Ren’s Memories

(7 years ago.)

A young blonde man with a muscular build, wielding a tremor-resistant gun, moved with extraordinary speed. He fired repeatedly at the same points in the joints of war robots, known to be bulletproof, bringing them to the ground one by one. Meanwhile, one of the robots positioned farther back issued the same announcement for the fifth time.
“Dietrich Baumann, you are a folk hero. We do not wish to kill you. Surrender with your men without causing further trouble.”

Another young man, with sharp eyes, light brown hair, and a rectangular face contrasting with Dietrich’s, placed a hand on his commander’s shoulder and gestured to the rear. This indicated they had found a place to escape, as ordered by the commander.

It wasn’t a particularly safe place. It was an old mining tunnel that had been abandoned for years. It likely had an end, or at least, they hoped so.

Dietrich was everything they said he was, perhaps even more. Officially a soldier, he had managed to save people handed over by their government for experiments, with the help of only twenty others who agreed to join him. His actions had cost him his ranks and turned him into a fugitive. Yet, through media outlets owned by his family, he continued to illegally inform the public about everything happening in the country.

Without him, the people would undoubtedly have struggled to muster the courage to rise against what they were enduring. Now, however, the public had declared an all-out war against the oppression they faced, the societal, chemical, and scientific experiments, and the controls imposed under the guise of peace. This was precisely why it was crucial for the current government, and their ally nation Cotox, to have him surrender and even announce that he supported these new reforms. If they knew him even slightly, they would have understood that when he stood before a microphone, he would use noble and proud words to support the resistance and choose to die with honor.

Dietrich wasn’t the leader of the entire resistance, but he was its symbol. At the beginning of that day, he had 200 soldiers by his side; now, there were only three. Some had been captured by the enemy, unconscious and wounded, while most had perished.

Dietrich ran toward the path indicated by his comrade. To him, everyone by his side was like a sibling. Raised in a military academy, he had never known any family. Despite the severe bullying and even abuse he endured from older children as a child, he had preserved his love for humanity. The young man who had touched his shoulder was his childhood friend, a stern, short-tempered, and combative individual. It was from this man that Dietrich had learned how to defend himself. He had been there for Dietrich through every dark moment, even when it meant risking expulsion from the army to help save their people.

Although the commander bore the pain of every soldier lost under his leadership, he was particularly relieved that his loyal friend, Rudolf, was still by his side.

When they entered the tunnel and heard the faint but swift footsteps behind them, they couldn’t even take a moment to catch their breath. They had to outrun the hounds chasing them. As the sounds grew closer, Rudolf shouted,
“I’ll stay behind. I’ll catch up with you right away.”

He was their most skilled fighter in close combat, with a brutal and unique style that combined blades and firearms. Dietrich didn’t want to leave his closest friend behind, but as a cold-blooded and intelligent commander, he ordered,
“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He turned one last time while running, casting a glance full of helplessness. Together with Manfred, an exceptional sharpshooter whose skills were now nearly useless, and Klaus, a weapons engineer, he departed.

Rudolf knew he was sacrificing himself. The hounds would be followed by the robots, and their chance of escape would vanish. He also knew the others were aware of this and that this sacrifice was necessary. Still, he felt uneasy seeing the hopeful gaze in his friend’s eyes. He had grown accustomed to watching those he fought alongside turn into lifeless heaps of flesh. The only difference now was that it was his turn.
“Yes,” he thought, “there’s not much difference.” But even as he thought this, the image of his friend’s eyes, brimming with hope, haunted him. He wanted to see Dietrich continue to inspire, to shine like the sun. For Rudolf, Dietrich was not someone who should perish in such wretched places.

Resolving to hold the passage no matter what, even if it cost him his life, Rudolf prepared his weapons. He quickly incapacitated the leading few of the twenty hounds charging at him. He disliked the use of animals in warfare and disapproved of killing them. But as they bit into his arms, legs, and even neck, trained to tear him apart alive, his pain gave rise to fury.

He roared in agony. He had probably taken down half of them. He couldn’t count in his state, but one latched onto his arm. With the knife in his left hand, he stabbed the animal multiple times until the remaining hounds pounced on him, tearing into his flesh and beginning to devour him alive as they were trained.

At that moment, the sound of two explosions echoed from both ends of the tunnel.

Barely conscious, Rudolf saw, by sheer luck, the remaining dogs leave him and run toward the entrance, barking. He couldn’t understand their behavior. He could tell the entrance and exit were now blocked and that he was trapped. Did the dogs realize this too? Or had they been trained for such scenarios?

Dismissing the thought, he tried to stand by leaning against the wall. His body bore deep and shallow wounds all over, and he could barely stay upright. Blood dripped steadily to the ground. As he staggered step by step through the tunnel, he repeated the same words in his mind.

“At least let them have made it out. Let them have escaped. Please, let them have escaped. If they haven’t …” Even in his most anxious moments, he had a foul mouth. Yet, his worry and sacrifice at that moment were more sincere than anyone who tried to be kind without meaning it.

When he finally reached the tunnel’s end, all he saw was the collapsed section of rock and, beneath it, the lifeless body of his comrade, Dietrich, crushed under the rubble. His wide-open blue eyes stared blankly, frozen in fear and agony. It was clear he had tried to escape the blast but had just barely failed.

Rudolf pressed a trembling hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground as if his bones no longer existed. Crawling toward his fallen comrade, he called out,
“Dietrich! DIETRICH! Bärchen!”

The last word was a nickname born of childhood teasing. It had started as a mockery, calling him “little bear” for crying at everything, but it had stuck.

He gently tapped his friend’s face. Tears streamed down his own as he shouted, refusing to accept the death before him, as though he could bring him back to life. For a moment, he deluded himself into thinking someone would turn back time and erase all that had happened. But, of course, no such miracle occurred.

His entire body trembled. His clothing and skin were torn and soaked in blood. He punched the deep wound in his arm. His mind swirled with countless thoughts, none of which could be articulated into words. Sweat mixed with his blood, and his body quivered as though it couldn’t decide what to do. At that moment, he wished to pass out, to die alongside his friend in that cursed tunnel. But he couldn’t even manage that.