F66x's Hidden Stories

Chapter 1: Change (My) Life (No.01)

The only sounds in the empty
room are a metronomic beeping
and the quiet breathing of my
husband. He is bound to the
bed, his entire body wired to
a machine that controls his
body temperature, heart rate,
and all other life functions.
Next to him, a young officer
speaks softly to me.

"He acquired confidential
information again, Commander.
This is his eighth instance
of unauthorized access to
such intelligence.”

As she speaks, details of my
husband's previous infractions
appear on a nearby wall screen.
I'm not surprised; it's always
been like this. Whenever he
sees a chance, he breaks into
some area deep within the base
and steals classified data
about the Flowers.

"I'm sorry, Commander, but I
can't cover for him any more.”

Commander. The word stings
my ears. I hate being called by
that title around my husband,
even though he's not awake to
hear it.

It wasn't always like this.
But one day, the Flowers
attacked our world and
everything changed. Humanity
is yet to find a key to
victory; if anything, we fade
a little more each time the
sun rises on a new day.
We've lost so many now:
soldiers, prisoners, and yes,
even commanders. The Flowers
have taken them all. But the
lack of people in leadership
positions is our most pressing
concern, so the people in
charge attempted to solve it
with a most novel solution:

They promoted prisoners.

Prisoners like me.

The job of a commander is to
manage and control the rest
of the prisoners. So when
news of my own promotion came,
I knew instantly that I would
have to send my own husband
off into the jaws of death.
I couldn't bear to share that
with him, so I attempted to
keep it a secret and live my
life just as I always had—
until the day he broke into
the base and first stole
confidential information.

We have rules for people who
do such things. The punishment
is very swift—and very final.
But instead of putting him to
death, I used the privileges
of command to keep him alive.
I ordered the classified
information deleted from his
memories, and we returned to
our normal lives. I thought I
could somehow keep this up—
that I could keep lying to
everyone about what I was now.
And I might have done it,
except that my husband stole
classified information again.

And again.

And again.

The irony is almost too much
to bear: The reason he risked
death to find some path to
victory against the Flowers
was because he wanted to
protect me. But now,
once again, it is my turn to
protect him.

"Prepare for memory deletion,”
I say to the officer. When she
doesn't move, I slowly turn my
head to look at her. "That is
a direct order.”

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I
cannot comply.”

Her quiet voice rattles in
my ears. "What did you say?”

"Your husband should have been
eliminated after his first
transgression, but you used
your authority to delete his
memories and protect him.
I've stood by as you did so
again and again, but I can
abide it no longer.”

She goes on to tell me that
my actions are not as secret
as I thought—other commanders
are aware of what I have been
doing, and they are displeased
to say the least. If it does
not stop, they will deem me
unfit for command and dispose
of me in the way all useless
prisoners are dealt with.

"I didn't ask for this,”
I whisper. "I didn't ask
for any of it.”

And it's true. I didn't.
I didn't care for the power
of command, or the honor,
or the ceremonial trappings.
The only thing I cared about
was protecting the man I love.

"You have to stop this,” says
the officer. "We have plans
in motions, great plans that
may finally turn the tide of
this war and give you the
revenge you seek. Would you
really throw all of that away?”

She takes my hand and places
it gently atop the machine.
"If you turn this off,
his vitals will cease to
function. He'll just...go to
sleep. Quickly. Peacefully.
But we're running out of time,
Commander, and we need you to
make a decision.”

Her quiet voice is a faint echo
in the empty room.

Chapter 2: Change (Your) Love (No.02)

The leisurely beeping that
disturbs the quiet of the
living room tells me the water
is boiling. I get up from my
chair and head to the kitchen,
where I take out an assortment
of snacks and prepare my tea.

Treatment like this was nigh
unthinkable when I was a low-
ranking soldier—or to be more
blunt, a prisoner with a
slightly more palatable title.
But now I own a first-class
apartment with a guest room—
don't know when I'll be using
that—and a constant supply of
luxuries like sweets and tea.

Yes, my life certainly became
enriched when I took on the
position of a superior officer.
But every day I wake up and ask
myself what the point is to
having such wealth.
What even is the point?

I glance over at the framed
photograph in the center of
the living room, the one
showing a smiling image of
my husband. He was my rock.
My light. The person I loved
more than anything.

And the person I killed.

Pressured by command, I made
the decision to turn off my
husband's life support,
abandoning what was most
precious to me for the benefit
of the base. As a result,
my subordinates found renewed
confidence in me, and my
superiors praised my loyalty.
But this brings me right back
around to the same question I
always ask: What's the point?
What is the goddamn point?

I briefly considered following
my husband into the afterlife,
but couldn't do it. The shrewd
watch of my commanders played
a part in that decision,
but ultimately, I couldn't
abandon my plan to end the
Flowers once and for all.

Blowing steam across my mug,
I press a few buttons on a
small screen on the kitchen
counter and pull up footage
from a surveillance camera.
Children's voices come through,
as well as the shrill bark
of an overseer.

"Get in line, all of you!"

"Kay!"

There are countless prisoners
exhausted by this never-ending
war with the Flowers—and our
recent rise in deserters is
proof. But I've come up with
a plan to give even the lowest
soldier a reason to fight.
Want to hear it? It's a doozy.

See, I proposed we implant
prisoners with memories of
having children, then supply
them with actual children
to protect. I figured I'd face
an uphill battle—or be laughed
out of the room entirely—but
to my shock, command not only
approved the plan, they
supplied the children that I
needed to make it work.
The little moppets now live
in a care center in the base,
giving the prisoners who are
their “parents” a reason keep
fighting in the outside world.

The irony just kills me.

My own son was killed by the
Flowers, is the thing—and the
animosity born from that
memory is what kept me alive
all this time. The pain of the
loss is a set of teeth on my
heart as fresh as the day it
happened, so the fact I'm
using that same pain to help
my former companions rush
headlong into death is...

Well, it's monstrous.
Monstrous.

But now that I've chosen this
path, there's no turning back.
I have to destroy the Flowers
and have my revenge, because—

“I'm hooome! What's my snack?”

A small figure rushes into the
living room, and I shake myself
free from my reverie as I turn
to him. “You have something
to do before snack time, yes?”

His face lights up as he
rushes to the most prominent
place in the living room:
the memorial for my husband.
The boy takes the photograph
and holds it reverently in
both of his tiny hands.

“I'm home, Dad!”

God, his eyes remind me
so much of him...

Chapter 3: Change (His) Life (No.03)

In my position as a senior officer,
I've led countless projects to
completion—not just the one
that keeps soldiers from
deserting. We've also mapped
Flower dens around the planet,
performed research into their
ecology, and developed a host
of new weapons. Though we've
yet to exterminate the enemy,
humanity has stepped back
from the brink, and is now in
the process of putting itself
together again.

"Sorry we took so long, Mom."

I turn to find my son walking
into the officer's lounge.
He's grown over the years,
and is now more a man than
the little boy I remembered.

"Thank you for taking the
time to be here," I say.

A woman steps out from behind
my son, her wide eyes boring
deep into my own.

"Uh, so, Mom? This is my
girlfriend. I think I...
mentioned her?"

His bashful introduction
causes me to chuckle.

"Hello, ma'am," she says.
"My name is ———, and I work
in the research division."

The introduction is sweet,
but unnecessary; I already
know everything there is to
know about her. Her name,
age, job, time of birth—every
moment of her life is at my
fingertips. Yet I manage to
put on an expression of
ignorance and listen to the
rest of her introduction.

"I'm pleased to have met you
today," I say when she's done.
Our chat is short, but pleasant
enough, and I'm happy to see
how tactfully she handles
her time in the spotlight.
But then, at the moment
when my son is supposed
to ease us out of the awkward
silence that follows introductions,
he blurts out:

"You two are kind of similar."

"Similar?" asks his girlfriend.
"You mean me and your mother?"

"Yeah. Like, I dunno.
The vibes you give off."

My mouth twists wryly at that.
"Saying your girlfriend
reminds you of your mother is
the worst possible thing you
could say, Son. If she never
speaks to you again, I'll
fully support her decision."

An awkward expression crosses
my son's face, which causes
his girlfriend to burst out
laughing. The tension eased
at last, they give brief
farewells and leave the
lounge. As I watch them go,
a small sigh rises in my
heart. A moment later, my
commander arrives and places
a hot drink before me.

"Thank you," I murmur quietly.
The tea is just warm enough
not to burn. She knows exactly
what I like—no surprise,
seeing as we've been mostly
inseparable ever since I rose
up to the position of senior officer.
Perhaps that's why she feels
comfortable enough to look me
in the eye and say:

"How does it feel to have
your husband introduce his
girlfriend to you?"

Ah, she's always like this.
She seems cold and emotionless
most of the time, but in truth,
she finds nothing more
delightful than pushing
people's buttons.

"He is my son now."

Here's the thing: Once I
learned that management
possessed the technology to
create clones, I used my
husband's stored genetic data
to make one, then took him out
of the incubator while he was
still a baby. This was only
done to protect him; if he
were to mature there and have
my husband's old memories
implanted, he'd only make the
same mistake of accessing top-
secret data all over again.

"And what about her?
Does she meet expectations?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Why not? She has a stellar
reputation, and seems
extremely well-tempered."

"It's not a question of
character. Her performance
is simply too average."

This is true. The girl has
shown no aptitude for science,
and seems content to remain a
lowly, anonymous researcher.
She's nothing like me, which
means she is no proper match
for him.

I lean back and close my eyes.
Bringing up an image of her
smiling face, I mentally
scrawl a red X across it.

Chapter 4: Changeling (No.04)

Something rocks me, stirring
me from sleep. When I open my
eyes, I'm greeted by a bright,
false sun and the familiar
sight of my commander's face.

"He's crying. Should you
attend to him?"

She jerks her chin toward a
small crib, where I hear a
baby's disgruntled mumbling.

"Oh, yes. Thank you. Goodness,
my hearing has gotten worse as
I've grown older; I used to
leap out of bed at the
slightest sound when my
son was a baby!"

I lift the baby into my arms
and look into his eyes. "You
were sleeping so soundly,
little one. What do you need?
A diaper change? Milk?"

As I rock the little guy in
my arms to calm him down,
a smile cracks across my
commander's face. It isn't a
warm, fond smile, but a cold
and pitying one.

"He looks so much like you."

"You think so?" I reply
quietly, pretending not to
hear the thorns in her speech.

"But I suppose he would.
The father is your husb...
Apologies. Your son. And the
mother is your clone too."

She's correct. Around the time
I created my husband's clone,
I made a dozen clones of
myself. I altered some so they
didn't look exactly like me,
then removed them from the
incubators and gave them to
prisoners who could serve as
suitable parents.

"I'm surprised it went so
well. Was every girl your
son dated your clone?"

All my clones had been raised
in varying environments,
which means they show their
uniqueness in different ways.
Some are excellent workers
with brilliant talent. Some
are average. Some dropouts.

"His mother is quiet and seems
average at a glance, but she
has an analytical mind."

Those who are quiet and tend
to have subdued emotions are
often more colorful with those
they're comfortable with.

"She's family-oriented," my
commander says, her tone as
flat as if she's reading from
a document. "Your son's wife
is almost exactly like you,
from her skill set to her
personality—and to a rather
shocking degree."

I'd spent decades carefully
putting this project into
motion just for this moment.
I sent my clones to my son so
they would meet, made sure
they dated, then encouraged
them to have children.

"Do you think me odd?"
I ask suddenly.

My commander nods. "I do.
However, I don't think it's
a bad thing. This is the
happiest I've ever seen you."

My son has been taken from me.
My husband is lost. But now,
at long last, I finally have
it all back. This child was
born from a clone of my
husband and my own clone.
it is my—our— true son.

I look down and realize the
grumpy, crying baby has
finally begun to snore
softly in my arms.

Chapter 5: Idol of the Holy Mother (No.05)

She needs the support of her family in her fight with the
Flowers. This is why she holds her husband and son so dear.

Look at all she has. So many memories. Not just photographs,
but sketches, letters—even scribbles. She keeps each and
every last one. They serve as her proof.

...Yes, it is natural she remembers her husband in this way.
However, it is strange that she keeps mementos of
her ■■■■■■■■■ son. You are correct in that.

But they say a woman's prayer will pierce the most stalwart
of stones. If she believes this is her truth, it will one
day become her truth.

The mementos are there to help her keep her story straight.
They are tools to make her believe she had a son—tools to
help her play the role of mother.

So please, be kind to her. Watch over her. Especially when
it comes time for her to learn the truth and choose her path.

Chapter 6: The Chatty Woman (No.06)

Ugh. I hate getting assigned
to expeditions. Prep takes
forever, and we're all pretty
much guaranteed to die anyway.
I don't get why we have to lug
all this crap around, and...

Wait, F66x is with us this
time? Oh, that's even worse!
Okay, so listen. She's got,
like, a wall around her, you
know? We were in the same
unit last time, and she never
said a word more than she
absolutely needed to—I mean,
not a word! It was impossible
to get to know her. I mean,
does the chick even smile?

...Huh? I should ask her about
her husband? The hell does that
mean? ...Uh-huh. ...Uh-huh.
...Wait, so she's head over heels
for him and gets all chatty
whenever he comes up?

Heh. That's adorable, actually.

Chapter 7: A Mother's Journal (No.07)

Growing Up

He walks on his own now.
But he always tumbles backwards.
I guess his head is too big.

He can't produce actual words,
but from how he babbles I can
only assume he's trying to talk
to me. He knows how to gesture
hello and goodbye, and he's
starting to understand what
I'm saying.

He's getting bigger and has
more lung capacity, so now his
nighttime crying fits are more like
screaming fits. And that means
I'm always running on low sleep...

I still don't know what I'm doing
raising this kid, and there are
plenty of days where I hate
everything because I'm so busy.
But when I see how the shape
of his eyes looks exactly like
his, I feel my energy
rushing back to me.

I never, ever in my wildest dreams
imagined that something so
precious could exist on
this planet.

Chapter 8: Data on Promotion Standards (No.08)

Re: Standards for Individuals
Suited for Promotion to
Officer and Command Positions

Basic capabilities should be
higher than average, as well
as a logical decision-making
ability. Ask yourself, could
this individual sacrifice one
to permit ten to live?

However, taking historic data
into consideration, we cannot
claim that judgments made out
of rationality alone are
always correct. Actual records
shows that superior officers
who place too much value on
efficiency and push for
perfection in battle and
experiments are often the
subjects of mutiny among
soldiers (i.e. prisoners), and
sometimes perish as a result.

She is the only one we can
think of who prioritizes
rationality, yet can also keep
dissent from the lowest ranks
to a minimum. Though merciful,
she is driven by revenge,
and we are confident she is
willing to sacrifice others
to achieve that end.

We do believe there is a
chance her husband—another
prisoner—may warp her
judgment. However, we are
planning to deal with that
matter separately. If this
goes well, we are confident
she will prove to be the
perfect superior officer.

Chapter 9: Soldiers and Caretakers (No.09)

Hello! Here are the parts I
mentioned, the one you need
to repair that toy.

Hmm? Oh, you're very welcome!
The fight was easy—didn't take
much extra work at all to pick
these up! Still, you sure are
getting a lot more children
over at the center, huh?
How many caretakers do
you have now?

Fifteen including you? Whoa,
that's a lot! I guess that
all happened since that ex-
prisoner became an officer,
huh? I mean, what with the
prisoners and their kids all
staying in the same base now.
Still, I suppose they're all
grateful, 'cause the morale of
the parents has shot through
the roof! I thought those
Flowers were gonna crush us,
but now we're actually holding
'em off. Just goes to show
how people get stronger when
they've got something they
love to fight for.

Wish I had something like
that for myself, honestly,
'cause I've got no interest
in dying for a good long time.
Still, I dunno about having
kids. I mean, they're cute and
all, but we're nowhere near
close to routing the Flowers,
and that makes me nervous.

Oh, hey! I know! Why don't I
work to protect YOU!? I mean,
you take care of the kids, so
someone should return the
favor! How about it? Sounds
like a sweet deal, yeah?

Chapter 10: Dear Mom (No.10)

I've learned so many new words that I wanted to write
you a letter. But I've said "thank you" and "I love you"
so many times that I don't have anything else to write and
now don't know what to do. But you always look so happy
when I hand you a letter, which makes me want to write
you even more.

So I hope you're well, Mom.

Thank you, Mom.

I love you, Mom.

Let's be together always.

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