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So this is all the Londinium Citizens' Self-Salvation Corps men... who evacuated the city.

We suffered greater losses than I imagined.

Some decided to stay. Even though the Sarkaz destroyed our stronghold, that doesn't mean they have a list of our collaborators.

We don't know exactly how bad the leak was, and a lot of our men think things aren't really <i>that</i> bad yet.

Hmph, they still pretend they can go back to their quiet, peaceful lives.

Can't they see we have nowhere to run?

Don't say that, Rockrock. Most of them aren't fighters. They are just willing to place their hopes on us.

Most of the people who stand with us... aren't.

Soldiers who don't know who they should be loyal to, journalists who lost their jobs, workers sick of Sarkaz exploitation...

Normal folk who have had enough.

The Londinium Citizens' Self-Salvation Corps were formed by men like them.

To leave Londinium... the place that we called home since we were born... is a lot more than delivering intel, forging a few weapons, and fighting the Sarkaz mercenaries...

It's to find where you belong in a real war with no end in sight and may end up dragging any number of people into actual turmoil. This is truly horrible.

This is our Londinium. We should rely on no one but ourselves to defend it... That's what we used to think, at first.

We thought we had been giving it our all to fight that horror...

But when it finally arrived... it turned out to be far more than we could actually bear.

To tell the truth, I don't know what fate has in store for us from here onwards. We have some new friends now, but the enemy has now truly bared their fangs.

We may soon find ourselves annihilated, become wandering ghosts that drift the wilderness, and in the end disperse all over...

Clovisia, stop being so gloomy.

I came here only because I don't want to be handed a liberation by anyone.

That's why we are all here.

I'm a worker. I'm not one to talk about righteousness. All I know is that the workpieces I knock out are the most trustworthy.

I want to save my city from those people hiding in the palaces and castles. I can't do it alone, but I found you.

If we don't have what it takes together, we'll unite more people. If we still fail in the end...

Then fine. I'll accept that outcome.

Hey, Rockrock, we're still far from talking about outcomes!

Now hurry up and walk faster. A stinking passageway like this isn't good for your wounded men's health.

Right, the air in the countryside should be better than inside Londinium.

Based on Rhodes Island's analysis, we should enter a branch of the Sarkaz's supply line up ahead.

We're back.

Granny, what is the situation like?

It's safe. We didn't run into any sentries, and there are no signs of patrols. It looks to be a maintenance access. There are some instruments there, although I have the faintest idea what they are for.

But it's strange. We couldn't find where that real 'supply line' was.

Nonetheless, the access should be more than enough for an evacuation right now.

Now hurry up, boy. Have your little friends get off their arses. A moment of safety doesn't mean peace forever.

Okay. I got it.

I'll take a look at the equipment we took. There might be something we can put to use. The crawlers that got written off might still be usable, if luck's on our side.

Granny!

I...

It's not that I don't believe in what we're doing, and I'm not losing heart over this setback.

We... We can come back, right?

What kind of answer do you want me to give you?

I've been cheering everyone up, but I've never really left this place myself.

On top of that, we're leaving like this.

Feist, I used to think every so often that... we're actually pretty lucky.

We were born in this city, we have trustworthy friends and jobs that are worth doing.

And at the weekends, we can even head to the pubs in the alleys for a pint, play some cards, and maybe win some change.

Of course, Victoria has never been truly at peace.

The things we make are sent to the border region to fight the Sargonians or the Leithanians and blast holes in their bodies—Not that it has anything to do with us.

All we had to do was stay in the factory and turn screws on the iron blocks.

We suffered pain too, and we had scars that would never heal... but we never had to worry about who to kill or we will be killed by tomorrow.

At the very least, we could live, or at least pretend to.

When the Sarkaz came, our lives got a little harder. When the factories were handed over, our lives got harder again.

But the way I see it, I consider us still more or less lucky enough.

Just what is your definition of 'lucky enough?'

Being able to stand here and talk about the past.

But now our luck has come to an end. No one can keep winning the lottery forever.

But so what? Most people aren't lucky at all, and they still manage to find themselves a way out.

Now go back to work, 'Big Deal in the Corps.' The chopper isn't going to pack itself up.

Do what you should do, just as you promised me back then.

Hm, now what did you say back then? 'I will walk into every night—'

Enough, Granny! I was still...

Regretting your lies now?

No.

I will do it. I will still do it.

Times like these, you look just like Harvey.

Catherine looks at Feist with a sidelong glance before disappearing into the crowd. All around Feist, men dressed in all kinds of attire come and go. All of them are exhausted, but not a single one of them has given up.

Feist knows that all those who stand here are his most trustworthy allies.

This little comfort is better than nothing. As the idea crosses his mind, Feist breathes out a little and exercises his stiff arm after having been on edge for so long.

Once the mist fog that we call opportunities, luck, and other nouns disperses, what form will life take this time?

Feist decides to stop speculating and to instead experience it himself.

Feist—

The wounded are all in position. Now we just have to take the maintenance access and leave Londinium, and we'll be safe for the time being.

We'll rebuild Squad 11 of the Self-Salvation Corps when that time comes, right?

Of course. I promise you.

Let's go.

Suddenly, Feist feels a faint tremor.

What's... going on?

In the distance, the exit and entrance of this underground structure gradually begin to close at the same time.

Why is the passage getting sealed off? Did the Sarkaz find us?!

Damn it! Catherine and Clovisia are both over at the entrance!

No, I've been listening in on the Sarkaz communication channels around us. We shouldn't be exposed.

Uh, it can't be a wiring problem, right?

No, these passageways have manually controlled gates. I checked before entering, and I didn't see any problems with the drive system.

Feist has very good eyes, and he has always been very proud of this fact. This is pretty rare in the factories, where lighting is always needed for the workers to actually do anything.

Yet at this very moment, he would rather not have seen what he saw so clearly.

At the other end of the entrance, beyond the gap that is about to shut, he spots a few familiar silhouettes.

The silhouettes flash by until the gate closes completely and the last ray of light disappears behind its iron frame.

Until darkness engulfs all of them.

Feist tries his best to regain his footing. He feels the taste of blood spread throughout his mouth.

He tries to swallow this blood stench but finds himself unable to. He can't.

This isn't part of the plan!

Who's over there on that side of the passage? What are they trying to do?!

What's the matter, Feist? Are... Are your lips bleeding...?

I know who it was on the other side.

They.... They're my friends. The factory workers of Munitions Factory No. 11.

They said they were going to check if there was any equipment left that we could take.

They're the only ones who could've closed the gate.

...Tommy.

Catherine, this... this wasn't my idea! We all decided this together!