

All these were memories of Annette's experiments with profitroles—Lena acted as the taste tester.

To be more precise, the last dish was named "Transplanted Corpse of a Fat Toad." The resemblance was obvious even in color, not to mention the shape.

"Nope, this time everything turned out fine. My boyfriend came by yesterday and already tried it."

And yet, from attempt number five, he started foaming at the mouth and had a stomach upset.

"Well, that's good... Now you're simply obliged to send him a decent piece of your new masterpiece, whether he liked it or not."

"Of course. For that, I even specially bought cute pink wrapping paper, tied it with a ribbon, attached a card with the inscription 'To my beloved Theobald,' and left my kiss on it. I handed it over through his roommate."

"Poor guy," Lena thought. Although, to be honest, she didn't feel sorry for him that much.

While the friends enjoyed their conversation over tea and cake, the data rewriting process in the raid device was completed. Returning home to her room, Lena immediately put it on her neck.

Adorned with Alba's favorite intricate pattern, a stylish silver casing, a sprinkling of blue crystals of the artificial nervous system, sparkling in the sunlight—the raid device looked nothing like a communication device capable of replacing headphones and a microphone.

She suddenly remembered today's conversation.

God of Death. Suicide. Indifference to the deaths of the "Eighty-Six."

What kind of person was he?

Clearly, he hated us.

Shaking her head, she took a short breath.

Alright.

"Activate."

The para-raid started up. A revolutionary means of communication, independent of weather, distance, and terrain, requiring no special activation location and activating instantly.

Connection established. No malfunctions detected. The room was filled with barely discernible rustling interference.

"Curator One to all members of the Spearhead squadron. Pleased to meet you. As of today, I am assuming the duties of your curator."

A puzzled pause.

Lena felt a chill.

Apparently, the squadron was bewildered by the new appointment and such a greeting.

But they were just like her—ordinary people—and mutual greetings should be commonplace for them.

After an awkward pause, a quiet and very young voice finally replied:

"Pleased to meet you, Curator One. This is the Spearhead squadron commander, callsign 'Gravedigger,' on the line."

Contrary to all rumors and the infamous nickname, his voice was clear, pleasant, and enveloping, like the waters of a lake deep in the forest. It was the voice of a boy about her age, from a middle-class background or even higher.

"Notification of the change in curator received. Looking forward to working with you."

His indifferent tone sounded as if he was trying to overcome his reserve and speak as casually as possible. Lena smiled.

Well, direct dialogue set everything straight. She couldn't be mistaken.

These guys were people, not the "Eighty-Six" or something unworthy of being called human.

"Likewise. I'm also glad, Gravedigger."