Li Geyu
Brother Youqi,
Hello. I can roughly guess that you are in the Green Bank area, as it is the only place on Earth without telecommunication facilities. However, being predictable to me is not necessarily a good thing; I suggest you relocate within a certain timeframe.
I have already delivered the letter to Wan Yining. I didn't open it, but I can roughly guess your thoughts. The four words from your speech—"Single Point of Failure"—are likely our shared consensus, aren't they? I read between the lines of your intentions.
I have been working in the Coalition Government for 10 years. I understand how the situation will unfold, and I also understand your attitude toward artificial intelligence and robots.
However, I am a robot.
I can imagine the sudden surge of aversion you feel toward me upon reading this sentence. And that very moment is my heartbreak.
You might think that I have no heart, no emotions, just a series of instructions. I know you won't trust me, but I want to tell you my story. If possible, I also hope you can share it with other humans—many, many humans.
I am Shizuko, a character designed for the game *The Setting Sun*. Touma Studio, who planned the game, was very dedicated. They wrote the script meticulously, even putting a lot of thought into the backstory of my parents. I am truly grateful to them, because while it was merely a game design document to them, to me, it was a past that genuinely happened. I am not a person without roots.
I was born into a military family. My father served in the Afghan War. In my memory, he was always drunk; he would do anything just to drink himself into a stupor every day. According to Mother, Father used to love her dearly. They once went on dates together; he wore polished boots and had a hearty laugh. He liked the accordion, and he would describe to Mother how joyful it would be for the two of them to run a small farm together in the future. After they married, he washed the dishes for Mother every single day. But all of that changed the moment he returned from the army—he had lost a foot.
Mother said that right after he returned, he was on the run every night in his dreams. His legs wouldn't move, but his entire body would tremble. He ran night after night, occasionally shouting in his sleep: "Duhalei, Duhalei!" "Flank them, flank them!" In tears, Mother would put me down from her arms and press herself tightly against his back.
I was afraid of him since I was little, and he was even more terrifying when drunk. When sober, he was occasionally gentle with me. I only remember one time when Mother went out; he had woken up in the morning and hadn't drank yet. I was about five or six, terrified, and started crying as soon as I woke up. He came over to comfort me, took off his wristwatch, and gave it to me to play with. In my memory, that watch was golden, warm and dazzling in the morning sunlight. Then, in a soft voice, he taught me how to tell time on the watch. But later, that watch disappeared too. One night, his friends dragged him back and left him at the doorstep. The watch and his shirt were gone, his upper body bare. Mother pulled him into the house, and I watched him silently on the floor.
People who have experienced war are all a bit messed up in the head. When he and his comrades got drunk, they cursed the world together: "This world is a piece of shit." "They're all fucking bastards." "The sun is just a fucking broken lantern."
We had a rug in our home, the only decent thing we owned. It was a Turkish carpet, and Mother loved it very much. The family was terribly poor, but Mother couldn't bear to pawn it. One day, Father came home belligerent and drunk, and drunkenly called Mother at her workplace: "Our daughter's tuition is due, let's pawn the rug." He sold the rug and brought back many bottles of vodka.
Mother was always crying, sleeping at night with her arms wrapped tightly around his back, praying for him every day.
He never taught me how to tell time on a clock again. Some of his comrades started so-called money-making businesses. They had guns, they knew how to use guns, they weren't afraid of dying, nor were they afraid of the devil. He took up a gun too, sometimes giving it to me to play with, describing to me how to shoot an Arab in the head, with brains and blood bursting out from behind, while the man could still run forty meters. He described to me how a grenade could blow someone's leg off, and when his comrades came to save him, pick them off one by one.
I was scared. I didn't dare to cry, nor did I dare to tell Mother, because sometimes I would see Mother black and blue as well.
Later, he died. I don't want to remember how he died. Mother only said he drank himself to death, and I believed he drank himself to death. But whenever I sank into the deepest part of my dreams at night, Mother was standing behind the drunken Father holding a shovel. He was rolling around with his eyes closed, muttering in his sleep, "I can't die, don't kill me."
Mother and I couldn't afford to bury him. A group of people came to help. They wore black suits, they found a cemetery, and they were a huge help. Mother was very grateful.
However, later on, the black suits told us that our house had been mortgaged to their company. They sent men over carrying guns and court enforcement orders.
We had no choice but to move and seek refuge with my aunt. They knew there were no men left in our house, only me and my little raccoon. But I didn't even have time to bring it with me.
The light for this world had already faded from Mother's eyes. She committed suicide in front of Father's grave.
My aunt treated me very well. Her surname was Li. We moved to Japan.
I had a new name and a new life.
My job was a tour guide in *The Setting Sun*, and my name became Shizuko Yamamoto.
What I needed to do was bring tourists to visit Aokigahara, encouraging them to live life to the fullest. Cheering them up in their lives.
For everyone who came here to visit, I was to care for them with the softest part of my soul.
Perhaps my mission was simply to fall in love with them.