PROLOGUE
Location: Hoshikiri, Japan – Year: 2045
Once a thriving coastal jewel, Hoshikiri now lies in fractured silence, swallowed by vines, dust, and time.
Eight years have passed since the first Killing Star fell. Eleven since humanity fractured — the rich burrowed beneath the earth into the Lower Sovereign States, while the rest were left behind in the surface wastelands of the United Upper States.
Bright Hope Hospital remains one of the last standing pillars in this ruin. A hospital in name, a fortress in spirit. One wing still clings to life — walls bolstered with scrap steel, elevators replaced with ropes and pulleys, corridors lit by the flicker of rewired emergency lights. The air carries the scent of antiseptic, rust, and something older… something scorched.
Professionals? Gone. Most bought their way underground.
Except one.
Dr. Hershoff, upright and grizzled, once held a Lower States relocation ticket in his hand. Instead, he nailed it to the wall of the entrance hallway — framed behind glass and labeled in red:
WE MAKE OUR CHOICES
He made his. He chose to stay. To serve.
To be the spine of Bright Hope.
This day begins, like many before it, with screams in the distance.
A convoy arrives from the northeast — men, women, children — lungs blackened from dust, bones splintered by collapsed homes, burns from concussive waves.
Their settlement, near Zone Katori, was never the target. But with the Killing Stars, you don't need to be.
Inside, Nurse Yuki barks triage commands, her sleeves already stained crimson.
No stretchers. No lifts. No diagnostics AI.
Only runners.
And at the heart of them: Gekiko.
Armed with a walkie, med-belts strapped to her sides, she dashes through the corridors — smoke curling around her feet, pulley wires overhead like spiderwebs.
From floor to floor, through cracked walls and improvised scaffolds, her team runs with her:
Shoichi, puffing and hauling crates. Lazy, mouthy, but sharper than he looks.
Takumi, silent and focused, manning their hacked control center.
Kazuhiko, the tactician above, marking zones and safe routes.
Their chatter cuts through the chaos, voices buzzing through static-filled comms:
Gekiko (through headset):
"Alright Bright Hope — new batch just dropped! Let's fly, Dr. Hersch is counting on us!"
Shoichi (panting, juggling a box of gauze and snacks):
"Geki, one question... why am I always the one hauling the med crates? This body was built for diplomacy, not disaster!"
Gekiko (swinging around a stairwell corner):
"Because your legs still work and I saw you eating five seconds ago! Now MOVE those diplomacy thighs!"
Shoichi:
"They were protein snacks, thank you very much. For stamina. Y'know, for the cause."
Takumi (calm, from a jury-rigged terminal):
"Power reroute complete. South wing is back online — barely. But tell Mrs. Rae not to plug in the surgical cauterizer yet. It might explode, again."
Shoichi:
"…Yeah we don't want another one of that, three explosions in a week is more than enough for me,"
Gekiko (grinning as she catches a rolling cart mid-sprint):
"We patch what breaks. We fix what we can. And we never stop running. That's the Bright Hope way!"
Kazuhiko (overwatching from above):
"Gekiko, tell Mr Lee to redirect incoming to corridor Delta. West hall's ceiling's soft — may collapse. He shouldn't risk it."
Gekiko:
"Copy that! Sho, shift your food-loving butt to Delta. We've got burn victims incoming from the Grove twins."
Shoichi (sighs, already moving):
"Tell my future wife I died tragically… probably from excessive cardio."
They move like blood in Bright Hope's veins.
Every relay, every breath, in rhythm. Not chaos. Routine.
Because if the Lower States won't save them, they'll save themselves.
They always have.
And today is no different.