The fire was started by Philos.
He dug a pile of sediment, put hay and broken boards on it, lit it with a compressed overheated beam at his fingertips, and added:
"You see, even robots can make a fire. What does the world want human beings to do? 」
The protagonist didn't laugh. He stared at the fire in a daze, as if he were thinking about something, and as if he were thinking nothing.
Philos sat opposite him, with a comically crooked posture, as if he were not limited by the metal structure.
"Who are you? "he asked. This question is simple, but it's like a nail in the bone.
The protagonist is silent.
Not because he didn't understand, but because he couldn't answer.
After a while, he whispered:
"I ... what's my name ...? 」
He opened his notebook and searched for a long time before he saw a line of scrawled handwriting in a corner of a page:
"Astor.? 」
"Maybe this is me. 」
When he read the name, his voice trembled and was a little strange.
Philos nodded.
"Astor, good name. Kind of like a pre-war singer or an RPG guy in love. 」
"But you know the name is only the first layer of labels, right? 」
The protagonist frowns: "What do you mean? 」
Philos reached out his hand to the fire, as if imitating human heating, and his tone was rarely calm:
"Do you know that in the database of my world, there is a special behavior of' people'?"
"I just give myself many names and then play different people in different names. 」
"Just like you. Your name is Astor, but you are not the Astor you used to be. 」
"You are Astor who has chosen to forget, a fragmented version of you. It's an updated version of Version 1.0.0. 」
The protagonist's eyes shook.
Philos went on to say:
"You said you have power, right? But you don't remember how it came from. 」
"You said you have a long-cherished wish, right? But you don't remember what it is. 」
"You think you are still you, but maybe you are just a lamb hypnotized by that broken notebook. 」
"Would you have died once? 」
The protagonist's fist clenched.
The fire shone on him, and the mottled shadow seemed to crack. He whispered:
"What about you ... you follow me, is to want to see how I don't like people? 」
Philos did not answer immediately. He closed his eyes (or turned off the optical sensor), and his tone was slower than usual:
"No, I think ... because you are the only' changing' thing in this world. 」
"I am a machine, I have a memory, but I can't forget it. 」
"And you-every time you lose a little, you change a little. It's like grinding out some new form in pain. 」
"So I want to see what will change. 」
He opened his eyes, the light flashed again, and his tone became a familiar strange tone:
"And maybe one day you become cute enough and crazy enough, and I can take you as a romantic comedy object to raise. 」
"Hey, hey, don't retreat, this is a legal speech in my universe! 」
The protagonist finally couldn't help laughing-a short, tired smile, but true.
He looked up at the night sky, and countless stars flashed like a broken memory puzzle.
Then, he whispered:
"... if the memory will be burned, then I think, I can only use this thing alive to put something back together. 」
The notebook gave him a slight vibration on his leg.
It's not supernatural. It's probably just the wind blowing.
Philos shrugged.
"Yes, that tomorrow, let's go to the nearest market town survey. 」
"Maybe someone knows you, maybe you have killed people over there-in short, it will be wonderful to have an opportunity. 」
"By the way, I can buy some silicone oil to lubricate my lower body. (knuckles)
The protagonist: "... why should I take you with me? 」
Philos stood up, stretched out his metal arm, and the outline of the backlight was like a ritual promise:
"Because I am more afraid of loneliness than you. 」
The protagonist stared at the hand, hesitated for a moment, then stretched out his own and boarded it.
Before the campfire went out, the protagonist leafed through his notebook.
He is not looking for anything, but trying to confirm that these words really belong to himself.
Between some pages, a folded paper fell-he picked it up hesitantly, and it was a scribbled painting, like some kind of commemorative graffiti.
Seven people sat around the fire, grandiose and intimate. The Central Committee reads:
"We ── a group of weirdos who won't leave a historical name, exchange a lifelong memory for a choice that never regrets! 」
The slogan graffiti wrote:
"Down with Baal, memory for you! 」
"We are super brave-though a little afraid of the dark. 」
"Captain, if you die first, we will avenge you and then scold you. 」
He held out his hand and touched the sentence with his fingertips-
Somehow, my heart was slightly hot.
It's not an emotion, but a branded void.
For example, some laughter is still in my ears, but names and faces have been erased.
None of their names were marked on the notes-
But he knows that he once remembered.
The next morning.
They set off.
One person, one machine, set foot on the main road that has been dusty for a long time
The end of the road is a lost memory, more choices, death and possible answers.
And notebook, a line of new words, emerge in silence:
"Come on, before the universe dies, can I find the optimal solution I hope for? 」