Does the mechanical girl dream of the Messiah?

Then, “that thing” began to move.

action?

No, it's just moving forward.

There were no exaggerated movements, no exquisite skills, no careful planning, no momentum, no strength, no swiftness. It seemed that it was just the ordinary, common, and unremarkable shadow of "someone", walking towards here with ordinary steps. There were no footsteps, no sense of existence, no sound from stepping on the ground, no collapse of the soft rust, and no collision of the horizontal paper boxes and iron cans. "That" was clearly moving and moving forward, but there was no way to recognize its existence. The only thing that could be done was to watch, to watch the shadow gradually sinking from the opposite wall, as if someone was really walking towards the door from the center of the room, dragging the shadow along.

It was just such a simple action, but it made Lunicia's heart ring with alarm.

Although this place was empty, Lunisia felt extremely dangerous.

It seemed that there was no flat ground there, but the mouth of the abyss.

Zi La——Zi La——

The broken lamp bulb made a strange sound. It emitted a dim, terrifying, and hateful light, as if covered with filth. "That thing" stretched out its hand - or rather, it was the shadow on the ground that stretched out its hand, extending its pure black outline in the direction of Lunicia. At the same time, the latter swung out the pure white sword in her hand as if risking her life.

Ding--!

Nothing was hit.

There was only rusty sand splashed up by the fierce attack of the white blade.

Even though this was expected, when it actually happened, Lunicia's face still changed.

Just when she was about to retract her strength, the hand that looked like an ordinary shadow just grabbed her shadow projected on the wall by the light, as if "someone" who was standing in front of her but did not exist grabbed her arm.

"?!"

Then, Lunicia's throat was strangled by her own left hand.

can see.

The shadow on the wall seemed to be grinning.

The broken bulb of the desk lamp flickered rapidly, as if it was laughing exaggeratedly.

Crack, crack - the body trembled due to the struggle, and the tip of the sword touched the ground together. The sharp blade that could not break anything seemed to have lost its due effect here. It seemed that just like what was written in the diary, all the struggles would eventually become ridiculous and futile, and death did not seem to be the final point. What lingered on the other side of the sight was unknown.

It becomes increasingly blurry, yet increasingly clearer.

What is blurred is the vision, and what is clear are the originally tiny and strange things in the vision.

The pillars in the corridor and the walls with peeling white paint were covered with dirty marks, forming a vague outline, as if a human-shaped object had once been hung there, hanging on that dark nail. As time passed, it was imprinted with dirty liquid, and in the end only the outline remained, and the rotten bones that should have been there disappeared without a trace.

There was a row of footprints printed on the ground leading deep into the corridor. They were not footprints moving away; on the contrary, they were footprints walking towards here. Judging from the shoe size, they belonged to either a woman or a teenager. The walking posture seemed a little strange, as if a person with normal legs would find it difficult to leave such footprints. Was she walking all the way dragging her dislocated legs?

And there is——

puff--

A slight sound came from the direction of the left shoulder.

The silver-white sword tip pierced through the connection between the shoulder and the upper arm, and the sharp edge drew an arc, like a moon blooming between blood and flesh. It was clearly a weapon for cutting flesh and bones, but it was gentle enough to be difficult to describe. It separated Lunicia's arm from her body, cut through the flesh, and caused blood to spill out. The intense pain rushed straight into the depths of her brain like an explosion, making her almost unable to resist the urge to curl up and cover the wound that was constantly bleeding.

--wrong.

No, you shouldn't do that.

——No, that’s not me.

I am not that fragile and inexperienced guy.

A holy halo enveloped the wound deep enough to see the bone. As for the broken arm that fell to the ground and trembled slightly, Lunicia didn't care at all. No matter how it decayed and dissolved, all she needed to do was to concentrate her strength on the broken surface of the shoulder, use holy healing and surging regenerative power to suppress the wound, and try to restore it to its original state.

"Run, Luna."

"I see!"

Greedy, chewing sounds.

Tear the flesh, gnaw the bones, swallow the skin, and digest the soul.

No, there was no sound at all. The only sound I could hear was the strange noise made by my footsteps on the ground - everything seemed to be an illusion, and yet everything seemed to be real. This place was like a place where wild fantasies and unbalanced truths intersected. This was the entity of nightmares, and this was also the collapse of reality.

And there was only one thing the girls did.

Is it a fight? Is it a kill? Is it a swing of the sword?

It was a mad run, an escape, running towards the deepest part of the corridor where nothing could be seen clearly.

Where is the original passage?

There was nothing there, only a wall covered with white paint. The white paint had oxidized over the years, but it still stood out and even glared against the dark wall covered with rust and stains. It didn't seem like meaningless graffiti, splashing and splattering. It was written with fingers, palms, and bodies, words like "death", "hunger", "who", "no hope", "no one can survive", and "where is this place".

This corridor didn't seem as complete as Lunisia had imagined.

According to the records in the "diary", the owner of the diary did not encounter any major changes until the end - if his own death is excluded - the loud knocking on the door, the wandering footsteps, the familiar yet strange people outside the door, the hallucination, something that is not a hallucination, the illusion, the existence that is not an illusion, none of them can make him unable to restrain himself and open the door before collapse. This is a group of unused cabins, not valued, and few people know about it. What is presented to Lunisia is not so ordinary, just a scene full of rust and dirt.

It looked as if this place had been ravaged by a storm.

The walls seemed to be torn apart by some huge force, leaving jagged edges; there were tiny dents and burn marks all over the floor, door frames, and ceiling; the huge, terrifying, and shiny cracks seemed to be bitten by a monster's fangs. They were so beyond ordinary people's cognition that probably no one would associate them with "sword marks".

What happened here is now unknown.

All the girls could do was hold their breath and move through those dangerous gaps.

Chapter 16: Encounter of the Nameless

We call upon the name of our Lord.

The nameless king, leaping for joy, ecstatic; the nameless master, celebrating the new green shade; the nameless commander, crushing the egg pods in the stream; the nameless general, drowning in the sky; the nameless bishop, hanging himself with the intestines in his belly; the nameless person is crowned with a nameless death, the nameless person welcomes a nameless birth, that is a nameless thing, a nameless king, nameless suffering, nameless blessing.

We call upon the name of our Lord.

Praise the birth of my Lord, praise the death of my Lord. My Lord was born in pain, and my Lord died in comfort. My Lord has no life and no death, no pain and no joy. My Lord is but a moment of eternity, a beat of the waltz. My Lord ends from the day of his birth, and my Lord is reborn from the day of his end. My Lord lacks a source, and my Lord cannot find the abyss of death.

We call upon the name of our Lord.

Call upon the name of my Lord with the voice you love.

--Shut up.

Sweet sounds, honey-brewed songs, intoxicated like wine, rotten and decayed, a dream in the morning, a nap in the afternoon, not in the right place, not in the right end, in the bellies of flies, snakes and frogs, a swamp of blood and a pool of flesh.

We call upon the name of our Lord.

Call upon the name of my Lord with the voice you love.

In the name of love, in the name of death, a hymn of everlasting glory and everlasting corruption is offered.

——Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Life is so magnificent.

——Give me, shut your mouth.

My beloved, will you still offer me the fallen petals now?

- Stop that voice chattering in my head, stop that word talking nonsense in my head, shut your mouth or let me sew it shut, I don't want to, won't, can't, shouldn't refuse to deny the existence of that word, I deny your existence, get out, get out of my mind. Get out. Get out!

I……

——Don’t say any more.

I--

——Shut up.

I love you.

--don't want……

I love you, Lusa.

----

Sweet, greasy, sweet and delicious - how nice it would be if I could always hear that voice, sometimes I would have such thoughts. Maybe that is the voice born for me, maybe that is the proof of my natural singing voice, listen, listen, she is just as I expected, singing, chanting, mastering all kinds of complex and difficult singing and intonation, whether it is opera, idol stage, dubbing work, poetry recitation, speech, or anything else, she can master it with ease, that is the beauty I expected, the moving I expected, the existence that matches me.

That's why he did something stupid, something that had nothing to do with his identity, existence, or structure.

Fortunately, no one is held accountable for this kind of thing.

This can also be considered a misfortune.

Maybe it would be easier the other way around.

But it is precisely because of this that, only at this moment, I do not want to hear the voice I once expected, the beautiful voice that only exists in my imagination. A lark with its tongue plucked out should not sing, a singer with her vocal cords cut out will only respond with a hollow sound, a music box with its spring removed will never work, the world has already decided all of this, using common sense as a response to thinking, and it is because of this common sense that the mind can function normally.

There is absolutely no way I could hear that kind of sound.

"..."

The only thing that can be given in return is silence.

But even silence seemed to be accepted by that existence, as if it had seen its own humiliation and was indignant, so that it had an expression of eight points of sadness, which seemed to be an exceptionally sweet honey to it.

Or maybe, the one who actually didn't think about anything.

Just like the things I have seen before.

There is no ability to think, nor reason to think. Thinking, strategy, wisdom, logic, or sensibility are nothing but blood, pus, grease, and rotten flesh painted on the mask like paint. The essence is not those messy things, but the white plastic plate that someone will wear on his face is more boring, simpler, and more difficult to understand than imagined. So what is it? What is the thing hidden under the imitation?

The information left behind doesn't explain anything.

That person might not have intended to abandon him, but in that situation, she could not provide any more help. Instead, he should be like a devout believer, with his hands clasped together, kneeling on the ground, and praying to the statue of "God" in front of him with her head cut off and arms smashed, praying that she could land safely on the ground - otherwise, everything that happened here now, before, and after would seem to become meaningless.

"..."

Thinking about it more carefully, the former seemed unnecessary - how could that woman be a weak being who would die like this? She was not me. The latter also lost its necessity. Could it be that if that woman survived, everything that happened here now, before, and after would become meaningful instead of meaningless?

If you fight against meaninglessness, can what you get in the end still be meaningful?

There is no such thing.

"..."

The mind is still functioning.

They said they would use light sleep mode to reduce power consumption, but they still didn't do that.

The agency's instructions to the "body" should be absolute, but now it is not operating according to its own requirements.

The current wild thoughts are also proof of this.

I thought about too many boring things, and even the terrible news that came from nowhere became ridiculous. For myself, who can't compose words, poems, or songs, and even abandoned the title of pride, those boring things and boring thoughts may be much more interesting.

"........."

The only response to the world is silence.

"My Lord Opera."

"…Didn't I tell you that I'm in hibernation and you shouldn't disturb me?"

Late last night, another "Infiltrator" stopped functioning. This has happened too many times recently. Whether it's "Iron Rain", "Infiltrator", or "White Eagle", the number of them is decreasing. After all, it's here, at the bottom of the Black Prison that the ancient sages and the most talented playwrights could not conceive, a place of imbalance beyond human wisdom and inspiration, so it's not surprising that the situation has become like this. So it can't hold on? Even in the end, it chose to end its existence in that way. Is it hoping to prove the concept of "self" before the function stops?

With that broken mind, with that broken body in the eyes?

The one in front of me will probably disappear at some point in time.

Disappeared in a narrow corridor.

Disappeared into some crowded cabin.

Disappeared into some meaningless structure.

Or, disappearing in that huge hall... That would be a good ending.

I'm afraid I'm the only one who has such a weird and ridiculous idea. Everyone, no matter which sister you are, is probably more normal than me and won't think in this way.

"Feel sorry."

"so what?"

"The 'Scout' sent in a new exploration report."

"There's no need to look for me for this kind of thing."

The "Infiltrator" in front of him looked hesitant.

She didn't know what the hesitation was for - was it because of the report that was hard to blurt out, such as the situation had doubled, and an enemy that was absolutely impossible to defeat was approaching here, or was it because she was hesitant about the existence in front of her? Because it was unfamiliar, because she was not used to it, because she was at a loss, and even felt awkward and disgusted.

But she finally decided to answer because that was how her mind was designed.

"In fact, we found traces of suspected 'Special Surveillance Target No. 1', 'Special Surveillance Target No. 2', and 'Special Surveillance Target No. 3'."