Noelle's Hidden Stories

Chapter 1: Escape (No.01)

I hear a song, but I do not know what it is
about, for I cannot understand the words.

As the sound of a language unknown to me
echoes in my ears, I cannot help but feel as
though this song is one I've heard before.

Seeking out the voice I walk on through the
mist, eventually finding a small hut nested
among some trees. This hut, too, feels
familiar to me somehow. Yes, I remember
now... I used to play here often.

----------

Feeling as though someone has called out
to me, I turn around only to see that I am alone.
All I see before me are my long bangs drooping
lazily in front of my eyes.

-----

...The hair is black, which is not the color
of my own hair.

"...Who am I?"

-----

I awake with a start, feeling a sharp pain
tear through my throat as I gasp.

Steadying my breath, I pinch the hair
sticking to my sweat-slicked brow.

"...It's okay. We're okay. My hair
is white, just like it should be."

Making sure that nothing is out of the
ordinary with myself I attempt to rise
to my feet, but quickly find that while
nothing may be out of the ordinary with
myself, the place I am in is most
unusual indeed.

I fell asleep in a room within an abandoned
building. Unable to fight the need for sleep
any longer, I had lined up some chairs so
I might lie down on them. And yet, I awake
now to find the sun shining directly overhead.

"...Again?"

I am a living weapon created in a research
facility. Created as the youngest of all among
all my sisters, I left the facility that birthed me
and embarked on a journey of the world
on the surface. My destination is a place that
the original—the eldest among us sisters, and
the one we are all copies of—loved and wished
to return to while she was alive. Having inherited
her memories, I vowed to go there in her stead.

Unfortunately, it seems the place in question
likes across the sea, somewhere far beyond
the horizon. Left with no other path forward,
I spend my days going from ruin to ruin,
searching for a way to cross the great sea.
I could not say how many fruitless days
have gone by.

During that time, I have begun to notice
events of an unusual nature. For example,
I might lean my spear against a wall before
going to sleep only to find it in a different
position when I wake up. Or I might find
notice entries in my journal that I do not
recall writing myself. It was all small things
so I initially thought nothing of it, but now
I even have days where I awake in a totally
different place from where I went to sleep.
There are sometimes even times where
I awake to the scent of blood.

Perhaps these could best be described
as "symptoms" of a sort. I do not know
if it is appropriate to apply such a word to
a weapon like myself, but it seems to resemble
what humans referred to as "sleepwalking."

Indeed, as I sleep, my body is engaging in
activities of its own volition in places I am
unaware of. Worried that whatever it is that
controls me as I sleep might also one day seize
control in the waking world as well, I fear my own
body might no longer be my own. Should such
a thing come to pass, I would no longer be able
to go to the place my sister wished to return to.

...I cannot have that. That is why I've decided
to return to the facility I came from—so I might
learn what is happening to me. Even if I were
to secure the required equipment and medicine,
I do not know if treatments intended for humans
would work on a weapon such as myself.

Also, during my journey on the surface, I've read
a great many things. I've engaged with the knowledge
left behind by humanity. I've read books in libraries,
discarded scraps of papers, and journals of unknown
origin.

-----

No matter where I search, however, never once
have I found records regarding myself or my sisters.
If I am to look into matters concerning my own body,
I've no choice but to turn back to the facility I came
from—the only place where any information about
us exists.

----------

But I've come so far... All I can think about is how
I've walked for so, so long in search of this place
inside my sister's memories. Turning back and
returning to the facility will only put more distance
between me and my ultimate destination.
How long will it take before I am finally able to
discover a means of crossing the sea and reach
the place I wish to be?

I find the prospect terribly difficult to stomach,
but I begin my march all the same, for I know in
my heart of hearts that it is necessary if I am
to day one step foot on that land of memories.

Chapter 2: Nostophobia (No.02)

"A power outage?"

I sit in the elevator under the sea—which has ground
to a halt in mid-ascent—and murmur to myself.

One specific place was imbedded in my elder sister's memory,
and after much thought, I decided to leave the research
facility and go there. But along the way, I was afflicted
with a mysterious illness akin to sleepwalking, and began
to feel like my body no longer belonged to me.

Once this happened, I turned around and began retracing my
steps along the road. I wanted to find the place where I
was born—the place I once called home. Because if I did,
I hoped I might find some clue that explained my symptoms.

But then the elevator that connects the facility to
the surface malfunctioned and...

Well. Here I sit.

When I place my hands on the doors and yank them open,
I see the space where the elevator travels up and down—
a space called a "shaft," if I remember the term correctly.
I poke my head through the gap and stare down into the dark.
The window that looks into the water is open; faint rays
of sunlight filter through the ocean depths, bathing the
shaft in a faint blue.

It's my way out.

When I leap from the elevator, I put my hand on the glass
and slide down its face. There is no time to fear, no time
to hesitate. I must figure out what is plaguing me.

I land at bottom of the shaft, brush the dirt from my
clothes, and stand. I'm at the entrance to the facility.

The door appears stuck, so I pry it free and step inside.
The corridor is shrouded in darkness and silence,
making the echo of my footsteps sound like a thunderclap.

"Let's see about getting the lights on," I say aloud,
hoping to drown out the sound of my thunder.

I find my objective in short order. The generator is badly degraded, which explains the power outage—and also the
breakdown of the elevator. I press buttons on a nearby
switchboard, routing what little energy remains to the
room in which I hope to find the necessary documents.
The lights flicker and warble, but it seems like they'll
stay on long enough for me to conduct my search.

They do. But it doesn't matter.

I can't find what I'm looking for. Things would be easier
if I could use a computer, but I have no such information
in my memory; I wouldn't have even been able to operate the
switchboard without the instructions etched on its front.
So instead, I find myself leafing through stacks of paper
documents. Some are in bundles several pages thick,
while others have been shredded into long strips.
Regardless, I collect them all.

Still, this is a facility that runs on machinery, and it's
likely the documents I'm searching for were never printed
out. So what happens then? What happens if I can't
find what I'm looking for?

As that thought crosses my mind, I distract myself by trying
to piece together various shreds of paper. This proves a
fruitful endeavor, and I quickly find a censored sentence
unlike any I've seen:

...■■■■■■■■ function, and the regulation and memory
management that comes with sleep, we have successfully
regained partial control over No. 6 after ■■■■...

Some words have been redacted for security reasons.
This has to mean something. It has to be valuable.

While the cause of the ■■■■ remains unclear,
this incident suggests that prolonged activity
is linked to the onset of symptoms.

Despite their nature as mass-produced articles,
an accumulation of memories creates personality
differences. Other anomalies did not come with this
risk of creating defined personalities.

I have no idea what the missing words could be, but a loss
of control sounds very much like what I'm experiencing.

I race through the document, praying to find some other
piece of information, and discover this at the very end:

At present, the best way to manage this is to delete
a unit's most enduring, impactful memories.

Something that causes loss of control once symptoms manifest?
I can't be certain this is the same thing as the sleepwalking
I'm experiencing, but I do know I get neither "regulation"
nor "memory management" from sleep. I'm drowsy. I fall asleep
quickly and without warning. It's a clear personality quirk
I have in comparison with my elder sisters.

But if prolonged activity heightens the risk of accumulating
impactful memories, then I am in a terribly unsafe position.
Perhaps, at this point, my memory would have been erased.
I mean, that would probably be the best course of action
if I want to ameliorate my symptoms.

And yet...

All my sisters are dead—all except me. I am the final
repository for the memories of our original sister,
and I can't let them go.

Not when I promised to reach the place from her memory
in her stead.

I hear a sound, then: a click. Metal on metal coming from
somewhere behind me. Without thinking, I stick my spear in
the ground and use it to propel myself up and onto the wall.
When I look down, I see something sticking out of the place
where I was standing not a moment before.

A blade.

It does not breath. I feel no heat. There is no life there.

Yet two figures stand in the darkness all the same.

Two figures that, like me, are made to look human.

Chapter 3: Heretical Number (No.03)

I am afflicted with an anomaly akin to sleepwalking.
Postponing my journey, I returned to the facility where
I was born in search of a cure.

There I found documents detailing the dangers posed to us
weapons brought on by personality differences. The cure to
the anomaly, I read, was to delete my memories.

It was then that I was ambushed.

Though I dodge, my joints scream at the sudden movement.
I glare at my assailants through fluttering papers.

Inorganic footsteps approach. Dull, heavy clacks echo around
me. The two figures in the darkness hold their weapons at
the ready.

They wield large swords. Repelling weapons of that size and
weight would be nigh impossible. Cornered against a wall
with only a spear, allowing them to approach is tantamount
to defeat.

But knowing so little about my opponents, I hesitate to take
the offensive.

Why do they attack me? I do not know their goal, origin,
or even what they are.

When I first left this facility, I sensed no life besides my
own. Did they come from the outside? Or perhaps they laid
in wait this entire time? The shadows are devoid of breath
or warmth, only standing there, staring.

The swaying tips of their blades lift like cobras displaying
hostility.

Deciding my course of action, I kick off the wall. Although
their nature is unknown to me, their human form is evident.
I will first take out their legs—their center of gravity,
their proof of evolution.

Harnessing centrifugal force, I strike the closer android
with my spear. She flies backward.

But she dodged me. I expected as much. Tiles and
construction materials fly from the floor. I step onto
the dust and detritus and circle behind the enemy.

I shout and spin my body clockwise, lending my spear to the
movement. I will not leave myself open. I aim for the legs
again, my spear swiping at the floor the moment her foot
comes down.

I feel it in my hands—I hit my mark. The severed leg slides
across the floor, rust-red blood streaking across the white
tiles. Something isn't right.

My eyes follow the line to the cross-section of the
disembodied leg. Inside are pipes and a metal shaft.

These are machines. But I have no time to process this
revelation—a blade slices through the air behind me.

Holding my spear behind me with a pained grunt, I somehow
manage to block the attack. My arm stings, my bones creak.
I must put distance between us. But a new sound rings in my
ears, cutting off my thoughts.

"Weapon escape detected. Activating defense androids."

An alarm blares throughout the laboratory, followed by the
sound of a heavy door opening and the shudder of machines
dropping to the floor. My instincts as a weapon warn me of
the danger.

These machines must be defense androids. And this must
mean reinforcements are en route.

Parrying the sword weighing on my spear, I kick the enemy's
head. I must get out of here. But just as I begin to run,
a shadow descends on me.

An android drops toward me, sword at the ready, at a
velocity unthinkable for one missing a leg. I attempt
to divert her trajectory with my spear. However...

A loud metallic sound resounds around me. The force behind
the sword is unimaginable, spending my spear flying.

I sense impending doom and hear the opponent I kicked behind
me. What am I to do? If I die here, I will never reach—

Desperation and instinct force me to whirl around...
and I doubt my own eyes.

The dismembered remains of a machine.

"What...?"

Her parts lay scattered, liquid slowly pooling on the floor.
In her reflection, a ray of red light.

That light comes from my eye. And now I realize I hold in my
left hand a sword—the one that once belonged to my eldest
sister.

I feared losing control of my body while I slept, but now
it moved all on its own, even in my waking hours.

Is my body no longer mine?

"My" right hand effortlessly swats away the descending
blade, and "I" adopt an offensive stance.

With my right hand, I grab the enemy by the arm and hurl her
against the wall. She collides violently, her machine body
contorting unnaturally. My other hand throws the sword,
pinning her there.

A weight akin to being saddled with heavy baggage comes down
on my shoulders.

Have my symptoms calmed yet? I hold my tense right hand
in front of my eyes. No red light illuminates it. I stare at my
palm, closing and opening my fist.

I'm fine now. I can move it freely.

The android pinned to the wall struggles to remove the blade
piercing her chest. The corridor behind her is filled with
shadows—a whole group of them.

That's my sister's sword. I planned on bringing it to the
place from her memories.

I solemnly reach for my spear on the floor.

"Forgive me."

I grasp it, turn my back to the enemy, and run.

I stand no chance against that many foes. If I die here,
all will be for naught. And so I rush ahead with but one
destination in mind. I have no other option.

Chapter 4: Sign (No.04)

Countless metallic footsteps reverberate as the horde
of machines chase me through the labyrinthine facility
corridors.

These machines are defense androids, deployed to prevent
the escape of research subjects. They seem to have been
reactivated when I restored a part of the facility's power—
they were nowhere to be found when I first awoke here.

Shaking the thoughts, I flee from the androids' pursuit.
My destination: the room I saw when I operated the
switchboard. There I will find a way to escape this
predicament. I know it.

As the door opens, I leap inside. The hallway panel reads
"HANGAR"—this is it. I topple over two nearby shelves to
block the door, though I know it will only buy me a few
seconds.

I begin my search with bated breath, tearing away protective
cloth and prying open a metal casing to inspect the contents.

This isn't it. Nor that. It's not here.

I repeat the process until I come to a large case melded
into the wall, but I'm quickly interrupted by the shrill
sound of the shelves being cut through.

A finger stripped of its metallic skin juts through the gap.
I'm out of time. I destroy the lock with my spear and step
into the casing.

I find a large machine inside. Brushing off a layer of
dust, I can make out an imprint: Si'N-02. Here it is.
The motorcycle from the memories I inherited—a
machine developed to assist us weapons in battle.

I leap into the seat, but much like the facility itself,
it has sat here dormant and long forgotten.
There's no guarantee it will function.

The door and shelves go flying. The horde of machines glare
at me menacingly from the hideous hole in the wall. I press,
squeeze, and stomp everything I can in an attempt to start
the engine. "Come on, please work!"

Suddenly, its lights come on, and an electronic voice
speaks. "Biometrics authenticated. Serial number 123
confirmed. Startup sequence initiated." Vibrations rumble
through the handles and seat.

I turn the throttle and the engine purrs.
"I can work with this," I whisper to myself as I propel
the bike forward. At the far end of the room is a passage
appended to the hangar.

It's a long, long chute. The androids still pursue me, but
evidently, some diverted this way—many stand at the ready
above me.

Spear in my left hand, I shoot up the slope, evading my
pursuers, breaking through blockades with the bike,
knocking away obstacles with my spear,
and pressing ever forward.

I reach the end of the corridor at last. A door stands
before me. I grip my spear tightly.

For a brief moment, I envision my sister's sword—a precious
thing I inherited from her. But I've long since crossed the
point of no return.

Metallic echoes ring out. The door opens a crack.
In floods dust and light.

Taking a deep breath, I accelerate full-throttle toward
the light.

Once more, I exit the facility and find myself at
the surface. I ride the bike over cracked roads.
Presumably, this passage was originally used to
bring vehicles such as mine to the surface.

The androids still tail me, but I doubt they can keep pace
with my bike's speed.

"Phew..."

I heave a sigh, resting my tired body on the vehicle and
losing myself in thought. I think back to when my eye
glowed red.

I held that sword in my hand, and its weight felt so
familiar. It belonged to my sister—perhaps her memories
are the cause of my anomalies.

On the other hand, I am a weapon. Surely I'm intimately
familiar with all manner of sword hilts.

However...if she—the original—is the one controlling
my body...

Should I surrender it to her?

My destination is the place in her memories. Better that she
find her own way there than have someone else do it in her
stead.

But what would happen to me?

I envision myself in impenetrable darkness.

There is no sound. I am alone.

All I have is my breath.

I can't answer my question, and I don't know why.
I can't even begin to explain the logic.

I learned so much on the surface. The names of so many
things. I grew to express so much with words.

And yet... No, perhaps it's for those very reasons that
I cannot describe this feeling.

My fingers along the handle tremble, perhaps owing to
the cold wind. I tighten my grip and twist the throttle.

Chapter 5: The Weapon's Travels (No.05)

The girl lived in a house with
her parents, one where the
garden was visible from the
window. In this garden sat a
small shed and brilliant
flowers. It was a simple
sight, yet beautiful—but now
it is only a place of memory.

And a place to which her long-
dead sister desires to return.

The girl has taken on the
burden of her elder sister's
final wish and set off on a
long journey. It has been a
difficult trial indeed,
for she has no leads and no
one to rely on. But now,
guided by scant clues,
she finds herself growing
ever closer to this place.

But though I believe she will
find her way here. I cannot
say for certain if this is a
good thing. All the girl wants
is to make her sister's dreams
come true. She thinks of nothing
else—not even her own situation.

What will she have left once
her journey is over? Oh, but
that question worries Mama...

Chapter 6: LW0123 (No.06)

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none of you...this..."

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Chapter 7: Song of a Transient Life (No.07)

Dream Diary
XX/XX

I started writing down my
dreams in a diary I happened
to pick up. Over the nights,
I learned something: I don't
always see things in my
dreams, nor do I always touch
or smell. But I always hear.

I heard a song last night.
It was faint, and sounded
like it was coming from far
away. I wasn't sure how to
put it into words, so I began
to research it instead.

I guess this is when other
people would use the power
of visual art. It would be
easy to just copy down what
you can see in front of you,
but putting vague concepts
into concrete images is...
much more difficult.

I know my older sister would
have been good at drawing.

Chapter 8: Si'N-02 (No.08)

The scent of oil fills a crumbling building. Inside, a girl
repairs the motorcycle that will serve as her legs for the
upcoming journey. The vehicle was made in the same research
facility as the girl, and though there are traces that
suggest it was once equipped with artificial intelligence,
it's now as lifeless as the wrench she holds in her hand.

The girl places her tools aside and flicks on the engine
with a practiced hand, causing a heartbeat thrum to pulse
through the air. There's also a faint, high-pitched sound
that suggests abnormal engine combustion. The girl listens
to it for a moment, then shrugs; lacking the materials to
repair such a problem, she'll just have to coax the bike
along as best she can.

She understands the vehicle is a mere tool to get her
to her destination. Not a partner. Not a friend. But she
lightly pats the worn seat cushion anyway, and says
to the silent motorcycle:

"Just a little further now, buddy. You can do it."

Chapter 9: ■Re: Tour Permission (No.09)

The original's interests were clear—she was fixated on all
types of plants. Every staff member knew that much. But she
was clearly unhappy with the holographic data we provided,
because she recently submitted a request for a tour of the
cultivation room.

We went back and forth over whether to grant permission,
and eventually settled on giving it a trial run in order to
diminish her stress levels. However, that decision is now
forcing us to undergo a review of our security measures.

We're ironing out what sort of steps we need to take,
and will issue a report once we arrive at a solution.
On a personal note, I really hope we don't have to
add any more annoying steps to unlocking the gate...

Chapter 10: Attack-Type Defense System (No.10)

MODEL
■Q■-■4■■

SPECIFICATIONS
Defense only. Not suited for enemy interception.

RANGE
Proportional to armaments and remaining energy.

WEAPON
As necessary according to the situation.

ARMOR
Same as standard guard androids.

OTHER
To be used only when blocking the outflow of weapons
from this laboratory. Automatically activates when outflow
is acknowledged.

Line of command and thought routines differ from standard
guard androids. Exercise caution when using this unit.
As a rule, defense-only androids work in pairs or larger
groups, and their thought processes are perfectly parallel
with one another.

Weapons that escape are considered to be condemned the
moment they leave, so they are to be disposed of along
with the androids returning them. In addition, defense-
only androids are not to return to the laboratory until
their objective is complete.

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