"WAKE UP, HELLDIVERS! It's time to bring democracy to this planet!"
The beautiful roar of Sergeant Boyle is enough to wake anyone. And to think, I was dreaming of my new Motherland, which accepted me for who I am and raised me to be a loyal patriot and defender.
Ah, Super Earth—my dear new home. A wonderful place where freedom, equality, and democracy are not just empty words. Everything here is exactly like an idealist's fantasy. It's so wonderful that sometimes it's hard to believe it's reality and not a dream.
It's so good here.
Clean streets, friendly people. Order and tranquility at every step. Everyone toils for the glory of our great state so that Humanity can continue to conquer the stars.
Each of us is part of something bigger, something great... and I will proudly fight for Super Earth, because its ideals are worth it.
Did you believe that? Don't hold your breath, you little punks.
Jumping out of bed, I immediately suit up in my armor. Brushing my teeth happens right inside the suit; I just flip on the emergency disinfection and call it a day. Then I can grab a snack of paste from a tube. They brought in new ones yesterday—meat-flavored—so my hunger will be one hundred percent satisfied until lunch. Oh, blessed democracy. There are such things as good days.
But all my thoughts didn't distract me from the main thing. Passing by the flag, I stop abruptly, pivot, and raise my fist to chest level. The military salute must always be performed; otherwise, the footage from the camera installed in the corner of my room will be sent where it needs to go, and my "happy" new life will come to a premature end. Besides, I am proud of this flag—consider how much blood I've spilled for it.
"Yes, this is my life now."
Super Earth. A crazy state built on lies that I've soaked in completely, without even realizing it, hoping my pretense would protect me. Fat chance.
I've been corrupted; I let it crawl into my head and, without even noticing, became a perfect cog for the local state machine. I became one of them.
A damn dystopia where everyone smiles at you with moronic faces, believing the propaganda blaring from everywhere. On uniforms, on posters, on the radio, on TV, on buildings, cars, on animals, children—hell, sometimes they plant trees in the shape of the crest or iconic symbols!
The anthem is always playing. Everywhere, constantly, someone is swearing allegiance to the flag, while in dark alleys, those who slipped up or got tangled in the words they repeat day after day are dragged into paddy wagons.
And I became just like them. There's no other choice here: those who go against the system disappear forever, and only their names flicker in tiny lists of traitors to the motherland.
People here are generally divided into three categories.
Those who don't believe in democracy, the crazy bastards—and there are many of them, though you don't see them on the streets. I wonder why?
The second are the idealists and fanatics, those who ask no questions at all. For example, Sergeant Boyle is exactly like that, ready to easily give his life if those in high offices decide it's for the best.
The third are those like me. Those who keep their mouths shut, smile, and try not to arouse suspicion, but nevertheless slowly turn into the second or first type. I'm leaning more toward turning into the second, so... draw your own conclusions.
"Less thinking, more doing." Seeing myself in the mirror, I catch the gaze of a mad, idiotic-looking maniac. Usually, no one sees our faces; at some point, even we start to perceive the helmet as our own head.
Packed up to my ears, I allow myself—as written in the regulations—a few seconds to enjoy the moment, inhaling the scent of the disinfectant, before walking out of the room with a confident stride, heading straight for the bridge.
As I move along, music begins to play and screens light up on either side of me. Words about democracy, freedoms, equality, and a bright future pound against my ears. I listen to them, but I don't hear them, for I already know the text by heart, just like everyone else on the ship.
Following me from parallel corridors come three others exactly like me. Helldivers—the local elite, heroes of comic books and games, the ones they make movies about, and the ones who never return to Super Earth, because living heroes aren't needed.
No words. No greetings, not even a basic nod of the head. We stopped interacting with each other long ago; our work and lifestyle quickly beat that crap out of us, leaving only war and democracy.
Standing at the holoprojector, we habitually listen to a brief briefing consisting of a couple of sentences, after which I head to my pod with a rhythmic step, as the deployment begins immediately and there's no time to figure out what's happening.
My feet habitually settle into the slots, the floor drops away, and the hatch slams shut over my head, locking me into the drop pod.
Three. Two. One. No one likes to wait here.
With a roar, I and three of my comrades are launched into open space, hurtling toward the surface at full speed, piercing the atmosphere. Fire roars around us, but I, on the contrary, feel calm; this place is the best in the whole damn universe. Five minutes of silence where no one can touch me and I can relax my face, letting my true emotions out.
The helmet cameras aren't connected yet, and there are none inside the pod at all!
Memories of how I ended up here crawled into my head.
I'd like to say my life took a sharp turn for the better. But that would be such a blatant lie that even the most hardened and brazen politician on Super Earth would look at me with skepticism.
How does it usually go in these situations? All those stories about "isekai" protagonists are full of this stuff... You save someone or die tragically, regretting that you didn't taste enough of life...
And then, at the crossroads of worlds, you meet a god, goddess, or higher being who rewards you or apologizes for the mistake that led to your untimely death...
It admires your courage, praises your calm and sober mind, and therefore, as a gift, allows you to choose the world in which you will live your new life. Using the advantages of meta-knowledge...
Yeah, right! And what idiot would ever want to come here?!
I have no idea if I died or not. Maybe I was just plucked out and brought here, though more likely it's that very margin of error that should be cursed.
There were no goddesses, only a vicious, feral Master Sergeant who met me with a punch to the liver instead of a greeting. I remembered that day for the rest of my life, damn it. Sometimes I still see him in my nightmares.
I was beaten so badly for stupid questions and slow reactions to orders that I pissed blood for a week afterward. My whole body was covered in hematomas; even sleeping was painful.
And it happened more than once. Because I ended up in an absolutely incredible place that's worth describing in more detail.
Super Earth. A future where the hegemony of Humanity began to slowly but surely spread beyond our Sol System. Humans conquered the depths of cosmic space, easily traversing distances to other planets in a matter of hours.
We gained longevity, created incredible cities on other planets, settled countless worlds, and united into a single state...
But the price of this victory was, to put it mildly, high. Super Earth is—excuse my language—it's just a total clusterfuck.
Super Earth is a cruel parody of an ideal society where everyone is equal, but in reality, it's just a facade, a sign on a building covering a stifling reality. People live in constant fear of punishment for any deviation from the rules, and even thoughts of freedom or independence are considered rebellion.
Don't want to sing the anthem with your neighbors at six in the morning? Solitary confinement and community service await you.
Didn't stand up when you heard the anthem or failed to show respect to the flag? A month of house arrest and community service.
Power on Super Earth is concentrated in the hands of a small group of leaders who control all aspects of people's lives, from the economy to education. These rulers use modern technology for surveillance and the suppression of dissenters. Propaganda is active at all levels: the media, advertising, and even educational institutions are overflowing with ideas about how wonderful it is to live under their rule.
On TV, on street posters, in schools, at work, in any cafe, hell, even in the toilets... everywhere you'll find brochures, posters, hear announcements, or listen to an emergency broadcast.
The culture of Super Earth is formed around the idea of the "collective good," but in practice, this means individual needs are ignored. Freedom of speech and self-expression are practically non-existent, and any creative endeavors are carefully controlled. People are conditioned to think that happiness can only be found in loyalty to the system.
The irony is that even local music, movies, games—everything, really—is under state control. There is no bohemia here, no bloggers, no stars, and so on. Only responsible workers, civil servants performing their assigned tasks.
Technology on Super Earth serves as both a tool of control and a method of mass manipulation. For example, biometric technologies are used to track citizens' locations. Medical breakthroughs are aimed at creating the "ideal" citizen rather than actually improving quality of life. Artificial intelligence manages many aspects of daily life, limiting individual choice and autonomy.
Cameras are everywhere, patrols are everywhere, and microphones are built into every citizen's clothing to constantly monitor their speech.
Now that, bitch, is what I call a state of freedoms and equality...
But Super Earth wouldn't stand long on tyranny and prohibitions alone.
There really is no crime here. The streets are safe and clean, and many—even the majority—are happy, believing in tomorrow. Such a thing is worth fighting for, for the sake of ordinary people, I suppose...
But it's not just the perfect facade of happiness that helps keep the people in check.
To whitewash its actions, to justify all the surrealism and horror happening here, the government constantly searches for enemies and those who will become an external threat, to direct the wrath of Humanity against them.
Managed Democracy, damn it.
Sometimes, "by chance," dwarf human states that broke away in ancient times are discovered in deep space, and sometimes they find actual enclaves of "godless communists" who definitely want to attack and destroy us.
And recently, other life forms were discovered... Oh, that became a real holiday for the government. A numerous, hideous-looking, easily killable enemy that would make an excellent punching bag.
And we are the ones who will punch it. Helldivers.
Of course, for a state like Super Earth, ordinary infantrymen wouldn't do. Classic troops exist here and they are strong, dangerous, and numerous—these are definitely not the tool to send to the front. The army is needed at home to make sure the people don't get any ideas.
But as for underage idiots like the previous owner of this body—there are plenty of them and they are expendable; you can throw them into the hellfire to bring democracy to desert planets... where there's absolutely nothing!
Besides, there's a little secret as to how Super Earth can sacrifice millions of Helldivers every day and not worry about it. And I'll tell you about it, but first, a little prelude to make it go down smoother.
Everything happening to me in this world wouldn't be so bad if I had taken the bold step of a weak man as soon as I ended up here. Realizing that death would end the suffering and I wouldn't have to slowly compromise my conscience, I delayed the moment, mostly convincing myself that there was nothing scary about super-democracy... But unfortunately, back then my character wasn't so hardened, I hadn't seen so much shit and hadn't come to believe in democracy, so I couldn't end it all with one pull of the trigger.
Back then in boot camp, I wanted to kill myself, afraid to live in such a society. This "isekai" business, the constant beatings, the drilling, and the propaganda, propaganda, propaganda...
All this shit was pounding my brain, so I almost gave up, but at the last moment, I couldn't do it. And my god, how I regret it now.
Helldivers, the bastion of freedoms beyond the metropolis... Great warriors, pillars of freedoms in wild worlds inhabited by cyborgs, outcasts, and carnivorous bugs.
All of them. Clones. Yes, damn it, clones.
My memories were interrupted by the pod hitting the ground. The walls nimbly retracted into the earth, revealing a vast orange wasteland being lashed by fiery storms from the heavens.
Grabbing my rifle, I was just about to look around and find my squad, but then a rocket hit me in the face, blowing me to pieces.
The agony didn't last long this time. Just a moment and boom, I'm crawling out of a special pod where the clone bodies are stored again. Information copied directly from the brain before sleep helped me get my bearings...
Except. If ordinary Helldivers remembered everything up until yesterday, I remembered my own death too. I don't know the reason, but every time I died, I returned to a clone's body, perfectly aware and understanding. But it's not supposed to be like that!
When I was burned.
Torn to pieces.
Blown up by my own side.
Dissolved by acid.
Shot by robots.
Or eaten by bugs.
Every...
Single...
Time.
Everything, down to the last second. And I repeat, it's not supposed to be like that! My transfer to this world is to blame! Chaos Gods, Spirits, or The Force! Whoever did this, I hope one day I can get to you, because as long as even one clone is alive—my damn soul returns to their bodies, constantly forcing me to relive all this shit again.
Holy Liberty, how sick I am of this. Fighting and killing. Eating paste and dying. I swear by everything I have, if I ever get to be reborn again, I will become the kindest person and solve all problems with words, not fists. Well, almost all of them.
Griping my rifle with disgust, I enter the pod again.
This time I didn't even make it to the ground. Damn robots shot me down on the approach. Cursed machines. We're trying to bring them blessed freedom, and they...
I wake up in cryo again and stagger out of the pod, making my way to the bridge. Everything around is plastered with Super Earth symbols, and the Sergeant is giving the crew pompous speeches, proudly watching me with his eyes.
How tired I am of this. Sometimes I just want to be in silence... find a girl, drink some beer, travel, or do something dangerous and idiotic that's forbidden here.
Many will ask why not try to destroy the ship myself, escape, or do at least something else...
I tried. I attempted. I devised plans.
But it always ends the same way.
Solitary, torture, interrogations, and finally a scene in the style of "A Clockwork Orange." By the forty-sixth time, I was so saturated with the movies they forced me to watch that I just waved it off.
And they returned me to service. And the clones of that batch were all deemed defective and recycled, as were, most likely, the workers who created them. Equality, what can you say.
This time I managed to run a few dozen meters before a beam of scorching plasma hit us from the sky. Burning the ground ten meters deep, it swept through the area, destroying everyone and us along with them.
Pod again.
Where was I? Ah yes, Super Earth and all its perks... Perhaps someone will say I'm whining for nothing and should have become better, cooler, and more dangerous. Kill enemies in droves, fight my way to the "mythical top of the ranks," and maybe one day become something more.
At first, I wanted to. But after dying a few hundred times, all that gets old and fades into the background, and you just want to live peacefully. Though, I doubt I'll ever be able to become a normal, sane person.
New deployment. Loading. Flight. Impact.
This time things went better. Two hours have passed while I'm alive, and now we're reaching the last Automaton point, preparing to rain the righteous flame of liberty down on their heads.
But something went wrong. Preparing to throw the beacon for an orbital strike, I looked uncomprehendingly at the darkened wrist screen, staring at my own reflection on the black surface.
"E-e-erm. There's no signal from the Soul of Justice..."
"The fleet left?" One of my battle brothers stepped closer.
"No, it..."
Then an explosion occurred in the sky above our heads. Tearing through the clouds, huge Automaton ships began entering the planet's atmosphere, gunning down our cruisers. One by one, dozens of vessels were destroyed and, as it turned out, one of ours was among them.
"Well, shit. The Soul of Justice was shot down."
"Yeah?"
"Yep, there it goes, falling."
"That sucks."
That's the kind of conversation you have with mental invalids. Among whom I feel like one of their own.
"Great democracy... what are we going to do?"
We all looked at each other synchronously, shrugging. In the sky above our heads, the Super Earth fleet continued to perish, and we just stood and watched.
"Oh, there's a bucket-head ship coming in for a strike."
One of the guys pointed a finger at a large aircraft glowing red. None of us moved. What was the point? No ammo, no support. The mission was definitely a failure, and there was no new objective.
But...
Unlike my colleagues, I felt a smile blooming on my face under the helmet. Finally, it would all end, and the cherished freedom would come to me.
Hanging my rifle on my belt, I spread my arms wide, as if trying to embrace the approaching ship.
The other Helldivers glanced at each other silently and began to make themselves comfortable. One sat down on the rocks, relaxing his tired back.
Another pressed his fist to his chest, standing proudly with his head held high, stubbornly facing the approaching death.
The last one stood next to me, mimicking my pose.
This clearly isn't normal, you might say. Well, yeah, exactly. We all stopped giving a damn about death long ago, and no one here is definitely going to surrender.
The seconds flew by quickly, and in an all-consuming flash, I finally felt what seemed long forgotten. The cold of death. Real and all-cleansing.
It was magical. Such lightness, as if all the chains holding me for long years had fallen away... and I don't even know how many years I lived in such a frantic and tense mode.
Feeling myself dissolve into nonexistence, I smiled one last time, only to wake up with a wild scream in a soft bed.
"A-a-a-ah!"
Falling to the floor, feeling a convulsion and tremor run through my body, I look around frantically, noting... the mundane. A simple child's room, toys, scattered clothes, a bit of trash.
But then the full horror of the situation hit me.
"For fuck's sake! Again!"
***
Read early on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan