NEVER FULLY-HUMAN

Japan, 1935

Akari, at the tender age of 12, stood at the gates of an institution that would shape her future. The military recruitment office loomed before her, its stern walls and cold glass windows reflecting the faint light of the morning sun. She didn't fully understand what it meant to join the military, to become part of something greater than herself. All she knew was that it was an opportunity—a chance for her to prove herself, to make her family proud, to show the world she was more than just a girl.

The form she filled out was simple, almost too simple, and she handed it over with an air of excitement she couldn't quite explain. Unbeknownst to her, her innocent ambition led her into the wrong hands. She was selected not for a noble cause, but for something far darker—an organization that worked in the shadows, manipulating those with power to create the ultimate weapon.

At the age of 14, Akari began her training, the grueling days filled with exhaustion and discipline. She was pushed beyond her limits—endless drills, endless hours of practice. And still, she excelled. Her precision with a rifle was unparalleled, and her skills as a medic—an ability to mend the broken bodies of soldiers—gained her recognition. But it was the quiet moments, the ones she spent inventing, that truly defined her.

By the age of 15, Akari had already invented the human-robot transformation—a machine to help heal the wounded soldiers and civilians alike. It was designed to make people whole again, to turn pain into strength. Her mind raced with possibilities. This was her chance to change the world, to make a real difference in the lives of those who had suffered. She believed in her creation, in its potential to save lives, to mend what had been broken.

But her world was about to be shattered.

In the same year, she was sent to the United States to inaugurate the project she had worked so tirelessly on. It was supposed to be a new beginning—a chance to show the world how her invention could revolutionize medicine, to bring hope to those in need. But, as fate often has a way of doing, it wasn't long before she overheard a conversation that made her blood run cold.

Akari had been working late one night, the hum of the lab's equipment the only sound filling the space. Her invention was nearly ready for the grand unveiling, and she was proud of her work. But as she passed the lab's door, she heard hushed voices.

"Once we get the project up and running, we can enhance the soldiers… upgrade them," one voice said. "It'll make the military unstoppable."

The other voice responded with a cruel laugh. "It's the perfect weapon. Imagine an army of super-soldiers, soldiers who don't feel pain, who can fight until their bodies give out."

Akari's heart dropped. She pressed herself against the wall, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. Her invention wasn't supposed to be used for war, for destruction—it was supposed to heal, to help people. But now, it was clear that the people she trusted had other plans.

She couldn't allow it. She couldn't be part of a project that twisted her invention into something monstrous. She couldn't let them turn her work into a weapon.

The next morning, Akari went to the head scientist and voiced her objections. She fought for her invention's original purpose, but the more she protested, the more they pressed back. They tried to convince her, to manipulate her into agreeing with their plans. But Akari refused.

"I won't let you use my work for this," she said firmly. "I came here to help, not to destroy."

In the end, her voice was drowned out. They wouldn't listen. Instead, they gave her an ultimatum: stay and continue with the project or return to Japan. They offered her a chance to leave, but with one condition—her work would stay behind, and the project would move forward without her.

Akari was crushed. But even as they gave her the choice, she knew they wouldn't let her leave that easily. They weren't done with her yet.

That night, as she packed her belongings, a knock came at the door. Two men, clad in black suits, stepped inside, their faces cold and emotionless. They came with a message from the government—The Empire of Japan.

"Your family is being held hostage," one of the men said, his voice devoid of any sympathy. "If you don't comply, they will die. If you refuse to continue the project, your family will suffer the consequences."

Akari froze. Her heart pounded in her chest, the walls of the room closing in on her. They knew everything. They knew about her family, about the people she loved. They had planned for this moment all along.

She was trapped.

The government had orchestrated everything—her recruitment, her invention, her life—all so they could control her. They had manipulated her into creating the perfect weapon, the perfect soldier, and now they had the leverage to make her comply.

Akari's mind raced. She had no choice. She could either continue her work and condemn herself, or refuse and condemn her family. She felt the weight of the decision, the suffocating pressure of the situation, and she knew there was no escape.

The men left, their message clear. Akari stood in the center of the room, her fists clenched at her sides.

Her innocence had been shattered. The world she once thought she could change had turned on her, and now, there was no turning back.

She was no longer just a girl with a dream to heal the world. She was a pawn in a game far darker than she had ever imagined. And now, she would have to play her part—whether she wanted to or not.

At the age of 17, Akari had no choice but to follow the orders given to her. The government, with its iron grip on her life, had forced her into a position she never imagined. The promise of protecting her family was now an unshakable chain, binding her to a cause she didn't believe in. She became a pawn, an unwilling soldier, forced to work under the strict directives of the Empire, developing technology that would ultimately change the course of warfare. Her once innocent dream of healing people had been corrupted into something far darker—something no one could escape.

The U.S.-Japan war raged on, and in a moment that would alter the course of her life, Nana—now a machine, a weapon of war—was caught in a missile attack. The explosion shattered her body, and everything went black.

The chaotic sounds of war faded, replaced by an eerie silence. The next thing Akari knew, she was no longer in the midst of the battlefield. She awoke to a sterile, cold room—no longer a human, but something else. Her once vibrant flesh had been replaced by cold metal, and her senses were sharper, more precise. The year was 31 August 2014, and she was no longer the girl she once was. She had become a machine—a robot, a weapon of technology.

Her memories, however, remained intact. They were fresh, vivid, as though she had never lost a single moment of her life. Everything she had fought for, everything she had believed in, was still there. But now, she was not a soldier for Japan. She was an instrument of war, caught between two worlds, and neither seemed to care for the remnants of the girl who had once been.

The world had changed.

As Akari navigated through this strange new world, she tried to live like a civilian, to blend in as if nothing had happened. But the nagging feeling of being out of place, of being a weapon in the midst of peaceful lives, never left her. The streets of the United States were buzzing with a new kind of chaos. There were whispers of rebellion, rumors that her kind—those who had been transformed into machines—were being viewed as abominations. Some saw them as saviors, others as threats. The civil war brewing in the country was a constant reminder of how little humanity had progressed, despite the advancements in technology.

One day, as she watched the news in a small café, her attention was drawn to a bulletin on the screen. There, in the somber glow of the television, was a memorial for Colonel Andy Sullivan. His date of birth, 01/01/1920, and the date of his death, 30/08/2014, filled the screen, marking the end of an era. Nana's heart—a heart now made of metal and wires—pounded painfully in her chest. There, standing at the front of the funeral, was Linda Sullivan, her face weathered by time, the woman who had once been her adversary, now mourning the loss of her husband.

And there, standing next to Linda, was a young boy. Max. At just 10 years old, he was now forced to face the world without his grandfather. Nana's mind raced. She remembered the boy—he had been a part of her past, a fleeting figure in the chaos of her life, but now, he was all she had left of the world she used to know.

The civil war in the United States continued to rage, fueled by anger and fear of the robots who had been created to serve, to protect, and to fight. Some civilians rallied against the transformation, seeing the robots as a dangerous force that threatened to overrun human civilization. Others, however, saw the machines as the next step in evolution—a way to prolong life, to enhance their own abilities.

Akari, watching the conflict unfold, couldn't help but feel disconnected. She was no longer part of the world she had once known. She was a spectator, a bystander, observing from the sidelines as humanity tore itself apart. Her invention—the very creation that had been born from the desperate need to heal—had been corrupted into something that only fueled destruction. She had created something that was now at the center of the chaos, and yet, she was powerless to stop it.

As the war intensified, Akari began to realize something else. Her invention, the human-robot transformation, had changed in ways she hadn't anticipated. It had been manipulated, altered, and refined over decades. What had once been a tool for healing was now a tool for control—used by governments, military factions, and powerful corporations to maintain dominance. The lines between man and machine had blurred, and in the chaos, it was unclear who the real enemy was.

Akari's role in this new world became ever more apparent: she was both a creator and a monster. The very thing she had designed to save people had turned against them. Her creation was now a weapon of war, and she, the inventor, had become the thing she feared the most. As she stood in the midst of this new world, a world torn apart by conflict, she wondered if there was a way to change it—if she could somehow redeem herself for the mistakes of her past.

But deep down, she knew it was too late. The world had already chosen its path.

In the quiet moments between the chaos, Akari found herself thinking back to the past—to her family, to Andy, to the choices she had made. Could she have stopped it? Could she have found another way? The war, the machines, the death that surrounded her—it was all a consequence of her creation. She had been too naive to understand the consequences of her actions, but now, the cost of her mistakes was clear.

And as the war continued to rage around her, she realized that there was no escaping the past. It would follow her, no matter how far she tried to run.

The years had passed, but time had done little to heal the wounds of the past. Akari—Nana, as she was now known—was still searching for meaning, for redemption, in a world that had been shaped by her own hands. But as fate would have it, the more she tried to escape her past, the more it dragged her back into the depths of its tangled webs.

In 2024, while living as a civilian, Akari crossed paths with Max once again. He had grown into a 20-year-old man, a young man full of questions and untold stories. There was something about him that pulled her in—something familiar yet foreign. Their chance meeting had seemed like a random twist of fate, but for Akari, it felt like the universe had conspired to bring them together once more. She couldn't shake the feeling that their bond was destined to unfold into something more, something deeper.

Their love story began innocently enough—two souls who had been marked by tragedy, trying to find solace in each other's company. Akari felt herself drawn to Max, not just because of their shared history, but because he reminded her of everything she had lost. In his eyes, she saw the child she had once been, the girl who had never asked for the life she was given, the girl who had never wanted to become a weapon.

Max, on the other hand, was captivated by Akari's enigmatic presence. She was different from anyone he had ever known—intelligent, mysterious, and yet, strangely broken. He had no idea of the weight she carried, the secrets that lay hidden beneath her calm exterior. As their relationship deepened, so did the unraveling of truths neither of them were prepared to confront.

It started with whispers—bits and pieces of a story Max had never fully understood. His mother, Linda, had been married to his father, Mr. Carter, before they divorced when he was just a child. His childhood had been marked by the absence of a stable family, and the bitterness of his parents' separation had lingered long after they had parted ways. Then, when he was 10, his grandfather, Andy Sullivan, had passed away. It was a devastating blow, one that left Max without the guiding presence of the man who had been more of a father to him than anyone else.

But as Akari spent more time with Max, she began to notice inconsistencies in the stories he told her. The pieces of the puzzle didn't quite fit. The memories Max held of his mother, Linda, seemed to shift and change depending on who he spoke to. Akari's suspicion grew with every passing day, and soon she began to question the very foundation of the story that Max had been told about his family.

One evening, as they sat together in the quiet solitude of her apartment, Akari gently asked, "Max, tell me more about your mother. About Linda."

Max's eyes softened, but there was a hint of sadness in his gaze. "I don't remember much about her before the divorce. I was too young. But… after Grandpa died, she kind of became distant, almost like a different person."

Akari's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean by 'different'?"

Max shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know… She started acting like she was someone else. It was like she wasn't my mom anymore. And then there was this woman who would come around sometimes. She looked just like Mom, but… there was something off about her. I always felt like I was being watched, like I wasn't safe. But I never knew why."

Akari's pulse quickened. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but she wasn't sure she was ready to face the truth.

The woman Max described was not his mother. It was a stranger who had taken her place, a woman who had worn Linda's skin but was someone else entirely. Akari couldn't deny it anymore—the woman she had killed, the one she had believed to be Linda, was not Linda at all. She had been an imposter, a shadow of the real Linda, and her death had been a tragic mistake.

A flash of memory pierced Akari's mind—her confrontation with Linda—or rather, the woman pretending to be Linda. The way she had taken her life, so violently, without hesitation. Akari had thought she was ridding herself of a threat, someone who had been part of the pain and destruction she had caused. But now, standing here with Max, she felt a pang of regret that cut deeper than any wound.

The woman she had killed had not been Linda. She had been someone else entirely—someone who had stolen Linda's identity for reasons that were still unclear. Akari felt sick to her stomach as the weight of her actions settled on her. She had taken the life of an innocent woman, a woman who had been forced into a terrible role, who had been part of a larger conspiracy that Akari had yet to fully understand.

—- Time skip——

AIR

2014

The sterile scent of the hospital room clung to the air as Nana slowly opened her eyes. White walls, cold metal rails, and the soft hum of machines greeted her awakening. Her limbs felt heavy, foreign, as if they didn't belong to her.

Then, a voice.

"You're awake."

Nana turned her head sluggishly to the woman standing beside her bed. The woman wore a warm smile, but her eyes glinted with something far colder.

"My name is Linda. Linda Sullivan," she said smoothly, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "You're safe now. We've taken care of you."

Nana tried to speak, but her throat was dry, her voice hoarse. Linda leaned in closer, placing a cold hand gently on Nana's arm.

"You probably don't remember much," Linda continued, her voice soothing yet calculated. "But you're special. Very special. Your name… is Nana."

Nana?

The name felt strange on her tongue, unfamiliar yet disturbingly fitting. Linda smiled again, as if confirming an unspoken agreement.

"You're part of something much bigger now."

That was the day Akari Fujinami ceased to exist. And Nana was born.

Present Day

A sudden tap on her shoulder snapped Nana from the spiraling maze of her thoughts.

"Hey," a student's voice called, dragging her back to reality.

Her head jerked around, her cold eyes locking onto the student behind her. For a moment, the classroom blurred, voices distant and muffled. She stared at them, and something inside her twisted.

Their skin.

Smooth. Flawless. Almost too perfect.

Her gaze flicked to their neck.

Was that a seam?

A flicker of panic crawled up her spine.

No… wait.

Nana's breath caught in her throat.

What about me?

Her hands trembled as they subconsciously brushed over her own skin. Was it real? Was it hers? Or did it belong to someone else—someone long gone?

Her mind spiraled.

How much of me is still… me?

The student stared at her awkwardly, oblivious to the storm raging behind Nana's blank eyes.

"Are you okay?" they asked.

But Nana wasn't listening.

Linda's words from years ago slithered back into her mind, coiling tightly.

"You're special now."

But special in what way?

Nana couldn't tell if the skin she wore was her own—or another stolen identity, crafted to fit the story Linda had told.

And for the first time, a chilling thought rooted itself deep in her mind:

Maybe… I was never supposed to know.

The cafeteria buzzed with idle chatter, the clatter of trays and utensils echoing off sterile walls. Nana sat alone, swirling the remnants of cold soup in her bowl, her mind distant.

Then she saw him.

Max.

He moved through the corridor just beyond the glass partition, his expression unreadable. Two guards flanked him, their movements sharp, eyes scanning the crowd with practiced indifference.

Something about it felt… off.

Max wasn't a stranger to attention, but this wasn't the usual privileged son of Linda Sullivan being escorted around. This was different.

Nana narrowed her eyes.

Without thinking, she rose from her seat, blending into the crowd, slipping out of the cafeteria.

She kept her distance, her steps light and calculated. Max led the guards deeper into the facility—far beyond the areas students were allowed.

The sterile, clinical hallways grew quieter, colder.

Then she saw it.

Through a small window, Max was standing with a group of scientists, their white coats pristine, their hands gloved and precise. Metal tables gleamed under harsh lights, each one holding containers filled with—

Organs.

Human organs.

Her stomach twisted.

But it didn't end there.

A pair of double doors creaked open, and a couple—calm, unnervingly so—wheeled in a stretcher. Nana's breath caught in her throat.