(Insert obligatory macaron reference here)

"Ib, have you ever heard of dehumanization or the concept of 'the other?'"

"No?"

Garry paused as he thought about how to best explain it. "It's… it's a concept in social science that describes how we view the people we see as enemies, how we stop caring about their lives and feelings," he said, struggling to articulate the idea. It proved surprisingly hard to describe. "Picture someone you don't like. It doesn't matter who. Suppose something bad happens to them. It wouldn't bother you as much as if it happened to a friend, would it?"

Ib hesitated. "Uh… No, it wouldn't?" she finally responded almost guiltily.

"Right. In fact, if you hate the person, it might not bother you at all… It's like that, except even more intense and applying to an entire group of people. You stop viewing 'the other' as human and demonize them. It becomes okay to hurt or even kill them. Any empathy you might have shuts off. They have been dehumanized, as my professors would say. To top it off… when you view some group as being 'the other,' you often aren't even fully aware of it. It will just feel completely natural." Garry could tell that he wasn't doing a very good job explaining. Even as he felt the need to talk about this, part of him was growing increasingly uncomfortable with where it was all going.

Ib still looked confused but now also somewhat disturbed. "Wait… So who is 'the other' then?"

"Well, it depends on whose perspective we looking at. For the Nazis – you've learned about them, right? – it was the Jews. During times of war, each side will view the other as, well, 'the other.' And for our situation…" Garry trailed off and looked back at Ib. "Am I making any sense?"

"Sort of… Kind of… Not really."

Garry sighed. "It's okay. Frankly, most adults don't understand it either."

At that point a door opened. A soldier stepped in. "They are ready to see you," he simply said.

Escorted down a small hallway, Ib and Garry were led to the officers' quarters. There, waiting for them, were Ib's parents alongside a high-ranked military figure. Eyes growing watery, Ib's parents stood up. Ib ran over to them, and they tearfully embraced. "You're safe!… Thank God, you're safe!" softly exclaimed her father as he hugged his daughter.

Never before had Ib been so happy to see her parents.

After several seconds they released. Ib's mother looked into her daughter's eyes. "I saw your diary," she quietly admitted, still crying from happiness but now speaking with a twinge of guilt. "I gave it to the general to provide him with information on the situation. I'm sorry. Forgive me. And don't worry. We believe you!"

Ib suddenly wasn't sure how to feel. On one hand, all her secrets – her fears, hopes, private thoughts, musings about friends, the boys she had crushes on – had just been yanked away and revealed to the world. But then again… At least they believed her now.

At that point, the military officer stepped forward. "Oh, this is General Landon," Ib's mother stated, introducing him to Ib and Garry. "He is the man overseeing the military operation… We owe him immensely." The general reached down and shook Ib's hand before offering his hand to Garry. Garry hesitated and then took it cautiously; as grateful as he was, he suddenly found his old distrust of authority kicking back in.

Landon couldn't help but smirk slightly. "Typical counter-cultural artsy type," he thought to himself. "Never appreciates the armed forces. It's a shame he is polluting the mind of this impressionable young girl." With that, he turned back to Ib's parents and said, "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I must speak with Ib and Garry by myself now. There are some important issues I need to ask them about, and I need their help for the final steps of this conflict. Thank you again for your service."

Ib's parents hesitated a moment before deferring silently and leaving the room.

Once they were gone, the general turned back to Ib and Garry. "Okay, now we can get down to business," he stated. "As your mother said, I am General Eric Landon, commander of the forces fighting these monstrosities. I understand that you two are at the center of this war, and my men and I were keen on finding you. But before we go into anything else, I want you to tell me all that happened while you were in the invasion's center. This isn't just a matter of curiosity; what you have to offer is genuine military intelligence."

"Let me guess: you wanted to use us as bargaining chips," thought Garry to himself as he and Ib gathered their thoughts. For her part, Ib noticed with moderate irritation that the general was directing most of his attention towards Garry, as if she were just an unimportant tag-along. She knew why already: Garry was a grownup and she was not, period. Regardless, the two of them told Landon about their ordeal. They told him about how they first learned of the invasion, about their failed getaway attempt, how they hid in ruined buildings and scavenged from abandoned stores. They told him about their close calls with various monsters, how they brought down the aerial barrier, and their encounter with the behemoth. They did not tell him about either encounter with Mary.

"Impressive!" Landon remarked when they had finished. "Despite being the monsters' main targets, you managed to hide right underneath their nose. Your resourcefulness was astounding, and your extremely bold work in taking down their aerial barrier was nothing short of critical to our success. You have our full gratitude." Ib and Garry nodded in thanks, flattered but unsure where he was going.

"However," he added, "this war is not over just yet. The monsters may have retreated for now, but their giant portal still stands, ready for them to return once they are ready again. Even if we destroyed it, who's to say our friend Guertena couldn't simply open another one later? To win this campaign, we must use that portal to bring the fight to that vile world of his and neutralize his monsters at the source!"

Ib and Garry were taken aback. This general – he was going to… invade the Fabricated World?! It took a second for this to really sink in.

Landon continued. "And this is where you come in. In order for this operation to succeed, we need to have some sense of where we're going and how that place works, especially since this isn't just some other country on this world. We can't go in blind." He paused a moment and leaned in slightly. Only at that point did Ib and Garry realize just how physically imposing a figure he appeared. "You are the only humans ever to have set foot in the Fabricated World, and if we want to ensure victory," he stated, looking them in the eye, "I need you, Ib and Garry, to act as advisers and help guide our forces, both ahead of and on the campaign.

Gulping, Ib and Garry found themselves at a loss for words, unsure what to say. "Thank-thank you, sir" Garry finally stammered anxiously, "We're – we're honored… but… with all due respect, do-do we have a say in this? I mean – we would be happy to provide advice, but… we are still tired from everything we've been though and need to rest."

Landon raised an eyebrow as he figured out the best way to proceed. "I get your reluctance," he finally said with a seeming hint of understand, "and legally I cannot force you to do this if you truly do not want to… But are you just going to leave us? Do know this!" His eyes narrowed and his tone turned stern. "If you insist on deserting your military at this moment, you are putting thousands of lives and the entire operation at risk! All we know about the other side comes from what you bothered to write down in this diary, and as helpful as it is it still leaves critical gaps of information. By turning your backs and staying behind, you're sentencing untold thousands of my men – your rescuers – to needless death, and quite possibly the entire army to defeat. And if that happens and the monsters go back on the offensive, mind you, not only would you have contributed to their renewed reign of destruction upon your country and humanity, but they will hunt you down as intensely as ever! I understand that you are tired, but frankly so are we! The choice is yours!"

Wide-eyed and trembling, Ib and Garry compliantly nodded. The general's expression immediately lightened. "Excellent!" he said, "I knew you would make the right choice. I just needed to make sure you knew the full weight of your decision. Ib, I will inform your parents of this and be sure to get their consent. I will make sure they understand the necessity of the situation."

"Very well," sighed Garry, taking a deep breath. (By this point Ib had resigned herself to letting Garry do the talking) "So… before anything else, there are a few basic things you should know; you might have picked these up from Ib's diary. First, the basic laws of physics don't always apply there. Most of the Fabricated World resembles a giant, demented museum of sorts, but other parts are different, and I have a feeling it doesn't have a completely set layout like a real museum would. Anyway, if you thought a large amount of supernatural stuff occurred when the monsters attacked, it will seem like nothing when you reach their home. Doors may lock and unlock on their own, entire sections might appear to be made of crayon, and sometimes the gallery itself seemingly tries to taunt you or psyche you out, as if it's a sentient being unto itself. At times it doesn't seem to have any rhyme or reason, but all too often the entire world is your enemy.

"Also, upon arriving in the Fabricated World, each person will receive a rose. For us, they came in a special flower pot, but given the large number of men you're bringing I don't know if it will work that way. Regardless, that rose is literally your life. If you get injured, one or more petals will fall off, and likewise if it loses any of its petals, it injures you. When there are no more petals, you're dead. At the same time, the rose can be restored to health simply by placing it in water, and this in turn can be used to heal almost any non-fatal injury. Do know, however, that the roses can suck up entire flowerpot-fulls of water, so don't bring medical supplies and instead just bring large amounts of water."

"All very interesting!" responded Landon, "I will take note of this. However, for now, it would be best for us to pause and wait until we can conduct a more formal interview. In the meantime, you may go now to the quarters we have set aside for you. I will meet with you again tomorrow to resume this interview in a more proper, comprehensive manner, and you can expect the operation itself to begin a little under a week, give or take a few days depending on the logistics." He looked at Ib and Garry. "Unfortunately, since I will need you two in more than one place, I'm going to have to split you up at that point. An army requires guides both on the front lines and among the command staff. As such, Garry, I'm going to be attaching you to Colonel Robert Myler, whose brigade is spearheading the attack. As for you, Ib" He turned his attention over to her, "I'm attaching you to my command staff, farther towards the back."

Ib suddenly looked distressed. "Wait… Why can't – why can't I stick with Garry?!" she asked worriedly, finally speaking up.

"Because of the reasons I just said, and also, I can't assign a little girl like you to the front lines without the press throwing a temper tantrum."

At that point, another officer, wearing a slightly different but equally decorated uniform, entered the room with some paperwork. He nodded politely at Ib and Garry before looking at Landon and saying, "General, I still think it would be best to push the attack back a bit and spend more time on preparation."

Landon looked back at him; they appeared to be on familiar terms. "Relax," he said, half-smiling, "We already have a large number of forces left over from the initial defense, and the longer we wait, the more time they will have to set up their defenses. Many a battle has been lost to indecisiveness, and I intend this not to be one of them. Besides, this isn't your call. Your air support has been appreciated greatly, and I'd love to be able to have it during the attack, but with the portal and all, it looks like we ground forces are going to be taking it solo here on out."

"Very well," the other officer said, "if you say so. You've gotten us this far, I guess." He saluted and left the room.

Landon turned back to Ib and Garry. "You may go as well. One of the men will show you to your quarters. You will be able to get yourselves cleaned up and have a medic check out any injuries you may have received. I will see you tomorrow."

Ib and Garry nodded and began to leave. Before they reached the door, though, the general called Ib back. "One more thing," Landon stated.

"Yes?"

"I need to have a short word with you about Mary. First off, she isn't actually dead, at least not anymore. Whatever happened three years ago, we know as a fact that she or at least a recreation of her was alive and present for the first stages of the invasion. I don't know if you were aware of that or if this is news to you."

Ib bit her lip and simply nodded.

"That's not the main point though. I know from your diary that part of you feels bad for her," continued Landon, "but here's the plain and simple truth: Don't. Remember, Mary isn't human. She's a convincing but hollow replica of one, a painted chunk of canvas shaped like a human. She isn't like you or me. It's possible she doesn't even truly think or feel, and only appears to do so. The little witch might look human and outwardly act human, but in reality she has far more in common with one of those three legged tank monsters than with any of us." He clenched his fist. "She deserves no more consideration than a stick figure drawn on a random piece of paper! Do you understand?"

Ib just nodded compliantly.

"Fate itself conspires against me!"

The air in the Fabricated World resonated with Guertena's rage and frustration. He vented his fury to no one in particular. "I'm denied the two I seek, I see my creations hurled back through the portal, and now I even have my daughter corrupted and stolen away from me! Why, why, does the universe insist on taking my enemies' side?!" he bellowed.

"I spent so much time preparing this attack," Guertena then hissed quietly, "I put so much labor and tears into creating a force capable of delivering retribution, I put so much thought into planning… and to see it all go wrong from the very beginning and then be foiled by the very two humans who wronged me in the first place?!" His voice regained its anger. "This is preposterous! This is atrocious! What did I do to deserve this failure!?"

He paused for a moment to collect himself. "But of course," he growled. It all made sense. They had so many advantages. He had nothing that could match their high-speed, jet-powered fighters. Next there was the issue of experience; he was an artist, trained to create. His foe, on the other hand, was a professional military! They spend all their time either waging or preparing for war! Of course they were going to be more skilled in the arts of death and destruction! And then! Who would have thought that Ib and Garry, that little girl and that effeminate pretty-boy, could cause so much trouble!

Guertena turned his attention towards the still-open behemoth portal, located at the front of his massive staging room. His still-numerous forces were marshaling in front of it, digging in for the inevitable human counterattack. He sighed. As humiliating as it was to admit, he actually did not have the power to close it, now that it had been permanently set open. There were some things not even a realm's demigod could control. And yet, even if he could, Guertena would not have been able to bring himself to close the portal. To do so would be to admit defeat, surrender. Even if he opened a new one later when he was ready, he would have acknowledged by closing the old one that his first attempt had failed. So, if keeping it open meant condemning the Fabricated World to a human onslaught… so be it!

Yet at that point, something occurred to Guertena. No army ever goes into an unfamiliar land without bringing along some sort of guide who is familiar with the place. And since there were only two humans who ever set foot in the Fabricated World… that meant the army was very likely to bring with them Ib or Garry, and quite possibly both!. His mood brightened. What he had tried so hard to seize himself, the army was about to bestow upon him like a gift! All he needed to do was be prepared to accept it.

And so, Guertena set about restructuring his monsters' defensive positions, thinning out his first lines of defense and concealing and concentrating his strongest forces deeper into the massive staging room. The humans likely expected their attack to be greeted by heavy, immediate pushback, so there was a fair chance that they would keep at least one of them safely in the back of the army and not bring him or her over until a small foothold had already been secured. Well then, if that is what they wanted, Guertena figured, he would give it to them; he would allow them to penetrate far enough for their fool of a commander to feel safe enough to bring both of them onto the field, putting up just enough resistance to avoid raising suspicion. Since this was his world, he would know the exact moment it happened. And once that happened, Guertena thought to himself, then the real defense could begin.

He had one more area of business to attend to. Guertena shifted his attention over to what was once his most beloved creation and subsequent recreation. "As for you," he growled, focusing on Mary's portrait, the one he had just completed on the eve of the invasion, "as for you, traitor, the one I used to call my child, you… I spent so much time in recreating you, so much thought into making sure you understood just what the humans did to you and showing them as the scum they are, so much effort into building an army to avenge you… And for what?! For you to forget everything I told you at the first sign of false kindness and to defect! I should've never –!"

Guertena suddenly paused for a moment and thought, and his rage grew even more intense. "But of course… how could it take me so long to realize it this?" he hissed. "You were like this from the very beginning. Ever since you were a few years old all you ever did was beg to see the human world, to abandon me for them! Why? It's so simple! You are my humanity! When I created you, I invested my remaining connections to that vile race in you, in the foolish belief that it was all somehow worth saving! But how wrong was I! All I did was bring the corruption into my new world!"

A crafting scalpel began to levitate in front of Mary's portrait. "You have the taint of humanity inside you, so you act like one!" Guertena snarled. "It was a mistake to ever create you." He raised the scalpel, prepared to plunge it into the portrait where Mary's heart would be, and roared, "So now it is time for me to destroy what I should have never made in the first place!"

"Wait!" a young girl's voice cried out. "Father, please don't!"

Was that Mary?! or was that just his imagination? The line between reality and imagination could blur at times in this realm, particularly if you were its lord and creator. He surveyed the entire Fabricated World but saw Mary nowhere.

"Father, why do you do this?! Am I not still your child? Am I not still your daughter?!" the voice pleaded. He could tell it was in his imagination, but that made little difference.

"No!" Guertena shot back, "You are not my daughter anymore! You disowned me and ran off to the humans, lured by their false promise of acceptance and friendship!" He simply needed to respond, even if it was just a voice in his mind.

"Father! I never disowned you! I loved you! I still love you! I'm sorry! Why won't you accept me back?"

"You've had your chances!" Guertena fumed back, "and you will have no more! Enough of this!"

"But Weiss, dear!" the voice suddenly began shifting, seemingly now that of an older woman. Guertena was taken aback. Was that – No, it couldn't be. Was that the voice of his dead wife?

"Myrna?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Weiss! You aren't the man I knew and loved anymore! What happened to him? What happened to his heart?!"

"But – but Myrna!" stammered Guertena, "L-look at what they have done to us! They forgot all about my work as soon as the next artist arose! Our own son abandoned us once he no longer needed our help! No sooner than I had laid you to rest, the seductresses and whores began hounding me for your inheritance!"

"Are you disowning all of humanity for this reason?" Myrna's voice implored back. "What about human kindness? Love? Compassion? Are you disowning those as well?"

"No, no, that isn't the case Myrna" responded Guertena almost pleadingly. "I never disowned kindness or compassion in and of themselves! The problem is that the versions of these virtues as held by the humans are nothing but a sham, self-interest and hypocrisy dressed up in the skin of kindness and compassion! They can only regain their meaning once we have cast aside human folly and selfishness, and until then it is all a sham!"

"Very well, Guertena, I see." Myrna's voice started to grow darker and lower. "So you do disown those human traits then." Guertena realized it was a demonic version of his own human voice. "But you know what else is human?" it asked mockingly. "Anger. Hatred. The need for revenge. The desire to make one's enemies suffer. These traits are as human as any love or compassion, if not more so! Now, are you going to tell me that you haven't been practicing these human traits as well during your campaign?"

Guertena tried to give a rebuttal found himself at a loss of words. For the first time since becoming lord of the Fabricated World, he began to feel small and impotent.

"Ah, I see," the demonic voice in his mind continued with relish. "You have no response, because you can give none!" The voice suddenly seemed to echo from every nook and cranny of the Fabricated World. "You are still human, even if you refuse to admit it! Even as you rush to disown certain aspects of your humanity, you unintentionally embrace other parts! Why, you are no less human than Ib and Garry or those other fools on the other side! You are no demigod or transcendent being! You're just a human who lost his physical – "

"Enough!" screamed Guertena, finally finding the strength to speak. The voices instantly vanished, leaving just him and Mary's portrait. There was silence.

Regaining his composure, he returned to his original task. The scalpel levitated back off the ground. Pushing out all other thoughts, Guertena raised the scalpel, prepared to drive it into the canvas, and with all his telepathic might –

Nothing. The knife stopped short of the canvas. He just couldn't do it. He tried a second and then a third time, but he still couldn't bring himself to strike the blow. There was no voice taunting or pleading with him… He just couldn't.

Snorting with disgust, Guertena let the scalpel clatter to the ground. "You'll pay for this weakness," he muttered to himself as he turned his attention back to his defenses. The issue with the painting didn't matter now.

What mattered now was that the army was about to hand him Ib and Garry… on a silver platter!

(Landon and Guertena are my personal favorite characters. Being a military and geopolitical history buff, I find that Landon somewhat resembles more of what I am "used to," and Guertena... well, he's a place where I can place all my darkest observations about humanity, and then twist them to become even more warped.)