- "A Mechanical Prayer; An Oath of Loyalty"
Dimos, also known as the Clockwork Soldier, is a memory character in NieR Reincarnation first introduced in The Girl and the Monster arc's Ch 1: Windblown Sand (His Body, Rust). An old model of clockwork soldier discarded in a castle cellar. Long has he sat in hollow silence, his functions suspended, but a chance meeting with a young prince lights a spark that finally ignites his dormant will. He travels with the boy from one land to the next serving as his protector.
Appearance[]
Dimos is described as "a decrepit looking gunman" with "bandages wrapped around him all over the place". He has light grey skin and dark grey, shoulder-length hair, with bandages on his face, neck, arms, and lower back. His eyes are a pale green, turning paler towards his irises. His eyes also turn red when engaging in battle, similar to that of Noelle.
His personality is taciturn, Dimos rarely speaks and is shown to be quite blunt. His voice is robotic as part of his design as a clockwork soldier. He has a hard time understanding human emotions and concepts, and will often ask Rion what they mean. Due to his previous status as a soldier, he often gets shunned or attacked by citizens of the kingdom as they perceive him as a threat.
Story[]
- "I was much too used to this feeling I had no name for."
- — Shattered memory data fragment
Dimos' story is explored in Ch 1: Windblown Sand (His Body, Rust) and Ch 3: Hard Sand (Two Lonely Marionettes).
An automaton created to serve a corrupt kingdom, Dimos is awakened in the castle cellar by the prince, Rion, after being previously labeled defective. The pair quickly bond over similar circumstances, and upon learning of the kingdom's impending war, make their way to the throne room where Rion demands it stopped. They are quickly dismissed and ordered to be killed for treason, but are somehow able to narrowly escape. Taking Rion as his new charge, Dimos promises to protect the prince, and they begin traveling across the kingdom to spread antiwar ideals.
Some time later, Rion and Dimos find themselves upon a windswept town. Looking for a place to rest, they make their way through, only to be stopped by men who recognize the boy as royalty. After a quick altercation, the two decide it best to leave the town behind, continuing their journey.
Eventually, they find themselves sheltering in a dilapidated church. Dimos searches for food while Rion rests in the back of the chapel, weak from both long term disease and hunger. He is able to find a few apples, but after being offered them, Rion's body is too weak and frail to accept them. Rion soon after succumbs to his illness, Dimos continuing to protect the prince's body even in death.
Over a century later, a bounty hunter, Gayle, makes her way to the church on rumors of a clockwork soldier killing anyone who comes near. When she arrives, a rusted—but still functional—Dimos protecting Rion's corpse remains. The two fight, only for the soldier to be finally struck down. Gayle checks his logs and learns of the pair's past, deciding to build a grave to mourn them before moving on.
Character Story[]
Six Months After Fleeing the Kingdom...
Wind rustles in the trees. Crows caw softly in the gloaming. As I scan the quiet forest in search of any possible threat, the prince at my side murmurs, "It's so peaceful here."
He is here in search of a way to lead our country out of war. And as he travels from nation to nation preaching his message of peace, I walk at his side to protect him from those who refuse to listen. But I am a clockwork man created for war, and no matter how much time we spend together, the truth of his message continues to elude me. I draw close to the prince as he contemplates the setting sun. I wonder why he would think this place to be "peaceful." Perhaps it has something to do with the red hues of dusk?
As the prince's disease worsened, so did grow his impatience. It would seem he desires to achieve peace as quickly as possible. So when I suggest we rest in a church until he feels better, it takes a good deal of effort to get him to agree.
Today again, the prince's condition is poor, so we wait for nightfall in the church. I take this opportunity to ask him: "What is a peaceful world?" He looks at me with surprise, but a willful flame burns in his eyes. After a moment, a thin smile crosses his lips. He reaches out, puts a hand on my chest, and says,
"It means you never have to hurt here."
It must be a different sort of pain from wounds as I know them. He does not notice my lack of understanding and continues to talk. I simply nod my head, hoping it will bring him energy.
The disease spreads. The prince's body withers and fades. When he can no longer stand, I travel alone to nearby villages in search of any food or medicine they can spare. In the villages, I see people driven mad by the horrors of war. The grieve for lost family. They curse their empty bellies. And they all turn their weapons on me—the clockwork man.
One day, I find a single apple in the woods. My prince lacks the strength to eat it on his own, so I chew small bites and feed it to him as a mother bird would its own young. As I see his haggard cheeks and hear his final, gasping breath... I feel a pain deep within my chest and finally realize the truth of everything that my prince has been fighting for.
It means you never have to hurt here, he had said.
Oh, but why did it take such loss for me to finally understand?
One Hundred Years After Fleeing the Kingdom...
My bODy is RAvaGeD bY RuSt. mY meMOrIes GrOw DeFEcTIve. YEt I stAy by hIS SIdE: MY PriNCe, wHo TImE eROdED. THerE is A gAPinG, EmpTY hOLE iN mY cHEst. ThE pAiN I feLT jUSt BeFOrE hE DieD... iS GOnE. I wILL PAinT tHIS ChurCH ReD. I wILL uSE THe BloOd OF HUmANs WHo DEniED HiS SalVATioN ANd nOW InTRuDE oN hIS SLuMBeR. IN ACcORDaNCE WiTH thE PROMiSE We MAdE ThAT Day, I WiLL CONTInuE to ProTECt HIm... aNd ThE PEaCE he dESiRed FOReVER...Other Stories[]
Transient Light Part 1[]
Before he met the boy
A sudden flash of light streaks out toward the city clock tower. A moment later, a cannon ball makes contact with a thundering crash and a portion of the tower collapses, raining debris everywhere.
"Estimating landing points and dispersion range. 5.34 seconds until falling debris impacts ground."
At the base of the tower, a man performs rapid calculations, then takes ten quick paces back. When he stops, the debris strikes the very spot where he had stood just moments before, creating a billowing bloom of dust. But the man pays it no mind. Instead, he focuses on the enemy base that fired the cannon.
This battle unfolds in a technologically-advanced city of an enemy country. A city where smoke now rises from every corner. The king the man serves has a reputation as a tyrant, and has conquered many other nations through force of arms. This war was sparked when he severed diplomatic ties. And like many sparks, it has turned into a raging inferno. Whenever the man spies an enemy unit, he silently pulls his gun from the holster. One bullet. One kill. The enemy never knows what hits them. His is a supernatural, inhuman precision.
He is a mechanical soldier—a clockwork man without life—developed expressly for the purpose of fighting in war. The man dashes out across the battlefield, staying low. He has orders to scout out the enemy forces. It has long been assumed that both armies are of equal strength. But the enemy has developed a new weapon, one that can launch massive artillery shells over great distances. Their front line has been losing ground, and it is now only a matter of hours before the main base comes into range of the enemy's guns. Having finished his scouting mission and dispatched what enemy soldiers he can find, the man returns to the base.
"Base" is a generous term—in truth it is little more than a large tent set up to temporarily house their commanders. Inside the tent, a map of the city is spread across a large table. Pawns have been placed on it to show the state of various units. The lead commander is a boy—one too young to even serve in battle.
"Your decision, Highness?"
The "Highness" spoken of is the boy: the kingdom's eldest prince. It is he who sent the clockwork man on his scouting mission. And though the prince volunteered for this command, he now finds himself with the unenviable task of making decisions that hold sway over the fate of the entire war. Eventually, one of his generals suggests using some of their own men as a distraction in order to get the drop on the enemy. The prince frowns at this proposal before rejecting it. He is still clearly a boy in thought as well as appearance. He is unable to sacrifice any of his own men, even when it might lead to the survival of many times that number. It is naivety—and it is on clear display for all to see. The general who made the suggestion scoffs at this decision.
"Your hesitation will kill us all!" he cries.
He slams both hands on the table to better illustrate his point. Then he announces his intention to take his men and fight as he sees fit before storming out of the tent in disgust. Such division amongst the ranks only worsens the situation. Yet the prince continues to issue commands. It is unclear what so spurs him to action.
The clockwork man stands to one side of the tent and watches the prince from the corner of his eye. Though he says nothing, he knows the lack of leadership will eventually lead the enemy right to their door. And all too soon, this comes to pass.
"The base is lost, My Prince," says the clockwork man.
"You must flee and save your own life."
"No," replies the prince.
"I'll not leave while my men are still out there fighting and dying."
Transient Light Part 2[]
War still raged in every corner of the city. This is why the clockwork man is leading the prince away. As he runs, he examines every corner for danger; looks in every shadow for possible ambush. The prince follows, gasping for breath. Eventually, the prince loses his footing and falls to the ground with a cry. The man stops. Part of his orders are to protect the prince. Though they gave him information on a need-to-know basis, he was told the prince suffers from a congenital disease. If he forced him to run further, it might cause serious harm.
The man quickly scans the area. The tunnel is massive, stretching on without end in both directions. The tracks that run under his feet speak to its use as a train tunnel during better times. After a brief search, he locates a door in the wall. It is half-buried in debris, but when the man peers inside, he finds a small storage room behind it. Slumbering within are battered lanterns, picks, and shovels. It is a storage place for tools used to maintain the tunnel. Thinking it the perfect spot to lie low, the man brings his young charge inside.
"This is all because I took command," says the prince sadly.
With his ragged breaths now steadied, he is able to turn a critical eye upon his earlier actions.
As his kingdom commits to a cycle of endless war, soldiers and citizens alike are growing increasingly weary. The prince chose to take on the burden of command so he might be able to save them all. But in the end, things did not transpire as he wanted. He never considered having to place the lives of his own soldiers on the scales. But he now sees that what he thought of as kindness had instead brought death and pain to multitudes. The man stares at the boy and considers his words.
"You did well," he says finally.
As the words leave his mouth, they feel strange. Off. He cannot grasp the intention behind what he said. It is simply the natural phrase he arrived at when he saw the prince's grieved expression. The boy stares at the man blankly. They wait that way for a bit, alone in the darkness. But then, a small glimmer of brightness returns to his face. With an awkward, unpracticed smile, the boy thanks the man for saving his life during the recent battle.
"If I am ever in danger again," he says, "maybe you can help me out."
His words come with a hint of jest, but also a touch of joy.
The clockwork man continues his conversation with the prince, but as they do so, the boy's coughs come more frequently. He eventually produces a medicine bottle from his pocket. The man surmises it is used to suppress the cough. But the bottle is empty. A pained look moves across the prince's face, one that he tries and fails to hide.
"The royal family cannot show weakness around others," he says.
"This is a lesson my father taught me again and again."
He had not coughed once at the base because the medicine was able to disguise his symptoms.
But now...
"That is why what you see here must remain a secret."
His speech complete, the boy raises a pinky finger and extends it to the clockwork man. The man's database tells him this is a human ritual of promise. Though he intertwines his finger with the prince's, the action makes him somehow uneasy.
The man suddenly hears the distant sound of footsteps. He concentrates his aural apparatus on the noise. Enemy soldiers, most likely. He estimates a dozen or so. He fixes his eyes on the gap in the door, half-buried in rubble. A thin, wavering line of light passes through it. He will never outrun the men with the sickly prince in tow. So both man and prince still their breaths, stay put, and wait. The man places his hand over the boy's mouth so he will not give them away. The light through the door grows brighter, then brighter still.
*cough*
The prince's body betrays them both.
Transient Light Part 3[]
They sit in the darkened room. The man presses a hand against the prince's mouth, to still his breathing. Men—most likely enemy soldiers—are approaching their position. But as they wait for them to pass, the prince's cough rips through the silence.
"Here!" yells a soldier.
"They're here!"
The room surrounded, the man knows he has no choice but to destroy every last soldier in order to keep the prince safe. He kicks open the door and pulls his weapon from his holster. But he does not fire.
"Highness, you live!" says the general from before.
Sensing the turning tide of battle, he had taken his men and abandoned the base before seeking shelter in the tunnel. The prince is clearly relieved to see his rescuers arrive.
But as he approaches the soldiers, the general raises a hand and his men point their swords at him. The prince stops moving and confusion spreads across his face. This sight causes the general to snicker. He then explains a shocking truth: A plot has been unfolding behind the scenes. The prince is to be murdered, and his death blamed on the war. The plan was set in motion by his younger brother, who sought to eliminate his competition for the throne. During the previous battle, they had set their units in inferior positions in order to tilt the battle in favor of the enemy. After their position was overrun, they would use the ensuing chaos as cover to eliminate the prince. Once this was accomplished, the kingdom would send reinforcements to win back all the ground they had lost.
"This can't be happening..." murmurs the prince.
The general grins wide.
Suddenly, the clockwork man turns to the general, who immediately barks an order:
"You there! Machine! Stand down at once!" The man is a mechanical soldier manufactured by the kingdom. He is programmed to follow any order from a superior officer. So at the general's command, he freezes. He watches dispassionately as the general approaches the boy with his sword unsheathed. The prince does not yield ground, but instead stares blankly in the shock of his own country betraying him. But rather than strike the killing blow, the general takes the chance to berate his prey.
"You're a useless worm—an unthinking coward who put all of us in danger in a sad attempt to earn your daddy's approval."
"I've lost men because of you. Good men. Friends."
Tears begin to spill down the prince's cheeks, but he does not deny the truth of these words.
His piece said, the general raises his sword above his head and prepares to strike.
The clockwork man cannot accept what he is seeing.
I must protect the prince.
I must stop the general.
I must reach for my gun.
But because of the general's orders, he can do nothing. Instead, in the face of the prince's last moments, he accesses records of the boy in his memory banks. He sees how the prince desperately issued commands in an attempt to keep his soldiers safe. He sees how the prince showed weakness—and trusted him. Suddenly, his records find a phrase the prince said moments before:
If I am ever in danger again...
The man draws iron, his hand fast as blue blazes, and blows the general's sword arm from his body.
He fires again. And again. And again. The general's men, caught off-guard, fall one after the other.
The prince had said the line in passing jest: If I am ever in danger again, maybe you can help me out.
But the clockwork man chooses to take these words as royal orders that demanded absolute obedience—orders that override even those of a senior military officer. The wounded general snarls and draws his own weapon. The clockwork man shoots it out of his hand.
In the blink of an eye, the tables have turned. The ground is painted red. The general begins to plead for his life, but it means nothing to the man, who presses his barrel against the general's temple.
"Stop!" cries the prince.
Despite the general's actions, the prince still seeks to save his life. Though he did not speak his feelings aloud, the man understands the reason behind the request, and so lowers his weapon. A moment later, more footsteps ring out. This time, it is not traitors, but the enemy army. The man has a choice: Save the general...or save the boy. He lifts the prince up and begins to run.
"I tried, but I...I couldn't..."
Transient Light Part 4[]
In the middle of a wasteland where the wind blows dry stands a kingdom surrounded by walls.
The contours of an enormous castle waver as the sun sets behind it. The clockwork man and the prince approach the kingdom with a sigh. They are home. They stand before a thick metal door at the castle gate that leads to the town beyond. A guard sees the two and approaches.
"Y-Your Highness? Uh, I see you are safe..."
Everyone assumed the prince had met his end in battle, and the guards are unable to hide their shock.
The guards respectfully place the prince on a carriage headed for the castle. But as he watches the prince go, the clockwork man is presented with a false warrant for his alleged crimes.
The first charge: Abandoning his post.
The second charge: Betraying his unit.
The third charge: Murder of a superior officer.
The man did what he did to save the life of the prince. Though the accusations are willful mistruths at best, he has no way to combat them. And even if they were completely true, he still believes what he did was right.
The clockwork man is taken to a laboratory. A researcher orders him into a mechanical chair and places alloy fixtures on his limbs and torso. His "treatment" will be a complete memory wipe.
The man's consciousness drifts in darkness. It is a strange sensation, almost like floating. This is his memory space. In the darkness, images begin to form. He sees men blasted to bits by his own steel. Memories of war. The face of every man he's ever killed is recorded here. Next, he sees a conversation he had with the general. He is being ordered to protect the prince at all cost.
Images appear.
Images flicker.
Images disappear.
But finally, he comes to memories of the prince himself. He sees him desperately issuing orders at the base. He sees his pained expression as he spoke of his weakness. He sees him shed tears at hearing the truth behind the war.
"That is why what you see here must remain a secret."
He sees the secret promise and ritual they shared. Compared to his other memories, these almost seem to...glow.
Suddenly, a sound—a single, insistent buzz. His memories of the prince begin to fade. He cannot stop it; they vanish one after the other. He should not be bothered by this. After all, he is a mechanical soldier designed for war. The memory-reset program whirs inside him. Though he should be accepting the procedure without pause, the man resists the deletion of any memories of the prince. He reaches out to them with his mind. But he will never find them. The deletion accelerates. The buzzing grows louder. A pained groan slips from his lips. What was the meaning behind his own feelings? Why did he resist the procedure?
The man's eyes spring open. He does not know why he is in the laboratory. He knows only that he is a mechanical soldier created for war. One researcher looks at the results and shakes his head.
"Looks like there was an error in the reset process. You're going to be discarded."
After being informed of his fate, the man is taken away and placed in an underground storehouse. His only companion is the hiss of steam escaping from pipes. Mixed in among similarly discarded scraps of junk, the man attempts to sleep. But an alien sensation in his chest prevents it. Even after he searches all parts of his memory, he cannot locate the cause. He realizes that thinking about it will accomplish nothing. All he can do is wait as he slowly rots away.
There is someone I must see.
What comes to mind at the very end is nonsense.But the man ignores it, and instead slowly closes his eyes.
Light of Veracity, Part 1[]
The man's consciousness is suspended in darkness.
He is consumed utterly by the sensation of floating. Motionless. Adrift. Alone.
Here in this space do his memories lie.
Though the engineers refer to it as "storage," the name matters not.
Hovering about him are images covered in layers of static and indecipherable noise.
Once, perhaps, they were things he had seen and heard,
but now they are damaged beyond all meaning, barely worthy of the name of "memory."
The man absently watches images pass by in the dark.
From whence do they come? To where are they headed?
He does not know the answer to these questions, so he simply...drifts.
But then, in that eternal moment, a voice.
Once this world finds peace, I want you to search for the reason you live.
The voice is soft. A caress.
Though the image is damaged and the sound grows indistinct as it continues to play,
the man somehow knows these words were spoken to him.
He desperately wants to hear the voice again.
Over. And over. And over.
He does not understand what the words mean, nor the circumstances in which they were said.
But for some reason, a powerful need to make another's wish come true holds him in its fist.
Once this world finds peace, I want you to search for the reason you live.
But his body is gone to rot now.
There can be no reason to live in a stygian world such as this.
Feebly, he attempts to halt his thought process.
Static abruptly rips through his consciousness, causing bewilderment to overtake him.
The static spreads, swallowing both the space and his data entire.
He reaches out, attempting to save that one snippet of voice...
But all is engulfed by the black.
His consciousness remains. It grows clearer. Focused.
He can hear now. Smell. Touch.
Moments earlier, he'd not even been certain of the presence of his own body,
but now all his senses return in a rush.
Sight arrives last.
It comes in the form of a brilliant light that engulfs his very being.
"What...?"
The word escapes his lips as confusion settles in his chest.
He feels a vibration in his throat, unaware the word is his own.
"You're awake," says an unfamiliar voice.
As his eyes slowly grow used to the light, a form wobbles into shape before him.
It is a woman with bright red hair, clad in a crisp labcoat.
"Your storage was really old, so I wasn't sure if this was going to work.
But hey, it did! Good thing I went for it, huh?"
She can barely contain the excitement in her voice as she drags a nearby mirror over.
"Oh, and I freshened up your look while I was at it. Might as well, right? Here, take a look."
She draws him up from his spot on the ground and makes him stand straighter.
"Look at you!" she cries, pointing at the mirror.
The sight is beyond the man's comprehension.
He tilts his head and blinks once, slowly.
A sense of unease buzzes as he watches the boy in the mirror copy his movements.
"Do you get it? You've been reborn!"
He looks at his hands.
They are small. Soft. A child's. It almost seems as though natural blood flows through them.
Such hands could not even grasp a gun—how can they possibly be his?
"So? What do you think?" asks the woman with red hair.
As she begins to giggle, the man trapped in the false body of a boy looks back at her in confusion.
Light of Veracity, Part 2[]
Parts fill the boxes: cables, circuit boards, integrated circuits.
The man—no, the boy—does not know their purpose.
Following the woman's instructions, he carries the goods,
separates the parts, and polishes that which can be used.
The juvenile body lacks muscular tissue, and cannot carry much.
It cannot reach for items in high places, nor physically exert beyond the capabilities of any human child.
The boy does not recall his previous body, exactly.
But he remembers it was not this small, nor this powerless.
Faint fragments of memory slumber in a far corner of his mind.
The hands on his previous body were large enough to hold a gun of deadly caliber.
He does not know if they were used to protect, or to destroy.
But he knows his previous orders were all ones of slaughter.
As such, he finds indescribable discomfort at being
placed in the body of one meant to meld seamlessly into human society.
Suddenly, his hands cease their work. His head snaps up.
The woman who had been so engrossed in her work has fallen asleep at her desk.
The boy drapes a blanket over her shoulders with a practiced hand.
The woman calls herself a researcher, and collects pieces of abandoned machines from the world over.
She has a particular interest in those produced by a kingdom that fell many, many years ago.
Apparently, his new young body was crafted from parts created in that kingdom.
The storage incorporated in his chassis is old,
but the woman claims it is compatible with wireless communication, and therefore of great value.
She has also found indications it was once used as a kind of backup storage.
She is a master of machinery; It is her life's work to turn discarded parts into incredible robots.
But she does not let the boy go, instead keeping him by her side so he might aid in her work.
The humans of the city respect her.
And because he keeps so close to her, they immediately accept him as well.
They even call out to the boy whenever he walks through the city.
"You're with the researcher, right? There's a good lad."
"If you ever need help with anything, just let me know."
"You and me should go play sometime!"
Whenever they do this—treating him like a human
child—the boy is forced to quietly calculate an appropriate response.
His life now is one of peace and ease.
And each time such pleasant sensations come to him, the voice fragment replays in his mind.
Once this world finds peace, I want you to search for the reason you live.
Most of the data in his memory has been destroyed.
He does not know from whence he came, nor where he is headed.
Why would someone ask a thing like him—a machine—to search for the reason he lives?
As he ponders this, the young baker's son notices him and tilts his head curiously.
"What's the matter?"
"I am searching for an answer. Please inform me the reason why I live."
The baker's son's eyebrows furrow.
"Uh, I dunno. That sounds complicated."
"Yes. My apologies."
"But I think we live so we can do fun stuff!"
"Fun...stuff?"
"Yeah! I have lots of fun playing with friends from school, so that's probably why I'm alive."
The boy now has one more piece of data to analyze.
After that, wherever he goes,
he poses the same question to any townsperson or robot capable of communication.
"The reason I'm alive is to work hard, get tons of money, and look reeeal good."
Taking the florist's words to heart, the boy attempts to find meaning in her purpose.
He paints his face in various colors, decorates his hair, and bedecks himself in finery.
But he does not understand what purpose these actions serve.
"I EXIST TO KEEP EVERY CORNER OF THE CITY NICE AND CLEAN."
The words of the city's cleaning robot are easier to understand than those of the florist.
Its is a simple existence:
It sweeps dust from crevices in flagstone and places rubbish in the basket on its back.
The boy follows the cleaning robot and tries to aid in these tasks.
Though it is repetitive, endless work, it poses little trouble for the boy.
But while he finds a sense of pleasure in keeping the city clean, he does not know if it is a reason to live.
As the cleaning robot was created for that sole purpose,
it makes sense the task would be its reason for existence.
But the boy feels it is not quite right for him.
What is a reason for living, anyway? Can one find it simply by being ordered to be a certain way?
As the boy helps the researcher with her work,
he asks more townsfolk his question and attempts to emulate their purpose.
"You've been tackling complicated stuff lately,huh?"
she asks him one day. "Asking why people live and all that?"
A curious smile crosses the researcher's face.
In response, he poses the question to her.
"Me? Oh, that's easy. I make people's lives better and more peaceful by building robots."
When people speak of their purpose, their eyes shine.
Even the robots speak with a hint of pride and duty.
But for some reason, the boy cannot find the same emotions in himself.
None of the answers given to him quite line up with the reason the boy lives.
Light of Veracity, Part 3[]
Easy days pass amidst the peace.
Though the boy continues to assist the researcher, he remains unable to find the reason he lives.
But simply living among the people gives him ample opportunity to see them smile.
He assumes it to be a vastly different experience from when he was a tool of slaughter.
Machines were made to serve people.
Like the other robots, he knows that fulfilling his prescribed task will count as a reason for living.
But that does not sit well with him. His thoughts—his circuits—reject the notion.
And then, a fateful day arrives.
The woman, who always wore comfortable clothes while engaged in research,
appears before the boy in a beautiful dress, her hair tied neatly back.
The pale green of the dress reminds him of the first buds of spring.
"I'll be wearing this to the commendation ceremony," she informs him.
"So am I looking good or what?"
The boy can only tilt his head in response.
"The king is presenting me with a medal," the woman says shyly.
There is a faint blush on her cheeks, as well as a brilliant shine in her eyes.
The robots she created had improved the lives of many,
and the king wished to reward her contribution to the peace.
"You know, this medal belongs to you as much as me."
"I do not understand. I only worked in accordance to your orders."
"Yeah, but you were such a HUGE help! And in fact..."
With that, she begins to tell him a story.
She spins the tale of what inspired her to start building robots.
In her hands, she holds an old picture book.
It tells the story of a prince who traveled the land preaching peace,
accompanied by a clockwork attendant.
The story left a strong impression on her when she read it as a young child.
That fabled kingdom of yore had become embroiled in the fires of war.
In that tragic time where many people lost their lives, machines were used not to support, but to kill.
But amidst the war and strife, one person stood up for others.
He was the eldest prince of the selfsame kingdom that started the wars,
and he had a singular companion: a clockwork man slated for disposal.
Together, this pair avoided the kingdom's pursuers, traveling the land while they advocated for peace.
But the prince was born sickly, and did not live to see the world he strove so hard to create.
Yet people had been so moved by his ideals that
they became the foundation for peace in the current times.
"So that's basically it," the woman concludes. "I just wanted to be like the
prince who was good with machines—I never really understood
the significance of what he accomplished."
The robots she now creates to help people are built from parts salvaged from old clockwork soldiers.
At the thought of all the people she's helped, a smile crosses her face.
It is brilliant, amicable, and gentle.
At its appearance, a thought occurs to the boy: He has seen this smile before.
His memories should have broken down long ago.
Yet those fragments now begin to bind together in a way he can only think of as significant.
The kingdom. Wars. Clockwork soldiers. A prince.
Images drift within his memory.
Though muddled by static, he beholds the face of a boy.
A boy around the same age as his current body.
The boy is looking directly at him.
Though his eyes are gentle, there is an unyielding light shining behind them.
His thin lips part.
When he next speaks, he says the same words which first came from the darkness:
Once this world finds peace, I want you to search for the reason you live.
As the voice fades, countless memories flicker through his mind.
Blending with the crowds of a city. Hiding in a shop near a battlefield.
Walking a road in the rain. An empty forest. A shattered church.
The images twinkle like stars in the darkness of his memory.
Images of days spent protecting him.
Though worn and riddled with static, they remain surprisingly fresh in his mind.
And to the very end, they hold a powerful grip on his heart.
Light of Veracity, Part 4[]
Faded images. Voices in static.
The memories that endure within the boy are missing much,
but now he finally recalls what is most important to him.
He remembers who beseeched him to find the reason he lives.
"There's someone I must see."
This he says to the researcher.
It is the day after she received the medal from the king.
Unable to hide her curiosity, she asks him question after question.
But he is prepared with ready explanations to them all.
Finally, she sets her kind eyes on him. "Safe travels," she says.
Perhaps she has known all along. Perhaps she has known
about the memories that drift in his storage.
This would explain why she kept him by her side all this time.
Instead of saying anything in return, the boy simply nods.
But he does so with thanks.
Thanks for awakening him—and for allowing him to remember what matters.
As he leaves the city, people turn to him with smiles.
"Where are you going?"
"You should take some flowers!"
"GREETINGS. I ENGAGE IN ANOTHER DAY OF KEEPING THE CITY CLEAN."
The city is calm. Peaceful.
Anyone can find the happiness they desire in this place.
But the boy does not think twice.
He now knows from whence he came. He now knows to where he goes.
He has remembered it all.
He will retrace the steps of his broken memory.
The world beyond the city is vastly different than the one he once knew.
Yet he follows the trail of his recollections, letting
long-forgotten names and vague echoes of the past guide him.
He walks as though following another boy's footsteps.
He passes through lively towns and wide fields.
Past cheery groves and silent lakes. Eventually, the boy finds himself in a deep, dark wood.
There is nothing particularly special about these woods.
But the boy is certain it is the place.
As he ventures deeper into the forest, he finds a ramshackle church long fallen into disrepair.
The moment he sees it, a thin voice rises from his sandworn memories.
"My Prince..."
I want you to search for the reason you live.
The soldier did not understand why the prince told him so at the time.
The prince had likely been worried what would become of the soldier after he passed.
He often spoke of the future between troubled, delicate breaths.
Perhaps he hoped to offer his guardian the faintest
guidance for the time after he passed from the world.
Once the robot boy—the man—passes through the church,
he arrives at the spot he has been searching for.
The ground is slightly raised. Sticking from it is a metallic staff eaten away by rust.
It is a grave.
From beneath the earth, he senses a faint signal.
If his memory can be trusted, this is where the prince and his clockwork attendant are buried.
The clockwork soldier's original body had been laid to rest at this grave uncountable years ago.
What the man now carries is his backup memory.
Though his adolescent form is weak, it can still exist in a peaceful world.
For he is no longer a tool of slaughter, but a being that exists to help others.
Yet he still cannot find a reason to live in that life.
That reason exists in only one place: here.
The man aligns his signal with the body slumbering beneath the earth.
He then begins transferring his memories to his original self.
Strength leaves his body. Light flickers and fades.
His boyish form crumples to the earth.
At long last, the clockwork man awakens.
The dark is perfect.
His sight has long since broken down.
Though he would not be able to see anything from his position beneath the earth regardless.
His hearing is dim. His body still.
He feels a terrible heat emanating from deep within his form—likely
due to broken machinery being forced to life once more.
But here, in this dark and quiet place, he is buried with his master.
The one person the man willingly chose to serve—and the one he sought to protect.
The reason for living he had been so desperately searching for.
All he ever wanted was to stay by the prince's side.
Even if the prince himself no longer lived.
Faulty memories produce error after error.
Images and sounds crumble like castles of sand.
Yet the man recalls all the humans and robots who spoke of their purposes in life.
The shining eyes of the humans. Their happy smiles.
The inorganic voices of the robots. Their sense of pride and duty.
Only now, in this place, does the man understand.
He knows how they felt and what they think, for he feels and thinks the same.
A sense of relief eases into his heart.
Even though clockwork men are not meant to have such things.
Slowly, his consciousness leaves him.
He lays quiet and still beside the one for whom he risked his everything.
With spring emerging far above him, he slips into a deep and dreamless slumber.
One from which he will never wake.
Ch. 1: The First Trials[]
My wife is the queen of this land. She has long been a strong, kind woman, and the words she uses to describe our country's future always shine brighter than the stars.
And yes, it is perhaps idealistic and naive for a ruler to speak of such things, but the more you listen to her, the more it sounds like an achievable reality. The beautiful country in her mind is precious to me, and I want to see the notion become real. But more than that, I want to be at her side on the day she achieves it, because the hours she spent telling me of her ideal future have been some of the finest of my life.
But I know. I know that in order to achieve her dream, we will have to, at times, resort to methods she hates. Physical force. Violence. ...Or worse.
Our kingdom had always been adept at creating intricate clockwork mechanisms, with a skill in the art far surpassing that of any neighboring lands. As such, the other countries on the continent considered us to be a great menace.
And perhaps they were correct to do so, for a new type of research was taking place within our kingdom—one that would secure us an endless supply of soldiers. Throwing all of our money, power, and effort into the task, our country soon found favorable results, and the soldiers were brought to life more quickly than even the most optimistic projections.
Our new creation was the ultimate soldier: a creature made of steel and wire that would never tire, and with a mind capable of calculating at impossibly fast speeds. The lead researcher, who called his creation "clockwork people," explained that having passed basic performance tests, they would now enter the final stage of testing before sending them into the field.
"I appreciate you taking the time to come out all this way, Your Majesty," said the lead researcher as he gestured to a line of clockwork people on the other side of the window.
They looked more human than the last time I came to observe the work. And yet, despite their familiar bodies, their eyes were empty; they seemed less like they were standing of their own free will and more that they could do nothing else.
"We have come to the conclusion," continued the researcher, "that in order for clockwork people to operate in an optimal manner, we must integrate into their thought processes four laws. And today, I would like to demonstrate for you a test of these laws."
The researcher's fingers flew over the device in his hand. A moment later, the room went dark, and an image was projected onto the wall. It was a bit difficult to make out, but through the shadows and gloom I could see a mass of people heading into a village. Some were the clockwork people, but a number were our own human soldiers—I even recognized a few of their number.
"This is a live feed of a unit presently en route to the stronghold of some bandits," said the researcher. He went on to explain that the test was for the clockwork people to protect the senior officer leading the arrest operation.
The bandit stronghold looked like any other house in the city. But when the unit marched in—their footsteps rough and heavy in the moonless dark—they caught the bandits off-guard and captured them without incident. It was an impressive display, one so good I failed to hide my glee.
"I see Your Majesty is pleased," said the researcher. "And yet, we've something far more impressive in store."
As the squad led the captive bandits out of the building, a few more of the ruffians launched a surprise attack. Chaos engulfed the scene, and I saw the superior officer at the front of the fray take a stray bullet and fall. The clockwork people immediately surrounded him, prioritizing his safety above all else.
But then I noticed someone strange: one of the clockwork people did not leapt to the officer's defense. Instead, it hurried to the side of a random human soldier and assumed a protective stance.
After a bit of a struggle, our unit managed to subdue the bandits, and the video cut out. But all I could think about was the clockwork soldier who had protected the random man—and when I mentioned this to the researcher, I saw a smile appear on his face.
"You've a keen eye, Your Majesty. In truth, we had the commanding officer switch uniforms with that man."
"Interesting," I replied. "I'd heard the clockwork people automatically confirmed rank by the insignia on a uniform. That alone would be impressive, but this one somehow saw past the insignia and recognized the superior officer."
"Your Majesty is indeed correct."
"But how?"
The researcher explained that the clockwork person in question had been collecting information of its own accord during the mission. It did not rely solely on the intelligence provided before the mission; instead, it continued to observe and arrived at the correct conclusion through a constant updating and verification of information.
"To sum up," said the researcher, "we have given the clockwork people small variations to their cogitation. In essence, each one has something of a personality."
"And it appears this 'personality' worked in our favor this time," I added.
"Indeed, sire. Yet while we have achieved fruitful results, we will make certain not to incorporate any dangerous behaviors to said personalities."
As I nodded, another thought occurred to me. "What were you testing in this particular instance, by the way?"
"The First Law: A clockwork being must always protect the lives of the royal family or its own commanding officer."
He turned to me then and bowed his head slightly, "Now then, Your Majesty, do you have any opinions as to what should be done with this particular unit?"
"Keep testing it," I said as I turned to leave. "We can always dispose of the thing later if we need to."
Ch. 2: The Second Trials[]
My wife is pregnant. It will be our first child, and the future ruler of this country.
Her breathing is pained. Her skin, which once shone like a newly-polished pearl, it is now pale and lifeless. As I stand before her and gaze upon her distended stomach, I cannot contain my anxiety.
She has always been sickly, and I worry she may not survive the birth. It is the first time I realize I have such a weakness, yet somehow I manage to swallow my fear and smile at her.
"Let's think of a name for our child," she says to me in a faint whisper. "We will entrust our baby with the future of this country, so I want to name it together."
I grasp her delicate, fragile hand, and nod.
There came the deafening sound of something large splitting open, followed by a wave of high-pitched, delicate noises. Several clockwork soldiers had obeyed orders and opened fire on a vase of flowers.
The kingdom was currently pushing the development of automatons of war. Yet if they were to be the ideal soldiers, we would need to implement in them four distinct laws. The destruction of the flower vase was a test of the second law, one many members of the royal court had watched with great interest.
The Second Law: A clockwork being must follow the orders of the royal family or its highest ranking officer.
Several soldiers—as well as a common beggar plucked off the street—were shouting commands at the clockwork people. The test was to see if they could pick out the voice of the highest-ranking person and execute that command.
The clockwork people stood in a line on the other side of thick, reinforced glass. All wore special earpieces; we were told that was how they heard the cacophony of orders. And when they determined the highest-ranking one—to fire on the flower vase—they did so without hesitation.
As the test continued, they fired on a number of different items from among a jumbled mass on a desk.
"Let's have them shoot the clock next," said the lead researcher. A moment later, the orders came through both the headsets of the clockwork people and speakers in the room where the royal court was stationed.
"The pot!" cried the beggar.
"The vase," murmured the soldiers.
"The clock," whispered the commanding officer.
The clock exploded in a hail of bullets, causing the audience to cheer with delight. After clearing up the mess, the researchers came out of a back room with a number of live rabbits and proceeded to dump them on the ground, where they began hopping about.
"Might you order them to kill the rabbits, sire?" said the lead researcher.
The voices began anew, order spilling upon order. But when my voice rang out, it was followed by the predictable thunder of gunshots. But something was strange this time: unlike the previous demonstrations, the gunshots were not in unison. Indeed, while all the rabbits now laid dead on the floor, some had been shot multiple times.
What could explain this discrepancy? Yes, the rabbits were moving about, but I had been assured the clockwork people had near-perfect accuracy.
The head researcher clearly sensed my question, "One of the units feels joy when it kills a living being, sire," he said. "Another is hesitant, while a third makes no distinction between animate and inanimate objects. Basically, the results change depending on their personalities."
Ah, yes. The personalities. When I last visited the lab, the researcher informed me that each unit had been given small changes to their cogitation, resulting in what they were terming "personalities."
After cleaning away the gore, the scientists brought out a group of monkeys. The head researcher then proceeded to dole out various conflicting orders.
Bite their ears.
Soothe them.
Grab their legs.
While the clockwork people obeyed, their actions were not anywhere near in unison. And when they were given the final order to kill the monkeys, things diverged even more. Some took their time, enjoying the act of slowly taking a life. Others, however, seemed wracked with guilt, and their hesitation to end a life ended up causing the poor creatures far more suffering than if they had simply been swift and sure with the killing blow. So though the means had been different, the pain experienced by each monkey was ultimately the same.
I personally found it fascinating. But the expressions of my fellow royals soon clouded over; they clearly had not expected to see such a gruesome sight. The lead researcher, however, paid no attention to their discomfort, and ordered his subordinates to proceed to the final test.
One held with humans.
Just as with the monkeys, the lead researcher gave the clockwork people various orders. But this time, their personalities shone through brighter than ever. When they acted against their targets—with their unique hairstyles, face shapes, and clothes—they moved with a grace and skill that belied their mechanical nature. But in the moments where they were not exerting power, their movements were awkward and comical.
I suddenly understood that was how deadly weapons were meant to be. But I also realized that nothing more could be gained by dragging such a thing out further.
"Enough," I said. "End this test."
The lead researcher turned to the clockwork people.
"Kill them," he said.
Hearing the order, the crackle of gunfire rang out through the room. One unit, however, did not act. Instead, it simply stood in place, almost as it had been powered off. This was a unit which had obeyed every previous order with a kind of dull, plodding precision—one which I thought might lack a personality altogether.
As I shook my head in disappointment at having witnessed our first failure, I heard the sound of a sob and looked over to see a small boy crying.
"Ah, most excellent," said the lead researcher.
I turned to him, confused, and he continued.
"I believe the unit was following a voice not from its earpiece, but from this very room."
The crying boy was the heir to one of the country's most prestigious noble families—and upon hearing his distress, the clockwork soldier had stayed his hand.
Now that was most impressive.
Ch. 3: The Third Trials[]
At the end of a difficult birth, we finally have a healthy baby boy. And yet, my wife's condition continues to worsen, almost as if the child is stealing her life away.
But she is too clever to leave things in flux, so before becoming bedridden, she bequeathed the throne to me—leaving the future of our country in my hands.
Now that I hold the power of a king, I see everything differently, and I realize doing things my wife's way will make it difficult to bring wealth to our land. This thought—and others like it—plague me more and more with each passing day.
In our happiest moments, my wife spoke of a bright and shining future. But can I really achieve such ideals alone? Doing things my way? Down one path, we link arms and work in harmony with other countries. Down another, we expand our borders with force. So though we wish for what appears to be the same future, why must the journey be so different?
The kingdom's best scientists and most advanced technologies came together during the development of the clockwork people. And as the tests continued—tests to see if they could endure real-world usage—things reached a new and exciting phase.
The lead researcher had concluded that four laws needed to be incorporated into the clockwork people's thought processes if they were to operate optimally.
The First Law: A clockwork being must always protect the lives of the royal family or its own commanding officer.
The Second Law: A clockwork being must follow the orders of the royal family or its highest ranking officer.
The Third Law: A clockwork being must protect itself, so long as doing so does not contradict the first two laws.
Now, the team was finally ready to test both the durability of the clockwork bodies, as well as the Third Law.
Thirty clockwork people stood in neat rows in the testing area. Each one had a slight variances in their thought process, a trait that would manifest as a kind of "personality." While this was done in order to produce more accurate reports, it meant each clockwork person would act differently in response to the same order.
"Let us begin," said the lead researcher.
A large door at the far end of the room rolled back to reveal one of our largest weapons—a thing the size of an elephant that stomped into the room on multiple legs.
"This unit has proven to be one of our greatest battlefield successes," said the lead researcher proudly. I knew all about it, of course: it was a crude device that couldn't execute fine maneuvers, but was perfect for situations requiring overwhelming destructive power. It was also the first weapon I'd ordered to be built after ascending the throne.
"In this test, we hope to see the clockwork people defeat their foe while protecting themselves in the process. Any units that accomplish this task will be considered our first field-ready clockwork people."
As a buzzer sounded, signaling the beginning of the test, the clockwork people sprang to life before the massive weapon could even respond. They pelted it with gunfire from every direction, but that did little more than scratch its heavy armor plating. After a few seconds of this, they changed course and began focusing their attacks on its joints in an effort to bring it down. But then the weapon unleashed a brilliant beam of white-hot light from its cannons, an attack that sent the clockwork people flying.
"It's like watching ants fight a scorpion," I mused.
"Precisely," the lead researcher enthused. "But wait."
The different personalities of the clockwork people quickly began to emerge. A handful attempted to escape.[sic] but were gunned down before they could reach the doors. Some clung desperately to the massive weapon, while others ran in chaotic circles and fired their guns wildly. The weapon kicked and smashed and stamped them in a frenzy, and it seemed only a matter of time before all of the clockwork people would be destroyed.
There was a clear imbalance of power, and I felt certain the test had entered its final, messiest stage. Irritated, I turned to look at the lead researcher, and was shocked to see him smiling.
"Please watch, Your Majesty!"
At his prompting, I saw one clockwork person firing at the weapon from behind cover. As I watched, I realized it was not firing indiscriminately, but instead targeting one specific part of its armor.
After creating a rather sizeable dent, the unit leapt out from its hiding spot, ducking and weaving through cannon attacks as it approached the weapon. Once there, it reached into the dent and ripped the plating free. Clinging to the weapon itself means there's no possibility of being struck by any of its attacks. The weapon's pilot, realizing their predicament, causes the weapon to move in such a way that the clockwork person would be shaken free, but it quickly leapt back on and peeled away more of the plating.
"There is potential here," murmured the researcher.
The newly armored clockwork person—the last one standing—ripped off another chunk to reveal the weapon's internal circuitry. If it could break through in that precise spot and tear apart the wiring, there was a chance of victory.
But the unit was in a sad state. Despite the armor, it had been thrown to the ground countless time,[sic] losing an arm and suffering various other injures.[sic] Before it could reach into the wires, it was thrown free into a pile of its disabled fellows. And as it struggled to pull itself to its feet, the massive weapon stomped over, raised a single leg, and ended the test for good.
"A disappointing ending," I said, shaking my head.
Having completed its mission, the weapon sat quietly in place, as though awaiting its next orders. The valiant unit that had fought to the end was now buried amidst the husks of its fellow clockwork people, and I could no longer pick it out from among the rest.
"However," I added, "that one unit showed promise."
The lead researcher nodded in excited agreement.
Ch. 4: The Weapon's Completion[]
My wife—our queen—has died.
Her past, including everything she said and did, now feels as fiction. My light is gone. My world empty. Hollow.
I was right: love and kindness are not enough to save us. Only by military force can this country and its people hope to be governed.
Though I was the one who ordered the development of clockwork people to begin in earnest, the first prince still looks upon our new soldiers with fear. Though he's grown into a kind young man—one fitting of the name his mother gave him—I feel he may be too weak to take up a position of power.
If only the prince had been named not by my late wife, but by me. If we had only named him after our god of war as I desired...then perhaps things would have been different.
Metal bodies that do not know exhaustion.
Mechanical brains which calculate at impossible speeds.
This is the new face of the soldier.
As our research progressed, tests were carried out in the name of the kingdom's prosperity. We had been calling our new creations "clockwork people" under the assumption they would take on tasks in place of humans. But one day, the lead researcher said something that changed everything:
"Your Majesty, I would like you to meet our very first clockwork soldier—the first one to successfully pass all of the tests."
Before me knelt a clockwork person—no, a clockwork soldier. Its head was bowed in the manner of a loyal retainer, and I was immediately intrigued; while I had seen many such machines at work in the tests, only a select few had managed to catch my eye.
"This unit does not seem familiar to me," I mused. "Which tests did it pass?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," replied the lead researcher eagerly. "This is not a unit you have seen in action. Yet at the same time, one could also say you have."
As I frowned, the lead researcher pointed out the window toward the massive testing area, where clockwork corpses were scattered across the floor like discarded toys.
"This unit is the cumulative result of all our tests, physically as well as mentally."
The perfect soldier would have a quick mind, a tenacious body, and an unshakeable spirit. And while humans could come close to these ideals, they could never quite achieve them to the utmost. But now, the lead researcher was claiming this new creation had done so.
I gazed down at the kneeling clockwork soldier, who remained perfectly still. From all of those clockwork people—all of those sacrifices—this unit had been born.
"It was not simply a matter of switching out parts, though," the researcher continued. "We extracted experiences and thought processes from the remaining records in order to optimize this unit's operational circuits."
Images of all the units that had acted in bizarre fashions—the ones that left an impression in past tests—flashed through my mind. "Such a combination would certainly make a clockwork soldier that fights like a human. But I thought I made it clear that was not our ultimate goal."
What I wanted were beings that did not think, but instead followed orders, doing whatever was necessary to see a task to completion.
"As you say, Majesty. Our tests proved the greatest results are obtained from units with the weakest personalities."
The lead researcher had once thought instilling human-like emotional variations would lead to the creation of soldiers that could adapt to any environment. It was not an altogether incorrect thought; several of the clockwork people I saw throughout the tests managed to put such personalities to good use. But the clockwork soldiers were weapons—and standardized, practical tools did not require variation.
"But this is not to say their personalities were a total waste," continued the researcher. "Their thoughts and experiences played a role in heightening the abilities of the unit before you. Of course, we will ensure it does not manifest as a personality, but as a kind of auxiliary mechanism that helps the unit execute its mission."
The researcher wound his way carefully through his words, making them sound less like an explanation and more like an excuse. But I merely nodded, choosing not to question him further. Because even if a personality were to manifest, all we had to do was delete it.
"And the fourth law?"
"Expunged, Your Majesty."
The researchers originally wanted a fourth law: A clockwork being must serve the royal family and its superior officers of its own will. But weapons did not need a will any more than they needed personalities. All they needed to do was take lives without thinking. And now that this unit had been born, we could unleash our weapons on the world.
"Raise your head."
The clockwork soldier looked up at me as I spoke. Though it was designed to look human, its expression was completely blank, which caused me to smile. This was the face of a killing machine—a heartless creation that would carry out any order without a second thought.
I crouched before the unit, took its chin between my fingers, and peered into its glassy eyes. "As our country's first clockwork soldier, I think you are deserving of a name."
I smiled as I fell silent. Though I appeared to be deep in thought, I already had a name in mind.
"You will fight like a god of war and bring victory to this country. Therefore, you[sic] name will be..."
A Machine's Will[]
This man is a clockwork soldier built by a kingdom consumed in never-ending war. He has been programmed to know and feel all manner of things: fighting styles, battle strategies, and of course, loyalty to the kingdom's rulers. And if I had to guess, I'd say his memories of the time he spent traveling with the prince were also filled with violence. Let's take a little peek, shall we?
Oh dear! He's pointing his gun at a woman who spoke to the prince in town! ...Oh, but she was just asking for directions. Hurry away, you poor thing!
Oh no! He just shot at something in the trees! Was it an enemy, or an assassin or... Oh. No. Apparently he was just getting some fruit out of the tree for the prince's dinner.
And now, in the dark of night, he keeps watch over his charge. Each time the boy turns over, he pulls the blanket back across his thin shoulders. He does this over and over and over again.
I imagine if we asked him why he did these things, he would claim they were merely a byproduct of his programming. But Mama thinks there's more to this story. In fact, Mama thinks the clockwork man has created his very own will.
A Weapon's Understanding[]
A lone man waits on a dry and windswept land. Across from him stand several metal dummies—his targets. This is a firing range for a weapon currently in development—a weapon known only as the clockwork soldier.
Though the man holds a gun for the first time in his life, it somehow feels as familiar as an old friend. He pauses a moment to calculate the bullet's trajectory, the windspeed, and the recoil, then pulls the trigger.
It is over in the blink of an eye. As he places the gun in its holster, curls of smoke rise from the single hole in each of the targets' chests—the exact place where their hearts would be.
The man admires his work for a moment, then turns and leaves the range. In that brief span of time, he has learned all there is to know of the gun.
A Weapon's Mission[]
"Wait for me. Do not move until I come back."
The man does as he is told, standing motionless before a church scarred by endless war. No muscle so much as twitches as he waits for his commanding general to return.
Eventually, a priestess covered in ash approaches the waiting man and throws herself at him with a cry. "Please, sir! I don't want to die! Protect me from the army!"
She clings to him, causing the man to sway ever so slightly. When the general returns a few moments later, he finds the priestess lying on the ground.
"Why did you kill her?" he asks.
"You told me not to move. I had to follow your orders."
The general grins, clearly Delighted[sic] by the man's answer. "You truly are the perfect little puppet," he says.
A Weapon and A Promise[]
The boy's cough echoes through the room, his pale breath vanishing into the air of the underground storage area. The clockwork man notes the temperature and realizes it has fallen another degree.
"This climate will harm you, My Prince. Allow me to disable my temperature regulators so I might heat the room."
At this suggestion, the boy suppresses a cough while holding out one pallid hand.
"Just promise you won't destroy yourself trying to help me again."
The man, reflected in the boy's clear gray eyes, replies with a hardened voice and blank expression. "Clockwork soldiers do not understand the concept of promises, My Prince. Only orders."
The words appear to wound the boy.
But the man does not know why, nor does he ask.
"But I'll remember," says the boy. "And that's enough."
He coughs again and weakly lets his hand sink back down to his side.
A Changing Weapon[]
"I'm going in to ask around. Wait here, okay?"
After arriving at the village, the boy gives this order before stepping inside a small church. The man follows the child's instruction to the letter, waiting patiently near the door. But after a bit, he hears the sound of screams. A moment later, a child runs up and begins desperately tugging on his arm.
"Please, sir! Our friend just fell out of a tree! You have to carry him to the doctor!"
The child then yanks the man's hand again, pulling him down the road and away from his charge.
A short time later, the boy emerges from the church to find the man kneeling in the dust of the road. "I failed to follow your orders and await punishment," he says. "Here is what happened...."
The boy listens intently to his story. When he learns the child is safe, he sighs with genuine relief and allows himself the briefest of smiles.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to punish you for that."
A Weapon's Deception[]
Let us rest.
The attending man makes this suggestion upon hearing the boy—his master—breathing in harsh, ragged gasps.
"No," replies the boy. "We need to hurry on."
As they proceed, a pack of overgrown stray dogs suddenly appears to block their way. Though annoying, they are enemies easily felled. But as the fight proceeds, a thought occurs to the man:
If I were to let myself be injured here, my master would surely accept my proposal to rest.
On the heels of this thought comes a memory—a thing the man recalls someone saying to him. He immediately discards the option of intentional injury and begins dispatching the dogs with calm efficiency.
Once the enemy is defeated, the man turns to the boy. "My apologies, but due to exhaustion as a result of that battle, I request rest."
At last, the boy nods in agreement.
After they make camp and the boy drifts off into a fitful sleep, the man minds the fire and thinks about the events of the day. The thought that came to him during the battle was a memory of himself and his master. White breath. Shaking hands. Gray eyes. And these words:
Promise me you'll never harm yourself for my sake again.
Why did he use his own injuries as an excuse to force his master to rest?
Why did his promise come to mind in that moment?
Why did it cause him to alter his actions?
Why did he lie about exhaustion when he was not tired?
The flames of the campfire shimmer in his eyes. No matter how many calculations he runs, he can find no answer. Instead, he simply sits back and thinks about the warm emotion rolling about in his chest.
5 Records match the category selection:
| Banner | Title | Event Character | Other Character | Duration(s) |
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
Seat of Shadow | Rion | Dimos | 9/29/2021-10/14/2021 11/16/2023-12/2/2023 |
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Bridge of Supplication | Rion | Dimos | 11/30/2021-12/26/2021 12/15/2022-12/25/2022 |
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Stronghold of Desolation | Dimos | Rion | 4/7/2022-4/21/2022 11/21/2022-12/4/2022 |
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City of Discontent | Dimos | Rion | 5/19/2022-5/30/2022 10/22/2023-11/5/2023 |
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Starfall Cliff | Dimos | Rion | 1/1/2024-1/30/2024 |
Costumes[]
Variations of characters and weapons can be unlocked through the in-game gacha system.
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Departed Gunman (★★)
Force: 12020
Character Skill: Thumbing
Character Abilities
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Dissenting Gunman (★★★)
Force: 16026
Character Skill: Rapid Fire
Character Abilities
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Guardian Gunman (★★★)
Force: 17405
Character Skill: Overload
Character Abilities
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False Guardian Gunman (★★★)
Force: 15061
Character Skill: Rusty Bell
Character Abilities
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Abstract Gunman (★★★★)
Force: 17250
Character Skill: Flash Reload
Character Abilities
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Bloody Gunman (★★★★)
Force: 17412
Character Skill: Bullet Riddle
Character Abilities
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Fractured Gunman (★★★★)
Force: 16522
Character Skill: Calamity Bullet
Character Abilities
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Celebratory Gunman (★★★★)
Force:
Character Skill: Fireworks
Character Abilities
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Abyssal Gunman (★★★★)
Force:
Character Skill: Cursed Elimination
Character Abilities
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Bloodless Gunman (★★★★)
Force: 22645
Character Skill: Merciless Barista
Character Abilities
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Summer Gunman (★★★★)
Force: 24936
Character Skill: Seaside Gun
Character Abilities
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New Year's Gunman (★★★★)
Force: 18806
Character Skill: Heavy Serve
Character Abilities
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Reborn Automaton (★★★★)
Force: 19018
Character Skill: Rain of Lead
Character Abilities
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Frozen-Heart Automaton (★★★★)
Force: 23932
Character Skill: Indelible Voice
Character Abilities
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Costume Updates[]
Abstract Gunman[]
11/21/2022
- Character Skill: Flash Reload
100% damage to a single enemy 4 times. Also has a 75% chance to inflict blind for 3 turns.
↳ Deal 100% damage to one enemy 4 times. Also has a 75% chance to inflict blind for 3 turns. Increase dark dmg one enemy will receive by 25% (30 sec.) when own affinity is dark. - Character Ability: Vigor changed to Valiance
Attack up by 20%.
↳ All allies' attack up by 20%.
Memoirs[]
Dimos' Memoir Set[]
Small Set Bonus: Attack up by 10%.
Large Set Bonus: Attack up by 15%.
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A King and His People | Of Kings and Soldiers | Today that fool of a king declared war once again. He never thinks of the soldiers when he does this—and trust me, there can be no war without soldiers.
"Diary of an Old Man in the Kingdom" |
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Soldiers and Weapons | Of Kings and Soldiers | The king is scheming something for the start of this war. Rumor has it he's gathering soldiers that will obey his every command. Does he really think such people exist?
"Diary of an Old Man in the Kingdom" |
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Heart to Heart | Of Kings and Soldiers | The war is finally over, but it's only a matter of time before our king begins a new one.
"Diary of an Old Man in the Kingdom" |
Voicelines (English)[]
- "I do not require food or other external energy sources. Regular maintenance is all that is necessary for my continued operation."
- "Long ago, they decided I was junk and they discarded me. I thought I would rust away in that darkness, until a fire was kindled in my heart."
- "My programmed obedience to my kingdom is no longer functional. I follow the prince through my own will alone."
| Entrance Dialogue | EntranceDialogue |
| New Wave | NewWaveDialogue |
| Attacking | AttackDialogue AttackDialogue |
| Counter | CounterDialogue CounterDialogue CounterDialogue |
| Receiving Damage/Debuff | |
| Receiving Healing/Buff | ReceiveHealDialogue |
| Giving Debuff | DebuffDialogue DebuffDialogue |
| Healing | HealDialogue HealDialogue |
| Giving Buff | BuffDialogue BuffDialogue |
| Companion Skill | CompanionDialogue CompanionDialogue |
| Revived | ReviveDialogue |
| Death | DeathDialogue DeathDialogue |
| Quest Complete (Unused) | QuestCompleteDialogue QuestCompleteDialogue QuestCompleteDialogue |
| Enhancement (Unused) |
Dimos also has 5 unique voicelines that consist of just yelling or grunting.
| Entrance Dialogue | EntranceDialogue |
| New Wave | NewWaveDialogue |
| Attacking | AttackDialogue AttackDialogue |
| Counter | CounterDialogue CounterDialogue CounterDialogue |
| Receiving Damage/Debuff | |
| Receiving Healing/Buff | ReceiveHealDialogue |
| Giving Debuff | DebuffDialogue DebuffDialogue |
| Healing | HealDialogue HealDialogue |
| Giving Buff | BuffDialogue BuffDialogue |
| Companion Skill | CompanionDialogue CompanionDialogue |
| Revived | ReviveDialogue |
| Death | DeathDialogue DeathDialogue |
| Quest Complete (Unused) | QuestCompleteDialogue QuestCompleteDialogue QuestCompleteDialogue |
| Enhancement (Unused) |
Dimos also has 5 unique voicelines that consist of just yelling or grunting.
Trivia[]
- Dimos' name comes from the Greek word δήμιος (dímios), meaning "executioner."[2]
- Dimos doesn't have a favorite food.[1]
- Dimos wasn't programmed to have hobbies.[1]
- Dimos has no special skills, but Rion thinks his rapid gunfire is amazing.[1]
- Dimos' default design and "Dissenting Gunman" costume are reminiscent of an American cowboy, with a wide brimmed hat and various belts.
- The design on the bottom of Dimos' "Guardian Gunman" costume is similar to that of YoRHa unit outfits.
- Specifically, his coat resembles 9S's jacket.
- There are multiple daggers present on Dimos' clothing, however he is never shown using them in game.
- Both of Dimos' memoirs "Soldiers and Weapons" and "Heart to Heart" focus on Rion rather than Dimos.
- Dimos' flashing red eyes in his battle with Gayle are reminiscent of the Red Eye Disease in Drakengard and the Logic Virus in NieR:Automata. It is often used as a sign of aggression or madness. The only confirmed character able to have red eyes and not go insane is Noelle, presumably being part of her function as a weapon.
- When the concept art for Dimos' "Summer Gunman" costume was initially posted on the official English NieR Reincarnation Twitter, it incorrectly had the text for Yurie's "Summer Ruler" costume instead.
- The official English NieR Reincarnation Twitter posted Halloween themed icons for some of the Reincarnation characters, including Dimos as a werewolf.[3]
- The official English NieR Reincarnation Twitter has made various posts using screenshots from Dimos' chapter.[4][5]
Gallery[]
References[]
- ↑ 1.0 1.1 1.2 1.3 @NieR_Rein, Dimos Character Observation, Twitter. May 19, 2023.
- ↑ SQUARE ENIX, ニーア リィンカーネーション公式生放送#17 ～ストーリー完結スペシャル～, YouTube. March 6, 2024.
- ↑ @NieRReinEN, Happy Halloween!, Twitter. October 31, 2021.
- ↑ @NieRReinEN, Together, they will sever the marionette strings the kingdom has bound them to., Twitter. April 10, 2022.
- ↑ @NieRReinEN, Dimos, my beloved..., Twitter. April 27, 2022.
