
ãã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1 : 第2éšïŒéåäœã®äº¡éãã¡
ã·ã¹ãã éçšããã¥ã¢ã« // æè¡ä¿®æ£æ¡é 02 (SYSTEM OPERATIONS MANUAL // TECHNICAL AMENDMENT 02)
æ©å¯åºåïŒ æ
åœãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒå°çš (Internal Operator Eyes Only)
å¯Ÿè±¡åºæºå€ïŒ ã³ã¢ã»ããŒããŠã§ã¢ããã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã (Subject Baseline: Core Hardware "Player 1")
ãã§ãŒãº2ã»ãããã³ã«ïŒ é«å¯åºŠã¢ã»ããè² è·ãã¹ã (Phase 2 Protocol: High-Density Asset Stress Test.)
éçšæä»€ïŒ
ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒã¯ãããããç°å¢ã®è€éæ§ã段éçã«æ¡å€§ããã察象ã«ã¯ãé£ç¶ããè€æ°ã®ãäœæããã³ç€Ÿäº€ãã«é¢ããèšæ¶ãã±ããïŒäŸïŒå
Œ
±äº€éæ©é¢ã人混ã¿ãææ
çãªèŠªå¯ãïŒã泚å
¥ããã(OPERATIONAL DIRECTIVE: Operators will now scale up environmental complexity. Subject is to be injected with multiple consecutive "leisure and social" memory packets (e.g., transit, crowds, emotional proximity).)
é倧ãªèŠåïŒ
é«å¯åºŠç°å¢ã®æ§ç¯ã«ã¯ãèæ¯ãšãªã人éå®äœïŒéãã¬ã€ã¢ãã«ã»ã¢ã»ããïŒã®è¿
éãªçæãå¿
èŠãšãªããããŒããŠã§ã¢ã¯ç¡éã®åäœé¡é¢ããŒã¿ãåŠçã§ããªãããããšã³ãžã³ã¯**ãç¥èšåŒéåæç»ïŒã·ã§ãŒããã³ãã»ã³ã³ããžããã»ã¬ã³ããªã³ã°ïŒãã䜿çšããã察象ãéåäœã®é¡é¢ã4ç§ä»¥äž**åèŠããå Žåã84%ã®ç¢ºçã§æèã®æ»²åºïŒã»ã³ããšã³ã¹ã»ããªãŒãïŒãçºçãããã¢ã»ãããçºè©±ããå Žåã¯ãçŽã¡ã«ã¡ã¢ãªããã©ãã·ã¥ïŒäžæïŒããã(CRITICAL WARNING: High-density environments require the rapid generation of background human entities (Non-Playable Assets). Because the hardware cannot process infinite individual facial data, the engine will use Shorthand Composite Rendering. If the Subject focuses on a composite face for longer than four seconds, there is an 84% risk of Sentience Bleed. Flush the memory immediately if the asset speaks.)
ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒå ±å // ãã°ãšã³ããªãŒ #112 ïŒéæã®å€ã®æ³šå ¥ (OPERATOR REPORT // LOG ENTRY #112 : THE FRIDAY NIGHT INJECTION)
ã¢ã»ããèªã¿èŸŒã¿ïŒææ
ãµãã»ã«ãŒãã³ â éæå€ã®è§£æŸæ (Asset Loaded: Emotional Sub-Routine â The Friday Night Rush.)
æèŠãã€ããŒãïŒå®ããŒã«ã®åããæ¹¿ã£ãã¬ã€ã³ã³ãŒããæãããŠç±ã
ã®ããããé³é¿ïŒæšåºãäŒã£ãŠãºã³ãºã³ãšé¿ããäœããªãºãã«ã«ãªããŒã¹ã©ã€ã³ã (Sensory Payload: The smell of cheap beer, damp raincoats, and hot takeaway chips. Sound: A low, rhythmic bassline thumping through wood.)
æåã«åœŒã襲ã£ãã®ã¯ãå¿ã®åºããæ¹§ãäžãããããªæ·±ãå®å µæã ã£ããããã¯åœŒèªèº«ã®å®å µæã§ã¯ãªãã£ããã確ãã«ããæãããããäž¡è©ã®åããã£ãšæãããååšãããªããææããéæãŸã§ã®ä»äºãã®æ¶ç©ºã®éã¿ããèžã®äžããæ¶ãå»ã£ãŠãã£ãã(The sensation of profound relief hit Player 1 first. It wasn't his relief, but it felt like it. His shoulders dropped. The imaginary weight of a non-existent five-day workweek lifted off his chest.)
ãæ¬åœã«éææ¥ã¯æé«ã ãªããšåœŒã¯åããã( "God, I love Fridays," he muttered.)
圌ã¯ãµãšç«ã¡æ¢ãŸããèªåã®è³ããå®å šã«è絡ã®ãªãã也ããæèãäžæã«é£ã³åºããŠããã®ãæãããããŸããããã³ãœã³ã»ã¯ã«ãŒãœãŒãšäžç·ã«å³¶ã«ãããã®ç·ïŒãã©ã€ããŒïŒã®ããšãããªããã©ãªãããã€ããã®åŸã©ããªã£ããã ãã (He paused, his own brain firing off a completely unprompted, dry thought. Though, not that bloke on the island with Robinson Crusoe. Wonder what happened to him.)
å°äžã®ã³ã³ãããŒã«ã«ãŒã ã§ã¯ãäžäººã®ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒããããã¿ãæŒãããªããããã声ãäžããããããã誰ã ãããã€ã®èšèªããã»ããµã«ãªã€ãžã®ã£ã°ã®ãµãã»ã«ãŒãã³ãèªã¿èŸŒãã ã®ã¯ïŒ å°æ¬éãã«é²ããããŸã£ããïŒã (Downstairs, an Operator groaned, rubbing their temples. "Who loaded the dad-joke sub-routine into his linguistic processor? Stick to the script, damn it.")
æç»äžïŒ45%... 70%... 100%ã (Rendering: 45%... 70%... 100%.)
圌ã¯ã人ã§ãã£ãè¿ãèæãããã®å¥¥ã®ããã¯ã¹åžã«åº§ã£ãŠããã䜿ã蟌ãŸããŠãã¿ã€ãæ¿ãè²ã®æšè£œããŒãã«ãç¥çè²ã®å ãé·ã圱ãèœãšããŠããã圌ã®åšå²ã§ãéšå±å šäœãçãçããšèåããŠããã人ã ã¯ç¬ããã°ã©ã¹ã鳎ããã倧è¢è£ã«èº«æ¯ãææ¯ãã亀ãããŠãããä¿¡ããããªãã»ã©æãããå®å šãªå Žæã«æããã(He was sitting in the back booth of a packed, dim pub. Sticky dark wood tables. Golden light casting long shadows. Around him, the room was alive. People laughed, clinked glasses, and gestured wildly. It felt incredibly warm. It felt safe.)
å°äžã§ã¯ã3人ã®ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒãå·ãæ±ãæµããªããã**ãããžå·»ã容é (WIND-UP CAPACITY)ã**ã®ã¯ã©ã³ã¯ã«ããã¿ã€ããŠãããæ¯è»ãæ²é³ŽãäžããŠããã40人ãã®åå¥ã®äººéããã空éã厩å£ãããã«ç¶æããã«ã¯ãåãŸããåçãªå§åãããç¶ããå¿ èŠããã£ãã(Downstairs, three Operators were sweating, their hands locked onto the WIND-UP CAPACITY cranks. The gears were screaming. Keeping a room with forty individual people from dissolving required immense kinetic pressure.)
ãã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã¯åŸ®ç¬ã¿ãæ®éã®ã©ã¬ãŒããŒã«ã®èšæ¶ãšå¯žåéãã¬å³ããã1ãã€ã³ãã®ã°ã©ã¹ã«å£ãä»ããããããŠãå³åŽãåããã(Player 1 smiled, taking a sip of a pint that tasted exactly like a vague memory of lager. He turned to his right.)
ã¢ã»ããèªã¿èŸŒã¿ïŒé¢ä¿æ§ãããã· â 鱿«ã®ããŒã (Asset Loaded: Relationship Proxy â The Weekend Date.)
圌ã®é£ã«ã¯äžäººã®å¥³æ§ã座ã£ãŠããã圌女ã¯ç·è²ã®ã»ãŒã¿ãŒãçãŠããã圌ããã£ãèšã£ãäœæ°ãªãåè«ã«ã圌女ã¯å£°ãäžããŠç¬ã£ãŠããããã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã¯æã䌞ã°ããåœŒå¥³ã®æã®ç²ã«ãã£ãšè§Šãããæž©ããã£ãããããã圌ã埮ç¬ã¿è¿ãããšåœŒå¥³ã®é¡ãèŠäžããç¬éã圌ã®è³ãã¡ãã¡ããšé³ãç«ãŠãŠã¹ã¿ãã¯ããã(A woman was sitting next to him. She wore a green sweater. She was laughing at something he had just said. Player 1 reached out, his fingers brushing her hand. She felt warm. But when he looked up at her face to smile back, his brain stuttered.)
圌女ãé åçã§ããããšã¯åãã£ãŠããã圌女ãèªåã®ããŒãçžæã§ããããšããç¥ã£ãŠãããããããã圌女ã®é¡ãâŠâŠã©ãããŠã现éšãæããããšãã§ããªãã®ã ã圌女ã®ç®å ã«çŠç¹ãåãããããšãããã³ããŸãã§éšã®äžã«æŸçœ®ãããæ°Žåœ©ç»ã®ããã«ãããŒãããã«ãããšåããŠããŸãããã«èŠãããããç¬éã¯è¶è²ãç³ã«èŠããæ¬¡ã®ç¬éã«ã¯ç·è²ã«ãªãã錻çã¯ãæãããçŠç¹ã®ãã±ãäžé®®æãªã¢ã¶ã€ã¯ã®ããã ã£ããããã¯ç¢ºãã«ãé¡ãã®åœ¢ãããŠãããã圌ã®ç¥ã誰ã®é¡ã§ããªãã£ãã(He knew she was beautiful. He knew she was his date. But her face... he couldn't grasp the details. Every time he tried to focus on her eyes, they seemed to shift like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. One second they were brown, the next green. Her nose was a soft, out-of-focus blur. It was a face, but it was no one.)
ãã©ãããã®ïŒããšåœŒå¥³ã¯å°ããããã®å£°ã¯ãå®ç§ã§ãå¿å°ãããã©ããŸã§ãç¡åæ§ãªæåŸã ã£ãã("What's wrong?" she asked. Her voice was a perfect, pleasant, generic melody.)
ããªãã§ããªããããã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã¯åãããèªåçæãããéæã®å€ã®å¹žçŠæãåãè£ãããã«ãå·ããææã®æ£ãçªãåºãããããã âŠâŠåãã¡ãäœã®è©±ãããŠããã ã£ãã£ãŠæã£ãŠãã("Nothing," Player 1 whispered, a cold spike of dread piercing through his artificial Friday night joy. "I just... forgot what we were talking about.")
åœŒã®æ··ä¹±ãè·³ãäžãã£ãç¬éãããã®ç°å¢é³ã«ã°ãªãããçºçãããåšå²ã®ç¬ã声ãçªç¶ã¹ãããããå·ã®ã€ããCDã®ããã«3ç§éã®ã«ãŒããç¹°ãè¿ãå§ããã(The moment his confusion spiked, the pub's ambient noise glitched. The laughter of the crowd skipped, repeating a three-second loop like a scratched CD.)
ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒå ±å // ãã°ãšã³ããªãŒ #115 ïŒã¹ã¿ãžã¢ã ã®æžæ» (OPERATOR REPORT // LOG ENTRY #115 : THE STADIUM TRAFFIC)
ã察象ãããŒãçžæã®ãã¡ã€ã«ã«æµæããŠããïŒ äžæ¢ã ïŒ ããã®ã¡ã¢ãªããã©ãã·ã¥ããïŒ ä¹ãç©ç§»åã®ã«ãŒãã«åãæ¿ããïŒã
ã¢ã»ããèªã¿èŸŒã¿ïŒé³å£°ã«ãŒããªããž 4 â åžå¶ãã¹ãéšã®å€ (Asset Loaded: Audio Cartridge 4 â City Bus, Rainy Night.)
ããã®å æ¯ã¯ãé»ãéå ãšãªã£ãŠäžç¬ã§æ¶ãå»ã£ãããã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã«ã¯ãç¬ããããæéããäžããããªãã£ãã(The pub vanished into a black snap. Player 1 didn't even have time to blink.)
æ°ãã€ããšã圌ã¯ç¬ç¹ã®å¹Ÿäœåп𡿧ãããªã³ãããããã©ã¹ããã¯è£œã®ãã¹ã®åº§åžã«åº§ã£ãŠããã圌ã®é ã®ããæšªã«ããçªã¬ã©ã¹ããè»äœã®æ¯åã§æ¿ããã¬ã¿ã¬ã¿ãšé³ãç«ãŠãŠãããå€ã¯å®å šã«èº«åãã®åããªãå€§æžæ»ã ã£ããäœçŸå°ãã®è»ã®ãã¬ãŒãã©ã³ãã®èµ€ãå ããéšã«æ¿¡ããã¬ã©ã¹è¶ãã«ãããªã𿻲ã¿ãè»å ã®ä¹å®¢ãã¡ãè¡ã®ãããªäžæ°å³ãªè²åœ©ã§ç §ããåºããŠããã(Suddenly, he was sitting on a plastic, patterned bus seat. The window next to his head was vibrating violently against the frame. Outside, the world was locked in gridlock traffic. The blurry red brake lights of a hundred cars smeared across the wet glass, casting a bloody glow over the commuters inside.)
圌ã®è³ã¯ç¬æã«ç©ºçœãåããåœãã®èæ¯èšå®ãéã蟌ãã§ããããåã¯ä»ãå€§èŠæš¡ãªã¹ããŒãã€ãã³ãã®åž°ãã®ãã¹ã«ä¹ã£ãŠãããå¿æŽããŠããããŒã ãåã£ãã®ãããããšãè² ããã®ãããããªããšã¯ã©ãã§ããããã¹ã¿ãžã¢ã ã¯ããåŸãã«éãå»ã£ããã (His brain immediately filled in the blanks, feeding him a fake context: You are on the bus home from a massive sporting event. Your team won. Or maybe they lost. It doesn't matter. The stadium is behind you.)
ãã¹ã¯éšã®äžã§å®å šã«ç«ã¡åŸçããŠããããã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã¯ãçªã¬ã©ã¹ã«çœãã€ããçµé²ãæã®ã²ãã§äžžãæãåããå€ã®éããèŠäžãããã(The bus sat frozen in the rain. Player 1 wiped a circle of condensation off the glass and looked out into the street.)
ãã®æã圌ã¯ã圌女ããèŠã€ããã(That was when he saw her.)
圌女ã¯ãåç éãã®éšãé¿ããããã«é ãå°ãããŒããåè»ããè»ãã¡ã®èã®æ©éãæ©ããŠããã圌女ã®ã³ãŒãã®è¥å ã«ã¯ããã®ããŒã ã®ã«ã©ãŒã§ãããé®®ãããªèµ€ãšçœã®ã¹ãã©ã€ãã®éŠå·»ãïŒã¹ã«ãŒãïŒãå·»ãããŠããã圌女ãã¡ããã©åœŒã®åº§åžã®çªã®ç暪ãŸã§å·®ãæãã£ãæããµãšè¶³ãæ¢ããã(She was walking down the pavement past the stuck cars, her head ducked against the downpour. She was wearing the team's coloursâa bright red and white scarf tucked into her coat. As she drew level with his window, she stopped.)
圌女ã¯é¡ãäžããããããŠãã¬ã©ã¹è¶ãã«ãçã£çŽãã«åœŒãèŠã€ããã(She looked up. She looked directly at him through the glass.)
ãã®ãæ¯ãã§ããªãã»ã©éãŸãè¿ã£ãäžç¬ããã¹ã®é転åžã®é äžã«ããå€ãã©ãžãªããé黿°ã®éé³ãçªãç Žã£ãŠçªåŠãšããŠé³Žãé¿ããã軜快ãªã¢ã³ãŒã¹ãã£ãã¯ã®ã¿ãŒã®ã€ã³ããããéããåè¿«ãããªãºã ã§ãšã³ãžã³é³ãåãè£ããŠããããããŠãèã£ãºããã¹ããŒã«ãŒãããããŒã«ã»ããã«ãŒãããŒã®æå£°ãé¿ãæž¡ã£ãã(In that exact, breathless second, the old radio above the bus driverâs head crackled to life through the static. A bright, acoustic guitar intro cut through the heavy drone of the engine, fast and urgent. Then, Paul McCartney's voice rang out through the tinny speakers:)
âIâve just seen a face, I canât forget the time or place where we just metâŠâ
ïŒä»ãããé¡ãèŠããã ãåãã¡ãåºäŒã£ããã®æéãããã®å Žæããã©ãããŠãå¿ããããªãâŠïŒ
ãã®æ²ã®ã匟ããããªããã³ããã¯ãªã¡ããã£ã¯ãçªã®å€ã®æ¿ããéšé³ãšããŸãã«ãæ®é ·ã«ããããŠçŸããè¡çªããŠããããã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã®åŒåžãåã«åŒã£ãããã圌女ã®é¡ã¯éåäœïŒã³ã³ããžããïŒã ã£ããããã®ã©ã€ã³ãå°ãéãããç³ã®è²ã¯ããŒãŒã«èª¿ã®ãããµããªã°ã©ããŒã·ã§ã³ãæããŠãããããã圌ãåèŠãããã¡ã«ã圌女ã®é¡ã®ããŒãã¯ã·ã¹ãã ã³ãŒãã®å¶çŽã«å¿ æ»ã«ããããããã£ãäžã€ã®ã決å®çãªäººéã®åœ¢ã«å®çããããšè ¢ããŠããããã«èŠããã(The cheerful, driving rhythm of the song clashed beautifully and terribly with the pouring rain. Player 1âs breath caught in his throat. Her face was a compositeâthe chin was slightly too sharp, the eyes a shifting shade of hazelâbut as he stared, her features seemed to struggle against the code, trying to lock into a single, permanent shape.)
圌女ã¯å«ã°ãªãã£ããæã£ãŠããããã«ãèŠããªãã£ãããã ãèžãç· ãä»ãããããããªãæ·±ããæ·±ãå°æã®è¡šæ ã§åœŒãèŠã€ãè¿ããŠãããããã¯ãä»ãŸãã«èªåèªèº«ã®é¡ã«æµ®ããã§ããã®ãšå šãåã衚æ ã ã£ãã圌女ã¯ããããã圌ã®ããšãç¥ã£ãŠãããã®ããã«åœŒãèŠãŠããããŸãã§ããããŸã§ã®äººçã§ç¡æ°ã®éææ¥ã®å€ããµãã«ãŒã®è©Šåãã2人ã§äžç·ã«å ±æããŠãããã®ããã«ãããã©ãã©ãããŠããã®é¡ã誰ãªã®ããæãåºããªãããããªè¡šæ ã ã£ãã(She didn't scream. She didn't look angry. Instead, she just stared at him with a profound, aching confusion. It was the exact expression he felt on his own face. She looked at him as if she knew himâas if they shared a whole lifetime of Fridays and football matchesâbut she couldn't quite place the face.)
圌女ã¯ãã¹ã«åãã£ãŠäžæ©è¿ã¥ããåãåãããã圌女ã®åãåºãæ¯ããçªã¬ã©ã¹ã®å€åŽãå°ããçœãæãããã(She took a step closer to the bus, her lips moving against the glass, casting a small fog of breath on the outside of the window.)
ã©ãžãªã¯æµãç¶ãããã®æè©ããã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1ã®èžã«ãã€ã¬ã¯ãã«çªãåºãããâHad I been another day, I might have looked the other wayâŠâïŒããå¥ã®æ¥ã ã£ãããåã¯éãæ¹ãåããŠéãéããŠãããããããªãâŠïŒ (The radio kept playing, the lyrics echoing directly into Player 1's chest: âHad I been another day, I might have looked the other wayâŠâ)
ãå©ããŠïŒã (âHelp me!â)
圌女ã®åãããåããã
ããã¯ããã ã®2åèªã ã£ããéããç°¡æœã§ãæ¿ããéšãšã¬ã©ã¹ã®åããåŽããã§ããç¬æã«ãããšèå¥ã§ããæç¢ºãªåãã ã£ãã(It was just two words. Sharp. Plain. Instantly recognizable even through the downpour and the glass.)
å°äžã§ã¯ãã³ã³ãããŒã«ã³ã³ãœãŒã«ãèšçç¹ã瀺ãèµ€è²ã®ã©ã€ããç¹ç¯ããããã¢ã©ãŒã ãããããŸãã鳎ãé¿ããå¶åŸ¡å®€å šäœãççŽ ã®ã¹ãããå ã§æãäžããã(Downstairs, the console red-lined. An alarm began to blare, casting a strobing crimson light across the control room.)
ãæèã®æ»²åºïŒã»ã³ããšã³ã¹ã»ããªãŒãïŒã ïŒ ç¬¬4ã»ã¯ã¿ãŒïŒ é³å£°æŒããçºçããŠããïŒ èª°ã ãããŒãã«ãºã®ãã¡ã€ã«ããã¥ãŒã«å ¥ããã®ã¯ïŒïŒ ãã©ãã·ã¥ããïŒ ãã©ãã·ã¥ãããã°ãªãããçºçããŠããïŒã (âSentience Bleed! Sector 4! We have an audio leak! Who queued the Beatles file?! Flush it! Flush it, we have a glitch!â)
ããããããäžäººã®ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒã¯ããã©ãã·ã¥ã¬ããŒãžãšæã䌞ã°ããªãã£ããããã©ãããããã£ã¹ã¿ãŒä»ãã®åè»¢æ€ åã«æ·±ãè °æããã¡ã¬ãã®ç Žçãæå ã§çŽããªãããè³ã£ãŠå·éã«èšºæã¢ãã¿ãŒã®æ°å€ã調æŽããŠããã(The second Operator didn't move toward the flush levers. Instead, they leaned back in their swivel chair, adjusting their glasses as they calmly adjusted a diagnostic monitor.)
ããªããããšããäžäººã®ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒã¯åããã鳎ãé¿ããµã€ã¬ã³ã®èœé³ã®äžã§ããã®å£°ã¯å®å šã«å¹³åŠã§å·ãããã ã£ããããã°ãªããïŒäžå ·åïŒããšããèšèã®èªæºã¯ãå®ã«è峿·±ããã ããã¡ãªã¢ã ïŒãŠã§ãã¹ã¿ãŒèŸå žã«ãããšããã®èšèã¯æãããYiddishïŒã€ãã£ãã·ã¥èªïŒã§ãæ»ããããå Žæããæå³ãããglitshãããããã¯ãã€ãèªã§ãæ»ããæ»ãèœã¡ãããæå³ãããglitschenãã«ç±æ¥ããŠããã1950幎代ãã60幎代ã«ãããŠãã©ãžãªã®ã¢ããŠã³ãµãŒããã¬ãã®æè¡è ããããŠãžã§ã³ã»ã°ã¬ã³ãå«ãNASAã®å®å®é£è¡å£«ãã¡ããå®å®é£è¡äžã®äºæãã¬æè¡çãã©ãã«ã衚çŸããããã«äœ¿ã£ãããšã§äžè¬ã«åºãŸã£ããã ãã (âYou know,â the second Operator murmured, their voice completely flat against the blaring sirens, âthe word 'glitch' is quite fascinating. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, the term likely comes from the Yiddish word 'glitsh,' which means a 'slippery place,' or the German 'glitschen,' meaning 'to slip or slide.' It was popularized in the 1950s and 1960s by radio announcers, television engineers, and NASA astronautsâincluding John Glennâto describe unexpected technical mishaps during space flight.â)
æåã®ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒã¯äž¡æã®ã²ããã¡ã€ã³ã³ã³ãœãŒã«ã«å©ãã€ããæ¿æã®åœ¢çžã§æ¯ãè¿ã£ããããžã§ã³ã»ã°ã¬ã³ã®ããšãªããç¥ããïŒ ã³ã¢ã»ããŒããŠã§ã¢ãèšæ¶åªå€±ã®ã«ãŒãããå®å šã«ãæ»ãèœã¡ããã£ãŠãããã ãïŒ ã¬ããŒãåŒãïŒã (âI don't give a damn about John Glenn! The core hardware is sliding right out of the amnesia loop! PULL THE LEVER!â)
ããã®éãããããäžäººã®ãªãã¬ãŒã¿ãŒã¯ãå·ããç¬ã¿ãæµ®ãã¹ãªãããããããæåãªãŒããŒã©ã€ãã®ã¹ã€ããã«æã䌞ã°ããããæ»ããããå Žæã ããããŠåœŒã¯ãæã ã®æããæ»ãèœã¡ãããšããŠãããã (âExactly,â the second Operator replied, finally reaching for the manual override switch with a cold smile. âA slippery place. And he is sliding away from us.â)
圌ãã¯ã¹ã€ãããåä»»ãã«æŒãäžããã(They slammed the switch down.)
æè¡éå ± // ç·æ¥ã¢ã©ãŒã (TECHNICAL BULLETIN // EMERGENCY ALERT)
é
ä¿¡å
ïŒ ãã¹ãŠã®éçšã»ã¯ã¿ãŒ (Distribution: All Operational Sectors)
ã¹ããŒã¿ã¹ïŒ æ·±å»ãªã·ã¹ãã äžå®å®åã®çºç (Status: CRITICAL SYSTEM INSTABILITY)
察象ã¯ãã§ãŒãº2ã®å¶éå¢çãçªç Žããã察象ã«ããé·æéã®èŠç·åºå®ã«ãããè€æ°ã®ç¥èšåŒéåã¢ã»ãããåæå€çºçã«ãæèããç²åŸãããç°å¢ãšã³ãžã³ã¯çŸåšãæ·±å»ãªãªãŒããŒããŒããèµ·ãããŠããã(Subject has breached Phase 2 constraints. The Shorthand Composite assets have achieved multi-point sentience due to prolonged Subject focus. The Environment Engine is experiencing severe overheating.)
èŠåïŒ å¯Ÿè±¡ã¯ãã¯ããæäŸããããã©ã³ãã ãªæèããååçã«åãå ¥ããŠã¯ããªããæã ã矀è¡ãæç»ããŠãããšããäºå®ã«ãåœŒã¯æ°ã¥ãã€ã€ããããã§ãŒãº3ãé²åŸ¡çããã¯ããŠã³ãã®æºåãéå§ããã(WARNING: The Subject is no longer passively accepting the "random thoughts." He knows we are rendering the crowd. Prepare for Phase 3: Defensive Lockdown.)
èªè ãžã®ã¡ãã»ãŒãž (A NOTE TO THE READER)
#å°èª¬
#åµäœ
#SFå°èª¬
#ãµã€ã³ãã©ãŒ
)#ãã¹ããªãŒ
#ãã¬ã€ã€ãŒ1
#äŒç·
#ããŒãã«ãº
#éœåžäŒèª¬
#é£èŒå°èª¬