Binding: Rain - Chronicles 改二

Chapter ∅ [--Prologue--]

[Chapter ∅] Part 1 The Physicality of Mind

（翻訳機を使っている人へのメモ。この章のほとんどで、男性を表す単語が出てくるが、実際は「it」である。私はそう思う。。。）

　>> FEBRUARY 19TH, 2272, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN THE LESSER RUSSIAN REGION <<

　There persisted a ringing. Unpleasant, unnatural, piercing a once present tranquility. One that would cause someone to tear away at their ears. Somewhat like music, echoing around a tiny chamber.

　But, It didn't feel bothered, It didn't exactly feel anything. Just the fabric from some hard-wearing clothing rustling silently beneath. It grasped two sticks firmly like Its existence relied on these seemingly insignificant objects. They are all that mattered to It.

　Resounding endlessly inside was the desire to let go. 'Let go...? What should I let go...?' The things held physically, or internally? That wasn't easy to answer.

　Gravity seemed to release its grip, the chamber tilting jarringly. Falling... Likely. But to where? If It was secured, as It is, then where would there be to fall towards?

　Some quiet alarms charm around, asking for attention that just will not come. Joining in the subtle mix of sounds is a whipping of wind. Wind against steel. Unsurprisingly, this small chamber grows ever colder, with only a tinge of heat emanating from a hidden appliance.

　Every cell of this body cried for release or fulfillment. Something It had become a slave for, something It blindingly supplies. Too afraid to allow its release, all that could be done is continue to feed this desire. As if to distract Itself, tighter and tighter It squeezed away at these sticks of plastic.

　The concept of self embedded deep into each human had slowly begun fading. Becoming muddled into an amalgamation of confusion, deceit, lies, and unjust instincts.

　Here, where It was seated and fastened, there lacked much light. Illuminated sparsely by blue LED screens. The faraway horizon cloaked in the vein of night projected through these screens.

　A foggy sense of being returns at the sight, causing It to shift uncomfortably around. It just watching the instruments laid about the metallic chamber. The last time It checked, It was in the bay of a transport plane. Glaringly time slipped away again, and the drop had already occurred.

　Flywheels spin up to speed, whirring rhythmically through metal structures. Preparation for landing.

«Fire-team 1 reporting, touchdown confirmed successful. LZ secured, proceed.»

«Command and control craft to cargo company. Commence Fire-team 2 drop!»

　―――◇◇◇―――

　Years ago, a group of Japanese researchers began work on a confidential program funded primarily by the Ground Research & Development Command. A program with its roots set in the development of theoretical weapons. Namely, the creation and sustaining of large combat-ready mecha.

　Smaller-scale projects occurred publically through private companies, leading to the mass production of 'ENNB Constructs'. These 'ENNBs' as named by their creators are capable of independent thought, action, and overall autonomy. Despite this, they are treated like domesticated dogs. Bound to whatever task their 'owner' decides.

　This almost false independence granted to these artificial lifeforms is what the military desired, however, far larger. Thus an attempt to create titanic 'Gleipnirs' started.

　Fabrication of mechanical processes and metal was simple for the technology of this time. Demanding more from figuring out a reliable and safe power source. Though, trumping all the previous toils, was the injection of an ENNB's mind. With so much metal to move, so much hydraulic fluid to push, it proved too much for the 'mind' of an ENNB.

　The researchers of this project had plenty of experience working with highly complex things such as this. However, even after trying thousands of different combinations, localizations of systems, and a handful of years, could they achieve a stable mind. "A Gleipnir is simply too large, too significant for the mere ENNB neural network."

　As is written in reports.

　Though perhaps the issue was morality. An ENNB Construct is no different from a human subtract a few physical differences. Housing a human consciousness through and through. Therefore, a sliver of possibility presents itself. What if, instead of being incapable of operating the Gleipnir's systems, it refused to?

　Undoubtedly whichever one was chosen would have known what its final job would be. To follow the commands given, fight in battle. A forced 'life' where the only proof of existence is killing. Even for an artificial being, that's no way to live. So, chances are, these minds refused to be locked into metal shells and marched into combat. To be expendable and replaceable.

　Regardless of the reason, the researchers, and military, wanted their functioning Gleipnir.

　Then, the next best option is true flesh and blood. Humans.

　Many wooden tables, dimly lit rooms, binders of papers, and endless discussions later, the Ground Research & Development Command came to its conclusion. The later named "Unit 17 Project" was canceled. An ENNB will not control a Gleipnir. Not today.

　Years of research and millions of dollars cannot simply be wasted. The foundation was already there, all that was needed was to erect the girders.

　Gut the once full Gleipnir of its computing components, and replace it with a mildly functional cockpit. Next, install limiters to hopefully prevent overexertion of pilots. Finally, to find the subjects who shall be test pilots.

　Initially, the Ground Research & Development Command turned to its companions in the JASDF. Requesting their aircraft pilots to test Gleipnirs. Some tried, all failed, and one died. Reasonably the JASDF removed itself from the program, leaving the researchers and R&D again alone.

　The prospect of closing "Unit 17-B" was discussed over even more long-winded meetings. But the introduction of a new threat dismissed this notion. Eventually, a handful of notable questions arose.

　'Why did that pilot do better?'

　'Why was the psychological effect less on that pilot?'

　'Why do these factors change so drastically?'

　'Why can that pilot 'feel' the Gleipnir?'

　These questions prompted no answers. So, as researchers do, they researched.

　Landing the Ground Research & Development Command at the feet of numerous younger civilians.

　As shown through pouring over data, those who are younger had a greater 'compatibility' with the Gleipnir. Their ability to perceive and react, though in some cases worse, proved to be essential in safely piloting the Gleipnir.

　Additionally, and most significant of all variables, was some deviation from the norm in brain structure. One pilot with numerous diagnoses exhibited heightened compatibility. With further research, it showed to not be a coincidence. For some reason only with theoretical answers, one with a 'poorly' formed amygdala and highly developed frontal lobes had no issue at all piloting a Gleipnir.

　Finding these perfect candidates was difficult. So how frustrating it must have been seeing one die during trials. Then another... and another. Despite warnings not to over-stress the Gleipnir, or themselves. So many of these candidates drove themselves to death, all from the same set of issues. High G forces, sudden impact, or outright 'Unplanned disassembly' of the Gleipnir.

　But, remaining standing at the end of all trials and tests, were 9 people. 9 people who piloted these gigantic mechs like fluid. Those who could converse with each other whilst piloting - All the while never losing focus of their controls. Finally, after years of research, the 'Unit 17 Project' and its child 'Unit 17-B' came to a successful end.

　As far as the Military was concerned, these 9 prodigies were their property. They had trained them, fed them, housed them. So the military was dearly in 'debt'. Officially bestowing the title 'Operator' upon them.

　―――◇◇◇―――

　Never once did It ever view itself as special. No, in Its perception, It just has a skill for performing a singular task. That doesn't prove any specialty.

　Instead of looking at 'How do I compare to others' or 'Am I different? Am I special?', It takes a different approach to finding individuality. 'What have I accomplished?'

　Everyone has accomplished something, no matter how insignificant. So asking what one has accomplished in life is a rather silly question to actually ask. For one was born, one continued to live, one developed themself.

　Though these concepts feel foreign to It. What constitutes developing oneself? What does it truly mean to live? Is it okay to just coast by and await the passing of time? Or does one need to have a permanent awareness of every decision? It did not know, nor understand. Never had It grasped things like 'self' and 'living'.

　Because as far as It is concerned, itself exists due to It's thought. And having itself proves It is living. So that raises the question, 'Why do I feel so unfulfilled?'.

　Vague memories of early childhood still linger. Seemingly the only unfabricated thoughts that echo throughout Its head. A wooden engawa bordering dusty gravel. Coupled with a quiet shimmering of leaves. The reason why It was seated there so long ago had escaped It.

　"Don't give me that look, Shigure..."

　'A woman...' Indeed, stood before It, a woman. Looking down upon It like everyone else. Why was a woman here in this memory? It hadn't any connections to this moment - none It considered worth remembering at least.

　"Why won't you smile?" Apparently, she had reached out, touching Its face.

　It wanted to cry out in defense, to shout 'Do not touch me!'. Though It cannot alter the past, Its mouth only opens in confusion. Here, strewn between the shadowy plains of a forest, and the deep confines of Its psyche. It is powerless over what Its mind projects.

　Or maybe, It is the very mind It speaks of. Perhaps there is a disconnect between everything within. Or is It physical? Can It be touched? It thinks itself can think, but It is unsure whether or not It is viewing something else, being puppeteered by some Svengali.

　"Tell me what you want from me Shigure. I hate when you stare at me like that..."

　'Why does she look sad? I haven't done anything! Leave me alone...' Who is 'she' though? A simple figment of imagination - a manifestation of a desire? Or someone set in reality, someone It had grown to forget.

　'Ah...' It clicks, finally. 'Mother.'

　If this mother painted throughout an uncertain timeline is indeed real, then that makes another thing certain. 'It' had to logically be Shigure. This persisting deficit of self continues to manifest as amalgams of falsity and fake corrections.

«Commodore, Orders?»

　'Orders? Who is asking for orders? I thought I was-'

«Commodore! Orders?!»

　Whatever he thought was outdated, locked in the past. That voice calling to him over the radio was familiar.

«Start a perimeter and await Fire-team 2.» His response was automatic. Like he'd done this thousands of times.

　Well of course he has, it is his job after all. Occasionally his squadmates would scold him for bouts of... this. Yet, his performance still stands to be disturbed. Here in the 'Lesser Russian Region' performing a reconnaissance mission, that what it is, it had come back to him.

　Here, without infantry support, without AWACS, without any assistance of any form. Only 4 Gleipnirs stood in wait for their comrades from the sky.

«Fire-team 2, touchdown confirmed successful. Ready to proceed, Commodore.» The mechs of their own rocked into the ground, shooting compressed air to stabilize. Parachutes detaching from hard points, folding out onto the ground.

«Follow the plan. Move to Objective Alpha.»

　This mission wanted something very simple. For a small, manageable platoon of Gleipnirs and their operators to stalk a patch of land. A report claimed the presence of unknown forces approaching the NDECK-C frontline. Units that would bounce radar, making aerial observation pointless in the cloak of night. Whoever they were, they did not want to be seen.