Wanting to see a blue sky, to behold green trees—such desires didn’t exist in the era Eve was born into.

  An age of stagnation and maintenance, perhaps. Everyone fulfilled assigned duties, reveling in the life provided. Eve’s oldest memory is a white space, a sea of white-coated figures moving through gray corridors. Men and women leading children or rubbing swollen bellies—a vision of humanity preserved by rules and laws.

  If you don’t seek change, you cling to the status quo; if you don’t try to change, you accept stagnant time without question. The collective instinct for self-preservation, mistaken for instinct, was etched into the vast residential zone—humanity’s last paradise, yet to Eve’s eyes, a prison caging life.

  Tracing past memories, glancing at the ruins of that dead paradise, Eve averts her gaze from Danang and plunges her silver wings into the data terminal. No sparks or smoke erupt; the machine reads her commands, projecting stored data into her vision.

  “Danang, I can’t show you the real sky or trees yet. But I can show you footage and images from the data. Want to see?” she asks.

  “…”

  After a pause, Danang nods slightly. “Please,” he murmurs. Eve instantly builds a local network via Lumina, sending curated data to his mechanical arm.

  “Show Rilse when we’re back. It’s not thrilling, but a post-job treat,” she says.

  “Thanks, Eve,” he replies.

  “No need for thanks. So, what now? Back the way we came, or find another route?” she asks.

  “…”

  The wave cannon’s cooling isn’t done. Another attack by xenobeasts or lab creatures would be the end. Silent, deep in thought, Danang’s mind echoes with Nephtys’s voice: “Signal received. Initiating guidance.”

  A signal? A distress call from another digger? Impossible—undercity diggers don’t send distress signals. Pondering the signal’s intent, Danang hears Nephtys repeat the message, ending with, “Sender: No Name. Recommend following guidance.”

  Follow or not? Fingering his chin, Danang mulls, while Eve mutters, “Impossible…”

  “What if it’s him? No, he died back then… No Name… Nameless?” she says.

  “Eve, you know this sender?” Danang asks.

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  “I do, but… it’s impossible. The person using that name is…” she trails off.

  Dead? Her words chill Danang’s spine, sweat beading.

  A signal from the dead is absurd. Distress or emergency signals come from living beings with vital signs. Even with mechanical limbs, signals cut off the moment life ends to prevent false positives.

  Yet, the name “Nameless” sparks unease and aversion in Danang. His brain rejects it as an unthinkable entity, urging erasure, but his cells scream to remember, seizing control of his limbs.

  Nameless, No Name, anonymous… His head splits with pain, and, staggering, he focuses on Eve.

  “Danang?! You okay?!” she cries.

  Every cell’s Lumina worms writhe, projecting near-real hallucinations—a madness-laced reality with static noise.

  *You can’t fail,* an old man with white hair beside Eve says in a strange tone.

  *But failure paves the way to my goal.* His wrinkled hand touches Danang’s cheek, slipping inside.

  *Recall your purpose. You’re a mere auxiliary. Fulfill your role. That’s your life, your existence, isn’t it?* Fingers crawl through his mind.

  Who is this old man? Reality or illusion? As Danang’s self feels coated in mucus, dissolving like water, a sharp pain stabs his abdomen, blood spewing from his throat.

  “Danang!! Snap out of it!!” Eve shouts.

  “—?”

  Pain, a remedy for madness? Blood drips from his lips, pooling on gray tiles. Seeing Eve’s silver wing in his abdomen, Danang takes her slap, blinking.

  “What… happened?” he asks.

  “You tell me! You were muttering, grabbing your head, thrashing… What’s wrong?!” she demands.

  Snapping back, Danang scans around—no old man. Just his bloodstains, dissolving into dust by Lumina.

  “Eve…” he says.

  “What?” she replies.

  “Was… someone beside you?” he asks.

  “Huh? No one. Are you *really* okay?” she presses.

  “…If you say so, I’m fine,” he says.

  The headache’s gone. Swallowing bile, Danang taps the wing in his abdomen. “Pull it out. I’m okay,” he exhales.

  “…Really?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “…”

  Skeptical—that fits. Smirking awkwardly at her wary eyes, Danang grips the wing with his mechanical arm, slowly pulling it out.

  Blood gushes, dissolves by Lumina, and recirculates. Harsh treatment, but it restored his sanity. No complaints. White worms cover his wound, and confirming no Lumina anomalies, Eve sighs deeply.

  “So, what now?” she asks.

  “…”

  “Follow the signal or retreat? I think retreating’s smarter. You’ve been off since we hit M-sector,” she says.

  He can’t deny it. His unstable state in this uncertain ruin risks death.

  “Eve, hear me out without getting mad,” he says.

  “What?” she replies.

  “I want to follow the signal,” he says.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “…A hunch,” he says.

  “A hunch? Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps.

  “No, you know the sender, right? Even if it’s someone else, Nephtys’s insistence means something. It might tie to your plan,” he says.

  “It could be a trap,” she warns.

  “Even so… taking a risk isn’t always bad,” he says.

  “…”

  She never expected such words from Danang, who eliminates risks and hates uncertainty. Surprised, Eve watches as he opens the data hub’s door, heading toward Nephtys’s direction.

  No Name… If Nameless is the sender, why act now? In a world where the plan failed irreparably, what’s he after? That genius, a machine in human skin, was incomprehensible. Like her father who believed in him, Eve never understood Nameless.

  But nothing ventured, nothing gained. Raising her rifle, following Danang into the dark, Eve charges her wings with electronic particles, swallowing hard to seek the truth.