Whirled by the Winds

The underground prison was even worse than the underground military training base. The thick air, carrying a faint metallic tang, suffocated me with every breath. My combat boots clanked against the metal floor, the sound deafening in the silence. Cells lined both sides of the blue-lit corridors, their doors and walls transparent, allowing us to see everything inside. Each cell glowed blue to display the uniformed essentials: built-in cot, desk, and shelf. Robot guards patrolled the corridors, adding another layer of security alongside the CCTV cameras installed at every corner.

In other words, this place was as close to hell on earth as it got.

I volunteered to escort Daiki alone, but the moment I stepped into the prison grounds, I regretted it. Every gaze turned murderous as it landed on me. I was a part of the Military Police Department—the division that had put them here. Some were Drifters serving life sentences. If the security malfunctioned, leaving nothing to separate me from them, I would not make it out here alive.

“I’m really sorry about this. I truly am. But my hands are tied.” My guilt seeped into my voice as I dropped my gaze to the ground.

The only crime that the Drifters committed was reclaiming their freedom that had been stolen from them. They didn’t deserve life sentences. That punishment should be reserved for murder.

“Have you ever really seen what happens in the base?” Daiki asked, his tone sharp and accusing. “Or are you just pretending not to see?”

I honestly had no idea what he was referring to. “What are you talking about?”

Daiki snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “The beatings. The killings. Don’t tell me you’re that naive.”

“Cameras are everywhere. No one can get away with beatings, let alone killings.”

“They beat me everyday. Why else do you think I chose to desert?” He waited for me to respond, but I was at a loss for words. “Not so sure of yourself now, are you?”

“The cameras…” I trailed off. Aside from Bluefort, someone should have been supervising the footage. Could they really have left it all to AI? That didn’t make sense. Bluefort was still in training, and monitoring our actions was supposed to be essential for its development. There had to be human supervisors overseeing the footage. Anything else would have been absurd.

So what went wrong? Why did violence still exist under the tight security of the base? How?

“Maybe this is better,” Daiki muttered as he entered his solitary cell. “No cellmates. I can finally sleep at night.” His eyes flicked to the CCTV cameras and the robot guards. “One piece of advice, newbie: don’t trust anyone. Not even them.”

I returned to my room feeling even more conflicted than ever. And the thought of facing Hideo there didn’t make it any easier.

On the way to the barracks, my ID watch buzzed with a notification: I had earned a day off as a reward for today’s successful mission. Without hesitation, I applied to use it for tomorrow. The response came almost instantly. Enma approved my request within seconds.

Her note was brief: Use it wisely.

Anywhere was better than here. I needed to breathe, to escape the suffocating weight of this place. The encounter with Daiki left me feeling hollow and raw.

“You look like shit.”

Shiba fell into step beside me. I had been so lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed him approaching

“Did I ask?” I snapped.

Talking with Shiba was the last thing I wanted, more so after the parting words from Daiki. I couldn’t trust anyone. Especially Shiba. He had always been suspicious ever since the day I got him.

“Oh. You feel like shit, too.” Shiba clearly hadn’t picked up on the fact that I wanted to be left alone. Of course, a robot wouldn’t understand that.

“Great observation skills,” I deadpanned, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

I wasn’t in the mood to entertain him. Instead of heading into the barracks, I veered toward the training grounds and made my way to the administration office building. Like a smart dog, Shiba followed silently, finally taking the hint that I had no intention of making small talk.

The vast field buzzed with activity even as night fell. Soldiers trained under the dim glow of field lights, each focused on their division’s rigorous routines. Daiki’s words echoed in my mind. They beat me everyday. Why else do you think I chose to desert?

Some of them might have been the ones who made Daiki’s life in the base a living hell. They were still out there, unaccountable for their violent acts. Even worse, some of them might have killed someone and gotten away with it. It was appalling that they could keep up with their daily routines, pretending as if nothing had ever happened.

I had lingered too long, watching them. One by one, they began to notice my presence, their dagger-like stares cutting through the night. Bluefort must have broadcasted news of our success in restraining Daiki—along with our day-off reward—to all soldiers, likely as some form of motivational support.

It wasn’t.

Diverting my gaze, I quickened my pace toward the office building. Their hatred toward Drifter Captors had become more evident after Daiki’s capture. We were newbies. Easy targets. The urge to leave the base grew stronger the longer I did this job—it had only been less than a month since then. There was a reason most deserters were Drifter Captors.

“You’re returning me?” Shiba asked when he realized my destination was the robot dog lab where I had gotten him first. There was a slight hurt in his voice, but I didn’t trust it. A robot couldn’t feel hurt. “Are you trying to get yourself caught? My system still holds records of our conversations.”

“Of course not. I’m taking a day off tomorrow. It’s a protocol to leave you at the lab. As for the records, the researchers there don’t have the authority to access them. Try again.” If he wanted to threaten me, I could just threaten him right back.

“I can still report you for breaching privacy.”

“They won’t trust you. Don’t forget. I’m your only key to getting out of the lab.” The researchers would lock him in a cage and restrain his every movement. The lab operated like a pet care facility—except with a lot less care.

Shiba didn’t respond to the threat, but he didn’t try to run either. We walked in strained silence toward the lab on the third floor. Cages of various sizes lined the walls, each holding a robot dog of a different breed. They were all powered down, their bodies chained with cables plugged directly into them—lifeless and motionless. Shiba cowered behind me. But shouldn’t a robot be incapable of feeling fear?

I gulped nervously as I handed Shiba over to the researcher behind the receptionist desk. He obeyed without resistance, meeting the same fate as the other robot dogs. A fresh wave of guilt gnawed at me, but curiosity still tugged at the back of my mind.

“Excuse me, do you have any information about the robot dog assigned to me?” I asked the researcher.

“The Shiba Inu model? It’s a prototype—one of the very first robot dogs ever created. It was supposed to be scrapped last year along with the other prototypes. I’m not sure why its disposal was canceled.”

That would explain why Shiba was different from the other robot dogs. But it only raised more questions. Who would go out of their way to prevent his disposal? Did they know about this loophole? Was Enma involved as well?