It was summer in Colony 9 and Xord was hard at work. With his smithy in the heart of the commercial district, the beat of his hammer was like its pulse. He kept a watchful eye on his project, but his mind was somewhere else. The repetitive nature of his craft gave him lots of time to think. He mostly kept himself occupied by thinking about Désirée—he'd think about the fun times he had shared with her, and the wonderful woman she'd become. She was only five years old, but both her past and her future held so much potential for thought.

That was Xord's life: smithing and his daughter. It was a simple life, but it was one he was happy with. Although he was in his forties, he still felt young—at least, that was what he tried to tell himself. The pain, though mild, was hard to ignore. Stubborn as he was, Xord refused to slow down or make changes to his lifestyle. He was content with things just the way they were.

Lost in his daydreams, Xord didn't hear the sandals slapping across the cement. "Daddy!" a voice cried out.

Xord jolted back to reality, nearly dropping his hammer onto the anvil. "Désirée? What's wrong?"

"I broke it," said a tearful Désirée. In her hands were several pieces of what had once been a clay figurine of an animal. Désirée had sculpted it herself, and Xord helped her bake it in his forge. She had been proud of her creation, so much so that she brought it with her everywhere and showed it to all her friends. It was only a matter of time before she dropped it.

"Ah, well that's no good! Lemme see if I can fix it." Xord put his tools down, took off his gloves, and began hunting through his supplies. His job could wait; Désirée always came first. "I know I've got a thing of glue somewhere around here."

Désirée sniffled and wiped her face with her arm.

"Found it!" Xord exclaimed, holding up a bottle of glue. "Now let's see if I can make it better."

Désirée was already beginning to cheer up. She handed Xord the pieces. "Daddy, you're the best! You can fix anything!"

"I'm good at what I do, but I can't fix everything," he said, carefully applying the glue along the edge of one of the fragments. "And sometimes, even when you're able to fix something, it's… never quite the same." He feigned a smile as he showed Désirée the partially repaired figurine, which sported a very obvious crack. "But I still think it's worth it to try."

"Oh no," she sobbed, the tears returning to her eyes. "It's ruined!"

"Shh, shh. Don't think of it like that," Xord said, wrapping his arm around her. "Cracks, scars—those things add character, and each of them teaches us a lesson." He showed Désirée a big red mark on the side of his hand. "See? This is how I learned to always wear gloves."

"But I just dropped it. It was an accident."

"It's fragile. Remember when I told you that?" Xord chided. "When you have something delicate like that, you ought to keep it somewhere safe." He let go of Désirée and began gluing another piece. "You know better now. The next time you make something, you've got to be careful."

"Okay," Désirée said with a sniff. "You don't have to fix it anymore. I'm gonna make one that's better."

"What? Well, all right," Xord said, setting the figurine and its remaining pieces on a shelf. "Let me know when you're ready to get it fired up."

"Mm-hm." Désirée nodded her head before running out of the garage. Once the slapping of her sandals had died away, Xord sighed, picked up the discarded figurine, and resumed putting it back together.

"Désirée," Xord croaked. He didn't remember much about his daughter beyond her face, but his instincts told him she was someone he needed to protect. She was just a little girl. Désirée manifested in his mind as more of a symbol than a person; a symbol of light and innocence and everything good that had been ripped away from him. Xord couldn't stand the thought of her being all alone. Who was there to play with her, and tuck her in at night, and keep her safe from all the bad guys? He needed to get back to her as soon as possible and make sure she was okay.

Xord didn't know where she was. He barely knew where he was, or where he had been before. He strained himself to remember his home, but no amount of effort would bring his memories to light. Frustrated, Xord decided to return to Galahad Fortress and try to get the answers out of Egil. He knew it was pointless, but he had no other options.

Xord didn't want to leave the precious clay figurine behind, but what could he do? If he tried to pick it up with his giant, unfeeling fingers, it would be turned to dust. He didn't have anywhere to put it, either, because he didn't have a home. He would have to leave it behind and pray it would still be there if he came back.

He crashed down on the fortress's base level and surged up the ramp, making his way into the Face maintenance bay. "Egil!" he called, his voice resounding off of the metal walls. He turned his attention to the observation deck, where he found Vanea in front of her console.

The application closed. "Xord?" Vanea said in alarm. She seemed unsettled by Xord's appearance in a way she hadn't been before.

Xord froze. It took him a second to remember who she was. Then, it hit him: she was the one who had programmed his memories. He should have been seeking her all along, and she should've been the target of his anger. She might've acted kinder and more sympathetic than Egil, but it was all an act. She was just as evil as he was.

Xord was livid. "I'm starting to remember," he said. "Tell me where Désirée is. I know you have the answer!"

Vanea covered her mouth with her hands. "Those memories should have been suppressed," she said weakly. "I didn't think they would be recovered so easily. I should have listened to Egil."

Xord roared, "You did this! You messed with my head!" And apparently, she hadn't done a very good job.

"It was for your protection. That was part of the reason," Vanea said, trying to stay calm in spite of the escalating tension. "Having those memories would only bring you pain. See? Now you are hurting. It was not meant to be this way."

Xord could only respond in the form of an indignant yell. What Vanea and Egil had done was wrong—of course it was. They didn't need him to tell them that. They also had no reason to provide him with answers when they were safe behind the barrier.

"Don't try to look for her, I beg of you," Vanea pleaded. "I fear what could happen."

Then, Egil appeared from behind her. How long had he been there, listening?

"So you recovered memories from your former life. Another defect that must be eliminated before I proceed with mass production," he said. He flashed Vanea a cross look before turning back to Xord. "As a Homs, your daughter's fate is sealed. If you wish for closure, assume she is already dead. Otherwise, pray that you never cross paths."

Xord made a choking noise when he was reminded of Egil's ultimate goal. It was easy to forget he was killing for a purpose, not just for the thrill or because he needed to eat. Egil wanted to systematically destroy all life on Bionis for a reason Xord barely understood. If he succeeded, what would come next? What would Egil do at the end of all things?

The Bionis wasn't Egil's world—it was hard for Xord to keep that in mind when he hadn't gotten a glimpse of what lay beyond Sword Valley. Xord was fighting for a world to which he felt no allegiance; and of which he couldn't even begin to conceive. He was at war with everything he knew, and he had been programmed so he'd continue fighting even if he deserted and ran away.

Nevertheless, that was what Xord decided to do.

Xord brought the head of his hammer down, flattening a Chilkin. Two others jabbed at his shins with their spears. Xord wound back his arm and swatted them with his electrically charged hammer, launching them into a snowbank.

"What a bunch o' bird brains, picking a fight with the likes of me," he mumbled as he retrieved their bodies and topped off his tank. He wasn't hungry, but they were mere morsels and he didn't want them to go to waste.

It had been weeks, possibly months since Xord had last seen Egil. In spite of this, Xord didn't feel like he was free. His self-preservation system ensured that he would continue to carry out Egil's plan. He was holed up on Valak Mountain, where he was making a small dent in the Aries population. The beasts were large enough to keep him satisfied for an entire day.

Xord spent most of his time trying to recover his memories, but with no new information to reflect on, he made very little progress. His short-term memory was improving, at least, which almost came as a disservice: he was left to cycle endlessly through the same scattering of thoughts. His Mechon body never slept. He could only stand there in the wind and snow, staring vacantly into the distance. The isolation was maddening. He would often talk to himself to pretend he had company.

Xord almost wished he had let Egil kill him. There were times when he pondered throwing himself off the edge of the mountain, but he had something to live for beyond his selfish desire to prolong his own existence.

He still hadn't found Désirée.

Xord had no idea how long it had been since he'd last seen her. He didn't think about that. He just knew that she was helpless without him and must've been desperately awaiting his return. Xord had made no attempt to look for her; it was partly because he was afraid of what Egil had said, and partly because he had no idea where to start. Nevertheless, he swore he'd get back to her. He just didn't know when, or how.

Something came crashing down behind Xord, whipping up a flurry of snow. "Oi, there you are!"

Xord whipped around and was greeted by a Mechon almost twice his height. Its frame was much sleeker than Xord's, giving it an almost skeletal appearance; this was reinforced by its skull-shaped head, whose features were comparatively sharp and more menacing. Its chest, which resembled an exposed rib cage, was connected to its abdomen by a spine-like column. Its abdomen was nested in an upside-down arch, which also served as a base for its engine-like tail—a feature it shared with Xord. An ether cannon towered over its head, and spanning its back was a U-shaped structure resembling wings. The Mechon's armor was matte black with shiny gold accents, and it was fitted with the same red circuitry that ran across Xord's exterior. In place of fingers, the Mechon had frightfully long claws.

"Egil sent me to come get you."

So he hadn't been abandoned after all.

Xord stared at the other Mechon guardedly. "Who are you?"

"Huh, wasn't expecting you to talk back. None of the others do," the Mechon murmured. "They call me Metal Face. It doesn't make sense. You've got a metal face, and so do all the other brown ones. Hell, even Egil has a metal face. I tried asking him what makes me so special, but he wouldn't tell me. You'd think he would've called me Bla—"

"What does Egil want with me?" Xord snapped.

"He's got something big planned! I can hardly wait." Metal Face paused to scratch his chin with one of his claws. "I swear I recognize your voice from somewhere. What was your name? Wait—I think I got it! You're Xord, the blacksmith from Colony 9! You made those clawed gauntlets for me, remember?" Metal Face said with glee.

"Colony… 9?" Xord stood with his mouth agape. "That's it! That's got to be where she is!"

"Huh?"

"I've got to get to Colony 9!"

Metal Face let out a groan. "Can it wait? We've got a rendezvous at Galahad, and if I come back without you, the ol' tin man's gonna have my head," he said. "Don't make me tell on you. Egil ain't gonna be happy if he has to come all the way out here and get you himself."

Xord thought back to the way Egil had taken control of his Face Unit. He was used to losing control, but something about having his body hijacked by his oppressor deeply disturbed him. He was reminded that, even though Egil had seemingly forsaken him, he was probably still able to keep tabs on him at all times. Xord muttered, "I'll be right behind you."

As they jetted toward their destination, Metal Face said, "What's the deal with you, anyway? What were you doing on that mountain? And how come you can talk?"

"What?"

"Don't you know? Egil's got tons of Faces that look just like you. Same hammer and everything," Metal Face said. "Oh, I get it. He used you as the template. He must've decided he doesn't like when his Faces talk back." He added, "Heh. I might've had something to do with that."

Xord still had no idea what he was talking about, but he didn't care enough to ask.

"I heard they got chips in their brains, those Faces. They act just like regular Mechon—you'd never guess there's people inside. That's what Egil wants: an army of drones with no minds of their own."

"But why is he doing this to Homs?"

"It's the Monado," said Metal Face, seemingly annoyed. "What, did he not tell you these things?"

"No, not about that."

"You were a blacksmith, weren't you? Surely you've at least heard of it before."

"I don't remember." Xord found it strange how Metal Face seemed to have retained his memory, especially since Egil had made it seem like an undesirable trait. He was also put off by how Metal Face appeared to have a favorable opinion of the iron-fisted Machina.

"It's a legendary weapon that's super effective against Mechon, but it can't hurt people. If a Mechon has the heart and soul of a Homs, the Monado won't work, though," Metal Face said. "I used to know the guy who wielded the Monado. Always wanted that thing for myself. I don't really have a use for it anymore, but I'd still love to yank it right out of his mitts just to see the look on his face."

Metal Face began his descent onto the base level of Galahad Fortress, and Xord followed suit.

"I wonder what Egil has in store for us," said a giddy Metal Face. "I love a good surprise."

"What makes you think it's gonna be a good surprise?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Knowing Egil, it's bound to be something fun."

Xord was afraid to ask what Metal Face considered "fun"—mostly because he knew that, on some level, he would consider it fun as well. It had been far too long since he spilled the blood of a Homs, and the thought of doing something so heinous again gave him a rush of excitement. He wanted to feel that power again.

Yet he still swore he would never hurt his daughter.

"Egil said he'd be in the Face maintenance bay. Hope we haven't been keeping him waiting for too long," Metal Face said.

Upon ascending the ramp, Xord was distressed to find three identical, lifeless Mechon—perfect copies of him—suspended from cranes. It was as if he was in a house of mirrors. The lights in the Mechons' eyes were dim and they held their hammers limply. Xord found it particularly disturbing that they had all been given exact replicas of his hammer—a weapon made specifically for him.

"What on Bionis…" Xord murmured, backing away.

"This is what I was telling you about. Those are just the Face Units that are in for repairs, too—you ain't seen nothing yet! You're just another face in the crowd!"

Xord couldn't look away from the Face Units. He wanted to deny that he was a Mechon, and instead pretend he was actually still a person dwelling deep within the machine. He was somebody, and he had his own story to tell—but any sense of identity he possessed was known only to him. Xord wanted to break free, but there was nothing from which he could break free—only in death would his soul find relief.

Xord imagined himself in his Homs body again, only to remember how decrepit it was. He only had a good twenty or so years left, assuming his lungs didn't give out before then. He wouldn't live long enough to see Désirée—immortalized in his mind as a child—grow up. His Mechon body, however, was ageless. As long as he kept consuming ether, he would never die.

Though, was there a reason for him to live if he couldn't live as an individual? Would he be content to dissolve into a mob and relinquish his integrity and sense of purpose? To become the pawn of his enemy and bring about his personal apocalypse? Could a life like that possibly be considered fulfilling? Did Xord want to live, or did he just want to be alive?

The three Faces were inert; empty. Now that the Battle of Sword Valley was long over, where would Egil find their pilots? As Xord stared into their dark eyes, an idea came to him. What if Désirée was made into a Face? Then, she would be spared from Egil's genocidal campaign and Xord would be able to see her again without fear. The two of them could live forever in bodies that would never age, get hurt, or fall ill. Such a fantasy was enough to make Xord pivot from his grim introspection.

At the back of the room, Xord noticed a projection of what appeared to be the blueprints of a faced Mechon. Its frame was distinctly different from the other Faces': while its proportions were similar to that of Egil's Mechon, it was smaller and had a lithe, feminine appearance.

Seeing it made Xord's heart swell with joy. Even though it had yet to be constructed, he thought the Mechon was beautiful. It was like a dancer; a princess fashioned from gleaming metal. When he looked at it, he could think only of Désirée. It was a vessel befitting of a darling girl, and it stood out among the others like a diamond in the rough. If Xord couldn't be an individual, then perhaps at least his daughter could.

Metal Face strutted up to the trio of inactive faced Mechon and regarded them thoughtfully. "I wonder if they've still got people in 'em."

"People?" Xord repeated. "You mean, ones they ate?"

Metal Face gave him a blank stare. "No. That's obviously not what I meant. I'm talking about the Core Units."

Xord returned Metal Face's stare. He recalled hearing that term before, but he never registered what it meant.

"You really are clueless." Metal Face slumped onto his knees. His eyes went dim as his chest peeled open, revealing a ratty looking man clad in mechanical armor. He had unkempt brown hair and sunken eyes, and upon further inspection, Xord realized that he wasn't wearing armor—it was his body. Like the Mechon he piloted, the man had an exposed spine; otherwise, his abdominal cavity was hollow. His limbs were attached with ball-and-socket joints, and ironically, his face was the only part of him that wasn't made of metal.

"Guess you can call me Mumkhar now." He sniffed the air and recoiled in disgust. "Ugh, what is that? Smells like a morgue that was abandoned and set on fire, in that order. Why did Egil think it would be a good idea for a Mechon to eat meat?"

Xord wasn't listening. He thought back to Egil's towering Mechon, Yaldabaoth. He'd been under the impression that Egil had been controlling it remotely, like how he'd been able to take control of Xord's Face Unit. The idea of a Mechon being controlled from inside had never crossed Xord's mind. He'd considered himself to be a Mechon, as if he had somehow been transmogrified into one. He had never been able to explain why it felt like his thoughts were coming from the same place as his heart, though. Did that mean Xord really was still a person?

Xord extended his arm to point at Mumkhar. In a frantic voice, he asked, "How'd you do that?"

"You…" Mumkhar pressed his metal palm against his face and groaned. "Look, I don't know how to explain it. Just figure it out."

Xord lowered himself onto the ground. He focused on opening up his chest the way Metal Face had, but all he could do was raise his maxillary panels. Growing frustrated, he began to flap them up and down as if they were wings.

Mumkhar looked tired. "I don't think that's it, mate." He squinted at Xord's chest. "Wait. Keep those things up. I think I see something."

Under Xord's chin was a triangular piece of casing that, unlike the rest of his chest, wasn't lined with serrated gold teeth.

"There!" Mumkhar said, pointing. "Can you lift your head up?"

Xord was alarmed to find he could tilt his head back until his chin was sticking straight up and he was looking at the inside of his shell.

"It looks like there's a door there or something," said Mumkhar. "Hmm… Maybe try making like you have to cough."

Xord jerked forward without making a noise. The piece of casing came up like one of the panels.

"There you—ghk."

"What? What is it?" Something wasn't right. Why was Xord's vision still connected to his Face Unit?

Mumkhar was covering his mouth with his hands. "Trust me. You don't wanna know."

"Is it in there? Do you see my body?"

"No. Yes? Um…" Mumkhar was floundering.

"Answer me, damn it." With his chin pointing toward the ceiling, Xord rotated his head so that his eyes were facing his chest. He moved his field of vision until he could see into the cavity under his throat. Inside, there were three domes arranged in a triangle. The two at the front of his chest were metal; however, the larger dome at the back was made of a clear material resembling glass. Suspended in fluid was a partially mechanized wrinkled mass with numerous wires attached. The wires extended out of the dome and disappeared into tiny holes in the base of the cavity.

What Xord was looking at was something created from his own brain.

He dissociated. He felt like he had split into two separate entities: his eyes and his mind. His identity was caught somewhere in-between. Xord was looking at something he was never meant to see; something it shouldn't have been possible for him to see. It was wrong, wrong, wrong.

The door closed and his head snapped back into place. He didn't want to look anymore. Xord couldn't bring himself to accept that, rather than simply having woken up as a Mechon, his brain had been excised from his skull and put inside a machine. He was disturbed by the thought of what had happened to his Homs body: his arms and legs and face were gone and had probably long since rotted to the bone.

Mumkhar chided, "I told you you wouldn't wanna see it. You just wouldn't listen!"

Xord had no words to say in return. He looked back at the three suspended Face Units and the blueprints. If Désirée were to become a Face, she would meet the same harrowing fate. Even Mumkhar, who had at least been given a new body, had lost everything but his head. Xord couldn't possibly consent to his young daughter being mutilated like that—but he also couldn't let her die. It wasn't fair that he, as her father, had to make that choice. Xord tried to reframe the conversion as a life-saving surgery, but it was impossible for him to get past the image of his brain inside the dome and Mumkhar's hollow abdomen.

"Why have you dismounted?"

Xord and Mumkhar looked to the observation deck, where Egil was standing.

"Sorry, sorry. I was feeling restless." Mumkhar stalked up to his Face unit and climbed inside. Its four eyes lit up red as Mumkhar became Metal Face once more.

"There is much to discuss," Egil said. "My aim is to proceed with attacks on the remaining Homs colonies. The other Faces are still being programmed, leaving only you."

Metal Face laughed throatily. "That's just the kind of news I wanted to hear!"

"Colonies 6 and 9 have built up their anti-Mechon defenses. They are prepared—nay, lying in wait for a future attack. For this reason, these colonies will prove more difficult to infiltrate than any of the ones before. I am no longer able to rely solely on unmanned Mechon. They are only useful so long as the enemy does not become accustomed to their behavior. My servants must be able to respond accordingly to change."

Egil continued, "I have a vested interest in Colony 6, as it sits atop the largest ether mine on Bionis. Having access to its resources would allow the Mechon to permanently occupy parts of the Bionis. Additionally, if the colony is secured, a pipeline can be constructed to draw the liquid ether out of the Bionis' core. Through this pipeline and Sword Valley's drainage system, the Bionis will be bled dry."

Even though he could no longer see Mumkhar's actual face, Xord could tell he was practically foaming at the mouth from his Face Unit's body language: the way he looked longingly at his bladed fingers and rocked from side to side in anticipation. Metal Face had given Xord a bad feeling from the start. He acted chipper about things that should have elicited the opposite response, and Xord sensed he was desperate for an excuse to stick his claws into something with a pulse. Metal Face was the kind of person Xord would have kept Désirée away from at all costs.

Xord would keep her safe. He'd cradle her in his arms and hold her close to his heart, just like he used to.

And then the jaws would open and snap shut.

"As for Colony 9, it is where I believe the Monado to be located at this moment in time. Colony 9 is known to have the strongest military presence on Bionis; as such, it will be the most troublesome obstacle in our path to victory. If the Monado is seized, however, that path will become clear."

"Leave it to me!" exclaimed Metal Face. "For me, it's personal. Not only will I take the Monado, but I'll also make sure Dunban won't be able to use it ever again!"

"You are acquainted with he who wields the Monado?"

"I know him all right. He was like a brother to me, at least in the sense that I didn't choose to end up by his side. It was just a matter of circumstance. I always hated him. He didn't deserve to wield the Monado—it should've been me!"

Colony 9: according to Metal Face, that was where Xord had lived. If Xord had lived there, that meant it was where Désirée lived, too. Xord shook his head in denial. He couldn't attack Colony 9. He didn't particularly care about the friends and neighbors he'd probably have to kill—they weren't important enough for him to remember—but he refused to endanger his daughter's life.

Before Xord had a chance to speak up, Egil said, "My goal is to dismantle the remaining colonies. But I also have a secondary interest. I have begun the mass-production of Faces, and I require more passengers. Unmanned Mechon often fail to bring Homs back alive. Faces, I trust, should not perform as poorly."

Xord was overwhelmed with emotion. He hadn't been expecting Egil to actually propose such a thing, so he leaped at the opportunity. "My daughter, she—she lives in Colony 9. I'll find her. Please, you have to make her into a Face. She's too young to die!"

"A child?"

Xord nodded eagerly.

"I have no use for children. The procedure has only been performed on Homs with fully developed brains, and I do not intend to deviate from this. I will not be persuaded by trivialities such as kinship."

"Egil, please! I'll do anything!"

Metal Face stepped in. "Oh, just throw the bloke a bone. Give him what he wants and you'll have him bending over backwards to please you."

"My stance will not be changed."

Xord made a sputtering noise, unable to respond coherently.

"I will provide an M33 Transmission Unit through which you can contact me. Once you have gathered a sufficient quantity of Homs, I will fly a passenger craft to your location," said Egil. "Metal Face, you will lead the attack on Colony 9. Your association with the Monado's wielder may give you the upper hand. Bronze Face: Colony 6. The Mechon carriers will be loaded by nightfall. Make your preparations now."

"Damn, you're not wasting any time!" The grin on Mumkhar's Face Unit was a reflection of his voice. "What've we got to prepare for? I'm always ready to go."

Egil had already left, presumably to assemble the Mechon.

Xord was slumped over with his knuckles touching the ground. He knew there was nothing he could say that would change Egil's mind. When he looked at Metal Face's wicked claws, all he could imagine was Désirée being sliced to ribbons. He knew Metal Face wouldn't show mercy to a child, and Egil was only willing to spare adults.

"Please don't kill her. Please!" Xord begged Metal Face, punching the floor indignantly.

"Tell ya what," Mumkhar said, craning over him. "I'll find that little girl of yours. If I bring her here with all the others, Egil won't be able to say no."

Xord's jumped to reply, "You'll really do that?"

Metal Face gave him a long-clawed salute. "Mate, you can count on me," he said with a snicker.

Xord felt instant relief. Perhaps he had been wrong to cast judgment on Metal Face. Beneath his sinister facade, he might've actually been a stand-up guy. Inside of that menacing Face Unit was a person; a Homs.

His mind now at ease, Xord mulled over his task. He was going to be taking on an entire colony. Previously, Xord had only preyed upon cornered Homs; he hadn't dealt with any resistance. Nevertheless, he felt confident that he could stand up to Colony 6's Defence Force. Xord was a tank with legs—surely the military's toys would be no match for him. He could take out a vehicle or an entire squad of soldiers with one swing of his hammer, and no amount of ammunition would be able to put a dent in his armor.

Metal Face's excitement was contagious. If he'd had the faculties, Xord would have been salivating at the thought of all the Homs he'd be able to eat. He was not immune to the call of violence; the uninhibited lust for blood and domination. No longer restrained by the seal of humanity, Xord was free to indulge in those forbidden pleasures.

The night couldn't come soon enough.