Under the crushing weight of the apocalypse, not a single Federation civilian could escape. By now, there were very few survivors left in the Federation.
Could the light of victory still arrive?
The pilots who had once given their lives for this had become insignificant drops in the vast tide of life. The Federation no longer seemed capable of stirring up any waves. Though they had made many preparations in advance, the rapidly accelerating apocalypse gave them no time to put them into action one by one. Even after directly deploying their ultimate weapon, the result seemed only to hasten death's arrival.
"...Is there still a way?"
Inside a safehouse built by the Federation, someone looked at the red spots appearing on his hand and asked in a voice filled with despair and confusion.
He was not looking at anyone. It seemed as though he was seeking an answer from others, yet also as though he were merely talking to himself.
Not one of the few dozen people remaining in the enormous safehouse answered him.
A way? What way could there possibly be?
Even their strongest weapon could not kill that thing. All that remained was to wait for death, wasn't it?
No. Perhaps... they should not wait to die.
A trace of resolve flashed through someone's eyes.
Then, with a bang, under everyone's startled and horrified gazes, he chose to end his own life.
It happened quickly. He did not even say a single word to vent his emotions, and the despair on his dead face still refused to fade.
Then, those still in the safehouse were shocked to discover that he had not turned into flesh and blood and flown into the sky after killing himself.
"...Is it because he's dead, so he isn't fresh anymore?"
Someone stared