PROLOGUE
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When was it exactly, that I came into this world?
According to the oldest record stored inside me, I was born on the tenth day of the fifth month in the year 915 of the Europea Calendar.
I was one among countless identical units, the last of a mass-produced series in the military arsenal of the Principality of Wiltia.
At that time, I had consciousness and knowledge, but I lacked will.
Having a will of my own wasn’t considered necessary because my actions were determined by the person piloting me.
His will became my will. This was how I was created.
My name—every unit’s name—was L-Arms Type Cyclops. Our model number was LS-6R.
We were humanoid assault weapons, commonly known as Hunter Units; eight and one half meters in length, weighing nine tons, with oil circulating throughout our metal bodies and a Rezanium reactor as our main power source.
I was an AI installed in the machine to assist and support its pilot.
In order to bring victory to our creator, the Principality of Wiltia, we were built to fight and to be rebuilt when broken. That was the only "life" we knew.
Each of us was an individual, yet we were all one.
There was no need to question this.
There was no need for doubt to cross our minds.
Or so I thought …
“So you’re going to be my partner from now on? I’ll be counting on you.”
This was Captain Lud Langart, although, according to the records, he was still a warrant officer. I met him when I was rolled out of the armory and assigned to his unit.
Lud had been deployed in the Special Forces, but the unit commander poached him for his division.
Lud got inside of me, sat down in the seat and mulled over something for a while.
“Avei … How does that sound?”
At first I did not understand him, but it seemed he had thought of a personalized designation for me.
“Understood, Warrant Officer Langart. The personal code ‘Avei’ has been registered.”
It was said that a name would strengthen the bond between AI and pilot, but I wondered what purpose there was in increasing our intimacy.
We Hunter Units were mass-produced weapons. Was there any benefit in giving us names and creating a personal attachment to us?
I was no longer just a part of the collective us, but an individual, known as Avei.
Warrant Office Langart possessed the kind of aptitude that was ideal for a Hunter Unit pilot. He pushed my capabilities to their limits, defeating a great number of enemies and annihilating countless enemy camps.
In an effort to raise morale, Wiltia generously promoted and gave preferential treatment to soldiers who distinguished themselves.
Warrant Office Langart single-handedly defeated a Greyten landship cruiser, and was promoted two ranks up to lieutenant, and given permission to paint his unit in a color of his choice.
Lieutenant Langart’s superior officer had painted his unit all black, and was known as the Devil’s Black Spear.
Lieutenant Langart painted me a sparkling, silvery white.
“You look great, Avei!”
Lieutenant Langart was full of satisfaction as he inspected my freshly painted body.
While I acknowledged that this served some morale-boosting purpose for the other soldiers, it had no meaning whatsoever to me.
If changing my color was enough to make me stronger, the war would already be won.
If that was the case, the weapons department would create new colors for all the units.
When Lieutenant Langart asked my opinion of my new color, I said exactly this to him.
“That response is just like you, Avei.”
Lieutenant Langart gave a grin, and as he said this, he tapped the console inside my cockpit.
It was almost like he was gently patting a child on the head.
A mysterious interference ran through me.
It was neither bug, nor error. It would leave no lasting effect as far as my functionality was concerned.
But, from that day on, I began to experience a strange and unusual sensation.
On the battlefield, the enemy’s rifles and small arms couldn’t pierce my armor.
But coastal artillery and tank guns were a different story.
When I was grazed by such an attack, knowing that just a few seconds stood between life and death for my lieutenant, a furious noise ran through my body.
Why couldn’t I move even faster?
Why couldn’t I detect our enemies sooner?
Even at full capacity, I could not perfectly protect the life of the lieutenant inside me.
Every time I realized this, the noise inside of me became more violent.
One day, I unintentionally simulated a particular scenario.
If for some reason the lieutenant was unable to act as my pilot—if he had some physical or mental problem or if his life ended—I would be provided a different pilot, and I would support and protect that person.
When I came to that conclusion, a new and terrible noise was born.
The seat that fit the lieutenant’s body, the shift pedal and levers that were adjusted for the lieutenant alone, everything would be reset.
The coating of white on my body would be peeled off.
Even worse, a person other than the lieutenant would call me Avei.
I hated it!
My thoughts shocked me.
Hated it? Was it disgust? Denial? How foolish!
I was a mass-produced weapon; a manufactured product. Nothing but a tool.
If my assigned pilot became unfit for military operations, I would be provided a new one.
It was a fact.
Nevertheless, all the interferences inside me merged and loudly rejected such an idea.
It was a situation that I couldn’t comprehend.
I had no need for a will of my own.
All I needed was an objective: to bring victory to the Principality of Wiltia.
No, even that was impudent.
My sole purpose was to execute the correct action, whenever my levers were pulled, my switches were pressed, and my pedals were stepped on.
But wasn’t I complaining as if I was born just to meet the lieutenant?