Lars's Hidden Stories

Chapter 1: Sweltering Bonds (No.01)

I walk along a dilapidated railroad lined by
endless fields of sunflowers.
High above, an uncaring sun rages against a brilliant blue sky,
turning the rows of blossoms into
paint-smeared streaks of yellow.

Oh, how I hate it all.

Time is an illusion here.
Hunger a constant companion.
My steps fall one after the other after the other,
until I finally see a tunnel begin to
materialize in the heat-shimmer distance.
And on the other side of it, a foreign city.

This country used to kidnap children in
an effort to improve its gene pool, you see.
And while the victims were spirited from
countries across the world, the majority came from
the city at the other end of
this tunnel--the city that is my true home.
And that is why I walk through the pain and
the smells and the hunger and
the heat: in the hope it all somehow leads me to the truth.

A woman stands at the tunnel entrance.
She maybe in her mid-40s, with a staff in her hand.
Her steely eyes stare unblinkingly at the sunflowers,
but as I attempt to slip past, she spins around and
whips a blade out of the top of her staff.
I manage to block it with my own,
and we stand there a moment, frozen in time.

"What business does a soldier have in a place like this?”
she asks, ire in her voice.
"I know that sword you hold.
It took the lives of countless numbers of my countrymen."

In truth, I'd brought the sword with me when I deserted the army,
which is why it has a military insignia on the scabbard.
To me, it's just a weapon--but to this woman,
it is the sign of her most hated enemy.

"Found it on the ground,"
I say casually. Clearly unconvinced by my answer,
she makes her move. Our blades begin to ring back and
forth in a blur of iron and steel. Her blows are relentless,
her strength otherworldly.
Any advantage I may have had is long gone,
and as I desperately attempt to fend her off,
she lands a firm blow on the pit of my stomach,
crumpling me to the ground.

The woman looms over me,
blocking out that brilliant blue sky.
She raises her blade above her head and
prepares to claim my life, but before she can act,
another voice calls out from inside the tunnel.

"Captain! Enemy approaching!"

An enemy attack? No. Oh, no.

As my attacker lowers her weapon and
turns to face this new threat,
I manage to tilt my head toward the disturbance.
It's a squadron of soldiers all dressed in
the familiar uniform of my old intel corps.
Were they here for me?
Did they really follow me all the way out here?

"Beat them back!”
cries the captain.
"Do not let them touch the sunflowers!"

On her command,
armed villagers pour out of the tunnel and
begin battling my old companions.
They fight well, these commoners—better than
I would have expected. But before I can see more,
the pain of my wounds floods through me,
turning the sounds of gunfire and screams into
the hush of distant rain on
a windowpane before fading out altogether.

Chapter 2: Sunflower Child (No.02)

"You don't have much of a talent for housework, I see.”

This scolding comes as I sweep the living room,
and I turn to see the owner of this house:
the same captain who attacked me on
the railroad two days prior. She was permitting me to
stay in a spare room by way of apology for injuring me
—which would have been a kinder gesture had she not
also demanded that I clean and run errands to
pay for room and board.

"I'm leaving for patrol. Make sure you clean
every inch of this place. Got it?”

This border city lives in constant danger of invasion,
and the captain leads a militia that helps to keep it safe.
She apparently attacked me because
she thought I was the enemy
—a mistake put to rights the moment she saw
my former intel companions arrive and attempt to kill me.
Regardless, I've had enough of this arrangement;
I'm going to leave this house tonight
if it's the last thing I do.
But as I whip the broom around and
send dust flying through the air,
the air is split by a sudden thunder so
loud it almost tears my ears from their moorings.

Shaking the cobwebs free,
I rush to a nearby window and see a cannon firing
giant ball of water high into the sky.
The unusual missile flies through the air and
over the tunnel before bursting apart and
showering the fields of sunflowers on either side of
the railroad tracks.
The droplets glitter as they fall through the blue,
and I find myself utterly entranced by the sight.

"We lost so many children,”
murmurs the captain behind me.
"So many stolen from us.
We planted a sunflower for every one of them.”

As she says this,
I realize one of those flowers was planted for me.
On the heels of that,
I suddenly imagine a man looking at the flowers and
thinking of his kidnapped child. He's a soldier
—the same one I killed to take revenge for my family.
But in truth, the parents I had cared for and
loved so dearly were the same people who
kidnapped me from my home all those years ago.
And the other man? The one I killed for revenge?

Well, he was my true father.

"So many of us are still waiting for their
sunflowers to come home. Even now. Even still."

The woman's voice brings me back to reality,
but I don't want to see the shadow
I know is clouding her eyes.
So instead of replying, I look away
—because I don't have the time or patience to
deal with such nonsense.

When midnight arrives,
I gather my things and leave the house.
My injuries were manageable,
and I'd had more than my share of chores
—but more importantly,
I wanted to learn more about the abductions.
After walking for a while,
I come to one of the city's main avenues and
spy the captain hurrying along with a lantern in her hand.

My curiosity piqued, I hide in the shadows
and follow the bouncing glow of
her lamp until we arrive at the other side of the tunnel,
where walks over to a sunflower and
begins to whisper to herself.
But the night is still, and her hush carries to my position.
It's a name—the same name,
said in a rush over and over and over again.

I take a step backward.
Two.
I don't want to believe what I'm hearing,
but my ears do not lie.
Because the name the captain is repeating to
the uncaring night?

It's mine.

Chapter 3: Sin's Shadow (No.03)

I set the bucket down next
to the cannon and attempt to
stretch the cricks out of my
back. Every morning, this
cannon fires water across the
sky and over the sunflowers
that stand sentinel at the
entrance to the city. But
all that water doesn't carry
itself, so it's the job of
the town militia to fill the
buckets and carry them up and
down, up and down, over and
over again. And as the newest
member of the militia, I'm
now achingly familiar with
exactly how lousy the job is.

"Thanks for the help, new
guy," says a brawny man as he
picks up my bucket. He dumps
it into the cannon with a
practiced hand, then turns to
me and smiles.

"This might get loud."

An earth-shattering explosion
rings out, sending a sphere
of water flying toward the
edge of the city. As I look
down from the platform upon
which we're perched, I see
children playing on an
abandoned train car; they
look up and cheer with delight
as the orb soars overhead.

"Captain started this whole
cannon business six months
ago," says my burly companion
as he wipes sweat from his
forehead. "Thought she was
nuts at first, but now it's
the highlight of everyone's
day. Go figure."

"Well, I still think it's
nuts. Haven't you people
ever heard of a hose?"

The other man grins. "This
ain't about being efficient;
Captain wants to prove that
weapons can be used for more
than just killing. Came up
with the idea right around the
time her husband died in
battle, so maybe that's where
it came from."

The captain's husband? He was
my real father—and the very
man I killed. But I can't let
on to this, so I give a vague
mumble in reply and climb down
from the observation deck.
There's still plenty of work
to be done, after all.

In the afternoon, I head to
the market with the captain
to purchase items for soldiers
who've been injured in battle.
Once we pick up whatever they
need, we'll bring it to them
ourselves. Between hauling
water and playing delivery
boy, this is easily the most
boring militia I've ever
heard of—and yet, I find
myself sticking around.

"I've got this one," I say,
taking a package from the
captain's hands.

"I don't need your help," she
says sternly before breaking
out into the smile that I'd
started seeing more and more
over the past few weeks.
"But...I appreciate it."

Later, we arrive at the
soldiers' homes with the
provisions. The captain hands
them over and engages each and
every person in conversation.
I've never been much for idle
chit-chat, so I pass the time
by loitering in the yard.

After several such visits,
we come to a house where she
stays inside much longer than
usual. From where I stand,
it seems to be a conversation
between friends; the patter
is rapid, and I hear frequent
peals of laughter from the
pair of them.

After waiting around for what
I consider to be a generous
period of time, I finally
lose my patience and storm
into the house to hurry things
along. But when my eyes lock
onto the other person in the
room—a man with a prosthetic
leg—the laughter suddenly
stops. The joy and color
drains from the man's face
as an ominous mood settles
over the room.

"YOU!" cries the man. With a
speed that belies his injury,
he leaps from the couch,
tackles me to the floor,
and wraps his hand around my
throat. "I'll never forget
you! Never! NEVER!"

"Stop it! Get off him!"

The captain wraps her arms
around the man and yanks him
off me as he continues to
protest. I want to tell him
to stop—I want to scream.
But my breath has abandoned
me, and all I can do is pray
that it returns.

"He's the one, Captain!
He's the enemy soldier
who killed your husband!"

Silence. Deafening. Eternal.

"Is this true?" asks the
captain in a trembling voice.
I want to respond, but my body
is shaking too hard. I've
never been this scared—not in
any battle, not from any man.
The silence grows and thickens
until it feels like it will
smother the life out of the
three of us and leave nothing
behind but dust.

"Get out of here. Leave.
I don't ever want to see
your face again."

I start to stammer something—
some pathetic explanation—
but she turns to me with
blade in hand, just as she
did the first day we met.
Yet the look in her eyes is
much fiercer than it was then;
a wild thing that shows a
person on the edge of losing
everything that might possibly
make her human.

"NOW!"

My quivering legs somehow
propel me out of the house
and through the streets of
town. I curse my stupidity
as I run, bemoaning how I'd
stayed with the captain in
some pathetic attempt to
repent for how I'd torn her
life apart. But here's the
funny thing: I actually
thought I could do it.
I actually thought I might
be able to make amends.

Ah, but that was the wish
of a fool.

Chapter 4: Midnight Flames (No.04)

I urge myself forward.
One more step and my ragged
breath echoes in the dark.
One more step and my lungs
burn pure fire. One more step.
One more step. One more.

"I don't ever want to see
your face again."

The Captain's words play in my
brain without pause, which is
why I'd originally planned to
never return to the city after
the night I abandoned it three
months prior. But then I
learned it had fallen into
enemy hands, so now I am
running back, running with
everything I have, all so I
might reach a woman who wants
nothing more than to never see
me again.

I finally reach the city's
rear gates and step through.
Taking a deep breath, I look
around, my eyes scarcely able
to process what they see.

The hardy merchants who kept
trading despite short supplies.
The disciplined members of the
militia. The children who
loved to play in the abandoned
train cars. All the people who
once made the city a living,
breathing thing are now charred
corpses smoking on the ground.
The world is silent and still,
save for the occasional gust
of wind and the uncaring
crackle of flame.

Eventually, I discover the
body of the brawny militia
member in the rubble of what
remains of the cannon.
The pungent scent of gunpowder
is still strong, even though
it was now used to fire water.
As I press on, I find only
death. A familiar face here,
a name on the wind there.
But what I cannot seem to find
is the body of the Captain—the
very reason I came back in the
first place.

Could it be? Is it possible?

Instinct quickly bubbles into
outright conviction, and I
set off at a run for the
sunflowers she loved above all
things. But when I emerge on
the other side of the tunnel,
I'm horrified to find the
fields ablaze, the flowers
transformed into an endless
river of fire under the dark
night sky. Against their light,
I finally see a familiar figure
lying on the tracks.

I race to the Captain's side
and take an involuntary step
back, aghast. Her body is an
ocean of bloody wounds, her
breath a rasp. How many had
she fought to get here?
How many of them did it take
to finally lay her low?

"I'm...sorry..."

Her mouth parts slightly as
these words escape, and I drop
to my knees and cradle her in
my arms. She's cold—so cold.
How can someone be this cold
when everything around us is
nothing but fire and madness?

"I just wanted...
to see my boy..."

Each of the sunflowers planted
here represented a child that
was stolen. So the Captain
didn't see them as flowers,
but her son. That was why she
came at the end of her life.

"I just wanted to see him..."

She repeats the phrase over
and over, losing a little more
of herself in the process.

"I just wanted to see him...
I just wanted to see him...
I just wanted to see him..."

But he's here, Mom.
He's right in front of you.

I wanted to tell her the
truth, but I also knew it
would make her last moments
even more painful. After all,
I was the same person who'd
killed her husband not six
months before. So instead,
I hold her hand in mine and
say nothing. Eventually it
slips from my grasp and
settles on the ground. A petal
from one of the sunflowers
drifts out of the fire and
flutters toward us, and by the
time it joins her hand on the
earth, she is gone.

"I'll come see you someday,"
I whisper. "I swear it."
But as sparks crackle off the
sunflowers and drift away into
the gloomy night, it feels
like the dawn has never been
so far away.

Chapter 5: Child of Revenge (No.05)

Carrier: All right,
time for handoff!

Substitute: Boy...revenge...

Carrier: I see. A boy soldier
entrapped by feelings of
revenge, is it?

Substitute: Violent...
fighting...

Carrier: Uncooperative and
brutish, you say? Always
arguing with someone?

Substitute: But...scared...
acts to...

Carrier: Mmm-hmm. He acts to
hide his past cowardice.
Yes, yes, of course.
A tale old as time!

Substitute: ...kind...

Carrier: Yet he shows his kind
side every now and again.

Substitute: Frees...bugs...
Feeds...cats...

Carrier: He even sets lost
bugs free and feeds stray
cats? Well, doesn't that
just beat the band!

Substitute: Squad...him...

Carrier: And every member
of the squad adores him.
Goodness, were he not born
into an age of war, he might
have been but a regular boy.

Substitute: ......up.

Carrier: Come again, chum?
Couldn't quite hear you there.

Substitute: ......up!

Carrier: What!? There's a part
of the boy's hair that's always
pointing up, you say!?

Chapter 6: Dear Captain (No.06)

Lemme start by saying I wasn't
originally going to reply.
But there are weird people out
there who respect you and will
be annoyed if I don't, and I
can't deal with them anymore.
So here we go.

Sorry my laundry isn't good
enough. I'll do better.
Sorry for not cooperating in
the kitchen. I'll do better.
Sorry for arguing with other
soldiers. I'll do better.
Oh, and sorry I don't conduct
myself as a member of the
team. I'll do better.

There. The End. Also, you
don't have to write me any
more letters. We're in the
same squad, and you're not
my father. In fact, I've been
living just fine without
parents for a while now,
so maybe stop the nagging.

Oh, but I know you saved my
ass on our last mission, and
I intend to repay that debt.
So thanks for that, I guess.
This is both the last time
you'll hear me say “thank you”
and the last time I'll ever
write you a letter. Bye.

Chapter 7: Documents Re: The Deserter (No.07)

―――――――――
TOP SECRET
―――――――――

Superior motor functions.
Off-the-chart intelligence.
This child is special, and
clearly surpasses the other
"sons" we have raised so far.
Indeed, we have procured a
particularly fine specimen.

Genuine cowardice, an overly-
kind disposition—these are
minor faults in the grand
scheme of things. And yet,
weaknesses can often create a
sharper bite. One might even
say such imperfections are a
kind of benefit, in the end.

Even more delightful is how
he displayed a willingness to
become a soldier of his own
accord. As his "parents,"
we must express excitement for
the day he becomes a hero of
our country and changes this
world for the better.

Author: ■■■■■

Chapter 8: Diary Found in an Empty Room (No.08)

REGARDING THE RECENT
KIDNAPPINGS

- Our enemy has enacted an
operation to kidnap infants
from our country.

- Though the kidnappings have
ramped up in recent years,
this operation was first set
in motion 30 years ago.

- Targets are infants from
families thought to be of
good military stock.

- Children are handed off to
fake parents and then
"educated" in their care.

- Children not considered
suitable are reported to be
collected by "orphanages."

- This operation is carried
out with utmost secrecy.

=========================

I know our son is being
brainwashed by their evil
ideals right now. In fact,
soon I won't even be able to
call him my son anymore.

My wife seems ready to wait
an eternity for his return,
but I think that is madness.
Accepting someone who has been
tainted by the enemy's ideals—
even if it is my own son—
would spell the downfall of
this nation. No, I will not
welcome him home. In fact,
if I ever see him again,
I will cut him down without
hesitation or mercy.

Chapter 9: A Bloody Page (No.08)

The neighboring country abducts our children and raises
them as soldiers. They call it "Infant Abduction St□□□□□□."

□ years ago, a boy who fell victim to this plan was taken
into custody and □□□□ed his desire to return to his fa□□□□.
At first, we thought he was happy to reunite with his real
parents, □□□ he was already tainted by the enemy's ideals.

Despite their initial joy, □t was not long before the boy
and his parents □□□□ to hate each other, and □□□□□□□□□□□□□□
□□□, their family ceased to be. Murder suicide. The mother
set fire to the house, and everything turned to □□□.

==============================================

□□ short, it's difficult to undo the brainwashing inflicted
on these □□□□□□□□. □□ I were to reunite with my kidnapped
□□□□ □□□□□□□□, I would have to strike him down with my
own hands—I am his □□□□□□ after all.

But □□□□□ he even realize who I am? Does he even know about

*Please check fragments in the file to view the parts that
have been torn or otherwise damaged.

Chapter 10: Torn Page (No.09)

I need to talk about my vacation.

I came home for the first time in a long while and found
the house filled with dust and mold. It felt abandoned,
and it made me wonder if my wife—who leads the city's
self-defense force—had even come home, or if she just
spent all her time patrolling the streets.

I want to keep this city safe.
He might come home one day, after all.

The last time we sat down to dinner together, she told me
why she continues to wield her blade. But as a soldier
myself, I found her words hard to accept. I mean, how can
we even entertain the idea of welcoming home a child who
has been brainwashed by the enemy?

But my wife dismissed my concerns and doubled down:
Better a tragic reunion than to never see him again.

With my vacation over, I leave the city, stopping only to
plant a seedling along the abandoned tracks that lead into
town. I want it to bloom into a sign that shows the way to
those returning home—or at least that's what I told the
florist when I bought it. That's why I chose the most
brilliant flower, a seed that would bloom into petals
that could be seen from miles away.

I have no idea if knowing the truth will bring our son
happiness, but maybe it's all right for me to have hope.
And because of that, I've been praying that my wife and
son might see each other again one day.

But I've prayed enough. It's time to act.

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