Moldir's fingers tense around the intercom.
Moldir: Yes, that's right.
Moldir: Given the helicopter malfunction, we would be hard-pressed to make any movements unless absolutely necessary.
Moldir: We still have plenty of resources. We are prepared for the long haul.
Intercom: ...
Moldir: ...
She hesitates at the difficult question, weighing her answer before speaking.
Moldir: No Foundation armed forces have yet appeared.
Moldir: I suspect the King George V Coast is not their first landing choice.
Intercom: ...
Moldir: Victoria Land? Isn't that near—
Her inquiry is cut short.
Moldir: Yes. Understood.
Moldir: We are on high alert. No suspect will be spared.
Moldir puts away the communicator.
Ulrich sits restrained along with his guard.
Ulrich: All that chatter, yet you didn't report the thing most worthy of reporting. Am I so trustworthy?
Moldir: You're disarmed, with no locator and no backup.
Moldir: It would be redundant to report you. There's no need to disturb Father with such things.
Ulrich: ...
Ulrich: Redundant, useless information, like the hundreds of millions of possible combinations of the Enigma machine that are discarded once the code is deciphered.
Ulrich: Anyway, are you certain there's no room for a deal?
He raises his handcuffed hands.
A bullet is loaded.
That single action makes it clear who holds authority in this camp.
Moldir: No deals for captives.
Ulrich pauses, though not entirely too long.
Ulrich: A soldier's loyalty should be unwavering, no?
Ulrich: Then why did you turn to Manus Vindictae?
Moldir: ...
The shadows of distant clouds cascade down the mountain, bringing a rush of chill air as if to freeze both time and space.
Moldir: It's "none of your business."
Ulrich: Touché. Did the other soldiers agree with this decision?
Moldir: ...
Ulrich: No need to tell me. Your silence is answer enough.
Ulrich laces his tone with sarcasm.
Ulrich: Those who were loyal to you stayed, and those who weren't were exiled. While I'm sure you have a trustworthy team, you must have suffered a significant loss to your manpower.
Moldir: ...
...
"Those who weren't."
Moldir takes out her communicator.
Moldir: So, you're here to listen to music, huh?
Moldir: My father would appreciate this record. Given this is the only thing with you besides your expedition gear, it must have something to do with your purpose here.
Moldir: I assume the LSCC has made another development. But I wonder, how many sacrifices have been made to get to this point?
Moldir: And what will these sacrifices get you this time? The expected results or an unexpected failure? I'm on the edge of my seat.
She taps the communicator again, masking simmering anger with a distant but focused calm.
He refuses to take the bait; all he does is flicker.
Ulrich: Then I assume you're able to accurately predict the consequences of all your actions? So, where do you predict this decision will take you?
Moldir: ...
Her finger freezes mid-dial.
Ulrich: To wearing their mask and losing your sanity? To screaming and gouging your eyes out?
Ulrich: Or are you planning to play the loyal Manus dog, helping them bring about one "Storm" after another until every one of your rivals has been washed away?
Guard: Uh, I don't think pissing off the rebels was on the mission brief, boss.
Moldir: ...
Ulrich: Your actions are poised to undo all your past efforts by your own hand.
Ulrich: I'll admit, I'm no tactician, but as a researcher, I can't see the logic in this choice.
Ulrich: Were my experimental method to be proven wrong, I wouldn't simply give the entire project up. I'd adjust the variables and change my method.
Ulrich: As a new Laplace member said, there are no wrong projects, only rules that have not yet been made reproducible.
Ulrich: Every researcher will inevitably experience many failures. We just brush ourselves off and get back on our feet.
Moldir: ...
Ulrich: Or are you hiding behind your military orders to absolve yourself from making decisions?
Ulrich: Is that why you're hiding here on this coast right now?
Moldir: ...
Guard: Well. Guess that ship has sailed.
Moldir turns toward the coast.
She draws a deep breath, letting her thoughts stabilize in a single direction.
The King George V Coast—a place where defense would be favored.
Moldir: Intelligence has confirmed that the Foundation's fleet is coming from the Ross Sea. Presumably, that's the area of operations.
They should have rushed reinforcements to Victoria immediately.
Moldir: There's only one transport helicopter. But the journey is traversable for a well-trained team.
Moldir: ...
But ...
Father never gave that order.
He just left his children waiting at the ice shelf's edge, far from the battlefield, still on standby.
Guard: Well, looks like this mission is a great big fail.
Guard: Least we can have one last chocolate MRE before we're toast. Do you want a piece, boss?
Ulrich: Thank you, but chewing isn't in my repertoire. It doesn't matter how ready-to-eat the meal is.
Moldir: Mr. Ulrich.
Moldir snaps out of her thoughts and turns with piercing focus.
Moldir: How much do you know about Manus Vindictae's plans in Antarctica?
Her sharp shift in questioning puts Ulrich on edge.
Ulrich: No deal made, and you still want some info? Is this how Zeno trains its soldiers?
She looks away deliberately.
Moldir: Honestly, I've never been much of an interrogator. But before I pour you into Terra Nova Bay, I have to know who or what is behind your mission here.
Ulrich: Wait. What?
The ferrofluid flickers, circuits crackling inside.
The situation appears hopeless.
Moldir: Sergeant White Gloves, Sergeant Frekhtman.
At Moldir's call, two sergeants flank her on either side.
Moldir: Take him back to the old building in the station. That will be a more suitable location for interrogation.
She signals with two fingers, and the sergeants seize Ulrich by the arms, dragging him away.
Ulrich: Wait, wait, wait. You don't know what you're doing. You're making a huge mistake.
There's no response nor reaction.
Moldir leads the way, the golden tassels on her boots fluttering with each step.
Ulrich: Hah. Improvised speeches never really were my thing.
Ulrich: Negotiations have failed. Guard!
A throwing knife slices through the restraints.
The guard's freed hands immediately find a pistol, concealed by an optical arcane skill.
Guard: Watch your step!
Gunfire cuts through the swirling snow.
Moldir: Tch. She's a tricky one.
COMBAT
The captives trudge onward, leaving uneven footprints in the snow.
Ahead, Moldir marches with her head high, gaze fixed forward.
Guard: Boss, the situation's critical. Do I have your permission to use ...
The whispers drift up with the wind.
Moldir: So close to death, yet you're still in the mood for chit-chat.
The guard flicks the intercom on her chest.
Guard: This emergency intercom has a direct line to our commander in chief. If I press this button, our mission will fail, but it'll also send our coordinates to him.
Guard: And we both know what'll happen after that.
Moldir shows no trace of concern. She doesn't even turn back.
Moldir: What are you waiting for then?
Moldir: Press it. We're ready.
Leading the way, Moldir pushes open the doors to the research station.
Faint moans echo behind the door.
Moldir: Sergeant White Gloves, Sergeant Frekhtman, please wait outside.
Moldir: I would like to have a private conversation with our guests.
With the click of an aged switch, dim lights flicker on one by one.
Guard: ...?
Light, dim and flickering as it is, dispels the darkness, revealing the sources of moans one by one.
Ulrich: This is ...
The research station has been converted into a field hospital. Frail patients lie sprawled out on each cot.
Moldir: The aftermath of Manus Vindictae's actions.
Moldir's face is half-shrouded under the dim lights.
Moldir: They have slaughtered researchers from stations across Antarctica. Most died immediately, while others were taken to their base. They didn't tell us why.
Moldir: These are the people we found who were still breathing.
Ulrich: Are they all humans?
His indignation is clear enough.
Moldir: For the most part. There are some of our kind, too.
She approaches a cot and gently tucks the patient's hand back under the warm blankets.
Moldir: When we first arrived in Antarctica, we were hit by a blizzard near Manus Vindictae's base. We lost some of our men in it. By the time we found them, they had all suffered serious mental breakdowns.
Moldir: Father promised us a "shelter."
Moldir: But now, everyone in Andrea's team has donned the mask and become a mad follower of the Manus.
Guard: I know how it feels to lose your comrades.
Some untold story lingers, but the guard chooses silence.
After inspecting each patient, Moldir halts at a square desk, her silhouette gilded in the lamp's amber glow.
Moldir: Alright, I'm putting all my cards on the table.
Moldir: The current situation isn't good for either of us.
Ulrich: ...
Moldir: We need to trade information if we want to stay in the game.