Re Zero Protagonist Novels & Stories

"Not physically. But mentally. You're somewhere else." "I don't know who I am anymore." The words came out raw. Honest. "For fifteen years, I was Bethany Nott, fighter. Protector. Survivor. Woman who defeated her enemies and built an empire from ashes. But now all the enemies are gone. The empire is built. Emma doesn't need constant protecting. So who am I?" "You're still you. The fighting was just one part."

Crane’s eyes gleamed. “Because my legacy didn’t die with me. It multiplied.” He pointed to the boy. “To him.” He pointed to Elias. “To you.” And then— He pulled a remote from his coat. Elias shouted— “Don’t—” Crane pressed the button. The far wall opened. Revealing a second Elias. Eyes dead. Hands twitching. No soul. Just machinery wrapped in flesh. “Meet Version Zero,” Crane said. “The control specimen. The one with no memory. No emotion. No resistance. Pure obedience.”

I looked back one last time. Malik was surrounded. He was fighting like a demon, deflecting plasma bolts with invisible shields, ripping the armor off the troopers with his mind. But Kazi was still there. The Hunter had pulled a massive combat knife from his boot—a vibrating blade made of white ceramic that wouldn't rust. He was circling Malik, waiting for an opening. "We have to help him," I said, stopping. "He's going to die." "We can't," Eliana cried, pulling me into the darkness of the tunnel. "If Kazi gets you, this is all for nothing. You are the Zero, Baraka. You are the one who matters. Malik is buying us time!"

"Who the hell are you?" Elodie’s voice rasped, her hand clutching the jagged edge of a control console. Smoke bit at her throat. The woman standing across the burning bridge of the Air-Fortress didn't flinch. She adjusted her stance, a mirror image of Elodie’s own posture. "I’m the version of you that didn't get weak, Elodie. I’m the one they perfected." "Subject Zero," Elodie spat. She wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek. The movement was mirrored perfectly by the thing wearing her face.

Golden light spilled across the surface of the sea, so beautiful that it stole my breath. I was still here. I was still alive. The system spoke again, but this time, its voice was no longer cold and robotic. "Detected that player has completed self-awakening and reclaimed personal agency in the last ten days. Strategy target recalibrated from 'being loved by others' to 'loving oneself.' Mission successful. Reward is a new life." I went still. Then, I started to laugh. So that was it. The real goal of this whole strategy game had never been Blake. It had been me.

He was crossed-legged sitting on a small pillow, and his entire joint had burning candle around him. "Zero?" I asked. "I am Zero the Great." He responded. "You seek me for what?" He asked. This whole thing started to feel ridiculous. I wondered why I had followed a person's referral to a person's referral to this guy, and felt like I'd been duped into paying for information from a geek that lived in a simulated world.

Yours in plotting, Zera

Genad responded flatly, “You’re not planning on giving him… her up are you?” Its smile could practically be felt within the darkness on being called out and soon he burst out into a deep laughter. “No, of course not, but you’re still gonna help me because that’s the best decision and that’s the type of person you are.” “Since you seem to know me so much…. Who are you?” “Me? You can call me, Zero.” A/N:

he said "She's been lied to by all of us. Me. You, her mother. She needs the truth without excuses and this is the only way." I continued to hold the gun on him but by the back of my mind, doubt flickered. "What do you mean? He stepped aside and another screen came up live video. A building, desert terrain. Another woman on a gurney. "Who is she?" I asked. "That" he said "is Subject Zero. The first prototype before Melissa. The one who didn't work. The one whose memories were loaded into Melissa to ground her identity." My mouth was dry. "She's not Melissa Monroe" Maddox continued "She's a vessel. Memory blueprints, trauma triggers, identity overlays. You didn't love her, Jamal. You fell in

"Who are you? What was your name before they put you in that glass box?" "Name? I was the First Daughter. I was the prototype for a perfection that none of you could ever hope to understand," she replied, her white-light eyes fixing on Nomo. She tilted her head, a sharp, bird-like motion that felt entirely mechanical. "I am Subject Zero. I was the bridge between the dirt and the stars. And I have been dreaming of the day I would finally taste the air of a world without my mother’s thumb on my chest."