Anamnesis: Queen of the Apocalypse - Chapter 8

“Gah!?”

You wake up in cold sweat, trying to get into your brain’s hippocampus and spam the delete button on the nightmare you’ve experienced.

Little you know to notice a person who leans her head into the mattress of your bed besides you, still in her usual equipment. Sleeping innocently as the luscious sounds of her breathing entices the motherly urge to protect, no-matter-the-age as if it was only a number. Chronos might have done many questionable things but you can’t help but to mesmerize the view yourself, powered by the indulgence to touch those soft cheeks together with the urge to keep still to not wake her up.

By human standard, the person you see right now is actually attractive—minus the rotten personality. You’re wondering whether she is single or not.

And then somehow you actually forgot what in the oblivion happened in your dream.

You thank Chronos subconsciously.

The day then goes on, Chronos wakes up. Nonir then comes to your room to guide you into the therapy area. With the help of a concentrated healing environment, two hours then passes before you are able to feel and use every part of your mechanical nerves throughout your body without any problem. Another couple of minutes is about signing all of the documents, there is no obstacle whatsoever, except the fact that Chronos was labeled as your guardian in one of the files.

“Really?”

“It was Thuljas’s idea.”

Albeit your current body is a little bit weak, but you’re as positive as ever. Although your partner has a questionable sense of fashion when it comes to your outfit, as she is dressing you in gothic-lolita before you get out of the hospital.

“Really?”

“It was courtesy from Thuljas, I hereby have no means of having money so she bought one for you. Hahaha, free clothes!”

As you walk into the entrance, an exit; you can feel everyone is looking at you, either they think that you’re the child of a rich person or a complete weirdo. The door from the inside is made out of mirrors, there might be a reason as to why it was made that way. Without thinking too hard, you then once again dart your blue eyes with multiple dark rings, into every detail to analyze your own appearance—black and dark-blue, A-line petticoat layered with blue rose motifs and many frills, black pantyhose coating your legs, uncomfortable long heels, then your vibrant light-bluish sky of wavy long hair that’s unrestricted from all kind of head accessories.

Biting your lower lips, the embarrassment is overwhelming but all of the clothing Thuljas sent is almost in the same theme. Although, you’re actually relieved as you managed to convince Chronos to not put any more accessories onto you like a doll back then.

Your partner exudes a weird expression as she keeps her laughter from slipping out of her lips, “Be proud, you’re actually cute in that getup.”

“And I’m not proud of it.

“Ah, I think having an adopted daughter is a fun idea.”

“Your future daughter must be suffering.”

The mirror-door yawns, revealing an orange sunshine upon the crowded metropolis’ silhouettes of time’s quill from the future to spill its ink’s shady-color choices to all of the seemingly geometric infrastructure. The fumes around the vicinity smell like wet grass as you lo and behold upon the overly polished asphalt’s reflection where eyes’ vision zooms into the gloomy yellow sun on the ground.

All kinds of bipedal races are conversing, minding their own business; a harpy grasping the item given to them with their talons, a personified chimera, a few small child-like people with big round ears of a rodent, and much more. Their clothings is also unexpectedly eccentric and layered. You can see how stylish most of them look, definitely didn’t expect for a fashion to be revolutionary, together with life expectancy.

A mere glance to the road is able to tickle your fancy, it’s the total polar opposite of what you’ve been experiencing right after you came to this world. Embarking your little feet, following the lead of your partner into somewhere that you forgot to ask because of the flabbergasting—crossing the road as your gaze encapsulates many kinds of unique transportation into your memory. None of the huge trucks and cars excrete any carbon-dioxide. Gloomy, but this era seems more environmentally cleaner than you think.

Surprisingly, you actually blended with the background even with your little avant-garde choice of fashion. In a world where everyone is a stylist, nothing will stand out—or so you think at the very moment.

After walking for a while, both of you approach an unmanned car with a green square sign on top. You don’t want to question anything as your mind is still in the middle of processing information, ‘this might be a good time to contemplate about life’ your brain whispers devilishly.

Nonchalantly, both of you are now inside. The interior is clean and simplistic, there are four seats and instead of facing to the front per row, each two are positioned from each other. Chronos smug like usual, resting her chin into her palm delightfully.

“Sector VED 04” Says your partner.

A rather monotone voice replies from the speaker, “Affirmative, South-Citadel Sector 04 Vagant’s Engineering.”

“Somehow I was excited, where are we going?” You ask.

“We will be going somewhere fun, and explosive.”

“Please don’t explode anything.”

“I didn’t promise.”

Fidgeting, you stare out from the window to the citadel architecture and everything abnormal from your former life.

You can say that you’re nervous but excitement is truly contagious, even though you ended up acting like an unemployed person on the way to your first interview. Then again, your unemployed status is not an exaggeration.

Few minutes later, you arrive at the destination. It is more like a massive bunker than a building, the sense of feeling small in this universe can be felt through an unrelated existential crisis, such as being a small fragile brat going into an unknown facility full of possible combustible materials. This is all only in your mind bearing the theory of why Chronos is looking peachy all the way here.

There are two guards heavily armored in carbon-black from head to toe. From right to left, a slim woman and a jacked-up man; both of them have red and blue horns facing to their eyes respectively—looking at their level of badassness with their xeno mecha-like armor. You’re wondering if there are any jet-engines on their back to complete the ‘human-size gundam’ packet.

Chronos greets, “Good afternoon, sir!”

“Ah, good afternoon. Compose, who is this young lady over here?” A rather masculine voice coming out from the presumably female you mistook, as there is no way that a woman’s voice can be this deep!

“Masky, focus on the job.” And a feminine stern voice is coming out from the one you think was male, there is no way that a female’s shoulder can be that wide!

Masky replies, “Aren’t our job is to stand still and be intimidating?”

“If that is your job then you’re already failed.” Says the female?

The slim man’s face approaches both of you as he tries to mute his whispering with his hand “Don’t mind her, she is still mad about losing to some random dude at the casino yesterday.”

A strange random event, both of you then wave at both although only one person waves back. Entering the infamous facility, the inside greets you with numerous machines and large contraptions being lifted, sent, and appraised.

You can feel some curious gaze lurking at you.

With Chronos leading, you pass by many diverse sizes of open workshops all minding their own business. Though, some are even helping each other or collaborating. After walking for a while, both of you get into a lift and go into the basement. The only thing different from the first floor is that the workshops here are working on all sorts of weaponry, a giant claymore being lifted by four people is one example. After many eye-gasm, both of you stop at a specific workshop on the most corner. Inhabited by a tall slouching man with two pairs of large antlers, wearing a bland white t-shirt currently striking a steel with a hammer on the anvil.

“Yo! Carbonite, can I raise my debt one more time?”

“My hammer doesn’t seek any more non-existent money waster. Speak! I might reconsider my vexation from seeing your face.” Unfazed, he continues to hone his craft.

Shrugging off the obvious enmity, she trifles around in an irritating manner, “Hey, lookie my daughter here! I want some freebies for her.”

“I’m not your daughter.”

The blacksmith interjects, “Young lady, I suggest you change your sense of fashion.”

“I knew it! Gothic-lolita is not the norm!”